So I previously said that chapter 41 was our last interlude/sprawl around the galaxy... but I lied.
Welcome to interlude IV, sprawling across the last months of the galaxy as we know it.
The clones of Naboo were as orderly as ever as they packed up and disassembled their own space station, but something was different in the air around them. A strange, little-spoken word that flitted between kneeling brothers as they worked side by side, making conversation to pass the time as they embarked on the dull task of removing valuable power cells from the station that they would abandon.
"How long's it been since you were last home, brother?"
"Not since the start of the war. Three years since I've been home."
"Three years!"
"Shorter for you?"
"Yeah, only a year for me. I was badly injured on Florrum, had to go back for bacta and all that special science shit they've got there."
"Has it changed?"
"Same as ever. New kids growing up."
"It'll be good to meet them."
"They're real nice to be around. Young, y'know? Not tired or jaded."
"Sticklers for rules, I bet."
"Of course."
"Like we were."
And at the window of the station, overlooking glorious green and blue Naboo, captains speaking of it too.
"I'll miss the view. It's a better-looking planet than home, you have to admit."
"Yeah. But home's ours."
"It is."
"What do you think of this Mandalore business?"
"Not for me. But I'm happy for the brothers who find a home there. No one should have to live a life of war if they don't want to."
"Couple more from our sector are heading over, did you know? Now that we're finished up here."
"We'll have to give them a proper send-off, then. They've got transport?"
"Mandalore's arranging it."
"Good. Any drinks left in the rations?"
"Enough for everyone to have a sip, maybe."
"That'll do. Enough for a toast and a goodbye."
And once the work was done and the drinks distributed haphazardly into standard army-issued canteens, the brothers lifted their flasks and chorused.
"To going home!"
They would meet the troops of Anaxes on Kamino. Those who had been fighting to stake Republican claim on Separatist Ukio would follow shortly after. The clones would rest and the sound of war in the galaxy would quieten, a little.
The difference was small, perhaps. But it felt good to go home.
Their departure to Naboo was delayed by a comm call bearing bad news; Anakin was silently unsurprised. Of course, nothing could possibly go right while that Sith Lord continued to exist unencumbered. No matter how many people praised Padme as a hero for peace and democracy. No matter how many systems joined them in neutrality. No matter how many clones returned to Kamino. The evil was still beyond them.
"The Senator for Rishi has been killed," Padme explained, ending the call. "His ship exploded as he went to depart Coruscant. I'm sure it's no coincidence."
She sat down on the couch and ran her hands through her hair, easing the tension on her presumably aching scalp.
"What have I done, Ani?" she asked him, her face pale and weary. "He agreed to join the Council of Neutral Systems and I've gone and got him killed."
"Padme…"
"Do you think that we'll be next? That Naboo will be next? That the CIS will come now that the troops have gone?"
Anakin came to sit beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"No, Padme," he told her earnestly. "I don't think so. Not yet."
"Not yet?" Padme yelped.
Kriff. He was no good at being consoling.
"Sorry, Padme, that's not what I meant, I…"
"That is what you meant," Padme corrected him sternly.
She was right, damn it. He was no good at being consoling and that was because he was as worried as she was.
"Tell me," she demanded.
Anakin shook his head.
"Padme, I don't want to-"
"-worry me?"
She was abundantly worried already.
"Please, Ani, we're husband and wife, I want us to be honest with each other."
Anakin sighed and relented.
"You know I've not been sleeping well," he managed.
Padme nodded with understanding.
"You've been having nightmares."
"Yes."
"About?" she prodded.
Anakin rubbed at his forehead and grimaced.
"About you, Padme."
She blinked in confusion.
"About you dying in childbirth," he finished, voice soft and apologetic.
Her face fell, then – as he had known it would, as he had tried to avoid – and her hands flitted instinctively to her growing abdomen.
"And the babies?" she asked, in a whisper.
"I don't know," Anakin answered morosely. "I only see you."
Padme's selflessness only compounded Anakin's guilt. He was surely the galaxy's most horrible father, not having for a moment worried about those tiny infants growing inside her precious body.
"Ani..." Padme soothed, laying a hand on his leg.
"I don't know if it's true or what it means," Anakin muttered. "But I just have this horrible feeling that everything's going to go wrong when the babies come."
Padme nodded and pinched at the bridge of her nose. Anakin had seen this before. She was trying to keep herself from crying.
"I'm sorry, Padme," he murmured. "I didn't want to say it. I-"
"We don't know if it's true," she said sternly, although her voice shook.
Anakin squeezed her hand in return.
"No. We don't."
"But it might be true," she gritted out.
"It might be."
The tears were more than she could repress now; she swiped at them with the back of her hand as they ran down her cheeks.
"You were right about your mother," she choked out.
"But she didn't die, Padme," Anakin reassured her.
He rose from the couch and dropped to his knees before her, so that he could embrace her with both hands upon her face.
"Mum didn't die because I saved her, Padme. And I will do the same for you. I promise."
"I… I'm not..."
Padme took a shuddering breath. She was having difficulty forming words.
"I'm not scared for me. I'm scared for our children. And I'm so, so sorry because it's my fault that we're pregnant and it's my fault-"
"Nothing is anyone's fault," Anakin told her, holding her tight. "Listen to me, Angel. I won't let anything happen to you or the babies. I swear it."
She nodded and, through another cascade of tears and hiccupped breaths, found a smile.
"Birth on Naboo is safe, Ani," she managed. "Really safe."
She laid her hands over his.
"I think that if you can just be beside me when the babies come, holding my hand and loving me, I think it's all going to be just fine. With us and with the galaxy."
They were lying. They were both lying to each other, plastering those valiant smiles upon their faces.
"You've done everything right, Padme," he murmured. "Everything. Neutrality's not perfect but it's the best option Naboo has."
And this was true enough, he supposed. Better to risk Separatist invasion than ensure the presence of Republican clone troopers who would inevitably turn against them.
"I just want them to be safe," Padme whispered, running a hand down her abdomen again.
"Me too, Angel."
Anakin kissed the rising bump and then Padme's forehead.
"Master Yoda is going after the Sith Lord who controls this war, Padme," he told her. "We have to trust in him. He's the most powerful Jedi alive."
Anakin knew it would be a lot easier to go to Naboo if he truly believed it. Why, why did he have this impossible sense that the challenge was his alone? Because he was arrogant, perhaps, as the Council had always said of him. Because he was young and impetuous.
He thought of Obi Wan.
We need you to survive, Anakin. You are young still.
He looked at his wife and knew that she needed him.
"I'll do an extra safety check of the ship," Anakin resolved, rising to stand. "And then we'll go home to Naboo."
The evil was beyond them but Anakin couldn't save them all. He would save Padme. He would stay by her side. The rest was not up to him.
He could be Chosen another day.
The Chancellor had seemingly a tolerance for silence that matched the Jedi; he kept them waiting, tight-lipped, as he perused the document repeatedly. There was no need for such a delay – it was simple enough. The Jedi would participate as generals in the Grand Army of the Republic on a strictly volunteer-only basis. The Council would deploy none of its Jedi to battlefields and nor would the Republic be able to compel them to do so. It shouldn't have taken so long to read.
"I must be frank, Masters," he announced, eventually. "I struggle to understand this proposal as anything other than a blatant act of betrayal to the Republic."
Mace Windu sighed. Predictable and wrong.
"It is not so, Chancellor," Mace reassured him calmly. "Our loyalty remains to the Republic. But we have come to understand that our duty as generals of this army was causing our Order to lose its way. We are peacekeepers, your Excellency. We will serve you as such. But the time has come to scale down our participation in this war."
Palpatine narrowed his gaze.
"There can be no peace until this war is won, Master Windu."
His lip curled.
"Unless you think, of course, that life under Separatist occupation constitutes tolerable peace."
He spat the word out with derision. Mace felt irritation rise inside him. He let Master Yoda speak.
"Other pathways to peace, we may find, if the Jedi are entrusted to do so."
"The Confederacy will not talk," Palpatine uttered, unshakeable. "Unless perhaps for compromise weighted grossly in its favour. But that is not the peace we aspire to, Masters."
"No," Mace conceded. "Nor is that the peace to which we aspire."
The Chancellor nodded tightly.
"Then you must understand why I cannot accept this."
"With all due respect, Chancellor, this is not a document that we have submitted for your approval," Mace pointed out. "We have submitted it for your notice."
"The duty of the Order, it is, to care for its Jedi," Yoda concurred. "Great suffering, as generals in this war, the Jedi have faced. Our young ones most of all."
The Chancellor was unsoftened.
"You are referring to Knight Offee, I presume?" he scoffed. "I had expected that Jedi Knights who profess to stand firmly against darkness in this galaxy would know better than to comply with the demands of a Jedi turned to the Dark Side."
"Light and Dark is perhaps not so simple as you imagine it, your Excellency," Mace suggested. "While Barriss's actions were wrong, we cannot disregard her feelings about this war."
"Failed young Barriss, we did," Yoda concurred grimly. "Do better for our remaining Jedi, we must."
This seemed to overwhelm the Chancellor; he half-rose from his seat and unleashed a flood of frustration into the Force.
"All this talk of suffering!" he cried. "Saving the Jedi from suffering! And yet, there is great suffering the galaxy over, far beyond the Jedi, and I am asking for your help in ending it!"
There was a painful desperation in his voice. When he leaned back against his chair he looked weary and haggard.
"I am sorry, Masters," he sighed, lifting a hand to his forehead. "This war, it has caused me such deep sadness and I simply want it to…"
"If you want it to end," Mace told him gently. "Then the path to do this with the least suffering is to deploy your Jedi as peacekeepers to negotiate fair settlements. The Republic will reduce somewhat in size and power, your Excellency. The Confederacy of Independent Systems will maintain its legitimacy. But it is a good end to this war."
The Chancellor shook his head, too distraught to speak.
"Easy, it is, to begin a war," Yoda sighed. "Far more difficult to walk away, it is."
"None of this was easy!" Palpatine snapped. "None of it!"
But why then, had he not relinquished office? He was old and weary. He was burdened by a sense of guilt, perhaps, a determination to finish what he had begun. Or perhaps, Mace could not help but think, he was not so weary as he appeared. Perhaps emergency powers suited him.
"Our declaration stands, Chancellor," Mace concluded, and rose to his feet. "We hope to receive opportunities from your office to serve the Republic as true peacekeepers. Jedi will henceforth command your army only of their own free volition."
Master Yoda rose and followed him from the office, their footsteps silent on the deep red carpet.
"Something amiss, in the Force, I sense," Yoda murmured.
"I don't trust him," Mace concurred outright. "This war has granted him unprecedented power that he is reluctant to relinquish."
Yoda made a noise of assent.
"Likely, it is, that our hidden Sith Lord has corrupted him," he mused. "A crucial role, he has played, in prolonging this war."
"Indeed, Master."
They descended the tower and exited into the Coruscant streetscape at dusk.
"We will watch him closely, Master Windu," Yoda went on. "It is possible that through him, a glimpse of the Sith we will catch."
Mace wasn't optimistic. They would surely know better than to show themselves in connection with such a high-profile figure. It was the way of the Sith to lurk in the shadows whilst their bidding was done. It would be almost impossible to find them.
"We will watch him closely," he agreed.
In those strange months of waiting Obi Wan and Satine tried not to worry, for to worry would be useless. There was an enemy somewhere beyond them – so far beyond their grasp that there was little choice but to surrender. They would trust in the Force, in Master Yoda, in democracy and neutrality. In something. Satine had never been spiritual but resolved to have faith. The people of Mandalore still worked in the cities and in the fields and the children still went to school. Food security was better now but the hospitals were still busy and the railway system still wasn't quite right. Life simply had to continue.
Satine and Obi Wan seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement that their time together now was precious. They fell asleep with their hands loosely entwined. They ate their breakfast together. They walked through the streets of Sundari in the brilliant light of a full moon before bed and listened to the life that continued all around them. An enemy was somewhere beyond them, but in Sundari the university students still went out to bars on a weeknight and spilled out at closing time to dance in the grass of Peace Park, stumbling like foals in their drunkenness, laughing and clinging to each other.
"Imagine if we had lived that life, Obi Wan," Satine mused.
It was early winter and she leaned into his warmth.
"If we had met in university instead of a warzone."
Obi Wan smiled at the thought of it.
"In a politics class, perhaps," he suggested. "We wouldn't have been able to stop arguing with each other."
"We'd have insisted we didn't care for each other."
"Infuriated our friends."
"Found excuses to stumble across one another in bars."
Satine squeezed his hand and blew a frosty breath out into the night air.
"That's what I wanted Korkie to have. What we never had."
"A normal life?"
"Time to be young."
Obi Wan nodded in sad understanding.
"It's all my fault, Satine, really."
The Jedi Order had always taught him to turn his back upon the past. He understood why. It was wounding, now, to look back at it.
"Growing up with a father flitting in and out of his life," Obi Wan recounted. "Having to face my enemies."
Satine shook her head.
"He adores you."
"That doesn't change the truth of it."
"Why dwell on this now?"
Obi Wan conceded the point with a wry smile. Satine was more like the Jedi than she knew.
"You're right, dearest," he acquiesced, returning the squeeze of her hand. "You have both forgiven me and I am grateful for the chance to love you both as you deserve."
The university students were running across the park towards them now, whooping and leaping as they did.
"What are they doing?" Obi Wan asked, frowning faintly. "I can't understand them when they're slurring their speech like that."
Satine chuckled; his Mando'a was fluent enough now but would never be native.
"They're planning to climb this tree, I believe."
Satine's prediction proved correct. The gangly youths trampled past them and launched themselves at the low-hanging boughs. One of them was sober enough to realise who they had nearly floored in their rampage.
"That's the Duchess and her consort!"
The students gaped, giggled, and then howled their apologies.
"Your Grace!"
"Your Grace!"
"We're so sorry, Duchess!"
"It's an honour to meet you, Duchess!"
Satine gave a dimpled half-smile and a royal wave as they turned and headed slowly for home.
"No need to apologise, young ones," she called over her shoulder. "Continue exactly as you are."
In the absence of Ahsoka and Mandalorian Folklore: Volume I, Korkie adopted a new late-night ritual. He would pad through the halls after all the family and all the staff were asleep and follow the spiralling stairs downwards to their base deep below the earth. He would navigate the palace archives with no light, only the Force, and he would come eventually to the heavy door with the lock and keypad.
His mother had told him the code when they installed it. How could she not? The Darksaber, by ancient and sacred Mandalorian law, was his.
He would enter that subterranean room with that impossible, deeply concentrated darkness at its centre. He would listen to its hum. He would meditate and flow with the Force through the journeys of his ancestors. He felt them all around him. He was not alone. He was home.
When he was ready to return to bed, he would perform the final part of the meditation. He would lift the glass of the display case and he would take the handle in his grip and feel the impossible weight of it, a hundred times heavier than Siri Tachi's lightsaber in his hand. And yet, a little lighter each time.
His father found him, one such night, carrying a small light-orb in his hand. His feet were bare and he was wearing the sweater from the back of his closet, his sweater from the days of the revolution.
"You're alright, Korkie?"
Korkie nodded.
"I'm practising."
Obi Wan nodded and Korkie knew he understood. That this was a role he intended to grow into. That he would one day be the protector of his people.
"The weight is becoming easier to carry," Korkie told him.
His father smiled and came to lay a hand upon his shoulder.
"I'm very proud of you, Korkaran."
Korkie laid the Darksaber down upon its podium and levitated the glass case to cover it.
"You grow stronger every day," his father commended him, as they traced their steps back through the archives. "But most of all, my dear one, you grow every day to know more of the Force."
Korkie nodded. It was true. Every day he saw the galaxy clearer. He saw everything. And he could feel every day with increasing certainty the terrible darkness that had twisted itself through the galaxy. Larger than his mother and larger than his father. The evil, somewhere, beyond them.
"You've taught me to know the Force, Buir," he replied. "You've taught me to live in the Light. And I'll do it, Buir, with that weapon."
"I know that you will."
They ascended the stairs and continued in silence until they reached Korkie's bedroom and his father bade him goodnight with a kiss atop his head. They did not talk about the enormity of the waiting darkness, nor of the catastrophe they would surely face. There was no need.
There was only the present moment.
"I love you, Buir."
"I love you too, Korkie."
And Korkie fell easily into sleep. He dreamed of krayt dragons and a silver ship. He dreamed that he carried a blade in each hand – sapphire blue in his left, the Darksaber in his right. He saw the blades cross and he saw them cast a light so brilliant it was like witnessing the birth of a star.
Padme knew that Anakin still woke with nightmares. But whenever he left their bed he always came eventually back. His quiet breaths always returned to mingle with hers. The sun always rose on Naboo. And Padme liked to think that in its brilliance it almost entirely banished the memories of the night.
They walked through the meadows outside of Theed with yellow and pink flowers scratching at their ankles.
"Do you remember our days here?" Padme asked him, with a smile. "Falling in love."
Anakin gave a wry grin.
"I was already in love with you," he said, in his solemn way. "I've loved you from the moment I first saw you."
Padme laughed.
"But you didn't know me!"
"I did," Anakin insisted.
He laughed at her in turn, disbelief lighting his face.
"You don't know how brightly you glow in the Force, Padme. Your kindness and your passion and your strength…"
He caught up to her where she had rambled ahead and embraced her pregnant belly.
"You love them already, don't you?" he challenged.
Padme grinned and conceded the point.
"I do."
"Because you know them. Through the Force. The Force gives power to our love."
He looked out beyond them.
"Our children are going to grow up on the most beautiful planet in the galaxy, Padme."
She smiled and knew it was true. She pointed out to the glittering ribbon of water ahead of them.
"We'll teach them how to swim in that stream."
"You can do the swimming lessons. I'll teach them shaak-riding."
"You will not!"
They laughed with each other as they had so long ago. It was only after silence fell that Anakin reached into his pocket, checked his comm, and tucked it away again.
He would be looking for word from Master Yoda. And there would still be nothing.
It was almost possible to imagine that the sun of Naboo banished all darkness. But not completely.
There had been no lead to follow when Ahsoka had left Coruscant. She knew that her determination to find Barriss had surprised Master Yoda and Master Windu both. They had finally professed to have failed Barriss Offee and all of the Jedi in their heavy war involvement of years gone past, but Ahsoka could not shake the feeling that she had failed Barriss more. To have not for a moment sensed it…
Besides. Ahsoka didn't tend to dwell on her guilt too much; it wasn't wise and it certainly wasn't the only reason she was seeking Barriss now. She had the faint sense that she could learn something more from this journey. If Barriss had known Darkness, perhaps she had known the elusive Sith.
And so she had followed the only lead she possibly could follow: she had journeyed to the Mirial system. She could only guess that Barriss shared the same deeply buried homesickness, the type that visited you only in dreams you could not remember, that she did.
From neighbouring Listehol, she'd not been hard to find. Amongst merchants there was talk of battleships – Republican and Separatist alike – coming under fire in these space passages and of military bases destroyed. Her friend had turned to the Dark Side and she was simply protecting her home-world from war. It was a strange concept to wrangle. The Dark Side had, until now, conjured for Ahsoka only images of vengeful Maul and power-hungry, richly-robed Dooku.
But Barriss Offee had been running her terrorist campaign against the war from a simple hut that barely protected her from the icy nighttime winds of Mirial's endless deserts.
"Barriss."
"Ahsoka."
Her friend had clearly sensed her before she arrived; she had her lightsabre in hand as she sat, meditating, on a small woven rug. Barriss's eyes were closed but Ahsoka could feel the demanding glare of a question in the Force.
"I came here to help you," Ahsoka told her.
Barriss opened her eyes, then, and cocked a brow.
"To help me stop the war?" she asked. "Or to help me find the Light?"
The second option was voiced with derision.
Ahsoka shook her head.
"Neither of those. I don't think I explained it right."
She took a deep breath and tried again.
"I want to understand you," she stated. "And I want to be with you."
There was a vulnerability then that Barriss could not hide. A glimpse into how lonely she had been, fighting this battle alone.
"I don't want to help you kill anyone," Ahsoka added hurriedly. "In fact, I want to avoid either of us killing anyone for a little while."
Barriss scowled but voiced no protest.
"Jedi are no longer compelled to go to war because of what you said, Barriss," Ahsoka prompted. "They listened to you."
Barriss shook her head and answered curtly.
"They listened to my violence. They never listen otherwise."
"There's been violence enough, Barriss," Ahsoka pleaded.
They waited in minutes of icy silence.
"I've not got enough food for two," Barriss declared eventually. "If you want dinner, you'll have to go find some."
A Grand Winter Ball: The Council of Neutral Systems Celebrates its Third Birthday in Style
In Sundari's captivating midwinter, dignitaries representing over four hundred star systems are gathering to celebrate the anniversary of their alliance. It comes at a time of great momentum for the neutrality movement, with the Council's membership higher than ever before.
Entertainment and celebrity journalist Dien Lam has prime position at the entrance to Sundari's royal palace.
Among the first to arrive were Senator for Naboo Padme Amidala and husband Anakin Skywalker, close friends of the hosting Duchess of Mandalore. Amidala never fails to stun with her bold and distinguished fashion choices and tonight, despite being well into the third trimester of her twin pregnancy, was no exception. Amidala has appeared this evening resplendent in an off-the-shoulder turquoise gown and golden headdress that redefine the possibilities of maternity fashion.
Crown Prince Korkaran Kryze has appeared with his parents in ducal finery and the military belt and boots of the Peace Corps. Royal commentators have suggested that this may be an indication of the Prince's impending inheritance not only of civil leadership as Duke of Mandalore, but the military role of Mand'alor. The decision, sadly, will not be formally made and announced until the Prince reaches the legal age of adulthood in more than four years' time – a devastating test of patience for keen onlookers.
More to come throughout the evening as distinguished guests continue to arrive.
Satine led her not-husband out into the centre of the ballroom floor – about three hundred people had greeted Obi Wan as her husband by this point in the evening and she had tired of correcting them – to commence, as demanded by tradition, the evening's dancing. It occurred to Satine as she did so that they would dance tonight in the public eye for the very first time.
It was not often, after all these years, that they got to experience a new precious first time with each other.
As the music began to play and they swept across the floor, Satine remembered those years of hiding. She remembered the Coruscant balls made tolerable only by the faint chance that she might catch a glimpse of Obi Wan, that they might exchange a brief greeting, touch hands as they reached for the canapes. They had made a great game of manoeuvring their dance partners so that they might end up dancing beside each other. She would dance with Tal Merrik and he would dance with whichever politician or politician's wife who had elbowed her way forward for a chance to partner the handsome Jedi, but their eyes would find each other and in this way they would dance together without touching.
The other couples were pouring onto the floor now, with the clip of heeled shoes and a buzz of excited chatter. Satine took the chance to speak to him.
"Do you remember-"
"Yes."
He always knew what she was thinking. Satine felt an enormous, swelling emotion inside of her.
"Do you know how much I love you?" she asked him.
In truth, she knew that he did. She told him every day. He knew her so deeply. He knew.
Obi Wan did not reprimand her the useless question. He brushed his thumb along the side of her hand where they clasped together. He had the most beautiful smile in the galaxy.
"Tell me again," he said.
Padme wagered that of the four hundred attendees, at least three hundred had commended her on the enormous size of her belly this evening. She and Anakin spent a brief obligatory period on the dancefloor before they walked – Padme's gait tending now towards a waddle, hardly fit for the glamorous occasion – back to their seats. She would enjoy the spectacle of Satine and Obi Wan dancing instead. They had eyes only for each other. They were a beautiful couple.
"If you want entertainment," Anakin suggested, "you should watch those two."
He gave a nod towards the Crown Prince and his Ba'vodu. Bo-Katan Kryze had deigned to appear unarmoured but wore peeping combat boots beneath her flowing skirt. They were evenly matched in height – when had Korkie grown so tall? – and unexpectedly excellent dancers. They romped across the floor at great pace, whirling between and around the sedately swaying couples. Korkie sensed the attention and directed a wink their way. There was the flashing of a camera-droid. Padme covertly lifted her aching feet onto a nearby chair.
"You're comfortable?" Anakin asked, laying a protective hand on hers.
Padme shrugged and grinned.
"About as comfortable as I can be, all things considered."
She reached for a pastry at the centre of the table and took a bite. Her stomach rumbled in protest and acid rose up her throat; there was barely any room in there, these days.
"I am ready to have these babies," Padme declared emphatically. "They're too big."
And behind the laughter there was a quiet nervousness between them.
I just have this horrible feeling that everything's going to go wrong when the babies come.
They were hurtling inevitably towards that day now, ready or not. Padme watched the dancers beneath the glass ceiling, beneath the glass dome, beneath the snow, beneath the stars. It was a fairytale image. She tried not to think of anything else.
Dex had lost count of the number of blackouts now. He'd never thought one of them would actually be real. From his local shelter, he listened to the voice of the Chancellor, broadcast across emergency radio frequencies the planet over.
"Coruscant is under siege," the voice declared. "The General Grievous's forces are gathered beyond the atmosphere and will invade imminently. This is a dark hour for Coruscant, the home of the Republic. The home of peace and democracy in the galaxy."
The home of money-laundering and road rage, Dex would have said. But the Chancellor could have it his way.
"This is not the meaningless war that the Jedi and Council of Neutral Systems have pretended it to be," the Chancellor went on. "Our enemy is no empty threat upon which we can turn our backs. Our enemy is a danger and a menace and they are close now. They are close to victory because there are too few planets courageous enough to stand against them."
There was a rumble like thunder above them. The entry of a large ship through the atmosphere.
"I will not concede defeat as the Jedi and Neutral Systems have conceded defeat," the voice uttered, with complete certainty and perhaps some fury. "I will not naively rely on the mercy of our enemy because I know that they have none. All clone troops of battle age stationed currently on Kamino are currently en route to Coruscant under my executive order. We will turn the full might of our army against this enemy. We will not surrender Coruscant. The battle will be long and bloody but the Republic will survive."
There was crashing and the noise of blaster fire now, distantly, through the radio-comm.
"People of Coruscant, my very office is under attack."
There were cries of despair in the shelter around Dex. The Chancellor was beloved by his people.
"I will not surrender!"
The Chancellor's voice had taken on a tone almost of madness now, as the sounds of battle drew ever closer.
"The Republic will survive!" he declared. "And if the Jedi do not protect us now, then they are traitors!"
The audio cut out. The stunned listeners were left with the word ringing in their eyes.
Traitors.
Spat with fury and hatred. Dex could only feel relieved that his best friend was no longer a Jedi.
The silence that followed the radio broadcast seemed to somehow echo inside the Jedi Temple.
"We have to act, Master," Mace stated, eventually. "We cannot allow the Republic to fall."
Yoda tapped his stick pensively against the floor.
"Fall, the Republic will not," he declared. "Sufficient, the clone reinforcements will be."
He shook his head and rubbed at his chin. Mace had never seen the Grand Master look so worried.
"Deliberate, this re-escalation of the war is," he went on. "Controls both sides of this war, our hidden Sith does."
"And Palpatine is their most powerful weapon," Mace concurred.
They paced in parallel.
"Unless…"
Mace faltered.
"Unless he is not their weapon at all. Unless he is truly…"
Yoda nodded in heavy understanding.
"Rescue him, we must," he decided eventually. "Prevent him from turning immediately against our Order, this will. The faith of the public, we must maintain. And an opportunity to understand him more deeply, this will grant us."
Mace nodded his curt agreement and they made for the hangar.
Aaaaaaaah! It is very genuinely Return of the Sith time now. We are so close to the end. I can't believe it.
I know we covered a lot of territory and a lot of emotions (sometimes clashing) in this chapter but I hope you enjoyed. It brought me great joy to write those little snippets of romance. I owe a thanks to Madeline Miller's Song of Achilles for the simple (and somehow so beautiful) line, "Tell me again."
There is a lifetime of writing packed in here, like the story of Barriss's complex fall from the Light. I hope these glimpses are thought-provoking rather than frustratingly curt. We'll see more of Barriss and Ahsoka next chapter.
I hope you enjoyed seeing Korkie grow up too. He is readier than he knows for the events to come.
Much love, as always, to all of you beautiful readers. I completely cannot believe there are people still reading this!
xx - S.