A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away …
STAR WARS: INQUISITOR
Chapter One
The five LAAT gunships cut through the warm summer air of that part of Jaradin like one of the planet's native shadowhawks. Squat-bodied and bulky they may have been, but they were possessed of a speed and agility that belied their appearance, and which had seen them become the drop-ship of choice on countless worlds across the galaxy in the three preceding years of grinding, brutal conflict.
Standing in one of the gunships, his hand slick with sweat as it gripped the metal overhead rail to keep from falling out, Theyn Daras tried to breathe slowly and find his centre in the Force. It was not easy. Quite apart from the distant sounds of the assault on the Separatist fortress on the planet being led by his master, Harith Veron, and the main clone force, and the roar of the engines and the air speeding past his ears, he was sharing the LAAT with a company of twenty clone troopers and the four elite clone commandos of Ordo Squad, whose idea of readying themselves for battle was to sing a war chant in Mand'oa. Theyn could not understand the words, but he felt them thump through his being regardless, disturbing his connection to the Force and the stillness that he knew he was supposed to find in meditation, no matter the external distractions.
He tried reciting the Jedi Code to himself, hoping that it might help him to find the inner peace needed to meditate successfully. But he found that it was in conflict with the chanting of the clones behind him, and was losing.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
"Kandosii sa k'arta, Vode an."
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
"Coruscanta a'den mhi, Vode an."
There is no passion, there is serenity.
"Bal kote, darasuum kote."
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
"Jorso'ran kando a tome."
There is no death, there is the Force.
"Sa kyr'am nau tracyn kad, Vode an!"
On the last three syllables, all of the clones joined in with a shout that ended any chance Theyn might have had to find a peaceful connection to the Force. He sighed, disappointed and dreading the dressing down he would no doubt receive from Master Veron when they were reunited. Theyn had always admired and marvelled at the way that his mentor could find peace and stillness in even the most chaotic of environments, even in the midst of the thickest of the fighting in the most gruelling of battles. But, if he was honest with himself, he was envious of the older Jedi too. A Jedi was not supposed to feel envy, Theyn knew, but he could not himself. Human, twenty standard years old, and still bearing his Padawan braid, had much yet to learn, and he knew it. Theyn could almost hear the Miraluka's chiding words now.
"A Jedi must be able to find peace in the Force regardless of any distractions that the outside world may put in your path. Only then will you know that your actions are truly guided by the Will of the Force, and not your own desires."
He always made it sound so easy. And perhaps for a being whose very sight depended on a connection to the Force it was. But in Theyn's experience it was anything but.
The captain of the clone unit accompanying him, nicknamed Striker on account of his penchant for lightning-fast aerial strikes like the one they were currently undertaking, stepped up to Theyn and saluted crisply. How the man could keep his balance in the craft without either holding on to the overhead rail or using the power of the Force Theyn did not know. Long experience and training, he supposed.
"Commander, we're approaching the landing zone. We'll be setting down two klicks to the south of the fortress and engaging with their rearward defences."
Theyn nodded. He still found it surreal that he should be a Commander in the Grand Army of the Republic, responsible for the lives of soldiers, their very being in his hands simply because he had happened to be born with a higher count of midi-chlorians than the average being. He was nineteen standard years old. Nothing for a Human, really, barely more than a child. A Jedi he might be but he was not even yet a full Knight of the Order, and the task of command frequently felt too much for him. Not that he had ever let on about this once to any of the clones under his command: he understood enough about the soldiers' mindset to know that they would hardly be cheered to hear that their commander thought himself unqualified for the role. Nor had he ever mentioned his doubts to Master Veron, for he knew that although his master would be kind, he would not be able to offer Theyn anything more than platitudes about the Will of the Force and rising to the occasion to find one's place in the galaxy.
Theyn considered the task before him. He was still becoming used to undertaking missions without Master Veron's direct oversight, much less missions where the lives of some one-hundred clone troopers rested on his decisions. True, Harith was within comm range should Theyn need to make contact, but any attempt to establish a connection would doubtless be picked up by the Separatists and hacked into. Establishing secure channels in this part of the Outer Rim had proven all but impossible, thanks to the listening post that Republic Intelligence was confident was being housed within the fortress on Jaradin.
"That listening post is adding months, possibly years, to this war," Harith and Theyn had been told by Master Windu during their mission briefing at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. "Jaradin must be liberated from the Separatists, and the listening post must be captured or eliminated. Or these battles will go on and on without end."
The Outer Rim Sieges, the HoloNet news broadcasts were calling them, the series of long and brutal battles where some of the hardest fighting of the war so far was taking place. Jaradin was but one world of dozens being fought over in like manner. From Yerbana to Cato Neimoidia, from Felucia to Mygeeto, from Murkhana to Bracca. Right across the galaxy the battle lines were converging in a welter of blood and blaster fire, and Theyn wanted nothing more than to see it end.
He studied again the holo-schematics supplied by Republic Intelligence. The fortress ran for well over a kilometre underground, and Theyn was willing to gamble his lightsaber that the listening post was in the most heavily defended area, right at the very bottom of the vast complex. That would mean heavy fighting, even assuming that his strike team was able to rendezvous with Master Veron and the main assault force. Heavy fighting would mean casualties. A lot of them. The Senate frequently seemed, to Theyn's mind, to consider the Kaminoan-grown clone troopers as expendable. Droids of flesh where their enemies deployed droids of alloy, their lives worth only as much as their bodies could contribute to the war effort. But Theyn could feel the light of the Force in each of them, living beings one and all, and he would not be cavalier with their lives.
The LAAT began to descend, causing Theyn's ears to pop uncomfortably as the air pressure changed. But no sooner had the craft begun its downward course than the air was rent apart by a cacophonous explosion and the LAAT steeply regained altitude. Several of the clones cried out in surprise and fear as they were thrown backwards inside the cabin, and Theyn felt a leap of anxiety in his own chest. Alarms blared, and the voice of the clone pilot came over the intercom.
"Landing zone is compromised, Commander Daras. Turbolaser batteries set up and live. Looks like a company of AAT tanks as well. We'll need to find an alternative place to set her down."
How did they know where we would land? But Theyn knew he did not have time to contemplate such matters now, nor to order repeated strafing runs to clear the landing zone.
He saw one of the other gunships take a direct hit and go down in a ball of orange flame and thick, black smoke. It landed with an explosion louder than any of the shells and lasers fired by the droids on the ground. Theyn closed his eyes and spared a moment's thought for the clones who had been aboard. He could feel through the Force that none of them had survived the crash, had perhaps even been dead from the moment the craft had been hit. The galaxy had been at war for three years, ever since the opening engagement on the sun-baked red sands of Geonosis, and while he was no longer a stranger to death it never got easy to see for himself. Which was as it should be, he reflected. Death should never become easy, even in war. Especially for a Jedi.
Theyn knew he had to make an immediate decision, and live with the consequences. He thought about asking Captain Striker for his input, but sensed that the grizzled veteran was looking to his commander for leadership and orders in this moment of unexpected danger. Theyn tried once more to find his centre in the Force, and lied to himself that he had succeeded as he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.
"Captain Striker, we drop directly into the fortress. Jetpacks down from the gunship. We hit them straight in their soft underbelly."
It was all said with a confidence he could not bring himself to feel. Striker seemed to agree. Even with the clone's face concealed behind his helmet, Theyn could feel his shock that Theyn had ordered such a risky tactic. That was understandable; Theyn was not known for his recklessness or daring, and although he and Striker had served together before it had usually been Master Veron giving the orders, with both Theyn and Striker merely carrying them out. But something needed to be done, and Theyn did not believe that even a Separatist strategy droid would not predict what he had ordered.
"An aerial drop, sir," Striker said. "Understood. Men, equip jetpacks."
The clones, troopers and commandos both, pulled jetpacks down from overhead storage areas inside the cabin and strapped them to their backs. Striker offered one to Theyn, but he refused it with a raised palm. Striker nodded.
"Of course, sir. Forgot you Jedi don't need to use jetpacks for this sort of thing."
"Only for the descent, Captain," Theyn said with a levity in his voice that he most certainly did not feel. "How close are we?"
Another explosion rocked the LAAT as the Captain answered, "Less than a klick now, sir. Ready to jump on your command."
Theyn stepped up to the open door of the gunship, knowing what he had to say if any of these men were to make it to the ground alive.
"I'll go first, Striker. Lightsaber activated. They'll be so focused on trying to taker me out that they might just forget about all of you, at least for a few moments."
The Captain nodded. "Understood, sir. Right behind you."
Theyn stood with one foot on the very edge of the gunship's body, the rushing air whipping his brown robes about him wildly. His fair hair, which hung loose to his shoulders, was whipped back from his face to fan out behind him. A plasma bolt came whizzing towards him from the ground, from the fortress itself that now spread out below them like some great, grey-shelled crustacean lifeform, missing the gunship by mere feet.
Theyn closed his eyes, trying for one final time to find peace in the Force. But if he had not managed it with the clones singing, he was hardly going to achieve it while Separatist weapons reported all around him, deafeningly loud and perilously close to ending his life here and now. Instead, he simply muttered under his breath, so quietly that he knew none of the clones would hear him, "I have a bad feeling about this," and leapt into the open air, bringing the shimmering blue blade of his lightsaber to life as he did so.