No one in the room but me. And him. A ring of marble floor surrounded by a ring of empty chairs, in a ring of windowed walls. For whatever reason he sits in Yoda's seat, at the center chair in the far end of the circle. Silent, head lowered, boring his once soft blue eyes through strings of stray hair hanging in his battered, stark-white face. He's unmoving, unspeaking, seething, gripping his hands tightly on the arm rests. I can see the back cushion of his chair through the angry, bright red hole in his sternum.

I'm paralyzed, just sitting and forced to meet his intense gaze. I feel his rage, his hatred. He speaks without moving his lips. You did this. You failed me. You should have run faster.

I start to hyperventilate and feel the tears fall. I'm so sorry! Please, please forgive me.

The room begins shaking, the walls crumpling grotesquely and closing in. Glass shatters and sprays my face. I'm still frozen, unable to get my body to respond to my desperate need to escape. And still he stares, his chair shifting closer and closer to mine and I try to open my mouth to scream, but nothing happens. You did this!

Gasping, I spring up to a sitting position. I scan the room panting. I must have fallen asleep in the chair beside Anakin's bed. Somehow, he slept through my noise. After such a rough night, he looks so peaceful. His little chest rises and falls under the sheet. His face is so tiny and sweet. I strain to listen and catch the smallest wheezing sound over the hum of ships passing outside. My breathing finally slows and I wipe beads of sweat off my forehead with the back of my cloak sleeve. Somehow like this, he seems far less menacing. When he's awake, I feel so ill at ease, so anxious that I might say or do the wrong thing. His little blue eyes looking up at me, expecting, always just a little let down. Always expecting the same wisdom and self-assured calm that Qui-Gon carried and never getting it. Not even close.

It's nearly time for my morning meeting at the Senate. I still have no plan for Anakin this morning. Off to a pretty pathetic start, Obi, well done. I get up and shake his shoulder a little too roughly. "Hey, it's time to wake up."

He groans softly, dragging his arm across his eyes and stretching out his legs. He opens his eyes and smiles at me. I can't seem to smile back.

"Get dressed and meet me in the common room in five minutes, okay?"

His smile fades and that look of worry comes back to his face. Before he can say anything, I leave the room and close his door so he can change. I go into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. When I look up at the mirror I flinch. There's a face there but I don't recognize it. Sunken blood-shot eyes, pale skin, deep purple and green bruises. I realize I haven't even looked in a mirror in probably several days. I reach up and touch the bruises delicately. Still a little tender. It must have been when he kicked me, or when I fell off the skybridge. Before I jumped back up and ran too slowly.

"Anakin, you coming?" I call loudly and rush out of the bathroom.

After a few seconds, he comes bursting out of his door, still struggling with his belt. I taught him once, he's on his own now. "Come on," I say, heading toward the door. "We have a short amount of time before my meeting so let's squeeze some training in."

He follows me to the Sky Track, an intricate maze of running path suspended high up on the walls, spiderwebbing the length of the entire temple. "It's very important that we build your base fitness in your new path toward Knighthood. I saw from your assessments you scored well in your aerobic testing," no doubt from years of forced physical labor, "but we have to do better. We can always do better. Come on."

I start running, and hear his footsteps right behind me, frantic and probably surprised at first, but eventually steady. We pass Jedi after Jedi, many of whom are just walking or jogging leisurely, grouped in pairs, chatting. Soon they become a blur as I pump my legs faster and faster. Miles pass as we're precariously raised sometimes one hundred feet above the grand halls below. I can reach out and slide my fingertips over the tops of the gigantic pillars; I can see people pass below like specks of dust. I feel the burn on my stomach protest bitterly, but I shut it out and run harder. The world is turning into a fog. My vision tunnels around the narrow track. You should have run faster. You failed me.

"Master!" I hear the desperate call behind me. I screech to a halt and whip around to see Anakin doubled over, his hands on his knees gasping for breath. I jog back over to him, "I'm so sorry, I must not have heard you were lagging behind."

"It's okay, Master," he says meekly.

Good job, kill the kid on your first day. That may be a new record. I reach out and touch his sweaty shoulder. "Hey why don't we jog back to our quarters and we'll get freshened up. You can help yourself to breakfast while I have my meeting, and we can meet after for a first lesson in meditation. Sound good?"

He nods, but looks none too pleased about the jogging back idea. I'm careful to keep pace with him, and try to make friendly chatter like the others to occupy his mind. When we return, I splash a few handfuls of cold water on my face again, and quickly head for the door. While Anakin struggles to remove his stiff boots, I add, "if I'm not back within an hour, why don't you head to the Padawan center? There are round the clock classes being held, so you can join one with the fourth or fifth years. Maybe go see your new friends."

"Okay, sounds good, Master." A sad look flashes across his face and disappears as quickly as it came.

"Don't worry, I'll be back soon," I add

.

Stass Allie nurses her cup of tea and smiles at Adi Gallia, who's whispering some shared inside to joke to her. The two erupt in laughter, and Stass shoves her chest lightly in mock disapproval. Kit Fisto and Mace are standing at the window. I can't hear a thing they're saying, but their expressions are serious.

"You alright, Obi-Wan?" Quinlan asks, suddenly sliding into the chair beside me.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

He says nothing but his face almost seems to be asking me 'nightmares again?'

Just then the sliding door whirs open and she enters, magnificent grey skirt so wide the sides brush the doorframe. The delicate strings of white beads and jewels dance around her white painted face as she walks, glittering in the lamp light. Something happens when she dons these uniforms. Her face is always serious, but with a hint of defeat or resignation, like a wild tauntaun who's finally broken and accepted his cumbersome collar and reigns. I feel a flash of pride having had a chance to see her bare and free, donned in simple tunics, running wild, wielding a blaster. Smiling and laughing. I'm one of the few that knows what her laughter is even sounds like. So bubbly you just want to scream in delight.

She assumes her position behind her desk while the other delegates join us in the cluster of seats and tables. Kit Fisto and Mace join us as well, but Mace remains standing, bowing to Padme, to which she responds with a gentle bob of her head and the subsequent chime of her crystalline head dress.

"We have a message from our ambassador on Stewjon that I think may change our approach to this issue," Mace says.

"Please, Master Windu, proceed," her voice is nothing like I remember.

Mace walks over to the center table and places a holoprojector. A two-foot-tall, flickering blue Siri Tachi is suddenly standing on the table. My stomach lurches up into my chest and I can't help but squirm in my seat. She begins speaking her pre-recorded message:

"The situation here appears to be devolving a little bit," she says somberly. "Despite our council, the local government in the Salewa Province is proceeding with their town halls. They're calling everyone together to discuss what they're calling a 'plan of action' against the Republic. I really don't think words are getting us anywhere here. They're not listening to me or Barris anymore, in fact it feels like they're beginning to freeze us out. They're acting…" she looks over both her shoulders, "weird. Like overly friendly but at the same time incredibly stand-offish. I believe talks have completely broken down and they're moving into the next phase. I recommend we send reinforcements and prepare for intervention."

She suddenly disappears and the room falls into a brief silence. Padme has the smallest hint of concern sweep across her face. "I believe she may be right," she says in her deep voice, "I believe it may be prudent to deploy more Jedi to Stewjon to be ready for what may come. Force may become necessary. At this juncture, however, I'd like further Intel. I'd like to know if they're planning any terrorist activity, and if so, where." Some of the other Republic delegates nod in agreement.

"That's something we can easily manage," Kit Fisto says. "Kenobi." Suddenly the entire room shifts to look at me and my face flushes. "You might be a good asset on this mission. You're originally from Stewjon, correct?"

"I-I am." Though I've only ever really considered myself 'from' Coruscant.

Kit Fisto continues. "Well he might be instrumental in gaining a rapport. Perhaps a part of the problem is they're no longer trusting of Jedi since they represent the Republic. In a sense. A sort of…local…might be helpful."

Padme actually looks at me. I strain to stifle my smile. "I agree," is all she says. "Perhaps just one or two more. The last thing we want is for them to become intimidated by your mobilization of forces. We don't want them to feel threatened." Suddenly she stands, and her handmaidens and fellow delegates do the same. She's known for ending meetings this way. A sort of "Okay, I'm done now" manner. It makes me want to laugh; I rather love the efficiency of it. She's never been one for appearances or posturing. A very refreshing break from most of her kind.

Each Jedi rises and bows in unison, then begins to gaggle together toward the door, chatting.

"Kenobi, stay back a second," Mace calls after me. A similar panic rises in my belly. I wonder when this feeling that I'm in trouble when a Jedi Master summons me will ever go away. "For whatever reason," Mace speaks slowly, shocked at his own words, "the Chancellor would like you to visit him in his office." He almost seems to hiss the word 'Chancellor.'

"Oh," is all I can seem to say. My face probably says it all.

"It's likely to do with the events on Naboo. He may want to give you a more thorough thanks or congratulations, if I had to guess. But in any case, he requested only you."

"Not a problem. I suppose I'll meet you back at the Temple for mission planning. I do have a question, though. Would I be able to take Anakin with me?"

"Of course," Mace nods. "That's a good idea. It's important for you to continue developing a bond. I would advise in keeping him out of the peace-keeping or Intel gathering operations themselves, though. He's not ready for such a politically nuanced lesson, and we don't want him possibly hampering anything with his inexperience."

"Oh, certainly. I can easily devise some alternative programming, something easy he can do on his own. I think he'll be really happy with this."

Mace and I exchange bows, and I head through the sliding door toward the Chancellor's wing. A secretary at the desk greets me with a smile. "Good morning, Knight Kenobi. He's been expecting you."

She escorts me into the blood-red, velveteen office and announces my arrival to the Chancellor, who turns away from the window with a smile. I bow ardently.

"Good morning Chancellor. It's wonderful to see you again."

He begins to walk toward me with arms wide and for a moment I worryl he's going to hug me. He grasps each of my shoulders and smiles at me with that same restrained pity that Mace has. "My dear boy, I'm so glad you came by. Please, please take a seat. My secretary was kind enough to prepare us some tea, so please enjoy."

I smile and sit down. My gnawing stomach overrides my protests for constraint, so I grab a mug and take a tiny sip. "Thank you for allowing me a visit, Chancellor."

"Allowing you? You Jedi are so sweet sometimes. My boy, I asked you to come!" His eyes crinkle with laughter and immediately puts me at ease. "I wanted a chance to welcome you to your post as 'Master' to our newest young Jedi! I do this for all the new masters. You see, I'm very personally invested in the upbringing of our newest ranks and I love to see what each new master has planned. I find the individuality you each bring to this is utterly fascinating."

"Really? I've never heard of anyone coming to speak with you before." I suddenly wipe the look of confusion off my face. "But I could be wrong, no one has mentioned it at least."

"Well you Jedi are among the most modest people I've had the honor of meeting, so I don't it take it anyone would run back and brag about their personal meeting with the Chancellor." He blows the steam from his tea.

'Our newest ranks' rattles around in my head. I can't help but wince slightly. What does he mean by "our"? And even "ranks"? I know in the past he's had more than a few Jedi mutter amongst the others suspicions of him seeing us as a sort of para-military of the Republic.

"I'm particularly excited to chat with you, I must say!"

"Really?" I laugh with embarrassment.

"Of course! The first Jedi to slay a Sith in over a millennium! And now Master to quite an unusual case. Once of the oldest Padawans in generations, and possibly what could be considered as "the Chosen One!" He whispers the words.

I feel a flush of annoyance and set down my mug, "Well that's yet to be fully confirmed. But you are correct, we do have a very credible degree of evidence, and we'll continue to evaluate him. At this point, it's a wait and see. Besides, some of us don't read into the lore quite so litterally."

He smiles ruefully at me. "You Jedi. Always so humble, downplaying everything."

"Well, I wouldn't say-"

"And you of all people especially!" He interrupts me with a sudden flare of glee that catches me off guard. "I was looking through your records and noticed you were once passed over for Padawanship. You were on your way to the Agri-Corps if I read that correctly."

"My…my records? I'm sorry, sir, but you have access to that?"

"Oh of course," he waives his hand dismissively, looking almost annoyed I'd ask. "I'm just so impressed at your meteoric rise! From nothing to Master of the Chosen One!"

I suddenly feel done with this meeting. I take a heavy sigh and sneak a glance at the door.

"Oh look, I didn't mean to offend you or anything like that." His tone is soft, and he reaches out his hand to pat my knee. "I was just remarking at how unusual this situation is, and how…proud I am. But I just have to ask, do you have reservations?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well you seem to be almost annoyed at my mentioning all this. Do you feel as though they made the wrong choice in assigning you such a role? Did they not properly prepare you?"

I can't help but blurt out a stuttered laugh. "Oh goodness, no, that's not what I meant. I trust the council's decisions to the utmost. And I feel fully supported in this. Master Yoda is nearly never wrong."

"Well as I heard it, he was outvoted. He didn't even want this."

My face flushes hot and I feel my throat closing up. I grunt, and have to look at the carpet when I speak, studying the individual red fibers. "I don't believe I heard that. Are you certain you have the right information?"

"Why yes, that's truly what I heard!" His excitement at being the recipient of such knowledge is utterly oblivious. Heard from who, exactly? Chancellor Palpatine is like the queen bee of a massive hive; we are nothing but his worker bees, bringing back the lifeblood of what constitutes his precious honey: information. We all know this, hence our many meetings reminding us to watch our operational security around him. So who would have leaked this?

"Listen, I didn't mean to upset you by telling you this. I wish every Jedi was respected enough to know the truth more often. I hate the way you keep these sorts of secrets from each other."

"Well, usually they're for good reason," I say more to myself than him.

He reaches out and clasps both my hands between his and my skin flushes. "You have my support, Kenobi. Master Yoda and some of the other Jedi may not believe in you, but I will be in your corner always. Don't give in to their doubts. So you came from humble beginnings. So you are a bit young. So you aren't the most particularly exceptional among your ranks. But you killed a Sith Lord!"

"Apprentice."

"What's that?"

"He was not a Sith Lord. He was the Apprentice."

"Well," the Chancellor finally releases my hands. "Still very impressive. And for which I and the people of the Republic am indebted to you."

His comm device suddenly beeps. Thank God. "Oh dear, I've just been requested at the finance meeting. I'm so sorry, do you mind, dear boy?" He gestures a hand toward the door and I spring to my feat a little too eagerly.

"By all means, Chancellor. Thank you again for your time." I bow with a sense of finality that I hope he picks up on. When I stand, he suddenly wraps his arms around me and I'm too stunned to move.

"Don't let anyone fill you with doubt. Always remember you have someone in the Senate rooting for you." He whispers in my ear.

"Oh…okay."

He moves over to his desk and begins rooting through his drawers, pulling out several folders and slapping them in a stack on top. Without even being summoned, as far as I can tell, his secretary comes into the room and starts placing our half-full mugs and saucers on her tray. "Say hello to everyone for me at the Temple," she says. "I've always wanted to see it. It sounds so spectacular."

"Well, anyone is welcome for a visit."

She smiles and starts speaking to me in a giddy way. I can't hear a word. The room seems to fill with a huge pulse of air and I feel a deep sense of dread. I hear a distant rumble getting louder and louder. The sound of static; distant radio chatter.

"Delta Kilo 4371, you are in a restricted zone, vector north 350 immediately or we will engage!"

"He's not listening, control. Do you read?"

"Roger. You are cleared to engage. Target 280-20, 18 thousand…"

The massive windows shatter; air is ripped from my lungs and my eardrums feel like they're bursting. Exploding glass flies through the room and I reach out and shove the secretary to the floor, face down. I catch a glimpse of the Chancellor, desperately grabbing hold of his desk as chairs and small furniture flies out the window.

And past him, I see it. A horrifying mass heading toward us, blocking out the sun. Squinting, I struggle to make out what it is. Wings, antennae, a huge glass cockpit. And inside, a man. Eyes wide with terror, though I can see he has one hand on the throttle, pushing it forward and throwing his entire body weight into it. Trailing behind, two fighters, missiles dropping down from under the fuselage. Jesus Christ, no.

I hear a scream and I throw up my hands. There's a burst of air, an explosive decompression that throws the Chancellor to the floor. I grunt in strain and feel my feet being forced back as I struggle to dig them into the carpet. The ship begins to slow and I see my hands in front of me trembling violently. I can make out the faded painted letters on the ship's nose as it slows to a halt inches from the wide-open windows, shards of glass still clinging to the frames. And he locks eyes with me, both of our chests heaving. The two fighters halt as well, hovering several feet back. One pilot removes his helmet visor and stares with his mouth hanging open.

Suddenly the man in the ship flings off his seatbelt and struggles over the controls toward his window. I can't help but pant loudly now as I struggle to hold the ship aloft, panic rising. He opens his window and squeezes his body through one limb at a time.

"Wait!" I yell. The ship is too far out, he'll never make it if he ties to jump inside. But he doesn't try. He just slips his whole body through the window and lets himself drop like a rock. He doesn't even scream. In a split second, he's gone.

I can't bear the weight anymore. The ship begins sinking and I let out a panicked yell. Hands still held out in front of me, I stagger closer to the window to find a place to let it drop. Probably forty feet below I spot a landing port with several empty taxi ships parked in neat rows. It will have to do. The ship is dropping fast; I just strain to slow it's fall. It hits the concrete with a horrific screech of metal. I hear the smaller ships crumple beneath it. A fireball erupts, and I have to throw myself back into the room, the intense heat radiating at my back. I lay there face down for several moments, struggling to catch my breath, the smell of acrid smoke filling the room.

I make out several uniformed figures entering the room, some grabbing their heads or covering their mouths in shock. There's a frenzy of voices, alarms, and movement. Someone rushes to the passed-out secretary and to the Chancellor, who sits up and holds his head in pain.

I get my knees under me and see a small pool of blood in the carpet. I reach up and wipe my nose, inspecting my fingers to see more blood. The room starts to swirl around me and my vision grow dark. I hear voices but can't see anything.

"Are you alright? Master Kenobi!"

"We're gonna need medical up here now."

Hands grab my shoulders and lower me to the floor.

"Hey, can you here me? Stay with us, alright?"

"I think he's passing out. Sir, can you hear me…"