The Clone Wars

by Karen Traviss

  TETH MONASTERY

  Kenobi ran.

  Ventress chased him through the passages and up flights of ancient stone stairs, slowed by whatever she’d injured—vertebrae, ribs?—even if the adrenaline and endorphins flooding her bloodstream had completely numbed any pain for the time being. She didn’t have time to stop and check her comm for an update on Skywalker and his escape attempt.

  He’d either beaten the fighter picket and docked, or he was charcoal by now—along with his ship and the Hutt. Dooku would rage in his quiet patrician way, but sometimes the only choice was between a bad result and a worse one.

  She could still find a way to pin a dead Huttlet on the Jedi.

  At the top of the stairs was a window that ran the full height of the wall, and Kenobi was standing there as if he was waiting for her to catch up. The ornately patterned colored transparisteel of the window itself had been blown out by shelling. He was silhouetted against the afternoon sun.

  It was a gesture of contempt. It said that he could take her any time he liked. And it made her angrier than ever.

  Just a game for you, isn’t it? No family, no lover, no country, nothing to weep for. A sport.

  “What are you waiting for?” he said, and jumped.

  SEVENTEEN

  In a battle between those fighting for a political principle, and those fighting for the survival of their home and family, the latter usually win in the long run. They’ve got nothing more to lose, and it makes them terrible enemies. Like us.

  JABIIMI COMMANDER, on the nature of fighting the Republic on Jabiim

  TETH AIRSPACE

  ALL ANAKIN NEEDED was a small window of opportunity to climb free of the atmosphere and jump to hyperspace.

  Any doubts that the battered freighter would survive the massive forces of acceleration to light speed and beyond were now a luxury to sweat over later. That was the great thing about problems; there was always a bigger, nastier one to put the rest in a convenient shadow. Anakin’s was his escort of vultures, which were now trying to force him to land.

  “I can’t outrun them,” he said.

  Ahsoka had been commendably silent, no helpful suggestions that he didn’t need or cheery exhortations to keep his spirits up. A Padawan needed to learn when to shut up. She had. She clutched Rotta to her chest as if he were squirming to get away, but the Hutt hung limp in her arms, eyes half closed, breathing noisily.

  If they ever got away, they might be delivering a dead Huttlet to Jabba after all. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  “Let’s jettison something,” Ahsoka said at last.

  Laser cannonfire streaked past the Twilight’s nose, and another vulture droid buzzed the ship, so close to the cockpit viewport that Anakin jerked hard to starboard in pure reflex. Vultures were not dumb tinnies. They seemed to be able to learn from their quarry, and right now they were playing a very good game of nervous nuna—harrying the freighter and making runs at it to test who would blink first.

  “What? Can’t dump fuel.” Anakin checked the gauges. “It’s not like it weighs enough to make a difference, and we’ve got to get to Tatooine.”

  “Water,” she said. “Ballast.”

  “I didn’t check the cargo bay.”

  “I’ll do it,” she said, and before he could stop her, she’d strapped Rotta in the copilot’s seat and was making her way aft. “I jettison whatever I find, right?”

  “Yeah. When you open the cargo hatch, I’ll get a red warning light up here, and I’ll just bring up the nose and let everything slide out. Don’t waste time dragging any crates up to the tail ramp.”

  She vanished through the cockpit hatch. Anakin concentrated on evading the vultures. Would they really bring him down in flames now, and risk killing the Hutt? He didn’t know, and he couldn’t take any chances playing brinkmanship with them. As he banked, he could see V-19s beneath him locked in a fight with more vultures. He didn’t dare loop over the monastery to see what was happening. He couldn’t even allow himself to be distracted by listening in to the GAR comm circuit to see how Kenobi and Rex were doing. He headed out over the jungle and away from the fighting to make sure he didn’t add to their woes by dropping heavy objects on them. Even a small crate falling from that height would cause some serious damage.

  The cockpit intercom buzzed. “Master, I’m in the cargo bay now.”

  “Good. What do you see?”

  “Plenty of crates, and the reserve water tanks are showing full. That’s five tons at least.”

  “That might do it. Open the drains on the tanks and make sure you’re standing behind anything heavy that’s going to slide out the back when you hit the big red button.”

  “I know.”

  “Just checking. Tell me when you’re ready.”

  There was a crackling silence, and then she was back on the intercom. “Done. Ready?”

  “Let’s do it, Snips.” Anakin looked across to Rotta to make sure he hadn’t slipped from the restraints in a pool of slime. R2-D2 chirped to get on with it. “Hit it.”

  The console warning light flashed to life: CARGO HATCH OPEN. Anakin brought up the nose and the Twilight climbed steeply.

  He thought he heard Ahsoka say something, but it was drowned out by the noise of air buffeting the bay. The freighter soared. Suddenly there were no vultures ahead of him, and he was heading into darker skies as the ship climbed.

  “Time to get out, Snips. Can’t leave the atmosphere with the door open.” No answer. His stomach flipped again. “Shut the hatch. Snips?”

  R2-D2 chirped and shot off. He’d check, he said.

  Anakin had a split second to decide whether to level off and wait for Ahsoka to get clear, or carry on and close the inner cargo bay bulkhead from the cockpit, not knowing where she was and probably consigning her to certain death.

  Now where’re my fine words about making tough decisions as a commander, accepting that soldiers die?

  He was running out of time. He checked the altitude readout as it flickered rapidly through ever higher numbers. His hand hovered over the emergency bulkhead controls. R2-D2 would be okay because astromechs were built to operate in raw vacuum, but Ahsoka . . .

  It was a terrible way to go.

  Don’t think about it. Weep later. Just the mission, okay?

  Just the—

  The red cargo bay warning light suddenly changed to green. Whatever had happened, it was done now. The sensors still showed vultures pursuing the freighter but he had enough of a lead on them now to jump clear. The sky outside changed from deep blue to jet black. The ship was in open space now, and could make the jump to Tatooine.

  “If you can hear me,” Anakin said, “prepare to jump to hyperspace.”

  He hit the control. The stars became white-hot streaks as the ship jumped to safety.

  Anakin leaned back in the pilot’s seat and wiped his hands over his face, exhausted and not as relieved as he thought he might have been to leave Teth behind. Rotta wheezed.

  “Snips? Artoo?”

  R2-D2 came back into the cockpit first, whistling and burbling something peevishly to himself about smart scrap saving the day yet again, and how a brief lesson on using safety lines might be a good idea. Anakin twisted in his seat to see Ahsoka emerge through the cockpit hatch.

  She was soaking wet, and her hands were cut and bleeding. She shook herself as if it was a reflex, flicking water all over the cockpit.

  “Don’t ask,” she said.

  R2-D2 volunteered the information that she’d ended up hanging on by her fingertips again, and it was just as well that he could plug into the circuit and shut the bay doors.

  She gave him a peeved look, but patted him on the dome. “I owe you, Artoo.”

  “Seeing as I’m not asking,” Anakin said, “let’s worry about Rotta. Unless you need some first aid.”

  Ahsoka shook her head and examined the Huttlet. He was still conscious, and he turned his pitiful gaze on Anakin. The pendulum between relief and worry swung b
ack firmly to worry again, and now their effort had to be devoted to keeping the kid alive.

  Even that might not prove to be enough. Anakin tried to imagine handing a sick Rotta back to Jabba. He wasn’t the kind of individual to nod gratefully and say he could see they’d done their best, so no hard feelings. He’d want the kid back in the condition he’d left him in. The Hutt held the cards, and knew it.

  “There’ll be a med droid in the hold,” Ahsoka said. “Let’s see if we can get it fired up.”

  Anakin calculated the time to Tatooine.

  “I hope he’s a fast operator,” he said.

  TETH MONASTERY

  Ventress followed Kenobi onto the monastery roof, pursuing him along the ramparts. And now he’d run out of roof. He paused on the edge, and turned.

  “I know Dooku set this up to alienate Jabba from the Republic,” he said. “But it’s not going to work. Jabba will know the truth.”

  “There you go again. Truth. What’s that, Jedi truth, or real truth? The Jedi variety is a flexible commodity.”

  “Even if you kill me, Dooku will be exposed.”

  Ventress held both lightsabers vertical, walking slowly toward him, ready to follow if he was going to jump again. There weren’t many places he could leap to from here that didn’t involve a plummet of hundreds of meters, and he wasn’t that good.

  “You haven’t seen your protégé’s award-winning performance on holovid yet . . . ,” she said.

  “I’m sure he was magnificent, but there’s one little snag.”

  “Go on. The only way I’m going to shut you up is by taking your head off, I can see that. So have your last moment on stage.”

  Kenobi looked up at the sky. “Feel it?”

  Ventress readied herself for another diversionary tactic. She’d been preoccupied trying to contain Kenobi, too busy and angry to concentrate on feeling the subtler variations in the Force, and any suggestion that she should turn her attention elsewhere wasn’t going to work. But now that she’d stopped for a moment, she felt it.

  Skywalker was gone.

  Maybe he’s been shot down.

  She opened her comlink. “Air Control, report. Where’s the freighter?”

  “Commander, we sent every available fighter we had, but—”

  “I’ll deal with you later.” Ventress snapped the comm closed, but sent a coded request for retrieval. She couldn’t hang around indulging Kenobi’s love of theater. Now she had to recover the situation.

  “He’s on his way to Tatooine with Jabba’s son,” Kenobi said. “You’ve lost. Dooku won’t be very pleased with you.”

  “If you’d stopped admiring yourself long enough to learn anything about me, Kenobi, you’d know this.” She was utterly crushed at that moment, but she’d been crushed before many, many times, and the only way she knew to deal with that was to get up and start fighting again, and harder. “I don’t give up easily. And I always have a plan.”

  “Lay down your weapons.”

  He came back at her with his lightsaber raised, and they stood toe-to-toe, locking blades and struggling. She had to warn Dooku that Skywalker was coming. She needed to end this charade. She stepped back to swing again with both blades, but Kenobi caught the tip of one and sent it spinning from her hand.

  “Surrender,” he said.

  She could hear a vulture approaching, and held out her hand to Force-pull her fallen lightsaber into her grip. The fighter slowed as it tracked along the ramparts.

  “Not yet,” she said, leaping onto it as it passed. “In fact, never.”

  She was gone before he had a chance to reply, if he replied at all. Knowing Kenobi, though, he had. He always had to have the last word.

  JABBA’S PALACE, TATOOINE

  Some things couldn’t be safely left to others.

  Dooku berated himself for delegating too much. Next time, he’d do the job personally, but right now he had to act to salvage the situation. Jabba was demanding an update in person.

  Dooku slipped into a storage chamber on the way to the throne room, mind-influenced the two servants working in there to go away and forget they’d ever seen him, and opened a comlink to Ventress.

  “Now I have to pick up the pieces,” he said.

  The hologram of Ventress looked as steady and implacable as ever, hands on hips, boots planted firmly in a wide stance. She wasn’t one to cower and beg forgiveness, however deferential she seemed. He admired that. What he didn’t admire was her failure to deliver on critical missions.

  “I regret that as much as you do, Master. But I haven’t given up yet. I have a ship in pursuit. We have no choice left but to destroy Skywalker’s vessel and the Hutt with it.”

  “Stand it down,” Dooku said. “It’s too late. I shall intercept Skywalker personally when he lands. In the meantime, prepare yourself for a display of contrition. I have to see Jabba in a matter of minutes, and when I do, I’ll question you in front of him, and you’ll tell me that the child is dead and that Skywalker is heading for Tatooine. Follow my lead.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “We’ll discuss your future later.”

  Dooku didn’t even wait for her acknowledgment before snapping the link shut. He swept along the passage, mentally preparing himself to look grimly determined yet suitably mortified.

  Jabba watched him walk up to the dais with baleful yellow eyes. He had his full entourage around him, so a power display was in the offing.

  “You’d better have some news,” he said.

  Dooku took out his comlink and made a show of keying in a code. “Lord Jabba, we may hear direct from my commander in the field. The fighting on Teth has been fierce, but I might be able to contact her. I know no more than you do.” He feigned a few failed connections, made an irritated sigh or two, and then the hologram of Ventress appeared. She looked convincingly battle-weary now rather than defiant. Defiant didn’t go down well with Jabba. “Commander, what’s happening? I’m with Lord Jabba at the moment, and he’s very anxious. So am I.”

  “My lords, I have no easy way to tell you this,” she said, all defeat and noble sacrifice. “The Republic overwhelmed us. By the time we fought our way through and searched for Rotta, Skywalker had killed him.”

  A gasp went around the chamber, and Jabba froze for a breath. Then he bellowed; not his typical stream of abuse and threats, just a terrible animal cry of inarticulate grief. He was beside himself. He didn’t seem to care about showing emotional weakness in front of his servants now. And, Dooku suspected, their horrified gasps were more for themselves, their fear of what would happen when Jabba had recovered his composure enough to lash out and go on a rampage of vengeance, not all of which would be aimed at those thought to be directly responsible.

  Dooku aimed to appear shaken but still in control. “My condolences, Lord Jabba.” He wasn’t sure if Jabba had heard him, because the Hutt was now moaning pitifully in a hoarse, bubbling voice. “The Jedi is the lowest kind of criminal, a child-killer. There is nothing worse. Commander Ventress, you killed the scum in reprisal, I take it.”

  “No, Master, but no effort was spared in trying. He’s on his way to Tatooine with his Padawan.”

  “Where is my son’s body?” Jabba bawled. “I demand his body! I want to see what this Jedi monster did to him, and then I shall personally do ten times that—”

  Dooku cut in. Improvisation was fine, but this was getting a little too risky. “Ventress, where is the body?”

  “He took it with him, my lord, so we’d have no proof. Knowing his respect for life, he may have dumped Rotta’s remains out the airlock by now.”

  Excellent thinking. Jabba gulped in air, outraged. Dooku stayed steely.

  “We’ll discuss your failure later,” he said, and ended the transmission. The throne chamber was silent, waiting for the next explosion.

  Dooku doubted Jabba was putting on a display. He felt the Hutt’s shock and grief in the Force, like standing too close to a detonation. It was nothing to do with a
n insult to his power or loss of face. It was a father’s bereavement. Dooku, long used to the brutal reality of the war he had to fight, inured to deaths he would have chosen to avoid in an ideal world, saw himself standing shocked in the snow at Galidraan again.

  What have we done?

  He shook it off. “Lord Jabba—”

  Jabba found his voice. “Why does this filth dare come here?”

  “To kill you, Lord Jabba, and wipe out your entire clan.” Dooku took a few steps toward Jabba, head slightly lowered. “You know he hates your people—you’ve seen the recording, and he has scores to settle from his time in slavery here, no doubt. But it’s more than that. This is about the Republic’s ambitions, because they’re happy to use Skywalker and his feuds as their loaded cannon. They don’t want to rely on your goodwill to maintain access to Outer Rim routes. They need to control those routes themselves, perhaps even install their own puppet clan leader.”

  “And this is Republic democracy. Republic civilization.” Jabba was getting a grip of himself now, coming back harder, angrier, and even more dangerous an enemy. “I’ll make them regret this.”

  That was so understated and quiet for a Hutt that Dooku knew it meant all-out vengeance of a kind seldom seen.

  “Lord Jabba,” he said, “allow me. I would like to go some way toward making up for our failure to save your son. I have MagnaGuards ready for him, and I’ll deal with Skywalker personally.”

  Jabba drew himself up to full height again.

  “His skull,” he said. “Remember, I want his skull.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Hatred can be pushed aside, but it will always whisper in your ear.

  IRMENU PROVERB

  CREW QUARTERS OF THE FREIGHTER TWILIGHT, SOMEWHERE IN HYPERSPACE

  “WHY DO FREIGHTERS have expensive med droids?” Ahsoka asked, watching TB-2 examine Rotta on the scan table.

  “Piracy.” A lot of men had died to get the smelly little slug this far. No, Anakin was going to get Rotta home or die trying himself. “They get shot at a lot. Pays to have good first aid on board. Come, on, Tee-Bee. Get on with it.”