FicWad

Obi-Wan sighs, applies an almost cruel amount of pinching pressure to the bridge of his nose, and allows his eyes to slip wearily shut. “Tell me again.”

Qui-Gon shifts slightly on the pallet in the Healers’ Ward, not quite flinching as Healer Bant carefully takes another blood sample. Clean and dressed only in a pair of the lightweight off-white drawstring trousers that the Ward stocks for its patients, he looks younger than he did when he first took Obi-Wan on as a Padawan learner, his body slightly battered (with bruising on his shoulders and several long, thin, slightly inflamed looking slashes on his back from the whip-like tails of the vornskrs that had been hunting him and Dooku on Myrkr), but otherwise clearly in peak physical condition. It is extremely unsettling to see him without his usual beard and long hair, but he, like Dooku, is specifically retaining his somewhat the worse for wear physical form so that samples can be taken of both the semi-acidic, paralytic poison extruded from the altered vornskrs’ tails and the mysterious biological agent they were both shot with, which apparently (according to the reactions of their attackers) was designed to be able to drop Jedi in their tracks. So he sits on the pallet, holding (mostly) still and trying not to show his discomfort (and mostly succeeding) while scrapings of his injured skin and blood samples are collected, and impatiently brushing back nutbrown forelocks that reach to just below his cheekbones every time he looks up so that he can see clearly. “The vornskrs had been visibly altered – they were roughly half again as tall as normal, massed about twice as much as normal, and their already barbed tails appear to have gained spines that visibly continuously ooze what appears to be a neurotoxin, much stronger than the relatively mild venom usually secreted by the tail barb – and were hunting in packs too large to support themselves in the wilds,” he explains. “We can only assume Jenna Zan Arbor or one of her compatriots responsible for both. The installation we found had all the trademarks of a long-term operation, and the disruptor field that covered the whole of the area seemed specifically designed to drive off wild vornskrs. The fact that it also interfered with our ability to move about in our more normal states appears to have been an unexpected side effect.”

“The base appears to be half military and half scientific in nature,” Dooku (his singed and broken left arm currently immobilized in a sling, to keep it from paining him overly much until Bant is done taking samples). “Their purpose appears to have revolved around capturing more vornskrs for study and removing ysalamiri colonies, along with their olbio trees, for transport to a more secure base, somewhere in the Outer Rim Territories, near Hutt Space, possibly in or near the Kessel Sector. The installation on Myrkr was being evacuated even as we arrived, and most of the high-level personnel had already departed. None of those who remained appeared to know specifically where this second base of operations might be, and several referred to a third facility, also somewhere in the Outer Rim, the exact location of which was kept largely a secret even among the higher-ups of the Separatists. More than one individual spoke of this third facility as a place being sought after by their commanders. If this third base was, as we suspect, a storehouse of some sort where Sidious kept many of the arcane artifacts and various secrets of scientific advances that he’d accumulated over the years, it is entirely likely he would have kept its exact location secret. I have suspected the existence of such a storehouse, beyond the facilities kept on Coruscant itself, and observed increased traffic along the Hydian Way that leads me to suspect that this storehouse might be in or in close proximity to the Wayland region.”

“Isn’t that practically in Myrkr’s backyard?” Anakin asks, frowning. “I’d think, if Sidious wanted to keep it a secret, that he’d pick a place further away than that.”

“The nutritional requirements of the olbio trees might preclude that. Or they might suffer during transport – certain kinds of plant and animal life simply do not adjust well to hyperspace,” Obi-Wan offers with a slight shrug. “I’m more concerned about the information you’ve gathered concerning a certain Lieutenant Colonel and objects removed from a private retreat on Naboo.”

“Seith Panaka is said to have fled Naboo, after the recent coordinated attacks, with an agent who was close enough to Palpatine to be able to gain entrance to the grounds of Palpatine’s supposed ancestral home. The attack on Naboo was evidently meant, at least in part, to cover the penetration of the grounds and ransacking of the buildings,” Qui-Gon confirms with a grim nod, not bothering to hide his unhappiness with this unexpected turn of events.

“Slatt! I knew we should have done something about Panaka, while we were on Naboo!” Anakin snarls, hands doubling over into fists.

“Unfortunately, legally, there was little else we could have done aside from what we did do, in passing on a warning to Queen and Padmé’s former handmaidens. The man hadn’t done anything illegal yet, and we can’t precisely justify arresting or holding someone for crimes that could or even would have been committed in an alternate timeline of events,” Obi-Wan counters, quietly but with a measure of noticeable regret for their failure to prevent this particular outcome, laying a reassuring hand on Anakin’s right shoulder.

“The man became one of the Emperor’s /Moffs/, for stars’ sake! We should have at least brought him in for questioning!” Anakin only retorts, clearly not at all mollified.

“It may not have done any good. In fact, it might have made it easier for him. Given the disappearance of the apparently wrongfully considered mindless body of Padmé’s former sister from the holding cell in Dala City, we have little choice but to assume that the agent in question was Sola – or whatever it is that Darth Sidious may have planted in her mind that seems to have somehow managed to survive the complete destruction of Sola’s conscious mind. If Panaka had been taken into custody on Naboo, it’s likely that his contacts would have been able to free both him and Sola in much shorter order, during the confusion of Padmé’s funeral. They have less of a head start on us, this way, at the very least,” Obi-Wan firmly points out, the hand on Anakin’s shoulder tightening a fraction, to drive the point home.

“That’s not good enough! We must’ve overlooked something! There should have been something else we could’ve done, to keep this from happening!” Anakin only cries out, angrily twitching his shoulder in Obi-Wan’s grasp (though he does not, quite, pull away). “Keiana and Sabé both could’ve died from the injuries they took in that attack, and all because we didn’t do enough to make sure he’d be out of commission and unable to cause any trouble!”

Obi-Wan sighs and applies pressure with his gripping hand, gently but steadily guiding Anakin into a half turn towards him, so that he can catch and hold his gaze. “Anakin. We warned them to keep an eye on Panaka, telling them that his loyalties were uncertain and that evidence might surface against him in the Sith Lord’s records. Short of knocking the man out and carting him off with us, there’s little else we could have done. Even then, it may not have done any good. Panaka obviously had a contingent of loyal followers in place, to help coordinate the attacks so that he could get to Sola and so get inside Palpatine’s retreat, and it’s likely that they would have either attempted to keep us from taking him – and, given how closely placed some of them must have been to the Queen, I cannot rule out the possibility that they might’ve sought to act against Keiana or perhaps even seized her as a hostage to use against us – or else waited until we were gone and then acted on orders and done the same thing, whether he was on hand to coordinate the attacks himself or not.”

“But – !”

Obi-Wan tightens his grip a little more, to get Anakin’s attention, and, leaning in closer, cuts him off, pitching his voice so that only Anakin will be able to hear his words. “Anakin. I am as unhappy as you are about this. But you need to stop trying to second-guess yourself. What’s done is done and cannot be undone. We can only move forward from here, doing whatever we can to keep something like this from happening again. Panaka may have gotten away this time, but he won’t escape justice forever. If he’s chosen to become our enemy, then he will suffer the same fate as Tarkin and the others. Eventually. One way or another. Trust me,” Obi-Wan urges, looking at him expectantly.

Anakin looks mutinous for a few moments, lips compressed to a surprisingly thin line, before he finally jerkily nods his head, obviously still unhappy with the way events have turned out, but nevertheless able to see Obi-Wan’s point of view and trusting him enough to be able to accept the fact that Panaka will be treated no differently from Tarkin or anyone else known to have supported Sidious’ notion (whether knowing it to be the idea of a Sith Lord or simply that of the Supreme Chancellor) of using civil war as an excuse to fashion the democratic Republic into a totalitarian Empire and to have fled in the wake of Palpatine’s unmasking as Sidious, to regroup and gather forces to oppose the restoration of order to the known galaxy. “Alright,” he allows, his stiff posture relaxing incrementally under Obi-Wan’s hands and his concerned gaze. Then, louder, he repeats, “Alright. So Panaka got away this time. He won’t be able to keep doing so. Justice will catch up with him eventually. That still leaves the problem of these other two mystery bases, which may or may not be somewhere in the vicinity of the Kessel system and might or might not be in the Wayland system. What are we going to do about them?” he asks, shrugging out from under Obi-Wan’s hands so that he can turn back around and fix his gaze on the Grand Masters, his right arm automatically curling snugly around Obi-Wan’s waist, pulling their bodies back into close, comforting alignment.

“We have enough troops to keep Wayland cut off from outside forces, if necessary. It’s the second base that concerns me,” Mace Windu opines in the silence that follows, frowning ever so slightly. “There are several other regions in the vicinity of Kessel and the Calaron Sector, most of them in Hutt Space, and, aside from an unexpected battle over a world I believe to be named Honoghr by its sentient species, I don’t believe I know of any of the worlds in them in particular seeming to have been the subject of suspiciously extensive Separatist activity.”

“It’s not Honoghr,” Anakin instantly declares, his voice once again tight with tension.

Mace’s frown deepens in confusion at the sudden proclamation. “Excuse me?”

“He said it isn’t Honoghr. And he’s right. It isn’t that planet. Sidious . . . had plans for the people of that world,” Obi-Wan explains, feeling vaguely sick to his stomach as he recalls the devastation wrecked on that planet in the other timeline. “The Noghri, the people who inhabit that planet, are, as a species, exceptionally gifted warriors and hunters – quite possibly the most naturally skilled fighters in the known galaxy. Sidious thought that their skill in combat might come in useful. He . . . arranged for their planet to be one of the test sites for Jenna Zan Arbor’s Trihexalophine1138 toxin. There was a battle, though, and the Trade Federation core ship was shot down before it could be tested. Unfortunately, the ship crashed on the planet, and the toxins were released in the wake of the crash – which, given the size of the ship, wrought plenty of devastation to the planet, in and of itself. The combination of disasters killed many of the Noghri and destroyed much of the planet’s ecosystem. Both planet and people likely would have eventually recovered, but Sidious sent in a team to investigate the damage, supposedly to strike a bargain with the locals, trading their loyalty to the Emperor’s representative and an unlimited supply of their sons to act as his personal elite bodyguards and assassins for technological assistance in recovering the planet. Sidious lied, though. The Noghri were far too useful to him as slaves, and the technology perpetuated the damage to the point where it essentially became all but irreversible, after a few decades.”

“I lied to them,” Anakin quietly adds, the anguish in his voice closing Mace’s mouth with a soft but clearly audible snap when he would have asked another question. “I did not know that I was lying, but that’s no excuse. I knew what Sidious was, what he was capable of, and I should have suspected that he’d never keep such a bargain. There’s no Separatist presence on Honoghr, masking a Sith base of operations. But we need to establish a base there, for relief efforts. The devastation of the Noghri homeworld is partially our fault. The very least we can do is to help them truly reclaim their world . . . and give them a way to reach the stars that will not see them become slaves.”

“It will be among the first missions assigned, after the General Recall is complete,” Dooku instantly, solemnly promises, his dark eyes grave but warm and reassuring where they are fixed on Anakin’s face.

Anakin takes a deep, shaky breath before replying, not bothering to hide his emotions (either his lingering shame and guilt or his relief that Dooku should offer what he’s been afraid to ask for, for fear of being told that the Noghri aren’t and shouldn’t be his concern in this timeline), leaning gratefully into Obi-Wan’s reassuring touch as the hand on his shoulder slides across his back to pull him in close, his own arm creeping snugly around Obi-Wan’s waist in turn. “I – would appreciate that. Truly. Though I think, perhaps, Obi-Wan and I might have to go for at least a day, at the beginning, to smooth the way for whoever accepts the mission. The question, though, still remains: if not Honoghr, then where else can this second base of operations be?”

“That,” Qui-Gon merely quietly notes, “would appear to be the question of the moment.”

“That’s no real answer,” Bail suddenly opines, startling them all with a rather acerbic addition to the conversation after having been and remained essentially silent since a little bit before the interruption posed by Whie Malreaux. “Either you have some idea of where the base is and don’t wish to say until the guess can be checked out, or you’ve no idea where it might be and will need to be sending several dozen scouts out to blanket the area in a regular search grid until it’s uncovered,” he continues, plowing on into the shocked silence. “If it’s the first, I wish you’d reconsider mentioning the guess. Whether the suspicion bears fruit or not, the reasoning behind why it could be a suitable place for such a base will at least provide more food for thought for the rest of us, as we try to come up with other such probable locations. If it’s the second, then you may wish to consider previous patterns of treachery by the Sith Lord. For example, we know that Sidious arranged for certain records to be removed from the Temple Archives so that an entire planetary system’s existence would be forgotten by the rest of the galaxy and so that he would be the only one in possession of the known safe routes through the Deep Core that manage to bypass the enormous gravitational pull of the region’s vast number of densely packed stars, which warp the local space-time so severely that it makes most hyperspace travel within the area difficult and dangerous at best and fatal at worst. If he held to his previous patterns, there’ll either be evidence of a planet with no corresponding entry in the Archives somewhere in the vicinity of Kessel, or else there’s be something out there in a place that’s considered so inaccessible by the galaxy at large that it would be considered suicide to try to get to it.”

“The erasure of Kamino from the Archive was discovered when it was because Master Kenobi had been given approximate coordinates for the planet in question and, though the system and its primary star had been removed from the records, there was still the clue provided by the pull of gravity upon all of the other stars in this area inward towards a specific spot,” Mace points out after several beats of startled (but increasingly attentive and considering) silence, a thoughtful frown creasing his normally smooth forehead. “If not for the information provided by Obi-Wan’s friend, the tampering might have never been discovered. The Archives weren’t simply sliced by a hacker – a method of tampering that would have left noticeable, traceable signs – they were gone into and edited with one of the few genuinely authorized key issued to the Temple Librarians and Historians in order to keep the Archives up to date and accurate. Without some idea of when and where in the records such an edit might have been ordered by Sidious, it would be an undertaking of years, to try to sort through all of the various authorized edits to find the one that was illicit. If specific reference to the data theft isn’t found in Sidious’ records, the task of locating it might even prove impossible to accomplish, given the losses the Order has suffered in recent years.”

“How so? Wouldn’t you just need to run a search against all of the nearby star systems for the one with the same kind of abnormality in gravity that revealed Kamino?” Bail asks, frowning.

“It’s not that simple,” Anakin explains before Mace can gather his thoughts enough to frame a reply. “Kessel’s near the Maw, and that distorts the gravity signals of everything in its vicinity. On top of which, between the fact that the Calaron Sector, with Kessel in it, is literally right next to Hutt Space and pretty much also next door neighbors to the Maw, the region’s so dangerous that not a lot of mapping has actually gone on in that area of space. There could easily be a dozen or more systems with habitable planets in the region and we wouldn’t know about them because it’s never really been fully mapped.”

“The Maw,” Bail repeats, his frown deepening with obvious confusion. “Forgive me, Master, but I’ve never heard of this place or phenomenon before. What exactly is this Maw?”

“The Maw is an extremely unstable and unnavigable cluster of black holes located near Kessel,” Anakin explains with a small shrug. “It has an evil reputation, even among smugglers. Between the Hutts waiting to steal your ship and cargo and sell you and your crew into slavery on the one side and the Maw waiting to swallow you whole on the other, the Kessel Run is pretty much regarded as the most dangerous smuggling run in the known galaxy, period. If spice didn’t exist just on Kessel and it weren’t so profitable, no one would ever try to make the Run. It kills or ruins more smugglers than it makes fortunes for.”

“Are you sure it’s unnavigable?” Bail only demands, frowning even more deeply and leaning forward eagerly, obviously hoping for a specific answer.

“It’s unnavigable,” Mace cuts in, quite firmly, as Obi-Wan and Anakin trade considering looks. “Believe me. It’s been tried. The Order’s lost more than a few good pilots and Jedi, over the years, to foolhardy attempts to navigate just the outermost edges of the Maw Cluster. Surely even Sidious can’t have found a way to circumnavigate the gravitational field of a black hole.”

Despite Mace’s unwavering (and seemingly quite reasonable) opinion, though, Obi-Wan and Anakin continue to trade a considering look, Anakin raising an eyebrow questioningly and Obi-Wan inclining his head ever so slightly in reply. “I’ve never seen the Maw,” Anakin finally notes, voice thoughtful but eyes gleaming with a kind of eagerness, as though in enthusiastic response to an actual challenge.

“Nor have I, that I recall,” Obi-Wan adds, frowning ever so slightly, the words coming more slowly, as though only after a great deal of thought, “though there is something . . . almost familiar to the notion of being able to navigate it. I keep running up against the image of a great river, as though the ideas are in some way linked together, or perhaps even different aspects of the same idea . . . ”

Obi-Wan’s frown deepens, and he shifts forward slightly, moving until his body is being cradled against Anakin’s slightly taller, comfortingly solid bulk, tucked against his right side and held close in the circle of his arms so that they nestle together and yet Obi-Wan can still cross his own arms, raising his right hand to rub absent-mindedly at his smooth chin. Before he can say anything else, though, Mace interrupts with a firm shake of his head, insisting, “It’s foolish to speculate on something that can’t be proved, one way or the other, without more information than we possess. There isn’t a probe that’s been made that could survive the combination of stresses from radiation, plasma, and gravitational flux, we’re stretched too thin to risk either the pilots or Jedi necessary to mount a proper mission, you two,” he continues, fixing Obi-Wan and Anakin with an almost baleful glare, “are certainly both far too important to risk on a such a patently suicidal attempt, and, unless someone here can definitely prove to me that the specific energy patterns that apparently make up a Force spirit are capable of surviving the energy-draining and energy-destroying gravitational pull of a black hole without experiencing significant warping to those patterns and therefore also to themselves, the Grand Masters definitely don’t need to diving into the Maw blind. If this second base was a secret of the Sith Lord’s, then he’ll have made note of it in his records, if only to gloat over his cleverness in choosing it and keeping it hidden from others. Meanwhile, on the off chance that the installation is somewhere in the immediate vicinity of Kessel, we can send a force to that system to establish scouts in all the nearby systems, to make note of any unusual comings or goings. If these traitors you speak of honestly intend to challenge us, then they will need far more than the might and resources offered by just one solitary base. They will be seeking allies, monies, and munitions, and they will have to travel outside of – and bring potential resources back to – their instillation. And when they do,” Mace continues, smiling with grim promise, “then we will have resources of our own in place to observe their movements and follow them.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin trade startled looks, having not previously considered black holes as a possible threat to the integrity of an entity of the Force (a notion that, judging by Anakin’s narrowed eyes, is one he at least finds probable enough to give the idea some serious thought), but Bail looks ready to argue the point, his hands curling slightly, fingers twitching as though with the need to double over into fists. Before he or anyone else can say anything, though, Dooku smoothly notes, “I do not believe it would be wise to attempt to discover whether or not we would be able to weather such stresses by simply attempting to leap into the midst of the Maw, no. However, I do think that the issue of whether or not the Maw might be navigable is one that should perhaps be revisited at another time, when we have more resources available to devote to the conundrum it poses. In the meantime, though, perhaps you should go and see about organizing the resources we do have, towards blanketing the systems surround Kessel that aren’t within Hutt Space?” he asks, looking directly and expectantly at Mace as he does so, so that the Korun cannot mistake his intentions.

Mace’s left eyebrow twitches slightly, as though he’s repressing a questioning gesture, but the abortive gesture swiftly smooths out into impassivity, and he smoothly inclines his head in a motion that’s essentially a half-bow, murmuring an acquiescent, “Of course, Grand Master. It will be done,” before pivoting on his heel, hands tucked away inside the sleeves of his outer robe, and striding away, out of the room and the Healers’ Ward entirely.

After the door has slid shut behind Mace’s retreating figure and several quiet minutes have passed, Anakin bluntly demands, “What do you want to tell us that you don’t want Mace to know about?”

Dooku merely cooly raises an eyebrow at him, his mouth curling ever so slightly towards a smile, as if amused by Anakin’s brusqueness. Qui-Gon sighs heavily, closes his eyes as if to shut away a particularly painful sight, and replies, his deep voice a low rumble so soft that even Jedi senses almost have a difficult time picking the actual words out of that resonant burr of sound, “Even if we by some chance manage to locate this second base, and even if the third base is indeed Wayland, the two of you cannot be the ones to go after our enemies. The Senate and the senior Consuls have all specifically requested that the Team of Kenobi and Skywalker remain on Coruscant until such a time as the remains of the Sith Lord Sidious have been properly dealt with and High Justice has been provided to those of the CIS Leadership Council and others of the Separatists who have sought mercy by requesting such judgment be rendered upon them.”

Obi-Wan abruptly stiffens against Anakin, his whole body going eerily still, muscles all locked rigidly in place, the sudden tension his body revealing, as plainly as any message along the bond might have, his outrage over what has been promised of them, and Anakin instantly goes on the offensive, bristling with affront as he glares at the Grand Masters and rather furiously demands to know, “How dare you agree to such a thing without asking our permission, first? What if something else happens, if another attack is made on Naboo, or on Alderaan? We have family and responsibilities on both world, people who trust in us and would expect us – and rightfully so! – to come to their aid, in the event of an assault or any other such catastrophe! You have no right to constrain us to remain here, when others might have need of us elsewhere! We’ve already promised Keiana and Sabé and the other handmaidens that we’ll come back, if either one of them took a turn for the worse or if Naboo were threatened again, and our Padawan learner is the ex-senior Senator and Crown Prince of Alderaan, for stars’ sake! If his family needs him there for something, we should be able to accompany him while he goes to be with them!”

Body language and voice both forbiddingly cold (his soft but precise, utterly controlled, icily contemptuous tone in sharp contrast to Anakin’s furiously loud outburst), Obi-Wan quietly adds, “You should have asked us first, instead of simply assuming that we would be able to agree to this. If something happens on Naboo or Alderaan that demands our presence before whenever it is that the politicians wish to have their spectacle of High Justice and the celebration over Sidious’ demise, you’ll swiftly find yourselves forsworn.”

“There are many who could see to any problems that might arise on Naboo or Alderaan. I fear there is only one Team Kenobi and Skywalker, and it was the presence of Anakin and Obi-Wan that was demanded,” Dooku attempts to explain.

“And it was not within your rights to offer such a pledge, as you are most definitely not a member of the Team,” Obi-Wan snaps back, with a frigidly curt precision that almost makes Anakin want to wince a little in sympathy, having been the recipient of the same unyieldingly cold hardness several times before and being intimately aware of the exact shade of seemingly hoar-frosted silvery-blue that the ice-rimmed pools of Obi-Wan’s eyes must be, as they hold Dooku’s gaze unflinchingly. Anakin doesn’t need to see Obi-Wan to know the face he’s turned on Dooku is the same perfectly frozen mask of formality that has schooled his features to utter stillness in every single military action he’s been ordered to take part in and not believed to be in the best interests of the soldiers under him (and which, without fail, he had, behind the mask of that frozen formality, been furiously thinking of successful ways to work around). Almost, he feels sorry for Dooku.

Almost.

But not quite. He’s just a little bit too angry over having had something promised in their names that puts the keeping of both an important prior promise and a much more important commitment (to their Padawan) in jeopardy to spare enough kindness for the empathy it would require to truly feel sorry for Dooku, who apparently doesn’t know Obi-Wan well enough yet to know that he’s quietly, coldly, and efficiently working through various scenarios, busily finding the one that will best allow them to circumvent the promise that has been given in their names.

In any case, Qui-Gon seems to realize what the face Obi-Wan is turning towards Dooku presages, for he hurriedly promises, “If anything happens that puts the Queen of Naboo or one of the former Queen’s handmaidens at risk or if there is anything that comes up that requires Bail’s presence on Alderaan, Dooku and I will go and we will take care of things ourselves.”

Anakin is tempted to snarl something along the lines of any such offer now being a credit short and a parsec late, but instead he only demands, “And can you get from here to Naboo or Alderaan instantly, if need be?”

“The method I was taught to travel by is not exactly instantaneous, no, but I’m confident that Dooku and I can learn whatever ability it is that is responsible for the method the two of you seem to have mastered,” Qui-Gon immediately replies, hastily adding, upon seeing the gleam in Anakin’s eyes, “and without requiring the two of you to travel off-planet. Coruscant is, after all, a goodly-sized world.”

Anakin is about to protest that caveat when Obi-Wan abruptly relaxes in his arms and lets his body lean back heavily against Anakin’s chest, startling him into holding his tongue until an explanation of sorts is offered along the bond, a wordless reminder that Mon Mothma is now their adoptive sister and that, since she apparently had no part in this arrangement and is a junior Consul, she has grounds to protest the agreement – something which should at least give them enough wriggle room to avoid a completely disastrous reaction from the politicians, should they absolutely have to go back to Naboo or Alderaan themselves before this as yet unspecific period of time they’ve been sworn to say put is over with. “And how long are we supposed to stay?”

“A little over a month,” Qui-Gon quickly replies, too relieved over Anakin’s apparent willingness to at least entertain the necessity of agreeing to the arrangement to push his luck by questioning his sudden change of tone. “They’re going to be holding planetary and system-wide elections the first three weeks of Welona, with elections for the Senate and other positions within the new galactic government the following two weeks, and a general swearing-in on the thirtieth. They’ve requested that we mete High Justice to those who have asked for it on the thirty-fifth, and there will be a ceremonial burning of Sidious’ remains later on that evening. We anticipate that much of the galaxy will then celebrate through to Winter Fete and the New Year’s Festival.”

It’s the twenty-seventh of Relona now, with another eight days until the month draws to an end and Welona even begins, so it’s a little bit more than just over a month, especially if what Qui-Gon seems to be trying to hint at implying – that the festival week following Welona and ending the year while welcoming in the new year is meant to be included in this arrangement that the Grand Masters have agreed to, in their names – turns out to be true. But Obi-Wan seems sure that, with Mon Mothma’s help, they’ll be able to work around this agreement, if need be, and Force knows that, between Anakin’s inability to always simply do what he’s told and Obi-Wan’s own need to follow his conscience, Obi-Wan has certainly found ways to circumnavigate orders much more strict than these. So he turns his head to the right, bending a little and ducking down until the side of his face nestles comfortably with Obi-Wan’s, and let’s Obi-Wan know, without having to say a word, that he will go along with whatever he decides.

“We thank you for informing us of the apparent agreed upon schedule of events. If there isn’t anything else you’ll be needing us for, Anakin and I would like to make sure our Padawan is fully settled in his quarters,” Obi-Wan finally coolly declares, neither agreeing to anything that they’ve been told nor actively refusing to obey the promise made in their name.

Dooku looks as if he would like to press them for a more certain response, but Qui-Gon replies before he can manage to marshal his thoughts enough to actually say anything. “We would like to speak to you and Anakin about a few other things. In private.”

“Tomorrow, if it please you. It has been a long day, and it is our Padawan’s first day in the Temple. Bail deserves some time to settle in. And we certainly seem to have been the recipients of a great deal of time here, in the Temple,” Obi-Wan curtly replies, his tone indicating that his eyes have once again grown cold and unyielding, the muscles in his face (where the left side of his face is pressed up against the right side of Anakin’s face) drawing tense.

“May we invite you all for breakfast?” Qui-Gon asks, his eyes wounded but hopeful as he gazes at them steadily.

Obi-Wan is quiet for so many long moments that Anakin is about to reach out along the bond and ask if he wants Anakin to tell Qui-Gon not to push his luck when he finally replies. “Lunch, perhaps. I should like to get a start on teaching Bail to meditate properly, and it’s often easier to accomplish for those new to the discipline in the early morning.”

Qui-Gon somehow manages to look both vastly relieved and as if he’s been kicked as he inclines his head in agreement. “Lunch, then. We’ll expect you, at noon. Please, bring the twins.”

Anakin’s immediate instinct to snarl at Qui-Gon that the Grand Masters can kriffin’ well stay the frack away from his children, from his and Obi-Wan’s children, but that earnest, hopeful, pleading look in Qui-Gon’s eyes squashes the impulse before it can actually result in more than a swiftly indrawn breath. He lets the breath back out slowly, as quietly as possible, while Obi-Wan makes a noncommittal noise and tilts his head to the side. Dooku still looks rather like he wants to say something, and Anakin shoots him a hard look to encourage him to keep his mouth shut and not start a round of arguments that will likely accomplish nothing and leave them all feeling frustrated and furious. Whether because of this long, hard look or the brief glance that Qui-Gon sends him, in the end, Dooku keeps his mouth shut, his lips pressed together to a thin but silent line of disapproval. Bail (wise man that he is) takes this as a sign, and rises from the chair he’s been quietly sitting in to cross the room to their side, a bit little behind and to the left of them, of Anakin, so that the three of them can incline their heads in silent unison (as if they’ve been doing so for years, or at least spent a good chunk of time practicing) before turning and striding out of the room, Obi-Wan and Anakin pivoting smoothly together to end with their arms around each other’s waist.

Bail silently follows them back into their suite, waiting until the door has closed behind them before asking, in a tone of voice that makes it perfectly clear that the words are more of a formality than an actual attempt at actual inquiry, “Shall I comm Mon Mothma?”

That easily, the lingering tense mood is banished, and Anakin finds himself grinning like a loon, reminded all over again why he respects this man and is increasingly certain, in a way he cannot ignore, that he is going to come to love Bail like a brother, before all is said and done. He can sense laughter along the bond, half simply delighted and half rueful, and is tempted to ask Obi-Wan if they’re really that easy to read or if it’s just that Mon Mothma is that obvious of a resource for them. But Obi-Wan replies before he can get any further than thinking about it, smiling at Bail and noting, “That would be greatly appreciated. Hopefully, our intentions weren’t quite as transparent to the Grand Masters as they apparently are to you, and we’ll be able to get this foolishness taken care of before it occurs to them that there’s a Consul who has grounds to protest the arrangement, as she wasn’t consulted during the negotiations . . . ”

Bail nods and heads for the connecting door – hidden behind the back wall of the closet in Anakin’s old room – to fetch his comm. Sensing a slight resurgence of anxiety across the bond, Anakin squeezes Obi-Wan reassuringly and pulls him after him into the kitchen, thinking that tea and a light meal will help settle them all down. “Don’t worry, love. I’m sure Mon will be able to help and things will turn out fine. We probably won’t even need to leave the planet, and when this is all over with, we’ll be laughing at ourselves for having been so upset about the idea of not being able to go in the first place,” Anakin opines as he reaches for the kettle.

“I’m sure you’re right. Still. It will be better to know that we can leave, if we have to, without having to worry about triggering a diplomatic incident,” Obi-Wan merely wryly notes in response as he moves towards the cabinet to fetch down the tea.

“True. Still. If nothing else,” Anakin replies, grinning at Obi-Wan disarmingly as they commence making a pot of tea, “it should prove to be an interesting month or so.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow at him. “Is it ever not?”

“Hmm . . . ” Anakin makes a show of thinking hard on the question, mimicking Obi-Wan and tilting his head to the side and then rubbing at his chin before screwing his face up until Obi-Wan finally gives in and chuckles a little, amusement burbling across the bond like the fizzy, airy bubbles in a carbonated drink. “Come to think of it, no, I can’t remember there ever really being any time with you that hasn’t been interesting.”

Obi-Wan smiles at him good-naturedly, slyly asking, “It’s a good thing you hate to be bored, then, isn’t it?”

“/Extremely/ good,” Anakin grins back in satisfaction, his smile easily widening to include Bail as he makes his way back into the room, comm unit clutched tight in his right hand, and they gravitate to the kitchen table together, ready to tackle their first task as a team.


***

Mon Mothma is easily recruited to their effort, and the other Consuls, ashamed at being caught doing something without one of their number on hand, fold fairly quickly, amending the agreement to the point where they will continue to keep up their end of the original bargain so long as the famous Team will remain as much as possible on Coruscant until after High Justice has been dispensed to those Separatists (and others of Sidious’ dupes and traitors to the Republic who either have been captured or turned themselves in, often after news of their complicity – either knowing or unknowing – with the Sith Lord has come out, on account of Sidious’ records). The Grand Masters seem to take the reversal well, surprised but apparently relieved with the new government’s sudden change in tune, but Obi-Wan and Anakin see so shockingly little of them over the following days that it’s hard to tell for sure whether they truly are happy or just putting a good face on the whole mess. Anakin is beginning to truly worry about Obi-Wan (and has begun to contemplate breaking into the Grand Masters’ shared apartments and giving them – especially Qui-Gon – a piece of his mind) when the fifth invitation for the Grand Masters to come and join them in a meal is refused with essentially the exact same polite but utterly vague excuses used the first four times, and Obi-Wan finally stops being hurt over being so constantly rebuffed and grows quietly, coldly angry.

“Our entire time together, he was constantly warning me that I wished too much to please others, that I should not put so much trust in figures of authority, and that I should trust in myself and my ability to understand the will of the Force enough to follow the dictates of my conscience if ever a conflict arose between what I felt to be right in my heart and the contents of whatever orders I might have been given. And now he is apparently sufficiently vexed to be avoiding me because I seem to have finally learned how to take his advice. Well. If that is the way it is to be, then so be it. I will look on him no differently than I have the High Council, if that is the way he wishes to play this,” Obi-Wan declares when Anakin tentatively raises the subject later that same evening, the lines of his face set in such a way that Anakin knows he has made up his mind and will not be moved from his decision until and unless some specific action on Qui-Gon’s part warrants such a change.

Anakin is tempted to cheer at the display of gumption, but the sense of lingering pain and upset coming from Obi-Wan’s along the bond instead prompts him to pull Obi-Wan into a close embrace and lead him quietly to bed, where they lie down together in their sleep clothes and Obi-Wan clings to him tightly, not quite shaking with unhappiness and grief, but almost. He holds Obi-Wan close, circling his hands across his back and running his fingers through his hair, until the terrible tension finally ebbs out of his body, and Obi-Wan raises his head for a light, loving kiss that gradually deepens and leads to other far more pleasurable pursuits.

As though to make up for the relatively slow first week back at the Temple, things begin to pick up, time flowing by more quickly, in an increasingly blur of greetings of familiar faces (all with variations of the same mixture of stunned disbelief and slightly rattled awe stamped on their features) as they make their way back home, old friends and comrades like Garen Muln and Quinlan Vos (along with Master Tholme, Master T’ra Saa, Knight Aayla Secura, and Quinlan’s extremely pregnant life-sworn companion, Khaleen Hentz, who unfortunately reacted so strongly to the sight of Obi-Wan and Anakin and the sense of them in the Force that she essentially went into labor on the spot and had to be rushed through the Temple to the Healers’ Ward) all wanting to see and to talk to them, to find out what’s been going on. For eighteen straight days, they do very little aside from greet returning friends and acquaintances and tell one version or another (they get quite adept at telling a very brief version indeed) of recent events, try to give their Padawan a grounding in the basics of Force use, give various interviews to HoloNet reporters, talk to Mon Mothma, and (occasionally) speak at gatherings of their sister-by-merit’s associates and potential allies, regarding their greater plan for galactic peace and stability and prosperity. Though the arrivals home start to taper off after awhile, rather than freeing up more time for them for other things, this only serves to make things worse, as then those who have already made it back and settled in seem to decide that this means that they’re now free to pester Obi-Wan and Anakin into joining them for meals, for meditation, for sparring practice, for instruction in some ability or another to use the Force that’s been highlighted in footage from battle on one of Cody’s instructional vids or on the HoloNet, or (in the case of Quinlan and Garen especially) for more detail about events than Obi-Wan or Anakin feels comfortable sharing with anyone else just yet.

Obi-Wan hates to have people gazing at him with that look of shell-shocked adoration. The fact that the changes wrought in their appearances seem to affect the many of the younger Jedi and the newcomers to the Temple almost as much (if for different reasons and in a slightly different way) as they affect the weakest minds among non-Force-sensitives upsets him even more, when he finally realizes it, so much that he actually takes to pacing in their quarters and worrying out loud about the effect that their various immersions within the Force have had on them and whether or not it’s going to be something that’s more trouble than it’s worth, in the long run. It’s the closest Anakin has ever heard him come to being ungrateful for a gift from the Force, and it scares him a little. He actually arranges to secretly comm Den Dhur, the journalist and war correspondent befriended by Barriss Offee on Drongar, and arrange another long interview with him, since the garrulous little Sullustan’s response to them is generally some half-joking variant of, “Bank the glow just a bit, boys – you’re starting to hurt my eyes,” which generally makes Obi-Wan smile.

The Sullustan does improve Obi-Wan’s mood, but then, between Quinlan insisting that they have to come give his son a proper visit, the way that the twins take to Korto Vos (which forces them to stay a lot longer than they probably would have, otherwise), and the way that Khaleen keeps staring at them (to the point where Anakin finally turns about and asks her, flat out, if his face is turning green or something, hoping that the bluntness of the question will startle her enough to make her stop staring – though he has no such luck, of course. She merely gazes back at him, eyes huge and dreamy-dazed, almost as though she were drugged, and tells him, in a surprisingly matter of fact tone, “No. But you do have the most beautifully amazing green-gold rosettes curling around the edges of the blue-white light you give off.” – a response that finally makes Obi-Wan rather irritably snap at Quinlan about the dangers of not teaching his wife to shield properly, which in turn leads to the rather startling revelation that neither Quinlan nor Khaleen had even been aware of the fact that she was Force-sensitive enough to require shields, much less learn how to use them, which in turns leads to having to show Khaleen how to shield properly and then getting the two properly bonded, despite their intact shields), the good mood is quickly and thoroughly destroyed.

By the time the big day finally rolls around, they’ve long since begun to take to hiding in with the twins and giving their comm unit over to Bail so he can screen their calls, just so they get away from the constant stream of visitors and potential visitors to their quarters. It’s a relief to get out of the Temple, even for a reason like this. After all, no matter how many hundreds of beings are going to be looking at them (and how many trillions more will be watching courtesy of the several thousand holocomms that will be within the Grand Convocation Chamber of the Senate Rotunda), when they’re raised up on the expansive central platform that’s been specially designed to replace the much smaller podium used by the Supreme Chancellor, at least they’ll have the comfort of knowing that those beings are all going to be watching them because of the ritual handing down of justice that they’re going to be taking part in, and not just because of what they look like or the (apparently highly attractive) light they seem to give off, whether they’re trying to do so (or whether they can even notice it) or not. Besides, they’re both so tired of being stared at all of the time that it’s actually a relief to find themselves with the Grand Masters, who not only don’t stare at them like they’re the physical embodiment of the Force suddenly sprung to life in front of their very eyes, but actually don’t even pay all that much attention to them. Obi-Wan actually manages to relax, on the ride from the Temple to the Senate Building. And even though Anakin never would have admitted it (especially not to Qui-Gon, since he’s still not very happy with him), the simple truth is that he’s never been so glad to be ignored in his life. It’s almost peaceful, in the shuttle, and it’s a peace that he has a feeling they’re both going to need.

He has a bad feeling about this whole High Justice thing . . .

***

“You cannot elude justice. It will find you. It will seek you out. Repent! Your hour has come at last. Behold those who will bring you judgment!”

The words make Bail flinch, and not just because of the volume with which Qui-Gon Jinn speaks them. There is . . . something in the actual words, some weight of power, that makes his skin feel as if it’s about to crawl off his body, and he finds himself suddenly gripped by the conviction that something bad is about to happen, his mind chanting silently, over and over and over again, Oh, this is not good, this is /so not good, just not good at all!/

Bail’s gaze is glued helplessly to the tableau before him: the bright, open, utterly calm, and yet somehow still completely terrible visages of the accuser and his three helpers; the sixty-three faces whose features are all twisted by naked terror and by anguished regret and by thinly suppressed violent outrage and by dozens more of other such cowardly or pain-filled or dark emotions. Then, inside his mind, it is as if the whole of the universe has suddenly reared itself up, gained a voice, and cried out for justice, as Qui-Gon raises his enormous right hand as if to cup the solid shape of a sphere, and the three behind him pivot on the turn of his hand, their right hands also raised, cupping, circling around his, light gathering within the barrier formed by their joined hands, gathering and gathering and gathering, rising to a painfully bright white intensity. The silent, deafening cry for justice comes a second time as the light pulses and their hands fall away, revealing a sphere of energy too bright, to awful, to look upon. Then, with a third keening wail, the orb of power is hurtling forward, as if thrown or struck with shattering force, rushing forward to crash at the center of the huddled mass of the accused, shattering apart like a fragile, old-fashioned ornament of blown glass. Fragments fly outwards, particles of blazing white light bursting over the ranks of the huddled beings, scattering everywhere across them, a radiant, mist-like curtain of power foutains upwards and spreads out across them, moving far too purposefully, with too much life, to seem quite real, even to him. The misty light twines and writhes, rising like smoke, slithering like serpents with express purpose in all of its thousands of searching tendrils, wreathing the accused, pushing itself up into noses, eyes, ears, mouths, all but raping the bodies of the accused with its radiance. Sixty-three bodies contort, bending themselves backwards, forwards, away to the sides, taut with agony, but are utterly silent.

And then they are not.

Mouths yawn open almost impossibly wide, and a cacophony of the most dreadful sounds Bail has ever heard or dreamed of hearing issue forth. They pierce his very soul. Helplessly, he opens his mouth in a soundless cry of pain and falls hard to his knees, clutching his ears as the incarnation of agony continues to assault him. There are screams, but more than that: they are the shrieks not just of voices, but of the mind and soul. He knows at once without knowing how he knows just what he is listening to: the last sounds and thoughts and feelings of billions, trillions, of the betrayed, as they forcefully, violently, untimely meet the end of their lives or witness the shattering of their lives, their worlds, their ways of life. He curls up on the floor, unable to help himself, and scalding tears of empathy are ripped from his eyes. He can’t breathe, can only sob helplessly, as caught up in the power of the Force called down for and cast out as High Justice as a fly in a spider’s web. All around him in the floating repulsorpods of the Senators, others react in a similar fashion, but he doubts that more than a few of them feel the fierce joy that suddenly rises up to clutch at his heart, as understanding fully sinks in. The Force is channeling the pain, the screaming voices, the suffering of the innocent and the wronged who have suffered untold agonies during the Sith Lord’s terrible ascendency and reign and this awful civil war, and, though everyone present, everyone watching – even those experiencing it at a remove, those watching through the HoloNet, for he understands, with a rush of almost violent gratitude, that this is how High Justice works, spreading and spreading and spreading and affecting all who witness it/, whether they are immediately at hand or not – can hear the awful cries, mental and physical and spiritual, of the suffering and the dying, only the ones who are most responsible for each act of individual suffering is actually made to /feel everything of what they have caused.

It is when that realization comes that Bail weeps freely, and with fierce joy.

He remembers the other timeline, described to him by Anakin. He remembers Alderaan dying, destroyed by the Death Star of the Sith Lord’s Empire.

He nearly screams for joy.

The silence, when it finally comes, presses in on his ears like something physical. Bail feels as if his body weighs a thousand kilos as he struggles to lift his head and brush his overlong hair back out of his eyes. Eventually, he struggles (awkwardly, gracelessly) to his feet, drained. The accused still stand where he last saw them. They might have been carved from stone, so still stand they. Their eyes are wide, their mouths still yawning cavernously wide, but they are all frighteningly silent now. Thin trails of spittle – some clear, some mixed with blood, some mixed with ichor – drip down from stretched-open lips. Their eyes are all cold and empty and staring, fixed upon nothing (or perhaps upon nothing/ness/). His throat hurts too much to attempt speaking and it’s easier to reach out along the bone, almost effortless to ask, Are they dead?

Obi-Wan’s eyes are almost glowing, and there is a clearly perceptible flicker of eldritch blue-white light around him. He is soul-stunningly beautiful, an eidolon, shining with all the impossible attraction and aestheticism of the very paragon of all ideals. It would be difficult to focus on the words, were they not so solemnly given that the sense of them enter Bail’s mind as though the words were edged with black flame. No. But their minds are gone. At least for a time. They may recover, in time, but for now, they can do no one any further harm. You heard the suffering and the deaths. They experienced it all – each one his or her or its own proper apportionment. Some may never recover.

An old saying flashes into his mind: Let the punishment fit the crime. He finds himself nodding in understanding and contentment. True justice may need to be accomplished through legal means, not eye-for-an-eye revenge, but High Justice is something both more and less than these things, and the crimes, in this case, were awful enough that he cannot (and does not want to) deny the warm gratified glow of satisfaction, low and intimate and heavy in his belly, like the touch of a lover.

“These beings have suffered for the pain they have caused. What is done is done. They are alive. If they survive the facing of what they have caused, they may yet make restitution for what they have done. Until then, others will do so, in their stead, with what they have left behind. Let this be a day of healing . . . ”

Dooku is speaking, the ritualized words as mind-fuzzingly, skin-crawlingly powerful as the ones Qui-Gon spoke earlier, and yet Bail registers the words only distantly, as Obi-Wan and Anakin move to flank him, their hands gentle on his shoulders as they brace him on his feet.

He knows his place.

This is his home, now.

Anakin smiles at him warmly, reassuringly, a curl of green-tinged gold-drenched light drenching senses and skin alike. When Bail answers, flashes of indigo so deep that they are almost violet spark and coil into existence around his edges, binding him to and threading him through the organic latticework of their light, lacing them together like threads in a tapestry, spiraling together round and around, until they blend together as one.

Peace, now. We are together. Time enough for everything else tomorrow. The storm of storms will come when it will. Never mind the whens or the hows. Let the storms come. We will stand together – a light against the darkness. The Force enfolds us and binds us together, always. No storm shall sunder us nor extinguish us. Ever.

Three who are joined as one are joined by two. And together, they turn their faces to take a stand, forming a wall between the people they are sworn to protect and the ever-looming threat of onrushing night and storm.

***

The moments are immortalized by a hundred, a thousand, a million holorecorders and old-fashioned cameras. Jedi Bendu Masters Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker stand arm-in-arm, lighted torch in right and left hand. Then, at an unseen cue, the torches are set to the logs stacked under a funeral pyre where the remains of the Sith Lord Sidious are carefully laid out, a leering expression half of fury and half of fear frozen forever upon that hideous face. The flames instantly leap higher to consume the necrotic flesh, and blinding fireworks explode overhead into a drunken daze of rainbowed color and fire.

The enormous roaring bonfire becomes the centerpiece of a wild celebration. Survivors of the war and the treachery of the Sith Lord rejoice in the warm glow of firelight, singing, dancing, and laughing in the communal language of victory and celebration.

Like blown sparks catching in dry tinder, the festivity spreads, from world to world, system to system, sector to sector, and region to region. The last of the line of Darth Bane is dead and gone, and there is peace. Though some have cause to mourn and even to rage against these facts, they are few enough that Force moves with the power of so many rejoicing souls, and the galaxy itself seems to shiver, convulsing in an ecstacy of celebration.

It is enough and more than enough, just as love is much more than a candle.

The stars ignite in a blaze of fire, dancing, leaping, and utterly brave against the darkness of coming storms.

***