Fallout

Chapter 19

When he woke, it was early. That is, the hovering glow-lamp's sphere had warmed to a soft yellow, spilling fresh radiance through the small space. Obi Wan rose, dispelling the initial lethargy with a few deep breaths, feeling his pulse settle into rhythm with the ethereal surge and ebb of the Force's currents. He arched backward into a deep back bend, placed his hands on the floor, and slowly rose to a handstand before dropping over in the opposite direction and rising to his feet, rolling one shoulder to loosen a bit of lingering stiffness. Tucking a stray fold of robe back into place, straightening the sash and making sure his saber was secure in its place, he waved open the door. The Force urged him onward, full but not urgent – prickling on the nape of his neck, not yet a full diaspora of warning flooding through his veins.

The time had come; but there was still time.

Master Xerxes met him halfway. "Enemies approach," the ancient Jedi murmured, as they stood together in the empty hall.

"Gather the Friends in the garden cave," Obi Wan told him. "That will be the safest place for them. I shall guard the entrance."

The Thisspiasian nodded curt approval of this plan and slithered in the opposite direction to shepherd the Friends to their place of refuge. Obi Wan proceeded up the tunnel, toward the decontam field and the broken gates beyond. The thin energy barrier pulsed in mild protest as he pushed his way through yet again, from warmth into cold, fragile safety into the graveyard of the droids he had scrapped. Their scattered remains still lay in deathly stillness on every side. He picked his way among the debris, stepped through the ruined inner hatch to the radiation lock. He swept the severed head and torso of the protocol unit to one side with a flick of his wrist and set about rummaging in the storage compartments.

Assault loomed on the horizon, drummed faintly beneath his awareness, a taut beat of danger creeping steadily nearer. The Force swelled with dark expectation.

He found the discarded armor and helmet. With a sigh, he unbound the sash about his waist and pulled the Friends' simple garb off, dropping it in a mournful saffron heap upon the floor. Peace, and peacekeeping, were no longer his purview. War had come unbidden to the galaxy, and unbidden to this place, which had slept lifeless beneath the withering gaze of its constellations for more than a century. War had come unbidden into his life, and he was subject to its demands. Lip curling over bared teeth, he tugged and yanked the detested clone armor bodysuit into place, grimacing at the constricting effects of the tight-fitting design.

"Blast it," he grumbled.

Boots. Tunic, tabards, sash – all rather worse for wear, singed and frayed by the corrosive rain. 'Saber back in its accustomed place. If Anakin had his way, greaves and chestplate would be added to this fantastic ensemble. He must look a sight, like the prizefighters in a lowbrow gladiatorial arena deep in Coruscant's underlevels.

"Force help me," he muttered, holding the despicable helmet between two gloved hands.

He jammed it in place, hissing slightly in disgust as the visor came down over his field of vision. Thus arrayed for battle, and armored against the malignant radiation which even in these few minutes had doubtlessly bombarded him, he moved upward, through the winding sublevels and basements, noting the possible defensive points in the sprawling labyrinth. There were places which might be used to advantage of either invader or besieged defender; but on the whole, the passages were cramped, treacherously low-ceilinged, dark, and slippery underfoot. It would not be a good place to get caught in a fight.

Above, in the grand foyer of the capitol building, a new waterfall of toxic water dribbled into its time-worn pool, cascading over the dome's broken rim and pouring idly down, a translucent and twisting skein of spite. Tiny droplets spattered and danced around the edges of the overflowing basin, an acidic puddle overflowing its bounds, lapping softly over cracked and shattered tile. He skirted it, edged his way to the main doors, peered out into pre-dawn redness. The clouds hung lower than ever, oppressive with the promise of more rain. Did the skies ever stop their lamentation here? Did the planet's dead oceans rise into clouds every night, to renew the funeral mourners' tears?

Looking down the length of the main street, the canyon of mausoleums, he could feel the ghosts of Rhellis Massa fade at long last, the delicate bubble-like suspension of memory in the Force finally burst and dissolving beneath the new onslaught of violence. Battle droids' clanking and emotionless hatred would soon replace the fine tracery of past suffering – crude scrawls dragged with thoughtless fingers through the fine spread ashes of the departed.

He withdrew into shadow as the first transport landed, outside the city's limits. From its bowels issued rank upon rank of standard units, super battle units, and more of the monstrous hunter-killers he had faced earlier. Size and numbers mattered not…. But he could not help noticing that there were rather a lot of them. All here to ferret him out of hiding, and doubtless destroy anything that lay in their path.

It was but the tail end of a lurid procession; war had called Sen Sen Xerxes here, all those long decades ago; Sen Sen Xerxes had called him here, by some means and "intermediary" he still did not understand, nor wish to; and his presence had called Dookus' minions down in their turn, closing the circle. War begets war, unto the end of time. He looked up at the cloud-veiled heavens. If Anakin were there, if help had been sent from Coruscant, it was hidden from him. Much was hidden, here. He seemed to stand alone and unaided, cornered like a foxill driven to ground by relentless hunters.

His fingers sought out and closed round his 'saber's hilt, the hidden crystal calling faintly to him within its gleaming armor. The legions of droids began their inevitable march up the ruined street, shadowed by skeletal towers and bone-bleached walls. The sun peeked angrily over the horizon, squinting blindly at the grim scenario displayed for its amusement. And the first spatter of sweet, burning rain fell, like a dark benediction, absolving them all of conscience and regret.

Rivulets ran across the blank visor, silent tears which did not penetrate beneath the helmet's faceless leer. Inwardly, Obi Wan closed his eyes and sank into the deep center, the fulcrum point of the brewing storm.

The enemy was here, and Anakin was not. He would do what he must.

Turbulence seized and shook the cruiser as they descended into Rhellis Massa's upper atmosphere. Jostling bodies; shoulder plates clacking dully as the men brushed together in the cramped bellies of the gunships waiting on-deck; the faint scent of sweat and fear mingling with the tang of newly primed blaster charge cartridges, hastily jammed into gunstocks – Anakin was accustomed to it all now, though mere months ago he would have cringed at the prospect.

In the Force he could feel the distant frigate drawing fire away from the larger ship, Cody's confident command of that situation. He could feel O'Cheo above on his own bridge, fuming at the Jedi General and his orders, but too cowed to even think of disobeying. The mighty capital ship sank deeper into the cloudy mire of the dead world's skies, bumping and shuddering a little despite its size. Must be a nasty storm swelling over the coast; the position of Dooku's ships had necessitated an awkward descent over the south pole, coming up on their destination near the terminator, where slow dawn trickled over the planet's bleached corpse.

Already the first detachment of droid scouts was pummeling them with fire, pesky flies harassing a lumbering nerf. Anakin wasn't worried – he knew full well what the inevitable effect of flying droids through such heavy particle emissions would be. Droid fighters were supplied with high density plasma-repelling shields, not ungainly general dampers. In about ten standard minutes, their scanning arrays were going to develop serious glitches. The radiation would fry their cybernetic brains, and then the fun would begin.

"Get ready," he barked at his team, and the order was passed on from ship to ship. The hangar deck officers waited to open the massive bay doors overhead. The gunships rose on repulsors, gyrating softly above the polished decking, ready to burst through the mag barriers and into battle. An other minute, another…. Anakin grinned as he felt O'cheo's disgruntlement spike into sharp alarm. Coward. And then a reverberation, directly overhead, on the bay doors – one of the enemy fighters spinning out of control and crashing headlong into its target.

"That's it. They're blind! Let's go!"

The mighty panels parted, admitting gusting wind and billowing wisps of cloud into the aisle between starboard and port hangar bays. Gunships swarmed through the containment fields, and up through the widening aperture, rising into a sickly yellow sky, backdrop to a frenetic dance of vultures and hyenas, droid fighters lost in a haze of radiation induced vertigo.

"Get us dirtside fast," Anakin barked "…And blast 'em at will."

Beside him, Griper chuckled. "Thought we weren't gonna have to fight 'em, General!"

"This isn't fighting, rookie."

"Yeah, rookie," Oafer chimed in. "Shut yer trap."

The clones loved target practice, especially when the targets were drunker than the guests at a Jawa wedding. Soon enough the rotating turrets of all twelve gunships were spraying destruction in every direction, and the thin sheets of rain were joined by a hailfall of molten debris, burning slag. The pilots' shouts of glee echoed over the linked com systems. Anakin smiled just a little. This was the easy part… they may as well enjoy it.

O'cheo's garbled voice broke in over the comm. "General Skywalker," the Captain complained. "Our scanners are non-functional. Your gambit has crippled our defensive capacity. I strongly recommend a return to orbit."

"Not on your life," the young Jedi hissed, not caring who overheard this contest of wills. "Let Cody handle it – he can run faster than they can, and you're not maneuverable enough. I need you ready and waiting directly over the rendezvous point."

"With respect," the naval officer snarled, "Without active scanners we may as well be sitting here deaf and blind. You've put this vessel in a position of extreme vulnerability."

Anakin glared at the holoprojection, and it shivered, as though wavering beneath his withering regard. "Put your shields on maximum and wait for my order," he commanded, mechanical fist clenching spasmodically. "Trust me, Captain."

The man's face contorted into an expression of mutinous resentment, but fear shone through his vexation like the candle of a paper carnival lantern. He nodded curtly, and his image disappeared.

The distractin was deadly. "Incoming!" their clone pilot hollered.

Anakin had not sensed the danger; a blasted droid fighter's hull was careening at them wildly. The sudden lurch of the gunship to starboard coincided with his instinctual reaction, the bright-hot flash of Force energy, pushing outward, fending off the spinning projectile. The men tumbled against the portside blast doors, the droid whizzed overhead, barely missing them, Anakin was half-crushed beneath the heap of soldiers. He took somebody's rifle but in the ribs.

In the red emergency lighting, clones scrambled frantically away from their General, pressing themselves in to the corners of the packed hold, helmeted faces turning this way and that in consternation, clearly expecting something or somebody to be crushed to a sparking pulp. Anakin sat sprawled on his backside, his anger at O'Cheo simmering beneath the bruises. The men cowered, the helmet comms quiet as death.

""Sir!" Oafer choked out, saluting. "Our apologies, sir!"

They plummeted through the atmosphere, through acid and blasterfire and a flurry of broken droid bits, rocking madly side to side in the murderous wind. Silence. And then the terrifying young Jedi laughed, a deep feral chuckle blending relief and wild exhilaration.

And the men laughed, too, as they hurtled toward the battlefield, and their waiting foes.