In the months following Ben's confrontation with Maul, the shadow of the Sith fell across the Jedi Order. Fear was an unwelcome sentiment in the Temple, and it left the Council of First Knowledge in particular scrambling for a solution. It was Mace Windu himself who pushed for transparency. Ben, of course, supported him. They knew better than any other people alive that fear was their enemy - denial would compound its power.
At first, some people did try to deny that Maul was a Sith. While the Council had reached a decision on their official statements, the councilors were of course entitled to their own opinions. Not all of them took Ben's account at face value. For several months following Maul's death, rumors raged like wildfire in the temple. Sometimes, Maul was an assassin who'd gotten ahold of a lightsaber. Sometimes, he didn't have a lightsaber at all. Sometimes, Ben was blamed for embellishing the story, or perhaps in the dark he'd been mistaken.
Some people did believe that Ben had faced a darksider, but a Sith… the thought was too terrible to imagine. It was only after the Kuat authorities had completed their investigations and released grainy security footage to the Jedi Order that the air began to clear. The red lightsaber; the black robes; the fight and visible intent to kill. Ben's report had been accurate in every physical detail, so perhaps he might've been right about the other details.
But the word Sith had not been uttered outside of history class in a thousand years. It took a strong a decisive hand from the Order's leading members to instill their disparate body with a sense urgency and unanimity.
"The Sith have returned," Mace had spoken directly to a class of senior padawans in the early, confused days of the controversy, "but the Light has never left us. We will remain in the Force, as it remains in us."
Resilience became a byword in the Temple, even as politicians scrambled to smile away the Kuati Sith controversy. Ben knew the darkness was far from over; it had hardly begun. But it was different than last time. It was better - or at least, it was for now. Vaapad surged in popularity with senior padawans, and the Order took heart in its own history. Down to the creche, masters and apprentices alike guarded against despair.
Nevertheless, a restless undercurrent trickled beneath their efforts. It felt like the sort of itch you get when you've been sitting in one place for too long and have missed the oncoming of night. It was the sort of itch that Senators brushed off their shoulders, the sort of itch that Obi-Wan had ignored through the Clone Wars. They could not afford to ignore it now.
It was difficult to keep up such rigid vigilance for years at a time, but Ben was used to the trials of waiting. Months ran by like water, and soon there were young Jedi in the temple who had never known a day when the Sith were not a present reality. Before he'd glanced twice, the new curriculum on the history of the Sith had been in circulation for three whole years. Initiates became padawans, padawans became knights, knights became masters. Even in the shadow of the Sith's return, life carried on.
Life outside of the temple was no exception.
Ben could not help but wrinkle his nose at the pungent stench of motor oil and starship fuel. Ship hangers in the Jedi Temple were fundamentally the same as everywhere else; cold, loud, filled with droids, equipment, and puddles of mysterious fluids.
"Name?" Asked the attendant at the window, looking bored.
"Kenobi," Ben smiled.
"Kenobi… Kenobi… Ben Kenobi?"
"Yes."
"Destination?"
"Alderaan."
"Alderaan… Priority level?"
"Ten."
"Oh, good." Gloved fingers tapped away at a keyboard, sending out commands and memos for the computer log. "Alright, Master Kenobi," the man dragged his feet off of the desk, "I've got a ship for you in space number one-eight, but I'll need to refuel it before your flight. Shouldn't take long, if you could just wait in the main hangar."
"Very well. Thank you,"
"Of course, Force be with you." It was an habitual phrase from the non-Force sensitive Temple staff, but Ben had always appreciated the gesture. The man took up a comm and spoke over the loudspeakers, "Pit staff please attend shuttle HS-392 in gate 18, repeat, pit staff attend gate 18."
Ben meandered to an unoccupied spot where he could stay out of the way. Droids milled about in cross-crossing paths across the hangar, carrying supplies and chirping out orders to one another. In one corner, there was a variety of crates, ship parts, and cargo lifts stacked into what appeared to be an unofficial supply dump. Ben walked to it and leaned up against a stack of crates, using the idle time to review his itinerary.
CLANG-cl-clang clang!
Ben turned to see what had fallen over, expecting to hear a droid beeping out orders or a crewmember cleaning up the mess. Instead, he heard a soft curse and small, shuffling steps. Too small to be a crewmember. Curious, he bent over to look beneath the crate he was leaning on. In the hands breadth of space between the repulsorlift and the floor, he could see two small, child-sized boots shuffling to and fro. Then, kneeling down in a crouch to pick up a pile of loose scraps, two oil-stained hands, greasy breaches and, when the perpetrator knelt down far enough, the tip of a very short and very dirty learner's braid.
"Don't look at me like that," said the small mechanic to some unseen audience, "you're the one who ran into it." There was a zap and a bright blue flash. "Ow! Stop it!"
Quietly, Ben rounded the corner to see the responsible party.
"Anakin?"
Anakin Skywalker, covered in grease and oil, whirled around. "Master Ben!" He said, hastily hiding something behind his back. He might've been blushing, but beneath the grime it was hard to tell. Ben smiled and crossed his arms, eyebrows rising expectantly. "What-uh, what are you doing here?" the initiate asked, shifty-eyed.
"I am waiting on a shuttle. I think the more interesting question, my young friend, is what are you doing here?"
"Uhhh…" Anakin's face was entirely blank, unable to compose a lie in adequate time. "I was… umm…" BZZZZZT - another blue flash, and the young Jedi jumped in surprise. "Ow! Stop it!" He hissed to the thing behind his back.
"Your friend seems to have the right idea," Ben said, trying to get a glimpse of whatever device Anakin was hiding behind his back, "it is incredibly foolish to lie to a Jedi master."
Anakin's blush was visible this time, reaching all the way up to his ears. "Sorry, Master," he mumbled, and brought out the small droid he'd been hiding behind his back. Ben stepped closer to inspect the device.
"Where did you get this, then?" It was a round training remote - or at least, it used to be.
"It was a broken one from class. I told Master Zyrha I was going to take it to the mechanics,"
Ben frowned. "Anakin, you didn't steal it, did you?"
"No," the youngling defended, "I did take it to the mechanics, but they said they couldn't fix it. They were going to incinerate it. So I kept it."
"And fixed it, I see."
"I made it better," Anakin bragged, holding it out for Ben's consideration. "See, now it looks like a starship instead of a dumb remote."
It had wings attached to its originally smooth body, complete with a noseplate and a tail, and an upgraded optical lens that would allow for greater input. Two of its small blaster jets remained in their places, mounted almost like guns under the wings. All in all, it did look like a tiny starship - a very fat, very round starship. "You did all this?" Ben asked, quiet pride welling in his chest.
"Yeah, see, now he has a motivator and an old BB voicebox and a memory bank, so he's more like a droid, but with wings."
"He?"
"Yeah. And I found these two magnetized hands for him, they can do stuff." Anakin pulled out the spindly, magnetized grippers out of their slots on top of the sphere. They promptly smacked his hands away and the droid beeped at him. Anakin frowned. "Stop it."
Ben chuckled. "And what do you call this little invention of yours?"
"I think he should be RB-1."
"Arbie-one?" Ben raised an eyebrow, wondering if Anakin heard the homonym.
"Yeah, like Remote Ball number one. I guess I could make more."
Ben only shook his head. "Anakin, I can't help but notice that you've fixed a remote that the mechanics deemed unfixable," Ben prodded RB-1, to which the droid buzzed and hissed. "And made it into a droid, no less."
"Well that's because they don't know what they're doing," Anakin said, fiddling with a screw on Arbie's casing. It sparked violently again, more contained this time. "Or maybe they just don't care."
"Or perhaps you are simply able to dedicate more time to this than they are," Ben said reasonably. It may or may not have been true, but it would do no good to inflate a seven year old's ego.
"I guess," Anakin said, wrestling Arbie into a headlock to re-fasten a loose wingtip. The droid waved its metal arms indignantly.
"Does Master Zyrha know that you're here, Anakin?" Anakin fixed his eyes on the droid and said nothing. Ben looked past his brow at the boy. "Anakin," he prodded.
"No," Anakin mumbled.
"It's very irresponsible for you to run away from your clan, I'm sure Master Zyrha is wondering where you've gone to."
"I've only been here for a little while." Anakin insisted, "Besides, the guys here are nice and Nyra let me borrow her toolbox, and they know I'm here, and… and… it's free time until sixteenth hour!"
"That being so, you need to go back to your master, Anakin." He glanced at the droid. "I'm sure RB-1 will be perfectly safe here in the hangar until you come back - which you will do with your master's permission next time."
Anakin hung his head. "Yes, Master Ben…" He hugged Arbie to himself, remorsefully flipping the power switch until the small, winged sphere stopped sparking. Ben let him feel guilty for a moment more.
"And Anakin?" The boy looked up; greasy, small, and pathetic. Ben gave him a smile. "That's a clever little droid. Take good care of it."
Anakin's beaming smile looked whiter because of the dark motor oil on his face. Ben tried to hide how much it warmed his heart. "Go on, then, back to your master. And make sure to return your tools."
"Yes, Master Ben," Anakin scooped up handfuls of droid parts and tools.
Ben Kenobi, please report to gate 18, repeat, Ben Kenobi please report to gate 18."
"I have to go, Anakin. Do I have your word that you will tell Master Zyrha about all of this?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good. Go clean yourself up. May the Force be with you."
"Force be with you, Master!" Anakin echoed back, arms full of dirty scrap. Oil dripped onto his boot. Ben shook his head and left for his shuttle.
Jedi did not celebrate life's occasions in the same manner common across the Republic, and there were many occasions that, by choice or by oath, a Jedi would never celebrate for themselves. Even so, knights of the Order were well acquainted with celebrations and the social significance of a good, rollicking party.
Even if that had not been the case, the fact remained that Ben Kenobi would not have missed the wedding of Bail Prestor Organa for the whole galaxy.
"Ben!" Bail Organa's smile was wider than Ben had ever seen it. The senator picked his way across the ballroom through lords and ladies and various white-tie nobilities. Ben's brown robes looked drab in the sea of lush, colorful suits, but if the difference between a worn Jedi cloak and the white formal wear of a Prince bore any significance in polite society, Bail ignored it. He threw his arms around the Master and hugged him tightly. "I'm so glad you could make it," he grinned, patting Ben on the back.
Ben laughed and returned the embrace with a crinkled smile. "I'm glad to be here, my friend," he said, drawing away. "You have my most heartfelt congratulations."
"Thank you," Bail smiled, giddily. "Come, please, Breha is dying to meet you."
Bail led his Jedi friend through the crowd, drawing some skeptical looks from strangers and some light bows from those more accustomed to his presence. He spotted Senators Mothma and Iblis, and even Senator Thothili amongst the guests. At last, they reached the center of all attentions, decked in white, flowers in her hair, poised expression fit for a queen.
"Master Kenobi, please meet Breha Antilles - er, Organa," Bail's eyes lighted on her with deep affection, "my wife."
Ben's smile filled his eyes and cheeks - partly in amusement at how completely besotted Bail was, and partly because of Breha. It was so wonderful to see her standing there with every genteel, adamantine nerve that he remembered. He waited for her to extend her hand, which she did gracefully and with a smile. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, my lady." Ben kissed her hand in the customary fashion.
"The pleasure is all mine, Master Kenobi. Bail speaks of you so often I feel like I know you already. Please, call me Breha." She smiled, and her silk dress paled in comparison.
"I would be honored, Breha. You must call me Ben."
Bail cleared his throat politely. "Father is beckoning me. Pardon me, dear, Ben," he scooted out of the conversation to answer the many calls on his attention.
"Ben," Breha picked up the trail, "I so appreciate your attendance today. I have been badgering Bail to introduce us for months. I hope you will stay after the festivities so we might visit with you more?"
"Only if I do not keep either of you. But now you must see to your guests. And… I admit I have a favor to ask of you.
"Anything," the bride smiled, face inviting him to ask.
"I believe you have a young woman in your employ… A Shmi Skywalker. Might I speak to her?"
"Oh, of course," she nodded. "Her son is a Jedi, is he not?" She began to lead him away from the crowd and to the edges of the ballroom.
"He is."
"Bail mentioned it. You know the boy?"
"I'm glad to say that I do," Ben smiled, remembering the grease-covered ruffian from that morning.
Breha grinned widely. "I'm sure she will love whatever news you have of him. If he's half the heart of his mother, the Jedi are better for him."
"I have no doubt that we are."
"4TM," Breha said to a serving droid, "please fetch Shmi, tell her there is a Jedi who'd like to meet with her."
"Ben Kenobi," the Jedi interrupted. "She knows my name."
"Very well," said 4TM in a chipper accent, "right away, your highness."
Breha giggled. "Your Highness. It's all a bit much, I feel."
Ben grinned. "I do not doubt your worthiness to bear it, my lady." It made Breha laugh.
"Bail has been feeding you too many flattering stories. I appreciate your confidence, Master Ben." She glanced over her shoulder at the many guests milling around the room, waiting for her. "I do want to meet with you at more length, but I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me - please do stay!"
"Of course," Ben smiled as she was whisked away by well-wishers and extended family members.
It was a few moments before 4TM reappeared with a serving maid in tow. She glanced uncertainly at the party and the droid, but then Ben turned to see her and smiled. She broke into a grin and ran to him.
"Master Kenobi," did pass her lips before she threw her arms around him, but it was lost in the folds of his cloak. Ben chuckled and hugged her back.
"You look very well, Miss Skywalker."
"I am very well," she grinned, pulling away. She swiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm just surprised to see you here. Lord Organa mentioned that he knew you, but I didn't know you were coming."
"Of course I came," Ben beamed, "I wanted to come on Bail's account, but then I heard that you worked for his fiance, and I knew I had to come." Ben glanced up around at the busy waitstaff, food trays and carts full of ice and drinks. "Walk with me?" He asked, extending his elbow to her. Shmi smiled, laughing at the absurdity of it.
"A Jedi takes a servant for a walk at a royal wedding," she strung her arm through his. "It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke."
Ben chuckled and led them out to an emptier stretch of the palace. Marble archways and well-tended moss gardens existed in an extravagant harmony, flanked by a busy waitstaff and centuries-old decor; heirlooms, paintings, tapestries. For a Jedi who'd long loved the aesthetics of nature and simple beauty, Alderaan was a shining jewel in the Core.
Once they had traveled well out of earshot of any partygoers, Ben looked down at the young woman on his arm. She was still little more than a girl in Ben's eyes, but her shoulders were squarer now, her brow smoother. Her body was not only recovered from her early pregnancy, it was made stronger for the years in between. Her brown hair was far silkier and fine, now, pulled into a neat bun and untouched by sand. She carried herself with a calm confidence that made Ben's heart swell in his chest. He had never had a daughter, so the feeling was an unfamiliar one. At length, he asked her, "How are you, Shmi? Really?"
"I am wonderful, Ben. Really, I am. I could never have imagined that I would…" She smiled and shrugged. "That I would be here, free - and working for nobility, no less!"
"I take it Alderaan agrees with you very well."
"Yes. Lady Breha is a dream to work with. The hours are long, but she is so considerate." Shmi allowed a wistful smile to cross her face. "I hope she will be very happy with Lord Bail."
"I'm sure she will be," Ben said. "He is absolutely smitten with her, I've hardly heard the end of her praises for months. I expect great things from them both."
Shmi laughed. "I'm glad to hear it. She's given me time off while they're on their honeymoon, but frankly I don't know what to do with it."
"Rest," Ben suggested. "Travel. Be with friends. You're a free woman, you can do as you please."
"All these years, I'm still getting used to it. It's been… what, seven years, now?"
Had he really been in the past for that long? "Yes, I suppose it has," Ben replied, feeling old.
Shmi looked down at the floor and said quietly, "I suppose Anakin is seven years old, then."
Ben's smile was tinged with sadness. "He is."
"You've seen him?"
Ben laughed. "I know him quite well. I saw him just this morning, in fact."
"Really?" Shmi's smile was pure pride.
"Yes. He's about this tall," Ben raised his hand to his waist, "and when I saw him, he was covered in motor oil, hiding behind a box, tinkering with a droid he built himself."
Shmi burst into gleeful laughter. "He built a droid by himself?"
"Yes, he's become quite the prodigy. Droids, lightsabers, sneaking away from his creche master to befriend the shipservice staff." He smiled at her laugh. "Truly, he's doing as well as I knew he could."
"I'm so glad to hear it," Shmi said, her voice tinged with bittersweet sadness.
Ben let her ruminate on thoughts of her son before prodding quietly: "Shmi, I must ask… I am glad that you've given your son the opportunity with the Jedi Order, but… I admit I didn't think you would. What changed your mind?"
Shmi glanced at Ben, her shoulders bobbing in a bashful shrug. "It was… odd. I never intended to give him up. I could cope with his… abilities, even when they got stronger. But when he turned three, I… I don't know how to describe it. I had this dream. I never remember my dreams, but this one… it was like it was really happening." She tilted her head this way and that in a certain air of self-doubt, even though her eyes gleamed with pure conviction. "I don't have what you have, Ben, what Anakin has, but… I swear it must've been the Force. I saw my son, a grown man. He was on Coruscant, there were Jedi around him. He was… perfect. Happy. It was just… right."
"You saw Anakin as a Jedi Knight?"
"No," Shmi frowned, eyes squinted in memory. "At least, he didn't look like a Jedi. Not like you do, with the robes. But he was with Jedi. I only saw a glimpse of him, but I know, I just… I knew he'd become a great man, someone who meant the world to more than just me." Shmi allowed herself to frown, as any mother would in her place. "When I woke up, I knew that he would never be that man without your Order. I couldn't not let him have that. " She fiddled with her fingers, latent regrets and pride mixing like oil and water. "Even if I miss him dearly."
Ben had never heard of non-Force sensitives having visions, but the idea of Shmi Skywalker seeing the future did not faze him in the slightest. "Foresight is a prized, if not burdensome gift of the Force," he spoke from personal experience, "but I can only thank you for your selflessness. Perhaps one day, Anakin can thank you himself."
"I wish I could ask you to see him," Shmi said with a smile, "but even if you agreed, I know it would be a horrible decision for all of us. I miss him too much, and he has too much ahead of him." She hugged Ben's elbow closer as they walked, and looked up at him, eyes beseeching. "Look after him, please?"
His answer had been there since the day he'd first set eyes on the child. "To my last breath," he promised.
They'd traced a circle through the palace, and had reached the throng of the wedding reception once more. "I should go," Shmi said, letting go of Ben's arm. "I ought to help the waitstaff."
"I shall not keep you. I hope I might see you again before I leave."
"I'd like that," Shmi smiled, slowing to a stop so they could face each other. Her thoughts strayed to Tatooine, and Gardulla, and Herdessa, and the gift that Ben had given her in parting. "I can never thank you enough, Ben Kenobi."
"Seeing you so happy is thanks enough."
"Are all Jedi so charming?"
"Well," Ben allowed, "I do spend an inordinate amount of time in the Senate. According to my friends, the diplomatic airs have begun rubbing off."
"I see and serve more than my fair share of senators, Ben," Shmi told him, "you are no politician."
"Then what am I?"
She tilted her head in consideration. "A good man." She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "May the Force be with you."
"And also with you."
They parted in good humor. Ben joined the reception, mind filled with thoughts of Anakin, trying to imagine him not as he'd known him years ago, but as a small oil-stained youngling grown into a Jedi Knight.
Royal weddings on Alderaan were an all-day affair, and Ben savored every moment. It was not often that a Jedi master got such a respite. However, as the sky began to darken into a burning golden dusk, the respite turned sour. He had just retrieved a glass of water from the refreshments table when someone called his name.
"Master Kenobi," a chill ran down his spine, "what a pleasant surprise."
Ben turned, determined to keep his smile trained in that careful arc that he'd seen Bail perfect over his years in office. Sheev Palpatine was resplendent in rich purple robes, aging face and white hair arranged in a picture of innocent surprise. On that plane of existence that only Jedi and Sith could see, his presence was blank and unassuming; not muffled like a Jedi Master's, nor bare and undisciplined like a youngling. It was a masterfully crafted shield that invited disregard.
"Senator Palpatine," Ben smiled. "I didn't expect to see you here,"
"Well of course," Palpatine chuckled, coming closer and sipping at his glass of wine. "Practically half the senate was invited - and Bail and I go so far back, I could not turn down the opportunity to wish the happy couple well." He turned to smile toward the head table, where Bail and Breha continued to speak with their guests. A wave of protective fear rose up in Ben's chest, and he hastily tamped it down. Palpatine turned back to face the Jedi, and for a moment Ben feared that the Sith could sense his thoughts. "It's been a while, Master Kenobi. I haven't seen or heard of you since… well, since all that unpleasantness on Kuat." He watched Ben from behind the rim of his wine glass. "Was he really a Sith? The man you killed. The stories have grown quite extravagant."
Ben resisted the urge to swallow. "We have reason to believe he was associated with the Sith," he replied carefully. "He had a lightsaber, and he was trained to fight with it."
"Heavens," the look of concern on Palpatine's face was so genuine that, for a moment, Ben actually believed him. "He must have been a formidable fighter."
"He was," Ben said, very carefully, "from a certain point of view."
Palpatine chuckled. "I'm not sure what you mean, Master Kenobi."
"If he was a Sith, he must have been the apprentice - and a poorly trained one at that. He took me by surprise, but the fight was a short one."
Palpatine's face froze in a second-long pause. "Well," he said with a wide smile, "we are lucky to have such talents as yours. I'm sure not all Jedi would be up to the task."
Ben sipped at his water with an innocent smile. "With all due respect, Senator, all Jedi are trained for such eventualities."
"To face a Sith?"
"To defend life."
"And it seems these Sith are hellbent on destroying it," the Senator muttered, composing a plate of hors-d'oeuvres.
Ben stepped up next to him at the table and selected a handful of vegetable sandwiches. "We will weed him out eventually, Senator. Of that you have my word."
"Him?" Palpatine asked mildly.
"The Sith Master - the one who trained the apprentice. There are only ever two."
"But if there were two before," Palpatine said, hesitating at the cheese tray before plucking a delicate selection. "Surely there could be two again?"
"With the apprentice killed, only the master remains," Ben said, sampling the fruits.
"But surely the master could find another apprentice," Palpatine speculated. Ben glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. As ever, the Force remained unusually blank around him, opaque; almost like a Hutt or a Besalisk. "Could he not? And what if this one is more powerful than the last?"
"I admit I do not know, Senator. I don't know how long it takes to train a Sith Lord."
"How long does it take to train a Jedi?"
"A lifetime."
"Hmm," Palpatine gave a small, humored grin. "The Jedi must hope the same is true for their adversaries."
"We place our hope in the Force," Ben said, absently. Both of them knew, but could not say that a lifetime of training could fall to the Dark in a single day.
"These… Sith Lords," mused the senator, popping a grape into his mouth, "what is their motivation? What do they want? Perhaps the Republic could reason with them."
"They want power," said Ben. They listened to the laughter of the partygoers across the ballroom.
"Power. In what way?" A waitress appeared to restock the refreshments table; Shmi Skywalker. She smiled at Ben and his companion. A cold hand wrapped itself around Ben's heart.
"In all ways possible, Senator." What happened on Tatooine? A shift in the Force itself. "Which is why we will find them and bring them to justice as swiftly as possible." Shmi walked away from the table, and Palpatine's eyes followed her for just a moment too long. Ben's jaw stiffened.
"Your faith in your Order is admirable, Master Jedi," said the Sith.
"My faith lies with the Force." Neither Ben nor Palpatine were eating anymore.
"But do the Sith not serve the same Force?"
The Jedi and the Sith stared each other down, each daring the other to reveal his gambit. "They serve a dark perversion of it," Ben said.
"I see," said Palpatine, the very corners of his mouth still upturned. "Well then, may the Force be with us all, Master Kenobi," Palpatine raised his wineglass in a toast.
"The Force will be with us," Ben raised his glass and drank. But not, I hope, with both of us.
Bidding the Organas goodbye was difficult, but was made easier by Bail's promise of a visit to Coruscant soon - Breha and Shmi in tow - and by Ben's suggestions of hunting down assignments to Alderaan for his own benefit. His farewell with Shmi was the hardest.
"Watch over him," the mother whispered in his ear when they shared a parting embrace.
"You have my solemn word," Ben told her softly. The visage of Maul flashed before his eyes. What happened on Tatooine? He held her tighter and kissed her cheek. "Look after yourself."
"I will try."
"Grandmaster Yoda has a saying," Ben attempted to lighten the mood as they drew apart, "Do or do not; there is no try."
Shmi chuckled. "That makes no sense."
"Perhaps not. But he is known for looking into the future. In the end, we have either done or not done; trying is something we can only do in the present."
"You Jedi are far too philosophical."
"Perhaps we are," Ben smiled sweetly for her. "Goodbye, Shmi."
"Goodbye, Ben."
Back on Coruscant, Ben dined in Mace Windu's quarters, as had become habitual. As co-conspirators in the galaxy's most delicate and long-running mission, they had grown very close - if not as friends, as colleagues.
"A new apprentice?" Mace was asking, wiping his mouth and leaning back on his low dining pillow. "You don't think it could be-"
"Dooku?" Ben sighed. "I'd thought of that. Maybe it could be, but I just don't know. Last time, Dooku wasn't at the Temple. I had never even met him until after he'd fallen. But now…"
"He is very cynical toward the Order," Mace pointed out.
"And he's not alone," Ben reminded, "there are plenty of Jedi who see faults in our Order. Sometimes I think we ought to heed them more carefully. But Dooku… He's too hard to read."
"He may not be a Sith - yet," Mace looked up and met Ben's gaze. "But that does not mean he's not flirting with the dark. Do you think he knows Palpatine?"
Ben shrugged. "It's very possible - he has powerful relatives and friends in the senate. They're sure to have brushed shoulders once or twice." The thought was a harrowing one. "But if those meetings have ever amounted to anything like treason, I wouldn't know of it."
"Hmm," Mace chewed on the last bite of his dinner and shook his head. "I don't like it."
"Neither do I. But I don't think that much matters."
"If Dooku does turn - if he already has - we must be prepared to… deal with him."
Ben sighed. He had no desire to fight his grandmaster, especially now that he'd gotten to know him. "Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Mace. We should not presume him guilty until proven innocent."
Mace cocked an eyebrow at him. "And here I thought you were an advocate of caution."
"I am an advocate of certainty. And while we cannot have certainty in all things, I believe that we can find some level of assurance with Dooku. I will speak with him."
"He's a slippery one," the Master of the Order grumbled. "You think you'll be able to get anything out of him?"
"I think so," Ben smiled. "He's very fond of Obi-Wan, and he finds my humor similar to that of my nephew - only more matured and sophisticated."
Mace stared at him with deadpan chagrin. "Imagine that."
Ben shrugged with a tiny smile. "His words, not mine. He does not trust me, per se, but he respects me a great deal."
"Very well. You can speak with Dooku. I've half a mind to put out similar feelers on our greyer members. If Palpatine is attempting to draw out an apprentice from our own number…"
"What if he already has?" Ben asked. The two men looked at each other, a dozen scenarios passing between them in silence.
"What if he's found one elsewhere?" Mace asked back. The unknown was always the most harrowing possibility.
"The Force will provide a solution," Ben said at length. Mace scoffed.
"You sound like your master."
"A man I happen to know is your friend." Ben took up the teapot they'd set aside for after their meal and began pouring two bowls. "Qui-Gon always had a point, you know. Sometimes, we must operate not on what might be, but on what is right in front of us."
Mace nodded, reluctantly accepting the wisdom. Right in front of us. "Very well. We will start with Dooku, the other grey Jedi. Palpatine."
"Oh." Ben paused in his task, and smiled before he resumed pouring. "I actually meant the tea - but yes, those things too."
It took small steps to scale a mountain.
