Chapter 24: End of Discussion
Obi-Wan stared at the food.
He had no interest in digesting it, let alone touching the spread provided before him. It wasn't anything fancy. Simple breakfast foods that would have been consumed at the Temple. He did, however, noticed that most were his favorites. Hot cakes, fruit and the sweet bun rolls made only on Corellia. Qui-Gon must have told TC-11 what he liked. He doubted it was the droid who knew all these things about him.
Still, even his favorite foods could not tempt him to eat. He told the droid that he wasn't hungry. The droid watched him, hoovering like a doting (or annoying) nanny.
"I was instructed that if you did not eat," came the grating tone of TC-11. "That I am to authorize force."
Obi-Wan lifted one shoulder up, indifferent to the threat. "Then I cannot be held accountable for my actions if you do so," he said. "You should know better than to threaten a caged animal."
TC-11 glowing eyes stared back. "There are no animals in this room."
Obi-Wan groaned into his hands. What did he do to deserve this treatment? This has been—so far—the worst punishment he's ever received from Qui-Gon or Dooku.
TC-11 kept chatting away above him. "Perhaps I should call for reinforcements. I don't really want to do this, but for your own good—"
Obi-Wan was done. He shot up from his seat and using the Force, spun the droid around so that its back faced him. He flipped the switch on the back of the droid's neck. The droid's voice groaned out as it slumped in place. Eyes dark.
A little smile lifted Obi-Wan's cheeks, bringing out his dimples. Why did it take him so long to do that? It would have prevented the headache he was experiencing now. Relieved and overjoyed at the silence gifted to him, Obi-Wan decided to seize the moment. He stole the comlink from TC-11. He quickly punched in the Jedi Temple's codes.
He heard the faint buzz in the background, a connection coming together. Then, a young voice answered. "Jedi Temple, Padawan Tachi speaking."
"Siri?"
"Who is this?" came the guarded voice of a fellow peer.
"It's Obi-Wan," Obi-Wan nearly shouted into the comlink. Happy and relieved. "Obi-Wan Kenobi! Is Master Yoda there?"
"Obi-Wan?" Siri muttered in disbelief.
"Yes! Siri—is Master Yoda there? It's urgent."
"Where are you?" Siri asked instead. "Everyone is looking—"
Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, willing Siri to patch him through to Master Yoda. "Siri! Master Yoda, please?"
"Master Yoda isn't here," Siri replied. "I can patch you to the next available Councilor?"
Master Yoda wasn't there? Where could he be? "Where is he?"
"Obi-Wan… just tell me where you are!"
Obi-Wan shook his head, his breathing rapidly increasing to short puffs. "I-I can't tell you that. It's too dangerous. What is Master Yoda's personal code?"
"I don't know it," Siri answered. "Obi-Wan… let me transfer you to a Councilor."
"No! Siri! Don't do that. Don't," Obi-Wan begged her. No one on the Council believed him except Yoda. He needed only to speak to him. "Find Yoda's personal code and tell it to me. Please! Hurry!"
"Obi-Wan—"
Suddenly, her voice was cut off. Obi-Wan listened with bated breath to know what happened. Was he cut off? Did she transfer him? He wasn't quite sure and he almost began to hang-up when a clipped, posh voice droned out of the comlink's speakers.
"Obi-Wan," came the composed voice of Dooku. "You need to listen very carefully, my friend. Padawan Tachi is very worried about you. We all are."
Obi-Wan's throat went dry. A hard knot twisting in his stomach. Dooku's threat was a quick precision. A laughable strike against him. Dooku emerged victorious as he enjoyed the silent victory he brought. To drive home the point, Dooku spoke again. "Please, Obi-Wan, for your own good," he drawled and Obi-Wan imagined that cruel grin spreading across his face. "Tell us where you are."
He got the message loud and clear. Obi-Wan ended the connection. Time was now dwindling. Dooku would alert the guards at the palace that Obi-Wan obtained a comlink. He flipped the comlink, pressing in a new set of numbers. He had to hurry and make the connection. Already, he could sense danger ahead.
The ringing drone into his ears as his eyes fixated on the door. Any minute, he would be greeted either by a tender voice or a grating, mechanical voice. He hoped for the former.
The comlink clicked. "This is a private channel," came the voice that carried him across the stars. "Who is this and state your business."
"Satine!" Obi-Wan urgently called into the speakers. "It's—"
Right then, the door slid opened and a squad of battle droids marched into his room. He backed away from the droids, glancing from one end of his prison to the next. There was no escape except through the now opened door and that was seemingly impossible with the amount of droids entering and blasters aimed at him.
The droid closest to him gave an order. "Drop the comlink."
Obi-Wan hesitated. He could hear her voice. All he needed to do was call out and—
The droid issued a command to the others. The droids all uttered "roger, roger" and moved on him. Only seconds to decide, Obi-Wan regretted what he needed to do. As the droids approached, Obi-Wan used the Force to crush the comlink into pieces. His connection with Satine was gone. But at least now Qui-Gon wouldn't be able to trace it back to her or Anakin.
That didn't mean he surrendered. The moment the droids snagged his arms, Obi-Wan resisted. With the Force, he surprised his handlers by throwing them into their squad. The droids screamed in fright as they crashed into their fellow droids, knocking them down like pinballs. It was a mess, but it left a pathway for Obi-Wan to escape his prison.
With a burst of speed, Obi-Wan hopped over the droids and out of the room. He was free!
He sprinted down the corridor, recognizing the excessive décor of someone who prided in wealth. He was still at the palace. A level he didn't remember. He turned in circles. Lost. He had no idea where to go. Time dwindling. Freedom being picked away with the seconds.
"There he is!"
Obi-Wan found another squad of battle droids coming around the corner. Blaster shots whizzed past him as he twisted out of the deadly bolts. He slid into a new corridor, arms pumping and mind abuzz to find a communication center or at least a turbolift to get him off the floor. Yet, every door he came across was either locked or empty. Nothing to help him.
More droids were entering the floor. Sooner or later, he would be trapped in a corner and his chances of getting out would vanish. He skidded to a halt when he sensed more danger near the end of the corridor. He backtracked and went down another, running past busts of famed leaders and Dooku's ancestors. To his greatest relief, the corridor ended with a turbolift.
Obi-Wan punched the button multiple times. It wouldn't make the turbolift come any faster, but it helped release the nervous energy bubbling inside him. As he heard the turbolift groan in action, he spun around to face the oncoming droids. They were funneling down his corridor again, shouting commands and firing bolts at him. Obi-Wan wasn't certain if those bolts were for stun or for harm, but he had no intention of finding out.
He eyed the bust closest to him and with focus, he raised the bust of its pedestal and tossed it into the oncoming bolt. The bust shattered, sparing Obi-Wan from a hit. He lifted another bust and blocked another droid's attempt to strike him. He kept throwing up busts for protection as they bursts upon impact with the bolt.
The number of available busts were dwindling, but Obi-Wan hadn't need to worry. He heard the chime of the turbolift and the sliding of the doors that granted asylum. Obi-Wan threw up one last bust, spiraling it right into the droids as he fell back into the turbolift.
Using the Force, he hurriedly closed the doors to seal him shut.
Obi-Wan exhaled, his muscles loosening up from the built-up tension. He was safe for now. He can recuperate before he had to fight his way out through the front door.
"There you are."
The voice startled Obi-Wan. He jumped and turned, nearly hitting his back against the doors when he realized he was not alone in the turbolift. The fact he didn't even sense him was unsettling.
"Qui-Gon."
Qui-Gon Jinn stood with his hands inside the sleeves of his robes, looking down at Obi-Wan with no signs of surprise or anger. He acted rather calm as if his prisoner wasn't attempting escape, but rather joining him to dine. "I was on my way to get you," he commented. "But I see you already gone ahead and beat me to it."
Obi-Wan kept himself pressed up against the doors. Not that it would do anything. Qui-Gon was in complete control. There was no evasion possible for Obi-Wan and that sucked all the vitality from his body.
Qui-Gon reached passed Obi-Wan and pressed one of the buttons on the panel. "I'm famished. I'm sure you are too," he noted upon inspection that Obi-Wan was still on the thin side. "Dine with me. After all, I we do have a few things to discuss."
And, like that, all of Obi-Wan's efforts were nullified. He succumbed to surrender that when the turbolift doors reopened, Obi-Wan fell in line. He followed Qui-Gon through the labyrinth of rooms that were reminiscent of Obi-Wan's adolescent years.
He grimaced when he passed a window and saw the front gates that led out of Dooku's palace. A cruel mockery at how close he came only to fail. He wanted to touch the window, to feel something other than the cold desolate that was swallowing him up.
They arrived at the dining room and Qui-Gon ushered Obi-Wan away from the window. "Come, Obi-Wan, like I said," Qui-Gon began as Obi-Wan entered the dining room. "We have much to discuss."
Satine clutched her comlink as if to will it to answer her pleas. "Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan? Is that you?"
No response. But, that didn't mean Satine was hallucinating his voice. She heard him. Quite clear. Like he stood next to her. She heard him utter her name, both a blessing and a curse for each other. What once raised her hopes had them crashing back down.
She answered back, calling out to him, but he never again spoke. What did it mean? Was he captured? Shot? Killed? All the possibilities led her to try again. Still—the comlink gave no response in return.
Their connection killed.
Satine dropped her head in her hands. Hearing him say her name brought a warm relief to her aching heart, but the cold silence only caused a turbulence of the heart and mind. So many scenarios terrorized her. It was unsettling to think of those things happening to the person she—
No. Satine shook her head. None of that was happening to Obi-Wan. Despite Qui-Gon being a Sith, she knew that the former Jedi Master wouldn't harm Obi-Wan. Not intentionally at least. Qui-Gon would keep him alive. She had to believe that Qui-Gon would spare Obi-Wan's life.
She needed to tell Queen Amidala and Master Yoda of the transaction that occurred. They would be most interested to know that Obi-Wan had made contact. Even if was brief and relayed nothing to help them find him.
The doors to her throne room opened and a sturdy man walked up to her before bowing deep in respect. "Duchess? You sent for me?"
She did indeed. She got up from the throne and walked down the steps with the comlink tight in her hand. "Master Armett," she greeted warmly. "I received an odd call earlier today and I need to know if you could possibly trace the number."
She passed the comlink to the master technician. If anyone could recalculate the device, it would be Master Armett. The head technician examined the comlink with his tiny and observant eyes. "Duchess, I'm afraid it would be impossible for me to trace a number without the proper equipment. Even then, I would need to have the number on for at least a minute to make the complete trace."
"Are you saying you cannot trace the number?"
Master Armett sighed with shame and defeat. "I'm sorry, Duchess. We do not have the technology to program trace disconnected numbers. Only when they are connected."
"How about the owner of the number?"
Master Armett hummed in thought. He pulled out his datapad and computed the numbers. There was a small time of tension as the datapad looked through numbers. It beeped a result. Master Armett reviewed it.
"The number is unknown," Master Armett announced. "Must be a burner or homemade." He paused, his expression becoming more apprehensive. "Duchess—are you in trouble?"
Satine shook her head. "No, I'm not. But I may believe a friend is," she said, taking her comlink back from Master Armett. "Thank you for your services."
Master Armett bowed and took his departure, leaving Satine alone with her guards. What a cruel fate, she thought. To hear his voice, to believe in all hopes that he was okay, only to be snatched away in the dead silence.
She sighed back in her throne. She knew what she had to do. She brought up her holo-communicator and dialed Queen Amidala's number. She would inform Master Yoda of Obi-Wan's short communication. What Satine dreaded the most was telling Anakin.
The boy returned to his rooms in another vain attempt to find Obi-Wan through the Force. Satine didn't have the heart to tell the boy to give up. That it would be impossible for Anakin to feel Obi-Wan presence any further than the moon. Already, the boy dreamed big and Satine didn't want to deflate his hope. And, as she said before, if anyone was going to find Obi-Wan, it would be Anakin. The boy held possessed stronger gifts than she remembered either Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon having. But, being powerful didn't mean doing the impossible. There are lines that can never be crossed and Anakin, despite his deeper connection with the Force, would not be able to locate Obi-Wan through such means.
Still, the boy proceeded and would get frustrated on his lack of results. But five minutes later, he tried again. The boy didn't give up. It was not in his nature. Something Obi-Wan must have passed along.
Satine sighed. Being around Anakin often brought memories of her times with Obi-Wan. The boy acted so much like Obi-Wan. The way he scowled or narrowed his eyes. The way he eats his breakfast—spreading butter left-right-left and diagonally on his toast. Or sometimes the manner in how he talks. It was those tiny moments that got Satine thinking about Obi-Wan or make her do a double-take on the boy. She knew Anakin was not Obi-Wan nor had any blood relation to the man, but the resemblance in their behaviors and emotions were uncanny. It didn't surprise Satine that many would believe them to be at least brothers, if not father/son.
A ping from the holo-projector brought Satine back to focus. She answered and Queen Amidala's royal face appeared.
"Good afternoon, Duchess," Queen Amidala hurriedly said. She already knew this was not a social call. "What news do you have?"
"Obi-Wan Kenobi made contact."
As the same as before, Obi-Wan didn't touch any food brought to him. He sat across from Qui-Gon, remaining silent as Qui-Gon dug into his plate. Apparently, Qui-Gon was honest that he was famished. The man nearly licked the plate clean.
The server—an actual female Twi'Lek—removed the dishes, with the exception of leaving a least some fruit behind in case Obi-Wan changed his mind. Obi-Wan had no plans to do so. The server poured Qui-Gon another cup of hot tea before retiring to the kitchens, leaving the former Master/Padawan duo alone.
Obi-Wan fidgeted in his seat. He was trying his best to get comfortable, but found it impossible with his nerves wrung in anticipation of some sort of punishment. He kept checking the doors, half expecting a troop of droids to bust in and gun him down.
Or, for Qui-Gon to unleash a brutal lashing of Sith lightning.
"All your stress and anxieties are affecting my equilibrium, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said over his cup of tea. "Nothing here to fear. You're safe."
"A half hour ago, I was nearly blasted to pieces by twenty battle droids," Obi-Wan commented. "You should reconsider your definition of 'safe'."
"The bolts were set for stun," Qui-Gon replied. "Any personnel here with access to a blaster have it set for stun only."
"It can still cause a lot of damage," Obi-Wan countered, idling pushing his fruit around his plate. He knew Qui-Gon wanted something. The conversation on safety was nothing more than a lead up to whatever was on Qui-Gon's mind. "What do you want?"
Qui-Gon paused in his sip. Grey eyes slid past the steam and straight at Obi-Wan. Carefully, he lowered the cup to the table. He set it aside. Time to talk business. "I thought we could discuss your involvement—"
"I am not involved."
Qui-Gon gave him a look. "You have a position here," he continued on as if Obi-Wan didn't interrupt him. "An important position. Dooku and I always expected you to fulfill it… that is until you ran away."
For good reason, Obi-Wan thought. He had no desire to join in on their crusade.
"However, your return has made it imperative that we move forward," Qui-Gon averred. "Everything is coming together. There is a vergence in the Force and it won't be ignored. You and Anakin—the prophecy—"
Obi-Wan exhaled loudly. Prophecy! Was that all that mattered to Qui-Gon? For a man so focused on the Living Force, his interest in an old prophecy was a hypocrisy of his belief. Besides, prophecies were too complicated. Hard to read. A single word or phrase could mean different things. People lose their minds and lives over readings of such dangerous predication. And it appeared that was what happened to Qui-Gon.
"So that is what I am now?" Obi-Wan rejoined in a tight tone. "A pawn in some sort of prophecy fulfillment? Is that the only reason you even cared to train me?"
Qui-Gon brushed his hair back with both hands, resigned. "Of course not," he defended. "I picked you as my padawan because I saw a boy with a lot of potential and willingness to do the necessary to help the galaxy."
Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow. It wasn't the response he expected, but he knew better than to accept it as a compliment. He wasn't the naïve boy like before. He grew up. Saw the galaxy as it was and learned the harsh truths about his former master.
The Sith Lord leaned into the table. "I meant what I said in the Temple," he said. "You and Anakin have a great destiny ahead. You need to be ready. Both of you." He paused and Obi-Wan felt a prick against his shields. Obi-Wan reinforced them. Qui-Gon sighed. "You're place is here, Obi-Wan. You are the last of our lineage. It is your right and destiny to stand beside us. You are—in a sense—our heir."
The blood in Obi-Wan's heart froze. There was no circulation flowing through him. A freezing wave crashed into him, leaving him naked and shivering from the impact. It couldn't be right. He heard incorrectly. He was no heir. Not in blood and not in tutelage. He was not an heir to anything or anyone.
Qui-Gon thought otherwise. "You'll need additional training along with finishing what we started years ago," he continued off as if Obi-Wan was not repulsed by such acknowledgment. "I am confident you can catch up. Already you have made vast improvements since you were a teenager—"
Obi-Wan couldn't bear it. He shot up from his seat, slamming his hands on the table as he glared down at Qui-Gon. "No."
Qui-Gon didn't flinch. He didn't even bat an eyelid. He only looked up, matching Obi-Wan with a calmness that irritated Obi-Wan more so than smooth him. "No?"
"I won't do it," Obi-Wan rejected. "I'm won't be your apprentice!"
Qui-Gon leaned back in his seat, taking stock of Obi-Wan's defensive stance. "Sit back down," he ordered, a flash of exasperation flittering across his face. "I'm only finishing the training that I started with you when you were thirteen."
"And I remember ending it with the cut of my braid," Obi-Wan retorted. He had not taken his seat. He stood with his feet planted ready to either flight or fight. "You're not my master. You haven't been since I was fifteen."
Qui-Gon's face darkened. Cold authority channeled through his narrowed eyes as he slowly rose to his feet, challenging Obi-Wan. "If that is so, then who has been taking care of you for those three years before you ran off?" he dared. "Who has spent days in the dojo with you? Stayed up late into the night to calm you from visions?"
Obi-Wan was not one to back away from a threat. "It wasn't you!" he nearly shouted. "You left me! You abandoned me! You left me with Dooku! Left me to struggle on my own." His face was hot. He knew his cheeks were red as he vented out his pent-up anger that laid beneath the surface for far too long. "So… no. You're not my master. You gave me up and I learned on my own.
"You promised me," Obi-Wan murmured, going quiet as the anger simmered. "When I was thirteen you promised me that I would become a Jedi Knight. You swore! And then you broke that promise. You abandoned me for some delusional Sith ideals!"
Obi-Wan backed away from the table. Standing in Qui-Gon's presence was too much. Looking at him only brought back painful flashes of his youth. He turned, forgoing it all. "You're not my master. Nor will you ever be again."
He headed for the doors. Getting out of the room and away from Qui-Gon became priority. He stomached enough of the Sith's company to need time to recuperate. But, Qui-Gon had other plans. He moved faster than Obi-Wan expected. He stood in Obi-Wan's path, becoming a formidable barricade between him and the door.
Then Qui-Gon's large hands latched onto Obi-Wan's shoulders. His fingers dug into Obi-Wan's muscle with no mercy. Obi-Wan stiffened and hissed at the painful pinch, but he remained sturdy enough to bear the assault.
"You ungrateful brat!" Qui-Gon spat with barely concealed warning in his voice. "Everything I've done was for you!"
Obi-Wan returned the glare. "I never asked you to do this! I asked you to teach me to become a Jedi."
Qui-Gon didn't loosen his death grip. "And such request was overturned in favor of another promise."
Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up. "What promise?"
The Sith Lord spoke out of turned. He eased his grip on Obi-Wan's shoulders, but he didn't let go entirely. He held onto him as he turned away, the Force churning. "It does not matter."
"It matters to me!" Obi-Wan declared. A single breath. Rising and falling in a cycle of rebellion and hurt. "So, what promise? What promise required you to abandon your oath to me?"
Qui-Gon officially let go of Obi-Wan. He dropped his arms to his side. Crevices dug into his forehead, a weary sigh escaping his lips. A sigh of surrender and acceptance as he turned a shoulder to Obi-Wan. "A promise that required a great sacrifice," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. But this promise was more important. I need to fulfill it. However, that doesn't mean I don't want to instruct you." Qui-Gon looked back at Obi-Wan, eyes pleading to be forgiven. To let him make up his mistakes. "Let me finish your training Obi-Wan. We can complete your training—together."
Too many broken promises and words to heal the rift between them. Obi-Wan could not accept Qui-Gon's brand of forgiveness nor his offering. He saw through the temptation and knew better. He shook his head, stepping back and away from Qui-Gon's reach.
"No," Obi-Wan shook his head, drawing in a shuddered breath. It was all too little and too late. "I won't be your apprentice."
They stood at an impasse. Rejection and hurt building between them into a static tension that could be felt miles away. An eruption on the verge of igniting. Obi-Wan wasn't sure how Qui-Gon would react to his rejection. Or even it go through to Qui-Gon's thick skull. But, Obi-Wan had to prepare for violent reaction. He kept his stance fortified, his shields strengthening to be unbreakable. Whatever happened next, he would be ready.
All traces of pleading vanished from Qui-Gon. Replaced with stoic determination. He shrugged away the warmth of old memories and took up the position of man who garnered no truce. Qui-Gon folded his arms back into the sleeves of his robe, eyes peering down at Obi-Wan with an intensity that left Obi-Wan feeling unsettled.
"Your permission is not required," Qui-Gon told Obi-Wan not too kindly. "You are my padawan. You'll do as you are told. End of discussion."
Mace stood in the center of the room, shaking his head in exhaustion. It had been a long night of investigation and reviewing the evidence Qui-Gon provided. It was disconcerting how a shroud of darkness had suddenly clamped over them in the span of two weeks. Kenobi's reappearance initiated this sudden cold front. That much Mace knew. Whatever was happening, it connected with Kenobi and Skywalker. Their emergence from the shadows have brought the dark tendrils to their front door.
"Would you care for a glass?"
Mace pulled away from his thoughts and turned to look back at Dooku. "I'm good."
"Tea, perhaps?"
Mace shook his head. "I'm sorry, my friend," he apologized for his lack of engagement. "This predicament with Kenobi and Kamino has clouded my thoughts."
Dooku reclined in his seat, holding the stem of his wine glass as he pondered the circumstance surrounding them. "It has clouded the Force as well."
Mace sighed. "Did the technicians find anything useful?"
"I'm afraid not," Dooku relayed. "Kenobi hung up before a trace could be established and the number he used was unknown. Both I and Padawan Tachi tried to get him to tell us where he was, but he only wanted to speak to Master Yoda."
Mace stroke his chin. Master Yoda strange behavior recently bespoke of hidden knowledge. Kenobi's latest transmission all but pointed at Master Yoda being aware of mechanization. What confused him was the secrecy. Master Yoda said little to the Council about his reasoning to release both Kenobi and Skywalker. He didn't even wait for the Council's approval. He only informed them of his decision after they were transferred to Naboo's service. And now, he headed to Naboo to counsel with the Queen on recent events.
"I find it odd and worrisome," Dooku continued. "It is clear Master Yoda is hiding something. Why else would he go over the Council and execute an executive order?"
Mace's jaw hardened at even the mere suggestion that Yoda was purposefully blinding the Council. A Jedi has no private affair and to even think Master Yoda was involved in the rapid succession of darkness was laughable. Grandmaster Yoda was too Light to be consumed by the Dark side. "Whatever Master Yoda is doing," Mace stated firmly as to assure no objection, "it is for the good of the Republic. If Kenobi is entwined with it all, then Master Yoda has his reasons."
"So you don't find it odd that Master Yoda has kept the Council in the dark on his dealings with a Jedi fugitive?" Dooku pressed onward, taking another sip of his wine.
Mace rubbed his forehead, a headache growing. "I find it odd, but like I said," he glanced over to his friend, "Master Yoda would never betray the Order. Whatever he is doing, it's for the betterment of the galaxy. I have faith in that."
Dooku inclined his head in acceptance to the answer. "Master Yoda is a tricky Jedi. I should know. He was my master."
"Do you believe him to be a traitor?"
Dooku paused, looking into the distance as he thought. "No. Not a traitor. But an old fool," he said before he humored Mace with a smile. "His leadership is questionable. Years as a Grandmaster and all he has done is allowed the Senate to meddle into Jedi affairs and kept the Jedi complacent despite the decay in the Republic."
Mace groaned inward. He almost forgotten Dooku's political ideals and his scornful views of the Republic. "You know the Republic is vital in keeping peace and order in the galaxy," Mace reminded his friend. "Without, it would only lead to chaos."
"Would it?" Dooku challenged. "Already it is in chaos and the Jedi have yet to do anything because the Senate has placed a leash on us."
Mace cocked a curious brow to Dooku. "Be mindful of your emotions, Master," he warned. "Release it into the Force."
Dooku huffed at such statement. "I'm quite well aware how to release my emotions, Master Windu," he rebuffed. "But my thoughts have nothing to do with emotions. It's fact. The Senate has been using the Jedi as attack dogs! It's disgusting and humiliating."
"We do what is required to keep order and peace."
"If that helps you sleep at night," Dooku dismissed with a wave.
Mace drew himself together. He understood Dooku's interpretation of the relationship between the Senate and the Order. It was a complicated relationship. A give and take that didn't often equal out. Mace recognized corruption in the Senate and other parts of the government, but he still held onto faith that the Republic could survive. If the Jedi remained, then so would the democracy and the Republic.
But Dooku's words concerned him. There was a hint of repugnance the senior Jedi had toward the Republic. It was not unlike Dooku to make a snide remark against the Republic or to reject involvement, but his lack of tact delivery of his statements disturbed Mace's solace.
Perhaps a cup of tea would soothe out his nerves. "If you are still offering," Mace said as he sat up in his seat. "I would appreciate a cup of tea."
Dooku examined Mace from where he seated. But then, he rose up and moved to the kitchen. "I'm afraid I only have sapir."
"That will do," Mace replied and Dooku entered the kitchen, leaving Mace some quiet solitude.
Mace closed his eyes and meditated, drawing the Force around him. It was turbulent. A vibration that gave no sign of ending. It disturbed the peace. His peace. An inching that provoked him to move, to do something. As for what, Mace didn't know. The past few days he spotted more shatterpoints than ever. Most of them connected to Kenobi and Skywalker. Their bond being the biggest threat.
As he ruminated on it, he felt another jab in the Force. Mace winced, reaching to tenderly massage his forehead. He got up, moving to join Dooku in the kitchen in hopes that the smell of the sapir tea would ease the Force into a more rhythmic vibe.
Blinded by the clouding of the Force, Mace bumped into Dooku's lower table and knocked its contents over. Sighing, he picked up the objects. Never had he been so engrossed to miss an obstacle in his path. He hoped he didn't break anything.
As he dropped the last object on the table, his finger slipped on a switch and a blue holo-image of a woman zapped up. Her sharp eyes pierced Mace to the core as her recorded voice televised all in the room to hear. "Master—the Geonosians have assured me that you will receive the last installments by the end of the next week," said the woman, her bald head glistening under the blue hue. "They are requesting that you pay double on the account of the damages Kenobi made to their factory floor."
Mace froze. Did she just mentioned Kenobi? Mace studied the holo-image as the woman continued her recording. Her appearance resembled that of a Dathomirian female. In fact, almost every detail about her matched up with the assassin Kenobi and Skywalker faced on Tatooine. But, what was she doing contacting Dooku? And why did she addressed Dooku as Master?
It didn't make any sense and yet, Mace's mind was slowly clicking the information together. Tatooine. Geonosis. Kenobi.
Mace eyed her lightsabers on her waist. Two dual, curved blades that resembled Dooku's own lightsaber. Her message repeated again at the start. Master. Dooku had no padawan. Not that he was aware of at least. And Geonosis. Qui-Gon said the assassin wasn't on Geonosis. Yet, the message was clear that the assassin was located on Geonosis.
It didn't make sense.
And, yet it did at the same time.
Mace looked beyond the message. Everything he knew. Everything he just discovered began connecting. Every piece fit together and formed a picture Mace could no longer brush off or ignore. His own shatterpoint broke.
Kenobi was right all along.
Dooku and Qui-Gon were Sith Lords.
He had to warn—
His midsection inflamed and burst. Fire burned his intestines and skin blistered as pain erupted. Gasping in short, hollowed breaths, Mace tentatively looked down to see a red blade sticking out from his body. A red blade!
"Snooping through others' belongings," came Dooku's cool and refined voice, "is a trait I cannot tolerate."
Mace, cringing through the pain, twisted his head to look at Dooku in the eye. "Y-You?"
Dooku smirked at Mace's betrayed pain. "I kept telling you Master Windu," he said. "The Jedi Order is too complacent. Too easily blinded of the truth in order to remain ignorant of the problems around them.
"I'm going to change all of that," Dooku claimed as he twisted the blade. Mace cried out, wincing as more flesh was melted off him. "I'm going to destroy the Republic and tear down the Order, rebuild it into what it was meant to be."
Mace was a dead man. He knew it and so, with one last chance to warn the others, he reached out for Master Yoda's presence.
Dooku sensed his attempt and effectively ended it with a slash of his red blade crossing Mace across the chest. Mace choked. His last breath lodged in his throat as he dropped like a broken doll. Eyes wide and glossy. Nothing but fear left behind in them.
After all, Mace feared the future of his fellow Jedi.
For he brought them to a doomed state and abandoned them to a terrible fate as he entered the Cosmic Force, free of burdens and pain.
Yes, he feared for his fellow Jedi. But, more importantly, he feared for Kenobi and Skywalker.
Master Yoda had ignored Master Windu's calls all day. He couldn't make contact with his friend and fellow Council member. He couldn't let Mace Windu know of the deception and that he was arriving on Mandalore instead of Naboo.
Queen Amidala passed on the message that Obi-Wan had made contact with Satine, but it was only brief. She couldn't make a trace and Obi-Wan didn't say anything. It was disappointing to hear that Obi-Wan failed to extend any information to them, but it warmed Yoda's heart to know he was alive and fighting. The fact he got a hold of a comlink told Yoda that Obi-Wan wasn't ready to surrender.
As his ship landed quietly on the hanger floor, he immediately felt Anakin's presence in the Force. It was a massive hurricane, churning in waves of frustration, loneliness and fear. Yoda sighed heavily. He needed to teach the boy only releasing such dangerous emotions into the Force. Unhealthy and not helpful in times like these.
Master Yoda inched down the ramp, surveying his environment. Mandalore, indeed, prosper after Duchess Satine took up seat in the royal palace. It was quite a lovely sight to behold after centuries of wars and deaths that led to the planet's decay. It was heart-warming to see a bleak place become a beautiful sight of survival and compassion.
He would need to offer his congratulations to the Duchess.
As he reached the end of the ramp and spotted the speeder awaiting to transfer him to the palace, he felt a dark quiver come across his heart. He stopped. His claw reached for his heart. He wasn't dying; yet, it felt almost as if his own life was cut down. A premonition? Yoda thought not. He closed his eyes, reaching out when he felt a fluttered of another presence. He recognized it at once as Master Windu.
Then, the flutter faded and dropped over into a void. It was gone. Vanished.
Master Yoda released the pent-up air inside him.
He was too late.
The Sith Lords have struck.
Master Yoda turned to his driver. "Hurry, we must," he told his driver as he sped over. His old age fooled the drivers into shock at how fast he ran. Yoda typically enjoyed the show, but not at the moment. "Struck, the Sith Lords have. Death. Destruction. Coming, they are."
The driver, not quite understanding Yoda's words, nodded his affirmation and hit the accelerator. They pelted out of the hanger, down the empty lanes and straight to the palace.
Master Yoda sunk in his seat, sorrowed as he mourned his friend.
Mace Windu was dead.