These meetings grow smaller and smaller with time. Fewer senators, fewer Jedi. Their numbers dwindling alongside their odds. Unspoken tension thickens the air; words pass like lures, fishing for hope. Glances shot across the bows of their friends and allies, wondering what, who, will be next to fall. Most of the Senate is gone. A third of the Jedi Council is dead. And given the course of the war in recent months, Padme thinks, the fighting will only keep making things worse before they can get better. If they get better.
Obi-Wan looks ten years older than he did when she met him again on Coruscant with Anakin back in the last days before the war broke out. Back when assassins and diplomatic tensions were the biggest concerns of the day. Back before any of them knew all the hard, cruel facts they know now. "Kamino survived, but not without injury," Obi-Wan tells the assembly of the Jedi Council and the Senate leadership in Bail Organa's office. "Clone production will proceed unhindered for a time, but if the war drags on too long, we're going to have trouble keeping our numbers up." He lowers his head and rubs his beard. "And of Master Kolar, you already know."
Bail takes a deep breath and shakes his head, his expression grave. "We can't defend everywhere," he says. "We've lost far too much of our fighting ability when half of our fleet ran off with Tarkin. The Separatists are pounding closer and closer to the Core with every victory, and meanwhile, we're simply bleeding out against men who were our comrades just a month ago."
"We are preparing for the eventuality of a Separatist invasion of the Core. Master Billaba has moved her fleet to Vurdon Ka to defend the Perlemian Trade Route, and Master Vos is on his way to reinforce her. We will be ready if Dooku is so foolish as to mount an all-out offensive," Master Mundi says.
"Are you?" Bail says. There's a hint of anger and frustration lacing his words as he looks Master Mundi in the eye. Not easy being Supreme Chancellor at any time, Padme thinks, but doubly so now, with the Republic reeling and bad news coming in every day. It's hard to find the good things that will keep the people fighting and working and living.
Master Stass Allie frowns. "Chancellor?"
"It seems as if we haven't been ready for our enemies' moves for quite some time," says Bail. "The losses aren't just hurting me and the Senate; they're hurting the Jedi Order's reputation, too. I've heard the rumors. I've caught wind of popular sentiment. More and more, the public's losing faith in the ability of both the clone army and the Jedi to defend them. A few senators even were asking—very vocally, and very publicly—where the Jedi were when Corsin fell to the Separatists." He sighs. "I will defend the Order as long as I lead the Republic. But we cannot keep falling back, or we won't have anywhere to retreat to before long."
"We need time to account for our losses," Master Mundi says, attempting to ease Bail's frustrations. "With four members of the Council dead, we need to find new leadership."
"And how long will that take?"
"I cannot say."
Bail narrows his eyes. He glances to Padme, then to Obi-Wan. "That will be all for today," he says, his firm tone making it clear that he wants to hear no more about Kamino or battles or losses. "I have to prepare for a meeting."
As the Jedi and Padme's fellow senators file out of the office, Obi-Wan lingers behind. "Chancellor Organa."
"Not today, Master Kenobi, not if it isn't an emergency. Most certainly not now."
Padme has held her silence the entire time. She knows the course of the war by now. She knows things look bad. But it's what she didn't expect that's concerning her most right now—particularly concerning who didn't join the Jedi for this gathering. "Master Kenobi, we need to talk," she says as Obi-Wan shakes his head and heads for the exit.
"There's not much to say. Chancellor Organa's right about that," Obi-Wan muses as they step out of the office and into the soft purple hallways of the Senate Executive Building's upper floors. "We can talk until we fall over of exhaustion, but until we repulse the Separatists, we're only killing time. Every battle against the Tarkinists, win or lose, is carrying out a slow suicide."
Padme chooses her words carefully. "I see Master Yoda didn't join us today."
"He's carrying the weight of the whole Order on his back with Master Windu's death. Don't be too hard on him, Senator."
"That's fair. But," she adds, glancing at Obi-Wan out of the side of her eye, "he wasn't the only one who didn't join us."
Obi-Wan stops and takes a breath. "Padme—"
"Where's Anakin?" she interrupts, cornering him against a wall. There's no one else to look on, no one but Obi-Wan to see the shadow of worry in her eyes. "Why didn't he come back with you?"
"It's not that simple."
"It is that simple. Master Kolar died over Kamino. What else happened? Did something happen to Anakin?"
Her words come hot and fast. She doesn't care if Obi-Wan suspects anything, if any seeds of doubt and distrust spring up from the soil of his mind. Let them. Let them grow and blossom. More and more it feels like the end of everything that was is coming, closer and closer, day by precious day. All the death and destruction and loss has taught Padme what really matters, and she won't turn away from it as the Republic writhes in its darkest hour.
If Obi-Wan does doubt her, however, he doesn't show it. His eyes drift away from hers, lost peering through some outer prism only he can see. "He took up a mission in the wake of the battle," he says slowly.
"A mission? Something the Jedi gave him?"
"Something he gave himself."
"Where?"
Obi-Wan shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Padme. That's all I can say. He didn't want to drag anyone else into it. Not me. Not Ahsoka. And I know he wouldn't want you involved, either."
He turns away without another word, escaping Padme's gaze as she wrangles with the truth. Don't do this, Anakin. Don't play hero now when I need you most, when we all need you. Whatever you're after, find it and find it quickly. Don't linger. Come back home where you and I belong at the end.
The whispers slip out from the dark.
"There was no father," they say, gliding past Anakin's defenses and seeping into his thoughts. "I carried him. I raised him."
His eyes dart from left to right. No one else in the dark tunnel. No faces peering out from that encroaching black stone glowering from the ceiling and thrusting from the walls. He is alone in a silence breached only by his footsteps and his breathing, but deep in the heart of the Ziost pyramid, Anakin hears his mother. Her first—then come others.
"You're too hard on yourself. You're not all-powerful."
Anakin's fingers brush his lightsaber on his belt. It's overwhelming in here, the Dark Side. It touches his mind, slithers in the unnamed hollows between his thoughts, a serpent born of time and malice crawling through the darkness into which he cannot see. And it calls to him, it does. It calls in a hundred voices he knows and a thousand words he has heard, poking, prodding, experimenting, trying to pick him apart feeling by feeling until the darkness might know him better than he knows himself.
"Brave of you boy. But I would have thought you'd have learned your lesson."
Tension spikes. The air curdles. Anakin's hand hovers over his saber as he treads deeper into the pyramid, watching, waiting. There is power here. Dooku has known it, and Anakin will know it. But what is it knowing first?
Oh, such questions with such answers—for the next voice he hears in that quiet dark is his own.
"I thought we had decided not to fall in love. That we would be forced to live a lie, and that it would destroy our lives."
He clenches his jaw. He knows what comes next. What words that were once spoken that cannot be unsaid. He does not want to hear them, not from this alien dark, yet whatever power lurks in here says them anyway in her voice: "I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyway. I truly, deeply love you. And before we die I want you to know."
He takes up his lightsaber and lights the blade. Sapphire light throwing back so little of the darkness, the black creeping so close it threatens to snuff out his Jedi weapon. He clenches the hilt as if that light will keep the whispers at bay, but as Anakin steps forward through a tightening of the passage, it is not the solid metal of his lightsaber handle he feels at his hand. It's a softer touch. A gentle, reassuring feeling that is so far away from this cold and dark place, yet feels as close as it always has during those blissful nights on Coruscant when his Jedi duties fall away and there is nothing keeping him from that touch. From her.
I know you, the darkness seems to say in the deepest recession of his mind as it toys with his senses. I know you as well as she does. And I know just what can drive you into the dark.
But it is not just the two of them, Anakin and that nameless, formless invader creeping about within the Ziost pyramid. Suddenly his thoughts are shattered, his instincts jarred by a tremor in the Force, a shock of anger rolling like a tidal wave. Ahead, deep within the bowels of the pyramid, a man cries out: "Give it to me!"
That is no trick of the mind and the Dark Side. Someone else is in here. Refocusing on the task at hand, Anakin raises his lightsaber to his shoulder and advances.
A new light glows ahead. An off-yellow, dead-yet-alive, a sickly glint of a moribund star. But a shadow moves across the light, occluding it. Anakin stops. He can just hear the shadow's words: "Kenobi? No. Someone new."
The shadow moves away and Anakin walks ahead.
Before him opens up a grand chamber, a parlor overlooking a whirlpooling of light and dark buried into a recess in the rocky floor. A viewing platform overlooks the vortex and Anakin walks up, eyes darting around the dusky chamber, yet he sees no one else. They are hiding. Waiting for him.
He looks down into the whirlpool. An inky pupil unblinking amid that swirling color and decay. As he stares, the darkness flinches. Budges. Ever so slightly, so infinitesimally that Anakin thinks he is imagining it. Yet he has the feeling that he is not just watching it: It is watching him.
Then a sound claps out behind him, and all thoughts of that dark power below vanish.
"Anakin," a low, calm voice murmurs, "Skywalker."
Anakin turns. A Zabrak in black robes. Red and black facial tattoos. He knows him. "Maul."
"I see we are acquainted," Maul says as he straightens up. "Kenobi's legendary apprentice. So long has it been since he took you as his pupil, and yet it is only now at the edge of this great and old power that we meet." His eyes flash to the vortex. "A shame that the Celestial speaks nothing to me."
"Sounds like it's your cue to get lost," Anakin growls. "Why are you here? Are you with Dooku, now?"
Maul smiles. "I am here because I am the Dark Lord of the Sith. This power is born of the Dark Side, manifested by the Dark Side—and I reign over the Dark Side. Do not speak to me of Dooku. Tyranus is a pretender. Nothing more. No more threatening to me than you are."
Anakin holds his lightsaber aloft. "Is that so?"
"I have beaten Kenobi before. Imagine what he will do when he finds out I have killed his apprentice," Maul murmurs. "I can still hear his howl of despair when I struck down the Duchess of Mandalore. This will be even more satisfying."
"Go ahead. Try."
Maul shakes his head. "There is no try."
In the blink of an eye he launches at Anakin, igniting the dual blades of his lightsaber mid-leap. Anakin crashes down on him, cleaving with his blade as their sabers clash and spark and spit. Then Maul flits away, both hands on his lightsaber hilt and both eyes locked on Anakin. "Such power in your strike," he says. "Born of confidence. Of recklessness. Of anger. You are not the Jedi you claim to be. There is the darkness in equal parts with the light."
"You know nothing," Anakin hisses.
"I know the Dark Side. And I know what I feel in you," Maul says, setting his feet. "Show me, Jedi. Show me your rage."
He attacks again. Anakin stands his ground, slicing at Maul's waist, sidestepping when his foe blocks and evading the Sith's follow-up swing. He turns and whirls. Maul counters, blocking and throwing his weight into a slice that Anakin ducks. Each swing is meant to kill: There is no dancing, no fancy moves, no fineries. They duel to the death.
But as they attack, block, move, and clash, a light steadily grows in the Celestial's chamber. Brilliant globes like miniature suns rise from the vortex's dark center, rising and rising in the shaken fury of the battle-torn air. The spheres of light fan out around the chamber as Anakin drives his lightsaber down on Maul's guard again and again, his fire burning hot. Sith. Dark Side. He will have none of it. He has tolerated them too long. Dooku, Maul, enemies all the same. Kill him. Kill them all.
Anakin dodges away from Maul's thrust and kicks, striking the Zabrak in the rib and launching him away. Maul grunts and finds his footing, moving to attack again—but as he takes a step, he stops as if struck by an invisible fist. He doubles over, clutching his head and screaming, "No! No, not—get out! Get out!"
Confused, Anakin holds his lightsaber out in a defense pose. What is he doing? But as his mind whirs, he looks to his right and sees the vortex twisting and whirling. There is a howling from that dark storm, a cry that lashes out at Anakin's mind as the light grows and the noise thunders. Then a lance of pain stabs Anakin through his temples and he bends over, clutching his head and gasping. It is all he can do to look on as a hand takes hold of his mind and twists, visions flashing before his eyes.
His mother on Tatooine, watching as Qui-Gon Jinn leads him away for a new life.
Padme on Naboo. Waterfalls and tall grasses. That beautiful smile.
"No," Anakin grunts, fighting back. He balls his fists and tries to rise, but the pain strikes him even harder. "No!"
Coruscant. Debris rains down from a fiery sky, smoke billowing above a brutalized Jedi Temple.
Tython and a field of fire.
"No!"
Anakin throws back his attacker. He straightens up, his heart burning, his mind aflame. He came here to see. He came to know. So show me, power. Celestial. Whatever you are. As Maul writhes on the ground, Anakin fights through the pain, trudges up to the viewing platform, and holds his hand in the empty air above the howling typhoon. "Show me!"
A geyser of lava erupts behind Obi-Wan on a molten planet. "You were meant to destroy the Sith, not join them!"
A man in black armor adjusts the targeting controls inside a tight cockpit: "The Force is strong with this one."
Two fighters battle above a great open shaft, a blue lightsaber, a red one.
That same black-armored warrior paces in the darkness aboard a colossal battle station. Above him stands a young man in black with a face that is far too familiar: "Your thoughts betray you, Father. I feel the good in you."
Then that black-armored warrior takes hold of the Lord of the Sith as lightning courses through the air, snapping at them both, tearing at that redeemed soul as he hurls that Dark Lord to his death.
So quickly the revelations pass. Anakin stumbles back, heaving. He clutches his chest, his heart thumping, his thoughts blurred. Below the vortex has quieted, its writhing stilled. He looks to his left. Maul is on the ground, still, quiet. But it is not just the two of them anymore. The orbs of light that rose from the Celestial now coalesce into the shape of a man, image taking features taking face. The light comes together, and Anakin sets his eyes upon a man who knew him for such a short time yet left such a great impact.
Qui-Gon. "Anakin," he says—Qui-Gon, a vision, the Celestial, whatever it is—before adding, "Darth Vader. That is the name you came to hear, is it not? The name of a different man, in a different time, in a different place."
"What are you?" Anakin breathes, taking a step back. "Master Qui-Gon?"
"He is dead. But if you listen to the sounds between the spaces, you may hear him again," the vision says. "I take the form of one you both know, you and the man who only knows that his name is Maul. For it is you two who mean everything now." The vision of Qui-Gon looks to the fallen Zabrak. "Mortis."
"What?"
"It is a world you have forgotten," the vision murmurs, "but one of my kind touched you there. And when he did, we all did."
Qui-Gon snaps his fingers. Maul looks up, gasping, panting. Then he sees Anakin, growls, and leaps up, igniting his lightsaber. The vision waves his hand, and the blade peters out. Maul looks down in disbelief before seeing his fallen foe standing before him. He snarls and backs away. "Jedi. I killed you," he mutters, his eyes wild. "What is this trickery?"
"Your weapon will not serve you here, son of Dathomir," the Celestial says.
Maul snarls, "What are you? What did I see?" He points to the Celestial's pit. "What did you show me?"
"The man you could become," the Celestial says as it looks from him to Anakin. "A broken man on a lonely world of sand and sorrow, defeated by his hated enemy at the end. The path you will walk if you let your hatred devour you." It looks back to him. "The two of you walked into my home as adversaries. But you must leave this place as allies."
"He's a Sith," Anakin says, jabbing at Maul. "He's no ally of anyone."
"Sith and Jedi are only titles, Anakin," the Celestial says. "How many titles do you have? Jedi. Son. Master. Apprentice. Husband."
Maul clenches his fist. "You have power, thing," he seethes, "but you gave that power to Dooku. Give it to me."
"I gave the man you call Tyranus nothing but the tools of his own destruction, just as I gave the Sith over the years," the Celestial says. It looks back to its pit, its eyes downcast. "I have known many men like Tyranus. This planet was the capital of the Sith Empire for millennia. They came to this place. Desecrated a verdant world. Despoiled its natural beauty and sowed its soil with the Dark Side. This world you call Ziost is a blight. And the only way to correct it is to destroy it."
Anakin glances at Maul warily, his fingers twitching and ready in case the Zabrak moves to fight. "You know things," he says to the Celestial, "so what are you, exactly? What does Dooku want with you?"
"The same thing that you both believe you want. Power," the Celestial says, Qui-Gon's voice flat and contemplative. "But I have seen what power does to men. I saw your Sith in their infancy, Maul, and I know their penchant towards self-destruction. Just as I know your people, Skywalker. I know the Jedi when they bathed this world in fire in an attempt to destroy their foe. I know the cycle they have condemned this galaxy to."
"Cycle? What cycle?"
Qui-Gon frets. "Thirty thousand years ago my people ruled the galaxy through the Force. We shaped intelligences, forged life. We were revered as gods and we thought we could bring order to a chaotic universe—until we uplifted a race that called themselves the Rakata. We taught them our secrets. Showed them the way of the Force. But they were brutish, angry, wrathful. They took to the Dark Side like moths to flame, and with their power, with their hatred, they destroyed my people. They captured me and imprisoned me here. And for thirty millennia I have watched and waited. Thirty thousand years have trapped me here, time and stone and memory passing me by. But even from my prison I can still touch all life that is connected to the Force. I know what the Jedi and Sith have done. I know the endless warring, the deaths, the horrors. You have walked in the footsteps of my people's destroyers and learned nothing. War is the principle of this galaxy as it has always been. And that war stems from the fundamental difference between your orders. Light and Dark. Never can they meet—or so you think."
"But the truth of the matter has always been evident. We knew it in our time. And deep down, you, Skywalker, know it," the Celestial says. "Balance. It is not a creation of the Light alone. It is not a leveling that the Jedi themselves can create. You need more. You need shadows. You need places where the sun will never shine. You need the darkness." It looks to Maul. "There must always be phantoms to arise at midnight and walk lands of eternal twilight. There must always be a counter. There must always be the Dark Side. I waited for that counter, endured generations of would-be rulers who thought they could control the Dark Side and turn it to their advantage. But I see in you what I never saw in them: A chance to break free from that madness."
Maul scowls. "I will never stand with any Jedi."
"Then you will perish, as I showed you," the Celestial says. "But that isn't what you wish, is it? You told your mother you are the Lord of the Sith. Not the conqueror of the Jedi."
"You know—"
"Everything," the Celestial finishes, "but you will not believe my words alone. Neither of you will. You must see the reality of this universe with your own eyes. You, Maul, must look upon the past that your unbound hatred might bring. And you, Anakin—" the Celestial turns— "must see what future the past might shape. You both seek power, but I will give you a weapon far, far stronger. I will give you truth. And with that truth, the two of you might end this cycle and bring balance once and for all."
The Celestial turns, Qui-Gon's eyes dark and deep. "Now go. You both know where you must go. Leave this dark and dreary home—for while it is my prison, it is still mine. I ask only that you, when the time comes, put an end to all things that need ending."
Qui-Gon fades, dissipating into so many orbs of light that gather above the Celestial's pit. One by one they wink out, the light within the chamber dying. Not until dusk and shadow settle once more above the Celestial's seething vortex do Anakin and Maul move. Anakin hooks his lightsaber on his belt, backing away with his eyes on Maul the whole time as he backsteps into the tunnel. Maul looks to the Celestial; back to Anakin. Neither knows the truth. Not yet. They do not know if they have seen some sort of shared delusion or a window into a promise beyond the lives each has grown up with.
They will not know now. Not unless they trust those words, follow their paths, seek the truth. Only through action, through trust, will they know.
Neither speaks a word. Anakin does not move his eyes from Maul until he is a good fifty feet down the tunnel leading out, when he turns and jogs away into the darkness and towards the light. Both in equal parts. Balance.
Mortis. What does that mean? It is not the only strange name in the back of Anakin's mind all of the sudden. There is another, a name he has never heard. Odd, alien. And yet when he thinks of it, he thinks only of goodness. Not a name that has been. A name that might be.
The snow still falls as he exits the passage, but even as he left Maul back in the Celestial's chamber, he is not alone. "Ventress?"
She leans against the rock wall at the mouth of the pyramid, arms crossed over her chest, eyes wandering across the stormy sky. "Find what you were looking for?"
"Yes. Or no. I don't know. I thought you were leaving," Anakin says.
"I am still leaving, but the private hanger I found has only one ship. And it is crawling with battle droids," Ventress says, glancing at Anakin. "I figured there was an easier solution than going it alone. This time."
They do not say a word as they walk down the bridge to Baron Bonamma's manor. There are four of them, each armed, each ready. Tamri keeps her lightsaber on her belt, instead wielding a blaster pistol in each hand, her heart hardened, her jaw set. To her right Neelotas carries a heavy blaster rifle longer than Tamri's arm; on her left Avea wields a slugthrower carbine, her sleeves rolled up, her long white hair tied back, her eyes glinting with energy. Behind them all Falco wades forward, his clone commando rifle loose in his hands, armor concealing him from head to toe. They are not here to negotiate. They are not here to do anything but find Korkie and kill anyone in their way.
Tamri's wrist commlink blinks; she stares straight ahead as she answers: "Go ahead."
"We're at the sub depot. There's almost no one here," Kesh answers. "Barely any guards. It was almost easy."
"There has been another break-in, shortly before we arrived. Whoever the intruder was, security has fanned out to hunt them," Dominion adds over the comm. "We are not the only ones raiding this depot, it seems."
Tamri doesn't so much as blink at the news. "Can you still get a sub?"
"There are two vehicles at dock currently. It should not be a problem, Miss Dallin."
"Then do it and meet us at the Baron's manor. Until then, radio silence," Tamri says, ending the call.
Before them rises the gate, with a pair of casual-looking guards leaning against it. It looks different in the sun, Tamri thinks. Not so imposing without the darkness. Weak and defeatable. Everything is before her now, and as her anger over this whole situation rises—bad enough the Baron's participation in the slave trade, for whatever reason, but far, far worse abducting Korkie, even if Bonamma did think he was the Jedi—everything seems easy. There's a power flowing in her veins now, just like back on Telos when that anger struck her again. Use it. Fight with it. Drive the scum into the sea.
"Follow my lead," Tamri mutters to her companions.
She raises one of her blaster pistols and levels it at the left guard. He looks up and freezes; his companion reaches for his gun, but Neelotas is faster, drawing his rifle and aiming it at the guard's head. "Grab it and die," Neelotas snarls, his usual jovial tone gone and replaced by a sharp-edged growl.
"Whoa. Okay, okay," the left guard says as Tamri's group approaches. "Just calm down."
Falco smashes his armored fist into the man's face. He crumples like inanimate matter. The other guard starts to yell before Neelotas slams him into the gate, then throws him to the ground. Unconscious. Probably a concussion, but even if the man has catastrophic brain damage from Neelotas's hit, Tamri doesn't care. She doesn't care at all about collateral damage right now, let alone which of Bonamma's thugs get hurt. She wants Korkie back. That's it. That's everything.
Inside the gate, a few richly-clad guests look up and gasp. Tamri holds her pistols outright, aiming at one, then the next. Try me. Go on and try me.
Security tightens up at the manor itself. A trio of guards near the front entrance spot Tamri's approach, wave to one another, and raise their weapons. "Stop!" one shouts. "Right there, stop!"
Another pair of guards on the second-floor balcony. Tamri doesn't care. She stops ten meters from the door, Falco, Avea, and Neelotas lining up around her, all with weapons drawn and trigger fingers ready. Tamri looks up. "Baron!" she thunders. "Baron, get out here, now."
"Turn around!" one of the guards shouts."
"Get out here or I'll start killing!"
After a moment, Bonamma emerges on the balcony, flanked by another trio of guards. "Eress Vescarion," he shouts. "I knew you weren't some Hapan noble."
"It's Tamri. Tamri Dallin. And I'm going to shoot every last one of your men unless you give me Korkie in the next sixty seconds," Tamri snarls. She has tossed away every ounce of patience, throw aside every Jedi teaching. The hell with them. What good are they doing now that a good blaster can't do?
Bonamma waves his hand dismissively. "Korkie, is that his name? You hear this, then: I have your Jedi, and I'm not giving him up until he's told me everything," the Twi'lek answers. "I know you came to spy on me. I don't know who you really are, but you won't get away with it."
"You fool. You don't have anything. The Jedi's right here," Tamri snaps. She holsters her left pistol, draws her lightsaber, and ignites the green blade. "You're down to forty seconds."
The Baron jerks back at the sight of the lightsaber. "That," he breathes, grabbing the arm of one of his guards. "Look, you idiot, shoot! Shoot the Jedi, shoot them!"
Tamri pivots, levels her pistol at the nearest guard's head, and fires.
Blaster fire erupts like a light show. Neelotas, Falco, and Avea empty their magazines in a rapid-fire explosion of gunshots that tear apart the manor's foyer in moments. Three guards drop instantly. The survivors fall behind cover, lancing shots back as Tamri's group ducks behind the frontal courtyard's fountain. Blaster fire breaks stone from its foundation as Tamri knocks away a shot with her lightsaber. "They're holing up inside. We need to get in," she says.
"On it. Keep me cover for a few seconds," Falco says.
"What are you doing?"
He pulls the front barrel off of his commando rifle, stashing it on his belt while drawing a replacement module and fitting it to the gun. Then he aims over the fountain's lip and launches a rifle grenade that blows apart the front door in a shower of flame.
"Two more, top floor," Avea says, leaning out and cracking off a shot.
"I got you covered, get a move on," Neelotas says, stepping out from cover and leveling his weapon. He lets out a war cry in Huttese before bathing the manor façade in automatic fire that forces the surviving guards to duck.
Taking advantage of the suppressing fire, Tamri surges forward. "With me!" she shouts, pistol blazing as she dashes ahead, leading with her lightsaber.
A guard wheels out from behind a column. Anger flares. How dare you. Tamri channels that rage, pulls it into her hand, and with a blast of the Force sends the guard flying through the blown-out front door. So tired of it all. So tired of them screwing with her. So tired of playing the good little Tamri of old. Get out of the way or she'll make them get out of the way.
Just try and screw with me again.
As soon as she's through the door, a guard lying in wait grabs her around the neck. She bats at his elbow, shoves him back, and levels her lightsaber. Falco is right behind her, however: He pops out a short, stubby, retractable metal wrist blade from his left gauntlet and plunges it into the guard's throat, never even losing his momentum as he runs right on by. Blood spurts as the man claws at his opened throat.
Tamri leaves him to die. She follows Falco deeper into the manor—and if she didn't know how the veteran clone commando survived that trap on Belderone, she learns right now. He plunges into the inner courtyard that so recently was full of dancers and revelers and partygoers, now full of eight guards ready to throw the attackers back. Falco does not so much as slow down. He shoots the first guard before anyone can react, slamming into him and grabbing him as a human shield. From behind his twitching, dying cover, Falco lowers his rifle and fires, hitting three more adversaries before throwing the dying guard at the next sentry. No gunfire needed for him: He punches the man in the face so hard that the unfortunate victim's face craters under the blow.
Not to be outdone, Tamri turns on one of the three remaining guards and throws her lightsaber. A glancing blow, but that's all she needs: The spinning blade takes the man's arm off and he howls in shock, reeling. Tamri turns, catches her saber as it returns, and fires, hitting another guard in the hip. Falco grabs the last of the thinned-out squad around the neck and wrenches with all his might. Sickening snap, and the man goes limp.
A crash from the second floor above the courtyard draws Tamri's eye. Avea—somehow already deeper into the manor despite lagging behind—drives two guards out onto the inner balcony, her gun missing. She engages them hand-to-hand, kicking the legs out from her left attacker before driving her elbow into his chest. She ducks beneath a vibroblade from the other before slamming her fist into the man's elbow. Maneuvering into the inner position, she punches him in the chest, one-two-three-four, before grabbing him by the head and throwing him off of the balcony. He lands with a crunch before Falco—who promptly shoots the man in the head for good measure.
"You found the boy?" Avea shouts.
"No," Tamri answers. She nods to Falco. "Fan out and search the manor for Korkie."
"Got it," he says.
Tamri wades into the manor's halls as an explosion rocks the building. The lights flicker and die, bathing the luxurious rooms in late afternoon dusk. Someone blew the power. She holds her lightsaber up to throw back the dark, kicking in a door and looking about the lavish surroundings. Fineries and extravagance, all wasted on these slavers posing as leaders. Bastards. They're getting exactly what they deserve.
After five minutes of searching, however, she has found no sign of Korkie, nor even any hint of a basement. No power means no chance to search a computer or security system. She contemplates contacting Dominion to find a way through when the nearest door bursts in, sending her scurrying back. A burly guard wielding an electrobaton in one hand and a vibroblade in the other growls and squares off with her. Not the same sort of cowardly, untrained creature as the rest of the guards; this one means business. Tamri holsters her pistol and grabs her lightsaber with both hands. Have at it, then.
She doesn't get the chance. As the guard takes a step towards her, a shadow peels around the door. The guard looks up just in time to see a wrench slam into his forehead with the weight of a killing blow behind it. The man crumples; behind him, Korkie lowers the blood-stained wrench, his chest heaving, sweat and dirt and filth coating his face. Tamri stops, stunned. Korkie looks up, equally stupefied.
Then he walks towards her, wordless, and wraps her in a hug. Tamri sheathes her lightsaber and goes limp in his arms, unsure of exactly what just happened. She tore this place apart to find him. Yet here he comes on his own, looking thinner, messier, with a pair of nasty, ugly scars on his face from his captivity—yet here nonetheless. When he pulls back from her, he says quickly, "Are you all right?"
"Am I all right?" Tamri chokes, her emotions rolling over like a wave, all that anger suddenly confused and without a target. What is she feeling? What is she supposed to be feeling? "We…we came here to get you free."
"The power blew and my cell door went loose. I just grabbed the first thing I saw. Wrench, it worked," Korkie says, waving at the weapon. "How did you…you came…"
Motion behind him. Another guard. Tamri's confusion dies and the beast inside roars. She leans over Korkie's shoulder with a blaster and shoots the guard straight in the forehead. No hesitation.
Korkie looks up at her, his eyes wide. She growls. "They're slavers and traitors and scum," she says. "They all deserve it. When they took you they just made it personal. Every one of them. I'm not letting them get you again. I'm going to find the Baron and kill him for what he did."
"Hey," Korkie says, grabbing her arms and looking her in the eye. "You're okay, Tam. I'm okay. We got in a mess—mostly me—but we're all right. Breathe."
She doesn't want to calm down. She wants to keep killing until no one on the Baron's payroll is left standing, because that fury and fire and rage is coiling up inside her and unleashing a wave of anger. It's empowering. Emboldening. Intoxicating. Addictive. And she wants to let it all out while she's here, even if Korkie's safe and she has what she came for.
A scream outside draws her eye, however. Out on the back landing, the Baron rushes towards a waiting submersible that rises out from the water by the manor's private dock. But the sub's top hatch opens and out comes not security personnel but Kesh, who lowers a pistol and shoots Bonamma in his gut. He keels over, smoke wafting from his wound as he groans and clutches his belly. Tamri holsters her blaster. "Let's go and say hi. Then you can do the honors, if you want."
When she and Korkie get out back, the others have a ring formed around Bonamma with weapons levelled at the wounded man. Avea laughs when she sees Korkie. "Look who missed all the fun," she says.
"I was just trying to make it interesting," Korkie says, gesturing at the manor. "Thanks, guys. All of you. I would've been stuck down in there if you hadn't come."
"Thank your girlfriend," Neelotas says. "She was the one who got all angry about it and made us come."
"I'm not—" Tamri says quickly, heat flushing her face. She abandons the line of thought and waves her lightsaber at Bonamma. "What are we doing about him?"
The Baron's eyes dart about. "Please," he begs, his voice pained and low, "please, I'll do anything. You want something? I have so much. Just ask. Please."
Falco hands Korkie his rifle. "You were the prisoner, kid," he grunts.
Bonamma shuffles away from Korkie. "Young master," he whimpers. "Brave master. I never intended any of this. I was just afraid. I wanted nothing to do with…with…you can ask for anything. Anything."
"I don't want anything from you," Korkie spits. He raises the rifle and hands it back to Falco. "But I don't need to kill you to get the point across."
"You sure?" Neelotas says.
"I'm sure," Korkie says. "You're just a little man on the ground now, Baron."
Bonamma clasps his hands together. "Oh, oh, thank you," he pants. "Thank you, master—"
"Hey!" Kesh interjects. "He's letting you go based on you abducting him. You've got a lot more to answer for."
Bonamma turns his eyes to her. "I…I…what do you mean?"
Kesh does not reply. She only lowers her pistol and fires it point-blank into his head. "You slaving piece of shit," she snarls, firing again even though he is already dead. "This will definitely get the point across, you bastard."
No one says a word as Kesh shoots a third time, burying another blaster hole in the corpse. As Kesh growls and holsters her weapon, Tamri points to the sub. "Everything good to go, Kesh?"
"It's fine, Dominion's working the controls," she snarls, eyes still locked on Bonamma's body. "We can go whenever."
Tamri looks to Korkie. "You don't have to come down with us after all you went through. We can bring the ship back around."
"No," Korkie says, his eyes fiery. "You all came for me. I'm not dead. I can still fight. I just need a gun."
"Let's wait and see if the Taths' people are any friendlier before we start shooting," Tamri says. "Everyone get aboard. We're going down." She glances at the shot-up manor and scowls. "And let's leave this dump behind."
"What…is that?"
Sae stares at the visual scanning monitor on the bridge of the hijacked bulk freighter as she and Malicos near Geonosis. They thought the strange, moon-sized anomaly in orbit of the ringed planet was some sort of construction site before…and Sae is certain of it now. A thousand tugs and zero-G mobility platforms churn about one of the strangest sights she's ever seen. Above Geonosis floats what appears to be a space station of enormous size—or at least the formations of one. "What are they even going to do with that?" Sae breathes as she looks it over.
It's a skeleton, the bare-bones husk of what could one day be an artificial moon or small planetoid. For now, however, it's a ribcage of massive axial rings criss-crossing one another across all three dimensions, forming a skeletal globe over a hundred kilometers in diameter. In the center around the Y-axis runs a colossal metal spine with a bulge at the sphere's heart—a power generator of enormous proportions, Sae guesses from the energy readings the ship's computer picks up. Strangest still is the dish-shaped plating arranged in one of the upper quadrants and linked by a thick shaft to the main core. Given the size and scale, this must have taken a tremendous amount of resources and manpower. Why? For what purpose, especially for a force like the Tarkinists who are staving off both the Republic and the Separatists?
"This couldn't have cropped up overnight. Construction of this scale would take months. Years." Malicos murmurs as he looks at the readout. "This some sort of Republic superweapon that Tarkin's people hijacked?"
"I have no idea," Sae mutters. She stares in disbelief until the ship's comm unit bleeps. "We're getting a hail from the orbital yards."
Malicos shrugs. "They're not shooting at us even though we're in range. Stroke of luck."
"Something-something there is no luck," Sae says. She answers the hail, using the ship's registration and doing her best to sound like an innocent freighter captain: "This is freighter Solar Sent, proceeding via delivery schedule of raw materials."
"Solar Sent, proceed at half-speed. Await tractor beam lock-on before powering down main thrusters," the Tarkinist dockyards instruct.
"Affirmative. Proceeding with deceleration," Sae answers before shutting off the comm and turning to Malicos. "That easy. Pass on the right security codes and no one blinks. They won't know there's a problem until we're on a pod down to the surface."
Malicos snorts. "You got lucky there was a freighter to hijack."
"What did I just say about luck? And yes, that was fortunate."
The freighter shudders as the dockyard tractor beams lock in and draw it to the construction bays. They pass beneath the shadows of star destroyers hanging in orbit, turbolaser batteries facing outwards to take down the first sign of intrusion. "Lot of ships," Sae whispers. "I don't know how much of the Republic's fleet went with Tarkin, but that's a heavy defense. More than we have at Ziost or Raxus."
"Must be that thing they're building," Malicos murmurs, still reviewing the readout of the construction projection. "Whatever it is, why make it over Geonosis? There's nothing here but insects and dirt."
"I have no idea," Sae says, "but Dooku sent us here to get Poggle. He has to know something, and he'd better have some good answers."
"How are we getting planetside? Steal a shuttle?"
Sae points to the bridge's rear door. "Couple of those bodies that didn't float out will do. Steal their uniforms, try to talk our way through inspection. Draw lightsabers on them if we can't trick them for some reason."
"Now we're talking."
"Last resort, moron. The last thing we need is to pick a fight before we've even set foot on the planet," Sae says. "We can hide the remaining bodies still on board. It doesn't matter if they figure it out eventually; once we're down to the planet, we're free. Just need to find a shuttle or something. Shouldn't be too hard once we're inside the dockyards."
"Then we just somehow find Poggle among billions of Geonosians and who knows what else is down there," Malicos says.
"That's the plan," says Sae. She looks up at the construction project as they near the docks. "And maybe if we're lucky, we learn a little about just what the hell is going on here."
