The Weaving Force: Chapter 63 (Patreon)

Chapter 63:

Alexandria:

“”It's something to consider.”

“No, it isn’t.” Satine answered irritably. She was always irritable these days, what with Obi-Wan having left. “Even if I entertained the notion, you yourself said not that long ago that Jabba could outbid us and just buy the mercenaries out from under us anyway! Thank you, Master Fay-”

She stopped, taking a moment to sip from the offered tea as the smiling Jedi Master practically floated over on graceful steps to offer Alexandria her own cup.

Rebecca took it without complaint. “Then I will repeat myself again. If you don’t want to hire mercenaries-” Which, truthfully, Alexandria didn’t want anyway, and not just because Jabba could simply outbid them, but because Mandalorian clans would take offense to it. But, generally speaking, backing someone into a corner with multiple ‘bad’ options usually made them pick the ‘best’ out of the worst. “-then you’re going to have to extend that offer of citizenship to clones, and you’ll have to do so publicly very soon.”

“You just want to push us onto a war footing!” Satine accused.

Alexandria ground her teeth, reminding herself for the upteenth time why Satine standing in her way was, technically, a good thing, as god damned annoying as it was. “We’re already on a war footing.” She snapped. “I’m just dragging your belligerent and naive self onto the same page as everyone else! Get it through your head! Clan Wren is on Ryloth, fighting as we speak, Clan Saxon is firing up their forges, Clan Cadera is hiring miners to extract Beskar again. Clan Ordo is opening their training grounds under the guise of sporting events. All your Clans can see the writing on the wall and you can too, you just don’t want to read it!”

Satine opened her mouth, no doubt about to launch an accusation that all those movements had been encouraged by Alexandria herself - and they had been - when suddenly a tremendous crash of metal and shattering glass made both women stop and snap their heads to the side of the room, finding Master Fay there.

The woman, who’d been wandering back with a tray full of her small cakes and cookies, had dropped her burden, the tray and confectionery falling and shattering all across the floor.

But worse than that was Master Fay herself.

Deathly pale, the Jedi Master’s eyes were wide and filling quickly with tears that trailed down her cheeks.

Satine stood up slowly from her desk, eyeing the Master as one might a spooked animal as she called in concern: “Master Fay?”

But the Sephi Jedi Master didn’t answer, her entire body starting to shake and tremble as her hands rose, shakily wiping at her eyes and cheeks.

“Master Fay?” Satine called again, beginning to march around her desk before Alexandria interposed herself between the Jedi Master and the Duchess. Old, Master-Stranger protocols kicked in, reminding her that odd behavior sometimes meant danger and as annoying and infuriating as Satine was being at right this moment Rebecca hardly wanted her dead.

She held up her hand, warding Satine away as her other hand came to rest on Fay’s shoulder.

“Fay?” She called, her frown severe and concerned.

“I-I’m sorry.” The Master hiccuped, her hands now cradling her face, and trying to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop.. “I’m sorry, I’m-”

(X)(X)(X)

Obi-Wan

As they emerged from hyperspace the feeling that slammed into Obi-wan punched the air out of his lungs.

And he wasn’t the only one.

He staggered back, the shields on his mind and heart assaulted, clawing, screeching, screaming voices, a thousand of them permeating the very air in the ship, tearing at his insides as he breathed it in.

Something was wrong.

Anakin curled in on himself shouting a sharp, pained cry;

“What’s wrong!?” Aras barked from the cockpit as Obi-Wan heard Hannah’s footsteps pounding quickly towards them.

Obi-Wan tried to speak, tried to explain but he couldn’t seem to take in air, no matter how much he tried to gulp down his throat.

Anakin cried out again, falling straight down onto his hands and knees, Obi-Wan reached out in the force, trying to offer protection he couldn’t even give himself, the equivalent of throwing himself over the boy in the Force.

Immediately, he recoiled, his spirit scorched away by the sheer agony Anakin was in.

He was burning.

His apprentice was burning in the Force.

Phantom flames, invisible even to him licked at Anakin’s flesh, sending searing overwhelming pain

“Obi-Wan” He felt Anakin reaching for him. “Help.”

He reached through the flames.

The fires hurt him as well, pain shared through the force, but he refused to let the boy suffer this alone.

He didn’t realize his hand, his actual, physical hand was reaching for the boy until he fell beside him onto his knees, fingers grabbing hold of Anakin’s robe in an effort to pull him close.

Like that the pain vanished. As ghostly and ephemeral as Obi-Wan had pictured it in his mind.

Anakin shook under his hand, Aras finally set the auto-pilot, extricating himself from the seat as Hanah barged into the cockpit with an opening hiss from the door.

“What’s wrong?” She demanded, “I heard screaming!”

“Anakin!”

Padme’s worried shout cut through the ships interior, but the worried Senator was held back as Hannah put her arm out across the Senator’s chest to stop her.

Obi-Wan didn’t know how to explain, and Anakin was too busy nearly hyperventilating on the floor as he tried to recover from that horrible, burning agony.

He could hear the boy’s whispers, slipping out between heavy labored pants.

‘I’m burning… I’m burning.’

—

It was the Jedi who noticed first.

How could they not?

Many were confused, and that… muddled the feeling of concern.

When the Galaxy learned of what occurred- the Jedi found out with them.

Across every Holo-net channel. Across every Vid screen…

Coronet city burned.

And the Jedi burned with them.

That’s what Anakin had felt.

He was not a Master, but when contact was finally re-established with the Corellian temple, there were many here who were not Masters. Many who wished to know what had happened. Many who were scared.

Fear was not the Jedi way. But it was present here; among them. Inside the air he breathed, suffusing it like a miasma.

He was choking on it.

When Master Plo’s hologram illuminated the chamber, Obi-Wan felt his heart sink into his feet.

Where was Master Yoda? Or Master Windu?

Had that been what they’d felt? The deep, clawing despair? The burning that had taken Anakin? Had it been the deaths of the two Masters on that terrible battlefield?

By the force he didn’t even want to think it. The notion alone made him sick.

Plo-Koon similarly seemed to tense where he stood, his interlaced fingers almost going rigid.

“Master Tii.” He intoned softly, slowly through the holo. “Where is Master Windu and Grandmaster Yoda?”

“They are not with you?” She asked, dismayed.

Immediately, fierce whispers broke out across the entire room, Obi-Wan heard someone somewhere near the back of the room beginning to cry.

Plo-Koon’s silence was damning.

“Let us… move forward then-” He began

“Move forward!?” Someone, Obi-Wan didn’t recognize questioned, aghast.

It was a knight, younger than him. “We must find them at once! Where did they go!?” The younger man asked Master Tii.

The Togruta shook her head- “I-I can’t-”

The murmurs built into a frenzied clamor, the whispers becoming voices and those voices carrying questions, suggestions, panic almost beginning to overcome the room.

“Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan, and Skywalker saw them last!” Someone said and all eyes rounded on him and his Padawan. He felt Anakin stiffen beside him and he couldn’t blame the boy.

Frenzied eyes turned their way and he could only think one thing as an answer.

Oh, bloody hell.

He brought up his hands, almost bracing himself for a fight before a voice thundered through the room.

“SILENCE!”

Plo-Koon’s voice boomed. It rolled over them with a tremor, almost carried in the force itself.

“You are Jedi.” He admonished. “You will act like it, or we will summon the temple guards to remove you from these chambers!”

Chastised, the… well… mob seemed to calm, or at least grasp hold of their composure once again- and Plo-Koon turned to speak calmly towards Obi-Wan. “Knight Kenobi.” He called. “You and Skywalker were the last to see Masters Yoda and Windu?”

“That’s correct, Master.” He answered, offering a perfunctory bow, Anakin following his example. “We traveled to Naboo when Anakin called for aid; and when we discovered the… well the tool the Sith used to assassinate Amidala, Masters Yoda and Windu were convinced that one of our own was aiding the Sith.”

He heard the whispers begin again, not all were privy to this information but he had little reason to hide it. “Master Jorus-”

“C’baoth.” Plo Koon finished for him. “You may consider those suspicions confirmed. If he is not a Sith acolyte already, he is working very closely with the Sith Master- continue.”

There was a ripple of shock across the council chamber but Obi-Wan forced himself to ignore it. “They were on their way to Corellia. Their orders to us were to return to the temple and bring Senator Amidala with us while they made all speed to you and to C’baoth.”

“They never arrived.” Plo answered succinctly.

Obi-Wan heard more than one despairing conclusion that they must’ve gotten caught in the fleet battle over Corellia.

That wasn’t… impossible.

“Master Plo.” Galia hesitated. “We’ve heard conflicting reports… tell us clearly. What are the casualty numbers?”

Plo Koon’s head lowered. “Two thousand Clones, the Kaminoan First Batallion was dispatched to us as you know… there were only six survivors of the Batallion.”

“Six?” Poof repeated, horror in his voice.

“The Green Jedi were similarly decimated.” Plo Koon continued over the furious murmurs of the crowd. “Of the eight hundred and seventy four Green Jedi Knights and Masters before the attack, only one hundred and nine survived.”

That more than the clones, felt like a punch to the stomach. As… callous, as horrible as it was to say- Clones were not Jedi.

Two thousand clones was a tragedy.

Over seven hundred Jedi was a catastrophe.

It would take them… centuries to recover from this!

“And…” Adi Galia hesitated. “Our losses, Master Plo?”

“Nearly half.” He said.

He didn’t need to say anything more.

Half.

It had been Knights and Masters that mostly went towards Corellia. Senior Knights and Masters to boot.

To lose so many…. Those were the leaders and future leaders of the Jedi that had been killed there!

Plo Koon seemed to take a breath, squaring his shoulders. “Master Gallia, Master Poof.”

The two Jedi High Council members stood their faces grim but resolute.

“You bore witness. I ask you to confirm now. Master Windu and Yoda’s last known proclamation.”

“As witnessed by the High Council.” Poof began. “In the event of Masters Yoda and Windu’s… absence; you Master Plo-Koon were to become Master of the order in the place of Master Windu.”

A heavy, stunned silence descended on those within the chamber, a feeling Obi-Wan wasn’t wholly immune to himself.  It settled over his own heart the reality that not only were Master Yoda and Windu’s deaths possible, they’d been possible to the point that both had prepared who their successor would be in the event of it.

That was… paradoxically dismaying.

“There are few hyperlanes between Naboo and Corellia. Even fewer than normal if they were trying to make it here at speed.” Plo said with a nod. “Master Tii-”

“Yes?” The Togruta asked, straightening, Obi-Wan could feel the roil of emotions being suppressed inside of her. Grief, fear, concern, despair. She was battling them all desperately but this was a losing battle within all of them. She was clinging to her duty. To expectation to be her anchor. Obi-Wan recognized the signs, if only because he’d looked at them in the mirror far too many times himself.

“Organize a fleet. Our remaining vessels. At least three Knights or available Masters per ship. Those that display the most talent with clairvoyance and force senses… They are alive.” Plo-Koon said. “They need us to find them. A ship malfunction, a Nav computer error.” He shook his head. “Something.”

“I understand.” Obi-Wan felt the fire, the determination in her voice. A spark of rekindled hope pushing her forward. “I will go at once!”

She needed no other prompting, turning and nearly running out of the chamber to make good on her commands, desperate to find the two venerable Masters as quickly as possible.

“Master Gallia.” Plo-Koon called next.

The Tothlothian straightened. “Yes?”

“Contact Alderaan.” The Kel Dor said. “Recall Master Yaddle to Coruscant… If I… If I must become Master of the Order until Master Windu is returned to us, then she must assume the title of Grandmaster until we find Master Yoda.”

“I understand.” She declared “Should we recall the other Masters from their enclaves?”

“Or even the enclaves themselves?” Poof asked. “If they attacked Corellia, there is nothing stopping them from going after other, similar targets. And they are significantly less defended.”

“No.” Plo shook his head. “We must face the reality of our situation. We are now headed, almost inexorably towards a galactic war, while our Enclaves are vulnerable, they are in many strategic locations across the Galaxy that can serve as staging points. Abandoning them would be tactically unwise…”

He seemed to think. “Inform the Masters of what occurred, if they haven’t already they are to devise viable evacuation plans for their respective Enclaves. Send orders to Kamino. Muster the Clones… full mobilization.”

A nervous ripple through the room, disbelief warring with the mounting dread.

This really was happening, right infront of them.

The Jedi were preparing for a galactic war.

“Send their battalions as quickly as possible to the mid rim planets first. Zygerria is the most vulnerable, then Mandalore-.”

“Mandalore!?” Quinlan Vos, Obi-Wan’s friend, barked from across the room. “You’re keeping an enclave there!? After they attacked us?”

There was an upswell of indignant anger in the room, many voices joining Vos’ as the nervous congregation finally found an outlet to their grief and pain.

“Master Fay is still alive.” Plo said quietly. “Our enclave there still stands. There is no evidence linking these terrorists to the Mandalorian government.”

“But they are Mandalorian attackers.” Vos cut in. “Pirates and cutthroats to a man. Sending Jedi there, or even those clones to protect that planet is a waste of resources that could be better served protecting better places and better people.”

Another ripple of approval at Quinlan’s words, dissenting voices that would never have been raised against Master Yoda or Master Windu rising in volume and quantity when Master Poof interjected.

“What we do regarding Mandalore can be decided by the council at a later time.” Poof said firmly, towering over his fellow Jedi, almost an ivory obelisk in the center of the room.

Then, he turned back towards Plo-Koon. “Master Plo, when can we expect your return to Coruscant?” Poof asked, leaning his long neck forward as spindly fingers cupped his chin.

“I will return when the rescue efforts are done here.”

That surprised Poof, it surprised all of them truthfully, even Obi-Wan. “But that… the level of destruction. It might take weeks.”

“It might.” Plo nodded. “I will not have it be seen, that our first reflex is to cower and recoil, returning to the safety of coruscant while others suffer in our place. The order remains on Corellia until we have respected the dead, and saved those that we can.”

“Is that wise?”

It took Obi-Wan a moment to realize he’d been the one to speak, and he only did so when all eyes rounded on him.

“Obi-Wan?” Plo-Koon asked.

He straightened, clearing his throat, ignoring Anakin’s muttered ‘Good luck’ under his breath that earned him an irritated glare from Obi-Wan before the Knight stepped forward.

“As you’ve pointed out Master-” He began. “We are moving into a… well… a war-” There was no point in sugarcoating things.

“One that is on an unprecedented scale within living memory.” He continued. “The Senate is hosting an emergency session in two days time, the Clones will be fully mobilized from Kamino per your orders. Our Enclaves need direction, The Public needs its concerns seen to.. Masters need quick, decisive orders to be recalled or redirected. Master Yoda and Master Windu might be… are missing-” He amended quickly. “-you are the Master of the order now. I can understand not wishing to let our opponents ‘win’ both the physical battle and the spiritual one. But we must consider… well… tactics.”

He offered, almost an apologetic shrug at the statement.

“The Jedi must meet with the Chancellor, and the Senate, and even the Duchess of Mandalore who will be arriving on Coruscant tomorrow with Master Fay as well.” He explained. “You are needed here.” He emphasized. “It isn’t just about appearing strong by not running away- we must be strong and we can only do that with leadership and unity that only a Master and Grandmaster together can provide.”

There was a silence across the room, all eyes turning towards Master Plo.

“Nice speech master.” Anakin whispered in his ear, forcing Obi-Wan to elbow his cheeky student in the ribs if only to shut him up.

The Kel Dor bowed his head.

“You are correct. Master Kenobi…” He almost seemed to sigh, unheard as it was through the holo. “There will be a service here for the fallen Jedi tomorrow, and for the Clones in two days. Once those services are done- I will return to Coruscant with a few others.”

Obi-Wan caught a grateful look directed his way by Master Galia, who bowed at the waist, towards the Hologram.

“Then we all have our tasks.” She said, “May the force be with you Master Plo.”

“And with you, Master Galia.”

The holo flicked off.

(X)(X)(X)

Tal Merrik

It wasn’t panic. He would never say it was panic.

But it certainly was close.

As the reports came in he’d been shocked, like the rest of the galaxy.

Then, that shock had turned to horror.

Not because of the loss of life. The carnage. The images of people being pulled from the rubble of fallen buildings, of burning corpses and shattered bodies. Of frozen lifeless husks drifting through space.

No. That hadn’t been the horror.

The horror had been the image of Mandalorian dead armored in Death Watch colors and sigils that brought on that feeling.

Because as soon as he saw it he realized… He’d been deemed expendable.

He’d never been consulted. Hells he’d never even been warned that this was coming. A way to prepare, a spin to give the story for both the Mandalorian people in the senate, to Satine… but more importantly to her.

Merrik knew he was walking on a tightrope. His dreams of deposing Satine and rising to her lofty position held in a precarious balancing act of being useful to Vizla and not tipping his true ties to that harpy Alexandria.

And Vizla had gone and tipped over that delicate balance with all the subtlety of a Zakkeg plowing through a wall to send the building toppling over.

He’d spent the last three days calling every contact he had in Deathwatch. But he was clearly Persona-non-grata. None answered him. And his efforts to gain information on Satine and more importantly Alexandria’s movements, which should have been at least somewhat successful were eerily, terrifyingly ineffective.

There hadn’t even been a hint that she’d ever known about his spies and espionage equipment.

But now he realized she must’ve known about them for a long time.

How long?

Months?

Years?

The entire time?

He didn’t know.

Even his official channels were being blocked. His authority as Mandalore’s senator seemingly evaporated overnight as he attempted to contact Satine directly back home. Finding nothing more than a stone-faced member of the Duchess’ royal guard, the Saxon, staring him down through the Holo.

“I must speak with the Duchess!” He’d demanded more than once.

“No.”

And he’d hung up.

No explanation. No polite runaround. Just pure stonewalling.

The message was clear.

They were onto him.

And they were coming for him.

It had only been through the Rodian Senator that he’d learned Satine had departed from Mandalore at all. It gave him a window of just a handful of hours to escape before she arrived.

So that’s exactly what he set out to do.

He gathered all of his available emergency assets. Credits. Hutt currency, actionable information on Mandalore and others to sell later. There were many places in the outer rim he could hide out in for a long long time.

His dream of deposing Satine was gone now. But he would not die with that dream. He’d leave that stupidity to Vizla.

He descended into the bowels of Coruscant lower levels, towards a secret hangar bay with an equally secret and downright illegally modified ship that could slip through customs and damn near everything else to get away from this place.

The Harbormaster took his pay without asking questions. Gave him the access codes with little more than a raised eyebrow at his clothes, which were still the opulent robes of a senator.

Even so, he marched quickly, reaching the ship without incident.

He settled in his luggage, the precious data and information filed into a safe in his quarters before he made it to the cockpit, booting up the ship until he inserted the access codes for the hangar bay doors, the slabs of durasteel peeling open.

And she was there.

Merrick felt himself reel back in his seat, staring wide eyed at the woman who floated infront of the Hangar bay doors, black cape whipping in the wind, arms crossed over her chest and posture ramrod straight.

“You- you’re not supposed to be here!” He said, for lack of anything better to say.

Satine wasn’t due to arrive tomorrow. Alexandria should be with her, or back on Mandalore.

Then he realized… once again- he’d been tricked.

She’d left earlier. Or Satine’s departure had been leaked to him to make him think he was safe. To have him make a mistake.

Outplayed, outmaneuvered, outsmarted.

At every turn. At every point.

He’d never stood a chance.

And here she was now. Floating. Gloating about it.

Merrik grit his teeth. “No.” He seethed, fingers curling around the dorsal turret controls

“No. No.” He took aim

“YOU DIE!” He screamed, defiant and desperate into the glass of his cockpit.

The turrets fired.

Twin turbolaser blasts smashed into her full force point blank, the explosion rocked him back in his seat, the building shuddering around him. Fire and smoke washing over the windshield as he roared in satisfied joy.

Then a fist smashed through the windshield, and his laugher was literally choked off, fingers as hard as durasteel wrapping around his windpipe and voicebox.

He pounded his fists uselessly against the arm, and he was pulled, the seatbelts straining against his body before he was torn free of them, the cracked and compromised glass giving way as his body was pulled through the sharp, cutting surface.

He would have screamed, if any air could enter, or leave his lungs.

The edges of his vision were going dark, but he could still see her disdain as she pulled him close enough for him to hear her.

“The game was useful.” She surmised. “Now its not, and I’m done playing.”

(X)(X)(X)

Ok, so here we got to see a greater look at the Jedi order as a whole back on Corruscant and we're beginning to see the first signs of the wider galactic response through that lens. Next chapter we get to *really* delve into the guts of the political sphere, Alexandria's proverbial ballpit.

And I think I'm gonna have *fun* with that.

The few times I get to have Alexandria and Palpatine on the political dance floor/chess board are few and far between but ohhhhh are they *fun* :3