Thank you for the kind review, AJ!
Lasers like sunbeams in the night. Ships bursting with fires like dying stars. And through it all rushes Anakin, pushing his starfighter to its limits, dodging death by ill-placed flak fire by meters, looking on as fellow pilots fall to foes he only just evaded. That is battle: Carnage, chaos. Life by a stroke, death by inches. And in the midst of it all a warrior can only save himself, fight the enemy before him, and put his faith in the man on one shoulder and the man on the other, brothers, sisters, charging one inch, one foe at a time towards triumph or tragedy.
The Council says that everything is on the line in this battle. But for the warrior, everything is on the line in every battle. This is just one more, one more fight, one more weary step in the path of a years-long war. And still Anakin fights on.
His own Blue Squadron seems lost; he can get none of his squad's pilots on the comm. Around five minutes ago he spotted Ahsoka's fighter-bomber group diving at a cruiser, but five minutes and an eternity are little different in the heat of battle. A star destroyer explodes off his starboard wing, borne down on by a trio of Separatist frigates. Whether anyone he knows was on there or not is anyone's guess.
And behind it all watches Ziost, lifeless yet teeming with mystery, pristine and oddly beautiful in its white and grey glow, yet Anakin knows it overflows with the Dark Side. Keep fighting. Keep fighting.
He yanks his throttle hard as he lances a hyena droid bomber, spinning through the flames and losing a pursuing starfighter in the wreckage. "R2," he says through gritted teeth as he evades, "get Rex on the comm. Get someone on the comm!"
The astromech droid howls as laser fire from converging vulture droids just clips over the wing. Anakin veers hard to port, dipping below the wing of a Separatist frigate before pulling up. One of the fighters overshoots and is picked off by a passing ARC-170 starfighter that just as quickly falls victim to the frigate's point-defense cannons. Life and death. A stroke. An inch.
"General! General Skywalker," Rex's voice crackles over the comm. "We've fallen back towards Admiral Yularen's flagship. The Admiral's giving us cover; his ship's locked in a knife fight with Grievous's battlecruiser."
"Stay on him. I'm coming, fast as I can," says Anakin. He is about to switch off the channel when he thinks better of it and adds, "Can you raise Ahsoka? I can't get through to her."
"Wilco. One minute General."
One minute. A lifetime. Anakin throws his ship into a spin, curling over the engine strut of a Recusant-class destroyer to dodge fire from a pair of Separatist picket ships. Enemy and friend are side-by-side, errant laser fire striking home and hitting allies in equal measure. There is precious little time to think. Reactions, training, instinct; the Force. Trust your feelings and push on.
Again the comm crackles to life, this time with Ahsoka's voice. A hint of stress dulls her usual battle exuberance: "Master! Where are you?"
"Kinda got problems of my own," says Anakin, blasting past the engine coils of the engaging picket ships. "Lock in on Rex's position and get to him, Ahsoka."
"Rex? I don't know where he is, either. I'm stuck in the middle of a bunch of frigates firing point-black."
"Pick up Yularen's signal and beeline it. He's broadsiding Grievous as we speak. I don't know the status of the battle, but I do know that if we can take Grievous out, we can end this whole thing early," Anakin says. "Now get moving."
"Fine, fine. Are you coming?"
"Yeah, just when I manage to stay alive. Don't worry about me."
"That's reassuring."
He can imagine her sarcastic expression with that last quip. Never change, Snips. Well, not too much, at least.
Blowing over the crumbling hull of a star destroyer, Anakin spots Yularen's flagship less than a kilometer off the starboard battery of a Providence-class Separatist battlecruiser, the two ships slugging it out as shields flicker and flare, sapphires and rubies glistening amid the black. Anakin clenches his jaw. The Invisible Hand. Old enemy. He'll make sure this is its final voyage.
A quartet of V-Wings veer in off his rear and form up, the comm once more cutting in: "Blue Three here, sir. Got you on visual. I've got the last of the squadron with me."
"Form up on my tail," Anakin orders as he spots Ahsoka's flight diving in ahead of a convoy of gunships bearing down on the Invisible Hand. "Full throttle, boys. We're going in."
He guns his thrusters to maximum and holds on. R2 trills as the fighter rushes Grievous's ship just as Yularen's star destroyer pounds the vessel with a flurry of proton torpedoes. The shields protecting the battlecruiser's main hanger flickers and struggles, clinging to life as the boarding party rushes forth. "All guns, fire on that shield!" Anakin shouts. As he jams down on his own trigger, he looks over to R2 and says, "Hold on, buddy. Might get rocky."
The droid whines. The interceptor shakes as its cannons pound away at the shield. Closer, closer. Still the deflectors hang on. When Rex's lead gunship is barely a hundred meters from the hanger, at last the deflectors die. Explosive decompression tears through the hanger bay as a pair of wild torpedoes from Yularen's ship slip in as well, plowing into a droid starfighter about to exit and filling the bay with flame. The first gunship to make it through rakes the hanger with laser fire.
Then Anakin is through. He looks back just in time to see Ahsoka peel in with another gunship as the mechanical emergency shutters slam shut. Three gunships. Two Jedi. It will have to be enough.
By the time he lands the lead gunship has pulverized all traces of resistance within the hanger bay, shredding multiple MTTs and assault tanks as well as every remaining droid starfighter left intact. "Rex," Anakin calls out as he steps out of his fighter. "Rex, your guys good to go?"
"All set, General. Boys're sharp and ready for a fight," says the veteran clone, his twin blaster pistols in hand. "Orders?"
"Split 'em into three teams. One to hold the hanger. One to head to main power. Find a way to get hanger shields back up—we need an exfil route once we're done," says Anakin. He turns to R2, points to his droid, and says, "R2, once hanger shields are back up, get out of here and back into space. I'll get out with the gunships."
The droid whines and protests. "Don't worry buddy, I'm not dying here. We'll meet back up on the command ship when it's all over," Anakin says.
"That's two teams. How about the third?" asks Rex.
"You're leading the third. You're with me. We're marching on the bridge. Ahsoka," Anakin calls out as his Padawan steps out of her fighter. "Ahsoka, come on. We're getting Grievous."
"It's a big ship. Where're we searching for him first?" she asks.
Anakin snorts. "He's always on the bridge in these sorts of battles. May as well start with what usually works."
"Works for me."
Rex primes his pistols. "We're with you, General," he says as after he barks out orders to his troops.
The battlecruiser shudders under fire from Yularen's star destroyer, but it takes little more than a minute before the shaking stops. A pit grows in Anakin's stomach: He hopes, at least, that it is because the admiral knows the plan and has moved on to more threatening targets. But in a battle like this—especially one where Anakin is blind to anything occurring outside of the sickly-green lightning of the Invisible Hand's hallways—anything can happen. "Stay tight on me," Anakin murmurs to his team. "Grievous will have sights on us. He's probably throwing battle droids our way."
Not quite. They make it down another hallway unmolested before the hall lightning abruptly cuts out and bathes them in darkness. Anakin ignites his lightsaber. Blue fire throwing back the black, the hall an eerie twilight. Then before them a hologram shimmers to life: General Grievous.
His hologram strides forward, arms clasped behind him, cloak billowing in regal form. "I knew you would come for me," he taunts, lowering his head as if to inspect Anakin. "We have unfinished business, Skywalker. I am waiting for you here on the bridge."
"Don't worry, sleemo. We won't be long," Ahsoka says, lighting her blades.
"I'm not speaking to you, child," Grievous snaps. "Skywalker. I will fight you alone. Bring those clones and that Togruta pet of yours and I will vent the air out of your hallway. See how well you fare choking on vacuum."
"You're not getting away," Anakin snarls. "You want just me? Fine. I'll come. I'll cut your damn head off, for Luminara and every Jedi you've killed."
Grievous laughs. "I am looking forward to it. Do not keep me waiting, Skywalker."
Just as soon as he speaks, he is gone, the hallway lightning flickering back on, the hallway just as empty as before. "Git," Ahsoka mutters.
"Don't let him fire you up," Anakin murmurs. "But I don't doubt his threat."
"What? Master, you can't go alone," Ahsoka protests.
"I can, and I intend to. He's right, Ahsoka: He could flush us all out of here if he wants," says Anakin. "Grievous is a coward. I know he wants a fight: He can't resist it. Just like on Thyferra. But if he sees the odds are stacked in our favor, he'll jump ship as quickly as he can. I'll play by his rules."
"He's setting a trap, you—"
"I know he's setting a trap. Master Kenobi always says to spring the trap, so here I am, following right along," says Anakin. He turns to his Rex. "Take your troops down to the engine bay. Set explosives; blow the engine power core. If something bad happens to us on board, at least Grievous won't be going anywhere. Yularen can pick this ship out of the sky and Master Fisto can clean up planetside. Ahsoka, go with him."
Her eyes widen. "But—"
"I can handle Grievous, Ahsoka. Trust me. It's gonna work out fine. I don't intend to let Master Fisto do all the hard work down on Ziost, after all. We gotta do our fair share."
She scowls, but it's a good-natured sort of disapproval. Same as always. The little bonds are everything Anakin needs in the heat of a fight this tense. "I'll hold you to that, Master. Don't go dying on me."
"Hey, same to you. I need someone to clean up my messes," Anakin says. "Rex—keep her safe."
He nods. "You can count on me, General."
"I know. Meet back in the hanger when all's said and done, people. Move out."
As he watches Rex and Ahsoka turn and head the opposite way with the other clones, however, a pang hits Anakin's heart. Something feels wrong—desperately wrong. Was that the wrong order? Should he have ignored Grievous, stuck together as a team to take on the bridge despite the cyborg's threat? He knows he cannot afford to question his own decisions in battle—he has never been that type, anyway—but this time doubt digs at him. Why?
He shakes it off. No, no. Trust your feelings. Keep on moving forward.
One hallway, then the next. By now he knows Grievous is baiting him: Anakin has yet to run across a single battle droid standing in his way. He knows these Separatist command ships well enough, knows the fastest way through their snaking corridors to the bridge, but it all feels alien, eerie. He should've met something by now. Grievous can't have pulled every last trooper on the Invisible Hand to the bridge, especially not during a battle. So where are they?
So close now. Three halls, two. One. Then he throws open the doors to the bridge—unlocked—and finds an empty chamber. No piloting droids. No Grievous. The Invisible Hand is adrift, even as the battle rages on just outside of the transparisteel viewport, fighters and capital ships fighting for their lives as only questions lurk within these quiet steel halls.
But the mystery does not last long. Anakin's wrist comm blares. "Report. What's going on?" he says.
"General! It's Rex—there's tons of them down here, sir, battle droids all over the place, we're pinned down."
Before he can answer, the lights dim and the central holoprojector whirs to life. Once more the holographic visage of Grievous rises before Anakin, and once more the Separatist commander laughs with all the confidence of a man whose plan is going exactly as strategized. "Too late, Skywalker," he cackles. "Now stand by in futility as I kill them, every last one of them. You are welcome to my ship. You and their bodies."
Just like before, he is gone so quickly. And that pain in Anakin's heart blooms into a blade digging into the muscle and tissue, the wound dividing his feelings, his instincts, the Force burning and raging: Ahsoka. Rex. Grievous has pulled Anakin away from them and now the cyborg will go straight for them.
He cannot let them die.
Anakin ignites his lightsaber and dashes away from the bridge with every ounce of energy he has left.
"All systems go. They're guiding us in with their tractor beam."
Sae's breaths come short, heavy, and hot. She leans over the piloting console in the Mirialan yacht's cockpit as if expecting the Haxion Brood base—little more than a hollowed-out asteroid with a number of metal sensor poles and turbolaser blisters sticking out from the rock—to open fire at any moment. "Keep us level," she says to Neelotas. "We can't let them think anything's amiss."
"Speak for yourself. Lighten up. You're gonna give yourself away," mutters Neelotas as he glances to her. "Just be casual."
Shaking her head, Sae closes her eyes and tries to focus. Tamri. You know—you think—she's aboard. Rust visited this place. You can get her back. This isn't the end. "How am I supposed to find Tam?"
"You made a deal for Rastic. The Brood rep you meet with should introduce you to him personally. Confirm the deal, make sure the credits pass, and then make sure he knows you want to keep browsing through the merchandise for more. He'll be happy at the chance at more credits," Neelotas says. "Then just lose him. Up to you from there."
"Great. So search a whole base."
"Hey, find a console or something. Try to figure out where high-security cells are located."
"Something. Sure. I'll manage," says Sae. "What do I do with Rastic?"
"Send the intel guy to me. If you're actually serious about getting him back to Republic space, we can just take him with us. Although he was an idiot, so I'd ask that we get him off as soon as possible once you have the girl and we get out of here," says Neelotas. He looks away as an alert light on his console blinks. "Final approach. You got everything?"
"Got it."
"Great. Don't fret, wizard. You'll get the girl back. I'm sure not in the mood to let Rust get the better of us."
Sae pulls her cloak's hood up. She tucks her lightsaber in the folds of the fabric, away from where prying eyes might dart. Don't let them see. Don't let them know. Camouflage, surprise—it is stealth that will win her the day here, not an outright fight. Even though she wants to tear this whole blasted pirate base apart with her bare hands, she has to keep her wits about her—for now.
But the stars and worlds and everything in between help these bastards if Tamri isn't here.
The yacht settles down in the hanger bay; its ramp lowers. Waiting for Sae is the same Aqualish rep from her negotiation, along with a pair of practically-clothed and armored bodyguards, each toting a heavy blaster rifle. The greeting is clear: This is business, nothing more. Anything funny and the shooting starts. "Madam Varee. A welcome, to the interests of Crimson Dawn," says the Aqualish in perfect Basic, bowing his head.
Crimson Dawn. Varee. Yes. Her cover. "I greet you on behalf of the noble Dryden Vos," Sae says, the lie swimming smoothly past her lips. "Our agreed-upon man. Do you have him?"
"Rossano Rastic, of course, of course. We are just bringing him up from his cell," says the Aqualish. "Perhaps you would be interested in—"
"I said I am in business and laden with credits. You know what I'm interested in. If you have anything to aid me in that pursuit, then show me," interrupts Sae. "If I like it, perhaps you'll walk away with even more money when the day's over."
The Aqualish's eyes light up. Greed. It's all this sort of scum answers to. "Most certainly," he says, bowing even lower. "Come then, come. The prisoner block has many fine candidates you might be greatly interested in."
"Rastic first," says Sae as they walk out of the hanger bay and into the sedimentary halls of the cobbled-together base. Everything here is cut-rate, the cheapest construction possible. Sparking wires dangle from the walls. Half of the lights are out; the others flicker like lungs wheezing to breathe one last breath. The air reeks, the stink suggesting a busted gas line somewhere in the walls. A one-armed protocol droid covered in soot shambles by, stopping when it sees Sae and freezing in place. No words. Just another broken thing in a rock full of them. "I want to ensure what I'm buying is intact."
"I assure you, the man is healthy and well-cared for," says the Aqualish. "We have had him for some time; we purchased him off of a Black Sun dealer, you see. Apparently he had been passed around several times between groups before we intervened. I am glad a buyer will finally be making use of his talents. Rossano Rastic, I assure you, is blessed with insight into the Republic intelligence network. If I might ask why Crimson Dawn is interested—"
"You may not," snaps Sae curtly. Blessed with insight—sure. He probably knows the code to check off of his desk on Coruscant to use the office restroom. Idiot broke and was half the reason Falco's whole clone team died on Belderone. If Sae has the time later, she will happily grill him over that. "Crimson Dawn's interests are its alone."
The Aqualish nods a little too eagerly. "Of course, of course. Business. Professionalism. I agree. Best to be formal."
Sae feels as if the man is encased in an aura of slime, and it's getting on her. Ick. The sooner she finds Tamri, the better.
As they pass small cells lining the hall on either side and barred by energy gates, the Aqualish points on shackled prisoners huddled inside them. "These are some of our lower-value prisoners. Likely set for Hutt mineral sites and the like. Probably no interests to the likes of Dryden Vos," he says. "Just up ahead, we are. We have Rastic for you now."
In a circular, high-ceilinged room ahead does Sae finally—too many planets later—meet the man she was supposed to find on Belderone. Time and captivity have not been kind to Rossano Rastic: He is a gaunt, bony man in a torn prisoner's tunic, his hands restrained with binders, a shaggy beard covering his lower face, patchy hair sprouting from a balding crown. He mumbles and murmurs incoherently as Sae approaches, only roused to half-coherence by the butt of one of his guards' rifles. "This? Really?" says Sae.
"I assure you, he's far more capable than he looks. You know these intelligence types: They are all mental, nothing physical," says the Aqualish. "You will see momentarily. Guards, wake him up."
One of the guards kicks Rastic in the gut. The man keels over, coughing and sputtering. "Rossano? Your time with us is up," the Aqualish says. "Madam Varee, if you have any way you want to test the man, or prove that he is worthy, feel free."
Sae scowls and circles around him. Pathetic little thing. And this is what the Republic sends out to further their aims? No wonder they're losing the war. "Hey," she says as Rastic groans. "You know a clone commando named Falco?"
"Wh-wha?" Rastic mumbles.
"Listen hard, idiot, because I'm short on patience. Falco. Belderone. Ring a bell?"
Rastic nods weakly. "It's—I—yeah, yeah, I was on Belderone with some clones, we were—"
It's just as she thought. He's a spineless coward, quick to sell out his side when the right motivation comes in. She backhands him so hard that he falls to the floor, spitting and coughing. "Dick."
"I—are you sure—" the Aqualish rep stammers.
"I'll take him. Deal," says Sae. "Have him sent to my ship. My associate will handle him from there. He'll finish the credit transaction."
The Aqualish blinks and looks between her and Rastic, as if not quite believing Sae's interest in the man. But credits are credits, and as Sae taps her foot and the guards grab Rastic by the armpits and haul him away, the Aqualish shrugs and says, "You, ah, mentioned wishing to see others—"
"Yes. Show me around. High-value prisoners only. Intel on Separatist or Republic efforts. That's it," says Sae. She does not care who else might be aboard, but for all she knows, this pirate scum will inadvertently bring her straight to Tamri. If nothing else, she can buy time to figure something else out.
"Of course, of course. Right this way, follow me."
They have not gotten far down another cell-lined hallway before the station intercom blares to life: "All negotiating hands, on standby in hanger three for Separatist party, now arriving."
Sae blanches. Separatists. She remembers Neelotas's words: For Tamri, the Brood will deal with the Separatists directly. Keep your cool, she tells herself. Stay calm. Stay in-character. Don't let them suspect a thing until you have her hand in yours. "Is this a bad time?"
"Ah, no, no," the rep says hurriedly. "We have a high-value prisoner that the Separatist Alliance seeks to purchase. A very high-value prisoner. For them only, I am sorry; I cannot sell her to you."
"Her?"
"Ah—nothing, do not let it concern you. Again, they have exclusive rights to purchasing the captive. Do not worry—it will not compromise anything else. Our whole selection of merchandise remains for your perusal. Feel free to take your time."
She knows she does not have time if the Separatists are landing here to get their hands on Tamri. For a Jedi they will send a whole team—negotiators, the intercom says, but she doubts it. Assassin droids, maybe. Count Dooku himself, if she's really unlucky. She wished to carve this base up, but they might very well do it for her. With every minute that passes the likelier it becomes that this all ends in a big fight.
Still she follows the rep onward through the base, playing the part of a bored but interested buyer as they move deeper into the station. She hears it now—the hum of the main reactor, thrumming from deep within the rock. Thick power lines run along the walls between prisoner cells. "That sound," she says. "Cells use a lot of power?"
The Aqualish looks up, seemingly surprised at Sae's sudden willingness to engage in small talk. "Yes, yes, in fact—the main reactor's two hallways down to the left from here, see. Full hypermatter reaction plant to keep everything stable. Oxygen on an asteroid can be a tricky business."
"Yeah, I get that," says Sae, glancing down the hallway to her left. "Right down there, two halls, yes?"
"Um. That's correct," says the Aqualish. "If I might ask, why are you interested in—"
Sae doesn't let him finish. She grabs him with the Force and in one smooth motion draws her lightsaber and beheads the rep. "Call it a hobby of mine," she says as she lets his decapitated body drop.
After looking around to ensure she is alone, she taps her wrist commlink to Neelotas. "You there?"
"Wizard? What's goin' on?" Neelotas replies. "Most of my systems are down, but I just picked up a Separatist battleship in-system. Launched a transport that docked in another hanger. Watch your ass."
"I know about it. Did you get Rastic?"
"Yeah, he's aboard. Looks like shit. You have the girl?"
"No," says Sae. "Not yet. I'm about the hit their main power generator and make a mess. Is there any way you can tap into their systems and get me a plan of the base?"
"Already did," says Neeltoas. "Planning ahead. Their security's even crappier than when I was running with 'em. I got your position. I don't know about the girl's location, but there is a transport hanger bay not far off from you."
Sae shakes her head. "Send the info to my link. Then get out of here."
"What? What about you?"
"Once I start causing a scene, whoever the Separatists are sending here are going to know something's up. It's gonna get hot, Neelotas. Tamri and I will make it to that hanger you mentioned. But I can't guarantee we can get back to you before this station starts going up. So once you send me that map data, close up the ship and get out of here before the shooting starts."
"But—but, Sae—"
"Take Rastic back to Coruscant. This is my fight now, and I'm tearing this place apart," she continues. "But stay alive, Neelotas. You're not a bad guy. Make sure Rastic pays you. Point a gun at him if you have to. Then go find something better to do then escorting stupid Jedi like me around the galaxy."
Neelotas pauses momentarily. Then he says, his voice catching, "You stay alive, wizard. I'm gonna find you back on Coruscant when you have the girl and you come back to your Temple. We'll have a drink on Rastic's credits. You got that?"
"Looking forward to it. Go, Neelotas. Go."
She turns off the comm before he can say another word. Then she swings her lightsaber in front of her in a Jedi salute, as if Neelotas is standing before her and not on board a stolen yacht with a prisoner in tow. May the Force be with you, Neelotas. We were just two idiots wandering around the galaxy at the whims of people far beyond our stations. The best we can hope for is to make it out of it all alive. Do that for me, at least. But, she thinks, Tamri is my business. My responsibility.
Her feelings roil and rage. Anger building off of a foundation of fear, fear for Tamri, where she might be, what might happen. No, no. I will find you. I will get you out of here, my girl.
She marches into the generator room with her lightsaber aloft to find a single technician at a computer console, a power distribution map displayed on a console before him. "Hey," the technician says, "hold on, who're—you're not allowed in here. Wait, what is—wait!"
"No, I'm not," Sae says. She grabs him with the Force, levitating him above the console as he chokes and squirms. She could simply choke him out, leave him to rot. He's nobody. Nothing to her.
But she does not feel merciful. Instead she tightens her grip. Clenches her teeth. Focuses on the Force—not on the Light, but on that black and malignant seed sprouting within her. Tighter. Tighter.
She closes her grip. The man shakes in a death rattle. Bones snap. Then she releases a limp body, death finding this lone, nameless technician deep within a doomed pirate base in the middle of nowhere. He is still nothing to her.
Sae kicks his body aside and inspects the map. She is tempted to hurry and simply shut off all power to the station, ensuring nothing will get in her way. A second thought stays her hand—she'll end up taking all the oxygen out of this place in the process. Not great. Sae frets and searches for options. Here: She can shut defensive energy out of the cell block area, shunting power to life support instead. If Tamri is still in a cell, it might give her the chance to escape—and it will ensure that they don't choke and die in the middle of deep space in the midst of this prison breakout.
Good enough.
She taps buttons, moves levers. In an instant power diverts, and an emergency klaxon kicks in. A half-minute later, as Sae jogs out of the power room, the station-wide intercom sounds again: "All hands, power is falling across the cell blocks; prisoners are loose from their cells! All hands, on the problem now!"
Good. She did something right. Sae keeps moving, bringing up the map data Neelotas sent her as she hurries. The high-value prisoner zone is ahead, several hallways leading into a large, octahedral chamber near the center of the base, not all that far from the transport hanger he mentioned. A place worth searching. She shuts the map off and gets a move on as the intercom crackles once more: "All hands, to—ah, no, no!"
Blaster shots. Then over the intercom comes the deep, baritone, indistinguishable voice of Separatist assassin droids in the background. Sae knew it: The Separatists did not come to bargain for Tamri. They came to take her.
She has to hurry.
Down the first corridor to her right she meets resistance. Two Brood enforces meet her head-on and level rifles: All too easily she swats them away, one with a well-timed Force push, the other with a reflected blaster shot that strikes him squarely in the eye. Sae jabs her saber into the pushed man for good measure. She has no intention of leaving anyone not named Tamri alive.
Down another hallway, then another. Then a whole squadron of troops—at least a half-dozen, maybe more—square off with her in a long, wide lane flanked by empty cells. "Wha—what's that?" the first pirate shrieks as he sees Sae's lightsaber. "Men, get—open fire! Open fire!"
Sae deflects their blasts with ease. She snatches the lead enforcer with the Force, crushes him down the floor, and then runs her lightsaber across his spine as she moves forward. Kill by kill. Pirate by pirate. There is so much…strength. Power. She can feel it all. Kill them all.
"Oh, blazes, I'm outta here," the rearmost of the detachment yells as his fellows fall. He sprints for the hall behind as Sae looks on. Go ahead. Run. She does not care.
But as he rounds the corner, he jumps back in a panic and raises his blaster pistol. Too late: A red bolt misses just over his shoulder, but a follow-up blast hits home straight in his chest, downing the pirate. Sae squints. Assassin droids. Must be. They've caught up to her way too quickly. She raises her lightsaber to her shoulder, preparing for a fight. She will not let the Separatists get in her way.
But it is not an assassin droid that rounds the corner with blaster rifle in hand. Instead it is a rag-draped girl with filthy blonde hair, her once-bright face spotted with dirt and the stars know what else, her blue eyes wide with fright and tension. She wheels on Sae with the gun leveled, finger on the trigger. And then her gun arm goes limp.
Tamri.
It is a moment in haze, in fog, in shadow. Sae feels as if she floats, rushes forward like the wind, like the tides, because she does not notice her feet moving. She does not know if any part of her works at all. All she knows is that one moment she stands amid the bodies of those she's felled and the next she collides with Tamri like two astral bodies drawn in each by the other's gravity, each where they're meant to be at last, their arms around one another, Tamri so small in her embrace. Don't let go. Don't ever let go.
"Sae," Tamri cries, her face pressed to Sae's chest. "You came."
"I'm never giving up on you," Sae says. "Never."
Tamri lets go, looks behind her master. Sees the corridor of bodies lying back there, lightsaber wounds and reflected blaster bolts dotting their corpses. And her eyes widen.
Then Sae looks back as well and sees another pirate rounding the corridor behind them. And the innocence of the moment is lost. The anger roars in her once more, overpowering all of that joy and warmth, and her rage snakes out and snatches the pirate, dragging him to her with the Force where she bisects him with one clean lightsaber strike from shoulder to hip.
No one will take Tamri from her now. No one.
Tamri takes a step back, her breath catching. It is impossible to ignore it now. Sae deactivates her lightsaber, stashes it in her cloak, and turns back to her apprentice, her face smoldering in anger. It falls off of her in waves, the Dark Side. There is nothing to stop it now, and this scene, this show, only feeds it, fuels her fire. Pirate scum. Separatist bastards. So many foes to topple. So much to wipe out. "Neelotas said there's a hanger near here. We're getting out of here," says Sae.
Tamri hesitates before she replies, eyes dancing between Sae and the dead men. "Neelotas is here?" she manages at last, her voice tiny.
"Was. I sent him off. Separatists are also here, looking for you. We have to get going. Come on. Stay with me. Close."
Tamri does not argue. Instead she hugs so close to Sae that she nearly runs into her master as they rush through the station's chaotic halls, blaster clutched in her hands, both desperately glad to see her master rushing to her rescue and utterly terrified of the beast now fully unleashed within Sae.
Sae rounds a corner and takes a pirate's head. Then another. She hurtles through the halls like a wrecking ball, almost unconscious to Tamri behind her, pirates toppling like dominoes. It is not long until they reach the hanger bay, a motley cavern, but one home to a pair of humble transport ships waiting for a crew. "Get going," Sae shouts as Tamri rushes ahead. "Get to the nearest one and start the launch sequence. We're not waiting around."
A pair of pirate enforcers pull out behind her. "Go," Sae orders her apprentice before wheeling on the enemy. She knocks away their shots—pitiful. Harmless. They are like animals, these pirates. Infantile attempts at waging war. She will show them how it is done.
A moment later and their lives are separated from this mortal coil. No sooner has Sae turned back towards the hanger, however, then the whole station rocks so violently that the quake knocks her off her feet.
Debris comes raining down at the end of the hallway leading into the hanger bay. The Separatists—they must be shelling the base. She hurries forward back towards the hanger, but now her path is closed off: The debris blocking the hall from the ships ahead is too thick to just knock aside. "Sae!" shouts Tamri on the other side of the blockage. "Hang on, I'll try to move this."
"No, no," says Sae. "Tam, it'll take too long. Get into one of those ships. Get out of here."
"What?" gasps Tamri. "No, we're not leaving each other now. We can clear this."
"That blast knocked down half of the ceiling," says Sae. "Tamri, listen. You go. You can do this. You can fly. Take off in one of those transports and, as soon as you can, you make the fastest jump out of here. Then get to Coruscant. You hear me?"
On the other side, Tamri cries. "Master, I'm not leaving you!"
"I can handle myself, Tam. But I won't let you get hurt again," says Sae. "Now go. I mean it. Go. Get out of here."
Tamri chokes back a sob. "Yes, Master. Sae. May the Force be with you."
Sae hesitates. Say it. Say it. Those words you know you've meant all this time. The feeling you've always meant to say to the girl you don't just see as an apprentice. You've always lacked the courage to say it, but now is the time. You can feel it, can you not? Something horrible is at hand. This whole charade is crashing down. So say it while you can. Tell her what you feel.
It's just three words.
But she cannot say them. She is not strong enough for that. Not brave enough. All she manages to say is, "May the Force be with you, too, Tamri."
Then she rushes away, Tamri a shade behind her, a phantom weighing on a heart that is so, so heavy with darkness. And at the center of it all is that fear, that terror, that knowledge that she can never, not ever, keep her safe from everything. This galaxy is so big, the darkness so all-encompassing. And she is so small, so weak, even as she grasps for power now in the throes of the Dark Side.
Another blast rocks the station as Sae dashes through the halls, wires sparking along the walls, lights flickering. She has to get back to the main hanger. She can find something else to fly out on. And she makes it far, cutting through enemy after enemy, pushing through the halls as smoke from venting atmosphere tubes fill the halls until the air seems like a foggy autumn dawn, the light glinting through the smoke so weak, so faint, that it threatens to disappear entirely until all this world is grey and hidden and there is nothing more to see.
But Sae hears ahead that she is still not alone as she fights on and on. More pirates. Screams. A blaster rifle—the whole gun—comes flying past her, and she sidesteps to avoid being smacked in the head. She raises her lightsaber to engage yet another pirate.
This time, however, it is not the pirates that have come for her. The smoke coalesces thick and grey, but another color adds to the medley. A deep, familiar thrumming. A flash of red in the mist. A spectre in the fog.
Sae breathes in. Breathes out.
It is not, as she feared, Count Dooku. Instead a shirtless figure, muscled and scarred, stirs in the fog and steps forward. Sae has seen him only a few times back in the Jedi Temple, but back then he looked nothing like this. His face was not so cruel and pointed. His eyes were not so slanted and probing. And he was not wielding that red saber, the traditional blade of the Sith. He was Jedi Master Taron Malicos then. Now she has no idea what he is.
Malicos rears up before her, squinting as if he does not believe what he sees. Then he lets out a low whistle: "Huh. Isn't that something?"
Sae raises her blade into a thrusting stance. "I don't know what you're doing here, but get out of my way."
Malicos laughs. "Well. Bit angry, aren't we?" he says. He stretches, waving his lightsaber around like a training prop. "Count Dooku mentioned you. Sae Tristess. Said you'd be important. Damned if I knew why. But look at this, huh? You and me and all these damned pirate turds stinking up the place."
"Feel free to die with them."
"Y'know, I'm not so interested in that," says Malicos. "To be straight with you: I came here to fetch a Padawan after these pukes bugged our channels about her. Tamri Dallin. Know her?" he chuckles. "Your face says it all. Your Padawan?"
"Don't say shit about her, you wretch."
"I'm gonna say whatever I like, Sae. In fact, now that you're here, I don't care at all about little ol' Tamri. 'Cuz you're a lot more interesting," he says, angling his lightsaber at her. It is only then that Sae sees his left arm. Abomination of a limb: Strange stones and mutated flesh and mutilation. And there, near the elbow: Is that a corrupted kyber crystal sticking out of the skin? What did Dooku do to him? "I can feel it now, Sae," Malicos continues, grinning. "You're deep into the Dark Side already, all by yourself. Caught up in your anger and your fear. You're way past the point of just being a Jedi, aren't you? I was there, not long ago. It's a bad place, huh? But then I saw the way out. The way forward. I was stuck, but you know what? I kept going. I just kept going. And then I saw what I needed to do."
"Enlighten me."
He shakes his head. "I'd rather show you," he says. Then he raises his lightsaber in an attacking stance. "Come and see."
Sae needs no encouragement. She will not let him strike first.
She thunders forward and their lightsabers meet, once, twice, nothing of the artistry of her duels with Dooku on display here. They are animals, beasts of the wild, savages clawing with tooth and nail, strike and counterstrike, all fury and rage. They hit and parry and riposte, blades whirling, colors flashing like leaves in autumn wind, the cold of winter rushing down from on high and driving them faster, stronger, angrier. Again and again and again. Strike and strike and strike.
It is only seconds, but Sae knows she is losing this fight. Malicos has seemingly unlimited energy, and something is giving him strength beyond anything she knows. He is scarcely breathing hard, throwing his whole body into each blow yet countering with the energy of a fresh fighter over and over. And all the time she is tiring. The anger is not enough. Her fear for Tamri is not enough.
When Sae notices him step back for a thrust she dodges away, psychokinetically hurling the body of a dead pirate at him. Malicos intercepts it with ease, tossing it away like a puppet. But the moment is all Sae needs: She dashes away, bounding down the corridor in defeat, her breath stinging with pain and shame.
"Where're you going?" Malicos booms after her as she sprints away. "You damn coward, Sae. I'm still here. What kind of a Jedi are you? I'm going to massacre you! I'm going to kill that girl of yours and dangle her body in front of you!"
But Sae will not listen. She cannot. She is not strong enough. She is not strong enough for anything.
She runs as if her life depends on it, for it does: The quakes come harder and faster. The Separatist cruiser is battering the station now, likely on Malicos's orders to stop her. She has to get out. She has to escape, for Tamri's sake if nothing else.
Sae slices through an unwary pirate and then she is there, back at the main hanger. The stolen Mirialan yacht is long gone; Neelotas, at least, listened to her. Quickly she scans the hanger bay: Some of the pirates have already taken off it seems by the empty vehicle maintenance ramps. But a few vessels remain, including a Cloakshape fighter with an attached hyperspace module fixed atop its central fuselage. Spaceworthy and hyperspace-capable: It will have to do. These crappy old fighters are designed for any space scum to use them, and Sae can manage.
She leaps into the cockpit, hoping only that Malicos isn't on her tail. No one follows her. No one attacks. Perhaps he's retreated to his ship. No time for assumptions or imagination now: She throws the engine startup sequence, locks the cockpit, and fires up the thrusters. Go. Go.
The fighter belches smoke and flame and then she is off, blasting away out of the hanger and into space behind the controls of this barely-hanging-together craft. Hanging like a demon before her is a Providence-class Separatist battlecruiser, one of their command ships, and it is belching up vulture droids that now batter the Haxion Brood station.
One of the droid starfighters breaks off and bears down on her. She grits her teeth and veers away, readying the fighter's guns. Cloakshapes are a Hutt cartel and mercenary staple, and they can fight their way out of a bad situation, but taking on more than a couple of droid fighters is beyond this old thing. But as she veers away from the onrushing attacker, however, a large shape thunders in front of her and snipes the vulture droid, blowing it apart. Sae's breath catches in her throat as she spots an aged pirate freighter—ponderous, slow, armed but only just so—turning about to fall in with her fighter.
No, no. She told her to go. She told her to get out of here.
As if to confirm her fears, the fighter's comm lights up. Sae taps it gingerly, knowing the worst of this—of everything—is yet to come. The channel crackles to life: "Sae?"
It is. Tamri. "I told you to go," Sae breathes, her voice frantic. "Tamri, get out of here. Get out of here. Now."
"I wasn't going to leave you," Tamri says as her commandeered freighter veers behind Sae. The girl is no pilot, Sae knows this. She will not last a second in a straight fight. "I'm not leaving you to die, Master. You came for me. I'll be here for you."
Oh, in the name of—there are more droid starfighters bearing down on them. Blazes. The girl means well—Jedi valor at its finest—but she has no idea of just how bad these odds are. "Jump to hyperspace. Anywhere. Emergency coordinates. Now!" Sae shouts, turning her fighter about to meet the enemy. She will kill them if they come for Tamri. Blasted droids. Stay away from her.
"Okay, okay—hang on."
"We don't have time, Tam! Go!"
Tamri doesn't answer. Her freighter veers aside as the first of the droid starfighters rakes it with laser fire, battering its shields. Sae snarls and wheels on the vulture droid, lancing the craft with shots. "Tam!"
The second vulture droid slams an energy torpedo home. "Master!" Tamri cries over the com. "They hit the engines."
"Tam, get out of here!"
"I don't know if I can! Hold on—hold on—"
A third droid fighter roars past, its laser fire blasting the freighter. Fire plumes from its engine coil. A knot thickens in Sae's throat as she turns to help. "Tamri! Tamri! Get to an escape pod, I'll—I'll—"
No response. The freighter seems to hang there in space, ponderous, huge, as if it is a world entire. Somewhere in there is Tamri. Somewhere in there is Sae's whole world. But she is blind and helpless here in the tight confines of her starfighter, separated by space and the infinite, just one woman. Just as she has always been. Powerless. Weak.
Flashes from Ziost. Within her, the Celestial howls.
The Jedi Temple. A skinny blond-haired girl cries.
Kuat. A brightly-dressed girl dances and sings.
Space. Laser fire. A ship explodes. A heart shatters.
Did I not show you both past and future?
A vulture droid rounds. It dodges Sae's pathetic attempts to intercept it, wheels, spins. Then it unleashes a salvo of scarlet laser fire that hits home.
It is such a delicate thing. The gunfire strikes. Fire plumes like a volcano; like a flower. A blossom in spring. Beautiful.
Then Tamri's freighter explodes.
Sae looks away in shock, jerking the throttle and pulling her fighter away from the blast. She dodges fire, veering about, searching for something, anything, her eyes wild, her heart barbaric. An escape pod. She told Tamri to get to an escape pod. The girl had to listen this time. She had to save herself. She had to. She had to. She has to be alive.
But Sae does not have time to look. One of the droid fighters bears down, tearing at her shields with laser fire. She rolls away as her shields collapse, her piloting console screaming. One more good blow and she's a goner.
The Separatist ship hangs before her. The asteroid base on fire. She sees Malicos's face, cackling, taunting.
You damn coward, Sae.
I'm never giving up on you.
Don't let her go. Don't ever let her go.
Instinctually, Sae jams down on the hyperspace lever. An emergency jump. Space blurs, twists, warps. The Cloakshape fighter's hyperdrive roars to life and the fighter lurches forward, blasting away from sublight and into hyperspace. Safe. Sound.
All by itself does Sae's hand reach into her pocket. It is still there: The flower from Ossus. Moon's grief. It is nothing but dry petals now, broken and crusty and dead, and it falls apart beneath Sae's fingertips.
She remembers every word. The white petals are the moonlight. The blue center is the moon's tears.
Sae topples over the fighter's console, closes her eyes, and sobs.