When the trio arrived in High Command's meeting room, the rest of the group was already assembled. Ahsoka slid in next to Padmé, who greeted her cordially while resolutely ignoring Obi-Wan. Asajj judiciously took the seat on Padmé's other side, placing herself as a buffer, or possibly a blockade, between the former senator and the abased Jedi master.
Without prevarication, Mon pulled up a holomap. "This is the Partisans' base, located on the planet Wrea, along the Corellian Run hyperspace route. The base has shields and is holding out for now, but a siege will almost certainly end in the Empire's favor. Meanwhile, Imperial forces are sufficient to render evacuation impossible without outside help."
"You've never liked the Partisans' tactics. Let them get smothered, and it'll show other cells that those tactics won't earn them the support of the full Alliance," suggested Asajj.
Ackbar bristled. "We are not Separatists, nor are we Sith."
Mon Cal and Zabrak glared at each other, and Mon interceded.
"I believe Admiral Ackbar intended to convey that, though the Alliance does not hold with the Partisans' methods, we prefer to aid our sister organization, rather than sitting back while the Empire destroys one of the precious few groups that opposes it. To continue—Gerrera reported that their scanners were showing six large ships, likely star destroyers, along the Ryloth-side edge of the Smugglers' Run."
"Forming an effective blockade of the Corellian Run."
"Precisely, Master Kenobi. The Alliance is willing to aid the Partisans in evacuating their base, but we do not have the military strength to tangle with an entire squadron of destroyers."
"If we can manage to evade the blockade, it should be simple enough. Engage the Imperial forces, which will take pressure off the base and allow those inside to escape. Partisan pilots are presumably accustomed to navigating the Smugglers' Run, such that leaving the system shouldn't be any more of a problem than entering."
"But how to enter?" Padmé asked, a little sharply. "Even with one of the retrofitted Venators, you're not going to manage to run that blockade."
"Who says we have to run it?" Ahsoka said. "It looks like the destroyers have blockaded the less dense side of the Run. What if we overshoot Wrea, then come in through the denser part of the belt?"
"Then the Empire still has six destroyers' worth of fighters and the more navigable side of the Run."
"The Partisans can share their safe routes. And if we bring out just one of the Venators, we can send enough fighters to even the score. Even six ISDs can't carry as many fighters as one Venator."
"And what if the Imperials send a few of those ISDs over to take care of the Venator?"
"They won't send more than one," Madine scoffed. "Your typical Venator wouldn't stand a chance against even a single ISD."
Obi-Wan stroked his beard with a contemplative air. "Overconfidence is one of the Empire's greatest weaknesses."
"And this is why we've been retrofitting the Venators, after all," Rex added. "One retrofit might not be able to defeat an ISD, but she should be able to hold her own until she can reenter hyperspace."
"That's the plan, then," said Ahsoka. "Drop a Venator on the far side of the Run, then deploy fighters and transports, with our best pilots in the transports since they're less maneuverable."
"It could work," Ackbar mused, "if we are willing to take losses to our starfighter fleet. And, of course, it would mean showing our hand with regard to the Venators. Once the Empire realises we're fixing up the old girls, they'll start demolishing abandoned ships and crash sites, and it will be that much harder to find them."
"We already have a few finished and another fifteen in the works."
Ackbar snorted. "Twenty ships, against the might of the Empire."
"Realistically, we've already picked off the least-damaged," Padmé pointed out. "Whatever is left at this point is going to take more time and resources to repair. We can protect the Venator program and maybe have a few more ships ready in five or ten years, at great financial cost, or we can protect the Partisans and keep another cell active, both to strike against the Empire and to feed us intel so we can do the same."
Ahsoka nodded. "Alliances with other worlds will win us more ships in the end than scavenging. We need to focus on winning and retaining allies, and that means aiding others who support our cause."
"We will put it to a vote," Mon said. "All in favor of Ahsoka's plan?"
A reluctant majority.
"That's settled, then. Tano, Kenobi—I want you two flying the largest ground troop transports. You stand the best chance of navigating the Run."
"Artoo can take one, too," Ahsoka put in.
"So can I," added Asajj.
Mon raised an eyebrow. "Kix hasn't cleared you for return to duty yet."
"You didn't tell me you weren't supposed to be sparring," Obi-Wan said, with a stern look toward Asajj, who waved a dismissive hand.
"Kix is overreacting. It was just a little concussion. And don't you get all self-righteous with me, Kenobi. I know your record."
"If we could return to the matter at hand, Ventress?"
Mon's tone, and the deepening lines between her brows, suggested that she had begun to seriously consider banning Asajj from all subsequent meetings.
Numa, who had settled into the twins' room but spent much of her time hanging around Rex and Ahsoka, entered their suite without bothering to knock and flopped on Ahsoka's bunk to watch her pack.
"I wish I could go with you."
"No, you don't," said Ahsoka, who was currently occupied in rooting through a drawer after a missing sock. "I've been a fourteen-year-old in a firefight, and believe me, you do not want to go there."
"Must be better than sitting around here doing nothing."
"I'll tell Rex you think his lessons are nothing, then, shall I?"
"What? No! That's not what I meant! I just—when I'm busy with training and stuff, then I don't think about home as much. But you and Rex are leaving, so…."
Abandoning her search, Ahsoka moved on to stuffing various articles of clothing into her bag.
"Why don't you ask Padmé to teach you? She's got some wicked skills she learned along with her Handmaidens."
Numa chewed her lip. "I hate bothering her. She's so busy, and she's still getting over whatever upset her, and whatever it is I think I helped it happen, because the Imps tracked my ship and I didn't notice. She's said it wasn't my fault, but it kind of was."
"Half the reason she's so busy right now is pretty much the same reason you want to go with me, Numa. We're all dealing with some pretty awful family… ah… drama, so she's thrown herself back into work. Helping you to study and train would give her something else to do and help keep her from dwelling on problems she can't solve. And, between you and me, I think she could probably use an extra opportunity to expend some energy."
"Okay."
Ahsoka finished packing and clipped both lightsabers to her belt. "Come wish Rex and me luck, will you?"
Numa tagged after her to the hangar, where Rex, Obi-Wan, Kix, and Artoo were already waiting, with Padmé and a sour-faced Asajj also present to see them off.
"Come back in one piece," Padmé told Ahsoka. "That's an order."
But her front of elder-sisterly bossiness didn't quite cover the worry in her eyes, and when Ahsoka hugged her, she whispered, "Please be careful."
"I will."
"Good. And don't let Obi-Wan do anything stupid."
Ahsoka shot her a dubious look. "You know how he is."
"All too well."
"And you think I can stop him if he well and truly puts his mind to doing something stupid? The best I'll be able to manage is damage control."
When the goodbyes were finished, and everyone staying behind had promised Kix that they would do their best to avoid injury in his absence, those bound for Wrea split off to their respective transports. A final wave, a final mouthed May the Force be with you!, and they left Yavin for the VSD Indefatigable, presently stationed in orbit above the moon.
The first Venator to be retrofitted, she now boasted a reinforced hull and skeleton, improved shielding, and a generous complement of additional weaponry. One more veteran dragged into another war she had never asked for. Though the old Republic red striping had been painted over with Rebel scarlet, and the insignia of the Alliance now marked the cruiser's hull, she still bore scars of battles long past, dents and scrapes and carbon scoring that weren't worth the cost to repair.
Once her transport touched down inside the cruiser's main hangar, Ahsoka headed for the bridge. Rex fell in at her side, keeping somber silence. All too well did they both recall the last time they had stood in one of these hangars. She didn't realise she was holding her breath until they made it past the hangar doors and into the familiar halls beyond.
"Can't believe these things used to feel like home," Rex said. "Now, it just feels like…."
A grave. Ahsoka caught his hand and didn't let go until they reached the bridge.
Several days later, Padmé found herself struggling to focus on her Handmaiden's words during a holocall.
"I'm sorry, Ellé. Can you repeat that, please? Fulcrum and Silvertongue are supposed to be arriving for a dangerous assignment right about now, and I'm having a hard time focusing on anything else."
Ellé's holoimage nodded sympathetically. "Of course, Padmé. From what the others and I have gathered, Shili is sincere in their request to the Alliance. I delivered the secure comm to the Shilian foreign minister this morning. The channel will be open five standard days from now, for six standard hours. Outside of that period, it'll seem like a dysfunctional device."
"Thank you."
Padmé marked down the time on her datapad. Shili had reached out to one of the Rebellion's agents and expressed interest in opening communications with the Alliance. Padmé had tasked the Handmaidens with ascertaining their sincerity prior to opening direct lines of communication, lest their request should somehow be an Imperial ruse.
When she went out to the common room after the call, she found Numa waiting for her.
"Did you need something?"
"Not exactly, but I wanted to ask—Ahsoka said maybe you could teach me some stuff?"
"What sort of stuff?" Padmé asked, amused.
"Fighting, defense, hand-to-hand—whatever it is you and your Handmaidens do. Would you have time for that today?"
Padmé mentally reviewed her schedule. Comm call with the twins at two, long reports to read from Dormé and Rabé, meeting with Mon and Bail to discuss alliances to court… "How about for an hour or two right now? Just let me get changed."
A bit of exercise and teaching might help to clear her head before she had to dive into those reports, and it would help to while away the time before she could expect to hear from the Indefatigable.
The initial assault on Wrea, while it had resulted in a fair number of dead rebels and wrecked rebel ships, had not been an overwhelming success. The remaining rebels had withdrawn into their base, which enjoyed the protection of robust shields. The assault having thus evolved into a siege, Vader had returned to Devastator to meditate, for the Force whispered of change on the horizon.
He found it a more difficult task than usual. Certain words of Padmé's, which he had at first managed to drown out, had crescendoed into a throbbing cacophony.
And there's a word for people who are considered possessions, isn't there—
She was wrong, she was in every way wrong—he was not Anakin, he did not view her as a possession [as a slave], and it wasn't as though that accusation should bear any particular weight for Vader in the first place. It did not have any significance.
It did not.
And yet Vader kept returning to the issue, and the words played over and over. It was maddening. It obscured his focus so that, even away from the commotion of battle, he could discern nothing in the Force beyond that whisper of coming change. The change might be welcome or unwelcome, it might come from his wife or from his Master—there was no way to know.
Such was his frustration that the entry of two familiar presences into his awareness proved a welcome distraction. Glaringly light, both of them; one hated, and the other—best not to think too much about her. Kenobi and the Apprentice. They were together, and that knowledge evoked a strange feeling, like wavering desert air above the scorching sand. Heat without flames, it was the capsaicin burn—of envy?
His rage flared hot. There was nothing to envy. He wanted nothing to do with Kenobi but to inflict pain and (eventual) death, and as for the Apprentice….
She left.
[She left me.]
Replacing his helmet, he vacated the meditation pod and made for the bridge, which was now in a flurry of activity.
"Scanners detect one ship on the far side of the Run."
"Looks like a Venator," piped one young ensign, who had something of a passion for "old" ships. "Can I get confirmation?" (He also had a somewhat inflated estimation of his own importance, having recently become no longer the most junior member of his shift.)
"A Venator? What are they going to do, fly it through the Run?"
"Always knew those rebels were short a brain cell or two."
The chatter died down as the crew became cognizant of Vader's presence.
"Lieutenant Piett," he commanded, espying that individual among the throng, "report."
Piett swallowed his alarm at being thus singled out and straightened his cap.
"My lord, the rebels appear to have positioned a single Venator just outside the Run. On the far side."
"What is your analysis of this situation?"
Piett's eyes drifted toward Captain Durren.
"Not your captain's analysis, Lieutenant. Your own."
Don't look at Rex for answers, Padawan. What do you see?
Vader clenched his fists as the Jedi's past beat against his present.
Piett resolutely raised his chin to look him in the eye.
"I believe they intend to deploy smaller craft to reach the planet and engage our forces, giving the entrapped cell the chance to flee, sir. And I suspect they have some hidden defense, or they would not have sent a sole Venator. They surely know we could have six destroyers on them in minutes. Alternatively, the Venator may be a decoy. If they consider us stupid or arrogant, it could be their intention to lure us into a show of might against the Venator, leaving the more accessible side of the Run open to ships presently in hyperspace."
"Rubbish," Ozzel blustered. Pompous bungler that he was, the admiral did not appreciate young upstart officers demonstrating that their wits were superior to his own.
It is my place to reprimand officers I have addressed, Admiral—not yours.
Nevertheless, Vader allowed Ozzel to speak. A plan was forming in his mind, and if Ozzel wanted more rope, Vader would not deny him.
"Carry on, Admiral. I am certain you have some insight to offer."
"It is highly doubtful that the rebels could possess the resources for such a ruse. All reports suggest that they operate on a meager budget and have been known to scavenge ration kits from the Clone Wars."
"And the ISB's information is, without doubt, flawless and complete."
Clearly untrue. Over the course of seven years, never once had there been even a credible whisper of Padmé's survival. But Vader's sarcasm was lost on his admiral.
Privately, Vader agreed with Piett: the rebels must have some secret advantage, or they would not be so bold. The young lieutenant's analysis was sound, and he was not so foolish as to underestimate the enemy. Ozzel, meanwhile, he frankly detested. Why his Master tolerated such incompetent barnacles in the Navy was quite beyond his comprehension. Their jostling and self-aggrandizing in no way served to strengthen the Empire.
Which led him back to The Plan. After fruitless years of hunting Kenobi, the Jedi had at last turned up practically on Vader's doorstep, doubtless coming to the rescue of the besieged rebels. At this point, Vader regarded the rebels themselves as secondary; Kenobi was the only objective that mattered. However, the insurgents might still prove useful. For instance, if Ozzel's incompetence lost the Wrea cell, so much the better. It would give Vader a legitimate basis for his removal and replacement, which his Master would not find suspect. It was time to begin building his forces, and then, when his apprentice was trained and he had Padmé—
There's a word for people who are considered possessions, isn't there.
—when he had her at his side, then they would strike.
"Admiral Ozzel," Vader said, "I have sensed the presence of Kenobi in this system and will deal with him personally. You are in complete command of the squadron in my absence. See that you do not fail me."
One had only to provide a fool like Ozzel with enough rope, and he would inevitably become entangled and end up hanging himself.
As soon as the Indefatigable dropped out of hyperspace at the edge of the Smuggler's Run, Ahsoka felt the cold darkness of a Sith. It was the same she had felt through her training bond. Anakin. Her heart clenched, even as she double-checked the shields around their bond.
"Obi-Wan—" she began.
"I feel it," he replied, grimly. He looked older and wearier than she had ever seen him, stooped beneath the burden of the past.
"We're going to have to face him, aren't we?"
She would have felt slightly better about that probability if she'd had an even slightly-viable plan for reaching Anakin through Vader.
"I will."
"Alone?"
"It won't be the first time." He sighed heavily. "I don't want you to have to fight your master, young one. I don't want him to harm his padawan. Please, keep away. Cover the evacuees, and I'll…"
Ahsoka didn't like the look in Obi-Wan's eye.
"You can't kill him."
"I should, Ahsoka."
"He can come back," she insisted. "I know he can. And I think you hope it's true, too, even if you won't admit it."
"Perhaps I do. But how many people will die in the meantime? We are Jedi, and our duty is to the greater good."
Even as Obi-Wan spoke, he wondered whether he was a hypocrite. He had not been able to make the last, fatal strike before. What reason had he to think this time should be any different?
"How did everything get so kriffed up?"
Ahsoka stared dully out at the Run until Rex came over, bucket tucked under his arm.
"Almost time to—what's going on, Commander? General Kenobi?"
"Anakin," Ahsoka said. "Vader is in the system."
"Those destroyers guarding the run—that's his squadron, then."
She nodded.
"And the 501st is part of the assault."
"Most likely," said Obi-Wan.
Rex cursed. "That's it. I'm issuing an order against lethal force unless absolutely necessary."
He glanced at Obi-Wan, as if expecting him to countermand, but Obi-Wan gave an understanding nod. This would not be another Umbara, nor another Mandalore.
Truth be told, even 501st aside, Rex was a little relieved to be issuing the order. It was one thing to fight against droids. But the Empire didn't use clankers, and so every blaster shot found its mark in a person, and every enemy down was a life taken. You killed, and you killed, and the Empire just kept scooping up more people and spitting them out as marks for your blaster. Clankers, you scrapped as many as you could, and you counted them, compared numbers with your brothers. It was a competition, bringing a little light to the dark days of battle. But people—they counted for you, and you never bragged about those numbers. You never competed to see who could get the most kills.
Maybe it was a clone thing, because there were certainly natborns who seemed to feel no such qualms. Maybe it came from understanding better than most how it felt to be treated as something disposable. Sentiency was a precious thing, not to be thrown away on the battlefield.
The trio, joined by Artoo, went to the hangar in silence, boarded their ships, and set out through the Run. Ahsoka felt like she was moving half in a dream as they landed on Wrea and began their assault to draw the Imperial focus away from the base.
Full-scale battle was strange, anymore. Ahsoka was used to small skirmishes, sheltering colleagues on sabotage missions, that sort of thing. Defending a base under fire from a large force of troops was now but distantly familiar. It was both the same and so very different from her memories of the last war. Leading a unit of troopers, but now they were both clones and natborns, humans and other species. Deflecting blaster bolts into a sea of enemies, but they were sentients, not battle droids. Sabers flashing white instead of green. Side-by-side with Obi-Wan, Rex somewhere nearby. And Anakin somewhere above, drawing nearer, but instead of the hero he was now the villain.
It was like a warped nightmare of the old days as the dark presence drew nearer, and a TIE Advanced broke through the swarm of fighters in the sky.
"He's coming!" Ahsoka shouted to Obi-Wan. He already knew, of course. He could feel Anakin's presence as clearly as she could, if not more so. But it made her feel a little less alone to talk to him.
"I'll keep him busy," Obi-Wan called back above the roar of the battle. "Stay here!"
In her younger days, she might have argued. (No, she definitely would have.) But now, she knew she was needed here, to minimalize casualties for the both the Alliance and the 501st.
"Fine. But be careful!"
Dread weighted Obi-Wan's feet as he approached the landing TIE, until it felt as though he slogged through mud with every step. The darkness in the Force was suffocating, and he wished he could deny recognising any semblance of Anakin's presence. But even now, his padawan was unmistakable, if twisted beyond any rational hope of repair.
The TIE's hatch rose, and a dark figure followed. Vader paused to survey Obi-Wan from atop his ship before jumping to the ground. He landed so heavily that Obi-Wan's knees ached at the sight, and his cloak billowed behind him.
Dramatic as ever. Had the circumstances not been what they were, Obi-Wan would have rolled his eyes. As it was, he took in the menacing figure before him. Vader towered too tall, and moved with little of the boyish energy he remembered. Anakin was only—what, twenty-nine? Thirty? Too young to move with this heavy stiffness. And the implications of that control panel—
An unexpected spark of anger snapped to life within Obi-Wan. Yes, he had dismembered and left his brother to burn. But his action and inaction had, at least, not been born of cold deliberation. This, however…. The old, un-Jedi-like desire to skewer Palpatine on his lightsaber like a shaak on a spit returned with a vengeance at the very thought, along with a fresh wave of self-recrimination.
I should have ended it on Mustafar. It would have been a mercy to you, to me, and to every sentient being in the galaxy.
If Vader detected Obi-Wan's distress, he gave no sign as he addressed him in that low, Core voice that held no trace of Anakin's Rim accent.
"Obi-Wan. I have long hunted you, my old master."
"So I gathered," Obi-Wan replied. "The millions of credits on my head were a slight clue."
The Negotiator's facetiousness, however—so natural against any other opponent—came at an effort. With a sigh, he gave up the attempt to take cover behind flippancy.
"Anakin."
A wave of malevolence crashed over him. Vader took one ominous stride forward.
"Anakin is dead. I destroyed him."
Another stride. Obi-Wan stood his ground.
"Are you absolving me of guilt?"
"Nothing can absolve you of guilt!"
"I know."
A second's uncertainty flickered in the Force before Vader demanded, "Where is Padmé?"
"You know I won't tell you that."
"I need her."
"Perhaps you might have considered that before you turned on her."
"You stole her! You corrupted her!"
"I told Padmé her partner had turned to the darkness and left the Temple awash in blood," Obi-Wan countered sternly. Once a padawan's master, always that padawan's master, even after he turned to the dark side and destroyed one's entire way of life and the others who practiced it. "Was that not the truth?"
"I saw her death just like my mother's! I had to save her!"
"And you decided the most expedient way to accomplish that was to swear yourself to the Sith and then strangle her. Oh, well done, Anakin." Ignoring the rising smog of Vader's fury, Obi-Wan again let his sarcastic façade break. "Why didn't you come to me?"
"You were on the Council."
"And being expelled from the Order and going to live on Naboo with Padmé and your—and Luke would have been so much worse than this." Obi-Wan gestured toward Vader, who gave vent to an inarticulate sound of rage.
"This is your work!"
"And there has not been a day I have not regretted it. But, Anakin—I warned you not to jump."
Although he could not now honestly say whether he had intended the warning as such, or whether it had been designed to goad Anakin into making the fateful leap. He hoped it was the former. Asajj would probably say it didn't really matter—whatever the intent had been, the effect was the same either way. Perhaps she was right, from a certain point of view, but it was one which he was loath to adopt.
He had not time to carry on such reflections, however, for Vader crashed down upon him with a Djem So opening which, though neatly parried by Obi-Wan's Soresu defense, still struck the latter's heart with an icy heat in its familiarity. They must have begun a thousand matches this way.
Familiarity soon passed, however, and Obi-Wan found himself fighting at a disadvantage. Recognising the setup of a sequence Anakin had often used, he prepared for a high block, and Vader's blade contacted his side, sending up the stink of singed fabric. Fortunately, it was only a graze, and the cloth took most of the damage. Still, it was a warning to be heeded. He couldn't think of this as a duel against Anakin. Vader had a different form, and he was therefore, for all practical purposes, a different opponent.
Obi-Wan recognised another sequence, but this time he watched closely. He saw the shift that changed a Djem So strike into Makashi, and he was ready with the appropriate defense. Irritation rendered Vader's next attack a trifle rushed and careless; Obi-Wan warded it off with little effort.
The duel went on, and they both fell more and more into old patterns. As Vader continually failed to eliminate his old master, his control further diminished, replaced by Anakin's rashness. When Obi-Wan remained firmly on the defensive, Vader began to neglect his own defense.
Never take an opponent's moves for granted, Padawan.
As Vader came at him for the umpteenth time, Obi-Wan saw an opening. A dodge, a quick shift to offense, and his blade would pierce neatly through Vader's heart—or whatever piece of equipment served in that capacity—while he himself escaped unscathed. But he hesitated. He had half-raised Anakin; the boy had been his brother, his son, and quite frankly the center of his universe. Their past was written in stone, a promise every bit as strong as those which Beru had given the twins.
And he knew.
I cannott kill him.
Instead, he intercepted Vader's slash, and their lightsabers locked. He looked up into Vader's red lenses through the space between their crossed blades.
"I lied." The words clawed their way out against his will. "Even after you betrayed us all, I still loved you. And even now, I—"
"Liar!"
Vader wrenched his blade free and brought it down in a ferocious strike aimed at Obi-Wan's shoulder, but Obi-Wan managed to block it. Their lightsabers met again, and he prepared to deflect yet another aggressive blow, but this time, Vader disengaged, allowing his own blade to fall. Obi-Wan was left with a moment of confusion. Anakin never chose to disengage, so why—
In the split it took to adjust to the unexpected move, Vader swung in an upward arc. Too late, Obi-Wan understood—too late, he dodged—as blinding pain seared across his left wrist. He jerked back, bringing the injured hand instinctively to his chest—only to realise that there was no hand, just a blackened cross-section of flesh and bone.
"That is your love!" Vader roared. The Force writhed with hatred—and something else, cold and wretched, that slipped away before it could be identified.
Obi-Wan did not try to pursue it. The pain in his arm was building, coming back with a vengeance after its initial ebb, and it was all he could do to maintain his grip on his lightsaber. Ahsoka's concern flared along their bond.
Vader attacked again. Obi-Wan barely managed to block. Another slash, another clumsy parry, worse than the first . A third, and—
"Anakin, no!"
A Togruta leapt into the fray, lightsabers raised. She was a driving tempest bearing down, and Vader's first thought was of Ti, but no, he had killed her long ago. It was not Ti who glared at him as their blades clashed, but Ahsoka Tano. All grown up, taller than Kenobi, now, all trace of baby plumpness gone from her cheeks, her montrals arching high and lekku falling to her waist as she bared her teeth and moved to plant herself squarely between Vader and his former master.
"Back. Off."
"Apprentice."
"I'm not your apprentice. Not anymore."
A battered Aethersprite shot past overhead with a TIE screaming along in its wake.
"Remember those days?" Ahsoka asked. The early days, when war had seemed like a game to be won, when they were all going to be heroes and save the Republic.
"I have not come to reminisce over a meaningless past."
"Is it really meaningless? Everything we all fought and bled for, together—not the Republic, or the Senate, but the people—was that all for nothing?"
Vader's only answer was a Makashi pass which Ahsoka evaded with the ease of experience. Fortunate, how she had practiced so much against Asajj.
"And what about all the vod'e we lost?" she pressed, staying as close as she dared, just out of his range. "Were their lives worth so little? Tup, and Fives, Kix in stasis for years, Echo—and Jesse— Do you have any idea what happened after Mandalore? Rex and I couldn't help them. We couldn't save everyone; we couldn't save anyone. With the chips, there were too many of them—"
"Do not waste my time with your rebel conspiracy theories."
"I was there, and it was no theory! And what about Appo and the rest of the 501st? Force, haven't they done enough? Haven't they been through enough? But you won't let them go!"
"They are loyal to me."
"No, they're kriffing not! You should know them better than that. They would never follow someone like Palpatine of their own free will. Or—or you. And if you don't believe me, then maybe you should have their chips removed, and see how long it takes them to shoot you in the back like Pong Krell!"
An unexpected hatred surged up at the name, and Vader fought to stifle it. Hatred conferred power, yes, but this was tainted with the Jedi's memory, and he wanted no part of it.
"Anakin, please, listen to me!"
She deflected the answering thrust that Vader drove toward her ribcage and leapt beyond his reach, although she still kept herself between him and Obi-Wan, who had collapsed on the ground some way behind her.
"I want to help you."
"Then you will die."
Ignoring Kenobi's pathetic sound of protest, Vader brought his blade down in a powerful overhead strike, but once again the Apprentice blocked it, arms quivering against the strain. She had no right to look so infinitely mournful as she panted out, "You once promised—you would never—let anyone hurt me."
"That was the oath of a dead man. It was never mine."
She twisted away, and his blade gouged into the earth.
"Then why did you answer when I used our bond, months ago? You helped me without thinking, without hesitation."
"Be assured that if I had thought, I would not have helped you!"
"But it was your first reaction. You're still you. Why do you keep denying it, Anakin?"
Vader's only reply was to redouble his attack. What Ahsoka's old master had lost in agility, he made up for with brute strength and power in the Force. She needed all her speed and strength to keep him from breaking through her defense. It didn't help that she constantly had to guess whether his next move would be a direct attack on her or an attempt to break past and go after Obi-Wan.
This was a duel of attrition, not to be won through elegant maneuvers, but by wearing each other down and waiting to see whose misstep came first. So, they fought on, apprentice and master. She had always been good, and Anakin had always been better. That much had not changed. They still fell into sync now and then, and each time was a vibroblade to the heart, a reminder of what should have been, right before she had to dodge a lethal blow. Once, she didn't move out of the way fast enough, and Vader's crimson lightsaber scorched through one of her armguards to burn the skin underneath. He almost got past her to Obi-Wan that time, but she managed to maneuver him away, even as something in her shrieked in dismay.
Anakin. That was Anakin. Anakin hurt Obi-Wan, and he hurt me.
As if that part of her hadn't believed he would really do it, hadn't believed he meant it when he told her she would die.
The battle ground on around them, an ongoing chorus of screeching TIE fighters punctuated by explosions and the occasional shout rising through the tumult. One of the Partisan transports fell victim to a squadron of TIEs. Ahsoka saw the ship falling, but she couldn't take her focus away from the duel long enough to try to slow its descent. All she could do was block out the fading lights in the Force and carry on. Protect Obi-Wan. Distract Vader. She was starting to wish she had practiced more with Soresu over the years. Her arms began to feel heavy, and her blocks grew clumsier, her strikes less accurate. How much longer could she keep going without a deadly mistake? And even if she held out until the evacuation wrapped up, how in the names of all the stars and systems was she going to manage to get both herself and Obi-Wan away from the duel?
Don't think about that, she told herself. Not yet. Focus on the present. Stay alive.
"Vader—" Obi-Wan croaked from behind her. Had she not been in a fight for her life, Ahsoka might have rolled her eyes. Minus a hand and probably in shock, the Negotiator was still trying to goad the enemy. It worked, of course—just one word from Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka became a mere nuisance. She dismissed the indignation of a neglected padawan and took advantage of Vader's momentary distraction to go in for a slash across his right arm, thinking to disable with minimum damage. But he recovered and parried just in time.
Kriff!
Hazy approval tingled along the bond with her grandmaster, however, and the suggestion of again-wait-soon.
With his good arm, Obi-Wan pushed himself up to a half-sitting posture. "—Padmé is—she told me—"
"What? What did she say?" Vader demanded. Thank the Force for his single-mindedness where Padmé was concerned. Then again, it was that same quality which had gotten them into this whole karking situation in the first place.
Ahsoka fell back and allowed Vader's attention to stay fixed on Obi-Wan.
"—said, she knows—you—"
Calling on the Force, Ahsoka swept in again. She pushed her tired body to its limits in an Ataru saltation that took her directly in front of Vader, blades flashing in two neat strikes, before she landed safely out of range.
Vader's vision fragmented in a blinding flash of white and a burst of heat, quickly replaced by the alien sensation of a breeze across his skin. Sight returning, he looked out at a collage of red, meshed with blurs of orange and blue and white.
The Apprentice stood a few paces away, catching her breath. Through the intact lens of his mask, between the many damage warnings it now displayed, Vader made out a look of recognition on her face. Her lips parted, as if in a gasp of dismay, or pain, or… was it hope? Hope, despite the angry, blistering skin that peered out through the scorched hole in her armguard? She reached out with one hand, thumb slipping from her saber's ignition switch as she extended two fingers toward him, not foolish enough to completely relinquish her grip on her weapon.
"Ahsoka—"
The name slipped out before he could stop it, weirdly distorted; the strike that had split his mask must have also damaged the vocoder.
Ahsoka scarcely dared breathe as she watched for his reaction through the gap in the mask. If she could get through to him, just for a moment—
"Anakin?"
The xanthic eye narrowed in a familiar, stubborn ire beneath the furrowed brow, and the garbled voice that was at once Anakin's whisper and Vader's rumble grated, "Anakin Skywalker is dead."
A lie, and she thought perhaps they both knew it, just then—though, if Vader did, the knowledge seemed only to make him the more determined to believe his own falsehood. Ignoring the ominous whining quality his respirator had taken on after her assault, he reignited his lightsaber and came at her again. She slipped away just in time. The moment, if it had ever existed, was past. Lost. Squandered, perhaps. Maybe, if she hadn't called him by name—but there was no time to analyze, as she switched to the offensive to drive him farther from Obi-Wan.
Vader was slowing down, the malfunctioning respirator unable to supply enough air for so demanding an activity as a duel. His attacks became more predictable and waned in power. But, although it was easier to hang on, Ahsoka still didn't hold the upper hand. She was too tired herself. She managed slash his right arm, but her blade didn't go deep enough to do much damage, and she paid for the hit with a stinging graze along one lek when she wasn't quite fast enough to avoid Vader's blade. Still, not ten minutes ago she would have lost half the lek if he had tried the same move. Maybe he was he was slow enough now that she could…
Ahsoka feinted to the left with one saber, and Vader lunged to block it. She just had time to move in close and—
Crack.
She swung the butt of her other saber hilt up to deal a solid blow to his helmet. An inelegant tactic, but an effective one. Already weakened by the malfunctioning respirator, Vader swayed, stunned as much from surprise at the unexpected attack as from the hit itself. While he was still disoriented, Ahsoka shoved a powerful suggestion at him through the Force.
Sleep!
He resisted, but in vain. A hundred stupid competitions and dares aboard the Resolute had proven that Ahsoka's will was as strong as his, while at present her mind was also a good deal clearer. She felt him buckle, saw his eye drift shut, and slowed his fall to a gradual collapse.
Still clutching her sabers, Ahsoka braced her hands on her knees. Her limbs felt like overcooked noodles. Hell, reality itself felt a little wobbly at the moment. Vader was a wheezing heap of armor on the ground, while she, Ahsoka Tano, was still standing. Of course, if it had been purely a matter of strength and skill—if Obi-Wan hadn't been there, or hadn't managed to distract Anakin so she could cripple him—she would be the one on the ground.
She started over to her grandmaster, then paused. Now was not the time to reach out to her former master. Obi-Wan needed her. But still she turned around, crouched down beside Anakin. Reached out to touch his scarred cheek through the gash in the mask.
"I don't want to leave you," she murmured. But I have to.
"I miss you." So much.
"I love you." Please, come back. Come home.
When she lifted her fingers from Anakin's face, they came away glistening under Wrea's sun—sweat from the duel, or tears? She didn't look closer at him. She didn't dare to find out—fearing, if she did, she might not be able to tear herself away.
Instead, she unwound the twins' beads from her wrist and tucked them into her brother's hand. "We will catch up later. That's a promise."
I don't know how. I don't know when. But I'm not giving up on you.
Returning to Obi-Wan, she ripped off the skirt of her tunic and fashioned a makeshift sling for his injured arm. It seemed like reducing movement was probably for the best.
The handless wrist turned her stomach. It wasn't the wound itself—she was more or less accustomed the sight of injuries—but rather, the fact that Anakin had caused it. Had personally done it. Which shouldn't have disturbed her any more than all the other terrible things he had done—but it did. It was so close, so personal.
"Vader?" Obi-Wan rasped, when she had finished securing his arm.
"Over there."
His bleary gaze shifted to the black heap in the grass.
"Is he—"
"Alive," Ahsoka said.
"Ahsoka—"
"Don't. Don't try to get me to do what you can't do either."
She shifted him carefully to lean against her, and spoke into her wrist comm.
"Rex, I need you to get us out of here. Obi-Wan is hurt."