A/N: For those who read before I updated the chapter a few hours later, I'm sorry Jabba's lines were cut out. I intended to use the greater than and less than signs to begin and end his lines, not knowing that putting it in that format in FanFiction would erase the lines between them. Then I realized my mistake and corrected it. Blasted website!

It was oaky– evidently fermented in that kind of wooden barrel. There was a hint of Pumbasaa fruit in there too, if he focused on it. Was there a word for squinting, but with your taste buds?

Count Dooku swallowed after swishing it some more, and he turned to face the outside of Serenno through his enormous windows. It was nighttime, but not bedtime. And though wars may rage and storms clash, his planet, at least, remained at peace.

Dooku settled the wine glass on his coaster and allowed himself to relax in the chair behind his commanding desk. He was not a young man anymore, and though the Dark Side sustained his strength, it was nice to be supported by something more tangible.

Though the Force was more or less intangible, it was also more real than the chair, or the floor, or the droid bodyguards at the end of the hall. The Force was pure power; it was the water in which the ships floated, the air in which the speeders flew, and yet more ubiquitous than them all. Without it, the galaxy could not sustain itself.

That was what had made Darth Traya so dangerous, all those thousands of years ago. She had resented the Force, seething at the notion that she was subject to its will. Traya had wanted to destroy the Force itself.

But Traya, for all her power and perspectives, simply was operating from an impure perspective of the Force. Instead of trying and failing to balance the Force on the scale, one could use the Force to simply become the scale itself, and the weights within it.

It was what Sidious had done. What Dooku hoped to do one day.

For the war's future had already been decided long ago: Skywalker, heroically bringing him and Grievous and Gunray in chains to Coruscant, to wild applause. Skywalker would be under the control of Darth Sidious by then, and Skywalker would oh-so-innocently insinuate that the current Jedi order was insufficient to stop them in time. It would lead to reforms in both the Senate and the Order, and in that mess, Sidious would ascend the throne of the newly-formed Galactic Empire, Order 66 would come down, and all other resistance would be crushed. The repulsive alien races comprising the CIS would be persecuted and hunted down into oblivion.

And from Ord Mantell to Naboo, from Endor to Dathomir, the Force-sensitives throughout the galaxy would be taken and trained by the true masters of the Force. The glorious empire would reign for hundreds, if not thousands of years. And Dooku, most miraculously, would be able to see it come to fruition.

Dooku allowed himself to smile.

A chime from behind him broke Dooku out of his reverie, and he frowned and turned back to the receiver on his desk. It wasn't Sidious. It was just an old contact.

Dooku sighed with hatred and rose from his seat. He straightened his elegant robes, then hit the receiver.

A blue spray of static solidified into the enormous, sluglike form of Jabba the Hutt. Hutts never looked particularly happy, but Jabba in this very moment looked downright incensed.

"My warmest greetings, mighty Jabba," Dooku coldly greeted the crime lord. "I trust your son is doing well?"

"(You don't want to start on that)," Jabba warned in Huttese. "(It's been a tough few rotations recently, and I know you've had something to do with it.)"

"...I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Dooku admitted.

"(The Hutt council has been slain!)" Jabba roared, wiggling his tiny arms. "(Gardulla, Ziro, everyone!)"

Dooku's reaction to this earthshaking development was confined to the rise of a single eyebrow. "I never took you for the sentimental type."

Jabba laughed humorlessly. "(Believe me, if that was all, I would be thanking you. With them gone, the Hutt's business stocks would benefit me alone. And Ziro will not be missed. I still have not forgotten my worthless uncle's role in kidnapping my son. Or yours.)"

"What, precisely, are you insinuating?" Dooku quietly threatened.

"(Very suspicious things have happened recently. My uncle, broken out of Republic custody by Cad Bane, who you have hired many times in the past? Him and the entire Hutt leadership immediately slain in their own palace? The Hutt's entire business dealings, leaked to the Republic Senate?)"

"Is that so?" Dooku asked; that last part was news to him.

"(Ziro had had a diary of all our dealings on the council. I had sent an assassin to retrieve the information, but she had evidently failed, because this proof just turned up in the hands of some human senator from Stewjon that was just presented to the Galactic Senate yesterday. Even the Trade Federation was forced to condemn us! Now the Republic has classified the Hutt empire as an existential threat and is introducing bills to cut down hard on my businesses. Most of the senators I had wrapped around my finger are going to slip off. And to top it all off, some kind of droid or hacker has locked me out of the council's own account! I can't access the excess money I would have gotten from the council's demise! I've been isolated, and my assets are frozen!)"

"And you believe I orchestrated all this?" Dooku slowly, coldly asked.

"(I knew you kidnapped my son. I knew you were bitter over us allowing the Republic to use our trade lanes once your plot was exposed. I knew Ziro had been involved in the plot and was in Republic prison. And I knew that Ziro had more information that, if leaked, could spell the end of the Hutt's business.)"

Well, Jabba was old and fat, but his mind was sharp, if incorrect. "While I do understand your outrage, and while you were smart to instantly suspect me, you are also wrong. I simply do not have an interest in your political machinations with the Republic. I have a war to fight."

"(A war, huh? Then explain how one of your warships was seen entering Nal Hutta right before the council was slain!)"

And immediately, a video file was sent through the Holonet.

Dooku's face creased. He needed to look through the video file, but Jabba wouldn't have sent it if he wasn't sure of it. If what Jabba said was true, Dooku would strangle the commanding officer with his bare hands– he wouldn't even need the Force.

"...Thank you for bringing this to my attention," Dooku darkly stated. "I will have a colleague look into the matter more and notify you if action must be taken. Goodbye, your High Exaltedness."

And Dooku cut off communications with the slug.

Dooku sighed and leaned back into his chair again. This was big news. Was a commander going rogue? Who could it be?

Dooku pulled up the video file Jabba had sent through. The two-dimensional hologram showed a record of ships that had entered Nal Hutta. Down the list schedule, one ship's signal had been scrambled, and its identification wiped out. The video then switched to a fuzzy deep-space video from one of Nar Shaddaa's satellites. The time in the bottom corner matched with the records from the previous list. The video froze on one frame, then zoomed in and enhanced on something near Nal Hutta.

And indeed, though it was fuzzy, Dooku recognized the distinct shape of a Providence-class ship.

Dooku, fuming, fiddled with the holoprojector once again, and his call eventually patched through. The insectoid, hunched-over monstrous blue hologram that appeared glared at Dooku, but said nothing.

"General Grievous," Dooku greeted with deceptive calm. "The war effort must be going smoothly for you?"

"Of course, Count. But that is not the reason you've called, is it?" Grievous' throaty, gravelly voice snarled out. The curved, fanged faceplate was expressionless, but the venom in his voice made up for it. The hand which pointed accusingly at Dooku was made of durasteel, armorplast, and duranium alloy.

"No," Dooku admitted. "I say this because it seems like it's going so well, you have ships to spare to spend on frivolous adventures like wiping out the Hutt clan."

"What?!" Grievous sounded both angry and surprised. "They were destroyed?"

"And one of your ships appeared to have done so."

"Preposterous!" Grievous furiously denied, swishing a mechanical arm. "All of my ships have been accounted for."

"Then refresh the records and examine your missing ships. Determine which ones were missing since you last updated them. I have evidence that one of our carriers was planetside as the Hutts were slain. I suspect the Hutts haven't leaked this evidence to the galaxy for fear of being perceived as weak."

"...If I discover something amiss, I will report it, Count. But mark my words, if I do not, you will bow to me in person and apologize."

"If I may borrow your word, General: Preposterous."

Grievous narrowed his eyes at Dooku. Dooku glared back.

"...You heard the Count!" Grievous eventually barked at someone out of the hologram. "Peruse our files and make sure each one is accounted for!"

Dooku shut off the hologram and sighed heavily. That hideous abomination Grievous! He was effective and talented, but an animal both before and after his cybernetic replacements.

Meanwhile, this whole pickle was something to look into, and there was only one person Dooku could count on to reliably get results.

Dooku fiddled with the holoprojector once more, switching to audio only. Once the other end was receiving, Dooku spoke. "Ventress."

"Yes, master?"

"I have an important mission for you."

Anakin Skywalker stood with his hands behind his back, looking out the Jedi temple window into Coruscant's nighttime cityscape. His black robe draped comfortably off him, a grateful relief from his military garb. But Anakin was feeling anything but relief. His gaze was on the faraway Senate building, gleaming like a pearl in the night, the enormous half-dome resting on the surface of Coruscant like a fallen shield. Or a bloated tick.

Perfectly apt metaphors, in Anakin's mind.

Padme was there. Fighting against the bill deregulating the Intergalactic Banking Clan– a known collaborator with the Separatists. It was so obvious to Anakin's mind, but he just couldn't understand why everyone else was taking so long to reach the same conclusion.

Padme was as smart as she was beautiful. She knew her stuff. But Anakin simply couldn't stand to be around his wife when she was using her Politician Voice, in the Politician Stance. He was grateful to be here in the temple. The Force seemed to flow through it like energy through a kyber crystal. It amplified his faculties and focused his senses.

It helped him sense Obi-Wan's approach. It even helped him sense the residual stench of Nal Hutta on his robes.

Anakin uncrossed his arms, turned to him once he drew close, and smiled. "What's the deal, Obi-Wan? That was quick."

Obi-Wan sighed and looked around the temple's hall. "As it turned out, the mission ended prematurely. There was no need to keep hunting Ziro."

"Why? Did the Hutts capture him again?"

"...not exactly."

"Come on, Obi-Wan. Stop being so cryptic. What happened?"

Obi-Wan waited until a passing pair of temple guardsmen passed them, then whispered, "The Hutt council… has been slain. Brutally, bloodily. Their palace was trashed and ruined by someone that Quinlan Vos and Cad Bane are tracking now."

Anakin blinked.

He blinked again.

"They're… dead?" he whispered back.

"Mostly. Jabba's still on Tatooine, but who knows how long he'll remain alive now."

Anakin felt like a hot air balloon was inflating in his chest: pushing on his lungs, but also making him lighter. And the balloon's fire was raging merrily, gleefully, in his bosom.

"...Yes!" he hissed. He pumped a fist in triumph and felt tempted to giggle. "Yes! Obi-Wan, the Hutts are dead! Yes! Finally!"

"Anakin–"

"I hope we find whoever did this quickly. I want to buy him a drink."

"Anakin! Jedi shouldn't react like that to news like this!"

"Then ask any normal person in the galaxy!" Anakin threw back, suddenly irritated at Obi-Wan. "Killing the Hutts was the best thing anyone could have done for the galaxy's normal citizens. Jedi protect the Republic!"

"Jedi have compassion for life."

"Until they do more harm than good. Like the Geonosians?"

"This is personal, however. You've always hated the Hutts."

Anakin huffed and turned away. "Surprise, surprise."

Obi-Wan's hand rested on his shoulder. "...Look, I know that it's hard to let the past die. But you simply can't harbor animosity for this long."

"Easy for you to say. I had a mother who loved me." And a wife who loves me. And eventually, children who will love me. "If it weren't for the Hutts, we wouldn't have been in slavery to begin with."

"If you hadn't been where you were, we wouldn't have been able to take you in to the Jedi temple."

"So it's a good thing I was a slave?

"That's not what I'm saying!"

"Yes, it is. 'The will of the Force works in mysterious ways.' If the will of the Force really wanted me here, it would have given me to the Jedi temple no matter where I was."

"Do you still want to be here, Anakin?"

Anakin froze for a second. Did he? "...Of course I do. I have duties, responsibilities. And being a Jedi is how I can best help people in need."

"Anakin… I know that you've chafed many times against the Order's standards. It's been hard for you."

Anakin's lips pressed tightly together as he nodded.

"If it's any consolation, I struggled with many of the same things you have. I was impetuous, impatient. Perhaps it was a result of Qui-Gon's mastership."

"But you're not Qui-Gon."

Now it was Obi-Wan's turn to freeze for a second. "...Yes. I'm not. If he had ended up tutoring you, things would have been different."

And for a pregnant moment, the two Jedi stood in the darkness of the Coruscant night.

Anakin idly examined the mechanical right hand, covered by his pitch-black gauntlet. "...I've thought about it often. What it would have been like. You're a brother to me, Obi-Wan, but Qui-Gon, in retrospect… I needed a father. He was close to it. He might not have been able to free all the slaves on Tatooine, but he did free me. I'm grateful for that. But I… still don't know. If he only took me because of my M-count."

Anakin could spot Obi-Wan sadly wince at the words. Anakin said nothing more.

"...Well, however the circumstances… we're here now. Tell you what, once I deliver the report to the Council, we can get dinner at Dex's. We can invite Ahsoka, too."

Anakin did brighten up at Obi-Wan's willingness to drop the uncomfortable subject. And Dexter's food was relishing, comforting, and very bad for his health. But it wouldn't mean much without Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. He couldn't wait! "I'll tell her. You go off to your boring report."

"Oh, I'd hardly say it's boring. There was a lot to digest, uncomfortable as it may be."

"Can you tell me, then?"

Obi-Wan hesitated. Then he explained everything he could in a condensed version.

"So this shadow's going to cause trouble for other criminal gangs in the galaxy?" Anakin concluded once Obi-Wan was done. He couldn't help but let a hint of glee come into his voice.

"It's highly likely," Obi-Wan warily said. "But it isn't a purely good thing. Now that the Hutts are out of the picture except for Jabba, other organizations surely want to take their place as the biggest phrog in the pond."

"They'll have to go through the shadow first," Anakin noted.

Obi-Wan stroked his beard. "But in the meantime, something big must be planned among them. One of two things will happen. Either all the syndicates will be united against this threat and become a force to be reckoned with, or they'll splinter and shatter apart."

"Should the Order interfere, then?" Anakin asked.

"I… am not certain. Entangling ourselves in this mess may cause more problems than it may solve. And we already have Quinlan Vos tracking him. Once it starts to get out of hand, we can dip our toes in, but we still have a war with the Separatists to deal with."

"…And Master Vos can be trusted to pin him down?"

Obi-Wan took a stiff breath. "He has flirted with the dark side more than once. Not unlike you. He is effective, and a Jedi at heart, but…"

The sentence hung there, and Anakin understood.

"...I'm sorry," Obi-Wan sincerely said. "I can pay for the dinner. I eat there for free anyway."

"Hey, come on, Obi-Wan, I can-"

Anakin and Obi-Wan instantly turned to the window. The outside still looked normal for now, but…

"Something's coming," Anakin tersely said.

"I sense it too," Obi-Wan grimly finished.

And a few seconds later, lines of darkness swept across Coruscant. The temple's lights stayed on as a beacon, but most of the rest of Coruscant's upper surface was now left without power– for how long, Anakin couldn't say.

"A power generator must have been hit," Anakin quickly deduced, turning to Obi-Wan. "They haven't failed in hundreds of years. Must be sabotage!"

"Let's coordinate with the rest of the council," Obi-Wan urged, running off down the halls.

Anakin took one last look out the window at the silhouette of the Senate building. At his wife. Then he quickly followed.

Asajj Ventress' fanblade starfighter erupted from hyperspace and approached the rich violet jungle planet of Teth below.

It had been a while, Ventress thought as the planet rotated in her viewport. Teth didn't exactly have many happy memories.

Her starfighter dipped leisurely into the gravity well and streaked through the atmosphere, breezing the clouds aside and making the ground far below blur by. She dropped in altitude even more. Ventress eventually got close enough to the ground where she could see the trees quickly pass her far below.

Just ahead, the abandoned B'omarr monk monastery loomed. It was a haven on the planet, having once been a Separatist outpost. But Ventress grimaced at the sight. Between this mission and the last one on Teth, she was getting sick of both this planet and the Hutts.

The fanblade starfighter circled above the monastery and folded its transparent red wings into its main chassis as it landed, turning from a half circle to something resembling an exclamation point. Once it had landed completely, the bulbous half-sphere cockpit popped open, and Asajj Ventress leaped out onto solid ground.

Ventress stretched her popping back, covered only by a navy blue tube top, and bent down to touch her toes, poking out from her foot-long skirt. She curled straight again, rubbed her fingers along her smooth bald scalp, and narrowed her richly colored eyes. By all appearances, even with the Force, the monastery seemed abandoned.

And yet…

Ventress expelled a heavy breath and cast her eyes about the monastery entrance as she approached its doors. It loomed heavily above her head, firmly constructed. It had even been able to withstand the assault back with the whole "Jabba's son" business early in the war. Pockmarks and scorch marks still scattered across the floor from the battle of Teth.

Ventress callously kicked aside an ancient B1's severed arm in her path. It clattered and echoed in the seeming emptiness of the monastery. Ventress scowled and shot her eyes about even more. Still nothing there… Ventress did not let her guard down.

Ventress reached the doors, still blasted wide open, and squinted inside the dark hallway. Nothing there but dust… and memories. If Ventress truly remembered, she could see that one blue-painted clone captain lying on the right wall. She remembered waving her hand: You will contact Skywalker now…

–Movement, behind her!

Ventress' twin red lightsabers sprang out as she swung, and they impacted against a green lightsaber. The crackle of impact lingered, letting her see who it was: a dreadlocked Jedi with a yellow stripe across his face.

"Whoa there!" the Jedi cried. "I'm just here to talk!"

Ventress flung herself backwards and growled while guarding her stance. The Jedi made no move to advance.

"Who are you?" Ventress instinctually demanded, lunging for the Jedi, who evaded his strikes. "How did you find me here?!"

"You must surely know who I am," the Jedi started, keeping his own blade up and making his face glow both red and green once Ventress slammed her blades on his again. "Dooku has records of Jedi files."

"...Yours was awfully short," Ventress finally admitted. Indeed, a face rose to her memory. "Quinlan Vos. The Jedi Order's best tracker."

Quinlan Vos leaped out of reach and made no movement, but kept his blade up. "Then you must know why I'm here."

Ventress adjusted her stance; her arms were getting tired. It was obvious now. "The Hutt's murderer."

"Bingo," Vos said, and nodded.

Ventress' stance relaxed somewhat. "And you have made no attempt to kill me." Her face contorted in disgust. "Surely you aren't thinking what I think you are."

"It would benefit all involved," Vos admitted, shrugging. The break in his stance was an opportunity that Ventress, oddly, did not take advantage of. "Ventress, you need results for your master. I need to bring him to justice for the Republic. And Bane here needs the money."

The sound of jet boots igniting brought Ventress' attention up. Indeed, Cad Bane had been waiting on the monastery roof way above her head, and was hovering down beside Quinlan Vos. He eventually stopped the propulsion and dropped to his feet.

"Working with the Republic now, are we? You must be truly desperate," Ventress cooed to Bane.

"You're the most desperate one here, little lady," Bane smoothly deflected, folding his arms. "You've gotta prove yourself to Dooku, say that you're still useful to him. And all on your own, you'd lose track quickly. Only reason Vos is even talking to you is because this was his idea, by the way. My way of dealing with you woulda been far uglier."

Vos sighed at Bane's words and deactivated his lightsaber. "Look, Ventress. We have resources from our initial investigation that can help with your reports to Dooku. And with your knowledge of the Separatist records, we can get alerted quicker to the shadow's location when he turns up."

Ventress' lips pursed as she regarded Bane, then Vos. "And how would I know either of you won't stab me in the back?"

"Is there anything I can say that would actually satisfy you?" Quinlan rhetorically asked.

Ventress said nothing.

"Our goals align. For the moment. I simply trust your word would be good enough, Ventress." Quinlan spread his arms wide and smiled.

Ventress regarded Vos and let her humming red lightsabers hang. Her forehead creased with thought and distaste as she examined Vos.

Quinlan Vos' face remained peacefully passive, but his stance was subconsciously ready to spring. And his lightsaber was still in his hand.

Cad Bane's head turned, indistinctly, from Vos to Ventress. Then back. His tense blue face was etched with suspense, and his hands hovered above the holstered handles of his twin blasters.

None of the three unscrupulous individuals made any suspicious moves.

Ventress snarled something indistinct and shut her lightsabers off.

"Atta girl," Bane deadpanned, and nodded.

"What made you think I would show up here?" Ventress asked, wiggling a silver lightsaber hilt at Vos.

"You know that information package that Dooku sent to you?" Vos asked. "I leaked it. Dooku doesn't know. Or he does and he refused to tell you."

Is that so? Ventress tried to shut out the notion that Dooku would keep such a piece of information from her. Just more Jedi deceptions! "Then you know that you were too late to prevent Ziro's diary from being taken."

"But not too late to figure out where he went next."

"What do you mean?" Ventress inquired.

"I looked into the memories of Ziro's father's tomb," Vos elaborated. He withdrew a fruit-sized piece of rubble from his pocket. "It was smashed open and his mummified body was ripped apart. Our little shadow is very, very strong, and carries a lightsaber."

"I knew that. It was in the info package."

"When Ziro's diary was leaked to the Senate, it revealed, in part, that Ziro was also a member of the Black Sun. My psychometry showed that that was also revealed to our little shadow, once the diary was picked up and examined. So the shadow is going to either Ord Mantell or Mustafar. And knowing his straightforward way of thinking from the Hutt's case study, I suspect Mustafar."

"We may already be too late to accost him there," Ventress pointed out.

"I know. But that means Bane can simply follow him once he leaves Mustafar, and once he emerges again, we can box him in. In the meantime, we can call in and report to our higher-ups– but not immediately. They'll suspect us of working together."

"Why me?" Bane quietly asked.

"You've got the starfighter most equipped to track ships."

Bane sighed and flicked his little toothpick away. "Too good for my own good."

"…When the shadow did this, he showed up in a Separatist vessel," Ventress finally admitted. "Dooku sent a video of a dreadnought on the fringes of Nal Hutta. But we learned only in the past hour that all of our commanders near that section of the galaxy have reported in and confirmed their position… except for Whorm Loathsome. We haven't heard from him."

"Is that so," Vos remarked with a smile. "Told you she'd be useful, Bane."

Bane sneered. "Still doesn't tell us anything. That little skunk-rat commander couldn't fistfight a Gungan. Whoever killed the Hutts, it wasn't him. Someone must have taken over the ship. But when…"

"Me and Ventress can figure that out," Quinlan assured Bane. "You track him down from Mustafar."

"Got it," Bane muttered. "Sooner this job's over, the better."

As Bane ignited his rocket boots again, Ventress and Vos were left alone on the monastery landing. Nothing but residual dust and spare wreckage was left with them.

Quinlan, incredibly, smiled at Ventress and spread his arms allowingly. "Shall we go in my ship, or yours?"

"We go separately, Jedi," Ventress seethed. "I would kill you now, were it not for you being an asset to Dooku."

Vos nodded and clipped his lightsaber to the side, making sure she could see it. "Odd how things work out. But it's not the worst thing I've done."

"Worst thing," Ventress repeated, not looking at him. She gazed over the lush violet landscape of Teth. "You'll come to understand in time, Jedi, how worse things can get."

"You keep calling me Jedi." Quinlan came beside her, within arm's reach, tossing the memory stone up in one hand and catching it several times. " Funny. All things considered."

Ventress turned her sharp gaze to him and said nothing.

"...I read your file, Ventress. Previous Padawan of Ky Narec. Explains your lightsaber skills. And why Dooku picked you. And I do… have a suspicion as to why you turned. Ky Narec died around the same time you disappeared from the archives."

"What room do you have to speak of such things?" Ventress hissed.

"The exact same thing happened to me," Quinlan quickly answered. His hand snatched the memory stone out of the air and gripped it exceptionally tight. His glare at the rock stood out on the yellow paint under his eyes. "My master, Tholme. He was… killed early in the war. And I felt helpless to stop it, even though I could have. That rage and fury? That loss? It could drive anyone to the Dark Side. I figure you musta taken it hard too."

Ventress was silent as she digested the information. He was remarkably spot-on: her own master's death had left Ventress hollow. And she knew exactly who Master Tholme had been. She had killed him herself. But Quinlan didn't seem to know.

She would keep it that way.

Quinlan's grip shattered the memory stone with a surge of the Force. He scattered the pebbles off the balcony edge, then turned away. "Sorry for bringing that stuff up."

"It's fine," Ventress coldly said. "I'm just… if you're correct, and loss can turn to the Dark Side, how come so many don't? Are we just… outliers?"

Quinlan sighed through his nose and faced Ventress again. "I'm still working on that question myself," he admitted. And, incredibly, he smiled! "But, whatever the answer is, I suppose it's nice to have someone who understands."

Ventress was silent as she took in his words.

Quinlan nudged his head somewhere off the landing platform. "I landed not far off. Let's research where Loathsome was at the time his ship was commandeered and work backwards from there."

Ventress, after a moment, followed him.