Ahsoka heard quiet footsteps come up behind her in the burnt and blackened hangar.

"This is your fault, you know," Barriss hissed.

"You blaming me doesn't make it my fault," Ahsoka replied without turning around. "How is it my fault? I didn't blow up the hangar. I didn't plot to kill the people inside."

"Neither did Luminara, but it's her fault, too. But more yours. You weren't mummified in dogma. You were just all wrapped up in your own selfish little world. You just assumed everyone could handle everything as well as you. You had people who would go to the edge of the known universe for you. You never stopped to think that other people might have it different. And now you think being a Jedi is going to fix all that."

"No," Ahsoka tried to protest, "I don't think that—it's for the future, not—"

"That's what you'll tell Obi-Wan when he asks why you're trying to come back. But the truth—" Barriss took Ahsoka's shoulder in viselike grip, as if she sought to infuse the message into her very bones— "the truth… the truth isn't so noble, is it?"

"That is the truth!"

"Is it?"

Was it?

Barriss sneered. "Anything to appease your guilt."

"It's not just to appease my guilt! I want to help people!"

"Then why didn't you do it years ago? Why didn't you help me?"

"I didn't know!"

"Like I said. Self-absorbed. Why you think you'd make a good Jedi, I can't even begin to imagine. You didn't even think about your own master when you left. You left. You left him to the dark side, just like you left me. Just like you'll leave others. Leave Leia."

How did Barriss know about Leia?

Ahsoka turned to confront her, but the Mirialan was nowhere in sight.

"Ahsoka." It wasn't Barriss' voice, this time.

"Anakin?" Ahsoka scanned the hangar, to no avail. He was no more present than Barriss. "Anakin, where are you?" She had to know, to find him and bring her brother home.

But he ignored her question. "Why did you leave?"

"You know why I left!"

"You were selfish. Where were you when I needed you?"

"I just needed some time. I was going to come back, someday."

"But you didn't. You abandoned me—you failed me!"

She wrapped her hands around her montrals to drown out all the anger and the hurt. But it didn't do much good. The words weren't of the physical world; they existed on a plane that even her strongest mental shields couldn't reach.

The key to everything—to destroy—my master—new apprentice—

Scorched starfighter carcasses rattled like so many dead beetles as Anakin's voice reverberated through the decaying hangar. "Ahsoka. Do you know—"

"I know!" she shouted, squinting through the bloody light that now flooded the space. Where was the door? She had to leave this horrid space. The heat was growing oppressive, and the stone floor glowed orange in places, molten, seeping toward her, closing in from all directions. "I know everything!"

She awoke curled up in her bunk with every muscle clenched tight. The darkness was thick with the feeling of unseen threats creeping out from the corners of the room. The entire suite was silent, but the voices from her dream looped through her mind.

It's not my fault, she told herself. It's not.

Could she say for certain that she hadn't been responsible for Anakin's fall? She knew her leaving hadn't directly caused it, but could she really say it wasn't her fault, when, maybe, she might have been able to stop it? Even if she hadn't stayed, she might have been able to save him, if she had only listened to Maul!

That's not your fault, either. Anybody would have assumed Maul was lying.

But would they? Or would they have listened to the Force and felt the truth of the ex-Sith's words? Had she failed to notice because she had left the Order? Or was it because she was too much a warrior, trained to focus on dealing with the enemy, rather than waiting to listen to the Force?

Maybe she should have left sooner. Maybe she shouldn't have left at all. Maybe her dream was right, and Anakin did blame her for his fall—maybe he was angry with her, even hated her, and wouldn't allow her to guide him back from the dark side, if—when—she managed to find him.

This wasn't helping. Ahsoka threw back the covers and went out to the common room, but the thoughts followed her.

If she was too much of a warrior to listen to the Force first and foremost, how could she ever imagine she ought to have a hand in teaching the next generation? And could she say for certain that she wasn't trying bribe away the guilt from Barriss, which no amount of Obi-Wan's reasoning and reassurance could lay to rest?

When pacing the empty common room did nothing to calm her mind, Ahsoka slipped out into the hall. She needed company, someone to talk to, someone to listen to. Advice, or something akin to it. So she slipped out and through the quiet halls to Padmé and Obi-Wan's suite. A bit before midnight, Padmé would probably still be awake. The door to the suite was unlocked, as it usually was if one of the adults was still up. Late night visits from the other half of their motley menage were common enough that an open-door policy was easiest.

The common room was lit only by the a datapad, its glow illuminating the figure of Padmé, hunched like a strange, mythical goblin of knowledge. Her hair was a wild, tumbled mass, from which a stylus peeked, just over her ear. She held another stylus in her hand, and there was an abandoned cup on the table beside her chair. Whatever her occupation, it must have been absorbing enough to render stimulants unnecessary, even at this hour.

"Padmé?" Ahsoka called quietly.

Padmé's head snapped up. "What—oh, Ahsoka."

"Sorry to startle you."

"It's fine—I've just been a bit jumpy lately. If you're looking for Obi-Wan, I'm afraid he's off-world—"

"It was you I wanted to talk to, actually."

"What about?" Concern laced the words. "Sit down—I can turn on a light—"

"No, don't. I wanted to ask you about… life, I guess." And it would be easier in the dark, where secrets didn't need to be hauled out kicking and screaming, but rather crept forth with just a little coaxing.

"I see." Padmé rose. "Wait here. I think we're going to need some tea."

She returned shortly, bearing two steaming cups, one of which she placed into Ahsoka's hands. Although Ahsoka didn't understand Padmé and Obi-Wan's obsession with hot leaf juice, the familiar smell and the heat of the cup in her hands were comforting.

Padmé settled at the opposite end of the couch from Ahsoka, so as to give her space, but remain connected, within reach.

Ahsoka, however, wasn't quite ready to start the conversation she had come in search of.

"What were you doing before I came in?" she asked. "It looked like you wanted to extract the secrets of the universe from that datapad."

"Research. I was looking up large-scale applications for kyber, to the best of my limited ability. Science isn't my area, and most information about kyber is censored anyway, because of the connection to the Jedi."

"What do you mean by large-scale applications?"

"We have some recent intel on a kyber shipment that went missing from an Imperial base. We don't know for certain how much there was, but shipment sounds like a lot—and the Empire is rather unhappy about the situation, which adds to that theory. I'm not having much luck figuring out what they might have wanted to do with it, though. I've found some information about how kyber amplifies power, but the possibilities seem endless, at least to my layman's mind. Enough lightsabers for an army of Inquisitors, or longer-lasting power cells for blasters, or stronger thermal detonators—I'm hunting in the dark, here."

"The Inquisitor army is probably least likely—Palpatine wouldn't want a large enough force that they might become a threat to him. But the other things… from what I know, those could be possibilities. Or, who knows—Anakin used to talk about how, theoretically, we should be able to integrate kyber into a hyperdrive."

"I didn't know that. I'm not surprised, though." Padmé's tone was a trifle too neutral, her expression a shade too disinterested.

"We tossed the idea back and forth a couple of times. I think he wanted to be the first person to create a class 0.0-something hyperdrive. Obi-Wan outlawed disassembly of lightsabers for experimental purposes once he found the schematics. But I wonder if the Empire could be experimenting with hyperdrive enhancement…."

Both women fell silent at the grim suggestion. That kind of hyperdrive capacity would give Imperial forces the ability to move supplies and fleets with alarming efficiency. With reinforcements rapidly available from other sectors, any Rebel assault on an Imperial stronghold would become that much riskier.

"Well," Padmé said, "that took quite a turn. I didn't intend to drag you into my doomsday theorizing. What did you want my advice on, at this hour?"

Ahsoka slowly swirled the tea in her cup, watching reflections ripple on its surface. "I wanted… not exactly advice, but… perspective, I suppose. There's something I've been thinking about doing, but I'm not sure it's the right choice."

"What is this thing?"

"I'd rather not say, just yet," Ahsoka replied. "Could you tell me—why did you decide to go into politics?"

"Because I wanted to help people, and being involved in government seemed like the way to help the most people." She sighed. "Looking back, it may have been just the opposite, but that's neither here nor there, at this point."

"Were you ever unsure whether you should, whether you were picking the right path?"

"Sometimes. It wasn't originally my plan to go into the Senate, you know. I was going to go, see what my money and I could do to make a difference in the Outer Rim. On Tatooine," she amended. "But my successor, Queen Réillata, requested me to represent our sector in the Senate. I wasn't sure I wanted to. I wasn't sure it was the best thing for me. But I knew I at least had to try. To be part of the highest governmental body in the galaxy, to gain influence that could help not only my people, but all the people of the Republic—when you know you can do a job like that, and you've been raised from the cradle for service—like my sister and I were—it's very difficult to say no to that kind of opportunity."

Ahsoka nodded solemnly. Padmé thought she could guess what might be plaguing the younger woman, but she kept quiet. Let her speak in her own time.

"How did you decide to be queen?"

"I wanted to help people, and that seemed like the best way."

"Nobody taught you how to be a queen. But you were good at it from the start."

"I was convincing," Padmé corrected. "Not good. Nobody knows exactly how to do their job on their first day."

"Says the woman who led her people through an invasion at the ripe old age of fourteen."

"I had a lot of help, from many people. Without them, I could not have done as well. I didn't know how to be a queen. I didn't know how to be a senator. Stars, I didn't even know how to be a mother. How Beru knew enough to help, I have no idea. But why all these questions? Have your eye on a political position someday, do you?" she teased.

"Kark, no! No, I was…." Ahsoka sighed. "I've been thinking, wondering…." Another sigh, and then she dared to give voice to the idea that had as yet been named only by Barriss, in her dream. "I've been thinking about asking Obi-Wan to finish my training."

"Are you asking for my opinion on whether you should?"

"Maybe. Not exactly. I think I wanted you to teach me how to make important decisions, or… give me a different perspective, or something."

"What's holding you back from asking him?"

Ahsoka hesitated. "I… I don't feel like a Jedi. Fighting is all I've done since the day I became a padawan. Jedi—they know how to fight, they're good at it, but they're supposed to be keepers of the peace. Me… I was trained for war. There was no negotiating with battle droids and Separatist generals. I don't think I know how to be a regular Jedi. Ever since I was fourteen…. I'm not who should be teaching the next generation."

"That's a matter of opinion. Without reservation, you are the first person I would choose to teach my children." It wasn't that she didn't want Obi-Wan to train them, but she would keep watch for backsliding into unhealthy dogma. Ahsoka, however, she fully trusted not to repeat the more egregious error of the Jedi. "You're kind and you're wise, and able to see flaws without condemning people for them. You've always been dedicated to protecting those weaker than yourself. If that's not what a Jedi should be…."

"I'm just afraid it wouldn't work in peacetime. I might be too quick to resolve problems with lightsabers instead of words. I might not listen to the Force when I should."

"And?"

"What do you mean, and?"

"I'm a mom, Ahsoka. I can tell when there's a secret and."

Ahsoka huffed, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward. "And I don't want to decide to be a Jedi again just because I feel like I should. Or because I feel guilty and like I need to make amends."

"Why are you afraid those reasons might dictate your choice?"

"Because I was always going to be a Jedi. And when you've spent most of your life training to be something, it feels like you should go back and become that thing. Besides, I still mostly live like a Jedi. Not like most of the Council or the ones who followed Yoda's beliefs to the letter, but like the everyday ones, who just tried to be good people. And I feel like I need to be there, because there are always going to be Force-sensitives, and they're going to need training, and I'm one of so few people left who could give them that training—and then I could try to help people not to fall like Barriss and—an—and I don't know that those are the right reasons. And maybe, I'm a little bit afraid that I would just be trying to remake the life I lost."

"I don't think you need to worry about that last one," Padmé said. "All the time I've known you, you've always kept moving forward, never one to become caught up in the past. As for the rest…." She stared off into the corner of the room, collecting her thoughts. "Why do you want to be a Jedi?"

"Because the galaxy needs Jedi—it needs compassion and peace and understanding. Because the Order could be so much better than it was. Because it's what I've always been. Because there will always be the dark side, and there will always be those who seek power, and there needs to be a balance for that. Because I want to prevent what happened to Barriss and—and everyone else who's turned to the dark side from happening again. And… and because I don't think I ever really stopped being a Jedi."

Padmé's eyes crinkled with gentle amusement. "I think you just refuted your own arguments for why you shouldn't be one officially."

Secretly, Ahsoka thought that was exactly what she had wanted to hear. The fear of acting out of guilt wasn't quite put to rest, but it was quieter, now.

"I'll think about it," she said. "More, I mean."

She burrowed into the couch corner and sipped at her tea. "What do you want to do, after?"

"The noble, dutiful part of me, or the unthinkably selfish part?"

"You actually have one of those?"

"Yes. It doesn't make itself known very often, but it's very much in existence. The noble part of me wants to stay in politics, close to the top, and make sure the new Republic is built on a stronger foundation than the last one. Make things more fair, more just—bring the Outer Rim into the Senate and actually fix things. The selfish part—" Padmé's smile grew impish, "wants to go home to Naboo and put on the most extravagant gown I can find—that's also comfortable—, then go to my parents' house, laze about in lavish indolence, with nothing to do but indulge in entire afternoons of chitchat while Mom and Dad spoil their grandkids rotten. And, since I'm being such a perfectly selfish being, I want to drag all the rest of you with me."

"Sounds nice, but you'd get tired of it within a week."

"I know. But it would be lovely for a couple of days, anyway." Padmé shifted and stretched. "You know, if the galaxy hadn't gotten knocked off its axis, I doubt it would even have been five years before Anakin and I were periodically sending the kids to visit my family while we made a series of… highly interesting trips to Tatooine and other worlds in the Outer Rim. He was never one to sit still, as you're well aware, and I… well, there probably would have been a row with the Senate, every so often. It feels more than a little hypocritical, this…"

"Craving peace, yet thriving in conflict?" Ahsoka suggested. "I think everyone who's made it this far has at least a bit of that. Maybe the galaxy needs that kind of person—the kind who'll fight for peace."

"What a paradox, fighting for peace."

"Maybe the Sith have a point."

"The Sith?" Padmé frowned. "I didn't think there was ever anything even halfway decent to be said about them."

"Asajj told me they have a code, like the Jedi. It's not inherently evil—just like the Jedi Code isn't inherently good. There's a lot that's subject to interpretation, but anyway—it begins with peace is a lie."

"Well, there's some truth in that, I suppose. Peace can never be absolute. The reality of life is that someone is always going to be fighting, somewhere, at some time."

"Speaking of peace, Padmé, there's something I want to know—for peace of mind. Or, at least so I can stop wondering."

"Yes?"

"It's about Anakin—do you mind if I ask?"

Padmé fingered her pendant, debating. She still minded a little. But as constant wear and the passage of time had worn down the cord from which the japor snippet hung (she would have to find a replacement, one of these days), so they had begun to soften betrayal and resentment into acceptance, smoothed the sharp edges of self-recrimination, and started wearing down the name of sorrow into the memory of a word. The weathering process was a slow one, but it was well underway. For the most part. There were still bad days, of course, but they grew rarer with the years.

So she replied, "I don't mind enough that you shouldn't ask."

"Did Anakin—do you think—" Ahsoka played with hem of her robe, "do you know if he blamed me? For—for leaving, for not being there to stop him? From falling, I mean?"

"I don't know. He didn't mention you after joining Palpatine, but there wasn't really much time for conversation. Although I can say that he never spoke of you with blame after you left, and he was beyond happy to see you again, before you went to Mandalore."

She wished she could give some greater assurance, but Ahsoka nodded in acceptance.

"And what about you, Padmé? Do you blame me?"

"Ahsoka Tano. Do you really think I would do such a thing? Or even could?"

Ahsoka's shoulders rose in a yes-no-maybe sort of shrug.

"Oh, Ahsoka." Padmé scooched down to her end of the couch. "Nobody blames you. Palpatine wanted his apprentice, and he was determined to have him, no matter what. If you'd been there, if you'd stayed…. The rest of us are just glad you're still here. Plus," she added dryly, "we're too busy blaming ourselves."

"Yourselves? Obi-Wan I understand, but you?"

"Things had been… a bit rocky between Anakin and me, a while back." More than a bit. "There was another mess with Clovis after you left. You know what Anakin was like when driven by fear. When fear combined with jealousy and distrust, he could become particularly… unpleasant." Overbearing. Demanding. Violent. "I put my foot down, but lifted it up again too soon. And, in hindsight, I think he described touching the dark side at one point, and if I'd just realised, and told someone—" She cut off with a groan. "Oh, don't listen to me, Ahsoka. You came for council, and now I'm dumping all the burdens of my psyche on you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It helps, knowing that you have might-have-beens, too. Besides, sharing burdens—that's what sisters do, isn't it?" Ahsoka said, a little shyly.

"It is."

Sisters.

They chatted on for some time, the conversation drifting from gravitas to levity and back, until Padmé's comm went off. She groaned, but turned on the device. "Revenant."

An unfortunately familiar figure sprang up above the holoprojector, accompanied by an irritated, "You again."

"I really don't know who else you expect when you enter the same code as last time."

(Beside her, Ahsoka gaped in much the same manner as Padmé herself had, the first time around.)

"I'll explain later," Padmé told her. "Wait here."

And she made for her room.

The holo of Vader crossed its arms. "Your offspring, again?"

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"All affairs involving rebel scum are my business."

"Then mine certainly aren't, as I've never associated with rebel scum. The only rebels I know are dedicated individuals who believe in liberty and fairness for all sentient beings."

"And yet they would seek to reinstate a corrupt system."

"We're not—for Force's sake, who in their right mind would think we would want to reinstate a corrupt system?"

"I believe I just indicated such a position."

"I said in their right mind," she pointed out, acidly.

Aboard Devastator, on the other side of the galaxy, there was a sudden mass exodus from the bridge. One unfortunate ensign, failing to hold back the tide of his mirth until he reached the comparative safety of the hall outside, let forth an amused snort, which rapidly turned to spluttering and then gave way to a grim hush, broken only by the hiss of Vader's respirator. The Sith fumed. In hopes of learning more of the enigmatical insurgent, he had not ended the call. All he had to show for the decision, however, was a codename, a corpse, and the delightful experience of having his sanity questioned in front his own flagship's entire bridge crew. Which latter was going to receive a thorough weeding-out once the call was finished.

"You will answer for your insolence, Revenant."

Padmé wondered how high her bounty would be, and if the figure would be indicative of the Sith Lord's susceptibility to personal insult. A possible avenue toward driving the wedge?

"And you, in time, will answer for your oppression of this galaxy. Have you ever seen someone at the edge of desperation, Vader? I have. They will do anything to change their situation. Anything. The longer you crush the populace beneath your heel, the angrier and the more desperate they become. They will rise up. Even kings fall to the wrath of a populace that is starving—whether for bread, for freedom, or for justice."

"It is fortune, then, that we are not kings."

You should have called Obi-Wan, instead of me, she thought. He's better prepared for this.

Aloud, she asked, "Did you call just to snark at me? You know what I mean. Take Kashyyyk, for example. You've subjugated the entire Wookiee population. Do you really believe they'll stand by forever? History shows that they've thrown off oppressors before."

"It is for the good of the Empire. Those with a history of insurgency must be prevented from posing a threat to the peace—"

"If you cared about good, then you wouldn't be supporting Sheev Palpatine. As for peace— You are a Sith. Your own code dictates that peace is a lie. And yet you try to persuade me that the Empire will bring peace and order to the galaxy."

Vader leaned forward, all menacing interest. "And how, precisely, are you informed as to the contents of the Sith Code?"

Sidestepping the point, for the second time in a row. It seemed he wasn't a complete stranger to political strategy, although his evasion tactics were rudimentary next to Padmé's. She had done this dance for most of her life—and fortunately so. It had left her well-prepared to avoid the pitfall of lying to a Force user, and well-armed with avoidance, misdirection, half-truths, and hyperboles.

"I have my ways."

"You consort with the remnants of the Jedi," he accused.

"And you jump to truly spectacular conclusions. Do I need to remind you that you aren't the first Sith I've interacted with?"

A rebel who wasn't exactly seeking to restore the old Republic, and one who had known multiple Sith. Vader turned the pieces over, seeking to fit them together into a clue to Revenant's identity. More than one Sith… Plagueis, having thoroughly concealed his status, was out of the question. Besides which, the rebel sounded too young to have known Sidious' master well. That left Sidious himself, Maul, and Tyranus. The simplest solution was that Revenant had been involved in the Senate, as either senator or representative of a world that had joined the CIS.

"You were a Separatist."

Padmé watched closely as Vader's posture grew a shade more aggressive.

"From the enmity behind that word, I take it you weren't," she said, and wondered briefly whether it indicated that he might have been a Jedi during the war. She filed the idea away to be analyzed when her mental resources were not preoccupied with the dual tasks of observation and deflection.

"My history is not your affair," growled the Sith.

"And yet you think my child is yours."

"Because you will spread your rebel lies to the next generation and attempt to destabilize the security which the Empire provides."

"What security?" Padmé snapped. This information-gathering business would be so much easier if Vader didn't utterly exhaust her patience. "The security that people have when the Empire comes knocking at their doors just because they may have associated with Jedi? Or the security that they have when crime syndicates receive laxity, or even encouragement from the Empire? Or maybe you mean the security that comes to people in the Outer Rim when the Empire plays nice with the Hutts? Tell me, Vader—if you had a child, would a galaxy of fear and suspicion really be the place you'd want to raise them in?"

The Sith clenched his fist in a gesture, stomach-turning in its familiarity, and then he vanished with a crackle of static.

It was some time before Vader was sufficiently composed to permit anyone to return to the bridge. He would have allowed it and let them suffer the consequences, but that would also have meant replacing an entire shift at once, which would be inconvenient and might lead to a series of fumbles and errors that would damage Death Squadron's efficiency. So he waited, until his rage at the insurgent Revenant for blindly, perhaps unwittingly, firing a shot that struck true had subsided into more manageable simmer.

Tell me, Vader—if you had a child….

Could the woman have known the effort her words would have upon her adversary? Had she aimed that strike intentionally? Perhaps he was mistaken—perhaps she was not a Separatist, but one of her associates, who had been entrusted with their secret. A Handmaiden. That didn't answer the multiple Sith matter… although he supposed it was possible that Kenobi had told her of Skywalker's choice, and she had told her Handmaidens before leaving for—

Or perhaps she had misled him, and was indeed in communication with a Jedi. Kenobi. It was just possible that she might know something of Kenobi, who was rumored to be working with the rebels. Some rebel operations bore hallmarks of his strategy, and while no reports had confirmed his involvement, nor had any been able to disprove it. It was simultaneously convenient and infuriating. Sidious generally viewed his obsession with hunting Kenobi as a foolish waste of time. Hunting Jedi was the Inquisitorius' job. Vader was put to better use against rebels. With Kenobi rumored to be a rebel, however, Vader could both continue the hunt and appease his master—even as he seethed at the very idea that Obi-Wan was alive, whole and functional, blithely continuing pursuing his treasonous ways—or hiding in the rebellion, too much a coward to face his creation—endlessly cold, watching from across the galaxy the still-flaming wreckage of an entire existence, mired deep—

Kenobi.

If Revenant might be a path to the betrayer's door, Vader would follow that path to the edge of infinity. Kenobi would be his, and every torment would be repaid in kind. As for the woman—

Luke, no!

Tell me, Vader—if you had a child….

She would pay for that comment. Every furrow it had dug across his soul would find a matching gash upon her own.

Padmé returned to the common room to find Ahsoka staring at her, arms crossed, one brow raised in a perfect imitation of Obi-Wan. "You just do not know how to stay out of trouble, do you? Now, what in the name of the Force was that all about?"

"It wasn't my plan—"

"Uh-huh." Ahsoka had heard that one too often. Usually being said to Obi-Wan. [Usually because there technically hadn't been a plan.]

"Blame it on the combination of a wrong number and Mon seeing potential advantages in opportunistic espionage."

"You're forgetting and Padmé Amidala finding it impossible to say no when someone asks for help in making the galaxy a better place."

"Hmph. I shouldn't have told you about Réillata and the Senate, should I? But, seriously, Ahsoka—I think we can actually get some useful intel out of this."

Ohhh…

"That's where you got that information about the kyber, isn't it?"

Padmé shrugged. "I really can't take credit for that one. He thought I was Tarkin. Tonight, though, I was able to glean a bit more, and the former Jedi theory of Vader's origin appears to hold water."

Ahsoka folded her arms crossly. "That would be the third apprentice Darth Sidious has poached from the Jedi, to say nothing of the Inquisitors. I'm beginning to think Parasitious would be a more accurate name."

They giggled over that for longer than perhaps they should have done—but it was past midnight, and silly things are often funnier in the wee hours, when the rational mind has slipped away to rest. Wiping away a couple tears of mirth, Padmé sobered enough to explain to Ahsoka the evidence she had gleaned.

Vader had displayed enmity toward the Separatists. The most likely conclusion, given a Force user who despised Separatists, was that said individual had been a Jedi. And it made a certain amount of sense, if Vader had indeed once been a Jedi, that he would believe in some twisted vision of peace and order. Count Dooku, after all, had striven—in his own twisted way—to escape the corruption of the Republic. True, that knowledge alone wasn't very helpful. It wasn't as if one could reason with a Sith—"Look here, I know you used to be a Jedi, so you might have different perspectives on things, but your master never was, and he's fully into the notion of peace as a lie. So you might as well chase a wild bantha as pursue this idea of peace and order under his watch. Maybe you should overthrow him, if you're really invested in the whole peace and order thing?"

But if the Rebels could get their hands on the Imperial register of Jedi bounties, they would be able to cross off a list of people whom the Sith was not. While not a very large list, comparatively, it would nevertheless be a start. Plus, some of the clones whom Rex was in contact with, from his work gathering up the scattered vod'e, should also be able to provide a list of indisputably dead Jedi. That would help to narrow the field to a much smaller pool of possibilities for Vader's former identity. If Padmé could glean more from the Sith, and the Rebels could identify the specific Jedi, Obi-Wan could go to Yoda, who might know something about their personality. Assuming some traits carried over to the Sith, that might give the rebels something to exploit.

Padmé and Ahsoka stayed up rather later than they should have, discussing wedge-driving strategies and their possible outcomes. And it must be confessed that both strategies and outcomes grew in absurdity as the night meandered on, until the two Rebels were half-drunk on hilarity. Padmé laughed so hard she cackled, while Ahsoka temporarily forgot the troubles which had driven her to the Amidala-Skywalker-Kenobi apartment.

Hi guys, just a reminder to the guest reviewers out there to please refrain from leaving rude remarks (including ones about other people's fics) in my review section! Please be civil and considerate toward your fellow human beings. Thank you! :)