"To be honest, I was surprised when I heard that Boss, Scorch, and Fixer had decided, not just to desert, but to help us capture Valediction.That wasn't just dereliction of duty; even treason was a soft word for it. They'd never gone full Mandolike your father and his squadron, but apparently even Walon Vau had been enough to instill in them the desire to be free of outside power, call it Republic or Empire. When surprise faded I felt ashamed of it; I realized that I'd fallen into the common trap of thinking of them as clones first instead of men."

They stood in a tight circle in the storage room, helmets off, voices lowered. Joc had his arms over his chest and was leaning forward, eyes darting from one identical face to another.

"I always knew you guys were nuts," he said, "But this is a whole new level."

"We're only going to get one chance at this," Boss said.

Once Scorch relayed Vau's proposal, he'd agreed with shocking swiftness. Even Fixer had seemed hesitant at first, but not Boss. Apparently his good-soldier act went less deep than Scorch had thought, even after all they'd been through.

They'd agreed, collectively, to bring Joc into it. He was no Sev, but he'd been a good squadmate for almost a year now, and they weren't going to leave another brother behind. They'd all been dragging guilt about leaving Sev on Kashyyyk. If they had some chance at redemption, this was it and they all knew it.

Right now, Joc was struggling to wrap his head around it. Scorch knew the feeling, and he'd already talked it over twice with Vau.

"Let me get this straight," Joc said, "You want to help a bunch of crazy Mandos jack this star destroyer."

"I double-checked the specs," Fixer said. "A Vic's not that different from a Venator. They're bringing a ship that's hard to spot, so we just need to kill one corner of the sensor grid on the aft-dorsal part of the ship, by the emergency airlock."

"And you're there to let them in. Okay. If you just wanted to run, I could get that," Joc said, and Scorch thought they were halfway there. "This isn't just desertion. This is full-blown mutiny. I'm not signing up for that."

"Grant's blowing thousands of civvies up on Bavinyar right now," Fixer said. "I didn't sign up for that either."

"It's a hostile planet."

"No it's not," Boss said. "It formally surrendered over a month ago. Grant's just bombarding them to draw Syne out. If the Seps were doing it, we'd all be hopping mad."

"Damn it," Joc shook his head. "I just want this war to be over."

"It can be. You help us and you don't have to fight for the Imps or anybody else ever again."

"You just told me your Mando convert buddies are all fugitives. Doesn't sound like much of a life."

"At least you get to live it," Scorch said. "A full life."

Scorch saw the hope in Joc's eyes, and then the doubt. "If this fails, we're done. They won't even shove us in the brig like Niner or Dar, it's just over."

"It's over no matter what. The Republic never gave one osik about us and the Empire's even worse." Scorch was surprised at how unafraid he felt. "I don't want to die fighting for people who don't care about us."

"Do you really believe Skirata found a way to slow our aging?"

"Our old sarge said so. I believe him."

"You deserve a real life, Joc'ika," said Fixer. "We all do."

Joc ran a hand through the black stubble of his hair. "I'm not one of your wanna-be Mandos."

"It doesn't matter," Scorch said. "We already lost Sev. We don't want to lose you too."

Joc swallowed; something wet glistened in his eyes. He blinked them dry and said, "I'd feel a hell of a lot better about this whole mutiny stuff except for one thing."

"What's that?"

"I know the captain of this ship, remember? Pellaeon. I met him, fought under him. He's a good man. He treated Torrent Company like real people. He was one of the only mongrels who did that for us. I don't want to stab him in the back."

"We don't have to kill Pellaeon," Boss offered. "We can make it a priority to take him alive."

"And then what? Stuff him in an escape pod? The Imps'll execute him anyway, if he's lucky. If he survives, his career's dead. He doesn't deserve that."

"We could offer him an out, if he wants to desert too," Boss offered.

"He wouldn't do that. He's too officer-and-gentleman."

The group fell into frustrated silence. Scorch wanted to tell Joc that Pellaeon didn't matter, that he was just one man, that a whole shipful of clones were about to get the option of a new lease on life. That might assuage his conscience, or it might not.

When faced with Vau's offer, moral nuances hadn't figured into Scorch and his vode's considerations. They'd been raised too Mando to care about ethics either way. Vau and Skirata had always acted on the same basic principle: Know what you want and take it. They knew what they wanted- freedom for their vod in prison, and long lives for the clones they cared about.

All that was left for them was to take it.

"We'll make it a priority to take Pellaeon alive," Boss said. "At least we'll give him a choice."

"It won't be a choice," said Joc. "Not for him."

There wasn't any point in trying to rationalize it. Scorch said, "We'll do our best to help your guy, but you have to chose your priorities, Joc. Do you want to live a full life, a real life?"

"You know I do."

"Then that's it. It's done. Choice made."

"I don't like screwing people over."

"That's how the galaxy works now." Fixer and Boss shot him angry looks but he pressed, "You use somebody or they you use. Shab, you're a clone, you've know that since the start, it's all these other di'kute who didn't figure it out until Order Sixty-Six. You were made to be used by Palps and the Jedi. All of us were. So you can forgive me for saying I'd ready to use somebody else for a change."

"It's still not right."

"Shab right. It's the way it is."

"I hate the way it is."

"I do too, but you can't change it. You just have to choose what you want and take it."

Joc scowled at his boots. Scorch knew Boss and Fixer were glaring daggers at him but he didn't take his eyes off Joc.

Slowly, he saw that scowl wilt into a look of weary acceptance, and he wasn't surprised when Joc finally said, "Okay. I'm in. But are four of us really going to be enough?"

"We've got a whole boatful of Mandos on the way," Fixer reminded him.

"Yeah, so what? You need more than that. You need somebody to blind the sensors to they can land-"

"Sabotage 101," Fixer said. "Didn't get that lesson on Kamino?"

"What about the comm systems? How do we keep Pellaeon from calling for help once he realizes he's been boarded?"

"I can knock those out too."

"Once comm goes out Pellaeon'll know something's up. You'll lose the element of surprise."

"We don't have to kill outside communications entirely. We can run the comm systems through a feedback loop so they get the same white noise and think it's running like normal. I've seen it done."

"Seen it. Can you do it? While you disable the exterior sensors too?" Joc raised an eyebrow.

Fixer opened his mouth, shut it again. Even with four people it would be tight, there was no denying.

Joc thought for a moment, then said, "Soru's probably the best comm tech in the five-oh-first."

"It's not safe to bring the Sixers into this," Boss said. "They're good men, but Kol would never go for it. I don't think Brant would either."

"But Soru might." Scorch said. Out of all the Sixers, he'd shown the most dissatisfaction with the new Empire and the clones' lot in general.

"Just 'cos you chug ale together doesn't mean he's going to mutiny with you," Boss said.

"It's worth a shot," Fixer said. "If we're really serious about this."

"We're dead serious." Scorch looked at his sarge. "Boss, let me try. Please."

Boss nodded reluctantly. "Okay. We'll get him alone."

"We?"

"That's right, both of us. We don't have much time. Let's all head back to the locker room. Joc, Fixer, mix in with the others. Act casual as you can. We'll separate Soru and have a talk."

"Sounds good," Joc said. "Let's get it over with."

They all stared for the door, but Scorch grabbed Boss and Joc by the shoulder. Fixer stopped too, and he took a moment to look each of them in the eye.

"Vode an," he said firmly.

Fixer knew it. Boss knew it. Joc was not Mando but even he knew it.

"Brothers all," he said.

"Damn right," Scorch nodded. "Let's go."

-{}-

Gilad Pellaeon was about to walk into a room with a powerful, unpredictable, and incredibly deadly Force-user, but all he could think about was Hallena Devis.

Their meeting in the brig- the anger, the indignation, the suppressed desire- was all something he should have seen coming. There had always been differences between them- that had been part of the attraction- but in the new galactic order any idiot could have seen that those differences were enough to tear their lives apart.

After four years he'd sometimes been able to convince himself that he'd moved on from Hallena. Now there was no question that his wounds were still bleeding. Worse, they were hours away a combat situation and he couldn't force his mind on the task at hand.

He would have to try and force Vernedet to take command, again. It was the only way.

A hand touched his shoulder. He jumped but the hand remained. He saw Vernedet at his side, staring with concern, and looked away in shame. He placed a free hand on his friend's and forcibly removed it.

"Are you going to stand in front of the door to sick bay forever, Captain?" Vernedet asked. "You might get in someone's way."

Pellaeon exhaled. "No. Let's get this over with."

He punched the access panel and the door slid open. Valediction's medical bay was, for the moment, empty except for one bed. Ameesa Darys, looking almost help-less in her loose white hospital gown, sat upright with her hands folded in her lap. The doctor, a white-haired human woman, stood by her side with a datapad in her hand.

Pellaeon addressed the older woman first. "Doctor Rhoades, you said your patient wanted to see me."

"She requested you, sir."

Darys didn't speak. Pellaeon kept his attention on the doctor. "What is your evaluation of her condition?"

"I've stitched the wound in her side, and sutured the damaged internal organs. Frankly, captain, this woman needs a week in a bacta tank."

"The doctor's ministrations will be quite fine," Darys spoke up.

It took effort for Pellaeon to look into the black pits of her eyes. "Miss Darys, for your own well-being, I believe you should stay confined to sick bay until Doctor Rhoades is satisfied."

"Captain, we do not have time. When we arrive at Bavinyar the Jedi will be waiting."

"Is the Force telling you that?" Pellaeon asked without sarcasm. He'd never understood how Jedi powers worked.

"It's simple, Captain. We know Syne and Slayke are in league with the Jedi."

"At Belsavis, yes. However, we have no concrete evidence placing them at Bavinyar. No ships have arrived in that system since Admiral Grant began his siege."

"The only way to be certain, Captain, is to interrogate Master Plett."

Pellaeon had specialized interrogators aboard his ship. He also had multiple squadrons of 501st commandos trained to handle Force-users. Compared to Darys, though, they'd all be children in an ancient Jedi Master's hands.

A Jedi Master at full power, anyway.

"Miss Darys, Plett is currently being kept in our brig under heavy sedation."

"Move him to a suitable chamber and wake him."

Doctor Rhoades looked alarmed. "Captain, we've pumped a frankly staggering amount of sedative gas into that chamber just to keep him unconscious."

"Can you wake him quickly with the proper drugs?" Darys asked.

Rhoades swallowed. "It's possible. I'd have to review Ho'din biochemistry."

"Please do." Darys looked back at Pellaeon. "Captain, have Plett moved at once. I will be ready in ten minutes."

"Miss Darys, Master Plett is, as I understand it, a very old, very powerful Jedi Master. There's no telling what kind of damage he could do if he really wants to."

"I will restrain him."

"He is being restrained now."

"He needs to be woken up and interrogated."

Pellaeon wanted to shout at her, but all he allowed was a fast sigh. He knew Vernedet was seething behind him, but the lieutenant held his tongue as well.

That was the thing about Force-users. Sometimes they asked you to trust them, and they used their magic powers to mind-meld with your malfunctioning missile systems and coax them to fire. Other times they asked you to let a being of undetermined power loose, risking thousands of lives in the process.

It was no way to run a navy. It was no way to runanything, but it was the way the Republic had operated and despite Palpatine's zealous anti-Jedi purge, it seemed to be the way the Empire was run too.

"Doctor Rhoades," he said, "Please prepare a drug suitable to wake a very sedated Ho'din. Lieutenant Vernedet, with me."

He didn't give the doctor a chance to object, and hew knew she would. They walked out of the infirmary fast. The door barely slid shut behind them before Vernedet started cursing.

"They could tear the whole kriffing ship apart! Gil, you can't allow this!"

"I was told to accommodate Miss Darys on all matters concerning Jedi, Lieutenant."

"Of course. Captain. But this is too dangerous. We have to-"

"We need all the intel Plett has, she's right about that," Pellaeon said as they stepped into the lift tube and punched the button for the auxiliary command deck.

Vernedet settled into a wordless scowl as the lift hummed into motion. Silence was the last thing Pellaeon needed. His whole ship was about to be torn apart by warring Force-users but his mind kept falling back on Hallena when it wasn't being actively grabbed by some-thing else

When the door opened, they stepped out into the hallway, Vernedet leading his captain. The lieutenant said, "Sir, should I oversee the removal of the prisoner from the brig?"

"It's all right, I'll take care of it."

Vernedet stopped and spun around. A different kind of anger was on his face. "Captain, I request the respons-ibility. Let me handle this."

He forced a smile. "Afraid I'll muck up a simple prisoner transfer?"

"Gil, we both know there's more prisoners on that cell block."

"You're quite right. A brutalized child and a fratricidal clone."

"And her. Gil, we are less than three hours out from Bavinyar. We don't have time for this."

"My personal business is my own, Mynar."

"It's not personal. That's the whole point. You just asked me to take command because you thought she was going to ruin your judgment."

"Not think, I'm afraid."

"Then why go see her?"

"Mynar, just think about Aylin. Imagine if she disappeared, and you had no idea where she was, and you'd half given her up for dead when suddenly she pops back into your life. You're not sure if she's changed or you've changed, but your relationship is suddenly so very different from what it was. Forget rank and responsibility and everything else. Just ask yourself, what would you do?"

"She isn't your wife."

"I asked her to be."

Vernedet's mouth popped open, snapped shut, and opened again. "She refused?"

"Right before she disappeared."

"Then forget about it. I'm sorry, Gil, but it's done. You have to realize that. Never see her again."

"If it were Aylin in there, would you?"

Vernedet's shook his head. "She's not Aylin. The woman there is a traitor to the Empire and an ally of the Jedi. But the worst thing, Gil, the worst thing by far, is that she's taken one of the best officers in the whole damn navy and turned him inside out just be being here."

He was right. Every single word he said was true. Pellaeon stood there, hands clenched at his side, and knew there was no logical argument to give.

So instead he pulled rank.

"Lieutenant, report to the bridge immediately. I will handle the prisoner transfer. You are in effective command until I return. Is that understood?"

Vernedet stared. His expression was an awful cocktail of anger, sadness, and pity that Pellaeon could hardly bear.

But he was a good officer, so he snapped his hand up in a salute, said, "Yes, Captain," and walked away.

Pellaeon watched him go. He waited until his back was halfway down the hall, then turned around marched to the lift.

He didn't know what he was marching toward. He just knew he had to go.

-{}-

It hadn't taken long to separate Soru out from his squadmates. Boss and Scorch quickly pinned him in the same storage room they'd just left.

Whereas Joc had laid out his moral dilemmas for all to see, Soru just seemed confused.

"Okay, one more time," he said, "You actually think you can commandeer this ship, a star destroyer?"

"We have a good plan," Scorch insisted. He didn't know if it really was good, but he had to believe in it.

"Okay, assuming your tailored virus thingy works, and you secure Pellaeon, and your Mando pals actually know how to work this thing, what then? As I understand it, Bavinyar's got a huge interdiction net over it. We can't just hop to hyperspace when we want to."

"We're just one piece of a bigger strategy," Boss said. "We have to trust the rest of it's covered."

"Trust." Soru shook his head. "Seriously, though, you want to jack a star destroyer?"

"You know us Mandos," Scorch said, "We never do things halfway."

"Guess we didn't know you like we thought." Soru eyed him. "You know Kol's never going to go for this. He hates deserters. Thinks they're cowards."

"Then we keep him in the dark," Boss said.

"Sure, then he can get whatever crazy virus you plan to sic on this ship."

"It's not fatal," Scorch reminded him. "What about Brant and Olin?"

"Olin... I don't know. He might. He likes to talk about what he'd do when he 'retired.' Used to, anyway."

"And Brant?" Boss pressed. Scorch was still surprised his own squad leader had agreed to mutiny; he didn't expect a second to.

"Brant talks a lot about the troops. You know, all of us clones, sticking together like brothers. A little like Niner."

That could have meant anything. He could mutiny in order to get longer lives for all the clones on Valediction, or he could be repelled at the thought of fighting his own brothers for the sake of some Mando thugs.

There was no way to know, so it was better to be safe.

"Forget Brant," Scorch said. "Olin too. No use taking risks."

Soru looked directly at Scorch. "You took a huge one coming to me like this. I could report you right now."

"And you'd throw away forty years of life." Scorch crossed his arms. Soru liked living too much. He was like Fi that way.

Soru sighed. He looked uncharacteristically grave. "You said something about sabotaging the comm system so they can't call Grant for help."

"Fixer was talking about a feedback loop," Boss said. "We want to keep Pellaeon from figuring out we've sabotaged his ship until it's too late."

Soru's eyes narrowed in thought. "It's possible. I think. It won't be easy."

"We'll need Fixer to kill the sensors by the emergency airlock. Can you do it alone?"

"I'd need to see schematics for a Vic-two."

"Shouldn't be hard for one of Vader's Fists," Scorch said. "By the way, Boss, you think we should find somebody's white kits to hide in, or should we stay black?"

The usual white armor would hide them amongst the rank and file of Valediction's regular clone squadrons, but it would be a lot easier to pull rank on someone in elite 501st armor.

"I say stick to black." Soru added a smile. "Way more stylish, you know?"

"Oh, we're all about style," Scorch agreed. "Shouldn't mutiny without looking good."

Naming their crime was a mistake; it killed any easy mood before it could develop.

"Listen," Boss said, "We've got a timetable from Vau. This is going to be very tight and we've only got a couple hours to plan."

"Should we get Joc and Fixer?"

"Neg that. Don't want to make ourselves look like a clique. It'll draw too much attention. We hack it out now, then tell Joc and Fixer later. Separately."

Soru put his hands to his sides and nodded like a good soldier. "Okay, Boss. Where do we start?"

-{}-

There wasn't much for Pellaeon to do after he arrived in the detention block. Four black-armored 501st soldiers appeared, two carrying rifles against their chests while two more carried a bier between them. Pellaeon stood to one side as one of the white-armored guards opened the door.

The 501st troops marched in with the bier and came out a minute later with an insensate Ho'din lying between them, one arm dangling limp over the edge. The armed men fell in to the front and back of the group and marched off to the service lift, which would take them to the interrogation room where Darys waited.

Pellaeon was alone with the guards, again. He turned to the closest one and asked, "Which cell has the child we took from Bavinyar?"

"Cell 2F, sir."

"Make sure she's ready to go the moment we arrive in the Bavinyar system. Commodore Zaarin plans to fly to Admiral Grant's flagship in his fastest shuttle. I want that girl on it."

"Understood, sir."

He could get the girl far away from the woman who'd murdered her brother, at least for a little while. It was a tiny thing, and probably wouldn't matter in the end; what-ever the Inquisitorius had planned for her wouldn't be pleasant. Still, he felt better about himself for doing it.

Then he walked over to the door to Hallena's cell. He stood in front of it and tried to remember all the many good reasons not to step through again, but somehow none of them came.

He input his captain's command override and stepped through.

Hallena was sitting on the bed where he'd left her. This time her legs were bent and she rested her hands on her knees. She looked up at Pellaeon and didn't move.

"We have nothing to talk about," she croaked. All righteous her anger seemed to have deserted her.

She was right, just like Vernedet, but he found himself sitting at the edge of her bed. She didn't pull her legs back further, only stared at him.

"I want you to understand," he said. "I have a duty. I have thousands of lives, on this ship, and they're my responsibility. If I abandon my duty, like you did, those men could be hurt, even killed."

When she spoke again her voice was softer. "So you're still you after all."

"And you're still you."

He tried to smile. She didn't.

"If it's any consolation," he said, "You are not our... interrogator's primary concern. Master Plett is. She's with him now."

"Is this 'interrogator' the witch who captured me?"

"The same."

"Gil, she killed a child. Is that the person you're taking orders from?"

He stared at his hands. They curled into fists against his thighs.

"I can protect you from Darys. I'll find a way. Maybe, when we get to Bavinyar, I don't know, fake an escape somehow. Let you steal shuttle. There has to be a way. I can figure it out. I'm... I'm captain of this ship..." He trailed off and kept staring at his hands.

Hallena said, "Saving me won't salve your conscience, Gil."

"It would be a start."

"There are other ways."

"I can't abandon my position, I can't. I just told you why. And Darys, that woman, she is not all the Empire is."

"They still have you. That just means Palpatine's tricked one decent man into following him."

"More than one. My first officer here is Mynar Vernedet, my friend. Did I tell you about him?" He glanced over to see her nodding. "It was a fluke, but we ended up on the same ship again. Mynar is... a better man than me. He's furious right now, knowing I'm down here with you. He thinks I'm betraying my duty."

"Doesn't sound too good to me."

"He's a decent man, with a family. He knows his duty and he does it. He knows someone has to keep this crew safe while I..." He looked back at his hands.

"While you what, Gil? What are you down here for?" She sounded so tired.

"I don't know," he admitted. "It's been a long four years without you. I know that much."

"The Gil I knew could get over a lot of women in four years."

"There were none."

"Well. It was a busy war."

"It wasn't the same after you."

"I'm touched." She sounded honest.

"I kept telling myself I'd find you once the fighting was done. You were... my light at the end of the tunnel."

He felt her fingers, very lightly, touched the side of his face and trail down his neck.

"There's no light, Gil, not for anyone. Not with Palpatine in power. It doesn't matter how many like you or Mynar there are so long as the man on top's as evil as him."

"The galaxy needs order. Someone has to end the fighting."

"There won't be peace with Palpatine in charge." She leaned close. He felt her breath on the side of his face.

His hand snapped up and pulled hers away. He turned his head to see her face in front of his.

"I'm not abandoning my men," he said, "Not for you."

She leaned forward and kissed him. Her mouth was dry and warm. Suddenly her arms had snaked around his shoulders and he was tipping back.

His head bumped the cell wall as he fell onto the bed's hard mattress. Hallena was over him, pinning him, the white rings of her eyes staring into his. For a moment he thought she was going to reach for the service pistol at his belt, but instead her hands reached for his uniform and unsnapped his collar.

"Hallena, please..."

Fingertips felt like water-drops tickling over his chest, across his face. She kissed him again. When she pulled back she whispered, "Enough, Gil. Enough."

"Enough," he echoed, right before she kissed him again, and four years melted into nothing at all.