Master Apprentice Archive Quick search:

Reconciliation

by Amberlee

(continued from Part 2)

Jedi Council Report 16117051
Security Level: Classification I
Report Approved: Mace Windu, Yoda

It has been confirmed that information given to Master Kenobi at Geonosis by Count Dooku, information previously discounted as obfuscation meant to plant mistrust between the Jedi and Senate, is truth. We now have definitive proof that the Sith Lord, Sidious, exists and controls Separatist leadership. Further, evidence has been found linking Dooku and Sidious to an area of the warehouse district known as "the works." Given this, and other findings, the Council will now operate under the assumption that the Sith control the Senate and possibly the Supreme Chancellor. All information resulting from the Sidious investigation is deemed highly sensitive and shall be shared with no one outside the High Council.

Padme stood before the mirror and looked at her reflection. The changes to her body made it seem alien at times. She grazed a hand over her distended midsection, feeling the life that grew there. Her belly seemed to swell exponentially these days, and her breasts had recently decided to do the same. The initial nausea was long past, but she now had strange cravings like frozen blue milk with pickled muja fruit. She was tired, so tired, but finding a comfortable position to sleep in, much less sit for extended periods, had become a chore. When she did finally manage to rest, her sleep was broken by frequent visits to the 'fresher. Even her feet had turned traitorous and now swelled enough to make her favorite shoes so tight they rubbed blisters on her heels and toes.

In spite of all this, she rejoiced at the idea of bearing Anakin's child. She was anxious, but it was only natural, she supposed, since the baby would bring radical changes to her life. Family and privacy were all-important to the Naboo, and working in politics while you had small children simply wasn't done. She had no doubt that the current Queen would force her to give up her Senate position as soon as her condition was made known. Though she wore clothing of cuts and styles meant to disguise her pregnancy, the time of concealment was long past. Friends and colleagues on Coruscant were too polite to ask an unwed Senator pointed questions when no information was offered, and the war kept the press too occupied to pursue it as a scandal, but it was only a matter of time before she would have to begin her confinement.

She should have left Coruscant a month ago, but she tarried because of Anakin. He didn't even know she was pregnant. It had been almost six months since their short time together in the Lake Country. She had suspected her condition then, but told herself she shouldn't mention anything until she was certain. Why place such a burden on Anakin's shoulders, she thought, when he already carried so much?

Seven standard months of pregnancy endured in secrecy had been difficult. Even her parents didn't know. She had visited her sister before leaving Naboo, and asked many questions about what her pregnancies had been like, but hadn't told her. They would all be upset that she had hidden something so important from them, but she dare not tell -- not before she talked to her husband.

Now she had no idea when that day might come, or if it ever would.

More than five months had passed since Anakin's last message to her. Nothing, not even a text-only comm. Senate briefings from the Jedi Council came only from Mace Windu now, and she didn't dare ask the stern and conservative Jedi Master about her missing husband for fear of discovery. Classified reports were no help; they held no battlegroup assignments for either Jedi. Worst of all, Anakin and Obi-Wan were no longer featured on the HoloNet war reports. The Senate rumor mill said they were dead and the Jedi were covering it up to save face. Though circumstantial evidence was mounting, Padme couldn't believe it was true. If Anakin was dead, she would know.

Wouldn't she?

The life inside her womb shifted and squirmed under her hand. She stroked her belly and hummed a song her mother sang to her when she was small. No, this child was not all that was left of Anakin Skywalker or their love. He was out there somewhere, and he would return to her.

He had promised.

"Garm, I think the time has come to talk about the worst-case scenario."

Bail watched his friend frown and understood how he felt. They had both been avoiding this discussion for months. It was one thing to talk about negotiating with the Separatists, or to plan a political power-play to oust the Supreme Chancellor, and it was another to talk about armed revolt.

"How far are you willing to go? Assassination? War?"

They were on Baltimn. Kenzon's school was their only point of contact. They shuttled messages to one another through the Weapons Master in code since doing so directly would be traceable and place them both at risk. Either of them being accused of treason could mean worse than arrest, it could mean reprisal against their families and their worlds.

Bail sighed and shifted in his chair. "You know how I feel about violence, but we can't hide from the facts. We need a well thought-out plan as a contingency should the worst come to pass. Right now, we have no way to fight an army the size of the one Palpatine has at his disposal. We need weapons, ships, soldiers, blind credit accounts, false identity papers, safe houses, a base where our people can . . ."

"You really have been thinking about this, haven't you?"

"Hope is a powerful thing, but it can't fight an occupying force."

Garm nodded. "I have a small fleet of fast Corvettes and a medical ship to offer. We can start building fighters to stockpile, but that will take time. And I can't supply everything. You need to talk to the Mon Calamari and the Kuat, and get them to sign on. Their shipyards and military capabilities would be a real asset."

"Apparently I'm not the only one who's been thinking about this."

"I also know some people at Incom, but they work for money, Bail, not altruistic ideals. If we want ammunition and firepower we have to be able to pay for them. As for a base, there's an abandoned mining facility on an asteroid in the Chrellis system. I'd suggest that as a place to start. We could use the ruins on Dantooine as a stockpile location. The buildings are mostly intact and big enough to shelter everything but destroyers."

"What about personnel?"

"That's where Kota will be of help. If you're right about Palpatine, the Jedi won't support him. They're loyal to the Republic and democracy. Kota and his militia will be a trained fighting force that can be augmented as time goes on."

"So, we need money, supplies, and allies."

"In a nutshell." Garm sat back in his chair. "And a better communication system. Meeting like this, the messages through Kenzon, it's not enough."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Where do things stand politically?"

"Everyone will be on Coruscant for the State of the Republic address. I intend to solidify the core group and put the motion on the schedule as soon as I arrive. Right now, I don't think the bill will garner more than 2000 votes, but if you could deliver a list of systems willing to lay down arms, and at least one of the members of the Separatist leadership, we could gain a substantial foothold in the supermajority."

With the Separatist fleet on the run to the Outer Rim, many systems were willing to lay down arms and talk. Garm even had three of the members of the Leadership ready to defect, but only if their safety could be assured. That, however, was a problem. There was no way to assure safety when Republic forces were under orders to hunt down the Separatists at all costs. Bail's fledgling group of diplomats, spies, and politicians lacked the weaponry and ships needed for such a task. He could offer Alderaan as a neutral location for talks, and might even be able to host a few of the defectors, but without some kind of political groundswell or loophole, Palpatine could simply order an invasion of the planet and take anyone Bail sheltered away. It would be perfectly legal.

"I don't know, Bail. They're afraid of reprisal. That General of theirs, Grievous, has them all scared out of their wits."

"I can certainly understand that. The atrocities he commits . . ." Bail sighed and tried to push aside the memory of Master Gallia being run through on Boz Pity.

Garm leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Bail, can I give you a piece of advice?"

"Of course."

"Unless you are absolutely sure that bill will pass, keep your name off of it."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because if we are right, Palpatine will use it as a first strike list. He'll go after anyone who signs that thing, and you know it."

"But, Garm, how I can organize this, ask people to take the risk, and then wash my hands of the consequences?"

"You said it yourself. You can do more where you are. Let that youngster, Mon Mothma, take the lead with the petition. And Feng Zar. He'll be happy to lead the charge. Sit back, keep a low profile, and let them be the public face of the bill. If it all goes wrong, we're going to need to move information. You're on Finance, Appropriations, and Security. You seconded the motion that helped get Palpatine elected."

"Don't remind me."

"It makes you the perfect spy."

Garm was a ruthlessly logical man and Bail couldn't fault the reasoning. He dropped his head to his hands, overwhelmed at the enormity of the suggestion. How had it come to this? he wondered. When had he become a man who schemed and lied and organized a resistance movement?

A hand rested on his shoulder and Bail started. Garm stood next to him, an expression of sympathy on his face.

"If it's any consolation, Bail, I wouldn't want it to be me either."

He just shook his head.

Garm patted his shoulder and then pulled a packet from his coat pocket. "The documents you wanted. Two men, one woman. All you need to do is add the physical descriptions and fingerprints. The credit chips draw on accounts set up with the Corporate Sector Authority. Even Palpatine won't question them."

"Thank you." Bail took the packet and placed it in his lap. "Hopefully, we'll never need them."

"I'd best get going. Be careful, my friend."

"You too."

"Crevasse City reports that employment among the refugees in the pilot program has risen by eighty percent. In addition, children supported by the Ministry are responding favorably to the new curriculum with the majority reporting better socialization and improved test scores."

Breha smiled and let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. This was good news, even better than they had hoped for. So many of the war refugees that relocated to Alderaan had trouble acclimating to their new home: obtaining suitable housing, finding work, and managing their children. It caused tension and threatened to create an underclass in Alderaani society, something both she and Bail were determined would not occur. Getting the Council of Elders to approve the budget for a cultural education program for new citizens had been difficult but, with results like these, there would be no arguments at the next session regarding planet-wide implementation.

"Well, I think that concludes our business for the day. The Viceroy and I thank all of you for your continued efforts. We will meet again next week."

The ministers and deputies rose from their chairs and bowed before exiting. Tia had been conspicuously absent from the cabinet meetings for several weeks now. She wasn't sure what Bail had said to his sister, but things had been strained between them since her mysterious disappearance five months ago. Breha lamented the situation. Tia had always been kind to her, had promoted the match between she and Bail, and worked hard to ensure the government of Alderaan ran smoothly in her brother's absence. It was of particular concern to her because she so needed Tia's advice now.

Breha rose and went out onto the balcony. She looked out over the white spires of Aldera to the lake beyond. It was nearing sunset, and the snow on the nearby mountains took on a rose and purple cast that visitors found breathtaking. The view hardly registered she was so lost in her thoughts.

Since his return from Boz Pity, Bail had changed. He was distant and preoccupied. He came to their bedchamber late, and sometimes not at all. When he did sleep with her, he dreamed. Most of the time the dreams were nonsense: speeches or tirades about some kind of empire. Sometimes he talked about the war. But the night before he left for Coruscant he called out a name, one she knew.

Padme.

Breha had met Senator Amidala on several occasions before the war. Thirteen years younger than her statesman husband, she had been glad to make the acquaintance of someone she might cultivate as a friend. Padme's experiences as a Queen, the similarity of Naboo and Alderaani values, meant they had many things in common. Of course, Padme was beautiful, eloquent, and an accomplished politician, but such details had seemed of little importance then. Now, with her husband spending so much time on Coruscant, she began to wonder.

Was he having an affair?

It seemed almost absurd to think such a thing. Bail had a well-known past, the HoloNet had been full of speculation about his paramours during his early years on Coruscant, but he had set aside his bachelor ways once they married. There had been a few rough years after his mother's death when they were trying hard to conceive, but they had worked through those difficult times. He had always been attentive, but after the first miscarriage it seemed to her that there was a new depth of devotion from her husband. And since the war they had become a real team, leaning on one another for support as they carried on the hard work of governance in tumultuous times.

Still, she often felt overwhelmed and lonely. Her sister had married and worked off-planet with the Alderaan Diplomatic Corp. Her parents were gone. Now, with this burden on her heart, she found there was no one she could confide in.

And there were rumors.

As her mother-in-law had told her when the engagement was announced, people like to talk even when what comes out of their mouths is nothing more than a lie. There would always be rumors, she said. The trick was to rise above them. But it was hard to ignore the quiet whispers of the Tantive crew about clandestine rendezvous with her husband's private transport, or the talk about late night meetings and private dinners at Cantham House. It was even more difficult since Bail had spent those weeks at the apartment in 500 Republica, eschewing staff and servants. He said it was because of the redecoration, and at the time it seemed reasonable, but now she had to wonder.

Padme's apartment was in the same tower just three floors away.

She thought of asking Raymus. He was her cousin, after all. But if Bail was having an affair, to ask such a question would put Raymus in an untenable position. She could corner one of Bail's assistants, but what good would it do? If it was true, would they tell her? If it was false, what would she say to Bail? He had never given her a reason to mistrust him. How could she accuse him without some kind of tangible proof? All she had were the nighttime mutterings of a sleeping man.

Tia was the only one she felt she could turn to, who she trusted enough to share these thoughts with. Breha knew Tia would never lie or try to save her feelings. It was Tia's way -- blunt facts and bald-faced truths -- and it often made her seem harsh or unforgiving, but Breha knew how much kindness lay beneath the cold exterior. And Tia knew Bail, would know if he was even capable of such deception.

The sun had fallen behind the mountains and the lights of the city were turning on, twinkling like stars. Breha swiped the back of her hand across her face to brush away her tears. She was being silly. Overreacting. Bail had been in the middle of a war zone, had experienced something she couldn't even begin to imagine. Of course he was having strange dreams and seemed out of sorts. She would wait. If things didn't change when he came back from the latest trip to Coruscant, she would confront him. No doubt there was some perfectly reasonable explanation for everything.

Empress Teta. Ecumenopolis of the Deep Core and capital of the Teta Sector, it was the only planet in the galaxy to rival Coruscant in fashion, architectural variety, art, and technology. Unlike Coruscant, Empress Teta's principal city, Cinnagar, did not cover the entire planet. The remaining landmass was a combination of carbonite mines and nature preserves devoted to fauna and flora. Beings flocked to the world to wander the parks and the wide, airy walkways of the city. It was considered one of the most beautiful places in the galaxy.

Dooku stood on the balcony of the opulent suite of rooms he had reserved, waiting for the arrival of the shuttle. Kage had contacted him and said that Tia requested a rendezvous. It had necessitated leaving the creature, Grievous, on his own to execute the ordered division of the fleet and to launch the capture of Tythe. While he was reluctant to remove himself from operations, particularly since Lord Sidious had requested he act as bait for Skywalker and Kenobi in the Tythe matter, the potential worth of the information Tia might provide outweighed any risk. Though the lady might be offended by his need to quickly away, he had no doubt she would forgive him. Unlike many, Tia understood the concepts of obligation and duty.

When he joined Sidious and became his apprentice, Dooku had dreamed of an army of Force users -- a Sith army -- to span the galaxy. He would train them, sit above them as Yoda sat above the Jedi, and find among them a true apprentice with whom he would overthrow Sidious. They would cleanse the galaxy of weak, pathetic, non-human sentients and bring a new golden age of prosperity and cultural supremacy. Justice would be swift and immediate, corruption would be eradicated, and elegance, gallantry, and order would restored in this new society.

His new society.

Now the army of his dreams had a different face, a different nature. If his suspicions regarding Bail Organa and Sidious' preoccupation with the man were correct, having the data he requested could mean everything. A being on whom the Force was null, who could not be seen in future events or manipulated by the existence of midi-chlorians in the blood, held incredible advantage. As a former Jedi, and now a Sith, such a concept made a part of Dooku shudder in horror. However, as a strategist he understood the true depth and breadth of such a one. An army of such men, however small, could eradicate Force users from the face of the galaxy, could forever destroy the Jedi and allow the Sith to reign supreme. Of course, they could also prove dangerous to their Sith masters; able to turn on them and destroy them with no hope of warning. Clones of such a type would need to be genetically altered and conditioned as the current batch had been, to have their lives cut short and their ability to procreate removed to prevent them from overrunning the galaxy, but these were small matters for the clone masters of Kamino.

Once the Jedi had been eradicated by his new soldiers -- their stagnant, narrow-minded view of the Force wiped away along with them -- he could begin again and create a new order, an order that embraced the totality of the Force and emancipated those who communed with it from arbitrary interpersonal restrictions and ridiculous emotional limitations. Children with potential would be taken from their homes and properly trained from birth; there would be no ridiculous sentimental option of refusal. A new hierarchy of authority would emerge and humanity would transcend its bonds to become supreme: the Empire of Man.

Dooku closed his eyes and felt an unexpected thrill of anticipation for Tia's arrival. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to descend into the pleasures of the flesh, and Lady Organa's pleasures were many. He had thought himself beyond such base desires, had thought them purged many years ago. The ability to critique, to appraise, to categorize and evaluate, all required a certain involvement and interactivity. Dooku was a great admirer of grace and beauty -- a collector of the rare and refined -- but he had forgotten how one could grow attached, reach beyond the objective into the subjective, when sexuality entered the equation. He felt his body's lust, its hunger and drives, as he stood motionless on the balcony. He examined them and rolled them over in his mind. The intellectual pursuit of the woman, his admiration and manipulation of her as a political tool and pawn in the grand design, had somehow become superseded by this strange primal urge for union.

A chill passed over his body that smacked of foreknowledge and premonition. He shuddered and his eyes snapped open as small craft approached and connected to the suite's private docking area. Dooku moved to greet his guest and stopped mid-stride.

Only Kage exited the craft.

An eyebrow rose as the obsidian-colored protocol droid approached. This was unexpected.

"My Lord, I bring greetings from my mistress. She wishes me to express her deep regret that she is not here in person."

Dooku frowned. "Lady Organa was the one who requested this meeting. Why is she now unable to attend?"

"My mistress has fallen from her brother's favor, my Lord, and her efforts to obtain the information you requested were fraught with difficulty. She was concerned that leaving Alderaan might arouse further suspicion."

"And the information?"

Kage presented a small hermetically sealed metal container. "My mistress wishes to assure you that your curiosity regarding her brother will be sated by the sample within the container and the information now stored in my memory banks."

Dooku smiled a cold smile of calculation and greed as he took the container. He was one step closer to completing his plan. The sample and data would need to be analyzed by a capable geneticist. Sadly, Kamino was now closed to him, and would continue to be so for the duration of the war. There were several scurrilous doctors in the employ of the Confederacy working on biological weapons and experimenting with bionic enhancement, but this matter needed a deft touch, someone of great skill and circumspection. He must take care to ensure the information did not fall into Lord Sidious' hands.

"My Lord --" Kage held out a small portable holoprojector. "-- my mistress has also sent a personal message of great import."

The droid activated the projector. Tia's small blue form stood tall and proud, her long hair loose and framing her face. It was her body, however, that drew Dooku's immediate attention.

"I believe my appearance will explain the necessity for this message. I must apologize for not notifying you of my condition sooner. To be frank, I had not considered this as a possibility and it was exactly that oversight that lead to this situation. I naturally assumed the initial signs were the onset of menopause and it was not until nearly the end of the first trimester that I began to suspect otherwise."

Dooku was genuinely shocked. It was a state he had experienced only once before in his life. When he was but a Padawan, he had been betrayed by a young learner who purported to be his friend. The situation then, as now, seemed preposterous. He watched the small hologram graze a hand absently over the bulge where, apparently, a baby now grew.

"We have never made promises to one another, Count, and I expect none now. I hope only that you might one day recognize this child as your legitimate heir so that it may claim its birthright as you did when you left the Order. I have told no one of my condition and will not answer questions regarding the parentage of the child after its birth unless you give me your explicit permission to do so. This, of course, places me in an awkward position politically, but it is one I am more than willing to bear."

A child. His child. An heir for the House of Serenno. Never had Dooku thought of such an eventuality. Children were for other people, not for him. The concept was simply unfathomable.

"Please be assured that if you wish to abdicate responsibility, the child will be raised to understand the true meaning of aristocracy and the responsibilities and duties that come with such privilege. And, should the child show potential, I will refuse to allow the corrupt Jedi to remove it from my care and will, instead, find a way to entrust you with such training as you deem appropriate."

Dooku felt something stir inside him, something foreign and strange. He watched as Tia bowed her head in an almost submissive gesture.

"Recently, I have found myself inexplicably fearful for your safety. I implore you, my darling, do not allow this situation to distract you or avert you from your goals. Be careful. I will hope that, Force willing, we shall speak to one another soon."

The hologram shimmered and went out.

Dooku remained still for a few moments as he integrated this new knowledge into his previous plans. He felt little concern for Tia's health or safety; she was a member of a royal house on a technologically advanced planet with one of the finest medical centers in the galaxy. The loss of face the woman would incur from such a pregnancy was unfortunate. It would undermine her power base and marginalize her within the political sphere for a time, reducing her value as a source of information, but it could not be helped. Removing her from Alderaan and allowing her to give birth somewhere private was the optimal solution, but Dooku had no time for such things at the moment. Now that he had what he needed, he must leave for Tythe immediately.

"Kage, take unregistered transport to Serenno and await me there. Should something happen to me, you are to make your way to Alderaan and serve your mistress until such time as she dismisses you."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And Kage, it is imperative that the data given to you by your mistress is not intercepted. Under no circumstances should it be shared with anyone other than myself or the Lady Organa. Should it appear that you will be captured by either Confederacy or Republic agents, you must destroy yourself. Is this understood?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Bail, it's so good to see you."

Mon Mothma raised up on her toes and delivered a quick kiss to each of Bail's cheeks. He smiled and kissed her back. Over the last year, the young Senator from Chandrila had become a close friend as well as a political ally. He admired her vibrance, intelligence, and nerve. Though he would never dream of telling her for fear of sounding presumptuous, he thought of her as a daughter and hoped that when he finally had a chance to raise one, she would show the same kind of dedication and resolve.

"It's good to see you too. How have you been? Tell me all the news."

The redecoration and restoration of Cantham House was finally complete. The main level was now an official embassy and cultural center with art exhibits, a library, a reception hall, and offices to serve the public. Twenty stories below, a shielded, reinforced bunker the size of the entire ground floor housed a state-of-the-art training facility with independent power systems, encrypted secure data and HoloNet connections, sparring rooms, flight simulators, and a target range. Bail and Mon Mothma were upstairs in the residential wing, a small set of intimate rooms where Bail and his wife could stay and entertain guests when on Coruscant. It had redundant power, extra shields, anti-surveillance measures, two escape routes, access to the roof, and a private shuttle dock. The only place on Coruscant Bail might feel more secure was the Jedi Temple.

"I'm well, but I'm afraid the situation here is more of the same. The HoloNet news reports nothing but victories, but the debriefings at the Jedi Temple say otherwise. The Separatists commit horrible atrocities: shooting down medical ships and refugee evacuation transports, razing cities, burning huge swaths of planets, and blowing up power facilities resulting in radioactive fallout. They've even taken to releasing chemical agents and engineered viruses into ecosystems to make whole planets uninhabitable. Palpatine lauds the Grand Army of the Republic for their tireless service and says that nothing less than the total surrender of the Separatists can be acceptable after so much loss of life. It is a masterful show of political acumen. All the while, Jedi die."

Bail shook his head and sighed. "And how can one argue against righteous rage and retribution?"

"Exactly."

The staff had been given the night off, the household droids powered down, and the anti-surveillance measures employed. Since Finis' death, Bail took no chances. It pained him that the situation had come to such a pass, but he had become, first and foremost, a practical man.

"What about the meeting with the Supreme Chancellor?"

"Don't you mean our audience? I haven't been notified of a change, have you?"

"No. How many members of the Committee will attend?"

"All of them."

"All of them?"

Mon Mothma nodded. "Fang Zar, of course, and Chi Eekway. Bana Breemu and Nee Alavar arrived today. Terr Taneel and Zo Howler arrive tomorrow. Even Padme Amidala is coming."

"Padme?" Bail's eyebrows rose. "She's on Coruscant?"

"She arrived not long after you left. I've met with her several times over the past few months and feel she would be a good addition to our group."

Bail sighed and rubbed his chin. Including Padme could be a risk. While she was an astute politician, Palpatine had been a close advisor during her reign as Queen of Naboo. She had called for the vote of no confidence that brought him to power. If she was loyal to Palpatine, it could mean their ruin.

"I don't know."

"Bail, trust me on this. She is as concerned about the encroachments on civil liberty and the suspension of due process as we are. And she told me, outright, that she feels the time has come to parlay with the Separatists, that some of their concerns with regard to corruption and favoritism were valid, and that a cease-fire is viable now that their army is on the run."

Padme. Having her in their camp could sway reluctant Senators to their cause. She was beyond reproach within the supermajority for her valiant service to the Republic and her courageous acts on her home world and at Geonosis. The warrior Queen who stood up to the Trade Federation as the leader of their fight? It was almost too much to hope for.

"All right. We'll invite her to the next meeting."

Mon Mothma placed a hand on Bail's arm. "If Palpatine remains inflexible with regard to the repeal of the Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act, it will be time to make our move."

He had said as much to Garm. They could wait no longer. They may have already waited too long.

"Enough serious talk." Bail turned and threaded Mon Mothma's arm through his. He led her toward the small kitchen. "I made a special meal for us tonight."

"A special meal? Does this mean I will finally sample your grandmother's B'jorring Stew?"

Bail laughed. "I'm caught!"

"And I am flattered to have the Viceroy of Alderaan cook for me." Mon Mothma slipped her arm from Bail's and plucked a hwotha berry from a dish on the counter. "So is gossip off-limits tonight as well?"

"I suppose that depends on the gossip," Bail replied as he checked the pot on the stove.

"How about the scandalous kind that's probably true?"

Bail put down the pot lid and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think that kind existed."

"Neither did I, but it seems it may be so." Mon Mothma finished eating her berry and grinned. "You should hear this now in any case. I would hate for the situation to take you by surprise."

"All right. Out with it."

"When you see Padme at the Chancellor's office, you will find her -- changed."

Bail abandoned all pretense at serving dinner. He turned and leaned against a cabinet, arms crossed over his chest. "What do you mean?"

"Unless I miss my guess, the bulge she's trying to hide under her voluminous robes is due any time now."

"What?" Bail's jaw dropped. "Padme is pregnant? Are you sure?"

Mon Mothma waggled a finger. "Now, now, Senator, you know better than that. This is why they call it rumor. Everyone is sure, but no one is willing to ask the question for fear of being wrong and causing offense."

"I don't believe it!"

"Give her a hug when you see her, and tell me it's not a baby."

Bail shook his head, utterly astonished.

"But that's not the scandalous part," Mon Mothma continued. "Gossip says the father is a Jedi, and even credits are on General Kenobi."

Suddenly, Bail no longer had an appetite. "It can't be."

"They've known one another ever since the matter with the Trade Federation. The Order sent Kenobi to guard Padme just before the war began, and she was with him at Geonosis. Since then she's undertaken several dangerous missions, and I checked the records. Almost all of them have included Kenobi. He seems to stop everything to come to her rescue." Mon Mothma paused to eat another berry. "All that danger and excitement, it would be the most natural thing in the world for a woman to fall in love under such circumstances. And he's so dashing. The robes. The beard. The eyes. The Jedi mystique."

"I know the man. It's not possible," Bail said with a frown. His clipped tone sounded far more convinced than he felt. "It goes against the Jedi Code."

Mon Mothma shrugged. "Perhaps you're right. After all, the Senate rumor mill is notorious for its lack of accuracy. Still, word is a Jedi slips in and out of Republica -- has been doing it for years -- and when you see her, I am sure you'll agree that at least part of the gossip is true."

Bail turned his back on his guest and took the dishes from the cabinet. He felt nauseous. Was this why Anakin was so upset on Boz Pity? Had more than one man been cheating that night? As he ladled stew into the bowls, Bail tried to determine which was worse: the idea that Obi-Wan could ever sleep with anyone but him, or the anger he felt at his own irrational and misplaced jealousy. What right did he have to feel possessive when he left Boz Pity and went home to his wife?

Was it really so farfetched to think Obi-Wan might take a lover? It wasn't as if the man hadn't done it before. Far less likely was the idea that the Jedi would sit around and pine after a lost love for years. Didn't Obi-Wan have the right to find comfort with someone else? Someone free? Padme was a beautiful, intelligent young woman who could parley as well as the man the HoloNet dubbed "The Negotiator." Why wouldn't he find her attractive?

Bail forced the frown from his face. His feelings about Senate gossip were of little consequence, but Padme's condition was. He would have to consider the situation carefully, perhaps even break with etiquette to ask Padme about the pregnancy, before she was drawn into the plot too far. It was one thing to approach an unattached Senator to help lead a political movement, and it was quite another to put an innocent child in danger.

"Here you are." Bail handed a bowl to Mon Mothma and waved toward the table. He hoped he had heard the last of this particular topic for the night. "Have you been home recently? How is your family?"

Obi-Wan leaned against the bulkhead of the MedStar's docking bay, his rucksack on the deck at his feet. His life had become a series of battles punctuated by short periods of waiting for transports. It seemed it had always been like this, though his memory told him otherwise. There had been a time when he spent as many hours learning as he had on missions, as many days on Coruscant meditating in gardens as he did off-planet resolving conflicts. Times with Qui-Gon had been hectic and event-filled, but instructive. In those days, he had often lamented diplomatic assignments, had been impatient to move among the stars and do something. Now, he wondered if he would ever find time to simply be again. The very idea of there being a time when he would not be required to rush somewhere, lightsaber in hand, to fight seemed absurd.

A shuttle would arrive soon and take him to the light cruiser Integrity. It was the culmination of several weeks of off-the-books investigation. A trail of clues had taken him, and Anakin, on a wild chase across the galaxy in search of the ephemeral Lord Sidious. Every stop on every planet had brought them a little closer to discovering the identity of the mysterious Sith Lord who, it seemed, was the instigator of so many terrible events. Now the Confederacy had occupied Tythe, a seemingly insignificant wasteland of a planet, just as a link between the corporation that had been headquartered there, LiMerge, and Sidious had come to light.

Were they getting close? Was Sidious attempting to cover his tracks? Obi-Wan wasn't sure. What he did know was that Dooku was on Tythe. It was an opportunity to capture the known Sith Lord and leader of the Separatist cause. Without Dooku's direction, the Confederacy of Independent Systems would soon crumble, and the war would come to an end.

The public war, at any rate. The Jedi's fight against the Sith would continue until balance was restored.

Anakin was anxious about the mission, unsure of its validity, and his feelings of this sort were rarely wrong. Still, Obi-Wan couldn't help but think Anakin's assertion that they should return to Coruscant was motivated by other factors, like his relationship with Padme. When he said as much, Anakin had become defensive and they nearly argued. It was the first such incident in five months.

Boz Pity had shaken their relationship, and their first mission together afterward was tense at best. Obi-Wan had tried to talk about what happened, wanted to clear the air, but Anakin shut him down.

"It's none of my business what you do, and it's hardly my place to admonish a member of the High Council," he had said. "Let's just forget it. We have a job to do."

But Obi-Wan couldn't forget. He couldn't forget Anakin's near refusal to assist him, couldn't forget the expression on Anakin's face when he looked at Padme. He couldn't forget how Anakin had raged about Bail, or the admission that had come after.

In spite of the tension, years of familiarity and teamwork overrode the awkwardness and discomfort between them. Once in the fight they were like one person -- fluid, graceful, and utterly in sync -- and they let that be the foundation of a new beginning, a fresh start for their relationship. Though they had not resolved their differences, they had at least, Obi-Wan thought, aired the few secrets they had kept. They were both men now, men together on the field of battle, and they let the utter trust of that brotherhood be the whole of their bond.

So when Anakin seemed torn and said they should be on Coruscant, he had replied, "You may be right. I don't have all the answers, Anakin. I wish I did."

He told him to consult with Palpatine.

Now he waited: waited for Anakin; for the shuttle; for the next battle to begin. He could feel something gathering in the Unifying Force, something dark and sinister. It had been growing, little by little, since the ill-fated mission to Naboo and now it permeated everything. All Obi-Wan knew was that he had to find a way to stop it, would give everything he was to stop it, before it was too late.

He felt Anakin approach before the bay doors opened. The young Knight entered the hangar followed by R2-D2.

"Did you get through to Coruscant?" he asked.

"Yes." Anakin looked away. He sounded sad. "We decided my place is here."

Obi-Wan nodded. A part of him wanted to comfort the boy he had known, but those days were gone. Anakin had to make his own decisions and live with the consequences for no one could do that for him. "For a moment I thought you were going to leave it to me to retake Tythe."

"Alone? Not likely. You get in too much trouble when I let you do things alone."

Obi-Wan tried to lighten the mood and grinned in response. Normally such words between them were meant to tease, but now they fell flat. Anakin's somber mood seemed to imbue everything with melancholy. Obi-Wan turned his head and looked through the plasma shield into space. A pinprick of light outside the hangar bay shield grew larger and resolved itself into a starship.

"The shuttle's coming."

Anakin frowned, grim. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

He couldn't help himself. Obi-Wan reached out, closed his hands around Anakin's upper arms, and pulled him into a near embrace. "Let's get Dooku and end this. Today. Together."

For years Obi-Wan had trained and protected a boy only because of a promise he made to Qui-Gon Jinn. Duty and obligation had driven the relationship, not caring and concern. But Anakin hadn't needed protection for a very long time, and his official training was over. While there was a part of Obi-Wan that would always see the unsure boy when he looked at Anakin, he now also saw the man. The powerful Jedi. As the gloom that surrounded Anakin began to lift, as a smile came to his lips, Obi-Wan realized that the bonds of duty their relationship had been founded upon had long ago changed to ties of love. He loved this young man. Loved him fiercely. Not, perhaps, as Anakin had once hoped for, but love nonetheless. He would follow him into any kind of danger because Anakin was more than just a Padawan or a fellow Jedi -- Anakin was his brother, his other half, and without him all would be darkness.

He had felt this way before about his Master, had felt there was little differentiation between where Qui-Gon ended and he began. As Anakin's hands came to rest on Obi-Wan's arms, as the young man returned the affectionate gesture of his former Master, the mission, the Sith, even Padme, seemed of little consequence. What mattered was this moment. As long as they were together, Obi-Wan knew in his heart that the light would prevail.

Anakin seemed to feel it too. He bent slightly until his forehead touched Obi-Wan's. The response was firm and full of the youthful eagerness Obi-Wan remembered from the moment they first met.

"Together, Master. Always."

Bail stood on the Supreme Chancellor's private landing platform at the Senate Administration Building, one of many Senators awaiting Palpatine's safe return. Smoke still plumed into the sky from the fires that burned in the Government Sector and Column Commons; tangible remnants of the Separatist strike at the heart of the Republic.

Most were stunned that Coruscant had been so vulnerable. Less than two standard days ago, Palpatine's State of the Republic address had pronounced the Separatists "cast from the Core, expelled from the Inner Rim and Colonies, and driven from the Mid Rim." He assured the Senators who listened to all four tedious hours of the speech that "the Confederacy is now in full retreat and will pay the price for their aggression in the Outer Rim Territories." The man had committed over half of the Home Defense Fleet to the sieges, and left Coruscant incapable of repelling the surprise attack.

Bail shifted under his long coat as he scanned the horizon. He hadn't been thinking about his injuries when he made the clothing selection from the limited options stored in his office. The fur-lined collar was heavy and pressed against the bacta patch on his left shoulder, and the high collar of his tunic felt tight and uncomfortable against his stiff neck and bruised collarbone. He, Mon Mothma, and Padme Amidala had crashed their skimmer into the Senate Plaza as they attempted to reach their designated emergency shelter, and soon found themselves fighting for their lives. Six vulture droids perched on the pedestrian sky-bridge had taken pot-shots at Republic troops and civilians alike while a nearby LAAT gunship hovered just out of range; the troops inside afraid to engage the droids for fear of destroying the bridge and sending the wreckage plummeting downward through the city.

Three Senators armed with blaster rifles scavenged from a downed security vehicle were hardly a match for such a superior force, but there was no one else to do the job. Low on blaster gas, the trio took a harry and run approach; shooting from behind statues, downed vehicles, and news kiosks until fired upon and rushing to make the next bit of cover. They managed to take out one of the vultures but ran out of ammunition and were in serious trouble -- pinned down against the wall of the Nicandra Building -- when the remaining droids reconfigured to aerial assault mode and took off after a speeding maglev. They didn't know it then, but the train had contained the Supreme Chancellor.

Of the group, only Bail sustained minor injury, all of which occurred during the initial crash. He had, however, been far more concerned for Padme than for himself. For once the rumor mill was right; Padme was pregnant, very pregnant. Bail knew little about what a woman should or shouldn't do during late-term pregnancy, but he was pretty certain the stress of a crash and running full-out across a plaza while dodging missiles were not good for a baby. Once the immediate danger had passed, and the HoloNet confirmed the abduction of Chancellor Palpatine, Bail noticed Padme move away to a quiet spot. He left Mon Mothma watching the 3-D images projected on huge displays around the plaza, and went to Padme's side. She looked pale and tears streamed down her face.

Bail had been certain her emotional state had nothing to do with the capture of the Chancellor. He rested a hand lightly over hers on the plaza railing. " Padme," he said, "you're not alone. I want you to know that if you ever need help, you can come to me. Breha and I will be there for you."

Padme had only looked at him, her sad brown eyes large with grateful surprise.

Now, just a few hours later, it all seemed surreal -- a dream that had happened to someone else. Only his whiplash and wounded shoulder would remain to remind him of the battle once the fires were out. What could have been a disaster would become a triumph. Palpatine's aggressive pursuit of the Confederacy, his ill-advised distribution of the fleet, would be blamed on the Senate and the Jedi. The Chancellor's popularity would soar even higher thanks to his captivity, and even more power would, no doubt, be handed over to the Executive.

Though it seemed cynical and suspicious, the timing of the events disturbed Bail. Like so many other occasions in the past, it was perfect -- too perfect. The Loyalist Committee meeting with the Chancellor a scant few days ago had smacked of confrontation, and a bill had been drawn up to repeal the most draconian and intrusive of the recently enacted security measures. Palpatine's insistence during his speech that the Separatists were on the run and banished from the Core had actually played into the hands of his opposition. Bail and his group had been burning up the comm connections to lobby support for the measure, even pushing for an additional one to resume diplomatic talks, when the Separatists dropped out of hyperspace and into orbit.

Months of preparation and coalition building, all of Garm's work, meant nothing. No one would support diplomacy with the Separatists now that they had attacked Coruscant and kidnapped the Supreme Chancellor. It was almost as if Palpatine had planned it all.

As the purple stripe of a fast-moving Senate shuttle curved across the sky and descended to the landing platform, Bail's heart sped up. HoloNet reports could speak of only one thing: Kenobi and Skywalker, Heroes of the Republic. They had rescued the Supreme Chancellor and, against all odds, returned him safely to terra firma. That meant Obi-Wan was sure to be on the shuttle. Bail clasped his hands together and tucked them inside the long sleeves of his coat to keep them from shaking. In the wake of the events on Boz Pity, he had stayed away from Coruscant, unsure of what might happen if he saw Obi-Wan again. He was afraid: afraid of the discussion he knew they must have, afraid of what it could mean to them both, and most of all, afraid that he would once again give in to the part of himself that dared to put his love for the Jedi ahead of duty and honor.

Bail watched as the passengers disembarked. The last to leave, Obi-Wan scanned the platform, saw Bail, and stopped. Palpatine moved into the crowd of Senators, basking in their concern, but the Jedi remained on the shuttle. Bail shifted his position, trying to hear the exchange that ensued between former Master and apprentice, but the door of the shuttle closed and Obi-Wan flew away before he could get close enough.

Simultaneously relieved and disappointed, Bail lingered in the back of the group as Palpatine discussed the current situation with Mace Windu. Was Obi-Wan avoiding a meeting too, he wondered? Confused and absorbed in his own thoughts, he almost missed it when Palpatine delivered the astonishing information that Count Dooku had been killed. It was good news for the Republic in more ways than one. As the political face of the Separatist movement, Dooku's death would leave confusion in the ranks. If he could find a way to safely contact Garm, they might be able to push the armistice after all.

Without realizing it, Bail drifted near Anakin. The young man tried to extricate himself from the politicians who surrounded him, turned, and the pair suddenly came face-to-face for the first time since Boz Pity. As they looked at one another, Bail watched Anakin's expression shift. Initial surprise gave way to pursed lips, a set jaw, and eyes as hard as azurite. The young man crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive manner. As a diplomat and politician, Bail often gauged situations through the subtleties of body language. Had he seen these indicators in someone else he would have interpreted them as disgust and resentment, but Skywalker was a Jedi and was supposed to be above such petty emotions.

They fell into step beside one another as the group made its way into the building. Though he wanted to ask about Obi-Wan, he thought better of it and stuck to current events. "The Republic cannot praise you enough for your actions today," Bail said.

"Thank you, Senator Organa." Anakin's voice was curt and his manner more so. He seemed distracted, his eyes darting around the hallway as if searching for something.

"The end of Count Dooku will mean an end to the war, and an end to Palpatine's police-state tactics."

Those words seemed to get Anakin's attention. The Jedi frowned and, if it was possible, looked even more annoyed. "I wish that were so, but the fighting will continue until General Grievous is spare parts. The Chancellor is very clear on the matter, and I believe the Senate and the Jedi Council will both agree."

"Well, I will do everything I can in the Senate to see . . ."

Anakin's expression suddenly shifted and he cut Bail off. "I'm sorry, will you excuse me, Senator?"

Bail nodded, bewildered by the abrupt change, and Anakin rushed away. A discreet turn of his head revealed a small but distinctive figure hidden in the shadow cast by a nearby support column. Suddenly, everything Mon Mothma had told him made sense. The rumor mill might be right about Padme pregnancy, but they were dead wrong about the identity of the father.

He hurried off after the rest of the group and left the pair to their reunion.

Darth Sidious sat in the confines of his private office, eyes closed and vision turned inward as he probed causalities. The little troll, Yoda, often preached that the future was always in motion and, therefore, difficult to predict. He was, in some respects, correct. However, the problem with Yoda's view -- the view of all Jedi for that matter -- rested in the concept of will as it pertained to the Force.

Jedi saw themselves as vessels for a higher power. They believed the Force was sentient, omniscient, and irrefutable. Attempting to control the Force, to go against its will, was anathema to a Jedi. The Sith, on the other hand, saw the Force as a partner, a tool. From this perspective, Force sensitivity was the same as any other biological trait; it existed, as did every ability, to be trained, honed, manipulated, and exploited to an individual's best advantage. When one viewed the Force in this manner, when one applied it to personal will and desire, the outcome of choices -- the correlation, sequentiality, and locality of events -- became transparent. Free will of other beings, of course, meant that not all outcomes could be predicted, but by following the threads of events through multiple permutations, one could ascertain the negative correlation of alternatives and assure repeatability of a desired event. By manipulating situations in real time to replicate those that presented such repeatability in the vision-state, one was all but assured of success.

Sidious focused his attention on a single individual, Anakin Skywalker, and the outcome he desired: for Anakin to become his apprentice.

For years there had been many paths leading to and from this outcome, many options to exploit and circumstances to manipulate. He carefully developed his friendship with the child, feeding the boy's fears and insecurities even as he propped up his ego and encouraged an ever greater desire for power. He let the situation simmer, allowing Anakin's physical training to be dominated by the Jedi. There was little reason not to as, in many respects, the Jedi and Sith were the same. They trained Skywalker in the many forms of lightsaber combat, encouraged his natural ability as a pilot, gave him opportunities to expand his knowledge of all things mechanical and physical, and honed his latent Force powers to a sharp edge. Had Sidious performed these tasks himself, it would have distracted him from other critical plans. And, while he wanted very much to gain the power Anakin represented and bring it under his control, it was essential that the timing be perfect. Anakin's defection would reveal too much to the Jedi. Sidious' vision-states urged caution, patience, and subtlety; they warned that bringing the Senate under his control was the key to ensuring the destruction of the Jedi and the ascendancy of the new Sith Empire, and that nothing must interfere with those plans.

Now, the time was nigh. The Senate had become little more than a formality, and his hold in the political arena was assured. Yes, there were permutations of events in which some systems rebelled, but Sidious was unconcerned. Such situations could be resolved after the destruction of the Jedi and the reorganization of the Republic into the Empire. There was only one possibility now that could stop him. Should Anakin hold true to Jedi teachings and kill him, or allow him to be killed, his many years of work would be for nothing and thousands of years of Sith teachings would be lost.

The Jedi, on their own, posed little threat thanks to the decimation and spiritual rot of the war. They were so blind to events that they were unable to comprehend that the moment they became generals, they had lost the fight. With the exception of a handful of Masters, the only Jedi on Coruscant were children and old, feeble teachers who were no match for heavily armed Clones or a Sith blade. It was unwise, however, to underestimate the likes of Mace Windu. At least half of the permutations in Sidious' vision-states resolved in his defeat at the point of a violet lightsaber. There were two variants in which Skywalker came to his rescue, and it was the pursuit of these variants, the traversing of the threads of causality and choice that would lead to these desired resolutions, in which Sidious was now engaged.

Both centered on trust. Anakin must come to trust and rely upon his good friend, Palpatine, above all others. The young man's instinct to protect his loved ones must be engaged and his loyalty must be placed firmly in his political mentor instead of with his wife or his former Master, Kenobi. To achieve this end, Kenobi must be removed from the field of play. It was preferable that Kenobi die -- and such had been the plan during the attack on Coruscant -- but simple removal of the man was, in effect, removal of Skywalker's moderating force, his conscience. Without Kenobi's influence, Anakin's hate could be unleashed and allowed to grow; his anger and arrogance would flow unabated. This would allow the young man to experience the depths of power available when Jedi sensibilities regarding passion and subservience to the will of the Force were cast aside. All he had to do was set a trap. By tempting the Jedi with the bait of Grievous, they would surely do exactly as he wished. And, if Kenobi was killed in the process, all the better.

Padme was another story.

Removing her from Coruscant would be difficult, if not impossible; as a result, her influence must be reduced by planting seeds of distrust. This, however, would be a tricky business. Implying Padme's pregnancy was the result of an affair could turn Anakin against him. Relaying information from the Senate rumor-mill that the father was Obi-Wan was a simple matter, one easily dropped into passing conversation and dismissed as gossip, but still dangerous. If only he could find a way to drive a wedge between the pair -- to force Anakin to make a choice between his loyalties -- that would be the best of all possible paths.

He delved deeper into the vision-state, sifting through options and choices as if they were so many grains of sand flowing through his fingers. There! A bright flash of possibility. He plucked the moment from the rest and examined the flow of time that might bring it to pass. This path not only drove a wedge between Anakin and his wife, but also brought about her demise!

This was the key. He would force Anakin to choose between his loved ones, placing them on opposite sides of the political spectrum, while simultaneously putting Padme and the unborn Skywalker child at risk. The second variant in which Skywalker always saved Palpatine from death hinged upon Anakin's insatiable lust for power. Nothing disturbed Anakin more than death. Nothing. He feared it more than anything in the galaxy. All Sidious needed to do was dangle the possibility of eternal life -- to plant the seed that the power of the Dark Side could save one from death -- and Anakin would take the bait.

It was time to put events in motion. Dooku's killing was but the first step. Now Sidious would dangle everything Anakin wanted just beyond his reach: Mastership, a seat on the High Council, the respect of his peers, and the ability to save everyone he loved from death. By the time the boy even thought to ask what the price of gaining his every desire was, it would be too late. Anakin's own actions would seal his fate and bring about the deaths of everyone and everything precious to him.

Everything, that is, except for Sidious himself.

Darth Sidious opened his eyes and smiled. He could hear his long-dead Master's voice in his head:

Tell me your greatest strength, so I will know how best to undermine you; tell me your greatest fear, so I will know which I must force you to face; tell me what you cherish most, so I will know what to take from you; tell me what you crave, so I may deny you.

The Senate would vote more powers to the Supreme Chancellor in the morning and bring the Jedi under his direct authority. He would make Anakin his personal representative to the Jedi Council. The Jedi would be angry but unable to resist the temptation of planting a spy in the Chancellor's office. It would place Anakin in an untenable position, one that would only be compounded when his dear friend, Palpatine, begged him for his help and protection against scheming Jedi and Senators intent on overthrowing the Republic.

But before he could send for Anakin, there were other matters to attend to. Negating the authority of the Senate and getting rid of Kenobi must run in parallel. His fingers danced over the computer control board and the executive order creating a system of governors to oversee each sector was on its way to Sly Moore. Another moment, and the holoprojector was activated. The remnants of the Separatist leadership must be sent far from their troops so that, when the moment came, they could be easily disposed of. A negligent wave of his hand brought his robe drifting from a compartment in the ceiling. As it settled on his shoulders, the cowl drawn up to keep his face hidden, he made the connection.

"General Grievous, I suggest you move the Separatist leaders to Mustafar."

The shimmering blue hologram remained in a subservient bow. "It will be done, my Lord."

"The end of the war is near."

Obi-Wan wandered the halls of the Temple, deep in thought. It was quiet, too quiet, and he found that the silence unsettled him. The Temple had never seemed deserted as it did this night. Even in the small hours there were normally Jedi on the move: Knights preparing for missions; caretakers and droids cleaning the massive halls; security teams on regular patrols; younglings darting here and there having slipped away from the crèche for late-night play. Tonight, Obi-Wan saw no one and heard nothing, not even the soft echo of falling water from the Room of a Thousand Fountains reached his ears. The wide hallways, massive columns, and expansive open spaces of the place Obi-Wan had called home his entire life were empty, shrouded in foreboding darkness that spoke to him of death and endings.

His meeting with Mace and Yoda only increased his unease. In the few months since his last visit, tensions between the Council and the Chancellor's office had escalated. It seemed a confrontation was inevitable. The power the Senate had vested in Palpatine was more than disturbing, it was dictatorial and went against everything the Republic represented. It made so little sense to Obi-Wan, the wholesale turnover of freedom. Were the representatives really so corrupt and afraid, he wondered? Surely, not all of them were. Did they not understand the consequences of their actions? Certainly Bail did. But if beings like Bail were the exception to the rule, if the majority in the Senate were happy to hand over their rights in the name of security, then what were the Jedi, his friends, fighting and dying for?

Mace's dejection, his impatience and frustration, had been almost as shocking as the political situation. It seemed that the dark side touched everything on Coruscant now, suffused the very air of the Temple with rancor and dampened even Master Yoda's calm and soothing presence in the Force. To hear the pair argue, to listen to Mace and Yoda debate the possibility of arresting the Supreme Chancellor, was so incomprehensible that a part of Obi-Wan still refused to believe what he had heard. He wanted to discuss the matter with Anakin, to confide in him both as friend and chosen one about the possibility of Sidious being one of Palpatine's advisors, but he had been directed to keep the information secret. Not even the other members of the High Council knew all of the details of the situation. Mace insisted the only reason he and Yoda had revealed things was because of Anakin's close relationship to the Supreme Chancellor. Anakin was unreliable, impulsive, and unstable, Mace argued. He implied the boy couldn't be trusted to keep his mouth shut. Obi-Wan could not, in honesty, disagree with the assessment. Loyalty was something Anakin prized. If he knew Palpatine might be in danger, he could let something slip and inadvertently warn the Sith Lord that the Jedi where on to him. Still, Obi-Wan was uncomfortable with keeping secrets from Anakin. Such things had tainted their relationship in the past. Only now had they finally stepped toward one another on equal footing with open hearts, and they had never been so close. Obi-Wan had no desire to change that, or to place Anakin in a situation that might compromise him or force him choose sides.

He stopped near a window. Dark blotches stood out against the bright lights of the city night, locations where buildings had been damaged or destroyed during the attack. His eyes drifted toward the squat mounds of the Senate rotunda and executive offices, and his thoughts shifted to Bail. That relationship had been tainted in the past by secrets and lies of omission as well. Though they had cleared the air, admitted they had no future together, things had somehow become even more complicated. Like his love for Siri, Obi-Wan had pushed his feelings for Bail down -- hidden them away and buried them in a secret part of his heart -- instead of examining them and letting them go. Now, Obi-Wan had to admit that the repression of his emotions had only made the situation worse. Confronted with loss on Boz Pity, he had found comfort in a love of the past, refusing to see what it might mean to the future or the negative impact such an action might have on everyone involved.

The fact was he had never been very good when it came to love. Setting aside attachment had always been his greatest challenge. When he really thought about it, the whole of his life had revolved around his love for others. Qui-Gon, Yoda, Siri, Quinlan, Bant, Anakin, Bail; all of them and more he had loved.

Many of them, more than he liked, he had lost.

Obi-Wan sighed and turned away from the view before his gaze found 500 Republica. Anakin found the rules regarding attachment difficult as well. He was certain the young man was with Senator Amidala this night. As a member of the High Council, Obi-Wan knew he should confront Anakin about Padme, but his own failings made the idea of another attempt at such a conversation seem hypocritical. As long as he continued a liaison with Bail Organa, any words he might say to Anakin about setting aside one's feelings would be nothing more than a hollow lecture.

Somehow Obi-Wan found himself in the gardens. Here the taint of darkness seemed less oppressive; the light of life strong and clear. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the fragrance of flowers in bloom. As he filled his lungs, it seemed to him that he expanded. He became the new green shoots as they struggled toward the light, and the vines laden with sweet berries. His arms were the tall, graceful limbs of ornamental trees as they swayed in the breeze created by falling water. He felt the hum of the insects in his veins as they migrated from one plant to the next spreading pollen, and sensed the worms in the soil as they wriggled, processing compost into loam and delivering oxygen to the roots of the plants. The delicate, symbiotic dance of the cycle of life was everywhere: in the rocks and the soil; in the water and the air; in the trees and the flowers; in his body and . . .

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and turned toward a small group of boulders near the water. "Master Yoda. I am sorry if I disturbed your meditation."

"Hm. Disturb? Disturb me you did not." The old Master opened his eyes and smiled. "Waiting for you I have been."

"Waiting for me?"

"Like your Master you are, young Obi-Wan. Came here too did Qui-Gon when troubled he was."

"Yes. Yes, he did." Obi-Wan returned the smile.

"Strong in the living Force was Qui-Gon, always in the moment. Sensed the coming darkness even before this old Master." Yoda slipped down the side of the boulder and moved toward Obi-Wan. "Arrogant and sure of ourselves we Jedi have been, blind and forgetful of our true purpose. Servants of the Force we are, not servants of the Republic."

Obi-Wan tilted his head and rubbed at his beard. "I do not understand, Master."

Yoda called his hoverchair from where it waited near a bush. "Hidden this Sith Lord has been, but soon he will reveal himself. Ready we must be, mindful of our thoughts and actions, if we are to save the Order."

"But the prophecy says the chosen one will bring balance and destroy the Sith."

"So sure you are that know you what means the prophecy? Understand, do you, all the mysteries of the Force? Indeed, a powerful Jedi you have become." Yoda settled into the chair. Ears lowered, he shook his head. He clutched his gimer stick in a hand and pointed it toward Obi-Wan. "Drawn you shall be into the heart of the matter, young Kenobi. This much I know. Ready you must be."

Obi-Wan felt the cold wash of foreknowledge pass over him. Yoda was right. Something was changing, accelerating, and he would somehow be pulled into the heart of the storm. A shiver ran through him, a thrill of near-fear that he allowed to pass over him and away. In its wake he felt calm and full of purpose. Whatever would come would come. He would face it in its time as he always had, as a Jedi.

"The best of your Master you hold in your heart, Obi-Wan. Remember your training, and sure the path shall be." Yoda's chair moved close. The old Master placed his gimer stick in his lap and brushed the gnarled claws of one hand against Obi-Wan's arm in an affectionate gesture. "Come. Injured you were during the encounter with Dooku. Rest, you need."

Pulling his robe around him, Obi-Wan bowed to the teacher he so respected. Tonight he would rest, and in the light of morning he would do what must be done. He would confront those parts of his heart he had locked away and let go of his attachments.

"I want to thank all of you for coming on such short notice."

Bail gestured toward the small seating area in his official Senate office. A service droid placed a tray of banja cakes on the table and made an offer of drinks. Every one of the Senators still had on their formal attire from the morning voting session -- a session that had been moved at the last minute to an obscenely early hour in what Bail assumed was a tactic to forestall debate over the hastily introduced Military Oversight Amendment. The Amendment shifted Jedi accountability away from the Senate and moved it under the direct authority of the Supreme Chancellor.

It, of course, passed.

"As most of you are aware, Mon Mothma and I have been concerned for quite some time about the increased restrictions on personal liberty, the suspension of judicial proceedings, and the continued amending of the Constitution. We had hoped that having the Loyalist Committee meet with the Supreme Chancellor to discuss these issues would impress upon him the need to reverse the more draconian and intrusive of recent security measures, and that he would heed the advice of friends regarding negotiating with the Separatist leadership. It seems this was not the case."

The drinks were delivered and the Senators settled in. Bail took the only remaining chair, the one to the right of Senator Amidala and to the left of Mon Mothma. Padme was the only individual in the room Bail had any concern about. Fang Zar, Giddean Danu, and Terr Taneel, sitting opposite on the settee, had been to several of Bail's social events meant to sound out allies. He knew where they stood and that they would be eager to join the cause. Padme, however, was a wild card. Though she was a staunch defender of the constitution, and had eagerly joined the group in calling for the reopening of diplomacy, Bail couldn't help but wonder about her loyalties. Palpatine had been a close advisor and, if he was right about Anakin, she was sleeping with the man's protégé. Would the idea of calling for Palpatine's ouster, of possible treason in the name of protecting the Republic, be a step too far?

"Now that he has control of the Jedi Council," Bail continued, "the Chancellor has appointed governors to oversee all star systems in the Republic."

Fang Zar's eyes widened in surprise. "When did this happen?"

"The Sector Governance Decree was posted this morning while we were in session," Bail said with a grimace.

Padme seemed almost as shocked. "Do you think he'll dismantle the Senate?"

"Why should he bother?" Mon Mothma's voice was matter-of-fact. "As a practical matter -- as of this morning -- the Senate no longer exists."

Giddean Danu shook his head in disgust. He shifted in his seat, restless. "The Constitution is in shreds. Amendment after amendment . . ."

Bail jumped on the thought. "Thanks to this executive order, Palpatine no longer has to worry about controlling the Senate. By placing his own lackeys as governors over every planet in the Republic, he controls our systems directly. We have made him a dictator."

Terr Taneel brushed her hands against her black skirt. She seemed nervous. "But what can be done about it?"

Mon Mothma, as usual, took a moderate yet direct approach. "This is what we have asked you here to discuss, what we are going to do about it."

Bail glanced at each of the four Senators in turn, gauging their reactions. Giddean had an open stance, leaning forward and engaged, but his hands were fists. The man was clearly ready to fight if necessary and his body showed it. Terr Taneel's eyes darted between Bail and Padme, and her body posture was closed and reserved. Bail didn't blame her for her reticence, but the time for straddling the proverbial fence was over.

It was Fang Zar who surprised him. Fang and Garm were close, so close that it was understood that Fang's vote was also a vote cast on behalf of Corellia. Bail had assumed that Garm had kept Fang in the loop about their meetings, about their nascent alliance and tentative military strategies, but it seemed this was not the case. The old man ran a hand over his wild beard and frowned. "Bail, I'm not sure I like where this is going."

"I think I am safe in saying that none of us like where any of this is going," Bail responded. "That is exactly the point. I, for one, will not let a thousand years of democracy disappear on my watch without a fight."

"A fight?" Padme didn't even try to hide her feelings. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. Bail, you sound like a Separatist!"

Bail put up his hands as if to surrender. "Please, don't mistake my intent. Let me apologize to all of you if I give the wrong impression. I am not, and will never be, a Separatist." Bail rose from his chair and moved to stand behind it, a politician's unconscious means of placing a kind of podium between himself and the beings he hoped to convince. "I -- we --" he gestured toward Mon Mothma "-- asked you here because of all the Senators in the galaxy, you four have been the most consistent and influential voices of reason. All of you have done everything you could to preserve our tattered Constitution -- have been vocal regarding your opposition to the suspension of habeas corpus and the use of spy remotes without warrants -- and it is because of this stalwart defense that we come to you now."

"We are not Separatists trying to leave the Republic," Mon Mothma continued. "We are loyalists trying to preserve democracy within the Republic. Unfortunately, it has become increasingly clear that Palpatine is an enemy of democracy. We feel he must be stopped."

"How has it come to this?" Padme shook her head in disbelief. "I have known Chancellor Palpatine for years. He was my most trusted advisor. He served as my ambassador when I was Queen. I can't believe it is his intent to circumvent the authority of the Senate in favor of a dictatorship."

Giddean Danu was the one who took up the charge. "Senator, you have spent many months away from Coruscant during this conflict, and I fear you underestimate the amount of corruption that has taken hold of the Senate."

Mon Mothma nodded her agreement. "The Chancellor has played Senators well. They know where the power lies, and they will do whatever it takes to share in it."

"The Senate gave him those powers," Padme responded. "The Senate can rein him in."

Terr Taneel shook her head. "And who will vote against Palpatine now?"

Padme's response was instant. "I will. And I'll find others to do the same."

Fang Zar nodded his agreement and Bail felt a thrill of hope. It was happening. One way or another, he was committed now to the fight. He braced his arms against the tall back of the armchair in front of him and took the final leap. "Do that, all of you. Find as many Senators as possible and make as much noise as you can. It will keep Palpatine's attention diverted, focused on what you're doing in the Senate." Bail let go of the chair and started to pace, the passion of his convictions driving him forward. "But the fact of the matter is that we cannot afford endless debate about this. If we are right, and Palpatine has no intention of giving up the power the Senate has given him, it may take extraordinary measures to regain system sovereignty and restore democratic rule. Senator Mon Mothma and I are putting together an organization --"

Padme cut him off. "Say no more, Senator. I understand. At this point, some things are better left unsaid."

Bail glanced at Mon Mothma. Her expression was inscrutable, but a twitch of her hand told him they would talk privately later. Padme would be the public face of their political movement, but when it came to anything more, she was out. Bail was disappointed but he understood. If he was right about her relationship with Anakin, she might be protecting more than herself and her unborn child by remaining ignorant of other activities. What she didn't know, she couldn't disclose.

"Agreed," Bail said with a curt nod. "But we must be clear, what we have talked about today in this room cannot be shared with anyone -- not unless all of us here agree."

"That means those closest to you --" Mon Mothma added with a significant look toward Padme "-- even family."

Padme nodded. "Agreed."

Bail looked at each of the other Senators in turn. Each one nodded their head.

"Then we are committed," Bail said. He didn't try to hide his sadness as he dropped back into his chair with a sigh. "Now we must talk strategy with regard to this movement in the Senate."

Mace watched as Yoda exited the transport. The old Grand Master made heavy use of his gimer stick as he moved down the gangway. It occurred to Mace, not for the first time, that Yoda had been ancient for so long that it was easy to forget he was not immortal. Yes, the Force was his ally, but sooner or later all things came to their natural conclusion.

Yoda was the bar by which every Jedi measured their worth, the wise sage and teacher who had touched the life of every living Jedi and left his lasting mark. He was their connection to the past and the traditions of old even as he diligently trained younglings to face an ever uncertain future. A connection that Mace felt sure would have been a part of Jedi history several years ago but for the war.

Only Mace knew how deep Yoda's pain went, how tired he was and how much effort it took the old one to remain with them. Sometimes, when deep in shared meditation, Mace could feel the throbbing of joints, the aches and pains of hundreds of years, as if they were his own. Even before the war began, Yoda had used his hoverchair more and more frequently, had delegated his responsibilities Temple-wide to handpicked students. Mace had been a recipient of such an honor almost fifteen years before when Yoda conferred upon him the title of Master of the Order, designating him as the ranking member of the High Council and anointing him as heir apparent. Had it not been for the crisis of the war and the return of the Sith, Mace was certain Yoda would have released his hold on this existence and embraced the mysteries of the one to come.

But such things were not to be. Yoda was needed, and he knew it. As Mace knew it. Their own pains -- their aching hearts for lost comrades, their battered bodies, their wounded spirits -- must be set aside.

He glanced to his left at Obi-Wan. This young man too had burdens he could not lay down, a destiny to fulfill. Yoda's plans for this unassuming Jedi had been swept aside by Kenobi's instance on training Anakin. Now, there were other forces at work. The Force had drawn Obi-Wan into the maelstrom and refused to let him go.

Mace frowned. He would have preferred that Yoda have this conversation with Obi-Wan -- the pair had a closer bond -- but time was short and the topic could not wait for the Master's return from Kashyyyk. Kenobi's propensity toward attachment was a flaw of which few were aware, and it was this topic he must now broach. There was no time for delicacy or tact. Once Grievous was found, Obi-Wan would be sent after him. With the Jedi spread so thin, with this menace seemingly on their doorstep, with the Chancellor poised to become a dictator, the matter of the Senator from Alderaan must be addressed.

He waived at the pilot and the gunship lifted off.

"Have you had time to read the report on the Boz Pity data?"

Mace wasn't surprised when Obi-Wan shook his head in the negative. For five months the man had been in the Outer Rim tracking every slim lead the Order could find regarding Sidious. "In addition to the cybernetic implants and robotic prosthetics, it seems the Separatists were experimenting on Ventress' blood. The data indicates they were attempting to manipulate the midi-chlorians at a sub-cellular level."

"To what end?"

"It is unclear. Some data indicates attempts to reduce or kill off the midi-chlorians while other data seems to imply forced replication. When taken together with the abduction of Force-sensitive children and the holocron theft, a larger picture begins to emerge. A very disturbing picture."

Obi-Wan scowled and Mace moved right to the point. "Have you spoken to Senator Organa since your return?"

The question had the desired effect. Obi-Wan's head whipped around, his eyes wide. "No. I have not had time."

"I suggest you make time, Master Kenobi," Mace replied. "Because of Organa's unique characteristics, I am unable to determine what, if any, part he might play in coming events. However, given this new information, it is critical that he not fall into the hands of the Sith. If Sidious is part of the Chancellor's inner circle, we can be certain he has discovered Organa is a Force void. The kind of experiments the Separatists were performing mean Organa could be in grave danger." Mace turned his head and looked out over Coruscant. "It is also possible that Sidious has been using Organa's ability to hide himself from our vision."

"Why has this not been discussed in Council?"

"Yoda and I have not shared our knowledge regarding the Senator with the other members. We felt caution regarding his status was the wisest course."

"It seems to me that you and Master Yoda keep quite a lot from the Council these days." Obi-Wan's voice was placid but his expression was not. "Lies and deception are not the way of the Jedi, Master Windu."

"Your objection is noted."

"But ultimately disregarded."

Mace suppressed the urge to sigh. Obi-Wan had kept debate regarding Anakin's off-the-record assignment open for hours. It wasn't that he didn't understand Kenobi's position -- Anakin was unstable and placing him in the direct path of a Sith Lord was a risk -- but it was a risk they had to take. The chosen one had to be placed in play and given an opportunity to fulfill the prophecy. Obi-Wan's feelings about the matter, his attachment to the boy, was beside the point. "Obi-Wan, I do not discount your position. On the contrary, I deeply value your advice. Your voice in the Council has always been one of patience and circumspection. However, I sense a plot to destroy the Jedi, and I will do whatever I must to thwart such a plot."

"And what is it you are saving, Mace, if you compromise your values and use the tactics of the enemy to win? Do you not simply become the evil you hope to destroy?"

Mace's lips set in a grim line at Obi-Wan's retort. He had asked this question of himself many times. His people were warriors, quick to anger and judge, and he had fought that tendency within himself all his life. It was this flaw that had driven him to develop the form seven lightsaber variant of Vaapad. Vaapad drew on the dark side, required the user to embrace their fury and draw on the power of both their own anger and that of the opponent. When executed properly, the practitioner became a conduit, a conductor of dark energy, while remaining firmly in the light. But it was a difficult balance to maintain, and the lure of so much dark power was dangerous. Was his own philosophy, his own inner darkness, coloring his perceptions in this matter? Was Obi-Wan correct in his assessment?

The gunship banked sharply as it approached the Temple hangar bay giving a stunning view of the setting sun. A view Mace ignored. He bowed his head in deference and addressed Obi-Wan again. "Yoda is right, Obi-Wan, this invisible corner you feel we have turned marks the crisis of our age. We must be ready. We must safeguard those in our care. When we find Grievous, when he is captured or killed, the Chancellor will be forced to give up the dictatorial power he has gathered, and the Sith Lord will reveal himself." The gunship slowed and the stabilizing thrusters fired as it adjusted attitude for landing. Mace put a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "You should settle things between you and Senator Organa. We cannot spare anyone to act as his protection, and you cannot afford to take the distraction of your attachment to him into battle."

"Mace . . ."

"This is not chastisement or lecture, Obi-Wan," he interrupted, "only concern for two men I have come to count among my friends."

Obi-Wan's head dipped low in response and the gunship settled to the deck.

"Take one of the speeders and go to him," Mace said with a sigh. "Warn him. You may not have another chance."

"Hello, Bail. How have you been?"

Obi-Wan watched as Bail rose from his chair. The Senator hovered behind his desk, hands pressed against the flat surface in front of him as if to hold himself in place. He seemed tired and sad. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded raw and lacked the smooth, confident tone of the orator Obi-Wan knew so well.

"Confused. Guilty."

Moving forward into the office, Obi-Wan tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe. "I'm sorry. I never wanted you to . . ."

Bail didn't let him finish. The man was across the floor in less than a second, pulling Obi-Wan into his arms. There was no hesitancy or confusion in the kiss that followed, only passion that left Obi-Wan weak in the knees. When it ended, they stood together, foreheads touching.

"I saw you yesterday at the landing platform," Bail whispered. "I thought you might be avoiding me."

Obi-Wan shook his head in response. "I had to make the report to the High Council."

Bail reached up and cupped a hand to the side of Obi-Wan's face. "I have been so worried about you. Your name stopped appearing on the mission rosters and . . ."

"As you can see, I'm fine." Obi-Wan took hold of Bail's hand and kissed the palm. He could feel the old ache in his chest, the one he had lived with for years after Bail's marriage. "Why don't we sit down?"

Bail nodded and let Obi-Wan lead the way to the couch like a guest in his own office. They sat close together, Bail's left knee brushing against Obi-Wan's right, and the Jedi's mouth went dry. Suddenly unable to look Bail in the face, he stared at the dark gray of Bail's pants. A finger traced a line along the expensive cloth of the tabard Bail wore, a garment oddly reminiscent in construction to his own.

"Ben, what is it?" Bail reached out and tilted up Obi-Wan's head. "Talk to me."

Their eyes met. He could see the concern painted across Bail's face and chose the easy path, retreating into the role of Jedi protector.

"I want you to leave Coruscant."

Concern was replaced with confusion. "Why?"

"Because I need to know you will be safe."

Bail shifted, leaning back in a posture Obi-Wan knew all too well. The stubborn Senator was digging in his heels. "I don't understand. Dooku is dead. Grievous is on the run. Why wouldn't I be safe here of all places?"

Obi-Wan allowed himself a sigh. He must now walk a delicate line. While he had told Bail years ago about how Qui-Gon died, the Security Committee had never been briefed about the Sith. Though the man in front of him might forgive a lover and friend for withholding information, the Senator of the Republic would be rightfully angry such information had been kept secret.

"Bail, there are things the Jedi Council has not told the Senate. Things we thought were of no importance to anyone but the Order." Obi-Wan rubbed a hand over his beard. "Do you remember what I told you about Naboo? About the Zabrak?"

Bail's head tilted to one side. "The one who killed Qui-Gon? The Dark Force user?"

"It was the apprentice, not the Master. We thought, perhaps, Count Dooku but . . ." He clasped his hands together and leaned toward Bail, trying to cushion the revelation by his presence. "That is where I have been these last few months, following the trail of the Master. Unfortunately, the trail leads here. To Coruscant. To the Senate."

Bail's eyes went wide and Obi-Wan rushed ahead, trying to forestall too many uncomfortable questions.

"The Council believes you are in danger. Not because you are a Senator, or the Viceroy of Alderaan -- not even for what you represent politically -- but because of what you are."

"I don't understand."

"It's complicated." He reached out and took Bail's hands in his. "Trust me. Be guided by me in this. Go home to Alderaan where your staff and the Home Guard can protect you."

"I can't just leave." Bail frowned and shook his head. "I am a part of something, something important, that must not be put aside. There is a petition to be put before the Supreme Chancellor tomorrow and I must be here to support that action."

"Is this piece of flimsi worth your life, Bail?"

"Yes!" Bail shook off Obi-Wan's hands and stood up. He marched to the window and pointed toward the hulking mound of the Senate rotunda looming in the dark. "Do you know what they've been doing in that building while you've been out there risking your life? Destroying the Republic you've been trying to save! They amend the Constitution again and again, giving Palpatine powers no one being should ever have! Today he issued an executive order that puts a governor in charge of my planet's resources and all but subordinates the government of Alderaan to his personal whims!" Bail shook his head, his expression hard and his words full of anger. "You, of all people, should be able to understand why I can't leave; why I can't run home in fear of some nebulous threat to my person. I will not stand by and do nothing while the democracy I have devoted my life to becomes a memory!"

Obi-Wan slumped forward, elbows on his knees. A weary hand scrubbed over his face and back into his graying hair. He knew Bail meant every word of his impassioned rhetoric -- it was one of the many reasons he had fallen in love with him so many years ago. Unlike others, Bail had never been in the pocket of the corporations, taken bribes, or pursued power for power's sake. His devotion to the ideals of the Republic, to promoting goodwill and expanding the reach of law for the good of others, was more than a cloak worn to cover his own greed. Bail was that rarest of breeds, an honest politician.

He stood and moved to Bail's side. "You must do what you feel is right, of course."

"Sometimes I don't know what that is anymore." Bail sighed. "You probably think I'm being stubborn."

Obi-Wan said nothing.

Bail shook his head. "You don't know what's happening, how tenuous things are. You don't understand what you're asking me to do."

"It is you who do not understand, Bail. A single battle does not win a war. Sometimes we must set aside our personal desires in deference to the larger whole."

"Then explain! Make me understand!"

"Even if you were a Jedi, Bail, I am not certain I could." Obi-Wan turned to face the window, the bright streaks of air traffic almost hypnotic. "It is not our way to speak of our internal problems to outsiders. This war has divided the Order. Many Jedi refuse to fight, saying that the Separatists have legitimate grievances regarding corruption in the Senate. Others say our allegiance is to the Force, not to a Republic that serves only the wealthy and special interest groups. They pursue their own missions or retreat into seclusion. Even within the Council there is disagreement regarding prophecy, the Sith, and the disturbance that has clouded our vision. My Master clashed with the Council over these very issues before his death. How then, when so many Jedi disagree on so much, can I explain to you why you must be protected? You, a man with no connection to the Force, who admits he rejects the idea of higher power?" Obi-Wan shook his head. "We have only a feeling. A hunch. A line of reasoning based on thin threads of circumstantial evidence. A leap of faith born of ancient prophecy. I can give you no facts to convince you, no data of substance to support any claim I make in this regard. What I do know is, according to Jedi beliefs, you should not exist."

He turned back to Bail, eyes searching. "I am convinced it is no coincidence that both a man with the highest midi-chlorian count in recorded history and a man with none at all should be born in the same age; that they should both be here, on this planet, and drawn into my life at the same time. And I believe that the fate of the Jedi is at stake, perhaps the fate of every life in this Galaxy." He reached out and pressed a hand to the side of Bail's face. "I don't know what the future holds; I only know that the danger is very great. I need to know that if something happens to me -- happens to the Jedi -- that you will be here to carry on, to do all those things you used to talk about at night in your sleep. That you remain to fight for the things we have both dedicated our lives to protecting."

Bail's mouth fell open in shock. He looked like he'd had the breath knocked out of him. "You're afraid."

Obi-Wan bowed his head and let his hand fall to his side. He knew how his silence would be interpreted.

The moment dragged out. Bail half stumbled to the chair behind his desk and dropped into it with a heavy thud. It seemed cruel to burden Bail with such knowledge, but there was no other choice. Obi-Wan slipped a hand inside his tunic and withdrew the nerf-hide pouch he had carried there for years. He looked at the small thing, barely the size of a muja fruit, with its white cord tie. He clenched his hand around it and the sharp edge of the stone inside bit against his palm. It was time to finish what he had begun.

"For years I have held on to an imaginary man who walked a different path and lived a different life, one divorced from duty, obligation, and destiny. I embraced an illusion who could dream of love and make promises a Jedi could never keep." He made himself to look Bail in the face. The tears he saw echoed the ones that had begun to well in his own eyes. He straightened and blinked them away, determined to retain his composure. "We shared a fiction to justify the pursuit of a relationship that should never have been, and now we must accept the truth no matter how painful it may be."

Obi-Wan took two steps forward and turned the pouch upside down. The small half-orb inside tumbled out onto Bail's desk. He wondered if Bail still had the other half -- if he had kept it close through the years of their long estrangement -- and then forced the thought away. The pouch fell to the floor, discarded and empty. "Please consider my counsel, Senator. If you will not go home, then take precautions. Should anything happen, anything at all, you should leave this planet immediately."

Bail struggled up from the chair and groped toward Obi-Wan. "Ben, please, why are you doing this?"

Obi-Wan tucked his arms into the sleeves of his robe and stepped back. "Ben does not exist and he never did. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master and servant of the Force, and I can no longer allow attachment to cloud my judgment."

Unable to continue looking at Bail, Obi-Wan turned on his heel and strode for the door. He had only hurt this badly three times in his life: when Qui-Gon and Siri had died in his arms, and when he had watched Bail take Breha as his wife. But in each of those cases, someone else had done the leaving. Tonight Obi-Wan was the one walking away, and he found that it made the pain so much worse. It took everything he had not to turn around and gather Bail in his arms, to take back what he had said and tell the man that somehow they would find a way to be together. As he reached the door, he heard Bail let out a broken sob and he hesitated. What he said was the truth from a certain point of view, but he had left out one very critical fact. Perhaps he shouldn't say the words, but Mace was right, he might not get another chance.

"In spite of everything that has passed between us, Bail, I have always loved you," he whispered without turning. "I am sorry."

Obi-Wan rushed out of Bail's office and didn't look back.

Padme was tired. Her feet hurt, and the lingering scent of hoi-broth was making her nauseous. The baby kicked and squirmed inside her as if in response to her agitated mood. What she needed was a nap, but it wasn't a likely prospect. In a few hours they would present the petition to the Supreme Chancellor, and she would have to dress for the occasion.

At least the meeting was over. Chi Eekway, Bana Breemu, and Giddean Danu were on the veranda awaiting their respective transports. Mon Mothma had taken a turbolift to her own apartment several levels below. Only Bail remained in the reception area. He stood near the windows looking in the direction of the Jedi Temple, his face pinched and troubled.

He had paced almost the entirety of the meeting, his body stiff and manner broody. Even his tone, clipped and terse, had been unlike the even-tempered diplomat Padme had come to know. She could see the beginning of dark circles under his eyes, and his skin had an ashen cast. What, she wondered, had upset the man so?

Three years ago she wouldn't have hesitated to ask Bail what was wrong. Their strong working relationship had blossomed into close friendship. She had made several trips to Alderaan before the war, staying at the palace as a guest. She counted Bail's young wife, Breha, a friend as well. But, after her marriage to Anakin, the visits came to an end. Between the war and her clandestine marriage, she had little time to maintain friendships. In truth, however, she had distanced herself from Bail and his wife on purpose. As she and Anakin were forced to hide their love, to skulk in dark alleys and share furtive nights together in her apartment, her friends' marriage became a source of jealousy. Padme was envious that the Organas could be so free and open about their relationship while still meeting their respective obligations. Such thoughts made Padme feel petty. After all, she had entered into her marriage with full knowledge of the ramifications. It was hardly Bail and Breha's fault that she had chosen to marry a Jedi. Still, Padme could not help her feelings, so she held herself apart from the Alderaani Senator and his wife.

She regretted it now.

Though she worried she might be sticking her nose in where it wasn't wanted, she decided to ask anyway. That was what friends did, wasn't it? Offered a shoulder or a kind ear in times of trouble? And Bail was clearly troubled.

She moved to stand next to him. "Bail, do you want to talk about it?"

He jerked his head away from the view as if startled by her presence. Padme noticed the glass-like sheen of his eyes before he sighed and returned his gaze to the skyline, a telltale sign of harsh stimulant use.

"It's that obvious?"

"It is to me."

Bail closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "Your information regarding General Grievous. It didn't happen to include the name of the Jedi they were sending, did it?"

Padme frowned. "Bail, I shouldn't . . ."

"It's Kenobi, isn't it?"

Bail's voice was a harsh whisper Padme had never heard from him before. His whole body seemed to tense as he said Obi-Wan's name, his face clenching as if holding back tears. She knew that look. She had worn it herself many times over the last three years as she watched her husband fly off to some distant battle, unsure if she would ever see him again. To see such a thing in Bail left her simultaneously shocked and empathetic. Bail was the last man she would have suspected of something like this. No, she thought, that wasn't true. Obi-Wan was the last man she would have suspected. Somehow it seemed appropriate that the two men she would never have dreamed could have an illicit affair with anyone were involved with one another.

"That explains a lot," he muttered.

Bail's sad tone tugged at Padme's heart. How long had he kept this secret? As long as she and Anakin had kept theirs? Longer? What of Breha and the great love she had been so jealous of? Was it a lie? Poor Breha, she thought. The woman was completely devoted to her husband. If she ever found out, it would devastate her.

It seemed as if everything Padme had ever known, had ever relied upon, was crumbling around her. Bail Organa had feet of clay like everyone else. Palpatine, a once trusted advisor, was now a political enemy. And Obi-Wan -- Obi-Wan Kenobi, the perfect Jedi -- what of him? His early morning visit, his plea that she try to help Anakin with the political quagmire he had fallen into, seemed so different now. The man had been restless and on edge. Padme had attributed the discomfort to his concern for Anakin. But, with Bail similarly disturbed, she had to wonder if there was more to Obi-Wan's mood. It seemed Master Kenobi was just as vulnerable to emotion as every other man and simply better at hiding it behind his Jedi mask. It made her wonder. Had Obi-Wan known about her relationship with Anakin all these years? Had he kept their secret as he kept his own?

Bail sighed and turned toward her, interrupting her thoughts. He looked at her with worried eyes. "Are you certain you want to do this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Presenting the petition could be dangerous. We don't know how Palpatine will react." Bail glanced pointedly at her midsection. "Sometimes the price of standing up for our convictions can be too high."

Padme had to suppress a shiver of fear. "What are you implying?"

"No one would ever accuse you of backing down from a fight, Padme. Your bravery and political acumen are never in question. But there are times when we must take a larger view." Bail shook his head and his lips twisted in a strange, cynical curve. "We must consider the ramifications of our actions on others and set aside our personal desires. You are not just my colleague, Padme, you are a friend. I worry for you -- and your family."

Padme crossed her arms over her chest. Suddenly, she felt angry. Did Bail think that just because she was pregnant she had taken leave of her senses? That she was incapable of doing her duty? What was it about men and their strange propensity to shelter women as if they were made of Quarren crystal? Even Anakin sometimes tried to tell her what to do, or diminish her ability by acting as if her gender made her inferior. "I could say the same to you, Bail. You are the hereditary leader of your planet. You have no heir. What of your people?" She glared at him. "What about Breha?"

Bail flinched. "That's why I didn't sign the petition," he whispered.

"What?" Her eyes widened in shock. "But you are the one who instigated all of this!"

Bail didn't reply. The guilty look on his face said it all.

"I don't understand." Padme shook her head. Who was this man in front of her? It certainly wasn't the Bail Organa she thought she knew. "Is there something you aren't telling the rest of us?"

Bail's eyes darted around the room. He took her hand in his and drew her further from the veranda toward the balcony. When he spoke, his voice was hushed and urgent. "I know you know about the Sith."

Padme said nothing. The Sith invaded her planet, killed Qui-Gon, and took her husband's arm. Of course she knew about them. She hated them. But Yoda had sworn her to secrecy. It was a Jedi matter, he had said. So how did Bail know? Had Obi-Wan told him?

"The Jedi have traced them to Coruscant. They believe a Sith Lord is controlling the Senate; that it is someone close to the Chancellor. If they are right, it may not matter if Palpatine gives up power. Even if he steps down, we may be forced to . . ."

"Bail, stop. Just stop." Padme turned away. "I can't hear this."

"Because of Anakin? Is he the Jedi you want to consult?"

Padme braced herself against the railing and tried to make the world stop spinning. It was as if Bail knew every secret in her heart. She remembered his interest when she suggested confiding in a Jedi, his disappointment when the others refused. Had he harbored similar thoughts about Obi-Wan?

She felt Bail move close. His hands came to rest on her shoulders. "What was it you said the other day? Some things are better left unspoken? Perhaps you are right, but I cannot help but feel such words are an excuse we use to keep from making hard choices, justifications for lies of omission." He sighed, his breath skimming the top of her head. "I understand, Padme, more than you know. In time secrets tear us in two; they distance us from everyone and everything we care about. They let darkness into our hearts, and eat away at us until one day we look in the mirror and no longer recognize the person staring back."

Padme shuddered and closed her eyes against the truth she heard in Bail's words. She kept so many secrets now -- even from Anakin -- and it broke her heart. "We both know it has to be me in that office today, Bail, and we both know why."

"He's Palpatine's protégé. He's a Jedi. If you think you can hide this from him . . ."

She twisted in his grasp. "Are you worried I can't keep my word?"

"No."

Bail looked at her with such sadness and sympathy that she had to look away. He reached up and brushed her face with the back of a hand. From another the gesture might have been too intimate, a step too far, but somehow it seemed almost fatherly.

"Padme, I'm sorry if I've upset you," Bail whispered. "It was never my intention."

She shook her head. "It's all right."

"I should go." Bail's hand fell away and he stepped back. "You need to get ready."

Padme nodded and they both headed for the veranda where Bail's speeder was docked. He paused at the edge of the conversation area and turned to face her.

"Let me know how the meeting goes. I'll be waiting on your comm." He darted forward and kissed her on the cheek. His last words came in a whisper against her ear. "You don't have to talk about it, but I want you to know I'm happy for you, Padme."

Bail turned and made the short hop from the stairs into his speeder. As the red and silver XJ-2 detached and dove down into fast-moving traffic, Padme pressed a hand to her cheek. It was still tingling where Bail had kissed her. How strange, she thought, that Bail would be the first to express warm sentiments about her pregnancy; that he would know before her parents. Her life had become a tangled web of deceits. Did Bail feel the same, she wondered. Did he stand alone in the dark at night in his room and wonder how it had all come to this?

"Mistress Padme, I am sorry to intrude, but you said I should notify you when it was fifth hour."

Padme sighed and turned toward the gold-plated droid. The time for maudlin reverie was over. She had a job to do. "Yes, Threepio. Thank you."

Bail, a stun baton in each hand, darted past the dueling droid and tumbled under the training lightsaber it held. He scored a hit to the back of the droid's leg as he rolled past and it teetered slightly before regaining its balance. It gave Bail the opening he'd been looking for. He gained his feet, leapt onto a nearby crate, and launched into the air. The droid spun to face him and Bail brought both batons up in a pincher movement, slapping them to either side of its head.

The droid stopped mid-movement, shuddered, and fell to the floor twitching.

Panting and soaked in sweat, Bail stood over the disabled droid. He was exhausted physically and emotionally. After Obi-Wan's unexpected visit, he had gone directly to the underground training facility at Cantham House and stayed there, leaving only to attend the meeting at Padme's apartment. He couldn't stand to be in his office, and the idea of having to explain himself and his distraught state to his staff was more than he could take. After a few hours of self-pity, chastisement, and soul-searching, he activated the training droids and attempted to wear himself down enough to sleep. It didn't work, and he'd been forced to take heavy doses of stim to get him through the required business of the following day. Now, with so much of the drug in his system, he was wired and twitchy, unable to come down enough to even think about rest.

Bail crouched to the floor, put down the batons, and picked up the saber. It had belonged to Arc. Unlike Obi-Wan's, the hilt was slightly curved and there was no way to change the length of the blade or adjust the power setting. The metal casing was wrapped with three shades of brown nerf-hide, a braid of the stuff at the end creating the belt loop. He was always surprised at how heavy it felt, how strange and different it was from a baton or vibroblade. A touch to the activation switch and the beam leapt from the emitter. Bail stared at the yellow plasma bound in the containment field. When he was a child, he had wanted so badly to be a Jedi. To this day, he remembered every detail of his meeting with Jorus C'baoth: the dense weave of his dark brown cloak; his wild white hair; the kind brown eyes and imposing presence of the man; the way his mother buried her face in his father's shoulder when Master C'baoth took the blood sample. Now, though he admired all that the Jedi stood for, and was awed at the power of the Force, a part of him hated the Jedi and their rules about love. They called it attachment, but what they really meant was that if you weren't one of them you were something less, something not quite worthy. You couldn't possibly understand them or their powers, and your weakness, your inability to commune with their precious Force, would make you a liability.

Obi-Wan had said that he shouldn't exist. What did that mean? So he had none of these midi-chlorian things, what difference did that make? He knew from things both Obi-Wan and Arc had said over the years that the Force was somehow connected to these particles or parasites or whatever they were. He knew having more of them made a Jedi powerful. He knew Anakin had more than any Jedi in history. He had known for many years that Jedi couldn't read or influence him as they did others. But to see fear in Obi-Wan's eyes -- to have it implied that he was somehow caught up in this prophecy Obi-Wan had talked about -- was beyond his comprehension.

Bail stood, testing the balance of the lightsaber in his hand. It seemed almost a metaphor. Heavy and light. Hot and cold. Beautiful and deadly. And wasn't all of creation like that really? Made of opposites: night and day; push and pull; soft and hard.

Light and dark.

Realization crept over him, bringing a strange hypersensitivity. As he looked at the golden glow of the lightsaber in front of him, the room began to dim. The sharp edges of reality warped and twisted as the duracrete and alloy of the training facility fell away and was replaced by a battle field. Fire, snow, and ash were everywhere. Ki-Adi-Mundi, lightsaber a blur, was leading a charge across an elevated bridge. As he neared the Separatist vanguard, the Marines behind him stopped and leveled their blaster rifles. He watched the Jedi turn, a look of pure shock on his face, before the troops opened fire.

Before what he saw registered, the scene shifted. Bail stood among luminous towers of fungus and vibrant flowers that loomed far above his head. It was quiet but for the ominous metal thud of all terrain transports. Aayla Secura, followed by her troops, moved into the clearing and a bird took flight. As she turned to look, her troops opened fire.

Bail screamed and ran forward trying to stop what he saw, but the ground beneath him gave way. Confused and disoriented, it took him a moment to understand he was flying low over a strange, arid landscape. Republic troops on speeder bikes rushed along below him. When he recognized Stass Alie at the head of the formation, he shouted and waived his arms in an attempt to gain her attention. The helplessness and horror he felt as he watched the troopers that flanked her drop back and shoot her down was overwhelming.

Sick with rage and fear, Bail covered his eyes and tried to block out the next vision. The sounds of war were all around him. In the midst of the explosions, blaster fire, and screams of dying men, he heard a familiar voice.

"Commander, contact your troops. Tell them to move to the higher levels."

He uncovered his face. Obi-Wan sat atop a reptilian mount surrounded by troopers.

"Very good, sir. Oh, by the way, I think you'll be needing this."

The clone handed Obi-Wan his lightsaber and Bail rushed toward them both. "Ben! Ben, get out of there!"

He wasn't heard.

"Thank you, Cody. Now, let's get a move on! We've got a battle to win here!"

Obi-Wan snapped the reins and his mount took off up a trail. Bail watched, able to do nothing, as Commander Cody answered his comm and received his orders. Sixty-six. That was part of the contingency protocol. But use of those protocols were restricted. They required the authorization of the Security Council, or a Senate majority vote.

"It will be done, my Lord."

Cody issued orders to his men. As huge laser cannons targeted Obi-Wan and his swift-moving mount, Bail heard another voice echo in his mind -- one he recognized as belonging to a man dead for thirteen years.

"Save him, Bail Organa. You must save him."

The world around him returned to normal with abrupt finality. Bail found himself on his knees next to the disabled droid, Arc's lightsaber abandoned on the floor. There was no doubt in his mind that what he had experienced was no hallucination. Standing, he ran for a nearby terminal and punched in his authorization code. A massive list of incoming messages scrolled by. Feeling sick, he selected the one from Mon Mothma and a small figure flared to life.

"Bail, where are you?" she cried, clearly distraught. "The Jedi Temple is on fire!"

He shut it off.

Bail Organa had never been a man of faith, had never liked the idea of gods or destiny. He wanted to believe that sentient beings could make choices, and that those choices made a difference -- that he was more than a pawn in some galactic play. But, if Obi-Wan and the Jedi were right, if everything was part of the Force and it had some kind of will, then he was part of the grand design. What was it the prophecy said? The chosen one would bring balance? What, exactly, did it mean? Was he Anakin's opposite? Was he chosen as well?

All Bail knew for sure was that something had gone terribly wrong. Heart hammering in his chest and mind racing, he turned from the terminal and moved to one of the lockers. He opened it, took out a weapons belt, and strapped the thing on over his leather and armorweave training outfit. Two charge packs went into the hip case and his blaster slid home into the holster. He might not have command of the Force like a Jedi, but he was a Senator of the Republic and there were things a Senator could do.

This Senator was going to save the Jedi.

He took the turbolift to the rooftop hangar, jumped in his speeder, and activated the on-board comm. "Antilles. Antilles, come in."

There was no hesitation. "Your Highness! Where are you?"

Bail turned the yoke on the craft and made a sharp dive into traffic. "On my way to the Jedi Temple."

"Have you lost your mind, cousin? The Temple is on fire, and they're saying --"

He cut him off. "I know what they're saying, Raymus. Take five men and go to the spaceport. Saesee Tiin's fighter, Sharp Spiral, is docked there. I want you to steal his Jedi beacon."

"Why do you --"

"Just do it, Antilles! And muster the crew. I want the Tantive ready to get off this rock yesterday, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"And Raymus?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Be careful. Everyone wears a sidearm. Everyone."

There was a pause. Bail could practically hear Raymus' mind working through the crackle over the comm line.

"Yes, sir."

(To Be Concluded in Part 4)