Even with half a lifetime of diplomatic experience in hand, the usual butterflies before an important meeting flutter in Padme's chest. This is not a senatorial fete or even a critical vote. This is—quite literally—flying into the heart of an unknown and fragile situation, where a wrong word, an ill-phrased insinuation, or a mistimed assertion could send Taris plunging into the hands of the Separatists. Pins and needles prick the back of her neck as Taris looms large in the viewscreen of her and Bail Organa's diplomatic shuttle. They have reached the planet without running into trouble despite Separatist advances in regional space, but the real difficulty waits for them below amid the spear-like towers and beneath the factory-sullied clouds.

Behind her co-pilot's seat, R2-D2 whines. The astromech droid knows, just as Padme does, that meeting Taris's leadership is not the only reason she is here. She has brought R2 and Captain Typho to take care of the true pressure in her heart as she delays the Tarisian prime minister—to find Anakin and the others and to get them to safely. If that means she throws herself into the teeth of a politically untenable situation, so be it. "It'll be okay, Artoo," she says as Typho dips the shuttle into low orbit, gliding past the meager Tarisian defense fleet circling the planet. Hardly enough to defend a world like this against a determined assault. Half of the cruisers look old enough to star in historical holovids.

"This planet's seen better days," Bail says from behind Typho, looking over his shoulder.

"We're not here to solve all of their problems," Padme says, if only to calm her own nerves. "All we need to do is help calmer heads prevail. So long as Taris is still siding with the Republic by the time we're leaving, then everything will be fine."

Typho locks in the autopilot for landing. "And me, my lady?" says the Naboo security officer. Ever-loyal Typho, always ready to jump to her aid whether that's on Coruscant, Naboo, or off in the outer Rim. "I'm not even sure where to begin looking for Skywalker and the other Jedi. It's a big planet."

"You'll be fine as long as you don't draw attention," says Padme. She looks back to the droid. "I've given Artoo the frequency to the private comms channel Master Skywalker and I have used in the past in…dicey situations." She lets that last part dangle. A bit of a stretch. Perhaps those dicey situations involve her tasking Anakin with finding last-minute addendums to the parties she's hosted for other senators at their Coruscant apartment, but Typho and Bail don't need to know that. As for Artoo—he can keep his secrets. "It's short-range only, though. Very short-range. You'll need to get Artoo around and try to get a lock on Master Skywalker's comm."

"And if he's lost it?"

"He won't have lost it," she says. She hopes. "Just remember to stay undercover. I'd rent a speeder if I were you. The Jedi were here to investigate the Taths, so flying near the Tath estate—that should be easy enough to find—would be your best bet. Then if that fails, expand your search range."

He nods. "Will do. I'll find him."

Artoo chirps in agreement. Bail, however, looks with shadowy eyes at the cityscape sprawling before them as the shuttle descends. "Something about this is making me uneasy," he says. "Prime Minister Forn's envoy didn't sound enthusiastic about the situation on the ground when we hailed him earlier. If the situation is out of the government's hands entirely then there may not be much we can do to ease tensions."

Padme fears the same thing. When Typho had opened a channel to Tarisian Prime Minister Haydel Forn's office as they had entered local space, his personal attaché had sounded anything but pleased to receive them. Worse—the way he'd referred to "those Taths whipping up the mob" made it sound as if what the Chancellor had shown in his office back on Coruscant was only a prelude to some kind of uproar sparking on the planet. But Padme cannot think of that now: She is here and she has a job to do—two jobs. And, even in the face of diplomacy, the most important job of all is bringing Anakin home. No matter what.

"Touching down," says Typho, hitting dash switches as the shuttle lands on a dignitary's platform with a soft whump.

Outside on the platform waits a procession of a half-dozen officials flanked by a pair of security speeders. One tall, portly man in a flowing, silky violet robe steps forth as Padme and Bail descend the shuttle's ramp. "Senator Amidala," he booms, stretching his hands out in greeting in an exaggerated way that immediately makes Padme think of the gregarious Twi'lek senator Orn Free Taa. About the same size, too. "Senator Organa. Taris welcomes you with open arms."

"Prime Minister Forn," says Padme, curtsying. "It's an honor."

Bail bows. "Prime Minister. We bring with us our sincerest condolences about Senator Kin Robb's death. She was among the best of us in the Senate. Coruscant is a darker place without her."

"Yes, Senator Robb's demise certainly struck a blow," said Forn, ushering the two towards one of the waiting speeders. "Let us talk more back at the palace." He looks around at the city as if expecting danger to rush in from the sky and steel. "Taris has taken a rather ugly turn these past few days. Privacy will do us good."

Taris's capitol is a relic of better days, a squat obelisk adorned with bronzium and chromium accoutrements, shine and gloss and all niceties that flee from the dirt of the rest of the world. Air traffic around the palace strikes Padme as oddly light for the world's seat of government. "Just how bad is the situation?" she asks the prime minister as their speeder angles towards one of the upper hanger bays.

He shakes his head. "Bad. Please, wait until we are inside."

"Is there a security problem?" asks Bail.

"I do not know. But I will explain later. Please. We have a conference room equipped and ready. I ask that you hold all questions until I can explain."

Nerves twist into anxiety as Padme follows Forn down the wide, curved, white-and-violet halls of the palace. Dignitaries are absent; armed sentries proliferate. The place reminds her less of the heart of planetary rule and more of a fortress. When the prime minister invites them into a dimly-lit, slit-windowed conference room near the top of the tower and shuts the door, he looks relieved. "I apologize," he says. "Refreshments, perhaps? This is hardly a traditional Tarisian welcome, but recent events have made me prioritize safety above all else."

"Let us get to the matter at hand, shall we?" says Bail, taking a seat. The room is spartan—high-backed, hardwood chairs seated around a polished-stone circular table that hosts a holotransceiver at its center. A subtle chandelier hangs from above.

"Of course, of course," Forn says. He offers Padme a seat. "This is one of our most secure conference centers for sensitive information. I do hope the plainness does not offend."

"It's no trouble," says Padme. "But please, Prime Minister, as Bail said: What exactly is going on to warrant this sort of security?"

Forn looks grave, stroking his chin with his hand as he stares at the center of the table. "For years the Taths were nothing but gracious guests to our world. They're Arkanians, off-worlders, new to Taris, and our traditional nobility has long complained about them monopolizing various industries here—the media most especially—but I set aside their complaints. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention," he says. "Ever since the bombing—"

"That they blamed on the Jedi Order, correct?" interrupts Bail.

"Yes. A ridiculous notion, but the story has seemed to stick. It dominates local news and has spread like wildfire. An attempted assassination by two other Jedi within their estate's walls, as well—and just yesterday the news of Kin Robb's death on Coruscant leaked here. Senator Robb was beloved, and the Taths used her death to blame the Republic for allowing her to die. One prominent newscaster even opined that the hawkish elements of the Senate had her assassinated for protecting Tarisian neutrality."

Bail scoffs. "That is ridiculous. And how did her death leak at all? Chancellor Palpatine assured us that it would stay a secret matter."

Perhaps, Padme thinks, not so ridiculous. She remembers that shadow outside of her office that night of the senatorial party as she spoke to Ahsoka. Perhaps it was a Tath agent meant to stoke this fire. Or perhaps the Taths are on to something and simply are using the situation for their own ends. If it's the latter, then who really is behind things? "I think it's too late to worry about the how," she says. "But if the Taths are inflaming the situation, why have you not sent security to apprehend them? Why have you not taken action against them?"

"They haven't done anything unlawful," says Prime Minister Forn. "Not overtly, at least. We pride freedom of speech on Taris just as the Republic does. And…well. Hm."

"And?" presses Padme.

Forn shifts in his seat. "The truth, Senator, is that the old nobility has always had a significant degree of control over things."

"What sort of things?"

"Ah, administration. Bureaucracy. And, ah, security. And the Taths have taken to nobility quite well. They are as entrenched as any noble family on Taris."

Bail shakes his head and sighs. "So you're saying some public security is on their payroll?"

"And ours, too, for sure. But they do pay better, as you might expect. All the nobles do."

Anger flares up in Padme's gut. Nothing unlawful? That's naked corruption, and not by just the Taths. It's as bad as…well, it's as bad as offering seats in the Republic Senate to the Trade Federation and the Banking Clan. Hm. Perhaps Taris does take after the Republic. Still, even now she can piece the puzzle together. Forn and the planetary government have let a cancer spread on this planet and have turned a blind eye—and the Taths are simply the first player to take full advantage of it. Taris's rulership is equally at fault here. No wonder this planet is in turmoil. No wonder one bombing has exploded into a crisis in mere days. It was the spark that lit the dry tinder of populist frustration. "What exactly have the Taths' statements and accusations done so far? What kind of an effect are they having on the citizenry?" she asks.

Forn sighs and stands. He turns his back, walks to the slit window, and peers outside. "I am the Republic's loyal servant," he says, "and they have used that to their ends. They accuse me and my government of catering favor to the Republic and turning a blind eye to the people. Poverty has always been bad in the Lower City, but in recent years it has spread to parts of the Upper City as well—the Taths have not called for any outright change in rule, but they are close. Some of the newer nobility already are in league with the Taths. If enough of them banded together, they could certainly push for rulership. And, I fear, it would not take much to get the people behind them."

"This sounds like the start of a coup," says Bail.

"Frankly, Senator Organa, that's not far off," says Forn. He frets. "In truth, Senator Robb's death is an enormous blow. We need the Republic now more than ever. Separatist space is so close, and neutrality is fragile. The League of Neutral Systems is barely holding together. Taris would be a better place, truthfully, if we threw out hat in with the Republic. If we declared a real side in this war. And the Republic, in turn, could save us from ourselves."

Padme bites her tongue. On one hand, this is better than she could've hoped for: Forn is not only pledging loyalty to the Republic, but he also would commit the world entirely to Coruscant's efforts. On the other hand, from his words it sounds as if he is one of very, very few people on Taris who thinks this way. "It's not as if I'm asking the Republic to send the clone army to stabilize the situation here," the prime minister goes on, "but we need assistance. The kind of help we can't muster on our own."

Their talk goes on into the evening. Offers and counter-offers. Refreshments and breaks. The delicate art of diplomacy taking hold even as social instability reigns outside this tower. By the time the sun sets on all of that metal and clockwork and the white glow of artificial lighting lights up the darkening horizon, Padme thinks they are close to a deal to bring Taris to the Republic's side in the war effort. Neutrality has its place, and she will always fight for peace, but if this will ensure Taris will not fall to the droid armies, then so be it. "I will speak to the Senate," she promises Forn. "Please, Prime Minister, if you would come to Coruscant to speak as well—"

A hurried knocking on the door interrupts her. "Yes?" says Forn, sounding annoyed.

A frantic-looking security officer barges in. "Sir. Prime Minister," he huffs. "At the entrance. It's not good."

"Calm yourself, man. What's not good?"

"May I?" pants the officer, pointing to the table's holo. When Forn relents, the guard punches in a command and brings up a holographic live camera feed of the city-level entrance to the palace.

People are everywhere. People and signs and weapons. And the palace gates are wide open as security guards wave the mob in. "They assembled an hour or so ago in what we thought was a protest," the guard says, "but our men at the gates threw the entrance open to them a few minutes ago and just let them inside."

"What?" Forn spits. "Who was manning that? And how far has that mob gotten?"

"It's—"

An alert chimes on the holo. "Prime Minister," a voice calls. Padme recognizes the voice of the attaché she spoke to on the shuttle. "If I might play you a recent broadcast that just went out on several public news feeds, sir. I think you'll want to see this."

"Go ahead."

The holo blurs, and Hosha Tath's face looms over the table. Anger in her furrowed brow. Her lips curled in a snarl. "Your leaders have betrayed you, Taris," Hosha snarls over the news broadcast. "Even now they welcome the Republic's creatures into the ruling palace. Even now they scheme to shred our neutrality, throw us into the fires of war, and sell our planet—you, me, and all the billions of our brothers and sisters and parents and children—to Coruscant. And do not take my word for it. Listen yourselves. Listen as the devil Haydel Forn plots with senators Bail Organa and Padme Amidala at this very moment to send your children to the front lines of the Clone Wars and use your hard work, your lives, to enrich the Galactic Senate!"

The holo twists and churns, and Padme has a very bad feeling about what she is about to see.

She is right: It is a hidden camera feed of this very room hours ago, the Prime Minister, Bail, and she discussing Taris's precarity. All it takes is a clever bit of video and audio manipulation to sell the rest. On camera for all of Taris to see, Forn says, "I am the Republic's loyal servant." Then the camera flickers and jumps to the next damning scene. "I'm asking the Republic to send the clone army to stabilize the situation here. We need assistance."

Bail presses his hand to his mouth. "It seems they've infiltrated quite a bit further than you thought, Prime Minister. They've been listening and watching us this whole time."

"This is blasphemous," snaps Forn. "I never—I didn't intend to say it like that, it was…it just…this is all taken out of context! This is all lies!"

"Never mind that now," says Padme, rising from her seat. She turns to the officer. "Soldier, what's going on at the entrance? Who is inside?"

"All kinds of people, Senator. It's a whole mob, and security officers are with them. They're armed, too. There was a gunfight going on in one of the lower halls."

The best mob money could buy, no doubt. "We need to get out of here. Somewhere safe," says Padme. "Prime Minister, where can we go? We can't wait."

He snaps out of his furor over the recording. "Yes, yes," he says. "To the secure hanger at the top of the tower. There's several emergency shortcuts there. With me, Senators. We won't fall to this rabble so easily."


The Lower City wears on Ahsoka.

They've been down here for days, trying in equal parts to glean what information they can about the Taths' business as well as finding a reliable ride off-world. The latter seems easy enough in Ahsoka's eyes—just hitch a ride on a transport, there's enough of them on this world; act as stowaways if need be—but Obi-Wan preaches patience, patience. Anakin is no better: Her master almost seems as if he's enjoying things now. The filth and the shouts and the shrieks and the industrial-grunge roaring of swoop bikes jetting in and out of the narrow transport tunnels that criss-cross the Lower City urban zones—not to mention the stink—and none of it seems to bother the others.

"How are you so casual about everything?" she asks Anakin as the two of them walk past yet another holo-advertisement beacon with Obi-Wan's face posted and an offer for two hundred fifty thousand credits' bounty if taken alive. "You realize it's only a matter of time before someone comes around trying to collect on us."

"Eh," says Anakin, waving off her concern, "The Separatists have an outstanding bounty on all Jedi, anyway. This isn't that much different. Besides, usually we're just facing droids that want to shoot us dead. This is a nice change of pace."

"How is it nice?"

He shrugs. "Maybe Obi-Wan wants to keep running around getting more information on the Taths while we're here, but as far as I'm concerned, we've done our job. No need to worry about things."

"Except our lives, maybe."

"That'll work itself out."

"You're just saying that to—"

He grins at her. "Come on, now. Why complain? Rex found us that nice flophouse. Real mattresses. Real noodles."

"Real sounds of the kath hound fighting pit right next door. All night."

"And for free! How much more could you want?"

"Right."

As they pass yet another dingy alley the chaos of a commotion rings out. At the end of the lane two Aqualish thugs land punch after punch on a writhing figure. Anakin lets out a measured breath and holds out his hand, saying, "Just let it go, Ahsoka. We need to keep our cover."

"What? They're thugs, Master. We're just going to sit back and walk by?"

Anakin exhales. "Yeah, you're right. No Force, though. No lightsabers, got it? Don't want to blow our cover to the bounty hunters you were just worrying about. Just good ol' fists and knees."

"Or words."

"Aggressive words. Come on. Back me up."

Anakin strides down the alley with the confidence of a pugilist stepping into the ring, rubbing his neck, loosening his fingers. "Hey," he calls to the thugs, "sleemo. Get lost." One of the Aqualish turns and barks in Huttese. "I don't care what he did or who he is," retorts Anakin. "You're bothering me. So get lost. Not gonna say it again."

The other thug lets go of their victim and snarls. "I don't think your aggressive words are working," says Ahsoka, raising her fists.

"Told ya. Let's make this quick."

The first thug charges. Anakin dodges. Ahsoka kicks at his knee at the Aqualish cries out in pain. He throws a wild punch. Misses. Already Ahsoka is behind him. As he turns she strikes once, twice, three in his chest, throwing a flurry of punches that knocks the wind out of the thug. He keels over, wheezing, and she ends it there and then with a knee to the face.

She turns just in time to see Anakin throwing a haymaker that launches the other Aqualish into a pile of refuse. "Go home and rethink your lives," Anakin says with a grin as the two thugs scamper away. He loosens his fingers and shakes his left hand. "Shoulda hit with the right. Ow."

"See? No problem," says Ahsoka.

"Yeah, I guess. Let's see to the guy they were beating up."

The unfortunate victim peels himself off of the duracrete. Blood stains his violet cape. Filth sullies his face. "Thank you," he gasps as Ahsoka helps him up. "I thought I was dead."

"You're okay," says Ahsoka. "They were just thugs."

"No," the man wheezes, rubbing at a gash below his eye. "Hired killers."

"Those clowns? Come on," Anakin says. "The going rate for hired killers must be pretty low if so."

The man leans against the alley wall and gasps for breath. "I don't have anything left to pay you with for saving me," he says. "I'm sorry. Everything's back at my home in the Upper City and I was locked out of my accounts."

Anakin frowns. "Might not want to say that too loud around here. You don't owe us anything, but just who are you?"

"I—well, it's complicated, it's just—"

"Relax, I'm not in it for credits. I just want to know what was going on."

The man looks between Anakin and Ahsoka as if expecting them to shake him down. When they do nothing, he relents and nods. "All-all right. You seem trustworthy. Not so filthy as most of these Lower City dogs. I, uh, I'm from the Upper City."

"You said that already."

"I did, yes. Yes. All right. My name is Denethen Phora. From the house of Phora. Please, I don't have any credits on me."

Anakin looks lost. "I don't have any idea what that is."

"You—you don't? The noble house of—well, nobility. Minor nobility, I swear."

"Look, we said we didn't want any credits," says Ahsoka. "Why's a noble down here slumming it up with the rest of us?"

He winces and massages his wounds. "The house of Attoran—"

"Don't know who that is either."

"Another noble house. They have envied us for years. They are aligned with the Taths, though—surely you must know of them—"

Anakin frowns. "Yeah."

"Well, yes. The Taths, see, they must control the Attorans. This is their doing. They want real power, and they're not above taking wealth from noble houses like my own. My mother was shot dead two days ago by an assassin. Two of our financial accounts were drained. Now here I am, beaten half to death."

"The Taths did this?" says Ahsoka.

"They must have. This is not beyond them. Accursed outsiders. This is what we get for welcoming Arkanians of all people into our fold, the impurity of it all, those blasted, empty-eyed—"

"Okay, we get it," says Anakin. "Run along now."

The noble nods. "Yes. Are you sure I don't owe—"

"I swear, if I have to repeat myself again—"

"Okay, okay, yes sir. Yes. I'm leaving. Thank you. Thank you."

Anakin scowls as the noble man trudges away. "I hate people like that," he mutters.

"Nobility?" says Ahsoka.

"No, just people with power who let it get to their head. They see the whole world as their little tool," spits Anakin. "Shoulda just left him to the thugs."

"You don't mean that. He was defenseless, no matter who he is."

"A little bit, I do," he says. "Ah, forget it. It's done. What he said after that's pretty interesting. Nobles hiring thugs to off their rivals doesn't surprise me in the least—Taths or not—but given what you found in the comms tower about Sleheyron, it makes Obi-Wan's theory about the Taths plucking Tarisians and selling them as slaves in Hutt Space all the more real. It'd be so easy. Heck, it could've been that guy if we didn't intervene."

Ahsoka stays quiet. She remembers what Obi-Wan told her about her master's past. About Tatooine. Slavery is an abhorrence that somehow still lurks in the galaxy despite the Republic's reach, and to Anakin it is even more personal. The last thing she wants is for him to stew in that idea that the Taths are intergalactic slavers on top of everything else. Do that long enough and he'll propose mounting a full-scale offensive on their estate rather than getting off of this planet.

He drops the idea quicker than she would've thought. "Guess we can mention it to Obi-Wan," he says. "Come on. Let's link back up with him."

They don't get far down the street when they run into a humble crowd bunched up around a holoprojector playing the news. Ahsoka stops the moment she sees whose face comes up. Just like from the broadcasts when they were fleeing the Upper City. Hosha Tath.

"The good soldiers of the palace guard have upheld justice today, my friends," Hosha bellows. "They have kept their oaths to the people. They have secured your corrupt, serpentine leaders and have them in righteous custody."

Anakin shakes his head and murmurs, "And here I thought she was an idiot at first."

"Great assessment," mutters Ahsoka.

"Look on," Hosha goes on, raising her finger as if lecturing the sky, "as we see the cowardly prime minister and his Republic puppetmasters quiver before our law."

Anakin freezes. Ahsoka can feel the shift in his emotions through the Force like a wave of heat erupting from a furnace. The news projector shows a dozen guards in a wide hallway, guns aimed at a trio. One is a well-dressed man she does not recognize. One, to her dismay, is Senator Bail Organa.

And the other is Padme Amidala.

"What," Anakin breathes, "what is this?"

On the news, Padme exclaims, "You can't do this! We are representatives from the Senate! We are only here on a peaceful mission to—"

A tall man with white hair and silver eyes strides into view, and Anakin forms a fist. "Silence," the man shouts. "You have plotted with Prime Minister Forn to commit high treason against the people of Taris. Your guilt has been shown for the whole world to see and hear."

"This is outrageous! You are twisting the law!" shouts Organa.

"Defend yourselves in court. You will have your fair trial. But you will not escape your guilt," the white-haired man snaps.

The news switches back to Hosha shouting, but already Anakin is storming away. "Wait," says Ahsoka, hurrying after him, breathless. "Master, wait."

"What are they doing here?" he growls. "Padme and Organa? And that Echani brute—"

"You know him?"

"You do too. He's that Tath lackey who met us on the landing platform. Guy's named Vigaro," snaps Anakin. "I'm gonna cut him in half."

Suddenly Ahsoka likes this idea. She still remembers the way Vigaro looked at her and Rex as if they were no more than objects or slaves. But she needs to keep a cool head right now, because Anakin is doing anything but that. "We need to find Master Kenobi and Rex," she says. "We need—"

"We need to get up there, storm wherever they're keeping her—them—and then get off of this dump," spits Anakin.

"Obi-Wan said—"

"I don't care what he said," Anakin snaps, rounding on her. "Did you look at what they're doing? What Hosha said? They're not going to give any trial, they're going to do to them exactly what was happening to that noble in the alley. It's going to be—"

He stops suddenly as his wrist communicator lights up. "What in the world?" he says. He taps its activator. "Who is this?"

A series of bleeps and bloops in binary answers him. "Wha—Artoo?" says Ahsoka.

"Master Jedi? Master Skywalker?" a voice on the other end calls out. "Master Skywalker, are you there?"

"Who is—wait. Captain Typho?" Anakin says.

"Yes," the voice—Typho—says. "Yes, I've been flying all over the Upper City trying to get a hold of you. I'm here with the astromech droid. Senator Amidala and Senator Organa—"

"I watched the news and saw it. Why are you here?" Anakin blurts. Then he shakes his head. "Never mind, you can explain that later. I'm in the Lower City. Where are you?"

"Still in the skies. We need to meet."

"Yes we do. I'll send you coordinates to our…well, temporary lodgings," says Anakin. "Get down here and hurry. We don't have time to waste."

"I'll be there. Typho out."

Anakin sighs. "So much for getting off of this world easily," he says. "We're not leaving without a fight, it seems."

No, thinks Ahsoka. No, it seems like a fight is exactly to where this mess is leading.


Darkness. Freefall. Then the ground rushes up and Sae slams down hard.

She rolls over and grimaces, clenching her eyes against the pain spearing her shoulder. The black is everywhere: She can hardly see her hand in front of her face. Then the panic sets in: Blocking out her aching shoulder, she leaps to her feet, lightsaber flashing. The yellow glow throws back the darkness like a sunrise. "Tam?" she calls out. "Tamri?"

"Master?" a tiny voice calls from above. Tamri's head peeks over the hole in the ceiling—what Sae had thought was the floor. "Are you there?"

Good. The girl's still on solid ground. "Don't come down," says Sae, eyes flashing around her, trying to make sense of where she has fallen. "I don't know what's down here."

"Are you sure? I can try to find a rope or something."

"No—I'm sure. Stay up there."

"What if you can't make it back?"

Already the thought is washing through Sae's mind. Where in the world is she? For that matter, how has this hollow supported that cave above for thousands of years without collapsing? Her preliminary assessment—no more than turning in a circle a few times with her lightsaber outstretched like a lance—reveals naught but old stone and empty ground. "I'll figure something out," she says. "Keep going deeper in."

"What? Shouldn't we circle back to the entrance?"

"No. Just keep going. See what you find."

"Okay. I'll hurry and try to find a way to you."

"No, don't hurry. Take it slow. Be thorough. And stay safe."

"Got it. I will. Stay safe also."

Yeah, maybe. Sae watches Tamri flit out of view and sighs. Another mess. But she doesn't fear for the girl's safety up there—now she feels that the hand that has been pulling at her feelings, guiding her inside, drawing her deeper, is closer than ever. It is somewhere down here. It wants her to be here with it—to see, to know.

And Sae has little choice but to entertain its wishes.

She finds what seems like the lone way forward and gets to walking. A path of square-cut granite tiles. Short grass on either side. Narrow, rough walls. The air is oddly clean down here, strangely warm and gentle. That smell again—floral, almost. Sae thought it was from the cave above at first, but now she thinks it is something stranger, an alien for only her to smell.

Step by step she forces back the darkness with lightsaber drawn. The presence is beckoning, clutching at her heart. Pawing at her feelings. Sae squints, and though she can see no further than a meter ahead of her lightsaber, she knows the path is clear ahead. As if that beckoning presence has a voice and now it says, come. Come and see.

Then there is silence.

Sae tenses up. She inches ahead little by little, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. This place knows she is here. She can feel it—more so, she can see the mist that is slowly rising around as if summoned out of nowhere. As if some lurking specter is swinging a phantasmic censer before her, the smoke oddly sweet, building and building. The air thickens and glows around her lightsaber. Particulates of fog twirling in the scene. It is coming down now like snow, thicker and thicker—but no, it is not like snow. It is snow.

Sae turns around and looks behind her. Then she faces forward once more and she is no longer in the tunnel at all.

A gunmetal-grey sky overhead. Before her rise mountains like titans. Fog creeps low over the frosty earth and far away in the mist shift the enormous shadows of colossi moving their slow thighs. Snow dots Sae's arms. Flakes hiss in her saber's heat.

It is just a vision, she tells herself. No different than a dream. No different than the scenes she has witnessed in meditation. But this feels far more real. It does not seem like just a Force vision to her. The snow chills. A wetness to the fog. She can even hear the earth-shuddering groans of those great beasts off in the distance, slouching towards some unseen star.

Sae keeps her lightsaber ready. The beckoning presence is closer than ever. It is upon her.

At first it is a whisper. An invisible line snaking through the most. Focus, focus. Concentrate and see what is and is not before you.

Then it comes.

Sae raises her blade as a blue lightsaber crashes down on her. A familiar figure presses against her guard, teeth bared, eyes alight. Master Gallia.

"You're just a vision," Sae says. Calm, calm. "My master is dead. You can't hurt me now."

"I already hurt you, and you can only deny it," the vision—Adi Gallia—says. "What did you do when I died, Sae? Were you there? Did you fight to save me? Tell me!"

Sae forces her saber forward, pushing her guard against the vision's blade. "Obi-Wan couldn't save you," Sae says, although her voice is growing higher in pitch. "You taught me to let go when I took my Trials, Master."

"You never let go of anything," Gallia spits. "Pathetic!"

The vision throws Sae back and holds her lightsaber out. "Make excuses for your failure all you want, Sae," says the vision. "I died, and you were nowhere to be found. Helpless. Worthless. You can't save anything or anyone. Watch for yourself. See what you were helpless to stop."

Then another force shoves past Sae. She recovers, finds her footing, and sees as an enormous figure—a Zabrak warrior with massive horns and yellow-and-black face markings—headbutts Master Gallia and smashes her into a rock.

"No, wait," Sae says. A moment of panic. "Wait!"

Master Gallia falls to the ground, still. The Zabrak slips away into the fog. Silence. Stillness. Then Master Gallia's head turns, puppet-like, even as her body remains as lifeless as a corpse. "Stand and watch as I die, apprentice. This is your past and your future. You are nothing. Nothing. You are worse than helpless. You are weak. And all you will ever do is look upon the gathering of the dead."

The fog washes over Master Gallia, and when it recedes there is only fresh snow. As if Adi Gallia never existed at all.

Sae takes a deep breath. Just a vision. Just a vision. But her heart is pounding. Is that how it went down? Obi-Wan was short on details, only mentioning Darth Maul and whatever a Savage Oppress is. Is that how her old master died? Brutally, without honor or dignity, like an animal? She closes her eyes. No, no. She couldn't do anything about it. She couldn't help Master Gallia. She had no choice. She had no chance.

She had no chance.

Helpless. Weak.

Sae presses forward through the snow and fog, lightsaber out once more. Throw back the doubts. Trust in the Force. See what cannot be seen.

Indeed. Come and see.

Sae reaches the side of the mountain before her. The edges of her vision shimmer like a mirage. Fog swallows the ground. Shadows creep up and above, and then the mist before her gives way only to show Master Gallia's body on the ground once more. But she is not alone. Several other Jedi—Sae recognizes each and every one of them, friends, comrades dead in the Clone Wars—litter the ground, their eyes open, their mouths agape. Then there is Falco and his clone commandos, their armor burnt and blasted.

Sae steps over them. Another body. But this one has not died yet. Right?

She shivers. Obi-Wan. Dead. And just beyond him—Tamri.

Come and see.

Sae averts her eyes. Steps over Tamri's—no, the vision's—body. It is just a vision. It is just a vision.

Weak. Helpless. Where were you when she died?

Another figure slips through the fog ahead. A Jedi robe—no, not that of a Jedi. A black cloak. Black boots. And in the figure's hand, lit, is a crimson lightsaber.

The figure turns. Sae looks upon herself.

She closes her eyes and turns her head. No, not this again. Just like in her Trials of Knighthood. Just a vision. A test. I am not a Sith. But when she opens her eyes her Dark Side doppelganger remains, pressing a finger to her lips. Her eyes playing. Come and see. The Dark Side apparition moves forward, waving for Sae to follow.

Sae stays at a distance, ready to strike at that thing. Imposter. Nightmare. But the apparition of Master Gallia's death plucks at her heart and grips at her thoughts. Was that wrong? Was it? Search your feelings. How did Master Gallia die? How would you know if it was wrong or right if you weren't there to see? Isn't the future the same? Have you really seen it yet? And if not, do you really know it?

The snow fades. Everything fades. Darkness once more. Sae cannot see her Dark Side doppelganger, but she knows the black-cloaked figure is there, even if her lightsaber is no longer lit. But there is a light in the distance, enough to give Sae hope. There. See? The light. Yet as she looks at it, she knows this is not the light of the Force. This is something hideous.

Then the darkness explodes in a fountain of dawn. Sae raises her lightsaber but it is only a holographic image that erupts around her, a massive map of the galaxy in three dimensions, stars and nebulae and clouds swirling all about. Planets and systems and hyperspace turbulence. The doppelganger plows through, her red lightsaber lit once again.

Sae looks past the image of the galaxy. See what cannot be seen.

But it is what she hears that frightens her—truly frightens her. "Master!" cries out a girl's voice ahead. It is not Tamri—at least, Sae does not think so. Right? "Master! Please, no! Stop!"

The doppelganger roars. It raises the red blade. Brings it down. A girl screams.

Then, just as Sae rushes forward to stop it, the vision fades. The light fades. No swirling galaxy map. No Dark Side apparition. No…whatever that was screaming. There is only one light now, a faint, faded thing like a dead star. Sae squints and approaches. The light drops as if falling into a well, and when Sae approaches and looks down she can just make out what appears to be a globe beating like a heart. A roiling, thumping, orange-brown ball of sickness that tugs at her feelings.

Come, a force says. Not out loud, but Sae can hear thoughts that are not her own reverberating in her mind. Come and I shall offer you everything. Not power. Not strength. I will give you knowledge. We shall make a pact and I shall give you the future. All you have to do is come.

Obi-Wan lying dead in the snow. Tamri lying dead. Screams. Sae wants to go forth and know.

But as the glowing ball tempts her, she wrenches her eyes away, shouts and shuts off her lightsaber. No, no. No.

Not yet.

No.

But soon.

When Sae opens her eyes the vision is gone. The darkness remains, but it is faded, muted. The stone path is before her once again, visible by the bioluminescent light of the glowing fungus on the wall. Sae touches the stone. Firm resistance beneath her fingertips. Then she lets out a long breath, keeling on the ground, pressing her face into her hands. Just a vision. Just a vision. But her heart is pounding and sweat beads on her neck.

She takes a breath. Lets it out. You're okay. Just a vision. At least Tamri isn't here to see her like this.

Pathetic. Weak.

Sae shakes her head and moves on, hitching her lightsaber to her belt. There are only ghosts and nightmares here. And you. And your accursed thoughts and feelings. The presence is gone, the hand beckoning her no more, but the experience has left a hollow in Sae's middle where something warm and welcome should be but is not.

Ignore it. Keep going. The path trails on, the hallway widens. Then it ends at another dead end, a plain slab of rock like from the hallway before. Another Force-locked door. Once more Sae presses her hand to the stone, searches for a way in, and finds a hand ready to greet her. Finger to finger. Palm to palm. The door shudders to life.

The opening reveals a massive vault. What appear to be bookcases the height of a one-story building line up in great rows. Electronic lights glow from their shelves like so many stars. Desks and chairs and couches, all of it pristine, all of perfectly preserved, as if the Jedi did not leave this place thousands of years ago, but yesterday. Even the air here smells fresh, clean. Like the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Like home.

A grate covering an air duct shifts and scrapes above. Sae's lightsaber is out in a flash. The grate crashes to the ground, and from above shimmers a green glow. A muted voice: "Hello?"

Sae closes her eyes and switches off her weapon. "Come down."

"Master?"

"It's safe. Come down."

Tamri drops down from the air duct, soil and dust clinging to her cloak. "I got stuck in the maintenance shafts," she says, wiping off the filth. "Where did you end up?"

Sae looks upon her. Dead body in the snow. Master. Please, no. Stop. "Nowhere important," she murmurs. Pathetic. Helpless. "It doesn't matter."

"Oh. Okay," says Tamri, although her eyes linger on Sae's face. "Where are we?"

Sae sees a blue glow. She steps up to a pedestal, touches it, and once more reaches out with the Force. An aperture opens at the pedestal's top and a glowing cube rises up, hovering in the air. Sae takes it. A holocron. "Right where we're supposed to be."


The holotransceiver shimmers to life. In his sleeping quarters aboard his solar sailor, Count Dooku rises from his bed and receives the transmission. "This is Dooku."

General Kalani, the super tactical droid commanding the Separatists' Agamar flotilla, shimmers to life. "My lord," Kalani says in his mechanical croak. "I have confidential information concerning Jedi activities."

"Then speak, Kalani," says Dooku. He is irritated: He would prefer to be back on Serenno to deal with business such as this, but the Confederate Senate has grown turbulent and deadlocked over too many issues for him to ignore. It is time to set these mewling politicians on Raxus straight. "What is it?"

"One of our intelligence units received a secure transmission from an unaffiliated source reporting on two Jedi investigating a suspicious site."

"And?"

"Sir. You commanded that I report to you on any Jedi activity beyond our knowledge or of an unacceptably suspicious nature. Separatist intelligence had no knowledge of this intelligence until this report came in."

"First of all, Kalani," says Dooku, feeling even more irritated. The droid is being far too vague. "What is this unaffiliated source?"

"Sir. The communication line was encrypted with frequencies known to correspond with the Haxion Brood. The source did not identify themselves beyond the information they provided our intelligence units."

Pirate scum? What do they know about secret Jedi maneuvers? "They simply provided our intelligence with this report?"

"No, sir. They requested payment of the outstanding Separatist bounty on any and all Jedi. Payment was denied pending further investigation."

"Did they have the Jedi in custody?"

"No sir."

Useless pirates. Whoever this Haxion Brood scum is, they are clearly full of lies. All they should receive is a swift death. "Do not bother me with such unsubstantiated rumors, Kalani," Dooku snaps. "This is beneath you."

"Sir. There is more."

"Speak, then. And hurry."

"The source states that they were connected to recent conflict activity confirmed on the planet Belderone. Two unidentified Jedi were confirmed spotted on Belderone recently breaking into an impound yard and escaping on an impounded freighter."

"Confirmed?"

"Indeed. Battle droid units recorded combat data."

Maybe not so full of lies after all, this pirate source. "What makes these two Jedi suspicious?"

"Sir. Source claims they are investigating ancient Jedi library ruins on the planet Ossus. There is no presence by either Separatist or Republic forces on Ossus. There is nothing on Ossus at all besides ruins. Logic dictates that any reason necessary to dispatch two Jedi to an abandoned tomb world during the middle of a war must be important. Assertion: The Jedi Order is in search of a historical find or ancient relic of power or influence. Addendum: These two unidentified Jedi have information valuable to the Separatist cause, and, if left unattended to, may provide benefit to the Jedi Order beyond acceptable limits. Proposal: These Jedi must be stopped and secured."

A stretch, thinks Dooku. For all he knows the Jedi are tossing two no-name Knights away on some search-and-recover chase that will end up going nowhere. But Kalani makes a point: Ossus is among the oldest Jedi planets. It is home to countless ruins. And much of it has never been explored in the thousands of years since the cataclysm that blasted the world. Additionally, it is in Separatist space. Why send anyone behind enemy lines to a lifeless rock? Why bother with the risk, especially when there is so much else in play? Unless, of course, the Jedi are in search of something valuable—something that Dooku does not know of.

Still, he is tempted to dismiss Kalani's report, or, at best, task the droid with finding a bounty hunter to track the Jedi down. Better yet, get the Haxion Brood source to capture the Jedi he is reporting on, and perhaps Dooku will authorize paying this pirate scum the bounty after all. But then a thought creeps into Dooku's mind, a rhyme with that all-too familiar, snake-like voice from his dreams to which he cannot put a name.

What is the way of the Sith?

A chill takes him. Does Lord Sidious know about this? Is he watching this move by the Jedi, tracking them—and telling Dooku nothing? Or does he not know, and Dooku stands to gain everything?

So be it. His mind is made up. Typically he despises handling this sort of on-the-ground work himself, but the fewer people who know about this, the better. "That is all, Kalani," he says, rising.

"My lord—"

"That is all. Do not worry yourself further about this problem. Send me that combat data from Belderone and then delete everything about this from your memory banks."

"Confirmed. Done."

Dooku ends the transmission before Kalani can say anything more. He opens the doors of his quarters to the pilot station, where his sloop's piloting droid grips the ship's controls with purpose even though they are in the middle of hyperspace. "Pilot," Dooku instructs. "Drop out of hyperspace as soon as possible and redirect course."

"Yes, sir," the pilot droid says. "New course setting?"

Dooku narrows his eyes. I'm coming, Jedi. You will tell me what you are searching for. "Ossus."