Author's Note: For Josie. I hope to update other stories sooner. Read and enjoy!


Chapter Four: Jacta Alea Est

As the capital city, of a powerful Empire, Galatia had the appearance of being pieced together throughout the Kingdom's long, hectic history. The oldest part of the city was deep in the center where the government and major businesses settled and the architecture was mainly remains from the Occupation and resembled what one would find on Alderaan. They jutted up from around the King's palace, making the heart of the city appear to be necropolis.

The buildings were tall and gray, mostly made of stonework with statues depicting mythological or historical figures from Alderaan's culture. A thin slow moving river cut through the city, forming a barrier between old Galatia and the new, more ethnic part of the city was the historical district, where gray work began to meld into the organic look Parcaens favored: short buildings made with white or brown stone with wide, open windows and flowing open-air gardens to allow warm breezes to cool the house.

New Galatia appeared to have built to specifically around the river because most of the major roads led to the banks. About two meters wide, with a steady current, the River of Light got its name from the riverbed where small black stones, dulled green by the water's tint, somehow seemed to gather to them every available ray of light- artificial and natural- and shine it back, making the water glisten like fine gold and, for Qui Gon Manasseh, turning his normal reflection into some surreal vision and caused him to duck away from the water.

He tried to avoid Anakin's gaze even though he felt on the back of his neck and continued down the stone path back towards the festivities.

The carnival had begun shortly after Anakin and him and began their walk from the palace. Although he claimed to have followed the Force, Qui Gon suspected Anakin had followed his nose towards this part of the city, where loud music and bright lights broke the warm night's serenity like an explosion. Thick, heavy percussions pounded in Qui Gon's ears, joined by sharp trumpets, low flutes and occasionally the strong voice of a woman singing in the native language Qui Gon barely remembered.

Anakin was eating something he had gotten somewhere that made Qui Gon sneeze just smelling it. Anakin seemed greatly amused by Qui Gon's discomfort and as if to show his delight, Anakin readjusted the small concoction (which appeared to be spicy chopped meat wrapped in a thin slice of bread) in his hand and took another bite. Thin trails of blood ooze from the creation's other end, over Anakin's hand and the Padawan laughed before licking it off.

Qui Gon was certain he was going to be sick.

"Oh come on, Manasseh!" Anakin admonished, wiping the rest of the residue off his hands by rubbing it on his robe. "We're observing local customs!"

"You said we were going to meet the people I'm suppose to protect out here." He countered, and then jumping away as the Force warned him of an approaching couple that steered to close to where he was standing.

"We are meeting them, Manny." Anakin returned, smiling. He leaned over near his ear and whispered. "You just need to learn how to look."
Skywalker tugged on his Padawan braid playfully before darting ahead of Qui Gon and disappearing into the crowd, clearly taunting Qui Gon to give chase.

But Qui Gon didn't want to play. He wanted desperately to pull his hood up, bow his head and return the quietness of the palace. Here, Qui Gon could not concentrate on focusing and immersing himself in the Force. There were too many distractions keeping him from achieving serenity. He felt his senses fraying by the odd assortments of faintly familiar sights, sounds and smells and longed for his Master.

He had never been anywhere this crowded and unruly without Briand. Had she been by here side instead of Anakin, Qui Gon knew the comfort he sought would have already been obtained. Briand Creed was herself a chaotic storm of emotion and action, but somewhere in that storm, Qui Gon could always find strength. Reaching out now, Qui Gon strained to sense his Master's presence, eager t o feel something of the affection he depended on.

Briand was upset, and hurt. The situation within the Throne Room had not gone well, and Briand felt threatened and uncertain of the new events. Qui Gon frowned as he reached deeper, feeling his Master tense at his prodding but allowing them. Briand was wary of the woman she had encountered in the Throne Room, the liaison Adame Jinn.

No...

Qui Gon stopped and shuttered. The name tasted wrong on his lips as if this was not the title he was supposed to be using. He thought back to the palace and the time before Obi Wan (again, his mind revolted at the sound) and his Padawan had arrived. He had sensed the woman Adame but had dismissed her, even though Adame had taken great strain to shield her presence from Briand but not Qui Gon. He hadn't thought this was odd: he had not yet known her intentions and the darkness that shrouded her presence had been dismissed as bitterness from a hard life. Qui Gon had assumed that the woman had merely nominal Jedi abilities and used to them to best maintain her privacy. Again, not a big deal: most people who could hid from the Jedi- due to the stigma Jedi had of being conjurers and mind-readers.

But there was something more.

There was something about this woman that stayed with Qui Gon long after he had left her presence. It was something deep and ever-flowing that connected her and him; both to each other and to the city and system around them. He felt suddenly like he was a part of the River of Life, and that he, and the rest of the Jedi were being pushed by the current to some end they could not see. He did not feel secure in this analogy as he would have if the Force would have guided them but rather Qui Gon felt overwhelmed.

It was not the Force that guided his actions here, that much he knew. There was something or someone else, which pushed and pulled every one around like pieces of a game. He could only trust that the Force was with him and the others, and that whatever end would come to them would find the Jedi prepared.

But there was little he could do now to help in the preparation. In fact, all Qui Gon could do short of abandoning Anakin and trying to make his way through Galatia unattended and alone was to give chase.

Sighing, Qui Gon tucked his braid behind his ear and followed Anakin.

Adame Jinn jerked the hair from her face as she walked Galatia's streets away from the Mari Nula celebrations and the palace. She walked till the large roads narrowed and darkened, and the buildings where neither welcoming nor hearty. She tugged on the corner of her cape, bringing over her frame in an attempt to make her feel protected but not from any outside foe. Nothing as pitiful as an attacker could hurt her like the scene in the Throne Room could. Desperate to quell the anger growing in her chest, she strained to focus on the sound of her boots clicking against the stone roads. She knew it was would be pointless to turn to the Force for comfort.

The Force had long since abandoned her.

And despite herself, Adame shut her eyes against the tears that came unbidden anyways. In her heart she felt the total despair that only Count Dooku could chase away. Inwardly, she cursed herself for her cowardice but she couldn't help it. It was like Dooku had said; she was marred now, imperfect and unable to become Jedi. The Jedi and the Force would no longer aid her as they had done for her a child.

But how she longed for that comfort again. She longed for the security and the rightness that came with each facet of the Jedi life. She missed the Temple on Coruscant that had been her home, and her Master. She missed the various faces of friends and the small every day nuances of her life. She felt her heart twist in her chest as she thought of her father and wrapping one arm over her stomach she thought of her wound.

Her father's last gift.

Thinking back, she could still recall the exact moment of his (and in so many ways) her death. She had two sets of memories from that time: one her own, and the other, given to her by the Force for some cruel reason she couldn't understand.

She felt the roughness of the carpet under her fingertips as she kneeled in the center of Mace Windu's quarters and tried not to be afraid. Adame was a favorite of the Jedi Master's, and the Padawan Learner of Mace's old apprentice, an Umbaran named Zel Bastet. This allowed Windu and Adame the opportunity to train together many times, especially in combat. But this meeting had not for training purposes, only for meditation.

Adame was kneeling; legs tucked under her body, hair down over her shoulders, heavy outer rob discarded somewhere nearby and lightsaber resting docile in her lap. It was the prefect stance of complete surrender and trust. Adame let her hands hang by her side, brushing the carpet and tried to sooth her troubled mind by focusing only on the Master's deep voice.

"There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no death. There is only the Force."

Even as Mace spoke the words, Adame felt a stab of guilt. There was emotion in her, deep powerful emotion that she wanted desperately to deny. She was a fiery person; a passionate one and Adame had always felt secretly alienated because of this. Whereas her father viewed his passion as an asset, Adame viewed hers as a handicap. One she struggled with all her life. And now, one that was compromising her mission. Another wave of guilt came over her as she remembered her reason for being there.

Her Master had sent her home. Bastet had sent Adame back to the Coruscant Temple because of the Padawan's inability to concentrate on the mission at hand. Adame had been troubled, and preoccupied with some oppressing force that neither Master nor student could fully understand. Adame felt humiliated and angered by this. How could she ever hope to become Jedi if she could not master herself?

Her father had told her many times that once she stopped fighting it, the Force would find a way to use her passion but Adame could not bring herself to agree with that. Instead, she wanted to be like Mace or Zel, whose emotions were kept firmly under control and whom the Council never viewed as mavericks.

Her father...

Adame felt the surge around her suddenly, at the invocation of her father's presence. She thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye even though they were closed and despite herself, Adame turned her head to view it.

It was the flash of red, followed by a snap as some machine powered down. Her mind told her it was an energy wall snapping shut, as the Force told her to move now if she wanted to catch him in time.

Adame became aware of her muscles moving but she was not moving. She felt as if she were in some dream-state, wavering in and out of consciousness. In one realm, she was still sitting in Mace's parlor, hearing the Jedi Master recite the Jedi Code. But just as real was the sensation of movement, action...

Fighting.

Yes, she thought, that word tasted right and the idea gave credence and understanding to the sensations. She could hear the crackling of lightsabers as they clashed against each other, could smell the ozone in the air, and feel in her hands the warm saber hilt, gripped firmly in her hands. She was holding so tight that her knuckles ached and the hilt was slippery from her sweat.

And yet, Adame was also aware of her saber's weight in her lap, and could still feel the roughness of the fabric underneath her fingers. She could hear Mace's warm voice wash over her, and feel the nearness of his presence. But she also knew the Jedi Master had stopped pacing and now stood behind her, watching her intently. He too seemed to feel the heaviness of the Force in the room, and the dreamscape as it merged in and around Adame's body.

The fighting had stopped and now, again, Adame was on her knees: legs tucked under her body, saber resting in her lap, and breathing desperately trying to be stilled. She thoughts traveled briefly to her Padawan: to Obi Wan who stood trapped a few screens behind her. The boy was nervous, anxious to return to his Master's side; eager to join in the fight against this enemy...this Dark Lord...

Adame felt her mind recoil but could not pull away from the vision. Even as she felt these sensations, thought these thoughts and attempted to quell them: she knew they were not hers. Her body was not aching from age and weariness. She tried to flex her fingers and even though she knew her arms were at her side; her fingers traced the grooves of her father's lightsaber.

Her father. Now it made sense.

She felt him understand this too, and her body relaxed at the same time his did. Somehow Adame's control returned to her and she inhaled deeply, pushing away all her guilt and troubles to find peace. From his place, Qui Gon Jinn also found serenity and smiled a quiet, private smile not meant for anyone but his daughter. Adame became aware of his thoughts in that moment, of the truth of the situation. She felt Naboo swell around her, felt as the Force stretched out and showed her the happenings.

She could feel the Gungans marching in the plains, and the child Queen's grim determination as Amidala made her way through the palace with her handful of guards. Adame could feel the child she had only heard of from Mace. This slave that her father had claimed was the Chosen One.

And it felt right. Now, in prefect communion with Qui Gon, Adame understood his beliefs: felt as strongly as he did in the rightness of it. She felt the Jedi Master that was her father react to this, and a deep swell of emotion overcame: an all encompassing sort of love for her that had been denied her because of the Jedi rules and codes.

Adame felt tears begin to sting her eyes. Even though, Adame had known Qui Gon was her father, and even though they had often been together, neither Jinn had ever truly acknowledged the kinship- at least not verbally. There was tenderness between them but it was muted, and hidden like something wrong. It had been denied them both for so long and now, finally, it seemed that the Force had granted them this small reverie to feel whatever they wished for one another.

Using the Force, Adame strained to touch her father: to return the gentleness she felt coming from him like a wave. But just as she felt him react the snap of the energy wall coming down rang in her ears and her father was up and at arms again. Her body tensed suddenly, realizing what was happening and Adame opened her mouth to warn him.

Then, white-hot pain surged through her body, filling her senses with bright light that clouded out every other thing. She was only vaguely aware of Obi Wan screaming, and again realized that it was not Obi Wan but Mace crying out to her as she fell backwards, and plunged into darkness.

She awoke later in the medical quarters of the Temple, weak and frail; with a lightsaber wound to the gut from a battle she had not fought, and Qui Gon had not won.

Adame shuttered and stopped walking. She was crying now, and instead of moving forward, she collapsed against building's side, pressing her cheek against the rough-hewn stone. All around the Force surged and pulsed as if she were in the middle of some great river, but she dared not reach out and seek its comfort. The Force was cruel, as cruel as any of her people's gods and warring Angels. It took and ravaged and gave no mind to the frailty of its followers. She shut her eyes, closing her mind to the Force and its hollow promises. In the next beat, she longed for Dooku.

"There's a story about women like you." The voice from the darkness was fair and paced, seasoned like a King's or a General's with just as much hard wisdom as either one would possess to make the voice sad. "The holy men say it's tears from wounded women that gave us the River of Light." The voice grew stronger now as he neared her. Soft, arms wrapped around Adame's waist and pulled her to him. "And in the old days, people of my caste would beg those of yours for one teardrop. They knew an Elite's sorrow could cure any disease."

Adame smiled at the foolishness and folded her hands over the man's arms. She turned, nuzzling his neck with her lips and nipping at him playfully. "In those days, you would have been killed for approaching me."

"And our child would have been drowned in the River we hold so dear." Zane told her, he laughed slightly at the foolishness of the past. "But we have changed that. Little by little, we are making it better." There was a small pause, as Zane seemed to debate on what to say next. "I saw him today in the marketplace, leading the Jedi to the Palace. Does he know? Anything about me, about us?"

Adame laughed, teasingly. "So certain he's yours?"

"Of course, no one could possibly love him as much as I do so he's mine. No matter what blood might say, he is my son- born and strengthened by the love I have for you."

"You're such a dreamer, Zane."

"One needs to dream. It's the only way to change the world."

Adame turned now, facing him and regarding the boy before her. Even though they were of a similar age, and had grown up knowing each other after a fashion, Adame would always consider him a boy. There was youthfulness in his features, a freshness and innocence that belied his harsh life and reality. Dark skin, the color of clay, glistened gently from under the bone white linens Zane favored. He had been born into a higher caste, to a family of Judges who were sworn to the Boru family. In Parcaen society, everyone was sworn to one of the five Elite families, with them sworn into the service of the King. This meant nothing really except that the taxes paid were given to the Elite who used the funds as they saw fit.

But there had been certain factors that had meant something. Such as the rules of separation that stated an Elite's daughter could not intermingle with sons of the lower classes. This had of course been the problem faced by Zane and Adame when they had first met on wind-swept coasts of Parcae's water world Nereid. Zane had been studying the tribal law of Nereid's indigenous peoples and Adame had accompanied her Master, Qui Gon and Obi Wan on a type of vacation. Adame was nine and Zane was twelve and they had spent every free moment together they could. It had been a rushed affair, true love ordained by the stars themselves, or so the kids believed. They had shared their first kiss among the coral beaches and springs on Nereid's southern shores.

Then, Qui Gon discovered it and, Jedi training notwithstanding, his Elite blood seemed to take over and he summarily forbade the children access to each other. Adame was sent away, and Zane was chastised. He would later claim it was his first encounter with the cruelty of the caste system, and a catalyst that made him want to change it. He adopted the clothing and ways of the lowest caste, the Untouchables, and became an orator. He united some anti-monarchical groups, with work unions and helots of the lower classes. They joined with independence movements on various scattered through the Empire's vast reach and together all these factions became a network of change. Thus the Mal-Batz was formed.

In the beginning the Mal-Batz had been something powerful and unique in its approach, but the Crown, which had been in power for four thousand years, was not about to allow them room. They sent the armies where they could, and when more delicate work was needed, the Jedi were sent. It was easy in the old days to bring in the Jedi and call the Mal-Batz terrorists and usurpers. A few years before Naboo, Qui Gon Jinn had headed a mission with Obi Wan against them, and surely this grand and true Jedi would not ascribe himself to anything insincere.

Adame shuttered. It unnerved her that her father, famous for his compassion, could be so cold-hearted to his own people but she could not deny what she knew. He and Obi Wan had tried to destroy the Mal-Batz, Dooku had told her as much. It meant he had tried to kill Zane because Qui Gon sought to protect the status quo. It made her sick to think this.

But it wasn't her father's fault, she reasoned. It was the Jedi's and the sooner their hypocrisy was revealed the sooner they could heal it.

And then maybe, she could return.

She became aware of Zane's brown eyes staring at her. Brown eyes were a rarity on Parcae and considered a sign of beauty. She had been to many systems were these were common traits, and where Zane would have looked as non-descript and unimportant as the faceless others she had encountered. But here, Zane was lovely, and kind and his nearness to her could almost take away the pain she lived in.

She was going to regret hurting him. "The Jedi will be an issue." She told him, pulling away and putting distance between them. "Count Dooku and I were not ready for the Council to bring in Obi Wan. It's of no matter though." She turned and nodded. "We'll deal with the Jedi one at a time. It's easier to discredit them that way."

Zane gave her a calm, measuring look that made her shift in her place. "I got a better idea." He told her as he pulled out a small metal cylinder that he held in one hand. "Let's force their hand."

"What's that?" Adame whispered. The Force had begun to surge around her, screaming a warning. Instinctively, her hand fell to her side. If he pressed the button Adame didn't see it. There was a loud rumble in the distance, somewhere in the midst of the celebration. She was thrown back from the sheer size of the Force disturbance, and Adame became aware of pain and horror moments after they registered in her senses. She looked up to the city in the distance and saw thick plumes of black smoke waft through the buildings, towards the heavens. She turned and stared at Zane in disbelief. "What have you done?" She demanded, pulling her lightsaber. "You're supposed to help Parcae!"

"I'm am helping them!" Zane countered savagely. "I'm giving them hope!"

Adame backed away slowly, her first instincts screaming to render aid to those who would be caught in the disaster. "They'll label you a terrorist." She warned.

"That's all I ever was to your class." He told her, as he turned to disappear into the shadows. "And you will be forever an Elite. Let us then live up to our titles. Do your duty and leave me to mine."