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Chapter 20

Atraken was still beautiful, if you were intent on remaining in the safety of the refuge zones-hastily deployed ray shield domes that kept out the worst of the radiation, transformed into ramshackle villages of tents and lean-tos. It was clear the refuge zones had been deployed a long time ago, but the settlements had burgeoned over time as civilians were evacuated slowly, ship by ship.

Outside, roving droid patrols monitored the radiation levels with their scanners. Apparently it wasn’t very high, to Barriss’ surprise. Unsafe levels, undeniably, but not the picture of hell that had been painted onto her mindscape. Far from it. The reaches were still verdant green, shimmering with morning dew. Trees still rustled in the wind, birds singing from their branches.

Lieutenant Cartroll had explained it clearly; the Republic had only targeted strategic infrastructure, even if that meant cities. But the hinterlands, where the safe zones were wisely established… were still quiet. Untouched, she daresay.

It looked far from inhabitable. You couldn’t even see the fallout from here.

Barriss heaved. That was wishful thinking, wasn’t it? What did she know? Radiation was invisible. Her thoughts come from the safety within these ray shields. The almost felicitous nature of these lands were not mirrored in the souls of the people who lived in them. The RRM freighters that descended from the clouds, grey, beaten and battered as they were, appeared as saviour angels to the Atrakenites nonetheless.

They did not cheer or celebrate upon their landings, however. The people moved forward in their queues, bleak-eyed and silent, hoping against hope they could step onto the ramps before the transports were filled to capacity. Those who could not didn’t despair. They’ve seen hundreds come and go over the months; they could wait a little longer. That’s all they could do.

Move on. Forward. With all they had left on their backs. No rejoice or despair, only the tenacity to keep living for whatever reason they held to.

Barriss blinked, untensing, letting the tumult fade from her body. The Force flowed through every living being. She had Force-sensed them from habit, tasting their swirling emotions. She felt them. Held them her heart. She had to.

Rame Cartroll stepped onto the platform, “Republic fleet in-system, sir.”

It took a moment for her to realise he was speaking to her, “Into the minefield?”

The man couldn’t help a small grin, “Aye, sir. They swept the mines with their cruisers the hard way. Our probe droids estimate varying degrees of damage across at least fifteen ships.”

Jumping right out of hyperspace and running into a minefield, Barriss mused, they probably didn’t even know what hit them.

“Do you think that’s all of them?” she questioned.

“You mean if there could be a second wave?” Cartroll checked his tablet, “I’d say no, but there’s no harm in erring on the side of caution. Those big Jedi cruisers can’t get through anyway, so we’ll be dealing with blockade runners and starfighters.”

He glanced up at her, taking her silence for hesitation, “We can take them, sir.”

“We could,” Barriss replied with a confidence she didn’t really feel, “But there might be another Jedi General now.”

“Oh,” Cartroll deflated some, “Right. Those clairvoyant freaks could probably navigate through the minefield, huh?”

That… wasn’t what she meant, but Barriss allowed the miscommunication to remain.

She swept her gaze across the safe zone again, implanting it in her memory. There must be dozens, if not hundreds just like these littered throughout the plains and mountains.

“Let’s get going.”

“Very good, sir.”

They parted. Lieutenant Cartroll’s ship was the Habatok II, a Corellian-made CR90 corvette resting on a landing pad a ways from the settlement. IGBC frigates like Unicorn, while capable of atmospheric flight, didn’t have any landing gear, which meant her warship was hanging just above the cloud cover.

As Barriss lost herself in thought on the way to her shuttle, she was suddenly struck by a young boy cradling an infant in his arms. For a brief moment, their gazes meant.

The boy mumbled something in the local dialect before dashing towards the queues. Barriss turned around to watch him go. She caught one word, spoken in broken, heavily accented Basic.

Mercy.

She turned back, thinking. I hope so too.

⁂

“Get me a damage report, now!” Admiral Yularen demanded, dramatically pointing fingers.

“Relax, Admiral,” Anakin patted the older man’s shoulder, “It doesn’t seem too bad.”

“We miscalculated the extraction zone, General,” Yularen grumbled nonetheless, wrinkling his upper lip, “Either the Separatists had expanded the minefield since General Krell’s last report, or their orbit has changed.”

“Chalk it up to outward pseudoforce,” he shrugged, “You know nothing really stays put in space.”

Yularen blew out a furious breath while receiving a datapad from a meek damage controlman, “If you say so, General. It remains that our cruisers aren’t getting through this. We’ll need to billet for repairs as well.”

Anakin crossed his arms, peering out the viewports, “Comm General Krell and request instructions.”

“Lieutenant?” the Admiral moved to the edge of the portside datapit, looking expectantly at the comms officer.

“Yes sir, getting through to Chrysaor now,” Lieutenant Avrey confirmed hastily, “…Tightbeam response incoming. Should I route this to the Battle Room or-”

“We’ll take it here, Lieutenant,” Anakin crossed his arms, “Thank you.”

General Krell’s likeness appeared from the holoprojector embedded in the instrument panel, the great beast of a Jedi reduced to the size of a handheld miniature. Pong Krell was one of the most renowned Jedi Masters in the Temple; one of the most powerful, and without equal in the art of Jar’Kai. Having fought the Battle of Atraken for almost half a year now, Anakin had pondered on how the indomitable Besalisk had been holding up.

He received his answer through the Force; not well.

Weariness swelled out in waves. Though General Krell concealed his fatigue well, there was no hiding the dark rings around his eyes, or the torpor in each of his four arms. The Jedi Master was almost swaying listlessly, if not for one of his arms holding onto a support off-holo. A dark shroud hung around him, one Anakin recognised all too well. The war had taken its toll on all of them-but Master Krell more than most.

He did not point it out, “This is Anakin Skywalker of the Open Circle Fleet. We have arrived with reinforcements, Master Krell. Where do you need us?”

“It was about time, General Skywalker,” Master Krell said roughly, “You have arrived at a most fortuitous time, and there is much to be done. Your task is simple; engage the enemy and keep shooting their ships out of the sky until none are left.”

Simple? Yeah, right.

Admiral Yularen coughed, “I’m afraid you are going to have to elaborate, General.”

“The Separatists have been trying to bolster their numbers by building new ships in their secret lunar shipyards. To do so, they have been smuggling doonium off the planet as we speak. Using your fighters as cover, I will run their gauntlet in gunships, make atmospheric entry, and insert on the ground,” Master Krell folded his arms, “Trilos only has two points of interest; the capital New Kattellyn, and the mountain range where we suspect the shipyards are located. If you can get your own gunships through the minefield, you are free to join us, General Skywalker”

“We can’t get our larger ships through,” Yularen demurred, “Our pilots will be fighting without support.”

“I’ll grant it’s not the ideal way to conduct a war,” Krell allowed stonily, “But we haven’t been conducting an ideal war since this battle since the Separatists poisoned the entire planet. I don’t see another option. Do you?”

Stang. He didn’t. This damn minefield severely limited their options. Master Krell has been fighting this battle for months on end. If anybody knew what to do here, it would be him.

Anakin nodded, meeting Yularen’s gaze as he turned on his heel, “I’ll go brief the men. Scan for an opening to get our gunships through.”

“Understood, General.”

He made his way to Harbinger’s flight deck. The hangar’s deckhands, on standby now that they’ve prepped the fighters, watched him with wide eyes. He noticed Hammer Squadron’s pilots in their barracks, mentally preparing for action. Let it be him to be the one to disturb them.

Anakin found Tallisibeth before a group of clone troopers, head bobbing as she talked. They sat on the ordnance crates, Appo among them, listening to her with studied concentration. The Clone Commander, watchful as ever, spotted him first and stood to attention, prompting the rest to hastily follow. Tallisibeth stilled in midsentence, then spun around stiff as a bone.

“What’s this?” he asked.

She looked stricken, “I was just…”

Anakin raised an eyebrow, “I’m not admonishing you, Padawan. I’m just curious.”

He said so as gently as he could, though it amounted to little from the hanging expression on her face. It was clear to him Tallisibeth was still under the impression she had done something wrong, even though Anakin was more than pleased she had spoken to the troopers on her own volition. His new Padawan was too jittery, he found, too overly cautious of wronging him, as if she expected him to abandon her at the slightest misgiving.

Was he that scary? Anakin did not know how to rectify her fear of him. He wasn’t Obi-Wan.

Tallisibeth bit her lip, glancing nervously at the gathered men. Appo caught on quickly.

“Come on, you lot. You haven’t got time to warm those crates with your asses,” Appo barked, as if he wasn’t just among them a moment prior, “Get back to work.”

He sounded just like Rex, then. Anakin almost thought Rex had come back to life, and was standing next to him again… he shook his head. He can’t get caught up in the past. All the clones shared the same voice, that’s all. Nothing more.

They scattered nevertheless, and Anakin seized the chance to steer Tallisibeth off to one side. Appo nodded curtly, then marched off to shepherd away the inconspicuously gathering curious deck personnel.

“So?” he prompted.

“I was just telling them about my life in the Temple,” she fidgeted with her fingers, “About… um, the tournament.”

“Bragging?”

“No!” Tallisibeth denied, “They asked how I became your Padawan! Isn’t it fine, Master? I was just keeping up morale, like a commander should… isn’t it better if we sit down and talk to them, and know their names, instead of just calling ‘trooper!’ every time we need something done? Nobody likes being treated as if they don’t matter.”

His Padawan had found her groove by the end of her tirade, puffing out her chest. For all her insecurity, Tallisibeth was perceptive and mature beyond her years, Anakin thought in bleak humour. When he was her age, Anakin was still a pain in Obi-Wan’s behind, too eager to prove himself.

“Well,” he started, “They seem to like you. That’s good.”

She was visibly surprised at his brevity, “I mean… they’ve lost so many of their friends. I’m not very strong with the Force, but even I can feel their pain. Can’t you?”

“It comes with the job.”

“It comes with your job too,” Tallisibeth mumbled quietly.

Anakin sharpened up. Maybe she was too perceptive. He was intimately familiar with how it felt to not matter. Maybe she\'s like me. Maybe nobody else wanted to train her, either. Anakin didn\'t want to do it, but he knew what it was like to be rejected.

“You’re right, Padawan,” he allowed, “We all handle our loss in our own way. Good work. Now, do you know how to fly a starfighter?”

Tallisibeth stumbled over her next words, taken off-kilter by the sudden change in topic, “Y-Yes, Master! I… I was the top scorer in my initiate clan.”

And there was that self doubt flaring up again. I suppose we all have different ways of going about proving ourselves too. Maybe he can still repair this rocky start to their relationship… but first-

“Good,” he reached for the intercom on the nearby wall, looking up at the hangar command post, “This is General Skywalker. Have us ready to fly in half an hour.”

“Yes, sir,” the reply came quickly, then boomed throughout the cavernous area, “All deck personnel, report to your commanders immediately. Flight Squad Seven; Hammer Squadron, Gold Squadron, Shadow Squadron; report to your ready rooms for your pre-flight briefings. You will be sortieing in thirty minutes. Gunship wings, standby for deployment.”

⁂

Barriss slowly lowered herself into Unicorn’s captain’s chair, feeling its unforgiving steel dig into her spine. How did anybody find these chairs anything but most uncomfortable? There was simply no feasible way to sit in this chair easily, not unless you were a droid. Tuff stood to her side, and despite Barriss’ discomposure with her new-temporary-lease in life, the tactical droid was not a bolt out of place at the right hand of the captain.

I’m the captain, she reminded herself, at least for now.

Unicorn whined as it ascended through the atmosphere, crystalline blue faded to black as the flat horizon curled into the curvature of the planet. Centaur hung in space, at the centre of a formation of smaller corvettes, waiting for instruction. Some degrees to portside, the awaiting arms of Trilos could be found, under the watchful eye of the lone Lucrehulk Keeper.

The modified freighter had its vast cargo holds filled with extra reactors, shield generators, and most importantly bracing for the cornucopia of barbettes lined over its hull. The safety of Keeper’s dangerous point-defence grid was the ultimate finish line for all the transports about to lift off the planet’s surface. In their way, however…

“Invincible-class dreadnought bearing nought-nineteen mark nought-eight-six degrees,” the sensor droid said, “Registered designation; Chrysaor. Flagship of the Demetras Sector Judicial Division.”

Barriss turned her head in surprise. Was that new? For some reason, she never heard the droids reporting mark positions when Rain was sitting in the chair.

“Incoming transmission from Habatok Two, sir,” the next droid relayed without missing a beat, “Should I put it through?”

She heaved. The fighting hadn\'t even started, and she was already being overwhelmed.

“Put it through.”

“Unicorn, Habatok. We are in escort formation. Waiting for the go-ahead.”

Barriss glanced over her shoulder, as if looking for the transports beneath her just waiting for the green light. She had half the mind to give to order right then, if not for the two-kilometre long monster known as Chysaor looming in the distance, the lights of its countless viewports blending into the starry sky.

“Give the green light.”

She looked at Tuff in surprise, “But…”

Barriss vaguely gestured at Chrysaor bearing down on them. Pulsating marks on the tactical display described three Corellian DP20s rushing down to meet them at the edge of the exobase.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“The Chrysaor is harmless,” Tuff declared confidently, “The most effective way for that ship to damage us is with a ramming action. I have calculated the possibilities; now is the time to send our transports, before the enemy starfighters arrive. Those frigates intend on delaying us until then.”

She bit her lip, “Fine. Give Lieutenant Cartroll the green light.”

“Roger roger.”

“Received, sir. Good hunting.”

“We need to create a corridor for the transports,” Tuff settled into his pace, “Signal all ships; Battle Order One.”

“Uh, sir?” a B1 raised a hand, “I don’t think they’re up to date with the latest formations.”

The tactical droid stared him down for a moment, before nodding grudgingly, “Signal all ships; standard line a-breast. Calculate enemy intercept vectors and bring guns to bear on their retarding burns.”

Barriss felt useless. This was a tactical droid’s battlefield, not hers. Master Luminara had taught her to command troopers and squads, not massive warships and most certainly not a fleet. But her presence was necessary. The squadron’s ships were not crewed by droids but by sailors and volunteers, and morale was on a knife’s edge. How would the Atrakenites react to the idea that their lives were in the claws of an unfeeling droid?

The nav droid keyed in a course projection to Trilos, depicted as a thin red line stretching through the empty space between the planet and the moon. Unicorn and Centaur naturally took point, while the allied warships rather sloppily formed onto the line, feinting and manoeuvring against each other as they jostled for their positions.

Tuff’s vocabulator emitted a low whine, which Barriss took as a sneer of disappointment.

“The transports are reaching our position,” Taylor reported.

“We’ll manoeuvre in tandem,” Tuff commanded, “Keep them at our port quarter at all times. Unicorn, Centaur, power to forward batteries. Fix ranges on those incoming frigates. Fire on my- the captain’s command.”

“Roger roger.”

Barriss’ eyes widened fractionally, but she gathered her wits swiftly and kept her eyes peeled on the tactical display. Two cones expanded from the frigate’s bow mark, denoting the firing angle and range of the forward batteries.

The Republic gunships eluded the cones, keeping a judicious distance as they attempted to circumnavigate the picket line. She could feel Tuff’s expectant gaze boring into the side of her head.

“How fast can this ship turn?” she asked.

“Yaw, sir?” Taylor clarified, “With our bow thrusters, faster than those frigates could react on impulse. Especially if they’ve settled onto a vector-but it’d divert power from the turbolasers.”

All the better, she thought, I’d prefer to disable those ships rather than destroy them outright. It made her feel less like a traitor, whatever her feelings were worth these days.

“Yaw portside once they’ve crossed our bow,” she commanded, “Burn forward at the same time to bring them in range.”

“Roger roger.”

Unicorn waited until the frigates skirted the cone’s base, then pounced. Barriss jumped in her seat as the entire bridge rattled from the bow thrusters roaring to swing the massive warship on a dime, Republic frigates sliding back across the viewports. Once the ship reached its leading angle, it lurched forwards and- boom, rattled off two bleeding bolts.

The forward frigate was consumed by a ball of flame-and a blackened husk fell out of the smoke, disappearing into the stratosphere. The second frigate exploded like a firework upon impact with Centaur’s shot, Unicorn’s sister ship having been much less conservative with their allocated firepower.

“Nice shot, sir!” Cartroll’s voice resonated, “Saw that gunship fall past us.”

Right then, a pair of Centaur’s Vulture droids screamed past their portside, drive trails cutting a path through the thin atmosphere as they set upon the lone DP20. Barriss didn’t have to look to know the frigate’s fate; she only had to hear the rippling blasts that followed. Missile impacts.

“Transports are in position.”

“Lock bearings and burn,” Tuff ordered calmly, “Keep our line steady-”

At least a hundred pins swept onto the tactical display, blazing alongside the Chrysaor’s beam and plunging towards the picket line. Barriss’ heart pounded in her chest-they’ve arrived. There was a series of dull thuds as Unicorn’s Vulture squadrons leapt off the rafters.

“… Sir?” a droid looked up at the chair.

“Continue on our course,” the tactical droid replied stiffly.

The mass of starfighters suddenly split, with one half blazing towards Keeper and New Kattellyn, while the other continued their dive towards Atraken. Barriss could recognise those distinctive hull shapes anywhere; Y-wing bombers.

“Are they trying to take out Keeper?” she couldn’t help but ask, “That’s… mad.”

“I am afraid it is plausible they will,” Tuff’s photoreceptors darted, “I believe they are attempting to clear the way for an invasion force. Do we have dropships on the sensors?”

“… Yes sir!” the sensor droid affirmed, “Twelve dropships coming about Chrysaor’s beam, from the drive trails.”

Barriss stared intently at the Y-wing squadron moving against Keeper, feeling a familiar pressure in the Force. The freighter-cum-battleship unleashed its deadly firepower, spraying out bright laser curtains that lashed against the relatively slow bombers. It was against that contrast did she notice the nimble triangle darting between the whips, and realised what presence she had recognised.

That’s an Aethersprite. That’s a Jedi.

Maybe they don’t realise they’re attacking civilians? I need to stop them! She had to stop that Jedi from inadvertently committing a war crime, but she can’t kill them either. But… what if they knew exactly what they were doing? Barriss cast her gaze at Chrysaor’s ponderous form, wondering just what sort of Jedi was standing on the bridge of that ship.

She wetted her lips, swallowing. They must’ve lost their way. That person is no longer a Jedi. I must believe this one can be reasoned with. Barriss closed her eyes, reaching out through the Force… and grabbed another shoulder in the mist. Small, inexperienced… weak. Their presence would be hardly identifiable, if she had not been searching for it. A Padawan. There were not one, but two. A master and an apprentice. Barriss’s eyes snapped open.

She shot a sideways glance at Tuff, “Centaur can take our place. We need to support Keeper.”

The droid paused, ostensibly running numbers, then- “Very well. Inform Gallow he will be taking point.”

Unicorn shot forwards, driving hard towards the Y-wing squadron as its Vulture complement ascended to attack the bombers from above, taking advantage of the sun’s position.

“Our task is to rescue the civilians, not capture the planet, right?” with the Force whispering in her mind, Barriss pushed all her chips onto the table. She was gambling again, not for credits as on the Wheel, but with her life, and the lives of everybody in the star system.

And the house was a tactical droid.

“Correct,” Tuff’s voice was flat.

“… Then once all of the civilians are on Trilos,” Barriss started, nervous despite herself, “Can’t we just surrender to the Republic? We’ve already accomplished our goal, and sooner or later the Republic’s reinforcements are going to find a way through the minefield.”

He immediately looked down at her, “My programming dictates that to surrender a battle is only an option when there is no more recourse. However, as our current mission objectives are to preserve as many civilian lives as possible and not win the planet, I must entertain this course of action… I concur; negotiating a conditional surrender once the safety of the Atrakenites is guaranteed may be the wisest course of action, so long as we can retrieve Unicorn Squadron in the terms.”

Barriss breathed a sigh of relief. So she hadn’t misjudged Tuff’s programming. I can still do this, she decided, I can still escape. This is proof that I just need to find a loophole in his logic matrices.

“I want to talk to the enemy commander,” she stated, “Will they be likely to receive a transmission on open frequencies?”

The droid stared at her, “The Republic’s tightbeam security in-system is outdated and degraded enough that Unicorn’s facilities can slice into their system.”

Barriss hoped she knew what was going on behind those photoreceptors, “Do so. Please.”

⁂

Chrysaor wasn’t making much headway, Anakin saw as he swung up over the dreadnought’s hull and pulled his squadron into a firm attack formation. Rolling his Aethersprite around the match the orientation plane, he glanced down at his nav scope to make a minor adjustment to his speed.

I hope you’re right about that Lucrehulk being toothless, Master Krell. From Anakin’s point of view, and the point of view of the pilots of each metal canister a thin skin’s distance from death, that battleship was looking very deadly.

“What\'d you think of that ship, Artoo?” Anakin said on his fighter’s internal comm, “You seeing any droids inside?”

The astromech hardwired into his fighter’s left wing whistled a thankful negative, but nervously pointed out the bristling arrays of point defence turrets lining the Lucrehulk’s flanks. With his Force-enhanced vision, Anakin agreed with the sentiment all too well.

“I see them too-so a full battle refit, huh?” Anakin adjusted his comm dial, “Tallisibeth, take Hammer Squadron and orbit between that battleship and the Seppie picket line. The rest of you, with me; we’ll swing by that Lucrehulk and take a nice, casual look. If the flak’s not too bad, we’ll go in and clear the way for the invasion force.”

“Copy that, Gold Leader.”

“We’ll keep you covered, General,” Oddball reassured, yanking out of formation with his wingmen.

“Understood, Master,” his Padawan’s voice was a whiplash of youthfulness among the gruff soldiery, “Hammer Squadron, mark my position and form up on me.”

Anakin wondered if that’s what he sounded like to Obi-Wan’s ears, in the past. A child who had no place on the battlefield.

“Copy, Hammer Leader.”

He keyed again, “Artoo, give me a warning when we enter the Lucrehulk’s range.”

R2-D2 replied with a series of affirmative beeps, reliable as ever.

Anakin looked over his shoulder to see Tallisibeth’s arrowhead Aethersprite at the tip of Hammer Squadron’s formation of Torrents, spearing through the void sleek and lethal, in its beautiful killing way. The interceptor was a starfighter worthy of a Jedi pilot, but the pilot had to be worthy with it too. Aethersprites were as sensitive as they were responsive, and even the lightest twitch of the yoke could result in victory or death in dogfight.

He felt her through the Force-not knowing if she was tuned enough to notice-sensing the control and handle of her starship. It was collected; stable. Tallisibeth was in command of her ship the same way only someone who knew it in and out blindfolded could. Maybe the claim that she was top of her clan wasn’t completely hot air after all. Anakin left her to it.

From his place beside the cockpit, R2 beeped and whistled, inputting data in his console readout. A pressure built in his temple, as if held back by a dam.

“Thanks, Artoo,” Anakin grunted, hastily switching comms, “All ships, evasive manoeuvres!”

All hell broke loose. Anti-fighter flak exploded out of the Lucrehulk’s quilled hull, drowning out the howl of his sublight drives and rocking his nimble Aethersprite so hard Anakin had to lock his teeth in a snarl lest he bite off his own tongue. A scream blasted out of his headpiece, temporarily deafening him as a starburst peeled open the thin armour of a Y-wing behind him.

Gold Squadron scattered, their eponymous paint scheme blazing as they reflected the glow of the laser storm. Anakin reached into the Force to feel a safe way through the swarm of red needles, letting it guide his hand on the yoke as he kicked his fighter into an evasive spiral that would’ve been impossible for any normal pilot. R2 screamed by his side, even as the droid made the minute thrust adjustments necessary to turn certain death into near misses.

This was what Anakin lived for. Pilot and starfighter become one mind, bound by the Force.

“Master!” Tallisibeth rang out, “There’s a star frigate bearing down on us, bearing two-oh-one mark three-thirty from your orientation! Hammer Squadron, we’re slowing it down!”

Anakin fought the burning urge to go and look, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away from the task at hand. Blazes, I can’t let us get caught between both ships! Krell, you son of a… !

“Disengage!” he shouted, “All ships, disengage and get out of the killzone!”

Another wail of pain and shock filled the cockpit as another bomber disappeared in a blossom of fire.

Anakin let the pilot’s dying cry fill his mind as he plunged into a whirling dive, fighting with the control yoke as explosions bracketed his path. For a brief moment, all he saw were the red blasts of sizzling bolts, a mere plane of transparisteel away from his skull, before the colour was washed away, leaving darkness left. Anakin blinked, his eyes adjusting to the new light and allowing the stars to return to his vision.

He wrenched his ship around, keeping a safe distance from the Lucrehulk as he raced to return to Gold Squadron; now darting to Hammer Squadron’s aid.

“This is Shadow Leader,” the comms crackled, “We have a visual on the transports. We’re moving in.”

“Hammer, Gold,” Anakin commanded, “Keep that frigate occupied-”

“General… Skywalker-!”

His comms fizzled and popped, and Anakin imagined he heard a sliver of Pong Krell’s voice then.

“Copy, Gold Leader.”

“Yes, Master.”

Anakin frowned as he fingered the channel frequencies, trying to get a fix on Chrysaor’s signal. R2 released a series of beeps, and he read the translation scrawled across the readout despite not needing to.

“Master Krell’s contacting me?” he asked aloud, “Why can’t we patch him through?”

R2 whistled confusedly, as stumped as he was. Anakin tuned into the squadron frequency again, and noted that it was only Chrysaor’s tightbeam being jammed. He narrowed his eyes.

“It’s that frigate,” he accused.

Of course it was. That star frigate was so new Anakin could still smell the chemicals of its paint job. Chrysaor, on the other hand, was a century-old relic of a bygone era, with the accompanying archaic ECM suites. That Invincible-class dreadnought, still with Judicial Forces devices on its hull, had been relegated to dealing with outlaws and pirates, not the backbone of the Separatist armada.

His console started flashing. They’re trying to reach me on open comms.

If he patched them in, the entire Flight 7 would be able to hear it. Anakin keyed it in.

Nobody expected what came from it.

“This is Confederate star frigate Unicorn,” an almost callow, female voice spoke to them, “Be advised, attacking the refugee transports will be in breach of Section Three, Articles Thirteen through Twenty-Six of the Yavin Code relative to the Protection of Civilian Populations against certain Consequences of War. These transports are under our protection until their touchdown in New Kattellyn, in cooperation with the Refugee Relief Movement. We are transmitting our relevant documents and transponder codes for verification. You may scan our transports for lifeforms.”

“… They must be joking… right?” Tallisibeth’s voice was shaky.

Anakin thinned his lips. He recognised the tone of Unicorn’s captain. He shared it not long ago, after all. The vestiges of youth were still there, but any buoyancy had been burned away by the war. He could just imagine the jaded, piercing eyes boring into his starfighter. He would not be surprised if his Padawan would share it in the near future.

He recognised something else too… in the Force. An odd sense of unfamiliar familiarity, like an old friend that had become unrecognisable. He flirted with the idea that a Force-sensitive was in command of that ship, but ultimately decided it was irrelevant in the situation.

“Artoo,” he breathed, “Scan for lifeforms. Those transponder codes…”

His console blinked again; Master Krell was still trying to get through the enemy jamming.

“We’ve verified the codes, General,” Oddball said, audibly uncertain, “They’re all registered with the Refugee Relief Movement… built in shipyards on Coruscant, Alderaan, Corellia…”

Anakin was silent for a long moment, waiting for R2-D2’s report-and then he remembered Shadow Squadron. Cursing violently, he scrambled to jump into their comms-

“Shadow Squadron, abort your run!” he roared, “I say again; abort your run Shadow Squadron!”

“Sir!?”

R2-D2 beeped a panicked affirmative, revealing the mass of green signatures crammed into the cargo hold of the lead transports. There must be at least ten-thousand people in there. And an attack pattern of Y-wings were barrelling straight towards them. A brave CR90 corvette placed itself between them, staring down the incoming onslaught.

“Your orders, Shadow Leader!?”

“-Blast!” Shadow Leader swore, “Abort, abort!”

“What!?”

“Pull up, pull up!”

Shadow Squadron parted before the CR90 like waves dashed against a rock, sweeping back around and forming up a distance away from the convoy’s flight vector.

“All ships, enter a holding pattern at your position,” Anakin said, before switching channels, “Confederate frigate Unicorn, this is General Skywalker of the Republic Navy. Please hold your fire while we confirm the situation.”

“… Understood, thank you for your cooperation,” Unicorn responded as it fired up its retrothrusters, coming to a lazy drift just shy of Hammer Squadron’s mark.

As if on cue, the jamming suddenly lifted.

“-General Skywalker!” Pong Krell roared, “Just what are you doing!? My gunships-!”

Anakin Skywalker was glacially calm, “Care to explain to me why you just ordered us to fire upon civilian transports, Master Krell?”

He noticed the icons of Flight 7 in the same channel, silently listening and waiting for the outcome. They all knew just how close they came to committing an unforgivable war crime.

“Civilian transports!?” Krell had the audacity to sound frustrated, “Those freighters may be carrying war materiel-”

“May be!?” Anakin snarled, “Those freighters are carrying refugees! A general scan can confirm that! You told us the universal red sigil was a Separatist trick! You didn’t tell us these ships are registered under the RRM!”

“So they claim,” Krell shot back, “Do you think this is the first time they’ve done this? I allowed them to ‘evacuate’ refugees once, and they used the ruse to commit an all out attack on my fleet! The entire evacuation effort is a posttext of their biological warfare on the planet!”

“What about the nuclear weapons?” he asked.

“The Grand Army doesn’t use nuclear weapons, General Skywalker,” Master Krell sneered, “Any and all atomic warheads come from Atrakenite bases. They ruined their own planet in a civil war. Look at those transports again, Skywalker, how many people can they hold, and how many are there?”

The Jedi Master spoke with firm certainty, as if he already knew the answer. Anakin looked at his sensor readouts again. AA-9 Bojatef Freighter-Liner, maximum passenger load of 30,000 people. R2 beeped wearily. Biological signatures… 10,000 to 15,000.

“That… that doesn’t change the fact that you are committing a war crime, Master Krell,” Anakin tore his attention back to what mattered, “You commit to this, and you are no better than the Separatists! We are Jedi- you’re supposed to be better than this! Have you lost your way!?”

“We’re at war, General Skywalker,” Krell rasped grimly, “We’re soldiers now, first and foremost. Victory for the Republic must take precedence over our moral grandstanding.”

“Moral grandstanding?” he repeated, utterly baffled, “You are killing innocent people!”

“I am killing Separatists,” the lost Jedi corrected, “The moment we became Generals of the Republic, we knew many sacrifices would have to be made for victory. I knew Atraken could not fall to the enemy, at any cost. You do too; is that not why you are here?”

That’s right. Atraken could not fall. But this… this was too far.

“… You will be held accountable for this,” Anakin condemned viciously, “You will answer to the Jedi Council- no, the court-martial for this.”

“I’ve seen things not you, or anybody in the Council, could fathom,” Krell whispered, “Do you think I am blind to my own failings? I know my crimes; I pay for them every time I sleep. Over and over again. But I made my peace months ago, for the sake of my duty to the Republic. One day, you will have to do the same. I will answer to the Council, once this battle is over.”

I know just as well as you, Anakin wanted to say. I know just as well what it’s like to revisit my failures in my nightmares. But he couldn’t say anything. He rubbed his face tiredly. This was supposed to be simple… but war never was.

⁂

Barriss leaned back, feeling the chair scrape her spine, having heard every last word.

“Is that true, Tuff?” her face was made of stone, “Did Master- did General Krell speak the truth?”

“If he did,” the droid answered, “I would not know. I fear everybody who does know the full truth may be dead. Unless we begin an in-depth investigation, all we have are perspectives.”

Perspectives, huh? Someone once told me war is the result of irreconcilable definitions of the same word.

“Sir?” Lieutenant Cartroll called, “Those starfighters…”

“Continue on your course,” Barriss replied, “They won’t attack.”

For all of this bloodshed to end, both the Republic and Separatist Alliance need to compromise on their definitions of victory. But how can that happen when both sides were going to such lengths to achieve their version of victory? Was the Jedi Council blind to these horrors… Force-forbid, willfully?

The Force whispered comforting words in her ear. That’s right, I’ve seen both perspectives of the war, now. If she became a Jedi Master… wouldn\'t she have enough influence to change how the Republic fought the war? But for that, she had to return to the Temple, and she’s stuck here…

Barriss was a Jedi, and even a Jedi without their lightsaber could hardly be tied down. Yet, Barriss never once explored the idea of trying. She reached into the Force, letting it guide her way, back onto the correct path. She must not lose herself, not like Master Krell did.

Why not change my definition of ‘escape’?

She blinked. Tuff was convinced to surrender, after all, by merely changing their definition of victory. Find a loophole in his logic matrices, huh? I can do that. After all, what does the process matter if it achieves the wanted outcome?

“Have you drafted our terms of surrender?” Barriss asked.

The tactical droid wordlessly handed her the tablet, and her eyes raked through the clauses.

“I believe this will satisfy all parties,” he said confidently, "The bottom line is that we must be able to retrieve all of our forces peacefully. To appease them, we will hand over the Kattellyn System to their forces, and cooperate with any war crime investigation that may arise. With the current state of the situation, I calculate the Republic will accept in order to avoid any further losses and bring an expedient end to this conflict."

“Open comms, then,” she said, “Let’s give this thing to General Skywalker.”