Chapter 3: Suspicions are Confirmed


Conference Room 18-C, Separatist Flagship Subdue, Holding Fleet Beta, Above Sava, Hevoi System, 1425 hours

The thing that first tipped Zach off was Cap pointing out the ships around Hevoi.

No, that was wrong; he knew something was up from the moment his Jedi started dropping hints that she didn't think this would be a straightforward peace mission, which was sometime after his whittling session last night. He trusted her and her premonitions enough to assume that she was right. And of course, the Sep ships practically screamed "Bad News!" He wasn't so stupid to think that anything would go right from thereon in.

But besides that, Cap's observation made him realize how much effort had been put into this blockade. An unnatural amount of effort, and the unnatural part wasn't because there were droids around. Then there was the name on the flagship, which he'd taken the liberty of photographing and enlarging and found the craft was called the Subdue. That was clearly not a good sign. The presence of enough heavy artillery in the hangar to blow the G9 to Yavin was also less-than-comforting. Chairman Chlors' stiffness, Representative Mahla's absence, and Chlors' sudden desire for a 'fresher break, would have all helped clear things up for him if he was a shiny, but instead they only polished the surface a bit more.

"They're going to trap us in this room and destroy the fleet," he whispered matter-of-factly via private channel. Swiftwater was still wearing the Lorcced in one ear, still minus the screen.

"Warn them," she muttered, softly so only the mike in her Lorcced would pick it up. She then accepted some sort of pastry or something from the hovering protocol droid, and to placate it he took one, too, though he didn't take off his helmet to eat. It fussed a little more before making for the exit a bit too fast for his liking. They didn't have much time.

"Indomitable, this is Captain Zach, do you copy?"

"—yes, that plug, good job. Sorry Captain, having some comm. trouble. What's wrong now?"

Comm. trouble. Could be jamming. He groaned. Not already.

"Inform Admiral Chamragnar that it is very possible this was all a trap. Prepare for attack, repeat, prep for attack."

"Captain, are you serious, this is supposed to be a diplomatic—"

"A lot of things are supposed to be something, trooper, but they're not. Inform Chamragnar that we could be facing a Sep attack any second."

The trooper's reply was cut off by a burst of static. He switched to private channel again. "Jamming, General. I think I got the message across, but I doubt Chamragnar will listen."

There was no real visible change in her expression, but Zach could tell she was worried by the way she turned the pastry over in her hands a couple times. He also noticed the lack of confidence when she said, gravely, "I hope that he will."

That's when the droids came in from a hidden door to their left. They had the table on its side—an impressive feat, given its size and density and their previous inertness—and their weapons drawn in two seconds flat. It was amazing, how well you worked with someone when you only knew them for several months. Then again, these months were spent in combat.

Ten SBDs, a couple regular tinnies. The regulars, and even a few of the bigger ones, he could deal with easily enough while Sals cut down the rest. Or better yet, she could cut open the doors while he provided cover fire, and then they'd be able to run out into—what? More droids? Oh well, it was an idea, and he'd rather go down with a fight than without one. She'd probably agree, though he wouldn't risk asking. Funny, that they could have such widely differing views and arguments on stupid things when they were safe, but in the field they thought as one. Even with her more elaborate tactics, he wasn't more than a step behind.

The door—the one they'd come through, that is—opened up, and Sals moved to cover his back, carefully enough so that he could still see what was happening with rearview. He brought it up in one quadrant, turning his head constantly to compensate for a more restricted forward view.

Chlors had been arrogant enough to come back in the room, flanked by a set of four SBDs. They were half-in and half-out, and he didn't need to see his general to know what she was thinking.

"General Swiftwater, I highly suggest you surrender," intoned Chlors in that sickly smooth voice. "Dooku's orders are quite specific, and we'd rather not anyone else get hurt here."

Dooku was behind this? He stored this intel away for later, so he could concentrate on making sure there was a later.

"So, Dooku's the mastermind behind this whole scam," confirmed Sals. She shifted her weight slightly to her left foot, pushing her right backwards.

If Chlors' volume was anything to judge by, he was furious. "Mastermind? You think he's the mastermind? I am the one who engineered this whole deception, not him! I am the one who worked to bring you here, not him! He may have funded my efforts, but know this—I am the one in control!"

"I meant no disrespect, Chairman," she intoned calmly. The only sign of any ill will towards him was the ice on the last word. He noted how she bent her right knee carefully, just enough to be noticeable when that was most of what he could see, but no more than that. "In fact, I tend to think—"

And then, just as he'd expected, she sprung, while he fired off a few shots before running out the door after her. Judging by the prone yet intact guards and Chairman, it had just been a simple Force-push she'd employed, but blast, it did the trick.

They sprinted in the direction of the hangar. Any droids that noticed them were dealt with quite quickly. "Shall I tell everyone our welcome's been overstayed?" he asked, trying to keep up some sense of humor with her, at least.

"I think the fleet would like to hear the news first, if you can get through." She groaned at the sight of an organized squad rushing in from a hall they'd just passed. "I'll buy you time."

No answer from the fleet, just static. He decreased the forward view and increased rearview/sideview, sniping out the rouges while keeping an eye on Sals as she scraped the droids. Her green lightsaber blurred from a single thin line into a broad sweep of jade destruction. Jedi were very convenient in times like this.

He switched to open comm., which should have been able to reach the hangar. "Sergeant, are you there?"

An agonizingly long pause. "Cap, do you copy?"

"…I hear you, Zachie boy. What the haran happened back in there?"

He tried not to sigh with relief. "Trap, as per usual." There was gunfire sound in the link. "Having a bit of trouble?"

"G9's a crater now. Never liked that shabla ship anyways. Pinned down behind a few supply crates with the shiny. Your rifle's been quite a help, by the way."

"You have to give it back, you know." He ignored the curses and complaints. "Listen, we'll get there ASAP. Hold out a little longer, okay?"

"Got it, Z'ika."

He cut the link before he could give Cap a reply unfitting for a captain. No one, not even Apma'buir, called him "Little Zach" in Mando'a, but he'd rather not tell Cap off for it. Another thing he'd need to do later.

Sals finished up with the droids, and they were clear for an impressive distance. All the way to the hangar, in fact, which meant, of course, that Cap and Bluebird were doing a remarkable job of keeping the tinnies busy. They hit the walls to either side of the door and leaned there for a second or two.

"Ideas?"

He glanced in and located them. "They're in the back right corner, closer than I'd hoped. Should be a ventilation shaft around there. If we can get there and make a distraction, it's a good escape route."

"Hey, you got any flash-bangs on you?"

"One. Cap should have a few droid poppers, not enough to stop 'em all."

She took a deep breath. "I go first, you follow on my shebs, minimal firing. Ready?"

It always amused him to hear her pick up the odd word of Mando'a. "When am I not?"

"On three. One…two…" She didn't finish, just ran, slicing up droids as she went. He was a bit more careful, because as she'd guessed he didn't have too many power cells on him. Instead he ran like she'd ordered, the all-around views helping him dodge plenty of unpleasant surprises.

"Nice of you to join the kriffing party." The pilot handed the rifle back reluctantly but quickly, and Zach checked the power setting.

"65%? You've been wasting ammo," he grumbled. Cap never had been a good shot.

They fought in silence for a minute or two, alternating between firing and taking cover. Sals was doing a good job of defending them, but things were not looking up to say the least. She ducked down for a moment and said, "Next time you fire, look over at the ships in the hangar."

He did as requested. "Fuel cells," he confirmed.

"Those are fierfekking close to the ships, the di'kuts. We going to be doing some fireworks?"

"Your aim isn't good enough, Cap, so don't offer your skills, and it would take too long to just shoot them, anyway. But I'd say your assortment of grenades should do the trick."

"Yes, sir." Zach ducked down again, nabbing a couple droid poppers off Cap, who didn't so much as grunt—a testament to the tension of the situation. He tried to see if he could toss them while throwing his flash-bang and found he'd completely screw up his aim if he did.

"If I may, sir, I can toss the EMPs." The trooper's voice was soft and steady. Guiltily he realized he'd forgotten her existence, and he accepted the help.

"Just aim them at the advancing line on my signal." He hefted the bomb and watched the line carefully. Timing was everything. A second early, and they'd lose cover too soon. A second late, and they'd be shot in the backs, one of the worst ways to die. And their own movement would need to be exact, or they'd be done for anyway.

He hated, absolutely hated, when things came down to something like this.

"Ready, everyone? Wait for it…now!"

Private Barracks Room 2, the Resolute, somewhere in Yushan sector, 1431

Mykolas stared at the floor. It seemed there was little to do nowadays but stare at something. Usually it was one of the various surfaces of the ship, be they floor, ceiling, wall, table, the top of a bunk, a door, or something of the like. He found it quite amusing to stare at others and watch as they looked away nervously and tried not to fidget. His "perceptive Jedi look" was now honed to perfection because of it.

He didn't want to stare at people at the moment. He knew that sooner or later someone would have the gall to ask if he was alright, and he was sick of answering the question, or avoiding it. Clones were always so nosy, and such gossips, too. He'd been able to catch a few whispers about himself—that he was cracked in the head, that he was in shock, that he was in reality so brain-dead he could barely feed himself and it was a fluke that no one had realized he was basically a shell now.

There was also a rather disturbing one he'd heard only yesterday. He'd been wandering the halls after lunch and accidently snuck up on two bridge clones having an urgent talk between themselves. He hadn't caught it all, but he'd heard snatches like this:

"Always staring….Creeps everyone out…can't help it, poor lad….Wonder if he'd picked it up somewhere...Maybe his Master…possible he was…yup, Master probably started it….Guess after being used so often, it only came natural…well, I don't know, but it makes sense….Would you say no if Skywalker told you to strip down? Or Commander Tano? They couldn't say no to either of them."

They thought he had a thing for clones. He didn't know how bad it hurt, didn't even think it had hurt, but it was part of the reason that he was holed up now. He didn't like thinking too much anymore. Thinking only brought up Master, and what he could have done to stop what had happened. There was nothing, and everything at the same time, and it killed him to think, to wonder, if he'd just made one different decision, one tiny shift in focus, what might have happened.

He shouldn't have survived the insertion on Scylla. It was that simple. He shouldn't have come off that battlefield when only one out of every six men lived, half needing immediate care and placement in bacta, the other half barely standing with or without support, and not a scratch on him. Master shouldn't have fallen, not without himself there, too.

He had dismissed the rumor, when he wasn't thinking, only now that he suddenly was, it kept jumping at him. He made several attempts to ignore it. After all, no clone would ever go through a loss like his, so they didn't know what they were talking about. His master was the one constant in a galaxy that had turned itself upside-down overnight, always there for reassurance, and now…there was nothing. Just a hole where he should have been. They wouldn't know that because they hadn't had that, and so they didn't know anything.

And on top of that, he was being shipped off to a new "master". As if someone that important, a practical father to him, could be replaced at the drop of a hat. No one would ever take his place, so why did they even bother trying to make it happen?

He sighed and rubbed his temple. This was why he didn't like thinking. It hurt too much.

His commlink beeped, and he answered it after a few buzzes. "Yes?"

"Commander, General Skywalker requests your immediate presence on the bridge."

He wandered up to the bridge despite the urgency in the trooper's tone. He didn't particularly care, just was glad for the brief reprieve that movement gave him from his thoughts. When he finally walked in, he saw that Skywalker, his Padawan, and his captain—couldn't remember their names—were already there, watching another grainy hologram with another forgettable admiral barking orders while carrying on another irrelevant conversation as he and his men once again fought "valiantly" for the safety of the whole ridiculous Republic. Now that he didn't care anymore, he saw how ridiculous the system and the rest of the galaxy were.

"—pinned down here. We'll be toast in seconds.—Peewo, switch out before you pass out.—I'm giving the evac order for us now, but I don't expect much, total dead space save the planet and moon. We're already at—what is it now, Commander?—20% shields, thank you, diverting as much power as we can up there, and Guardian is listing hard to port. Severe damage to Finality's reactor, all personnel except volunteers evacing both ships ASAP."

"Should we assist, Admiral Chamragnar?" asked Skywalker. Even in Myk's dead-to-the-Force state, (the Force hurt more than thinking, and he didn't like dwelling on it) he could tell the Jedi was just raring to go on another adventure.

"Don't bother, sir—Concentrate fire on their ships, we want to do as much damage as we can, gentlemen.—unless you've got several fleets behind you. The blockade's tighter than a tin of sardines."

"Master, what about General Swiftwater?"

"She and the Captain are—were on the control ship for 'diplomatic discussions'. Got a comm. from Zach five minutes before the shooting started, jammed about halfway through. If they're not ~~skk~~ will be, soon. I don't ~~skk~~ Shit! Jamm~~skk~~ boost the~~skk~~General~~skk~~me, repeat do not~~skk~~desperate~~skk~~get yoursel~~skk~~nor serving~~skkkkk…."

"Admiral? Admiral! Strengthen the signal!"

The comm. officer slapped his hand against his station in exasperation. "Too late, General. Signal's lost, and it'd take a miracle to get it back. Sorry, sir."

"You did what you could," reassured the Togruta.

The captain sighed, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. "Swiftwater was a good leader. She and Captain Zach…they were a force to be reckoned with. And…I have a hard time believing they'd just roll over and give up. No matter how grim things might look. So it's possible they might have survived, and if they did, I almost pity the man who ordered this. Almost."

The general shrugged. "I admit, she is tough. But I also don't think she'd last long on a Separatist control ship, without any support." (Myk thought it was terribly ironic, coming from him.) "We'll just have to accept that she's gone. Master Kenobi isn't going to like this," he added to himself. It was funny how he lowered his voice afterwards. "He and Qui-Gon were the ones who brought her to the Temple." Hardly classified information.

It was as he was walking away that he finally noticed Myk. Another of the ironies of life; he'd never been good at stealth before. "I'm sorry about Sayn-Linn," he said, putting a hand on the Zabrak's shoulder. "It must be difficult, to lose two masters in such quick succession."

He didn't feel sad. He wasn't so callous as to feel triumphant that no one could replace Master, and he didn't have any particular ill feelings towards them in general, it just didn't affect him specifically at all, and certainly not in the way it seemed to affect everyone else here. And then, he had a realization that would have shocked and horrified him earlier, but now only amused him in what he knew others would consider a rather sadistic way.

He didn't even feel pity, knowing that more people were dead. He felt absolutely nothing.


It's been awhile since I updated...my excuse being two family reunions, one monster list of Hetalia fanfics, very little written for the next chapter, and a whole lot of laziness. Sorry. But if any of you actually know what that is, I've also got a Hetalia AU oneshot I want to post soon. ;)

Yes, Zach uses the nickname "Sals" while in combat. My rationale is, battle goes quickly and crazily, and he'd rather focus on the matter at hand than rank. And Swiftwater doesn't care. They both tend to shorten everyone's names, anyway.

I find it kinda funny that everyone was all pumped about meeting Sals' padawan, and now you did, only he's kinda depressed right now...

Read, review, enjoy.