Have no fear, Grubkiller is here.
This is my latest chapter. I'll sometimes be taking a break from the Ahsoka side to focus on other perspectives and locations. Anakin/Obi-Wan and the war effort for example.
Please be sure to leave your thoughts down in the review section.
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Cato Neimoidia, Colonies.
Darkness was encroaching on Cato Neimoidia's western hemisphere, though exchanges of coherent light high above the beleaguered world ripped looming
night to shreds. Well under the fractured sky, in an orchard of manax trees that studded the lower ramparts of Viceroy Gunray's majestic redoubt, companies of clone troopers and battle droids were slaughtering one another with bloodless precision.
A flashing fan of blue energy lit the undersides of a cluster of trees: the lightsaber of Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Attacked by two sentry droids, Obi-Wan stood his ground, twisting his upraised blade right and left to swat blaster bolts back at his enemies. Caught midsection by their own salvos, both droids came apart, with a scattering of alloy limbs.
Obi-Wan moved again.
Tumbling under the segmented thorax of a Neimoidian harvester beetle, he sprang to his feet and raced forward. Explosive light shunted from the citadel's deflector shield dappled the loamy ground between the trees cast-ing long shadows of their buttressed trunks. Oblivious to the chaos occurring in their midst, columns of the five-meter-long harvesters continued their stalwart march toward a mound that supported the fortress. In their cutting jaws or on their upsweeping backs they carried cargoes of pruned foliage. The crushing sounds of their ceaseless gnawing provided an eerie cadence to the rumbling detonations and the hiss and whine of blaster bolts.
From off to Obi-Wan's left came a sudden click of servos; to his right, a hushed cry of warning.
"Down, Master!"
He dropped into a crouch even before Anakin's lips formed the final word, lightsaber aimed to the ground to keep from impaling his onrushing former Padawan. A blur of thrumming blue energy sizzled through the humid air, followed by a sharp smell of cauterized circuitry, the tang of ozone. A blaster discharged into soft soil, then the stalked, elongated head of a battle droid struck the ground not a meter from Obi-Wan's feet, sparking as it bounced and rolled out of sight, repeating: _"Roger, roger… Roger, roger_…"
In a tuck, Obi-Wan pivoted on his right foot in time to see the droid's spindly body collapse. The fact that Anakin had saved his life was nothing new, but Anakin's blade had passed a little too close for comfort. Eyes somewhat wide with surprise, he came to his feet.
"You nearly took my head off."
Anakin held his blade to one side. In the strobing light of battle his blue eyes shone with wry amusement. "Sorry, Master, but your head was where my lightsaber needed to go."
Master.
Anakin used the honorific not as learner to teacher, but as Jedi Knight to Jedi Council member. The braid that had defined his earlier status had been ritually severed after his audacious actions at Praesitlyn. His tunic, knee-high boots, and tight-fitting trousers were as black as the night. His face scarred from a contest with Dooku-trained Asajj Ventress. His mechanical right hand sheathed in an elbow-length glove. He had let his hair grow long the past few months, falling almost to his shoulders now. His face he kept clean-shaven, unlike Obi-Wan, whose strong jaw was defined by a short beard.
"I suppose I should be grateful your lightsaber _needed_ to go there, rather than desired to."
Anakin's grin blossomed into a full-fledged smile. "Last time I checked we were on the same side, Master."
"Still, if I'd been a moment slower…"
Anakin booted the battle droid's blaster aside. "Your fears are only in your mind."
Obi-Wan scowled. "Without a head I wouldn't have much mind left, now, would I?" He swept his lightsaber in a flourishing pass, nodding up the alley of
manax trees. "After you."
They resumed their charge, moving with the supernatural speed and grace afforded by the Force, Obi-Wan's brown cloak swirling behind him. Victims of the initial bombardment, scores of battle droids lay sprawled on the ground. Others dangled like broken marionettes from the branches of the trees into which they had been hurled.
Areas of the leafy canopy were in flames.
Two scorched droids little more than arms and torsos lifted their weapons as the Jedi approached, but Anakin only raised his left hand in a Force push that shoved the droids flat onto their backs.
They jinked right, somersaulting under the wide bodies of two harvester beetles, then hurdling a tangle of barbed underbrush that had managed to anchor itself in the otherwise meticulously tended orchard. They emerged from the tree line at the shore of a broad irrigation canal, fed by a lake that delimited the Neimoidians' citadel on three sides. In the west a trio of wedge-shaped _Venator-_class assault cruisers hung in scudding clouds. North and east the sky was in turmoil, crosshatched with ion trails, turbolaser beams, hyphens of scarlet light streaming upward from weapons emplacements outside the citadel's energy shield. Rising from high ground at the end of the peninsula, the tiered fastness was reminiscent of the command towers of the Trade Federation core ships, and indeed had been the inspiration for them.
Somewhere inside, trapped by Republic forces, were the Trade Federation elite.
With his homeworld threatened and the purse worlds of Deko and Koru Neimoidia devastated, Viceroy Gun-ray would have been wiser to retreat to the Outer Rim, as other members of the Separatist Council were thought to be doing. But rational thinking had never been a Neimoidian strong suit, especially when possessions remained on Cato Neimoidia the viceroy apparently couldn't live without. Backed by a battle group of Federation warships, he had slipped onto Cato Neimoidia, intent on looting the citadel before it fell. But Republic forces had been lying in wait, eager to capture him alive and bring him to justice-thirteen years late, in the judgment of many.
Cato Neimoidia was as close to Coruscant as Obi-Wan and Anakin had been in almost four standard months, and with the last remaining Separatist strongholds now cleared from the Core and Colonies, they expected to be back in the Outer Rim by week's end.
Obi-Wan heard movement on the far side of the irrigation canal.
An instant later, four clone troopers crept from the tree line on the opposite bank to take up firing positions amid the water-smoothed rocks that lined the ditch. Far behind them a crashed gunship was burning. Protruding from the canopy, the LAAT's blunt tail was stenciled with the eight-rayed battle standard of theGalacticRepublic .
A gunboat glided into view from downstream, maneuvering to where the Jedi were waiting. Standing in the bow, a clone commander named Cody waved hand signals to the troopers on shore and to others in the gunboat, who immediately fanned out to create a safe perimeter.
Troopers could communicate with one another through the comlinks built into their T-visored helmets, but the Advanced Recon Commando teams had created an elaborate system of gestures meant to thwart enemy attempts at eavesdropping.
A few nimble leaps brought Cody face-to-face with Obi-Wan and Anakin.
"Sirs, I have the latest from airborne command."
"Show us," Anakin said.
Cody dropped to one knee, his right hand activating a device built into his left wrist gauntlet. A cone of blue light emanated from the device, and a hologram of task force commander Dodonna resolved.
"Generals Kenobi and Skywalker, provincial recon unit reports that Viceroy Gunray and his entourage are making their way to the north side of the redoubt. Our forces have been hammering at the shield from above and from points along the shore, but the shield generator is in a hardened site, and difficult to get at. Gunships are taking heavy fire from turbolaser cannons in the lower ramparts. If your team is still committed to taking Gun-ray alive, you're going to have to skirt those defenses and find an alternative way into the palace. At this point we cannot reinforce, repeat, cannot reinforce."
Obi-Wan looked at Cody when the hologram had faded. "Suggestions, Commander?"
Cody made an adjustment to the wrist projector, and a 3-D schematic of the redoubt formed in midair. "Assuming that Gunray's fortress is similar to what we found on Deko and Koru, the underground levels will contain fungus farms and processing and shipment areas. There will be access from the shipping areas into the midlevel grub hatcheries, and from the hatcheries we'll be able to infiltrate the upper reaches."
Cody carried a short-stocked DC-15 blaster rifle and wore the white armor and imaging system helmet that had come to symbolize the Grand Army of the Republic-grown, nurtured, and trained on the remote world of Kamino, three years earlier. Just now, though, areas of white showed only where there were no smears of mud or dried blood, no gouges, abrasions, or charred patches. Cody's position was designated by orange markings on his helmet crest and shoulder guards. His upper right arm bore stripes signifying campaigns in which he had participated: Aagonar, Praesitlyn, Paracelus Minor, Antar 4,
Tibrin, Skor II, and dozens of other worlds from Core to Outer Rim.
Over the years Obi-Wan had formed battlefield partnerships with several Advanced Recon Commandos-Alpha, with whom he had been imprisoned on Rattatak, and Jangotat, on Ord Cestus. Early-generation ARCs had received training by the Mandalorian clone template, Jango Fett. While the Kaminoans had managed to breed some of Fett out of the regulars, they had been more selective in the case of the ARCs. As a conse-quence, ARCs displayed more individual initiative and leadership abilities. In short, they were more like the late bounty hunter himself, which was to say, more _human._ While Cody wasn't genetically an Advanced Recon Commando, he had ARC training and shared many ARC attributes.
In the initial stages of the war, clone troopers were treated no differently from the war machines they piloted or the weapons they fired. To many they had more in common with battle droids poured by the tens of thousands from Baktoid Armor Workshops on a host of Separatist-held worlds. But attitudes began to shift as more and more troopers died. The clones' unfaltering dedication to the Republic, and to the Jedi, showed them to be true comrades in arms, and deserving of all the respect and compassion they were now afforded. It was the Jedi themselves, in addition to other progressive-thinking officials in the Republic, who had urged that secondand third-generation troopers be given names rather than numbers, to foster a growing fellowship.
"I agree that we can probably reach the upper levels, Commander," Obi-Wan said at last. "But how do you propose we reach the fungus farms to begin with?"
Cody stood to his full height and pointed toward the orchards. "We go in with the harvesters."
Obi-Wan glanced uncertainly at Anakin and motioned him off to one side.
"It's just the two of us. What do you think?"
"I think you worry too much, Master."
Obi-Wan folded his arms across his chest. "And who'll worry about you if I don't?"
Anakin canted his head and grinned. "There are others."
"You can only be referring to See-Threepio. And you had to _build_ him."
"Think what you will."
Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes with purpose. "Oh, I see. But I would have thought Senator Amidala of greater interest to you than Supreme Chancellor Palpatine." Before Anakin could respond, he added: "Despite that she's a politician also."
"Don't think I haven't tried to attract her interest, Master."
Obi-Wan regarded Anakin for a moment. "What's more, if Chancellor Palpatine had genuine concern for your welfare, he would have kept you closer to Coruscant."
Anakin placed his artificial hand on Obi-Wan's left shoulder. "Perhaps, Master. But then, who would look after you?"
Despite their two pairs of powerful legs and the saw-toothed pincers that extended from their lower mandibles, the broad-bodied harvesters were single-minded creatures, complaisant except when threatened directly. From their flat heads sprouted looping antennae, which served not only as feelers, but also as organs of communication, by means of powerful pheromones. Each beetle was capable of carrying five times its considerable weight in foliage and branches. Similar to the Neimoidians who had domesticated them, their society was hierarchical, and included laborers, harvesters, soldiers, and breeders, all of whom served a distant queen that rewarded effort with food.
Obi-Wan, Anakin, and the commandos who made up Squad Seven had to run to keep up with the beetles as they hurried their fresh-picked loads from the orchard to the cave-like entrance to a natural mound at the base of the redoubt. The beetles' carapaces afforded them cover from surveillance sorties by battle droid STAP patrols. More important, the harvesters knew safe routes through mined stretches of cleared ground that separated the trees from the fortress itself.
The beetles' frequent habit of lowering their heads to exchange information with hivemates moving in the opposite direction demanded that the Jedi and troopers keep between the harvesters' rear legs. Hunched over, Obi-Wan ran with his lightsaber in hand but deactivated. As the shielded royal residence came into view, a certain uneasiness seemed to take hold of the creatures, disrupting the ordered nature of their columns. Obi-Wan suspected that outbound beetles were relaying accounts of potential perils to the nest posed by the Republic's unrelenting barrage. In response to the crisis, soldier beetles were joining the procession, quick to shepherd nervous strays back into line.
Anakin's greater height required him to remain farther back, almost directly under the beetle's pug tail. To Obi-Wan's right ran Cody, with his teammates trailing behind and flanking him.
Soldier beetles or no, discipline was breaking down fast.
A harvester providing cover for one of the commandos veered from the column before it could be guided back into line. Instead of hurrying under another beetle, the commando stuck with the stray, and quickly found himself out in open ground.
Obi-Wan felt a ripple in the Force an instant before the harvester's right foreleg tripped a land mine.
A potent explosion fountained from the rocky ground, blowing away half the creature's foreleg. The commando threw himself to one side, rolling out from under a trio now of pounding legs, only to have to bob and weave as the harvester began to run in frantic circles, seemingly determined to trample the commando underfoot. A glancing blow from the beetle's left rear leg tipped the commando off his feet. Confused, the harvester lowered its head and butted at the hard white object in its path, again and again, until there wasn't a smooth area left in the commando's armor.
The harvester's distress was having an impact on the rest of the beetles, as well.
While most were pressed tightly together, others were suddenly scurrying away from the main column, sending the soldier beetles to high alert. Tripping two mines in succession, a second harvester was lifted off the ground by the ensuing explosions. With that, the column dissolved into disorder, with harvesters and soldiers running every which way, and commandos and Jedi alike doing their best to protect themselves.
"Stay close to the ones who are still headed for the nest!" Anakin shouted.
Obi-Wan was doing just that when he noticed that the trampled commando was back on his feet and staggering toward him, tapping the side of his helmet with the palm of his gloved hand, and obviously indifferent to where he placed his booted feet. Barreling straight for the maw of the mound, a harvester bore down on the commando, clamping its pincers around his waist, then lifting him high into the air. Summoning the last of his reserves, the commando twisted his body back and forth, but was unable to break free.
All at once Anakin was out from under his protective harvester.
Lightsaber tight in his gloved hand, he bounded across the denuded landscape toward the captive commando, the Force guiding him to safe landings among the mines. The harvesters might have taken him for a demented turfjumper were they not so fixed on safeguarding their loads and reaching the security of the nest.
Anakin's final leap dropped him directly in front of the harvester that had seized the commando. With one upward stroke of his lightsaber he rid the beetle of its pincers, freeing the commando, but also sending the soldier beetles into a frenzy. Obi-Wan could almost smell the pheromone release, and decipher the information being exchanged: The area is rife with predators!
From the brood rose a shriek so high-pitched as to be barely audible, and a stampede was under way. Mines began to detonate to all sides, and out from billowing smoke above the orchard canopy swarmed more than a hundred STAPs.
A Neimoidian version of the agile repulsorlift airhook used as an observation vehicle throughout the galaxy, each Single Trooper Aerial Platform was equipped with twin blasters that delivered more firepower than the stubby-barreled models carried by infantry droids.
From maximum range the swarm rained energy bolts on everything in sight, dropping harvesters in their tracks and turning the rocky ground into a killing field. Explosions erupted in jagged lines as scores of mines were detonated. Supporting the commando trooper with his left arm, Anakin warded off blaster bolts on the run. The rest of Squad Seven supplied cover, blowing STAPs out of the sky with uninterrupted fire.
Cody motioned everyone into a shallow irrigation trench just short of the mound. By the time Obi-Wan arrived, the troopers were deployed in a circle, and continuing to pour fire into the sky. Anakin slid into the trench a moment later, lowering the commando gently to the muddy slope. Squad Seven's medical specialist crawled over, removing the commando's ravaged utility belt and deeply dented helmet.
Obi-Wan gazed at the face of the injured clone.
A face he would never forget; now a face he couldn't forget.
All these years later, he could still recall his brief conversation with Jango Fett, on Kamino. He glanced at Cody and the rest. An army of one man… But the right man for the job.
The clones' rallying cry.
The injured commando had already prompted his armor to inject him with painkillers, so he remained pliant while his chest plastron was removed and the black bodyglove undergarment knifed open. The harvester's pincers had crushed the armor into the commando's abdomen. His skin was intact, but the bruising was severe.
With only half the original army of 1.2 million in fighting shape, the life of every clone was vital. Blood and replacement organs-what the regular troopers referred to as "spare parts"-were readily available-"easily requisitioned"-but with the war reaching a crescendo, battlefield casualties were on the rise and treated as high priority.
"Not much I can do for him here," the medspec told Anakin. "Maybe if we can get an FX-Seven airdropped-"
"We don't need a droid," Anakin interrupted. Kneeling, he placed his hands on the injured commando's abdomen and used a Jedi healing technique to keep the clone from going into deep shock.
A sudden noise from above caught everyone's attention.
Scores of boulder-sized objects were spewing from openings in the lower ramparts of the fortress. Cody pressed a pair of macrobinoculars to his eyes and gazed upward.
"That's no ordinary avalanche," he said, passing the glasses to Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan raised the glasses and waited for the lens to autofocus.
Rolling toward the trench at better than eighty kilometers per hour were some of the most feared of the Separatists' infantry arsenal.
Droidekas.
Known also by the fearsome title destroyer droids, droidekas were rapid-deployment killing machines produced by an alien species that encouraged mayhem at every opportunity. A combination of sheer momentum and sequenced microrepulsors allowed the bronzium-armored droids to roll like balls then unfurl in a blink as tripoded gunfighters, shielded by individual deflectors and armed with paired, twin-barreled, high-output blasters.
Since the shields were powerful enough to resist lightsabers, blasters, even light artillery bolts, the proven strategy for dealing with droidekas was simply to run from them.
More so, because surrender was never an option.
But Anakin had another idea.
"Comm fire support for an artillery strike," he ordered Cody, loud enough to be heard above STAP and DC-15 fire. "Do it now."
Cody was more than willing to comply. After all, the order had come directly from "the Hero with no Fear." as Anakin was sometimes known. "The Warrior of the Infinite." There was, though, a chain of command to maintain, so Cody looked to Obi-Wan for confirmation.
Obi-Wan nodded. "Do as he says."
The commando called for his comm specialist, who splashed through the shallow water and flattened himself alongside Cody. When the spec had provided needed coordinates, Cody opened a frequency to the fire support base and spoke in a rush.
"To FSB from Squad Seven. We're taking continuous fire from STAPs in sector Jenth-Bacta-Ion, and are about to be buried under destroyer droids deployed from the redoubt. Request immediate artillery support at coordinates accompanying transmission. Recommend tactical electromagnetic pulse airburst, followed by SPHA-T barrage."
"Pulse weapons don't discriminate, Commander," Obi-Wan thought to point out.
Cody shrugged. "It's the only way, sir."
"Tell them we've got a wounded trooper for the Rimsoo," Anakin said. The term stood for "Republic Mobile Surgical Unit."
Cody relayed the message. "Warn the evac pilot that he'll be setting down in a hot area. We'll mark a safe landing zone with smoke, and leave two behind to assist."
The assistant squad leader moved his right hand through a series of gestures. When the gestures had been repeated down the line, the commandos removed their helmets and began to deactivate the electronic systems built into their armor.
To a clone, they hunkered down in the fetid water.
A screaming came from the south.
Then: a nova-bright flare of white light, followed two seconds later by a roar that turned Obi-Wan's eardrums to mush. A shock wave spread from the ramparts, down onto the clear ground at the foot of the mound and out over the already blazing orchards. Above the trench, half the droidekas deployed prematurely from ball position and began to tumble down the slope in a tangle of limbs and weapons. Behind the trench, STAPs fell like stones, plunging from the sky into the burning trees.
What harvesters remained alive ran in dizzying circles, spilling their precious loads.
Now from the south came an infernal wail as SPHA-Ts-the Republic's walking artillery-loosed lasers on those droidekas that had survived the pulse weapon. Deprived of shields and unable to fire, they melted like wax in the gushes of radiant energy that struck the slopes.
Still without helmet, Cody stood up, signaling with both hands.
Obi-Wan interpreted the gestures: Sixty count, then suit up and break for the entrance to the nest.
He prepared by calming himself.
For all their reliance on droids, for all their infatuation with high technology, for all their inborn cowardice, greed, and guile, Neimoidians had a soft spot for their youth-their seven formative years as grubs, struggling for limited food in communal hives, discovering early on the benefits of duplicity and self-regard. The fungus foodstuff of those early years was as dear to them as adults as it was to them as hatchlings, and no wonder, since it was that same fungus that had found favor with species galaxywide, and from which the Neimoidians had evolved into a wealthy, spacefaring society, with ships enough to attract the eye of the notorious Trade Federation and, ultimately, droids enough to equal an army.
It would have been natural to assume that the fungus-prized for its medicinal as well as nutritional value-was somehow concocted from manax foliage gathered by the harvesters. But in fact the leaves and branches provided little more than a growth medium. Enzymes produced by the beetles, coupled with the dank conditions within the burrows and grottoes of the nest mounds, encouraged the rapid growth of a product that required only a modicum of refinement to become palatable.
Elsewhere during the sieges of Deko and Koru Neimoidia, Obi-Wan had never visited a fungus farm, but no sooner had he and Anakin dashed through the cave-like opening to the nest than the briefings he had received more than ten standard years earlier came back to him in a flash.
Here were the partly masticated leaves, carefully arranged in layers; the clumps of branches and other impurities; the laborer beetles; the droid overseers; the conveyors and similar contraptions devoted to sorting and transport… Not a Neimoidian in sight, but that was consistent with their doctrine that exertion of any sort was anathema. In the deep recesses of the mound, untouched by sunlight, the starter fungi-molds, mildews, and sickly white mushrooms-would be undergoing treatments with natural and synthetic growth-acceleration agents. And higher up, in what constituted the basement of the citadel, the matured end product was probably being consumed by grubs, or packed and readied for shipment.
Cody ordered the squad to secure the area. Those in the rear were still taking sporadic fire from STAPs, but the droid pilots couldn't get close to the entrance because of the bodies of dead beetles piled outside.
Squad Seven's medspec hurried over to Obi-Wan and Anakin.
"Sirs, I recommend you keep your rebreathers close at hand. Odds are we won't have to penetrate any deeper into the nest, but there's always a chance of encountering free-floating spores in other areas."
Obi-Wan quirked his brows together. "Toxic, Sergeant?"
"No, sir. But the spores have been known to have an adverse effect on humans."
"Adverse how?" Anakin asked.
"The effect is most often described as 'dislocating,' sir."
Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin. "Then I suggest we do as he says."
The fingers of his left hand were prizing the small, twin-tanked rebreather from its pouch on his utility belt when a volley of blaster bolts streaked into the grotto. Caught in their upper chests, two troopers were knocked off their feet.
The source of the sudden fire was the mouth of a narrow side tunnel that could be sealed by an overhead door. Anakin was already racing for the tunnel, lightsaber gripped in both hands, deflecting most of the bolts back through the entrance.
Obi-Wan leapt to one side, raising his blade to deal with two bolts that got past Anakin. The first he returned toward its source; the second, he parried at a deliberately downward angle. Striking the grotto's hard-packed floor, the deflected bolt ricocheted to one wall, then to the ceiling, to the other wall, and back to the floor, from which it caromed squarely into the control panel that operated the tunnel door.
Showering sparks, the device shorted out, and a slab of thick alloy dropped from its pocket in the wall, sealing the tunnel with a loud _thud!_
Switching off his lightsaber, Anakin cast a complimentary glance over his shoulder.
"Nicely done, Master."
"The beauty of Form Three," Obi-Wan said with theatrical nonchalance. "You should try it sometime."
"You've always been better at evasion than I have," Anakin said. "I prefer more straightforward tactics."
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Master of understatement."
"General Kenobi," the comm spec said from across the grotto. "Provincial recon reports that Viceroy Gun-ray and his entourage are heading for the launching bays. They're protected by super battle droids, a group of which are now closing on our position."
Anakin swung to Obi-Wan. "One of us has to divert the droids."
"One of us," Obi-Wan repeated. "Haven't we been through this before?"
"The beauty of our partnership, Master. You lure the bodyguards away, I capture Gunray. It hasn't failed us yet, has it?"
Obi-Wan compressed his lips. "From a certain point of view, Anakin."
Anakin scowled. "Fine. Then I'll be the bait this time."
"That makes no sense," Obi-Wan said quickly, shaking his head. "We play to our separate strengths."
Anakin couldn't restrain a smile. "I knew you'd listen to reason, Master." He singled out four commandos. "You'll come with me."
"Sir!" they said in unison.
Obi-Wan, Cody, and the rest of Squad Seven set out for the turbolift shafts. Obi-Wan hadn't gone five meters when he stopped and swung around.
"Anakin, I know we've got a score to settle with Gun-ray, but don't make it personal. We want to take him alive!"
'Oh, but it is personal,' Anakin told himself while he watched Obi-Wan, Cody, and four troopers disappear into the turbolift.
It was personal because of what Nute Gunray had done to Naboo thirteen years ago.
It was personal because of Gunray's hiring of Jango Fett to assassinate Padme three years ago-first with a bomb planted on her ship, then with the pair of kouhuns a changling had inserted into Padme's Senatorial quarters on Coruscant.
The woman Anakin loved above all else. His wife. The deepest, though brightest, of his secrets. Even Obi-Wan didn't know, for that would have created problems.
Finally, it was personal because of all that had occurred on Geonosis: the mock trial, the sentencing, the executions that were to have taken place in the arena…
Even if he could put all that aside, as Obi-Wan plainly wanted him to do, it was personal because Gunray had aligned himself with Dooku and the Separatists, and the war they had planned from the start had brought ruin to a thousand worlds.
The deaths of the Separatist leaders was the only solution now. It had always been the solution, despite objections by certain members of the Jedi Council, who still believed in peaceful resolutions. Despite the Senate's attempts to bind the hands of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, so that corrupt politicians could continue to turn a profit. Line the pockets of their shimmersilk cloaks with kickbacks from the immoral corporations that funded the war machine. Supplying both sides with weapons, ships, whatever was needed to extend the conflict.
It made Anakin's blood boil.
Yes, just as Yoda had sensed after Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan had freed him from slavery on Tatooine and brought him to the Jedi Temple, he had a lot of anger in him. But what Yoda failed to realize was that anger could be a kind of fuel. In peaceful times Anakin might have been able to bridle his rage, but now he relied on it to drive him forward, to transform him into the person he needed to be.
Cut off the head.
Twice he might have been able to kill Dooku himself had Obi-Wan not held him back. But he didn't hold that against his former Master. For all his skills, Anakin still looked to Obi-Wan for guidance.
On occasion.
As he and the four troopers were exiting the grotto, the tip of his boot sent some object skittering across the floor. On the fly he used the Force to call the thing to his left hand and realized that it was Obi-Wan's rebreather, which must have fallen from its utility pouch during the brief exchange with the unseen battle droids. But no matter; Obi-Wan was probably
already in the lower levels of the redoubt, where there would be little need for the device.
Opening one of the pouches on his belt, Anakin wedged the rebreather inside.
He urged the troopers on, and they stayed close on his heels.
Upward: following burrows, ramps, and shafts used only by droids. Through processing and shipment areas, through hatcheries filled with squealing grubs. Upward: into the citadel's gleaming middle levels. Through rooms large as starship docking bays filled floor to ceiling with… stuff. A boundless collection of junk, ritual gifts, impulsive purchases. Thousands of faddish devices never to be used but too prized as possessions to be thrown out, donated, handed down, or destroyed. More technology than existed on entire worlds, hoarded, stacked, piled about, crammed into every available space.
Anakin could only shake his head in wonder. In Mos Espa, on Tatooine, he and his mother had lived simply, and never wanted for anything.
His grin was short-lived.
Anger and despair made him grit his teeth.
Upward: until they reached the citadel's semicircular projection of
launching bays, which overlooked the surrounding lake and a ridge of forested mountains.
Anakin brought his team to a halt. One of the commandos held up his hand, palm outward, then tapped the side of his helmet to indicate an incoming transmission. The commando listened, then spoke to Anakin with hand signals.
Gunray's party is nearby.
"They're testing escape vectors for the shuttle by lowering the defensive shield and launching decoys," the commando said quietly. "Turbolaser fire has allowed several of the decoys to get past our blockade and reach orbiting core ships."
The muscles in Anakin's jaw bunched. "Then we have to act quickly."
No one contested when Anakin held point position. The commandos accepted without question that body armor and imaging systems were primitive compared to the power of the Force. They moved vigilantly through a maze of elegant corridors, abandoned in a rush, strewn with belongings dropped during flight.
Approaching an intersection, Anakin made a halting gesture with his left hand.
He listened for a moment; heard from around the corner the telltale heavy footfalls of super battle droids. The commando to Anakin's left nodded in confirmation, then extended a finger-thin holocam around the corner and activated his gauntlet holoprojector. Noisy images of Nute Gunray and his entourage of elite officers formed in midair. Hurrying down the corridor, tall headpieces bobbing, rich robes aswirl, safeguarded front and rear by burly battle droids.
Anakin motioned for silence, and was just about to step into the intersecting corridor when a banged-up silver protocol droid appeared from across the hall, raising its hands in delighted surprise.
"Welcome, sirs!" it said loudly. "I can't tell you how good it is to find guests in the palace! I am TeeCee-Sixteen and I am at your service. Nearly everyone has left-because of the invasion, of course-but I'm sure that we can make you comfortable, and that Viceroy Gunray will be most pleased-"
One hand clamped over TC-16's small rectangle of vocabulator, a commando yanked the droid to one side, but it was too late. Anakin leant around the corner in time to see the Neimoidians set off at a run, red-eyed, flat-nosed Gunray casting a nervous glance over his shoulder.
As for the super battle droids, they had about-faced and were marching stiff-legged in Anakin's direction. Catching sight of him, their right arms elevated, twisted downward, locked into firing position.
And the corridor began to fill with blaster bolts.
Qui-Gon Jinn hadn't believed in baiting, Obi-Wan thought as he and the commandos rode the turbolift to the fortress's lowest level. Baiting implied a certain amount of advance planning, and Qui-Gon had no patience for that. He took situations as they came, throwing back his shoulders and striding boldly to the center of things, relying as much on his instincts as his lightsaber to deal with the consequences. It must have been difficult for him to have served under a methodical master such as Dooku, consummate planner, consummate duelist.
Now a Sith.
But that made sense, of a sort.
The desire to dominate and control.
For a time the same issues had stood at the center of Obi-Wan's conflicts with Anakin. Clearly Anakin was as strong in the Force as any Jedi who had ever sat on the Council. But as Obi-Wan had told him time and again, the essence of being a Jedi didn't hinge on attaining mas-tery of the Force, but on attaining mastery over oneself.
Someday Anakin would come to accept that, and then he would be truly unstoppable. Qui-Gon had had the insight to recognize it more than a decade earlier, and Obi-Wan felt duty-bound to his former Master to help Anakin fulfill his destiny.
His faith in Anakin had grown so strong that he had become Anakin's staunchest defender to those on the Council who had grown apprehensive about the young man's prowess, and uncomfortable with his confidential, almost familial relationship with Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. If Obi-Wan was, as Anakin sometimes said, the father he never had, then Palpatine was his wise uncle, adviser, mentor in the ways of life outside the Temple.
Obi-Wan understood that Anakin envied him for having been appointed to the Council. But how could he not, having been all but anointed "the Chosen One," continually bolstered by Palpatine's praise, driven to prove to his former Master that he could be the perfect Jedi Knight.
On countless occasions Anakin's bold actions had allowed them to prevail against seemingly impossible odds. But just as often it had been Obi-Wan's circumspection that had pulled them back from the brink. Whether foresight was something innate in Obi-Wan or the result of his continuing fascination with the unifying Force-the long view-Obi-Wan couldn't say. What he could say was that he had learned to trust Anakin's instincts.
On occasion.
He wouldn't have been able to go on playing the bait, otherwise.
"The next stop is ours, General," Cody said from behind him.
Obi-Wan turned, watched Cody slam a new blaster-pack into his DC-15, heard the familiar whine of the weapon's repower mechanism.
Reflexively, he placed his thumb on the lightsaber's activator button.
"How do you want to handle this, sir?"
"You're the master of warcraft, Commander. I'll follow your lead."
Cody nodded, perhaps grinning beneath his helmet. "Well, sir, our mandate is a simple one: Kill as many of the enemy as possible."
Obi-Wan recalled a conversation he had had on Ord Cestus with a clone trooper named Nate, regarding analogies between the Jedi and the clones: the former ushered by midi-chlorians to serve the Force; the latter, grown and programmed to serve the Republic.
But the analogies ended there, because the troopers never paused to consider possible repercussions of their actions. Tasked, they executed their orders to the best of their abilities, whereas lately, even the most forceful Jedi knew moments of doubt. Qui-Gon had always criticized the Council for being too authoritative, and for cultivating inflexible methods of teaching. He saw the Temple as a place where candidates were _programmed_ to become Jedi, instead of a place where beings were allowed to grow into Jedihood. Qui-Gon was no stranger to what the Jedi referred to as "aggressive negotiations," which typically involved lightsabers more than diplomacy. But Obi-Wan wondered what he would have had to say about the war. He recalled, as if yesterday, Dooku's taunt on Geonosis that Qui-Gon would have joined Dooku in championing the Separatist cause.
As soon as the turbolift came to rest, two commandos tossed concussion grenades into the corridor beyond. Right and left, battle droids were blown against the walls and ceiling. Obi-Wan knew, because the corridor quickly became a torrent of blaster bolts. He, Cody, and the others threw themselves into the horizontal hail. Re-peating blasters roared to life. Staccato bursts made short work of the droids, but reinforcements were already appearing.
Two commandos fell to fire while Obi-Wan's team was making its way down the corridor in the direction of the citadel's packing and shipping rooms. Halfway there, they encountered the contingent of super battle droids the Neimoidians had sent to root out the infiltrators.
Comparing the spindly infantry droid to the black-bodied super battle droid was like comparing a Muun to a champion shock-ball player. Quick decapitations weren't possible because the droid's head was all but buried in and fused to its broad torso. Heavy-gauge armor protected long arms and legs. Monogrip hands were suited only for gripping and firing high-energy dispersal blasters.
"Looks like they've taken the bait, General!" Cody said while he, Obi-Wan, and two commandos fought their way into a side room.
"Another successful action! Now we just have to survive it!"
Cody pointed to the entrance to a second room, opposite their present position.
"Through there," he said. "A second bank of turbo-lifts on the far side." He tapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder. "You first. We'll provide cover. Go!"
Obi-Wan shot for the room, deflecting bolts and mangling two super battle droids that stood in his way. The room beyond was stacked with coffin-sized repulsorlift shipping containers, constructed of some lightweight alloy. Treaded labor droids were moving additional containers into the room from an adjacent packaging area. Without warning, a battle droid appeared in the entrance. Obi-Wan glanced at the wall-mounted mechanism that operated the sliding doors. Adopting a defensive stance, he did just as he had done in the grotto, returning the first of the droid's blaster bolts, and sending the second caroming around the room in a path calculated to disable the door apparatus.
Things might have gone as planned had a labor droid not entered the room at an inopportune moment, guiding a levitated shipping container behind him. Ricocheting from the floor, the deflected bolt passed completely through the container before it struck the door mechanism. The pair of sliding doors attempted to close, but the crippled container was now in the way, so they began to cycle through attempts to repocket themselves, close, repocket themselves…
Each time they opened, a battle droid would squeeze into the room, firing away, forcing Obi-Wan back toward the entryway through which he had originally come, where a brutal firefight was still raging between commandos and super battle droids.
While all this was occurring, something else was afoot. Strands of some gauzy white substance were beginning to drift from the holed shipping container.
Obi-Wan realized instantly what the substance was.
Taking one hand from the hilt of his lightsaber, he began to fumble for the rebreather pouched on his belt, only to find it empty.
"Stars' end," he cursed, more in disappointment than anger.
Already beginning to feel woozy.
"Sirs, this is a terrible mistake!" TC-16 inserted into a brief pause in the firefight.
"Keep him quiet," Anakin snapped at the commando closest to the droid.
"But, sirs-"
A second commando glanced at Anakin and motioned down the corridor behind them. "Six infantry droids advancing. We're going to be caught in a crossfire."
Anakin gave his head a quick shake. "Wrong. Follow me-and bring the droid."
A muffled sound of dismay escaped TC-16's vocabulator.
Fury clouded Anakin's eyes. Lightsaber held high in his crooked right arm, he whirled into the intersecting corridor. No need to use the Force, as many Jedi said, for he was never anywhere but fully in the Force. He called instead on his anger, bringing images to mind to fuel his rage. It wasn't difficult, with so many to choose from: images of a Tusken Raider camp on Tatooine, Yavin 4, the defeat at Jabiim, Praesitlyn, his short-lived apprentice Ahsoka Tano being cast aside by the Order she served for so long…
Blue blade flashing, he cut a swath through the super battle droids, opening their burnished carapaces with diagonal slashes, cutting off blaster arms, hobbling the droids by deflecting bolts into their hermetically sealed knees. Scarcely letting a shot get past him, so that the commandos following in his wake could concentrate their fire on the ones Anakin only wounded.
Their enemies fell aside, almost as if surrendering.
Focused on the route Gunray and his lackeys had taken, Anakin raced through corridors, rounding corners without slowing down, sprinting for the launching bay at the far end of the final corridor. Confronted with an iris-hatch blast door, he thrust his glowing blade into the metal as if it were living flesh. Lips drawn back over his teeth, he tried to force the lightsaber to burn a fast circle in the door. He brought his will to bear on the task, but the lightsaber could accomplish only so much, even in the hands of a powerful Jedi.
Withdrawing the blade, he stepped back from the door and moved his hands through a Force pass, willing the iris portal to open. The door shuddered but remained sealed. Screaming through gnashed teeth, he tried again.
When the commandos finally caught up with him, he spun to them.
"Blow the door!"
A commando hurried forward to place magnetic charges against the alloy. Anakin paced behind him, waiting. Another commando had to tug him to a safe distance.
The charges blew, and the portal yielded. Anakin charged through the irising seal even before it had opened fully.
The launching bay was littered with containers, articles of clothing, objects the Neimoidians hadn't had time or space to take with them.
The shuttle was gone.
Wisps of vapor swirled about, and the air smelled faintly of fuel. Anakin ran to the platform's forward-curving edge, eyes scanning Cato Neimoidia's light-riddled night sky for some sign of the fleeing ship. The palace's defensive shield had been deactivated. Thick packets of crimson light lanced from laser cannon batteries on the slopes below.
Anakin's teammates joined him at the brink, one with a hand vised on TC-16's upper left arm.
"What type of ship is it?" Anakin demanded of the droid.
TC-16 tipped his head to one side. "Ship, sir?"
"The shuttle-Gunray's shuttle. What model?"
"Why, I believe it was a Sheathipede-class, sir."
"Haor Chall Engineering Sheathipede-class transport shuttle," one of the commandos explained. "Design is based on the soldier beetles. Upraised stern, bow ramp, clawfoot landing gear. Gunray's is named the Lapiz Cutter."
A second commando spoke up, signaling that he was receiving commo.
"General. From Commander Dodonna's flagship: more than sixty shuttles and landing craft launched from the redoubt. Thirteen destroyed, eighteen seized. An unknown quantity have managed to dock aboard Trade Federation core ships and open-ring Lucrehulk carriers. Additional shuttles are still in the envelope."
Anakin turned through a circle, gloved hand gripped on the lightsaber pommel, the other balled into a fist. A conduit nearby took the brunt of his anger. Cleaved by the blade, it fell in pieces to the landing platform's seamless floor. Anakin began to pace again, then stopped, yanking a commando around by his shoulder.
"Comm forward command. I want my ship and astromech droid flown here immediately. One of the ARC-one-seventy pilots can fly it."
The commando nodded, relayed the message, then said: "FCC will comply, sir. You'll have your starfighter soonest."
Anakin returned to the lip of the platform, blowing his breath into the night. The battle appeared to be winding down, except within him. Not until he had Gunray in his grip-
"General Skywalker," a commando said from behind him. "Urgent from Commander Cody. He and General Kenobi are pinned down on level one."
Anakin shot him a questioning look. "By droids?"
"A lot of them, apparently."
Anakin glanced into the glowing sky, then back at the commando who had delivered Cody's message.
"General, forward command reports that your starfighter is on the way," another commando updated.
Again, Anakin glanced at the sky, only to turn back to the commando. "Where did you say Obi-Wan and Cody are?"
"Level one, sir. In the shipping area."
Anakin compressed his lips. "All right. Let's go rescue them."
In the shipping room, the sliding doors were still cycling-striking the punctured shipping container, retracting, attempting to close once more. Battle droids were still entering with each parting of the doors, and spores were still wafting through the air.
Not much had changed, except within Obi-Wan, who felt as if he had downed three bottles of Whyren's Reserve. Bleary-eyed but lucid, tipsy but sure-footed, weary but attentive, Obi-Wan seemed to be the sum of all contrasts.
More or less rooted in place, he swayed, wobbled, tottered, and reeled, evading or parrying an almost unremitting current of blaster bolts. His singed and burned cloak bore evidence of all the near hits, but the floor-heaped with droids, whole and in parts, bodies sparking and limbs twitching-spoke to the accuracy of his deflections.
He felt at times as if he were merely holding the lightsaber and letting it do all the work. In one hand, in both, it made no difference. Other times he was able to anticipate the bolts, twist himself aside at the last instant, and allow the walls and floor to handle the ricochets.
Sometimes he actually took a moment to congratulate himself on the skill of his returns.
He was in the Force, to be sure, but deep in some other zone as well, giddy with astonishment, as the world unfolded in slow motion.
Alerted by the commandos that the air was saturated with spores, Anakin had his rebreather in his mouth as he approached the room in which Obi-Wan had held his own against better than fifty droids, all of which lay scattered about the room. A weaving, shuffling, staggering Obi-Wan was dealing with the last of them when Anakin entered.
When the final droid collapsed, Obi-Wan aimed the blade of his lightsaber casually toward the floor and stood swaying in place, breathing hard but almost grinning.
"Anakin," he said happily. "How are you?"
When Anakin went to him, Obi-Wan promptly collapsed in his arms.
Anakin deactivated Obi-Wan's blade and inserted a re-breather into his mouth-the same one that had ended up on the floor of the grotto. Then he carried him from the room to where Cody and several commandos were waiting, some with their helmets removed.
"Exactly what lightsaber form were you using back there, Master?" Anakin asked when Obi-Wan had come around and the rebreathers were no longer necessary.
"Form?"
"More the absence of it." Anakin laughed shortly. "If only Mace, Kit, or Shaak Ti could have seen you."
Obi-Wan blinked in confusion and glanced around at the carnage of droids in the shipping area. "We did this?" he said to Cody.
"You did most of it, General."
Obi-Wan regarded Anakin in confusion.
"I'll explain later," Anakin said.
Obi-Wan ran his hand through his hair, then, as if just remembering, said: "Gunray! Did you get him?"
Anakin's shoulders dropped. "The entire entourage escaped the palace."
Obi-Wan mulled it over for a moment. "You could have gone after them."
Anakin shrugged. "And leave you?" He paused, then added: "Of course, if I'd known you'd become master of a new lightsaber form…"
Obi-Wan's eyes brightened. "They'll be taken in orbit."
"Maybe."
"If not, there'll be other times, Anakin. We'll see to it."
Anakin nodded. "I know that, Master."
Obi-Wan was about to add something when a helmeted commando stepped from a nearby turbolift and hurried over to them.
"General Kenobi, General Skywalker, we've found something of interest among the equipment the Neimoidians left behind."
The fact that the Sheathipede shuttle had managed to thread its way through a storm of turbolaser bolts and dock in the core ship's port-side command tower was no guarantee of safety. Indeed, while everyone was filing down the shuttle's tongue-like boarding ramp, the core ship was still being pummeled by fire from Republic warships.
First to set foot on deck, Viceroy Nute Gunray, attired in blood-red robes and sporting a tall, helmet-like miter, asked for a situation report from one of the goggle-wearing technicians who was waiting in the docking bay.
"Even now coordinates for the jump to lightspeed are being calculated, Viceroy," the nearest one said. "A matter of moments and we will be well away from Cato Neimoidia. Your peers on the Council of Separatists await us in the Outer Rim."
"Let us hope so," Gunray said, as the vessel was rocked by a massive explosion.
Behind Gunray walked settlement officer Rune Haako, wearing a crested skullcap; and behind Haako, various financial, legal, and diplomatic officers, each wearing a distinctive headpiece. Droids were already beginning to unload the possessions-the treasures-for which Gunray had risked so much.
He called Haako aside while the others were exiting the sterile docking bay. "Do you think there will be a chance to return and reclaim what we had to leave behind?"
"Not a chance," puckered Haako said flatly. "Our purse worlds now belong to the Republic. Our only hope is to find sanctuary in the Outer Rim. Otherwise, this ship will have to serve as our home-and perhaps our final resting place!"
Sadness crept into Gunray's red orbs. "But my collections, my keepsakes…"
"Your most cherished items accompany you," Haako said, gesturing to the containers already piled at the foot of the boarding ramp. "More important, we escaped with our lives. Another instant and the Jedi would have had us."
Gunray allowed a nod of agreement. "You warned me."
"I did."
"Count Dooku will help us find new worlds to settle when the war is won."
"If the war is won, you mean. The Republic seems keen on driving us from the galaxy."
Gunray made a dismissive gesture with his fat fingers. "Temporary setbacks.
The Republic has yet to see the face of its real enemy."
Haako hunched slightly at the reference. "But is even he enough, Viceroy?" he asked quietly.
Gunray said nothing, although he had been asking himself the same question for the past several weeks.
One thing was clear: the glory days of the Trade Federation had come to an untimely end. Ironically, the in-dividual most responsible for that bright burning-for the rise of Nute Gunray himself-was the same individual who had repeatedly betrayed him, and to whom Gunray and the other Separatists were now forced to look for salvation.
The Sith Lord, Darth Sidious.
There at Dorvalla and Eriadu, manipulating events to shunt power and influence to the Neimoidians; there at Naboo, ordering a blockade of the planet, the murder of Jedi, assassination of the Queen… a debacle for the Trade Federation. Years of attempts by the Republic to try to convict Gunray and his chief officers, to break the hold the Trade Federation enjoyed on galactic shipping. But not once during that time of public disgrace did Gunray mention the role Sidious had played.
Out of fear?
Certainly.
But also because he had sensed that Sidious had not abandoned him completely. Rather, the Dark Lord was somehow seeing to it that the trials never came to fruition, that no lasting verdicts were rendered or punishments handed down. As the Separatist movement gained strength, threatening the security of ships and shipments in the far sectors, the Trade Federation had actually been able to increase the size of its standing army of battle droids by dealing directly with foundry worlds, such as Geonosis and Hypori. Making the most of the Republic's sudden instability, lucrative deals had been arranged between the Trade Federation and the Corporate Alliance, the InterGalactic Banking Clan, the Techno Union, the Commerce Guild, and other corporate entities.
It was during the final trial that Gunray had been approached by Count Dooku, who had promised that all would ultimately turn out well for the Trade Federation. In a moment of weakness, Gunray had revealed the truth about his dealings with Darth Sidious. Dooku has listened attentively; had promised to bring the matter to the attention of the Jedi Council, though he himself had left the Order some years earlier. Gunray had mixed feelings about Dooku's purpose in creating a Separatist movement, chiefly because corruption in the Republic Senate had so often worked to the Trade Federation's advantage. But if Dooku's Confederacy of Independent Systems could eliminate even some of the bribes and kickbacks commonplace in galactic trade, then so much the better.
By and by Dooku's real aims had been made clear: he was less interested in providing an alternative to the Republic than he was in bringing the Republic to its knees-through the use of force if necessary. In much the same way that the Trade Federation had amassed an army right under the nose of Supreme Chancellor Finis Valorum, Dooku-in plain sight-was seeing to it that Baktoid Armor Workshops was supplying weapons to any corporations that agreed to ally with him.
Regardless, Gunray had resisted offers to throw his full support to the Separatists-not when there were still profits to be made in countless Republic star systems. Playing a game of his own, teasing Dooku along, he had informed Dooku that a precondition to their entering into any exclusive arrangement was the death of former Naboo Queen Padme Amidala, who had foiled Gunray on two occasions, and had been the loudest opposition voice at his trials.
Dooku had hired a bounty hunter to oversee the business, but two attempts at assassinating Senator Amidala had failed.
Then came Geonosis.
But just when Gunray finally had Amidala in his grasp-on trial, no less, for espionage-Dooku had equivocated, refusing to have Amidala killed outright, and not lifting a hand against the Jedi until some two hundred of them had showed up with a clone army the Republic had grown in secret!
That day had provided Gunray with the first in what would be a series of narrow escapes. Hurrying to the catacombs with Dooku at their side, Gunray and Haako had barely managed to flee the embattled surface and recall what core ships and droid carriers remained.
By then, though, it was too late for anyone to resign from Dooku's Confederacy.
The war was begun, and it was Dooku's turn for revelations: he, too, was Sith, and his Master was none other than Sidious! Whether a replacement for the fearsome Darth Maul, or a Sith even during his years in the Jedi Order, Gunray didn't care to know. What mattered was simply that Nute Gunray was right back where he had been so many years earlier: in service to forces over which he had no control whatsoever.
When the war had been going well, the issue of whom he served had been scarcely a problem. Trade had continued, and the Trade Federation had continued in the black. For a time it appeared that Sidious and Dooku's dreams of toppling the Republic might succeed after all. But they found themselves facing a worthy opponent in the person of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine-also from Naboo-who had never much impressed Gunray, but who had managed through a combination of charm and artfulness not only to remain in power long past his term of office, but also, in conjunction with the Jedi, to conduct the war. Slowly, the wheel began to turn, as one Separatist world after another was retaken by the Republic, and now Viceroy Nute Gunray himself had been driven from the Core.
A tragedy for the Trade Federation; a tragedy, he feared, for the entire Neimoidian species.
He gazed at the few possessions he had been able to gather: his costly robes and miters, resplendent jewelry, priceless works of art-
A sudden chill laddered up his spine. His bulging forehead and lower jaw tingled in dread. Eyes protruding from his mottled gray face, he swung to Rune Haako.
"The chair! Where is the chair?"
Haako stared at him.
"The mechno-chair!" Gunray said. "It's not here anywhere!"
Now Haako's eyes widened in apprehension. "Surely we couldn't have overlooked it."
Gunray paced worriedly, trying to recall when and where he had last seen the device. "I'm certain that I had it moved to the launching bay. Yes, yes, I remember seeing it there! But in the rush to launch-"
"But you armed it to self-destruct," Haako said. "Tell me you armed it!"
Gunray stared at him. "I thought you had armed it."
Haako gestured to himself. "I don't even know the sequence codes!"
Gunray fell silent for a moment. "Haako, what if they should decide to tamper with it?"
Haako's broad slash of mouth twitched with worry. "Without the codes, what could they possibly gain from it?"
"You're right. Of course, you're right."
Gunray tried to convince himself. It was just a mechno-chair, after all; finely wrought, but just a walking chair. A walking chair equipped with a hyperwave transceiver. A hyperwave transceiver given to him fourteen years ago by-
"What if he should learn that we left it behind?" Gun-ray rasped.
"Sidious," Haako said softly.
"Not Sidious!"
"Count Dooku, you mean."
"Are you brain-dead?" Gunray fairly screeched. "Grievous! What if Grievous should find out?"
Supreme Commander of the droid armies, General Grievous had been San Hill and Poggle the Lesser's gift to Dooku. Once merely a barbaric living being; now a cyborg monstrosity, devoted to death and destruction. Already the butcher of entire populations; the devastator of countless worlds-
"It's not too late," Haako said suddenly. "We can communicate with the chair from here."
"Can we arm it to self-destruct?"
Haako shook his head negatively. "But we might be able to instruct it to arm itself."
A technician intercepted them while they were hurrying toward a communications console.
"Viceroy, we are prepared to make the jump to light-speed."
"You will do no such thing!" Gunray cried. "Not until I give the order!"
"But, Viceroy, our vessel can only withstand so much bombardment."
"Bombardment is the least of our concerns!"
"Hurry," Haako insisted, "we haven't much time!"
Gunray rushed to join him at the console. "Say nothing of this to anyone," he warned.
Sickle-footed, humpbacked, incised with intricate designs, the mechno-chair sat in the launching bay of the now seized fortress, amid a heap of equally exquisite belongings left by the fleeing Neimoidians.
Obi-Wan was circling it, right hand caressing his bearded chin. "I think I've seen this chair before."
Squatting alongside it, Anakin looked up at him. "Where?"
Obi-Wan stopped. "On Naboo. Shortly after Viceroy Gunray and his entourage were taken into custody in Theed."
Anakin shook his head. "I don't remember seeing it."
Obi-Wan snorted. "I suspect you were too excited about having blown up the Droid Control Ship to take much notice of anything. What's more, I saw it only for a moment. But I do remember being struck by the design of the holoprojector plate. I'd never seen one quite like it-or since, for that matter."
On the far side of the spacious bay, up on its hard-stand, sat Anakin's sleek yellow starfighter. R2-D2 stood nearby, communing with TC-16. Commander Cody and the rest of Squad Seven were elsewhere in the palace, "mopping up," as the clones liked to say.
Anakin examined the chair's holoprojector without touching it. An oval of ribbed alloy, it was equipped with a pair of dorsal sockets sized to accept data cells of some sort. "It is unusual. You know, Master, these cells could contain valuable messages in storage."
"All the more reason to leave it be until someone from Intelligence can have a look at it."
Anakin frowned. "That could take forever."
Obi-Wan folded his arms and regarded him. "Are you in a rush, Anakin?"
"For all we know, the cells could be programmed to erase themselves."
"Do you see any evidence of that?"
"No, but-"
"Then we're better off waiting until we can run a proper diagnostic."
Anakin grimaced. "What do you know about running diagnostics? Master."
"I'm not exactly a stranger to the Temple's cyberlabs, Anakin."
"I know that. But Artoo can run the diagnostic." He beckoned for the droid to join him at the mechno-chair.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan started to say.
"Really, sirs, I must protest," TC-16 interrupted, hurrying behind R2-D2. "These items remain the property of Viceroy Gunray and other members of his party."
"You don't have a say in the matter," Anakin said.
R2-D2 trilled and hooted at the battered protocol droid. The two had been bickering since R2-D2's arrival a short time earlier.
"I'm fully aware that my circuits are corroded," TC-16 said. "As for my posture, there's little I can do about that until my pelvic joint is serviced. You astromechs think very highly of yourselves, just because you can pilot starfighters."
"Don't pay Artoo any mind, TeeCee," Anakin said. "He's been spoiled by another protocol droid. Haven't you, Artoo?"
Artoo toodled a response, extended his computer interface arm, and inserted the magnetic tip into an output socket in the chair.
"Anakin!" Obi-Wan said sharply.
Anakin stood up and joined Obi-Wan on the launch platform. Obi-Wan was pointing to a blinking light that was growing larger by the second in the night sky.
"Do you see that? That is very likely the ship we're waiting for. And the Intelligence officers aboard are not going to take kindly to our sticking our noses in their business."
"Sirs," TC-16 said from behind them.
"Not now," Obi-Wan said.
R2-D2 began to loose a long series of whistles, chirps, and chitters.
"If and when they give the okay," Obi-Wan went on, "then feel free to dissect the entire chair, if that's your objective."
"That's not my objective, Master."
"Maybe Qui-Gon should have left you at Watto's junk shop."
"You don't mean that, Master."
"Of course not. But I know how you love to tinker with things."
"Sirs-"
"Keep quiet, TeeCee," Anakin said.
R2-D2 honked and razzed, though as if from a distance.
"And you, too, Artoo."
Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder, and his jaw dropped. "Where's the mechno-chair?"
Anakin swung around and scanned the bay. "Where's Artoo?"
"I've been trying to tell you, sirs," TC-16 said, gesturing toward the launching bay's ruined iris hatch. "The chair walked away-taking your high-thinking little droid with it!"
Obi-Wan stared at Anakin in bewilderment.
"Well, it couldn't have gotten far on foot, Master."
They rushed into the corridor, saw that it was deserted in both directions, and began searching the rooms that adjoined the bay. A prolonged electronic squeal brought both of them back into the main corridor.
"That's Artoo," Anakin said.
"Either that, or TeeCee has developed a talent for mimicry."
The protocol droid following behind, they hurried into a compact data room, where they saw R2-D2 with his interface arm still jacked into the chair, and the gripper of his grasping arm clamped to the bar handle of a storage cabinet. Stretched to its full extent, a computer interface cable now connected the mechno-chair to a control console of some sort. The chair's talon-like feet were in constant motion, attempting to gain purchase on the smooth floor in an effort to propel the chair closer to the console.
"What's it doing?" Obi-Wan asked.
Anakin made his face long and shook his head. "Recharging itself?"
"Never seen such tenacity in a mechno-chair."
R2-D2 chattered and wheezed.
"What's Artoo saying?" Obi-Wan asked TC-16.
"He's saying, sir, that the mechno-chair has just armed itself to self-destruct!"
Anakin made a mad dash for the console.
"Artoo, unplug yourself!" Obi-Wan shouted. "Ana-kin, get away from that thing!"
Anakin's fingers were already busy undoing leads that linked the holoprojector unit to the chair.
"Can't, Master. Now we know there's something stored in this chair no one wants us to see."
Obi-Wan glanced worriedly at R2-D2. "How much time, Artoo?"
TC-16 translated the astromech's response. "Seconds, sir!"
Obi-Wan rushed to Anakin's side. "There isn't time, Anakin. Besides, it could be rigged to detonate if tampered with."
"Almost there, Master…"
"You'll deactivate us in the process!"
Obi-Wan sensed a disturbance in the Force.
Without thinking, he pulled Anakin to the floor an instant before the chair shot a stream of white vapor into the space Anakin had occupied.
Coughing, Obi-Wan covered his mouth and nose with the wide sleeve of his robe. "Poison gas! Good bet it's the same one Gunray tried to use on Qui-Gon and me at Naboo."
"Thank you, Master," Anakin said. "What's that make it, twenty-five to thirty-seven?"
"Thirty-six-if you've any interest in accuracy."
Anakin studied the chair for a moment. "We have to take the chance."
Before Obi-Wan could even think about stopping him, Anakin had leaned forward and wrenched the interface cable from the control console.
R2-D2 yowled, and TC-16 moaned in distress.
A web of blue energy gamboled around the chair and the console, knocking Anakin onto his backside.
At the same time, a high-resolution blue hologram projected from the chair's holoplate.
R2-D2 mewled in alarm.
And to the meter-high figure in the hooded cloak, the unmistakable voice of Viceroy Nute Gunray was saying:
"Yes, yes, of course. Trust that I will see to it personally, my Lord Sidious."
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Well folks, that was part one of this story. Hope you enjoyed.
Part two will be up soon.
Stick around until then.
Until next time, as always, this is Grubkiller, over and out.