Obi-Wan was awake before dawn broke on the morning of Ahsoka's knighting. Questions that hadn't occurred to him in the weeks leading up to the momentous day now plagued him. Was he really going to knight her himself? Should he take her to Dagobah, instead? Knighting of padawans was Master Yoda's role, officially—as officially as could be, anyway, when the Order existed only as a few scattered remnants. But they didn't have time for a trip to Dagobah. Ahsoka was due to go off-world on an assignment soon—because she would continue, despite the massive bounty on her head—and the fewer people who knew Master Yoda's location, the better. Moreover, it seemed an insult to take Ahsoka to be knighted by one who had believed she could be capable of the Temple bombing.

Thus, it fell to Obi-Wan to knight her. It seemed their lineage was destined for unorthodox knightings. What was he supposed to do, anyway? Was he to name her Jedi, Knight of the Republic, in one of their common rooms? Under the shadow of the Empire, over the grave of the Republic? Well, that would be the pinnacle of absurdity. Politics aside, the occasion ought to be more momentous. In the old days, even if the entire Council had been unavailable, their places had been filled by other Jedi who had helped the padawan along their journey. The only problem was that there were no other Jedi.

Did it have to be Jedi? These were strange times, after all. Everyone in their motley menage had helped Ahsoka, somehow. They were her family, just as the Jedi had once been each other's. It was only right, perhaps, that they should attend and witness their sister's ascension to knighthood. And there was an empty room at the very top of the tower, wherein the ceremony could be held. It was too small for a dormitory and too impractical for a storeroom, being accessible only by stairs. It would be quite appropriate, however, for this. Force, he really was becoming a sentimental old fool. But Ahsoka deserved a proper knighting, and she was going to have as close as they could get.

Ahsoka, meanwhile, awakened to a fluttery feeling that couldn't decide whether it was nervous or excited, and only grew flutterier as it tried to be both. Was this how she would have felt as a padawan, if she had come back and… no, she wasn't going down that mental path, not now. This was to be a glad day, and she wouldn't spoil it with might-have-beens. So, she dressed and went out to the kitchen.

"Morning," muttered Asajj over her cup of caf. But her shielding wasn't perfect, and whisps of pride and excitement in the Force belied her grouchy nonchalance.

Rex and Kix made no such pretense, and Ahsoka was tackled from both sides almost as soon as she crossed the threshold.

"The Senator says we're to join her, General Kenobi, and the cadets for breakfast," Rex said. "And Luke and Leia've got a surprise for you."

Kix snorted. "I think they had a surprise for everyone, vod. Sure was a surprise for me, when—"

Rex elbowed him in the ribs.

Asajj, however, thinking herself safely out of range, added, "I hear it was even a surprise for you, Rex, though what else you expected when you left a couple younglings alone with pai—hey!" she complained, as Rex very neatly pegged her in the nose with a crumpled ration bar wrapper.

"They were being good!" he said. "How was I supposed to know they'd turn into a couple of haranla chakaar'ika?"

Ahsoka raised her eyemarkings. "Rex? Something you want to share?"

"Tell you later, Commander. After the surprise."

They adjourned together to the Amidala-Skywalker-Kenobi apartment, where the twins and droids flocked to Ahsoka, while Padmé and Obi-Wan patiently waited in the background until the crush dissipated.

During breakfast, the twins handed Ahsoka a small, flimsi-wrapped packet.

"We made you a present," Leia said.

Ahsoka unfolded the flimsi. Inside was coiled a string of chunky beads—mostly greyish green, but there was one each of yellow, blue, black, and red. Padawan beads?

"You made these…." (She really had the sweetest niblings a spy-Jedi-rebel could ask for.)

"Well, Uncle Rex helped," Leia admitted. "With the colors."

"Are they alright?" Luke asked anxiously. "We've never made beads before."

"They're perfect." Ahsoka scooped up a twin in each arm and gave them a squeeze. "Thank you."

She held out the beads to Asajj. "You finished my training. Would you….?"

Faint amusement wafted through the Force as Asajj accepted the strand. "Never thought I'd end up helping to train a Jedi," she said. Well, not since she was very young, and Ky— But there was no need to go into all of that now. Rising, she accepted a pin from Padmé, attached the strand to the band Ahsoka wore over her forehead, and draped the beads at the back of her head, where they hung just past her right shoulder, swaying in time with the fluttery feeling that still hadn't gone away.

"Which of us are you going to pick as your padawan?" Leia asked. "Since you'll be a knight and can have one."

"Hey, now, don't rush things," Ahsoka said. "You're a little young for a padawan, and so am I."

"But Dad—"

"That was a special case. Lots of knights got padawans too soon because of the war. Plus, the Council thought having a padawan would help to steady your dad." She smirked. "They got that one wrong."

"They certainly did," Rex and Obi-Wan said at once.

"And to think you thought I was going to be your padawan, Obi-Wan. You wouldn't have been able to keep up."

Obi-Wan flicked her affectionately on the back of the head. "And just what gives you that idea, young one? I kept up with your master for ten years."

The words were light, but there was the twinge of an old wound in the Force, and he quickly changed the subject, rubbing pensively at his beard. "Ahsoka, if you wouldn't mind, I thought perhaps we might go up to the top of the building for your ceremony? It seems more appropriate than one of the apartments."

She shrugged. "Okay. It doesn't really matter—but if you'd prefer, we can."

Obi-Wan's smile was just a trifle conspiratorial as he stirred his tea. "I would, in fact."

The party broke up shortly after, Ahsoka retreating to a quiet room to spend the day in meditation, and the others to go about various tasks and preparations—for it wasn't every day that their sister, grandpadawan, or aunt was knighted.

In the afternoon, once her part in the business was done, Padmé met with Mon and Bail to discuss her findings on Vader, as well as other Alliance affairs.

"What I've managed to gather," she told them, "has been sparse, scattered, and mostly inferential. He seems to bear no small enmity for the Separatists, so I conclude that he was likely a Jedi at some point during the Clone Wars. He apparently regards himself as something other than a person, which could be a cultural marker, although I've been doing some research and it turns out that no small number of cultures across the galaxy regard some members of their social groups as other than 'person.' Without knowing precisely what Vader's cultural background is, we won't really able to leverage that. He also has an apprentice, probably early teen years or younger, based on context."

"And what have you been able to gather about fracture points between Vader and Sidious?" inquired Bail.

"Not as much as I'd like. Vader won't discuss personal matters. Like I said, anything I've found comes by way of inference. I certainly don't think he meant to tell me about his apprentice, but Vader can be careless when agitated."

"Agitated?"

"He becomes angry when I mention children. Do you think he could be a Jedi whose padawan died during the war, or during Order Sixty-Six?"

"His padawan died, so he joined the person responsible? That doesn't make sense, Padmé."

"It might when you add the Force into consideration. Fall to the dark, ally with Palpatine to learn his power, then kill him in revenge."

"While hunting the rest of the Jedi?" Mon asked, skeptically.

"If he blames the Jedi for not being able to see the threat that lurked right under their own noses for years..." mused Bail.

"Plus the corrupting influence of the dark side," Padmé added.

"But how can we use it?"

"What about this apprentice? What if we allowed word to get out to Palpatine that Vader has an apprentice of his own?"

"I doubt it would matter much," said Padmé. "Palpatine expects a coup. Vader probably views his apprentice as disposable. Remember, the only reason Asajj joined the Alliance was for revenge, because Palpatine commanded Dooku to kill her. If Palpatine finds out about Vader's secret apprentice, he'll order him to eliminate them, and Vader will. He didn't sound at all fond of his apprentice."

Mon sighed. "This isn't proving as effective as I had hoped. Is there anything else you've been able to glean?"

"Well… I have the impression that he doesn't much like Moff Tarkin, but I don't know the reason for it. I asked, and all he said was essentially that Sith aren't in the habit of liking people."

Bail almost choked on his tea. "That's putting it mildly."

"Anyway, if I hear from Vader again, I can try to antagonize him by talking about kids, and then ask about Tarkin again. The trick will be antagonizing him enough that he grows careless, but not so much that he ends the call on me."

"It might be worth a try." Mon shrugged. "It might give us some insight, and we might be able to work out a way to leverage Tarkin against Vader. His proximity to Palpatine can only help in that regard."

"You're sure this level of contact is safe?" Bail asked. "If Vader was to track the comm signal to Yavin—"

"The comm is secured. We've sure of that, and Artoo left a nice surprise for anyone who tries to trace it," Padmé replied, and Mon added, "Plus, Echo Base construction is progressing quickly, and we hold evacuation drills at the Great Temple every month. Since we have a contingency plan in case the current base is discovered, I think the risk is worthwhile. As it is, we're facing untold years of war and suffering in the galaxy. With backup plans in place, we don't have much to lose."

"I will trust your judgement. Yours is the more precarious position, between the two of us. How close is Echo to completion?"

"Excavation is finished. Heating and ventilation systems are mostly installed. Structural reinforcement and insulation are due to start within the month. Infirmary first, then the conservatory—"

"Conservatory? That wasn't in the plans before."

"Obi-Wan and Rex pressed for it," Padmé said. "They pointed out that an army is going to go stir crazy living in an ice fortress, on an ice world. It'll help everyone if we have somewhere warm, with simulated sunlight, and plants, where we can get away from time to time. I told Eirtaé about the idea, and she's started working with the engineers and construction group to optimize the space for growing edible plants for a variety of species. It won't be enough to feed the whole base, but should at least help to break up the monotony of ration bars."

Bail nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. We should consider setting up rotations for agricultural duties. It might be beneficial for all personnel to spend some time contributing through peaceable, constructive means."

"We'll address that with the rest of Command, but it sounds reasonable. How is the Kamino project progressing?"

"On track as far as the vod'e are concerned, but I—ahem—I must confess to using my influence to encourage some expansion of the project."

Quizzical looks from both women.

"Amongst the massive amount of data on the drive Fulcrum—that is, Ahsoka—stole," Bail explained, "there were detailed protocols for the cloning of individual organs. It was probably meant as a way to prevent the necessity of replacing entire clones—probably intended to be safeguarded, as well, so the Republic had to send its credits to Kamino—but now…."

"Breha?"

"We're optimistic. There's solid data on the protocols' efficacy, and our scientists have been able to replicate the process fairly easily. If all goes well, she should be able to receive transplants within a few months."

"That's wonderful!" Padmé exclaimed.

"We certainly hope so. And yes, Mon, I see the question you're not sure this is the right time to ask. We're looking into how this can be put to use for the Alliance, of course."

Mon dipped her head. "Thank you. It would be ideal to have medics trained and med droids programmed before we commence large-scale campaigns against the Empire."

Ahsoka wasn't exactly sure how she was supposed to use this day of meditation before her knighting. It was traditional for padawans, that she knew, but what precisely it was for? A mystery. Master Yoda would tell her to find the answer in the Force, but the Force was still around her. She felt the scars of Order Sixty-Six, the signatures of the twins, Obi-Wan, and Asajj, and the barricade she had built up around her training bond—that was all. There was nothing to meditate on which she had not already contemplated at length. Perhaps she needed to look, not to the Force, but within. It was there that she found turmoil.

What if finding Anakin turned out like her encounter with Barriss? What if she had to choose between her brother and the Alliance? She didn't want to let go. She didn't want to admit that she might not be able to save everyone.

She would never fall to the dark side like Anakin, but she was still sentient and fallible. She might choose to go away with him, somewhere quiet and isolated, where they could rest, and she could guide him back to the light—but in so doing, deprive the Alliance of an effective agent and one of its few Force users. There was so much more to morality than the simple question of dark or light. While dark and light also existed beyond the question of morality. Asajj proved that.

Oh, stars. Everything was so complicated, and who was she to think that she should be a Jedi, to set an example of compassion and wisdom, and to intercede on behalf of peace?

Yet, if one had to be truly worthy of the title of Jedi in order to be a Jedi, there would be no Jedi at all. For no one could ever be everything that a Jedi should be, at every single moment.

Not saints, but seekers.

There would be moments when she lacked compassion.

Moments when she made the wrong choice.

Moments when she didn't know the right choice.

And those when there was no right choice.

Master Yoda always said there was no try, and yet trying was the very foundation of their Order. Sometimes one would do. Sometimes, one would do not. But always, one would begin by trying.

Not saints, but seekers.

As she let her mind drift back along the path to the present, there wafted past a voice from long ago. Had it been one of her early teachers? Or someone she had overheard somewhere in the Temple?

Life is everywhere. Value it. Honor it.

Yes. This, she could do. She could seek. She could try. She could value and honor life, even as she faced death.

Emotion, yet peace.

Ignorance, yet knowledge.

Passion, yet serenity.

Chaos, yet harmony.

Death, yet the Force.

Ahsoka surfaced slowly from her meditation. She hadn't found peace, not quite, nor certainty—that was too much to ask for—but she had found assurance, and that was enough. Perhaps it was even better, for with peace and certainty might come complacency, but assurance left room for questioning, and it was questioning which kept the mind open, and the heart.

Thus assured in her decision, solid in her resolve, she went to the window and looked out at the Yavin sunset, taking a moment to simply exist before she ascended to the top of the Great Temple. Obi-Wan had told her they would hold the ceremony in the uppermost room, in complete disregard of her protestation that he didn't need to try to mimic the knighting ceremonies of the old days. It was sweet that he was trying, anyway, even if the formality would be slightly ridiculous with just the two of them. With a good-natured roll of her eyes, she left the lift for the stairs that led to the top, opened the door, and entered the small room.

It was dark, but for a triangle of light, each corner marked by a glowing blade that cast its wielder's face into preternatural relief. Obi-Wan stood directly across from her; Padmé to her left; Asajj to her right—all three of them, she thought, struggling to conceal smiles behind masks of solemnity appropriate for the occasion. Standing between them, rounding the triangle to form a circle, were Rex, Kix, the twins, and all three droids. The beaming vod'e held their blasters in lieu of lightsabers, while the twins proudly raised the painted sticks they used to practice Shi Cho, and Artoo's electric prod crackled forth. Ahsoka was filled with a lofty, heady warmth at the sight, and the fluttery feeling returned in full force, until she was half-afraid of bursting into an undignified giggle of delight.

She scarcely breathed as she passed between Artoo and Rex, into the center of the circle, and slowly knelt toward Obi-Wan, bowing her head as he stepped forward.

"By the right of the Council," he said, gravely, "by the will of the Force, I name thee, Ahsoka Tano, Jedi Knight."

The words sounded strange, like a thing fate had never intended should be said. But they had been said, and the Force hummed a glad tune as her grandmaster lowered his saber to hover above first her left shoulder, and then her right. It came just near enough that she felt a bit of heat—and then, in a neat, precise motion, he angled the blade inward, up, then out again, and the strand of beads rattled down to the floor.

Though his expression remained solemn, she could plainly see the pride in his eyes as he finished, "You may rise, Knight Tano."

Rise she did, catching up the severed beads on the way, and if Obi-Wan's thoughts were overwhelmed for a moment by another kneeling figure, another new title, the memory was dispelled as Ahsoka met his gaze with a strange combination of girlish excitement and mature radiance. Then she turned and withdrew in stately silence, descended the stairs in a bit of a haze, and stood in the hallway by the lift, running the beads through her hands again and again, feeling the crispness of the burnt end between her fingers. Knight Tano. The first knight after the fall of the old Order. The first seedling after a wildfire. And one of a few people upon whom rested the burden of restoration. Was it fate, or was it chance that had led to this moment?

She coiled the beads around her wrist. Traditionally, it would be given to her master. That was neither Ventress nor Obi-Wan. So, she kept the string as Luke and Leia's gift. Knight Tano. How strange it sounded, terribly grown-up and dignified. When all was said and done, of course, it was but a formality. She had been living the way of the Jedi even since first leaving the Order—with the exception of the attachment rule, although that didn't exactly count. But still—

Knight Tano.

She could imagine her old master's grin, could almost hear him teasing—

"Knight Snips."

Right words, wrong voice. Padmé stood at the bottom of the stairs, Anakin's saber at her belt. With a smile half-proud, half-sad, she came over and reached up to touch the singed bit of cord still attached to Ahsoka's headband. "Someone had to say it."

"Thank you," Ahsoka whispered, and bent down to give her a hug.

Her stomach growled. Laughing, Padmé took her by the arm and ushered her into the lift, where the others had congregated.

"Come on; it's past dinnertime. We've managed to put together something to celebrate, and there's not a ration bar in sight."

Numa cursed, lekku twitching in irritation, as she saw the checkpoint the Imps had set up over Ryloth to guard entry to the Corellian Run hyperspace lane. Complete with two Imperial-class star destroyers. It was too late to turn off toward the Old Corellian Run—and they had probably barricaded that lane, too, anyway. No option but onward, then, because turning around would definitely look suspicious. She took a deep breath and tried to relax. Hands steady. Breathe normally. Just a normal fourteen-year-old girl. Just making a trip off-world to deliver some Ryloth food to a Twi'leki settlement on another Rim dustball. That's it.

She pulled even with the nose of one of the destroyers. Don't hail me, don't hail me—

"Keepuna!" she muttered as a voice crackled over the ship's comm system, requesting entrance. Requesting, ha. If Numa hadn't been leaning against her seat, her lekku would have poked her in the back. May spice salt your wounds, Imp kung!

She brought her ship to a standstill and waited as a party of troopers boarded. She hated how they so resembled the clones who had rescued her and defended her people when she was a little girl. It was an insult to the vod'e who had never been asked whether they were willing to fight, but had done their best anyway, for a galaxy that had viewed them with distaste.

"Destination?" one trooper asked brusquely, as the others began to poke through her cargo.

She named a distant, politically unimportant world. The real plan, of course, was to drop the food at a closer, equally unimportant world, where Rebels would pick it up, before heading to Kafrene to meet with Revenant as Ad'ika. The travel time from there to Kafrene and back to Ryloth would add up to the travel time from Ryloth to her named destination and back.

"Show me your navicomp."

"It's empty," she said, casting her eyes toward the floor in an attitude of embarrassment. "I have to wipe it every trip. It's old and small, and doesn't work unless I keep clearing it."

The trooper grunted, but didn't question further. Her ship was clearly elderly, and plenty of Imps tended to assume that anything not as new and shiny as their equipment would be practically defunct. The Imperial attitude was annoying, but at least it had its uses.

"Didn't find any contraband, sir," said one of the other troopers to the one who had questioned Numa. Well, of course you didn't, she thought. My cargo would be the first place you'd look. I may be a kid, but I'm not an idiot. They'd only find the piece of flimsi that was her cargo if they bothered to search her for a weapon, and then bothered to actually take apart that weapon. Which they probably wouldn't do, as long as they were convinced that she really was just a kid. They seemed to have forgotten that kids her age had served as commanders of entire legions back in the Clone Wars. While it was annoying to be overlooked, she was hardly going to remind them.

The troopers made another round of the ship, kicking at the walls here and there as if they thought there might be hidden compartments. Or perhaps they were just expressing their disdain for the dilapidated bucket of bolts. Having satisfied themselves one way or the other, they withdrew, uncaring of the mess they had made of Numa's carefully-packed supply crates, and her ship was cleared for hyperspace entry. Once blue streaks began flashing past the viewport, Numa went to check the ship for tracking devices. Although she didn't think there was any reason for her to be under suspicion, it was best to be safe. Fortunately, the search revealed nothing, and her peace of mind was mostly restored. Either the stop was just a new routine—annoying, but manageable—or the Empire was searching for a different Rebel and had overlooked her entirely.

Ahsoka sat in one of the Temple training rooms, perched up on a railing she really shouldn't have been sitting on, heels drumming against the wall as she waited for Anakin. The room was weirdly empty. There were usually other knights sparring, or at least padawans and initiates, but today she was sole inhabitant of the space.

A red spatter on the floor caught her attention. Was that blood? One of the younglings who used the room last must have managed to clobber their sparring partner on the nose. Strange that the cleaning droids hadn't gotten around to taking care of it yet.

"Oh, there you are!" called a familiar voice, and she turned to see Anakin heading her way. "I thought you were never coming back."

"Anakin! It's been so long since I've seen you!"

He paused, confused. "Huh? What do you mean, Snips? We just had lunch an hour ago."

Oh, right. Right? It was right, wasn't it? Still, though, it did feel like an eternity since she'd seen him.

"You ready for today's lesson?" Anakin asked, already taking up an opening stance in the center of the room.

"Wait," she said. "Let's not spar yet. I want to catch up, first. We never did that."

Again, he met her with a blank expression. "Catch up? Have you been getting behind in your lessons?"

"No! I mean hang out, chat, that sort of thing, because…." Because what? There couldn't be that much to talk about, if they'd just had lunch together. But no, there was one thing—

"The twins are getting so big," she said.

"What twins?"

"Your—" No, that wasn't right. Anakin didn't have kids. "Never mind. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Snips, are you feeling okay? We can skip today, if you're sick or someth—"

"No! I don't want to leave you again."

"I'm flattered, but the war's over. We have all the time in the world."

Over? The war couldn't be over. The war was never over. The only thing that never changed was the war. Different faces, different colors, but always war. Still, Anakin was her master, and he ought to know. If he said it was over… maybe it really was over. Somehow.

All the time in the world. That sounded nice.

"Okay," she said. "Let's spar."

She stood up and ignited her lightsabers.

"Fancy sabers, Snips," Anakin said. "How'd you make those?"

She looked at the white blades.

"I washed them," she said. If the war was over, there was no need to explain everything that would never happen. It would just confuse him. She was already confused, and if he became confused too, they'd just make it worse and confuse each other out of existence.

That was how it worked.

She went to the middle of the room and entered the opening stance for Shien. Anakin joined her in Djem So. They started sparring with easy, lazy passes to gauge one another, just in case they'd forgotten each other's styles in the many years that had passed since—lunchtime? She still wasn't quite sure she believed—

"Don't get distracted," Anakin said. "Your opponent will see and take advantage of it. Like this—"

He tried to get past her guard, but she evaded him with a move Ventress had taught her. Taught her? Well… a move she had picked up from Ventress, at any rate.

"Skyguy, somehow I don't think my opponent would tell me when he's about to take advantage of my distraction."

"You never know, Snips. Obi-Wan would do just that."

"Yeah, he'd tell you, but then he'd do something totally different. Like this!"

She caught his blade on both of hers, pulled the light back, and let it go so that it snapped back into place like a bowstring. The force of it flung Anakin back several feet, but he managed to keep his balance and soon reengaged. The weirdness was forgotten as they sparred, reveling in the familiarity of the exercise. They weren't Skywalker and Kenobi, true, but Tano and Skywalker would be just as good someday. Just give it another eight years or so.

They dueled on and on, as if making up for lost time, until they were both sweating, breathing heavily as they both switched to Ataru, using bigger and bigger leaps to avoid the blood spatter on the floor, which kept growing for some reason. Then Anakin landed wrong, with one foot in the red tide. It crept up his boot, kept on spreading and spreading until it covered his face in an awful, gory slick and dyed his blade Sith crimson.

"Snips? I don't think this is good!"

Ahsoka ran to grab towels from somewhere, but stumbled before she made it to the door. She was stuck on the floor, panting for breath—and why was the breathing getting louder… and slower… and… coming from… behind… her?

"Anakin?"

She was facing him again, but it wasn't him, it was a figure she had seen too often on the holonews and in Alliance meetings. Anakin had said the war was over, but he was wrong. The war was standing right in front of her. So she grabbed her sabers again and flew at the Sith. She was going to end it for good, and then she was going to find Anakin, wherever he had gone. Always off somewhere. One of them was always going off somewhere, they could never just stay together—

Why was this so familiar? Dueling Vader was just like the sparring session she'd just had with her master, and it was strange how they both knew each other's moves before they happened, like it had been rehearsed—

"Where's Anakin?" she demanded of Vader, as their blades clashed yet again.

"Here."

"No, he isn't!"

"Ahsoka—"

And then Vader was holding out her padawan beads, and where had he even gotten those?—but it was Anakin's glove on his hand, and Anakin's voice mixed in with Vader's—

"Do you know what I have become?"

Shaking her head, she tried to back away, but the wall was behind her—Vader removed his helmet, and it was Anakin's face, twisted in hatred like she had only seen during the Rako Hardeen incident—that infernal breathing was so loud, and this was all too horrible—it couldn't be true, she wouldn't let it—

Ahsoka fought her way free of the nightmare, only to awaken to that creeping feeling which follows a bad dream—as if myriad unseen threats were crawling forth from the edges of the room. She couldn't shake the image of Vader's helmet coming away to reveal Anakin's face.

It was just a dream, she told herself.

The sound of Vader's respirator still rasped in her ears. She reached instinctively under her pillow for a saber, even as the rational part of her mind insisted there was no way Vader could possibly be in her room right now. She would be able to feel a Sith in the Force, and so would Asajj, and…

Asajj… who was sleeping in the bunk above her….

Ahsoka used the Force to nudge her. The raspy breathing stopped, and a sleepy voice muttered, "What—Tano, did you just shove me?"

"I nudged you. You were doing something… really… disturbing in your sleep."

Asajj hmphed. "Well, next time—hey, what's wrong?" Ahsoka felt the cool breeze of Asajj's Force presence brush up against her own. "If you were a tooka, your fur would all be on end."

"Bad dream," Ahsoka said.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not really." She didn't even want to think about it, because if she thought too much, it started to seem feasible, and that was not a possibility she wanted to entertain.

"Good. I'm no good at all that emotional shavit. But you go talk to Amidala or Rex if you need to, you understand?"

"Yes, Asajj."

It was just a dream. She could handle a dream; she wasn't a youngling. It wasn't as if it was a Force vision; no, it had felt distinctly like a normal dream. Just a really, truly disturbing normal dream that had probably been bound to happen at some point, given that both Anakin and Vader tended to be prevalent in her thoughts. It was no wonder her brain had conflated them. It was like that one time she had dreamed up a terrifying Maul-Grievous hybrid years ago. Which was a comforting comparison, until her mind remembered that putting together information and drawing conclusions was its job as a Rebel, and it began to ask… was there any reason it couldn't be true? Could she say definitively that Vader was not Anakin? And didn't it make an odd sort of sense that he would be? Seven years and no sign of Anakin, when he was clearly alive… Vader could be the answer to that.

No. No, no, no, no, no. Ahsoka wasn't going there. She was not. Not at this hour of the night. Not at any hour.

(What was it Padmé had said that night when they were talking, something about Palpatine being set on having Anakin as his apprentice?)

Shut up! she told herself. It was just a dream.

A horrible dream, because for all that she knew it was just her mind mixing together everything that had been going on lately, for all that it seemed outlandish, she still couldn't convince herself that it was impossible. Still, she tried to reassure herself. They didn't even know what species Vader was. It was entirely possible that he wasn't even human.

Ahsoka grabbed a datapad from under her bunk and started looking through the holonet, pulling up every Imperial propaganda clip she could find of the Sith in battle, to analyze his lightsaber form. Some of the stances were from Djem So, she observed uneasily. The more she watched, though, the more differences she found between his style and Anakin's. Vader was slower, more grounded, and his style looked to be a strange mishmash of the classical forms—a style of the battlefield, rather than the training salle. Closer analysis suggested that, though it was rooted in Djem So, there was also a strongly Makashi bent, with dashes of Soresu and Ataru. The result was utilitarian, devoid of artistry but devastatingly effective. For a few minutes, she was relieved. It wasn't her old master's style. But then, Anakin had habitually cannibalized devices for parts and assembled the pieces into something more functional than the original. She could picture him doing the same with saber forms.

Oh, Force help her. If she kept going this way, she would rationalize anything and everything as support for the very thing she didn't want to find support for. The middle of the night was no time for trying to solve problems in a rational manner, and she couldn't afford to go diving into black holes of irrationality when she had a mission coming up. It would just have to wait.

Ahsoka needed evidence, one way or the other, and she didn't have that, so no good would come of dwelling on the matter. She would finish her mission. She would find evidence, come what may. And then she would deal with the conclusions when she had drawn them, and not before.