FicWad

Additional Author's Note: Lengthy pieces in italics denote information being passed on directly through the Force via memory-impressions. Some memories will, necessarily, be a bit repetitive, so bear with me, please, okay?




Anakin Skywalker has always been a blindingly bright presence within the Force, a power so strong that looking at him full on within the Force most often feels akin to looking directly at an unshielded sun. Now that light instantly grows by a factor so great that trying to compare his brilliance with such a natural everyday object as a sun would be akin to comparing the feeble light of one dim candle to the exploding brilliance of a supernova. And as for Obi-Wan Kenobi, he who has, paradoxically, always been as an unobstructed window of light, a transparent being of absolute utter purity and luminescence, within the Force, despite the way that the Force exists within him, each facet of the Force in perfect balance with its counterpart . . . linked, now, with Anakin, attached to and woven all throughout him in a way that no Jedi has ever been bonded with any other being, much less another Jedi, the light that is the refined essence of Obi-Wan's being flares with Anakin, joined with Anakin, one with him and his blindingly bright power, just as Obi-Wan is. One with each other, reflecting each other, completing and fulfilling each other, they are but one light within the Force, one limitless conflagration of power and illumination. Pure energy, unrestrained and simple and /white/. Anakin and Obi-Wan embrace themselves as they embrace each other and the Force embraces them. There are no barriers between them or it.

Their bodies fill with light, the Light of the Force, translucent with it, like vessels being filled. And then, for one blazing moment, there is nothing but the whiteness of that Light.

Unlike Dooku, though, they do not simply vanish forever from out of their clothes.

The Force embraces them, yes, but it does not claim them beyond returning.

Grounded in duty, grounded in the knowledge of what they must do, what they are meant to do and to be, grounded in each other, they reemerge from that blazing conflagration of energy, of whiteness, incandescent with love and carrying forever the Light of the Force within and upon them, not as a physical manifestation of light but rather as visible signs of its favor, its blessing, its claiming. They are themselves still, yes, and yet they are also more. The Light of the Force has renewed them, rejuvenated them, remade them entirely in the image that they hold of one another within their hearts, burned away any and all physical blemishes and imperfections, leaving behind unmarked, flawless vessels of flesh hardly recognizable as only human. There are a few obvious changes. Hair gleams now like liquid and molten gold, a mane of easily shoulder-length darkly burnished loose curls upon one and flaming bright strands of spidersilk fineness, perhaps a handsbreadth in length longer than on the first, upon the other, one whose face is, for the first time in over a decade, free of the concealment of beard and moustache. Purged of flaws and burned clean of scars and the furrowing marks of too much stress and the press of passing years with too many spent squinting beneath harsh suns or peering within the depths of darkness, skin glimmers now like warm bronze, all over sun-kissed golden and as velvety smooth and perfectly untouched as the petals on a rose, and it glistens a pure and milky white, creamy smooth and sleek as satin and soft as silk, ageless and yet seemingly dew-kissed with the healthful blush of youth - a youth that will prove, eventually, to be a perpetual gift.

All that remains that might ever be thought of as an imperfection are the callouses upon well formed hands, marks earned with years of 'saber work and preserved by the Light as a sign of who and what they are - not so much Jedi, or not merely Jedi, but rather servants of the Force and protectors. Eyes flash, clearer than gemstones, brighter than even the most vividly hued and deeply saturated with color of all the absolute rarest and most valuable Nubian starfire adamants, catching the few feeble rays of illumination in the dim room only to throw them back out again, at least tenfold. Before, they had been handsome to the point of beauty. Now, they are much more than magnificent. Now, they seem to glow, an almost visible aura of attraction, somewhat like a magnetic field, evident around them even in the gloomy near-darkness of the room, radiating the intense purity not only of their love but also of the Light, the Force, that they have embraced and been embraced by, having clearly absorbed some of that element in the course of passing within it and then back out of it again, in such a manner that they will never truly be without it again. They emanate love and radiate warmth, brilliant as the sun and glistening bright as flowing water in the bright light of a cloudless summer day, a dazzling and yet comforting warmth able to reach into and then banish even the coldest, deepest places of a being's living heart. The compelling call of the pure Light of the Force now burns in them both, making them mesmerizing, hypnotic to behold, and fascinatingly beautiful, perfect and beautiful beyond compare by anything at all resembling normal human standards.

The durasteel arm is gone. Where it was, flesh has been rebuilt, living matter created out of a clever mass of nonliving metal and synaptic-integrated circuitry, atom by atom, cell by cell, fashioned from the memory of the old to match and integrate with perfection the renewed body.

Strong, gracefully long fingers of flesh where only a few minutes ago there were fingers fashioned out of durasteel, hidden beneath a barrier of black leather, curl and flex beneath jewel-blue dark eyes that are cast down bemusedly upon them before rising to caress only smooth skin where the cross-burn scar of a lightsaber touch once marred the bronzed skin next to a gem-bright eye. "This may prove to be more difficult to hide from the High Council than you have seen." It is still recognizably Anakin Skywalker's voice, and yet it is perhaps a bit . . . deeper and clearer in pitch, somehow more majestic and musical in tone, a voice designed to bring both a frisson of pleasure to those who hear it and a will to do as it says, so as to give its owner pleasure in return.

"We need only remain out of their sight until after Sidious has been dealt with. After that, they will not be able to say or to do anything against us, one way or another. No matter what any of them might wish." It is also still recognizably Obi-Wan Kenobi's voice, and yet it is perhaps even a bit . . . smoother and even more highly polished, refined to the point where it seems almost to vibrate with command, so crystalline and pure in timbre that the flow of words are somehow as melodious and arrestingly hypnotic as chant, as song. It is a voice that only the strongest of wills, the most focused of minds, might be able to resist, if used to utter an actual command or demand.

"The Force apparently wished to bless us, whether doing so would necessarily help us at this juncture or not."

"They are gifts, Anakin. We must treat them as such."

"I know. I'm just a bit . . . amused, is all. The Force reminds me a bit of myself, actually, or of you - me, showering someone I love with tangible presents and small acts of kindness just because I love them and I can, and you, showering someone you love with intangible gifts and immeasurable valuable knowledge just because you are you and that is what you always do."

"I am sure these new physical attributes will prove to be just as handy - if not more so - as the less obvious blessings of the Force, before all is said and done."

"Considering what you saw in your far-sight vision, I'd say that's a pretty safe bet." The smirk is the same, though the Force's blessings conspire to make it seem oddly beatific. After a moment, though, the smirk fades away into a look of fierce concentration. Fingers of flesh rise to brush gently against a suddenly smooth cheek, thumb pressing into the cleft of the chin. Obi-Wan shivers, leaning into the caress. "Is it really true?" Anakin asks, ghosting one finger across closed lips, an awe in his voice that leaves little doubt in Obi-Wan's mind as to what he is asking about.

Obi-Wan blushes a little and ducks his head, nodding silently.

Deep blue eyes have gone so wide, so dark, that they almost appear to be black. "Not even /once/? Not even one kiss?" Obi-Wan is visibly trembling, those innocent sea-mirroring-sky jewel-bright eyes staring up into his, filled with so much love and longing that not even a trace of fear or confusion can mar them. The sight of those eyes, which love him and want him so much, so plainly, is intoxicating. It steals Anakin's breath away and makes him want to do things that he's not entirely sure are all physically possible. He has dreamed about this before and he understands, technically, how it is done - having done quite a bit of research on the matter, several years ago, when he had first understood that he was dreaming of being touched by another man (though he had not, at the time, allowed himself to realize that he was dreaming of Obi-Wan) - but he has never been with a man, nor has he ever sought to truly confirm or challenge his understanding of the process. Anakin has never been with anyone besides Padmé, and although she had always seemed entirely satisfied with him, she had also always been more at ease with and adventurous about the entire process than he. Anakin would be nervous, because of that, if not for the fact that he wants this so much, as much as Obi-Wan's eyes tell Anakin that he wants this, too.

"No, Anakin. Not even so much as a kiss. Some have tried to take by force what I would never have willingly offered, but they have not succeeded."

"But I thought Siri Tachi - I mean, you and Knight Tachi seemed so close - "

"Siri Tachi and I became friends when we were both Padawans. I had already taken the vow and she - " Obi-Wan pauses for a moment before shrugging helplessly. "Siri simply did not see the need for such vows. I did care for her a great deal, Anakin, but she desired more of me than I was willing to give, more than I even knew how to give, had I been willing."

"But when you were younger, surely - a teenager, I mean, didn't your body - ?"

"Conscious meditative control. There are ways to instruct the body to completely bypass all of the involuntary responses, for those who have no mind to indulge in the empty physicality of one night stands and meaningless experimentation in groups of one's agemates. Since Jedi are, overall, not allowed to form attachments, and it seemed wrong to indulge in lustful acts where there could be no love, the entire procreative process seemed rather . . . pointless and wasteful of energy, to me. I made the choice early on, long before I was chosen as a Padawan, and I never had a reason to change my mind, before you," Obi-Wan blushes a little at that, eyes flickering momentarily away from Anakin's, suddenly shy. "The, ah, the information is easily accessible, in the Archives, and relatively easy to learn. It's a bit like meditation - like the kind of heightened self-awareness you use in place of the more regular forms of mediation, which is why I was so sure I would be able to find you an alternative to the more formal meditative modes, when you were my Padawan - and somewhat like learning how to use Force-commands, only you're using it on your own body. Once you've learned how to do it, the involuntary responses shut down completely and then stay closed off. You have to consciously decide to let go, if you ever want to change that. Surely you must know that many Jedi Masters are entirely chaste, Anakin. I'm sure that the physical dimension of the rule about attachment and the increasingly limited amount of options for dealing with that as one progresses within the Order were discussed in at least one of the classes you took your first year at the Temple - "

Now Anakin is the one who is blushing, eyes downcast. "Yes, but it was so embarrassing, and none of the other Padawans ever really wanted to have all that much to do with me, Master, you know that. It was easier just to not think about it, especially since they started sending us away on missions before it really got to be an issue. After that first true mission, when we were given extra downtime because Zonama Sekot was pretty much a disaster, we were nonstop most of the time. It's easy to avoid thinking about stuff like that when you've got so many other more important things to focus on - like staying alive so you can keep your Master safely in one piece," Anakin shrugs, smiling. "It wasn't ever a problem until, well, I got sent off alone with Padmé. Even then, we, ah . . . well, we /didn't/, until after we were married. And then I was married, and it would've been wrong to think about being with anyone else, so I just kept focused on that. I didn't know you could actually turn it off. If I'd only known . . . " Anakin shakes his head, eyes falling shut, and sighs. "This makes many things so much clearer to me," he says to himself quietly, almost sadly, before abruptly turning a fiercely intense look upon Obi-Wan. "You took this vow when you were a child, a youngling in the Temple, years before you became Qui-Gon's Padawan?"

"Yes. I believe I had just turned nine, at the time."

"Early enough that you would've never been confused by feelings of love and physical need," Anakin notices, nodding, before refocusing on Obi-Wan. "And now you've decided . . . ?"

"I let go the moment I realized I was in love with you and accepted that, regardless of what the Code says and the fact that the Force was not saying much of anything in particular to me at the time. The far-sight vision came to me afterwards, so apparently the Force approves of the decision to let go." Obi-Wan smiles then for several long moments, not quite laughing, before his eyes suddenly become very serious. "I'm perfectly capable of responding to you now, Anakin. I just don't know what to do. Can you show me?" he asks, a bit breathlessly, not quite pleading.

"Yes." Anakin cannot keep himself from touching, fingertips reaching out to rest gently upon the sides of Obi-Wan's waist as Obi-Wan sighs and shivers, his eyes momentarily fluttering shut. Anakin then draws them up and around his body in a delicate caress until his hands climb up the graceful length of Obi-Wan's neck and he can gather the glorious silken weight of his longer flame-burnished hair, letting it flow freely across his fanning hands and then fall back in a shining mass around Obi-Wan's upturned and gently flushing face. At that, Obi-Wan sways towards him helplessly, like a wind-tossed willow, and Anakin smiles, his face shining with pure joy, as he lightly runs the tips of his fingers all along those beloved features, delicately tracing the feathery arch of his brows, curling up across the temples, stroking down the straight line of nose, fanning out to span the sharp jut of cheekbones, caressing the strong curve of jaw, and then outlining the perfect line of lips that have never been kissed in passion's name, lips that are not quite pink, not quite rose, but rather some deeply natural succulent color that seems to partake of both while still managing to be much darker, much redder, so luscious, so sweet, that Anakin wants to taste them, lick them, eat away at them with kisses. He shivers a little bit himself at these thoughts, and then his hands are sliding back down the angle of Obi-Wan's jaw, drawing a line down the muscular column of his throat before flattening, both palms pressing gently against the hard planes of his chest, sliding beneath the outer layer of robe but as yet venturing no further, waiting to be given permission. "Can I - may I - ?"

"Please."

Anakin bends his head down then and just like that he is kissing Obi-Wan, whose lips are indeed so innocent that they have no hardness, no knowledge at all of kissing, just moist heat and malleable melting softness and a tender wanting need that dissolves into Anakin in a wave of the most palpitating desire as he draws upon the soft, seemingly almost liquid flesh of that infinitely yielding mouth, pulling upon it as if drinking from it, trying to be gentle and not to rush, knowing that he is claiming absolutely virgin territory and knowing also that he is giving Obi-Wan Kenobi the first kiss he has ever known, ever wanted to know, and so determined to make this perfect, for his sake, nibbling upon and licking at those sweet addictive lips before carefully, carefully teasing them apart and then gradually pushing into that slick warmth, feeling the teeth behind those lips and sweeping along those pearly gates until they finally part and he can dive within that portal of flesh, delving within that moist cavern and caressing the slick palate, dancing wetly, shamelessly beckoning, until at last Obi-Wan's tongue rises and joins his, innocently sliding up alongside it. Anakin's right hand, having long since risen to cradle Obi-Wan's head - long fingers burrowing into the satiny-fine hair at the nape of his neck before curving up, both supporting him and urging him up closer to Anakin - tilts it ever so slightly, improving his angle of access, and a rumbling moan rises up from the depths of Obi-Wan into him, the cue Anakin has been waiting for to press closer, fitting their bodies firmly together. Obi-Wan is so innocent that he doesn't know what to do with his hands, which first tangle in Anakin's tunics before rising up to grip his shoulders and then finally slide down around his back, yielding to and claiming an embrace that Anakin is only too happy to return, his left arm strong across Obi-Wan's back, urging him forward and bending him up towards Anakin, their backs arching like a recurved bow as Obi-Wan is drawn up onto his toes and Anakin bends himself down over him, both desperately pressing closer together. When Anakin at last attempts to draw back, to release his hold on Obi-Wan's mouth and give them both a chance to catch a breath, Obi-Wan instinctively follows him, refusing to allow him to pull back, and the feeling of that, the sensation of Obi-Wan's mouth seeking after his, brings with it a wave of such fierce heat and longing that Anakin unthinkingly gives in and kisses back, deeply.

By the time their mouths fall apart, they are both half blind and half deaf from lack of air, ears roaring with the mad pounding rush of oxygen-starved blood and vision tunneling, marred with dancing red-washed black flecks. Obi-Wan is shuddering against him, lungs heaving like a bellows, stammering helplessly, "What - what - is - is this - ?"

"It's alright, Obi-Wan, hush, now, just breathe for now," Anakin is gasping, panting for breath himself, and yet he still carefully reassures his love, who is shaking with reaction, half panicking at the sensations wracking his body, so innocent that he doesn't quite understand what's happening to him. "Don't worry. This is natural. And it gets better."

"It gets better than this?"

Anakin laughs a little, too breathless still to really do justice to the incredulous shock and yearning in Obi-Wan's slightly higher than normal voice. "Much better. Trust me on this one."

"Force! You are going to be the death of me!"

It is an old joke and one that Anakin has never really appreciated very much, but here and now, all things considered, it suddenly seems like the funniest thing in the world that Obi-Wan could've ever possibly said. On top of which, given that the one thing he'd most like to do in the world for Obi-Wan right now is to bring him a succession of exquisite "little deaths," it is also an oddly appropriate sentiment. He laughs helplessly, hugging Obi-Wan to him, hard, and lavishing kisses on his temples before raking his right hand carelessly, possessively, back through his love's hair. Obi-Wan is looking up at him a bit quizzically, but Anakin only shakes his head slightly, smiling, and says, "I love you, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan smiles back endearingly, quietly avowing, "And I love you, Anakin."

Anakin's smile dims a little. "But we have other things we must do first?" he asks, sighing wistfully, obviously wishing Obi-Wan will tell him otherwise and just as obviously also knowing that he will not.

Obi-Wan's eyes are very gentle as he raises his right hand to Anakin's face, soothingly caressing the skin, and says, "I'm afraid so."

"But I can stay with you, after . . . ?" Anakin asks hopefully.

"Yes, please."

"Then I can wait," Anakin nods determinedly, before laughing at himself, just a little bit. "Force, I've waited for you this long, love. I can wait a few more hours, until we've dealt with the Sith. I would wait much longer, if I had to, for you."

Obi-Wan leans up to brush a kiss across Anakin's mouth. "Thank you, love."

Mouth tingling where Obi-Wan's lips have so recently willingly pressed, automatically moving into the shape of a pleased smile, Anakin curls one arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders to lead him over to the nearest couch and asks, "So are we going to need the Council or anyone else on this one or not, do you think? I had a hard time telling what I was seeing, looking through the impressions of your far-sight memory from this," he admits, idly calling his old Padawan braid to his hands, where it had fallen into the floor at some point earlier - probably right after he'd heard Padmé's message and panicked - and automatically pressing it back into Obi-Wan's possession.

"There's a blind spot around part of the confrontation. We're alone as we go in and alone at the end, but I think Master Windu is present for a part of the fight. Either the man's even more stubbornly devoted to the Republic than I'd thought - which is entirely possible, given how much he has changed in the years since the attack on Naboo, and especially since the war began - or his ability to read shatterpoints is stronger and clearer than I've understood it to be and he's going to realize something about the ties he's claimed to see surrounding Palpatine and you and I that are, according to him, thoroughly saturated with the taint of the Dark Side. He seems to feel almost personally betrayed for the way Palpatine has, of late, been increasingly obviously undermining the Republic's Constitution. Giving how suspicious he's become of the Chancellor, I wouldn't be surprised if he simply decided to show up outside Palpatine's office in hopes of getting another closer look at the Chancellor, without you or I being present, to see if anything has shifted," Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head, fingers stroking absent-mindedly over Anakin's braid. "Almost half of the Council Masters are away on assignment because of the war, and a Council seat is empty because of Even Piell's recent death at Grievous' hands. Master Yoda was concerned enough to remark on it when I returned to the Temple with Mace. I'd thought that empty Council seat would be yours, Anakin, but Mace and Yoda both refused to consider the possibility. I suppose it's beside the point, now." Obi-Wan shakes his head and wearily pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "In any case, only six Council Masters are currently on Coruscant: myself, and Masters Yoda, Windu, Agen Kolar, Saesee Tiin, and Kit Fisto. Masters Shaak Ti and Stass Allie were sent to help track the escaping Separatists while we were retrieving the Chancellor; and Masters Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, and Coleman Kcaj are coordinating various operations and engagements that were deemed to be too far away from Coruscant to attempt to recall them in time to effectively aid in Coruscant's defense. I'm afraid that the various control commands and protocols that have been programmed into the clone troopers so that they are ultimately loyal to Palpatine places those five Masters in the most danger. I keep thinking that there should be a way to warn them, but I could not see such a thing and I cannot seem to think of one now. I would not trust such information over a comlink. The possibility of eavesdroppers and even interception is far too great." Obi-Wan shakes his head and sighs explosively, clearly frustrated. He thinks upon the many deaths he saw along that first path, the path where Anakin fell, and shudders, his words coming quick and hoarse. "The Clone Wars have always been, in and of themselves, from their very inception, the instrument by which the Sith would deliver their revenge upon the Jedi Order. He designed them as the perfect Jedi trap. The perfect trap, period. An absolute win-win situation for the Sith. In deciding to fight at all, the Jedi Order - and the Republic itself - dove headlong into that trap and became lost. With the Order vastly overextended, spread far too thin across the galaxy, most Jedi spend the vast majority of their time outside of the Temple and alone, lacking even a Padawan or a fellow Knight to rely upon, surrounded only by whatever clone troops that solitary Jedi commands. The war itself continually pours darkness into the Force, constantly deepening the cloaking shroud of the Dark taint upon the Force that already limits the Jedi's perception almost to the point of crippling it. And the clones have no malice, no hatred, not the slightest ill intent to possibly give any warning even if the Jedi were still capable of apprehending such a danger. The clones would only be following orders, just as they always have. Palpatine is the elected head of the Republic and so he is the ultimate voice of command. He would be the ultimate voice of command to them even if hadn't also been the ultimate source of the clone armies and the command controls and protocols that were genetically programmed into them by the Kaminoans. Just a few words from Palpatine, stating that it is time to execute Order Sixty-Six, and the clones would automatically open fire, all across the galaxy, and Jedi would die. All at once. Jedi would die. By the dozens. In droves. By the hundreds. The thousands. The few of us who would have remained would have been no match for the Sith, then, and he would have struck in that moment, seizing the Republic and the galaxy for himself, making it his Empire. Because Order Sixty-Six is meant to be the climax of the Clone Wars. And it would signal the end - of the Jedi Order, the Galactic Republic, even the war itself, given that its two-fold purpose would have been successfully accomplished when the execution was commanded - the full completion of the Sith's revenge." Obi-Wan is shuddering helplessly, eyes blinded by the horror of that remembered future, lost, for the moment, to everything else but that terrible end.

Anakin tries several times to rouse Obi-Wan from the grips of this memory, speaking to him and even gripping him by the shoulders, before he finally simply leans forward, gently cups Obi-Wan's face between his hands, and presses a firm, insistent kiss to his mouth. At that, Obi-Wan immediately returns to the here and now, lips parting under that steady pressure as his body flushes with heat and he instinctively reaches out for Anakin, trying to get closer to him. Several long, delicious moments later, Anakin pulls reluctantly back. "It will not happen, Obi-Wan. That future will never happen now. In making that trap, Sidious has fallen into a trap of his own. Love will destroy his darkness. You can be sure of that. Let the rest go. Please. If I can forgive myself for all of the pain and suffering I have brought to you, beloved, then you can also learn to forgive yourself for not seeing his trap for what it was. He fooled everyone, Obi-Wan, including many far older and supposedly much wiser than you and I. Not even Masters Yoda and Windu truly suspect what he is. Let it go. You are not to blame for that monster's evil, Obi-Wan."

"I - I know that, Anakin, truly, I do," Obi-Wan sighs quietly, sadly. "It's just that - "

"It's just that you want so badly to be able to save everyone, even though you know it's not possible, that it hurts you when you can't." Anakin sighs himself, eyes momentarily closing. "I know how it is. Believe me. I know. But I also know that you were right all of those times when you told me that I can't save everyone. And we will save many who would have died because of the Sith. We will save as many as we can. I promise you, Obi-Wan. If there is a way to protect all that remains of the Order, then we will do it, Order Sixty-Six or no. I swear to you that we will."

A ghost of a smile reaches Obi-Wan's eyes. "I believe you, Anakin. Force willing, if there is a way, I trust that you will find it. You've never let the impossible stop you before."

"Because I've always had you to give me strength. We'll find a way together, love."

"Yes," Obi-Wan simply agrees, nodding, feeling much calmer. "I know we will. I just . . . worry. I wish that I could see more clearly. It troubles me that there were so many things I could not see in the far-sight vision." Sighing, noticing how his grip has tightened on the beatified braid of his former Padawan, he carefully forces his fingers to unclench and moves to tuck the object safely away again within his robe. As he does, Obi-Wan notices that there already seems to be a slight weight at the bottom of the inner pocket he had hidden the braid within earlier. Frowning a little, concerned that he has somehow inadvertently damaged the delicate framework of diamond-strung gold that Padmé had ordered to be fitted all around the silken mass of Anakin's amber Padawan braid, turning it into a necklace, he places the braid down gently on his lap and fishes his right hand into the pocket, searching out whatever the evidently small item is that has come to be lodged within it.

As the bare skin of Obi-Wan's fingertips brush against the relatively small object, a flood of powerful memories and impressions rush into him, strong enough to be invasive. Under more normal circumstances, psychometry - the Force-aided skill that allows one to pick up impressions and fragments of information about an object and the events that have surrounded it - is not one of Obi-Wan's most powerful strengths. With the exception of what was once Anakin's Padawan's braid - which was obviously affected by the somewhat last minute understanding Padmé arrived at with the Force and the subsequent arrangements that the Force itself willed into being - Obi-Wan has never before been so overwhelmed by the memory-impressions tied to an object that he has been essentially pulled within those memories. This changes, as his fingers come into contact with the object that Count Dooku hastily yet powerfully prepared specifically for Obi-Wan before secretly tucking the item away within the young Jedi Master's robe. The impressions tied to this object - one of the solid platinum links from out of the chain that normally clasped the Count's cloak of silken armor-weave securely around his patrician frame - have been specially keyed to Obi-Wan, though, and between that and the overwhelming combination of Dooku's immense power in the Force and his even greater need to communicate certain facts, Obi-Wan's eyes roll back in his head with the strength of the sending and his back arcs as he crashes back against the cushions of the couch, momentarily lost to the world as he is swept up in the flow of memory.

***

Dooku of the Lost Twenty, former Master within the Jedi Order and now acknowledged as the hereditary Count of Serenno, stalks rapidly down one of the warren-like passageways of the Geonosians' main and primarily underground complex. Astonishingly enough, a startled and assuredly grudging but nonetheless steadily growing respect for the tenacious strength and unwavering devotion of Obi-Wan Kenobi to the Jedi Order's supposed support of the Light almost overshadows the frustration that the young Jedi is currently also inspiring within him.

Almost.

Force take it, the sheer scope of opportunity that is being dashed by that young man's stubbornly unmovable trust and the impenetrable nature of his mental shields, even when he has been purposefully removed from the supportive embrace of the Force - !

A furious snarl wars with an entirely shocking urge to simply smile and shake his head, bemusedly, at the largely unexpected - yet almost hoped for, in the furthest recesses of his heart, if truth be told - reserves of personal integrity and incredible strength revealed by Obi-Wan in their recent encounter. Dooku had called upon the Force as strongly as he could, in an attempt to reinforce his own already considerable natural charisma, and focused all of his attention, all of his formidable will to succeed in making the galaxy, as a whole, conform to his image of what is right and necessary,/ and yet still the young Jedi had managed to resist him. Dooku had spared no effort in his attempt to sway Kenobi, pulling no punches in his bid to win the young one to his side by first informing him as to the true state of things in both the Galactic Republic and his beloved Jedi Order and then logically building a case in support of a willingly made decision, on Kenobi's part, to approve of and assist with Dooku's plan to right all that is currently wrong in both institutions, in the end playing all but every last card of significance that he held in his efforts to . . . well, not so much turn the boy, per se, as to simply redirect his loyalty and faith, not to mention his considerable power, by enlightening him. Any other man - any other /Jedi, even, with the possible exception of Master Yoda - would have either been sorely tempted to lose faith in his beliefs or else simply crumbled and caved in, under similar circumstances.

Not Obi-Wan Kenobi, though.

Not even the revelation of Darth Sidious' control of the Senate had been enough to do more than give the boy momentary pause. Even the memory of the young one's former beloved Master, Qui-Gon Jinn - and Dooku's entirely accurate claim that Qui-Gon would have fearlessly championed Dooku's stance against the corruption in both the Republic and the Jedi Order, if he were still alive - had not been sufficient to do more than cause Kenobi to waver, momentarily, before using Qui-Gon as a rallying point to bolster and solidify his own resolve.

Obi-Wan Kenobi has just proven himself to be nothing less than the true son of Qui-Gon Jinn's heart. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, he cannot be tempted to stray from the path that he has chosen to take, to shirk his duty by turning away from what he honestly believes is the right choice - even if that choice leaves him bound in Force-restrains and essentially helpless in a situation that conceivably could ultimately result in his death, due to his lack of cooperation.

If Dooku were not painfully aware of what a priceless opportunity to solve the problem of corruption in both the Republic and the Jedi Order - by unmasking and destroying Sidious, and, in the process, avenging Qui-Gon's senseless death, not to mention bringing about the downfall of both the Republic and the Jedi Order and, hence, creating a permanent end to the rift between Jedi and Sith, between all Light and Dark Side Force-adepts - Obi-Wan's obstinacy is currently squandering, he would be proud of the boy. After all, it's not every day that a young man has the strength of will not only to survive having the underpinnings of his world methodically destroyed but to actually use that experience as a reason to strengthen his resolve in support of his beliefs and to invite a personal and wholehearted rededication of his devotion to the Light . . . even if said beliefs and devotion are being woefully wasted and shamefully undermined by the boy's decision to remain within the Jedi Order - as if the majority of the Jedi would still be capable of recognizing what is right, as opposed to what is merely most convenient for those in power, if it leapt out and bit them!

Dooku's hands knot convulsively into fists, and his anger lashes violently out into the Force, stirring it up and then pushing the energy of the Force out before it like the leading edge of a hurricane. A crew of cleaning droids at work in one of the many tunnels bisecting the one that Dooku is ever more rapidly striding along has the misfortune to be the only objects in close enough proximity to the seething Count to be affected by this wave of Force-propelled anger. The power of his rage is such that the entire cleaning unit is whirled up off of the floor and thrown headlong down the passageway into the nearest wall, so forcefully that the machines all explode in overlapping showers of sparks and component parts.

Normally, Dooku would be perturbed by both the evidence of his lack of control and the waste of energy represented by such a foolish display of temper. However, at the moment, Dooku is also well aware of the fact that Lord Sidious will be expecting a report on the situation with Kenobi - and the overall progress of their plans, regarding Geonosis and the brewing civil war that should be getting underway any day now, given Kenobi's presence on Geonosis in the first place - quite soon, if he is not already expecting it. And he is painfully aware of the fact that he cannot speak to his Master while he is in such a state. A glimmer of begrudging admiration for the unexpected strength and fortitude of the former Padawan apprentice of Dooku's own former Padawan learner within the Jedi Order is one thing entirely. From a purely abstract perspective, it can even be taken as a favorable response, in that on the one hand it proves that Kenobi will be a worthy opponent - even if he will also apparently be an entirely predictable one, forever siding with the Jedi Order and the current party line since he is thoroughly convinced of the rightness of the Jedi's supposed cause - while on the other hand it also confirms that the young Jedi is quite capable of being as implacable a foe and as ready a martyr for the Jedi cause and the Galactic Republic as, say, Qui-Gon himself ever was. However, actual frustration with the young Jedi's refusal to listen to him because he has been seriously trying to persuade Kenobi to join him in an effort to bring down Sidious and restore balance and order to both the galaxy and the Force is a whole other thing entirely. It will be much better for Dooku - and much safer for Kenobi, who is not currently considered a viable threat by Sidious - if he were to work off all of his frustrated anger well before he reaches the privacy of his rooms and must therefore report to Sidious. Thus, he notices and reacts to the violent and obvious destruction of the cleaning droids with only a bitterly satisfied smile, slowing not at all in his increasingly rapid path away from the room that has been modified to hold Kenobi and towards the suite of rooms that he has been given for his own private use.

Droids, after all, are a safe outlet for his frustration. Droids such as these - little more than mobile automated cleaning machines - are easily made and even more easily replaced.

Obi-Wan Kenobi - however irritating he might very well currently be - is irreplaceable.

So long as Dooku confines his more destructive tendencies to droids and regains control of himself before he has to speak to Sidious, Kenobi will doubtlessly continue to be both irritating and irreplaceable for quite some time. If he plays this right, it is entirely possible that Sidious just might even continue to fail to recognize the true extent of the danger that the young Jedi poses to him, all the way up until the moment when Dooku and Obi-Wan end his miserable life . . .

First things first, though. First, Dooku needs to make his report to Sidious sufficiently convincing without prompting either the Sith Lord's far too healthy sense of self-preservation or his overdeveloped sense of paranoia.

Perhaps he should make sure that his route will bypass all of the active crews of cleaning droids in this particular set of connected passageways, as well . . .

After all, when dealing with a Sith Lord like Sidious, one can never be too careful.

***

In the gutters of lower Coruscant, a graceful sail ship glides down, its wings folding delicately as it resumes its more conventional drives, settling easily inside the broken pavement of a seemingly abandoned building. Within moments, Count Dooku of Serenno is climbing out of this ship and heading towards the place where the shadows congregate, their darkness pooling and gathering (apparently quite naturally) along the side of this secret landing ramp. There is a hooded figure awaiting him in the heart of that gathering darkness, though, and there is nothing natural about this particular shadow. Dooku, however, strides purposefully and briskly up to this shadowy figure, pausing only when he is close enough to bow reverently before it.

"The Force is with us, Master Sidious."

"Welcome home, Lord Tyranus," the Sith Lord smiles. "You have done well."

"I bring you good news, my lord. The war has begun."

"Excellent," Sidious gloats, his gravelly voice hinting at a hiss. From underneath the dark shadows of his enormous cowl, the Dark Lord's evil smile widens to disturbing proportions, reminiscent of nothing so much as the smiling wide unhinging jaws of a snake. "You have the plans for the craft?"

"In hand, my Master."

"And the verdict?"

"Much as Raith Sienar told Tarkin. Achievable, given certain advances in hypermatter technology. The Geonosians have altered the original plans slightly - removing what they claim to be extraneous spheres to concentrate their design efforts on one large sphere, approximately ninety to a hundred kilometers in diameter, claiming that it will be a more wieldy design for transport thus - but they agree that the concept itself is quite sound. An implosion core with a plasma of approximately a kilometer in diameter could be made to power an artificial spheroid construct the size of a small moon, with a few large ice asteroids - which are still quite common in the outlying fringe systems - serving for fuel. The destructive power of such a craft would be unimaginably vaster than that of anything that might currently be brought to bear against it, and so the mere existence of one vessel alone would be sufficient to police the galaxy. Following a demonstration of the weapon's effectiveness, rule would be established through the threat of once again unleashing the weapon's full force. The Geonosians are quite taken with the notion: the melodrama apparently appeals to them. I convinced them to allow me to take the plans with me so that the Jedi would not discover them and the Separatists could later put the plans to use. They are all safely here," Dooku promises, carefully removing a cartridge from a compartment hidden on his belt and offering it promptly to Sidious, never once hinting at either his own feelings or the surprisingly similar response of its creator (the surprisingly intelligent and otherwise almost unfailingly tasteful Raith Sienar) towards the appallingly inelegant monstrosity represented within those plans.

Sidious takes the offered cartridge with a hideous smile. "Excellent work, my apprentice! The vessel will command the obedience of the ignorant, fearful masses and protect the integrity of our Dark Empire, keeping chaos from threatening our rule. Everything is going as planned."

"I assume, then, that the Gungan creature," a clearly audible sniff indicates both distaste and scorn, "performed adequately?"

"Quite well, my apprentice. The Senate played directly into my hands, just as I had foreseen. The Kaminoan-created clone troopers will comprise the bulk of the Grand Army of the Republic, with the Jedi to lead them."

"It is truly a brilliant plan, my Master. It will be much easier to eradicate the Order, with the Jedi spread thin all throughout the galaxy, overseeing the war."

"Their blind arrogance delivers them into our hands and their single-mindedness will be their final undoing," Sidious grins malevolently, hideously.

"Yes, my Master."

"I am pleased, Lord Tyranus. Come. Walk with me apace. We will speak of our next move and of your duties, as the Head of State and Government of the newly announced Confederacy of Independent Systems."

"Of course, my Master."

***

Dooku of Serenno snarls furiously, so fully immersed within the deep darkness of Darth Tyranus that he isn't even surprised when yet another practice droid - fashioned roughly after the design of General Grievous, that bastardized amalgamation of artificial droid parts and armoring and carefully preserved remnants of reptilian Kaleesh flesh - explodes into jagged pieces, literally ripped to pieces by the concentrated fury of the Dark Force energies blasting out of the former Jedi Master, his tall form vibrating ever so slightly to the intense pitch of his rage.

Dooku has just learned about what he has already determined will be the final failure and disobedience of Asajj Ventress, and the overwhelming power of his fury is such that he is almost surprised at himself. Fury is a distraction, a waste of time and energy that he normally does not indulge in. In this case, though . . . in this case, he finds himself moved to make an exception.

The wretched woman had been given one simple task - to see to it that Obi-Wan Kenobi was captured, preferably in secret, so that he would be presumed lost in battle, and brought to Dooku for . . . persuasion, so that the Jedi could be made to truly understand the significance of the offer he had turned down, from Dooku, on Geonosis - and she has so thoroughly botched the assignment that it doubtlessly will be so much harder to win enough of Obi-Wan's trust to bring the young Jedi around enough for him to truly listen to anything Dooku might say to him, now, that a lesser man, a less dedicated man, would simply deem it an impossible task and give up.

Dooku is nothing like most men, though. And because he is not like most men, he will not allow even a disaster of this magnitude to set him on his heels, at least not for very long.

This . . . complicates matters. While it is true that Sidious has left the teaching and the ordering of creatures like the Ventress woman largely to Dooku, leaving the details mainly to his own discretion, it is also true that Sidious has no real inkling of the true extent - much less the nature and purpose - of Dooku's interest in Obi-Wan Kenobi, and that is precisely the way that Dooku would prefer to keep things, for the sake of his own safety and well-being, as well as that of the young Jedi Master who was once the Padawan of Dooku's own Padawan learner.

Clearly, this is going to require more than the usual amount of finesse, to clean up.

Of course, fixing it will require the complete absence of Ventress from the picture. And soon. Hopefully, through the permanency of death, though Dooku would not be adverse to seeing that death come only after much pain, given the contents of the reports he has had regarding the way Ventress treated Obi-Wan, until the resourceful young man managed to escape from her . . .

Dooku allows himself the purely destructive euphoria of reducing one more droid to its component parts, and then he turns away, reining himself in and bringing his unruly emotions back under control.

Calm. Patience. Subtlety. Finesse. These are his trademarks. If he wants to keep his own Dark Master from uncovering the true nature and depth of his interest in Obi-Wan, then he will simply have to wait a bit longer than he has planned and be even colder, even more remorselessly and relentlessly logical, than he normally is . . .

***

Poor Gunray, /thinks Dooku, Count of Serenno and /oriflamme /of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. /Pitiful creature . . . Still, doubtless the Trade Federation Viceroy deserves all of the fear that Grievous has doubtlessly put into him, for having been careless enough to have left the mechno-chair behind on Cato Neimoidia.

Secluded in his castle on Kaon, Dooku has just spoken with General Grievous regarding the unexpected loss of this device and is pondering how best to handle the situation. While the incident at Belderone isn't truly conclusive proof that the Republic has managed to decrypt the Separatist code and intercept Grievous' most recent transmission to Gunray, it seems prudent to assume that such is the case. Dooku has therefore already ordered Grievous to refrain from using the code again for the time being. But the matter of the expropriated hyperwave transceiver is nonetheless cause for added concern. The very fact that the Republic has tipped its hand at Belderone, for all intents and purposes declaring the success of its eavesdropping, implies that the mechno-chair has furnished more than mere intelligence data - quite possibly clues to secrets that would astonish even Grievous.

The General is not accustomed to losing in battle. Even while a general among his own species, he had suffered few defeats. That fact is what originally had brought him to the attention of Sidious. After the Sith Lord had expressed interest in Grievous to Dooku, Dooku, in turn, had expressed interest in Grievous to Chairman San Hill, of the InterGalactic Banking Clan.

Poor Grievous/, Dooku thinks. /Pitiful creature . . .

During the Huk War as well as later, while in the direct employ of the IBC - which had offered Grievous and his people a way out of the disastrous debt incurred during the Huk War - Grievous had survived numerous attempts on his life, so an assassination attempt had been ruled out almost immediately. Hill himself had come up with the idea of a shuttle crash, though that, too, presented risks, the chief of them being that Grievous could actually die in the crash. Dooku had assured Hill that if that were to happen, then the Separatists would simply look elsewhere for a commander. Fortunately, Grievous had survived - if a bit too well. Most of the life-threatening injuries Grievous sustained ended up occurring after he had been pulled from the flaming shuttle wreck, inflicted swiftly and deliberately, while he was unconscious, with very precise calculation. When Grievous had at last agreed to be rebuilt, promises were made that no critical alterations would be made to his mind. Fortunately, the Geonosians have ways of modifying the mind without a patient ever being aware that he had been tampered with. Grievous certainly has always honestly believed that he naturally is and always has been the cold-blooded conqueror he is now, though in truth his cruelty and prowess owes much more to his rebuilding than to his actual natural temperament.

Sidious and Dooku certainly couldn't have been more pleased with the result. Dooku, especially, since he's never had any interest in commanding an army of droids and, at the time, already had his hands full nursemaiding the likes of Nute Gunray, Shu Mai, and the hive-minded others who would eventually form the Council of Separatists. More, Grievous had proved to be a delight to train, in spite of Dooku's personal distaste for mechanicals and bio-droid devices in general. There was no need to coax him to release his anger and rage, as Dooku had been forced to do during the training of his other so-called Dark Jedi disciples. The Geonosians had handily arranged for Grievous to be nothing but anger and rage. And as to the General's combat skills, few, if any, Jedi would be capable of defeating him. There had been moments during the extensive combat sessions when even Dooku had been hard-pressed to outduel the cyborg.

Of course, Dooku had kept some secrets for himself.

Just in case.

Manipulation of the sort that had gone into the transformation of Grievous goes to the heart of what it means to be a Sith - if, indeed, the words heart/ and /Sith could be used together. The essence of the Dark Side lies in a willingness to use any means possible to arrive at a desired end - which, in the case of Lord Sidious, means a galaxy brought under the dominion of a single, brilliant mind. Sidious is not just any Sith Lord. Indeed, he is the Sith Lord: the one born with the power needed to take the final step.

Dooku had given much thought to seeking the Sith Lord out in order to destroy him, after the reprehensible waste of his former apprentice Qui-Gon Jinn's life during the Battle of Naboo had revealed that the Sith were once again out in the open and that a Sith Lord was at work somewhere nearby in the galaxy. Yet, what little faith Dooku could muster for the prophecy of the all too obviously unfolding dark times and the coming of the Chosen One had been enough to raise a reasonable doubt in his mind as to whether or not even the death of the Sith Lord could halt the advance of the Dark Side. It had seemed inevitable that another would come, and another, no matter what action Dooku chose to take. As it had happened, though, there had been no need for him to hunt for Sidious, as Sidious himself had soon approached Dooku. Sidious' boldness had surprised Dooku at first, but it hadn't taken long for him to become fascinated by the Sith. Instead of a lightsaber duel to the death, there had been much discussion and a gradual but inevitably dawning understanding that their separate visions for how the galaxy might be rescued from depravity were not so different after all.

Yet, partnership with a Sith does not make one a Sith. Just as the Jedi arts must be taught, so must the powers of the Dark Side. And so began his long apprenticeship. The Jedi warn that anger is the quickest path to the Dark Side, but in truth anger is nothing more than raw emotion. To truly know the Dark Side, one has to be willing to rise above all morality, to throw love and compassion aside, and to do whatever is necessary to bring about the vision of a world and a galaxy brought firmly under control - even if that means taking lives. Dooku had been an eager student, and yet for some time Sidious had continuously held him at arm's length. Perhaps he had been working with other potential replacements for his earlier apprentice, the savage Darth Maul, who, in fact, had been nothing more than a minion, rather like Asajj Ventress and General Grievous himself. Sidious had, of course, recognized in Dooku the makings of a true accomplice - an equal from the other camp, already trained in the Jedi arts, a master duelist, and a political visionary. Yet, he had felt he needed to gauge the depth of Dooku's commitment.

One of your former confidants at the Jedi Temple has perceived the coming changes, /Sidious had eventually told him. /This one has contacted a group of cloners, regarding the creation of an army for the Republic. The order for the army can stand, for we will be able to make use of that army someday. But Master Sifo-Dyas cannot stand, for the Jedi cannot learn about the army until we are prepared to have them learn of it.

Dooku had felt some pause, at first. After all, Master Sifo-Dyas had been Dooku's true confidant, while he had been an active, loyal member of the Jedi Order. Yet, in the end, Dooku had realized that Sifo-Dyas, for all his professed concern about unfolding events and the looming darkness, had not been strong enough to take action. The man was weak. And so, with his murder, Dooku had embraced the Dark Side fully, and Sidious had conferred on him the title of Darth Tyranus. His final act before leaving the Jedi Order completely was to erase all of the information on and every mention of Kamino from the Jedi Archives. Then, as Tyranus, he had found Jango Fett on Bogg 4; had instructed the Mandalorian to deliver himself to Kamino; and had arranged for payments to be made to the cloners through appropriately circuitous routes. Ten years had eventually passed while the Republic at first recovered somewhat under its new Supreme Chancellor and then grew even more corrupt and beset with problems than before. As best they could, Sidious and Tyranus had helped things along. They were continually aided in their efforts by Sidious' ability to see deep into the future, but there was always the threat of the unexpected. With the power of the Dark Side, though, there comes much flexibility. After all, the Sith are far more adaptable than the Jedi: that is why the Jedi will inevitably fall.

Having traced Jango Fett to Kamino after a second failed attempt to assassinate Senator Amidala of Naboo, though, Obi-Wan Kenobi had unexpectedly turned up on Geonosis. All at once, there was Qui-Gon Jinn's former Padawan learner, right under Dooku's nose. Yet, when he had informed Sidious of Obi-Wan's capture, Sidious had only said, Allow events to play out as they will, Darth Tyranus. Our plans are unfolding exactly as I have foreseen. The Force is very much with us. In spite of the young Jedi Knight's all too tempting presence, Dooku had been forced to allow his own designs on the boy to fall by the wayside . . . after planting a few seeds of his own, for later reaping. A reaping that had later been thwarted and set back by the disgraceful blundering of one of his own tools, the Dark Adept Asajj Ventress, whose hatred (and the extent to which that hatred undermined her ability to function rationally and intelligently) Dooku had, unfortunately, underestimated.

And now, there is yet anther new wrinkle: as a result of Nute Gunray's blunder at Cato Neimoidia, the Republic and the Jedi have chanced on a way to possibly trace the whereabouts of Sidious and actually expose him. After all, the mechno-chair's exceptional transceiver - and others like it - had been specifically created for Sidious by a host of beings, a few of whom are still living. And if agents of the Republic - or the Jedi, for that matter - could prove to be both clever and persistent enough, they might succeed in learning far more about Sidious than he would ever want anyone to learn . . .

He has to be informed, Dooku realizes, nodding.

Or did he?

For a heartbeat, Dooku hesitates, imagining the power that could be his - the power that will, inevitably, be his, when the time is right and Sidious' planning has taken care of all the many obstacles that stand between the galaxy as it is now and their vision of a Force-policed and absolutely enforced control of an Empire of Man, a time when the Sith Lord will have lost his usefulness. He thinks of a time when the Jedi and the Sith alike will be extinct, when a new order of Force-users will spring into existence under his guiding hands.

He also thinks of Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas, who was - or so Dooku had eventually learned, years after Sidious had ordered his death - used by Sidious' public political persona, given a direct order to secretly contact the Kaminoans and arrange for the creation of a clone army for the Republic. After Sifo-Dyas had completed this mission, Sidious had ordered Dooku to murder the Jedi - not to test Dooku's commitment or to keep the creation of the clone army a secret from the Jedi, but rather to simply protect himself, his alter ego, from possible detection. Sidious had lied to Dooku entirely about this, and Dooku has not and will not forget or forgive him for this. Sifo-Dyas had been a friend of his and he had not needed to die. Dooku could have easily managed all of the arrangements himself. Murder had not been necessary.

Most of all, though, he thinks of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, senselessly murdered by Darth Maul.

Then, sighing regretfully, Dooku heads directly to the hyperwave transmitter that Sidious has given him, where he swiftly begins his transmission.

Unfortunately, Obi-Wan Kenobi has proven to be a far harder nut to crack than Dooku ever dreamed he would be. Dooku cannot afford to hasten Sidious' destruction until he has his own worthy apprentice at his side, ensuring the continuance of a blended course of instruction in all aspects - Living and Unifying as well as the Light and also the Dark Side - of the Force.

Soon, though. Dooku will claim Obi-Wan - a deception in return for the deception that cost Sifo-Dyas his life - and then together they will claim revenge for Qui-Gon Jinn.

It is only a matter of time.

***