One of Coruscant's countless dive bars looked much like any other: a few scattered tables, a dim corner where shady characters gathered, a long bar counter, droid waiters, and a colorful Anzat who served as both chef and bartender.
The clientele was just as typical.
A few regulars from nearby districts dropping in for a quick bite.
An old man nursing a single glass of wine.
A hopeless drunk surrounded by cheap bottles.
Two merchants arguing quietly over business.
And an inconspicuous figure buried in a datapad.
A perfectly ordinary evening in a perfectly ordinary place.
Soft music drifted through the air, and the large screen behind the bar displayed the latest war report—images from some distant battlefield flickering across the display.
"There is a growing schism in the galaxy. After the battle on Geonosis, Count Dooku's droid armies are rapidly seizing key hyperspace routes, cutting the Republic off from much of the Outer Rim. The clone army, under the command of Jedi generals, is struggling to hold the line. They lack the numbers and ships needed to secure the frontier."
The announcer's voice carried a strange mixture of neutrality and urgency.
"More and more systems are declaring for the Separatists. Worlds whose governments remain loyal to the Republic are under attack. The Jedi are consumed by the war, leaving fewer peacekeepers across the galaxy. Chaos spreads, and crime is on the rise…"
The report shifted to a new segment.
"And now the latest news. Republic forces continue their siege of the planet Foerost, where the Separatists are constructing a massive fleet of warships in orbit. The battle has raged since the beginning of the war with no clear end in sight."
Images of massive shipyards flashed across the screen.
"Meanwhile, on Laatik, Republic troops have finally gained the upper hand against the Confederacy's combat droid garrison. Loyal sons of the Republic have liberated yet another world from the oppression and tyranny of the Separatists."
"Hey, boss!" a sullen Zabrak suddenly barked, lowering his datapad. "Switch to SST! Turn it up!"
The bartender raised an eyebrow while lazily wiping a glass.
"What's going on there?"
"Hutt knows. Something big just dropped on their site."
The bartender tapped a few buttons.
The battlefield footage vanished, replaced by the bright splash screen of the **SST News Network**.
A young Twi'lek presenter appeared on screen, smiling brightly.
"And now we bring you exclusive footage obtained by one of our correspondents. The video concerns a recent diplomatic visit by a group of senators to the planet Randon—an attack, an ambush, and a daring escape."
She leaned forward slightly and winked at the camera.
"But that's not the most interesting part. Let's take a look."
Her image disappeared, replaced by footage recorded from a small body camera.
For the next five minutes, the entire bar fell silent.
The only sounds were the quiet hiss of the kitchen stove and distant traffic outside.
When the footage ended, the room exploded with noise.
"Well I'll be—Hutt! That's insane!"
"That's not even the word for it. Whoever leaked this footage just made a fortune."
"No way that's a Jedi."
"Why not?"
"Because try sticking a plasma cutter in your gut and see how long you last! They cut that guy to pieces and he was still fighting!"
The Zabrak shook his head.
"No living being survives that. I'm telling you—it's a new combat droid model."
"Yeah right. And he's wearing robes because—"
The tavern erupted into heated argument.
---
Grace sat on the bunk in her small cabin, her legs tucked beneath her, arms wrapped tightly around them.
An empty flask rested on the nightstand beside her, still smelling strongly of alcohol.
Across from her, sitting in a folding chair, Christen held a mug filled with the same drink.
Both officers looked exhausted.
Chris managed to keep himself composed, but the Zeltron had clearly lost her emotional balance after seeing the wounded general.
The sight had been horrifying.
Even without blood, it had been difficult to watch.
Grace sighed quietly.
This wasn't how she imagined her service.
Everything had started so well.
A diplomatic mission.
High-ranking passengers.
A routine escort flight.
Then everything had collapsed into chaos.
Palace guards opening fire.
Turrets descending from the hangar ceiling.
The corvette nearly being torn apart.
Clones firing rocket launchers to destroy the guns.
Hundreds of battle droids rampaging through the palace.
A desperate escape.
Then hours of tense flight.
And now a critically wounded Jedi aboard the ship.
If they reached base safely but their commander died…
That would be a disgrace.
"Grace," Chris said gently, "how are you holding up?"
"Not great," the Zeltron admitted. "Still nauseous. It was easier when I was on the bridge—at least I had something to do."
She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket over herself.
"Good thing you've got antidepressants."
She gave a tired giggle.
"How much longer do we have to fly?"
"A little over two hours."
"Wake me when…"
Her sentence faded as she fell asleep mid-word.
Chris stood quietly.
"No problem."
He left the cabin, closing the door softly behind him.
He paused in the hallway, thinking.
Strange.
It had been far too easy to hack the palace security system.
He frowned.
He was good.
But not **that** good.
Unless…
Someone had already hacked it first.
But who?
And why?
---
Far away on Coruscant, inside a luxurious office in the capital district, Baron Notluwiski Papanoida slowly swirled a glass of expensive wine.
The Pantoran's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched the ratings of his news channels surge upward.
"Oh yes," he murmured.
"Exaj did a magnificent job."
"Ten thousand credits. Hah! He practically gave it away."
Papanoida leaned back in his chair.
"Such material… priceless material."
Indeed, this moment was one of the greatest successes of his career.
As a young man on Pantora, Papanoida had once been a humble playwright.
Several of his works became enormous successes, bringing him wealth and recognition.
With that fortune he founded his own media corporation and eventually rose to become one of Pantora's most powerful trade barons.
But entertainment alone had grown dull.
Too shallow.
So Papanoida built something new.
An information network.
Under the cover of his media empire he developed a vast intelligence system, one capable of rivaling even the famed Bothan spies.
Information had become his true trade.
And sometimes that information was simply too valuable to keep hidden.
Sometimes it was better to broadcast it to the entire galaxy.
With the Clone Wars raging, espionage had become extremely profitable.
Corporations, politicians—even Republic Intelligence—had purchased his services.
Papanoida smiled.
Business was excellent.
---
Inside the corvette's medical bay, two figures sat beside the operating table.
A young Togruta.
And a young Zeltron.
Dagon Marek lay unconscious on the repulsor surgery table.
After consulting with one another, the medical droids had decided it was safer to leave him there rather than move him to a bunk.
The table could function as a transport stretcher if needed.
His wounds had been treated.
Burned tissue removed.
Injuries sealed with bacta and wrapped in bandages.
There wasn't enough universal synthetic skin on board to fully repair the damage—the ship's crew consisted almost entirely of clones—but fortunately the flight was short.
The medbay lights were dim.
But Ahsoka noticed everything.
Her Togruta senses were sharp.
She could smell antiseptics.
Hear every rustle of equipment.
Every quiet electronic beep.
Most importantly—
She could hear his breathing.
Slow.
Steady.
And beneath it—
The faint beat of his heart.
Then a weak voice spoke.
"Don't cry… it takes a lot more than that to kill me."
Visenya blinked.
"Dagon?"
Both girls looked up.
Dagon Marek was sitting upright.
In his hands he held **two purified kyber crystals**, glowing softly.
"Trial… complete," he managed to say.
Before he could say anything else—
Ahsoka and Visenya rushed forward.
Both hugged him tightly.
Tears streaming down their faces.
Behind them, a medical droid raised its mechanical arms.
"Patient advisory," the droid said calmly.
"Although the patient appears healed, significant blood loss has occurred. Physical exertion is strongly discouraged."
Dagon sighed.
"Yeah… yeah… I figured."
But he didn't push them away.
Not this time.