Ahsoka would be leading this mission, and she had brought the Clones with her. Ahsoka, ever an enigma in her plans, had told them very little, simply telling them to fly to an old Clone base, thankfully not Fort Anaxes, and to watch her back as she met with her mysterious allies. Their only warning: They would be coming back on the ship, and would work with them for a few weeks. And they weren't always…ethical.

Hera had had to listen to Kanan arguing that they would be a 'bad influence for Ezra's training" and "went against the Jedi code he was trying to teach" and would "Negate the mission: steal from the Empire, help the needy. A noble cause. Not greed for power at the cost of lives." Hera had rolled her eyes at his first argument. When they had met on Gorse, he wasn't exactly a gentleman and was far from a moral Jedi. Of course, she didn't blame him. Kanan had never shared his whole story in detail, but she knew surviving the holocaust of his people hadn't been easy for him. Hera was no stranger to unhappy memories, and the Twi'ilek had a raw history. She had been able to fill in some of the gaps, or more like the large pit of his secrets, with inferences. His master had likely been murdered, whoever they had been, and Kanan had probably run for his life. Hera was no Jedi, but at times, when Kanan would let his guard down, she could see the guilt drawing on his features, and could feel the weight it held in his mind.

Hera sighed as the Ghost jerked out of hyperspace, at the exact coordinates Ahsoka had given her. A satellite, suspended in time and orbiting slowly and lazily in space waited for her. It looked abandoned, but Ahsoka, sitting in the seat Kanan usually occupied, sat forward.

"That's it!" Hera had handed Ahsoka her comm, and she spoke into it. "Rex, is the Phantom ready for detachment?"

"Ready when you are, commander." Rex's gruff voice responded. Hera wondered why they hadn't just used the internal comms, but she wouldn't pry.

Ahsoka stood, twirling her dual-wielding lightsabers in her hands. "You know the plan. Stay here, comm me if the Imperials come. If this is a trap," Ahsoka twirled her lightsabers again, and they fit in her palms with practiced ease.

"I'll comm you if I need help. Maybe the Padawan would like some practice with his Master." Ahsoka gave her a respectful nod with a slight smile, and Hera returned it. They weren't friends, they couldn't afford to be, but Ahsoka was certainly welcome company. The Togruta turned around, her third head-tail swinging as she opened the door, and she was gone.

Hera waited until Ahsoka, or Fulcrum, as she insisted to be called while on a mission, gave her the affirmative that they were safely on board the satellite until she set the Ghost on autopilot. It began its slow orbit around the satellite. She sat back in her seat, closing her eyes and enjoying a moment of rare relaxation.

"Did you ever think," Rex said, disregarding Ahsoka's attempts to shush him, "how we're like the Separatists now? Standing up against the government," Rex puffed his chest, saying the last part with mock pride. Ahsoka didn't find it half as funny as he did.

"The Republic served the citizens. We are fighting because the Empire doesn't. Don't compare us to the Separatists, because they are the people running the Empire we're trying to defeat." Ahsoka silently willed the name Botineri out of her mind. She glanced around a corner, holding her thumb over the button that would activate her lightsabers.

The hallway was empty, and Ahsoka continued down it. Her cloak swished behind her, but the hood was held up by her montrals, successfully hiding her features. If this was a trap, she could not allow the Imperials to see her face. This place was disturbingly quiet with the Force, only giving off vague Force Signatures from the allies she was here to meet.

"I'm not saying they were right, I'm just saying that the word separatist pretty much defines us." Rex sounded as if he regretted starting the conversation in the first place.

"The word does not define us. Our actions do." Ahsoka winced at her own words; they sounded eerily similar to something she had been taught long ago, something she had rejected when she'd left the Jedi Order.

Ahsoka was no longer a Jedi, but a piece of her would always respect the code and morals that had been ingrained in her during her formative years. Her past would never truly be separate from her, something she thought Kanan needed to learn. Ahsoka sometimes worried about him. Though she wasn't attached to him, they shared some of the same ghosts. He was an ally and someone she could confide in at times, and she worried that his advice didn't go both ways.

Rex, thoroughly admonished, remained silent, falling into step behind Ahsoka with Wolfe and Gregor.

The faint Force Signature became louder as she turned the corner, and a red blaster bolt whizzed past her left lekku. The Clones were lucky enough to have ducked with almost Jedi-like speed, something left behind by their training. Ahsoka ignited her lightsabers, but no more shots came. The haze of battle cleared from her mind, and she silently cursed herself for being so blind.

Three people stood waiting for her, and a female Zeltron was twirling a blaster in her hand, smirking as she replaced it to the holster on her hip.

"Fulcrum, I apologize for my hastiness. You walked right into target practice." She smirked, her blue eyes glimmering. She ignored the Clones, simply focusing on Ahsoka.

Vermillion Beryl, with her shaved head and uncreative name, had never been her favorite ally.

Vermillion was of course just the cover the Zeltron woman chose to go by, but Ahsoka found it just as orginal as a Trandoshan calling himself Scales. She was manipulative, and often, not so passively, but aggressively; insisted that Fulcrum was "too much of a Jedi to be a revolutionary." Ahsoka had turned a blind eye to her skimming credits from her ship enough times, because despite all her shortcomings in the ethics department, Vermillion was a resourceful ally.

Behind her, a male Twi'lek stifled a laugh, his Lekku swinging. Nerra, literally named "brother" in his native language, was tall and lithe, with high cheekbones and a sharp jaw. His pale blue skin and handsome features were offset by the shining armored breastplate he wore along with the collection of weapons hanging from his belt; including a lightwhip he had kindly "kept" for a Jedi from his home planet after Order 66, not long after Ahsoka had left the Jedi Order. It was rare even for Jedi to have one, and he flaunted it with pride.

Atiniir remained silent, though his lips twitched as if he wanted to smile. He was dressed in an odd combination of a pilot's suit, very similar to Hera's, and Mandalorian armor. He was quiet when he wasn't on the battlefield, and focused the few times she had seen him fly a ship. He was no ace pilot like Hera, but he was a brutal warrior. Ahsoka suspected he had once been a member of the Death Watch, but he had never confirmed or denied her suspicions. In fact, he hardly ever talked unless it had something to do with a battle, and half of it was in Mando'a.

Ahsoka nodded, slowly lowering her hood. It was refreshingly cooler without the thick fabric surrounding her face.

Ahsoka set her jaw. "Don't mention in." She said, flicking her eyes at Vermillion with a practiced and unaffected drawl.

"So, let's go meet your rebels." Nerra's smooth, deep voice came out on the brink of laughter, and Ahsoka turned around to lead them to the Phantom, not looking forward to being cramped in the small space with six other people.

She hoped the Ghost crew, especially Zeb, Ezra, and that pesky droid, could act like the professionals she knew they could pretend to be. This group would be pulling no punches.

(Atiniir means "endure" in Mando'a Props to Radicalcat for being, well, rad.)