Chapter 17: Monitionem Signa

CORUSCANT: THE WORKS: INQUISITORIOUS HEADQUARTERS

The chilling rasp and hiss of the Dark Lord's respirator dominated the air. Soft, flickering blue light rebounded off every darkened wall and surface. In the middle of the briefing room, surrounded by a circular conference table, the Grand Inquisitor knelt before the larger than life projection of the Sith's black mask.

"The Sixth Brother has been despatched for Raada as you commanded, Lord Vader. I have instructed him to report back the instant he finds something."

"Good. His presence there should be enough to draw the Jedi out of hiding," Vader said. He waited one full rasping cycle of his respirator before continuing. "I have another task for you, Inquisitor. According to one of my sources, two Jedi have been sighted in the lower levels of Coruscant. I am confident these traitors are in-league with the developing rebellion. And as such, could hold valuable clues with regards to the location of their hidden rebel base."

"I understand."

"Hunt down these Jedi. Track them to their hideout, then deliver your findings to me. I will deal with them personally upon my return to the Capitol."

The Grand Inquisitor bent forward at the order. "It will be done, Lord Vader."

USCRU ENTERTAINMENT DISTRICT: THE OUTLANDER CLUB

Inside the club the dance music was loud and throbbing. Hundreds of bustling party-goers were gathered in groups, tightly packed together and jostling in time with the pulsating beat. Around the central bar, beings clutched at their drinks, talking and laughing; the bitter stench of exotic alcohols and burnt spice overpowering the fetid miasma of the City street outside.

Staying close to his Master, Caleb scanned their surroundings, keeping his eyes peeled for a glimpse of their supposed informant. "Do you see them anywhere, Master?"

"Over there," Ferus answered, nodding toward a shadowy booth tucked into the far left corner. "Hooded figure. Alone. Rigid posture. Been watching us since we came in."

Caleb spotted the figure, and immediately stretched out into the Force. A sudden feeling of nervous tension bounced back at him. "I see them. They seem rather on edge."

"I sensed it too," Ferus added. "Stay close." Caleb followed him as he gently pushed his way through the crowd. They paused by the corner lounge next to the seated stranger. "I hear the Alderaanian Ale is good here," Ferus said, reciting the coded greeting.

The hooded stranger looked up from the table. "Yes. It's a shame the new import tariffs have made it so expensive," he answered correctly, his voice muffled by the brown cloth covering the lower half of his face. He gestured with his gloved hand to the vacant seats opposite.

Caleb sat beside his Master at the other side of the table and studied the hooded figure. Two steel blue eyes focused past him on the club surrounds, anxiously darting back and forth across the packed venue. The stranger quickly turned his attention back to them, his expression serious. "Were you followed? Did anyone see you come in here?"

Ferus shook his head. "No. We came alone."

Caleb noted he'd left out the part about the Mandalorian and the Trandoshan spotting them by the bar earlier. Not that the pair had appeared to make any attempt at following them.

"Are you certain?" the stranger demanded, impatiently rapping his gloved fingers on the table. "Two Jedi wandering the streets is hardly common practice around these parts, even before the Empire."

He didn't like the sound of this. Was this meeting actually the trap, and not the setup of the freighter as he'd first suspected? Could Darth Vader have set all of this up to lure both him and Ferus out into the open, so he could finally capture them after seeing them at the Senate building? Caleb leaned forward, and growled through his teeth. "Who says we are Jedi?"

The stranger met his accusatory stare. "I do, kid. I worked with enough of your kind during the Clone Wars. I know a Jedi when I see one."

Glowering, Caleb folded his arms across his chest and slumped back. "I'm sure you do." He supposed it was a plausible enough explanation, and he sensed no intended deception from the man through the Force. Even so, it still didn't smell right.

"Alleged identity's aside..." Ferus interjected, and he jabbed his elbow painfully into Caleb's rib. He shot him a stern glance before turning back to their informant, getting straight back to business. "Do you have the package?"

"That depends," the man bit back. "Do you have the credits?"

Instead of answering, Ferus dug deep into his robe pocket, pulled out a small credit chip and carefully slid it across the table. "I believe that to be the agreed amount," he said, watching the man intently as he grabbed at the disc and activated the tiny screen to display the total.

The hooded man's eyes went wide. "Yes, yes, indeed it is." He moved to pocket the credit chip, and when his hands returned to the table, Caleb noticed a data-disc discreetly tucked into the underside of his palm. "Here," the man said, sliding it forcefully across to them. "You'll find everything you need to know on there. Slated destination, routine stops, armoured convoy complement, even a comprehensive cargo breakdown."

"I trust you understand my needing to check it first," Ferus said, reaching for the disc with one hand, and surreptitiously pulling his datapad out with the other.

The informant's gaze once again returned to the club, his blue eyes drifting from side to side. "Of course," he muttered.

A moment of uneasy silence passed between them, and Caleb —making sure to keep one eye firmly planted on their dodgy companion— watched on as his Master accessed the stolen files. It wasn't long before he'd managed to decode the security encryption and download the data.

Prompted by a low whistle from Ferus, Caleb leaned in for a closer look. "Whoa," he said, seeing the cargo list and vessel identification marker itemised on the pad. "An ETA-class supply barge... unarmed and fully packed. That really is the motherlode."

"Apparently..." Ferus whispered. "But do you see the other ship ID, the one marked as escort?"

Caleb eyed the endless lines of aurebesh covering the small screen. Being that this was only a partial decryption, and not the full-scale code breakdown only possible using much larger, more sophisticated data devices, there were no diagrams or schematics to look at. Only text. After a brief moment of searching, though, he eventually found it. "Command ship. Pelta-class," he said, looking up. "That might make things a little more difficult."

"Exactly."

"Satisfied?" their informant demanded from across the table, his voice edged with irritation. "Are we done here?"

Caleb watched his master turn off the datapad and tuck it back inside his robe. He looked up and cocked his brow at the stranger. It seemed his Master was now just as suspicious of the situation as what he was.

"Well, the data certainly looks credible enough," Ferus said, stroking his chin. "But I have one more question. Why risk your life to sell it, when you could defect and join us instead?"

The informant stiffened, his steel eyes narrowing slightly. "Join you?" he scoffed. "Why would I want to do that? I don't care about your cause. I'm not doing this because I want to help you."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"Simple. I need the credits," the man said matter-of-factly, rising from his seat. "Whilst I am proud to serve this Empire, every man has his price." He straightened the hood of his jacket and nodded. "Good luck with that ship, gentlemen," he added. "You're going to need it." Then with a low chuckle, he turned and walked away, his hooded head bobbing in the distance, his cloaked figure disappearing into the thick crowd and flashing lights.

Caleb turned to his Master; his gaze still fixed on their retreating Imperial informant. "What was that supposed to mean?"

"Who knows," Ferus said, giving a tired shrug. "Scaremongering tactics most likely." He rose from the seat, adjusted his robe, then clapped his hand on Caleb's shoulder. "Come on, we have what we came here for. Besides, I think we've pushed our luck quite enough for one evening."

When they'd finally made their way through the maze of intoxicated party goers and exited out into the street, everything looked pretty much the same as it had before they'd gone in. The line to get inside the club was longer, and there were more twi'lek girls hanging around, but other than that nothing too out of the ordinary. Much to Caleb's relief he could see no visible indication of trooper patrols, either.

Keeping to the shadows, he and Ferus took to the city streets and headed back. It wasn't too long before they were passing the bar where they'd seen the armoured Mandalorian and his reptilian associate, earlier. Most evidence of the scuffle had been cleared away, and the drunkards had obviously long since been moved on. So far, so good. Dismissing it, they continued on and around the next corner.

The access-way to the side-alley where they'd parked Organa's speeder was tucked beside a pawn shop about fifty metres ahead of them. And after ten more paces, Caleb stopped; a cold shiver running down his back. He looked up, squinted at the two permacrete footbridges spanning the street; one roughly twenty metres behind their current position, and the other directly overhead. There were shadows of beings walking back and forth, and plenty of hovercars zooming in the distance, but nothing really worth noting. Still, it was strange. He'd felt certain he'd sensed someone watching them.

"What is it?" Ferus asked, pausing to look back.

"I'm not sure..." Caleb said, his squinted stare drifting across the footbridges again, a little more slowly this time. Still nothing. Perhaps he was just imagining things. After all, he was starving, and it was getting pretty late. He gave the platforms one final look, then shrugged, giving up. "It's probably nothing," he said grudgingly, turning around and quickening his pace to catch up. "This whole expedition seems to have me jumping at shadows."

Ferus smiled and patted him on the back. "This expedition?" he jested. "You've always jumped at shadows, Caleb. Ever since the very first day I met you back in Theed."

Caleb grimaced, his thoughts once more drifting to Jaina. Why did he have to bring that up? Now he was going to be stuck wondering about her again, hoping she was alright and that nothing had happened to her. He sighed and shook it off, then followed him toward the side-alley, trying his best to seem more offended than worried. "Ha ha, Master. Very funny." They passed the pawn shop and entered the dark side-alley—

And there it was. Senator Organa's gleaming red speeder. Parked at the back of the laneway next to a couple of old dumpsters; exactly where they'd left it. Somehow just seeing the expensive and luxuriously appointed leisure craft had Caleb breathing easier. For more than a few times during their trip, he'd wondered if this one was going to be their last, especially after crossing paths with both Vader and the Emperor only a few short days ago. Ferus was right. They had pushed their luck enough for one evening. In-fact, they'd probably pushed their luck more than enough to last a lifetime.

"Come on. Let's get out of here," Ferus said, gesturing as he moved deeper into the darkness toward the awaiting speeder.

Caleb hurried for passenger while his Master took pilot. Just as they were reaching for the handles, that same unnerving shiver crept across his back. His hand froze. Eyes wide, he looked up and locked stares with Ferus.

Half a second later, there was a whoosh of air, and two black silhouettes suddenly dropped down from one of the buildings above. Grabbing at their lightsabers, they spun around. Two figures garbed in black landed at the end of the alley blocking their exit with a thump.

"Well... Hello boys," the smaller of the two figures said tauntingly. She was clearly female, her pitchy voice robotic; as if spoken through a vocoder. Her face and head were covered by an armoured helmet, similar to that of Vader's without the mask detail. And she was dressed head to toe in what looked to be some kind of officer's uniform. There was a sudden snap-hiss and a glowing red lightsaber burst into life in her hand. She swung the blade up in line with her faceplate. "What's a pair of fine Jedi like you, doing in a place like this?"

Another red lightsaber ignited in the hands of her silent, yet much larger companion.

Caleb glanced to Ferus. "Master, I think our luck may have just run out."

DROMUND KAAS: SWAMP LANDS

Syrennè stared into the glowing red eyes of the lead tuk'ata, as it, and the two other hulking members of its pack, slowly paraded around her in a tight circle. This wasn't exactly what she'd been expecting when she had agreed to follow Malgus out into the forbidden swamp. Thinking back, she wasn't entirely sure what she'd been expecting. She'd just wanted to go somewhere... or do something — anything to take her mind off her master's absence.

The lead tuk'ata came around full circle. Then it stopped, tilted its head slightly toward her, and snarled, baring its glistening teeth. Its black leathery lips seemed to ripple back with the effort, much like surging swell water. The spines lining its back flexed and shuddered, pointing high over its muscled shoulders. Ancient Sith guard dogs, she mused darkly. Just another thing the Jedi had failed to properly prepare her for during the years of her so-called training.

Lifting her lightsaber, Syrennè swept the humming green blade into defence position. They had her fully surrounded, and although none of the creatures had made any move to attack, she had a feeling they would the very instant she went for the tomb.

Without killing them, Malgus had said, and she wondered how she would even begin to go about doing that, even if she had wanted to. First, she decided to test their reactions, to see if they'd allow her to back away. She took one careful step back, and then another, watching their movement. Through the Force, she sensed the two creatures behind shift slightly, seeming to ease away. She tested it again, taking yet another step back.

The lead tuk'ata held its position, red eyes still guardedly watching her every move. But the other two —the ones perched at the rear— eased back once again. She paused for a moment, lightsaber thrumming in hand. So, in theory, moving away from the tomb was alright.

Looking back to the trees, she mentally calculated the distance. If she could get a long enough run up, she might just be able to use the Force to leap over them. It was a stretch, she knew, one that probably wouldn't work, but it was worth a shot.

Backing away, keeping both eyes firmly planted on the tuk'ata blocking the tomb entrance, she made for the tree-line. The two at her back each moved aside, returning to their leader and taking up flank positions.

Reaching the jungle boundary, she stopped, shut-down her lightsaber, and took a deep breath. She was only going to get one shot at this. She leaned forward, dug the heels of her boots into the soft mud. Then, stretching out into the Force, she took off and ran toward the pack.

Instantly, the three tuk'ata sprang into action, howling as they bounded toward her in reverse V-formation. Long robe flapping, rain stinging her cheeks, Syrennè increased her speed, sprinting full pelt at the three charging black masses of muscle and teeth. Counting down the steps, she waited for the right moment—

And just before they could reach striking range, she jumped, using the Force to catapult her body high into the air. The first two beasts continued on, their heads vanishing beneath her as she sailed overhead. But the third seemed to have other ideas. Instead of joining the others, it pounced, leaping to intercept her mid-flight.

All she could do was stare as the massive black lump of spines and teeth and claws hurtled toward her. Then, with a jolting crack, two giant paws slammed into her chest and pushed her down, pinning her to the mud with a resounding thump. Using their momentum to her advantage, she quickly brought her knees up and kicked, ramming her boots hard into its stomach. The tuk'ata howled in protest, scratching and wailing as it suddenly flipped over and skidded through the mud.

Scrambling to her feet, Syrennè recalled her lightsaber and spun around. The beast was back on all fours shaking off her attack. "You just aren't going to give up, are you?" she groaned in frustration. The tuk'ata answered her with yet another rumbling growl. She glanced over her shoulder, and huffed. Well, at least she was closer to the tomb, now, so her plan hadn't been a complete failure. But there were still three enchanted sith hell hounds surrounding her, so it hadn't really been that big a success either.

The tuk'ata growled again. She turned back to see it stalking toward her, albeit a little more cautiously. Grounding her feet, she prepared for round two—

When something thick and hard whipped her legs out from under her, knocking her flat. A black spine covered tail swished past, millimetres from her nose. It was one of the other two creatures! If she didn't get up soon, this mission was going to be all over before it had even begun. Heart racing, she tried to move. Something sharp jabbed into her thigh. Wriggling her arm down into her robe pocket, she tried to dislodge it. Her fingers grazed the smooth and pointed object, then wrapped tight around it.

The growls and thuds of the approaching tuk'ata disappeared. The never-ending rain, gone. She was suddenly somewhere else ... somewhere ... not of this world. In her hands, she was holding a small model fighter craft ... and a screwdriver. So that's what was stabbing her! Her master's screwdriver. The very same one he'd thrown across the com-room in a tantrum, the one she'd forgotten to give back to him.

It looked like she was deep in the Jedi Temple, in what she guessed was her master's old sleeping quarters. She turned the ship around in her hands, staring at it, but not really seeing it; using it to distract her from the anger festering inside. A familiar voice echoed from across the room, one that only served to further fuel her temper.

"Anakin, I understand to a degree, what is going on," Obi-wan said, taking a seat on the cot. "You've met Satine. You know I once harboured feelings for her. It's not that we're not allowed to have these feelings. It's ... natural."

Staring at the older Jedi's back, she fought to reign in her rising anger. "Senator Amidala and I ... are simply friends."

Obi-wan turned around, a defeated yet almost sympathetic expression on his face. "And friends you must remain," he said solemnly. "As a Jedi, it is essential you make the right choice, Anakin. For the Order."

She slammed the model star-fighter down on one of the supply crates by the wall, her anger and frustration momentarily taking hold. "I understand my responsibilities," she snarled, rising to her feet. She walked toward the window, unable to sit still any longer.

Obi-wan's scrutinising gaze followed her, until she reached the workbench by the window. He sighed. "Responsibilities that must be observed, whatever relationship develops between Clovis and Senator Amidala," he said, putting a bit more weight into his voice.

An overwhelming wave of jealousy turned her stomach. "They have no relationship," she said defensively, more to convince herself, than him. She lowered her voice and continued. "It is simply... business between them."

The vision shifted, and she found herself slumped over on the floor of some stone and debris littered chamber. It was early morning, and the flickering torchlights were reflecting off the black armoured shin plate lying discarded beside her leg. Her chest was tight, and each and every breath felt like a struggle.

"E-CHUTA!" she roared, her robotic voice booming as it left the mask. Sparks showered over the cybernetic pistons, shorting out the servo-motors in her damaged right leg. In a fit of fury, she hurled the useless screwdriver across the chamber in disgust, watching as it bounced repeatedly off the sandstone floor and smashed into the centre pyre.

The vision jumped again, and she realised she was inside the mausoleum back on Naboo. She was standing beside an open sarcophagus, glaring at its empty stone base. The unbearable feelings of pain and anger and heartache took over. Gripping hold of the sarcophagus walls, she bellowed at the top of her ravaged lungs. "WHERE ARE YOU?"

Then suddenly, everything vanished and she could feel him again. Mentally opening her eyes, she saw Vader's imposing black form appear before her. His cloak rippling. His loyal troopers gathered around him in some sort of troop transport. Her heart started to race. "Master!" she cried, desperately reaching out to him across their bond. "Master, do you hear me?"

He slowly turned to face her. "Indeed, I do, my apprentice." He almost sounded surprised, but it was hard to know for certain.

"I need your guidance, Master. Please," she pleaded, feeling the dominating effect of his power even from this distance. "Three sith hell-hound things are guarding some tomb I need to get into. I have to defeat them, but Malgus said I'm not allowed to kill them."

Blaster fire and explosions rocked the transport and he grabbed at one of the overhead handles for support. "Do you remember what I taught you?" he asked.

"Yes, mostly," she answered, wondering which lesson he might be referring to.

"Good. How does a Sith gain strength?"

She thought back to his teachings, to the journal — to the Sith Code. "Through passion, they gain strength. Through strength, they gain power."

"Very good," he said. "Now use that knowledge ... to destroy them. You have fear. You have hate. You have anger. Unleash them. Use your aggressive feelings, Syrennè. Give in to the dark side of the Force."

She shook her head in confusion. "But Master, Malgus said—"

"What he said is irrelevant," he snarled, as another explosion rocked the cabin; knocked him sideways into the bulkhead. He shook it off and growled again. "A Sith takes what they want, Syrennè. Crushing all who dare oppose them. Do you understand?"

His tone was short. She'd overstayed her welcome. Knowing better than to argue any further, she nodded and bowed her head. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

Awakening from her trance, Syrennè stared into the flaming red eyes of the tuk'ata looming above her. Before the visions, she might have been afraid. But now... after reconnecting with her Master, after feeling his intoxicating presence; a hungry excitement coursed through her veins. Vader wanted her to use her aggressive feelings and give in to her anger? Fine. With a snap-hiss, she ignited her lightsaber, locked stares with the beast ... and jammed the humming green blade up through its jaw.

Screaming in pain, the tuk'ata jerked away and stumbled back, violently shaking its head from side to side. Syrennè jumped and slashed at it again while it was distracted, this time taking out both front legs. It screeched and fell forward, wounded jaws chewing tracks into the mud. She leapt up and landed on the beast's back, dodging a jab from its scorpion-like tail. Then, as it stabbed forward, she slashed again, slicing the poisoned tip clean off. Fighting to hold her balance, she turned toward its shoulders and lifted her lightsaber high into the air—

And with all of her might, drove the blade down. Straight through the tuk'ata's skull, deep into its brain. Killing it, dead.

The creature went limp. Its massacred body slumping down into the mud. Panting heavily, Syrennè retrieved her lightsaber from the still smouldering flesh, and jumped from the carcass. She kicked at one of the dismembered legs with her boot. "Never really liked dogs that much anyway."

More howls sounded from the tomb. She looked up from the dead tuk'ata to the other two waiting for her by the cave entrance. Catching her breath, she brought her lightsaber into both hands and smiled darkly. "Oh, don't feel left out," she taunted. "It's your turn next!" Then she let loose a battle-cry and charged for the cave.

OUTER–RIM : KASHYYYK : TREE CITY OF KACHIRHO

Nine LAAT/i gunships swarmed the late afternoon sky. The tangerine light of dusk sparkling off battered wings and fuselages as they made their approach. Scattered between them, anti-aircraft missiles bounced off shields and exploded, spewing huge plumes of shrapnel and debris over the water. In loose vanguard formation, the LAAT/i's swooped low, their bulbous hatches skimming the cresting waves.

In the lead gunship, gloved hand tightly wrapped around one of the overhead grab handles, stood Vader. His eyes closed. His mind reeling after his recent interaction with his new apprentice. Syrennè's ability to make contact with him over such a vast distance was surprising. She was growing into her powers, getting stronger, he had sensed it. But what was more surprising —disturbing even— was the unexpected connection he'd suddenly felt to her through the Force. That he still felt. It was unnerving. Of course, he'd been remotely aware of something existing between the two of them...

But this? This felt different.

This feeling ... this sensation ... this disturbance ... was odd. More than just the usual emotional tremor, or fleeting hint of stray thought. It felt old. Almost like they'd been bonded before. Only, they hadn't —he knew they hadn't. Is this how she'd managed to breach his mental shields back in Kaas City? Was it this supposed connection that had somehow allowed her to unawaredly penetrate his defences?

Reaching out through the Force, he stretched out toward her again. Caught a vague impression of her standing beside the freshly slain tuk'ata. Thrumming green saber in hand. Virgin power rippling around her. An overwhelming sense of excitement and urgency surrounding her presence. Malgus's instruction for her not to slay the tuk'ata had been a test, he'd already known this. One to see if she would consciously destroy any obstacle, seemingly innocent or not, that stood in the way of her completing her mission.

And despite her needing a little encouragement from himself, she'd done exactly that.

A flicker of something akin to pride drifted over him at her success, but was just as quickly washed away. Overshadowed by confusion and concern. Was the Force pushing them together for some reason? And if so, why? For what purpose?

More disturbing still, could his own master sense their apparent connection through their own bond? Had he already?

Something loud and hard shook the ship, shoving him violently sideways into the armoured bulkhead, the sudden jolt wrenching him from his thoughts. He glared out the open cabin to the shoreline, to the hundreds of towering wroshyr trees covering the heavily vegetated and mountainous terrain of Kachirho. Shattered remnants of Imperial tanks and scout walkers littered the beach, ribbons of black smoke curling in the air above them. Missile launcher flash-fire lit up the haze, sending more and more of the blasted projectiles screaming toward their approaching LAAT/i gunships.

He shifted his attention to the trees, to the elevated walkways and platforms spanning the canopy midline. White armour hurried between and across them, exchanging blaster fire with opponents concealed within the bushy undergrowth. Their forces were being overrun, the troopers struggling to maintain their defensive position. This was more than just some isolated incident involving one solitary Imperial outpost as his Master had suggested. The wookies were outright revolting. And it seemed the battle was swinging in their favour, here in Kachirho at least. So perhaps this planet wasn't as secured as what they'd first thought. He gritted his teeth. No wonder he'd been sent here to intervene.

Vader pointed out the open hatch of the lead gunship to the shoreline. "Pilot, make for those trees. The first platform —that is our target."

"Wookie Tree platform," the pilot called back. "Right. Got it, my lord."

One of the missiles whistled passed and detonated, narrowly missing their portside wing. He remembered that sound, the distinctive high pitched whistle and whine of smooth metal cutting through air. They were old separatist missiles, possibly left abandoned in ruin after he'd ordered the droid control ships be shutdown at the end of the war. Apparently the wookies had decided to put them to use.

"Hailfires!" Trooper Commander Vill yelled from across the hatch. "Those blasted furballs have hailfires!"

Another missile shot up from the shore, this one coming straight for them. They were going to be hit. It was unavoidable. Tightening his grip on the grab handle, long cloak flapping in the updraft, Vader secured his footing by the hatch and got ready.

"Going evasive!" the pilot yelled to the cabin. "Brace for impact!" He veered the ship hard to port —but not hard enough. It slammed into the starboard gun-bubble, tearing a gaping hole in the ship's frontal plating, driving them nose-first for the water. Damaged engines screaming, the ship shuddered and gradually levelled out, hull violently shaking as they continued on toward the shore. "Platform out of range, Lord Vader. Your orders, sir?"

With the pilot unable to safely reach the landing platform, they were going to have to set down on the beach and go the rest on foot. Not a preferable alternative, but one he had no doubt he and his men could handle. Pushing away from the bulkhead, Vader turned to the pilot and growled. "Just get us to ground Captain! We'll take it from there."

When their gunship touched down, Vader jumped out and ordered his men to take cover, directing them toward the remains of an old AT-TE tank lying broken on the sand less than twenty metres ahead. The rest of the LAAT/i's set down, each one spilling more and more of his clone troopers out onto the beach. Under his guidance, they too ran for cover, dropping to crouch behind fragments of wreckage and debris scattered along the shore.

Vader moved to his men by the tank and keyed his helmet comm. "Commander Vill," he called to the trooper crouched at his left. "You and your men take the undergrowth. Find those launchers."

"Yes, sir," the trooper said with a nod. "And the witnesses?"

Rising to his full height, Vader pulled his lightsaber from his belt, glanced to the trooper and ignited it. The bloodshine blade thrummed into life. "Wipe them out. All of them." Then he turned and started for the trees, calling out to the others. "The rest of you, follow me."