[X] Make contact with potential allies in the Senate.
[X] Advocate for the petition to defy the Banking Clan and deploy the AgriCorps.
[X] Find out what's happening with the Council.
[X] Check in on your friends.
One of the underrated perks of membership in the Jedi Order is that you never have to dress up for anything. No matter the formality of the occasion or the prestige of those you're meeting, the simple tunic and robes of a Jedi carry a cachet in the Republic that no gaudy Senatorial gown or medal-bedecked military uniform can match. It's gratifying, but also a little disconcerting, to dress not so differently from how you did as a slave and yet see even Republic Senators looking at you with a measure of respect.
Despite that respect, though, most Senators would never dare to seriously oppose the Banking Clan or the Trade Federation, even for the Order's sake. The ones you're meeting with now are (you hope) rare exceptions. Padmé pointed you to Senator Onaconda Farr of Rodia, a friend of hers since her childhood—"almost like family", she'd said—and indeed, he's proven eager to lend a hand to her cause. With his help, you and Obi-Wan have arranged a meeting with two of his closest political allies: Senators Mon Mothma of Chandrila and Bail Organa of Alderaan.
They make an odd trio, sitting there across from you. Senator Farr, a fellow child of the Outer Rim amidst the glamour of the capital, is smiling sympathetically at you (or at least you think he's smiling; you've had a fair bit of practice with Rodian expressions thanks to your friend Wald back home, but it's still hard to read emotion from insectile eyes and a bright green proboscis). Senator Organa is borrowing a page from Obi-Wan's book, looking utterly unruffled down to the careful trimming of his graying hair and beard, despite having stepped into the midst of a rapidly escalating crisis that has drawn in both the Senate and the Jedi Order. And Senator Mothma, though she has barely two years on Padmé and isn't much older even than you, is examining you carefully with an apprising expression that speaks to an old soul in a teenage frame. (Combined with her red-auburn hair, it makes her look a little like Darra.)
After the pleasantries have been exchanged, Senator Organa begins, "If you're here to ask us for our help in your struggle against the Banking Clan, I should tell you—"
Of course. This is the part where he tells you that they'd like to assist, but it's simply not politically practical—
"—that we're actually already helping you. Our faction has sided with the Order on the Senate floor since this situation began. But if you like, we can bring you up to speed on the state of the political arena."
Your visible double-take makes the Senators chuckle.
"I can understand why you, of all people, wouldn't have come to expect much from this body," says Senator Mothma as they return to seriousness. "It's a travesty of justice, what we've permitted to go on in the Outer Rim for so many years. But things are changing. The Naboo Crisis, and now the overreach of the Banking Clan, are waking people up. That's how our faction came into existence."
You're hesitant to admit ignorance in front of them, but it seems you have no choice. "That sounds like good news, but… what is your faction, exactly?"
Senator Farr looks at you curiously. "How much did Padmé tell you about the state of things in the Senate before she pointed you in my direction?"
"…Not a lot," you say diffidently. "But she knows this stuff like the back of her hand. I think she just assumed that I knew it, too."
"Ah, the eternal curse of the activist," says Senator Organa wryly. "To expect everyone in the galaxy to be as aware of politics as you."
Obi-Wan is side-eyeing you, and you know what he's thinking: if you'd just read the briefing he made for you before you rushed off to this meeting, you wouldn't be in this situation. But it's not your fault you forgot—not with things in the Temple as chaotic as they are.
(Whether or not you'd have remembered it anyway is a question for another time.)
"If it's any consolation," Senator Organa continues, "you're hardly the only person who isn't informed on how the Senate is run, and given that you didn't even grow up in Republic space you have a better excuse than most. Its workings are, by design, quite opaque to the average galactic citizen. The majority probably couldn't name the main political parties. Many wouldn't even know the Chancellor's name if not for the…unusually newsworthy way in which Palpatine came to power."
You're not normally one to be lectured at, but the words "by design" make you perk up. If the Core elite are trying to keep this knowledge from you on purpose, it's all the more important that you possess it. You turn your attention to Senator Farr as he steeples his sucker-ended fingers.
"So, the basics," he begins. "There are three major parties in the Senate, all of which we've chosen not to join for various reasons. The largest and most influential is the Constitutional League, which was Chancellor Valorum's party until Padmé brought down his government. Sometimes they're called 'Ruusanists' or 'Reformists' because they consider their roots to reach back to the Ruusan Reformation. They're a moderate to conservative faction mostly backed by the Core aristocracy…present company excepted, of course," he adds hastily with a glance at Senators Mothma and Organa. "But sometimes they offer token reforms to keep the Republic running smoothly—increased regulations, taxation of trade routes, and the like."
Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow at that last item. "'Running smoothly'?"
"Until it blew up spectacularly in everyone's face, yes," Senator Mothma deadpans.
"Speaking of the Naboo Crisis, the second party is the Coalition for Prosperity, also called the Corporatists," says Senator Farr. "I would explain who they are, but somehow I don't think I need to."
He does not.
"And then finally," he goes on, "there's the Republican Unity Front, known as the Militarists or Unitists. They're essentially the pet project of the Tarkin family of Eriadu—they've been on the wane since their patriarch Ranulph died in the Stark Hyperspace War a few years ago, but the Naboo Crisis has rejuvenated them. Apart from what's obvious from the nickname 'Militarists', they also hope to strengthen the central government's authority over the sectors and drastically curtail the power of the Jedi Order—which means they're hoping that both sides of this current conflict lose. They also happen to be crypto-Human-supremacists, though they loudly insist otherwise."
You nod, doing your best to take it all in. "So, that's everyone else. But what about you?"
Senator Farr nods. "Well, we—"
The holocomm on the table between you goes off.
Senator Mothma frowns. "Who could be calling us now of all times? We're in the middle of a meeting…" She checks the caller's comm code—and groans. "Oh no. Please not him."
"He's a valuable ally to our cause, Mon," says Senator Organa patiently.
She rolls her eyes. "He's not an ally to anyone's cause except his own. He's a rogue element. A rogue element with a ridiculous mustache."
Maybe she is a teenager after all.
Senator Organa gives an exasperated but fond sigh and presses the answer button. An image springs up of a young man in formal wear, with a narrow row of yellow stripes running up one side of his dress pants. His long hair is tied back in a ponytail, and he does indeed sport a rather bushy mustache.
"Afternoon, Senators," he says, his casual and relaxed bearing drawing a sharp contrast to his Senatorial finery. "I heard you were meeting with the Jedi and didn't invite me?"
"Because you were supposed to be meeting with Senator Bonteri," Senator Mothma says coolly.
He smirks. "I did. We had a very productive talk over one of my best bottles of Corellian brandy."
Is this how he always is, or is he needling her on purpose? It's hard to tell. Either way, Senator Mothma sighs and looks as if she's trying very hard not to press a hand to her face.
"Knight Kenobi, Padawan Skywalker," Senator Organa says, doing his best to get the conversation back on track, "I'd like you to meet Senator Garm Bel Iblis of Corellia."
"Pleasure," says Senator Bel Iblis, and clearly means it. "And I've heard your names before, of course. Hardly done with Naboo before you jumped feet first into another problem, huh? Men of action. I like that."
"Thanks," you reply with a grin, although Obi-Wan distinctly does not look as if he's been complimented.
"We'd just finished describing the Senate's main factions to Padawan Skywalker," Senator Farr says to his colleague. "We were just about to explain our own role in all this when we received your call."
"Were you? That sounds like a lot of words, so I'll keep it simple. We're the Inclusivist Bloc, and our platform is 'we aren't any of those other idiots'."
"What he means is that we're the first actual reformers the Senate has seen in some two hundred years," Senator Organa adds. "Naturally, this makes our job…somewhat difficult. Nevertheless, we persevere."
"Is Chancellor Palpatine one of you?" you ask. He hasn't mentioned them, but maybe he's just too busy to get into the details of his Senatorial business with you?
But no: winces all around the table, and a faint tremor in the Force. You seem to have struck a nerve.
"The Chancellor is an independent," Senator Farr says. "He prefers not to involve himself in the 'squabbling of the factions', as he puts it. That fact was actually key to his election campaign—he was able to present himself as being above the fray."
That certainly sounds like Palpatine. Still, you can't help but think that this group of reform-minded Senators might be good allies for him to have. "Are you working with him at least?"
"We have a confidence and supply agreement with his government as long as—" Senator Mothma cuts herself off at your blank look. "Loosely, yes."
It's better than nothing, you suppose. And perhaps it wouldn't do wonders for Palpatine's impartial image if he were seen aligning himself too closely with one party, anyway. That just leaves one more question: "How many of you are there—I mean, how big is the Inclusivist Bloc?"
Senator Bel Iblis chuckles dryly. "You're looking at it, kid."
"He's exaggerating," Senator Mothma reassures you quickly.
But then Senator Organa speaks up to say, "But not as much as we would like. There are enough of us not to simply be shouted down like some of the regional or single-issue parties, but not so many that we can sway the Senate's decisions on our own. Still, we can certainly make things as difficult as possible for the Banking Clan."
"That's actually what we came to talk to you about," says Obi-Wan, speaking up at last. "We just recently met with Queen Amidala of Naboo, who's conceived of a plan that might give you and your allies an advantage. The specific legal arguments are out of my field of expertise, but the gist is that she hopes to frame the actions of the corporations on Naboo and Kalee as violations of the fundamental right to planetary sovereignty laid out in the Ruusan Constitution."
They don't react much visibly—they're too well-practiced for that. They're a little like Jedi in that way (and even though these Senators are easily the most upstanding examples of their type, the comparison still makes your stomach twist a little). But you can sense their curiosity and their interest, even if they don't show it.
Senator Organa strokes his beard pensively. "That's…ingenious. Apart from the obvious benefit of weakening the Corporatists' position dramatically, it might split the Ruusanists if the 'party of the Constitution' were shown to be permitting unconstitutional acts. We'd be well-positioned to pick up defectors."
Senator Bel Iblis just shrugs. "I hear 'planetary sovereignty' and I'm sold."
Obi-Wan glances at the other two, but they're already nodding. "We're in," Senator Mothma says. "Senator Farr—"
"I'll contact Padmé for the details. We should be able to get to work as soon as we have her reply."
Will this truly move the needle? Knowing that for sure is beyond you. But you've found a group of people willing to stand up to injustice and given them the tools to do it better than before. All in all, not a bad day's work.
"Thanks for meeting with us, Senators," you say. "May the Force be with you."
Not a bad day's work, no…but then your work is just beginning.
"Technically," Aayla explains as she strides down the Temple's halls, "this petition doesn't have any official power. But that doesn't make it meaningless."
With your growth spurt upon you you no longer have to run to match her long-legged steps, but you still have to keep a brisk pace. "So then what does it do?"
"It puts the Council on notice that they can't just dismiss this. If it were just a few isolated rogue Knights, it wouldn't be hard for them to keep everyone in line. But we want them to see that if they ignore this move by the Banking Clan, they'll be going against the whole Order. They can't punish all of us."
For Aayla's benefit, you try to keep a dubious look off your face. In your experience, Masters are hardly above a little bit—or a great deal—of collective punishment. But she's insisted to you that the Council holds a different kind of Mastery altogether, and today isn't the day to gainsay her; it's a day to stand together.
"So, who are we talking to first then?" you ask.
She leads you down a corridor towards, of all places, the younglings' training rooms. "Before we start finding more signatures, I want to talk to Knight Tachi. She already signed it—she was one of the first, since she's friends with Master Vos—but I think she might have some advice that could help us. I just need to find…aha!"
She stops by a door whose sign says "Reserved for Art of Movement: Level 1". When you press the control, it slides open to reveal a spacious, high-ceilinged classroom hosting one of the Temple's many youngling clans—this one composed mostly of six- to seven-year-olds, or their equivalent for other species that age differently—in the midst of an exercise. Across from you stands Siri, who's using the Force to levitate a line of small metal platforms about half a meter off the ground. The younglings hop from foot to foot across them, striving to get from one end of the room to the other without losing their balance.
Siri holds a finger up as she sees you and Aayla, signaling for you to wait until the exercise is over. One by one, the younglings make their way across to her—some confidently skipping over the platforms, others taking the time to balance on wobbly legs before each jump. The last in line, a redheaded and freckled Human boy, miscalculates a leap and slips, tumbling to the floor.
"I'm never gonna get it," he pouts as he slowly gets back to his feet.
Siri pats him on the shoulder reassuringly. "You can and you will. Don't give up—the Force is always with you, even when it feels like it's not."
He hesitates…then finally nods.
Siri smiles as he runs off to rejoin his classmates. "All right, everyone, let's take a five minute break. Catch your breath, and get some water if your species needs it. I'll be back with you in just a moment." She turns to you as they disperse. "Hello there, you two. I heard you went to the Senate, Anakin—I'm sorry I wasn't able to be of any help there."
"I didn't know you knew people in the Senate," you say.
"I trained under Master Gallia, and she has more than a few contacts there," replies Siri. "I'd have asked them to support you, but unfortunately they're busy fending off the Banking Clan's lawyers and buying time for the Council to make a decision."
"Speaking of which," Aayla cuts in, narrowing her eyes, "what exactly is happening in there?"
She took the words right out of your mouth.
Siri sighs. "I'm honestly not sure. From what Master Gallia has told me…for centuries, Council politics have been defined by one simple divide. On the one side are traditionalists who want to keep to the old ways of the Jedi; on the other are reformers who want to change with the times."
You think back to that very first Council meeting about your training, with Masters Yoda, Windu, and Mundi working at cross-purposes to Masters Gallia and Koon. Is that factional split what you witnessed back then?
"So those two sides are at it again over whether or not we should call the Banking Clan's bluff on Kalee?" Aayla surmises. "Reformists in favor, traditionalists against?"
"No," says Siri, surprising you. "I said I wasn't sure where the Council stood, because this debate…it cuts across factional lines in a way I've never seen before. Master Gallia has always been a firm believer in reform, but she's been calling for caution and restraint rather than charging into this fight. But Master Windu, who as you've probably guessed is an arch-traditionalist, has said he's all for it."
You blink in surprise, making Siri smile. "Wait, Master Windu said that?"
"His exact words were 'the guardians of the Pax Republicana will not be intimidated by clerks'," she informs you.
You have to admit that that sounds like him.
Siri's brief levity quickly fades. "Something very strange is happening in the Temple lately. Something I'm increasingly sure I don't like. I signed your petition because I believe in what we Jedi can do for the galaxy, and I can't condone just giving up on that to soothe a few quintillionaires' egos. But you need to be very careful. Make the wrong moves and the thing that's meant to bring the Order together could start to tear it apart instead."
"Thank you for the warning, Knight Tachi," says Aayla. "We'll be careful."
You murmur your own thanks and farewell to Siri, but as she calls her class back into session, your mind is whirling. Building tension in the Order, new factional divides that upset a status quo that's stood for generations…and amidst all this, a tournament whose outcome could change a young Jedi's life forever, for better or worse.
You're beginning to understand what exactly it is that has your friends so on edge—and perhaps, what you might need to do to pull them back from the brink.
For once, you find Serra without her lightsaber close to hand.
She's easy to track down; it takes only a few minutes of combing the sparring halls where she spends so much of her time to find her. But she's alone today, and the saber's signature hum is absent. Instead she's practicing unarmed combat—and in place of one of the countless holographic simulations or training droids the Temple maintains for that very purpose, she's dragged out a simple punching bag from somewhere, the sort you might find in some Hutt Space fighting pit. The rhythmic thudding of her fists, knees, and feet against it echoes through the room as you walk in.
"Hey, Serra," you greet her. "Wanna spar?" You may not be on her level, but maybe having a living person to contend with will take some of the edge off her clearly roiling emotions.
"With you?" She doesn't so much as glance in your direction. "Wouldn't be much of a match."
Ouch. It seems she isn't pulling her metaphorical punches any more than her actual ones today. But that in itself gives you pause. Serra's way of speaking has never been what you'd call "delicate", but her teasing and boasting has always been meant to prod other people into rising to her level, making them give that extra little bit of effort to prove her wrong. Cutting people down like this without a second thought is unlike her.
"Okay, fine, but—"
As you approach her, whatever you were about to say dies on your lips, because now you can see the white strips of cloth she's wrapped her hands in…and the red starting to soak through them.
Your eyes widen in alarm. "Serra. Serra, stop, you're bleeding."
"I know," she says. But where your words couldn't give her pause, the concern she senses in the Force—and sees written on your face, when she finally looks over at you—does. She sighs and lets her hands fall to her sides.
"Darra quit on me," she says despondently.
"I heard," you say. "But isn't that kind of…I mean, I know you like sparring with her, but doesn't that make it way easier for you to win the Tournament?"
Serra sighs. "It's not about that. I mean, it is, but it's not. The things Darra said when I talked to her about why she didn't join…we're such different people, but she's always been the only one who understood how I feel when I'm fighting for something I care about. But now it's like all of that just…doesn't count, somehow? Like all of a sudden she's too good for it."
You're about to agree with her—but then you remember what Darra asked you in Truth Hurts about what it's like to go to war, how she seemed to sense a phantom pain from a wound she hadn't yet received, and say, "I hear you. But I don't think that's it."
"I know that," Serra admits after a moment. "In my head, I know it. Darra wouldn't just turn on a credit chip like that, she's not that kind of person. But in my heart…"
The urge to say something rises in you. You crush it ruthlessly and let her go on.
She starts pacing the sparring hall, tense and directionless, all coiled-up energy with nowhere to go. "Anakin, this—this is the only thing I'm really good at. Darra gets top marks in her classes, she's always been good at diplomacy, she works with the Archivists in her spare time, and then you're over here being an ace pilot and genius mechanic who's stronger in the Force than any of us and already even has a Master—that's not me. I only have one way to prove myself. If that's suddenly wrong, if it's 'not the Jedi way', then all this training was for nothing. I'll have worked so hard, fought so hard, just to get tossed aside for being the wrong kind of Jedi."
How many times have you feared that very same thing? How many times have you been reminded that you don't fit the profile of what a Jedi is meant to be? You, more than anyone here, can understand what she's feeling. But by the same token, it's hard to reassure her—to give her a confidence and faith in her future that you don't truly feel in your own.
But you're sure of one thing, at least: "This galaxy's becoming a more dangerous place every day. We can all see it. However the tournament goes, whatever the Masters think…I think there will always be a place in the galaxy for someone with a lightsaber and a will to do what's right."
"That's a weird way to comfort someone," Serra observes.
"Is it working?" you ask, one corner of your mouth twitching up in spite of yourself.
"Maybe," she says, but you can sense her uncoiling, refocusing. She takes a deep breath and starts unwinding her hand wraps. "It's been…nice talking to you. But I need some time to think."
You nod. "See you around, Serra."
The door slides shut behind you, leaving Serra Keto alone once again—but, you hope, a little less alone than before.
With Serra still mulling over her thoughts, you rejoin Aayla to continue your campaign. Siri's words about the Council and the unity of the Jedi have been on both of your minds, and they've led you (well, really Aayla, but you've agreed to follow her lead for now) to adopt a more careful and subtle approach. If the Council is split along political lines, then perhaps the way to avoid broadening that split to the whole of the Order is to try to sway their votes directly. With the Councilors themselves still spending most of their time in closed debate, that means meeting with their Padawans, doing your best to get them to talk their Masters around.
First on that list is A'Sharad, who's apprenticed to Master Ki-Adi-Mundi. Like Siri, he was an early signatory to Aayla and Master Vos's Council petition, but he hasn't yet taken a more active role in trying to help it along. You're hoping that a visit from a friend can change that.
You've been away from the Temple for some time on Naboo, but Aayla knows where he's been spending his time lately: in one of the briefing rooms, poring over navigational data on the trail of his and his Master's bounty hunter quarry. The two of you make your way there to meet him, and discover him leaning over a holographic map of the hyperlanes around Balmorra, the blue light of the holoprojector illuminating his shrouded face. He nods in greeting as you enter, but he's clearly engrossed in his work.
In front of him, a diagram of the possible hyperspace routes away from Balmorra unfolds on the map like a branching tree made of light. Most of the branches trail off into deep space, but enough remain to make the task quite arduous, even with the aid of the Force. It's no wonder he's been at this so long.
"What about this one?" you ask, tracing your finger along one of the glowing lines.
A'Sharad shakes his head. "It's blocked off by this nebula, here. It's full of exotic matter particles that would wreak havoc on a hyperdrive."
"Usually, yes," you say, "but there are aftermarket kits that can polarize a hypermatter manifold to protect it from those kinds of side effects. The smugglers and bounty hunters in Mos Espa used them sometimes on their ships. And if you were trying to hide your trail, wouldn't you want to go through a region of space only a few people can travel through?"
He tilts his head as he always does when he's thinking about something—just because he wears a mask doesn't mean he's impossible to read. "Good point. I'll find an astromech to run the numbers. Thank you, Anakin."
"Glad I could help," you say cheerfully.
"Now," he says, "was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"
"We were hoping you could talk to your Master about the AgriCorps deployment," says Aayla.
You nod. "He doesn't know Aayla, and he's hated me from the beginning—"
"He doesn't hate you, Anakin—"
"—but we thought he might listen to you."
You sense the smile on his face that you can't see. "As it turns out, I already have spoken to him."
"Really?"
"Yes. Whether or not he'll come around, only time will tell. But I did my best to convince him. Jedi need to stand together in the face of our enemies. An injury to one of us is an injury to us all."
For a moment, some instinct makes you wonder: is he thinking of what's happening now, or of the fate of his father, dying alone on Tatooine?
But now, with the balance of the Jedi so precarious, isn't the time to push him on it. And you've taken so many burdens onto your shoulders already that you're not certain you can hold any more. For now…you'll just have to have faith that he can endure.
Serra was easy to find. Iskat, on the other hand, is all but impossible. Bode wasn't joking when he said he and the others hadn't seen her—she hasn't vanished from the Temple, you can tell that much, but she's become so reclusive that she may as well have.
Finally, you get a faint sense of her presence deep within the heart of the Temple, on the slopes of Mount Ashla, the sacred mountain around whose peak the Temple was originally built. There are no turbolifts or repulsor platforms that take travelers up and down the mountain; the only way to ascend is to climb, as the ancient Jedi did.
So you do. Not to the peak, fortunately—only the wisest and most revered Jedi Masters journey to the very top, which is just as well because even the partial climb you have to make is exhausting. But it's rewarding, too: at the end of your trek you finally set eyes on your friend once more.
Iskat is sitting in a familiar cross-legged pose in a cave hewn into the mountain's side, one of the meditation chapels the Jedi used before the Temple was built. It's no wonder she's been so hard to find if she's been coming up here; for secluded meditation, you can hardly do better than this place. Her bright blue eyes flicker open as you approach.
"I didn't really take you for the meditative type," you say by way of greeting.
She barks out a laugh. "Yeah, me neither. But these days I have to be, or try to be, at least. If I lose my temper in the middle of the Tournament…"
That draws a thought from somewhere within your ever-busy mind. "You know, you've told me before that you have trouble controlling your emotions, following the Code. But I've never actually seen you blow up at someone."
Like I have, you do not add.
"Well, you just haven't caught me at the right time," Iskat says. She clearly means for it to come out as a joke, but it falls flat—there's too much truth behind it. She sighs. "Some people's instinct, when they can't let something go, is to just vent whatever they're feeling in the moment. But me…I bottle it up. I keep it contained until…I can't anymore."
"Has that happened before?" you ask, regretting the question as soon as it leaves your mouth.
Iskat doesn't seem upset with you for asking…but suddenly she can't meet your eyes. "Yes. Once. I—" She cuts herself off, takes a deep breath, and starts again. "I did something I regretted, let's leave it at that. But I can't let it happen again. I'll never become a Padawan until I can prove I'm better than that. So…yeah, meditation. Inner peace. And all that stuff."
"Inner peace, huh?" You do your best impression of one of Obi-Wan's eyebrow raises. "Do you feel peaceful?"
She snorts. "No."
"Then, just a thought…maybe you should come down off this mountain?"
"I haven't been up here the whole time," she protests faintly.
"You could've fooled me," you say. "And you did fool Bode, which you know is not easy. Iskat…your friends are worried about you."
You have a feeling then that you don't experience often—a sudden certainty that you've picked exactly the right thing to say.
(You're not exactly sure why or how. But you'll take it.)
You give the words a moment to sink in. And when that moment passes, her long arms and legs unfold, flower-like, from her meditation pose.
"This is gonna be such a disaster," she says, but this time you can hear just the faintest bit of levity in her voice. "I can hardly wait."
You're back with Aayla again now, seeking out another Councilor's Padawan, this time one you don't know nearly so well: Bultar Swan, apprentice to Master Plo Koon. As a past Apprentice Tournament victor and martial arts prodigy, she's been tapped by Master Ilena "Ironhand" Xan to help her run it this year, which dramatically narrows down the number of places she might be found. You and Aayla head up to the control room of one of the simulation chambers—immersive holographic training rooms that can project almost any scenario—and sure enough, there she is, making ready for the moment when a pack of unsuspecting Initiates is let loose into a battle of Master Xan's design. She's tall and tanned, with black hair cut short above her shoulders, and what you at first see as a stoic and serious countenance breaks into a smile as you enter.
"Aayla, good to see you," she says. "And you must be Anakin Skywalker. I've heard a lot about you. Only good things, of course."
That last part is definitely a lie, but you let it slide for now. "Pleasure to meet you, Padawan Swan," you say.
"Likewise. Now, I think you two had something you wanted me to sign?"
Straight to the point. You could get to like her.
Aayla hands over the datapad with the petition, and Bultar scrawls her name on it with the stylus. "Master Giett sacrificed himself in the name of peace for the galaxy," she says as she finishes writing. "I won't let that be in vain."
"Thank you," says Aayla, taking the datapad back. "If I could be so bold…would you be willing to say the same to Master Koon?"
Bultar mulls that over for a moment. "I think I see what you're doing here. Yes, I'll tell him where I stand. But you know him: he's a being who draws his own conclusions. All I can promise you is to make some points in your favor."
"Then that's all we'll ask for," Aayla replies.
As they talk, you find yourself staring out the control room's window into the simulation chamber below. Its walls and floors shift constantly into new configurations as its holoprojectors cycle through different worlds: a lush jungle, an icy wasteland, the rocky surface of an asteroid. None of that concerns you, though; you know your friends are ready for the physical challenges set before them. It's the mental—or perhaps spiritual—ones that worry you more. And not just for their sakes but for your own: if Initiates raised from birth in Jedi traditions can't face these struggles…then what chance do you have?
Bultar doesn't exactly read your thoughts, but Force empathy, a martial artist's careful eye for body language, and simple common sense serve her well.
"You know, the Tournament isn't always…like this," she says. "You're supposed to get out of it what you put in. It's not a matter of 'defeat everyone or get sent to AgriCorps'. You can prove yourself by winning, yes, but also in how you lose. If you're determined, if you're clever, even if you're just a good sport…Knights and Masters notice those things too. But sometimes people get so obsessed with victory at all costs, or so afraid of what will happen if they fail, that they let the worst parts of themselves win. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy."
The way she says it makes it sound almost like a warning meant for you. But you're not in the Tournament—and you're certainly not obsessed, or afraid…
…are you?
Last but not least on the list of people you hoped to speak to is Tru—but you end up stumbling upon him by accident before you even start seeking him out.
You're taking a moment to relax and catch your breath in the Room of a Thousand Fountains when you see him, standing under the same waterfall in whose shadow you tested your brand new lightsabers. His arm is outstretched, holding his own saber in the path of the falls—but where the cascading water would meet the metal, the Force makes it part, flowing to each side and leaving the weapon untouched. As you watch, his lightsaber slowly floats apart piece by piece, disassembled by careful currents of the Force until his golden kyber crystal is exposed, catching the reflected light off the water. Then he reverses the process, putting it back together and drawing it out of the falls back to his hand.
"That was amazing," you say once he's done.
"Thanks," he replies. He doesn't look at you, but unlike with Serra you don't take it personally; Tru has never been particularly fond of eye contact. "I've been working really hard on it."
"Hey, can I ask you something?" you say, and at his nod you continue, "Why did you decide to sign up for the Tournament?"
Tru's face falls. "People keep asking me that," he grumbles. "I know I'm no good in a duel, you don't have to rub it in—"
"No, no, I didn't mean it like that," you hastily assure him. "I just meant that you don't seem like you need it to get a Master's attention. I mean, what you just did…there are Knights whose fine control isn't that good. You seem like you stand out fine already."
"Oh," he says, mollified. "Well…yeah. But it's not about becoming a Padawan, for me. It's about figuring out whether I'm ready."
The obvious next question is, "Ready for what?"
He doesn't reply at first. Actually, he doesn't reply for quite some time.
Finally he says, "Anakin…when you were sparring with Ferus, did you…sense something?"
You hesitate, remembering that feeling like blood in the water, and then nod. "There was a disturbance in the Force, yeah. It was because we were so angry at each other that we sort of…went to a bad place."
(It seems like such an absurdly vague way to describe what happened, but part of your mind shies away from the details of what it really was.)
"Was it?" Tru asks.
There's another long silence.
He breaks it again by saying, "Meditate with me."
Your brow furrows, but you nod, sitting down cross-legged across from him. The Room of a Thousand Fountains, teeming with life and nature as it is, has always been an excellent meditation space. But there's something foreboding about doing it now that you can't fully explain.
"Reach out," Tru tells you as you close your eyes. "I mean really reach out. As far as you can."
This has become familiar to you by now. You open your mind and step beyond yourself. You are the river flowing down the falls, the electricity in the synapses in your brain, the gravity holding the planet in its orbit around its star—
—the sting of the lash, the last drops of water sizzling into vapor on dry cracked ground—
You gasp and recoil, and your eyes snap open to see Tru staring directly at you.
"Ready for that," he says.
"What…" You steady your breathing. "What was that?"
But even as you ask the question, you realize that you know exactly what it was.
Tru swallows hard and confirms your fears: "I think…it was the dark side."
Of course it is. How could it not be? With slavery and genocide digging their claws in at the edges of the Republic, the Senate paralyzed save for a few outnumbered idealists, and cracks forming in the façade of the defenders of light—how could it have been anything else? It wasn't you and Ferus. It was never just you and Ferus.
Infinity has edges, and the edges are fraying.
"Anakin…" says Tru uncertainly. "What do we do?"
You wish you had an answer for him. But you're already doing everything you can, aren't you?
Except that that's not exactly true. There's one person among your Initiate cohort you haven't spoken to yet. Someone they trust, someone they respect. And if you want to bring unity to the Jedi—to heal the rifts through which the dark side might seep—then there are few better places to start than trying to reconcile with Ferus Olin.
But with your nerves frayed to breaking, you're not sure whether you'll be able to stand it. If you offer an open hand and draw it back bloody…well, Iskat isn't the only person who bottles up her emotions. What will become of this teetering balance if you lose control again?
You feel as if you're sitting around Padmé's sabacc table again—but this time, you're gambling with the future of all of your friends, and perhaps even the Jedi Order…
[ ] Ask Ferus for help.
You can't stand him…but this is bigger than you.
[ ] You don't need him.
You've come too far on your own to let him get under your skin now.
