A/N: A huge, huge, huge thank you to my lovely friend en-shaedn, who is now not only helping me plan out this story, telling me what ideas work and which ones are rubbish, but is also proofreading this thing to the letter and adding a few pieces of her own. Several of the more straightforward, elegant sentences in this chapter come courtesy of her. Thank you, Master Editor, for reminding me that showing is better than telling and that not every description needs to be dripping with flowery eloquence. You're the best!


Within the Jedi Order, celebrity was a vice frowned upon with the stiffest consternation. It was considered immature and inappropriate to seek out celebrity for one's self, and inexpedient to afford celebrity to others. The latter sin was, admittedly, harder to avoid, particularly for the younger generation for whom role models and celebrities often existed as a single entity. However, it could be argued that the Temple's younglings weren't technically sworn-in Jedi yet, and thus, could not be held to the same rigorous standards as their elders and betters.

"MASTER BEN!" The master in question had not yet darkened the door of the Wolf Clan dormitory, but the Zygerrian boy called Sarsan had a knack for precognition. With the alarm raised, the entire clan chittered with excitement, some charging forward to the door in rapt anticipation. Master Zyrha stood, towering mightily above her charges as she strode to meet the celebrity at the door.

"Master Kenobi," She greeted above a chorus of "Master Ben!"s and "Hello Master Ben!" and "Can you play today, Master Ben?". She roved her eyes over the excitable younglings before swiveling them back around to peer at her visitor, whose face was puckered by irrepressible dimples and crowsfeet. Somehow, the grey hairs at his temples made his smile all the more endearing. "Your adoring fans await. Is it fourthday already? I'll fetch the holobooks-"

Ben was still smiling, but put out a forestalling hand. "No no, no history lessons today. I've actually come by to let you know you'll need to find a replacement. I'm being sent back out in the field."

"Oh?" Zyhra's ears turned, whiskers flicking upward in surprise. "Not just out to the Legislative District, I assume?"

"No, not this time," Ben chuckled. "They've found an errand for me off planet. I do not know the details yet. Perhaps the senate is finally growing weary of me."

Zyrha chuckled, beady eyes softening as she grinned, exposing rows of pointed teeth. Quietly, so that the initiates wouldn't be able to hear, she said, "I doubt that. I know of a dozen or so Jedi who will miss you sorely."

"Hmm," Ben's grin was bittersweet. He kept his voice down to match Zyrha's whisper. "Attachment won't suit them later in life."

"No. Perhaps you would like to soften the blow?" She gestured to her roomful of hopeful younglings.

"You employ me to do your coddling for you?"

"You would not have come in person if you wanted to avoid coddling. " She glanced back into the room, looking beyond the throng to a closed door. "Skywalker is meditating at the moment."

Ben snorted. "What did he do this time?"

"He was given a remote droid and asked to predict where it would move next without looking at it."

"And?"

"He disassembled it. When I asked him what he'd done, he said 'I predict it is going to go nowhere.'"

Ben barked out a laugh. "And now you have him meditating on the vice of cheating, I assume."

"Cheating? No. He did the whole thing with his eyes closed – didn't even use his hands. Impressive really, if not for the heroic overshow of cheek. I sent him to meditate on the definition of insolence. It's a new word for him, but by my oath if it isn't apropos." She shook her head in that longsuffering way that only creche masters could, and stepped back into the room. "Regardless, I know he'll want to see you before you leave. I'll fetch him."

"I appreciate it, Zyrha."

"Younglings," Zyrha gave a single clap of her paws, bowed head turning this way and that to meet the gazes of her clanmembers, who ranged from three years to eleven, a hodgepodge of age and species. "Master Ben cannot stay for long today, but as always, we should make our brother feel at home. I need to step out for a few minutes – Yuni," the oldest youngling of the group, "look after them, and listen to Master Kenobi."

"Yes, master," Yuni smiled, bowing gracefully first to Zyrha, and then to Ben.

"Master Ben, why can't you stay?" Asked the very young Cosian called Fauli, tugging on his tabards. Ben bent over to try meet the boy on his own level.

"I've business elsewhere today, I'm afraid."

From his other side: "But can't you stay for just a little bit?" Asked a nautolan with huge, shining eyes and two missing teeth. "Can you tell us a story? Like the ones Master Dooku tells?"

Ben chuckled. "I'm not sure Master Dooku's tales are entirely wholesome for-"

Fauli again: "Pleeeaaase?"

Ben floundered looking up at the dozen or so others watching him with hopeful, excited faces. The master sighed. There were too many of them; too many round cheeks and huge, shining eyes. He was outnumbered. He surrendered. "One story," he announced to a chorus of cheers. He summoned a meditation cushion from a corner and lowered himself onto it cross-legged.

He told them a story from the life of one of his favorite Jedi scholars. It was a tale set some two thousand years ago, when a revered togruta Jedi master had found herself stranded on an uncharted planet and had to rely on the assistance of an untrained Force-user to help guide her home. The story itself was apocryphal and likely untrue; but the moral, that the Force offered aid in unexpected people and unconventional methods, was one he hoped to impart on the younger generation.

When he was done, the younglings begged him for more and he gently but firmly refused. "I thought Wynn Ra'alscha was deemed a heretic," said Master Zyrha, returned from her errand. From his cushion, Ben had to bend his neck almost backward to look up at her.

"You can still find her biography and memoirs in the archives. I find that orthodoxy is largely dependent on one's point of view."

Zyrha looked skeptical. "I should like to pick your brain on that later. But for now, there's someone rather anxious to see you."

"Master!" Anakin Skywalker, five years old and absolutely fearless, charged into the room and dove straight for Ben's lap.

"Oomph," Ben caught the boy with a huff. Anakin giggled, righting himself to sit on Ben's knee.

"Restraint is the way of the Jedi, Anakin," Ben said around a sore gut. "A bow would surely suffice, you're getting far too big for such behavior."

Anakin laughed at this, as if it were the height of humor. "No!" He insisted, and hugged Ben's arm.

Ben smiled down at the boy. As he aged, Anakin came more into himself, looking and acting and speaking more like the boy that Obi-Wan had known in another life. Yet there was something cleaner in this incarnation, something untainted by the Huttese soot and sand of slavery. Anakin's overaffection might again prove to be his downfall, but just now, to be acknowledged by Anakin Skywalker without any hint of resentment was a gift too pure to spoil with speculation.

All that being so, he retained his persistently Anakin way of doing things. Ben brushed an untidy heap of blond hair out of Anakin's face to sit by the mussed lock of hair that would one day become a padawan braid. It had grown not quite long enough to brush his shoulder. "I hear you've gotten yourself into some trouble, Anakin," Ben said in a stern voice. Anakin dipped his head toward one shoulder, mouth shifting into a stubborn pout.

"I didn't cheat," he insisted.

"I never said you did. But you did disassemble a remote. Did Master Zyrha ask you to do that?"

"No," he admitted. "But I did do what she asked me to do!"

"That you did," Ben allowed. Anakin did always exceed expectations – though not necessarily in the best of ways. "But you must remember to consider every possibility – what if disassembling the remote caused Master Zyrha grief? Or had hurt one of your clanmates?"

"But it didn't," Anakin insisted.

"But it could have. What would you have done?" Anakin hid his head, playing with his own fingers. Ben bent his head to look the boy in the eye. "Anakin?" He pressed.

"I'nno," the child mumbled.

"Then you must be mindful of it in the future. Impudence is not becoming of a Jedi."

Anakin's face screwed up in a frown. "What's im-poo-dins?" He asked. Ben chuckled. "Ask your master." Zyrha would get a laugh out of that.

"Ani!" Interrupted an excitable voice. A very small Pantoran girl charged toward them and enveloped Anakin's arm in full-body hug. "You're back!"

Anakin smiled at her in a moment of untainted, childish affection and patted her on the head. "Hi Mira," He said. When she did not let go of his arm, he tried to shrug her off. "I wasn't gone that long." When she finally let go of Ani, she spotted Ben, and her lavender skin flushed violet. She promptly ran off and was adopted into a game of blocks with Sarsan.

"Who is that, then?" Asked Ben, watching the gentle way the Zygerrian played with the girl.

"That's Mira," Explained Anakin, "she's new. Me and Sar play with her. She's good at lift-feather."

"I see. That's very kind of you, Anakin. I'm sure you two take good care of her."

Anakin didn't seem to register the compliment. "Will you play lift-feather with us, Master Ben? I'm sure Mira would like it."

Ben chuckled. "Maybe another time, little one."

They spoke for a while, about Anakin's friends and his escapades in the gardens, and his excitement that he'd finally be allowed to train with wooden sabers when he turned six. At length, Ben finally had to reveal his reasons for visiting.

"Leaving?" Anakin was crestfallen. "Why?"

"Because I am a Jedi, and I have duties outside of this temple." It was something he'd told Anakin on more than one occasion.

"Oh." Familiar as it was, the boy still pouted at the reminder. He patted at Ben's tabards, holding the edges as if it could make the master stay longer. "You can't come by and tell us stories?" he asked pitifully.

"Not for a while. Master Dooku will still be around, I'm sure." This seemed to console Anakin somewhat (which did not console Ben in the slightest) but he remained sullen. "Come now, little one. I'll not be gone for long."

"Promise?"

Ben had learned years ago not to make promises. But… do or do not, there was no try. "I promise," he said, wondering if he would regret it.

Anakin nodded and hugged him, little arms splayed across the elder man's chest. After a brief moment, Ben pushed the small body away, gave his last goodbyes, and rose to his feet. The children chorused well-wishes at him, and he left for the door. Master Zyrha saw him out.

"I will keep him well until he's old enough to follow you out," she said. He turned to her, surprised. Ben knew that he had hardly made a secret of his fondness for Anakin, but her forwardness took him off guard.

"Well," he recovered his senses, "You may need to find a way to split him up. I am not the only interested party."

"Yes, I know," She nodded solemnly. "Yan Dooku. I'd noticed."

Her tone was a giveaway. "You disapprove."

"Most vehemently. The man is..." She eyed her younglings and shook her head, unable or unwilling to reveal her thoughts in mixed company. "...unsettling," she decided.

Ben understood completely. But there was nothing to be done. "It will be his choice, when he's old enough."

"Then I can only hope to raise him with enough sense to know the better path." She turned to look at the boy in question, and did a double-take to find him and Sarsan teaching innocent little Mira how to launch blocks at unsuspecting clanmates. "Which in itself will be a miracle. May the Force be with you on your travels, Master Kenobi."

"And also with you, Master Zyrha, and Anakin."

She smiled at him. "Indeed."


Ben had been confused by the summons to Master Yoda's quarters in lieu of the Council Chambers, but he followed orders and dutifully arrived at the sequestered rooms at the appointed time. Just outside the doors, he ran into Aola Tarkona, who was walking in the opposite direction.

"M-Master Ben," She stuttered, sounding shaken. Ben looked on her with concern; it had been weeks since he'd seen her smile. She watched him brush his robes back into place. "I'm sorry, Master."

"Don't be." He took a second look at her face and gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "Courage, young one."

Aola tried to smile for his sake and ducked away.

"She's not doing well," Ben said after the door was closed. He winced at the characteristic odor of Yoda's abode; it was a matter of debate whether or not the ancient master had cleaned his rooms in the last century or two. Moss grew in patches along the floorboards, illuminated by bars of light filtering in through the blinds. Master Yoda was pouring tea.

"Troubled by visions, she is," he said, not looking up. "Saddens me it does to see such burdens placed on the young. Such are the times." He set the teapot and two full cups of tea on a tray.

"Feemor tells me they're becoming more frequent. Can she not control them?"

"Control the voice of the Force we cannot. Know this well you do, Obi-Wan." It had long been Yoda's custom to call Ben by his true name in private. "No longer changing, the vision is. Steady. Repetitious. Hmm." He levitated the tea tray toward the two meditation seats in the middle of the room. Ben followed the small grandmaster at a shuffle, ducking under the low ceiling beams. "Repeating visions… alarming they are."

"But not necessarily omens," Ben said, settling into a seat across from his great grandmaster.

"No. But not necessarily falsehoods," Yoda frowned at the steaming teapot for a long, pensive moment, but eventually let out the tension with a sigh. "In the hands of the Force, young Aola is. No more, no less." Both Jedi drew their cups to themselves and drank, no apparent rush at hand.

"How fares young Obi-Wan?" Yoda asked conversationally. He was not ignorant of the fallout from Mandalore.

"Better than before. Your old padawan has kept him busy."

"Hmm. Adept at Makashi Obi-Wan is – or so I hear."

"Dooku says he's a natural at it."

Yoda chuckled. "Resentment I hear in your tone, Obi-Wan. Jealous for your own form, you are, as Qui-Gon is for his."

Ben shrugged. "Perhaps. I never learned much Makashi."

"No?"

"No, master. Ataru was my focus, and later Soresu."

"Hmm, yes," Yoda let a smirk overtake his mouth, a rare show of pride in his lineage. "A natural at all saberform - excel in whichever form you happen upon, you do." Yoda sipped at his tea, chuckling to himself. "Works in mysterious ways the Force does. Perhaps, need Makashi in this life young Kenobi will."

Ben had to admit that he hadn't thought of it like that. He'd needed the rock solid defense of Soresu in order to make it through the Clone Wars in one piece. But what in the galaxy could require the use of Makashi this time around? It was a duelist's form, a form of precision and conservation. After a few rather foreboding abstractions, Ben gave up the chase with a shake of his head, focusing his attentions instead on his company.

Master Yoda poured himself a second cup of tea and took no rush in drinking it; sniffing it, swirling it, enjoying its warmth before he even lifted it to his lips. He shifted into a more comfortable spot.

"Are we waiting for something, Master Yoda?" Ben asked at length.

"Someone," the grandmaster clarified, and summoned a new tea bowl to the tray. He filled it to the brim, and no sooner had the last drop of yarba plopped into place than did the door slide open with a hiss.

"Late you are," accused Yoda.

"Apologies, Master," said Mace Windu, striding unfazed past the darkened mess of Yoda's apartments and ducking under the low ceiling with practiced ease. "Master Kenobi," he nodded respectfully.

"Master Windu, a pleasure to see you." Mace did not reciprocate Ben's smile, and while it was not out of character, it still hurt.

"Have you begun?" asked the Master of the Order in a businesslike tone.

"No," Yoda sipped at his tea loudly. "Discussing other matters we were. Come, sit."

Mace moved a third seat into their circle and assumed the lotus position atop the cushion, as Yoda and Ben had done. Former master and apprentice shared a look, and Mace took the lead.

"The Council has a mission for you, Master Kenobi."

Ben nodded. "I did see the summons, but I admit my confusion, masters. Am I not to meet with the whole council?"

"No. It's not needed; the council has already approved the assignment, and considering the source of the petition, a full briefing seemed excessive."

"The source of the petition?" Ben raised an eyebrow.

"The Senate. Already briefed you are, from a certain point of view," Yoda chuckled at his own mockery of Ben's favorite phrase. Ben frowned in puzzlement, and glanced at Mace for clarification.

"Trouble has arisen on Kuat," the Korun master explained. "A district of resettled Twi'lek in Kuat City is being terrorized. We need you to get to the bottom of it."

"Resettled? From the Herdessan crisis?" Ben neglected his tea in his concentration, shadows passing over his furrowed brow as skycars flew past the lofty temple windows.

"Yes. You'll remember how much opposition the resettlement act faced from Kuat. The Twi'leks' journey there has hardly been smooth, but we – along with the whole senate – were led to believe that it was, at least, going safely. That is not the case.

"Instances of violence, ranging from robbery to murder have been reported from Goc Fiyao, the town established by the refugees some years ago. Unfortunately, these reports are only now garnering attention. Senator Damaera Thane has been accused of a cover-up."

Ben glowered at the wall. "Of course she has."

Mace's frustrated eyebrow tick was entirely sympathetic. "She'll be wrapped up in the bureaucratic cogs for a while. Regardless, Chancellor Valorum wants to amend for her neglect with swift and decisive action. We haven't a moment to lose."

"The situation is truly grave, then."

"Murdered, dozens of Twi'lek have been." Yoda broke in, summoning a small holopad to rest on the tea tray. He opened it and a blue projection of Kuat's surface emerged between the three. A temperate planet, orbited by the massive Kuat Drive Yards, an artificial planetary ring of shipyards and ports. Intricate webs of light depicted cities and roads, stretching over continents and islands. The brightest sphere of light indicated the capital, Kuat City. The projection magnified to show the city in its entirety. In the southeastern quadrant, on the fringes of the city borders, a series of red markers began to appear.

"All of the murder victims have been Twi'lek," Mace informed. Ben watched the animation loop around and around. The series of crimes began in a scattered pattern, disparate in both time and geography. As the animation continued, the red dots began to appear more rapidly, closer and closer together, until one neighborhood in the city was almost entirely covered.

"This pattern suggests some kind of serial killer," he said.

"Perhaps," Mace watched the map. "Or anti-Twi'lek insurgents, or terrorists. Force only knows what their motivations are. It is your mission to determine who is behind the strikes and why."

"And why covered it up has Senator Thane?" Yoda added. "Her corruption, we cannot ignore."

"This is a reconnaissance mission, then?" asked Ben.

Yoda watched the man sagely, chin perched atop his gimer cane. "If required reconnaissance is, yes. If required action is, act you must."

Ben nodded, stroking his beard pensively. The Council was going in blind and so was he. At first glance, the whole thing reeked of the prejudice and disdain that Demaera had demonstrated toward the refugees years ago on Herdessa. Ben could easily believe that she would cover up any violence directed at the Twi'lek, and he could even suppose that some of her more extremist constituents might be behind the crimes. And yet… there was something about the situation that gave him pause.

"You know," he said after a while, "I was not the only one on Herdessa. Alara Dahn has been far more involved with the aftermath of that mission than I was – on account of my censure, you remember. I think she would be better suited to this task than I, masters."

If the barbed humility was meant to make either of them feel guilty, it had the opposite effect. Mace fixed him with a stern glare. "You might be right about that, Master Kenobi, but Knight Dahn is otherwise occupied at present. Besides, your assistance in this matter was requested specifically."

Ben cocked an eyebrow. "By whom?"

Yoda chuckled. "Who else? Senator Organa."

Ben was actually surprised. "Bail? What business does he have on Kuat?"

"A rising member of the Sentients Rights Coalition he is. The Coalition, it was, that drew the matter to Chancellor Valorum's attention. Remembered your actions on Herdessa he did, and recommended you for this mission."

"I see," Ben gazed into the still-looping projection of Kuat City and the red dots. He counted thirty-six in all. "When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow. We will send you the details of your transit," Master Windu said. "I have a short dossier for you which I will also send, though I think most of it will be familiar."

"Thank you, Mace."

Mace bristled at the use of his name. Ben tried not to look hurt. Yoda sighed.

The grandmaster powered down the holodisk and clambered to the floor. He hobbled to a shelf and put the disk away, cane tapping softly on the floor. "Careful you must be, Obi-Wan. Grow too entangled with the Senate and wrapped up in all of their politics you may become."

Ben stood and carried the tea tray back to its spot in the messy, cluttered kitchen. "In all due respect, Master Yoda, the Senate must remain the focus of my actions at present."

"And why is that?" Mace asked, irritation carrying through in a fierce glower. Ben's persistent reticence toward sharing still kept him on Mace's bad side.

"They dictate the future of the Republic," Ben offered, in the most generic tone conceivable. Mace disguised his eye-roll by blinking and looking away in one gesture.

Yoda was not concerned with Ben's secretive habits; if anything, he would rather not know about the man's machinations . "Envy you, I do not," He said in a mood far more amiable than that of his former pupil.

Ben snorted softly, ignoring but distinctly aware of the waves of disapproval coming from Mace's direction. "Nor does anyone else I know, Master."


The trip to Kuat was mercifully short. Conveniently, traveling from one Core World to another was a simple business. They landed on the Drive Yards, orbiting some two thousand kilometers above the planet surface. Here, he left the Jedi escort ship and it's emblazoned republic insignias behind for a more discreet landing vessel. It was a two man ship, so as soon as he climbed aboard he came face to face with the pilot.

"Master Kenobi," Smiled the squat blue female Twi'lek at the con. She spoke with a thick but fluid accent. "It's good t'see you again."

Ben stared at her, some inkling of memory stirring in his mind. When he finally recognized her, his face burst into a smile. "Captain Ky'elee," he said, and shook her hand as he climbed aboard. "By my oath, it's been a long time!"

She laughed to see his face. "Likewise, Master Jedi! Last I saw you you had blood all over your face. You clean up nicely."

Ben laughed. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Buckle in, then. We'd best get moving if we're going to make good time to Goc Fiyao through rush hour traffic."

Once they were in the atmosphere and its packed airtraffic lanes, it was slower going.

"I'm glad to see you again, Ky'elee, but I admit I'm surprised." Ben spoke up once he was sure he wasn't distracting the pilot from her task. "How in the galaxy did you end up here?"

She shrugged. "We were allowed to express preference on where we would like to settle as a part of customs. No guarantees, o'course, but it was a kind gesture. I chose Kuat because of their shipyards – and because I knew no one else would want to. Folk don't like Twi'lek here."

"Yes, I know. I wonder sometimes if strongarming Thane into ratification only made it worse."

Ky'elee tsked in a nonchalant way. "You underestimate my people, Master Kenobi. We grew up waiting for solar flares, sandstorms, and predators to reap us off the planet every other day. A few pettish Kuati are nothing more than flies."

Ben smiled. "I admire your fortitude. Do you live in Goc Fiyao?"

Ky'elee's spitfire wilted. "I do," she said, gloved hands gripping the controls. "It's been… nightmarish. Our children are terrified. They can't even walk to school without watching their backs. It'aint right," she shook her head, ghosts in her eyes. "This planet is a dream – cool, temperate, safe, all the things Ryloth wasn't. But now there are people, thinking beings out there picking us off one by one…" She shook herself. "I was grateful t'see it was you who was coming, sir."

Ben was frowning at the shift in mood. "And you have no idea who could be behind this? Have there been any witnesses to the crimes?"

"None. It's always night when the worst happens. A lot of us think it could be gang violence, but there hasn't been any spice or credits to account for. It's just… it's slaughter. Just slaughter. T'aint another word for it."

"I see." Ben stroked his beard thoughtfully, wondering where in the galaxy he should begin. If this was some sort of conspiracy that did lead all the way to Demaera's cabinet, how should he go about it on the ground? From the beginning, said his inner Qui-Gon Jinn, simplistic and rational in his thinking. With the people. "If I'm going to get to the bottom of… whatever it is going on, I'm going to need to better understand the crimes. Do the police have records of the crimes? Surveillance footage, witness interviews?"

Ky'elee shook her head with a sigh. "No, sir. Incidence reports were filed, but not detailed ones. The Kuati police don't patrol Goc Fi 'cept but once or twice a month. Say it's its own town, even though it's part of Kuat City. We have some holo-cameras out and about at night, but none of them have seen anything. Whoever it is doing this, they know how to stay out of sight."

Which in and of itself was alarming. That meant that whoever – whatever was doing this was professional. Deadly. Targeted. The bad feeling that had plagued him during his meeting with Master Yoda and Mace came back a shade darker than before. "I will need something to go on. Is there anyone who can give me information on the crimes?"

Ky'elee hesitated, and then sighed. "Well… I might be able to get some of the families to talk to you," she eyed him and added quietly, "but no guarantees."

Ben nodded solemnly. "Of course. I understand."

After a silent moment between them, the captain shook her head sadly. "It's a bad business, Kenobi." She turned onto a deserted traffic lane, beelining for the southeast quadrant of the capital. "The sooner we root out this mess, the better."

"I couldn't agree more."


Goc Fiyao was a remarkable place, particularly for being so new. Much like the various immigrant neighborhoods Ben had grown up around on Coruscant, the Twi'leks' niche in Kuat City had a distinctly Ryl flavor to it. The tall, mismatched buildings stacked on top of one another reminded him of the canyon cities he'd seen in the craggy mountains of Ryl, while the squat, square huts called to mind the homes first designed by the Twi'lek of the Western Steppes. Unfortunately, the state of the town belied the respect - or lack thereof - that the local authorities held for their newest neighbors. Makeshift power patches and pumps could be seen installed outside of shops and homes alike, supplementing the insufficient city resources. Some of the power generators were older makes and models, chugging along as best they could.

Ben was disgusted by the government's intentional oversight, and knew he would put in a very long report about it later. Still, he was impressed by what the Twi'lek had managed to accomplish in just a few short years. This was a town of survivors - Ky'elee had said it herself. They had made it this far, and Ben knew that if they could establish themselves despite their troubles, they would become a permanent, important fixture of Kuat City and, perhaps in later generations, Kuat as a whole.

But survival was longterm. In the short term, death loomed.

"It's my fault," the aging Twi'lek cried, wiping her nose. "I burned dinner, and asked her to go buy groceries. I knew it was past dark, but I didn't think that… I…" Her chin quivered and she sobbed. Her husband wrapped an arm around her and looked apologetically up at Ben.

"It is not your fault," the Jedi said softly. "You could never have known; especially in a town surrounded by your friends." This was his eighth interview with a victim's family today. They seemed to grow progressively harder to bear. "Was Yoj'cije involved with anyone socially? A boyfriend? Social clubs? People from school?"

"No," her father insisted, absently stroking his wife's back. "No, she's always been shy, reserved. She is…" he paused, and blinked several times. "...was still learning Basic, there is nowhere she could have gone outside of Goc Fi. She had few friends. She helped run the bakery, that's all." He shrugged helplessly. "She just… she just helps me bake the bread. Helped. The customers all loved her smile." Now his chin was trembling, too. "I'm so sorry, Master Kenobi." He ducked his head to wipe his tears.

"Ei ch'eo ch'acah," his wife said softly, taking her husband's hand in both of hers and leaning into him. They cried against each other, unable to restrain their grief. Ben, with years of Jedi training, kept his own at bay. The weight of three days' worth of identical interviews pressed on his heart. Death hadn't been like this in the Clone Wars. The legions had been trained as warriors; they all knew the risks. There had been no families to tell, no parents to grieve the lost. Maybe that was part of the problem, Ben thought. The foreignness of this burden made him feel guilty, and the lack of information he'd gleaned from these painful encounters made him feel entirely helpless.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Olan. I understand how hard this must be for you. I promise, I will do everything in my power to bring your daughter's murderer to justice." Do or do not, there is no try. "You have my solemn word."

The devastated couple nodded at him through tears. "Thank you, Master Kenobi," Mrs. Olan said. After Ben bowed and quietly stepped away to the front door, he heard Mr. Olan tell his wife, "I do not know how to bake alone."

Ben closed the door behind him and sighed out the air that had settled in his lungs, heavy with the sadness of parents who had lost their only child. He breathed in the air of the city; it didn't help.

"Anything?" Ky'elee was his guide, his translator, and his pilot. She'd waited outside during the interview. Ben sighed heavily, rubbing his face. He wished he could wash the grief off of him like dirt, but it clung to him.

"There's no patterns, nothing to go on," he lamented. "They didn't do anything. None of them. Some of them didn't even know each other. They didn't work together, didn't live together, they were all different ages…" He scoffed, tossing his hands in a desperate gesture. "Some of their bodies still haven't been recovered. It's absolutely senseless."

"As I said," Ky'elee muttered quietly, looking away, "it's a bad business."

A solemn silence passed between them, there on the Olans' porch. A pair of young Twi'lek men passed them on the street, and one perked up upon seeing Ben. He frowned vaguely, as if trying to remember something. He nudged his friend and pointed. The friend said something in Ryl that Ben could not understand, but he did catch the words Jedi and Kenobi. The man smiled and waved. Ben mustered the effort to smile and nod in return.

"You know them?" Ky'elee asked.

"Not at all. Quite a few of the townspeople here seem to recognize me - the Olans did, too."

"Ah," Ky'elee pushed herself up off the doorframe and dusted her jumpsuit. "There's a handful here who were aboard the Juclima. They remember you, Master Ben." Ben made a halfhearted effort to smile at her, and she sighed. She patted his shoulder and strode toward the ship. "Where to next? If it's another family, I want to stop and eat before we go. I could use the break." The unspoken words hung in the air. You could use the break.

Ben chewed on the inside of his lip and eventually followed Ky'elee to the ship. "My rooms," he said. "I need to make a call."


"Master Kenobi," sneered that familiar, haughty voice. "It's been a while."

"Senator Thane. You should know why I'm contacting you."

The holographic senator paused, glanced offscreen, and accepted a datapad from an unseen attendant. She skimmed its contents and let the pad drop on her desk. "The Twi'lek town disturbance," she said, nonchalant. "I see."

Ben had his arms crossed, which helped him disguise his clenched fists. "You've known of the murders for some time," he said. Thane didn't even blink.

"I'd heard of it. My advisors assure me that it is gang related activity, well under control."

Ben's temper sparked. "Under control? The robberies have been replaced entirely by murders - thirty-six of them, to be precise, with no leads and no end in sight. How exactly do you consider that under control?"

Thane's shoulders had fallen back, spine straight. She looked genuinely surprised, and it gave Ben pause. "Thirty-six?" She repeated, in a more human voice than Ben had ever heard from her. "Are you sure?"

If she was playing him, she'd have to be an incredible actress. "I have verified every report - barebones as your inspectors seem to be in this city."

"Send them to me," she clipped. Ben watched her face carefully. Although the hologram interfered with the finer nuances of expression, he could see that she was shaken.

"Right away, Senator." He picked up his own datapad and began transferring the files. "I hope you find them enlightening. If you have any more information pertinent to this investigation, I would be glad to hear it. In the meantime, I must contact the mayor about your little disturbance," he spat out the word like an insult. "Kenobi out."

Away from the prying eyes of the holodisk, Ben glowered, hand stroking his beard. She had heard of the murders - but she hadn't heard how many there had been. It did not change the fact that she had done nothing to act. The whole city seemed to be stacked against Goc Fiyao, from the city services to the police all the way up to the Senate. But Thane's shock upon hearing the actual numbers changed the shade of corruption. If she had been orchestrating a real cover up, she would not have been shocked. She would have pretended to be, for sure. But she would have denied knowledge, she wouldn't have asked for the reports.

Something was not right.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Ben said to the air, rubbing his temples. Bracing himself, he turned his holodisk back on and dialed the mayor's direct frequency.


Across the city, locked in her office and clutching a comm angrily in her fist, Damaera Thane was hissing at an unseen audience.

"Thirty-six? You said it'd stopped at twelve. Do you want me impeached?"

"If you don't calm yourself, you'll impeach yourself. Leave it to me,"

She sighed in exasperation and marched to the large bay window of her office. "And there's another thing," she said, glaring out the window toward the southeastern corner of the city, buildings burning orange in the light of a hot sunset. "They've sent a Jedi to investigate."

"Who is it?"

"His name's Ben Kenobi. I've dealt with him before - believe me, he's trouble."

A quiet, amused chuckle. "Of course. As I said, senator, leave it to me."


"All of the most recent murders have taken place here," Ben gestured to a holomap where he'd detailed the dates, locations, and victims. Ky'elee frowned at it.

"But none of these Twi'lek are from that neighborhood," she pointed at the town square where Ben's investigation centered. "This isn't even a residential block. It's a major thoroughfare."

"Exactly. This murderer, whoever they are, isn't an opportunist. They're waiting for their victims to arrive. They target them, wait, and ambush."

"But…" Ky'elee struggled with the mental picture. She may have been a freighter captain back on Ryloth, but she'd run with enough smugglers and pirates to know a thing or two about strategy, and what made a very good - or very bad - ambush. "It's too busy. Too open. How in the nine hels did they dodge the holocams? Or other people, for that matter? It's not possible." She looked to Ben for explanation. "And even then… they're targeting specific victims, staging an ambush, and killin' them out in the open? What in the galaxy for?"

"I don't know," Ben admitted. He stroked his beard, staring at the collage of red dots on the map. "But I intend to find out."

Ky'elee eyed him, skeptical. "And how do you suppose you're going to do that?"

Ben shrugged. "Well, I know their favorite haunt," he gestured at the map. "I thought I might drop by and ask them myself."