The Clone Wars_ No Prisoners Part 13

"Thanks for saving my life," she said. He could see a big lump in her hairline. A medic would need to check that out. "And I'm sorry that it cost one of your men."

"That's the job, ma'am." Rex actually wanted to say something else, but it wasn't her fault, and he was the one who'd volunteered them for the mission. "You understand that as well as anybody."

"Never be a prisoner and never take one. That's what the Irmenu say."

Rex thought that was a conversation waiting to happen, and he wasn't the man to have it. He noted that Ince, Boro, Joc, Hil, and Ross had all fallen silent, the unnatural absolute silence of men who had cut their comms. They were on their own fre-quency. Rex didn't intrude. Whatever they were sharing, they must have needed that privacy badly; it was one of those points of etiquette that he observed strictly. If they thought he was an idiot, if they were cursing him, or if they were just in the first throes of grief, then that was their business, and he'd only override that circuit in an emergency.

This is the first time they've had a buddy die on them. Easy to forget that.

Altis, wedged up against Boro on one of the seats, seemed to be able to hear something anyway. The Jedi Master simply put his hand on Boro's forearm and said nothing.

Now, there's a kind man.

"Anyway, you tied this up so fast that we'll be back on board before General Skywalker catches up with us," Rex said. "Good job, everyone."

The shuttle streaked toward the upper atmosphere, rising above the cloud cover through shades of blue, then violet, then black. All they had to do was dock in Leveler as fast as they could, and leave JanFathal behind.

It was lost to the Republic for now.

But the worst was behind them today, Rex thought, and then cursed himself for tempting fate.

REPUBLIC TORRENT FIGHTER ECHO-97, ENTERING FATH SYSTEM AND INBOUND FOR JANFATHAL.

Anakin wondered if the Force was finally teaching him a lesson for defying the rulings of his Masters.

I goof off, and my men end up in trouble.

I shouldn't have to sneak around to see my wife.

Okay, that's an excuse. It's true, but it doesn't justify this.

"Skywalker to Leveler." He could see the warship's motionless transponder icon on his c.o.c.kpit display. "I'm getting some scary traces from Rex's comlink. What's happening?"

Anakin didn't get the usual comm officer. Pellaeon answered the call personally. "He's inbound now, from JanFathal."

"I've been bouncing in and out of hypers.p.a.ce all the way from Coruscant trying to track him. How did he end up there?"

Pellaeon sounded oddly restrained. He was always an enormously confident man, exceptionally unapologetic even in the face of an angry admiral, but there was something making him uncomfortable. Anakin could feel it strongly.

"We were tasked to extract a Rep Intel agent when the enemy invaded," Pellaeon said. "The lady is known to me, by the way."

Anakin let that sink in. Pellaeon's tone said it all. Well... not much room for me to complain about that, is there? Even if there's any complaining to be done.

"Understood, Captain. What's the security situation?"

"We're standing off some distance because some of our systems aren't entirely trouble-free yet. If Rex looks as if he might run into Sep problems, though, we'll engage."

"I can escort him in," Anakin said. "What am I looking for?"

"A replenishment shuttle. It might still be showing a spoof transponder code, so be cautious."

Okay, I'll feel if it's Rex or not, but saying that tends to make folks nervous. "I'll confirm visually before I open fire, Captain."

"Well, he has Jedi with him, so you can probably ping them with your Force radar or whatever it is that you fellows do."

"Ahsoka insisted on going, then."

Pellaeon inhaled very quietly as if negotiating a delicate issue. "Yes, along with Master Altis and two of his followers."

No, Anakin wasn't expecting that.

Altis.

Anakin vaguely knew the name, but, staring into the starfield around his Torrent to let the memory come to him, he didn't know why. It took a few moments to remember.

Qui-Gon Jinn, his Master-who-never-was, the man who wanted him to be a Jedi despite the Jedi Council's refusal to train him, had mentioned Altis. He had mentioned Dooku, too, as his former Master. Qui-Gon had mixed with the most challenging and unorthodox of Jedi-the thinkers, the debaters, the iconoclasts, and, ultimately, even the traitors.

Anakin couldn't recall what Altis's brand of dissent had been. But that didn't matter. Now he had a chance to relive happy memories of his old mentor. He missed Qui-Gon.

"General, are you there?"

"Sorry, Captain. Just trying to recall the name." Anakin shut his eyes for a moment and centered himself, letting the ebb and flow of the Force wash over him. Yes, he felt a cl.u.s.ter of strong presences. It was harder to feel clearly these days with all the backwash of violence and fear muddying the Force waters, but he had a bearing now that no ship's nav computer could give him.

"That'll give us something to chat about in your shiny new wardroom."

Pellaeon paused again. It was the merest fraction of a second, less than a blink, but Anakin heard it. "Your Padawan will no doubt fill you in on that."

Ahsoka must have been really testing Pellaeon's patience. His tone said it all.

"And JanFathal? I've been out of comm contact. Is Master Yoda sending forces to repel the invasion?"

"I understand from Intel that he decided against it, given the popular support for the regime change. We'd be fighting on two fronts."

"We need to pick better allies . . ."

"Indeed. We're in comm contact with Rex's shuttle now, so I'll warn him that you're coming."

Anakin calculated the sublight transit time to the planet from his current position at the edge of the Fath system and decided to jump to hypers.p.a.ce. It was a matter of seconds, and pretty wasteful of fuel, but if Rex needed an escort then he needed it right now-and not in half an hour.

Anakin hit the jump control and watched the starscape stretch and distort as the fighter leapt almost instantly into the heart of the system. Short jumps were the riskiest maneuvers of all. The smallest error, a moment's lapse, and his fighter might drop out of hypers.p.a.ce into the mantle of a star.

It didn't, of course. He prided himself on his piloting, not just his preternatural Force skills but also the basic discipline and long hours common to Jedi and mundane pilot alike.

I worked hard to get this good. I'm more than lucky. More than my Force senses, too.

The Torrent dropped back into reals.p.a.ce almost as soon as it had jumped. Its viewscreen was now filled with the almost-full disk of green and white marble that was JanFathal.

"Skywalker to Rex, over..." Anakin's sensors showed a number of Sep vessels close to the planet. "Skywalker to Rex ..."

Coric's voice cut in. "Receiving you, General. We don't have a visual on you yet."

"Still using a bogus ID?"

"Yes, sir. We had to bang out in a hurry, and we thought we might have company."

"I've got you on my screen. Can you confirm you're showing as a Trade Federation fleet tender?"

"Confirmed."

"Apart from the brief excitement you had on JanFathal, is everyone okay?"

" 'Fraid not, sir. We lost Trooper Vere."

Vere? Anakin hadn't even met him yet. Now he never would. He'd only been a.s.signed to the 501st a matter of days ago. Rex wasn't going to be in the best of moods, then; the man was good at keeping up a stoical front, but Anakin's Force senses saw past the veneer and knew just how pa.s.sionately Rex felt about things.

"I'm sorry. I should have been with you. Tell Rex that..."

"Stang," Coric muttered. "Apologies, General, but are you picking up something moving fast on a direct course with Leveler?"

On the Torrent's sensor screen, a yellow enemy icon appeared to have separated from the rest of the Sep flotilla and was heading for Pellaeon's ship. A warship that didn't want to be found and could minimize its footprint on background s.p.a.ce was a small target in that infinity. Folks put too much faith in sensors-but it was all that the vast majority had.

"Yeah, Sep ship," Anakin said. "They've found Leveler."

"They worked out we need to dock with a much bigger target nearby."

Anakin opened the link to the warship. "Leveler, this is Sky-walker-you've got one Sep vessel heading your way at speed, grid seven-seven-nine-five. I'm going in."

"We're tracking it, General."

"What's your operational status?"

"Concussion missile targeting is offline, but we have a laser cannon and torpedoes."

"Okay, I'm on it," Anakin said.

The simplest thing would have been for Leveler to jump to hypers.p.a.ce. As Anakin headed on an intercept course with the Separatist vessel, he reflected on the fact that the enemy thought the Republic wouldn't do that kind of thing. It wouldn't abandon its own to attack or to a lonely death while trying to reach the nearest base with dwindling oxygen.

A decent captain would wait to let the shuttle dock, even with an enemy warship homing in on it.

The Seps had to be counting on it.

And Anakin was counting on the Seps wanting Leveler- refitted, state-of-the-art, full of technology and cla.s.sified data- in one piece.

Chapter Eight.

I'm a Corellian. As the saying goes, we won't be driven.

-Gilad Pellaeon REPUBLIC a.s.sAULT SHIP LEVELER, JUST OUTSIDE JANFATHAL s.p.a.cE.

"safeguard, safeguard, safeguard. All hands to action stations."

Leveler was fighting for real now; the work-up seemed a lifetime ago. Pellaeon stood on the darkened bridge, hands flat on his command console, and stared out into a void that would reveal nothing until it was too late. Intel data said the Sep ship was the light cruiser Discord, but Pellaeon now wondered if he'd trust Rep Intel to tell him the correct time of day.

"Enemy contact localized, range one-three-six-hundred, bearing, tracking ..." The princ.i.p.al warfare officer-Derel- was a clone, and if Pellaeon had had his way, he'd have filled all the warfare posts with them. "In range, sir."

"What do you think our Sep chums want, Derel?"

"Given that Discord is within her firing range, sir, I'd say they want us in one piece."

It would normally have been the PWO's job to decide when to engage a target. This time Pellaeon decided to fight the ship personally, and he hoped Derel wasn't offended.

"I'd go along with that," Pellaeon said. "So why hasn't the rest of the flotilla joined in? They can't possibly be that busy with JanFathal. The place doesn't have a s.p.a.cegoing navy, or else they wouldn't need us."

"Perhaps they don't think they're equipped for a fight with us. Purely opportunistic."

"Meriones? Give me that real-time chart on the large display, Lieutenant." He tapped the kid sharply on the back of the head to get his attention. The tactical workstations were within arm's reach if he took a step left or right. "Come on. Snap to it."

"Ready, sir."

Pellaeon rubbed his forefinger over his mustache, mind racing through the scenarios. This wasn't about winning a battle. This was about saving the ship and the shuttle, or-at very least-denying the enemy a chance to seize Leveler. She might not have been a pride of the Republic fleet, but she did have advanced weapons, and the Seps' behavior made him wonder if they knew that. The Republic certainly had agents in some CIS yards, but Kemla?

The Seps knew somehow.

They could hit us at this range. And we could hit them.

Why send just one ship after us when there's a flotilla? If they can detect the shuttle, then why don't they attack it?

Because they know we have no reason to stick around once the shuttle's gone. And it's this ship they want.

Pellaeon inverted the problem in his mind. The Sep ship was taking a risk by straying out here. If he engaged it, though, he'd end up taking on all of them, and Leveler would probably lose even if she was 100 percent operational. The Seps-in s.p.a.ce, at least-were an enemy made up of idiot droids and less-than-inspired organics, but out here they had numbers on their side.

The points of light suspended in the holochart in front of him shifted a little and grabbed his attention.

"Sir, two Seps have broken away from the group and appear to be heading this way, too." Derel paused to check another screen. "Concussion missiles still offline, but the drive dampers are stable and we're good to go on everything else."

Pellaeon felt he could see a full 360 degrees around the bridge. There were, he knew, a thousand solidly rational reasons why he was hyperaware during combat. And there were many near-subliminal indicators in the ship, on the bridge, that told him what his crew was feeling. He heard the little clicks and wet sounds that gave away facial expressions-words formed but held in check, unspoken, breaths held.

"Rumahn," he said to his first lieutenant, "what would you do?"

Pellaeon could hear his discomfort. Rumahn was a solid second in command, the kind of man who always managed to find the balance between concern for the ship's company and doing what was necessary. He applied Fleet regulations, but kindly. And he would never have been caught the worse for drinking after a Fleet dinner, serenading a beautiful woman beneath her apartment balcony, until her husband came out and asked him to leave immediately. That had been the gist of the request, anyway.

Derel tapped the controls on his sensor display. For a moment the bridge was so quiet that Pellaeon could hear the officer's fingernails on the plastoid.