Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Six, early morning

Emmkar made his way to the tower and spoke to the grandmaster of the Jedi Order, the Temple of which was based on Coruscant. The Whills and the Jedi communicated only infrequently, but despite their disagreements and differences of belief, there had always been a mutual – if sometimes distant – respect between the two orders. Master Yoda had helped the Whills several times over the course of the last five centuries, and, less often, requested their help in return.

When Emmkar had finished explaining the situation, including the seriousness of his vision, the elderly Jedi bowed his head and did not respond. He was so still that it would have appeared the hologram had frozen, had Emmkar not seen his clawed hands shifting on the top of his gimer stick.

Baze fidgeted, but Emmkar waited silently. A few minutes might seem like hours to the young and impatient, but it was far better to lose a few minutes to thoughtful reflection than to act quickly and regret it for months afterwards. Emmkar had long since been convinced of the truth in the saying 'act in haste, repent at leisure'. Baze had not.

So, when another full minute had passed and Yoda still showed no signs of speaking, Emmkar took pity on the young Guardian and sent him out to begin his day's work. There was no need for him to wait on two old beings.

It was just as well he did, because it wasn't until several minutes afterwards that Yoda finally looked up. "Hmm," he sighed. "Head Guardian Emmkar. . . Believe that the Dark Side is involved in this, I do."

Emmkar nodded his understanding and gestured for him to continue. He did not think of the dark the way the Jedi did, but neither had he studied it the way they had.

"To cut kyber as you describe, difficult, it is," said Yoda. "Have the tools for this, not many do."

"No," Emmkar agreed. "But the Force indicates a web of beings – perhaps a large organization."

"Yes. A gang, perhaps." The Grandmaster frowned heavily. "To steal kyber in such quantity – strange, that is. And stranger still that no Guardian sensed the theft, hmm?"

"It is strange." Emmkar rested his hands on the holotable. "None of the Guardians felt the injury to the crystal, even those who were awake at the time. Is that why you suspect the Dark Side is involved?"

"Yes. A dark influence, this tool had. Perhaps an artifact of the Sith, it was."

"An artifact – that would make sense," Emmkar said. "This organization may have found or purchased one for the purpose of stealing kyber. But why would they have any interest in stealing so much of it? A small amount is enough for many uses, and there are other, less dangerous ways to obtain it."

"Why they stole it, know, I do not."

Yoda fell silent again, as if musing on something, and Emmkar sighed. "What worries me the most, Grandmaster Yoda, is the vision I spoke of. These thieves do not just want to steal one piece, or even one statue, but all the kyber in the temple. . . and once all the kyber is gone, the temple will be destroyed."

Yoda nodded slowly. His large eyes were almost closed as he tapped his short staff on the stones. "A possibility, there is. Used in alchemy, kyber is. . . Used in Sith alchemy. Most often, used to make weapons, it is."

"Yes. That would make sense, in a terrible way." Emmkar recalled the massive explosion he'd seen in the dream. "And we know there are at least three Sith. . . But of the three, I am convinced it is not Yan Dooku who is responsible for this. I met him in the past, and it was not his presence that I or the crystals sensed this morning."

"Agree, I do, that Dooku, it is not." The short Jedi's ears drooped. "A Sith he is, yes, but great respect for the Whills, he still has; other places to obtain kyber, he certainly has; and an alchemist, he is not. See him as the mastermind, I cannot. But sure that Sith are behind it, I am. Another thread, this is, that may lead towards the secret Sith lord. Or, another thread to lead us towards an ancient Sith, this is."

Emmkar had received a warning from the Jedi Temple a few months ago, following a Jedi's strange mission to an old Sith planet, and the very thought of the Sith woman in the report chilled him. "You warned me of Darth Zenaya," he said. "Was she an alchemist?"

"A powerful alchemist, she still is," Yoda agreed heavily. "With your permission, Guardian Emmkar, send a Jedi to your temple, I will."

"Send as many as you wish, Grandmaster," Emmkar replied. "And I pray they have more success than I or my Guardians have had in discovering where this threat is coming from."

"Send you one of our Jedi Shadows, I can," Yoda replied, then almost seemed to hesitate. "If agree, he will. Much experience with Sith artifacts, he has . . . And much experience with Zenaya."

"He is the Jedi who went to Malachor?" asked Emmkar.

"Hm, yes. . ." Yoda tapped his stick on the floor again. "But worry not. If go to Jedha he cannot, another, I will send."

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Six, early morning

Commander Fox walked briskly through the halls of the CG headquarters, intent on reaching the briefing room as soon as possible. He preferred to start his morning by being apprised of any and all new information about cases or situations that were being dealt with by the Coruscant Guard. It was easiest to absorb all the relevant information early in the day, along with a cup of strong black caf.

He was halfway to the briefing room when a strange sight brought him to an abrupt and unscheduled halt. There was a trooper on guard at the divide in the main corridor, and at his feet was a small animal.

Fox blinked once, to make sure he wasn't seeing things. "Trooper . . ."

"Yes, sir," the clone answered cheerfully.

Pointing an accusing finger at the small green, round, shelled creature that stood near the guard, Fox said, "Helmet off, rookie, and tell me what that is."

The creature in question looked up at him, then withdrew its head into its shell.

Meanwhile, the trooper removed his helmet, revealing a bright grin along with a small shamrock tattoo on his cheekbone.

Fox recognized him as Lucky, one of the new recruits. "Well?" he said.

"It's Turtle, sir," said Lucky.

Fox waited a moment, but his mind failed to comprehend that statement no matter how many times he replayed it in his mind. He gazed down at the creature and repeated, "It's Turtle."

"Yes, sir. That's his name."

"What. Is it."

"It's – well, sir." Lucky paused, looking faintly abashed. "It's a turtle, Commander."

"A turtle that you named Turtle."

". . . Yes, sir."

"And where did he come from?" Fox asked, hoping desperately that Thire hadn't been smuggling animals to the troopers again. Cute as they were, those little blue dogs from Vinnda Prime did not belong on Coruscant, especially not in the corridors of the CG and Senate buildings, racing around people's ankles and causing grief.

Much to the dismay of the troopers training on Vinnda Prime, Fox had ended their little operation by pointing out several things: the rookies could get in trouble, the CG could get in trouble, they had rations for the men but not for pets – and, the blue dogs were extremely energetic and furry, and really belonged on a snowy planet anyway, not on an ecumenopolis, Wolffe.

(At the time, Wolffe swore up and down he was innocent of giving the younger troopers the idea for the smuggling operation in the first place, and absolutely none of his batchmates believed him. He might not have done it on purpose, but it was a sure bet he'd been the one to do it, one way or the other.)

"I found him three levels down, sir," Lucky said. "I think he used to be a pet, because he had this little collar on – here, I'll show you."

The rookie dropped to one knee to give Turtle's shell a couple of gentle taps, and the creature's small head slowly and unwillingly emerged. Sure enough, there was a thin collar around his neck.

"His first one was too wide for him to get his head back in the shell," Lucky explained. "I wanted to put a leash on him so he wouldn't wander into a hole somewhere and get lost, but he likes to hide, too. So, I made him a new one that lets him put his head in his shell."

Fox nodded his understanding, not that he really understood. "And why is this turtle with you while you're on guard duty?"

"He keeps the time, sir."

It was here that Fox experienced a second moment of utter incomprehension. He opened his mouth, closed it, and gestured for Lucky to explain.

"He walks back and forth when I'm standing still. See?" Lucky stood upright, and the turtle gave Fox a wary, sleepy look before dragging itself to its stubby legs and ambling forward. It moved so slowly that it was hard to see any progress unless Fox stared at it for five or six seconds.

"By the time he's gone to the end of his leash and back twice, my shift at guard is up," Lucky said, grinning down at the creature. "Turtle's regular as a chrono, sir."

"Lucky," Fox said in a stern voice, just to let the rookie know he hadn't distracted his commander one bit from the issue at hand. "Do you have a chrono?"
"Yes, sir." Determinedly, Lucky stared straight ahead. "But Turtle's better, sir."

Fox's instinct was to say 'no, put the turtle away', just on principle – but kriff it all, the rookie's worried-trying-not-to-look-worried expression was making him reconsider.

Then, remembering that he didn't have to be responsible for this nonsense because he wasn't the kid's immediate superior, Fox said, "Who's your CO, Lucky?"

"Commander Thire, sir."

That just about figured, and Fox held back a sigh. "Does he know about Turtle?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what does he think about him?"

"He said I could keep him, Commander –"

Because of course he did, the enabler, Fox thought.

"– as long as I don't take him on duty anywhere except in the CG buildings."

"I see." Fox pretended to consider that for a good ten seconds. ". . . All right," he said at last, in as begrudging a tone as he could manage. "But I'd better not catch him anywhere except in these buildings, or I will turn him into soup."

"Thank you, sir!" Lucky's excited smile showed that he didn't take Fox's threat at all seriously, and Fox wondered if he was losing his touch. Sure, it wasn't like he'd actually turn Turtle into soup – for one thing, he couldn't cook, much less skin a turtle or shell it, or whatever you did to the little beasts – and for another, Turtle was bite-sized, hardly worth the effort. Either way, the point was, the rookies used to take him and his threats much more seriously.

Fox thought about this for a moment more, then let out an inaudible sigh of resignation. "Carry on, trooper," he said, and went off to his meeting.

Despite the delay, he still arrived five minutes early. The only other person in the room at the moment was Thire – excellent.

The newly-promoted commander was busy pouring himself a large cup of caf, but when he saw Fox's expression he smiled too brightly and gave it to him instead.

Fox accepted it as his due and took a long sip, never losing eye contact with Thire. Then, setting the cup down, he said, "Thire. Good morning."

". . . Good morning, sir."

"I just talked to a rookie who had a pet with him."

"Oh, you met Turtle," said Thire, smiling.

Fox narrowed his eyes. Thire glanced sideways, at the empty wall.

"Yes, I met Turtle," growled Fox. "And I told the kid he could keep it. Thire . . ."

Commander Thire stood at attention. "Apologies, Commander. It –" The typical resolve in his expression faltered. "It probably won't happen again."

Fox sighed heavily, then tossed back the rest of the caf in a few gulps. "Not what I want to hear, Thire."

"I know, sir. But – he wasn't smuggled this time?"

It seemed that Fox could trust Thire to think clearly in every single circumstance except those where a cute animal was involved. Good to know.

He didn't have to say anything further on the subject because Stone and Thorn arrived just then, and the meeting started. Thire was very careful to penitently avoid Fox's gaze for the first five minutes; but, by the time the meeting was over, he was back to his usual cheerful self-assuredness.

After the meeting, Fox turned to Thire while Stone elbowed Thorn out of the way in order to get the rest of the fresh caf. Fox intended to make some comment or other about how his conversation with Thire hadn't officially been finished; but before he could, his comm beeped.

He answered it promptly, with a final stern look at Thire, and said, "Commander Fox here."

"This is Lieutenant Divo," said the familiarly harassed voice. "There's been another murder. One of Hilt's servants. I recommended that the remaining members of Hilt's retinue go back to Telos Five for safety. They'll be leaving in half an hour to make the five-thirty shuttle. Fox, would you send a squad of men to escort them to the landing pad?"

Fox glanced at Stone, who saluted and left. "We're on it, Lieutenant," he said.

"Thank you," Divo said, relief clear in his voice. Then he cleared his throat and added, "Commander, I hope you know the CSF usually handles its own business. I'm not trying to palm the dangerous situations off on you – though I have to admit, in this case there is danger of your men having to deal with those rabid news reporters. But there are exactly two men left in our district headquarters, and I'm still trapped in this bloody meeting."

Fox hoped it wasn't literally bloody, because Divo could get quite aggressive when politicians were, according to him, being idiots. "No worries, Inspector," he said, and headed out to start arranging the security detail for the Senate session that afternoon.

Coruscant, Temple District

Day Seven, mid-afternoon

Quinlan Vos flopped on his back under the tree, arms clasped behind his head as he whistled tunelessly under his breath. The stack of datapads beside him lay untouched, and he left them untouched for a good five minutes. The roof of the Temple was pleasant and calm today – cool air, warm sun, an unusual lack of noisy younglings chasing each other around. . .

Though come to think of it, that last wasn't much of an advantage when one was trying to avoid redoing flimsiwork.

Mumbling about whichever officer had refused to clear the forms, Quinlan finally picked up the first datapad, opened his communications, and observed the several pages of text. "It's just fine," he said, squinting at it. "Duly written, signed, and everything. Oh. Oh, kriff it all."

He'd made an idiotic mistake and spelled the last name 'Vauss' instead of 'Vos', even though he was currently Vos and not Vauss –

"Come on, I knew Vauss wasn't the persona for this mission," he groaned, resigning himself to having to submit the entire form all over again. "That was an idiotic mistake. Great, now I've probably blown my cover as Ebon Vauss for all eternity –"

He'd started using 'Vauss' in the first place because if he used a name that sounded like his own, he didn't have to work hard to remember what his name was supposed to be when people were addressing him. Now, it appeared to have backfired on him. That's what he got for being lazy.

"Right," he grumbled, re-signing the form. As soon as he finished it, he lay flat on his back again. "Good job," he told himself. "There, form submitted, signed by General Quinlan Vos. . . Seriously, they're giving me a company of troopers to lead. Why do I have to be a general?"

"Because a Jedi, you are."

Quinlan almost jumped in surprise, but managed to hold still. "Master Yoda," he said, bracing himself on one elbow. "What are you doing here?"

"A general you are, because a Jedi, you are." The grandmaster hobbled towards him, stopping once to squint at a large pink flower on the nearby shrub. "In this war, most Jedi, the rank of general, they hold."

"Yes, Master." Quinlan sighed. "I actually knew that."

"Know, you did?" Looking artificially surprised, Yoda shuffled closer. "Then ask of nobody, why did you?"

Quinlan sat upright. "Because I was complaining, Master Yoda, as I'm sure you know perfectly well."

The grandmaster only squinted at him in pretended confusion.

Quinlan was only too glad to continue his rant. "It makes absolutely no sense to give me the rank of general. I'm hardly even involved in the war."

Yoda snorted and reached carefully out to pick a flower.

"I'm not involved directly," corrected Quinlan. "Not in the battles. Master Yoda, we both know I'm not going to be just given military commands. I'll still have Shadow missions, espionage – things I'll have to do on my own."

"Yes, yes," said Yoda dismissively, and sniffed the pink flower. "Busy, you often are. Busy we all are."

Quinlan sighed. "My point is, any troops I'm assigned will have to operate without me most of the time. Wouldn't it be better for them to be assigned to a Jedi who can help them and work with them – and actually carry out missions with them?"

Yoda actually looked like he was considering that for a long time. Then, he nodded briskly and said, "Work with clones, you can."

"Well . . . yeah," Quinlan said, getting to his feet. "Of course I can, if I'm available and not off on some mission halfway across the galaxy."

"See what you mean, I do," Yoda told him, finally sounding serious. "But a large number of troops – leading it, you will not be. One company only, for smaller operations; and when available, you are not, to the nearest fleet, they will go."

"A company?" Quinlan said. "That's almost two hundred men."

"An entire fleet, Master Fisto commands, hm? Command two hundred men, you can. Worry, do not."

"Worrying, I am not," muttered Quinlan, untruthfully. He had barely managed to keep track of two to five teammates on the missions when he had teammates, let alone two hundred men. "Anyway. What brings you to the Temple roof, Master Yoda? Don't tell me you came here to study flowers."

"Disrespectful, you are," Yoda said. "Because irritated, you are. To take out your feelings on another . . ." His eyes twinkled. "The Jedi way, this is not, hm?""

Quinlan frowned at him, then gave in. "You're right. Sorry, Master Yoda."

"Busy now with previous missions currently, are you?"

"Not really. I've got two open cases with the Coruscant Guard, but we haven't had updates on them for three and six days, respectively, and they might even have gone cold by now. Why?"

"Because help, we have been asked for. A mission, I have for you. . . If take it, you will. Hmm."

Quinlan waited for a few seconds, then made a questioning gesture.

"Want it, you might not." Moving stiffly, the grandmaster seated himself on the stones in a meditative posture. Quinlan did the same, more gracefully. "Concerned, it might be, with Darth Zenaya."

The words were like a bucket of cold water in the face, and Quinlan blinked and shook his head. "What? . . . No – Master Yoda, if I even might be concerned with Zenaya, I absolutely want it."

The grandmaster narrowed his large eyes for a long moment, as if fully aware of Quinlan's internal conflict at the idea of chasing Zenaya down. Maybe Yoda was aware of it. Quinlan wanted to take Zenaya out, more than he wanted anything else in the galaxy, but he was also terrified at the very idea of coming face-to-face with her again.

During the course of his thirty-six years, Quinlan had often disagreed with the mantra 'there is no emotion, there is peace'. Sometimes he disagreed with it a lot more than other times. Like now. Right now, he was disagreeing with it quite strongly.

Yoda shook his head. "Surprised you want it, I should not be, hm? Very well, then. Describe the mission to you, I will."