In dreams, Grievous remembered his life.
His mortal life.
On Kalee, and in the aftermath of the Huk War.
After all the close calls on battlefields on his home system worlds, on Huk worlds, sowing destruction, exterminating as many of them as he could… After all the times he had returned home wounded, bloodied to the bone, surrounded by his wives and offspring, basking in their support-relying on it to recall him to life.
After all the brushes with death…to be fatally injured in a shuttle crash.
The unfairness, the indignity had cost him more pain than the injuries themselves. To be denied a warrior's death, as was his due!
Floating suspended in bacta, keenly aware that no healing fluid or gamma blade wielded by living being or droid could repair his body. In moments of consciousness: seeing his wives and offspring gazing on his ravaged body from the far side of the permaglass. Offering words of encouragement; prayers for his return to health.
He had asked himself: could he be content to be a mind in a body without feeling? More, could he abandon a life of combat for a life in which the only battles he fought were with himself? The struggle to endure, to live another day…
No. It was beyond him. Compassion and empathy was the for the weak, whom were slaughtered. In his newfound solitude, the only emotional response that came to him was rage and pain. Lately though, a new emotional response was forming, one which his masters did not promote: pride.
By then, the Huk War had ended, more accurately had been forced to desist by the Jedi, and the Kaleesh were still reaping the whirlwind. Their world in ruins, their appeals for justice and fair play ignored by the Republic.
Ever on the alert for investment opportunities, members of the InterGalactic Banking Clan had offered Kalee a dubious sort of rescue. They would support the planet financially , assume its staggering debt, if Grievous would agree to serve the clan as an enforcer. Their hail-fire weapons were proficient at delivering "payment reminders" to delinquent clients, and their IG-series assassin droids took care of the wet work. But the hailfires had to be programmed, the IGs were dangerously unpredictable, and assassination was bad for business.
The clan wanted someone with a talent for intimidation.
Both to save his world and to provide himself with a touch of the life he had known as a warrior, a strategist, a leader of armies, Grievous had accepted the offer. IBC chairman San Hill himself had overseen the details of the arrangement. Still, Grievous wasn't entirely proud of his decision. Debt collection was a far cry from warcraft. An arena for beings without principles; for beings so attached to their possessions that they feared death. But Kalee had profited from his work for IBC. And Grievous' previous notoriety was such that it could not be eclipsed.
Then: the shuttle crash. The accident. The misfortune...
He told his would-be healers to fish him from the bacta tank. He could bear to die in atmosphere or the vacuum of deep space, but not in liquid. In the shadow of felled trees that would fuel his funeral pyre, he lapsed in and out of consciousness. That was when San Hill had paid him a second visit. Something consequential in mind. Obvious even to someone who could barely see straight.
"We can keep you alive," rail-thin Hill had whispered into Grievous' unimpaired ear.
Others had promised as much. He pictured breathing devices, a hover platform, a surround of life-sustaining machines. But Hill had said: "You will not be compromised. You will walk, you will speak, you will retain your memories-your mind."
"I have a mind," Grievous had replied, his life barely clinging on after the accident. "What I lack is a body."
"Most of your internal organs are damaged beyond the repair of the finest surgeons," Hill had continued. "And you will have to surrender even more than you already have. You will no longer know the pleasures of the flesh."
"Flesh is weak. You need only gaze on me to see that."
Encouraged by the remark, Hill had talked in glowing terms of the Geonosians: how they had raised cyborg technology to an art form , and how the blending of living and machine technology was the future.
"Consider the battle droids of the Trade Federation," Hill had said. "They answer to a brain that is also nothing more than a computer. Protocol droids, astromechs, even assassin droids-all require programming and frequent maintenance."
Two words were highlighted among the Muun's request. "Battle droids?"
"A war is brewing that will call many droids to the front," Hill had said just loudly enough to be heard. "I am not privy to when it will begin, but when that day comes, the entire galaxy will be involved."
His interest further piqued, Grievous had said: "A war begun by whom? The Banking Clan? The Trade Federation?"
"Someone more powerful."
"Who?"
"In time, you will meet him. And you will be impressed."
"Then why does he need me?"
"In every war, there are leaders and there are followers. Among those leaders are commanders."
"A commander of battle droids."
"More precisely, a living commander of battle droids."
So he had allowed the Geonosians to go to work on him, constructing a duranium and ceramic shell for what little of him remained. His recuperation had been long and difficult. Coming to terms with his new and in many ways improved self, even longer and more difficult. Though he did so willingly, as submitting to changes was a mark of failure to enforce one's will. Only then had he been presented to Count Dooku, and only then had his real training begun. From the Geonosians and members of the Techno Union he had already come to understand the inner workings of droids. But from Dooku, Lord Tyranus, he came to understand the inner workings of the Sith.
Tyranus himself had trained him in lightsaber technique. In mere weeks he had surpassed any of Tyranus's previous students. It helped, of course, to have an indestructible body reminiscent of a Krath wardroid. The ability to tower over most sentient beings. Crystal circuitry. Four grasping appendages…
In dreams he remembered his past life.
But in fact, he was not dreaming, for dreams were a product of sleep, and General Grievous did not sleep. Not anymore. He endured instead brief periods of stasis in a pod-like chamber that had been created for him by his body's builders. While inside that chamber he could sometimes recall what it had felt like to live. And while inside, he was not to be disturbed-unless in the event of inimical circumstances. Any rest he found would only occur after witnessing the defeat of his enemies, just as his enemies would not rest until they encountered him and met their demise.
The chamber was equipped with displays linked to devices that monitored the status of the Invisible Hand. But Grievous recognized an imposing threat even before it had physically occurred. His thoughts returned to the present. To the Jedi, including Kenobi! They would regret mocking him. Belderone would fall and the Jedi would be destroyed.
As he exited the chamber and hurried for the cruiser's bridge, a battle droid officer joined him, supplying updates.
"Sir, our fleet is about to exit hyperspace. Forward cannons are armed and ready. Starfighters ready to deploy."
"The fleet will deploy in offensive position" another droid. "Destroyers ready to intercept incoming cruisers."
"Raise shields upon arrival and launch fighter patrols" Grievous barked, approaching the viewport of the heavily armed Providence-class destroyer. "Once we secure orbit, launch landing parties at all civilized sectors."
"Preparing to exit jump in five, four, three, two, one" the officer spoke with monotone effectiveness. "Arrival imminent!"
No sooner had the Separatist fleet emerged from hyperspace at Belderone, cruisers and battleships arranged to create an imposing invasion force, than it had come under attack-not by Belderone's meager planetary defense force, but by a Republic battle group. Republic starfighters converged onto the fleet as swarms of Vulture droids, Tri fighters and Hyena-class bombers emerged from launch bays and even the hulls of ships.
"Assault cruisers, destroyers, and other capital vessels are arrayed in a screen formation above night-side Belderone"the officer spoke as dogfights were initiated in the empty space between Separatist and Republic fleets. Klaxons were blaring in the corridors, and gunner droids and Neimoidians were at work at battle stations.
"Order our ships to divert primary power to shields until I say otherwise. Keep the Lucrehulks behind us but send out the Munificents to engage the Venators at long range. Vanguard pickets are to fall back in shield formation to protect the core vessels."
"Affirmative, General."
"Fire on the closest star destroyer and roll the ship starboard to minimize our profile. Reorient the deflector shields when able and ready all port-side batteries for enfilade fire." Grievous braced himself against a bulkhead as the cruiser was shaken by an explosion.
"Ranged fire from the Republic destroyers," the droid said. "No damage. Shields functioning at better than ninety percent. Munificents are firing their own volleys."
Grievous quickened his pace.
On the bridge, a real-time hologram of the battle was running above the tactical console. Grievous took a moment to study the deployment of the Republic ships and starfighter squadrons. Made up of sixty capital vessels, the battle group wasn't large enough to overwhelm the Separatist fleet, but it packed enough combined firepower to defend trivial Belderone. The Republic wasn't taking any chances. Grievous was almost impressed.
On the far side of the dun-colored planet, a convoy of transports was angling toward the lesser of Belderone's two inhabited moons, starfighters and corvettes flying escort. Grievous recognized the distraction that the Jedi no doubt attempted to use against him.
"Evacuees, General," one of the droids explained.
The fact of the matter was, the Republic had somehow broken through the Separatist encryption protocols and by doing so, learned of Belderone's imminent seizure. Gunray had exposed a potentially fatal weakness for the Separatists and Grievous had to deal with the consequences.
He moved to the forward viewports to observe the strobing spectacle of battle.
He would deal with the Viceroy's failures later. Survival, with the chance for victory, was the first order of business.
Launched from the Resolute II, Anakin poured on speed in an effort to catch up with the ARCs and V-wings that had been first to deploy from the assault cruiser's massive ventral bay. Among the squadrons that were launched were three Jedi starfighters flown by Plo Koon, Quinlan Vos and a Jedi master who was doing an act he detested. An instrument panel monitor indicated that the starfighter's ion drive was functioning at just under optimal.
"Artoo," he said toward the comlink, "run a diagnostic on the starboard thruster."
The starfighter's console display translated the droid's toodled response into Basic characters.
"I thought so. Well, go ahead and make the adjustments. We don't want to be last to get any action."
R2-D2's plaintive mewl needed no translation. The drive readout graph pulsed and climbed, and the starfighter surged forward.
"That's it, pal. Now we're moving!"
Settling back into the padded seat, he flexed his gloved hands and exhaled slowly through his mouth. Enough spying, he told himself. He wasn't any closer to Coruscant, but at least he was back where he belonged, wedded to a starfighter, and prepared to show the enemy a thing or two about space combat.
Ahead of him, spearhead to groups of needle-nosed pickets that were screening the capital ships, slued hundreds of enemy craft. Some were thirteen-year-old Vulture fighters with paired wings that resembled seedpods; others were compact tri-fighter droids; and still others were space-capable Geonosian twin-beaked Nantex starfighters. Just now the lead ARC-170s were weaving through permutations of close combat with the droid fighters, the glowing pulses of energy beams turning local space into a web of devastation.
Not since Praesitlyn had he soared into such an enemy rich environment.
Target practice, he thought, allowing a grin. Ace level practice.
He took his right hand from the control yoke to activate the long-range scanners. The threat-assessment screen displayed the signatures and deployment of the Separatist capital vessels: Trade Federation Lucrehulks and core ships; Techno Union Hardcells, with their columnar thruster packages and egg-shaped fuselages; Commerce Guild Diamond cruisers and Corporate Alliance Fantails; frigates, gunboats, and communications ships featuring huge circular transponders.
The whole Separatist parade.
Switching his comlink over to the battle net, Anakin hailed his wing-mates.
"The frigates are pushing forward in an attempt to flank our capital ships" Plo Koon was saying. "Red squadron may not be enough."
"If we push towards their battleships, we may force them to halt their advance" Vos spoke with vigor, determined to break towards the enemy fleet.
Anakin listened carefully before speaking up his own strategy. "I say we leave the small stuff to Odd Ball and the other pilots, and go straight for the ones that matter. Those munificents look scary but they have weak shields."
Accustomed to Anakin's disregard for call signs, Obi Wan answered in kind. "Anakin, there are approximately five hundred droids positioned between Grievous and us. What's more, the capital ships are too heavily shielded."
"You can count that many?" Vos added with humor.
"Just follow my lead, Masters."
Obi-Wan sighed into the comlink microphone. "I'll try. Master."
Anakin scanned the threat-assessment display, committing to memory vector lines of the closest enemy fighters. Then he reopened a channel to R2-D2.
"Battle speed, Artoo!"
Again, the starfighter shot forward. Indicators on the console redlined. Just short of the roiling fray, when he could sense the droid ships drawing a bead on him, he shoved the yoke into a corner for a pushover and streaked out of the maneuver with all weapons blazing.
Droids flared and flamed to all sides of him.
Wending through clouds of expanding fire, he locked down the trigger of the laser cannons and made a second pass through the enemy wave, destroying a dozen more fighters in a heartbeat. But the tri-fighters were onto him now, eager for payback. A sunburst of scarlet beams seared past the bubble canopy , and a fighter appeared to starboard. An instant later, a second volley sizzled down from overhead. R2-D2 loosed a series of urgent whistles and tweets as the starfighter was rocked to its shields.
Blue lightning coruscated across the console, and droid fighters appeared to port and starboard. More bolts found their mark, throwing Anakin hard against the safety harness.
"Just what I needed," he said, in appreciation.
Swerving hard to starboard, he caught the first ship with a sideslip shot. The second fighter sheared off as quickly as it could from the expanding fragmentation cloud. As it did, Anakin raced into its aft wash and triggered the lasers.
A ball of fire, the droid careened into a flak-dazzled trifighter and the two of them exploded. Anakin checked the display to make certain that Obi Wan and the other Jedi were still with him.
"Are you all right?"
"A bit toasted, but okay" Obi Wan replied.
"Just cleaning out the ones you missed" Vos added.
"Missed?" Anakin shot back.
"We are a team of Jedi are we not?" Plo Koon interrupted.
"I didn't...Just stay with me, Anakin grunted.
"Do we have a choice" Obi Wan teased.
"Of course, Master" Anakin smirked. "You can try to chat with the Vulture droids, not that they have much to say besides Kill Jedi! Kill Clones."
Deeper into the melee now, ARC-170s, V-wings, and droid fighters were joined in a great cloverleaf of combat, chasing one another, colliding into one another, twirling out of the fight with engines smoking or wings blown away. Weapons themselves, the droids were accurate with their bolts, but slower to recover, and easily confused by random maneuvers. While at times this made for effortless kills, there were just so many of them…
Anakin squared off with the enemy leader of the cloverleaf clash, and began to harass it with laser bolts. Adapting to his tactics, Obi-Wan fell back; then leapt his starfighter into kill position and opened up.
"Nice shot!" Anakin said when the wing leader vanished.
"Nice setup!"
Two remaining droid starfighters flew off to evade, only to be vaporized by Vos and Plo Koon when they failed to escape from the Jedi's focused attention. Signaling Obi-Wan to follow, Anakin climbed out of the main battle, veering tangent to it, and rocketed toward the nearest of the Separatists' needle-nosed picket ships. Loosing two concussion missiles to draw the picket's attention, he yawed to port, pushed over, then came back at the vessel with lasers.
"Run the hull! Target the shield generator!" Anakin commanded.
"Any closer and we'll be inside the thing!" Vos hollered over the comlink.
"That's the idea!"
"Just do what he says. He knows what he's doing" Obi-Wan ordered, opening onto the enemy cruiser with cannons blazing.
They were in the thick of the heaviest fighting now, where ranged fire from the Republic capital ships was breaking against the particle and ray shields of their targets. Blinding light pulsed behind the canopy blast tinting. The picket Anakin had piqued with missiles was under heavy bombardment. He grasped that a high-yield torpedo would be too much for it, and rushed to deliver it. Torpedos that Plo Koon was more than happy to fire, almost as if the Kel Dor was reading his mind.
The torpedo tore underneath the blue Delta-7, just above the fuselage, and burned towards the picket. The picket's shield failed for an instant, and in that instant the huge incoming turbolaser bolts did their worst. Struck broadside, the picket burst like an overripe fruit, venting long plumes of incandescence and spilling light and shattered hull into space. Judgement was dealt.
Anakin and the starfighters jinked away, whooping into the comlink.
"Nice shot, Master Plo!" Anakin beamed.
"A path has opened up. We've got a clear shot at the Invisible Hand" Anakin declared.
"Grievous" Vos snarled.
With its tapered bow and large outrigger fins, the general 's cruiser resembled a classic-era Coruscant skyscraper laid on its side.
"Gentlemen," Obi Wan spoke with accusation. "This hardly seems the time to bait him. His shields are raised and those point defense lasers will incinerate us!"
"Oh come on, Obi Wan" Vos spoke with sarcastic offense. "Don't tell me your scared of him!"
"Vos-" Plo Koon warned, recognizing the truth behind Obi Wan's words.
"When are you going to learn to trust me?" Anakin asked.
"I do trust you!" Obi Wan replied. "We all do! It's just some of us can't keep up with you."
"Fine. Then I'll be right back." Anakin declared with confidence.
"I'm going with you, Anakin" Vos added without room for discussion.
As Obi Wan and Plo Koon banked away from the Invisible Hand, the green and yellow starfighters that signified Vos and Skywalker streaked toward the destroyer with acceleration. The starfighters pushed the starfighters to their limits, paying out laser bolts and missiles that exploded harmlessly against the great ship's deflector shield. Anakin peeled away from the fiery wash, only to fall back at the ship in predatory banks, breaking ultimately for its 200-meter-tall conning tower. Vos meanwhile followed the cruiser's hull in a large oval, spraying fire at whatever target presented itself.
The cruiser's in-close batteries came alive, chundering, gushing enormous gouts of spun plasma at the pests that were attempting to besiege it. Snap-rolling, Anakin slid the starfighter hard to port, belly-up, and continued to fire while Vos slipped under the belly of the destroyer, searching for any weaknesses in the lower hull.
Vos declared that he was seeking out the shield generator while Anakin acknowledged he would try to strike at the head of the Invisible Hand. Again he tried to harry the invulnerable bridge with bursts of his lasers. And again the batteries of the colossal vessel tried but failed to get him in target lock.
Anakin pictured Grievous standing stalwart behind the transparisteel viewports.
"A taste of what's coming when we meet in the flesh," he growled.
Grievous's reptilian eyes tracked the audacious maneuvers of the yellow-and-gray starfighter that was attempting to strafe the bridge, unable to see the green and brown starfighter that was somewhere underneath the destroyer. Firing with precision, anticipating the responses of the forward batteries, taking chances even a clone wouldn't take… the pilots could only be a Jedi.
But the other Jedi was cautious, hiding underneath the hull to avoid the point defense batteries. This Jedi was unafraid to call on his rage.
Grievous could see that in the pilot's dauntless determination, his abandon. He could sense it, even through the Invisible Hand's shimmering shields and the viewport's transparisteel. Oh, to have the lightsaber of that one dangling from his belt, he thought.
Anakin Skywalker.
Certainly it was him. Anakin had tried and failed to engage him once before over Bothawui, only to end up empty handed. Usually, where Skywalker trailed Kenobi followed, but that wasn't the case for now. But it didn't matter, they were both thorns in the Separatists' side.
Elsewhere in the battle arena Republic forces were demonstrating similar enthusiasm, atomizing droid fighters and punishing the capital ships with long-range cannon fire. Grievous was confident that, if pressed, he could turn the tide of battle, but that was not his present mandate. His Sith Masters had ordered him to safeguard the lives of the Council member, though in fact, the Confederacy needed none other than Lords Sidious and Tyranus.
He turned to watch the simulation playing above the tactical console, then swung back to the viewports, recalling the ARC-170 pilots who had hounded Gunray's shuttle only days earlier. He waved for one of the droids.
"Alert our vessel commanders to stand by to receive revised battle orders."
"Yes, General," the droid acknowledged in monotone.
"Raise the ship. Prepare to fire all guns on my command."
There is no death; there is only the Force.
Obi-Wan wondered if he had ever witnessed a more lucid demonstration of the Jedi axiom than Anakin's Force-centered, death-defying harassment of Grievous's ship. His speck of a starfighter all but nose-to-nose with the mammoth cruiser, leaving Obi-Wan and Plo Koon to deal with the vengeful droid fighters Anakin was either ignorant of or deliberately disregarding. Even Quinlan Vos was more focused with harassing the enemy capital ship than dealing with the fighters that fed the fires of the ongoing battle.
"He really is going to be the death of me," Obi-Wan mumbled.
"They're fighting an idealistic crusade. Both of them" Plo Koon chimed in. "Let's hope they live long enough to live it down."
Even as Plo Koon fueled Obi Wan's thoughts, the Jedi master was indifferent to his own fate, instead wondering: What is Anakin Skywalker should be killed? Quinlan Vos could die but Anakin?
Could he even be killed?
As the Chosen One, was he destined to fulfill both the title and the prophecy? Was he immune to real harm, or, as someone born to restore balance to the Force, did he require defenders to guide him to that destiny? Was it Obi Wan's duty, more, the duty of all the Jedi, to see to it that he survived at all costs.
Was that what Qui-Gon had intuited so many years earlier on Tatooine, and had motivated him to attack with such resolve the Sith who had revealed himself in that parched landscape on Tatooine?
Though the cruiser's shield was removing the sting of Anakin's laser bolts, he could not be deterred from persevering. Even Obi-Wan's repeated attempts to hail him through the battle net had had no effect. But now the huge ship was beginning to climb and reorient itself.
Obi-Wan thought for a moment that Grievous was actually going to bring all forward guns to bear on Anakin. Instead, the cruiser continued to rise until it was well above the plane of the ecliptic, with its bow angled slightly Coreward.
Then it fired in massive volleys. Not at the Republic battle group, nor at Belderone itself, but at the convoy of evacuees and its escort starfighters. Time stopped as the red streaks of turbolaser fire hurled towards the civilian craft and ripped through hulls, sometimes disintegrating the transports as beams of plasma tore from the dorsal tip to rear transom. The hope of safety extinguished in seconds.
Obi-Wan felt a great disturbance in the Force, as ship after ship blown apart or erupted in flames. Thousands of voices cried out, and the battle and command nets grew shrill with shouts of dismay and outrage.
The follow-up volley Obi-Wan waited for never arrived. There was no need for it. The evacuee convoy was almost completely obliterated.
Tri-fighters and Vulture droids were suddenly slinking back to the ships from which they had been disgorged. At the same time, the entire Separatist fleet was turning tail. Of course Grievous realized that his barbaric act had caught the Republic forces by surprise, but he had nothing more in mind than escape into hyperspace. The general had obviously made up his mind that Belderone simply wasn't worth the risk, not with so many defenseless Outer Rim worlds still up for grabs. This was a tactical withdrawal and the message that Grievous delivered was sharp and crisp.
I'll do whatever it takes to win. Nobody is safe.
"Anakin. Vos." Obi Wan breathed, barely containing the shock of what barbarity was witnessed. "The evacuees. Whatever remains of them. They need us."
"We read you, General Kenobi." Vos answered after a long pause.
"Yes, Master." Anakin agreed. "We're falling back."
Obi-Wan watched Anakin's starfighter break off its futile pursuit of the cruiser. Farther out, Separatist ships were pursuit of the cruiser. Farther out, Separatist ships were disappearing from sight as they made the jump to lightspeed. The battle was lost.
"Vessels of the main fleet are safely away," a droid reported to Grievous as soon as the cruiser entered hyper-space. "Expected arrival at the alternate rally point: ten standard hours."
"Losses at Belderone?" Grievous said.
"Acceptable."
Beyond the forward viewports, the smoky vortices of outraced light. Grievous ran the fingers of his clawlike hand down the bulkhead.
"Instruct my elite to meet me in the shuttle launching bay on emergence from hyperspace," he said to no droid in particular. "When all ships have arrived at the rally point, advise Viceroy Gunray that I will be paying him a visit." Taking a moment to pause, Grievous whipped around. "Correction, inform Viceroy that he has been called for by San Hill. He'll have to explain everything when I arrive in his place."