As far as crawling through trash chutes goes, Anakin's had worse.
Ahsoka, true to her word, only needed access to an Upper City maintenance station—poorly-staffed and in the middle of a shift-change, to boot—to pop the local municipal garbage network wide open. R2 took the rest from there, plugging in a systems control terminal, downloading a directional schematic, and guiding Anakin and Obi-Wan up through a weaving labyrinth of chutes and tunnels. An hour of climbing from shaky handhold to handhold, struggling against hurricane-like fan gusts, and dodging careening streams of trash has finally paid off: They are inside the palace.
Anakin pops off the final grate in the last narrow trash chute, peeks out into an empty, duracrete-walled hall—a place that looks more fitting for the Lower City than the house of government—and steps out, trailing detritus and bits of trash in his wake. "Ach," he says, rubbing at his cloak. "Got some sort of sauce on me. At least, I hope it's sauce."
"Quiet down. Do you want every one in this place to come running?" says Obi-Wan as he exits the trash chute. An empty bowl of noodles and several used tissues drop out onto the floor behind him. "And I don't think that's sauce."
"Great. Let's not try and guess what it is."
R2 pops out of the chute behind him, landing on the floor with a thud and a trill. "Let's find a computer terminal somewhere in here and get a picture of where we need to go," says Obi-Wan, picking bits of plaster out of his beard. "Hopefully Ahsoka and the others aren't running into too much trouble."
"They're supposed to be getting into trouble. As for us—lead on R2. Your time to shine, buddy."
The droid chirps and wheels ahead. They might be in the basement levels of the palace tower, but Anakin still thinks it's far too quiet. Ahsoka merely told him she had "a pretty good idea" of how to draw attention away from the palace, but whether that meant riling up a few guards or launching an assault on the Tath manor, he has no idea. Perhaps Obi-Wan is right about trouble after all: The last thing he needs to do is have to bail his Padawan out after rescuing Padme.
They pass hall after hall, door after door, encountering nothing more than a few gonk-ing power droids. Perhaps the mob never made it down here. Perhaps everyone evacuated. Perhaps this is just another trap.
It's probably just another trap.
R2 stops before a heavy steel door and whistles. The droid plugs in to an access port on the wall, beeps, and wheels backwards as the door grinds open. Inside is an austere vault where black, blocky server banks jut up from the floor like stalagmites. Arterial power lines snake along the ceiling. There is a churning, a hissing, the din of electronics and power converters grinding away like great gears powering some titanic clockwork monster above. A single worker—an L-1g general purpose droid—looks up from where it is stooped over a bulbous coolant valve. "Oh my," the droid drones as R2 drives inside the vault without so much as a moment of hesitation. "You are not authorized sever maintenance technicians. I will need to see identification and clearance."
"Left 'em upstairs," says Anakin. "R2, plug in to one of these servers and see what you can find."
The droid chirps and locks his probe into an access port on the nearest server block. "Sir," the maintenance droid protests, "sir, I am going to have to see some identification. Sir, please do not touch anything until you are authorized. Sir."
"Oh, pipe down already, guy. R2. Come on."
The astromech whines and brings up a holographic map of the tower. The hologram zooms in on a long corridor lined with individual work rooms on the ninety-seventh floor. "Like a makeshift cell block," says Anakin. He points to a pair of red squares at either end of the corridor. "What're these?"
"Looks like ray shields. Security lockdown for armed intrusion—only this time the intruders are the ones using it against the occupants," murmurs Obi-Wan. "You're sure this is where the senators are being kept, R2?" When the droid chirps in the affirmative, Obi-Wan nods. "Security is probably powered from local generators in case of power loss."
"Bet R2 can take out the power to the shields when we're up there," says Anakin. "Seems simple enough: One of us goes with R2, the other gets the senators."
"I suppose you'll be wanting to make the dashing rescue."
"Well, yeah—wait, what's that supposed to mean?"
Obi-Wan gives him a knowing look. "Oh, nothing. R2 and I can handle the shields. Try not to make a mess of things."
"I hope you are not planning to make a mess. What you should do is go to your supervisor and—" the maintenance droid begins.
R2 cuts the droid off with a series of beeps. "You have something else?" says Anakin.
The droid's interface probe twists and turns and the hologram shifts. The map fades and a live feed of a local news holochannel blurs and takes form. "An absolutely astounding and terrifying collapse of the local power grid," a reporter broadcasts on-site from before a cluster of city towers, all dark, pitch-black among the growing twilight. "Electricity was knocked out to the entire Old City quarter ten minutes ago, and now new reports have just come in that the local security ordinance depot has suffered some sort of extraordinary break-in. Additional public security officers are already en route, and Taris authorities are strongly advising all residents to stay in their homes and—"
Anakin snorts. Apparently Ahsoka really did have a big idea up her sleeve. Distraction indeed—the Taths will be far more concerned with whatever she's up to by the end of this. "Where does she get these ideas?" he says.
"Where do you think?" replies Obi-Wan. "Now come on. We won't be doing her and the others any good if we stand around watching her handiwork."
As they leave the server vault the maintenance droid pipes up again. "Excuse me. Sirs. Excuse me."
"We'll file the necessary forms with employee resources, don't worry," says Obi-Wan.
"And a disclosure of improper conduct with your supervisor. And do not forget about a report 2-B with—"
R2 cuts him off by shutting the door. Obi-Wan shakes his head and sighs. "How bureaucracy functions at all is beyond me."
"Don't say that sort of thing around senators. Trust me. Now let's find the closest turbolift and get going."
Anakin half-expects battle droids to wait for them on the lift, but the ride from the basement to the tower heights goes as smoothly as if they were guests taking a tour. No blaster fire. No combat. No shouts and action. Just the soft hum of the turbolift ascending, sixtieth floor, seventieth, seventy-one seventy-two seventy-three. Anakin's fingers drumming on the hilt of his lightsaber. Obi-Wan stroking his beard. R2 offering a single low whine to push back the tension. The air itself feels heavy, thick, like a fog that grows in the lift the higher they ascend, as if climbing into the cloud layer. Eighty-eight eighty-nine ninety.
Ninety-seven. Anakin lurches out of the turbolift with lightsaber in hand as the doors open, but no foes stand to meet him. No incoming fire. Just opulent halls of violet and gold and white, faux-iron braziers gleaming on the walls. Scorch marks from combat earlier on an overturned table down the hall. "Right floor," murmurs Anakin, "but nobody's home."
"Something happened," says Obi-Wan, eying the scorched table. "Keep an eye out. Come, R2, let's find the nearest maintenance hatch."
As Obi-Wan and the droid depart, Anakin feels a shift—in his gut, his chest. In the Force. They are not alone up here—and it is not just the detainees on this floor. Someone is waiting. Something. A trap is set. He ignites his lightsaber, if only to ready himself for what may come. Moving down the hallway he scans left and right, doors shut on either side, empty corridors and the electric whir of the lights. Come out, he thinks. Come out. If for no other reason than to ease the tension, come out.
Not far from the ray-shielded corridor now. A few turns, left-left-right. But as Anakin runs the nearest bend, at last he comes face to face with another guest—and just like him, this intruder doesn't belong here.
Bal Vigaro, wielding an unlit electrobaton so thin that it is closer to a rapier than a cudgel. "Master Jedi," the Taths' majordomo murmurs calmly. No longer does the Echani wear the formal, stuffy noble garb from back in the manor. Now a tight-fitting, one-piece blue suit covers the man from neck to ankle to wrist. Nothing more: Not even shoes. His narrow eyes do not offer the polite greetings and invitations of before. "We meet again."
"You," snarls Anakin, raising his lightsaber. "Get out of my way."
The majordomo holds up his free hand. Attached to his palm and threaded between his fingers is a glowing green activator. "The floor is littered with bombs," he says. The same calm voice. Almost monotone. He may as well be commenting on the décor. "Set aside your Jedi powers and fight me. Your lightsaber. My pike. Fair." He glances at his palm. "Or we can all die here."
Anakin growls. "I don't believe you for a second."
"You don't have to. Let us all die. The senators you came to rescue too," he says. "I have cleared the security off of this floor. The Taths do not know I am here. They wouldn't want me here. But I knew you would not give up, knew you would come here, and it is the custom of the Echani to offer a fair fight for any prize. You want Organa and Amidala? I will offer you the chance to earn them. Fairly. And only fairly."
"You work for the Taths. You're part of all their scheming. You were right there in the midst of it in their estate. And now you want me to buy your honor act?"
Vigaro smiles. There is no malice behind it. "They care for their schemes. I do not. You think I am important? I am only one of hundreds. There's far more going on here than you think."
"Then tell me. Right now."
"No. I do not care what happens to the Taths' plans. I do not care what happens to the rest of the galaxy. I only have one thing left to care about now."
"Then stand aside and go see to it."
The Echani shakes his head. It's not defiance, but resignation. The spent dignity of a man who has been crushed. An honesty in his eyes that was never there in the Tath estate. "I have studied you, Master Skywalker. I know you are a man of action. I know you will not shy away from a fight," says Vigaro. He raises his weapon. Points at Anakin. Flicks a switch and lets violet lightning crackle across the shaft. "The senators are safe, I assure you—but if you want them, then in the tradition of my people and your Order, let us finish things like men."
Anakin feels something wrong. It is not deceit. It is not bait. Vigaro is telling the truth, but he is hiding something. This is not a man who wants to defeat him. The only thing Anakin feels from Vigaro is acceptance. Acceptance—and a heaviness. Pain. Absence.
This is a man who wants to die.
Questions explode in his mind like shrapnel from the bombs supposedly beneath this floor. Why? What is going on? To whom is the majordomo really loyal? But he will not learn anything more from the Echani's lips: Vigaro grips his weapon with purpose, with resolve.
Well, if he wants to die: So be it. It's that or everyone explodes.
Anakin raises his blade. Vigaro approaches, step by step, precise like a dancer. In a flash he closes far faster than any fighter should, upon Anakin in a moment, blade whirling. Anakin counters. Strike, block, swing. Vigaro twists, dodges, sidesteps. As quick as the lightning that stripes his blade. He parries Anakin's attack, hits him in the chest with the palm of his off hand, then swipes at Anakin's face. Anakin twirls away. This is not what he expected: The man moves like a cat, like a demon. As much a duelist as a courtier.
The two square off for a moment, each eyeing the other's defenses, before Vigaro feints left, feints right, then rushes Anakin with his weapon clasped in both hands and lowered like a lance.
It's a shockingly easy move to counter. Perhaps that is the point. Anakin sidesteps, slashes his lightsaber under Vigaro's weapon, and knocks the blade aside. Then he drives his saber down. Slices Vigaro's chest. Plunges the lightsaber deep into skin and sinew and bone.
The Echani gasps. He drops his weapon, stumbling and clutching Anakin's hand. Already his legs are failing, his strength fleeing him. But as he struggles to maintain his footing in his dying moments, he grabs Anakin's arm, his head shaking—no, nodding. There is a glint in his eyes. Almost—thankfulness. "Don't let them go," he whispers, his voice barely audible as he falters. Anakin grabs his shoulder. "Don't let them go."
Then he topples out of Anakin's grip, falling to the floor, stiffening. Dead.
Anakin has the worst of feelings—that he has done something horribly wrong, committed the most unjust of acts. He lifts Vigaro's left hand and inspects the bomb activator. But it is not an activator at all—just a ruse. Exposed wires. Clever decoration. A fake. No more threatening than Vigaro's corpse. There are no bombs. Nothing more than an act to coerce Anakin into a final fight.
For a moment all thought of Padme leaves his mind. This is all some trick, isn't it? Some great set-up. But he is just one man, a Jedi perhaps, but one perspective, one view, amid a situation that suddenly seems so vast that Anakin has no idea where it might lead.
He shakes off the thought. Get over it. It's just one man. Find Padme. Don't let her go. Don't let them go.
It's only a short walk to the ray-shielded doors from here, and the security shields are down by the time Anakin reaches it. Obi-Wan and R2 have done their job. Without any trace of enthusiasm he pulls the doors open with the Force.
And finds a metal light fixture coming down at his face.
He leaps to the side, lightsaber already up again, and watches as Padme swings through empty space. "Whoa!" he cries, deactivating his lightsaber. "Whoa, stop! It's me! It's me!"
Padme looks around as if expecting opposition. When she sees Anakin she gasps, drops the impromptu bludgeon, and cries out, "Ani!" Then she rushes into her arms.
This. This is why he fights. This is what he will never let go. As they kiss locked in each other's embrace, Taris floats away. Vigaro, the fight, all the feelings weighing down on Anakin's shoulders, all of it fades. Does it really matter? Does any of it matter? "What are you doing here?" he asks when they at last separate. "Why are you on Taris?"
"It's…it's a long story," says Padme. "Later." Then she looks at him, quizzical. "What's wrong?"
He looks over his shoulder. "Later," he says. "Thank the Maker you're safe."
"And you. I was so worried," Padme says. She stares into his eyes for a moment, the two lost in each other, before she looks away and glances down the hallway. "Bail. He was with me, but we got separated."
"Yeah, I'm here to find him too. Let's go."
They don't get far before Obi-Wan emerges from a room nearby with Bail Organa in tow. "Padme!" exclaims Bail. "Master Skywalker."
"Yes, another wonderful reunion," says Obi-Wan. "Glad to do your job for you, Anakin. Don't mention it."
"Hey, I got…delayed," says Anakin.
Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows. "Oh?"
Anakin moves as if to point down the corridor back towards where he fought Vigaro, but that weight crashes down on him again. All of the relief is gone. This is not how this glorious rescue was supposed to go, and now all he wants is to get off Taris—to leave this world and never return. "Let's get up top."
"You have an escape route?" says Bail as they move out.
"A landing pad near the roof," says Obi-Wan. "Assuming the rest of our party shows up."
Padme looks concerned. "Captain Typho was with us when we arrived," she says.
"We found him. And, assuming Ahsoka hasn't blown up half of Taris by now, he's probably all right," says Anakin.
Whatever security Vigaro had cleared off of the ninety-seventh floor, however, has clustered here at the rooftop. The private landing pad—more of a partially-enclosed hanger and barely large enough for more than a transport or two—is guarded by at least twenty sentries, all of them armed. Anakin ducks behind a storage crate as he sizes up the situation. "You two stay here with R2," he tells Padme. "Obi-Wan and I can handle this."
"It's going to be far from easy," says Obi-Wan. "Where in the world are the others?"
"Do they even know where to fly?"
"I activated my tracking beacon the moment we got to the ninety-seventh floor. They've had plenty of time," grouses Obi-Wan. "We can worry about it later. Don't go charging in, Anakin. Those crates to our right? Move from cover to cover and get a flanking position."
Padme grabs Anakin's hand. "Wait," she says, pointing to a position behind a gaggle of the guards. "Security droids."
"Battle droids?" says Anakin. Finally.
"Not Separatist droids, but still bristling with firepower," says Bail, looking over Obi-Wan's shoulder at a pair of quadrupedal, clover-shaped automata the size of dewbacks, their heads armed with a trio of blaster blisters.
Obi-Wan sighs. "How delightful."
"I can take those," says Anakin. "Listen, Obi-Wan, just go—"
But he cannot finish before a rumbling shakes the landing pad. The guards shout and point out as the Twilight looms over the front of the hanger. The droids turn. One pops off a single shot before the freighter's wing-turreted laser looses a quarrel of bolts, blasting both assault droids into a fiery shower of debris. The guards shout. Scatter. "Let's do this," Anakin growls, igniting his lightsaber and stepping out of cover.
The Twilight's ramp yawns as security opens up with small-arms fire. Out onto the ramp steps Rex, a rotary cannon in his hands. He turns to one end of the hanger and shoots, spraying blaster shots across the security, fire splashing everywhere as the guards shriek and run. Anakin is there to meet them. The first guard who raises his rifle receives a full blast of the Force as Anakin launches him into a wall. "Obi-Wan!"
"We're coming," Obi-Wan says, leading the senators and R2 forward.
"General!" shouts Rex. A blaster bolt misses his head by a hair and he pivots, spraying fire and striking two of the soldiers. "Come on!"
Anakin plunges forward, reflecting blaster bolts this way and that, pulling the cover off of a crate and launching it like a discus at a soldier. He leaps up to the Twilight's ramp, grabbing Rex's hand. "Let's go!" he shouts as Padme and Bail Organa hurry forward, R2 right behind them, Obi-Wan holding up the rear.
The Twilight shudders. The ship turns ever so slightly, its under-wing cannon now fixated on the remaining security. Then it opens fire. Seemingly half of the landing pad explodes in laser light as the ship blows apart cargo, guards, everything. Anakin can only look on. Someone else can have the heroics today.
Padme rushes to the ramp and grabs his hand. "I see Ahsoka's taking your lessons to heart," Obi-Wan snarks as he leaps onto the ramp behind Bail, R2 jetting upwards after him. "A little too well, maybe. Next she's going to be racing speeders."
"Let's not encourage her too much, Master."
Padme smiles as they enter the ship's hold. "You trained her. You have yourself to blame."
"Great. Good job, me."
That smile, though. A smile worth going through all this for. "Great job, you," says Padme.
If only they were alone.
When Anakin enters the cockpit, the Twilight is already free from the tower and pelting towards the upper atmosphere. "Already got a copilot," says Ahsoka, motioning towards Typho in the seat next to her. "You can sit and watch the show, Master."
"How about we just get to hyperspace and get out of here? Nothing too fancy. Like whatever you did to the power grid," says Anakin.
From her piloting chair, Ahsoka turns her head and grins. "Saw that, huh? You shoulda seen it in person."
"I think I've had enough excitement for one world," mutters Typho.
"Same," says Anakin. "Let's go home."
But they're barely into orbit when the Twilight's sensors blurt out in alarm. "Separatist warships," Typho says. "Several frigates."
Anakin leans forward. "What? Where?"
"Just past the planetary defense fleet. They're...they're just letting them through," says Typho. He leans back in his seat, looking shocked. "Not even firing on them. Not even trying to defend the planet."
"They called them here," breathes Anakin. "The Taths and their conspirators. They were going to throw in with the Separatists the whole time."
Ahsoka lets go of the piloting controls. Her eyes widen. "All they needed was to seize a little power and that was that, huh?"
Padme steps out from the passenger hold and looks on. "Then that's it," she murmurs, her voice heavy with defeat. "All of our effort, only to watch Taris just invite the Separatists in. There goes neutrality. There goes peace. We failed."
Anakin closes his eyes. No, he thinks as Typho locks in coordinates for the hyperdrive. No, we never had a chance here. There's far more going on than we think. But what is one world compared to what he has on this ship? Padme. Ahsoka. R2. Rex. Obi-Wan. Together again.
The war rages on. Taris falls. They survive.
Don't let them go. Don't let them go.
Centuries all around him. Millennia. The echoes and ghosts of legends. When he was a Jedi, Dooku would have loved to have spent a great deal of time in this forgotten library, perusing the archives, scanning records. The hours, the days, he could have passed doing nothing but learning. How he might have opened his eyes. How so many Jedi might have opened their eyes within these hallowed vaults—before it was too late for them, for him. For everyone.
Now it is only a means to an end. The Jedi are gone from here. All of them but two.
Dooku sizes up his company. A Jedi Knight. A Padawan. His studying of the Belderone combat data that Kalani sent him has told him all that he needs to know. "A fitting site for a meeting," he says with a smile. "Let us dispense with the animosity and talk as old friends might once have in these very halls."
"Let's not," says the black-haired Jedi Knight before him. In a flash her lightsaber is out and lit, yellow blade flaring. Of course. Adi Gallia's former apprentice has plenty of her master's fire.
The Padawan follows in the Master's footsteps, and so the blonde-haired girl lights her saber as well. Dooku shakes his head. Disappointing. "There is no need for those," he says. "Do not let your pride get in the way of your lives. I meant what I said: I am here to talk. We can be more civilized than resorting to violence as our first recourse."
"It only takes two to talk," says the Jedi Knight. She turns to the Padawan. "Tam, get out of here. Run."
"But, Master—"
"Run. Now!"
The girl hesitates. Dooku watches with baited breath. How fascinating. He feels what is going on here. Feels what passes between the two. But in the end the Padawan deactivates her lightsaber, turns, and dashes away. She makes it a few dozen meters before stopping, turning, and calling out, "Master!"
"Tamri, I said go. Now!"
"May the Force be with you, Master."
And then the Padawan is gone. Dooku smiles. Of course the girl knows: He is more than a match for this Jedi Knight. Sae Tristess. He could cut her down with minimal effort. Lord Sidious certainly would tell him to. Eliminate every last Jedi. Show them no mercy, Lord Tyranus. But already he has ordered General Grievous to take Taron Malicos alive. Already he has defied his master. And he feels something else here, something in Tristess that he did not in the Padawan, Dallin. There is a darkness in this Jedi Knight. Not anger. Not hate. Not even fear for the girl, not truly. Something deeper. Something primal. A spirit in anguish.
"Charming," says Dooku, his hands still clasped behind his back as Sae Tristess faces off with her lightsaber angled at his face. "She knows as you know: You cannot hope to defeat me."
"Yeah, bad luck seems to follow me around like that," growls Sae.
"The Jedi do not believe in luck."
"This one does."
Oh, she is an interesting one indeed. He lowers his head, just a smidgen. "Curious. I sense no fear in you. No fear of death. Not even fear for the girl's safety. More of a resignation, if anything."
"Jedi aren't supposed to feel fear, remember?"
"You would be surprised. At the end, Jedi do a great many things they shouldn't."
Sae scowls. "Suppose you'd know," she snaps. "How many'd you kill on Geonosis, Count? How many since then?"
"How many were your friends, Sae Tristess?" he replies. When the Jedi looks surprised, he raises a finger in the air. "Oh, yes. I know your name. I know hers."
"Don't you say it."
"And if I do? What will your attachment to Tamri Dallin make you do? Where will it lead you?" says Dooku. "I know what you feel right now. I can sense that turmoil in you. You braved venturing behind enemy lines, did you not? Surviving on Belderone only to end up here on deserted Ossus. Only to end up betrayed. Only to find me."
"How'd that happen, huh?"
"One of your mercenaries. Placing your faith in degenerates is never a good idea."
Sae takes a step back. "Didn't have much choice."
"You think that by keeping me talking you will allow the girl time to run. You can follow her, Sae. You can both live to see tomorrow. Just tell me why you are here." He steps forward. She steps back. "Tell me why the Jedi sent you here. Tell me why the Jedi abandoned you and your apprentice here. Tell me why they have left you to my mercy. Tell me why they have sacrificed you."
Sae shakes her head. "I don't think so. You want to kill me, Sith? Come and try."
"You would like that, wouldn't you?" says Dooku, and from the way her eyes darken he can tell he has struck a nerve. Good. His instincts were right. He knows what lurks inside her. The turmoil. That roiling thunderhead menace like a storm at sea. "Your master. Adi Gallia. I knew her when I was a Jedi. Now she is dead, isn't she? Who else is dead?"
"Why do you care? They're all the same to you."
"Wrong. Some Jedi are more fascinating than others. And the ones you cared for: They haunt you don't they? I can feel the darkness in you. That pain. That grief. All those knives turned inward against your heart. Deep down you do wield anger, but not against others. You wield it against yourself," he says. He shakes his head. "You could be so much more, if only you used that hate. If only you turned it from a weight into a weapon. You have so much potential." He pauses. "You want it all to end. But you have only just begun."
"That so?"
"Indeed. Imagine the power that could be yours. Imagine how much you hold yourself back now. How much you burden yourself with the ghosts of others. Do not try to hide it. I can see it. I can feel it," he taunts. She is so close. So close. "Imagine how much worse the pain will get when the girl dies."
And then: There it is. Sae roars and leaps at him. He catches her lightsaber with his own blade at the last possible moment, the two's eyes locked a foot away. "Very good," he rumbles.
Sae swings again and Dooku catches her blow with ease. Like a teacher instructing a student. "Tell me why you are here," he barks as he intercepts another of Sae's strikes. Lightsabers clashing, whirring, sizzling, light blooming like stellar birth each time the blades touch. "Tell me what you came to find. Tell me why the Jedi threw you away. Tell me why the Jedi sent you and your apprentice to die."
Attack and attack and attack. Sae holds nothing back. Dooku can see he was right: She is throwing everything into the fight partly in a delaying bid, but also because she truly does not care what happens to her. If he strikes her down, it will be a service. He could end her pain just like that.
But he will not waste someone so useful.
Dooku parries her next blow and then moves into his own attack. In mere moments he forces Sae onto the defensive, his precision and skill with the blade outmaneuvering her guard. He could end it so easily. Take her hand. Take her head. But a teacher does not instruct by killing his students. Some lessons must be taught delicately.
Some students require a firm hand. Some have to see the solution for themselves.
He backs her down against the archive stacks. "I know you have found something," he growls as he slashes, strikes, parries, ripostes.
Sae somersaults away from his flurry. She grabs the towering shelf. Grimaces. Focuses. Then brings the whole stack down on Dooku.
Easy. He steps back, flips, and leaps over the collapsing shelf. But it was not an attack—just another delaying action. Already Sae has maneuvered around him and retreated to the center of the room, and as he attacks she jumps, flipping in the air with the Force, reaching the top of one of the stacks before leaping again up to the same ventilation shaft through which he entered.
"There is no going back now," he says as she watches from the shaft entrance. "I know you have felt it. You and I both know what is within you. You and I both know what you can be. The Jedi see you as a tool, Sae Tristess. Someone to be used and discarded. Your Padawan as well. You can be so much more."
"Not right now," says Sae. Then she disappears up the vent.
Dooku switches off his lightsaber. He knows she was guarding something else—something important from this very library. Some valuable prize the Jedi want. He will not get it today, but that it is not a problem. He will get it eventually. He will find Sae Tristess again.
And when he does, he will take her, too.
Tamri runs.
Unknown hallways and alien corridors. Surroundings blending together. You coward. You coward. You weak and pitiful little coward.
Everyone is right about you. You are right about you. You are nothing. You are barely even a Jedi. You can't even defend your master. Sae is probably dying right now because you couldn't do something so simple as standing by her side. You left her to die.
You coward.
She can almost see her tormentors as she runs like a lost dog, pelting this way and that down hallways leading anywhere. Demons erupting from her heart as if she is dashing into perdition. Go back. Go back and face Dooku. Go back and save Sae. But she cannot: She can only run. She can only move forward, up the ascending corridors, her breath coming in heavy pants, stitches clawing at her side. The air around her aglow with the fungi clinging to the wall. The stone pressing in. The pain pressing in. She is a coward, after all. All cowards do is run away.
Someone help me. Please.
By some miracle she feels the air clearing. Dust in the breeze. Something is guiding her, some invisible hand pulling her out of the darkness. She lets it take over. Trust in the Force, Sae has always said. The Living Force flows in us all. Let it point you where it may and you will find what you need to. If there is ever a time for her master to be right, it is now.
There: The light, and not more of the glowing fungus. It is sunlight. Pale, wan glow—but sunlight. Tamri runs with every drop of energy she can summon. Run. Run, you coward.
The tunnel widens, emerges into a half-collapsed hidden entrance in the side of the mountain veiled beneath a rockfall, and spits Tamri out halfway up the peak from where she and Sae entered the library. A small plain before her leads to an overlook, beyond which yawns a sheer cliff. No easy way down, this. She looks around for a better way—a slope, a landslide, anything—when she hears the sound of an engine. Not a ship engine—a swoop.
As soon as she turns the swoop is upon her. She ducks and falls to the ground as the bike roars past her, thruster turbine thundering like a legendary beast roused from its slumber. The swoop jolts, swerves, slows. Comes to a stop amid cumulus dust. An armored rider steps off with a rifle in his hands. Bounty hunter, she thinks at first—someone else must have known they were here and tipped off Dooku. But it is not just someone, she can see, for he wears no helmet.
Lendon Rust. He does not look like the carefree Zeltron piloting the Evening that she remembers. Instead, cobbled-together armor coats him from neck to boots like an arthropodal exoskeleton of mismatched droid parts. The jetpack on his back is nothing like the old Mandalorians Tamri has seen in the Jedi archives, but instead an industrial beast, all fury and power and metal. "Jedi," he barks. Even his voice sounds different: Surgical. Determined. Filled with drive. All business. "That's far enough."
Tamri switches on her lightsaber. "It was you, wasn't it?" she spits. "You brought Count Dooku here, didn't you?"
"Put that thing away."
"Why did you do it?"
"There's a hefty price on any Jedi's head," he says, waving the rifle at her. "I had a little time to myself to think about it when you and your master were in that mountain. Figured out I was acting like an idiot. No credits in honor, girl. Sorry."
"I trusted you!"
"Not my problem," he says. "It's dead or alive, the bounty. Come on, Tamri. I'm not enthusiastic about hurting children."
"Come and try!"
He shrugs. "Fair enough."
His jetpack flares to life and he takes to the air. No clean or pretty thing is this: The jetpack belches black smoke, its fiery exhaust red and angry. Rust jets at her with his rifle ready. Tamri steadies her lightsaber. The mercenary fires. His gun howls like a carnivore.
Tamri intercepts the first round of gunfire, but instead of reflecting the bolts as she expected, the rounds merely disintegrate on her saber blade, flaring in little starbursts on the energy. Shocked, she whirls away as Rust peppers her position, shots kicking up dust on the ground. Tamri looks to her left and sees it: Spent ammunition. It's not a blaster but a slugthrower, a needler, and the best she can hope to do is catch the metal flechettes it fires, not deflect them back at Rust. He knows what the Jedi can do from the impound yard on Belderone. He has prepared.
She turns and readies her lightsaber again. Rust whirls in the air. Fires. Again Tamri catches his shots. At least she is Jedi enough to do that. All she can hope to do is exhaust his ammo, frustrate him, get him to close with her out of irritation, and then try and take him down with her blade. It's a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.
As Rust pivots for a third pass, however, he stops in mid-air. Tamri feels a wave of emotion hit her, a burst in the Force. Something angry. Something mean.
Out from the tunnel emerges Sae with a scowl on her face.
"Master!" Tamri cries.
"There you are," Rust says.
Sae points her lightsaber at him. "C'mere and die, merc."
"Don't think so. Have some of this!" Rust bellows. He flies at her and unleashes another flurry. Sae intercepts his shots with ease, but just like Tamri she looks shocked when the rounds only burst upon her lightsaber. "Master, it's not a blaster," Tamri says, holding her blade in a guard.
"Yeah, I get that now. Stay back," says Sae. "Just stay behind me."
"We have to—"
"Stay behind me!"
Again Rust turns for another pass. Sae deactivates her lightsaber. Replaces it on her belt. "What're you doing?" cries Tamri.
Rust fires. Sae reaches out her hand and the flechettes slam to a halt before her, trapped in a wave of the Force. Sae's face contorts. A monstrous look. As Rust passes, Sae waves her hand at him and the flechettes rocket out like a shotgun blast. Several catch Rust's jetpack and he crashes to the ground, his armor sparking.
Again Sae's lightsaber flares to life. "You filthy traitor," Sae snarls at Rust as he picks himself out of the dirt. He fires another burst at her and she intercepts the flechettes with ease. "We put our lives in your hands and you sell us out to Dooku? What'd you think he was going to give you? 'Cuz right now you'd better start worrying about what I'm going to do to you."
"Come at me Jedi. I'm ready."
"Are you? We'll see."
Tamri grabs Sae's arm. "Wait!" she says. Sae shakes her off. "Master, wait."
"Tam, let go."
"No! Master, stop."
Sae looks at her, her eyes smoldering. Tamri can feel it. Something happened between the moment she left Sae in that library and now. Something horrible. Something vicious. A foul root has dug into the soil of Sae's heart, deep down there in the very core, and now Sae is looking at her as if she does not even recognize her. "Master, please," Tamri says. "He's defeated. Let's just go."
And that quickly the moment passes. That feral glare fades. Her master looks like herself again. That same face she has known for years. That face she trusts. "Yeah," she says, her voice cooling. "Yeah. Get out of here, Rust. Get lost."
"Forget that," Lendon says.
"You want to find out what happens next? Really?"
What comes next is a rumbling, a shuddering, as if the mountain is coming down atop them. From below the overlook the Evening rises, surging forth to meet them with its boarding ramp lowered. Rust grins. "Gotta have something stored up your sleeve, Jedi," he says. He turns to the freighter. "Neelotas! Shoot 'em!"
Tamri turns with her lightsaber ready, but the ship does not so much as budge from where it hangs in the air. Its frontal laser cannon does not flare up. "Neelotas!" Rust shouts. "What're you waiting for? Shoot!"
Finally the Nautolan emerges on the boarding ramp, clad in the same pieced-together armor as Rust. His face overflows with bitterness. Resting on his shoulder is a missile launcher. Tamri readies herself to shove away the rocket, but Neelotas turns away from them. Aims right at Rust.
Fires.
Lendon Rust has just enough time to dodge before the missile hits. The explosion throws up a wall of flame, rock and earth and bursting air coalescing in a blossom of chaos. Tamri ducks as Sae catches incoming debris with the Force and lets it fall before them. Turning, Tamri has jut enough time to see Rust, still alive, scrabbling on sliding rock as part of the overlook gives way and sends him tumbling down the cliffside.
"Get on board, wizards," Neelotas Lam says, lowering his missile launcher. His voice is one of defeat. His words resignation. His face disappointment.
"What—" Tamri begins, but Sae tugs at her hand.
"Let's go," Sae hisses, pulling her onto the boarding ramp as Neelotas trudges up into the ship, tossing the launcher away as he does.
As the ramp closes, Tamri and Sae hurry into the cockpit. Neelotas is already at the piloting station. The co-pilot seat lies vacant. "Why'd you help us?" says Tamri.
Neelotas does not respond at first. He throws switches, fires the boosters, and the Evening ascends into the desolate cloud cover. As the darkness of space falls down around them, he sits back in his chair and sighs. "Told him when we left the Brood we'd do things with honor," he murmurs, more to himself then to the Jedi. "Told him we should just stick with the boys if we were gonna do it the old way, that there was no other reason to leave. Told him so many times. Shame. Damn shame." He lets out a long, slow breath. "Let's just get out of here, Jedi. One of you punch in the destination. I'm too tired to do this."
