STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS

Episode 2A

TITLE: Collapse

AUTHOR: Susan Zell

DISCLAIMER: All characters from "Star Wars: The Clone Wars" series are the property of George Lucas and Lucasfilms Ltd. No profit has been made by this venture. I've merely borrowed the characters to tell a small tale of "in between". All toys will be returned to their rightful place in the toy box at the conclusion of playtime. All scrapes and bruises are the fault of the previous owner….oh wait that's me.

SUMMARY: A diplomatic mission goes awry, leaving Obi-wan, Anakin, and Padmé struggling to survive an assassination attempt.

TIMELINE: Sometime after Bombad Jedi

SPOILERS: None

RATINGS: PG-13, Non-slash.

TYPE: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

WARNINGS: Violence

APOLOGIES: I am not a doctor nor do I play one on TV; Nor am I a SW fanatic with factual nuances at my beck and call; therefore, all discrepancies be it SW jargon/lore/etc or medical diagnoses are my own. Also, this story hasn't had the nurturing I usually give my stories. I've been distracted of late with a new career direction. But I know folks have been clamoring for a new story. Hopefully this one can stand enough on its own as a decent narrative that will bring interesting character interaction and exhilarating adventure.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm an Obi-wan fan, but I do love the father/son/brother relationship between Obi-wan and Anakin and how it plays out against the backdrop of the Clone Wars, both the movie versions and the television show. So my stories will evolve around that. Hopefully I've treated both characters with the respect they are due.

NEWS: I know it's been a long time between stories, but there is no helping that. First off, I don't post stories unless they are complete, aside from minor tweaking. Second, my new career takes precedent over all fan writing, but fear not since it still includes being a published author. Look for my new steampunk alternate history novel "Vampire Empire: The Greyfriar" on bookshelves in November under the name Clay and Susan Griffith. The link at the author's page will tell you all about it. Please check it out!

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Chapter Eight

Technical Difficulties

Obi-wan and Padmé exchanged glances from their concealment. Here was the final proof they needed. Nodeha, or at least Prince Illidar, had joined the Separatist movement and permitted a base of operations. They were so intent on the squad of droids before them, they didn't hear the scout coming up from behind until it was almost too late. In seconds they would be discovered.

Obi-wan made a decision. He turned to the Senator. "Stay hidden. I will lead them away."

"What? No!" She grabbed his arm. "You can't. If they capture you…."

"Then they will take me to Senator Organa where I was heading regardless. Wait for Anakin. Tell him what happened."

She saw the determination in his eyes. "He's going to be very cross with you." She wished she hadn't spoken of her fears of losing Bail.

"Perhaps. But remind him that he would have done the same thing if our roles had been reversed. Now stay hidden while I lead them away." And with that, he darted out into the open. He moved so fast for a moment he was only a blur to her eyes, but then he stopped in plain view of the scout.

It took them almost fifteen seconds to realize an enemy stood in their midst. It opened fire. But Obi-wan was already gone. The scout and the rest of the squad immediately veered after him.

The ground shook as the droids passed within a ten meters of where Padmé lay hidden. Luckily they never even noticed her as they chased after the Jedi. She cursed their luck, which had been atrocious this trip. Now that they knew at least one of the Jedi survived they would hunt in earnest for the rest of them.

A barrage of cannon fire echoed over her head. Her hands flew to her ears as she prayed Obi-wan was long gone.

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The town was small and even poorer than Tatooine if that were possible. The sand of Anakin's childhood home was replaced by dirt and hulking wrecks lying half buried beneath rocks and creeping vines. All space worthy vehicles seemed to have been broken and forgotten.

Anakin would be hard pressed to find a working vessel here. Their prospects of getting off world grew even dimmer. Spying a blanket hanging out to dry in front of a hovel, Anakin grabbed it, throwing a few coins on the barrel nearby to cover the cost of his borrowing. Ripping a hole in its center he created a poncho of sorts to cover his Jedi attire, though covered in grime as he was he doubted it was that obvious anymore. Better safe than sorry though.

Most of the inhabitants barely glanced at him, too busy with the day's labor to pay a stranger much mind, lest he was willing to lend a hand. In short time Anakin found what he was searching for: a cantina, the best place to seek transportation or at the very least information.

It was dark and cool within the confines of the building, reeking of smoke and sweat as workers sought refuge from their spouses, their chores, or their superiors. Anakin took several minutes surveying the interior and its occupants as he walked toward the bar. Here all eyes were upon him that weren't steeped in liquor to the point of intoxication. Though many glanced away as if sensing trouble. Anakin sent out waves of calm through the Force hoping to distill any hostility. He did not need to draw attention to himself. Besides it would make acquiring information smoother.

He eyed a man with a flight jacket in a corner. It was old and tattered but it was the closest thing to a pilot in the room. Anakin snagged a drink off the bar. To the bartender, he offered, "Put it on my tab."

The bartender frowned but went about pouring another of the same to his waiting patron. Anakin angled for the pilot sitting at a booth. As far as could be determined the man was alone.

Anakin slid the drink across the table to the pilot and nodded at the insignias. "Are those stripes decorative or are you really a pilot?"

The man raised his head and stared at the Jedi. His eyes were red rimmed and weary, marred by liquor and hard times. "What's it to you?"

"I'm a pilot myself."

The older man studied Anakin carefully, squinting slightly as if to bring him into better focus. "Sure you are." He muttered almost inaudibly, "Hot shot brat."

Anakin slid into the seat opposite him. "I'm looking to buy a ship but there doesn't seem to many functioning transports around here." His gloved mechanical hand opened briefly to reveal a glimpse of currency. "Do you know where reliable transport can be had?"

The pilot's eyes widened and regarded Anakin more sharply. "That smells like desperation to me," he remarked.

"It's a simple question."

The man leaned across the table. "Traffic restrictions offworld have been in place for months now. Why do you think I'm sitting in this bar drinking my life savings away?"

"Do you have a ship?"

The pilot sat back, warily eyeing his visitor. "I had a ship once. Now all I have is a pile of junk. It was 'decommissioned' by the regime."

"Decommissioned? You mean they disabled it?"

"Kid, they tore her innards to pieces. The electronics are shot."

That did not deter Anakin. "Perhaps I can take a look at it. I'm a mechanic as well. A good one."

"Are you now?" The man shook his head and laughed bitterly. "Look, I don't want to waste your time. You seem like a nice kid, but I doubt you could fix it."

Anakin opened his hand again. "I'll fix it for you, give it a test run, and then give it back to you. What do you have to lose? If I'm wrong, you'll be no worse off than you are now except you'll be able to buy all the liquor you want and still hold on to your savings. But if I can get it running, you'll be even richer and you get a way off the planet when I bring it back."

"If you bring it back."

"You have my word."

"You're not much of a pirate, kid, but you sell a good gamble. A crazy gamble but like you said, what do I have to lose. I come out ahead either way. Even if you steal the ship, with that much currency I can buy another ship, a better one. Knock yourself out. The heap is yours." He threw back the drink Anakin brought in three gulps. Then he reached for the money in Anakin's hand. "Maybe you can start your own junk shop. It's in Bay 12."

Anakin's fist closed. "One condition. I like to work in peace. No one knows of our little transaction."

The pilot's gaze shifted from the money to Anakin. He smirked. "Suit yourself. Mum's the word."

Anakin's blue eyes caught his and he said, "You won't tell a soul."

The tension slipped out of the pilot as he agreed to whatever Anakin was saying. "I won't tell a soul," he mumbled.

Anakin slid the money toward the pilot. "Thank you for your lodging recommendations."

The man straightened, blinking rapidly, trying to remember what they had been talking about. Something about lodging.

Anakin rose and motioned to the bartender. "Order this man whatever he wishes." He tossed a few more coin on the counter and walked out.

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Obi-wan moved quickly, narrowly missing the steady barrage of cannon fire the droids were laying down about him. The concussive force of the explosions rocked him a few times but he kept his balance and continued on.

He had hoped to get ahead of them and then double back, but the droids were obviously in radio contact and converging on his location from a variety of new paths. He changed direction twice and still managed to run into another squad.

Sweat streaked down his face. He knew he was using up his energy reserves quickly with this bit of exercise. Without his lightsaber it would be foolhardy to take on a full squadron of droids. A lightsaber was as much a defensive tool as an offensive weapon. Without it a Jedi wasn't powerless, but eventually someone would get a lucky shot that he wouldn't be able to dodge fast enough.

Until then Obi-wan used every trick he had at his disposal. He darted between tanks, pausing only long enough for the main gun barrels to pivot towards him and discharge. But he moved aside and jumped clear as the two tanks exploded each taking out the other. Battle droids raised their arms and fired a dizzying barrage at his fleeting form, a few shots coming close enough to singe the hair on his forearms and nape of his neck, but they wound up taking out more of their brethren instead in the ensuing crossfire.

The multitudes dwindled but not near enough to be called a victory any time soon. Then the woods crashed just ahead of Obi-wan and another battalion of battle droids marched into view.

He couldn't keep this pace up. Soon he would loose his edge and slow down. Every part of his body ached as he pushed it further and further past its endurance. He scanned the army surrounding him and found its commander. A Keirkoden. Then the woods on the opposite side parted and a Nodehan battlewagon with an officer at its helm emerged.

Obi-wan flipped through the air and landed on one knee in front of him, arms out showing he was weaponless.

"I surrender," he said he said to the Nodehan officer.

The officer held up his arm as a line of ten battle droids stepped forward and aimed their guns at him ready to blast him. They froze, but the red dots from their targeting eyes covered the Jedi.

"Seize him," the Keirkoden commander shouted coming forward.

Two battle droids grabbed Obi-wan's arms and held him off the ground, their metal fingers biting cruelly into his flesh. Sharp pain coursed through his shoulders as they were rotated back and out.

"The capture of the political enemy is mine!" The Nodehan officer glared at the foreign commander in rage. "He surrendered to me!"

"He is a prisoner of the Separatist movement," the commander argued.

"Actually, I'd prefer to be taken to the palace and turned over to Prince Illidar," Obi-wan offered.

"Quiet! You have no say in the matter." The Keirkoden commander snarled at him.

Raucous rumbling heralded the approach of more troops, this time a full squad of Nodehan soldiers, guns drawn and aimed at the Keirkoden commander.

Obi-wan's left eyebrow rose. "Well, this will be interesting."

"Release the prisoner!" the newcomers shouted.

Droids marched forward, blasters drawn.

Perhaps with any luck they would open fire on each other and Obi-wan could slip away in the turmoil. It was a small hope. One that faded as he hadn't counted on the diplomatic nature of the Keirkoden commander, who smiled at his opponents obviously not willing to fight against another small army and possibly die.

"I'm sure we can come to an agreement," he offered. "Count Dooku will be making landfall shortly and your Prince will have a grand gift to cement the coming alliance."

"Then hand him over," the Nodehan officer demanded.

"He is a Jedi. Do you know what that means? Your men couldn't stop him from bending his elbow much less killing you all with a wave of his hand. My battle droids will keep him under control while you escort him to your Prince."

The officer considered this. His gaze took in the many droids before him and finally conceded; any other course of action would mean bloodshed. He nodded to the commander sharply. "How do you expect to contain him till we get there?"

The commander laughed, a chuffing sound, and he gestured to a droid waiting behind Obi-wan. The Jedi twisted his head sharply realizing he had made an error. The stun blast hit him in the lower back. His body arched reflexively in the hard grip of the droids. They held him as his body convulsed out of his control. The agony of the disrupting lightening enveloped him, shredding his nerves and finally his consciousness.

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My apologies. A family emergency needed to be addressed and is still in the forefront of my mind. I haven't had time to do proper editing or revising but I'm content to let it stand as is. Hopefully you all still enjoy it. Thanks for sticking with me.