BANDOMEER, MID RIM TERRITORIES
19 BBY, 0 DAYS BEFORE ORDER 66
PROLOGUE
There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. Such altruistic words such as the ones that founded the philosophy of the Jedi Order seemed almost ironic during a time when the galaxy was currently trying to tear itself apart. Idealists, radicalists and warmongers - call them what you will - had called out blatant corruption in the Galactic Senate, countless star systems had seceded and formed the rebellious Separatist Alliance, and the galaxy had suddenly been engaged in the bloodiest conflict since the Republic's contraception.
With the bloodshed came death, a subject preached by the Jedi to be a mere transition of form, from body to the living force. The Jedi had maintained that in this passing there was no pain, there should be no pain, that it was a mortal thing to mourn those who had circumvented the veil. Instead they should be cherished and remembered, but celebrated instead of mourned. It had been the way of life for Jedi Knight Talonkas Varos since he was a youngling, barely old enough to speak but already taught the beliefs of the ancient religion. Yet this terrible war had called Talonkas's beliefs into question time and time again, and he was looking forward to see its end.
A general of the Galactic Republic, mostly owing to the fact that he held the title of Knight in the Order, Talonkas had led the 105th legion against the armies of battle droids and fiendish contraptions, each different and more deadly as the war had progressed, deployed by the insurrectionist Confederacy of Independent Systems. Political disagreements had been embroiled into Galactic Warfare, of the worst the galaxy had seen since the Republic's contraception. Countless worlds broken, wracked with laserfire and debris from the wreckage of fallen battleships. And Talonkas Varos, in it all, leading his men to try and save the Republic from certain doom. Such had been the pattern for three years, and above Bandomeer it was no different.
The arrowhead-shaped Venator-class Star Destroyers formed a defensive line, three of the massive cruisers arranged in a triangular pattern. Various light cruisers, frigates, and corvettes were strewn between them, both taking advantage of the larger ship's presence as well as aiding the ship from the swarms of Vulture Droids, which in turn tried to overwhelm anything they could find. Opposite of the Republic line were the massive Confederacy Providence-class cruiser-carriers, able to carry hundreds of vulture droids, tri-fighters, and bombers. Surrounding it were the various support ships and heavy cruisers of the Separatist themselves; Recusant-class destroyers, Munificent-class star frigates, Lucrehulk-class carriers, all firing their multiple laser cannons and turbolasers, sending red streaks of laser fire that brightly contrasted with the ion blue of the Republic Navy. Between them all fighters of both side swerved and shot, dog fighting with each other as bombers unleashed their payloads on capital ships while they simultaneously tried to avoid the flak fire.
Talonkas was in the middle of it all. His Eta-2 Actis-class interceptor, a specially made light starfighter by Kuat Drives for Jedi use with one of the fastest sublight engines in the Republic Fleet, swiftly looped and barreled through Confederacy formations, flight patterns, targeting calculations and comm chatter all quickly being processed by his mind. The force flowed through him, aided his grip and his touch, made his mind clear and nimble. Most importantly, it brought a sense of calmness and peace, serenity in the midst of bloodshed and death.
Around him were several V-Wing interceptors and ARC-170 starfighters from the 386th Mobile Fighter Squadron, nicknamed Bloodhound by their comrades for how fast the squadron was able to rack up confirmed kills. Violent, deadly, and yet easygoing making them easily compatible with Talonkas's lighthearted nature and partly the reason they had been assigned with Talonkas's fleet. Their squadron leader, Commander CC-2660 jokingly nicknamed Copycat for his tactics that often mirrored his opponent, was even-tempered and took up a lot of comm chatter trying to relieve the stress and tension of his men with jokes and odd tales.
"General, you got a few buzzies on your tail. We have you."
Buzzies. It was almost an affectionate nickname for the new missiles developed by the Confederacy, primed with dozens of tiny and dangerous Pistoeka Sabotage droids, otherwise known as buzz droids after the humming vibrations their plasma-steel blade made cutting into starship hulls. Extremely dangerous, any ship who caught a drove of buzz droids was certainly doomed, destined to quickly lose control of weapons systems, main drives, then lose full compression. Various phrases had quickly cropped up around them; 'Catching a buzz,' 'getting buzzed,' 'buzzies.' They were all light remarks to ease the tension on a serious and dangerous weapon, and even Talonkas's skill as a starfighter pilot and force user would hardly be enough to fight the parasitic droids. "It's about time, Dev. I was getting worried that you wouldn't show up," Talonkas replied evenly, concentrating on his task at hand; avoiding getting hit by the droid-packed projectiles.
The pilot in question, Dev, gave a short bark of laughter. The comm was silent for a moment, and then Dev's involuntary grunt of satisfaction came over; sure enough, two bright ionic-blue explosions marked where the missiles had just been before. Talonkas gave an exasperated shake of his head as a Headhunter swerved past his starboard side before swaying to follow it, looping into a downwards attack spiral on a Munificent Star Frigate. Quickly checking his proximity scanner, several blue icons showed that he had several friendly starfighters forming up around him, interceptors and starfighters alike, all jockeying for a viable position in the formation.
¨General, Seppies just took out the Relevance's primary communications tower. Inter-ship comms are completely dead."
Talonkas grimaced. With the Relevance's communications dead, the flagship of the small Republic fleet wouldn't be able to communicate with the other ships or her fighters deployed in battle. Without the transponder the starfighter's communications would be dead as well; inter-squadron comm channels would persist, but neither Talonkas nor the 386th would be able to talk with any other ships in the fleet. "Form up on me. Cripple this frigate's communications then redoubt to the Relevance. We'll see what we can do from there."
Confirmations that the squadron received the order echoed over Talonkas's transponder before it was drowned out by the incoming flak fire from the Separatist Frigate. Talonkas's little fighter ducking and swerving through the brightly colored blasts of laser and flak fire, projectiles hurtling at unimaginable speeds sometimes ripping whole starfighters in half. Several of the V-Wings and ARC-170s around Talonkas succumbed to the point-defense cannons, but more filled to take their place as they unleashed proton torpedoes and concussion missiles, as well as bright-blue laser fire back at the frigate.
Leveling out thirty meters above the hull of the frigate, flying horizontally to the Munificent, Talonkas's interceptor began to curve as it came about, the back of the Munificent's forward-facing bridge now directly aligned into his targeting computer. Jiggling the controls slightly to level out the fighter, Talonas peered down his transparisteel viewport as his sights aligned. A direct hit could incapacitate the Munificent and break the Separatist line.
Suddenly, a series of blaster bursts ignited his starboard wing, chunks of metal and flaming components ripping off of the wing as smoke began to pour from the melted crevasse. The interceptor shook, warnings blasting throughout the cockpit, red lights and flashing blips lighting up the interior of the starfighter. Talonkas's gloved hands gripped the controls tightly, trying to regain control of the craft even as it spun more and more out of control, now on course for a direct impact with the Munificent's bridge.
At the last moment Talonkas lurched across the starboard side of the bridge, the already-melted starboard wing scraping against the frigate's hull, sparks flying in the void of space. He silently cursed as he tilted his interceptor's starboard wing downwards, the wrenching ceasing as the starfighter sped past the Munificent. Talonkas's head was filled with a chaotic mix of numbers, calculations, and emergency procedures; taking a deep breath, he tried to regain his former sense of calmness and serenity. Yet his attempted meditation was interrupted by more laser fire; more of the same blue bursts of light, some leaving scorches against his fighter, most of them missing.
"Copycat, where are you? I'm getting swarmed by vulture droids!"
Talonkas's brief outburst into the transponder was in vain; looking at the dash he realized that the frequency was turned off, adding to his confusion. His stupor was once again interrupted by laser fire, and Talonkas was forced to dive into a series of evasive maneuvers. Keying the comm, he tried the frequency again. "To any Republic Forces that can hear me, this is General Varos. I'm being swarmed by fighters and require backup immediately."
Again, no reply from the transponder. The frequency was dead, yet the fire continued and Talonkas spun again, now leveling his ship to face again towards the Munificent, expecting to see a hoard of unprepared vulture droids, Talonkas's laser fire already lighting up the void as he prepared to watch it burn the droid fighters into carcasses of seared metal.
He was surprised when they impacted, instead, an ARC-170 fighters. A deep intake of breath, a gasp of astonishment. Friendly fire had never been something that Talonkas had accidentally done, and he tried to course correct for the droid starfighters - except that there were no droid starfighters, and the viewport revealed only more ARC-170s and V-Wings. The gasp of astonishment turned into one of confusion. Why would his own starfighters, Republic starfighters, be firing at Talonkas? His little interceptor certainly was not at all similar to that of any droid model, and the starfighters had been right behind him all the time.
Talonkas's questioning was interrupted by blaster fire, confirming that his own fighters were firing out of him. Survival instincts took over, coercing his hand to punch the throttle as Talonkas's interceptor dodged and swerved as it sped forward, looping around the squadron before speeding past them one more, now on a direct path to the Anthem, a second Venator Star Destroyer. If anything at all, Talonkas would be able to notify Admiral Wiskovis of the unpredicted mutiny and sort out the confusion. To Talonkas's relief, the renegade starfighters seemed to break off as he began the descent into the Anthem's hangar bay.
Talonkas's small interceptor, dwarfed by the massive red hangar bays of the Venator, began to slow as the effect of artificial atmospheric resistance produced by the ray shields and life-support systems of the Star Destroyer overtook the formerly effortless glide of the interceptor that Talonkas had enjoyed in space. Rear thrusters engaged as the damaged interceptor, smoke pouring out of its starboard wing and sheets of metal twisted and melted by the crossfire, settled into the aft section of the hangar.
With both hands on the transparisteel bubble that covered his cockpit, Talonkas pushed hard and waited for the release of the safety systems; a small click indicated that the pressure lock had been disengaged and the cockpit released, allowing Talonkas to jump out. He turned slightly to take in the damage on his fighter; quickly running his hand along a line of corroded and twisted metal, he paused to realise that he was probably lucky to still be alive.
Turning away from the fighter, he spotted two crew members and waved them over. Since the Republic had been utterly unprepared for a full galactic-scale war, the Clone templates had been modified to perform almost any logistic role possible; Clone officers, technicians, and ground crew had all sprung off the need for ranks upon file of support crew.
The technicians, donned with their highly visible yellow vests over blue anti-rad jumpsuits and flight helmets, quickly ran over from the LAAT/i transport they were tending. Talonkas was semi-surprised by the urgency in which the technicians responded, but he didn't necessarily disapprove of it; the sooner he got back into the battlefield and was able to contact Wiskovis and inform him of the situation.
Talonkas turned his shoulder, now facing his damaged fighter once again. "My starboard wing got nearly demolished; how fast can you get this thing patched up?"
He expected to hear a verbal response, and the click of an armed blaster pistol rang in his ears. The force suddenly tugged at his gut, once again taking control of him as it influenced his body to turn on the spot, to ignite his deactivated lightsaber and cut to a standard blocking position with his sapphire blade. It was just as soon, the blade barely raising enough in time to meet and deflect a bright-blue blaster bolt. The steam issuing out of the tech's holdout pistol was enough of a giveaway.
The Clone techs took a few moments to adjust; they had evidently thought they would catch the preoccupied Jedi by surprise. Nevertheless, their training and programming kicked in as their identical faces contorted into a snarl, firing their pistols at Talonkas. The near point-blank range made it a challenge for Talonkas to match the shots with his blade, but he managed all the same, his mind sowing away the confusion and surprise; the shock-filled anger being numbed by the force as it flowed through his veins, temporarily clearing his mind.
Another blaster bolt soared over the techs and hit its mark right next to Talonkas's head, burning a scorch into his already-seared starfighter. Shifting his gaze he saw that other Clone Troopers, this time soldiers with the full duraplast body armor, white except for uncleaned carbon scorches and streaks of dirt, mud and other environmental effects. Blaster rifles raised , they began slowly advancing at him as if to systemically wipe him out; and they were very good at it. The unending, random cadence of blaster fire was quickly beginning to take its toll on Talonkas, and he could feel his concentration and stamina slipping away by the second.
His mind was in survival mode, and he knew that the next best thing to holding his ground was escape. There were multiple hyperspace-worthy craft in the hangar bay, and if he could reach one it would provide him with refuge from the advancing Clones and a means of safe passage, most likely back to the Jedi Temple. There at least, surrounded by his fellow Jedi would he be assured safety.
Yet now was not the time for future planning, and the rapid volleys of blaster bolts was beginning to force Talonkas into a tight position; he would have to move or he would likely die, right then and there. Breathing outwards, he let the force course through his thighs and calves, let it sink into his very being as he gathered his strength. It had been a technique taught since he was a youngling, physical augmentation via the force, and he now used that knowledge to give him aid in his time of need. Squatting down before springing up, the force propelling him several meters into the air as he flipped his body, his lightsaber spinning with his torso and rebounding blaster bolts shot at him. Landing behind the line of troopers, he outstretched his left arm, closing his eyes as he once again allowed the force to flow through his veins, to travel from his being out against the Clone Troopers, reverberating in a powerful shockwave.
The force push threw the nearest troopers into the air, causing those further away to lose their balance or become temporarily disoriented. The Clone Troopers distracted, Talonkas immediately spun and sprinted towards the nearest hyperspace-capable ship available to him; a Nu-class attack shuttle. Designed for two operators, a pilot and co-pilot, the lack of options and the incremental time given to Talonkas was forcing him to improvise, and he quickly clambered into the ship and into the frontal cockpit, sealing the pressure lock as he began powering the shuttle's main reactor, systems lighting up and pre-programmed flight diagnostics flashing on the shipboard console. Ignoring them, he grasped the flight stick and began jamming the buttons to initiate the main drive. Although he had never technically flown one of the attack shuttles before, the designs and layout was similar to the Republic ships he'd had the privilege to pilot, and the main engines quickly began to cough exhaust as the power and fuel was feeded into the thrusters.
Meanwhile in the hangar, klaxons had gone off and the normal fluorescent lighting had switched to the universal emergency-red. Clone troopers scrambled to their stations, initiating emergency containment procedures as pilots clambered into their cockpits, troopers fired at the transport as others set up autocannons, and officers ordered for the flight deck to seal the entrance into the hangar bay. Talonkas was quickly running out of time, and the urgency only caused him to jam the drive ignition harder; with a powerful roar of its engines, the attack shuttle burst off the ground, turning in a half loop as it exited the blue-tinged atmospheric ray shield and into the entrance flight path of the Venator's hangar bay. Thrusting the flight stick, the drives of the Nu-attack shuttle kicked in as the shuttle speedily began racing with the Star Destroyer to see whether or not the tiny shuttle could break through the Anthem's defenses.
The red bay doors in which Talonkas had only minutes ago entered were now closing, narrowing the gap between the Anthem's hangar bay and the freedom of space every second. Sweat beaded in droplets on Talonkas's brow, and he swept his loosely-cut brown hair out of his eyes, his teeth tightly gritted as the pressure began to overwhelm him. Pulling back on the flight stick with a groan, the shuttle went from a horizontal flight path to one that was nearly vertical, the inertia of the steep curve nearly throwing Talonkas from his seat. The Nu-class attack shuttle wasn't designed to be as nearly as agile as Talonkas's speedy interceptor, and in just the very first few seconds that fact was beginning to present itself.
The transport barely cleared the hangar, with its wingtips sending sparks as it scraped pass the closing hangar doors. Jostling the wings and doing a small spin, the shuttle was now clear of the Anthem's hangar, and one danger had just been passed. However, flak shells and laser blasts coming from the Anthem's own arsenal of point-defense cannons combined with the overall effect of battle, where no ship was friendly or an ally, presented a much further danger than the inside of the hangar bay.
The large attack shuttle ducked and weaved between blaster fire, Talonkas firing his weapons indiscriminately. Lasers and missiles traced out of the Nu-class shuttle and hit their targets more often than not, clearing a path for Talonkas to escape through. One he cleared the Republic line, the last hurdle would be the offensive Separatist line, which would most likely not be keen on the idea of letting even a single attack shuttle across its parameter. Careful not to bite his upper lip in the event that the ship rocked or was thrown wildly, Talonkas pressed forwards on the joystick, leaning his whole body into the effort as the shuttle jumped forward.
Warning blips on his console told him he had several fighters on his tail, and sure enough on closer inspection they were ARC-170s, no doubt from the same squadron that had been trying to take his interceptor down just a few minutes earlier. Sweat continued to bead on Talonkas's forehead as he swerved his shuttle from starboard to port, trying to shake any potential missile lock the fighters would have on him. Another roll, another spin, and a blip again sounded out signalling that the shuttle was being shot at by the point-defense of the Separatist cruisers. Talonkas gave an involuntary grunt as his mind raced, his eyes pouncing back and forth between space, various flashing consoles, and scanners.
The race to get past the Separatist line quickly passed and now Talonkas was in semi-open space, nothing in between him and the freedom of hyperspace. Pausing to to clear his head, he ran his navi-computer through the various possible egresses into hyperspace, absorbing all the information and possible jumps he could make. He knew that the attack shuttle's range likely would not be long, so he'd have to carefully plan his-
Wham. The shuttle started spinning out of control, smoke streaming out of what used to be the back half of the attack shuttle. Talonkas's few brief seconds of respite had earned him an easy hit from some attacking ship or vessel, and now he was paying for it. The cockpit interior turned a bright emergency-read as alarms blared warning him of pressure loss in the main cabin as well as failure of coolant systems. A glance at the hyperdrive computer revealed that it was still active, and more-so, out of control. The blow had completely annihilated the components for the navi-computer; as Talonkas furiously slammed his fist against the emergency shutdown button, he watched as the hyperdrive continued to power up. It was completely out of control, and a loss of navigation in hyperspace was likely death.
The red lights blared, and Talonkas absentmindedly grabbed an atmospheric mask, wrapping it around his head as his breathing was amplified through the carbon-filters of the life-support system. Warning signs indicated that the hyperdrive had completely powered up, and all Talonkas could do was watch as the tenets of reality slipped away into starry blue swirls. He had escaped; he was safe.
For now.