Dreams of Me

by Vergence

Where, four years after the emergence of Darth Vader, we learn of a Mace Windu's outcast son, his powers of hindsight and healing, and the whim of the Force that ties him to Obi Wan Kenobi, Master Yoda, and one Anakin Skywalker. Work in Progress.

Vergence No. 2

Part I

One would never have thought that the chicly imperious building of 500 Republica would be the nexus that fueled the imminent apocalypse between the Sith, purveyors of corruption and discord, and Jedi – paladins of untold peace and justice in a crumbling civilization. True, for nearly the past two decades, a spiral of dark energy had reverberated throughout its many corridors and walkways; however, such was the product of the times. Darkness was everywhere in the once prominent capital of Coruscant, a product of the war that originally began as a simple trade dispute between the Republic and insurgent Separatists, but now sadly involved everyone ranging from corrupt politicians to 'aggressive negotiators.' Times were indeed changing, and this change was not bringing forth hope or prosperity, it was brandishing tyranny, despair, and the near extinction of a once noble race of warriors.

An exotic dance of green, purple, and red lightsaber light reverberated throughout the topmost suite of the elegant complex that served as a home, office, and storage facility to the most elite of the elite. What had once been the penthouse of the stoic Chancellor Palpatine, head of the Galactic Senate for the Republic but now exposed Sith Lord, was now a battlefield between he and Jedi Masters Mace Windu, Kit Fisto, and Agen Kolar, who lunged at him twirling their beamswords in a lethal combination of arcs and thrusts. Their was an extremely obvious different between the two oppositions fighting techniques. The selfless Jedi, whose mantra in life was to serve the all-knowing and omnipotent presence of what they knew as the Force, a source of power allowing them the gifts of agility, telekinesis, and foresight among other things, possessed self-control and defensiveness in their calculated advances and ripostes. The Sith, however, the direct antithesis of the Jedi, differed in their fighting styles only by imploring their limitless rage, maliciousness, and overconfidence into their techniques. Yes, they too had knowledge of the Force, yet, unlike the purity of the Jedi, it was twisted in the bowels of evil and amplified by their disregard for life.

Therefore, it did not come as a surprise to Mace when, after the fall of both Fisto and Koth, that Palpatine, or more appropriately, Darth Sidious projected pure ferocity in the form of lightning from his fingertips – aiming the malignant electricity directly at the lone master. The offensive smell that protrudes when something burns wafted throughout the room as the red carpet, wall-tapestries, and grandiose remnants of what was once a desk became singed by the blue energy – narrowly missing Mace who sidestepped each stream of light. It was through the Force that both Sidious and Windu sensed the presence of another being, more powerful than either of the two, running into the fray. Anakin Skywalker – the Chosen One; the Jedi Knight whose prophecy mandated that he would bring balance to the force…although no one exactly knew what that meant. Anakin Skywalker – a soul caught in the entanglement between his loyalties to the Jedi Council, who had made it abundantly clear that they did not trust him, and his loyalties to the manipulative Chancellor who had befriended him from a young age. A dictator he may have molded himself into, but a friend he still was, and Anakin possessed a fierce sense of camaraderie, at least to those who returned it.

So it was by the hands of both Darth Sidious and Anakin Skywalker, who would be henceforth known as the tyrant Darth Vader, that Mace Windu met his untimely demise, slashed, burned, and crippled by the seductive dark side of the Force. And as his damaged form found itself propelled from the skyscraper that was 500 Republica, millions of light-years away Sapho-Lan awoke from his dream of clashing lightsabers with a sharp pain in his chest.

Part II

Years after it even happened, Sapho-Lan wanders how, for the better part of twenty years, he had not known of his connection with the Force. Perhaps his ignorance had been born from his lack of ever once visiting the Republic and never having the luxury of being automatically tested for Jedi-like qualities. Or perhaps, he contributed his abnormal abilities to some queer and exotic plant or herb he always found himself having a liking to – after all, there where many species of flora on the lush third moon of Havoc III that caused the creation of unique capabilities when fused with the midi-chlorians of the human person. But, in all rationality, in the very depths of his subconscious, he had felt it. While it was true that he had never shown any sign of telekinesis or the even rarer Jedi trick of mind-manipulation, he had always been fast and agile with the ability to sense the slightest disturbance nearby – and he had always been able to heal. He had discovered at a young age that with the faintest of touch and bending of his will, that he could simply lay his hands upon the most gargantuan of wounds, and it would acquiesce to his touch, mending itself with the formation of new flesh and life.

But in reality, Sapho-Lan was thankful that he was born in the stillness of the Outer Rim where he was immune to the Jedi-selection test. For if he had been born in the Republic, would he not have fell to the same fate as the thousands of other Jedi – victim to the mechanical hands of their supposed Chosen One: Darth Vader who was once a champion only to be intoxicated with power? Would he not be a slave to the authoritative rules of the Galactic Empire built by the treacherous Sidious – sacrificing personal liberties with the promise of not being executed? Even in hindsight, he cannot say.

But wise people do not dwell on the past. As fate would have it, Sapho-Lan is not of the Republic, but the product of the third moon of Havoc III: Leros. He does not know much of his origin for he is only an orphan – all he has is his name and his uncanny abilities. From that, he has molded his life as a rogue healer where, in the unrest of the Outer Rim, his services will never go unneeded.

Part III

It had unquestionably not been the first time Sapho-Lan had awoken from the blinding vision of lightsaber scorching flesh, but it had certainly been the most powerful. Thin trickles of sweat maneuvered their way down the brown curvature of his collarbone as he awoke anxiously waiting for his heart to return to its natural slow rhythm. "This has got to stop," he whispered in a failed attempt to soothe himself, but living with the nightmares for nearly the past three years taught him that all things, although individuals pray they do, do not come to an end quickly.

Lan reached for a nearby canister of water as he slowly lifted himself from the uncomfortable wet marsh beneath him, stepping out from a poorly put together tent into the humid nighttime of the planet Degobah. A jungle of corrosive toxins, ensnaring plant species, and bantha-sized insects, Degobah, in all its beauty, was undoubtedly twice as lethal as the most notorious of other Outer Rim terrains. Whether one found themselves siphoned into acidic bogs or overpowered by hidden steam fissures, to inhabit this world was to doom oneself to a lifetime of caution. Not only did the air stink of a twisted combination of sulfur and methane, but the venomous tongues of nearby fauna also poisoned the only available water source. Had it not been for the desperate call he received after a rather traumatic incident involving an outbreak of descolada, Sapho-Lan would never have sat foot on the tainted world; however, it was not in his nature to refuse help to those in need, and although the spice miners who haphazardly scoured this planet in search of rare herbs sealed their own fate by doing so, he nevertheless offered his services.

The raspy dryness of a nearby cough snapped Sapho out his bleak reverie, allowing his attention to waft to the emergency medicamp he had set up on the only dry patch of land. There, with the help of a small team of specially instructed medidroids, he had overcome a blight of oozing pustules and mossy rashes of gangrene among other inflammatory bouts. The descolada, if not caught in the crux of its development, was a ruthless consumer of human flesh – literally devouring the skin from the inside of its host in the mere span of a forty-eight hour period. The ever-efficient anesthetic bacta was useless against the disease that adapted to the drug's painkilling properties more than a millennium ago; indeed, it was the virus' adaptive attribute that led to every possible cure being dismissed in only a matter of time. But alas, the descolada was no match for the alleviating tendencies of one Sapho-Lan, and with the faintest exertion of his will, he reduced every boil, soothed each inflammation, and returned the will to live to those who previously had none.

And now, except for the occasional sneeze or cough, all was as it should be: healed. And for the first time since he had arrived, Degobah did not appear to be as malignant as it first seemed. In fact, if one looked past the thick, unnaturally colored gases and snarling weeds, it was really quite beautiful. And had it not been for the wizen eyes Sapho could sense boring into the rear of his head from the distant woods, he would have assumed it was actually quite safe.

"Can I help you with something?" Lan's voice wasn't harsh, but it was firm enough to let any passersby understand that he was aware of their presence – and too tired for games. Except for the slight rustle of the bushes, there was no audible reply and Lan, who had always been one susceptible to curiosity, crept into the greenery. With an annoying warmth, his boot sunk into the marsh as he searched for his spectator, or more appropriately, what was probably his imagination playing untoward tricks on him. Why he was drawn to the being, he did not know, but as a blur of green flashed between trees in the distance he abandoned all rational thought and lunged through the chaos of the forest – leaping over rotting logs and sidestepping pools of scolding steam, chasing the creature that appeared to perform acrobatics instead of simply running. In one swift second it was left, leaping from tree trunk to tree trunk in a haze of green. The next, it was swirling in a tornado of brown cloak propelling itself through another bog – somersaulting from rock to log to the head of some reptilian swamp-dweller to land. And Lan followed, zigzagging through the attempted grasp of thorned ivies and deviled wasps – sensing, before he even got to it, that his next step would send him into a freefalling chasm. His foot clouted the ground beneath him and before the earth split in two he jumped to find himself surprisingly dangling from the topmost part of a nearby tree.

"Hmmm," came a hoarse voice deeper into the woods than he wanted to go. "Good. Good. Keen your senses are."

I've followed a lunatic Sapho-Lan thought with a sigh, and he revved his body back and forth until he was somersaulting across the full length of the marsh, landing with a self-taught élan. He found himself standing in what had to be the thickest grove of trees on Degobah – vines and tree cavities uniting to form a spiracle tower among the earth and mud of the surrounding swamp. It was undeniably the most primitive dwelling he had seen in his short lifespan of twenty years – complete with tiki depicting various alien races, the remnants of an ancient starfighter, and other diverse knickknacks of a time long past. A calm serenity enveloped the area, and it reverberated waves of stillness and wisdom that appeared to be older than the planet itself; however, even that presence of euphoria did not overwhelm the supreme nexus of power that Lan could literally feel simultaneously undoing and rebuilding him, filling him with a brio that made him feel as if no border or boundary could contain him as a might. It was unity in its most unconcentrated state, and it was perfect.

"How feel you?" Sapho had completely forgotten about the coarse voice from earlier, and he spun around allowing his gaze to rest upon the green leather skin of what he assumed to be a Degobah local. Small in stature, the creature circled him, studying him with emerald eyes and a furrowed brow – his topaz cloak bristling in a faint breeze that seemed to only revolve around him. It seemed highly improbable that this being, whose walk was that of the elderly, could be the blur that had, mere seconds ago, eluded him with ease. But at a young age Sapho had learned that appearances can be deceiving, and as the creature continued to surround him slowly tapping a small walking cane along the sogginess of its wetland, he could sense that there was much more to the being than its exterior.

"Conflicted," Lan finally responded not knowing why he felt so compelled to remain where he was. "Overwhelmed," he added arching an eyebrow, "intrigued, tired, and slightly annoyed."

"Ha!" With no trace of tact, the creature laughed at him. "A well of confusion you are."

"Well I never was one for simplicity," Lan shrugged indifferently, and he eyed the being with the same fervent attention he was receiving in return. "Who are you?" That was the polite question his mouth questioned although his mind had considered something far more untoward with less discretion.

The creature squinted his eyes at him as if maneuvering his own mind through the neural network of Lan's brain. "Strange things dreams," it said. "Reveal to us the secrets of the galaxy they do."

Sapho sighed subtly rolling his eyes. This he thought, is going nowhere.

"Tell us of our past and our future they do."

Yes, this is all very nice. He began going over a list of possible ways to politely extricate himself.

"Tell us they ways of the Jedi they do."

I never should have….Jedi!

Which is when Sapho-Lan could have literally clouted himself squarely in the chest. That signature brown cloak, renowned philosophical banter, small green build but gargantuan echo of power and speed – "Yoda?" Surely not, the Jedi had been exterminated years ago – mandated by the Emperor of the former Republic himself: Sidious – carried out by the clone army of the Empire and Darth Vader himself.

"A ghost it would appear you have seen," the Jedi Master spoke, curving the crinkles of his lips into the thin shadow of a smile.

"I – don't know what to say. You're supposed to be dead…the Emperor –"

Yoda's sly grin quickly melted. "So easy to kill I am not. So easy to destroy the entirety of the Jedi Order is not."

"But surely you are the last of the Jedi." If not, why had they not fought to reform the Republic and bring down the tyranny of the Empire and its Sith Lords? Fooled no one was when Chancellor Palpatine had spoken of the Jedi's supposed 'deception' to the Republic – attempting to overthrow the Senate in a classic coup. Yes, he may have persuaded the bureaucrats whose vote he had bought for many years, however the public themselves were resistant to the simple idea that the selfless Jedi could have such a radical idea. Sapho had not been fooled one bit; it was he after all who dreamed of the Jedi Knight's destruction, and after three years, he knew every detail of what had happened in 500 Republica.

"Another there is, but enough to battle the Empire we are not," Yoda responded as if reading his thoughts, which, in all actuality, he may done.

"Well I would recommend another army," Lan said grimly, "but we all know how things turned out last time."

He instantly regretted his choice of words as the corners of Yoda's eyebrows flared, but surprisingly, the master did not scold him – he simply chuckled. "Remind me well of a former Jedi, you do."

"Who?" His mind quickly considered the possibility of legendary masters whose reputation still thrived beyond even their own existence – Adi Gallia, Yaddle, Plo Koon – and he smiled.

"Skywalker."

Lan's grin went away even faster than it had come. So much for that all-knowing Jedi wisdom he had heard of. "You cannot be serious?"

Yoda gripped his cane firmly in the clawed nails that were his fingers, pointing it abruptly at the robustness of Lan's chest. "Know of the living Force I do, and, like Skywalker, it's power I sense in you."

Obviously you sense homicidal tendencies in me too Sapho found himself thinking indignantly before he finally processed what Yoda had just said. "The Force?"

"Strong it is in you."

He waved this off. "I haven't any knowledge of it."

"Knowledge no," Yoda countered. "Potential yes. Watched you earlier, I did. Healing, a trade of the Jedi has always been."

"Healing is my gift –"

"A gift of the Force."

"Then why is it my only gift? Shouldn't the Force allow me to do more?"

"Have you not the senses and reflexes all Jedi are born with?" Yoda released a prolonged sigh. "Cater to those who have not learned its ways, the Force does not. Only with the teachings of its will, can one achieve the extremities of its power. Yet, you heal – why, you ask. It is your passion to do so and the force complies although unknown of it, you are."

Sapho-Lan had no answer and silence washed over them like a tide. Once again, flashes of green, purple, and red lightsabers clashing against one another pierced the interior of his mind. Had it been the Force haunting him all this time?

"Strange things dreams," Yoda repeated again. "Reveal to us the secrets of the galaxy they do – but only in time."

Great – more cryptic. Lan fingered-combed his hair giving Yoda his most insincere, yet intrigued expression. Someone should really tell him it was rude to peruse the subconscious of others – Master Jedi or not.

"These visions of yours," Yoda prodded gently, "of actual happenings they are – the fall of the Jedi…the betrayal of one of our own…the destruction of the Republic."

"Yes," Sapho whispered. He could literally hear the battle waging in the back of his mind – the searing of alien flesh by a crimson blade, the outbursts of lightning, the cackles of Palpatine.

"You're the chosen one, Anakin" Mace had said as he deflected the wicked lightning of the Sith Lord Palpatine. "Take him. It's your destiny."

"Help me!" Palpatine cried in mock turmoil. "Anakin –! Please, Anaaahhh –"

"Wait –" Skywalker had replied. "Don't kill him – you just can't kill him, Master –. I need him alive! I need him to save Padme!"

But Mace would persist, easing his lightsaber closer and closer to the cusp of Sidious' sternum, and Anakin, in a frenzy, would sever his arm with the swiftest motion of his beamsword allowing Palpatine to overthrow him with lightning, sending him soaring through the high elevation of Coruscant. And, never failing, at that exact moment and time, as if that very lightning hit Sapho instead of Mace himself, he would jerk awake with the most unfathomable of pain attacking his chest. But why?

"What does it mean?" Lan asked Yoda whose almond-shaped eyes were closed deep in thought – or was that meditation. In all likelihood it was probably more perusing.

When he finally spoke stroking the grayness of his stubble, his voice was tainted with subtle determination and interest. "Revealed, the secrets of the unifying Force are easily not. In order to understand its mysteries, a Jedi you must train as."

Lan blinked. He blinked again…and again…and again until his eyes screamed in protest with dryness. Years ago, when the Republic still existed and the Jedi were nothing but the personification of nobility, he would have accepted the proposition in a matter of nanoseconds; however, now, in this uncertain age of corruption and Sith tyranny, was the wisdom of the Force really worth the possibility of persecution from the Empire? Possibly not. But was it worth a greater sense of self and inner peace free from oppressive memories of a time past? Of course.

"Teach me," The words had barely escaped the nervous confines of Sapho-Lan's lips before a thin cylinder of sleek titanium alloy propelled itself from what seemed like nowhere into the shaking grip of his hand – automatically igniting in a hot, but flamboyant, tower of violet energy.

"Lesson one," Yoda spoke as the sound of a wooden cane sinking into the marsh below caused Lan to look up. "The old way of the Jedi is not the only way of the Force." And in a flash of luminescent light green, Yoda was upon him.

Part IV

Rationality. Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had always possessed the attribute in a superfluous amount, although, he himself would never admit it – such arrogance was not the way of the Jedi. Yet, in a great sense of irony, he thought of himself as anything but lucid as the disorderly transport shuttle he currently occupied started its descent into the sphere of vapor and jungle that was Degaboh. It was with great reluctance that he left the solitude of Tatootine, and had his former master Yoda not contacted him through the link that was the unifying Force, he probably would have never done so.

Forced into exile after the emergence of the Empire, Obi-Wan had spent the greater part of four years bathing in the waterfall that was the living Force as Yoda had instructed prior to their separation, and as he had done himself. Such was the magnitude of its power, that the two masters could drive the innermost workings of their subconscious to the other with only the faintest of exertion – no matter the extensive span of light-years that formed a gap between them. Strangely however, Yoda had been conspicuously absent this past year, and it was not until his voice echoed into the well of Obi-Wan's mind as he was meditating, did he know why.

"Enigmatic, the ways of the Force," Yoda had said in his trademark voice of awe and puzzlement; as usual, he started their conversation with some random maxim concerning life and the powers that influence it.

"Master?" Kenobi's response was one of relief. In these uncertain times, he did not think it wise for the last of the Jedi to risk the loss of contact.

"Worried you, over my absence young one?"

"Concerned Master."

"Time spent well, it was. It is I who have this time encountered a vergence in the Force."

A queasy knot began to tie itself in Obi-Wan's ribs. "No disrespect intended Master Yoda, but need I remind you of our last vergence?"

Obi-Wan had the distinct expression Yoda was pointing his walking cane deep into the outreach of space towards Tatooine when he had responded. "Dwell on the past a Jedi does not. Was it not Qui-Gon himself who said be mindful of the future but not at the expense of the moment?" Even after all these years, he still had the unknown capacity to make someone feel very small indeed.

"I understand Master." A brief pause reverberated throughout the channel of the Force. "Your vergence –"

"Remind me of your Padawan learner he does."

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed in vexation. "Is that necessarily a good thing Master?"

"Another suggestion you have to restore the Jedi Order? Await your wisdom, I do."

"Anakin's children-"

"To late it may be when they learn the ways of the Force," Yoda had gently rebuked.

"But surely someone who so closely resembles Anakin –"

"Resemble him only in the strength of the Force, Master Kenobi. More like his father elsewhere."

"His father?"

"And old acquaintance of ours, he is."

Yoda knew his former council member well enough to know that he was pacing the length of his Tatooine residence in frustration by now. "Master Yoda, I was never good at guessing games."

"Perhaps a hint?" Yoda had pushed, and Obi-Wan was positive he had caught Yoda in the midst of one of his rare moments of mild mirth.

"Master, please."

"Very well. The son of fallen Master Windu, he is."

No Jedi reflex could have prepared Obi-Wan for what he heard, and he nearly toppled over in disbelief. Surely not Master Windu whose sole existence had been based upon upholding the traditions of the Jedi Order. He, more than anyone, would have known that attachment – or more specifically, love – was forbidden to the Jedi; although, apparently, no one had told Anakin either. "But…how –" Not for the first time that day Kenobi was at a loss for words.

"Young, my former Padawan was during his time deep into the Outer Rim of Havoc III – a dispute between neighboring worlds I recall. Stolen young Windu's heart was by a local – allowed lust to overcome the wisdom of the Force, he did; a child he created."

"The mother?"

"Taken in childbirth," Yoda had spoken somberly, and he felt every bit of the nearly nine hundred years that he was.

Taken in childbirth Obi-Wan had repeated in his head. Like Padme.

"Revealed his actions to the Jedi Council Master Windu did."

"And yet he wasn't expelled from the Order Master. I have known the Council to be less lenient on more trivial offenses."

"Dark times were approaching Obi-Wan – sensed it we all did. A great warrior Master Windu was – his services we needed; afford to lose him we could not."

"And the child?"

"Chose the Force over his own blood my young friend did. A symbol of his failure to the Force he saw the child as – bear to see him in the temple he could not although the Force he sensed strongly in young Sapho-Lan."

Sapho-Lan. Kenobi had tossed the word back-and-forth in his mind and weighed it on the tip of his tongue. He sounds reasonable enough.

"Foolish we all were to think we could ignore the will of the living Force," Yoda had said before releasing a sharp sigh. "Returned him to our fold, it has."

"And how has Sapho-Lan taken this information Master?"

It was awhile before Yoda spoke. "Told him of his past I have not. Ignorant he must remain, lest pain and hate sway him to the dark side."

Oh not this again, Obi-Wan cried internally. "Master I have learned my lesson about keeping secrets."

"Keep it we must until the Force determines the time of its revelation," Yoda chided.

"I failed Anakin by doing so."

"Uncertain the future of Young Skywalker remains. A powerful ally we have acquired in Sapho-Lan. A powerful ally we have in the Force. Together we may undo what Sidious has undone."

"What will you have me do Master Yoda?"

"Taught Sapho-Lan the warrior ways of the Jedi I have, but much to learn he still has. Take him as your Padawan learner you must."

Which is how Obi-Wan Kenobi – former member of the Jedi Council, general of the Grand Army of the Republic, and master to the prophesized Chosen One – found himself lurking among the overgrown shrubbery of Degobah watching the last of a race sparring in an epic battle of purple and green lightsabers; and what a sight it was. They were two lithe whirlwinds of destruction, parrying, riposting, and advancing on one another in the midst of lethal somersaults, jumps, and vaults. Yoda withheld none of his might as he lunged at Sapho swiping at his lower legs before propelling himself over the entirety of his rival's body only to recoil in a completely opposite direction. But Sapho would follow in a twirling frenzy of acrobatic momentum warding off each attempted blow only to return quadruple the amount in a random combination of thrusts and slashes.

Obi-Wan had only seen one other human move as fast as Lan, but even he, Anakin Skywalker, didn't have the sheer gymnastic quality of what was obviously Yoda's personalized form of Ataro – a Lightsaber technique perfected by the oldest of all Masters who, until now, was the only Jedi ever to achieve its three hundred and sixty degree turns, midair inverse flips, and ability to ricochet the entirety of the body from one plane to the next. However, in only a standard year, Sapho-Lan had mastered it with a delicacy that made it appear as if every subtle twist and turn had been calculated and executed not by a person, but a machine. And all this, he did with mere interest. Undeniably, he was a vessel of the Force.

"Enough." With a vibrating hum, the forest-green blaze of Yoda's lightsaber died and the waves of the Force reverberating from him followed suit. "Well done young one – well done indeed."

"Hmmm," Sapho replied absent-mindedly as he stared over his shoulder into the depths of the jungle behind him. With a sudden burst of speed he launched himself into the labyrinth of creepers and bryophytes allowing the Force to swiftly carry him over steam geysers until he found himself staring at the back of a kneeling Obi-Wan Kenobi. "Hello Master," he said, and the Jedi Master plummeted over into a rather malignant looking patch of moss. It took more power than the Force had to offer for Lan to stifle a snicker. "Ah, how I love first impressions."

"It's not very Jedi to gloat young one," Obi-Wan replied hauling himself up and ironing his standard Jedi tunic with the flat of his hand.

"Neither is falling face first in the dirt."

Obi-Wan stood there for a second or two, glaring, then finally allowing his gaze to rest upon the face of his newest disciple who offered him a brilliant flash of white teeth as he lounged lazily on a nearby cluster of branches. He had seen that disposition before – always hiding a clever but sharp intellect under the facade of innocence; always concentrating a fountain of undiluted power behind lightly defined muscles, a mane of curly hair, and lean tower of height and complexity. But those eyes – orbs of relaxed balance in the Force showing subtle passion for his trade – he had seen elsewhere. Obi-Wan was staring at the merger of two ghosts in one – that of his former Padawan and that of his former Korun Master: Mace Windu. And it was slightly unnerving.

"It's rude to stare Master," Lan spoke teasingly after a rather lengthy silence, slowly inclining his head respectfully. Obi-Wan offered him a nod of acknowledgment in return. Perhaps he had indeed been taught more than just the combative ways of the Jedi.

"Expecting your arrival we have been Obi-Wan." Yoda appeared through a flush of dangling weeds greeting Kenobi with a rare smile.

"Master Yoda." Obi-Wan favored him with a bow. "Are you well?"

"Only truly well will I be, when taken back what the Jedi have lost, we have." He motioned into an anonymous direction, and the two began to walk – Sapho-Lan drifting in their wake.

"Master, I, more than anyone, share your concerns," Obi-Wan replied in a grim monotone, "but the fact of the matter is we simply don't have the resources to wage war against the Empire."

"To wage war with the entirety of the Empire, not our priority be. Disbandment of the Sith, forever our goal."

"Even so, we are still three alone."

"Took only two Sith to destroy the foundation of the Jedi Order – in one day no less. Are the odds not in our favor?"

"Master I do not believe it is probability that should be the sole basis for our decision. The Sith had, and still do to this day, an army under their influence." Obi-Wan paused, brow furrowing in a mild combination of vexation and unresolved disappointment. "As much as it pains me to say, the Republic simply isn't salvageable."

Yoda rounded on Obi-Wan with more speed than his near nine hundred years should seem to allow. Obi-Wan knew what he would say before the words even left the crinkles of his lips – he had said it only four years ago, when the Jedi Temple of Coruscant stood proud in the center of what was now the Empire: Jedi Knights served the Force long before there was a Galactic Republic, and serve it we will then this Republic is but dust.

"Are Jedi we not Obi-Wan?" Yoda questioned sure enough. "Mean so little to you, our dedication to the force – to its legacy?" He pointed his gimer stick towards the sky so that it glared threateningly at outlying star systems. "Everyday slaughtered by the Empire potential Jedi are – victimized by despotism, its constituents are."

"But to fight for peace – "

"Jedi do not fight for peace," Sapho-Lan suddenly interrupted. Obi-Wan and Master Yoda turning to see him gazing into the vast nothingness that was space. "Jedi fight for civilization that in turn create peace." A slightly perplexed look crept across the foundation of his face as he turned to give both Masters a questionable stare. "I have no idea where I've heard that before." He shrugged. "Well, it seemed wise enough anyway."

Yoda briefly glanced at Obi-Wan all-knowingly before he responded, shaking his head incredulously. "Seen into the heart of the matter young Sapho-Lan has. If not a just society we have to enforce peace, should it not fall to Jedi to create such a civilization?"

Obi-Wan did not have to call upon the Force to know that he had, indeed, already lost this argument. "What do you propose we do Master?"

"Hide behind his new apprentice, Darth Sidious does," Yoda replied and Obi-Wan was already skeptical as to where this train of thought would lead. "Only with the defeat of Vader will we stand a chance against the darkest Lord of the Sith."

"I can't kill Anakin –"

"Skywalker is gone young one – only Vader there is. Impossible the return is from the dark side." Obi-Wan nodded but he could still not meet the determined expression of the ancient Master. "To Coruscant you and your Padawan must go. Only there, can the reign of the Sith truly come to an end."

"Master –"

Yoda sighed creeping closer to Kenobi so that he could barely be heard over the sizzling gases of nearby ponds. "Have more faith in your new Padawan," he whispered. "A nexus of the Force he is." He paused only to examine Sapho-Lan who had, by now, lost all interest in their conversation and was lingering in the distance daydreaming. "Whatever is to happen, I sense that he is key in its development."

"Do you believe he can destroy Sidious?" A flicker of hope uncoiled the tight knot of anguish that had been forming in the depths of Obi-Wan's stomach.

"Hard to say Master Kenobi; hard to say. Hold back, he does during our training sessions. More knowledge of the Force he has than he shares."

"Then it is possible?"

"Until the possible becomes actual –"

"It is only a distraction. I understand Master. We will go to Coruscant." He paused. "But what will you do Master Yoda?"

"Rally a new league of Separatist I will. Democracy we will have once more."

Part V

The imperious mag-lev, residential train of the Senate District of Coruscant, moved three hundred kilometers per hour as three lightsabers collided in a deadly ballet of heat and energy. Commander of the Droid Army, General Grievous allowed his mechanical legs to propel him through the oncoming gusts of wind as he ran atop the rear cars, desperately twirling two of the regal weapons in an attempt to shield himself from the hissing thrusts of Mace Windu. Undoubtedly more machine than man, Grievous moved in a wild blend of premeditated slashes and parries granted by the unnatural speed of his state of the art alloy – not to mention the bone-crushing grip of his serrulated, robotic talons. Although his posture lacked the flexible movement that was the way of the Jedi – instead burdened with the rigid hunchback qualities of a droid – his speed was untainted by the nuts and bolts that held him together. Not only did these attributes make him a brigade of ten men packed into one condensed metal shell, but training by the fallen Sith Lord Count Dooku also made him the most prominent Jedi assassin within the galaxy. However, no automaton was able to match the élan vital that was known as the Force, or the destructive seventh form of lightsaber combat known only to Mace Windu: Vapaad. The small portion of Grievous that was a man found himself surprised when, after a series of mauve sweeps singing his circuitry, he was stumbling off the mag-lev into the dark abyss that was the Coruscant skytunnel.

But that small victory alone did not stop the flash of lightning and scarlet lightsaber that ripped open the sky as Mace suddenly found himself once again in 500 Republica releasing himself to Vapaad in the fight to survive – deflecting the malignant power of Darth Sidious' lightning in an effort to save the Republic he so loved. And once again, he was falling – tumbling through the helter-skelter skies of Coruscant as his flesh burned with electricity and soul died with despair. And before his body slammed into the shadows of the lower levels of the city, millions of light years away, on a direct path to the place of his death, a lone Jedi Master fought to awake his son from visions of his death.