Mash weaved through the sparse company of clones with a fresh cup of caf in either hand. Almost an hour had passed since Obi-Wan was admitted for triage, stagnating the mission's momentum while granting the troops a rare occasion of respite. By now the cannons outside were dormant. A shot still disrupted the calm every now and again, but the objective had changed from before. Bolts were clearly aimed into the unoccupied plaza: the droids were threatening against escape. This kind of surveillance was sure to be a problem going forward, but for the time being, there wasn't a clone alive who didn't appreciate the break. Obi-Wan was considerably less satisfied than his troops. He sat straddling the back of an ornate dinner chair stationed in front of the loveseat, uncomfortably disrobed to the point where Mackenzie could access his wounds from behind. Disgruntled, he typed the mission report on Cody's datapad to distract himself from the procedure's pain and embarrassment.
"Free caf in the lunchroom back there, sirs," Mash announced as he came to a stop.
Mackenzie took one look at the disposable cups and turned back to his work. "The hell're you thinking, kid? I've got half a dozen stitches in the General. You want my hands to shake?"
Meanwhile, Obi-Wan accepted the nearest cup without complaint. He read over his work as he drank, hardly registering the taste until Cody's strict tone carried over from one unfortunate assembly in the café:
"That's a civilian resource, son. If I catch any one of you flouting protocol again, I'll be writing this up as a formal offense."
Mash stared gravely at the remaining caf in his hand.
"You're in it now, son," snickered Mackenzie.
Unperturbed, Obi-Wan plucked away Mash's offending cup, swallowed the dregs of his own, and sent them both into an endtable drawer with the Force. If the Cloud City government was going to reprimand the Republic for destruction of property, it surely wouldn't be over a few cups of caf. Even so, he'd endured enough of his Commander's wrath for one day.
Charter next appeared to the group with a holotransceiver facing up.
"Sir," he greeted tersely as he knelt, "Sorry for the wait. The map of the Sector is fully compiled. Can't say how much real estate the droids have underground, but it looks like the city's chock full of routes in and out of the relay station area." A translucent blue projection of Sector 6 hovered before the small group from the disc in Charter's palm. Thousands of tunnels pervaded the station's interior, a microcosm of miniature thoroughfares feeding in and out of major highways. "It's nothing short of a miracle we didn't get lost when we came in from the landing zone."
Obi-Wan leaned in for a more comprehensive view. "Excellent work, Charter. This may be the key to our success." A plan seemed to be stirring underneath his studious expression, when Mackenzie tugged his handiwork tight and the datapad dropped onto the floor. Obi-Wan stopped moving altogether.
"Ah- Pardon me, General. Should've warned you first. Hey, waterboy – grab that, would you?"
"It's Mash, sir," Mash corrected while he recovered the fallen pad. "And it's not my business if you're rough on the troops, but save a little décor for the Jedi, would ya?"
Mackenzie tied off his last stitch and started scrubbing the blood from his gloves. "Let me tell you Mashy, with this amount of damage I wasn't sure he'd even feel it. Look – y'see all these tinier bits? Wood or gravel or something. Tons of 'em. Don't think anything's made it subcutaneous, but we'll see when I start picking 'em out." He gave his forceps a sterilizing wash.
"Please, save yourself the trouble," intruded Obi-Wan. "There's no need to waste anyone's time on splinters. If you've sewn up the worst of it, then I'd like to be on my way."
Mackenzie bristled. "Now, it's not my place to say, sir, but that's gotta hurt like hell. A good sheet'a plastoid or two could've prevented most of this. You know, I was a lot happier when you an' the other Jedi were still running around in full plate."
"I'll take that into consideration." He stood. "Come Charter, I'd like to discuss our infiltration strategy with the Commander. We should be back on the move by morning, at least."
...
Ahsoka loitered pensive with her back to the wall just outside the High Council Chamber. She looked up from her folded arms as several Masters adjourned from the room, repressing the bitter urge to plead them to stay. She never imagined that a meeting with the Council could ever feel so short. Plo made his exit next, and turned to accompany her at her place beside the majestic arched doors.
"…I'm sure General Skywalker will turn up tomorrow," he consoled supportively.
Ahsoka's eyes turned back to her arms. Plo watched as she did, attentive to the Force swirling around her while it withered from scant hope to disappointment, bottomed out in a hollow sort of feeling, and started to swell again with a passion born of betrayal. Plo waited patiently to observe her response.
"Yeah, probably." She detached herself from the wall.
The two started to walk. They said nothing more for a considerable length of time, content to wander along in companionable silence through the spacious, clean mezzanines with no destination in mind. Plo kept their path close to the great windows, tacitly inviting Ahsoka to trade in her subdued animosity for appreciation of the afternoon sun. Coruscant was at peace. To brood was a disservice to that treasured fact. He could infer easily enough why Anakin had resigned, and even shared a portion of Ahsoka's resentment toward his decision. But ultimately none could proceed without a clear head, so Plo dedicated the rest of the day to less onerous thoughts.
A bustling audience of initiates was gathered at the doors to the sparring courts. Day in, day out, the most thrilling combat they saw typically took place between junior Padawans; with the war in full bloom, hardly a Master had time to train his student anywhere but mid-mission. So when the fast-paced thrum of lightsaber swipes resounded through the wing, everyone knew they were in for a treat.
Ahsoka bounded off in a backflip from the place where her left-hand saber collided with Plo's. To this point her form was weak, Plo assessed as he used the sudden distance to resume standard Form III beginning posture. Her movements were too wide, her strikes lacked defense. Practitioners of Jar'Kai garnered the benefit of a second weapon to compensate for a relatively open stance, but true masters still fought with precision. A tightly shielded warrior whose lightsabers moved as one – the ideal form of Jar'Kai was fearful indeed. Ahsoka surged. She built her speed with two agile steps before springing forward in an arc aimed to put herself just barely off-center from Plo's immediate strike zone. You can visualize your opponent's range, little one, but can you adapt when you're wrong? Plo swung a leg back in the same second that Ahsoka touched ground. Her right-hand saber slashed clean through his space, but she must have blinked as it did, because Plo was nowhere in view.
He felt the scuffed floor graze over his hood. In an instant Plo bent himself back at the knees, using the slight change in starting position to then leverage himself to the side, lunge away from Ahsoka's blade, and counter with a thrust of his own while returning upright. Ahsoka sensed the twinge of it encroaching between her shoulders. She drew a sharp breath at the realization and knocked the tip askew with an upward sweep of her left. She whirled around to face him again. Plo parried the swing that followed from below – and the one after that, and the one after that. His movements were small, he was deliberate to show, yet the speed and fluidity with which he wielded his blade were undeniably effective. Ahsoka was quick to jump when Plo found an opening to counterattack. Not nearly so far as before, but her style had transitioned by now to a series of hops and opportunistic strikes that concentrated within in a meter's radius. Her opponent's ability to retaliate was lethal, she carefully minded. Locking blades with him would only play to his advantage. Just a little more time, just a hint of mistake, and she could figure out a way to land a hit – so long as she kept him defensive. She could only imagine how badly she'd lose if he stepped into offense.
Gauging her response, Plo noted Ahsoka's appreciation for the dangers of close combat. What she could not match with skill, she precluded entirely through her focus on dodging. Good, thought Plo as he fought, for in a real situation, the enemy would exploit any technique they found in excess of hers. His confidence rose with the knowledge that Ahsoka would simply prevent such a technique from being used. The flaw in her approach was how she limited herself at the same time. Plo studied the pattern of her defense as they sparred. He struck a line toward her right leg – Ahsoka hopped left. He lifted his saber above middle height – she crouched in preparation to dodge. He jabbed center – she slid to the side. Anyone could draw this fight out to analyze her moves. Plo chose to demonstrate as much when, upon a prompting slash to her waist, he vaulted forward at just the moment she predictably leapt back.
The enthralled crowd gasped in unison. So captivated they were in keeping up with the pair's lightning tempo that no one expected an offensive reaction from Plo. Ahsoka was more startled than anyone. The second of vulnerability built into her dodge was intended to coincide with her time outside enemy range. That second was now at the mercy of the capable Kel Dor towering over her. She drew her sabers up in an X – but Plo aimed a kick to her feet. Ahsoka dropped neatly onto her back with a grunt. On opening her eyes, she found herself looking down a humming blue beam.
"Good show, young Padawan," Plo congratulated. It was almost irritating how un-tired he was.
Lightsabers disengaged, Ahsoka accepted the hand that replaced the blade before her. The initiates broke into applause. Already there were several of the group imitating their favorite parts to their friends, inarticulate mimics of lightsaber sounds accompanied by clumsy swings in the air. Ahsoka couldn't help but smile, out-of-breath as she was.
Plo laid a hand on her shoulder. "Let us discuss your strengths and weaknesses elsewhere. Any more time here and I fear you'll be signing autographs."
By the time they reached the central spire's meditation garden, Ahsoka had forgotten her anger completely. She sat content under the deep shade of an old tree with weeping, flowered branches. The placid stream nearby siphoned away the anxiety accumulated since morning. Her meal from the mess hall was almost finished, and she listened raptly as Plo explained his observations in scrutinous detail. Every flaw he illustrated seemed to be a focal part of Form III. I guess I have to work on defense more than anything, Ahsoka summarized for later practice. So much of the war seemed to demand that she rip through the enemy before they had the chance to retort. Time-sensitive missions just weren't conducive to defensive training. Barreling through things with a heavy hand was careless, she knew, but too often it felt necessary. The strategy worked for Anakin, anyway… Most of the time.
"Master Plo," she imposed in the middle of his lecture, "Sorry – could we go over this again in combat? It's getting late now, but if you have time tomorrow, I'd be honored if you'd help me figure this out with a lightsaber in my hand."
"If only we could," Plo answered sadly from the grass sitting opposite. "It has been decided that from tonight until morning the troops shall prepare to depart again for Bespin."
Ahsoka lit up. Her excitement energized the Force surrounding them, and she set her bowl to the side; the last few bites didn't matter anymore. "That's fantastic! As soon as we get those droids cleared, we'll go rescue Master Obi-Wan. Have communications been restored? Any word from the 212th?"
Plo's constant calm gave nothing away. "Unfortunately no. Communication with all settlements near Bespin remains unattainable. Either Kenobi's forces are still engaged, or the station has been damaged beyond their repair." He paused then, gravity amplifying the words he spoke next. "…We must also prepare ourselves for the possibility that the infiltration has failed."
Ahsoka understood the polite implication. Her levity subsided to a nod. "I know. But we have to get that station online." A moment of sobriety, and a smirk stole its way through her professional bearing. "Besides, if we don't get Obi-Wan back, it's gonna be on you to teach me more about Form three."
"I always did see General Skywalker with a more… natural inclination towards Form four," Plo quipped in kind. The two spent the final hour of daylight in pleasant conversation, and retired from the garden in hopes of securing as much sleep as possible for tomorrow's second assault.