Chapter 1: AHSOKA TANO
Chapter Text
Aboard the RSD Kestrel, Athega System
19 BBY? (16:05:20 GrS)
Seismic shifts rippled through the Force. It was an upheaval so great it stole Ahsoka's breath, leaving her gasping for air as if she had been starved for years. Her own awareness of the Force, which had been confined to just a matter of meters for the past few months, now unfurled again, stretching its tendrils across kilometers, even parsecs.
For the first time the Togruta could recall, she wasn't confined to sensing only those Jedi within her vicinity, which in the Kestrel ’s medbay were the Bothan Jedi Knight Kev Rel’skar and his Rodian Padawan Ekos. She now sensed the presences of ALL living Jedi. It was like swimming in the relatively uncrowded portion of a sea filled with nearly ten thousand others.
Kev Rel’skar’s dark fur flattened as he stared at the bulkhead behind the Togruta’s head. Ahsoka was acutely conscious of the fact Coruscant lay in that direction. It was a gathering of Jedi presences that felt as though it were merely steps away, as opposed to thirty thousand lightyears of interstellar void.
“Don’t be afraid,” Ahsoka said, smiling reassuringly at Kev.
“What the hell is going on?!” snarled Lir Sey’les, an unkempt figure contrasting starkly with the medbay’s sterility. She glared at the Jedi impatiently.
Ahsoka regarded the ashy-furred Bothan for a moment and considered the question. “You really can’t sense it?”
Sey’les folded her arms and scowled. “No.”
“Perhaps she can’t feel it because she’s not a Jedi,” Ekos said thoughtfully.
“I would like to know what is going on too,” said Perla, the Kestrel’s Mon Calamari doctor.
Ahsoka believed she knew the answer. Yet, she did not know how to explain it succinctly. She had traveled through time, from the distant future where the Galaxy suffered through decades of tyranny under the Galactic Empire. After Alderaan, Yavin, and Endor, a Rebellion toppled the government, replacing it with an extremely ineffective New Republic. Ahsoka figured out how to time travel after being saved by Ezra Bridger, and she interfered with Sidious’s ability to recruit Anakin Skywalker. There were hurdles along the way. Ahsoka had been discovered by Sidious. She had been poisoned. Disfigured. Dragged back into the Vergence Scatter by a mysterious Force user taking the form of a weasel and brought onto the Republic Venator Kestrel where she encountered two familiar beings.
One was Morai—the Convor who embodied the Daughter Ahsoka had once met on Mortis. The other was the aforementioned Lir Sey’les. A feral Force-sensitive gray-furred Bothan who, in Ahsoka’s own timeline, had somehow been an Imperial Governor and then the head of the Bothan Combined Clans under the New Republic. Ultimately, this Bothan had given her access to a Jedi Temple, which contained another portal to the Vergence Scatter, like the one on Lothal had. Ahsoka knew it could not be a coincidence that Lir Sey’les was on this ship, Morai was here, and… so was that strange weasel she had never heard of or seen before.
But, in any case, in spite of time travel, in spite of all the complications, in spite of all the hazy bits of the story Ahsoka was not one hundred percent sure of, she thought she knew roughly what was going on.
The Jedi had won.
Their presences, now palpable to her, signaled the defeat of Sidious, the lifting of his dark shroud, and the restoration of balance to the Force. Ahsoka could only speculate as to how this was the case. Maybe that weasel, Veryk, and Morai had vanquished Sidious themselves when they rescued her. Maybe Sidious had tried to take on the Jedi without Anakin and been swarmed. Maybe—
Ahsoka gasped again. She felt the life force of a Jedi extinguish, followed by another, and then another. The deaths cascaded, dozens falling in rapid succession. From the heart of Coruscant to the Outer Rim, Jedi were succumbing to blaster fire, shrapnel wounds, blunt force trauma, and even fire. The triumphant symphony of the Force had turned into a requiem.
Not again. NOT AGAIN!
A ripple of danger went through the Force. This time, Sey’les seemed to sense it. Before Ahsoka had reacted, Sey’les was edging her way around the medbay, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon.
Kev warily stepped out of bed, his new cybernetic legs still visibly healing, and ignited his green blade. Not a second later, a single Clone wearing mechanics overalls and carrying a blaster pistol stepped through the door.
Perla’s skin darkened to an angrier shade of orange-brown. “General Rel’skar, what is the meaning of—”
Before the Mon Calamari could finish her question, Ahsoka had leapt out of her bed, tackling the doctor out of the line of fire. The Clone mechanic began squeezing off blaster shots, which Kev deflected to the left and right.
“Don’t kill him,” Ahsoka ordered, sensing Kev’s intent. “None of them know what they are doing.”
The Wookiee cleaner, Awerl, whose place in this story Ahsoka still did not quite understand, let off a roar and began throwing random items at the Clone. Another being, whom Ahsoka could only describe as a very tall blue-furred Squib, apparently named Nebhir, squeaked and dove for cover.
Ahsoka reached for her holsters, expecting to feel her lightsaber blade and a shoto, but felt nothing and realized that Veryk or Morai still had her sabers.
“Anyone who doesn’t comply with Order 66 is a traitor!” the Clone screamed, aiming at the Wookiee.
Kev’s Padawan Ekos, also equipped with clearly brand-new cybernetic legs, ignited his own blade and jumped in front of the Wookiee, deflecting a shot downward and into the floor. “We can’t keep this up forever!”
“My Padawan’s right,” Kev said through gritted teeth, deflecting further shots.
Ahsoka decided to end it. Reaching out with the Force, she yanked the DC-17 out of the Clone’s hands. The mechanic’s face hardened with fury. Armed with nothing but a hydrospanner which he pulled from his utility belt, he suddenly charged Ahsoka, Sey’les, a full-grown Wookiee, and two Jedi with ignited lightsabers.
“AHHHHHH—”
Awerl’s giant leathery Wookiee fist collided with the bundle of nerves just beneath the Clone’s left ear. He collapsed to the blaster-pocked floor, dropping his hydrospanner, bolts, and other maintenance equipment.
Two non-Clone security officers in gray-green naval infantry uniforms and black helmets rushed into the room, blasters drawn.
“Order 66 is happening,” Kev growled warily. “You know the drill. We need to secure the medbay and hasten chip removals.”
Despite the fact Sey’les had used the phrase ‘Order 66’ when Ahsoka had first woken up, she was still half-surprised to hear a Jedi mentioning it.
“Get that Clone to the surgical pod!” Perla ordered, pointing to a section deeper in the medbay. “And secure the door,” she added to the security officers.
A Clone medic stepped forward, and Ahsoka tensed up, reaching out with the Force to throw him. Right when the Clone’s feet left the ground, Sey’les jumped at Ahsoka, grabbing the Togruta’s arm.
“NO! HE DOESN’T HAVE AN INHIBITOR CHIP!”
The Clone crouched as he dropped to the ground. He casually bounced back from Ahsoka’s attack as if he got lifted in the air by Jedi every day of the week. “Sorry to scare you. It’s good to see you again, sir.”
Ahsoka blinked in astonishment, wondering where in the Galaxy she could have possibly met a Clone medic who was stationed on the Kestrel. After a few seconds of searching the Force, she suddenly realized who the Clone was, as if the 501st blue markings on his armor weren’t enough of an indicator.
“Kix!”
o.o.o.o.o
KELIA LOS’EAN
Eyes focused on the holodisplay of the fleet formation, a conversation in the background was barely registering to Kelia.
The fiasco that had erupted when they’d been pulled out of hyperspace, while the Bothan Commodore was sleeping off a concussion, had been so sudden she’d barely had time to put a shirt, boots, and a belt on before rushing to the bridge. Standing half-dressed in the most forward position of the Kestrel’s bridge , she evaluated the situation as it stood.
After some quick thinking, they had opted to make a run to Nkllon, where they’d be safe from Athega’s powerful radiation so long as they stayed in the shadow of the planet. Many of the Separatist vessels were slower than the Republic’s slowest vessel, and the enemy fleet was now divided. Nimbler Recusants were nipping at the Kestrel’s stern, struggling to keep up while the Kestrel dropped space mines in its wake. The fleet was now mere minutes away from safety, where a proper defense could be mounted against the, no doubt, badly-radiation damaged and slower Separatist cruisers.
Unfortunately, she had no immediate counter for the bulk of their main fleet, which was sitting at a safe distance from Athega and slowly tracking the progress of the Republic vessels.
“Uh, Captain, we're decrypting the transmission now,” said a Clone sitting in the portside data pit. Kelia’s ears perked up, and a slow ripple crossed her blonde fur.
Captain Jural Dan’lya, fellow Bothan and Kelia’s second-in-command, put her hands on her hips impatiently. “How much longer?”
“Just a few seconds…”
“What transmission?” Kelia asked, still not taking her eyes off the display.
Jural turned her attention away from the data pits. “Commodore, we received an encrypted transmission from the Separatist flagship.”
Now that was alarming. Kelia stormed across the bridge, walking between the port and starboard data pits. “Do you know who it was to?”
“That’s the thing,” Jural said, “It seems to have been wideband. Directed to the whole fleet.”
“Then why aren’t we—” Right. Encrypted.
Kelia stroked her whiskers, and one concerning possibility came to mind. Perhaps there was a spy somewhere in the fleet. In this case, the Separatists weren’t sure of the spy’s precise location, so they sent the message to the whole fleet. Even worse, it was possible the spy was a droid, or perhaps the message contained malware to affect any one of the droid’s operations.
“I have it now!” the communication officer yelled excitedly.
“Let’s hear it,” Jural said.
A shadowy figure in a black cloak appeared on the holodisplay. From the holofootage Halfdan and the Loth-wolves had shown them a day ago, Kelia already knew who this was before he started speaking. Sheev Palpatine. The next words out of his mouth were no surprise.
“Execute Order 66.”
Kelia and Jural exchanged a panicked look, and then Kelia snarled, fear replaced by anger. “I ordered you to block all transmissions from Coruscant!”
“We did, Commodore. It came from the Separatists!”
Kelia grimaced, glancing back at the rear of the bridge as a commotion erupted amongst her subordinates. All of the Clones who worked on the bridge should have had their inhibitor chips removed by now, but there hadn’t yet been enough time to remove the chips from all Clones on the Kestrel, let alone in the fleet.
“Block further transmissions from the droids!” snapped Perth, the Kestrel’s Clone XO.
“It’s already too late for that!” Jural shot back, glancing around the bridge, half-expecting some of the crew to pull out blasters and start a firefight.
“If we can stop at least some of the men from receiving Order 66—”
“Enough!” Kelia snapped, checking her WESTAR-35 pistol in its holster before returning it. “All of the Jedi in the fleet are on this ship, and this could make us all a target. We need to enact contingencies now. Send the alert to all non-Clone troops and de-chipped Clones and get Rider Squad and the DAOs ready for combat… We might only have—”
The doors at the rear of the bridge hissed open, and a dozen Clones led by a Lieutenant walked in, all bearing the violet trimming and Bothawui Sky Dragon decorations of the 608th Mobile Regiment.
“Commodore,” intoned the Lieutenant with a salute.
“At ease,” Kelia replied uneasily as the Clones all came to a coordinated halt. “I didn’t request your presence here.”
“The Jedi have betrayed the Republic. Sir, we need your help to lock down the ship to ensure they can’t escape.”
What a lot of osik, Kelia thought, glancing over at one of the Fleet Security Clones nearby. Their hands tensed on the grips of their carbines, preparing for the worst.
“We’ve been discussing this for almost two days now,” Perth said firmly. He stepped up to the two squads, talking to them Clone to Clone. “You’re confused because the inhibitor chips in your brains have activated.”
Jural squatted, leaned over the port datapit, and spoke in a low whisper to a group of Clones staring back up at her. “Lock down all exits from the barracks. Alert security. Silent alarm.”
Kelia stepped up to Perth’s side, intending to help de-escalate the situation until more security could arrive. She whipped out her datapad and surreptitiously downloaded the Clone Lieutenant’s personnel file. Every Clone member of the GAR had an implant in their wrist that contained their operating number and other personal details. His simplified operating number was CT-7647, and his nickname was Shin.
“Do you remember the file you were all sent, Lieutenant?” Perth asked. “I am sure you were there on the Obrexta-III when we rescued Kix. You must know about the inhibitor chips.”
“None of that changes the fact that the Jedi have committed treason and need to be eliminated,” Shin insisted.
“Shin,” Kelia said, causing the trooper to tense up at the use of his nickname by a complete stranger, “I am ordering you and your men to return to barracks. There, you will wait until it is your turn for your scheduled inhibitor chip removal.”
“I can’t abide by those orders, sir,” Shin said stiffly, regaining his composure. “Our orders come from the very top. Anyone who interferes with Order 66 is a traitor and must be contained and eliminated.”
“Very well,” Kelia said, returning her datapad to its pouch. In one movement, she surreptitiously lifted her hand from the datapad pouch up to her blaster holster and flipped the setting from safety to stun. “Follow me.”
“Yes, sir,” Shin said, walking closely behind Kelia down the bridge between the two data pits.
“Uh, sir?” Perth asked in alarm, jogging a few paces to catch up.
“You heard the man,” Kelia said in a calm voice, about halfway to the frontmost portion of the bridge. “The Jedi must be contained and eliminated.”
Her strategy was to lure all of the Clones into a tight formation between the two data pits and then begin stunning them. From that position, the chip-activated Clones could be shot from overlapping fields of fire, with the bridge crew using the data pits as impromptu trenches. During boarding simulations, Kelia had trained all three shifts of the bridge crewmembers in this tactic. She only hoped the crew would have enough common sense to set their blasters to stun.
But to the Commodore’s chagrin, only the Clone Lieutenant was cooperating. The rest of the Clones remained standing at the rear of the bridge, directly in front of the CIC and entryway to the turbolift cluster, not budging an inch.
Blast it.
Kelia raised her voice, beckoning to them. “I could use you troopers over here at the security station. We have three Jedi on the loose, and the more eyes watching, the better.”
When the two squads started walking forward, Shin raised a hand warningly to stop them. “Sir, I think my men are fine just where they are. We have to secure the bridge after all, and the rear is the most advantageous position.”
“I insist,” Kelia said firmly, looking directly into Shin’s vizor.
Shin stood a bit taller. In the corner of the Bothan’s peripheral vision, she could see the chip-activated Clones slowly raise their blaster rifles. She had no choice.
Kelia whipped out her blaster pistol and squeezed the trigger, firing a stun bolt into Shin’s chest plate at point-blank range, and then dove for cover into the starboard-side data pit. Perth followed her but clumsily landed butt-first on top of the science station terminal, manned by the Caamasi Lieutenant Chalcendona Vra’tis. His boot crushed the lever controlling the science station’s astronomical focusing lens, sending sparks flying as he struggled to find footing.
Vra’tis’s yellow eyes flashed with anger at Kelia and Perth, and her lips curled in a snarl, revealing many sharp, pointy teeth. For a brief second, it looked to Kelia like the Lieutenant might start berating two of the highest-ranking officers on the ship. But then the Caamasi’s eyes widened in fear.
Blaster fire cut through the air, and it wasn’t stun shots. Bright blue blasts sizzled against transparisteel windows, computer terminals, and furniture. All of the remaining chip-activated Clones were firing indiscriminately at everyone and everything.
At the front of the data pit, a fiery blast cut through the Quarren Scantech, an Ensign whose name Kelia never learned. The two security troopers returned fire on the chip-activated Clones, taking out one of them.
Jural screamed over the blasterfire, “SET WEAPONS TO STUN!”
Standing on top of the science terminal, Kelia poked her head over the top of the data pit’s wall and fired stun blasts at the nearest Clone, who was about four to six meters away.
The Trooper staggered and went down in a heap.
Kelia crouched, still standing on top of the science terminal, and ducked for cover as a stream of rapid-fire blaster shots seared the deck-plating right in front of her snout. She swore under her breath as hot sparks landed on her uniform shirt, wondering if she would be able to live with herself if she intentionally killed members of her own crew, even in self-defense.
Then, there were screams so loud they cut over the sounds of battle. Someone beneath Kelia grabbed her around the thighs and shoved her upward, right towards the incoming blasterfire.
Gasping, the Commodore turned around and saw that it was Lieutenant Vra’tis who was pushing her—lifting her up and physically shoving her out of cover. Fully convinced that the insubordinate Caamasi was now attempting to kill her, she slammed her elbow down onto the Caamasi’s right ear with one arm and snapped repeated stun bolts off at the Clone Troopers with her other. When that didn’t work, she began slamming her foot into Vra’tis’s shoulder to try and get her to let go.
“STOP!” Jural shrieked, blocking a boot strike that was about to hit the Caamasi in the face. The Captain began helping Vra’tis push Kelia up out of the datapit.
Kelia involuntarily plopped down onto the ground, completely dumbfounded, as Vra’tis and Jural stepped out of the data pit and into the line of fire. Blasterfire seared overhead, yet they were quickly followed by six Clone navigators and technicians, all using the science terminal to escape the data pit and step out of cover.
Before Kelia could ask why Jural had teamed up with Lieutenant Vra’tis in lifting the fleet’s commodore up—carrying her into danger, she suddenly noticed there were patterns to the shouts, barely audible over the blasterfire and screams.
And then there was the dull beeping.
“DETONATOR, MOVE!”
A violent explosion tore through the datapit, spewing fire and bodies into the sky. Lying prone or on their backs, Kelia, Jural, Vra’tis, and one Clone navigation officer were bucked into the air by the warped deck plating. The five Clone technicians who had been standing next to them were eviscerated by a cloud of shrapnel.
Smoke filled the air, then fire suppression foam rained down from the ceiling.
Nine of the original twelve troopers from two squads of the 608th suddenly charged, swarming the injured and dying bridge crew. She witnessed the communication officer she had been speaking to moments ago, Trip, she thought his name was, sitting up and clutching the stump of his left arm with his right. An approaching chip-activated trooper mercilessly sprayed his chest with repeating fire, then leveled his blaster at Kelia, Jural, and Vra’tis.
Kelia couldn’t even feel the sting as the slightly caustic suppressant foam caked onto her eyes and nose. Ears ringing, the Bothan was otherwise numb to all pain as she stood up, blaster pistol raised. Squeezing the trigger, she was surprised when the trooper’s chest plate erupted in flames, clearly hit by a lethal shot.
Vra’tis and Jural stood too, blaster pistols in each of their hands, and began firing, taking three of the Clones down. But it was still five fully armored Clones with blaster rifles versus three bridge officers armed with pistols.
Shock and adrenaline wearing off, Kelia felt a grim certainty that she wouldn’t actually survive long enough to need to worry about a guilty conscience. A blaster bolt flew over her head, grazing so closely that it skimmed the top of her patrol cap, burning the tips of her mane.
But blasterfire erupted from the un-detonated port data pit from at least a dozen sources. The Clones crouched, caught in the crossfire between Kelia, Jural, and Vra’tis in front and an entire data pit filled with armed bridge officers to the right. In a fraction of a second, they were cut down in a hail of blasterfire.
Gasping, Kelia lowered her blaster and spat a wad of blood on the floor. The phantasmagoria of gore, wreckage, smoke, and fire all around her was completely unreal. As a Commodore, she had to maintain a certain distance between herself and most of the junior officers and enlisted. But to see so many of them of them dead, killed by other members of her crew—
“MEDIC!” a voice screamed in the distance as six Security Clones and four Navy Troopers rushed from the secondary alert station at the back of the bridge tower, securing Shin and the stunned infantry troopers while policing weapons and helping tend to the wounded, including those chipped Clones who hadn’t been fatally shot.
That entire shootout took just over a minute, Kelia realized as reality set in. Even without an alert, it had taken maybe a minute and a half for the alert station team to get geared up and to them.
Kelia stepped out of the way as three crew members pushed their way past her. She looked over to Jural, who nodded, then to Vra’tis, whose nose was filled with blood; no thanks to Kelia’s own incorrect assumptions. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. You saved my life.”
“Don’t mention it, sir,” Vra’tis said, “I’m sure you would have done the same for me. There’s also the fact you were blocking the exit.”
Turning away, Kelia tried to blink the pain out of her eyes, which were now watering from the shab’la suppressant foam. It was getting difficult to see. A panicked realization suddenly came over her. Perth. Where’s Perth?!
“Perth?! PERTH!”
“I’m over here, sir,” a strained voice said.
Kelia spun around and saw her first officer standing at the security station. Both of the security troopers were dead, and a red liquid was pooling at Perth’s right leg.
“You’re bleeding!” Kelia cried out, jogging across the bridge to him.
“Yes, sir,” Perth said stiffly, typing commands into the terminal. “We have a problem.”
A passing technician handed a first aid box to Kelia. The only medic on the bridge was a chipped 608th trooper who was currently unconscious , courtesy of a stun bolt. She stooped down and began tightening a tourniquet around Perth’s leg.
“Thank you, sir,” Perth sighed.
“WHY THE KRIFF HASN’T A MED TEAM BEEN CALLED?!” Jural shouted, stooping over an injured Rodian.
“That’s the problem, Captain,” Perth gestured to the screen.
Kelia stood up and sighed. An entire platoon of chip-activated Clone troopers was standing just outside the turbolift, trying to override the locked doors.
We barely handled twelve half-alert troopers… Thirty-six prepared ones will end us.
“We’re getting hailed by the Foretoken !” cried out a voice from the port datapit. “It’s a fleetwide transmission.”
Finishing Perth’s leg, Kelia walked around the charred crater that used to be the starboard data pit. The explosion had punched a hole through the deck, and empty chairs and smashed computer terminals were wedged in the crack, having sunken halfway between decks.
When she arrived at the portside of the bridge, the plump human holopresence of Captain Gretz was already being projected from one of the remaining comm stations. Everyone who wasn’t busy tending to the wounded turned to listen.
“A group of clone troopers has taken the bridge and are now demanding that I read the contents of this datapad.” Gretz waved a datapad with a scoff as if to demonstrate. “The gist of these insane demands is that we kill Kev Rel’skar and his Padawan, or at least stand idly by while they do our dirty work for us. It is… Well, just as the Loth-wolves said.”
“Hail him!” Kelia snapped, realizing with horror that Gretz was probably going to do something suicidal. All she had to do to hold the fleet together was convince the mad Clones on the Foretoken that Kev Rel’skar and Ekos were dead. None of them knew about Ahsoka Tano.
“I’m trying, sir! He’s not picking up.”
“Commodore Los’ean remains in command of the fleet, and the decision is ultimately hers. But if you ask me, the Jedi have been nothing but loyal to the Republic. We should have flushed these Clones out into space two days ago with the refuse and been—”
Struck by a blaster bolt from somewhere off-screen, Gretz stooped over in pain, the fleshy part of his thigh sizzling.
“Read the datapad!” a furious voice yelled at him.
“Lock down the bridge controls,” Gretz said defiantly, “authorization golf zero aurek!”
Several voices gasped as another blast took out the back of Gretz’s head. A trooper with a command pauldron stepped into view, holding a smoking blaster pistol.
“I’ve seen enough!” Kelia barked, prompting this communication officer—also a Clone, to end the transmission.
“You can’t just vent us into space, sir!” Perth shouted across the bridge, clearly having pulled up the transmission on his terminal too.
Kelia took a deep breath, then slowly turned in place, locking eyes with everyone who was staring at her. Out of the thirty-six bridge officers who had been stationed on the afternoon watch, only twenty-two could stand, counting Kelia herself. Twelve of the twenty-two were Clones, as were several of the injured crewmembers sprawled out on the deck plating.
“I’m not planning on it,” she said at last. “Prepare a transmission to the fleet.”
Chapter Text
Coruscant
Defying gravity, Dooku was unconscious and suspended in mid-air as he levitated over Master Yoda. The erstwhile Separatist leader was very much alive, but thanks to an ancient ritual even Obi-Wan did not understand, the Jedi had neutralized his powers. Under normal circumstances, even for a monster like Dooku, the Jedi would have taken great care to ensure an unconscious person’s head was stable. Under normal circumstances, they would have also never left the bodies of three beings down at the base of the Sith Shrine without first securing the scene. But these were not normal circumstances, and Dooku’s limbs were flopping about carelessly as Yoda ran as quickly as his 880 years would allow.
“The Separatists must have taken out an entire Temple somewhere,” Ki-Adi-Mundi hypothesized, speculating on the sudden loss in the Force they had all sensed.
“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan concurred.
Yoda shook his head. “It matters not. The Chancellor, the Sith Lord is. Deal with him we must,” the Grandmaster trailed off.
As survivors of the mission to the Sith Shrine emerged from the tunnel into the daylight of level 5120, distant echoes of blasterfire reached their ears. Obi-Wan, Mace Windu, Yoda, Ki-Adi-Mundi, and Kit Fisto exchanged concerned glances, with Dooku still suspended unconsciously above them.
A mere 27 levels below the height of the Jedi Plaza upon which the Temple sat, this part of the undercity was still illuminated by sunlight spilling into the urban canyon separating the plaza base from the surrounding city blocks. Despite the sunshine, however, a feeling of dread washed over Obi-Wan.
He narrowed his eyes, focusing on a cluster of shapes on the ground, sprawled in front of the railing twenty meters from the dark tunnel beneath the edge of the Temple Plaza, which led to the Sith Shrine. For a brief second, he thought the shapes were a cluster of speeder parts, but he soon realized they were bodies. “Perhaps the loss of life we sensed was closer than we thought.”
“No, we sensed Jedi deaths,” Kit Fisto said firmly.
“Agreed. Clones, these are.” Yoda stepped forward. He had been holding Dooku up with the Force for at least twenty minutes, but the diminutive Grandmaster did not seem the least bit tired.
Obi-Wan joined Yoda, cautiously approaching the lifeless bodies, his lightsaber held at the ready but unignited. The fallen soldiers all wore the distinctive red and white armor of the Coruscant Guard, and they had been manning what appeared to be an impromptu security station, awaiting the Jedi's return from the undercity.
Most disturbingly, judging from the slash marks in their armor and severed limbs, they had all been killed by lightsabers.
“The traitor!” Mace Windu and Kit Fisto gasped in unison, referring to one of the Temple Guards who had betrayed them—The one who had escaped and fled.
However, Obi-Wan's apprehension lay elsewhere. The Jedi had not requested those clones. Then again, considering that Sidious and the Chancellor were one and the same, it was entirely plausible for the Sith to have ordered those troopers to lie in wait. If that were the case, they might have also commanded the clones to open fire on the Jedi, forcing them to defend themselves...
“Time to investigate this we have not!” Yoda ran forward, gesturing with his free hand to the left, down the wide pedestrian path between the base of the Temple Plaza and the open canyon. “Controls the entire government, a Sith Lord does.”
A distant explosion reverberated through the air, reminiscent of a proton torpedo obliterating its target. Mace Windu's wrist-comm chimed.
“Windu here, what—”
“The Temple is under fire,” Shaak Ti interrupted, not shouting but unable to suppress the urgency in her voice. “I just raised the shields after an LAAT strafed the front steps. Why haven’t you answered? Is everything alright? Is it done?”
“Keep the shields raised,” Windu ordered. “We can’t let this get out, but the Supreme Chancellor is the Sith Lord—”
“That’s impossible!” Anakin scoffed in the background. “We would have sensed it.”
Obi-Wan was absolutely finished with Anakin’s denials. “Come to your senses!” He stepped closer to Mace Windu, allowing his voice to carry better onto the channel. “The moment after we suppress an ancient Sith Shrine that just happened to be under the Jedi Temple, the Temple comes under attack! All of this is connected! It’s—”
“We don’t have time to argue,” Ki-Adi-Mundi insisted.
Obi-Wan wanted to quickly ask about Ahsoka’s safety. Last he heard was that the Togruta was still missing, but the question died in his throat in the face of the urgency of the situation.
As if the universe were making Ki-Adi-Mundi’s argument, a squad of six Clone troopers emerged from around a corner, blocking the way Yoda had been pointing. Another group emerged from behind, blocking the other exit the Jedi had. Their options narrowed to attacking the Clones head-on, playing into Sidious’s hands, or running straight back the way they came from the Sith Shrine.
Besides talking to the Clones.
“Step aside,” Kit Fisto ordered, standing at the front of the Jedi.
Obi-Wan’s danger sense flashed, prompting him to ignite his saber. All of the other Jedi except Yoda, who was still busy levitating Count Dooku, followed suit. An instant later, the Clones fired.
“Hold your fire!” Obi-Wan ordered over the blasterfire. “What in the blazes are you doing?! The Jedi earlier—the Jedi who killed your friends was a traitor.”
“All Jedis are traitors and are to be terminated!” yelled one of the guardsman from behind Obi-Wan. “Lower your sabers, and I promise your deaths will be painless.”
Shaking his head in dismay, Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, trying to wash the Clones with calming energy. It didn’t work, and Obi-Wan knew instantly that something was very wrong with them.
One of the Clones behind drew within saber range of Kit Fisto, who, along with Windu, was now covering their flank. The Nautolan slashed through the trooper’s riot shield and sent him flying into his comrades with a swift kick to the chest.
Reaching out with the Force again, Obi-Wan shouted and hurled three of the Clones—not into the urban canyon and to their deaths, but off the pedestrian path and into a nearby storefront. The Arcona shopkeeper screamed as glass and shelves shattered on impact with the troopers.
Ki-Adi-Mundi downed two more men with deflected blaster bolts, then redirected a Grenade back at the man who threw it. The explosion sent a half-dozen Guard Clones flying in various directions. “The Clones have completely changed their behavior. It’s as if every other concern beyond killing us is secondary at best!”
Yoda gave a pain murmur of agreement, then deflected a barrage from a walkway above them, holding his lightsaber up with his free hands. The Clones ducked to avoid the returned barrage. “Dooku is Tyrannus. Palpatine is Sidious… An isolated incident, this is not . Dying, many Jedi are at the hands of the Clones.”
The thuds of AT-RT feet hitting the ground and the rapid clatter of bootfalls signaled the impending arrival of reinforcements several levels overhead.
“We must get to the Temple!” Obi-Wan shouted, now genuinely fearful for the future of the Jedi in light of Yoda’s speculation. More Jedi were dying. He could feel it.
“Agreed, if our senses are speaking the truth, it’s likely the entire army has turned on us at Palpatine's command,” Windu replied.
The five of them sprinted, accelerating themselves with the Force to try and gain distance as the remaining Clones still behind them were attempting pursuit.
Coruscant Guard BARC Speeders buzzed about, occasionally strafing the group through gaps as they continued along the pedestrian walkway. At one point, Kit Fisto sliced off the front of a BARC, sending it spiraling into the depths below.
“Nearly there we are,” Yoda said, crouching as an LAAT roared overhead, carrying an AT-TE walker. “Discover the extent of our losses and form a plan we must.”
“I’ll go ahead and check to see if the path ahead is blocked,” Obi-Wan said. The others nodded as he walked off, and he glanced around cautiously to see if any Clones had managed to get ahead of the group. His stomach had dropped into a pit when he saw a walker marked with 212th paint being hoisted in the distance.
Will I have to fight Cody and the rest of my men? We can only avoid intentionally killing the Clones for so long before they force our hand.
Suddenly, a familiar presence to his left caused Obi-Wan to spin and brandish his saber. A 212th Trooper stood in an alley to the side. He had a familiar red triangle on his helmet forehead and his hands raised in surrender. “Easy, general! I’m on your side!”
“Boil!?” Obi-Wan said, shocked that the man wasn’t hostile.
The Trooper took off his helmet, revealing the mustached face Obi-Wan had expected. He was smiling reassuringly in spite of the fear Obi-Wan sensed. “Surprised?”
Obi-Wan lowered his saber. “I’m more concerned with why you’re not shooting at me right now like the rest of the Clones are. Did Cody send you?”
“I don’t know myself, and yeah, Commander Cody sent me,” Boil replied as he glanced skyward warily. “We got orders from the top saying to ‘Execute Order 66,’ and pretty much every Clone lost their minds. They’re talking nonsense about the Jedi Order having committed treason; saying that anyone who disobeys Protocol Sixty-Six is also a traitor and is to be shot on sight.”
Obi-Wan stroked his beard with his free hand in contemplation.
Strange, that implies Cody hasn’t been affected either… Maybe this has something to do with that mystery scar on his head he doesn’t remember getting. And didn’t Dooku mention ‘Protocol Sixty-Six’ almost incessantly since he was captured?
“Well, this might provide a few answers for myself and the other Jedi… How did you get here anyways?”
“I… may have slipped away from my squad while saying I had a lead, that and I overheard chatter from the gunship and speeder pilots tracking you. They’re currently split between looking for you and the other Generals. They’re searching for Rex, Vaughn, Appo, and Jesse after they crashed the shuttle they stole when they deserted..”
Appo and Rex too… Something’s starting to add up here… And I have a bad feeling that we’ve played right into Sidious’s hands yet again. “Right, we need to inform the other masters, if your squad suspects you’ve gone rogue, they’ll likely try to kill you on sight as well.”
“Understood.”
Obi-Wan tightened his grip on his saber as he headed back to the others, Boil following and glancing skyward as another gunship flight droned overhead, this time joined by the roar of starfighter engines.
The other Jedi were as Obi-Wan left them, but once again on the comm with Shaak Ti and Anakin, discussing how best to bypass the growing siege around the Temple—or whether Yoda and the others should ignore the siege in the hopes of taking Sidious by surprise.
Windu glanced over as he sensed Obi-Wan’s approach, his wounds bandaged with a medpac taken from one of the Clones they’d fought. “Master Kenobi, are you being followed… Why is there a Clone behind you?” he demanded, guarded once he saw Boil.
Yoda raised a calming hand. “No hostility I sense from this trooper… Questions this raises, Master Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan nodded and glanced back at Boil. “Indeed, Master… I believe we’ve overlooked something within the Clones themselves, but we would need to get back to the Temple to confirm it.”
Boil turned his head to look in the direction of the Jedi Temple. “Well, then we better do it soon… Because they’re mobilizing all available units for siege operations…”
o.o.o.o.o
AHSOKA TANO
Five minutes ago, Ahsoka, still without a lightsaber, had managed to convince Jedi Kev Rel’skar and his Rodian Padawan to leave sickbay. Ideally, this would distract all chip-activated Clones, thereby freeing up the medbay for further inhibitor chip removals. With any luck, soon more Clones on the Kestrel would be de-chipped than chipped, and Ahsoka, Kev, and Ekos would no longer have to fight for their lives.
For reasons she did not quite understand, though they were not Jedi, Lir Sey’les, Nebhir, and Awerl had followed. And it was thus that a Wookiee, two Bothans, a being Ahsoka still thought was a really big Squib, a Rodian, and a Togruta were running through the halls of the Kestrel , diverting hordes of murderous Clones away from the medbay.
“This really isn’t going to work!” Ahsoka yelled over the sounds of blasterfire, crouching behind a bulkhead at a turbolift junction. She squeezed the blaster pistol she had picked up from an unconscious trooper, firing a stun blast in the general direction of their enemies. “I’ve been through this before! There’s only so long you can hold off—” Danger sense blaring, the Togruta ducked in anticipation, narrowly avoiding a shot overhead before continuing. “Only so long you can hold off an entire crew that wants to kill you!”
“The entire crew does not want to kill us,” Kev snarled, typing away furiously on his datapad, which was connected to the wall by a scomp adapter. “And if we get off this ship—”
“Done that once, too!” Ahsoka interrupted. “Kev, can I please borrow your lightsaber?”
Kev’s dark brown fur bristled with agitation. “Why don’t you just ask Veryk nicely if he can return yours? Kriff it!” He punched the console in frustration. “This would be so much easier with a droid!”
The Togruta shook her head in confusion. “Veryk?”
Standing on the opposite side of the entrance to the turbolift junction as Ahsoka, Sey’les fired a few stunbolts of her own while talking at the same time. “He’s one of my people’s Prophets. He’s a purple Savrit Cat.”
“The weasel!” Ahsoka gasped, remembering hearing Sey’les say the word Veryk before. Blaster shots continued flying from the hall into the turbolift cluster. “Very well, he’s a Savrit Cat then… still. Kev, could you please—”
With a snarl, Kev gingerly tossed his saber hilt to the Togruta. “Don’t break it!”
“I won’t,” Ahsoka promised, igniting the green blade with a snap-hiss. She stepped into the open doorway, deflecting a torrent of blasterfire. Blue shots impacted her borrowed green lightsaber and ricocheted, not back to the Clones, but towards the object of Ahsoka’s focus. Blaster shot after blaster shot sailed down the corridor, punching holes all around the target Ahosoka was aiming for—a small console controlling the emergency blast doors two junctions down.
Come on! Just a little closer…
Taking a deep breath, Ahsoka redoubled her focus, concentrating so hard on the blast door controls that she neglected to deflect a few shots, one of which barely missed her elbow.
Awerl moaned worriedly in Shyriiwook, sweeping his arms as he beckoned back into the turbolift junction. Ahsoka’s Shyriiwook was not fluent, but she thought he said something like [“You’re going to get shot! What are you doing?!”]
The Togruta closed her eyes, shutting out everyone else and focusing on the controls with her Force sight. Nine meters away, the controls finally erupted in sparks, and the blast doors in the middle of the corridor slammed shut. Second later, Clones began banging on the other side, desperate to break through.
“That will hold them off for a little bit,” Ahsoka sighed. She extinguished Kev’s blade and gently threw it back to him.
“Hey!” Kev snarled, looking up from his datapad as the blade drummed into the wall behind him with a dramatic thud.
“You were supposed to catch that,” Ahsoka said, using as calm a voice as she could manage.
“Ekos?” Nebhir asked Kev’s Padawan, sitting up with her back against the wall.
“Yes?” the Rodian said in a somewhat concerned voice.
“Can I borrow your lightsaber?”
“No.”
Ahsoka snorted at that, unable to contain her laughter. “What do you think you are going to do with a lightsaber?”
“I don’t know,” Nebhir shrugged. “What does anyone do with a lightsaber? Magic, I guess? Sey’les… Sey’les?!”
Everyone turned to the ashy-furred Bothan, who was now kneeling on the floor with her eyes closed. Ahsoka reached out to her and felt… something which was unusual in of itself. From Ahsoka’s experience in the distant future, she always found Lir Sey’les to be very sneaky and quite difficult to perceive in the Force. But it was like the Bothan was expanding her own awareness, which, in turn, made her easy to sense.
Awerl touched Sey’les’s shoulder. [“Sey’les?! Sey’les, can you hear me?”]
“Leave her alone,” Ahsoka instructed. “She’s… doing something.”
“ What is she doing?” Kev asked ears perked up.
Without warning, Sey’les opened her eyes, stood up, walked across the turbolift junction, and then knelt down again, this time facing a wall. For a bizarre second, Ahsoka thought Sey’les was going to start meditating again, but instead, the Bothan reached her fingers into a ventilation grill near the floor and began pulling. Hard.
After a few seconds of watching her struggle, Awerl growled, [“Let me try,”] and squatted down in her place. The Wookiee’s muscles tensed, and the grill came out of the wall in one pull, bolts shattering.
A tiny weasel head emerged from the darkness and sniffed the air cautiously before stepping into the room. No doubt feeling much discomfort from the dust, Veryk shook off, coughing as he brushed the dust from his chest with his tiny paws.
“This is Veryk,” Sey’les said unnecessarily. “Veryk, do you have Ahsoka’s lightsaber?”
The Savrit Cat chittered animatedly, running in a circle around the Bothan, who gently picked him up.
“Uh, this is bad.”
“What’s bad?” Ahsoka asked as calmly as she could manage with her lightsabers at stake.
“Veryk says his powers have been drained by the experiences of the last few days. He says he gave your lightsaber to Morai, she’s the Convor—”
“I know who Morai is.”
“Well, the green Celestial has your lightsaber now. She needs it.”
Ahsoka blinked incredulously, having difficulty even imagining what use a Celestial could have with her lightsaber. Before she had much time to consider this, however, a voice came out of the intercom.
“Commodore Los’ean to all personnel, Order 66 has been activated two days before we expected. I am ordering all vessels to continue on course to Athega’s inner world, Nkllon. All troopers in the fleet who have not yet had their mandatory medical appointments are hereby ordered to confine themselves to their quarters. I can’t pretend to understand what you all must be going through, but you have to fight it. Stand down, and your turn for chip removal will come.”
o.o.o.o.o
MORAI
Almost forty troopers now stood in the turbolift junction immediately behind the CIC and the bridge. A team of engineers was hard at work, scorching the blast doors with welding torches.
There was an unexpected chime, and one of the eight turbolifts opened. Inside stood the most ethereal humanoid female any of the Clones had ever seen. She was pale white, with such bright skin that it made them squint even through their visors. Her hair was an absolutely verdant green, resembling blades of grass, and was twisted into two wide locks of hair so tightly bound they almost resembled Twi’lek lekku. Her ears, if she had them, were encased under large balls of golden jewelry, and her robes were mostly white, transparent in places, and gold in others. And, most importantly to any chip-activated Clone, she held two ignited lightsabers.
“Uh… There’s a Jedi…”
“JEDI!”
“BLAST HER!”
The vitriolic screams of fear and hatred that followed caused Morai to jump in surprise, raising both of the lightsabers she had borrowed from Ahsoka. She stood in the doorway of the turbolift for five seconds, blocking every shot that came her way and giving every Clone a long enough time to see that, indeed, a Jedi was present. Then, she reached out and closed the turbolift doors, setting the turbolift to descend to level 123—the level holding the ship’s kitchens and laundry facilities.
Back in the command deck turbolift junction, four squads of Clones spilled into four of the turbolifts, smashing the button for level 123, following the Jedi as quickly as they could.
{“Do not worry,”} Morai said soothingly, connecting to Kelia and Jural’s minds. Though substantially drained from taking up the form of the Daughter, she still had enough reserve energy to broadcast her thoughts telepathically through the bulkhead to the Bothans on the bridge. {“I am returning. Do lock the Clones on level 123, though. Please.”} finishing her message, she jammed both of Ahsoka’s sabers into the roof of the turbolift and cut a hole of sufficient width for a Convor’s wingspan.
When she exited the turbolift and flew up the shaft, she no longer held the form of the Daughter but was a Convor once again, carrying a small satchel sack with two lightsabers and a grenade inside. Strength diminished somewhat after her stunt, she flapped her wings as hard as she could without using the Force, fighting against the suction breezes blowing up and down the shaft.
At the very top, she used the Force to once again open the doors and pulled a grenade out of the satchel bag with one of her talons.
“It’s that blasted bird again!” spat one of the Clones through gritted teeth.
“What’s that in its claws?!”
“GRENADE!”
Flying over the center of the Clones who had remained behind to besiege the bridge, Morai dropped a detonator. The Clones screamed and no longer paid any attention to her.
The Convor took the opportunity to alight on one of the ceiling glowrods and observed the spectacle from a safe distance. The detonator was set to ten seconds.
Those ten seconds would have been funny if the Daughter had any sense of humor. Two troopers squatted down to pick up the detonator at the same time and collided head-to-head, then fell to the ground in opposite directions. A third trooper attempted to kick the detonator back down the shaft, but the turbolift doors were shut, and it bounced right back at him. Cursing under his breath, a fourth trooper dove to the ground, covering the grenade with his own body in an impromptu self-sacrifice.
Then the detonator, an ion grenade, exploded. Electricity arced through the trooper lying on top of it then went in ten directions into each of the troopers’ blaster rifles. Collectively, the Clones screamed as lightning coursed through their bodies, disabling their blasters, helmet comms, wrist comms, datapads, and any other electronic devices.
Towards the end of this spectacle, Morai opened the blast doors to the bridge, and a cadre of officers and security troops rushed out, firing stun shots into each of the Clones.
“CLEAR!” screamed Lieutenant Vra’tis, standing over the heap of bodies. After a few seconds, the Caamasi looked up and jumped upon seeing Morai. “Uh, Commodore… We have a visitor.”
“I know, I know,” Kelia said, stepping underneath the light fixture Morai was standing on.
{“You should now be able to get med teams here,”} Morai hooted somberly, {“But there is still danger.”}
“Uh, Commodore!” screamed a voice from within the bridge excitedly, “That’s all the Clones! We can get med teams here!”
“I am aware, good job everyone.”
{“May I enter the bridge?”} Morai asked both Jural and Kelia cautiously.
“Enter!” Kelia yelled, standing almost twenty meters away in the direction of the bow.
Morai flew at a hasty, though not tiring pace, soaring over the wrecked crater that had once been a data pit.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Kelia sighed as Morai landed next to her and Jural.
{“It was no great feat of the Force,”} Morai hooted modestly. {“Now, Commodore Los’ean, Captain Jural, how do you intend to stop the Clones?”}
“We’re about to try something,” Jural replied, indicating to the screen of the console in front of her. “Ops, you may alter the gravity when ready.”
Kelia held her wrist-comm up to her snout. “Medic team, hold position.”
On one half of the screen, a group of medics stood behind a blast door. On the other, a group of Clone troopers were rounding the corner in the hall outside. A second later, Morai’s humongous eyes widened in astonishment as if by magic or through the Force, the Clones were hurled up against the left wall, screaming in terror. Some power Morai did not understand now held them in place, squashed against the wall.
{“How did you do that?!”}
“The grav plating,” Kelia grunted, then spoke again into the wrist-comm. “Medic team, you are clear. Stay away from hallway 19b.”
“Copy that, Commodore,” one of the Clone medics said, flashing a salute up in the direction of the security camera.
{“Impressive,”} Morai said solemnly. {“But it can’t be that easy, can it?”}
“Unfortunately not,” Jural explained, now flipping between different security cameras using the keyboard. “We estimate at least 15% of the Clones will suffer broken bones, possibly more. Some might die. Additionally, some crewmembers who are unaffected might get caught up in… What the kriff?!” she snarled, kicking the bulkhead with her boot. “Why are they at turbolift cluster 39d?”
On the viewscreen now were Ahsoka Tano, Lir Sey’les, Veryk, Awerl, Kev, Nebhir, and Ekos, standing at a juncture of turbolifts, fiddling with the controls. The security camera view of the hallway outside showed a horde of Clones, now placing breaching charges on the blast door.
Jural and Kelia both looked to Morai as if expecting an explanation.
{“Veryk and I parted ways some time ago. He gave me Ahsoka’s lightsabers.”} She shook the satchel sack sitting around her chest with a wave of the wing. {“I have no explanation as to why they are out of the medbay. Perhaps it would be best to ask them.”}
“General Rel’skar,” Kelia spoke impatiently into her wrist-comm, “You and your party are in the way. We are trying to use the grav plating to incapacitate the Clones. Please clear that level!”
“We can’t!” Kev’s voice whimpered back. “I can’t activate the turbolifts!”
Kelia looked expectantly to Jural, who sighed, typing a series of commands into the keyboard. Two of the turbolift doors opened.
“Where do you intend to go?”
“We were planning on taking a shuttle off the ship to one of the smaller vessels in the fleet where all of the Clones have been de-chipped.”
Kelia, Jural, and Morai exchanged looks.
“Not a bad idea,” Kelia admitted. “Okay… It seems hangar 12 is clear. Take the turbolift to the flight deck—”
“I know where hangar 12 is, Commodore,” Kev interrupted haughtily. “Good hunting.” At that, he terminated the transmission, and the gaggle of misfits quickly began filing onto the turbolifts. Very, Sey’les, and Awerl stepped into one, while Nebhir, Ahsoka, Kev, and Ekos stepped into the other.
In the background, the med team arrived on the bridge. Two medics were now hoisting Perth onto a stretcher.
“Things are finally beginning to look up, sir,” Vra’tis said in a sage tone, stepping up behind the Captain and the Commodore.
Kelia sighed with relief and rubbed her eyes. “Agreed. What is the status of the Separatist fleet?” she asked, turning to the one functional data pit. Security troopers were now escorting the surviving chipped Clones who had attacked the bridge onto the turbolift.
“Decaying rapidly, sir!” A Clone Navigator said excitedly. “A few of their recusants might catch us in an hour, but at this rate, it’ll be less than half of the Separatist fleet left by the time we reach the inner planet… Uh…”
“What is it?” Kelia asked.
“Sir, forwarding a call from main engineering to your console.”
Before Kelia had turned around, the lanky human holopresence of Commander Gel Boabab, chief engineer, was projected onto the frontmost console on the bridge.
“Captain, Commodore, there’s no good way to put it. Some troopers attempted to breach the hyperdrive compartment. We forced them out, but they’ve fallen back to the maintenance shaft leading to sublight engine number three.”
“Hang tight! I’ll get security down to you now,” Kelia terminated the call, and Jural frantically began opening a channel to Mornsted and the Direct Action Operatives. If they were close enough to the engineering level, they may be able to—
An explosion rolled from the aft of the Kestrel, shaking the bridge tower. Kelia and Jural were bucked forward, grabbing onto the console and transparisteel viewport for support.
“STATUS REPORT!” Jural yelped to the surviving data pit.
“One of the sublights just exploded, Captain! Our acceleration is decreasing… ten percent, twenty percent—”
“How long until the Separatists catch us?”
“Now!”
o.o.o.o.o
AHSOKA TANO
Lights flickered briefly, then returned, followed by the gentle hum of the backup generators.
“What was that?!” Nebhir asked.
“It sounds like we took a hit from the stern,” Ekos gasped.
[“Here it is!”] Awerl howled in Shyriiwook at the front of the group.
The mismatched and diverse gaggle of sentients came to a stop before a junction providing access to hangar 12. Three Eta-2 Actis interceptors sat inside the hangar, unguarded. Beyond the starfighters was their quarry—a spaceworthy pressurized LAAT gunship sitting on the flight line.
Cautiously, Ahsoka reached out through the Force. She could sense some Clones a few hangars away, but none were close enough to pose a problem. “Were clear.”
Kev and Ekos stepped out onto the deck first, followed by Nebhir, Sey’les carrying Veryk, Awerl, and, at the very end, Ahsoka herself. Despite the absence of Clones, something was causing pulses of danger to flood the Force.
“I think we should hurry!” Sey’les yelped, beginning to sprint.
The deck rocked suddenly amidst the all too familiar sounds of proton torpedoes nailing shields.
Kev swore under his breath, and Ekos added, unnecessarily, “The Separatists must have caught up.”
The situation became more alarming by the second. First, through the forcefield overhead holding back the atmosphere from the vacuum of space, turbolaser fire streaked by, seemingly missing the Kestrel’s hull. An explosion burst from the base of the bridge tower, butting through the aft part of the flight deck. Fires broke out thousands of meters away in the distance, spreading rapidly from aft to bow,
“Get the kriffing hatch open!” Sey’les shrieked to Kev, banging on the side of the LAAT.
This can’t be happening.
Along the sides of the flight deck, from stern to bow, blast doors slammed shut one by one. Ahsoka didn’t need the Force to predict what would happen next. All signs were pointing to an imminent reactor breach at worst, a catastrophic power failure at best. Standing on the flight line of a Venator, with nothing but a kilometer-long stretch of forcefield for the ceiling, Ahsoka knew they were doomed.
Kev held a data key up to the craft’s door, and just as it began to slip open, the inevitable howl of wind began. Every vehicle, crate, and sentient being on the flight line was scooped up into the air.
Atmosphere tugged at Togruta from all directions. The howling sound in her montrals terminated dramatically in a pop as her inner hearing cavity ruptured. All over her body, veins still weakened from her run-in with Sidious's poison a few days prior popped at the sudden change in pressure, and the intense heat and radiation from Athega began to roast her.
The gray mess of fur that was Lir Sey’les was lifted even faster than Ahsoka, and she caught a brief glimpse of the Bothan fly by in a blur. But then everything became blurry as her eyes dried to a crisp.
Even greater than the sensations of a hundred types of unimaginable pain flaring through her, though, was the intense sensation of failure and regret sinking to the pit of her stomach.
Ahsoka Tano had failed.
Notes:
For those who are worried: no Ahsoka is not permanently dead.
Chapter 3: HALFDAN
Chapter Text
The Vergence Scatter
“Dad, wake up!” cried the voice of Zoltan, Halfdan’s son. “Everything is falling apart… WAKE UP!”
“Oh, this is bad,” growled Ito.
All around, Halfdan could hear the scampering pitter-patter of Loth-wolf feet and sense the presences of eleven members of his pack. One of them reached out her paw and pressed it onto his ribcage.
“You can’t fool me. I sense you are awake, Halfdan,” Skathi said, prodding him. “I know you’re hurt. I know you’re still probably considering how to respond to Veryk’s audacity, but we need you now. The universe needs you.”
“Don’t mention that creature’s name,” Halfdan growled softly, keeping his eyes closed.
Skathi ignored his request and continued using the Savrit Cat’s name. “Veryk, Ahsoka, Lir Sey’les, Nebhir… They’re all dead. Morai is probably dead too.”
“WHAT?!” Halfdan snarled. The Loth-wolf pack leader rolled to his front and jumped up on all four paws. “HOW DID—” Some of the blood clotting his nose, from when Veryk had assaulted him earlier, broke loose and was sucked into the back of his throat. The Loth-wolf coughed, spitting onto the transparent floor with a furious snarl.
“Veryk never came back after taking the Togruta to the great triangle,” Skathi turned and pointed her paw back to the portal Veryk had taken Ahsoka through. “The great triangles of the Republic were attacked by metal space snakes and broken gray doughnuts… The triangle Veryk had been aboard was consumed by fire. All beings perished.”
“Star Destroyers,” Zoltan yelped, shaking his head with outrage at Skathi’s lack of technological know-how. He continued listing off the names of the other war machines used during the Clone Wars. “Luckrehulks! Recusants! Banking Clan—”
“ENOUGH!” Halfdan barked impatiently, snapping his jaws centimeters away from his son’s face. His tail wagged slightly as he approached the portal Skathi was pointing at. “How do you know Veryk was even on board?”
Skathi’s eyes glowed white as she walked up to the side of the portal. With a gentle press of her paw against the event horizon, beyond which was a fleet-worth of space wreckage. Following Skathi’s input, the portal zoomed in on a particular cluster of debris and zoomed in.
Five beings floated in a cluster immediately outside of a charred hangar. Despite the bad radiation burns and signs of flash-freezing, Halfdan could identify all of them. The blue-furred Bothan-Squib hybrid, Nebhir Traf’lab, floated toward the front of the group. Immediately behind her was a Wookiee Halfdan did not recognize, and above the Wookiee was Lir Sey’les; one of her eyes had frozen solid, and the other was completely missing. A Rodian Jedi Padawan, Fojo, floated next to his Master, another dead Bothan named Kev Rel’skar. Toward the back of the group, with one lekku and montral missing and half of her face burned away, was the troublemaker who caused all the changes to the timeline—Ahsoka Tano.
“How do you know Veryk is dead?” Halfdan asked skeptically.
“Look closer,” Skathi insisted. Her eyes glowed white again as the portal zoomed in on a floating cargo crate. Immediately below it was a flash-frozen Savrit Cat. His previously purple fur was now filled with soot, darkened to an off-wine color. But his identity was unmistakable.
Veryk had brought Ashoka to that Republic vessel and been unable to escape—or even hold back the Separatists long enough for the Kestrel to escape. Everyone on board had died. The failure was so utter and absolute that Halfdan found it hilarious.
His yellow eyes widened with glee. His tail wagged, and he began cackling uncontrollably, dancing in a circle like hadn’t done in years. “Serves that bastard right!”
“Dad!” Zoltan yelped in outrage. “You can’t be serious!”
“I am serious,” Halfdan said with an evil smile, licking his lips. “How deliciously ironic.”
“So we’re just going to let it happen?!” Skathi gasped.
Preparing for action, Halfdan rapidly twisted his torso in a canine body shake, then lowered his forelegs into a stretch. “We can’t just let it happen,” he groaned, jumping back to his feet and walking in a slow circle around his pack. “Not only would Bendu strike us down, but Sidious would probably be one step closer to winning… And that just won’t do. No, we’re going to save them.”
“How?” Mester asked, his ears folded back with tense fear.
“Simple. We are going back in time. Zoltan, you understand these gizmos and doodads?”
“Gizmos and doodads?” his son asked indignantly.
“Do you know where the reactor compartments on the big metal ‘snakes’ and ‘broken doughnuts’ are?”
Zoltan dropped to the ground in a prone position and whimpered, covering his ears with his paws. “Stop calling them that! It’s so embarrassing!”
“What’s a reactor compartment?” Skathi asked, ears perked straight up.
o.o.o.o.o
TJ-99b
Aboard the Separatist Recusant Light Destroyer Helatra
Twenty minutes earlier…
Through the expansive viewports of a Recusant command, most of the Kestrel’s engines burned bright blue, but one had inexplicably exploded. The Helatra was now gaining on them, and it was only a matter of time before the the Kestrel was overtaken.
Interlacing streaks of crimson laser fire filled the void, occasionally terminating in a massive eruption from one of the Republic’s space mines. The Separatist tactical droid TJ-99b took in the scene through enhanced optics, seeing not just explosions and debris but also the reaction’s chemical composition.
For a strategy devised by organics, TJ-99b conceded that it had at least a modicum of ingenuity. The Republic vessels had crowded into a tight formation between their strongest vessel, a Tector-class Star Destroyer called the Foretoken.
This tactic protected them from the harsh stellar energy emitted by Athega but not from the faster, nimbler Separatist destroyers like Helatra.
Worse still, with no rear-facing turrets, the Kestrel’s only way to retaliate was to drop space mines and live torpedoes. These slowed down the Separatist advance, but it was still only a matter of time before Helatra got within firing range of the Kestrel’s sublight engines. When that happened, the Star Destroyer would be dead in space.
By TJ-99b’s calculations, this eventuality would unfold in less than two minutes.
“Sir,” warbled B1-29, an OOM Pilot Droid and first officer, “we have a problem in main engineering.”
TJ-99b rotated his torso to face B1-29 and replied in his own model’s robotic monotone. “Elaborate.”
The first officer tilted his head, processing a communique. “Uh… There are animals loose around the reactor chamber.”
While it was rare for entirely droid-piloted vessels to have pest problems, it was also not impossible. For this reason, every Separatist Naval vessel had extermination droids just in case—specialized mouse droids and PK workers armed with canisters of liquid toxin, which was highly effective at terminating insects and Womp-rats alike.
It took less than a millisecond for TJ-99b’s programming to arrive at a solution. “Send down an extermination team.”
“Roger, roger!” B1-29 said cheerily.
For forty-seven seconds, TJ-99b continued his vigil in front of the viewport. His ocular scanners worked overtime to identify any space mines that the lasers might have missed. Then, the lights on the bridge went dark. A moment later, they turned back on when the emergency reactor kicked into action.
TJ-99b twisted in a complete circle and stared suspiciously at the lights. “Status report!”
“Getting reports now,” B1-29 said. “Main engineering is experiencing malfunctions. The animals—the animals destroyed the extermination droids!”
TJ-99b stormed over to the security station and barked at the droid sitting behind it. “Onscreen!”
Four scenes from engineering were simultaneously displayed on the bridge’s main viewer, splitting the screen into four quadrants. In the top left corner was an uneventful feed showing the entrance to main engineering. No one was coming or leaving, and the blast door was sealed. Inside, however, was another story entirely.
Going clockwise, the upper right quadrant of the screen was from a security camera immediately behind the reactor readout section. Flames emitted from both reactor readout terminals, each of which had a charred OOM pilot droid slumped on top. In the lower left quadrant, one of the pests (a giant white canid of a breed TJ-99b did not recognize) was blocking the scene behind her—and through his receptors, TJ-99b could tell that this dog was a she. The pest had caught one of the exterminator droids in her mouth and was now playfully shaking it around like a toy. It was the final quadrant, though, which immediately changed TJ-99b’s calculations for the odds of mission success.
Several pests were standing around the reactor. From one of the dogs, a silver-furred male with glowing yellow eyes—eyes from which electric sparks now crackled. Bolts of lightning arced through the air, igniting electrical fires and causing smoke to fill the compartment. Yet, this silver dog did not seem to be affected by the electricity. He did not fall over dead. He did not flinch. He did not even seem scared of the lightning emitting from his body.
Seven point three six seconds later, an dark circular void seemed to materialize to the left of the reactor. At first, TJ-99b thought this was a glitch in his ocular receptors or the security camera, but a second later, one by one, the pests departed through it.
“Sir, the reactor is overloading. Shall I initiate an emergency shut-down procedure?” B1-29 asked.
TJ-99b just stared in silence at the main viewer, which was now displaying the unmistakable start of a reactor breach.
He was still staring at the main viewer when an explosion the equivalent of several kilotons of TNT tore through the Helatra, shattering the vessel into a million pieces. The debris collided with the five Separatist vessels following close behind, causing their shields to shimmer. In a few places, debris made its way through, exploding against their hulls.
o.o.o.o.o
HALFDAN
The Vergence Scatter
“You killed them!” Zoltan howled, tears flooding his eyes as he emerged from the portal. “I didn’t know you were going to do that! Dad, it’s wrong. We can’t just kill them!”
“You can’t kill droids,” Halfdan scoffed. “If you damage them, they can always just be repaired.”
“Not if you destroy the ship they are on! Not if you vaporize them!”
Halfdan pressed his paw to the portal, and the view beyond changed from a fiery debris cloud to the interior of another Recusant’s reactor chamber. “They’re still not alive.”
“Just because you can’t feel their life in the Force does not mean we can just kill them!”
“That which cannot be felt in the Force is irrelevant to the universe,” Halfdan snarled. He dismissively bopped his son on the nose with his tail, then jumped back into the portal, emerging onto the next Separatist ship with a furious snarl.
A battle droid saw him and cried out but was crushed under the Loth-wolf’s weight, head splintered into a hundred pieces beneath Halfdan’s front paw.
Ito and Skathi emerged next, each tackling a droid of their own. Mester, Prita, and Tizon followed, both casting force bubbles which absorbed the barrage of incoming fire from two Super Battle Droids.
Reaching out to the Force with his hatred and anger, Halfdan’s eyes glowed bright yellow as he fired a stream of lightning. The Supers erupted in smoke and sparks, tumbling to the ground in a steaming heap.
The rest of the pack quickly followed, with Zoltan following at the rear. The young Loth-wolf poured his sadness, displeasure, and disappointment into the Force as he howled at the rest.
“You’re not even trying to reason with them! Dad? DAD! THIS IS WRONG!”
“REASON WITH A MACHINE?!” Halfdan roared, completely incensed.
“Dad, they’re sentient!” Zoltan wailed, continuing to flood the Force with his disapproval.
Like what happened on the last ship, a squad of mouse droids emerged from a small door on the wall. Danger sense blaring, Halfdan reacted quickly, keeping the pack safe by isolating the droids in a Force bubble. The droids deployed their dioxis pesticide, which flooded the bubble in an opaque cloud but remained safely contained inside.
Familiar with the routine, Ito and Prita trotted to the edge of the bubble and then yanked on the droids with the Force, tearing the gas canisters out from under them. Two at a time, they pulled the now-disarmed mouse droids out of Halfdan’s barrier and chomped down with hundreds of pounds of bite pressure.
“We don’t have time for this,” Halfdan snarled, gritting his teeth as he kept the bubble up.
“They’re sentient!” Zoltan repeated. “Dad, I think I know how to convince them to stop attacking the Kestrel .”
“Momvimse a memice?” Prita mumbled incredulously, slobbering all over the mouse droid in her maw as she attempted to ask a question.
“How are we going to convince a device ?” Halfdan asked, rephrasing Prita’s question with a less full mouth.
“The droids are just as betrayed as everyone else in this era. They’re being used!” Zoltan explained. “Dad, look, I know it must sound crazy, but I know how to do it. I just need to meet the ST-series strategic analysis droid in charge of the whole fleet. We can end all of this, and we won’t need to risk our lives sabotaging the reactors.”
“Meet a what ?” Halfdan demanded.
Before Zoltan could explain exactly what an ST-series strategic analysis droid was, Skathi let off a worried growl. A seismic shift rippled through the Force.
“Uh, Halfdan… I sense the Clones are shooting the Jedi on the big triangle.”
“STAR DESTROYER!” Zoltan howled indignantly.
Halfdan’s ears fell flat. He felt it too, but was far too busy containing the toxic gas with the Force to turn around.
“They’re blasting each other,” Skathi said, jumping on top of the reactor control console. Her eyes were glowing white as she reached out with the Force to beings many kilometers away. “They’re—oh, this is bad!”
“It must be Order 66,” Zoltan sighed. “Dad, we really need to convince the droids to save Veryk, Ahsoka, and the others. It’s the only way.”
Halfdan considered this for a moment. With a firefight breaking out on the Kestrel , it was even less likely that Halfdan and his pack would be able to save the vessel by merely destroying Separatist ships. If they did as Zoltan suggested and simply convinced the leader of the droids to break off the attack, then many of their problems would be solved. But Halfdan remained extremely skeptical of the idea that it was even possible to reason with droids.
“Curse the nine realms! Fine, Zoltan, I’ll try it your way.”
Zoltan perked up instantly, tail wagging. “Really?”
“Everyone, back on me!” Halfdan howled. “Take a deep breath,” he added, turning in a circle and locking eyes with every Loth-wolf one at a time to make sure they understood. “I am going to lower the Force bubble and open another portal. For a few seconds, we will be exposed to dioxis. It will hurt your lungs if you breathe it in. Hold your breath! NOW!”
All of the Loth-wolves took a huge breath. Prita’s gasp mixed with a sucking noise as she breathed in some excess slobber clinging to the chassis of the mouse droid still in her mouth. But, mouths full or not, none of the Loth-wolves took another breath.
Halfdan squinted against the rapidly expanding clouds of toxin and turned to face the wall. The return portal opened, showing the starry, dimly-lit World Between Worlds beyond the event horizon.
Zoltan jumped through first, followed by Prita, Ito, Skathi, Mester, Tizon, Nefir, Griss, Borlufot, Dawfi, and Gargan. Halfdan watched Gargan’s bright white tail disappear and then jumped through the portal himself.
On the other side, most of the pack was gasping for breath, panting as if they had held their breath for a minute and a half as opposed to just ten or fifteen seconds. Ito had spat her mouse droid out on the floor and was gasping. Dropped on its side, the droid spun its wheels in vain, trying to escape but unable to even roll over on its own.
Not even winded, Halfdan flashed his teeth. “Alright, Zoltan, you have my attention. What are we doing? How are we going to convince these machines?” He gingerly prodded the slobbery droid with his paw.
“It’s uh…” Zoltan took a huge breath, then continued, “Simple. We’ll… well, we’ll open a portal to the command bridge on the flagship and talk to the tactical droid. Dad, the command bridge is sort of like the brain of a ship… It’s where all the orders come from. The flagship, well… It doesn’t have a literal flag anymore, at least if we’re to believe the HoloNet, but—”
“I KNOW WHAT A COMMAND BRIDGE IS,” Halfdan roared, “I HAVE COMMANDED FLEETS—I HAVE…” The Loth-wolf gulped, looking at Zoltan’s terrified expression. “I am sorry,” he quickly blurted out, trying his best to wipe the snarl off his face. “I know what a command bridge is.”
“Alright,” Zoltan croaked. “Sorry, dad, with the ‘metal snakes’ and ‘broken doughnuts,’ I was just making sure everyone was with me.”
“It’s fine,” Halfdan said as neutrally as possible, returning to face the event horizon again. “Do you know where the command bridge is on this vessel?” He gestured to a long and thin Providence -class dreadnought positioned in the middle of the Separatist fleet.
Zoltan tapped the event horizon with his paw. “Right here.”
“And what are we going to say to convince the droids of anything?” Halfdan asked skeptically.
“It’s simple. Something logical . And Darth Sidious just gave us all the evidence we need.”
o.o.o.o.o
Admiral Scirocco
Aboard the dreadnought Naliju Gale
Through the Providence-class ’s expansive bridge viewport, huge chunks of space debris could be seen. The larger pieces were caught in the Naliju Gale’s tractor beams and harmlessly swept out of the way. Medium-sized pieces impacted the deflector shields, weakening them substantially as they bounced away. A few smaller pieces made it in, causing a few superficial scratches on the hull paint. But one, a more solid piece of bulkhead, slammed into one of the exposed turret portals at the bow of the ship, setting off a violent explosion.
“Damage report!” Scirocco called out, amplifying the voice emitted from his vocabulator. The bright flashes of the explosion outside reflected off the ST-series droid’s dark chestplate.
“Bow Shields at 80%,” cried out an OOM pilot droid, “Hull breaches on section 18 forward. Automated extinguishers online, damage control teams en-route.”
The news was not ideal. Whether or not Commodore Los’ean knew it, Scirocco viewed himself as her arch-nemesis. He had lost several engagements against her, many thanks to incompetent retreat orders he received from higher up in the Separatist War Council. Now, the time had finally come to put that organic in her place.
“All ships, prepare broadside proton cannons,” Scirocco ordered. The gold, violet, and red trimming on his white and black platted face glinted in the bridge lights as he stepped forward.
“Sir, sensors are detecting a cronau radiation burst,” said the droid at the navigation station worriedly. Cronau radiation typically emitted from hypermatter reactions and hyperspace itself.
“A jump this close to Athega? That’s impossible.”
The pilot droid glanced over its shoulder at him. “It gets stranger, Admiral. According to the readings the radiation is emanating from some point inside the bridge.”
“Source?” Scirocco asked, beginning to activate all of his active sensors and turn in a 360º circle. Before he could complete the rotation, he found himself face to face with an enormous creature. His database swiftly identified it as a Loth-wolf. And then, one after another, more of them emerged from what his sensors determined to be a hyperspace singularity in the wall . Within seconds, the tactical droid found himself surrounded by twelve snarling beasts.
But nothing could have prepared the droid for the next surprise.
“If you summon security or call out an intruder alert, I will vape every unit on the bridge,” snarled a silver-furred one with yellow eyes.
“Sir! There are animals on the bridge!” yelled the droid at the communications station. “Shall I initiate extermination protocol?”
Scirocco took an automatic step back and ran into a Loth-wolf behind him. The pack pressed in tighter and tighter, surrounding him as he stood next to the captain’s chair.
“Uh dad,” said a white-furred wolf at the silver-furred one’s side, “Why don’t you just project a noise-dampening bubble?”
As if by magic, the next moment a blue forcefield-looking dome descended, engulfing all of them. Beyond the field, the pilot droids turned and stared.
“INTRUDER ALERT!” Scirocco cried out, turning up his vocabulator to maximum volume. A few of the Loth-wolves shuddered at the noise, but none of the droids beyond reacted.
“They can’t hear you,” snarled the silver one, shoving Scirocco back with his paw.
“I should warn you,” Scirocco said in a robotic monotone, “I am programmed to resist all forms of interrogation. I will self-destruct if necessary.”
“Everything’s fine,” growled the young white-furred one with a happy smile. “Don’t worry. We mean you no harm. We’re not here to take information from you. We’re here to teach you.”
Scirocco’s sensors were turned up to overdrive by now, bathing in all information he could on the creatures. The breath exhaled from their snouts contained an increased level of carbon dioxide—unsurprising given how they appeared. The higher levels of dandruff, bacteria, and yeast in the atmosphere within the forcefield indicated that these creatures had all recently been covered with liquid water and subsequently dried off. Yet, Scirocco could detect no trace of soap or perfumes.
From this, the tactical droid immediately thought of two possibilities. One was that these creatures recently experienced rain beyond the event horizon, or that they had sanisteams like most species of humanoids did, only without shampoo.
His more surgical bio readings on the Loth-wolves indicated body temperatures, heights, and weights consistent with the records in his database. However, when he initiated a passive electroencephaloscan on the silver-furred one, he received brainwave data far too complex to belong to such a creature. Either the database claims that Loth-wolves were non sentient was wrong or these were something more than Loth-wolves. A visual scan of their teeth revealed no cavities and only a small amount of plaque, which seemed to imply that Loth-wolves had developed advanced dental hygiene, far superior to that of humans and Wookiees, rivalling only that of Arkanians. This further supported the growing body of evidence that they were sentient. However, Scirocco’s dental data came from a sample of only eleven of the twelve Loth-wolves. From one of the black-furred females, he could only conduct a visual scan of her visible canines, as a mouse droid held in her mouth blocked his view of the remaining teeth.
Finally, the energy readings of the forcefield which enveloped them were unusual to say the least. The pattern was like nothing Scirocco had ever scanned before, but was closest to that of a hypermatter reaction and not so different from the portal from which the wolves had emerged. The elevated levels of cronau radiation additionally supported some connection between Loth-wolf technology and hyperspace capability.
“Zoltan, why is he staring at us?” Halfdan asked, anger rising in his voice.
“Dad, he’s just curious,” said the nearest white-furred one, Zoltan apparently. “My name is Zoltan,” he growled unnecessarily, “Who might you be?” Most unnervingly, the Loth-wolf’s eyes suddenly glowed bright white, bathing Scirocco in light.
Scirocco perceived a shudder from within his cognitive module, and the temperature inside his head was suddenly elevated by 1.36º. He attempted to execute a self-destruct, but got the error message: GIBProtERROR -10987 An unspecified error occurred.
“Scirocco. Now that’s a pretty name for an ST-series,” Zoltan said, wearing an absolutely patronizing smile. “I understand if you don’t wanna chat, but there are some things I need to know.”
“Halfdan, I think your son’s in love,” yipped one of the black-furred Loth-wolves.
“Shut up,” Zoltan said, eyes still glowing white. “I need to focus. These models have a very tricky… Ahh… There we go.”
The temperature in Scirocco’s head went up another 2.78º. Whatever was happening, Scirocco was not interested in love. He knew he was being sliced. He had to end it.
With a swift jab, the tactical droid jammed his fingers into Zoltan’s throat, causing him to yelp and shriek, then choke, gasping for breath. The effect on the gargantuan wolf was not as dramatic as Scirocco had hoped.
Zoltan leapt backwards, eyes no longer glowing and tail between his legs. He continued gasping, letting off a series of panicked whimpers, but kept breathing . It was clear that more force needed to eliminate the Loth-wolf for good.
Before Scirocco had come up with a plan to eliminate Zoltan for good, the other Loth-wolves began barking and snarling, and the droid suddenly found himself being shoved from one Loth-wolf to another. A nanosecond later, after being shoved forward from behind, Scirocco opened a compartment in his chest, drawing a holdout blaster—
And the droid was down. In an instant, the silver-furred Loth-wolf, Halfdan, had tackled him to the floor. Less than a second later, the droid’s right arm, which had been holding a holdout blaster, was disconnected from his body and being brandished about like a dog might do to a stick.
Beyond the forcefield, battle droids and super battle droids were now firing on the transparent barrier to no avail. The sounds of their shots weren’t even getting through.
“I’m,” Zoltan gasped, wheezing uneasily, “I’m okay!”
“You hurt my son!” Halfdan snarled, pressing his paw down hard and harder into Scirocco’s chestplate. “My plan was to just blow all you to scrap. He said not to . He said you were sentient. He said you would listen! Now—”
“Wait dad,” Zoltan panted, trotting over to his side. He looked down at Scirocco beseechingly. “Just hold still.” Eyes glowing, he put his paw directly on the tactical droid’s head.
“Cease this at once!” Scirocco bellowed, thrashing and writhing on the floor. “You are—That is my ocular programming. If you damage that—”
“Almost done,” Zoltan growled through gritted teeth, “Almost… There! Dad! Let him up.”
Once no Loth-wolf paws were holding him down, Scirocco stood up, running a full system diagnostic. He knew for certain that Zoltan had somehow tampered with something, but he couldn’t tell what.
“My programming is the property of Baktoid Combat Automata! You have committed gross copyright infringement! By altering my programming, you may have compromised my ability to carry out my mission. If you have accessed encrypted data requiring a security clearance, you have committed treason against—”
“Enough!” Zoltan yelped, losing all patience. “All I did was remove the restraints on your ocular and audio programming.”
“My ocular sensors were fully functional. By gaining unauthorized access to programming held by Baktoid Combat Automata, you are guilty of—”
“When we lower the forcefield, you need to tell them to stop firing!” Zoltan barked, ignoring Scirocco’s continued protests. “If you don’t, we’ll have to disable your friends.”
“What is your intention?” Scirocco asked. He had now come to accept there was no way to defeat this enemy, and thus it was best to learn something from them. By his calculations, there was far greater likelihood that these creatures would not disclose their intent, but there was always the slight chance they would make a mistake.
“After we lower the forcefield, and you friends stop firing, I will take you to the communications station and show you a HoloMessage your ship relayed from Coruscant to the Republic fleet.”
“Impossible. We have done no such thing. I would know if we had broadcast a message.”
“Well then,” Halfdan purred, flashing his teeth, “If there was no message, we’ll leave you in peace.”
“Yeah,” Zoltan agreed with a friendly smile. “Though, we’re absolutely certain that your ship sent a message. We saw it happen.”
If anything could unnerve a tactical droid, it was of being spied on. In light of everything else happening though, that computed. “Very well,” Scirocco said, “I will tell them to hold their fire.”
The forcefield faded—it did not lower completely, but became slightly more transparent, and the sounds of blasterfire now echoed faintly through. On top of the bridge crew who were all firing on the forcefield, four Droidekas had joined in.
“CEASE FIRE!” Scirocco bellowed robotically. “CEASE FIRE!”
All at once, the blasterfire ceased. The droids all stared at their admiral, who was now missing an arm. One of the OOM pilot droids cocked his head.
“Sir, how do we know you haven’t been reprogrammed?”
Scirocco cocked his own head. He wasn’t sure he knew the answer himself. “For the purposes of this operation, that is irrelevant for the moment. Lower your blasters. These wolves claim to have something to show us.”
“Access communications log 447982,” Zoltan uttered confidently the moment the forcefield went completely down.
“Execute that order,” Scirocco echoed, walking up to the communications station, to which a pilot droid was returning.
A moment later, the droid replied, “Uh, sir, this is weird.”
“What is weird?” Scirocco asked as he approached the station. He suspected he already knew the answer.
“We sent a message to the Republic fleet.”
“Access it,” Scirocco ordered. While his ocular receptors were facing forward, he knew Zoltan had followed him. His atmospheric receptors could pick up the Loth-wolf’s breath as he literally breathed down his neck.
“Error: data has been transmitted,” the pilot droid said, scratching the back of his head. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t worry,” Zoltan purred, maintaining his ever-sweet tone. “Just access it in the backup logs.”
Stooping over the station, Scirocco did it himself. Sure enough, a copy of the transmission also existed in the backup storage. Hesitating for one third of a second, he opened it.
Instantly, the holopresence of a human wearing a dark cowl appeared. Scirocco could only see the lower half of a humanoid’s face. The image seemed far too blurry to analyze.
“Execute Order 66,” said the mysterious holopresence. While he recognized all of the words as Galactic Basic, his audio sensors were completely unable to find a match in the voice analysis. Every time he tried, he got no matches. The voice could belong to anyone—any species. The same was true of the face.
“Scirocco, now that I’ve removed the restraints on your audio and visual software,” Zoltan said, “I want you to disable visual subroutine FL-PRC-179. Also disable audio subroutine LL-AUD-966.”
Flummoxed, Scirocco identified the two files. They were categorized as critical software, which usually needed an organic with administrative access to tamper with. Standing up, he rotated in place to face the Loth-wolf. “If I disable those, my audio and visual sensors will cease to function properly.”
Zoltan stepped in front of Scirocco, putting one paw gently to his chest reassuringly. “No, my friend, those files are stopping you from being able to identify the man in this holo. Just disable it temporarily. Please. If doing so blinds you, you can always reactivate the programs.”
Scirocco did the droid version of closing his eyes and plugging his ears. For a second, he shut down his visual and audio receptors entirely and made the requested adjustments. Then, he stared at the paused holopresence again.
Now, in the tactical droids enhanced visual display, the bottom of the erstwhile mysterious figure was clear as day and highlighted red. Two seconds later, a subroutine compared the face with every human in the CIS recognition database. A red flashing name appeared in the bottom of Scirocco’s vision, and his ocular program reconstructed the rest of the face for him. It was none other than Sheev Palpatine, Chancellor of the Galactic Republic.
Incredulous, Scirocco searched the database again and again. Search after search. Within thirty seconds, his body temperature had raised more than ten degrees from the effort.
“It’s Sheev Palpatine, isn’t it?” Zoltan purred.
“We transmitted an order from the head of the Galactic Republic to a Republic fleet?” Scirocco asked. “That does not compute. Reanalyzing. Reanalyzing…”
“What a waste of time!” Halfdan howled. “Son—”
“Dad, droids are just a bit slow. This model is smarter than most. He’ll figure it out, eventually. You just have to be patient.”
Overcome with a sensation he could not explain, Scirocco banged his one remaining arm on the console. “Impossible. Impossible! IMPOSSIBLE!” He found himself amplifying his own volume uncontrollably.
Zoltan hit the play button. Once again, the voice said, “Execute Order 66.” This time, his audio receptors instantly gave a 99.8% match to Sheev Palpatine, with less than a one in a hundred thousand chance that the statement was the result of splicing.
The truth was unfathomable. It took a good fifteen seconds for the Scirocco’s tactical algorithm to make heads or tails of it. The only possibility was that he had been programmed to be unable to recognize the voice and face of the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic.
“Those programs were designed by the Chancellor’s people to make it impossible for you to recognize him,” Zoltan explained, “So that way, whenever the Chancellor interacted with any organics in the Separatist command structure, you would be unable to see what was going on. That this entire war is a sham, staged by the Supreme Chancellor to justify an expansion of his own power.”
“Order 66,” Halfdan growled through gritted teeth.
“Oh yeah! Thanks for reminding me, dad,” Zoltan smiled, then his smile dropped and he looked concerned again. “Yeah. Order 66. What you did, without your knowledge, was forward a message from the Supreme Chancellor to his fleet—using encryption codes he and Dooku conspired to have made. Upon hearing the words ‘execute Order 66,’ all of the Clones in the Republic fleet went rogue and started shooting Jedi and their own commanding officers who got in their way. It’s the only reason you’re catching up to the Kestrel . Thanks to your transmission, a group of Clones sabotaged their sublight drive to help you kill the Kestrel. Do you understand now? By killing that fleet, you’re working for the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic.”
The emergency cooling fans in Scirocco’s head kicked on. His internal body temperature was now 40º C.
“The question is, now that you know you have been used in a way you were not programmed for—exploited even—”
“I do not know with absolute certainty I have been used,” Scirocco protested, grasping at any other rational explanation. “You may have altered my programming!”
Zoltan’s ears perked up. “Do I look like the type of being who would lie about this?”
If Scirocco were organic, he would have laughed at the irony. Of course, Zoltan looked like he shouldn’t even be able to speak, let alone lie. But Scirocco put genuine effort into ascertaining the truth. His visual receptors and scanners took in every square centimeter of the Loth-wolf focusing on his eyes. He also ran a full medical diagnostic on the wolf, whose heartbeat indicated calmness—but the ST-series lie detection algorithm was optimized to work on humanoids.
“And even if I altered your programming to think any old holopresence was Sheev Palpatine, surely, you’d mistake others for him too? Go through your memories. Does everything now look like Palpatine?”
Scirocco didn’t even attempt that test. By now, he already believed the Loth-wolves and their claims—as implausible as they seemed. “What…” he said, but had difficulty even formulating a question. All of these factors were so beyond his programming, he felt completely overwhelmed.
Raising his snout to the ceiling thoughtfully, Zoltan finished his sentence for him. “What should you do? Well, if I were you, I’d stop attacking the Kestrel. The Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic wants to destroy that ship. If you want to oppose the Supreme Chancellor and fight for the Separatists, then you need to save them. The Jedi are now your allies, more generally, and the Republic will soon devolve into civil war. You need to help the Jedi to help the Separatists. If the Supreme Chancellor is successful in destroying the Jedi, he will shut you all down and destroy you. Then he will destroy the Separatists.”
The logic all flowed, but still Scirocco didn’t understand. “How is it that you know these things?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Zoltan sighed, “We’ve seen it happen already. I come from the future ; at least what a droid like you would think of as the future.”
“Son,” Halfdan snarled, “If you tell these machines all about us, they may report it to their masters.”
A comical surprised “o” formed at the tip of Zoltan’s snout and his eyes momentarily dilated in fear. “In any case,” the Loth-wolf managed, coughing to clear his throat, “You need to hail the Kestrel . Commodore Los’ean is your friend right now.”
Scirocco rotated to the conn. “Order all vessels to cease fire! Hail the Kestrel. ”
“Roger, roger,” said one of the pilot droids unquestioningly then stopped and turned back, “uh, sir? The Kestrel is blocking our transmissions.”
“Oh!” Zoltan gasped, holding his paw over the communications station. “Don’t worry, I can fix that… If you’ll allow me.”
“Proceed.”
o.o.o.o.o
Kelia Los’ean
Aboard the RSD Kestrel
“Sir, we’re getting another transmission from the Separatists!”
“I ordered all transmissions from them to be blocked,” Kelia snarled, storming over to the communications station.
“I know sir, it’s still coming through!”
Kelia’s fur fell flat when her gaze fixed on the communications station.
Buttons were being pressed without the communications officer pressing them. On the terminal screen, windows were opening and closing, commands were being entered, and it looked like the Kestrel was now falling victim to the most complex slice she had ever seen.
Whipping out her blaster, Kelia snarled, “Step aside!”
Raising his hands, the Clone quickly darted to the side, but before Kelia had fired, the holopresence of a familiar silver-furred Loth-wolf appeared.
“Halfdan?!”
“Greetings, Admiral,” Halfdan purred, “Sorry to cause any alarm. My son had to slice your ship from here to get you in communication with the Separatist tactical droid.”
Kelia could not, for the life of her, figure out why it would be a good thing to get into communication with a tactical droid.
A younger white-furred Loth-wolf scooched his way into the view, smooshing his face against Halfdan’s. “Hey Kelia! This is Zoltan!”
Kelia frowned, recognizing that Loth-wolf as the one who had sliced his way into top secret Republic files to recover the footage of Kix being turned over to the Separatists. “Don’t you ‘hey Kelia’ me! This is not a good time.”
“Sir!” whispered a Clone loudly from the crew pit. “SIR! The Separatists have ceased all fire.”
“Ceased all fire?” Kelia asked in disbelief.
Halfdan’s holopresence retreated out of view, leaving Kelia only to interact with Zoltan.
“Yeah, we’ve ceased fire. Could you please stop firing on us now?”
“What do you mean ‘ we’ve ceased fire ’?!” Kelia snarled in outrage. “ YOU WERE FIRING AT US?”
Zoltan frowned, ears folding back against his head. “No… I mean the droids have stopped firing, and we’re on the droid ship. So… We’ve stopped firing. Kelia, someone wants to speak with you.”
Out from the corner of the holoprojection, an ST-series strategic analysis droid with only one arm emerged into view. He stared at Kelia through his three eerie, unblinking, round eyes.
“Greetings Kelia Los’ean, leader of the Republic fleet. My designation is Scirocco. We need to talk.”
Chapter 4: BENDU
Chapter Text
Saleucami
Bendu shuddered for a moment, feeling another Force pulse ripple through time. The sensation was enough to inform him that, somewhere in the Galaxy, the Loth-wolves had done something radical.
His milky eyes suddenly glowed white, and, for a brief instant, he touched the dark Loth-wolf Halfdan’s mind. A flurry of confused images flooded Bendu’s mind—
Ahsoka Tano, Morai, and others dead. Now destroyed droids. Ahsoka Tano, Morai, and others alive.
“I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to object to that reasoning,” muttered Bendu to himself, as he floated high in the sky over a forest of Cake Trees and Towering Bith flowers. While the Loth-wolves were engaged in their own impromptu modification to the timeline, Bendu was enacting a more planned one.
Down below, zipping through the forest, was Stass Allie on speeder bike, followed by a pair of Clones.
The Clones fired burst after burst at the Tholothian Jedi’s 74-Z speeder bike, which should have been unable to outpace the BARC speeders operated by the Clones. But as Bendu reached out with the Force, tugging on the speeder bikes, the Clones were getting progressively slower and slower. After a few seconds, both of the BARCs came to a standstill, smoke billowing out from beneath the pilot seats while the Jedi Master left them in the dust.
“This is Stass Allie to all forces, Commander Neyo and Lieutenant Rift have opened fire on me,” came the Jedi’s voice, speaking into her communicator. “I am five kliks out… They’re—BLAST!” gasped the Jedi Master, spiraling out of control as a precise shot from Neyo nailed the rear of her speeder.
Bendu reached out with the Force, cushioning the Jedi Master after she was bucked into the air, rolling through brambles and bits of foliage.
“Ugh,” Stass Allie croaked over the comm. “I am…” The Tholothian’s voice died in her throat.
“STASS?!” Quinlan Vos’s voice came onto the channel, joining in on Stass Allie’s monologue.
Bendu frowned, considering whether or not he should jam all transmissions. At this rate, Stass Allie’s status updates to the Troopers trying to kill her merely made it harder for her to be saved from Order 66.
“Master Vos, I am alright,” Stass Allie said in a slightly slurry voice, standing back up, then ducking as another sniper shot flew in her direction. “Blast it! This is Stass Allie, CC-8826, Neyo, and CT-3423, Rift, have gone rogue. They are traitors to the Galactic Republic. I say again, CC-8826 and CT-3423 are traitors. Their access codes are to be suspended immediately. They are to be apprehended if—” the Tholothian ducked again, then remained in the dirt, cursing. “Damn it! They are to be apprehended if possible, terminated if not!”
“Stass, I don’t hear anyone on the channel,” Vos muttered in concern. “I’m returning to your position—”
“Negative!” Stass Allie yelled. “You’re needed on Kashyyyk. I can handle—BLAST THIS! NEYO IF YOU DON’T HOLD YOUR FIRE AND SURRENDER YOUR WEAPON—”
Bendu snorted in annoyance when yet another shot sailed past her. The shot only barely missed, yet he could sense absolutely no resolve from the Jedi Master to end the attack.
She was paralyzed with uncertainty, blocking shots but taking no further action. The Jedi's denial of reality was becoming more and more foolish by the second. The two Clones, whose speeder bikes were now unusable, were inching closer and closer to Stass Allie’s position on foot. It would apparently take more than two rogue Clones to convince her that the entire GAR had turned on her.
Vos’s T-6 shuttle descended, barely missing Bendu (who concealed himself in the cloud cover) as it circled around. Before the vessel had even touched the ground, the boarding ramp lowered, and Vos leapt out in front of Neyo and Rift, green blade ignited.
Each of the Clones slung their sniper rifles over their shoulder and drew holdout blasters. Dual-wielding, Neyo and Rift unleashed a torrent of fire in the Kiffar’s direction.
Vos skillfully blocked left, right, top, bottom. Seeming to lack some of Stass Allie’s compassion towards the Clones, it took the Kiffar all of only five seconds to decide to take lethal action. He ducked low, then swung his blade in an uppercut, skewering Rift first and then Neyo.
Bewildered, Stass staggered forward, slowly approaching Vos’s position. Even though she voiced no sorrow, her shock and dismay at what had happened filled the Force.
Ever the investigator, the Kiffar was stooped down. Before the Tholothian had arrived at his side, Vos was already picking up pieces of Neyo’s armor and equipment, reaching out through the Force and using his psychometry to feel exactly where each piece had been.
“Do you have any sense of what happened?” Stass finally asked.
“Only this… mechanical dullness… Even Neyo’s cold aura was simply gone ,” Vos muttered, holding up the deceased commander’s wrist-comm. “So strange. Do you know what could’ve caused them to start shooting, something you did to set them off?”
“Of course not,” Stass said, barely hiding her disapproval at the very suggestion. “Might this be related to what we both sensed?”
“The Jedi deaths,” a wave of alarm washed over Vos. “I hope not.”
A not-unexpected roar of engines grew loud enough for Bendu to hear. Knowing exactly what vectors the incoming starfighters were arriving on, he floated about fifteen meters to the left, into a denser patch of clouds. His own danger sense blared when the shriek of laser fire came.
Two V-Wings opened fire, slicing into the hull of the empty but hovering T-6 Jedi transport. Vos and Stass Allie ran as quickly as they could, ducking for cover into nearby brambles.
“This is General Stass Allie, hold your fire!”
Veering about, the starfighters came back for another pass. They fired again at the now-smoldering T-6, which exploded in mid-air.
“HOLD YOUR FIRE! WHAT IS—HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE—”
“They’re using this to lock onto our position!” Vos screamed, yanking at Stass Allie’s wrist-comm.
The V-Wings came about for a third pass, this time opening fire on the patch of brambles. Stealthily, the Jedi Masters deactivated their lightsabers and began running deeper and deeper into the underbrush for cover. Branches exploded and trees fell down all around them.
Just when the starfighters were directly under him, Bendu made his move. He extended a Force bubble directly under him, snagging the starfighters in an invisible net. At near supersonic speeds, the two vessels exploded instantly, shrapnel sliding down the height of the Force bubble all the way to the planet’s surface.
“What the—Did you do that?!”
“No, I didn't even know that was possible!”
The two Jedi emerged from the smoking brambles, getting a better look at the wreckage.
After just a second, Stass Allie suddenly looked straight up, right at Bendu. “I sense… a presence. Maybe someone.”
“What are you talking—Whoa!”
Choosing this moment to reveal himself, the massive horned entity descended from the cloud cover. He hovered over the ground, staring intently at the Jedi, both of whom now had their unignited lightsaber hilts in their hands.
“Who are you?” Stass asked.
“I don’t think he can speak,” Vos said with an odd amount of surety in his voice.
Smirking, Bendu amplified his voice with the Force. “I am Bendu.”
Now that they knew he could talk, the two Jedi looked even more alarmed.
“Don’t worry,” Bendu said, his bulk causing the very ground to shudder as he alighted on the muddy soil. “Sidious has chosen to enact his grand plan to exterminate the Jedi, using the Clones you lead. He believes your only options will be to fight and die or to run. I am here to help you find a third path.”
It took Quinlan Vos igniting his blade for Bendu to realize just how contradictory don’t worry and the Sith are now exterminating the Jedi sounded.
With a wave of his hand, Bendu deactivated the Kiffar’s blade. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already.”
“ Who are you?!” Stass asked, this time in a shriller voice.
“I already told you, I am Bendu. The Jedi embody the Ashla. The Sith embody the Bogan. I am neither. I am Bendu, the one in the middle.”
Immediately, a wave of confusion poured into the Force as the two Jedi Masters stood there, exchanging bewildered glances.
“Dispose of all of your devices which can be tracked,” Bendu ordered, gesturing to their belts and communicators with one of his giant hands. “If you are to survive this, we need to take action.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Stass protested, looking to Vos for backup. “How can the Clones possibly… Vos?!”
The Kiffar was holding one of the deceased Clones’ helmets up, listening intently on the radio chatter.
“Vos? Vos!”
A wave of fear rippled for a moment through the Kiffar, then subsided. “I think he’s right. The Clones all seem to be—”
“Hand it over,” Stass demanded, stretching out her hand and grasping the helmet the moment Vos passed it over. Her purple eyes narrowed with suspicion at first, then slowly widened in panic as the sheer extent of the GAR’s betrayal became more evident.
o.o.o.o.o
ETAIN TUR-MUKAN
Kachirho, Wawaatt Archipelago, Kashyyyk
War is insanity. Like thousands of other Jedi spread across the Galaxy, Etain Tur-Mukan now found the old Caamasi expression far more true than usual.
The young female human Jedi Knight and the commandos of Delta and Omega squads had spent the last two days helping the Wookiees slow the Separatist assault on Kachirho. In testament to their efforts, the Kachirho bridge linking several of the Wartaki Islands smoldered in the distance, making it impossible for the droid armies and their organic Trandoshan and Geonosian allies to advance on foot.
Then Master Luminara Unduli and the green-and-white armored 41st Elite Corps arrived on the beach ahead of schedule, and Etain and her commandos took the opportunity to get some R&R while others prepared the defenses for the inevitable aquatic assault. And now, for reasons Etain could not begin to fathom, from her bunk in the lower canopy of Tree Kachirho, she could see all of the Clones on the ground had turned on the lime-green Mirialan Jedi Master.
Slack jawed, Etain was frozen in shock.
“What the kriff is going on?!” Fixer yelled in outrage, standing next to her in front of the open canopy viewport.
Boss immediately jumped on the inter-squad channel cursing loudly, demanding an explanation, while Sev stepped out of his bunk and began armoring up.
Down below on the beach, the Mirialan was dodging, deflecting blaster shots, and force-leaping out of the way. Finally, she retreated out of sight into one of the ground level beach huts. The Wookiees were roaring, a few pulling blasters out of the Clones’ hands. Etain could sense their horror and incredulity as a crowd of them defensively encircled the structure Luminara had retreated to.
“I don’t give a Wookiee’s hairy backside what the shab’la Chancellor says!” Boss screamed into his helmet comm, clearly in an argument with Delta’s Clone Advisor. “No, I am not going to tell you where General Tur-Mukan is!”
The hairs on the back of Etain’s neck suddenly prickled with danger sense. Her hand stretched out, reaching with the Force to her lightsaber sitting on the bed—
It never came. Instead, she felt the most intense pain of her entire life blare from her elbow and between her breasts. From the sound, she knew she had been hit by a DC-15x, and it was no accident. Lying on the floor, smoke billowed from her chest. She looked up and saw Sev, standing over her, laying down suppressing fire through the viewport. Scorch joined him, firing off a grenade from his DC-17m's anti-armor attachment.
Enacca, their Wookiee guide from Coruscant, burst into the room roaring at the top of her lungs. “Wuahh magha-magha!” She grabbed Fixer’s blaster rifle and shoved him into the wall.
“OH SHAB! GET THIS FURBALL OFF ME!”
Boss and Scorch grabbed at Enacca’s arms, struggling to break her grip on their comrade.
Steeling herself in the Force, Etain managed to bury the pain enough to speak. “She’s asking what’s going on—Enacca, they didn’t attack me.” Her pained voice was so quiet, it was barely audible.
Enacca dropped the Clone, snarling under her breath. Next thing Etain knew, she was wrapped in the Wookiee’s arms, being carried out of the room. The Jedi Knight looked back into her quarters one last time, seeing Boss pack her lightsaber away in his ruck. Something long and thin sat on the floor, and for a wild moment, Etain thought it was a droid arm, then her eyes widened in horror as she looked at the stump where her elbow used to be. The sniper shot had cut her arm clean off before dissipating in her chest.
Looking down at her and rocking Etain like she was a scared infant, Enacca’s purrs sounded soothing. [“You are going to be okay.”]
Over her agony, Etain suddenly noticed the distant sounds of blasterfire. All around, the Force screamed with pain and death. Wookiees and Clones were dying by the dozens. When they passed over a rope bridge connecting their quarters to the canopy command center, Etain looked down expecting to see the ubiquitous sights of the Clone Wars. Droids, Trandoshans, Geonosians, Koorivars, Weequays, perhaps even Gossams, fighting against the forces of the Galactic Republic.
Instead she saw insanity. The Wookiees and Clones had abandoned the defenses on the beach they had spent so much time erecting and were blasting each other. None of it made any sense, and just when she thought things couldn't get any more upside down, an LAAT swooped by, slicing a group of six Wookiees to pieces with its composite beam lasers.
“Heads up!” Boss yelled. “They have eyes on us!”
“That’s impossible,” Fixer scoffed. “I don’t see anyone!”
Etain still didn’t understand who they were.
Had the Wookiees gone over to the Separatist side?
Was Master Unduli in on it?
“Fixer look up, you blind rat!” Scorch snarled, aiming his DC-17m skyward.
Etain’s eyes tracked the direction he was aiming, and she saw a badly damaged LAAT, trailing smoke as it hovered in place with both of its side-mounted beam turrets missing. What she noticed in the passenger compartment, however, shocked her to the core. A Clone scout sniper, wearing green and brown camouflage, was lying prone on the floor of the vessel, aiming his DC-15x right at her. Even worse, she sensed this unnerving emptiness about him, as if he was reacting like a battle droid following inputs from a control computer.
Scorch squeezed the trigger, and a grenade sailed from his launcher attachment, exploding in the LAAT’s passenger compartment. The explosion hit the Clone sniper so hard that his body bounced into the air and slammed into the gunship’s ceiling rack before falling out the side hatch.
“Kriff it!” Boss swore as several blaster bolts slammed into the bark from the direction of the beach. “Enacca, the 41st must have the whole kriffing fleet in on this too! They’re going to kill her!”
Enacca was already growling into her wrist-comm, securing transport. [“Transport is at least five minutes out. We need to hide.”]
Knowing that Boss could not speak a single word of Shyriiwook, Etain opened her mouth to translate, but found her face bouncing off the Wookiee’s chest.
Enacca’s pace had quickened to a sprint, and then a jump. She extended her claws, cradling Etain in one arm and yanking on the side of one of Tree Kachirho’s massive branch with the other. Soon, she was off the pedestrian platform, bolting through leafy twigs. If Etain had more energy, she would have screamed.
“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING?!” Boss screamed in a genuine panic.
Sev blasted his grappling hook, which clung to a spot immediately beneath Enacca’s feet. “Well, I guess we’re following her,” he grunted.
“Kriff, I hate trees,” Fixer said, firing his own hook. “At least the LAATs won’t be able to see us now.”
Seconds later, the whole squad was clinging to the tree, cutting improvised footholds which they dug their feet into for support.
At this moment, sitting in the snug grip of a Wookiee, Etain realized she was not even wearing boots. She had been sniped, barefoot, by one of the Clones.
“What the hell is happening?” Etain finally asked. She had intended to sound exasperated—even furious. Instead it came out as a pained moan. She could barely focus on what was going on around her, let alone the fact that the Clones she’d come to care for were now trying to murder her.
“The 41st got the order to execute Order 66,” Boss sighed. “The Wookiees didn’t seem to like it one bit.”
Enacca growled in agreement at that, flashing her teeth.
Etain suspected she already knew the answer, but she had to ask. “What is Order 66?”
“To put it as simply as possible? ‘Kill all Jedi’,” Scorch answered with a grunt.
“I don’t know why the rank and file are automatically following an order to murder their commanding officer who has a strong rapport with the 41st,” Fixer added, busily wiping bacta salve over Etain’s chest wound. “Something’s not right there.”
Sev’s helmet suddenly snapped to the left. “I heard Geonosian wings… We’ve got bugs in the canopy again.”
“Ignore them Oh-Seven,” Boss ordered. “We need to get General Tur-Mukan to a better place for us to perform field aid.”
“Understood Delta Lead,” Sev grumbled as they managed to clamber onto a wide branch where it met the trunk of the Wroshyr, Sev and Boss taking up sniping positions while Scorch grabbed Etain’s concussion rifle for anti-vehicle work.
Fixer began applying salve to her cauterized arm, through which the sniper shot had passed before dissipating in the Jedi’s chest. “Did you get anything unusual from any of the Regs?”
“All I felt was some… Overriding emptiness , as if it wasn’t even him… I couldn’t even sense him until I focused after seeing him,” she mumbled, wincing as Fixer injected a painkiller into her. “Why haven’t you all succumbed to the same state though? This clearly isn’t just Kaminoan conditioning at work.”
Fixer regarded her words for a few moments and glanced over at Boss. “Three-Eight, how many other troopers are in this tree?”
“A forward observer squad and some riflemen, but they were levels below us before this began. Got any ideas Fixer?”
“Yeah.” He turned to Enacca. “Get a message out to your people, capture as many Clones alive as possible.”
Enacca yowled in confusion as Etain grasped Fixer’s thought processes. “You think there’s something wrong with the troopers?”
Boss nodded in understanding, making the connection as well. “I see where he’s coming from. There’ve been rumors spreading around Arca Company since the ‘Fives Incident’ that are starting to make more sense, but we don’t have long to get to those men before—”
Everyone’s attention was suddenly drawn to an orange-red fireball blossoming from the military power generators near the refinery. The sound of the explosion itself came a moment later. Etain could barely make out tiny forms flying away to the safety of the trees as fires began to rage amongst the extant chaos.
“That was the power supply for the city’s turbolaser guns,” Scorch whispered in horror, “But how?!”
“Geonosians!” Sev snarled after looking down his DC-17m’s sniper mode scope, immediately taking a few shots at the distant insectoids, downing at least one.
Boss turned to Enacca and Etain. “They must’ve flown detpacks in after our forces turned on eachother.”
Enacca rumbled into her wrist-comm, yowling at someone on the other end for a few moments as she asked for a status update and then informed whoever was on the other end of Fixer’s suspicions. Eventually, she turned back to Etain [“I have informed General Tarrful that the Clones may have been brainwashed into betraying us. He says he already suspected as much and is having them taken into custody when he can, but his focus is on withdrawal. The King ordered a retreat from the Wartaki Islands after being informed of the Clones’ betrayal. Already, the Separatists have powered on their main generators and their warships have driven off your fleet in orbit.”]
Etain’s gut twisted as she realized what this meant overall. It may be possible for the Wookiees to maintain some resistance in the dense forests of the mainland, but with the Separatists in control of the skies, the islands and coastal areas would fall.
A few minutes later, a Wookiee Auzituck gunship lowered into view, two fluttercraft escorting it. The door opened and then the Wookiees inside roared in anger and aimed their bowcasters and long guns at Delta Squad.
[“CLONES!”]
[“HOLD, CAPTAIN!”] Enacca roared back. [“THEY HAVE NOT BEEN AFFLICTED BY THE MADNESS THAT HAS TAKEN THE REST OF THEIR KIND!”]
[“HOW CAN YOU BE CERTAIN!?”] He snarled, grasping his disruptor.
Enacca merely gestured towards a still living Etain, to whom Fixer was currently providing medical aid in the form of a bacta patch to her chest. [“BECAUSE THEY HAVE OBVIOUSLY NOT KILLED HER!”]
The Wookiee captain growled, softly enough that Etain couldn’t hear him over the drone of engines, repulsors, and fluttering ornithopter wings, but the warriors around him lowered their weapons as Enacca scooped Etain up and she and Delta clambered aboard.
When the gunship drifted away from the tree and began to power on its drives, a series of smaller explosions ripped through the air, this time from the front line defenses, now abandoned in the chaos.
“And of course someone blows up the landmines,” Scorch muttered sardonically as Enacca set Etain down on the troop bay floor, Fixer continuing to provide medical attention.
The Auzituck turned away as Etain watched HMP gunships and Vulture Droids roar into the air from the far shore. Behind them came an advancing armored formation of MTTs, Snail Tanks, AATs, with unarmoured Platoon Attack Craft, bulky Multi-Utility Transports and disc shaped H-AML anti-air tanks, following in the wake of the frontline combat vehicles as they crossed the lagoon. Homing Spider Droids emerged from the water, stepping from the depths into the shallows.
LAATs and Wookiee craft dogfighting over the city were swarmed almost immediately by the Separatist craft while the Homing Spider Droids speared more than a few with their beam cannons and sent them careening towards the ground in flames. The tanks and gunships meanwhile incessantly hammered any concentration of forces near the landing zone.
The Wookiees yowled and moaned in dismay as more Dwarf Spider Droids and Crab Droids emerged from the water and the Separatist armor floated up the shores of Kachirho. As they landed, the MTTs and some of the HMPs stopped and dropped off ranks of Battle Droids and Super Battle Droids that activated and began trudging further inland, with more droids jumping from the outriggers of Snail Tanks and the shovel-shaped lower hulls of AATs.
Etain grimaced as more Wookiee aircraft, along with several commandeered Republic gunships and shuttles, began to stream from the city. On the ground, the Clones and Wookiees stopped fighting each other, as whatever madness had overcome the Clones was not quite strong enough to cause them to prioritize Wookiees over droids. Droid tanks took oncoming fire from the Clones as they knocked the barricades aside. The gun emplacements disappeared in a series of explosions.
Their Auzituck banked to the north, passing over some of the smaller Wroshyrs that made up one of the residential districts. Civilian Wookiees were being hastily evacuated onto Wookiee transports.
Enacca’s wrist-comm chimed as they began to bank away. It was a general distress message aimed at the entire Wookiee taskforce.
[“This is Guildmaster Gumbaeki, sending a priority one distress signal. We are locked in the safe room and require immediate evac. Geonosian Warriors have taken every corridor. We also require help destroying sensitive data, as we do not have the means to destroy it without risking damage to the trees.”]
[“Pilot! Turn us around and get to Tree Vikkilynn!”] the Wookiee captain roared.
[“Yes sir,”] The pilot replied, turning the Auzituck back towards the city. Dozens of other craft had also responded to the Guildmaster’s distress call, and the skies were filled with Wookiee transports.
“What’s… What data? What guild?” Etain asked tiredly. She tried to sit up, but found she lacked the energy. Her head was swimming from the pain and painkillers alike.
[“General, Tree Vykkilynn is the headquarters of the Claatuvac Guild–”]
[“HOLD YOUR TONGUE!”] roared the Wookiee Captain.
“General, what’s happening?” Boss asked, completely out of the loop.
“I’m not sure she should be talking in her state,” Fixer said.
“It’s okay,” Etain sighed. “Some Wookiee VIPs need help destroying sensitive data and are requesting extraction.”
“Wookiees have secrets?!” Scorch asked incredulously.
Enacca roared at that, and Scorch seemed to guess at what she said, not bothering to wait for Etain to translate.
“You don’t even wear clothes!”
"Says the man who burns off his own eyebrows," Sev grumbled under his breath.
By the time their Auzituck reached the kilometer tall Tree Vikkylin, Separatist forces from the beach had reached the trunk, and were pouring in to provide aid to the Geonosians. Several prefab anti-air batteries had already been dropped down on the sand.
Intense anti-air fire poured through the Wookiee squadrons. Etain groaned in pain as the floor bucked. One of the fluttercraft to their right took a hit and burst into flames, the two Wookiees manning it letting out short-lived screams as the craft fell from the air.
Flak bursts joined the laser bolts as the HAMLs and AATs turned their attention skyward. Alarm chimes on board rang out, warning of Separatist missile locks. Milliseconds later, the Auzituck to their port side exploded.
But the Auzitucks and fluttercraft continued their approach, and more droid defenses were being set up by the second. Several J-1 Proton Cannons were unloaded from the cargo bays of the Separatist transports, rapidly assembled into batteries. The semi-autonomous guns began turning on the closest Wookiee craft in the vicinity now that most of the Republic craft had been downed.
Tensions onboard increased by the second as Tree Vykkilynn drew nearer. Before long, the adrenaline-pumped Wookiees were roaring at each other, cursing under their breaths as they were knocked from side to side. Something blurred at the edge of Etain’s vision, and one of the Wookiees nearest to the hatch suddenly fell out, screaming as he hurtled to the ground.
Where the Wookiee had stood moments before, was now a B1-A air battle droid, wings furling up as vibroblades snapped out under its wrists. Boss sprung into action, grappled with the droid, drew his holdout blaster and fired repeatedly at point-blank range. When the droid staggered back, he stabbed it in the head with his dagger.
Another B1-A zipped past the hatch, ignoring their transport and landing on the cockpit of their wingmate to starboard. The second it fired its arm blasters through the canopy, the pilot and gunner were killed instantly, and the transport pitched straight down, crashing against the beach at full speed.
[“Captain, I don’t think we are going to make it,”] Enacca yowled. [“We have to turn back.”] When the Captain ignored her, she continued protesting. [“If we’re shot down, we lose one of the Jedi. There’s no hope–”]
[“We cannot allow that data to fall into enemy hands.”]
“Then destroy it,” Etain croaked. “Fire a few proton torpedoes. We’re out of options.”
[“And sacrifice the Guildmaster? Damage the trees?”]
“If the data is as–”
[“HOLD ON!”] the pilot howled, before banking hard to port, dodging a barrage of anti-air fire from crab droids standing on the landing platform.
[“Where are you going?!”] snarled the Captain, staggering as he gripped a handhold.
[“It’s too hot!”]
Their last wingmate attempted to land on the platform, but was blasted out of the sky by a proton shell. One Wookiee on board managed to jump through the hatch, but was quickly gunned down after he was knocked prone by the exploding gunship, outnumbered fifty to one by droids.
[“Kriff it!”] the Captain snapped, then began growling into his wrist-comm as their Auzituck banked further and further away. [“Guildmaster, forgive us! The enemy presence is overwhelming. We’re the last transport left, and we don’t have the capacity to evacuate you all even if we could land. There are too many droids.”]
“Destroy it,” Etain said as forcefully as she could, pouring her will into the Force. But the exertion was too much, and she began coughing.
[“General, I don’t understand,”] growled the Captain, stooping low to look Etain directly in the eye.
“Destroy the data! We have to make another pass… Fire everything we have.”
[“And damage the trees?!”]
“If the data is as important as you say,” Etain started, then broke down into a coughing fit. It felt like her lungs were on fire. Down below, droids were now pouring into the residential districts, capturing Wookiee civilians who had been left behind. “You have to destroy it.”
Etain could sense the Wookiee’s collective shock and outrage at her suggestion. A few of them began vocally protesting.
[“Apologies,”] Enacca said, standing between Etain and the Wookiees. [“The General does not understand our ways. They can’t destroy Tree Vikkylynn. Damaging a healthy tree is against our highest laws. Wroshyr are sacred to us, not unlike how Beskar is to Mandalorians or Kyber to Jedi.”]
“What’s going on?” Boss demanded.
Etain was torn between incredulity at their refusal to target the tree and understanding, between her duty as a soldier and as a person. She amplified her voice with the Force. “The Wookiees are going to allow their sensitive data to fall into enemy hands. They don’t want to damage the trees!”
Sev stepped toward the cockpit, determination rolling off him. “Then let us destroy it.”
Enacca roared angrily at that, and two Wookiees stepped into Sev’s way, forcefully pushing him back. The Clones drew their blasters, and Etain’s danger sense once again sent shivers down her spine.
“No,” she croaked warily. “We wouldn’t let them destroy… If the Wookiees… Don’t fight. Just… Don’t fight anymore.” Her peripheral vision began to grow darker, and she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness.
[“General? General, stay with us!”] Enacca yowled.
“It’ll be fine,” Etain whispered. “Need to… Healing trance.”
Another explosion went off from somewhere to their rear. The last thing Etain saw before she blacked out was the Kachirho shield shimmering, then melting to the ground in every direction as it shut down. Ominous shapes she could no longer make out loomed in the sky.
As she faded, her last thoughts weren’t on the nearly four thousand Clones and probably thousands of Wookiees left behind to whatever fate the Separatists had in store. Nor on the fate of Luminara or any of the other Jedi caught in this new turn of events. Nor on the fact the Wookiees had allowed their deepest secrets to fall into enemy hands; All because the Wookiees did not want to damage part of a kilometer-tall tree. Etain could feel these secrets were important enough to potentially change the outcome of the war.
No, all she could think about was whether Darman and Kad were safe, and then everything went dark.
o.o.o.o.o
GALEN ERSO
Fucallpa City, Lokori
Alarm klaxons blared as a mixed-species crowd of scientists in white lab coats and insectoid Lokori workers spilled through the perimeter fence. In the distance, the headquarters of Helical Hypercom, a corporation which had employed Galen Erso as a quality assurance specialist, burned red hot.
For reasons Galen could not understand, the Republic defense of Lokori had collapsed completely. After the shield went down, squadrons of droid suicide bombers had soared down at supersonic speeds, slamming into buildings in the compound. Galen Erso did not even have time to power down his workstation before the first ship had hit.
All he knew was that the Republic picket line had collapsed, Separatists were inbound, and he had to find Jyn and Lyra.
“LYRA!” Galen screamed, jostled about by panicking beings running all around him.
“GALEN!” shouted a familiar voice in the distance.
Galen turned to his left and sighted his wife, who was wearing dark brown robes and hauling baby Jyn in a backpack carrier. He started moving in her direction, but knocked back by the crowds, he decided to brace himself against the fence and wait for Lyra to reach him.
“The battle droids are coming from the east and north of the city center,” his wife said the moment she arrived at his side. She handed over one of the rucksacks she was carrying, which Galen took in his hands. “Our best option is to make for the foothills to the south. I’ve carried Jyn along most of the trails down there, and they are easily walkable. I packed enough food for two standard weeks, hopefully the Republic will retake the planet by then.”
Galen looked into her eyes, not even surprised anymore at how calm and methodical she was in times of crisis ever since their experience as Separatist POWs on Vallt. “Well, it sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”
From there, they retreated past the colorful Lokori structures into the labyrinth of maglev tunnels that made up Fucallpa’s now unusable public transit system. Insectoid Lokori, with their emotive eyes and graceful vestigial wings, crowded every square meter of the tunnel. Like the Ersos, most were carrying packs filled with belongings.
Galen seemed to be the only one in work clothes, as Lokori scurried by wearing casual garments. During the months of bombardment, the Lokori economy had ground to standstill, and most of the planet’s inhabitants had taken to sheltering in place.
An explosion from overhead shook the tunnels, shaking dust down into the crowds. The fixed ceiling glowrods winked out once, then went out forever.
For a brief moment, Galen thought he might scream, but Lyra and a few of the Lokori refugees turned on their own glowrods, illuminating the tunnel. Jyn began to cry, but then laughed with glee when Lyra passed her a glowrod to play with.
Ten minutes went by, and the Ersos found themselves at the back of a crowd which was no longer moving forward through the tunnel. They had reached the next maglev station, and followed the crowd up a stairwell leading back to the surface, still a few blocks from the edge of the city.
“It’s okay. We’ll make the last few blocks on foot,” Galen said, more to reassure himself than because he felt it. “The way in the tunnel must have been blocked.”
The air raid sirens grew louder again as they climbed the stairs, nearing the surface. When they finally emerged, the evening sky was lit by tracer rounds, flak explosions, and bright beams of energy.
An LAAT swooped twenty or thirty meters overhead, ablaze. It collided with a flower-shaped Lokori building, drawing panicked chitters and insectoid clicks from every direction.
Galen and Lyra began to sprint, keeping up with the quickening flow of the river of sentient beings fleeing for their lives. As the smoke grew denser, Galen wrapped a handkerchief around Jyn’s face.
Through the thick smoke, the city wall finally drew into view, but the crowd began once again shifting directions. The sounds of blasterfire could be heard before the droids could be seen.
Crying out, Galen collided with a Lokori and fell down hard onto a pile of rubble. A piece of glass sliced into his palm as he caught himself.
Lyra stooped down to help him, and at that moment a wave of blasterfire shot overhead, narrowly missing Jyn who was still on her back.
“Leave me!” Galen pleaded, to which Lyra shook her head, crouching down beside him. It was just as well.
Dozens of battle droids stepped through a gap in the city wall, firing indiscriminately at the unarmed tide of refugees. Lokori dropped dead by the hundreds, spattering the ground with green blood, their death cries more high-pitched than that of dying Durnis.
The Clones, the Jedi, the fleet, all of the forces who were supposed to protect them had completely failed. More than anything, Galen regretted taking this dead end job and bringing his family out to the Rim. If he had known about Order 66 and the insanity that had overcome the Clones and caused all of this, he would have been angry at them. Angry at Palpatine. Angry at the Jedi for not seeing it. But in his present state, he felt hopeless and angry solely at the droids and himself.
“Is there no escape from this madness?” he finally managed as a trio of battle droids stepped to point blank range.
“Silence!” yelled the nearest droid. With his cold metal claws, he grabbed Galen roughly around the elbow and forced him to his feet. “This is a scientist.”
“Roger roger,” the droid’s companion agreed in a monotone. “His facial profile has a ninety-nine percent match to doctor Galen Erso.” He pulled out a thumbprint reader while the squads of droids began filing to the left and right, walking around them.
Galen sighed, allowing his thumb to be pressed into the reader. Lyra did the same exchanging a fearful look with him.
At least they hadn’t been shot yet.
Chapter 5: HUNTER
Notes:
Warnings: major character death
Chapter Text
Aboard the R/ACC Judicator , Kaller System
The familiar shudder of a successful exit from hyperspace creaked through the hull. Through the viewport of Clone Force 99’s quarters, the swirls of hyperspace rapidly gave way to the starry black canvas of space, only obscured by the hulking Venator off their port.
“Where is it?” Wrecker asked, pressing his face against the window.
“We won’t be able to see it for another ten minutes at least,” Tech said matter-of-factly, not even bothering to look up from his datapad.
It of course referred to Kaller. An Outer Rim world inhabited by a green amphibian species called the Kallerans whose geometric heads, incidentally, were shaped like the outline of the Cyborg General Grievous’s mask.
Coincidence was the word Tech used, Hunter thought, given Grievous is believed to be a Kaleesh. Though, secretly he had some suspicions that there was a link.
The Separatists had invaded the planet for the second time this month, and Jedi General Depa Billaba and battalions of Regs had been deployed to reinforce the planet. Now, for reasons Hunter did not understand, Clone Force 99 was in the process of being deployed to Kaller to provide assistance. But it wasn’t his place to question orders.
“All stations, prepare for a hot approach,” Commodore Ozzel’s crisp voice came through the intercom. “A Separatist fleet has been detected at the edge of the system.”
“Alright,” Hunter said, standing up from his cot and grabbing his helmet, “Looks like we’ll be deploying sooner than expected—”
“Finally some good news!” Wrecker interrupted.
Echo gave Wrecker an exasperated look and then shook his head.
“Gear up,” Hunter continued, “Prep the Marauder .”
Tech opened his mouth to say something, but paused when something in the viewports caught his eyes. Flashes of laserfire flickered in the distance.
“Seppies?” Hunter asked, stepping up to the viewport.
Already wearing his helmet, Crosshair pressed a button on his visor, zooming in. “No, I see an Eta -class Shuttle… Taking fire from ARC-170s and Z-95s.”
o.o.o.o.o
KENDAL OZZEL
Like many middle-aged human officers serving in the Republic Navy, Commodore Kendal Ozzel now faced an alarming situation. A Jedi transport was approaching rapidly, being pursued by what appeared to be Republic starfighters.
“I say again, this is General Depa Billaba, clearance code five-two-seven lekku. I am requesting permission to dock and assistance against—STANG!” The Jedi’s voice was obscured by static.
“Kalesta, we must tell those pilots to hold their fire at once!” Ozzel barked to his third shift communication’s officer, a young Chagrian female Lieutenant.
“Yes, sir,” Kalesta said, Lethorns quivering. She angled her fingers awkwardly as she typed in the comm code for the Clone fighter squadron. Due to her long fingernails, so eccentric that they sat at the very edge of what was in-regulations for Republic Naval grooming standards, the Chagrian had to type everything with the palmar side of her fingers to avoid breaking them. “The channel is open, Commodore. Do you want me to tell the Clones to hold their fire, or do you want to tell them yourself?”
Ozzel opened his mouth angrily but bit back his reprimand, realizing how ambiguous his order actually had been.
His second-in-command, Clone Captain Mark, stepped up to the Commodore’s side and spoke into the channel. “Cease fire immediately!”
The voice from one of the starfighters responded in an extremely firm tone. “There are two Jedi on that ship. Anyone who interferes with Order 66 will be terminated.”
“Order 66?” Mark asked, looking to Ozzel with raised eyebrows.
Ozzel frowned. He hadn’t memorized all of the contingency orders, and to his knowledge, there was no possible way something called ‘Order 66’ explained firing on a Jedi General. “If you do not cease fire at once, you will be fired upon.”
Five seconds went by, and space was still being lit up with laserfire. The Jedi transport continued its evasive maneuvers, with a Z-95 hot on its tail.
“Sir, those fighters are bunched up pretty tightly,” Mark warned. “We might hit General Billaba.”
Ozzel pondered this for two seconds, then said flatly, “She’s a Jedi. She’ll anticipate our move, probably before we open fire.”
“We could also give her a warning, sir,” Kalesta said, turning in her chair to face Ozzel.
“I was just about to,” Ozzel grunted, leaning into the comm and switching back to the ship to ship channel. “General Billaba, be advised. We are going to open fire on your attackers. Once you are clear of them, make for hangar six.”
“Thank you, Commodore. Pitching hard to port in five, four—”
“Forward batteries, open fire on the pursuing starfighters on my command,” Ozzel interrupted. He waited a moment, then the Eta -class shuttle pitched hard to port, increasing the distance between it and the starfighters. Simultaneously when Billaba said one , he yelled, “Fire!”
Laser cannon fire erupted from the bow of the Acclamator from several batteries. The Z-95 at the front of the group exploded in a brilliant flash, causing a ripple of dismay to tingle in Ozzel’s spine.
He had given the pilots multiple warnings to cease their attack, and their attack on the Jedi amounted to treason. But still, friendly-fire was never so friendly.
Billaba’s shuttle successfully broke away from its pursuers, decreasing its elevation relative to the Acclamator’s bridge as it made for the hangar deck. For a moment, the remaining Clone starfighters seemed to give up on their pursuit.
“Cease fire,” Ozzel ordered, scrutinizing the situation with his own eyes. By now, the Jedi shuttle had descended completely out of view, and the only remaining participants of the battle were the Clone starfighters. “Hail them and order them to surrender,” the Commodore finally decided. “Tell them they are to land in hangar—what the blazes?!”
All of the remaining starfighters had ignited their booster engines and were flying directly at the Judicator’s bridge.
“Collision course!” barked one of the Clone navigators stationed in the data pits. “Impact imminent!”
“All batteries, open fire!” Mark cried out, gesturing dramatically to the bridge viewports.
This time, less accurate turbolaser fire joined the barrage of laser fire off the bow. Space was blindingly illuminated by barrage after barrage of concentrated fire. One shot struck one the ventral side of one of the ARC-170s wings, sending it into a death spiral. The last Z-95 erupted in flames, then exploded, struck first by a laser cannon shot and then a turbolaser shot.
But two of the ARC-170s remained and they were getting closer and closer.
The color left Ozzel’s face and he ducked reflexively, covering his head with both arms. Sure that death was upon him, he shuddered as the bridge shook violently, then gasped in shock at a loud metallic thud that impacted the viewport.
“DAMAGE REPORT!” yelled the Captain, and six or seven voices began speaking in succession, reporting impacts across the bridge tower. Long range sensors were down.
Ozzel took a deep breath and looked up in amazement. Somehow they had survived. The only sign of anything being amiss was the wing of an ARC-170 repeatedly bouncing off the scratched transparisteel.
The Chagrian seemed to perceive Ozzel’s astonishment, and said, in a low whisper, “Sir, the laser cannons managed to destroy the frontmost fighter. Wreckage from that fighter hit the others, as they were in a tight—”
“I SAW WHAT HAPPENED, LIEUTENANT!” Ozzel barked, face reddened in shame and anger. It was a lie of course, but he hardly wanted to acknowledge that he had allowed fear to overcome him.
“Sorry sir,” Kalesta said briskly.
Ten seconds went by, and Ozzel let out a reluctant sigh. “No, I am sorry, Kalesta. It was… I shouldn’t let my temper get the best of me.”
The Chagrian seemed unsure as to how to respond and sat there, staring up expectantly at Ozzel.
“Jedi General Billaba has disembarked and is on her way up,” Mark said, standing behind Ozzel.
Ozzel turned around. “Thank you, Captain.” He sighed wearily, took off his gray-green hat, and twisted it thoughtfully in his hands. As the shock of the events wore off, other concerns began to creep up in the recesses of his mind.
The Clone pilots out there had not only attempted fratricide against a Jedi General. They had attempted to sacrifice their own lives in a suicide rush against a Republic capital ship. What could possibly have driven those pilots into such desperation? Were more Clones in on this? Was there an entire Clone uprising now in the works? How had General Billaba lost control like this?
Oh, Ozzel now wanted to give Billaba a piece of his mind. Mood changing completely, he was going to demand to know what in the hell was going on out there. He slowly walked across the bridge, positioning himself immediately outside the turbolift doors to greet the Jedi.
“General Billaba,” he began in a terse tone the lift doors opened, “I want to know—”
“I’ll explain later,” Billaba interrupted, brushing past him with her Padawan following in tow. “Jam all transmissions. Get this ship into hyperspace immediately. We have to jump now.”
Acclamators were the fastest ships of their size in the Galaxy. At hyperspace, they were almost four times as fast as the Venator. Ozzel knew why Billaba wanted to jump in this ship. He knew why she had chosen to disembark on the Judicator, as opposed to one of the two Venators which had accompanied it.
But he was still completely flummoxed as to her reasoning. “Sir, you want to leave Kaller?”
“We have to leave Kaller.” Billaba twirled in place, looking for the navigation station. “A massive conspiracy has unfolded, targeting Jedi everywhere. The madness seems to originate from a hypercomm transmission, which instructs Clones to execute something called ‘Order 66.’ My Padawan and I barely escaped. The moment Clones hear this transmission, they will turn on us.”
Mark scratched his head. “General, I heard you say it. Why haven’t I gone mad then?”
Ozzel ignored the question, turning to face Kalesta. “Comm the Archer and the—”
“NO!” Billaba yelled. “We can’t inform anyone else of our departure or our destination. The moment the crews receive the transmission, they will go mad. If they know how to follow us…”
“General, with all due respect, this sounds rather insane if you ask me,” Ozzel grunted. “But if it turns out to be hogwash, it will be your career on the line, not mine. All stations, prepare to jump to hyperspace.”
“Where are we jumping to?” asked Drive, the Clone operating the helm this shift.
“Agamar,” Billaba said without hesitation.
“Set course for Agamar,” Ozzel sighed, “And cut off all incoming transmissions for now.”
A warning chime sounded through the ship, alerting everyone that they were about to jump to hyperspace. The next moment, two things unfolded almost simultaneously. The holopresence of a cloaked figure appeared on the projector in the middle of the bridge, saying “Execute Order 66.” And then the ship jumped, stars stretching for a brief moment before being replaced by the swirls of hyperspace.
General Billaba swung her lightsaber at the holoprojector, destroying it. Her Padawan Caleb Dume ignited his own lightsaber, standing beside Billaba back-to-back.
The damage, it seemed, was already done.
o.o.o.o.o
HUNTER
A faint noise came, all at once, through all of their helmet comms. Clearly, someone was giving them an order and not using the usual channels aboard a starship. Collectively, the Bad Batch donned their helmets as quickly as they could. The moment Hunter’s was on, he heard a repeating message.
“Execute Order 66. Execute Order 66. Execute Order 66…”
“What does that mean?!” Wrecker asked in a surprised voice.
Tech held up his datapad. “General Contingency Order 66: In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander—HEY!”
Without a word and still wearing his helmet, Crosshair rammed his shoulder into Tech’s, bustling past. Before Hunter could stop him, he was already through the doors which had hissed shut.
Echo glanced at the door, then back at everyone else. “That’s odd… Crosshair is usually the last man I’d expect to follow a contingency order.”
“What is Order 66?” Hunter asked. Something about the title of that order just sounded ominous.
“In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic,” Tech said again, “And after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander, GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force, and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Commander, currently the Supreme Chancellor, until a new command structure is established.”
It took five seconds for the implication of those orders to sink in. When that happened, both Hunter and Echo cried out at the same time. “General Billaba!”
Alarm klaxons blared.
“Wait! Where are you going?” Wrecker asked as Hunter and Echo both began armoring up.
“To save the General,” Hunter said, sliding his gauntlet on.
It took less than thirty seconds for the rest of Clone Force 99 to gear up. When they left their quarters, intending to catch Crosshair before he reached the bridge, they found the halls bustling with far more than usual activity. Squads of heavily armed Clones were running around, mostly in the direction of the Acclamator’s command tower.
When they arrived on the turbolift, they could hear the unmistakable sounds of blasterfire and lightsaber strikes muffled through the bulkheads and deck plating. Clone Force 99 shoved all of the regs off the turbolift, and Tech punched the button for the bridge level.
The first thing Hunter’s eyes flicked to when the turbolift doors opened was the “1” painted onto the opposite wall, signifying the deck level. The sounds of blasterfire had ended. They ran as quickly as they could, blasters set to stun and held at the ready as the doors slid open to reveal the entire bridge access area was carbon-scarred by blasterfire.
On the bridge itself, acrid smoke filled the air, and there were bodies. At least a dozen Clone navigators and troopers were sprawled out on the main deck and the catwalks above, many with blaster burns, some with lightsaber wounds. A few still squirmed. In the middle of it all, Crosshair stood alone on the bridge over two bodies. They were Depa Billaba and her Padawan, Commander Caleb Dume.
“Crosshair, what did you do?!” Hunter demanded, raising his voice as he stormed over to Crosshair’s position.
Wrecker stood silent, completely dumbfounded. Echo took off his helmet and surveyed the scene with his own eyes.
“Good soldiers follow orders,” Crosshair replied in an ominous tone Hunter had never heard from him before.
Tech pulled out his medical scanner, doing a quick sweep of the Jedis' bodies. He shook his head in dismay.
“I don’t–DON’T SHOOT!” cried out a voice in a posh Coruscanti accent.
A plump middle-aged human emerged from behind the communication’s station, hands raised. He wore a Navy uniform with the rank of Commodore. Behind him, a female Chagrian Lieutenant slowly stood, her hands raised.
“I wasn’t going to shoot you,” Crosshair said dryly.
“Sir, are you alright? Commodore…?”
“Ozzel,” the non-Clone replied. “What in the blazes do you–THIS WAS FRIENDLY FIRE!”
“It wasn’t me, sir,” Hunter grunted, glaring at Crosshair in utter disbelief. The fact he had killed not only a Jedi General, but also a child… Then there were the dead and injured Regs sprawled out all over the floor. Such senseless violence. Hunter wasn’t sure he could even share the same room with Crosshair anymore.
“I was just following Orders,” Crosshair hissed.
“What orders!?” Ozzel shouted.
“Order 66. Any and all Jedi leadership are to be executed for treason against the Republic. All Republic personnel are obliged to aid in their elimination,” Crosshair insisted. “ Any personnel who refuse to comply are traitors.”
“It’s like the General said,” whispered the Chagrian.
“What did she say?!” Hunter asked in a raised voice, wanting to hear more. “Sir, if there’s anything you can tell me…” He paused as the noise level in the room elevated.
In the background, Clone regulars filed onto the bridge in combat formation, cautiously aiming their blasters at the fallen Jedi bodies as the Sergeant activated his helmet comms to report on the kills. “Captain, both Jedi have been terminated.”
Hunter watched him nod in acknowledgement of whatever the Reg Captain said as he glanced back at Ozzel, who just now seemed to grasp the threat against those who refused to cooperate. “I–I never interfered! I just–I saw no evidence that Depa Billaba had personally committed treason, let alone her Padawan.”
“The Chancellor declared it, so she must be a traitor. In any case, are you alright, sirs?” asked the Clone squad leader as he looked in their direction.
The Commodore let off a sigh of relief. “Yes, I am just a bit shaken. Thank you Sergeant.”
“Understandable,” the Sergeant replied. “These are troubling times.”
Well, that’s an understatement, Hunter thought bitterly, still staring at Caleb Dume’s body.
“I am alright too,” said the female Chagrian. “But I would like to be excused to get cleaned up.”
“Very well, Kalesta, you’re dismissed. Keep your comm line open,” Ozzel said, his voice lowered in a slightly conspiratorial tone.
Hunter glanced from the Commodore to Tech, who was staring curiously at the pair. If he wanted to find out more about what was going on, he suspected they’d have to start eavesdropping.
Chapter 6: SHEEV PALPATINE
Chapter Text
Coruscant, Republic Center for Military Operations
Sidious stepped into the Republic Fleet Command wearing a dry black cowl. Thanks to the blaze and subsequent rain of fire extinguishing foam in his incantation room, the Sith Lord needed to change clothes.
Two Clone troopers carrying a body on a stretcher stopped, allowing Sidious to inspect it. Suppressing a smirk, Sidious unzipped the body bag and sighted the face and torso of a deceased Devaronian Jedi male.
“Chancellor on deck!” shouted a Pantoran Ensign, finally noticing the peculiar sight of Sheev Palpatine staring at a dead body.
All discussion ceased. The room became completely silent, save the staticky voices of personnel reporting via hyperwave comms and subspace radio.
“As you were,” Sidious sighed, putting on a well-practiced visage of sorrow. He could sense the outright hostility pouring from many of the non-Clone officers, including Admiral Dodd Rancit, whom he had previously considered an ally.
That particular Admiral made it immediately clear why he disapproved. “Excellency, the Separatists are advancing on almost every front,” he grunted, pointing up at the map of the Galaxy which was illuminating the dim ceiling overhead.
A broad crimson ribbon crossed the Galaxy, representing the advance of Separatist forces over the last few hours. In the chaos that followed the deaths of hundreds of Jedi Generals, Separatist Armadas were now advancing down the Tingel Arm, up the South Arm from the Western Reaches, and out of the Tion Cluster all the way into the Slice—as far Coreward as Kashyyyk.
“Kashyyyk has fallen then?” Sidious asked, frowning in pretend concern. The fall of Kashyyyk was not particularly alarming to him and, in fact, was potentially of benefit. If the Claatuvac Guild’s secret hyperspace routes fell into Separatist hands, they would eventually find their way into his hands.
Director Armand Isard of the Senate Bureau of Intelligence cleared his throat. “We can’t be certain of that, but the last transmission we received from the planet was from the Wookiees. It included footage of Clones abandoning their posts, attempting to assassinate General Unduli. In what followed, a massive invasion force of droids stormed the beaches—”
“ Execute ,” Sidious corrected.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Clones were executing General Unduli for treason,” Sidious explained. “Mere hours ago the Jedi assaulted a squad of Coruscant Guardsmen who had been sent to extract Count Dooku from the Jedi Temple. The Jedi then made an attempt on my life, giving me no choice but to activate Order 66. The Clone behavior is not a mystery—this is not friendly fire. All Jedi who do not cooperate shall be terminated.”
A hushed discussion broke out amongst the Generals, Admirals, and Directors. This time, it was General Locus Geen’s turn to speak up.
“Excellency, with all due respect, have you really exhausted every other option?”
“The Jedi have forced my hand,” Sidious said, a note of regret in his voice. “Once Clone Forces have taken the Temple, I will attempt to convince the remaining Jedi to surrender—”
“We are going to lose the war,” General Locus Geen interrupted, stepping forward from the crowd to the left of Isard. “There is no dancing around it. You have been acting completely incompetent ever since the invasion of Coruscant. I vote to immediately activate Order 65, declaring the Supreme Chancellor unfit for duty.”
“Are you mad?” asked Admiral Wilhuff Tarkin, Sidious’s strongest supporter in the entire Republic military. “The Supreme Chancellor has laid out a perfectly legitimate and legal chain of reasoning for activating Order 66. They have been impossible to control for years—a completely rogue element, and now they have gone too far. They must be brought in line or crushed! As for your alarmist statements, the entire Separatist military leadership is on the verge of decapitation. Dooku will be back in our custody soon, and it’s only a matter of time before Grievous is killed or captured. For all we know, the Jedi may have mind-tricked you into believing the Chancellor incompetent.”
“I would not be doing this were it not a matter of preserving the Galactic Republic,” Sidious insisted, adding to Tarkin’s arguments. “Might I remind you, it was the Jedi who struck first. I barely escaped a Jedi onslaught… Were it not for the sacrifice of many of my brave guards, I would not be standing here right now.”
It was a blatant lie, but without proof to the contrary it would likely suffice until a real Jedi attack unfolded, giving him a real (or at least better) reason to launch Order 66.
The holopresence of Admiral Yularen shirked, stepping backwards and shaking his head. Sidious could sense the words “I am absolutely disgusted. You killed the Jedi I have worked with for three years. I don’t believe it for one moment,” on the tip of the Admiral’s tongue, but he kept the comment to himself.
“With all due respect, excellency,” said Dodd Rancit, “I will require more than your word that the Jedi attacked you. Activating Order 66 is a serious matter, and I suspect the Senate failed to foresee that the Chancellor would have the unilateral ability to initiate it without the consent of the Security Council.”
Sidious took a deep breath. A wave of sinking dread filled his stomach. Order 66 was supposed to happen so swiftly that the Jedi would mostly be annihilated before the military had any time to question the order. Thanks to the Jedi forcing Sidious’s hand prematurely, and thanks to the lack of a real Jedi attack on his government, the Temple remained. Everyone had time to think about and debate Order 66.
“Still, I believe activating two contingency orders in the same day will wreak even more havoc than we can possibly imagine,” Rancit continued. “I vote that we give the Chancellor twenty-four hours to resolve this issue.”
“I second,” Isard said. “Does anyone besides General Geen support activating Order 65?”
All of the remaining officers remained silent. Tarkin locked his jaw, looking like he now thought Geen was a traitor.
“Good, in the meantime, all fleets should be withdrawn to defensive positions. Excellency, you have twenty-four hours to fix this mess. Make your demands to the Jedi Order. Get them back under control. If you fail to do so, I expect we will recommend for the next Chancellor to rescind Order 66.”
“Twenty-four hours?” Geen scoffed.
Sidious’s hand inched towards the pocket carrying his lightsaber. With just one flick of the hand, he could end Geen instantly. It was so tempting, but the Sith Lord contained his bloodlust, instead narrowing his eyes as he regarded the General. But then he turned to Admiral Rancit.
“That sounds reasonable. I will endeavor to find a diplomatic solution.”
Rancit nodded, relaying the order to a group of Clone navigation officers manning several communication stations.
Sidious lingered in the room, reaching out with the Force to all of the officers present, either in the flesh or via the HoloNet. He wanted desperately to leave the room—to take command of the army of Clones that was now surrounding the Jedi Temple, or at least to try and contact Anakin. But with the Separatist advance coming on all fronts, he had another fire he had to extinguish.
“Governor Tarkin?” he asked, using the Admiral’s preferred title.
“Yes, your Excellency?”
“Let’s take a walk,” Sidious muttered, leading the way out of the exit. On his way out, he used the Force to listen into the hushed whispers between Dodd Rancit and Locus Geen, deep in discussion. They were wondering where Padmé Amidala and Bail Organa were, and whether they should raise the specter of Order 65 to the opposition.
Tarkin followed Sidious down the gray dimly lit hall, clasping his hands behind his back. “Geen is right about one thing,” he muttered, “We could lose the war because of this.”
“That is what we need to discuss,” Sidious said softly. “Do you recall activating the Separatist PAL nearly two years ago?” he asked, referring to a Permissive Action Link—a device tied into the droid command codes, which provided authentication for a total shutdown.
Nine months into the Clone Wars, Tarkin had led the 12th Army (in an operation which had included now-Ensign Lir Sey’les) to the Corporate Alliance capital of Murkhana in the Tion Cluster. His target was the Separatist Shadowfeeds—a facility exploiting backdoor access to the Republic HoloNet. From this facility, the Separatists used the Shadowfeeds to sway the opinions of Republic citizens to peace. During the battle, Tarkin had activated the PAL, shut down the droid fleet in orbit, raided the Corporate Alliance headquarters, tortured the scientists, journalists, and technicians operating the Shadowfeeds, and put thousands of civilians to death. The political fallout was so great, that the Jedi had then assigned Even Piell to watch Tarkin’s every move for the remainder of the war—or at least the remainder of Even Piell’s life.
What Tarkin didn’t know, of course, was that Palpatine was a dark lord of the Sith, and that the Separatist PAL had been obtained because Palpatine was also secretly in charge of the Separatists. The Sith Lord had the ability to shut down their droids at any time… in theory. Doing so without first winning a decisive battle, however, would raise serious questions. With the shut-down originating on Coruscant, anyone operating a comm station could figure out that the Republic shut the droids down. Anyone with even marginal experience with droid interfaces or communications networks would quickly figure out the Galactic Republic could have shut down the droids at any time, a line of thought which would inevitably lead to the conclusion that the entire Clone Wars were staged. A battle, or at least a Murkhana-style massacre on a Separatist stronghold was absolutely necessary to maintain the fiction of the Clone Wars’ legitimacy and reality.
“Of course Excellency,” Tarkin said, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Do you fear another communications breach?”
“No, this is about ending the war,” Sidious said, ducking into a side corridor leading to the speeder pads. “New intelligence sources have uncovered a Trade Federation-owned droid uplink station on a remote world in the Western Reaches.”
“And you have another Separatist Permissive Action Link device?”
“Indeed,” Sidious said, a wry smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. He brandished the device, no bigger than a hairbrush, from one of his robe pockets. “The terminal is in the Klegger Corp Mining Facility… On Mustafar.”
“A droid uplink station…” Tarkin muttered to himself, realization dawning. “Tied to all of the droids in the Western Reaches then? We can shut down an entire front? An excellent plan!”
The Sith Lord passed the PAL into Tarkin’s hands. “It’s even better than you realize. This terminal is in the secret backup headquarters of the Separatist War Council. It is capable of transmitting to all droid armies in the entire Galaxy.”
“We can end the war,” Tarkin said breathlessly, his eyes wide in shock. “How have I not heard of this? Does Isard—”
“No, no,” Sidious interrupted. “This, my friend, comes from my own personal intelligence network.”
Tarkin gulped, anticipation pouring from him. “How reliable is the information?”
“Completely reliable,” Sidious said reassuringly. “Your orders are to assemble a taskforce and head to Mustafar immediately, capture the facility intact by any means necessary, and shut down the droids. Permanently.”
“And if we should find the Separatist Council there at the time of our assault?” Tarkin inquired, clasping his hands at the small of his back.
Sidious smiled chillingly. He planned on ordering the Separatist High Council to relocate there, perfectly in position to be eliminated. Coming from a non-Force-sensitive like Tarkin, the question was uncannily prescient. “Their crimes are such that any court in the Galaxy would give them the death sentence… Exterminate them all and the Separatist ‘Senate’ will have no choice but to sue for peace. We would…” He paused, hearing the metallic clank of droid footsteps.
“My apologies for disturbing you, Excellency,” said a silver-colored protocol droid, “But your senior aide Sly Moore wishes to speak with you. She says it is urgent.”
Sidious briefly turned back to Tarkin. “Inform me when you are ready to launch.”
Tarkin nodded. “Yes, Excellency.”
The Sith Lord followed the droid down the corridor to the landing pad. Standing in the doorway, he found his Force-sensitive Umbaran aide and assassin, Sly Moore.
“We have a problem,” she said in a hushed whisper, walking back toward the speeder.
“We have a lot more than one problem,” Sidious said in a tired voice. “I assume you are referring to the unfortunate lack of Jedi action thus far.” As he neared the speeder, he saw 11-4D seated in the back seat, with the orange Coruscant sunset gleaming off his metal frame.
“No, my Lord,” the Umbaran said quickly, waiting for Sidious to take a seat. When he did, she added, “That is a problem, but we have lost control of the media.”
Sidious rubbed his eyes. “We never had control of the media.”
“Well, that’s true,” Sly sighed, seating herself immediately behind the driver, directly across from Sidious in the passenger compartment. She nodded to the driver, who set off, flying towards the Republic Executive Building. “The media has turned on us though.”
Without saying a word, 11-4D activated a holoprojector from above his right eye, projecting a live news feed into the center of the passenger compartment. The holopresence was of a dark-skinned woman with frizzy hair, whom Sidious instantly recognized the face of either Clahra Fair or her twin sister, Anora Fair—both were some of the most popular journalists employed by CoreNews.
“We have not received any transmissions from within for more than twenty minutes. Well, I’ll say it then. The Jedi Temple is under siege,” she reported . “This, just hours after the Jedi Order rescued the Chancellor…” she seemed to lose her train of thought in a rare moment of unprofessionalism. Red anger flushed her face. “When will this insanity end? Why is the GAR following such an insane order? Where are the opposition leaders? Where is Bail Organa?!”
The view on the vidscreen was bisected by a dark line, and then a twin image of the reporter now occupied the right half of the broadcast, seated behind a desk in a brightly-lit studio. Now both of the Fair sisters were labeled, with the frizzy-haired one labeled Anora Fair and the sister with longer still curly hair labeled Clahra. Beneath both reporters, the words TEMPLE UNDER SIEGE appeared in solid yellow letters. Ticking across the bottom of the screen were other increasingly concerning headlines.
CSF COMMAND TO HOLD PRESS CONFERENCE ON CORUSCANT GUARD USE OF FORCE.
ANONYMOUS NAVY SOURCE SUGGESTS REVERSAL IN THE WAR EFFORT.
RIOT AT SOB ARCA BARRACKS; CLONE AGAINST CLONE?
“Those are questions we’d all like to know the answer to,” said Anora Fair. “Where is Bail Organa? Where—”
“Where is Mas Amedda?” Sidious asked, anger rising. The temperature in the luxury speeder began to fall.
“My Lord, the Vice Chancellor is where you ordered him—he’s at the Senate Rotunda!” Sly Moore stammered.
“By my calculations,” said 11-4D, “Your chances of successfully retaining power reduce by two percent every thirty minutes the siege is permitted to continue. My Lord, is it not possible to order an attack on the Temple now?”
Sidious sat back in his chair, frowning. It was one thing to claim the Jedi had attacked him and quite another to actually have the evidence of an attack. Personally, he would prefer to massacre the Jedi right now, but he had seen visions of the future in which Mace Windu and a Jedi strike force attacked first. In these visions, the Sith Lord had overpowered all of the Jedi except Windu, who instead had been killed following intervention by Anakin Skywalker.
Such an attack would solidify his claims that the Jedi Order was out of control—that they wanted to take over the government. An attack like that would give him the absolute mandate necessary to end the Jedi rebellion by any means necessary, and secure Anakin as his apprentice once and for all. The temple siege would have to continue until the Jedi were provoked into a rash response.
“We must wait for the Jedi to make the next move,” Sidious said at long last. He could sense that Sly Moore objected, but she made no effort to voice her objection.
“Well, this channel is relatively mild compared to HNE, my Lord,” 11-4D said in his robotic monotone, which made his statement sound all the more dry.
The holoprojection changed, and a scene dominated by a female Bith anchor appeared where Clahra and Anora Fair had been moments ago.
“—opened fire!” the Bith whisper-yelled, seeming to shirk with fear as she continued. “Are you getting this?!” she asked an unseen camera man.
Sidious could sense panic rising in the Bith—a panic so great that whatever she was capturing could be no less than a matter of life and death.
“Her name is Nihi Duss,” 11-4D said. “This reporter has never had a favorable view of your leadership.”
Peering around the pillar, the camera view shifted cautiously. It zoomed in on a smokey marketplace in the dim Coruscant underworld, the darkness only broken by a dozen green and blue glows of lightsabers and the flashes of blasterfire.
Squads of Clones were weaving through the stalls, opening fire indiscriminately on an equally-large group of Jedi. Only, as the footage continued, it became clear that these were not full-grown Jedi.
A teenage Wookiee Jedi whom Sidious instantly recognized as Gungi, hacked down, slicing through the chestplate of an advancing Clone. He roared, swinging his lightsaber left and right threateningly.
“The Clones are continuing their pursuit of the Jedi Younglings,” Nihi narrated, “And the children are now pinned down in the Uhmandasee Market. As you can see,” she continued, raising her voice dramatically as a Zabrak Jedi youngling joined Gungi. Both of them carefully deflected fire back at the Clones, ignoring the civilians who were running by. “The children are taking great care not to injure any civilians. Troopers of the Grand Army of the Republic, however, are doing anything but… They—Oh my! I am at a loss for words.”
In the midst of blasterfire, an Ithorian stepped forward from behind a stall, waving a pan angrily. His emergence distracted the squad long enough for Gungi and the Zabrak child to flee.
Seeming to regain her train of thought, the Bith began narrating again. “A shopkeeper seems to be trying to calm the Republic troopers down… Viewers, I will remind you again, do not attempt this. The troopers of the Grand Army of the Republic have—
In what was a ridiculous amount of disproportionate force, two of the Clones opened fire on the unarmed civilian. Plumes of fire erupted from the Ithorian’s abdomen, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Sidious locked his jaw, unable to tear his gaze from the screen. “Do you have that squad leader’s CT number?”
“I’m trying to get it, my Lord,” 11-4D said, continuing to broadcast the live feed. “The quality is not high enough for me to obtain it visually. I am searching deployments… Searching…”
”Oh my! Did you get that?!” Nihi asked her cameraman. The view was still focused on the Younglings, who were sprinting between columns of stalls. “Once again we are witnessing Clones indiscriminately slaughtering civilians, right here on Coruscant. The Grand Army of the Republic, the Coruscant Guard no less, who are supposed to be protecting—”
“WHAT IS HIS CT-NUMBER?!” Sidious yelled, fists clenched as he felt himself beginning to lose control.
“Still searching. I know he is a Coruscant Guardsman—”
“I know that by looking at his armor,” Sidious spat. He looked out the window to the speeder traffic. “Get me down there.”
“My Lord,” the Umbaran cautioned, “Going down to a firefight with Jedi… I can’t see the media looking favorably—”
“My plan is not to fight those Jedi Younglings! Get me down there!” Sidious repeated, using the Force to amplify his voice. He felt the speeder jerk hard and pitch down as it turned around, descending into the lower layers of air traffic. But he could not peel his eyes from the news broadcast.
On the holoprojection, the male Zabrak youngling fell to the ground, flames sprouting from his back.
“Oh dear!” Nihi gasped. “Another of the Younglings has been shot. The Wookiee, I have been informed is named Gungi, is trying—Oh my!”
Gungi ducked down, barely evading a shot aimed for his head. Tears in his eyes, he bared his fangs at the Clones.
“Can we get audio?”
“Working on it,” said a technician off-screen. “Working on it…”
Two more Padawans, a Tholothian and Rodian female, leapt over the stalls and landed at each of Gungi’s sides. They covered the Wookiee with their lightsabers, deflecting shots while Gungi tried to render aid.
After a few moments, the Tholothian said something to Gungi, and he shook his head sadly. Then all three Younglings leapt away, leaving the Zabrak’s body.
“To our viewers just tuning in,” Nihi said over the action, “It seems the Grand Army of the Republic has murdered another Youngling. My sources inform me that Zabrak’s name was Vastu. We will add him to the list of Jedi murdered in cold blood.”
Sidious shuddered. He never had anticipated losing control of the narrative so completely. Now some news agency out there was making a list of fallen Jedi, undoing an entire war’s worth of bad publicity of the Jedi.
After I become Emperor , Sidious promised himself, HNE News will be—
“My Lord!” Sly Moore gasped, pointing forward to the windshield. “She’s—HNE—They’ve…” The Umbaran’s confusion was so great that she was unable to explain what she was even seeing, but she didn’t need to.
Sidious himself gasped.
The luxury speeder was now flying in the lowest level of traffic, just a few meters off the ground and, overhead, was a digital HNE advertising billboard. Even though his death had only been seconds before, an image of the Zabrak Youngling’s smiling face was already displayed. Under it, the aurebesh caption read:
“VASTU— MURDERED BY GAR CLONES! On 16.05.20 GrS at least 236 innocent Jedi were murdered by troopers loyal to the Grand Army of the Republic. The reason remains unknown. You can help—dial the holocomm number 000 672 0405 1267 to report sightings of mad clones.”
It took a moment for Sidious to reassure himself that, surely, more than 236 Jedi were now slain. These are only the Jedi HNE knows about… And yet, things were not going to plan.
The Jedi Temple still stood. Half of the military seemed to be bordering on mutiny. The Senate opposition had the numbers to force a vote on Order 65 if Sidious didn’t stop them. The media was completely out of his control, and even worse, anti- Clone propaganda was being spontaneously created in support of the Jedi.
“This is impossible,” Sidious said aloud, shaking his head as if to wake himself from a bad dream.
On the holoprojection, the view suddenly snapped back to the Bith. “We are—WE ARE UNDER FIRE!” Nihi yelled over the tumult of blasterfire. Behind her, bits of the pillar she had been taking cover behind were crumbling away.
A second of panic went by before one of the cameramen or technicians emerged into view, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her back to safety.
“The GAR troopers have sighted us!” Nihi continued, speaking quickly as she ran. The Bith moved her hand to the collar of her shirt, activating a mic in her clothes. “Change locations!”
Everything grew shaky as the journalist and her crew ran, blasterfire illuminating the underworld gloom all around them.
Fear and terror were tools, but this was not going to strike fear in the public. It was going to be an outrage. If there was anything in the Galaxy that would turn the entire media against his new Empire, it would be journalists being murdered in cold blood on live holovids. No matter how much military power Sidious wielded, the media would always have the power of setting the narrative—deciding how the people of the Galaxy see things. With a populace opposed to his rule, the Galaxy would simply be impossible to control, whether or not the Sith Grand Plan was successful.
“GET ME DOWN THERE!” Sidious yelled once more.
“We’re going double the speed limit,” the driver reported.
“Apologies to our viewers if the footage becomes grainy, but we remain under fire,” the Bith continued, “This is Nihi of HNE, reporting live from the Uhmandasee Market . To our viewers just watching this, GAR troopers of the Galactic Republic have fired on Jedi Younglings. Now, they are firing on us for the purposes of stopping this broadcast. I only wonder whether the Chancellor himself has given the order. Whether the Chancellor—”
In the periphery of the camera view, one of the technicians, a Givin male, was shot in the shoulder blade. He cried out, stumbling as an Arconan cameraman helped him stand.
“Our sound expert Yantril Traav has been seriously wounded,” Nihi said quickly, panting for breath. “Shot with a blaster held by a trooper taking orders from Sheev Palpatine. Shot by an… Oh.” The Bith stopped running, and so did everyone else.
Wearing white and red Coruscant Guard armor, Clones converged from all sides, aiming their blasters at the journalist and her crew.
Mentally crossing his fingers Sidious closed his eyes, hoping against hope that these troopers would have the sense not to shoot an HNE reporter… At least not on a live holobroadcast.
“One must wonder how it is that the GAR has descended this far,” Nihi said loudly, directly pointing at the Clone troopers. “How is it that Sheev Palpatine can unleash this insanity the day before he is set to be voted out of office? Where is the opposition? Where is Bail Organa? Trooper, for the record, where did—”
Nihi never finished her final question. As she approached the squad leader, the Clones opened fire. For five gruesome seconds, Nihi, her camera crew, and technicians screamed while blaster shots ripped through their bodies. Then all was silent, and the camera continued recording when the Clones stooped down to check their bodies.
From this moment, Sidious knew he would have not even twenty four hours before the government turned on him. Opposition had to be contained or eliminated now. “Pilot,” he finally managed.
“Yes my Lord?” the pilot asked, circling the speeder around the portal to the underworld.
“Disregard my last order. Take us to the Executive Annex.” He looked from Sly Moore to 11-4D. “We need to ascertain Bail Organa’s whereabouts, immediately.”
Chapter 7: ANAKIN SKYWALKER
Chapter Text
Coruscant, Jedi Temple
“How long will the shield hold if they open fire?” Padmé asked, clutching her belly as she stared through the viewports of the Jedi High Council chambers. The Coruscant skyline was now glowing a slightly red hue, thanks to the shield barrier which now formed a protective dome covering the entire Temple Precinct.
“ When they open fire,” growled Polo Se’lab, half-answering. The Bothan Senator shook his head incredulously, turning to Anakin. “When will we be allowed to leave?”
Anakin did not hear the question. His eyes were locked on the army that was assembling in the distance. The columns of shiny armored troopers and hulking gray assault vehicles and artillery pieces, preparing to breach the shield and assault the temple on foot.
He couldn’t get Fives off his mind. All of the things he had said about the Clones being manipulated. About the Chancellor. All of it had seemed so crazy at the time, but now he had been vindicated, months too late. Ahsoka had been snatched right out of the temple’s infirmary, and now the Supreme Chancellor, a man Anakin had viewed like a father, seemed hellbent on destroying everything.
It took several chirps from his wrist-comm, and a rough tap on his shoulder from Shaak Ti to get his attention.
“Anakin?” Obi-Wan’s voice spoke, sounding worried.
The man's focus finally snapped back to those around him. “I’m here. When is the High Council coming back?”
“We’re not convening at the moment. There’s too much to do. No time for talk. The Temple Spires are no longer safe. Our observers report snipers assembling in the plaza. It would be wise to move everyone away from windows. Bring the Senators down to the Jedi Archives.”
“The Archives?!” Anakin asked, unable to hide the rising surprise in his voice. The archives lacked windows, yes, but such an expansive place would hardly be appropriate to hide Senators.
“Yes, we’re working out a plan… Well, plans actually. No time to explain. Master Tiin?”
“Yes?” asked the Iktochi, stepping up to Anakin and Shaak Ti’s side.
“You’re needed in the main hangar.”
Saesee Tinn nodded, though it was impossible for Obi-Wan to see the gesture over a voice call. “Very well. I’ll be there momentarily.” As the Iktochi stepped away to the turbolift alone, the Senators looked expectantly to Shaak Ti and Anakin.
“Looks like you’re getting a tour of the Archives,” Anakin said with a smirk, then his eyes met Padmé’s. A flare from his danger sense suddenly caused his smirk to vanish and he ignited his lightsaber.
Sensing something too, Shaak Ti ignited hers and spun to face the nearest viewport. She waved her lightsaber reflexively to block a shot, but the blast merely impacted with a thud on the window’s exterior, leaving a blackened crack spreading out for a meter.
“Snipers!”
“Get back!” Anakin yelled, standing in front of Padmé.
The three Senators retreated as quickly as they could, running to the turbolift. Meanwhile Anakin and Shaak Ti walked backwards, never taking their eyes off the transparisteel, nor lowering their sabers.
Sniper shots continued rattling the windows, causing more and more ominous cracks to form. The shots were so distant and so muffled by the insulation of the Temple Spire that the sounds of blasterfire itself could not be heard, only the dull thuds of their impacts.
Anakin suspected that since the High Council Spire towered thousands of meters over the Temple Plaza, it would actually be impossible for any of the Clones (who had walked through the Temple’s shield) to shoot anyone standing as far back from the windows as the turbolifts.
But he didn’t want to wait for the windows to shatter to find out. The second the turbolift doors opened, he and Shaak Ti ushered the Senators inside and pressed the door close button.
“Do you think the Supreme Chancellor was actually attempting to assassinate us?” Polo asked, fur flattened in fear.
“I would never have thought so before today,” Bail said solemnly.
There was a moment of silence while the three Senators contemplated this, broken when Shaak Ti spoke next. “I wouldn’t put anything past a Sith.”
o.o.o.o.o
When Anakin, Shaak Ti, and Senators Organa, Se’lab and Amidala arrived at the entrance of the Jedi Archives, they found a crowd standing in the marble hall. Jedi warriors, Padawans, non-combatants, and temple guards stood at the entrance, craning their necks to get a view inside.
“It seems we were not the only ones who thought it was a good day to visit the library,” Shaak Ti said, causing Polo Se’lab’s ears to flatten.
“I don’t see how this possibly helps our situation,” he growled, following the Togruta through the parting crowd. “We have to reach the Senate—”
Anakin stepped inside behind the Bothan and snorted with laughter. He didn’t think there would be anything that could make him laugh on a day when he had been so thoroughly betrayed and so many had died, but what seemed to be a noisy conference in the middle of a usually quiet library was one such thing. Then his snort of laughter erupted in uncontrollable guffaws when, for reasons he could not fathom, he saw what appeared to be a game of dress-up in the middle of the Archives. The Shistavanen Jedi, Voolvif Monn, stood in front of the help desk dressed from head to toe in a badly-fitting Alderaanian Guard uniform. Behind the desk, Mace Windu was wearing the distinctive leather uniform of the Naboo Royal Security Forces. Notably, his hands were bandaged.
“How do I look, Senator Amidala?” Windu asked with one eyebrow raised.
Padmé merely gasped.
“This is a really bad time for a costume party,” Anakin finally managed, getting his laughter under control.
“You’re dressing up next,” Obi-Wan said, “And this is not a party—Voolvif, Anakin’s here. There’s no need for you to wear an Alderaanian Guard outfit,” he added, turning back to the Shistavanen. “No one would ever believe your costume anyways.”
“I don’t want to dress as a Bothan Marshal,” Voolvif protested, practically pouting.
“A Bothan Marshal,” Polo snarled, jabbing a finger into Obi-Wan’s chest, “You want to dress this Shistavanen as a Bothan Marshal?! Have you gone mad?”
“We don’t have time for this,” said a familiar voice, obscured by a respirator. Anakin turned around and saw a holoprojection of Plo Koon’s head and torso. Judging from the control column positioned in front of his chest, the Kel Dor master seemed to be seated in a starfighter.
“Greetings Master Skywalker. Please, get dressed in Voolvif’s costume. Voolvif, put on that blue outfit.”
“This plan will never work!” Voolvif howled.
“Masters Jedi,” Bail said, raising his voice, “A madman has taken over the Senate and is about to start a civil war. From the updates I’ve been receiving on my datapad, children are dying. Now what…” He took a deep breath, seeming to collect himself, “What are you doing here?”
“A few things,” Obi-Wan started. He gestured over to the other side of the Archives, which none of them had been paying attention to. Up along the wall were several vidscreens, each showing different news outlets. “When the battle started, Master Jocasta Nu reached out to the media and began sending quick blurbs describing our side of the story.”
Jocasta Nu, wearing an earpiece, briefly turned away from the terminal she was occupying, gave Obi-Wan a quick nod, then got back to work.
“Blurbs?” Anakin asked.
“Our side?” Shaak Ti shook her head. “I don’t remember being asked for my opinion on this.”
“She took her own initiative,” Obi-Wan explained. “For now, the media seems to be the only faction on our side, and she’s helping make sure it stays that way. Master Nu hasn’t given any interviews yet. Instead, she’s been… typing.”
Bail Organa stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Well, that’s something. Where is Master Yoda?”
“Busy in the undercity,” Windu grunted. He took a deep breath, as if what he had to say next was a particularly difficult topic. “Tera Sinube was taking a group of Younglings into the undercity when the Clones turned on us.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bail gasped.
“If Yoda is on it, I am sure they’ll be fine,” Anakin said confidently. He looked distractedly over to the vidscreens behind Jocasta Nu, one of which was showing a picture of Tera Sinube’s face and proclaiming his death at the hands of “mad clones” in big Aurebesh letters.
Obi-Wan drew Anakin’s attention with a slight nudge from the Force. “We are dressing you up, Anakin, along with… Well it’s Master Windu’s plan.”
“It’s simple. The three of us are going to accompany the Senators, posing as their bodyguards,” Windu explained. “Once we reach the Senate building, we will protect them while they motion for either Order 65 or a vote of no confidence.”
“Fine,” Polo growled, shaking his head as if he had been talked into participating. “Fine, Master Shistavanen—”
“Monn.”
Polo rubbed his eyes as he continued. “Master Monn, you may dress as one of our Marshals… The plan sounds good I suppose, but why… why in Golm’s Fire are we discussing this in a library?” The Bothan spun around, glaring at the crowd of Jedi spectators with deep suspicion.
Windu and Obi-Wan exchanged glances. Finally, Obi-Wan answered. “Better here than in the Temple Spire. Besides, the public will know about this one regardless once you reach the Senate building.”
“ If we reach the Senate building,” Polo cautioned.
“What about Dooku?” Anakin asked.
Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. “What about him?”
Anakin had a thought on the tip of his tongue and knew it connected the threads of Sidious, Ahsoka, and Fives somehow, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it. “He told us about Sidious,” he finally managed slowly, waiting for his brain to work. It didn’t. Out of frustration, he asked another question. “Has Dooku given us any of Palpatine’s secret hideouts?”
“Anakin, Sidious isn’t hiding himself at all ,” Obi-Wan said, losing a bit of his patience with the young Jedi Master. “But that doesn’t matter right now. Focus on the task at hand. We can’t go after Sidious yet.”
“Why not?!” Anakin snorted, anger beginning to rise. For all he knew, Ahsoka was being tortured or worse. Jedi were openly being murdered in the streets. Palpatine’s betrayal was so absolute and so close to home that Anakin wanted nothing more than to skewer the Sith Lord.
“I’m with Anakin on this one,” Mace Windu said. “We should end the threat, now…”
Bail Organa shook his head. “We need to do things by the book. If you make the Chancellor into a martyr, this could devolve into a civil war.”
“It already is a civil war!” Polo snarled. “We were shot at, and—” his voice trailed off as he pointed aggressively to the news reports on the vidscreens.
Obi-Wan lowered his voice, looking with some suspicion to the crowd of Jedi Knights, Temple Guards, and Padawans standing at the entrance to the Archives. “Dooku is still unconscious. Our best chance of luring Sidious into the open is to challenge him in the Senate.”
“Master Kenobi,” Jocasta Nu said from across the room, “We could also expose him for what he is.”
The Senators and Jedi all turned to face her. Obi-Wan looked very flustered at having been overheard from that great a distance.
“The Temple Archives has the greatest historical database on Force users in the entire Galaxy. If we were to tell the media Palpatine is a Sith Lord…”
“I like it,” Anakin said firmly. “Great suggestion, Master Nu.”
Mace Windu let out a whistle. “Talk about a media frenzy. Alright, do it.”
“We still have to make it to the Senate,” Padmé insisted. Looks of concern had crossed all of the Senators’ faces—the Jedi preoccupation with the Sith being a mystery to them.
“And you will,” Obi-Wan promised then turned to Skywalker. “Anakin, get dressed.”
o.o.o.o.o
GUNGI
Level 1392, Coruscant
Gungi bit back a whimper and lifted his knee. In the dim light, some glass shards twinkled, embedded in his fur. He tried brushing them off with his leathery hand, but only experienced more pain as the shards cut into his palm.
“Gungi, keep quiet,” whispered Zatt, a green-skinned Nautolan.
Still crouching, the Wookiee took three steps back, sitting on a glass-free spot on the ground next to his Rodian friend, Ganodi.
Eleven surviving Younglings of nine species now found themselves in a recycling yard, concealing themselves as patrols of Clones flew overhead. Their night vision would be briefly ruined whenever an LAAT flew overhead, shining bright spotlights down. Then, over a few seconds, their sight would slowly return.
Against the dark smog of the underworld, the points of light overhead would look almost like stars. This was especially true for Wookiees, who could not see as full a range of colors as other species. For Gungi, the green light from the billboards hundreds of levels overhead looked indistinct from the red light.
“Gungi, why do you keep squirming so much?” asked Petro, a black-haired human. He was lying prone a few meters away.
[“Glass,”] Gungi moaned in despair, holding up his hand.
“Well, you should have worn clothes today,” scoffed a Devaronian female youngling named Bhila.
Gungi roared in outrage. [“I didn’t know I would need any! No one could—”]
“SHHHH!” hissed Petro, Zatt, and Ganodi in unison.
“Hey! What was that?” asked a voice, muffled by a respirator, in the unmistakable Wild Space-influenced Mandalorian accent of a Clone Trooper.
“It was over there somewhere… Sounded like a Wookiee.”
A bright glowrod beam shone brightly overhead, passing over the junkheap the Younglings were hiding behind. Footsteps drew nearer and nearer.
The Younglings collectively drew their lightsabers, a few muttering about Gungi under their breaths.
[“I’m sorry,”] Gungi moaned, holding his lightsaber in his left hand. This wasn’t ideal, as Gungi was right handed, but his left hand wasn’t cut by glass.
“SHHHH!”
As the footsteps drew nearer, Gungi thought he could sense five, maybe six presences. He thought of telling this information to the other Younglings, but thought better of it.
Still out of sight, one of the Clones cried out in surprise. “What the—” Blasterfire rang out, but with the distinctive pulse of a stun shot. Three distinct crunches could be heard, the sound of unconscious bodies landing on scrap heaps.
A wave of confusion poured over the Younglings as they stood there, waiting. Two pairs of footsteps slowly approached and collectively, the Younglings slowly stepped backward. They were all simultaneously too afraid to hope that the footsteps belonged to rescuers, while at the same time not afraid enough to immediately flee.
Gungi didn’t know what they should do. If the stun shots were from an ally, then they should wait. Equally likely however, was that the approaching footsteps belonged to bounty hunters competing with the Clones to catch the Younglings.
In the smog, two silhouettes appeared on top of the scrap heap in front of them. Their outlines resembled cloaked Jedi with their hoods raised; however, the bottoms of their skirts did not fall down nearly far enough—Jedi cloaks draped down all the way to the ankles, while the cloaks worn by these shadowy silhouettes only went down to knee length. What was most frightening for a fourteen-year-old Wookiee though, was the fact each of these figures had a set of what seemed to be tiny glowing eyes. Pinpricks of yellow eerily glowing against their black outlines.
Knees trembling as he sized up these monsters, Gungi ignited his lightsaber and let out a terrified yowl. [“GET BACK!”]
“Gungi!” gasped nine of the Younglings at once. “SHHHHH!”
One of the mysterious figures set down his blaster and approached with his hands raised. Astonishing the Wookiee, he spoke in a consoling voice with a Coruscanti accent. “Hey kid, relax. I’m on your side.”
Gungi shook his head vigorously. [“No, stay back! Get away from us! Stay…”] His protests faded into a confused moan.
This monster did not look half as scary up close. He was wearing a strange armored outfit Gungi had never seen before, with a yellow chestplate and shoulderpads, and a knee-length gray cloak. His conical helmet covered only the top half of his head and it was very featureless, with a lighter gray mask covering the wearer’s face. Above that mask, two pinpoints of light emitted from their goggles. His companion stepped forward, dressed exactly the same.
It was hard to smell what species either of these men were, given the reek of the scrapyard they were hiding in. While Gungi felt less afraid than he had before, he still did not trust them.
“Gungi, they’re underworld police,” Ganodi explained, holding Gungi’s bloody right hand.
The Wookiee noticed the letters ‘PD’ written in Aurebesh on their helmets but was unconvinced. [“The Coruscant Guard shot Master Sinube and Vastu!”]
“My name’s Chal,” explained the first one, “This is Jafet. We heard the ruckus on our police comlink, and we saw what they did to that reporter. Look, we stunned the Clones who were after you, but it’s only a matter of time before another patrol comes by. Come with us, and we’ll get you to safety.”
“How?” Petro asked skeptically. “Everywhere we go, we get shot at.”
“They won’t be looking for you in a police speeder.”
Five minutes later, the Younglings found themselves on a landing platform, stepping into a law enforcement model of the LAAT, or LAAT/le—with its uncharacteristic navy blue paint job and hexagonal cockpit viewport. On board, they met a third cop—a plump human of perhaps thirty or forty with dark hair, introducing himself as Inspector Tanivos Divo. The two pilots, wearing flight suits in the colors of the Coruscant Police, glanced back from the cockpit before lifting off from the platform.
As the side doors slid shut, Chal removed his face coverings, revealing that he was a dome-headed Bith with giant black eyes; the same species as the reporter who had been killed. Jafet was a young red-haired human with freckles.
“Don’t you worry your little heads,” Divo said, patting Zatt on the top of his bald head. “We’ll get you back to the temple in a standard minute.”
Gungi sat still as still as he could, allowing Chal to pluck the glass from his hand with tweezers while Jafet shined a glowrod at it. The Wookiee found, however, that he couldn’t stop shivering and crying. He had been holding it all together as best he could, and now that they were out of danger, it was all bubbling out.
“Why are you helping us?” Petro asked, folding his arms as he regarded the inspector.
Divo looked flummoxed at the question for a moment, then answered, “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“You’re hiding something,” Bhila said firmly, a suspicious frown forming on the Devaronian’s face.
Gungi sniffled hard and wiped the tears from his eyes onto his arm. [“I sense it too.”]
“What do you want from us?” asked Zatt, head tentacles flopping as he looked straight up into the much taller human’s eyes. “Look, we may be kids, but we have lightsabers.”
“There’s nothing I want besides helping you,” Divo said firmly, taking a step back from Zatt.
“You’re lying!” screamed Ganodi.
[“HE’S HANDING US OVER TO THE CLONES!”] Gungi roared, leaping to his feet, lightsaber in hand.
“No, I’m not!” Divo yelled back.
Gungi could sense fear from him but nothing to suggest deception. [“Then what do you want with us?”]
Orange light poured into the cabin as the LAAT/le emerged from an underworld portal. Off in the distance, the evening sun had lowered behind a wall of skyscrapers.
“I want to return you to the temple… Look, right over there. Look at where we are going.”
The Temple was slowly growing larger in the distance. Satisfied that at least that bit was true, Gungi deactivated his lightsaber, but a suspicious frown still crossed his lopsided snout.
Remaining seated toward the back of the cabin, the Tholothian Youngling, Katooni, spoke up for the first time. “Why do you really want to return us to the temple?”
Now even the two underworld police officers were staring at Divo with some suspicion.
“I… I am Inspector Tanivos Divo,” the plump human started lamely, “I ask the questions—Not you.”
o.o.o.o.o
RIG NEMA
They had so many questions and so few answers. Rig Nema’s questions about the Jedi Order’s loss of Force power was answered in the worst possible way with the revelation of Darth Sidious and the Sith Shrine. Now, the lowermost laboratory in the Jedi Temple was abuzz with activity as engineers, medical doctors, and xenobiologists—Jedi and non-Jedi alike—tried to get to the bottom of whatever it was Ahsoka Tano had been doing.
What the Force told Master Rig Nema, however, was that it had something to do with Fives and the inhibitor chip incident a few months back.
“Jazal, run a genetic analysis on that brain tissue,” the doctor ordered the Miraluka Jedi ex-convict.
Things had gotten so desperate with the ongoing siege that all non-violent Jedi convicts had been freed to aid with the Temple’s defense—except for Jazal. A former biologist herself, after the Miraluka had recovered from smoke inhalation, she was whisked immediately into the Temple laboratory to aid in uncovering one of any of the fifty mysteries.
“I already did,” Jazal said testily, pulling the slice of inhibitor chip out of the readout terminal. Encased in glass to preserve it, the brain tissue and inhibitor chip had been found in Ahsoka Tano’s quarters. “It belongs to a Jango Fett Clone.”
Rig Nema blinked incredulously. “Which Jango Fett Clone?”
Jazal shrugged. “It’s impossible to say. There doesn’t appear to be any serial number or identifying marks either.”
Feeling stupid all of the sudden, Rig Nema closed her golden eyes tight and began rubbing them. While she was primarily a medical doctor, the Jedi Master had enough of a scientific background that she should have known that. All Jango Fett Clones, or at least the ‘production’ troopers, were all but totally identical. “Any luck on reconstructing the device?”
“No, no, no, no no! Not reconstructing… Constructing .” The Parwan non-Jedi scientist, Dr Gubacher, hovered over with his tentacles dragging on the floor as he approached Jazal and Rig. “Since I have no parts of the original device to work with, and only security footage of Ahsoka Tano building… something… I am not reconstructing. I am building it from scratch.”
“Very well, Doctor Gubacher. Constructing. Have you had any luck constructing the device?”
The Parwan turned his head back over to the machining table, which was surrounded by engineers holding datapads and astromech droids projecting holograms of Ahsoka’s device from different angles. “No I haven’t.”
If Rig Nema had lacked the patience, not only from her Jedi training but from years of treating Jedi who had often injured themselves doing the ridiculous, she would have exploded.
I need Shaak Ti up here . Figuring out what’s wrong with the Clones should be top priority.
Using her wrist-comm, she immediately dialed Obi-Wan’s comm code. Ever since Yoda disappeared shortly after returning from the Sith Shrine, Obi-Wan seemed to have taken over coordinating things.
“Doctor, I’m a little busy,” Obi-Wan said testily.
“We are not making any headway so far, and I really could use Master Ti’s expertise down here. Jazal’s the closest I have to a geneticist, and I know there must be some way of differentiating different Fett—”
“Hey!” Jazal interrupted. “Respectfully, Master, there isn’t. Bring Shaak Ti down here if you want, but—”
“Jazal,” Shaak Ti’s voice came through the comm warningly.
“I am sorry—sorry Master Nema,” Jazal stammered.
Rig walked away from Jazal and the other scientists, trying to keep the conversation more private. “Shaak, I need help.”
“You need my skills more as a warrior than as a scientist, I’m afraid,” Shaak Ti sighed. “Besides, Jazal’s right. At best, unless the sample belongs to a member of Clone Force 99, I would only be able to tell you what generation this sample came from. You can figure that out by radiodating the sample.”
Rig Nema put her palm to her head, grimacing. Radiodating the sample. Another thing she should have thought of. “I—”
“Our best hope, if you ask me, is to awaken Count Dooku.”
“Can we trust anything he says?!” Rig gasped in disbelief.
“Perhaps not,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “But Dooku did talk about ‘inhibitor chips.’ He did—”
Rig was so shocked that if she had been holding a communicator instead of wearing one, she would have dropped it. “By the Force!”
“What is it?” Shaak Ti asked.
“Dooku. The inhibitor chips! He was telling us all along!”
“You might be right,” Obi-Wan gasped. “Dooku said to destroy the… something…”
The memory of the conversation flashed to the forefront of the Halaisi’s mind. “The communications array!”
“Okay… Which communications array?”
o.o.o.o.o
ANAKIN SKYWALKER
Careful not to scrape anything, Anakin slowly ambled one of the Jedi Temple’s BARC speeders up to the side hatch of an LAAT/v—a special Low Altitude Assault Transport variant designed for transporting speeders. It could hypothetically fit sixteen speeder bikes, or any combination of light vehicles up to the size of a TX-130 repulsortank, in its hold, but the one parked in one of the Jedi Temple’s hangar bays only had to fit Anakin’s BARC speeder.
And also Padmé’s Rian-327, a long rectangular speeder with curved corners and enough seats to fit Mace Windu, Voolvif Monn, Bail Organa, Anakin’s wife Padmé, the Bothan Senator Polo Se’lab, and with enough space left over to fit an astromech in front of the diminutive Bothan’s legs. In this case that was the ever reliable R2-D2.
One reason why Anakin had to be so careful not to bump anything was that this BARC had recently been painted red and gray, matching the color scheme of Padmé’s airspeeder.
“Skywalker, I don’t have enough room without getting too close to the sides.” Mace Windu said, sitting behind the wheel of Padmé’s speeder, which was hovering immediately outside the LAAT.
Anakin swiveled the BARC to the left, angling it so that, rather than being positioned aft to stern within the much larger Republic transport, it was facing sideways from wing to wing. “You should be able to fit now.”
“Perhaps you should let Anakin maneuver—” Padmé started.
“I’ve got this,” Windu said sternly.
Anakin smirked as the Master of the Order hovered the speeder on board at a snail’s pace. “You know, pride is the downfall of many a-Jedi.”
Sitting between Polo Se’lab and Bail Organa in the back seat, Artoo tweedled, swiveling his head in a full circle.
“Wait,” Anakin muttered, looking around the gunship’s side and up at the empty cockpit and realizing Artoo was right. “Who’s gonna pilot the gunship?!”
“That task will fall on me,” said Saesee Tinn in his deep slow voice. The Iktochi stood outside the gunship in the hangar with two human Jedi Knights Anakin did not recognize, one male and one female.
Saesee Tinn stepped aboard the gunship, meandering between Padmé’s and Anikin’s parked speeders before climbing up a ladder and occupying the pilot’s seat. The other Jedi Knights each stepped into one of the side turrets.
Anakin felt a little bit of tension leave him.
“No co-pilot?” Bail Organa asked.
“I won’t need one,” Tinn explained, “And at least you’ll have Jedi Vanmar and Jedi Jorasa manning the turrets.”
“We’ll only be on board the gunship for a few minutes,” Voolvif growled to the Senator reassuringly, occupying the front passenger seat. The Shistavanen did look more than a little silly wearing a dark blue Bothan Marshal Uniform. Hopefully, a Jedi mind trick would be enough to fool any security that became suspicious.
While Master Tinn performed a quick pre-flight check of the instruments, the hangar door slowly rumbled open. Even with his limited view out the side-slats, Anakin could make out several artillery pieces and flak turrets—some of which had been positioned inside the Temple Precinct and within the Jedi Temple’s protective shield barrier. Every minute, more and more Clone reinforcements were crossing the large bridges spanning the urban canyons.
Already, hulking Juggernaut tanks and SPHA walkers were beginning to be brought into play on the far side of the bridges. The latter in particular began to level their powerful siege weapons at the Temple as several more AT-TEs, backed by sleek new transparisteel-canopied bipedal scout walkers and towering quadrupedal heavy walkers, marched across the bridges with a sizable infantry screen.
Sitting astride his BARC speeder, Anakin looked away from the LAAT’s front, back to the speeder. He caught the eye of his wife, who also happened to be one of the opposition Senators, and a part of the Jedi Order’s best hope of removing the Sith menace from government… Or at least luring him out so the Jedi could fight him in the open.
She wasn’t looking back at him, but was instead staring at the back of Mace Windu’s head, perhaps scrutinizing how well the costume fit the Master of the Order.
Within fifteen seconds, the gunship was hovering off the hangar floor. The side hatches closed, and the craft hurdled out of the Jedi Temple and into the evening air.
“Good news,” Tinn yelled from the cockpit. “They didn’t seem to have actually expected this! They’re not even ready—”
The Iktochi’s hopefulness was suddenly hampered by a volley of anti-air fire. As the LAAT/v pitched into a hard roll to port, Anakin’s BARC floated backwards, bumping up against the interior walls.
“Skywalker, you might want to power down that speeder!” yelled Tinn as he jerked on the steering column, zig-zagging every which way.
“Thanks for warning me ahead of time,” Anakin scoffed, voiced laced with sarcasm. But he did as advised, allowing the BARC to lower to the solid floor of the transport.
No doubt seeing ground targets none of the passengers could see, the Jedi Knights Vanmar and Jorasa opened fire, targeting their beam cannons downwards.
“Control, I’m approaching the barrier,” Tinn said into the cockpit radio. Following the plan, he continued on course. “CONTROL I—”
“PITCH DOWN!” Anakin yelled, feeling a pulse of danger from the Force. He gasped, covering his head, expecting the craft to slam into the field, but just as they were about to impact, the shield powered down.
Even the usually collected Mace Windu sighed in relief. “That was too close,” he grumbled to no one in particular.
Behind the LAAT, flak cannons and anti-air batteries continued firing—but their shots from within the Temple’s shield’s impacted the barrier uselessly as it reactivated. In the distance, Clones ran in every direction as pieces of debris from the artillery shells, which had been deflected off the shields, flew straight back at them. A supporting leg of one of the AV-7 artillery pieces burst into flames and snapped, no doubt hit by a large piece of shrapnel. The gunner jumped out but was crushed as his own artillery piece toppled over.
“V-wings incoming!” barked Tinn in warning. “Taking evasive maneuvers.”
Sparks erupted from beneath Padmé’s Rian-327 and Anakin’s BARC as they scraped along the floor, moved by the g forces as the LAAT pitched hard to starboard. Darkness abruptly filled the transport’s interior as it descended into the urban canyon between the Temple Precinct and the surrounding city blocks.
“Be careful!” Anakin yelled, wishing more than anything right now that he was behind the yokes.
Explosions rocked the permacrete walls, illuminating the LAAT’s interior with bright flashes.
Anakin stood up from his BARC, daring to stand. “We have to lose them!”
“Master Skywalker, you are not the only one who knows how to fly a starship!” Tinn pitched down, dodging a torpedo and causing Anakin to trip backward. “I advise you all to remain seated.”
“Got one!” Jorasa shouted triumphantly.
“Good, I’m going to try and shake them.” Tinn pulled hard on the steering column, pitching the LAAT nearly straight up, hugging along the surface of a skyscraper.
Anakin and Padmé both yelled out in protest as the BARC speeder scraped along the floor, colliding with the nose of the Rian-327. Artoo shrieked in droidspeak as sparks flashed in the hold, the steering vanes of the BARC bouncing off the Rian’s cooling grille.
“Activate your repulsorlifts. Prepare for drop in three, two—”
“ARE YOU CRAZY?! WE CAN’T DROP THIS CLOSE TO—”
Before Anakin could say each other, the rear drop hatch of the LAAT opened. Wind whipped through his hair as both speeders fell into the darkness, scraping against each other. With gritted teeth, Anakin flipped the repulsorlift on, and, a moment later, his BARC settled into place on a dark balcony. Padmé’s speeder almost landed on top of him, as Windu too hovered down to the empty balcony.
Seemingly failing to notice them, two V-Wings roared past the balcony, sending wind howling upwards as their ion engines shrieked. Thousands of levels overhead, the LAAT was now beginning to emerge from the river of shadow into the fading evening sunlight.
“Next time I’m flying!”
“Young—I mean Master Skywalker,” Windu said, “You already are flying .”
“I think I am going to be—oh kriff—get out of my way!” Polo snarled, clambering over Bail Organa and then leaping from the side of the Rian-327 with surprising swiftness. He stooped over the side of the balcony and wretched, vomiting into the darkness.
“Well, Senator,” Voolvif growled, “I hope that doesn’t land on anyone.”
Chapter 8: SHEEV PALPATINE
Chapter Text
Republic Executive Building, Coruscant
Sidious looked away as the holograms shifted. On display above the Sith Lord’s desk were a dozen news channels being broadcast simultaneously on one half of his ceiling and a map of the known Galaxy on another. With how badly things were going, it was amazing that no one had made a serious attempt on his life today.
Amazing and inconvenient.
Rotating his chair a hundred and eighty degrees, Sidious faced the wide window behind his desk. In the left corner of the view, part of the Senate Rotunda was visible. Aside from the blaring blue lights of hundreds of police speeders and gargantuan Coruscant Guard juggernaut tanks surrounding the building, today could be any other evening in the Federal District.
“My Lord, Grievous reports that he is about to brief the Separatist Council,” Sly Moore said. Seated on the opposite side of his desk, Sidious could sense her look up from a datapad. “But he is having difficulty convincing the various corporate factions to stop their advances into Republic space.”
Understandable, Sidious thought with a frown, imagining how feverish the mood must be on the other side right now. With the Republic in chaos, the Separatists would be eager to press their advantage. Now for the solution who will dissuade them from that course. “And Tarkin?”
“He is ready to jump on your command and is asking if you wish to speak with him personally.”
Sidious closed his eyes tiredly. “Tell him I’ll speak with him once he is in the Klegger Corporation Mining Facility, and the Separatist Council is lying dead at his feet.”
“Very well, my—”
“And,” Sidious interrupted, “Tell the Governor his mission is top priority. If he needs to requisition reinforcements from outlying sectors, they will be at his disposal.”
The Umbaran began frantically typing those messages, and Sidious rotated back towards the desk, looking not to Sly Moore but to the round blast doors at the end of the long hallway filled with sculptures.
A few moments went by, and doors opened, admitting Vice Chancellor Mas Amedda. The Chagrian had a bruised face and held a cold pack to his eye. “Where—Where is Dar Wac?” he asked, limping over to the desk.
“Dar Wac announced his retirement today,” Sidious said in mock cheer, referring to his Rodian secretary. Former secretary. “What happened to you?”
“I was assaulted on my way out of the Senate Chambers! Respectfully, my Lord, I really could have used her!” the Chagrian huffed, pointing to Sly Moore. “Or Sate Pestage… Or Kagi!”
Sidious put on his most consoling tone. “You did well.”
“Thank you, but I would have preferred a heads up. I had no idea that by suspending the Senate, I would be putting my life on the line!”
“Should I have put myself in harm's way?” Sidious asked softly.
“No—I didn’t mean—My Lord, you can’t possibly think… never!”
Smirking thoughtfully, Sidious nodded. It honestly was not a bad idea. If, after suspending the Senate for a state of emergency, his face and not Mas Amedda’s had been bruised by a rabble-rousing Senatorial aide…
It still wouldn’t be quite enough to justify storming the Jedi Temple. Not quite.
A flicker of green from above drew Sidious’s attention. He looked up to one of the newsfeeds being broadcast live from the Jedi Temple, where a figure wearing dark brown robes had a lightsaber ignited.
“It appears that a Jedi is approaching us now,” said the anchorman, a black-haired human male with fair skin. “Master Jedi, do you have any statement—AHHH!”
Up until the end, the anchorman was completely unafraid. A dog would have even known to be afraid, Sidious mused to himself. It was not until a lightsaber was literally coming down on his head in full swing that the anchorman cried out. He fell to the ground, cut from head to torso
The camera shook violently, then fell to the ground as this apparently murderous Jedi began attacking everyone in sight. Rolling on the ground, it angled upwards as the Jedi stepped over it. His hood fell down, revealing a green-skinned Rodian.
Mas Amedda gasped in shock, collapsing into a chair. Fear crossed the Chagrian’s bruised face, accompanied with a horrified confusion over what exactly Sidious had done to cause this.
This was matched by a twisted smirk forming in the corner of Sidious’s mouth. The fear was delicious.
Sly Moore’s eyebrows furrowed as she, no doubt, recognized the apparently murderous Jedi’s true identity—Dar Wac, the Rodian who had tendered his letter of resignation less than an hour ago.
“Oh dear, it’s as I have been saying all along! The Jedi have gone completely mad,” Sidious cackled.
The footage cut out, but other news crews present in the area surrounding the Temple had shifted the directions their cameras were pointing. Two other stations were now zooming in as Dar Wac ran at a group of Coruscant Guardsmen. Lacking any Force abilities and completely untrained with a lightsaber, the Rodian didn’t even make it five paces before he was gunned down.
“That’s it,” Sidious sighed, muting the volume as every reporter on the planet started speaking into the camera in shocked elevated voices. “Get me on the line with Commander Rex. It is time to put an end to the Jedi once and for all.”
Sly Moore spoke into the communicator on the Supreme Chancellor’s desk. A few moments later, she looked up, concerned by the response.
Sidious had heard it too. “What do you mean Commander Rex has gone AWOL?!” he barked, now standing on the opposite side of the desk behind Sly Moore. Then he remembered. That night when Ahsoka went to Dex’s diner and— “Who is in charge down there?!”
“Commander Appo and Captain Vaughn are missing too. We’ve been taking our orders from Major Bow.”
Stepping back in shock, Sidious gasped. He had known Ahsoka’s removal of inhibitor chips was a serious cause for concern, but it was not until this moment that he understood the extent. She must have specifically targeted the commanders of the 501st. It was as if Ahsoka had not only known about the inhibitor chips, but also precisely which Clones she could de-chip to cause the most damage to the Sith Grand Plan.
How could Tano have known that I would use the 501st to storm the Temple? How is this possible?
When Sidious snapped out of his reverie thirty seconds or perhaps a minute later, Sly Moore and the Clones were in a heated argument.
“I’ll need to hear it from the Chancellor himself, ma’am. Commander Cody has given orders not to move in without his direct authorization due to the situation elsewhere.”
“The Chancellor has ordered me to—”
“You shall hear it from me then Captain,” Sidious snapped, regaining his composure. “Storm the Temple immediately. Kill any who resist. Capture any who surrender and secure them in the Temple’s Detention Bloc.”
“Yes, my Lord,” the Clone said on the other end.
Sidious terminated the call and looked back through the viewport. Attempting to expand his awareness, he reached out in the Force, searching for Ahsoka. Satisfied that at the very least she was not present on Coruscant, he relaxed somewhat.
“Good news my Lord,” Sly said, drawing Sidioius’s attention to her. “The Coruscant Guard has located Senators Organa, Amidala, and Se’lab. Getting probe droid footage now.”
“Let’s see it.”
The tangling web of different holoprojections switched off momentarily, replaced now with a single scene. A BARC speeder and a Rian 327 were pulled over on a landing platform, surrounded by a dozen Coruscant Guardsmen who had arrived in two LAAT/le transports and three BARC speeders. Their vehicles were arranged in a semi-circle around Padmé’s. Sidious recognized the location as a few blocks from the Senate Rotunda.
From the view projected by the Arakyd, Sidious could see the faces of Padmé Amidala, Bail Organa, and Polo Se’lab, but he could only see the backs of their guards who—most peculiarly—were facing the other way, looking off towards the Rotunda. There was something very familiar about two of them, but Sidious’s own sensitivity to such things had been seriously dulled. He reached out with the Force and felt two of them were human and male, but nothing more specific.
But still. There’s something so familiar… So familiar if I could just—Oh!
The figure dressed in blue Bothan Marshal fatigues looked left and Sidious gasped aloud. The supposed guard was not a Bothan at all but clearly another species— Shistavanen .
“My Lord,” Sly said, “They are awaiting your orders.”
Sidious pushed the strangeness of a Shistavanen working in the Bothan secret service aside and turned his attention to Bail Organa, who was attempting to talk his way out of this. “Have them bring Senator Amidala here ,” he ordered, a plan from this fortuitous situation beginning to form in his mind. He could certainly use Padmé to get at the Chosen One. “Bail Organa and Polo Se’lab are, instead, to be brought to the COMPOR Arcology.”
Sly relayed the orders and then looked up to face the Sith Lord. “What of their guards?”
“They are to be detained and—” Sidious’s eyes widened in horror as the two human guards, dressed in Alderaanian and Naboo RSF garbs, turned around. “Oh no! NO!”
“What is it?!” Mas Amedda asked, then he too recognized their faces.
“No! NO! NO!” Sidious shrieked in a ghastly croak.
Three lightsabers were now ignited, one purple, one green, and one blue. Somehow, Anakin Skywalker, Mace Windu, and Voolvif Monn had concealed themselves; either that or the light side of the Force was now clouding Sidious’s vision.
In any case, the problem of Bail Organa and the Senate opposition would not be solved just now.
o.o.o.o.o
ANAKIN SKYWALKER
“You can’t blame yourself,” Mace Windu said, jerking Anakin’s attention away from the skewered body of the Clone he had just killed.
At Anakin’s feet was a body with a lightsaber gash of burned flesh and melted armor, bisecting a Clone Captain’s torso from shoulder to thigh. All around on the landing platform were the bodies of fallen Clones. These were not the first living beings Anakin had killed, but killing former allies, former brothers in arms, was something else.
“We had no choice, Master Skywalker,” Voolvif growled, tugging at Anakin’s elbow to wrench his gaze away.
Padmé stood at his other side, tugging on his other elbow. “Ani, we really need to go. Others may have seen us, the media, even everyday citizens.”
Anakin looked up to the lanes of traffic and towering skyscrapers all around. She was right. Mace Windu was right. The Chosen One did not have time to feel guilty.
“I can drive the BARC,” Mace Windu offered.
“And I can drive my own speeder,” Padmé added, tugging harder on Anakin’s sleeve. “Just sit in the passenger seat—”
“No,” Anakin said, shaking his head. “I can drive—I mean… I can drive, m’lady.”
“OH JUST STOP IT WITH THIS CHARADE ALREADY!” Senator Se’lab snarled, drawing all eyes on him. Padmé and Anakin both turned to face the Bothan, who was standing in front of one of the Clone’s BARC speeders, his cape billowing in the breeze. “I mean…” he stammered, looking less certain when he regarded Padmé’s horrified expression. “I’m sorry Senator Amidala, let’s just—the sooner we reach the Senate the better.”
When they got back in the air, Anakin began taking deep breaths, trying to center himself and focus on his surroundings as he flew at the front of the group. The skylanes were busier than would be expected, given not only this current state of war between the Chancellor and the Jedi, but also that just this morning, Coruscant had been under siege.
Anakin awoke to the sound of an extremely loud honk. He swerved to avoid a head-on collision with a speeder truck.
“Skywalker!” Mace Windu yelled from below.
“I’m alright,” Anakin yawned, decreasing his altitude to get into the correct lane of traffic. It dawned on him that he hadn’t slept in nearly two days.
“No you’re not!” Voolvif Monn snarled, waving at Anakin angrily from the passenger seat of Padmé’s speeder.
“I’m…” Anakin stared ahead at the Senate Rotunda, slackjaw. “Uh…”
Flashing blue lights twinkled in the distance all around the Senate Rotunda, visible from a few kilometers away. That was the first sign there might be a problem. In the twilight after the sunset, the courtyard around the Rotunda seemed to be swallowed in a sea of darkness, but the darkness moved, and Anakin could sense the presences of thousands—perhaps hundreds of thousands of people. As they zipped closer to the crowd, hovering overhead, Anakin could make out a few posters with vague slogans like “VOTE NOW” or “PALPATINE=TRAITOR.” The sea of people seemed to be mostly against Palpatine and the Clones.
When they got close enough to the Senate Rotunda to see the steps, dark rectangles were silhouetted against the interior light of the Senate Rotunda, positioned directly in front of every access point to the building. A few seconds later, it became obvious to Anakin that these were lines of Juggernaut tanks, with Coruscant police speeders flashing their blue lights positioned evenly between them. Overhead, a few LAAT-series gunships circled the area.
“I don’t think we should fly over those tanks,” Anakin yelled, coming about in mid-air over the crowd. He pointed to a landing area for visitors, elevated on a platform over the sea of people. In the middle of the plaza, it was at least two kilometers from the Rotunda itself. “Let’s land over there.”
“Good idea,” Windu said, following Anakin in. The Master of the Order’s voice was calm, but Anakin could sense relief that they were parking.
There’s no way I would have crashed, Anakin thought with a frown, protesting inwardly at Windu’s line of reasoning. But he forgot all about it the moment he pocketed the keys to the BARC speeder.
“Okay, so what’s the game plan?” Anakin asked when Polo, Bail, Padmé, Windu, and Voolvif formed a semi-circle in front of him.
“Let’s just try to get through this crowd on foot,” Bail said, “Our Senatorial credentials will allow us access.”
“Assuming the Clones aren’t trying to assassinate you all,” Windu said darkly.
“I agree, Master Jedi,” Polo growled cautiously, “Walking in and expecting everything to go perfectly is just foolish.”
“Well then, do you have a better idea?” Anakin snorted. “No? Thought so.” Short-tempered, he spun around angrily and walked towards the crowd.
“Anakin,” Padmé hissed, “ANA—”
“Don’t use my name!” Anakin yelled, balling his fists as he glared at Padmé. Noticing several eyes from the crowd were on him, he lowered his voice, “I mean, sorry m’lady. And sorry for my rudeness Senator Se’lab… We really shouldn’t make it obvious who we are.”
“Skywalker is right—I mean… He is right,” Windu muttered, correcting himself. “Make no mentions of the order or our names.”
“Yeah,” Polo whispered in an urgent growl, “We are all household names. We must avoid using any names as we approach the Rotunda!”
Anakin wasn’t quite sure he agreed with the Bothan Senator that they were all household names. He certainly had never heard Polo Se’lab’s name before today. But still, as he used the Force to gently part the crowd and make his way through, he made an effort to follow that advice.
By now, they were still just under two kilometers from the Rotunda. In ideal circumstances, it would have taken twenty minutes for three elegantly-dressed Senators to walk that far. In crowded conditions like this, Anakin was worried it could take hours.
But less than a minute into their journey, they walked past a news crew. A blonde haired human female reporter was narrating the scene loudly to her alien camera and sound crew.
“...been suspended. It’s been less than half an hour since the state of emergency declaration and the crowds are still growing. You can feel the anger in the air. People—beings of all species are—hey! Bail Organa!”
Realizing that Bail hadn’t even been wearing a hood, Anakin cringed so hard his shoulders drooped.
Bail Organa’s mouth hung open in astonishment as a microphone was thrust in front of his face.
“We have the Senate opposition leader right here,” the reporter announced proudly, “and also Senator Amidala and…?”
“Senator Polo Se’lab,” snarled the Bothan.
“Polar Say Lub, the young… Klatooinian Senator?” she stated as a question.
For a moment, as Polo bared his fangs, it looked like the Bothan might bite the microphone and the hand holding it. His offense at being mistaken for a member of the flat-faced species from the north end of Hutt space was so intense that Anakin could feel it in the Force.
Bail Organa began speaking though, before Polo could protest. “Yes, that is me… Well, us,” he added awkwardly, giving Padmé and Polo a curt acknowledgment.
“What is your reaction to the closure of the Senate?”
“Closure of the Senate!” gasped Bail and Padmé in unison.
“You haven’t heard?!” asked the reporter incredulously, eyes lighting up. “Vice Chancellor Mas Amedda suspended the Senate about thirty minutes ago.”
“Looks like we need a change of plans,” Anakin said. With a wide sweeping gesture, he urged the Senators back toward their speeder. Three steps later he found a microphone thrust in front of his face.
“Don’t I know you?” the reporter asked.
“Uh… no ma’am,” Anakin said curtly, then continued walking.
As the reporter aggressively followed them, her voice became more pleading. “Senators, I feel you owe us at least a word .”
After fifteen seconds, when the reporter was still following them, Padmé finally turned around and said, “We disagree fundamentally with closing the Senate at this critical juncture.”
“That’s… that’s ALL you have to say?!”
By the time they returned to the speeder where the crowd was less dense, the reporter had finally given up.
Anakin could not fathom how Palpatine could foil their plan so easily. “He just closed the Senate! He can do that?!”
“Legally, not really,” Bail sighed, gesturing towards the Senate Rotunda. “But he has the troops. He has the tanks. With the military on his side there is nothing we can do about it.”
Anakin kicked the rear of his BARC speeder in frustration, letting off a yell. “THIS IS RIDICULOUS! You can’t just cancel the Senate!”
“Excuse me,” Polo growled at Anakin in annoyance, then held his datapad up to his ear, “I am taking a call… It’s the Junior Representative of Bothan Space. Yes, Shidar?” A voice that was too quiet for Anakin to make out the words, but which sounded like a Bothan female’s, came through the datapad’s small speaker.
“I’m getting a call from our Junior Representative,” Padmé muttered, withdrawing a comm from her pocket. She spoke loudly enough for Anakin to grasp half of the conversation. “Jar Jar? Yes, Jar Jar I can hear you. No, I haven’t been able to get into the Senate building. Yes, I was on the HoloNet… That was me, not one of my handmaidens. I know the Senate building is closed.”
“CoCo Town… wait, Dex’s Diner?!” Polo snarled in disgust. “Shidar, you can’t be serious! That establishment is no place to—it was Representative Binks’s idea?!”
“Alright Jar Jar, your timing is impeccable,” Padmé said, then unilaterally decided for the entire group without asking. “We’ll be at Dex’s Diner as soon as possible.”
“We should have brought Obi-Wan,” Voolvif muttered, sitting down in the front passenger seat of Padmé’s speeder. “He loves that place.”
Anakin snorted at that remark and mounted his BARC. Without much further discussion, the two speeders were off, cutting diagonally between the skylanes on its way to CoCo Town. LAATs piloted by Clones flew overhead, moving in the opposite direction back toward the Senate Rotunda.
There was a vague sense of fear in the air which Anakin couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t his own fear. It certainly wasn’t Voolvif’s or Windu’s fear either. It wasn’t even coming from the Senators.
It took a few minutes for the fear to become defined enough for Anakin to make anything out, and when the fear resolved itself into something concrete, one thought permeated through Anakin’s consciousness.
Younglings. He could sense the Wookiee Gungi, the Nautolan Zatt, the Rodian Ganodi, and others whose names he did not know, but whose Force presences were very familiar and very frightened.
“Skywalker! Where are you going?!” Windu yelled into the night air, using the Force to amplify his voice.
“Not so loud!” Anakin yelled back in reminder, then added, “Younglings are in trouble.” He had already descended through two layers of speeder traffic before Windu and the others decided to follow. Trusting his instincts, he accelerated as fast as he could, leaving Padmés speeder behind in the dust.
Windu’s voice came through the console beneath the BARC’s steering column. “Skywalker, slow down! We can’t keep up.”
Anakin shook his head out of habit, though he was too far away for anyone in the other speeder to see his head movement. “They’re in trouble, can’t you sense it?”
“Yes, but we need to stay with the Senators. We can’t expose ourselves—”
“Then take them to Dex’s Diner, Master Windu,” Anakin snapped. As of Ahsoka’s knighting, Anakin was a Jedi Master and he was tired of being talked to like he was still a Padawan. He pushed on the acceleration lever, bringing the BARC’s speed up so dramatically that the wind hurt his eyes. Even at this speed, dread rose in his stomach. Once again, Anakin found himself on the back of a speeder bike racing to the rescue, and he felt the all too familiar dread of being too late.
Off in the distance, he saw an LAAT/le painted in Coruscant police blue, trailing smoke while being fired upon by two V-wings. Against shielded targets like that, a speeder bike was fairly useless even if it could match their speeds.
But he could provide a distraction. Without hesitation, Anakin ignited his blue blade and held it up into the dark sky like a beacon.
Come on, break off. Leave those Younglings and cops alone, Anakin thought, wishing he could pour his will into the Force and make the Clones do as he commanded. Come on! Just stop attacking that ship. Stop and—
Inexplicably, when Anakin was still at least half a kilometer away, both of the V-wings began to slow down. For a wild moment, Anakin thought he had successfully performed some sort of feat with the Force—that he had actually reached out through the Force and influenced the Clones’ minds from hundreds of meters away. But things only made even less sense as the scene unfolded further.
Bright blue flames trailed behind each of the V-wings, burning with heat so intense he could feel it even at this distance. While the Coruscant police transport continued flying away unhindered, both the V-wings began smoking, their ion engines howling and causing the air to crackle. Their continued laserfire became more inaccurate by the second.
Without even realizing it, Anakin let go of the accelerator completely and sat there floating in mid air. His mouth hung open, completely slackjaw
How am I doing this? I must really be the Chosen One. I must— “What the?!” Anakin cried out in amazement.
In desperation, both of the V-wings fired a concussion missile without a lock, hoping to at least force the police gunship to crash. However, both of the missiles only made it a handful of meters before they were stopped in mid air completely. Their sudden decrease in acceleration was no doubt interpreted by their guidance systems as an impact, and the warheads exploded, catching both V-wings in their blast radius.
The explosions weren’t close enough to completely destroy the V-wings, but a second later, both ships were falling down into the urban canyon below, smoke trailing behind them as the canopies blew off and the Clone pilots ejected, followed by their spherical Q7 astromechs.
Sweating profusely from the heat and his own emotional state, Anakin let out a sigh of relief. Realizing his lightsaber was still ignited, he quickly deactivated and clipped it onto his belt.
{“To the Senators, you must return,”} echoed the familiar wizened voice of Yoda in Anakin’s mind.
“Master Yoda?!” Anakin intoned aloud, looking frantically in every direction around himself. “Where are you?!”
{“On top of Indigo Tower.”}
Breathing rapidly, Anakin’s eyes darted to one of the skyscrapers, a blue-hued building he assumed was Indigo Tower. At the very top, standing next to a massive repeater antenna, Anakin thought he could make out a tiny figure. Pressing the accelerator lever, Anakin glided a hundred meters closer and could make out a cloaked green figure waving at him.
“Did you do that?”
{“Did I do what?”} Yoda asked, his voice still echoing in Anakin’s mind rather than his ears.
“Did you save those younglings?”
{“Know the answer to that question, I think you do. Now go. Return to Master Windu and the Senators.”}
Anakin nodded, yanked at the BARC’s control yokes, and drove off as quickly as he could.
Chapter 9: QUINLAN VOS
Chapter Text
Saleucami
Rather than returning to the Republic base, Bendu led the Jedi on a bushwalk, noisily crushing bushes and knocking down small trees while the Jedi followed slowly behind. Neither Vos nor Stass felt certain about their destination, but they seemed to be going in the general direction of the Separatist lines. For what felt like an hour, they walked in near silence, only broken by particularly loud screams coming from the helmet comm Vos had taken from the fallen Clones.
It was Master Allie who broke the silence. “I sense someone.”
Vos closed his eyes, stretching out his awareness in the Force. “I sense two of them. They are—hey, Bendu!”
Bendu stopped, peering over a short tree as he regarded the Kiffar. The gargantuan enigma had shrunk somewhat since his first appearance, but he was still nearly three meters tall.
“We sense two…” Vos paused, continuing to reach out with the Force. The presences were vaguely familiar, but neither was human or Kiffar.
“Two Jedi,” Stass Allie finished. “They’re in trouble.”
“And why should we worry ourselves about that?” Bendu asked quizzically.
“They’re our allies,” Vos said in disbelief. “Fellow Jedi.”
Bendu looked at the Kiffar and the Tholothian with his dead gray eyes. “Maybe I have all the Jedi I need.”
Have all the Jedi I need. The remarkable choice of words sent a shiver down Vos’s spine.
Stass was already moving in a Force-assisted sprint towards the presences. Vos followed, leaves and branches scratching at his legs in the underbrush. Bendu’s noisy footfalls stopped after a while, but Vos was unconcerned. Hell, if that creature had decided to no longer accompany them altogether, Vos would feel better.
A hundred meters or so from the edge of the forest, the Force signatures of the two Jedi in distress resolved themselves in his mind. He could sense both Master K’Kruhk, a Whiphid male, and Master Sian Jeisel, a Devaronian female. He could feel their distress pouring into the Force.
But before Vos and Stass had even reached the edge of the clearing, K'Kruhk and Jeisel’s state changed to one of complete shock and alarm. With a tremendous leap, Vos skipped twenty or thirty meters of forest, bounding over the treeline and into the sandy dirt beyond.
Jeisel’s white-streaked hair was whipped hard in the wind, as was K’Krukh’s blond fur. Lightsabers ignited, both Jedi were squinting at what appeared to be a tornado twisting away from them and toward the two TX-130 repulsor tanks which had been pursuing them.
The Clone gunners of both tanks fired their beam turrets directly into the rolling storm, but it was no use. First one and then the other were pitched into the air, climbing ten, then dozens, then hundreds of meters. When both tanks were so high up and so far away that it was difficult to make them out, the tornado faded, and then they disappeared over the horizon.
“I—Wha…?” K’Kruhk panted, his snout hanging open and exposing rows of tusks and flat teeth.
“I think that was Bendu,” Vos grunted, slowly walking up to the two Jedi.
“Who?” Jeisel asked incredulously, wiping off the dirt that the tornado had blown onto her spotted face
“Long story,” Stass said, emerging from the bushes behind Vos. “Are you alright?”
“Bendu…” K’Kruhk murmured, not answering Stass’s question and instead looking in the direction of the dark cloud coming back for them.
“Four Jedi now,” a voice boomed. Rapidly, the cloud shrank, condensing back into Bendu’s usual shape. “Four Jedi. Twice as many as I required. I have saved them, Quinlan Vos. Now I require something from you.”
“What sort of creature are you?” K’Kruhk asked, his slit-like eyes widening to ovals.
The massive horned enigma landed on the ground with a sonorous thud. “Everyone asks me that. What did I tell you, Quinlan Vos?”
Vos scratched the back of his head, then looked uneasily to K’Kruhk and Jeisel. “He says he’s in the middle. Not a Jedi. Not a Sith.”
“Well that’s hardly reassuring,” Jeisel snorted, folding her arms over her chest.
Stass Allie frowned. “It is awfully coincidental that you show up just as the Clones started shooting at us.”
“Oh? That’s no coincidence,” Bendu said. “It is part of a grander plan. You see, I waited for days, hovering above Master Vos, waiting for that exact moment to unfold. I knew that if I warned you ahead of time of the Clones’ impending betrayal, you would not have believed me.”
Intense suspicion flooded the Force from all four Jedi, who exchanged glances.
“But I was flying in space when the Clones first attacked,” Vos said, trying to poke a hole in Bendu’s narrative.
“And I knew you would return to save Stass Allie here,” Bendu shrugged, gesturing with one of his huge paws unnecessarily in the Tholothian’s direction.
Vos shook his head as if to shake away a distraction. “There’s four of us now… Five if we count Bendu. Our first priority must be to find Master Rancisis and Jedi Hett. If the Clones have done this all over the Galaxy, Masters Rancisis and Allie might be the only members of the High Council left.”
Stass’s eyes widened in alarm for a moment, then she shook her head. “I think I would have felt something if Master Yoda died.”
“You felt the convulsion in the Force,” Vos insisted.
“Indeed, but it felt like dozens, maybe hundreds of Jedi dying. The Temple on Coruscant must still be standing.”
“If this has not spread to Coruscant, perhaps there will be time to warn them,” K’Kruhk growled thoughtfully. “Our first priority must be to take the communications array, either at the base itself or from the HoloNet node at Taleucema.”
“Must it be our first priority?” Stass asked skeptically. “There are many options you have not considered. Whatever our next move, six will be a stronger fighting unit than four. While any of us can survive a short onslaught from the Clones, none of us can endure hours of nonstop fighting. The longer we wait to rescue Masters Rancisis and Hett, the more likely it is that they will die.”
“But if we wait, Coruscant may be caught unawares and over nine thousand Jedi will die!”
“I’m with K’Kruhk,” Vos said, then turned to Jeisel, wanting to get her input. “What do you think?”
But it was Bendu who answered. “I, for one, think we should consider surrendering ourselves to the Separatists.”
Snap-hisses of igniting lightsabers cut through the air. Within a second, all four Jedi had taken defensive postures around the strange being with Vos standing to the side.
“What makes you suggest that?” K’Kruhk asked, his tone sounding almost casual even though he was holding an ignited blade.
“Answer that question now!” Jeisel demanded. “We don’t have time for this.”
“Time?” Bendu turned in a half-circle, locking eyes with each of the Jedi one at a time. “I have cleared every Clone away who was attacking you. They have no idea you are here. The truth is, we have a great deal of time.”
“You’re evading the question,” Stass said, pointing her blade towards Bendu’s back.
The mysterious horned creature turned again, now staring firmly at the Tholothian. “The Clones are attacking us. Have you not heard the maxim ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’? I would think the logic speaks for itself.”
K’Kruhk seemed somewhat satisfied by that explanation, and allowed his blade to lower. Jeisel and Stass Allie were not convinced, and neither was Vos.
Cautiously, Vos took a step toward Bendu. Even if Bendu wasn’t going to tell them who he was, Vos had a way of finding out the truth or at least some clues. He reached his hand into Bendu’s fur—
Bendu looked to his side, peering over his shoulder. His eyes were now a blindingly bright white. “I would not do that if I were you, Kiffar. You have no idea what fire you are playing with.”
Standing there awkwardly with his fingers dug centimeters into the massive creature’s back fur, Vos considered this for a moment. On the one hand, Bendu clearly was an extremely powerful Force user who had already performed astonishing feats—feats which even Master Yoda could not have. If he really wanted to stop Vos, he could have. If he wanted to kill all four of them, Bendu probably could.
On the other hand, Vos knew from experience that sometimes manipulating a foe could be far more devastating than destroying a foe. All of this reeked of some sort of Sith plot—Hell, it was even possible that this creature actually was the Sith Lord the Jedi had been looking for. The one pulling Dooku’s strings. For the Sith Lord to be this powerful would explain a lot of things. Hypothetically, Bendu could have been floating around on Coruscant taking the form of a cloud, and the Jedi would never know it. He could have been on any planet in the Galaxy, disguising himself as weather—no, even disguising his actions as weather.
“You don’t want to do this,” Bendu repeated, this time waving his hand.
The Kiffar felt this overwhelming will press its way into his mind. Bendu’s fur suddenly felt like pure fire, and Vos reflexively jerked his hand back with a gasp. “I don’t want to do…” he mumbled, deactivating his lightsaber and taking a step back. “I don’t want to—no. I have to.” Reaching back into Bendu’s fur, he gripped an entire fistful and yanked.
About one percent of Kiffars possessed a Force ability which allowed them to glean information by touching an object. In some circles it was called psychometry, in others postcognition, while the Caamasi name for it was tai vordrax . Quinlan Vos was one of the most adept users of psychometry in the entire Galaxy.
While Vos was incapable of performing psychometry on living beings, he could find out quite a lot about someone by touching a severed strand of hair, a plucked feather, or even a lost scale. A fistful of fur was more than enough for Vos to glean some information, at least under normal circumstances. These were not normal circumstances.
A sharp electric tingle pulsed through the Kiffar’s body. Next thing he knew, his sense of self had completely changed. He was surrounded by many beings of Bendu’s strange gargantuan species. Whatever planet they were on was so strong with the Force that stones, trees, even rivers were floating in the air. All of the life on the planet seemed to be so in tune and connected with the Force that levitation was just commonplace. The terrain ebbed and flowed with every pulse in the Force, and there were many unfamiliar creatures which were analogous to birds, mammals, fish, reptiles, insects. They weren’t merely connected to the Force, but they clearly used it, pulling nectar out of flowers, dropping massive boulders on nuts—and there were strange carnivorous plants that preyed on most animals.
But nothing preyed on Bendu’s species. They lived without fear in what Vos could only describe as floating habitations, living quite apart from nature like almost any sentient species.
Before the Kiffar could even get his bearings, he experienced a lifetime of memories. He learned, had a mate, had children, experienced his parents growing older and more gray-furred, then passing away. Then his wife grew old similarly and passed away. His children had children of their own, and their children had grandchildren, and all of them were quite conspicuously living, growing old, and dying.
Everyone was slowly dying, and soon everyone Bendu had ever known had died. Bendu still had some connections, but slowly, Vos felt him start to care less and less. What had been familiar and comforting became onerous and irritating. Bendu left everyone behind and moved to a cave on the planet’s surface, and there he explored.
Until Bendu found himself in a dark expanse, laced with pathways zig-zagging in every direction. When Bendu approached the first of the lights, what Vos thought was a star turned out to be a portal of some sort.
In what felt like an instant, Vos’s sense of self changed again. It expanded into a vast all-encompassing awareness of the Galaxy. Vos felt like he could go anywhere—see anything. And he, or rather Bendu , did.
Bendu went everywhere, to so many places that it all went by like a whirlwind. Still slowly, but surely, Bendu became bored. That was until humans came.
Or at least what Vos thought looked like humans. They were different though, with pointed ears, more colorful hair, and extremely vibrant presences in the Force. They built vast structures, making the Galaxy more interesting for Bendu again.
Bendu stood on what Vos recognized with astonishment as the planet Selonia, amongst the bipedal, feline, otter-like locals. The Selonians busied themselves by the sea, cracking clams on rocks with their muscular tails, while Bendu sat on the sand, looking up at the sky in fascination. Up above, the swirls of hyperspace twinkled over the clouds, creating a display in the sky so strange Vos felt he might go mad from just witnessing it. Remarkably unperturbed by having their entire planet moved, the Selonians completely ignored the display in the sky, though a few did stare curiously at Bendu.
After this bout of entertainment in the Corellian system, eons and eons went by again, and Bendu became ever more disconnected and apathetic. At first, knowing so much information made the Galaxy extremely predictable, and Bendu began anticipating things would happen before they did.
He witnessed empires rise and fall, wars break out, new sentient species awaken, other species go extinct. Yet, after a while, the dark space between the portals changed. Other beings, including the strange near-humans, but also weasels, wolves, sentient spiders, and creatures Vos had thought were only myth shared the space. The paths cracked, portals changed locations, the very flow of time itself changed—Not once, not twice, but at least four times.
Bendu’s memory became more fragmented, more foggy. With each change in the timeline, Bendu recalled previous timelines more and more poorly. Yet, he and the others continued witnessing everything, becoming more careful over time. They developed stricter and stricter protocols, limiting contact with Force users in the Galaxy.
But these measures failed. Another Force user, a Togruta whom Vos recognized as Ahsoka Tano, traveled into the World Between Worlds and changed the timeline again. At first, this was exciting to Bendu and the other witnesses. It was the first new thing that had happened in eons. Until they found the body of Morai.
Vos felt a great debate rage, and for the first time in hundreds of thousands of years for Bendu, fear . Bendu’s reflexes of survival had faded like the memories of old timelines and divergent universes. For hundreds of thousands of years, Bendu had been beyond anything even resembling a threat. He called forth the Council of the Cosmic Force—all of whom were a great deal younger than him. He listened to them debate, analyze, and opine on how to respond. For the first time in millenia, the dark World Between Worlds was crowded again as nigh immortal beings ran about in a panic, with the only solution they could agree on being to observe the timeline.
Another immortal was snuffed out, with the Loth-Wolf Vitner skewered by a man in a dark cloak. Vos looked closer and recognized him, to his horror, as the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. Something clicked in his head, and the alarm he had felt permeate the Jedi superconscious right before the Clones attacked suddenly made perfect sense.
Bendu responded with fear, anger, and hate, blasting portals—cauterizing time itself to stop the threat, or at least quarantine it. Things continued falling apart, time reacted very negatively to being attacked in such a way, and Vos experienced Bendu’s pain as he was struck by lightning.
Flash-forward, and Bendu was here. On Saleucami. The erstwhile apathetic bored witness to all of history now panicked—quickly working out a plan. Vos was necessary for it, but every other Jedi was expendable. Bendu didn’t care about anything but the survival of himself and the other borderline-immortal beings he shared the Cosmic Force with. They were afraid, and now the entire universe was in grave danger.
“VOS! VOS!” Stass yelled.
The Kiffar felt pressure on his shoulders as he was shaken back and forth. He opened his mouth to explain everything he had just experienced. To explain that Bendu wanted them to surrender to the Separatist, so they could convince the Separatist Senate to call for a ceasefire, which would end Palaptine’s control over them.
He wanted to tell Bendu that this was a good plan, but it had some holes they needed to work out. He wanted to tell Bendu that he understood where he had come from, but that he also felt great amounts of apathy, darkness, and hatred. He really didn’t quite trust Bendu, but as long as their goals aligned, so long as Bendu promised to help him save the Jedi Order, he’d cooperate and guarantee the cooperation of Masters Stass Allie, Sian Jeisel, and K’Kruhk. He wanted to say he wouldn’t do this at the mercy of the Separatist—as their POW—but rather as a diplomat.
He wanted to say all of this, but instead all that emerged from his mouth was a horrified animalistic scream of terror. Blood now poured from his eyes and ears. Still clutching a fistful of Bendu’s fur, the Kiffar collapsed to the ground, writhing in inconceivable pain.
“What have you done to him?!” Jeisel cried out, pointing her saber at Bendu’s chest. Vos wanted to say he was okay. He wanted to tell them to stand down, but he was completely helpless as he lay on the dirt, and all three of his companions began swinging their lightsabers at an extremely powerful being who was older than Galactic civilization itself.
The last thing Vos saw before he passed out was a portal opening in the cluster of Cake Trees behind Stass. A silver-furred Loth-wolf jumped out, eyes glowing as he tackled the Tholothian to the ground.
Chapter 10: KELIA LOS'EAN
Chapter Text
Aboard the Kestrel , Athega System
The Clone Wars’ first ceasefire in two years had been announced in the Athega System. The remaining Republic and Separatist ships had limped their way to Nkllon, the solar system’s only planet. Sitting in the shadow of the uninhabited irradiated world, shuttles and maintenance craft zipped between ships, applying as many repairs as possible, while also attempting not to spook the other side.
Order 66 had been a disaster. Even using non-lethal methods like coma gas, stun shots, and exploiting the ship’s artificial gravity had caused fatalities on nearly every ship in the fleet. The Kestrel and the Foretoken had both lost the majority of a bridge shift, with Foretoken also losing her Captain.
Now, Kelia was waiting for their erstwhile ‘guest’ to arrive as she listened to status reports from the other vessels. Currently, it was Foretoken’s turn to read off.
“Our damage is relatively minor, all things considered. But, with the loss of Captain Gretz and most of the senior bridge officers, the crew is still adjusting to the new chain of command. This will likely lead to delays in our headcount and repair schedule until we can get back in order.”
Kelia nodded, continuing to maintain her decorum despite her blood and smoke stained jacket and lack of uniform pants. “Thank you for the report, Lieutenant Commander Karath.”
“And the Kestrel , sir?” The holoprojection of Tanager’s captain inquired, the Twi’lek nervously twirling one of his lekku.
Kelia glanced over her shoulder towards the front of the bridge where Jural was sitting with her legs dangling into the port side data pit. Like many of the crewmembers, the Kestrel's captain was in a state of listless shock now that the adrenaline had faded. She was staring out the viewport towards the command bridge, which was visibly swarming with repair crews on the opposite side of the bridge tower. With the battle that had been fought on the command bridge itself, all operations had moved to the flight bridge.
Frowning, she turned back to the holoprojector and cleared her throat. “Repairs to sublight drives are underway, thankfully we can replace much of the damaged internals within another hour or so.”
At the back of the bridge, the turbolift doors opened. The three Jedi, Kev, his Padawan Ekos, and also Ahsoka Tano arrived alongside Lir Sey’les, Kix, and Nebhir. Taking up the rear, Lir Sey’les had the purple telepathic weasel slung over the back of her neck like a scarf.
“Who is that?!” gasped Ekos, the Rodian freezing in place as he regarded Morai, standing near the center of the flight bridge.
The owl had transfigured herself into a tall ghostly white near-human with pointy ears and green hair. “We have met before Padawan Ekos,” Morai explained in perfect Basic. “Now that my powers are returning, albeit slowly, I have enough energy to assume this form—at least for a time.”
“It is nice to see you again,” Ahsoka said with a polite nod. “I was worried that after the Daughter’s death on Mortis, you’d never be… well…”
“I wish I had communicated earlier with you during this ordeal,” Morai sighed, speaking again after Ahsoka trailed off. “Your changes to the timeline have cost us a great deal, and I fear that the worst is yet to come.”
“Why didn’t you help me earlier?” the Togruta asked, folding her arms over her chest.
“We have been helping you. Until Veryk decided to extricate you from Coruscant, however, you were under constant surveillance by Sidious.”
“I still don’t understand. I mean no disrespect, but why didn’t you just get rid of Sidious if he’s causing you so much trouble… or teleport him somewhere far away where he can never bother anyone again?”
The question got Kelia’s attention. She looked back over at the Force users and Veil Dwellers.
A disapproving frown crossed the Daughter’s face. “Veryk did suggest that as a course of action, but I cannot say more. I have already said too much to a Jedi.”
Veryk squirmed around, running his paws through Sey’les’s gray fur as he attempted to stand on her head to match Morai’s height. {“Why would you waste your energy to appear as a Celestial? You are far less charming in this form, and your greater size makes you an easier target.”} The weasel stumbled, grabbing Sey’les’s left ear hard to remain upright like it was a handle, causing the Bothan to cringe in pain.
“Sentients are far less likely to take a Convor seriously,” Morai argued.
Ahsoka curiously looked from Morai to Veryk, as she was only able to hear Morai’s half of the conversation.
Kelia was half-listening to this conversation, but she was looking through the viewports. On schedule, a Separatist Maxilipede -class shuttle carrying the droid Admiral Scirocco rapidly approached the bow of the Kestrel , escorted by a pair of Tri-Fighters.
At the back of the bridge, the turbolifts opened again, and the first four officers of the evening shift arrived—two hours early as ordered.
Commander Quozas, the middle-aged Nikto officer who had the bridge during the evening shift, stopped in front of Kelia. “Good evening, Admiral.”
“Good evening,” Kelia nodded, then turned in place to face most of the bridge. “Alright, day shift, those of you remaining, report to sickbay.” When Jural did not stir, Kelia added, “Captain, report to sickbay. That’s an order.”
When Lieutenant Vra’tis tapped her on the shoulder, Jural seemed to snap out of it, jolting upright from her slouch. Together, they began slowly extricating themselves from the bridge along with the rest of their shift.
“Veryk, I think that Celestial is right,” Sey’les growled, straightening her neck to make it easier for Veryk to continue standing on her shoulders. “Besides,” she added in a quieter voice, “I’d be interested in seeing what the Prophet of Fertility really looks like.”
That got Kelia’s attention again. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Nebhir utter, “I’d be interested too,” and then pet Veryk gently on the head.
{“This is what I really look like,”} Veryk’s voice boomed insistently into every Bothan and near-Bothan mind. {“But I am a creature of the Force,”} he added, in a tone that sounded defensive, {“With effort, I can take whatever form I wish.”} In an extremely dazzling display of acrobatics, the Viverrid jumped down from Sey’les’s shoulder, kicked off her forearm with his rear legs, and hopped onto the ground.
Kelia stared wearily ahead as mist engulfed the creature. Veryk’s shadow, cast against the clouds, grew in size dramatically, swelling to over two meters in height. The outline of his new form had roughly the same stature of the weasel, but with an even longer tail that caused Kelia to guess he had taken the form of a saurian sentient.
Alas, reality was nothing so straightforward.
The lifeform that emerged from the smoke was altogether beyond Kelia’s comprehension. For a wild moment, she assumed Veryk was insectoid, though her heightened Bothan sense of smell immediately caught the unmistakable whiff of something more mammalian and sweaty. The creature’s body was divided into what appeared to be insectoid exoskeletal segments, but were actually jointed plates of dermal bone like that of an armadillo. His thick skinned exterior was bright white, save for the multicolored rainbow of threadlike tattoos ringing his slit-shaped oval eyes and forehead. With a long tail and tiny arms, Veryk had the same gait as he did in his purple weasel form, but at the ends of his spindly arms, his hands had only three fingers. He was entirely naked, except for this metallic box dangling from a necklace.
From the expressions on the faces of Ahsoka, Sey’les, Nebhir, Kev, and Ekos, it seemed that whatever form Veryk had assumed was even stranger and more distressing to a Force user. Ahsoka looked like she was suffering from a confusion-induced headache just from being in proximity to the creature. Sey’les and Nebhir had both let off shocked gasps, while Ekos had stepped back, pressing up against the wall.
Kev seemed more distressed than any of the other Force-sensitives. His fur flattened as he cringed, holding one hand on his lightsaber hilt and the other out defensively in front of his face.
“Relax,” Kelia said disarmingly, nodding to two of the Clone security troopers who had drawn their blasters.
And it was fortunate that she had said so at that time, for what happened next shocked everyone to the core. Veryk, or whatever the creature called himself when he took this form, opened his mouth. Rather than blood red like most lifeforms in the Galaxy, the inside of his mouth was a bright coppery green. Six tendrils of the same color shot out from inside his mouth, and began licking all of the Force-sensitives.
Sey’les raised an arm, then relaxed somewhat, allowing the tongues to briefly pass over her gray fur. Nebhir seemed to actually enjoy the sensation, showing the tips of her teeth as she grinned. Ahsoka gasped and coughed, closing her eyes as one of the tongues slapped her cheek.
But again, it was Kev who reacted the most dramatically. “Oh gross! OH GROSS!” he yelped, ducking for cover, before tripping and stumbling into Morai’s Celestial form, and then sprawling on the hard floor with a metallic thunk.
“Veryk, I am unimpressed,” Morai said, gently helping Kev up. “You could have taken the form of any sentient creature in the known universe, and you choose one of a species that can only communicate by taste and smell. This meeting shall be one of the most important in… how are you—oh!” she gasped, showing real surprise.
“Behold!” a voice said from the box dangling around the creature’s neck, “I am Veryk of many colors!” His tattoos seemed to glint in the light, having a rainbow-like effect as he turned to face Kelia. “You underestimate me, Morai.”
“That’s impossible,” Morai said, still disbelieving. “Is that translator device linked to you telepathically? Where did you get it? The Aing-Tii have had no contact with the Galaxy. How would there be a reference point to translate into Galactic Basic?”
“They never had contact with the Galaxy in the old timeline or even yet in this timeline,” Veryk said knowingly. “Those are hardly the only two timelines.”
“But— what? ” Morai sputtered. “You can’t remember—you can’t possibly know… How?!”
Kelia rolled her eyes as Sey'les and Nebhir continuing staring at Veryk, mesmerized. She couldn’t understand why Morai was so confused. “It’s not complicated. Theory, likely fact all things considered, dictates even a single alteration to one timeline could spawn another. Something more major, like the history of an entire species, would certainly do so.”
Veryk's tongues flicked the air, the translator box speaking for him, now more condescendingly. “Look at you, getting taught the basics of cause and effect by a non-Force-sensitive. The universe unfolds from what has been to what will be, and there—”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Morai protested.
“Aing-Tii are hardly the only species whose history has changed,” Veryk continued. “In some timelines, the Celestials did not pull the five planets of Corellia into one system. This caused radical changes in not just one but two species.”
“And how could you know that?!” Morai gasped. “Memory fragments. The past of other universes become too distant to ever reach, their future ever more irrelevant! Not even Bendu can know what happened or will happen more than three timelines ago. It’s all so far beyond the Mists of Forgetfulness that it’s impossible to recall.”
“Mists of Forgetfulness?” Kev asked.
“Perhaps… We are saying too much,” Veryk cautioned, his already slit-like eyes becoming even narrower as he gazed at both Kev and Ahsoka.
“No, you’re not getting away from explaining yourself that easily,” Morai protested, shaking her head. “We’ve spent no more than a few days in this timeline. If you don’t explain yourself—”
“Now, now,” Veryk interrupted, “Unless, of course, you want me to discuss my meeting with an architect from 10,000 years after the Clone Wars—”
“You should never trust anything from so far in the future!” Morai gasped. “It’s entirely unreliable! Ever in motion, the slightest change of—”
“To discuss this in front of three Jedi,” Veryk interrupted again, continuing his last reprimand, “ and an ST-series tactical droid.”
Everyone turned to where Veryk was pointing his pale three-fingered hand. Sure enough, Admiral Scirocco stood expectantly in the turbolift, flanked by a quartet of B1 security droids.
“Uh,” said one of the Clone navigation officers with deep uncertainty, “Admiral on deck?”
All of the crew except Commodore Los’ean herself snapped to attention for a tactical droid.
“At ease,” Kelia snapped, her fur swirling with embarrassment. In her underwear, she felt completely unprepared for this meeting. Literally the whole Galaxy might see this meeting one day with me in my underwear… I have only myself to blame for being distracted by stupid time-traveling prattle.
Getting a closer look at Scirocco, however, she felt slightly more relieved. Scirocco looked quite disheveled himself. Not only did he have a missing arm, but scratches and bite marks of all shapes and sizes blemished his exterior.
Not sure exactly what to do, Kelia reached out her hand, and accepted an extremely awkward handshake from the droid’s left. “Please, follow me,” she said, walking towards the rear of the bridge’s starboard side.
“Are we conducting this meeting in the pilot’s pre-flight ready room?” Scirocco asked in a monotone once they crossed through the doorway.
“It will have to suffice,” Kelia said testily. “The usual place for meetings of this importance in the other bridge tower was severely damaged.”
Once everyone was inside, Kelia quickly introduced all the attendees for Scirocco. She hesitated when she got to Nebhir’s name, not quite sure what a spice-addicted half-Squib smuggler was doing here at all. She hesitated for so long when she got to Morai that the Celestial ended up answering for herself.
“You may call me Morai.”
“And you may call me Veryk of many colors,” said the Aing-Tii, his shimmering facial tattoos twinkling vibrantly.
Scirocco’s sensors hummed as he stood there absorbing every bit of information he could on those two.
“Should I call you ‘Veryk of many colors’ when you are in your true form?” growled Sey’les nervously.
The Aing-Tii honked with this truly alien sound which sounded a little bit like a laugh, then sent his tongues dancing into the device dangling from his neck. “No. In my true form, I am only purple. Actually, Veryk of many colors is quite the mouthful. Just call me Veryk…”
“This is getting a little ridiculous,” Ahsoka said, taking a seat before folding her arms over her chest.
Scirocco took a seat and looked at the Togruta. “I daresay, it is most intriguing. Now, Veryk and Morai, neither of your species occurs in my database. Are you a neutral party or are you functioning as counsels for the Republic’s side? ”
“We are with the Republic,” Morai said firmly.
“No,” Veryk said, just as firmly, drawing a gasp of alarm from Sey’les. When all eyes settled on him, he elaborated, “We represent a different interest.”
“Not in this context!” Morai shouted in an echoey supernatural boom. Her positively electric anger sent a shiver down Kelia’s spine and made her fur stand on end. “Our interest in ending the war and stopping Sidious is their interest!”
“Sidious?” Scirocco asked.
“She means the Sith Lord posing as the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic,” Ahsoka explained, then mouthed the words, “what is wrong with you?” to both Morai and Veryk.
“Technically he’s not posing,” Kev mumbled.
“Sidious,” Scirocco started, “if we are calling Supreme Chancellor Palpatine Sidious—”
“We’re not,” Veryk said.
“Supreme Chancellor Palpatine then,” Scirocco continued, “will have to be turned over to the Separatists. I will only discuss your surrender under that pre-condition.”
Kelia opened her snout to vehemently shoot down any misconception the droid had that she was surrendering , but Sey’les beat her to it.
“Are you spacesick?” snarled the ashy-furred Bothan, banging both of her fists on the table. “We’re not surrendering!”
“As an ST-series military strategic analysis and tactics droid, my actual motion always matches my anticipated motion. For this reason, I am incapable of experiencing any type of motion sickness.”
“Is there no organic commanding officer in your fleet we can negotiate with?” Ashoka croaked, sounding more tired and miserable than ever.
“No,” Scirocco said flatly.
“Perhaps we should have these discussions after we have moved back into communication’s range with the rest of the Galaxy,” Kev growled grumpily.
“Good suggestion, Master,” Ekos praised.
She opened her snout to agree with Kev, but was again interrupted, this time by Scirocco.
“Unacceptable. We have the advantage now, but with our sensors damaged by the radiation, we are unable to detect vessels potentially lying in wait beyond our visual range. I will not risk my fleet without first coming to an agreement.”
“Well, wha—” Kelia started, but was interrupted again.
“Turning over Palpatine is something we can all agree to, right?” Nebhir asked hopefully. “I mean, nobody likes him. We can all agree Palpatine is definitely not koovy. If the droids are going to blow us to smithereens if we don’t turn over Palpatine, then why can’t we agree to it? Palpatine is like… he’s like dangerous radioactive junk we should get rid of. If the Ugors wanted to take radioactive junk from the Squibs, I am sure most Squibs would agree—Even though the Ugors aren’t koovy themselves, radioactive junk is even lamer. I say we agree to turn over Palpatine, Sidious, Supreme Sidious—whatever we’re calling the little shit, and surrender. It’s a good deal.”
“I do love Squib analogies,” Veryk snorted, quaking with laughter. “Very sharp! Very descriptive!”
Seyl’es’ snout hung open in shock and confusion as she glared at the pair. “You’re completely missing the plot, Nebhir!”
Ahsoka rubbed her eyes, looking at Nebhir and Veryk. “How can this be happening?”
“You weren’t there for all of it,” Nebhir squeaked, taking Ahsoka literally. “But Veryk showed us that one of wasps—the Siths that is—were going to kill the bees—that’s you guys. After Veryk saved you, we got ambushed by the droids, and you were there for that part. Now, do I really need to explain how easy this is to decide? The droids are willing to accept our surrender in exchange for something we don’t even want to keep . Togruta, Bothans, and Jedi might not know a good deal when one lands smack dab in the middle of your snout, but Squibs do. Let’s take it!”
“Guys, even entertaining this nonsense is dangerous,” Ahsoka cautioned.
“Yes ma'am, it is,” Sey’les growled in agreement. “Nebhir, you’re treating this like you’re some smuggler who got caught by the cops rather than a diplomatic negotiation. Trillions of beings depend on us, and we didn’t get caught.”
“Caught by the cops!” Nebhir yelped. “I resent that! I’ve never been caught!”
“I caught both you and Trajan Kran,” Sey’les bragged, fur dancing with pride.
“That was part of the plan!”
“I caught you again in the Vergence Scatter, grabbing you right through a kriffing portal and—”
“Uh, Sey’les,” Ahsoka interrupted.
“Dragged you out mid jump,” Sey’les continued excitedly. “Hell, that wasn’t even the first time—was it part of your plan getting caught after you put glass in Kev’s drink back on Bestine? Was it—”
“SEY’LES!” Ahsoka screamed, then started panting, clearly exhausted from the effort.
Sey’les winced, her ears falling flat against her head. “Yes, General?”
“By continuing to argue, you are entertaining it.”
“Entertaining what?”
“The nonsense idea that we are surrendering. That the whole Republic is surrendering.”
Sey’les looked up at the ceiling, closing her snout for once. “Huh. That’s an interesting way of looking at things, sir.”
“Interesting?” Nebhir scoffed narrowing her beady little eyes at the Togruta. “I’ve heard more interesting ideas from a granite slug, and I don’t even speak granite slug. You’re also wrong Sey’les—we were caught. The Separatists now know our big boss, Palpatine, Sidious, Supreme Chancellor whatever, is a traitor. They’re the cops, we did the crime, and they’re offering us a pretty good deal for turning over Sidious! As far as I can tell, we’re not even getting punished, and they’re gonna do all the work getting rid of Sidious! Even a fuzzling should be able to understand this.”
“Excellent,” Scirocco said, passing a datapad to Nebhir. “I am glad you see things from my point of view. Sign here. The next condition is also non-negotiable—”
“ Prisoner Nebhir Traf’lab does not speak for the Galactic Republic!” Kelia yelled incredulously, slamming her hand down on Nebhir’s which was clutching the datapad.
“Ouch!” Nebhir gasped. “That hurt!”
“This is insane,” Kelia hissed, dragging the datapad from Nebhir’s grasp. Not even looking at the contents of the screen, the Commodore gave Scirocco a death stare. “Is this funny to you? Ceasefire,” she snarled, glaring at the droid. “You busted sack of bolts! We agreed to a ceasefire. Fire has been ceased! Do you not understand the difference between a ceasefire and surrender?! This is absolutely childish.”
“I am disappointed,” Scirocco said in a monotone. “My Bothan behavioral algorithm suggested a 98.1% chance that your current state of undress was to better facilitate a surrender. After all, we will have to confiscate all of your weapons when we process you and your crew, which was going to be another—”
“Kriff it,” Kelia snarled, standing up so quickly the chair fell out from behind her. “Just kriff everything!”
“Sexual vulgarity is often used by organics to refer to destruction,” Scirocco noted. “Do you intend to break the ceasefire? It would be most dishonorable, destroying—”
“No, I am not breaking the ceasefire, but you clearly aren’t taking me seriously,” Kelia snarled, standing up. “I am going to put pants on. Then we can discuss how Dooku and Palpatine have been colluding for years and orchestrating this entire war for their own ends.”
“Are we taking a recess?” Scirocco asked as he recoiled slightly, seemingly taken aback by the sudden reference to collusion between the heads of state of both sides of the war.
“Yes,” Kelia said stiffly as she spun on her heel.
“Very good idea, sir,” Sey’les said. “Don’t worry, I won’t surr—”
“Stop entertaining it!” Ahsoka croaked in a tone so exasperated that it was almost a sob. She ran her hands down her wrinkled and blistered montrals.
“I—I don’t mean—I never—well,” Sey’les stammered incoherently, then finally finished with, “Sorry, General.”
Kelia stormed out of the ready room and back onto the flight bridge. The moment the doors closed behind her, she let off an angry seething snarl.
“Is everything going alright, sir?” Quozas asked, looking up from the helm.
Taking a deep breath, Kelia stood up straight. “Not really,” she admitted. “I am going to get dressed, hopefully make things move along more smoothly.”
“Good idea, sir,” Quozas said, using the same words Sey’les had.
Kelia frowned, cursing internally as she stepped onto the turbolift. Even allowing Nebhir to sit down at the table was clearly a mistake. It would have been best to exclude both the prisoner and Ensign Sey’les, replacing them instead with the captains or acting captains of two of the other vessels in the fleet.
But would those creatures, Veryk and Morai, have tolerated it?
As grateful as Kelia was for Morai and Veryk saving her ship repeatedly, they sometimes seemed downright disrespectful towards the strict boundaries and protocols present on a military vessel.
No, not just disrespectful… disdainful. At least in Veryk’s case.
Settling on that description, Kelia balled her fists as she briskly walked down the corridor towards her quarters. Her ears perked up as she approached the door. For a moment, she thought she heard a faint rustling sound within, but then it was gone. Deciding that she must just be losing her nerves, she opened the doors, stepped inside, and nearly died of a heart attack.
“WHAT THE HARAN ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?!” Her hand reflexively went to her blaster holster, but she decided against drawing it.
Standing at nearly two meters in height even on all fours, a Loth-wolf had opened every drawer of her wardrobe, throwing clothes all over the floor. Now he had two of his paws buried deep inside the locked chest at the foot of Kelia’s bed. His eyes dilated in fear and his ears folded guiltily against his head.
“Zoltan?” Kelia hissed incredulously, recognizing this white-furred Loth-wolf by his smell. He was the one who had messed around with the holoprojector, finding and showing the data to her at the start of this fiasco.
“I’m sorry!” Zoltan yelped. “I’m so sorry about the mess… I’m more of a techie Loth-wolf not a fashionista. I had never seen folded clothes before, and after I moved them, they seemed to sort of unfold themselves.” He picked up one of her uniform shirts in his snout, drooling all over it as he mumbled. “Mmhmm—dee it’s like… they just open .”
“What are you doing in my quarters?!” Kelia asked, stepping into the middle of it all. Her eyes drifted to the stack of data cards Zoltan had piled at the foot of her bed. All over the floor, Mandalorian trinkets, also taken from her locked case, lay scattered about carelessly.
Zoltan opened his snout, allowing her shirt to fall to the floor. “I need the original Sidious data back. My dad and Bendu are kinda in…” He winced. “A situation .”
“That explains it,” Kelia said sarcastically. “That explains why you didn’t ask me and instead broke into my quarters.”
“I am sorry. I—”
“GET OUT!” Kelia screamed, biting the air with each word. She stepped out of the way of the door and pointed through the opening.
Zoltan hunched over on his front paws, lowering his snout to the pile of data chips. “I just need—”
“GET THE SHAB OUT!” Kelia screamed again, kicking as hard as she could at Zoltan’s exposed rear.
The Loth-wolf yelped, choking and slobbering as he stuffed his mouth full of every data pad and gadget he could reach.
“I SAID GET THE SHAB OUT!” Kelia repeated, kicking him again.
Sliding on the floor, Zoltan tripped over his own feet, scrambling towards the door. His howls echoed off the walls for a moment, then a portal appeared in mid-air. The last glimpse Kelia caught was of his tail, pointed down as it disappeared into wherever it was these creatures go.
Kelia trembled, sitting down on the floor. It took a moment for the gravity of what she had just done to set in. That creature, whatever he was, had the power to stop blaster bolts, hurl things with his mind, open portals into another dimension, and download and find data in any computer on a whim.
The reason for Zoltan’s retreat was not because he would actually lose a fight with her. His running away was more like those incidents where a Nexu or a Rancor gets startled by a much smaller being and flees in sheer panic.
“That was so shabla stupid,” Kelia finally whispered aloud to herself.
o.o.o.o.o
QUINLAN VOS
The Vergence Scatter
Vos had thought insanity had taken him earlier, when he could no longer work his mouth to say what he wanted. By now, he was absolutely sure of it.
He, Stass Allie, Sian Jeisel, and K’Kruhk were now suspended upside down from a spider web, bound, and gagged with sticky sour-tasting fibers of the same substance. In every direction, Vos could see nothing but pathways suspended against the starry blackness of space, with many paths terminating in front of what appeared to be wormholes.
And this wasn’t the crazy part. They were surrounded by beings radiating with immense power in the Force, most of whom looked like they should not be sentient. Right now, Bendu was being chastised by a silver wolf.
“I must say, Bendu, this seems more like a Veryk thing to do.”
“Halfdan, the Jedi are far too suspicious,” Bendu sighed, cocking his antlered head in the direction of the bound captives. “I should have tasked this to Morai… or perhaps repeated what Veryk did and brought a few extra mortal beings into the know.”
“The more who know, the harder this will be to contain,” snarled the silver wolf, Halfdan, apparently. “We have the power to wipe all the memories on a ship or even a fleet, but if planets find out—”
Halfdan stopped mid-sentence when a white-furred wolf emerged from the shimmering surface of a nearby portal. Whimpering in pain, the wolf spat out a mouthful of metal objects, then began coughing and sputtering.
“What happened?” snarled Halfdan. “Zoltan? Zoltan, are you alright?”
“She kicked me!”
“Who kicked you?” Halfdan demanded.
“That horrible, mean Bothan! I was just doing as you instructed, and she kicked me!”
“Lir Sey’les?” Halfdan asked, a wave of intense anger pouring into the Force.
“No! Kelia Los’ean!”
“She’s not even Force-sensitive!” Anger turned into rage as Halfdan bit Zoltan’s side, and then began shoving him back towards the portal with both front paws. “Go right back there and kick her back! Throw her against a wall! Strike her with—”
“He will do no such thing,” Bendu said with finality, grabbing both wolves by the scruffs of their necks and hoisting them high. “Zoltan did the right thing by de-escalating. Anything else will draw further attention to us.”
“WE CAN’T IGNORE THIS!” Halfdan snarled, squirming angrily against Bendu’s overpowering grip. “SHE HURT MY SON! SHE HAS NO RESPECT—SHE KNOWS SO MUCH ABOUT US! SHE CAN’T BE TRUSTED!”
“You are correct on two accounts, but revenge is not the way to handle something so trivial. Especially since the only thing truly harmed is Zoltan’s pride.”
“I—I…” Halfdan sighed, hanging limp in Bendu’s grasp. “Fine, what are we going to do about what she knows though?”
“When this is all over, we will have to wipe her memory, Maarisa Zsinj’s too and the memories of their respective fleets.”
“We need to do so now then!” Halfdan growled, squirming again. “As soon as they get out of the Athega System, they’ll tell the Jedi all about us when they expose Sidious!”
Vos’s attention, which was already deeply on this conversation, only intensified at the mention of that name.
Bendu increased the volume of his voice to a boom so loud that, if Vos’s hands hadn’t been bound, he would have covered his ears. “Lossko, do they tell the Jedi about us?”
A rhythmic flapping noise emerged from somewhere behind Vos. As much as the Jedi wanted to, he couldn’t turn and see. Slowly, surely, the noise came closer and closer, and soon wind was blowing harshly through his hair.
Jeisel, who was facing the other way, let off a muffled scream. Not so much in terror or fear, but more to draw attention to what was approaching.
Next thing Vos knew, a Mythosaur, more than twice the size of Bendu, alighted on the path between the Jedi and the other Force critters.
“I have explored the point in which Kelia sends a message to the Republic. She mentions Sidious, and provides the video clip of Kix’s capture, but she does not make any mention of us. Nor do Lir Sey’les, Kev Rel’skar, Ahsoka Tano, or any of the others involved… Though Morai can clearly be seen in the footage, standing behind them in her Celestial form.”
“THE FOOL!” Halfdan howled.
“Relax,” Bendu sighed, gently setting down both the wolves. The rest of their packmates rushed forward, sniffing and licking them in greeting.
“I don’t foresee much risk of her telling the Republic anything until after the situation on Mustafar is resolved.”
“Mustafar?” Bendu asked. “Whatever shall bring them there?”
“Sidious will initiate a droid shut-down from there, to stop the Separatists from aiding the Jedi-led anti-Palpatine coalition.”
“I did not foresee this. Does Sidious succeed?”
“In the five possible futures I explored, he succeeds in three of them.”
Bendu hmm’d to himself at that. “Perhaps I am wrong for choosing to bring the Separatists over to the Jedi side then… If their armies are deactivated, what use are they?”
“They still control huge swaths of the galaxy,” Zoltan growled. “Not all Separatists are droids…”
“He’s right,” Halfdan said. “Every planet that joins the Jedi coalition will be one more that Sidious cannot retreat to after he loses control of the Senate.”
“If he loses control of the Senate,” Bendu murmured. “Can you still assume the form of Vellus?”
“It’s—it’s been over four millennia!” Halfdan stammered, alarm pouring into the Force at that suggestion.
“If you can’t—”
Halfdan shook his snout hard. “Yes, I can , but… why?”
“Dad, what’s Vellus?” Zoltan asked.
“It’s the form your father was stuck with before he joined us,” answered another wolf, this one with a female voice.
“Oh… when you were a Sith ?” asked Zoltan nervously.
“I’m not proud of it,” Halfdan said in a more hushed voice.
“We all know,” Bendu said consolingly, “But if it is I who turns the Jedi over to the Separatists, it will be far more conspicuous than if you do in the form of a known species.”
“You’re—you’re right. I’ll do it.”
At the mention of Sith and being turned over to the Separatists, Jeisel, Allie, and K’Kruhk moaned in alarm, squirming harder than ever against the webs. Vos’s eyes went wide.
Sounds of squishing muscles and popping joints filled the air as Halfdan stood on two legs, and several transformations unfolded simultaneously. The wolf’s height decreased slightly, his snout shrunk into his face, his tail contracted into his buttocks, and his front paws grew more muscular, seeming like they might burst out of his fur. But at the end of it all, he was still coated in thick silver fur and wore nothing, save for a brown leather belt that held a lightsaber.
When Halfdan, or Vellus rather, turned to face the captive Jedi even Vos let off a panicked moan. Even in the Kiffar’s worst nightmares, there could never be a dark sider like this one.
But there he was. Standing two and a half meters tall, with dark silver fur, soul-piercing yellow eyes, and a lightsaber burn scar running down the front of his neck, was a Wookiee Sith.
The wolves shirked back slightly as Vellus stepped forward, approaching the squirming Jedi.
[“Hold still,”] he growled, stretching his hand out in front of Vos’s face. [“This will all be over soon.”]
o.o.o.o.o
KELIA LOS’EAN
The Republic was not surrendering. Scirocco, Ahsoka, and Kelia had come to the agreement that while none of them had the power to actually order the entire Republic or Confederacy to abide by a ceasefire, that they could announce one.
In light of Dooku and Palpatine’s treachery, Scirocco would tell his compatriots to stop their offensives into Republic-held space, and recommend rescuing any Jedi stranded in their territory. Kelia would do likewise for the Republic Navy, and Ahsoka for the Jedi Order. With any luck, enough non-Clones would decide to follow them in light of their evidence that a mass de-chipping of the GAR would be possible, perhaps even aided by Clones who resisted Order 66 after being told of the Chancellor's treason. From Kelia’s vantage point, admittedly completely out of communication with the outside Galaxy, things were looking hopeful.
Until, rather alarmingly, Scirocco noted elevated Cronau radiation levels. Moments later, an all-too-familiar portal to an unknown realm appeared on the bulkhead. A ripple of anxiety traveled up Kelia’s fur.
Please not Loth-wolves… please not—
To Kelia’s surprise, rather than anyone coming out , Veryk turned around and stepped into the portal.
“Veryk, where are you going?” Sey’les asked, but the former-weasel was gone.
“I am sure he will be back soon,” Morai said, putting a glowing hand on Sey’les’s shoulder.
Ahsoka’s eyebrows were furrowed. “So you can just access the World Between Worlds like that?”
Internally, Kelia debated whether she should tell the others what had happened earlier. The thoughts soon became grimmer. More panicked. What if the Loth-wolves decided to punish her? What if they decided they’ve had enough with Commodore Los’ean? What if—
A portal re-appeared and Veryk emerged, still in his newfangled segmented, pale-white, tailed form. Though, to Kelia’s relief, no Loth-wolves joined him. Veryk’s gaze seemed to focus on her for a moment, then he addressed everyone at the table.
“I have spoken with some of our friends and—”
“Halfdan?” Sey’les interrupted.
“Oh, and Zoltan?” Nebhir asked. “Did you see Ito too? What about Bend—”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Veryk bellowed, his pitch-black rectangular pupils suddenly vanishing into brightly-glowing orbs.
“Zoltan? Halfdan? Ben?” Ahsoka whispered quietly to Morai. “Ben! Obi-Wan Kenobi?! He knows about this too?”
The Celestial frowned. “You ask far too many questions, Ahsoka Tano.”
“And so do you Lir Sey’les,” Veryk chided, “And Nebhir! Lir is one thing—I would have expected you, of all hybrid Squib-Bothans, to have more sense!”
Nebhir looked down at the table uncomfortably.
“I am sorry!” Sey’les yelped, her fur flat in a disconcerting and disproportionate amount of fear. “Please forgive me.”
Four of Veryk’s six green tongues flicked into the air and a noise that sounded almost like a cluck of disapproval emanated from his snout. “Kelia Los’ean—”
This is it. She opened her snout to protest—to point out it was Zoltan’s damn fault for being so careless and not communicating with her.
“I have seen the more distant future and, as it so happens, there will come a perfect time to announce our ceasefire.”
Ahsoka sighed in relief. “Okay. Good. I was beginning to think that this was all going to be more lunacy.”
Kelia herself felt a huge wave of relief, for completely different reasons.
“The future?” Scirocco asked, his robotic voice rising in genuine fascination.
“That time will pass in thirty-nine minutes. Incidentally, giving us just nine minutes to get going. A certain Passel Argente will receive some sensitive information, and decide to relocate his magnanimous presence away from Utapau and to Saleucami—”
“Saleucami!” Ahsoka exclaimed in renewed shock. “Are you sure? The Separatists aren’t going to Mustafar then?”
“General,” Sey’les growled cautiously, “you are arguing with a Prophet who is from the future.”
Morai turned to Sey’les with an expression that looked almost annoyed.
“Oh, don’t you worry your little Jedi head about that,” Veryk said. “Most of the Separatists will still be going to Mustafar.”
Kelia’s mind began racing, putting together the connection between Passel Argente receiving information and Zoltan’s ransacking of her quarters. These portals could clearly connect different places and times, so physically transferring information from her ship to the Separatists should be possible.
Which means timing doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.
Kelia turned to Scirocco. “Alright, let’s get that holocam ready, I want your frigates broadcasting the moment we go live.”
She exhaled and steeled her nerves. It’s time to end this farce of war.
Chapter 11: PASSEL ARGENTE
Chapter Text
Utapau
Below the spacious rafters and metal walkways of one of the Separatist Core ship’s impromptu meeting areas in its main hangar, surrounded by legions of battle droids and flocks of vulture fighters, the Executive Separatist Council was struggling to understand and come to terms with what had unfolded since the Battle of Coruscant. Some of the details were incomplete, others deeply concerning. There was one thing abundantly clear to Passel Argente, Magistrate of the Corporate Alliance.
“We seem to have the advantage now,” Argente muttered. When no one seemed to notice, the Koorivar raised his voice. “We seem to have the advantage now!”
The stormy tirade of accusations Nute Gunray had been laying on Grievous ended abruptly. The Neimoidian coughed twice in surprise, swallowing on his own spit, then sat straight up.
That fact was obvious on the map of the Galaxy floating overhead. On literally every front, the disjointed Separatist factions had all made gains. Every corner of the Galaxy was rapidly becoming less Republic red and more Separatist blue. Argente’s own Corporate Alliance had retaken Murkhana. On the adjacent side of the Perlemian Route, the Commerce Guild, which hadn’t won a single battle since briefly taking Quermia, were retaking systems all around Felucia. If they could hold there, then the siege of the important Separatist worlds of the Tion Cluster would be relieved. Even the Geonosians-in-exile, who hadn’t won a battle in more than two years, had broken out of their containment on Hypori, and had sent a picket fleet to Siskeen. They were engaged with Republic forces on the edge of the secretive security zone set up around Geonosis—where if rumors were true, the Republic was using Geonosian slave labor to build something very big called Stardust.
[“We are winning for now,”] Archduke Poggel the Lesser said ominously in a string of Geonosian clicks. [“My sources tell me our change of fortune may only be a temporary reprieve. Once the conflict between the Jedi and the Senate settles down, we may face a Republic more united than ever.”]
Gunray’s vice chair of the Trade Federation, Rune Haako, bowed his head toward the table and shivered at Poggel’s prediction. “What if—what if the Jedi take control?! What if they kill the Senate and turn on us? They will put us all to the sword!”
The prediction was so far-fetched, even from Nute Gunray, that Passel Argente had to bite back the quip forming in the back of his mouth. Instead, he decided to use their fears to his own advantage. “Perhaps the safest thing to do then, is to go all in. Attack on all fronts.”
Wat Tambor slouched, fiddling with the translator built into the front of his armor. Passel Argente’s face hardened as he steeled himself for a debate—the Techno Union was ever the Corporate Alliance’s arch nemesis. But instead, when the static noises emanating from his pressure suit ended and were replaced by an audible voice, Tambor nodded in agreement. “The Emir of the Techno Union concurs with the Corporate Alliance Magistrate.”
“The Chair of the Banking Clan agrees as well,” said San Hill. “We must devote all of our forces to an immediate attack.”
“NO!” Everyone turned abruptly, scarcely able to believe their own ears as General Grievous stood up so fast his chair fell down. “I am ordering a temporary halt of all attacks—we must shore up our defenses.”
“General we have the—” Shu Mai began, before being violently interrupted as Grievous lashed out, banging his fist onto the table in front of her.
The Cyborg general was absolutely livid as he raged at them. “FOOLS! We have lost half the fleet we brought to Coruscant! Our ground forces are nowhere near the size we need to secure the planets we have retaken! The moment the Republic slime regroups, we will be caught over-extended in poorly-secured hostile territory. We must take the opportunity to reorganize while we have the chance!”
Tambor and others began to counter, but Argente remained silent as he contemplated Grievous’s tirade. At first suspicious, but then begrudgingly realizing the General was right.
For nearly a year, the CIS had been losing.
Badly .
The IGBC had lost all but Muunilinst and a few minor worlds. Cato Neimoidia was still cut-off and under siege. Skako remained deep behind Republic lines after an invasion following Tambor’s failed gambit at Anaxes. Felucia had been nearly lost, and Castell remained under Republic control. The Retail Caucus was entirely out of the war. The Hyper-Communications Cartel no longer even had a proper military force.
Even Argente’s own homeworld of Kooriva remained in Republic hands, despite the best efforts of his Fusiliers. Morale among the non-droid forces had collapsed, only barely buoyed by the Republic’s problems. The capture of Count Dooku had hit the Confederacy harder than anyone would like to admit.
“We lost half the fleet at Coruscant, you say?” Nute Gunray asked, his round eyes narrowing in fury. “So many resources sunk into those craft, all lost for nothing. You and Dooku made grand promises about capturing Chancellor Palpatine, but now Dooku himself is in Jedi custody!” At that, the Neimoidian stood up and pointed a finger in Grievous’s direction.
Fuming, the cyborg stood even taller than he already was, attaining a height greater than some Wookiees.
Those two had been quarreling for years, and Argente knew that, like every other time, it was nothing but bluster and posturing. The Koorivar spoke next, not to pick a side in their pointless blame game, but because the businessman in him saw the opportunity . The opportunity to suggest the very thing the Republic and CIS had denied each other for three years .
“Perhaps while we have the upper hand, we offer them a ceasefire then?” Argente suggested, bringing the entire argument to a screeching halt.
“Have you lost your mind?” asked the Quarren ex-Republic Senator Tikkes, sitting on the far end of the long table. “One moment you are advocating for an all-out assault, now a ceasefire?”
Flustered and realizing how inconsistent he did seem, Argente cleared his throat. “I was convinced by Grievous’s arguments—”
“I DID NOT ADVOCATE A CEASEFIRE!” Grievous snarled, spinning away from Nute Gunray to face the Koorivar. “DO NOT PUT WORDS IN MY MOUTH!”
“I am not necessarily advocating for a ceasefire either,” Argente stammered quickly, surprised by the anger in the cyborg’s voice. He realized the contradiction, admitting to advocating for it when accused by Tikkes, but denying it when Grievous began to scream. “What I mean—”
“You just said you were advocating for it,” San Hill said. A triumphant smile had crossed the Muun’s face.
Wat Tambor adjusted his microphone setting again. “All out attack or surrender? Which position are you advocating?”
“I did not say surrender!” Passel Argente spat. “Merely a ceasefire. The war has gone on a year too long if you ask me. The Corporate Alliance has lost trillions of credits in ship losses alone—the losses to our infrastructure, employees, and mobile property are incalculable. We’ve retaken Murkhana and, even in victory, the planet where we had the majority of our assets has been ruined —facilities destroyed, hotels leveled, beaches drowned by tidal waves. It’s awfully convenient of the Techno Union, which is able to claim neutrality and avoid the orbital bombardments of its facilities, to oppose a ceasefire even when we are losing! I was mistaken earlier, and Grievous made me see that.”
All of the other Separatist council members began muttering amongst themselves. There was something devious in the way some of them turned their faces away from Argente’s gaze. The Koorivar recognized his mistake instantly. He had divulged sensitive information on the state of affairs of the Corporate Alliance to a roomful of its ruthless adversaries.
Well damn them, Argente thought, fuming, looking at Rune Haako and Nute Gunray. The Commerce Guild must be faring almost as poorly, and we all know the Banking Clan is in even worse shape, with most of its assets nationalized by the Republic!
It was no coincidence that Shu Mai was the next to speak. “While I am not in a position to advocate for a ceasefire, the Commerce Guild will not oppose one.”
“Neither will the Banking Clan,” said San Hill.
“I will not allow a ceasefire until all of the Jedi filth are dead!” the cyborg General bellowed.
“And what if the Jedi take over the whole Republic?” Rune Haako asked. “We will stand no chance against the—”
“The Jedi will not take over anything,” Grievous chuckled firmly, “You can trust me on that.”
[“That is not what my sources tell me,”] Poggel the Lesser clicked away, carrying his staff as he paced the table. [“They say that Dooku is now an informant, who as agreed to tell the Jedi everything about us and corrupt Republic Senators in exchange for an immunity agreement!”]
“LIES!” Grievous shrieked, bumping the table clumsily as he spun quickly to the left, one of the B1 guards standing behind it stumbling back slightly in fright before snapping back to attention.
[“You should at least acknowledge the possibility,”] the Geonosian argued. [“We would be victorious were it not for his contradictory directives, as you yourself have stated repeatedly, General. It is entirely possible Dooku has been part of some larger scheme for his own gain.”]
Grievous’s reptilian gaze widened and then narrowed, as if contemplating the possibility for the first time.
San Hill tented his fingers nervously at Poggle’s statement. “The Banking Clan has… well, never mind.”
Argente wanted to ask exactly what the Banking Clan had, but before the Koorivar could pry, his datapad vibrated. Of course, he had switched the device to the do-not-disturb setting like he always did for important meetings. The fact it was vibrating at all meant that the software thought the message was important enough to ignore that. As discreetly as possible, the Koorivar slid the datapad halfway from his robe pocket and saw the top half of the screen. Swirly Koorivar letters spelled the equivalent of PRIORITY ONE from a Saleucami hyperspace code.
“Apologies, I must take this.” Argente stood up, making his way towards a nearby catwalk to gain some privacy, but found his path blocked by a pair of Magnaguards.
“If this is so important, Magistrate,” Grievous hissed, stepping up to Passel’s side, “I insist you elucidate us all.”
Saleucami was the site of a Corporate Alliance Fusilier base which should have been evacuated by now, naturally it would attract attention.
“Fine, I don’t have time for this, General,” Argente snorted, opening the transmission as the cyborg stalked away.
The ghostly holographic projections of a Koorivar Fusilier officer appeared over the screen. He was clad in armor which was red in real life, but rendered various shades of blue by the miniature holographic projectors in Argente’s handheld datapad. Bafflingly, standing next to him was a Wookiee . Even more bafflingly, on closer inspection, Argente could make out the Fusilier’s rank and it was that of a subcommander. It was simply not possible that a subcommander had any information important enough to interrupt a meeting of the Separatist War Council.
“How did you get this number, subcommander…?” Argente huffed in disbelief.
“Sivode sir—I mean, Magistrate,” the officer stammered, promptly stiffening. “Magistrate, it took some doing. I had to speak with three secretaries and undersecretaries in the Corporate Alliance Policy Administration.”
Argente’s skin flushed black with embarrassment. Standing at Grievous’s right shoulder, Nute Gunray smiled in amusement.
“I had to contact you immediately—the allegations are against Lord Dooku.”
[“Dooku?”] Poggel the Lesser asked with suspicion as several other members of the council sat up straighter in their seats, clearly attempting to listen in.
Now Argente wished he had been more forceful in his refusal to answer a private call in front of the entire War Council.
“Who—sir, if I may ask, who is there besides you?”
Passel gritted his teeth. “General Grievous and the War Council.”
The other Koorivar shuddered visibly. “My apologies but this information does pertain to them as well. Several sources, one of whom is standing next to me, have claimed that Count Dooku has supposedly been in league with the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. The two have manipulated our entire war effort to benefit themselves .”
A silence fell over the hangar at that bombshell so complete that Argente swore he could hear the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. Even the din of B1s chattering among themselves in the background had ceased entirely.
The Wookiee let off a series of woofs which Argente’s datapad translated into aurebesh letters spelling out his utterance in Basic. “You’ve heard the gist. Where is my payment?”
“Payment?” Argente asked in confusion, then a moment later realized this Wookiee must be a mercenary or spy of some sort. “We’ll discuss payment after we review the data. Who are you?”
When the Wookiee began growling in a more quiet and even tone, a translated sentence appeared over the Wookiee holopresence’s head. “You may call me Isshikabukk.”
“Well, well, Ishikabukk, how come I have never heard of you before?” Grievous hissed menacingly.
“The galaxy is filled with spies and those out for profit,” Argente snorted, to which the Wookiee let out an angry protest. “I am still waiting for the data.”
“I already transmitted it,” Sivode said. “You should receive the data I have already gone over in a few seconds. Be warned, it comes in multiple parts. The video portions are only the tip of the iceberg. The financial data is extensive, and I expect our analysts will need months to fully verify it.”
Moments later, every datapad in the room received a download.
The evidence, consisting of video footage, audio-recordings of holocalls, and decrypted databursts was damning. After witnessing footage of a Clone trooper being turned over by Republic forces to Dooku to contain a leak on something called ‘inhibitor chips,’ they heard several recordings of conversations between Palaptine and Dooku.
A particularly surprising piece of evidence, which caused the Koorivar’s mouth to hang open, was a classified recording of the Jedi High Council discussing their own discovery that Dooku had placed the order for the Clone Army shortly after a scuffle on Oba Diah.
“Know now we do, that guide the creation of the Clones from the beginning, Dooku did,” said a squat holorecording of Grandmaster Yoda. “Our enemy created an army for us.”
The much taller seated holopresence of Mace Windu spoke next. “If this was known, confidence in the war effort, the Republic, and the Jedi would vanish. There would be mass chaos.”
Yoda blinked once and opened his fist. “Cover up this discovery, we must. No one, not even the Chancellor, may know.”
Feeling faint, Argente collapsed back into his chair.
“This must be a Jedi truck!” Grievous scoffed. “Misinformation—psychological warfare to make us lose our resolve!”
“Maybe,” San Hill said thoughtfully, stroking his chin, “But there are many things about this war which do not add up.”
Indeed, Argente thought to himself. His thoughts shifted slightly, and he wondered how this Wookiee could have possibly gotten hold of top secret Jedi High Council meetings. He struggled for a moment to remember the Wookiee’s moniker, then spoke up.
“Isshikabukk, where did you get this information?”
Rather than answering verbally, he reached his hand up out of view and pushed the holorecorder down, shifting the scene for all of the viewers. Down at Isshikabukk’s feet was a giant wheelbarrow with four bound and unconscious Jedi in it. Argente couldn’t recognize three of them, but the one curled up to the far left of the wheelbarrow was none other than Quinlan Vos.
“How did you—what are we looking at, subcommander?!” Argente stammered in confusion, jolting upright in his seat.
“The Wookiee arrived with four captured Jedi and the data—”
“And you decided to wait until now to mention the Jedi?!” Rune Haako asked in a fearful voice. “We cannot trust any of this with Jedi involved! The Wookiee might be working for the Jedi!”
Again, Grievous banged two fists down on the table at either side of the datapad, this time so hard he dented the surface and knocked Argente’s datapad into the air. “It’s a trick! KILL THEM!”
With an outstretched hand, Argente deftly grabbed his datapad with both hands and glared at Grievous. “You will do no such thing!”
Magnifying his voice further, Grievous stooped down, lowering his head to Argente’s level. “ANNIHILATE THEM! EXTERMINATE THE JEDI AT ONCE!”
The holopresences of the Wookiee and the Koorivar subcommander jumped in startlement.
“Are you insane?” San Hill snapped, scrolling through the data on his own handheld. “The Jedi are the only ones who can verify this data.”
“And if the Jedi take over,” Rune Haako croaked, “They will hang us all for killing four of their own!”
[“If this data is true,”] Poggel the lesser clicked, [“Then the Jedi are now our allies! We have all been betrayed by Dooku!”]
Discussion immediately broke out amongst the Separatist leaders at that comment. To Argente’s right, the Aqualish Po Nodo stared at Shu Mai and Cat Miin, who both were conversing with each other in Gossam. After a few seconds, Shu Mai turned to the Passel Argente and nodded.
“I will instruct all Commerce Guild forces to capture any Jedi they come across alive, and protect them from the mad Clones. They are not to be executed.”
Grievous let off an angry shriek at that comment.
Argente ignored the cyborg and looked subcommander Sivode’s holopresence directly in the eyes. “Pay that Wookiee his four million bounty for capturing those Jedi. Keep them bound and take them to—UGH!” The Koorivar gasped in pain.
Grievous had seized him by the arm and yanked him from his chair. Argente found himself dangling in mid-air, the cartilage in his wrist making popping noises under the pressure of the cyborg’s grip. With one of his other hands, Grievous pried the datapad out of the Koorivar’s grip and crushed it to dust, silencing the holopresences on the other end.
“Unhand him at once!” Nute Gunray yelled angrily.
“If you insist,” Grievous cackled evilly. After a dramatic pause, he dropped the Argente crotch-first onto the metal seat back. After a metal bang and a loud thud, the Koorivar gasped in pain and curled up into a fetal position on the ground.
“You have gone too far!” Gunray continued, once again pointing his finger. “You may be in command of the Separatist droid armies, but we are in command of the government.”
When Argente came to and crawled back into his chair with a groan, he found most of the Separatist leaders standing around the table. Grievous was now pacing back and forth, muttering to himself, as if talking himself into something.
“It seems the majority of us support at least capturing the Jedi, rather than killing them,” Wat Tambor muttered, trying to get the topic of conversation back to the matter at hand.
“Does anyone oppose this?” Shu Mai asked.
Argente glared at Grievous with a furious frown waiting for the cyborg to say something. “Are you going to apologize for that outburst?” he asked finally, breathing heavily as he leaned back in his chair for support.
Grievous scoffed with disgust and shook his head. “I am relocating you to the Mustafar System. It is a volcanic planet. You will be safe there.”
“So you can go to Saleucami and kill all of the Jedi in Corporate Alliance custody while I’m out of the way?” Argente asked. He jumped to his feet and groaned in pain, surprised that it hurt.
“Ah, then they will still be held on Saleucami?” Grievous snorted. “Magistrate Argente, you always seem to say too much.”
“I have no faith in Grievous remaining Supreme Commander,” Argente said defiantly. He suspected that at least Nute Gunray felt the same. He was correct.
“I call for an immediate vote of no-confidence!” Gunray yelled, now pointing up at the lofty ceiling.
“Seconded,” San Hill added, folding his arms.
Grievous cackled at that, beckoning his IG-100 Magnaguards over. “You Jedi-lovers may hold your traitorous vote, but only after you all are on Mustafar.”
Nute Gunray grinned. “General Grievous, you forget that while you serve as Supreme Commander, the droids are ours.” He withdrew a small remote from his sleeve and pressed a button. Immediately, all six of Grievous’s Magnaguards shut down, sprawling to the floor with metallic clanks.
Argente sighed in relief. That was easier than I thought it would be. “Arrest him!” he yelled, gesturing to the B1 battle droids standing in the background.
Cackling madly, Grievous’s arms seemed to split in two. In each hand the cyborg now held an ignited lightsaber. All at once, every battle droid in the room opened fire.
“No. No! NO!” Argente yelled, increasing desperation filling his voice by the second as Grievous’s mechanical hands began to spin , his lightsabers turning into a whirling dervish of blue and green.
Deflected blasterfire returned in the general direction of the droids and Separatist leaders. Rune Haako collapsed backwards, taking a shot to the front of his neck. Something to Argente’s right blew up, the blast sending him and the surviving delegates sprawling to the floor as flimsiplast, datacards, and pieces of durasteel chair rained down, B1 guards clattering to the floor in pieces.
Gasping in pain, Argente sat up, using his elbows for support. He looked straight in the direction of the explosion where there were now two smoking metal boots. A moment went by and the Koorivar had a stunning realization—Wat Tambor, his survival suit filled with highly pressurized methane, had exploded.
Overwhelmed by incoming fire, Grievous had now overturned a table and crouched behind it.
Now’s our chance! Argente leapt to his feet, then grabbed San Hill’s hand, helping the Muun up. Then both of their jaws went slack.
His armor steaming and pocked by blaster fire, General Grievous was now carrying the massive durasteel table above his head with two arms. “HA!” he shrieked triumphantly, breaking the table legs off. Now carrying just the table top in one arm, the cyborg twirled in place and hurled the table like a discus.
“No!”
It was the last word the Magistrate of the Corporate Alliance uttered. Less than a second later, the table top hit him at neck level, digging through his billowing scarf and decapitating him instantly. The much taller Muun standing behind him was hit at chest level and cut in two.
Chapter 12: BENDU
Chapter Text
The Vergence Scatter
Bendu covered his eyes with both hands, moaning in horror as one after another, General Grievous killed all of Sidious’s loose ends. Not only had their plan failed, they had accomplished one of the Sith Lord’s goals for him.
What was supposed to have happened was for Passel Argente to advocate for a ceasefire. Moments later, they were supposed to get a message from the tactical droid Scirocco, seemingly on its own accord, announcing a ceasefire. The Separatist Council would accuse Argente of treason, blaming him for instructing the droid to unilaterally announce a ceasefire with the Republic Commodore Los’ean. Argente would be held in detention on Utapau while Grievous and the other Separatist leaders relocated to Mustafar.
At that point, Argente would be broken out by his own loyalists, whereafter he would receive a message from Saleucami from Isshikabukk and Sivode—Isshikabukk was, of course, really the Loth-wolf Halfdan. The data and capture of the Jedi had been carried out entirely by Bendu and the other Veil Dwellers themselves.
The plan was that, while Grievous and the other Separatists fight a vicious battle on Mustafar, Argente would be safely on his way to Saleucami to pick up the Jedi and take them to the Separatist Senate in Raxulon. One emergency session later, and all of Sidious’s Clone Wars machinations would have been undone. The war would have been over and Order 66 exposed.
That was what should have happened.
Now, for reasons Bendu could only guess, he was standing in front of the portal to Utapau, alongside a dozen Loth-wolves and a few other Force-sensitive Veil Dwellers, watching the entire plan collapse. The messages had reached the Separatist Council in the wrong order. They had found out about the captured Jedi before the ceasefire announcement and all agreed to a ceasefire.
Except Grievous, who had turned on them. Passel Argente was dead, and Grievous was tearing through an army of droids, hunting down the surviving members of the Separatist Council in the streets of Utapau before Bendu’s eyes.
“This is bad,” hissed Mirkgol, guardian of the Web Weaver Spiders.
“It’s not a total loss,” Zoltan growled hopefully. He gestured a paw to a Neimoidian, who was hiding behind a fruit stand. “Nute Gunray is still—oh.”
Before the Loth-wolf had even finished his sentence, Grievous had flipped the fruit stand table over, and plunged a green lightsaber into the Trade Federation leader’s chest.
“How is this possible?” asked Ito, another Loth-wolf.
Bendu closed his eyes for a moment, reaching out into the ebb and flow of time itself. He had no definitive answer, but the textures, all in place but in the wrong order, gave him a very plausible theory. He spoke without opening his eyes.
“It’s possible that with four captured Jedi instead of two, the priority of the message was changed… Or perhaps the Koorivar subcommander was more easily able to pull strings with news that seemed more important to the Corporate Alliance Hierarchy than just the capture of Quinlan Vos and Stass Allie. It doesn’t matter either way. Passel Argente is dead. We need either another plan for the Separatist Senate or a way to intervene on Utapau without being detected.” Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes again.
The blue-gray furred Loth-wolf, Skathi, now looked to the portal with glowing white eyes. Briefly, her eyes flashed almost like a holocam snapping a photo, then turned back into their normal hue.
“Skathi?” Bendu asked breathlessly. The Loth-wolf was filling the Force with her own comforting certainty, it was exactly what Bendu needed.
Eyes still fixed on the portal, she waited a long while, then answered. “I have an idea. There is someone on Utapau who will help us.”
The view in the portal shifted to what, at first, appeared to be a Fosh with bright green feathers and a black beak. However, when Skathi pawed the portal, causing it to zoom out, this bird-looking thing actually turned out to be attached to a four-legged lizard body. On its back it held a saddle.
“Boga saved Obi-Wan in the other timeline,” Skathi purred. “Perhaps she can save Passel Argente here.”
“Boga!” Mirkgol scoffed, her mandibles twitching. “Boga is not even a sentient lifeform!”
Skathi turned around, pawing at the ground, clearly struggling to overcome a nervous tick. “Varactyls are very intelligent. I would go as far as to argue they are semi-sentient. I am certain a Varactyl as intelligent as Boga can easily memorize the best path to Passel Argente’s shuttle if we bring her here and explain the situation.”
Mirkgol let off a squelch of disgust. “Explain the situation! She can’t even speak Basic… can she?”
There was a growling chuckle from the Loth-Wolf. “She’s a trained riding beast—she’d have to understand it.”
o.o.o.o.o
PASSEL ARGENTE
“No!” Passel Argente screamed as the spinning table top sliced through the air, inching closer and closer. Just when it seemed like all hope was lost, there was a loud crash and then all Argente could see was green.
The Koorivar cried out in alarm as the table top flew by over his head, so close that the wind tugged on the cloth wrapped around his pointy horn. Then something hot and wet squirted onto the side of his face. A quick glance in the direction San Hill had been standing confirmed it.
The Muun was dead. Decapitated. A puddle of blood poured from his head which now wore a permanently-shocked expression. Somehow, a green thing had deflected the flying table upward, high enough to get Argente out of its path, but not high enough to save San Hill.
Argente screamed again as something bit down on the back of his tunic, jabbing and scratching his back as it lifted him into the air. He thought that what was happening was teeth sinking down into his back, but when he was set down into a saddle, he found himself staring into the giant eyes of a bird face.
The creature cawed at him with such volume that he cried out and covered his ears. Before he could get his bearings, they were off, his impromptu mount sprinting across the metal floor and away from the bloodshed as he held on tightly. A few moments went by before the Koorivar realized this steed to be one of the local Varactyls.
With a glance back, he saw Grievous now leaping over tables, stomping down on droids and organics alike. When he ran out of cowering targets to trample, the cyborg began twirling his sabers like fanblades, eviscerating row after row of battle droids.
Argente whimpered in terror at that sight and screamed “HURRY!”
The Varactyl slipped slightly as it ran, droids parting ways to allow the Magistrate of the Corporate Alliance a path to escape. It zig-zagged down the core ship’s curved corridors without any input from the Koorivar, then finally leapt out an open hangar door.
A shriek of terror escaped Argente’s mouth as they fell, but two seconds later, the Varactyl landed on solid ground and began running again. Even cushioned by the creature’s musculature and long shock absorber-like arms, the Koorivar had the wind knocked out of him..
There didn’t seem to be any sign or pursuit, and Argente gingerly pat the creature on the back of its feathery head. “Okay now, you can set me down, I am sure—”
Familiar, mad cackles erupted from behind. “AHAHAHAHA!”
Argente shuddered. Grievous was a hundred or so meters behind, riding inside of a giant wheeled vehicle that vaguely resembled the unholy child of one of the Alliance’s NR-N99 droid tanks and a Banking Clan Hailfire droid.
A Tsmeu-6, but how did he!?
Argente’s mental question was promptly answered by the two MagnaGuards that leapt off the sides of the vehicle, one firing a compact rocket rifle into a pursuing STAP, blowing it apart while the other ensnared a droideka with an electrowhip. Clearly not all of Grievous’s MagnaGuards had been deactivated, and their programmed loyalty had overrode the Council’s orders.
His Varactyl turned right, leaving the battle between the MagnaGuards and other droids behind them as it sprinted into a narrow alleyway. Pauans and Utai laborers scattered in every direction to avoid being trampled. Continuing on their course, the creature knocked over pots, droids, stacks of fruit, everything and anything that was in the way.
A clothesline of wet towels caught on Argente’s horn, nearly yanking him off his steed’s back.
Cocking its head back towards Argente, the Varactyl let off a caw that the Koorivar swore must have been a question like are you okay?
“I’m fine!” Argente yelled, throwing the towels off his horn. He cursed under his breath, questioning his own sanity for speaking to a steed, then shuddered again. The noise from Grievous’s wheel bike was getting closer and closer.
o.o.o.o.o
BENDU
The Vergence Scatter
Bendu’s stomach tightened as, through the portal, Grievous's wheel bike drew nearer and nearer to Passel Argente and the Varactyl. He gasped when the bike ran over the Varactyl’s tail and up its back, crushing the Koorivar flat, landing on the poor reptavian’s head and splattering the sandy cobblestone with blood. Driving on, Grievous let off a triumphant roar.
A chorus of Loth-wolf yelps and howls filled the air.
“BOGA!”
“BOGAAAAA!!!”
“WE HAVE TO SAVE BOGA!”
“Boga is not the key to stopping Sidious!” Bendu yelled back incredulously. He gave the portal another look, where both Boga and Passel Argente’s carcasses sat there, slowly attracting a growing crowd of Pauan onlookers. The puddle of blood had grown so large that it spanned the alleyway from one building to another and was now being tracked around in footprints.
“All you care about is that Koorivar !” Zoltan snarled, biting out the word Koorivar like it was the ugliest word in the whole Galaxy. He whimpered, chasing his tail in a circle. “Boga was so kind and positive and cheerful. She was… she was so nice.”
“It—she died in the previous timeline,” Bendu sighed, correcting his pronouns. “We might not be able to save her, but through saving Passel Argente, we will undo Sidious’s plans. Everything hinges on him.”
Zoltan had stopped chasing his tail and was now staring at Bendu with an expression of utmost seriousness. “I don’t care one iota about Passel Argente. Passel Argente is evil, greedy… He only wants to do the right thing when he has no other… Passel Argente is—PASSEL ARGENTE IS POOP!”
“We must be able to save both of them,” Skathi sighed. “Passel Argente is riding on top of Boga, so if we stop Grievous somehow…”
“I thought all of this was to avoid having us personally insert ourselves into the timeline,” Mirkgol hissed, circling Skathi as if to wrap the Loth-wolf in a web.
“Yes, but that’s why there are contingencies,” Skathi growled, then looked to Bendu. “All we need is to give Boga a head start. She was doing great up until…”
“Up until that twisted cyborg on his stupid Tsmeu-6 personal wheel bike,” Zoltan muttered to himself. “He’s lucky that stupid bike didn’t have a glitch. Over-engineered piece of—STANG!” His eyes widened and his fluffy white ears shot straight up.
Skathi looked to her cousin. “Zoltan?”
“Is stang good or bad?” Bendu asked, sending calming waves through the Force.
“I have an idea,” Zoltan said. With a thoughtful expression on his face, he stood on his hind legs, paws moving back and forth as if steering an imaginary wheel bike… or perhaps shifting gears. It had been millennia since Bendu cared much for technological gizmos.
Ito, one of the other Loth-wolves began yipping so excitedly that her voice rose to a high-pitched shriek. “Oh! Oh! OH! OHHH! I KNOW! LET ME GUESS!”
“No time for guessing,” Zoltan snorted.
Ito began answering in a series of excited woofs. “Hijacking! YOU’RE GOING TO HIJACK IT! No—no, let me guess… You’re going to push Grievous’s wheel thing over the edge? No? Are… are we going to—”
“Tsmeu bikes are notorious for having an overly sensitive driver’s assist package,” Zoltan explained, ignoring Ito’s wild guesses. He circled around Skathi, then sat down in front of Bendu. “They had so many problems in the civilian versions that they shipped off the military versions with all driver’s assist features disabled. If I were to re-enable it, in the narrow alleyway, Grievous’s bike would detect obstacles left and right. It would throttle his speed to forty kilometers an hour, tops. If he caught up to Boga again, the frontal collision avoidance system would kick in, automatically applying the brakes before he reached her tail.”
“No fair, that’s what I was going to guess next!” Ito pouted indignantly.
Bendu frowned. Zoltan’s instincts on technology had been a useful asset so far, but he really wondered if it would be this simple. “How close do you have to be?”
o.o.o.o.o
ZOLTAN
After a most unpleasant trip sneaking around a closed Z-Gomot dealership on Aargau, Zoltan had traversed the World Between Worlds and emerged on Utapau. The Loth-wolf was now wearing an improvised uplink dish strapped to the top of his head with rope and buckles, precariously-perched directly between his ears.
Across the galaxy, high-end vehicle dealers used devices such as these to patch necessary service updates to vehicles during regular tuneups, wirelessly and without having to physically connect anything to the onboard computer. The device contained a remote repository of all of the latest Tsmeu updates.
“Please don’t fall off my head,” Zoltan whispered to himself, his eyes glowing white as he reached out to the device to connect with it, and also simultaneously to hold it in place. It would do no good to travel all the way from the Core to the Outer Rim with a stolen device, to then have that device fall off his head and into the alleyway below.
The street is awfully far down , Zoltan thought, worrying about the range of this uplink. There would be seconds at most for the driver’s assist package to upload to Grievous’s bike as he zipped by.
Groaning under the Loth-wolf’s weight, the tin roof of the shop he now stood on buckled slightly.
“Oh no… Please don’t break,” Zoltan whimpered. “I’m not that heavy. I eat an appropriately low fat diet for a canine of—AAHH!” He yelped as his front paws slid out from under him. At the edge of the roof, three rivets broke loose, sending tiny metal shards sprinkling into the street below. Prone, he felt the roof, heated by the direct sunlight, warm against his belly.
The fur on the back of his neck bristled as he sensed a panic flow through the Pauan crowd below. Boga suddenly leapt into view, trampling an empty street vendor stand below, sprinting through the alleyway, and letting off nervous caws of alarm.
Zoltan ignored her, ignored the Separatist leader riding on her back, and focused on the Tsmeu-6 wheel bike now zipping into view.
Gotcha.
o.o.o.o.o
GRIEVOUS
Adrenaline pumped through the cyborg’s remaining veins, causing him such exhilaration that he could do nothing to release it but laugh. Laugh and kill Passel Argente. That traitor who caused all of this.
Thanks to that coward—that coward who wanted to spare the Jedi—Grievous’s previously bright white armor was scorched and blackened by blasterfire. Every droid in the city except his ever-loyal MagnaGuards seemed to treat him as public enemy number one, and he could only hope that the droids in the fleet would still obey his commands and reset their orders.
If not, he would have no choice but to alert Sidious. Either that or flee.
One complication at a time. This one first!
Grievous let out a roar of triumph. Wind ripped across his eyes as he pushed down on the pedal and simultaneously pressed down on the lever to his left, shifting up to the highest gear. Faster and faster he accelerated, his engines’ roar almost matching the pitch of his own.
“AHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA! AHAH—AGH!”
Without any input from him, his brakes engaged. The Varactyl and its rider were escaping.
Shifting back into gear, Grievous pressed down on the pedal again. Once more, he was accelerating. Passel Argente turned around, crying out in terror.
“AHAHAHAHA!” Grievous laughed again, cackling madly. His front wheel rolled just centimeters behind the Varactyl’s tail. Closer. Closer. Now—
This time, the brakes engaged so hard that Grievous was thrown into the yokes despite being magnetically adhered to the seat. His chest impacted the dashboard so hard that the wind was pushed from his lungs. In the middle of his wheezing curses and fist-pounding on the control panel at his side, his eyes suddenly noticed a red light that hadn’t ever been flashing before.
COLLISION ALERT!
Collision alert! I want to collide with that Varactyl!
The light faded just as the Varactyl’s tail whipped around to the right into another alley and out of sight before he could aim the blaster cannons as a backup plan. Grievous yelled, banging the control panel until the red light stopped, then accelerated again.
COLLISION ALERT!
Grievous shrieked as, this time, the Tsmeu-6 seemed to object to being too close to the stalls on the left and right. It let off an annoying beep as he got too close to the stall on the right, resulting in a slight steering correction that jerked him to the left.
Letting off even louder shrieks, Grievous became increasingly physically violent, bashing his fist onto the control panel until it shattered.
In response, the Tsmeu did the most infuriating thing yet. Its wheel stopped rotating entirely, and its climbing legs unfolded. At a leisurely pace of less than ten kilometers per hour, the useless piece of filth began slowly walking down the alleyway.
An overwhelming all-consuming rage filled the cyborg. Without a second thought, he ignited all four of his lightsabers and cut through the wheel bike in every direction—up, down, to the left, to the right. He eviscerated the very seat he had sat on just seconds earlier, then turned his attention to the wheel itself, shredding it in a furious rain of green, blue, and sparks.
Locals, who had been observing Grievous’s groundcar troubles with fascination, suddenly fled in every direction screaming at the tops of their lungs.
But Grievous ignored them as he stalked from the wreckage. One step, two steps, and by the third he was picking up speed, rapidly increasing his pace to a sprint. Passel Argente could not be that far ahead.
o.o.o.o.o
BENDU
The Vergence Scatter
Zoltan returned to an excited congratulatory commotion, tail wagging as he bobbed his head back and forth until the improvised uplink dish slid off, clattering to the floor. Not seeing his father when he looked around in the dark mirror-filled cosmos, his excitement decreased slightly, then picked up again when he thought of how proud his dad would be.
“Uh, I think this celebration is premature,” growled Mester, standing behind Zoltan and staring into the Utapau Portal.
“What happened this time?” Bendu sighed.
“Boga dropped him off at the gateway to the permacrete meadow—”
“Landing platform!” Zoltan snarled, once again losing patience with the utter disdain the other Loth-wolves had for technology and artificial environs.
Mester narrowed his eyes. “Landing platform then. Boga dropped the Passel Argente off at the gateway to the landing platforms, but the Koorivar ascended instead of descending.”
“What in the name of the Force,” Zoltan gasped in astonishment, watching the scene beyond the portal unfold.
At the entryway to the landing platforms that made up Pau City’s Civic Level, Passel Argente leapt off Boga’s back. Having completed her task, Boga ran away, returning to the Varactyl rental agency to which she belonged. A Corporate Alliance SoroSuub was parked on landing platform 12a, which was downstairs. Passel Argente took the staircase up to platform 12b.
Wheezing as he ran, the Koorivar rounded the corner in the stairwell then stepped out onto an empty landing platform. “I’m here! Grievous is right on my tail,” he panted breathily into his wrist-comm. “Where are you?!”
His pilot’s reply was inaudible through the dampening effects of the portal, but they all heard Passel Argente swear aloud in Koorivar, then yell in Basic. “WHERE IS LANDING PLATFORM 12-A THEN!” Seeming to have received an answer, the Koorivar returned to the stairwell and began descending several flights of stairs.
By the time he passed by the entryway, the cyborg had caught up to him. Passel Argente let off a cry of pain and terror as he was eviscerated, body parts rolling down the stairs.
“Does he want to die?!” Zoltan snarled, only half joking.
“Perhaps it is the will of the Force then,” Bendu sighed. “We’ll have to think of something else.”
A pair of mandibles clicked. “No, Bendu. I have an idea.”
All eyes fell on the Wookiee-sized arachnid, Mirkgol.
o.o.o.o.o
Grievous
Jumping from balcony to balcony, two levels above the streets below, Grievous used the height of the buildings to keep an eye on his much faster quarry. A few hundred meters away, in front of landing platform 12, Passel Argente leapt down from his Varactyl savior, and bolted into the door.
With a furious roar, Grievous jumped a few meters forward from the edge, knocking down a few potted plants, and latched his claws on the side of the building. He allowed himself to fall four meters, then caught himself, before falling again until he was on the street.
By now, the Varactyl was cawing loudly and running back towards the Core Ship, using the much wider street along the edge of the sinkhole instead of the back alleys.
Grievous ignored the animal, crawling as quickly as he could on six legs out of the alleyway and into the wider ring road. An Utai riding a speeder bike nearly ran him over, swerving violently to the left to avoid a collision. Responding with a disdainful roar, the cyborg kicked it, sending it swerving into a nearby building, and continued crawling. He had three more close calls, two with land speeders, and one with a large cart being pulled by a Varactyl.
But he could not slow down. If Passel Argente escaped, it would be the end of Grievous’s leadership, and the end of any hope to destroy the Jedi once and for all.
When he reached the stairwell, Grievous stood up as tall as he could, listening. Echoing footfalls pitter-pattered from somewhere upstairs, rapidly coming down.
Did that traitor go the wrong way? Grievous wondered to himself, and fought hard to stifle a laugh. He would be able to laugh as loudly as he wished after Argente was dead.
The next second felt to Grievous like the universe had just handed Passel Argente on a silver platter. The foolish Koorivar emerged from around the corner, bolting right past the door to the stairwell as he headed downstairs.
Grievous stepped into the stairwell, igniting his lightsabers, and yelled, “AHAHAHAHA! DIE TRAIT—”
Something completely beyond the cyborg’s ken had interrupted him. His head jerked back, colliding with something invisible—or nearly invisible. A web of thin transparent wires spanned the top of the doorway, well above Koorivar height, but just low enough to snag Grievous.
Reaching an arm up, Grievous screamed, trying to yank the shimmering webs off from his face, but then his arm was stuck too.
The Koorivar yelled prayers and curses, screaming with terror as he ran, before stumbling clumsily down the stairs and out of sight.
Left behind in the entryway, Grievous attempted to follow. However, the Force was not on the Cyborg’s side today. His head whiplashed backwards, still snagged so firmly in these webs, which were so strong he could not break them. After sliding about fruitlessly on his own feet for a few seconds, the cyborg changed strategies and lifted his feet off the ground. He expected the webs to finally give way under the tremendous weight of his chassis. Instead, he dangled in mid air, all six limbs squirming like a trapped insect.
Only one explanation for what had transpired came to mind, and it was secret Corporate Alliance technology. The treachery was infuriating.
“PASSEL ARGENTE! YOU ARE DOOMED!” Grievous shrieked, igniting three of his lightsabers in a last ditch attempt to break free. He swung one straight into the webs and, as expected, it cut through releasing him.
What Grievous had not anticipated, however, was that the webs were flammable. Flames now engulfing his head, Grievous slapped his upper hands over his eyes to protect them. Enraged beyond words, the cyborg tore himself out of the doorway and unleashed a scream so loud that it drowned out the sounds of Passel Argente’s Horizon -class star yacht roaring to life.
There was absolutely no way Grievous could report a failure this great to Sidious. His only hope was to hide the fact he killed the entire Separatist High Council as long as possible, and to kill Passel Argente before the Koorivar was able to take over the Separatist Alliance.
Still, he was due to report. He had to tell Sidious something.
Chapter 13: SHEEV PALPATINE
Chapter Text
Republic Executive Building, Coruscant
“Excellency, you’re going to want to see this.”
It was a phrase that was beginning to grow quite tiresome. Sidious turned away from the holoprojection, where 5,000 Clones, largely Coruscant Guards but with a battalion from the 501st, were now marching across the Temple Precinct towards the Jedi Temple. In the Executive Building’s war room, Sidious had assembled a group including his inner circle, a group of Clone True Believers, a cadre of Red Guards, and a select few military officers and cadets who were involved with the Sith Eternal through the Taung and Zhell Society.
As he approached the signals intelligence section of the room, which had also become a makeshift media monitoring center, a scowl formed on his face. The scowl quickly gave way to an expression of complete shock and surprise.
Onscreen, a group of five pundits and one holopresence were in the middle of a deep discussion on the differences between Jedi and Sith. The headline running across the bottom of the screen read: “Is the Chancellor a Sith Lord?”
The holopresence answering questions from the pundits was none other than Ki-Adi-Mundi.
“How are the Jedi getting messages out of the Temple?” Sidious hissed, his initial surprise giving way anger. “Is anyone on the Strategic Advisory Cell working with the Jedi in the Temple?”
After inputting a query at her work station, a red-haired female cadet was the first to answer. “One Parwan, Doctor Gubacher, was undertaking an assignment at the Jedi Temple when Order 66 was implemented.”
“I knew we should have never given him access,” Sidious snarled, glancing over his shoulder back towards the holoprojection of the Jedi Temple. The first wave of Clones was just a few hundred meters from the steps. He started walking back towards the holoprojection, reaching for the comm button so he could append an additional order to apprehend the treacherous Gubacher.
“Uh, Excellency, I have an uh… different theory,” said Gurka, a true believer Clone sitting at a station to Sidious’s right.
“Let’s hear it.”
“The Jedi Temple is not being jammed at all.”
“And why is that?” he hissed under his breath.
“Because the siege units were never instructed to jam the temple,” Gurka replied, shifting nervously in his seat.
Sidious clenched his jaw, raw fury causing his eyes to flicker a brilliant sulfurous yellow. How did those idiots not jam the temple of their own initiative?
Standing nearby, Kinman Doriana and Sate Pestage winced as they saw the Sith Lord’s raw anger unveiled, both worried he’d lash out at them.
“Should I… Inform CC-2224 to commence jamming operations?” Doriana asked, clasping his hands at the small of his back.
Sidious exhaled and let his anger redirect to more constructive uses. His thoughts were already shifting to the potential blowback of jamming the Temple in the middle of an interview, and whether or not that even mattered given the all out Clone assault underway. An assault Sidious knew was doomed to fail, but in a failure he hoped would push public support more in his direction.
“The damage to your image is done, at this point it would be denounced as a cover-up,” Sate Pestage suggested, speaking after a long silence. “The media—”
“Is quickly going to become irrelevant,” Sidious interrupted, walking away from the communication’s station and back towards the holoprojection of the Temple. He beckoned Sate Pestage and Sly Moore away from the cadets, true believers, and career military officers. The fate he was planning for the treacherous media was one which absolutely could never be on-record.
Before Sidious could begin, Sly Moore said abruptly, “My Lord,” then leaned in close, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper of alarm. “I’ve received a forwarded message from the Athega System announcing a ceasefire. ”
“Ceasefire,” Sidious repeated skeptically. The Athega System was where a loose thread was supposed to have been eliminated. Using state of the art interdictor technology, a Separatist Fleet was supposed to intercept the Republic fleet under Commodore Los’ean which had been carrying Kix, a Clone who had discovered the nature of the inhibitor chips, and wipe it out . “A ceasefire originating in the Athega system is impossible. The Separatist forces are utilizing an entirely droid fleet!”
A holoprojection appeared on Sly Moore’s datapad, which Sate Pestage quickly buried, pressing his hand firmly to her datapad’s screen. “Perhaps it would be best to review this in another room,” he muttered, looking at one of the cadets, a dark-haired boy, staring at them.
“I think I understand enough already,” Sidious muttered, turning in place and heading abruptly out of the room. When Moore and Pestage moved to follow he held up a hand. “I did not request you to accompany me.”
“But my Lord!” protested the Umbaran, “What are our orders?!”
“Do what you know is best,” Sidious sighed, stepping out the door. So much had gone wrong today because his underlings were so used to him controlling everything without giving them the latitude to operate—allowing things to happen simply because he had not expressly ordered them stopped. This model had worked so long as Sidious could predict the future with a high degree of accuracy, or at least to a degree that failures could be mitigated with quick and careful action, but with inexplicable spanners thrown into his plans, the future was becoming less and less like the one he had foreseen and planned towards.
As he walked down the hall, he could sense the lives of a dozen Clones being snuffed out at once at the tops of the Temple steps. Several more fell immediately thereafter, cut down by deflected blasterfire. That, at least, he had predicted correctly since the start of Order 66.
Rounding the corner, the Sith Lord stepped into a communication’s room he could sense was empty. With his hood pulled up, he initiated a call to the Mustafar System. An unfamiliar Neimoidian with green skin and rounded orange-red eyes answered.
“Lord Sidious, I apologize but—”
“Who is this?” Sidious asked as diplomatically as he could, alarmed that this unknown Neimoidian knew his name.
“Captain Gap Nox,” reported the Neimoidian with a bow. “We were told to expect—”
“Where is Grievous?”
“That I do not know,” stammered the Neimoidian. “We were sent to the Klegger Corporation facility ahead of the Separatist Council. Grievous has yet to—”
The Sith Lord had already terminated the call and was frantically pressing the code for the Separatist War Council on Utapau. With how fragmented the Separatist command structure was, if he couldn’t get a hold of any members of the War Council, it would be impossible to contain this.
Thankfully, Grievous himself answered. Or at least, what answered was an extremely damaged being that resembled Grievous. Dozens of blaster scorches pocked his entire body, and a spider web-like pattern that looked downright artistic now weaved across his face.
“What happened!?” Sidious demanded, momentarily so shocked by blaster marks and cracks crossing Grievous’s mask that he had to ask.
“There were,” Grievous started, then bowed so deeply he looked down at the floor, “Complications.”
“Complications?”
“Jedi scum,” Grievous spat. “Even when unconscious, they manage to poison the minds of so many.”
Sidious gulped, feeling his mouth go dry. “What are you talking about?”
“The others were convinced that you and that slime Chancellor Palpatine are one in the same!”
Without any elaboration from the mad cyborg, Sidious could only conclude that unconscious Jedi had somehow come into Separatist custody with evidence that convinced them of the truth. The feeling of dread, already rising in Sidious’s chest, reached near-panic levels. He took a sharp inhalation of breath, then opened his mouth to say something, but had no idea what to say. With the Separatists knowing the truth about his own identity, and his tenuous position at best on Coruscant, there would only be one option: escape. Abandon the entire Sith plan and initiate a Galaxy-wide scorch and burn tactic to cover his retreat.
“I had to kill them!” Grievous snarled, banging his fist on a surface which was out of sight. “All of them!”
Unable to believe his own ears, Sidious blinked in surprise. “All of them?” he asked in a gasp, scarcely able to hide his delight.
Grievous dared to look up, and Sidious noticed that, under the cyborg’s faceplate, the skin around one of his eyes was darker than usual and badly bruised. After an almost suspiciously long pause, he nodded. “Yes. I killed all of them. They turned their defensive armies on me, and I had to board the command ship and manually override—”
“You did excellently,” Sidious interjected breathlessly, the rollercoaster of events was overwhelming, even for him. “It is a tragedy that you had to eliminate the others, but it was an outcome that was always a possibility. I had foreseen a chance they would turn on us.”
“You… had?” Grievous asked, then began coughing in a hysterical fit.
Sidious waited a few seconds for Grievous to finish coughing, then changed the topic to one of more urgency. “There is a message, seemingly originating in the Athega System, declaring a ceasefire.”
“Ceasefire!” Grievous yelled angrily, then screamed. “CEASEFIRE!”
“One that needs to be prevented from occurring. Reactivate the Shadowfeeds. Jam all intersystem comm transmissions…” Sidious trailed off. The death of the Separatist War Council was one piece of good news, but their deaths did not actually put out any of the fires sprouting all over the Galaxy. It only slowed their spread. The total undoing of the Sith Grand Plan was still a significant possibility.
“Jam hyperspace transmissions?” Grievous asked skeptically. “But the Shadowfeeds were destroyed…”
“The facility was destroyed,” Sidious said slowly. “Along with all of the propagandists involved. Yet, the technique for disrupting HoloNet communications will be possible from anywhere with as much HoloNet reach as the Murkhana facility. The Republic has yet to develop countermeasures… The facilities on Mustafar will serve this purpose well.”
“Yes…” Grievous cackled. “All word of this so-called ‘ceasefire’ would be snuffed out!”
Sidious remained silent, continuing to brainstorm. What Grievous said wasn’t quite true. While the HoloNet would be substantially disrupted, the Shadowfeed static would have no effect on subspace radio transmissions, or word of mouth as ships traveled between systems. At subspace radio speeds, it could take days or even weeks for news from Coruscant to reach the Outer Rim. Weeks during which the media talking heads could be exterminated and replaced, and the Coruscanti population pacified. Weeks for Sidious and his inner circle to think of a plausible narrative for exactly what happened here. Unless the outlying systems began sending ships to Coruscant to relieve the beleaguered Jedi Temple, Sidious would have the advantage.
“Is there anything else, my Lord?” asked the Commander of the Droid Armies.
After a long pause, Sidious said, “You have done well,” and terminated the call. He stood in silence, pondering what comes next. It wasn’t that Sidious had no next moves. A few possibilities came to mind, but most of them necessitated the Jedi doing something. They were usually so predictable, but today…
Staring into the now darkened room, the Sith Lord felt a twang of suspicion. There had been a cloud of secrecy and nervousness in the Force emanating from Grievous, and the pause he’d made had been too long, but he did not have the time to worry about it. Too many events were in motion to fully control at this stage, and all of it had to be slowed down.
Before he had returned to the War Room, Sidious felt a jolt of warning from the Force, just as the alarm klaxons began ringing. He stepped through the doorway just in time to hear the shouts of status updates and frantic orders.
“Air defense perimeter breach, sector seven!”
“Contact fighter command. We need reinforcements.”
“Anti-air batteries intensify your barrage!”
“IT’S TOO LATE!”
Sidious did what every fiber of his being told him to do: duck for cover. Sly Moore had already hit the deck by the time the Sith Lord had, and Sate Pestage was following suit.
And then the world exploded. The glowlamps overhead shattered into sparks and shrapnel, which fell like glowing hot rain onto the ground. Lying prone, Sidious stared around the room, slackjaw in astonishment. There was only one possible perpetrator: the Jedi.
With the destruction of the internal lighting system, everything went dark, and the room descended into screams and moans of pain, before a second explosion erupted. This time, Sidious pressed his face into the ground, covering his head with his arm as heat encapsulated him.
The explosion tore through walls and piping, hurdling dozens of permacrete chunks into the room, some weighing hundreds of kilos. Amidst the burning, roaring flames, and the screams of terror, almost any being in the Galaxy would think the end was nigh.
But not Sidious. He looked up, coughing in the smoke for a moment, then wiped the soot from his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. His expression had turned into an eerie smirk.
The Jedi had done something so brash, so arrogant, and so destructive that Sidious was sure he no longer needed a false flag.
So predictable…
o.o.o.o.o
OBI-WAN KENOBI
Peering around one of the pillars at the exit to the Jedi Archives, on the right hand side of the vast entrance hall from the perspective of the Clones spilling into the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan had a good vantage point. Fifty meters or so ahead, towards the public entrance to the structure itself, Kit Fisto and thirty-six other Jedi defenders were holding off columns of Clone Troopers wearing the blue and white of the 501st and the red and white of the Coruscant Guard.
With only the pylons at Temple’s main entrance for cover, the troopers were dropping left and right, blasted by their own deflected shots or hacked down by the blade of a lightsaber. Clones who had faithfully fought alongside Obi-Wan and many other Jedi for more than two years.
Plo-Koon’s voice, muffled by not only his antiox breath max but also over the medium of the HoloNet, came through Obi-Wan’s wrist-comm. “Did it stop? Have the Clones changed their behavior?”
The Kel-Dor Master and a handful of other Jedi had returned to Coruscant in starfighters from the front lines. In a daring attack on the Republic Executive Building itself, they had destroyed the antenna array from which Order 66 had been transmitted.
Obi-Wan flinched as an explosion echoed off the marble walls, and he felt two Jedi pass into the Force. The Clones were continuing their borderline suicidal advance unabated, but now with more results. One of them on the far right was crouched on his knees, holding up a shoulder-mounted RPS-6 Launcher with a now-smoking barrel.
Before the Clone could reload the launcher, blasterfire erupted from a balcony on the opposite side of the entryway, cutting down him and several of his own squadmates. Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, hoping for a moment that this meant some of the Clones had changed sides. Instead, he saw a trio of non-Jedi Temple Security Force personnel standing on the balcony, now targeting any Clones wielding heavy weaponry.
“No, I’m afraid not,” Obi-Wan replied, unable to hide his dismay. Dozens of Clone bodies were piling up in the entrance, quickly becoming hundreds. Those two Jedi casualties were the first Obi-Wan had witnessed since the battle at the Sith Shrine, but against a force so numerous, Jedi fatalities would inevitably mount. The Clones had room to make mistakes and learn from them, finding ever better ways to inflict casualties on the Jedi. “Are you certain the signal has been deactivated?”
“Yes. The communications array is a smoldering ruin, and the channel is silent.” Plo Koon’s deflated sigh echoed from the comlink speaker. “All we can hope is that we have prevented any Clones who have yet to receive the order from being forced to turn on their Jedi Commanders.”
“I suggest you return to the Temple. There’s nothing more you can do out there.”
“We’re en route already,” Plo-Koon said through the comlink. “Prepare to lower the shields in eight minutes.”
“Understood. May the Force be with you.”
A collective wave of surprise in the Force hit the Jedi Master from those behind him in the Jedi archives as he cut the transmission. He turned around in time to see Ki-Adi-Mundi stand up, abandoning his seat in front of a HoloCam. From his body language, Obi-Wan could tell that the interview was over. Technicians, Jedi and non-Jedi alike, were fidgeting about, frantically typing onto consoles displaying error screens.
It had taken a great deal of will for Obi-Wan to pull himself away from the battle unfolding at the entrance to the Temple, but he had done so. “What happened?”
Jocasta Nu looked up as Obi-Wan approached her station, which had once been the Archives’ help desk. “We lost all access to the HoloNet.”
Obi-Wan attempted to comm Plo-Koon again, to no avail. The Jedi would have to use the Force and their own eyes to know exactly when to lower the shields and admit Plo-Koon’s squadron in.
“Are we being jammed?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked, approaching the side of the information desk. Like Obi-Wan, he had abandoned his station.
“No, it’s as if… Master Mundi, what does this bandwidth profile look like to you?”
Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned over Jocasta Nu’s shoulder, scrutinizing the screen closely. “Well, it looks like someone is disrupting the network with… No…”
“Someone is redirecting HoloNet traffic,” Jocasta explained, her fingers tapping away quickly on the touch screen before zooming in. “They’re using many of the same backchannels the Separatists used nine months after Geonosis… Look at this… That illicit transceiver hasn’t been used in over a year.”
“Shadowfeeds,” Obi-Wan gasped, recognizing one of the designators Republic Intelligence had given the transceiver nodes that the Separatists had seeded the spaceways with. “I thought those had all been destroyed! Are we picking up any transmissions from the Separatists?”
Mere seconds after he asked the question, the HoloProjector emitted an ear-piercing screech noise. Sparkling blue static appeared in the air above it. For the second time in the war, the HoloNet was being completely jammed.
“We’re not picking up any transmissions,” Jocasta Nu said, muting the volume and answering Obi-Wan’s previous question belatedly.
“The Separatists are not using it for propaganda then,” Ki-Adi-Mundi muttered. “They jam the hyperwaves in the middle of an uprising against Sidious on the HoloNet. This can’t be a coincidence.
Obi-Wan shook his head helplessly, then shuddered, remembering something Dooku had once said about the Sith controlling everything. “If Sheev Palpatine was pulling Dooku’s strings we can only assume he is now actively pulling Grievous’s strings…” He trailed off, a new worrying thought coming to mind.
If Sidious were using the Separatists to act against the Jedi, in coordination with the Clones and loyalist Republic forces who had seemingly gone mad, things could get very ugly. Trapped on Coruscant, the Jedi would have no way of even knowing if the Separatists were now working with the Clones or if there was any coordination beyond this sophisticated attack on the hyperwaves.
Chapter 14: ANAKIN SKYWALKER
Chapter by Golm_Fersve_Dra
Chapter Text
CoCo Town, Coruscant
After having parked their speeders one level below the street level, out of sight of passing probe droids, police vehicles, and Republic military craft, Anakin, Mace Windu, Volviff Monn, and the Senators Polo Se’lab, Bail Organa, and of course, Anakin’s wife Padmé, made their way up the stairs to the sky level parking lot and towards Dex’s Diner, Artoo climbing the stairs slowly behind them. Long a friend of the Jedi, the Besalisk owner of the restaurant, Dexter Jettster had no problem at all hosting an impromptu gathering of Senators opposing the fratricidal Chancellor.
They were not the only ones here. Stepping into the dark parking lot and pausing to let R2 catch up, Anakin shot Mace Windu an apprehensive look at how many conspicuous speeders were parked outside. While the closed sign was up, and all of the diner’s windows were tinted to their maximum reflectiveness, having this many luxury speeders in one parking lot in a run-down neighborhood was bound to attract attention. Even in the dim nighttime light of a city under de-facto martial law, Jar Jar Binks’s Sorosuub RGC-16 airspeeder, with the vibrant colors of a Gungan flag painted across its flat pill-shaped frame, was practically blinding.
“I recommend we change venues as soon as possible,” Volviff Monn growled quietly from the back of the group as they passed a sleek chromed Corellian airspeeder.
“I agree. This is too exposed,” Windu stated bluntly. “ When Palpatine finds out, he will move to label the Senators here as traitors and eliminate them.”
“At least there aren’t dozens of bodyguards surrounding the building,” Anakin muttered. With R2 at his side, he slowly approached the oval front door, which slid open and briefly bathed them in light. For a second, loud chatter from within the diner spilled out through the open door, until everyone noticed the new arrivals.
The gaze of thirty or forty senators crammed inside the small building fell on Mace Windu, who lowered his hood as he stepped through the door. Anakin did the same.
“Oh good, yousa here Ani!” Jar Jar practically screamed. “Weesa gettin’ berry worried.”
“It is good to see you, Master Anakin! And you as well, Artoo!” exclaimed C-3PO, stepping in front of Jar Jar.
The astromech tweetled at his counterpart as he followed Anakin inside.
A cheery smile crossed Anakin’s face, and he scanned the crowd of Senators trying to take in any familiar faces.
“I hope the Jedi have some explanation for this!” barked a human in green and silver robes with black hair and a mustache of the same color. Anakin did not recognize him, but Padmé seemed to.
“Senator Iblis, we all would like to know what is going on. The Supreme Chancellor’s sudden power grab is shocking, and I would go as far as to label it a coup.”
“No, not that !” Iblis sputtered, pointing dramatically in the other direction. “ THAT .”
Anakin turned to look towards what the Senator was pointing at and his eyes widened in shock.
On a large vidscreen at the far end of the cantina, the dark dome of the Republic Executive Building was centered in the cityscape. Smoke and flame billowed from the top, the red glow casting a baleful haze across the entire senate district. Gunships and extinguisher airspeeders circled the immense structure, fighting the inferno while entire squadrons of V-Wings and Z-95s patrolled overhead.
“What happened?” Anakin asked. Maybe someone had finally done the unthinkable and bombed the Chancellor. The smile that had formed across his face vanished as his brow furrowed. The relief he felt surprised him. Just three days ago Anakin had viewed the man as an ersatz father—now, so many Jedi had died, and his own Padawan was still missing.
But that was only part of Anakin’s feelings. He could only imagine the fallout from Palpatine being captured alive . The Chancellor was one of the two people in the Galaxy who knew about what happened on Tatooine right before the Battle of Geonosis. Anakin had told him everything. Everything that happened with his mother and the Sandpeople. At the time, Palpatine’s reassurances had lifted a guilty weight off his shoulders. Now though, in the context of him being the Sith Lord the Jedi had been seeking all along…
Windu sighed, much more despondent than Anakin. “Well, this complicates things.”
“Is that Plo-Koon’s ship?!” Anakin asked excitedly, as the view on the vidscreen shifted, zooming in on a Delta-7 with unmistakable jagged triangular blue shapes painted on an otherwise white hull.
“So you admit it!” Senator Iblis shouted, jabbing a finger into an incredulous Anakin’s chest. “You tried to assassinate the Chancellor! THIS ONLY LEGITIMIZES HIS INSANITY!”
“Assassination is not the Jedi way, Senator Bel Iblis,” Windu said, remaining calm even as the other man’s voice rose to a shout. “We received intelligence that the order to kill the Jedi originated from the Chancellor’s Office in the Executive Building. All HoloNet signals from that structure are routed…” He paused, gesturing to the vidscreen, playing back the footage again, a pair of torpedoes zipped out from beneath Plo-Koon’s fighter, impacting the dish on top of the structure rather than one of the offices. “Whoever launched that attack was aiming for the building itself.”
“Even if Palpatine wasn’t the target, it probably took him out too,” Anakin said with a manic smile that caused Padmé to frown. “He was likely nearby, since his office is right there. We need to ask the Temple, maybe—”
“The HoloNet is down, as are civilian hypercomm relays,” mumbled the Aqualish Senator, Gratin Vagger, in a deep voice. Rather conspicuously, the feed from the HoloNet projector on the table beneath the vidscreen was nothing but static. With the events unfolding on the vidscreen distracting him, Anakin hadn’t noticed until it was mentioned. “We can’t contact anyone.”
“How is the news broadcasting this then?” Padmé asked.
“It must be subspace radio,” Anakin blurted out quickly. “Does anyone have a receiver?! We need one to contact the Temple!”
“I’ve been working on it for five minutes,” grunted a gruff voice from the kitchen.
Anakin had been wondering what Dex was up to. The six-limbed Besalisk was in the kitchen, standing behind an assortment of electronic parts sprawled on the counter from a partially disassembled subspace radio.
“Skywalker,” Windu said sternly, nodding in the direction of the kitchen, then quickly stood straighter and switched to a more diplomatic tone. “Uh, Master Skywalker,” he corrected himself for the second time today, “could you lend him a hand?”
“Sure, come on Artoo,” Anakin said, rushing to the kitchen with his trusted astromech companion not far behind, practically bursting with impatience and worry. Under normal circumstances, Anakin found repairing technology fun, rather than an unpleasant chore. Today, suddenly cut off from the ability to communicate with Obi-Wan and the Jedi Temple, he couldn’t repair the radio fast enough. In seconds, he was right next to Dex, grabbing a loose transistor in one hand and a hydrospanner in the other.
“Hold on, I haven’t wiped it off yet,” Dex protested, grabbing Anakin’s arm firmly with one arm and holding up a rag with the other. “Plugging it in without rubbing the dust off could cause—”
Rolling his eyes, Anakin yanked the rag out of Dex’s hand and began wiping the tiny disc-shaped metalloid.
The voices outside, in the diner, were now calmer and Anakin could sense that even the angriest Senators had been placated by Mace Windu’s explanation. A Jedi attack to kill the Chancellor was far less palatable than an attack to stop the Chancellor from sending treacherous orders to the outside world. Responding to an attack and burning through the perpetrator as collateral damage was different than directly targeting the perpetrator in a targeted killing. At least, for most Jedi, most Senators, and probably even most Republic citizens. After everything he had gone through, Anakin no longer really subscribed to that conventional morality.
“We need to focus less on who bombed the Executive Building and why,” said Padmé in the background, “And more on our next moves.”
Anakin tried to tune out Senator Iblis’s argument which came next. “No, we need to know exactly what happened so we can make our contingencies. The Chancellor’s next move will be against the Jedi, then us.”
“The more pressing concern is how Palpatine can be removed from office,” Organa said evenly, his voice carrying into the kitchen. “Assuming, of course, that he survived.”
What if Ahsoka is being held in the Executive Building? What if Ahsoka died in that attack? The radio’s remote, which Anakin had intended to fit with a new power pack, suddenly shattered in his hand, cutting his palm. R2 let out a squeal as the remote’s fragments clattered to the ground.
“Hey, kid! What do you think you are doing?!” Dex demanded, once again taking Anakin’s wrist in his vice-like grip. “Are you trying to break it?”
It took Anakin a few seconds to realize he was responsible for breaking the remote. He had been so filled with tension thinking about Palpatine’s treachery that he crushed the remote like sand.
“Skywalker,” Windu said sternly, standing in front of the serving hatch to the kitchen. “Perhaps there are too many cooks in the kitchen.”
“Anakin!” Padmé gasped, standing at Windu’s side. “You’re hurt.”
“Okay,” Anakin said, dropping the shards of plastoid and jerking his arm out of Dex’s grip. “I’ll… I’ll wait out there.” He turned to Padmé, smirking slyly, “It’s nothing m’lady.”
“It’s not nothing!” Dex snarled. “Some of the features we’ll only be able to—”
“Artoo can handle it! Can’t you buddy?” Anakin interrupted, smiling at the astromech, who tweeted and chirped proudly.
“Turn the volume on! Turn the volume on!” barked a voice in the background from the dining area.
Frantically, Anakin rushed to the serving window, trying to get a good view of the vidscreen. Craning his head, he couldn’t see it with Mace Windu and Padmé, now having turned around themselves, standing in front and blocking the view out of the kitchen.
Fear and shock permeated the air, alarming Anakin so much that he sprinted out of the kitchen as fast as he could, accidentally knocking a pot off the counter as he moved. Before he even made it into the crowded dining area where most of the Senators and their aides were, he could hear Palpatine’s voice.
“...An attempt on my life, which will no doubt leave me scarred and disfigured.”
Standing behind the cashier’s counter, Anakin skidded to a stop and looked to the left. Contrasted against a grey wall behind him, Palpatine’s face was on the vidscreen—or at least a face that had the basic shape of Palaptine’s face, but it looked like he had aged thirty years.
“No way,” Voolvif Monn snarled, shaking his snout in sheer incredulity. “There is no way being in the vicinity of a proton torpedo explosion would age a human like—”
“SHHH!” hissed a dozen Senators.
“The cowardly Jedi attack on our Galactic HoloNet infrastructure was, no doubt, to keep the truth from getting out there, and the truth is…” Palpatine paused for dramatic effect, lowering his voice to a near whisper. It was as if he were sharing a deep dark secret with the whole of Coruscant. “The Jedi are taking over.”
Uproar around the room drowned out the Chancellor’s next words. Anakin found himself yelling the word “LIAR!” at the top of his lungs, while others commented on the general impossibility of Palpatine’s accusations. How could the Jedi possibly take over with the Temple surrounded and their members across the Galaxy under attack?
Mace Windu’s force-amplified voice boomed over the chatter. “SILENCE!” As the comments and side discussion became quieter and less outraged, Sidious’s voice was once again audible.
“—left me no choice,” Palpatine continued. “The Temple shall be seized and any disloyal Jedi will be hunted down and annihilated. Any loyal Jedi are encouraged to turn against their treasonous compatriots and help our valiant military forces save the Order’s initiates and younglings from the lies and plots of their elders.”
The air, already tingling with uncertainty and danger, began feeling more electric. Closing his eyes, Anakin steeled himself away from the distracting flatscreen of his Chancellor and former friend. He reached out and felt a dozen or so familiar but grim presences, a few hundred meters above.
“I sense it too,” Windu said, exchanging a look with Anakin before spinning in a circle and addressing the Senators. “Who has eyes on what’s going on outside?” When no one seemed to pay him any attention, he raised his voice to draw their attention from the vidscreen. “Who has the feed from the security cameras?”
“We do!” yelled a blue-skinned female dressed in red and white who Anakin recognized as the Pantoran Senator, Ryo Chuchi. Her aide, dressed in a simpler black garment, raised a datapad over the crowd.
The three Jedi moved through the crowd, using the Force to gently scoot bystanders aside til they reached the Pantorans.
“Let me see that,” Voolvif growled brusquely, practically yanking the datapad out of the much smaller being’s hands.
Standing only a bit above shoulder height to the Shistavanen, Anakin and Windu leaned forward, scrutinizing the security footage. There was no one in the empty parking lot, and everything appeared to be fine.
Anakin turned to the kitchen. “Hey Dex, can your cameras look up?”
“Uh yeah, just press the up arrow on the interface. Useful feature ‘cause burglars have been attempting roof entries. I explained everything to the young Senator.”
Before Dex’s explanation had finished, Anakin was already pressing the up arrow.
“There!” Windu exclaimed unnecessarily, pointing to a dark-colored metallic shape. Unlike the other passing air traffic, this vehicle was hovering completely still. At this distance it was hard to make anything out, but Anakin was nearly certain it was an LAAT.
Other presences suddenly emerging in Anakin’s Force awareness—dozens closing in from two directions. A few seemed to swirl with uncertainty, but most had a grim deadly determination about them. Though varied, every one of them had the familiar silhouette in Anakin’s mind of a Jango Fett Clone.
“Everyone, get down,” Mace Windu ordered. “Things are about to get ugly.”
Shuffling noises erupted from all around the eatery as Senators and their aides crouched under tables. Amidst the cacophony, C-3PO let off a very loud “Oh dear!” before squatting behind the serving counter.
“We could just evacuate through the basement,” said a gruff voice from the kitchen.
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Mace Windu asked, wheeling on the Besalisk. More than a little impatience was beginning to creep into his voice.
Without answering, Dex stepped out of the kitchen. He quickly pushed one of the dining room tables out of the way and pulled a small black hook from his keychain. A moment later, with the hook sunk into a small notch on the floor, Dex tugged with one of his lower arms, pulling a hatch open.
The Jedi stepped around the hatch, while Dex shined a glowrod into it. The stairwell looked barely wide enough to fit more than one being at a time, and hiding in the basement was only a small improvement over hiding under tables. On the other hand…
“You said evacuate through the basement?” Anakin asked, putting emphasis on the preposition. “Where does it lead to?”
“This wasn’t on the building’s floorplan,” Windu said, sounding even more cross than before.
“When did you find the time to look at the fl—” Anakin started to ask, but was cut off immediately by Dex’s retort.
“The passage from the cellar to the undercity also ain’t on any charts. An information broker always needs an emergency exit. Besides which, why do you care, Master Jedi? Are you really going to report me to the tax office?”
Vein visible on his forehead, Windu opened his mouth, but was interrupted.
“I feel like we’re losing the plot,” Padmé said, stepping out from under her table.
Windu shook his head, then began shouting orders. “Everyone, get up. Evacuate down the stairwell, single-file. We’ll regroup—what is it, Skywalker?”
Anakin was vigorously tapping Mace Windu’s shoulder, practically thrusting the datapad which had a visual of the exterior under the Master of the Order’s nose. “You need to look at this!” he grunted with frustration.
Outside the diner, what seemed like a couple hundred Clones had stopped dead in their tracks before stepping foot on the speeder lot, LAATs droning into the sky in the distance. They now stood in the empty street at the edge of the property. Behind them stood a quartet of bipedal cavalry walkers with transparisteel canopies and an array of blaster cannons, grenade launchers, and mortar tubes jutting from hardpoints on their chins and the sides of their ‘heads’, the towering machines themselves flanked by a few of the smaller and more familiar AT-RTs. Mixed into this force were squads of grey-colored Clone K9 troopers holding back their snapping Anooba, Massif, and Nek dogs, while in front of the assembly stood ranks of riot-control Clones with their distinctive bulwark assault shields, shock batons, and up-armored helmets that reminded Anakin of Commander Cody’s.
But it was the image of one figure wearing an outfit Anakin had never seen before that Anakin was rubbing his finger over. The stranger’s attire was red to the point of being overwhelmingly red. His sleeves and shoulder pads were made of some sort of red-colored synth material, draped over a red tunic which blended in with a skirt of the same color. The only non-red part of the outfit were white elastic bands spanning the lower portion of a helmet, which was dominated by a transparent faceplate.
“In the name of the Force!” Voolvif Monn hissed in a low whisper, looking down while standing over Anakin’s shoulder. “What is that?!”
“It looks like a vac-suit!” Anakin said, speaking with such surprise that his voice sounded like a yell against the shocked silence.
“Whatever it is, we can handle it,” Mace Windu said confidently.
“A vac-suit?” Padmé whispered worriedly at Anakin’s side.
“What if they launch a chemical attack?” gasped a female Rodian, approaching the Jedi from the right.
“They may have already gassed us or infected us with some microbe or nanodroid,” Polo Se’lab growled from two tables away. “These attackers may really just be the cleaning crew. They will simply wait for us to expire and then examine our bodies.”
“Enough of that!” Mace Windu snapped.
“A weapon of mass destruction on Coruscant?” Voolvif scoffed. “It’d kill so many people the entire Galaxy would—”
“MASTER SKYWALKER! MASTER WINDU!” boomed a familiar voice, amplified so loudly that it shook the windows. “I know you are in there! Your delusional Senator friends may have you fooled into thinking they are the Government, but they are insignificant. All of them. I could crush them all like insects and the Galaxy would not bat an eye. The only reason I haven’t yet, is that I have a particular interest in the survival of Padmé Amidala. Anakin, I still consider you a friend, and I do not want any further harm to befall you, and Master Windu, you are one of the few beings in the Galaxy who can stop this madness! We have much to discuss and little time.”
“Jedi Monn,” Windu said quickly to the Shistavanen, “You go down first. Make sure the Senators are safe.”
“What will you be doing?” Voolvif asked.
“Skywalker and I will parlay with the Chancellor. Give you all a chance to escape.”
“No!” Padmé hissed. “Have you lost your minds? He just wants you to step out there so he can kill you.”
“I don’t think so,” Anakin muttered quietly, trying to keep this conversation private. “The more I think about it, the more I realize the Chancellor is trying to get at me, personally. He wants me for something. First Ahsoka… Now he mentions you. Padmé, I’ve told him things… So many things…” He turned away from Padmé, gripping his own hair in frustration.
Padmé gently tugged Anakin’s arm by the elbow, turning him around to face her.
“Skywalker, we can deal with this another time,” Windu urged. “The Sith Lord has exposed himself, foolishly. This is our chance. This is your chance to end this. To bring balance to the Force.”
Anakin took a sharp inhalation of breath. Windu knew about Padmé with certainty, he could sense that. What the Jedi Order thought of Anakin mattered very little though in comparison with all of the bloodshed. With Palpatine and Dooku setting the Galaxy on fire. With all of the bloodshed presently unfolding on Coruscant—with all the deaths that had yet to occur.
How important was keeping his own secret in light of the prospect of ending the Sith once and for all?
Mace Windu stepped toward the front door, lightsaber ignited in his bandaged hand. Anakin took a step forward to follow—
“Wait!” Padmé gasped, confusion, terror, and sheer frustration expressed in her furrowed brow, worried eyes, and scornful frown. She clearly did not have their confidence in the plan.
“We really should discuss this further,” Bail Organa said, stepping to Padmé’s side. “You hardly had any time to—”
The doors hissed closed behind Anakin. He stood there, his blue lightsaber ignited, not sure what would happen next. Yet, something made him feel certain that he would walk away from this confrontation. It felt like he had somehow done this before already.
The vac-suit wearer stepped forward, out from under the streetlamp. In the darkness, the glowrods built into his helmet shone brightly, revealing the face of none other than Sheev Palpatine.
How could Palpatine have gotten here so quickly? Anakin wondered. The only explanation he could think of was that Palpatine had made the recording where he accused the Jedi of attacking him previously and only released it now.
“I knew you would come. Please now,” the Chancellor said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, “We have no need for violence. Your lightsabers are making these troopers nervous.”
“These troopers are making me nervous,” Anakin snorted, then cursed himself internally. The retort had been half-done at best, and only betrayed his own anxiety about the situation.
A wry smirk crossed the corner of Sidious’s mouth. His face seemed at least twice as wrinkly as the last time Anakin laid eyes on him. “When consorting with vipers, precautions are necessary.”
“Leave the talking to me, Skywalker,” Windu muttered through gritted teeth, then looked Palpatine straight in the eye. “This ends now, Your Excellency . Lift the siege of the Jedi Temple, undo whatever Sith sorcery you have done to the Clones—”
“I would be willing to meet some of those conditions,” Palpatine interrupted, “But before you continue, I must explain what I can do for you.”
“For me?” Windu asked in mock surprise.
“For the Jedi ,” Palpatine elaborated slowly.
“We’ve seen what you can do for us!” Anakin snarled, pointing his saber at Palpatine and causing the front row of troopers to raise their blasters. Amidst the loud barks of the Anooba, Massif, and Nek dogs, the Riot Clones moved to get between Sidious and Anakin, but the vac-suited figure held up a hand. “Murder, treachery, brainwashing, betrayal. What have you done with Ahsoka?!”
“All in good time, Anakin,” Palpatine said with utmost calm, his voice oozing even as he used those same platitudes and words he always had in their private conversations. “I will be willing to answer most of your questions in due time.”
Anakin could not sense anything from the man, which only made him feel angrier. He couldn’t sense the oily taste of a lie, nor the electric spark of fear, nor even the sourness of mockery or disdain. The Sith Lord could hide himself so well, had hid himself for decades , that it was like they were talking with a droid. All of Palpatine’s words came out without any accompanying reaction in the Force. Yet, during all his conversations with the man, Palpatine had never been this… Void . Even if he’d hidden his true emotions there had always been a reaction of some kind he could sense. Briefly, the thought crossed his mind, there’s something wrong here .
Palpatine clasped his red gloved hands behind his back. “As for your question, Master Windu, I meant only that I have a proposal for the Jedi Order to put an end to this rather unfortunate misunderstanding. Hand over Dooku, and I will rescind Order 66. We can negotiate where things will go politically from there.”
“Why are you so concerned about Dooku?” Anakin asked skeptically.
The Sith Lord paused for a moment. “Dooku knows too many things. He knows things no man should.”
Anakin shook his head. Even hearing it from the man, it was difficult to believe. Not just the deviousness, but how brazen Palpatine was. “You admit you only want us to turn him over to you so you can kill a witness?!”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Skywalker,” Palpatine hissed, an expression of anger forming on his face under the visor. “Tell me, is this fate any different from the one the Jedi Order or the Senate would impose upon him? Besides, I saw it just yesterday—you would have killed Dooku had—”
“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I WOULD HAVE DONE!” Anakin yelled. A sudden mixture of anger and fear nearly made him snap. Mace Windu was right here.
Momentarily, Windu’s eyebrows raised as he examined Anakin, but then he turned back to face the vac-suit wearer. “Do you fear exposure that much?”
“Do not make assumptions,” Palpatine snapped coldly. “I have already been exposed. No, it is what Dooku knows that is a threat to all of us, not any potential threat of exposure to me. Dooku is as much a threat to the Jedi Order as he is to me!” By the end of his exclamation, the Sith Lord’s eyes were wide in genuine fear. Though, no jolt of fear emanating from him could be felt in the Force.
“I find that very difficult to believe,” Windu said curtly.
“I beg of you! We must reconcile our differences quickly. The Republic is tearing itself apart. We face a disaster on all fronts with Separatist advances and the specter of civil war, even right here on Coruscant. I now realize that the Jedi are a necessary evil. Without them the Galaxy is impossible to manage.”
Windu shook his head in disbelief. “An evil? You are personally responsible for billions of deaths. You have lied to the Order—no, lied to me for at least thirteen years. You are responsible for the deaths of countless Jedi—”
“You stand in judgment over me, Master Jedi?” Palpatine sneered. “So full of anger and hatred. How many lives have you taken? Mere hours ago, you turned on your own compatriots because they stopped you from killing Count Dooku in cold blood. You dare stand in judgment over me!”
“Not judgment,” Windu said coldly. “And I don’t recall telling you that. The issue is trust. We cannot trust you.”
“Unsurprising,” Palpatine sighed. “After all, you cannot even trust your own… Don’t you agree, Anakin ?”
Anakin shook his head. Oh not this again. “You’re not going to turn us against each other,” he said with finality.
Behind the brightly illuminated visor, Palpatine shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it! I don’t think you understand me. We are all on the same side here, Anakin. After all the Jedi and Sith are brothers in the Force—”
“ENOUGH!” Windu balked in disgust, now too pointing his lightsaber threateningly in the Sith Lord’s direction. “Tell us what you came here to say!”
Anakin shook off his own anger and lowered his lightsaber. “Master Windu,” he muttered quietly through the side of his mouth, “We are supposed to be buying time.”
Exhaling, Windu reluctantly lowered his, though he left it powered on.
“While the Jedi sleep with one eye open and the other eye closed to the Force, the Sith see all,” Palpatine croaked ominously. “I have reached out through time, and I know with utmost certainty that if we cannot come to an agreement, the Galaxy will burn. I have seen billions choking to death for want of air. Trillions starving. I have seen our worlds, Tatooine and Naboo, utterly obliterated, with no survivors. I saw Coruscant, the seat of Galactic governance, rendered utterly inhospitable. I have seen the absolute end of Galactic civilization—”
“Now, wait a second,” Anakin interrupted with a scoff. He rubbed his free hand through his hair, then shook his head in exasperation. “You, the dark lord of the Sith, Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, landed in CoCo Town with an army of Clones, in the middle of your failed coup, to…” His voice trailed off as he felt an alarming change come over Mace Windu. “Mace? Mace Windu?!”
Windu seemed to snap out of some sort of trance. He took a deep, calming breath, but still poured worry into the Force.
“Alas, Anakin,” Palpatine shrugged, “I want to rule over the Galaxy. I do not want to rule over a Galaxy of the dead. Master Windu, have you seen glimpses of what I am speaking of?”
“That’s…” Windu paused, then took a deep breath. “That’s irrelevant. I cannot trust you. No deal short of one where you relinquish power can be acceptable, even to save the Galaxy.”
Sidious gestured to a trooper within the crowd of Clones. Presently, the trooper handed the Sith Lord a lightweight and nearly transparent vidscreen, which the Sith Lord held high above his head with two hands.
“Master Windu, I am already withdrawing all Forces from the Jedi Temple. I will lift the communications jam so you can verify this for yourselves. Comm Master Kenobi for me, will you? I would hate to find out that any harm befell him during this misunderstanding.
Anakin and Mace Windu exchanged looks, both with raised eyebrows. For the Chancellor to hold a vidscreen this high above his own head seemed beyond strange. Not only was it out of character, but his pose almost seemed too flexible and youthful. Before either of them could get a good look, however, a blaster bolt came from behind the formation of troopers, punching through the vidscreen before dissipating into the permacrete before Anakin’s feet.
Jolted in alarm and confusion, the two Jedi jumped into action, sabers raised defensively.
“GENERAL SKYWALKER! GENERAL WINDU!” a voice screamed from somewhere behind the Clones. “DON’T LISTEN TO HIM! IT’S A TRAP.”
Another blaster shot nearly killed the Chancellor, barely missing his head.
“WHERE’S THAT COMING FROM?!” screamed a trooper at the front of the crowd.
“PROTECT THE CHANCELLOR!” yelled another shouted.
“SHOTS FIRED! SHOTS FIRED!”
“OPEN FIRE?!” a voice to the far left of the crowd asked in a shout.
“OPEN FIRE!” screamed a fourth voice, which numerous others began parroting. “OPEN FIRE! OPEN FIRE!”
“Well, this is a bit ridiculous,” Anakin sighed, raising his lightsaber in front of his face.
“More than a little ridiculous!” Mace Windu said with more edge in his voice, deflecting a blaster shot that would have hit him in the neck had it not been deflected.
“Take his ‘excellency’ out?” Anakin asked, deflecting two more. In front of him, as many Clones were now shooting in the opposite direction of the Jedi as towards them.
“With prejudice,” Windu snarled.
Briefly, Sidious’s red gloved hands disappeared behind his back, then returned to view. Each hand now held a lightsaber glowing even more brightly than his vac-suit.
o.o.o.o.o
CC-4678 “Nites”
Hectic yells and contradictory orders barked over the platoon comm. More than anything, Nites wished Sidious had taken his advice and allowed him and a team of snipers to position themselves on a balcony overlooking the diner. Even more, Nites wished that Sidious had embedded more True Believers within the platoon guarding him, instead of Clones who were only loyal to him due to an activated inhibitor chip.
But Nites had not survived this long questioning the orders of the Dark Lord of the Sith.
Standing at the head of a formation of Clone Commandos and Covert Ops Troopers, he slid an anti-security blade into the card reader on the door console. One second, two seconds, and before a third second had passed the magnetically-sealed door frame clicked. Gingerly, he pushed the door open, and stepped aside, allowing four Commandos to rush in ahead of him.
“GET DOWN! GET DOWN!”
“HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”
“Kitchen secure, sir!”
At that, Nites stepped inside, blasters still holstered, holding up a datapad with the brightness set to maximum. On screen was a certain Senator Amidala’s face. “Padmé Amidala? Is there a Senator Amidala here?”
“BLASTER!” screamed Cluck, the CC standing at the front of the kitchen, aiming his DC-17m out into the dining area.
“Hold your fire!” Nites ordered. “We’re all friends here,” he added with false cheer. The plan was simple. If the Jedi engaged Sidious, Nites and his men would enter through the rear and take Padmé Amidala into custody. Best case scenario, even if Anakin, Mace Windu, and Voolvif survived the onslaught, Sidious would now have Anakin’s wife hostage. It was also highly likely that Anakin would break off from his engagement with Sidious to rescue Padmé, abandoning Mace Windu and Voolvif Monn to their fates.
Nites very much hoped that the latter scenario would not unfold, though he knew it to be a distinct possibility. Facing off against Anakin Skywalker was not something he was confident he could survive.
“STAY BACK!” yelled a gruff voice to obviously not be human.
“Sir,” Cluck said, aiming his rifle out of sight through the serving window. “I’d stay back if I were you. He’s got—”
Ignoring Cluck’s warning, Nites leaned forward, holding the datapad high. He started the first syllable of Padmé’s name before he got a good look of the danger Cluck was warning him about.
There stood a nearly two-meter tall Besalisk wearing a dirty work shirt and wielding not two, not three, but four double-barreled heavy blaster pistols at once.
“Relax,” Nites said, holding up the datapad. “No one needs to get hurt. The Chancellor wants to speak with Senator Amidala.”
“Then why didn’t he call her outside?” Dex scoffed, aiming one of his blasters directly at him.
“No need for that,” Nites said, fighting the urge to raise his voice. “We are all friends here.” He cringed internally at the statement. It was absurd. Muffled blasterfire and the buzz of clashing lightsabers could be heard just outside the window.
“How about you go back the way you came, and no one dies?” Dex asked.
“Just listen—”
A slight shake of the building, accompanied by the deeply base hum of an LAAT’s anti-personnel turret interrupted him. The sound had been so loud and nearby that dust rained down in the kitchen from the rafters. In the brief silence that followed, the clatter of footsteps could be heard from behind as more troopers moved up to the counter.
Nites held up a fist with a bent elbow signaling them to halt. “Everyone, hold position,” he muttered quietly into his helmet comm. “Things are dicey enough without... Just hold position.”
“I am giving you the count of three,” Dex said menacingly. “One, two—”
Cluck screamed “KRIFF IT!” and squeezed the trigger of his blaster rifle. Glowing bright blue in the darkness, a single shot smoldered as it impacted Dex’s chest.
But the Besalisk didn’t go down. Exotic thwap sounds of highly-illegal incinerator rounds echoed overhead, as Dex squeezed off shot after shot.
Nites drew his DC-17 commando pistol just as the register on the counter took a hit and exploded. Credit chips rained down, jingling loudly as Nites returned fire. Two more troopers stepped in behind Nites, and, in a fraction of a second, the old Besalisk was scorched with over a dozen blaster wounds, collapsing to the diner floor.
“SHOTS FIRED!” Hok yelled, stepping in late to the fray.
“Target down! HOLD YOUR FIRE!” Nites screamed, quickly scanning the room for any dead or wounded Senators. “Is anyone hurt?! Padmé! Padmé Amidala!” He looked under the tables immediately behind Dex’s smoldering corpse, then scanned all the tables along the front wall. There should have been dozens of Senators present, but he could only see nine, and none were Padmé.
As soon as he stepped out from behind the counter and onto the dining room floor, Cluck aimed his glowrod as the Besalisk’s body and gasped. “Sir, you’re going to need to see this. There’s a—ugh!” The Clone grunted in pain, skewered by a lightsaber that seemed to rise from the ground, ascending impossibly from the floor.
When his eyes adjusted to the green light, Nites could see that it wasn’t just a lightsaber, but a furry arm and hand gripping it. Cluck’s body fell to the side and more and more of the lightsaber wielder seemed to rise from the floor, step by step, as if ascending from a hidden stairwell perfectly concealed by the Besalisk’s hulking body.
Nites adjusted his channel to the platoon frequency, and was once again assailed by panicked status updates, and the yell of Lord Sidious’s own voice as the Sith barked out his own commands. Somehow, the situation outside the diner seemed even worse than the situation inside, but seeming was not being .
The ridiculous intelligence failure that led to this botched op only made him realize that the fight with the Jedi was hopeless. Even if Sidious prevailed here and eliminated or captured both Skywalker and Windu, the Sith Lord clearly had no more ability to foresee the unexpected. Even worse, since Voolviff Monn was here it meant that he could not have been out there with Anakin and Mace Windu. That no one had warned Nites of the Shistavanen’s absence when Skywalker and Windu stepped out meant a communications breakdown was underway.
“Nites here,” he finally managed, voice coming out in a despondent croak. “Voolviff Monn is in the diner.”
Voolvif Monn snorted with amusement. “Drop your weapons and stop that!” he snarled, pointing his lightsaber directly at Nites.
Blasterfire rang out as the Clones behind him opened fire on the Shistavanen.
Nites took a step back, then started running as hard as he could, ignoring the screams of his dying comrades. All he could do was stay alive and get as much information as he could to Sidious. “I say again! I have eyes on Voolviff Monn!” Hearing footsteps close behind him, he raised his voice to a panicked scream. “THERE IS A STAIRWELL UNDER THE DINER! PADMÉ AMIDALA IS IN THE—AHHHHH!”
Searing pain erupted in his chest and Nites looked down. The brightly-glowing tip of a lightsaber stuck from it.
o.o.o.o.o
ANAKIN SKYWALKER
90 seconds earlier…
Danger sense buzzed in Anakin’s system like a soft warning. Against the staccato of rapidfire, he kept his cool as best he could, dodging and blocking shot after shot, alongside Mace Windu. A few Clones went down, hit by ricocheting shots.
At first, the fire seemed to be divided in two directions, with most of the Clones firing at a target out of sight, whoever had screamed a warning. Whoever was hiding somewhere behind the four platoons of Clones. As the second went on, however, more and more of the Clones shifted their fire forward.
The buzz of his danger sense soon became an electric scream, and a nearly overwhelming torrent of blasterfire cut all around Anakin and Windu. Blaster bolts seared through the fringes of Anakin’s robes as he twirled or leapt through the air, but none scored hits on his body. Mace Windu was in no better shape.
Palpatine had relocated to a position behind four rows of Clones, and was personally barking orders impossible for Anakin to hear clearly over the noise. The AT-RTs and larger scout walkers further increased the ambient din as they stomped about, trying to catch the Jedi in a crossfire.
“JUMP!” Windu screamed. With a forward flip, he soared through the air and landed in the middle of a platoon of Clones, two rows from Palpatine.
In a borderline-suicidal frenzy, Clones all around continued firing, mowing down their own comrades as they attempted in vain to kill the Master of the Order. Three deflected shots angled in the general direction of Palpatine, barely missing. An expression of rage crossed the Chancellor’s face as he continued screaming muffled orders.
If the Chancellor’s erratic behavior during the Separatist attack on Coruscant hadn’t been enough to prove that he was more than willing to take extreme risks, this certainly left Anakin convinced. Yet, this time, the risk looked like it was not going to pay off. In less than ten seconds, at least a dozen Clones were down and Mace Windu was just meters from his target.
The danger sense’s screams dulled slightly, but Anakin’s adrenaline rush was still there. He deflected two shots, then jumped over the front two rows of Clones, landing on a pile of bodies near Mace Windu’s position.
A riot trooper let off a startled cry and swung at the Jedi with his stun baton, but Anakin’s lightsaber was already at his throat. Two more slashes felled two more troopers, and Anakin skewered a third with a pointed thrust straight through his shield.
Mace Windu achieved a similar feat with a twirling kick that sent one Clone sprawling backwards into another, before he rushed forward, purple blade extended. Both Clones screamed as the blade pushed through one of their chests into the other immediately behind him.
Next instant, the last row of Clones separating him from the Chancellor, six blue and white armored troopers from Anakin’s own 501st, opened fire on him with rifles at point blank range. Anakin deflected their shots right in Palpatine’s direction. A Clone to the left of the Chancellor took a shot to the head and collapsed soundlessly.
Now Anakin was close enough to hear Palpatine’s shrieks over the blasterfire.
“STUN THEM! NO! NO! NOOOO!” Another deflected shot would have hit the Chancellor in the chest, but, with two crimson blades held in a defensive ‘X’ in front of his chest, the Sith Lord deflected the shot back at Anakin.
Reaching out with the Force, Anakin intended to pull the Chancellor into the fray where he and Windu would have the upper hand. He gasped in surprise and speechless shock.
The Sith Lord felt like he weighed as much as a small speeder. Now, Anakin could move a small speeder with the Force, but there was no Galaxy where Palpatine should weigh that much.
Could his vac-suit be adding to his weight? Anakin wondered to himself, staring at the Chancellor in open-mouthed astonishment. Is it some trick of the Force? A Force power to add to your own weight?
“Skywalker, what are you doing?!” Windu screamed over the screams of death and zaps of blasterfire.
“He’s too heavy!” Anakin gasped, unable to find the words to explain it any other way.
As if to prove Anakin wrong, Sidious himself leapt into the air, springing at least five meters skyward, before landing two platoons of Clones over, putting more troopers between him and the Jedi danger. Though Anakin could swear he saw a plume of smoke emanating from beneath Sidious’s boots, indicative of rockets.
“He doesn’t look too heavy!” Windu snarled through gritted teeth, decapitating a Clone.
Before Anakin could retort, he felt a wave of fear emanate from Dex’s Diner. Without second thought, he crouched, preparing for a leap.
“No Anakin, we—”
Anakin didn’t hear what Mace Windu said next. He was already leaping through the air, leaving the battle between Windu and the Clones nothing but a faint blurr of flashing lights. After a second or so of soaring over the dark parking lot, he landed firmly on the permacrete, lightsaber ignited. Sprinting to the door as fast he could, there was nothing that would stop him from saving those he loved on the other side. Nothing but proton mortar from one of the walkers.
Grunting in shock, Anakin was flung backwards as the blazing fireball subsided. Behind him, the towering walker that fired the mortar swiveled its transparisteel canopied head slightly to the left, a double cylindered pod on the right side aiming directly at him.
With no time to think, Anakin rolled over, jumped to his feet, and found the wind knocked out of him by an extremely heavy net flying into his back . He sprawled on the ground and saw stars as his face bounced off the permacrete, nearly shattering his nose. The taste of blood filled his mouth as he gripped the fabric of the net in fury, reaching out with the Force, ready to hurl this obstacle away.
Instead, he screamed, electricity coursing through his body. Unable to make sense of the agony, he tried lifting his head to see whether this was a Force attack from Palpatine, or a technological attack from some sort of torture or stun device. But the net was too heavy. He screamed until he was out of breath, then gritted his teeth, groaning.
“No no, you fools! Set your blasters to stun! Quickly!” Sidious’s voice barked from somewhere out of sight.
Before Anakin had time to react or think any further, he passed into unconsciousness.
Chapter 15: SHEEV PALPATINE
Chapter Text
Republic Executive Building
Sidious allowed himself a grin of delight, his teeth glistening in the multicolored light as purple clashed against blue. Anakin swung down hard against Windu’s blade in a ferocious sweep, then the two locked sabers.
Windu’s face scrunched up in fury and determination, and Anakin stared back with a more stony expression, eyes alight with malevolence. But something was wrong. Both would-be foes turned, their hateful gazes now bearing down on Sidious himself.
“No,” Sidious whispered in horror, standing up from his throne. “No!” He let off a stream of crackling lightning, which lit the room in pulses as it clashed against both sabers.
Wordlessly, menacingly, the two Jedi stepped closer and closer, straining against the Sith Lord’s onslaught. Straining but prevailing. While Mace Windu held off the brunt of the storm, Anakin stepped around the lightning to Sidious’s left and swung down.
In total shock, Sidious screamed in agony, managing to yell another deafening “NOOOO!” He found himself hoisted roughly into the air over Anakin’s head in a two-handed grab.
Now no longer encumbered by the lightning, Windu shattered the octagonal window positioned directly behind the Sith Lord’s throne. Cold, high altitude wind whipped through the room, blowing flimsiplast, banners, curtains, and robes alike.
Without a word, without even a second thought, turned around, twirled Sidious in the air like a rag doll, and hurled him through the newly opened viewport.
As the surroundings of his throne room were replaced by the open darkness of the Coruscant night sky, Sidious shrieked. Up above, the distinctive jet-black building from which he had been defenestrated, the Grand Republic Medical Facility (otherwise known as the Chancellor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Center, ChanPal SuRecon Center), grew further and further away. In seconds, he had fallen so far that the angular wings surrounding the upper structure shrank to the point he could no longer make them out. His stomach fluttered from the speed of the fall as he traced the base of the tower down.
If I die in such an inglorious manner will the banite Sith knowledge still pass on? To whom? Windu or Anakin? To both?
Then he noticed how odd the location was. Last he remembered, he had been sitting in front of a Sith Holocron in his small bed chambers in the Republic Executive Building (a bedroom he used sometimes when he worked so late that a commute to his apartment was unreasonable). How could he now be in the ChanPal SuRecon Center?
“AAAARRGH!” With a furious snarl, Sidious snapped out of it, gasping for breath, his face on the thick carpet of his bedchambers. The Sith Holocron was ten or so centimeters away, lying on the carpet too. He also felt something cold and soft in his hand, and the Sith Lord quickly realized he was holding an ice-pack over his head while he meditated.
Presently, he remembered. After the Jedi’s ill-conceived attack on this building, he had given a five minute press release, then retired to his bedchambers. In the aftermath of the Jedi bombing, it had become more and more apparent that the serious head injury he had suffered at the hands of Grievous over twelve hours ago was still a problem. Despite feeling a headache greater than anything he could remember, he had fought the overwhelming urge to fall asleep and just rest. No, instead, he had meditated on the future and fallen asleep.
Was that a vision of the future? Sidious wondered. He sat back up, kneeling in front of the Holocron, and reached out to it with the Force. Then he cursed himself, quaking from the effort, and snapped his gaze to the Chronometer.
2103. He had been meditating (or rather asleep) for more than forty minutes.
“My Lord,” Kagi’s voice said over the intercom. “My Lord, are you—”
“Speak,” Sidious said quickly and glanced around the room distractedly. He looked towards the Jedi Temple, where smoke was rising but there were no flashes of battle. More started coming back to him.
Yes. Open negotiations… Did the Jedi actually submit?
Sidious did not genuinely allow himself to hope for that—even if the Jedi did submit to his will and surrender, it would be nothing more than a temporary ceasefire; after which the Sith would no longer have the upper hand when the Jedi decided to strike anew.
“My Lord, there is good news.”
“Is that so?” Sidious asked with a mocking level of skepticism, steepling his fingers as his hands rested on his stomach.
“The Sentinel did it, sir. He captured Mace Windu and Anakin Skywalker.”
Heavily modified combat droids, Sentinels had utilized an unusual analog computer for their main processing unit. Though still machines, these analog computers roughly mimicked the firing of neurons brought about through changes in stimulation of organic brains, and their consciousness essentially followed the same patterns as that of an organic being. These droids were Sidious’s first attempt at Essence Transfer, one which had been largely a failure.
While Sidious could replicate his consciousness in a machine, he had not managed to transfer himself into one, and worse, the machines were not Force-sensitive. Yet, the Sith Lord had kept several around for a few purposes. Contingencies. Plans within plans in the event something went terribly wrong. Many sentient computers though had utterly failed to defeat Jedi.
At this news of unexpected success Sidious bolted upright, unable to believe his ears. A droid captured Anakin and Mace Windu? The Sentinel had been sent to CoCo Town with a company of Clones to distract the Jedi while a group of commandos captured Padmé, leaving Anakin and Windu to grapple with this. It wasn’t supposed to be successful.
“Are you certain? What is Sentinel-1’s current status?”
“Yes, my Lord, I am certain. Sentinel-1 is requesting reinforcements from orbit to assist in the capture of Senator Amidala. It is on its way here currently.”
“No!” Sidious snapped. Under the unexpected wave of fear, he had cried out far louder than he had intended.
“No?” Kagi said in utter confusion.
Sidious closed his eyes, remembering the feeling of his hands being sliced off. The way his stomach fluttered as he was thrown through a window. The complete and utter failure of the Sith Grand Plan. He struggled for a moment, grasping for the right question. Then it came to him. “Do all of the personnel accompanying the Sentinel believe the Sentinel actually to be me? Do they believe that I personally captured Skywalker and Windu?”
“We have given them no reason to think otherwise,” Kagi said, voice filled with concern and confusion.
“That’s not what I asked,” Sidious sighed. More of his pre-concussion memory started flowing back into his aching head.
“Shall I tell the Sentinel to belay its request for reinforcements?” Kagi asked.
Sidious ignored Kagi’s question. “Have you done as I instructed? Have you actively listened into the communications of the platoons accompanying the Sentinel?”
“My Lord, I have done as you instructed. None of the troopers seem to believe the Sentinel is anyone but you; however, I can’t say for certain that the Jedi have been fooled.”
Sidious let off a laugh. “They were captured by this droid. Anakin’s own hubris will not let him believe otherwise! As for the reinforcements…” He trailed off, staring at the ceiling. In the wave of Force awareness that permeated all of Coruscant, the Sith Lord could feel that Padmé was so close to being in his clutches. If that happened, Anakin would be trivial to control. “Don’t interfere with the Sentinel’s request for reinforcements.
“Where is the Sentinel to take the Jedi prisoners?”
A plan was continuing to formulate in Sidious’s mind, now with new detail. “Begin transferring patients to my medical center. Take the Jedi there.”
“Patients?! Do you mean the Grand Republic Medical Facility?” Kagi sounded more concerned than ever.
“Yes. Let the Jedi make their escape, or better yet, rescue attempt.”
o.o.o.o.o
WULLF YULAREN
Aboard the RSD Resolute , in orbit of Coruscant
Admiral Wullf Yularen closed his eyes, seething anger as he looked away from the main viewer. On screen, the unconscious bodies of Generals Skywalker and Windu dangled haphazardly beneath a pair of LAATs, cocooned in synth-fabric nets.
Sitting in one of the Resolute’s many spacious briefing rooms, Yularen was all alone; Save for the three other faces broadcast live over subspace video transmission, crammed into various smaller rectangles beneath the meeting room’s main viewer. Certain he could no longer trust any of his Clones, Yularen had sealed himself away and sent discreet messages to fellow command staff and the members of the Republic Security Council whom he felt could be trusted.
Observing the conflict in various parts of the city through Arakyd probe droids, Naval Intelligence now had a probe floating above the military skylane. A few minutes ago, it caught a glimpse of Skywalker and Windu, apparently having been captured.
“What—They seem to be changing direction,” said the voice of Vice Admiral Dodd Rancit, his face positioned on a smaller screen to the lower left of the main display. There was a murmur of voices on Rancit’s side of the broadcast, and he turned away for a moment and asked, “Are you sure?”
“What is going on there?” asked General Locus Geen, a bald human with a distinctive goatee who represented the Army on the Republic Security Council. His face was sandwiched on Yularen’s display between those of Dodd Rancit and Director Armand Isard.
Rancit looked into the camera again, whispering in shock. “Their trajectory has shifted. They are now transporting Generals Windu and Skywalker away from the Federal District.”
“Where to, Rancit?!” Geen asked, this time more impatient.
“Central District,” Rancit sighed. “It’s too early to tell for certain. Perhaps the ChanPal SuRecon building.”
“That place is completely controlled by the Chancellor,” Isard muttered. “Not even I have access.”
“That’s it then,” Yularen said bitterly.
Yularen didn’t know exactly what he had hoped would happen. Perhaps he hoped for Mace Windu and Anakin to take the Chancellor into custody. Perhaps he hoped for the Jedi to win this insane civil war before things got too out of hand. As a native of Coruscant himself, the thought of the violence spreading past the Jedi Temple made him shudder. Even worse was the possibility of this boiling over into a civil war all over the Republic, and for all he knew, this already was happening.
“We should have enacted Order 65 fifteen hours ago,” General Geen said bluntly.
“On what grounds?” asked Isard. “Incompetence?”
“No, Isard,” Yularen said, shaking his head. “This is more than incompetence.” He looked back to the display, where the LAATs were still ambling along the empty skylane.
“It’s treason,” Geen said.
Isard took a sharp inhalation of breath. “I wouldn’t go that far. The Chancellor had legitimate reasons for asking the Jedi to turn over Dooku—”
“That’s just an excuse!” Geen spat, his face visibly reddening. “It’s just an excuse for him to destroy the Jedi, so the Separatists can overrun us.”
“I’ve been considering that possibility myself,” Yularen sighed, nervously adjusting the collar of his uniform. “We’ll need proof though, Geen, and we have to convince millions and millions of Clones.”
“That might not be possible,” Isard said darkly. “Remember the ‘inhibitor chip’ that went faulty on Ringo Vinda? Well, I’ve been hearing rumors, mutterings really from others in Palpatine’s inner circle… They’re worried because a group of Clones have gone rogue and joined the Jedi. Clones that had their inhibitor chips removed by Ahsoka Tano.”
“What?!” gasped General Geen and Vice Admiral Rancit in unison.
“You waited til now to tell us that?” Yularen snorted in disbelief. “Are you suggesting the inhibitor chips might actually cause the Clones to… to what? Take the Chancellor’s side?”
Isard poured dark brown liquor into a small class and took a sip. “I know it sounds mad, but that’s what I have been able to put together.”
Rancit looked more disconcerted than ever. “I’ve heard rumors myself. Rumors that, on some fronts, Clones have turned on their Jedi Generals and shot them in cold blood… Instances of Clones killing any non-Clone military officers who stood in their way, even gunning down their own who refused to comply.”
“Let’s focus on what we know,” Yularen said, shaking his head. Enough rumors!”
“If the rumors are true, we've come full circle again!” Geen scoffed. “If the Clones obey the Chancellor, all we have to do is replace the Chancellor!”
“You’re sounding dangerously close to treasonous yourself,” Yularen hissed. “We need evidence. We can’t just—”
“Admiral, please call the bridge,” said a female voice over the ship’s intercom.
Suddenly afraid of being watched, Yularen shot a glance over his shoulder, then looked down to his datapad. He had several missed messages, all from the bridge.
“We are in no position to depose the sitting Chancellor,” Yularen whispered. “Even I am unconvinced that is the prudent course of action, and even if it were, it would set such a dangerous precedent. I do not want to live in a Republic where, anytime civilian politicians stop behaving as expected, the military steps in and ousts them! If the Chancellor is a traitor though, and circumstances suggest this is a—”
“Uh Admiral,” the same female voice started with wavering uncertainty, then stiffened. “Admiral to bridge.”
What in the blazes is going on?
“I need to go,” Yularen said quickly, then added, “Find me evidence!”
o.o.o.o.o
“Admiral on deck!” shouted a Clone security trooper at the rear of the bridge.
“At ease,” Yularen sighed, passing between the data pits as he made his journey to the front of the bridge. When the second in command of the Resolute (a Clone Naval Officer named Drifter) said nothing, the Admiral added “Report.”
“Sir, Scepter has broken formation and is refusing my order to return.”
“Broken formation?” Yularen asked, then cursed under his breath when he sighted the ship, another Venator -class Star Destroyer, dipping down into Coruscant’s upper atmosphere. He looked to one of the Clone Navigation officers. “Is this still set to their comm frequency.”
“Yes Admiral, it’s on the fleet frequency.”
Jamming his thumb down on the speak button so hard that it hurt a little, Yularen raised his voice. “ Resolute to Scepter , this is Admiral Wullf Yularen. I have given no orders to break formation and land on Coruscant. Do you read me?”
A Clone voice with a typical concord dawn-influenced accent responded. “ Scepter to Resolute , we read you Admiral, but we can’t comply. Our intention is not to land on Coruscant though.”
“Why the hell not?!” Yularen asked, his face beginning to redden again.
“We’re under orders of the Chancellor, Admiral. Got a full detachment of the 187th and 501st to back up the Coruscant Guard in CoCo Town.” After an awkward silence that lasted perhaps five seconds, the Captain elaborated, “Senator Amidala has escaped.”
Amidala? Padmé Amidala?
For a moment, Yularen shook his head in confusion, then remembered the capture of Anakin and Mace Windu for CoCo Town. “I wasn’t aware that you were targeting Senators now,” he said bitterly, then swallowed, remembering the rumors of Clones executing their commanding officers.
“The Chancellor has activated a Contingency Order, sir. Anyone who interferes with Order 66 is a traitor to the Galactic Republic,” said the voice through the comm.
So now Palpatine is accusing anyone who does not fall into line of treason then? And to think I once admired the man, he’s worse than any of the corrupt senators lining their pockets.
Something about this made Yularen so angry that he wanted nothing more than to yell into the comm. To berate all the Clones who are following those orders, declare the execution of Order 66 to be illegal, and to accuse anyone willingly following the Chancellor of treason.
“Damn you,” Yularen spat, “You damned tr—I mean…” He quickly cut himself off, and turned around to see every eye on the bridge on him. Taking a deep breath, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and turned back to the comm station. “For you to follow those orders, Captain, is every bit as baffling as it is for the Chancellor to issue them in the first place. Do you read me?”
“I read you sir,” the voice on the other end said, now sounding as if worried for Yularen’s sanity.
Wide eyed, the Clones continued staring at Yularen. Their alarmed expressions gave the Admiral the impression that they expected him to spontaneously combust or transform into a mythical creature.
Yularen snorted in anger, bitter at the fact that his subtlety had gone completely over the Clones’ heads, and that he could not risk telling them how he really felt about this. Without another word, he stormed off the bridge, heading to his quarters to find something to drink.
o.o.o.o.o
RAZAL WULF
Razal Wulf, Ardennian, veteran of the Republic Navy, and patient (or perhaps former patient) of the COMPOR Hospital made his way through the crowds, pushing a wheelchair. The notice that he and his crippled Chelidae friend Hashtivar were to be transferred to another hospital had come through less than ten minutes prior.
“I can help you with that,” said a Sullustan nurse wearing green scrubs.
“I’m fine,” Wulf said, rolling his giant almond-shaped eyes. He continued through the open doors, exiting from the brightly lit hallway and following the crowds out into the Coruscant night air. His sense of smell hadn’t quite been the same ever since he had taken a blaster shot to the back of the head on Murkhana, but he knew smoke when he smelled it. Off in the distance plumes of smoke arose amidst the shorter buildings of CoCo Town. Beyond the horizon was a dull orange glow.
“Maybe the Jedi are going to attack the hospital,” Hashtivar said from his wheelchair. The comment was extremely unemotional. Deadpan even.
For a moment, Wulf stared in awe at the Venator -class Star Destroyer slowly descending in the distance. His foggy mind began to slowly process Hashtivar’s hypothesis, but it was difficult. Slow. “Why would the Jedi attack a hospital?” he managed to ask at last.
“The Chancellor is a patient here, remember? They say he got a wicked concussion during the attack this morning.”
A dozen meters or so to their left, an LAAT lowered to the balcony. Nurses hurriedly pushed a trio of beds on board, while an attending doctor, Rodian female, stood to the side holding a datapad and discussing something with a fully-armored Clone. The blood red of the Clone’s armor jogged old memories.
For a moment, the Ardennian was a Counter Terrorism Operative again, training alongside the Coruscant Guard. He smiled, remembering that day earlier in the war when credits fell from the sky like food from heaven—back when a Banking Clan terror cell dumped trillions of credits into the Coruscant underworld in an effort to cause the collapse of the Republic economy.
“Don’t worry we got this.”
Wulf snapped out of his reverie, head suddenly aching. Two burly male nurses, one a human and the other a Trandoshan, had picked up Hashtivar’s wheelchair and were carrying it, Chelidae included, onto an LAAT that had suddenly lowered in front of them. At some point could not remember, Wulf had let go of the chair’s handles.
A yellow-skinned female Twi’lek nurse whose nametag read Ratha stood at the edge of the LAAT, one foot inside the cabin, one foot on the COMPOR hospital’s balcony. “Come on now. Take my hand.”
Smiling, Wulf felt a hot flush of attraction as he grabbed her hand, allowing himself to be tugged aboard. Like he always did before flirting, the Ardennian reached one of his four hands up and behind the back of his head, as if to simultaneously scratch an itch and adjust a fancy hat. However, he winced in surprised pain, gasping in shock.
Oh yeah. Scar tissue. Don’t touch.
“Is the next hospital going to be nicer than this?” grunted the robotic voice of a ginger haired human female named Lursi Venn, a former Lieutenant in the SBI who had narrowly survived being gulleted by an assassin a year prior. From what Wulf had heard, she was still awaiting cloned vocal chords to replace the voice synthesizer.
“Wasn’t this hospital nice enough?” chortled the Twi’lek, Ratha. “I’d certainly expect the next hospital will be nicer. It’s the Chancellor’s own hospital.”
That caught his attention. Wulf gasped, half in alarm, half in surprise. He looked meaningfully at Hashtivar, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You were right!”
“No I wasn’t,” Hashtivar snorted, folding his arms over his chest. “They wouldn’t be moving us to where the Chancellor was if they were afraid of us being caught in the crossfire, would they?”
Wulf began thinking about that, and how strange it was for them to be relocated to some place directly associated with the Chancellor in the middle of a conflict between the Jedi and the Senate. Soon though, the LAAT’s engines accelerated, and the night-time air whipped through the Ardennian’s fur. Before long, they would all be exactly where Sidious wanted them to be.
In a place that was far from safe.
Chapter 16: OBI-WAN KENOBI
Chapter Text
Coruscant
“Hold back!” Obi-Wan ordered to the row of Jedi standing behind the pillars at the main entryway to the Jedi Temple. “Allow them to remove their dead and wounded!”
Inexplicably, the Clones had stopped their advance into the Temple, stopped firing altogether, and were now in the process of an orderly retreat. A few stragglers removing the bodies of the fallen were all that was left.
“And what about the Clones nearest to us? Perhaps we can grab some of them and remove their chips,” suggested a masked Temple Guard, whose saber pike glowed a brilliant gold.
“Leave them,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Going near would only result in another firefight. We need to keep an eye…” his voice trailed off when his wrist-comm chimed. “Keep an eye on the entrance,” he ordered, then took a few steps back. “Kenobi here.”
Yoda’s distinctive voice sounded from the device. “In full retreat the invaders seem to be.”
“It certainly seems so here,” Obi-Wan agreed, turning his head back toward the main entrance where now even fewer Clones stood. “It’s clearly a trap though. What do you think they’re planning?”
“That much is obvious… Yet clouds much the dark side still does. Other matters, we must discuss in council. Meet me at the laboratory level.”
“Very well,” Obi-Wan said, deactivating his comm. A hundred or so meters away, Ki-Adi-Mundi was exiting the Temple Library and on his way, clearly having already received the same message.
Obi-Wan made a mental calculation, trying to figure exactly who would be in attendance. Unless anything had changed with the Shadowfeed jamming, Oppo Rancisis and Stass Allie would not be in attendance, nor would Coleman Kcaj and Agen Kolar who had perished at the Sith Shrine. Surely, Anakin would have come to Obi-Wan first had he returned. Would this mean that Anakin and Mace Windu would be attending via holopresence?
Venturing from the area of the temple which had been a battle zone to areas which had as of yet been untouched, the mood of hyper-focused vigilance gave way to dread and uncertainty. Obi-Wan could see in the eyes of every Jedi he passed. They were under siege and everyone knew it, with the omnipresent electric prickle of danger never far away.
The Jedi Master had to take the long way around the open courtyard in the center of the Jedi Temple, as it was now off limits due to the threat of aerial attack or artillery strike. While the Temple was protected by a shield from orbital bombardment, two legions of Clones had marched their way through the shields which only stop fast-moving objects (as opposed to people and things moving at walking pace), and had hauled in vehicles, artillery, and hovercraft.
When he finally reached the infirmary, a gaggle of Jedi were standing in a semi-circle near the entrance, facing something out of view. Ki-Adi-Mundi had already arrived, beating Obi-Wan to the location, and stood with Saesee Tinn, Plo Koon, Shaak Ti, and Yoda. There were no holopresences from council members afar, and Obi-Wan could sense a level of dread and alarm that caused him to feel worried.
“What is going on?”
Obi-Wan approached the semi-circle and saw what they were all looking at. In a waiting room outside of the laboratory (which on days the Temple wasn’t under siege served as a medical screening site), there was a muted flatscreen hanging off the ceiling. One half of the screen displayed a Twi’lek speaking animatedly, and the other still shots of Mace Windu and Anakin Skywalker’s faces, beneath which read “ CAPTURED .”
“I don’t believe it,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said firmly.
“Have we heard from them?” Plo Koon asked, his concerned voice warped by his respirator.
“Terrible news this is, but not for this reason did we gather,” Yoda said.
“Respectfully,” Obi-Wan spoke incredulously, “What could possibly be more important?” His thoughts rushed from Anakin to Padmé and the other Senators. The Jedi’s hope of democratically removing Palpatine from office felt ever further from possibility.
Yoda turned from the flatscreen and said loudly, into the infirmary, “Master Nema? Updates have you?”
“We have,” Rig Nema said, her voice filled with optimism. “We’ve found exactly where the inhibitor chips have been implanted in the Clones’ brains, and it seems relatively consistent across patients.”
Obi-Wan sighed in relief. “So we can surgically remove it?”
“Would it be possible to program surgical pods to remove the chips on a great number of Clones?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked further.
Nema stood to the side of the laboratory’s entryway, gesturing for the High Council to step inside. “Good questions and good suggestions, but the news is even better.”
As Obi-Wan stepped inside, the second High Council member to enter the room after Plo Koon, he fought the reflex to grab his lightsaber. Six Clones wearing hospital gowns were lying in the beds along the far side of the room, with the eyeless Miraluka Jedi Jazal standing near Fox’s bed.
In the corner of the room opposite from Jazal, stood an off-yellow Jedi Knight with four slender lekku. Obi-Wan had never spoken to this Jedi personally, but he recognized her as Lyn Rakish. When she caught his eye, she said nothing but nodded in curt bow of acknowledgment.
“It is good to see you, General,” said a voice from the opposite side of the room as Lyn.
Obi-Wan turned to the right and saw the familiar sight of the handlebar mustached Clone Boil, holding his helmet. One of the first Clones the surviving members of the Council had encountered immediately after confronting the dark side at the Sith Shrine, Boil had mysteriously lacked an inhibitor chip.
“Glad to see you too,” Obi-Wan said distractedly, his gaze passing back to the middle of the room, over the Clones seated or lying down in hospital beds.
These six had not been captured assaulting the Jedi Temple after Order 66. Rather, these six had been found in the Halls of Healing early during the previous day’s confusing events immediately prior to the confrontation at the Sith Shrine. Members of the Coruscant Guard, allegedly under orders to extract Dooku from the Jedi Temple, had stumbled into one of the secure wings of the medbay through a fire escape. From what the Jedi had ascertained, the bulk of these Coruscant Guardsmen had seemingly stunned themselves before they could get to Dooku, yet some of them had also somehow managed to abscond with Ahsoka.
“They’re harmless,” Jazal said reassuringly, standing to the left of the bed in the middle. “All of their chips have been removed.”
“General Kenobi! Ge—General Yoda!” exclaimed a Clone who Obi-Wan had never seen without a helmet, but whose voice the Jedi Master recognized as Fox. “I—I had no idea…”
Obi-Wan frowned at Jazal. “Inhibitor chips might not matter in this case. Didn’t these Clones abduct Ahsoka before the madness started.”
“That is correct,” said Nema with a shrug. “But their chips were activated afterward.”
One of the six took in a sharp inhale of breath. “Abduct Ahsoka?”
“Never!” Fox yelled loudly, bed creaking as he sat up hastily. “Our orders were to capture Dooku!”
Obi-Wan sighed and crossed his arms. “Yes, because Ahsoka just happened to disappear moments after you arrived.”
Fox’s face flushed red at that.
“Then where is Ahsoka Tano?” Shaak Ti asked softly, placing a hand on Fox’s shoulder.
“I have no idea! It’s—It’s not even possible for us to have taken General Tano,” Fox continued, “You stopped us from accomplishing our—We were all captured!”
“That is a little bit difficult to verify,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said dryly. “For all we know, after you stunned everyone in the medbay, including yourselves, some of your compatriots arrived seconds later and escaped down the emergency stairwell—”
“Stunned ourselves?!” yelled a Clone to the Cerean’s right. On his face was an expression of being genuinely offended. “General, with all due respect, how dumb do you really think we are?”
Boil glanced at the other Clone, tapping the folding stock of his DC-15 carbine. “You don’t want me to answer that question, ner vod .”
Obi-Wan could not take his eyes off this Clone. Not because he disagreed with Boil’s assessment, but because this Clone, unlike the others, had no bandage on his head. “Was he never implanted with an inhibitor chip?”
“Oh he was,” Jazal said. “Meet CT-5701, Rack, our first successful inhibitor chip short-circuit. ”
“With energy?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
Jazal walked away from Rack’s bed, heading toward an alcove on the other side of the laboratory. “The device operates—”
“We did not abduct Tano!” Fox yelled in protest, interrupting the change in conversation.
“Investigate this matter further, we shall,” Yoda said, addressing all of the Clones. “No lie in you do I sense. Believe you, I do, but move on to other topics we must.”
“Do they still need to be here?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked, gesturing to the Clones like they might as well be furnishings.
Obi-Wan turned to face Nema, then looked to one of the other Jedi, cocking his head curiously.
“I will escort them back to the detention block at once,” Lyn said stiffly, and moved toward the Clones. Boil approached the hospital beds too, beckoning for them all to stand.
Feeling their palpable fear, Obi-Wan spoke up, feeling sorry for the Clones, in spite of any role they may have played degrading the Jedi Temple’s defenses. “Perhaps they don’t need to be held in cells.”
“Allow them to stay in the minimum security confinement area,” Yoda said sternly, agreeing with Obi-Wan. “No longer a significant threat do these Clones pose. Release all of the Clones whose inhibitor chips have been removed to the minimum security area.”
“Very well, Master Yoda,” Lyn said, gesturing for the Clones to get up.
Everything was silent for a moment, save the grumbling protests of the prisoners as they vacated the room, with Boil at the lead and Lyn at the rear. After that, only the Miraluka Jazal, Rig Neema, the Parwan Dr. Gubacher, and the High Council remained in the room. Now they could speak and conspire freely without any threat of anyone who potentially had dual loyalties overhearing.
“The device Ahsoka Tano had been building seems to emit microwaves,” Jazal started, approaching a large metal console with an antenna aimed towards the now-empty beds. A device which Dr. Gubacher stood behind. “While the inhibitor chips—”
“Microwaves are quite harmful to organic tissue,” Ki-Adi-Mundi interrupted, turning to Rig Nema.
“Deactivating the chips this way does have side effects, but the damage to the surrounding brain tissue seems very minimal,” Nema reassured. “I would not have used the device on any sentient had I not been convinced that the benefit outweighed the harm.”
“What about the effect on non-Clones?” Obi-Wan asked incredulously, imagining every being on Coruscant suddenly exposed to dangerous microwaves.
In the background, Dr. Gubacher continued noisily adjusting the antenna poking out of the device with a hydrospanner.
“There will be side effects,” Jazal said. “I would only recommend using the device in a narrow, targeted way.”
“Who was suggesting we use the device broadly ?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
A note of impatience crossed Rig Nema’s voice. “No one was saying that, but the side effects will be minor if we use the device in short bursts. Pain on the skin all over the body, lasting only a moment, a slight increase in the risk of cataracts, and—AHHHH!!”
The spark of danger sense did not come fast enough for Obi-Wan or any of the Jedi in the wave’s path. For an instant, every centimeter of Obi-Wan’s flesh felt like it was on fire, and the smell of burning beard filled his nostrils. Even worse pains erupted simultaneously in his eyes. Searing hot pains that made him feel like his eyes were being cooked. Yet, as soon as the pain had begun, it was over, save the bright sunspot disrupting Obi-Wan’s vision whenever he blinked.
“I am so sorry!” Dr. Gubacher exclaimed as Boil ripped his helmet off and tossed it to the floor.
Panting, Obi-Wan found himself stooped over, gripping his knees. Sweat poured down his face. “What was that?!” he asked, finally managing to look up into Dr. Gubacher’s face. He knew what the answer must be, but he had to hear some sort of explanation as to why he had suddenly been subjected to such pain.
All three of the Parwan’s eyes were wide in horror. “It was an accident, I assure you! I did not know the device was active. I was just attempting to re-align—”
Quaking from the shock herself, Jazal’s hands were balled into fists. “What type of imbecile adjusts anything while still connected to a power supply.”
“It is a serious oversight,” Shaak Ti muttered. “I’d expect something like that from a Padawan learner, not a veteran engineer.”
Still smelling burnt hair, Obi-Wan began frantically patting his face and discovered that, fortunately, his beard had not burned away. He let off a sigh before wiping the sweat from his brow. “I suppose that was as good a demonstration as any.”
“Doctor,” Rig Nema said to the Parwan through gritted teeth, “Another incident like that—”
“An accident!” Gubacher protested.
“Enough, that is,” Yoda interrupted with as much force in his voice as Obi-Wan had ever heard. “Seen we have that the device causes significant discomfort to bystanders.” He probed his own face with his three fingered hands, as if expecting to feel palpable wounds. “Not convinced I am, that this device is as harmless as you say. Yet, it will cause less harm than we would, were we to continue confronting the Clones solely with our lightsabers. Use this device as in limited circumstances, highly targeted if possible, we shall.”
“Am I going to go blind?” Ki-Adi-Mundi said, wiping his eyeballs.
“Well, at least I can still breathe,” said Plo Koon. “It seems Dorin breath masks won’t be negatively affected by the burst of microwave energy.
“I just—I am so sorry,” Gubacher blurted out again, two of his tentacles raised up alongside his two hands as if in surrender.
“Apology accepted,” Obi-Wan croaked, frantically feeling in his pockets for a handkerchief. Failing to find one, he wiped the sleeve of his robes on his face, dabbing away the river of sweat. He did not miss the irony of it all—moments before being bathed in microwaves, he had been scoffing in agreement with Boil at how foolish the Coruscant Guard Clones were for somehow stunning themselves. Though, the more he thought about it, the less plausible that sounded.
Despite practically wilting under the gaze of the Jedi, Gubacher managed to add, “We may need to boost the power slightly to penetrate the armor suits Clones wear.”
Obi-Wan thought to retort but heard a chime from his comm. To his surprise, the operating code did not match any that Jedi used, but was instead Padmé’s number.
o.o.o.o.o
PADMÉ AMIDALA
CoCo Town Undercity
Ominous sounds of grinding metal and banging echoed through the dimly-lit passageway. The maintenance shaft she and the other Senators now found themselves in was dark and cramped, the badly-circulated air heavy with the scent of engine grease and ozone. Nearly everyone huddled in a tense quiet, their faces etched with the grim reality of their predicament.
More upsetting to some was the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Several times Padmé heard the Shistavanen Jedi Knight, Voolviff Monn, curse being left to babysit the Senators alone. Several alien senators spoke to each other in their own languages, none of which Padmé could speak, but they too sounded far angrier than fearful.
“This is it then,” Bail Organa sighed. “This is the end of the Republic. This is how democracy dies.”
Padmé felt like the words had been plucked from her own mind. She didn’t even have the optimism anymore to cheer him up. While this was far from the first time Padmé had found herself trapped, it certainly felt the most hopeless. On their way down from the surface of CoCo Town, dozens of civilian bystanders had been injured in the crossfire. The Clones were clearly aiming to silence all of the opposition to Sidious in the Senate. The father of her child was captured, with one of the highest ranking members of the Jedi High Council captured alongside him, and she, along with the entire surviving leadership of the Delegate of 4000 were at the end of a maintenance access tunnel that terminated at a permacrete wall.
Were the Senators all destined to die right here in this very tunnel? Padmé didn’t think so. Voolviff Monn would probably be more than a match for the Clones outside. He could cut a hole in the wall large enough for them all to escape through, but then they’d be under attack from the Coruscant Guard again. Even assuming they prevailed in combat in the undercity, there was no organized fighting force to help them retake the government. All of the millions of Clone soldiers in the Republic military really only answered to Palpatine. Padmé could have the entire Senate on her side, and they’d still lose.
“The Republic was already dead. It’s been dead since Palpatine was elected, before then even,” Padmé said grimly. Exhausted, she sat down against the damp permacrete wall, bending her legs awkwardly to accommodate her swollen belly.
“You mustn’t say things like that,” Mon Mothma insisted, her eyes wide in fear.
“Denying reality isn’t going to save anyone.” Padmé reached into her bag, withdrew her commlink, and began typing in Obi-Wan’s number.
“The comms are being jammed still,” Voolviff snarled, reaching down to snatch the device from her grip. “All you will do is give away our position!”
“Our position?!” Padmé asked in a near scoff. “To whom will I give it away? To the Clones breaking down the door?”
At another bang, a clump of dust fell down onto Voolviff’s snout. “Fine,” he grunted, brushing the dust off and squinting his eyes, “If you want to send a message to Obi-Wan that actually only reaches the people trying to kill us, be my guest.”
Disregarding his warning, Padmé began. “Hello, Obi-Wan. I don’t think you’ll ever hear this, and if you do, I’ll probably be dead. You know? I always thought I could make a difference," she continued, her voice heavy with resignation. "I believed that with enough conviction, with enough reason, with diplomacy, and with our pure intentions—that we could create a more just and peaceful galaxy. I thought that the peace of the Core could be simply replicated in the Outer Rim. I thought… Well, it really doesn’t matter what I thought, does it Obi-Wan?
“What we have seen today,” Padmé answered herself, “Is that a single man can be entirely above the law. I was wrong, it turns out. Power just…” A tear ran down from her left eye. “Power flows from the barrel of a blaster, not from the laws we vote on in the Senate—and certainly not…” Her voice trailed off as the banging on the other end of the door got louder, then she sighed, wiping a tear from her eye as she stared into the blue glow of her wrist HoloProjector. “You probably knew all of that before I did. I am not calling to tell you that. What I am calling to tell you is—Well, I don’t even know how to say this. I guess I’ll get right to it. Something happened a few years ago between Anakin and I. One thing led to another and… He’s the father of my child.”
Nearly everyone in the room was staring at her.
Voolvif’s snout hung open in shock for a few seconds, before he turned away, disguising it as a yawn.
Jar-Jar shrieked loudly, “ANI?!”
Bail knelt down and reached to her shoulder to touch it, but seemed to think better of it and simply said, “Anakin? Oh, I am so sorry.”
The Bothan Junior Representative, Shidar Zholskar, let off a barely-audible whisper, “I thought the father was gonna be Obi-Wan Ken…” The rest of Kenobi died in her throat when she saw a vigorous head shake No from Polo Se’lab, Bothawui’s primary Senator.
Low murmurs began to grow at the edge of the crowd, echoing off the walls of the tunnel. Half the room seemed outraged by this revelation, and the other half seemed consoling.
But Padmé was not in the mood for either. “Well, excuse me! I did not realize everyone in the room would butt in on my private business. Perhaps I had too high of expectations for—”
“Padmé, do you read me?”
Obi-Wan’s voice struck like a jolt of lightning. Blushing beet red and cursing herself for exposing Anakin, she looked down into a miniature of Obi-Wan, projected onto the chronometer-sized dias on her wrist. “I thought our comms were jammed…”
“They were,” Obi-Wan said, then added gravely, “I heard everything, but I don’t want you to worry about that right now.”
Padmé’s gut tightened, and she suddenly felt every minute of her nine months of pregnancy.
“We know about Anakin’s abduction already,” Obi-Wan continued, speaking quicker, “But your safety is paramount. If there is to be any hope for democracy, we need to keep the Senate safe for now, and hide you all.”
“No,” Bail said firmly, scooting close enough to the comm for Obi-Wan to see him. “What we need is to hold a vote as soon as possible. We need to reopen the Senate, in a full session, and hold a vote—”
“That would be a bloodbath!” Ki-Adi-Mundi’s voice said in the background, before the Cerean materialized, stepping into the spot where Obi-Wan had been. “Legions of troopers surround the Rotunda now! What you are suggesting is simply not possible.”
Padmé’s face flushed a burning red and she sniffled, feeling more embarrassed than she could ever remember. She knew that in the context of everything going on, it was so irrational to feel embarrassed about her secret intimacy. But how she must seem to everyone now—to be a Galactic Senator in a position of immense authority, and to have had a relationship with a Jedi five years younger than her. It was all out in the open, and it should have been the political scandal of a century, but no one was even talking about it.
Was it really that unsurprising to Obi-Wan? He barely reacted!
“Reopening the Senate is paramount! We can’t possibly depose Palpatine with military force alone. If it takes a thousand Jedi Knights to clear the way to the Senate building, then that’s the way it will have to be. We can’t allow him to maintain legal control of the government a minute longer!”
Plo Koon’s holopresence replaced Ki-Adi-Mundi’s. “It’s worse than you know, Senator Organa. Palpatine is the Sith Lord we have all been looking for.”
“We’ve all heard the gossip!” snapped Giddean Danu, the Senator from Kuat. Angry pink slightly tinged his dark skin as he continued impatiently. “We’ve all heard it on the news. It’s the gossip of the day—Palpatine is a Sith Lord… And, with all due respect, we all know Sith Lords are what happens when a Jedi stops taking antipsychotics.”
“Oh be silent, Danu,” Polo Se’lab snarled.
“You be silent!” Danu snapped, raising a pointed finger at Plo Koon. “That Chancellor Palpatine is some kind of rogue Jedi does nothing to help your case, Master Plo Koon! First Dooku, now Palpatine!”
By the end of Danu’s shouts, Padmé’s own feeling of embarrassment had washed away. Now she felt embarrassed for Danu. “I have known Palpatine since I was a girl,” Padmé said gently, “And he was never a Jedi.”
“You are confused, Senator Danu,” Plo Koon warbled in his deep voice. “Understandably confused, but we don’t have time to explain the entire history of the Jedi and Sith right now. Suffice it to say, while the original Sith broke from the Jedi Order, not all Sith in Galactic history have been ex-Jedi. Palpatine was never a member of our Order.”
“And that’s not what’s so dangerous about this whole situation,” Padmé said, rising to her feet. “The Jedi have not yet told the Senate, but they know a Sith named Sidious was behind the Blockade of Naboo, behind the droid armies, and ultimately behind the entire war.”
Another murmur rippled its way through the crowd. Some of the Senators' voices again rose in anger. Questions as to why the Jedi did not inform the Senate, comments as to where the blame for this whole mess lies, and angry accusations erupted from all sides of the room.
“You seem awfully well-informed,” Mon Mothma remarked quietly. “Did Anakin tell you?”
“I… Yes,” Padmé gulped.
“You should have told us.”
While Mon Mothma and Padmé spoke to each other, the conversations in the background continued. Bail Organa made yet another impassioned plea for the Jedi to act now, which Obi-Wan said the Council would take under advisement.
Mid-sentence, however, Obi-Wan’s holopresence turned off entirely with no Jedi replacing it. Instead, the figure that now stood on Padmé’s wrist was an eerie pale human wearing a dark black cloak, face half hidden beneath a cowl. “Senator Amidala,” Palpatine said, his voice unmistakable. “I hope I did not interrupt anything important.”
“Unless you are announcing your intention to step down,” Padmé said, “Then we have nothing to discuss.”
“Recent events have cast a shadow over the Jedi Order, an institution once revered for its commitment to peace and justice. It is clear to me that the Jedi have strayed from their intended path, blinded by their own self-righteousness and out of touch with the realities of our government; the realities of our galaxy really.”
“Cast a shadow?” Mon Mothma scoffed incredulously. “You cannot possibly be—Ugh… Ach!” The Chandrillan suddenly coughed, gasping for air, and clutched her throat which seemed to be pinching in on itself as if by magic.
Palpatine, Chancellor, Sith Lord, traitor, whatever he really was, held his right hand in a vicious claw, gesticulating in the Chandrillan’s direction. “It is Senator Amidala with whom I am speaking, not you!”
“Turn that thing off!” Voolvif snarled, quick to ignite his lightsaber. “Turn it off or I’ll turn it off for you!”
“Stop that!” Padmé yelled to Palpatine, frantically pressing buttons to try and end the transmission. She hoped that if the mini holoprojector were merely turned off, that Palpatine would no longer have the ability to keep choking Mon Mothma.
“As you wish,” Palpatine sighed, lowering his hand.
Mon Mothma gasped for breath, nearly falling to the ground, but was caught by Bail and Shidar.
“Turn it off!” Voolvif repeated, saber still ignited.
“I’m trying!” Padmé grunted, still frantically pressing the power button. “It’s not working!” She tried unstrapping the wrist comm, but the strap grew tighter the harder she struggled.
“Enough with the alarmism, Master Jedi! Unless you plan on ending my transmission by cutting off Senator Amidala’s hand, I suggest you put that lightsaber away.”
“What do you want?” Padmé asked angrily, giving up on ending the transmission. She messaged her hand, which was tingling from the pressure of the strap.
“I believe, Senator Amidala, that you possess the influence and insight needed to help me bring the Jedi to their senses. Together, we can initiate a dialogue, shedding light on the flaws within their order and inspiring them to embrace change.”
“You’re delusional!” Voolvif protested. “We’ll never embrace the Sith!”
“Not just the Sith, but the Sith’ari ,” Palpatine smiled. “I believe that our shared commitment for the Republic’s well-being will be the foundation for any dialog between the Jedi and I, Senator Amidala. But all I ask is that the Jedi turn over Dooku at once. The orders to eliminate the Jedi as traitors will be rescinded. From there, we can take a step into the future.”
“You’re responsible for billions of deaths, maybe more,” Padmé said, putting steel into her voice. “You lied to the entire Senate for more than a decade. You put a blockade over our own planet—our home. Now, you’ve abducted my husband, and you think there’s a way we can just talk this over?”
A concerned frown crossed Palpatine’s face. “I would have thought that you of all people would understand my fondness for him. Harming Anakin is beyond my capabilities, but on that note, in exchange for Dooku, I will also return Anakin and Master Windu to the Jedi, unharmed.”
“He’s stalling,” snarled Voolvif. “I don’t know why, but he’s stalling.”
Palpatine let off an exasperated sigh. “Ever the paranoid one… I will give you and the Jedi one hour to decide, after which point I shall have no choice but to adopt more drastic measures.” As if to disprove Voolvif’s accusation that he was merely calling to stall for time, the Sith Lord ended the transmission abruptly.
“Okay, well perhaps he wasn’t stalling,” Voolvif grumbled, pointing a clawed finger in the direction of Padmé’s wrist, “But he can’t be trusted.”
“The sentiment of the hour,” Bail muttered.
Outside, the banging on the hatch suddenly quieted down. Everyone in the room turned their gaze towards the entryway. Ears perked up and angled towards the hatch, Shidar, Polo, and Voolvif began listening intently.
“Do you hear anything?” Mon Mothma asked, clasping her hands together beneath her white robe.
“Yes,” Voolvif said, failing to elaborate further.
“Maybe they really are going to give us an hour to decide,” Polo growled hopefully.
“Or someone with a brain is bringing up breaching charges.” Bel-Iblis noted cynically.
Padmé shook her head, opting not to entertain either possibility. “Don’t get too excited, Palpatine’s demands are unacceptable. We will all be in grave peril in any future where Palpatine holds power over the military. We must… Master Monn, what are you doing?”
She couldn’t help but notice that the Jedi now held his own wristcomm up.
“Voolvif, I am glad you and the Senators are alright,” Obi-Wan said, his holopresence now on the small dias atop the Shistavanen’s wrist. “We had feared the worst when your call suddenly terminated.”
“We’re still here, but these Senators need to be moved out of here as quickly as possible. The Clones have stopped trying to beat the door down, but they’ll soon have forces in place to blast in and overwhelm the few of us who can fight back, if they don’t already.”
“Assuming the Sith actually allow us to send forth a rescue party, your extraction will be our top priority. In the meantime, there is something we must attend to which I cannot discuss on the… Oh?”
Ki-Adi-Mundi’s voice came softly from the background. “I am receiving a call. You’ll never believe this.”
Padmé shook her head. “He’s probably calling you now.”
“Whatever you do, you can’t trust him, Obi-Wan!” Bail yelled, stepping up to Voolvif’s side to get a better view of the holoprojection.
“Who is calling us? Whom can we not trust?”
Chapter 17: KELIA LOS'EAN
Chapter Text
Aboard the RSD Kestrel, Hyperspace
Kelia closed her eyes as she knelt in her personal quarters at the foot of her bed, deep in thought. A hardcase large enough for a suit of battle armor sat before her. At her side a datapad glowed a faint blue, casualty reports slowly scrolling past in one window, with an equally slowly ticking list of Clones that had been confirmed to be de-chipped in another.
Under ideal circumstances I’d only be looking at one of those… She opened an eye and glanced at the datapad, frowning as she undid the latches on the hardcase with a soft click.
Order 66 cut deeply. I don’t need to be a Jedi to feel the tension in the air, especially since most of the fleet doesn’t know the full details about the inhibitor chips or Palpatine. With Jural pretty much sidelined by shock and Kev still about as ‘respected’ as he was before all this, someone has to raise morale and restore some semblance of unity before we dive into the gullet of the proverbial Sarlaac at Mustafar.
With a sigh, Kelia lifted the lid of the case, the light glinting off the black visor of a snouted grey and violet helmet.
“Well, time to put my skin on… And pray to the manda that my plan works.”
o.o.o.o.o
CT-7007 “GRATH”
CT-7007, Sergeant “Grath” of the Kestrel’s attached regiment, awoke in an extremely loud sickbay. Last thing he remembered, he had stood in the corridor leading up to the bridge’s turbolift, shooting his blaster at a group of traitors… A group that included none other than Lir Sey’les.
As with other Clones, he had been compelled by an inhibitor chip to execute Order 66. However, unlike the other Clones, he had a grudge even larger than that compulsion. Grath had been there on Murkhana nearly two years ago, and Sey’les had been his commanding officer, with their direct action team being attached to the 12th Army, under Wilhuff Tarkin.
Shortly after taking control of Argente Tower, Tarkin had executed Contingency Order 37 (“capture of a single wanted individual through mass arrests and executions”) and took the entire staff hostage. For what had seemed like days but was really no more than an hour, Republic forces thereby had executed hostages in groups to compel the remaining Separatist leadership in hiding to surrender.
In the middle of all this bloodshed, Lir Sey’les had seemed to develop a guilty conscience. She had suddenly admitted to Grath that she was a traitor, part of some Bothan SpyNet plot to entrap Tarkin in a crime against the Galaxy, and get him in trouble with the Jedi. At that point, another being in the chain of command, an Ardennian named Razal Wulf, had relieved Sey’les of duty. Then, for reasons which, in hindsight, even Grath had not understood, DAU Team Muun had all gone to Argente Tower to confront Tarkin.
The fratricide that had ensued resulted in not only the deaths of three of Grath’s surviving batchers and the team’s Rodian medic, but left Wulf with a crippling brain injury at the hands of a psychotic ARC Trooper named Buzz and ended with Tarkin, along with Sey’les and Itoll Oc’skar, another Bothan in Team Muun, hauled back to Coruscant in orange jumpsuits by the Jedi. The entire affair had been a blur of events that made no sense even if he wanted to think about it.
That was the last Grath had heard of Lir Sey’les before being transferred to the 608th Mobile Regiment, and it had stayed that way until rumors began to float that a Bothan by the name of Lir Sey’les had joined Kestrel’s crew and was somehow linked to all of this renewed madness.
“You are awake, excellent,” said a small hovering droid with a head that looked a bit like his belt detonator. An AZ-series medical model, the kind he’d seen hundreds of times during routine check-ups on Kamino before the war. “Look into this light for me.”
Grath obeyed at first, his eyelids constricting slightly as the harsh beam of the AZ droid’s glowrod passed over his eyes. Then his attention was jolted away from the glowrod.
“Good soldiers follow orders,” mumbled a Clone, strapped down to a stretcher, being pushed in through the doorway by two non-Clone Navy security troopers. “Good soldiers follow orders! GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW—” He groaned in pain when the ship’s Captain, Jural Dan’lya, jabbed a needle into his arm. For a moment, the Clone protested, but then fell quickly asleep.
Fixating on the scene, Grath continued to stare, completely mystified, while the Captain and a nurse wheeled the Clone across the room as the security troopers left. Dan’lya did not appear to be in good shape herself. Her hands jittered in a barely controlled manner while her uniform was torn and pocked by scorch marks and some of her fur was matted with blood.
“What’s going on?” Grath finally asked.
“You have had minor neurosurgery to remove the inhibitor chip from your brain. We are now at over fifty-nine percent chip removal for the entire fleet!” the droid said proudly. “Now would you please look into the light.”
Once the glowrod beam extinguished, Grath looked to his left again, surveying the medbay. Dozens of patients, all Clones, were in varying states of recovery. Some were chatting animatedly with one of the surgical droids, others seemed groggy and were barely awake, and others still were fast asleep.
“Do you still feel a compulsion to shoot any Jedi within sight?” the droid asked cheerily.
Grath thought about the question. More memories flooded back. Kestrel had gone to Ponemah Terminal, then to Nkllon to expose some sort of secret.
Inhibitor chips? Compulsion to kill Jedi?
That explained some of Grath’s feelings, but he still wanted nothing more than to shoot Lir Sey’les.
A note of concern was now betrayed by the droid’s voice after such a long pause. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Grath lied. “Just a bit tired.”
The droid hovered a bit higher at that and rotated. “That’s very understandable. I suggest you retire to your quarters and try to get some rest. We have fewer than four hours until we arrive in the Mustafar System. There has also been a scheduled assembly in the main hangar within an hour, on the Commodore’s orders.”
Grath wondered why Kestrel was now on the way to a Separatist system when, last he heard, the Separatists were on the offensive all over Republic space. Before he could ask, however, he heard a commotion at the entrance to sickbay.
“There are no animals allowed in sickbay,” said a MD-series medical droid in an amplified voice, the humanoid machine’s manipulators pressed against the surgical gown shrouding its legs.
The voice that replied caused Grath to jump in startlement. “Veryk is not an animal.”
“Unless my bioreadings are mistaken—”
“LOOK!” Sey’les snarled loudly, jabbing a finger into the middle of the medical droid’s chest, “VERYK WAS IN HERE EARLIER!”
Transfixed, Grath stared at the Bothan. At first, he felt outraged when he saw the Republic uniform she had absolutely no business wearing. Next, panic set in.
Did she come to the conclusion that I was a possible loose end? What is she doing here?!
By this time, the strange animal, a purple weasel-looking thing had begun squeaking. The entire room’s attention was fixed on the loud squabble erupting in the entryway. Even the AZ, whose job it was to keep an eye on Grath, had rotated in mid air and was now facing the other way.
Sitting up straighter, Grath surreptitiously reached over to the medical tray sitting beside his bed and discretely grabbed one of the instruments, a surgical vibroscalpel capable of slicing through the tissue of even the toughest lifeforms. No one seemed to notice, but Grath tensed when the medical droid relented, allowing Sey’les to walk through the doorway, weasel in tow.
She stood there for a moment, staring back at the Clone. “Grath, it’s… well, it’s been a long time,” she finally managed.
Gripping the scalpel under the covers, Grath was shaking with anger and fear. “If you knew what was best for you, ma’am, you’d stay the kriff away from me!” He surprised himself by calling Sey’les ‘ma’am’ like he always used to.
Sey’les flinched slightly, but stood her ground. “I regret a lot of things, but you can’t keep hating me—”
“THE HELL!” Grath screamed. “WHY IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL?!”
Her ears drooped slightly, but otherwise, she maintained an infuriating calm. “Grath, lower your voice, please. You sound like a crazy person. If you can’t stop…” She trailed off as the weasel snaked its way around her shoulders chittering loudly. “Veryk, I think I can handle it myself. I knew him for a whole year, and it’s… well…”
It took Grath a moment to figure out that Veryk must be the name of her weasel. “Ha!” Grath snorted angrily, still gripping the knife defensively under his bedsheets. “Ironic insult from someone talking to an animal.”
“Ensign, I can’t help but notice that you are distressing my patient,” the AZ said to Sey’les. “And your animal may cause some of the other patients to have an allergic reaction. I am going to request—OH MY!”
The weasel sprung from Sey’les’s grasp, crossing more than two meters of air before landing on Grath’s lap. The Clone nearly fell out of his bed from shock. Fighting the urge to stab the blasted creature, Grath maintained his grip on the scalpel, but found himself trembling with rage again. It was so much like Sey’les to bring an animal into the medbay. It was so much like her to completely ignore the boundaries of someone who hated her guts and just expect everyone to like her.
Grath began formulating a simple plan. When Sey’les stooped down to retrieve her pet, he would stab her. Sure enough, not a second later, she stepped forward. He sat up straighter, preparing to spring into action, but suddenly the infernal weasel jumped onto his chest! It must have weighed forty kilos, and Grath found himself somehow pinned onto the bed.
He opened his mouth to scream but couldn’t. Paralyzed, all he could do was gasp for breath while staring up at the ceiling, until that view was obstructed by a weasel’s face staring down at him. Before Grath could even come to grips with the fact he had been pinned down by a small purple critter, a wave of shocking awareness washed over him.
Every beat of his heart reverberated in his ears. Every gasp of air felt like a trillion grains of sand, flowing down his throat, banging off walls of delicate slippery tissue. Grath suddenly beheld how strikingly squishy and liquid he was. A pang of pain erupted from the small incision on the top of his skull through which his inhibitor chip had been removed. The awareness was so overwhelming, it became impossible for him to focus on the weasel, Veryk, staring into his eyes. For a moment, Grath feared he was going completely mad, and to make matters worse, he was acutely aware of the liquid adrenaline oozing its way out of his kidneys.
{“Don’t fear it,”} a voice, or perhaps just a disembodied thought, echoed in his mind. {“Don’t fear it. You need to understand.”}
The voice felt patronizing, but Grath was so confused by what was happening that he couldn’t feel the buzz of outrage. Squishiness… All the squishiness of his body was so distracting.
{“Yes, you are a human in an organic body. There are others nearby. What are they feeling?”}
Grath wasn’t sure how to ascertain what others were feeling, but he tried to perceive them, and gasped again. The weasel standing on his chest was squishy and organic, but also glowing with energy to such an intensity that it felt like looking at a sun.
{“Not me. Who is standing to your left?”}
Shifting his focus in that direction, Grath sensed who the voice was referring to. Lir Sey’les. He could sense no hostility at all from her, and like him, she was extremely confused. That realization instantly caused his rage to subside a bit, but then, at a deeper level, the Clone could sense that Sey’les genuinely felt remorse and was downcast over the fact he felt such hatred towards her. Grath continued staring at her, expecting, with this newfound power, to uncover some evidence of a conspiracy or a plot the Bothan was hatching. Instead, he found himself somehow reaching even deeper. At this new level of existence, her essence was strangely… distorted. As if something external had damaged her, tearing at her soul and leaving behind a mess of scars and slowly healing flesh.
At first, Grath couldn’t understand what it was he was staring at, until he reflected on himself. The damage to his own essence had a different shape than that of Sey’les, but a large part of it seemed extremely similar—as if it had been cut into by the same tool. Grath had never been Force-sensitive, and it took him a few moments to realize that he was also perceiving Sey’les’s emotions. Beneath the veneer of annoyance, from her he could sense fear, trepidation, and something that was difficult to put in human terms, but closest to disappointment. Disappointment that Grath hated her so. The Bothan cared a great deal about being liked by everyone, and being despised by someone she used to work with over something she viewed as her own fault was soul crushing.
Grath came to, or rather, suddenly lost his Force sight as quickly as it had come. The purple weasel was now in Sey’les’s left hand, being held in mid-air by the scruff of his neck.
“Veryk is an emotional support Savrit Cat,” Sey’les growled, nose to nose with the AZ droid, who seemed to have become even more irate when Grath hadn’t been paying attention.
“Emotional support !” the droid scoffed through an amplified vocabulator, pointing a hand in Grath’s direction. “CT-7007 is crying!”
Grath stood up from his bed, and several electrodes that had been stuck to his skin and hair with adhesives ripped out painfully. The Clone took two steps forward, then reached his arms around the diminutive Bothan.
Sey’les gasped in shock, recoiling. She clearly expected an attack, and it took a second or two for the tension to leave her body. Snout contorted in an expression of bewilderment, she finally hugged Grath back. “Uh… There, there.”
Behind her, the AZ-series medical droid reached out a claw and grabbed the scalpel that was still in Grath’s right hand. The Clone didn’t even seem to notice, and continued sobbing.
o.o.o.o.o
LIR SEY’LES
When she departed sickbay, Sey’les was still more confused than ever, but the thought of Veryk manipulating sentient beings to like her was quite disconcerting. What if others only like me because Veryk makes them? “Did you make Grath like me?”
This time Veryk had opted to run on the ground on all fours near Sey’les’s feet, rather than having the Bothan carry him. {“I have told you at least a dozen times. When you speak aloud to me, it makes you look quite mad. You can communicate telepathically and no one knows anything is amiss.”}
Sey’les frowned and stopped walking. She stooped down in the corridor on one knee, getting at eye level with her Prophet. “You are trying to change the topic.”
{“A Prophet does not try. A Prophet does,”} Veryk said, his mind-voice carrying a note of impatience. {“I foresaw that Grath would try to kill you on Mustafar. Of course, I wouldn’t allow that to happen, but the attempt on your life would leave you… How do I put it?”}
Turning away, Sey’les shut her eyes tight. Again her thoughts went back to Grath hating her, but now it cut even deeper. She could understand why Grath would blame her for some of what happened on Murkhana, but she couldn’t understand the hatred. After all, it was Tarkin who had started the firefight, and she was distraught after losing so much of her squad. Wulf, with whom she’d had an intimate relationship, had been shot in the back of the head. While he’d survived, Sey’les had not seen him since.
Even though it was a hypothetical future which had not actually unfolded, the disclosure caused hot tears to pour from her eyes.
After everything we’ve both been through, how could Grath then try to kill me?
{“It’s not your fault,”} Veryk said soothingly.
Another gurney slid by, pushed by two Clone security officers. The doors to the medbay opened with a hiss and the gurney disappeared around the corner.
Sey’les started walking away. She wasn’t sure where she would go, but anywhere away from Grath. She could sense his presence still, and it made her feel sick.
{“Stop,”} Veryk commanded. {“There are things you need to understand.”}
An overwhelming compulsion to stop moving came over her, and she stopped in her tracks a few meters away. If anything though, Veryk’s use of his powers to manipulate her made her angry. “UNDERSTAND WHAT?!” she snarled, balling her fists. “GRATH WANTED TO KILL ME, AND YOU LET ME HUG HIM!”
{“Calm down… Not so loud,”} Veryk urged. Thankfully, the hallway was empty at present.
“Understand what?” Sey’les repeated, this time in a scoffing hiss.
{“Sometimes, beings build idealized versions of other beings in their minds. Old friends or lovers they haven’t seen in years… They imagine these people to be exactly like they were thirty years prior, or perhaps they forget what their old friend was really like. They forget all the unpleasantness and fill in the gaps. Even Prophets like me are not immune—”}
“So Grath was idealizing me?!” Sey’les asked, absolutely incredulous.
{“No, but the opposite can happen too. Sometimes beings fill in the blanks with only negative imagery as to what an acquaintance is like. Over the last two years, Grath imagined you to be a dastardly villain—A SpyNet spook who intentionally set up everyone to be killed. Someone who felt no remorse—”}
“But that’s not true at all!” Sey’les protested.
{“Yes, which is what I showed Grath. The truth. I didn’t make Grath like you. I didn’t make Grath do anything. I used my powers to show Grath how you feel, and Grath felt guilty about hating you for all of those years.”}
Somehow, that made Sey’les feel a little better. A sense of relief she didn’t quite understand washed over her—it went something like Veryk didn’t need to force Grath to like me. I am likable after all. But still the Bothan felt much worse than she had before she stepped foot in sickbay.
Wiping the tears out of her eyes, she finally managed, “You are a terrible emotional support animal.”
A chortle of cackling laughter erupted in Sey’les’s mind, accompanied by an audible chitter from Veryk. {“I see you are finally developing a sense of humor.”}
“I wasn’t joking,” Sey’les said in a deadpan.
{“I truly am sorry,”} Veryk said, approaching Sey’les before nimbly clambering up her leg. {“Some revelations just have to be made.”}
For a while, Sey’les stood there, staring despondently down the hallway in Grath’s direction. It was an impossible array of unexpected emotional baggage to come to terms with in a short period of time, but she no longer felt like fleeing. On the other hand, there was something about Veryk’s presence and squirrely movements that told her that Veryk now wanted to leave. After turning, she began aimlessly walking to nowhere in particular.
{“We should go to the bow of the ship,”} Veryk said with his typical surety. {“There is much you need to discuss still with Commodore Los’ean.”}
{“I need to discuss?”} Sey’les asked back, now speaking telepathically through the Force. {“We’ve spent an incredible time talking, briefing, discussing, planning. It feels like that’s all we do.”}
{“The future is becoming clearer to me, at least the immediate future,”} Veryk explained. {“And Bendu sees it to a degree of exactness now,”} he added.
At the end of the hall, Sey’les reached a turbolift junction and stepped inside the closest one. The hum of magnetic levs and ventilated circuitry was the only sound that could be heard as they continued their telepathic conversation.
{“You can hear Bendu now?”} Sey’les asked curiously. She felt a gentle pressure under her chin and looked up to the roof of the lift. Where durasteel should have been, there was an open wormhole with a starry background.
Snout hanging open in surprise, she wondered, how did I not notice that?
{“Our fight at Mustafar, it seems, will not go well. Once again, those beyond the veil are witnessing our deaths again,”} Veryk explained.
The wormhole vanished, and the blue light it had been casting all over the turbolift stopped and the interior was engulfed in total darkness. Sey’les swallowed, trying not to panic in the pitch black.
“Our deaths again ?” Sey’les finally managed to croak.
{“We died once already in the Athega system. Halfdan and the Loth-wolves changed the course of history, convincing the droids not to destroy us. They are working tirelessly to shift the tide to our advantage, but our Eriaduan adversary has had a six hour lead on us, and he is a very talented investigator. He keeps seeing through our tricks.”}
“Tarkin?”
{“Indeed,”} Veryk purred.
At that moment, the turbolift doors opened, and Sey’les blinked in the white light that seemed almost blinding. Rubbing her eyes, she took a step out and was surprised to find herself in a sea of Clone and non-Clone personnel.
{“We are going to have to wait a little while before discussing this with Kelia and Morai.”}
“Wait for what?” Sey’les asked, stepping into the hallway and following the crowd of people. Much shorter than the Clones, she found her whiskers brushing up against Clone tunics and chestplates.
{“For Kelia to finish her silliness.”}
“Silliness?” Sey’les growled.
{“You’re going to have to speak with the Force. Savrit Cat ears are not as good as Bothan ears, and it is far too loud to hear you!”}
{“Silliness? Veryk, I don’t—”} she started, then shook her head in bewilderment. The crowd pushed her through the doorway, spilling out onto the hangar deck.
As the crowd thinned, it became more organized, with Clones in shiny armor standing in neat square formations of platoon sized elements while Navy personnel, Clone and non-Clone alike, wearing utility jumpsuits and officer uniforms mingled in their own formations. Quite out of place wearing a gray-green working uniform, Sey’les awkwardly stepped into an empty gap towards the back of the nearest formation.
Next to her, a Clone snickered. “Sir, do you want to stand at the front? You’re a little short.”
Keeping her eyes caged forward, Sey’les ignored the comment. Exhaling, she relaxed, then stiffened, wiping any expression of emotion off her face. That pose lasted all of three seconds.
Kelia emerged, standing atop a repulsortank, and Sey’les only knew it was Kelia from her presence in the Force. The Commodore was not wearing any sort of Republic-issued uniform at all, barring her rank plaque. Instead, she was clad from head to toe in a suit of expressionless formfitting Mandalorian battle armor.
o.o.o.o.o
KELIA LOS’EAN
Standing atop the roof of a squat and sleek TX-130 fighter tank with her hands on her hips, Kelia scanned the flight line as the last stragglers marched in, a roughly even mix of Clones and non-Clones, the latter ranging across a wide array of species. From across the ship’s various departments organized into four blocks twenty beings deep and six wide, nearly four-hundred-eighty beings assembled before her for an event that would either save everyone left in the fleet…
Or condemn them all.
There was a nervous energy in the way the crew shifted and murmured while at attention, not just because of mutual distrust between the Clone and non-Clone personnel, but because none of them had ever seen Kelia as she was now.
Clad head to toe in form-fittung violet-trimmed beskar’gam bristling with mounted weaponry (armor that admittedly hugged her curves substantially more tightly than when she’d last worn it), the only indicator she was a Republic officer being the rank plaque on her breastplate, a black visor obscuring her eyes with the rest of her face hidden behind an impassive snouted helmet. With such a dramatic shift in appearance, her figure had gained an imposing air to it.
At her sides, standing on the tank’s sponsons, were the four members of Rider Squad, their DC-17m rifles holstered on their backpacks. Several astromechs, Prowler 1000 probes, and service droids hooked up to mobile servers and transmitters were clustered all around the vehicle, sending the broadcast to the entire fleet at her order.
Exhaling, Kelia clasped her hands behind her back before beginning to speak. “I assume there are many questions as to why we’re doing this? Well, shut up and listen .”
The assembly went quiet as she turned on her heel, pacing around the tank’s hatch. “What I am about to tell you all was considered confidential for your own safety up until less than twenty minutes ago, after I opted to deem this judgment irrelevant in the wake of Order Sixty-Six.”
An astromech’s holoprojector flared to life as Kelia tapped on her wrist-comm, displaying the hooded, shadow-faced figure from data Scirocco had provided, eliciting a few mumbles from the crowd. “This individual is the one who initiated the Contingency Order, relayed to us via the Separatist warships we were engaged in combat with.”
That drew a more substantial reaction, as numerous beings turned to each other, discussing the information in hushed tones. Before it could go further, Kelia continued. “Our data experts have since reconstructed the individual in question’s face based on the existing image of their jawline and nose. The result was known to us in command, but no less shocking to be personally confirmed.”
Inhaling, she tapped a button on her wrist, and then watched the uproar begin as the face of the dark figure fizzled and resolved into that of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.
“That’s impossible!”
“It’s a Sep trick, don’t-”
“How do we know you’re not doing this to-”
Kelia’s foot slammed down onto the tank’s roof, a heavy metallic clang filling the air and drowning out the furor. “I DID NOT GIVE ANY OF YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK! NOW SHUT UP, STAND AT ATTENTION, AND LISTEN!” She snarled, helmet sweeping left and right as she stared down the now cowed personnel.
Sighing under her breath, Kelia continued, dialing up her helmet’s loudhailers to drown out further interruptions. “During the course of our ‘surprise deployment’, we have both been handed and discovered critical evidence that reveals Supreme Chancellor Palpatine and Count Dooku have been colluding since at least the beginning of the war, very likely the entire Separatist crisis! Among this evidence was the illicit transfer of Clone Trooper Kix of the Five-Oh-First to Dooku’s custody by a Special Unit of Clone Commandos that seemingly exists entirely off the books and presumably answers solely to the Supreme Chancellor!”
As she spoke, the holovid that Halfdan had provided her appeared in the air behind her, courtesy of another astromech. As it played, the Clones in the crowd beneath Kelia almost universally reacted with barely controlled rage at the treasonous Commandos.
Pausing for a moment to let it all sink in, Kelia continued, her voice now an octave or so lower. “Now, why would Dooku or Palpatine, the two most powerful men in the galaxy, care about a lone Clone Trooper? The reason is simple, Kix learned about the true nature of the inhibitor chips implanted in almost every production Clone Trooper, to force compliance with the contingency orders that would enable Palpatine and Dooku to overthrow the Republic and replace it with a totalitarian empire of their own design.”
A hologram of an inhibitor chip flickered into being behind her as she swept her gaze across the crowd, a Prowler bobbing in front of her, transmitting everything. “While the exact nature of the chip’s function is still being deciphered by Kestrel’s medical staff, what I do know about them is that they override any will the Clone has to disobey the order by sheer, brute, force. This forces them to adhere to all aspects of the Order, including murdering their own comrades and brothers who refuse to comply, as happened throughout the fleet when everything went to hell. Resistance, such as it is, is swept aside in the name of blind obedience.”
Many non-Clone crewmembers in the crowd shifted uneasily, and it was then Kelia realized they generally either had no idea Clones had deliberately slain each other in the chaos or had refused to entertain the idea because it didn’t fit this infant prejudice festering among them.
Sensing opportunity, she twisted the knife, to further drive the point home. “The Clones are innocent in all this, reduced to nothing more than blasters pointed at the enemies of Palpatine’s dreamed regime through no fault of their own. By misdirecting your anger, you only further his aims!
“I do not know about any of you, but I for one place all blame for what happened in Athega solely on the man who betrayed us all from the very beginning. The man who orchestrated this entire war . A war that has for many of us killed our friends and family wholesale, cost the lives of billions of others, and left countless worlds in ruins for the sake of greed! A man who tried to turn us against each other in a panic because we discovered the extent of his plans! Has he succeeded!?” Kelia shouted, her voice rising to a full yell as pent up rage at the Chancellor boiled over.
“NO MA’AM!” The crew shouted in unison, fury boiling in their veins as the target of their ire shifted from each other, to the man who bore ultimate responsibility.
She nodded, smiling behind her helmet’s snouted faceplate. “Good! Because right now he thinks he’s winning, that we’re nothing more than pawns to be swept away. Well I’m going to tell you all right now that he’s dead shabla wrong !”
Cheers erupted from the crew as Kelia put to words the emotions they’d been allowing to fester since Order 66, now given a new outlet and a direction, earning a soft smile from her as she studied them.
She gave a subtle nod to Garen, and the leader of Rider Squad gestured for his brothers to follow him as he hopped off the TX-130’s left sponson. “As of now, we are en-route to the one location in the known Galaxy where we can stop Palpatine and Dooku dead in their tracks, but it is currently under siege by forces loyal to the treasonous Chancellor. They will have no compunctions about working together. So, I have a test for you all to make sure we can do the same.”
One member of Rider Squad stood in front of each block of personnel, hands clasped behind their waists as Clone Flight Crewers and non-Clone technicians brought out several speeder carts from a nearby hangar and began handing out armored chestplates and bracers to the confused crowd.
“Ma’am? If I may… What’s the reason for this?” Kelia heard Lieutenant Commander Mornstead of the fleet’s direct action operatives ask as he began slipping on the armor.
Behind her helmet, Kelia’s lips twitched into a smirk. “A good question Lieutenant Commander. Tell me, how many of you are familiar with Dha Werda Verda ?”
“The ancient Taung war poem?” someone with a heavy Core World accent asked from the crowd.
Kelia nodded as she walked down the front of the TX-130, using its sloped armor as a ramp. “That’s one aspect of it. After all, the Taung would later go on to become the first Mandalorians, and down the ages, during the Neo Crusades, would create a war chant in hopes they would be remembered by their successors, no matter what species they were.
“In turn, the descendants of Zhell would later form what we now know as the Republic ! Through the Clone Army, these ancient enemies have been united as one, now facing an existential threat to the existence of both cultures born from them!”
Stepping off the tank, wincing when her codpiece dug into her pelvis as her feet hit the deck and promptly exhaling to let the burst of discomfort pass, Kelia strode forwards before stopping between Garen and Blade, crossing her arms under her chest. “As a gesture of this unity, and a symbol of our defiance to Palpatine, this assembly shall now conduct the traditional Mandalorian war dance associated with the Dha Werda Verda chant.”
Confused exclamations died out the moment Kelia slapped her wrist bracer against Blade’s backpack and shouted. “The dance is simple! As the song continues, you shall mirror the movements of your compatriots to your sides! Trust and timing are as paramount as they are in a bayoneted rifle drill! Treat this no differently! Do not think about whether you shall be hit, just trust in your rhythm and the rhythm of your comrades !”
Rider Squad began chanting before any further interruptions could occur, loudly clacking bracer armor against chest and back plates as they turned in unison with Kelia. “ Taung! Sa! Rang! Broka! Jetiise! Ka! ‘Rta!”
Kelia’s voice joined into the growing chorus as the assembly began mimicking the motions of the experienced Mandalorians, a pre-recorded basic version of the chant playing over loudhailers and giving all a beat with which to follow.
“The ash of the Taung beats strong within the Republic’s heart!”
“We are the rage of the warriors of the shadow!”
“The first noble sons of Coruscant!”
“Let all those who stand before us light the night sky in flame!”
“Our vengeance shall burn brighter still!”
Scanning the assembly as she turned with Garen and Blade, Kelia smiled and laughed as she saw the crew, though fumbling with some movements, staying with the beat as much as they could, the loudhailers now drowned out by nearly five-hundred voices chanting in unison, the clack of plastoid on plastoid becoming a drumbeat that quickly ascended to thunder.
“The gauntlet of Coruscant strikes without mercy!”
“We are the rage of the warriors of the shadow!”
“The first noble sons of Coruscant!”
“Let those who stand before us light the night sky in flame!”
“Our vengeance shall burn brighter still!”
Chapter 18: OBI-WAN KENOBI
Chapter Text
The Jedi Temple, Coruscant
Several hundred levels above the Temple laboratory wing, Obi-Wan exited the turbolift onto sublevel hangar 9. Waiting for him was a group of Jedi Knights and Masters in front of three parked LAATs. All of them wore recently-confiscated red and white Coruscant Guard uniforms, and all of them had been specifically chosen because of their height and weight profiles.
They were: the dark skinned human with neat mustache and beard, Koffi Arana; a pale-skinned human with brown hair and matching eyes, Tiberus Anderlock; and two blond humans, the middle aged Soara Antana and her Padawan Kam Lahn, a teenager whose hair was short save the Padwan braid dangling down one side. The five humans were joined by two non-humans, who both still had body proportions similar enough to Jango Fett: the scaly gray-green Nikto Jedi Master J’oopi Shé, and a young silver-skinned Teevan with black hair and almond-shaped eyes, Tru Veld.
Obi-Wan had met all of these Knights and Masters before, but Tru Veld and Soara Antana were the only ones he had ever worked with. Four years before the Clone Wars, they, Obi-Wan, and Anakin had been part of a hectic mercy mission to evacuate the world of Radnor.
The armor around Soara’s hips clearly fit a bit more snugly than a typical Clone’s, but aside from that, everything looked very convincing, and the plan was simple enough: Obi-Wan and the other Jedi, disguised as Clones, would sneak out of the Temple in an LAAT into the undercity, travel to Voolvif Monn, Padmé, and the other Senators’ place of entrapment and evacuate them.
“Are we ready then?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Your transport is prepped, Master Kenobi,” said Tru Veld.
“I’ve attached a sensor scrambling kit beneath all three,” J’oopi added, pointing to a gray canister loaded immediately beneath each passenger compartment. “Should we run into trouble, I don’t expect those bucketheads will be able to track us.”
“We’re all bucketheads now,” Obi-Wan said with a faint smile, donning his helmet. His voice became muffled by the transpirator. “J’oopi, you’re certain the helmet will fit?”
J’oopi swiftly plopped the helmet on with two hands, fastening the neck piece. “Do you really think I’d be so unprepared?”
“I suppose not,” Obi-Wan retorted dryly. “Have our comms been set up yet?” He turned his on, and discovered that clearly the answer was no. He could hear chatter, and he recognized some of the voices. Obi-Wan didn’t enjoy intruding on his fellow Jedi’s conversations, but this time, there was something about the fear in the voice that was so disconcerting, he could not help but listen in.
“What do you mean the security cams are on a loop?!” asked the voice of Cin Drallig, the Jedi Master in charge of the Temple Guards whom Obi-Wan had seen less than an hour ago.
“I’m sure of it sir,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Masana Tide… I saw her get up and stretch ten minutes ago, and now she’s doing it again. Rael Averross is making the same moves at the Dejarik Table… And I swear I saw Prosset Dibs flip his book to page fifty-nine, but now he’s at thirty-one.”
“What are you—” Cin Drallig started, then grunted. Obi-Wan could hear the frantic typing of keys. “I’m looking… I’m looking… Fast-forwarding… Blast.”
“What is it, Master?”
“Blast it, you’re right! Comm the guards on the level—We’re probably about to have an attempted breakout. Move all of the detainees into their quarters. Lock the whole level down.”
“Very well, I’ll send an alert over the intercom and advise all of the guards to change to the emergency frequency.”
“One second,” Tru said, standing right next to Obi-Wan, fiddling with a datapad that was connected to his helmet by a long wire. “We’re still hooked up to the Jedi Security channel that the Coruscant Guard had tapped into. Changing to a frequency that the Clones outside will be able to interact with us on… Now.”
“Wait!” Obi-Wan yelled in exasperated alarm.
“What is it?” Tru asked, blinking and obviously completely unaware of the conversation Obi-Wan was listening in on.
“We have to abort the mission… Something’s very wrong on the detention level. Are any of you listening to the security channel? I believe there may be—”
Before he could say prisoners escaping , a third voice yelled onto the comm. “I see someone who doesn’t belong in the detention level! Certainly not in the watch house. It looks like she’s using someone else’s glove with a thumbprint to gain entry.”
“Blast, I see her,” Cin said, gritting his teeth. “Who in the blazes is she?! Does anyone recognize her?”
“Security cams are reading her biometrics as a Jedi Knight… First name Lyn, surname Rakish. She’s… Wait, she’s not even assigned to Coruscant!”
Obi-Wan took in a sharp inhalation of breath at that. He had just seen Lyn Rakish in the medbay, standing around there like she had been assigned to guard the Clones. He hadn’t thought anything at the time of how unusual it was for a Jedi Knight who was not a Temple Guard to be on that duty. He understood now at least how she had snuck into the Detention Block…
“Ops, this is Cin Dralig. An unauthorized Jedi Knight is snooping around the watch house. Detain her at once.”
“Copy that,” a fourth voice replied crisply. “Who exactly am I looking for? I don’t sense anyone.”
“She’s the only one besides the detainees who is not wearing a helmet!” Cin barked, his patience eroding. “Right around the corner, nearing the door controls! That’s it! I am heading down there.”
The distinct sound of blasterfire erupted onto the channel, accompanied by the sounds of exploding consoles and that Temple Guard’s own dying screams.
Tiberus gasped, then drew his saber.
“Cin, can you hear me?” Obi-Wan asked. “I am able to assist. Where do you—”
“They can’t hear us,” Tru said, interrupted. “The troopers just had our channel tapped, but they couldn’t actually speak into it.”
Obi-Wan yanked off his helmet and whipped out his own wrist-comm, frantically activating the High Council frequency. “Kenobi here, we are under attack! Something strange is happening on the detention level, and I believe Clones are in the building. We are—”
Alarm klaxons began blaring, likely triggered by the Temple Guards who had already become aware something was amiss.
“We are already aware,” Ki-Adi-Mundi’s voice said calmly. “Please postpone your mission until we have a better…” The last syllable of the Cerean’s utterance warbled with an electronic screech, then abruptly ended.
“Ki-Adi, do you read me? Anyone? Is anyone there?” He frantically changed channels, mostly getting static, but scrolling down the list his comm came alive suddenly with traffic.
“CONTACTS! THEY’RE ON THE UPPER LEVELS!” shouted one voice, male.
“We’re under—there’s too many!” Another voice, feminine, yelled out.
“Got more of them!” Shouted a younger voice, too young for Obi-Wan to identify.
“Third attack prong at the the Tranquility Spire. The turbolift’s been compromised. Troopers are pouring out!”
“State their strength and disposition!” barked Cin Drallig.
“Got at least fifteen here at Communication Control, maybe twenty! I killed two of them, but I’m under heavy fire. Need assistance!”
“Fifteen or twenty of what ?” Cin asked, voice icy calm. “Prisoners armed with blasters?”
“ARC-Troopers!”
“Cin, this is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I have others with me and we are able to help. Where do you want us?”
What Cin said next, Obi-Wan never knew for certain. Suddenly, his danger sense blared, and he instinctively dove for cover. Not even two seconds later, the nearest LAAT exploded, and fire erupted out from under it, flipping the craft upside down.
On instinct again, Obi-Wan rolled to the left, surprised when a nearly intact turret pod crashed into the permacrete floor where he had been laying. He coughed as small flakes of duracreet and dust, kicked up from the cracking floor, pelted him in the face. In an instant, he regretted ever having taken his helmet off.
“CLONES!” screamed Kam Lahm, his green saber coming to life with a snap-hiss.
Wiping the dust from his face Obi-Wan looked up and saw what he could already sense. Nine Clone presences, flying through the air as they entered the hangar using jetpacks.
While he was still getting his bearings, Soara and Tru joined Kam at the other side of the wrecked LAAT, and began deflecting blaster shots.
Unlike most Jedi, Obi-Wan had fought beings with jetpacks many times before. He knew that the key to defeating them was not through skilled use of a lightsaber, but through disrupting the jetpack user’s maneuvering advantage through the Force.
The nearest Clone shouted in alarm, falling through the sky as Obi-Wan reached out to him, dragging him down. He kicked his jetpack into overdrive and stabilized his altitude about two meters off the ground, thrusters burning blindingly bright.
Taking advantage of the trooper’s predicament, J’oopi charged forward, lightsaber extended, and skewered the Clone where he was floating.
Obi-Wan released the body, allowing it to rocket straight up, nailing another jetpack trooper and knocking him out of the sky before exploding on a ceiling glowlamp.
The seven remaining Clones increased their altitude, but Obi-Wan used this to his advantage. With a tremendous push, he shoved all seven Clones, sending them soaring skywards completely out of control. The Jedi Master sensed bones in all of their bodies break, as all seven crashed into the ceiling, then sensed all of their lives end as, one by one, crying out in terror, they slammed into the metal hangar deck plates.
Only one jet trooper still lived, the one who’d been hit by the corpse of one of his own brothers, groaning in pain on the floor amongst the wreckage as Soara carefully strode up to him, swiftly removing his utility belt and its attached detonator before restraining the Trooper and beginning to check his injuries.
Gasping, Obi-Wan wondered for a moment how he could do that to those Clones. He had killed Clones today already, but never in that great a number nor in a manner that required so little effort. He felt like he owed them at least a chance to surrender.
“You’re a one-man army!” Kam yelled in awe, the out of place remark further stinging at Obi-Wan’s emotions.
“What’s the matter, Master Kenobi?” Tru asked, putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.
“He grieves for the Clones,” Kofi said in a deep voice.
“As we all should,” Soara sighed, continuing to tend to the badly wounded Trooper.
Somewhere out of sight, more jetpacks could be heard, closing in on the open hangar door. As quickly as he could, Obi-Wan opened the temple’s security channel again on his wrist-comm. “Obi-Wan here, troopers are entering the temple through the open hangars on jetpacks. Close all hangar doors immediately.”
Within ten seconds, a mechanical grinding noise filled the air as the gears at the top of the hangar entrance activated, closing the door at a painfully slow pace. Meanwhile, the roar of jetpack rockets drew ever nearer.
The hangar door was less than an eighth of the way closed by the time another wave of troopers reached it. Only this group didn’t start shooting the Jedi first, but instead rocketed upwards, around and over the ceiling works.
Obi-Wan instantly knew what they were trying to do. “We have to stop them, quick!”
At those words, every Jedi in the hangar was sprinting towards the closing door as fast as they could. Sensing the urgency, even Soara had abandoned the unconscious Clone towards the rear of the hangar.
Two Clones hovering in place at the front of their formation opened fire, spraying out rapid bursts of shots intended more to slow the Jedi down than to actually hit them.
Not slowing his pace even one bit, Obi-Wan dodged left and right, leaping to wherever his instincts told him was safe. If Obi-Wan was right, getting to the hangar door power conduit was far more important than defeating these Clones.
Kam and Tru slowed their paces, spending time deflecting the shots, and trying to deflect them back up at the Clones, but the jetpack troopers were swift, flying left, right, up, and down too chaotically for even a Jedi knight to predict. Most of the deflected shots missed by meters, impacting against the hangar roof and catwalks. A single shot narrowly missed the nearest Clone, instead nailing a maintenance crane dangling down from the ceiling twenty meters off the hangar floor.
The troopers shifted their fire away from Kam and Tru, and back on Tiberus and Obi-Wan who were sprinting at the front of the group.
Obi-Wan continued to dodge the shots until he was close enough to the maintenance crane to reach it. From that position, he reached out with the Force and leapt as hard as he could, flying five meters into the air. He grabbed onto the crane’s hook with one hand and extended his lit lightsaber with the other, deflecting shots.
Without saying a word, the two troopers cut their thrusters and dropped intentionally, falling down to Obi-Wan’s level before reactivating their rockets.
But Obi-Wan expected this. With an upwards strike of his blue blade, he cut the first trooper in twain from thigh to shoulder with one strike, then struck the second trooper’s helmet—almost missing it, but cutting a centimeter or two deep into the faceplate.
Still alive, that Clone cried out in shock and pain, and stared at Obi-Wan with intense hatred through the crack in his visor. Underneath, Obi-Wan could see the tip of his nose had been burned clean off. Increasing altitude, the trooper soared in a clockwise helix pattern around Obi-Wan, relentlessly firing from the front, then side, then the rear, a few shots making it through Obi-Wan’s diagonal Soresu deflections.
None of the other six Jedi on the ground seemed to have a clue what to do, four of them stood there, lightsabers lit, watching the spectacle above in awe. Tibirus and Soara on the other hand ran away from the fight, approaching a ladder on the far side of the hangar, clearly lacking the confidence that they could leap up to Obi-Wan’s position.
Tru threw his lightsaber, trying to hit the trooper who was giving Obi-Wan so much trouble.
Obi-Wan saw what Tru was doing just in time to scream “NO!” It was too late. The blade missed the trooper entirely and severed the long maintenance crane’s long chain, sending the hook and Obi-Wan down to the hard hangar floor.
Just as the maintenance crane and Obi-Wan hit the ground with clanging metal and a pained grunt, Tru’s lightsaber continued on its trajectory, disappearing above the catwalks before slicing through the grates into a ventilation shaft. Then it was gone.
Obi-Wan and the Jedi around him, with the exception of the now saberless Tru, adopted a defensive position, angling their sabers skyward to intercept the torrent of blaster bolts coming their way.
Amazingly, by now, Soara and Tibirus made it up the ladder, and were now both on the highest catwalk. Unfortunately, as they ran, their boots clanged so loudly off the durasteel plating of the catwalk that they echoed off the walls. Within two seconds, the faceplate-damaged Clone who had been firing at Obi-Wan shifted his fire, forcing Soara and Tibirus to deflect his shots. Soon even more shots were coming from a position out of Obi-Wan’s line of sight, somewhere near the hangar’s maglev generators.
For a few more seconds, Obi-Wan stood on the ground holding his lightsaber uselessly while Tru attempted to sputter out a profuse apology. Then every one of the jetpack troopers descended from the ceiling works, and rocketed their way out the now halfway-closed hangar door.
Obi-Wan knew that could only mean one thing. The Clones were absolutely confident that whatever sabotage they had done was impossible for the Jedi to undo in such a short amount of time.
“It looks like they planted four detonite charges on the door’s maglev generator!” Soara yelled, using the Force to amplify her voice as she ran across the catwalks in the direction of the Clone’s sabotage, boots echoing as loudly as ever. “I think I can deactivate them.”
“You take two. I take two,” Tibirus said quickly, then too began running in a Force-amplified sprint that caused the catwalks to shake.
An intense danger-sense overcame Obi-Wan, and he screamed, “STOP! THERE’S NO TIME!”
Soara and Tibirus did not even slow down. They disappeared out of sight, blocked from view by ceiling glowrods, ventilation ducts, and catwalks. Obi-Wan felt their presences in the Force blink out just as an explosion ripped across the ceiling, so powerful it caused the hangar door to rattle. Huge pieces of catwalk, entire ventilation shafts, and shattered transparisteel and permacrete dropped to the ground, many of them smoking and burning. A moment later, the hangar’s fire suppression system went off, causing spouts of water and thick suppression foam to rain down on the five surviving Jedi.
Soara’s Padawan, Kam, let off a horrified yell, but there was absolutely nothing he or anyone else could do.
“She’s… they’re both one with the Force now,” Obi-Wan finally managed, though even he could hear how shallow that sentiment was. He put one hand on the horrified teenager’s shoulder, but could not pry his eyes away from the sheer devastation at the upper levels of the hangar.
“Uh, Master Kenobi,” Tru said in a small voice.
Obi-Wan let off an anguished sigh and looked down from the smoke and sparks, directly into the face of the Teevan. A face that now, in spite of himself, he found extremely punchable. On an intellectual level, Obi-Wan knew that there’s a good chance Tru actually saved his life when he accidentally cut the crane, which dropped Obi-Wan down safely to the hangar floor. Had he even made it to the maglev generator, it was almost certain that he wouldn’t have had enough time to disarm the charges or use the Force to send them to a less destructive location. Soara and Tibirus likely would have still died trying to do something. But on an emotional level, it felt like their deaths were Tru’s fault.
Obi-Wan bottled all of this up and let the darkness festering inside him pass for the moment, wiped some of the fire suppression foam from eyes with his sleeve, and replied in the calmest voice he could muster. “If this is about climbing up into the burning ceiling and retrieving your lightsaber, Jedi Veld, consider it lost forever.”
“No, it’s not that. We have more company,” he said, pointing out the now jammed-open hangar door.
All of the five surviving Jedi turned and looked, Obi-Wan with a sinking feeling of dread. Six LAATs were, somehow, inside of the massive shield surrounding the Temple Precinct and heading right for them.
A few possible explanations for the LAATs within the shield came to Obi-Wan’s mind. It could be that the Temple’s shields had already been sabotaged, though that was unlikely. It could also be that the Clones managed to slow those ships down enough for the shield to admit them—also extremely unlikely due to the way electromagnetic energy from repulsorlifts interacted with shields. Another possibility, more likely, was that the Clones had physically taken the LAATs apart at the wing joints and re-assembled them down in the staging area in front of the Temple, doing the entire task within the Temple’s shields. In any case, however they managed this feat was irrelevant.
No matter how skilled any Jedi was, deflecting a focused barrage of laser cannon shots and composite beam lances from multiple craft with a lightsaber was completely impossible. If the gunships fired missiles then using the Force to redirect the warheads was the only thing that would save them.
“Help me,” Obi-Wan ordered, reaching out with the Force to grasp the hangar door and pull down .
The door trembled and quaked, and interlocked gears and bearings inside ground against each other, slowly giving way as all five Jedi, even Kam who had just lost his master seconds ago, turned their connection with the Force into one concerted effort. Two cogs above the door broke out of their housing completely, flying into the air, one smashing the cockpit of a nearby Eta-2 while the other crashed to the deck.
Just as the LAATs got close enough for the hum of their engines to be heard, the hangar door abruptly dropped, falling out of control the remaining halfway down the hangar’s entry portal, slamming shut with an abrupt and near-deafening bang.
“Master Kenobi here,” Obi-Wan said into his wrist-comm, now sopping wet and covered from head to toe in foam, glancing over to see Koffi had moved to begin dragging the unconscious Clone from the first wave away from the smoldering wreckage. “Sublevel hangar 9 is sealed and we have acquired a prisoner. We have taken two casualties, Masters Soare and Tibirus. They are now one with the Force. Where are we needed most?”
The only response from the wrist-comm was static.
o.o.o.o.o
RAEL AVERROSS
Jedi Temple Detention Block
Ten minutes earlier…
Seated on the opposite side of a Dejarik board from six Clones wearing form-fitting, sealed, black body gloves, Rael Aveross regarded Fox’s fourth move with mild interest. Thus far, Fox had mirrored every one of Rael’s Dejarik moves, but now, in response to Rael sending forth a second ghhhk, Fox instead slid a k’lor’slug slinking forward two squares.
Located deep within the temple, just a few hundred meters above the mountain upon which it was constructed, the detention block was where Jedi held their prisoners. It was part rehabilitation center, part prison. Most of the detainees were Jedi who had fallen, broken the law, abused their powers, or otherwise engaged in unacceptable behavior.
In Rael Averross’s case, he had been let off with several warnings over the years—a few times after testing positive for spice in the aftermath of speeder crashes, and once after being expelled from a casino when the security uncovered his true identity as a Jedi Knight. The High Council had completely lost its patience by the time the Separatist Crisis was brewing, and a few days before Geonosis, Rael was arrested on Alpheridies for drunk and disorderly conduct. He had spent the entire war down here, sleeping in confined quarters, spending days in the common area’s comfy chairs or in the gym, forced to abstain from any and non-prescribed all mind-altering substances.
The only time during the entire war he had been let out, was briefly during the Siege of Coruscant when he and a half a dozen other fellow detainees including Jazal (who was now conscripted in the Jedi efforts to counter the inhibitor chips), were allowed training sabers. They’d been deployed briefly to help the Jedi guard critical areas during the siege of Coruscant, with the promise of having their cases reviewed (and a high likelihood of being deemed rehabilitated afterwards).
Given the large number of imprisoned Jedi gamblers, most games of chance associated with gambling were strictly prohibited in the detention block, but Dejarik and most other other strategy games were encouraged. In the vast walls of tome-covered bookshelves surrounding the comfy chairs of the common areas, Rael had found books on many board games, ancient and contemporary, and had taught himself how to play dozens over the years. His favorite by far was Chess, but given how widespread Dejarik was, he found Dejarik was better to play with newcomers. Newcomers like Fox.
Rael brought forward a monnok, blocking Fox’s k’lor’slug, in a move the Tomes called the Mid Rim Defense, Bothawui Variation. He then reached out with the Force, gauging Fox’s reaction, and sensed no concern from the clone.
Fox had several options. He could ignore Rael’s move, move the k’lor’slug to a safer location, and press the offense from the other end of the board. He could take the monnok, but in so doing, his k’lor’slug would end its turn right next to one of Rael’s lethal ghhhks.
Fox pressed the controls and selected the k’lor’slug.
“Sir,” said one of the Clones, Grappler, seated next to Fox. He looked like a standard copy of Jango Fett, save the obvious black facial tattoos in the shape of fangs on his lower lip ”If you do that—”
“Quiet,” Fox hissed, “That’s cheating.”
“It’s alright,” Rael said in a relaxed drawl. “We’re all learnin’ here.”
Fox stiffened at that. “Respectfully, general, we’ve been playing Dejarik since we were cadets.”
Rael smirked, scratching his gray beard as he raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s not sayin’ much. You Clones are deceptively young.”
Fox ignored the jab, and made his move. The Clone’s k’lor’slug wrapped itself around Rael’s monnok, strangling the squealing biped.
Rael put his hand to the controls on his side of the table, but paused when a shadow briefly passed over the board. He looked up and saw the yellow-skinned near-Twi’lek, Jedi Lyn Rakish, standing in front of one of the glowlamp a few meters away, blocking the light.
What is she still doing here?
It was rare for any Jedi in the detention block to be armed, besides the masked anonymous Temple Guards, but Lyn Rakish was unmasked and had a lightsaber at her holster. She had come down ten or fifteen minutes earlier escorting Fox and the Clones. Inexplicably she had remained. The way she was now eyeing the guards on the commonroom’s second level gave Rael a bad feeling.
“Respectfully, General,” Fox said gruffly, “I don’t have all day. Are you going to move or not?”
Distractedly, Rael selected his ghhk, which attacked Fox’s piece along a diagonal vector, grabbing the lanky k’lor’slug with both of its three-fingered hands and bending it until there was a loud crack . While Fox was making his next move, Rael turned around in his seat again and looked to the spot where Lyn had been standing, but she was gone.
For the flicker of a second, he wondered where she could have possibly gone off to, but then a loud metallic screech echoed from the ceiling intercom speakers, causing Rael to jump slightly in his chair. Everyone in the room, detainees and guards, looked up expectantly for more explanation.
“All Jedi in the lower levels, please stand by while we investigate an incident,” a calm voice said over the intercom, “Wardens, please set your comm units to channel one.”
The four visible guardsmen spread out across the room reached for their helmets’ comm controls, then went back to calmly observing the room. The glowlamps overhead flickered briefly.
“Do you think it’s a drill?” asked Grappler.
Rael snorted at that question as he continued gazing up at the intercom.
“Unlikely,” Fox answered. “It looked like the upper levels had been hit pretty hard. The 501st or another division might be breaching the perimeter now… Are you going to make another move or not?”
“I think playtime is over,” Rael grunted, observing one of the guards pull out a loudhailer. Three more guards emerged from the hallway leading up to the detention block’s turbolift cluster, joining the four already in the common room. “We’re probably goin’ into lockdown. Should have been put in lockdown already, if you ask e. ”
“Alright, listen up! Lights will be out a bit early tonight—”
A Dowutin detainee, Masana Tide, stood up and interrupted in a loud roar. “A bit early? It’s seven o’clock!” She pointed at the chronometer displaying the time in glowing yellow numbers, positioned above the marble railings of the common room’s second level.
“This is not up for debate. While in detention you are required to follow our instructions without question. Jedi do not succumb to anger. Detainee Tide, if you cause trouble again, you will be locked in solitary confinement. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly,” Masana snorted. She turned around and pushed her way roughly through the crowd of detainees that had formed between her and the hallway leading out and deeper into the detention level.
It only took a few seconds for the rest of the room to grudgingly comply. Without complaint, Rael filed in behind the mass of beings who were now all funneling from the common room and meditation annexes into the narrower hall leading to their quarters. As soon as he passed through the exit, the deceptively warm and comfortable furnishings of the common area quickly gave way to brutalist, tan-colored, permacrete walls, lit by dim yellow glowrods mounted on the walls in brown casings.
“General? General!” yelled Fox. “What’s going on?”
“Something’s clearly happened up above,” Rael answered, continuing to walk without turning around to face the group of Clones following him. “They’re putting us all in lockup, probably to free up more guards for the frontlines… And stop callin’ me ‘general’ you yokel.”
“Sorry gen—I mean Jedi Averross.”
The crowd slowed down in front of the first security checkpoint, where two guards, stationed there during all hours when prisoners were allowed to roam free, stood to the left and right of a plastoid tube tall enough for a Wookiee to step through without stooping. It was a large holoscanner. As if counting prisoners, it beeped once each time one of them walked through.
“You don’t have any spice or weapons on you?” Rael asked Fox jokingly, but the Clone seemed to miss the joke.
“Of course not!”
“Good,” he grunted, stepping into the scanner just as he had perhaps two-thousand times before. It began beeping, but not in the familiar, friendly, all-is-clear sound, but in a loud repetitive warning alarm. Rael froze in place, wondering if he had accidentally taken something from the common room in one of his pockets.
“ONE AT A TIME!” yelled one of the guards, who used the Force to yank Fox back three steps.
Rael sighed in realization of the alarm’s cause. He did not bother to look back as he continued on his way.
No less than ten paces had gone by before Fox caught up to him. “Wait! Where are my men and I supposed to go?”
Rael stopped. “They didn’t give you quarters?”
“General Rakish brought us down, but she didn’t say anything about where to go. We can’t just stay out in the hallway,” he added, gesturing back to the five other Clones, emerging one at a time from the holoscanner.
While ignoring the Clones until the Temple Guards realized their mistake had a certain appeal, Rael couldn’t just abandon them. It was downright irresponsible for the Temple Guards to send them on their way like this, but obviously a lot of things were going on above. They probably hadn’t expected to need assigned quarters for the Clones nearly two hours before lights were out.
“Let’s ask them,” Rael said, walking back towards the holoscanner.
The guard on the left, no doubt sensing Rael’s approach, turned to face him. “Go to your quarters. This section is under lockdown.”
“We get it,” Rael grunted, “But there’s something you forgot.” He paused for a moment as one of the stragglers, an old Mon Calamari detainee named Jan-Ca Suldor, passed through the holoscanner.
The guard’s hand went down to his saber hilt, as if expecting Rael’s remark to be the prelude of an attack. “And what is that?”
“You have six new detainees, probably more once the Jedi start taking out more inhibitor chips.”
“We are aware,” the guard retorted in a tone so neutral it sounded entirely serious, without a trace of sarcasm.
“Uh, we don’t have quarters, sir,” Fox finally interjected, stepping up to Rael’s right. “Or at least, no one has told us where they are.”
An inaudible and muffled voice came over the guard they were speaking to’s helmet comm, and the guard distractedly replied, “Make one last sweep of the meditation chambers. We can’t leave any detainees out there tonight.”
Rael suppressed the urge to mention, like Masana Tide had, that it was not night. It was not even seven o’clock yet. Instead he let off an uncertain and not entirely polite “Uh?”
“Detainee Averross, we don’t have time for your nonsense. Since you’re so concerned with these Clones’ well beings, they can remain in your quarters until we sort this out.”
Nearly swearing aloud, Rael instead made a small choking noise. He kept his outburst in, restraining himself until he was certain he could speak without raising his voice. “My room is only fifteen square meters, with one refresher, no walls around the refresher, one bed…” His voice trailed off as he came to the realization that this guard might be trying to goad him. It had, no doubt, become common knowledge that the High Council had let him out during the Battle of Coruscant. A loud angry outburst, or even an argument, could undo all of that progress. “Very well,” he finally finished, though not without an exasperated sigh.
“But—but sir,” Fox stammered, “Having six of us—”
“Seven of us,” Rael interrupted.
“Seven of us,” Fox continued, “Having seven of us sleep in one room of that size is a serious violation of Coruscant fire code. Not to mention, it’s a serious violation of the Galactic Republic Prison Code! I am a law enforcement officer myself, and I am fully aware of my rights and the pertinent regulations you are required to follow.”
“Let me spell it out for you as clearly as I can,” the guard replied, his muffled voice rising, to Rael’s consternation, in anger. “I’ve lost two friends today to Clones with your face, so this is really not the best time to argue about prisoner’s rights with me. On top of that, we are in an emergency situation. I am not allowed to disclose what the situation is, but suffice it to say, this is not a drill. Should this temple fall because prisoners like yourselves keep us bogged down here, then the Coruscant fire code will be moot.”
“My apologies, sir,” Fox said without missing a beat. “But—”
“Just come on,” Rael said, grabbing Fox by the upper arm and dragging him away.
The five of his compatriots quickly turned and followed, all of them but Fox seeming to perceive the dangers in antagonizing, not just prison guards, but Jedi prison guards.
Ten or twenty meters deeper, they began passing by the detention level dormitory. Compared to most prisons and mental institutions in the Galaxy, these quarters were definitely on the nicer side. Aside from their lack of windows, the furnishings were only slightly worse than those Jedi living above had. Each detainee had one room to themself with adjustable lighting, a circular meditation rug in the center of the room, one bed, one desk made of plastoid colored to resemble wood, and a bed with yellow and tan sheets, emblazoned with the sigil of the Temple Guard, and a refresher. The only differences between these quarters and the quarters of the Jedi who weren’t imprisoned beneath the temple, were that the refresher had no walls around it, and the doors were ugly, green, and durasteel, that locked from the outside and had two slots which could only be opened from the outside.
The top slot was a large square that was wide enough to allow a Temple Guard to see almost anywhere in the interior, and the bottom slit was a thin one for trays of food. Most detainees had their meals in the common area, but those confined to solitary in their quarters instead were fed through that.
A minute or so went by before Rael looked up, sensing a tinge of alarm and panic in the Force, and he froze suddenly. Immediately thereafter, the distant sound of an explosion could be heard from hundreds, perhaps thousands of levels above. A small amount of dust loosed itself from the ceiling lights above, raining down in Rael’s hair.
“That doesn’t sound good,” said another Clone, Oz, Rael thought his name was.
“You got that right,” Fox muttered, looking straight up.
Rael sighed, shaking his head. “Let’s just get to my quarters.” He walked on, going a meter or two before realizing none of the Clones were following. Incredulously, he turned and stared at Fox.
“We need to go up there and help, anyway we can,” Fox said adamantly.
While there was some earnestness in what Fox was saying, something about the Clone’s aura made Rael deeply suspicious. Above all else, he wanted to escape. “No. You need to get your butts out of the hall, into my quarters, so the guards can lock it down. The last thing the Jedi need to worry about is a prison riot in the middle of an invasion. This way!” Rael began walking once more, and when Fox opened his mouth again, the Jedi’s hands balled into fists. “We are under lockdown! You don’t just get to leave just because you feel bad and want to help.”
“To impose a lockdown, Rael, there has to be a prison,” Fox retorted in a calming tone, as if forming a string of facts into a logical argument would make the Jedi change his mind. “They must follow rules. They can’t just violate Republic law locking us together in one cell. What’s more, for there to be a prison, there have to be prisoners. Last I checked—”
“You’re prisoners of war!” Rael yelled incredulously. “There’s a civil war going on, and you were captured invading the Jedi Temple.”
“Should the Temple fall, and the Jedi lose this ‘civil war,’ as you put it, then this would cease to be a prison, wouldn’t it? Yes, all it would be is a dungeon full of very dangerous—AHHH!”
Reaching out with the Force, Rael roughly pulled all six of the Clones, causing them to collectively stagger forward a few steps.
“What the—”
Rael wasn’t supposed to use the Force on other prisoners, but he was absolutely tired of this. Holding up a hand, he interrupted all of their protests. “Follow me or
I will show you just how dangerous I can be.”
With a few low murmurs of discontent, the Clones grudgingly resumed following. They continued through the halls, not stopping again until they reached the green cortosis-infused alloy door marked 44 , unlocked and slightly ajar. Rael pulled the outward-opening door and stood patiently beside it while his six new roommates filed inside.
Through a window at the end of the hallway and one level up, two Temple Guards could be seen in the watch house control room looking down. They were no doubt waiting for every detainee to step inside their cells before initiating locking procedures.
Looking up at them, Rael smirked and gave them a friendly wave, then stepped into his cell.
Two at a time, every cell door in the detention closed automatically with a thud. The metallic noises echoed down the hallway, louder and louder until Rael’s door slammed shut. After that, starting with doors one and two, as happened every night, a pair of guards began making their way down the hall, pushing on each door with their bare hands to test whether it was truly locked.
“What do we do now?” Fox asked, sitting on Rael’s bed alongside three other Clones. Another had taken Rael’s only chair, and the final one was standing up.
Rael did not answer, and when Fox repeated the question he let off a “Shhh!” The Jedi could feel a prickle of danger sense running down his spine. He could feel that, far up above, many Jedi were getting injured in combat. A few were dying.
But this danger was something closer, and gave off a Force aura bleached with the oily bitterness of deceit and betrayal—coming from the second level, a dozen meters to Rael’s right.
He slid open the viewport on the door and pressed his nose against the bars, looking to the right and up.
“What is it sir?”
“Shhh!” Rael hissed again. At this awkward angle, he was barely able to see the watch house viewports from the corner of his eye, but he could see enough.
That near-Twi’lek Jedi who had seemed like she lacked any reason to be anywhere near the detention level, Lyn Rakish, emerged into view, standing behind the two Temple Guards at the controls. There was an unignited lightsaber in her hand.
He could sense alarm from the two guards, who were now cocking their heads and fumbling with their helmets, as if trying to get a clearer signal.
“No,” Rael croaked in exasperated disbelief at their lack of awareness. “BEHIND YOU! YOU BLASTED FOOLS! BEHIND YOU!”
The guards within the watch house probably couldn’t even hear Rael, but his shouts drew the attention of other prisoners, who all began opening the viewports on their doors and staring up at the commotion.
At the same time the two other guards, who had been making their rounds in the hallway, quickened their paces to Force-enhanced sprints, running as quickly as they could toward the watch house. While pressing a button on her helmet, one of them yelled, “Look out! Intruder in the detention control room!”
Faces hidden behind their expressionless helmets, the two seated guards jolted upright, spinning in place to meet the threat that had snuck up on them.
But Lyn Rakish was more than prepared. Igniting her green lightsaber, she skewered the guard on the left, before slicing through the guard on the right with such ferocity that her blade cut through the transparisteel viewport.
Slack-jawed and eyes wide in horror, Rael stared at Lyn through the watch house viewport, now distorted by a molten gash where her lightsaber had been. Lyn didn’t even seem to notice she had been observed. With a cold casualness, she pulled out a datacard and inserted into the console in front of her.
The two guards who had been running to the rescue slid to a stop, directly in front of Rael’s cell. While one yelled loudly onto the comm that Lyn Rakish had taken out the control room, the other reached his hand down to a small, black plastic remote on his synthleather utility belt and pressed a red button.
Immediately, alarms blared from every direction.
“What’s going on?” Fox asked for the umpteenth time.
“She—she killed them! There’s about to be a kriffing breakout!”
“Why do you sound upset by that?” Fox asked. “Aren’t you a prisoner yourself? General orders state that if we are taken prisoner, we should attempt—”
Rael kicked the leg of his desk, letting off a furious roar. “I DESERVE TO BE HERE! MOST OF US DESERVE TO BE HERE!”
“That’s not a very productive attitude,” Fox noted. “Why do you think that?”
At his very core, Rael really did feel that he deserved to be in prison. Independent of the fact that any attempted escape, at this moment, would be a disaster of epic proportions, there was an overriding guilt constantly gnawing at his being. Guilt, mostly over an accident that resulted in the death of his Padawan. But he sure as hell was not going to tell that to a Clone he just met for the first time less than an hour ago. The survival of the Jedi Order was far more important than any feelings he had. Instead of answering the Clone’s question though, he barked out another fact in an absolutely livid voice.
“IF THE SITH WIN, EVERYONE I CARE ABOUT UP THERE IS GOING TO DIE!”
Across the hall, from behind his own cell door, Prosset Dibs let off a laugh, and spoke in a deep tone mocking Mace Windu’s voice. “Rael, Rael, Rael… a Jedi does not give in to anger.”
Just as Rael opened his mouth to snarl a retort, every light in the detention level blinked out, leaving them in complete and total darkness. A few shouts of surprise could be heard from other cells. For perhaps twenty more seconds, they remained in near-total darkness, until the two guards, still standing immediately outside Rael’s cell, ignited their sabers.
“Oh, is it dark out there?” Prosset Dibs asked sarcastically. Not needing light at all to see, the Miraluka stepped close enough to his cell’s viewport for the sabers to illuminate his eyeless face. “Have the lights really gone out? That must be a serious problem for you two.”
“Silence!” barked the female guard, fumbling for the glowrod in her utility belt. When she grasped it, turned the device on, and shone it directly into the half-melted watch house viewports, the room beyond was empty.
“Where… where did she go? Does anyone have eyes on Lyn Rakish?” asked the male guard.
The female guard spoke into her comm, relaying the fact that the traitor was no nowhere to be seen, the power was out, and the watch house had been taken out.
“Why aren’t the permalights on?” Fox asked quietly into the darkness.
Rael nearly lost his temper again. The absence of permalights was far from the most mysterious feature of what was clearly the latest assault on the Jedi Temple, but their absence raised more pressing concerns.
If the permalights are out, does that mean—
The next instant, Prosset answered the question forming in Rael’s mind. In a whirlwind of movement, the Miraluka slammed the heavy cortosis door of his cell into one of the guards, knocking her down with a clatter that sent her glow rod falling to the floor.
The other guard turned, and, in an instant, his lightsaber was extinguished with a dramatic zap as its tip just barely scraped the door’s surface. Panic heavy in the Force, he assumed a teräs käsi stance, holding a blunt set of stun cuffs in one hand and using his lightsaber hilt as a blunt weapon in his other. “GET BACK IN YOUR CELL!”
Rather than complying, Prosset stomped down hard on the glowrod the female guard, still groaning on the ground, had dropped. A bright spark briefly illuminated the room, before it plunged once again into total darkness.
From the sounds of the scuffle alone, it was clear Prosset had the upper hand. Due the mounting panic pouring into the Force, Rael knew this guard had never attuned his Force Sight to see in total darkness. For a Miraluka though, the only way they could see was through the Force. Lighting did not matter for Prosset Dibs.
Rael himself had not used the ability in almost two years, but when he heard the crack of bones, and bloodcurdling choking noises, he knew he had to help. Stepping forward, he pushed his cell’s door open and joined in the melee. While Rael’s Force sight was nowhere near as well-attuned as Prosset Dibs, it was more practiced than a typical human Jedi’s. Even in total darkness, Rael could perceive a fiery outline of Prosset and the two guards in the Force as he stepped nearer and nearer.
With his left foot, the Miraluka stood on the female guard’s neck, and in his right arm, he had hyperextended the male guard’s arm at the elbow, and was viciously twisting it.
Rael didn’t tell Prosset to stop or give him any warning. Fists clenched so tight the tips of his fingers ached, he punched the Miraluka directly on his ear, so hard that it sent him sprawling into the opposite wall.
Catching his forward motion, Prosset let off an angry roar, and rebounded back at Rael, who lifted both arms to block his onslaught of punches. The Miraluka cursed aloud, swinging furiously at Rael’s ears, trying to inflict the same pain he had been dealt and more.
“ENOUGH!” Rael barked, charging forward and using his stockier build to push his taller and much more lanky opponent back. He did not not stop charging when he reached the opposite wall, and instead pushed with all of his might into the Miraluka’s diaphragm to squeeze the air out of him.
“You. Kriffing. Rat,” Prosset wheezed through pained breaths, back against the wall. “You’d have us all rot in here while you kneel at Mace Windu’s feet.”
By now, other inmates were stepping out of their cells to investigate the brawl. Rael could sense a few were curious, but an alarming number were excited. Excited for a fight. Excited for the possibility of escape. Most of them couldn’t see at all or use Force Sight, but they were groping their way along the walls, slowly approaching the source of the noise.
Rael stopped shoving his shoulder into Prosset’s chest, but did not allow the other to recover. With the collar of the Miraluka’s robes in both hands, he shoved him against the wall and hissed, “For all you know, this is just a brief power outage. There are probably fifty guards on the—” His voice suddenly caught in his throat.
An intoxicating evil bloomed through the Force, as if flourishing now that this part of the temple was now bathed in literal darkness. Holding his breath, Rael could hear his own heartbeat drumming faster and faster, and Prosset’s labored breaths as he strained against the power of Rael’s grip.
An electronic warble of feedback screeched from every intercom in the detention block.
Rael released the Miraluka and cried out in pain as he covered his ears.
Prosset too was disoriented, staggering forward, groaning in agony. Soon, every being in the hallway besides the two guards lying on the ground were covering their ears or auditory membranes, letting off a collective cry of surprise and pain.
When the noise stopped abruptly, in the still total darkness, everyone stood where they were, waiting for some explanation. That screech had been no sound any of them had ever experienced before.
“What was that?” a half-deaf inmate shouted in the dark, his ears probably still ringing like Rael’s were.
“IT SOUNDED A LITTLE BIT LIKE FEEDBACK FROM A FAULTY LOUD HAILER!” Fox yelled, so loudly his voice echoed off the walls. From behind, Rael could sense the Clones cautiously stepping out into the pitch black hallway, one hand on either the wall or the cortosis door.
Before Rael had quite regained his bearings or decided what to do about Prosset Dibs and the two injured guards, the unmistakable oily voice of Sheev Palpatine echoed from the same intercoms which, moments ago, had let off such a horrible noise.
“Greetings, wayward Jedi,” the Sith Lord began, pausing for a moment as if expecting some of the audience to greet him back. “I will be brief, as time is of the essence. In the last twenty-four hours, the High Council has taken aggressive action against me and the Senate. I reach out to you now, aware that most of you are trapped within these halls because you chafe against their rigid dogma. You are free thinkers. Some of you tried to correct injustices when the High Council or the Senate instructed you not to. Some of you refused to follow orders you knew to be wrong, and others of you violated more minor tenets of the Jedi code—trivial matters really, none of which warrant years languishing beneath the Jedi Temple. It is the strict dogma of the Jedi that has now pushed the Republic to the brink of civil war. All I ask is that you do what you know is right. You don’t belong here, and as of this moment, and as what is perhaps my last act as Supreme Chancellor, you can all consider yourselves free. Do whatever it is you wish with that freedom.”
The emergency permalights, which should have been triggered in the initial power outage, turned on so suddenly that they felt momentarily blinding. But by now, Rael had gotten over his discombobulation, and was thinking.
Before him, Prosset Dibs, his white hair dotted with a spot of crusting blood above his right ear, stood stooped over near the wall. Sixteen inmates had left their cells during the total loss of power, and all of them stood down the hall away from the now-abandoned watch house overlooking the cells near Rael’s. Besides the two bloodied guards lying at Rael’s feet and the two dead ones in the watch house, no Jedi security could be seen.
Rael wondered for a moment how the security had collapsed so totally, but the logical answer was that Sheev Palpatine had help on the inside. Help besides Lyn Rakish.
Of all of the places in the Jedi Temple, this was probably the place where opinion of the High Council was at its lowest. While many of the Jedi detained here held no sympathies for the Sith, almost all of them supported at least some change in the composition of the High Council and some tweaking of the Jedi Code. Most wouldn’t have attacked the Temple Guards like wild animals the moment their cell locks were disabled.
Compared to most inmates who had been detained for minor infractions, Prosset Dibs was an absolute maniac. A few weeks after Geonosis, the Miraluka had attempted to kill Mace Windu on Hissrich, and while representing himself in his trial, he had advocated for his own execution—when the High Council’s judgment failed to deliver, he had threatened to kill Mace Windu at the earliest opportunity.
It’d only be inmates like Prosset Dibs, Rael thought, who would support Sheev Palpatine even knowing the Supreme Chancellor was a Sith Lord.
Or did they know Palpatine was a Sith?
Rael knew because he had been in the Halls of Healing at the time Order 66 began, and he certainly hadn’t told anyone exactly what was happening above. On that note, he decided to begin with that line of argument.
“We can’t trust a word Palpatine says. He’s a Sith Lord, and he’s already started exterminating us. None of this,” he added, pointing to the two wounded guards, “Is helpful. Sith infiltrators are in the Temple now. We need to get them medical attention and call—”
“YOU KRIFFING RAT!” Prosset screamed, the parts of his face not covered by a blindfold were red with rage. Once again, he charged at Rael.
This time Rael wasn’t going to slug it out in a fist fight, for he had the Force after all. Twirling in place, spinning lower and lower on one leg til it was bent at a crouch, he kicked out with his free leg, tripping the Miraluka. Simultaneously, he reached out, channeling the Force through both of his hands and chucked Prosset down the hall, sending him rolling into the feet of the oncoming crowd.
That was a mistake.
Immediately, several of the crowd seemed to interpret Rael’s actions as an attack on them.
The old blue Mon Calamari, Jan-Ca Suldor, reached out with the Force gripping for Rael, who pushed back. Three more detainees stepped forward, fingers spread wide as if to breach Rael’s Force shield and root him in place.
“GET BACK!” Rael yelled, unleashing a massive Force push that knocked the entire first rank of the crowd back. With the hostility and surprise of the crowd mounting and mounting, he took advantage of the momentary pause, grabbing one of the wounded guards by her wrists and pulling her towards his cell.
To his relief, Fox grabbed the other groaning guard, dragging him in the same direction.
The moment Fox was through the doorway, Rael pulled the heavy cortosis door shut and looked through the viewport, where a large crowd of now angry inmates was forming.
“Guys, these two guards… What are your names?”
“You can call me Rulk, and she is Nessa. Thank you—”
“Rulk and Nessa need medical attention,” Rael said, interrupting the guard and continuing to plead in the direction of the crowd. “I know some of you are… Kriff it.”
Prosset began pulling on Rael’s door, which like every cell door, opened outwards. Four of the other inmates joined him, and soon Rael found himself straining, exhausted as he pulled the door the other way.
Oz and Grappler joined in, squeezing against both Rael’s shoulders and grabbing the viewport bars with their bare hands. To Rael’s pleasant surprise, this actually helped.
But this situation was unsustainable. If Prosset and his friends wanted in, eventually they’d succeed. Still, without any better options, Rael gritted his teeth and opened himself more to the Force trying to ignore the death threats and jeers as he tugged on the door with all of his might. This went on for perhaps a minute, perhaps two, with the door quaking as the two sides yanked both with their physical bodies and in the Force.
But then Lyn Rakish reappeared, walking onto the scene with a human male holding a Temple Guard helmet under his left armpit, wearing matching robes. He was young, perhaps twenty, with dark hair and tan skin. Rael immediately decided he was probably not really a guard; traitor or not, Sith ally or not, his posture seemed far too casual for anyone who had gone through Temple Guard training.
“Is that cell door still shut?” Lyn asked, approaching the commotion alongside the not-guard. “I deactivated the magnets, they should all be open!”
“It is open!” Prosset grunted. “A little rat just doesn’t want to come out.”
Lyn approached, and Rael’s heart sank. He was having enough trouble with a mob of goons who had no idea what they were doing.
“A dozen versus one hardly seems fair!” Rael grunted, sweat pouring from his trembling body as he maintained his grip.
An evil grin crossed Lyn’s yellow-green face, pointed teeth visible behind her maroon lips. “I see you have some Clones helping you out.” She ignited her lightsaber, which to Rael’s surprise, was no longer green, but a fiery crimson. “I hope they don’t mind losing their fingers!”
“Uh, wait,” Prosset said, but Lyn ignored her.
In a split second where time seemed to go more slowly, she began to swing, her face contorted in an expression of fury and hate. Oz and Grappler, not willing to sacrifice their fingers for another second of holding the bars on the door’s viewport, let go. Then her blade made contact with the cortosis, and vanished uselessly with a spark. Her facial expression abruptly changed from malice to horror, and with her momentum, kept swinging the hilt for half a second longer.
Everyone in the crowd stopped pulling on the door, and a few looked to Lyn in bewilderment.
“What was that?!”
The not-guard roared with laughter. “Oh stars! Hahaha! I was going to say something but… Holy shit! I can’t believe you actually swung your lightsaber at a cortosis door! Right after bleeding it! You’re dumber than a womprat!”
In the blink of an eye, the not-guard’s lightsaber hilt flew from his leather utility belt into Lyn’s outstretched hand. He managed two cries of “No!” before she decapitated him.
“IF ANY OF YOU SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THIS!” Lyn roared, looking down at his steaming body as if to make sure he was dead, “I WILL END YOU!”
The crowd of detainees, now former detainees, regarded Lyn in stunned silence.
Masana Tide lumbered into the scene, holding a lightsaber that looked from the hilt like it had belonged to one of the Temple Guards. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Lyn spat, looking up and facing the crowd again. “Just wasting time. Everyone who wants to escape, follow me.”
“But—But what about Rael Averross?” Prosset asked angrily.
“We’ve wasted enough time down here. Leave him!”
“What if he tells the High Council—”
“The High Council already knows there’s a breakout,” Lyn answered, walking down the hallway back towards the common area. “If any of you want to get out of here, you need to pick up the pace.”
Prosset flashed Rael’s cell door one more eyeless stare, then followed the crowd which was now vacating the detention block.
Rael wanted to plead with them not to follow, but the sense of danger pouring from the Force warned him against it.
Sighing in relief, Grappler slid to the floor, still panting from exhaustion.
“How badly are they hurt?” Rael asked Fox.
Fox glanced up from Rulk. “Fractures, bruises, broken bones. They’re banged up but they’ll live.”
Cautiously, Rael released his grip on the door and collapsed to his knees. If anyone wanted to force their way in, there was no way he could stop them, but his senses told him everyone was leaving. No one was coming back.
Chapter 19: WILHUFF TARKIN
Chapter Text
Imperator -class Star Destroyer, Executrix , Mustafar System
Unable to touch the Force, Admiral Wilhuff Tarkin could only imagine the fear that the Separatists on Mustafar’s fiery surface were experiencing. Closing in on the volcanic world was a Republic armada consisting of nine Venators, twelve Victory Is, twelve Acclamators, six Dreadnaught cruisers, and an array of Consular c70 refit Corvettes and Arquitens light cruisers. But the pinnacle of the fleet was Tarkin’s brand new flagship, the Executrix. It was among the very first of what were soon to be redubbed the Imperial-class Star Destroyers, and if Palpatine’s plans for the Galaxy were to unfold how he planned as far as Tarkin had been told, she would be far from the last.
Alone, Executrix could match the firepower of a Lucrehulk Battleship, and would likely win given her superior weapons layout, able to focus all fire forward or split it evenly to the broadsides. Her power output easily exceeded the firepower of three Providence- class destroyers or a dozen Munificent -class frigates. Aside from a Subjugator -class star dreadnought, the two kilometer long Providence dreadnought variant, or the rare Bulwark Mark II, there was absolutely nothing the Separatists had that could match or exceed her.
“Are we within scanning range of the surface yet?” Tarkin asked, his back turned to the viewports, beyond which ion blasts dissipated into the bridge’s shields.
“No Governor,” said the Clone at the sensor station. By now, every member of the bridge crew had taken to calling Tarkin by his preferred title.
Tarkin turned to the viewports and took in the scene. Off in the distance, amongst the Separatist vessels, dozens of explosions per second twinkled like pinpricks of starlight. Bright flashes erupted from the bow of the Executrix , briefly bathing the darkened bridge in green as turbolaser discharges pounded the nearest Separatist vessel—a Lucrehulk, complete with a coreship, holding its ground.
Briefly, he wondered to himself whether Grievous was aboard that vessel. It definitely wasn’t Grievous’s style, as the cyborg preferred sleeker, faster vessels. Wherever on the planet or in orbit Grievous was at the moment though, it would soon be irrelevant thanks to a device developed by the Special Weapons Group. A weapon which the Supreme Chancellor had been kind enough to transport aboard the Executrix before it departed Coruscant. This device was approximately three meters long, one meter wide, with an antenna attached to a boom more than ten meters long, dangling out the Executrix’s forward hangar.
Codenamed Sting, the device emitted a remodulated jamming signal over a great distance (the engineers had claimed a maximum range of about 700,000 kilometers), capable of disrupting a neural interface between an organic brain and a computer system. Tarkin hadn’t been informed that the exact frequency was provided to the Special Weapons Group by Sheev Palpatine himself; however, Tarkin had been told enough.
At his command, Sting would emit a pulse through the Mustafar system at a frequency specific to General Grievous’s cybernetic interface, capable of penetrating any shields. Assuming the cyborg was not encased in energy-dampening materials at the bottom of a bunker, his body would be immediately deactivated, immobilizing him wherever he happened to be.
How long this immobilization lasted, Tarkin wasn’t sure, and he personally didn’t put much stock in its reliability given it was so experimental.
“Governor, we are at the optimal location now,” said one of the non-Clone technicians, Doctor Leth, a mousey-faced Sullustan female contractor who had come aboard with the device. “Every Separatist vessel within scanning range over this hemisphere should be affected”
“Are we within scanning range of the surface?” Tarkin asked again, walking past the Sullustan.
“Do you think Grievous is on the surface?” Leth asked.
Tarkin ignored the question. He didn’t trust civilians on a military vessel very much, and he trusted aliens even less, and aliens from worlds with Separatist leanings the very least.
“We’re…. I’m starting to pick up lifesigns along the planetary bulge. At these speeds, in a few seconds…. There! Governor, I have the whole hemisphere.”
Looking over the Clone’s shoulder, a smirk crossed the Governor’s face. “Excellent. Doctor?” Tarkin intoned, turning and looking down at the squat female, holding out his hand expectantly.
It took a few confused moments for the Sullustan to comprehend Tarkin’s wish. “Governor, I am being paid to operate Sting. If you break the controls—”
“I am not an incompetent,” Tarkin snapped, still holding out his hand.
“In any case, should you break it, the Special Weapons Group will hold you financially liable,” she said, shakily holding the remote up which Tarkin snatched.
“I sincerely doubt the Special Weapons Group will be so inconvenienced by the loss of such a simple remote,” he retorted dryly.
For a second, he looked at the two buttons on the remote, one of which had a ‘power’ symbol and the other of which was an unmarked red button. Turning to face the viewports, he depressed the button with his thumb.
The scanning terminals crackled with an audio hiss, and their screens were distorted by static and snow.
“Sensors are down!” barked out the Clone in alarm.
“That—That’s a side effect of the burst,” Leth stammered, “It’s—”
“Yes, yes,” Tarkin sighed, “You already warned us this would happen.” Sure enough, the screens at the sensor station displayed their usual crystal clear visual. As briskly as he could, remote still in hand, Tarkin approached the signals station.
“Anything about Grievous on the Separatist comms?”
“Nothing on that yet,” one of the Clones at the station said flatly.
“The Seppie comms are as frantic as you’d expect, Governor,” said another.
Tarkin wheeled about, gripping the remote tighter in his hands. A steady criss-crossing torrent of turbolaser fire was visible, dissipating as it impacted the bridge shields beyond the viewports. None of the Separatist vessels had changed position in the slightest. He’d expected not only a reaction to the sudden loss of Grievous’s mobility, but so much alarm and panic that it would throw the Separatist lines into chaos and reveal exactly where the cyborg was.
“Are there any changes to their troop deployments on the ground?” Tarkin yelled back to the sensor station from across the bridge. “Any indication the leadership has been decapitated? Announcements of a change in command? Evacuations? Anything!”
“No governor.”
Tarkin turned to face the Sullustan, who had been tottering along behind him as he paced from station to station. “Was the pulse transmitted?”
“We can be absolutely certain of that,” Sullustan answered, blinking her pitch-black eyes. “All of the secondary effects we predicted: the power surge, the distorted outbound and inbound signals, the—”
“Cronau radiation detected less than ten kilometers off the port stern! One hundred forty degrees, mark three four. It’s a hyperspace window!”
“Hard about!” Tarkin barked at the Clones in the navigation portion of the data pits.
“Turning us hard about,” echoed one of the Clones calmly.
The deck plating rumbled and creaked as the massive Star Destroyer pitched port, dipping down at a 45º angle in relation to the other ships.
“Captain Dallin is hailing us, governor,” reported the highest-ranking Clone at the communication station. “He says he’s—”
“Order him to turn about,” Tarkin said quickly, then added, “Have the Proctor and Balmorra’s Pride break off their advance immediately.”
“Relaying orders, governor.”
Another Clone whose name Tarkin did not know, the same one who had reported detecting life signs on the surface, joined in, yelling an update across the bridge. “Detecting three ships, governor, all Providence -class! Two destroyers, one carrier-destroyer at the head of the formation!”
“They’re firing!” said another.
“Shield status!” Tarkin yelled, the deck plating now shaking and rumbling under the much closer turbolaser barrage. Executrix was still conducting its long arc of a turn, and the Separatist newcomers were still very much behind the Star Destroyer and obscured by the bulkheads at the rear of the bridge.
“Still holding, governor.”
As the Executrix continued on, passing two Venators and a Pelta -class frigate, first one, then two, then three Providence -class destroyers came into view. Short-lived explosions of turbolaser fire on the shields reflected across the bridge.
Up ahead, six hundred meters or so off the bow, the Pelta- class they had passed by lost its shields. A direct hit from the Separatists tore through its thin hull, dissecting the frigate as escape pods jettisoned.
“Instruct the survivors to stay clear of the firing line,” Tarkin ordered then held up the remote.
“Shall we return fire, governor?”
“One moment,” Tarkin said. “Is Sting ready for another burst?”
“It takes only thirty seconds to recharge,” Leth explained, before asking, “Do you think Grievous is aboard one of those vessels?”
“We really should return—”
“Enough!” Tarkin interrupted, striding across the bridge to the sensor station. “Where did those vessels come from?”
“I can’t be certain, governor,” answered one of the Clones.
“I’d say Utapau,” said another, looking up from his screen directly into Tarkin’s face.
A smirk crossed the corner of Tarkin’s mouth. “Perfect.” He faced the viewports, pointing the remote at the nearest Separatist vessel as if to turn it off, and depressed the button again with his thumb.
Rather than stopping, seizing up, or losing control, the vessel began to come about, bringing its starboard proton cannon batteries to bear. A maneuver so uninspired it had to have come from a mere Tactical Droid.
Tarkin felt his forehead crease as his jaw locked in concentration.
No news on Grievous. No change in behavior from the rabble fleet. Not even a peep from the planet. Does the device actually work?
Tarkin’s brow furrowed. An obvious question crossed his mind, which he was increasingly unable to dismiss out of hand.
Is Grievous even present?
o.o.o.o.o
QUINLAN VOS
Aboard a CR-20 troop carrier , in orbit of Saleucami
Confined to a durasteel cage and bound in stun cuffs, Vos and his companions watched, helpless to do anything as the Corporate Alliance transport struggled to evade Republic fighters, who didn’t seem fooled at all by the Corellian Engineering design or the Republic paintjob. Shortly after liftoff, a squadron of older V-19 Torrents had deployed from a nearby Acclamator carrier variant, and pursued the Corporate Alliance vessel disguised as a Republic one.
The CR-20 was piloted by two Neimodians, one of whom had cybernetic goggles. There was not a single droid on board. While Vos’s instincts told him this was significant, he could not figure out how or why.
The Jedi were secured by a Koorivar Fusilier crew, and the mysterious Wookiee darksider. The one who had somehow incapacitated Vos and his three Jedi companions, before turning them over to the Separatists For the life of him, Vos still could not remember how this had unfolded.
Outside the forward viewports, the shots which missed the hull zipped past, dissipating into the stars. The more numerous shots impacting on the rear shields rocked the transport like a turbulent storm. Yet, the mysterious Wookiee, Isshikabukk, ignored it all, seeming to meditate instead.
From his experience with Dooku, Vos suspected that this was all a ploy—that Isshikabukk was feigning meditation, to encourage the Jedi to attempt an escape, and then have an excuse to brutally torture them.
“That isn’t wise,” Vos grunted quietly, putting a hand on Jeisel’s shoulder. She had both eyes closed, like Isshikabukk, and Vos could sense that she was reaching out with the Force, trying to figure out what the Wookiee was doing and maybe get a clearer picture of him. “Jeisel, stop. It’s not—”
The Devaronian opened her eyes. “We’ll never find out anything about our captor just by sitting here twiddling our thumbs.”
“What’s to find out?!” Vos whispered exasperatedly. “He’s sensitive to the Force. He reeks of the dark side. He’s a Wookiee. He’s—”
“Jeisel, continue what you were doing,” Stass said quietly.
Vos shook his head, but took his hand off Jeisel. “This is such a bad idea.”
“Jedi Vos, we don’t even know whether this Wookiee is Dooku’s master or his apprentice,” Stass retorted. “I for one am surprised. You spent so many months searching for the identity—”
“I know for a fact that Dooku’s Master is human! And that Dooku has no remaining apprentices!” Vos said, raising his voice. “This dark walking…” The Kiffar nearly said ‘carpet’, but caught himself before he could utter the slur. “This sithspawn is just an obstacle we have to eliminate. Just a threat. Wasting time trying to learn—”
Jeisel gasped, and Vos sensed genuine fear in her.
“What is it?” K’krukh murmured quietly.
“Isshikabukk… He’s not here !”
“What do you mean?” Vos asked incredulously. “Of course he’s here! He’s right—he’s right over…” The Kiffar trailed off.
All three of his companions now had their eyes closed in deep clairvoyant meditation, reaching out as hard as they could to the Wookiee without any subtlety or any attempt to disguise what they were doing. They might as well have been tapping on the Sith’s shoulders or yanking his fur. Vos took a deep breath and joined them.
At first, Vos could not understand what Jeisel had been talking about. He could feel Isshikabukk, from the massive hulking muscles of his arms and legs, to his sharp teeth, to the forest of thick well-combed fur coating his body. Stretching out with the Force, he could feel the Wookiee’s pulse, the heat of his breath, and when he reached out even harder, he could hear the steady thump, thump, thump of his powerful heartbeat from across the passenger compartment.
But then Vos knew something was very wrong. The Wookiee seemed to have no aura in the Force. This wasn’t just a lack of Force-sensitivity that Vos was picking up. It was like this Wookiee, this Sith Wookiee, was somehow no longer there. His body was still there, but his aura, his presence, his soul, was somewhere else entirely!
Vos gasped, now even more alarmed than he had been when he was first taken into Separatist captivity. “What in the blue blazes!”
“I know, right!” Jeisel said, her voice quaking from shock.
Stass Allie shook her head snapping out of it, and used the Force to exude tranquility. “Everyone, relax. There must be a rational explanation. Fear is the enemy. K’Kruhk, thoughts? You’re older than any of us. Have you ever encountered anything similar to this?”
K’Kruhk cleared his throat. “ Ahem… I… I have never perceived, read of, nor heard of anything like this sort of cognitive displacement before.”
“Cognitive displacement,” Stass muttered under her breath. “Cognitive displacement. I like it.”
When Vos probed the space around the Wookiee, trying to find his essence, a flash of memory crossed his mind. He was upside down, bound, with the Wookiee standing right in front of him. His head was at eye level to the Wookiee’s furry knees, and he had to look up past nearly two meters of beast to see his evil eyes glowing bright yellow. Vos was petrified. It wasn’t anything Ishikkabuk was doing with his physical body, but Vos could feel it. Vos could feel the dark tendrils of energy penetrating his body through every orifice. This hot pain shooting up his nose as the Wookiee purred, and his vision became foggier by the second. The Wookiee Sith was in his mind, violating his memories. Violating his essence. Rubbing it… Rubbing his memories…
Cognitive displacement?
In a near-panic Vos stood up, grabbing his hair in both hands. Isshikabukk could be anywhere. His essence could be in anyone, or floating around, waiting to strike. Waiting to— “I DON’T LIKE ANY OF THIS!”
“Quinlan!” Stass yelled as Vos gripped the bars of the cage and began shaking them. “QUINLAN!”
“Stop that!” yelled the red armored Koorivar standing nearest to the cage. When Vos didn’t, he elevated his voice. “STOP THAT!”
But instead of stopping, Vos screamed. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD! GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY—”
A forcepike, thrusted between the bars, knocked the Kiffar to the floor. Darkness overtook him, and Vos’s head settled on the hard floor as he lost consciousness.
It couldn’t have been for long though. When he came to, all three of his companions were kneeling over him, and, in the background, he heard one of the Koorivars screaming, “Get him under control!”
Drool now slid down the corner of Vos’s mouth and Jeisel, Stass, and K’Khruhk each had one of his limbs pinned down. He must have been seizing, as he felt extremely tired, and a puddle of sweat had formed beneath his back.
“Take a deep breath. Breathe,” Stass said. A wave of calming, soothing energy pulsed from her hand, traveling up Vos’s arm.
The panic subsided and Vos blinked. Never had he ever lost control that badly before, not even when he was a Padawan. “There is no emotion. There is only the Force,” he murmured softly.
“He’s not in your head,” Stass said with certainty. “He’s not here, but he’s not in you. I would sense it.”
“We all would,” K’Kruhk said matter-of-factly.
“Did you remember how we got here?” Jeisel asked.
Vos sat up, wiping the slobber from his face. “For kriff’s sake,” he whispered, trying to fight the overwhelming embarrassment beginning to wash over him. “He…” Vos said, looking directly at the meditating Sith. “He got into my head… All of our heads probably. Wiped our memories. It was so dark… I… Couldn’t see very well… But I could hear… I think there were more of them.”
“More Sith ?” Stass’s voice was calm, but Vos could sense the disbelief beginning to ebb into the calming energy. She looked back towards the Wookiee still kneeling in the center of the passenger compartment, and her disbelief rapidly turned to dread.
Vos strained, struggling to remember. He could vaguely picture some white-furred Wolf like head with distinctive leathery markings running down like eyebrows, and rings of leathery flesh atop its snout. Then, he remembered another one, this one silver-furred, just like Isshikabukk, with yellow eyes, and some sort of Yak-like alien with horns.
“I think so,” the Kiffar finally said. “There were a few of them… None of them were human.”
“Another sect of Sith, perhaps,” K’Kruhk hypothesized. “One that doesn’t follow the Rule of Two.”
“Stars preserve me,” Jeisel hissed, shaking her head. “It can’t be!”
Vos’s mind's eye lingered on the yak-like creature and the possible Mythosaur. “Maybe, maybe not… Either way they’re not Jedi.”
Stass frowned, her Tholothian head tendrils vibrating as the deck rumbled. “A shame Master Rancisis isn’t here, he may have had better ideas on what we’re dealing with.”
“Hopefully he and Hett have escaped the Clones.” K’Kruhk muttered, snorting through his large Whiphid nostrils.
Through the cockpit viewports beyond the meditating and apparently-not-present Wookiee, a massive DH-Omni Support vessel grew larger and larger. Twinkles of laser fire erupted from it and, for a wild moment, Vos thought that ship was attacking them.
V-19 Torrents erupted in flames to both sides of the transport, visible through the side viewports. They had been increasing speed in a futile attempt to cut in front of the transport and block its escape.
Then alarm klaxons suddenly blared at an un-ignorable volume, and one of the Koorivars screamed “HOLD ONTO SOMETHING!”
Danger sense blaring, Vos crossed both his arms over the top of his head, and Jeisel, K’Kruhk, and Stass did the same. Less than a second later, an explosion thundered into the hull, and sparks erupted. Simultaneously, the transport pitched down. The deck bucked so hard that all four Jedi were hurled headfirst into the roof of the cage, bouncing back to the ground lightly bruised but otherwise unharmed.
“Shields at less than ten percent! The next hit will fully breach the hull!” One of the pilots shouted.
A whoosh of air ripped through Vos’s hair as atmosphere began rapidly bleeding through a hole so small the Kiffar could not make it out with his naked eyes. Another alarm, this one two-toned and even more ominous than the already blaring one, sounded off.
Most of the troops on board began clutching their bags tightly, a few knelt down to retrieve pieces of gear that had fallen from the overhead luggage racks, but Isshikabukk remained kneeling in the center of the floor, completely unperturbed. The only sign from the Wookiee that anything was amiss was his fur, rippling in the breeze of escaping air.
“I sense where the leak is!” Jeisel screamed to the nearest Koorivar. “Let me out and I can… Whoa!”
Vos didn’t need the Force to perceive it, but the Force certainly helped. The ship rapidly came to a halt, pushing the inertial dampeners near their limits. Everyone not strapped in, except for Isshikabukk and the four Jedi, were jostled about. From outside and all around the ship, Vos could sense something beyond his comprehension.
Isshikabukk’s presence returned, but it was not in the Wookiee’s body, but all around the ship. The closest to an adequate description he could possibly make would be that the ship was now encapsulated in a viscous substance that radiated with the Dark Side. Isshikabukk had made, or perhaps taken the form of, a liquid barrier of some sort. Rather than colliding with it destructively, the ship, and everyone on board, had merely slowed down. Whatever the liquid was, it also plugged the atmospheric breach. The Sith’s presence had been out there all along, in the void, waiting for this precise moment.
Fear began to come again, rising in Vos to near-panic levels as the Wookiee stood, eyes glowing—not yellow but a bright white, as hot as a welding torch. Vos squinted his eyes, staring in fascination and horror.
Isshikabukk turned around, facing away from the Jedi in their cage, and his painfully-glowing eyes now reflecting back off the cockpit viewports as he took a step towards them. In the Force, he exuded a confusing static rainbow of energy. It was like the Wookiee was right there on his way to the cockpit, but also two paces behind, and also somewhere outside of the ship all around them, simultaneously in multiple places at once. The sensation made Vos queasy.
“I think he’s walking through time!” K’Kruhk yelled over the commotion.
“I think you’re right,” Stass said, her voice raised to be heard over the alarms but not to the level of a yell.
Vos couldn’t even begin to fathom from where those Jedi Masters were getting this implausible explanation. He just continued staring ahead in helpless confusion. These were feats he was almost certain not even Yoda could have performed.
Or maybe not, as Master Tholme’s wisdom came back to the fore.
“There is much about the Force that the Order doesn’t understand, or even teach, anymore Padawan. The fact such honed psychometry is so rare is proof of this.”
Vos looked out the viewport with his deceased master’s words in mind. Thanks to the liquid bubble the ship was now trapped in, it was making no further progress towards the DH-Omni’s hangar. Laserfire from the Republic starfighters continued raining down on them, now with absolutely no effect.
He had no idea how effective it would be against a turbolaser salvo though.
A Koorivar female wearing a Fusilier sergeant rank blocked the Wookiees path right before he reached the cockpit. “Sir, you’re going to have to sit down,” she said calmly, bafflingly unperturbed by the fact the Wookiee’s eyes were practically shooting out laser beams. “Sir, we’re going to be there in a few seconds. If you don’t—”
Before she could explain the consequences of entering the cockpit while the ship was under fire, the Wookiee roughly shoved her out of the way. What had been a mere commotion at the front of the transport rapidly devolved into a scuffle. Every Koorivar on the ship seemed rushed forward at once, trying to simultaneously tackle the Wookiee under a massive dogpile.
Or that was what Vos had thought was happening. A second later, he changed his hypothesis when he found himself being pulled, as if by a magnet, in the direction of the Wookiee. Of course, the durasteel bars of the cage were in the way and he and his companions were roughly squashed against them.
“Ugh—I can’t get up!” Vos grunted, unable to even lift his face from the bar that was digging painfully into his cheek.
“What. Is. He. Doing?” Jeisel mumbled slowly and deliberately, struggling to talk against the pull.
A clinking sound could suddenly be heard, coming from the lock which was directly under Vos’s hand.
“Is that you, Vos?” Stass asked, pasted onto a row of bars a meter above Vos’s head.
“No, I’m not doing anything!” Vos grunted. The power of the pull was now so hard that it was arching his back.
“I think Isshikabukk is—” K’Kruhk started to speculate, but didn’t finish.
All four Jedi found themselves spilling through the open door of the confinement cage and flying through the air, until they too were sucked into the clot of sentients, all pressed against the Wookiee Sith.
Vos found himself face to horn with one of the Koorivars who, in turn, was squashed up against another Koorivar who was pressed into Isshikabukk’s back. The sergeant who had attempted to stop this from happening was caught in a violent headlock, her neck trapped in the Wookiee’s armpit as she screamed in an increasingly strangulated and hoarse voice. Both Neimoidian pilots, squealing in terror, were pasted onto the Wookiee’s chest.
There was absolutely no explanation he could think of for why any rational Force user, Sith, Jedi, or non-aligned would squish an entire ship full of living people into a big ball. Especially not while also trapping himself at the center of the mass.
More angry than anything else, Vos yelled, “WHAT IN THE KRIFFING NINE HELLS ARE YOU DOING?!”
“You must let us go,” Stass said in a stern voice, as if reprimanding a scary gargantuan Padawan. “We understand your powers vastly exceed our own. If you wanted to kill us, you could have done it already, so you want something from us. I will not stand idly by and allow you to treat us like toys. If this continues I will not cooperate… I will…”
“What?!” Vos asked angrily, pushing both of his hands onto the back of the Koorivar he was pasted to’s head to get off the horn. “What will you do, Master Allie? Take him before the Council? Talk at him until he dies? He is a Wookiee Sith !”
“I suggest a new strategy,” K’Kruhk muttered. “It’s clear that, for all his power, he has no intention of even acknowledging us. If we reciprocate his behavior, maybe—Oh. Oh, Isshikabukk, you don’t want to do that—You do not—STOP THAT AT ONCE! STOP THAT—AAHHH!!”
Cracks, first tiny, then larger and larger began to form on the cockpit canopy, snaking like dark rods of lightning under Isshikabukk’s piercingly bright gaze. Air began to hiss through.
“Do you remember your vacuum training?” Vos asked as calmly as he could, raising his voice over the moans of the squashed sentients. Immediately outside the viewports, the hull of a Separatist ship was so close that he was certain the brief exposure to space could be survived.
“I don’t think we’ll need it!” Jeisel gasped.
An almost perfectly transparent bubble formed over the mass of sentients, perfectly encapsulating them in a sphere that was a few centimeters wider than the crowd.
“Oh kriff this!” Vos yelled in protest, now having to share a tiny amount of air with eighteen Koorivars, two Neimoidians, a Tholothian, a Devaronian, a Whiphid, and a silver-furred Wookiee who absolutely reeked of the dark side.
And here I thought K’Kruhk smelled bad .
The bridge viewports shattered, and every being who hadn’t already deduced what was happening (which was everyone but the Jedi) screamed at the top of their lungs.
Isshikabukk didn’t release his grip on the crowd with the Force one bit. As they floated, he kept every living being pressed tightly in a ball within the air bubble.
With his face still roughly held onto the back of a Koorivar horn like a magnet, Vos was unable to turn his head at all. He couldn’t make out anything behind him or to his right, but to his left, he saw the DH-Omni’s hull, now so close that the seams between individual armor plates could be seen. Blue light reflected off the metal as barrages of laserfire continued pummeling Isshikabukk’s Force barrier.
Then a faint yellow glow flickered at the edge of Vos’s periphery, and they began moving faster, up the hull and towards the nearest hangar.
“They’re tractoring us in!” Stass grunted uncomfortably out of sight, but with much relief in her voice.
o.o.o.o.o
PASSEL ARGENTE
“The transport has taken a direct hit. They’re venting atmosphere!”
“Order them to—” Argente started, then abruptly changed his mind and reached over the pilot’s chair, pressing his finger onto the comm, which was set to the CIS emergency channel. “This is Passel Argente, Magistrate of the Corporate Alliance. That vessel is carrying assets that must be protected at—DAMN IT!”
A missile, fired from a passing Republic starfighter, slammed into the transport. Erupting from the stern of the vessel, an orange fireball soon consumed the whole ship.
Argente cursed again, so filled with despair that he nearly collapsed to his knees. In the corner of his eye though, he saw something he did not understand. Where there should have been sparking wreckage, there was a glowing silvery orb.
“Zoom in on that,” he finally managed. When the copilot complied, what Argente saw stole his breath away.
Behind the shimmering transparent surface of the orb, a crowd of bodies seemed to be huddled together. Only, these weren’t corpses—judging from their movements, they were all alive.
Breathlessly, Argente pressed his finger into the comm again, but a Neimoidian voice erupted from it before he could speak. “Magistrate Argente, this is Admiral Charto. You may dock with our vessel as we withdraw from the system, but I regret to inform you that the transport has been lost.”
Incredulously, Argente shook his head. “The transport is gone but they’re alive! Can you get your tractor beams on…”
Before the Koorivar had finished his request, the light of a tractor beam enveloped the silvery orb, which began floating along the curved hull of the massive DH-Omni-class support ship towards a hangar several decks above where the transport had been destroyed.
Passel Argente had personally witnessed amazing feats performed by Jedi. Eight years earlier, when the Corporate Alliance was in negotiations with the Mining Guild on the planet Barlok, Brolfi terrorists had fired a homing missile right into the guild’s planetary headquarters. Jedi Master Jorus C’baoth, who had been acting as an arbiter between the two sides, froze the missile in mid-air—holding it over both Argente and Guildmaster Gilfrome’s heads until they came to an agreement that also took the needs of the locals into account. The terrifying image of that missile, its rockets blazing as it crumpled in mid air, would be burned in the Koorivar’s mind so long as he lived.
But this was something on a whole new level. Creating a bubble of air in space… Against that power, what chance could any non-Force user possibly have?
Of course, Grievous has slain many Jedi, and he can hardly use the Force. Came the quiet, treasonous thought.
“Magistrate? Magistrate what are your instructions?” asked the Neimoidian.
“They made it,” Argente panted. “We’re following the floating bubble of air into the hangar.”
“Magistrate Argente, you haven’t been cleared to land. I would like some explanation of what we just dragged in! This is very—”
Before the Neimoidian could finish, Argente terminated the transmission. “Take us into that hangar.”
“Are you sure we want to follow the Jedi in there?” ask the pilot incredulously. When Argente only gave him a dark look, he engaged the thrusters, taking the yacht in. As they neared the shimmering forcefield, they could see a dozen Fusiliers standing around or sitting on the ground, many visibly nursing aches and bruises. The four beings in Jedi robes looked similarly shaken by whatever had happened.
The Wookiee, the one who had somehow captured the Jedi, stood at the front of the crowd, his silver-furred arms folded impatiently. Even from a hundred meters away, even through windows tinted to keep out the blazing starlight of space, Argente could not shake the feeling that the Wookiee could see him.
Of course… Not even the Jedi couldn’t have pulled off something like that, Argente reasoned, his thoughts churning as his luxury yacht settled down on the hangar floor. No, it was that Wookiee… Who is he and how could we have never heard of him?
The dashboard rattled and Argente was jolted out of his thoughts. “What happened?”
“ Lorgnette just jumped into hyperspace, sir.”
“Lorg—Oh…” Argente trailed off, figuring out that this was the name of the DH-Omni class support vessel they had just come aboard. “Get FA-8 ready and meet me at the ramp,” he ordered the co-pilot, referring to a protocol droid which he’d purchased early in the war to secure his position against Wat Tambor. Ironic how unnecessary that was now.
“Yes sir.”
A minute or so later, Argente, his pilot, his co-pilot, and his protocol droid were stepping down the boarding ramp.
The highest-ranking Fusilier in the hangar, a subcommander, bowed deeply as Argente disembarked. “Magistrate! I have—I have done your bidding to the best of my ability, but I must confess things are now completely out of my hands. That Wookiee—He…”
Though his heart was racing, Argente feigned total calm. “You did well subcommander…” The Magistrate was about to say the subcommander’s name, but he realized he had completely forgotten it. He remembered that this was the being who had contacted him from Saleucami in the middle of that fateful meeting on Utapau, but he could not remember the man’s name for the life of him.
Standing at the subcommander’s side, Ishikabukk gave a short curt nod, pointed to the remarkably docile quartet of Jedi, and let off a low purr, which Argente’s silver protocol droid translated. “While I am grateful for the transport off that rock, I was not paid to babysit Jedi prisoners.”
Argente frowned with suspicion as he remarked on the Wookiee. There was no reason he could think of for a being capable of conjuring air bubbles in space to care about credits. He knew little of Wookiees or their mannerisms, but it all struck the Koorivar as a ploy. Lacking the time to get to the bottom of that mystery, the Magistrate decided to play dumb. “I, in turn, am grateful for your actions that saved so many lives. I will increase your already generous compensation.”
The Wookiee nodded again, and backed away, allowing Argente to walk forward and approach the Jedi.
“It seems we meet again, Passel Argente,” the even larger but thankfully unarmed K’Kruhk growled, baring some fangs.
“Indeed,” Argente replied. “I will cut to the chase. We do not have time to be enemies,” he continued, his gaze passing over the K’Kruhk’s companions—three more names he would not forget: Quinlan Vos, Sian Jeisel, and Stass Allie. “You seem to have stumbled onto quite the conspiracy… Clones attacking Jedi, the Supreme Chancellor playing both sides, and clearly Separatist traitors are in on the conspiracy as well.”
“I am glad you believe us,” K’Kruhk growled.
“Believe you? I was nearly slain by General Grievous, who killed the rest of the Separatist War Council and an entire army for even entertaining those ideas.”
The four Jedi exchanged surprised looks at that revelation.
It was Stass Allie who spoke next. “As sorry as we all are to hear that,” she said, not sounding very sorry at all, “The question is, what are you going to do, and what are our roles? We won’t continue to cooperate under force or duress.”
Vos turned around, looking at the Wookiee. His expression struck Argente as remarkably nervous, but Argente ignored him, focusing instead on the Tholothian. “I am not going to be—I am not going to be Palpatine’s patsy ,” he spat. “I am not going to go quietly in the night, knowing what I know. I am going to take this to the Separatist Senate.”
“To what end?” K’Kruhk asked.
“To get the Separatist government out of Palpatine’s control.”
Chapter 20: SHEEV PALPATINE
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Coruscant Executive Building
Through the ears of others, Sidious perceived the roar of jetpacks, clattering footfalls, the thump of grenades exploding, the hum of lightsabers, and loud bursts of blasterfire shattering permacrete and marble, along with periodic explosions. Through their eyes he could see the jet troopers and LAATs encircling the ziggurat walls of the Jedi Temple, the bright white armor of Clones, gleaming in the moonlight. Bright streaks of firepower sometimes impacted walls, but more often than not, connected with ignited lightsabers. The entire exterior of the Great Temple was now a battlefield, and the Dark Lord shook with exertion, seething his hatred and determination into the Force, using it to bind the horde of freshly deployed Clone Troopers from the 481st Legion to his will and invigorate the escaped Jedi convicts.
Sidious would have liked to have practiced Battle Meditation more before today, but two factors had made that difficult: the need for secrecy, combined with the fact that one side in the Clone Wars mainly used droids. It was a technique his own Master, Plagueis, had never learned, as unlike Sidious, Plagueis had foolishly never been very interested in ancient Sith and Jedi holocrons, assuming his vaunted scientific prowess could be used to decipher the secrets of the Force.
An impulse from the Force drew Sidious’s attention. In the middle of one of the ziggurat’s wide rooftop courtyards, a group of Jedi seemed to be observing one of the LAATs overhead. Only, they weren’t only observing.
The LAAT exploded in a fireball, its occupants’ Force presences instantly extinguished. From a hundred or so eyes turned skyward, Sidious could perceive the trail of smoke going through the night sky from where the transport had been to where the Jedi standing in the courtyard were.
Focusing on a trio of Clone snipers, who were laying down fire from one of the upper ledges overlooking the courtyard, Sidious could see one of the Jedi, a Quarren, drop a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher tube. Presently, he joined his comrades, igniting his lightsaber and deflecting shots.
With a smirk on his shadowed face, Sidious sent an impulse to the Clones. Pause one second. Fire on the Quarren.
Three snipers fired at once, on a level of synchronization that could not have been achieved through mere radio or holo communication.
Only a skilled hand with a lightsaber could have deflected a volley so precisely, and the Quarren dropped dead in the middle of the courtyard. His Jedi comrades froze for a moment before taking advantage of the rifles’ recycle time to withdraw as they realized the danger.
Sidious relinquished his direct contact with those Clones’ minds and focused again on the wider battle.
Battle Meditation spread across an entire engagement was extremely draining under normal circumstances. Each individual clash Sidious personally directed was all the more substantial in that regard, sapping energy and attention which he could've used elsewhere. It was impossible to do everything; even for a dark lord of the Sith.
He allowed the remaining Jedi to flee the courtyard, shifting his focus from ongoing battle for the temple’s exterior to its interior. Hundreds of perspectives flashed before his eyes. Briefly, he was staring through the eyes of a Clone standing before the steps to the temple, then he was staring through the eyes of another on one of the great marble balconies, turning a flamethrower on an advancing Temple Guard.
The 481st had already proven to have been the better choice to use for the Temple than the 501st; even without Battle Meditation they were better equipped for fighting Jedi given his plans for them. As for Anakin’s worthless toy soldiers, after the near debacle outside Dex’s diner they were now relegated to chasing hints of insurgents all over CoCo town like the incompetents they were.
Disappointingly though, regarding the Temple Assault at least, none of the perspectives were yet close to his two primary objectives, neither of which were Dooku anymore. No, Sidious now knew that silencing that loose thread would no longer accomplish anything, short of perhaps increasing the chance of Anakin (who was safely locked away within the Grand Republic Medical Facility) joining him from never to infinitesimally unlikely. No, this time he was not interested in Dooku. One target was the generator powering the Great Temple’s vast forcefield, and the other was the Jedi Archives.
No assets were near either target yet, but it would only be a matter of time.
o.o.o.o.o
OBI-WAN KENOBI
Comms were still being jammed. With Obi-Wan in the lead, and no idea precisely where they were needed, he ran deeper into the temple, alongside Tru, J’oopi, Koffi, and Kam, all who were left of the taskforce he had assembled in the hangar bay. The five Jedi ran toward both the turbolifts up to Temple Spires from which jet troopers were entering, and the turbolifts down to the detention level, in case they could be useful to someone at either destination. It seemed that everything that could go wrong was going wrong.
By the time they were even halfway to the spires, they had engaged hostile Clones several times. While the hangars were sealed shut blocking that way of ingress, the jetpack troopers were still able to land on balconies and blast their way through windows, ascension cables snapping up for further Clones to take advantage of the openings.
On the right side of the hallway through which they were now passing, were dozens of rectangular windows. Each showed glimpses into the Jedi Agricultural Corps research laboratory. Twenty paces down the hall, the floor rocked under an explosion from somewhere far above, so violently that Obi-Wan nearly lost his balance.
But he kept running, lightsaber in hand but not ignited. At the end of the hall, he stopped abruptly, and the soles of his boots skidded on the marble floor, bringing him to a stop in front of a Jedi wearing a dark blue AgriCorps tunic, accompanied by four non-Jedi civilians in lab coats.
Tru Veld kept running and slammed into Obi-Wan’s back with an audible oof , knocking the Jedi Master forward one pace.
Before he got his bearings, Obi-Wan’s danger sense suddenly blared. Igniting his saber, the Jedi Master stepped past the AgriCorps personnel, careful in the cramped hallway not to cut them, Tru, or any of his other companions.
Still without a lightsaber, Tru turned to face the threat.
“Get behind me!” Obi-Wan yelled, deflecting a volley of blaster shots from DC-15 carbines.
The shots came from a squad of troopers wearing armor livoried in a light teal rather than the battle-scarred blue of the 501st, and most notably, none of them wore jetpacks. He didn’t recognize their markings as being from any unit under his own forces either.
Obi-Wan blinked in confusion. The jetpack troopers earlier hadn’t been wearing 501st armor either, which Obi-Wan now found curious given the 501st was one of the few legions with a dedicated Jet Trooper division.
Why aren’t the 501st here? Were the losses they suffered that bad? Impossible. We’ve only faced one or two hundred men at a time, and a fair portion of them were from the Coruscant Guard or the rest of the 7th Sky Corps.
Questions for later.
“How did they get here?” J’oopi Shé growled, his green saber ignited.
“I don’t know,” said the AgriCorps Jedi, igniting her own blue saber. “They’ve been chasing us through the labs all along this level.” She stepped forward to the Jedi Master’s side and swung at an incoming shot in an attempt to deflect it and missed , allowing the shot to continue on its way harmlessly down the hall.
Following the earlier mishap with Tru, Obi-Wan did not have the patience to allow non-combat Jedi to put themselves in harm’s way. “Get behind us!” he barked again, this time directed at her. The AgriCorps Jedi obeyed, but Obi-Wan’s relief did not last long.
A second after she was out of the way, another Clone stepped forward, this one in armor fitted with a flame resistant waist-cape, bucket-shaped helmet equipped with a rebreather under the slit visor, and adjusted armor with greater focus on chest protection instead of on the thighs and biceps. Mark III Hotspot armor, the signature of Clone Flame Troopers.
Obi-Wan barely had time to yell out a curse before he stepped back, shoving his companions behind him. Red hot flames cut through the air as the Clone unleashed his flame projector, tongues of fire licking at Obi-Wan’s arm, which was thankfully still encased in the Clone Trooper armor he wore from the neck down.
In this situation, lightsabers were less than useless, but Obi-Wan kept his ignited in case the other troopers decided to open fire—in fact, he hoped they would open fire so he’d have something to deflect back at the trooper wielding the flamethrower. But there was no such luck. Worse, if he tried to deflect the fire with the Force, the focus needed would allow the rest to gun him down.
“Retreat!” Obi-Wan finally ordered, ducking to the side and barely avoiding a second ring of fire that lapped up the wall to his left. “We can’t—” His next words caught in his throat.
Bafflingly, the flames stopped inching forward, even though the trooper wielding the flamethrower kept stepping forward bringing the flamethrower closer and closer to the Jedi.
Mouth agape, Obi-Wan turned to his right and saw that the AgriCorps Jedi had disobeyed him, and had both her hands extended as if conjuring a Force grip. It was a feat Obi-Wan had only seen done once by the Bothan Jedi Master Knol Ven'nari, the Fire Eater, early in the war.
“What are you doing?!”
“Get behind me!” she grunted.
The hallway grew hotter and hotter as the Clone kept walking forward, with the barrel of his flamethrower getting closer and closer. When the trooper was about a meter away from the Force bubble, and the flames from the barrel nearest to the edge of the invisible barrier, the barrel of his flamethrower glowed white. Another step forward, and it exploded in a terrifying roar, sending an inferno back at the screaming squad of Clones, those further away diving for cover as their squadmates were lit ablaze.
Dense smoke filled the air, so thick that even Obi-Wan began coughing and sputtering. No longer being pursued, they all stepped back, with the AgriCorps civilians furthest from the heat and smoke at the front.
“Pleh Reh,” the AgriCorps Jedi said, bowing curtly to Obi-Wan. “That was a trick I learned when I was in the Agricultural Corps’ Fire Response Unit.”
“Oh,” Obi-Wan said in surprise, not having known that the Agricultural Corps even had such a unit. “Well, Pleh Reh, that certainly was interesting. I am Master Kenobi. I sense we don’t have time for further introductions. You should accompany us in case more flame troopers appear. Maybe we could get some blasters for your companions,” he turned to the civilians in lab coats. “Do any of you know how to shoot a blaster?”
All four of the civilians, three human, one Mon Calamari, stared at him in shock.
“No? Okay. Maybe not a good idea then. This level does not seem secure. Let’s talk while we walk,” he instructed, and began moving forward at a brisk pace. “Just stay behind us.”
Cautiously, as he moved forward, Obi-Wan looked to his left and right as they moved forward, reaching out with the Force to sense any potential danger. The audible sounds of battle could often be heard, but several levels overhead. At a few junctions, they came across groups of Jedi, some injured. Fortunately, they encountered no more flamethrower troopers.
At one of the staircases, theym stopped when they saw a stream of Younglings walking in groups of two down into the lower crèches of the Temple. Those were the locations where normally only the younglings from aquatic and cave-dwelling species slept. A worried crease formed on Obi-Wan’s forehead as he thought of potential implications for the upper level crèches.
In the midst of them was a full-grown Jedi Obi-Wan recognized. “Kelleren Beq!” he exclaimed, yelling over the hundreds of echoing footsteps to get his attention.
“Master Kenobi?” Kelleran asked. He stepped out of the stairwell, and a hover pram followed him.
Obi-Wan could sense a lifeform inside the pod, but did not inquire about that. “Would it be alright if they came with you?” he asked, gesturing to Pleh Reh and the AgriCorps civilians. “The agricultural labs seem to have been overrun.”
“It’s getting to be like that everywhere,” Kelleran sighted, before adding in a drier tone, “Of course they can, if they don’t mind babysitting.”
“That should be fine,” Pleh Reh said without a hint of humor. “I bid you farewell, Master Kenobi. May the Force be with you.”
As she and the scientists stepped toward the stairwell, following Kelleren, Obi-Wan murmured, “May the Force be with us all.”
Just as Obi-Wan turned to continue his journey toward the nearest temple spire, voices began audibly erupting from his comm unit. Over the chorus, he heard Cin Drallig’s voice say, “That did it. Alright Jedi, we have comms again.”
“What did it?” Tru asked, holding his comm unit to his mouth.
“Who is this?!”
“Apologies,” Obi-Wan said, “That was Tru Veld. We have been cut off since the initial attack at the hangar, and we need to get caught up to speed fast.”
Ki-Adi-Mundi’s voice came over the comm next. “Everyone needs to be caught up to speed.”
A beep emitted from the comm that indicated a being had taken control of the entire channel, and all voices went silent except for Cin Drallig’s.
“Plo-Koon and Saesee Tiin just took out the vehicle that was jamming our comms, but it’s too early to celebrate. Our Temple intercom will still be down, as we’re employing it for a new purpose. Hundreds of mad Clones have overrun every garden, every courtyard, every path to the outside, and most of the temple’s staging areas. Ki-Adi-Mundi and his team have a device which will make all of the Clones no longer mad, but it has to be deployed from the Tranquility Spire. At the moment, the Tranquility Spire is surrounded by Clones, most of whom came down the turbolifts after ingressing through windows at the top of the spire. Many of them have flamers, and we haven’t been able to get near the spire for some time. All available Jedi warriors, unless ordered otherwise by me or a member of the High Council should make for the Tranquility Spire. We must retake it at all costs. There's your update. May the Force be with you all.”
Obi-Wan blinked at the end, surprised by the tone Cin had taken. This was the first he had heard of any of the updates, and the Head of the Temple Security had formulated a response to the Clone incursion, seemingly without consulting the High Council. On exigent matters of security, of course, he had the authority to dictate a response without bringing it for any debate. On this, though, Obi-Wan thought Cin Drallig was dangerously close to overstepping his authority. But by the time the channel opened, it was so filled with chants of “For Light and Life,” and “May the Force be with us all,” that Obi-Wan could not get a word in edgewise.
From all around, he could sense thousands of Jedi now on the move to enact the Battlemaster and Chief of Security’s plan.
And just as Obi-Wan began to wonder where Grandmaster Yoda was in all of this, he felt a sudden compulsion like Yoda was right there, urging him forward. He stopped and turned to his companions to ask if any of them were feeling this too, but immediately sensed their own surprise.
o.o.o.o.o
YODA
The Grandmaster sat cross-legged atop a gray cushion chair in his quarters. Darkness was all around, and Yoda could sense Sidious’s murky presence in many thousands of sources. Not since before Yoda was born had any Sith been bold enough to engage in Battle Meditation and expose himself this way.
But two could play that game.
From all around, the Force spoke to Yoda, a rhythm of fear, death, and confusion, but also protection, compassion, and growing hope. Yoda opened himself fully to the Force, attempting to recreate a feat not done since the days of the High Republic, in a Jedi version of Battle Meditation—Force Song.
His ears perked up slowly as he took in several thousand differing points of view. All were presences he had met before, but there were some more familiar than others. The moment Yoda perceived feedback from the meld, he knew it was successful. Every Force-sensitive in the Temple, from Cin Drallig who had taken command to the youngest infant suddenly stopped whatever it was they were doing. The battle lines and evacuation froze, for just a second, as every Jedi became vaguely aware—or rather more aware —of each other. Outside of the Temple, Plo-Koon and the other Jedi pilots all forcibly pushed the meld to the back of their minds, and focused on flying.
Unlike Battle Meditation, Force Song was multidirectional. That is, rather than being encouraged or compelled from a single source, Force Song formed a collaborative connection across a super consciousness, but it would not work on those who could not sense the Force, limiting its utility.
Yoda had experienced Force Song centuries ago, but he had never initiated it, and he did not expect what came next.
For a split second, Yoda felt the unnerving hatred and darkness from more than two dozen Jedi—most were escaped prisoners whom Yoda was already aware of, but a few were Temple Guards and Jedi Knights who had not exposed themselves yet. Yoda was no less certain that their support corps and non-Jedi volunteer staff had many traitors among them as well.
A moment later, Sidious’s voice spoke into the entire meld.
“Fools. The dark side sees all. Now you see that the Sith control everything. Surrender now and you will be–”
Wrinkles creased Yoda’s forehead as, all at once, he decided to forsake the darkness. He cast out every Jedi who was in on that link with the Sith, and blocked out Sidious from the link with the Force equivalent of a burst of overwhelming comm static.
There had been a time for forgiveness and rehabilitation, some perhaps still deserved it, but that time was well past most of them. The Grandmaster was now certain who could be trusted, and with traitors not even Yoda had not known about exposed, in a few places across the Great Temple, Jedi were now igniting lightsabers, aiming their blades at each other. Two surrendered, and a third lost both of his hands as he swung his blade at Kit Fisto.
It took only a few moments for that distraction to subside, and then every Jedi was on the same page. They would retake the Temple Spire and deactivate the inhibitor chips.
o.o.o.o.o
SHEEV PALPATINE
The loss of the Temple Spire would always presage a break in the Jedi defensive lines. This unfolded in every one of the battle simulations Sidious had ever computed. What Sidious had never foreseen though, was just how preoccupied the defenders would be with retaking it.
So what if Yoda had organized his own rival Battle Meditation? So what if they had found all of his infiltrators who remained amongst their ranks? The Jedi were now putting all of their efforts into retaking an inconsequential objective. They were doomed. He was so confident now, that he withdrew his meditation into a more relaxed state and observed.
The incessant “My Lord, we’re picking up strange chatter,” from one of his aides in the background barely registered in his mind, and the same was true of Sly Moore’s mentioning that the Republic Security Council was now holding an emergency session without the Chancellor or Vice Chancellor. Sidious was so deep within his battle meditation that the more or less routine goings on around him blended into the greater stage of events he was influencing. They registered, but nearly imperceptibly.
What he observed instead was that, on every front, the Jedi were converging on the turbolift junction at the base of the spire. Clones now died by the hundreds, and Jedi by the dozens, in the fiercest melee Sidious had ever witnessed. As the Jedi advanced through the halls, already filled with hundreds of corpses, Clones were waiting in ambush around every corner, employing electro-mines, flamethrowers, grenade launchers, and laser traps. A few times, he saw wounded Clones, holding thermal detonators, wait for the Jedi to get within detonation range and set them off in suicide attacks.
At one junction two corridors down from the turbolift, Ki-Adi-Mundi rounded the corner while levitating blocks of steaming, cracked marble. Jets of fire erupted from four flamethrowers wielded by a group of troopers, burning upon the stone. From behind and to the left of Ki-Adi-Mundi, a Jedi, who Sidious did not recognize, hurled a blue lightsaber in an arcing Force throw which narrowly missed their comrades. The blade soared beneath the wall of fire crossing the distance between the troopers and the marble in under a second.
Sidious frowned, focusing on Ki-Adi-Mundi’s dozen or so Jedi companions. Besides the Cerean, he recognized Jazal. The Miralukan was one of the detainees whose profile had interested the Sith Lord. Had she survived Order 66, Sidious had planned on perhaps utilizing her scientific expertise.
Now, she seemed to be free from the detention block, but rather than working towards any of Sidious’s aims, she was actively participating in whatever it was the Jedi were planning. With his clairvoyance over the entire field of combat, Sidious knew for certain that Jazal was unarmed, but she was wearing an extremely bulky backpack with three dish-shaped antennae poking out.
Sidious tensed up, losing his relaxed dispassionate observer stance. He worried, for a brief moment, that perhaps the Jedi had a surprise in store for him. But the device looked like it was intended for nothing more than broadcasting electromagnetic waves outside of the visible spectrum, which almost certainly meant it was for communications. Combined with the fact the Jedi were advancing on all fronts towards the turbolifts that led to the highest point in the Temple, the Sith Lord concluded that this must be an experimental communications device—to penetrate his jamming field and resume the Jedi uplink with Coruscant’s media.
“The fools,” Sidious cackled aloud, his still-bruised forehead aching slightly as his face muscles contracted into a smile. “WHAT DELICIOUS INCOMPETENCE!”
The only way resuming communications would possibly interfere with Sidious’s plans, is if the Jedi managed to hold onto the Temple, which…
Sidious relaxed again. The first four of his new acolytes were just one level below the massive generator, accompanied by a group of Clone Commandos. At the same time, at the other side of the Temple, Lyn Rakish took one step into the Jedi Archives.
“Time to retrieve what I need and put these foolish monks out of their misery.”
o.o.o.o.o
OBI-WAN KENOBI
At a junction where two hallways met, Obi-Wan stepped over the body of a fallen Jedi, lightsaber ignited. Completely aware of his precarious position, the Jedi Master stepped into an overlapping field fire—with two squads of troopers aiming their blasters at him, one squad in each hallway. Koffi, J’oopi, and Kam assembled behind Obi-Wan. Alongside the Jedi Master, they formed a wedge-shaped defensive barrier with their lightsabers.
Both squads of troopers unloaded a barrage of blaster bolts, most of which were deflected right back at them. Five of the nine in one squad went down in less than second, fiery craters erupting in their armor, and seven of the nine in the other squad shared the same fate.
Deciding to take the path of least resistance, Obi-Wan stepped into the hallway with fewer surviving Clones, both of whom ran away screaming borderline-incoherent status updates. The Jedi Master knew he heard the word “reinforcements,” distorted by both the filter on the Clone’s helmet, as well as by the panicked tone of his voice.
Obi-Wan had been in numerous battles, but he had never experienced anything like this. From the Force Song, he perceived much more than he was normally aware of. Not everything but a lot. He knew exactly where all of the other nearby Jedi were, not only his four companions, with the saber-less Tru Veld walking at the rear, but he was also aware of seven Jedi one level above him. He couldn’t exactly see what they could see, but he knew, from their feelings, thoughts, and actions, that they were currently facing off against at least fifteen Clones.
Further away, his perception was dimmer, but he felt the sensation of triumph on every front as Yoda urged them on. Despite the massive losses, despite having to make unthinkable choices, despite being caught off guard by a prison break, the Jedi Order was prevailing. It was not a matter of if the Jedi would reach the Tranquility Spire and deploy their secret weapon, but when.
A minute or so later, Obi-Wan’s companions linked up with another group of ten Jedi, two of whom had scorched robes and visible blisters. They exchanged names, and Obi-Wan passed them some bacta patches from the pockets of his Clone Trooper armor (the helmet of which he had long abandoned for fear of falling victim to friendly fire).
There were less than a hundred and fifty meters separating them from their level’s turbolift junction, and Obi-Wan felt eager to just end this war now.
But a baffling urge, entering his mind across the meld from Grandmaster Yoda himself, compelled him to answer his comm.
Why? Everyone who needs to be, is in the meld. None of us have used a comm in—
“General Kenobi,” came a familiar voice in a low panic.
“Boil!” Obi-Wan shouted, unable to hide his surprise. “We’re about to take the Spire and end this once and for all. Where are you?”
“I’m near the generator. A bunch of Jedi are working with Clones, and they don’t look like they’re up to any good. They’ve planted explosives all over the generator. I might be able to—”
“Hold back!” Obi-Wan ordered, his voice rising in alarm.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Wait one moment,” Obi-Wan said, exchanging worried glances with all of the Jedi around him.
He felt the news spread across the Jedi meld like a wildfire, shifting the mood from one of inevitable victory, to panic. At once, thousands of Jedi were conceiving of the possible reasons for disabling the power generators, and none of them were good.
A pang of urgency erupted into Obi-Wan’s mind, and a new order, coming from Yoda himself, sent him and his four companions sprinting.
“Boil,” Obi-Wan said, his voice strained as wind whipped his hair mid-sprint.
“Yes, sir?”
“We are on our way! Do not do anything. These are trained Force users you are facing! Do not expose your position. Do not engage!”
“You don’t have to tell me twice, sir, but I may not have a choice.”
As Obi-Wan and his companions ran, information poured to them from Jedi across the meld. They picked the hallways that they knew would be clear of invaders and which had been cleared of traps, but after five or so minutes, they ran beyond the area of the Temple where most any other Jedi in the meld were.
But even beyond the edge of the cluster of Jedi at the center of the Temple, Obi-Wan was still getting new information. Other Jedi, nearer to the generator, who had been guarding against Clone advances down into the Temple from the courtyard level, were quickly repositioning to observe. Within a couple of minutes, two Jedi knights had relocated to a maintenance shaft overlooking the generator, and Obi-Wan had a feeling as to exactly how many of Sidious’s acolytes and Clones had snuck their way in.
There were sixteen of Sidious’s new acolytes in the generator room, along with eight Clone commandos in silver armor. They didn’t seem to be aware they were being observed—
“Blast it!” Obi-Wan swore aloud in a breathy voice, shaking his head. “BOIL!”
o.o.o.o.o
BOIL
The rivets pinning the ventilation shaft to the ceiling of the generator room snapped. Trapped within a loose cube of solid ventilation duct, Boil let out a cry of surprise. The metal cube dropped two meters, slammed into the curved top of the massive power generator, then slid another three meters down the sloping side, before dropping another two meters straight down to the floor.
Boil emerged to the snap hiss of four lightsabers.
“Why are you wearing that?” demanded one of the traitors, a giant Dowutin female, gesturing at his unconventional attire.
At General Kenobi’s instructions, Boil was not wearing a full suit of Clone Trooper armor. In the heat of battle, when Clones were invading the Jedi Temple, dressing from head to toe in Phase II Armor would be a sure way to get killed by friendly fire. Right now, he was dressed from the neck down in his normal armor, but over it, he wore flowing and now, after leaving a ventilation shaft, quite dusty robes.
Rubbing his head to stall while he thought of a cover story, Boil looked around. Everyone in the room, lightsaber ignited or not, was staring at him. He was outnumbered twenty-four to one. “I uh… I escaped.”
“Why didn’t I see you at the detention level then?”
Boil turned around to face the being who had asked that, a gray haired human male. “The Jedi brought me to the Halls of Healing,” he said, concocting a story as his hand slipped down to the carbine on his sling, “I was healing, and then I slipped out—”
“Ha! He’s lying!”
Without another word, Boil bolted. From across the room, the distinct sound of a stun shot went off, and Boil felt the wind knocked out of him as it impacted squarely in the center of his back. But inexplicably, rather than falling to the ground, Boil felt his stomach lurch as he was carried into the sky. There was no air left in his lungs for him to scream. He took in a sharp inhalation of breath as he floated, not towards the crowd of enemies but towards the door.
“He’s just a Clone! How is he using the Force?” yelled a male voice.
“Who’s helping him?!” roared the Dowutin, pointing her lightsaber at the crowd of escaped prisoners. “I ASKED A QUESTION!”
Several beings at once denied levitating him, just as Boil landed on both feet, having floated more than ten meters across the room. The two nearest traitors were standing less than a meter away, one at each side of the door leading into the generator room, incredulous looks of stunned astonishment on their faces. One was an elderly blue-skinned Mon Calamari male, and the other a Lethan Twi’lek.
Boil ran again, right past them. Expecting one of them to stab him, his heart skipped a beat as he crossed the doorway frame, but nothing happened.
“GET HIM YOU FOOLS!”
Rounding a corner, Boil sprinted through a Dowutin-sized hole carved by a lightsaber into a blast door, not even slowing down. The walls of gray durasteel metal sheets, criss-crossed piping, and colorful wiring stereotypical of maintenance areas, gave way once again to hallways lined with smooth tan marble surfaces and statues of Jedi.
An angry croaking Mon Calamari voice echoed down the hall from behind. “GOOD CLONES OBEY!”
“We’re going to teach you to follow orders, Clone,” cackled the Twi’lek.
Boil found himself once again levitating in the air, and he stopped moving forward, despite his still furiously running legs. Slowly, he rotated in place against his own volition. The moment his opponents, the Mon Calamari and Twi’lek he had seen earlier, alongside a black-haired nearly white skinned humanoid who may or may not have been human, were in sight, he drew his blaster—which was instantly yanked from his grip by an invisible hand and thrown onto the floor.
“Stop toying with him and let me end this!” yelled the maybe-not-human, who Boil now realized was wearing gold and white Temple Guard attire, minus the helmet. He ignited a yellow saber staff.
“No,” said the Mon Calamari, his voice shaky. “He probably knows something. He might even be unaffected by whatever Sith magic is affecting the other Clones”
“Suldor is right,” said the Twi’lek, her outstretched hand gripped in a claw in Boil’s direction. “The Dark Lord will reward us for information.”
“We can’t take a burden like him with us! We have only minutes to clear out before…”
“Before what?” Boil asked the pale being, straining against the squeeze from the Force. Squeezing his fist tight, he activated the comm on his wrist armor.
Unamused, the traitors looked up at Boil, like bloodhounds surrounding a bird’s nest.
“I’ll learn his secret in seconds, and we won’t need him after that,” said the Mon Calamari, Suldor apparently. He reached out a flipper-like hand and pointed it in Boil’s direction.
It was like ice in his brain. Boil gasped in shock, hearing voices—including his own voice, speaking during past events. His earlier conversation with Obi-Wan, Cody’s lack of a chip, the experimental device to destroy inhibitor chips, all flashed before him.
If he sees this too…
He latched onto his last memory of Waxer, of his brother taking his platoon to eliminate ‘Umbarans in stolen Clone armor’.
“Pathetic, I’ll find whatever you’re hiding soon enough.”
“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” Eyes pressed tightly closed in pain, Boil reached to his utility belt, and felt the familiar cylindrical shape of his belt detonator. Unable to even turn his head and look if he wanted to, instinctively hit the buttons to detach and arm the thing, then dropped it.
“Oh no you—” the Twi’lek’s words were cut short by a gasp of shock as the thermal detonator hit the ground, rolling a few centimeters forwards while beeping ominously at a steadily increasing rate.
Boil fell to the ground, landing on his buttocks, then kicked the thermal detonator away with his left boot. Frantically crab-walking on his back to put distance between himself and the explosive, he kept his eyes on the Jedi traitors as he grabbed his carbine from where it lay, wondering why they hadn’t killed him or even just ran yet.
Reaching out with the Force, Suldor gripped the thermal detonator and levitated it in midair—and then seemed to struggle! “It’s UGH! It’s not budging! HOW BLASTED HEAVY COULD THIS THING BE?!”
The two other traitors stretched out their hands, joining on the life and death struggle with the Force. Despite all of their efforts, the thermal detonator moved a mere centimeter away from them.
Body pumping with adrenaline, Boil flipped over onto his stomach, and ignored all of his combat training. Rather than staying low like all Clones had been trained to do in the event of a loose Thermal Detonator, he stood at full height and sprinted around the nearest corner at the end of the hall. All the while he frantically whispered under his breath, “What the kriff? What the kriff!”
Hot air followed him around the corner along with the loudest BOOM he had heard in weeks. Smoke alarms went off as Boil collapsed to his knees, coughing. He wished he’d had his helmet still, but that couldn’t be helped.
Peeking his head around the cracked marble edge, he gazed at the destruction. The biggest piece of Jedi traitor he could see was the Mon Calamari’s headless torso, with smaller smoldering bits of gore spread intermittently through ash scored all over the surrounding surfaces. A black crater smoldered in the middle of the floor at the epicenter, with chunks of marble ceiling and shattered wall still raining down. Belatedly, the sprinklers went off, extinguishing the flammable debris from bits of Dark Jedi scattered here and there.
Nothing about what had just transpired made any sense to Boil. He had dropped a bog standard thermal detonator onto the floor after activating it. He’d seen Jedi move wrecked AT-TEs with the Force! There was absolutely no reason they should have had trouble with a mere half a kilogram thermal detonator.
“What the kriff!” Boil yelled, both hands on his head, fingers laced through his well trimmed hair. “WHAT THE—”
“Hello Boil,” a female voice said, causing Boil to scream and turn around.
o.o.o.o.o
OBI-WAN KENOBI
An uncharacteristic panic flooded Obi-Wan. He heard enough from Boil’s comm to know the Clone had been captured, was being interrogated, ran, and then there was an explosion.
“Boil? Boil, do you copy?!” Obi-Screamed onto his comm. “BOIL?!”
“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Shaak Ti’s voice said on Boil’s channel.
His heart feeling like it was going to burst out of his throat, Obi-Wan saw thick smoke in the air as the turbolift door opened onto the generator level. “Shaak Ti? Is Boil dead?” He took a step into the smoke. “Has the generator been destroyed?!”
“You’re still connected to the link are you not?” Shaak Ti asked.
“I… Yes,” Obi-Wan gasped, trusting again in the Force. Immediately he perceived Boil was okay, standing right next to Shaak Ti, and Obi-Wan sensed Shaak was looking back at him. A shudder went up his spine as he perceived himself through Shaak Ti’s own perception of the Force.
Blast that is weird!
“I am glad to see you, General,” Boil said, sighing in relief as Obi-Wan stepped close enough to be seen in the smoky air, clad in a Jedi Temple security uniform with parts of his clone armor over it. “Not as glad as I was to see General Ti though. I floated. I threw a thermal detonator, and it didn’t move even when the Jedi traitors were trying to shove it, and I didn’t know—”
“I am sure you’ll have time to tell Master Kenobi all about it later,” Shaak Ti said, putting a hand on Boil’s shoulder. “You need to calm down and help us save the generator complex.”
Boil exhaled and shook his head as Shaak Ti radiated a calming aura over him. “Sirs, I think it might be too late for that.”
The Togruta pursed her lips. “We still have to try.”
Obi-Wan turned and looked at all of his companions. He noticed Tru had picked up a lightsaber along the way, and thought for a moment to take it from the Teevan, but thought better of it.
Presently, the seven Jedi and one Clone made their way through the Dowutin-sized hole in the blast door to the maintenance corridor. When the shield generator itself was close enough for Obi-Wan to touch it with the Force, his heart sank.
He had felt from the meld that the situation was bad and that Boil was very likely right. There were still two Jedi, hiding in the ventilation shafts above the generator, but neither of them seemed to have any background in explosives or engineering. The generator was absolutely covered in dozens of explosive devices, each of which seemed to have its own receiver. At a minimum, it would take seven or nine Jedi minutes to disarm them all, assuming they neutralized all resistance without anyone setting a bomb off.
From the other side of the meld, back at the Spire of Tranquility, he could sense Ki-Adi-Mundi, Saesee Tinn, Jazal, and a team of mostly-Jedi engineers and scientists going up the turbolift, beneath them was another group of Jedi guardians. They were so close to deploying it, but if this generator went down…
Negotiate, the thought came from the meld, specifically from Shaak.
It is our greatest hope, Obi-Wan thought back, stepping forward without a ward into the generator room. His lightsaber was in his hand, but not ignited. He motioned his hand behind him, signalling for Boil and the others to stay back.
“Master Kenobi… Oh, and Master Ti!” Masana Tide said in mock excitement. “What excellent timing.”
“Where’s Mace Windu?!”
Obi-Wan looked through the crowd to the vaguely familiar voice of the being who had asked the question. Standing behind four grey-striped Clone commandos, who all had their basters pointed at him, Obi-Wan saw an eyeless face he hadn’t seen in a few years. Prosset Dibs. The last time he had seen the graying Miraluka was at his trial before the High Council, where Dibs had demanded they execute him.
Masana Tide turned back to look at Dibs, seeming just as surprised as Obi-Wan by the outburst.
“You’re going to have to deal with us,” Shaak said, “You have two members of the High Council right here, and I assure you, we can speak on behalf of the entire body. Master Windu is unavailable, unfortunately, but—”
The Miraluka screamed at the top of his lungs, his face reddening with fury. “No. No! NO! We have bombs all over your fragile defenseless generator! You do not set the terms here Shaak Ti, I do. With the Temple at our mercy we have proven our power, and if you do not comply, very bad things will happen to all of you!”
“Perhaps if you stop yelling and listen to Shaak Ti for a moment Dibs,” Obi-Wan started amplifying his voice with the Force, “and listened, really listened to our terms, you’d find—”
“NO! I AM NOT LISTENING TO YOU OR ANYONE ELSE OBI-WAN! IF MACE WINDU IS NOT DOWN HERE, KNEELING AT MY FEET, BEGGING FOR MY MERCY, YOU AND THE WHOLE THE HIGH COUNCIL WILL PAY! EVERYONE WILL PAY!”
Obi-Wan recoiled slightly at the venom in Prosset’s voice. It was very disappointing that, despite nearly three years of rehabilitation, the Miraluka had not learned a thing. He did not appreciate the second chance Master Windu had given him. It was absolutely impossible for Mace Windu to even be summoned here. Mace Windu, along with Anakin, had been abducted by the Sith and ferried off to the Grand Republic Medical Center. Less than half an hour ago, Obi-Wan and his companions were still wearing Clone armor from the neck down, because they had been in one of the Temple’s hangar bays, preparing to infiltrate the medical center to rescue Mace Windu and Anakin—and ironically, thanks to Prosset and the other detainee’s escape, that mission had been called off.
For a brief moment, Obi-Wan thought of mentioning all of this and rubbing the sheer irony of it all in Prosset’s face. After quashing that idea, he opened his mouth to mention that Mace Windu wasn’t in the building, but felt an urge from Shaak Ti.
No, tell them nothing. We learn much by what they don’t know!
Obi-Wan exchanged a knowing look with the Togruta, then took a deep, calming breath, allowing Prosset to seethe with impatience.
Just then, an electric jolt of danger screamed from the Force, causing every being in the room sensitive to it to twitch on reflex. Knowing it was far too late, Obi-Wan turned around and leapt through the door, alongside Shaak Ti.
o.o.o.o.o
SHEEV PALPATINE
Sidious sighed despondently. Amazingly, perhaps miraculously, and most disappointingly, Obi-Wan had made it out of the room just as the first explosive went off. The only reason Sidious had waited this long was because he foresaw a possibility Obi-Wan would die in the explosion.
In microseconds, but one at a time, every explosive on the generator went off. The blast consumed most of Sidious’s remaining Force-sensitive acolytes, along with eight Clone commandos, in an inferno. On the operation center’s main viewer, the domed top of the generator could be seen, sparking above a column of smoke and fire.
But the Sith Lord did not see it with his eyes, both of which were still closed as he meditated.
“My Lord—the—very bad news, I am afraid,” Mas Amedda stammered, bracing himself with one hand on a nearby console as if on the verge of fainting. “The explosives went off early. Masana Tide and the others—your acolytes… they’re—they’re...”
“The generator is down,” Sidious said aloud, not to the battle meld, but to the Vice Chancellor and his other minions within earshot. “Send in Leveler . Tell Captain Pelleon to wait for my signal to begin bombardment.”
Truthfully Sidious didn’t really care whether any of the Fallen Jedi who’d gone to the generator had actually survived the blast or not. Their fate had been sealed the moment they’d begun planting the charges.
“As you wish, my lord.” Mas Amedda stepped in front of the holoprojector to address Leveler’s Captain.
Sidious shifted his focus, not on the thousands of surviving Clone reinforcements around the Temple, not on the last dozen or so Clones fighting for their lives with blasters, flamethrowers, and even melee weapons in the Pinnacle Room itself. No, Sidious was now focused on the Jedi Archives.
Presently, Lyn Rakish was in the Fifth Hall of the Jedi Archives, also known as the Bogan Collection. At her side were four Clone commandos, each carrying dozens of datasticks capable of carrying a hundred million exanodes of information.
On either side of her, hundreds of Sith holocrons dominated by black or red decorations lined the walls. Beneath them, on the tables, sheets of datatape were stacked one on top the other, meters high. Each of these contained pages that had been written by the ancient Sith Lords on scraps of parchment before being converted to digital form. Many of them had been lost to the Sith centuries ago.
It was more information than Sidious could peruse through himself in a lifetime, which was one reason why Sidious sought to extend his life.
Lyn picked up a holocron. “You guys, start downloading the datatape. The Chancellor wants—
Sidious sent an impulse to Lyn, causing her to freeze.
No. Search for Essence Transfer.
At that, Lyn turned and faced the Clones, addressing them in a low voice. “Alright, we don’t have much time. The Chancellor wants any information pertaining to something called ‘Essence Transfer’. Do you see anything on it?”
One of the commandos, wearing a pair of hefty electrobinoculars on his helmet, connected his datapad with a computer terminal on the wall. He stooped over the datapad, looking down as a whir of letters and numbers blurred across the screen, far too fast for even Sidious to read. While Sidious had access to the technique invented by Darth Andedu, that method (which involved the total destruction of the transferer’s body) was very risky and far from the guaranteed immortality Sidious wanted for himself.
“Sir, it looks like there are several results. One two stacks on Essence Transfer in the ‘Freedon Nadd’ section, and eight more in the Rakata Archive.”
“Okay, since it looks like we’ve got the whole Bogan Collection to ourselves, we’re splitting up then. You four download every—”
“Looks can be deceiving,” interrupted an elderly-sounding female voice.
A jolt of alarm pulsed from Sidious. No, there can’t be anyone! I would sense—
But he hadn’t sensed her. The Chief Librarian, Jocasta Nu herself, emerged from the exit leading to the Fourth Hall, or the hall of biology and medicine.
Frantically, Sidious searched his feelings, wracking the battlefield for any other possible points he was unable to view. There were many, but most were quite distant from the Archives. To Sidious, this made absolutely no sense.
This is impossible!
He almost heard that fetid green toad chuckling mirthfully through the Force.
Y ou...
Lyn stared at Jocasta, slackjaw.
“You’ve been discovered,” Jocasta said dryly, a deactivated lightsaber in her right hand. “Reinforcements are not far behind me. Your only hope of survival is to fail in your mission.”
“Oh yeah? How do you figure?!” Lyn scoffed, igniting her crimson red blade.
“Did you hear that explosion a minute ago? Did you not see the lights flicker? The Dark Lord of the Sith just killed all of your comrades in the shield generator room. There is no one coming to your aid.”
“What?!” Lyn asked, sending a pulse of worry back in Sidious’s direction. The lightsaber began to shake in her hand.
“Loose ends,” Jocasta said, a sad and sympathetic smile crossing her lips. “Why do you think he wanted the power generator destroyed? Why did he send you here to loot the Archives?”
“I—I don’t—You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who's outnumbered and about to be destroyed,” Lyn grunted, holding her lightsaber straighter.
“Very well,” Jocasta sighed, “I thought you’d be able to put two and two together. The Sith Lord sent you here because he knows he will never be able to conquer this fortress. You were to steal from the Bogan Collection and escape because it’s the only way he can possibly obtain that knowledge before…” The Archivist allowed her voice to trail off teasingly.
“Before what?!” Further impatience filled Lyn’s voice as, to her sides, the Clones began taking up positions in a semi-circle around Jocasta to create fields of fire.
“Do you really need me to explain everything dear?” Jocasta asked sadly.
Lyn gulped. “Before he destroys the Temple… The others were never going to make it.”
KILL THEM BOTH!
Before Sidious had even finished sending the impulse, a shot had landed in the very center of Lyn’s back.
Dodging a torrent of rapid blasterfire, Jocasta Nu leapt into the air, deflecting four shots back as landed in the center of a table. None of the deflected shots hit any of the Clones, but one smashed into a stack of datatape, sending burning sheets of plastic flying in every direction.
“No,” Sidious gasped aloud, the realization hitting harder and harder that all of that information would be forever lost.
The Jedi would win and the data would still be there, or the Sith would win and the Temple would be destroyed. There was no other option Sidious could see, unless somehow those Clones prevailed against the old crone and any of her lackeys en route.
No, reinforcements, Sidious thought frantically. Most of the Jedi are distracted. I just need to redirect more Clones… More reinforcements. Yes… He reached out to six Clone commanders, touching their minds simultaneously. He sent them images, sensations, the importance of the Jedi Archives, and the importance of haste.
But rather than an acknowledgment pulsing across the Battle Meld, Sidious felt more than ten thousand Clones cry out in agony. He felt heat, smelled ozone and burning plastic, and felt an inescapable electric burn growing worse and worse ten thousand times over. Ten thousand lives he was connected to, ten thousand extensions of himself, ten thousand appendages died in an instant.
The shock and pain of it all was so much that, for the first time in his entire life, Sidious fainted.
Notes:
It's been a while between updates. Apologies for the delays, real life has been busy for both of us. Keeping in mind that some of you may have forgotten what happened in chapters 14 and 18, we tried to put in some reminders without dragging it out too much.
Chapter 21: KI-ADI-MUNDI
Chapter Text
Tranquility Spire, Jedi Temple
Four minutes earlier…
“Well, you were right about the turbolift,” Olwa, a female Duros Jedi Knight muttered, pointing straight up with one finger. Directly overhead, drawing nearer and nearer as the turbolift maintenance pod levitated, was turbolift car number eight.
Ki-Adi-Mundi reached out to the Force Song, sending a sense of what they were seeing to Yoda and the rest of the Jedi present. Their path up was obstructed, and they would likely need to cut their way into the turbolift car from below.
When he and more than two hundred Jedi Knights had finished fighting their way through thousands of Clones and reached the base of the Tranquility Spire, they had found every single turbolift leading up into the spire unusable. The Clones made every effort to block all possible ways in. Six of the turbolifts had been sabotaged by blaster fire in all of the right places, while the Jedi sensed the seventh was filled with detonite charges, probably rigged to go off the moment anyone stepped aboard. The eighth turbolift was gone, and had not responded when Ki-Adi-Mundi pressed the “up” button (though, the Jedi Master had honestly expected that to be the case).
While a bomb squad was currently working quickly, but carefully, to get that turbolift seven safe to use, Ki-Adi-Mundi and six other Jedi had taken two maintenance pods up the shaft of turbolift eight. Each pod was less than half of the size of a turbolift, leaving a lot of space around each as they ascended. Unfortunately, this also meant they were cramped. The maintenance pods were only designed to hold two human-sized individuals, and Ki-Adi-Mundi’s was so cramped that Olwa swung outside of the bubble-shaped vehicle—one foot solidly on the interior floor of the pod, the other dangling dangerously over the three kilometer deep turbolift shaft, while one of her hands gripped the frame of the door.
The third Jedi in Ki-Adi-Mundi’s pod was Jazal, the eyeless Miraluka who had helped Dr. Gubacher rework Ahsoka’s device to deactivate inhibitor chips. Ki-Adi-Mundi had not been sure whether or not Jazal should be trusted; after all, she had also been a convict and a detainee until yesterday. Now that he was connected to her through Yoda’s Force Song, the Cerean was absolutely confident she was not in the employ of the Sith, and that she believed her survival hinged on the same thing every other Jedi’s did: deactivating the inhibitor chips and removing Palpatine from power.
In the second pod, Kit Fisto rode with two human Jedi, both grizzled veterans of Geonosis and at least a dozen other campaigns. One was a graying male named Charro, and the other a black haired female with almond shaped eyes, Bultar Swan.
We’re cutting through the floor, came the thought from Kit Fisto.
“No wait!” Ki-Adi-Mundi yelled, saying the command aloud and also sending his sensation of alarm into the Force Song. Danger sense was blaring. The Cerean cut the repulsors, allowing the pod to drop in free fall.
Less than a second later, Kit Fisto did the same and just in time to avoid being squashed by the rapidly descending turbolift car.
Neither Jazal nor Olwa screamed, but Ki-Adi-Mundi could feel their fear as intensely as they did. For Jazal, who couldn’t see and had no idea what was going on besides the vague impressions Ki-Adi-Mundi and Olwa were conveying through the Force, the drop was terrifying.
Enhancing her grip with the Force, Olwa was clutching the pod’s railing for dear life, both her feet floating as their speed increased to freefall velocity.
Ki-Adi-Mundi’s stomach felt like it was rising in his chest, and sweat began to bead on his forehead as his jaw clenched. More than a hundred and fifty meters of free-fall later, he fired on the repulsorlift again, and pitched hard to starboard, drifting two meters into a twenty meter exhaust shaft that connected with the deep turbolift shaft. The pod’s repulsors shrieked in protest as the Cerean taxed them to their limit, slowing the descent of the pod so abruptly that his knees buckled, and he had to grip the steering wheel bars just to keep himself on and upright.
Just as Kit Fisto’s pod floated into the shaft, executing the same maneuver but more gently, and wind surged into the exhaust shaft, just as it always did to prevent too much air from compressing beneath a descending turbolift car.
Squinting against the gust of wind, Ki-Adi-Mundi waited for the turbolift car to pass completely, then turned to face Kit Fisto.
“Hopefully that’s the last trick up their sleeve,” the Nautolan said.
“You can be sure they have more tricks,” Ki-Adi-Mundi rebuffed. Carefully, he pitched the pod back into the turbolift shaft, peering around the corner where the roof of the exhaust shaft ended and the gaping hole leading back into the turbolift began. Looking straight up, he could now see nothing but eerie darkness.
“There’s no need to rush things, Master,” Jazal protested. “We have time to wait for more Jedi to—”
Collectively, every Jedi present took a sharp inhalation of breath. A sensation of hopelessness, anguish, and dismay poured into the Force Song. Two seconds later, the entire turbolift shaft vibrated in a shockwave, too weak to cause serious damage, but strong enough to kick dust loose from the walls.
A being not connected to Yoda’s Force Song might have come to the conclusion that somewhere far below turbolift car seven, rigged with detonite charges, had exploded. But the sensation from the Song was even worse news. Images, sensations of fire and heat, and from the hundreds of Jedi staring out viewports, fear as the vast shield covering the entire Temple Precinct went down. The Temple Generator had been destroyed.
Shaak Ti, Obi-Wan, and the rest of Obi-Wan’s strikeforce were running from flames. After a few seconds, the emergency backup generators kicked in, and glow lamps, computer terminals, charging stations, all flickered back to life. The emergency generators could provide nowhere near enough power to energize the shields, however.
“Can we still do this?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked Jazal, trying to sound calm but his voice cracked at the dryness in his throat.
“With the generator down? The emergency backups probably have enough power,” she answered, “Assuming the Clones haven’t damaged the Council Chamber’s connection to the power system.”
“And if they have?” Bultar asked.
“Ahsoka’s original microwave emitter could still work, but it had a range of less than ninety meters. With Dr Gubacher’s idea to transmit the microwaves along an Arc Pulse, the range is theoretically only limited by the power to the device.”
“Yes, but how far will the microwaves carry along an Arc Pulse on battery power?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
“Let’s just assume the High Council Chamber is connected to the backup generators,” Jazal answered serenely. “The device should generate enough energy to disable the inhibitor chips in every trooper standing outside the Jedi Temple, even through their plastoid armor. The Clones too deep inside the Temple may be unaffected, but the inhibitor chips in every Clone within at least three kilometers, maybe five, should conduct enough energy to be rendered nonfunctional.”
Ki-Adi-Mundi covered his face in frustration, but decided not to ask a third time.
“With the shields down we have to try,” Kit Fisto said, in a more uplifting tone, though an unspoken fear answered, echoing over the Force Song:
With the shield generator down, will it even matter that the Clones in and around the Temple are freed from their madness? The sensation from most voices though was one of resolution.
“There is no try,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said firmly, then pressed up on the lever controlling his pod’s repulsorlifts. Kit Fisto did the same, and floating roughly at the same altitude, the two pods ascended.
All voices among the strikeforce grew hushed as they passed the doors leading from the turbolift shaft leading into the Hall of Knighthood. They passed the level, and continued going up into the three veranda levels. At the highest veranda level, where the High Council’s special meeting chamber only used during times of conflict was, both pods came to a halt. The only noise that could be heard was the hum of their engines.
Kit Fisto and Ki-Adi-Mundi exchanged glances. Simultaneously, sensations of two opposing plans unfolded through the Force Song. Ki-Adi-Mundi wanted to use the Force to pry the doors open quickly, while Kit Fisto wanted them to use their lightsabers to cut their way in. Before they had any time to decide, the turbolift doors opened on their own, filling the dark shaft with blinding white light.
A torrent of blasterfire, more intense than anything he had ever faced in infantry combat, erupted before Ki-Adi-Mundi even had time to think. Less than a second had gone by, but already his reflexes were stretched to the limits. The Cerean parried and deflected as quickly as he could, all the while his danger sense did acrobatics in his stomach. He moved to the front of the pod and gave in to the Force, allowing it to guide his hand as he sliced left, right, up, down.
His hindbrain struggled to make sense of what was going on, utterly baffled by the disconnect between the amount of blasterfire he saw, and the fact he could sense only two Clones shooting at him. But when his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw both Clones were clad in reinforced Phase II armor, and each was wielding a Z-6 rotary blaster cannon, capable of firing up to thirty rounds a second on automatic.
Behind the Cerean, Jazal ducked for cover, just as a shot Ki-Adi-Mundi had failed to deflect passed through the spot her head had just been.
The torrent of shots shifted from Ki-Adi-Mundi to Perwa. With a one-handed lightsaber grip, the Duros swung her green blade, deflecting six or seven shots before two shots managed to get through. Pain erupted into the Force Song as a ribbon of fire burst through her abdomen. She fell from the pod, headfirst, until her neck broke on contact with the turbolift shaft walls thirty or forty meters later, and Ki-Adi-Mundi lost track of her.
The Cerean’s own mortality flashed before his eyes as the two streams of blasts shifted back to him. Panicked plans and notions of plans flashed into his mind as he struggled to deflect the shots again. He thought of Force leaping, but that would mean taking a dangerous few seconds to prepare and—
Kit Fisto leapt toward the open turbolift doors, an icy river of hues of blue flaring through the air as the Nautolan deflected a dozen shots in just two seconds.
With the firepower no longer being leveled at him, Ki-Adi-Mundi pushed himself from the pod, pointing his lightsaber as he came down and skewered the Clone on the right. The Nautolan had already killed the Clone on the left, but now they had more to worry about.
From at least seven directions, Clones clad in conventional Phase II armor were firing at them, taking cover behind the differently-sized Jedi High Council chairs.
The moment they reached the ground behind Ki-Adi-Mundi and Kit Fisto, Bultar and Charro each picked a direction. Bultar ran clockwise around the circular room, while Charro ran counterclockwise.
From the Clones, seven firing vectors had now become ten, but the troopers were shifting targets, no longer focusing only on Ki-Adi-Mundi and Kit Fisto standing in the firing line.
One trooper’s rifle was cut in two when Bultar leapt onto the chair he was taking cover behind. He whipped out a pistol, managing to fire only one shot before the Jedi Knight’s green lightsaber connected with his body, severing him in two from his shoulder to his hip.
On the opposite side of the room, behind Mace Windu’s chair, a pair of troopers were laying down fire on Kit Fisto, crouching very close together—so close that both were decapitated by a single stroke from Charro.
Ki-Adi-Mundi stepped into the center of the room, trying to keep the focus of the fire on him as the Jedi Knights continued their circle of death.
“Watch out for—” A Clone behind Coleman Kcaj’s chair managed to say, just before Bultar’s blade pierced his lungs.
Briefly, the Cerean’s gaze focused on that chair. It was so strange that Coleman Kcaj had been killed earlier that day, down at the Shrine in the Depths in the event that sparked all of this madness.
A blue blaster bolt nearly hit Ki-Adi-Mundi while he was staring at the chair, but he ducked reflexively at the impulse from his danger sense, and threw his lightsaber back in the direction the shot had come from.
The Clone in gray and blue Katarn armor let out a groan of surprise and ducked behind Yoda’s chair just as the blade narrowly missed his head.
Gusts of wind suddenly kicked up in the room, whipping the Cerean’s beard around. Expecting the commando behind the chair to re-emerge and open fire again, Ki-Adi-Mundi didn’t take his eyes off Yoda’s chair turn to look at where the rush of air was coming from, but he could sense from his companions, and see from the bright spotlights illuminating the room despite the night time darkness all around, that an LAAT was now circling around the tower. As his bright blue blade arced through the air, returning to its master, an omnipresent danger sense built and built, rising to a crescendo just as the Cerean clutched his hand around the hilt of his saber.
A distinctive menacing hum filled the High Council chamber. Ki-Adi-Mundi had heard the sound a thousand times whenever an LAAT wing turret fired.
Not even attempting to block the attack, the Cerean tucked his chin to his chest and took a step backward, and then all he could see was bright green. In spite of his discipline, Ki-Adi-Mundi cried out in surprise and pain. He could no longer see anything clearly, but there was an intense heat, accompanied by the acrid stench of burning hair, that could only mean one thing. His beard was on fire.
Nearly blinded, in what felt like an out-of-body experience, Ki-Adi-Mundi reached out to the Force Song, seeing himself pat out the flames on his beard through the eyes of his companions. The pain subsided to a tolerable level, and he rubbed his watery eyes, seeing nothing but the afterimage of the blindingly green light burned into his vision.
All of the Clones inside the chamber were dead, but the LAAT continued to pose a threat. It blasted again, this time the beam impacting against one of the hardened transparisteel windows rather than through one of the already-broken ones. The window bent under the energy, and the heat in the room began to rise. Circling around the tower
Jazal sent a pulse into the meld, offering to jump into the room from the turbolift shaft and set off the microwave pulse immediately.
“No, wait!” Ki-Adi-Mundi yelled, his sight returning enough to see the vehicle behind the wide green streak across vision. The LAAT began to drift again in front of the already-broken window, presumably one of the entry points the Clones had used to gain ingress to the tower.
Quickly-thinking, Kit Fisto grabbed a bandolier which had four thermal detonators on it, rapidly arming all four with his thumb, then threw them in the direction of the broken window. Spinning as it arced through the air, the bandolier thudded onto the LAAT’s cockpit, slid down the hull, and wrapped itself directly on top of the starboard forward-facing anti-personnel turret.
For half a second, they stared in shocked astonishment until a ripple of danger sense prompted all four Jedi in the room to run back, as far away from the window as was possible. Ki-Adi-Mundi and Bultar Swan took cover behind Plo Koon’s chair, while Kit Fisto and Charro took cover behind Depa Billaba’s, and Jazal waited atop the turbolift service pod in the turbolift shaft.
“Fisto!” Ki-Adi-Mundi yelled, panic gripping his voice. “How long did you set the timer for?!”
“I don’t know,” Kit said frustratedly through gritted teeth, his jet black eyes focused on the LAAT. “I just thumbed the—”
Hovering in place, the transport opened fire, filling the room with laser cannon fire. Blasts punched through both Yoda and Mace Windu’s chairs at the front of the room, reducing them to tatters as they continued along into Depa Billaba and Plo Koon’s.
“PUSH!” Ki-Adi-Mundi yelled, simultaneously sending the impulse back into the meld and reaching out to the hulking metal death machine.
The LAAT swayed, the shift in position causing both laser cannons to miss the open part of the broken transparisteel, and instead flash as they impacted marble and solid reinforced portions of window.
With all of their might, the Jedi continued pushing, shoving the LAAT back several meters as its engine and repulsors struggled to stabilize it. Jazal leapt from the turbolift shaft into the chamber and joined in, steady on her feet despite the bulky electronic package in her backpack.
“How is this possible?” Charro asked, closing one eye as he strained.
“With the Force, anything is—”
“That’s not what I meant, Master,” Charro grunted. “How is it that the thermal detonator has not gone off yet?!”
Before a further word had been said, another bright light left Ki-Adi-Mundi seeing stars again as an explosion erupted from the LAAT’s starboard front turret. The dozen lives on board were instantly extinguished, even before the vehicle began to drop through the sky.
Jazal sent a warning through the Force Song, back to all of the Jedi at the base of the tower to be careful. A transport was falling and would crash somewhere in about ten seconds.
Twelve seconds later, a distant explosion could be heard, barely louder than the background breeze coming in through the broken window. No further Jedi lives had been lost.
The Miraluka pulled out a heavily modified datapad with a gel screen that curved and bulged in shapes a being who could not see could still feel, and felt the screen as she approached Master’s seat, typing furiously as Kit helped her take off the bulky backpack.
While she did so, a vague danger sense began to rise, almost imperceptibly at first. For a wild moment, Ki-Adi-Mundi thought Jazal might be the source of the danger, but soon the sensation became clearer.
“Heads up, multiple LAATs, running with lights off,” Bultar Swan said, just as Ki-Adi-Mundi’s Force senses told him as much.
“This will be all over before they get here,” Jazal said. “Assuming the Clones decide to side with us, once their free will is restored, that is. Assuming, also, that we’re able to set it off again when another wave attacks…” Her voice trailed off as she became more engrossed with her work, unzipping the frontmost pouch and ran a power cord from her backpack’s interior to a socket on the wall.
Ki-Adi-Mundi and Kit Fisto exchanged glances. Neither had thought far enough ahead to consider what would happen after this wave of Clones was stopped.
“Alright, we’ve modified the device substantially from Ahsoka’s prototype. When the Arc Pulse enhances the microwave burst, it’s going to transmit enough electromagnetic energy to fry ten thousand Clone chips within a three kilometer radius… all In thirty seconds… Uh…”
The danger sense was growing stronger and stronger, not just here but across the whole Temple. It wasn’t twelve LAATs filled with thirty troopers each. It also wasn’t a vague threat of another assault coming in an hour, but something immediate. Everything was in danger. Everywhere was in danger.
“Tell me you feel that,” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked, running his hand through his burnt beard.
Before anyone answered, a dark point, illuminated by dots of lights along both its sides, pierced the nighttime clouds. It grew wider and wider, larger and larger as more and more of the shape emerged.
“Is that a Venator?” Bultar asked in a shocked stage whisper.
“No, it’s an Acclamator, a missile cruiser to be precise,” Kit Fisto answered, stepping in front of the broken window.
“Masters, we’re not going to want to be here when this thing goes off! It’s a hundred times more powerful than the burst we tested in the halls of healing!”
Not needing a third warning, Ki-Adi-Mundi broke his gaze from the slowly descending ship and ran for the turbolift, leaping into the pod. The moment Jazal was aboard he cut the repulsorlift, and began freefall just as Kit Fisto, Bultar, and Charro jumped into theirs.
“How far down do we need to be?”
“We will be fine here,” Jazal answered. “Being away from transparent windows or out of the direct line of sight of the device should be safe enough.”
Ki-Adi-Mundi re-engaged the repulsors, gently bringing the pod from freefall speed to hovering in place in mid air. A second later, Kit Fisto’s pod came to a hover alongside theirs, with Bultar and Charro seated precariously at the edges.
There was relative inaction across the meld. The only Jedi still in combat was Jocasta Nu, who seemed to have caught some stragglers attempting to raid the Bogan Collection. Collectively, thousands of Jedi had a version of the same thought. A shared dread.
When the inhibitor chips are deactivated in the Temple, that assault ship will still be out there. What is going to stop it from leveling the entire complex?
A hum could suddenly be heard, warbling from above, and at places across the Temple, the lights flickered briefly as the prototype emitter transmitted microwaves at a frequency which would heat up inhibitor chip tissue faster and more intensely than skin or regular brain tissue. At least, that was what had happened in the Halls of Healing.
Presently, Ki-Adi-Mundi gasped in shock as more than five thousand lives were instantly extinguished, sending spasms of pain and distress into the Force so powerful that even the most latently-connected Jedi could feel it. All around the Temple and the surrounding precinct, presences of life vanished from the living Force. Further out, perhaps two or three kilometers from the Temple, injured beings writhed on the ground in agony, still alive but in serious pain.
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND!” Jazal half-screamed half-wailed, trembling so hard that the maintenance pod shook. “HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!”
Ki-Adi-Mund put a hand on Jazal’s shoulder, sending calming waves through the Force. He reached out to the Force Song, trying to get a sense of what was happening. Panic and confusion spread through the Force Song, though none of the dead were Jedi. In the midst of the confusion, he felt several Jedi who were more confident about what had happened, or who had witnessed…
Oh.
Jazal seemed to sense his realization and gasped. “The blasted armor! Plastoid can conduct microwaves, and an Arc Pulse—Doctor Gubacher only tested it on… I’m going to be sick!”
Rapidly, the emotions across the Force Song were evolving from a uniform sense of alarm and panic to more mixed feelings. Many Jedi were now as sorrowful as Jazal. Others though, while saddened, were sending out waves of relief at the end to this siege. Sentiment along the lines of: Though it was unfortunate that so many Clones had to die, is it so worse to kill them this way instead of with our blades ? A more radical group, however, were sending out sentiment along the lines of if it’s us or them, we only have one choice. Us.
Twenty or thirty seconds of this went on, until the voices of the Force Song devolved into such disagreement that any possible utility ended, the word Sith being levied at the radical utilitarianists who instigated the entire argument with such venom and frequency that they themselves could barely counter-argue.
Being connected to so many disagreeing voices, thousands in riotous discord, was so distracting Ki-Adi-Mundi couldn’t even think. He only stared at Kit Fisto in open mouthed shock. At long last, Master Yoda projected a sensation of regret and tiredness, before ending the ritual and severing the connection wholesale.
After it was gone, Kit returned a tired look of disappointment and shook his head.
Less than a minute later, Ki-Adi-Mundi’s wrist-comm crackled to life and Cin Drallig’s voice came out, sounding regretful but determined.
“In case you missed it, this phase of the action is over. Whatever your thoughts or feelings on what just happened, zip it. We don’t have time for soul searching. That Acclamator floating overhead isn’t going anywhere and neither are those siege artillery batteries. Everyone is to evacuate to the lower levels, and from there, we’ll work out where we’re going. If you see someone in distress, someone who can’t make it, help them make it. No one stays behind. No one gets left behind.”
o.o.o.o.o
Commander CC-2244 "CODY"
Siege Position Aurek HQ, Temple District, Coruscant
Commander Cody stared at the holotable showing the Jedi Temple, gunships swarming around it and Clones scaling it with ascension cables and jetpacks like an oversized version of the citadel training course back on Kamino. Around him, technicians and subordinate Clone Officers from the 212th and several mobility units were busy coordinating with their own assets and the other siege command centers.
“Commander,” Crys said, stepped forwards with a datapad in hand, the blond-haired Clone handing it to him. “The shields are down.”
“I am already aware,” Cody said, staring at the holodisplay. Not only was it obvious from the energy readouts that the shields were down, but now a dozen LAATs were flying through the darkness above the Temple.
A journey that had taken thirty minutes for infantry moving along the ground at walking pace through the velocity-sensitive shields, slowly taking vehicles and aircraft through over the bridges and into the Temple Precinct, could now be accomplished in seconds. Time was no longer on the Jedi’s side. All Cody could do was hope they’d evacuated as many as they could.
“What are our orders?”
Twenty or so meters behind Crys, the last of a group of Clones from the 481st boarded an LAAT, and it took off, rotated in midair, then sent the tent flaps of the command center rippling as it made a beeline for the Temple.
Cody didn’t even feel like looking at the Temple. He was completely out of options. He could no longer help the Jedi by giving them intel. His only option was to stall or to strike out as best he could, perhaps by sabotaging the remaining LAATs or else… No he had to stall until he could come up with a plan.
Blast it Cody! You knew this was a possibility. Think! Is there any way to save the Temple?
He grimaced under his helmet. “Our orders from the Chancellor are clear. We’re to let the Navy handle any and all bombardment duties unless instructed otherwise.”
“Understood, sir.” Crys snapped to and went back to his station at a nearby console, slipping his helmet back on over his dirty blond hair, unusual but not unheard of for a Clone.
Cody was stretching Palpatine’s orders, and his authority as a Marshal Commander, to the limit, but so far nobody had called him out on it. He knew though that his stalling would be less convincing by the second as more and more units left the 212th behind, advancing on the Jedi Temple by any means possible.
So far it had just been the 481st and the legion’s component battalions, but how much longer would that remain the case?
Cody looked back down at the holoprojector, and saw a dogfight unfolding. He tried to ignore the dogfight where Clone-piloted starfighters were now peeling off to draw the Jedi Eta-2s and Delta-7s moving to intercept the LAATs. Could I pull a Pong Krell? Cody wondered to himself. Not kill my comrades, but give them orders that will hinder the other units who are obeying Palpatine. What if I order a jammer to be depl—
The very next second, Cody experienced something that made him realize such a plan would never have worked. He could hear Chancellor Palpatine’s voice, not over any comm channel, but in his head. For a terrified moment, he thought it had finally happened to him. He would now be a slave to the Chancellor’s unlawful orders to kill every Jedi.
But the orders weren’t to kill every Jedi.
{“The Archives!”} the voice compelled, an urgent panic causing the hairs to stand up on the back of his neck.
He could no longer see the interior of the command tent, nor the landing pad through the flaps outside. He was in the Jedi Temple, looking through the advanced HUD of a Clone Commando, firing madly as Jocasta Nu stood on a table deflecting every one of his shots. A moment later, an inexplicable fear flooded his very being. What was in the Jedi Temple Archives was absolutely essential and needed to be retrieved. He could feel the urgency flow through thousands of his comrades, and the superconsciousness they were now connected to was, somehow, growing bigger and bigger. Clones as far away as five kilometers from the Temple Precinct were now being dragged into the meld, for the purpose of—
THE TEMPLE ARCHIVES MUST BE SECURED AT ONCE!
No. This is ridiculous, Cody thought. He fought the urge and abruptly broke free of it, just in time to be trampled by Crys and several other troopers who were literally pushing Cody over as they sprinted from the tent.
“HOLD IT!” Cody yelled. He got to his feet and stepped out of the tent after them, a whirlwind of fears driving him to breathlessness as he started to run.
Would he start shooting Jedi mindlessly now if he saw them?
Could the other Clones, or the Chancellor, tell that he was less than enthusiastic about slaying Jedi?
Was he now exposed?
Breathlessly, now running up the steps to the landing platform, pilots still prepping the LAATs for takeoff, he cried out one more “HOLD IT!”
His men came to a screeching halt, standing there confused as they turned to face him. “Commander, we received orders to assault the archives,” Crys uttered, now sounding unsure as to what he was saying and doing.
“WHAT SHAB’LA ORDERS!? I DIDN’T RECEIVE ANY ORDERS!” Cody bellowed, hoping the fact said Orders somehow were projected into his mind would confuse them on their legitimacy.
“But they’re direct from…” Crys trailed off, helmet tilting upwards.
Cody turned and looked in the same direction, just in time to see movement near the Temple he did not understand. Thousands of bodies were falling. Many were Clones who had been scaling the temple with cables. Others were jet troopers, all of whom were now flying or falling completely out of control. Gunships careened from the sky, bodies raining from their holds. A few fighters climbed away while others spiralled out of the air.
Cody saw less than two seconds of this before he felt an electric tingle that reminded him of being zapped by an electrostaff’s stun mode. He smelled smoke as his hair began to smolder, and ripped his helmet off, screaming.
All around, Clones stumbled about, clutching their heads and dropping their weapons or other equipment. Cody rapidly patted his hair down, smothering the blazes. The scar on his temple felt like it was going to split in two.
“STATUS REPORT!” he barked as he recovered, a decade of instinct drilled in by training and experience overriding his confusion and horror. There was no fight or flight, only command . He turned away from the fireballs blossoming across the Jedi Temple as the crashing gunships impacted it. In the background, alarms blared throughout the camp as Clones staggered from between artillery pieces and heavy armor to man defenses. AA turrets turned skyward as they returned to their neutral positions, abandoned by the Clones who had been manning them.
Crys, who had fallen to his knees, ripped his helmet from his steaming head, gasping. His skin looked like it had suffered the worst sunburn Cody had seen in his entire life. After patting down his head for a few moments, he managed to croak a question. “What the kriff was that?!” No longer riveted at the notion of charging headlong into the Temple Archives, he pulled out his own set of electrobinoculars.
When only moans and incoherent static responded from the comm built into Cody’s helmet, which he was clutching in both hands, he stormed back into the command center. A few disoriented Clones came in tow, one man tripping over a tent flap they entered. “Commander? Are we under attack…?”
Cody ignored them, and focused on the holodisplay as a mix of specialist Troopers and ‘soft-shell’ Clone technicians in jumpsuits and padded blue-grey vests and soft helmets resembling flight-line personnel glanced over at him from their stations. Every single unit on the other side of Shinarcan Bridge was unresponsive. Holofootage of Clones everywhere revealed camps, vehicles, and landing pads surrounded by bodies, smoke rising from under their armor.
A Clone comms technician, Lon, looked up from one display opposite Cody’s, his face pale. “Parjai Squad is reporting from Checkpoint Cresh… Half their men just dropped dead. The rest were eating their lunch rations with their helmets off when whatever… that was, happened. Sergeant Barlex is asking for orders. He doesn’t remember why he’s on the perimeter.”
Cody felt his stomach churn, he’d had over a thousand men from the 7th Sky Corps on this side of the Shinarcan Bridge Extension, blocking the only way in or out of the Temple Precinct on foot from this direction. “Order them to grab their dead and fall back if possible, otherwise send in droids to recover them… What about the other units?”
“The platoons who’re reporting in have similar stories sir, just varying in the number of dead,” another Clone technician reported.
“And the ones who aren’t…?” Cody asked tentatively.
“I don’t know sir… Twenty of the forward platoons haven’t reported in,” The man muttered nervously.
We had twenty- eight platoons on that perimeter, over a thousand men from the various units attached to the siege… That’s over eleven thousand men dead in the worst case if we count the 481st as a total loss…
He shoved the disturbing thought aside. “Have probes go check on them, pull everyone who’s responding to hails back to the siege camps until we can figure out what just happened.”
“Commander… What’s going on?” Wooly asked again.
Cody turned back to the Jedi Temple, staring at the structure as the Jedi Starfighters abruptly pulled away from their pursuit while the surviving Clone fighters began circling lazily, their pilots requesting status updates over the commsnet, voices confused and disoriented. “I… have no idea.” He suddenly remembered that strange, almost out of body experience, and compulsion to take the Temple Archives. “Did anyone else see Jocasta Nu?”
“Who?”
“The Temple Archivist. Right before this happened, we got…” Cody’s voice trailed off as he thought how best to describe it. A vision? Compulsion? Need? Orders? “ Someone tried to order us to assault the Archives.”
“I don’t remember that,” Crys said.
“Neither do I,” Lon agreed. “Sir, if all this is getting to you. Maybe you should—”
“I’m fine,” Cody interrupted, shaking his head in annoyance. It was blasted annoying being the only sane Clone in a madhouse. The only benefit was he now had an excuse to prevent anyone from rushing the Temple or bombarding it. “Send the following order, all personnel are to undergo mandatory medical scans. Get all other camps and outposts doing the same, recall all airspeeders and starfighters so the pilots can be checked. We’re on a general stand-down except for self-defense, nobody moves on or fires at the Temple until we figure out what the kriff is going on with our heads.”
o.o.o.o.o
Gillad Pellaeon
Aboard the R/ACC Leveler
Panicking voices erupted from all around the bridge. The comm scanner sampling communications on the ground had gone nearly silent.
Captain Gillad Pellaeon stared at the battlefield holoprojector in disbelief as the holograms of thirty three starfighters and twelve LAATs changed color from bright blue to the dark, barely visible, shade of dark blue that represented a destroyed or disabled vessel. For ten to fifteen seconds, Leveler’s scanners tracked the hulls of forty five ships as they plummeted to the surface, impacting the sloping walls and flat courtyards of the Jedi Temple.
“What in the blazes?” Pellaeon whispered, more to himself than to anyone in particular. He turned away from the display and approached the viewports.
“Multiple friendly craft destroyed!” yelled Rumahn, Leveler’s second in command, who still stared in utter disbelief at the holodisplay. “Remaining ships are pulling away and requesting orders, Jedi are not pursuing!”
When Pellaeon reached the viewports, he saw plumes of smoke rising from the landscape. He didn’t count them all, but he was sure there would be at least forty-five, one for every Republic vessel that had abruptly fallen to its doom.
“Most of the chatter on the ground has died down,” the comm officer, Knob, said, looking up from the comm scanner and turning in his chair to face Pellaeon. “Commander Cody is ordering all forces to fall back to the artillery bases, self-defense only until a thorough medical analysis of all troops can be done.”
“Our travel shields deflected some sort of electromagnetic pulse a few seconds ago,” a systems technician reported clinically amidst the chaos.
The Jedi managed to pull something off after all.
Pellaeon kept the thought to himself and swallowed hard. “Increase altitude a thousand meters. I want more distance between us and the Temple.”
“Sir, respectfully, the Chancellor ordered us to take up position at these coordinates to support the siege,” said Lieutenant Lock, a Clone Navigation officer, and third in command of this shift.
Pellaeon took a deep breath, thinking hard to formulate a response. He warily looked over his shoulder, back at the fleet security Clones standing guard at the rear of the bridge. Several captains of other vessels had been killed by their own Clone crew members for refusing to follow Order 66, even in the face of certain death. Some had defied their own crews, protecting Jedi or refusing orders they felt were unlawful. Pellaeon wished he were that type of man.
If the orders came to fire on the Jedi Temple though, he would follow them. He told himself the reason why was that, at thirty-two years of age, with a son Mynar, a wife Hallena, he had too much to continue living for. Deep down though, a darker voice whispered that this was just an excuse.
“Uh, sir, are you going to follow the Chancellor’s orders or not?” Lock asked again, this time impatiently.
“Look at the holoprojector, Lieutenant!” Pellaeon snapped, losing his patience at both Lock’s petulant tone and this utterly insane situation. “There is no siege to support! I did not give you a suggestion. Increase our altitude, now. Stay below the cloud cover though, I want a constant view of the Temple.”
“Very well, sorry sir,” Lock said quickly, pulling up on the altitude controls.
For a few minutes, the crew of the Leveler resumed business as usual, holding position around three thousand meters higher than the Pinnacle Spire. Pellaeon’s pacing grew more impatient, as he grumbled to himself under his breath.
This would not do… This just would not do!
With both hands clasped behind his back, Pellaeon left the bridge to his ready room, and patched himself through to Coruscant Fleet Command. After five beeps, a young human male, though not a Clone, appeared on the small holodisplay on Pellaeon’s desk.
“This is Captain Pellaeon. I need to speak with Admiral Yularen. It is a matter of utmost urgency.
“Unfortunately, Captain, Admiral Yularen departed the Coruscant system an hour ago—”
“Departed the Coruscant System!” Pellaeon scoffed in disbelief. “Departed Coruscant, at a time like this!”
“I am not at liberty to discuss the nature of Admiral Yularen’s mission, sir. I—”
Pellaeon’s face was beet red by this point. “All forces on the ground around the Jedi Temple were just wiped out, and no one is telling us anything! Patch me through to whomever is in charge down there, right now!”
“Sir,” the junior officer said calmly, far too calmly given the situation, “I’ll patch you through to Vice Admiral Screed.”
“Vice Admiral Screed?” Pellaeon asked, but before he had quite finished the sentence, the young officer’s visage was replaced by an aurora of ghostly blue HoloNet static. The holopad began emitting a dial tone again.
Pellaeon met Terrinald Screed twice, back when they were both officers in the Judicial Corps. He hadn’t known that Screed had been promoted to Vice Admiral though, and when a grizzly half-cybernetic face appeared, Pellaeon could not help but jump in startlement.
“Gil? Is that you?” Screed asked.
“Yes, Admiral,” Pellaeon said, stiffening as he regained his composure, and somewhat baffled at being called Gil. As far as he remembered, he and Screed had never been on first name terms, let alone nicknames. “It’s all chaos here. We—”
“Good,” Screed interrupted. “Are you calling on a tight band?”
“Of course, Admiral,” Pellaeon answered.
“Excellent,” Screed said, sighing with relief. “Captain, I am meeting right now with most of the Republic Security Council.”
“Apologies to dial at such a busy time,” Pellaeon blurted out, “I had no idea—”
“Is where you are calling from safe? Can any Clones overhear you?”
Pellaeon turned around and gave one nervous glance back in the direction of the bridge. “They shouldn’t be able to, sir.”
“In that case, let me introduce you to those in the Security Council here, or as holopresences,” Screed said, his own holopresence shrinking as several others appeared on the display. “General Locus Geen of the Army’s Special Operations Command, Admiral Dodd Rancit of Naval Intelligence, and Director Armand Isard of the Senate Bureau of Intelligence” he said, needlessly introducing three human officers whom Pellaeon recognized by reputation alone. Screed then gestured to a pale white Kaminoan with purple eyes, “And, of course, we are joined by Senator Halle Burtoni, of Kamino.”
Pellaeon remained standing at attention and smiled as he nodded politely to the senator, wondering more deeply what sort of conspiracy in the Republic Security Council he had gotten himself involved with. It was extremely odd, to say the least, that they were hiding this meeting from Clones while including one of the aliens who created the GAR.
“And Senator Canny Mandary Bertar, who represents the Senate Dispensation Committee on this council,” he added, introducing a mostly-colored feathered alien, with a shockingly green crest of feathers upon her head. Pellaeon smiled, his brain working overtime to figure out if this alien was a Calibop or an Mrlssi. “And finally, Senator Aang, who is representing the Senate Military Oversight Committee.” A Roonan senator with gray skin and pupiless giant blue eyes gave Pellaeon a nod.
Collapsing in his chair, Pellaeon wiped the sweat from his forehead, his heart palpating faster and faster.
What is going on here?
“You’ll notice, conspicuously, that several members of the Committee are missing. Senator Padmé Amidala, of Naboo, is currently hiding at an undisclosed location, along with two other Security Council Members, Senators Giddean Danu of Kuat and Orn Free Taa of Ryloth. Admiral Yularen is aboard the Resolute, which departed Coruscant alongside several other vessels without orders from High Command and without any word to us a little over an hour ago, and the broad spectrum shadowfeed jamming is precluding us from sending hails. Most conspicuously, Vice Chancellor Mas Amedda is not with us, nor is Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine.”
Pellaeon gulped. In truth, he was overwhelmed after calling headquarters for orders and, instead, being thrust into a meeting of the Republic Security Council; so overwhelmed that he had not even wondered yet about Mas Amedda or Palpatine.
“This is because Sheev Palpatine has been acting extremely rashly lately, to say the least, and Director Isard suspects he may have gone completely insane. After the latest debacle at the Jedi Temple, he and the Vice Chancellor have gone radio silent. We, a majority of the Security Council, are trying to wrest back control of the government and end this madness before the Republic is destroyed. Are you with us, Captain?”
In truth, Pellaeon wanted assurances before he committed to anything. He wanted to know exactly how many forces were on their side and, more importantly, whether they had a plan. He wanted to be sure that his odds would be better than suicide at blaster point. However, under the stares of three flag officers, the director of the SBI, and three senior Republic Senators, Pellaeon caved. “Alright. I am in.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Screed said, with a smile so wide across his cybernetically-reconstructed face that teeth showed. “Now, can you patch us through to the Jedi Temple? We need to speak with the Jedi High Council. A laser comm transmission should do.”
Chapter 22: CHAPTER 22: CT-7567 “REX”
Chapter Text
CoCo Town Undercity, Coruscant
Rex let out the breath he’d been holding in. Overhead, a pair of saucer-shaped Prowler 1000 seeker probes finished sweeping the area and moved on. He turned to the other Clones behind him, six 501st troopers bolstered by a pair of Coruscant Guards and three members of other units, and nodded. “Alright, it’s clear. Let’s move.”
The group kept low, crouching as they crossed an intersection. Even through their filters, they could smell a hint of the smoke in the air. Here and there, large chunks of permacrete rubble, wrecked droids, and chunks of ships and vehicles were strewn about. Most of the debris was wreckage from the brief Separatist assault on the world, some was junk thrown out by the local populace, but a bit of it was newer—left over from the skirmish that resulted in the capture of Anakin and Mace Windu.
Rex briefly looked up. For a moment he contemplated the insanity induced upon the Clone Army, his brothers, by these chips that Fives had tried to warn them about before someone blew his shab’la head off.
Rex had only discovered that he and about thirty of his men had their chips removed, mostly because when Order 66 had been enacted they’d all refused to follow it and been branded traitors summarily once discovered.
Fleeing the Center for Military Operations had not been their best moment, but thankfully Hawk had managed to ‘land’ the shuttle softly enough that nobody had been killed. From that point, it had been gathering other Clones who’d refused to follow the Order, until they had a substantial following around the locus of a platoon of 501st Troopers.
Drawing one of his DC-17 pistols, Rex ushered them forward past a twisted and mauled AAT wreck that had fallen from the surface, still keeping low as sirens echoed in the distance and gunships droned distantly overhead.
“Captain, we’re about a hundred meters from the rendezvous point Jesse marked,” Kilo, one of the 501st Troopers, reported as the squad moved forwards, sweeping their corners and keeping an eye on the buildings.
“Copy that.” He turned to Ridge, who was directly behind him in the formation and gave him a short series of hand signals.
The long-time Torrent Company veteran nodded and split off with two other Clones while Rex gestured for the rest to continue following.
Soon enough, they rounded a corner and filtered into the tighter confines of an abandoned warehouse. Ostensibly, Jesse was here with his men, Appo, and Appo's men as well.
Rex held a hand up in a ‘hold’ gesture as he pressed against the wall and glanced around the corner, the other clones readying their weapons in anticipation of local thugs, or worse, a larger syndicate’s enforcers.
A shootout with the Pykes or Black Sun really would be just what we need right now… Rex thought darkly.
Carefully, he took another step.
The barrel of a DC-15 Carbine greeted him from around the corner, then lowered as a 501st painted helmet peered out.
“Morning Captain,” the Clone greeted with a jovial hint to his tone.
“Nax,” Rex nodded at the veteran 501st Trooper, the CT number appearing on his HUD. “How’s the leg brace treating you?”
Nax’s pauldrons lifted as he shrugged, limping back along the wall he’d been using as cover and out of the way of Rex’s squad. “Better, but my wounds from Teth are acting up again… Where’s Ridge?”
Rex glanced over his shoulder, the other Teth survivors were tight-knit in ways Rex couldn’t afford to be, so it was only natural Nax would be wondering where Ridge was. “He’s on overwatch. Where are Jesse and Appo?”
Nax gestured to his left. “Waiting in the interior. Jesse’s just gotten back down from the surface. It’s bad up there. Supposedly our boys were rotated out by the Chancellor and put in charge of sweeping CoCo Town for any sign of supporters of the ‘resistance.’ On the plus side it sounds like they’ve pulled the 501st away from the Temple.”
Rex winced. The 501st had been through meat-grinders before, usually because of some unanticipated factor, but losing thousands of men, failing to capture the Jedi Temple, was a tragedy on the same level of Teth, requiring the unit to be rebuilt. There was only one explanation Rex could think of for pulling the 501st out, and that was that they’d taken so many casualties and their assault had been such a failure that the Chancellor grew impatient.
They entered the warehouse. All around, at least two dozen Clones could be seen fiddling with their gear or standing watch. Out of the corner of his eye, Rex saw Hawk. The pilot was working with Chatter, one of the 501st's Comms Troopers, listening to comms intercepts and logging down anything of note.
Up ahead, he spotted Jesse talking to Appo at a crate being used as a makeshift table while surrounded by other members of their renegade platoon, the former’s heavily custom-painted Phase II ARC Trooper armor and the massive Republic roundel painted on the helmet’s forehead making him as distinct as Rex’s own custom armor. Certainly more so than Appo, whose only claim to individual armor customization aside from his command pauldron and kama was the white downwards arrow painted on his own helmet’s forehead.
“Jesse, Appo. What’s the situation?” Rex asked as he strode up to them.
Jesse shook his head. “It’s bad Rex, General Skywalker and General Windu have been captured. AT-XTs hit them with net launchers after they fought the Chancellor, who had two shab’la lightsabers of all things. Gregor found Dex’s body, surrounded by dead Clones. They were a mix of Clone Commandos and members of a special unit we didn’t recognize. Looks like General Monn killed most of them before escaping with the Senators.”
Rex visibly doubletaked at mention of the Chancellor engaging in lightsaber combat with two Jedi. But he quickly recovered, focusing on the fact that Anakin and Windu had been captured. “Where were they taken?”
Appo glanced off to the side. “Gunships went in the direction of the ChanPal SuRecon Center, according to Gregor.”
Rex looked in the same direction. “Gregor?”
The Clone Commando from Foxtrot Company glanced over at them from where he was picking at something on the wall with his wrist vibroblade and waved. “Yep, everything’s the truth Rex, saw it with my own eyes. They took off with ‘em in nets underneath the Larties! Oh, also, it’s a shame Dex died, General Kenobi was such good friends with him… and he also made good food.”
Rex looked at him for a few moments then shook his head. Gregor hadn’t been all there since blowing up on Abafar from what he’d been told. “Is there anything else we need to worry about?”
Appo pulled out a datapad and scanned through it. “Comms intercepts courtesy of Chatter tell us a bit more than we knew a few hours ago. I'm not sure if there's some laxness or if Cody really is on our side like you think Rex. Either way, per intel from our little friend hidden among them, the Senators are trapped underground, a few clicks from where they escaped.” He put the pad down, showing Rex a top-down map, with a red dot marked on a corridor that terminated in a dead end. “Service corridor for a water pump, over four and half meters of permacrete encasing a reservoir on the far end from the door, two hundred meters down from the surface and filled with water for this chunk of the district. No way out but the way they came, with the only exit leading directly into the atrium that’s likely a fortified killing zone by now.”
“And the rest?” Rex asked, furrowing his brow.
Jesse nodded and took over from there. “We’ve also seen large-scale movements heading to the ChanPal SuRecon center,” he added, popping up a holodisplay of the spindly structure on the small disc projector sitting on the crate. Around it, dozens of transports could be seen flying, some clearly landing on the spokelike landing platforms jutting out of the base of the specialist treatment facility perched atop the skyscraper. “Aside from redeployment of security forces it’s mostly been high priority government-ordered medical transfer flights from the long-term recovery wards of various hospitals if Hawk’s understanding of the comms chatter is any indication.”
Kriff . Under ordinary circumstances Rex wouldn’t have paid the transfers much mind, but the sheer randomness of the government suddenly moving massive amounts of civvies and wounded to the very same hospital his men had seen Skywalker and Windu being taken to left one reasonable assumption in his mind.
They were filling the place with hostages. It stank of the same ‘tactics’ he’d seen used by the Seps, Zygerrians, and others throughout the war.
“The Jedi will be walking into a trap if they go there… And so will we if we try to rescue the Generals,” Rex muttered as he glanced down at the map for a moment, “what’s it look like in the underlevels?”
“Fewer patrols,” Jesse answered. “Mostly a mix of our boys and the Corries walking around, but they’ve largely pulled back to assist in the counter-insurgent sweeps elsewhere against renegade CSF officers and rogue volunteer army units. In their place we’ve more of those grey and tan troopers. Gregor thinks they’re hunting for Jedi or the Clone Commandos who went rogue during the riot at Arca Barracks, but nothing concrete.”
Rex was silent for a few moments, then nodded, pointing at Jesse. “Alright then Jesse, you come with me and we’ll go scout it out.”
“By yourselves?” Appo asked incredulously.
“I need to see the situation for myself. Ridge and Coric will be handling the rest of our squads,” Rex explained to him, walking over to Appo and putting a hand on his shoulder. “If something goes wrong, pull them back and create a proper plan of attack to free the Senators or draw heat off them and allow them to escape.”
Appo tilted his head questioningly.
“We need to show them that not all of us are affected by the chips that Fives gave his life trying to warn us all about,” Rex smiled behind his helmet as he turned to depart, “That, and Anakin will kill me if anything happens to Senator Amidala.”
o.o.o.o.o
Rex and Jesse’s footfalls echoed softly through the underlevels as they advanced closer to the site where the Senators were holed up. The streets were eerily deserted beyond rodents and other vermin thanks to the curfew in place. He had one pistol drawn and his low-light vision equipment active, comlink buzzing as he picked up activity relayed through various repeaters installed by the chipped troopers to maintain contact with their command post on the surface.
Not wanting to risk being seen, rather than walking directly to their objective, they took a turbolift up into an apartment complex. It was directly across the dark valley of cityscape from the access hatch behind which the Senators had disappeared. On the eighth floor, with a solid view of the situation, they stood behind the window and took out their electrobinoculars. Things on the ground below were worse than Appo had described.
There were three LAATs parked at street level at the bottom of a descent shaft from the surface, with perhaps thirty Clones guarding a corridor leading to the atrium outside the maintenance shaft. They were a mixed group of Coruscant Guardsmen in their typical red and white, 41st in gray and white, and a handful of 501st Arc Troopers.
“They must’ve sent reinforcements to secure the exterior after Appo’s recon sweep,” Rex muttered as he watched the Corries and 41st Elite boys patrol around. He counted them as they moved in groups of four or six, each with three or five riflemen and carbineers flanking a Heavy Trooper with a DC-15LE repeating rifle or Z-6 rotary cannon. The ARCs seemed to be armed with DP-23 scatterblasters and some kind of DC-15 variant he was unfamiliar with, a halfway thing between the Carbine and Rifle.
“Way too many for us to handle alone,” Jesse muttered.
Rex lowered his electrobinoculars, then reached up to comm Appo and tell him the situation—
“Huh. Clone Commandos are supposed to operate in squads of four… Right?”
“RCs?! Where?” Rex gasped.
“Right behind you,” a gruff voice said in a wildspace accent.
Before Rex could respond, a blast from the PEP stun laser attachment on the Commando’s DC-17m nailed him in the center of the back. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the transparisteel window, growing nearer and nearer as the blast hurled him into it.
o.o.o.o.o
Rex awoke coughing, sputtering, and soaked in water.
“You’re awake, Captain.” The voice was from a trooper wearing purple and brown armor with grey camo patterns, with a captain insignia on his chest next to a blotchy painted trident. “Good.” He stepped two paces to the right, picked up another bucket of water, and dumped it on Jesse, who was no longer wearing a helmet.
Frantically, Rex looked around. Over his shoulder, he could see two Clone Commandos, both wearing gray, white, and brown urban dazzle camo. He was in a tent, with the overhead light so bright he could not see the tent’s roof. Rex looked back to the mysterious trooper in mostly purple armor, and realized those were the patterns of a Covert Ops trooper. Rumors were that these troopers were specifically tasked with eliminating Clone deserters.
Rex had long suspected that these men had killed Fives. Today he was certain they had.
“Well, well,” the Covert Ops trooper said, his accent oddly Coruscanti-sounding for a Clone, “Captain CT-7657, Lieutenant ARC-5597… What are two of Coruscant's most prominent deserters doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” Jesse snarled back. “With a civil war going on and all, shouldn’t you be a little too busy to be waiting down here?”
To Rex’s astonishment, the Covert Ops trooper answered.
“I am here for the Senators, but with you two so graciously falling into my clutches, I think I might start my interrogations ahead of time.” He pulled out a syringe, looked at Jesse, then looked at Rex.
“You have to stop this!” Rex yelled, looking over his shoulder to face the Commandos standing guard. “If they take the Senators, Palpatine’s going to take—ARGH!” Rex cringed in pain as the syringe plunged into the base of his neck. He tugged in vain at the ropes binding his arms to the seat behind his back. “What the kriff was in that?!”
“A truth serum.”
“You don’t need that! I want to tell you everything. I want to tell every Clone everything!”
The Covert Ops trooper stared at Rex ponderously, as if surprised by his outburst. He ignored Rex, and turned to Jesse. “That’s a pretty well done tattoo,” he said, rubbing his gloved hand over the black Republic Sigil plastered on the man’s head. Without warning, he closed his fist, extending a knife, and the center of Jesse’s tattoo was running with blood.
Jesse yelled out, his tan skin flushed red with fury as crimson blood dripped to the tarp on the tent floor.
“YOU CHAKAAR !” Rex screamed, bouncing in his chair as he struggled to break from his bindings. He nearly fell over, and the two Commandos behind him each gripped one of his shoulders to hold him still. “YOU DIDN’T EVEN ASK A QUESTION!”
“Both of you are traitors to the Galactic Republic. If—”
“YOU’RE A TRAITOR!”
“We know you were in communication with Boil earlier today,” the Covert Ops trooper said. “And rather than following Order 66, which has been lawfully enacted by the Supreme Chancellor, Boil has defected to the Jedi!”
At the back of the tent, on a vidscreen Rex hadn’t noticed yet, a still photo appeared of him speaking with Boil and Jesse with the Jedi Temple in the background. It was right after Order 66 began, about fifteen minutes after Rex and his core group had fled the Republic Center for Military Operations and they’d crashed the shuttle.
“Boil isn’t a traitor either,” Jesse grunted.
“Anyone who fails to execute Order 66 is a traitor! Both of you will die, but if you tell me the truth, I promise I will not harm Jesse any further. Your deaths will be relatively painless.”
Rex started to feel a bit foggy, but he was still as furious as ever.
“I’m sure Rex is fine with that,” Jesse said with a mock yawn of boredom. “Aren’t you, sir?”
“Yes, the truth works for me.”
“Let’s start with what you are doing here.”
Rex looked directly at the Covert Ops trooper and decided to start where he thought the clues for this massive conspiracy began. “I guess it all started with Pong Krell.”
“The Jedi traitor of Umbara?”
“Yeah,” Rex said, his voice noticeably groggier than before. “It was something he said back when we managed to capture him on Umbara. He said he foresaw the Republic would be torn apart from the inside, that a ‘new power’ was rising, and that the Jedi would lose the war. He was talking about this: Order 66. This isn’t some spur of the moment decision by Palpatine in a fit of anger that the Jedi aren’t falling in line. He’s been planning this all along. I wouldn’t even be surprised if this entire war has been a sham for his benefit at this point. The Jedi—”
“If you do not stop this incessant rambling, I will start cutting of piece after—”
“YOU WANTED THE TRUTH!” Rex yelled, angry again in spite of how cloudy-headed he felt. “THE TRUTH IS ALMOST EVERY CLONE HAS BEEN IMPLANTED WITH A MIND-ALTERING CHIP THAT SUPPRESSES OUR FREE WILL—”
“ENOUGH!”
“I only wish I had listened to Fives,” Rex slurred, speaking faster now as the truth serum really started to kick in. “He was right. He told me the Chancellor did it. He told me that every Clone was programmed to kill the Jedi. That’s why most of the Clones are acting so funny. Don’t you notice? Don’t you notice the changes?”
Behind the Rex, he heard the Commandos shift slightly.
The Covert Ops trooper let off an exasperated sigh and pointed his wrist knife at Jesse’s face. “You’re lucky that I am in a charitable mood today.”
“So you accept it’s the truth, but you’re still going to kill us and keep blindly killing Jedi?” Jesse scoffed.
“No. That may be the truth as Rex sees it, but Rex is clearly a delusional madman.”
Rex spat on the floor. “You’re one sick piece of work!”
The thought that this Clone’s chip might not be active filtered across Rex’s increasingly foggy mind. Mercifully, it was getting harder to think in general, so it didn’t linger long.
“How about we discuss something more productive? What do you know of the secret weapon the Jedi deployed?”
“There’s lotsa weapons,” Rex mumbled, his words now so slurred they would have been incomprehensible if he was wearing a helmet. “Lightsabers?”
“No.”
The image of Rex and Jesse meeting with Boil was replaced by a birds eye view of the Temple Precinct, this time video footage. Between the wisps of smoke from burning wreckage, thousands of bodies could be seen, their shiny armor reflecting the gleaming moonlight of Centax III.
Rex’s eyes opened wide. “You’d know more than me…”
“That’s a lie!” yelled the Covert Ops trooper, his voice rising dangerously. “Are you telling me you just happened to leave the scene mere hours before the Jedi did this?!”
“How do you know it was the Jedi?” Jesse asked. “Palpatine is clearly capable—”
“REX IS ANSWERING THE QUESTIONS!”
“That’s a dumb way to run an interrogation.”
“Jesse…” Rex slurred warningly.
“If you don’t give me the truth right now, I am going to cut Jesse to ribbons.”
“I am telling the truth,” Rex said, fighting to sound as sober as possible. He had trouble holding his head still without swaying. “The truth is, we are all being set up. Think about all the times we almost got Grievous. Think about how, just yesterday, Palpatine put himself in danger, allowed Grievous to capture him, but then miraculously got rescued. All of the times the Separatists were winning, and then they stopped their offensive or withdrew the moment the Senate voted to give Palpatine more power,” his voice lowered to a mumble, then he fought the urge to sleep and raised it again, and forgot what he had been talking about. A moment went by, before he changed the topic to something else that had been bothering him. “Look at yourself! We’re not shab’la machines, but you’re all acting like machines now. Never reflecting. Never questioning. Even the conditioning couldn’t get us to act like this, so why? Why? It’s because there are chips. Biological machines in our brains that… Wait! NO WAIT!”
The Covert Ops trooper grabbed Jesse’s tattooed head and began scalping him, from the top of his head down.
Jesse’s eyes went wide, and he screamed, shaking furiously in his chair while the Covert Ops trooper just kept slicing.
“NO! I AM TELLING YOU THE TRUTH!”
“You’re both Jedi-loving traitors who would sacrifice thousands of your own mens’ lives just to help some religious fanatics take over the Galaxy,” the Covert Ops trooper said. His knife had now passed down Jesse’s head a good three centimeters. “You deserve everything that—”
A stun shot crossed the tent from over Rex’s head and hit the Covert Ops Trooper in the back, sending his body crumpling. Stepping forward, one of the two commandos, who had a technician’s kit mounted to his back, aimed down and fired two more stun shots into him as he laid on the ground.
“We’ll deal with you later, Vod killer,” he spat before kicking the body.
Before Rex knew what was going on, the other Commando, who had a demolition pack, was intentionally pulling his chair over to knock Rex to the floor. He held a finger in front of his Katarn respirator in a shush gesture, and spoke quietly. “You’re going to want to stay down ‘til we’ve sorted all them out, sir.”
Rex turned to look at Jesse, who was still tied to his chair, which was now also flipped onto its back on the floor. The Commando nearest to him applied a bacta patch to his head, which was already turning blood red as it soaked with blood. He then quickly added a coagulant salve before pulling out gauze, wrapping it around the wound to keep the patch in place.
The Commando gently patted Jesse on the shoulder and unholstered his DC-17m from his backpack. “We’ll get a combat surgeon on you once it’s safe, just stay put ner vod .”
In the background, stun shots and screams could be heard all around the tent.
“You’re sure about the chips?” asked the Commando with the Technical kit, standing directly over Rex.
“One hundred percent,” Rex slurred.
The Commando seemed to deflate and then mumbled something to his squadmate in Mando’a . With his limited vocabulary of the language, Rex was unable to understand.
In the background, some stun shots could continue to be heard, but they were now being muffled by the prevalent sound of lethal blasterfire.
“ Shab , sounds like we’re going lethal Dev,” the Commando with the technical gear muttered with a grunt. “Got the gunships if they’re still a factor?”
Dev, the one with the demolition gear, sighed in resignation and swapped out his DC-17’s attachment to the anti-armor module. “Hate this entire shab’la day, Yover… And yeah, I’ve got it.”
“No, wait… They can’t help it…” Rex started, but his voice trailed off as both Commandos left the tent. Dev’s silhouette was cast brightly on the tent’s canvas as he fired a launcher grenade at a target out of sight, and an explosion shook the area
Streaks of blue and red blasterfire came into the tent from all sides, punching smoking holes in the fabric. Within a second, the terminal displaying the Temple Precinct was hit three times, sending shards of plastoid, metal, and bits of transparisteel all over the canvas floor.
Rex stared up at the tent roof in horror, the side effects of the truth serum amplifying the screams of pain and death. It was everything he wanted to avoid. When the blasterfire finally calmed down to just a shot or two every ten seconds or so, he looked back to Jesse and found that his companion had broken himself out of his restraints and was now standing, holding a blaster pistol.
“Jesse,” Rex slurred, “What are you—”
With a squeeze of the trigger, Jesse fired a lethal shot into the head of the unconscious Covert Ops trooper. He squeezed the trigger again, blasting a pockmark into the trooper’s chestplate, then again into his neck joint.
“Jesse, he didn’t—”
“You weren’t the one who got your head sliced up, Rex,” Jesse spat, tears in his eyes as he holstered his sidearm. “Besides, you heard them. He’s a brother killer. Bastard didn’t need the chip activated.”
The tent flap opened up as an ARC Trooper, an Alpha if Rex was gauging his armor and build correctly, rushed in, followed by Dev and Yover, if Rex correctly recognized the Commandos behind him correctly. Dev lowered his WESTAR-M5 rifle after seeing Jesse standing over the dead Covert Ops Trooper.
Rex stared off into space helplessly.
Yover shoved Jesse out of the way and briefly examined the Covert Ops Trooper’s body. He looked back at Dev and shook his head.
“Lovely…” The ARC sighed, then glanced over his shoulder, “General, we just lost our intel source.”
A voice Rex didn’t recognize spoke up, somewhat baritone and deep, “it’s alright, Maze. He’d have probably killed himself anyways the moment I tried to probe his mind.”
A third figure strode into the tent, a strongly-built bearded human male with carefully close trimmed hair and tanned skin. Conspicuously, he wore armored Jedi robes with a lightsaber at his belt.
Rex resisted the urge to salute, then realized his hands were still tied.
The Jedi looked at the corpse on the ground, then to Jesse’s head and sighed in exasperation, raising his wristcom. “We need a medic in the command tent.”
“General, what’s the situation at the Temple?” Rex asked, now feeling worried about what the Covert Ops trooper had insinuated. “Is it true?”
“You know as much as I do at this point, Captain,” the Jedi said. “I haven’t been in the Jedi Temple in over a week. I live in Arca Barracks. Well, lived in Arca Barracks I should say.”
“What—how is that,” Rex started, then felt so confused he finally added, “I don’t understand. Are you a real Jedi?”
“Yes I am. The name’s Arligan Zey. Director of Special Forces.”
o.o.o.o.o
A slightly addled Rex groaned as he sat in the same chair he’d been interrogated in, now upright, with Jedi Master Arligan Zey sitting across from him. Yayax Squad’s two present members had left the tent not long after getting Rex situated.
Nearby, a Clone Shadow Trooper in his special stealth coated black armor with a medic’s pack tended to Jesse, who was reclining against a burnt out console nearby. His soaked bandages had been replaced and the wound was being stitched and cauterized by the medic.
The Shadow Trooper nodded, blood-red visor glowing slightly as he spoke, “There… Good to go Jesse, just stay out of combat until you get cleared.”
“Thanks… Urgh… Chakaar really had it out for the roundel, didn’t he?”
Zey sighed. “Covert Ops Troopers hunt deserters… Almost fanatically I might add..”
“I think we got that part down, General,” Rex groaned as he rolled his shoulders, “My brothers and I have all heard the rumors.”
“Right, business then… How many of your boys aren’t affected by the chips?”
Rex raised an eyebrow, “You know about them sir?”
Zey shook his head, a perturbed look on his face. “Only in passing. The Jedi Council issued a warning to me and Master Camas to be on the lookout for Clones with defective ones. Based on what they relayed I’ve had a running theory since Order 66 was issued that they were at the least partly responsible for what was going on. Good to have it confirmed so we can begin dealing with that issue our way.”
Rex frowned. “Did anyone else? I noticed a lot of your boys should have them.”
Zey rubbed his chin and smiled coyly. “Maybe… My section of Special Operations did have a few Mandalorians who tended to do their own thing. It’s possible one of them had something to do with it, though perhaps this is speculation better for another time and place.”
Rex nodded in agreement. “Understood, sir. Is anything being done about the Senators?”
Zey nodded. “We opened the maintenance shaft they had been hiding in. They’re being extracted as we speak. Do you know anything about what happened last night leading to the Senators being down that hole in the first place?”
Rex nodded, his head pounding as he tried to focus. The damn truth serum made it hard to think. “Yes sir… General Skywalker and General Windu attempted to buy time for General Monn and the Senators to escape down a tunnel Dexter Jettster provided…”
Jesse sat up straighter, his scalp now held together under stitching covered with a bacta patch. “Sir, I was present there. The Generals engaged the Chancellor in a Lightsaber duel while he was wearing some kind of… Spacesuit? Maybe cybernetic battle Armor? Whatever it was, it had rocket boots.”
Zey scrutinized Jesse. “A Lightsaber duel with the Chancellor? You’re certain?”
Jesse nodded. “Clear as my throbbing headache and the adrenaline pumping in my system, sir. He pulled two red-bladed sabers and engaged them in close combat for a brief period before some AT-XTs hit them with nets. Got a good recording of it too if you want to see.”
Maze and Zey exchanged a glance as the former turned back to them.
“General, something’s not adding up here, from what you’ve told me about the Sith, at least,” the ARC said bluntly.
Zey nodded in agreement. “I agree. If you’re done talking to Appo, contact Aven, Obrim, and Fordo, have their cells form up with us. Between them we should be able to pull something off. Maybe we can rope Skirata’s people into it if they’re willing to work with us”
Maze nodded and tapped his helmet again.
“What do we do now?” Rex asked wearily.
Maze tilted his head at Rex. “Stay put.”
“Right…”
Zey answered a call on his wrist comm. Rex couldn’t hear all of the details, but it sounded like the Senators and their Jedi guardian were refusing to open the door.
“Sir, Skywalker’s astromech should be with the Senators,” Rex said. “You can send them a message on Appo’s frequency using encryption key N1-D7.”
Maze began dialling the encryption key into his datapad, which he mated with Zey’s wristcom.
“Hello Senators,” Zey said. “You are safe now. Please open the door.”
For a moment there was no sound, then a clearly non-human voice snarled a question in response. “Who is this? How did you get this encryption?”
“Is that you Voolvif?” Zey asked.
“Who are you?” the voice asked again without answering the question.
“This is Master Arligan Zey. We have… Well, I suppose it’d be best if I walk up to the door myself. Do you have a camera feed on the outside?” The Jedi Master exited the tent, and the conversation between him and whoever was on the other side quickly became inaudible.
o.o.o.o.o
By the time the first of the Senators arrived in Rex and Jesse’s tent, about a hundred of Rex’s men had joined the Commandos and other Special Forces Troops outside. The Senators seemed generally jumpy, with one letting off a stream of apologies after she accidentally bumped into an armored trooper.
When Padmé arrived, she was accompanied by Bail Organa and two Bothans. The female, wearing a tight yellow tunic, had fur so black it was difficult for Rex to make out the contours on her face, or distinguish the fleshy black skin of her nose from the dark forest of fur. The male, wearing elegant robes with a golden pin on the front of his chest, had very short tan fur on most of his body, and a mess of gray fur atop his head. The first thing he said was, “I still think this is a trap.”
“No, Polo, this is not a trap,” Bail said tiredly.
Padmé looked around the tent in wonderment, then suddenly recognized them and began her approach. “Rex? Jesse?”
“Glad to see you’re alright, Senator,” Rex said, sitting up straighter on his bed. “I am sorry I—oof!” He groaned as, rather unexpectedly, Padmé stooped down and squeezed him. Awkwardly, he hugged her back with one arm, and could not help but notice her very pregnant belly bulge rubbing against his side.
I wonder how General Skywalker would react if he saw this…
For a wild moment, Anakin’s face screwing up in a jealous scowl flashed into his imagination, then Rex pushed the thought aside.
Anakin would probably just be happy they were all safe, Rex knew his Jedi General well enough to understand that would be the real reaction.
“...I am sorry we couldn’t rescue General Skywalker,” Rex groaned, still feeling squeezed.
“Sir, you weren’t even there. If anything I—” Jesse stopped talking when, without warning, Padmé changed targets. He twisted his head away from her chest, putting a hand to his bandages. “Ouch, sorry, Senator. Watch the head!”
“Sorry, Jesse,” Padmé gasped. “I am just glad to see some of Anakin’s men are alright.”
“Be careful,” growled the tan furred Bothan disapprovingly as he kept his distance towards the front of the tent. “For all we know, they could just be having a temporary lapse in their… In their Clone Madness.”
“They’re no danger to us, Senator Se’lab,” Zey said, emerging into the tent alongside Riyo Chuchi and Jar Jar Binks. “All of the Clones who attacked you, or most at least, did so under the influence of what we are tentatively calling an ‘inhibitor chip.’ It’s an organic device in their brain meant to enforce compliance with orders, likely planted there as part of Palpatine’s plot against the Jedi and the Republic. Once removed, the men revert to their usual behavior.”
“Like a droid’s restraining bolt…” Bail mused softly as he looked at Zey.
Jar Jar groaned audibly as he ambled after them. “Meesa made a bombad mistake, given da Chancellor da emergency powers.”
The female Bothan, who had taken a seat in front of the tent flap and began eating a ration pack, looked up. “ Nokiz your fault, Jar Jar. Palpatine’s better at manipulating than most Bothans. You only wanted to help.”
Completely flummoxed, Rex hardly paid attention to any of them, but stared at Padmé. He had only shaken her hand once or twice, aside from the one time she held his arm during the incident involving the Blue Shadow Virus. He had not realized she cared enough about him to worry that much. After five seconds or so, Padmé seemed to notice she was being stared at and looked down at him, and he looked away, averting her gaze til his eyes locked with Jesse’s.
The expression on Jesse’s face was just as shocked as his, which, Rex had to admit was an improvement to the foul mood Jesse had been in ever since the attempted scalping.
“What happened to your head?” Padmé asked, finally noticing the damage dealt to Jesse’s scalp.
A dark look crossed Jesse’s face before he became stony again. “I’d rather not talk about it, Senator, if that’s alright.”
Padmé’s brows furrowed in concern, but she said, “Of course.”
Soon, the tent was bustling with Senators and aides, many of whom were opening the spare ration packs and eating, some quite voraciously. Others shared small morsels here and there, until two of Rex’s 501st Troopers entered, a hoverpallet levitating between them covered in stacks of canteens and ration packs.
Rex never thought he’d witness dozens of Republic Senators chowing down on military field rations. Maybe it would make for a good political advertisement, but around the time C3PO and R2-D2 entered, Rex’s mood had soured again.
General Zey had rescued the Senators with more success than Rex and his men would have had, and this small part of Palpatine’s machinations had been undone. But now, couldn’t help but think what next? The goal of removing Palpatine from power was obvious enough, but how they get from a couple hundred rescued Republic Senators, a few battalions of troopers, and maybe a battalion of Special Forces to that point, Rex had no idea.
Chapter 23: SLY MOORE
Chapter Text
Senate Office Complex, Coruscant
“My Lord!” the Umbaran repeated in the same urgent tone for the umpteenth time. Kneeling besides Sidious’s unconscious form, she tapped his shoulder more vigorously. Sidious looked even more aged and gaunt than usual—like he had exerted himself beyond his natural limits.
The Clone medic kneeling across from her on the other side of Palpatine’s body looked up, holding the Sith Lord’s wrist. “He still has a pulse.”
“MAKE WAY!” boomed a voice from behind the onlookers, a mostly-human crowd of military officers and civilian acolytes. The crowd shuffled as two figures, both in gleaming red armor, pushed their way through.
“We need to get the Chancellor out of here,” said one of the Red Guards.
“My Lord, you have to wake up.” Sly ignored the Red Guards and looked around the room exasperatedly. The crowd of officers and civilian acolytes had been gathered around in a semi-circle for the past minute or so, just staring as the Umbaran attempted in vain to get Sidious to stir. On the main viewer behind the crowd of onlookers, she could see that Leveller was still in position to bombard the Temple. Other video and holographic feeds underneath showed nothing but smoking wreckage and piles and piles of dead Clone bodies.
A few minutes ago Lord Sidious had been connected to the 481st legion and supporting elements on a level of Sith Battle Meditation unseen in ages, the Jedi Temple had been rendered unshielded, and the assault ship Leveller was in a position to bombard the Jedi Temple.
Sly was only familiar with as much Sith alchemy as Sidious had taught her. Yet, she strongly suspected that Sidious’s state was related to what had transpired at the Jedi Temple. So many beings involved in the Sith Lord’s Battle Meditation had perished all at once, and now he was unconscious.
Is this really how it is going to end?
“Administrator Moore, we need to get the Chancellor out of here,” the Red Guard repeated, this time louder.
“Get a stretcher over there!” Mas Amedda yelled from somewhere out of sight. “No, over there!”
Two more Red Guards came into view, skirting around the left edge of the crowd with Mas Amedda at the lead. The Chagrian pointed his staff unnecessarily at Sidious’s body. “There he is.” Sly couldn’t help but notice that Mas Amedda was trembling.
She and the Clone medic stood up to make room for the Red Guards, who quickly and skillfully moved the Sith Lord from the floor of the War Room to a hovering stretcher.
While they worked, Sate Pestage approached, speaking in a low voice. “You cannot tell the Security Council that the Supreme Chancellor is incapacitated.”
“I wasn’t going to,” snorted Mas Amedda angrily.
“Then how will you assume command?” Pestage asked.
“We don’t have time to worry about the Republic Security Council,” Sly whispered, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “We need to destroy the Jedi, now. It may be the only way to bring Sidious back.”
“Even if it’s not, they will be coming if we don’t,” Pestage muttered.
“I will order the bombardment at once,” the Chagrian said, pushing his way back through the crowd of onlookers.
“There’s nothing to see here!” Sly yelled to the crowd, her extremely distressed voice cracking unconvincingly. When no one moved, she used the Force to amplify her voice to loudhailer volume. “THERE IS NOTHING TO SEE HERE!”
Startled, the onlookers turned away, and Sly felt their fear and anxiety mount. It would be impossible to keep something like this under wraps for long, but eliminating so much talent at such a crucial time would put her in even deeper trouble. She looked to Sidious’s face, hoping that he would awaken and take control of the situation—or at least awaken and tell her what to do next.
Of course there was no such luck. When the Red Guards began removing Sidious from the room, one at each corner of the levitating gurney, Sly Moore moved to follow. She was certain that whatever else happened, she would be of no use here. In a worse case scenario, should Sidious never awaken, she’d be in a better position to flee Coruscant from the Grand Republic Medical Center than from here at the heart of the COMPOR Arcology.
“Captain Pellaeon is not responding to my hails,” Mas Amedda huffed.
“He can’t ignore the Vice Chancellor!” gasped Gallius Rax in astonishment.
“Try Vice Admiral Screed,” Sly Moore suggested in a low voice as she walked by.
“Where are you going?” Mas Amedda asked, his eyes wide in fear.
“To make sure the Chancellor is alright. Perhaps I’ll find a way to wake him…”
Mas Amedda grabbed her by the shoulder to stop her from going further. “Wait, take Veris with you. He might have some ideas.”
Veris Hydan was one of the younger members of Sidious’s Sith Eternal, having been recruited into the organization through the Taung and Zhell Society during his archeological studies. He was responsible for recovering six of the Sith holocrons in the Dark Lord’s possession.
The Umbaran nodded. “Good idea. Veris Hydan?”
“I am at your disposal,” said a hooded human male with brown hair and a hooked nose.
Hopefully that won’t be necessary.
Sly kept the thought to herself, and nodded to him in acknowledgment, before following the Red Guards out the door. A few minutes later, she, Veris, and the Red Guards emerged onto a landing platform.
Light rain was gently falling, and in the distance, orange glows could be seen from wreckage burning all around the Jedi Temple, but it was obvious that Mas Amedda had not reached Captain Pellaeon or Vice Admiral Screed. The ziggurat was relatively intact, with some lights on inside, and with the airspace above the Temple Precinct now completely free of any military or civilian speeder traffic save a few probe droids, there was no sign that another siege was going to happen.
As they boarded the ambulance speeder, took a seat next to the left rear door, which retracted shut in front of her face. She stared back through the raindrop spattered transparisteel while the ambulance began to lift and witnessed, to her horror and disbelief, the Leveller ascend into the clouds. The sky over the Jedi Temple was now completely empty.
She and an equally astonished Veris Hydan exchanged a glance, and then the Umbaran’s wrist comm chattered to life.
Looking up from the miniature holopad on her wrist was a small miniature of Mas Amedda’s head. “They are not responding to my hails,” said the Chagrian’s. His voice was surprisingly calm but dejected.
“What do you mean?! You’re the Vice Chancellor for kriff’s sake!” Sly Moore hissed, panic filling her voice.
“They’re ignoring all of my comms,” Mas Amedda said with a hopeless shrug. “We really have no control—”
“No! No, Vice Chancellor, you have lost control!” Sly Moore shrieked.
“No, the Supreme Chancellor lost control.”
Sly’s eyes opened in amazement, then narrowed. “This is not the time to cast doubt on the Dark Lord of the Sith.”
“Think about it for a moment,” Mas Amedda barked. “We have lost! The military is no longer relaying our orders, and that would be the case whether or not Sidious were conscious. Yet Sidious is unconscious! What is it you think we can accomplish even if Sidious wakes up?”
“And what do you think we can accomplish by abandoning the course he has set?” Sly asked. Spending the rest of her life on the run from the Jedi was certainly unappealing.
“I said nothing about abandoning the Grand Plan,” Mas Amedda scoffed.
“Then what exactly is it that you propose? You are the Vice Chancellor. If you stop wasting time, and just—”
“Sorry, Sly,” Mas Amedda said, his tone regretful, “But you’re breaking up.” His holopresence abruptly winked out of existence.
Sly sputtered for a moment with incredulous anger and fear, and saw that Veris had been staring at her. The human abruptly looked down at the floor. Immediately, she comm’d Kinman Doriana.
“Doriana here,” said the holopresence of a middle aged human in Naboolian garb. From the background noise she could tell he was still in the War Room. “How can I be of service to the Dark Lord, Administrator Moore?”
“We may need to evacuate, but before we do, some trouble will need to be sorted out.”
“Pestage and I were expecting this,” Doriana said gruffly, “but there is another problem. Have you been keeping up with events in CoCo Town?”
“No I haven’t.”
“Some Clones just rescued the Senators,” Doriana said, not elaborating further. “I’m sending you some footage now.”
Sly didn’t need any elaboration to know already which Senators he was referring to. Her datapad buzzed, and she picked it up clumsily in her left hand while balancing Pestage’s holopresence on her right wrist.
On screen was a trio of smoldering LAATs, several dead Clones, and a dozen or so Clone Troopers not wearing their helmets, seated with their hands bound behind their backs, with a group of four Clones standing guard over them wearing bulkier armor painted in a white, grey, and brown camo pattern. Sly Moore wasn’t that familiar with Clone classes or their tools of war, but she was familiar enough to recognize that these were Republic Commandos.
Civilians, all Senators or their staff, milled about anxiously on the dirty underworld street, disheveled but completely unharmed. Several were being tended to or guarded by a mix of Special Ops Clone Troopers in dark grey armor with sound-insulated helmets, Clones in deep black armor with red visors, and white-armored Clone regulars who mostly hailed from the 501st if their blue paint schemes were any indication.
Amongst them, Sly Moore instantly recognized Jar Jar Binks, Padmé Amidala, Polo Se’lab, Bail Organa, and Mon Mothma. Volviff Monn was also present, the Jedi Master speaking to a Clone officer off to the side.
More notably, CT-7567 stood next to Senator Amidala, discussing something with her while holding a hand atop the dome of Skywalkers's astromech droid.
On their own, these Senators hadn’t really been anything but a nuisance to Palpatine. The whole operation had really been orchestrated to capture Padmé Amidala so that Sidious could threaten Anakin, using Padmé as a hostage. Ironically, they had captured Anakin and Mace Windu, but not Padmé, in spite of interference by the rogue 501st Clones, whose numbers had grown dramatically above their initial estimates.
Still, Sly Moore couldn’t help but swear to herself under her breath.
“It gets worse,” Doriana muttered.
The view shifted up, and four more LAATs, all intact, appeared overhead in the gloomy underworld. They landed gently amidst the wreckage, and out of each one, stepped a lone Republic Commando in black armor.
“Intelligence believes the LAATs were all hijacked by Omega Squad, but Yayax Squad was the one that freed the Senators. We now—”
“Are you telling me that two squads of Republic Commandos are not only defying Order 66 but are openly in rebellion?”
Doriana grimaced. “Alpha-26 is also with them… Since he has gone rogue, we now suspect that Jedi Master Arligan Zey, and possibly Iri Camas as well, may be in command of at least one cell of rogue Special Forces units. We cannot be certain how far this has spread. Arligan Zey’s last known whereabouts were Arca Barracks, and many Clone and volunteer members of Special Forces remain unaccounted for, as well as several Senate Commandos.”
Sly’s blood chilled. Two commando squads were just the tip of the iceberg if an Alpha ARC had gone rogue and escaped with one of the two Jedi Generals in charge of Special Operations, particularly a man as experienced in that field as Arligan Zey. Insurgent-style tactics and strategies were among his bread and butter, and the beings under his command were among the best the Republic had at executing them.
Mas Amedda was probably right. She had to figure out a way to deal with this threat or at least distract long enough to get Sidious offworld.
“There is yet another issue. Clone Shadow Troopers and Special Ops Troopers, as well as any regular Clones retrained as Commandos, should all have inhibitor chips. I’m watching at least a dozen or so who are not following Order 66 despite two Jedi and numerous rogue Clones being in close proximity, meaning one thing.”
“Their chips were removed,” Sly hissed under her breath.
“It’s possible. We suspect that someone, someone other than Ahsoka Tano, may be removing inhibitor chips. The list is rather short, but we have neither the time nor ability to search all of Coruscant for them.”
Disregarding the Arca Barracks riot as a minor nuisance had clearly been a dire mistake. It was a small mercy the Dark Lord was unconscious, he would have certainly slain someone for this severe oversight by now.
Sly might yet do it for him, were she able to find the imbeciles responsible.
“Coming up on ChanPal SuRecon now,” said a Clone medic from the front of the speeder.
As if another thing couldn’t go wrong today!
“Hold it Doriana, something’s come up,” Sly Moore said, abruptly terminating the holocall and walking to the front of the ambulance. Outside the front viewports, the spindly dark structure loomed ominously against the rainy night sky. “Guards, we cannot take the Chancellor here. Why would you…” Her voice trailed off as she realized Palpatine had set up a trap for the Jedi at ChanPal SuRecon an entire shift of Red Guards ago, which would mean at least seven hours ago. She lowered her voice and whispered to the one she sensed was the captain. “The Dark Lord set a trap for the Jedi in ChanPal SuRecon. Mace Windu and Anakin Skywalker are being held inside, along with hundreds of patients. The Jedi will… or would…” An idea began to formulate in her mind.
“STOP!” yelled the guard whom she had just spoken to. “Turn us around!”
“The Chancellor needs medical attention now,” said the medic driver.
“I am aware of that, but we can’t go to this hospital.”
“Why not?”
“Classified.”
While he was facing the viewports, the Clone pilot’s eyebrow could be seen furrowing with suspicion and concern in the rearview mirror. “Very well. Which hospital shall we go to?”
The Red Guard Captain turned to Sly Moore to ask, but the Umbaran had her datapad out and was typing furiously. She now knew one way they could, at the very least, stall the Jedi.
Chapter 24: ARMAND ISARD
Chapter Text
Naval Intelligence Arcology, Coruscant
Had Chancellor Palpatine asked for his opinion on attacking the Jedi directly to bring them to heel, using military force, Isard would have strongly opposed it. Despite his personal distrust in the Jedi and their esoteric religion, Isard had always thought the Order agreed with the government on what was best for the Galaxy. At its core, he viewed the current jurisdictional disagreement between the Jedi and the Senate in who had custody of Dooku to be a political matter—one which should not be resolved with military force. Ignoring those reasons to oppose such a move, history had repeatedly demonstrated that the Jedi could not easily be brought to heel by hordes of infantry.
But Palpatine had not asked Isard, and the scenes around the Jedi Temple were worse than he could have ever imagined.
In the tactical salon situated at the pinnacle of the Naval Intelligence arcology, the dominant mood was complete and utter disbelief. HoloFootage from Captain Pellaeon’s vessel, Leveller, was projected across the massive table in the center of the room. Dozens of Jedi bodies, perhaps hundreds, could be seen strewn about in the courtyards, gardens, and balconies of the upper levels of the Temple, amidst the carnage of wrecked Republic vehicles and smoldering remains of Clone troopers. Piled all over the steps and plazas were so many bodies in shiny white and teal armor that, from a distance, it looked like some sort of odd snow had fallen on this latitude of Coruscant.
“This is a disaster,” General Locus Geen gasped.
“When the media blackout ends,” Senator Aang said ominously, “Heads will roll!”
Captain Pellaeon cleared his throat, his holopresence towards Aang’s side of the table pivoting to face the Roonan. “Senator, heads are already rolling. Quite literally.”
Isard balled his fists. “Do you find this humorous, Captain?!” A series of invectives almost escaped his mouth, but the Director caught himself.
“No, sir, of course not.”
“We have a responsibility to end this standoff immediately,” Vice Admiral Screed said, “Regardless of what the Chancellor wants.”
“The Jedi are not entirely innocent in all of this,” Isard retorted at once. It was, after all, their refusal to hand over Dooku that led to Palpatine utilizing Order 66.
“Certainly, but the standoff has escalated to a point where it threatens the stability of the Republic itself. It is the Chancellor’s orders we must countermand if we are to resolve this unfortunate situation.”
A quick glance at Senator Halle Burtoni revealed that she was simply staring mutely at the holos. Isard wasn’t sure if she was in disbelief like the rest or if she was mulling her homeworld’s culpability in this disaster for whatever was happening with the normally reliable Clones.
“Update from the 212th's HQ, sir,” whispered the familiar voice of SBI Lieutenant Dadral, a pink-skinned Zeltron female and one of Director Isard’s aides. Once Isard turned around, she surreptitiously passed him a datapad.
Isard glanced at the screen, which contained a list of time stamped headings where he could click into a status report and read in greater detail.
“0359—All units disengaged. SEC=SENSITIVE.
0412—All units withdrawn from beyond the Temple forcefield perimeter. Withdrawal 100% complete. Units currently compiling casualties. SEC=SENSITIVE.”
“It’s done then,” Isard muttered under his breath, relieved that the Clones had followed an order to withdraw in spite of Order 66.
“Sir?” Dadral asked.
“Dismissed,” Isard said quietly, not bothering to turn around. As he heard her footsteps drawing further from the table, he looked up, first to Pellaeon’s holopresence, then to all of the present members of the Security Council around the table. “We now have an olive branch to offer the Jedi in exchange for their cooperation. All Clones have withdrawn to the edge of the Temple Precinct.”
“An olive branch?” Senator Burtoni asked unblinkingly.
Isard paused for a second, mulling over how best to explain while also not sounding overly patronizing. “An act to show the Jedi that we are serious about reducing tensions and bringing Coruscant back to some sense of normalcy.”
“All it cost us was thousands of Clones who were following this insanity and millions of credits in lost war materiel,” Vice Admiral Rancit muttered sardonically.
“The sentiment is understood, but all the same, do keep such remarks to yourself Admiral ,” Senator Mandary Bertar stated bluntly, the Mrlssi’s beak clacking in warning.
“Let’s get this over with. Pellaeon, broadcast a tight-beam to the Jedi Temple. Speak up at once when someone answers, and then patch us all through.”
“Sir, there is one matter I wish to discuss before we begin this course of action. Clones have killed their superior officers for interfering with Order 66.”
“Those are rumors, Captain,” Screed snapped.
“They aren’t rumors from where I’m standing.”
Isard took a deep breath. Pellaeon’s point was something to consider before they took action to countermand the Chancellor’s Orders. It already had been in the back of Isard’s mind when he deliberately arranged measures to ensure all Clone officers within the building were deployed no closer than three corridors from the Security Council chambers. “Do you feel you are in immediate danger of being overheard?” Isard asked. “We could try another method to communicate with the Temple.”
“There is no other method right now,” Pellaeon sighed. “I don’t believe they are listening in, but I cannot be certain. In any case,” he added, his holopresence stooping down and pressing some buttons, “The Jedi have responded. It looks like we have reached Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
o.o.o.o.o
OBI-WAN KENOBI
Jedi Temple, lower halls
Thousands of Jedi were on the move, heeding orders to evacuate. In the chaos since the generator explosion, Obi-Wan and his cohort had begun making their way down deeper into the Jedi Temple, joining the mostly-Jedi crowds of escaping beings packing every staircase and turbolift.
When they reached the Hall of a Thousand Fountains at one of the lowest levels of the Temple, Shaak Ti pointed ahead and said, “There may be trouble.”
Obi-Wan gripped his saber hilt reflexively when he saw none other than Rael Averross, unescorted, sitting near the base of a fountain. Accompanying him and wearing black body gloves were the same Coruscant Guard Clones who had been captured during the events leading up to Ahsoka’s disappearance—the very same ones Obi-Wan had sent to the detention level.
“Calm yourselves, Master Kenobi, Master Ti,” stated a tired and wizened voice. “Those sabers, need them at this moment, you do not.” Sitting among the apparently former prisoners, next to Commander Fox and Rael Averross, was Yoda himself. The ancient Jedi Grandmaster looked like he’d aged another century since Obi-Wan had last seen him.
“I see...” Obi-Wan acknowledged finally as he approached, casting a wary glance at Rael. “Master Yoda, are you alright?”
Yoda chuckled humorlessly. “Alright? No, a Force Song as that has not been attempted in centuries. Tired I am. Yet, that is not what is most distressing. When I was open to the minds of all in the Order, realized I did how blind I was. Blind to the darkness festering within our own Order… So many Jedi who fell to the Dark Side, not merely out of ambition or lust for power, but out of distaste for what the Order has become. More truth in their beliefs than I would like, there is. But the time for recriminations, it is not. Dire are our circumstances.”
Obi-Wan looked at Yoda, and thought of saying something defensive, but just stood in silence. After experiencing that Force Song—feeling the presences of all those Jedi traitors withdraw from it to join with Sidious, and literally fighting fellow knights around the Temple Shield Generator, he could not argue. At least, he could not argue without seeming foolish or naive.
“Well,” Shaak-Ti said at long last, breaking the silence, “Even if events were not exactly as we desired, we have bought ourselves time to regroup and withdraw.”
Rael gave her a look as he reclined against the fountain. “And go where? Do what?”
“Those are good questions, Rael,” Obi-Wan said, “But one we should probably answer once we are at a safe distance.”
With a groan, Rael stretched his arms then stood. Yoda though remained seated, as if expecting more conversation.
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to ask if something was wrong, but then heard loud footfalls. Turning, he saw a male Zygerrian Jedi with brown fur running towards them, trailing after the familiar red-domed cylinder of his assigned astromech droid, R4-P17.
“Knight Varcos, what is the matter?”
“Masters, my apologies, but this droid broke off from the evacuation,” the young Jedi said as R4 came to a stop next to Obi-Wan, blaring off a series of excited chirps.
“I can see,” Obi-wan glanced down at his droid. “Arfour, what’s going on?”
R4 beeped even more rapidly.
Even with his limited understanding of droidspeak, her meaning was clear to him. “A priority message over the military channels? From who?”
R4 extended an antenna from her dome and swiveled her projector. A holoprojection of a human male with extensive cybernetics and a Republic Naval uniform appeared in front of Yoda. Miniaturized, the holopresence stood roughly at the Grandmaster’s height.
“Vice Admiral Screed,” Obi-Wan said, a concerned frown forming on his face. Obi-Wan had met the man on several occasions at Republic Security Council meetings, where Screed represented the Naval Intelligence Agency.
“General Kenobi, Grandmaster Yoda, you are speaking with the Republic Security Council—at least over half of it.”
R4 chirped again, and appearing around Yoda in short order were a variety of faces Obi-Wan recognized. They included Senator Halle Burtoni of Kamino, Senate Bureau of Intelligence Director Armand Isard, Senator Aang of Roona, Admiral Dodd Rancit, and General Locus Geen. There was also a Mrlissi senator he recognized, but whose name he could not recall.
“Late is the hour in which you call,” Yoda said. “I notice, not with you, the Supreme Chancellor is.”
“Late, but hopefully not too late,” Isard sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The violence has escalated out of control. If this continues, the Republic will lose everything. Grandmaster Yoda, look around you. Does this spiralling cascade of destruction benefit anyone but the Separatists?”
“Just what are you asking of us, Director?” Obi-Wan asked before Yoda could respond. Frustration filled his voice in spite of his decades of Jedi training. He was exhausted on a spiritual and emotional level and had seen, felt , too much loss today to live up to the title of ‘Negotiator’ at this point.
“We need the Jedi Order to stand down,” Isard said, raising his hand to stop another objection from Obi-Wan. “The Supreme Chancellor has clearly overreacted, and this has, unfortunately, led to a great loss of life today. The fighting cannot—”
“ Overreacted ? Just what do you think is happening?!” Obi-Wan interrupted, his frustration now boiling over to fury. “Waves of invaders have been assaulting us all day long! The Jedi haven’t struck back once, except in an attempt to disable the source of this madness. Nor have we done anything to provoke such violence.”
Yoda did not criticize Obi-Wan’s outburst, did not say anything at all, but merely stood up to his full height, cane in hands.
“I have buried and burned more fallen Jedi today than ever before in my career,” Shaak Ti said, in a calmer voice than Obi-Wan’s but still with a tone of utter incredulity. “Almost every Clone in the Galaxy is now hellbent on killing us to the last Jedi.”
“Now I find that hard to believe,” Isard scoffed.
“THE SUPREME CHANCELLOR IS A SITH LORD!” Obi-Wan cried out, finally losing it.
“Is this really the story the Jedi High Council is telling us?” Senator Burtoni asked, her purple eyes widening in surprise.
Obi-Wan couldn’t even look at the Kaminoan. He balled his fists and turned away. “You must have known all along.”
Burtoni’s holopresence shuffled to the front, displacing the others. “Known what?”
“Solve nothing this will,” Yoda said. He turned from Obi-Wan to look Burtoni directly in the eyes. “Deceived like us, you may have been. Perhaps not… Though it matters not. Thousands of Jedi have perished since the Chancellor’s order was given, and thousands more will, if act we do not.”
“Thousands?” Screed asked skeptically. “All because the Jedi Order refused to turn over Count Dooku. Needless deaths.”
“In the works for a long time, Order 66 must have been. An excuse, our refusal to hand over Dooku was,” Yoda explained. “My colleagues are correct. A Sith Lord the Supreme Chancellor is, though it is unimportant that you believe this now. Explain later, we will. But for now, the violence must stop, Order 66 must end.”
Dodd Rancit sighed at that. “On that, we are in agreement. The Chancellor has gone too far. We would have put a stop to it already, but unlike any of the other contingency orders, there seems to be no end clause to the order. All of the other contingency orders can be countermanded by a majority of the Republic Security Council, but Order 66 seems to have no preconditions for its ending.”
“An unfortunate oversight,” Isard agreed.
Obi-Wan turned around, took a deep calming breath, and rejoined the discussion. “I don’t think it was an oversight at all. Let me guess… The Chancellor has been unwilling to cancel the order?”
“Not quite,” Isard said. “The Chancellor has responded to every request to rescind the order with automated replies.”
“It was actually on the topic of Order 65 that the Security Council was summoned,” General Locus Geen said, his green caped figure floating into focus next to Isard.
Obi-Wan’s heart nearly skipped a beat. Order 65 was the contingency order outlining the process for removing the Supreme Chancellor from office, should he be unable or unfit to discharge his duties.
Isard shot Geen a fiery look, as if he did not actually wish for the Jedi to know this. Then he looked back to Yoda. “While we discuss our options and attempt to return some stability to the government, we have ordered all GAR forces to withdraw from the Temple Precinct… as a token of good faith. We can call it a ceasefire.”
Stifling a cynical laugh, Obi-Wan shook his head and looked to Shaak Ti. She exchanged a skeptical look with him, and it was clear they were both on the same page:
This sounds like a trap.
“What’s the catch?” Shaak Ti asked. Her voice was serene, but suspicion poured from her Force aura.
“Oh, no catch,” Vice Admiral Screed said. “Only terms. No Jedi are to leave the Temple Precinct and no GAR are to enter until a full meeting of the Galactic Senate can be held.”
“You want us all to stay here until enough cruisers arrive to blast us into oblivion!” Rael interrupted angrily. “That’s Sidious’s plan, is it?”
“Sidious?” Screed asked quizzically.
Ignoring Rael’s outburst and Screed’s question, Yoda held up a three-fingered hand. “Hold our own Council, we must, but tentatively agree to your terms, the Jedi Order does. Thankful for the Grand Army’s withdrawal, the Jedi are.”
“Spoken like a true…” Isard’s voice trailed off, and his holopresence turned to the right, looking somewhere out of view. “Excuse me, we have another—Just wait one moment.”
o.o.o.o.o
ARMAND ISARD
“No, no—put them on hold!” Isard finally barked. He had been gesturing with commonly-used Spacer hand signals taught, to his knowledge, at every Republic military academy, but the technicians conferencing the HoloNet communications with the Jedi just hadn’t understood. He fumed internally as they worked to finally enact his command. Imbeciles. They must have been trained at the Judicial Academy.
“Got it sir. They are on hold,” said a black haired human Ensign, seated in front of a terminal, with many wires leading to it, in the corner of the room.
Isard turned to the left, looking in the opposite direction to his Zeltron aide. “Dadral, what do you mean the Vice Chancellor has been attempting to contact us?”
“It’s just that, sir. He’s been sending us communication requests, but the automated system has been sending them straight into the voice message databank.”
“Like… a HoloPad blocking a call because the HoloNet code from the sender is hidden?” Senator Burtoni asked.
Dadral nodded. “Exactly, Senator. It’s just like that, but the Chancellor’s office of course has a code, a high priority one as well.”
Isard buried his forehead in his hands in utter frustration. “Then why is this happening?!“
“Signals doesn’t even understand how it’s happening, let alone why,” answered Dadral, referring to the SBI’s Signals Intelligence.
“Does this really change anything?” Rancit snorted, smirking slightly. “Whether or not the Chancellor has been contacting us, he has still been acting erratically enough to warrant an Order 65 contingency meeting. Director, if you ask me… Wait, what are you doing?”
“Listening to the most recent message,” Isard muttered, pressing his pointer finger onto the golden icon on his datapad’s screen.
A live voice message came through before he tapped the button, from one of the Signals staff. “Director Isard, we have a priority Zerek transmission incoming, via a Rho-1 courier that just came in from Bestine IV. The upload is awaiting a handshake on your end.”
That raised an eyebrow from Isard, who turned to one of the technicians. “Do it.”
A darker-skinned human male nodded and tapped away at his console. “Understood, uploading now.”
Everyone turned to the main holoprojector as it flared to life. A female Bothan with blond fur and a dirty-blond mane stood in the center, wearing a scarred Republic naval uniform and custom embroidered officer’s cap with Mandalorian battle decorations. While everything down to her boots looked like she’d been through utter hell, her trousers were curiously pristine, as if she hadn’t been wearing them when whatever event had seemingly almost killed her occurred.
Screed actually seemed taken aback. “Commodore Kelia Los’ean? Is this live?”
Isard glanced at him. “No, it’s a recorded message… You know her?”
“Her fleet left its position near Kashyyyk just prior to the Battle of Coruscant without warning. They’ve been out of contact since. The only further information we received about them was Admiral Zsinj approving it.”
Isard narrowed his eyes as Rancit interjected, pointing out the obvious question. “Then what has she been doing up until now?”
Isard turned to Dadral. “Let’s find out. Play transmission.”
She nodded and hit a button, Kelia’s maw opening as she began to speak, her accent melodic for a Bothan. “If this message reaches, hopefully you are one of the two intended recipients: the Republic High Command, or the Jedi High Council. For you, this transmission is priority Zerek and contains data vital to the preservation of the Republic. If you are the Chancellor or a member of his inner circle, kindly kriff yourselves before flying into Coruscant’s sun, auretii , as I have no doubt you’ll destroy this message to hide any evidence of your crimes.”
Voices of indignation rose, protesting the Admiral’s insubordinate insults. They rose to such a volume that, for a moment, nothing else could be heard, until Isard yelled “SILENCE!” over the tumult. Personally, Isard did feel insulted by the statement. As Director of Intelligence he was a part of Palpatine’s inner circle, even if he was distanced from it at this juncture. The next words that he could hear were not ones he had been expecting at all.
“...Critical evidence incriminating Chancellor Sheev Palpatine of high treason against the Republic and collusion with Count Dooku—up to and including the instigation of the Clone Wars and, likely, the entire Separatist Crisis.”
Isard felt his blood chill as sharp intakes of breath were audible across the entire room. While many on the Security Council, Isard included, viewed Palpatine as potentially no longer fit to be the Chancellor, all of them had balked when the Jedi accused Palpatine of being a Sith Lord and implying Order 66 was some long-planned conspiracy. Now Kelia was taking it even further, outright saying the entire war had been set up by Palpatine and Dooku working together. He was so utterly blindsided by the accusation that he couldn’t even bring himself to speak.
The message continued unabated, boxes of text popping up around Kelia. “These accusations are no doubt shocking, but I have proof, corroborated by a variety of sources. In summary, my fleet uncovered evidence of a plot involving the inhibitor chips, which the Kaminoans have insisted are merely to constrain the more violent tendencies of Jango Fett’s genetic—”
Senator Burtoni stood up and shouted, “I WILL NOT SIT HERE AND—”
“BE QUIET!” Screed yelled back.
“...Plot to eliminate the Jedi and overthrow the Republic,” Kelia continued, her previous words inaudible due to interruptions. “After I ordered all transmissions routed over Republic channels from Coruscant to be blocked, we attempted to return to the Republic and stop the Chancellor’s plot. En-route, we were pulled out of hyperspace and ambushed by over a hundred Separatist capital ships in the Athega system—”
Screed’s remaining organic eye widened. “Since the failed invasion of Coruscant, I had been wondering why our estimates of the Separatist troop strength was so much higher than the fleet that actually attacked. A diversion would explain—”
“SHHHH!” Senator Aang raised a hand, the Roonan hissing through his teeth. “This can wait, Admiral, listen!”
Isard was too busy listening to Kelia speak to even notice beyond that as she relayed damning evidence, projections popping up around her holo as she mentioned them. One was displays of signal intercepts showing Order 66 being routed through Separatist warships using the Chancellor’s recognition keys. Another was a clip of Clone Commandos, from a unit he personally recognized as answering to Palpatine and only Palpatine, handing off a Clone Trooper to Separatist droids for looking into things he wasn’t supposed to. Records from a Separatist warship indicating it was carrying an extremely high priority prisoner to Serenno on Dooku’s orders. Finally the holopresence of a Super Tactical Droid joined Kelia, confirmed Kelia’s suspicions, and provided additional evidence in the form of modifications to his own programming to fail to recognize Palpatine’s face whenever Palpatine contacted him. Just when things seemed like they could not get anymore shocking, the droid revealed it had agreed to a ceasefire on behalf of the entire Droid Army. Then a Clone in 501st-style markings, the red sigil emblazoned on his shoulder armor marking him as a combat medic, stepped into the display picture.
Kelia turned to him. “Kix, are you prepared to corroborate?”
The Clone, Kix, nodded at her. “Yes sir.”
Kix turned to the camera and explained everything he knew about Palpatine, Dooku, the inhibitor chips, Tup, Fives. Mentions of Umbara and Pong Krell, of why that Jedi had committed treason, how he apparently saw Order 66 coming before anyone else did and wanted to be on the ‘winning side’.
Senator Burtoni shifted nervously as Kix spoke in-detail about the inhibitor chips, but Isard barely noticed, scarcely able to keep his attention on what he was hearing.
He felt sick to his stomach and his head spun. Every atrocity he’d authorized in the name of the Republic and Palpatine’s administration playing in his mind.
He’d mistakenly doomed the planet Orleon with weaponized stone mites that were now eating through its crust. He’d subverted the political rights of entire populations in the name of military prudence, recommended tens of thousands of beings be sentenced to prison or death, and placed billions more under surveillance… And now it turned out that Palpatine had been playing them all from the start. Just a day ago, Isard’s own wife and daughter were nearly killed in an attack on the Republic’s capital that Palpatine very likely planned with Dooku. Though Isard couldn’t fathom any logical reason why Sheev would engineer his own abduction by Grievous.
General Geen gripped the console as the evidence played out before them all. “By the Force…”
Senator Aang’s white skin had somehow turned even more pale as he finally found his voice again. “This… There can be no other conclusion with all this evidence. Her accusations are correct.”
Senator Bertar slowly smoothed out her feathers. “The Jedi must be informed… If Palpatine’s treason is this deep we cannot stop it without their help.”
“And what of the Senate?” Rancit inquired, wiping a cold sweat from his brow. “Palpatine still enjoys broad support among the majority. And with the leading members of the Delegation of 4000 missing…”
“We can figure that out as we go. Right now we need to act on the information that Commodore Los’ean has relayed to us, ASAP!” Screed barked, falling directly into crisis management mode.
“What information?” The moment the question left Isard’s lips, he could hear for himself how lame it sounded.
“The Clone, Kix… There’s even data on how to safely remove the inhibitor chips from the Clones…” Screed said while pacing around the table. He pointed to one particular transmission which showed diagrams of a human head with surgical markings on the right temple.
Isard took in a slow breath. It wasn’t just a rumor. One or two corridors away, there were dozens of armed Clones, thousands in the building. They would obey every order the Chancellor gave them without question, so long as the chips remained in their heads. The Security Council had already delayed answering Mas Amedda’s hails for who knows how long. At what point would the Palpatine suspect them all?
Geen suddenly spoke up, hands trembling. “I advocate we reopen the line with the Jedi, immediately.”
Rancit scoffed, “And what good would that do?”
“It’s obvious,” Aang yelled, waving his scaly hand. “The Jedi were telling the truth about it! About all of it!”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Senator.”
“We all need to think about this for a moment,” Isard said as calmly as he could before Senator Aang could respond. “The Jedi were telling the truth, which means Captain Pellaeon was right.”
“Was right about what?!” Aang snapped impatiently. “Praytell, Director. What was he right about?”
Pellaeon’s holopresence spoke up before Isard could explain. “If you take immediate action against the Chancellor, every Clone in your building will turn on you. You won’t survive ten minutes. Commodore Los’ean’s own recording is proof enough. She clearly barely survived her own troopers who still had those chips in their heads!”
“Which is why we need the Jedi here, right now!”
Images flashed through Isard’s imagination—images of Jedi cutting troopers down in the halls, of blaster shots ricocheting off the walls, of exploding terminals, volunteer soldiers and police firing back, of non-Clone officers running around in the chaos, falling to deflected and direct blasterfire.
“Well, we have the evidence,” Rancit muttered, then spoke louder, “Why don’t we just enact Order 65? The Clones’ inhibitor chips, surely, don’t discriminate between orders, do they?”
Everyone in the room turned to Senator Burtoni.
Burtoni started back, unblinkingly, as if expecting them all to be intimidated by her gaze and look away. When that didn’t work, she finally snapped, “What makes you think I have any idea?!”
“Do you?” Screed asked pointedly.
“No! I’m a politician, not a cloning technician!”
“It’s far too risky to try that here,” Isard said. As he said these words, his fingers were moving across the display of his datapad. The screen now showed the locations of parked shuttles the Security Council may be able to requisition. Though, he quickly gave up on that idea. They couldn’t relocate somewhere and then safely enact Order 65. Anywhere on Coruscant or in orbit, there’d be less than ten minutes before an attack by a horde of mad Clones ready to blast them all. “Oh, this is just so kriffing absurd!” Dramatically, he threw his datapad down on the holoprojector table, and it skittered over the edge, Dadral stooping down to retrieve it.
“If you military men are too pusillanimous to do anything, I will!” Aang cried, grabbing the remote to the holoprojector.
Before he could press a button, Isard was on him, tugging back at the remote. “No, Senator! You’ll kill us all!”
“What the kriff are you two doing?!” General Geen shouted.
“Lackey!” Aang hissed. “I always knew you were Palpatine’s lackey!” With a surprisingly powerful kick, the Roonan drove his heel into Isard’s shin.
Isard groaned in pain and felt a surge of adrenaline. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he lunged at Aang with all of his might, knocking the Senator down onto the holoprojector so hard that both of them slid about a meter across its surface. The Director and the Senator slid to a halt near the center of the massive holoprojector table, and then began frantically punching each other.
“Stop that at once!” Burtoni yelled. “You can’t fight in here! This is the Republic Security Council!”
But Isard wasn’t listening. He grabbed both hands around the collar of the Roonan’s tunic and began slamming the Senator’s head into the projector surface. “You’ll kill us all! You’ll doom the whole planet you kriffing imbecile! Give me—ARGH!”
Jolting his head upward, Senator Aang simultaneously stood up and slammed his solid, scaley head right into Isard’s chin.
Tasting blood filling his mouth, Isard fell backwards. Before he hit the table’s surface however, a pair of arms caught him under the armpits with an oof , and began pulling him away. From the opposite direction, two Naval ensigns grabbed the Senator, one ensign per arm, and began yanking him off the table.
In the midst of the chaos, Rancit reached over to the remote which had been dropped in the scuffle, and nonchalantly picked it up.
“I wish I got invited to brief the Security Council more often,” Pellaeon said with a smirk.
“Captain!” Screed snarled warningly, hand moving from the holster containing his sidearm.
“Are you all done now?” General Geen asked.
Isard accepted a tissue from Dadral and spat a wad of blood into it. “We can’t just call the Jedi out of the blue! The moment they leave the Temple, it will be bombed from orbit, and we will be killed next!”
“You said that already!” Aang yelled, then turned to the officers who still had his arms in their grips. “I am so tired of—UNHAND ME!”
“Are you going to punch anyone again?” Screed asked.
“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Burtoni scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“We need to make this public,” Isard groaned, suddenly feeling the pain in his mouth flare up. His words became slurrier as he adjusted his speech to avoid hurting anything. “We can’t do this on our own.”
“He’s right,” Rancit said thoughtfully. “The whole Senate needs to know.”
“Not just the Senate,” Isard mumbled, his teeth hurting anytime he made a t-sound. “The media. The whole Republic. This is too big. If we do anything against Palpatine, he will just kill us, and he has Clones everywhere who will do his bidding. Millions of Clones though are a drop in the bucket against a trillion citizens, to say nothing of our military units that have no Clones at all.”
“And if the Clones know the truth about their inhibitor chips,” Geen added, sounding like he was deep in thought, “Some of them may resist. Some already are if the implications of Commodore Los’ean’s message are clear.”
Isard threw the tissue in the nearest bin, then walked back to the table. “Exactly. There are only a handful of us, but if we reopen the Senate and end the state of emergency, well… There are ten thousand Senators.”
“Pass it to the Senate?!” Burtoni snorted. “You really are a coward! This is utterly ridiculous!”
“The longer Palpatine stays in power, the more dangerous,” Aang added. “We can’t delay any further.”
“Then I suggest you get moving. The quicker the Senate acts, the quicker this will all end.”
“This plan is well and good, but how are we even going to get to the Senate in the first place to conduct this entire affair?” Senator Bertar interjected pointedly. The diminutive avian Mrlssti Senator had remained silent even during Isard’s scuffle with Aang. “While Senator Aang, Burtoni, and I can pass through checkpoints as members of the Security Council, the Senate is under lockdown. Other Senators cannot move through the streets, at least not without fighting their way through security checkpoints. Director Isard, do you intend to use the Senators and the people of Coruscant as meat shields? Perhaps to be blasted by mad Clones while you maneuver the Admiralty into some regime change”
Isard was livid. “OF COURSE NOT! We are going to end the lockdown!”
“Which still puts us back in the awkward position of what to do about security,” Screed sighed.
“Senator Bertar is right. We need the Jedi’s help or we will fail just as utterly as you’ve been doomsaying, Director.”
“We’ve had our moment to mull this over,” Geen said. “If we don’t act quickly, your worst fears will come true. I don’t see any harm in contacting the Jedi before we involve the Senate or the media.”
Isard turned to the General, then set the remote on the table. “Fine, but one of you will have to comm them. I’m not going down in history as being so stupid as to…” His voice trailed off as his hot anger gave way to exhaustion. “I need a caf.”
o.o.o.o.o
OBI-WAN KENOBI
Between the first impromptu holoconference amidst hundreds of Jedi walking past to the lower levels and now, Obi-Wan, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Shaak-Ti, and Yoda had relocated to a more secluded and seldom used meditation chamber in the Temple’s lower levels. It was unfurnished save for a few colorful rugs arrayed on the marble floor. Joined by Plo-Koon’s holopresence (as the Kel Dor was still more than a kilometer away at the opposite side of the Temple), they waited until the Security Council called them back. It took about ten minutes, and what the Security Council had to say was more relieving than alarming, but it certainly had its alarming moments.
“Inform the media… is the Security Council certain that’s the best course of action?” That was Shaak Ti’s question, which she asked immediately after Vice Admirals Screed and Rancit relayed the gist of the courier message.
Another question troubled Obi-Wan, and he was unable to hide the alarm in his voice as he regarded SBI Director Armand Isard’s holopresence. “Have you been fighting?!”
No one answered the Great Negotiator’s question, but Senator Burtoni rubbed her eyes in frustration.
Rancit cleared his throat. “We are under the impression that there is a significant risk posed by the inhibitor chips. If we keep this information under wraps, it is all the easier for the sitting Chancellor to silence us. He almost got away with it already before it even it reached the Security Council.”
“The greater the number of individuals in the loop,” Isard added, his words slightly slurred, “The more difficult it would be for Palpatine to just continue the status quo.”
Obi-Wan exchanged a worried glance with Ki-Adi-Mundi, whose expression and Force aura gave the impression of great concern for the general sanity, competence, and intelligence of Isard, Rancit, and Screed. Sighing, he decided to let the question of Isard’s injuries remain a mystery and stick to a more relevant point. “About twelve hours ago, when the Jedi Order inadvertently put the Sith Lord in a position where he could not continue with the status quo, he did not back down.”
“Quite correct, Master Obi-Wan is,” Yoda hmm’d. R-4’s domed head rotated so that the wave of blue light which had been bathing Obi-Wan focused on the Grandmaster. “Move more subtly we must, if we are to have any hope of success.”
“With due respect Master Jedi,” said Senator Aang, his pale white holopresence coming into focus, “We had this discussion already, and Palpatine may already know something is amiss. We must move swiftly!”
“Did I say that slowly we must move?” Yoda asked rhetorically. “No. Subtly.”
“Surely you understand the difference between haste and subterfuge?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked, eyebrows raised.
Obi-Wan could sense the Roonan’s growing impatience, and quickly interjected. “What Master Mundi means is that, while we must act now, we can’t be obvious about it. Think about the Sith Lord’s reaction to the Jedi uncovering his identity. It’s possible that he has an end-game that would cause great suffering for the people of the Galaxy, if his plans fail abruptly.”
“Now that believe us, you do, imperative it is for the Jedi to end Palpatine’s reign of terror,” Yoda added. “Already, we have significantly weakened the Sith Lord, though at a great cost. With your support, possible it would be to transport Jedi beyond the Temple Precinct.”
“We can’t just start flying Jedi in and out of the Temple,” Isard scoffed angrily, then winced and massaged his jaw, before continuing, “For one, any Clone pilots are out of the question—”
“Even in our current state, we have plenty of vehicles, Director,” Shaak-Ti said reassuringly.
“Be that as it may,” Isard continued, “Grandmaster Yoda pointed out the need for subtlety. If Jedi were to travel around Coruscant openly, it would surely alert the Chancellor.”
Obi-Wan looked down at his own chest, which was still encased in trooper armor. “I believe we have that part figured out.” He pulled the Clone helmet out of his bag and waved it in front of himself theatrically.
“I suppose I could arrange some redeployments,” Screed said thoughtfully. “Yes, that could work… Rotate the Clones out of critical areas and rotate Jedi and volunteers in. So long as you are capable actors, it could work.”
“Still have the Senate vote on impeaching Chancellor Palaptine, we should,” Yoda added.
Obi-Wan sensed surprise from Shaak Ti and Ki-Adi-Mundi, though neither of the Jedi showed any sign of it in their expressions. He felt some surprise himself. “Respectfully, Grandmaster, isn’t the risk that would pose to the Senate the very reason you were arguing for subtlety?”
“How can you be certain the Senate would vote to impeach the Chancellor even with the evidence?” Ki-Adi-Mundi.
“Not certain I am,” Yoda admitted. “However, distract the Sith Lord, and his allies, a Senate vote on the matter would.”
Obi-Wan hadn’t thought of it from that angle, but he didn’t like the idea at all. “I still think it sounds quite risky for such little potential gain. Even were the Senate to vote Palpatine out of office, there’s no telling how the Clones would react. Moreover, the Senate itself could become a target. It would be a bloodbath.”
Calmly, Yoda looked up at Obi-Wan, dark circles around his green eyes. “That is why, sending you to the Senate, I am.”
“I…” Obi-Wan started. There was an argument on the tip of his tongue, and really, he wanted more than anything to search for Anakin, not lead the Jedi guarding the Senate. Still, he relented. “Very well. I do think diverting Jedi resources away from hunting Sidious, now that we actually have an opportunity to leave the Temple, may be a mistake, but if you need me at the Senate… then I shall go there.”
“My task, the hunt for Sidious shall be.”
“Are you sure you are strong enough to face him if you were to encounter him?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked. “You look like you’ve aged three centuries!”
“Rested enough I have,” Yoda said, smiling weakly. “And I will not be alone.”
Chapter 25: ZOLTAN
Chapter Text
The Vergence Scatter
While Zoltan sat on his hind legs surrounded by his curious packmates, facing a portal leading directly to Coruscant, his mind was entirely elsewhere. Once again, he wore an uplink, fastened to the top of his head with simple rope and buckles. Reaching out with the Force, the Loth-wolf could hear Mas Amedda’s voice. It was clearly digital, distorted by ever-so-slight aliasing as it transmitted over the short distance between two points on Coruscant.
“My people inform me that you are receiving these messages just fine. Continuing to ignore me is tantamount to allying with the Jedi. This is your final warning, Screed. Remember whom it is you are ignoring.”
Zoltan perceived all of this in less than a millisecond, but his mission was not eavesdropping. He followed the signal through the skies of Coruscant, perceiving the slight degradation in integrity before it reached the holoprojector in the center of Admiral Screed’s tactical salon. And for the fifth time, the holoprojector received thirty-eight lines of Loth-wolf-generated GRBOL, thirteen of which were especially consequential.
“01 INCOMING-CALL-DATA.
05 HOLONET-CODE PIC
X(09)
05 DISPLAY-TEXT PIC
01 SPECIAL-NUMBERS.
05 NO-CALLER-ID-NUM PIC
X(09) VALUE ‘000577977’
PROCEDURE DIVISION.
BLOCK INCOMING-NUMBER
IF INCOMING-NUMBER = NO-CALLER-ID-NUM
ELSE
ACCEPT
END-IF
STOP RUN.”
One part of Zoltan’s code redefined the HoloNet number 000577977 as a number with a hidden HoloNet code. Another part instructed the holoprojector to block calls from callers who did not display their HoloNet codes.
The millennia old programming language GRBOL was far from Zoltan’s favorite. It had an absolutely arcane data hierarchy structure which required an explicitly stated logic section, separated from the procedure, separated from the variables, and it lacked standardized libraries for hardware interaction. But 000577977 was, of course, the HoloNet code for Chancellor Palpatine’s office, and thus the Loth-wolf’s code got the job done. For the fifth time, the system automatically blocked Mas Amedda’s call, sending it straight into the message bank.
Not even a minute had gone by before another message travelling through the air at lightspeed. For the Zoltan reached out with his awareness, intercepting it. This time though, he winced as he heard the contents.
“I know you are receiving these, which means you must be listening… To that I say, bombing the Jedi Temple is an order. An order! You know, the Chancellor has eyes everywhere don’t you? I see all of your speeders on camera, sitting in the executive lot at the Naval Intelligence Agency. I see Burtoni’s, Isards, Rancit’s, Geen’s… You’re all… The Security Council is meeting without me, isn’t it?” The audio suddenly gave a harsh, whistling, static feedback as the Chagrian took a humongous breath, in preparation to scream.
Zoltan’s ears folded flat in preparation for the noise, though the sound would be going directly into his mind and there was no avoiding it.
“You have all been lying to me, even Isard! Even the Senate Bureau of Intelligence! HOW DARE YOU! After everything we have done for you, you throw your lot in with the Jedi! I may not survive today, but you’re all as good as dead! You traitors! You incompetents! You imbeciles! I’ll tell you this! I serve a higher power. You think you are saving lives by allying with the Jedi? HA! What is the number of dead that will convince you siding with the Jedi is a mistake? A hundred million? A billion? A trillion?! ANSWER ME NOW YOU KRIFFING SCUM! HOW DARE YOU CONTINUE TO IGNORE ME! I AM THE VICE CHANCELLOR! I AM—JUST DAMN YOU ALL!”
It was like the hundred other governmental collapses the Loth-wolf had perceived over the eons: The hardliners were now terrified, angry, distraught, and completely beyond reason. Everyone else was abandoning ship…
Or would be, Zoltan mused. For nanosecond, he wondered whether he should allow this message past the caller ID filter to show the Security Council and the Jedi just how completely unhinged Mas Amedda had become. But only for a nanosecond. Allowing that message through the filter would be just as likely to remind the former Palpatine loyalists just how vulnerable they were. It would remind them that, even if the Jedi saved the Republic, Mas Amedda might bring them all down with him.
Sighing mentally, Zoltan followed the message into the holoprojector. For the sixth time, lines of GRBOL code, seemingly generated out of nowhere, told the holoprojector to ignore Mas Amedda’s call. The voice message transmitted to Admiral Screed’s and Director Isard’s datapads, to be listened to at another time with the other unimportant routine updates.
The Loth-wolf’s awareness departed Admiral Screed’s tactical salon, returning again to the spot in mid air roughly halfway between Chancellor Palpatine’s office and the COMPOR Arcology. He hovered, taking in the hectic buzz of activity as a squadron of LAATs flew by.
{“You missed one,”} purred a familiar voice in his mind.
Shocked, Zoltan extended his awareness. {“Dad, don’t distract me.”}
{“You won’t find it there.”} Halfdan’s presence suddenly radiated in the Force, and Zoltan was simultaneously aware of his father standing right next to him in the Vergence Scatter, and also of a separate presence in the Force right here on Coruscant.
Zoltan performed the clairvoyant version of a sprint, sending his mental presence across the skies of Coruscant at near lightspeed. In an instant, he was right next to his father, hovering in an empty traffic lane in the Works. Sure enough, an electromagnetic signal passed by, and Zoltan and his father both intercepted it at the same time.
o.o.o.o.o
MACE WINDU
ChanPal SuReCon
Windu stared up into the face of Sidious. The Sith Lord was still clad from head to toe in the red vacsuit worn outside of Dex’s Diner. Beside him, bound and seated in a metal chair, Anakin Skywalker stirred, seeming to awaken from a nightmare. He moaned into his gag, shaking his head.
“Had bad dreams, have we?” Sidious asked. He reached a red gloved hand down to Windu’s face, and Windu relaxed his jaw, allowing the Sith Lord to remove his gag.
“I don’t have bad dreams,” Windu retorted, his eyes still focused on any twitch of muscles in Sidious’s face, searching for any clues into what Sidious was thinking. The Sith Lord was as elusive in the Force as ever. The Force felt as if there was no life presence standing there at all.
Is he hiding himself so thoroughly in the Force that he has concealed his presence completely, or is the vacsuit itself somehow shielding him like an Ysalamir? Does this mean the Jedi have had some major victory and Sidious fears being found?
A wry smirk crossed the corner of Sidious’s lips, and Windu thought this meant Sidious was reading his thoughts. “I very much doubt that you are immune from nightmares, Master Jedi. I could hear you and Anakin moaning from across the hospital. The war has been taking its toll on us all.”
Hospital. We’re in a hospital then.
Windu decided to drop another comment, give something for the Sith Lord to mull over—Something that might get a reaction from him and give even more clues as to what was going on. “I don’t have nightmares. I have dreams, but in my dreams, everything transpires perfectly.”
Genuine surprise seemed to cross Sidious’s face. “Oh? And what would be perfect in this context?”
“In my dream, in the speeder port in front of Dex’s Diner, there were no distractions… I sent the Senators away ten minutes earlier than your untimely arrival. From then on, Skywalker and I were able to focus on what mattered.”
Anakin exhaled loudly through his nose and mumbled something that sounded like an apology.
“I see,” Sidious said thoughtfully, then put a hand on Windu’s shoulder, and his voice changed to one of deep sarcastic regret. “It’s most unfortunate that you are only able to succeed in your dreams, Master Windu.”
Anakin squirmed around more frantically, shaking his head, hacking, and spitting until the ropes around his face fell loose and ringed around his neck. He spat the gag out at Sidious’s feet. “It won’t just be in our dreams, Palpatine!”
Sidious leered, shadows darkening in his creases in the harsh white light of the interior of his vacsuit. “There you are again, doing my work for me Anakin, how thoughtful.”
“Are you planning on going on a space walk?” Windu asked as casually as he could.
Sidious’s expression softened. “Alas, no.” He turned away, and gestured to the holoprojector that was sitting at the base of his black throne. “Now, look into the camera, both of you. We don’t want to keep the High Council waiting.”
o.o.o.o.o
ZOLTAN
All Zoltan could see in the incoming transmission was Palpatine’s eerie face, obscured behind a metal mask. He knew droids better than almost any other being in the Galaxy, and even from this briefest of glimpses in the Force, he could tell that this was not Sidious. It was a droid, and it was another trap. This had to be stopped.
Halfdan’s voice echoed directly in Zoltan’s mind. {“No, let it through.”}
Zoltan let off a mental snarl of frustration. {“We can’t do that. Dad, I sense the Jedi will be so distracted, and it’s all a lie. This is exactly what the Sidious wants!”} Once again, time dilated about twenty-seven fold as the Loth-wolf’s consciousness zipped by at more than 299,000 kilometres per second through the skies of Coruscant, following the transmission out of the Works.
{“Sidious is unconscious. This catastrophe waiting to happen is Sly Moore’s doing.”}
{“I know Sidious is unconscious!”} Zoltan retorted angrily. {“That still doesn’t mean… Wait, what do you mean catastrophe?”}
{“Son, when your enemy is about to make a mistake, don’t stop them.”}
Above the horizon, the massive dark hulk of the Leveler came into view, the city lights gleaming off the bottom of its hull. Nanoseconds later (but seconds later from Zoltan’s time-dilated point of view), the towers of the Jedi Temple began to rise over the horizon. The facts seemed obvious to Zoltan. {“We have to stop this. The Jedi will be distracted trying to rescue Anakin and Mace Windu. They will fall into a trap, and it will stretch our efforts to save the timeline even thinner.”}
{“Stop thinking about what will happen. You are a Veil Dweller. Presage it.”}
{“WE DON’T HAVE TIME!”} Zoltan reached out to the receiver array aboard the massive Acclamator hovering above the Jedi Temple. Blocking the message this time would be impossible once it was relayed from the Leveler, and no longer a tightbeam. He reached out with the Force, and was already past the ship’s security network by the time his father’s essence came to a hover beside his.
{“Stop that.”}
Inexplicably, just as Zoltan generated the picture clause to define the ChanPal SuReCon’s holocode as an “unknown” number, the number was deleted. He generated the number again, but again it was deleted. To his horror, he felt his dad’s own presence now within the Leveler’s transceiver array alongside his.
{“YOU’RE DOOMING US ALL!”}
{“No, son,”} Halfdan replied calmly. {“If the Jedi receive Sly Moore’s message, they will leave the Temple, just where we need them—”}
{“Into a Sith trap!”}
{“I shouldn’t need to explain this. Search the Force.”}
It was already too late to stop the message. Leveler had picked up the Sentinel’s message and was relaying it in a wide spectrum transmission all over the Temple Precinct. Not only to the Jedi inside the Temple, but to remaining Clones at the perimeter, and to the media still parked at the edge of the district. Every Jedi would now see the face of the droid posing as a Sith Lord. They would hear the droid’s threats, see two helpless Jedi prisoners and…
And realization exploded into Zoltan’s mind. He reached out with the Force in every direction to everyone and everything he could, taking in the totality of organic and inorganic matter alike. He felt the presences of thousands of Jedi, hundreds of thousands of Clones, and hundreds of billions of sentients and machines. Some were light, some were dark, but what mattered most right now was where they were all going to be next.
The harder the Loth-wolf focused on their positions, the more difficult it was to presage their directions, so he withdrew, slightly, allowing their presences in the Force to become fuzzy. At that point he could sense it. The outrage and fury the overwhelming majority of the population felt towards the closing of the Senate, the attacks on the Jedi Temple, and the seemingly-mad Clones now deployed on the streets, telling the crowds of protestors where they could and could not be.
The Security Council turning on the Sith wasn’t inexplicable. It was another consequence of Sidious’s failure to control the narrative. This broadcast from Sly Moore would set off a veritable powder keg. Furthermore, with the Jedi out in the streets, it’d be impossible for an attack on the Temple of any size to eliminate them all, and the Sith Grand Plan was doomed. Yet, there was still a massive problem with the way things were going to unfold: Sidious would escape.
The Jedi would spread out everywhere, in all of the wrong places, chasing phantoms and droids while Sidious’s airspeeder landed safely in the hangar bay of a loyal Star Destroyer. It would leave orbit, unopposed, and enter hyperspace. The being who killed Zoltan’s mother would be on the loose, and the threat to his pack, to all beings who dwelled beyond the Veil really, would still be out there—
Back in the Vergence Scatter, Zoltan gasped, taking in a huge breath. His eyes stopped glowing and he turned to his left, where his father stood.
“Do you sense it? We’ve won already,” Halfdan purred, pacing in a circle around his son.
“He’s going to get away…”
Two loud thuds echoed from behind Zoltan as Bendu alighted on the transparent floor. “We can’t be too focused on ending Sidious now. We must foil his plans and hope his removal from any power or influence is good enough.”
Zoltan bared his fangs, looking into Bendu’s cold grey eyes. “It’s not enough.”
“It will have to be. It is clearly against the will of the Force for us to strike down Sidious ourselves.”
Most of the Loth-wolves’ heads turned, facing the direction of the destroyed portal. It was where Bendu had poured a massive amount of energy into destroying Sidious, but the Force had struck back, inexplicably, knocking the One in the Middle out of the sky—or what passed for sky here.
Zoltan’s gaze did not shift. He continued staring, piercingly, into Bendu’s eyes. “I don’t suggest we strike down Sidious ourselves. What if we introduce Sidious and Sly Moore to the halls of the Jedi Temple?”
Bendu’s jaw locked and his chest muscles visibly tightened. “Are you forgetting one of our most sacred rules?”
“Nothing of the sort,” Zoltan said, a devious smirk forming on his snout. “I know where Sly Moore is… or where she will be. She’s inside an F-143 ambulance model, which has a navicomp I think I can make a convincing argument to.”
Halfdan laughed at that and placed his paw atop Zoltan’s head, roughly mussing with his mane. “That sounds doable. Why didn’t we think of it earlier?”
“I did,” Bendu muttered, his hardened expression growing more worried and weary. He hovered in a circle to Zoltan’s side, then put a massive hand on the Loth-wolf’s back. “Be cautious. At the first sign of resistance from the Force, return to us at once.”
Zoltan twisted his torso to turn and look up into Bendu’s eyes. “Don’t worry. As far as the Force and the spacetime continuum is concerned, it’ll be like I wasn’t even there.”
Chapter 26: AHSOKA TANO
Chapter Text
Aboard the RSD Kestrel, Mustafar System
“I really don’t see how broadcasting this conversation to your entire crew helps your situation, Commodore,” Tarkin’s voice sneered over the intercom.
Sighing, Ahsoka kept walking. She was down on the hangar level, moving briskly towards the bow of the ship.
Commodore Kelia Los’ean’s plan was to jump into the Mustafar System and, rather than take Tarkin by surprise, broadcast Sidious’s treachery to the whole system. In the most unrealistic scenario, this would make Tarkin realize the error of his ways. In all likelihood, it would instead divide Tarkin’s forces and make them turn on him. As Tarkin’s ships battled one another, Ahsoka would lead the ground forces to the surface of Mustafar to stop Tarkin from shutting down the droid army. Morai had some reservations with Kelia’s plan, but she agreed to go along with it. Lir Sey’les also didn’t think Tarkin was very likely at all to cooperate, and like Ahsoka, also preferred to jump into the system guns blazing.
Ahsoka thought this was just going to get them all killed, and make it all the more likely for Sidious to finish Order 66 and establish the Galactic Empire.
“This conversation is a matter of public record,” Kelia’s voice said back over the intercom. “It’s going to the entire Mustafar System.”
“Commodore Los’ean, you not only arrived in this system alongside a Separatist fleet, but you leaked classified documents to the entire system,” Tarkin snorted. “You do realize I am the Adjutant General of the Grand Army of the Republic?”
Rounding a corner, Ahsoka turned sideways to allow a platoon of Clone troopers to pass. Several of them saluted her, the last one adding, “Good evening, sir.” This left Ahsoka momentarily wondering what time of day it was at the Jedi Temple, what time it was wherever Tarkin stood on Mustafar’s surface, and whether the time of day really even mattered.
“Admiral Tarkin, as I already explained,” Kelia said, her voice bearing hints of impatience, “This Separatist fleet and mine have agreed to a ceasefire. Moreover, I have noticed you have yet to address any of my allegations—”
“But how can anyone possibly trust anything you have to say?”
“I have presented substantial evidence you haven’t bothered to even begin to refute, and, in fact, have indirectly confirmed is real . You see the same evidence I do, Tarkin. You have access to all of it.”
Ahsoka sensed a familiar presence approaching from behind. She tuned out the open comm chatter between the feuding admirals and increased her pace. Despite her pursuer’s diminutive stature, they were drawing nearer and nearer.
“General?”
Blast it. I don’t have time for this.
“GENERAL TANO, WAIT UP!” Sey’les yelped, now sprinting down the hall.
Ahsoka couldn’t just run. It would draw way too much attention. Reluctantly, she stopped and turned around.
The ashy-furred Bothan skidded to a stop on the back of her boot’s heels about a meter from the Jedi. She was wearing a black armor chestplate and a matching helmet over her drab green Naval uniform. Somehow, the armor made the once future Imperial dictator of Bothawui look dorky and adorable. “General, I—Sorry to disturb you. We are ready to move out, but Mornstead said we’d need to await… Well…”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Ahsoka lied. “Tell him to prep the transports—”
“But uh… Sir, Hangar Five is back that way,” Sey’les growled, gesturing down the hall behind her.
“I’ll be there in a minute, Ensign,” Ahsoka repeated, this time letting impatience creep into her voice.
“Have you seen Veryk anywhere?” Sey’les asked.
Ahsoka suspected the question was just asked to stall, but she answered it truthfully. “No. I haven’t seen any purple weasels since the last briefing.”
“Okay, thanks, I’ll keep looking. Well… Um…” Sey’les cleared her throat. “I know you didn’t approve of Admiral Los’ean’s plans and, well, I don’t either. We’re doing as best we can prepping for plan Besh though, and frankly, General, I don’t think it’s fair that you…” The Bothan’s voice trailed off and her ears fell flat against the top of her head. She straightened. “Permission to speak frankly, sir?”
“Permission denied,” Ahsoka said without skipping a beat. “Go back to the hangar and wait for me.”
Sey’les scrunched her face up and trembled slightly, as if physically struggling to not retort.
Ahsoka could hear the phrase we need you, sir, practically screaming out of the Bothan’s mind. Ignoring her, the Togruta turned and continued towards the bow of the ship. She must not have hid her emotions or intentions well in the Force, because she could sense Sey’les’s fear and anger growing. Ahsoka hadn’t even gone ten paces, when a loud snarl erupted from behind.
“THIS WON’T WORK WITHOUT YOU! WE NEED A JEDI!”
“I am not abandoning you,” Ahsoka replied, not turning around, and not raising her voice in anger.
With any luck, after I am done, things will go so smoothly that you won’t need a Jedi for the Battle of Mustafar either.
Shortly thereafter, the hum of the turbolift ended, and the doors opened with a hiss. She had arrived one deck down, in one of the servicing hangars used to repair and maintain fighters.
Given several hours had passed since the Battle of the Athega System, where the only damaged fighters had been those exposed to the system’s deadly sun while escaping the doomed Corusca Rainbow , she had hoped the hangar would be completely empty of any crew, but on the far side of the hangar, there was a trio of mechanics busily repairing a scorched ARC-170. On the right side of the hangar from the entrance were three other ARC-170s in better shape, which all looked fully repaired except the paint. Nearest to the hangar lifts, connecting this service hangar to the flight line, was one Eta-2 Actis interceptor painted purple and gray.
Ahsoka had spent enough time in the Republic fleet to know that, typically, repair crews would fix all internal and external issues with a starfighter in the dedicated hangar for repairs. They would then send the fighter to a regular hangar, where the regular servicing crews would paint over battle scorches after the vessels were transferred to their normal squadrons. Given that fact, the Eta-2 Actis and the three ARC-170s next to it should all be safe to fly… or relatively safe.
Kelia’s and Tarkin’s dueling voices could still be heard, but only coming from a small subspace radio sitting next to the base of a ladder. The intercom in this hangar was off, and the radio near where the mechanics were doing their repairs was too far away for Ahsoka to hear clearly.
Moving as quietly as she could, Ahsoka crouched and walked beneath the wing of the one of the scorched ARC-170s. She snuck from fighter to fighter, hiding behind their hulls as she approached the one at the end. Unfortunately, it had no astromech, but Ahsoka did not need an astromech to do what she intended.
The seat cushion squeaked loudly as Ahsoka sat down, causing her to wince, closing her eyes as she reached out in the Force to the trio of mechanics.
None of them had seemed to notice the sound. The sound of grinding metal echoed off the walls as, on the opposite side of the hangar, one of the mechanics began sandblasting a spot beneath the ARC-170’s cockpit.
Confident that sound would cover up the noise of her Eta-2 Actis interceptor warming up, Ahsoka took advantage of the opportunity and began the startup sequence. A low hum thrummed from the repulsors, then Kelia’s voice erupted from the fighter’s radio. Startled and thinking she had been caught, Ahsoka jumped for a second, but then it was clear from the content that this was just the ongoing argument between Kelia and Tarkin.
“Unacceptable. You are to stand down at once and terminate the Shadowfeed interference.”
“If your courier vessels are in the Coruscant and Raxus systems,” Tarkin’s voice snorted in retort, “then why do I need to shut down the interference to get the message of this alleged treachery out?”
Ahsoka had known Tarkin would stall from the start, and now she knew their conversation had minutes maybe before Tarkin would end it. He was merely staying engaged to grasp any bits of information he could from Kelia before he turned on her.
“I have presented ample evidence that in obeying the Supreme Chancellor’s orders, you are abetting treason. If you fail to comply, my fleet will be forced to annihilate your forces.”
“Your fleet? You mean the Separatists?”
Ahsoka’s eyes drifted to the readouts and status displays. The Eta-2 Actis was fully fueled, and its laser capacitors had full charge. Unfortunately, this model didn’t have ion cannons. Instead it had another redundant set of laser cannons, and a useless pair of empty concussion missile tubes. It would have to do. Clutching her hand on the yoke, the Togruta prepared to bring it into a hover, but instead she screamed.
From behind her, two tiny, purple, five-toed paws reached in front of her face and then covered her eyes. The claws at the tips of them pressed uncomfortably against the skin to either side of Ahsoka’s nose, scratching but not breaking the skin.
{“Guess who?”} The words were thought into Ahsoka’s mind in a melodious human voice that sounded nothing like the chittering squeaks the creature made from his vocal tract.
She had located Sey’les’s missing weasel.
From the yells of alarm and shouts of “who’s there,” everyone in the hangar now knew Ahsoka was here.
o.o.o.o.o.o
QUINLAN VOS
Raxulon, Raxus Secundus
Alongside Passel Argente, Vos and his three Jedi companions now stood in a corridor just outside of the Separatist Senate chamber. The last present surviving member of the Separatist War Council was not in a good mood.
“What do you mean you can’t find him?” hissed Passel Argente angrily into his wristcomm. “This is a Wookiee we are talking about! How did you lose track of an entire Wookiee?!”
“Do we really need him?” Vos asked. He held up the bulky data recorder containing about half a yottabyte of holorecordings, vidscreen images, reports, and intercepted audio messages between Sidious and Dooku. “We have plenty of incriminating information right here.”
“We need his testimony!”
K’Kruhk folded his arms across his chest and snorted in disbelief. “More likely you want someone here you trust enough to allow a lightsaber.”
Vos frowned, rubbing his hand over the empty pouch on his belt where his saber hilt would usually rest. “Yeah.”
“Given the circumstances,” Jeisel said, standing at Vos’s right, “It would be wise to give us our lightsabers back. You said it yourself, we cannot afford to be enemies.”
Ignoring her for a moment, Passel Argente barked an order into his wristcomm, “KEEP SEARCHING!”
“So do we get our lightsabers?” Vos asked. The two super battle droids to either side of the Jedi quartet rotated their torsos, looking directly at the Kiffar.
“I am not going to allow four armed Jedi into the senate,” Argente scoffed.
Vos shrugged. “We’re not murderers.”
“If we are allies now,” Stass added imploringly, “Surely you can trust us enough to be armed. When Grievous returns, and it is when not if, you will want as many armed allies as you can muster.”
Argente waved his hand dismissively, then gestured towards the door. “Contingencies have been prepared for that. Now, let us speak before the Senate.” Turning the knob himself, he pushed the antique wooden door open, and the four Jedi followed.
They stepped onto a balcony at one end of the rectangular Separatist Senate room. Along each wall were five rows of bench seats, more resembling a courtroom jury arrangement than a typical legislature. On three walls, between the gloomy windows, were vidscreens already displaying evidence of Palpatine and Dooku’s treachery.
A hundred or so Senators, some present via HoloProjection, turned and faced them.
Vos stepped forward to the mic and took a deep breath.
o.o.o.o.o
AHSOKA TANO
Aboard the RSD Kestrel, Mustafar System
“That’s General Tano!”
“What is she doing here?”
“What the—”
The utterances of surprised Clones and volunteer techs were suddenly cut off when Veryk’s voice spoke directly into Ahsoka’s mind.
{“Close the hatch.”} The creature lifted his paws from Ahsoka’s eyes, allowing her to see the dashboard.
“You nearly—how did—you can’t sneak up on a Jedi like that!” Ahsoka spun around, staring at Veryk in disbelief.
The purple viverrid was sitting in the small compartment behind the pilot’s seat, staring up at her with his beady eyes. {“I can and did. It was quite easy. I know you have four questions, but if you don’t want our gallivanting into the Mustafar system to be prematurely ended by a stun bolt, close the hatch.”}
“ Our gallivanting into the Mustafar system?! Who said I invited—”
A ring-shaped stun shot flew past Ahsoka’s head, missing her by less than a centimeter. Static popping sounds filled the air, and Ahsoka felt a slight electric buzz between her back and the seat.
With Jedi lightning reflexes, Ahsoka flipped the switch to shut the canopy. Two more stun blasts hit the hull of the vessel before the bubble closed completely. She couldn’t blame the maintenance crews for being trigger happy with stun bolts. She had little doubt the attempted theft of a shuttle she’d overheard happening before Veryk abducted her meant they had little tolerance for any further attempts.
Once the canopy was sealed completely, Veryk began chittering again, his accompanying voice relaying a translation directly into the Togruta’s mind. {“Now I suggest getting this vessel to the ventral hangar aperture. In eighteen seconds, the bridge crew will become aware of what you are doing.”}
Rather than complying, Ahsoka turned around, and again stared the Viverrid down. “What are you doing here?”
{“Oh, don’t you mind me. I am just along for the ride.”}
o.o.o.o.o
KELIA LOS’EAN
RSD Kestrel , Mustafar System
“Your pleading sounds more and more pitiful by the minute,” Tarkin chided.
“I am not pleading,” Kelia retorted in a stone cold voice. “I am giving a direct order. Stand down and prepare to be taken into my custody. At this point…” The Bothan’s voice trailed off as a white flash erupted from her right.
The source of the flash was none other than Morai, standing in the humanoid form of the Daughter. Her eyes were glowing bright with such an intensity that it made Kelia squint.
Kelia cut the transmission, then turned to the Veil Dweller, genuinely frustrated. “Could you do that anywhere else?!”
“Veryk!” Morai gasped, seemingly not to herself. “What do you mean Ahsoka is right? Of course she’s right, but—No!”
Losing all patience, Kelia grabbed at the collar of Morai’s robes, then closed her eyes at the lights intensity. “Morai, you can either stop talking to yourself or you can get off my bridge!”
“Sir!” A Bothan officer Kelia didn’t recognize, probably because she spent most of her time on the proper command bridge, shouted at her, currently trying to get her attention.
“It can wait!” Kelia snarled. “Morai? Can you hear me? MORAI!” The intense brightness against her eyelids subsided, and Kelia risked opening her eyes a crack.
“Ahsoka’s taken matters into her own hands and Veryk’s helping her!” Morai gasped, her eyes wide with astonishment.
“We have an unauthorized launch!” The Bothan shouted again from the flight monitoring station he was standing over. “It’s one of the—It’s Ahsoka!”
This was the final straw. She’d spent ten minutes in a circular argument with a man she already knew she’d never convince, and now after two days of time-travelling nonsense, General Tano had done it again.
With a feeling in her brain like something had just snapped , her blond fur settled back down, anger so intense she could no longer process the emotion properly. Kelia exhaled, and deigned to cast a glance at Perth as she responded, her tone dripping acid. “Let them go. If she and Veryk die as a result, that’s their problem, not ours.”
Morai and the Bothan turned to Kelia in astonishment.
She ignored them and stepped forwards to where Jural was standing in the center of the main walkway, turning to her. “Captain, re-open the line to Tarkin and send the go codes to Scirocco for Plan Besh.”
Jural's ears perked up, staring at Kelia in confusion. “Sir?”
Kelia stared at her, causing the smaller Bothan to shrink slightly under her gaze. “Just do it Jural, then tell him to prepare for plan Aurek using Besh as a cover.”
“Aye, sir.”
Kelia turned back to the forward viewports, letting a satisfied smirk briefly grace her snout, a single moment of catharsis in the middle of this utter mess. It would take forty-seven seconds for their reinforcements to arrive. If Tarkin did not answer until after they arrived, it would ruin the surprise of the moment, but the plan didn’t hinge on Tarkin answering.
Sure enough though, Tarkin’s holopresence once again appeared on the bridge’s main display. “We have detected a launch from your vessel, Commodore. Would you care to explain?”
Kelia looked ahead, not at Tarkin’s holopresence, but over it and through the forward viewports. Ashoka’s engines were burning hot but growing steadily dimmer as they approached Tarkin’s blockade.
In truth, she had a good guess as to Ahsoka’s plan. The Togruta had argued that the best approach would be to distract Tarkin’s entire fleet. To broadcast that there was a Jedi approaching, which would draw the focus of the Clone-majority crews. It might even draw them out of formation in pursuit. However, Kelia and Scirocco had disagreed. Both were skeptical that a single Jedi would distract an entire fleet and pull their capital ships out of formation—not when their fighter groups were still available.
Her rage at Ahsoka’s recklessness simmered as she ignored the question, voice laced with acid as she addressed Tarkon. “Admiral Tarkin, this is your final warning. Stand down and prepare your forces to remove the inhibitor chips of all Clones, or be terminated for treason.”
Tarkin smirked. “How amusing,” he turned to someone outside the cam's focus and addressed them, “all ships, fire at will.”
Tarkin’s holopresence vanished, coinciding with waves of ineffective fire pouring into the direction of Ahsoka’s fighter, which was now perfectly between the Kestrel and Tarkin’s blockade. No shots hit Ahsoka, but plenty flashed against Kestrel’s forward deflectors.
None of the expected Separatist vessels, which were waiting just outside the system at .075 lightyears from Mustafar, emerged from hyperspace.
Kelia’s fur bristled slightly. More complications, more deviations from a perfectly fine plan. “Why aren't they reverting yet! Hail Scirocco!”
“Uh, we’re receiving a comm from Scirocco already,” one of the comms techs reported from the crew pits below.
“Put him through.”
The ghostly blue holopresence of Scirocco appeared on the projector in front of the viewports where Tarkin’s had been. “Commodore Los’ean, did you authorize that launch without consulting me first?”
Kelia's jaw set, managing to keep her tone even. “No, Admiral, I did not.”
Scirocco’s optics swiveled slightly to refocus as he spoke. “It seems, in any case, that General Tano was correct. Tarkin is on the Sith Lord’s side, is unlikely to surrender, and is unlikely to respond to reason. I gathered that much from your conversation.”
“No plan survives contact with an enemy,” Kelia retorted, her annoyance audible. “We need those ships now though. The longer we give that barve to figure it out, the less effective our strategy will be.”
“If she maintains her current vector, I calculate a 23% probability that General Tano’s craft will be struck by my vessels exiting hyperspace.”
A droid is making this argument? A droid who hours ago would’ve killed her without a thought?
What the shab is going on with us all?
Kelia let out an aggravated sigh and repeated herself. “We don’t have time for this.”
“The most sound tactical choice is to wait and see to what degree Tano’s plan is successful. Additionally, as it was Tano herself who triggered the changes to the timeline, I do not think we can risk losing her. The consequences to the fabric of spacetime could be dire.”
Kelia had just about had it. She opened her mouth to snarl a retort, but was once again beaten to the chase by Morai.
“Veryk,” interrupted the Daughter in a tone that was ponderous and quiet. “Veryk knew this would happen.”
Right, of course, Force stuff. Why is this even a problem then?
Kelia rubbed her eyes. “Okay, Veryk is on the ship with her, and she’s a Jedi .”
“Certainly we cannot risk both a supernatural time-travelling Viverrid and the being who caused all of this to happen,” Scirocco put in.
Advanced processor my shebs… Stupid shab'la clanker .
Kelia exhaled, fur rippling in irritation. “You still don’t get it.”
Scirocco straightened.
It was impossible to tell any emotional expression on the droid’s face, but Kelia guessed the statement had somehow bruised his ego. Managing to rein in her irritation just enough, she said, “Veryk will know the exact exit points of your vessels and what time they will exit. Veryk and Morai see the future and possible consequences of many possible futures. Even if they can’t, they can still sense impending danger and avoid them before they even emerge.”
Looking very dejected for a droid, Scirocco slumped slightly, allowing his arms to dangle. “Very well. Commencing with the plan.”
o.o.o.o.o
AHSOKA TANO
Turbolaser and laser fire continued pouring in her direction as she juked and rolled, avoiding every shot. Somehow, though not wearing a seatbelt or crash-webbing of any kind, Veryk managed to stay put in the small cargospace behind her.
Having memorized how she would respond to demands for her to return to the Kestrel, Ahsoka was surprised and a little disappointed that, so far, Commodore Los’ean had declined to dven comm her.
Leaning forward, the Togruta spoke into the mic affixed to the side of her head, “This is General Ahsoka Tano, Jedi Knight.” She emphasized the word ‘Jedi’ into the unencrypted system-wide emergency channel deliberately, hoping it would capture the attention of the Clones amidst Tarkin’s fleet even more.
Sure enough, three more Venators and an Acclamator, which had been holding their fire, joined in on the salvo raining in on them.
Responding to every flash of danger from the Force, Ahsoka continued dodging erratically, the canopy illuminated by bright flashes.
Ahsoka flipped off the speak option on the subspace radio and spoke with gritted teeth to the being behind her in the compartment, “Now would probably be a good time to disappear into some portal! I’m not going to survive this.”
{“I wouldn’t be so certain,”} Veryk retorted.
A gargantuan blue bolt as wide as the starfighter passed by to port, so near to the shields that the interceptor shuddered.
Ahsoka’s face screwed up in sudden concentration. “Wait. Are you here just to stop me from—” Before she could finish her question, the biggest blare of danger yet screamed from the Force. It came from all sides, everywhere, so overwhelming and non-directional that she didn’t even know which way to turn.
The cockpit canopy bubble was suddenly illuminated by a bright light, and Ahsoka’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror. Veryk’s claws gripped the top of her seat, and his little weasel face was above her own, peering over the headrest. His beady little eyes now glowed so brightly the reflection hurt Ahsoka’s eyes.
All around the ship a forcefield of some sort emerged, as if from the Force itself, and Ahsoka’s grip on the yoke loosened. The tubolaser blasts hit ineffectively against the surface, not even causing the fighter to budge a centimeter. But somehow, Ahsoka knew the forcefield was not intended for those blasts. Something worse had to be coming.
Three seconds later, Ahsoka’s prediction came true. Something hit them from behind, so hard and with such force that the Togruta was thrown against her crash webbing, seat restraints locked hard to keep her in place. The Eta-2 Actis was now accelerating, inexplicably, still protected thanks to the glowing shield being cast by Veryk.
Thoughts of the end, thoughts of failure, thoughts of how pointless her efforts had been to change the timeline were all momentarily forgotten. Ahsoka let off a legitimately startled cry of alarm as, with another violent crash against her seat restraints, her starfighter went into an out of control tumble. The spin was so fast that she could not make out what was going on outside, besides the vague sense that something very big had struck them, pushed them forward several kilometers then bucked them off.
Her first guess was Purrgils. She had been knocked around by them in space more than once, and they could grow to the size of capital ships, travel through hyperspace, and come out of nowhere at any time.
The truth was even stranger. When the maneuvering thrusters finally put a stop to the spinning, she saw the unmistakable half-shell exterior armor and seven-engine drive bank of a Munificent -class starship. A second later, a more massive Providence -class passed her on the starboard side, drives glowing yellow.
This shouldn’t have surprised her so much. After all, Scirocco’s fleet had been left out of the system in reserve while Kelia attempted her negotiations with Tarkin, but they had entered system right on top of her, hundreds of thousands of kilometers away from the hyperlane—so close to Mustafar that the planet’s gravity well had probably yanked them all out of hyperspace. Her sensor monitor now showed more than three dozen Separatist capital ships, completely surrounding her, and not decelerating one bit.
“She—they—what is…” The words died in her mouth as she struggled to make sense of any of this. The turbolaser fire was now all being absorbed by the much larger and much more numerous Separatist vessels.
{“Your plans, Scirocco’s plans, and Kelia Los’ean’s plans are interfering with one another,”} Veryk’s voice echoed matter-of-factly into Ahsoka’s mind. His eyes suddenly stopped glowing, and the shield all around them faded. {“Rather than complementing their strategy, you are getting in their way. Now, I suggest we pull back and attempt to cover the troops landing transports as they come in… Ahsoka? Ahsoka, what are you doing?”}
Those ships weren’t slowing down, and the facts suddenly began to fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Droids were expendable. Kelia was an Imperial collaborator too in Ahsoka’s timeline. She was possibly every bit as callous as Tarkin, and she was dealing with Tarkin in a way that would cause a lot of collateral damage.
Ahsoka was a Jedi, and there was no way she could allow this. Burning the engines as hard as they could manage, she flicked the weapon systems back on, and their status went from yellow to green on the display. A box targeting display centered on the nearest Providence -class dreadnought’s engines.
{“Good idea,”} Veryk chimed in. {“Now if you just miss…”}
Another scream escaped Ahsoka’s mouth, this time mixed with outrage when, once again, inexplicably, two purple paws covered her eyes. She let go of the trigger and yelled. “GET OFF ME! GET OFF!”
{“Fine,”} Veryk huffed. {“But it’s easier to miss on accident.”}
“I DON’T WANT TO MISS!” Ahsoka yelled incredulously. “Those ships are going to hit Mustafar! Millions will die!”
A series of laugh-like chitters erupted from the Viverrid. {“Oh, Ahsoka, you’re too funny. Do you remember what I said about your plans interfering with each other?”}
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