Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Coruscant, Coruscant System

Corusca Sector

It was not long after the departure of the senatorial delegation did Yoda receive peremptory summons from the Office of the Supreme Chancellor.

The reason for the summon was without explanation, but conveyed all due urgency with the lack of protocol-approved language accepted and expected for such communications. Regardless, it wasn't a meeting he anticipated with any kind of pleasure. More and more of late it seemed the Jedi were being drawn into politics, into matters of legislation and legalese that had never been their arena.

The Jedi were sworn to uphold the Republic and protect its ideals, not entangle themselves in the fortunes of any one Chancellor.

But that thousand year paradigm had changed. Changed by Chancellor Palpatine–not because he was a bully or a strongman as some had feared he would become. Quite the contrary, in fact; Palpatine was constantly resisting the Senate's growing desire for him to assume more and more executive powers. He resisted, the Senate insisted, and he was forced to acquiesce. And every time he acquiesced, he turned once more to the Jedi for advice.

It was hardly an ideal situation. The Jedi Council was not just another branch of the executive office; a claim growing thinner every passing day, according to cynical holonews services.

But how, in good conscience, could they refuse to aid a man who had so humbly begged for their help? A man who championed them in the Senate at every opportunity, against ever louder voices? A man who had worked tirelessly for peace since assuming the highest political post in the galaxy and was now faced with the terrifying task of keeping their flagging Republic afloat?

How could the Jedi Council turn its back on such a man?

Clearly, it couldn't. Clearly, in the face of these daunting times, the Jedi must set aside their traditions and come to the aid of the man a galaxy looked to as its saviour.

But that didn't mean they had to be happy about it.

“Forgive me when I say this, Master,” Master Gallia murmured as they made their way through the bewildering maze of corridors to Supreme Chancellor Palpatine's executive suite, “But the summons only asked for you. I may find myself unwelcome.”

“Attend you will, Master Galia,” Yoda said firmly, “In these unfamiliar times, your expertise is a welcomed necessity.”

“Unwelcome times,” the Tholothian replied softly, “The very fact that my expertise is welcomed bodes poorly for our Order.”

When the Jedi Order accepted the Republic’s call to war, even the most consular Knights and Masters were forced to take up their lightsabers and depart for battle. The Jedi were oathsworn to do so. They were dying now to uphold that sacred oath. No sacrifice would be too great to ensure the survival of peace and the Republic. Master Adi Gallia would’ve been no exception, even if she was self-admittedly poor in combat and even if it took months of training to refamiliarise herself with the skills she lost.

Then came the Battle of Christophsis, and just like that Master Gallia had to stow her saber once more and resign herself to defending the standing of the Jedi Order in the halls of politics, against growing condemnation and louder denunciation. Even now, her personal war of words and favours were the only things keeping the Order’s reputation clawing itself back up the mountain from which it fell, rather than plummeting into the abyss.

For that, Yoda could never be more grateful.

Yet still, even the ancient Jedi Master had no positive response to Master Gallia’s statement. A bleak feeling, made worse as they entered the crimson opulence of the Chancellor’s suite... and as Master Adi Gallia smoothed her expression and poise into that not of a Jedi, but of a seasoned politician not one twitch out of place of the oppressive decor. Perhaps it was merely habit by now, and nothing indicative of Master Gallia’s increasing distance from the Temple, but Yoda still could not avoid the sinking feeling that he had just witnessed the death of another Jedi.

Killed, not by the enemy, but by the failures of the Order she served.

Yoda expelled himself of such dangerous thoughts, even as he took in the bleeding palette of the office antechamber. An unexpected choice of colour scheme for such an unpretentious man. He had asked the Chancellor about it, once, to satiate his curiosity.

“When I think of my new responsibilities I grow cold with fear,” Palpatine had said, “Red grants me the illusion that I am warm.”

Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila was waiting in the otherwise empty antechamber, dressed in her emblematic swan white raiment. Her face immediately brightened upon noticing their entrance, leaping to her feet to greet them.

“Master Gallia! And, of course, Master Yoda...” she breathed out, flicking her attention towards the diminutive Jedi briefly as if in afterthought, “What a mercy it is to see you again. The Chancellor’s summons must have been a surprise, but I assure you there is a good reason for them.”

Master Gallia showed none of the displeasure she displayed before, an affable cordiality gracing her features as she took the Senator’s hands and cradled them, “Likewise, Senator. We were most concerned when we recognised the unusual nature of the summon’s writing. I assume you have your suspicions concerning the subject of these summons?”

“I am afraid so, Master Jedi,” Senator Mothma nodded gravely, “A terrible revelation that could threaten everything my colleagues are striving for on Onderon.”

With the absence of Senator Organa and Senator Amidala, Mon Mothma was one of the last major pillars of the Loyalist Committee remaining on Coruscant. As a woman closely involved with the debates over many affairs not excluding the Republic’s security, it should not have been a surprise that she was also summoned.

Before Yoda or Adi could reply, the doors to Palpatine's office opened and Sly Moore stepped into the antechamber, her needle-like irises piercing as ever as she took in each of them.

"Master Jedi, Senator Mothma," she said politely, "The Supreme Chancellor will see you now."

The gravity of the situation was made apparent the moment Yoda saw the Director of Republic Military Intelligence, Armand Isard, in the office, apparently having just given a report to the Chancellor. And the Chancellor... Palpatine was in a worse state than Yoda had ever seen him in. Almost slumped in his chair, the Chancellor of the Republic tiredly massaged his forehead as he acknowledged the entrance of the Jedi, the creases of his face deep and taut with feverish anxiety.

“Master Jedi... I am afraid I had let my guard down,” Palpatine admitted, “I... I had made the grave mistake of believing being so close to peace meant we were at peace. Director Isard, could you please show our Jedi friends the images from Foerost?”

Foerost. One of the largest shipyards in the galaxy, and one that had sided with the Separatist Alliance. Republic forces had swiftly blockaded the world after the Battle of Geonosis in hope that the lack of supplies would strangle the shipyards into submission, or at least obscurity. One this was for certain; the Republic did not have the resources to assault an armed orbital structure of this calibre. If there was news coming from Foerost, Yoda thought, it could not be good.

A series of highly annotated holo-images shimmered into existence above the Chancellor’s desk, and Director Isard seized the opportunity to elaborate before any of their untrained eyes decided to ask the obvious question–what are we looking at?

“What you are seeing here,” Armand Isard spoke plainly, “Are signs of activity in all two-hundred of Foerost’s construction docks. The Techno Union is building a secret fleet five hours south of Coruscant. Considering the size of each dock and other observations, each ship is at the very least equivalent to a Providence-class dreadnought.”

Yoda stared at the floor, both hands grasping his gimer stick. What answer could he have to that? This was not what the Jedi were summoned for, no, but Yoda felt the need to say something nonetheless.

“Unforeseen was this development,” at the very least, he could assuage the Chancellor’s self-blame, “Made a mistake, we all did. We breathed out, before we were even safe.”

“Unforeseen, yes,” the Chancellor murmured as Mas Amedda shuffled into the office, “And by the Jedi as well, no less... ah, my friend, good news I hope?”

The Chagrian Vice Chair shook his head grimly, “The Oversight Committees were insistent. The Media Security Act must be passed before the Senate hears this. There is already a majority support in the committees and Core-aligned factions.”

“Bill!” Senator Mothma rebuked, “It has not been introduced to the Senate, and will remain a bill if we have anything to say of it!

“Media Security... Bill,” Master Gallia crossed her arms, “I dislike the word ‘security.’ It’s a pretty little wrapping the committees like to use to thinly disguise a new version of tyranny.”

“Because it is tyranny!” Mothma insisted, hands frantic, “This bill will essentially nationalise all media outlets in the Republic! First the media, and then it's the end of all private enterprises in the Republic! Can’t we see? It sets a precedent that cannot pass!”

“Senator Mothma,” Mas Amedda said without emotion, “I am afraid the bill already has enough support to pass in the Senate. Expected key opponents such as your allies Senator Amidala, Senator Organa, and Senator Breemu are absent, and Chandrila cannot shoulder the opposition alone.”

“Chancellor!” Senator Mothma pleaded in a last ditch effort, “If the bill reaches your table, you must veto it! Else... else you would be putting your signature to the end of democracy in the Republic!”

“An odd notion, Senator, considering the bill is going to pass through the democratic body,” Director Armand commented softly, purposefully, “Chancellor, I find myself in agreement with the Oversight Committees. If the media catches wind of an enemy fleet mere hours away from their worlds, it will be pandemonium in the Core. Our home armadas have been sent to the front, and the Deep Core Reserve is nowhere to be seen. We cannot afford any disruption in public order, not with the Separatists as skittish as we are, with the ongoing summit.”

Chancellor Palpatine looked up at the Jedi with distress in his eyes, caught between the airlock and hard vacuum. There was an urgent hope he conveyed, as if expecting the Jedi to have some miraculous solution for his predicament.

“Wait,” Master Gallia tried to unwound the tension, though her swaying tendrils betrayed her uneasiness, “Director, care to explain how the Separatists are building a fleet from scratch while under siege?”

“It had been a shameful oversight,” Director Armand admitted sourly, “Unlike most shipyard worlds, Foerost is largely uninhabited. With no extraction regulations or limits, the entire planet serves as a resource source for its shipyards.”

“Communicating with their government, Foerost is not,” Master Yoda asserted, “Under siege they are.”

“Master Yoda is right,” Mon Mothma latched onto the argument, “There isn’t any way Foerost knows about the state of the galaxy. They still think they are at war! Can’t we contact them?”

“They won’t believe anything less than Dooku himself, and you know that, Senator,” Director Isard clenched his tablet tightly, “Aside from that inconvenient fact; we have already tried. The Foerost Shipyards have cut all communications. They are utterly unresponsive to all of our attempts.”

“Well, are there any signs at all that the Techno Union is planning to use this fleet of theirs?” the desperate Senator tried one last time.

“None at all. That is the only good news,” Isard replied, “But you know as well as I how selective the Core is in their hearing. Chancellor, there is no other recourse; you must sign the bill into law when it passes. We are nearly at peace. Once we are, this law will be gone with your Administration. One last sacrifice, Chancellor.”

Slowly, painfully, Palpatine removed himself from his chair to stand staring through the transparisteel window into Coruscant's teeming sky, hands clasped behind his back, chin sunk to his velvet robes.

“Do you know, my friends,” he said at last, breaking the heavy silence, “There are times when I begin to doubt I have the strength to go on.”

“Don’t say that!” Mas Amedda exclaimed frantically, “Without you the Republic would have already fallen!”

“The Speaker is correct, Chancellor,” Mon Mothma hastily seconded, “This is not your failure. If there is anybody to blame than bad fortune, it is Intelligence for failing to reveal this threat, and the Senate for overreacting. They–we–are the ones who have failed the Republic, not you.”

The fact that Director Isard did not move to protest was begrudging agreement in of itself.

“But I have failed!” Palpatine retorted loudly, swinging around, “I have failed, by allowing the Senate to ‘overreact’ again and again and again! In the name of defence, in the name of protection, in the name of security! I stand before you as the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, but I also stand before you as the man who is tearing down the Republic’s Constitution bit by bit! We are this close to putting the dreadful war behind us. This close! And yet I must still sign my name on the corpse of another of the Republic’s democratic institutions?”

“That’s untrue!” Mon Mothma turned to the Jedi for help, “You can still veto the bill, not to mention, it hasn’t even been introduced to the Senate yet! You have my word, Chancellor–I will fight against this bill with everything I have. I will not let Padmé and Bail return to a Republic where her citizens' voices are no longer theirs.”

Just as slowly as he stood up, Palpatine returned to his chair, composing himself with a hint of shame, “I must confess you surprise me, Senator. Given your close relationship with Senator Amidala, I wasn't entirely certain you still supported me.”

Senator Mothma laughed bitterly, “It is true the Senator from Naboo and I have disagreed with you on several critical issues, especially during the Separatist Crisis. But neither of us have ever denied that you were only doing what you thought was right for the Republic. Neither of us could have begun to imagine what it must be like sitting in the chair you are now, trying to keep us ‘safe’ yet ‘free’ at the same time.”

“An easy road to walk, it is not,” Yoda agreed, “No shame there is, in stumbling once so often. Stand up again, you still can.”

“That’s right,” Master Gallia glared at Director Isard, daring him to argue, “You can still widen the road. Compromise with the committees. The bill is still a mere draft. It can still be edited. You must not even allow the bill to be introduced to the Senate in the state that it is in now. Senator Mon’s fear of precedent is correct, but wrong about one thing. Every evil bill we allow to even enter the Senate makes the next one that much easier to introduce, even if it is defeated in the end.”

Chancellor Palpatine looked at them with wide eyes, hands half-outstretched, as if clutching at something intangible–as if the Jedi had just given him back his soul.

“Compromise,” he muttered feverishly, “Yes... we can still compromise. Mas, please tell our dear senators that I will not be the man who signs away the freedom of the Republic, even if in the name of peace.”

Mon Mothma could have collapsed in relief. Perhaps, in the privacy of her own apartment, she still would. And Yoda sympathised with her greatly.

“The bill still must retain enough enforcement to prevent a media circus once Foerost gets revealed,” Director Isard warned, before stepping back to indicate that he had spoken his piece.

Palpatine rubbed his hands, deep in thought, “The current bill seeks to overcorrect. Instead of this body, what if it temporarily expands the HoloCommunications Commission regulatory powers over the HoloNet? This way, the Commission can issue a gag order and censor any media without that could threaten public order–at least until the armistice is signed. It could also finally act against the prominent elements of speciesism in the media that has grown louder following Senator Amidala’s call to treat with the Separatists.”

Senator Mothma tensed up again, but breathed out, “I dislike it, but I cannot deny that this could very well be the smallest thing the committees could swallow. I will speak to my caucus and the Loyalist Committee. You have my promise, Chancellor; the bill as it is will be defeated before it even enters the Convocation Chamber.”

“I must excuse myself as well, Chancellor, Master Yoda,” Master Gallia bowed, “I fear I’ve found too many friends in the Senate as of late. On the bright side, I will be able to aid Senator Mothma’s cause.”

“Please, please, my friends,” there was nothing but gratefulness written on the Chancellor’s face, “You have my sincerest apologies for taking so much time out of your most certainly busy schedules. Especially you, Master Jedi. I owe all of you a great deal today. If there is anything in which you require my assistance, you must only ask.”

As Senator Mothma and Master Gallia departed to speak with their allies; as Mas Amedda sunk into a couch to take a sigh of relief; as Director Isard measuredly packed his effects before his long journey back to the Center for Military Operations; as Chancellor Palpatine absentmindedly tapped near his desk’s comlink, as if awaiting news from the peace summit... Yoda could only think that this day could have gone much, much worse.

No, Yoda shook his head as he left the office, today is a good day. It is, after all, another day in which the Republic has not fallen.

⁂

Onderon, Japrael System

Japrael Sector

“Yes, Master.”

Scout scanned the facades, searching for anything out of the ordinary. If Master Skywalker had his way, they would definitely be up on the tiles overlooking the whole city; but with Scout’s Force potential as pitiful as it was, they would have to knock on one of the doors to get access, and she wasn’t sure if the the residents would be very receptive to that. They had already stolen their city for a whole day, and she wasn’t about to ask them for their house too.

As they moved past a dimly lit alleyway, however, micro-vision shot through her mind’s eye–in an alleyway, an armoured arm trapping me in a deathly chokehold, lightsaber slipping from by grip. Scout barely had a second to process the revelation before her body sprang into action, catching the unknown assailant’s arm as it reached to grab her. Wrenching them forward, she wedged her shoulder in their armpit and spun them around, before slamming them into the brick wall with an arm crushing down on their windpipe.

Didn’t actually think we would be attacked–was the only thing that ran through head before the snap-hiss of an igniting lightsaber shocked her back into reality. Master Skywalker pointed his sabre right at between the eyes of their attacker–a tanned woman with slanted eyes and dirty brown hair–to which Scout could only thank the graces she was short enough to not have her scalp shredded off in the process.

“Who are you!?” Master Skywalker demanded.

Staring down the pillar of blue fire, the woman slowly raised both of her hands.

“Wait, don’t hurt Dono!” another woman scampered out of the alley, arms held in front of her, “It was my fault! I didn’t actually know if you would hear us out...!”

Dono shifted, and Scout pressed harder on her throat. The Onderonian audibly choked, spittle flying from her lips as she rasped for air.

“Master?” as she turned for confirmation, Scout realised that Barriss was still watching the prisoner marching, barely noticing that they had been attacked.

“Let her go, Tallisibeth,” Master Skywalker measuredly shifting his lightsaber from one woman to the other.

“So there are terrorists out here,” Scout remarked as she pushed herself off the wall, letting Dono go, “For all of, well everyone’s, cautioning, I nearly thought we were about to go through the whole day without any interruptions.”

“We aren’t terrorists! I’m Steela, and this is Dono,” Steela raised her arms higher, “We just wanted to talk to you... away from prying eyes, if possible. You were not easy to find, and this was our best chance.”

“You are in a restricted area, and attacked a Jedi,” Master Skywalker said wryly, prodding the terrorists back into the alley, “If you aren’t terrorists, you aren’t doing a very good job of not being terrorists.”

“I– You are stronger than you look,” Dono gasped, backing away.

“I’ve heard that before,” Scout replied, unclipping her own sabre.

“Wait! At least just hear us out.”

“I’ll hear out why I should drag your sorry asses to the Onderonian army,” Master Skywalker agreed with mock cheer.

“Because they’ll kill us!” Steela shouted, her curled locks springing in panic.

“I think you’re overreacting a little, there,” Anakin replied mildly, “And if you aren’t... well maybe you should have been smarter than this.”

“We need your help,” Steela begged, “The Jedi are our last hope.”

“We’re just here to prevent people like you from making a mess,” Scout said maybe a little harshly, “Why didn’t you bring whatever you have to the city council, or something?”

“No– we want the Separatists off our planet!” Dono cried, “It’s not just us; it’s everybody in Iziz! The droids just came here one day, took our city, and started thrashing our streets! You’re Jedi, right, aren’t you supposed to help us get rid of them?”

“I didn’t see any droids,” Master Skywalker raised an eyebrow.

“They’ll come back the moment you’re gone,” Steela insisted.

“And what do you want us to do?” Anakin chuckled in disbelief, “Overthrow a reigning government while we’re trying to hammer out an armistice in their house? Go home! Forget about it! We saw the city while we were here, everybody’s living life like normal. You should do that, too. The war will end, and the droids will leave for good.”

“They won’t,” Dono shot back, “We’re Onderonians– we always try to tough it out. The Separatists are stepping all over us; they overthrow our rightful king and replace him with a puppet, then they take our city and expect us to bend over for them. But you don’t see that, because we’re too prideful to let you see that. But the Separatists are crushing us. Slowly enough that none of us notice it, until we do and by then it’ll be too late. So please, help us.”

Scout glanced nervously at her Master. What if they were telling the truth? Onderon never told them about any rebellion going on–but if they had their planet wouldn’t have been considered the site of the armistice, and the monarchy likely wanted to avoid that. Scout could see it now; bringing all the droids out of the city to present a nice, neutral front for the summit, and when the Republic left, the droids will come back with renewed force.

“And what do you want us to do?” Master Skywalker repeated, lightsaber buzzing brightly in the gloom of the alley.

“We don’t need you to fight our war,” Steela pleaded, “But anything will be helpful. Modern weapons and training, mostly; you don’t need to fight our war, but you can still help us fight ours.

Huh? These guys don’t have any training? Then how did they even sneak past all the guards– Scout desperately dug through her memory again, begging the Force to show her that vision. She saw herself pinned, a bronze-armoured arm crushing her–wait, armoured?

“Uh... Master?” Scout piped up, “This area is patrolled by the Onderonian army, right?”

“And the Senate Guard patrols the side with the Separatist prisoners, yeah,” mild confusion coloured his voice, though he didn’t take his eyes off the two rebels, “What of it?”

“How did these two even get into the restricted area?”

“Because we grew up in this city,” Dono narrowed her eyes, “We know every street around here.”

Scout pursed her lips, “Even better than the Onderonian army?”

Master Skywalker froze– “Ah, kriff. Barriss, see anything out there?”

“Yes, Master,” Barriss answered flatly, “There is a soldier looking at us from across the street.”

“For how long?”

“Since the beginning, I think,” she answered, “It’s hard to tell if it's us or the prisoners that they are looking at.”

Master Skywalker adopted a look of ‘and you didn’t think to tell us this earlier?’ as he snapped his lightsaber shut, “You two should scram before I change my mind.”

“What!?” Dono hissed, “But–”

Steela grabbed her shoulder, shaking her head, “Let’s go, Dono. Saw was right. Thank you for hearing us out, Master Jedi.”

Master and Padawan watched as the two rebels retreated back into the alley at a frantic pace, footsteps scampering against the cobblestones. Shadows lurked above them, the eaves closing in the like the jaws of a sarlacc, just waiting for the right moment to strike. There was movement in the darkness.

Scout shouted–“Watch out! Above you!”

Steela’s head snapped up in surprise, but it was already too late. Before they could reach the safety of the street on the other side, the air above them erupted with the metallic clangour of armoured boots. With a silent roar, soldiers fell from above, lights leaking from shuttered windows glinting off their pauldrons. In a single, swift movement, two soldiers had the rebels pinned against the ground, roughly pressing their skulls against the stone.

Anakin and Scout ignited their lightsabers out of pure instinct, holding them forward to provide a light source. The third soldier stood up, clapped the dust off her hands, and moved towards them, “I am Lieutenant Slen of the Royal Army. We extend our gratitude for your aid in apprehending these terrorists, Master Jedi.”

“Really?” Master Skywalker asked sarcastically, “I don’t think we did much of anything.

“You stalled them long enough for me to get my men into position,” Slen gestured towards the two soldiers forcing Steela and Dono to their feet, “You helped us do our jobs.”

‘And you should do your job too’ was left unspoken. If they wanted to, Slen could definitely force a diplomatic incident by claiming the Jedi were communicating with potential terrorists in secret, but Scout realised that wasn’t their intention. The whole ‘stalling’ thing was a peace offer; a straight story they could use when they inevitably had to report the encounter.

“You were testing us,” she accused, “You wanted to see what would happen if they got to us.”

Scout tilted her head to the rebels when she said ‘they.’

“Allow us to handle it from here, Master Jedi,” Lieutenant Slen said smoothly, “If you have any more encounters with these terrorists, please notify us immediately.”

Master Skywalker was clearly thinking of a clever retort, but ultimately decided to leave the matter lie–they were already lucky Lieutenant Slen didn’t intend to escalate. Just as he made to stow away his lightsaber, however;

“W-Wait!” Dono begged, “Please help us! They’ll kill us!”

“They will?” Anakin lifted his saber again, “You will?”

“The punishment for treason against the monarchy is death,” Steela said bitterly, “Isn’t it, buckethead?”

“Public execution,” Slen confirmed, “You can have your revolution in the Halls of the Spirits, rebels.”

“Isn’t that too harsh?” Scout asked nervously, “It’s not like they’ve done anything yet, right?”

“That is none of your concern, Jedi.”

Scout glanced up at her Master for guidance. Our jobs here are to help the local security keep the peace, but as Jedi, shouldn’t we preserve life? Did these people really deserve to die? Evil laws–was this what Master Kenobi meant by evil laws? The Jedi had a responsibility to enforce the law, but didn’t they also have a moral responsibility to stop evil where it exists?

“Madam,” one of the soldiers spoke up, “We should go.”

Slen eyes their lightsabers cautiously, “Will you try to stop us, Jedi?”

“Please,” Dono whispered.

All eyes were on Master Skywalker. Scout could barely notice Barriss turning around, clearly wondering what was happening behind her.

“You know...” Master Skywalker sighed, “Before I was a Jedi, I was a slave on Tatooine. My Master and his Master freed me when I was child, after which I joined the Order.”

“Where are you going with this?” Slen demanded.

Scout listened, enraptured. She had no idea that the Chosen One was once a slave. Her Master never did talk about his past, though she couldn’t blame him for leaving those memories behind him. Which was why she had to wonder why he brought it up now.

“But they didn’t free my mother, or the hundreds, thousands of other slaves in Mos Espa,” he continued, “I didn’t think anything of it back then; I was just happy to leave. But as I was taught how to be a Jedi, I had to ask my Master; why didn’t he free all the slaves on Tatooine? Why allow such evil to exist? The Hutts, the Zygerrians, they all practise slavery and other evils, but the Jedi have never intervened.”

With a low hum, Master Skywalker’s lightsaber was deactivated before it disappeared underneath his robes, “The answer is because we cannot fall into the trap of thinking we know better just because we are Jedi. We cannot impose our will on an entire culture on the basis of our virtues. If every Jedi in the galaxy could act according to what they think is right, and act against what they think is evil, then we would have a hundred more Count Dookus than we do now.”

“But don’t you still want to help them?” Scout asked, “The slaves, these people? I don’t want to see them die!”

“I’ve long learnt that desires have very little to do with being Jedi,” Master Skywalker met Dono’s crestfallen face with regret, “Obi-Wan once told me that being Jedi isn’t just about power, or lightsabers, or skill with the Force. It is about connection, of being part of something larger than us. We have an oathbound responsibility to that connection, and that means we can’t always do what we want. Instead, try to do good where you can, and when you can.”

“I’m sorry,” her Master turned his back on them, “But we can’t help you now.”

Scout could hear Lieutenant Slen breath out sharply as they left, before ordering her men to take the rebels to the Palace cells. Barriss observed them as they entered the sunlight once more, taking in the now desolate streets. A man’s amplified voice echoed down the thoroughfare as they officiated the ceremony, largely indecipherable at this distance.

“Do you believe what Master Kenobi said is true, Master Skywalker?” Barriss asked quietly as she took her place beside them, “Or do you think it is just an excuse for being unable to do something?”

Anakin Skywalker was silent for a long, pregnant moment.

“I of all people have no right to say whether it is either way,” he finally said.