A/N: Thank you, princesselsaamidala22, for the review! Glad you like Ventress, because expect more of her to come here...
That old, familiar dissonance before a battle.
Outside, everything slows. Cruisers plod forward like whales, the deep rumbling of their engines singing songs of blood, crying lamentations of loss. Fighters wisp through the void trailing phantom plumes of ion thrust. The stars frozen in their sockets. The very black of space thick and viscous like a foamy sea curtained with kelp. Out beyond the transparisteel of Anakin's cockpit, time itself sinks into the muck and slows to a standstill.
But in the world of the cockpit, this tiny pocket universe accelerates. The first slam of adrenaline hits, a snare drum rap promising a drumroll to come. Blood surges. Heart races. Final thoughts fly in a last-minute furor before emotion and instinct takes over. Scan readings and data displays flicker and flash like a cloud of lightning bugs on a moonless night. And in Anakin's ear comes the first notes of that pounding, that primal, soul-born beat he has heard in every critical moment of his life going back to those podracing days of youth, action, energy, motion. You know what to do and within you is every weapon you need to win. Now go out there and give them hell. These are the moments you were made for.
A lonely purple streak flies in through space, so carelessly blown away by a lazy point-defense blast by Captain Pellaeon's Leveler as the vanguard for the attack on Sullust advances on the Separatist world and the wall of guardian warships that defends it. "Captain, what was that?" Anakin says over the comm.
"Long-range torpedo from the Separatist defenders. They're just testing our meddle, think nothing of it. Trying to get into our heads before the real shooting starts," Pellaeon replies. His Acclamator-class assault ship rumbles forward without hesitation, leading the crescent of frigates, Carrack cruisers, and other light, fast ships of the vanguard behind him. "Good to be fighting alongside you again, Skywalker. Hopefully it won't be as much of a mess as last time."
"Oh, it'll be a mess—for them. Time to return the favor."
Obi-Wan cuts over the comm feed: "Cut the chatter. We need to keep the lines open. The vanguard's only a few minutes out from firing range."
Anakin looks at R2 as they draw near to Sullust and the waiting Separatists. "He's only talking about the fleet comms, buddy," he says. "Although if you've got anything to say, better get it in in the next five minutes. After that it's gonna get loud."
R2 whistles, and Anakin smiles in response. "Same as always."
The fleet curls around Sullust's moon and the planet hangs in the vacuum ahead, angry and burning and inflamed against the frozen-death backdrop of space. Anakin pulls up as the vanguard ships steam forward. "Blue Flight, on me. Let's draw as many fighters as we can and clear the way for the capital ships," he says. "Ahsoka? You in position?"
"Leave it to me," she says. Her Actis-class interceptor zips over Pellaeon's ship below him, leading a charge of two dozen Y-Wings flanked by support craft. The starfighter traffic is heavy out here, both on the Republic's side and the enemy's. With every fighter launched from Dodonna's star destroyer added to the usual escort wings, hundreds of small craft maneuver and jockey for position as the battle lines close. And already Anakin can see the multitudinous hostile-signal dots popping up on his radar—swarms of droid starfighters billowing out of the defense fleet like bees from a jostled hive.
He rubs his hands together and grips the control stick. All of the heavy ordinance aboard the vanguard's capital ships was removed and sent to Dodonna's flagship in the hours it took to cross the system at sublight; they'll be fighting with cannon fire and whatever the fighters and bombers can muster for this opening attack. If the admiral's plan doesn't work out, it's going to be a short, and ugly, battle. "Play time's over, R2," he says as the astromech droid chirps. "Let's get in there."
"Capital ships, power to engines," Pellaeon commands as the first turbolaser fire flares from both sides, blue and red javelins slashing across the firmament. "Their ships are backed against the planet; use all our open space against them! And don't get in range of their ground cannons. Fighters, give us as much cover as you can."
"On it," Anakin says. "Come on, men! All fighters, let's go!"
His V-Wings trail behind him like a pack of wolves. Anakin rolls his interceptor over, turns down at the battle lines, and throws everything he has into his thrusters as he aims down at the first line of enemy fighters. Almost—almost. Then his targeting grid lights up—lock.
He pulls on the trigger. His laser cannons spit flame. And these great war fleets slam together and put the heavens to the torch.
Anakin blows through the fighter swarm without slowing. He doesn't bother to even look as his fire rakes a vulture droid and tears it apart. There is only now, the fight, the blood pumping, heart thumping, battle-song crescendoing in his ears. He veers up and away, pinwheeling over Pellaeon's ship and spearing a hyena droid bomber far too slow to evade his pursuit. Right through the carnage, the debris no more than a bump in the road.
"Master, you've got two on your tail," Ahsoka says over the comm. "Hang on, I can see 'em."
Anakin can do more than see them as their laser fire boils the space just over R2's head, the astromech droid howling. "No, stay with the bombers, they need cover," Anakin countermands her. "I got these guys. R2, stick in there. Turbulence coming up."
He peels low over a Recusant-class Separatist destroyer as it bombards him with flak fire. Rapid-fire streams of point defense blasters rake his tail, but he stays just fast enough, just nimble enough, to evade. The tri-fighters on his tail pull up, slowing to stay away from their own capital ship's shots. Too slow for Anakin. He zips under the destroyer's tail, just below the exhaust stream of the main engines as point-defense fire follows him. One of the pursuing interceptors dodges to evade the flak shots only to veer right into the destroyer's engine wash. A stream of hot, ionized exhaust sends the interceptor drifting as lightning shorts out its systems, the tri-fighter plummeting into Sullust's gravity well like a wayward asteroid. Anakin doesn't even bother to blow it up.
The other pursuer is more dogged. It banks and rakes Anakin with fire as he jets away from the destroyer. One of its light cannons grazes his wing, and sparks and smoke fume out into space. Anakin grits his teeth. "R2, cut power to the cannons and re-route everything into maneuvering thrusters. When I say, cut the main engines. Thrusters only. On my mark."
The droid beeps in the affirmative as Anakin loops around an Arquitens-class cruiser being blown apart by a trio of Separatist frigates. He rushes through the dying ship's flames, tightens his grip on his throttle, and shouts, "Mark!"
The interceptor shudders as the engines cut. Anakin lets the inertia carry the fighter forward, relying on that old law of every starfighter pilot: An object in motion remains in motion unless acted upon. And out here in the void, there's nothing stopping him. He throws his port-side thruster, spinning his ship one hundred eighty degrees until he's flying engines-first ahead, his nose—and weapons—pointed backwards at the exploding Arquitens.
"R2, power to guns, now!"
The tri-droid pursuer zips through the flame only to run face-first into Anakin's hail of laser fire. It is there one moment, gone the next: Anakin's shots cut the interceptor to ribbons, blowing its wings off as the fuselage blooms like a miniature sun. Anakin laughs and taps the window at R2. "That's how it's done, buddy."
R2 whistles.
He pulls up over the chaos of the fight to get his bearings. The lead ships of Master Secura and Master Vos's attack squadron have engaged, star destroyers moving in on the flanks of the Separatist fleet and herding them like livestock into a centralized position. But Pellaeon's vanguard is being torn to pieces: A pair of Lucrehulk battleships defending at the core of the Confederate armada torch anything that comes close, a whole asteroid field of debris already surrounding the two ships. "We need help in the center, or we're not going to be around much longer!" Pellaeon calls out. "Admiral? Dodonna? What's your ETA?"
"Just a minute longer, Captain," Dodonna calls over the comm. Already Anakin can see the grey and red blip of his command ship bringing up the rear, still out of range. "Just hold them there for another minute."
Anakin flips power to his weapons. "Blue Squadron, press the attack on those battleships," he says. "Take out those flak cannons guarding their main hangers, or they'll keep spewing out fighters."
A trio of V-Wings form up like geese behind him. "Copy, Blue Leader," a clone pilot calls out.
"We're with you, General."
He guns it, his interceptors fanning out as the battleship responds to their advance with a blanket of fire. A vulture droid peels right out of the hanger bay and dips onto Anakin's tail, engaging missile lock. Anakin grits his teeth. He rushes over the battleship's hull, reverses thrusters, lets the vulture droid overshoot, and tears it to pieces. Behind him, two of his squadron mates fall victim to flak fire as the squadron pulls away. Just too much opposition. Anakin growls and rolls his interceptor out of a stream of fire. "Evasive maneuvers!"
"Master, we're getting cut up out here!" Ahsoka shouts over the comm. "What's the plan?"
Republic ships are on fire across the whole battle line. Pellaeon's Leveler takes a turbolaser barrage from a quartet of frigates swarming him, the captain only just hanging on as he answers with a salvo of his own. Droid fighters are as thick as gnats. Flame, carnage, debris; twisting metal, ended lives. "Stay on it," he says. "Just stay on it!"
Then the cavalry arrives. Dodonna's Banner of the Resolute enters range, and Anakin sees the star destroyer's main hanger open up. About time, Obi-Wan.
"All ships, this is Dodonna. We're in firing position," the admiral calls out across the fleet-wide comm. "Everyone, press the attack! Give the Separatists more targets than they can hit."
As if copying Anakin's earlier move, Banner turns on its maneuvering thrusters alone, letting its momentum carry it forward so that its underbelly faces the Separatist cannons. Shots slam into the shields; little more than flies hitting a speeder's windscreen. Every last ounce of those shields, Anakin knows, has been focused on the ventral side. This whole battle relies on what's coming next.
And come it does. Suddenly Anakin's scanner lights up. New contacts—one after another after another, dozens, hundreds. All coming from the same location—the star destroyer's main hanger. "Birds away!" shouts Dodonna.
They hang in space for a brief, brilliant moment—every last capital ship torpedo in the fleet, all packed inside of the flagship's hanger, all let loose like spare cargo, dangling, twirling in the vacuum. Then their targeting computers kick in, followed a moment later by their thrusters. Then a hornet-swarm of proton torpedoes nearly a thousand strong rushes the entire Separatist armada at top speed.
It's a salvo that no fleet can withstand, Anakin thinks—but only if the missiles make it through the point-defense fire. "All fighters, with me. Go, go!" Anakin shouts as he makes a beeline for the Lucrehulks. "Give 'em everything you've got, right now! Right here!"
It is a testament to their training, their dedication, their brotherhood as defenders of the Republic: Not a single ship backs down. The whole Republic line drives at the Separatists in a massive combined assault, taking cannon fire, taking losses, an almost suicidal drive directed right at the enemy. Below Anakin, Ahsoka's bomber line hits a wave of vulture droids. Bombers fracture, fail—and still they push on, ion cannons ripping through the droid fighters, pounding the Confederate corvettes behind them. Flak fire from the battleships cascades at Anakin like a hailstorm. He clenches his jaw, tightens his grip. Faster. Faster.
He rakes the Lucrehulk's point-defense turrets, blowing apart the first, splitting off one of the gun barrels of the second. The V-Wings of Blue Squadron follow him in to the last. As Anakin peels up and over the battleship's rear sensor, he looks back just as the torpedo wave crests and slams home.
The leading Separatist ship—a Providence-class battlecruiser—simply vaporizes as two dozen proton torpedoes rip out its guts. Lighter ships peel away, but with the Republic fleet pressing from all sides, there's nowhere to maneuver. Nowhere to go, nothing to do but twist and writhe like forsaken marionettes as the tsunami of torpedoes washes through the armada. Point-defense blasters thunder away, rivers of red fire coursing through the ether, cannons that fall victim to hungry packs of attack fighters just before the torpedoes hit home. The trailing Lucrehulk's shields buckle from concentrated star destroyer fire right as a whole volley of warheads slam its left limb, ripping the arm off, fire belching into space as the mammoth ship comes apart. Everywhere there is fire; everywhere there is flame. War is hell. They are the demons.
"Shields failing on that second battleship!" Pellaeon calls out as the leading Lucrehulk reverses thrusters, trying to fall back towards the planet and guard its rear. "Skywalker, could use a hand here! We're going in on her!"
"With you, Captain," Anakin says, breaking for the battleship. Ahsoka and the battered remnants of her wing intercept a squadron of droid bombers bearing down on the Leveler. She spins through the empty space, lancing one droid bomber, two—a third. She makes it look easy now. Whatever Grievous took from her, he didn't take her flying. Heck, she's flying better than ever.
Anakin smiles, a bulb of pride snapping on inside of him. "Ahsoka, with me. Let's give that battleship something to think about."
"Got it!"
She rides up on his starboard wing. Blackened blaster fire scars her interceptor's fuselage, but she's still there, still flying, still fighting. Anakin leans forward, glances at her, then at R2. No more words. Just the plunge into the inferno.
The remaining battleship fights with everything it has left, even as the Separatist fleet dies around it. Ribbons of red cannon fire streak out at the Republic warships close in. As Anakin, Ahsoka, and the fighters dip in to meet it, the battleship throws up a torrent of point-defense shot to throw them back.
No chance of that. Anakin slices right on through. "Stay low, right against the hull. We're going in full throttle."
He dips down into the inside of the battleship's arms, firing at the first turbolaser battery he sees. The big ship fires back, but it's too slow, too vulnerable, and the battle has turned against it—as if fate, or the Force, has decided which way the winds will blow. Anakin flies just meters over the superstructure, Ahsoka right on his wing, Dodonna's flagship battering the Lucrehulk's fore and drawing its attention.
Pellaeon's Leveler curls behind the ship. The battleship is trapped: Turn and it exposes itself to Dodonna's destroyer. Stay and Pellaeon cuts its engines apart. An impossible choice. Lose-lose.
It chooses the latter, standing in and going blow-for-blow with the Banner of the Resolute as Pellaeon unloads every dorsal turbolaser battery on the Leveler into the battleship's engines. Anakin firs at the ship's sensor towers as the shields crumple. Metal splits apart; wiring sparks off into space. The Republic itself closes its fist around the doomed ship.
Fire plumes from within. Anakin pulls up as the sensor towers shatter and sheer. Ahsoka peels away. And in that newly-formed graveyard is buried the battle's last corpse.
"Woo!" Anakin shouts as the Lucrehulk explodes. "That's it, boys! Good work!" He keys over to Obi-Wan's personal comm channel and says, "Hope you're still kicking to see that, Master!"
"Another fun outing. I just love how often we do this," Obi-Wan sighs from aboard Dodonna's flagship.
Anakin grins. And that's without the sector fleets that were supposed to help out. Take that, all those smug cretins back on Coruscant doubting the Jedi.
But an errant thought dampens his elation as he looks down at Sullust. The ground-based orbital defenses haven't fired this whole fight; even now they're silent. Are they lying dormant until the assault ships drop in for the ground invasion? It's either that—or someone down there wants them to come to ground, wants them in a land battle. Someone who wants to meet them face-to-face.
Well, Anakin thinks, if someone does want to see them in action down there, he won't keep them waiting.
A shadow mars the pearl of Mandalorian space, the capital world itself that once played host to one of galactic history's most terrifying threats. For millennia the Mandalorians wrought havoc throughout Republic space, took as they pleased, conquered where they wished, and every one of their conquests began here: Mandalore. Once a beautiful world, now burnt and scarred by war, its surface scorched onto an uninhabitable desert. And now those fearsome Mandalorians of the past are but legends, almost myths—for who can believe in such a terror originating here, here, this world whose skies are tainted by dozens of Separatist warships lurking in orbit?
Tamri catches her breath as the War Maiden follows Ventress's gunship towards Concordia, on the far side of Mandalore. On the main viewscreen space burns and flares; a kilometer-long Bulwark-class battlecruiser pummels Mandelore's surface with turbolaser blast after blast. Not a single shot is answered in return. "Why are they shelling the planet?" she asks, feeling numb, as the vessel fires and fires. Whoever is on the receiving end of that orbital bombardment is as good as dead—and there is nothing Tamri can do. This is just one little ship on one little mission, seven of them—eight including Ventress—in the shadow of an entire occupation fleet. It will be good luck if Ventress's security codes pass muster and they can slip by the Separatists without trouble. It would be a miracle to do any more than that.
"Isn't there a rebellion here?" asks Avea from the copiloting seat. She points at the battlecruiser as it unloads with no signs of stopping. "That's what any smart tyrant does to a rebellion. They stamp out every last trace of it."
At the rear of the cockpit, Korkie glowers. Tamri looks back just in time to see him stalk off without a word, shadows darkening his eyes. A pit opens in her stomach. She should say something; tell him it'll be all right. This is his home, after all. But the Separatist ships loom large and they are getting closer by the moment. She needs to focus.
"Transmitting codes," Ventress says over the comm. "Stay right behind my ship and do not go anywhere else, Jedi. Until we pass the fleet by and enter Concordia's atmosphere, shut down the comms. Any funny business and they'll fire upon us."
"What happens if the codes don't work?" Neelotas says. Ventress does not reply—only static returns. The comms are shut.
Tamri's heart hastens. Nothing to do but trust her now. Master Kenobi trusts her, even if she was a Sith apprentice, someone who wielded the Dark Side without hesitation. Some strange allies she is making.
The Separatist battlecruiser is a colossus. Its cannons pound away at Mandalore with power enough to sheer the War Maiden in two with a single shot, and Tamri's nerves jump and frazzle as their little patrol ship passes the beast by. "That's a big one," Avea murmurs. "It could probably house their whole occupation force."
"Doesn't look like it's interested in us," Neelotas says, following Ventress as the former Sith apprentice instructed. Her gunboat is a minnow in the wake of the warship. "No IFF ping, no scanner sweep. Like they don't even care."
"Probably because they could blow us up without blinking," Tamri mutters.
"Just trying to think optimistically over here, little wizard. Don't need to get all dour on us."
The exhaust of a passing destroyer rattles the War Maiden as the ship moves on. No one has fired yet. Everything is still on course. "Is there anything in orbit above Concordia?" Tamri asks Neelotas.
He shrugs. "Couple frigates, few corvettes. Nothing impressive. Looks like they don't care much about the moon."
"That's because it's home to pirates, smugglers, and all sorts of other rogues."
Tamri looks up. Korkie has returned to the cockpit, leaning against the rear wall and watching as the small brown and green moon appears from around the desolate globe of Mandalore. "That and miners."
"Sounds like my kinda place," Neelotas chuckles. "Got any cantina recommendations, kid?"
"Wouldn't know," Korkie says. "You don't go to Concordia for fun. You go for business. Just like I thought we were doing."
"That's what we are doing," Tamri says, feeling the tension between the two. She pauses. "Once we—"
But Korkie isn't looking at her. He stares straight ahead at the growing light of Concordia, his jaw clenched, his arms folded. Tamri thinks better of it. Not now.
The Separatist line over the moon doesn't so much as budge as Ventress's gunboat passes by, the War Maiden rocketing into Concordia's chilly atmosphere without incident. Tamri's nerves settle, if only just. One step down. The comm static dies and Ventress's growling returns: "I'll follow you the rest of the way," she says. "I hope you know where you're going, Jedi."
"I got Dom's coordinates," Avea murmurs. "It's, uh…a shifty-looking ravine on the far side of the moon."
"The Harrikon Gorge," Korkie murmurs.
Avea glances back at him. "What?"
"It was a stronghold during the Mandalorian Wars four thousand years ago," Korkie says. "The Republic dropped enough bombs on the place to make the gorge. Cracked the surface. It's always been wildlands. Ungovernable terrain. The Concordia governors gave up on controlling it long ago. Good place to hide out where no one will find you."
"Ancient history," Neelotas says.
Korkie eyes him. "Death Watch used to use it as an encampment."
"Okay, not so ancient, then."
"Just fly carefully," says Tamri.
"Hey, you're the one on the weapons. Shoot away."
That would certainly get the Separatists' attention, she thinks. If they can get through this rumored Tath installation without shooting anything, she'd be more than happy. There were enough close shaves back on Telos. But as she looks down at the angry, rocky grooves cut across the mangled surface of Concordia, the spartan woods full of black-barked fir trees struggling against the barren conditions, she has an unsettling feeling that this moon isn't the kind of place where everything goes as planned. Civilized Mandalore may be right next door, but the rough and rugged nature of the hard land below seems ripe for the uncivilized to call it home. If even Korkie, a Mandalorian at heart, frowns at the sight of this place…well, it's good thing she has a lightsaber again.
"Coming up on the Tath coordinates now," Avea says. "Just over—whoa."
The War Maiden crosses over a mountain range and rises above the deepest canyon Tamri has ever seen. It looks little like a naturally-occurring gorge and every bit the war scar that Korkie mentioned. It's almost as if some cosmic giant drove a battleaxe into the land and left this cleave behind, a gouging wound cutting down thousands of feet into the rock. Sheer walls fall away into shadowy crevices that split off from the main gorge like capillaries. Patchy pine woods spot impact craters. How much unexploded ordinance must be out here, four-thousand-year-old warheads and mines buried in the rock just waiting for an unlucky passerby?
Fly extra-carefully, Neelotas, she thinks.
Instead the Nautolan smiles and pushes the ship straight into the rift, gunning the engines as he goes. "Ah, haven't had flying like this in a while," he laughs as Tamri grips her seat, trying not to be sick. "Stop looking so bad, wizard. Nobody's shooting us down. This is the fun part of exploring."
"Can we please just get there in one piece?" Tamri whimpers.
The ship veers around a stone pinnacle over a thousand feet high; it dives down into the towering shadow of late afternoon as the sun pulls back behind the golden-rock canyon lip. Scaled flying reptiles the size of small banthas snap and caw at the War Maiden as it passes, the creatures lifting off from precarious perches and taking to the whipping winds hurtling down the gorge. Knobbed, gnarly trees with prickly green-grey leaves jut out at physics-defying angles from sheer rock. It would be beautiful if they weren't flying down the canyon at top speed like a drunken swoop racer. "Hate to dump on your fun, but we're there," says Avea, not in the slightest bit perturbed by Neelotas's piloting. How on earth do they stay so damn calm? Tamri's just thankful they didn't run into anything. "Down below."
"What? Where?" says Neelotas. He drops the ship down towards the canyon bottom, where a winding river drops away hundreds of feet in a formidable waterfall.
Then Tamri sees it—the falls. Behind the cascading water is a gaping aperture, an opening in the rock large enough to take a small frigate, at its widest extending almost from one canyon wall to the other. It's the sort of bizarre natural architecture that should've collapsed long ago, or at least suffered far too many cave-ins to make a landing bay out of it.
But perhaps it is not so natural. "It's an old Mandalorian base," Korkie breathes.
"How you know that?" Neelotas says as he inches the War Maiden closer.
Korkie points on the viewscreen. It's barely visible with all the water crashing down around it, but on one side of the rock walls adjacent to the opening is a carved sigil in the shape of a Mandalorian helmet. Weather and water have taken their toll, but a dull gray hardness to the inscription indicates that it's more than just rock. "Beskar," Korkie murmurs. "Mandalorian iron. There must be tons of it. Back when there was tons of it."
"But it's not like the Taths are here for a little mining outing," Avea says, squinting at the sigil. "Dominion said it's a genetics and cloning lab. Why would they care about all this?"
Tamri does not know. But what she does know is that they won't learn anything out here: Whoever built this place wanted its secrecy. So much rock above and on all sides would've masked even extreme heat signatures and sensor emissions. The Taths could've been down here for years—much longer, in fact—without anyone knowing. "Let's go in."
"Got a…not-great feeling about this. Nothing's shot at us yet, but…" says Avea, a shaky grin playing on her lips, hesitancy in her eyes. "But shit. You're right. Let's go."
The mystery thickens once they pass through the waterfall. The War Maiden's landing lights flare to life and reveal a dark hanger bay in a state of ruin. Every last light in here is out. A single ship—a small freighter—has been blown apart at the far end of the cavernous bay, its blasted bits strewn about all over the place. Debris from fallen catwalks and broken machinery litters the bay. And even on the viewscreen Tamri can just make it out, there under a piece of rubble from the destroyed freighter—a body. The upper half of one, at least.
"What in the name of—" Korkie starts.
Tamri exhales. "I guess that's why no one shot at us. Place has been torn to bits."
"Separatists?" Neelotas suggests. "Think the droids found it?"
Tamri purses her lips. Maybe. Something dangerous certainly did. But they won't know until they have a look around. That's what Master Kenobi sent her here to do, after all. "Neelotas, set us down. I'm going to have a look around at there."
"I'm coming with," says Avea. Of course—her nephew. She has her own reason for being here.
Korkie squints and appraises the scene. Destruction. Death. The fate of the old Mandalorians come again. "I'll go too," he says.
Tamri stops him in the hall as the others pass by. "You sure you're okay?" she says.
He makes a face of disapproval. "I'm no stranger to a blaster," he tells her.
"I don't mean that," Tamri says, looking over his shoulder to make sure they're alone. "I mean what was happening to Mandalore. The ships in orbit, the bombardment."
Korkie shakes his head and looks away. "There's nothing I can do here."
"If you want to—"
"What would I do? Go run out, find a ship, and get picked off by a cruiser before I even made it into the stratosphere?" he says with a wry chuckle. "What's the point?"
"I meant it when I said I wouldn't get in your way if you wanted to go back to Mandalore. If…I don't know…"
"Look," he says, "if you're asking me if I want to go, yes. I never should've left in the first place. I never should've listened to Master Kenobi." He frowns. "But that's the past. I can only do what I can. I'm not there, I'm here. But I can damn sure tell you that I don't plan on dying before I do something about those Separatists setting my home on fire." He points at her. "So don't go dying either, hm? Because I have a funny feeling that that…Dark Side woman, or whatever she is, Ventress…is only playing nice with us because she saw something in you that she liked."
Tamri cups her hands as he walks off. Then she looks back at the cockpit, at the dark, bleak sight on the viewscreen, and she whispers, "I'll try."