Living in the Ashes - Part III

Trigger warning: implied self-harm, blood.

Ahsoka couldn't sleep. She was still tired after all that had happened, but try as she might, she couldn't get her mind to quiet. She kept replaying the events from the Tribunal, trying to see what she could have done differently. Trying to figure out how she could have saved more of the 332nd. She didn't even know who'd survived, aside from the double handful Rex had pulled from the wreckage himself and told her about.

After tossing around on her mattress for an undetermined amount of time, Ahsoka rose, buckled on her belt and lightsabers, and padded past Glint's bed in her socks.

She'd asked about getting a cot out in the main room so that one of the more severely wounded clones could rest in the private room with Glint. The nurse she'd spoken with had told her that they couldn't trust any of the clones who still had their biochips to be in the same room with her. Injured as they were, most of the clones didn't have the mental or physical resources to fight the effects of the chips.

The door hissed softly as it opened, revealing the medbay. At least thirty clones lay shoulder to shoulder on cots that had been crammed into the area. There were five other doors that led to rooms like hers. Rex assured her that there had been more survivors; these were just the most critically wounded. Those who needed quick access to medical facilities should they take a turn for the worse.

Ahsoka reached out with the Force, gently brushing her senses over the clones. They all seemed to be asleep. So did the human woman sitting at the nurses' station toward the back of the room, near the two bacta tanks. On silent feet, Ahsoka ghosted through the rows of cots. She laid feather-light fingers on their foreheads and said a silent apology to each man. She wasn't sure what she was apologizing for; sorry you got wounded, sorry your brothers died, sorry the Republic used you, sorry . . . just sorry.

She must have made a noise, or perhaps she was no longer apologizing in the silence of her mind. The clone whose forehead her fingers rested on reached up and wrapped gentle fingers around her wrist. Ahsoka startled, then relaxed when she realized he wasn't trying to hold her.

"No need to be sorry, commander," he murmured.

She rested her palm on his hair, shorn on the sides, left long-ish in the middle of his scalp and dyed blue. She didn't know how to tell him that the words were more for her than anything, so she stayed silent and left her hand where it was, brushing her thumb gently over the side of his head. After a time, the clone released her and slipped into sleep. Ahsoka made her way down the rest of the final row in silence. The woman at the nurses' station was still asleep. Ahsoka slipped past her and went to stand before the bacta tanks.

In the left one floated a clone with deep wounds to his chest and stomach. She pressed a hand and then her forehead against the transparisteel, listening to the rhythms of the clone's body in the Force as it healed. He would be alright, eventually. The doctors had repaired what they could, and the bacta would do the rest.

Ahsoka lifted her head and turned to the other tank. She moved to stand directly in front of the second clone and her breath caught at the sight of the familiar tattoo on his face.

"Jesse," she breathed.

Grey stiffened as he felt something press into his back. He had stopped at a food stall in the busy market, and as he tried to figure out the best way to make off with a couple of roasting kebobs, had apparently let his guard down.

"Walk to the alley on your left," an all too familiar voice said.

Grey walked away from the stall and down the alley, hoping for a chance to turn the tables on his captor. The alley was dark and stank. There wasn't much cover, just some trash bins, and nothing he could use as a weapon. He'd left his blaster back in camp.

"Stop," his captor said.

Grey stopped.

"Turn around."

"Look, vod," Grey said, turning. Whatever he was going to say next was swallowed up in shock at the sight that met his eyes.

The vod was a cadet; maybe in his sixth or seventh cycle judging by his size, but still too young to be off Kamino. He wore black and red armor and had a blaster pistol aimed at Grey's heart.

What the hell?

"I'm not your brother," the cadet said.

Grey tried to recover. "Maybe that's what the trainers are telling you now, but we all share a template."

The kid removed his helmet, shaking out his longish, curly hair. "I'm not just a clone. I'm Jango Fett's son."

Grey stared. So, this was Boba Fett. The only one of them that Prime had actually claimed. The one out of millions.

"Are you going to kill me?" Grey asked.

He stared pointedly at the blaster the kid still had pointed at him.

"Not if you cooperate," Boba said. "I was hired to find the Padawan, Caleb Dume. You're a clone out of armor." He eyed Grey's stolen civvies critically. "So, you're either undercover hunting Dume, or you're undercover helping him. Either way, I figure you can lead me to him."

Grey thought rapidly. He could only come up with one person, one entity, that would put out a bounty on Caleb. The Empire. He was pretty sure he could subdue or ditch Boba if needed. He and Styles could definitely take the younger clone. But Grey'd rather not hurt a vod if he didn't have to. Even if said vod seemed opposed to being called a vod.

"I'll take you to him," Grey said.

Boba slipped his bucket back on and Grey led the way out of the alley and through the town. He and Styles had hauled Caleb as far from the attack on General Billaba as they could, following her final order to "Run!". His last sight of the general had been of Big-Mouth and Soot crouching next to her still form on the ground.

Styles and Grey had taken turns carrying their Jedi Commander when he'd become too exhausted to continue. Only after they'd put a solid twelve-hour march between themselves and the rest of their battalion had they dared to take a rest.

Grey wished he had a way to contact Styles or Caleb to give them a warning; the commander was still jumpy after what had happened to his master. But their comms had gone down hours ago and they'd received a message to contact a commanding office to get access to the Imperial communications network.

"So, who put the bounty on the Jedi?" Grey asked, wanting his suspicions to be confirmed.

Boba didn't answer for a minute. Grey didn't begrudge him his silence. It didn't appear that they were playing for the same team. Boba had no reason to share intel.

"An organization that calls themselves the Shroud," Boba said.

Not the Empire then, Grey thought.

"Got any other contracts on Jedi from them?"

"What if I do?" A belligerent note had crept into Boba's voice.

Grey shrugged. "Just asking. Maybe I could join your crew. Help you track them down."

He didn't know if he'd be able to ignore the order to kill other Jedi. It was a constant battle when he was around Caleb. One he was determined—for the sake of General Billaba's memory—not to lose. But he needed to come up with a solid plan for their future. They couldn't just keep dodging the rest of their battalion on Kaller indefinitely. And he'd noticed that Styles was having a harder time ignoring Order 66 than he himself was. They needed to get Caleb somewhere safe.

"I've already got a crew," Boba said. "Besides, don't you have an army to get back to?"

"I'm pretty sure I'd be shot as a traitor. I don't know what's happening, but some osik went down, and . . . I don't know why I'm telling you this. It's not like you care."

Boba didn't reply and they walked for a while in silence. At lease he'd holstered his blaster. They left the town behind and headed into the surrounding forest.

"How much further?" Boba asked after about twenty minutes.

"We're almost there," Grey said.

He'd heard that Jedi could read thoughts. Back on Kamino, as a CC created to work more closely with the Jedi than most clones, Grey had been given training to shield his thoughts so he wouldn't be a burden on his Jedi general. Now, as he and Boba approached the camp, Grey tried to project his thoughts as loudly as he could, hoping that Caleb would pick up on his approach.

Caleb, Grey thought as loudly as he could. I'm coming back with—

"Grey, help!" Caleb cried hoarsely. "It's Styles!"

Adrenaline surged through Grey and he barely registered Boba's yell as he raced forward. He was prepared to tackle Styles, maybe wrestle a blaster from his brother's hands and stun him. The scene that greeted him was far worse.

Styles was sitting on the ground, rocking back and forth. His hands, held loosely in his lap, were covered in blood. There was something wet on his cheeks.

A body crashed into Grey, and for a second, he thought it was Boba. He tensed for a fight. Then he registered Caleb's brown hair pulled back in a nerf-tail as the kid's arms wrapped around his waist.

"I tried to stop him," Caleb sobbed. "I did what I could for his wounds, but . . ."

Styles turned toward Caleb's voice and Grey's stomach rolled. A wide, wild smile stretched Styles' lips over his teeth.

"Kriffing Sith hells," Boba muttered.

Blood was drying in rivulets down Styles' cheeks, like a mockery of tears. A bandage covered his eyes, hiding the extent of the damage, but Grey could guess. He gave Caleb a squeeze, then sat him on the ground and pulled his cloak tight around him. His little commander was shivering.

"Stay here, verd'ika," Grey said, resting his hand on Caleb's head.

He shot a look at Boba that said, don't try anything. Then he went a crouched at Styles' side.

"Vod?"

"Grey," Styles said, his smile stretching wider. His fingers clenched with bruising force on Grey's arms. "I didn't hurt him." The other man giggled, high and unhinged. "I made sure I can't hurt him. He's safe."

Grey put his hands on Styles' shoulders and brought their foreheads together. Styles let out a choked sob. Behind Grey, Boba made a wounded sound.

"I couldn't shut out the voice," Styles whimpered.

"I know, vod," Grey said, his voice thick. "I know."

Hot tears streaked down Grey's cheeks. This was his fault. He'd known Styles was struggling, but if he'd realized how much, he'd have sent Styles to the town instead of going himself.

Grey turned to Boba. "Do you have medical supplies on your ship? Can you get us to a neutral medical facility?"

Caleb's head came up and he fixed Boba with a tearful gaze. "Please."

The little clearing was silent as they waited for the bounty hunter's answer. Grey saw the line of the kid's shoulders slump a little.

"The bounty's for the Jedi," Boba said.

"But—" Caleb cast a fearful look at Grey.

"And," Boba interrupted. "Any clones helping them. The Shroud should have medical facilities." He punched a couple of buttons on his vambrace. "My ship will be here in a few minutes."

Caleb released a little sigh of relief.

Grey echoed the sentiment, but he was wary. Boba had been hired to capture them. He didn't trust the kid's motives for helping them now.

His hands tightened on Styles' shoulders. "We'll get you fixed up, vod."

And we'll keep the commander safe, he thought silently.

The New Hope—so christened by the skeleton crew of clone volunteers that had liberated her from the Coruscant shipyards—shuddered under a barrage of turbolaser fire from the two Venators following it. She was a Munificent-class star frigate that had been captured in the battle over Coruscant, and Obi-Wan hoped she'd stay together long enough for them to escape.

"Shields at fifty-two percent, general," one of the bridge officers reported.

Obi-Wan ground his teeth.

Ahead of them, the Undaunted, a Venator they had also liberated, held the bulk of the Jedi that had remained in the Temple, many of the Jedi artifacts that were too valuable or dangerous to leave at the Temple, and all the sick or injured Jedi that had been in the Temple. They'd even managed to empty a portion of the Temple's storehouses into the Venator. Wherever the Jedi landed, they'd be in a good position to start over.

"All batteries, return fire," Obi-Wan said. "Aim to disable, not destroy. We need to give the Undaunted time to make the jump to hyperspace."

As far as Obi-Wan and the volunteer crew of the New Hope were concerned, their vessel was expendable. The Undaunted carried the future of the Jedi Order. As did the younglings with the Mandalorians on Vorpa'ya.

Obi-Wan turned to a clone at the navigation station. "Do we have the calculation for our hyperspace jump yet?"

"Almost, general. Just need another minute."

The ship shuddered again.

"Shields at thirty-three percent," the bridge officer reported.

Ahead of them, the Undaunted cleared the atmosphere and poured on speed. They had to clear Coruscant's gravity well before they could jump, or risk tearing the ship apart. If the New Hope had their own jump plotted, Obi-Wan was hoping they could jump right after the Undaunted was clear.

"Undaunted's almost past the moons sir," another bridge officer called.

Behind them, a couple of turbolasers on one of the Venator's exploded under a barrage of fire from the New Hope's own guns. There were no cheers from the crew; brothers may have been hurt or killed in the blast.

"General Kenobi, our jump is ready as soon as the Undaunted is away and we're clear of the gravity wells," the navigation officer said.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Good."

They may all just make it out of this after all.

Ahead of them, the Undaunted finally cleared the moons' and flickered as it jumped to hyperspace. The clones around Obi-Wan cheered, and he smiled as their relief and joy flooded the Force.

A second later, two more Venators suddenly appeared out of hyperspace where the Undaunted had been.

"Osik," several clones groaned.

The new Venators opened fire.

"Shields at twenty-six percent," the bridge officer yelled. "Nineteen percent!"

"Make the jump to hyperspace!" Obi-Wan ordered.

"But sir, we're not free of the planet's gravity well," the navigation officer protested. "And the ships in front of us—"

"Shields are gone!"

The New Hope rocked and shuddered under the barrage of turbolaser fire from four Venators.

"Either we jump, and possibly survive, or we die right now," Obi-Wan said.

The navigation officer swallowed hard and reached for the controls.

"Jumping to hyperspace."

The New Hope juddered and disappeared, leaving a cloud of debris in its wake.

Notes:

I went with the Kanan comic version of Order 66 for Caleb and Depa. If you don't know that version, you can find the audio comic "movie" on YouTube.