INTERLUDE

STAR WARS
THE CLONE WARS

"No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth."

Siege in the Outer Rim! Numerous worlds are now stricken by endless battle as the Republic enacts Operation Countdown, their daring endgame plot to finally bring a swift end to the Clone War. One of these worlds is an ancient homeworld of the Jedi Order, where a group of younglings and their Jedi protectors are now trapped under the shadow of a Separatist invasion. Alone and on the run, Jedi Master Cere Junda and her Padawan Trilla Suduri, send out a desperate call for help to anyone in the Republic who may be listening…


Ossus, 19 BBY

Jedi Training Grounds

"Come on! Keep moving!" Cere Junda shouted over the explosion of mortar fire, guiding six younglings through a trench pathway, blaster bolts raging overhead. Separatist gunships screamed across the sky as they dropped their payloads atop outnumbered Republic clone forces, their garrison stretched thin as of a few weeks ago, shipped off to consolidate legions on other fronts.

The Separatists couldn't resist their chance. To strike at a planet so holy to the Jedi…it could be seen as a serious moral blow to the Republic.

A Coruscant Guard clone trooper, his white armor tarnished by the reddish sand that covered Ossus, jumped down from his trench position, just in front of Cere.

"General, you need to get the younglings into the tunnels! We're about to be overrun!" he implored.

Cere tipped her head in agreement, and then turned to the back of the group. "Trilla!"

Trilla Suduri, her own Jedi robes turning redder by the minute, nodded in acknowledgement. "Everyone inside, let's go!" she guided, while Cere turned a metal handle until a hatch unlocked, creaking as she lifted it open. Each youngling jumped through the hatch and into the underground pathway away from the trench, to relative safety for now. Once all were inside, Cere looked to Trilla.

"You too."

Her Padawan winced. "Master, we can't just leave these men!"

"Don't worry about us!" that same trooper assured. "We'll be alright. Keep those kids safe!"

"Inside, Trilla!" Cere commanded this time. With an unsure huff, Trilla submitted to her master's command, clambering into the hatch and sliding down the ladder until she hit dirt. The air was still, most likely undisturbed until they had opened the hatch for the first time in a number of years. She found the younglings there, waiting for their next move.

The hatch closed above, and the deafening roar of battle was silenced to a muffle as Cere landed behind her.

"Is everyone alright?" Cere asked, pushing past a tested Trilla, who stood off to the side with her arms crossed, watching her master kneel to the height of the children of various races. Some shivered in fear, the younger ones, while others nodded with finality…and one, the oldest, stood tall. "Everything is going to be fine. We just need to lay low for a little while."

"But Master Junda, we should help!" the oldest suggested. "We're Jedi!"

"No, Petro," she insisted, grasping ahold of his shoulder. "This is a fight we can't win, and I'm not going to endanger your lives any further."

"But-,"

"That's final," she finished, sternly, rising to her feet. "You all remember what we practiced?" she asked, and everyone nodded, Petro with defeat in his eyes. "Good. Go to your places. We'll catch up to you soon."

With sporadic nods, the younglings filed through the tunnels, splitting off to respective positions, while Petro gave Trilla one last look before heading in himself.

Cere paced to the old communicator built into the bunker wall and powered it on, the old machine taking a few moments to warm itself up. Trilla didn't move from where she stood, keeping her green eyes fixed on the hatch they had come from.

Her master sighed. "What is it, Trilla?" she asked, still looking at the machine.

She grumbled to herself, turning away from the hatch and looking to Cere. "Those men are going to die."

"Not if we do what we've practiced, Trilla. We just need time to-,"

"We don't have any time, Master!" Trilla cut her off, swiping her hand through the air. "You saw them out there. They're…," she paused, seeing that Cere still had her attention on the machine. "You're not even listening to me, are you?"

"I am liste-,"

"It's always the same with you!" Trilla yelled, her fist balled and back arched forward. "Always pretending like you know what's best for everyone!"

"Trilla-,"

"I am tired of shouting into a black hole!"

"Trilla!" Cere silenced her, finally turning her way. "I am sending out a distress call. If we leave this bunker, we all die. Our best chance is to call for help, and wait for reinforcements to arrive," she explained, and Trilla straightened herself, returning to her crossed-arms stance. "Go check on the younglings while I finish this," she said, returning her attention to the machine.

The Jedi Padawan snorted and annoyedly walked down the tunnel, leaving her master to her work.

"This is Jedi Master Cere Junda, calling on all Republic channels. We are under attack and need immediate assistance. We have younglings in danger. I repeat-,"


Ossus Orbit, 19 BBY

Demeter

The attack sirens blared across the bridge as Jedi Master Mace Windu struggled to make out the transmission playing before him, its static making the task all but impossible. Every officer was moving, either at their stations or running to them.

"…imme…ce…ave…nger," the transmission played.

"I need this cleaned up!" he shouted to the deck officer over the commotion.

The clone officer dressed in a Republic naval uniform fumbled with the holotable controls. "I'm trying, General. It's an older signal!"

Mace grumbled to himself.

"Get our fighters out there, now!" Commodore Reyna Vorchenko commanded, the captain of the Demeter, as she reached the holotable with him. "General, it's going to take time for us to break through the blockade. The Separatists are here in full force."

"Just keep us in the fight, Commodore," Mace replied, still waiting for the transmission to clear. "I'll worry about getting us to the surface."

"…ounglings in danger…,"

"Sir! I think I have it!" the deck officer exclaimed.

"Put us through!"

The image solidified, and Mace's eyes widened at the image. "Master Junda…Master Junda we read you!" he answered as the ship rocked from an impact.

"Master Windu! Oh, thank the Force," she breathed, her expression looking somewhat panicked. "We are under attack and need immediate assistance. We have younglings here, but we're pinned down by advancing Separatist forces."

Mace's grip tightened on the edge of the table. "Are you and the younglings safe?"

"For now. My Padawan and I are hidden in the underground passageways, but I don't know for how much longer," she explained. "We're going to need help quickly."

Mace looked to Vorchenko. "Commodore. How long until we can break through?"

She gave him a grim look. "I can do my best, but we'd be better off sending in an extraction team to run the blockade."

He nodded. "Cere. Hold tight. I'm going to send a team in to get you out. Send me your coordinates."

"Already sent," she promptly replied. "Thank you, Master Windu."

Mace tipped his head and cut the transmission, now moving to his wrist-comm. "Eon, come in!"

He replied within a moment. "Yes, Master?"

"Assemble a team. You're going to run the blockade."


Ossus, 19 BBY

Catacombs

Trilla was trying to stay positive, especially since the younglings could feel her emotions, whether they knew they were hers or not. To be frustrated would mean they would become frustrated, and young minds like that soon resorted to tears and fear to alleviate that frustration. Since her ears certainly weren't all for listening to stricken wails from children, she found it prudent to at least set an example.

Even if Cere was driving her crazy.

If there was anything Trilla hated more than most, it was being forced to rely on someone else for her own success. She could trust people, sure, but she was not one to put her own fate all in their hands, and at least wanted a say in the matter.

Right now, their safety rested on a lone extraction team against a Separatist blockade. No, Cere hadn't told her that, but Trilla was good at detecting when her Master was lying to her, better than probably Cere was comfortable with. The fact that she had tried to shield Trilla from the grim truth, a nineteen-year-old Jedi, felt insulting all on its own. Trust between her and her master was becoming to be a bit of a premium these days.

The ground shook, and dirt fell from atop the darkly lit bunker, and a human girl no older than seven clung to Trilla's waist as they sat together.

"Trilla…what's happening?" the girl shivered.

"It's alright, Amelia," she soothed, holding the girl tight. "We're going to be fine."

Another boom shook the bunker, and more dust fell atop them all. "I'm scared," Amelia whimpered.

Trilla brushed her brown hair with her fingers, trying her best to calm the child. "No one is going to hurt you, I promise."

While the other younglings were in similar states, Petro paced around the bunker, fidgeting with his lightsaber. She could sense great determination, as well as annoyance at inaction…just as she felt, but she was far better at hiding it.

"There has to be something we can do," he finally said, turning to Trilla. "We can't just sit here."

She wanted to agree with him, but to do so would only entice his rebellious attitude, and that wouldn't help anyone.

"We have our orders, Petro," Trilla answered, still holding on to Amelia. "We must stay put."

"But we can fight, we're Jedi!" he pressed.

"Right now, we need to stay alive," she retorted, not even fully believing her own words. "That is the best we can do."

Petro groaned and crossed his arms, his emotions pouring over. "If Master Eon were here, we'd be fighting, not hiding."

Trilla paused, now keeping her full attention on Petro. "Master Eon…you mean Xur Eon?"

He nodded feverishly. "Yeah! Instead of hiding from a bunch of pirates, we took the fight to them, and we won! This time isn't any different…,"

Trilla had stopped listening to him by then, her mind drifting elsewhere. Xur Eon. That was a name she hadn't heard from another in a long time. The fact that Petro had seen him, and also spent time with him, elicited a feeling unbecoming of her Jedi training, but it was there, nonetheless.

"What was he like?" she asked, interrupting whatever statement he was in the middle of.

All of a sudden Petro puffed out his chest, seemingly proud that he was graced with the pleasure of meeting such a "famous war hero".

If only the young boy knew.

"Master Eon is great! We're friends you know. He helped me build my lightsaber correctly," he gloated.

Trilla deadpanned. "You needed help to build your lightsaber?"

Petro paused. "Well," he blushed, scratching his head. "No, no I built it myself! I just inverted my…what was it?"

"Emitter matrix?" Trilla answered monotonously.

"Yeah, yeah that thing!" he pointed, and again scratched his head, chuckling to himself.

This fucking kid.

"How did this conversation become about you, and not him?" Trilla asked, still comforting Amelia.

"Sorry," Petro apologized. "I just…I just want to be just like him. Cutting down droids, scaring pirates with my lightsaber, saving my partner at every turn."

Part of her sank. "Who was his partner?"

Petro shrugged. "Well, I don't know if they were partners, but they seemed like really good friends."

Trilla narrowed her eyes with impatience. "Petro. Who?"

"Ahsoka," he finally answered. "Padawan Tano."

Now her heart sank.

"We rescued her from the pirates who attacked us. They also dueled General Grievous all on their own! It was amazing!"

She didn't share his elite enthusiasm in the slightest, and once again Petro's voice was slowly tuned out. All this time, no communication with her, and yet here he was spending time with another woman, taking on General Grievous together, which certainly meant they had some kind of connection. How deep…wasn't so clear.

Trilla shut her eyes. No. She was a Jedi, and jealously lead to anger, which was against everything she had been taught thus far. Besides, they had parted ways mutually, which meant it wasn't fair for her to…

Stop lying to yourself Trilla.

She was upset. Best to accept it.

There was a much louder boom, and this time the entire bunker shook violently, eliciting screams from some of the younglings, as well as Amelia, and ending Petro's glorious storytelling. The dim lights flashed on and off for a few moments, until slowly returning to their previous brightness.

"What was that?" Petro asked.

"I…" Trilla paused. "…don't know."

Cere finally reappeared from the entrance passage to the bunker, her robes ruined from intense exposure to the red dirt of Ossus. After taking a few heavy breaths, she spotted Trilla and immediately walked her way. "I've sealed the entrances. We're safe for now."

"For how long?" Trilla questioned.

Cere sighed heavily, still catching her breath. "Trilla…"

She nearly continued her onslaught of displeasure, but the look on her master's face was a desperate plea of cooperation, and she could sense that she was only doing the best she could. Trilla bit back her tongue and held Amelia a little tighter.

"I'll…watch over the younglings, Master," she offered.

Cere straightened herself, projecting relief in the Force. "It's been a long day. You should get some rest."

Trilla's eyes paced away, before returning to Cere. "You need it more than I do. I'll take first watch."

Her master wanted to protest, but Trilla knew she had spoken the truth. Cere desperately needed time to center herself, as well as to heal her tiring body.

"Alright, Trilla," Cere agreed. "If you need me, don't hesitate to come get me."

Trilla nodded. "I will."

As her master paced away, reassuring the other younglings of their safety, Amelia hugged Trilla tighter, and the Jedi padawan sighed to herself.

It was going to be a long night.


Ossus Orbit, 19 BBY

Demeter

"We'll come around and meet you here, on the far side of the catacombs, where we can extract the younglings and take them to a more secure location, away from the main combat areas. From there, we can take the gunship back to the front, rendezvous with General Windu, and start pushing back the Separatist advance," Captain Raven pointed at the displayed holomap, standing beside Xur as an astromech projected it before them. It was admittedly difficult to hear inside the bustling hangar bay, battle sirens blaring for fighters to begin takeoff sequences.

"Hell of a plan," Xur noted, jabbing his old friend with his elbow.

"Come on General, when have I ever let you down?" he assured, preparing to slide his helmet back over his head, his stubble and goatee roughly shaved and cleaned up. "It's going to be like Teth all over again."

Xur scoffed. "Let's hope not. Our gunship got totaled."

"Yeah," Raven conceded, his helmet projecting his voice. "But we still got everyone out alive, didn't we?"

The zabrak chuckled. "That we did," he said, and then clasped hands with the Captain. "See you down there."

"That you will," Raven then turned towards the assembled men, gearing them up to enter the gunship, while Xur hopped into the Jedi fighter that the astromech was plugged in to. It gave him a few beeps and whistles as he initiated the startup sequence.

"Minimal autopilot, actually," Xur corrected as the ship warmed up. "No offense to you, of course, but I'd like your focus on diverting power to the engines. We're going to need all the speed we can get."

The astromech trilled in warning.

"I'd like you to do what I ask," Xur denied, but eventually thought better of it. "Tell you what, if I need a route calculated, I'll let you know."

The blast shield lowered over the cockpit, and Xur activated the repulsor lifts. "Calling all wings, this is Green Leader."

Green One through Four called in.

"You know the drill, protect the gunship and stay packed in. We need to get them in fast and quiet. Once we're through, all wings provide air support to our boys down there while I assist the ground team, clear?"

"We hear you, General," Green One replied.

"Good to hear. All wings, prepare for takeoff."


Ossus, 19 BBY

Catacombs

Trilla's eyes flashed open again, greeted to the distant booms that rumbled the bunker. Instantly they began to sting, and she wiped them clear of crimson dirt with her already filthy hand, which in turn only made it worse. Desperately and annoyedly, she wiped her hand on her leather gauntlet and tried again, this time with more success.

She had dozed off during her shift, and her eyelids were only getting heavier the longer she sat in her spot, looking over the sleeping younglings. Healing trances could replenish her energy, but she only found herself falling asleep in the process.

Meaning she'd have to tough it out.

Amelia was fast asleep, still leaning on the Padawan for support, and Trilla could only observe her with a hint of jealousy. Even Petro had found it in him to get some sleep.

She ran her hand through her matted hair, pulling loose strands out of her face and sniffed, trying to keep the noise down, but also trying to find something to pass the time.

Huuuumm.

Trilla's head darted to where she thought the noise originated, her hand on her hilt, but saw nothing…and sensed nothing as well. Brushing it off, she returned her gaze to the younglings.

Huuuumm.

It was distant…not within the bunker…but a plea…almost like a call through the Force.

Huuuumm.

A call for help.

She'd had enough. She had tried it her master's way, but now the situation had changed. It was time to act.

Lying Amelia down where she sat without waking her, Trilla stepped carefully between the younglings, doing her best to keep her sound contained through the Force. She mulled telling her master…but she knew what she'd say. She'd tell her to wait here regardless, and that was no longer an option to her.

Sneaking through and to a side passage, she followed the hum down the tunnel, trying to focus her senses on only it, which was tougher than usual with the chaos happening above. However, with enough persistence, she homed in long enough to reach the end of a passage, where a hatch was above. Calming her mind, she reached out and heard the hatch slowly turn.

Her hilt was in her hand as she turned towards a surge in her senses, and her yellow blade illuminated the passageway. When she looked down, Petro was standing there, his smaller hilt in hand.

She grumbled. "Petro, what are you doing here?" Trilla asked, extinguishing her blade. "You shouldn't sneak up on me like that. You could've been hurt."

The young boy shrugged. "I figured you needed help."

Trilla shook her head and pointed down the passage. "Go back, now."

He stood his ground, and her patience was beginning to be tested. "I'll just tell Master Junda that you left…unless you take me with you."

She scoffed. "Oh? You'd snitch on me? Not very manly of you, Petro. Whatever would Master Eon say?"

Petro raised his finger in protest but seemed to realize he didn't know what to say. "Walked right in to that one."

Trilla smiled, but then had an idea. "Tell you what. You can't come with me, but," she pulled a commlink from her pouch and handed it to the youngling on one knee. "If I need help, I'll contact you."

He took the commlink and sighed. "Alright."

She stood. "Now, go back, and yes, I'll know if you're following me."

After a moment, Petro eventually did as he was told, turning back down the passage that lead to the bunker. With a quiet sigh of relief once he was out of sight, Trilla looked back to the hatch and forced it open, pushing outwards with an outstretched hand. Jumping acrobatically with a flip, she landed on both feet. The sudden reappearance of wind and airflow caused her to stumble for a moment, but she quickly recovered, making sure to close the hatch tightly, the squeals of old metal making her cringe.

Free of the catacombs, she finally got a look at her surroundings. Close by was a tree line where a forest began, but in the far distance she could see the brilliant explosions illuminate the night sky, Separatist spider walkers towering above.

Too much noise.

She took a deep, lung-filling breath, and exhaled, silencing all distractions, all senses of pain and suffering; feeling through the dirt, the grass, the ruffling of branches in the wind. She felt life, harmony, the age of the air, constructions lost to the dirt over millennia, decay making way for new life on the planet.

There it was.

Huuuumm.

Into the forest, commotion built, wildlife scurrying away from an extraterrestrial object, fleeing from what it left behind. There was smoke, a starship burning…and its pilot…dying. The sound strengthened, and she saw it, the pilot's wound, singing to her through the Force.

Her eyes opened, and she ran into the trees, crushing twigs under her boots as the ground went from dirt to grass, unfocused on the trail she left behind. The sound was close, she could feel it, but she also knew there was little time left. Whoever had piloted that starfighter, their life force was fading every moment she delayed.

Eventually she could see trees split like broken bones, and flames building where the crash had occurred. Picking up the pace, she sprinted to the sound, which was becoming a near deafening cry.

"I saw something!"

Trilla ducked behind a tree, hoping the B1 battle droid unit hadn't spotted her, and she did her best to calm her excessive breathing. Fighting off the sound for now, she peeked over.

"Your optics are malfunctioning. I can't see anything," another unit responded. "Keep moving. We're supposed to check out the crashed Jedi fighter."

"Roger, roger."

It was only a fireteam, probably a scout just to see if the fighter's pilot had survived the crash…and they had said Jedi fighter. That only enhanced her pressing need to be where she was.

Her commlink blinked and chimed.

"Did you hear that?" a unit called.

Trilla stifled the device, shutting it off for now. "Dammit, Petro," she cursed through grit teeth.

"Are your audio receptors fried too?"

"I swear I heard something!"

"Get back to work. That's nothing!"

"Roger, roger."

The Jedi waited for a moment, listening for the metal feet of the droids to wander back towards the ship, before jumping behind tree to tree, keeping pace with them. Once she was close enough to the ship, she looked.

There was a Jedi, sitting beside the burning cockpit on the grass, his pain projected in the Force. The fireteam was making its round, one droid kicking at the metal.

"I don't see anyone," it said.

"Keep looking. I want to be sure."

"Roger, roger."

Silently, Trilla grabbed ahold of her hilt, waiting for the droid to come around the side of the crashed fighter. Her heartbeat slowed, and she began to build Force energy within her, feeling her entire body vibrate.

The yellow blade ignited.

"What the-," the droid cried, before it was cut down at its torso in an instant, Trilla ripping through the air at an impossible speed.

"Ah! It's a Jedi! Blast her!" the commanding droid shouted and opened fire, only to see each of its fired bolts deflected with ease. Trilla advanced, sidestepping by the stray shots whilst charging forward, swinging her saber through two of the droids, leaving only the last.

"Uh oh…uh oh!" the droid cried before she cut its head clean off, letting the metal bodies flop onto the grass. With a calming inhale, she deactivated her blade and returned it to her belt.

"The…the hell?" the Jedi croaked from his spot, his voice sounding hoarse.

Trilla jogged to him. "I heard your call. I came to-," she froze.

Xur Eon, the man she hadn't seen since he had left for Geonosis three years ago, was panting beside his wrecked fighter, crimson blood covering his robes and his armor…with a piece of the ship protruding from the side of his stomach. Her eyes widened, absolutely horrified at the sight before her.

"Hey, Trilla," he coughed heavily, trying to smile. "I've looked better…I know."

She fell to her knees, fumbling with his clothing as she tried to assess his wounds. "What the hell happened to you?!" she asked, moving desperately.

"Master Windu…said there were younglings," he coughed and wheezed between phrases, mixed with pained grunts as she touched injured areas. "I was to lead the…extraction team…didn't go so great," he chuckled.

"Stop laughing! This isn't funny!" she pressed, her gaze snapping him out of his mood. "We've got to get this thing out of you."

"Trilla," he grunted as she touched the piece stuck in him.

"Let me-,"

"Trilla, stop!" he insisted, falling into another fit of coughs. "I've lost too much blood. If you pull that out of me, I'll lose the rest of it."

"I can help you!" she pressed, the sound she heard deafening by now, drawing her hand like opposite poles of a magnet. "There's a way."

"You can't help me. Not like-,"

"Trust me!" she shouted, grabbing the wrist of the arm he used to hold her back. He paused, relaxing in her grip, and she used her blood-soaked free hand to touch his face. "Trust me. I can save you." She projected confidence through the Force, and she felt his defenses waver, and eventually fall, his eyes shutting closed as he weakened ever further.

"I…I trust you," he said in almost a whisper.

She tipped her head, fighting back an urge to cry at his near-death state, and wiped the blood from his forehead in an effort to comfort him. "This is going to hurt, and once it's out, I'm going to heal you."

"Heal…me?" he questioned, not noticing that she had wrapped her hand around the piece. "You mean like AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" he screamed, echoing through the night as Trilla ripped it out of his body.

In that moment, Trilla focused on the exposed wound, fighting past the gruesome image of his exposed guts, and allowed her hand to hover above it. She breathed, letting the Force flow through her like a conduit, the warmth of the light ripping through the cold of death leaning over the zabrak. Projecting her own life force, her hand glowed, and she transferred it to him. His skin regrew over itself, his internals realigning in their proper places. Infection dissipated and died; his blood revitalized by the power she placed within him.

His wound closed, and she collapsed atop him, her energy spent, catching herself with both hands on the dirt.

Xur looked on in shock, his life-threatening wound erased from his body.

"Trilla…I've," he stammered, running his fingers over his rebuilt skin as she picked herself back up. "I've only heard stories of Jedi being able to do this…h-how…?"

"It's not a universal power," she explained, running her thumb over her blood-covered hand. "It's a rare ability. You have to be born with it, and…I was."

The zabrak was shaking off how stunned he was, but he found it in himself to at least smile. "I always knew you were…special," he said, before coughing again, his life saved, but his body far from healed entirely.

Unable to resist any longer, she collapsed into him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, not caring if his still exposed blood stained her robes. "I've missed you," she confessed.

He grunted but placed his hand on the back of her head, and she sensed his own happiness at the sight of her in the Force. "I'm sorry it's been so long," he apologized, and she still didn't let up her grip. "There's so much I want to tell you."

"All this time…they wouldn't tell me if you were still alive," she said, slowly letting him go. "I just fought through every day, hoping Republic headlines didn't have a section on the passing of another 'Great Jedi Hero'."

Xur scoffed. "Great Jedi Hero, huh? They don't really paint me like that do they?"

She smiled. "Sometimes…but I know better. I knew you were out there…trying to make this galaxy a better place…for all of us."

He only offered her a half smile at that, his head slowly turning away, and she felt uncertainty within him. "Doesn't feel like it's working, honestly."

Trilla frowned and felt inclined to grab ahold of his closest hand, which she did. His eyes paced over to her, without the comfort she remembered. "It is."

"You don't know what I've done, Trilla," he looked down, his hand limp in her grip. "I'm not a hero."

"You are to me," she leaned in, trying to break into him once again, but to no avail. In her flattering answer, she felt…embarrassment surge within him, as if what she had said made him uncomfortable. She was only trying to make him happy, just as how elated she was to lay eyes on him again…but he was ravaged by conflicting emotions every time he laid eyes upon her, like he was unsure he should even be speaking to her.

Her hand slid from his weak grip.

He finally looked at her, his eyes on her arms. "Did you make these yourself?" he pointed at her leather gauntlets, stained with blots of crimson, avoiding what she had been saying. "They're nice."

"Who's Ahsoka Tano?" she asked, fed up with his dodging.

There it was.

The zabrak paused, his eyes unable to meet hers, and he eventually shrugged. "Anakin's Padawan."

Trilla's eyes shut, and her head turned away, fighting back an urge to react emotionally. "How long have you known her?"

"Trilla-,"

"How long?" she asked, more firmly this time.

He sighed. "Two years."

She huffed, stunned, turning back to look at him. "Two years? You've been running around the galaxy with another woman for two fucking years?"

"Oh, for fuck sake Trilla."

"After all that 'I've got a galaxy to save' talk, and 'we're going in different directions', you've got the fucking nerve to run off with someone else, and not hold her to the same standards?!"

"That's not fair, and you know it!" he pointed, wincing in pain. "How do you even know about her anyway?"

She crossed her arms, staring daggers into him. "There's a youngling with us, about nine or ten, says you helped him with the Gathering."

Xur cringed and rubbed his eyes with his hand. "Fucking Petro strikes again."

"Yes. Blame your double standards on a poor boy."

"Give me a break! You think I wanted to hurt you?"

Trilla shrugged. "How was I to know? You never reached out to me, ever. For all I knew you were dead! Why? Because you've been fighting a war?" she rolled her eyes.

"And what have you been doing?" he shot back, and she paused. "Out here, in the middle of nowhere…how are you contributing?"

The Jedi was too stunned by his insensitive comment to fire back, and she watched his infuriated face morph slowly into regret. He looked away. "Sorry…I didn't…I didn't mean that."

Part of her wanted to continue to barrage him, but she stopped herself, mostly ashamed that she had allowed her negative emotions to influence her to such a point that it would drive him to react in such a way.

"It's alright."

"No, it's not," he shook his head, and reached for her hand. "You're right…I should've at least tried to get in touch with you…but I didn't. I'm sorry."

She didn't accept it, but she raised both of hers in an easing manner. "Xur, I…wasn't thinking clearly," she admitted, and then rose to her feet. "Let's just…let's just get you back to the bunker. Master Junda is probably going to be rather cross with me."


"There's no answer, sir," ARC Trooper Mars relayed, his hand clasped on to the gunship overhead handle as it made another flyby. "Just static."

Captain Raven shook his head, maintaining his balance as turbulence shook them all. "Hmmm. That's not like him. Something must've happened. Lockdown, old buddy, can you check the system logs for his fighter?"

Lockdown was a Clone Commando, a division of the Republic's best troops by far, and his blue glowing visor was the last thing many droids ever saw before they were permanently deactivated. His armor was mostly a grey-white, but the various streaks and purple hues signified his commitment to the 502nd Legion, as he had served many times with them.

"One second," he said, activating his Multipurpose Augmented Holographic Interface, or MAHI, with the raising of his arm, and a blue-hued projected gauntlet appeared around his forearm. He tapped over the interface with his fingers, and it responded through implants, behaving like a touchscreen device despite the lack of a physical plane. It was a classified technology, experimental still, as it used Virtual Intelligence processors just to run the operating system…technically still illegal within the Republic…which meant only Commandos were equipped with such devices.

It made a direct link to the holonet, and within moments, he had the systems log displayed before him. ALERT, it read, all caps.

"Yeah, that's not good," Mars noted.

"His ship was shot down," Lockdown read. "Multiple hull breaches. Even the engines blew. Captain…I think-."

"He's fine," Raven dismissed. "We just need to do our job."

Both he and Mars nodded. "Copy that."

The pilot's intercom activated. "Approaching drop zone."

Raven brandished his DC-17 pistol. "We complete our directive, and he'll complete his. I know he will."


"Take it easy," Trilla urged, helping the injured zabrak over to the hatch leading back to the catacombs. Letting him stand for a moment, she knelt and turned the locking mechanism, pulling it open with a heave. While he had been weakened by injury, she herself was also haggled by exhaustion. "In here."

Xur grunted, and after a moment of mulling, he jumped in, but falling to his knees once his feet hit the dirt. She followed quickly, closing the hatch behind them and helping him back to his feet.

"Careful," she implored, pulling his arm back over her shoulders to help him walk. He had kept his arm across his chest, where she could hear the singing on fractured bones, but she was far too weak by now to do anything about it.

"Trilla," he wheezed, and her eyes met his. "Thank you…for this."

She looked away, refocusing on the path ahead…and spotted someone waiting in the middle, the weak lights barely making them visible.

"Shit," she cursed.

"Trilla!" Petro greeted, standing beside the much taller someone. "I thought you needed help, so I got Master Junda for you!"

The Padawan only gave Petro a tested look, before her gaze made its way over to her master, who had her arms crossed in frustration. "I see you've been busy," Cere noted. "Do you have any idea what you risked? I specifically ordered you to watch over the younglings, and you deliberately disobeyed me."

"Master, it had nothing to do with-."

"If she hadn't left, Master Junda, I'd be dead," Xur cut in, and Cere's eyes locked on him. "Oh, I'm Xur-."

"I know who you are," she cut him off. "Master Windu didn't tell me he was sending you, just an extraction team."

Xur shrugged. "You're looking at it. I have no idea where the rest of my team is…or if they're even still alive," the sudden realization hit him harder than he expected. "My ship crashed, and Trilla found me. She saved my life."

Cere and Trilla locked glances, and while she could sense that her master was still upset with her, the reasoning was sound enough for her to lose some of her aggravation. "How did you even find him?"

Trilla swallowed. "I…could hear his wound…sing to me, I guess. I followed it until I found him."

"How bad was it?" She asked.

Her eyes wandered to him, and Xur pointed to the gouging tear in his robes. "I was able to heal him in time," she revealed.

Cere gave them both a look, and eventually sighed. "I don't like that you left without telling me…but if you did it to save him…then I guess I can't fault you for that."

Trilla's head drooped. "Thank you, Master."

"Come on," Cere flicked her head. "Let's get you two patched up."


Water poured onto the dirt from the wrung-out towel, its clear shine ruined by clots of crimson blood. The formerly white towel fared no better, but Trilla's hands were finally cleared. Shutting off the running water, and tossing the cloth aside, she leaned over the sink, probing her own eyes in the tunneled mirror. In all honesty, she still looked dreadful…and she felt like death.

"He's out," Cere said, entering the side room Trilla currently occupied. "He badly needs rest. The amount of blood he's lost…it's a wonder he's still alive."

That's not what she wanted to hear. "I'm going to try again. Maybe I can heal the rest of him."

"Trilla, you can't," Cere insisted. "When you use your power, it comes at a cost of yourself. Life cannot be created out of thin air…it has to come from somewhere, and right now you're too weak."

Dejectedly, Trilla sighed. "When I see him in pain…it…," she paused, turning to face her master. "It hurts me."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," she admitted, approaching her. "But there is such a thing as reckless generosity. We may be Jedi…but sometimes sacrificing ourselves only endangers those we try to protect. Sometimes it's better for us to press on and accept the way things are."

"So to protect the younglings, I should've let him die?" Trilla questioned.

"No. I'm saying that you've done everything in your power to help him, and now it's time to ensure your own wellbeing. You've still got a job to do."

It wasn't what Trilla wanted to accept, but she could sense the truth in her master's words. Despite her worry, she knew Xur could take care of himself, and now she had to make sure those under her protection remained safe.

But he was hurt, and she had the power to make it go away.

"Be mindful of your feelings, Trilla," Cere interrupted her thought process. "Remember what we talked about…years ago."

"I understand my place," Trilla seethed, annoyed that her master had the nerve to bring it up.

"Padawan…" Cere warned, until Petro appeared at the doorway.

"Master Junda! The team is here!" he called.

"What team?"

"Master Eon's team…three clones. They found us!"

Cere left her Padawan behind, rushing quickly back into the bunker's main room, and sure enough there were three heavily dressed clone troopers with the assembled younglings.

"General Junda," one of them greeted, presenting himself as if he was in charge. "I'm Captain Raven. General Windu sent us here to extract you."

Trilla had never seen such heavily outfitted troopers before. She was used to mainly escort and front-line infantry…but these were certainly special forces. Never before had she witnessed such state-of-the-art tech hanging from each of them, and their presence inspired a bit of safety within her.

"Is this all of you?" Cere asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Raven nodded. "This is Lockdown and Mars. We're the best in the regiment. We'll get you all out safely, I promise."

Relief found its way to her master, and Trilla felt it transfer into her. "That's good to hear. We've got six younglings and a Jedi injured, Xur Eon."

Raven's stance shuddered. "The General? He's here?"

"Yes," Trilla stepped in, just in front of her master. "I can show you to him. Follow me."

"Right," Cere nodded. "In the meantime, I'll prepare the younglings, then we can formulate a strategy for getting out of here."

"Copy that. Mars, assist her," he ordered, pulling the ARC troopers attention from the youngling he was kneeling to, reassuring them, and he nodded in compliance. "Lockdown, with me. We might need that MAHI of yours."

While Cere broke off with Mars, Trilla lead Raven and Lockdown to another side room where they had Xur laid out on a cot, out cold for now.

"You must be her Padawan," Raven deducted as they stepped into the room. "Suduri, right?"

She nodded. "Yes. Trilla Suduri. How did you know?"

"You mean aside from mission logs?" Raven continued as they came up to his side. "General Eon brings you up every now and then."

Her arms crossed and she stepped aside, allowing Lockdown to reveal his holographic gauntlet and begin a scan. "What does he say?"

"Nothing but good things," Lockdown answered for his captain, focused on the medical readouts displayed on his MAHI.

Trilla swallowed, wishing she had a shell to crawl in to avoid the embarrassment of her previous assumption about him. Now it was hard to look at him, sprawled out on the cot as he desperately tried to heal himself through the old Jedi trance, knowing that she had only given him a hard time when he most likely didn't deserve it.

"Eh, sorry Commander," Raven apologized. "None of our business."

She gave him a funny look.

"You're a Padawan, aren't you? That makes you a Commander."

Trilla raised her hands defensively. "Commander? But I've never been in any real battles…I'm not sure I'm deserving of such a title."

Raven shrugged as the scan ended. "Maybe, maybe not. What's the sit rep, Lockdown?"

The Commando sighed. "Not great. He's alive, but his vitals are weaker than usual. I'm reading a loss of a lot of blood…in all honesty I'm not sure how he's still breathing."

Trilla stepped forward, pointing to the tear in his robe. "A piece of his fighter was stuck in him, here. In order to save him, I had to remove it and…close the wound myself."

Lockdown cocked his head. "How did you manage that?"

She considered explaining it but thought better. "Jedi thing."

"Ah," both clones recognized in unison.

Raven crossed his arms, his helmet aimed at the commando. "Is there anything you can do?"

"Nothing that they haven't already done. We need to get him out of here, though…and soon."

Xur stirred on the cot, one hand finding its way to his forehead. "Why is it so loud…," he paused once his eyes opened. "Raven, Lockdown. Shit, am I glad to see you."

Trilla's eyes glanced away, her arms crossing.

"Good to see you alive, General," Raven greeted. "We're here to get you out of here."

His eyes narrowed as he tried to rise. "Weren't we the ones-," he grunted heavily, clasping his ribs as he winced.

"Careful!" Trilla urged, trying to ease him back down. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"I'm fine," he insisted, attempting to fight her only to find more internal pain.

"The Commander's right, General," Lockdown helped her ease him back onto the cot. "You shouldn't be moving."

The zabrak chuckled to himself, looking over to Trilla. "Commander, huh?"

She glared his way. "Don't sound so surprised."

He snorted. "I was just kidding, Trilla."

It was hardly amusing to her. Besides their previous heated conversation when she pulled him from the wreckage of his own starfighter, how easily he was taking his clearly horrid condition was driving her insane. She still couldn't get the image of his guts pouring from his stomach out of her head, and the more he pressed himself, the more she felt that her effort to save him would be in vain.

He felt like her responsibility.

"Captain," Mars chimed in from the entrance, his head peaking over. "I've got some bad news."

Raven shrugged. "Is there any other kind? Give it to me."

"The Republic front line has broken. Droids are marching here as we speak," he reported. "Although, General Windu reports that they have nearly breached the blockade, and then he'll be able to send support, but until then, we'll have to hold off the droids."

"Hold off the droids?" Trilla gasped. "How are we supposed to do that?"

"The droids will be swarming every hatch," Raven pondered. "But we're in close quarters…so lightsabers and bombs are our friends."

"Hold on with the explosives, big guy," Lockdown warned. "We don't want to be rearranging architecture this old. Might end up burying ourselves with the rest of ancient history."

"Then we fight our way out," Xur stated, more in the tone of an order, and not a suggestion. "Lockdown, you've got to have something to get me moving again."

"Absolutely not," Trilla denied. "We're not risking your life."

His eyes narrowed. "Excuse me, Commander? I don't know if you've noticed, but I outrank you, so don't start barking orders at-."

"In any given battlefield, protocol states that the senior General's command supersedes all others, except the chief medical officer's when faced with the question of a soldier's health, even their own," Trilla explained. "Now, since no one here is a medical officer, the one most qualified to fit the role is me, is it not?"

"That's not how it-."

"No? Secondary protocol states that in the event that a fireteam becomes stranded and their chief medic is either not present or KIA, the next most qualified in the group assumes the role and privileges, as to avoid any reckless endangerment of one's troops."

There was a moment of silence, before Xur's eyes paced to Raven, who eventually nodded. "That checks out…General."

"Anyhow, Sir," Lockdown sighed. "If she really did what she explained…maybe you should just consider what she has to say."

The zabrak paused for a moment, and Trilla could feel his tenacity wavering, which she no doubt admired, but she couldn't bear to see him die, no matter how she felt about him currently.

"Fine," he accepted, and a part of her finally relaxed. "I'll…remain here…Captain, if you could just fill me in on the plan, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, Sir."

With sporadic nods, everyone filed out of the room, Trilla staying just behind. She was about to follow them out to leave him be, but she stopped herself…and eventually gestured, closing the door shut.

"Listen, I know how you feel about this…but it's what's best for you," Trilla assured.

Xur seethed inside, shaking his head and turning away. "What do you want from me, Trilla?"

She tried not to react to his question harshly, but her frustration with him reached a fever. "Can't you understand I'm looking out for you?" she questioned, and when he didn't look back to her, she growled. "I don't know what has happened to you. Your dogged persistence to be the hero of everything is infuriating."

"I'm not the same Jedi you once knew, Trilla," Xur answered, finally turning her way. "Alright, you got to war, you form bonds with people. It's rather easy when you're in the trenches bleeding with them. At first, it's not so bad…you get to see the galaxy, explore countless worlds, and every day, you're getting stronger…but then," he paused, looking as if he was losing himself in memories. "Then your men start dying…your friends start dying. I have some nights where…where I can't even look myself in the mirror, because with all this power, all this potential…the reality sets in."

He leaned over the cot, seemingly ignoring his pain. "You can never do enough. You could always save one more man, end the battle a day or two earlier…but you have to make sacrifices…and I don't know about you, but I'd rather die than live knowing I didn't do enough."

"Xur, if you're convinced you can never do enough, then you'll never be satisfied. That's not a way to live, not for anyone," she answered, and then found herself remembering her master's own words. "There is such a thing as reckless generosity."

Xur was silent for a moment, and she felt he was considering her words, which surprised her, before eventually letting out a sigh. "Maybe you're right."

Trilla silently thanked Cere for that one.

Neither of them had anything to say, and she took that as her cue to leave him alone. "I'll…help prepare the others."

As she approached the door, Xur called out. "Thank you, Trilla…for everything."

When she turned, she only graced him with a half-smile, and left him to prepare for the long night ahead.


Zeffo, 14 BBY

Abandoned Settlement

Cal Kestis looked across to Xur, dressed in filthy Inquisitor garments, his expression dimmed as he finished speaking.

"Did you make it out?" he asked.

His blue eyes were fixed on the old rug that occupied the floor of the abandoned home, seized from its previous occupants by the Empire to continue Project Auger. Cal had been able to determine that it once housed a family of four through his psychometry ability…but now it served as their safehouse for the night as they continued their long journey back to the Mantis.

"We did. I didn't even have to do much. I suggested having the younglings help with dispatching the droids, but Cere wouldn't have it." Xur answered. "I didn't say it to her then, but Trilla was brilliant. She strategically placed detonite charges that collapsed all major passageways, funneling the droids into kill boxes for their small team to easily take care of. We were able to hold out, and Master Windu pushed through and extracted us," he then chuckled to himself, his eyes still fixed on the floor. "She looked like hell by the end, but I was…proud of her. Both of us spent time in the medical bay of the Demeter…those were…good times."

Cal sighed. "I'm…sorry."

"It is what it is, kid," he shook his head.

The former Padawan paused, wondering if he should even ask, but felt it necessary for his own perspective. "What was she like…back then?"

Xur's eyes shut, and Cal instantly regretted asking, but he got his answer.

"Better than anything I ever deserved."


TIE Interceptor, 14 BBY

Leaving Zeffo

Trilla's eyes watched the stars as she left Zeffo behind, left only to the cold darkness of space, and the chilling soundless vacuum that accompanied it. Her gloved hands were wrapped around the flight stick, keeping her course for the ISD Valkyrie.

Ignoring the tear rolling down her face.


I might extend the entire chapter on a later date, but it was becoming too long, and I felt I've given you enough insight on Trilla's previous life. This was fun! I had a lot of creative freedom, especially with her gear and what she was capable of since there is virtually nothing on her life as a Padawan as of now. I also tried to fix a plot hole with the whole "force healing" power, making it like psychometry instead of a power any Jedi can use.

Thanks for reading! Next chapter, we go back to the current tale!