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The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Republic: a Star Wars Prequels Rewrite


blah the Prussian
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Episode I: The Phantom Menace
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The Galactic Republic, which stood as a beacon of stability for millennia, is reaching a breaking point.
For centuries, Republican expansion into the Outer Rim has been spearheaded by corporations.
With the conquest complete, these corporations have become powerful political actors in their own right.
Banding together into the SEPARATIST ALLIANCE, they are able to effectively resist the will of the central Republican government.
 
Now, they exercise this power for the first time. In protest of the Republic's CHANCELLOR VALORUM'S pushing of harsher taxation of the corporations, they have sent their Clone Armies to occupy the small planet of Naboo. The Chancellor sends two Jedi Knights, along with his daughter, Padme Valorum, to negotiate an end to the crisis. None of these figures could have known at the time that they were participating in the last act of the First Galactic Republic...
 
Chapter 1: Naboo
 
The sleek, silver vessel, about 100 feet long, burst from hyperspace and into the approach to the blue and green dot that was occupied Naboo. As the ship sailed through space, closer to the despoiled world, and between the massive Lucrehulk-class Battleships of the Separatist Alliance(specifically the Trade Federation), a voice rang out in the cockpit. "Paging Trade Federation Fleet, this is Captain Typho of the Republic diplomatic delegation. Permission requested to land in Theed." The Republican Guard Captain set the comm device down, sinking back into his chair. It was strange; he was the veteran of countless missions like this. So why was his brow so much more wet this time?
 
"Trade Federation fleet to Captain Typho," came the reply a few seconds later, "permission granted. Welcome to Naboo."
 
Padme Valorum, heir apparent to the Valorum political dynasty, watched the Separatist fleet out of the cockpit window, sipping an expensive-looking drink. She was not, it was apparent, as well trained as Typho at hiding her nervousness. Why, the woman of 22 wondered, in all likelihood not for the first time, did father see fit to assign me to the most important diplomatic mission since the Mandalorian Wars? Padme, in truth, knew why. Anders Valorum, most powerful man in the galaxy, was grooming his daughter to succeed him as head of the family that had dominated the politics of the Republic since the fall of Darth Vitiate. She only wished he hadn't staked the peace of the galaxy on her worthiness as a successor. Then again, she thought wryly, taking another sip of her tea, somehow I think I won't be doing the lion's share of the negotiations.
 
 
 
Coruscant was bright tonight. He had always loved the vibrant streets of the Republic's capitol- the sheer diversity of the galaxy was on full display, in the food, the pedestrians, even the differing languages of advertisements. But- tonight, it was different. Squinting, he could see that the streets, in spite of the familiar din drowning out all, were empty. The din-was it familiar? It initially sounded like the footsteps of city life, of millions of beings simply traveling to their destinations, but- no. It was too ordered, like a military march. When had it become too ordered? And, above it all, he could hear a heavy- was that breathing? It rose and rose and rose, drowning out everything, crushing Coruscant under its oppressive weight, until...
 
"Master."
 
Qui-gon Jinn's eyes shot open. This was disturbing, deeply disturbing. He hadn't lost control of his meditations like this since... ever. He rose up from the mat he had laid out in the center of his room, and considered the other man. "Obi-wan, you don't need to call me Master anymore, remember? We are Knights, both of us."
 
Obi-wan Kenobi rubbed the back of his head, where his Padawan braid used to be. "Right, right. It's still hard to get used to, you know. Anyway"-at this he turned- "we're about to land on Naboo. I thought you'd want to be ready for the meeting."
 
Qui-gon simply nodded, walking to the window of the craft, watching as the Separatist fleet receded into the distance and the ship was consumed by the clouds of Naboo. And yet, he couldn't forget what he had seen-or rather, heard- when meditating.
 
What was happening to the Galaxy?
 
 
 
"We've given them permission to land, sir."
 
"Good, good." Nute Gunray, Viceroy of the Trade Federation, the premier member of the Separatist Alliance,  rose from his chair in the governor's office in Theed, Naboo, and began to pace the room. This was, as any of his underlings in the room would be able to note, an increasingly common occurrence. Gunray, truth be told, was not cut out for high stakes intergalactic diplomacy. He was, he told himself, just an honest businessman, after all. Honestly, why couldn't Dooku just take care of this himself?
 
The fact that it was Gunray's rash occupation of Naboo that set this crisis into motion in the first place, of course, somehow eluded the ostentatiously dressed Viceroy.
 
One of Gunray's fellow Nemoidians, a messenger, rushed up, carrying a hologram transmitter. "Viceroy," the man said, bowing slightly, "a message from-"
 
"What do they want now?" Gunray snapped, cutting his servant off, snapping his fingers obsessively. "Must the Republic constantly harry me even outside of these cursed negotiations?"
 
The messenger leaned in. "Sir," he whispered, "It's from our benefactor."
 
Gunray froze. "Oh." The Viceroy straightened himself, adopting a veneer of bravado that, as anyone with half a brain could see, was paper thin. "Put him on, then."
 
 
 
The Trade Federation Vulture Droids pulled away as the Republic luxury transport touched down on the landing pad of Naboo's Gubernatorial Palace. The ten Republican Guards trooped out of the ship, led by Captain Typho. Their armor was derived from the typical uniforms of Republican Stormtroopers, only red. They were followed by the Jedi, with Padme bringing up the rear. She let her eyes dart across the cityscape. On the surface, it didn't look like anything under military occupation(although, Padme supposed, she hadn't exactly experienced military occupation). When one looked closer, though, the telltale signs were there. The air traffic wasn't the hustle and bustle of public transportation- the skyline was dominated by Vulture Droids. On the ground, too, rather than speeders, Trade Federation Tanks patrolled the streets. Was this what war looked like?
 
She was shaken from her reverie by the arrival of a well dressed Nemoidian, flanked by around 20 of the Trade Federation's Clone soldiers. Intergalactic corporations had conquered the Outer Rim with these sallow-skinned, bald soldiers. "Ah, Madame Valorum," the Nemoidian said welcomingly. "I am Rune Haako, assistant to Viceroy Gunray. Please, follow us. And, ah, excuse the extra security, believe me, they are strictly for your protection." At this, Haako smiled nervously. Padme nodded by way of response, but couldn't help noticing the two Jedi Knights sharing a glance.
 
 
The Viceroy- Nute Gunray, Obi-wan recalled his name was- was furiously giving orders to a Clone captain as they entered. The newly-minted Jedi Knight glanced over at his former master. Qui-gon, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. Wait and see, Obi-wan heard the voice of his friend in his head- only two Jedi with an extremely strong bond could communicate in this way. Gunray isn't stupid enough to make this violent. I'm more worried about our own side. Obi-wan could see what he meant; it didn't take one strong in the force to detect the waves of suspicion coming from Captain Typho.
 
Nute Gunray dismissed the Captain, and turned to face them. "Welcome, welcome, friends! Sit, sit, we have much to discuss." Padme complied, sitting at the elaborate table that had been prepared for the negotiations,  with Obi-wan and Qui-gon taking either side of her. Typho and his Republican Guard stood at attention behind them. On the other side of the long table, Gunray and Haako sat. The tension was palpable. "So!" Gunray finally declared, grinning widely and, as was painfully obvious, insincerely. "Shall we begin?"
 
The négociations were- and Obi-wan knew that his master would disapprove of this sentiment- a long, boring affair. Terms such as "historical rights" and "inexcusable aggression" and even "debt of gratitude" were thrown around more than once. At one point he was shaken from his reverie by the Viceroy slamming his fist on the table, declaring that "these taxation laws are a grievous assault on the freedom of trade of the entire galaxy!"
 
Padme, though, had it under control, cooly replying "these alleged attacks were passed into law legally and without any corruption. The only one doing any attacking here, Viceroy, is you, with your illegal occupation of a Republican member state."
 
"Ah," came Gunray's retort, "but how are we to know these proceedings were fair? The corruption of the Senate is well known!" At this even Haako, seated next to his boss, rolled his bug like eyes in exasperation.
 
It was then that Obi-wan felt it. A wave of malice that assaulted his senses, that he had never felt before- in fact, that none of his order had felt for millennia. Panicked, Obi-wan looked over at the others. Padme and Gunray were arguing as before, but Qui-gon, Qui-gon was rising to his feet, looking with shock at something, reaching into his robes-
 
And then, in an instant, it passed. With a vwoosh, Qui-gon's lightsaber sang to life, the ray of green deflecting s red blaster bolt. The bolt sailed from his former master's weapon and onto the table, where it sent up a cloud of fire and glass.
 
Instantly, the room sprang into action. With a shout of "At the ready!" Captain Typho and his men drew their blasters. Nute Gunray, for his part, scuttled behind his own line of Clone troopers. Obi-wan drew his own lightsaber, the blue erupting from the metal baton, and charged in front of Padme, joining Qui-gon. "We're leaving." Obi-wan winced; Captain Typho didn't just say this as a statement of fact, but a challenge... and a challenge Nute Gunray didn't fail to pick up on.
 
"No, you can't!" the Viceroy protested, sounding panicked. "You must stay here!" As if to reinforce his point(and it certainly did need reinforcing, sounding more plaintive than commanding) around 40 Clone Troopers stormed into the room, surrounding the party.
 
"Viceroy!" Qui-gon's voice cut through the tension. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? You are attacking the Chancellor's daughter, guarded by two Jedi Knights, and-"
 
It's impossible to know who fired the shot that cut Qui-got short. It could have been a Clone, tired, without much training, just wanting to live another day. It could have been a Republican Guard, panicking at being so surrounded despite the years of training. Regardless of who fired it, one thing was clear. The shot that cut Qui-gon Jinn's speech short would be the first shot of the Separatist War.
 
The room erupted into chaos.
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Chapter 2: The Count of Serrano

 

It was clear to Qui-gon that, whatever else Captain Typho might have been, he was a good soldier. His quick reactions to crisis, barking out "Form perimeter around Her Excellency and prepare to force our way out" was proof of this. The Republican Guard complied, surrounding Padme, weapons drawn, blasting at the Clone Troopers with practiced ease. The Clones, for their part, did return fire, only to have their efforts prove fruitless. The armor of Republican Stormtroopers might have been paper-thin, but their counterparts in the Republican Guard were, notably, better equipped; below their armor's red exterior, a layer of Chromium kept them safe.

 

His former apprentice, Qui-gon noted with approval, had also kept into action. Obi-wan sprang between the Clones and Padme, deflecting their blaster fire with a practiced ease. He could not, unfortunately, be everywhere; bolt after bolt slammed into the armor of the Guard. Chromium was strong but, Qui-gon knew, it would not hold forever. He glanced over at Captain Typho; it was a hard glance, not exactly dominating, but it reminded the Captain that, in military matters, the authority of a Jedi Knight trumped all.

 

Qui-gon ignited his lightsaber, charging at a group of Clones that were blocking the hallway to the landing pad. Precisely, almost artistically, his lightsaber flashed across the Clone's blaster rifles, rendering them useless. A quick flick of Qui-gon's wrist sent his adversaries careening backwards. Slamming into the wall, they sunk to the ground unconscious. Qui-gon wasn't naive enough to think that the implications of this firefight weren't going to mean many would die... but he meant to refrain from participating in that mass slaughter for as long as possible. 

 

Deflecting a wave of blaster fire from yet another group of Clones as the group entered the hallway, Qui-gon pulled out his portable hologram receiver. Bringing up an image of the pilot of their ship, the Jedi breathlessly conveyed: "Things turned violent. You'll likely have company soon. Tell the crew to man their battle stations." Slamming the Clones to the ground with a metal bar, he was able to look behind him. Obi-wan was now able to deflect enemy fire much more effectively, as Typho and his squad advanced right behind Qui-gon towards the landing pad. 

 

As the group burst out onto the landing pad, Qui-gon's prediction rang true. a large force of Clones was running towards the ship, reinforcing a squad that had already taken up positions and were only barely being held at bay by the ship's lower cannon. Meanwhile, true to its name, a Vulture Droid circled up above, exchanging fire with the ship's upper cannon. "Obi-wan, cover the door," Qui-gon barked, using the force to send some of the crates the Clones were using for cover flying. "Get Padme into the ship. I'll handle the Vulture Droid." The Jedi deftly reversed his grip on his lightsaber, whipping his body around and throwing the weapon like a spear. It sailed through the air, striking the Vulture Droid in the head. As the droid crashed into a Separatist anti-air gun, Qui-gon pulled his lightsaber back into his hand and darted into the ship, followed closely by his former apprentice.

 

 

 

Padme hurried into the ship with her escort; it was down to 5 Republican Guards now, their armor sadly breaking in the face of sheer numbers. As they ushered her away, she looked back, relieved to see her Jedi bodyguards had survived. The younger one- Obi-wan, as she recalled- screamed "We need to take off, now!" as he rushed into the cockpit; the part of Padme that was ignorant to the fact that five men who had been responsible for protecting her with their lives for weeks now, the part of her that had already forgotten she remained in mortal danger moreso than any other time in her life, might have made a sarcastic remark. As it stood, Padme was grateful that the pilot was one step ahead of the Jedi, as the ship was already taking off. 

 

Bolt after bolt of anti-air fire crashed into them as they travelled upwards. Fortunately, the Republic VIP transport was built to withstand at least some of the fire it was taking. It also seemed as if the ship was now able to handle the Vulture Droids currently being brought to bear against it; being in the air meant that both its top and bottom cannons were able to be brought to bear against the enemy. In spite of the audible booms produced as Droid after Droid was blasted from the sky, Padme was much more worried about the Separatist Fleet that the ship was fast approaching. As the first line of Lucrehulks came into view, Padme tentatively asked the pilot, "Do we... have a plan?"

 

The man turned to face her, his face drawn with irritation. "Does it look like I have time to-" at this he flinched slightly, appearing to remember who he was talking to. "Sorry," he amended hastily. "I' able to get us to light speed, but not to get us on course to Coruscant. I- I don't know where we'll end up. Is this okay?"

 

Padme Valorum nodded. The ship aligned itself between the Lucrehulks, enemy fire proving ineffective, and blasted off into hyperspace, into the unknown.

 

 

 

Augustinias Dooku, Count of Serrano, leader of the Separatist Movement, liked to consider himself a calm man, slow to anger, with a great deal of control over his emotions. And yet, as he st in his office, in Coruscant's Separatist Party Headquarters, Viceroy Nute Gunray was trying his damnedest to challenge this facet of Dooku's self image. "You did what?" Anyone unfamiliar with Count Dooku would find this to be a rather innocuous question; as if the man was simply asking his children what happened in school that day. Not Gunray. The Trade Federation's Viceroy had noticed several telltale signs, from the biting tone Dooku adopted to the slightly tighter grip with which he held his drink. These pointed to one thing: Count Dooku was angry.

 

"Sir, you have to understand-" the hologram did almost nothing to hide Gunray's nervousness; nervousness which was only exacerbated as the Count slammed his fist on the table. 

 

"Understand what?" he snarled, prompting a slight jump from Gunray. "That you thought, for some obscure reason, that it was a good idea to TAKE THE CHANCELLOR'S DAUGHTER HOSTAGE? The very same daughter, might I remind you, who is the darling of Coruscant high society, and popular with the common people? And to do all this the week of an election?"

 

"Understand that-" at this Gunray swallowed, before continuing. "Understand that our benefactor told me he had intelligence suggesting that the Republic was planning a false flag operation. They would pretend to assassinate Valorum's daughter and then use int as an excuse for-"

 

Dooku rose a single hand, cutting Gunray off. "Yes, I see," he replied, with a deliberately thin veneer of kindness. "And tell me, Viceroy, did you take such a rudimentary step as to, perhaps, question what proof our benefactor had?" Dooku, in truth, had always been opposed to this mysterious, hooded man; true, he had played a major role in funding the expansion of the Separatist's armed forces, but there was quite frankly something... off... about him. Dooku might have left the Jedi Order due to their refusal to actually do anything to fix a broken Republic because of some antiquated "Code", but Dooku didn't wholly reject their teachings. He didn't have proof, but something about the man called to mind images of... that. Of the Dark Side.

 

"In any case!" The Count rose to his feet, cutting off whatever(assuredly inadequate) excuse the Viceroy was about to provide. "I should be going now. We're about to make our final pitches to the people of the galaxy going into the elections. I'll see if I can't clean up the mess you've left me."

 

His luxury speeder flew through the streets of Coruscant. Past the mansions of the old nobility, past the Grand Opera House, past the Jedi Temple, where he had spent the first half of his life. Wasted, on a lie, Dooku thought ruefully. No, perhaps that was unfair. The Jedi had stood for something, once. Now? They were just another decaying institution in a decaying government. The breadlines Dooku's motorcade passed as he exited the affluent areas of Coruscant put this into stark relief. The Galaxy wasn't what it once was. He drew himself up to his full height and strode towards the steps of the Senate and the podium, through the crowds, dignified, the very picture of a statesman.

 

Valorum's speech was long and droning. Concepts such as "rule of law" and "the monopoly on violence" were thrown around. The man, Dooku reflected, wasn't a bad leader. But he was terrible, absolutely terrible, at leading a crowd. Half of what he said probably wasn't even understood by the general populace. An anachronism, unsuited for a Republic.

 

Now that, Dooku thought wryly as he moved up to the podium, is a metaphor for the old aristocracy if I ever saw one. Surveying the crowds, he took a deep breath, and began to speak.

 

"Citizens of the Republic," Dooku began, "I come before you- all of you, regardless of species or place of birth- to tell you the truth. Valorum and his gang of aristocrats have attempted to demonize and unfairly smear the corporations that make up the Separatist Alliance. They forget the debt of gratitude they owe us. It was not the aristocracy, it was not men like Valorum, who brought the glory of the Republic to the Outer Rim, who reduced the pirate Empire of the Hutt to a simple underground crime network! And it is not men like them, born into power and privilege, who you should be putting your faith in to drive the Galaxy forwards! It is the Separatist Party, who will bring government by merit, rather than government by blood, to the Galaxy, and it is the Separatist Party who will make this Republic a Republic of equals, rather than one led by Coruscant and the Coruscant nobility. "

 

Around an hour later, his speech ended: "These taxes are nothing more than the latest attempt of the nobility to break the power of the corporations, because they offer a better future for ALL the galaxy. People of the Republic, I invite you to show the nobility that their attempt to hold on to their last scraps of power at the expense of progress will not work!" The irony of the Count of Serrano denouncing aristocratic dominance was not, of course, lost on Dooku. He moved towards his motorcade to subdued applause and not a few hecklers. Dooku could certainly understand why; he had essentially just told the population of Coruscant that they had too much influence. Ah well, it couldn't be helped. The Separatist's power base always had been the population of the Outer Rim. Dooku just had to bank that Coruscant's urban poor would hate the aristocracy as much as they hated the corporations.

 

"Going already, sir?" his valet asked as he ducked into the speeder. "Yes, please, Dexter," the Count replied, "any Party other than the Conservatives or Separatists are nobodies anyway."

 

And yet, as he was about to duck into the speeder, something(he would later attribute it to the Force) stopped him, enticing him to turn around. "Senator Sheev Palpatine, of the Empire Party!" announced the director of the speech event. The Empire Party... Dooku seemed to recall them as one of the many minor Parties that dotted the Galactic Senate. But this man, Palpatine... he seemed different. He was middle aged, seemingly in his mid-fifties. His appearance combined a wizened face with real fire and passion.

 

"People of the Galaxy," Palpatine began, "many words have been thrown around by my learned opponents today. 'Laws' and 'precedent' but, most of all, 'peace. Peace! It's what we all want, no? A peaceful, tranquil galaxy. And yet... peace on whose terms? My fellow citizens, I maintain that the peace offered by the aristocracy, the peace offered by the corporations of the Separatists- this peace is a lie. This peace is an excuse for the aristocracy to monopolize political power with their corruption. It's a shield that lets the corporations systematically plunder the people of the galaxy. Peace is a lie- there is only strength, those who have it, and those who lack it. Through strength, we gain power. Through power, we gain victory. Through victory-" at this he rose his fist into the air, and brought it down onto the podium- "OUR CHAINS ARE BROKEN!"

 

There was silence. It lasted about a second. "Though victory, our chains are broken!" The chant started out in a remote corner of the crowd, then spread like wildfire until practically the entire audience was shouting up to Coruscant's skyline "THROUGH VICTORY, OUR CHAINS ARE BROKEN!"

 

The Count of Serrano ducked into his speeder. His face was deathly pale.

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Chapter 3: Tatooine

The day that would change Anakin Skywalker's life began much like every other day in his life.

At 6:30 in the morning, the 18 year old rolled out of his bed(taking care not to wake his mother) and trudged from the family's two-room hut in the slums of Mos Eisley Spaceport and into the streets of the city center. Even now, Mos Eisley was busy. Vendors were already beginning to set up shop, and some even began to hawk their wares at Anakin("Bantha skewers! Get your fresh delicious Bantha skewers!"); the boy payed them no heed. Even without the smell of rancid meat to dissuade him, he had no money to his name, and likely never would.

He opened the door to the shop of his "employer"(a euphemism, of course; "master" or "owner" would be more accurate, but a needed one b because of Republic law) to find the portly Toydarian already there; a rarity, to be sure. Seeing the other man, a well dressed human, with him, Anakin remembered: right, today's the annual anti-slavery inspection. He had stopped getting excited for it when he was around 8; he had seen the truth of the "Republic" too many times by then.

"So," the Toydarian, Watto, was saying, "1,000 credits, as usual, for your looking the other way here, yeah? Sounds fair, you have a bunch of other ow-employers to inspect here anyway."

"Yeah, about that-" the man was deliberately ignoring Anakin as he began to lay out Watts's machine parts on the front desk of the shop- "look, Valorum's trying to crack down on this stuff, there have been more corruption investigations- I'll need 2,000."

Watto's eyes bugged out, as he leaned forwards aggressively. "You kidding me! I already pay too much to Jabba as protection money! Now I have to deal with your extortion too?"

Anakin had to restrain himself from pointing out the irony of his owner's moral outrage.

"2,000," the inspector replied flatly, "or I tell my boss what you own and you get a date with there Stormtroopers."

The phrasing seemed to prompt Watto to remember something. "Yeah, and you get a date with the bounty hunters! You think Jabba's going to put up with Stormtroopers on Tatooine? I pay 1,000, and you don't find yourself sucked into space somewhere near Korriban!"

At this the inspector paled; in truth, Anakin knew, it was unlikely that Watto had any kind of leverage with Jabba the Hutt, but an off-worlder, used to living on Coruscant, probably wouldn't. It certainly helped that the inspector changed yearly. "Yeah, yeah, sure," he said, trying to save face. 

"You see, boy," the portly Toydarian lectured as the inspector walked out of the shop, "this is how you make something of yourself! You need bravery, and an ironclad will, and, above all, smarts! Why, I was once just like you..."

The first time Anakin had heard this speech(and he had heard it many times) its reception hadn't been the best. Now, though, he was smarter than that. He tuned Watto out and turned around, continuing to display the shop's many wares on the front desk. Suddenly, the Toydarian's ravings were interrupted.

"Watto, my friend!" A young, muscular Dug burst into the shop, giving Anakin's owner an exaggerated hug. 

"Sebulba!" the Toydarian exclaimed. "Good to see you again, tell me- what do you need?"

"What do I always need?" Sebulba leaned against the shop wall, smirking arrogantly. "Parts for my Podracer, of course! With the annual Tatooine derby coming up I want all the advantages I can get!"

"Right!" Watto clapped his hands. "Boy!" Anakin looked up from his task. "Go into the back and get out the best Podracer parts we have." Wordlessly, he complied.

"So, did you hear?" he heard the Dug ask as he rummaged around the back of the shop. "Word is, the Seppies finally made their move. Occupied some planet called Neblu, or something, I don't know. Supposedly negotiations broke down; Coruscant doesn't know but give it a few weeks, you know how it is. I bet you anything, it'll be war before the month's out."

"Aaah, that's good," Watto replied. "War means less inspectors here- I bet the Seppies'll be looser about this than Coruscant. Besides- who wants to take Tatooine, anyway. Hold on"- at this he raised his voice- "Boy! Where'r those damn machine parts? The hell did I buy you for?" 

Anakin realized that he had been listening in too intently; he had completely neglected his task. Hurridly, he grabbed whatever he could find of the pod racer parts, rushing out to the front of the shop. "Here they are, sir," he said, looking down, trying to avoid eye contact. 

"Worthless brat," Sebulba muttered. "Right, how much for this?"

And so this day in the life of Anakin Skywalker continued, thus far uneventfully.



"Master Yoda, I have grave news to report."

Qui-gon Jinn sat in front of the hologram of the leader of the Jedi order in the ship's bedroom. It hadn't even been five minutes since they'd come out of hyperspace over the desert world of Tatooine, but Qui-gon frankly couldn't afford to wait to make his report. In the back of his mind, he was annoyed at having to waste so much time as it was(hologram communication being impossible over hyperspace) but he supposed it couldn't be helped.

"Speak, Master Jinn." This was Mace Windu, the second-in-command of the Jedi Council. His shaved head made him older than he appeared, but this was deceptive; he was the greatest swordsman the Order had, perhaps the greatest since Revan himself, before he fell to the Dark Side.

"Masters," Qui-gon began, his tone grave, "The talks on Naboo have broken down. I don't know how or why, but the central point is that Viceroy Gunray had his Clones attempt to bar us from leaving. Unfortunately, I could not prevent the ensuing confrontation. I fear civil war is almost unavoidable now. Worse still... I sense the involvement of the Dark Side of the Force."

"Grave news, this is." Yoda stroked his chin, frowning gravely. "About much more than simple taxation, this invasion of Naboo is."

"If there is a conspiracy"- Qui-gon noted to his displeasure that Windu emphasized the 'if'- "it may already be too late to uncover it. I fear that the broader citizenry of the Republic care little for any conflict between 'Jedi' and 'Sith'. In any case, it is beyond the capacity of any one Force user, no matter how powerful, to engineer a crisis of this magnitude. Again, if there is a Sith Lord involved, they may be merely exploiting a conflict that already exists."

"Regardless," Yoda declared, "should war come, clear our duty is. Defenders of the Republic, we are."

The jolt of the ship landing on the surface of Tatooine interrupted the conversation. "Apologies, Masters," Qui-gon said, "but I must be going. It is imperative that Madame Valorum returns to Coruscant with the utmost speed."

"May the Force be with you, Master Qui-gon." For the first time in millennia, Qui-gon felt, he would need it.

"I have bad news," the pilot was saying as Qui-gon entered the ship's common room. "Our hyperdrive was damaged in the fight over Naboo to the point where I can't make another jump. Either we fix that hyperdrive..."

"...or we're stuck on this planet for a long time" Obi-wan finished exasperatedly. "War could already have broken out by the time we get back to Coruscant!"

"Not to worry," Qui-gon soothed his former apprentice. "I've seen Mos Eisley before; while there's never been a more wretched hive of scum and villainy, there's sure to be the materials to repair a hyperdrive somewhere. Obi-wan and I will head into town, as we're better at blending in with the locals."

"I'm going to." All eyes turned to Padme. "I'm tired of sitting in this ship having others do things for me," she offered by way of explanation. 

Qui-gon raised his hand, preemptively cutting off a fearsome protest from Captain Typho. "This is actually a fine idea. If the Separatists manage to find us here, this ship is the first place they'll look. Better to have Padme with us, out of sight, than in the ship, should they find us."

"It's settled, then," the Chancellor's daughter said commandingly. And so two Jedi and the heir to House Valorum set off for the most corrupt city in the Galaxy.



It did not take long for Obi-wan to resolve never to set foot in Mos Eisley again. It wasn't the smell; Obi-wan's nose had detected worse on Coruscant alone. It wasn't the labyrinthine nature of the city; the Jedi had the Force to help him with that. No, what killed Obi-wan about Mos Eisley was the sheer number of people, from slaves to crime victims to the poor, who he was powerless to help.

Padme had already learned that lesson the hard way. She had almost instinctively started towards a Rodian boy being beaten by an older man before Qui-gon held out his hand, stopping her. "He's a slave," the man said by way of explanation. 

"I thought- no, actually, I know- that slavery's illegal in the Republic," Padme replied incredulously. "They're violating the law!"

Qui-gon smiled sadly. "The laws of the Republic are felt hardly at all in the Outer Rim. We can't afford to blow your cover. The Separatists likely have ears here." Clenching her fists in fury, Padme relented, trudging behind Qui-gon deeper into the city. It was a lesson Obi-wan had learned too many times: no power, be it the Force or social status, is truly absolute.

Unfortunately, the reminder on the weakness of the Republic's legal system was the least of their worries. Shop after shop seemed to prove Qui-gon's assertion that it would be easy to find a hyperdrive wrong. Quite a few shop owners didn't even seem to speak galactic basic. As Tatooine's twin suns began their descent, Obi-wan opened his mouth, to suggest they retire to the ship; Padme, clearly unused to this exertion, was nearing her limit. Qui-gon never gave him the chance. He froze, his head arced, alert. Obi-wan knew that stance. His former master had sensed something. "Master-" he began-

"I sense the greatest Force potential I've ever felt off of Coruscant," Qui-gon said. He ran off, Obi-wan and Padme following.



It had been a long day. Ever since the Sebulba fiasco, Anakin had felt an aura of annoyance seeping from Watto. The Toydarian had spent a good portion of the day muttering about "worthless brats" and hadn't even maintained a veneer of cordiality. And yet, as Anakin entered an alley, his troubles were far from over.

"You little brat!" Anakin turned to see Sebulba advancing towards him. "I knew I'd find you skulking around in some alleyway like the rat you are!" The dug brandished an iron bar aggressively.

Anakin clenched his fists, resisting the urge to lash out. "Listen, Sebulba, I don't want any trouble-"

"Well you made trouble for yourself when you sold me defective parts!" Sebulba swung his weapon for emphasis. "I don't know who put you up to this, Jabba, Fortuna, whoever, but I'll make you wish you'd never been born!" He lunged towards Anakin; the boy could only brace himself for a burst of pain.

"You will drop the weapon and go home." Sebulba froze; behind him stood an older, dignified looking man with long hair and robes that Anakin thought he had seen somewhere before.

The iron bar clattered to the ground. "I will drop the weapon and go home," the Dug repeated blankly, before striding past the man with a purpose Anakin doubted he'd ever had in his life before. 

As a younger man and a woman who couldn't be much older than Anakin rushed up, the man approached the boy, smiling kindly. "Tell me, son," he asked, "what's your name?"

Anakin was in shock. "A-a-anakin," he managed to get out. "Anakin Skywalker."

"Well, Anakin Skywalker," the man smiled, "my name is Qui-gon Jinn. I'm very pleased to have met you."

 

Edited by blah the Prussian
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Chapter 4: The Force Will Free Me

"Sorry for the cramped conditions, Masters Jedi. We're... not used to having guests." Shmi Skywalker had obviously been through a lot; she may have been beautiful once, but over a decade of being a slave, and seeing her son work day in and day out with no future, had taken their toll. Still, her eyes betrayed an inner strength that had gotten her through some of the worst life had to offer. Qui-gon could see that same strength in her son."

"It's quite all right," the Jedi Master replied. A sandstorm had set upon them suddenly on the streets of Mos Eisley; they hadn't exactly been able to return to the ship, so Anakin offered his own house. Qui-gon and Obi-wan probably should have expected the house to be small, with only two rooms, but it suited their purposes in the end. She had even pointed them to Watto's shop for a hyperdrive, though she must have been loathe to aide her owner. He continued: "I'm just grateful to you for sharing what little you have with off-worlders like us."

"You saved my son," Shmi said plainly. "What else was I going to do? I know that Dug- Sebulba, his name is- and he wouldn't have stopped until Anakin was dead. Dead or too beaten to be of use to Watto. And then..."

"He would have just thrown you out?" this was Obi-wan; Qui-gon's former apprentice had been listening silently by the door.

Shmi swallowed; it was clear the prospect terrified her. "As slavers go, Watto's kinder than most, certainly moreso than Jabba the Hutt, but yes." She straightened. "He still keeps us alive with Anakin working, even though I'm too old, but we are an investment. He would stop sending us food- on the off chance we survived, Jabba's goons would prevent our escape, that's why he pays protection money- but, almost assuredly, we would die." She looked at Qui-gon, pleadingly. "Master Jedi, I know your code prevents killing, but... Sebulba won't forget this. As soon as your mind trick wears off, he'll attack my son. Please, I just don't see any way. We're slaves, we're helpless, we have no rights-"

"Ma'm." Qui-gon was gentle, but firm. "Your son is not in any danger whatsoever. I sense from him more innate potential in the Force than in any individual I've ever seen." He looked her in the eye, and said resolutely: "I will not leave this planet without your son."



Padme found Anakin outside, sitting on a sand dune, staring into the horizon. The sandstorm had subsided, and Tatooine's twin suns hung above the endless desert, shining brilliantly as they set. She let out a breath. "It's beautiful."

"The only good thing about this entire damn planet," he said bitterly. "Look at it all. Thousands, millions, maybe, of inhabited worlds, and I'll never leave this one. Figures." His hands were balled up into fists. The sand was wet with droplets of water.

Padme tried to get out a response; she couldn't find the words. And so the daughter of the most powerful man in the galaxy and a slave boy sat together, watching the sunset. Finally, she asked: "When did you become a... a..."

"A slave?" Anakin interjected flatly. "Don't worry. It suits my owner to pretend I'm something I'm not, not me. I'll always be Anakin Skywalker. A slave on this ball of sand." He looked up at the emerging stars; Tatooine's suns had almost sunk below the horizon by now. "But mom says it was... my father. He was some freighter pilot. Married mom, they had me, then he started losing money, so-" at this a barely suppressed snarl flashed across Anakin's face- "he sold us to Watto. Didn't even have the courage to be there as the Gamoreans took us away. Mom never talked much about what life was like before slavery; probably doesn't want me to know about a better life I'll never have." He sunk back into the sand.

Padme just sat there, thinking of something to say. Finally, she managed: "My father, the Chancellor- he's trying to crack down on slavery. It's illegal, you know."

She knew immediately that this was the wrong thing to say; this was confirmed when Anakin snapped: "Well he needs to try harder!" She flinched. "...Sorry," he amended, looking down at his hands. "That was too harsh."

"No, it's..." she struggled for the right thing to say. "I'm sorry. For all of this. Seeing this, Republicans and Separatists... it all seems so insignificant. You're a- it's all so unfair!" Tears streamed down her face. New ones for the mixture.

He put his hand on her. "I've tried to fight this. But I have no power. I'm nothing, I come from nothing. So when you become Chancellor, please, promise me-" at this his voice broke- "promise me that you won't forget us," he finally managed.

She looked into his eyes. "I promise."

Suddenly, they heard footsteps behind them. "Madame Valorum." It was Qui-gon. "Could you please return to the house? I have to talk to Anakin alone."



"So why are you here?" Anakin asked, standing up. He wasn't stupid; he knew the Jedi Knight hadn't simply arbitrarily decided to help him after coming across him in the labyrinth that was Mos Eisley. 

"I won't waste your time, or mine, Anakin," Qui-gon replied. "Simply put, you have more innate potential in the Force than most Jedi Masters." 

The boy stepped back, his brow furrowed, trying to comprehend the magnitude of what had been said. "What- what does that mean?"

"Anakin," Qui-gon asked, "what do you know of the Force?"

"I, uh," Anakin spluttered by way of reply. He steadied himself, and said: "I guess the Force is what makes the Jedi special, right? Like, it's what they use to fight. With the lightsaber, I mean." He thought some more. "I also think it has something to do with control?"

Qui-gon smiled, not unkindly. "Not quite." He moved towards Anakin slightly. "The Force is... everything. It surrounds us, it's within us... it's the energy in all things." He looked up at the boy. "To use the Force isn't to use power you yourself have. It is to connect to the Force, to an energy that was already there. Anyone can connect to the Force. It is true, however, that different people have more potential to connect to it than others. Finally-" at this he felt a fluttering of nervousness, and he knew from where- "the Force is not restricted to the Jedi. You aren't a Jedi simply for having the ability to tap into this well of power. The Jedi are not simply people who use the Force and swing their lightsabers around. We are a philosophy, a way of looking at the world." He smiled. "We maintain control of our emotions. We protect the weak and innocent. We defend the law of the Republic. We see the force for what it is; we do not use it as a weapon unless absolutely necessary."

Anakin's mind swirled; this was much to comprehend. A thousand questions danced around in his mind. One rose to the surface; Protect the innocent? But what about us? He pushed it back down; it was wrong but he couldn't explain why. Instead, he looked up at Qui-gon. "How?" 

"Follow me." The Jedi walked off into the night. Wordlessly, Anakin complied. This was his future. This was how he would get off this planet. What else would he do? Already, the excitement at this freedom, this power, was almost too much. The force would free him. It almost made him forget the other question at the back of his mind.

If the Jedi are one way, what are the others?



"Terrible timing for a sandstorm." It was not the first time Captain Typho had said this. It was only natural. Sitting in the ship's cockpit, he felt so... useless. He wasn't used to feeling useless. His eye twitching with frustration, all he could do was scan the horizon; a useless effort, as it was pitch black by now. He had given up pressing the button that would connect him with Qui-gon's hologram projector hours ago; the sandstorm must have damaged the communication antennae. 

"Look," the pilot reassured, sitting next to him, "she'll be fine. She has two Jedi Knights with her; I don't think there's anything to worry about from a few Hutt gangsters." He leaned back in his chair. "Look, they're probably in a hostel or something. Come tomorrow they'll be back, then we'll be off this glorified beach."

Captain Typho nodded along when another of the Guards burst into the room. "Captain, I have'"

"Report!" Typho cut him off. "What news of Madame Valorum?"

"No news from there, sir," the Guardsman replied breathlessly. "But... we found a tracker. On the underside of the ship. Gunray's men must have put it there."

"What?" Typho rose to his feet, furiously. "Then- then- the Separatists know where we are?"

"I don't actually think so," the pilot cut in. "The Separatists have agents on this world. If they knew we were here they have a thousand different ways to blow us out of the sky before we even landed. It might be someone else, unless the Separatists are playing some sort of long game?"

"Well regardless!" Typho was pacing wildly. "We need to get that tracker off and relocate, or something! We can't risk-"

A creaking sound emanated from the other side of the ship. The landing ramp had been lowered.

Almost reflexively, Typho connected his comm link to the other four guards. Not giving himself enough time to think about what he was saying, he spoke: "Intruder in the ship. Battle stations, as soon as possible. All troops, report-" 

The vwoosh of a Lightsaber cut him off. Typho froze for a second, then sprung into action. "All men, report to the cockpit, now! Repeat, report to the cockpit!" Almost instantaneously, the lights went out. 

"It's a red-" another Guardsman's warning was cut off by a scream of agony. A sickening crack emanated from the final comm link. 

Typho glanced at the pilot and the Guard, only the moon to illuminate their faces. Wordlessly, they each picked up a blaster, aiming at the door. Whoever this intruder was, they'd at least put up a fight. 

They never got the chance. Without warning, the door was blown off its hinges, knocking Typho to the ground. The last thing the Republican Guard captain ever saw was a flash of red and two glowing yellow eyes.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Chapter 5: The Podrace

"Clear your mind."

Anakin Skywalker sat cross legged in the sand, his eyes closed. Qui-gon paced next to him, the moonlight washing over both of them. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be doing this. The Jedi, after all, required that a child be younger than ten to begin training; it was reasoned that introducing children to the Force as they were going through puberty could have negative effects, and admitting adults caused the risk of infiltration. Training one outside of the Order, of course, was strictly prohibited; it was in the interests of both the Order and the Republic that the Jedi maintain a monopoly on Force users. Still, though... The idea we have a monopoly on Force users died on Naboo. If it's returning... the Order needs one of his potential, whether the rules allow it or not.

The orders of Anakin's makeshift Master came as quite a challenge for his chaotic mind. Images swirled around him, with no rhyme or reason. He was familiar with some... Watto's snarl, the Republic Inspector avoiding eye contact, Sebulba with his pole. There were new images, though, ones he'd never thought he'd see. Two Jedi Knights. The Chancellor's daughter, in whom he'd confided more than he ever had to anyone. More than anything, though, he saw the power of the Force. He saw the one who made his life a living hell be dominated by this power. It seemed to call to him, offering what he'd lacked since Watto and the Inspector had shown him what the Republic's peace truly meant: hope. He forced them down, down, out of sight. The tension in his body released.

Qui-gon's footsteps stopped. Silence filled the air. After what felt like hours, the boy heard: "Good. Now. What do you see?"

He saw... everything he had ever known. A herd of Banthas, trudging through the desert, looking for some of the last watering holes on the planet. One of them, an older one, could no longer take it, and sunk to the ground, the herd moving on. Soon enough, a pair of Dewbacks were fighting over the corpse. The skull of a Krayt Dragon overlooked them, a relic of a bygone age before Tatooine's desertification had driven life to the brink. "Death. I see death."

Qui-gon smiled faintly. "Look again." A pair of small, rat-like creatures dug their tusks into the sand, pulling out roots. As they scarfed down their findings, the Jedi continued. "Everything changes. Mos Eisley, if fossil records are to be believed, was once a rainforest. What we see here are relics of a bygone age. But life finds a way. Those small creatures down there will become Tatooine's dominant species a million years from now. This is life, this is the Force. We're all part of it, and it's much bigger than we ever will be."

"Wait-" Anakin was sensing something new, and yet somehow familiar. It felt hot and swirling, like a vortex. His eyes shot open. Qui-gon was staring off into the distance, concern slowly dawning on his face.

"I feel it too," he said. "We need to go inside. This is more complex than I ever anticipated."



Beep. Beep. Beep. The noise was brought to a halt by a mechanical voice: Your Holocomm 15 has been unable to establish a connection with another device! Ending attempt.

Somehow, Padme thought, the artificial cheeriness is the worst thing of all. "That was the fourth time we've called them," she said tautly, leaning back onto the only chair the Skywalker owned. Privately, she was fighting desperately to ignore the growing sensation of panic building in her. How can this be happening?

"It would be extremely unwise to try to return to the ship." That was Obi-wan; he leaned against the wall, his brow furrowed with concern. 

"We're going to have to find another way off the planet," Qui-gon confirmed. Turning to Anakin(he figured something like this concerned the boy as well) he asked, "Is there any other way off this planet?"

"Yeah, the Cantina usually has like 5 pilots who you could get." Midway through the sentence Anakin tried and failed to suppress the mix of panic and realization that swept across his face. A silence descended upon the room.

Eventually, Padme asked the inevitable question. "Can we... can we afford that? I think I have 15,000 credits with me. The rest are in the ship." As good as lost.

"A ship to Coruscant is about 12,000," Anakin replied dully, looking visibly deflated. Slamming his fist into the wall, he vocalized what everyone was thinking: "I'm never getting off this planet."

"Don't say that." Qui-gon spoke gently, but firmly. "I made a promise that I wouldn't leave the planet without you."

"Ideally, though," Obi-wan spoke up, "we'd leave the planet at all. Whatever's here, it's stronger in the Dark Side than anything since the last Revan War. So tell me," he asked, turning to Anakin, "how does one escape slavery?"

Anakin, seemingly rejuvenated by Qui-gon's promise, replied: "Well, I can think of one way. It's a long shot, though."



"You'd what?"

Watto had likely never been confronted with such a strange sight. A richly adorned woman, more beautiful than any he had ever seen, some old man in robes, and next to them, Anakin. "I'd like to enter the Podrace," the boy confirmed. "I've done test flights on them before, I know how they work."

Watto crossed his arms, deciding to humor the boy. "And what will you be betting?"

Anakin looked his owner in the eye. "Freedom. For myself and my mother."

"Hahahahaha!" Watto burst out laughing. Apparently, the kid had a sense of humor after all. "You know, I could get some money from you as comedian! But, seriously, what are you betting?"

"He's being serious." This was the beautiful woman. "We're prepared to offer this in exchange." She took out a hologram transmitter, and pulled up an image of a large ship. "Turbolasers, hyperspace-capable, worth millions of credits. All for one boy and his mother." 

Watto pretended(poorly) that the offer didn't interest him. "Ah well," he said lazily, "you know, it's interesting, but I think I want to keep the mother. How's this: you get your freedom, then you buy her from me later?"

Anakin looked taken aback, but the man with him nodded. "We'll take it," he said.

Watto clapped his hands. "Wonderful! A Podracer is provided at the track! Well, good luck!" As the group walked away, Watto snickered to himself. There was no way some rookie would beat a pro like Sebulba his first time. That ship could easily pay protection money and bribes for the rest of his life. They didn't know what they were throwing away.



"I'm very sorry about this, Anakin," Qui-gon was saying as they walked away from Watts's shop, "but unfortunately we can't afford to negotiate. Not with a potential hostile Force user on the planet. You'll get enough money to free your mother in no time, I promise."

Anakin tried to hide his frustration. I should be grateful, he reasoned; this would seem like a dream to him only yesterday. Somehow, though, it rang hollow. 

"Of course," Qui-gon continued, "you do have to win. We no longer have a ship to offer."

"I've been on test drives through the Mos Eisley course hundreds of times," Anakin reassured. "How hard can it be?"

Famous last words, Padme thought, biting back the words. 



Anakin had never seen the Mos Eisley Podrace stadium so packed before. Slaves, after all, weren't allowed to watch Podraces. The Hutts, though, when making the unofficial law code that ruled Tatooine, had neglected to specify that they weren't allowed to race in them, apparently underestimating the greed of his Toydarian master. He nervously stroked the pin on his racing jacket. Number 15. Apparently, dead last. Figured.

"What the hell are you doing here?" a familiar voice rang out. Turning, Anakin saw Sebulba striding towards him, a look of disbelief on his face. "Did Watto seriously let you in"

Anakin nodded by way of confirmation. "After I beat you today, Sebulba," he grinned, "I'm going to be free."

Sebulba was incredulous. "Beat me? With that?" It came out as a bark of mirth. Indeed, Anakin's Podracer wasn't exactly the most impressive-looking(starting in dead last didn't exactly help matters) but he knew the course. He hoped that would be enough. 

"After you lose today," Sebulba continued, "I'll beat your ass so hard you'll-"

His threat was cut off by the blaring of the track's PA system. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages, welcome to the 564th annual Mos Eisley Podrace!" As the bombastic voice went through all the racers, Anakin climbed into his vehicle. It was a small pod(hence the name) connected to a pair of engines by a plasma stream. All Podracers shared the same basic control scheme, and this one, as confirmed by a cursory glance at the cockpit, was no exception.

"And, a newcomer today, a slave hoping to gain his freedom... ANAKIN SKYWALKER!" Anakin perked up. The mention of his name meant the race was about to start. Sure enough: "On your marks... get set... GO!"

Anakin's foot slammed down on the exhaust pedal, his vehicle shooting off into the makeshift track constructed on the Tatooine dunes. Above them, a camera speeder circles, no doubt for the benefit of the audience. Good, thought Anakin, somewhat viciously, let Sebulba's humiliation be public.

He was shaken out of his fantasy by the race reaching the first real obstacle of the course: a network of caves. Swiftly, he turned his Podracer, deftly avoiding the Stalagmites(or was it Stalagtites?) jutting up from the cave. Other racers, newcomers to this track, weren't as lucky; several wrecked vehicles dotted the cave floor. 

"SKYWALKER SHOOTS AHEAD TO TENTH PLACE!" came the faint roar of the announcer. In the back of his mind, Anakin wondered how the audience's ears weren't blown out. No matter. Breaking at just the right time, he drifted around a sharp turn; another, less skilled racer broke too early, spinning off of the track. Two others crashed into each other, Anakin shooting ahead. The fastest Podracer in the world wasn't a match for raw skill.

His self-congratulation was brought to a rude end by a set of dots in the distance. A Bantha herd. Why now? Bantha herds had been known to hold up speeder traffic for hours; he couldn't afford to wait. Hitting the gas, he shot forwards, weaving in and out of the herd. Screams of pain and terror surrounded him as racers collided with Banthas. He burst from the herd, the announcer's commentary("And an intervention from Mother Nature herself gives Skywalker Second Place! Just look at that reaction time") giving him comfort. There was one more obstacle. Sebulba? Where is Sebulba?

It was then he noticed two things. About 50 feet away, Sebulba's Pod. Then, around a half mile away, but still visible in the distance: the goal post. His heart sank. There were no more obstacles! There was no way to close the gap. Sebulba would win, and after all this, he-

No. I refuse. There is a way. I will MAKE a way. Taking his hands from the controls, he closed his eyes. The din of the announcer, the cheers of the audience, the sand assaulting his face- he pushed them from his mind. There was only him, Sebulba, the goal, and freedom. He knew what he had to find. A Podracer's engine, in order to maintain its speed, needed constant cooling. That cooling, though, took a lot of power. For efficiency's sake, it was turned off whenever the Pod was at rest... and the vehicle's designers had been too lazy to design an automatic on/off system. 

Even someone who had only learned about the Force last night could use it to flip one switch.

He opened his eyes, returning to the controls. The goal was only a quarter mile away now. Closer, closer, closer... what if I did it too-

He needn't have worried. A single spark on Sebulba's engine caught his eye. A second later, the Pod burst into flames, the plasma connection to the engines severed. As his Pod shot into the lead, he caught his opponent's eye. Sebulba, on fire, in pain, looked back in terror and despair. Then, in an instant, it ended; his Pod spun into the wall of the stands, crushing him in a mess of machines and flame. In the next instant, he became free.

As his Pod came to a stop, as the announcer narrated what was blindingly obvious to anyone with eyes("And a freak accident gives Skywalker the victory! Yet another promising career cut short by faulty equipment!") he walked out in a daze. That was it. He was no one's property, he felt powerful. The Force had set him free.

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Chapter 6: The Lights of Coruscant

The recorded Hologram of Qui-gon Jinn towered over the Senate floor; Count Dooku had never been so displeased to see his former comrade. Qui-gon was one of the last hopes of the order, Dooku had always thought, and yet here he was, sending the Galaxy closer to war. Then again, Dooku reflected, we're hardly blameless in this. Not for the first time, he cursed the rashness of Nute Gunray.

"This is where we stand," Mace Windu declared from his position on the Senate Floor, as the hologram switched off. "A Republic diplomatic mission containing two Jedi Knights has been attacked. It is not the place of the Jedi to interfere in the politics of the Republic, so what the Senate does with this information is up to them. However, this seems to be fairly transparent aggression, in fact treason, on the part of the Separatist Alliance."

"Serious charges," the Chair of the Senate, Mas Amedda, mused, standing besides Chancellor Valorum(his face pale, presumably over his daughter). "How do you answer these, Count Dooku?"

All eyes turned to him. "We still have no idea as to what exactly happened to spark a confrontation," the Count declared; he had been preparing this argument from the moment Gunray told him of events on Naboo. "Before the Senate jumps to conclusions, it would be wise to launch a full-scale investigation into the matter. This way, the Senate may make an informed decision in regards to this crisis."

"Are there any-" Amedda began, but was cut off as a new voice filled the chamber. Palpatine. 

"We all know what an investigation would find!" the Senator shouted, as a murmur of assent rose from much of the Chamber. "The Republic's investigators would be payed off, like they were when every human in the Outer Rim was laid off in favor of Clones, like they are every year in Mos Eisley, like they did when they 'proved' that your Clones are only used for manual labor, like they have been whenever the rich and powerful come under investigation. This will be solved when the illegal private armies of the Separatists are dissolved and their leaders are in prison for treason and corruption, and not a moment before!" The chamber descended into a roar, everyone yelling at everyone else; and yet, somehow, Palpatine's voice, more of a bellow now, rose over it all. "Money and the Law are the weapons of the rich and corrupt! THE TRUTH IS MINE!"



Mos Eisley's cantina, Obi-wan had decided, was not doing much to improve his opinion of the city. Some band was making a ruckus on the cantina's central dias; the Jedi was no expert, but he presumed that the chunks of Bantha meet being thrown were not a sign of a positive reception. Weaving his way through the congested crowd, he got the attention of the Rodian barkeep. "Excuse me, do you know where I can find a pilot for hire?"

"Y poona no ma shindo! Nani no waka ani posla ni spatna!" Unbelievable. The one being in the galaxy who doesn't speak basic, and he works in this bar.

"I- oh, never mind!" Obi-wan turned away from the bar in frustration. Just as he was about to ask people face to face(an awkward proposition to be sure) he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he was greeted by an older man, in his mid thirties, whose grin called to mind countless holonet advertisements.

"Looking for a ship to Coruscant?" the man asked. "I think I have just the thing."

"Splendid!" Obi-wan tried not to show his relief. "Can I ask your name?"

"Yeah, sure," the pilot responded, his eyes already scanning the cantina for a table. "Owen Lars."



Anakin held his mother tightly as the pair stood outside their shack. "I'm sorry," he said, guilt eating at him, "I couldn't get you out."

"Don't say that." Tears rolled down Shmi Skywalker's face as she stroked her son's hair. "The Force has granted us such a boon by freeing you. I'm getting old, I can barely take care of you. You're strong in the Force, you can be a Jedi, you have your whole life ahead of you. Don't you ever feel guilty on my behalf. Promise me."

The Force let us be slaves in the first place, a voice in the back of his head whispered. He ignored it. "I promise. I promise this isn't the end. As soon as I get enough money on Coruscant, I'm coming back for you. I'm coming back for all of you. Watto, even Jabba- I'll free every slave they have."

His mother looked up at him, smiling ear to ear. "I couldn't ask for a better son."

Qui-gon and Padme were waiting back out on the streets. "So now we should head to the Cantina," Padme was saying. "I hope Obi-wan's found a pilot."

Qui-gon nodded in silence.



"I call her the Lavender Ghost," Owen declared proudly. They were seated across from each other at a booth in the Cantina. A somewhat younger woman sat next to Owen; presumably his girlfriend- Beru, Obi-wan thought her name was. "She was a heavy bomber used in the Zabrak war; I bought her in an antique shop after the model was replaced by your standard-issue TIE Bomber. This thing might be old, but I tell you, it can sure fly! This one could cross the space between two fleets at the First Battle of Dathomir in less than twelve parsecs!" Obi-wan stared back, blankly.

Beru rolled her eyes. "Owen, a parsec is a unit of distance. If you're going to lie, at least lie believably."

"Don't listen to her," Owen sputtered, trying to save face. "Look, you need to get somewhere, all the other pilots here are aliens, you can trust me!"

"And what do you mean by that?" Obi-wan asked, raising his eyebrows.

Owen realized his error. "I didn't mean anything by it," he said hastily. "Just... you know... you're obviously not from here, I'm not from here, I won't sell you as a slave to Jabba!" 

Obi-wan supposed the man wasn't wrong. "We can offer you 15,000 credits up front," he said, not wanting to waste any more time.

The man's eyes lit up. "You got yourself a deal."



He remembered his master's words. "The Force is your tool. You have only to seize it." His eyes closed. "They took everything from you. Everything but hate." The mass of metal hung over their village, blotting out the sun. "Your hate is your strength. Use it." Fire rained down on them, like it was the end of the world. Their catapults were useless. He felt a hand grabbing him, dragging him away from the burning wreckage of his home. His mother had been there. His sister had been in there. Why was father pulling him away? He had to help them. "You were weak then. You couldn't save them because you didn't hate. Never forget how it was to be weak. Never forget, that you may avenge them." His father left him in the underbrush of the jungles, waiting with their prize hunting knife. It bounced off the armor of the men in white like a pathetic leaf. They pointed their black sticks; father fell, like it was nothing. He dared not move. He lay there for hours, looking into his father's glassy eyes. "I'm the only one who can make you what you need to be." He saw clearly. Mos Eisley. Three people moving towards the docks. One more, in a Cantina. Jedi.

His hand clenched around his weapon. There would be no mistakes this time.



They met Obi-wan in the Spaceport, flanked by a man and women in pilot's outfits. The man walked forwards, hand extended. "Owen Lars, veteran pilot. A pleasure to fly you."

Qui-gon took his hand dispassionately. "Can I ask where the ship is?" Padme asked. 

"Oh, the ship?" Owen replied. "Yeah, it's back there." He jerked his thumb behind him. The Lavender Ghost was certainly... interesting. It had standard TIE Fighter wings, but they extended far back, surrounding quite a long hull. Two turrets protected the roof and underbelly of the craft. 

Obi-wan caught his former master's eye, as if to ask 'is this okay?' Qui-gon nodded back; he could feel the dark presence getting closer. In fact...

The Jedi whirled around, igniting his lightsaber, only barely blocking the red blade of a dark-cloaked figure. A Sith. The man backstopped before launching a flurry of blows with his lightsaber, each blow harder to block than the last. He's better than me, Qui-gon realized, to his mounting horror. How could we allow this to happen?

"Obi-wan," he barked, already sensing his former apprentice coming to his aid. "Get Padme and Anakin to safety! Remember the mission!" Anything more was cut off by the relentless fury of his assailant's attack. Desperately, he tried to back off, dodging his opponent's lightsaber and regaining some momentum. The Sith shifted to a flurry of stabs, forcing Qui-gon to remain on the defensive, knocking each blow away.

Suddenly, the Sith leapt into a backflip, landing with catlike grace in a crouch. An instant later, a laser blast sailed over Qui-gon's head, throwing up a cloud of dust. Beru manned the ship's upper cannon, sending bolt after bolt towards the Sith; his lightsaber blocked shot after shot, sending them careening into buildings. Owen stood on the landing ramp. "Get in, now!" He bellowed. Qui-gon didn't have to be told twice. The makeshift freighter lifted off of Tatooine. The last thing Qui-gon saw of the planet was the man just standing there, staring after them. Qui-gon was sure, to his dread, that this was not the last time they'd see this man.



The hologram did nothing to suppress the bombast of Wat Tambor, Chairman of the Techno Union and leader of the Separatist's Hardliner faction, as he made his case. "We have Senators threatening to send us to prison," he was saying, gesturing wildly. "At this point war is necessary for self-defense!" Dooku, seated in his penthouse, saw to his dismay several of the other Separatist leaders on the hologram call nodding in agreement.

"Think about what you're saying," Dooku said, keeping his tone neutral. "War won't benefit us. It would ruin all chance to reform the Republic from within. It would cut into our profits and we might end up destroyed forever."

"Bah!" Tambor's mechanical frame heaved with incredulity. "We won't end up destroyed! We have infinite troops, against what? An army that struggled to defeat some Zabraks? We'll be in Coruscant in a month!"

It was a testament to the Count's self control that his exasperated grimace remained mostly imperceptible. Does this idiot really intend to take Coruscant? And once he takes it, then what? Madness. Madness and stupidity.

He said: "Let's wait for the election. They might not get enough seats to push for it. There's still hope for peace."

Tambor didn't protest, probably because he knew it was a false hope. After what the Separatists pulled, they'd be lucky to win any worlds outside the Outer Rim, where their Clones could harass voters unopposed. Still, it was something, anything, to put off war. "Very well!" The Chairman of the Techno Union looked pleased with himself, sitting back on his throne-like chair. "Tomorrow, I suppose, we know if there will be war!" Both men knew the answer to that question.

The holograms flickered out, and Dooku leaned back in his chair, staring from his penthouse out at the city that, despite everything, he had grown to love. All around him, lights were flickering out, as the city went to sleep. Dooku doubted he'd do the same; this was the most important night of his life, and probably the most important night in galactic history for centuries. The lights are going out across the galaxy. I hope I'll see them again in my lifetime.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Chapter 7: The Coalition

The blur of millions of planets and stars surrounded them, creating a tunnel of brilliant blue. Tatooine had been nothing but a bright tan speck when they had jumped to hyperspace, bound for Dantooine, and then- the Core Worlds. Now, after only an hour of travel, it was an eternity away. Anakin somehow still hadn't tired of looking out into space from the Lavender Ghost's common room.

He heard the door open behind him, then close. Turning around, he saw Qui-gon sit down across the table from him. Finally, the Jedi spoke. "At the Podrace. You did that, didn't you?"

Anakin swallowed, before meeting Qui-gon's stare. "Yeah." Silence ensued. Anakin opened his mouth again, before Qui-gon's raised hand cut him off. 

"I understand why you did it," the Jedi reassured. "I'm not even going to say you shouldn't have. But you need to know-"

Anakin knew where this was going. "You said the Jedi were one way to experience the Force."

Qui-gon smiled faintly. "Perceptive. Yes, the Jedi are indeed one way to experience the Force. We connect to it by controlling our emotions, by being at peace. But there is another side- the Dark Side." At this, he stood up, returning, perhaps unconsciously, to how he taught Obi-wan all those years ago. "In the early days of the Republic and the Jedi, when our understanding of the Force was still limited, the Republic, then only controlling the Core Worlds, came under attack by another spacefaring people: the Rakata Infinite Empire. Winning battle after battle, the Rakata threatened Coruscant itself. And so, the Senate, in desperation, voluntarily relinquished power to the leader of the Jedi Order, a man named Vitiate, making him Emperor. Vitiate feared the Republic's destruction, and he hated the Rakata, who threatened to enslave him and everyone like him. So he drew on these emotions, and won. With every victory, he became more and more powerful. Eventually, he destroyed the Rakata forever. But the use of these powers took a terrible toll. Some say that his embracing of his anger, fear, and hate was enough. Others argue that whatever was on the Rakata homeworld was the last straw. Whatever the truth..."

"He was corrupted by power," Anakin finished, "and he refused to step down as Emperor?"

"Well," Qui-gon replied, "he and his followers justified it by calling the traditionalist Jedi weak; they argued that the Jedi, to be effective defenders, needed to remain trained in what was coming to be known as the Dark Side. But yes." He nodded. "He didn't want to give up his power. The Jedi who still embraced the light revolted, along with many citizens of the galaxy who didn't want to replace the tyranny of the Rakata with that of the Emperor. And eventually, they won. Vitiate and his followers retreated into the unknown region, bearing a new name: the Sith."

"So was that man... Vitiate?" Anakin asked.

Qui-gon smiled despite himself. "No, no. If that was Vitiate, we'd be dead. No, he wasn't the first Sith, nor the last. Many, many Jedi have been seduced by the easy path to power, to victory. Darth Revan, for example; the greatest admiral the Republic has ever known became its greatest enemy when he used the Dark Side to win the Second Mandalorian War. What you need to remember is this." At this he leaned in to Anakin, resting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "These men never set out to become tyrants and monsters. They were motivated by noble intentions. Save the Republic, bring the Mandalorians to justice... escape slavery." At this he stood up. "What you did wasn't wrong. But you need to understand where it leads. The power you gain in the pursuit of a noble goal will consume you as it has many others, until power is an end in itself, not the means." He opened the door. "I promise, Anakin, that as your master, I will keep you from this path. No one is destined for one path, or the other- we'll choose the right way, together." 

Anakin was left alone in the room, as the ship sailed through hyperspace.



The night of the Galactic Elections had been the worst night of Anders Valorum's night. The fact that this was probably the most decisive election in the history of the Republic since the Third Mandalorian War certainly didn't help. Indeed, Valorum's life work- breaking the power of the corporations that made up the Separatist Alliance- hinged on the election. But the fact that his daughter, his only child, who he had watched grow up, was lost in the Outer Rim- that was the real reason his night had been spent obsessively checking his hologram projector every minute. The sleepless night had taken its toll. It was all Valorum could do to keep from drifting to sleep in his office chair.

And then, as dawn was breaking over Coruscant, his device beeped, projecting the results of the election against the wall of the Valorum manor. With resigned moan equal parts exhaustion and frustration, Valorum had hurled the projector off his balcony.

Conservative Party: 35%. Separatist Party: 35%. Empire Party: 30%.

The Chancellor regarded Sheev Palpatine through heavy eyes, as the other man sat across an ornate table that had been in the family since some war or another. The other man's face was painted with a subtle, yet self-satisfied smirk that made Valorum want to blow up a planet. "Senator Palpatine," Valorum began, "Let me be the first to congratulate you on your party's stunning success in this election; for a third party to win so much, and even a massive majority on Coruscant, is quite impressive." Indeed it was; Populist parties had advocated for a return to Empire many, many times before, but none had ever won more than 1% of the Senate seats. Valorum almost wished Palpatine would interrupt him, dispensing with the formalities and getting down to business. Instead, the other man simply leaned back, smirk ever-present, and watched the most powerful man in the galaxy try and fail to pretend to be a gracious loser.

"It is often necessary," the Chancellor continued, "for two groups with opposing viewpoints to put their differences aside and act together, for the good of the Republic." Pausing to force the words out, he continued: "It would be an honor and a privilege to invite the Empire Party to join us as partners in a new political coalition." There it was. The first coalition in centuries. For the aristocracy of Coruscant to join with populist demagogues- but no, it would be unpleasant, but needed. A coalition between them would yield an absolute majority of 65%, which under the Constitution of the Republic allowed for automatic passage of legislation. When the galaxy was united again his sacrifice would be worth it.

Palpatine, ever the benevolent victor, bowed his head graciously. "I thank you for the great honor, Chancellor." When he wasn't giving a speech, the man's voice remained strong, and yet was somewhat- comforting, Valorum supposed was the word. "Indeed, nothing would please me more than to join you in this project to restore justice to our Republic. Of course, we wish to be true partners in this endeavor..." his voice trailed off meaningfully. 

This was to be expected, and Valorum was prepared for it. "You will of course be consulted in all legislation and have a role in government-"

"We want one thing," Palpatine countered, all traces of the smirk now gone. "An assurance that the first act of our government will be to authorize a special tribunal to prosecute all leaders of the Separatist Alliance for corruption and treason."

Valorum paled. "That would mean war!"

"War is coming whether you spring it now or not," Palpatine retorted, "and I'm your only path to an unquestioned wartime government." Valorum had to admit, he had a point. He was about to nod, before Palpatine continued. 

"And one more thing. I want control over the ministry of war. I am, after all, the only candidate for the job with military experience. I was the one who brought Dathomir to heel." Palpatine stared at Valorum matter-of-factly, as if challenging the man to contradict him. It was a sound argument. Palpatine's 13th Fleet had brought the costly Dathomir campaign to a swift end. Although...

"Some would say genocide," the Chancellor retorted. "But," he hastily added, "I accept your offer. We stand together for the Republic." They shook hands, and Palpatine exited the room, no longer bothering to hide the smirk. Valorum leaned back into his chair, closing his eyes. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he had doomed the Republic. The front of his mind, though, could no longer put up resistance against the exhaustion from his sleepless night. Sleep took him.



Count Dooku had greeted the news with dismay and fury. He had thought Valorum to be a good man, if misguided, truly committed to what he saw as the best course for the Republic to take. But this? Valorum had gotten into bed with demagogic thugs in order to enforce his political will. He had, rather than fighting the Authoritarians, coopted their movement into his damnable coalition. The Republic, Dooku decided, was dead.

Viceroy Nute Gunray seemed equal parts excited and terrified. "Order your Clone Army to reinforce Naboo," Dooku was saying to the Viceroy. "It's the gateway to the Outer Rim and I want it to hold for as long as possible." Above him, a flight of luxury ships screamed ahead. If it wasn't the herald of civil war, the mass exodus of the Separatist Senators from Coruscant would have made for an amusing sight. Literally thousands of rich businessmen boarding their yachts, all headed for Naboo. The Chancellor wouldn't be able to draft a law allowing for their arrests for several days, so Dooku had no qualms about staying here. "One more thing," he remembered. "Tell General Shaleel to expand our chain of command; we aren't fighting Hutt anymore." He switched off the hologram, and got on his speeder, bound for Coruscant's spaceport- possibly for the last time.

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Chapter 8: So Many Vows*

The flight to Coruscant was uneventful; for that, Qui-gon was thankful. They had informed the Spaceport they were coming; security was, as predicted, tight, as they made their descent. Almost as soon as they got off, Padme was whisked away by the Republican Guard; Qui-gon had gathered Obi-wan and Anakin as they walked down the landing ramp. "We have to-" he was saying, before a familiar face caught his eye. "Never mind. Obi-wan, take Anakin to the Jedi Temple. I'll join you in just a few minutes."

As the crowd began to disperse(with even Owen and Beru going presumably to procure accommodations) Qui-gon strode towards the man he had seen. "Augustinias!" If misgivings about current circumstances entered into Qui-gon's mind, his voice didn't reflect that. "So good to see you again!"

Count Augustinias Dock flashed a smile in response. "Likewise, my old apprentice. I heard your own Palawan recently made Knighthood? How long has it been since you got your braid cut, twenty years? Twenty-five?"

"Well," Qui-gon responded, "I only hope I taught Obi-wan half as well as you taught me." 

"Oh no," Dooku shot back, "for you to teach him 1/4th as well should be quite enough." The pair laughed, remembering old times, pretending just for a moment that the world the two of them shared wasn't about to fall apart.

"You know," the Count finally continued, "I'm actually quite glad I got to see you one last time. I was about to leave, for Naboo." The statement hung in the air. Qui-gon didn't have to say anything; Dooku had known the younger man long enough to recognize the sadness in his eyes. "I never wanted this," he declared. "I was looking for a diplomatic solution to the very end. But Valorum brought in those lunatics in the Empire Party, and..."

Qui-gon asked a single question. "Why?"

"Why?" Dooku asked incredulously. "You know why. Valorum's made a commitment to trample on due process to arrest his political opponents. The Republic's laws have proven to be bendable, so the Republic is dead."

Qui-gon shook his head. "Not what I meant. Why leave the Jedi? Why leave your vows?"

Dooku smiled, pacing up and down the landing pad. "So many vows they make you swear. Protect the people of the Galaxy. Defend the innocent. Uphold the law of the Republic and Senate. Don't let your emotions control you." He stopped, looking Qui-gon in the eye. "But what if the Senate and the Republic are killing innocents? What then?"

"Dathomir," Qui-gon said flatly.

"When the Senate sent a bunch of Star Destroyers to burn Zabrak children in their homes because some natives that hadn't even developed gunpowder were too much for the oh-so-mighty Stormtrooper legions," Dooku spat out in disgust, "the Jedi chose their vows to the Republic over their vows to the people of the Galaxy. They chose wrong. So I left. And now-" at this he swept his cloak towards the hulking silhouette of the Senate Building to accentuate his point- "the man who destroyed an entire culture is the second most powerful person in the Galaxy. I don't care if we invaded Naboo, and I don't care who shot first. The Separatists are the lesser of two evils, so I'm fighting for them."

For the first time in decades, Qui-gon felt acute and genuine sadness. Whatever part of him wasn't every inch the perfect Jedi Knight(and every Jedi had that part, even Master Yoda) was screaming at him in anguish; he was about to lose the man who had essentially been his father forever. Finally, he managed: "I wish it didn't have to end like this."

"It doesn't!" Dooku exclaimed, a desperate edge to his voice that disturbed Qui-gon more than he could explain. "Come with me. Leave this corrupted order, take your Apprentice too. You're- you're too good of a man to die for some upjumped aspiring tyrant."

Qui-gon was surprised by how much he wanted to take his old master up. But no- he couldn't betray the Order. "And you," he responded, "are too good of a man to die for some corrupt businessman who care more about greed than principle. I'm sorry, Master. But there's still good in this Republic, and it's the duty of good men like us to make sure it triumphs. I won't run away."

"Well then." Dooku was obviously trying to hide the devastation he felt. "This is it, I suppose." He walked towards his private luxury transport, a Solar Sailer, before turning one last time to his former Apprentice. "I would wish this wasn't the last time we saw each other, but..."

Qui-gon understood. He said the only thing that mattered. "It was an honor being your Padawan."

Dooku nodded back. "It was an honor being your master." They stared at each other, until the Solar Sailer's ramp fully lifted. Qui-gon watched the Solar Sailer slowly lift up before flying into the blackness of space, a shadow against Coruscant's almost-risen sun. When the dot disappeared for good, he turned away, beginning the journey to the Jedi Temple.



It was apparent to Obi-wan that Anakin had never seen a megacity before.

To be fair, Obi-wan himself had been rather impressed when he had first seen it, too. In the city center, some skyscrapers were literally as tall as mountains. Towering above it all were the Galactic Senate, surrounded by a massive square as big as a small city in its own right, and the spires of the Jedi Temple.

"What's it like, living here?" Obi-wan was startled by the question. He, too, was absentmindedly gazing at the city skyline; somehow, he never really tired of it. 

"Confusing," he finally responded. "There's so much to do here you could never see it all, not even in a lifetime. Our public transport is also a virtual maze. Of course, there's also basically everything you could want here." They were now passing through the Aristocrat's district.

"No," Anakin persisted, "I mean being a Jedi. A Padawan. Whatever."

"Well," Obi-wan mused. "I suppose it depends on your Master. I'm lucky; Qui-gon is a great man and a great teacher, and I imagine you'll get him as well. Apparently Master Windu's a hardass, though."

Anakin looked taken aback. "Are you allowed to- you know..."

"What, swear?" Obi-wan hadn't really considered it. "Yes. Why wouldn't we be? I mean, I guess the Fundamentalist faction is trying to get that banned too, but no one listens to them. The only thing they fear more than the Dark Side of the Force is the worry that someone, somewhere, might be enjoying themselves." At this he cracked a smile.

Anakin chuckled slightly. "So what do I have to do to become a Padawan?"

"Well," Obi-wan responded, in truth not wanting to relive some of it himself, "first, of course, the Council has to approve you. Then you have to construct a Lightsaber. Then you- here I go, forgetting it myself."

Anakin was turning pale. "Oh, you'll be fine!" Obi-wan slapped the boy on the back; I'm only 6 years older than him, a bit young to be a mentor, he thought in the back of his mind. Fortunately, that wouldn't be his job.

As the transport touched down at the Jedi Temple, a dark skinned man with a bald head strode out to join them. Master Windu. Mace Windu was certainly impressive, muscular and athletic despite his advanced age. "Knight Kenobi." Obi-wan bowed his head slightly, as was customary to a higher-ranking member of the Order. Gesturing to a pair of younger Knights, he said: "Show young Skywalker to his quarters. Knight Kenobi, we'll wait for the arrival of Master Qui-gon. You may then present your case before the council."



Padme's father released her from the hug after five minutes. She didn't mind; her father had honestly never hugged her like that before. After mother had died, Valorum had focused all his energy on the Senate. It was... good to see he still cared.

She stepped back slightly, and looked her father in the eye. "Is it true? Will there be war?"

Chancellor Valorum nodded, gravely but not regretfully. "It was unavoidable. There was always going to be a war once the Separatists invaded a member state of the Republic. They had the nerve to fire on a Republic diplomatic mission. They must be broken, for the future of the galaxy."

Padme nodded; his rationale, after all, did make sense. "And the Empire Party? Palpatine?"

"A useful tool." Valorum waved his hand dismissively. "But nothing more. They're demagogues without an actual plan; they're no threat. What they will do is direct the urban poor's ire at the Separatists, giving us time to solve their problems." He walked to the window, surveying the city skyline. "This will determine how history sees me. We must win this war."

Padme moved next to her father. "Is there anything I can do?"

Valorum smiled. "Actually, yes. I have a very specific request. You've heard of the Kingdom of Alderaan, yes?"

Padme had; it would have represented a monumental failure on the part of the best tutors in the galaxy otherwise. "One of the protectorates of the Republic, famed for its economic strength, yes?"

"Exactly." Valorum moved away from the window. "Having Alderaan on our side would make the war significantly easier. So I've taken steps to bring them into the fold." He pulled up a hologram of a somewhat handsome, bearded man who looked slightly older than Padme. "This is Crown Prince Marcus Organa of Alderaan. You are to marry him."


*With apologies to George R. R. Martin

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  • 3 weeks later...

Chapter 9: The Council

The Jedi Council Chamber never failed to impress Qui-gon, no matter how many times he saw it. It was a vast circle, dominated by twelve large chairs on its edges. Through the windows, Coruscant's magnificent skyline was visible, suiting the dignity of the Masters present. Qui-gon Jinn was more used to sitting on his chair in the chamber, he had to admit. Then again, these were hardly normal circumstances. 

"Before consider the matter of young Skywalker we can, another matter is there, hmm?" Master Yoda might not have been the leader of the Jedi Order, but he was the most respected person in the room. Having lived for over 800 years, it was common knowledge that the only reason Mace Windu headed the order and not Yoda was down to the deceptively small Jedi's constant refusal of the position. Qui-gon nodded, and began.

"As I told the Council en route to Tatooine," he began, "the interruption of our diplomatic mission to Naboo was not necessarily only due to the Separatists. On that planet I felt the presence of the Dark Side." A murmur rose up throughout the chamber; apparently Yoda and Windu had kept their conversation a secret. "I felt this force," he continued, "as a blaster bolt came soaring towards Madame Valorum. At the time, the Senate's belief is that this bolt came from the Separatists; I am not so sure."

"And why is that?" asked Shaak Ti, the third highest ranked member of the Council and the highest ranked Togruta in the Order's history.

"Several reasons." Qui-gon, as was characteristic of him(and his old master Dooku) began to pace. "Firstly, if the Separatists had intended this to be a trap, their execution of it was horrendously botched. As we escaped Naboo, we were met not with any sort of force that seemed prepared to capture us, but simply whatever happened to be in our path. Nute Gunray seems to be a fool, but even he, I think, wouldn't be foolish enough to attempt to capture two Jedi and the daughter of Chancellor Valorum without being prepared for this."

Mace Windu stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And the other reason?"

Qui-gon stopped pacing, returning the gaze. "The holder of this dark power tracked us to Tatooine... WITHOUT the Separatists. In fact, I engaged him in battle during our escape from the planet. I have reason to believe we are dealing with a Sith Lord."

"A Sith?" That was Plo Koon; the masked Jedi leaned forwards in incredulity. "The Sith have been extinct for 1,000 years! Are you certain this wasn't simply another one of those Force Sensitives that turn to the Dark Side every century or so?"

"That was what I initially thought as well," Qui-gon responded, "and I would love to believe it now. But I met this man in single combat, and he... he was better than me. I could feel him channeling the power of the Dark Side into his blows, and he was able to predict a shot from a Tie Bomber in time to jump away. No one can teach themselves to be that skilled. If he isn't a Sith Lord, he was certainly taught what he knows about the Dark Side by someone." 

The Council Chamber descended into silence, with the Masters digesting this information. Finally, Shaak Ti spoke up. 

"If what Master Qui-gon says is true," she mused, "then this business on Naboo was orchestrated by the Sith."

"That certainly seems likely," Plo Koon agreed. "It's clear, at least, that the Sith would benefit from such a war. Hardship, after all, is the surest path to the Dark Side."

"So what should we do with this information?" Shaak Ti asked. "Stop the war? I doubt the Senate would approve of that."

Mace Windu nodded in agreement. "Or, for that matter, the people. This will be presented as just another case of the Jedi interfering in politics due to concerns that don't effect the common people. As with Revan, the Republic will suffer for their shortsightedness." He left the rest unsaid.

"Regardless," Qui-gon said, hurriedly moving past the subtext of Windu's remark, "it doesn't seem useful to try to stop the war now. This is especially true because in my view the Senate has been provoked enough. Our goal is to uphold the laws of the Republic; regardless of the extent to which Viceroy Gunray was influenced by the Sith, he chose to break those laws. This war could be an opportunity, in fact, to investigate the matter of the Sith, much more so than staying on Coruscant."

It was settled, then. As Windu rose from his seat to call in Anakin, Qui-gon surpassed the nervousness building in him. He would have liked to have thought it was about Anakin... but he couldn't shake the feeling that he, and the Council, had made the wrong choice.



"Do you know why you are here?"

The severe-looking, bald man-Mace Windu, Anakin remembered his name was- was doing nothing to alleviate the intimidation the boy felt. After all, he was surrounded by twelve of the most powerful people in the galaxy; even Qui-gon, so personable, looked down on him from atop his throne-like chair.

"Y-yes, your, your, uh, e-e-eminence," Anakin managed, his face flushing with the acute sensation that he was doing this wrong. 

"Suffice, 'Master Jedi' will," reassured the short, green, elf-like creature, Yoda, sitting next to Windu. "Kings, we are not."

"Yes, your- uh, Master Jedi," Anakin recovered; while he was grateful, his cheeks still burned. 

"And are you aware," Windu continued, "of the issues associated with your admittance into our order as a Padawan?"

Anakin willed his hands to his sides, away from his hair, his robes, each other, anything really. "Yes, uh, Master Jedi," he responded, remembering what Obi-wan had told him. "I'm- I'm too old to become a Padawan. They usually start at ten."

"Take seriously, our rules we do," mused Yoda, tapping his cane against the chair he was perched on. "And yet, without precedent, an initiate such as Skywalker is not. Your case you may state, Master Qui-gon."

"Thank you, Master Yoda." The Jedi rose from his seat and moved down to join Anakin. "When I found Anakin Skywalker on Tatooine, I sensed, quite frankly, more raw Force potential than many on this Council. My feelings were confirmed that night. When I introduced the boy to the Force-"

"You INTRODUCED HIM TO THE FORCE?" The mask of Plo Koon was not an obstacle for Anakin's understanding of his emotions. "That flies in the face of our doctrine!"

"Peace, Master Koon." Yoda's voice was even, but severe. "Explain yourself, Master Qui-gon."

"There's a war coming," Qui-gon responded evenly. "The era of the Jedi as simply diplomats and enforcers of the law is over. Where once we could afford to pass recruits up, that time is over. We cannot afford to pass up Skywalker's potential any more than we could afford to do that during the Mandalorian Wars." By this point Anakin's feet were practically begging him to move; refusing them took him more willpower than anything else in his life. 

"The Mandalorian comparison hardly serves your point," Windu retorted. "After all, was it not in that war that the Order lost one of its greatest champions, Revan, to the pull of the Dark Side?"

"We weren't competing with the Sith then," retorted Shaak Ti. "During the Mandalorian Wars we had the option: take Revan or leave him. Here? If we don't train this boy and show him the right way the Sith will take him in. We have a choice between the chance of the boy turning to the Dark Side, or the certainty that he will."

"See for certain, we must," declared Yoda, visibly cutting off what was assuredly a biting counterargument by Mace. "Young Skywalker, why, to become a Jedi do you desire?"

Anakin started; he hadn't expected the conversation to return to him. He took a step back, then righted himself. Before he could think about it, the words came, pouring out of his mouth. "I was a slave like millions, maybe billions, more," he said, unable to fully excise a note of accusation. "Then Master Qui-gon and Obi-wan came. The Republic had always failed me but they didn't, even when their own lives were in so much danger. So I'm not going to repay them by ignoring people like me, not just slaves, but everyone in the Galaxy who are victims of the powerful. I'll use my power for good, to protect the innocent and give as many people as possible the same hope I got, the hope the Jedi are." He stopped, breathless. His eyes furiously darted from Master to Master, scanning for reactions.

A small, almost imperceptible smile crept up Master Yoda's face. "Thank you, young Skywalker. Dismissed, you are."

Anakin hurried out of the Council Chambers, his mind racing. What he said... thought it was enough. Yoda's reaction seemed to suggest as much. I just hope it wasn't a lie.



Coruscant was different.

Oh, a cursory glance would reveal little had changed. Speeders still soared through the skies, billboards still relayed news from the Holonet, drug dealers and prostitutes still pranced about in the underworld unmolested. And the Senate and Jedi Temple still towered over it all. But it was... the energy of the city. Where once it was wild, unfocused, chaotic, now it moved as one. Men and women rushed to recruitment offices. Hologram projectors, clothes, toys- these were being taken out of the factories, replaced with blasters. People still had places to be, but the roads were clear now, as legions of Stormtroopers marched to their transports. And the skies were different too- above Coruscant, above the factories, above the people, above the Senate, above even the Jedi, hung row after row of Star Destroyers.

A fitting metaphor if there ever was one, thought Darth Sidious, the cool evening air tingling his skin. The rooftop, like thousands of others, was abandoned; as the Clones put people out of work in the Outer Rim, their families couldn't afford their homes. More bodies for the slaughter. It was all so perfect. Oh, how glad he was to have been born here and now!

His (untraceable)comm link buzzed; that would be his greatest coup. Then again... not exactly, he amended, somewhat regretfully; a Sith's true weapon was always his mind. If his apprentice was a true Sith, he should have figured out who his Master was. Regardless, Sidious was proud of how the project had turned out. Ultimately, though, controlling the creation of a new apprentice too much had been far too limited. I shall have to rid myself of him soon.

He put the comm link to his ear. "Master," Darth Maul began with a hollow, underused voice, "please forgive me. I was unable to destroy the Jedi scum."

Sidious affected his best benevolent tone. "It is of no concern, my friend," he reassured. "It was enough merely that Gunray be left to fire the first shots. Now the corrupt tyranny that is the Republic is tearing itself apart. One more thing is necessary to complete our revenge."

"Yes, anything!" Maul was breathless. Oh yes, definitely time to replace him.

"The Galactic Senate now prepares an assault on Naboo. Their corrupt Chancellor aims to end this war with one blow. We must not allow that." In truth, that had been the only part that hadn't gone to plan. The Republican Navy was weak... but the Separatists were weaker. An assault on Naboo genuinely did risk the war coming to a swift end. And yet, Darth Sidious had not climbed so high without any backup plans. Maul, much like a rabid dog, certainly was not fit to rule the galaxy by his side, but a vicious ball of unrestrained hate had its uses. 

"What shall I do?" In the name of the Force, how much does he want spelled out for him?

"Kill anyone you see fit. Good hunting, Lord Maul."

Another Star Destroyer climbed into the sky, its engine washing Sidious's face with the fluorescent blue of its engines. And the Dark Lord of the Sith allowed himself a smile.

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Chapter 10: A Short Victorious War

Naboo was beautiful. The sky, shining blue, was beautiful. The buildings, maintaining a classical style of marble, were beautiful. The canals, slices of brilliant blue serving as the city's streets, were beautiful. The rainforests, sitting undisturbed beyond the border of the city, playing host to animal life that had disappeared across the Galaxy. It was almost enough to ignore the new arrivals. Anti-air guns dotted the city's magnificent spires. Tanks drove through the streets on a daily patrol, platoons of Clone Soldiers marching by their side. A Battlefleet filled the sky, the largest one assembled since the Huttese War.

Sitting in the entrance room to the Royal Palace's balcony, Count Dooku had to admit that the prospect of this planet's desolation did inspire a twinge of regret. The beauty of Naboo, he was certain, would soon be destroyed, along with the beauty of Ryloth, the beauty of Kasheek, the beauty of Christophsis, and the beauty of an entire galaxy. This was war.

His eyes scanned his speech one last time. Written on the flight to Naboo, it was the document that would officially start the worst galactic war since Darth Revan. There's still time, a voice in the back of his head urged. It doesn't have to be like this. He pushed it to the back of his mind. The chance for peace died long ago; a war for freedom was far better than a tyrannical peace.

"They're ready for you, sir." An official-looking Nemoidian gestured out to the balcony. Nodding by way of thanks, the Count gathered his speech and strode out into the sun.

It was as if the Galaxy was spread before him. There were more Holonet camera crews surrounding him than he knew existed. The leaders of the Separatist Planets filled the square below him. It all looked very peaceful... if one ignored the legion of Clones standing at attention behind them. The might of the Separatists was on full display. They were his people now; he still hadn't gotten used to that fact. Dooku strode up to the podium, letting his presence hang in the air- at least, that was what he would have liked to believe. He had to force the words to come.

"As I stand here today," he began, straightening his back, the very picture of a dignified statesman, "I wish I could proudly call myself a citizen of the Republic. For indeed, the dream of the Republic is a noble one. For thousands of years, the worlds of this galaxy existed side by side, for their common interest, solving disputes through debate and mutual agreement. But now, I am sad to say, that dream is dead." Shouts of agreement rose from the audience.

"It did not just die," he continued, "It was murdered! Murdered, by the corrupt aristocracy of Coruscant, who abused their influence to levy unfair taxes on the corporations of the Outer Rim, in order to quash one more threat to their power. Murdered, by demagogues who paint seductive pictures of utopia and irresponsibly offer the unattainable in exchange for their own power. Murdered, by the Jedi, who have failed the Republic by siding with the Senate of the Galaxy over the people! Yes, the dream of the Republic, of the systems of the galaxy united together as equal partners, is dead, replaced by Chancellor Valorum's ambitions of direct rule from Coruscant." This was it. After the next sentence, there would be no going back. Dooku steeled himself, and continued.

"It is in light of this inexcusable overreach on the part of the Galactic Senate that the worlds of the Separatist Alliance take this action, which is the result of the exhaustion of every possible legal path to resist Valorum's ambitions of tyranny. With a heavy heart, the worlds of the Separatist Alliance hereby sever all ties of allegiance and brotherhood to the worlds of the Galactic Republic, and declare independence as the Confederacy of Independent Systems!" A roar rose from the crowd; the Clones fired off a salute. Dooku raised his hand for calm.

"We do not want war. We do not want conquest. We invite any and all worlds chafing under the yoke of Coruscant to join us; to those worlds that would prefer to remain with the Republic, we wish you the best. If, however"- at this his fist rose into the air- "the Republic seeks to forcibly destroy our new independence, we will have no choice but to resist to the end. I think I speak for the entire Confederacy when I say that we are more ready to die for freedom than you are for oppression. The choice between peace and war now lies with Chancellor Valorum. I pray he will make the right choice."

Applause emanated from the audience as the Holocams flashed at him, projecting to the Galaxy the man who had pushed them into war. Dooku turned away. There really was no going back now. He didn't know if he was more relieved... or scared.



Coruscant's blazing sun silhouetted its skyline as it rose. Obi-wan had always loved the sight of it, as it greeted him as he emerged from his slumber in his quarters in the Jedi Temple every day without fail. He had to admit, even the fleet of Star Destroyers hovering over the city(along with, if Obi-wan were being technical, the Senator Star Carriers) added their own eerie beauty to the sight. But it was impossible to purge the Fleet's true purpose from his mind.

He heard the door behind him slide open; Qui-gon. His old Master moved to his side. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Obi-wan nodded by way of reply. "Did you hear the news?" Qui-gon continued. "The war's officially here. Dooku declared independence this morning on Naboo, with the entire Outer Rim and some of the Mid Rim joining him."

Obi-wan shook his head. "But there was never really going to be any other result, right?" he asked. "The last chance for peace was at the elections."

Qui-gon smiled sadly. "Maybe so. But that's in the past." He looked out over the fleet of Star Destroyers. "The Council have made me supreme commander of the assault on Naboo."

Obi-wan smiled congradulatoraly. "Well that's great news!" He slapped his old master on the back. "You're perfect for the job."

Qui-gon held his hand up. "That's not why. They're still trying to negotiate their role in this role fully. They probably want me away, fear I'll complain about the Zabrak War or something." He sunk in a chair, his face leaving the light of the sunrise. "Anakin wanted to come, you know; I told him of course not. The boy doesn't even have a lightsaber." His knuckles rapped gently against the wall. "From slave to soldier... what has the Galaxy come to, Obi-wan?"

The two watched the Star Destroyers in silence.



"Soldiers! You are about to embark on the most important war in the Galaxy's history for centuries!"

Owen Lars couldn't remember the last time he had stood so... still. Any observer would laugh at that notion; Owen was incessantly tapping his feet, swaying from side to side. The Chancellor's speech, booming from every speaker in Coruscant, didn't help matters. Beru, standing beside him in line, nudged him for what had to be the fiftieth time. It's not my fault the Coruscant bureaucracy is slower than a Bantha herd at high noon! Owen wanted to scream.

"It will, I'm, uh, sure, be a short victorious war. The enemy is protected by Clones, weak, fighting as slaves. You are fighting for freedom."

It didn't help that it was a shit speech. Hell, Beru could be more inspiring than this Valorum! The woman at the recruiting station had been arguing with the man ahead of them for what felt like an eternity. It was like the Republic didn't actually want new soldiers, what with how hard it was making it for them.

"The Republic expects that every man and woman will do their duty-"

The man ahead of them finally finished; Owen practically lunged forwards; finally he didn't have to listen to that speech any more. The recruiting officer gave him a look he could only describe as bureaucratic, before beginning. "Name?" 

"Owen and Beru Lars," He replied quickly. "We're in a relationship."

If this fact surprised the recruiting officer, she didn't show it. She continued dispassionately: "Previous lines of work?"

"Well," Owen began, "we're basically freighter pilots. We were with the Trade Federation before they laid us off in favor of the Clones. Then I was a bombardier and she a gunner in the Zabrak War. Now we're here because we have nowhere else to go."

"And what would you be doing in the Republican Navy?" By the Force, woman, Owen thought, it's just basically a job interview.

Beru spoke up. "If possible we'd like to be on the same bomber again. We're probably some of the only veterans of the position you have."

The woman considered this, then nodded. "Report to Star Carrier Hunter, Admiral Dodanna's command, Captain Ozzel."

"You know, a few years ago, I never would have accepted going to war again," mused Owen as they navigated Coruscant's streets. "Not after Dathomir."

Beru shook her head sadly. "I know," she replied, "but regrets won't put food on the table, and neither will being a freighter what with this war."

The two walked on, finding their Star Carrier.



Valorum had finally finished his speech; half-hearted applause filled the Senate chamber. Padme waited for him as he retreated into the Chancellor's Chambers; she finished her tea, handing it off to a servant. "So, daughter," he began, "how was it?"

Padme wasn't really paying attention. "I want to go to Naboo."

Valorum was taken aback. "What?"

"I don't want to just sit back here while those men"- she gestured to the legions of Stormtroopers marching into Star Destroyers in the plaza below the Senate- "die for us! I'm not going to sit in some ivory tower while the galaxy tears itself apart!" 

"You're my daughter, and I'm not letting you put yourself in danger!" Valorum retorted. "What on earth would you do on Naboo anyway?"

"Inspire the troops?" Padme had to admit, she hadn't exactly thought this part through. "Just the sight of their leader's daughter risking herself with them would have to be a morale boost."

Valorum snorted in incredulity. "If the men need my daughter risking herself just to fight, then the war is already lost. No, you will stay here."

Padme played her trump card. "You're arranging a marriage for me with Organa for political gain," she declared, an accusatory note in her voice. "The least you can do is let me do this."

Valorum's face darkened. "You are my daughter!" he roared. "And you will do as I command. You will marry Prince Organa and you will not go anywhere near Naboo! Now return to your chambers; I have a war to win." With that, Anders Valorum swept out of the room.



Anakin had had experience with sneaking before. He couldn't count the number of times he had snuck into Watto's shop to get goods he needed. It was ironic; even on Coruscant, he was still doing it.

The Star Destroyers were unfathomably big up close. A single one of them was the size of Mos Eisley. Their engines illuminated the shipyard as Anakin snuck through it. A patrol of Stormtroopers moved towards him; he sent a rock away from him with the Force. As the Stormtroopers hurried to investigate the sound, Anakin snuck past them. What looked like the Flagship of the Star Destroyer fleet remained grounded, its landing gear bigger than skyscrapers. That was where Anakin needed to be.

He hurried towards a loading bay; a group of Stormtroopers surrounded a large crate. Anakin snuck past them, crouching behind the crate as it rose up into the gaping hull of the Destroyer. Darkness surrounded him. 

The Star Destroyer began to rumble, as it ascended above Coruscant. Another bump, however, began to sound as well; it came from a crate behind him. It fell over; Anakin found himself face to face with Padme Valorum.



AN: I swear to god the Battle of Naboo is next chapter.

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Chapter 11: First Blood

Qui-gon had sensed them about 3/4ths of the way to Naboo.

Standing on his flagship's bridge, still not quite used to the grey Republic Admiral's uniform he now wore, the Jedi Master had resolved to continue on. It was obviously far too late to turn back, and even the time it would take to organize a smaller escort back to Coruscant would give the new Confederacy of Independent Systems valuable time to prepare. That could cost the lives of his men; he refused to have that on his conscience. Besides, it wasn't as if Anakin or Padme were being hurled into a war zone; this was the flagship of the Republic fleet! Unless something went terribly wrong they would be completely safe.

He shook his head slightly. Jedi Master, and I take this long to detect a pair of children. Then again, he supposed, it was quite hard to find things with the Force that one wasn't explicitly looking for.

"Master Jedi," a man in a similar uniform said, saluting, "we're about to exit hyperspace." That was Admiral Dodonna. The Jedi Council had insisted that Qui-gon be sent as the general supervisor of the operation, but that didn't mean normal military men weren't sidelined. 

"Very good, Admiral," he responded. "You have command." Qui-gon had studied the campaigns of the Second Mandalorian War, but he was hardly stupid enough to confuse that for actual experience. "Pull up the operational map," he continued, "and make sure our troopships are prepared for planetary assault." The blue tunnel surrounding the fleet morphed into lines, and there it was- the green dot of Naboo. Looming ahead of them was the enemy- row upon row of Frigates, Destroyers, and even the mighty Lucrehulks. This was it. Qui-gon drew in his breath.

"Begin full scale assault!"



The display screen towered over the throne room of the Naboo royal palace, capturing the battle exactly as it proceeded. Dooku's eyes darted back and forth, absorbing every play and counter-play. The CIS were outnumbered; it was to be expected, with their fleet being whatever could be rushed in from the spread that dominated the outer rim. Time, Dooku reminded himself as a flotilla of frigates were brushed aside by five Star Destroyers, their forwards armor smashed by turbolasers. We just need more time. It was true; the Confederacy's fleet was mighty, and her clones numerous. If they could organize a defense of the Outer Rim they could win a war of attrition. They needed to bloody the Republic here.

Unfortunately, that didn't look like it was about to happen. The hold left by the Star Destroyer's assault had been skillfully exploited by the Republic's commander; Tie Fighters surged into the Separatist's midst, forcing them to divert some power to rear shields. The Republic punished them; laserfire surged from the Star Destroyers, concentrating on widening the gap. It was hardly a complete disaster. Their center remained firmly anchored to the cluster of Lucrehulks, who vomited swarms of Vulture Droids into the void of space. The Count's eyes darted back to the time display. Three hours since the battle had started. This could work yet.



The small black craft hung in space next to Naboo's moon, unseen amid the carnage of battle. His hands darted across his face, going through the motions he had repeated thousands of times. Red and Black. The traditional warpaint of his people. His master had let him keep that much of his past, at least. 

The ships that had burned everything he knew sat in the void of space like flies. He felt his breath quicken; his knuckles turned white gripping his lightsaber. His father's lifeless face flashed in front of his eyes. Once, a weaker man would have pushed it away. No, never. He knew not to fear his past; it was his strength.

He had to admit, part of him was saddened as the Republic crushed its opponents. The hole torn in the Separatist line had been a feint; Tie Bombers sallied forth from the Carriers, pounding the now under defended Lucrehulks, as the Star Destroyers advanced along the line. The Separatists were losing. 

More for me, he thought flatly. A savage rage welled up within him, as the whole ship seemed to quiver. Small dots left the bays of the Star Destroyers; that, according to his master, was his signal. He had never felt anticipation like this. Darth Maul steeled himself. His pain... it would soon end. It had to.

The craft sailed off towards his target.



Their descent into Naboo's atmosphere had been uneventful; the Separatist fleet was reeling far too much to even think of contesting the squadron of gunships. Once again, Obi-wan found his hand darting towards his lightsaber, nestled in his cloak. It would be a few minutes before they were thrown into a bloodier full scale battle than any of them had ever known. Even if Obi-wan hadn't had access to the Force, the nervousness would have been palpable.

The side-doors to the Republic gunships opened, and the city of Theed spread out before them. Anti-air fire curved up from its spires; a flight of Tie Fighters shrieked past them, blasting a dangerously close AA nest. The plains to the south of the cities were already a bloodbath; Republic medium Walkers advanced towards the southern gate, met by floating Separatist tanks. They were the distraction that would get the tanks out of the city. A flight of Tie Bombers cleared the plaza in front of the Royal Palace. Obi-wan took a deep breath.

"Men," he began, "in less than two minutes we're going to be thrown into the epicenter of battle. I can tell you're scared. I-" he searched for the right thing to say. Fear was the path to the Dark Side, wasn't it? But- he felt fear. He shook his head, banishing the thought. There was a time and place for the codes. "Fear is natural," he declared. "And as your commander I will-"

The din of battle cut him off.

He leapt out of the gunship, lightsaber blazing. 



Qui-gon stood at the head of the bridge, hands clasped behind his back. The battle was going exceptionally. The fleet was rolling up both flanks of the Separatists, with only their center, now consisting of two Lucrehulks, holding. Meanwhile, Obi-wan's force had reached the center of Theed; the chance to end the war in a single stroke still existed. 

"Sir," a technician said suddenly, "we've detected a breach on the left hull."

Odd. Qui-gon hurried over to the display. Indeed, the left hull had been breached. "Looks like a landing craft," Qui-gon mused, "but that doesn't make sense. How did it get past our fighters, and why did the Separatists only send a single one? It's probably noth-"

Then he felt it. Raw hate, all being released at once. He'd only felt that hate once before. No.

A panicked voice burst onto the bridge communication channel, confirming his suspicions. "Code Red," the soldier screamed, "we have a code red near the left hull-" the comm link suddenly, and horribly, cut out.

Dodonna rose to his feet. "All Stormtroopers to the left hull," he ordered. "We must protect the bridge at all costs."

"No!" Qui-gon shouted. "I've fought him. The Stormtroopers have no chance against someone like him. They'd be wasting their lives."

"So what do you propose we do?" Dodanna shot back. 

"Stand and fight," Qui-gon replied with grim certainty. "That way, at the very worst, only we have to die."

"That's your plan?" Dodanna asked, sneering. "I'm commanding officer. I'm responsible for this fleet. I can't die here. We're heading for the escape pods."

And against all protestations, he stormed out of the bridge. Qui-gon moved to follow him, but stopped. The Sith wasn't after Dodanna(Qui-gon hoped); he was after him. Qui-gon Jinn breathed in, strode to the center of the bridge, and sat down. He closed his eyes and submerged into the Force- for what he hoped wasn't the last time.



Obi-wan advanced forwards, towards the gates to the Royal Palace. A hailstorm of laserfire came at him; he deflected it with practiced ease. A volley of fire from the Stormtroopers sent the Clones scattering. With a tremendous push, Obi-wan heaved the massive doors open. The great hall spread out before them. A squad of Clones took defensive positions, leveling their weapons; suddenly, they parted. An older man, gray yet still with an aura of power, strode forwards. Count Dooku.

Obi-wan leveled his lightsaber. "Count," he declared, "you are under arrest for treason against the Republic. Will you come quietly?"

Dooku ignited his lightsaber, its blade bright yellow, by way of response. 

Chaos surrounded them, Clones and Stormtroopers exchanging fire, but Obi-wan only had one target. The two men charged each other, Dooku's age clearly not having erased his physical prowess, and clashed. Obi-wan launched a series of probing stabs; Dooku blocked them effortlessly. Obi-wan changed tactics, launching full on assault, his lightsaber battering the Count's weapon, driving the man back. Dooku backed towards the wall, his opponent's weapon not far behind.

It was all an illusion. Seamlessly, Dooku sidestepped one of Obi-wan's strikes, his lightsaber lashing out with blinding speed in response. Obi-wan caught his opponent's blade on his hilt, but only just- he could feel the heat of the lightsabers against his face. Before he could react, the Count's foot expertly shot up; Obi-wan felt a blinding pain in his knee. He sunk to a kneeling posture, Dooku towering above him. Even now, Obi-wan's youthful vitality was an advantage; a younger opponent would have already smashed his last-ditch defense. Still, though, Dooku steadily pushed his weapon towards the Jedi. Was this the end?

Suddenly, Obi-wan felt a stab of horror. Not from Dooku. Qui-gon. Despite himself- he lowered his guard. No. Panic gripped him. Was this the end? How could he have been so stupid?

He braced himself for a blow that never came. As he looked up, Dooku's eyes met his. The other man was frozen, his lightsaber still above Obi-wan's head. After what felt like an eternity, he shook his head slightly; the blade retreated back into the weapon. "Go," he said. "He was my apprentice." He turned on his heels and hurried away. Obi-wan lay there, in stunned silence, before forcing himself up.

The Stormtrooper commander, Cody if Obi-wan recalled correctly, came up to him. "Sir," he asked, "do we pursue?"

"No, commander," Obi-wan replied. He looked up to the sky. "Our command ship is under attack.



With a clatter, the severed head of the Stormtrooper hit the floor; Maul stepped over the corpse, lightsaber glowing. The rest of the squad, panicked, retreated behind a set of blast doors, which began to slide shut ever so sluggishly. With a lazy flick of his wrist, Maul stopped them in their tracks; blue lightning burst from his other hand, sending the squad to the ground, screaming. The Sith Lord was on them in an instant, his lightsaber deadly and beautiful, tracing a path of red and death with practiced grace. He ached to, to, desecrate the corpses, hit them with lightning, it never seemed enough. But no. There were other targets. Speaking of...

A man in an official-looking uniform, escorted by Stormtroopers, rounded the bend. His face paled. "What the hell," he demanded, "how did he get this far?" Panicking, he turned and fled.

Maul cut through his escort like wheat and a chaff. Reaching his hand out with the Force, he caught the fleeing Admiral and lifted him into the air. Tears streamed down his face; Maul noted a wet spot on his pants. "Wh-why?" he choked out.

Maul regarded him with contempt. "Were my people," he spat out, "as scared as you are now when you burned them from your flying fortresses like the cowards you are?" Recognition dawned on the Admiral's face; Maul pulled him forwards, lightsaber out.

As the man sunk to the ground, the Sith closed his eyes. All that was left was the Bridge. And- a Jedi. For the first time in over a decade Maul allowed himself a smile. There would be no mistakes this time.

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Chapter 12: Fear and Anger

Anakin Skywalker guessed it had been around half an hour had passed since he had realized he had never known true fear.

He had been scared before, certainly. Scared of walking in on one of Watto's drunken rages, scared of Sebulba getting more enthusiastic than usual in his beatings, scared of being sold to someone else, into the unknown. But through all of it, he had kept going; he had walked into the room, he had met Sebulba's gaze without flinching. Not like now. He was sitting on the floor of the cargo hold, staring at the door, immobile. His hands were clenched into fists beside him, knuckles white; it was all he could do to keep his breath in control. He had never wanted anything in his life more, it seemed, than to not leave the room.

"The- I don't here fighting." That was Padme, speaking for the first time since this nightmare started. In the back of his mind, Anakin admired her composure; she sat upright, calmly, the only indication of what she felt a quiver in her voice. "Can you find where he is?"

Anakin was shaken out of his stupor. He tried and failed to quiet the terror; he needn't have bothered. The intruder was bathed in pure, undisguised hatred. And it was moving away.

"I think he's heading for the bridge," Anakin said flatly. Towards Qui-gon. He dismissed the notion. Don't be a fool. Qui-gon wouldn't have wanted that. "I think- if we hurry, we can reach the escape pods."

They burst out of the room, passing scene after scene of pure carnage. Stormtroopers lay scattered on the floor like rag dolls; Anakin nearly tripped over a severed, armored forearm. He clenched and unclenched his fist. They ran through corridors filled with dead men whose faces were frozen with sheer terror.

The door to the escape pod bay slid open; Padme darted in ahead of him. Anakin didn't move.

She turned to him. "Anakin? Come o-"

"I hate this."

"What?"

"I hate this. Being powerless." He pointed behind him. "Qui-gon, my master, the man who freed me from slavery, is back there, fighting, and here I am, running away."

"Maybe he'll win," Padme offered, edging closer to an escape pod. 

Anakin shook his head. "You saw that man on Tatooine. We both did. He was better, more powerful."

"Then what can you DO?!" Padme demanded, desperation finally breaking into her voice. Anakin ignored her. Turning on his heels, he marched back, towards the bridge and his destiny. If he was honest with himself, the fear was still there. But something else was there, too. It grew with every corpse he passed- every man who would never see his family again, cut down by a Dark Lord of the Sith with nothing but a blaster at his side. By what right does he take their lives? 

Anakin's stride quickened into a run.



The doors to the bridge slid open. Qui-gon Jinn rose from his meditation, meeting the Sith's glare with his own steely gaze.

"So this is where you were," Maul sneered. "Hiding in the bridge as your men were slaughtered. Not much has changed in your order since Dathomir."

Dathomir. Yet again, the Jedi were paying for that sin. "Did killing them ease your pain?" 

"It was the greatest moment of my life," Maul retorted, the uneasy edge to his voice betraying his false bravado, "but not half as great as killing you."

"I'm sorry."

The Sith looked taken aback. "What did you say?"

"I know you're too far down the dark path for this to matter," Qui-gon said evenly, "but that doesn't change the fact that what the Republic did to your people, and the Jedi doing nothing, were inexcusable. So I'm sorry."

Maul's eyes widened. "How-" his lips curled into a snarl. Igniting both sides of his lightsaber, he hurled himself at the Jedi Master. Qui-gon's blade rose to meet him.

Qui-gon blocked Maul's initial strike, his arms nearly buckling under the pressure of the younger man's attack. He retreated across the bridge, maintaining a defensive stance. Maul advanced, swinging his lightsaber in wide arcs; sparks flew as Maul dragged his blades across the computers that lined the room. He launched into a spinning somersault with his lightsaber in front, knocking Qui-gon's blade aside; the Jedi reflexively jumped back, Maul's blade passing mere inches from his face. 

Qui-gon regained his balance, his saber darting up and catching Maul's own blade. "I understand your rage," Qui-gon shouted, "but this won't ease my pain?"

"Then what will?" the Sith roared, knocking Qui-gon's lightsaber aside in a sudden surge of strength. The Jedi cried out in pain as his opponent's saber seared his forearm. Rebalancing, he lunged at Maul's defenses; their blades clashed for a split second, before Qui-gon threw himself back, recovering his defensive stance.

"You could still end this," he said. "Forget all this happened, turn away from this path!"

"SHUT UP!" Maul swung his lightsaber up, and Qui-gon caught it again. Every bone in the Sith's body strained as he pushed at Qui-gon's braced muscles with all his hatred. The Jedi could feel his strength being sapped, his muscles quivering, his body screaming at him to just give in. Maul could feel it too. With a predatory grin, he redoubled his attack, pushing his blade closer and closer to his rival. 

This is the end. Qui-gon felt the strife within him fade. I accept my end. I accept my sacrifice that others may escape. Others...

Anakin. His eyes widened in shock. What was the boy doing?

It was the last thing he ever felt. Like lightning, Maul reversed his grip on his weapon. Before Qui-gon could react, his opponent's blade lunged towards him. A burning pain seared through Qui-gon's chest. He heard a clatter next to him; it felt so far away. The fssst of a lightsaber retracting sounded somewhere far away. He felt nothing.



Anakin heard it before he saw it. Something clattering. It could only be- No. He dismissed the thought. Rushing into the bridge- he saw it. 

Qui-gon Jinn lay crumpled on the ground, lightsaber by his side, the Sith Lord standing over him in triumph.

Anakin could have felt a lot of things. The desire to flee. Blame for himself. Devastation. Instead, he felt only one- it wasn't really a feeling, so much as it was a need.

Reflexively, his hand reached out, as his mind zeroed in on the weapon that had once belonged to the man who would have been his master. It hurtled into his hand; green light burst from it once more. Anakin let out a bloodcurdling, guttural howl: "I'LL KILL YOU!" He hurled himself at Maul, seeing only his master and the one who killed him.

The Sith Lord turned towards him, in utter shock. He barely rose his blade in time to block Anakin's first strike. The boy let out another cry, bludgeoning Maul's blade with his own. The Sith took one step back, then another, then another, each of Anakin's frenzied blows a tide that eroded his defenses. Yes. Yes! He was doing it. He was-

A spin from his opponent's blade swept his lightsaber to the side. Maul's foot rose up. smashing into Anakin's stomach, the wind flying out. Anakin slid across the floor, being brought to a stop by a chair. He gasped for air, the fear now rising within him. Looking up, he expected death.

It never came. Maul was staring silently at him, seeming almost... frozen. The idea of flight sprung into Anakin's mind. No. If I give into fear I lose. He pushed himself to his feet and charged again.

His assault seemed to end his opponent's stupor. Maul ignited his second blade, rising up his weapon to meet Anakin's with a practiced ease. The two forms were frozen in combat, Anakin struggling to push against the Sith's seemingly effortless defense. As he stood there, with a weapon he had never wielded, against an opponent who had felled the most powerful Jedi he had ever seen, an awful realization washed over Anakin. This is how I die.

Maul seemed to confirm this idea. He twisted his weapon up, his second blade arcing towards Anakin's arm. Before the boy could react his opponent sliced through his wrist like butter. Anakin screamed; the feeling of his hand had been replaced by a pure, white-hot agony. He tried to think; the pain triumphed over all. Nothing seemed to matter anymore; nothing except making the pain stop.

Maul pushed out his arm; his opponent was lifted off the ground and slammed against the bridge's viewport. He slid to the ground, his body refusing to response to his pleas for movement.The Sith moved towards him, almost haltingly, his lightsaber the sign of the end. Anakin closed his eyes, waiting for the end. At least he had gotten off of Tatooine.

A single blaster shot rang out; Maul stumbled, pain etched across his face. Anakin looked up. Padme stood there, a blaster in her shaking hands, firing shot after shot at the Sith. Maul turned, his blade flashing as he deflected shot after shot, nursing a blaster burn on his leg. Suddenly, the red was joined by flashes of blue. Obi-wan?



As Obi-wan Kenobi hurled himself at Maul, lightsabers crackling, Padme rushed to Anakin's side. She cradled him in her arms; he was groaning. "It will be okay," she reassured. "Everything will be all right." As she soothed him, part of her realized how pathetic it must have sounded; the other part, though, didn't care. "You're safe now. We're safe."

Maul and Obi-wan remained locked in struggle; the Sith's leg wound slowed him down. Maul sent out a wave of the Force, sending Obi-wan stumbling back. It was all he needed; the Sith turned and vanished into the bowels of the ship. Obi-wan turned around, his eyes falling on the corpse of his Master. He collapsed to the floor.



The Republic fleet was in disarray. From its Lucrehulks, the Separatist armada had focused a counterattack on the center of the enemy lines; with contact mysteriously lost with the Command Ship, the Republic's defense turned into a mess. With its center decimated by Vulture Droids, the left and right flanks of the fleet were drifting, like useless appendages.

"My Count," Lot Durd, the fleet's Nemoidian Admiral, said from the Separatist flagship's bridge, "the enemy fleet is in complete confusion. Now is our chance to-"

"Initiate a complete withdraw," Count Dooku interjected, his voice stiff. "We have been granted a-" he took in a breath- "an unprecedented opportunity. We must not waste it. Send the fleet into hyperspace and leave me."

As he watched the space around him be consumed by the blue of hyperspace, the new leader of half of the galaxy let the tears flow freely.

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Chapter 13: End of a Master


Anders Valorum hadn't met his daughter's eyes since she had returned. for Padme, that was the worst thing of all. She could handle rage, or shouting, or even disappointment- but not knowing? That was worse than simple rage ever could be.

Sitting across from her father at the breakfast table, she finally spoke up. "I'm sorry."

Whatever response she had been expecting, it wasn't what she got. "Finally," her father responded, almost wryly. "I was wondering when you'd say it."

Padme almost choked. "You were staying silent like it was a game?" she demanded. 

"You're in no position to get angry," her father replied flatly. "What were you thinking?"

"I wanted to do something."

"Like getting yourself killed? Do you think I want that? Do you think the Republic wants that?"

"It's better than-" she blurted, then stopped herself.

"Better than what?" Valorum asked calmly, steel in his eyes. She didn't respond. "BETTER THAN WHAT?"

She jumped slightly. "Better than- better than sitting in an office all day doing nothing. Like you." Valorum looked about to respond; with a forcefulness that shocked even her, Padme continued. "I saw slavery on Tatooine. I saw people under our protection who had given up all hope because our officials were bribed. Where were we for them?"

"What would you have me do?" Valorum demanded. "Kill all the corrupt officials? Send Stormtroopers to kill Jabba the Hutt, who we have a treaty with? I'm limited by Republic law." She was silent. "What would you have me DO?!"

"I don't know." It was a lie, but she thought, a needed one. Her father wouldn't like to hear her thoughts. Change the law.



The first thing Anakin felt as he regained consciousness was softness. That was strange. The bridge wasn't soft. Was this-

A kindly voice cut through his thoughts. "It seems he's awake." His eyes blinked open, meeting those of a middle-aged woman in a white coat, hair done back in a bun. "Do you feel your hand?" she asked.

My hand... my hand... no... It all came flooding back. Haltingly, he raised his arm and was greeted with the sight of metal fingers. His fist clenched and unclenched before his eyes, almost of its own accord; his mind was swimming. Qui-gon...

He sunk back into his bed, sobs wracking his body like never before.



Obi-wan had never expected, nor wanted, Qui-gon's funeral to be like this.

It had all the trappings of a traditional Jedi funeral, to be sure. The entire Order stood in a semicircle, first Masters, then Knights, then Padawans. At the center of it all, a massive pyre burned Qui-gon's body, as his soul became one with the Force. It was impossible, though, to ignore what was different. Stormtroopers stood at attention on either side of the ceremony; this was now a military funeral, as well as one for a Jedi. A pall hung over the ceremony; Mace Windu and Yoda had been conversing in a hushed tone during all of the proceedings.

The smoke began to dissipate, as his Master was reduced to ashes. The Stormtroopers snapped to attention, marching out of the temple. The members of the Order followed in a trickle. Obi-wan weaved his way through them. The charred corpse that had once been his Master and best friend would have been hard to look at had it been recognizable; all Obi-wan could do was picture Qui-gon's face. The tears didn't come; he had cried them all on the voyage back to Coruscant. His Master dead and for what? Oh, they were calling it a victory, with Naboo being liberated. Anyone at the battle could tell you the truth. The Separatist fleet, outnumbered ten to one, had been able to escape mostly intact. Another victory like this and the war will be lost.

"Obi-wan." A high pitched yet wizened voice interrupted his reverie. He turned around, and was greeted by the hunched form of Master Yoda. "For your loss, sorry I am. Sadness, Jedi are not supposed to feel, but..." he shifted on his cane. "Now, inevitable it is."

Obi-wan simply nodded; he didn't know what there was to say.

"Difficult, in this time it is," Yoda continued, "but the matter of Anakin Skywalker, we must discuss."

"He will need a new Master," Obi-wan replied hoarsely. "I don't-"

"You, it will be." Obi-wan greeted Yoda's interjection with stunned silence.

Finally, he spoke up. "Me?"

"Sell yourself short, you do, hmmm?" Yoda smiled knowingly. "Qui-gon's will, it was. Confidence in you, he had."

"I don't know if I-"

Yoda gently waved his hand. "Right, he i-was. Your apprentice, Skywalker shall be." His brow furrowed with mild effort. "Ah. Time to meet your apprentice, I sense." With that, he hobbled away.

Obi-wan stood as if anchored to the floor, until a familiar figure entered through the door.

"I've been told-" Anakin Skywalker said stiffly.

"That I'm your Master," Obi-wan replied. "As an Order we teach two control your emotions. But you're not technically in the Order yet." He moved towards his apprentice, wrapping him into a hug. Anakin's arms hung limply by his sides, in shock, before he tentatively met his Master's embrace.



What a disappointment, thought Darth Sidious, lingering in the shadows of a fallen Knight's funeral. His apprentice had shown so much promise- and all to be humbled by a spoiled rich girl who had never held a blaster. Maul really was a mad dog- pure destruction, with no direction. All that work, wasted.

The Knight- Obi-wan Kenobi- finally released his new apprentice from his embrace. They exchanged words- meaningless drivel, Sidious knew- and the Master departed. The Palawan approached the corpse of the man who would be his Master. The Sith Lord leaned in. It was almost imperceptible- but the boy clenched his fist. Sidious smiled. Perhaps it wasn't a waste after all.

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It has been three years since the Galaxy descended into civil war.
The Republic, led by Chancellor Valorum, seeks to reassert control
over the corporation-planets of the Separatist Alliance, led by the former
Jedi Knight Count Dooku. Families are torn apart, planets despoiled, livelihoods
ruined- the Galaxy bleeds. On Coruscant, dissatisfaction rises against the Jedi Order,
once revered as guardians of peace. The Jedi themselves fear the return of the mysterious
and sinister Sith Lords.

There is, however, hope. A Republic fleet has succeeded in breaking through Separatist defenses
and now stands poised to strike the key Separatist world of Geonosis, known for its resources needed
for the production of the Separatist's Clone Army. The coming battle could prove decisive for the future of
the entire Galaxy...

Chapter 1: The Battle of Geonosis

The massive blue tunnel of hyperspace seemed to consume the bridge of the ship, bathing it in light. The sense of calm this imparted clashed with the actual atmosphere; tension gripped the men and women of the bridge, as it did in every bridge of the Republic fleet. Anyone who said they had grown used to what had been termed the "hellish hour" was lying. No one could ever truly get over the impending dread of an event that had such a high probability of killing them. And the probability of death in a battle of the Clone War was high indeed.

Admiral Mitsuki Sato, standing in front of the thronelike chair in the center of the room, hands clasped behind her back, had grown used to masking this dread. That, she reasoned, was one of her responsibilities as a commander. "Prepare to exit hyperspace," she ordered evenly. "All crew, battle stations." The hyperspace tunnel receded around them, the target of the most ambitious(not to mention important) offensive of the war came into view. Geonosis.

Sato's eyes darted to the bridge's viewscreen, as her fleet exited light speed one by one. Star Destroyers, the backbone of the Republic's fleets. Star Carriers, each holding tens of thousands of Tie Fighters. Star Frigates, quick and nimble. And her own ship: The Pride of the Core, the first of what was being called a Star Dreadnought. The Republic had spared no expense for this operation.

Glancing at the enemy fleet, she noted with relief that the Republic's speed had payed off. The Separatist fleet defending Geonosis was outnumbered by over three to one; they clearly hadn't been expecting the Republican Navy to tear out of the Core so quickly. Let's keep it that way, Sato thought, drawing in her breath. "Frigates to the flanks," she barked, "First and Third Carrier Flotillas, with them. Destroyers, begin laying down fire!" It was a tried and true tactic exploiting the weakness of the Separatist Destroyer; while absurdly heavily armored to their front, their rears were drastically under equipped. When they were outnumbered, overwhelming them was simple.

Apparently, the Separatists could see it too. As the Star Carriers released a swarm of Tie Fighters, a small group of Separatist Cruisers peeled off from the main fleet. Sato reacted instantly. "13 Star Destroyer Wing, tail those cruisers," she demanded. "Don't let them jump." It went without saying that the Separatist's communications had been jammed; their high command would discover the situation eventually, but it was best to put that off for as long as possible. As the Separatist fleet crumbled under pressure from the Ties and Destroyers, Sato shook her head; who tries to jump into hyperspace in open battle anymore? Making that jump required all of a ship's energy; with no shields any commander with a modicum of competence would cripple it long before it made the jump. The Separatists never had a chance.

She picked up her comm link. "Enemy fleet cleared. General Windu, ground assault can begin."



Mace Windu's familiar voice read out commands mechanically, filling the interior of the gunships as they swarmed from the bays of the troopships. "Legions 1-55, assault the surface capitol. Legions..." his voice droned on, as if it was some schoolmaster's speech at a graduation no one wanted to be at. As if it was anything but men being informed how they would die. Finally, the fated words filled the lead gunship. "Legions 500 and 501, attack the anti-air formations around the catacombs."

The dread that had been building in Anakin Skywalker's stomach exploded all at once. The Separatists would have fortified their anti-air most of all. It would be a slaughter. Once, a different man would have snarled in rage and frustration. It wasn't fair! This was the second time in a row the 501st had been assigned to AA duty. He was no longer that man, however. He was a Jedi, a leader of men- men that, unlike him, did not have a lightsaber.

He turned to his adjutant in the 501st, Captain Rex, who, like most Stormtroopers, had elected to keep his helmet off until absolutely necessary. Their eyes met; Rex nodded grimly. The pair had fought through hundreds of battles on hundreds of systems; any terror had been beaten out of them. The rest of the 501st were keeping it together as well. Their reputation as the elites of the Grand Army of the Republic was well-deserved. Clearly, though, it was a double edged sword.

The Gunship's bay doors opened; the grim resolve evaporated. Spread out before them was a scene out of hell. Tie Bombers, Gunships, even a few Frigates swarmed around a hulking mountain that had once been grey but now was bristling with steel. Geonosis's famous cloning facility. Each laser blast sent a tremor through the planet's surface, hurling vast clouds of dust into the air. Laser fire emanated from the mountain, too; a Star Frigate buckled under the pressure, hurtling to the ground wrapped in flames. Before the mountain extended a vast desert, crossed with countless trenches manned by Clones bred only to kill. And on the highest peak: the anti-air formation. This was Geonosis.

A woman's voice from the back of the ship expressed what everyone was thinking: "We have to take that?"

Anakin turned around, speaking almost automatically. "Yes," he replied, "and we will take that. We'll take it, together, because the alternative is death. And I swear on my honor as a Jedi that today is not the day we die! We'll take that mountain, and live!" He ignored the part of him that knew his bravado was false. Fortunately, the Stormtrooper didn't seem to notice, slipping on her helmet; the rest of the 501st followed suit. The Gunship lowered to the ground, at the foot of the mountain.

The 501st charged out to be met by a hail of fire. With practiced ease, Anakin sliced through the laser fire. Behind him, his squad advanced, spread out in a group, crawling, partially concealed by dust. Intellectually he knew the strategy saved lives; in the moment, with screams of agony bursting from men and women he had been promising to protect less than a minute ago, it seemed comically foolish.

His eyes caught another blade of blue light in the makeshift sandstorm. Obi-wan. Sure enough, his(soon to be former) Master emerged from the cloud, deflecting shot after shot. Their eyes met. "We can't keep up like this!" Obi-wan bellowed. He was right; the usual strategy, of using the Jedi as magnets for fire, clearly was failing in the face of overwhelming enemy firepower.

"So clear the trench!" Anakin yelled back. The pair dashed forwards, the first Separatist trench quickly approaching. They landed in it back to back, Clone defenders struggling to retreat. Lightsabers flashing, they advanced methodically; any acknowledgement of the Clones as anything other than the enemy was long gone. Stormtroopers reached the edge of the trench, spitting blaster fire down into the chaos. Clone resistance melted away.

The 501st, now mixed interchangeably with Obi-wan's men, collapsed into the trenches. Men and women from all across the Core lay together in shared relief, and tried to ignore the path that this trench was just one of dozens standing between them and their goal. Obi-wan and Anakin didn't have that luxury. The younger Jedi peeked over the top of the trench. The view from the gunship hadn't really done the sandstorm on the ground justice. He wasn't even secure in the direction the enemy was in. They'd have to... no...

The flashes of electrical light gave him a warning of one second as to the onslaught to come. A horde of lithe, armored figures stormed into the trench. Clone Commandos, genetically modified to be killers. Magnaguards. One caught Anakin's lightsaber on its deadly electrostaff; cries of shock and fear filled the trench as the Magnaguards cut through the unprepared Stormtroopers like scythes. Pain seared up in Anakin's calf; the next instant Obi-wan was there, decapitating the Magnaguard whose staff had moments before been boring into the Jedi's leg. After a wordless glance, they threw themselves back into battle. Anakin sliced through the metallic handle of a Magnaguard's staff, a nearby explosion throwing him off balance. Wait... that means...

An eardrum-shattering blast seemed to explode all around him. Earth was flung up all around him as his world became black.



Anakin strode through the sickbay of the Pride of the Core, ignoring the protestations of the nurses calling after him. Truthfully, his head was still pounding, but that didn't matter. He was an officer of the Grand Army of the Republic, and he had a job to do. 

Suddenly, someone caught his eye; he stopped. It was the Stormtrooper from before; she lay propped against the wall, hugging her legs to her chest. What really froze the Jedi were her eyes. They stared straight ahead, unmoving, unresponsive. 

We'll take that mountain and live. Damn liar. He banished these thoughts from his head, and strode out the door.



"What happened?" Mace Windu's fearsome reputation was, Mitsuki Sato decided, well founded. How the other Jedi maintained his composure in the face of it baffled her.

"What happened was," Obi-wan Kenobi replied evenly, "we launched an attack on a Separatist trench system in the midst of a sandstorm! Just what did you think was going to happen when we used orbital bombardment on a desert?"

Windu, apparently bereft of a response, turned on Sato. "How close are the Separatists?" He demanded.

Sato didn't flinch. "Our scout ships report a large enough fleet to disrupt surface operations no more than three days away." She let that hang in the air; both Obi-wan and Windu paled. Three days was hardly any leeway at all.

Windu ignored the sound of an opening door that heralded the arrival of Anakin Skywalker. "Then our only option," he declared, "is a full-scale assault on the entrance to the Geonosian mining facilities. It will-"

"WHAT?" Anakin had stopped dead in his tracks, fists clenched. "I just saw my soldiers broken because of your stupid plan! The only thing they have left is the fact that they're not going back there, and you want to take that from them too!" Obi-wan rested his hand on his forehead, sighing.

"There is no other option!" Mace retorted. "Either we take the mine in the next three days or we lose everything we worked for, making the whole operation pointless!"

"There is another choice." An aristocratic voice cut through the argument. Mace, Sato, Anakin, and Obi-wan turned and saluted stiffly.

Grand Admiral Willhuff Tarkin exuded class and menace, even in the form of a hologram. His thin face, aquiline nose, and beady eyes gave him the appearance of a predator. It had been he who had designed the strategy for the Republic's grand offensive; he opted to simply destroy Separatist fleets, while leaving their Clone garrisons to starve. 

"And what might that be, Grand Admiral?" Mace asked stiffly.

"We have total orbital supremacy, do we not?" Tarkin asked nonchalantly. "We could simply bombard the mine from space until the falling rocks seal it off."

The room was silent. Finally, Mace said: "There are civilians in that mine. Innocent civilians-"

"Your so-called civilians are working day in and day out to produce the Clone soldiers that kill our brave troops every day," Tarkin sneered. "They are traitors to the Republic. You wouldn't be prioritizing traitors over our soldiers?" His expression of righteous distaste showed no indication of being false but for the experience of those with him.

"I forbid it," Mace declared. "You know military law as well as I: you need the approval of a Jedi for something like this."

The old approval clause. Sato grimaced. It had been introduced by the Jedi as condition for their support of the war effort. They wouldn't-

"I'll give support."

Everyone in the room froze. It was Anakin.

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Chapter 2: Operation Durge's Lance

 

The Separatist Battleship Devastation sailed past the ruins of a once mighty fleet. Trailing behind it was the naval might of the Confederacy of Independent Systems; Frigates, Battleships, Carriers, and guarded by a vast cloud of Vulture Droids. Behind them was what had once been the Republican Navy's Eighth Fleet, now so much rubble. As the Separatist fleet proceeded towards its target, the Hypori System, what had once been the mighty gatekeepers of the Core Worlds faded into the vacuum of space, indistinguishable from the stars.

 

It was imperceptible under his ghoulishly white mask, but Supreme Commander Qymaen Jai Shaleel was smiling. The Republic's soldiers, he had heard, had taken to calling him "General Grievous"; good. Let them fear me. For him, no greater pleasure existed than being feared by the scum who had confined him to this cage of a body.

 

"Supreme Commander," a Nemoidian technician said tentatively, "Hologram call from Mustafar. It seems to be urgent." He seems to lack none of his species' survival instinct, Qymaen thought, as he answered the call. Seeing those on the other line, he fought the urge to curse. It was the Separatist Council; the people in the entirety of the galaxy he wanted to see least of all.

 

"Commander Shaleel!" blustered Geonosian Archduke Poggle the Lesser over hologram, jowls shaking lightly with anger, "what is the meaning of this? Republic Stormtroopers sit in my palace, eating my food, no doubt bedding my harem-" I doubt that, Qymaen thought, mind turning to the "beauties" of Geonosis- "and where were you?" Poggle the Lesser continued. "Where was your fleet?"

 

A thousand replies flashed through Qymaen's head. I am not one of those pathetic bugs you call your subjects, Archduke. You do not scare me. Or: On Kalee we have flowers more intimidating than you, Archduke. Or he could even simply crush Poggle's stupid, ugly skull in the massive talons adorning his feet. Qymaen Jai Shaleel, however, had not become the terror of the Republic because he was reckless or stupid(the indignities he suffered through to avenge his honor and people!) so instead, he replied haltingly: "I was winning the war, Archduke. Our fleets have seized Hypori, the gates to the Core. The road to Alderaan lies open."

 

"You think I care about Alderaan?" Poggle demanded. "I had to sleep on MUSTAFAR last night!"

 

"Regardless of Poggle's sleeping arrangements," Wat Tambor interjected, "Geonosis was vital to our war effort. The loss of its cloning facilities are a grave blow, to be sure."

 

"Which is why it was so effective as bait," Qymaen replied flatly. After the raging Archduke had been escorted out of the room, he continued: "The Republic were so eager to take Geonosis they badly weakened their own defenses. Now, the linchpin of their defenses has been pierced. There are other Geonosises- Kamino, for one. And yet, the Republic only has one world we must take to utterly break them."

 

Realization dawned on the face of Nute Gunray; "Alderaan," he breathed, looking like a preschooler who had learned that two and two made four. 

 

"Alderaan," confirmed a deep, stately voice, this time from behind Qymaen. Count Augustinias Dooku, leader of the Separatist Alliance and one of the few humans alive Qymaen respected. "The Organa family, like many of the so-called nobility of the Core, got rich from the resources of their home planet. Now, those resources feed the Republic's fleets. If we take Alderaan-"

 

"-we ensure that the Republic has no fleet," Qymaen finished. 

 

"The sacrifice of Geonosis will not be forgotten," Dooku declared with a sweep of his hand, "but we must not forget that we are an alliance. Any sacrifices made by our members will be rewarded when we are all free from the crushing yoke of the Republic." If Qymaen Jai Shaleel had cared, he might have pointed out the irony of the Count's statement. Qymaen Jai Shaleel, however, most definitely did not care.

 

As the holograms shut off, the pair turned to the Devastation's viewport; as expected, the laser fire on Hypori was dying down, as the last pockets of Republican resistance were annihilated. "We're taking a massive risk," Dooku warned. "If this doesn't work-"

 

"This is our only hope," Qymaen responded. "You know that. Our Clone armies mean nothing without naval superiority; the campaigns in the Mid Rim proved this. Alderaan will be a battle neither of us can afford to lose." His insectoid face twisted with a smile under his mask again. "Just the way I like it."

 

The Separatist fleet moved into their occupation formation. Operation Durge's Lance, or what would go down in history as the First Core Campaign of the Clone Wars, had begun.

 

 

 

The Mon Calamari Senator sunk to the ground, eyes wide with terror, as the red lightsaber raked across his gills. As he writhed around on the ground, slowly suffocating to death, Maul turned away from his latest victim. Striking blow after blow against the Senate, epicenter of the accursed Republic, should have thrilled him. And yet, it was getting so... monotonous. There was no satisfaction in slaughtering a bunch of morons who thought it was a good idea to take their Star Yachts on pleasure cruises in the midst of civil war. Of course, his Master had impressed upon him the need to lay low after the Battle of Naboo. Naboo...

 

With a snarl, he turned on what had become the corpse of the murdered Senator, lightning bursting from his fingers. It hurled the corpse against the Yacht's hull, as it snaked into the vessel's air vents. Finally, Maul sunk to the floor, exhausted. The infuriating face of that boy flashed before him, mocking him. The howl of grief he let out upon seeing Maul murder his master still rang in the Sith's ears. Why couldn't he get the brat out of his head? Why did he care?

 

His audio transmitter let out its telltale crackle. Master. His fingers darted over to the device, the representation of the only contact with another human being he had had for over a decade. As his fingers brushed the activation button, the voice of his master, garbled by the communication device, filled the room. "Report, my apprentice."

 

"Senator Cilan Ackbar is dead, Master," Maul responded, trying to keep the discomfort out of his voice. Evidently, he failed.

 

"Something... disturbs you, apprentice?" Darth Sidious asked.

 

No use in hiding it. "Master," he began, "I understand the need to hide after Naboo. But I tire of this! Slaughtering Senators is nothing more than busywork, I need-"

 

"The Skywalker boy bothers you," Sidious replied. It was not a question. "Why?"

 

"I don't know," Maul responded, truthfully(though, he wasn't sure he wanted to know). "I just- I hate him! I want him dead!" Dead, or out of mind? He dismissed the idea.

 

A chuckling came from the other side of the comm link. "Well, my apprentice," said Sidious, "I have a new assignment. One you may prefer."

 

"Where?" Maul tried and failed to mask the apprehension in his voice.

 

"Tatooine."

 

 

 

Obi-wan found his apprentice staring out the Pride of the Core's viewport at the blue of the hyperspace tunnel in his bedchambers. The Republic's fleet was returning to Coruscant- something about a new Separatist offensive- but not before a cloud of Star Destroyers reduced the Cloning facility to rubble. Obi-wan had felt the voices of the workers cry out in terror, and felt them, over the course of minutes, slowly and excruciatingly be silenced. He knew Anakin had felt it too.

 

He shut the sliding door behind him, fully entering the bedroom. "Anakin." His apprentice turned, regarding him silently. His eyes were red; he had been crying.

 

"What does the Council have to say?" Anakin asked evenly. 

 

"They're apparently having a hearing for you;" at this dread flashed across Anakin's face. "Don't worry," Obi-wan continued, raising his hand to his apprentice's shoulder, "I can represent you there if you wish."

 

Anakin raised his head, meeting his Master's eyes for the first time. "You're not angry," he observed.

 

Obi-wan sat down across from his apprentice. "I was down there with you. I saw what you saw. How could I be angry after that?" Anakin raised his eyebrows; this clearly wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting. "What?" Obi-wan asked. "You think I never lose myself? You think I'm always some perfect saint, some warrior monk? Hopefully, after three years, you know me better than that."

 

Anakin exploded. "Then why aren't we searching for him?" He didn't need to say who 'him' referred to.

 

Obi-wan's face darkened despite himself. "Anakin," he said, "there has not been a single day since Naboo where part of me doesn't want to crush that bastard for what he did to Qui-gon. But we can't let what we hate define who we are; that isn't just true of Jedi, it's true of all of us." He leaned forwards. "Anakin, how do you feel about what happened?"

 

"Terrible," Anakin replied without hesitation. "I felt every single miner who died in there. I owed it to them." He stared Obi-wan straight in the eyes. "But I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I'd do it because there wasn't another option. I'd do it because I wasn't going to send men it was my duty to protect back into that hell. What do you want me to do, just let them die?"

 

Obi-wan sat still for a long time, lost in thought. Finally, he responded. "Maybe." He swept his hand gently on the table, cutting off a response from Anakin he knew was coming. "Anakin, I know the Jedi Code isn't perfect. But what code is? Justice isn't perfect; it can hurt people. But it's when the Codes hurts people that it's most important to follow them; that's when the pull of the Dark Side is the strongest. I'll never be rid of the part of me that wants the quick and easy path, I don't think. I'll never be rid of the part of me that would like nothing more than to kill Darth Maul slowly and painfully. But I can resist it; and I have." He clasped his apprentice's hand in his own. "You're a strong man, Anakin, one of the strongest men I've ever known. We can and will resist this part of you together."

 

As he reached the sliding door, he turned. "By the way," he said, "you've apparently been invited to a party on Coruscant. For the successful conclusion of this campaign." He cracked a smile. "What are my commands, against an invitation from Chancellor Valorum himself?"

 

He resumed his rounds on the Pride of the Core, pushing another voice back to his subconscious. It wasn't enough.

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Chapter 3: Plagueis the Wise

The fleet had descended on Coruscant at noon; Anakin suspected the rationale was so that all of the Galaxy's Capitol could see the victory march of the Republic overshadowing all. He sat in the shuttle next to the campaign's "big names" as it exited the docking bay of the Pride of the Core. The view out the shuttle's window was... odd. After seeing so many planets whose surfaces had been scared by turbolasers, somehow the apparent normalcy of Coruscant surprised him more than anything else. Skyscrapers still towered into the sky; darkness still shrouded the planet's underworld; the Jedi Temple and Senate still stood proud. It was as if there was never a war.

With a clunk the shuttle landed at the Grand Coruscant spaceport. The gaggle of officials that filed out was an odd marriage indeed: Jedi Knights mixed with military officers. His eyes scanned the crowd arrayed before them; smiles and eagerness filled the front row. But it was all a facade; their eyes told the real story. Worry and dread, as hundreds of thousands of parents scanned the rows of soldiers looking for their children.

Tarkin said something Anakin wasn't paying attention to, about the glorious victory of the armies of the Republic at Geonosis. Then, they dispersed. Obi-wan moved up to Anakin. "I'm going to the council chamber," he said. "You know they won't like what you did. I'll do what I can."

Anakin nodded appreciatively. "Thanks," he replied. "And- I'm sorry."

Obi-wan cracked a smile. "I know." He hurried into a speeder, where two Jedi Temple guards stood at attention. He zoomed off into the metropolis.



The speeder screeched to a halt outside of the Jedi Temple; Obi-wan strode out, greeted by salutes. He hid his grimace; the militarism of society, it seemed, had spread even to the Jedi Order. What a farce. He entered the temple, taking the familiar steps to the Council Chamber. Voices rang out from within.

"It's obviously him! We don't have time for this blatant time wasting!"

"And what if it isn't? What if we-"

Shaak Ti and Plo Koon were cut off by Obi-wan's entrance; the chamber descended into silence. Once, Obi-wan would have shrunk back at the sight of eleven masters staring at him; those days were gone. He was one of them now. "Master Kenobi, something to report, you have?" Yoda asked.

Obi-wan gave a slight nod of his head."Yes, Master. I am here to defend the conduct of my Padawan, Anakin Skywalker, on Geonosis."

Mace Windu, who had apparently arrived before Obi-wan, furrowed his brow. "With respect, Master Kenobi," he began, "it would be hard to defend the actions of Skywalker. He approved the mass slaughter of Geonosian civilians."

Obi-wan opened his mouth, but was cut off by Shaak Ti. "That can't be the whole story," she declared, a note of accusation directed towards Mace.

"No, it isn't," said Kenobi, fighting back his impatience. Then he began to speak.



The speeder zoomed through Coruscant's boulevards, towards the Valorum family manor. The urban crowding of the outer city had fallen away; Skyscraper followed skyscraper, each trying to outdo the last in hiding what was below. But Anakin couldn't ignore the huddled figures, almost imperceptible on the platforms below. Bread lines.

They hurtled past the Galactic Senate, it's shadow almost blotting out the sea of protestors underneath. A buzz rose from the crowd, sounding less like a chant and more like white noise. Anakin spoke for the first time in the speeder: "What are they saying?"

"Aliens out," replied the driver matter-of-factly. "They're radical Empire Party supporters, mostly older folks who the Separatist corporations laid off when cloning was invented." He shrugged. "Seem to blame all aliens for what happened to them." He seemed to be bracing himself. "Are you Anakin Skywalker?"

Anakin raised his eyebrows, taken aback. "Yeah. Why?"

"Well..." The man's hands shook slightly on the steering wheel. "My sister's in the 501st. I know she survived the first attack; after that she went silent." He pulled to the side of the speeder lane, looking back at Anakin. "Did she survive?"

Anakin remembered the Stormtrooper in the Gunship, and in the sickbay. "Yes," he said truthfully. "I can't speak for her mental state, but she's alive." Something made him continue on. "The Jedi in command wanted to send her back into the fire. I said no." He said it quickly, as if to keep from stopping.

The man's eyes welled up. "Thank you" was all he managed, as tears streamed down his face. Anakin could have been annoyed by the delay; it didn't bother him. He fought to resist a grin from breaking out on his face; genuine euphoria flooded his body. It was the happiest he had been in a long time.



"I maintain," Mace Windu declared, "that the case of Anakin Skywalker is straightforward. He clearly defied the Code. He is lucky he's not in front of a court martial; if it were up to me and not Palpatine he would be."

"Made your opinions clear, you have, Master Windu," responded Yoda, apparently unable to hide his annoyance. 

"With respect, Masters," said Obi-wan, "none of you were there. I was. Some consideration of what my Padawan went through would be welcome."

"I still maintain it was a mistake to send Padawans to the battlefield in the first place!" argued Shaak Ti. She met Obi-wan's eyes. "How old is yours, 20, 21? They're just kids! What did we expect when we threw them into this?"

"Master Ti makes a valid point," agreed Ki Adi Mundi. "If fear leads to hate, what better cause of fear than war? War turned some of the best of our order to the Dark Side, just look at Revan."

"This is all well and good," Mace interjected, "but we can't very well withdraw all our Padawans. Chancellor Valorum has been rather insistent that all our resources be turned to the war effort."

Obi-wan shook his head. "I'm not asking for that; I know that's too much. I just ask that my Padawan be given leave from the field of battle. He needs it, not just because of the risk of turning to the Dark Side."

"I don't know," worried Shaak, "Defense Minister Palpatine has declined requests like this before. If we don't have a reason-"

Yoda's eyes twinkled. "Have a reason we do. Worried about this string of assassinations, Chancellor Valorum is."

"He wants to send his daughter to some safe sanctuary," remembered Plo Koon, "and with a Jedi bodyguard."



The speeder arrived at the Valorum Manor a little late; Anakin didn't mind. Handing the driver a wad of credits, he strode towards the gates. The structure was truly magnificent; spires reached up into the night sky, surrounding an opulent palace that wouldn't have looked out of place in an old city before humanity reached the stars. It almost made Anakin forget.

A pair of Republican Guards snapped to attention on either side of the gates; he strode through, not waiting for them to fully lurch open. The Valorum family's great hall spread before him; the size of a small plaza, dominated by a hulking spiral staircase in the center, a balcony overlooking the Coruscant skyline off to the side, it was filled with Coruscant's elites. Army and Navy officers in smart-looking military uniforms plastered with the Republic Military's trademark cubic badges, businessmen and their wives, whose dresses probably cost as much as some planets. As his eyes scanned the hall, they found, on top of the central landing, what they were looking for. Her.

Recognition flashed across Padme Valorum's face almost instantly. Her brown hair was done up in an elaborate bun, and every inch of her dress was covered with diamonds. For an excruciating moment, she stood still, staring at him. It passed in an instant. She descended the stairs, hurrying towards him, and then she was there in front of him. 

Anakin was at a loss for words. It showed. "Uh... hi," he blurted, cringing internally. "It's been a long time, huh?" Smooth, Anakin. I bet she's never heard that one before.

Padme smiled by way of response; if it was forced, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. "It's good to see you again, Anakin." She gestured to one of the great hall's many alcoves, which held an ornate, gilded sofa. As they sat down, she clasped his hand in hers. "So- how's the war?"

"I really shouldn't-"

A languid hand wave cut him off. "I'm the daughter of the Chancellor," she smirked. "I doubt I'm an intelligence risk."

Briefly, Anakin considered repeating what the Holonet was saying: glorious victory, legions of Stormtroopers marching proudly to Mustafar. But he respected Padme too much to do that. "It's hell," he spat, his vehemence surprising him. "The Separatists make each planet a fortress. We send in waves of Stormtroopers until eventually we climb over the pile of bodies to victory. I'm leading men into battle with nothing; at least I have a lightsaber. Most commanders, especially the Jedi, don't care. Anyone that does is accused of turning to the dark side." His eyes scanned the room again, his rage showing him something else. "And here you are-" his eyes fell, his face suddenly growing hot. "Sorry."

He looked up, to see Padme leaning in. "I feel like a monster," she whispered.

"What?"

"I hate this," she confessed. "I hate all of this. I can't not hate it. Not after seeing Tatooine." She let out a small, nervous giggle. "But here I am, bathed in luxury all the same. I'm a hypocritical coward."

"Don't say that!" Anakin found his hand on her arm. "You're not a coward. I've seen you. You saved my life. Would a coward do that?" He remembered Maul's howl of pain, and Padme standing there, blaster shaking in her hands.

She snorted. "But I was terrified that day. Didn't you see?"

Elation rose more and more in his chest. "Being terrified doesn't make you a coward. If anything, it makes you braver. Courage isn't being fearless. It's standing your ground despite your fear." Part of him couldn't believe what he was saying, was screaming at him to stop. It's now or never. "You're as brave as anyone I've seen, Padme."

"Hope I'm not interrupting." The singsong, aristocratic voice cut through his mood like a scythe. He looked up to see a man in his mid-20s, with jet black hair, olive skin, and an oversized mustache, looking down on him. His cape was adorned with medals and a pair of epaulets. 

"Bail," Padme breathed beside him. Anakin's heart sank. Oh. Right.

The man extended his hand to Anakin. "Bail Organa, Crown Prince of Alderaan. And who might you be, my good man?"

"Anakin Skywalker," Anakin managed. After a second, he hastily added: "Colonel, Grand Army of the Republic. And, uh, Jedi Padawan."

"Ah!" Recognition dawned on Bail's face. "Frankly, I'm honored. There were some troops from Alderaan who fought on Geonosis. You had to make a terrible decision. I hope I'll be blessed with your courage when I'm King." The mocking note Anakin thought he heard was a slap in the face. "Anyway," the Prince continued, "I'm so sorry to do this to you, but I haven't danced with my fiancee yet." Anakin said nothing; he felt Padme slip her hand from his grasp. "You see," Bail continued, "I'm leaving for Alderaan tomorrow- looks to be old General Grievous's next target- and I'd like to spend time with her." Well, sorry we were striking a mortal blow against the CIS on Geonosis, asshole, Anakin thought.

"That sounds wonderful, darling!" Padme offered; Anakin felt an almost imperceptible nudge.

"Yeah, sure. Have fun," he said, absentmindedly taking a glass of champagne from a serving droid. As they walked away, he winced. The Gala suddenly felt very stuffy.

He wandered out onto the balcony; the cold, night air whistled against the water welling in his eyes; he blinked them back. Booms sounded from the mansion behind, probably from the opera Battle of Malachor; they were fortuitous, drowning out his howl of frustration as he hurled his champagne out over the balcony. 

"Tired of the party?" A voice rang out right next to his ear.

Anakin jumped, snapping into a salute. "Defense Minister Palpatine!" 

Palpatine's face was kindly, crisscrossed with subtle wrinkles, but these betrayed the steel that was his true nature. That face now bore a hint of a smile. "At ease, Colonel," he soothed. "This is not the battlefield. This is a celebration. Although I've never been one for this kind of thing. This is for them, not for us."

"Yes, sir, I know what you mean," replied Anakin, his voice somewhat stiff. 

Palpatine leaned in closer. "I heard about what you did on Geonosis, my boy." Anakin opened his mouth; a hand from the Defense Minister cut him off. "Between you and me, you did the right thing."

Anakin was surprised. "Sir?"

Palpatine smiled, more widely this time. "Oh, don't be shocked," he chided. "After all, Tarkin is my protege, and he told me all about you." He turned away, hands folded behind his back; his posture was that of a man used to being listened to. Anakin was not going to disappoint him. "Was it hard?"

"Yes," Anakin replied immediately, "but I have a duty to my men."

Anakin could hear Palpatine's approving smile. "Good answer. We leaders have a responsibility; we don't have the luxury to do what's right. You know, when I was fighting on Dathomir, I made the same decision you did. It was worth it to see my men return home safely, even if some did cry foul."

Anakin forgot all sense of decorum. "I know what you mean," he said. "It's easy for them to talk about morals. They don't have to solve problems. They can just sit in their Star Destroyers and-" his anger petered out, lost in the cool evening breeze.

Palpatine stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Tell me, Anakin," he asked, "have you ever heard the story of King Plagueis the Wise?" Anakin said nothing; Palpatine smiled. "I thought not. It's not a story the Jedi would tell you."

Anakin took the hint. "Who was he?"

"King Plagueis," Palpatine responded, was a ruler of Muunilinst before the Republic had expanded beyond the Core Worlds; indeed, before the Jedi even existed. Plagueis ruled over a people who were backwards; they had yet to develop space travel. And yet, they were targeted by an early wave of Huttese expansion. The Hutts threatened to make Plagueis's people slaves. So Plagueis-" he paused for emphasis- "In order to save his people- drove for massive modernization. He was sensitive in the Force, and used this to crush the powerful forces that opposed him. Unfortunately, he had to kill many, many people."

Anakin was enthralled despite himself. "What happened?"

Palpatine shrugged. "He was able to repel the Hutts. The deaths of a few hundred thousand nobles saved billions from slavery." He sighed. "If PLagueis is remembered at all, it is as a tyrant. I disagree." He met Anakin's eyes. "Those with great power do not have the luxury to follow their consciences- they must use it to save those that cannot save themselves, maybe even from themselves." He put his hand on Anakin's shoulder. "You are a hero. It's one thing to sacrifice your life for others- it takes a special kind of bravery to sacrifice your conscience. Most Jedi lack that courage." He smiled. "I am proud to have known you."

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