A/N: Thank you to Anisokiss and Brick88 for the wonderful reviews! The Dark Side is indeed closing in for several of our characters...although as Anakin is learning, the line between light and dark may not be quite as firm as he once believed...


"Play the message for us, Master Kenobi, if you would. If the situation is as troubling as you say, then the whole Council should hear of it."

The uncomfortable blend of nervousness and anticipation. Fear and hope. The Jedi are reaching now with the war spiraling out of control, and maybe, just maybe, luck—or the Force—has handed them a chance to wrench fate and fortune in their favor. And it all came by a chance transmission sent via an obscure, little-used emergency Republic Corps of Engineers comm line straight to Obi-Wan's personal communicator two hours ago. Obi-Wan had not expected to hear from the sender again, not when they'd only ever spoken once in passing. Yet here it is: He taps his wrist link, the lights of the Jedi Council Chamber dim, and the holoemitter at the center of the storied room blurs to life with a face Obi-Wan has almost forgotten.

An easy face to forget. The tired, strained look of a middle-aged man who has been hard at work for far too long. Ruffled hair, wrinkled uniform, two-day-old beard. "Master Obi-Wan Kenobi," the man's transmission begins, "we spoke once some time ago alongside Senator Bail Organa, when I told you of my work on Christophsis." He swallows, looks to his side as if expecting intruders. "My name is Galen Erso."

Master Yoda frowns as the message plays on: "I have stumbled upon a terrible truth. When we spoke, I told you and Senator Organa at the time that I was leading research into crystal-based energy generation methods in order to provide aid to war-torn worlds…but it turns out that I was kept in the dark about my program all along. My superior, Director Orson Krennic, has been channeling the results of my work not into energy production, but into weapons development."

"I chanced upon an information archive I was never meant to see. Krennic, alongside Tarkin and a woman named Hosha Tath, are using my research to develop a superweapon designed to devastate whole worlds. I believe it is the reason they were confident enough to break away from the Republic in the first place, and they are rushing their development and construction of this weapon in order to levy it against both the Republic and the Separatists, a cudgel that would win them the war not through negotiation or diplomacy, but through fear and terror—fear of this weapon's destructive potential, and terror stemming from the destruction it unleashes upon countless lives."

"I am trapped on Christophsis. I have no way to escape this planet—not without drawing attention given the importance of my work to Krennic and Tarkin…and I have a family here I will not leave behind. My time is short, Master Kenobi, but I can share all I know about their plans—only not by comm. Get my family safely off of Christophsis and into Republic space—the Jedi's Republic, and the Senate's Republic, not Tarkin's—and I will hand over all I know. We are not friends, and we are hardly even colleagues; based on the state of the war, we are on opposite sides of the battle lines. But right now you are my only hope. And maybe what I can give you can save far more lives than just those of my family."

The Council Chamber is quiet as the transmission ends. In the dusky environs before the lights return, Obi-Wan can feel the questions already causing ripples through the Force.

Master Yoda speaks first: "More to Tarkin's betrayal, there was. Too great a threat to ignore, this is."

"If it exists," Master Jaro Tapal says.

"Qualified to judge that, best, we are not," Yoda says, looking to Obi-Wan. "To you, Master Kenobi, sent, the request for help was. What do your feelings say?"

Obi-Wan frets and leans forward in his seat. "I don't know Erso well. Or much at all, truthfully," he says. "Chancellor Organa and I spoke to him once when we were gathering information on Krennic and the Special Weapons Group. I do know Erso is a well-respected polymath. Brilliant, precise. A genius at mathematics and engineering. At the time we spoke he sounded as if he believed in his work's potential to do good. If this message is a trap, either I was wholly mistaken about Erso then, or Krennic and Tarkin have turned him far from the path he was on before."

"Do you think he is the sort of man to lay such daring bait?" Master Mundi asks.

"No," Obi-Wan answers. "No, I think this is a genuine call for help. At worst he may be exaggerating the threat of this weapon that Tarkin is supposedly constructing, but…" he lets the thought trail, his mind thrumming. Erso's logic is sound. There is no way that Tarkin would have turned his back on the Republic to the point of risking civil war simply based on political machinations. The former Grand Admiral must have had a backup plan if, as things did turn out, his attempt to wrest power peacefully failed. Tarkin is no fool. He knows as well as anyone that power streams from the business end of a blaster.

But this is no blaster he's wielding now, if Erso is right. A terror weapon capable of devastating worlds tells Obi-Wan one thing: Tarkin's situation is more desperate than he would let on. Perhaps the heavy casualties suffered by the Tarkinist fleet when they invaded Separatist-held Sluis Van were more dire than the Republic thought, or perhaps the raid on Kamino inflicted less damage than intended. Whatever the case, if Erso is right and the Republic can end Tarkin's superweapon before it ever unleashes hell on the galaxy, they may be able to force him to the bargaining table and put an end to this brief but destructive schism—and regain lost ground against the Separatist war machine before it's too late.

If. A lot of ifs. And they will have no conclusive answers concerning any of this unless they hear Erso out. "Regardless of any doubts, I don't believe this is a problem we can dismiss," Obi-Wan says to his fellow Council members. "We have a chance to drive a dagger into the heart of Tarkin's plans."

"Or stumble into a trap," Master Allie counters.

Master Secura rubs her chin. "We have a strike fleet that's positioned to hit Rodia," she says. "Reconnaissance has not indicated that Christophsis is particularly fortified; it's too developed as a mercantile hub to lock down the planet without killing the commerce that goes hand-in-hand with its industry."

"Are you proposing an invasion?" Master Tapal says.

"No, Master, I'm proposing that we hit Rodia ahead of time, draw Tarkin's ships away, and slip our own to Christophsis under the cover of that attack," Master Secura says. "We were going to mount that attack anyway, but were only waiting for an ideal time. This seems as ideal as any."

"I will go to Christophsis," Obi-Wan says.

Master Yoda looks to him. "Alone amid enemies; vulnerable, you will be, Master Kenobi," he says. "No guarantee of escape, can we provide, if fail, the attack at Rodia does."

"I will figure it out as I go, Master, but this could be critical to turning our fortunes in the war around. And something about Erso strikes me as trustworthy," Obi-Wan says. "I don't know. I can't back it up with anything. It's simply a feeling."

Yoda looks at him carefully for a moment before nodding. "Then agree, I do," he says. "Your instincts, trust, you must. And right you are: Grave danger, a weapon such as that promises."

"We are sending Master Kenobi into a gundark's den without backup?" Master Mundi protests. "Tarkin has followed in the Separatists' footsteps and posted a bounty on all Jedi. It will not be easy to even get anywhere on Christophsis, let alone find this Erso and extract him without being found—especially if this man is truly so valuable to Tarkin's efforts."

"One man will draw far less attention, Master Mundi. And he'll move faster on his own," Master Tapal says.

Obi-Wan nods. "Erso sent that to me, as well. He'll be expecting me. Anyone else might raise his suspicions—for if he is as desperate as he sounds, he'll be anticipating trouble just as we are."

"Settled, this course is," Yoda concludes, throwing a glance Mundi's way to shut down any further arguments. "Go, Master Kenobi, with the Force. To Christophsis go, and with hope, return."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan says. "I will not fail."


"Do I know where he went? Yeah, he told me. Ziost."

Padme should've just started with Ahsoka in the first place. How easy it is to ask her the real questions and get real answers, whereas Obi-Wan only deflects and issues ominous warnings. All it took was inviting the Padawan here to her office, making her feel welcome, and asking her, point-blank, why Anakin hadn't returned with the fleet from Kamino. Unfortunately, while she now knows what Anakin is up to, she hardly likes the answer. "Ziost? In the middle of Separatist space? And he went alone?"

"Look, you don't really argue with my master when he makes up his mind, Senator," Ahsoka says, shrugging. "Sure you can, but it's like arguing with a wall."

Padme snorts. "Don't I know. What's he trying to find on Ziost?"

"That Sith weapon that's supposedly there. The same thing we went there for the first time."

Padme's eyes drift down. That's not something she wants to remember right when Anakin is off to the frozen Sith world alone, with no chance of help coming to the rescue if he gets in trouble. Even if it was his idea—reckless, rash, stupid—the Jedi could've…well, they…

No. No, don't turn against one another. It's easy to blame the Jedi for letting him go off on his own, to point her finger at Obi-Wan and criticize him for protecting Anakin and his mission from her prying questions. They won't see eye-to-eye on this sort of thing, especially when Padme knows Anakin as one man and Obi-Wan knows him as another. But they've all gone through far too much to distrust each other now, because now they only have each other. No, she can only do what Obi-Wan and Ahsoka have done, what Padme struggles so much with even after three years of marriage. She has to set aside her worries and trust Anakin to do what he has always done: Fight and survive.

"I'm sorry," she says, rubbing her eyes. "It's hard not to worry these days. Anakin's a good friend."

Ahsoka grins at that last part. Good friend, huh? "Eh, he'll make it. He always does."

"You make it sound so casual," Padme says. She smiles at Ahsoka. "You've really become a lot like him, you know. Anakin's always had that thought that he could take on the whole galaxy and win. Totally confident. It's boyish and a little bit naïve, but it's also…well, inspiring. And I see it in you too."

"Not the whole galaxy, maybe. Just most of it."

Padme laughs. "Gotta start somewhere, I guess," she says. Then her eyes drift past Ahsoka's artificial hand and her smile fades. So much like Anakin in more ways than one. Bits and pieces of them all stripped away in the fighting, the war plucking more and more with each battle, each hardship. "I didn't just call you here to badger you about Anakin's whereabouts, though. I consider you a friend as well, Ahsoka. Is everything all right with you?"

Ahsoka frowns and turns her head. "Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Just…" Padme starts, but she lets the thought pass. They're the same in that regard too, Anakin and Ahsoka. There are parts of them that Padme just doesn't know how to reach. The vulnerabilities, the hardships, the injuries: Where most people would welcome a comforting hand, so often does Anakin shy away from it, as if it will lessen him, weaken him. The days following their return from the catastrophe at Ziost were some of the few days in a long, long time that Padme had seen Anakin's walls fall—and all because of what Grievous had done to Ahsoka. She's walking in her master's shoes, trying to prove she's stronger than her loss. There's strength in that, but also sadness. In a better galaxy in happier times, Ahsoka might've trained surrounded by friendly faces, growing up into the young woman before Padme today guided by encouragement and support. Instead it's the battlefield that's forged her, and it's left its mark.

She walks to her office's window, cupping her hands behind her and staring out at Coruscant's skyline. "I just don't think what we're doing is going to work," she murmurs.

"What thing?" Ahsoka says.

"Fighting. Warring. I understand its necessity, but we've abandoned even any semblance of diplomacy at this point, what with Tarkin's betrayal. The path we're taking, it only ends in a bloody peace where the victor is the last one left standing. It proves nothing except how much blood the galaxy can shed."

Ahsoka sniffs. "Well, don't look at me for that. I don't think Tarkin's going to try and negotiate with the Jedi, and there's no negotiating with Count Dooku."

"What's happened to the Jedi is sad. Pardon me for saying that, but it's the truth," Padme says. "Your Order has always promoted peace and justice. There's no justice in this mindless violence. There's certainly no peace."

"There's no way to get around that, Senator. From where I'm standing, it looks like everyone's done talking. Frankly, outside of you and people like Mina Bonteri, I'm not sure how many people were interested in talking in the first place."

"Certainly not people Dooku and Tarkin," Padme murmurs, "but the Separatists—and even the Tarkinists—are more than them. Mina was a good example of that."

"How does that help now?"

I don't know, Padme thinks. Ahsoka and Anakin are pragmatists: They see the reality of this galaxy-ravaging conflict and they meet the beast head-on. There is no denying violence in the face of violence. But Padme still wants to dream. A flame kindled by that idealistic Naboo queen still burns, one not snuffed out by the Trade Federation and the Separatists and so much death. She wants to think that Count Dooku's grip over the Separatists isn't complete, that the Confederacy of Independent Systems isn't just a conquering empire in everything but name. That a thousand more Mina Bonteris might still be holding on.

It's just a dream. But how she wants it to be real. How she wants to see a way out of this mad world of war.


Infinite blue and dreamless black. The pressure building with each fathom they descend, the world-sea of Manaan transformed from the glittering waters of above and now rendered a blind and silent home whose depths might hide all manner of monsters. Tamri looks out one of the portholes of the submersible Kesh and Dominion stole and sees only the sightless depths staring back at her. They're more than a thousand meters down and still descending, far from the trappings of Ahto City as they proceed on the sub's automatic course towards what Tamri hopes is the undersea Tath installation. Something to give them some answers, to make everything from Telos to now make sense.

At the sub's controls, Avea is restless. "The computer confirms that it's some sort of research facility, but there's nothing about the Taths specifically," she says. She looks Tamri's way. "You're sure you heard the Baron mention the Taths when you were listening in?"

"His aide mentioned an Arkanian woman, along with that Krennic we found out about back on Concordia," says Tamri. "If it's not a Tath base, I have no idea what it would be. Relax, Avea. We already know your nephew's here."

"If the Bothan was right."

"Have a little faith," Neelotas says, leaning back in one of the sub's seats with his legs kicked up on a pipe. The sub is far from small, but with seven people, the piloting module is cramped—especially when only three portholes provide any view of the world outside. Not that there's anything to see this deep, anyway. "You weren't this nervous shooting at things."

Avea shakes her head. "Shooting at idiots is everyday stuff."

"Yeah, sure. Wake up, take a shower, shoot someone, cook breakfast. My usual daily routine."

"Oh, shut up, Neelotas."

At the rear of the piloting module sits Korkie, quiet, watching. His clothes are ratty and dirty from his time in captivity, ligature marks on his wrists. If he's troubled from his brief time in the Baron's imprisonment, however, he doesn't show it. Tamri plops down in the seat next to him, leans in, and whispers, "Are you sure you're feeling up for this?"

"I'm fine, Tamri, I told you," he says, his voice low to keep it between them. "I'm not dead."

"They—"

"They beat me up a little and asked a lot of questions. It's not like they plucked my eyes out or anything."

Tamri frowns as she eyes a bruise on his cheek. Their definitions of "a little" are either quite different, or he's trying to assuage her anxieties. Probably both. "You were abducted by that horrid man and kept as his prisoner. It's fine if you want to hang back on this."

"Hey," he says, 'it's fine. I'm fine. Just a little hungry, but I've been worse."

"I can see if there's anything to eat."

"Tam, it's fine. You're worrying more than Avea. We're gonna get this done, and I'm doing my part. Then we can get out of here, and then you can worry all you want when we're on the ship and back in space. Goodness's sake, you weren't worrying this much when we were shooting battle droids and Killiks."

That was different, she thinks, and it has nothing to do with Korkie's safety, or lack thereof. That was battle, fighting the good fight for a good cause. This…this was not that. Now that Bonamma and his thugs are dead and Tamri's had time to digest the fight, the thrill and her anger have waned and the old doubts creep back up like a nagging affliction. She let herself go. Again. Just like on Telos. It's so easy to give in to that anger, and her uncertain feelings for Korkie—are they really so uncertain?—are making it even easier. It's so simple to chuck aside a lifetime of Jedi lessons and embrace that raw power in the heat of the moment, that red-blooded rage that gives her a strength she otherwise is oblivious to. It's wrong, giving in. She knows it. But what she knows she does not feel.

Fight it, she thinks. Steady yourself and find your center, she knows. But the things she feels say otherwise: Let it in and wield the Force as your sword. Hammer everyone and everything who would say otherwise. And don't ignore those budding, strange, bubbly feelings that tickle your heart when you look at Korkie.

But the darkness of the sea and the mechanical churning of the sub temper her emotions, and she leaves Korkie to his quiet contemplation. You're still here on a mission. And you're still a Jedi. You give in and then you don't do it again. You forgive yourself and you do better the next time. Even if you doubt that will be the case when next time comes.

"We are approaching our destination," Dominion announces, a cable plugged from his wrist into the ship's piloting console. "I have sent this vessel's standard code package, and the research facility has confirmed it. We are being guided towards a small internal dock near the sea floor."

"Sounds too easy," Avea murmurs. "How large is the facility?"

"Unsure, Miss Vigaro. There are at least five habitation modules I can detect, along with what appears to be a transportation line for an internal station tram that leads into a seafloor rift."

"A secondary lab's in the rift, probably," Tamri posits. "Can you get an idea of how many people there are inside? Or what kind of defenses they have?"

"Unfortunately, no. We will not know what we face until we are inside," Dominion says. "What may be of interest, however, is a repeating signal I have received over sonar. It is not coming from the installation, nor from the seafloor, in fact. It is coming from above and behind."

Neelotas scowls. "Someone following us down?"

"There was that other break-in at the sub dock that let us steal this easily, but…I don't know, Dominion and I didn't see anyone stealing another vehicle," Kesh says. "It might be nothing. The firaxan sharks that live this deep have natural sonar."

"This would be quite a large shark to make such a significant signal," Dominion says.

"The sharks get to be pretty big."

Avea frowns. "How big?"

"Big. They're usually not aggressive, though," says Kesh. Then she adds, "Well, not towards Selkath, at least."

Wonderful. Now they have to worry about being eaten, too. Tamri's heart thumps as they approach the undersea installation's dock, a small hanger-like hub sticking out from the base's main gaggle of complexes. Everything hooked together by narrow, tubular passages like a great spiderweb sprawling across the seafloor. They can only go on faith now until they're inside. The Baron's sub is unarmed, and if the installation has weapons systems, they have nowhere to run.

Well, maybe not Kesh and Neelotas. Must be nice to be able to breathe both above and below. Makes the prospect of a kilometer of water towering above them a lot less intimidating. Of course, the pressure would probably kill them this deep…or the sharks. Or something else. Comforting. "Dominion?"

"I am guiding us in, Miss Dallin. Please be patient."

The sub grinds to a halt, then begins to rise. Dominion cocks his head, closes his eyes, and says, "I have accessed their internal wireless network."

Avea blanks. "Just like that?"

"Indeed. Their security is strong, but it runs on the same methodology as the Telos base did. Accessing it is a trivial affair," Dominion says.

Kesh nods. "Confirms it's a Tath base, then."

"Possibly," says Dominion. "I have remotely deactivated comms and cameras inside the dock, but I can do nothing about the personnel waiting for us."

"How many?" Tamri says.

"Six. Two are armed. They appear to be mostly loading staffers and cargo handlers, along with the two guards."

"Let's try to avoid shooting and letting the whole place know we're hostile right off the bat," Tamri says as the hanger's docking claws clamp to the side of the sub and lock it into position. They are inside. "Just threaten them. We might be able to do this peacefully."

Neelotas scoffs. "You weren't saying that an hour ago."

"Yeah, I wonder why."

"I can guess."

"Please just keep it to yourself."

Falco moves to the sub's dorsal exit hatch. "I'll handle the guards," he says.

"Wait, let's not start shooting," Tamri says.

"Don't need to shoot."

He puts on his helmet, opens the hatch, and climbs up the ladder leading out. Harsh white light and cool air smelling of algae and sea salt floods inside the sub. "Got your confirm," a voice from outside calls out as Falco climbs up. "Did you bring your—whoa, wait. What—"

A meaty thump. Then a cry of alarm before Falco bellows: "Down! Down or you all die!"

Shoot. So much for no fighting. Tamri hurries up the ladder after him, drawing her blaster as she goes. She pops up over the hatch's lip to see one grey-uniformed man prone on the duracrete deck of the dock. Next to him stands Falco with another unfortunate man grabbed as a human shield. Falco's wrist blade glints a centimeter from the man's eye as the other four staffers inside the sub hanger look on, hesitant. One of them wields a blaster rifle and backs towards the door. "Wouldn't go there if I was you," Tamri says, lowering her pistol at him.

He turns his weapon on her, but Falco shakes his prisoner. "He's running out of time," the clone commando growls.

"Come on man, let's just talk this out," the human shield says.

"We are talking," Tamri says, stepping off of the sub's hull and onto the dock. "Your four, drop any guns you have and step over to the side there. Nice and easy."

The rifle-wielding guard waits. "You're—you're out of line," he stammers.

"Your colleague is about to find on what's waiting on the other side. You want to join him or no?" Falco says.

"Just do what he says," Falco's human shield whimpers. "Come on. Please!"

Slowly, hesitantly, the rifle-wielding guard lowers his weapon, then drops it to the ground. He and the other three staffers still standing back up away from the exit and towards a cargo loading zone. Falco shoves his human shield away, motioning with his weapon for the unfortunate man to join his colleagues. "Go on. Get."

"Oh, wasn't that easy," Neelotas says, popping up from the sub. "Got ourselves a little party."

"Sure is nice when they don't see you coming," Kesh says, exiting after him and stepping out onto the dock. She takes a deep breath and smiles. "Smells like home around here. You know, if you can pretend you're not in some creepy research base."

Tamri keeps her weapon on their captives. "Neelotas, you hold them with Falco. We don't need them going anywhere, and we're also going to need people to stay with the sub in case we need a quick exit," she says. "Avea?"

"Here," she says, stepping out with Korkie and Dominion. "Let's not waste time. Someone else is going to figure out we're not the usual crew before too long."

"Uniforms," Korkie says, pointing to the huddled staffers. "We can grab those. Blend in and try to look like we belong. Dunno if it'll work for very long, but we may as well use what we have."

"You should stay here with Neelotas and Falco," says Tamri.

"Nah. I've got this."

"She's right, actually," Avea says. "The fewer people we have waltzing through their base—even if those uniforms fit—the better. Need the droid to keep any computer security or alarms asleep. Kesh'll fit in as a Selkath. Just us four, though."

Korkie shrugs. "Fine. I get it. I'll hold down things here, then. But keep your comms open. I'll radio if anything pops up on our end."

Tamri nods, then approaches the staffers held at gunpoint. "Lose those clothes," she tells them.

One of them blinks at her, mouth open: "Huh?"

"Uniforms off. Now," Falco snaps, motioning with his rifle. "First man to do anything other than strip dies."

The staffers shrink back at his threat, rushing as if in a race to disrobe. Neelotas laughs. "Oh, the fun we get up to."


"Can't say you were lying, Ventress. That's a lot of droids."

Ventress scowls. "See? If I was lying, I wouldn't have asked for your help, Skywalker. I would've just destroyed them and stolen the shuttle myself. Leave you stranded on this ice ball."

What a happy team they make, Anakin thinks with a grin. He has no idea where Maul went—despite the Celestial urging them to join forces for whatever reason, the Sith Lord disappeared without a word as soon as Anakin and Ventress left the pyramid and made for this private hanger on the outskirts of the base complex. "What did Maul want here, anyway?" Ventress hisses as she eyes the droid contingent within the hanger.

"Since when do you know him?" Anakin asks.

"I know of him; I don't know him personally. I knew enough of Savage Opress to figure Maul and I wouldn't get along, though."

Despite the Celestial's urging of their alliance, there was no way to bridge the gap between Anakin and Maul so quickly, so easily. Jedi and Sith. Old enemies facing each other with the galaxy at stake. They need time. Time, time to see between the light and the dark, time for each to set out on the paths the Celestial told them to pursue. Time to peer into the past and the future. Time to determine who they both are, and who they might be. And at the end of those two paths, when all has come together, they might look each other in the eye not with malice, but with respect.

Maybe. Anakin is leaving the Celestial's words open for interpretation. "I wouldn't let it bother you. Something tells me it may be a while before I see Maul again."

"Why?"

"Long story. Focus on this. I found what I wanted on this dump, and I want to get off it as soon as possible."

Ventress points to the far end of the hanger. It's a small, boxy space, just large enough for a pair of shuttles—one of which, a Separatist Maxillipede, rests twenty meters away with its boarding ramp down and exhibiting no signs of imminent takeoff. "There's a load of crates off that way," she says. "We can sneak behind them, and if we're quick, get aboard the shuttle before any of the droids see us."

"We'll still have to power up the shuttle engines first. They're going to see that."

"That's a risk we can take."

Anakin frowns. There's at least three dozen droids—most of them super battle droids at that—scattered around the docking bay, along with a pair of droidekas. It would be quietest to follow Ventress's advice. It might just work. But the Celestial's words still wind through his thoughts. You need the darkness. There is a time for war and a time for peace. A time to create and a time to destroy. So often has he battled with those burning feelings within, trying to quench the flames with Obi-Wan's teachings. But, if the Celestial is to be believed, that was entirely the wrong thing to do. He needs the Jedi way. He needs patience, wisdom, thoughtfulness. But there are times when he needs to shed that cloak of reason and harmony and let the fire within him burn.

There is no emotion, there is peace. So says the Jedi Code. So wrong, Anakin thinks.

"We're going in," Anakin says to Ventress.

"What? Skywalker, there's forty battle droids out there."

"Yeah, I know. The best way to get off-world and away from the surrounding fleet is to go at speed. We hit them, we move fast, we gun the engines, we get out of here and into hyperspace before the flotilla even knows we're not friendlies."

Ventress sighs. "Fine. Do it your way then. Charge."

Anakin smiles. "See? You're getting it."

"Don't tempt me."

He rises from behind cover and lights his saber. The nearest battle droid pivots and aims its wrist blaster. "Jedi. Enemy target marked."

Anakin dashes forward before the droid can shoot, tapping into the Force to quicken his feet as he goes. He is through the super battle droid before its companions can respond, his lightsaber ripping from shoulder to waist as electronics spit and spark, the droid collapsing into a pile of scrap. Ventress is behind him in a flash, her own sabers lit—must've had time to scour the base and recover those before going to find him, Anakin thinks—and together they tear through the first half-dozen droids as easily as cutting paper. The droids stagger back at the shock of the attack, regrouping near the shuttle as the two destroyer droids unfold and unfurl their shields.

"Crates!" Anakin thunders.

Ventress needs no urging. She pulls on one of the cargo crates with the Force, shouts, and wrenches it into the nearest droideka, the war droid collapsing under the heavy weight. Anakin lifts another crate with one hand, batting away fire with his lightsaber as he moves the crate above the droideka before dropping it. The droid's shields snap under the weight and the crate smashes the droideka in a crunch of steel and gearwork, its headpiece splitting off and sparking as it scuttles along the ground.

Anakin is feeling it now. Light and dark. Peace and passion. Serenity and fury. He somersaults beneath a torrent of fire, cuts down a super battle droid, wrenches a leg off of its sparking body with the Force, and hurls it like a missile at another droid, striking it in the chest and knocking it flat. He is a menace, a warrior, Jedi and something more. He leaps over a wall of blaster shot and lands in the middle of a cluster of droids, smashing down with the Force and sending the attackers flying with a three hundred sixty-degree repulsion wave. He turns on a dime and knocks away a shot as Ventress slams a Force push into the offending droid, throwing it against the shuttle hull and blowing it apart in a storm of screws and bolts and loose metal. They come together and fight back-to-back, Ventress and Anakin, enemies turned allies of need, Sith acolyte and Jedi Knight, dark and light.

In under two minutes the hanger is clear. Anakin and Ventress stand amid the smoking wreckage of the battle droid platoon, lightsabers crackling in the frosty air. "No problem."

"Let's get going," Ventress says, sheathing her sabers nnd heading up the boarding ramp. "I've flown one of these shuttles before. I'll take the helm."

"No, no you don't. I'm flying."

"Do you even know how to fly this?"

"I'll figure it out."

Anakin settles behind the controls in the cramped shuttle cockpit, running his hands over the console. He shrugs and throws a lever forward. The shuttle bucks and charges ahead out of the hanger, and it's all Ventress can do to hang on as the ship rockets into the cold air. "At least close the damn door!" she shouts.

"Yeah, that was a little faster takeoff than I thought," Anakin says. "This one, right?"

"No, you idiot, it's the green button!"

"Hey, I was just getting to that one. Give me a second."

As the landing gear retract and the shuttle accelerates into the storm above, Ventress sighs and drops into the copiloting seat. "How do the Jedi ever let you fly anything?"

Anakin snorts. "You haven't seen anything yet."

"Skywalker, that wasn't a challenge."

As they blast into the upper atmosphere, the lurking hulks of the orbiting fleet loom on the sensors. "No one's shooting," Anakin murmurs. "I'm punching in hyperspace coordinates."

"Just get us out of here."

Their cover works. If the Separatist fleet suspects anything, they are too late: Anakin maneuvers the shuttle into an open lane for a hyperspace jump, finishes the coordinates to get them away from Ziost, and punches the ship into hyperspace. The stars and void slip back, Ziost drawing away into a single point of light as the blue storm of faster-than-light travel envelops the shuttle. That quickly they are gone, the Celestial, the Separatists, the snow, all of it behind them. So much easier than last time he came to Ziost.

Ventress leans back in her seat and frowns. "Back to Coruscant?"

"No," Anakin says. "I'm going somewhere else.

"Where?"

He pauses, frowning. "I heard something in that pyramid."

"Heard from who?"

"I don't know. Something old. Older than the Jedi or the Sith. Something called a Celestial."

"Never heard of it."

"It told me to…to go somewhere where I might see 'what future the past might shape'," says Anakin.

Ventress smirks. "Rather vague and generic."

"No. I have a feeling on where to go."

"You're just following around where old 'things' tell you to fly, now?"

"You said Dooku went to meet Grievous around Bogden. That they were preparing to move on Arkania," Anakin says, staring out at hyperspace. "Arkania. That's where I'm going. The last time I ran into Dooku, I learned what led me to Ziost in the first place. Something tells me I have to meet him again. I have to—" he stops, his hand raised before him as if to grab some unseen object just out of reach. What? "I don't know. But that's where I'm going, and if Dooku shows up—when Dooku shows up—I'll be waiting for him."

"Arkania. One cold planet to another. Lovely."

"I'll make a stop and drop you at the first space station along the way."

Ventress frowns. "No. I think I'll go along for the ride."

Anakin looks at her quizzically. "I didn't ask for that."

"No, you didn't. But you're not the only one who has a score to settle with Dooku. I don't trust you to be smart about things, Skywalker, but I do trust your connection to the Force. If you feel that Dooku's going to Arkania next, then I believe it. And I want to be there to face him, too."

Anakin shrugs. "Guess that's that. Welcome aboard."

"Just shut up and fly."

"We're in hyperspace, Ventress. There's not much to do."

"You know what I mean."