CT-1552 – Coruscant

Dreamer felt an odd rush of anger as he saw the Jedi Temple, the towering fortress that seemed to intimidate and isolate rather than assure peace and harmony. It was a strange change from what he'd always felt when he saw the building.

In times past, the looming temple had always made him feel safe, made him feel like there was some way for a galaxy so divided to find some peace. Aliens from all walks of life, united together in purpose, just like the Republic.

But now, just looking at it was giving him a headache, although it could've just been the repeated blasts that had rocked him again and again. Gebb-Ti had told him that he was lucky to survive after multiple brushes with explosive ordnance, and Dreamer agreed with the little Bothan.

His armor was blackened and burned, there was a gouge in his helmet where a laser he hadn't noticed had torn away at the material, and he felt a few aches that hadn't been present before the defensive.

Yet he still felt victorious, as if he'd single-handedly won the war.

Some of the pride was simply in accomplishment, but there was some part of Dreamer that felt a grand pleasure at once again proving his brothers wrong, proving to them that he was every bit the soldier the rest of them were.

He only wished he could see the look on General Durel's face when the Jedi woke up to find himself back in the temple instead of in the clutches of Count Dooku or General Grievous. Unfortunately, the medical personnel aboard the frigate above hadn't yet seen fit to send him back down to Coruscant due to some minor complication in his treatment.

That left Dreamer descending to the Jedi Temple with only the Bothan corporal, unsure of how to actually report to the council, especially in the middle of the night.

When they descended, he was relieved to find a familiar Jedi Master awaiting at the landing pad, hands at his back as he watched.

Master Plo Koon was a powerful Jedi, that much Dreamer knew. Yet where many—Master Yoda or Master Windu being the most notable—preferred naught but their own company when they had no official duties to attend to, the Kel Dor was far more genial.

Dreamer remembered being unsettled by the strange alien Jedi when he'd first seen him, but Plo Koon seemed to understand that he was a presence intimidating to those who'd never met his kind before. Perhaps that was his reason for being one of the more open and approachable of the Jedi Masters.

"Sergeant," he said when the clone hopped off the transport, the thick device over his mouth modulating his voice into a grizzled growl. "It's good to see you safe from the field."

"Thank you, General," Dreamer answered. "Could've used you down there."

"Yes, I hear that Knight Durel was wounded, but it would've been a dead body we'd be uploading were it not for you." It was always difficult to see the emotion in his wrinkled face with the machinery covering his eyes, but the hand that descended to the clone's shoulder made his feelings clear. "You did quite well, Sergeant, have no doubt."

"Thank you, sir." He turned to the small alien at his side. "Wasn't just me, though, the corporal here did some of the work."

"That's what the report said," Plo Koon answered, looking down at the Bothan. "So, when will we see this mysterious assailant of yours?"

"Another transport was taking him to the council chambers, as I understood."

"Then let us go."

The halls were all too familiar as Dreamer walked them, Jedi of all stripes and ranks greeting the clone trooper they'd all come to know and recognize. Some were still children, younglings he'd been exceedingly diplomatic toward in the realization that he'd be acclimating them to his fellow clones.

Perhaps it had been the time since he'd last been in the Temple, but all of the Jedi seemed tired and colder than they'd been on his last visit a year ago.

"They all seem...different, sir," Dreamer said as they traversed through one of the wide halls. "Sad, somehow."

"Yes, the war has taken its toll on all of us." He shook his head, and there was no mistaking the sorrow in his perpetually grave voice. "Every death affects the Force, and many lives have been lost through this conflict."

"It seems as if we've been winning, sir."

"We have been, but it's a victory that's taking far too long and will leave too many dead behind." He nodded to a pair of padawans who gave him a warm greeting on the way by. "We need to end this war, Sergeant, but nobody seems to know how to do it. At least you managed to find some new plot before it began working against us."

The pain came back, a quick stab that faded just as fast as it had come. Dreamer ignored it as best he could.

"We'll soon know exactly what the Separatists have cooked up," he replied. "Don't worry, sir, I've seen the enemy you Jedi fight, it's not impressive."

"Mmm, I sincerely doubt you found a Sith. There would've been nothing left of the base, you, or your friend."

"It was a hard fight, Master Jedi," the Bothan said.

"I don't doubt it. It's still no small feat." They came to a stop outside a tall door wide enough for three people abreast. "Our sergeant here already knows, but you're going to hear a lot of things in hear that are classified. So what is said in here stays in here, understood?"

"Yes, Master Jedi."

When they entered, only two of the Jedi Masters were physically attending the meeting, the rest holographically projected from wherever they were.

Mace Windu was the most physically imposing of the masters, standing tall and the most obviously deadly of the group. Yet he looked exhausted since the last time Dreamer had been posted at the Jedi Temple. Though he still struck a powerful figure, his shoulders were slumped, his once-neutral expression creased into one far more severe.

Shaak-Ti was at her chair, the Togrutan Jedi Master a presence always peaceful, kind, and forgiving. Her soft violet eyes stared down the object of the council's collective interest. She too seemed as if she hadn't been sleeping well, a crimson darker than the rest of her skin thick under her eyes.

The burned body of the assassin lay in the center of the room, encased in a glass tube to keep the smell from overcoming the room. He looked worse now, now that the burns weren't fresh and the rot had set in. Master Windu was weighing the assassin's lightsaber carefully.

"An amateur," the Jedi said immediately. "He would've been taught by somebody, but he was no master of the Dark Side." He directed his intense gaze up at Dreamer. "Your report said he wasn't even able to drag you to him. Had he been a real Sith, he would've spiked you. Some kind of assassin trained in the usage of the Force, perhaps?"

"Operatives." The gravelly tone came from Grandmaster Yoda, the diminutive alien being broadcast in from somewhere else. "In wars past, seen their likes, we have. Ever since the Rule of Two, shy away from their use, the Sith do."

"Perhaps they find this war expansive and difficult enough to utilize them," Master Secura answered. "The odds are stacked against them, even if they're hiding behind the Separatists. They're losing the war, and they know it."

"Or it's just another shadow to chase," Master Windu said, handing the weapon over to Master Shaak-Ti. "Still, let's think about this. They went after intelligence about a lane into Chiss territory, and another attacked one of our Jedi—this time with a partner. What could they want?"

"Could it be an attempt to delve into our records, like before?" Master Kenobi asked, stroking his beard as he leaned forward. "They had a holocron last time, perhaps they'll be after another. Do we have any incoming?"

"One from Ryloth, it might actually be related," Master Luminara answered. "It's on its way, we'll discover what this is all about."

"Good," Master Windu answered. "The padawan down there, is she also on her way?"

"Yes. I'm not entirely sure, and I didn't tell her this, but I suspect they were targeting Padawan Halai specifically. They had a second man there with the assassin, a bounty hunter. Seems like they were more interested in capturing her than killing her. But they underestimated her."

The clone remembered Neria. A zealous but friendly Twi'lek padawan, handed off from master to master who found her difficult to teach.

"Why her?" Dreamer asked. "She's one of the few padawans I'd actually expect to hold well against an enemy agent."

"Because she's old," Shaak-Ti answered. "Once a padawan reaches a certain age without advancement, it's just assumed they're a failure. If they were looking for a Jedi, an old padawan would give the least fight in any other circumstance."

"Wait for Padawan Halai, we will," Master Yoda said. "Use rest after this battle, you could, Sergeant. Mission coming after this, there is," A smile slid onto the face of the old Jedi Grandmaster. "Still waiting for you, your room is. Perhaps inspiration, you've finally found."

"Thank you, General." The soldier gave the council a salute. "If I may be dismissed?"

"Not just yet, Sergeant." Master Windu looked up from his contemplative stare into his hands. "Their combat capabilities, what can you tell me?"

"I've seen Jedi in action, you wouldn't have a problem with them." Dreamer shook his head at another stab of pain. "It was only by a stroke of luck that the corporal and I survived. The assassin grew cocky with us, decided to toy with me instead of..."

He was cut off by the headache becoming suddenly worse, distracting him from his report.

"Cee-Tee Fifteen Fifty-Two, are you alright?" Master Shaak-Ti asked.

"I'm...Sorry, ma'am." He tried to shake himself out of it, but the pain wasn't so easily dismissed. "I had two close calls with explosives out there, I think it scrambled me a little bit."

"Then see medical if you think you need it, Sergeant," Master Plo Koon said from next to him. "You're a good soldier, we'd hate for you to be out of the field."

"Thank you, General." He turned back to Master Windu. "Long story short, sir, we got lucky. The average soldier wouldn't have a chance, but I wouldn't worry about your safety in a fight with them."

"As suspected," he answered. "Dismissed, Sergeant."

"Sir."

"Corporal, I'd like you to remain behind, If you don't mind," General Shaak-Ti said as Dreamer left the room.

The headache was still present as he walked out of the chambers and started down toward the barracks. While the clones typically lived in open bays on the ground and in cramped squad-sized sections on ships, the Jedi Temple gave their guards quarters of their own.

And in Dreamer's small room, it was practically an explosion of paint, different colors spread all along a wall lined with plastic. A pair of easels with canvas fresh and plain was leaned up against the wall, while everything he had painted had been stored under the bed.

There hadn't been time to collect his paintings when he'd been called up to service. He'd been told they were being taken care of, but he hadn't known if they'd truly been preserved. It seemed as if the Jedi hadn't been lying.

The blank canvas to the right occupied his attention more than anything in the room. His first canvas, one he'd put aside for months for something special. Yet as time continued to pass, he'd painted half-formed ideas and visions that had sated him but had never truly struck as something worth his first canvas.

Dreamer's brothers had all given him grief, but they all had their different ways of coping with the life. Some preferred a good meal, some turned to exercise, and some indulged in illegal trophy collection. Art was his outlet, his sanctuary.

The clone wished he could say that the last year had given him some grand epiphany, but all he had was a headache and a desire to fall into bed and sleep until the next morning.

So he did just that.