Commonality Assembly, Obroa City
Obroa-skai, Obroa System

Okko had assumed that, with the conclusion of the vote to reform the League of Nations into a more coherent Commonality, he would be allowed to return home to his people. Never had he been more wrong. The vote in the Assembly Hall several days ago had been but the beginning.

A Galactic Congress had been called together, for while the Constitutional draft Columex and Ossus proposed held within it a strong foundation steeped in the tradition of the New Republic, nowhere was it more apparent that this was not the New Republic than on Obroa-skai.

The Obroans had been quite insistent that the congressional debates take place in the historic meeting center of the now defunct League of Nations. It was an odd sensation, the way something that seemed almost as simple as a mere change in moniker could refashion entire geo-political social structures.

Each world was vying for power, scrambling to make it to the ground floor so they could say that not only were they there, but they left an indelible mark upon the documentation that would shape the fate of the entire endeavor. Predictably, it meant a whole lot of talking and not much being said, in the end.

Fyodor Tsibul, however, proved to defy all expectations of him. Marvelling at the man’s eloquence and poise, Okko could not help but thank the Force that it was this man had come along when he had. A relatively obscure Columex political figure, he had been elected as Ambassador to the League if only to get rid of his radical notions and unshakeable ideals.

Truly, Tsibul was a man fashioned almost specifically for the times he lived in.

“Once again, I say to you all,” Fyodor said as soon as some semblance of order had been maintained, “Columex has no interests in meddling in the affairs of the Core. We have enough on our hands dealing with the Reaver blight that surrounds us!”

Days had gone by, and still they were stuck on the same topic of “Columex influence” on worlds across the galaxy. The Obroans, particularly, were a cautious bunch. The Commonality vote had somewhat blindsided them, and none were willing to give up the prestige and stature that came with serving as League capital.

“Exactly, Representative Tsibul!” it was the representative from Neimoidia, a key player in what had been the political structure of the League and perhaps their staunchest opponent in the ongoing debates, “Reavers, Reavers, Reavers. It is all we have heard about these past few days. Yet I can count on one hand the number of times you have mentioned the Cree’Ar. What of the Dominion?

Ossus is a known safe haven for Force users. It is only a matter of time before the Dominion takes their vengeance upon us for your religious indiscretions!”

To Okko’s surprise, he was singled out for the first time in the deliberations. Obviously the Neimoidian had been preparing to play that card for a while, the Ysanna could sense both from his aura and the smug expression upon his face as he waited for the Jedi to formulate some sort of awkward retort. They knew he was no politician.

“If the congress desires Ossus’ withdrawal from this new Commonality, it need only vote on the matter,” Okko replied serenely, determined not to let the whips and barbs of political infighting get to him, “The League of Nations championed the rights of Force users, but perhaps the representative from Neimoidia would like to propose a change in doctrine.”

Tsibul nodded in appreciation at the Jedi’s unexpected eloquence, and Okko took some satisfaction of the pricelessness of the expression on the Neimoidian representative’s face. The words had sent roars of debate and argument throughout the Assembly Hall, for sure enough there were those amongst them who did not consider Ossus’ secession a bad move.

The truly intelligent amongst them, however, knew better than to pursue the line of discourse. If the Commonality lost Ossus, it would likely lose Columex as well, and in so doing the entirety of the Outer Haven. There was also Chandrila to consider, a leader amongst the Core Worlds but still in many ways loyal to New Alderaan, to Jutraal, above all others.

“Consul Okko of Ossus is correct,” Fyodor spoke up as the conversations died down, “I know that many of you feel that you carry the weight of a burden that is not your own. I know you feel as if you are paying the price for one world’s apparent indiscretions.

But this League was founded on standing up in the face of overwhelming adversity. You have stared the Empire in the face, and you didn’t blink. Many of you are contributing to our effort against the Reavers, and you didn’t blink. Surely, you can find it within yourselves to do the same with these Cree’Ar.

I say to you, just as the League before it, the Commonality will not be brought to its knees at the whim of would-be tyrants. I say to you, the Commonality will-”

They heard the shot before it hit.

Sensing the danger before it even happened, Okko was in mid-tackle when he felt a burning sensation throughout his ribs. I’m hit, he thought. He waited for either agony or shock to kick in, but all he felt was the slightly painful thud as they hit the duracrete floor.

“I say...I say…”

The Jedi’s quick actions had spared Tsibul an instant death, but the burning Okko had felt was merely close proximity to a blaster bolt as it impacted. It must have snaked its way underneath his arms, for Fyodor’s left shoulder was nearly decimated, the wounding shot no doubt meant for his heart quickly cauterizing, and the Columex ambassador groaned.

Calling upon the Force, Okko summoned all the strength he could to heal the wound, but he was a Ysanna warrior, not a healer. Glancing up into the rafters high above the chaotically fleeing delegates, he saw a shadow of movement as who Okko could only assume was the shooter made a quick flight.

Returning his attention to Fyodor, he clutched the man tight, and poured his life force into the other man. They couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not when they were so close.

“...we will...stand firm...”

Fyodor Tsibul, their brightest hope, was dying in Okko’s arms.

And there was nothing he could do.

Obroa General, Intensive Care Unit
Obroa-skai, Obroa System

It will take more than a would-be assassin to halt the march of progress.

Okko smiled sadly as he read the words aloud. Several centimeters of thick duraglass separated the two, yet in the aftermath of the shooting the Jedi ambassador felt closer to Fyodor Tsibul than he did with most Ysanna. Perhaps it was something to do with the intensive healing rituals he had performed before emergency units could arrive on the scene.

Perhaps it was merely that the Columex representative’s optimism was so unrelenting it could shame even a Jedi as well-trained as Okko.

“And yet, if you had died, the entire process may very well have fallen apart,” he reminded the representative, keying the intercom so the other man could hear him despite the physical rift between them.

Maybe so, the words flashed across the screen as Fyodor keyed them in, Then again, it may have sparked a match that would light the galaxy for generations to come.

Okko could not help but admire the man’s almost infectious optimism. They needed more like him, and to see him in such a state nearly brought tears to the old man’s eyes. Somehow, he was reminded of Master Zark.

Fyodor Tsibul, Columex ambassador and Commonality representative, floated in a bacta tank, the bacterial particles seemingly attacking the politician’s wounds as it stimulated rapid tissue regeneration. Still, the wound had been severe, the product of a disruptor rifle, illegal on most worlds including Obroa-skai.

They had been forced to amputate his arm to save him.

“I hear the prosthesis they’re working on should bear a striking resemblance to the real thing,” Okko said, searching for the right words, for any words, to bring comfort to the wounded, “You should be back at the process in no time, a week at the most.”

Just long enough to miss everything of relevance, Okko could almost feel the sorrow in the words as Tsibul keyed in his response, As for the prosthesis, if I could make one small request.

“Anything, Representative,” Okko genuflected, “I daresay you have earned the right.”

No replicas, no false-flesh, no almost the real thing. I want them to see, Okko. I want them to know that Columex is willing to help shoulder their burdens, to pay the cost. In full, if needs be.

“You humble me, Representative Tsibul,” Okko said, bowing once more to the haggard-looking diplomat, “Truly, you symbolize the Jedi Code more fully than I could ever hope to.”

You underestimate yourself, Okko. Grand Master Askrima saw much potential in you, from what I hear. I see it too. And the Commonality needs you, master Jedi, now more than ever. This entire venture now falls to you.

“What would you have me do?” the Ysanna asked, perturbed at the thought of being so instrumental in something so…big.

Someone wants the Commonality to fail before it has a chance to begin. This cannot be allowed to happen. Find the shooter, Okko. Find my assassin. No matter where it takes you, no matter what you discover. Controversy is fleeting, secrets are eternal.

“Spoken like a true Jedi,” Okko replied, and the two shared a surreal moment together as the Columex native bobbed half-naked in the bacta tube, “It will be done, Representative. We will have justice.”

I do not doubt you, the text scrolled in response, Take care you do not doubt yourself.

Bowing once more, Okko left the ICU with a sense of foreboding. He had a feeling that, no matter what he found, the answers would change the Commonality forever.


Assembly Hall, Security Office
Obroa-skai, Obroa System

Thankfully, the Obroans had not skimped on their security budget. Closed circuit holo cams littered the assembly hall, as well as the skywalk outside. It had not taken the team long to locate the suspect, there were only a few angles from which a shot like the one that had hit the Columex representative could be fired.

The assembly hall security team had been hard at work tracking down exactly which vantage point the shot had been taken from, and from there had tracked the assailant down a set of stairwells to the ground floor, where a CCHC had caught a glimpse of the shooter’s face, a brief flash of a moment, but more than enough to run facial recognition.

They had come up empty handed.

Okko stood in the room, gazing out at a three dimensional representation of the skywalk upon which the shooter had blended into the crowd to make his getaway, and let the holographic representations of pedestrians course around him. Reaching out, he could sense nothing, and that was to be expected of course but an eerie feeling for a Jedi nonetheless.

Over and over again, he replayed the holotape. Watching the assailant, head down, cap covering any distinctive features. He moved at a casual pace from the side entrance, meandered at the corner, and then disappeared amongst those around him at this spot, the spot where the Jedi now stood.

Reverse, replay, reverse, replay.

“Stop.”

“Master Jedi?” one of the security professionals asked, craning his neck to see if anything new could be seen from Okko’s angle.

There was something new, he realized. Or rather, something that hadn’t been caught before. Holographic technology was near-perfect, but it was the near part that made all the difference. Moments before the shooter entered the crowd, he reached up to scratch his neck, and in that moment…

“There is a piece of metal here,” Okko relayed to the confused personnel now crowded around him, “Its visible in the gap between the arm and the shoulder.”

“I don’t see it,” one of the other’s in the room, a woman, proclaimed.

“That’s because you’re looking for the glint, not the texture,” he replied, marvelling at the sheer chance of the discovery. The Force might truly be with him after all, “Track this quadrant and enhance.”

The officers complied, and sure enough as they blew up the resolution, a piece of metal adorning the assailant’s cloak was now visible. Okko stared hard, unable to escape the notion that he had seen the design somewhere before. There was a gasp from behind him, and he did not have to ask to know that one of the others did recognize it.

“By the Force, that’s a Distinguished Medal of Imperial Honor.”

Now he recognized it, of course.

“So it is,” Okko nodded, closing his eyes as he thought, “That narrows our search parameters somewhat.”

“Somewhat?!” the female security officer exclaimed, “We just busted this wide open! We know it was the Empire!”

“On the contrary,” Okko replied, his voice measured and calm, “We now know it was most certainly not the Empire.”

“What?” it came from all the others in the room at once.

“You look, but you do not see,” the Jedi sighed, feeling as if he were lecturing younglings, “This would-be assassin is highly professional. He or she managed to gravely injure a senior Commonality official in a very public forum, and make a clean getaway. And yet, at the last possible moment of visibility, they make a critical mistake? No.

Whoever carried out this attack wanted us to see that medal, therefore they wanted us to believe it was the Empire that was responsible. It stands to reason that, were the Empire truly behind the attempt on Representative Tsibul’s life, they would do their utmost to conceal their involvement.

Emperor Kraken is many things, my friends, but he is not sloppy.”

Something is missing, a piece of the puzzle, Okko thought to himself, What am I not seeing? Where is the shatterpoint?

A single question answered, a dozen more now unsolved. One step forward, a giant leap back. For the dozenth time that day, the Jedi longed for the sights and sounds of his home, of Knossa. And yet, here he was, on an alien world solving alien crimes.

Somehow, he suspected this hole went deeper than even he could fathom.

Force guide me.

The Wailing Wampa, Obroa City
Obroa-skai, Obroa System

Okko had lost count of how many establishments similar to the Wailing Wampa cantina he had frequented over the past several days. While the Obroan security forces pursued official avenues of inquiry, the Jedi ambassador had elected to take a more...down-to-earth approach to his investigation. So far, it had proved fruitless.

Ordering another stim caff from the pretty Twi’lek waitress, the Ysanna nursed his newest in a long line of beverages he had ordered since he had walked through the front door. He sat alone in a corner booth, his back to the kitchens with a solid vantage point of the establishment’s entrance and bar, and waited.

Force guide me.

It was most certainly not the first time he had voiced the sentiment inside his own head, and yet his heightened sensory awareness showed no sign of compliance, and the Jedi wondered for the dozenth time if this was just another dead end. The cantina hosted many an unsavory type, and since Okko had sat down he had witnessed no less than twenty legal infractions he would have taken upon himself to correct had this been an Ossan bar.

But this was not Ossus, and Okko was light years away from any part of the galaxy where the word of a Jedi still carried weight. Obroa-skai was like Ossus in many ways, and yet it was the differences Okko could not help but focus on. It was as if the entire planet was in one massively foul mood.

How many worlds near the Core felt this way, he wondered. The sacking of Coruscant had managed to destabilize the entire region, even as far out as the Inner Rim. It was as if the whole world was waiting...for what, he had no doubt none of its denizens could quite say. If the past year had been a year of cataclysms, this was the year of shell shock.

The Dominion was out there, hunting down Force sensitives, for what purpose none could quite fathom. Their intentions seemed pure on a datapad, but the Corusca galaxy residents were not stupid, for the most part. Palpatine himself had promised a golden age of stability and harmony, and few could forget how that had turned out.

Yet Obroa-skai had perhaps more reasons to fear than most, for while the neutral worlds could find some sense of comfort in the knowledge that they were no doubt a low priority for the Dominion, the former League capital boasted no such luxury. All because of Ossus. Because of the Jedi Enclave. Because of him.

This was not the first time in Okko’s lifetime that Jedi had been persecuted, even hunted to the brink of extinction, yet he could not help but feel that never before had they faced a threat so overwhelming in nature. For the Cree’Ar were ambivalent to alignment, to the balance of the Force. They hunted Jedi and Sith alike, and were it not for worlds like Ossus and Elrood and Azguard, he had little doubt that the Dominion war machine could very well achieve what no Force user had ever been able to before.

Ultimate balance. Ultimate oblivion.

“Say hon, you been here quite a while,” the Twi’lek server cut through his reverie, “You waitin’ on friends? Cause if so, it don’t look to me like they’re comin’.”

“I was just thinking the same thing myself, madame,” Okko responded, drawing a bemused expression from the server’s face at his accent and nomenclature, “Perhaps it is time for me to take my-”

He froze.

“You alright, hon?” the barmaid asked.

He had seen something. He knew he had seen something.

The bar froze, its occupants almost comical in their figurine-like poses, and then slowly they began to move again, only this time in reverse. Okko’s eyes were closed, yet he could still see the entirety of the cantina as clearly as if it were mid-afternoon. Thankfully, he did not have to go back far, for his concentration was already waning.

“You need a doc, old man?” the Twi’lek asked, her tone suggesting she was quickly growing tired of the eccentric figure taking up a table tipping customers could be using. But her voice was distant, dim if that made sense in an acoustic context. Okko was far, far away.

Where is it, where is it...I know I saw it…there!

He could not see the man’s face, for he was already halfway out the door, but it was not the face that had drawn such intense scrutiny. It was the gleam of medal dangling from his lapel. He had seen such a piece before, had committed every centimeter of it to memory. There could be no doubt.

The man was wearing a Distinguished Medal of Imperial Honor.

“Hon, if you don’t move soon I’m calling the-”

“No need, young miss,” Okko said suddenly, causing the Twi’lek to jump slightly as she let out a small squeal, “I am quite alright, for the Force is my ally.”

“Hush, you!” she hissed suddenly, startling him, “You got any idea where you are, spitting all that Force mumbo jumbo. What, you think you some kinda Jedi or somethin’?”

“Jedi!” a patron nearby repeated, this one a particularly ugly Devaronian, “What’s this I hear about Jedi?”

“Nothing that should concern you,” the old Ysanna quipped, perturbed at the other man’s eavesdropping, “I am Jedi Okko, and I seek information concerning a man who left this cantina not five minutes ago.”

“I ain’t givin you bantha shit, Jedi sleemo!”

All around his table, men and aliens arose with dark expressions on their face. In the exultation of finding such a strong lead, Okko had entirely forgotten just what type of dive he was occupying, not to mention the neighborhood. His arm slid off the table lazily, dangling down to a resting position beside his belt.

The Devaronian didn’t miss it.

“You pull a saber, you a dead man before it activates!” the alien roared, loud enough to grab the attention of anyone not already staring intently at the scene between the two.

“Very well,” Okko said.

The shot rang out, and the Devaronian flew backwards, crashing into his own table and sending sabacc chips and smaller sentients flying. For a moment, everyone froze, for the sound had not been the tell-tale sign of blaster fire, but something entirely different.

Holstering the slugthrower, Okko reached out to make sure the damage he had done was not fatal. He was a Jedi, and not interested in carving a swath of destruction through the seedier side of Obroa City. But what the Devaronian and his friends had not anticipated was that Okko was also Ysanna.

The slug had come from underneath the table, a blind shot that had somehow found its mark perfectly. That was the Ysanna way. Okko had guided the projectile with the Force, just as all Ysanna were trained to do from a young age. It was a tradition left over from a more savage time, before Searthen Jiren had returned to Ossus and rebuilt the planet to be a shining jewel of the Outer Rim.

It also came in handy when your enemies expected a lightsaber.

Ignoring the Devaronian’s pitiful moans, Okko rose from his seat suddenly, sending the rest of the sentients who had stood stepping back several paces. Calmly, deliberately, the Jedi tossed a very large credit chit onto the table.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, though unlike most the Jedi actually meant it. The allotment should have been more than enough to make the necessary repairs and cleaning, “Keep the change.”

And then, without another word, he left the Wailing Wampa. Nobody followed him. That was just as well, for Okko had an assassin to hunt, and he was close. He only hoped his sudden outburst hadn’t spooked his quarry, and that the trail had not already grown completely cold.

Master Zark always said there’d be days like these.

The Lowside, Obroa City
Obroa-skai, Obroa System

Like most metropolises, once the Obroans had run out of room to build outward, they had begun to build Obroa City up. It consistently awed Jedi Okko that, throughout the galaxy, there were thousands upon thousands of worlds as alive as Obroa-skai. Over seventy three million souls resided on the world alone, and it was just one amongst many. An entire League, now a Commonality of worlds, some mirrors of Obroa-skai and some vastly different, yet each one amazingly teeming with life.

Most hub worlds developed a particular talent within the cosmological makeup of the Corusca galaxy, learning to perfect a niche within the greater economy of known space, and Obroa-skai was no exception. Its power was knowledge, a virtual library world containing massive repositories of information, the envy of the galaxy. Okko remembered an integral component to the Ossan application process had been the stark interest certain blocs within the Obroan government had expressed concerning access to the Jedi Library, a one-of-a-kind repository in its own right.

Down here, on the Lowside, there was a different sort of knowledge to be gained and guarded. It was not written in musty tomes or on spartan datapads, it embodied the very half-processed air currents that whipped through the natural wind tunnels such massive skyscrapers inevitably formed deep below. Almost all modern cities of the galaxy had a place or places like these, the only difference really were the names and the size.

The Lowside was small, but what it lacked in square footage it more than made up for in the rough and tumble department. Yet nothing was farther from Okko’s mind as he sprinted down its skywalks, his connection to the Force running deep as he pushed his legs faster than what most would consider naturally possible, leaving cries of surprise and derision in his wake.

The...unfortunate aggression that the ambassador had been forced to perpetrate in the cantina had bothered him, but even worse it had apparently managed to spook his quarry enough to maintain a level of alertness not even a Jedi could bypass, and the moment Okko had been made the suspect took off into an attempted flight that even the Ysanna had to admit was quite impressive.

From the sheer perfection of his evasive movement, Okko suspected the hunted man had received at least some Teräs Käsi training. Peculiar, but in a galaxy that had been seemingly overrun by Force users with delusions of grandeur these past years, not entirely unexpected from someone involved in special forces or black ops.

It was all he could do to keep the man in his sights, and that was no small feat. Okko actually paused to admire his prey’s prowess before shutting out all distractions and honing his focus entirely on the chase. With his Force enhanced abilities he held little doubt that the runner would tire first, and even if he did not he was bound to make a mistake eventually.

And in the end, Okko was right, for the mistake did come, though his foe could hardly be blamed. As they both rounded the corner, the Ysanna hot on the would-be assassin’s heels, the two realized simultaneously that they had finally come to a dead end, with seemingly no remaining avenue of escape.

Yet to Okko’s shock, the mystery man hardly skipped a beat before he had redirected his momentum on a dime into a wall walk that took him sailing into the air and over the railing of an old fashioned escape walkway, the product of construction from an era long gone by. Pausing only momentarily to gather his inner strength and willpower, Okko once more relied upon the Force to see him through.

The leap up to the same level as the faux-Imperial agent ascended the stairwell at a consistently rapid pace. Leaping from platform to platform, the Jedi’s supernatural capabilities once more allowed him to close the distance despite the other man’s athleticism, yet it wasn’t until they reached a terrace that served, for all intents and purposes, as a rooftop overlooking Lowside, that Okko managed to lash out, sending the speeding suspect out of control as he lost a precarious sense of balance.

The man stumbled, and attempted to leap back to his feet and for a window on the terrace’s inner edge before he was brought down once more by a full body tackle, the old Ysanna cursing his old bones as he took just a little too long to recover as he was heaved off top of the suspect and the two scrambled to their feet.

To Okko’s mild surprise, the man did not immediately attempt to run, but rather waded right in in an attempt to overwhelm the older man’s physical defenses. To his continued and increasing surprise, the Ysanna warrior found it quite difficult to hold his assailant at bay. Falling away within himself to hone his mental focus, Okko remembered his lessons.

Master Zark had not spent a significant amount of time drilling them against Teräs Käsi techniques, yet there had been a few lessons here and there over the past few years. It was difficult for Jedi to teach comprehensively on the subject due to the martial arts’ unique and rather anti-Jedi foundations.

Yet the training had been passed on to others less loyal to its guiding moral principles and in his travels Arix Askrima had befriended a student of the Steel Hands in his many travels and, after proving himself instrumental in saving both the young man’s prospects and life, was taught a few things that could prove instrumental against a Teräs Käsi opponent.

It was a textbook technique to apply such overwhelming pressure to the tempo of a warrior’s attacks for the specific purpose of keeping the Force user mentally off balance. If they were forced to focus on imminent defense, which Okko had been for several moments, they would be less likely able to conjure up more indirect methods of combat, as was the Jedi way.

Yet Okko was well trained, and fully capable of letting muscle memory hold the suspect at bay as he drew on more of his inner power and began to send every piece of refuse and loose object on the terrace flying at alarming speed and striking the suspect. Hard.

To his credit, however, it only slowed him down. Focusing on pain meditation techniques developed by Teräs Käsi masters, his assailant was able to compartmentalize discomfort much in the way a fully fledged Force adept would. Still the attack came on, slower but persistent.

But Okko had also been taught by Grand Master Askrima that Teräs Käsi adepts above all else were required to sheerly outthink their opponent, to account for all the variables Force sensitivity presented and contain them. No doubt the younger man supposed he could keep his onslaught going long enough to tire the Jedi enough for him to make a crucial mistake.

When the mistake came, it was the suspect’s, not Okko’s.

MIldly distracted as he was by the continuous telekinetic barrage Okko had launched, the suspect was surprised suddenly as the Jedi leaped back, and instead of shuffling forward to stay with his opponent, the mystery man shuffled back into a protective posture, no doubt waiting for the Jedi to come wading back in in some mad attempt to overmatch the suspect’s ferocity.

Before the assailant had time to even recognize his mortal error, Okko’s slugthrower was in his hand and a shot rang out. The commando was mid-dive, but the Ysanna was able to redirect the shot in mid-flight and the man let out a pitiful cry and moan as the projectile pierced his gut. A non-lethal wound, assuming medical personnel were capable of arriving promptly.

In the meantime, Okko cautiously approached the severely wounded man with slugthrower aimed and his other hand grasping the hilt of his lightsaber. He noticed too late the tell tale signs, and could only stand account for the assassin’s final words before his opponent convulsed repeatedly and then died, having bit down on a hidden capsule no doubt containing some potently fatal toxin.

His last words were:

“Order 66.”

Assembly Hall Rotunda, Obroa City
Obroa-skai, Obroa System

“Representative Tsibul,” Okko had tried to be carefully inconspicuous, but Ysanna weren’t exactly a dime a dozen, even on a hub world like Obroa-skai. The Jedi could feel the discomfort emanating from the politicians around Fyodor as Okko had approached, “I apologize for the intrusion, I just need to clarify a few minor details.”

“Ah, but of course, Consul Okko,” Fyodor smiled, masterfully retaining a sense of composure even in the face of so obviously an awkward encounter in a public forum of this nature.

It had been an awkward several days, for the Assembly more so than anyone else. After some pointed police work, not to mention the assistance of a Jedi of Okko’s stature, and the truth about their suicidal assassin had crept to light. He was human, a native Obroan, and connected to several xenophobic neo-political blocs that no doubt held a strong desire to keep the capital of the Commonality right where it had been before the people of Columex had interfered.

Almost overnight, the pro-Obroan factions within the assembly had been cowed by the sheer scandal of it all. The initial suspicion of Imperial involvement had only made matters worse, as the Distinguished Medal of Imperial Honor appeared to be genuine. The assailant had mustered out some years prior, back when Obroa-skai was held more tightly in the tyrannical grip of Daemon Hyfe’s New Order.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he said when the two had found suitable privacy away from the crowds of representatives and diplomats in a less-trafficked corner of the rotunda, “I hear you won’t be a mere Representative much longer.”

“I only wish the circumstances had been...better,” Tsibul replied, and Okko didn’t have to be a Force sensitive to detect the discomfort in his tone and demeanor, “I am prepared to accept the burden of responsibility, of course, but I’m a smart man, Jedi Okko. I know that, if it hadn’t been for this…”

He trailed off, unable to finish the thought and not needing to anyway. Okko understood. In the aftermath of the sniper scandal, many of the neutral power blocs had swung in the direction of the Columex delegation. Obroa-skai’s former Imperial entanglements were well known amongst the representatives, almost as much as Columex’s staunch anti-Imperial posture.

The Assembly had been forced to acquiesce to a joint-venture regarding the handling of federal politics. And when that had seemed to the public a mere token gesture on the part of an embarrassed leadership following the nearly-successful assassination attempt that had been carried out on their soil, they had done the only thing they could do to demonstrate that Obroa-skai was still fit to rule with dignity and impartiality.

In just under an hour, Fyodor Tsibul would be named Chief of State of the Commonality, a truly powerful gesture when made by those who crave power and its trappings. It was mere self-preservation, yet it had allowed the Columexi quite the advantage at the negotiating table, giving the Outer Haven a relevance normally reserved for the Core or the Colonies.

“You’re a very busy man,” Okko said at last, carefully studying the other man’s posture, “I won’t keep you very long. I just wanted to be the first to let you know that, as of this moment, you are no longer a suspect in the organization of your own assassination attempt.”

That caught the politician off guard.

“I...Jedi Okko, I am not quite certain how to take that,” he said at last, wavering under the intensity of the Ysanna’s stare, “I was not even aware that I was amongst the pool of suspects. This is most unusual.”

“An artistic deception, albeit useless in the end, your slicer was sloppy in addition to unsuccessful,” the Jedi said, his stare unwavering, “Which leads me to my next question, why you would even suspect yourself to be amongst the list, nor why eyewitnesses place you at the Wailing Wampa cantina the day your delegation arrived on Obroa-skai, speaking with our infamous assassin.”

Fyodor’s whole demeanor changed instantly.

“Things are not what they seem,” he began, but was quieted as a young woman directly approached the two. “Representative Tsibul, you’re needed in the Assembly Hall,” she said. “Very well, miss, I’ll be right along,” Tsibul replied, suddenly that warm, charismatic men of men once more.

“You may go, Representative,” Okko said, as soon as the woman was out of earshot, “As I said, you are no longer a suspect.”

“I don’t understand,” Fyodor frowned deeply, “By your own admission all of your evidence points at me.”

“You misunderstand, Representative,” the Jedi said serenely, “I know of your involvement, your true involvement, and I know that letting you walk through those doors and accept the power these sentients are about to bestow upon you is the quickest way to get to the real conspirators.

And, more than that, I believe you are the right man for the job, if only because you despise the very notion of it.”

“We must not speak here,” Tsibul hissed, masterfully disguising his paranoia with boredom, “The office, my office, tonight. It will be the safest place on Obroa-skai, for the moment.”

“Very well,” Okko bowed, “Good luck, Representative.”


Chief of State’s Office, Obroa City
Obroa-skai, Obroa System

“How did you know it wasn’t me?” it was an abrupt question, the mark of a man who for the first time in a long time did not feel the need to censor his every word.

“The last words of the man, the assassin,” Okko replied, “Order 66. An infamous day, a dark day for all Jedi. I knew you couldn’t be involved so directly with whoever these people are because I know your secret, Chief Tsibul.”

“I am not sure what you mean,” the newly elected Commonality Chief of State said, but Okko could see the fear in the depths of his eyes.

“As you said, Chief Tsibul, this room is secure, at least for now,” the calm in his demeanor innately unsettling given the topic of discussion, “Now is as good a time as any to say yes, I am aware that you are Force sensitive.”

“I...Jedi Okko...how could you possibly? You mustn’t-”

“Your secret is safe with me, Chief Tsibul,” the Jedi cut him off, “Provided you can clarify a few details for me. The men who want you dead, they are from Columex?”

“...yes.”

“They wanted you to press the League to adopt Columex as the sole capital of the Commonality.”

“Yes.”

“But you wouldn’t do that, so they were forced to follow through on their initial threats. You seem to fear these people, yet you would not bow to their will in this matter. Admirable, and yet I must wonder why you were willing to defy them.”

“My life is immaterial,” Tsibul said after a long while, “The shooting would give my people strength, whether I lived or died.”

“And you hoped to expose those dictating your actions.”

“I held little hope for that,” the Chief of Staff replied, and that was somewhat surprising, “The faction on Columex...these men...they are more than men. They hate Force sensitives, and they know how to fight them, to kill them. You have no idea who you are dealing with, Jedi Okko. They used an Obroan native for a reason. Even if the attempt failed, they win.”

“They want control.”

“And now they think they have it,” Tsibul nodded, grinning.

“But you have a plan,” Okko reasoned.

“I always have a plan, master Jedi,” the Chief responded, “Often times more than one, but in this particular circumstance only one will suffice.”

“And what plan is that?” he asked.

“You, Jedi Okko. You’re my plan,” the politician answered, “That is, if you’re feeling up to the task as bait.”

An hour later, they were on a private transport bound for Columex.