A/N: I'M BACK! I know it has been way too long since I last updated this story, but real life interfered in a big way and I was unable to gather enough ideas together for where this story was heading next. However, now that we have a definite timeframe for when the next season of Rebels will be out, I hope to get the next three chapter that I have drafted out before the first episode in September. Thank you all for your comments, faves and follows – let's get back into the action!
"I don't know. I just…I just can't shake the feeling that the whole thing was a trap."
Hera sighed. The turbolift to the briefing room was by far the slowest on the ship.
"Laid by the Empire?"
Kanan didn't answer. Hera had hardly seen him outside of mealtimes over the last few days. The Jedi had remained in his quarters, doing who-knows-what, ever since he'd been cleared by medical.
"We should never have gotten involved."
"Kanan-"
"You know what I mean. The bigger the group…the less each member is worth. When it was just us, we could afford to look out for each other, but now…"
Hera turned to face the Jedi. "Enough. Talking like that isn't going to solve anything."
"It's hurting all of us, Hera. Look at you! I can't count the number of times in the last few days that I've found you locked away in the simulators."
The chime of the turbolift interrupted them, and the doors opened onto the bridge level. Commander Sato was deep in conversation with Ahsoka, but broke off when he caught sight of Kanan and Hera. Ahsoka smiled and nodded respectfully, first at Hera, then at Kanan. Hera returned the gesture – but not Kanan, who looked away as if he had not noticed.
"Knight Jarrus, Captain Syndulla." Sato activated the map table, and inserted a data stick.
"Here is all of the intelligence we've managed to gather so far. Our tracking systems picked up the Ghost entering the Mustafar system approximately a day after it disappeared."
A hologram appeared, floating above the table. A glowing line was visible, running from Oorana Prime, to Mustafar, where it splintered into a number of possible directions.
"So it was the Imperials after all."
Sato shook his head. "That was what we thought at the time. The ship dropped out of hyperspace well within the Mustafar Exclusion zone – but instead of rendezvousing with the Empire or landing on the planet, it stayed in the system for only a few minutes before jumping away again."
Ahsoka slipped another slim data stick into a port on the map table. "Luckily, we had an informant on board one of the Imperial ships in the exclusion zone. They managed to record some chatter."
The speaker system crackled.
"…hands, all hands. Alert positions. Unidentified hyperspace signature detected."
"Scramble fighters. Wings 2 and 9, sweep exclusion zone sectors and report."
The recording ended. Ahsoka retrieved the data stick. "Whoever sent that ship to Mustafar was clearly not a friend of the Empire. It warped in, fought with a few TIEs, then jumped away."
Kanan frowned. "None of this can be right. If whoever stole the Ghost and kidnapped Ezra and Sabine was an enemy of the Empire, then why would they head straight for one of the most heavily fortified Imperial strongholds this side of the galaxy?"
Ahsoka looked down, a thoughtful expression on her face. In the silence that followed, Hera spoke up.
"Did the Empire pick up any transmissions from the Ghost?"
"They did, but our informant couldn't get a copy."
Hera nodded to Kanan. "We need whatever they can get. Ezra and Sabine could have been trying to get out a coded message."
"Thank you, Commander Sato. There was one more thing I wanted to discuss with you all." As she spoke, Ahsoka reached under the map table and pulled out the severed head of a tactical droid.
Commodore Tan Seegor knew he was dying. The familiar tremors in his limbs and wings were gradually intensifying, and the Geonosian knew he did not have much time left. It had been years since he had last set foot on any planet, and what seemed a lifetime since he had once walked the sands of Geonosis. His once mighty fleet, the 143rd Rim Patrol Flight, had been reduced to a single battlecruiser and a handful of escort craft by the accumulation of twenty years of poor maintenance and constant wear.
Today, however, he was shivering not with pain, but in nervous anticipation. 24 hours ago, the long-dormant Raxus network had lit up. At first, his superiors had ridiculed the news – but now, with more concrete evidence coming through the system, Seegor had been authorised to attempt to make contact.
The battle droids flanking the doorway to the communications chamber snapped to attention as the Commodore approached. He was one of only a handful of living creatures onboard his flagship, and the only one who lived there on a permanent at the height of the Clone Wars, the Tide of Progress II was a rare command variant of the common Recusant-class droid battlecruiser. It was also the last ship for many quadrants that still flew with Separatist colours.
The communications deck consisted of a small amphitheatre, with a hologram projector built into the map table on the stage. As Seegor took up his position next to the table, he saw movement in the darkened seating area above. He would have an audience – although on this ship, Seegor rarely went anywhere without being watched by his superiors.
The communicator chimed softly. The lights dimmed, and the swirling Commerce Guild logo disappeared.
Commodore Seegor caught only a glimpse of the figure that emerged from the hologram before he threw himself prostrate on the floor, tossing his staff aside as he did. A confused babble of Basic and Geonosian burst from his mouth – only to be cut off by a booming voice that echoed out of the speakers.
"Identify yourself!"
The near life-sized projection of General Grievous loomed above the kneeling Separatist commander.
"I do not have time to indulge in your pathetic grovelling – that time will come soon enough. Stand up!"
With the aid of the tactical droid standing at his shoulder, the elderly Geonosian hauled himself to his feet, to find himself staring into the face of the Supreme Commander of the Separatist armies. Throwing his first salute in almost twenty years, Seegor stammered his response.
"Commodore Seegor, General. Attached to the 143rd Rim Patrol Flight."
The projection swept an invisible cape behind its back. "You seem unusually surprised to see me, for someone who was so keen to establish contact via the Raxus Network.
"Mighty General. I apologise for my reaction…but we had given up hope of ever hearing from you again. When the Raxus Network alerted us to your presence, my superiors were incredulous. The hailing frequency you gave was not one we recognised, and I –"
Grievous cut him off. "The lack of faith in my abilities amongst your superiors troubles me. Is your sector secure, Commodore? The loss of Mustafar makes me suspect that the commanders of the navy are so incompetent that they cannot survive without me for a few days." As he spoke, Grievous turned to look at something out of view, muttering something unintelligible.
"A…a few days, General?" As he spoke, the Geonosian ran his eyes across the shimmering outline of Grievous. The cyborg was clearly damaged all over – a cybernetic eye, a modified chestplate, and a number of other features he could not recall seeing – but underneath, there was no mistaking the familiar attitude of Grievous himself.
"I have received your coordinates and adjusted my course accordingly. I will arrive within the next few hours. Prepare yourselves to receive me."
The Geonosian swallowed. "It would truly be an honour General, but I would have to confirm with my- "
Grievous gave an angry cough. "That is an order, Commodore! Your superiors are subordinate to me, and if they object, then they can explain themselves to me upon my arrival."
The figure of the general waved a hand at something out of view, and the connection dissolved into static.
The lights on the bridge slowly came up. As Commodore Seegor raised his head, a figure stepped out of the shadows and approached the map table.
"You're sure it was him?"
"It…it was. I'm certain of it."
"Then see to it that he receives the warmest possible reception."
A/N: Thanks for reading! See you next time!
