A/N: I come to you with a chapter, a new job, fancy new letters to put after my name, and many apologies for the long wait. Happy January, everyone!

Ben watched the steam billow up from his small tea bowl and let the patterns mesmerize him as they eddied up through the evening light toward the ceiling. He breathed in deeply and held the rich, bittersweet notes of sapir in his lungs before he exhaled. Anxiety curled in the back of his skull, writhing and wriggling like a snake. It was intensely uncomfortable. It was also not his problem to bear.

"Anakin, if you are not able to let go of your anxieties here, perhaps a few laps around the Temple's perimeter will do the job for you," the master said with an unusual measure of irritation.

Anakin sighed, a sound Ben had endured too many times that day. "I'm sorry, Master, I'm trying." The apology was heartfelt, but was, as it had been for hours, an empty phrase. Ben took in a deep breath and released his irritation with a lifetime's worth of discipline. He held his robe's voluminous sleeve to pour a second bowl of sapir.

"Stop your fidgeting and come sit down. This tea won't be fresh by the time we return; it's best to enjoy it now."

The clanging and clattering of Anakin putting away his mechanic's tools lasted longer than Ben had expected. He leaned back in his seat to spy the contained chaos of his apprentice's workstation - which was, allegedly, also a bedroom. Anakin was disentangling himself from a mess of wires and hydraulic pistons. Ben couldn't help but be impressed; Anakin's current work-in-progress had been nothing but a skeleton only just that morning.

Well, Ben thought, turning his attention back to his tea, if he can't let go of his anxiety, at least he channels it into something useful. He considered RB-1 as the aging droid hovered across the room to its charging station and bumped into a bookshelf on its way. Well, mostly useful.

Anakin plopped onto his meditation cushion beside his master and let out a sigh. He was indeed trying to release his anxiety, Ben could tell, but he was doing a horrible job of it.

"You know you don't need to be worried, padawan." Ben handed Anakin a bowl of tea.

"I know," the apprentice replied, frustrated at himself.

There was a dark smudge of hydraulic fluid on Anakin's left cheek. Ben used the edge of his sleeve to wipe it away. Anakin endured this with visible annoyance.

"I'm not a child, master," he grumbled.

"No you're not, and yet I've met crechelings who don't hold onto their worries so tightly." Ben retracted his hand and sipped at his tea. "What has you in such a state? Tell me."

"I don't know," the apprentice waffled.

"Yes you do," Ben retorted, "you just don't want to tell me."

"That's not true."

"Then tell me what you're worried about." Ben fixed his apprentice with an unwavering stare. Anakin looked down at his tea, picking at the worn, stained bowls that Ben had been using since before Anakin had been born. The master waited in silence.

"What if she doesn't want anything to do with me?" Anakin blurted. Ben continued to watch him, listening. "I mean, I haven't seen her since I was a baby, what if she doesn't… what if she doesn't like me?" He was nearly eighteen, but looked like a worried pre-teen. "Or what if she likes me too much? What if she expects me to leave the Jedi, and stay on Alderaan? She's not expecting me to stay, is she?" Ben could sense Anakin's anxiety twisting and turning, knotting and unknotting itself into new forms of worry. "Or what about her fiance? Does he know about me? Does he resent me? I don't want to be a problem between them. And who is he, anyway? What if he's wrong for her? Am I supposed to say something? Can I say anything? If I'm a Jedi, do I even count as her son?"

"Anakin," Ben said gently, when a break in the teen's anxious tirade gave him a breath to speak. "Of course you 'count'. You do not give your mother enough credit. She'll be thrilled to see you again, and will let you go back to your duties here with her best wishes."

"Are you sure?" Anakin frowned into his reflection in the sapir. Ben watched the boy with a soft smile, remembering.

"Your mother had the foresight to send you to the Jedi, but she also waited until you were older because she did not want to part with you. You're nearly grown, and she knows this. Your path is yours to decide, not hers. She knows this too. You need not worry, padawan." Ben smiled and sipped at his tea. "As for Tam, I think he's equally nervous about meeting you."

"What?" Anakin was taken aback.

"You're his fiance's nearly-grown son, and are bound to have your own opinions on the match. He's nervous you won't approve."

"That's…" Anakin blinked rapidly. He hadn't thought of it like that. "That's… that's just stupid, he's not marrying me."

"So Tam's anxiety is stupid, but yours is not?" Ben asked serenely.

Anakin stared at his tea. The snake of anxiety stilled and shrank. Embarrassment filled the void.

"Drink your tea before it's cold," Ben instructed. Anakin did.

"I didn't realize it was so late," Anakin said after a while. The setting sun shone blinding white off of the glittering skyline of the business district, and Anakin waved a hand to lower the window shades. Amid the quiet, his stomach growled loudly. "I'm starving," he said.

Ben snorted softly. "Are you ever not? Come on." The older man rose with creaking joints. "Force knows I don't have enough food to keep pace with your stomach. We'll cast ourselves at the mercy of the refectory droids."

"I wonder if they still have that nuna gumbo," Anakin wondered hungrily.

"Well I guess we'll just have to see-" Ben opened their door, and Obi-Wan's knock passed through the air between them. Both Kenobis took a moment to look surprised at each other.

"Obi-Wan," Anakin said, foregoing surprise to smile at the knight.

"Obi-Wan," Ben echoed, bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

"I hear you're going to Alderaan on a social visit," Obi-Wan said without preamble.

"We are," Ben wasn't sure how Obi-Wan had heard about it. "Anakin's mother is getting married."

"Is she?" Obi-Wan raised both brows pleasantly. "That's wonderful. I'm going with you."

"What?" Ben said.

"What?" Anakin said at the same time.

"I have some personal leave to use up, and I need to have a chat with the Prince. So," he grinned, looking from Ben to Anakin and back, "when do we leave?"

"And you have no idea what this?" Qui-Gon held the holograph close to his face, and then far away, trying to get his aging eyes to focus on the strange image of the red lightsabers and, more importantly, the crest on the wall behind them.

"No," Obi-Wan replied, belt laid out on the table so he could restock its contents. "But Padme recognized it, and claims that Bail will, too."

Qui-Gon turned the holo off and fixed his former apprentice with a frown accentuated by sixty-eight years' worth of wrinkles. "How exactly do two senators know about a crime organization that the Jedi have never heard about?"

"I'm not sure the Jedi haven't heard of them," Obi-Wan said ruefully, snapping his belt pockets shut and replacing it at his waist. "But who in the Jedi do you suppose senators are supposed to report to if something like this crops up? Master Windu hadn't heard of it. I can only assume Master Yoda hasn't, either."

"The Council of Reconciliation," Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan's annoyed expression was more vocal than words. "You think our own members are keeping this from us?"

"Master Windu was surprised about the sabers. He wasn't at all surprised when I told him Uldor Saraat was the one who received Cody's initial report. Master Saraat is grey at best. But it was Master Teera who Padme had been in contact with. Neither of them ever forwarded their reports to the High Council."

With the difficulty of age, Qui-Gon stood, still frowning, to join Obi-Wan at the kitchen table. "If they've been sitting on these reports all this time, surely someone would've filed a complaint. If the Council of Reconciliation remains ineffective, surely the senators have recourse to go over their heads."

"From what Cody tells me, they've done a decent enough job of pretending like they're doing something. Pending this, pending that. They've given it the appearance of bureaucracy, not inaction." Obi-Wan chewed on his lip. "But I've seen them sharing afternoon caf with one of the slipperiest crime lords in the Outer Rim." He was staring at nothing, preoccupied with all the suspicions he'd grown during his tenure in Hutt space. "I have to wonder if Rodsu's chronic exonerations come from the same place as inaction on Force-damn darksiders." Obi-Wan shook his head. "One day," he said, "Master Windu needs to clean up this Order. People like Saraat and Teera are why we've landed in this Sith conspiracy mess in the first place."

"You sound like Dooku," Qui-Gon accused. "Mace has a demanding job. Maybe wait until this 'Sith conspiracy' has blown over, and then you can lecture him on reform."

Obi-Wan sighed the sigh of an idealist stuck in the body of a pragmatist. He looked at the chrono. "I'd better get going." He stood from the table and pulled on his long brown cloak.

"Here, take an extra," Qui-Gon bid, holding out one of Obi-Wan's spare cloaks. The former apprentice looked at it, and then at his master.

"Why-?"

"Because it's been sitting on the back of my couch exactly where you forgot it two years ago, and I'm tired of looking at it," Qui-Gon griped, extending the cloak further. "Leave it on Bail's couch if you like, just not mine."

Obi-Wan quietly took the garment and folded it in his arms. After so long sitting out in the apartment, it carried a livelier scent than that of his closet; it smelled like Qui-Gon's shampoo, and sapir, and home.

"It wasn't two years," Obi-Wan insisted.

"It felt like it."

"Well then, I'll come back and forget this again sooner than last time," Obi-Wan said, leaning forward to embrace his old master.

"Fine," the old Jedi replied, hugging his padawan fiercely and speaking in a grumpy tone. "A short respite is better than none." They parted. "Send my best wishes to Ms. Skywalker and her fiance."

"I will," Obi-Wan was at the door.

"And help Ben look after that padawan of his," Qui-Gon called out after him even as Obi-Wan was halfway down the hall, "If he's half as bad as you were at his age, he's going to need all the help he can get."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He was thirty-three and going grey, but still felt compelled to say, "yes, Master."

Obi-Wan was not all that fond of RB-1, not least of all because when he and the droid were in the same space with each other, both of them ended up responding to each other's names. This was fairly easy to avoid in large buildings where the two would not cross paths, but in the cramped quarters of a small Republic ship, it was inevitable that at some point, Obi-Wan would end up answering to the name of a cantankerous, refurbished remote droid.

"Arbee, put that down, that's not meant for you," Anakin snapped. From his seat by the bulkhead, Obi-Wan lowered his datapad.

"I can only assume that was not directed at me," the knight griped.

"No, sorry, not you Obi," Anakin put out a placating hand toward the knight, and turned toward Arbee who floated not far away, his cable-like arm hugging a glowing holo-plate to his hull. "Put it down," Anakin demanded. Arbee turned himself further away from the Jedi, grumbling something in his indecipherable binary. Anakin scowled.

"Just cause you took the photo doesn't mean you get to keep it. You're going to break it, give it here," he reached out a hand.

If Arbee were a sentient, he would've had the voice of someone who smoked a dozen deathsticks every day. His aged voicebox garbled out another complaint, and Anakin scoffed.

"Oh, shut up, yes you will. Give it here, you stupid- put it down!" the teenager lunged at the droid, who shrieked in indignation but was ultimately powerless as the padawan wrestled him to the ground and yanked the holoplate free. When Anakin released him, Arbee flew out the door, screaming complaints as he went. Anakin huffed.

"If he gives you so much trouble, why don't you just reprogram him?" Obi-Wan asked.

"He's corrupted his own code so I can't," Anakin grumbled as he polished the picture with his sleeve, "Besides,I was like ten when I wrote it. I didn't know what I was doing. I'd probably end up deactivating him for good." Anakin huffed and went over to sit by Obi-Wan, holding the picture in his hands.

"What's that?" Obi-Wan asked. Anakin tilted it so he could see. It was a still-holo of Anakin and Ben, both smiling, standing in the Temple gardens. It was a lovely picture.

"It's for my mom. Master Ben gave her one like this a long time ago. Jedi don't really give gifts, but he said an updated version would be a nice wedding present for her." Anakin stared at the picture, worrying his thumbnail along the pastiform's smooth edge.

"I'm sure she'll love it," Obi-Wan told him.

A long moment passed while Anakin examined the holo and Obi-Wan tapped through his datapad, listening to the hum of the hyperdrive. At length, Anakin asked,

"Have you ever met your parents?"

Obi-Wan stopped what he was doing.

"...No, I haven't," he replied. He put his 'pad on his lap, folded his hands over the edge, and thought. "I don't know much about them. I know they're from Stewjon. I know I inherited my migraines from my father, and that my force sensitivity likely comes from my mother's side, but other than that…" Obi-Wan shrugged dispassionately. "My records were sealed by their request when they gave me to the Order. I only know what the healers can tell me about my genetics."

"Do you even know their names?" Asked Anakin.

"No," Obi-Wan said, turning back to his reports. "They're my parents, not my family. The Jedi are my family."

"But Master Ben's your family – your biological family." Anakin looked up at the knight "He's your mother's brother, right?"

Obi-Wan hesitated. It'd been a while since their cover story had become relevant. "So I'm told," he said. "I only found out about that when I was a little younger than you."

"Oh." Anakin looked back down at his photo, thinking of his mother, and of Ben, and of the two worlds they represented.

"Can Jedi have more than one family?"

"I suppose," Obi-Wan said. He'd grown up fairly apathetic towards his biological origins, and wasn't sure what to say. "You know…" he began, trying to be helpful, "Having a mother, knowing her, spending time with her, those aren't bad things. You'll still be a Jedi."

"I know," Anakin was familiar with the Kenobi doctrine of attachment. "But it just feels… odd. Like I'll have to choose."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "We have to make a lot of choices in life, sacrificing one thing for another. But I don't think this is one of those times." This did little to reassure the apprentice, so Obi-Wan reached out and out a hand on the teen's shoulder. "It'll be alright. Just relax, and let it pass."

"Anakin, Obi-Wan," Ben's voice came over the PA system. "We're coming in for landing. And Anakin," the master's voice ached with exasperation, "do come collect your droid. His co-piloting skills leave something to be desired."

"Yes, Master," Anakin stood. "Thanks, Obi-Wan," he left to retrieve RB-1.

Obi-Wan watched the teen go before he turned back to his datapad. He just needed a few more finishing touches on the report he'd assembled for Bail Organa. The wedding was in three days. That gave him three and a half days to find Bail, present his report, and get the prince to help him investigate what crime syndicate was behind the strange symbol - and the lightsaber sales – all without interrupting Shmi Skywalker's big day.

He had a lot of work to do.

It was evening on Alderaan when they landed. They'd been invited to dine with the Royal family and the soon-to-be bride and groom, and were running late by the time the landing ramp hit the dock.

"Are you sure I won't be imposing?" asked Obi-Wan politely as he strode side-by-side with Ben down the ramp. "I'm more than happy to wait."

"Don't be absurd, as soon as I told him you'd be coming, Bail insisted that you join us for dinner," Ben reassured. He took in an appreciative lungful of cool, piney air, which tickled his lungs and memories. It invigorated Ben, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on his apprentice.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for this," Anakin said quietly, letting Obi-Wan walk ahead while he hung back with his master.

Ben put his hand on his padawan's back, warm and firm between Anakin's shoulder blades as he pushed the boy forward. "You are," Ben said, smiling. "Now come on."

Anakin would not remember crossing the bridge from the landing pad, or going through the labyrinthian palace, or even following the serving droid to the banquet hall. But the doors opened and his mother was standing there, and the world became crystal clear.

Shmi was very young mother, and Alderaan had been kind to her. She was a far cry from the emaciated, exhausted teenager Ben had met on Tatooine. She was relaxed into her freedom and blossoming there. She was dressed in winter-toned brocade as lush as a courtier's, cut in the simple, elegant shapes that matched the smile lines that had begun to frame her mouth. She saw her son and her face exploded into a smile.

"Ani," she pushed back from the table and went over to him, "And Ben, it's so good to see you both." She reached out to her son, but hesitated when he looked uncomfortable.

Seeing her so close was surreal, and Anakin felt unprepared. Nonetheless, something overcame him and he smiled.

"Hi mom," he said.

"You've grown so big," she couldn't restrain herself any more, and hugged him tight. "Thank you for coming."

Anakin hugged her back. "Of course I came."

"And Ben Kenobi, look at you," Shmi pulled away and turned to her son's master. "You've gone and grown completely grey." She laughed, and reached up to brush Ben's thick head of silver.

"At least I still have hair to turn grey," the Jedi smiled, crowsfeet crinkling in good humor. "It's good to see you, Shmi."

Shmi gave him a warm smile before turning to his younger companion.

"You look like Ben did when I first met him," her eyes sparkled in good humor, "you must be Obi-Wan," Shmi reached out to shake Obi-Wan's hand, and he smiled politely.

"An honor, Ms. Skywalker,"

"Please, call me Shmi."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Of course."

"You know Lord Bail and Lady Breha, of course," Shmi gestured, and the royal couple greeted them from the head of the room. "And their daughter, Princess Cora," a small brunette with big brown eyes peered from around her mother's dress, and then hid again when she saw that everyone was looking at her. Ben chuckled. "And Ben, I believe you've met Tam once before?"

Ben's eyes caught on those of Mr. Corveé, but Tam was not looking at him, and was instead looking very nervously at Ben's apprentice. "Yes, I've had the pleasure. It's good to see you again, Mr. Corteé."

Anakin's attention was suddenly zeroed in on the man in question. Next to the Organas, Tam was unassuming at best. He was shorter than Anakin, almost shorter than Shmi. He had dusty blonde hair and tan skin, and eyes that nearly disappeared when he smiled, which he was doing now in a nervous tilt. He looked uncomfortable in the tailored, fancy suit he was wearing, and when he reached out to shake Anakin's hand, the teen spotted motor oil stains on the sleeve.

"You must be Anakin," the man said, shaking his hand. "You mother loves to brag about you, it's great to finally meet you."

Anakin was nervous, and in such a state he had a tendency to forget his manners. "Is that… is that a Foxnocht model 9?" Anakin asked. Tam froze.

"Um… oh, oh, this?" he pointed to the pin stuck to his lapel. It was the small, barely-defined silhouette of a fighter jet. "Um. Yeah, it is. You got a good eye, kid," he laughed, and looked almost sheepish. "You know the Foxnocht?"

"Yeah, of course," Anakin replied, crossing his arms in slight offense. Did Tam think he wouldn't know it? "It's the best fighter jet to come out of anywhere in the last ten years."

Tam laughed again, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sheesh, kid, Shmi told me you liked ships, but,"

"Tam designed the Foxnocht," Shmi cut in, glowing with pride. She thread her arm through Tam's.

Anakin was nonplussed. "Wait, what?"

Tam's face was red. Shmi only nodded. Anakin's eyes grew wide.

"You designed the Foxnocht 9?" Anakin asked..

"I mean, well, I kind of, yeah, I guess I was the one who-" Shmi elbowed him.

"You designed all of them, dear."

This was too much for Anakin.

"You what?"

That was the rest of the evening for Tam and Anakin. Shmi, the Kenobis, and the Organas had to occupy themselves with other conversation. Ben and Bail spoke politics, and Obi-Wan created new stories about his scar to satisfy Cora's questioning.

After the main course, Breha excused herself to see Cora to bed. In her absence, Shmi took up conversation with Ben, and was more than happy to hear about Anakin's studies. They even managed to pull in Tam and Anakin himself to discuss the things Anakin had been learning in his mechanics courses. For the most part, it went far above Obi-Wan's understanding.

"And what about you?" Bail's question caught Obi-Wan's attention. The senator had been nursing a glass of wine for the past half hour and was lounging comfortably into his seat. "I heard you got arrested."

"A gross misunderstanding, I assure you," Obi-Wan chuckled. "It can happen sometimes, I was operating in the Outer Rim." Obi-Wan cast a glance at the rest of the dinner party, who were engrossed in conversation and storytelling. "Actually, Senator," Obi-Wan's tone shifted, and through the comfortable haze of wine, Bail caught on immediately. He leaned in to listen. "If you have a moment, I'd like to speak with you about an assignment – I could use your opinion on something."

"Oh?" the prince said, raising a brow. Obi-Wan produced a small datapad from his pocket and handed it to Bail. Bail looked at it, and immediately set his wine glass down with a thunk.

Ben immediately looked up, sensing a disturbance. Anakin didn't seem to notice. The master watched as Bail and Obi-Wan huddled over the small image.

"You recognize it?" Obi-Wan asked.

Bail stared at the image for some time before handing the 'pad back to the Jedi. "Not tonight," He said, glancing at the gathered group. Breha had returned, and was laughing at a story Anakin was re-enacting for the group.

"Find me tomorrow," Bail told Obi-Wan in a low voice. "I don't want to disturb Shmi and Tam. They have enough to worry about."

"Of course," Obi-Wan said. As he took the datapad and put it away, Ben caught his eye. As ever, the older man looked as though he knew more than Obi-Wan ever would, and he looked worried. Obi-Wan was happy when the serving droid offered him wine.

Early the following morning, Obi-Wan awoke to a message from Bail Organa requesting a private meeting at twenty hours that evening, until which time he would be unfortunately occupied.

Waiting was an integral and irritating part of a Jedi's life. Obi-Wan meditated to occupy himself, and opened his eyes onto the sunrise. He sighed. When you only had three days to complete an investigation, twelve hours was a long time.

In the meantime, Ben and Anakin were swept up in the reception of wedding guests. Most of Shmi's friends had at least heard of Anakin's existence, though there were one or two who had not believed Shmi when she told them that she, a thirty-four year old courtier, had a nearly-grown son training to be a Jedi Knight. But beyond their doubts, here he was in the flesh, and he was tall and handsome and polite, and he still had the barest remnants of baby fat left on his face ripe for pinching.

His cheeks were red from pinching and blushing when he plopped down to a seat at lunch. "I don't envy you," Obi-Wan said, not looking up from the news bulletin he read. He handed Anakin a glass of sweet muja juice. Anakin drank, choked, and stopped.

"There's alcohol in this," the teen said, coughing.

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is," Obi-Wan said, and drank deeply from his own glass.

Anakin was frowning pensively. "Drinking age on Alderaan is…" he drew blank.

"Sixteen," Obi-Wan reminded.

"Oh,good." Anakin drank the rest. Obi-Wan laughed.

"Stop poisoning my apprentice," Ben materialized, presumably to ruin their fun.

"How do you expect him to learn Force-detox if you don't poison him?" Obi-Wan rebutaled. Anakin abruptly stopped drinking. "It's what Qui-Gon did for me."

"Master Jinn is not exactly an exemplar," Ben said.

"And somehow, I've turned out alright," Obi-Wan replied, taking a sip.

"Debatable."

Anakin was coughing. "You poisoned me?"

Obi-Wan looked at him nonchalant. "Alderaanian rum is 140 proof, it's practically poison. Didn't you know?"

"No," Anakin's eyes were wide.

"Oh, well," Obi-Wan shrugged, swirled his glass and drank. "Now you do."

"Really, Obi?" Anakin hissed, beginning to feel… something.

"That's master Kenobi to you." For show, Obi-Wan took Anakin's discarded glass and knocked it back in one gulp.

"Enough," Master Kenobi interrupted them both. "Anakin, you need to focus your senses on neutralizing that rum. Get something to eat, if it helps. More guests have arrived."

"Oh come on, not more," Anakin said, flippancy fueled by annoyance and perhaps rum. "I cant keep playing meet-and-greet all day. I don't know any of those people, and they act like they know me."

"Playing meet and greet, as you call it, is a very large part of any Jedi's life, you know better. However, as much as I would like to turn this into a lesson for you, they're not here to see you," Ben said dryly. "She's here to see Knight Kenobi," Ben put emphasis on the rank, but it was not the emphasis that Obi-Wan heard.

"She?" The knight frowned.

"Yes," Ben said, making eye contact. "She."

Obi-Wan stared at pensive oblivion for a moment. He stood suddenly. "What is she doing here?" He asked the universe before he strode away, gait falling somewhere between surprise and panic.

Anakin enjoyed seeing the unflappable, smart-ass Obi-Wan Kenobi actually flustered. "What," he asked sarcastically, "does he have a secret girlfriend or something?"

To the padawan's immense surprise, Ben laughed loudly. "No," the master coached his smile into submission, but the lines around his mouth and eyes crinkled with mirth, "no, I don't believe it's quite like that."

"Then who's got him all worked up?"

Ben did not respond, but glanced nervously at his apprentice. "An old acquaintance I think. Come on. You need to practice using the Force to purge toxins. I can't have you acting the drunkard when your mother's about, I'll never hear the end of it."

It was clear and cold out on the landing dock as Obi-Wan made his way over to the newly arrived shuttle. Its chrome hull hissed and snapped as the engines cooled in the winter mountain air of Alderaan, and steam drifted in clouds from the hydraulic pistons that held the landing ramp to the ground.

"I certainly didn't expect to see you here, Senator," Obi-Wan announced.

Padme Amidala turned, saw him, and froze in a moment of genuine surprise. "I could say the same about you, Master Kenobi," her surprise faded into a smile and she grasped his arm as a friend when he came over to kiss her cheek. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on personal leave, actually," Obi-Wan pulled away and crossed his arms, fixing her with a calculating expression. "But what are you doing here?"

It was difficult to tell where Padme's real face ended and her diplomat's mask begun. "Official business," she said.

At that moment, a service droid rolled up to the senator with a datapad in hand. "We are so happy to have you here on Alderaan, Senator, I know Ms. Skywalker is excited to see you again. If you would please follow me, the wedding party is still gathered for brunch. I'm sure they'll all be delighted for you to join them."

The droid rolled away, and Padme stayed put. Obi-Wan watched it go, and swivelled to look back at his friend.

"I didn't realize Shmi Skywalker was official business."

Padme's brows raised. "You know her?"

"And so do you, apparently, though I can't imagine why," the Jedi countered. Padme shrugged.

"She used to be Breha's handmaid until she agreed to be their surrogate. Now, Breha's made her into something of a politician - as much as she cares to be, anyway," Padme explained. "She's a close friend of Bail's, and a friend of Bail is a friend of mine."

"Official business, though?" Obi-Wan wasn't buying it.

"A woman can have more than one reason for a social call, Master Kenobi," Padme scolded him. "As can a Jedi, I presume."

"I really am on leave," he said, guileless. Padme mirrored his own skepticism.

"Not just on leave, I assume."

"What else could I possibly be doing?"

Padme was utterly unimpressed. "You showed me the dossier yourself, Master Kenobi. I was the one who suggested you speak with Bail in the first place. I just didn't think you'd bother going all the way to Alderaan to do it."

Obi-Wan met her iron stare mettle for mettle. "And yet you knew I would be here."

"I didn't, I thought I made that obvious."

"Too obvious. Who told you?"

Padme didn't like being called out. She hesitated a moment, and said, "My plus one told me." She said it louder than she needed to. "Or in this case, plus two. I think they're more cross at you than I am for gallivanting off on your own." As if on cue, two sets of footsteps sounded down the ramp. Obi-Wan recognized them immediately, but it took a few sluggish seconds for his brain to accept it.

"Aola?" he was aghast. "Cody? What the hell are you two doing here?"

"Wipe that look off your face," Aola scolded. "You should be happy we're here, we've come to help you."

Obi-Wan did not know if he should be happy, because he was too busy being confused. "Who sent you here?"

"No one. We're on leave."

Obi-Wan blinked, looking between Cody and Aola. "What, both of you?"

"Of course, sir," Cody said easily. "We've not seen you in years, and you turn up and decide to immediately go on vacation. Is it not so odd that old friends travel together to catch up on lost time?" Obi-Wan wondered if Aola had been the one to teach Cody sarcasm.

Aola picked up the Agent's line of logic as if it were her own. "And if we just happen upon evidence of an underground criminal undertaking while we're here, then it's a very lucky thing that we were here at all."

"That's… very kind of you," Obi-Wan said, still not sure that he was pleased with this sudden arrangement, "but I'm here to gather information, nothing more. I hardly need backup."

"Have you spoken with Bail?" Padme asked.

"Not yet. We have a meeting set tonight."

"Then we've arrived just in time," Cody cut in. "We have reason to believe that there's far more to gather on Alderaan than information, sir."

Obi-Wan's eyes drifted over to Padme. "What do you mean?" She was frowning at him.

"If we'd had more time to talk - if I had known you'd go shooting off on your own after you left my apartment that day, I would've taken more time to tell you: this criminal organization you're hunting, whoever they are, has been lurking on Alderaan for a while. I don't know the details, but it's been keeping Bail preoccupied for months. They were on Naboo, and now they're on Alderaan. That's why I told you to talk to Bail. This isn't about information. It's about a real threat. If you ask Bail about it, he'll point you to a hornet's nest."

Obi-Wan suddenly remembered the haunted look on Bail's face when Obi-Wan had shown him the still holo of the lightsabers, the crest. Bail hadn't said a word at dinner, but had set aside a whole evening for them to meet and talk about it. Obi-Wan really should have known better.

"When Master Windu heard all that, he suggested sending Cody in to help you," Aola grinned.

"And you tagged along for the hell of it?" Obi-Wan surmised. Aola only smiled.

Cody remained businesslike. "If you're planning on going after the Council of Reconciliation, sir, you're going to need all the corroboration you can get. It will be best if multiple agencies are involved."

Obi-Wan had never said he was 'going after' anyone. But deep down, he knew that he was. Palpatine was attempting to spread his roots into the Jedi Order itself and build an empire. Obi-Wan would not let him. He was grateful to see similar sentiments in the faces around him.

"I don't know how much help a senator will be in all of this," Padme inserted herself back into the conversation, "but whatever you turn up, I will do all that I can to support you. If this comes down to a fight with the Council or the Senate, I'll be with you all the way."

"Thank you, Padme," Obi-Wan bowed his head to her. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. We need to find out what we're dealing with, first."

"If they've been stealing and using lightsabers," Cody said darkly, "I think we could all take a guess."

No one else said anything. They stood in a rough circle, the Jedi's robes whipping loudly at their ankles. The wind tossed short tufts of Obi-Wan's hair into disgruntled peaks. "My meeting with Bail is at twenty-hundred tonight. I'll explain the situation to him." He paused, looking at the faces of his companions. He hadn't worked with a partner in nearly four years. He hadn't worked with a team since the debacle on Eriadu, now nearly ten years ago. Despite himself, Obi-Wan sighed and said, "You should all come with me."

"Lead the way sir," Cody said, with a soldier's conviction and trust. "We'll see it through."

The afternoon passed in a blur. Obi-Wan happened into Ben at dinner. While the elder man had been aware that Padme had arrived, he was surprised to hear about Aola and Cody.

"Is it bad as all that?" he asked.

"None of us know, but Mace encouraged it after speaking with Senator Amidala. Make of that what you will."

Ben nibbled at his food. "We'll have to be vigilant."

"I'd hate to have any of this interrupt Shmi and Tam's festivities."

"Don't worry about that," Ben placated. "Anakin and I will keep an eye on things. You should focus on your mission."

"Speaking of," Obi-Wan glanced around the dining hall, "Where is your apprentice?"

Ben sipped at a cup of tea. "With his future stepfather in the Royal Navy hangers, I believe," He spoke with a rueful burr uncharacteristic of his wizened hermit persona. "I've had to put up with his ridiculous fretting for months, and here he is in a mechanic's wonderland stricken with a sudden amnesia that's prevented him from remembering how insufferable he's been."

Obi-Wan laughed. "I'm glad to hear he's recovering." Ben waved his hand.

"From his anxiety, anyway. He's still mad at you about the rum."

Obi-Wan laughed. "But did it help him practice detoxing?"

"Admittedly, yes, and he got the knack of it quite quickly." Ben was smirking beneath his mustache. "Qui-Gon's methods are questionable, but they do work."

"As I said," Obi-Wan smiled. They ate in silence. Eventually, Ben settled back into his chair and waved a hand.

"Let him wander, I'm grateful for the time alone."

"Well," Obi-Wan's voice darkened the mood of conversation. "Depending on what I'm able to turn up, you might not want him to wander too much. I'll keep you updated."

"Please do."

At twenty-hundred hours, Obi-Wan, Padme, Aola, and Cody assembled to meet Bail in a small courtyard some ways behind the royal palace. It was just past sunset, but a light snow had begun to fall that cast the world in a hazy blue. Aola and Obi-Wan sensed Bail's approach first, and turned.

"I'm grateful to have your support," The prince told the group as he approached. "Though I admit, I was hoping that a meeting with a single Jedi would be more inconspicuous than this. I hope we don't startle my pilot."

"Pilot?" Aola asked.

"This way," Bail gestured toward a long building that ran out along the slope beneath the courtyard. "That crest you showed me, Master Kenobi, it belongs to a criminal organization that we've recently become aware of here on Alderaan. We've kept their existence largely under wraps to prevent panic, but our intelligence has linked them to a string of dangerous burglaries and break-ins. They've stolen ancient weapons from museums and new ones from our own stores. You can understand why we don't broadcast the fact.

"Similar things have happened on Naboo," Padme said as they walked, her hands folded into sleeves to keep warm. The moonlight cast blue shadows on the anxious furrows in her brow. "They raid old stores, but they raid new shipments before they reach the planet surface. They've been raiding abandoned mines, as well. It's caused at least one earthquake. They're pirates."

Obi-Wan's expression darkened. This had started with a museum heist. And now...

"It is unnerving how little we know about them. They do not leave traces. They do not leave survivors, if they can help it. Many of our trading partners have said they've encountered their ships as far out as the north end of the Hydian way and Cantonica. But somehow, we don't even know the name of their organization. We only know that crest."

"How has the Order not heard about this?" Aola interjected.

"We believe the Council of Reconciliation could be hiding the fact from the High Council," Cody said, staying close by her side.

"They're keeping information from all of us," Padme said. "If they're not supporting this organization, they're at very least turning a blind eye, and they can't be the only ones."

Bail's jaw muscles bunched in anxious knots. "My men have taken to calling the organization Thorn Moon, after their crest, but we have no idea who they really are."

He led the group into a long, tall building. The place was largely abandoned, but a set of automatic lights flickered to life to guide their way. The pungent smell of jet fuel hit them like a wall; Obi-Wan realized this must be a fighter jet hanger.

"Two weeks ago, a pilot in my navy was overseeing a routine training exercise when he spotted an unmarked ship flying into the mountains. He followed it and tried to hail it, but the transmission was blocked. His ship hit a wall of interference and his engines failed. He crashed, but survived. We're not sure if his attackers know that he's alive, but he came back describing a fort, a hidden base high up in the mountains that's been cloaked, somehow, likely by the same interference that crashed his ship. Thus far, we've been unable to investigate."

They came to a door flanked by two guards, who stood at attention and saluted their prince. "This way," Bail opened the door for his guests.

"I figured you'd want to hear the story firsthand. I've made sure he's on duty tonight, though for secrecy's sake, he doesn't know we're coming." Bail cast a look at his four followers and chuckled. "I hope we don't startle him."

It was in fact their entourage who was startled when they arrived on the main hangar floor.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan blurted.

Anakin attempted to sit upright and hit his head with a resounding bong on the hull of the starfighter above him.

"Ow!"

Padme stifled a laugh.

"Obi-Wan - and… Aola? Cody?" The whites of Anakin's eyes were bright against the mud of motor oil and grime that colored his face. He shimmied his way out from under the ship and stood, hair jutting up at all angles from being crimped by the mechanic's creeper. "What in the galaxy are you doing - Senator Organa, hello," he fidgeted awkwardly, unsure of what to make to the scene. Obi-Wan was willing to bet that he hadn't spoken to another person four hours, at least.

"And, um," Anakin was looking at Padme's face, desperately trying to recall a name that he didn't know.

"Anakin, this is Senator Padme Amidala of Naboo. Padme, this is Anakin Skywalker, Ben's apprentice.

"Pad- I mean, uh, Senator, it's an honor to meet you." He extended a hand, saw that it was covered in grease, and quickly withdrew it again. Padme betrayed no reaction to the gaffe.

"Skywalker, you said?" she grinned, and Anakin braced for commentary on his mother, on his age, on Tam, on everything about himself over which he had no control. Instead, Padme said, "You seem to be quite the mechanic, Padawan Skywalker."

Beneath the grime, Anakin blushed. "Uhhh," he began, and did not finish until a new voice interrupted him.

"Alright, I've got the nitrus cells," Tam Corteé, covered in as much grime as his stepson to be, emerged through a door behind the group, rifling through a box of parts as he went. "They should fit into the drive, so let's try it on the 'naut 9 and see if it can handle-" stopped in his tracks upon seeing the entourage. "You highness," He said, wide eyes swivelling around to the different members of the group. "Senator. Master Kenobi." He looked at Aola, at Cody. "And… uh…. Is.. is there something amiss, sir?" He asked Bail.

Bail was trying not to smile at the two startled gearheads. "You're working late today, Tam." He glanced at Anakin, and back at his engineer. "Lieutenant Kaminoa is on duty right now, I believe?"

"Uh, yes, he is, sir."

"Kaminoa?" Cody mused quietly. Aola looked up at him.

"Call him in, would you?"

"Of course sir," Tam replied. "I'll just, uh," He cast a look at Anakin before setting down his box of parts, "I'll just be right back." He retreated back into the corridor from which he'd come. The group waited.

"Rex isn't in any trouble is he?" Anakin asked apprehensively. Bail gave him a smile.

"None at all, Padawan Skywalker, we just wish to speak with him."

"Sorry," Cody cut in, stepping past his companions so he could point at the apprentice, "did you say Rex?"

Bail was the first to turn and see when Tam reemerged with the newcomer. "Ah, there you are. Please, Lieutenant, come in."

The group turned, none faster than Cody.

Obi-Wan lagged, feeling strange. Memories that did not belong to him stirred something in his gut, a kinetic movement of the cosmos that lifted his mood and made him turn with excited expectation. At the top of the hanger, looking confused but composed was a Kaminoan clone in crew-cut blond hair and crisp navy fatigues.

"Sir," the clone approached the group and gave a brief salute.

"Masters, Senator," Bail gestured, "I'd like you to meet First Lieutenant Rex Kaminoa, one of the finest pilots in the Alderaanian Navy. He has a story that I think you'd all like to hear."