It seemed the Confederacy did not trust that the justice of its cause was sufficient to ensure the loyalty of its troops.
In the shadow of this console, on a makeshift pallet made of seat cushions ripped from nearby chairs, lay Depa Billaba, nearly blind with pain. She had been weakening ever since the seizure of the command center, and now she lay with one arm covering her eyes. Blood trickled from one side of her mouth, where she had gnawed her lip raw.
Troopers controlled all the essential stations in the command center. Several of them had removed their helmets to accommodate ear pieces or goggles; Mace avoided looking in their direction. Empty helmets sitting on the consoles too closely resembled the full one he had left on the arena sand at Geonosis.
Mace stood at the satellite console. At one shoulder stood Nick, breathing out a continuous whisper of obscenities. At his other was the stolidly motionless presence of CRC-09,'571.
CRC-09,'571 was still wearing his helmet. This made it easier for Mace to talk to him. He didn't particularly want to see the commander's face.
He remembered too well the first time he had seen it. Just knowing that face was there, under the smoked mask of the helmet, was like a mocking finger tapping on the back of his head to remind him of Geonosis. Of everything that had happened there.
Of everything his failure had begun.
He did not want to be reminded of Geonosis. Especially not now.
He couldn't take his eyes from the monitor. Onscreen was the realtime display from the detector satellites in geosynchronous orbit.
"Seven-One." The clone commander's voice crackled through his helmet speaker. "Sir." "Get the landers' engines hot. All of them." "We never shut them down, sir." "All right." Mace's habitual frown deepened. "If we go, we'll need to give them plenty of targets. Initiate start-up on every ship in the port. Every one that's armed gets a gunner. How many of your men are qualified pilots?" "All of them, sir." Mace nodded. "Detail your best-no." He scowled at himself. Though many of the craft in the spaceport carried some armament, only the landers themselves were actual warships. This would be virtually a suicide mission. "Ask for volunteers." "It would be the same, sir." "I'm sorry?" "We always volunteer, sir. All of us. It's who we are." "Your best, then." "Yes, sir." CRC-09,'571 turned aside to issue crisp orders on his helmet's command-comm.
Nick stopped cursing long enough to ask, "Are we leaving?" "No time," Mace said, still staring into the screen.
It showed the airspace over Pelek Baw.
"It's that bad?" Nick spread his hands. "I mean, you've got a plan, right? You've got some trick to get us out of here?" "No more tricks," Mace said.
The sky was full of droid starfighters.
Incoming.
"How long do we have?" Mace shook his head again. "Seven-One. We hold the ranking militia officer, yes?" "Yes, sir. Major Stempel." "Get him." CRC-09,'571 saluted stiffly. Mace acknowledged his salute with a wave of dismissal, and the clone commander strode away toward the huddle of prisoners.
"What good is he gonna do us?" Mace pointed to a console a few meters away. "You see that? That is linked by landline to a secure transmitter beneath this bunker. Which is the only one on this planet that can send orders to those starfighters; that's the reason this bunker is a bunker. Whoever called them in had to be here." Nick nodded, understanding. "The control code." CRC-09,'571 returned, accompanied by two troopers who held between them an ashen- faced trembling man in the sweat-stained uniform of a militia major. "Major Stempel, I am Mace Windu," Mace began, but the shaking man cut him off.
"I–I know what you want. But I can't help you. I don't know it! I swear. I never knew it.
The codes are on a datapad-it's just a big personal datapad in an armored shell. He carries it with him. I didn't even know what he was doing-he just ordered me to relay his signal through the control console-" Mace closed his eyes, and put his hand to his forehead.
He felt a headache coming on.
"Of course. I should have expected this," he muttered to himself. "I keep forgetting that he's smarter than I am." "He? He who?" Nick demanded. "Who is this he you keep talking about?" "Priority signal incoming," the trooper at the comm board announced. His helmet rested on the console at his elbow; a cybernetic headset hung across his brow and down one side of his jaw, but even so, when he looked back it was Jango Fett that Mace saw.
"He says his name is Colonel Geptun," said this stranger with the face of a dead man. "He's asking for you, General. He's calling to accept your surrender." An immense, bluishly-translucent Lorz Geptun smiled his well-fed lizard smile down into the command bunker from the main holoprojector view. His khaki uniform shirt was again impeccably starched, and his aluminum-colored hair was swept back from his forehead.
"General Windu." He spoke with the same cheery lilt. "When last we met, I had no idea I was entertaining such a distinguished Jedi Master. Not to mention famous. It's an honor, sir.
How was your trip upcountry?" Depa was sitting up now, leaning on a desk, staring dazedly up at the screen. The light cast by Geptun's image threw black shadows that swallowed her eyes.
Kar and his Akks still paced. The clones stood motionless.
"I take it," said Mace Windu, "that you did not get my message." "Message? Oh, the message. Yes, yes, quite. My Jedi Problem and all. Very thoughtful.
Most appreciated." "Then you didn't believe it." "Should I have?" "You had the word of a Jedi Master." "Ah, yes. Honor, duty, justice. The flavor of the month. I can't imagine why I wouldn't simply take the word of a Jedi Master. Really, what could I have been thinking? Mmm-by the way, how is Master Billaba? Hasn't found the mass murders of our citizens to be a strain on her health, has she?" "You," said Mace Windu, "said something about surrender." Geptun's lips pressed together as though he tasted something sour. "Really, Master Windu, it's not every day a man in my position achieves such a resounding victory. In any civilized society, I should be permitted a moment to savor it." "Take all the time you want. Call back when you're finished." "Ah. Quite. After all, I didn't call to gloat. Well, not entirely. So. This is your situation.
"There are several hundred droid starfighters over your position. Anything that takes off from the spaceport will be shot down without warning. Anything airborne throughout the capital district, in fact. Meanwhile-oh, by the way, have I complimented you on your maneuver at the Lorshan Pass? Brilliant, Master Windu. Truly a work of art. You must be quite the dejarik player." His pale eyes sparkled gleefully. "I have been known to indulge in the game myself.
Perhaps-should our discussion today end profitably for us both-we might have a match some time." "Isn't that what we've been doing?" Without a sideways glance or change of expression, Mace sent a pulse in the Force down the connection he had forged with Nick Rostu. The young Korun's eyes widened, then narrowed; his face went blank, and he turned away to speak softly to a nearby trooper.
"In a way, Master Windu. In a way. So. Where was I? Yes: Meanwhile, back at the Pass.
I have fifteen thousand regulars on the ground. And while your clever bit of droid-baffling cost me almost fifty gunships, I have some left. Several, in fact. Of which twenty or so are already at the Lorshan Pass, and have already made a bloody mess of your landers and your defensive perimeter. I'm told your surviving troopers still hold the mouth of the tunnel, but of course they won't for long. I imagine their next move will be to mine the tunnel, and collapse it like you did the others. Which works for me; I have sappers clearing the other tunnels already. We'll be inside within the hour. Which is exactly how long you have to save your people." "An hour." STARWARSlSHAIItKPUINI "Ah, no: you misunderstand. I am plagued by unreliable subordinates; perhaps you can sympathize. My troops are not so disciplined as yours. They are young men, after all, and their blood is up. It may take them an hour to get inside. It may take them ten minutes. Once they enter those caves, I should be very much surprised if any Korun leaves that place alive." "Geptun-" "Colonel Geptun." '-there are over two thousand civilians in
there. The old, and the very young. Would you have your men slaughter children?" "There is only one way to stop them," Geptun said regretfully. "I must give them the order to stand down before they breach those caves." "And for that, you want our surrender." u't'tr? Yes.
"There are," Mace said slowly, "civilians in here, as well." "Of course there are." Geptun's smile broadened. "Civilians that you, Mace Windu, would give your life to protect. I cannot be bluffed. Not by you." Mace lowered his head.
"Don't take it too hard, General. In dejarik, part of true mastery is recognizing when a game is lost." Geptun cleared his throat delicately. "You have, sad to say, only one move left: to resign." "Give us a a little time." Defeat had leaked into Mace's voice. "We-we'll have to talk it over-" "Ah, time. Of course. Take as long as you like. It's not actually up to me, is it? My sappers are quite, shall we say, gifted? They could break through at any moment. It would be-mmmm, ironic-if your surrender were to come too late to save all those innocent lives." "Yes." Mace's voice was subdued. "I'll call back on the same frequency." "I look forward to it. It's been a pleasure playing against you, Master Windu. Geptun out." The image on the huge wallscreen faded. Silence shrouded the room.
Depa tottered to her feet. "Mace." Her voice trickled off into a whimper of pain; she lowered her head and clenched her jaw, pulling herself together by sheer willpower. "Mace, we can't let the militia kill those people. Your people-" "My people," said Mace Windu, "are Jedi." He lifted his head, and he didn't look beaten at all. "Nick." Nick Rostu looked up from the console where he was huddled with a pair of troopers, and his eyes sparkled. "Got him. The Ministry of Justice. Pegged him with his own bloody satellites!" Depa looked stunned; Kar Vastor's face birthed a predatory grin.
Mace nodded. "Depa. Time to fight. Are you strong enough?" She passed a hand before her face, and her gaze sharpened for a moment, but then she sagged, holding herself up with one hand while the other pressed against her temple. "I–I think so, Mace-but it's too, too-there's so much." The ragged exhaustion in her voice twisted in his stomach like a knife. "All right. Stay here." "No-no, I can fight-" "Perhaps you can. But I can't, while I know that you're about to collapse. You're staying.
That's an order." He turned away. "Nick: you're with me. Get Chalk and meet me at the gunship." Nick jumped for the door, then jerked to a stop, whirled, and made a credible attempt at a salute that he ruined with a smirk and a one-armed shrug. "Sorry: forgot." Mace acknowledged his salute, and Nick vanished through the bunker's doorway.
"Mace-" Depa struggled toward him, and reached out as though to take his hand from across the room. Kar Vaster strode up behind her, arms out to catch her if she fell. "You can't-you won't have a chance. They'll shoot you down before you clear the landing field." "They won't shoot me down. I'm not going up. That gunship is about to become Haruun Kal's largest landspeeder. Nick knows the streets. He can get us where we need to go." She half-fell toward the nearest chair; Vaster caught her and low ered her gently into it. She winced a rueful thanks up at him, and placed her hand on his before turning back to Mace.
"You're going after the Colonel-?" "I don't need him. I need that datapad." "What will you." Her eyes drifted closed, and she had to force the words out. Kar squeezed her hand, and a half a smile flowed across her lips before draining into the burn scar at the corner of her mouth. "What will you do. with Geptun?" Mace stared at them: Depa Billaba and Kar Vaster.
He had to go. He had to leave her behind. Let her stay. With him.
He might never see her again.
He couldn't make himself say good-bye.
In the end, all he could do was answer her question. "Colonel Geptun is a dangerous man," he said. "Exceedingly dangerous. I'll probably have to kill him." He frowned, and tipped his head in a Korun shrug. "Or, possibly, offer him a job." INFERNO T
wilight.
Turbolaser batteries cast building-sized shadows across the darkening plain of permacrete.
Silent clones sat behind the plated shields of antistarfighter duals and quads; the only sound was a soft whine of servomotors as computer-tracked cannons traced the motion of droid starfighters still too high to be more than bright specks in the setting sun.
A tiny noise-a half-swallowed whine of pain and frustration-brought Mace's attention up from the gunship's preflight checklist. Chalk was struggling with the nav chair's seat straps; her tightly bandaged wounds wouldn't let her twist far enough to reach the length control. Her face had gone so pale that her freckles stood out like grease-splatters, and a streak of blood reddened the sheath of bandages around her chest.
"Here, let me." Mace adjusted the strap length and buckled her in. He frowned at the blood on her bandages. "When did this happen?" Chalk shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "On the jump, maybe. At the Pass." "You should have said something." She pushed his hands away and busied herself with weapons checks. " "M okay. Tough girl, me-" "I know you are, Chalk. But your wounds-" "Don't have time to be hurt, me." She nodded up through the oval lightsaber-cut gap in the windscreen. Far above the city, the setting sun struck sparks from the impossibly complex shimmerfly dance of the droid starfighters. "Are in danger, people. People I love. Can hurt later, me." The fierce conviction in her voice gave Mace pause. An inventory of his own wounds flickered through his mind: his concussion that was giving him this headache, his cracked ribs, his sprained ankle that had him limping, the infected blaster-burn on his thigh, the spray-bandaged bite wound that Vaster had given him, not to mention all his minor cuts and the bruises that covered so much of his body it was hard to tell one from the next.
And yet he fought on, and would fight on. Wounds? Right now he could barely feel them.
Because someone he loved was in danger.
"When this is over," he said, nodding his understanding, "you and I will check into a med center. Together." The smile she gave him showed only a trace of pain. Nick poked his head through the cockpit doorway. "Looks like we're a go-hey, look at this" he said with a sudden frown, staring out through the windscreen.
Through the shadows slashing the landing field loped Kar Vaster. His shields flashed eye- stinging highlights from the glowpanel dayfloods that now, with sunset passing, shone upon the ships. He waved as he ran, clearly asking Mace to wait for him.
"What, does he want to fight again or something?" Nick brightened. "Y'know, we could just shoot him-accidentally, like. One of those senseless weapons-check tragedies-" "Nick." "Yeah, yeah." Without expression, Mace watched Vaster approach. Only moments ago-just before he left the command bunker to come out here-he had pulled aside CRC-09,'571 for a private conversation. "Your orders come only from me, do you understand?" he had told the clone commander. "I want you to be absolutely clear on that." CRC-09,'571's helmet had tilted to a quizzical angle. "But Master Billaba-" "Has been relieved of her duties. As has Kar Vaster." "And his men, sir?" "They have no military rank or authority." "Would the general like them disarmed and restrained?" Mace had grimly surveyed the cramped quarters of the command bunker, crowded with troopers and prisoners. In his mind, he saw twenty corpses in a gunship's troop bay. "No. I'm not sure you can. But watch them. They are not to be trusted. They may become violent without warning. They may try to harm the prisoners. Or possibly even you." "Yes, sir." "And get the prisoners out of here. Away from them. Not all at once. Make up some pretext, and start moving them out as efficiently as possible." "And if there is a confrontation, sir?" CRC-09,'571's dry voice had slowed, as though the commander were reluctant to even consider the possibility. "If they attack?" "Defend yourself, your men, and the prisoners," Mace had told him. "Use all necessary force." "Lethal force, sir?" Mace had stared at his own reflection in the commander's smoked eyeshield. He had to swallow once, hard, before he could reply.
"Yes." He'd had to look away; he'd found that reflection too dark for what he knew he had to say. "You are authorized to use lethal force." Out on the landing field, Vaster didn't bother to come around toward the troop bay doors; without breaking stride he b
urst into a Force leap that carried him up to the Turbostorm's nose below the cockpit with a clank that must have been his deactivated vibroshields getting in the way of his grab for the nose armor. He climbed up into view, settling himself into a crouch on the nose armor outside the windscreen.
He squatted there for a moment, forearms resting on his bent knees, staring gravely at Mace through the opening.
Mace, Jedi of the Windu. Even his growl was reluctant. Almost contemplative.
"Kar." We have not been friends, you and I. If we both survive this day, I suspect that again we will not befriends.
Mace only nodded.
We may not meet again. I would have you know that I am glad I did not kill you this afternoon. No one else could have done what you have done today. No one else could have brought us so far.
This, also, did not call for a reply. Mace waited.
Vastor's mouth compressed as though sharing this caused him pain, and his growl became almost a purr, low in his throat.
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