Interlude II
"Turn the page, I need to see something new
For now my innocence is torn.
We cannot linger on this stunted view,
Like rabid dogs of war."
"War" by Poets of the Fall
Geonosis, on board the Prosecutor orbiting Geonosis, 22 BBY
After having his wounds treated by a very tired and harried looking medical staff, Garett needed a moment to himself. He desperately needed to meditate, to regain his emotional equilibrium and to reflect on the events of this awful day.
But despite the size of the Acclamator I – class assault ship, finding a bit of privacy was turning out to be most difficult. He tried settling himself into various small niches; he even tried a broom closet on the lower deck, but always invariably found himself in someone's way. But Garett was tenacious if nothing else and so he worked his methodical way through every level of the ship until he finally reached a small observation platform on the very upper deck of the Prosecutor. Judging by the empty feeling of the room, both physical and within the Force, he would not be disturbed here.
Garett settled himself cross-legged in front of the large viewport, half of which was taken up by the looming figure of the red planet he had fought on, only a few hours before. It was a not a sight he wanted to see – Force, he would be happy if he never had to set eyes on the accursed planet ever again – but that was an emotion unworthy of a Jedi. A Jedi did not run away from his feelings, but confronted them head on, to understand them and to let them go. So Garett forced his teal eyes to travel along the outlines of the planet, before he closed them and sank deeply into the wide ocean that was the Force.
Normally, the experience of immersing himself in the Force was one of a joy so pure and intense, it was sometimes painful to rouse his mind back to consciousness. Not so now. At this moment, the Force was not a clear pool of water, but a muddied and roiling swamp full of the echoes of pain, sorrow, fatigue and the terrible, terrible emptiness of death. The battle of Geonosis had cost so many their lives, Jedi and clone alike and the Force mourned the loss of those bright points of light almost as intensely as did the survivors of the battle.
And there were so many to mourn. Though his breathing remained steady, Garett's heart clenched painfully as he called upon the memory of all those Jedi who had not survived the massacre at the arena and the smaller battles that had taken place afterwards.
Quietly, he recited their names to himself. Joclad Danva…Ur-Sema Du…Tarrados Gon…Nat Sem…Stam Reath…Lura Tranor…Galdos Stouff…Makare Dai
The last two names made the eyes behind his closed lids shuttle back and forth in agitation. They were names closely related to another, one even more dear to him. Ro. His sister and Galdos had often engaged in silly games, consisting mostly of cartwheels and other acrobatic nonsense. And Makare, although not a close friend of his sister, had been a clanmate of hers. Garett knew that the two had clashed on occasion, mostly due to the boy's friendship with the Rodian Divo, another former Squall. But in private, Ro had always marveled at Makare's ability to use the Force to move objects in almost every conceivable pattern. She had regaled Garett with stories of how Makare had actually folded an entire zoo out of sheets of flimsi, using nothing but the Force.
But there would be no more laughter-filled games and friendly competitions with Galdos, or amazing flimsi art by Makare. Both were dead; cut down on the unforgiving soil of Geonosis.
And for the first time since she had left, Garett was very, very glad indeed that his sister was no longer a member of the Jedi Order. He did not think that she would have been chosen as a member of the task force sent to save Master Kenobi, his Padawan and the Senator, as well as to confront the former Jedi, Count Dooku. Ro was too young…
But Makare was only eighteen as well. The thought was disturbing and caused his concentration to falter. It could have been Ro. It could have been his little sister, lying there amongst other dead, riddled with blaster burns and bleeding out the last of her life on the red sand. It could have been. Garett clenched his fists momentarily, then forcibly relaxed them again. But it hadn't been; instead, it had been a boy of equal years, whom Garett had barely known.
But it wasn't just the similarities in age between Ro and Makare that disturbed him. The mere thought of his empathic sister on a battlefield caused a small shudder to run its way down his spine. All that pain, all the emotional turmoil he had been exposed to today, it was enough to cause his mind unease and he was not overly empathic. For Ro, it would have been agony.
Garett took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, soothing his mind. This line of thought was superfluous. The fact was that Ro hadn't been here; she was safe, way back in the Mid Rim, learning Force-knew what kind of nonsense from that odd couple. Lingering over what could have been was pointless; a Jedi did not linger on the 'what ifs', or 'could haves'. Garett gathered those anxieties and let them flow back into the Force.
Instead of his sister, he now found his mind drifting towards the image of a clone trooper. The appearance of a clone army had been…surprising. Not that Garett wasn't grateful for their efforts; quite the contrary. Standing in that arena, surrounded by battle droids, moments away from being slaughtered with his fellow Jedi, Garett had never felt more gratitude than in that moment, when Master Yoda had swooped down, accompanied by an army of white-armored soldiers, armed to the teeth and apparently well-trained. It had been a heartening sight, but now, after the fighting, there were questions.
Where had that army come from? Why did the Republic have such an army? Who paid for it? Why was it ready, just when the Republic needed it?
There were just too many coincidences here for his liking. No. There was no such thing as coincidence, which meant that someone, somewhere, had had the credits, the means and the knowledge to prepare for a confrontation that had completely taken the rest of the Order by surprise.
And there were more questions; questions that made him profoundly uncomfortable to even think about.
After the arena had been secured, Master Koth had sent him away in a gunship with a contingent of clones to lead an assault on a Geonosian base. The fact that he had suddenly been placed in charge of a platoon of soldiers who were clearly far better trained for the situation than he was had almost staggered him. He was a Padawan. The most he had ever led was himself and a small group of security officers. Jedi most often worked alone and while they might on occasion work in tangent with the military, they didn't command the forces. And yet, the clones already at the engagement point had addressed him as "Commander" and "sir" and had taken every word out of his mouth as a direct order.
He had been useful at least; he had managed to save some lives using his not-inconsiderable Force-abilities. He had done his best to shield the men he had suddenly become responsible for and had taken the base. But so many had died, despite his best efforts.
And that brought him to his next point of concern. It had not occurred to him in the heat of battle, nor during the mind-numbing fatigue that had settled over him on the shuttle ride to the Prosecutor. But the knowledge that these faceless, white armored figures were in actuality clones and sentient, feeling men had hit him like a punch to the guts in the medbay. Everywhere he had looked while waiting for treatment, he had seen men with the same face, but with vastly different Force-signatures. During the battle, they had been almost deceptively calm, seemingly in perfect control of their emotions, so sure of their actions. Now they were reduced to bleeding, wounded individuals trying to stifle their pain, to remain stoic; sweaty, bloodied and dirty, maimed and burned and, more often than he cared to admit, dead.
The Republic had an army made up of cloned men, whose one purpose in life was to fight and die for a government that, until only a few hours ago, hadn't even known they had existed. And the Jedi were supposed to lead them.
Can we do that? He wondered. Can we stand at the head of a column of soldiers and lead the charge? We're peacekeepers, not soldiers; shouldn't someone else be giving the orders? And can we ask them to fight? Do we have that right? Is any of this right? Is there a choice? He asked himself and the Force, but found no answer forthcoming.
But did an answer truly matter? A Jedi was taught not to dwell in the past, for it could not be changed. Instead, a Jedi was supposed to live in the moment and look towards the future. A Jedi was not taught to think, but to feel; to trust the whispers of the Force and not his own fallible thoughts. The decision had been made; the Senate had passed the Military Creation Act, had accepted the clone army and the High Council was considering accepting the Jedi role in this new Grand Army. Was it not now his duty to take up the mantle of responsibility and to do his duty, to fight and defend the Republic and its people? Even at the cost of his own life and that of the clones he would have to lead? Even if it meant putting aside questions of morality for the moment, while he and the Order and the Republic stood on the brink of war?
So many questions and for the first time in his life, Garett felt himself hesitant to ask them out loud.
"I can feel how troubled you are, Padawan."
Garett's teal eyes fluttered open and he looked to his side and up to see his Master, Eeth Koth, standing next to him by the viewport. Unlike Garett, the Zabrak Master had taken the time to clean up and change into a new robe, but his face was still lined with fatigue and the strain of the recent battle. But his eyes regarded Garett kindly and with great attention.
"But I am glad to see you are trying to work through those troubles and regain balance."
Garett rose to his feet and bowed a little towards his Master, ignoring the twinge his newly healed ribs gave. Over their years together, he and Master Koth had developed a fondness for each other, though Garett never forgot his proper place, or his manners, when addressing his Master.
"Thank you, Master, though I fear that my efforts have not offered me the clarity that I hoped they would."
Master Koth nodded solemnly, then turned and regarded the vista of stars outside, illuminated by the glare of Geonosis' harsh sun and the glow of the red planet.
"I understand," he said. "Clarity is hard to achieve at this moment and not just for you. I too struggle to gain an understanding of recent events and where they might lead us. The dark side has already made its insidious way through the Force."
Garett felt a small shudder at that. The dark side; if there was an equivalent to the boogeyman in Jedi lore, then it was the dark side and the Sith. And now both have become reality and at the hands of a man who was once one of the most respected Masters of the Order.
The thought caused him to shift uneasily. If a man such as Dooku could fall, did that not mean any Jedi could?
A hard and calloused hand landed softly on his shoulder. Garett met the brown eyes of his Master, full of concern and thoughtful.
"Your mind is overwhelmed with questions, Garett," he said.
"Yes, Master." Garett admitted. "More questions than I ever had in all my life. Even when struggling with the verdicts of the Code, I did not have so many doubts plague my mind." Master Koth's hand gave his shoulder a slight squeeze, encouraging him to continue.
Garett took a deep breath, tying to organize his restless musings into coherency. "I have witnessed the death of Jedi before, Master. It is sad, but that is the life that we lead. But today, I saw more Jedi die than in my entire life and on the orders of a man who was once one of us. I have led men more knowledgeable about warfare than me and though I did my best I," he licked his lips as he remembered the taking of the Geonosian base, "I know that some of those men, maybe even most of them, died because of my inexperience. I spent a lot of time in the medbay and I saw men bleed and die while listening to others talk about them like they were," he struggled to find the right words. "Like they were…droids or some sort of machines made of flesh. I," he shook his head, feeling the weight of the Padawan braid shift against his neck. "I just don't understand these sudden changes."
"And does that frighten you?" Master Koth asked.
Garett thought about that; not just because he wanted to give the right answer, but because his Master had taught him that to speak hastily, was to speak foolishly. And a lot of damage could be done through foolishness.
"No, Master," he finally said. "It is not fear, I feel. I am pained by the loss of all these lives. I worry about the future of the Republic and the role the Senate wants the Jedi to play in the coming war and I wonder about the morality of using a clone army. But fear is one of the few things that does not trouble me."
Garett felt that his Master was pleased at this answer and that buoyed him. He had spoken nothing but the truth and it was always gratifying to see truth bring a positive change to people.
"I believe your concerns are valid, Garett," Master Koth said. "Many on the Council share them." That surprised Garett. He'd never considered that the doubts that plagued him could also plague the Jedi of the High Council. They were the most learned and wise members of the Order; somehow, he'd always thought them above such petty concerns as troubled a mere Padawan, like himself.
Being able to discern his pupil's thoughts through the Force and their years of association, Eeth Koth chuckled at Garett's surprise. "You are truly humble sometimes, my young Padawan," he said. "More so than most." Then his expression turned serious once more. "Do not think that you are alone in your doubts, Garett. Many Jedi are uneasy by what has happened and the Council is no exception. The only question," and here his Master gave a heavy sigh, "is how to address the issues."
For a moment, both Master and Padawan stared out at the endless display of stars, contemplating events and questions. Finally, Garett spoke up. "I cannot speak for the Council, or for the other Jedi," he said. "But for me, I will do whatever I can to do justice to the trust and the responsibility given to me. Once back at the Temple, I will research and study military tactics and history. I will familiarize myself with the relevant protocols and, with your permission Master, I will see if I can't schedule a few interviews with the admirals and other officers, for some more detailed explanations. I would also like to speak to some of the clone officers. I think I could benefit from what they have learned."
"All this," Master Koth asked carefully, "so you will become a better soldier?"
"No, Master," he said, his voice firm. "All this, so that no more men die, because I misjudge a situation. If I must lead, then I will do so to the best of my abilities and harness all of my talents, not just the Force."
"And your questions?"
Garett closed his eyes, rubbing one hand along the side of his face, feeling the encrusted grime of the last few hours. "They will have to wait," he said. "I have a duty to protect this Republic and that must be my priority. I must put aside personal doubts and focus on the immediate task." He swallowed, seeing once more Master Agen Kolar bending down to touch the cooling body of his fallen Padawan, Tan Yuster. He saw a boy who had grown up with his little sister, charred almost beyond recognition by blaster burns. He saw Galdos, who had taught Ro how to do a backwards flip, overwhelmed by metallic, tan bodies. And he saw clone troopers cut down in a hail of blaster fire, because he had not recognized a ridge as the perfect point for an ambush. "So many lives depend on it," he whispered, almost to himself.
For a long moment, there was silence on the observation platform. Then Master Koth took Garett by both his shoulders and turned the young man to face him. With a small shock, Garett realized that he was actually a few inches taller than his Master now.
"You have grown in many ways, Garett," the Zabrak Master said, his dark face serious. "Today has shown me just how much. You have faced an ordeal that has cost many of our brothers and sisters their lives. You took command of a difficult situation and you accredited yourself well, despite what you might think," and Master Koth gave him a small, reassuring smile. "And despite all that you have been through, you are willing to take on even more responsibility out of a sense of duty for others. I am proud of you, Garett."
The words caused a small hitch in his throat. It was not the first time Master Koth had praised him. The Zabrak Master might not be effusive in his approval, but he had always let Garett know when he had done well. But there was something in the tone of the older man's voice, the way he had said his name that told Garett that this was not praise handed down from teacher to pupil. It was the approval given from one comrade to another, a sign of respect between equals.
"Master?" he asked, uncertain of the direction this conversation was taking.
Master Koth's dark eyes searched his dirty and scratched face intently for a moment, before giving a sharp nod. "I believe that today has been a trial for you, Garett. A Trial of the Flesh and of the Spirit. But also a Trial of Insight and of Courage."
Garett's eyes went wide. Was his Master saying, what he thought he was saying?
Master Koth smiled at him. "I believe you are ready, Garett. Ready to take on the rank of Jedi Knight."
"But I failed the Trial of Skill," he blurted out before he could stop himself. Master Koth frowned.
"I mean," Garett scrambled to try and save the situation. This is why you're supposed to think before you talk, he thought desperately. "What I meant to say, Master, is that I am honored you believe me ready to become a Knight. However, I," he looked away, feeling torn in two. Becoming a Knight at only twenty-two years of age was almost unheard of and spoke volumes about Master Koth's opinion of him. It was a dream come true, but at the same time…
The clone lieutenant ran towards him, heavy fire cutting into flesh and desert rock. Around them, men and machinery screamed.
"Commander, we've headed straight into an ambush! We've got to retre…" A blaster shot slammed into the lieutenant's back, piercing his armor and killing him instantly. Garett only just managed to catch the falling body before it hit the ground.
"I am young," he told his Master. "Young and inexperienced. I am barely aware of my duties as a commander. I would like," he swallowed against memories and the sight of Master Koth's carefully blanked face, "to gather more experience. To be a Knight means to be a general and entails even more responsibilities and for far more lives. I would like some time for my skills to be equal to those responsibilities, because I know they aren't right now."
"Time is something we can ill afford at the moment. Already, there is news of systems declaring their independence of the Republic," Master Koth said. "But if anything, your reaction tells me that I am right in my decision." He gave Garett's shoulders another squeeze, then stepped away. "I will recommend to the Council that you will be Knighted, once you have passed the Trial of Skill," he told his Padawan.
Garett felt relief and gratitude flood through him.
"But I warn you, Garett," he said, raising one cautioning hand. "We will not be able to give you much time to prepare. We have lost many Masters and Knights today and will need to fill their ranks as soon as possible. As such, it is doubly important that we promote first those Padawans we can be certain are up to the task."
Garett bowed to his soon-to-be former Master. "I promise you, Master Koth, that I will not disappoint the Council or you. I will do my utmost to bring myself up to speed on the necessary practices."
Master Koth nodded solemnly and made his way towards the observation platform's door. "That reminds me," he said, addressing Garett over one shoulder. "There is a message for you from your sister. It seems she has been trying to contact you at the Temple for some time."
Garett briefly closed his eyes, feeling for his connection to his sister. Indeed, he could feel the bond he shared with Ro thrumming in anxiety and worry from his sister's end. He'd been aware of it in some part of his mind, but had consciously ignored it during the battle and afterwards. His mind had been otherwise engaged.
Master Koth still stood at the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, his profile turned towards Garett. "Do you wish to call her back now?" he asked.
Garett opened his eyes and shook his head. "No, Master. I will let her know that I am well, but for now, I would prefer speaking with Captain Martz. I have some tactical questions I would wish to ask him, if he is not too busy."
Master Koth smiled in approval and left the observation platform, closely followed by Garett. It would be good to talk to Ro, he thought, but the time for it was not now. He had to set aside personal feelings and concentrate on his duty. He did spend the time it took him to track down Captain Martz sending soothing ripples through the Force-bond between himself and Ro, letting his little sister know that he was alive and well. He would tell her the details of the battle later. In particular, he wanted to be the one to tell her about the deaths of Galdos and Makare. He would be able to comfort her, even if it was only through a holotransmitter.
But right now, he had a war to learn how to fight and family would just have to wait. Duty always came first; it was the Jedi way.
