"Mando'ade, as the sun has set on Sundari this evening, a great change has fallen over the galaxy."
Satine stood before her people, crowded in the palace square. Night had fallen over Sundari in earnest now; stars glimmered through the roof of the dome. But her people were awake and vigilant. She had informed them already, in a hurried statement, about the appearance of the Imperial Fleet and the 'precautionary' evacuation. Now, they clamoured beneath her, hoping for good news. Hoping that their children could come home. Hoping for the peace she had always promised them.
"You have heard, my people, that the Republic has been dissolved, the Jedi massacred, and a new empire established under the leadership of the Sith Lord previously known as Chancellor Palpatine," Satine summarised. "And you know, my people, that Mandalore has long been a fierce enemy of the Sith. An apprentice was defeated on this very balcony not so long ago."
There was a rumble of approval from the crowd.
"You know that the Sith Emperor, with the might of the former Republican army behind him," Satine went on, sombre now, "has tonight turned his cruel gaze to Mandalore."
Satine looked to the hovering camera that would broadcast her words throughout the entire system as she gave them the news that would break their hearts.
"Since my last announcement to you I have been in negotiations with the Emperor. I reasoned with him to no avail. He seeks the destruction of our people, our way of life. He fears our power as his enemy and he intends to attack tonight."
Somewhere, in the spellbound crowd, there was the sound of crying.
"The truth is this, Mando'ade. Our Peace Corps, strengthened though they are in years gone past, cannot match the Emperor's army. It is an army made to rule the galaxy and is enormous in its scale. We will therefore continue the evacuation of our children from the planet along established refugee routes."
More crying, now.
"While children will be given priority in state-issued evacuation crafts," Satine went on, fighting against her aching sadness, "Mando'ade of all ages have a choice: to fight, or to flee. We cannot allow our race to be exterminated and the Mando'ade who flee the planet tonight do so with my blessing. I ask only that they continue to live by our way – as defenders of the innocent, as soldiers of righteousness – no matter where they next plant their feet. I ask that they always know Mandalore as home."
Satine took a steadying breath and wiped a strand of hair from her face.
"I am the Duchess of this system and I will not flee," she resolved. "I will stay and fight beside my sister and while we cannot defeat our enemy tonight, we will wound him until we can fight no more. We will weaken this enemy that seeks not only to control our system but all others. We will inspire resistance galaxy-wide. We will sour their triumph and sow the seeds for their downfall."
There were faint murmurs of approval.
"I have reigned fourteen years as a pacifist and I regret nothing," Satine concluded. "I will, by my personal decision, fight with stun weapons tonight. However…"
She had never granted an exception before. It had enraged even her loyal son.
When you make your big speeches, it's all black and white!
But it was not black and white anymore.
"The Sith Emperor is an enemy like we have never known and the galaxy has become darker and more dangerous than it has ever been," Satine acknowledged. "We will fight this enemy with every weapon that we have."
There was a shocked silence and then cries of affirmation. The murmurs became a chorus.
"We may see this planet returned to dust and desert by night's end, Mando'ade," Satine reminded them, mournfully. "But we have risen from the dust before. If there is to be desert, then let it be littered with the broken starships of our enemies!"
There was a resounding cry from the crowd.
"Oya!"
Satine turned to Bo-Katan beside her, looking for the fortitude in her sister's grey eyes that would strengthen her own resolve. But Bo-Katan was distracted. Satine followed her gaze to find the first of the Imperial starfighters in the distance, approaching fast.
Kix couldn't tear his gaze away from the window of their hijacked troop freighter, although the view behind them had been void of anything but stars and the occasional asteroid since they'd made it out of the Utapau system.
"D'you think Grievous will chase us himself?" he asked.
"Grievous will be the Sith Lord's chief enforcer," Master Windu mused. "Hopefully, there'll be a larger task for him to perform."
Kix had never heard Jedi speak in terms of hope before. It wasn't part of their ethos, as far as he understood it. They had always exhibited an uncanny knack for accepting the present moment exactly as it was. But if there was anything that was going to challenge a Jedi's ability for acceptance, it would be the events of the past sixteen hours.
"I will attract a far greater bounty than either of you," the Jedi Master went on. "We will separate as soon as the opportunity presents itself."
Cody frowned.
"General…"
He faltered over the title. Was it still correct? Old habits died hard, Kix supposed.
"You're going to need all the help you can get, surely."
Master Windu gave a saddened smile.
"Thank you for your care, Cody, but I'll be alright. I don't wish to deprive you of a chance to start your lives anew."
"Start our lives anew?" Kix spluttered. "You think we're not going to stand against the evil that did this to our brothers? I intend to give them hell until my bounty matches yours."
The Jedi Master considered this, temporarily lost for words.
"I've removed bio-chips out of the brains of thirty-eight clones," Kix recounted. "A doctor ally of mine on Mandalore has removed thirty herself. I know that the number is small and that our accelerated lives are halved in significance. But I intend to continue my work. Every single life that we can give back to them, every single weapon of the Empire that we can transform back into a free-willed soldier…"
"I understand," Master Windu murmured.
"You could help us," Kix ventured, in desperate plea.
Windu sighed.
"I don't know what to do," he confessed. "Or where to begin."
It was strange and unsettling, to see the mighty general lost like this.
"I don't know whether to regather the Jedi or to let the Order be forgotten entirely. I don't know whether to fight or hide."
He found a smile, stoic yet sentimental. There was a distant look in his eyes. Kix wondered whether he was listening to whispers in the Force.
"Let's start here," he resolved. "Together. You're right, soldier. Every single life we can give back…"
"It's something," Cody finished.
Windu nodded.
"It is."
They'd made the jump to the galactic south-east of the Outer Rim without any true idea of where they intended upon landing. Already, they'd detected Imperial ships in orbit around Socorro. Their reach was far further out than Korkie had anticipated.
"What do you know of Trigalis, Padme?" Korkie asked. "Vergesso?"
"Nothing that's still true, I fear," she answered grimly. "If only we could get our blasted comms to work and find out what's going on…"
But the solitary hit they had sustained on their way out of Mandalore had been well-targeted; their comms system was blown to unsalvageable pieces.
"If only," Korkie agreed.
He did not know what was happening at home. What sort of compromise the Emperor had accepted. His mother would have been deposed from government, surely, and replaced by a puppet. But he wouldn't have gone so far to execute her, right? That would have made the citizens riot. No, they'd probably be dressing her up, having her sing her praises to the Empire, all of the shit that his mother would hate to do but would do because she loved her people, all the while plotting the means to overthrow the invaders…
It was the pathetic story he told himself, at least, to help him ignore the horrible sadness that weighed upon him through the Force. People were dying the galaxy over. He couldn't know what exactly he was sensing and there was no time to consider it.
"Well, I say we choose Vergesso, then," Korkie decided. "Historically, it had the better health system of the two, no?"
"I should think so. Through the Mining Guild."
"Good. We can get your blood pressure sorted out. See if they'll let you stay in hospital until the babies come."
"I don't need to be in hospital," Padme protested weakly.
Korkie suspected that she did. He knew nothing of medicine nor of Force healing, but it felt to him that somehow the vibrant life energy that infused all living beings was fading away from her. She did not seem to glow so brilliantly in the Force as she once had.
But he was just being paranoid, hopefully, after the scare with the Sith Lord's presence palpable in their ship. Maybe T9 was so old he was measuring her blood pressure wrong.
In any case, they could argue the point once they made it to Vergesso.
Bo-Katan watched the firework display of the distant space battle. The tiny bursts of light would be starfighters, spiralling after a well-placed hit to the engine. The larger showers of sparks would be the blows landed upon larger structures. Star destroyers, hopefully. She had given her air force instructions to target the main bridge of each destroyer, in the hopes that they might reach their Sith Lord. But the shields would be strong and the approach almost impossible.
Something was blown apart in earnest, then, disintegrating in slow motion. More likely a Mandalorian space station than a star destroyer. They'd been meaning to invest in more modern shield technology when the money was available, after the war. A day that would never come.
"Anti-aircraft gunners, another fleet approaching from the west in three, two-"
There was the rumble of cannon fire, a spray of blaster bolts and the thundering of detonators. And then, in the relative silence that followed as the fighters looped back for their second assault, a horrible crack like a whip. Bo-Katan looked behind her.
The great glass dome of Sundari was collapsing.
The city had already been evacuated; the Mando soldiers were stationed along its perimeter. There would be no lives lost as the enormous shards of glass cascaded down. Why, then, did it feel such a tragedy?
Because it would destroy every home beneath it. Because those homes would perhaps never be rebuilt. Because this was the end of Sundari, the city that thrived in the desert to spite their history. The city that her sister had loved and nurtured as her second child.
Bo-Katan lifted her own blaster-cannon to her shoulder and fired at a low-dipping starfighter. It unloaded a trail of cascading fire behind it, a deliberate oil spill, as it streaked above the soldiers.
Beskar would not burn. But beskar was a rare commodity worn by few beyond the royal family and its Peace Corps. The volunteers who had stayed to defend their home wore heavy-plated steel with unfixed margins and Bo-Katan heard shrieks of pain as flammable under-armour ignited. She thought briefly of Sewlen, then pushed the thought away. She lifted her blaster-cannon and took aim again.
If there is to be desert, then let it be littered with the broken starships of our enemies.
"I'll go check things out," Korkie announced. "You should stay on the ship until we know it's safe."
He anticipated Padme's challenge before she could voice it.
"You're way more famous than me, and you're the one amongst us who's actually wanted by the Empire," Korkie listed. "Plus, the belly gives you away."
Padme mustered a smile.
"Korkie, I appreciate that you want to look after me, but as far as I'm concerned, I should be the one looking after you," she told him.
"I'm not a kid," Korkie retorted, with irritation.
Padme's face fell, then, perhaps into an expression of guilt.
"I know," she conceded. "But I'm not an invalid, either, just because I'm pregnant."
She fixed him with a wry smile.
"We're travelling partners and we're both going to look after each other," she declared, with undeniable authority. "Now, Korkie, you're no kid, but you are a little young to pose as my fake husband. What's our story going to be?"
Korkie conceded the point with a grin.
"Brother and sister?"
Padme shook her head.
"Not much resemblance."
"Brother-in-law?" Korkie suggested instead. "We got separated from my older brother, your husband?"
And the sort-of-truth in it drew another wave of mourning through them both. Padme's voice was muted in reply.
"That's a good idea, Korkie."
She donned her travelling cloak and Korkie donned his. When Padme turned to give him further instructions, she looked at him, lost for words, mouth slightly agape.
"Is that Obi Wan's?" she managed.
Korkie gave a sad smile, running his hands over the precious fabric.
"One of his old ones," he answered.
He showed her the enormous, scorched hole over the elbow that had precipitated the cloak's retirement.
"It was ruined on a mission to Fondor. He rescued the four-year-old prince from some terrorists who kidnapped him. I was only two."
He did not show Padme the dark brown bloodstain upon the shoulder; she'd think it grotesque, probably. But Korkie had never shied away from it. He had always liked knowing that this part of his father travelled with him. Now more than ever.
"I own much nicer cloaks, of course, but I figured they'd be too conspicuous."
Padme nodded her solemn understanding.
"I'm glad you brought this one," she told him.
When Sewlen was a young doctor, before the war, she had wanted to be a psychiatrist. The last job, she'd thought, that the droids couldn't do.
But the droids could not do what she did now. Holding the hands of the dying. Listening to their last words. Reassuring them in their fear.
The city may be destroyed but we will not forget our home. Sundari will rise again.
No, your children will not forget you.
You have done enough. I promise. You needn't fight any longer. You have done more than enough.
And yes, she bound spurting wounds and splinted broken limbs and applied precious bacta to burns, but most of it was saying goodbye. The patched up would return to her broken soon enough.
She had known it would be like this. It was always going to be a losing fight. The enemy above them was so enormous that every wound the Mando'ade inflicted upon them was superficial.
So why had she stayed? Why had the trauma surgeon stayed as her hospital was splintered by the falling glass and burned by the bombs that followed? She had fought, always so furiously, to preserve life. And today she would save no one.
Your wife and children, they'll be alright. Truly. I'm sure they made it out. I'm certain. All of the refugee ships made it out.
Your father will be proud of you. Of course. Of course.
Your children will not forget you.
This battle will be remembered forever.
You have done enough. More than enough. I promise.
Rest now, soldier. Please.
The enormous asteroid body of Vergesso was inhabited almost exclusively by miners, with the addition of a few spouses and children. The subterranean city centre was in a state of disarray. They'd gone out as far from the Core as Korkie knew and still, there was evidence of the rising Empire. There were more patrolling clone troopers – no, stormtroopers now – than Korkie was comfortable with. But Padme was determined.
"It's fine, Korkie. They won't bother with us. They're busy with that unruly mob over there."
"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Korkie muttered.
Where there was discontent there was danger, and the discontent was abundant on Vergesso. A group of miners had climbed the great steel frame that supported the enormous display screen looming over the city square. At present, it flashed a propaganda poster.
Your new Empire. For strength, unity and peace.
There was a stylised picture of a stormtrooper, gun at his chest, and in caricature a wicked Jedi, laying dead and grotesque at his feet. It made Korkie feel queasy. He wished they would broadcast something useful, like the news about Mandalore.
But the miners had other plans. Deftly dodging the blaster bolts sent at them by the irritated stormtroopers, they pressed a hard-drive into the back of the screen. And Padme's face appeared.
"Oh, kriff," Korkie breathed.
It was the footage of her final speech to the Senate.
I stand before you today, Chancellor and Senators, as I have stood before you many hundreds of times in what has been nearly three years of uninterrupted galactic war...
Korkie knew it almost by heart; he'd watched it enough times. But there was no time to watch this now.
"Padme, there's no way we're getting you into a hospital here," he muttered, holding her by the arm. "It's not going to work. I'm sorry. We have to go back to the ship."
"Look how many rebels there are here," Padme countered, eyes still fixed upon the activity at the display screen. "There are people who will support us. Maybe we can't go to a real hospital but we could at least stay in a home of someone sympathetic and…"
"No way," Korkie declared. "No chance. Everyone lives on top of each other here, it's not going to be safe. Let's try somewhere else, Padme."
"Without our comms, how are we supposed to find somewhere safe? We should at least stay here long enough to have the parts replaced. I'm sure there are many who would be willing to help."
Yes, there were rebels abound. But the new Empire had the whole Grand Army at its disposal. If the stormtroopers weren't enough now, reinforcements would be on their way. The soldiers were backing away from the rebels already, speaking into comms. On the screen above them, the digitalised Padme spoke with shining conviction.
…When history looks back upon these dark years, I want it known that Naboo chose to act…
"I don't want to give birth in deep space, Korkie."
"I know you don't, but-"
Korkie had almost missed it – the sudden swell of warning in the Force. He grabbed Padme and cushioned her against his body, wrapping her with all the protection he could muster, as they rolled out of the blast zone. He thought of those precious babies inside her and cushioned their every move, as best he could, with the Force.
The stormtroopers, without any regard for sentient life, had released detonators in a city square full of miners.
Korkie rose, shakily, to stand. There was a terrible ringing in his ears. He pressed the sleeve of his father's cloak against his bleeding scalp.
Padme looked at him, face white.
"Oh Korkie, I'm so sorry, are you-"
"I'm fine, Padme," he told her, and tried for a smile. "Please. Don't worry. They're just scratches."
His hip would be bleeding, too, beneath the robe, and the elbow that had been unprotected by the pre-existing hole was bloody and gravel-filled. Padme inspected her owns limbs in wonder.
"And yet… not a scratch on me."
She shook her head in disbelief, her voice rich with emotion.
"Stars, Korkie, you really are so much like your dad."
The emotion of that moment could have overwhelmed them, could have reduced them to tears in this wailing city square. But there wasn't time. Korkie steadied himself and reached out his hands to embrace Padme's shoulders, to give her some of his peace.
"Look, Padme, I know you don't want to travel any further and I don't blame you, but we're not safe here. We can't risk seeking medical care or aligning ourselves with any rebels. I'm so sorry. But I really think we should get back onto the ship now."
Padme nodded. Her face was streaked with dust.
"Okay," she managed. "I trust you."
Should she have trusted him in the way that she did? Korkie knew that Padme was looking at him and seeing his father. He didn't want to be his father, blast it. He wanted his father to be with him.
But Obi Wan was with him. Sort of. Somehow. The blood on the robe and the steadiness he felt in the Force now.
"Come on, Padme," he murmured, taking her hand. "Let's get back to that ship."
The city that Satine's family had built was little more now than warped metal, shards of glass, and roaring fire. The air was ash-laden and suffocating despite the best efforts of her helmet's filtration system. Looking south out across the horizon, Satine saw further clouds of smoke in the distance.
Every city on Mandalore would look like this.
The bombers wheeled around for what felt like the thousandth time. Satine did not know how long they had been trapped in this endless cycle. It was like a stupid child's game. Shooting down the invader only for a new ship, its unblemished belly gravid with explosives, to take its place.
There was no longer any of the city to destroy. They had come back now, purely, to kill the people.
Satine had destroyed enough. The desert was littered with broken starfighters and it felt nothing but a tragedy.
She staggered over the field or corpses and debris in search of her sister.
Where to next?
There was no good answer.
"Tatooine, then," Padme sighed. "They won't be messing with the Hutts. Not yet. We can see Shmi."
She was rubbing at her forehead, eyes closed.
"Unless they know of your connection to the planet," Korkie countered uneasily. "Maybe…"
Padme grimaced but did not argue.
"Are you okay, Padme?"
Her voice was weak.
"I'm fine."
"You're in pain."
She opened her eyes then, and looked at him with apologetic gaze.
"A bit," she conceded.
Kriff.
"Are the babies-"
"-coming, I think," Padme finished. "But don't worry. Sewlen said it takes a long time. We'll probably be on Tatooine before anything happens."
Korkie nodded, mouth dry.
"Do a set of vitals, T9. Let's go to Tatooine."
"If we're all going to be killed out here we need to have something to show for it."
The voice of the Alor'ad crackled over the radio system.
"The nearest destroyer was damaged when the main station blew up. Shields are weak at the left hull. I want everyone on it."
Their fleet had already halved in size. At the captain's command, the remaining starfighters converged on the deficit.
"Have we figured out which one the Emperor's in?"
"Negative, Fighter Three."
"Ah well. One in six chance."
"One in three if we drive it into the one next to it."
"Good maths, Fighter Ten."
"They've sent fighters out to meet us!"
"Better they send them here than send them down to planet. You know what to do with them."
"For the Duchess!"
"For the Prince!"
"Oya!"
"Low blood pressure," T9 reported, again.
"Why, T9?" Korkie pleaded.
Padme, pacing through her discomfort in the way she had seen her labouring cousin do, watched the furious back and forth between the teenager and the ancient medi-droid from the corner of her gaze. The droid was so basic that it barely vocalised beyond its few programmed phrases designed to grab the attention of medics. Korkie was forced to squint and read from its display screen.
"T9 droid series does not have diagnostic capacity," he murmured. "Use in conjunction with physician advice."
He barked out a breath of pained laughter, before turning to Padme.
"Look, we don't need the droid to do any diagnostics," he reasoned bravely. "I'll get you some water. That'll help get your blood pressure up."
He busied himself at the ship's tiny kitchenette.
"We've got nutrient sachets too," he reported. "I can make one up for you?"
Padme didn't particularly want water and she definitely didn't want a nutrient sachet. She wanted to vomit. But she looked at the fear in the young man's face – stars, he was still all but a child, wasn't he? – and managed a smile.
"Good idea, Korkie," she told him.
She braced against the wall of the ship as an undeniable contraction gripped her, the pain rocking her body.
"Not one of the heavy ones, maybe just an electrolyte sachet. The lemon or orange flavour."
"Of course, Padme."
He brought her the water canister, tinted sickly yellow – lemon flavour, just as she'd asked – and a small towel, folded neatly into a compress. Padme nearly wept at his kindness. She pressed the compress against her sweating brow and wondered how bad she looked.
"Oh, kriff," she breathed.
There was something trickling down her legs.
"I'm so sorry, Korkie, I…"
He handed her another towel - Sewlen had sent them off with a whole stack of them. It came away wet with clear fluid and a streak of blood.
"Clear is good," Korkie informed her, with a brave smile.
Padme gaped at him, then laughed. She must have sounded completely deranged.
"I didn't know you were a midwife, Korkie."
"I looked it up on the 'Net before we left."
"Good thinking."
Padme breathed through another wave of pain. It wasn't the pain of the contractions, truly, that bothered her. There was some strange weakness in her. She had watched her cousin labour as Nubian women were encouraged to do – standing, pacing, squatting, never still – but found herself sinking down to sit on the cool metal of the ship's floor, envious of the HoloNet melodrama starlets and their supine births.
"Can you lay down a couple towels, Korkie?" she asked. "I'm a bit too…"
A bit too dizzy to continue standing. But she didn't want to frighten him.
"I'd like to lay down, that's all."
"Of course."
He disappeared briefly and returned, having dragged a mattress from the ship's cramped bunkroom.
"Here we go, Padme, lie down here."
A wave of nausea swept over her as Korkie helped her onto the mattress. She was sick. So sick. Padme thought of Anakin and his nightmares. Was she dying? Perhaps she was dying. Tears stung her eyes. She had two children to raise. She couldn't die now. She couldn't die while Korkie knelt beside her, the child who had already lost his father and maybe his mother too. She couldn't do that to him. She couldn't-
"Hey Padme?" he ventured cautiously.
She opened her swimming eyes and looked at him.
"I can feel that you're worried," he managed. "It's just two more hours until we land on Tatooine, okay? I think everything's going to be fine."
"I'm so sorry, Korkie," she whispered.
"Don't be sorry," he assured her. "This isn't your fault. And everything will be okay."
Her voice was barely audible.
"Okay," she breathed.
"Would it be okay if I…"
He looked embarrassed.
"Could I help you feel relaxed? With the Force? I won't make you go to sleep or anything. I just thought maybe if I meditated with you and shared some calmness with you…"
Padme's eyes welled with new tears. Gratitude.
"That sounds good, Korkie. Thank you."
Bo-Katan wasn't done yet. But her sources of shelter were running out – everything flattened, everything crumbling into the desert – and the fighters kept coming. She needed a new plan. She wasn't going to die here today.
She abandoned her blaster cannon and instead aimed a simple blaster at the nearest swooping fighter. It would be a precarious shot but if she got it right…
The first attempt was disastrous, the second little better. Her Ba'buir Se-Lana had been the one to teach her to shoot. The heroic pacifist's reluctant wife. The eldest daughter of the Kryze's vanquished enemy. The best kriffing shot Mandalore had ever seen. Ba'buir Se-Lana would have made the shot so karking easily.
But there was no time to think about the past, to feel her grandmother's hands on hers. Bo-Katan taunted the starfighter, standing in the open, an easy target that the ship could pick off without wasting expensive explosives. Bo-Katan stood tall and looked down its proton-cannons and fired her blaster bolt down the barrel.
The ship jolted, lost balance, and crashed into the sand. Bo-Katan made quick work of the surviving pilots as she approached.
She had done it. She'd blown up the ship's weaponry system but with any luck – and she was owed some luck, wasn't she, today, by the galaxy? – the engine would be intact. She looked for her sister and found the glinting bronze of the ve'vut'galaar adorning her sister's beskar.
"Sati, I've got a ship, we can-"
And another swirling bomber made its pass and the world exploded all over again.
Bo-Katan tumbled backwards until she slammed against the fallen ship. She found her feet and ran forward. She couldn't hear anything. She could barely breathe. She just needed Satine.
"Sati, Sati, I've got-"
Satine was sprawled on the sand.
"I've got a ship, Sati, we're getting out!"
She dropped to her knees beside her, pulling the helmet from her head and then her sister's.
"Can you hear me, Sati?"
"You've got a ship," Satine whispered. "I know. But I think…"
There was something strange and clear trickling from her sister's nose. It looked like tears.
"I think I should just stay here."
"No chance, Sati," Bo-Katan told her, giving her a comforting squeeze of her shoulders. "I'll get you out of here to some medical care and we'll fix you up."
There were still fighters overhead. She began to drag her sister towards the fallen ship.
"No, no, Bo-Katan, please."
Her sister looked at her, pleading.
"It hurts, Bo. My neck… I can't move. I can't…"
Bo-Katan looked at her sister with tears in her eyes.
"I'll hold you better, Sati, sorry, I'll support your neck-"
"It's no good, Bo-Katan."
Her blue eyes darted then, looking somewhere above Bo-Katan. Her pupils were different sizes.
"Look, Bo."
Bo-Katan turned to see an enormous shower of light in the night sky above them. An Imperial Star Destroyer, blown apart.
"I remember the day you were born, Bo-Katan."
Satine's voice was a precious whisper.
"There were the most beautiful fireworks in the sky. They were gold, Bo. And silver."
"Sati…"
Bo-Katan did not know what else to say.
"Leave me here, Bo," Satine breathed. "Leave me here at home. Go. Find Korkie. Tell him…"
Bo-Katan could see the reflections of the bursting light in her eyes.
"You know what to tell him, Bo," Satine whispered, contented. "You always know."
Tears were streaming down Bo-Katan's face now.
"I will, Sati. I promise."
Satine smiled faintly.
"I've loved you always, Bo," she murmured. "Even when I didn't."
"Me too, Sati."
Satine's eyes glazed and ceased in their flickering movements. Bo-Katan folded, despairing, over her sister's body. She might have stayed there forever, might have failed in her promise, if a pair of hands had not grasped her shoulders then.
"Bo-Katan!"
"Sewlen!"
The doctor wore makeshift armour and the same boots she wore to theatre.
"That ship. It works?"
"I think so."
Sewlen extricated the body from Bo-Katan's rigid grip. Together, they laid Satine flat upon the desert sand. Sewlen took such delicate care with her neck that Bo-Katan wept anew. They stumbled into the twin-seated fighter and bullied the engine into life.
"We have to find Korkie," Bo-Katan told her co-pilot.
Her voice shook. They were shooting upwards so fast that she had already lost sight of Satine's body.
She was a terrible sister. The worst the galaxy had ever known. She should have had her by her side every moment of that fight. She should never have lost sight of her. She should have never allowed that vulnerable stretch of empty sand to open up between them. She should never have-
"Do we know where he's gone?" Sewlen ventured.
"Nope."
They burst through the atmosphere and were enveloped in the silence of space. They attracted little attention; all eyes must have been fixed on the magnificent spectacle of the imploded star destroyer. Fireworks of silver and gold, unfolding in slow motion. Adjacent ships were busy at their own repairs.
In her rear-vision mirror, Bo-Katan watched Sewlen gaze out of the window, slack-jawed. It was only a few minutes later than she managed to speak.
"A long and dangerous search, then."
Bo-Katan nodded and tried for a smile.
"Lucky I've got my doctor with me."
Sewlen shook her head.
"I don't want to be your doctor anymore."
Bo-Katan looked at her, confused.
"What-"
The answer was silent. Sewlen's hand emerged from the co-pilot's seat behind her. It was bloodstained and coated in dust. An open, waiting question.
Bo-Katan took her hand and held it tight.
The doctor leaned her head against the back of Bo-Katan's seat and she cried and cried and cried. A tear for every lost soldier of Mandalore. A lament of the gods.
It was early, lavender evening on Tatooine when Shmi heard the knock at the door. Unusual, but not unheard of. A waylaid traveller, most likely, begging shelter for the night before crossing the dangerous plains at first light.
She opened the door and the breath was knocked out of her. The ever-cautious Cliegg hollered from inside the house.
"Who is it, love?"
Shmi could not find the words to answer him.
Before her stood a teenage boy in a battered brown cloak with a somehow familiar face. His hair was auburn-blond, his eyes blue and pleading. He was crying. In his arms he held a woman, her belly swollen with pregnancy. She was unconscious, her head lolling against the boy's shoulder.
Shmi knew this woman.
"Padme…"
"She's dying!" the boy choked out. "I need your help."
Beside them, an ancient medi-droid rolled backwards and forwards in distress, repeating a ceaseless message.
CRITICALLY LOW BLOOD PRESSURE. COMMENCE RESUSCITATION. SEEK URGENT SENIOR ADVICE.
CRITICALLY LOW BLOOD PRESSURE. COMMENCE RESUSCITATION. SEEK URGENT SENIOR ADVICE.
Were they real? It seemed some bizarre sunset mirage.
"Please!"
The boy was shaking with exhaustion.
CRITICALLY LOW BLOOD PRESSURE. COMMENCE RESUSCITATION. SEEK URGENT SENIOR ADVICE.
The stranger gave a wail of frustration and the droid slammed against the wall of the hut and fell silent. Anakin, once, had thrown pots without his hands when he was upset.
"She needs help now, Ba'buir Shmi. Please. Can we come in?"
Ba'buir Shmi. Mando'a.
Shmi had seen this boy before, an angel-faced toddler by the palace pond. She finally came to her senses.
"Of course, Korkie. Quickly. Bring her inside."
Korkie is the hero of this story and I love him so much. He has inherited his parents' every brilliance.
I'm sorry for another sad chapter.
I'm aware that canonically the Great Purge of Mandalore and Night of a Thousand Tears happen a few years after the rise of the Empire, but I figured Satine's government had done enough to provoke it earlier.
Next chapter, we meet the twins, and I stop neglecting Anakin.
Thank you all so much for your support. One more week of writing time to go before I am computerless! You are all a brilliant motivation to get this done.
xx - S.
