I'm very sorry for the massive gap, everyone, but real-life has kicked me in the you-know-what a lot these past few months and writing (or using the computer, for that matter) had been completely thrown out of my mind for a while. My luck was a small, but very devoted group of friends, who pulled me out of the gloom and into the sunshine once more. Incidentally, some of them happened to be reading several of my writings and they used this as a means to get me distracted enough to forget about anything painful. May their souls be blessed! I'm indebted to them for the fact that they have been able to stand my constant mood swings and help me see the good side to every negative situation. :)
That being said, here's the next chapter. It was written sporadically, over a long period of time, when I felt strong enough to just sit down and write, without doing anything else. My gloomy state of mind is probably the reason why this one is much darker or violent than the others – do not read while eating and drinking. ;)
Chapter XVII – Furnace Heart, Divided Soul
Anakin walked slowly, the hard soles of his boots clicking on the marble floors of the Temple. All around him, Padawans, Knights and Masters were waiting, as the tension in the air gradually escalated. They could all feel it, in the Force's turbulent flow: the Darkness that seemed to slowly eclipse the Light, stealing all warmth and replacing it with a freezing coldness.
The young Knight continued his leisurely pace, showing no outward signs of distress. His gloved hand rested on the hilt of his lightsaber, as he listened to the Force's soft whispers. The eerie silence seemed to stretch far beyond him, as every Jedi laid waiting for the smallest of Fate's signs.
That which is already doomed cannot be saved, the small, dark voice in the back of his mind whispered. Why bother? They were dead, from the moment that Palpatine proclaimed himself Emperor.
He wanted to deny it, shaking his head in defiance, until he realized that it would be a futile gesture. Every being of the Temple was now in mortal danger and no amount of denying would actually change that.
Then, are you up to the challenge?
Of course he was, the Knight thought silently, as he gazed through a window at the mass of white soldiers below. This was one of the things that he had always dreamed of: to prove to those around him that he was a powerful Jedi and not a former Tatooine slave boy, wasn't it?
And yet, the thought of the deaths and sacrifices that would inevitably come turned all hope into despair and left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Then, as sudden as a lightning strike, Anakin's eyes snapped toward the artillery batteries and missile launchers, where the clones were frantically loading ammunition. This was it. The ultimate test, which would prove his theory. If he had been right about the magnetic shield's influence of electronic circuitry, then none of the projectiles would be able to hit the Temple.
If he had been wrong, then the entire structure would cave in on itself, after the first five direct hits, killing all inside.
With a deafening screech, the first wave of ground-air missiles was launched, hurtling toward the Temple. Anakin's mechanical fingers dug in his palms, as he clenched his fists, silently counting away the seconds.
One.
Two.
Three.
Just as sudden as they entered the magnetic field's range, all of the missiles veered wildly off-course, hurtling upwards, in the skies. The Knight felt the floor shake briefly, as several explosions illuminated the skies above the structure.
Anakin couldn't suppress the small smirk that appeared on his face. So, he had been right after all. And the clones would soon understand their mistake.
Surely enough, after another two more failed waves of projectiles, the Commander ordered the gunners to cease their fire.
"I though you might have figured out my little trick, C/704" Anakin whispered, as he felt the clone's mixed emotions through the Force, when the man found out just what was protecting the Temple. A combination of anger, awe, frustration and respect could be detected in his mind, as he understood who the mastermind behind the magnetic shield was.
Under the young Knight's sharp gaze, the mass of clones started to shift and change formation. Clearly, they were going for another strategy.
"They will try to force open the main gates!" Agen Kolar spoke, startling Anakin.
"Indeed" he agreed. "The only thing we can do is try to slow them down. Have all the children been taken to the shelter?"
"Yes. Master Ti saw to it personally."
Anakin only nodded, as a large number of clones advanced in a compact mass, opening fire upon the Temple's sealed entrance. The entire structure shuddered under the multiple impacts.
"And that is our cue" the Knight spoke, unhooking the lightsaber from his belt and racing toward the main hallway, with Kolar close behind.
The entire Temple seemed to have been roused from its dazed stupor, as countless Jedi occupied their specified positions, preparing themselves, both mentally and physically, to give their lives in defense of the Order.
"Knight Skywalker!" several of them called out to him, as he passed by, in a swirl of black velvet, but he ignored them, as his boots pounded on the floor in a staccato rhythm. Colors and sounds rushed past his eyes and ears, but he paid them no mind, his conscience now fully centered on the dark, almost palpable sense of impeding disaster.
Anakin stopped suddenly, when he entered the main hall. The wide corridor was full of Padawans, Knights and Masters, each of them making last-minute preparations to the clones' 'surprise reception' as Obi-Wan had mildly put it. Teenage Padawans, the eldest no more than seventeen years old, were placing small, concealed explosive charges, in key spots, as the older and stronger Knights were struggling to barricade the large durasteel doors, which looked like they were ready to fall apart any second, under the troopers' intense barrage of fire.
"We won't be able to keep them out much longer, at this rate" a Devaronian Master sighed, wiping the seat from his brow.
"The goal is not necessarily keeping them out, but slowing them down and causing as many casualties among their ranks as we can" Anakin explained, his dark blue eyes burning intensely, as they regarded the mangled gates. "We have no choice in the matter, other than holding our ground to the last second. The only thing that we can do then is make sure we take as many of them with us as we can!"
The same mix of emotions as those at The Praetor's fall now shone on Anakin's features: barely constrained anger, a blazing hatred which burned near the surface and the same wild fanaticism lining his voice. All those who saw him in those moments were secretly relieved that he was on their side. As for the Devaronian Master, is mind was spinning, as a short, but powerful image made its way in his head: Anakin Skywalker, with the same feral expression twisting his features, cloaked in Darkness, with a battalion of clone troopers marching behind him, ascending the stairs of the Temple's entrance.
"We will try" the Master answered, banishing the black image of that thread of Destiny, which had nearly been possible a few short hours ago (even though he did not know it).
Anakin nodded almost imperceptibly, his blazing eyes measuring the entire corridor.
"Just what are your intentions?" Kolar's deep voice resonated, as he turned to face the young Jedi.
"Have you not figured it out, Master?" Anakin asked, his tone slightly derisive. Clearly, he had not forgotten Kolar's lack of faith in him.
"Class B explosives, barricades on both sides of the room . . ." Agen whispered, counting the preparations. His brow furrowed in confusion, but, after a few seconds, his eyes opened wide, in shock.
"No! You can't be serious!" he hissed, the shock and outrage clearly written on his face.
"I am dead serious" Anakin answered, his voice cold. "They are the ones asking for it."
Kolar envisioned the outcome in his mind. The clones would burst in through the doors, unaware of what awaited the on the other side. When they would finally break through, they would find themselves facing a solid barricade, with only one gap in the middle. The Jedi would herd them through the barricade and onto the minefield beyond.
"It will be a bloodbath" he finally found his voice. "Mass slaughter!"
"Nothing more or less than what they deserve" Anakin said, showing no emotion, other than coldness and steely determination.
"This is not the Jedi way!"
Anakin looked at Agen Kolar, a feral smile blossoming on his lips, as he remembered himself uttering those same words, not so long ago.
"Not the Jedi way? Perhaps. But the time for pacifism and stagnation has long since passed, Master Kolar. Now, it is all or nothing. When one is fighting for his very survival, one has no time to reflect on his actions."
"And morality?" Kolar asked, already reading the answer in the other's tempestuous eyes.
At that, Anakin threw his head back and roared with laughter. But it was not the happy, carefree laughter that he had possessed as a boy, but a twisted, mirthless, cold shadow.
"Stop preaching vaunted principles, from old textbooks!" he said, his tone rough and dark. "Now they value nothing!"
Turning toward the entrance, where several Masters were fighting with all of their might to keep the doors closed, his eyes shone with the same icy flame as earlier.
"I gave their Commander the chance to back down and give up this senseless siege, but he foolishly chose to defy me and go on. It is time that someone showed him where his place is!"
"And you would go against every rule of the code to do so?" Kolar inquired, disbelievingly.
"The Jedi Code will not save anyone now" the young Knight retorted, waspishly. "The Commander underestimated my resolve. He does not know what I am ready to do to defend this Temple! And for that, he will pay dearly!"
For all those near, it was clear that the young man speaking was not the kind-hearted, if somewhat reckless Jedi that they had come to know these past thirteen years, but the ruthless, inflexible military Commander who had led the Republic troops to victory after victory against the Separatists. And, although they wouldn't confess it to each other, none of them wished to go against him.
"If there is a lesson that this war has taught me" he went on, obviously enjoying Kolar's vexation, "it is that the end does justify the means! If this is the only way of protecting this Temple, then so be it. I will dispatch any clone who dares to oppose me, the Code be damned!"
For a moment, Kolar couldn't utter a single sound. His mouth opened and closed several times, until, with a vigorous shake of the head, he broke out of his daze.
"I will not be a part of this!" the Zabrak Master spoke, raising his chin defiantly and meeting the other's gaze directly.
Anakin's eyes narrowed slightly, their depths darkening, as he coolly regarded the other man.
"If you are not with me, Master" he hissed dangerously, "then you are against me!"
Agen Kolar felt an icy shiver run down his spine at the Knight's implied threat. However, not the words themselves were the cause of his reaction, but the way they had been spoken. Gathering his courage around him like a shield, he stared into the younger man's eyes.
The two remained still for a full minute, a silent battle of wills waged between them. In the end, however, it was Kolar who lowered his head, like a dog that had defied its master and was now awaiting its punishment.
"I will follow you, my Commander" he said, in a resigned tone.
Anakin only had time to nod in approval, when a Padawan screamed: "They're coming through!" and, with an almighty boom, the durasteel doors were shattered. Dozens of Jedi leapt behind the barricades, to protect themselves from the explosion's shockwave and the flying shrapnel. With lightning speed, Anakin gripped Kolar by the shoulders and jumped into a small alcove, as a deluge of metal shards rained down.
"So, it comes to this" the young Knight whispered, his eyes burning as intensely as ever. Igniting his cerulean blade, he ran out of the niche, like a predator getting ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey.
Meanwhile, the clone troopers, after several unsuccessful attempts to break through the doors, finally managed to set up two explosive charges. With a roaring boom, the entrance was blown apart, causing the permacrete floor to shudder under their boots.
"Forward, troopers!" a clone Lieutenant ordered. Behind him, the clones grouped into a tightly knit phalanx and marched up the shattered marble stairs. Inside, they were met by a solid wall of Jedi, intent on keeping them out. The troopers immediately opened fire, which was just as quickly deflected by the Knights, with swift, graceful moves.
"Break through the line!" the Lieutenant shouted, managing to shoot a female Jedi in the chest, sending her tumbling to the floor, in a pool of blood. "Break through . . ."
But he could speak no more, as he felt a searing pain in his left arm. Howling in agony, the soldier clutched the cauterized stump that had been his hand, looking up in horror, at the Jedi with burning blue eyes who had struck him.
"You will have to pass by me, if you wish to attack this Temple!" the man spoke, his face illuminated by the blue fire of his saber.
Howling in rage, the Lieutenant brought up his blaster pistol, at point blank range and pulled the trigger. The Knight, however, raised his blade in an ascending arc, deflecting the laser beam up into the ceiling.
"Not today" the young man smirked, as the blade descended at blinding speed, burning through the clone's left arm and neck. The soldier's body crumpled to the floor in a heap, its armor clattering noisily against the marble tiles.
"Force them through the middle of the barricade!" Anakin yelled, spinning his saber end over end, to deflect a new volley of blaster fire. The other Jedi conformed themselves, widening their circle and letting the troopers pass through. Unaware of what was to come, the clones marched ahead, blasting at any Jedi that they could get in their sights.
"Just a little more. . . Now!"
A Padawan who was tucked inside a niche near the gates heard Anakin's shout. Gripping the small control panel with sweaty palms, he flipped the activate switch.
For several seconds, nothing seemed to happen. And then, several charges detonated in the middle of the hall, in a flash of blinding light and searing heat. The clones that had been closest to the explosives flew apart, their contorted bodies slamming into the walls, as the smells of vaporized plastic and charred flesh mixed.
Those farther away were thrown off their feet by the shockwave, loosing their precious advantage over the Jedi.
"Attack!" Anakin ordered, jumping out from behind the barricade that had shielded him from the blast. The other Knights did the same, grouping themselves into a tight line, sweeping forward, with their sabers held high.
Anakin walked ahead, on a steady pace, the broken pieces of burnt armor cracking and shattering under the weight of his black boots. From inside a niche, a trooper quickly stepped out, charging the young man, at full sprint. However, he didn't even get within three meters, when a sudden ripple in the Force sent him flying backwards, into a wall, with the tell-tale crunch of a spine breaking.
"Do not hesitate!" the Knight sharply admonished a Padawan, whose horrified eyes were riveted on what was left of a clone. "They would do the same to us, if they had the chance!"
"Yes, M-Master Skywalker" the boy stammered, clutching his lightsaber even tighter.
Anakin's lips parted, for a moment, revealing his teeth, in a wild smirk. But, in a few seconds, the expression changed into a grimace, as he understood what was causing the slight undertone of fear, in the boy's voice.
Him.
The Padawan was afraid of him.
And he has reasons to be, that deep, sunken voice whispered from within the murky depths.
It was the same voice that had taunted him in the Council chamber, whispering constantly about Padme's imminent death. The same voice that had cajoled him into slaughtering the Tusken camp, after his mother's death. The voice that had mocked him on Jabiim, telling him that his Master was dead and that he was all alone. The voice that had followed him in secret, for the better part of his waking life.
The part of him that always seemed to speak in Palpatine's voice.
He should be afraid. After all, you are a war criminal, are you not?
Shut up!
Dooku was an unarmed prisoner.
Palpatine made me do it!
You did it, Skywalker! Stop deluding yourself!
It wasn't my fault!
Do not try to pin the blame on someone else! Be a man, for a change and assume responsibility for your own decisions!
Speechless are we? Some Jedi you are! You can't protect your own wife, much less an entire Galaxy!
Nothing will ever happen to Padme! I will not allow it!
Big words, coming from one such as yourself! Face it, son, you're a failure!
I swore that would become the most powerful Jedi that this world has ever seen!
And did you fulfill your oath? Do you know the secret to immortality? Do you walk in the Light? Face it, young one, you're already half-fallen, though you may not admit it!
SHUT UP!
"Anakin?" Kolar asked, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "What is it?"
The young Jedi shook his head several times, as if to clear it.
"Nothing" he answered, on a low tone, barely above a whisper. His face, however, seemed darker and grimmer than ever.
For a few moments, the hallway seemed eerily silent, as the last survivor of the first wave of the attack fell to Kolar's saber.
Then, the floor shook violently, as dust and debris rained down from the ceiling.
"What is going on?" Anakin asked, staring upward. His eyes bulged, in shock.
"No . . ."
"What?" Kolar coughed, shielding his face.
"They're breaking through the thermal exhaust vents!"
No sooner had these words been spoken, that a large group of troopers blasted through the walls, large concussion rifles on their shoulders. The entire hall was enveloped in a cloud of acrid, blinding dust, as the humms of lightsabers and the cries of the wounded sounded from all sides.
"Stay together! Don't spread apart!" Anakin tried to call out, but the dust got into his lungs, making him choke and lose his breath. He felt a sharp pain in his back, as the butt of a rifle hit him squarely between the shoulder blades. Caught off guard, he fell forward, hitting the floor hard.
"It's over, Anakin."
He opened his stinging eyes, to stare into the muzzle of a rifle, behind which he could see the white, grim mask of a clonetrooper.
"704" he spoke hoarsely, his fingers wrapping themselves around the hilt of his saber. "You made the wrong choice."
"The only choice I had" the Commander answered flatly, pressing the rifle to Anakin's forehead. "It's over, kid."
A blue column of cobalt fire shot to life, rotating in a wild arc. It sailed through the air, burning through the weapon and melting it. The Jedi's black boots smashed into 704's groin, making the soldier fall to his knees. Anakin raised himself up, placing the blade a few millimeters from the trooper's neck.
All this in the span of barely a second.
The two combatants stood frozen to the spot, staring each other in the eye.
Anakin's blood rushed and boiled through his veins, as he gazed at the black lenses of the Commander's mask. He needed only to make on move, one slight flick of the wrist and the soldier would lie on the floor, headless. He would leave the attack force without its leader, in one stroke.
He is only a weakling, a flea. Rid the world of him, the voice whispered once more, in low, seductive tones.
Anakin's fingers tightened painfully around the weapon. He could . . . he had the power and he could do it. The man that had defied him would lay dead, lifeless, on the floor
And no one would ever have the courage to defy you again.
The young Jedi heard an inaudible moan and turned around, only to see the young Padawan from earlier, lying on the ground, both of his legs broken and twisted at unnatural angles. His eyes were wide-open, the pain shining inside them like the glow a new-born star. His lips moved, but no words came out.
Do it!
"What the stang are you waiting for, kid? For the moons of Yavin to drop down on your head?"
Anakin shook his head vigorously, as an amused voice filtered through the haze of confusion and uncertainty that clouded his mind. Looking down, he met 704's unseen eyes and, for a moment, he could swear that the soldier was actually smiling under the white, frowning mask. Even with a lightsaber at his throat, the man was smiling!
Take his life and he will never mock you again!
Anakin felt a new surge of anger crashing through him, like a tidal wave, but, with surprising detachment, he realized that it was not his own. It boiled inside him, surging into a roaring flame, but it did not belong to him. It was rising, along with the voice, from the dark abyss that lurked inside him. It belonged to another person entirely. The person that nearly exploded with rage in front of the Jedi Council.
The person that murdered Dooku.
Suddenly, as fast as it had been ignited, the blue blade was extinguished, hanging harmlessly in the Knight's black hand. C-704 looked at Anakin, noting the young man's unusual paleness, as if the blood had been drained from his cheeks and the eyes, in which the trooper saw nothing short of sheer terror.
"Get . . . out of here, 704." Even as he said these words, Anakin's voice seemed blank, almost droid-like and his expression did not change at all. Gloved fingers wrapped themselves painfully around the trooper's left wrist, pulling him roughly to his feet.
"Get out of here" he said once more, before 704 could snap out of his bewilderment, "and take your men with you, or else I swear by the Force that I will kill you all! Just like I did Dooku!"
C-704 nodded dumbly, incapable of another act, under the scrutiny of such intense eyes. But, for a split-second, he was sure that he had seen a glimmer of yellow in their dark blue.
"Leave before it's too late" Anakin spoke once more, breaking eye-contact and bending down, to toss the wounded teenage Padawan over his shoulder. "My self-control is done for."
Securing the boy tightly, with both hands, Anakin surveyed the devastation around him. Most of the young Knights and Padawans lay dead, sprawled on the floor, with charred holes in the middle of their chests and the hallway was slowly being overrun with a second wave of clone reinforcements.
"Retreat to the second line of defense! To the second line!"
All those that could hear the Knight's order scrambled wildly, deflecting blaster bolts from all sides and trying to make an orderly retreat.
"The Jedi are retreating! After them, men!"
The man who spoke, a captain in a grey uniform, broke into a sprint, followed by an entire front of clone troopers, each aiming their blasts in quick succession at the scurrying Jedi.
C-704 alone stood motionless, as many of his brothers passed by him. His thoughts were in turmoil, spinning in mad circles, but one image stood out clearly in his chaotic mind: the look in Anakin's eyes, as if the Jedi was being haunted by a demon. The experienced Commander had seen it numerous times in the war, in the eyes of soldiers that had witnessed entire populations being wiped out, or in those of the ones responsible for the massacres.
But this time, something essential was different. The fear was not directed outwards, but inwards.
"The kid is afraid of himself" C-704's mind arrived at the logical conclusions and numerous pieces of the puzzle surrounding the young man seemed to suddenly fall perfectly into their designated spots.
"Commander, what is it?"
704 turned his gaze to a trooper that had grabbed him by the shoulder and was shaking him lightly.
"Are you wounded, sir?"
"Only in my pride, soldier" he answered, picking up a discarded rifle. "I'm indebted to a Jedi twice!"
x x x
Obi-Wan leaned slightly against the edge of the balcony, surveying the massive gathering of troops surrounding the Temple. A chilly breeze billowed from the north, making the man pull his outer robe tighter around himself.
"A move, the clones have made not?" Yoda asked, shielding his eyes from the mid-day sun, as he gazed at the soldiers.
"Apparently not" Obi-Wan spoke, keeping his stance tense.
"If they can't hit us with missiles or heavy artillery, maybe they'll give up" Kazuya volunteered, her brown eyes sparkling hopefully.
"Not likely. According to Anakin's outline for the strike, they will attempt to break down the main blast doors."
"You seem to place a lot of trust on your former learner, Obi-Wan" Luminara interjected. "He seems much too conflicted to be able to make objective decisions, in my opinion."
"Let's not start this discussion again" Obi-Wan said wearily, bringing a palm to rest against his forehead. "I've fought alongside Anakin for almost the entire duration of this war and I know him . . . better than most. I trust him. And that's all that there is to it."
"Jedi Kenobi speaks the truth" Chewbacca growled, fiddling with his large bowcaster. "Many tales about Anakin Skywalker have reached Kashyyyk and the Wookies consider him to be one of the best military leaders that the Republic has had in this war."
"Still, the fact that he is an excellent strategist does not mean that he is also a very good Jedi" Luminara argued.
"Not the right place for this discussion, this is" Yoda said, hitting his gimmer cane on the stone dais, to get everyone's attention. "When the battle over will be, young Skywalker's problems discuss we will."
Both Luminara and Obi-Wan nodded at this, but Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel a pang of dread at the thought that, maybe, they would never again get the opportunity to gather in the Council Chamber.
The railing vibrated slightly under his palm, as a few muffled explosions could be heard.
"They're in!" Kazuya jumped, gripping the hilt of her lightsaber.
"Steady, Padawan" Obi-Wan placed a calming hand on the girl's shoulder. "Our task is to wait, in case the first line of defense needs backup. And, besides, you and Padawan Jor will be going to the command center, to aid Master Ti, in defending the Younglings."
"You mean we won't be fighting on the first line?" the teenager asked, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.
"No" Obi-Wan answered, looking directly into the girl's eyes. "But, if all else fails, you will be part of the last group defending the Order's future."
Kazuya wanted to answer, but no words could leave her throat, when she looked at Obi-Wan's somber expression.
"Y-yes, Master."
Obi-Wan could not say anything else, for a large blast made the floor under his boots shake violently and the noise caused his ears to ring.
"What in the Force was that!" Luminara asked, as Chewbacca helped her stand, after the explosion caused her to lose her balance and fall.
"Obviously, a complication" Obi-Wan frowned. His comlink blinked and he answered it immediately.
"Master Kenobi . . . overwhelmed . . . in retreat . . . need assistance . . ." Agen Kolar's voice sounded, among the buzz of static.
"Master Kolar? Can you hear me?" Obi-Wan asked, shaking the comlink several times.
"Is he still there?" Luminara took a step forward, worry lines creasing her soft-featured face.
I don't know" Obi-Wan said, giving the device one last shake, before stuffing it into his pocket. "There's too much interference for the signal to get through."
"Than this is the signal that we're needed" the Mirialan Master answered, unhooking her lightsaber. The other two Masters did the same, followed by Chewbacca, who loaded an energy cell into his bowcaster.
"Listen you two" Obi-Wan said, looking at Kazuya and Jor, "head directly to the command center and nowhere else!"
"Yes. Master" they answered in unison.
"Good" he nodded, walking to the door. "And may the Force be with you."
The two didn't even get a chance to reply, for Obi-Wan had taken off in a wild sprint, down the corridor.
"Let's go" Kazuya said, her eyes glowing.
The Padawans made their way cautiously through the Temple, making sure to avoid the skirmishes between Jedi and clonetroopers.
"Kaz, the center is this way" Jor tried to get her attention, pointing to a narrow, winding stairwell.
"Hang on a moment" she answered, hiding behind a pillar, only to witness three clone pump a series of blaster bolts into the body of a young woman.
"That was Tra'aa . . ." Kazuya whispered, covering her mouth with one palm, her eyes widening in shock. "They . . . can't have killed her!"
"Kaz" Jor gripped his friend's wrist with one green, scaly hand. "Let it be. We can't do anything about it."
"Yes we can!" the girl answered, her eyes narrowing. "We can send these juma-heads to heck!"
"Kaz . . ."
But no argument could deter the girl. Igniting her green blade, she stepped from behind the pillar, in full view.
"Hey, laser-brains! Over here!"
The clones turned toward her and immediately launched a wave of blasterfire, making the girl pant with the effort necessary to block and deflect them.
"This crazy girl is gonna get herself killed at this rate" Jor mumbled, rolling his large black eyes in annoyance. Igniting his own blade, he stepped up beside Kazuya, moving in sync with her.
In a few moments, the three troopers were sprawled over the floor, dead.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Kazuya asked, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
"Don't do that again!" the Rodian Padawan said, leaning against a wall to catch his breath. "You and your hair-brained schemes almost got us killed several times during the war."
"But we haven't died yet" the girl countered. "And we're on the market for Masters!"
The Padawans shared a small, sad smile. Both of their Masters had been killed almost a standard year ago, in the battle of Rendili and since then, they had been paired up and passed from one Knight to the other. Their last tutor had been Kit Fisto, who had been murdered by Palpatine the night before.
"We don't have much luck, do we?" Jor asked, shrugging his shoulders. "But, I think that you're still secretly hoping for Master Kenobi to take us on."
"No I am not!" Kazuya shook her head, making her way down the corridor, among the bodies of other fallen Padawans.
"Really? I was under the impression that you liked him."
"And just what gave you that idea?" the girl asked, keeping her tone nonchalant, as she stepped into a small puddle of blood.
"Well . . . maybe it's the fact that when we were younglings, you used to follow him around every time he visited our group . . . or when he needed to be informed of something, you were always the first one to volunteer . . . or, during the war, when you would always cheer when you heard of one of his victories and worried for an entire month, when he had been reported missing in action after the battle of Jabiim, making Master Tholme give you a lecture about the dangers of attachment . . ."
"That was a simple teenage crush! I'm over it."
"Are you?" Jor asked, amused. "Then why were you blushing like mad when he patted you on the shoulder?"
"Shut up, bug-face!" Kazuya mumbled, her cheeks reddening.
Jor chuckled slightly. He loved to rile up his more temperamental partner.
The Padawans' light-hearted banter stopped instantly, when they saw a group of clones standing directly in front of them, silently waiting. Behind them, a second group had appeared, having stood hidden in several niches in the wall.
"We're surrounded" Jor said, his antennae perking up, to detect the slightest movement.
"Sithspit!" Kazuya huffed under her breath, igniting her weapon.
"We can't fight all of them!" Jor exclaimed, gaping at his friend.
"But we can still try, nonetheless" Kazuya answered, with a hard stare that clearly told the other to pull himself together. "We've been through much more than this in the war!"
Swinging the emerald blade over her shoulder, in a Juyo position, Kazuya struck out with several wide arcs, deflecting the first bolts back to their owners. Placing one foot in front of the other, the girl planted herself firmly in the middle of the hall, swinging her blade in an array of large swings, while Jor seemed to move with twice the speed of a normal being, slashing the legs from under one trooper and making him fall to the floor.
Despite that fact that they had been inseparable friends ever since they had been Younglings, a great many things separated Kazuya Ataro and Jor Teroh. Kazuya was a human female, of average height, possessing a very solid, robust frame, with wide shoulders. She had never been an adept at using the Force actively, in meditation or in combat, so, most of the times, she had to rely on sheer brute strength to pull her out of a tight situation. In consequence, she had chosen to make herself a more martially-oriented Jedi, wishing to master the Shien and Juyo lightsaber techniques.
Jor, on the other hand, was a very light, fast combatant. His tall, slim frame allowed him to move with grace and speed, making him choose to study the Ataru and Soresu forms, during both of which the Jedi must draw heavily upon the Force, to be able to execute the required acrobatics and lightning-fast moves.
"This one is mine!" Kazuya called out, bringing her blade down in a sweeping strike, slicing a wide gash through a clone's chest.
"We should have joined Master Ti!" Jor yelled, as he somersaulted over two soldiers.
"She can take care of herself!" Kazuya answered, panting slightly. "We're Jedi and it's our duty to be on the front lines as well!"
The determined girl gritted her teeth together, as a blaster bolt seared her left shoulder. Spinning on one leg, she hit the nearest trooper with a roundhouse kick, making him slam into the wall.
"I think that . . . we're winning this!" Jor huffed, wiping dark-green blood from his cheek with one hand, whilst dispatching a clone with the other.
The remaining soldier, seeing both Padawans charge toward him, took off, dropping his rifle.
"You're not getting away that easily!" Kazuya hissed, her boots pounding on the floor, as she started to sprint after the fleeing man.
"Kaz, no!" Jor screamed, sensing the danger, but his friend was not hearing him anymore. Throwing herself forward, Kazuya slammed both of her feet into the trooper's back, making both of them fall on the floor. The girl raised her blade, for a strike, but the clone gripped her right arm, twisting it suddenly. Kazuya yelled, as the bone broke under the pressure and the weapon fell from her limp fingers. She felt another jolt of pain, as the clone's armored fist slammed into her face, throwing her into the wall.
Kazuya's eyes were filling up with tears, as the pain tore through her body. Looking down, she saw that the front part of her olive tunic was splattered with blood. The soldier's punch had broken her nose.
"Pretty tough, for such an annoying brat!" the clone spoke harshly, grabbing Kazuya by a fistful of brown hair. "But I doubt there's anything that you can do now!"
"And you're pretty dumb for a clone trooper!" the girl panted, almost choking on the blood that still trickled down her face. Extending a hand, she silently summoned the Force to her will. The life-energy responded and Kazuya felt the cold, metal of a rifle hitting her palm. Before the trooper could figure out what was happening, she brought the weapon up, pointing it straight at his visor and squeezing the trigger. The point-blank blast vaporized the clone's upper body, throwing his remains five meters through the air. The same blast slammed Kazuya into the wall again, making the hall spin like crazy before her eyes.
"That was for Tra'aa and the others" she whispered, the weapon falling from her hand and onto the floor. Jor skidded to a halt, jumping over what was left of the clone's body and kneeled next to his friend's crumpled form.
"Are you alright, Kaz?"
"No" she moaned. "I can't fell the left side of my body at all."
Jor's placed his scaly palms on Kazuya's shoulders, trying to feel through the Force what was wrong with his friend.
"Broken ribs, I guess" he said, with a rueful smile, "though I can't say for certain. I've never been much of a healer."
"Save your strength" Kazuya advised him, wincing slightly as she shifted her position. The lines of her young face were set in grim determination, but a glimmer of happiness could be seen under the stoic façade.
"I really did it" she said quietly, almost in a whisper. "I managed to move an object with the Force, in the middle of a battle!"
"Master Fisto would have been proud" Jor said, patting Kazuya gently on the shoulder. "And probably Master Kenobi too!"
Kazuya smiled slightly, but did not miss out on the occasion to slap Jor, with an expression of mock-outrage on her features.
"Well, it looks like the children aren't taking much part in this fight. All the more easy for us!"
The two Padawans looked up startled, only to meet a man's cold, sharp gaze. He appeared to be an officer, dressed in a grey uniform, with four clone troopers standing neatly behind him.
"I suggest you surrender your lightsabers and surrender. The Emperor may spare your lives, if you cooperate!"
"Eat bantha poo!" Kazuya ground out, glaring at the officer. Jor, however, retrieved both weapons and handed them over, with a resigned expression.
"What do you think you're doing, you coward!" Kazuya asked, incredulously, holding back a scream as two troopers roughly lifted her up.
"It's our only shot" he answered, on a low tone. You're in no condition to fight anymore and I wouldn't have stood a chance against them myself. If we let them believe that we're not a threat, they'll let their guard down. And then . . ."
Kazuya tilted her head, considering her friend's idea. Being manhandled by clontroopers was not high on her list of priorities, but she could see the logic behind Jor's actions. And if one of them managed to establish a mental link with one of the Masters . . .
"You were right, we should have helped Master Ti" she said, with a lop-sided smile.
"Shut up and get moving!" the officer ordered harshly, as one of the troopers backhanded the girl.
Anyone, help us! Jor called out into the Force, cringing slightly, as he saw a new trickle of blood flowing down Kazuya's face.
x x x
Planet Chandrila, Star-System Chandrila
It was a cold, winter day, but the skies were clear, nonetheless. A bright sun shined down over Chandrila, but it did not yet have the power to warm up the planet or thaw the snow and ice that had taken hold over it. A sleek, white shuttle could be seen descending rapidly through the frosty atmosphere. It lowered itself neatly on a landing pad, while several men in dark blue uniforms surrounded it.
"Lady Mothma" their captain saluted the imposing red-haired woman who was climbing down on the ship's outstretched ramp. "We are very glad to see you among us once more."
"I am glad to be back on my homeworld as well, Captain Laskar" she answered, smiling slightly.
"What brings you all the way from Coruscant, Milady?" the Captain asked, falling in step alongside Mon Mothma, as the other guards followed, in a tight formation.
"Politics, in general" she answered, her voice growing darker. "Palpatine's self-proclamation, in particular."
"Is it true, then? Has the Republic been transformed into an Empire?"
"Not transformed, my dear Laskar. It was already an Empire. Palpatine made only a few slight adjustments."
"And it all happened right under our noses" the captain whispered, incredulously.
"Still, we must not despair" Mothma said, gazing pointedly at him. "The battle is far from over. Has the Council of Ministers gathered?"
"They're in session as we speak, Milady" Laskar answered, as the group stopped, in front of a set of large, white, wooden doors.
"Good" the Senator, nodded, in approval. "Not everyone is loyal to Palpatine. Several systems are planning to secede from the Empire."
"Will Chandrila be one of them?"
"That remains to be seen" Mon Mothma answered curtly. Opening the doors, she stepped inside a large conference room, with a round, wooden table set in the middle. Laskar bowed slightly, making sure to close the doors behind the Senator.
All of the men who were currently seated around the table immediately rose from their chairs.
"Lady Mothma, we are overjoyed to see you here" the oldest Minister spoke, a short, wiry man. He crossed the room, limping on a gimmer cane and took Mothma's hand in both of his own. "We had been worried that Palpatine had imprisoned you!"
"Imprisoned me?" the woman asked, frowning. "What do you mean, Minister Rafin?"
"I suggest you look at this, Milady" another, much younger Minister spoke, motioning for Mothma to take a seat. She did so, while a holo-projector, placed on the center of the table, was activated. The face of a young, human female appeared, as she mechanically recited the news:
"Earlier today, Senator Fang Zhar of the Sern Prime star-system, has been arrested, having been found guilty of high treason against the values of the newly instituted Galactic Empire. In an official press conference, Senate Chairman, Mass Amedda explained what was Zhar's role in the failed coup."
The holo-image shifted, as the woman's face disappeared, being replaced by Amedda's stern, blue features.
"Fellow delegates, representatives of the media and citizens of the Galaxy" he intoned, raising both of his hands, to get everyone's attention. "There has been much unnecessary panic and unrest in regard to his Imperial Highness, Emperor Palpatine's ascension to the Galactic throne. I assure you, there is no need to be worried. This, as His Excellency so well stated it within the session of Congress, has been a means to ensure a better protection for our citizens, in these trying times. After a long war, the time for peace has come and what better way to achieve it, than under the rule of a wise, caring man? The one who has been formerly known as Chancellor Palpatine has sworn his undying loyalty to the just principles of the Republic, to the virtues of peace and democracy. But, he has also realized that, in dangerous times such as these, a steady hand is required to guide the world, to help it heal its wounds and achieve stability and prosperity."
"He's sugar-coating everything!" Mothma huffed, in quiet indignation, her eyes never leaving the Chagrian's arrogant features.
"Don't all dictators do the same, my dear?" Rafin spoke gently, patting Mothma's hand with his own frail, wrinkled palm.
"Sacrificing himself for the institution he has sworn to serve, Mass Amedda went on, oblivious to the scowls and mutterings of the Chandrilan Council of Ministers, the Emperor has committed himself to protecting and nurturing this Galaxy, under his compassion and grace. He has lead us through a war, he will lead us to peace."
A full round of applause could be heard from the projector's audio system, as Amedda smiled, satisfied.
"Still, there will always be those . . . anarchists, if I may use such harsh a word . . . who would do anything in their power to continue the senseless fighting that has held our world in its grip for three, long years. These are the people who continue to side with the treasonous Jedi Order and who would take any opportunity to harm our Emperor, in their desperate bid for power."
Rafin made a small spectacle of rolling his eyes, as dramatically as possible, to the general amusement of all involved. Even Mon Mothma had to suppress a smile.
"Citizens of this new Empire" Amedda gestured, widely, the danger that these dissidents pose is far greater than you have initially imagine, for they are not low-lives, poorly trained mercenaries and such. No, the heads of their organization are all well-known political and social figures . . . some even members of the Galactic Senate."
The Chairman fell silent a few moments, as if wishing to let the information sink in the hearts of the viewers.
"He will turn everyone against our cause!" a young Minister spoke up, balefully eying the Chagrian's projected image.
"For now", old Rafin retorted, his demeanor remaining as calm and unperturbed, as ever. "But, like all tyrants before him, he will make the mistake of considering the world expandable. Then" he smiled, "they will see him for what he is."
"I pray you are right" Mothma whispered. The old Minister had been her mentor, the man who had taught her all about the finer points of politics and she had grown to trust his opinion, whenever it came to delicate issues.
"I always am" he whispered back, this time making a small smile appear on the woman's roughened features.
"Fang Zhar is one of them. He was apprehended earlier today, for initiating a coup against the Emperor. His sentence remains to be decided, by the Senatorial Courts, the main charge being High Treason against the State."
"If they're judging him for treason, he's as good as dead" another Minister interjected, as another wave of applause erupted. Pressing a button on the table's surface, he closed the holo-projector, making the image of Amedda's self-satisfied smirk dissipate.
"It is a risk he assumed. That we all assumed" Mothma answered, sitting straighter in her chair.
"So, now what happens?" Minister Ter, a short, vivacious woman, asked. "Will we secede? Or will we fall under the rules of this mad-man?"
"It is a very complicated problem" Mothma said, frowning darkly. "On the one had, we need to think about the security of our citizens. Palpatine will not allow any system to secede now, when he needs everyone to rally toward him. On the other hand . . . we cannot afford to have our laws and jurisdictions mangled by the Empire's wishes, our children indoctrinated into such a militarist system. In the end, the question we must ask ourselves is this: Is the price of freedom much too high to pay?"
A chorus of disarticulated murmurs started flowing freely around the table, as each Minister expressed his or her opinion. Unfortunately, in the general bedlam, none could make themselves heard too clearly.
"Ladies and gentlemen" an irritated voice rose, "this is Chandrila's ruling body, not a circus group!"
All eyes turned to the speaker, Rafin, who banged his wooden cane on the table, several times, to get everyone's attention. Apparently, the years had not dulled the man's abilities in leadership.
"Now" he continued, on a much quieter, even though his wizened features still remained stern, "I suggest we carry this discussion in a proper, civilized manner!"
Most of the young Ministers were looking abashed by the rebuke. Their cheeks glowing crimson. Even the older and much more experienced were quiet, although it was clear they did not like to be lectured by the old man.
Rafin opened his mouth to continue, when both of the large doors swung open with a groan, to admit a winded-looking Laskar.
"Captain" Mothma jumped out of her seat, taken by surprise, "what is the meaning of this?"
"My apologies . . . Milady, Ministers . . ." he said, between pants, bowing slightly in front of the group that eying him quizzically. "I believed this to be of . . . significant importance."
He handed a small, data-disk and Mothma took it. Without any further commentary, she inserted it into the holo-projector, activating the device. The entire room darkened, as a large image materialized itself. In the first few seconds, it was impossible to distinguish exactly what it was meant to show . . . an aerial panorama of Coruscant, perhaps.
This impression changed the instant that the image focalized upon a large, rectangular structure. The Jedi Temple. And, judging by the heavy column of smoke rising in the atmosphere, it was burning.
The entire council stared, dumbfounded, as if the gift of speech had suddenly left them. None could find worlds to explain the horror that they felt, seeing the shocking sight laid out in front of them. Freedom and Justice's last bastion, in its death throes. It was all far beyond worlds.
"He . . . he actually did it" a Minister whispered, his voice sounding completely devoid of emotion. "The bastard his wiping them out!"
By the way the image was tilting and de-focusing, it was clearly the work of an amateur, but that did not seem to make it any less painful than it was.
"Enough" Mothma murmured, pressing the stop button and causing the inferno to disappear.
For a few moments, the room was completely silent, as each person analyzed that which had been seen. But, when their introspection was over, the silence was not broken suddenly. No, the Ministers each raised their heads and the decision could be clearly discerned within their eyes.
Chandrila must secede as soon as possible. Before it is too late.
"All those in favor, raise your hands", Mothma said quietly. The others promptly obeyed. However, a quick look at the round table showed that not all hands were outstretched. Rafin had stood frozen-still in his chair, the entire time, not moving an inch.
"Rafin" Mothma whispered, concernedly, noting the old man's pale skin and widened eyes, "what is it?"
"He didn't lie" the man spoke, on such a small voice that everyone had to strain in order to hear him. "Palpatine didn't lie."
"Lie? About what?"
"What he is capable of doing, if someone stands up to him."
All of the Ministers were looking at Rafin, as though they had never seen him before. Gone was the quirky-self confident, headstrong politician, only to be replaced with a cowering, trembling, pale human being. Where was the courage which he had shown during Amedda's speech?
Turning toward Mothma, he took her hands in his, holding them in an almost vice-like grip.
"Mon" he whispered hoarsely, staring almost dazedly at her, "you must not do this! You must not allow the secession!"
Wrenching her hands from his, the young Senator involuntarily flinched as she saw the almost-demented expression that had taken over the man's features.
"It no longer depends on me now" she stated, coldly. "The Council has decided. The Empire is much too dangerous to be allowed into our homes!"
"We will have no more homes if we do not yield! He is ruthless, Mon, don't you see? When I spoke with him, I thought him to be foolish and shortsighted, but he isn't! He will destroy us completely, if we oppose his will!"
"Rafin, you are starting to sound like one of his zealots" Ter said, with a disgusted expression.
Everyone else seemed to be thinking the same, their minds believing that Rafin had been finally driven crazy by his old age.
"Mon" he murmured, pleadingly, looking the Senator in the face, "I taught you all you know . . . please, listen to me. I don't have any other choice! He will kill us all!"
His wide, grey eyes seemed to be expressing on single, feverish wish:
Please, do not let these fools secede.
"It is out of my hands" the woman answered, breaking eye contact. Rafin smiled then, his features seeming to soften, the expression of a man who had come to grips with his Fate.
"You . . . have been like the daughter that I never had" he said, on a surprisingly gentle voice. "The years I have spent teaching you were the happiest of my life. And, even then, I knew you were intended for great things!"
Taking a few swift steps forward, he surprised everyone (including Mothma herself) as he wrapped his frail arms around her waist.
"Fight for what you believe in" he went on, ignoring the Senator's surprised expression. "Do not forget the Republic. Fight for it, child and, perhaps, one day, you will succeed."
Mothma looked on in bafflement, as a few tears fell down the old man's wrinkled cheeks ad disappeared into his short, white beard.
"Whatever happens, always remember me. Curse my name, hate me, whatever you wish . . . but, please, never forget me!"
"I will never forget you Rafi" Mothma answered, as her mind was working on overdrive to understand everything. Why was Rafin behaving like this was the last time they would see each other?
"Because it is the last time" he answered, with a ghost of his former smile, as if guessing her jumbled thoughts.
Everything else seemed to happen with blinding speed: Captain Laskar, who wad been sitting quietly by the doors suddenly started running forward, yelling at everyone to get down: Rafin gripped Mothma, with surprising strength for his age and threw her under the large table. The woman fell down on the mat and tried to get her bearings back as hast as possible. Looking for Rafin, her eyes found him in the center on the room, with something in his hand, as Laskar ran madly toward him.
The next few moments would later seem to merge together, in Mothma's mind: first, there was the light, that enveloped everything and almost blinded the woman, who shielded her face with her forearms. Then there was the noise. The heat. And the impact.
Mothma slowly opened her eyes. All that she could feel was pain. A numbness seemed to come after the initial burst of agony and for that, she was grateful. She could not move, for her body felt like it had been crafter in lead. All that she could feel now was the weight of a wooden panel against her back, pressing her face-forward into the white wall.
Wait, her dazed mind intervened, the wall was not completely white. It was full of dark red dots, splattered all over. As the meaning of what she was seeing finally sunk in, Mothma retched violently, fighting with a powerful wave of nausea.
Suddenly, the dull pressure disappeared, as the large panel was carefully removed and several pairs of arms struggled to raise her up.
"Milady, are you alright?" she could hear their voices, muffled and diffused, as if she were under water. A dull ringing, reminiscent of the blast, kept sounding, in the back of her head.
"I'm fine" was the hoarse, automat answer that left her lips. "I'm fine."
"No you are not" a male voice contradicted her. "We will take you to the hospital wing."
"No" she whispered. "No . . . I want to see . . . where is Rafi? . . ."
Her vision was still unclear and unfocused, as she looked upon the shadows that quickly exchanged glances between themselves. Then, the strong arms carried her once more and settled her down, on the carpet.
Mothma's blurry vision slowly started to regain its sharpness, as she stared at the blackened, unrecognizable, charred husk in front of her. The being that had been, mere moments ago, a living-breathing human being. Who had been her teacher.
"Why did you do it, Rafi?" she barely choked out, her fingers brushing against the ruin of what had been a human face.
"He had been blackmailed by the Emperor, apparently" one of the soldiers dutifully replied. "If the Council were to vote the secession of our planet, then he was to eliminate all of its members. Otherwise, a fleet would take the planet by force."
"How do you know this?" Mothma asked, the logical side of her taking over, even as the rest of her continued to grieve, in a state of shock.
"We decoded several messages only a few minutes ago. Unfortunately, it wasn't fast enough to stop . . . this."
And he gestured with his free hand.
Mothma raised her eyes, to look at the devastated room: the round, heavy wooden table had been smashed into several smaller pieces, the once white walls were charred and blood-spattered, the ornaments had been reduced to dust . . . and the carpet was full of blood stains, from the large number of bodies that lay scattered everywhere.
"Is anyone still alive?" she asked, wondering how she could still breathe, watching a carnage of this scope.
"No" the young soldier replied. "all of the Ministers are dead, including Captain Laskar."
He pointed toward the body of a man whose face had been disfigured by the blast.
Taking a deep breath into her still aching lungs, Mothma struggled to rise up, as the dull throbbing of pain returned. Placing an arm around her shoulders, the soldier helped her walk, avoiding to trip on any of the contorted bodies, strewn across the floor.
"He used our own people against us" Mothma murmured to herself, as she was being slowly carried to the medical center. "How could I have been so foolish?"
Turning toward the men, she looked at them with an icy stare that made them involuntarily shiver.
"Contact Bail Organa" she asked them, as she was being ushered into the center. "Tell him that . . . the game will be far nastier than we had once thought."
Her head fell limply on a pillow, as the sedatives that a 21B unit had just administered, went into effect.