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Part I
“There is an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet.  It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast.”

-Sir Arther Conan Doyle, His Last Bow
OneDooku would never admit that he was afraid.  But as he stood in the communication’s hub, staring at the blinking light of the holo projector that said there was a message waiting for him, Dooku was cold with fear.  He knew failing a Sith master was a very foolish thing to do, and he had no doubt that despite the light years that separated them, his master could still inflict pain and torment beyond any he had experienced.  His fingers hovered over the controls, he doubted he should keep his master waiting any longer, but… Skywalker.  He knew there was something intolerable and inherently annoying with the boy the moment he laid eyes on him.  It had been in a rare moment of weakness, just a few weeks after he left the temple.  He was lonely, and in his palace on Sorrano had typed in the codes to the security feed at the Jedi temple. 
He found himself looking at the Room of a Thousand Fountains.  Despite the blue tinge of the holo, the room still appeared bursting with life- birds chattering, reptiles croaking and hissing and thousands of plants from all across the galaxy.  He typed in a few commands so he could see the pool that he and Qui-Gon had often sat at, and he and his master before Qui-Gon.  His eyes widened in surprise.  Kenobi sat there, face lined and braid cut, yet refusing to sit on the opposite side of the pool beneath the tree from Yoda’s homeworld- the unspoken privilege when one became a Knight.  He still sat on the short grass where that padawan sat, the learner… Suddenly the audio spiked with a shrill giggle, and a golden haired youngling came tumbling out of the tree- Yoda’s tree.  Dooku flinched, and young Kenobi flinched with him.

“Mr. Obi-Wan sir,” the little boy asked, “what’s this?”

Kenobi looked up at the boy on the opposite bank, his gaze seeped with exhaustion.  “A tree, Anakin.”

“Huh.  Wizard!  Is that a tree too?” He pointed to a tall redwood from Endor.

“Yes Anakin.”

“Wizard!”  The boy went sprinting back into the greenery, his Padawan braid flying behind him.  Dooku cut the footage, an unsettling feeling in his heart whenever he thought of Kenobi’s padawan.
 He later learned the boy’s full name- Anakin Skywalker.  And through his informants he learned of his arrogance, but most of all, his power.  Dooku pressed connect, and his master appeared before him.  He fell to one knee. “My master.”  Suddenly Dooku’s gasping as an invisible hand chokes him, and he’s lifted off the ground.  The hold goes on for some time, until he can feel the blood pounding through his head, and darkness steadily creeping along the edges of his vision.  When he’s released, he doesn't feel his body slam to the ground, just the rush of air into his lungs and his raspy, gasping breaths.  He wipes a bit of blood from his nose. “I am sending you the coordinates of a planet.  Raxus.  Conquer it, and establish your foolish succession there.” “Yes master.” Dooku whispers, shaking as he pulls himself to his knees. “Do not fail me again, or next time I shall not be so kind.”  The connection fills with static, and Dooku slumps back to the ground. {}{}{} San Hill, the head of the Intergalactic Banking Clan, may be credit driven, but he wasn’t a fool.  At least he thought so. The holos of the other members of the newly formed Spetratist alliance glowed blue around him.  Count Dooku was speaking. “-We need a place to establish a presence, in the galaxy, my friends.  A capital.”  The count’s hands were clasped in front of him, and his voice was almost hypnotic.  There were mummers of agreement from around the table, and San nodded.  After a few minutes of discussion, three planets rose to the top- Felucia, home of the Commerce Guild, his very own Mygeeto, home of the crystal mines that brought so much wealth to his Clan, and surprisingly Raxus, a small uninhabited planet in the outer reaches of the galaxy.  The representative that proposed Raxus was the former Galactic Senator Tikkes. “We want to show the message of the Confederacy- not holding one spieces or planet above another like the Galactic Republic,” the orange Quarren said.  “By establishing our capital on an uninhabited planet instead of an established one, it will show the Confederacy’s true message- of equality- to the star systems who have chosen to follow us, and may sway many more to our side.”  Several heads nodded at this, and San Hill began to feel alarmed.  No, he thought frantically, it has to be Mygeeto!  His name would live in infamy, not to mention the trillions of credits that making Mygeeto the capital of the Confederacy would bring. “A highly profitable planet for agriculture and trade as well,” Wat Tambor clicked and hissed through his respirator.  Dooku sat back, thoughtful.  Suddenly his eyes turned cold, and Dooku turned to Hill.  He swallowed nervously. “And what does the Intergalactic Banking Clan think of Raxus?” Dooku asked, voice carefully toneless.  Was it him, or did his collar suddenly get tighter? “The Banking Clan will support any decision you make, Count Dooku.”  He managed to not let his voice shake. “Good.  I expect a sector of droids to help me begin the construction of infrastructure on Raxus by next septday, 06:00 Galactic Standard.”  San Hill wasn’t a fool.  He quietly summoned his secretary to transfer the credits needed to the Count.

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TwoRaxus Secundus was a beautiful planet, even the Dooku could admit that.  From afar, it was a shimmering turquoise sphere.  Initial scans showed it was mostly covered in water, with six major land masses and icy poles.  The planet's nightside showed a vast array of shining specks, cities that could be seen from above, shining into the vast blackness of space.  As the droid army came into orbit, there were certainly echoes of the Invasion of Naboo many years before.  This time however, the Sith would not fail, for Obi-Wan Kenobi was far away in the Core, running after that fool Skywalker, and Qui-Gon Jinn was dead.
 
{}{}{} It’s the quiet hours of the morning.  Sunlight streams through the thin drapery on the window slightly too big for the small room.  The room is slightly cluttered, but clean.  There was a bookshelf, a scrap of satin ribbon displayed in a frame, and a mirror, the rim hand painted with flowers.  The occupant of the room is currently still in bed, brow furrowing as she blinks awake. Holding up one hand to stop the glaring sun, stumbling, she shuts the blinds, the light diffusing into a soft warm glow.  The seventeen year old stretched, curls bouncing.  Pulling on fresh clothes, the 17 year old wanders into the bathroom.  Pulling down the several bottles of anti anxiety, antidepressants, allergy meds, and a steroid and antibiotic from the shelved behind the mirror, she stared down gloomy at the small mountain of pills in her hand.  Taking them one by one, she stared at herself in the mirror.  Slightly underweight, and her hair alternated from being dry and brittle to greasy.  She looked down, staring at the faucet.  Her therapist had been telling her to look at herself in the mirror, tell herself that she is worth it. She can’t.  Limping back to her bedroom, she scrolled through her emails.  Most were spam or junk.  There was one generic university newsletter, advertising their newly renovated school with steller athletic program.  She glared at her bad foot, slamming her phone down on the nightstand, making her lamp rattle.  Sighing, she stood and gazed out of her window, looking out to the generic suburban middle class neighborhood. The lamp was still rattling.  Grumbling, she turned towards it- The lamp was still, but the rattling persisted.  Frowning, she opened her door and stepped into the hallway.  Everyone else was asleep, it was after all 7:15 on a Saturday.  The rattle persisted, and she crept downstairs and saw the front door’s handle being furiously shaken.  Looking through the peephole, she saw a flustered looking young man. “What do you want,” she muttered through the door.  The man looked relieved at a response. “You have to get out- you have to help me warn people,” he gasped in a heavy Indian accent. She pulled out her phone.  “Go away.  I’m not getting kidnapped or trafficked.” “No, no, no, you don’t understand, they’ll kill us!” She opened Google and began to scroll through the headlines.  “Who's going to kill us?” Martha asked sarcastically.  “Looks like North Korea’s mad again and were not dead-” It all happened in a heartbeat.  Scrolling down and the headline appeared- Deadly killer robots on the loose- Nation’s best programmers stumped on decrypting their circuits.  A massive explosion rattled the house, and glass shattered somewhere.  There was a heavy thud of a body falling against the door.  
-yet.
 Martha stumbled back towards the stairwell, but her dad was already running down stairs, her younger siblings and mother in tow.  Her dad was mid sentence when the door was suddenly blasted open, and Martha stared incomprehending as several tan robots marched in.  Scrambling backwards her head knocked sharply against the wall.  Blackness swam before her eyes and she was gone. {}{}{} 
A breeze fluttered across her face, and the cool leather seat was ripped, it’s fluffy white insides looking like the clouds on set.  Glass shards dusted her, and she gaped with surprise at her intact limbs and torso.  Only then did she realize the throbbing pain though her foot, and she looked down, blood gushing…

With a gasp, Martha sat up, scrambling to her feet and leaning heavily against the wall.  Only she realised it wasn't a wall, but a post and it creaked alarmingly.  She gazed at the front doorway, or where it was, anyway.  All four walls and the second story were gone.  The air smelled like ash and soot.  She didn’t know how long she stood there, gazing at the desolate sight.  When there was a faint rumbling in the distance, she snapped out of whatever held her to the spot, grabbing her sister’s Hello Kitty school bag and filling it- a cracked orange pill bottle, a dented can of tomato soup, a soot covered plastic water bottle.  The rumbling’s volume was increasing steadily with every second, and she pulled on the bag-

Something glinted in the dirt and ash.  She peered down, and realized it was her mother’s wedding ring.  Gently kneeling, she took it off the skeletal hand it still clung too.  The rumble had become a roar now, and she broke into a run, limping more then ever to the nearby woods where she played pirates and princesses when she was younger.  Later, she wouldn’t remember how she got up in the tree- sheer force of will and adrenaline perhaps.  What she would know is she would have nightmares of that night for many years to come, shaking from fear and pain as she cleaned the burns from the explosion.  But there was no silver parachute to come, and she would stare at the moon far into the night, weeping, her mother's ring clenched tight in her fist. {}{}{} “How does the operation go Commander?”  The yellow accented droid bobbed it’s head at the Count. “We have finished our initial suppression of the planet’s major cities,” the droid warbles. “Good.  I will be arriving shortly to inspect your progress.” “Yes sir.”  Dooku strood out of the room and into the docking bay for his personal shuttle.  As he neared Raxus’s surface, he could see the droids’ leveling of major transportation hubs and cities with brutal efficiently, and establishing labor camps to construct new infrastructure.  Droids weren’t the most intelligent of beings, but they could execute orders with brutal efficiency and without hesitation.  Dooku landed next to a freshly leveled residential area, the debris being hauled away by enslaved natives.  Walking across the plane of dirty pavement and dead grass, Dooku stood at the edge of a forest. “Sir-” “Quiet,” Dooku commanded.  The Dark Side surged, pulling him towards the woods.  He entered, and small avions twittered, and small furry mammals with bushy tails scrambled through tree branches.  A branch creaked above him, Dooku glanced upwards, expecting a large tree climbing mammal perhaps, or a large bird.  He did not expect a young woman perched on the branch.  Dooku blinked with surprise.  Dooku pulled power from the suffering around him, and stared at the girl, searching for her Force presence- but there was nothing.  Even shielding left a trace, a slippery haze around the user- but there was nothing.  She had no presence in the Force at all.  There was a suddenly flurry of movement, and she had half jumped, half fallen from the tree.  With two strides Dooku stood above her.  With a touch of the Force, she fell unconscious.  He pulled his comlink from his robes and called for droids to take her up to the command vessel. {}{}{}“Report,” Sidious snapped.“Our takeover goes well, my lord.  All presence of Raxus’s previous inhabitants has been extinguished, and the other members of the Confederacy will be lending raw materials as we begin construction.”  Dooku replied smoothly.  “Yes, yes.  I sense something on your mind, apprentice.” Dooku bowed.  “Yes Master.  It is the natives of this planet- they posses an unusual quality-” Sidious waves a dismissive hand.  “Do as you wish, Tyrannus.  However, make sure your… experiments do not become more important than the Confederacy,” Sidious drawled. “Of course, Master.”

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Interlude: Butterfly
It was like waking up from a nightmare.  Mouth so dry it almost tasted like ash, and fingernails digging into palms.  She let herself float for a while, drifting in the peaceful haze between alertness and sleep.Suddenly an insistent and slightly familiar voice wormed its way into her consciousness. “Hey, wake up!”  She blinked open her eyes and scowled at the face of the man that came to her door that morning.  She was about to say something sharp and nasty when she saw the tears in his eyes.  Then she realized her mouth really did taste of ash, and it wasn’t just her fingernails digging into her palms.  She opened one hand and stared at her mother's wedding ring.  She realized the ground was thrumming with machinery. “Where are we?” she asked faintly, staring suddenly at the dull grey walls and seeing dozens of others, all races and genders shaking in fear.  There had to be nearly a hundred of them. “A spaceship.  All of a sudden the droids marched us away from our labor camps and onto the ship.”  the man said.  “Droids,” Martha repeated, testing out the word.  “How long have I…” “A few hours.  What is your name?” Matha opened her mouth to reply but the door to the room suddenly opened, and a half a dozen droids poured in.  Their guns gleaming, they trotted over to when her and the man were crouched along with his family. “You five, on your feet,” a droid warbled, and a baby began to cry.  “Quiet!” the droid snapped, and the mother brought her hand over her son’s face, muffling the sound as tears slid down her cheeks.  Martha and the man and his family got to their feet, and soon they were marched down a series of long grey corridors.  Slowly, the droids separated the family forcing them into separate  rooms, until it was only Martha and the man left.  As more droids clapped their tan, cold hands on the man, and forced him away, suddenly she shouted. “It’s Martha!”  The man smiled kindly. “I’m-”  A door slammed, cutting him off.  It was as if haze had been lifted from her eyes at that moment, and suddenly she ran, the droid’s warbling voices and clanking feet pursuing her.  Turning corner after corner, the sounds of pursuit faded, and she slumped down against another identical metal wall, heaving in choking breaths, foot throbbing. It took her a long time before she realized someone was towering over her.  She didn’t know it yet, but she would learn very quickly- you did not capture Count Dooku’s attention without consequence.  The ring slipped from her fingers. {}{}{} Far away in the galactic center, Mace Windu’s brow furrowed and Yoda’s ears dropped.  The shatter points were shifting, a few sliding away from the shattered glass that was Skywalker and binding to a new source, somewhere else, far out of the Order’s reach.  In an ordinary time, Mace would set out across the galaxy, hunting the anomaly.  But a war had begun, and slowly it got pushed further and further from the High Councillor's minds, until it was but a speck of dust slowly forgotten.  The here and now, was the Jedi’s mantra and now even the rare few with the Cosmic Force- Kenobi, Mace, Yoda- must bend to it.  War had begun.  Part II
“I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise.”

-Markus Zusak, The Book Thief
ThreeRa’eran Beruss fiddled with the small braided syn-leather bracelet around her wrist nervously.  Dr. Ilian was a stearn looking human from Saleucami.  Dark haired and pale skinned with a pinched face and a constant scowl, he was an intimidating figure for the new graduate. Suddenly noticing her fiddling she quickly plastered her hands to her sides, her mother tutting disapprovingly in her head.  The doctor suddenly looked up from his data pad.  His eyes were electric blue, and his unblinking gaze made her want to shift away.“Beruss?”  the doctor asked curtly.  Ra’aern nodded. “Yes sir.” The doctor stood, and began to walk briskly down the hall.  “Well come on then!” he barked, and she hurried down the hall after him. {}{}{} The hallways in the underground Sepratist medical center were a dull grey and winding.  There were no windows, and the re-circulated air was dry and made her headtail’s itch.  When she had come to Seranno for the position as Junior Medical Officer, she had been confused when the information droids had directed her away from the planet and towards one of it’s two small moons.  The moon Cyrell was an uninhabited dull place of a vast expanse of grey-brown rock and not much else.  It had been a surprise when, after the droid confirmed her identity, it had informed her of an underground medical research base and the clearance codes she would need.  Ra’aern begin to wonder exactly what she had signed up for. The doctor finally stopped in front of a plain grey door.  He turned, blue eyes worn and streaked with silver.  “Do you know why you're here?” “According to the job description-” “No.  Why you’re here.  Not someone else, not someone from a Sepratist world.  Why someone from Ryloth is here, a world very much not aligned with our cause.” She realized she didn’t know.  She was the middle of her class at graduation, far from the smartest.  She didn’t come from a well off family with connections- and the doctor was right.  Her home planet was very much not a Sepratist one like himself. The doctor continued.  “It’s because we need someone who can take orders.”   He glanced at her head tails. Re’eran gritted her teeth reminding herself she needed this job, needed to send the money home.  The doctor abruptly opened the door. The room inside was dim, a young woman lay strapped down on the bed, shivering. “It’s an experimental drug trial,” the doctor intoned.  “This is one of the many convicts we are testing.  I need someone to triage her daily.” Re’eran’s thoughts were racing.  What the kark?  He could hire a year one nurse for that! She didn’t know if anything the doctor had said about her hire was true, it had to be more than stereotypes, right?  She recalled the day before leaving for med school,  her mother had sat on her bed as she packed.  “You are going to be judged, starflower,” she had said.  “Our species has a history of submission to the more powerful, bending to kings.  There will be a day that affects your life.  Take what you are given, starflower.”  She didn’t want to bend, but she would- because most likely her family was starving back home from disrupted trade routes, and it didn’t matter how she got this job- she needed them to live. “Start today.  I will be in my office,” Dr. Ilian had finished, and left the room. Re’eran approached the woman’s bedside, logging into the monitor and began checking temperature and oxygen levels.  She realized a gauge had disconnected, and gently pulled the unconscious woman’s gown just enough to attach it. On her collarbone was a standard Sepretist prisoner brand, and Re’eran felt pity rush through her heart.  She was so young, more a girl really, probably around the same age she had gone off to med school at. Suddenly her patient’s eyes opened, and there was a moment of utter silence.  Re’eran was rehearsing what she was going to say in her head when alarms started wailing.  She stumbled back and something crashed- she realized the monitor had somehow been slammed against the wall and the door slammed open, revealing a furious Dr. Ilian screaming at her to get out. {}{}{} The ground is molten and flaming hot, the air smelling of sulfur.  The yellow light of the nearby star is overpowered by the red hue of magma and hot metal.  He’s standing on an outlook to one of the great lava rivers, inhaling ash as the metal refinery’s endless labor clinks behind him.  He senses Skywalker coming, and he will kill him, he will prove his worthiness as a Sith.  And then when Sidious comes to retrieve his fallen apprentice, Dooku will strike him down and build his own empire on the ashes of the Republic, the dark haired girl, one of his creations at his side… Dooku is awoken from his meditation to a warbling droid.  “Sir!  An urgent communication has just come in from Cyrell Medical Base-” “Send it though,” Dooku intoned, and a flickering hologram of Dr. Crix Ilian appeared before him.  “What is it, Doctor?” “It appears Project Crismalodras was a success in some capacity.  Patient 067 is displaying some signs.  It is up to you whether we continue or terminate, we do have nearly 50 others left.” “I will be arriving shortly, Doctor.  Continue as normal.” “Very good.” {}{}{} Her third year genealogy of humanoids professor had always said; “There will come a time when something doesn't add up.  The adenine bonding with the guanine, the thymine with the cytosine.  It will be your job to figure it out.  That’s what you're training for.  Uncover things that need to be uncovered.” She had been at the Sepratist medical center for nearly two weeks now, and there were whispers among the few humanoids that worked there.  The manual labor and service jobs were all done by droids with mechanical efficiency.  Only where intuition was called for were living beings employed, and it was possible to go for days without seeing any other being besides Doctor Ilian.  The doctor… well after her first day, she wasn’t inclined to chat much with him. Re’eran begin to get lonely. She thinks that’s what made her look at her patient with more than professional detachment.  She began to recognize her by the still silhouette just before the automatic lights switched on when she entered.  The few whispers she heard were mostly about the war.  She worried about her parents and little brother, but it was near impossible to send a message or holo to them on Ryloth from the Sepratist station- Ryloth and the Sepratist weren’t exactly allies.  But there were other whispers too- whispers about a kitchen droid wheeling a cart of food into a turbolift and down a hall that was forbidden, and the plates coming back clean.  Whispers about screams and sobbing at night in the corridor she worked in, though she had never heard them.  Most of all, there were whispers about the Count himself, about how he was playing with something that out not to be played with, unless you're a god. She told herself that she didn’t mean to stay up past lights out that night.  She didn’t mean to hear the faint screams that were there, muffled almost to silence by the door and distance.  She didn’t mean to go digging though the classified database… But she did.

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FourPadme Amidala was no fool.  A queen by 14, and her world nearly conquered by the Trade Federation soon after that, she knew the importance of both a blaster and diplomatic ties.  Most of all, she knew what it was like to be desperate. The pieces of flimsi arrived in such a subtle way that the bouquet of Rylothian daisies wasn’t screened at all. “Oh how lovely!  Thank you good sir!  Mistress Padme!”  Threepio’s voice blared through Padme’s apartment.  It was septday, but unfortunately the upcoming Intergalactic Senatorial Meet had her working even on her days off, much to Anakin’s chagrin.  The annual meet would be bigger and more important than ever due to being a few months into the first galactic scale war in centuries. “Mistress Padme!”  Padme glanced up as Threepio stood in the open doorway to her office, holding a bouquet of flowers.  “Someone sent you a bouquet of Rylothian daisies!  How wonderful!” Padme smiled.  “You can set them down at the windowsill Threepio.”  The protocol droid clanked across the room and set the vase down in the desired spot. “A token of appreciation for the Republic support at the Siege of Ryloth I expect.”  Threepio prattled on, but Padme was already back to her work, looking over bills from the Loyalist committee to be presented at the meet.{}{}{} It took a whole week before she was back in her home office again, rolling her tight shoulders with a groan, before she remembered the flowers.  Hurrying over, she pulled back the draps and revealed the Coruscant nightlife- and an array of wilted brown petals.  Feeling strangely sad, she went to dump the dead flowers in the trash, but stopped.  Something white showed through the masses of dry brown death, and from the middle of the bunch she pulled out a synthetic flower, it’s plastaid white petals still shining brightly. She turned it around in her hands, wondering how it had gotten with the batch of natural flowers, and the stem fell off, hitting the tiled floor with a solid clank rather than a hollow sound.  Bending down, she picked up the fallen stem and examined it- several sheets of flimsi were rolled up tightly inside.  The impending weeks to the conference forgotten, she gently took a jeweled dagger from the wall, a product of negotiations with a volatile Mid-Rim planet, and carefully split the synthetic stem.  The tightly rolled flimsi flew out like a bird, landing still loosely curled on the ground.  She began to read.

{}{}{} Re’eran’s hands flew across the page, scribbling on the flimi as small and as fast as she could.  The blue glow from the information terminal was her only source of light, and she scribbled her horrific findings, begging her family to get this to the Senator from Naboo any way they could.  Finally she finished, and slipped the folded flimsi into her breast pocket, and not a moment too soon.  The door to the lab opened behind her, flooding the room with light and she whirled around. Count Dooku stood in the doorway.  Re’eran swallowed, trying not to look guilty. “Do you know why your here, Ms. Beruss?” the Count said in a low rumble. She shook her head, unable to speak. “You here to do as your told.” “Of course,” she stammered.  The Count smiled. “Good.”  He left, cape fluttering behind him, and suddenly she could breath again. {}{}{} The more Padme read, the more disterbed she became.  She didn’t even notice Anakin’s presence until he wrapped his arms around her, making her jump. “Padme?” he asked, and gods those electric blue eyes were her only weakness. “Ani,” she breathed, and slumped against his chest.  “I fear something terrible has happened.” His grip tightened.  “Angel?” She breathed in one shaky breath, then another.  Suddenly she was the queen, the galactic senator again.  “I’ve just received a message from a Twi’lek doctor on a Seprasist medical center on Serrano's second moon, Cyrell.  Count Dooku has several dozen hostages, some or all of which he plans to experiment on with midachlorians.  The doctor says their treated horribly, like animals for slaughter.  She says there’s at least been one success- whatever Dooku was trying to do has worked once, maybe more.” Throughout the past few minutes as she spoke, she felt Anakin becoming more and more stiff with anger.  Suddenly he growled. “I’ll kill him!”  She felt his mechanical arm curl into a fist.  “I can go right now, Padme!  I can save them!” She shook her head.  “No, Ani.  Not yet.  You can’t just barge into a Sepratist Medical base.  The Intergalatic Senate Meeting is coming up.  We can-” Anakin let go of her and stomped to the window.  “I am the Chosen One!  I can-” “Anakin!  Stop!”  Realization dawned in his eyes, and he looked horrified at the shattered remains of the Nabooian vase the brown daisies had sat in.  Padme wrapped her arms around his neck.  “Oh Ani…” “Can I tell, Obi-Wan?  Perhaps he can bring it to the Council…” Padme chuckled softly.  “Be safe.” “I’ll save them, Angel.  I promise.”

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FiveAll he knew was pain… and fear, and anger and suffering… the Senate building was burning.  ...he’s alone all alone… the smell of sulfur and the heat is choking him… regret, bone numbing grief… a mammalian roar and the bounty hunter stumbles back in surprise … staring down at a mutilated body, and knowing something is very, very wrong here… 
 
Obi-Wan Kenobi wakes up in a cold sweat, choking in great gulps of air.  Stumbling out of bed to the window and pressing his forehead against the cool glass, he hears his Master’s voice in his head. Dreams pass in time.  He stares at the ever glowing lights of the Corusanti skyline in a rare week of leave, and breaths.  He knows he will get no more sleep tonight.  Sighing, he throws on his clothing and walks quietly to the kitchen to boil water.  Opening the cabinet, he realized he left his favorite mug in the living space and started back down the hall- Where a very guilty looking Anakin Skywalker stood.  With a near inaudible sigh, he walked past him and grabbed the plain mug that formerly belonged to Qui-Gon Jinn.  “Master I-” Obi-Wan shook his head and entered the kitchen.  He was too tired tonight to give his seemingly endless talk to his apprentice about the dangers of attachment. “Tea, Anakin?” “Um… sure.” He set two mugs full of tea down on the kitchen table.  For a few minutes there was blissful silence, and Obi-Wan savored the hot liquid running down his throat.  Quickly Anakin got over his guilt at being caught sneaking out, and the silence broke. “Master, Pa-Senator Amidalia received a message about Doooku holding captive on Serrano.” Dread coiled around Obi-Wan’s heart. “There being experimented on.” “I’ll bring it up with the Council,” Obi-Wan managed to get numbly out, and grounded himself enough not to run to his room. The burning pain from his dream.  Mace talking about the shatterpoints shifting months ago, just before the war.  The few volumes he read on Sith alchemy.  Unsettled, he sat on his bed, staring out the window, into the starless, light polluted city sky. {}{}{} Those two years were hell.  It was months of drug induced haze.  For a while, all she felt was burning.  She felt it everywhere, a cold fire rushing through her limbs and torso, burning even behind her eyelids and throbbing through her skull.  For awhile she fought the pain, screamed and bucked and soon restraints held her down.  Through it all she strained to get her heavy eyelids open, and once she thought she heard raised voiced and harsh tones. Soon however, the burning would become her companion, a cherished friend.  In a world without light or external activity, it was only the pain that told her when she was awake and asleep.  Her thoughts slowly turned away from the pain and to other things.  She had a lot of time to think now.  A lot of time.  Most of the time she thought of the past- her family and friends.  Often she would dream of the competitions, the feeling of sweat rolling between her shoulderblades.  The feeling of her teammates around her, perfectly in time.  The rush of adrenaline, the floor glossy and smooth under her feet- the memories were so vivid she could almost believe she was there.  Some days, when she was delirious with pain (if one could be delirious in a state of unconsciousness) she did believe she was there, until still, even with the burning, her foot flared up in pain, and she would remember the car crash, and her present state. Sometimes she remembered the unnamed Indian man, the one that had shown her kindness, and how she initially greeted him so harshly.  The slamming of the door reverberated in her ears in those moments, and she felt immense guilt.  Recently, the man she had seen in the woods clouded her thoughts.  Her last memories from someplace outside her own head were of the man.  She could almost still feel the cool metal of the wall, and the blood pounding in her head as she slowly realized someone was watching her.  And despite the recentness of the memory, she could have sworn the man had yellow eyes.  It unsettled her. It was strange, she never remembered her memories being particularly vivid.  But it made sense, with only things in her mind to focus on that she would begin to fill in every meticulous detail.  She would go crazy if she had nothing to focus on.  But a darker part of her whispered maybe it’s something else…  or maybe you are just insane.
 
It was tiring, simply floating in the eternal abyss of one’s mind.  So one (day?  Night?  Minute?), after momentary consideration, she threw caution (and possibly sanity) into the wind.  She started building.  An entrance hall would be a good place to start, and soon she had crafted high white marble columns and vaulted ceilings.  After some time, it almost came to life- she could press her palm against the columns, feel the cool stone beneath her fingers and see the faint grey swirls and bits that glittered in the light.  Then the columns began to cast shadows from light entering the high windows, and soon she could walk from one end of the room to the other, footsteps echoing in the vast space. The pain had long faded into the background as she worked, adding detail after detail.  Life (if you could call it that) has become better now.  Now, imaginary as it was, she had a place to be, things to do. She was walking through the library, wondering whether she should add a studio to the right or left, when something suddenly felt inherently wrong.  Suddenly, she was back in the entrance hall.  And she wasn’t alone. It was the man from the woods.  “Kneel.” he commanded, and suddenly the fire swept though her veins stronger then ever, slamming her to her knees to the floor of cold stone she had created.  She screamed.

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SixThe Jedi High Council met in the northeastern most temple spire.  Towering over most of the nearby buildings, it offered a clear view to the surrounding cityscape towards the Senatorial District.  Home and workplace of the prestigious intergalactic senators and the Chancellor himself, the buildings along 600 Republica were some of the wealthiest in the Inner Core. The Council chamber itself was fairly sparsely decorated with panoramic windows and a color palette of warm tans and browns, the twelve Council member chairs facing inwards.  In the center of the space sat a holoprojector with both Pademe Amidala of Naboo and Supreme Chancellor Palpatine were in attendance. “If Senator Amidala’s sources are correct, this is a humanitarian crisis that could potentially turn the tides of the war in our favor.  Or at the very least, increase public opinion.”  Obi-Wan concluded after Padme’s testimony.  Mace and the other Council members nodded. The Chancellor looked uncertain.  “We do not have troops to spare, Master Jedi.  We are spread too thin as it is.” “It may not be necessary to send an entire battalion Chancellor.”  Saesee Tiin said.  “Meny Jedi Shadows have worked solo or with a partner for greater trials.” The Chancellor’s brow furrowed.  “Not that I do not have faith in your competence, Master Jedi, but we are talking of dozens of hostages.  How can one or two Jedi have the manpower needed?” “It’s not ideal, Chancellor, but it is the best solution we have without pulling a battalion from the frontlines.”  Mace said. The Chancellor stubbornly persisted.  “We cannot spare Jedi for a small Sepretist engagement.” Padme spoke up.  “With all due respect Chancellor, the public morale boost and the potential political consequences for the Separatists this rescue causes may very well get us closer to ending this war.” “On leave, Master Kenobi and Knight Skywalker are.   Go, they can.”  Yoda spoke. The Chancellor looked grave.  “Very well.” {}{}{} For the past few weeks since smuggling out the few sheets of flimsi, Re’eran had been on a state of constant alert.  Sending out the message on flimsi was old fashioned, yes, but she lacked the technical knowhow or means to send an untraceable comm message to the Republic, so the easiest way to send such a message was with a hand written note, with no trackable IP addresses or server tags. When she woke she found an encrypted private message waiting for her on her comm.  When she opened it and read Thanks for the daisies.  We’ll be coming to visit soon, suddenly she could breath normally again, and her heart soared.  The Republic is coming.  Quickly, she organized her thoughts.  Somehow, she would have to find the location of the other captives for Project Crismalodras .  She wished that her little brother was here- he always had a knack for computers and slicing.  And despite finding the records, she still knew very little about the experiment- she was only able to access through the public records and though they revealed hints of terrible things, the concrete details were sparse.  It was only due to her quick eye and sly hand that allowed her to gleam information from Dr. Illan’s reports that he looked over.  She knew that there were about 50 remaining patients, one of them the young human girl she looked over, and that they were getting injected with something, so perhaps the drug trial story wasn’t entirely false.  None of them had criminal records though, and though the technical jargon and complex tables she realized the patients most certainly did not have sufficient space or nutrient intake as mandated by the Intergalactic Code of Sentient Rights.  Suddenly her watch beeped, and horrid realized she was about to be late.  Erasing the message, she hurried to pull on her lab coat and gulp down a packet nutrient paste, and headed down the hall to Dr. Illian’s office. The doctor looked up from his work, looking cross, eyeing her tossiled appearance with disapproval.  “I need these analytics summarized and copied to terminal 6B.”  He bent down from behind the desk and revealed an alarmingly high stack of data pads.  The stack swaying precariously in her arms, she slowly made her way to the door, eyes focused on the top pad that was wobbling alarmingly. Suddenly someone brushed past her, scattering the data pads and sending her tumbling to the floor.  Regaining her feet, she stared uncomprehending at the dark and furious form of Count Dooku.  Stopping in front of Dr. Illian’s desk, the Count thrust out his hand and the doctor was thrown violently from his chair and pinned to the wall.  The Count said nothing as the doctor strained against invisible ropes, face turning purple and choking.  Re’eran watched in horror as the blood vessels in his eyes popped, filling them with red.  It could have been minutes or hours, she didn’t know, but suddenly the doctor was released from his invisible hold, his dead body slumping to the floor.  She scrambled back against the wall as the Count made his way toward’s her.  His eyes were a golden color, and they seemed to glow like a feline’s.  “That is what happens to traitors Ms. Beruss.  I hope you are wiser then your predecessor.”  The Count stalked out of the room. Feeling ill, she slowly made her way over to the body, vainly trying to find a pulse.  Closing the dead man’s eyes, she leaned back.  She didn’t like the doctor, but she would never want his dead, and now there was blood on her hands.  Somehow, the Separatists had found out about the message, and the doctor had suffered for it.  Swallowing back nausea and trying to still her shaking hands, she gathered up the fallen data pads and set them on the desk.  It was only then that she realized the desk’s holographic nameplate has already been changed. 
Re’eran Beruss, Chief Medical Officer.
 {}{}{} Sepretist file DXRR07.  Contents: Suppression of Raxus and Project Crismalodras .  Raxus Secundus is located in the Raxus system at the edge of the Outer Rim.  Third planet in the Raxus system, following the unusable planet slotted for waste disposal, Raxus Prime, and the second planet from the star, Raxus II.  Raxus has a surplus of fertile land and fossil fuels, as well as vast oceans that cover about 71% of the planet’s surface.  The atmospheric composition is suitable for most life-forms, falling into Type I, Breathable. Raxus was formerly inhabited by about 8 billion primitive non space fairing humans.  Most of the population was exterminated following Sepretist occupation.  Some 5 million were kept alive for manual labor in establishing the Sepretist capital, and are scheduled for termination after the infrastructure’s completion.  Several thousand of those laborers in best condition were transferred to Project Crismalodras .  The project began after Sepretist leader Yan Dooku discovered a lack of force signature in one of Raxus’s inhabitants.  It was quickly established that none of the humans had midichlorians, contradicting everything known about life in the wider galaxy.  The goal of Project Crismalodras  was to implant midichlorians into the humans from Raxus.  There is a nearly 98% mortality rate to the attempts, and a 99.9% fail rate.  There are 56 patients alive after trying to implant them with midichlorians and one successful implantation, a pale skinned female of about 17 standard years.

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Seven
It felt like millenia since packing for a mission that was other than another deployment on a battlefield, even though the war had only begun officially a few mere months ago.  It took the war beginning for Obi-Wan to take a step back and realize the conflict had been brewing for decades.  It was a bitter pill to swallow, looking back on all the missed opportunities and chances that maybe would have prevented the Sepritiest Crisis and the war.  The Republic was far from the perfect, shining example in his politics classes of his Padawan days- he had just realized it to late.  Qui-Gon would be chiding him, he thought, saying that none of this was his fault- But who had let themselves get captured on Genesis?  He had.  Who had found the clones?  He had.  Who had been on the mission to Naboo nearly a decade before?  He karking had.  This war was his fault.  And he had killed his master in the process. “Master Kenobi, is everything alright?”  His grand-padawan stood in the doorway.  He smiled, ever the diplomat. “Of course Ahsoka.  How can I help you?”  She plopped down on the edge of the bed.  “Why are you and Skyguy going to Serrano?” Obi-Wan shook his head foundly, remembering his Padawan days of eavesdropping on the old masters.  “Should I ask where you got that classified information?” he said dryly.  Ahsoka grinned.  “Can’t give away my secrets Master.  So when are we leaving?” “You will be staying here.  We will be back before our leave is over.”  Obi-Wan carefully brushed off a battered data pad with mission specs and put it in his bag. “Master!  That’s not fair!”  She jumped off the bed with a scowl.  “I’m Skyguy’s padawan-” “-And we do not wish to put you in harm's way.” “I’ve been on the warfront!” Suddenly the door opened, revealing Anakin Skywalker.  “Obi-Wan-” “Master Obi-Wan says I can’t go with you guys,” Ahsoka interrupts.  Anakin ran his mech had though his hair, looking conflicted.  “Your on leave, Snips.” “So are you,” she quipped back, stubborn. Obi-Wan exited the room with a sigh.   “Master… I want to come with you.” Anakin sat down on bed and waved her over.  “Believe me Snips, I get it.  But sometimes you can’t do kark.” Ahsoka grinned.  “I’m pretty sure that’s not Jedi philosophy, Master.”  Anakin grinned back.  “It’s not.  It’s Outer Rim philosophy.  Come on, I’m pretty sure Obi-Wan’s done with taking up residency in his bedroom.”  There was a muffled agreement from down the hall. {}{}{} It was rare for the conference room to be used at the underground medical base, let alone for the Count to be there in person for days. “Security measures will be increased by 225%,” the Count intoned to the room.  “Are we expecting an attack?” A pale Roidarian from janitorial staff blubbered.  The Count turned his steely gaze on him and the alien paled even more.  “It is a preventive measure in response to increased Republic activity in the sector,” the Count stated icely, and the alien nodded vigorously.  For the most part Re’eran sat in silence, taking down the occasional note in an effort to maintain a cool facade as Dooku steadily increased the droid presence and security checks.  Had her plans with the Republic somehow been leaked? She didn’t know, but in any case she certainly wasn’t happy with the dramatic increase in battle droids in the compound.  Finally the conference came to a close, and amongst the clammer of sentients leaving the tiny space she hoped she would be unnoticed by the Count.  No such luck. “Ms. Beruss, a moment?”  Tightening her grip on her datapad to stifle her shaking hands, she turned. “Yes sir?” “I want your own assessment of the patient in room 234C3.” She cleared her throat.  “I believe Dr. Illian completed the latest evaluation and then next is not due until-” “Did I ask for your questions, Ms. Beruss?”  She glanced down, away from his gaze. “No, sir.” “Good.  I expected sent in to me at 1500 tomorrow.” {}{}{} The room’s artificial lights illuminated everything with a harsh blueish tone.  The doctor’s eyes were drawn to the Sepritest prison brand at her collarbone, a false mark that is bound to cause real consequences in the eyes of anyone who didn’t know or believe her story. She wasn't sure why, but today as she took vitals her thoughts rested on an incident she hadn’t thought of in years.  She was a tiny child, perhaps 5 or 6 standard when the Jedi came to her village.  They said they had felt ‘Nam’s new baby.  Said she glowed brightly in the Force.  Re’eran didn’t really understand was the Force was, she just knew that her aunt’s baby made her very happy and warm.  When she said this to the two Jedi, the younger one muttered a question.  The Master shook his head. “No, she is too old.”  Re’eran remembered being very sad when they took the baby away.  Later a young teen, when she was old enough to understand what the muttered words ment, she would occasionally wonder what it would have been like to be a Jedi.  Those dreams were soon forgotten however with her apprenticeship to the local doctor and then heading off to university. Tapping through the menus on the monitor to send the readings to her office, she pondered over the thought.  Perhaps the Republic would send a Jedi.  Unlikely, but not impossible.  Her village had always treated the space fairing monks with a weary trust, but Re’eran didn’t mind the two Jedi when they came- they glowed like her little cousin. Suddenly the monitor chittered, and Re’eran felt that familiar glow again, darker, a little hesitant, but still there.  She glanced around, but no one had come into the room.  And it didn’t give her the uneasy feeling the way the Count did anyway… suddenly, everything clicked.  Before the Jedi left, the Padawan had shown her how to reach out with her feelings and touch other people.  She didn’t know much, with only a night of whispered instruction and a little child’s attention span, but perhaps… “This is not going to work,’ Re’eran muttered.  Reach out with your feelings- feel the Force flowing though everything… feel it flowing though you and those around you… She reached out, and felt… pain… anger… fear… She felt her own anger well up in response, what had the Count done- and suddenly the sensation of something- no someone- latching on to her desperately, she had been alone for so long…  Help is coming.  The Republic is coming, she tried to push, it though to the girl, then she heard footsteps.  Untying the synthleather, she wrapped the bracelet around the girls wrist.  This is real, this did happen, I have to go.  Clumsily she drew up the sheets to cover it, and started down the hall.

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EightThe bridge of the droid command ship that marked the entrance and exit to Dooku’s home system was full of idle tan B1 battle droids.  A blip appeared on a monitor, and it’s droid onlooker whirred to life, it’s head clicking and whirring as it focused it’s visual sensors on the blinking triangle. “Um sir- we have a unmarked vessel approaching-” the B1 wined.  It’s commander trotted over. “Tell them to submit their clearance codes,” the commander said.  “Submit your clearance codes,” the B1 repeated into the comm.  The OOM commander walked away, grumbling about the loose circuits in the new B1s.  Another B1 monitoring the ship’s security feed cocked his head. “Commander?  Th-”  Suddenly the droid was flung aside with a comical ahhhhh as the doors to the bridge opened, revealing Count Dooku. “Sir, all gauges are holding steady-” the OOM recited. “Have you let any ships into the system?” the Count thundered, his eyes glowing dangerously. “B1-832, did you let that ship in?” the OOM asked, glancing at it’s counterpart. “Yes, sir!  I just cleared them for entry,” B1-832 said cheerfully, oblivious to the Sith’s anger.  “Where are they going?” the Count asked icily. “Um, please input your destination, TX-76106.”  The computer let out a low dial tone.  “Sorry sir, their out of range-” The droid was crumpled into a heap of scrap metal and sparks.  “Let no one in or out of this system.  Find that ship and it’s occupants.” Dooku growled, and he turned heel and left the bridge. “Yes sir,” the commander warbled. {}{}{} Serrano’s second moon was an unremarkable mass of brown and grey swirled rock.  Staring at the barren ground rapidly approaching, Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan. “Are we sure this is right?  Dosen’t look like much,” he said doubtfully. Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes.  “Have faith Anakin.  There- that outcropping.” Anakin guided the ship down, and sure enough, under a large ledge there was a small landing pad and durasteel door.  “I guess we land here.”  The hatch opened with a hiss and they stepped out. “It’s awfully exposed,” Obi-Wan remarked, and Anakin patted the side of the ship. “She’ll be fine.  She’s been in worse.” “All I’m saying,” Obi-Wan said as Anakin fiddled with the door’s controls, “is that the first thing I would do if I were Dooku is blow up the ship.” R2-D2 rolled partially down the ramp behind them, whistling a question.  Anakin laughed. “Thanks buddy, but we need you to stay here.  I doubt there will be a lot of cover, and we have a contact to get doors open.  Thanks though.”  He patted the droid affectionately, and  R2 whistles goodbye, rolling back up into the ship. The door hissed open.  They entered. {}{}{} Re’eran sat at the desk that used to be Dr. Illian’s.  It was hers now, and she couldn’t escape the images everytime she blinked of him being held against the wall by the Count, blood pouring from every visible orifice.  Her comm blinked with an incoming message, and she answered. A tan battle droid stared at her.  “Ma’m, a sensor was tripped in sector C-3.”  The hanger entrance. “Should we enform the Count?” Heart feeling like it would flutter out of her chest, she tried to keep the tension out of her voice.  “Disregard it.  Maintenance sent a memo late last night saying they would be doing work there.”  Ending the call, her hand absentmindedly touched her bare wrist where the bracelet would normally lie.  She took a drive from a locked draw and slipped it into her brest pocket.  The Count knew someone was coming- they were running out of time.  She stepped out of the office, and felt two warm glowing presences like she had felt in her village all those years ago… she started down the hall, not looking back. {}{}{} “This place is a maze,” Anakin hissed as he and Obi-Wan had to duck behind another corner to avoid a droid patrol.  “And crawling with droids.  How are we supposed to find any of the captives in this?” “Wait,” Obi-Wan said, and after a moment a door a few meters away in the hall adjacent slid open.  Anakin was a mere second away from igniting his blade, but Obi-Wan stopped him with a miniscule shake of his head. The twi’lik who had just exited the room paused, and then started down the hall away from them.  Silently, the Jedi followed her for several meters until her fingers on her left hand twitched passing a door. /I’ll take this one.  Keep following./  Anakin nodded, and with a touch of Force, Obi-Wan opened the door with a smooth click. The moment he stepped into the room, a Force presence flared to life, and he winced, tightening his shields.  It reminded him in some ways of Anakin, but instead of the dark being like a shroud that periodically veiled his light, the darkness was woven through the signature, bound to her life-force, and severing the link would be deadly.  It was dark in a way that something was inherently wrong with what had been done, and he quickly disabled the monitors with practiced ease.  He carefully took the IV out of one pale, slime wrist and unattached the gauges.  Though all of this, the girl did not stir from her comatose state, and he quickly realized he would need to shield her if they we going to get anywhere past the Force containing walls of the room without Dooku feeling her presence.  Gently, he reached out- He slips on the clotting blood on the cold marble, sending him on his hands in knees.  There’s a mutilated bloodied corpse in the corner of the high ceilinged misty room, and Obi-Wan knows there is something very very wrong here...

The corpse smiles at him, and that’s when he realizes this blooded being with the skin literally flayed off them is alive, and it’s horrifying beyond belief staring at that grin and blood stained teeth.
 It’s gone, and he has the girl cloaked in his own shields and she’s reaching out and clinging to him, the darkness marbled into her signature writhing in pain at the nearness of the Jedi.  His commlink buzzes, and Anakin’s voice is patched though. “I’ve found most of the hostages.” He can feel Anakin’s fury at Dooku pouring though their bond, and the darkness in the girl reaches for it as she herself flinches away, and Obi-Wan can feel something tearing.  He slams shields down on his bond with Anakin. “We need to go now,” he barks, and far away he can hear Anakin agreeing, but he’s too consumed with putting one foot in front of the other out the door and down the hall to notice.  Too late, he hears the whining of droidikas tumbling down the hallway and he throws the girl over his shoulder and shifts into a clumsy Soresu stance.  He can feel the sweat dripping down his neck as somehow he finds the strength to keep going, deflecting blaster bolt after blaster bolt, until they suddenly stop and he drops to his knees in relief, not even stopping to consider why until it’s too late. The red blade is so close to his neck he can feel the skin blistering. “We meet again, Grandpadawan.”

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Nine
Anakin scowled, cursing in Huttese under his breath.  He stared around at the dim room of frightened faces, and ran his hand through his hair, trying to think.   He glared at the control panel to the door he had wrecked to get in and slammed his mech fist down with frustration, sending it sparking again.  He felt Obi-Wan’s signature waver for a moment before his former master blocked his end of the bo”nd abruptly.  Growling, he paced. “If your going to kill us, stop idling in the doorway,” a voice said, and Anakin stopped pacing and looked at the prisoners. All ranging from around 15 standard to 50, they all had shadows under there eyes and gant faces. “You already did fuck knows what to us,” the pale blond man continued.  “Finish the job.” “I’m trying to rescue you.  I’m a Jedi Knight with the Galactic Republic.”  There was no recognition at the title, and blank stares turned into disbelief and suspicion at the words galactic republic. “They won’t know what that is, Master Jedi.”  Anakin jumped- he had completely forgotten the Twi’lek doctor beside him. “Kriff it.  Where’s Obi-Wan?” he muttered, mostly to himself, but Re’eran replied, eyes widening as an emergency message came through her staff comm. “Caught.  We need to go, Master Jedi.” “Kark! Do you trust me?” Anakin asked the few dozen faces, barely visible in the half light. “No,” the blond haired man snarled, but a darker skinned woman with a heavy accent put a hand on his arm. “We have nothing to lose.” “What about our lives?” The woman shook her head.  “We have nothing left.  Our families have been taken from us, our world has been invaded- we have nothing left to lose.” The man sneered.  “Fine.  Go with this lunatic and his green friend and further out into the galaxy.  I wouldn’t be surprised if you died in an instant.” Klaxons began to blare throughout the ship, igniting his saber as blaster bolts began to fill the corridor, Anakin tugged at the nearest vent in the ceiling.  The cover came rattling off and landed with a clang.  “Get in the vents!  I’ll hold off the droids!  Go!” A few stepped out into the corridor, the rest pressed themselves further into the room, eyes wide and muttering prayers or curses. Anakin glared at them.  “What are you doing?  GO!”
 
“It is their decision, Jedi Knight,” the woman said as Re’eran boosted her into the vent before pulling up the alien herself.  “Do not delay on their account.  We are placing great faith in you, Knight.”  Anakin snarled with frustration, but before he could respond another squad of droids joined behind the first. “They're in the vents!  Blast them!”  Anakin sliced the nearest droid in half, and flead down the corridor. {}{}{} “A pity we couldn’t meet over tea with Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan panted.  He was numb with exhaustion, and the Count’s reply could barely be heard over the pounding of blood in his temples. “Indeed,” the Count replied.  “I see you have found what you came for.  Skywalker has freed the rest of the prisoners, I assume,” he sniffed. He could feel Anakin’s approach.  Undoubtedly the Count could too. “A pity young Skywalker can’t save you this time,” the Dooku drawled, echoing Obi-Wan’s previous statement, and he could feel the blade drawing away and humming with momentum for the killing strike… With a monstrous clang the heavy vent from the ceiling above landed square on Dooku knocking him out, crushing a droideka in the process. Anakin quickly skewered the other two behind him.  Obi-Wan slumped to the ground, barely managing to keep the girl’s head from hitting the floor.  “Anakin… I need you to take over shielding… it’s too draining…” he mumbled as several shapes dropped from the vent.  He heard Anakin’s affirmative and gratefully dropped his shields from around the girl.  An unfamiliar face came into his field of view. “Do you have any medical supplies?” the voice asked, and Obi-Wan’s fingers twitched, gesturing. “Stims… far right…”  Re’eran opened the compartment on his belt and jabbed the needle into his thigh.  Instantly the world came into focus again.  He saw Anakin struggling to wrap his shields around the girl. “We need to go.  Dooku won’t be out for long.” He got to his feet, slightly woozy from the artificial adrenaline. “Yeah,” Anakin panted.  “I’ve got two squads of droids following me.” “The hanger is this way,” Re’eran said, and they sprinted down the hall. {}{}{} Anakin gazed at the hanger in frustration.  They took the Twilight because it technically wasn’t a part with the GAR, but it was the quickest and ‘safest’ way to Serrano.  It had been a gamble- there had been no time to go to the Senate to request a dispatch and a bigger ship registered with the GAR would have put up red flags immediately on Serrano. But the Twilight was tiny, it was cramped even with just three people and R2.  The ships in the hanger and landing pad were mostly droid transports, ill equipped for living beings.  Dooku shuttle was there, which as much as he would have loved to hijack the solar sailer, it had room for maybe a dozen people at most.  They numbered at eighteen- fourteen prisoners, the girl, him and Obi-Wan, and the doctor.  Re’eran was at the terminal, scrolling through the cataloged ships.  The former prisoners shifted from foot to foot anxiously, and Obi-Wan’s hands, despite his serene expression, were visibly shaking from the stim and Force exhaustion.  Anakin shifted weight the comatose girl he was supporting slightly, and he could feel sweat beginning to form on his brow. “We’re running out of time before the droids catch up,” he hissed to the Twi’lek.  “R2, do you read me?  Start the engines.” Obi-Wan, despite his exhaustion, managed to form a scathing reply.  “Anakin, what are you doing?” R2 wisled back an affirmative over the comm.  “We can’t just leave the Twilight,” Anakin whined.  “I’ve spent months working on her!” “There’s a Gozanti class cruiser parked at the end of this row.  Should be big enough,” Re’eran said, some of the color coming back into her face that had been rapidly paling over the past few minutes.  Anakin grinned. “Not bad.  There will be at least two turrets on that thing.”  Anakin ran off, and with a sigh, Obi-Wan gestured for the others to follow. Anakin was already in to cockpit when the ship came into view, a large grin on his face, despite the mere seconds they were behind him.  Re’eran’s brows lifted, but she didn’t say anything and Obi-Wan muttered under his breath as he sprinted up the ships ramp. “Anakin-” Anakin’s fingers with alreadly flying over the controls, and there were beeps and whistles as the ship roared to life.  “I can pilot, Master.  Don’t worry.” Obi-Wan ran a hand down his face, eyeing with exasperation the two additional seats for a co-pilot and navigator, but chose not to comment.  The twi’lek doctor didn’t show such restraint. “But-” Re’eran started to protest, but Anakin interrupted her as he used the Force to switch a lever out of his reach. “I can fly it.”  Obi-Wan muttered something that sounded like frivolous use of the Force under his breath.  “I need you and Obi-Wan to be gunners.” Re’eran paled, her normally bright green skin turning almost white.  “I can’t.  I’m a doctor, I swore an oath-”  Suddenly there was a furious chirping of binary over Anakin’s comm.  He cursed. “R2, keep trying to override the restraints.  I’ll-” “I can override them,” Re’eran said.  “They don’t know I’m with you yet, my passcodes should still be good.”  She hurried away, clearly glad to leave the two Jedi. “At least they didn’t blow the Twilight up when they found out whose it was,” Obi-Wan commented dryly. {}{}{} Re’eran hurried across the hanger, glancing nervously from side to side.  Here nerves were fried, what was she doing?  She had never been one for heroics or action, but gods help her, look where she was now- in the middle of a Sepritest medical base, crawling though vents, knocking out the Count of Serrano, working with Jedi… She didn’t like these Jedi very much.  These two, Obi-Wan and Anakin, were very different then the Jedi she had met as a child.  They were anything but calm- they were reckless and self sacrificing, in stark contrast to the stiffly mannered Master and even his nervous Padawan who visited her village.  Both of them practically oozed confidence, Anakin to the point of arrogance.  She wondered which pair was the exception to the norm, the stone faced and tight strung pair in her village or the comradery and recklessness of the Chosen One and the Negotiator. Finally arriving at the Twilight- a small beaten and battered fighter with a blue astromic rolling around the cabin frantically, it’s various appendages out and prodding various ports, she went to the nearby console and began to boot it up.  After a few moments a blinking menu screen appeared and accepted her password, and she began to type in commands. She was so absorbed in the process that she didn’t realise the droid was behind her until she heard stop right there, and felt cool metal on the back of her head.  Suddenly her breast pocket felt like it was filled with lead. How could she have forgotten?!  The Republic needed the data and files if any attempt was to be made to accuse the Separatists.  Heart hammering, she raised her hands in the air. With a leap no normal humanoid could accomplish, a brown and cerulean blur began slicing through the droids that surrounded her.  “Master Jedi!  Catch!”  She took the data card from her pocket and flung in towards Skywalker.  Fingers flying, she twisted back around and continued entering commands.  She could hear more droids approaching, the whine of drodikas shields and the heavy thuds of super battle droids. “Almost done?” Skywalker yelled over the clammer.  Re’eran furiously watched the loading bar creep along. “Working it!  Do you really need this ship?”  A blaster bolt flew dangerously close to her face, she could feel it’s heat singeing her headtails.  Anakin grimaced, thinking maybe this was a bad idea after all.  “Well, R2 is on there!”   She didn’t bother trying to argue that he could have cut open the cockpit with his laser sword and then they would all be on their way- her objections wouldn’t do anything.  Anakin grunted as a blaster bold slipped past his guard.  Suddenly the Gozanti ship roared to life overhead, ramp extended. “Whose flying that thing?” she yelled, as the loading bar crept along, almost there, with a sinking feeling in her gut.  But she never heard the Jedi’s reply, when suddenly her heart ached and the world lurched and there was a smoking hole in her chest… The console beeped and the electro-restraints that head the Twilight released, but that was all a dim blur, and she pushed, and Anakin Skywalker stumbled back onto the ramp, eyes wide…  She fell backwards, and she realized that the wound had come from the opposing side where the droids were firing… She landed at the black booted feet of Darth Tyranus, the Dark Side howling as the two ships soared away.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Interlude : Hunter
“And why?” the blue alien drawled, “should I take this job?  It’s deep in the Core, and I heard about that fiasco with Jabba’s son.” The Count’s only sign of impatience was the slight furrow of his brows.  “I can pay you upwards of a million credits.” Rubik Falon smirked, ridges of flesh around his mouth fluttering.  “You really want them gone, don’t you Count?”  The bounty hunter leaned back, beckoning a server droid over for a bottle of fine Alderanni brandy.  “Alright, I’ll bite.  What’s the job?” The holo flickered, Dooku’s face briefly disappearing to show a wanted poster.  “I need this prisoner to be apprehended and brought back to me.” Rubik leaned forward, small black eyes glistening with interest.  “She looks young, Count.”  He’s eyes briefly left the communicator to gaze at an old holo.  Rubik turned his attention quickly back on the Count.  “What’s she done?” he asked, leaning further back into the synth-leather chair. “I thought your Code forbade you to ask questions,” Dooku said looking displeased.  The blue Urellian shrugged. “That’s after the job is done, right now I can ask all I want.” The Count snarled, and Rubik’s collar felt unusually tight for a moment. “You know what, just go ahead and send me the contract,” the alien said, clearing his throat.  The Count nodded, and the holo winked out. The old holo recording stared up at him accusingly.  “It’s just a job,” Falon muttered.  “You wouldn’t like Coruscant anyway.”Part III
“And there’s an old man sitting on the throne there saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut.”
-Halsey, CastleTenThe Force stung and the ship rattled, the world blurring, and there were screams of pain and fear and suddenly Anakin pulled him from the pilot seat and Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and shook his head, making his way out of the cockpit to the main of the ship.  Instantly his senses were assaulted by the fear of more than a dozen unshielding minds and someone shouts you killed that woman and there’s a fist to his face and his eyes blur with involuntary tears as his cheek swells. It takes a few heartbeats for him to regain his composure, and he sees the offender being held back by his fellows. “I’d rather appreciate it if I came back from this mission with both eyes intacted.  I’m sure my medic would appreciate it at the very least,” he said dryly, and then winced as his cheek began to sting.  The offender looked incredulous. “How did you dodge… your already...” Obi-Wan smiled wryly.  “The Force works in mysterious ways.” A woman spoke up.  “I’m Jahnavi Patel.  Would you mind telling me more about where we are heading?” {}{}{} Anakin leaned back with a sigh, flexing his sore muscles and checking the diagnostics for damage. “Thanks, Artoo.  I don’t think I would have gotten that vulture back there.” The droid whistled a reply, then let out an accusatory series of beeps.  Anakin winced. “I couldn’t leave you, Artoo.”  The astromech let out an angry whistle. “Yeah, I know, I know.”  A good Jedi would have left him and the Twilight behind- then maybe Re’eran would have made it…  “But I spent so much time on the Twilight, and you're my best friend, Artoo.  I couldn’t have left you.” Suddenly, his master’s infuriatingly serene presence flared to life behind him.  “Don’t,” he said, letting anger creep into his voice.  “I know I screwed up.” With a deep sigh, probably disappointed not to lecture me on the ‘dangers of attachment’, Anakin thought bitterly, Obi-Wan approached the controls.  “We need to report to the Council.”  Anakin abruptly got up and left.  Obi-Wan didn’t stop him. {}{}{} Following his former Master’s force imprint, he reached the last of the three sleeping quarters.  Despite his foul mood, he couldn’t help a snort of laughter- Obi-Wan had claimed the top bunk, as he had always done since Anakin had dragged up a large gonk droid to tinker with one night on a mission and the upper bunk had collapsed on a sleeping Obi-Wan from the extra weight.  Obi-Wan had managed to prevent the large metal plate of the bed from landing on him, but still got a thirteen year old Anakin on top of him.  Needless to say, they each remembered the incident a little differently.“Your Anakin Skywalker?” a voice said behind him. “Kriff!” he cursed as his head knocked solidly against the small shelf mounted on the wall beside the bed.  The woman smiled apologetically. He recognized her as the same woman who convinced people to escape with them. “Sorry for startling you.  I’m Jahnavi.”  Anakin frowned.  “No problem.  This ship’s not big enough for just me and Obi-Wan to have out own quarters.  I should have expected someone.”  I also should have sensed you, he didn’t say.  “I’m Anakin, yeah.” The woman smiled.  “Very nice to meet you.  Do you mind telling me more about your Order?” “Um… I’m sure Master Kenobi would be better at that,” he fumbled as he took off some of the extra attachments from his belt and threw the data chip up onto the bed. Jahnavi smiled.  “He did talk to us all briefly about your Order.  No, I’m asking you to tell me about it.” He ruffled his hair.  Padme would be better at this then me.  “Well, right now most of the Jedi are serving on the warfront.  Before the war, we were sent out to solve disputes and provide aid wherever was needed.” “How do you become a Jedi?” “Most of the force sensitive that become Jedi are taken to the temple before the age of three.  As far as I know, I’m the only exception- I was found by Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan when I was nine.” The woman nodded, she had a good poker face, and instinctively Anakin reached out in the Force to get a feel for her emotions- -except he couldn’t.  It wasn’t like shielding, like hitting a wall- nothing was there.  It was like trying to feel a force signature of a rock.  Alarmed, he stretched out his senses, and despite the numerous people aboard, he could only feel Obi-Wan’s signature- and the rolling, unsteady thunderstorm that was that girl’s. He must have been under longer then he thought, because when he opened his eyes, Jahnavi was staring at him with concern.  Suddenly Obi-Wan tugged at their bond. 
/The Council wants to see you./
 "I'll be right there!"  Uttering reassurances and an excuse, Anakin headed to the cockpit, thoughts racing.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Eleven
Jahnavi had seen a lot of incredible things in her life.  She had spent her childhood watching her mother scrape together funds for them to get an education and out of the slums.  She had seen her father leave one cold night and never look back.  She had seen the Lady Liberty seemingly rise out of the sea as she walked the path like so many before her to a new home.  Most of all, she had met her husband.  Those were all incredible things to her. But as she stared at the stars streaking past and thought of the last few hours, she realized perhaps there would never be a word to describe everything that had happened, and will happen.  She looked around at the grim, lined faces that she had gotten to know so well in her captivity.  “What’s going to happen to us,?” Andre, a wiry and skinny twenty year old asked. Jahnavi sat cross legged on the ground.  “We survive, and then when the time comes, we live.” “We don’t need your riddles,” a burly man growled from the corner. She just shook her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.  “Then don’t listen, Jackson.” “We ought to all stick together,” Maryam, a middle aged woman with curly red hair said.  Their was unanimous agreement- none of them were stubborn or stupid enough to go out on ther own yet.  How long that would last, Jahnavi didn’t know, but for now fear and uncertainty tied them together, and that would have to be enough. {}{}{} Despite the overuse of the scene and song, the main theme was still her favorite.  Something about the way her teammates and the music swelled around her and Dan in synchrony made her feel lighter than air.  It was hard sometimes to get into costume without crushing any of the white feathers, but as her instructor said, you do perform for the back of the audience, not the front.  As she braces to go on point in the next move, but suddenly her balance shifts, and the floor of the stage creaks alarmingly, and with a great crack the board snaps and she’s falling into a dusty darkness, feathers swirling around her…
 
Suddenly branches splinter and scrape her, and the scent of the woods fills her nostrils. Something is familiar about this place… there are footsteps, and this time she can feel the darkness before he gets to close- she calls him Fouette in her mind, after the only move she couldn’t pull off before the accident.  She jumps and begins to run-
 
-only suddenly the ground in paved and not pine needles beneath her feet, and something singes her hair.  It’s not a place she’s ever been before, and she can smell smoke in the air, and there’s a great rumbling that seems to shake the entire world.  She hadn’t been alive for the Twin Towers, but she wondered if this is what the air felt like, stinking and rancid, and shaking .  Suddenly there's a yawning chasm of darkness, and frick she needs to jump dosen’t she?
 
It takes her a long time to realize she’s been moved.  The bed has a different firmness, the blanket a different weave.  She also realizes that for the first time in lord knows how long she can feel her fingers and toes and the way her hair is laying and the feeling of clothing on her back, and then this thing happens.  It’s like seeing or feeling but she definitely knows her eyes are closed, and she also definitely knows there’s someone approaching her.  It’s a ethereal blueish green shimmering thing and lord her mom would hate her gratuitous use of the word ‘thing’ but she dosen’t know what that is. She pokes it. {}{}{} Bant Eerin shakes her head fondly as the two ships settle down onto the landing pad.  Master Che often said she had a bed reserved for Obi-Wan in the Halls of Healing after every mission whether he wanted it or not, and Bant couldn’t say she disagreed.  Obi’s new clone commander CC-2224, stood stock still as the landing pad rumbled around them.  All things considered, the ships didn’t look in too bad of shape, which was a near miracle when Obi’s padawan was involved.  She looked at the small band of Padawan healers that she had brought with her- the Council hadn’t been very forthcoming about where said refugees had come from exactly, only that they would need indepth medical checks and one was in critical condition.  Obi-Wan of course said he and Anakin were fine, but she doubted it. As the ship’s landing gear fastened into place and the ramp extended, Bant nudged the clone.  “Come on, Commander.  Let's go see what your new CO got himself into.” “Yes sir.” he said, still standing at attention.  Bant hummed, almost wanting to tell him to relax a little, but she knew he would eventually.  Obi-Wan stood at the top of the ramp, directing the refugees to the cluster of waiting Padawans.  All human, she noted, and she felt them staring at her salmon skin, webbed hands, and fish like face.  Haven’t seen a Mon Calamari before either.  I’ll start them out with all humanoid medics.  I’ll have to let Master Che know.  She turned her attention back to Obi-Wan, wanting to chid him about using stims again, but Anakin came down the ramp, supporting a semi-concious female human teen of about 16 standard.  Frowning she sprinted over, yelling over her shoulder to the commander to make sure Obi and Anakin reported to the halls. {}{}{} “Well, their human atleast,” Vokara Che muttered.   “And Kenobi thought Jinn was bad at comming home with pathetice lifeforms.  Honestly, dumping fifteen more patients on me during a war...”  There was a knock on the door.  “This better be about the fifteen humans Bant just admitted for full diagnostics and inoculations from Kenobi’s mission, Mace.” Windu entered, and had the grace to look slightly sheepish under the Chief Healer’s stare.  “The informant gave Skywalker a data chip.  It contains files that should be useful to you.  They were held in Serrono.” Vokara looked unimpressed.  “I imagine it was Skywalker’s idea to go barging into the middle of Sepritist space.” Mace winced.  “The Senate’s actually.  The Senator from Naboo received a plea for help regarding their capture.  It was not an officially sanctioned mission.” Che just shook her head, tapping a screen to allow the data Mace had sent to be transferred to the main database in the Halls.  “There better have been a good reason for doing it.  I may not be Kenobi, but I know barging into enemy territory isn’t good for this war.” 
Mace turned grim.  “There was.”  He turned to the holos that displayed the various wards.  “You're looking at the first people without midichlorians to be discovered in the galaxy.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Twelve“The Galaxy is a tangled web of flickering lights, my children.  Some are stained crimson, others are as pale and cold as the sky.”  The old man with bulging blind eyes told his story on the opposite street corner, rambling on even though his audience had long since been pulled away by their mothers.  Falon grunted, cursing in his native tongue under his breath, a series of sounds imperceptible to the humanoid ear.  His informant was very, very late, and they would pay for it.“You do not believe in the energies that bind the galaxy?”  With the question the old man’s voice grew starkly clear, so vastly different from the near hour before of mad ramblings that Falon spared him a glance. “No, no, you do not.  You will, though.”  Ignoring the man, Falon focused back on the street that his client was to meet him. “He’s dead, you know.  An unfortunate happenstance.”  Patience finally up, Falon pointed his blaster at the man. “Shut up.”  The whine of the activated trigger, thrumming with energy, seemed to fill the quiet street. The old man smiled, still facing the wrong way.  “Or perhaps it’s the One’s will.  I can tell you what you must do to rescue the Grey One.” “I said, shut up.” “Many thousands of lives lie in the balance,” the old man continues, but suddenly, it’s her voice snarking at him as the ship jumps to hyperspace. 
“You could have saved them, you know.”  The harsh blue light bleaches her tanned complexion.  There’s so much hurt in her young voice.  He doesn't respond.

“You could have done the right thing.”

“I’m not a good man.”  But instead of responding with her usual jab, her eyes well with tears.

“I know,” she says angrily.  “I was an idiot to think you were.”  A piece of him that he still didn’t know he had breaks.
 The old man falls down, dead.  “I’m not rescuing anyone,” he mutters at the body.  For a moment, he almost hears her again. 
You can rescue yourself.
 {}{}{} The human brain will always try to rationalize- even when the world seems like it’s falling apart, her therapist always said.  Maybe that’s why it feels like there’s sunlight shining on her face, and she can hear the pattering of feet and low hum of voices- like she’s just on the edge of waking.  She fumbles for the marbled entryway, but it’s like trying to grasp at smoke- it wouldn’t come.  Before she even realized it, her eyelids had flickered open- -Only to be assaulted by a blinding light that caused her head to pound and see spots.  She must have winced or made a noise, because immediately there was a light touch on her arm- or at least that’s what she assumed, but her nerves howled.  She dragged her hand away, but the movement across the blanket felt like fire.  Voices faded in and out around her. 
“Lights, 30 percent.”

“Can you hear me- kriff- Master?”

“She’s not seizing, but she appears to be in duress-”

“Out of my way.  Can you hear me?  Good.  I need all of you out of here now!”

“But Ma-”

“Now!”
 After a while the blood finally stopped pounding in her ears, and she blinked her eyes open at the slightly blurry, dark shapes around her.  Even with such low light her eyes began to sting. “Can you tell me your name?” a voice beside her said.  It took a conscious effort to rotate her eyes to the speaker. “Your blue.”  The words flutter from Martha’s mouth before any conscious thought forms in her head.  The thing nodded, having a tender look in it’s eye like it’s almost human.  Stars sprinkled her vision. “You need to breathe,” she chided.  Atleast, she thought it was a she.  Martha sucked in one tiny breath. “Where’s Mom?” she asked, voice cracking from lack of use.  The Blue Woman looked sympathetic. “My name is Vokara Che.  I-”  Suddenly the door slid open, and there was something coming in that wasn’t right and she was moving without forming a thought like her days on stage and stumbling into things she couldn’t quite see because of the dimness and the fuzzyness that wouldn’t seem to go away.  Suddenly she bumped into a warm body, and terrified she stumbles back until the apparent woman rolls down her sleeve and there’s a tiny teal lady tattooed there that she knows from pictures and even got to see once.  She talks with the same accent as the last real voice she heard before the darkness, and a flood of I’m sorry I didn’t believe him and I lost it and where am I’s pour out like flood gates that are opened after a typhoon. {}{}{} The data pad filled with unsolved planetary gravitational problems on it seemed to taunt her.  There had been a faint buzzing in her montrals all night, like a fly.  She sighed, closing the program, and looking at the mess of wires and circuits her master had left scattered on the table before his mission.  It’s just not fair. “I know what your thinking, Commander.  General Skywalker will be back soon.”  Rex, despite the invitation and being there for several hours, still looked uncomfortable in the Jedi quarters. “I know.” Ashoka muttered, picking at the table where the paint had started to peel.  “I just want to be out there with them.  I know I can do it!” Rex nodded his head.  “Sometimes it doesn't matter if you can do something- other brothers will still have to do it.  That’s how war works, kid.” Ashoka smiled, and rubbed her aching eyes.  “Thanks, Rex.  You should probably head back to the men.  Thanks for the company.” Rex nodded stiffly.  “No problem Commander.”  As he stood and readied to go, Ashoka turned to put the data pad back on the shelf. Only when she got up the room spun in and out of focus.  She gripped the edge of the table, hard.  Faintly she heard Rex asking what was wrong.  Blinking, she steadied herself. “Someone just got really upset- almost as bad when Skyguy saw that newscaster insulting Senator Amidala.”  The echoes of the heartbroken wail still ring loudly in her head.  “Someone is really hurt.  I have a feeling it has to do with Master Kenobi and Skyguy’s mission.” {}{}{} A cloaked figure stands in the darkening twilight in the top floor of the Senatorial Offices.  As he feels the pulse of sadness though the Force, he growls.  His apprentice has gotten out of hand.