The wait before battle: A big breath held in, pressure building in the chest. Wait, wait: On the other side of hyperspace waits the Separatists, waits the ancient planet of Ziost and their objective. Wait and soon shall you breathe out and let loose upon thy enemy.

But Ahsoka cannot just sit still and meditate like some Jedi can. Even more so in the company aboard the war fleet heading to Ziost, having since combined at their rendezvous locale and coalesced into a spearpoint strong enough to pierce the toughest of Confederate defenses. Master Kit Fisto, Anakin—they will not preach patience when the battle is joined. They are men of action, the best kind of warriors to be around when the quainter notions of the Jedi Code are thrown aside and it is naught but lasers, space, and will, the lines of life and death drawing so taut and so near that they almost touch. Already at breakfast here in hyperspace Anakin looked ready to wage war, his shoulders tensed, his voice harder, words scarcer. And if he is ready, then she is ready, too.

Still she feels the need to get up and let off some of the boundless anticipation roiling inside of her, even if that means little more than wandering about the hallways of Admiral Yularen's star destroyer, her humble home for the final twenty-four hours remaining until they emerge over wayward Ziost. And with Anakin convening with Yularen and Master Fisto in a last-minute war council, she turns to the next best person with whom she feels free to let loose the pressure of the wait.

She finds Rex in the first place she looks: The ship's armory. The veteran clone captain is down on one knee with his back turned as she enters, a rifle in one hand, an oiled cloth in another. Nearby, Fives leans against a rack of weapons, trading idle banter that comes to a quick halt when he sees Ahsoka. "Oh. Commander," he says, straightening up.

"Guns still shoot straight?" Ahsoka says with a smile. "Don't mind me if you're busy."

"Just inspecting the inventory. I'll leave you to it," Fives says with a smart salute, and before Ahsoka can tell him otherwise he slides through the door and is gone.

Rex looks up and shakes his head. "Don't mind him, Commander," he says, setting his rifle back in its slot on the rack. "Boys're a bit on edge. Headin' into the teeth of Separatist space, and going to a planet no one's ever heard of…gotta be ready for anything."

"It'll be fine. We've got Anakin and Master Fisto. And Admiral Yularen can clean up anything they leave behind. It's always been that way," says Ahsoka, sounding perkier than she feels. "It's routine."

"Someone's confident. I'll have what you're having."

Ahsoka tries to smile. Fails. Then she sighs. "Actually, about that," she says. "Before we left Coruscant, I found a few trace mentions of Ziost deep within places in the Jedi library that I'd never looked. Just snippets, here and there. I've been reading them during our downtime. It's…it doesn't sound great. The whole planet's steeped in the Dark Side. And this far in Separatist territory, we won't get reinforcements. We have to make this work. We have to."

Rex shrugs. "Routine, like you said. We do what we have to. Though I'll leave the Dark Side business to you. I can't speak for the Force; I'm just a clone."

Ahsoka gives him a look. "What's that mean? You're a soldier like everyone on this ship. The Force flows through everyone. All living things, at least."

"Yeah?" he says with a hint of a laugh. "Sounding a bit like General Kenobi there. Listen to his speeches enough and you get the idea we're all swinging lightsabers."

She chuckles. "If you want speeches, I'm all out. I'm pretty much always out. I leave that sort of thing to Anakin and Obi-Wan."

"Good. I'd rather have the small talk before a battle, anyway," says Rex. "Staying casual loosens everyone up."

She frowns. "I hope that's enough," she says, her stomach gurgling. "I'll be honest, I don't have a great feeling about this fight, Rex. We're walking blind into uncharted territory. It's not like I'm not ready for it—I am—but I just wonder what's waiting for us."

"Admiral Trench, if intel was right about his force breaking off the Kashyyyk invasion."

"Yeah, that's not great. And who knows what else. Our intel's sketchy when it comes to the Separatists' fleet movements this far into their space. And the Council wasn't even clear about what we're supposed to find on the ground. Some sort of Sith weapon. That was all I got."

"Well," says Rex, standing up and stretching, "whatever it is, let it come. We've gone through enough already that even if it is something new, it's still more of the same. We fight, we win. All I know is that everyone here's got your back, Commander. I got your back. No matter what."

Ahsoka's nerves settle when she meets Rex's gaze. He was wrong: It's he who is the real confident one, not her. It's his mind who is clear while she has to burn off all this nervous energy. Anakin might spur her into a fighting spirit, but it's Rex, truthfully, who can keep her cool in the midst of all the chaos, all this warring. She needs him just as much as she needs Anakin. More, maybe. Hard to think that back on Christophsis in those early days she thought she had been thrust into a messy situation, ending up Anakin's Padawan when he didn't even know who she was. Now she couldn't imagine ending up anywhere else. "Thanks, Rex," she says, her voice softening. Then she brightens up. "I'll hold you to that, by the way. I'm gonna count your missed shots."

He grins. "That's why I'm cleaning the guns now, Commander. You don't gotta worry, because I'm not missing."

"Last layover before our final hyperjump. The Haxion Brood's sent a comm back with their agreement, and they have a rep ready to negotiate with us. You ready, wizard?"

Sae breathes out, the air stale, hot. She stares into the black of space just beyond the transparisteel of this stolen Mirialan star yacht's cockpit as if the enemy waits right there, dangling in the void. And who is the enemy? Why, anyone. She will get Tamri back, and anyone in the way is the enemy. "What're their terms, Neelotas?"

"The Ord Radama base is a go for us. I don't know for certain if Rust stopped there—much less if he dumped Tamri there—but we should be good to deal with them. Or at least try to deal with them. I told them we're vendors from Crimson Dawn, on behalf of Dryden Vos. That's our cover story," says Neelotas. "Vos's the syndicate's boss. Nasty guy. Credentials should fly, and Dawn works semi-frequently with the Haxion Brood, so they should buy it."

"And?"

"Said we're looking for high-value prisoners and slaves with intel on Republic or Separatist military. For a minute I thought they were gonna shoot me down, but the goons on the other side said they have some people we might be interested in. Or, specifically, merchandise we might be interested in," says Neelotas, scowling. "Hate slavers. Worst scum of the galaxy, even among pirates."

"Don't lose your head. Come on. Are they going to sell us Tamri directly?"

He scoffs. "No way. Rust would've told them on delivery that she's a Jedi, given that he knows. They'll likely try to cut a deal directly with the Separatists for her. They'd never sell her to a measly criminal syndicate."

"So what do I do, then?"

He holds out his hands as if directing a scene. "Your persona is one Tissa Varee from Sleheyron, an intermediary between Dawn and the Besadii Hutt cartel. Sleheyron's a big slaver hub and it's controlled by the Besadii, so it should be good cover. Get whoever the Brood rep who contacts us is to show you their highly-priced captives. While you do that, I'll unload a cyberworm that backdoors their computer systems. I got good at slicing back in the day, and the Brood have shit cybersecurity. Seriously, it's garbage. On par with a municipal government. If Tamri's at the station, she'll have a record in their merchandise database, probably as 'Jedi' or something like that."

"And that's the best we've got?"

"That's the best we've got. Persuade them that you're an honest buyer who needs a look around at the captives in person, and we should have a route into the Brood base without firing a shot. If, you know, Tamri's actually there."

"And if she's not?"

He throws up his hands. "Hell if I know, wizard. If she's not here, she could be anywhere. Coruscant. Raxus. Another galaxy. This is what I got."

"It'll have to do," says Sae. "Is there a comms room on this ship?"

"Yeah, back behind the living quarters, near engineering. I'm already sending a line to the Brood. I'll have a channel open whenever you're ready."

After some navigating through the ship, Sae finds what she's looking for: A small, squirreled-away, circular abode centered around a holoprojector linked into the Holonet. The ship is empty save for her and Neelotas, but she shuts the door anyway. The privacy is welcome. Ever since they left she feels as if she is leaving so much behind—everything, even. As if a great burden fell off her shoulders on Mirial, a veil of dishonesty thrown aside and now it is only truth standing beside her, that dark, dirty, nasty truth. She does not have to play at abiding by the Jedi Code around pirates. She does not have to pretend to be anything other than a woman with a lightsaber, one capable of cutting through a station of barbarians if need be. If she can find Tamri—and that is a big if—then no one is going to stand in her way.

The holoprojector activates and a digital, blue field blurs to life before Sae. An Aqualish—a poorly dressed Aqualish, although that outfit is probably considered elegant for pirates, Sae thinks—materializes, bows his head, and says, "We are delighted to welcome the business of Crimson Dawn, Madam Varee. Your agent has already forwarded your personal file. How, exactly, can we help you?"

Personal file. Hmph. Neelotas really has done some work here. Well, his work is almost finished: Now it's time for Sae to perform some quality acting. "You know what I'm in the market for?" she says.

The Brood representative nods. "It is all in your forwarded file."

"Then let us not waste time," Sae murmurs. She knows little about Crimson Dawn—she has run across them once or twice in her Jedi career, little more than passing encounters—but she can make this work. "Crimson Dawn has ambitions, and to achieve those, we need information. I'm told you have in your possession certain individuals who might aid that pursuit. Is that correct?"

"It is, of course, correct, but not for free," says the representative. He cocks his head. "I would discuss payment, but I am skeptical, Madam. Your file claims you as a go-between representative of Dawn and the Besadii Hutt clan, and yet it is also claims you hail from Sleheyron. Our most recent intelligence paints a very different light of Sleheyron then your file would validate."

"Oh?"

"Oh yes. Specifically, the Anjiliac Hutt clan's recent seizing of the world from Besadii control. That would seem to complicate your own interests. Your file, after all, made no mention of just how you intend to pay for any of our offerings," says the slaver. "Perhaps you could expand on your interests in our merchandise?"

Sae does not have time for this. She does not care about what the Hutts are up to, and she most certainly does not care for the blatant maneuvering this Aqualish idiot is doing in order to wring money out of her. He doesn't care about Hutt politics. All he wants is credits. It is fortunate, then, that she still has an electronic wire to her allocated Jedi mission funding. "I'm not short on credits," she murmurs, "but if you're skeptical about my ability to pay, how about you patch me through to someone on your station who does want to conduct business? I don't need you after all. I just need someone. Do leave your name, though. I want whoever I do get through with to know the kind of pirate scum who will turn down a hundred thousand credits. I wonder what that's going to cost you. An arm? A leg? Both? Can Aqualish regenerate limbs, or will you be shit out of luck?"

The Aqualish pauses. He presses his fingertips together. Looks down, looks up. "Perhaps, instead of talking this over," he says, his voice taking an airy quality, "you can peruse our offerings at your leisure."

"Do it quickly, before I find somewhere more useful to spend Crimson Dawn's money," Sae says, sounding bored.

"Of course, of course, valued customer. Just a moment. We can submit to you a selection of qualified merchandise that might fit your file's criteria. Just a moment."

Well, that went smoothly enough. Sae grumbles as data passes through the hyperchannels, the business rep's hologram fading away. She can only hope now that Neelotas's plan works.

No sooner than she begins to grow wary, however, than Neelotas steps into the room. "They're muted and blinded. Won't know I'm here," he mutters, punching at the holoprojector's console. "The worm's through and picking at their database. Give it a minute to get through."

"What's that mean?"

"It means we're about to find out if Tamri's at their base or not. The list of captives they're going to offer you is coming up now—while I search for Tam, you go through that and put together a story that'll convince the Brood rep to let us show up for an in-person tour."

Sae shakes her head as a grid of names and personal details flashes above the holoprojector. Prisoners. Slaves. Nothing more than merchandise to the Aqualish rep. "Does every public-facing guy with the Brood sound like a shady used speeder salesman?" she grumbles.

"Nah, just unlucky this time. Our lucky, maybe. He sounds like a dick; probably on the outs with his boss. Press him and he'll fold. I used to know all kinds of spineless shits like that during my time with 'em."

"Fair enough," says Sae, browsing through the Brood's listings. Humans, Twi'lek, Wookiees, Bothans—all manner of people plucked from around the galaxy, most with less-than-reputable ties to either the Republic or Separatists. Little she can go with—until, waving her hand and moving down the list of slaves, Sae spots a name she has long since forgotten. "No way," she breathes.

"What?"

"That intel agent from Belderone," she says. "Rossano Rastic. Tam and I were supposed to meet up with him before heading out to Ossus. Nabbed by bounty hunters, right?" She points to the hologram. "He look like this? Unshaven and kinda wormy?"

Neelotas looks up. "Shit," he breathes. "Small galaxy. He did look just like that. Paid Rust and I off for our services. Little less of a shaggy beard when I saw him on Belderone, but otherwise, yeah."

"I can work with that," says Sae. "I've played along with intel operatives before. I know their deal."

"That's not a risk? The rep might sniff you out if you sound like you know too much."

"I know how to be careful, Neelotas. And we can take care of two missing people in one go this way. Republic intel can get their guy back."

He scoffs. "Lovely."

"Put that Aqualish guy back up, I'll—"

She stops mid-sentence as Neelotas grabs her arm. "Hey."

"What?"

"Here, look."

Sae looks. It's a data line, a single row of words amid line after line of useless information. But this data is anything but useless: It's a delivery detail from a single day ago with additional information attached.

EX-ENFORCER DELIVERY. LENDON RUST. INDEPENDENT. LIVE PRODUCT. HUMAN FEMALE YOUTH. FORCE-ATTUNED. CREDITS ON DELIVERY.

"That's it," Sae says quietly. She feels as if she is floating: Can it be that simple? Is Tamri, plucked from her fingers, that close? "You were right."

"Hey. Don't let it distract you," says Neelotas. Can't let them know what we see."

"So that's it, then? Tamri's there?"

He glances at her. "Unless Rust captured some other Jedi…"

"Then we're going. Fast as we can. I'll tear that station apart."

"No, knock it off," Neelotas says abruptly. "You break cover, they know we're bullshitting them."

"I don't care what those pirates think."

"You'd better care. Their station has turbolasers. They have fighters. The moment they think we're not legitimate, they blow us out of the sky. Until you set eyes on your girl, you have to keep your cool and keep up the act," says Neelotas, jabbing Sae in the chest with his finger. "Got it? Otherwise you and I are both dead and Tamri gets sold to who-knows-where. We won't be around to find out, that's for sure."

Sae closes her eyes. The raging inside of her urges her on, on. Go rip every last pirate apart. Save her. Get her back. But Neelotas is right: This, more than any other time the Jedi have preached patience, requires caution. They are just two people on one unarmed ship. They stand no chance against a pirate base. Only deception will get them through. She cannot fight her way to Tamri. Not this time. "All right, fine," she says. "I'll negotiate a deal for this Rastic guy. Tamri had better be there."

"We won't know until we're inside," says Neelotas. "But I don't see any other alternative. This or we just give up and leave her to her fate."

"Screw that."

"Hey, I'm not arguing. Just telling you the stakes."

Sae breathes in. Breathes out. "Then the stakes are clear. We do this or she's gone. I'll wrap things up with the Brood rep. Lock in our course, Neelotas."

"Got it," he says. "We'll get it done, wizard."

"Emergence from hyperspace successful. Fifteen minutes until final jump to Mandalore."

Count Dooku rises from his meditation at the alert sounded by his pilot droid. It is just him and the emptiness of his solar sailor here deep in space, separated from anything alive, anything friendly. But there is surety in the loneliness: In truth, he is not alone. He has learned such things. Seen such sights. All because one Jedi Knight, Sae Tristess, led him to a wonderful discovery.

Ziost. That…thing…steeped in the Dark Side. Oh, this war has changed. Everything has changed. And it will all begin on Mandalore.

He has foreseen it.

"Set up an encoded transmission line to General Grievous and Admiral Trench," Dooku says to the droid. "Patch it to my private room."

"Affirmative, my lord."

Already he has programmed the droid to call him by his true title: Lord. Perhaps his master—Sidious—would claim that right now, but a reckoning is at hand. Dooku will see just how long this current pecking order of the Sith shall last.

In his private chambers, the holoprojector blurs to life with the digitized forms of Admiral Trench and General Grievous, both waiting in orbit over Ziost. "Count Dooku," says Grievous, bowing. "Everything is in place, as you have commanded."

"Yes," murmurs Trench, rubbing his cyborg mandible, "but the Republic has yet to show. My forces are ready, Count. I cannot say the same for the General's."

"Be thankful you do not report to me, bug, or I would—"

"Silence," orders Dooku, and the two commanders fall quiet. "You two have your orders. Our spies embedded within Republic intelligence have also reported interesting details. Jedi Master Kit Fisto, along with Anakin Skywalker, are converging on your position."

Grievous cackles. "Skywalker. I am looking forward to this. We have to finish our fight from Thyferra."

"General, you have done good work so far, but remember yourself," chides Dooku. "You have delivered me Taron Malicos, but do not think you are finished. There are many Jedi still in this war, and now they are far, far more valuable to me alive than dead."

Trench looks perturbed. "Alive? The Jedi? Might I ask your reasoning behind this change, Count?"

"Another time you might, but for now, focus on the fight ahead, and that alone," instructs Dooku. "Trench, you must hold the Republic invaders. Hold them at all cost. There is now no more important world in the Separatist Alliance than Ziost, nothing we must defend so zealously. It is the lynchpin of our coming victory. You cannot fail."

"We will not fail," Grievous snarls. "We will destroy them. And the Jedi will not so much as slow us down."

Trench bows. "I am in agreement. We will triumph, even if it costs us our lives, Count."

"Good. That is all I expect. I will speak to you when it is over," Dooku says.

He deactivates the holoprojector and the images of Trench and Grievous slide into the polished metal. But as much as he has seen, as confident as he is in his visions, he still seeks assurance. "Pilot," he calls to his pilot droid, "set up a private line to General Kalani."

Just like with the other commanders, the holographic form of General Kalani jumps to life within the cramped confines of the solar sailor. "Count Dooku," the super tactical droid says, snapping to attention with a salute far smarter than any adherence to loyalty that Grievous or Trench could muster. There is a reason that Dooku has chosen him for this leg of the plan. "All forces are ready just outside of Mandalorian space and are prepared for the jump to hyperspace on your command."

"Kalani, mark your fleet to arrive in-system in orbit above Mandalore at zero-nine-forty-five local time," says Dooku after punching numbers into the solar sailor's astrolocator. "Ten minutes after I will arrive. As soon as you can, deploy fighters for the surface. Destroy any and all opposition forces—Mandalorian or otherwise—that will stand in your way. Offer no quarter. Offer no hail. Now is not the time for mercy, Kalani. I am counting on you utterly. There is no room for failure, nor for mistakes."

Kalani pounds his metal chest with his fist. "Your word is my will, Count. There will be no mistakes. There will be no failure."

"I know, Kalani," says Dooku gravely. "I am relying on you. This is our hour. This is for everything. See it through."

He cuts the channel before Kalani can reply. Then he slumps down into the chair beside his bed, the weight of the moment falling upon even a Sith Lord. The fate of the Separatist Alliance, the fate of the Sith Order—it all is coming together, everything falling upon the outcome of these two battles, these two worlds. Mandalore. Ziost. It is as he said: He cannot fail. He has lived his whole life for this moment, the chance to break free from dogma, from control, from the wills of those who cannot see the importance of a time like this. Is he ready?

He must be ready.

Anakin's heart thumps. Focus, focus. It is time to fight.

Hyperspace blurs away and the frozen globe of a planet—Ziost—rushes to meet him as Admiral Yularen's flagship and the rest of the combined assault fleet emerge. It looks so humble for an ancient Sith world of such power: Ziost, white and brown, lonely, forlorn. Like the fading dream of something that was once great, but now only echoes, pieces, remain, half-forgotten, so little retained. This is what they must fight so dearly for? This is the end of the road that started with Ternon Tath's dead body on Empress Teta?

Beside him, Master Kit Fisto nods. "Right on schedule," he says. Then he turns to Yularen. "Admiral. How's the fleet looking?"

"All ships reporting in," says Yularen, reviewing the fleet details on the bridge's holoprojector. "Formation's in accordance with our battle plans. Captain Dodonna's vanguard is already moving out. Everything is in order, General Fisto."

"Nice to start with some good news for once," Anakin murmurs. He taps into the commlink to the star destroyer's hanger bay. "Ahsoka? Rex? Come in."

"Here. Got you," Ahsoka chirps.

"Status?"

"Fighters are ready for you to pop the doors open, Master. We got this. Same as always."

Hopefully. "Rex?"

"Gunships standing by," Rex reports in. "Where do you need us, General Skywalker?"

"Nowhere yet. Stand ready. If things get hairy, we can use the gunships to try an assault boarding of their command ships. Hopefully not, but just in case," says Anakin. "Just be ready."

"Will do. Rex out."

Fisto chuckles. "Not going out there with them, Skywalker? Gossip in the Temple says you're the best pilot in the Order. You or Master Tiin. Can't have a tie, can we?"

Anakin grins. Kit Fisto is the kind of Jedi Master he can get along with just fine. Not a lecturer; no air of superiority or faux-wisdom, just a fellow warrior out there in the battlespace. That's the sort of leader he has no problem getting behind. "Don't tempt me, Master," he says. "Once the lasers start flying, I might be off."

"Well, don't let me stop you. We'll have things under control up here. Me and Admiral Yularen, at least."

"One of us has to," Yularen mutters as he examines the holoprojection. "Although this battle's looking rather one-sided. Separatist ships on scanner above the planet, but not many. We outnumber them three-to-one, and of their number, only half are larger than corvettes."

Fisto presses his fingers to his chin. "You never know what they have planned," says the Nautolan Jedi Master. "Wasn't a ground-based cannon part of your strategy at Thyferra, Skywalker?"

"Admiral Tarkin's strategy, but yes," says Anakin. "Good point. Admiral, if we have numbers, let's pin them between us and the planet. No point taking stupid risks."

Yularen raises his eyebrows. "You're urging caution now, Skywalker? My, how times have changed."

"Hey, just thinking out loud."

"Thinking, at least. It's a start," says Yularen. "And it's a good thought, too. I'll give the order."

Fisto scowls. "If that is Admiral Trench out there, he will be ready for anything," he says. "We need the fighters out there."

"How long until we're in range?" says Anakin.

Yularen frowns. "Still a minute out from accurate fire. I'll ready the launch bays."

"Ahsoka, fire up the engines," Anakin orders.

"Got it. You joining us, Master?"

"Maybe. Save a few for me, just in case."

"Can't promise that. Better hurry if you want in."

Fisto smiles. "You two do well together, Skywalker," he says. "Master Plo Koon has told me Ahsoka—"

He doesn't have the chance to finish before the holoprojector lights up and blares its emergency warning klaxon. "Ships emerging from hyperspace," says Yularen, the color flushing from his face. "Behind us."

"Stragglers of ours?" Anakin ventures.

Yularen shakes his head. "Separatist ships. Destroyers, cruisers, everything capital-class. Dozens. They're dropping right into any possible exit route to jump out of here," he says. He looks up, ghost-like. "It's a trap."

"They knew we were coming," Fisto exhales. "They were waiting for us."

A hail comes through on the Republic channel. "This is Captain Jan Dodonna of the vanguard. We have a large hostile fleet coming out of hyperspace, and the garrison squadron over Ziost has moved to engagement range. Permission to engage, command?"

"Permission denied. Regroup with the rest of the flotilla. We have to redirect our attack," Yularen commands. "It's imperative that we…that…"

His voice drifts off as an all-channels hail blinks on the comm. "It's coming from the Separatists," says Fisto.

Anakin glowers. "Pull it up."

He knew who it would be. He knew who would be waiting for him. And when he sees that monster come to life above the holoprojector, Anakin's heart pounds like the beating of a drum. Drums, drums for war, drums for life and death and a struggle that will only be decided with one champion slaying another.

Grievous.

"Republic scum," the hologram snarls, Grievous in caped splendor, jabbing one cyborg arm. "I knew you would come. I knew you would bring your fleet. And I am ready. I offer you no quarter; extend no mercy. Every last one of you will die. Jedi—Kit Fisto—I know you are here." Then he turns just enough so that Anakin feels as if Grievous is staring him dead in the eye, "And Anakin Skywalker. I know you, too, are here. We did not finish on Thyferra. I am ready for you. And this time, I will not hold back. You will look as every last one of your clones, every last one of your men, dies before you here in space. There is no turning back now. Prepare."

Yularen's face is ashen. "They have numbers. More than two-to-one," he says.

"We cannot abandon our mission," urges Fisto. "Captain Dodonna's vanguard can punch through their garrison fleet."

"No," says Anakin, his voice heated, his words seething. "Grievous will tear us apart. He wants us to push for whatever's on the ground. He wants us to focus on the mission. He'll smash us like a hammer with the planet as an anvil."

Kit Fisto takes a step towards him. "Skywalker. Careful. I can feel your uncertainty."

"It is not uncertainty," Anakin breathes. "Grievous has gone on long enough." He punches the comms to the hanger bay. "Ahsoka, get your fighters up. Rex, prep your gunships. I'm going out there."

"You're certain, General?" says Yularen.

"Never been more certain of anything," says Anakin. "Grievous has us pinned, and he has numbers. Our only way out is cutting off the head of the snake. I'm going to do just that. Buy me time. Get me a route to Grievous's flagship. I'm ending him. Here. Now."

He expects Fisto to disagree, to challenge him, to shoot him down. But the Nautolan only nods. "May the Force be with you, Skywalker."

"And you," says Anakin. He looks to Yularen. "Both of you. All of you. It's a fight for our lives, now."