The Clone Wars_ No Prisoners Part 6

A cheer went up again. "Right! Yeah, it's payback time!"

Mob-no, mob was the wrong word. There was a solid sense of purpose. It was, for an armed crowd with no apparent plan, quite orderly. n.o.body was looting. n.o.body was setting fire to anything-except in the city center. A collective decision had been made, like a flock of migrating birds deciding that snow was coming and it was time to move.

If anything, it felt like a busy shopping mall in Coruscant on Republic Day, when the half-price bargains went on sale; crowded, a little hara.s.sed, but generally good-natured.

Yes, but these people are armed. Not with credit chips- with rifles.

And my fob's to see that the Regent stays in power long enough to aid the Republic.

Hallena was alone, and there was nothing she could do now to stop a revolt. She'd failed.

Hey, come on. I didn't fail. Intel didn't come through for us. And my job is to rea.s.sess, to regroup, to look for another plan.

The only thing that could stop the riots was screaming along an elevated section of highway above the advancing mob, now thousands strong. It was a string of government armored vehicles; searchlights swung wildly from side to side. The convoy was heading for the bridge that led down into the factory quarter.

"Barricades!" a voice yelled.

A column of fire rose into the air about a hundred meters away, not far from the munitions factory Hallena had spent the day cleaning. A deafening cheer went up. Something was burning. She could guess what it was-a prearranged signal to set fire to barricades around the city-but she didn't know. The sense of helplessness was overwhelming.

She caught Varti's arm. A little way ahead, she could see Merish and Shil walking steadily, a little s.p.a.ce around them as if they were spearheading an advance even in the middle of this apparently leaderless ma.s.s. Mainly men, most in working coveralls, but some in relatively tidy suits, others in waterproof boots that suggested they'd come from a ship or a dockside factory.

"You going to tell me what's going on, Brother Varti?" Hal-lena asked. "I'm along for the ride, but I've been away for a bit. Someone draw me a picture."

"We're overthrowing the Regent. We're burning down Government House. And we're setting up a citizens' parliament."

Hallena's brain was trying to process a dozen questions at once. Where were the Athari intelligence agents she'd made con-tact with yesterday? If the Regent was out of office, dangling from a rope somewhere in the glowing red heart of the city, should she now be trying to get the new regime on the Republic's side? Did the Separatist connection matter anymore?

"How many times have we tried that before?" She tried to remember her background briefing on JanFathal. Past revolts had been brutally put down. "And it never worked."

"This time," Varti said, "things are going to be different." He was walking beside her at a steady pace, turning occasionally to glance at her. "I really should remember you. I'm sorry. It's troubling me."

"Not important now," she said. The comlink in her pocket shuddered silently. Either her Athari contact was trying to raise her, or Republic Intel was calling. Neither were calls she could safely take. "What do you need me to do? Right now, I mean."

"Get ready to fight," he said. "You look like you know how to use that rifle. Where did you learn that?"

Of course; this wasn't Coruscant, and in a dictatorship like this, there'd be were much tighter controls on who owned firearms. No tyrant worth his salt wanted an angry armed mob lurking out there-although that seemed to be exactly what the Regent was facing now.

She was firearms-trained, a qualified sharpshooter, able to handle most of the commonly used weapons available around the galaxy. Spook core skills: something-the one thing-she did almost without thinking.

Varti had spotted it.

"I like to be prepared," Hallena said cryptically. Who was to say she hadn't picked up bad habits in the jail she'd never been in, from bad guys she'd never met? Varti couldn't know. "And I'm a fast learner."

But she could feel the comlink shuddering in her pocket, its chime silenced. There were very few people who could reach her that way, and none of them were social. It can't be Gil. He never uses Intel links. It had to be her Athari intelligence contact or her controller. Either way, they weren't calling to see how she was.

Stang...

She had to check the message. She reached into her pocket casually and took out the comlink. The more furtive she looked, the more likely Varti was to ask questions. When she glanced down at the miniature screen, the comm ID was clear: Coruscant, her emergency controller, the being-she had no idea of their gender or species at any given time-who gave her instructions.

SEP SHIPS INBOUND TO YOUR LOCATION. STAND BY. IF UNABLE TO TALK, KEY 555.

Stand by? Okay. Fine.

She hit 555, trying to look as if she were stabbing in frustration at a nonoperational control panel. Were Republic warships inbound, too? Was there going to be some battle for control of JanFathal? She couldn't ask. She didn't dare comm back over voice links. She was-as spies often were-completely on her own and without backup.

And the most immediate problem was staying alive because she could hear the armored convoy heading down the ramp, on an intercept course with the path of the mob.

"Too late to comm home," Varti said, slipping his rifle off its sling. "We just blew the transmitter."

A woman to the far side of Varti tried her comlink. "Yes, the network's down."

But not mine, brother . . .

"Right on time," Varti said.

"n.o.body home anyway," Hallena said, keeping in character. "No home to be in."

Beams of white light stabbed at the night sky as the vehicles turned right and trained their searchlights on the road. She for-got the fires raging beyond. All that mattered now was not dying when the security forces opened fire on the crowd.

They would. She had no illusions.

Stang, I would if I were them.

No good guys and bad guys now, just folks trying to stay alive-confused, scared, reduced to instincts and reflexes.

She checked the charge on her rifle and knew she'd do what her own instincts told her; either those packed in front of her would be mown down, in which case she had a shield, or the crowd was in fact an army that had a plan.

In a few seconds, she'd know.

Yes, she was scared. Her gut knotted. She found herself worrying in that flash-frame, end-of-life way about whether Gil would ever find out what happened to her, who would take the Khomri tapestry on her apartment wall, and if she would be buried or left to rot.

Everyone should face this, just once, just to know what matters.

A volley of cannon fire ripped in a sheet above their heads. The crowd ahead of her parted like grain, everyone diving for the cover of buildings on either side of the road, and then they returned fire.

Hallena-still standing there, idiot, idiot, idiot-could see bodies flat on the pavement, picked out by the flaring light of weapons fire. The rectangular outlines of riot scoops on the front of the security vehicles rushed at her. The darkness and rel-ative quiet of seconds before had erupted into white-hot light and the deafening bdapp-bdapp-bdapp of blasterfire, and the air tasted instantly of discharged blaster and scorched hair.

And here she was, standing in the middle of the road, wondering why everything was taking so long.

When the searchlight blinded her, she simply fired down its beam and rolled to one side. Or maybe she fell. She didn't know. She just felt her elbow crack on the pavement, and the pain seared through her body right to the roots of her teeth.

Someone grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away. Whatever happened, the arrival of a Separatist fleet was the very last of her problems.

Chapter Four.

The military has to do this n.o.body-gets-left-behind thing because it's part of holding a team together. But us, sweetheart-we work alone. And one day, maybe we'll need to leave you behind. Be sure you can handle that. There's a special capsule for you, because when we say no prisoners, we mean it.

-Republic intelligence recruiter, name withheld for security reasons, explaining the realities of an agent's life to Hallena Devis, job candidate SENATOR AMIDALA'S APARTMENT, CORUSCANT.

Anakin woke to the insistent chirping of his comlink and reached for it without opening his eyes. Padme didn't stir.

"Skywalker," he said sleepily.

"Sir, I need to brief you for your situational awareness."

"Oh, Rex . . ."

"Bad time, sir?"

"No. Go ahead."

"Leveler's diverted to the Fath system. There's Sep activity around there, and we're the only vessel close enough to keep tabs on it. I'll keep you updated."

Rex was loyal; not just the professional, soldierly kind of loyal, but personally loyal. He knew what might happen if his general was caught being out of the loop-a loop he really should have been in. Anakin just hoped Rex didn't know why.

Do I, though? I think Rex would understand. Of the few beings I feel I owe an explanation about all this subterfuge, he's one of them.

"Good thinking, Rex."

"Captain Pellaeon's warned Fleet, so you may well be asked questions about it."

"I'll add diplomacy to your list of skills, Rex."

"And you should be aware that the work-up has shaken out a few faults and that your Padawan is settling in with the new trooper intake."

Anakin could have left it in Rex's hands, but the Force nagged at him. Something would go wrong. He knew it. And here he was, taking an illicit break, when his troops were facing potential action. It didn't matter that the rest of Torrent Company were in barracks. There were seven men on their own out there. And he was sitting on his backside.

"Rex, I'll rendezvous with Leveler. Keep sending me position and intended movement, and I'll be there as soon as I can."

"No need, sir."

"Yes, there is. Skywalker out."

Anakin was fully awake now. He went to the refresher, ran the water cold, and felt certain he was being tested by the Force for his dishonesty. Lying about his marriage was wrong on many levels; but leaving your men to fend for themselves-that was the worst. He'd sworn he'd never leave anyone to their fate again. He'd already left Rex behind once at Teth, and it was down to the man's own courage that he came out of that alive.

Nearly the whole kriffing company killed. And I told Rex I'd come back for him.

And then there was his mother.

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?"

Padme 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."

Padme didn't even look disappointed. That stung a little. He'd braced himself for at least halfhearted protests, but he knew deep down that Padme 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, Padme 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 unsta-ble, 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 he 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. .h.i.tting walls. "How long have I been here?"

"Couple of minutes."