(Author rushes in, hair disheveled, pencil stuck at random into her messy bun, and lugging a haphazard stack of papers. Plops into chair and thumps papers on desk.) Well! That took longer than I thought it would.
Representative Reader rises and crosses arms: You said by Christmas.
Author: I know. I tried. (glares at manuscript) Certain characters have been very…difficult. (brushes futilely at wisps of hair falling in her face) But I stuck to it and here it is! 200 pages of final draft. Beta'd and everything!
Reader: Great. (reaches for the manuscript) Anakin's been on the verge of passing out for nine months. Do we finally get to find out whether he's going to faint?
Author: Yeah—in just a minute. But I need to cover a couple of housekeeping details first.
Reader (wheedling): Do you have to? We just really, really want to find out what happens.
(Chorus of agreement from other Readers coming out of the woodwork to investigate the commotion.)
Author: Sorry about the nine-month-long cliffhanger. I'll be quick. I've updated the tags (now that I better understand their purpose on AO3). I have also rearranged chapters 11 to 20 to improve pacing (something I've wanted to do since I first posted chapter 16). No content has changed, except that chapter openings have been adjusted to set the scene more clearly and a few events were moved from one chapter to another. (I'm not sure what happens with the associated comments for each chapter; hopefully, they've migrated too. And sorry if I spammed your email as I did this...)
Reader: Okay. That's great. Can we start reading now?
Author: (holds up hands and laughs) Almost. I'm deeply flattered by your eagerness. I do want to make some important acknowledgements:
To my tumblr friends for including me in their writing games, which kept me motivated and amused throughout this process. Many many many thanks to my betas RecklessRonto and CLM, who had more than enough to keep them busy but kindly read through 70,000 words in the middle of end-of-semester craziness. Seriously, guys, you're the best and Krayt's Oath wouldn't be nearly the story it is without you. Thanks also to QueenSqueaker, DinoDigger, and MB who contributed ideas and enthusiasm to the process. Last, but most certainly not least, my husband TechGrunt, who helped me replace my laptop mid-stream, frequently cooked dinner so I could work on the story, and regularly backs up our data network so I don't lose documents. He also keeps me generously supplied with brain fuel in the form of snacks.
This new and improved fic brought to you by Haribo Raspberries, my new laptop, and the {Redacted} Free Public Library, which provided wifi and a (reasonably) comfortable chair so I could write while my Offspring was in class.
Reader: (smiles weakly) Are you done yet?
Author: Yes, yes. Go read. We pick up right where we left off as Anakin and his team escaped from Scarif. (I will eventually swap this chapter with Palpatine's POV in chapter 32 so that the flow works better. But I know you don't care about that right now.)
And after you read, let me know all your thoughts and feels! I've been so eager for this day—I can't tell you.
Chapter 33
Delays Have Dangerous Ends
The tangled energies of hyperspace surrounded the shuttle in a blanket of safety. Battle excitement still surged through Anakin, even as his oxygen system chimed again. Was it getting harder to breathe? He fumbled to unlatch his safety harness and rose. His vision tunneled. Vaguely, he heard Rex shout. He hardly felt the jolt when he toppled back into the pilot's chair.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan cried. "What's wrong?"
His lungs pulled on the air, but it was like dragging a space cruiser through water by hand. "Oxy—oxygen," he gasped, vainly blinking at the mist in his eyes. "Bag. Main…ca—bin…"
A heavy weight pressed on his chest. Sounds wavered and receded.
"Cody," Obi-Wan said into an echoing tunnel before Anakin lost consciousness.
Cody raced for the main cabin. "General Skywalker's bag," he said breathlessly. "Which one?"
Scratch scrabbled in the equipment locker and tossed a small brown tote to him. Cody hurried back to the cockpit. Inside the bag were a dozen small flat metal canisters. They weren't labeled, but it seemed likely they held the oxygen. As Kenobi rose to lean over Anakin, the movement drained his face of color and pinched his lips with pain.
"Sit down, sir," Cody urged.
"I can handle it. I've had much worse," Kenobi protested.
Rex held out his hand. "Let me, General. What should I do?"
Cody handed the canister to Rex and supported Kenobi back into his seat. "Anakin said—" Obi-Wan drew a careful breath, "—said he wears his oxygen on his hip."
Rex looked at Cody uncertainly, then back at the unconscious Anakin. Another chime sounded. Hastily, he lifted the tunic to detach the empty canister from its cradle. The chime became insistent. He fumbled to fit the new one in place until, after what felt like an interminable struggle, bottle and port connected with a snap and there was blessed silence.
All three watched Anakin attentively until his breathing deepened and grew more regular. Within a minute, his color had improved. He opened his eyes sluggishly, blinked several times, then drew one deep breath after another. His gaze sharpened, and he sat up.
"Did I pass out?" His words slurred a bit.
"Yes," Kenobi said shortly. He bit his lip and scowled. "Is there a reason you left that bag on the shuttle instead of bringing it with you?"
"But I checked the volume this morning." Anakin frowned. "It was three-quarters full. I've never emptied a canister so fast before."
"When you were fighting and running?"
"Well, no."
"If you don't start paying attention to these things, you won't be fit to defeat Palpatine. We need you to show more forethought. The twins need you to show more forethought."
That was a low blow. "I realize that," Anakin said crisply. "It won't happen again. Now," he shifted his attention to Rex after confirming that the canister was properly seated, "if you'll let me out…" He stood gingerly and readjusted his tunic.
"Shouldn't you sit a little longer?" Rex refused to shift from his position between the seats.
"I feel fine and we need to make some plans."
Rex crossed his arms. "One way or another, I've been shepherding Skywalkers for over twenty years, and right now I'm seeing a very strong family resemblance. The galaxy will not stop spinning if you take a few minutes to be certain you are recovered."
Anakin faltered, half hoping he would offer more information, but Rex merely met his eyes with that familiar piercing gaze. He looked to Obi-Wan, uncertain whether he was seeking support or direction. The other man gave an expectant tilt of his head toward the pilot's chair.
Bowing to superior force, he dropped back into his seat. "Very well. Two minutes."
He ignored Rex muttering, "What did I say? Family resemblance," to Cody, who snickered.
He fixed his eyes on the chrono. Something burned in his throat and prevented him from so much as formulating the question he longed to ask. The final second of the allotted time ticked off, and he stood with relief, doing his best to swallow down his disappointment with himself. "As you can see, I am perfectly functional. Now."
Rex spread his hands in a mocking gesture as he stepped out of Anakin's path. Anakin snatched his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and hurried toward the main cabin. The other men shared a bemused look before following.
Cody assisted Kenobi to a seat on the central bench in the cabin while Anakin stowed his bag in the equipment locker once more. Rex collected a first aid kit, and Cody knelt to examine Obi-Wan's left side.
Anakin held out his hand for the kit, eager for a concrete occupation. "How is it?" he asked, sitting beside Obi-Wan.
"No vital damage, sir, just painful." Cody sat back on his heels.
Anakin ignored the faint residual trembling in his muscles in favor of locating the antiseptic. The motions reminded of doing this for Leia. By the Great Krayt—was it less than two days ago? He gave thanks that he hadn't lost anyone on his team, despite the utter collapse of his plan. Opposite him, Fett leered tauntingly from the wall. He seized the topic.
"All right," he said sternly, breaking open the antiseptic and relieved to see that Cody's assessment of the wound was correct, "who was responsible for that stunt as we left? Scratch, you seem to have an affection for Fett. Was it you?"
"What stunt, sir?"
Anakin paused in cleaning the wound to give him a pointed stare. "Don't play dumb. I've seen your tattoo. I know you were involved in making that—" he jabbed a finger at the sketch on the wall "—so I want to know if you're the one who splashed it on that ISD."
"ISD? No, sir, it wasn't me," Scratch said, puzzled.
Anakin observed the rest of the men. "I was hoping to conceal your involvement in this project. I don't want you to suffer the Emperor's retaliation, but NIA will be combing the system for clues. It won't take them long to conclude a clone breached their security."
"I don't know about that, sir." Cody searched through the medkit for a bacta patch. "Clones aren't the only ones who use it."
"Yeah." A grin creased Scratch's face. "It's everywhere. Even vols scratched it on their lockers."
Dash held his leg stretched out as Chatter removed the scorched armor. "It was all over our ship by the time we retired. And I know it wasn't only vod'e that put it up." He frowned down at the hole through his thigh gauntlet. "This armor doesn't do osik."
Anakin ignored the familiar complaint. "It was? But I never saw anything of the sort—and you will admit I had reason to know. I haven't seen it since the end of the war."
"Not on your ship, obviously," Cody scoffed. "No one would have dared. But away from your direct oversight? It must have been everywhere. Doesn't matter—clones or vols—grunts are grunts."
"Even civilians use it. I've seen it spray painted on walls and alleys all over the Outer Rim. Corellia's full of Fett." Rex grinned. "So Imp Intel will just think we were thumbing our noses at His Imperial Wrinkledness."
"Really," Anakin drawled. He gestured imperiously to Cody for the bacta patch. "You want to tell me that lighting up the flagship with Mando'a isn't going to raise alarms on Imperial Center?" Irritated by their obtuseness, he ripped open the package.
"Does it really matter?" Obi-Wan was breathless as Anakin applied the bandage with somewhat more pressure than was strictly necessary. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that code is going to raise alarms anyway, won't it?" He frowned at Anakin in reproof. Probably over the excessive pressure and not the risk he had taken to escape Scarif.
Anakin glanced away, irritation fading back into anxiety. "Most likely. I expect it's being monitored. The fact that it worked probably means deactivating it was too time-consuming, so they've just flagged it."
"Code?" asked Dash.
"The gate wasn't opened for us—for obvious reasons," Rex said. "Skywalker entered a code, and the system responded before the gate officers could shut it down."
"But—you said your codes were deactivated," Hex said.
"This one was hard-wired into every military and governmental system," Anakin explained. "I took a chance that it might not yet have been removed from a system as remote as Scarif." He paused to check the bacta patch. Satisfied it was doing its work, he continued more reflectively, "But now that I think about it, there's a certain—justice—in using that particular code."
"Justice?" asked Obi-Wan.
Anakin pressed his lips together. "Right after I became Darth Vader, the Emperor repurposed my old Jedi code. He expanded its access from military systems to government ones. Later, I had unique codes as Darth Vader, but he always kept the Jedi code. Said it was much more efficient, since it already granted access to so many systems, simply to wire it into new computers as they came online. Of course, the real reason was that he wanted me regularly reminded of my former identity. It was just one more little mind game."
Dash chuckled. "So you quite literally told the Emperor that Anakin Skywalker broke out?"
At his confirmation, the clones whistled and cheered. He tried to maintain his stern demeanor but he couldn't restrain a smirk. Even Obi-Wan's reproachful head shake was comfortably familiar.
"I learned from the best, you know," he murmured. He was fairly certain that beneath Obi-Wan's admirably severe expression, exasperated amusement lurked.
When the noise had died down, he said, "I still want to know who lit up that ISD." At Obi-Wan's questioning glance, he clarified, "That—" with another jab of the finger at Fett on the wall "—was splattered all across the port side of the flagship."
Obi-Wan stared at the sketch. "That's what those flashing lights were?"
"Yes."
Kenobi fought his twitching lips for only a moment before the delighted laugh broke through. "I still have absolutely no idea what it means, but that's brilliant."
"So. If Scratch didn't do it, who did?" Anakin demanded. The identical, impassive expressions gave away nothing. Sternness was getting him nowhere. He sighed and said in a less sharp tone, "Look, I want to know how it was done. That's all. And why any of you, when we were in danger of our lives, were bothering with such tomfoolery. Especially after I warned you how serious this mission was."
"I did it." Chatter raised a sheepish hand. "But not during our escape."
Anakin stared, incredulous, at this least likely culprit. "Then when?"
Chatter gave an abashed grin. "When we came into the system. I piggy-backed on your comm signal through my old backdoor in the Timmy's security system. I set it up so it wouldn't start until after we escaped. The shuttle pinged the ship as we came through the gate and activated the wyrm." Artoo chirped indignantly. "Yeah, your little astromech did all the encryption and helped me set up the piggy-back."
As the other clones applauded, the droid whistled, rocking back and forth in self-satisfied glee.
"Timmy?" Anakin inquired with a tilt of his head.
"Intimidator," answered Chatter.
"You…call an ImpStar…Timmy?"
"Yeah. The whole crew did. Best ship in the fleet."
The clones roared with laughter at Anakin's flabbergasted expression. To Cody he finally choked faintly, "What did the crew call my ship?"
"The Exactor," Cody replied, deadpan.
"Yes, I know. But what nickname did they give it?"
"Exactor."
Anakin blinked.
"Who would dare nickname Darth Vader's flagship?" Hex asked rhetorically.
Another gale of laughter swept through the cabin. Even Kenobi joined in. Anakin shook his head, befuddled. "I…suppose not." After a moment's consideration, he remembered it was a digression from more serious matters. "Dash, how is your leg?"
"Not too bad."
Chatter frowned at him. "Bad enough, vod. It's not too deep, sir—but he shouldn't be running or stressing it until the bacta has a chance to work."
"Noted. You'll need to stay aboard when we land, then."
"Where are we going?" Hex asked.
"Nal Hutta," Rex muttered in disgust.
Anakin was the object of the same incredulous stare, multiplied by four.
"Why would you go there, sir?" Scratch demanded. "We just killed Jabba the Hutt."
"Yes. But the Hutts don't know that, and the Empire never enters the system. They'll know he's dead, of course, but not that it was deliberate."
"You stood in that box with your face exposed and made an announcement," Dash scoffed. "Are you seriously gambling that no one will even be curious?"
"I'll wear a disguise and stay in the background." Anakin repressed a groan as he tried to ease his throbbing left leg. He had only just noticed that he must have strained a muscle in their mad dash. He waved off Kenobi's murmur of concern. "We have to ditch this shuttle as soon as possible. I was hoping, if all went well, to return to Tatooine with no one the wiser about our theft. That's not possible now. If we take this shuttle into any system monitored by the military, we'll be arrested. We can dispose of it on Nar Shaddaa and the Empire will never find a trace."
Rex and Cody shared an appalled look. "But—Nar Shaddaa's worse than Nal Hutta—or Mos Eisley."
"Yes, and we'll be all the more untraceable because of it. I know it's not ideal, but it's the best option, short of going straight to the Rebellion. And I have no idea where their base is. Not to mention that they'd shoot first and ask questions later. Unless you know where to go?" He glanced inquiringly at Obi-Wan, who shook his head.
"The Rebels, sir?" Cody put in. "You want to work with the Rebellion? That might be…"
"Difficult? Awkward? Taking my life in my hands? I know that. But I need access to military-grade analysis equipment and I need it yesterday. Using that code—and Chatter's stunt with the flagship—has left too clear a trail. After our jaunt to Scarif, I won't be able to get on the same planet as an Imperial garbage compactor, let alone into the same room with an analysis computer. I'm sure the Rebellion's equipment is outdated, but it should serve. Those plans are no good locked up inside Artoo."
"Can't your droid analyze them?" asked Hex.
Artoo spun his dome and whistled sadly.
"If he worked with a supercomputer, but not on his own. No, the Rebellion it is. Anybody know how to contact them?" He looked around the group.
Rex crossed his arms and pressed his lips together. He worried his bottom lip. Eventually he said with resignation, "Alderaan. You need speak with Bail Organa."
Anakin eyed him narrowly. "Hm. I see." The fact that Rex possessed that information raised questions he didn't care to think about, but the other man's expression discouraged further inquiry. "Very well, Alderaan it is."