32 BBY
Across her three lives, Tan'ya had only ever been to one funeral, decades ago as a boy, before he had ever heard of 'the Chicago School of Economics'. His father had even briefly managed to escape the black company he worked at for a few hours to bury the woman that birthed and raised him, before rushing back to the office to escape his supervisors' ire. Tan'ya recalled not particularly understanding the graveness of the occasion, having never really met his grandmother.
This upcoming funeral was different, it felt different. The atmosphere was palpable - Tan'ya could sense the strength of her mother's emotions; worry for her husband and daughter mixed with a determination to be strong, even as grief swelled inside her.
Tan'ya's father was concealing himself in the Force, the weight of his emotions hidden behind a mental shield and a steely gaze, though Tan'ya knew this must be difficult for him. Of course, Jedi weren't supposed to be attached, but expecting that of a friendship and near-brotherhood that stretched over decades was asking for the impossible. The bond between brothers in arms was nigh-universal, and no amount of Jedi brainwashing could change that. Tan'ya remembered that conversation she had with Grandmaster Yoda on Life Day, all those years ago.
Of course it was natural for him to feel grief when Jedi he had raised from childhood died in the course of their duties or even just from old age, but he had put on a brave face and marched to work the next day. It was admirable, really.
Tan'ya knew that as the Grandmaster of the New Temple, her father could not allow himself to mourn openly. He was a Jedi, he had a duty to do, and so he had focused himself on the diplomatic fallout that Sifo's death had caused, as was appropriate for his station. If anything, his facial expression often seemed to lean towards anger more than anything else, something Tan'ya could understand with the way the Grand Temple had sent those two incompetents to poke around the Palace.
Had Yoda really approved of those two being on the investigative team? She had to presume that was a decision made by one of his subordinates. The Jedi Temple employed roughly ten thousand Jedi, and Tan'ya couldn't think of any CEO who would micromanage something so far down the chain.
No doubt when her father went to speak with the Jedi Council, he would be issuing a sternly worded report on their behavior.
Tan'ya herself was committed to be on her best behaviour for the funeral service, the very model of a good Youngling. She had even asked her mother's help in picking out an appropriate set of formal black clothes for the occasion, and even wore a long skirt with the cape and silver chain that marked her as heir. With her face schooled to neutrality befitting an officer, and her feelings in the force concealed behind her own mental wall, Tan'ya would not be the one to embarrass the family or the New Temple.
This was the first time she would ever visit Coruscant, and she regretted it was under such unfortunate circumstances. A world-spanning city was an intriguing concept, something she almost found difficult to believe could exist. The sheer amount of food needed to feed so many trillions of people was only estimated by scholars of the subject, and the amount of sewage they put out was just as incalculable.
In a way it was beautiful, being irrefutable physical evidence of the power of the free market. Supply met demand, and so the wheels of civilization continued to turn freely.
In the earliest days of the Republic, when the Rakatan's still dominated the Galaxy, Coruscant hadn't been anything of note at all. It was merely one planet populated by humans among a handful of others clinging to the coattails of the Duros.
Hyperspace travel slowly developed, and exploration continued across the Galaxy, eventually leading to the chartering of the Great Hyperspace Lanes, of which Coruscant sat conveniently near the center. Coruscant was uniquely positioned at the convergence of the Perlemian and Correlian trade routes, and had indirect access to the Rimma and the Hydian as well. On Earth, all roads may have led to Rome, but it was no exaggeration to say that all hyperspace lanes led back to Coruscant. Situated where it was, it was natural, inevitable that Coruscant grew as vast as it did.
Some theorized Coruscant was the world that humans originated from, a theory that Tan'ya dismissed. From her memory. Earth was located near the edge of the Milky Way on one of its arms, and Tan'ya assumed this Galaxy was merely the future of that, or maybe another alternate timeline like in her second life. Most likely, the lost human homeworld was somewhere in the Outer Rim, where there were plenty of ancient populations and cultures out there unnoticed by the Galaxy at large.
When they had been working on their book together, Tan'ya had proposed her theory to Sifo, and he thought it was very plausible. He believed that human populations had been spread around the Galaxy as slaves by the ancient Rakatans, who had outlived their masters when the Infinite Empire collapsed. He even theorized that the galaxy's many near-human races may have originated from the Rakatan's tampering with human genetics, an idea that was controversial in academic circles.
Now the series would never be finished.
Tan'ya couldn't help the melancholic sigh that escaped her. Sifo's magnum opus had been cut short part way through Volume IV, covering the Mandalorians Wars. It really was a shame. Even with Master Sifo's greater emphasis on military history, Tan'ya had found the process of working together on the books with him to be very enjoyable. The discussions they would have, the narrative strings that naturally emerged, trying to balance different themes and ideas and learning about these remarkable figures in history, like Revan and Exar Kun. Tan'ya had been intrigued to begin research on Meetra Surik, who had single handedly revived a near extinct Jedi Order.
Of course Being X had taken even that away from her. That petty tyrant masquerading as a god could never let go of his grudge against her. He even told her that her second life would be her last, and had very clearly failed to heed his own words, that promise. Clearly, driven by sheer spite, Being X was determined to torment her for all eternity unless she put a stop to it.
Tan'ya clenched her jaw, watching the streets of Coruscant pass below her window.
"Are you alright, Tan'ya?" Her mother asked. Tan'ya didn't need to read her feelings in the Force to know she was obviously worried.
"I'm just thinking that Sifo's book series is never going to be finished."
For some reason that simple statement provoked such a sense of sympathy in Tan'ya's mother, that she put her arm around her daughter's shoulder and hugged her closer. It was embarrassing and annoying, but also completely ordinary for a mother to be worried for their child. After putting up with it for what she felt was an appropriate length of time, Tan'ya pulled away, to continue looking out the window of their speeder as it passed through the countless traffic ways and intersections that crisscrossed the world's entire surface.
It was a fascinating place. Tan'ya wasn't usually one to be driven by whimsy, but a city on this scale, one that utterly dwarfed even Tokyo from her first life, was something that she wanted to explore. More importantly, the Jedi Temple was in the senatorial district, and it seemed to Tan'ya like a perfect chance to try and network among the Republic's political class. In the future, when she ruled Serenno, these connections would be extremely useful for getting things done in a way that suited her.
"After the service, do you suppose I could take a tour of the Senate building?"
Her mother started to speak, but Dooku cut across her sharply. "No, we are leaving right after the service."
Surprised, Tan'ya exchanged slightly confused glances with her mother.
"I didn't realize we were pressed for time." Athemeene said, finally. "Is something wrong?"
"This world is far more dangerous than Raxus Prime, and Tan'ya is not yet even a Padawan, let alone a Master."
"We won't go into the undercity, dear." Athemeene promised. "And we'll take a guide so we don't get lost by accident."
"The most dangerous beings on this world don't lurk in the undercity." Dooku murmured softly, and turned his head to look out the window towards the Senate building itself as their speeder passed it by.
A whisper in the Dark Side tugged at Dooku, and he was almost tempted to follow it then and there. Sidious wanted to speak with him, and was calling him away from the Jedi Temple. Whatever he had to say would surely be less painful to hear than to sit with the blasted Jedi Council.
With the funeral due to start in a few hours, Dooku had made the mistake of going to speak to them while they were together. Individually, he got along well with many of them, but as a group they were prone to posturing.
He had hoped to persuade them on the necessity of sparing a few Jedi Masters to the New Temple, just until some of his knights were ready to be promoted, but instead Dooku had been lectured for the better part of an hour by the self satisfied fools. They sat there in a circle around him, questioning him in faux neutral tones about if Ky Narec was truly ready for his promotion..
Outnumbered twelve to one, Dooku had only repeated his answers a few times, before he outright refused to take the same question twice. In his mind he agreed, Ky Narec's dueling skills weren't quite at a level Dooku would accept in a Master yet, and he was internally conflicted enough that his connection to the force wasn't as strong as it could be. If Dooku were still on the Jedi Council, he would have been against Narec's promotion.
Now that he was trying to run his own Temple, he saw things differently. Narec was a skilled leader and teacher, and had a genuine rapport with the other Knights. Dooku needed another Master to help him run the New Temple, Narec was the best option. So be it.
"Narec is a worthy Jedi Master." Dooku had to stop himself from growling out each word, lest his frustration show itself. "And if you wish to see his work, I invite you to come visit Indinor yourself."
Twelve pairs of eyes stared at him from all sides, and though they tried to hide it, Dooku was sure many of them were just as frustrated as he was. Yoda hadn't said a word for the entire interrogation, even though he had to know some of what Dooku was struggling with. At least Yaddle looked somewhat sympathetic to him, while Windu remained unreadable as always.
The Council was not a monolith, it never had been. Jedi had different beliefs and interpretations of the Code, and this resulted in loose factions that occasionally disagreed on what should be done and who could be trusted with what role. They weren't anything as formal as a political party, but loosely the groups could be described as the Orthodox and the Unorthodox. The former were concerned with the spiritual wellbeing of the Jedi, and felt that too much involvement with the affairs of the Republic was corrupting, and the latter felt that the primary role of the Jedi was to serve the Republic, and desired to take a more active role outside the Temple.
Many considered Dooku to lean towards the Unorthodox, though his views were more nuanced than that. For one thing, he agreed that the Jedi should be more active than the Orthodox would like, but he disagreed that the Jedi should be more involved with the Republic, because it was a source of corruption.
As far as Dooku was concerned, there should be a team of Jedi working all hours to influence the Senate like the corporate lobbyists did. They could use as many mind tricks as it took to make that collection of absolute fools do some actual good for once. The average senator was deeply mediocre, and should never have been trusted to vote for anything in the first place, anyway. Of what worth was the free will of another fat, self-serving career politician?
Better to influence the senate, than be influenced by it. Dooku had seen more than one disaster unfold thanks to some fool's ambitions.
Of course, voicing this view in the first place was part of what got Dooku kicked off the Jedi Council, even though he spoke it half in jest. These days he didn't think of it as a joke at all.
His patience fully gone, Dooku didn't even wait for the Council's reply after the chamber was silent for a few moments.
"I see that you will not help me grow the New Temple, and I will not demote Narec." Dooku turned to leave. "So be it."
"There is one more thing we wanted to discuss." Mace spoke up. "In regards to Master Sifo's passing."
"Have you discovered the assassin?" Dooku asked.
"No, but the Council is concerned by Sifo's presence on Raxus at the time of his death, Dooku." Mace leaned forward slightly. "The Council is… confused, by the reason for him being there."
"You have all read the report?" Dooku asked, ready to dismiss the whole thing. Prialla was part of the team and had shared it with him. "Sifo was helping me to refurbish some ships."
"Your world is not supposed to be purchasing military vessels, Dooku."
"A fine thing then that I'm repairing ones that I already own."
"That's the letter of the law, not the spirit of it." Yaddle chided.
"Yes, well if the spirit of the law mattered at all I'm sure the Galaxy would be much better for it. For now, my people need safety and I am providing it." Dooku replied. "Is that all?"
"Why was Sifo doing the inspection for you?" Plo Kloon pressed. "It would have been more appropriate for a representative of your house to go instead."
"Sifo was the one who suggested going to Raxus." Dooku said, jaw tightening at the implication. "He was even the one who found the ships in the archives, and contracted the engineer. I merely let him to do as he willed."
"No one here is suggesting you had a hand in his death." Yaddle assured him. "But the New Temple isn't a tool of House Serenno. We are concerned that you are allowing your private interests to interfere with Jedi business."
"Count of Serenno, Grandmaster of the New Temple." Windu added. "You have conflicting responsibilities."
"Yes, much like serving the people of the Republic and the Senate?"
"The Senate represents the people." Mace replied.
Dooku scoffed openly at that.
"The point is the Council feels a mistake was made, and wants to ensure it is not repeated." Ki Adi said.
"Well, the New Temple appreciates the Council's concerns, and will give them the full weight they're due." Dooku replied, curtly. "Will that be all?"
When the room was silent, Dooku left without another word, fuming. He rode the lift down to the main hall alone, stewing inside himself.
How dare they try to lecture him over Sifo's fate after all their failures. A mistake they called it? Of course they were all too happy to overlook their own shortcomings after Galidraan, repeating those mistakes a dozen times over. Master Katri didn't have to die, and they wouldn't have even realized who murdered her if he hadn't stepped in. They didn't want to change, they were far too comfortable.
How many times had the so-called wise Council send Jedi to their dooms? They had the gall to lecture him when he had done it but once.
He stood there in place, unmoving as the lift doors slid open.
He hadn't wanted Sifo to die. He even tried to avoid it for as long as possible, but in the end Sidious had demanded it and he'd relented. Dooku had even met the assassin in private. Sifo, a brother in all but blood who Dooku had known since they were just boys, had been killed with Dooku's blessings.
Sifo had never questioned it. The man was faithful to the end, too faithful. He placed his trust in the Republic, in prophecy, and in the Jedi Council. All of them had betrayed him in the end. Most deserving of the blame would be Dooku himself. He may not have been the one to do the deed, but he might as well might have had.
Having stood there for too long, the elevator door timed out and closed in front of Dooku's face, his expression reflected back at him in its foggy surface. Was he angry? Tired? Was this guilt he was feeling?
"Foolish." Shaking his head, Dooku pressed the button to open the doors again. He strode out into the Jedi Temple, and resolved to ignore that seduction of the Dark Side. Whatever Sidious wanted could wait.
Even among the lax dress code of the Grand Temple, Vos was occasionally frowned at for his choice of attire. He kinda liked it that way. Some called it disrespectful, but he did like needling some of the more orthodox Masters on occasion.
Today wasn't the right time for that, though. Despite himself, Vos had put on his nice, clean traditional brown and tans with the long sleeved robes and a cloak that politely hid his lightsaber from view, like he hadn't been raised from infancy as a killing machine. He'd even made Aayla dress the same, despite her protests. Today just wasn't the right day to thumb his nose at the stuffier Masters, or work up a sweat on the training mat.
They were having a funeral, and it was for a man Vos respected, even though they weren't exactly acquainted.
Sifo had always told the Council the truth, which of course they didn't like. A reformer, some called him. Not one of those naive ones either, the kind who wanted to move the Jedi away from being guardians, but instead turn them all into gardeners so they could all meditate their way to a pointless, self satisfied enlightenment. No, Sifo was someone who understood the real galaxy. Sadly, his calls for a more militarized Order had only fallen on deaf ears.
There was a reason that Vos wore his sleeves bare, and it was simple: He had large, well defined muscles. The obvious physical power was naturally scary, like an instinctive thing that every human and near human race had learned in the course of their natural evolution to be wary of. They couldn't help their natural response, it was buried under all those sociable layers of the brain that everyone still shared with insects and lizards. Some birds puffed up their feathers, some creatures might try to stand taller and hiss while baring their fangs, and Vos didn't wear sleeves.
Keeping the peace required intimidation. Not too much, but enough that people understood what the consequences of breaking that peace would be.
So yeah, Vos agreed wholeheartedly with Sifo's calls for a more militarized Jedi Order. A lot of Sifo's talk was about history and precedent, and what else did protectors of peace need more than instruments of war? Too many Jedi ignored his warnings, warding off his wisdom with empty, repeated sayings about the lightsaber that could cut both ways. And besides, they were all connected through the force in the end weren't they?
Yeah, well so were the Sith.
Now Sifo was being cremated in a closed casket, having been killed by one. Or so it was being claimed.
Vos could use psychometry. Through the Force he could see into the past of an object, especially if a force user had handled it. With Sifo's lightsaber, Vos had been able to get a fair bit, but only after they got it away from the nexus on Raxus Prime.
Sifo had been attacked by someone using the Dark Side. Not just using it, but absolutely drowning in it, reveling in it. The old Jedi Master was losing the battle until the ship exploded, and then, nothing.
Vos tried using his psychometry on the few plasma reactor fragments they recovered, but no luck there at all. Probably whatever sabotage had been done was carried out by a droid, so no traces in the force. The ship had been almost annihilated by the blast, its pieces scattered into a junkyard, only making it harder to figure out what actually happened.
At least they were now certain this had been an assassination.
With the investigation team there to support her, Master Luminara had delivered her report to the rest of the Jedi Council, and in response they had done what they do best: Nothing.
Luminara had elected to omit Vos's belief Dooku had been involved from her report, so he had decided to voice that view himself. Even if Dooku had an alibi, there were plenty of other Jedi at the New Temple who could have carried out the attack.
That hadn't gone over well. The room had been dead silent, until Yoda quietly asked him to leave.
And now, here they all were at the funeral. Honestly, Vos was surprised he still got an invite
Despite the grim occasion, Vos noticed the obvious different groups among the Jedi attending just from their choice of clothing alone. Everyone had come in their best, and had revealed to everyone the divides between them all by what they considered formal wear.
The Jedi of the Temple on Coruscant, with some outliers, had come dressed in brown and tan robes, symbolizing their connection to the people of the Republic.
Sifo had spent some time with the Green Jedi, and so a delegation had arrived from there dressed in their traditional colors. They were the smallest group, wearing boots cut in that flexible Correllian style that was popular with travelers, and wearing so much gold jewelry that Vos wanted to know how they could fight with all that extra weight.
There were also some Guardians of the Whils present, in unmarked red robes, and even a creepy Teepo Paladin in a face concealing mask and dressed in gray.
The real show stealers were the Jedi from the New Temple on Indinor. They wore black, capes and trousers. Scandalous. They looked a bit like Dooku, though none of them were exactly wearing his Serenno style, and each had their own small touches, like piercings or cuffs. Standing at the front of them was the Count himself, with his wife and bratty eldest child beside him, all stern faced. You'd think a kid would be more choked up, but no, she was doing her best impression of her dad. Less like her teacher died, and more like she was annoyed that somebody had farted near her with her nose raised up in the air.
Honestly, Vos had to respect the balls on Dooku bringing his whole family here. That had caused some stirrings among the more orthodox Coruscant Jedi. To have a wife and children was against the Code, but at least Ki Adi Mundi left his family at home where they belonged. Here Dooku was, flaunting his disregard for tradition in the dismissive way he always had. If he wasn't pretty sure the man was a murderer, Vos might have respected him for it.
Behind Dooku, there were all the faces of the New Temple, some of which Vos recognised. Arrayed like this, he was noticing how different they looked since he'd seen many of them just a few years ago. No longer did they look like scared, unsure social outcasts, bitter young men and women without a cause. Now they stood straight, with color in their cheeks and a light in their eyes. Even here, at a funeral, they had energy and purpose that Vos never remembered seeing before.
Ky Narec and Asajj Ventress were also around, and it was there that Vos was sure he found the answer to the question posed by the health of the New Temple. Asajj demonstrated Ky's skill as a trainer, and his ability to connect with those under him. On Coruscant, there were rumblings that the former knight was definitely not ready for the rank of master, but Vos could see his leadership skills. The New Temple, even with only the twenty or so knights present and just two Masters, demonstrated a strong sense of community and unity without even realizing that's what they were doing.
Vos thought it was just like the Council to give those two to Dooku. Asajj and Narec should have been here on Coruscant, strengthening the next generation rather than luring it out to the Force knew where to serve the twelfth Lost Master.
He wasn't a historian, but hadn't at least two separate Sith Empires been founded that way?
"Master, this is a funeral." Aayla murmured to him below her breath, chiding.
Yeah, he knew that. Shifting his gaze to where the neatly arrayed scaffold of oil soaked firewood sat in the center of the courtyard, a closed wooden coffin perched atop it. The blue skies of Coruscant hung overhead, the airspace above the Jedi Temple crowded with speeders. Vos imagined a small child, watching out the back window of a vehicle as the Jedi conducted their service.
This was a funeral for a Jedi. There were no long speeches, nor was there any overt crying. If someone felt grief over a Jedi's passing, they were to meditate on it in their own time. No one even played an instrument.
Vos watched as Yoda slowly hobbled his way to the funeral pyre, before using Sifo's own lightsaber to set the wood ablaze.
The assembled friends of the dead watched as the smoke rose from pyre, disappearing into the sky above the city. The only sound anyone could hear was the crackling of wood, and maybe the rustle of robes as someone nearby shifted their weight. Anyone who had gas was clenching it in, that's for sure.
When the fire burned out, someone would come along to sweep up the ashes and clean away the tiles.
Thus ended the life of a Jedi Master.
…Come to think of it, what Ky been doing for all those years he was missing? Vos' gaze shifted back to the freshly minted master. How could a Jedi ever be trapped on a world without a hyperdrive? Why would he even go there in the first place?
What were the actual chances of finding a random Dathomiri there?
His gaze settled on the Count's padawan, and for a split second there gazes met, a scowl on her lips.
A plan began to formulate in Vos's mind.
Asajj had decided she didn't like Coruscant. To her it reeked with the smell of burning dust mites. Humans couldn't really smell it, and neither could the other zabrak she met, but to her it was ever present on the city world. She wondered if her nose was just unusually sensitive, or if other Dathomiri had a similar sense of smell? Even in the heart of the Jedi Temple, Asajj couldn't get the taste out of her mouth, and feared that even after she left the planet she'd have to replace her robes to get rid of the stench.
Not to mention the planet's presence in the force. The nexus that surrounded Coruscant was drawn from the countless thoughts and feelings of the teeming swarms of sentients that infested every crack and crevice of this miserable world, with the overriding emotions being ambition and anxiety. Here in the heart of the Order, the Jedi radiated peace and confidence, which mingled with the feelings of those outside, leaving the force gritty with an unresolved mix of warring emotions. Asajj wasn't sure how to describe it. It wasn't quite cold like the Dark Side, but it was still foul in its own way.
Asajj would prefer a jungle of trees over one of duracrete. Even having someone merely explain to her the nature of Coruscant's undercity left her feeling unsettled. Any beast that crawled out from under a rock on Serenno wouldn't be half as translucently pale and sadistically cruel as a deranged gangster that slunk up from the tunnels of this world.
What were the Jedi even doing here? If the filth of the undercity were to ever try and force their way to the surface, to plunder the towers raised above their heads, there'd be nothing anyone could do to stop them. This world was like a thin coating of glamor and wealth painted over a foundation of misery and helplessness, perched precariously over a sucking pit of outright chaos. No one even seemed to notice or care, too caught up in their desperate daily scramble.
She couldn't wait to leave this place. Being here had only taught her to be glad to be accepted by the New Temple and rejected by the old. She was reminded of that particularly whenever any of the Jedi here stopped to watch the 'night sister' as she passed, like she had any real connection to that cult.
Following the example set by her current master, Asajj pretended not to notice, with her shoulders back and her chest puffed out, she stalked through the corridors like she owned the place, and found its upkeep lacking; the latter being hardly an exaggeration at all.
Dooku was right to leave this accursed world, and should have done so sooner.
One could say what they pleased about the mud of Indinor, but at least it was peaceful. The New Temple was growing there, and attracting settlers to seek security in its shadow. More and and more farms were springing up in view of the Temple Garden, spreading cultivated rows of green shoots and grazing herd animals.
There was even a fishing trawler that started to cast nets in the slurry flats, dragging in hauls of those strange native crustaceans that thrived in the oceans of muck. They even tasted okay too, once the cooks figured out the trick of running cold water over their backs for a few hours to get them to pass out the mud inside them. A little bit of a cheesy aftertaste, but that wasn't so bad with the right peppers.
Not to mention she actually knew her way around the New Temple.
"Going somewhere?" A man suddenly asked her from behind, voice a rough growl that nearly made her jump.
She turned to regard the speaker, and scowled immediately upon recognising him, though she took a moment to remember his name. Vos. He was that thuggish Jedi that grilled everyone at the Palace on Serenno for days, including her. Particularly her.
After they left, the Royal Guards had even reported that Vos and his padawan had gone as far to try and talk to poor little Tan'ya unaccompanied! Thankfully the clever girl had sensibly sent them away without saying anything, but that this fool would even try to speak to a child who had just lost a mentor and close friend really spoke ill of Coruscant Temple's tolerance to the conduct of its Knights.
"I can go where I please." Asajj answered, primly. "Even the council chambers are not off limits to me." There were a few places where padawans weren't allowed to visit at will, like the holocron vault, but she wasn't anywhere near those. At least she didn't think she was. This place didn't have any blasted signs.
Vos nodded, regarding her with a lip quirked in amusement. Asajj glanced past him, and realized his padawan wasn't with him.
"What do you want?" She asked, suddenly suspicious.
"Help. From you."
She narrowed her eyes disbelievingly. "Why would I help you?"
"Because you're going to do what's right."
She scoffed. "You think helping you is the right thing?"
"Not always. This time though, yeah." He smirked. "Walk with me? You were lost anyway."
Asajj opened her mouth to deny it, but stopped herself because of how obviously true it was. Anything she said would just be an excuse that made her sound like a fool.
He didn't wait for her answer, striding away towards a set of doors, and after a moment of hesitation Asajj walked after him, frustrated but curious. What was his game?
"What do you think of Sifo's assassination?" He asked her. "Have you read the files?"
"I'm a padawan." She didn't have access to those.
"Fair enough." Vos then explained the circumstances around the Jedi Master's death. His strange presence on a dangerous force nexus due to Dooku's private affairs, the premeditated nature of the attack and how Sifo seemingly had no warning, and the fact that before he died he was attacked by a yellowed eyed Dark Sider with a lightsaber. "What do you think?" He asked at the end.
"...You're searching for a Dark Jedi hiding in the New Temple. They would have access to Sifo's schedule so they would know when he was heading for Prime, they could plant the bomb on his ship when it was parked on Indinor, and they have lightsabers." She paused, and shot an annoyed look at the man. "And it explains why you're so interested in me, the Dathomiri."
"Does it?"
"The Night Sisters are a well known Dark Side cult." Asajj scowled. "You're trying to pin this on me."
"I'm trying to catch a murderer." Vos replied. "If it's you, then I want you, but if it's not you, I want your help."
They walked in silence for a few moments, as she turned the story about in her head.
"Let me ask you this." Vos looked back at Asajj. "Would an assassin attack Sifo, then set off the bomb? You're assuming that the assassin planted the bomb, and that Sifo had no warning he was coming."
Asajj kept her mouth shut, not saying anything at all.
"What if Sifo had plenty of warning about the assassin, and he was the one who planted the bomb?" Vos paused then added. "He was a seer."
Her brows came together, and she considered his theory. "It fits. It wasn't that Sifo was lured to Prime, but that Sifo lured the assassin there. If I wanted to attack a Jedi Master, I wouldn't want to do it when he's protected by other Jedi, especially not Dooku."
"The assassin followed Sifo, waiting for the chance to strike, and chased him from Serenno to Prime."
Asajj smirked. "Meaning my master had nothing to do with it."
Vos shrugged. "Maybe."
"So what did you want my help with?" Asajj asked. "Or did you really want a Padawan to hear you speculate without evidence?"
"I want you to help me find evidence."
"You want a spy." Asajj sneered at the man. "You want me to betray my Master, and the New Temple for you? The whole funeral you were giving us all stink eye."
"Why was Sifo killed, Asajj? We need to know." He looked at her. "If there's a Dark Sider in the New Temple, corrupting it, then it could be another Galactic war."
"They could just as easily be here, in the Grand Temple."
"They could be, which is why I'll search for them here myself." Vos replied. "But I'm not part of the New Temple. I don't have access to it, like you do."
"Well, I won't help you." Asajj declared, firmly. "Find another knight to do your dirty work."
"What are the chances of finding a lone, Force Sensitive Night Sister slave on a world without hyperdrives?"
The change in topic was so sudden it took a moment for Asajj to understand what he was referring to. "What?"
Vos said, folding his arms. "How does a Dathomiri from Dathomir get to another world?"
"A ship, obviously." Asajj snapped back, sarcastically.
"But I thought Rattatak didn't have access to hyperdrives?"
Asajj opened her mouth and closed it, feeling a strange pit opening up in her stomach. Frozen on the spot, she tried to think of an excuse, but couldn't find any. If it was impossible to leave Rattatak due to its isolation from Hyperdrives, how could she even have been traded there in the first place?
Vos smirked. "Narec is full of it. How could he, a Jedi, possibly be stranded just because his ship wasn't working? His story doesn't add up, he's lying."
"He's not!" Asajj growled, clenching her fists. "He can't be!"
"Search your feelings." He reached behind himself, and took out a holocom before pressing it into Asajj's hands. "It's prepaid. My number is saved on this." He turned and strode away, saying over his shoulder. "Message me when you find answers."
After he was gone, Asajj looked at the device in her hands. Vos was clearly a nasty piece of work, and he was trying to manipulate her. The thug wanted to hurt the New Temple, and Ky. The only reason he approached her and not one of the others was because he thought he had strings to tie around her. She was a padawan, and so of course he thought she would be much easier to control for her age.
If she had any sense she'd throw the bloody thing away right now. She knew it.
But just having it didn't mean she had to use it, did it?
Asajj grit her teeth before stuffing the comm into her belt pouch and hurrying away. She'd think about it later - she was too hungry to focus on it now.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a silent, long suppressed voice snickered.