FicWad

Gate Master Jurokk sprints down through the empty vaulted hallways, clattering echoes of his carelessly hasty footsteps making him sound more like a platoon than the lone and relatively small Jedi Master that he is, his gold-colored skin flushing a strange coppery hue with exertion as he pushes himself for yet more haste. The main doors of the Temple are already slowly swinging inward in answer to the code key that has been punched into the outside lockpad, a code key that no one outside of the Temple should have even known to enter. The Gate Master has seen them on the monitor, though. The blue-limed Force spirits of Jedi Masters Dooku and Qui-Gon Jinn as well as the reassuringly physically solid and yet somehow also disconcertingly changed presences of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker.

The huge double doors creak inward; as soon as they are wide enough for the Gate Master to pass, he slips through. "Masters!" he gasps, running up to the four Jedi, his eyes skittering so rapidly across the ranks of clone troopers who have quietly and peacefully followed the four Jedi - at a respectful distance - up to the gates that Jurokk does not at first register the true magnitude of the difference in Obi-Wan and Anakin. "Masters, what has happened? We all felt something happening in the Force, something incalculably powerful, but then Masters Qui-Gon and Dooku were here, sounding the alarm, and the clones were here and there was no time . . . " His words trail away as his gaze slides back to the small group and he catches his first true glimpse of Obi-Wan and Anakin within the Force, their Force-signatures still blazing blindingly bright with seemingly impossible power, though their actual forms are so swathed in the deep, concealing folds of their hooded outer robes that their Force-altered appearances are not yet quite visible. His nictating eyelids twitch reflexively, the innermost layer filming his eyes in an effort to shutter them against that brightness, even though it is not exactly a physical light. "Something - something terrible has happened, hasn't it?" he asks slowly, voice trembling. "The clones . . . something terrible must have happened. Please, Masters, what is it? What's going on? Something happened. Something horrible. How bad is it? What could have happened to make our own allies attack us within the very Temple?"

"Do not fear, Gate Master. Things are not so bad as that," Obi-Wan reassures the badly shaken Jedi, momentarily placing a comforting hand on the closer of Jurokk's bowed shoulders. "In fact, events have made a turn for the better."

"Master Windu was injured in the process, though. We brought him back with us from the Senate Building. He is in the shuttle behind the Temple. Someone should retrieve him," Anakin adds as the four continue walking towards the Temple, sweeping the rattled Gate Master along with them. "The full Council will want to hear this. We will go to Obi-Wan's quarters and wait for two hours while Master Windu recovers, the Temple settles, and the Council convenes."

"The clone troopers feel that they have an obligation to the Jedi and the Temple for their actions here. They thought that they were obeying a genuine order issued by the Republic against the Jedi Order, so in truth there is no such obligation, yet they wish to atone for the damage they have caused, nonetheless," Obi-Wan continues to explain as they pass within the Temple proper. The Gate Master halts in his tracks, mouth falling open as his head snaps back around and he looks out upon the ranks upon ranks of patiently waiting clones.

"You should get some help down here from administration, so that they can more quickly and efficiently be put to work," Anakin calls back over his shoulder at the unmoving and still staring Gate Master as the four Jedi continue on into the Temple, quickly vanishing from sight around a bend in the corridor.

Understanding that he will be told no more for the time being and trusting that whatever has happened cannot possibly be all that awful since Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker are both calm almost to the point of nonchalance, Gate Master Jurokk squares his shoulders and strides to the communication device inside the double doors, swiftly punching in the personal code for the comm unit of the head of the east wing's administration center. "Demarra? Yes, it's Gate Master Jurokk. I'm going to need you and probably also several of your most organized assistants down here at the main Temple gates, as quickly as possible. It seems we have several brigades worth of penitent clone troopers on our hands, all wishing to be of service to the Jedi Order and make amends for the damage they've, ah, accidentally caused to the Temple . . . "

***

Mainly due to several bouts of enforced waiting, in the time that it finally ends up taking Bail Organa to shower, dress, and obtain proper release from the hospital, the night and the storm both reach their end. As he follows his brother by marriage, Captain Raymus Antilles, out to the waiting speeder, Bail can make out the endless cityscape stretching out before them in the fading gloom. Here and there, remnants of shattered buildings still smolder slightly, despite the attention of fireships and the actual rain from the recent storm itself. In spite of the evident damage from the recent attack, space lane traffic is already beginning to return to normal, and rivers of gnat-like speeders and air taxis and repulsors busily crisscross the city. In the near distance, the vast dome of the Galactic Senate squats like a gigantic gray mushroom sprung out of the duracrete plain that is Republic Plaza. Farther out, dim in the somewhat brown-tinged haze, Bail can just pick out the quintuple spires that top the ziggurat of the Jedi Temple. With the dying of the storm that has gripped Coruscant through most of the long hours of the dark night, dawn begins to take hold of Galactic City. Bright slivers of red-stained light - the slender fingers of morning - creep across the cityscape, bringing a rose-colored glow to the dispersing clouds and the wind-smeared upper reach of a vast twisting cone of smoke.

The Prince of Alderaan is not a man given to profanity, but when he catches a glimpse of the source of that smoke from the passenger's chair of the speeder Raymus Antilles is piloting back to the Alderaan Senator's apartments, the curse it brings to his lips would have made even a Corellian dockhand blush.

"Antilles!" he snaps, fingers white-knuckled where his hands have uselessly knotted up into fists. "The Temple!"

Raymus is already stabbing in a code that will cancel the speeder's programmed route back home as he nods and tersely says, "I see it, Your Highness," before he grabs the yoke and kicks their craft into a twisting dive that shoots them through half a dozen crisscrossing streams of air traffic. Triggering the speeder's comm, the Captain snarls, "Base! Route an alert to SER. The Jedi Temple is on fire!" Whatever answer is issued over his headset in response to his communication clearly does not sit well with Raymus Antilles. "What in the name of the Force do you mean, you know? What! A Jedi rebellion? That is preposterous! Your Highness," he continues, turning slightly towards Bail, "I'm being told that the Senate Emergency Response has announced a state of martial law, and that the Jedi Temple is under lockdown. There's supposedly been some kind of Jedi rebellion."

"What are you talking about? That's impossible! Why aren't there fireships onstation?"

"They don't have any details, my Prince; our people only know what SER has said, and apparently that wasn't a whole lot," Raymus admits helplessly. "We're practically right on top of it. Do you want to go down there and try to find out what's - one moment. Yes? Yes? She says that what?! Master Kenobi said what!? Are you kidding me? No, no, yes, of course, I believe you, it's just that - Force help us, Palpatine himself? Yes, yes, of course, he's right here with me, it'll just take a moment, alright?" Raymus snaps before once again turning back to his Prince. "Your Highness, several of the highest ranking members of SER have been declared enemies of democracy and traitors to the Galactic Republic. Apparently, Senator Mon Mothma just sent out a HoloNet report alleging that Master Kenobi contacted her, claiming that Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord who's masterminded this entire war and that he and Anakin were forced to kill him after Palpatine attacked them when they tried to arrest him. Several records of the confrontation have been verified on the security logs of the Senate Building and they're being gone through now. Master Kenobi also alleged that the Supreme Chancellor commanded several forces of clone troopers to attack the Jedi Temple, giving them orders to sterilize it. Master Kenobi apparently also claimed that the Jedi would be able to deal with the clones without damaging them and asked Mon Mothma to ask the Senate to consider asking you or Bail Antilles to be the interim Supreme Chancellor. In her Holonet report, the Senator specifically asks for you to come to the Great Rotunda as soon as possible, my Prince," he adds, not bothering to say that Bail Antilles is likely to be on his way to Coruscant as soon as he receives word of what is happening.

"But the Temple - Force, the younglings - !" Bail shakes his head. "Raymus, I have a bad feeling about this. I need to know what's going on at the Temple. Can you - ?"

"Done, Highness. Base? Yes, we're on route to the Temple now. The Prince would prefer some proof that the Jedi are indeed handling this little problem. Part of the Temple structure is still visibly smoking. Send word to the Chandrilan Senator that His Serene Highness, Bail of Alderaan, will be visiting the Jedi Temple before he comes to the Senate Building today. If necessary, the Senate should be able to contact His Highness through the Temple comm system." Raymus hauls on the control yoke to slew the speeder up towards the broad landing deck on the roof of the Temple's central ziggurat. Raymus sets the speeder down only a few meters from the deck entrance and Bail is out of it almost before he can get the engine shut off. A squad of clone troopers stands in the open doorway. Smoke billows out from the hallway behind them.

One of the troopers lifts a hand as Bail approaches. "Don't worry, sir, everything is under control here."

"Under control?" the Prince snaps incredulously. "Where are your commanders? Where are the SER teams? Force take it, where are the Jedi? What is the army even doing here? Is it true there's been some kind of attack on the Temple?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not authorized to answer all of your questions, sir."

"Listen to me, Sergeant, I am a Senator of the Galactic Republic," Bail says, improvising, "and I'm extremely late for a meeting with Jedi Master Mace Windu - "

"Sir, the Jedi Council is in session. I'm afraid that Master Windu is not available, sir."

"Perhaps you should allow me to see for myself," Bail only counters, his voice clearly making the comment more of a command than a suggestion.

The four clones move together to block his path. "I'm sorry, sir, but entry is forbidden. The north wing of the Temple complex caught on fire, and the Jedi are still driving the smoke up out of the Temple, as you can see, sir."

Flatly refusing to budge, Bail snaps, "All I see is /smoke/, Sergeant. For all I know, you and your fellow troopers could be smoking out the entire population of the Temple or attempting to dispose of their remains. The Jedi are the sworn protectors of the Galactic Republic, and as a Senator of the Republic it is my duty to ensure that they are not being dealt with treacherously. I demand to speak to your commanders."

"Yes, sir." The clone sergeant raises a hand to his helmet, apparently activating his comm unit. "Commander Mark? I have a speeder on the roof, two male passengers, one claiming to be a Senator - " The sergeant pauses a moment, listening, before his eyes refocus on Bail. "Identifications, please. Both of your identifications, sirs."

Raymus immediately flips his identichip into the sergeant's reaching hand. Bail hesitates half a heartbeat before fishing his out of a small pouch on his belt and placing it carefully in the clone's hand. "It's all there, Sergeant. I'm a member in good standing of the Republic Senate," the Prince patiently explains. "I'm sure I have a credit chip on me if an identichip isn't enough to satisfy you that I am in fact the man I claim to be."

"That shouldn't be necessary, sir. If you'll both just wait another moment, sirs," the sergeant quietly requests, glancing up from the display screen on the scanner he's just slotted Raymus' identichip into. "Captain Antilles," he nods, removing the chip and offering it back to its owner before slotting Bail's identichip into the scanner. "Your Highness? Senator?" the clone's eyebrows raise questioningly. "Sir, which title would you prefer?"

"Whichever title you feel is more appropriate will be fine, Sergeant. But I really must ask that I be allowed to speak to your commander or to either the Gate Master or else Anakin Skywalker, if the Council is indeed in session."

"I'm sorry, but Knight Skywalker is with Master Kenobi, Prince Organa. They are much of the reason why the High Council is in session. Commander Mark is currently speaking with Gate Master Jurokk. One moment, please. Commander? Yes, Prince and Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan. Asks to speak to the Gate Master, since other specific Jedi are unavailable. Yes, sir, Commander, at once. Captain Antilles, Prince Organa, I have to ask you to return to your speeder and take it down to the level of the main gates. I cannot allow you to pass through the Temple while the Jedi are still driving the smoke up out of it, and Commander Mark and Gate Master Jurokk are both just inside the main gates. You may park your speeder as close as is convenient, so long as it is not blocking access in to or out of the Temple structure. Do you understand, sirs?" the clone sergeant asks politely.

"I understand. This is acceptable. Thank you, Sergeant. Thank you, troopers," Bail graciously responds, bowing his head regally before the squad. Turning, he proceeds Raymus back to the speeder. "Put us down as close to the gates as possible, Captain," he orders crisply. "I prefer not to have to wait any longer than necessary for answers to some of my many questions."

"At once, Highness."

***

The four of them take a slight detour past Anakin's quarters so that he can retrieve a set of cleaner (and much lighter weight and paler hued, in cut reminiscent of the robes Qui-Gon Jinn had been wearing when he had first presented Anakin to the High Council but in color much more like the robes Obi-Wan had worn while he was still only a Knight, all warm shades of vanilla and pale beige and gold-tinged sand and cinnamon-brown, the dull black of Anakin's leather boots and belt and the deep chocolate of his cape-like outer robe almost incongruously dark next to all that sun-buffed lightness and warmth), more formal robes, so closely attuned that they do not even need to speak to work out what they shall do next. Once they are safely back inside Obi-Wan's suite, Qui-Gon and Dooku silently retire to the common room area while Anakin automatically heads for the little kitchen for yet another quick meal and Obi-Wan goes back to the 'fresher to remove the residue of battle. Perhaps twenty or twenty-five minutes after they've reentered the Temple, Obi-Wan and Anakin quietly and efficiently switch places. Refreshed and energized by both the respite and their separate repasts - once again no doubt courtesy of Healer Bant - scrubbed clean and dressed in their best uniforms, Anakin gravitates towards Obi-Wan after a wordless offer of a shared cup of tea. The warmth and comfort of the familiar spicy tea is welcome, but the heat and pleasure of touch is even more desired. Soon enough, Anakin has backed Obi-Wan up against the nearest empty stretch of wall, his left hand tight against Obi-Wan's hip and his right hand gently cradling Obi-Wan's neck, urging him forward into Anakin's body and up towards Anakin's lips.

Anakin kisses as though he were laying siege to Obi-Wan's mouth, beginning first with only light quick kisses before gradually increasing both the amount of pressure he brings to bear and the amount of contact he sustains, deepening and prolonging his contact with Obi-Wan's lips before finally licking up against and then into Obi-Wan's mouth, Anakin's tongue darting out to steal a taste before he catches Obi-Wan's lower lip gently between his teeth as he backs away again, drawing Obi-Wan forward, after him, mouth seeking blindly to retain contact - a sensation so heady that it causes Anakin to surge back towards Obi-Wan, pushing up hard against him and pinning him to the wall with enough force to make it abundantly clear, even through the layers of fabric separating them, that Anakin isn't playing games, in spite of the almost teasing nature of his kisses. For Obi-Wan, who is still so unused to such caressing touches, to the blatant pleasure that such loving contact can bring, the sensations Anakin's ministrations call forth from his body are all but overwhelming. It is like a progression of powerful galvanic shocks, tearing through his flesh and sizzling along his nerves, everywhere that Anakin touches him, fueled by the simple fact of his nearness as well as the love and joy and desire pouring off of him, racing along the bond into Obi-Wan and making him dizzy with want. This want, this need, is so powerful that it burns, and that intensity builds within Obi-Wan like a firestorm, flaring molten beneath his skin, scorching his blood and flaying his nerves with sensation, making his entire body flush with sudden heat and setting the blood to roaring in his ears. The feeling is so strong, so overpowering, and so intoxicating that all Obi-Wan wants to do is give himself over to it and to Anakin. And yet . . . and yet, still - O Force! - their duty . . .

So when Anakin's hand slides down the back of Obi-Wan's neck in a slow caress, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of his tunics to stroke lovingly over Obi-Wan's skin, Obi-Wan leans trembling back into that incendiary touch, reluctantly pulling away from the far too inviting wet gloss of Anakin's mouth. Obi-Wan then slowly opens his eyes, blinking a few times in an effort to clear his head, before meeting Anakin's dark, needy gaze head-on. "Anakin . . . " he breathes, his voice almost a moan, face flushing uncontrollably, rebellious body shaking as he reaches up and presses two fingers against Anakin's dampened and parted lips, the moist heat of Anakin's breath against Obi-Wan's fingertips sorely testing Obi-Wan's resolve and causing him to feel strangely weak in the knees, almost as if the joints were all melting from the warmth of Anakin's nearby body and the heat of his touch. "Anakin, please. The Council. Remember?"

Anakin smiles hopefully - the movement of his mouth beneath Obi-Wan's fingers causing Obi-Wan to feel curiously lightheaded - his gaze automatically flickering down to Obi-Wan's mouth, to his temptingly parted and trembling lips, reddened and slightly swollen from Anakin's hungry kisses. "We still have some time, don't we?"

Obi-Wan shivers as he pulls his hand away from Anakin's tempting mouth and reaches down to slide his hand around the heavy dark Demicot silk of Anakin's sleeve, the base of his hand just brushing against bare skin as his grip tightens, manacling Anakin's wrist. "There will be time for us, Anakin. I promise you that. But not now, love. Please, let go of me," Obi-Wan asks softly.

Anakin's gaze falls to where he is still gripping Obi-Wan's hip, long fingers feathering up around his narrow waist, and only then does he realize how tight his hold has become, his hand falling open immediately, releasing Obi-Wan. Anakin pulls his other hand away from Obi-Wan's neck almost as quickly before backing away slightly, though not far, his body still close enough that the edges of his robe brush maddeningly up against Obi-Wan, the material of the darker, loser, more cloak-like garment mingling with and tangling against the edges of Obi-Wan's robe. "I'm sorry," Anakin sighs quietly, sorrowfully, head bowing and eyes slipping shut, forehead creasing in pain. "I just want so much to be able to touch you - "

"I know, Anakin. Believe me, I do," Obi-Wan promises earnestly, his hands automatically seeking Anakin, fingers threading through his golden hair as he gently cups that bowed head. "I don't even fully understand what it is that I want, except to know that it's you - your touch, your love. But there is our duty to consider also. And we should not leave Masters Qui-Gon and Dooku out there alone, cooling their heels and idly waiting to see if we will have sense and courtesy enough to come back out again on our own."

Anakin nods his understanding and agreement, refraining from sighing. "Yes, Master. I know. We should go out and join them, then."

"Anakin - "

The familiar quirk of half-smile slips back across Anakin's face as he shakes his head. "I know, Obi-Wan: you aren't my Master anymore. But I like to call you Master far too much to give it up now, love. Unless you see it causing problems, I think you'll just have to resign yourself to hearing it a while longer."

The declaration startles a chuckle out of Obi-Wan. "Well, then, I suppose I shall simply adjust. There are far worse things to be called, after all."

Laughing together at that, arms snaking comfortably around each other's waists and heads inclined so closely together that their hair mingles, the two turn and, after gathering up their cups in their empty hands, head out into the common room where Qui-Gon and Dooku are indeed waiting for them patiently, sitting close together on one of the two decadently overstuffed two-seat sofas in the area of the common room off to the left of the foyer. Placing their teacups on the flat serving table nestled in between the two sofas, careful not to spill anything on its complexly carved and detailed beautiful rainbow-colored crystal inlay, Anakin and Obi-Wan claim the other sofa, its two seats serving as a fine excuse to snuggle up close together.

Surprisingly, Anakin speaks first. "Masters, I've been wondering if you can wear and keep track of objects from the physical plane, even when you aren't fully manifest."

Dooku raises one elegant eyebrow, intrigued. "I believe, young Skywalker, that any such object would end up being embraced by the Force, much as we are, if we were to keep hold of it while letting go of our more tangible forms. I am not sure if such an object could be brought entirely back into the physical plane alone after such an occurrence, though I know Qui-Gon has been pondering testing this very same question. Why do you ask, young one?"

Smiling, Anakin raises a hand up to touch first the brilliant blue gem resting proudly on top of his Jedi garb and then the second, slightly more complexly colored blue stone similarly draped around Obi-Wan's neck. "I ask because I originally found six of these stones on Naboo, and I think it would be fitting for the two of you to both have one of them, if you can wear them. I'm afraid that the other blue stone is in the Hall of Remembrance, with Qui-Gon's plaque. However," he continues, digging into the deep pockets of his outer robe, "there are still these three to choose from."

The three remaining roughly polished gemstones have been suspended from slender black leather cords. The two jewels dangling on cords from Anakin's left hand are a rich indigo shade so deeply saturated with color that is almost violet, spherical and roughly the size of a small woman's fist, and a green so dark it seems black until it stone twists and catches the light, slightly more ovoid and just a little bit larger, overall, than the violet stone. The third jewel spilling from Anakin's right hand, clearly ovoid and probably just a smidgen larger than even the dark green gem, spins slowly on its cord, an intense aquamarine hue that is almost green from certain angles. The stones, like the gems around Anakin and Obi-Wan's necks and the jewel in the Hall of Remembrance, are all exceedingly rare, enormously precious, exceptionally highly colored, and therefore even more immensely valuable Nubian starfire adamants, one of the most highly prized and expensive gemstones in the galaxy, even in its more common clear or ghostly pale hues. The worth of each jewel is staggering by itself, astronomical when their values are combined, and yet Anakin clearly values them for their beauty and their potential as gifts, not for their intrinsic worth as gems. Qui-Gon and Dooku are just as unmistakably drawn towards the beauty of the two greener of the offered stones.

"Anakin, are you quite sure? These are worth so much - " Qui-Gon sighs, his fingertips not quite ghosting across the surface of the still spinning aquamarine jewel.

"I am positive," Anakin nods, voice firm.

"Padmé should have this," Obi-Wan notes quietly, carefully extracting the cord of the violet gem from around Anakin's left hand. "It suits her. Look: it's almost the color of your eyes, from this angle." Obi-Wan shakes his head sadly, eyes flickering momentarily shut with pain. When his eyes open again, Anakin is gazing at him intently, his eyes darkened with understanding and shared sorrow.

"And almost the color of your eyes from this one," Anakin just as quietly notes, nodding.

Dooku and Qui-Gon diplomatically refrain from commenting as they claim the remaining stones, Qui-Gon bowing his head so that Dooku can drape the cord of the brilliant aquamarine jewel around his neck before reaching up to return the favor, placing the dark green gem securely around Dooku's neck. Both gemstone are left in plain view, as are Obi-Wan and Anakin's. After a few more silent respectful moments, though, Qui-Gon politely says, "Thank you, young one. These are a gift beyond price."

Smiling and shrugging a little, effortlessly dispersing the slight lingering tension, Anakin simply cheerfully remarks, "Well, we have to give all the Holonet fans something to mark us by, now don't we?"

Qui-Gon shakes his head, chuckling. "As if they would not immediately recognize the two of you wherever you might go!"

Shrugging again, Anakin simply notes, "We are altered, Master Qui-Gon. The Force saw to that. You'd be surprised how few beings ever look any deeper than the surface. Though I'll admit, it would be hard for anyone to mistake the two of you for anyone else, given that lovely blue glow of yours. I don't suppose it ever goes away, does it?"

Dooku shrugs one shoulder, eyebrow raising again. "Does it matter if it doesn't? If there is a need to not be seen, we can always let these visible forms slip from us."

"Ah, but then can you affect the physical world around you, if you are not manifest in it?" Obi-Wan only counters, an eyebrow of his own rising to the challenge.

Dooku not only smiles, he actually laughs for a moment, genuinely pleased by Obi-Wan's insightful challenge. "Actually, yes. It is more difficult, taking a higher level of concentration, and it is somewhat more draining, but we can, in fact, affect the physical without first becoming entirely manifest."

"That's good to know," Obi-Wan nods. "After all, one never knows. Being able to do that might come in handy, some day."

"True enough. At the moment, though, it might perhaps be more wise to concentrate on the coming meeting with the Council. Somehow, I very much doubt the Council Masters will be overly impressed by any ability of mine or Dooku's to move things about, even while within the embrace of the Force," Qui-Gon smiles wryly.

"They will yield to the Force's will and to our greater wisdom regarding that will." It is a statement of bald fact, coming from Obi-Wan's mouth. "They will have no other choice. They may try to balk and protest all they wish, but they will give in, in the end."

"Ah, but perhaps we can coax them into giving in with better grace, if we put our minds to it," Dooku smiles as his eyebrows both raise in question and in challenge.

Laughing, Obi-Wan merely nods.

Taking his cue from Obi-Wan, Anakin smiles and says, "Well, then, let's get to it. We won't have quite as much time to spend on this plan as we did on our other one, but at least this is one fight that we know we will not lose, thanks to the Force."

"Ah, speaking of time," Obi-Wan adds, as if he's just remembered something, "someone remind me when we've finished with the High Council that we still need to deal with Grievous and he should be our first priority. There will only be a narrow window of opportunity in which to act, when he will discount all of the news coming out from Coruscant as falsehoods meant to try to entrap him, and we need to deal with him before he becomes suspicious enough to flee Utapau and run to ground elsewhere. The coming storm will be difficult enough to weather without the threat of the General looming over us."

"Don't worry, Master," Anakin promises. "I'll remind you if no one else does. Grievous has dodged justice long enough. It will be a relief to finally make sure that it catches up with him. Now, as for the Council . . . "

***

Within the towering sphere of the enormous Geonosian Dreadnaught nestled within the much vaster sinkhole rising up around it, General Grievous stands with his back to the viewport looking out upon Utapau, instead studying a three-dimensional map of the known universe. An accurate model based upon extensive compilations of archival surveys and sensor data, coupled with probability-based projections and analyses, the map is vastly larger, far more detailed, and much, much more accurate than the vast majority of the maps in use or even in existence within the confines of the Galactic Republic proper, the rebellious territory held by the Separatists, or the fringe systems of the as yet unallied planets and systems. Grievous studiously, methodically, scans swirling nebulas, giant suns, and planet after planet. Given time and sustained effort, all of the space represented by this model could one day become a part of either a victorious Galactic Republic or the new governing body of a conquering Confederacy of Independent Systems.

Limitless possibilities, unending resources, and an infinite amount of pathways to victory and revenge over the Jedi and their Republic, are also represented by the contents of this map.

Conquest, expansion, impartial and truly equalized rule, efficient allocation and use of resources . . . Grievous' embracement of Raith Seinar's abandoned pet project is both the starting point and the keystone for the creation of a cosmic empire of machines. By giving the order to set this project into motion - relaying it to the remainder of his precious custom-built IG 100-series MagnaGuards, Reinar's perfected prototype self-motivating humaniform combat droids designed, programmed, and armed specifically to fight against the Republic and to destroy Jedi - Grievous has begun the process towards the creation of just such an empire, one that will rise victorious from out of the ashes of the Galactic Republic, and it is inevitable, now, that this process will soon accelerate, gathering momentum and force until it becomes an unstoppable behemoth that will crush all in its path, though it is all too possible that he will no longer number among the functional when the time is ultimately ripe for that final victory over the remains - as well as any remaining rebellious fragments - of the stagnant and floundering Galactic Republic.

In claiming the final form of Sienar's original idea - for landing pods designed to invade the metal-bearing asteroids of an unexploited star system and set up shop, making small invasion droids out of the raw ore contained within those asteroids - Grievous has issued orders so that the landing pods also function as carriers and creators of thinking machines, droids directly modeled after both the IG-100s and Grievous, himself, and christened by Grievous IG-200s and HK-100s, so named for his highly successful MagnaGuards and the legendary Hunter-Killer line that gave rise to HK-01, the progenitor of the original Great Droid Revolution. Given the means by which to propagate the seeds of his own mind, offspring programmed to reflect his own will and core essence - self-assembling, self-expanding, and self-supporting functional factories entirely capable of adapting to and using local resources alone to construct automated infrastructures and a growing army of intelligent, ambitious, elitist overseers - Grievous possesses and will therefore pursue a way to ensure that the battle against the Jedi Order and the Republic will never be abandoned and that his revenge will eventually, inevitably, be won, since Sienar's genius will allow him to establish numerous enclaves of intelligent, self-motivating, humaniform combat droids upon innumerable worlds. It would be like a shower of sparks cast upon dry tinder, after which the Republic vermin and their Jedi offal will never be able to stop the spread. It would be impossible to contain or restrain the growth of that empire, for its basic nature would be far more ambitious, expansive, and efficient than that of any government run by biologicals.

Hence, Grievous gazes steadily upon that galactic map, noting the various travel times that will be required by even the ultra fast engines of the machine probes - equipped, as they are, with fully functional prototype hyperdrive engines capable of superluminal speeds roughly twice as fast as that of the Class 2 hyperdrives only just now becoming widely used in military starships - and methodically plotting the most efficient travel patterns. His attention is focused largely on the territories designated as unallied, not yet claimed by the Republic, the CIS, any other organization know to be affiliated with either government, or any other known power, as a goodly part of the Outer Rim Territories currently are. There are easily thousands of star systems just waiting to be explored, conquered, and developed by whomever happens to reach them first, many of them no further out than the Wild Space regions bordering the Outer Rim Territories and the still largely unplumbed depths of the Unknown Regions, and this project, with its unique combination of Sienar-developed prototypes, will make it all possible.

Each highly sophisticated long-distance pod will contain a wealth of technological information, including core copies of personalities modeled directly after Grievous' own mind and aggressive character and detailed plans and schematics for the creation and training of IG-200 and HK-100 droids to house those personalities. Upon reaching their final destinations, each probe will extend automated systems, mining the lands upon which they've touched down and establishing self-contained but expanding factories, units designed to produce armies of IG-200s and HK-100s as well as all of the necessary additional support droids and machinery and more than capable of networking and expanding until their factory floors have encompassed an entire globe, at which point those global units will, in turn, turn their attention outward and expand their focus to other suitable nearby worlds, which they will conquer and colonize, seeding them with their factories, expanding ever outward until such time as they meet up with the offspring of the landing pods of their fellow probes, combining and expanding in a rising progression that should soon bypass geometric progression and begin pushing the limits of high exponential growth . . .

Why even bother targeting such unobtrusive landings as metal-bearing asteroids when there are so many unallied planets? Machines, unlike their much frailer biological counterparts, are capable settle and exploit virtually any planet, so long as that planet's atmosphere is not so inherently toxic as to be capable of either swiftly and badly damaging their largely durasteel and ceramic armorplast-plated duranium exteriors or else of disrupting their interior electro-drivers, gel-wiring, and crystal circuitry. So long as the worlds targeted are at a great enough distance from Republic-controlled and known space as to remain unknown and of little interest to the known galactic powers, his mechanized colonies will be able to take root and to expand at a phenomenal rate. Though worlds largely barren of life would likely take less trouble to colonize, human-normal and biological-compatible worlds are also desirable, in that claiming worlds of those specific types will effectively remove the most obvious sources of territory suitable for use by the Republic and any other possible competitor - and therefore enemy - state or organization. Biologicals encountered upon those planets will simply be eradicated, processed for fuel sources, or otherwise tamed and then kept, as backup menial workers, depending upon the feasibility and efficiency of each option for every given scenario.

The remainder of Grievous' faithful IG-100s - their never very large ranks thinned, over the course of the war, by Jedi scum, Republic weapons, incompetent and/or cowardly Separatist handlers and commanders, and occasional sheer bad luck to only a dozen active units - wait with a team of support droids just outside of the viewing room, waiting to give assistance and to carry out his orders. When Grievous is satisfied that he has traced out the most efficient plan of landing paths and destinations for the pods and has finished triple-checking it for errors, he sends out a single signal pulse to the control center. Already powered up and ready, as always, to serve, the powerful computer-mind instantly relays copies of the information given to it by Grievous to the droids and MagnaGuards patiently waiting outside the sphere. Their orders received, they immediately scatter to their assigned tasks.

Utapau is typical of the many other systems and sectors within the Outer Rim that have been taken, bought outright, or otherwise simply persuaded to join the Separatist cause. Most of the factories and foundry worlds responsible for the creation of the vast majority of ships and weapons in use by the CIS are produced in just such Outer Rim systems. General Grievous, as the head of the Droid Armies of the CIS, has always had at least some nominal control over these factory and foundry worlds. Within hours, new orders are being sent out to these worlds, and because they are coded to the General, the vast majority of those orders will be routinely followed, without any of the various overseers of those factories ever becoming the wiser as to what precisely it is that they will be making - and launching.

In the days and the weeks to come, there will be a flurry of products sent out from almost all of these worlds - compact units shaped rather like bubbles, launching in batches of either one, ten, or fifty thousand, all simultaneously taking flight, specifically programmed to scatter to the farthest corners of the galaxy and perhaps even beyond, regardless of how long such flights would take, even if the farthest flight paths might take years, or decades, to reach their destinations. In the final reckoning, timescale is of no matter. Thinking machines, unlike biological entities, are entirely capable of making long-term plans - and of living to see them carried out.

By the time the Republic or any other such government might wish to expand into any of those distant star systems, the vast armies of Grievous' droid offspring would already be there.

Networked, expanding, and waiting for the chance to annihilate any and all who might be a threat to their growing machine empire - most especially any biologicals conforming to or even resembling certain parameters known to accurately describe members of the Jedi Order and of the Galactic Republic.

His children, much like General Grievous himself, will live for vengeance.

***

The four of them have made it perhaps halfway from Obi-Wan's suite to the Council Spire when Obi-Wan suddenly gasps and staggers blindly back against the nearest wall, one hand half raised as if to ward off a blow. Anakin is at his side so quickly that he literally seems to disappear from where he was standing and reappear with his arms around Obi-Wan, winding in underneath his robe, offering support. "What's wrong?"

"Anakin, the Force - the Force is about to shift. Violently. I think - I think that we must cause it. The echoes - " Obi-Wan shakes his head, briefly, and then again, more violently, his hood slipping back slightly against his hair, letting Anakin and the wall support almost all of his weight, for the moment too stunned and shaken to pull himself entirely together again. "It's much more powerful than the reverberations caused by Sidious' death."

"The taint?" Anakin asks, frowning.

"I think so," Obi-Wan nods, arms automatically winding around Anakin.

"Soon?"

"Very."

Anakin sighs, leaning in to press several comforting kisses to Obi-Wan's temples. Voice very low, he mutters, "Perhaps we should have allowed Sidious to wipe out the Council after all."

"Anakin!" The scold is much less effective, given the snort of genuine laughter that escapes immediately afterwards.

"I know, I know/. They just . . . /frustrate me. They've caused so much pain and needless suffering with their arrogance and their inflexibility," Anakin scowls, pressing more kisses to Obi-Wan's cheeks and the center of his forehead. "It doesn't excuse what Sidious would have done to them, but by the Force they almost seem to have been asking for it!"

"They will make amends. Before all is said and done. If nothing else, they will all make amends for what they have done and so nearly caused." Obi-Wan's voice goes distant again, his eyes simultaneously seeming both to slide out of focus and to sharpen dramatically, heralding yet another far-sight glimpse into the most probable future.

"I doubt if it'll ever be enough. But I suppose it's beside the point. The Force still has a use for them, and if they can truly be made to understand the extent of their crimes, so that they wish to try to atone for their many sins of pride, then I won't stop them," Anakin shrugs, voice and face very carefully neutral. "In any case, you shouldn't dwell on it now, love. If the Force wishes it to be, then it will be, and you needn't waste any time fretting about it. We have more immediate worries, anyway - like actually getting up to the Council Chamber," he smiles and attempts to further distract Obi-Wan by nuzzling the side of his face, his actions sliding both their hoods further back from their faces.

Obi-Wan's eyes refocus on Anakin at that. Smiling a little bit, as if to say I know what you're up to, Padawan-mine Obi-Wan merely hums for a moment, noncommittal, before tilting his face up towards Anakin, wordlessly offering his mouth. Anakin obliges, lowering his head to kiss Obi-Wan gently before leaning down into the kiss and deepening it, tongue darting out to steal a taste when Obi-Wan's lips part beneath his, ignoring the shocked gasp that comes from behind them. It is a tenderly passionate kiss, as slow as if they have all the time in the world, deep enough to drown in, intoxicating enough to burn into memory and linger on the flesh long after they have parted. Anakin will not be hurried through this kiss, no matter who might be watching them, and Obi-Wan's mouth is far too pliant beneath his, his embrace entirely too willing, to truly rush Anakin. So the kiss eventually ends naturally, on its own time, and as Anakin draws slightly back Obi-Wan turns his head to the side with a brilliant smile, exclaiming, "Bant! It's been an age. Thank you so much for the meals and the fruit. Anakin and I have already enjoyed them quite a bit." Obi-Wan's yearmate, a friend since their days together in the crèche, is staring at them in openmouthed shock, her enormous silver eyes bugged so wide that they would have been comical, if the Mon Calamari's expression hadn't been so honestly horrified. Obi-Wan frowns a bit and takes a step forward, away from the wall, Anakin automatically taking a step back so that they can remain as they are, wrapped in each other's arms, unwilling to lose contact quite yet. "Bant? Are you quite alright?"

The Jedi Healer backpedals so quickly that she overbalances and falls - perhaps the first wholly ungraceful movement that Obi-Wan has ever seen his normally almost languidly graceful friend make. Bant squeaks in such an entirely undignified manner as she collapses into the floor that for a moment Obi-Wan merely stands and stares down at her, stunned, eyebrows climbing so far up that they almost vanish. While Obi-Wan is busy staring confusedly down at Bant, Qui-Gon and Dooku ghost forward, both Masters instinctively thinking to offer the poor Healer a hand up out of the floor. But they only seem to fluster and frighten Bant even more than she already is, as the Mon Calamari only lets out yet another half-strangled squeak of alarm before scooting back away from them with desperate haste, scrambling gracelessly in an effort to both back away from the two blue-limed Masters and to regain her feet.

Now even Anakin is staring at her, frowning in puzzlement, because with the possible exception of Garen, another one of Obi-Wan's friends, Bant is usually the most unflappable, no nonsense, down to earth, and generally unimpressed and not easily impressed Jedi there is. She's never seemed to really notice or care about Anakin and Obi-Wan's slightly notorious celebrity, and the fact that she's acting as though she's half terrified of them and half moonstruck or star-struck by their presence is frankly disconcerting. "Healer Bant?" Anakin asks hesitantly, reaching out into the Force to gently push back both his and Obi-Wan's hoods all the way, so that their faces are entirely and clearly visible, just in case the Healer is suffering from some doubt as to their identities. "Is something the matter? Are you okay?"

Impossible though it seems, Bant's eyes go even wider at that. She finally regains her feet, staggering, and cries, stammering, "You - you aren't - but you are - how - ?" Bant truly resembles a fish out of water, eyes goggled wide, mouth opening and closing rapidly, though no more words emerge from it.

Dooku looks at Obi-Wan with one questioningly raised eyebrow. "Is this overexcitable Healer an acquaintance of yours, young one?"

Qui-Gon answers before Obi-Wan can do more than open his mouth. "They're agemates and friends. I've never seen Bant Eerin act in this manner. I always thought of her as very level headed." Qui-Gon shakes his head, puzzled.

"Bant, it's alright. It is us. You needn't be frightened," Obi-Wan says after a time, voice very slow and gentle indeed.

"But you were - and Obi-Wan's said you aren't - and you're both so - Jedi aren't - we don't - I - I don't understand! You are yourselves still and yet you clearly aren't! And you!" Bant cries, rounding rapidly on Master Qui-Gon. "Beings do not return from the dead! Why are you - how can you - you died/, for Force's sake! You ran ahead, without Obi-Wan, and then you got yourself killed, leaving Obi-Wan behind to clean up this Sith-cursed mess you'd made as best as he could, /alone! Do you know - do you even have a clue - how much you hurt him, how much you - you - you - Force! How /dare /you? You thoughtlessly pushed Obi-Wan away from you, you hurt him in your unthinking cruelty and your haste, and then you left, you deliberately ran ahead and left us all behind!" Bant shakes her head violently, actually wringing her hands together in her distress, before whipping about to face Master Dooku. "And you! You purposely left us! You abandoned the Order, renounced the Jedi Code, helped shatter the Republic, joined forces with a Sith and actually became a Dark Lord of the Sith! What in Sith hells are you doing here/, in the Jedi Temple? Why aren't you in custody? Why aren't you /dead? I thought - I'd heard that Anakin and Obi-Wan - that after the Chancellor was taken hostage by Grievous - " Bant chokes up here, unable to get anything else out, her eyes flicking rapidly, nervously, over Obi-Wan and Anakin's faces, hands clinging together so tightly that white bands of tension show up against her salmon colored skin. She bows her head momentarily, shuddering, unable to bring herself to say or to do anything else.

Dooku's voice is incredibly dry and biting when he responds. "Yes, well, considering the fact that the Jedi High Council had sent my former Padawan and his young charges off to what seemed like certain death for them all, simply because the Council Masters were unwilling to allow any changes to the status quo or to suffer any challenges to their power, and the fact that the Galactic Republic had grown so corrupt that it actually /elected a Sith Lord its Supreme Chancellor, I wasn't left with any other choice but to leave. The Force has forgiven me for the crimes I committed in my grief and anger, over Qui-Gon's loss and the betrayal of everything that I had dedicated my life to, inasmuch as it has allowed me to be here and supported me in my decision to remain with Qui-Gon, because I desire to make things better, to make things right again. Death is no barrier to love, child. Qui-Gon and I would not be here, if this were not so."/

"Surely by now you must know that all things are possible, with the Force," Qui-Gon adds gently. "We are but its servants, its messengers. The Force has embraced us and filled us with its love, and it is by the will and the power of the Force that we are here. It is much the same with Obi-Wan and Anakin - though they have, thankfully, been much wiser than Dooku and I and learned how to fully surrender to that will and that love without first requiring their deaths to act as the catalyst for this epiphany."

"The Force - the Force isn't - it can't - " Bant protests numbly, shaking her head. Then, as if only just realizing the true meaning of what Dooku has said, she cries out softly, wordlessly, overwhelmed with pain and shock, her legs folding up beneath her until she topples helplessly down into the floor, her stunned agony so overwhelming that she is unable to even bring herself to try to break her fall. "A Sith - the Republic elected a - a Sith as - ?"

"Obviously it is and it can, Healer Bant, or else we would not be standing here before you as we are," Anakin notes humorously, mouth twitching in a half suppressed smirk. "And you can thank Darth Sidious for the attack on the Temple. The Sith Lord was not pleased to be caught in his web of lies, and he would not surrender gracefully." Anakin shrugs again, expansively. "Obi-Wan and I had to kill him, I'm afraid."

"The Chancellor - the Supreme Chancellor is - "

"The Sith Lord Sidious died at our hands. Did you not wonder what the disturbance was that shook the Force?" Anakin asks, genuinely curious, head tilted slightly to one side. "He was no match for the Chosen One," he adds, turning to smile down at Obi-Wan, love and respect making his eyes shine.

"No more than he was a match for the Sith'ari," Obi-Wan only modestly affirms, tilting his head up towards Anakin and smiling back so sweetly that Anakin can't help but lean forward and press a gentle, relatively quick kiss to that smiling mouth.

Bant's mouth is once again opening and closing rapidly, though at first no sound emerges. "I don't - but you - Anakin is - "

Anakin's lips twitch until finally they stretch into a familiar smirk. "Actually, no, Anakin is not the Chosen One. Anakin is the Sith'ari. Obi-Wan is the Chosen One," he explains patiently, his smirk deepening when he refers to himself in the third person. Tilting his head inquisitively to one side, Anakin asks, "Haven't you ever wondered just why he's so lucky or where he gets all of his strength? Obi-Wan is a vergence in the Force. I rather suspect that shielding and learning how to hold himself back are the first things he learned how to do, as a baby in the crèche - perhaps even before he was brought to the crèche, depending on where and with what kind of people he was raised, before he was given over to the Temple for training. And since the Jedi Order has, above all other things, ceaselessly sought to convince him of his inadequacy - much as the Order has lately done with all of its children and all of its members, save perhaps for a very few of its highest officials - I find that I'm far more surprised that I didn't notice it earlier than I am over the extent of his actual power. Obi-Wan is vastly more powerful than Sidious ever could have been. I would not have access to even a fraction of the Force powers that I do without Obi-Wan's aid. He's far more powerful and far more balanced in the Force than any mere Jedi, even Master Yoda. In fact, I rather suspect that's why Master Yoda has always been so terribly interested in Obi-Wan and his progress within the Order. In spite of all of his shields, the little green goblin has doubtlessly always been able to tell that there's more to Obi-Wan than meets the eye. Wouldn't you agree, Master Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon's eyes widen for a moment, startled, before narrowing in careful consideration. "It would certainly go a long way towards explaining much that makes little sense, otherwise."

"But Master Yoda - the Council - the Order isn't - we don't - "

"The /hell you say." Qui-Gon's voice has gone dangerously low. "Arrogance, inflexibility, corruption and manipulation, power-mongering and a blind adherence to rules, to laws, without true understanding of their nature nor compassion for those who are consequentially hurt - " Qui-Gon shakes his head sorrowfully. "The Order has stagnated and been consumed from within by its own darkness, much as the Republic has been."/

"The Sith and their ilk are quite clever at turning things back upon themselves, young one. You know what an Ethrani ouroboros is, do you not?" Dooku asks, once again raising an elegant eyebrow./"Many of the Jedi are already lost and most don't even realize it. They have been turned back upon themselves and so unknowingly consume themselves in their hunger."/

"We will change that, Bant. The Force has given the Jedi one final chance to submit to its will and learn how to change, and they will change or they will perish." Obi-Wan's eyes are so cold as he says this that Bant shivers beneath their regard, huddled in the floor. "The Jedi are guardians of the Galactic Republic and servants of the Force, and it is high time that the Jedi are all reminded of these facts - even the most powerful and exalted of Masters."

In an attempt at levity, Anakin allows his mouth to relax into a slight smile and quietly reassures the stunned and trembling Healer. "Don't be afraid, Bant. It won't really be so awful as all that. After all, the Clone Wars are essentially over now, so that's one less drain on the Order. And some Jedi will have much less to learn than others will. There are just a few stubborn necks that need to learn how to bend. Really, we'll only be changing a rule or two."

"Or three or four," Obi-Wan adds, perfectly straight faced, though his eyes have, reassuringly, lost their icy luster.

"Perhaps five or six," Dooku offers, nodding slightly.

"Maybe even as many as a dozen," Qui-Gon acknowledges, mouth quirking.

Bant blinks, her gaze darting swiftly back and forth among them for a few long moments, before she finally shuts her eyes and draws in a long, only slightly shuddering breath. When she opens her eyes again, her body has stilled and her gaze is calm. She nods once, decisively, and rises to her feet with one long, graceful motion. Then, crossing her fists over her chests, she bows to them deeply, gravely, in salute. "I would be honored to learn under you all, Master Jedi." Raising back up, she then bows her head deeply, almost bowing again, to each one in turn. "Master Dooku. Master Qui-Gon. Master Obi-Wan. Master Anakin."

"It is a privilege to serve and an honor to teach," Obi-Wan says quietly, nodding briefly. Then, mouth twitching into a small smile, he adds, "And doing away with redundancy will be the first item on the agenda. Honestly: There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no chaos; there is harmony. There is no death; there is the Force. The Code simply needs a bit of parring down and deflating, don't you agree?" he asks, his smile suddenly sharp and dangerous.

Bant is once again staring, her huge silver eyes as wide as they will go. "Five - five lines? The Code has five lines?"

"The so-called Code is a calming repetitive focusing mantra of meditation dating from before the time of the Great Hyperspace War. It is several thousand years old and it was never intended to be taken as a condensed book of rules for Jedi behavior or beliefs in the first place." Obi-Wan's voice rings with so much truth that it is impossible to doubt the validity of what he is claiming, despite the fact that he is essentially speaking heresy, according to traditional Jedi wisdom. "This Code has been reworded, appended, and reinterpreted many, many times over the millennia, and it presently includes so many esoteric prohibitions that are so far removed from the actual core beliefs of the Jedi - which are, as I'm sure you're well aware, peaceful contemplation of the Force, surrender to its will, and the selfless protection of those who cannot defend themselves against the tyranny and evil of others - that frankly I'm not sure I understand precisely where they came from. The doctrine that Jedi training shall only begin in infancy and extremely early childhood and that any being discovered to be Force-sensitive who is older than that is too old to be trained is not only patently ridiculous, as a rule it's no older than the establishment of this Temple and was originally established as a limiting guideline to help aid a far too small and overworked staff sort through the overwhelmingly enormous pool of potential applicants that were first presented to the Temple upon its completion. It was never meant to be adopted as a permanent or unbreakable edict."

For someone who is having the foundations of her entire world systematically yanked out from beneath her feet, Healer Bant is taking things rather well. Her eyes go even a little bit wider and one of them develops a slight twitch, but otherwise she simply nods her head and says, "I . . . see. Perhaps we should rethink the way our Order is structured, if that is the case."

"That is precisely what we are planning to speak to the Council Masters about - among certain other important items, including recent events. Speaking of which, I fear we are expected by the Council fairly soon," Anakin smiles and ever so slightly shrugs his shoulders. "If you will excuse us, Healer?"

"Yes, Master, of course. Forgive me for keeping you. Masters," Bant nods politely and then quietly stands aside, allowing them to pass by, continuing their interrupted journey to the Council Spire.

***