I hit the ground, hard. Looking up I see a pair of second-rate mercs, wearing poor-fitting armour and wielding blasters that wouldn't be fit to blast a womp rat with. They both point their weapons at me, quaking nervously – even without the Force I could easily disarm both of them before they managed to peel off a shot. Instead I get up, staring darkly at both of them.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" one of the screams, his blaster wavering with anxiety. Idiots. Why would anyone be outside in the middle of the night on a war-infested world such as this? I'm not deigning that question with a reply.

"Answer him!" cries the other one, pointing his gun at my head. I can see that if he fires, the shot will go at least a meter wide. Reaching out I snatch both blasters before the two can react. "Hey, give them back!"

"You're going to shoot yourself in the face if you carry on like this. Where did you learn to shoot, a bantha farm?"

The two gape like fish, as if searching for an answer, and then shut up. "Now," I say, levelling the blasters at them, "just why are you out here, running away from the battle?"

"It's us asking the questions here, mister!" cries the shorter merc, and obviously the stupider one. Through the darkness I see that he has curly blonde hair, and a clean shaven face – he looks like he should be back in school, not on the battlefield. But he's made his decision, and his youth won't gain him any mercy if he decides to attack me.

The larger of the mercs, who is a spitting image of his companion, except for his jet black hair and fresh scar across his cheek, elbows the little one. "Smart," I tell them. "Now, what are you doing here?"

"We were fighting with the Seppies, but we decided to hang back when the battle moved toward the ocean. Take pot-shots from range."

Pot-shots? This pair? They'd do more damage to their own side! Who needs saboteurs when you're fighting against people like this!

"We didn't expect the clones to start firing back," he continues. "And when a nearby tank exploded, and I got this wound, we had to pull out and find a medcenter."

I inspect the "wound", nothing more than the scar on the boy's cheek. It looks nasty, yes, but the cut isn't deep, and even the least of soldiers would have shrugged it off. I'm dealing with a pair of cowards.

Still, this has possibilities. Maybe...maybe I can get them to help. Maybe they can strike the killing blow. It's not that I shirk from duty, not that I fear to kill one of my own kind, but what signs would this send to the Council if I was seen killing a Jedi? Only a handful of the Order know the truth of my defection – Tholme, Yoda, Windu, and maybe the rest of the Council. I've not reported in since the Kiffu operation – the security's too tight, I can't afford to be compromised, I've gone without reporting in before, the Council will know I'm alright – and this might be the icing on the cake. The last thing I want is both sides after me in both reality and masquerade.

I am an enemy of the Republic and an ally of the Confederacy. Yet I am also an ally of the Republic and enemy of the Confederacy. I could strike as a Jedi, and help the Republic win the day. We would celebrate tonight, but now many more nights would offer bloodshed due to my actions? I could strike as a minion of Dooku, help the Confederacy win the day, and put myself in an excellent position to stop any further bloodshed – but only by betraying everything that I stand for.

Or I could use these buffoons to do the job for me, and leave here having spilt no Jedi blood. The Council would be reassured that I've not deserted the Republic – because I haven't – and I'd still be in good stead with Dooku. Yes, this plan has possibilities. This pair are fools, but my plan is foolproof. I explain it to them, and give them vibroknife to wield. After their performance with the blasters, I only hope they can fight better at close range.

The trot back towards the battlefield, and soon the darkness claims them. As they disappear into the night, I grip the stolen blasters tightly, and make my way around the perimiter of the battlefield.

Lurking in the shadows, I prepare to strike.