by Karen Miller
It hadn’t broken yet.
But the clones weren’t fighting, they were staring and pointing into the smoky Kothlis sky, where the fighters from Gold, Hammer, and Arrow squadrons, along with five gunships, pounded the remainder of Grievous’s invasion force to scrap metal.
Dizzy with relief, Obi-Wan watched Anakin finish what they’d started. And with this welcome respite from worry, he became aware of his exhaustion and the pains loudly clamoring for his attention. He heard an oddly distorted voice, calling his name.
“General! General Kenobi! Do you copy?”
Yularen.
Startled, he slapped the comlink on his arm. “Admiral! What’s happening?”
“It’s over up here, General. Grievous is on the run—thanks to a little help from Coryx Moth—and regular communications are restored, at least for the moment. What’s your status?”
His status? I’ve had better days. “We’re still standing. Anakin and his fighters are mopping up now. Admiral, I’ve got—”
“Medevacs are on their way, General.”
And the relief of that made him weak at the knees. So many men lost and wounded. Now that he’d stopped fighting he could feel through the Force dreadful echoes of death, of searing pain. His belly churned a warning and sour saliva flooded his mouth. He spat it out, then raised his comlink again.
“Tell them to hurry, Admiral. What about the Kothlis Ruling Council? Have we heard—”
“Wiped out, I’m afraid. I’ve alerted the Senate—they’re contacting Bothawui now. And they’ll be sending a civilian disaster relief team ASAP. Hold on, General Kenobi. It’s nearly over.”
It was a moment before he could trust himself to speak. Beside him, Ahsoka was trying to pretend she wasn’t flooded with hard-to-control emotion.
“Thank you, Admiral. I’ll see you soon.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Ahsoka. She sounded dazed. “I didn’t really think we could—that we would—” Her voice broke. “Rex is really hurt. A lot of Torrent Company’s really hurt. And—and dead. I tried to protect them, Master, I tried to—but there were so many droids.”
Obi-Wan looked down at her, aware of a tired triumph as Anakin and his team pinpointed the last stubborn Sep fighters. “I know, Padawan. Don’t worry. The medevac transports will be—” He frowned. The child was holding her left side. He realized, too late, that she was hurt. He could hear her breath coming in suddenly difficult gasps and saw, beneath her pressing fingers, a vicious, spreading bruise.
Furious with himself, he reached for her. “Ahsoka!”
“Ah—Master Kenobi—” Abruptly a child again, she looked up at him, puzzled. “Oh. I don’t feel so good,” she whispered… and fainted, a dead weight, into his arms.
Chapter Four
Aside from the expected battle aftermath clatter and bustle, and the distant wailing of civilian disaster sirens, the first thing Anakin heard as he made his way onto the spynet facility’s loading dock was Ahsoka, indignantly protesting.
“No, no, I’m fine, I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me. You need to check on Captain Rex and the others, there’s nothing wrong with me, it’s just a bruise. And I didn’t faint, I—I tripped.”
The second thing he heard was the clipped, impatient voice of his former Master.
“Ahsoka, be quiet. Captain Rex and his men are in good hands already. Besides, it’s not a bruise, it’s three fractured ribs, which means—ow!”
Ow? Oh, great. He’s done it again.
Threading a path between hurrying medics and clone troopers and scattered bits of Grievous’s destroyed army, Anakin let the Force guide him to where he needed to be.
Obi-Wan and Ahsoka sat side by side on crates in a hastily setup triage area, just outside an entrance into the spynet building. One clone medic was encasing his singed and smoke-stained Padawan’s torso in an inflatable brace, and another was attempting to extract a wicked-looking shard of shattered transparisteel from Obi-Wan’s chest plate. Several more shards were deeply embedded in both arms and his right shoulder. He looked like an extremely cranky pincushion.
“General, please stay completely still,” said the medic, sounding harried. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I—”
“Can I help?” Anakin said, joining them.
Ahsoka’s pain-pinched face lit up. “Master! You’re all right!”
“Of course I am, Padawan,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His bored tone was designed to reassure her, but it wasn’t working, as the answer to his flip question was lying all around them: triaged clone troopers, most stoically silent, waiting for the next medevac flight to arrive. Beyond them, decently shrouded, lay the bodies of those men who hadn’t been so fortunate. And then, of course, there were the men who’d died going up against Grievous and his droid starfighters.
“Anakin,” said Obi-Wan, self-contained as always. “There you are at last. Nice work.”
He nodded. “You, too. Ah—should I ask what happened?”
“What happened is that your Padawan arrived in the nick of time and helped save the day.”
“She did?” With his initial burst of relief fading, seeing them both more or less unscathed, Anakin felt a rush of pride. “Of course she did. She’s my apprentice.”
The clone medic treating Ahsoka sealed the brace. “Stay put and breathe shallowly. No fancy Jedi moves for the time being, or chances are you’ll end up with a tension pneumothorax. A collapsed lung,” he added, noting his patient’s blank stare. “As of right now, Padawan Tano, you’re officially out of commission.”
Ahsoka frowned. “Wonderful.”
She was awfully pallid beneath all the grime. And hurting a lot—Anakin could feel it. “No internal injuries?”
“There’s a lot of bruising, sir,” said the medic. “A few broken ribs, but no organ damage I can detect. Although, as I say, that could change if she tries anything clever.”
Anakin scowled at his Padawan. “Trust me, she won’t. How did it happen, anyway?”
“I don’t really remember,” Ahsoka said, shifting uncomfortably on the crate. “There was a lot going on. Except—there was this one super battle droid I tangled with on the way here from the plaza…”
He raised an eyebrow. “Just one?”
“Oh no, there were lots of SBDs,” she said, as the medic pressed a spray injector to the inside crook of her elbow and hissed some drug or other into her bloodstream. “But only one of them was a problem.”
He looked at Obi-Wan. Please. Tell me I wasn’t ever this cocky. Obi-Wan, his face cut in several places and streaked with dried blood, rolled his eyes.
“You’re sure my Padawan’s going to be fine?” Anakin asked the medic.
“No reason to think otherwise, sir,” said the medic, allowing a little unprofessional sympathy to show. “Provided she gets to a proper medfacility sooner rather than later.”
“She will. Now, about General Kenobi…”
The medic treating Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “The general’s life might not be in danger, sir, but I still really need to get this transparisteel out of him. It’s not what you’d call hygienic.” He looked down. “So, General, if you could please keep still and stop talking, that would be helpful.”
“Yes, yes, all right,” Obi-Wan muttered, hating the fuss. Refusing to admit any kind of physical weakness. “But do please hurry up. I can’t sit here all day.”
“Obi-Wan, you can sit there for as long as the medics need you to,” said Anakin, and turned to the harassed clone. “Have you scanned him? Is there any arterial involvement? Or nerve damage?”
“No nerve damage, no compromised arteries,” said the medic. “There’s a tendon that’s not looking too cheerful, but we can take care of it once these transparisteel splinters are out of him.”
“You’re having some trouble with that?”
“A bit,” the medic admitted. “They’re stuck in him but good and if I use brute force to pull them out, I�
��ll do more damage than they did going in.”
“Please don’t,” said Obi-Wan. “I’ve wasted enough time as it is.”
Ignoring him, Anakin frowned thoughtfully. “Right. I get the picture. Look, I don’t mean to tread on your toes but do you mind if I try something?”
The medic stood back. “Be my guest, General Skywalker.”
“Anakin, what are you doing?” Obi-Wan demanded. “We both know you’re not a healer. Please, leave this to the exp—”
“Hush up,” he said mildly. “You’re distracting me.”
As Obi-Wan opened his mouth in comical surprise, the medics exchanged amused glances. Ahsoka stifled a giggle.
“Fine,” said Obi-Wan with poor grace, defeated. “But whatever you intend to do, get on with it. Captain Drayk and Sergeants Ven and Ando are coordinating what’s left of our troops but I need to get back out there. It’s going to take hours to clean up the mess Grievous has left behind here.”
“Don’t worry about that now,” he said, and dropped to a crouch in front of his former Master. “Drayk’s a good officer. Just relax, clear your mind, and don’t fight me.”
Resting his gloved human fingers on Obi-Wan’s forearm, Anakin closed his eyes and breathed out long and slow. Allowing the Force to rise within him, warm and familiar, he let it show him the shape of the eight transparisteel splinters still lodged in Obi-Wan’s body. Nasty. Painful. It was nothing short of a miracle they hadn’t severed nerves or sliced major blood vessels, which meant Obi-Wan would heal as good as new once the shards were removed.
He lifted his hand and opened his eyes. Focusing the power of the Force, he summoned the first piercing splinter out of Obi-Wan’s chest.
“Sorry,” he murmured, as his former Master grunted. “This is going to sting a bit. Hold on… hold on…”
Dimly, he was aware of his fascinated audience: Ahsoka, the two medics, the less seriously wounded clones. All of them stared as he eased the shard of transparisteel out of vulnerable flesh and the armor that had failed to protect it. Bloody, the splinter of transparisteel clattered to the oil-stained ground.
He smiled. Excellent. “Okay. One down, seven to go.”
When the final shard was safely extracted, he rose from his crouch and got out of the way. Warm and comforting, the Force resonated through him. Pride, too, for a difficult task perfectly executed. The medic moved in, stripping off Obi-Wan’s armor and tugging him out of his spoiled Jedi tunic. Then he slapped a succession of pressure pads on each seemingly insignificant puncture wound.
“General, wriggle your fingers for me,” he ordered, tapping Obi-Wan’s right hand. It was the tendon in his right forearm that was the cause for concern. “Then make a fist.”
Grimacing, Obi-Wan obeyed. “That feels fine.”
“Looks fine, too,” said the medic, patently relieved. “I think you dodged a blaster bolt this time, General.”
“Actually, I dodged quite a few,” said Obi-Wan as he eased himself back into his scorched and bloodstained tunic. “Thank you, Sergeant. Now perhaps you could turn your attention to those among us who aren’t merely scratched.”
“Yes, sir,” the medic replied. “But let’s get one thing straight, General—those aren’t just scratches and you need to take care of them properly.”
Anakin grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he’s sorted out.”
“Thank you, General Skywalker,” said the medic, and moved aside with his partner to confer quietly about their other charges.
“Master,” said Ahsoka, heavy-eyed and starting to droop from the crushing fatigue that followed injury and the crazed intensity of battle. “They’ve sent Rex and the others to Kaliida Shoals. Can I go after them? They’ve got regular med droids there, they can fix my ribs while I’m waiting. And—well—” She bit her lip. “I think it’d mean a lot to the men, if one of us was there. Of course, if you need me here…”
Rex. Briefly, in teasing Obi-Wan, helping him, he’d forgotten. “How bad is he, Ahsoka?”
“Bad, I think,” she whispered. “Sergeant Coric, too. Lots of them are bad.”
Obi-Wan was on his feet, favoring his blaster-burned leg. Had he let the medic take care of it? It didn’t feel like it. Typical.
“I see no harm in her going, Anakin,” he said softly. “She’s got to be treated somewhere. And she’s right about a Jedi presence helping clone morale. Besides, with so many of our healers deployed to the front lines it’ll ease the workload on the Temple.”
Anakin nodded. “True.”
“Anyway, neither you nor I will be rushing back into action anytime soon,” Obi-Wan added. “There’ll be significant fallout from this affair, I suspect.”
There surely would. With industrial espionage in at least one Republic shipyard, striking at the heart of the war effort…
Obi-Wan was tugging at his beard. “I imagine we’ll be on Coruscant for a week, at least. The Council and Palpatine, possibly even the Senate, will want detailed reports on these unfortunate developments.”
Coruscant. Padmé. Anakin nodded, hoping Obi-Wan’s physical discomfort was enough of a distraction to hide the unbidden leap of pleasure.
It’s been so long since I touched her.
“I expect you’re right. You usually are.” He looked at Ahsoka. “Fine. You can go. But I want to be kept informed of Torrent Company’s status. Don’t make me chase you for updates, is that clear?”
She managed to smile. “Yes, Master. Thank you.”
“And Ahsoka…” He felt his heart thud. “Tell Rex—tell all of them—that anything less than a full recovery is unacceptable. Tell Rex I—” He had to stop. Obi-Wan was in earshot, and they were not supposed to care so much.
But Ahsoka cared too much, too. She didn’t need to hear the words. “I will. Don’t worry.”
Another medevac ship was coming in, the sound beating against his eardrums, bouncing off the nearby walls and the litter-strewn ground. The wind whipped up by its careful descent tugged his hair and his tunic and rattled the body bags and drove dust into the eyes of the helpless wounded.
“Your ride’s here.” Hugging her was out of the question, and not just because she had broken ribs. Anakin rested his hand on her head. “Go. Get yourself healed. You did well today, Ahsoka. I’m proud of you.”
“I just did what you taught me, Skyguy.” Then she swallowed. “Was it bad—you know, up there?”
He looked away. The medevac was grounded now, spilling more medics to help with the casualties. “Bad enough. Some good people didn’t make it.”
“What about Grievous?”
Grievous. He felt his metal fingers clench. “No.”
Bloodshot and red-rimmed, her eyes reflected his own angry disappointment. “We will get him, Master. One day, we’ll get him.”
“I know.”
“So how soon before we go after the clanky barve?”
She was so eager. No matter what the war threw at her she caught it and threw it back, twice as hard. If her reckless enthusiasm didn’t get her killed, she was going to make one fine Jedi.
“I’m not sure,” he said, and looked to ask Obi-Wan his opinion, but the medic had noticed the wound in his mentor’s leg and had pulled him aside to take care of it. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
She nodded, resigned. “I guess.”
“Anyway, you’ve already got a job to do,” he said sternly. “You’re no good to me with broken ribs, Ahsoka. Or a collapsed lung.”
“They won’t be broken for long,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “And my lungs are fine. So don’t you get used to being without me, Skyguy.”
She was teasing him, but the jab struck a nerve. He was used to having her around now. Maybe even had started to rely on her, a little bit.
Stang. When did that happen? Last time I looked I didn’t want an apprentice.
He nodded at the medevac, which was preparing to leave again, burdened with the living and the lost. “They’re not going to wait
for you. Go on, get out of here. We’ll talk again soon.”
“We’d better,” Ahsoka retorted, and made her slow, painful way to the transport.
Escaped from the medic, Obi-Wan joined him. “She really did save me, you know,” he said while they watched the medevac ship dwindle out of sight. “As did you.”
Anakin grinned. “Again.”
“Oh, so we’re keeping score, are we?”
“Everyone should have a hobby, Obi-Wan.” He looked the older man up and down. “Seems yours is getting yourself shot full of holes. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Obi-Wan. A small smile thanked him, but it faded fast. “So—at least tell me Grievous limped away.”
“Hobbled, more like it. Him and his friends. We dented him, Obi-Wan. We bloodied his nose.”
“Yes, well, that’s what we thought last time,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Let’s hope this time it’s not an exaggeration.”
That was a depressing thought. Shoving it aside, Anakin turned to consider the spynet building. “What’s the story here? Is this place still secure, or are the Bothans going to have to tear it down and start again?”
“I don’t know,” said Obi-Wan. “There were droids inside when we got here. We managed to clear them out, but whether they’d had enough time to compromise the security protocols and transmit sensitive data to Grievous I’m afraid I can’t say. That’ll be for the experts to ascertain.” Abruptly, Obi-Wan looked exhausted. “Where are you parked, Anakin?”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Out in the street. Hopefully nobody’s given me a ticket.”
“And your squadrons?”
“They’re on recon, picking off any of Grievous’s stragglers. They’re fine, Obi-Wan. If there’d been trouble, I’d have felt it. There’s not.”
“Good,” said Obi-Wan—but he was frowning. “Now for the bad news. How many pilots did we lose?”
Anakin didn’t want to say. Didn’t want to see—to feel—Obi-Wan’s shock and pain. He was too busy trying not to feel his own.
But I can’t run from it. I can’t hide. It has to be faced.