The Clone Wars_ No Prisoners Part 5

And this is why the orthodox Jedi way is to begin with infants. They know no better.

"So . . . how do we deal with a war we can't avoid?" Altis asked at last.

"We pick our battles," Geith said. "We fight, but on our own terms. Not that the rest of the Order wants our help anyway."

Altis had offered to help the war effort. He had been . . . un-specific. Yoda had been gracious, noncommittal . . . and distant.

But it's not about my relations with the Jedi Order. It's about my duty to living beings. I don't need anyone's permission to do that.

"It might not be their decision to make," Altis said. "Now go eat." He shooed the two away. "Fetch me some mealbread when you come back, please."

Altis felt the icy water trickle through his spinal ca.n.a.l again. He settled down in the pilot's seat, folded his arms, and let the navigation screen blur into slight defocus as he meditated. Yarille was a yellow dot in the top left corner at this range, and on the right-hand margin the Fath system was just visible.

Sometimes, when he did this, he wasn't immediately sure what he was seeing for a moment-the traces on the screen itself or some visual manifestation of his state of trance. He drifted for a moment at that point between perfect awareness of his surroundings and complete detachment from the physical world. Throughout the ship, members of the sect-male and female, adult and child, families and individuals, Jedi and non-Jedi alike-seemed to pause as well.

The ice wouldn't leave him alone.

Lights danced.

Altis snapped out of his trance and hit the range control on the scanner. The region of s.p.a.ce covered by the sensors magni-fied a hundredfold to give him much more detail, and he saw a small cloud of enemy transponder traces appear right on top of the Fath system. He adjusted again, and the Separatist ships were moving on JanFathal.

Altis knew with Force certainty that Wookiee Gunner would need to be there, and soon.

He hit the hazard alarm on the console. A shipful of Jedi didn't need the alert.

But Altis sounded it anyway.

OPS ROOM, REPUBLIC a.s.sAULT SHIP LEVELER.

"Captain? Sir!"

The lieutenant swung around fast in his seat. He almost collided with Rex as he sidestepped a technician whose legs were poking out from underneath a partly dismantled sensor console.

MERIONES. Rex noted the name tag on his gray working rig. "What's the problem, Lieutenant?"

The ops room was cluttered with techs trying to trace a faulty wire that had left six sensor screens in a bank of fifteen completely dead. The fascia was unbolted and propped upright on the deck, leaning against the console.

"I meant-Captain Pellaeon, sir." Meriones paused for a breath. "But look at the scan. That's a lot more Sep ships, sir, I'm sure of it."

Rex leaned over the flickering screen and gave it a heavy thump with the heel of his hand. The image stabilized for a mo-ment; yes, there was now a cl.u.s.ter of ship icons in the Fath region, but no transponder IDs. The sensor should have generated an enemy code and superimposed it on the plot.

"Garbage," Rex muttered, thumping the screen's housing again.

The Sull.u.s.tan civilian technician working at the rear of it muttered mild annoyance, and Rex gave him an apologetic smile. When civvie contractors went s.p.a.ce-side with a ship post-refit to iron out problems, they knew they weren't safe at home in the yards anymore; they were on the front line with the grunts. Rex admired their willingness to live-or die-by the quality of their workmanship.

"I was going to do that myself." The Sull.u.s.tan went on testing wires. Then he picked up a small rubber-headed mallet. "Got a special tool for it. . ."

"But is it Seps?" Meriones asked.

Pellaeon walked into the ops room and came to have a look. "Yes," he said. "It is."

"It's a few hours' transit time," Rex said. "Once we find out what they're doing."

"Now do the rest of the math." Pellaeon's eyes flickered as if he was reading the screen. The image shook and distorted. "One of us, seven of them, and we're not firing on all drives yet."

The Sull.u.s.tan's voice drifted up from behind the console. "Drives are fine ..."

"I was speaking figuratively."

"I can't patch into ship tactical data yet," Rex said, "but we're a day closer to Fath than any other vessel if HQ needs any surveillance."

Pellaeon walked over to the nearest comm console, glared at it as if willing it to be in better shape than the rest of the kit in the room, and hit the key.

"Leveler to Fleet," he said. "Fleet, this is Pellaeon."

"Go ahead, sir."

"We're picking up Sep vessels in the Fath sector. Out of our range, but we'll continue to observe."

"Copy that, Leveler. Are you fully operational?"

"No, Fleet, we are not. Stand by, out."

Rex's detachment of clones were the only troops on the ship apart from Leveler's crew. There were no land forces embarked; this was just working-up, a sortie to evaluate the state of readiness of the ship, a test drive. Leveler wasn't intended to fight- not yet.

So all she could do was observe.

Pellaeon seemed to be chewing something over. He raised his personal comlink to his lips. "Number One, take us in a little closer to Fath until we get in transponder range. Then we'll deploy an observation droid. Nice and steady."

"Very good, sir."

Rex decided to get ready for a little more than a sightseeing trip anyway. If push came to shove, Leveler had operational- if not combat-tested-concussion missiles. She was never intended to land, just to bombard targets from orbit or deploy landing craft to insert ground troops. He and his men weren't going to need to slug it out in cla.s.sic infantry style.

Even so, Rex liked to be ready.

"Just popping back to the messdeck, Captain," he said, heading for the pa.s.sageway.

Coric was showing the new boys the schematics of the new targeting arrays when Rex walked into the compartment. The troopers were all minus helmets, looking earnest, black hair meticulously trimmed. Rex suddenly regretted his novelty haircut and decided to shave it off when he got a chance. He didn't want to be that different from his lads. It was a dumb fad any-way, rather undignified for an officer. And they were Torrent Company, 501st Legion, the elite within the elite, the backbone of the infantry-Anakin Skywalker's own.

Ahsoka was sitting on one of the bunks against the port bulkhead, knees drawn up to her chin, arms clasped around her legs. She had that far-away look again; the one that said she was tuning in to something distant that Force-users alone could sense. Well, at least she doesn't have faulty wiring. That's something. Rex folded down a seat and joined his troopers. They all looked at him.

"Sep vessels cl.u.s.tering around Fath," Rex said. "We're going to hang around in stealth mode and keep an eye on them. Not much else we can do at the moment. Some critical systems are down, and anyway, there's just one of us."

"Never stopped us before," said Coric.

"If there was a fight worth having, Pellaeon would be right on it, believe me."

Joc glanced at Hil. "Is it true he keeps getting pa.s.sed over on promotion boards because he likes the ladies too much?"

"You're in this tub five minutes and already you're listening to gossip."

"Sorry, sir." Joc paused. "But why has an officer's personal business got anything to do with his promotion? Unless he likes Sep females, of course. I can see that would be a bit of a problem."

Rex had to admire Joc's persistence. And that unblinking naivete might well have been a dry sense of humor emerging.

"It's conduct unbecoming to an officer," Rex said. "They're supposed to be squeaky clean and upstanding."

"He's not married."

Joc should be in Intel. The kid has a natural talent.

"But maybe his lady friends are," said Rex.

Ahsoka chimed in. "Attachment leads to the dark side. Because it leads to fear, jealousy, and anger."

"Yeah, but that's just for Jedi," Coric said, seeming to give up on his carefully prepped talk on electronic warfare. "Not everyone else."

n.o.body asked the obvious-whether clone troopers were everyone else or not. Joc looked from Ahsoka to Rex and back again. "What's wrong with attachment?" he asked. "Why can't you have attachments? You mean love, right?"

Ahsoka looked at the clones wide-eyed but in slight defocus, as if she was trying to recall something.

"Love is acceptable," she said at last. "But not attachment."

"What's love if it isn't attachment?"

"Attachment is . . . putting personal relationships first, caring about the people you love so that it influences how you act." Ahsoka seemed to be picking her words carefully. Coric stared back at her. "You know, it affects your judgment."

"But ol' Pellaeon's just having a spot of romance, if you know what I mean. It's not like he gets attached to any of them, is it? Is romance allowed? Can you have a spot of romance if you don't get attached?"

Ahsoka's stripes became more vividly colored, embarra.s.sed. Yes, she obviously did know what Coric meant by romance. It wasn't the word he usually used for it, but Ahsoka was only a kid, and Rex had decided from the start that talking about that sort of thing was something best left to her Jedi Masters. Yes, General Skywalker, I think that's a job for you, sir. It wasn't a clone's duty at all.

"Romance," Ahsoka said stiffly, "is acceptable. Jedi are not . . . celibate. Just... no attachment."

Ince adopted a wonderful frown of apparent bewilderment. "That's a bit cold, ma'am. Love 'em and leave 'em?"

Not that he knows what that means, poor lad, but. . .

"What about all the negative things Jedi might feel without attachment?" Boro asked. They were all piling in now. "You know . . . bitterness. Resentment. Jealousy. Loneliness. Anger."

"Yeah," Ross said. "It's not normal. Can't be healthy."

Ahsoka was under siege. Rex debated whether to stop the baiting or see where it was going. These were kids, all of them. If Ahsoka wanted to command-and she did, it was clear-then she had to learn that young officers got a rough ride. His young clones, regardless of the constant training that told them Jedi were invincible and omniscient, saw her as a novice like them, projecting no real authority.

I don't remember being like that. I'm maybe a year older than them, if that.

And it's only months since Geonosis, not even a year. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Ahsoka let go of her fierce defensive grip around her legs and sat up straight, boots on the floor.

"I don't make the rules," she said at last. Her voice was very different; there was a faint, rasping undertone, like the echo of a sand panther's growl, and Rex was reminded yet again that the Togrutas' primal ancestors were predators. "But I accept that wiser beings made them, and so I'll follow them."

"We follow orders, too," Hil said. "We understand. Except we can usually see what goes wrong when we don't."

"Yeah, you get hurt," Ross said. "Or worse."

"I have to deal in the unseen," Ahsoka said quietly.

Coric looked as if he was going to say something, and then thought better of it. He went back to his datapad. Rex decided the maneuvering was over and that Ahsoka had at least maintained her dignity.

"Okay, I want you all to be ready for enemy contact," he said. "And this is not a drill."

It was a cue for Ahsoka to leave if she wanted to. He knew her well enough by now to spot the ebb and flow of her moods, and he was guessing that she probably felt outnumbered; she would want to find a quiet spot to meditate.

"Shall I check out the ops room, Rex?" she asked.

"Yes, good idea." When he first met her, she'd tried to pull rank on him as a Jedi. Now she'd matured enough to understand that she got a lot more respect by using a little restraint. "Lieutenant Meriones probably needs cheering up. I think he's the wardroom outcast. I'm not good at that kind of thing, but you are . . .

Ahsoka gave him a sad smile that said she knew perfectly well what he was doing and why. It was a good understanding to reach. After she was well out of earshot-Togruta Jedi earshot, which was a lot farther than a regular being's range- Rex folded his arms and leaned on the narrow table that was bolted to the deck between the bunks.

"Okay, why are you on her case?" he asked. "Ince? Vere?"

Vere hadn't said much at all since he'd arrived at the 501st barracks. "Just making her feel part of the team, sir. She likes joining in."

"And she's a bit of a know-it-all, sir," said Ince. "Even if she is an officer. Even if she's a Jedi."

"I think she knows that. Go easy on her. We've no way of knowing just how touchy some Jedi are about their regulations." Rex realized he'd inherited a tight-knit group of new troopers who were now settling in even better than he'd expected. He needn't have worried about them. "She means well. Jedi were never trained to lead troops."

"Well, at least she understands orders," Joc said. "Even if she's lonely."

Yes, she did. Rex thought back to the look on Skywalker's face whenever he saw Senator Amidala on the HNE newscasts or heard her name mentioned. Now, there was a man dealing with attachment. Nothing overt, just the small giveaways that another man noticed if he spent enough time with his boss: the way Skywalker didn't look away from the Senator quite soon enough, the way he always seemed to snap to attention when he heard her name.

Must be hard for him to know he can never do a thing about it.

Rex put the thought out of his head. Gossip was for the ranks, and dwelling on life's restrictions didn't do much for anyone's morale.

"Come on," he said, standing up. "Get down to the hangar deck. I want fifteen circuits of the deck, in full fighting order, record time, and then we'll familiarize ourselves with all the planets in the Fath system. We'll be in range soon. Get to it."

Busy. That was the way to deal with everything. Stay busy. And clones were never short of tasks to complete.

ATHAR, JANFATHAL: ONE HOUR AFTER THE START OF THE WORKERS' UPRISING.

Hallena had one choice, and she took it.

Someone had shoved an obsolete blaster rifle in her hands and pushed her along with the growing mob that now crowded the streets around the center of Athar. There was an undercurrent of steady noise, the hum of thousands of voices-not yelling or screaming, just talking.

All the street lighting was out, and the homes and shops and factories were in darkness. A red glow marked the heart of the city.

"Burn, you sc.u.m." Varti sounded almost conversational. He was looking toward the fire, a beatific smile on his face. "It's been a long time coming. Right, brothers and sisters?"