CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bryon fell to his knees and seized his wife's limp body into his arms. "Sarré! Sarré! Stay with me!"
Her eyes fluttered open, then closed again.
"Don't you dare die on me! Sarré! No! Sarré, please!"
She coughed once, hard, and her entire body shook with a tremendous spasm. Her head lolled back against his arm. Then suddenly her eyes snapped open and she looked up at him. "Bryon?"
"I'm here," he said, trying in vain to quell the panic in his voice.
She blinked, and reached up a hand to her chest. "Am I…"
He pushed his hand past hers and pressed his fingers through the blaster burn in her fatigues – and sighed in relief. "The armor held," he told her, choking down his sob. "The armor held."
Sarré interlinked her fingers with his and confirmed it for herself. "Oh, Bryon… I…"
"Shh," he said, kissing her forehead. "It's all right."
"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry."
"Not now," he said. "We still have –"
"General Skywalker, sir," intruded a sharp male voice behind them. "Do you need a medic, sir?"
Bryon looked back over his shoulder to see that the three camouflaged Special Forces troopers had reached the alcove. Two were firing into the gloomy clearing while the third waited for Bryon's reply with a comlink ready in one hand and Bryon's discarded rifle in the other. "No, Sergeant," Bryon said. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, sir," the young man said, already snapping his comlink to his belt and leaning Bryon's rifle against the wall of the generator building. Without waiting for orders the trooper raised his own rifle and joined the other two in firing at the enemy soldiers in the clearing.
After Sarré scooped up the blaster she'd dropped, Bryon stood up and pulled her to her feet. He squeezed her to him tightly for a moment, then snatched up his rifle. "I thought I'd lost you."
"I know. I'm sorry." She gave him a little angelic smile. "I guess I'm not very good at following orders."
"No," he said, unable to stop himself from grinning back. "But you're very good at giving them."
"When we get out of this, I'll let you give some orders for a change."
Bryon sighed deeply, and brushed his fingers once through her hair. "We're still badly outnumbered. There's a very good chance we won't get out of this."
Sarré nodded solemnly. "I know. I'm not afraid to die. Not with you here."
"I'm not afraid either," he said. "But I don't want to die. I'm not ready to let anyone else raise our son."
She smiled. "Neither am I."
"Then I think we have something worth fighting for."
"We do," she said. "And I'll try not to get shot again."
"Thanks. Now I don't need to waste my first order on that."
---
Han glanced over his shoulder to make sure there weren't any brownshirts coming up behind them. So far, so good. "You're sure this is the right place?"
"Positive," Winter said. She pointed at the closed blast door in front of them. "This is it. I promise."
With his small interface arm twisting and turning rapidly in the socket of the wall panel, Artoo whistled excitedly. "It seems," Threepio reported, "that Artoo has nearly completed slicing the –"
Artoo squealed, and the blast door hissed open.
Han snapped his blaster rifle to his shoulder and began shooting the brownshirts and gray-clad officers inside the enormous generator room. Winter dropped into a firing crouch and opened fire, and at Han's side Leia opened fire too. After they'd taken out the enemies closest to the open portal, Han advanced deliberately into the left side of the circular room.
Above them two levels of catwalks spanned the perimeter of the room. The walls were filled with banks of computer terminals and all manner of monitoring and control stations for the generators. In the center of the floor were nine tall, wide columns arranged in a square. The transparent tubes glowed and pulsed with the energy they generated to power the planetary shield. Atop the columns nearly twenty meters high was the massive conical shield projector pointing up and out of the roof.
Han hurried over to one of the generator columns and used it for cover as he took aim at the brownshirts firing down on them from the catwalks. Leia followed him, and she fired from the other side of the same column.
When he'd finished off the brownshirts within his range of view, Han stepped out into the open floor again. On the right side of the room Lando and Chewie were taking out a few more enemies from behind another of the generators. All the way across the floor Winter had found cover behind a large metal crate and was shooting up at two officers on the highest catwalk.
Han leveled his rifle at one of Winter's targets and squeezed the trigger. Just as Winter's shots killed the other, Han's bolt struck home cleanly and sent his victim toppling over the catwalk's low railing with a dying scream.
The sound of blaster fire faded entirely.
"All clear here," Han said.
"All clear here too," Lando said.
"Situation clear," Winter confirmed. "Artoo, make sure the blast door is locked so we don't get company."
Han looked over in surprise to see the astromech and the protocol droid standing by the closed blast door. He hadn't realized it had shut.
The astromech toodled. "Artoo confirms the door is locked," Threepio said.
Han jogged over to join the others at the widest generator column in the middle of the square. The purplish glow of pulsing energy gave everyone's skin a very weird hue. "All right," he said. "What've we got?"
"Detonators," Lando replied. He already was rapidly unloading the backpack he'd carried in, and Chewie was doing the same with the one he'd worn. "Lots and lots of detonators."
Han raised his eyebrows. "Thermal?"
"Some," Winter replied as she sorted out the explosive devices Lando and Chewie were passing her. "Thermal. Sonic. Fragmentation. Electromagnetic. Neutron-fission. A few I don't recognize."
Leia chuckled. "As long as it explodes, I say we use it."
Han smirked at her. "All those smarts, sweetheart, and you're just wasting them in the Senate."
Winter shook her head in bemusement. "All right. Five piles. Everybody take one, and let's get this set up."
"Right," Han said, reaching down for the closest pile. "Let's blow this thing."
---
Admiral Mirkalla stood at the wide viewport on the bridge of the Invictus and considered the space battle still being fought in front of him. The Vyhrragian defensive force was putting up admirable resistance, but the tide had turned minutes ago and the Republic invasion fleet soon would defeat them completely even if none of the enemy warships surrendered.
A quick glance toward the edge of the battlefield showed the first wave of Army landers and their X-Wing escorts nearing the invisible line in space where the planetary shield still blocked their conquest.
Mirkalla spun on his heel and checked the running countdown on the battle assessment table.
Six minutes, ten seconds.
He turned to General Skywalker's aide standing over the side console. "Sergeant, how much longer until the transports and tankships arrive at the generator?"
Brittin leaned in closer to the holographic display she was monitoring. "Four minutes."
Mirkalla took a deep breath and strode quickly toward her. "This is going to be uncomfortably close."
The young sergeant simply smiled at him when he reached her side. "Yes, sir."
"You don't seem troubled by this."
"When you've served with General Skywalker as long as I have, sir, you become accustomed to it."
"I see."
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
Mirkalla nodded. "Of course."
"You either become accustomed to it, sir," Brittin said with a grin, "or you go mad."
Mirkalla laughed. "Understood, Sergeant. Most definitely understood."
---
Padmé squeezed her eyes shut tightly and clenched her fists, and fought against the pulsing pain in her head with all the strength she could muster. She had to find a way to stand, and get to the X-Wing, and fly it out of here. She had to. She had no choice.
She opened her eyes and saw that the wide hangar doors were open now. This was her chance.
Padmé staggered to her feet and swayed in the air. She took a deep breath and blinked away the stars and streaks that sparkled inside her eyes. Behind her shoulder Nyklas whimpered, and his tiny hands patted her neck gently. Padmé smiled at her grandson's attempt to comfort her, and took another step toward the starfighter.
She glanced back at Anakin. He still fought a terrible lightsaber duel with Darth Vengous, and the bloodstain on his left arm already was larger. His turquoise blade slashed high and low against the Sith's scarlet one, and the horrible sight of him dodging and weaving around deadly blows sucked the air from Padmé's lungs.
With another burst of great effort Padmé managed a few more paces toward the X-Wing, but it still seemed awfully far away. And she was beginning to wonder if she could think clearly enough to fly.
She couldn't help another glance at the duel, and she looked over to see Vengous raise her left hand in the air while still dueling Anakin with the red laser sword in her right.
Another sharp sound of metal shearing and tearing echoed through the docking bay from above her. Padmé looked up and watched one of the metal beams along the high ceiling break away and begin to fall.
Just like the refueling arm a few seconds ago, the beam plummeted directly at her with the unerring accuracy only an attack with the Force could provide.
From the corner of her eye she saw Anakin smash aside the Sith's latest lightsaber blow, then leap toward Padmé with the Force powering his lunge from all those meters away. In the same instant Vengous lowered her left hand and flicked out her palm.
Everything happened in a flash. Anakin's body flew in front of Padmé's. His bloodied left arm heaved upward to shove away the falling metal beam with the Force. Another barrage of crackling blue lightning shot toward them. Anakin's turquoise blade slashed in front of him, absorbing the electric currents. The metal beam smashed down onto the X-Wing, shattering its cockpit in a blast of fire and sparks. A few arcs of the blue lightning slipped past Anakin's lightsaber and struck him in the chest – and he grimaced and cried out in pain.
Anakin slumped to a knee.
Padmé looked up at the devastated X-Wing, then back at him. "Anakin?"
"I know," he said, his voice steeled in concentration as he stood again. "We'll find another way."
Vengous stalked toward them with excruciating slowness, and a triumphant grin spread across her lips.
Padmé put a hand on Anakin's shoulder. "Ani…"
He met her gaze, and flashed the smirk she loved. "Don't worry, angel. I'll think of something."
Nyklas gurgled, and his small hands poked Padmé on the side of her neck.
Padmé squeezed her husband's shoulder. "I know you will."
---
Mara didn't hesitate for long. She strode forward and swung a single brutal blow with the scarlet lightsaber in her left hand.
Luke whipped his turquoise blade up from his waist into a two-handed grip and blocked the strike. The ferocious strength of the violent collision sent spikes of pain through the muscles in his arms. The blades screeched for a long moment until Luke slid his weapon free and took a long step backward.
"Never lower your defenses," she said. "It'll get you killed."
"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, and this time he kept his blade ready in front of him.
Mara attacked again, the scarlet and violet laser swords weaving a blinding pattern of arcs and slices through the air. The barrage was just as fierce as before. One missed parry would kill him.
Luke defended himself as well as he could, using every trick he knew to stay alive. He blocked and parried. He bobbed and weaved. He counterattacked – and retreated. None of it mattered. He was tiring. He couldn't hold out much longer, not against Mara. If she continued to attack him, Luke was going to die.
"Mara, please," he said. "Don't do this. Let go of your anger. Leave here with me."
"No," she spat. "I already told you – no. I'm better off alone."
"No, Mara. You never have to be alone again."
"It's too late, Luke. It's too late."
And with that she attacked yet again, assaulting him with another series of vicious blows. Her two blades drove him backward across the floor of the dark throne room. Her silhouette against the panorama of constellations beyond the tall, wide windows on the far wall was as haunting a sight as he had ever seen.
Luke felt the exhaustion beginning to claim him. He was parrying less now, and lunging and ducking and fleeing more. If he kept this up, she would get her wish. She would drive him all the way out the massive doors, slam them closed, and be long gone by the time he got them open again.
She would cut him off from her, and be gone forever.
He couldn't let that happen.
Luke gathered the Force within himself and sprang into the air. Instead of a back flip this time, though, he leaped forward – up and over Mara. Their energy blades crashed and screeched as he passed over her head, and a moment later he thumped down to his feet again a few meters behind her.
Now he had his back to the windows and the stars, and he began to retreat from Mara once more. Each stride took him farther and farther from the exit. She had to make her choice – surrender, or kill him.
The violet and scarlet laser swords attacked, and Luke changed strategy yet again. He stopped retreating and began to parry. The Force guided his hands to block her onslaught, and he held his ground.
Luke looked into Mara's eyes and saw her resolve breaking. The conflict in her feelings was beginning to overwhelm her. He just had to hold out a little longer against the two deadly energy blades.
And then, abruptly, for the first time in the duel she faltered, and the Force showed him the weakness instantly. This was his chance – and he had no choice but to take it.
Luke swung his blade toward Mara's exposed left hand.
---
Trusting the Force to guide his hands, Luke sliced his turquoise lightsaber downward and with perfect control grazed the thrumming weapon along the back of Mara's left hand.
She cried out in shock as the searing heat of the energy blade burned her flesh, and instinctively her fingers released their grip on the scarlet laser sword.
Luke swung back across his body and chopped the glittering silver handle in half. The red blade winked out of existence and the two metal pieces clattered to the floor.
By then Mara had narrowed her eyes and taken her remaining blade in a two-handed grip.
"So much for your pledge never to hurt me," she hissed. She didn't even seem to notice the pain.
"You're right," he said. "Until you release your anger and hate, I can't keep that promise."
She laughed, that same cold and haunting laugh from when he'd first arrived in the throne room a few minutes ago. "I should have known better than to even think about believing you."
"No, Mara," he replied. "I'll do whatever it takes to save you. If you make me."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. I'm not leaving without you. You'll have to surrender – or kill me."
She chuckled grimly. "You really think you can beat me?"
Luke forced a grin. "Possibly."
Mara charged him and unleashed a blazing series of arcs and slices. She still was immersed in Vaapad, and the powerful, violent blows of the deadly technique were wondrous to behold.
Luke parried the strikes aside, but barely. He was fighting with as much desperate skill as he'd ever managed in his life, because he had no other choice. He couldn't lose this duel. He just couldn't.
The attacks from Mara's violet blade didn't let up, but after a few more frantic heartbeats they seemed to slow. They weren't as quick, somehow, or as precise. Her concentration was slipping.
Snapping aside another blow with a swift block, Luke stretched his perceptions in the Force toward Mara. Her intentions still were shrouded, and her presence still blurred. But through the fog of darkness he could sense her pain. Her ribs ached from his kick. Her hand stung from the burn. Her muscles throbbed from exhaustion. Her body was on the brink of collapse, and it seemed to him that her focus wouldn't be far behind.
The problem was that he was in the same precarious state himself. His body was nothing more than a pounding pulse of pain and fatigue, and his mind was in even worse shape. It was a duel of attrition. If he could just hold out a bit longer than her, he would win.
Then he realized that her boiling anger fueled her spirit with an intensity he couldn't match. That was the lure of the dark side, the strength and power it offered. If Mara wouldn't abandon the darkness, he couldn't win this fight, no matter how hard he fought her. The Force was his ally, but not to vanquish her. He understood that now. How could he have been so blind?
He was a Jedi. It was time to act like one.
Luke parried another strike, then took three long strides backward and deactivated his blade.
---
Han attached the next detonator to the side of the glowing, pulsing generator column and activated the timer. He looked down to the pile at his feet. Only two more left. A quick glance to the sides confirmed that the others were almost finished setting their detonators too.
From the control panel by the blast door the astromech honked and trilled insistently. "We really must be going," the protocol droid told them in his obnoxiously jumpy voice. "Artoo says we only have –"
"I don't care what he says," Han barked. "I've only got two more left to set."
The astromech started to whistle and blat, but Han ignored him and bent down for the next detonator. Just before he picked it up all the lights in the room went out – and with a sharp buzz the transparent tube of the generator column suddenly became opaque.
Han couldn't see a thing. "What's the big idea, Goldenrod?"
Artoo toodled triumphantly. "Oh dear," Threepio said. "It seems Artoo insists he will not restore the lights until everyone agrees to leave immediately. Master Bryon's instructions, he claims."
"All right," said Winter's voice into the utter blackness of the room. "We'll leave."
The lights came back on, and Han marched over toward the droids. When the other four got there too Artoo trilled and the blast door hissed open again – to reveal Danaé waiting for them in the corridor amid the corpses of a dozen more brownshirts.
Han waggled a finger in the protocol droid's expressionless face. "Tell your little friend that if he ever pulls anything like that again, I'll have him deactivated. I don't care who owns him!"
"I'm terribly sorry," Threepio replied in dismay. "I'm afraid he's ever so stubborn about these sorts of things."
---
The comlink in Will's helmet clicked on again. He closed his eyes to listen.
"Three minutes," reported Kessa Brittin's voice.
"Copy, Invictus," Wedge replied. "Holding course."
"Roger, Rogue Leader," Kessa replied. "Invictus out."
Will took a slow, deep breath. He'd always envisioned dying on the battlefield, maybe as the last man standing in a valiant effort to hold off the enemy just a little bit longer while others got away. Something heroic. Getting blown up in a lander in a failed invasion wasn't exactly his lifelong dream.
Abruptly his helmet comlink double-clicked to the private Special Forces command frequency.
"When this is over," Cerule said, "remind me to make Skywalker suffer a lot for making us wait so long."
"You'll need a reminder for that?"
"No. Not really. Just trying to pass the time here, Graff."
"All right, Starblaze. How about when this is over, I help you make him suffer? Double the pain, you know?"
Cerule paused. "Tempting offer, despite its source. Can I think about it?"
Will laughed. "Sure. For the next two minutes."
---
Anakin took a slow, deep breath and released just a bit of his intense combat focus. In the Force Padmé's unlimited love and unbounded confidence in him flowed down her arm and hand and fingers and into his shoulder, and spilled through the tiny gap in his concentration like one of the glorious waterfalls of Theed. With her to bolster him, he knew he could prevail. He just had to find the Sith Master's weakness.
As Vengous' deliberate prowl slowly drew her closer to them, Padmé released her hand from his shoulder and took a stride backward. She was ready for anything – whatever he needed of her. They would succeed. Together.
Anakin locked his awareness into full battle focus again and stretched out his perceptions in the Force to probe his enemy. The energy field still boiled and churned from the exertions of the two great warriors. The Sith Master's intentions remained shrouded behind the veils and fogs of the dark side, but that would give her no great advantage. Anakin already had proven his power to thwart her dark arts, and he knew she would not be foolish enough to rely solely on them. Instead she would find a new strategy.
He would do the same. Rapidly Anakin considered the vast array of combat strategies he had learned and used in over three decades as a Jedi. Vengous had to be vulnerable to one of them. He simply had to identify it.
The Sith Master was only a few meters from them now, and she continued to advance. Her scarlet laser sword thrummed in her hand and her brown eyes flickered with a diabolical hatred of impossible depth.
Anakin continued to ponder his options as quickly as he could. Then, abruptly, something in his perceptions caught his attention. He'd sensed many oddities and anomalies during his duel with his enemy, but he'd simply brushed them aside as manifestations of the deceptions of the dark side. But what he sensed now – this was different.
He sensed something familiar, yet faint.
Almost as if…
The Force drew Anakin's eyes to a pocket along the left thigh of Vengous' black flight suit. Even with his perceptions still far from clear he knew he had to act immediately.
Without hesitation Anakin charged the Sith Master, and he reached her in two long strides. His turquoise lightsaber slashed fiercely through one of the most difficult Vaapad techniques he and Master Windu ever had created. His enemy parried the attacks, but not easily. He was closer to landing a blow now. Closer.
Anakin pressed his offensive with another aggressive pattern of strikes and arcs, driving Vengous backward across the ferrocrete floor of the docking bay beneath his unrelenting barrage.
Vengous kept an expression of cool confidence on her face as she retreated and parried. If she felt any fear she was hiding it well. But Anakin doubted she was afraid. She couldn't have achieved as much as she already had as a master of darkness without the strongest of wills.
He continued his onslaught without pause, never allowing his enemy a moment to regroup or launch a counterattack. Anakin knew Vengous would change the terms of the duel soon, but he only needed a few more moments. Just a few more…
Anakin smashed the red blade to the side and pinned it with his blue one.
Vengous kept her two-handed grip as she strove to free her weapon.
That was his chance – and Anakin executed the flawless mental feint he'd perfected over countless hours of sparring with Mara.
While Vengous responded to his overt intention to tighten the pin with his blade, his body reacted with trained reflex – a swift action without conscious thought. His enemy had no chance of detecting it before it was too late.
Anakin's left hand released his blade and slashed forward. Instead of the Force shove he normally used on Mara, though, he seized his enemy by the neck and closed his fingers around her throat.
Vengous' split-second shock was all the delay he needed.
Anakin let go of his blade with his right hand and seized the pouch on Vengous' leg. Simultaneously he tore the pouch away from her flight suit with a tremendous yank and powered the Force through his left arm to blast Vengous backward with an invisible blow.
By the time the Sith Master hit the floor a dozen meters away, Anakin had snatched his falling turquoise blade from midair with his left hand and held his prize firmly in his right.
When he looked down into his palm, a broad grin crossed his face.
"Anakin?" Padmé already was at his side. "What's going on?"
"I knew I sensed something." He extended his open right palm to her.
Padmé looked down at the glittering silver handle, and gasped. "Obi-Wan's lightsaber."
Anakin glanced quickly to the side to see Vengous slowly rising to her feet. "A trophy from Gimna 3. I assume she intends to complete her collection today."
Padmé met his gaze. "With yours."
"Yes."
"So how are we going to stop her?"
Anakin was about to reply when the Sith Master's voice intruded.
"Impressive, Skywalker," Vengous said. One slow stride at a time she began to stalk toward them again. "Although I think you will regret that you did not kill me when you had the chance."
Anakin blinked. It was true. He could've snapped her neck and slain her in an instant. Instead he'd simply taken Obi-Wan's blade away from her. It hadn't even occurred to him to do otherwise.
"You are mistaken," Anakin said. He didn't know why it was true, only that it was. The Force was guiding him now, in his actions and his words. And he was going to trust it. "Soon enough that will be clear."
"Kenobi's blade will not save you," Vengous snarled. "My victory is inevitable."
"I still have a few surprises left," Anakin said with a grin. "Your overconfidence will be your undoing."
"Ruses and gambits will not be enough," the Sith Master replied. "Not by far."
Vengous stopped several meters away and readied her scarlet laser sword.
Anakin clenched his jaw. His enemy was right. Subterfuge would not win this fight to the death. It would take something more. Far too much was at stake to rely on anything but skill and determination.
He looked over his shoulder into Padmé's eyes. "You trust me, right?"
"Yes."
"No matter what I ask of you?"
"I trust you with my life, my body, and my soul. I always have. I always will."
Anakin passed her Obi-Wan's lightsaber. "Let go," he told her. "Let go, and trust me."
She furrowed her brow in confusion as she took the weapon, but she nodded once. "I'm yours, Ani. Always."
---
Padmé watched Anakin's eyes flutter closed for a moment, then pop open again. A few meters away from them the Sith Master narrowed her eyes and took a long stride forward.
Yet Anakin didn't move.
Then the surreal sensations began. Padmé felt her grip closing around Obi-Wan's lightsaber handle. Her fingers adjusted themselves into a perfect grasp. Her thumb flicked, and with a snap-hiss the shimmering turquoise blade activated in her hands. Her wrists snapped and rolled a few times, and the blade danced through a series of short, swift arcs. Her arms extended and held the blade ready in front of her.
She hadn't done that. Any of it. She knew she hadn't.
At her side Anakin took up a ready stance, setting his feet and shifting his matching blue lightsaber into a two-handed defensive position. He looked over at her and smiled.
Padmé's body moved of its own accord and mirrored his position. Her feet set. Her hands shifted. She was squaring off against Darth Vengous. She and Anakin. Together.
From his carrier on her back Nyklas gurgled and whimpered anxiously. Padmé tried to speak to soothe him, but even as her mind formed the thought she knew her body wouldn't respond. She was Anakin's now, fully and completely. She had told him she trusted him with her life, body, and soul – and now all three truly were entirely his. Through the Force he controlled her body, and with it her life and her soul. She didn't need him to tell her that if he failed while their spirits were linked in this way, she would die along with him.
Padmé knew she should be afraid, but she wasn't.
Let go, said Anakin's voice in her mind. Trust me.
I'm yours, she thought back. Always.
Padmé felt her legs charge forward when Anakin's did, and in an instant they were dueling the Sith Master. The pair of turquoise blades sliced and struck with perfect precision at the black-clad woman and her scarlet blade. Vengous parried and weaved expertly, evading the attacks from her two opponents.
While her body fought with all the skill and talent of a Jedi Master, Padmé felt an even more unnerving vertigo descend over her mind. She could see and hear and feel everything, and yet her physical form no longer obeyed her mind. She could think, but she could not do.
She was a spectator within herself.
Padmé could do nothing but trust Anakin – so she did.
---
While his turquoise blade struck high and low against the Sith Master's scarlet laser sword, Anakin slowly shifted to his left. Next to him Padmé shifted to her right as she wielded Obi-Wan's shimmering blade in an equally deadly pattern of strikes. By increasing the angle between them they made it far more difficult for Vengous to defend against them both at the same time.
Anakin swung another blow, but his enemy ducked her shoulders beneath it at the last possible instant.
Padmé's blade swiped across her body, but Vengous deflected the strike just enough to send it wide.
Anakin kept up his attacks, unleashing arcs and slices each more intricate than the last. Fighting with the lightsaber was one of his greatest talents as a Jedi, and now he had maneuvered his fight with the Sith Master onto his terms. There would be no barrage of dark side Force powers, not any more. It would take all her concentration to defend against Padmé and him – even one small error would be fatal.
The Force pulsed and surged as it flowed through his body and his awareness. Anakin's hands pressed his onslaught of their own accord, trained by countless hours of practice into mastery of dozens of attacks and defenses. Padmé's hands did the same, complementing each of his strikes with the deadliest possible swing from the other side.
In tandem they drove the Sith Master into a retreat. Anakin's offensive increased in ferocity, and Padmé matched him with spearing lunges and swift arcs that grew ever closer to hitting their enemy.
Padmé's unconditional acceptance of his control of her body let him direct her actions effortlessly. This was more than a battle meld – far more. Anakin and Padmé fought as one, because a single mind guided them. It was a technique he had used only a handful of times in his life, on a few occasions in sparring matches when Obi-Wan had taught it to him, and then several times with Mara to teach her new techniques when necessity required absolute speed in learning. Only with the two Jedi who held his complete trust and love, and the most recent time had been nearly seven years ago.
Never before in real combat.
But this was Padmé. He knew her body as well as he knew his own. He knew her mind and her spirit better than she knew herself. There was no feeling of uncomfortable male intimacy as there had been with Obi-Wan. There was no awkward hesitancy unavoidable with an adolescent Mara. This was Padmé. He could lead their bodies to fight in unison against the Sith Master with as much ease as himself alone.
It was a complete surrender to him of Padmé's independence – something he never would have asked of her under any other circumstance but this. This was his destiny, and far more than their two lives hung in the balance. Padmé would never forgive him if he had foregone this chance at victory out of concern for her. She really did love and trust him completely, and he was not about to let her down.
Anakin swung high and Padmé swung low, and somehow Vengous bobbed and weaved and parried around them.
The Sith Master retreated another stride to avoid a swift downward arc from Padmé's blade, and Anakin closed the distance in an instant and speared with a lunge. Vengous twisted and slid around the strike, then snapped her red lightsaber around to block a swing from Padmé that would have bisected her at the waist.
Anakin attacked. Padmé attacked too. Vengous retreated and defended, but her dodges and parries left no openings. Not a single one.
Anakin's blue blade was a blinding blur of light in front of him, and from their enemy's other side Padmé's blade danced and darted in dazzling swaths too. It was as overpowering and dominant an offensive as Anakin ever had unleashed on anyone, even with Obi-Wan or Mara at his side.
And still Vengous fended them off. One blade against two, and the Sith Master was invulnerable. The Force was a maelstrom of power and might around the three of them, and Vengous' dark hatred fueled her talents to incomprehensible heights.
Anakin emptied his well of skill, pouring every last Vaapad technique into the duel. Left and right, high and low, slice and lunge, arc and swipe – none of it mattered. Nothing he tried worked, even with every last bit of combat focus he had ever brought to bear. Nothing worked.
Padmé swung. Anakin swung. Vengous parried and dodged.
Still nothing worked.
Anakin felt the desperation building in his gut. If he couldn't win this way, maybe he couldn't win at all. But he couldn't afford to lose. He wouldn't let Vengous kill Padmé. He wouldn't let Vengous take Nyklas. He wouldn't fail to fulfill his destiny and let the Sith triumph over the Jedi forever. He wouldn't.
If he couldn't win this way, how could he?
Padmé swung. Anakin swung. Vengous parried and dodged.
He had to win – no matter what it took.
Padmé swung. Anakin swung. Vengous parried and dodged.
Anakin clenched his blade with crushing strength and narrowed his eyes. He would win – no matter what.
---
Danaé followed Winter as the intelligence agent led the group back through the maze of corridors in the generator building toward the rear door of the facility. Quickly she glanced over her shoulder to make sure the droids were keeping up. Which they were, of course.
Leia looked up at her. "How long were you waiting out there?"
Danaé shrugged. "Not very."
"You could've commed us to let you in."
"Mostly I was holding off the brownshirts. Plus, you didn't need my help to set the –"
Suddenly Danaé's danger sense flared, and instantly she spun on her heel and flicked out her wrist, stretching with the Force to activate a wall panel a few meters back down the hallway. A thick blast door slammed down, sealing the path behind them.
Leia gave her a startled look. "What'd you do that for?"
In reply the floor quaked beneath their feet, the walls creaked and groaned, and a tremendous thundering roar engulfed them. A heartbeat later a searing hiss wailed from the other side of the blast door.
"Nice move there, sister," Han said to Danaé. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," she replied. "And next time, try to actually set the timers for the correct delay, all right?"
---
From their little alcove by the rear door Sarré stood at Bryon's side and fired out into the darkness of the clearing around the generator building. The three Special Forces troopers with them shot at the brownshirts too.
They were still outnumbered, but the situation was looking better. Maybe they'd actually make it out alive.
No sooner had that thought entered her mind than the distinctive roar of repulsordrives intruded over the chaotic noise of the skirmish in the clearing. Before Sarré could consider what that might mean, though, an even louder sound drowned out everything.
She nearly stumbled when the ground shook beneath her feet and the clearing lit up with the bright red and orange hues of a massive explosion. She reached out a hand and clutched Bryon's arm as the planetary shield generator in the building behind them incinerated in a blazing inferno.
Only a few seconds later the rumble of the detonation quieted – and the roar of the repulsordrives returned much louder than before.
She glanced up at Bryon. "They have reinforcements, don't they?"
He nodded. "That's not how our gunships sound. And the shield wasn't down anyway."
Sarré looked out above the towering treetops and saw the enemy ships coming into view. "More transports."
"Yes."
She squinted. "And… What are those?"
"Tankships," Bryon replied, pointing out one of the small, single-pilot enemy craft against the dark nighttime sky. "For air support."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
She reached out and took his hand. "Did we…"
He checked the chrono on his other wrist, and nodded. "We did. Barely. But we did. It's over. We've won."
She squeezed his hand. "The Republic has."
"Right." He squeezed back. "We can't survive this. Not now."
"I know."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She released his hand and readied her blaster. "No matter how great the darkness…"
"… I will always have hope." He hefted his rifle to his shoulder again. "I love you, Sarré."
She smiled up at him. "And I love you, Bryon."
---
Wedge Antilles heard the victorious cheers of his pilots over his helmet comlink – and he cheered right along with them. The shield was down. And just in the nick of time.
"Rogue Squadron, let's get these landers on the ground and win this thing!"
A beep sounded on the console of his X-Wing, and Wedge flicked his comlink to broadcast the private channel into the cockpit. "Yes, Fel?"
"You heard Sergeant Brittin's reports about the impending situation at the shield generator?"
"I did."
His fellow Corellian's deep sigh was clearly audible over the com. "The Rogues can more than handle the landers, Antilles. I'm taking the Renegades."
"It's probably too late, you know."
"Probably and a hundred credits will buy you dinner at the Sleeping Bantha."
"All right. If you insist."
"Thank you."
Another sharp beep sounded from the comlink, and Wedge flicked it over. "Renegade Leader, Rogue Leader, this is Invictus," said the startled voice of Admiral Mirkalla. "You're deviating from mission parameters. What's going on down there?"
Wedge reached out a hand and scraped his palm over the microphone. "Can't hear… Admir…" he said through the false static. "Your sig… breaking up… Repeat, can't… you, Admiral… signal… up."
Wedge flicked over to Soontir again. "This better be worth it."
"No way do I fly cover for landers while Solo dies a venerated hero for his bravery. Not a chance, Antilles. I won't give him the pleasure."
Wedge laughed. "You owe me one for this, Fel. A big one."
---
With as much calmness as he could muster Luke clipped his lightsaber handle to his belt, then let his hands fall to his sides. He took a slow, deep breath and drew on the soothing energy of the Force to clear his thoughts.
Mara stood in place a few meters away with her thrumming violet laser sword gripped in both hands. She didn't move or say a word. She remained inscrutable in the Force.
"I won't fight you, Mara. Not any more."
She glared hard into his eyes, and strode a few paces forward. Close enough to strike him down.
"Let go of your anger," he said softly. "Release your hate."
"So, is this part of your plan to convince me you're not afraid?"
He nodded. "I suppose it is."
"You're not fearless, Luke. You're stupid."
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I'm not going to fight you."
"Then you're going to die."
"It's your choice."
"You're putting your life in my hands, is that it?"
"Yes."
She scowled, and chuckled derisively.
"I believe in you," he said. "I believe in the love we share. You won't kill me."
Her eyes narrowed. "Maybe I don't believe in you. Maybe I never did."
Luke held out his hands. "Then kill me, and be done with it."
Mara chuckled again. "You're hiding your fear well, Luke. Much better than a few minutes ago."
"No, Mara. I'm not hiding anything. I'm not afraid."
"Liar!"
"No."
In a flash she strode the final step to him and held her shimmering energy blade across his throat. A single short movement of her wrist would cleave his head from his body. "If you don't turn around right now and walk away from me for good, I'm going to kill you where you stand."
"I told you I'm not leaving without you. That hasn't changed."
"You'll die for nothing."
"No," he whispered. "I'll die having done everything I possibly could to save you. That's not nothing – that's everything."
The same unreadable emotion flickered across Mara's face again, and her eyes looked away. After a long, terrible moment she spoke, and when she did her voice was hoarse and almost inaudible.
She said only a single word. "Why?"
"I am a Jedi," Luke said, "like my father before me."
"You walked away from your mission," she rasped. "You turned your back on your sisters and your brother. On your duty."
"I did. But only to come for you. It was… You were more important."
The violet blade twitched.
"Choose, Mara," he said. "What's it going to be?"
Her green eyes met his gaze, and they were filled with unshed tears. With a soft hiss the violet blade retracted into its handle and vanished – and Mara collapsed into his arms.