A chime beeped on Obi-Wan's wrist, and he glanced down. Eyes bulging, he slipped behind the rest of the Council exiting the main Temple chamber and, once everyone else was gone, he slipped to the wall and held his wrist communicator up. Now, of all times?!

"What is it, Vos?" Obi-Wan hissed once he was alone.

"Aw, come on, Kenobi. Lighten the tone. You make it seem obvious you're hatching a plot."

"No one else is around," Obi-Wan moved on, though his tone did relax. "What's on your end?"

"Got a new batch of info. Thanks to my newfound ally."

"And I assume I won't be told who she is?"

"Classified," Quinlan quickly shut down. "We learned that the shadow we're hunting is in possession of a Separatist warship."

Obi-Wan tacitly moved back into the Council chambers and shut the door. Only then could he speak a little louder. The bright afternoon sun, reflected by orbital mirrors onto Coruscant's surface, gave the sky a picturesque pristine blue, cloudless and beautiful. But the view of the planet from the Council chamber room's windows was not on Obi-Wan's mind.

"He what?" Obi-Wan erupted at his communicator. "So the Separatists will be hunting him now too? Vos, you're going to run into them sooner or later."

"Hey, we all knew that. And don't worry, the Separatists won't be a problem. For now."

"I don't even want to ask," Obi-Wan muttered.

"My ally's informed me that this warship was taken at the Battle of Five Points. It was fairly recently, too."

"Five Points? That space station stop, right?"

"Yes. And almost exactly after that battle, Senator Nerissa Bolkrin was discovered on board a warship there– after having been pronounced dead for weeks."

"...What, exactly, are you implying, Quinlan?"

"Senator Bolkrin's almost immediate move after being discovered was to implicate the Hutts in a plot to take Florrum by having the pirates kidnap her. And right around the same time as she was making those statements, the entire Hutt Council was slain."

Obi-Wan grimaced at the news. The notion that this senator from his home planet had anything to do with the shadow they were hunting left a bad taste in his mouth. "Those two things could be entirely unrelated, Quinlan."

"Yeah, well, that's just, like, your opinion, man. Me, though? I tend to be a bit more keen on discovering connections. Everyone likes to say 'correlation doesn't equal causation,' but that only really applies to things like deaths by speeder crashes and the number of Lorge Gucas holofilms that come out in the year. These two events, though, have a common link. I don't think Senator Bolkrin's the shadow, but I do think there's something she's not telling us. She should be interrogated."

Obi-Wan hissed. "Interrogated is a bit of a strong word, don't you think?"

"However it happens, it needs to happen. A Jedi mind trick could force the information out of her as well as your skills, Negotiator."

"Which is why you contacted me. On this line."

"Now you get it."

"Vos, I won't be available to do this. The Council's discovered an ancient Jedi distress beacon deep in the Outer Rim, near the Chrelythiumn system. It hasn't been used in two thousand years. Me, Anakin, and Ahsoka are going to investigate."

"Do you think it's related to this case?"

"I would not discount it. But we also fear that it's a Separatist trap, so we'll be rendezvousing with Captain Rex in a heavily armed cruiser."

"Well, if it is part of the case, then by all means, go ahead. But we still need to inter– to persuade Nerissa."

"...I certainly can't right now. But I can talk to Anakin. He has someone that can help."

"I expect to know everything Senator Bolkrin does by the time you get back. We're close on his tail now."

"Yes, I understand. We're rather busy ourselves."

The line went dead. Obi-Wan sighed and shook his hands.

After some time standing in the natural sunlight and examining Coruscant's perfect blue sky, Obi-Wan turned and left the Council chambers.

Quinlan Vos had quickly shut off the line when a particularly burly Gammorrean guard passed him by, leering uncomfortably down on him on his seat. Quinlan nodded him by, and as the guard went away, he clearly thought nothing of Quinlan's wrist communicator.

The dark bar was crowded, but large, and bright neon lights and lasers scanned over the floor. Nar Shaddaa attracted species from all across the galaxy to deal in shady business, and Quinlan could count at least a score of different species huddled in dark corners. They were whispering in each other's ears, sucking gas from green tubes in the table centers, and playing Sabacc.

In the exact center of The Drowned Rancor, easily within Quinlan's view, three exotic specimens– Mirialan, Twi'lek, and Togruta– proudly put themselves on display on a raised dais. They wiggled their hips and chest to the rave music echoing poorly in the place. Quinlan could hear the young singer's chorus amid the quick electric beats:

"Sleepless nights I try to hide

Dodging every government eye

Dreaming of a worry-free life

But the taxman comes by!

Avoiding the taxman is a risky game

Stack credits where I can, try to dodge the blame

I commit tax evasion every day

I live life, work or die, what can I say?"

Quinlan could only shake his head in amusement. Appeal to your audience.

A figure in a hooded cloak drifted to his table and sat quietly down across from him. Even if the surrounding noise wasn't deafening, Quinlan doubted she had made a sound. Quinlan just nodded approvingly at his ally.

"Enjoying the view?" Ventress hissed beneath the cloak.

Quinlan turned his head to the dancers again. He smiled and shook his head in amusement. "Come on, you could kill it up there too. In more ways than one."

Ventress threw her hood back and glared at Quinlan. "This place reeks. The fresher was appalling, even for women."

Quinlan shrugged allowingly. "You don't get this kind of information from a tea parlor. Not that you'd fit in there either."

"Then why aren't we actually asking around?" Ventress hissed loud enough to be heard over the noise. "We should be throttling the information out of whoever's willing to talk!"

"Imagine how it looks, Ventress. Two newcomers walk into a bar and start asking questions from everyone. You wouldn't get very far. Have some drinks first. And relax! You're in good hands. Anything goes wrong, I'll protect you."

Ventress coldly looked at the glass of blue liquid in front of her. It was starting to condensate on the outside. She sighed, snatched it, and sipped. "I can take care of myself."

"I don't care. I still would protect you."

Ventress took another sip. Something didn't sit right, and it may have just been the alcohol, but… "It's been a while since someone said that to me."

"Dooku never protected you?"

"It's not like he didn't care," Ventress was quick to say. "He went through the trouble of taking me in."

"Mmm." Quinlan sipped his neon green drink. "Personally, I'd be skeptical around Dooku. The Rule of Two, and all that. Dooku's master could easily order you to be disposed of soon."

"Not as long as I'm useful," Ventress insisted harshly.

"And when the time comes, do you believe you'll be able to defeat Dooku?"

Ventress fell silent. She took a deeper drink from her glass.

"...Ventress, I'm worried for you."

Ventress nearly spit out her drink, but managed to swallow. She affixed Quinlan with an incredulous expression.

Quinlan winced. "This path you're on could easily go in a bad direction. You… are capable of being much more than Dooku's tool."

"Oh, and you're not a tool yourself, tracker?" Ventress retorted. "You're less of a Jedi and more of a GPS."

"It's not about me," Quinlan shut down. He swirled his drink, clinking the ice. "I know what spiraled you out of the Order, and I've been there too. Even Dooku was there too. He lost his old apprentice, Qui Gon Jinn, to the previous Sith Lord, Darth Maul. Ironic."

Ventress glared at Quinlan, but there wasn't any real heat behind it. Neither person said anything for a while. The intense rave music kept pumping in the background, and the neon lights kept flashing occasionally on their table.

"...Perhaps I might not be strong enough," Ventress admitted. She sighed and sipped some more vivid blue. "...I can't defeat Grievous. So how could I destroy Dooku when push comes to shove?"

It took a moment for Quinlan to recognize that it wasn't a rhetorical question. "We need allies. Consolidated strength. And we need to be mentally fortified. The Dark Side's greatest victory comes from convincing us we're not enough and need to rely on its power."

"...I suppose you speak from personal experience?" Ventress softly asked.

Quinlan laughed humorlessly and sipped some more. "More than you'd think," he admitted. "And in a way, it's right. I'm not enough. I'm imperfect, I'm a fallen creature. I do need help. And I get it from a better source."

"But the Light keeps demanding too much, doesn't it?" Ventress pressed, interested all of a sudden. "To always be in tune, to always suppress yourself?"

"Yeah," Quinlan sourly admitted. He sipped again. He glared at his drink, then set it aside. "Bad aftertaste."

"The Jedi are a fading light in the dark," Ventress declared. Her grip around her glass tightened. "There's a difference between the Light Side and the Jedi."

"We're imperfect, but well intentioned," Quinlan was quick to say.

"And we all know where good intentions lead," Ventress coolly replied.

"Ventress, being perfect adherents of the Jedi code was never the point. If that was the case, the code's standards would need to be significantly lowered, and there'd be chaos among our ranks. What kind of code goes, 'break the rules a little bit, we can demand less than your full commitment'? The point was to keep moving. Keep going. I stagger off the path from time to time. But the path is still there for me to follow. I'm here to stay, so I'm making the most of it."

Ventress hummed and looked into her glass. Once more, silence befell the two of them. Thumps from the bar's speakers rattled their bootsoles.

"...You've been purging the alcohol from your system too?" Quinlan finally asked.

"Naturally," Ventress confirmed. "The Force is useful here."

Quinlan stood up from his booth. "Then let's go find some poor sap. Want to split up?"

Ventress rose as well. "Good idea. Cover more ground."

The two of them sidled out of the booth, briefly brushing against each other as they did so. After glancing at each other, Quinlan and Ventress went in different directions.

Two minutes of mingling and peeking around the bar later, Vos's instincts directed him to a booth with two occupants: a scantily clad yellow Twi'lek, and a lounging man with ragged brown armor, a wrapped turban, and an enormous DLT-18 laser rifle lounging on the seat beside him. He was regarding the Twi'lek girl with a crooked smile, but when he spotted Quinlan, his smile faded.

"Got room for one more?" Quinlan asked, jutting out his chin.

The man grimaced, but moved his rifle aside. Quinlan scooted in.

"Athva, babe." The man gripped the Twi'lek by the chin and pushed it up. "Be good and go fetch more drinks, okay?"

Athva dreamily gazed at him, then made an affirmative noise, got up, and sauntered away.

Quinlan made sure to not look back at her. "Fancy seeing you here," he said, eyeing his enormous carbine instead.

"Who's asking?" the man said, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm Ezra Kerrin, an independent contractor. And you're recognizable anywhere. Dengar, the demolisher," Quinlan continued. "You were on the Hutt's payroll."

"...Were once," Dengar qualified. He shrugged sadly. "Now that they're gone, I need to find more employers."

"Sorry to hear that," Quinlan spoke. "They weren't appalling to you?"

"Oh, they were. But their payments were on time. Now, though, no one can even access the banks the Hutt's treasure had been in. If Jabba wants to finance a war against whoever slew the council, he needs every credit in his savings."

"Have you ever considered being hired by the Separatists to track him down?"

Dengar burst into laughter. "What, me, against the Huttslayer? The Separatists have no interest in this guy."

"Well, if Jabba's broke, then who else will give you the reward? Jabba's asking price for his head is ten million credits. The Separatists could easily double that."

Dengar grimaced and took his rifle into his lap. "It's hard to trust promises right now. Shady things have been happening in the underground. Whispers of rogue generals, butchered leaders, outrageous loan rates, and such. Chaos, everywhere. Alliances, being forged on all sides. Everyone knows that no one's safe anymore. Not even from the Slayer. Just on Gamorr, a bunch of the little piggies attacked a Hutt outpost. Now every last one of them is going to be pressed into service in the Hutt's army for free."

Quinlan nodded. "It is odd that the Gamorreans did that without expecting retribution."

"Ezra, you're speaking of the future. Consequences they didn't expect."

"So Gamorreans don't have realistic expectations?"

Dengar took out a rag and began to clean his rifle. "No. Their race just can't understand a single concept– time."

Quinlan blinked. "Time?"

Dengar began to examine the rifle better, his words coming out on autopilot. "Time doesn't exist to the Gamorrean. Or any other Gamorrean-adjacent sentient. There's only the present. A clone trooper tells a Gamorrean, 'Do not run or I'll– in the future– use my blaster.' But the pig only sees two options: Stay and be detained, or run and be free. That the trooper will use his blaster five seconds in the future is incomprehensible to the pig."

"Are you sure?"

"Ezra, Gamorreans are convinced there's no continuity with themselves fifteen minutes in the future. A pig sees no relation to himself in that time; his interests are entirely separate from theirs, if not opposed."

"Is that truly the only answer for their actions?" Quinlan asked; he was suddenly interested.

"Of course. Once you realize that the average Gamorrean cares as much about himself fifteen minutes in the future as he does any other random pig, all their actions make sense. Why not go into debt for the latest Sorosuub speeder? An entirely separate pig will have to pay it off. Why not rape some Twi'lek girl? Some other pig will get sent to the spice mines of Kessel. Gamorreans earnestly believe there is no accountability for their actions."

"But it doesn't work like that!"

"They can't realize it. To a pig, the present is the only moment he's ever known, and all that matters is his physical gratification."

Quinlan nodded, eager to move on from Dengar's rant. "So they're stupid."

"And they can't swim–"

"But if they're this stupid, how did they plan the attack on the Hutts?" Quinlan quickly spoke.

"They didn't. I'd wager all the drink in this joint that the Hutts organized that attack on themselves. That incident would give them permission to further use the pigs as fodder for their war against the Huttslayer."

"And all of them combined would just serve as a big slab of bacon to the Slayer," Quinlan deduced.

"Bingo," Dengar confirmed. It was at that time when Athva returned with neon yellow and violet drinks, sensually sliding next to Dengar and clutching his arm. Dengar regarded her, then smiled and shook his head. "Well, Ezra, it's been fun. But I've got more immediate matters."

"What if I told you that I'm looking for a team?" Quinlan proposed.

Dengar slowly settled his carbine back upright. "I'm listening."

"An army of bounty hunters, all closing in on the Slayer. Together they could do what one could not. Cad Bane's already on his trail, and he's closing in."

"...And how do you know this?" Dengar asked with narrowed eyes.

"I intercepted a holomessage in a packet going to Death Watch," Quinlan lied perfectly, folding his arms. "Perhaps Cad Bane may be enough for the Slayer. Perhaps he won't be. What's your money on?"

Dengar's eyes became more uncertain. He glanced at his needy escort, then all around them. "I… was never much good at gambling. The house's always rigged. So, if this is truly a chance to rig them back?" Dengar paused, then grinned at Quinlan. "I'll have to think about it. But if there's enough of us, and the bounty's big enough…"

"It's not just the millions you'd win. You'd also gain the highest respect of any bounty hunter in the outer rim."

Dengar snorted and rapped his knuckles on his rusty armor. "Respect. Now that's quite the concept, huh?"

Quinlan withdrew a slip of flimsiplast and slid it across the table. "Once you have your answer, call that number. I'll set you up with the others."

"Others?" Dengar repeated, taking the flimsi.

"There'll be plenty. The more hunters, the more likely we succeed, and the payout will be bigger. If you work with others, I'd recommend getting them in on the action too."

Dengar huffed with amusement and pocketed the flimsi. "I'll keep it in mind."

Quinlan stood up and stretched. "Good talking to you, Dengar. But I shouldn't stay for long. You've got more important business." He winked.

Dengar grinned up at him and patted Athva's shoulder. "I'll get to it."

Quinlan bowed ironically and swiveled around. He disappeared back into the crowd and began scanning for Ventress. Using both his eyes and the Force, he drifted to the other end of the cantina. He passed by slender, effeminate men and bulky, gruff women, some bald and some with hair that reached their hips. Quinlan scowled and finally emerged from the other end. His eyes found Ventress.

She currently had her legs propped up on the table of a booth, willingly leaning into the light grip of a Trandoshan. And something inside Quinlan coiled and reared defensively upon seeing Ventress this exposed for another man.

Well, male. Whatever.

Ventress caught his eye, and Quinlan made sure to pass by quickly. Didn't want to jeopardize her efforts.

Luckily, Ventress got up shortly after and sauntered over to him. Quinlan watched as she approached, doing his very best to look her in the eye.

"Hey, sweet boy," Ventress cooed, and it made his stomach coil once more. "Got room for me in your arms?"

She didn't give him much time, but he managed to get them around her in time. They moved out of the way, with Ventress' back on the wall and Quinlan pinning her there. Both were less than a foot apart, gazing into each other's eyes. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Quinlan was sure she was blushing. He definitely was.

"How goes it?" Quinlan murmured.

"I hate this act!" Ventress revealed with that coy smile still on her face. "I never want to even kill a Trandoshan again. Their filth might stain my lightsaber."

"You didn't get too far, did you?" Quinlan asked, hoping not.

"Oh, sweet boy," Ventress soothed, a hand to his cheek. Her act was obviously still up. "I'd recommend staying out of this. Love is a deadly game."

Luckily for the two of them, public displays of affection were uncomfortable to everyone else, even for scum. There was a circle around them of about a meter, which was enough to chat without being overheard in the loud nightclub.

"...What have you learned?" Quinlan finally muttered. He still had Ventress pushed against the wall.

"That bastard works for the Black Sun," Ventress quickly revealed. "A fourth of the scum in here do. And he just got the news that their Mustafar base has ceased all communication. Their entire leadership was likely killed."

"He reached the planet, then," Quinlan grimly finished. "Hope Cad Bane figures out where he's going. He moves fast."

"Once he does, I'll send my fleet to intercept him. He's only got one battleship. We should be able to overwhelm him," Ventress planned.

"I've been… floating an idea around. To round up the best bounty hunters in the outer rim and get them to all attack the Slayer."

"Slayer?"

"Dengar's called our shadow the Huttslayer. Sounds like a good nickname to me."

"Well, then. Are you confident they'll be able to even touch the Slayer? We still have no idea who he even looks like."

"He's bipedal," Quinlan supplied, running his hands down Ventress' sides; he needed to keep up the act. "Roughly human proportions, but a bit bigger. He's got green gauntlets. I've seen as much in my psychometry."

"That narrows it down by about four quadrillion. Only a trillion beings in the galaxy to filter out now. Wonderful." Ventress grinned as she joked about it.

"The hunters might be able to overwhelm the Slayer. Perhaps not. Whatever the case, it'll give us time to box him in. If nothing else works? We bombard him from orbit. Then we can finally go our separate ways."

"Yes. Back… to our sides," Ventress hesitantly said. Her posture became less certain, her expression downcast. Any day now, of course, Dooku could give the order, and Ventress would become a fugitive from the cause she was fighting for.

"We'll clock in to our roles as sworn enemies from 9 to 5," Quinlan was joking. "But we can get drinks on the weekends, I promise."

Ventress actually cracked a smile at that. "I may have to take you up on that. If we survive the Slayer."

"You'd better survive," Quinlan whispered. His hand came up to her chin. "There's still so much left in you, Asajj."

Ventress didn't speak for a while. Neither did Quinlan. Only the electric music of the nightclub and the roar of the inhabitants could be heard.

"...is this man bothering you, sweetheart?"

Quinlan and Ventress annoyedly turned to see a turquoise Rodian and his two cronies just a few feet away, crossing their arms and glaring.

"You are," Ventress hissed at them.

"I'd suggest you leave," Quinlan told them, imperceptibly waving a hand.

"...we should leave," the dazed Rodian agreed. He turned back to his cronies and motioned them away.

"Nicely done," Ventress murmured once they were gone.

"We should go too. We've learned what we needed to, and we need to talk with Bane." Quinlan released Ventress from the wall and took her hand to lead her outside. "Besides, we should get a room if we actually want to continue."

Ventress made a strangled noise and smacked Quinlan on the back of his head.

"Kidding! Kidding," Quinlan surrendered.

They passed by the entrance and slipped past the bouncer. Looking like two drunken lovebirds, of course they'd breeze under suspicion. It was all for the mission, of course. All for the mission.

Quinlan had to repeat it a few times.

Anakin stared from the bed as his wife, in only a nightgown, let her hair down while leaning on the balcony ledge. Padme Amidala Skywalker's hair was long, curly, and a wonderful milk chocolate. This late in Coruscant's hours, the nighttime was well underway, and the light pollution from the endless cityscape before their eyes blocked any view of the stars.

It didn't matter. The brightest one was standing right in front of him.

Padme turned back to him and smiled, and it was like the sun in the night sky. Anakin couldn't help but smile too.

"It's such a treat, isn't it, Ani?" Padme soothingly asked. "Having you here makes everything feel right."

"You're telling me," Anakin replied, standing from the bed and clasping Padme around the shoulders. "The war's been hard so far. The only girl I've been around for a big portion of it's been Ahsoka. Little brat."

"I can hear your smile in that last bit," Padme detected, looking up at him.

"Nothing's a secret from you," Anakin complimented. He kissed her forehead. "Must come in handy in the Senate, huh?"

Padme nodded and sighed into his chest. "You have no idea, Anakin. So many nights now, I've had to endure a long day and go to an empty bed. Threepio tries his best to listen to my raving, but he's just not you."

Anakin huffed with laughter and patted her back. "It must have been chaos the last few days."

"Oh, it– Anakin, chaos doesn't even begin to describe it. First it was Cad Bane holding me and the other senators hostage in exchange for Ziro. Then we discover that Senator Bolkrin's alive and well after having disappeared for weeks. Then she reveals to the entire Senate that she was a victim of the Hutts and produced Ziro's holodiary. And not even a few hours later, the Hutts were all killed, and then came the blackout, and the bank deregulations, and the bill about the new clone trooper initiative, and–" Padme pounded her head into Anakin's chest and mumbled something indistinct.

Anakin couldn't help but smile and tousle her hair. "Hey, hey. I'm glad you got through it. You always do. A reek and a nexu couldn't beat you, so why should some stupid bank?"

Padme nuzzled deeper into his chest and tiredly mumbled some more. Anakin took the hint and gently directed her back to the bed. He laid her down into the silken sheets, then clambered into her bed. His bed, he reminded himself, their rightful shared haven.

"Please don't go," Padme murmured. "A few more days, at least. Jedi business can wait…"

"It'll only be for a day or two," Anakin hushed, stroking her back. "I'll be back here before you know it. It may have big consequences for the galaxy, after all."

Padme grumbled something indistinct before saying, "It's always the fate of the galaxy."

"What's the point of my star without a galaxy to put it in?" Anakin asked; he had been working on that line since he had first noted Padme as such.

Padme flushed crimson and sunk deeper into the bed, framed by her hair.

And for a few precious minutes, neither of them spoke more. Padme was simply nestled gently into his torso, and Anakin was content to stroke her hair with his left hand of flesh and blood.

But Anakin had a duty to perform. He had promised Obi-Wan.

"Hey," he muttered to Padme. "You were friends with Senator Bolkrin, right?"

Padme hummed affirmatively. "Nerissa was always kind to her people. I've liked her. We've talked at parties and such."

"Could you… help us in some Jedi business, then?"

Padme blearily adjusted so she was on her back, staring up at the ceiling. "Ani, you know I'd love to. I've just… been through the wringer."

Anakin stroked her hair. "Gotcha. But this doesn't involve more snooping or report writing. Nerissa just needs someone she can trust."

"What needs to happen?" Padme asked, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"...We've discovered that the man who slew the Hutt council was in a stolen Separatist battleship," Anakin began. "It was taken from the Battle of Five Points, where Nerissa was rediscovered. The massacre happened right as the Hutts were being exposed in the Senate."

"You think Nerissa's hiding something?" Padme asked while adjusting to face Anakin, now intrigued.

"Hey, Quinlan Vos is the one handling the case. He's the one that wants to know what Nerissa does."

Padme's eyes flitted about. "I don't know, Anakin. I don't want to pressure the details of her captivity. And I doubt she's in on a plot to destroy the criminal syndicates. Nothing about her screams that."

"We never said she was. She's simply the best lead we have on who our shadow is. You can help us, Padme."

Padme nodded and plopped her head further into her exquisite pillows.

Anakin reached over and circled a finger on her tummy. "Yeah, I know. I get it. Let me do something for you first, huh?"

"Y-you already did," Padme stammered out, eyeing Anakin with surprise. "Earlier today, remember?"

"Oh, very vividly," Anakin admitted. His finger hooked the front of her nightgown. "I still have more to give. I gotta make the most of my visits. And I can sense your feelings, Padme. You want it too, before I have to leave."

"I… I don't know what to say, Ani-" Padme breathed.

With one wave of the Force, the lights in their bedroom went out. The dim blue night overtook them, and they were both barely visible.

"Good," Anakin whispered. "This next part doesn't need much talking."

C-3PO's golden body glinted in the Coruscant skyline's lights as he shuffled along the windowed hall. A whirr was in every step to Padme's bedroom, carrying a tray of two deep red drinks. Just before he could activate the door control, however, his legs were bumped by the stubby blue R2-D2, who beeped out a string of shrill warnings and started to shake on both his legs.

"Why, it's surely not as bad as you make it out to be," Threepio chided the droid as he turned around.

Artoo simply wheeled to the compatible door key and twisted it a few times, locking it shut. Then the bedroom's blue holographic security camera feed erupted from Artoo's camera.

"Oh!" Threepio nearly dropped the tray as he took an astonished step back. "Oh, my goodness!"

A/N: Which is the wildest thing in this chapter?

A) The rave song about tax evasion

B) Seductive Anakin

C) The Big Lebowski's Dude reference (Which Quinlan has canonically said!)

D) The racist Gamorrean rant

E) Lorge Gucas