Star Wars belongs to George Lucas. The story contains transcribed dialogue from the "Death Trap" episode of Star Wars: The Clone Wars, copyright Lucas Films Ltd (which now belongs to Disney).

A/N: Edited to fix up the grammatical errors that Darkwinter999 kindly pointed out.

War does not come with a guarantee.

No soldier gets the promise of safety, survival, or victory. Men, I guarantee you this: every member of this Clone Youth Brigade will have his moment and it is that moment you are no longer a cadet—you are a soldier.

You have the best training in the galaxy, but no one can train you for the moment that you look death in the eyes. What you do then—the soldier you become—that is up to you.

—Sergeant Crasher, on the bridge of the Green Astaire.

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Endurance was waiting in the morgue when her marine arrived. The medic, Makino, went and stood by the still form on the gurney. A few minutes ago, her trooper had been alive, roaming around her corridors, ready to protect her from the worst the Separatists could do. Now…

Endurance watched gravely as the medic began gently removing the dead man's armour. CT-27/5790's helmet already had a red X scrawled above his visor. The heat and pressure from the blast had killed him instantly—he never had a chance. To one side, med droids started cleaning the marine's armour pieces so that they could be returned to the general stores. Makino shut 5790's eyes and wiped a smear of grime off the dead man's cooling cheek, before moving the body to the incinerator's hatch.

Many decks below, the incinerator—Endurance's molten core—blazed, supplying heat and hot water throughout the ship. To Endurance, it was only fitting that after death, her marine became truly part of the ship. She watched him fall, down, down, until she embraced him fully.

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On the bridge, Admiral Kilian was on edge. Endurance knew this because she'd gotten a fair idea of his stress indicators during the battle above Teyr. Right now, her Admiral was pacing up and down in front of the viewports, both hands clasped authoritatively behind his back, and barking at anyone who didn't look busy enough. The other officers on the bridge had picked on the Admiral's mood; subtle tension in their postures and battlefield economy in their movements. The Admiral stopped abruptly and pivoted to face his XO.

"Number One, I want all engines shut down and two maintenance crews working on that nav computer immediately."

Endurance felt like protesting; surely the engines were fine as they were? Not to mention, having the engines down meant she would be running on auxiliary power. As long as she didn't have to jump, the damage to the nav computer wouldn't affect normal operations. In any case, she disliked having no propulsion; it felt wrong. But she trusted the Admiral, he'd got her through Teyr in mostly one piece.

The XO, Lieutenant Addi nodded his acknowledgement and signalled the navigation officer to begin powering down her engines. For a few tenths of a second, Endurance felt like circumventing the command. Then the Admiral laid a hand on her bridge console, murmuring under his breath,

"Atta girl. We'll get this sorted in no time."

She knew he didn't realise she was there, but Endurance couldn't help relaxing at her Admiral's words, her internal processors taking on a less frantic rate of computation. She gave in to the navigation officer's directions and powered down her engines, drifting slowly towards the glowing sphere of Vanqor's third planet.

Her scanner program was enjoying itself, running concentric circles around her in an ever-widening pattern as it searched for signs of trouble. The primary weapons officer was busy checking that all her troopers stood ready at gun posts around the ship. All her weapons were primed, magazines active and free. Her crew was ready to teach any Separatists ships that she was Endurance, pride of the Open Circle Fleet and she was not to be messed with, engines or no.

Just in time, too. The Generals called the Admiral, asking for an update on the ship's systems. Their queries seemed to put her Admiral in a bad mood again; he snapped out his reply and closed the com-link curtly. His comments stung a little, though she appreciated the concern. Hobbled! A bit pessimistic don't you think? I've had worse!

==========o0o============

Immersed in the navigation systems, Endurance could feel the Emergency Protocols prowling through the ship, nosing into every system and subroutine. They were dragging non-compliant programs into battle readiness. Rather like the Admiral had done with the bridge officers, only her Admiral didn't threaten to shred his subordinates when they were too slow.

The nav computer was having trouble accessing her central databanks and the relevant sector chart, a scorched circuit or fused relay must be interfering. The computer was in a frenzy, endlessly searching for a gate, a door, some way of passing through to the databank. Not knowing its location was the non-organic analogue of sensory deprivation for the computer. Endurance brushed up against it gently and lit up an alternate route for the computer to follow. It rushed past her, following the new route, humming happily as it spooled up. Now that the nav computer was working, the Admiral was bound to want propulsion next.

Eagerly anticipating having her engines online again, Endurance swept over to the reactor core, wanting to get it ready for her Admiral. Her reactor was idling. With no engines running, there had been no need to having it running at maximum capacity. She busied herself firing up the reactors to full capacity, red lights winking into existence around the sides of the massive rod containment vessels.

The Emergency Protocols rumbled a warning at her, wary of her initiative. They were supremely focused, but just didn't understand that sometimes a better outcome was achieved by ignoring some regulations. Powering up the reactor rods was always a bit chancy if anything were to go wrong with the safety systems or interrupt the start-up process. However, with no attack ships emerging from hyperspace and navigation back online, the risks were minimal. She paused, waiting until the Protocols moved on before resuming her work.

One of her trackers perked up, recognising her renewed presence amidst the reactor core rods and circuitry. Endurance looked it over as it nudged her playfully, checking its coding. Ah, this was CT-1477's tracker. Her resourceful paraan-ball enthusiast was in charge of supervising the reactor room today.

She had just gotten all four reactor rods sparking when an Emergency Protocol hissed nearby, pushing red-flagged data to the upper levels of her concentration. Endurance resigned herself to its displeasure when she realised it wasn't her that had riled the program up; a trooper had found a cadet somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, in blatant violation of personnel rules.

"This is CT-1477, I need an escort for a cadet back to his group…"

1477, ah. Endurance broke one of her personal rules and squeezed herself into 1477's HUD system. Now she could see the small earnest face below her, hear her trooper talking to the cadet.

"Is that a DC15-A?"

"What? Oh yeah. Here, keep the safety on." A rifle came into frame briefly as 1477 handed his weapon to the cadet before turning away to continue his com-link conversation.

"Copy that, CT-1477. We're pretty overloaded with emergency status. We'll get someone there to…" The transmission broke off as 1477's HUD lurched to one side abruptly.

There was a brief image of the cadet and a rifle coming up towards her. Then the camera went spinning off in a dizzying spiral before landing face up. No life signs were coming from the helmet. Endurance fled back to her main systems, disorientated by the rapid shift.

"CT-1477. Report in. CT-1477, why have you broken off transmission?"

She was trying to see if 1477 was still functional when a flood of alarms inundated her. Consoles fell silent in the reactor room, circuits keened, and wires fused in a bevvy of sparks. No! She needed those safety buffers during power up! Endurance reached out to shut down the reactor. Electricity from the reactor rods arced across to other consoles. It surged through her circuits relays to her main processor, shocking her briefly. Dazed and reeling, Endurance tried to reach the main controller of the reactor.

Too late! One of her reactor rods exploded, triggering a chain reaction that ripped through her decks. Her main stabilisers disintegrated, shredded by the blast. Metal shrapnel tore through her corridors. Fires sprang up throughout her stern. Bulkheads collapsed. Whole sections were wrenched off by the pressure wave and were strewn, burning, in her wake. A pinched circuit threw open all her audio feeds, a swell of voices overwhelming her momentarily.

"Fire on deck four! I need fire crew here on the double!"

"Status report, trooper!... Trooper? Respond!"

"Medic! I need a medic in here! … Hang in there, Void, don't you dare die on me!"

Hull integrity alarms started up, adding to the clamour of data competing for her attention. [Warning: Hull breach and loss of atmosphere decks nine through fifteen.]

Stressed durasteel had lost integrity and was spilling the contents of her corridors into the bleakness of space. Her casualty subroutine tried to cut in, beginning its all too familiar patter, [Crew status update:….] Endurance directed all of her frustration into a compressed burst of static and flung it at the subroutine.

She resolutely shut off all audio feed, choking off the cries of her softies. A distant part of her noted that her Admiral had been close to one of the hull breaches, but for now, she had to focus. There would be enough time later to check the life signs scanner for survivors, assuming she was still in one piece.

Her power supplies were flickering dangerously. What should've been a wonderful, effortless flow of power from her auxiliary generators was instead stilted and halting. The power came in fits and spurts, through crushed conduits, constricted by destroyed circuits and wiring.

The Emergency Protocols rapidly began triaging her systems for her. For all of their annoyances, they were helpful in situations like this. [Priority Alpha: Rapid chain decompression along stern], they reported. Another deck blew open, closer to the portside engines. If she didn't move fast, all her decks in that section, a good quarter of her corridors, would be ripped open.

Endurance blew past scorched metal and wiring, drawing level with and then overtaking the decompressions, slamming shut blast doors in her wake. She paused, waiting for the next compartment to rupture but nothing happened. The Emergency Protocols nudged her gently, silently congratulating her. She turned to acknowledge them but as she reached out, they faded to nothingness. Somewhere in the ship, their datacard had been destroyed.

Her crew needed her, but so did her systems and processors. Unguarded, her memory processors would fall prey to a myriad of problems; electrical surges would burn them out, fires would bake them, and leaks of corrosive coolant and hydraulic fluids would eat away at them. Her systems were lying in ruins, increasing numbers of subroutines were babbling nonsensical lines of code as they faded and winked out of existence. Her intricate city of light was no more. She could save her crew, or she could save her processors. Not both.

Endurance threw open all her senses, spreading herself paper-thin through the entire ship. She was everywhere, was everything from the smallest rivet to the corridors that honeycombed her hull. She could see each and every unfolding drama.

On deck seven, a trio of crew members was desperately trying to open the blast doors that had cut them off from their injured comrade. On deck four, an inferno was converging on her main processing unit. At her core, the containment fields around the incinerator had collapsed and the white-hot furnace was eating its way through the lower decks. The launch mechanisms for emergency pods in sector A8 had no power, the pods clinging lifelessly to her hull. The hydraulic lines to her hanger doors had been severed, sealing her fighters in their bays. A fire raged in the lower levels of her reactor core, sending toxic fumes curling over the catwalk where CT-1477 was. Everywhere she looked she saw flames, dying programs, shattered droids, and members of her crew lying motionless.

Seconds crawled past as Endurance tried to work out what to do. With no engines and no stabilisers, she would be dragged in by Vanqor's gravity well and mashed against the planet's unforgiving surface. She might be able to stop it. If she abandoned all efforts to save her crew, if she was willing to sacrifice her softies, leave her programs to their fate, she might limp home still.

Her casualty program chimed in, [Crew status update: 1 unit non-functional, CT-1477, clone marine, Open Circle Fleet - assigned to Endurance.]

Endurance faltered for a moment. She'd lost another one — CT-1477 this time. She pulled back, away from her poor damaged interior. She accessed the casualty subroutine, interrupting its unceasing updates, [Query – Admiral. Status?]

It replied crisply, [Killian. S. Admiral. Republic Navy Personnel, ID…]

She cut the program off curtly. [Acknowledged! Request immediate status report!]

There was a long pause as the program matched up its historical data against the crew logs. [Status – Functional].

Her Admiral was somewhere in the mess of twisted metal. Not drifting through the empty blackness. Still functional. Suddenly it was clear. She knew what she had to do now. Endurance plunged into her systems: it was time to look after her softies.

A/N: I got so sad rewatching this episode trying to pull lines out of it. The music that is going on when Boba shoots 1477 and smashes up the Endurance's controls just tugs at my heartstrings each time I hear it. Only one more chapter to go...

Thanks for reading! Reviews, comments and feedback are welcome and most appreciated :D

Next week: The final plunge towards Vanqor.