Chapter 14, Unholy War

Padme's apartments, Coruscant:

Tim sat curled up in one of Padme's living room chairs after a delightful dinner with the former queen of Naboo and Senator Organa. The conversation had surprisingly stayed away from the war entirely and there had been teasing and jokes for go all around. Once, C3-PO had inadvertently made himself the butt of one of Bail's droid jokes and the three of them had laughed for three minutes straight.

And now, they were having an after-dinner cup of caff. Tim had taken his into the living room a bit early to enjoy a little much needed solitude. He had to sort out his head. So far, all he had done for days was sort though data. That's what he did best after all. But now it was time—past time—to ask himself the ethical questions because his research on the cloning facilities and the cranial implants in the clone's brains made things harder rather than easier.

In sort, the clone's cranial implant chips didn't have a password he could hack; there wasn't a failsafe he could use to block Palpatine's orders should they come through and trigger the clone army to attack the Jedi. Order 66 would have to be prevented the old-fashioned way. After hours and hours of endless work—after teaching himself Kaminoan of all things and riffling through infinite amounts of data—that was not a worthy conclusion.

Well, no. There was one other alternative, but it didn't bare thinking about. The alternative was something he taken taken an oath never to do. And yet he had the means. He had found a way to terminate entire battalions of clone troopers by detonating the programming chips implanted in their brains at birth. With a few key stroke—so easy for him to decipher—he could kill them all. Timothy Drake held the power of life and death of every clone trooper ever born at his fingertips.

But that wasn't the plan. It had never been the plan. He only wanted to find a way to block out Palpatine's signal to the clone and prevent Order 66 from being carried out. His objective was to prevent more death, not to cause it.

All I can do now is pray that Dick and Jason come up with a solution before it comes to that. They can't…they can't make me chose between innocents. I don't want to have to choose who lives and dies. You guys can't ask that of me; so please, hurry and find another way.

"Do you ever not look like someone just killed you best friend?" asked Bail Organa walking in with his caff cup in hand. It was a jest. It didn't feel like one.

Tim didn't look at the man as he took the seat opposite. "I guess I'm still not used to dealing with war."

"We never are," said Bail with a resigned sigh, "it's all guts and glory until guts are spilt and we have to look at the mess the world has become."

"I want it to stop," said Tim, "I want it to stop before it gets worse. Hasn't there been enough blood already?"

Please, can you stop this war before Palpatine has his way? Before the clones turn on my brothers or I am forced to turn on them? But Bail couldn't hear his silent plea. The man was not a Jedi. He didn't read minds.

"There has indeed. More than enough," said Bail, rising to stare out the wide living room window. "This war is hell."

"No," said Tim quietly, "war is war and hell is hell." Bail turned to look at him with sad eyes that bade him finish his thought. "If this were hell, we could at least have a little comfort. Only the guilty go to hell. Punishment is a thing deserved. But in war? It's the innocent that suffer most."

Tim looked down at the datapad in his lap. There was a file starring him in the face. The file that had taught him how to wipe of the clone army—an army of innocents—to prevent them from becoming an army of evil. Sometimes Tim hated the things he could do.

People who compared him to his brothers thought he was weak. And in truth, he didn't have Jason's iron strength or Dick's inhuman physical prowess or even Damien's vicious skill. But he was not weaker by any means. Yes they were each a foe to be reckoned with on the battlefield—they could stand toe to toe with men stronger and bigger than themselves—but Tim's power was much more terrible. It was positively deadly. He had the strength of his mind and the power of deadly creative ingenuity. The world might bow before him if he chose; for in his fingertips was the power of destruction.

Oblivious to the nature of his internal conflict, Bail put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "This war will end; but until it does, we will soldier on."

Tim forced a smile onto his lips and pushed his emotions back to where Batman would proscribe. "Right."

"No more doom and gloom in there," called Padme from the dining-room, "I want to play a game of Tylar Blitz."

Bail laughed. "Then prepare to lose my dear senator."

"Not on your life," declared Padme.

"Neither of you will," said Tim, "I haven't a clue how to play."

Padme gasped dramatically. "You heathen! I'm not sure we can be friends anymore."

Bail leaned over and whispered to him, "count yourself lucky, kid. You dodged a bullet there."

"Rude!" Padme wacked Bail with the deck of playing cards.

"Ow!"

"Prepare to face humiliation!" she declared.

He looked her in the eye. "By the Force, I seam to be facing it already."

Padme gasped.

Tim just laughed their antics and tossed the datapad aside on the table. "So, are you guys gonna play or what?

The Jedi Temple, Coruscant:

Damien slipped back into the Temple unseen after his disastrous meeting with Palpatine. He had wanted a mission. Now he had one. But this isn't the kind of mission I wanted.

Darth Sidious had made his proposition very clear. Damien was to help Palpatine present the Jedi as traitors to the Republic—thereby setting them up for slaughter—and in return, the Sith Lord would take Dick, Jason, and Tim into protective custody until the war and the bloodbath were over. Damien's part, though he knew it would be more prolonged than agreed upon, was in essence rather simple. Dick had given him all the information he needed to take the Jedi down from within; a marginally easier task than taking out the Sith Lord and one with an assured outcome.

Walking down the halls of the Jedi Temple's western living quarters, Damien tried not to make eye contact with the younglings and their Jedi caretakers. They would all be dead soon.

But what does it matter? They aren't real. None of this is real. The only people that matter are are my brothers; everyone else is just one of Control Freak's little game pieces. For the, there is no death, there is only the Force.

Despite his hollow words of self-comfort, Damien was not an idiot. He was well aware that betraying the Temple and leaving these people to die went against everything he had learned form both his father and Grayson, and even—heaven forbid—his grandfather. Had he ho sense of honor left?

A youngling, a weakque girl with bluish green skin and tawny eyes, blocked his path. He knew her. Iki. She was the most brilliant student in his Force alchemy class with Master Tenzin.

"Where are you off to, Damien?" she asked. Mischief and suspicion twinkled in her golden eyes. It was a combination Jason exceled at expressing, and Damien preferred not to look at it.

"That's none of your business," he snapped as he tried to push past her.

Iki stopped him by extending one strong teal arm. "I know you don't like us very much—and to be quite honest, the others don't like you either—but I think we should all give each other a chance."

Damien glared at her. "I appreciate the sentiment, but that is not necessary."

"Yes, it is," Iki snapped, "we're all Jedi students. Perhaps we should try acting like it. That means looking out for each other."

"I don't need your help; now stand aside."

Damien glared at Iki, cursing her presence. He couldn't do what had to be done to save his brothers if he developed…unnecessary attachments…to the idiots Darth Sidious had commanded he betray. And Sidious would know if Damien dared to disobey. Is her life worth more than Grayson's? More than Todd's? More than Drake's? No, it wasn't. it was the simple hard truth. She's not real. She's a character in some stupid movie.

And yet that character continued to obstruct his path.

"Out of my way. I won't tell you again," said Damien.

Iki planted a hand on her hip and the crest of feathers on her head flared outwards like a peacock's tail. He supposed that was a sign of irritation. "This is why nobody likes you," she said flatly.

"I couldn't care less," he said flatly.

She almost laughed. "Force, why are you such a prick?"

"Why are you such an irritant?"

"An irritant?" she scoffed, "well, I'm going to ignore that—like a Jedi—and say what I was going to say. I'm captain of the Yaddle cresh crashball team, and I was wondering if you'd like to play with us. There's a match in about half an hour. Come to the upper dojo in the west turret if you want to join in. I've got an extra jersey."

With that, Iki turned and walked away. Damien followed her with his eyes over to a small gathering of other younglings from his class, all wearing blue and white crashball jerseys with galeck numerals printed on the back. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but judging by the faces of the others, she had just told them she'd offered him a spot on the team. Some were wary. But some looked excited, which surprised him. One, a zabrak boy with white skin covered in back markings, turned and waved to him.

Damien didn't wave back. He didn't want to join in. He couldn't be made to feel anything for a gaggle of Control Freak's invented characters. So why do I…? He couldn't finish the question. And he couldn't join them. So instead, he looked straight ahead at the end of the hallway and walked past them all without a word.

I have a mission, he reminded himself, I have to save Grayson from his pointless escapades. All we have to do here is survive. We don't have to try to save a doomed world. Just survive, and then all of this—this whole world—will just go away.

He headed for the security archive room in the Jedi library; and like a shadow, slipped past all the Jedi milling about till he came to the archive mainframe computer hub. Reluctantly, he was glad he'd listened to Drake and Grayson as they prattled on about hacking techniques relevant to this new world in which he found himself, or he'd never be able to get what he needed.

Damien inserted a data collection crystal into the computer port and began sifting through the security feeds. There were far too many cameras in the temple to sift through everything, but luckily, he didn't need to. He only needed one video from the Jedi high council chamber. He only needed the footage of Grayson's prophesy and the Jedi's plan to bide their time before arresting Palpatine; he needed the evidence of treason which Grayson had so graciously set up for him.

At long last, he found the footage. He downloaded it and pulled the crystal from the port before any archivist was the wiser.

Pocketing the crystal, Damien prepared to transmit the footage to the Sith as planned. But he will try to betray me; that's what he does. I need a contingency play. Father would have one. Drake would have one. Grayson could come up with one on the fly. Damien wracked his brain. Think Damien, think. You are of the house of Wayne and of Ras Alguhl; you have to think of something. But time was running short and Palpatine was waiting.

Then the solution hit him. If I don't have time to think of a contingency, I'll have Drake do it for me.

Hastily, he dialed in Drake's commlink number and waited impatiently for his brother to pick up.

"Hello?" Drake's voice came across at last.

"Drake, I need your help?" said Damien.

"I beg your pardon," said Drake. He sounded confused. The idiot.

"If worst comes to worst, I need you to come up with a back-up plan."

Drake was quiet for a few minutes. Damien could hear laughing voices in the background fading away and then the click of a door falling shut. "A back-up plan for what? What did you do? Dick and Jason are going to get things sorted out, you just need to be patient and keep an eye on the temple."

"Tut-tut, Drake," sniffed Damien, "Grayson is off fighting a bunch of tin robots on a distant planet with two—albeit competent—buffoons. And have you even heard from Todd? There was that explosion under that apartment building yesterday. For all we know, Todd needs a rescue or is lounging in a hospital somewhere. We can't count on them. So, I'll ask you again; can you come up with a contingency or not?"

Drake let out an exhausted sigh. "A contingency for what?"

"For the revenge of the sith."

"You're literally making no sense right now."

"Listen Drake, as the smartest of us all..."

"Umm, thank you?"

"Don't interrupt! I need you to come up with a plan to break out of the Sith citadel on Mustafar. And figure out how to conceal weapons on your person. You may need them in the case that Grayson and Todd screw things up."

"Things aren't going to get screwed up. Dick and Jason are goona come through," said Drake with conviction Damien could only dream of feeling.

But can I risk their lives on Drake's fake confidence? Obviously, the answer was no. Palpatine was going to murder Grayson and there was nothing any of them could do to stop him. They were in the Sith's world now and they would all bow the knew or be destroyed with the Jedi and the republic. It was the cold hard truth.

Damien knew he had made a deal with the devil, but sometimes the devil can be reasoned with. Survive, he told himself, we only have to survive. That's what Control Freak said.

"Just do as you're told Drake, and don't ask questions," Damien snapped.

"Damien, what have you done?" Drake demanded. His voice had darkened, and he sounded suspicious. And that stung a little for some reason. But it wasn't unwarranted. Damien would admit as much. Still, he had his reasons; and his reasons were above reproach.

"I'm saving Grayson from that mad-man, Palpatine. I've convinced him not to murder Grayson," he started to explain.

"You what?" screamed Drake as quietly as he could.

"Tut-tut, Drake," said Damien, "you can drop the whole 'holier than thou' act. You and I both know what danger Grayson has put himself in. The idiot has made himself Palpatine's primary target. Something had to be done."

"But not like that!" hissed Drake, "whatever it is you're doing, stop right now and come find me. I'm at Padme Amidala's apartment. We'll sort this all out."

"I have sorted it out," said Damien, "all you have to 'sort out' is a back up plan incase Palpatine double crosses us."

"Are you insane!"

"No. I'm hanging up. Don't fail us Drake."

And with that, Damien hung up. Drake will try to stop me I suppose. No matter. I can still keep him safe if Palpatine is true to his word long enough for us to get home; and if not, he knows to prepare.

Damien reached for the stolen date crystal in his pocket and dialed Palpatine's frequency. "I have the footage of the Jedi's treason. Now fulfill your end of the deal and let me take my brother's to safety."

The sinister voice on the other end replied, "as long as you serve me, they have nothing to fear. Take them into your protective custody as soon as you will. But be quick. There is an army I mean for you to lead, Darth Rubin."

Only his brothers mattered. Conscience be damned.

"As you command," Damien gritted out, "my master."

Safehouse in lower Coruscant:

Ahsoka half dragged half carried Jason up the final flight of stairs to the safehouse he'd procured before their little escapade into the exploding Sith hideout in the sub-basement of 500 Republica. Kay-tee was hovering by their heads; battered servos clicked as the little droid tried to maintain altitude. She needed a tuning and a charging port. But that would have to wait. The first step was getting through the door to safety. Jason grunted in pain as Ahsoka shifted his weight to allow herself freedom of movement to open the door. She turned a concerned eye on him as the door slid back into a pocket in the wall.

"You alright?" she asked.

"Peachy," he answered.

"Good."

They made it over the threshold, but just barely.

Jason intoned a deep voice, "package for Mrs. Slum. Where do you want it?" He intoned a squeaky woman, "oh just set it down anywhere. Throw it at the sofa or something."

Ahsoka dropped him on the slanted broken couch with a grunt of exertion. "Delivery made."

"Thank you, my good man," said Jason dramatically. He waved his arm in the air for effect, "now come good sir, we require sustenance and water for our camels."

"Your camels? Just how hard did you hit your head?" asked Ahsoka. Then thought better of asking any more questions. He was only going to answer with more nonsense anyways. The entire flight from the bounty hunters at the Sith hideout, he had been quoting this illustrious writer called William Shakespeare. Or so he claimed. She hadn't understood a word of it; except the insults, she understood the insults just fine.

Ahsoka walked over to the window and looked out and up at the darkening sky. The scattered streetlamps were already alight with an eerie yellow glow and the vagabonds were starting to settle into the cracks of the street to wait out the night.

There was no sign of the bounty hunters. She reached out with the Force and sought them out, but nothing came. Nothing but the ever-present call of the darkness and danger she had grown to know so well over the course of the war. Good. They were as safe as they could be for the moment.

But we can't just sit here. The council needs this intel. She looked over at Jason slumped on the couch, still covered with dust and blood. And over at Kay-tee's battered plating. Then she looked down at her skinned knees and torn and bloodied tunic. We're all a little worse for ware, but this is war. We have to press forward.

She felt for the data crystal and the holocron in her pocket; the one's they'd stollen from the Sith hideout before it blew up. They had risked their lives for this information. She couldn't let it go to waste. She should leave now and deliver it to the council and then come back for Kay-tee and Jason.

Except, he might not be here to come back too if I leave him now.

As she carried him from the explosion, she'd felt for his injuries in the Force. The slow internal bleeding she'd felt would kill him before she could get back from the temple in upper coruscant. Everything she'd learned from the Jedi code and everything she'd learned in war told her that the life of one bounty hunter was worth it. Worth it to get the information through as soon as possible before the Sith could make another move. That they would, he had no doubt.

But everything I've learned form Anakin says that I should do both. Anakin wouldn't make a choice. He'd save Jason and get the information to the temple.

"Stop brooding over there," called Jason. He sounded impetuous, but far too weak.

"I'm not brooding, I'm thinking," she retorted.

"'Bout what?" he asked.

"I've got to get this information through to the Jedi council, before the Sith can make another move. This intel could win the war for us, but…"

"But," he repeated.

"You'll slow me down; if you can even make the distance that is," she said quietly.

"I resent that," said Jason.

"Do you deny it?"

"No. But I resent it."

Ahsoka snorted. "You're crazy."

He gave her a tired but devilish smirk. "But in a good way, right?"

"Hardly." But she found herself returning his smile.

Screw it, I can't let him die. Ahsoka grabbed the first aid kit from under Jason's discarded duffle and settled herself on the couch by his thigh. She began to undo the buckles and zippers on his leather jerken and tugged his undershirt out of her way. Damn, and I though I had abs.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to get a better took at her.

Right, focus Ahsoka. "Just stay still. You've got some internal bleeding and some broken bones, but don't worry, I've got you."

"Since when are you a doctor?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm a veteran of in intergalactic war and a Jedi. I know a thing or two about medicine," she answered while probing his torso with her fingers.

Jason still looked skeptical. "You're not going to cut me open with a pocket-knife are you?"

"No! Why would I…no, that's disgusting!" she stammered. "I know some Jedi healing techniques that…"

"Woah, woah, woah! None of your Jedi mumbo-jumbo if you please," he said trying to retreat into the cushions.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes and leaned closer. "It's not mumbo-jumbo. Now hold still." She rested her fingertips lightly on his chest, closed her eyes, and focused her energy in the Force.

"I feel like my personal space has been invaded," Jason whispered jokingly into the silence.

Irritated at having her concentration broken, Ahsoka responded without opening her eyes. "Shut up."

"Fine," he hissed, "but I hope you realize how compromising this position is."

This time her eyes did open. Her headtails flushed a darker blue; a togrutan blush. "Do you want to keep walking around with a concussion, two broken ribs, and a bleeding liver? Because if so, then I can leave you to it. Happily."

"Okay, I'm sorry. Go ahead and do your thing." He scratched the back of his neck. "I'm just not used to being close to people. I mean…" he gestured to the physical space between them, "I tend to keep my distance. So…fuck, never mind. Let's just get this over with."

Ahsoka resisted the urge to probe his mind or to ask further questions, but Force augmented empathy was screaming at her. Jason, like Anakin, seemed to have a past he refused to confront. But sometimes I got through to Anakin. He was able to level out a little. Maybe Jason just needs someone too.

But these thoughts would not heal his broken body. Well, neither can I. I mean, technically I;m not a healer. I'm too much like Anakin; it's just not one of my talents. I wish Barriss were here. But that wasn't helpful. Ahsoka knew that if either Barriss or Anakin were there with her in that moment, they would tell her that she was more than capable. She must fall back on her training.

Focus. Ahsoka settled herself into a trance in the Force and let it's will guide her to his hurt. At first, it was illusive. But then she felt it—the tremble of his struggling body and the deep-rooted pain within—and with the Force she reached for it. She grabbed hold and felt an echo of his pain in her own body. She almost cried out but managed to keep herself in check.

She went deeper in and probed the Force to find the source of the internal wound bleeding into his belly. And finding it, she willed the Force to help her stitch it up. Pain shot through her patient at first. He flinched violently and sweat began to drip from his forehead.

"Hold on," Ahsoka told him dreamily, "let the Force flow through you. Calm your mind."

For once, Jason didn't answer her. He seemed to know what she needed him to do. In an odd way, the healing trance had made them one. He tried to open himself to her work and she appreciated his help.

After several hours in the trance—though in her mind it felt like mere minutes—Ahsoka slumped forward with exhaustion. But she had done it. He perfectly healed exactly, but he was out of danger and patched-up well enough to go on.

And go on they must. But first, she needed a little rest. The healing trance had drained her almost past anything she had ever known. Ahsoka let her head rest on Jason's warm solid chest; his gentle un-labored breathing lulling her into a peaceful rest.

"You look awful," said Jason presently.

She looked up at him. His roguish green-blue eyes stared down at her. He was tired but alert. She pushed herself off him regretful to leave the warmth and comfort she found there.

"A little thank you would be nice," she said hotly to bring them back to their usual manner of bickering.

"I tha…than…k…nope, sorry. The words seem to be stuck in my throat somewhere."

Ahsoka snorted. "Ingrate." She looked back toward the window and the blackened sky. Time had passed them by. But what difference could a few hours make? Surely Jason's life was worth that much.

"Ow! Tay-tee!" cried Jason, "leave me alone I'm wounded!"

Ahsoka turned back to see Jason attempting to swat way the little droid's waving arms as she tried to fuss over him. She let out an indecipherable string of beeps and warbles as she invaded Jason's slapping hands. Finally, the droid flew to the other side of the room and dodged a pillow Jason hurled at her only to return with a glass of water which she unceremoniously dumped on his face.

"Rude!" squealed Jason, ever the drama queen, "have at thee varlet!" He launched his discarded shirt at Kay-tee. It hung on the droid like a piece of laundry on the back of a chair. Kay-tee, still hovering beside the couch, looked like a strange angry ghost.

Ahsoka laughed at their antics. She had made the right choice.

There is still time to get this intel to Master Yoda and then this war can be over.

G.A.R. navy, in orbit over Utapau:

The main hanger onboard the republic flagship Endurance was a sight to behold. Fifty republic gunships were ready and waiting to take the clone army down to the surface and finish off General Grievous once and for all. The flight crew, deck hands, and mechanics were all scrambling to finish last minute repairs and such before Obi-Wan gave the signal to join him. The combat clones themselves were more or less focused. Some—the veterans—were making jokes trying to calm their nerves; while the rookies stood at attention or went over battle protocols in their heads.

This is insane. Dick Grayson hauled himself out from under the last gunship he'd been set to work on and scanned the hangar for nothing in particular. In the hours since Obi-Wan had went on ahead down to the plant's surface, a dark foreboding feeling had curled into his gut. He wasn't sure what it was, and he was too inexperienced in the subtleties of the Force to really figure it out, but he was quite sure something was brewing back on Coruscant.

Did I really need to out here? Obi-Wan and Anakin will have things more than covered. Maybe Tim was right. I shouldn't be here.

"Any more great Force visions before we go into the jaws of death?" Anakin was now standing over him in a pair of filthy coveralls; one hand on his hip and the other casually spinning a hydrospaner through his fingers. Judging by his face, he'd meant it as a joke. But only half a joke.

Dick answered with a frown. "No. Just a bad feeling." He mopped the sweat off his face with the oil-soaked sleeve of his coveralls—the top half of which had been tied around his waist—and heaved himself to his feet. He slammed the chasse shut over the auto-targeting computer in the gunships portside gun station and turned back to Anakin. "I can't really choose when the Force shows me things. It just happens. It's an accident…like me."

"Savage," Anakin snorted. "Seriously though, you look as worried as Master Obi-Wan always does whenever I get into the pilot's seat. Spill."

"Something's happened on Coruscant. Something's…changed. I can't tell what, but whatever it is, it's not good." Dick allowed himself a breath. But I can't let fear get the better of me. I'm the up-beat one. I'm the cheerleader. Get it together. Dick forced a smile. "But on the bright side, I know we're gonna kick Grievous's butt to kingdom come and back again."

"Well yeah," said Anakin with a smirk. He looked over at the clones manning the communication hub on the far end of the hangar. "Provided Obi-Wan actually gives us the green light to get down there." He scowled at the hub and crossed his arms over his chest. "I hate waiting."

"Patience you must have until the mud settles and the water becomes clear," said Dick intoning Yoda. He did a credible enough impression that even a few clones within hearing distance snorted a short laugh.

"Ha-ha, you're hilarious," said Anakin. "About this darkness on Coruscant though…I feel it too. Do you think Palpatine…I can't sense and distress…but do you think he's made his next move."

Dick sighed. "I want to say no, but I think he's figured something out already."

"Ok," said Anakin. And Dick could see him doing his best to put on a brave face befitting of the great Jedi general he had become. "Then we'll need to get this mission mopped up as fast as possible and head back."

"With three Jedi, Grievous will be spare parts before you can say 'Hulk Smash'," said Dick.

Anakin gave him a blank stare. Then after a moment said, "you say the strangest things sometimes."

Before Dick could defend himself, the deployment alarm sounded in throughout the hangar. A loud beeping accompanied by flashing red lights had clone troopers running for their designated gunships.

"That's our cue," said Anakin stripping off his mechanic's coveralls and heading for the command gunship at the from of the first deployment column, "this is where the fun begins."

"Race you dirtside," said Dick heading for his own gunship at the head of the second division.

"You'll regret that Grayson," Anakin shouted back as he stepped onto the boarding ramp.

Stepping onto the ramp of his own ship, Dick looked between the heads of the last clone troops still jogging into position and shot his fellow Jedi a cocky two-fingered salute. The doors to the troop hold clanged shut, the cabin pressurized, and the gunship was on its way down Utapau and General Grievous below.

We're going to finish this, and then I'm coming for you Palpatine.

A/N: Sorry this chapter lacks originality and a lot of the humor of some of the early ones. The story will start picking up soon.