Anakin couldn’t keep that nagging guilt out of his mind for long. Sometimes he tried to drown it with the logical argument that his old Master or even Yoda could have saved his mother from slavery. But her death was his own fault. He didn’t go back for her, either, not until it was far too late.
Never again.
He would never again rely on others to do what he had a duty to do himself.
“Ani? Is there something wrong?”
Padmé was standing at the refresher door, hugging her bathrobe around her.
“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” he said, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. “Leveler might run into problems. Rex just commed me. Don’t be mad at him—he didn’t want me to be put on the spot if anything went wrong.”
Padmé didn’t even look disappointed. That stung a little. He’d braced himself for at least halfhearted protests, but he knew deep down that Padmé wasn’t that kind of wife. She was all about responsibility.
“No, I’m not mad at Rex,” she said. “Duty’s harsh. He’s looking out for you, too. I appreciate that dedication.”
She didn’t even have to pack for him. A Jedi owned almost nothing, and what little he carried would fit in a small satchel. When he finished dressing, Padmé was waiting by the balcony doors with the bag in her hand.
“It’s funny,” she said. “I never ask what you’re going to use for transport. You just say you’re off to the Outer Rim, and I nod and say, yes dear, I’ll see you when I can.”
“How did you know where I was going?”
“I’m a Senator. I have ways of finding out where warships are.” She draped the satchel’s strap over his shoulder. “And I wasn’t asleep. Not after the comlink went off, anyway.”
Anakin grinned, but a little pang of uneasiness tweaked at his heart. The sensation was gone as soon as it started. He kissed her, slipped through the doors, and headed back to the hangar to persuade the ground crew to let him stroll off with a Torrent fighter.
If he needed to get to the Outer Rim fast, then he’d make sure he had some useful firepower, too. The Rim was an unstable, dangerous place.
Anakin rather liked it that way.
Somewhere in Athar
Sometime after the Start of the Uprising
Hallena could hear pounding in her head.
For a moment she thought it was inside her skull. But when she shook herself out of her stupor, she realized it was the sound of cannon fire in the distance, and that she was stretched out on a dirty permacrete floor with a coat bundled up under her head.
“No real damage,” said Merish. “Baton round. Hurts, though.”
Yes, it did. It was the first time that Hallena was aware she’d been hit by something. Every time she tried to move, her brain felt as if it was shearing away from the membranes that surrounded it.
The brain has no pain sensors. Don’t be stupid. Get a grip. Think.
She raised her hands instinctively, trying to feel for the source of the throbbing pain. There was no dressing. Eventually she found a tender lump under her hairline.
“They’re firing whatever they can lay hands on,” Shil said. “Blasters, crowd-control weapons—that’s what hit you.”
“I know what a baton round is, thanks.”
“They weren’t being nice and nonlethal, sister. They usually fire them point-blank so that they fracture the skull. You were just lucky.”
Hallena could hear the fighting going on outside, although it didn’t sound close: blasters, yelling, ballistic rounds hitting walls. “How long have I been here?”
“Couple of minutes.”
She’d imagined hours. “Come on, then. Let’s get on with it.”
“We stand a better chance outside anyway. If those barves start using flamethrowers—come on.” Merish hauled her to her feet. “The Seps are going to be landing troops soon, so all we have to do is keep the security forces busy all over the city and make it easier for them.”
Hallena fought to focus on a plan beyond not getting hit in the head again. Everything she’d been sent here to do had gone out the window—it was beyond too late to worry about infiltrating the Sep sympathizers. She couldn’t stop an invasion single-handed. But she could grab as much useful information as possible, and make sure that it reached Republic forces.
Now, what do I need to do?
It was a straight recon job, to be the eyes and ears of the Republic on the ground. Yes, she could do that.
“Where are the Seps landing?” she asked.
She started feeling her pockets, trying to give the impression she was looking for her blaster, but she was going for her comlink. If she set it to free-transmit, it would pick up every sound around her, and then all she had to do was make sure she asked the right questions to extract the answers that the Grand Army and the Republic Fleet would need.
The rifle that had been thrust into her hands earlier had vanished. Maybe it was still in the road outside. But her fingers settled on the comlink, fumbling for the controls, and she had to rely on touch and memory to hit the right sequence.
Hallena was transmitting now, and safely encrypted as far as she knew. But she couldn’t risk getting confirmation yet that her message was being received.
“They’re taking out the ground-based comms and the state guard barracks first.” Shil handed her back her rifle. He’d retrieved it, then. “They’re taking the center of the city first and moving out from there. Not what I thought they’d do, but they’re the experts.”
“Droids,” Hallena said.
“Normally I’d only see a droid as something robbing an honest worker of a wage to buy food,” Shil said. “But I’d rather they fought wars than flesh and blood.”
“So we just keep the security forces busy?”
Merish steered her toward the doors. “The Regent’s spent the last thirty years spending on palaces for himself and secret police to stop us from burning them down,” she said. “So he never quite got around to building an army that could deal with an invasion. It’ll all be over pretty fast.”
Shil put his hand under her elbow to steady her as she stumbled over the rubble in the street. She felt faintly disgusted with herself for double-crossing him; she didn’t know much about him, but she knew he’d been through a terrible time that hadn’t broken him, and here she was doing her best to finish the job while he was making sure she was okay.
It’s a dirty job. If I haven’t accepted that after all these years, I’m only lying to myself.
“You think we’re going to be better off under the Seps, do you?” she asked sourly.
“Can’t be any worse, Orla,” said Merish.
The use of her assumed name threw her a little. “I don’t see any Sep landing ships.” Hallena stared up into the night sky, seeing nothing but the reflection of fires on the low cloud. “You sure they haven’t betrayed us?”
“They’ll be here.”
Are you getting this, Control? Can you hear all this? As soon as I get a moment to myself, I need to check they know where I am, what specific data they want from me.
“And if they lose?”
“They won’t. But if there’s any delay in kicking the state guard into the next system—we’ll join the Sep forces and fight. They’ll lose. Just a matter of now or later.”
The fighting had moved on. Shil, Merish, and Varti broke into a slow jog to catch up with the rear guard, giving Hallena the chance to keep pace. She didn’t feel much like running. Her head throbbed every time her heel struck the ground; she wondered if she’d collapse and die later. She’d been knocked out. Head injuries like that could take you down hours after you thought you were fine.
Last of my worries right now. It really is.
Then her comlink chirped.
But I shut off the sound. That’s Control trying to ping me.
Hallena tried to ignore it, but even with the background noise of blasterfire and explosions, her companions stopped in their tracks to listen.
Shil grabbed his own coml
ink and stared at it.
“There’s still no kriffing signal,” he said slowly. “Our militia took out the transmitter. So who are you in touch with, Sister Taman?”
Merish and Shil paused for a second, then lunged for her, pinning her arms. Hallena had seen it before; the frozen moment of revelation. They had a spy among them. She decided whether to fight—and almost certainly die—or play for time and wait for a chance to escape.
If they don’t kill me now anyway.
Merish and Shil pushed her to her knees, rifles held to her head, while Varti took her blaster from her belt. Even if she hadn’t been injured, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Varti, seeming oblivious to the fighting nearby, stood looking down at her. “You’re the Regent’s agent…”
That’ll get me killed for sure. The truth might help for once.
“No, I’m with the Republic,” she said, knowing the gamble she’d taken.
“You’ll be useful, then. Our new Separatist allies will be pleased to meet you. Actually, let’s do them the courtesy of calling them what they are—the Confederation of Independent Systems. I like that word.” The old man held out his hand, palm up. “Now give me the comlink.”
There was no abuse, no kicks, no anger. Hallena had been trained to expect the very worst treatment if she was captured. That was why agents were issued a fast-acting poison, a final act of mercy contained in a tiny pellet hidden in a metal container in her wallet in her pants. She was under no illusion that the restrained and professional treatment she was getting at the hands of these revolutionaries would continue. They’d all suffered too much.
And she knew what the Seps would do to her.
Funny, I feel more at home with the revolution, even if they want to blow my head off. Control always warned me about that. Identifying with your target. Occupational hazard.
“I never said you didn’t have cause to hate the Regent,” she said. “But if the Seps win this war, you’ve got no idea how bad things will be.”
“But have you?”
No. Actually, no. I haven’t. Hallena hated things that made her want to stop and think at times like this.
“We’ll see,” she said.
“Shil, get her comlink.”
It was her last chance to send a distress signal. She had little guarantee of being rescued, but an agent was told to at least prepare for one. This way, she got to hold the comlink for long enough to try.
“Okay,” she said. “Here it is.”
She put her hand inside her coat with slow caution to make it clear she wasn’t going for a concealed weapon. Professional as they seemed, Varti’s rebels hadn’t searched her. When she pulled out her hand—slowly, very slowly—the comlink sat in her palm, its yellow power light winking.
Hallena had one second left. She seized it.
As she handed the comlink to Varti, she hit the SEND button to relay an emergency message, a heartbeat before Shil brought his boot down hard on her hand, and on her hopes of getting off JanFathal alive. The comlink skidded across the ground.
But she’d known the score when she signed up.
Gil, at least, would know that.
Bridge,
Republic Assault Ship Leveler
“Safeguard rule now in force. Repeat, safeguard rule now in force.”
Pellaeon felt the change in mood throughout the ship. He didn’t have to be a Jedi to sense the adrenaline pumping around him. For a while Leveler would carry on getting herself fully spaceworthy as planned, but the announcement on the ship’s broadcast system marked the shift in status from work-up and exercises to a state of readiness to deal with real threats. If Leveler were threatened, any pipe—any announcement—would be preceded by the word safeguard, repeated three times, so that everyone knew it wasn’t a drill any longer.
Pellaeon was a stickler for the old tried-and-tested ways of the navy. If other captains wanted to mess around with high-tech verification systems, that was their business. He was still dealing for the most part with a human crew, and humans hadn’t changed much in a very long time.
Ahsoka watched him. He could feel her eyes fixed on him, and when he turned his head to look, she seemed mesmerized. It unnerved him. Rex wandered around the bridge, helmet in one hand, probes in the other, still trying to get his HUD to talk to the ship’s status system. He’d shaved his head again. Pellaeon would have to ask him why when the current tension had subsided.
“Sir,” said the ops room controller’s voice, “a freighter just dropped out of hyperspace.”
Pellaeon zeroed in on the transponder that was now tracking across the sensor repeater. At times like these, it made sense to assume all ships were potentially hostile until proven otherwise; a bogus transponder that would fool even Republic sensors wasn’t hard to come by. And the technicians were still fixing glitches in the system.
Pellaeon tapped the controls by his right hand.
“Ops, can you ping the hull at this range and get a confirmation?”
“You don’t need to, sir,” said Ahsoka. “The ship’s full of Jedi. I can feel them.”
The ops room commander paused. “Sir, it’s a Vernal-class freighter, registered as Wookiee Gunner, and the Republic database identifies it as hired for disaster relief duties by…” Pellaeon heard the tapping of keys. “By Master Djinn Altis. Not the Jedi Council.”
Pellaeon turned and gave Ahsoka a smile. He couldn’t bring himself to call her Commander, even if any Jedi officer who wasn’t a general held the rank. Technically. But not in my navy. She was fourteen, for goodness’ sake. He refused to play this game. The promotion board could add that to his list of failings: shows insufficient deference to child Padawans. That was fine by him.
“Good radar,” Pellaeon said. “So who’s Master Altis?”
Ahsoka seemed to be racking her brain for an answer. She looked to one side, blinking.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ve never heard of him. But… he’s definitely strong in the Force. So are many of his companions.”
“There’s no chance he’s one of your Sith cousins, is he?”
“They’re not our cousins. No, I can’t sense any darkness at all. What do you know about Sith, anyway?”
Force-users were used to the general public knowing little about them, but Pellaeon made it his business to know as much as he could. And the Jedi couldn’t silence the annals of galactic history nor claim a monopoly on its knowledge. It was just a place where few beings ever bothered to look.
“Just let me know if I need to blow him out of my space, that’s all.”
“No. Not at all, Captain.” Ahsoka still looked unsettled. Either there was something she could sense about the freighter that bothered her, or she was worried that she couldn’t place Altis. “Nothing amiss.”
Pellaeon kept an eye on the sensor screen. He could see more Separatist ships gathering around JanFathal now, and there was little Leveler could do about it except feed back information until Fleet decided whether it had ships to spare.
“Sir, the freighter’s on an intercept course with us,” said the ops commander.
The ship might have been looking for sanctuary. That, at least, was something Pellaeon could offer.
“Comms, flash the ship’s master,” he said. “I want to ask him what he’s doing, and whether he knows he’s got a Sep flotilla within ill-advised range…”
“Of course he knows,” Ahsoka said, almost to herself. “He’s a Jedi.”
“But I’d bet he still uses sensors, my omniscient Padawan.” Pellaeon switched his comlink through to the ship’s circuit. “Freighter Wookiee Gunner, this is warship Leveler, please state your intended movement. You are standing into danger, repeat you are standing into danger, over.”
He waited. The voice that bounced back was informal and didn’t follow Fleet comm procedure.
“Warship Leveler, this is Master Altis, Wookiee Gunner. We might require your help.”
“Master Altis, this is Capta
in Gilad Pellaeon. How may we assist you?”
“We picked up a distress call from a Republic agent on JanFathal, and as you and I seem to be the only Republic vessels within a reasonable response time, I think we should attempt to extract the agent before the Separatists invade.”
Pellaeon paused and switched the link to mute out of habit. “Rumahn, why haven’t we received that signal?”
“Nothing received, sir,” said the first officer. “Channel sixteen’s working fine.”
Pellaeon wondered whether a Jedi was likely to be tricked by a bogus message. He opened the link to Wookiee Gunner again.
“We haven’t picked up a distress call, Master Altis. Before I commit my ship, I’d like to be sure I’m not walking into an ambush.”
“We sensed a disturbance in the Force long before we intercepted the signal, Captain, and we picked it up on a frequency we didn’t expect. On a navigation channel that’s rarely used.”
Pellaeon was trying to be patient. “Oh, you travel out here a lot, then?”
“Yes—our community is constantly on the move, and I’ve spent more than forty years seeking knowledge in these distant places.”
Well, perhaps he knows something we don’t… “What did the message say?”
“We tried to make contact with the transmitting comlink, but we lost the connection shortly after. The agent thought she was transmitting to Republic Intelligence. We think her name is Orla Taman.”
The name meant nothing to Pellaeon. He figured that even Hallena wouldn’t have recognized it; agents tended not to know what they didn’t absolutely need to, as a security precaution.
“Wait one, Master Altis.” Pellaeon turned to Rumahn. “Number One, get Rep Intel right away. Ask them to confirm Orla Taman, tell them why, and ask if she’s operating out here.”
Rumahn withdrew to another comm station to make the call. There was no guarantee that Intel would even tell them who they had deployed where, but it was suicidal not to at least try to verify the message. If Intel played its usual foolish game of need-to-know, Pellaeon would have to make the call: to treat the transmission seriously and risk his crew, or to ignore it and perhaps leave an agent to die.