A/N: One thing that I have always thought is that the Force was never tapped to its fullest potential. Get ready for some craaazy stuff in upcoming chapters. ;-)

Dix: Emetophobia

Yoda blurred down the passage, a dim green streak to holocams and a rush of wind to Alderaanian security. He was in hot pursuit of the Mandalorean, who was obviously very clever. He used every trick of the trade - active camouflage, heat flares, boosts from his rocket pack. Everywhere he went, he left smoking corpses, testament to his skill in battle. Yet Yoda could not seem to find just where he was; the Force was dimmed and hazy, like mist enshrouding a moor. The Jedi Master knew instinctively that this was not caused by a lack of focus - he was eminently centered upon the task at hand. Rather, something was drawing upon the Force so heavily that its will was being turned, turned away from Yoda, out of his reach, out of his control... the one who was doing this had to be Anakin Skywalker.

Blazing around the corner, Yoda spotted a flash of movement just ahead. The flutter of a cloak? Operating on instinct, he charged toward it, lightsaber coming to his hand. Suddenly, a dim prickle buzzed in his mind and he threw himself sideways -

- just as the thermal det-pack exploded. Sizzling chunks of durasteel and ferrocrete exploded in a gout of fire. The Jedi Master was bowled sideways, slamming hard against a bulkhead, bones popping. Debris followed a second later, burying him almost completely. A harsh bark of a laugh echoed in the sudden silence, another muted thump - some kind of plastic explosive - then more silence.

Yoda wondered why the Force had deserted him at such an inopportune time. Then, as darkness encroached upon his battered body, he realized that this had always been Skywalker's plan.

Anakin ducked the sizzling blaster bolt and jumped, whirled in mid air. As the spun, he threw out a boot in a reverse roundhouse that clipped the guard in the jaw and smashed him against the wall. He slid down, jaw cracked, knocked cold.

Anakin paused there, standing over the injured guard. The Force was so strongly with him that every inch of the compound was revealed to him, the movement of every attacker before they made it. The power was so thrilling, so intoxicating, that he would have gladly induced vomiting to make more room for the Force in his body. But Padme called to him from afar - Padme, and the child he had never seen. Like a glowing beacon, shimmering on the horizon, it inexorably drew him. So he went on, moving with intense purpose, filled with anticipation and joy.

But at that moment, the Force spoke to him again, a sudden apprehension. Something was approaching. He probed it, examined it. Obi-Wan? No, for it was more than one consciousness... yet the minds were so alike, they might have been the same person.

The same person.

Suddenly, it became clear. Clones.

"Communications have been cut off with the rest of the compound, sir," the wary security agent replied. He was standing straight and tall, facing Obi-Wan as directly as his thick blast armor would allow him.

The Jedi Master nodded. "How many are you?" he asked, surveying the durasteel blast shields that blocked the entrance.

"Twenty four of the best," the guard replied. "No one - I mean no one - gets in here."

"Any chance of reinforcements from surface-side?" the Jedi asked.

The guard shrugged. "When I volunteered for this op, Command said that we were it. No reinforcements, no help. We were supposed to be under the radar, so that the Imps wouldn't know," he replied, and tilted his head to the side. "We're alone - not that that's a problem," he added, smirking.

Obi-Wan folded his arms and grumbled a little. The guard's bombast was not encouraging him in the least, but it was better than nothing. He turned and examined the entry shaft. It opened into this hallway - the only entry into this hallway - which was the only way to get to the sealed bunker. It was narrow, barely wide enough for two men to walk abreast. It could easily be clogged with blaster fire; Obi-Wan certainly wouldn't like to try his chances against it. Of course, he had not even the slightest grip on the Force now - perhaps enough to fight, but it was so far away from his greatest potential, that he had to fight against the feelings of helplessness. He could not sense Yoda, he could not sense Anakin, he could barely feel the minds of the guards around him.

For the first time in his life, he had nothing to rely on but himself.

"It's a hole, sir."

"Dammit, Twelve, I'm not kidding. What the hell is going on? Over."

A moment of static left Zeta-01 temporarily nonplussed. This had to be the weirdest day of his cloned life. The most pointless orders ever delivered... well, maybe except for the Purge. Yeah, that was... madness. Three notches in his rifle's barrel marked the kills he'd garnered that day.

Then, Twelve's voice over the radio: "A crater in the road - right in the middle of the industrial district.. My guess is plastic explosives. I can't get a read on what's beneath it... some kind of chamber, over."

Zeta-01 sighed. "Right." He paused, considered his orders: Investigate, report to Imperial Section Four, neutralize any hostiles. "OK, Zetas, we form up on Twelve." Behind him, Zeta-26 asked, "What are our orders, sir? This seems like a frackin' milk run."

01 couldn't resist a laugh. "It's never a milk run with you around, 26. But you'll like this: it's a recon bang-'n'-blow job. Extreme prejudice." Diplomatic tensions here are rather stiff, after all.

If 26's eyes had been visible, 01 would have seen them widen and light up. Instead, he just tilted his helmeted head. The commando cocked the bolt on his customized DC-15 blaster rifle, and chuckled into the comm, "Extreme prejudice. I like it."

Boba Fett trotted back down the way he'd come. It wasn't that hard to pick his way through the chaos. He'd done what the Hooded Man had told him to do, and everything else could just go space itself. He was getting out of here; the job had never mentioned anything even remotely resembling Jedi. The credits had already been wired to his account on Coruscant, and he would content himself with that - and never work with that maniac again.

Coming to the smoking, gaping hole in the floor, he activated his jetpack and spurted up through the smoke, past the odd layers of sewer pipes and crumbling masonry, into the sunlight of Alderaanian day. He turned in midair, slung his blast rifle about his shoulder. Now, to get back to Slave I...

Suddenly, his jetpack was screaming and spurting flame as a wave of blaster bolts scorched the air around him and impacted on the steel-ceramic alloy of his armor, breaching the fuel packs on his back. Cursing, he braced himself as the pack yanked him into a sickening spiral and dumped him back toward the ground. He reoriented himself as more bolts barely missed him, and slapped two buttons on the jaw of his helmet. One vented the emergency air supply of his suit, slowing him as he reached back and pressed a button on the jetpack.

Just before he would have hit the ground at near-terminal speed, the suit completed its venting and his pack suddenly shot loose from his armor and shot into the air again, making drunken spirals until it impacted into the ground.

Blam, blam.

Two high power DC-15 sniper bolts impacted just beneath his jaw. They were perfectly aimed by the hand of Zeta-12, a renowned marksman amongst commandos. His shots pierced the environmental seal that connected Fett's helmet to his pauldrons, entered Fett's jaw, shattered his spinal column, and exited from the other side, putting a large split in his helmet and felling him. Blood poured out of his mouth in a glossy red stream, and drained down into his armor, thick, wet, sticky... Inwardly, Fett cursed. He didn't even think about the fact that he'd been shot; he didn't particularly care who had shot him. All blame belonged in one place. I'm dead. I'm dead. Damn the Jedi!

Twelve stepped up to Fett, 26 right behind him. He toed the limp Mandalorean body and nodded. "Clean kill." Twenty-six glanced at him. "No way, Twelve. He's still alive; look at that blood."

Twelve coldly turned away. "Whatever. He'll bleed out soon enough anyway, the dumbshit."