Disclaimer: I wish I could take credit for creating Star Wars, but alas, I am not George Lucas, and I have no intention of getting sued. I do, however, own Ado Staet and Initiate Alin.

Summary: As Qui-Gon, Anakin, and Bant protect the Republic from Darth Sidious, another Sith Lord emerges – Qui-Gon's presumably dead, former apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi. Can the Jedi save the Republic, or is it already too late? The third story in the Jedi Trials series.

Author's Notes: Sorry I didn't get this up sooner (I wasn't feeling well), but I hope its content makes up for its delay.

Revenge and Regret

By Kekelina

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Chapter Sixteen: Attack of the Clones

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Darkness shrouded the center of the Galactic Republic, a heavy blanket weighing down upon the defenseless citizens, most still sound asleep in the comforts of their safe, quiet homes. Scores of glowlamps silently fought against its overbearing reign, their soft white lights in vain denial of the truth. If they could only hold against the night's seductive allure – if they could shed just a little more light – then night wouldn't come…darkness wouldn't come. These hours would still belong to the day.

Night was a frightening time. It was ruled by the creatures of the darkness, mysterious and sinister foes. Nameless, these devils stalked the underbelly, hiding among the shadows that had bore them, feeding upon the delicious current of fear. They preyed upon the unfortunate innocent and took company among the many crooks and thieves – their dark allies in their dark kingdom.

Kingdoms, however, are seldom won without a battle, and those living in them are rarely happy. Revolution and reform, many would cry. Justice and equality! But the darkness was clever and would not be mutinied against. Punishment was wrought swiftly and harshly to those who would protest its rule. Lessons would be learned, or there would be consequences.

No one dared linger amidst the darkness too long, not even its so-called "allies."

The darkness knew not what loyalty meant. Trust was not a programmed word. It scoffed at those who held a measure of respect for such obscenities and took great enjoyment in orchestrating betrayal among its numbers.

No betrayal was greater than that of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The darkness took special pride in the creation of Darth Dementor. No other deception had ever ensued so perfectly. Even after the Jedi had discovered before their time the identity of their new foe, they still did not take any precautions against the inevitable war between darkness and light.

Yes, inevitable. Once more there would be an epic battle between the opposing factions of the Force, polar opposites destined to be enemies until one grew strong enough to destroy the other.

Balance, the Jedi's precious prophecy proclaimed. A symbiotic relationship between suffocating darkness and weakening light. Had the darkness been a sentient being, it would've laughed. It, unlike its counterpart, was not so foolish as to believe in a neutral balance. So long as there was power to be had, it would crave it, and there was little the light could do to stop it. Already the darkness manipulated the light to see only what the darkness wanted it to see. Sidious, for example. He had hidden directly under the nose of the Jedi. Had they been stronger, had they seen, they would've taken one of their trillions of wasted opportunities and destroyed the Sith while they had had the chance.

They were blind, and the darkness reveled in their fault.

But the darkness had a fault too.

It was arrogance.

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By the time Dementor landed on Coruscant, the system's mighty sun's rays had pierced the greyness of dawn, chasing away the last of the lurking shadows of the night.

Home.

Struck by the sudden familiarity of a world he had not seen in months, his bleeding yellow eyes surveyed the metropolitan skyline.

He was home.

Jedi or Sith, home had always been on Coruscant. Everything from the glinting skyscrapers that captured the first droplets of sunlight to the chaotic barrage of traffic in the many criss-crossing skylanes welcomed Dementor into its warm embrace.

Though enamored with the Dark Side, Korriban had not been home to Darth Dementor. Korriban had been a wasteland, a prison, and a training ground. It offered no comforts, but hosted months of nightmarish memories and heart-splintering discoveries. Not like the Galactic City. Not like home.

It was a pity that Coruscant was also home to the people he was about to murder.

"Sir." A Clone Commander marched over, pulling Dementor out of his reverie. Though bred from the same host, many clones had been given special training that allowed them to develop leadership as well as individual traits, therefore destroying the theory that all clones were completely identical.

Dementor knew not the number of the clone that approached him, nor did he care. It was not his mission to develop camaraderie with the troops. They were his servants, his weapon – the Republic's own safeguard turned against it.

How ironic that an army bred to protect the soon-to-be-deceased Republic had actually been created by its greatest traitor for the very purpose destroying the weakening system of government. Clones, completely compliant with any order given by a ranking officer of the Republic (including its peacekeepers), had been engineered with a dormant failsafe. Known as "Order 66," it was intended to give the clones a directive to destroy members of the Republic should they become its own worst enemy.

A brilliantly simple betrayal in theory. Now it was time for the true test.

"Commander Fett has unloaded the last of his legions to the South and has begun approaching the Jedi Temple."

A sharp nod followed a wickedly evil grin. Right on schedule… "Gather the rest of the troops and begin the attack."

"Yes, sir!" the clonetrooper snapped to attention. "Right away, sir!"

Feral yellow eyes followed the trooper as he scurried away, then slowly drifted toward the horizon as the commander became lost in the sea of white pawns, until the predatory orbs fell on a large, dome-shaped building shimmering in the faint orange glow of dawn.

The Senate Rotunda.

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Jedi were not perfect. Though considered by many in the galaxy to be some sort of deity, they frequently made mistakes, just like any other sentients. The difference between the Jedi and the other "normal" beings was not, despite many arguments, their connection to the mystical Force, but rather that Jedi, instead of trying in vain to correct past mistakes, strove to ensure that said mistakes, however volatile, benefited the present as much as possible.

Yoda had made a grievous error.

Blinded by his own hesitancy, he had failed to see Skywalker's vision for what it had truly been: a direct warning. He had allowed his past experiences with visions to dictate his present decisions.

Now it might be too late.

If the Jedi Order was to survive, they would have to move quickly.

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Pristine armor scuffled over well-tended carpet. Identical voices whispered directions to one another over secure comm lines. Weapons aimed, lines formed, and panicked screams died on the lips of the unfortunate few who happened to get in the way.

At the head of this madness, shrouded in darkness and unfathomable hatred, strode the Republic's newest and deadliest foe.

Darth Dementor.

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"Hurry, Younglings!" Jedi Knight Olana Chion ushered in a hastened whisper. Under orders from Master Yoda, care of Mace Windu, she had gathered all the younglings and Initiates in the Temple in groups to send them away from Coruscant as quickly as possible.

Though she knew not the nature of the quickly approaching danger, she felt the ripple in the Force, a disturbance greater than any she had felt before. By violent and destructive ways, the future of the Jedi would be decided today.

No longer did they wait for the Chosen One to fulfill his destiny in due time; the war for balance was being brought to them, wrought in bloodshed.

"Do you think it's Knight Kenobi?" she heard an Initiate named Alin whisper fearfully to a Padawan as she shepherded the last of that particular group into the transport, piloted by Creche Master Ado Staet, waiting to fly them to the safety awaiting them on the pacific planet of Alderaan.

The Padawan, a young boy by the name of Zett Jukassa, who had been kept at the Temple by the will of the Council while his Master embarked on an extremely deadly undercover mission, shook his head. Olana strained to hear the his answer. "I don't know," he finally replied, "but whomever it is, the Force will be with us."

Wrenching her attention away from the pair, she nodded curtly to Master Staet in the cockpit, then descended the ramp, all too aware of the many fearful eyes watching her every movement. "May the Force be with you, young ones."

The ramp retracted, cutting off the Initiates replies, just as a variety of war cries echoed throughout her once-peaceful home.

Destiny had arrived.

Praying silently to the Force, she braced herself for the worst and ran back inside to ensure the survival of those younglings who had yet to secure safety on a transport.

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"Kenobi is on Coruscant," the blue holographic form of Jedi Master Ki-Adi-Mundi shouted hurriedly over the sounds of destruction echoing throughout the Jedi Temple, lightsaber ablaze in one hand as his eyes actively searched for threats.

"Here?" Padme Amidala breathed in shock. "How?"

"He has – " the transmission skipped, " – army – " It skipped again. " – destructive power. Do not engage. Evacuate the Se – " Two blaster bolts shot into view, barely deflected by Mundi's lightsaber. The transmission cut out, leaving Chancellor Padme Naberrie Amidala staring at the empty space above the holoprojector as her head spun and ear-splitting screams, shrieking in desperation, filled the usually somber corridors of the Galactic Senate.

There was no time to digest. No time to try to make sense of everything that was unfolding before her deep brown eyes. The Republic was under attack by a Sith Lord with an army bigger than that of the Separatists when they had attacked some months ago. The Republic was under attack by a former Jedi – a friend – whom she had presumed dead for many months. The Republic was under attack – not just the Senate, but the Jedi too. Without the stability of the lawmakers and the peacekeepers, chaos would grip everything she held dear.

The Republic was under attack.

Only time for action.

"We must evacuate the Senate quickly," she briskly spoke to her old friend and head of security, Captain Typho, who had retired from his position on the Naboo security force to remain in her service after she had been promoted.

Typho spoke quickly into his comlink as Padme rose from her desk chair and grabbed a hidden blaster pistol. Finishing his orders, Typho looked at her in shock. "Milady, what are you doing?"

"I will not allow Obi-Wan to destroy what I have worked so hard to preserve," she spoke with conviction, shedding some of the bulky outer layers of her clothing. She would need all the mobility possible. "The Republic is my home, and I will not allow it to disappear silently."

"You heard Master Mundi, Chancellor. Kenobi is dangerous! If you fight him, you'll lose."

Holding her head high, Padme regarded Typho with the same hardened resolution she had possessed during the Battle of Naboo so many years ago. "I don't plan on losing, Captain."

"Milady – "

Their argument was interrupted as Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan raced into the Chancellor's office below the great dome that played host to every voice of the Republic, his face red and his breathing labored. "Padme, they're heading this way. You must leave quickly."

The Chancellor shook her head. She would not hand the Republic over to Obi-Wan Kenobi. She would protect it with every breath in her body.

"Listen to reason – "

Screams and blaster bolts filled the corridor behind Organa, the deadly lasers ricocheting off the interior durasteel like a frantic mating dance. The three raced out into the hectic corridor, dodging bodies and blasters as the raced to a more secure location, Padme and Captain Typho sparing seconds to glance backwards and shoot at the oncoming terror.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood in the center of the hallway, laughing maniacally at the chaos surrounding him.

Chills ran up Padme's spine.

"After her!"

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The Other Author's Notes: Ooh, a cliffhanger! Sadly, my friends, this is only the beginning... It will, I say with the deepest regret, only get worse for our poor, poor characters. Stay tuned for the next chapter, Chapter Sixteen: Sith versus Senators. Feel free to send me reviews, even if they're only begging for your favorite character to not get killed.

Author's Edit: 8-21-2007