Midway through the flight to Shili, at the end of the day cycle, Padmé cornered Ahsoka in her cabin in the middle of what might generously have been termed meditation. (Although brooding might have been a more accurate description.)
"All right," she said, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing," Ahsoka replied. "Why?"
Padmé gave her an unamused look.
"Don't think I haven't noticed how you've been more than usually out of sorts for weeks, now."
Because out of sorts had become everyone's new normal, following Kafrene.
"It's nothing," Ahsoka said again, which only earned her a raised eyebrow.
"I don't want to bother you," she amended.
"I know you're trying to be kind, but please, Ahsoka. Don't try to conceal things from me."
Padmé had had enough of people doing that for a lifetime. More than enough, really.
"It's about Anakin."
"So I assumed. All the more reason to tell me." Padmé sat down beside Ahsoka on the narrow bunk. "What happened?"
"He broke our training bond," Ahsoka said.
A couple of weeks ago, she had been in the middle of a quick sabotage run when a bolt of agony had struck out of nowhere, as if her head had been splitting open, cleaved in two. It had vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a dull ache and a strange feeling of emptiness, like when you look at a familiar landscape and see something is missing, but you're not sure what until you notice that someone has cut down an old tree. It had been several minutes before she'd realised the missing thing was her training bond. Even now, she kept reaching for it, only to feel its absence. It made her feel like a youngling poking at the odd, smooth place where she'd lost a tooth.
"I see," Padmé said.
"It was after Wrea, and I guess… I guess, as long as it was there, I felt like Anakin must be there somewhere, deep down. But then he broke it, and now… maybe I was wrong. Maybe he only left it because he thought he could use it to get information, or something. Or—or, I don't know. And I don't want to give up, I don't want to admit that—" She broke off, and her fingers dug into the mattress. "Why does it matter so much? He was only my master for a couple of years. Just a twelfth of my life! It doesn't seem like he should be such an important part of it, does it? But somehow… it's like something got stuck. The chrono stopped."
"Those were an intense couple of years. You two did enough living and relying on each other for a decade."
"And look how much that matters," Ahsoka said, bitterly. "It's not just the broken bond. It… it's made me think more about what it really means, you know? What it really means that Anakin is helping Palpatine, he's hurting people, and—he's choosing to do that. He could stop. But—he doesn't want to. And that… it's horrible. Watching someone you love make terrible choices, do terrible things—and they just keep doing it, and nothing you say or do—"
"I know."
Ahsoka slid down to rest her head on Padmé's shoulder.
"I don't want to believe my master could actually want to be like that."
"I know," Padmé said again, and rested her hand on Ahsoka's back. "Neither do I."
"Everything just feels so stuck, like there's no way anything can ever change. And then I think maybe I was fooling myself. How is there any way back from—from that? Not just the dark side, but doing everything he's done. Someone who's spent years and years enforcing Palpatine's will isn't going to just decide, oh, maybe I should stop hurting people. But if I stop trying to help Anakin, then it feels like I'd be abandoning him." (Again.) "And he never abandoned me."
"There's a difference between abandoning someone and stepping back until you can actually help. It feels like giving up, but sometimes it's all you can do when you're dealing with people, you know? The rest is up to time, chance, and the other person. You want to think you can help, and you can fix everything, but… you just can't. Believe me, Ahsoka, it's better to recognise that early than to go on trying to help right up until the moment when…"
When you find them strangling you.
"But I know, there's nothing so frustrating as impasse. Every time I think of his apprentice… I want to get him away from Anakin, but we have no idea where to even start looking, let alone how to steal a darksider child—"
"He has an apprentice?"
Ahsoka felt an irrational pang of jealousy. It wasn't as if she wanted to be his student—not now—it wasn't as if Vader's tutelage was anything to be envious of. But despite that, and despite the fact that she was a knight in her own right, experienced far beyond padawanhood, it still stung. It still felt like he had replaced her.
She didn't indulge the feeling for long, however. That would be juvenile, and besides—
"What does it mean that he has an apprentice?"
"Maybe nothing," Padmé said. "Honestly, I try not to think too much about it."
Ever since that brief conversation with Obi-Wan after Wrea, when he had said he felt something not Sith in Anakin—not light, but not Sith—some deep-down part of her mind had been conjuring a future she didn't dare to think too long about. For in that future, she saw Luke hopping down from a cockpit with stars in his eyes because Dad gave me my first flying lesson today!, saw Leia borrowing one of Ahsoka's lightsabers to show off a Djem So stance she had just learned, Because Dad said this is more fun than Uncle Obi's boring old Soresu. And she didn't want to ask what her own place in that future would be. But, for Ahsoka's sake…
"Maybe it means something more than he wants to let himself realise," she murmured. "I'm not sure how much you've talked with Obi-Wan recently, but he told me that something he said to Vader—he thought he didn't quite react like he would expect from a Sith."
The cynical part of Ahsoka that had been growing over the past few weeks wanted to scoff that that hadn't stopped him from cutting off Obi-Wan's hand. But hope wasn't so easily forgotten, after all, and the merest crumb was enough to make her inquire, "When you say that, do you mean…"
"I didn't ask," Padmé said.
Of course she didn't. Ahsoka held back an impatient huff. It wasn't fair to take her frustration out on Padmé when she knew very well why she didn't want to get involved. At least Padmé had given her this one piece of knowledge to hang onto. It was a candle against the blackness of night, not enough to banish the despair that seeped in through the place where the training bond used to be, but enough to make it take a few steps back.
The Rebel detachment to Shili made it through the Imperial checkpoint without issue, under the guise of a sect of wandering mystics. Their antiquated freighter was hailed and inspected by a group of disdainful troopers who regarded her in the light of a museum piece, and her occupants as featherbrained eccentrics. The ship was old enough that her design differed distinctly from modern ships, so when checkpoint inspectors looked for smugglers' panels, they looked in the wrong places, and their scanners turned up no sign of hidden arms. Had they bothered to push back Yané's wall hangings, woven with transmission-blocking materials, those scanners would have told quite another tale, revealing panels well-hidden to the naked eye. But since the hangings were sheer and the soldiers could see no sign of anything behind them, they did not bother.
Upon entering airspace over the capital city of Corvala, Padmé and a small contingent of accomplices—Ahsoka, Rex, and Kix, as well as Sabé, Eirtaé, and Dormé—departed from the ancient freighter in a shuttle that carried them to the palace. There, the agreement between Shili and the Alliance would be ratified, while the rest of the Rebels continued on to the remote location chosen for the first training site.
"I represent Ambassador Thula Oyor of Korvaii and retinue," Sabé replied over comm when palace security hailed the approaching shuttle. "Lady Oyor has an appointment to meet with Minister Jerti."
"Proceed to land. Minister Jerti is expecting you."
When the shuttle touched down, they were met by an aide, who escorted them through the palace. Padmé fell comfortably back into the role of visiting dignitary, making polite remarks to the aide when appropriate, and responding to his questions about Korvaii. The small agriworld was little known to the greater galaxy. Though technically part of the Empire, it was so quiet and unobtrusive, not to mention economically insignificant, that its existence was generally forgotten. Its leadership, aware of the fact and sympathetic to the Rebel cause, allowed the Alliance to use Korvan trade negotiations as a cover story for missions requiring agents to meet with government officials on worlds with Imperial occupation.
Walking through the halls of the Regasa's palace, Padmé felt as if she had fallen into a strange, warped reflection. Everything was so familiar—diplomacy, a political assignment, guards and Handmaidens in her wake and a Jedi Knight by her side—and yet it was all different. Instead of Typho and his men, her guards were Rex and Kix, disguised in Korvan attire. Her Handmaidens, selected to look all alike, now strove to appear as different as they could, and the Jedi Knight at her side was not… was Ahsoka, not her master. While the mission was not to negotiate agreements toward peace, but to solidify an alliance for war.
Strange times and twists of fate, all around.
The aide led them down one more hall, then through several antechambers and security checkpoints, before finally stopping at a door monitored by a protocol droid.
"The Korvan ambassador to see Minister Jerti, Essonine."
"Minister Jerti is awaiting you," said the droid. Stepping out of the way, it opened the door and waddled through, beckoning to Padmé and her company. "Please follow me."
The office beyond, though windowless, was commodious. Comfortable, rather than ostentatious. It was not a grand apartment of state, but rather a private office for private business and the real work of running a country. In true trade negotiations, it would have told Korvaii very firmly of its place. You are not important enough for a splendid reception chamber, but we take you seriously. Today, it was the ideal location for a clandestine meeting between heads of state and Rebellion.
In one corner of the room was a great desk, and in the other, a table encircled by a number of chairs, one of which was already occupied by the foreign minister.
"Lady Oyor of Korvaii to see you, Minister Jerti," the protocol droid announced.
"Thank you, Essonine."
The droid withdrew, and Minister Jerti rose to bow.
"A pleasure to speak with you as always, Lady Oyor."
"Likewise, Minister Jerti."
Dormé and Eirtaé swept the room for bugs while the others kept up a pretense of diplomatic pleasantries. Then, after a few minutes, the wall at the far end of the room parted, revealing a secret passage through which entered a petite, middle-aged Togruta woman, followed by three guards. Over rich, night-blue robes, she wore a long, tooled sash, leafed with gold. An elegant golden headdress set with akul teeth adorned her brow, and narrow bands of gold also adorned her lekku, gleaming chevrons fitting perfectly between stripes of tawny and white.
Minister Jerti bowed. "Most High Regasa."
Regasa Ilvic's lips twitched.
"I believe we can dispense with formalities, Kirvet. Do sit, all of you."
She gestured Padmé and the others toward the chairs. Amusement danced in her eyes as, seating herself in the chair which one of her guards had drawn out for her, she added, "It is difficult to preserve even a semblance of dignity when one must sneak around one's own home through dusty hidden corridors. The Empire has not yet become so bold as to station their troops inside the palace proper," she continued, more seriously, "but we suspect there may be spies among the staff. Perhaps is it foolish to say, but almost I look forward to the day when we may drop our pretenses and meet the Empire in open war."
"I cannot judge the wisdom of such a sentiment," Padmé replied, "but it is shared by many in our Alliance."
"And by my people, as well. I cannot ask them if they would join the Alliance, but I watch, and I listen. Minister Jerti has told you, I believe, of the abuses our people suffer."
"He has."
"Already, some have begun to strike against the troops stationed here. Defiling Imperial property. Even committing sabotage. They are as ready for this Alliance as my cabinet and I."
"Then let's wait no longer," Padmé said.
Sabé reached into a bag at her side and pulled out a pair of heavily encrypted datapads, which she handed to her. Padmé unlocked both, then passed one to Regasa Ilvic.
"These are the articles of our alliance, as agreed upon by Shili and Alliance High Command. Have any objections arisen since Minister Jerti and I last spoke?"
The Regasa perused the contents of the datapad.
"All is satisfactory," she said, accepting a stylus from Minister Jerti. And so Shili pledged her devotion to the Empire's demise.
Leaving the Regasa's palace, they started through the city in a speeder, under the guise of a group of tourists with a Shilian guide. Such groups were a common enough sight in Corvala. Plenty of Shilian holodrama fans came to tour the locations of their favorite holos, and a few humans didn't look at all out of place.
Several streets ahead, Ahsoka saw white flash through the haze of twilight. Stormtroopers, their stark armor glinting in the light from business signs. It took her only seconds more to realise the troopers were escorting—no, herding a group of Togruta.
A quiet fury began to simmer in her veins, and she started to slow down, already assessing the situation for weaknesses and angles of attack. The others, who had been discussing plans for the morrow, looked up.
"What's going on?" Padmé asked, as she scanned the area around them. "Patrols?"
"No." Ahsoka pointed. "There."
As the speeder crept closer, she saw that the Togruta ranged from young children to hobbling elders. They numbered twenty or so, all told.
Rex shifted in his seat, hands going to the blasters concealed under his cloak, while a couple of the Handmaidens hissed under their breath, and Padmé could have sliced durasteel in two with her glare. She had half a mind to take out her commlink and record a holo, then send it to the code Artoo had managed to trace to Vader's comm. What would your mother have to say about her son's idea of peace and order, Anakin? But she couldn't risk betraying their location, and she wasn't about to bring Vader down on Shili and all its people. Instead, she turned to Ahsoka and Rex with fire in her eyes.
"What are we going to do about it?"
"Padmé…" Sabé began, "are you sure we should do anything? Our interference could bring further trouble for Shili."
"The Regasa said they've already had instances of sabotage," Ahsoka countered. "It won't look that unusual."
"And when six-sevenths of the people involved aren't Togruta?"
"Corvala has a decent share of immigrants, and I doubt they're all huge fans of the Empire. Besides, there's no history of Alliance activity on Shili."
"We can follow them and see where they're heading," Padmé suggested. "Presumably, it's a base or spaceport. If we can take over whatever ship they're planning to use for transit offworld, one of us can take the prisoners to an RRM safehouse."
Sabé had by now adopted her And this is why you kept getting into trouble during the Clone Wars expression, but she let out a sigh of resignation as she looked from Padmé to Ahsoka to Rex and Kix.
"I can't convince you not to do this, can I?"
She was answered by a definitive silence and four very determined looks, while Eirtaé and Dormé kept their faces carefully neutral.
"Fine. What's the plan?"
Vader was beginning to regret the hasty destruction of his apprentice's training droid, because PROXY's absence necessitated his own presence, if said apprentice's training was to progress at a tolerable rate. Hence his present occupation in the training room on the Executor, overseeing Starkiller's practice.
Something was different about the boy. There was a new zeal in his lightsaber work, and he was more settled, more focused. Vader discerned traces of pride in his work as he went through a kata, which was completed with greater attention to detail than usual.
"Enough," he said. "You have demonstrated your proficiency in theory. We will see whether you are as capable in practice."
He opened the duel without warning. Starkiller scrambled backward and only just managed to bring his blade up in time to ward off his master's attack. This was the way of his training. He practiced against the droids, and every fight against Vader himself was a test. No instruction given—just merciless evaluation. It was unfailingly a painful exercise in trial and error, wherein progress was rewarded with survival, and measured by the number of injuries he sustained. It made him learn fast, and that was a good thing because it would make him ready to fight Jedi with his master. But sometimes he thought of the vision the blue kyber crystal had shown him, of that Togruta and her master, and though he knew he shouldn't, he wished his training was a little more like theirs.
A blow aimed perilously near Starkiller's head snapped his focus back to the present, and the duel continued. He struggled as Vader pushed him to the limit of his skill and ability. It was a joyless spar, all discord and strain and fighting just to keep up. Suddenly, he cried out as his master's blade broke through his guard and grazed the top of his shoulder with its awful heat. His lightsaber fell from his hand as he clutched at the burn.
Vader watched coldly, without bothering to extinguish his own saber, even as something in him recoiled and he shoved aside a minute jab of guilt. Ridiculous. Starkiller's arm was still attached to his body. The Inquisitors routinely endured far worse in the course of their training.
"Carry on," he ordered.
Starkiller raised his blade again with a wince. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his face went several shades too pale as he made a tremendous effort not to cry in front of his master. Vader could almost hear the sharp rebuke Padmé had delivered when they had spoken of Luke.
I will not have him abused by you, as your apprentice surely is.
She did not understand the ways of the Sith. Brutal training imparted strength to those trainees who survived. It deepened their connection with the dark side, and it increased their power.
And how useful do you think power and the dark side will be if that burn becomes infected?
Was it her voice? His own? Vader hardly knew, nor did he particularly wish to consider, as common sense warred with a Sith's refusal to pander to weakness. In the end, something gave—he would not say what—and he commanded, "Stay here," then went in search of an active construction zone where a med kit was likely to be found. Several menacing glares and one relatively inconspicuous corpse later, he returned with a bacta patch, which he dropped into his apprentice's lap.
"Use that."
Wetness had streaked Starkiller's cheeks during Vader's absence, and his voice quavered despite his best efforts when he replied, "I—I can't."
"Why not?" Vader demanded.
"My shirt's stuck."
It was not Vader's duty to carry out maintenance on his apprentice. Nor was it in his interests, however, to let any of the medics stationed at the construction site question what a young child with a lightsaber burn was doing on the Executor. Grudgingly, he picked up a multitool and began to snip away the shoulder of Starkiller's shirt, cutting as close to the stuck part as he could. When he finished, there remained a ring of cloth partially embedded in burnt and blistering flesh. Half with the Force, and half with gloved metal fingers too clumsy for the task, he began to work the remaining fabric out of the wound. Starkiller squirmed and whined.
"Keep still," Vader ordered, and took hold of his injured shoulder to steady it.
Starkiller froze.
He was impossibly small and fragile in Vader's grasp. Breakable, even though Vader wasn't trying to break him. [Anymore.] It felt strange—no, beyond strange. It was an alien experience, to touch a living being without the intention of causing harm. When was the last time he had done so? [Padmé. Who else could it have been but Padmé?]
A bit of scorched cloth began to come free, pulling skin with it. Starkiller whimpered and leaned into the durasteel hand gripping his shoulder. Vader paused. What was his apprentice doing? Was he… he could not possibly be… was he really seeking comfort?
The very idea was ludicrous. Vader was an iron fist, a dealer of death, and no being in their right mind would so much as think to seek his touch, let alone find comfort in it. Weak. Starkiller was weak, and he was foolish in his weakness. [Desperate. Starkiller was alone, and hurt, and so desperate that he would look even to Vader himself for comfort.]
It was less foreign a concept than perhaps it should have been for a Sith. Sidious would disapprove of that. Yet, for some reason, when Starkiller's small fingers crept cautiously up to grip Vader's glove, he did not shake him off, but merely went on with his work. It was a trace of rebellion against the Master, flickering in the shadows. [It was a forbidden glimpse of what had been thrown away so long ago.]
"Ow! Stop!" Starkiller complained, as another scrap came free. He sounded just like…
"Ouch! Quit that! You yanking at it only makes it hurt worse!"
It was after a battle, when Ahsoka had refused to let a medic see her until the rest of the 501st had been treated.
"You can't just sit there with shrapnel in you, Snips."
"Well, if sitting's not good enough, I could stand on my head with shrapnel in me instead."
"Ahsoka—"
"Ahn-ah-kin—"
An older memory, dredged up by the first. A different voice, with a Coruscanti accent, accompanied by the sharp smell of antiseptic. "Padawan, all these scrapes could be avoided if you would simply refrain from participating in illegal underlevel races."
It was midnight lightning revealing a desolate plain, and on its heels came pain, sharp and jagged, that set ablaze a familiar fury. Kenobi. Traitor. Liar!
Vader yanked the last shirt remnant from his apprentice's wound and applied the bacta patch with an abrupt slap. Starkiller yelped again and had the effrontery to shoot him an injured glare, which dissipated, however, as the bacta began to take effect and soothe his burn. He poked experimentally at the edge of the patch, then looked up at Vader with a confused pucker betwixt his brows.
Master and apprentice faced each other in uncertainty. There was no script for this interaction. Vader had torn it up when he had veered from the Sith way to take the slightest interest in his apprentice's welfare. Weakness, the dark side hissed. But it was quieter than usual.
An odd stillness lay between them. Starkiller's anger toward Vader for PROXY's destruction had dimmed for the present, while Vader's own hatred of the boy for everything he could never be was likewise faded. When had that happened? It must have been following the revelation of Padmé and Luke. Luke, who would of course become his apprentice. Which, he realised, meant Starkiller must go the way of Dooku. It was the way of the Sith, and Vader should not have so much as batted an eye at the idea. Yet it made him uneasy.
Dismissing the less-than-Sithly feeling, he took up his lightsaber and ignited it once more.
"Again," he told Starkiller. "Mind your defense, and do not rely on Shien to see you through a duel. It was not designed for combat against a single opponent."
The first part of the plan went smoothly. Dormé remained behind to watch the speeder and to keep Ahsoka's lightsabers, and the datapad containing the details of Shili's admission into the Alliance, well out of enemy hands. Sabé tailed the group of stormtroopers and their captives to the Corvala garrison. Meanwhile, Ahsoka allowed herself to be "caught" in a deserted alley by a passing patrol that found her sabotaging a utility line leading to the garrison. The patrol was, in turn, promptly ambushed by Rex, Kix, Padmé, and Eirtaé. A couple of subtle mindtricks and minor concussions, and the Rebels possessed both armor and clearance codes, while the troopers sprawled unceremoniously in a puddle. Rex thoughtfully added a couple of empty liquor bottles he had filched from a trash receptacle for artistic effect. (Years and years of lying low and seeing little progress tended to bring out one's petty side, now and then.)
Ahsoka watched with distaste as he donned the white plastoid stormtrooper armor. She didn't like seeing him in it. She didn't like to think how easily he might have been one of them. If Anakin hadn't split the 501st…. [But he had, and didn't that show that he had wanted to help her, to help others? That she hadn't been deceived, and that her master had been who she thought he was?]
"Commander, you ready?" Kix asked.
Now wasn't the time for getting lost in her thoughts.
"I'm ready."
She let Rex and Kix each take one of her arms, and they began to march her toward the garrison. Padmé and Eirtaé followed, blasters drawn and levelled at her back. The stolen codes granted access, and they proceeded to the waiting ship where Sabé had reported the conscripts to have been taken. Two troopers stood guard at the bottom of the ramp.
"What's this?" demanded one of the guards. "The quota's already been met."
"We caught this one trying to rig a bomb on our patrol route."
Rex gave Ahsoka a brisk shake. She bared her teeth and jerked one hand as if to lash out, only for Kix's grip to hold her back.
"Heard you were takin' a load offworld," Kix added. "Thought we might as well toss her in too. One less troublemaker to get in the way."
"Yeah, let her work off all that energy mining spice," Padmé chimed in, with a rough laugh Ahsoka wouldn't have thought her capable of.
The trooper huffed. "Fine. Take her in."
They dragged the struggling Ahsoka up the ramp and into the ship. The cargo hold inside had been converted into rows of cells to hold the "conscripts." A pair of troopers, ostensibly on watch, stood idly by with their helmets off. Chatting about a recent phrenbi match, Ahsoka noted with disgust. So assured, because they were the Empire, and they believed no one could pose a significant threat to them. Or maybe they even believed no one would dare to oppose them at all.
She looked around, analyzing. Two troopers in the hold. Probably another two shifts' worth elsewhere onboard, plus the two at the bottom of the ramp. Maybe more. A ship's worth of sentient beings would make an attractive target for pirates, after all. Not that the Empire really cared where its slaves ended up—there were always more laborers for Kessel's mines to be found around the galaxy—but it wouldn't do for anyone to suppose it lacked the might to retain its acquisitions.
One trooper gestured languidly toward the left row of cells. "Put her in there."
Rex and Kix escorted Ahsoka toward the indicated cell. Eirtaé made a show of reaching for her code cylinder. She fumbled and dropped it.
Quick as thought, while the guards were distracted, Padmé angled her blaster toward them. The first shot hit, and the first trooper fell. The second just had time to shout before she too fell. So much for quietly taking over the ship.
As Eirtaé and Kix slipped off to secure the cockpit, footsteps sounded on the ramp, and the two guards from outside rushed in, blasters raised. Rex had the presence of mind to push Ahsoka down to the floor, with a muttered, "Sorry, Commander."
Understanding following quickly on the heels of indignation, she hit the ground in a theatrically crumpled heap, just in the nick of time.
"What's going on in here?" demanded the trooper who had spoken to them outside.
"She got rowdy."
"And managed to shoot both guards?" The trooper made a disgusted sound. "Rookies. Any more of this, and I'm putting in for a transfer. I didn't enlist to herd rookies who can't even handle one prisoner. I don't know what they're teaching you in academy these days, but—"
Ahsoka's hands twitched. Rex and Padmé shifted slightly in preparation.
Then blasterfire sounded deeper in the ship, and the troopers jerked toward the noise, weapons at the ready. Before they had time to turn back to Rex and Padmé, two shots fired at once, and both troopers dropped. But there was no time for relief, as Padmé's comm went off.
"Genetrix!" Kix sounded a little breathless. "Cockpit's secure, and Anomaly's getting set for takeoff, but there's a pack of Imps headed your way. A squad at least, maybe two."
"Understood," Padmé replied as the mechanisms that controlled the ramp engaged, presumably on Eirtaé's command. There was no way they were going to dispose of an entire squad quietly, but at least the noise ought to be somewhat muffled with the ramp raised. Perhaps no one on the ground outside would notice the sounds of a scuffle inside the ship.
Shouts sounded in the hall beyond the hold, and then a white tide flooded the hold, somewhere between ten and twenty troopers. Rex and Padmé dove for shelter behind a couple of crates and began firing upon the enemy.
Ahsoka was beginning to regret this part of the plan. Unarmored and lightsaberless was not her preferred position in a fight. Dodging blaster shots, she put one trooper out of commission with a dislocated shoulder and a mild concussion, then spun and shoved another into Rex's line of fire. The Force prickled with danger. She whirled, but the trooper who had been about to shoot her was already slumping to the ground, dispatched by Padmé's stun bolt.
Blasterfire scored the walls, and now and then a cry from one of the cells bespoke a civilian casualty. This would be so much quicker and cleaner if she had her lightsabers. She could have easily deflected most of the bolts that went toward the captives, if only she'd had them. As it was, she didn't even dare to use the Force too obviously, lest one of the troopers should realise and manage to alert the garrison to the presence of a Jedi onworld. But kark, this was messier than they had planned!
Once the last of the troopers had fallen senseless on the floor, Padmé and Ahsoka unlocked the cell doors with their code cylinders. Kix returned with a medkit and began treating the civilian injuries—nothing too severe, fortunately—while Ahsoka and Rex each dragged a stunned trooper toward a vacated cell.
Padmé's comm chimed with a brief message from Eirtaé.
Ship hailed. Prepare for inspection.
The ship's ramp began to lower.
"Inspection!" Padmé hissed.
Ahsoka and Rex changed course, leaving the troopers strewn haphazardly on the floor. Kix swiftly pivoted from tending to the civilians' injuries to checking over the unconscious stormtroopers—and subtly sedating them, as sundry shifting and twitching showed the effects of the stun bolts wearing off. Padmé ushered the group of civilians she had just released back into their cell and locked the door. A tiny girl looked up with great, sad eyes. "But I thought you were helping us!"
"Shh, 'Tika," said an older man, perhaps her grandfather. "Patience. They are helping us."
He met Padmé's eyes through her helmet. Wanting to trust, she thought. Mostly trusting. But there was still an element of uncertainty. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring nod, in spite of her stormtrooper armor, and started herding the next cell's occupants back in as well.
But there wasn't time to get everyone back in. Just before the inspection squad entered the hold, Padmé shoved the remaining three Togruta down to the ground and stood over them with her blaster in hand.
Ahsoka dropped to the floor again, signaling to Rex. Through her lashes, she could see Rex's hand on one of his own weapons, but he didn't draw it. Not on her.
"What's going on, here?" came a stern voice from the entrance. The inspection squad had arrived, accompanied by a senior lieutenant, and all were plainly unimpressed by the evidence of chaos within.
"Escape attempt," Rex said. "Everything is under control. Got the ringleader subdued, right here."
He nudged Ahsoka with the toe of his boot.
She felt a flash of intent from the squad sergeant and braced for a kick in the ribs, but it never came. Instead, she heard Rex say,
"Here, no need to bruise the pretty ones."
He sounded rather as if the words were strangling him, and she had to smother a smirk.
Annoyed, the sergeant stalked away.
"Get those three locked up," he ordered Padmé, who bristled but did as she was told, ushering the three civilians under her watch into an empty cell.
The Rebels scarcely dared to breathe as the squad prowled the hold. The lieutenant stopped when she came to Kix, taking in his efficient attendance to the fallen stormtroopers.
"You a medic?" There was distinct suspicion in his voice.
"I was," Kix said easily. "Still got the training, if not the rank."
"Hm'. Carry on, then. Jex, Nerey, Orran—stay here. Help these soldiers keep their quota under control."
The squad, minus three members, moved deeper into the ship. Padmé tried to think of a way to comm and warn Eirtaé, but couldn't come up with anything. Not with three troopers in the hold, and two of them standing between her and the exit. She could only trust in her Handmaiden's wits and abilities to see her through the inspection.
Perhaps this rescue mission really had been foolish. Perhaps they should have just gone straight on to the training site, should have kept their eyes on the investment for the greater good. But how could any sentient being with means and even half a heart ignore this gross cruelty and wholesale violation of the most basic of rights?
Where was the line between prudent noninterference and callous overcautiousness?
She was tired of stagnation. She was tired of skulking in the shadows, tired of slowly building up the Alliance, as the Empire flayed the galaxy with broad strokes. She had wanted to do something, to make some tangible difference; they all had, or they would not be here now.
They would only know if the risk had been worthwhile when they had either been discovered or escaped with their covers intact.
It felt like hours passed before the approaching clack of armor heralded the return of the troopers. Padmé watched anxiously as they reentered the hold, but Eirtaé was not among them. The Rebels were still undetected.
"Medic," the lieutenant snapped at Kix, who had moved on to another trooper and was resetting the shoulder Ahsoka had dislocated earlier.
"Sir?"
"Are these soldiers going to be in fit condition for this assignment?"
"Mostly, sir. This one and a couple others should be seen to properly, though."
The lieutenant grunted. "Fine. Get 'em on hover stretchers. We'll take them from there."
Turning to Rex, she said, "Sergeant, you and the rest of your patrol—fill in. Defer to the assigned squad sergeant. I'll clear it with your SO. This ship's late enough as it is."
"Yessir."
Ten minutes after, the ramp went up again, and the ship lifted into the air just moments later as Eirtaé set course for the remote valley where training was to take place.
The freed citizens of Shili looked around cautiously as they came out into the hold.
"This time, it's for good," Ahsoka told them, as she helped to shift sedated stormtroopers into the newly vacated cells.
"And what now?" asked the older man who had earlier spoken to Padmé.
"We can take you offworld, find you shelter on other planets through the RRM," Padmé replied. "Or, if you want, you can stay with us, out away from Corvala. Shili has joined the Rebel Alliance to Restore the Republic, and per the Regasa's request, we're to provide training for citizens who wish to stand up against the Empire."
A murmur went up among the assembled Togruta.
"What about our families?" called a young woman. "I'm the only one taking of my little brothers—I can't just leave them!"
"We will intercede with the Shilian government on your behalf, and if it's at all possible, your families will also be brought to safety, as quickly as can be managed."
Muttered discussion ensued, with some of the Togruta electing to remain on Shili, while the rest accepted transport offworld. Padmé commed Sabé, who was to proceed with Dormé to the training site by speeder, and then she came to stand beside Ahsoka.
"Was it worth it?"
Ahsoka glanced toward the rescued citizens. True, the Empire would just take more tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. But these twenty people—and their families, Force and the Regasa willing—would not be among that number, and for them, that was the world. It was only a small mercy—but where would sentiency be without those?
"You know we both believe it was."