Gah - no internet (except moments here and there at work)...you're lucky to get this update.

Chapter 52. March of Fate

Jedi Master Dooku drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. A journey of many hours had inexplicably turned into a journey of many days, considering the ship had been forced planetside for repairs.

A rather desolate place, too, where one had little chance of merely switching ships to continue one's journey.

It brought back memories of another such interrupted journey, some years back. In fact, he realized, it had been a day of first steps into new journeys. Coincidence in some ways, yet an uncanny one, if so.

The man he was on the way to see, his grand padawan, had been born this day. Few knew the story of his birth. Few Jedi did, in truth, given to the Order with little but a birth date and a name.

"Watch this one, we shall," Yoda had said.

"Is he – special?"

A soft grunt greeted the question. "No more and no less special than any other yet the Force's affection he holds….."

"Affection?" It was Dooku's turn to grunt. "There is little room in a Jedi's life for affection. Wisdom, scruples, strength – that is what a Jedi needs, not a heart."

"From where springs compassion but the heart, and compassion is the heart of a Jedi," Yoda corrected him, frowning.

"Too much compassion begats distractions and loss of focus," Dooku dared to correct the grandmaster of the Order.

"If not in harmony with the mind," Yoda agreed, unperturbed. "Of your own padawan you are thinking. Balances he does those who have too little compassion. Good for the Order that is."

No more had been said on the subject, but since Yoda had watched the infant from afar, then the toddler, then the youngster – so, too, had Dooku. He had indeed been nothing special but the Force had never been far from him.

Another journey had begun as well that day, one that would end in calamity. That was the day that Qui-Gon decided Xanatos was ready to build his own lightsaber. Only nine months into his apprenticeship, it had been. Claiming to have been nudged by the Force while in meditation - the same had been claimed for his decision to take Xanatos as his padawan - Qui-Gon had decided Xanatos was ready to go to Ilum. The nine months of apprenticeship had culminated in Qui-Gon's proudest to that date, he had once said.

Years later and not so long ago, an older and wiser Jedi, he had confessed he knew now that that day was yet to come- it would be the day he knighted his current padawan.

Now that that day would never come, the aged Jedi master had to wonder: at the end of his days, what then would Qui-Gon consider his proudest moment?

Deep in the bowels of the Jedi Temple, in the forgotten and inconveniently chilly lower levels where he had made his temporary lair, one who had never expected to return to his childhood home dreamed of the day he would be clothed in shimmersilk and bantha hide rather than the somewhat ill-fitting filched Jedi clothing. It chafed him. Being here chafed him. The memories here chafed him.

Someday he would rest on mattresses piled high with the finest of linens, eat from the finest crystal and cavort with the most beautiful the galaxy had to offer. His every word would be law, every flick of his finger instantly obeyed.

He would lord over the galaxy rather than serve it, Master of the Force, a Sith Master commanding its power rather than subservient to it.

In that world to come, if a man could be both dead and dominated, Kenobi would cower at his feet, satisfy his every whim, take any abuse he chose to bestow with a smile, submissive and oh so compliant.

But Kenobi would not. Dead men did not grovel and scrape – but a dying Kenobi would, if BB killed him properly - that is to say slowly and painfully.

The sneer turned to a smirk, to a giggle – to a frown.

Do nothing as yet 'til I command you.

The current Sith lord had ordered BB - to do nothing. The not-yet-anointed newest Sith chafed at his new orders, orders which in reality were no different than his old orders. Observe and report.

Sith didn't observe and they certainly didn't report.

Sith did.

They fed on guilt and shame, they engorged themselves on fear and terror and they excreted souls and lives in turn. He had without doubt taken yet another and could have – would have – taken still another except for mischance and misfortune.

So while Jorak was dead, Kenobi lived!

And Jinn, that interfering, inconvenient, insufferable Jedi was the reason why. Somehow, someway, this Jedi managed to save Kenobi, time and again! It mattered little that Jinn was the reason for the brat's need for salvation. When it mattered, Jinn was there.

The Monument – Jinn was there to treat the bruises. Bandomeer – Jinn rescued the boy from obscurity; Melida/Daan – Jinn yet again. Always reluctantly the savior, it was true; dragged kicking and screaming to do the Force's will against his own heart.

Just when the Force's will and his heart had conspired in unison to jettison the worthless scum – Jinn inexplicably saved him yet again, nearly surprising BB in the commission of his heart's desire.

The Force had a perverse and unappreciated sense of humor.

BB did not.

He did have a healthy sense of self-preservation however – and in no uncertain terms he had been told Kenobi was off limits.

Up until just a few minutes ago.

"You have hardly recommended yourself to me." The derision and scorn in the raspy voice had stiffened his spine. "Yet your – perseverance – has been admirable. I have a test for you, my new apprentice, a test of self-restraint. Should you succeed…."

"I succeed, Master!"

A gloved hand waved negligently; "A grandiose boast and one that does not impress me. Only results do." A finger stabbed at him, a vibroblade in bony flesh and its edge just as deadly. "Your greatest nemesis lives, does he not?"

Anger darkened his features as he glared back. "Jinn –" Jinn, who had never deigned to save him; had never spared him a word or a glance. Jinn, who had grown to love Kenobi after all until The Boss decided it would be otherwise with the willing connivance of BB and the less willing connivance of some slave woman's brat, the offspring of any one of hundreds of possible "liaisons." The Boss did not share well, so why was he was so enamored of this one? Perhaps he fancied himself so much better in her arms? Such would appeal to his conceit.

Perhaps, perhaps she was quite the talent herself, someone to seek out and sample himself?

"Jinn should not hinder you." The Sith's hiss pulled him back from the delectable images of tangled bodies filling his mind. "No man, no Jedi, should hinder you. The Force itself should not hinder you. A Sith makes circumstances work for him, rather than let them make excuses for him."

"As your last apprentice did?" he dared to taunt, though he masked the edge of insolence behind a nearly courteous inquiry. In the shadows, eyes gleamed yellow. Score one for that retort!

"Maul paid the price for his arrogance and incompetence. Kenobi seemed better suited to my needs, so I made use of him without his knowledge. It was my hand guiding his arm, my mind that gave him the strategy to live and my anger that gave him the strength. He was destined to be become mine – only Jinn's slow death pulled Kenobi back from the dark; his desire to save his most 'beloved master' from the Force's embrace. Yet in denying the Force's will, he proved he could be mine and still half was. He still can be. Or you can. Whichever of you lives when I pit the two of you against each other…."

A hoarse cackle had been the exclamation to his warning.

"I shall emerge victorious, "BB boasted.

"In time you shall have your chance, but later. I wish to test your – obedience first. Apprehend the boy and apprehend Kenobi – bring them to me. The boy may wait, a few years even, but Kenobi – I wish him shackled to the Dark before long."

Sure, just knock Jinn over the head; unleash him from Windu and the job's done, promotion gained, ahead one step to galactic domination.

"Oh, and do stop giggling. It is so un-Sith-like," Sidious growled and cut the transmission.

"Are you a fool, my master?"

This was, of course, not the proper way to address the grand master, but then Dooku had never been all that conventional a Jedi. Perhaps his time contemplating accepting his inheritance had increased his natural arrogance, or perhaps it was that coupled with his deep concern for those he considered "his family" within the Order.

And because one did not display weakness, no matter how one might feel about blurting out such words, rather than apologize he raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

Yoda gazed back at his old padawan without so much a twitch of his ears. "Many foolish mistakes have I made in my long life. Yet a fool that does not make me unless to your words or those of the Force I close my ears. What prompts these words to your old master?"

Accepting the gestured invitation to sit, Dooku contemplated the diminutive Jedi. As with his padawan, there had always been a distant affection towards his former master. Distant, as if he had feared closeness, or perhaps the withdrawal of closeness. He armored himself against pain and disillusionment with distance. Perhaps that was why his grand-padawan drew him – he had no such armor.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

A cool, reserved personality many thought, those who glanced and looked away, those who saw but did not see: those changeable, chameleon eyes – eyes that opened into the padawan's soul. The boy had learned discipline, how to let emotions flow through him and into the Force, but those emotions had and always would shape him; would reveal themselves, if only in the eyes.

All his joys and all his sorrows and always – always behind them, shone the Force itself.

The tapestry of that one was woven in the placid blue of serenity and the sparkling crystal of humility, in the green of life and the gray of sorrows. A few, like Qui-Gon, were more like an ocean in constant movement, ebbing in and out as the life force around them shifted. Some, like Dooku himself, were akin to polished jewels, each aspect of their personality a facet edged in angles.

He had never allowed himself to indulge in sorrow or grief; he had avoided regrets and shunned anxiety. In so doing, Dooku was coming to realize, he had missed much of what life had to offer - he had never felt the swell of joy, never felt warmed by the good in life - he had been satisfied, content even, to live life in a straight line, uncomplicated, simple. Dissatisfied, as well, with inefficiency and waste, the vagaries of life lived without discipline that inevitably impacted his own.

Yes, he had missed major disappointments this way, but he had missed much more as well. He had not truly experienced life. Unbalanced he had been, risking tipping too far towards the rationality of the mind at the expense of the heart – and a Jedi without a heart was no true servant of the Force.

For a moment Dooku envied Qui-Gon, who felt all that life had to offer while being at the same time one who could get so lost in his feelings that he misplaced the feelings of others – but no, he didn't envy a man who could so obliviously destroy his greatest treasure without remorse. His former padawan was just as unbalanced, it seemed, as he himself.

Kenobi might yet prove the bridge between them, though if so, it was a cruel use of the boy – man – by the Force.

"Changed you have, my old padawan."

Warm approval shone in Yoda's eyes and Dooku felt warmth spread through him. Felt both the other's affection and felt his own rising in gratitude. "I have missed you, Yoda." And he meant it, from the bottom of his heart.

Since they were both Jedi, they let the moment swirl between them and eventually away, but the warmth remained.

After a moment's contemplation, Yoda prompted Dooku to speak. "What insights did you wish to bestow on me, Padawan?"

Ah, yes, that. Dooku tapped an elegant finger against his thigh and leaned forward. "Not an insight to share, but a question I am compelled to ask. How do you explain your – passivity – to what is happening to my padawan and my padawan's padawan?"

"Passivity, you say." Yoda's ears curled and he gazed sharply at the younger Jedi. "Observe I do, follow the Force's promptings."

"As do I."

Yoda gazed at him for a long moment; then nodded, pleased. "A Jedi you have decided to remain."

"Don't change the subject."

"Same subject it is!" Yoda tapped his gimer stick against the floor, looking up from heavy-lidded eyes. "Prompted by the Force, hmm?"

Dooku bowed. To anyone else, he might have raised a sardonic eyebrow. To Yoda, it was unthinkable. Sixty years a full Jedi and he could manage to stand his ground with his old master. Intimidate him – never.

"Young Kenobi's plight brought you home."

Oh, it is far more complicated than that.

"No, not exactly. The Force brought me home. I have an errant padawan who needs his head examined and a grand-padawan who needs his head fixed."

"Examined Qui-Gon's head has been – still hard it is," Yoda muttered.

"Your grand-padawan he is."

"Hmph." The grunt was an acknowledgement. The line through Yoda was as exalted a line as the Order would judge such things, but it was a line full of proud and stubborn Jedi – a gift or a curse, no one was quite sure.

"I'd like to see young Kenobi before anything else – what?"

"Lost our young one has been…ready to see anyone not a friend he might not yet be."

That straightened Dooku up in his seat. Why then had the Force urged him to return? Was he there, not for Kenobi, but for Qui-Gon? Or for Anakin, the boy of prophecy and mayhem?

"What is lost can be found, Padawan, once the path becomes clear."

Dooku really wished Yoda would stop speaking in riddles. Yet when he did, relaying the past events, Dooku rather wished they had been couched in ambiguous terms. One could find comfort in gray whereas only harsh realities could be found in black and white.

Had he returned, far too late?

Knowing that pushing for answers would yield none, Dooku changed tactics: he informed Yoda that he wished to speak to the healer most familiar with the case.

"Disappeared he has," he was informed.

A Jedi master was too well schooled to display disbelief, but displayed or not, Yoda knew, perhaps by his very silence. By the snap in his voice, Yoda was concerned as well.

"On a mission he was. Expected to check in on a regular schedule he was not, but – too long it has been. Worrisome, I find it."

Obi-Wan somehow refrained from twisting his hands in uncertainty. Master Dooku had returned to the Temple and wanted to see him. The same master who had counseled Qui-Gon to "give him up" once, long ago, and whose master had finally done so. The same master who would see his initial assessment to be correct.

Master Windu had assured him Master Dooku had his best interests in mind. But what was best, not just for him, but the Order? He was the source of disharmony. He felt it; that he was at the center of a storm that would soon spiral into chaos.

Wasn't that what the dreams were trying to tell him?