Obi-Wan opened his eyes. He had the pasty mouth and foggy mind characteristic of the aftermath of an epileptic seizure. Until yesterday, he'd been lucky enough not to experience one these past years, but he supposed that the battle with Sidious had drastically destabilized the fragile balance he had established until now.
He groaned, raising a hand to his forehead. Something was wrong. He knew that something important had happened, but he couldn't put his finger on the memory that was nagging his mind.
"You're awake. Good." Obi-Wan recognized Vokara Che's stern voice. She put a cool hand on his brow and forced open his eyelids to check his pupillary response. He winced, but he did his best to be as accommodating as possible. Healer Che was one of those people it was better not to antagonize; Obi-Wan didn't want to be bedridden any longer than necessary.
"How long have I been unconscious?" questioned Obi-Wan. His voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat tentatively. No pain, that was at least something. He remembered debriefing some of what he knew to the Council, while keeping the most sensitive information to himself, and then darkness.
He frowned. What could have caused the seizure? Something eluded him.
"Almost five hours."
Kriff. That must have been a terrible seizure. When he was younger and his brain was still learning to adapt, those attacks could last a few dozen minutes at most, but never that long.
"Fortunately, Master Vos allowed us to understand part of what was wrong." Healer Che fitted two sets of electrodes to his temples. "We could have saved time, if you didn't have this annoying tendency to keep so many terrible secrets."
"What's Quinlan got to do with it?" asked Obi-Wan, defensively.
Healer Che patted his chest, where his Soul-Kyber rested, prominently displayed.
Oh.
"Apparently, he had an interesting encounter with a Force Ghost," she said plainly, as if discussing the best way to boil tubers. "The Head of the Order has scheduled an appointment for you with a mind healer tomorrow."
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest, but she added before he could get a word out: "A mandatory appointment." She pressed her finger firmly into his chest to emphasize her point. "Enough with the secrets. If we're going to get through this, you must share the information that concerns us all." The line of her mouth softened slightly to settle into an almost smile. "I'll let you get some rest. Physically you're doing better, although I'll keep you under observation for a few more hours. And don't think about leaving early, because I'll know, understand?"
Obi-Wan nodded, numb. Well. It seemed the tooka was out of the bag, and the Jedi wouldn't leave him alone until they'd forced him to tell the entire story.
"I'll behave, don't worry." He had a conversation to have with an old friend, anyway.
Healer Che gave him a dubious look, patted him on the shoulder and left him alone in the room where he was resting. The smell and the medical equipment around were telling him he was in the Halls of Healing. The atmosphere and ambient sounds were muffled, but Obi-Wan could make out a stir beyond the walls of his room. Despite his persistent drowsiness, he had satisfactory control over the Force, and he projected his perceptions further to get an idea of what was going on around him.
The Halls of Healing were bursting with activity. Obi-Wan easily picked out the luminous signatures of the Jedi Healers, and the one belonging to Bant in particular, who radiated a determination that her obvious fatigue didn't abate. Knowing she was close comforted him. There were also many signatures he didn't know, but which carried the ambiguous innocence typically associated with Clones. Good. Things were settling quite satisfactorily on that front.
Obi-Wan would use this lull in his schedule to meditate for good, as he should have done much earlier. He took advantage of being finally alone to concentrate on what was currently preoccupying him. The ambient Force was unfortunately agitated and the proximity of the Clones was stirring up complex emotions in him, but it would have to do. Obi-Wan was used to meditating in far worse conditions.
Meditation had become as natural an activity for Obi-Wan as a basic necessity of his daily life. It wasn't something he did effortlessly, of course, for meditating was in itself the maintenance of an effort of concentration. But he had done it so often in his life that the desired state—a deep and wide perception of what surrounded him, and in particular of what the Force had to transmit—was reached in just a few seconds.
Obi-Wan had his own preferred posture and places to enter meditation, but he managed it without difficulty in a wide variety of situations. Even in combat, he could enter meditation while continuing to fight and make strategic decisions.
Because of the peculiarities of his mind, frequent and extensive meditation sessions were necessary to help him support the coherence of his identity. In recent years, this has been more a matter of maintenance than genuine progress in this endeavor, leading to a satisfactory continuity of his consciousness, with Old Ben's memories and knowledge blending seamlessly with his own.
However, ever since his fight with Sidious, he had felt Old Ben's presence dissociating from his mind again. From what Healer Che had told him, something had happened between Quinlan and the persona residing in the Soul-Kyber, and that sounded ominous. Old Ben had apparently reached out to Quinlan to pass on certain information, notably that Obi-Wan needed the direct proximity of the Soul-Kyber to regain consciousness. He had never been cognizant of the fact that Old Ben could act autonomously, without himself being able to intervene or being aware of what was happening.
But something else had happened, something profound.
In the scape of his mind, Obi-Wan could see it perfectly now. In all its solidity and magnificence, a perfectly constituted Force Bond was linking him to Quinlan. Oh, wow. He couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder; he had Old Ben's memories of what it felt like, but he'd never really experienced this sense of belonging in this life. The fledgling bonds he shared with Anakin and Bant couldn't compare, and that made him happy and sad at the same time.
The bond was currently strongly shielded on Quinlan's side, but Obi-Wan could still pick up on impressions; the bond so powerful that it would take a constant effort of attention to prevent information from bleeding through.
Incidentally, Obi-Wan's new-found attention to this bond drew Quinlan's attention, and the Kiffar took the opportunity to share just how annoyed he was. Obi-Wan had the impression of hearing him grumble before Quinlan sent him the mental equivalent of a smack on the back of the head.
For a few seconds, Obi-Wan was thrown out of his meditative state, flustered.
Okay. Obi-Wan would have to take account of this new presence in his mind and find a new balance. Concentrating once again, he found himself back in his mindscape and raised his strongest shield to keep the information coming from Quinlan at bay.
Obi-Wan would learn to make room for it. He had no doubt that, in time, he would get used to it. It was strange all the same, to finally share that special intimacy he remembered having experienced with Qui-Gon and Anakin in particular. Obi-Wan was worried about Quinlan, however, because this bond had been imposed on him brutally, without any time for it to form naturally, through genuine friendship and shared experiences.
Well, no use crying over spilt blue milk. They would surely figure it out, given the time.
Diving deeper into meditation, Obi-Wan wandered through the meanders of his mind, walking along crystalline paths that didn't quite reflect his surroundings, but which resonated with ancient, distorted, or vanished memories. With him not sleeping, Obi-Wan had a perfect mastery of the mind-places he wished to visit.
He reached the portico, nested in its bucolic clearing, but Old Ben was missing.
The old man was finicky and definitively gifted with his own will. If he wasn't there, it meant the ghost didn't want to speak with him, and it worried Obi-Wan. Old Ben had to explain what had happened with Quinlan. Obi-Wan sighed in frustration. How could he save the galaxy if someone purposely kept important information from him?
The portico was still standing tall, the space between its pillars shadowy and warped. Obi-Wan couldn't get through. The path to Old Ben's time no longer existed, for the universe from which he came had collapsed in on itself when Obi-Wan had begun to act to alter its destiny.
On the side panels, the fissures were still there. Of course, they were.
They weren't going to disappear overnight, just because he felt better. Obi-Wan didn't even know if it was possible that they could be healed. He had to do his best, however, to encourage the kyber to recover. Obi-Wan ran a hand over the panel to the right, where the deepest fracture lay. When he looked inside, he could make out nothing, as if it were a bottomless pit, as dark as the cosmic void.
Obi-Wan shuddered. Knowing these rifts existed in the very heart of his mind made him uncomfortable. Obi-Wan knelt, facing the panel, and placed both hands on either side of the crack. Closing his eyes to abstract himself from the metaphorical vision of his mind, he called the Force to him and channeled it directly into the pillar. If a crystal could be alive, then the kyber was, and it fed off the Force. Perhaps infusing a localized flow of Force would encourage the kyber to heal and regrowth around the crack.
Obi-Wan concentrated in this way for some time, until he sensed that the pillar would no longer accept the Force that was offered. Opening his eyes to look closer, he wasn't sure he could see any difference. Obi-Wan sighed. He would probably have to be patient to see the damage being resorbed, if that were even possible.
In the meantime, Obi-Wan would have to be careful not to impose any further strain on his mind.
Sighing again, this time physically, Obi-Wan came out of meditation and stretched. His shoulder was still throbbing, but much less so than in the morning. His jaw no longer ached as well. Healer Che had apparently done what she could to improve his general condition while he had been unconscious.
Obi-Wan may not be at his best, but he was finally free of the bulk of his migraine. His mastery of the Force had returned, unblemished. At last, he finally felt less vulnerable.
]o[
The night had already fallen when Mace returned to his quarters. As the door closed behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Another eventful day. Mace wasn't sure how much he enjoyed these interesting times; he was sure a saying existed on that, about boring life being, in fact, a blessing. Ha.
He really looked forward to this evening. After months off-planet, Depa had finally returned with Ahsoka, and Mace was delighted to be reunited with his entire bloodline for dinner.
A delicious aroma greeted him, which told him that Depa had quickly found her marks in the kitchen that had seen her grow and blossom to knighthood. Mace had taught her culinary art, and the recipes he had inherited from his own master. He had never been able to interest Anakin as much in cooking; his padawan preferred instead to spend his free time in his workshop or training his saberwork. Anakin was nevertheless willing to spend long hours cooking when he did so in Depa's company.
His two padawans adored each other like the siblings they were. Anakin admired Depa, and had retained a respect for her that he hadn't expressed for his own Master for a long time. Her gentleness and flexibility, which complimented her uprightness and frankness, enabled her to get things from Anakin that Mace had to fight constantly to obtain. A few months ago, Ahsoka had joined their Lineage, and she promised to be a perfect blend between Depa and Anakin: headstrong, honest, with a tendency to confront authority.
When he entered the living room, the three young people were seated around the high table, having a drink together. Depa greeted him with her warm smile.
"Mace! I'm glad to see you tonight," she said, stepping forward to kiss him gently on the cheek. Force, how he had missed her. He took her forearm to hug her, and she returned the embrace fully. Underneath the joy and pleasure, Mace felt the ineffable relief of finally seeing his loved ones again after a difficult military campaign failed to take their lives.
Ahsoka hopped towards him to join the embrace, taking advantage of her still-svelte frame to intrude between them. "Grand Master! I want a hug too! And I think you need one too. You look awfully tired."
Mace chuckled. "Indeed, little Ahsoka, indeed. I haven't slept much these last few days."
"For real, the interesting action was on Coruscant, and not elsewhere!" exclaimed Anakin, as if he had concerned him directly. He had indeed been privy to a certain degree of knowledge, despite his status as a mere padawan unable to keep a secret.
Depa smiled fondly at Anakin, reaching up to ruffle his hair. She then glanced at Mace, concern evident on her face, and reached through their bond. Master, what's really going on? Why has my Commander been urgently sent to the Halls of Healing? Depa had mastered the art of mental discussion with disconcerting ease, using the bond between them to convey perfectly formed, intelligible sentences.
We've just uncovered a plot against the entire Jedi Order, and the Republic. I'll give you the details later, when we're alone. He smiled at Ahsoka, his adorable grand-Padawan. The young Togruta had grown up, even if her species developed more slowly than near-humans. This meant that it had been far too long without seeing each other.
Mace hoped that the war would soon be resolved, and that the Jedi would stop paying a high price for the madness of power-hungry individuals. He didn't want to see any more children fighting and dying in a purposeless war. The Sith Lord had played his part perfectly, blinding them to the meaning of the true sacrifice the Jedi had agreed to make, entangled in loyalties that made sense no longer.
The Force sang of their joy and contentment at finding each other again, and in these emotions radiated, powerful and solid, the Light Side.
Fools. They'd been fools to think that war would bring them any salvation.
Mace closed his eyes, and basked in the soothing waves of love and belonging.
]o[
Jocasta Nu was a woman who had lived through a great many trials in her long life. Her position as Archivist at the Coruscant Temple was only the culmination of a long and rich career within the Jedi Order.
In addition to the direct experience she had amassed, she had also been an indirect witness, through her archiving work, to a large number of historical facts. Jocasta was not a naive person, and was not easily fooled. She had a keen eye for individuals who tried to contravene the strict rules she enforced daily at the Archives.
In any case, up until now, she had thought that little escaped her vigilance.
She didn't know what to make of young Obi-Wan. He had managed to fool everyone. She had discussed at length with Mace the conclusions of Tera's research. The old investigator was a keen sleuth, and once he had sniffed out a lead, he wouldn't let up until he had uncovered everything connected with his investigation.
And what he had found out about Obi-Wan was quite astonishing. And rather vexing.
For a good twenty years, Obi-Wan had been diverting the resources of the archaeology department to finance and feed his parallel network aimed at eliminating the Sith Lord plotting the Jedi Order's destruction.
The fact they owed their survival to a man who had lied to them for most of his life infuriated Jocasta. The meek and quiet man she had come to know was just a facade. At the same time, she partly understood why Obi-Wan had proceeded this way, given the success of his endeavor. But Jocasta wouldn't leave it at that; she was determined to build an honest and transparent relationship with him starting now.
That's why she had offered to keep him company tonight. It was a kind way of saying that she was watching him, and wouldn't leave him alone. Who knows what a man of that caliber might think of doing when he wasn't under the scrutinizing eye of someone.
Said man heaved a particularly audible sigh, bordering on dramatic. Jocasta raised an eyebrow, one that she knew perfectly reflected her ability to placate anyone with her stern obstinacy.
"Come, come, young man. You need your rest. The Healers have been very worried about you, I want to remind you."
Obi-Wan massaged his temple, as he tended to do when annoyed. Jocasta didn't know if this actually translated into a migraine, but, given his medical background, it was quite possible.
"Madam Nu, I've wasted enough time here already—the entire afternoon!—and I'm feeling much better. Why are you here anyway? You must have more pressing things to take care of than me, haven't you?"
"Are you questioning my ability to make decisions, young man?" Jocasta liked using her frankness to keep her interlocutors on their toes. Diplomacy was overrated. The resulting conversations were always far more interesting than flat exchanges of banalities.
"Who will manage the Archives in your absence?" asked Obi-Wan undeterred.
"The Archives are closed for the time being, I thank you for your honest and sincere concern."
Kenobi huffed out a long-suffering sigh again. "I don't need a sick guard. I've got work to do, you said so yourself."
Jocasta smiled. "Ah, indeed. I thank you for your professional ethics." She pulled from the folds of her ample robe an assortment of datapads she had been careful to gather before coming to the Halls of Healing, and placed them on the shelf positioned across the comfortable armchair he occupied. "Here, I have some filing for you to work on, something you can do very well by staying here."
Obi-Wan frowned, taking the stack of datapads rather obediently. In the years she had had the pleasure of working with him, Jocasta had never had to complain about his diligence. He worked efficiently and quietly, and had never needed much guidance in the tasks he was assigned.
Jocasta supposed that a good level of autonomy was indeed necessary to slay a Sith Lord alone and unsupported.
"Do I have to do this now?"
"Do you want to work or not? Just know that leaving now is not an option."
"Force, why did everyone decide to make my life difficult today?"
"That, young man, I think you brought that upon yourself."
Obi-Wan slowly joined his hands in front of his face, elbows casually resting on the shelf, and looked at her inscrutably. His clear gaze betrayed no emotion, and Jocasta perceived only stillness in the Force. She responded to this rather unnerving stare with a raised eyebrow. Obi-Wan scowled. "Fine!" He spread the datapads out in front of him, displaying their content in turns to have a general look at what he would have to exercise his skills on.
"You've decided to modify the filing criteria of works belonging to the Agriculture section?" Kenobi wrinkled his brow.
"I've started to work on it, but I need your input on these works, and I was wondering about the appropriateness of placing them in the Ethnology and Cultural Practices section instead. For the populations studied, it might prove relevant."
He responded with a soft hum and began stacking datapads in different piles in silence. Jocasta took out the holobook she had started reading earlier in the day, and immersed herself in the work.
Less than ten minutes later, Obi-Wan chimed in: "What have you done with the Wayfinder?"
"Don't worry, the thing is safe," she replied absently, her nose still immersed in her book.
"You kept it at the Temple?"
"Your warning, just before you...lost consciousness, was eloquent enough for me to make the necessary arrangements. I also had specific instructions from Master Windu regarding your case."
"Oh?" said Obi-Wan, visibly disliking the direction the conversation was taking. "And would you be so kind as to share the substance of it with me, please?"
"Why, certainly. I will be happy to share some sensitive information with you, along with all the parties concerned. There's no need to seek a monopoly on information, Archivist Kenobi."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I won't tell you where the Wayfinder is kept now. You'll have to wait until tomorrow morning for that. We set a time for a meeting, and you're invited. Don't worry, it's safe. I've made all the necessary arrangements."
"You can't keep me in the dark, I need to know." Obi-Wani tried to keep his tone of voice even and detached, but he was failing miserably at it. He seemed to feel real emotional vexation here.
Jocasta looked up from his book to look at him and smirked. "What's the matter with you, you who are usually so aloof and cold. You don't like having no control over things, do you?" Obi-Wan blinked, clearly taken aback. "Don't worry, I'm a bit the same, I understand very well what you're feeling."
Jocasta knew perfectly well she was a bit of a control-freak herself. It was a necessary quality to keep something like the Archives in working order. But in her long life, she had learned to dampen that trait, to go along the flow of the uncontrollable when necessary. Obi-Wan was in need of acquiring this learning, it seemed. Obi-Wan had to understand that his influence was, at the end of things, limited. He would survive not knowing everything.
The young man sighed again. "You can't keep me in the dark like this."
"We'll discuss it more extensively with Master Windu tomorrow. I think you've earned the right to relax. How about learning to let go a little, hmm?"
"It's in one of the Vaults, isn't it?"
Jocasta merely replied with a thin smile, accompanied by the raised eyebrow she adopted when asked a stupid question—at least, one whose answer could be easily guessed if one made the effort to think a little.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow, then?" he asked, aggravated.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow. Keep your mind occupied with something else," she said, gesturing towards the datapads.
]o[
Quinlan was lying in the dark, in his apartment. He didn't dare to close his eyes. Every time he let his thoughts drift, horrific images invaded his mind. He felt like a castaway in the middle of a storm, doing his best to keep his head above water, only thanks to a poor piece of wood.
Several hours had passed since his involuntary plunge into Kenobi's strange psyche. He felt he hadn't yet grasped the full implications of what he had just learned, but it made so much sense, as if the light had suddenly illuminated the darkness of his ignorance.
Kenobi had, with an obscure technique based on the particular nature of kyber, managed to project his personality and knowledge into his own past. And thus altered a future so horrifying that hope had been dead a long time ago.
The Temple, gone astray.
The Jedi, all but extinguished.
And Skywalker...Force, Skywalker.
And in the midst of it all, Kenobi had survived. Survived on grief alone, refusing what the Galaxy had become, until he found the means of bending time and fate themselves.
After updating Healer Che with his newfound knowledge, Quinlan had gone to see the Mindhealer, who had helped mitigate the damage his psyche was suffering. Fortunately, it was not as extensive as he had feared, given the intensity of the pain he had felt. The Mindhealer still had to act to help Quinlan recover and to take stock of his psyche's general state. Things had been tampered with, and it would take time to determine precisely what had been done. Quinlan supposed that a whole memory dump would do that to his mind, but he wasn't the specialist here.
Quinlan would need to work on his shields as well. Annoyingly, a strange new Force Bond thrived, much stronger than those that bound him to Tholme or Aayla.
He could feel it, vibrant and intense, in the back of his mind, and he knew that if he turned his attention to it, he would become aware of Kenobi and his state of mind. Despite the Master-level shields currently in place, colors of emotion and whispers of thoughts managed to bleed through.
Quinlan was thus able to tell that Kenobi was still awake, and feeling something akin to fond exasperation. Impression of wisdom, unyielding competence, and dry wit. Jocasta Nu kept him company. Quinlan sighed. He wouldn't find sleep easily, despite his exhaustion. He had to find someone to talk to.
He would have liked to spend some time with Aayla, but unfortunately, she was still off-planet. Quinlan wasn't sure where Tholme was. The old man liked staying elusive, even to his close ones, by regularly cutting himself off from the Force to remain untraceable. He might be here, in the Temple, or at the other side of the Galaxy. If he wanted to know, Quinlan could send a message, but he wasn't assured to receive a response anytime soon.
Quinlan got up, put on a simple tunic, and headed for the Shadows headquarters. Quinlan might find a sympathetic ear among his comrades. The Jedi Shadows, at least, knew how to hold their tongues.
The Shadow HQ was in a slightly removed part of the Temple, off the main thoroughfares. Most Jedi knew that the Temple had a dedicated intelligence service, and that the organization existed for a very long time. The Shadows were the subtle hand of the Order, and had traditionally been founded to fight in secret against the Order's enemies, notably the Sith. This fact intimately linked the Shadows to intelligence as a whole, as such they were overseen by the Council of First Knowledge. Most Jedi, however, didn't know who specifically belonged to the Shadows.
The rooms allocated to their activity were conveniently located between the Archives and the Quartermaster's Office. Going there never seemed suspicious, as anyone could need to stock up on supplies from time to time. Quinlan nonchalantly passed the Cellar entrance, and opened one of the nondescript doors that followed. He entered a plain storage room where crates were stacked in partitions.
He went behind an aisle and put his hand on an unremarkable spot on the wall. A concealed door slid open, letting him into a large room of a completely different kind. There, the devices and equipment the Shadows needed to act were centralized.
At the central desk sat Tera Sinube, who was consulting a stack of documents. Keeping him company was—a pleasant surprise—Master Tholme. Quinlan was genuinely happy and relieved to see him. His encounter with Kenobi's Force Ghost had severely shaken him, and he felt almost like a youngster in need of a hug.
Tera and Tholme were apparently sharing a hot drink. They raised their heads to greet him with a smile. "What brings you here, Master Vos?" Tera rasped warmly.
Quinlan settled himself at the table, sitting down heavily on the vacant chair. "Is there any caf left?"
Tholme raised an eyebrow, a questioning look on his face. "You look terrible, Padawan. Trouble with your current mission?"
Quinlan took his head in his hands. "You've no idea. Force. What a fuck-up, I swear."
Tera let out a chuckle, as he continued to consult his documents meticulously, before asking: "Kenobi, I presume?"
Quinlan grunted, as Tholme solicitously poured him his caf. The potent aroma—the drink tended to be more concentrated as the evening wore on, to help the agents get through long hours of wakefulness if necessary—comforted him.
"Who's Kenobi?" asked Tholme, curious.
"That's what we're trying to find out, my friend, and it's a question that is, surprisingly, pretty hard to answer," said Tera.
"Is he your current target?"
Quinlan let a few moments pass before replying, "He's the guy who killed Palpatine. Haven't you heard?"
"Ah! Is he the one everyone's talking about? I didn't have time to look into it, I was out all day. What about this man causes you so much concern, Padawan?"
Quinlan took a sip of the caf, which was still hot enough to draw a line of fire down his throat. He appreciated the sensation, which helped anchor him in reality. It seemed to him that, at times, a fourth person was watching him, hidden in the shadows.
"He's a Jedi, and a simple Archivist at that, who's been working daily at the Temple for the span of these last nine months."
Tera added: "He's the head of his own intelligence organization, and has embezzled a hell of a lot of artifacts to finance his operations for two decades, if this interesting documentation is to be believed." He held up a datapad to emphasize his point.
"And nobody saw anything," said Quinlan. "He acted basically alone all along."
Tholme chuckled. "Ah, indeed. It's not very glorious for our intelligence services." he put a comforting hand on Quinlan's shoulder, and Quinlan couldn't help but to lean a little. "But it's an extraordinary affair, the likes of which you don't come across very often in your career," added Tholme, almost enthusiastically.
Quinlan could relate, because that's how he had felt ever since he had managed to catch Kenobi.
Now, he basically didn't know what to think. He felt his focus drift naturally to the new bond that had taken hold of his mind. Kenobi seemed to have drifted into sleep, and it made Quinlan curiously drowsy.
"I suppose hiding like that in broad daylight is effective, when you choose the right façade." Quinlan sighed. "I may have made a mistake, Masters. I touched something I shouldn't have, and now I find myself with a Force Bond I don't know what to do with, and a thorough knowledge of who Kenobi really is. And I'm not sure what to make of it all."
]o[
"Are you still in pain?" asked Wolffe, concerned. They both stood at the foot of the grand staircase leading to the entrance of the Jedi Temple. A steady stream of Clones came and went, and more and more of them sported the characteristic little bandage that testified to successful surgery.
Fox shook his head. "A slight headache, quite bearable." He shivered in the evening air, still a little numb from the anesthetic. But his thoughts were becoming sharper and clearer, so much so that he wondered if the chip had had an ongoing, insidious effect on his ability to think.
The relief he felt wasn't complete, however, and he felt a knot, a tension twisting in his gut. He knew he wouldn't feel at peace until all his brothers had been freed from this internal slave collar.
Wolffe consulted his chrono, a concerned crease on his forehead. "It should be my turn soon. Damn, I can't wait any longer."
Fox laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, without answering. Words weren't necessary to understand how Wolffe felt. He continued: "There are millions of us, and it's going to take months to free everyone."
Fox sighed. "We're going to try to hijack the orbital care centers to speed things up, and we need to do it as soon as possible before the Senate asks questions. Cody's still deployed with General Trebor, and the sector they are overviewing has quite a number we can potentially use. But that would mean sending a good part of the army there. We'll have to be cunning so that the non-Jedi officers don't notice the maneuver."
"Hmm. I don't like it. It's a real kriffed-up situation, if you ask me." Wolffe shook his head and sighed. "I'd take you out for a drink, but I don't think it's wise to get drunk after brain surgery."
"I guess you're right, vod," said Fox with a tight smile. "Let's be wise and wait until tomorrow."