by Karen Miller
While Yularen relayed battle group orders with staccato speed, Master Kenobi drew Anakin aside with a glance. “I suggest we play to our strengths on this one, Anakin,” he said, his voice low. “If we do reach Kothlis and find that Grievous has stolen a march on us, it’s likely we’ll be looking at both air and ground assaults. Should that prove to be the case, I suggest you lead the fighter squadrons and I’ll take care of the ground assault with Captain Rex and our clone trooper companies.”
Anakin almost had his edginess under control. Just a hint of disquiet churned in him now, like water on the brink of boiling. “And if we’ve stolen a march on him?”
“In that case,” said Master Kenobi, his expression fastidious with distaste, “I shall join you in leading the fighters against Grievous’s pilots.”
Ahsoka watched them exchange quick smiles, then cleared her throat. “Um—Masters? What about me?”
They stared at her, startled, as though for a moment they’d forgotten she existed. In the silence she heard—felt—the shift in the warship’s sublight drives as they broke their stationary position, getting ready for the hyperjump to Kothlis. Washing in its wake, the subliminal buzz through the Force as every sentient being on all three cruisers accepted the reality of imminent battle. Possible death. It was a song sung without words, in a minor key. Haunting. Sorrowful. Shot through with stark courage.
“You, Ahsoka?” said Anakin, blinking himself free of the same thing she was feeling. “If it comes to a ground assault, you’ll fight with Obi-Wan and Rex. And if it doesn’t, you’ll stay here on Indomitable.”
Stay behind? While he threw himself heedless into danger? “But—”
Anakin’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t argue.”
Not fair, not fair, she raged in silence.
“Ahsoka…” Anakin gentled his tone. “This isn’t about your competence. I know what you can do. But we have plenty of pilots. Your skills will be better utilized here.”
“Master Skywalker’s right,” said Admiral Yularen. Finished giving his orders, he was unabashedly listening in. “If you do remain aboard ship, there’ll be a tactical targeting array with your name on it.” He unbent far enough to offer her a small, not unsympathetic smile. “I’ve yet to meet a Jedi who couldn’t out-sense our best sensors.”
“But it’s more likely you’ll be needed on the ground,” added Master Kenobi. “With me. I do hope the prospect’s not unbearable, Padawan.”
He was being sarcastic. She felt her cheeks burn. Anakin was watching her closely. If she protested again, she’d disappoint him.
“Not unbearable at all, Master Kenobi,” she said, staring at the deck. “Serving by your side is always an honor.” She risked glancing up. “It’s only—”
“I know,” said Master Kenobi, more kindly. “You worry for Anakin’s safety. But there’s no need. And now the subject is closed.” He turned to Yularen. “What’s our estimated jump time to Kothlis?”
“Thirty-eight standard minutes,” said the admiral. “I’m dropping us out of hyperspace just inside sensor range of their spynet. Close enough for us to contact them, and to sweep for Sep ships if we have beaten Grievous there.”
“Our own intelligence agents will have alerted the Kothlis Bothans to the danger they’re in,” said Anakin, frowning again. “For all the good it’ll do them. Without a standing army or space fleet of their own, they’re ripe for plucking.” His gloved prosthetic hand clenched. “I should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve known Grievous wouldn’t forgive or forget the insult of losing to me at Bothawui. This is a rematch—and you know he’s itching for the fight. If we lose Kothlis to him—if he manages to breach the Mid Rim…”
“Don’t let your thoughts run ahead to disaster, Anakin,” said Master Kenobi sharply. “As you say, you defeated Grievous once. There’s no reason to think you—we—can’t defeat him again.”
Anakin’s chin lifted at the reprimand. Ahsoka, watching him, felt her breath hitch, felt the flash of fury sizzle through him. And then he relaxed, pulling a wry face.
“Sorry,” he said. “You’re right. I should know better.”
“Thirty-eight minutes,” said Master Kenobi, his eyes warm now. “Give or take. Just enough time, I think, for a little pre-battle meditation. You’re not the only one who’s feeling a trifle on edge, my friend. I could do with some refocusing myself.”
“You?” Anakin’s eyebrows shot up. “I find that hard to believe.”
Master Kenobi rested his hand briefly on Anakin’s shoulder. “Believe it, Anakin. You know how much I hate to fly.”
“I think you just say that,” Anakin retorted, grinning. “You couldn’t be such a good pilot if you hated flying as much as you claim.”
Master Kenobi grimaced. “Trust me, if I’m a good pilot it’s out of a well-developed sense of self-preservation. As far as I’m concerned, Anakin, anyone who actually enjoys flying is in serious need of therapeutic counseling.”
Anakin was struggling not to laugh. “If you’re not careful I’ll tell Gold Squadron you said that. So—are we going to navel-gaze or aren’t we?”
“Please excuse us, Admiral,” said Master Kenobi, the amusement dying out of his face. “And look for us on the bridge ten minutes before the battle group drops out of hyperspace.”
Admiral Yularen nodded. “Of course, General. In the meantime I’ll have the fighters and gunships prepped for flight.”
“Ahsoka,” said Anakin, as Master Kenobi headed for the Battle Room’s closed hatch. “Make yourself useful and give Rex the heads-up, will you? Run through the pre-battle routine with him and his men. Half of Torrent Company’s still a bit green. They’ll settle with you there.”
Under his careless confidence, she sensed a hint of that unhealed grief. The loss of greenies Vere and Ince during the Jan-Fathal mission… the loss of other Torrent Company clones since then… his pain was like a kiplin-burr, burrowed deep in his flesh. Anakin had a bad habit of nursing those wounds, and no matter what she said, tactfully, no matter what Master Kenobi said without any tact at all, nothing made a difference. He hurt for them, and always would.
“Yes, Master,” she said. She waited for him to leave so she could sprint to midships and let Rex know that like as not they’d soon be going into battle together. Again.
“So, what’s the skinny, little’un?” Rex asked, as Ahsoka skidded into the mess hall. “Since we’re on the move at last, have we got that clanker Grievous in our sights?”
“Sort of,” she said, dropping into a spare chair beside Checkers, one of Torrent Company’s latest additions. “We’ve confirmed the preliminary intel—he’s definitely after Kothlis. Now it’s a race to see who gets there first.”
Rex’s perfect teeth bared in a feral smile. “Ah. Then it’s game on.”
The crowded barracks mess hall erupted into muttering and exclamation. Force-sensing from habit, Ahsoka tasted the clones’ swirling emotions. A little caution. A lot of excitement. At first she’d thought the Republic’s clone soldiers welcomed battle because they had no choice—because they’d been genetically programmed to fight and not question that duty. But while that was an uncomfortable truth, one she found herself wrestling with more and more as the war dragged on, it was also true that most of the clones she knew enjoyed combat—and not because some Kaminoan scientist had tweaked a test tube and made sure they would. No. They enjoyed winning. Outsmarting the enemy. Liberating citizens who were being used as pawns by Count Dooku, and Nute Gunray, and the other shadowy leaders of the Separatist Alliance.
Was it so hard to believe, really? Saving the innocent—that did feel good. Besting—or surviving—lethal foes like Asajj Ventress? Like Grievous? That felt good, too. She knew Anakin and Master Kenobi deplored this war, deplored the senseless loss of life, the suffering… but she wasn’t blind. She’d seen in their faces the exhilaration that came with victory. It was no less real than their grief when lives were lost. She’d felt it, too. She’d celebrated
when vicious, venal beings were defeated.
It’s so complicated. If war is wrong, how come we can find moments of pleasure and triumph in it? Isn’t there something… twisted… in that?
Disturbed by the thought, she heard herself whimper in her throat, just a little bit. And that alarmed her so much she crushed the notion, savagely. Little fool. It was exactly the wrong thing to be thinking when they were racing through hyperspace to confront that monster Grievous and save the helpless people of Kothlis from Separatist enslavement—or worse.
Ahsoka Tano, you know better.
Rex was deep in conversation with Sergeant Coric, so she turned to Checkers. He might be a newcomer to Torrent Company, but he wasn’t a greenie clone. The deep scarring on his right cheek attested to previous combat experience… as did that certain glint in his eye. The same glint she sometimes saw in Rex, and Coric, and any number of Torrent Company’s men. It set them apart as soldiers who’d been fought to a standstill, who’d stared down death—and survived.
Checkers felt her gaze on him and looked up. “Ma’am?”
She blinked. “Oh, I’m not a ma’am.”
“What, then?” said Checkers, with a wry half smile. “Something tells me I won’t get away with little’un.”
“You can call me Ahsoka,” she said, charmed. “Everyone else does.”
“Ahsoka it is, then,” he replied. “Togruta, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. Checkers, can I ask how you got here? I mean, how did you get assigned to Torrent Company?”
Checkers flicked a glance at his fellow clones talking among themselves in the mess hall, pursed his lips for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision. His face relaxed, and his shoulders settled. “I requested the transfer. Used to be in Laser Company, under General Fisto.”
Oh. “Is that when you were wounded?” she asked, her voice small. “In the Kessel encounter?”
His fingers came up, touching lightly to the bubbled scarring under his eye. “That’s right.”
“I knew there was only one clone survivor, but I didn’t realize that was you.”
He shrugged. “No reason you should. You weren’t here when I joined Torrent, and there’s no point talking about it. Can’t undo what happened.”
“But there’s still a Laser Company, isn’t there?” she said, frowning. “I thought Master Fisto—”
“There is,” said Checkers, with another shrug. “But I wanted a clean break. After they got through patching me up at the clone medfacility, they offered me a posting of my choice.”
“And you chose Torrent Company?” Charmed all over again, she couldn’t help smiling, even though his terse story covered a chasm of pain and loss. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad, but—why?”
“Not because I blamed General Fisto,” Checkers said quickly. “Don’t think that, Ahsoka.” His dark-eyed gaze shifted and came to rest on Rex, still talking logistics with Sergeant Coric. “The truth is I want to survive this war. That means serving under the best officer I can find.”
Checkers was keeping his voice down, but Rex still heard that last comment. Startled, he broke off whatever he was saying to Coric and shifted in his chair. Seeing and feeling his barely muffled astonishment, Ahsoka grinned. It wasn’t easy to rattle Rex… and she did find it comforting to know he could be rattled. At least when they weren’t on the front lines, facing death.
“Stow the chatter,” he snapped. “We’re on the chrono.”
Silence claimed the mess hall, abrupt as a cut comlink. Ahsoka winced at the suddenly ratcheted tension buzzing through the Force like a vibroblade. It made her teeth ache and her vision blur.
“Ahsoka,” Rex added, skewering her with his most direct, no-nonsense stare. “What’s our ETA at Kothlis?”
She checked her almost infallible Jedi time-sense. “Twenty-three minutes, Captain.”
“Ground assault’s confirmed?”
“Not confirmed, but highly possible. If the Seps have beaten us there and started an invasion of Kothlis, General Kenobi will handle the counteroffensive while my Master and Shadow Company clear the skies.”
Rex nodded. “That means you’re with us? Good.” His gaze swept the hall. “Then we need to gear up. Torrent Company—get to work!”
Within a heartbeat the mood changed again. Lingering anxiety and uncertainty disappeared in a wave of purposeful action as Rex’s men began the familiar countdown to combat.
Because she couldn’t help with that, because she couldn’t do anything now but wait, Ahsoka got out of the way. She perched herself in a corner and tried, like Anakin, to calm herself with meditation. Which was fine, mostly—except one thought kept intruding, over and over.
May the Force be with us. And please, please, don’t let my actions get any of these clones killed.
Chapter Two
“It’s no good, Admiral,” said Lieutenant Avrey, flushed with dismay. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how they’re doing it but the Seps have every comm channel jammed, even our internal network. We’re silent across the board.”
Yularen glared at her. “That’s unacceptable, Lieutenant. Find the problem and fix it.”
“Sir—” The comm officer’s face lost its hectic color. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
As Yularen swallowed an unprofessional response, Anakin looked to Obi-Wan. His former Master raised an eyebrow, resigned. “This time the advantage goes to the enemy,” he murmured. “It’s going to get ugly, I fear.”
Beyond the bridge’s main viewport Grievous’s new flagship and its four satellite cruisers hung low and threatening above the Bothan colony world of Kothlis. Two of the planet’s three small moons were completely obscured by Grievous’s fleet, and the void of space lit up at haphazard intervals as the Separatist general’s invasion troops blasted a path through the thin belt of asteroids ringing their intended target, bullying their blundering, unopposed way toward the planet’s undefended surface.
Joining his Jedi colleagues, Yularen blew out a furious breath. “We’ve never lost communications like this before. They’ve upgraded their countermeasures. How in the Nine Hells are they getting their intel?”
“That’s an excellent question, Admiral,” said Obi-Wan. “And we need to find the answer—just as soon as we’ve dealt with General Grievous.”
“Obviously—but how can we do that if we can’t talk to one another?” Yularen demanded. “And if it turns out we’re outgunned and we’re not able to send for reinforcements, how can we possibly—”
“Sir!” said Lieutenant Avrey, crawling out from under her comm console, her light hair darkened with sweat and grime. “Sir, I think it’s a virus.”
Yularen swung around. “How serious?”
With a grunt and a swipe of her sleeve across her face, Avrey scrambled to her feet. “It’s corrupted the comm software, Admiral. As far as I can tell we’ve got ship-to-ship tightbeam—and most likely the clone troops’ helmet tightbeam will work, too. Aside from that—” She shrugged. “We’ve been gagged. And the systems diagnostic can’t recognize the virus coding. I can tell you it’s complex and multi-stranded—three quadruple helixes at least—self-replicating on a random cycle and specifically targeted to our systems.”
For a moment Anakin thought Yularen was going to burst a blood vessel. “And it’s on my ship?” He turned, every muscle rigid. “General Skywalker—”
“Admiral, each new cruiser tested clean before it left Allanteen Six,” Anakin said. “And none of my modifications could’ve introduced a virus. In fact, I designed blind-alley redundancies to make sure something like this couldn’t happen.” He glanced at Obi-Wan. “And if they’ve failed, that means—”
“Sabotage,” said Obi-Wan, his eyes bleak. “The Seps must have infiltrated our shipyards.”
Silence followed as they digested that unpalatable fact.
“Avrey, can you fix this?” said Yularen. “I can’t send men into harm’s way without communication.”
Seated again
at her console, Avrey looked up from punching in a swift succession of commands. “Admiral, I’m initiating a systemwide purge but it’ll take time—and I don’t know how effective it’ll be. I’ve never seen a virus like this. I’m almost positive it was remotely activated—probably from Grievous’s command ship as soon as we jumped into range. Whoever designed it—they’re a genius. For all I know—” Breaking off as her console beeped and flashed, she adjusted her earpiece, listened for a moment, then turned back to them. “Tightbeams from Pioneer and Coruscant Sky. They report the same problem, Admiral. Battle group comms are down.”
“Is there nothing you can do, Lieutenant?” said Obi-Wan. “No other solution but trusting this purge?”
Avrey dragged her fingers through her hair. “I don’t think so, General. I don’t—”
“What?” said Yularen, stepping closer to his officer. For all his formidable self-discipline, a note of hope sounded in his voice. “I know that look, Lieutenant.”
She flicked him a frowning glance. Anakin, focusing all his senses on her, felt trepidation and a faint buzz of cautious optimism. “Sir, I did my Academy dissertation on pre-praxis crystal bio-anode circuitry,” the lieutenant said. “The technology’s years out of date, it’s practically ancient history, but the theory’s still sound.”
“If it’s ancient history, how can it help us?” Yularen demanded. “I need solutions, Lieutenant, not—”
“This might be a solution, Admiral,” she said, meeting his hot gaze unflinching. “For all the upgrades and improvements we’ve got around here, I’m pretty sure we’ve still got some of that circuitry on board—in the waste core’s tertiary adjunct conduits. They’re another kind of triple redundancy. Pre-praxis bio-anodes used to have comm applications. If I can strip them out and rig them into the comm console, I think I can punch a signal through subspace strong enough to reach Coruscant.”
Yularen stared at her. “You think?”
“Sir,” said Avrey, the remaining color draining from her cheeks. “I know.”