Bracca
Post Order 66
Cal stared at the heap of rusted metal that marked the hasty grave of former Jedi Master, Jaro Tapal. He, with some help from BD-1, who stood on a scrapped Vulture droid, had made the grave after they had crash landed, covering the deceased Lasat as best they could. Cal stood numbly, his master's damaged lightsaber loosely clutched in his hands, still processing what had occurred on the Albedo Brave. It almost didn't seem real; the clones turning on the Jedi, the fight through the ship, both masters dying to protect Cal, and yet here he stood. He didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the grave before BD alerted him.
"What are those?" The droid asked. Cal cast his eyes skyward and watched as three burning streaks hurtled towards Bracca, most likely ships coming through the atmosphere.
"That must be the clones coming to capture me," Cal said numbly, still in disbelief, "we've got to move."
"Where? Don't they know where you worked on Bracca?" BD asked, hopping onto Cal's shoulder.
"They do…but I've got a place in mind." Cal answered. With that he turned and began to run, his legs seemingly moving of their own volition, guided by some signal in his mind to the one place he hoped the clones wouldn't think to look; the mysterious, blocky ship he and Prauf had found just a day prior. And, as Cal clambered up the hulk of a Munificent-class frigate, he realized he wasn't far, maybe three kilometers away. Finding a route, Cal threw himself off the hull and into the scrap-wastes of Bracca.
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Prauf was on his well-deserved midday break, having helped decommission a gutted Acclamator-class in six hours, when the clones arrived. The sighting of clone troopers on Bracca was a regular occurrence, as they often patrolled the high-population areas of the planet, keeping the peace, and preventing whatever rogue droids that remained on Bracca from disrupting life.
But as Prauf took a second glance at them, he noted there was something…different; the clones seemed more alert than usual, more guarded, they weren't as friendly as they normally were….and they were searching for someone, it seemed. He watched as one of them, who he recognized as Sergeant Burns, made his way into the dingy cantina, casting a helmeted gaze around. For whatever reason, Prauf felt a chill go up his spin when the clone's gaze fell on him.
"It's Prauf, right?" Burns asked, making his way over to Abednedo, pushing through the crowded cantina.
"Yeah, that's right, how can I help you?" Prauf answered warily. Burns holstered his carbine on his hip and leaned against the bar next to him.
"Have you seen Cal recently?" The sergeant asked, keeping his voice low and looking him in the eyes, "we had an…. incident aboard the Brave, he had to jettison down to the surface."
"What happened? Is everything alright?" Prauf asked, worry creeping into his voice.
"That's need-to-know, but it's fine; Cal's comns and tracker are disabled, and we can't find him." Burns explained. Somehow, Prauf doubted things were fine.
"I haven't seen him, but I'll check our usual meeting spots; I'll let you know if I see him." He lied, turning back to his drink. He felt Burns's gaze linger on him for a moment longer before he turned away.
"You do that." The clone said, exiting the cantina. Burns rejoined his platoon, walking alongside the leader, Lieutenant CT-92100 "Scrounger". "His friend doesn't know where he is, but I'd set a team on him, just in case."
"Noted, do you have any idea where he'd go?" Scrounger questioned, his eyes scanning the crowd of engineers and scrappers. Burns racked his brains for ideas but came up short.
"No sir, nothing I can think of at the moment."
"Get in the air then, I want you scanning the area for him, look for any power fluctuations, any unauthorized ships attempting to leave the planet, anything that can point us in his direction."
"Yes sir." Burns beckoned a squad of clones after him, and Prauf watched as they left the streets. Something was very, very wrong, and Cal was at the heart of it.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Mysterious Wreck
Cal arrived panting, sweat pouring down his body, his heart pounding in his chest, yet he felt none of it. He gazed up at the blocky, gunmetal black ship that sat out of place in the scrap of Bracca. While it wasn't a titanic vessel, it's appearance gave it a certain menace, an air of power and destructive capability, and that only made the young Jedi more curious about it. His eyes flicked to the strange, faded blocky characters that adorned the ship's prow, as did BD's optics.
"That's Basic script," the droid exclaimed, "not often used anymore."
"Basic script? You mean the letters of the Basic language?"
"Yes; as I said, they aren't often used anymore. People use Aurebesh to write."
"So what does it say?"
"UNSC Won't Back Down, which I'm guessing is the ship's name, and who it belonged to. I never heard or saw anything like this traveling with Master Cordova."
"I found it yesterday, right before I met you, actually." Cal said. He scanned the hull of the vessel, looking for a door or an airlock he could get into, finding one towards the front of the ship. "Think you can get us inside?"
"Pfft, can I?" BD stated with an air of confidence Cal didn't expect from a droid. He laughed, jogged up to the Won't Back Down, and began to clamber up the hull, using what pits in the armor there were to leap and climb. It took some work, but the pair eventually reached the airlock. BD leapt off Cal's shoulder, planted his mechanical legs around the control panel, and began to work. "Huh, no scomp-link; gotta do this the old-fashioned way."
"Which i-" Cal watched as BD tore off the panel exterior and got into the inner wirings of the panel. "Well that's one way to do it."
"Please, it doesn't do any permanent damage, unlike your lightsaber." BD retorted. He crossed a pair of wires together, an alarm began to blare, and the airlock door slid open with a loud CLANG. Dust spewed from the doorway, causing Cal to lean away from it for fear of alien contaminants. "It's safe to breathe, just dust."
"Can't be too careful," Cal said, hoisting himself inside, BD following onto his shoulder once more. The droid projected a beam of light in front of Cal, allowing the padawan some illumination in the dark corridors of the ship.
The hallways were like the exterior; rectangular and utilitarian, made for rapid movement of crew and cargo. The more and more he saw of the ship, the more Cal began to realize he was in a warship of considerable design. The halls were armored, with frequent bulkheads intermixed in the event of a hull break, and as Cal began to find rooms, he found they could be vacuum-sealed. And, at the very least, there was a faint pulse of power running through the ship's veins. What he wasn't finding was the crew.
"I've got a bad feeling about this, BD." He breathed, a whisper that seemed to reverberate through the metal corridors. His hand found the damaged hilt of Master Tapal's lightsaber, and the single blue blade hummed to life in front of him. "Which way do you think to the bridge?"
"From what I could see, to the bow and top of the ship." BD estimated. Cal proceeded forward, his eyes rapidly scanning the vacant corridors for any sign of movement, any sign of activity. A knot formed in his stomach as he found a set of narrow stairs and climbed to, BD translating the signs until they found the bridge deck. BD once again "hacked" the door panel, and the pair stepped into a room filled with consoles, displays, and command seats.
At the rear of the bridge, overlooking the rest of the room, sat a single gaunt corpse in a faded gray uniform. Upon closer inspection, Cal saw that the corpse's skull had been severely damaged, giving him probable cause of death. As he inspected the body, BD jumped off and began looking around, scanning the nearest one. A dim green light flickered on in response as the console hummed to life, and data began to pulse across the screen.
"Damage reports," BD said as he observed the data, "the ship is surprisingly intact, barring a few minor hull breaches in the lower levels upon crash landing. The crew is….still alive? In something called 'cryo sleep'."
"How many crew?" Cal asked, walking over to the console, his face illuminated by the green glow.
"Five-hundred eighty four, one casualty in the chair over there, and a…SPARTAN III? Who are these people?"
"Who's the casualty?"
"The captain of the ship, one Alphonse Duque-Villa; he guided the ship down to hide it, but ended up crashing due to poor reaction times."
"Poor reaction times? How does that happen?"
"He'd been woken up from this 'cryo-sleep' and not given enough time to thaw properly before taking the helm. Poor man."
"Where's the crew at?"
"Cryo-bays towards the rear of the ship. Here, let me hit the lights." Bright light suddenly filled the room, blinding Cal for a moment as his eyes adjusted. Around him, he heard the Won't Back Down surge as power cycled through it fully, the vessel ready for action. Cal beckoned for BD, and the pair exited to the bridge, headed down to the cryo-bay.
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Nu-Assault Shuttle 1
Sergeant Burns stood with arms crossed in the cockpit of the Nu shuttle. For over an hour, he and his small crew had glued their eyes to the sensor station, flicking between different radio waves, IFF scanners, and power readings in the area around the scrapper station. So far, they had found nothing, but Burns knew better than to give up so soon into the hunt. Tracking and eliminating droids on Bracca was a tedious task; there were hundreds, if not thousands of disabled, destroyed, or "decommissioned" Separatist warships in the scrap yards, anyone of them could be a hub for droid activity. He had learned, through experience and through listening to General Tapal, to be patient, to observe, and to strike as soon as possible.
As he thought of his former commander, a twinge of guilty shot through him; he remembered breaching the escape pod bay as the Jedi general was shot six times. Being told he was dead did nothing for the clone sergeant; no guilt, no remorse, no sense of a duty well and truly discharged, just the simple acknowledgement of a task completed. Burns wondered if this was to be his life from now on, droning on from task to task, with little to no emotion, no pride in his work. A blip on the sensor station broke him from his thoughts.
"Sarge, massive power spike in Sector 9-Lima; readings would be consistent with a large ship coming online." The trooper stated.
"9-Lima's in the scrap, though, how can any ship be active out there?" Another trooper asked. Burns's mind raced; 9-Lima was where he had picked up Cal when General Cordova arrived in-system. He remembered the excitement Cal had expressed over finding a strange new ship he'd never seen before, and the two events now clicked in the clone's mind.
"There's a ship there; reposition to the reading in 9-Lima immediately!' Burns ordered, keying his comnlink. "Burns to Scrounger, power reading spike in Sector 9-Lima, redeploy all clones immediately!"
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Aboard the UNSC Won't Back Down
The room Cal found himself in was, cool, gray, dimly lit, and lined from floor to ceiling with pods. Inside each of the pods, barring a single opened pod, was a human being, each of them naked, Cal observed, forcing him to avert his eyes.
"Kinda weird how they strip naked before freezing themselves." BD stated, staring into the pods as Cal moved past them.
"It's a big galaxy, people do loads of weird things." Cal replied flatly, his mind preoccupied by the foreign environment he paced through. As he neared the end of the chamber, he found a larger that stood on its own away from the rest. Cal approached the pod, wiping away the frost and condensation on the glass to peer within.
Inside he found what initially assumed to be a droid, but upon closer observation, he realized was a human encased in armor. The armor was bulky, colored blue and tinged with gold, the helmet had a band of glass that formed the visor-colored silver. The human had to have been at least seven-and-a-half feet tall in the armor, almost as, if not as tall as a Wookie, and Cal suddenly felt very, very small. BD hopped off his shoulder to investigate, scanning the pod and its occupant.
"SPARTAN Beta 0013, Kyle, Warrant Officer Grade 2." The droid read, "Sounds like a soldier."
"Sounds like? Look at him, he could tear me in half if he wanted to!" Cal exclaimed, pointing at the figure. BD whirred in response as the droid thought.
"So do we wake them up?" He asked.
"No, I thought this thing was a wreck, not a fully operable warship. I'm not going to bring them into a fight they have no business in. We'll leave and tell someone about this once we're off Bracca." Cal said firmly, his tone brokering no argument. He turned to go, only to have catch his balance as the ship suddenly rocked. BD sat still for a moment, cycling between different spectrums as he worked.
"The clones have found us." The droid reported. "They've landed a shuttle on the ventral bulkheads…what do you want to do?" Cal looked to the man suspended in cryo-sleep, and focused on the silver-visor that stared unseeing out the pod's glass.
"The clones will tear this ship apart, including these people…how do we open this pod, and this pod only?" BD-1 leapt off the pod and to the nearest terminal banks, hardwiring into the systems.
"It's not a terribly complex process, there's even a 'Flash Thaw' protocol. It should only take a moment."
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Waking from cryo-sleep was never an enjoyable process, even with his enhanced body, Kyle thought as his eyes opened and his HUD came online. He could feel the ice crystals across his body melting and snapping under his bodysuit, his muscles warming and flexing, and his mind began to work. He was being flash-thawed, he realized, informed as such by his suit's external sensors. His eyes flicked over the HUD of his EOD helmet and looked outside of the pod. At the terminal stood a young, red-haired man with a poncho thrown over work clothes, and a small robot on the bay terminal next to him. Neither were UNSC personnel. Something was wrong. The pod hatch hissed and snapped, raised, and Kyle took a step outside the pod, determined to figure out what was going on.
"Uh…hi?" The young man said. The robot next to him warbled something in response. "Well what else am I supposed to say?"
"Who are you, and how did you get aboard?" Kyle asked, his jaw and vocal cords showing no signs of having just been frozen.
"I'm Cal Kestis," Cal introduced, his composure adapting to the Spartan's questions, "and this is…my droid, BD-1." BD warbled a greeting Kyle couldn't understand. "He says hi; we got on board through one of the airlocks; your ship is grounded on Bracca."
"That's not UNSC space." Kyle said.
"No, you're in the Mid-Rim; Bracca's a scrap-world."
"Where's the Mid-Rim?" Cal took a moment to think, his eyes narrowing.
"Where do you come from?"
"Classified." The Won't Back Down shook suddenly, BD letting out a squeal.
"Listen," Cal said, "I came on this ship to hide; I didn't think it had a whole crew still asleep, and the people who are after me have found this ship and I need help." Kyle regarded Cal for a moment; the two were probably the same age, and he seemed very afraid.
"Why are they after you, and why me?"
"The logs BD pulled up made mention of a 'SPARTAN', of you, and when I saw you I figured you were a soldier or something. As for why, I have no idea. The clones suddenly turned on me and-"
"Run that back for me, clones?"
"Clone troopers; the Republic uses them to fight the Separatist droids." At this point, Kyle's brain was beginning to spin, so he held up a hand, focusing on his priorities right now.
"I need to wake the captain first." Kyle said, looking for his pod.
"Captain Duque Villa is dead; he's strapped in his chair on the bridge. He died bringing the ship onto the surface."
"I'm starting to like this situation less and less."
"I like this situation even less than you, believe me." A third quake wracked the Won't Back Down, and the Spartan came to a decision.
"Who exactly is chasing you, and do you have a weapon?" 013 asked, moving away from his pod towards a door.
"Yeah, I've got something." Cal answered, unclipped a long cylinder from his hip, one end damaged with an opening on the other. 013 didn't question Cal as he began to elaborate, "As for who's chasing us, they're clone troopers; soldiers born from the same genetic material and raised to fight the Republic's wars. These are clones of the Iron Battalion; good at close quarters combat in bad situations."
"Sounds like you know a lot about them." 013 observed as they headed toward the armory, which the Spartan was hoping was still intact.
"Up until yesterday, I was fighting with them," Cal said, "then they just…turned on me and my master, killing him and trying to capture me."
"And you don't know why?"
"Nothing, except that someone ordered them to."
"And you know this how?"
"I was told so and….this won't make sense, but I saw part of the order, in a vision." 013 stopped and looked firmly at Cal.
"I can believe clones and betrayals, but visions are a bridge too far."
"Believe this." Cal held out the cylinder and, as 013 looked down at it…the damn thing began to float.
013's Military bearing finally broke down and he said, "Okay, what the fuck is this?" Before Cal could answer, there was movement over his shoulder, and 013 spied two white armored figures with yellow stripes wielding unfamiliar weapons round the corner.
"Contact-contact, target spotted with support!" One of them cried. Cal whipped around, cylinder in hand, and from it came a brilliant blue blade of light, which he brandished in front of him.
"Who the actual fuck is this guy?" 013 wondered as the pair dropped to a knee and fired blue rings from their weapons. "I need a weapon!"
"I'll cover you!" Cal said as he swung his weapon, dissipating the rings as they came. 013 turned and began to run towards the armory, his boots pounding the metal floors. If they were to survive, and for the Won't Back Down to get airborne, they would need every advantage they could get.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
In orbit over Bracca…
Just above Bracca, reality briefly warped as an Eta-2 Jedi Interceptor snapped out of hyperspace, waking Master Plo Koon from a restful sleep. The trip from Derylon to Bracca was only a few hours, so the Kel-Dor had used his time wisely, resting for whatever was to come. As he inspected the Eta-2's instruments, the R4 unit spoke up.
"Master, I cannot detect the Ever Scholar nor the Albedo Brave in system. Additionally, I cannot find any record of their departure in the Braccan travel registry; it appears they were destroyed, descended to the planet, or left without informing the proper authorities. I have, however, discovered three Nu-class assault shuttles descending to the surface shortly before the Brave's disappearance." It said.
"Thank you, R4. Relay your logs to the Jedi Temple." Plo ordered, then closed his eyes once more, and stretched out with the Force. Immediately, he felt death in the Force, as if two very capable Force users had been snuffed out…and there was a lingering taint of the Dark Side as well. Something very, very terrible had occurred here, recently. "R4, does the Braccan Travel Registry have any indication of where the 3 shuttles might have gone?"
"Yes master, they have departed for Scrap Sector 9-Lima for an unknown purpose. The nearest Engineer/Scrapper station is within eight kilometers of the sector."
"Then let us go." Plo detached the hyperspace ring from the Eta-2 and put pedal-to-the-metal for the station. As he descended through Bracca's atmosphere, he stretched out once more, looking for any signs of the Dark Side, but he found none. Whatever had caused the taint was gone, but Plo Koon could still feel a lingering sense of betrayal, of pain and loss.
Plo called up the logs of the Albedo Brave he had been sent; the Venator-class had received the Ever Scholar; an Arquitens light cruiser that had been under the command of Jedi Master Evo Cordova, who had departed the Order shortly before the Battle for Courscant. Following that, the Brave and the Scholar were supposed to return within the next 24 hours, but had failed to do so, missing their assigned check-in times. Plo Koon dismissed the logs as he entered the atmosphere, focusing on guiding the Eta-2 to its destination. Within fifteen minutes, he was on the ground at the scrapper station, and he made no attempt to hide who or what he was; making haste towards whatever figure of authority he could find. Instead, he found another resource.
"S'cuse me!" A voice called through the crowd of engineers and scrappers, causing Plo Koon to turn. A middle-aged Abednedo shoved his bulk through the crowd towards Plo Koon, his long face a mask of concern and anxiety. "You're one of those Jedi, right?"
"I am, who are you?"
"Prauf; you're here for Cal, right?" The scrapper looked around nervously as he spoke, keeping a lookout for someone or something listening in.
"I am, how do you know Padawan Kestis?"
"He would work with us; part of his Jedi training I suppose," Prauf said, "listen, you've gotta get to him; those clones are looking for him."
"What clones?"
"The Iron Battalion; three whole shuttles of them came down looking for Cal, said something had gone wrong on the ship and they needed to find him…but I think they're trying to kill him." That sent an pang of alarm through Master Plo.
"What makes you think that?"
"The way they were asking about him, how they were moving around here; they're normally friendly and all that, but this time, they were suspicious-like, hunched over like they were trying to hide something." Prauf explained. "Then all the sudden they took off in a hurry."
"Prauf, think for me; where would Cal go if he was in danger?"
"I've already checked all the places we'd usually meet…but there is one place! He and I found this weird looking ship out in sector 9-Lima; big, bulky, and ugly looking."
"Can you take me there?"
"You bet, come on!"
XXXXXXXXXXXX
UNSC Won't Back Down
Cal hurtled after 013 as the trio made their way to the armory. The clones of the Iron Battalion pursued them relentlessly as they poured into the Won't Back Down, hellbent on capturing Cal. So far, they had restricted themselves to stun blasts, but Cal had not doubt they would switch to kill if they felt he wasn't worth it. 013 was preforming better than he expected, the flash thaw seemingly having no ill-effects on him as he dodged stun blasts and made tight turns through the ship. For a man of his bulk, the Spartan could move like the wind, much like Master Tapal.
The trio rounded yet another corner and 013 threw open a door, shoving Cal inside. He followed, slamming the door behind them and punching in a seal command to the door panel, locking it from the inside. Cal placed his hands on his knees and panted hard, BD peering over his shoulder in concern. 013 showed no such signs of exhaustion, striding over to a rack on the wall. Cal looked up and found himself in the armory of the warship, the walls and floors lined with weapon racks, ammo crates, and tools for weapon maintenance. The weapons matched the ship; blocky and utilitarian, designed to kill efficiently, without regard for looks, only function.
"Do you know how to use a rifle?" 013 asked as he pulled a weapon from a rack.
"No, but I can use my lightsaber well enough, and the Force." Cal said, straightening his back and standing. "What are you using?"
"SAW, shotgun, SMG." 013 rattled off. To the first weapon, the Spartan inserted a large drum, racking the charging handle back. To the second, he loaded six shells into the weapon, racked the slide, then inserted a seventh shell, and to the third, he inserted a top mounted magazine, slapping it into place. All the while, Cal paced, staring at the door in anticipation of what was to come, fiddling with Master Tapal's lightsaber. A sudden CLANG on the door caused him to jump backwards, lightsaber held out to the side in preparation.
"Easy, they're gonna have a hard time breaching that door." 013 said as he pulled spare magazines and shells for his weapons. The Spartan's head whipped up as he heard a hiss, and the doorframe was suddenly alight with sparks. "Cover, now!" The Spartan reached up and pulled a olive-drab colored metal barricade from a rack, slammed it down on the ground, and pulled Cal in behind it. The door exploded, smoke billowed into the room, and the clones of the Iron Battalion stepped through. The first one to see 013 raised his blaster and flicked his blaster's setting to kill.
The Spartan reacted as he was trained, snapping the SAW to his shoulder and squeezing off a tight burst. The clone fell backward as bullets penetrated his armor and internal organs, blooding pouring from the wounds. The clones continued to step through the door, filling the armory with blue laser bolts as 013 fired burst after burst, taking down another five clones before the wizened up. Cal poked his head out from cover just in time to see a stun grenade tossed inside the room. Thinking quickly, he reached out with the Force and threw it back at the clones, bouncing it along the hallway. A sudden BOOM followed by aggravated yelling told the trio he was successful, and 013 pushed the attack.
Stepping from cover, 013 leveled the SAW and pressed down on the trigger, filling the adjoining hallway with bullets. The clones closet to the door fell backward, crimson blood pouring from bullet holes in their armor, while their comrades hurried away, firing back at 013 in a desperate bid to either kill or suppress their assailant. Cal watched as three bolts struck 013, but instead of hitting his armor, a shimmering shield encompassed his body, protecting him from the bolts, but he did step back into cover as the shield shimmered around him.
"We need to take this fight out of the ship," 013 said, "I can't have this pouring into the cryo bay."
"Where can we go then?" Cal asked, still gripping the unignited lightsaber.
"Aft cargo bay; we open that and take the fight outside."
"There's a scrapper station a few kilometers away from here; if we can get there, I can call for help." Cal suggested. 013 nodded, peering out the doorway. A whirring noise began, followed by a deluge of blue laser bolts, forcing 013 back into cover. "Z-6; that'll tear us up if we try and go toe to toe with it!"
"Can you give this a push?" 013 asked, producing what Cal assumed to be a grenade from his belt. Cal nodded and readied himself; 013 took a step back from the door, primed the grenade, and threw. Cal reached out with the Force and pushed, sending the grenade surfing on a wave towards the clones. It bounced off the deck, bounced forward, and came to a stop at the clones' feet, detonating in a flash of yellow and orange.
The explosion hadn't even finished when 013 stepped through the door, Cal and BD-1 following close behind. One wounded clone raised a carbine weakly, but 013 kicked it away. Cal spared a passing glance at the clone, whose helmeted eyes followed him as they ran down the corridor. They moved quickly, 013 keeping his weapon up and ready at all times, while Cal made sure the rear was clear. Together, they moved towards the aft of the ship, and towards their potential escape.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Master Plo gripped the handles of the platform as Prauf maneuvered it through the scrap, weaving it through towering piles of junk and over mounds of metal. He did it with a practiced ease that almost surprised the Jedi Master, who was instead more concerned with Prauf's report of the clones. Where they the reason he felt such betrayal in the Force, and if so, why did they turn on the Jedi here, what possible reason was there. He hoped he would find the answer, and quickly.
"Less than a click out from the ship!" Prauf called over the wind.
"Stop here!" Plo answered, the Praud brought the platform to a quick stop. "I will go on foot from here; I can't risk the clones knowing of my approach."
"Got it," Prauf said anxiously, his hands working over the controls.
"Have faith, my friend; Padawan Kestis is trained by one of the finest our Order has to offer. I'm certain he can hold out for my arrival." Plo reassured.
"Yeah…just find him, please." Prauf said, not entirely convinced. Plo nodded, stepped onto the railing, and propelled himself into the scrap. Using the Force to amplify his speed and agility, he made it to the edge of the site in less than two minutes, taking cover behind an upturned freighter. The ship was as Prauf described it, blocky and utilitarian, but Plo could see what the scrapper couldn't; the ship was designed to fight. He also saw the Nu-class shuttles; all three of which sat in a semi-circle a few meters from the ship. They were guarded by ten clones, all of whom bore the colors of the Iron Battalion. Plo Koon moved forward, slipping closer to the clones to hear what they were saying.
"Sounds like the kid's got help." One of the clones said to the others.
"This isn't a wreck; it actually works?"
"That's what I'm hearing; the thing has power, but the crew's all in pods, frozen or something."
"So who's helping Cal?"
"Big thing; kinda looks like an armored droid or an android from what we've been hearing."
"The kid's slippery, I'll give him that."
"Do we even know why we're doing this? We served with Commander Kestis for over a year now; why would he turn supposedly turn traitor now?"
"Orders are orders; you heard Ironsides, we're enacting Order 66 for the good of the Republic."
"Well do we know where he is?"
"He and his friend are headed towards an aft cargo bay; Scrounger and Burns will trap them there." Plo Koon had heard enough, and he acted.
The Kel-Dor struck like a viper, snatching a lone trooper from his post, knocking him unconscious, then moving to his companions. He sent a Force wave forward, knocking them all down, before raising them in the air and bringing them down hard. As they wind was knocked from their lungs, Plo Koon gathered them together, then raised a rusting metal beam from the scrap. He bent it around the clones, binding them together tightly, ensuring their arms were all pinned against their sides. He didn't stop to question them, there would be time enough for that later. Now, he needed to pry Cal Kestis and his newfound ally from the jaws of a trap.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Cal's ears rang from the SAW, the Spartan firing and moving, his bursts finding their mark. They fought a running battle through the corridors of the Won't Back Down, slowly making their way to the aft cargo bay. Every time 013 moved, Cal covered him, and vice versa, working as a team to survive. The clones weren't successful for a lack of trying; they were simply outmatched. However, their numbers, even in the confined spaces, kept forcing the two back to their escape, instead of simply taking the clones head on.
Cal felt a twinge in the Force from 013, a small ping that let him know the Spartan was running low on ammo. Before he spoke, Cal stepped in front of him, Master Tapal's lightsaber humming and swinging. It was an irritating tactic for the clones, Cal could feel it; surges of frustration as they had to switch tactics constantly to avoid killing him. It was annoying and working.
013 ducked down as he holstered the now empty SAW and drew his SMG, moving back towards the cargo bay in a crouch. When he settled, Cal began his move back, unbidden, allowing the Spartan to lean from cover and squeeze off a burst. A trooper went down in a spurt of blood, wounded by the small-caliber rounds, but not dead.
"Almost there," 013 said to Cal as they turned a corner. Cal grunted in response as they made the turn, and they hurtled down the hall as the clones moved after them. The corridor was considerably wider now as they approached the entrance to the cargo bay, which allowed the clones behind them to direct more fire at the retreating trio. BD crouched as low as he could onto Cal's shoulder as the padawan deflected bolts away from them. 013's shields flared as a burst hit him in the back, a golden glow enveloping the Spartan. Then came the spinning of another Z-6, followed by a flurry of blue bolts that struck 013. His shields audibly snapped and failed, forcing the Spartan to dive to cover.
"Are you-" Cal began.
"I'm up!" 013 answered, leaning from behind the support strut and squeezing off a burst. Cal also slid behind a strut, glancing between the Z-6 and the door.
"I'll draw their fire, you get to the door!" Cal called. It was a calculated risk, one hoping that the clones wouldn't shoot to kill while he was in the line of fire. Before 013 could protest, Cal stepped into the hallway. The Z-6 spun up, then stopped as they recognized Cal, allowing 013 to make a break for the cargo bay.
"Open fire!" Ordered a clone lieutenant, and the Z-6 spun up again, lethal blue fire spitting from its rotating barrels.
"So much for that!" Cal hissed as he dodged and deflected, his tired limbs responding as best they could. He backpedaled after 013, who had reached the door, fiddling with the door panel.
As the cargo bay doors slid open, his motion tracker suddenly lit up; eight red dots appeared immediately on the other side. Acting quickly, he grabbed Cal and threw them both to the side. As they hit the ground, bolts flew overhead from two directions, scorching the walls as they made impact. 013 turned, firing the SMG onehanded at the nearest clones, two falling as blood gushed from wounds. The weapon clicked empty, allowing the other six to step from the entryway.
"Stun!" Came a bark, and six stun pulses overwhelmed the Spartan. As Cal struggled out from underneath him, another pulse knocked him unconscious, and the corridor fell silent, save the sound of panting and armored boots hitting the deck.
"Sergeant?" Came Scrounger's questioning voice.
"They're down; both stunned." Burns reported, prying the lightsaber from Cal's hands. The clones clustered around the two unconscious figures, their bodies still aside from their breathing.
"Status?" Scrounger said.
"We're half strength, sir; the big guy," the clone kicked 013, "saw to that."
"What should we do with him?" Burns asked.
"Simple," Scrounger answered, placing the muzzle of his rifle against the Spartan's helmet.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," came a distorted voice from behind them. The twenty remaining clones turned to see Master Plo Koon standing at the other of the hallway, arms dangling loosely at his sides. "Stand down, I don't want to hurt you."
"Shoot to kill!" Scrounger barked, and the clones opened fire without hesitation. A storm of blue soared towards Master Plo, who took a deep breath, and stepped into the storm.
To the clones, he seemed to be where their aim wasn't, and every time they shifted, so did he. The Kel-Dor weaved through the blaster fire with practiced grace, lightsaber still unignited as he closed the distance between him and the clones. Midway through the hall, he reached out with the Force, ripped a wall panel out, and placed in front of him, using it as a shield. Tearing another panel from the wall, he undercut the clones, tripping them onto the floor, including Sergeant Burns. He rolled as the panel suddenly bent and curled around the four clones, wrapping them tightly together so they couldn't move.
"Spread out!" He called. The clones spread out as best they could, and Plo Koon used their separation to his advantage. He thrust the panel in front of him forward, slamming into a trooper, and pinning him against the wall. While it flew, Plo ducked under the blaster fire, coming face to face with another clone. His fist shot up like a viper, connecting with the clone's helmeted chin, knocking the helmet off. His left fist crashed into the clone's head, sending the trooper sprawling to the ground unconscious.
Plo Koon moved again, not wasting anytime nor giving the clones a good shot, coming to a pair of clones. Reaching out, he grabbed both of their heads and slammed them together, their faceplates cracking under the Force-powered blow. They crumpled, allowing Plo to move onto Scrounger, who was attempting to direct the clones' fire. The lieutenant swung with the butt of his rifle, Plo leaned out of the way, then unleashed a flurry of blows into his torso. Scrounger staggered, almost falling to a knee, but Plo grabbed him by the collar and leg, spun, and threw him like a ragdoll. The lieutenant crashed into another pair of clones, all three tumbling to the ground; half of the clones were out of the fight.
Burns looked between the advancing Jedi Master, his brothers, and Cal…the mission had to come first. He yanked Cal out from under the Spartan, slinging the padawan over his shoulders. As he did so, he felt movement from Cal; looking up, he found a small droid looking at him, its ocular narrowed. Before he could react, the droid jabbed him with his scomp-link, sending an electric burst through the clone. He screamed as his body convulsed, dropping to floor, Cal tumbling limply from his shoulders.
Burns's helmet came off, rolling while the clone regained control of his body. As the pain subsided, a fog seemed to lift inside his mind. The haze of Order 66 fell away, replaced by the reality of what Burns had just done.
Plo Koon delivered a devastating cross to the jaw of the last clone, and he too fell to the deck, unconscious. Turning, the Kel-Dor heard a sound that seemed so out of place in the melee, and then he looked down. Next to the unconscious body of Cal lay a clone, half of his face enveloped by burn scars, tears streaking down his face as he wept. Over him stood a small BD unit, looking between the clone and Master Plo, confused as to what was going on. Plo walked gently over to the clone, placed a hand on the side of his head, and, using the Force, eased the clone into a deep sleep.
Plo Koon stood, observing the hallway. Blood trailed from fallen bodies, bullet holes and blaster marks scored the walls, and bodies lay strewn about. He took a deep breath, centering himself; the fighting was over, and Cal Kestis was safe. Now, to understand why the clones betrayed their Jedi.
