Chapter Text
As the afternoon council meeting comes to a close, Mace starts back to his office, deep in thought. It takes him a moment to realize that Plo is in lockstep with him, the other Jedi calmly matching his pace.
Mace raises an eyebrow. “Master Plo,” he acknowledges.
“Hello, Mace,” Plo says serenely. “You raised some interesting points in there.”
“So you said,” Mace says. “In the meeting.”
Plo inclines his head to show he’s caught on to the question in Mace’s words. “Would you like to join me on a walk?”
Mace considers this for a moment.
Before he’s decided, Plo adds, “It’s been a while since we walked together.”
“I’ve been busy,” Mace says.
“All too busy,” Plo says. “Come.” He gestures between them. “I won’t take too much of your time.”
Mace considers it for a moment – remembers the dozens of unread Senate requests and hundreds of mission reports that still need to be signed off – but when he looks down the corridor, a softly pulsing vein of the Force calls to him. “Very well.”
Antiox mask twitching into a Kel Dor smile, Plo inclines his head then sets off to wherever they’re going. Mace walks with him, and together they take the turbolift down from the High Council tower into the Temple proper.
At this time of day, the Coruscant sun is crawling towards the horizon and two moons are in the sky. The sun paints the inside of the Temple burnt ochre, not unlike the colour of Plo’s skin. Speeders whizzing past the Temple in the flight lanes almost glow as their transparisteel reflects the fading sunlight.
The Temple is bustling, with younglings flooding from their daily classes and Padawans laughing with each other and Knights heading to the evening meal, so it’s a challenge to make their way through without bumping into anyone. Rather, it would be a challenge to anyone but Jedi; the streams of people flow around each like water, moving in an elegant dance granted by the Force. Mace nods to anyone who nods to him, and offers brief greetings to those who greet him, and watches Plo give directions to a lost initiate.
Once they’ve left one of the busier areas of the Temple, Mace turns his head to Plo and asks with just a hint of dryness, “Where exactly are you taking me?”
“You’ll see,” Plo says.
They finally near one of the training salles, and as they come to a stop outside it Mace hears the shouts and thuds of initiates hard at work inside.
A frown at Plo gets him nothing more than a shrug in response, and then Plo heads inside. After a moment, Mace follows him again.
Whatever Plo is up to, Mace has no idea what will happen next.
Inside the room a small group of initiates are working through a complex obstacle course. A Pantoran boy with bright yellow facial tattoos is currently twisting and turning as he springs onto a ledge then swings across a rope to another then vaults several hurdles in one go then, just as he starts for the next jump, his knee buckles and he goes flying. Before he can hit the floor, he slows and stops. Mace watches Shaak Ti catch the initiate then let him land gently on his feet.
This class is later than other lessons, so Shaak isn’t drawn away by her duties on the Council. Clearly she’d hurried here following the meeting this afternoon, but even then it looks like it’s only just begun.
“A good effort, Hen,” she says in her usual softly-spoken way. “You’ve clearly worked hard to improve your jumps. Next time, focus on landing each hurdle solidly. You must always keep your feet securely under you.”
“Yes, Master,” the initiate says, looking dejected. He returns to the other initiates, scuffing his boots on the steel floor.
Shaak, however, reaches out with the Force and brushes the young boy on the shoulder, making him half turn back to her. Gently, she adds, “This is a hard course, Hen. Do not be harsh on yourself for not completing it. Through our failure, we learn to succeed.”
The boy, Hen, straightens, his shoulders squaring. His expression now determined, he nods, and when one of the other initiates elbows him playfully upon his return to the group, Hen just rolls his eyes in response.
Shaak looks to the other children and says, a little sharper than before, “Do not tease your fellow Jedi for making simple mistakes.”
The youngling who had elbowed Hen ducks her head, the navy stripes on her Togrutan montrals darkening in what Mace knows to be embarrassment. “Sorry, Master,” she mutters.
“Perhaps you would like to go next,” Shaak continues.
The Togruta steps forward, her chin jutting out as she looks up at Shaak with pure determination on her face. It’s strange, to see Shaak standing opposite someone who looks a lot like she did as a child. Once, Mace had been the Padawan to take her clan on their Gathering, but a lot of time has passed since then. A lot has happened since then.
Beside Mace, Plo shifts slightly, and Mace glances at him in curiosity. In the Force, affection is drifting from him like waves gently lapping a beach on one of the holiday resort moons that fill the Mid Rim.
By the time Mace looks back to the initiates, the Togruta child has begun the training course. She starts off strong, leaping across one obstacle and ducking under another, and continues strong as she makes her way over the raised platforms. To give credit where it’s due, she comes very close to completing the course, but at the last platform she underestimates the jump and only just lands on the very edge. Her windmilling arms don’t save her, and she topples backwards. Like the Pantoran child before, Shaak catches her and gently lowers her to the ground.
“See?” the Pantoran, Hen, says, crossing his arms as he glares at the Togruta. “It’s not so easy, is it.”
The Togruta simply sticks her tongue out at Hen, then suddenly frowns. She looks towards where Mace and Plo are stood by the door. Although Shaak had noticed the moment they walked in, none of the initiates had, too focused on the lesson.
At the exact moment that Mace and the child’s eyes meet, the Force thrums with a brassy note of deep, powerful intention.
Caught off-guard, Mace blinks.
Next to him, Plo’s affection lights up like a beacon on a clouded night, and then the Togruta initiate races across the room towards them. She skids to a stop in front of Plo, gazing up at him with sheer delight.
“Koh-to-yah, Master Plo!”
“Koh-to-yah, Little ‘Soka,” Plo replies, warm as Mace has ever heard him. “Well done on your attempt at the course.”
The Togruta’s face scrunches up. “I fell.”
“So did many others,” Plo points out. “It is by falling that we learn to step true.” Then he looks to Mace. “Is that not right, Mace?”
Mace, who had until this point been watching the conversation silently, nods in agreement. “As Master Shaak said, failure is the path to success.”
“Oh!” The Togruta startles, her eyes going wide as she looks to Mace; apparently she hadn’t realised he was there. Now, she bows and says, “Hi, Master Windu.”
Mace inclines his head to the initiate.
“This is Ahsoka,” Plo says, laying a clawed hand on the Togruta’s shoulder. She leans into the touch.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ahsoka,” Mace says.
Her eyes widening even further, Ahsoka quickly nods and says, “Thank you, Master Windu,” the words coming out in a rush.
Whatever sense the Force had given earlier has gone now, but Mace is still curious as to what it was.
At that moment, Shaak joins them, and they nod to each other in greeting.
“It is good to see you again, Mace, and so soon,” Shaak says. The Force tingles in question.
“Plo and I are on a walk,” Mace says, stressing ‘walk’ just enough to show that whatever reason they’re here isn’t one he’s aware of.
Pretending he can’t hear their silent conversation, Plo cheerfully says, “A lovely walk, indeed. Coruscant always looks beautiful at this time.”
“Of course,” Shaak says, then looks down to Ahsoka. Her gaze grows stern. “Now, Ahsoka, we must return to our lesson, yes?”
Ahsoka winces, caught out, and nods. Shaak guides her as she slinks back to the group of initiates, where the Pantoran boy she’d made fun of earlier smirks at her.
Plo makes an amused noise as the Pantoran, Hen, begins to tease Ahsoka, then he turns to Mace and tucks his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “Shall we?” he asks, gesturing to the door.
Mace studies him. Perhaps they’ll be going somewhere else next on this walk of theirs, but Mace doubts it. Whatever Plo had wanted to achieve, he thinks he’s succeeded. Whatever that is, Mace doesn’t know. So he’s left with nothing to do but nod and follow Plo out of the training salle.
A week later, Plo again summons Mace for a walk; this time, though, they head for one of the main hangar bays, where Mace knows the Crucible is waiting with an expectant Huyang onboard. As it turns out, the part of the Clawmouse Clan about to head to their Gathering consists of none other than the same group of initiates Plo had taken him to visit just five rotations before.
Clustered around a harassed-looking Nahdar Vebb, Master Kit Fisto’s Padawan, are five initiates. Six, Mace corrects himself when he notices the Togruta, Ahsoka, practicing her flips by the ramp of the ship. As he watches her determined expression contort with exertion, he feels another vibration in the Force, like the air itself is buzzing with static electricity.
“Master Windu! Master Koon!”
The shout from Padawan Vebb pulls just a fraction of Mace’s attention, but it’s enough for the Force-feeling to fade. Once again, Mace is left wondering what it means and why it’s happening.
“Master Windu.” Padawan Vebb manages to extract himself from the group of excited children and hurries over to Mace, giving him a deep bow. “Master Ko…” He frowns, trailing off. “…on?”
Attuned as they are after many years of missions, Mace doesn’t have to look to know that Plo has wandered off towards Ahsoka, a genial sense of joy floating around him.
“Padawan Vebb,” Mace greets. “I believe this is your first Gathering.”
“Uh.” Padawan Vebb takes a moment to draw his attention back from Plo; not any longer than a second, though, which explains why Fisto has asked to discuss something with Mace and Yoda. Perhaps Knighthood is something on the cards for Vebb. “Yes, it is, Master. Excluding my own, of course.”
“Of course,” Mace agrees with just a touch of dry humour.
“I’m not quite sure why—” Vebb grimaces as one of the children, a Human boy with spiky hair, makes a beeline for them. “—this was assigned to me. Master Kit said it would be good for me.”
“I assigned you to this trip,” Mace says. Not harshly, because he’s never harsh without cause, but instead with gentle reproach. “I learnt a lot from the Gatherings I led when I was a Padawan.” He lets a breath of warmth drift to the Human boy in the Force, and the boy grins toothily up at him.
Vebb, who had snapped to attention upon hearing that the person he was complaining to was the same person he was complaining about, immediately nods. “Ilum is a very sacred place.”
Mace’s wristcomm beeps with an incoming message. He turns the sound off for most of the notifications he receives, so the beep signifies someone important wants to get in contact with him. A quick tap has Depa’s name appearing, along with what must be her latest in a series of mission reports. He resets the unread status, and files the report away for later.
Returning his focus to the conversation, Mace inclines his head. “It is.” He looks to the Human boy, who brightens under his continued attention. “May the Force be with you.” Dragging his gaze up to Vebb, he adds, “And with you, Padawan.”
“Thank you, Master.”
With that, Mace heads over to where Plo is talking with Ahsoka. As he approaches, he catches just the end of a conversation:
“—not a competition.”
“But Hen—!” Ahsoka starts to exclaim.
“You will both find your kyber crystals in your own time,” Plo says. “There is no need to rush it.”
Mace comes to a stop beside the two of them. “You would know, Plo.”
Plo chuckles at that, but shakes his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“There were icicles on his goggles,” Mace flatly tells Ahsoka, who starts to giggle then slaps her hand over her mouth to try and stop it. Then he offers, “Trust in the Force, initiate, and it’ll guide you to where you need to be.”
Ahsoka nods and keeps her mouth clamped shut. Mace has spent enough time with enough younglings to know when they have a burning, unasked question, but if Ahsoka does not wish to ask it then he will not demand it from her.
A dozen metres away, Vebb begins to corral the initiates towards the Crucible.
Plo looks to Ahsoka and says, “Remember, young one, that there is nothing but you and the Force. Pay no mind to your fellow initiates’ successes until you are out of the trials.”
Ahsoka nods with some force, her lekku swinging violently with the motion. “Yes, Master Plo.” She glances at Mace and straightens slightly in the way many Jedi do when they see him. “Um, thanks for the advice, Master Windu.”
She runs off to join the others, and together the clan walks onto the ship.
As the Crucible’s ramp draws up and the engines flare to life, both Plo and Mace’s comms beep at the same time. Unease flares between them in the Force, and Plo taps his on behalf of them both. A holomessage appears with a request from the Chancellor’s office.
Mace’s eyebrows pinch together. “I’ll call a Council meeting.”
“That would be wise,” Plo says. His clawed fingers steeple. “We’ve had enough trouble, recently. It seems like just Taungsday when we last visited the Chancellor.”
“Hmm,” Mace says. “I suppose we’ll find out what it is soon enough.”
“Indeed.”
Another sector has seceded from the Republic.
The Eucer Sector, which includes important industrial planets like Ringo Vinda, has decided to leave the Republic and join the growing Separatist movement.
As most of the Jedi Council sits in the Chancellor’s office, Mace stares in silence at the blue hologram of the planet in question. Not an especially important sector, by anyone’s definition – at least, not to the greater Republic; all life is precious to the Jedi, as are all planets – but a significant move, nonetheless.
The sector’s Senator, Jonas Wallen, is a loud voice in the Senate. Just a few standard weeks ago, scandal had arisen when the holonet had discovered he’d been placing bets on which planets would secede next. For his sector to now leave the Republic is a sudden and unexpected move.
And worse still—
The hologram of the Eucer Sector switches to that of Count Dooku.
Mace stares at the face of his old friend, and wishes things were different. In the image, Dooku is impassive, if not outright angry, at whoever he is speaking to, and though the hologram is a still image it simply reminds Mace of the gulf that now exists between them.
Most who leave the Jedi Order do so in good faith; that had been the assumption when Dooku had left too. Now, as he champions the Independent Systems’ secession from the Republic, Mace can only remember all the times Dooku had chafed under the boundaries imposed on the Jedi by the Senate and the rule of law.
“—getting out of hand.”
Mace realises he’s lost the thread of the discussion and refocuses his attention on the meeting occurring in front of him.
Yoda is sat to his left, Ki-Adi to his right, with Plo, Shaak, and Adi Gallia stood beside them. On the other side of the Chancellor’s desk is the Chancellor himself, aides clustered around him.
“Understand, we do, Chancellor,” Yoda says solemnly.
“However,” Ki-Adi cuts in, “it is not the prerogative of the Jedi Order to intervene in this political matter.”
“Systems are leaving the Republic like banthas fleeing a Krayt dragon!” the Chancellor exclaims.
Mace furrows his brow. “I’m sorry, Chancellor, but I’m not familiar with that expression.”
“Oh, sorry, sorry.” The Chancellor waves a hand. “A Tatooine phrasing I’ve picked up. I forgot many in the Galaxy would not be familiar with it.”
Yoda, his expression solemn, nods. “Worry not, Chancellor. To the matter at hand, return, we should.”
“Of course.” With a heavy, heavy sigh the Chancellor collapses into his chair. “I simply don’t understand how so many diplomatic individuals such as yourselves can’t see a solution to this Separatist problem.”
Shaak calmly says, “Unfortunately, your excellency, we are hardly individuals. The Jedi Order cannot intervene in this matter, and we assuredly must not take action to attempt to force systems to remain in the Senate.”
Nodding, Plo steeples his fingers and says, “That would be far outside of our mandate as peacekeepers.”
The Chancellor says, “I see.” He looks to the Vice Chair of the Senate, Mas Amedda, who inclines his head then turns to the other aides.
Silently, they filter out of the room as one, leaving the Chancellor alone with the Jedi.
“Surely there must be more you can do,” the Chancellor says. Now, he sounds more vulnerable than Mace has ever heard him; genuinely pained at the thought of worlds leaving the Senate.
“I’m afraid not, your excellency,” Mace says.
The Chancellor waits, casting his gaze across all the assembled Jedi, but no one else says a word. They remain a united front.
Another weary sigh. The Chancellor seems to sag in his seat. Heavily, he says, “Very well. I should have realised I could not count on the assistance of the Jedi.” A moment passes, then the Chancellor stands and gestures for the door. “I am sorry for taking your valuable time, Master Jedi. And I hope that you might come up with a solution for me soon!”
Mace simply nods, rising to his feet, and moves to walk alongside Adi Gallia as they exit the chamber. Only once they’re out of the antechamber and in the hallways of the Senate building does he speak.
“An interesting meeting,” he mutters, low enough that few species beyond their immediate area could hear it.
“Indeed,” Adi murmurs in response. Her lips barely move as she says it, her expression remaining as still as stone.
“Your discoveries?”
Adi doesn’t as much glance about the Executive Building around them as she does carefully survey their surrounding area in the Force; Mace can feel the expanding bubble of her awareness as it encompasses him and then the other Council members who are beginning to outpace them. “Let us talk later,” she says. The in private goes unsaid.
Mace inclines his head just a fraction and then speeds up his pace to catch up to Plo. A moment later, Adi joins Shaak. Despite the probing glances of all the Senators they pass, no one bothers the Jedi as they make their way back to their transport that will return them to the Temple.
Yoda hobbles away to attend to a Youngling clan when they land in the main hangar bay, and Ki-Adi too leaves for a meeting with a group of Padawans. Plo raises a brow at Mace, who shakes his head in response, then he and Shaak head off, striking up a low conversation as they go.
Finally, Mace and Adi are both back in the privacy of the Temple and left alone. Mace looks to his fellow Jedi Master, who gestures for them to walk together. Side by side, they head back into the elegant halls of the Temple.
“I wasn’t able to find much,” Adi says. “My sources are growing warier by the day.”
“Many are,” Mace says.
Adi nods. “Very true. Politicians have always been the type to guard their tongues. The growing Separatist movement is only tightening their security.”
“Many have much to lose,” Mace agrees.
“And many have much to gain.” Adi shakes her head. “Although many Senators have grown indolent in the past decades, too busy on Coruscant to realise the concerns of their constituents, there are others who are young and hungry. They hear how the Separatists’ parliament is expected to streamline the process of democracy, all while attending Senate meetings bogged down with endless debates over bills that never come to be.”
Mace presses his lips together. “Do you have an idea on who will be next?”
A sigh like Mace rarely hears from Adi. “It is difficult to say. Mina Bonteri continues to urge the Senate to recognise the legitimacy of the Confederation, and she brushed me off when I tried to speak with her yesterday.”
Mina Bonteri is a powerful and experienced Senator. If her homeplanet of Onderon leaves the Republic, many more will follow her.
“I’ve heard,” Adi goes on, “other Senators, such as By Bluss, have been meeting with Count Dooku himself.”
Decades of self-control allow Mace to not stiffen at Count Dooku’s name, and so he just furrows his brow. “Your source?”
“I trust their intel on this matter.”
Mace nods. “If they’re meeting with Dooku then he must be reaching out to them.”
“I believe there to be some in the Senate who have already joined the Separatist movement in everything but name. And as long as they remain a part of the Republic, they have power to further spread the word of the Separatists.” Adi looks grim at this; Mace is sure he appears much the same.
“Do you know—” Mace begins to ask, right as a pair of purple Twi’leks dressed in initiate robes, no older than eight, stop in front of him and Adi.
“Master Windu, may we ask you something?” one of them asks. The other, who is identical in every way, slightly hides behind her sister and fiddles nervously with her headwrap.
“Of course,” Mace says, immediately gentling his body language.
“Our Masters say we need to think about the fighting styles we suit best, but Alay and I aren’t really sure at all which one we should do.”
The other, presumably Alay, pipes up from her hiding place. “I think Soresu.”
A brief burst of frustration in the Force. “Well, I think that’s stupid.” The as-of-yet unnamed youngling looks back up at Mace. “We can’t choose Soresu, Alay’s just being silly.”
“Mala,” Alay hisses, her lilac skin flushing fuchsia.
“Perhaps,” Adi cuts in, the hints of a smile playing on her lips and her amusement dancing in the Force, “you two could try different fighting styles to each other.”
Both younglings blink in unison.
“I agree,” Mace says. “If you both lean towards different styles then you focus on those different styles.”
“But—” Mala splutters. “We can’t do that!”
“Why not?” Adi asks.
“We’re—” Alay shakes her head, lekku rustling, as she looks between Mace and Adi in utter disbelief. “We’re a team!”
“Good teams have variety,” Mace says. “Different fighting styles can complement each other in ways that the same fighting style often fails to.”
Adi nods. “I have found the same thing. Besides,” she adds, “depending on you apprentice to, your different Masters may show you incredibly different ways of fighting with even the same style.”
After some discussion with the two initiates, Mace and Adi manage to convince them to at least attempt to learn different styles to each other, and then they continue on their way.
As soon as they’re out of sight of the young Twi’leks, Adi laughs to herself, and Mace allows himself a small smile. Quickly, though, they return to their conversation prior to the interruption.
“You think there are Senators who are spies for Dooku,” Mace says.
Adi’s laugh fades, and her expression shapes into something serious. She nods. “I do.”
“Do you know who?”
A grimace. “Some suspicions, but nothing concrete enough that I’d be willing share yet.”
“I see.” Mace comes to a stop next to one of the massive windows that looks out over Coruscant. This side of the Temple has a view directly to the Senate building, and he looks at the distant curve of its roof with a weariness settling into his stomach. This entire situation feels off to him, like it’s leading them down a darker path. Or perhaps they’re now emerging from one. With the way the Force has been more and more clouded in the past years, though, Mace can’t tell anything more than that. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he murmurs, as the Senate building glints under the Coruscant sun.
Adi follows his eyeline to the Senate building; the place she’s spent so much of her time, utilising every political connection she’s made in her decades of diplomacy as the Jedi Order rushes to find out exactly what is going on in the murky halls of the Senate. “I do too,” she says softly. “I do too, Mace.”