Atraken Approach, Kattellyn System


    Rolion Sector


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    Sometimes-all the time, really, but Barriss tried to believe in optimism-Barriss felt like a puppet motivated by whatever strings Rain felt like wielding that day. Why her captor left Barriss alone on her own ship was beyond her, and as all things surrounding him, the Force was of no usefulness.


    Star frigate Unicorn blazed a path towards the distant world of Atraken, threading a precarious line through the orbital minefield that enveloped the planetary system. The lifeless husks of warships drifted here and there among the moons, whatever interstellar battlefield there was long since metamorphosing into a new artificial ring of debris.


    From the corner of her eye, Barriss noticed a bright explosion as a ruined corvette hull impacted a leftover mine, blasting microparticles their way. She was about to return her attention at first, but a voice rang through her mind-remember, repeaters are your friend; look at them enough and you don’t need the viewport-and Barriss forced herself to read the relevant readout.


    The monitor displayed a flashing silhouette of Unicorn, offset bars fluctuating as the ship’s particle shields absorbed the rippling blows.


    “Two-Two-Double-Oh,” the tactical droid TF-1726 called, “Have Centaur report her condition.”


    OOM-2200-Taylor-lifted his head from his console, “Her shields are holding, sir. Gallow advises we find another path through the minefield.”


    “Inform him that is denied,” TF-1726 droned, “The minefield is protecting us from enemy interception.”


    TF-1726, or Tuff, as he was known as, was the new captain of the small Unicorn Squadron-which consisted of Unicorn and its sister ship Centaur-and apparently Barriss’ new commanding officer. Internally, the young Jedi didn’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted that her captor had concluded a mere droid was enough to watch over her. It’s almost as if he didn’t care if she escaped.


    Which must be why, hindsight hummed in her head, he sent me to Atraken. I don’t need to be watched here. Even if Barriss managed to escape to the Republic battlelines, nobody was getting out of the planet’s orbit, much less the system.


    The vast minefield was deployed by Separatist minelayers, and as such possessed trackers that allowed Separatist ships to avoid them. Apparently it was originally done to prevent even more Republic reinforcements from arriving, but inadvertently turned the ravaged system into an isolated battle forsaken by both sides of the war.


    “We’re receiving a transmission from Trilos, sir,” a comms droid chirped.


    “Patch it though.”


    “Unidentified ship, this is Trilos Control, be advised that you are entering the Atraken Exclusion Zone,” an humanoid voice cautioned, “Identify yourself and your purpose, and standby for transponder verification.”


    “Trilos Control, this is Confederate Navy ships Unicorn and Centaur,” Tuff replied, “We were dispatched by Ringo Vinda to assist in the relief efforts. Transmitting transponder codes.”


    The tactical droid nodded at Taylor, prompting the OOM to send the codes. Barriss briefly saw a code scramble across the display; CNF_2.11.4931.51.81.4_1310RV.


    “Copy. Unicorn, Centaur, you are cleared for entry,” Control returned, “Please follow the designated spacelane to avoid mines and enemy interceptors. Report again as soon as you enter Trilos orbital zone.”


    Unicorn decelerated smoothly as it passed the inner perimeter of the minefield, navicomputers plugging in the data received from Orbital Control to plot a safe inbound heading towards the moon of Trilos. As the only of Atraken’s three moons to possess a habitable atmosphere, Barriss heard from both the Shadowfeed and HoloNet News that the survivors of the battle had relocated there.


    What she didn’t know, however, was that the moon was under Separatist control.


    “Lieutenant Offee,” Tuff abruptly said to her, “You will act as the captain of this ship, and as the commanding officer of this squadron.”


    What kind of trick is this now?


    “… Why?” Barriss asked carefully, wary of whatever plot her captors had cooked up now.


    She had spent enough time with TF-1726 to know that the tactical droid was one of Rain’s most trusted aides, perhaps second only to Hare, or Stelle. Whatever he had planned, the droid was almost certainly in on it.


    “This is a mercy mission,” the tactical droid reminded, and she still couldn’t quite fully believe it, “A droid cannot represent a humanitarian effort, due to organic preconceptions. The ranking officer of Confederate forces on the moon will also be more receptive to an organic commander. While you speak with them, I will oversee the off-loading of medical supplies and provisions.”


    When it was put that way… Barriss could somehow see the reason for it. Sweat gathered around her neck, and she tugged at her restricting collar to relieve the heat. She was about to reply something fierce, but then the dim glow of Atraken consumed the bridge.


    Barriss was unwittingly agape, her mouth closing with a quiet click. Atraken was a beautiful world, with bountiful seas and great continents. Once, perhaps. Its oceans were a soupy sludge of grey-green, and its vast continental expanses transformed into sickly shades of yellow, weather patterns boiling and bubbling over it. There were little flowers that bloomed over the surface like water lilies, and tendrils of fire that lashed out from them razing the atmosphere as if it was poplar fluff.


    The defiant lights of civilization still lingered-especially noticeable on the night side-but from afar, they appeared to Barriss like fireflies hiding within the brush while the forest burned around them, winking out one by one.


    “This is…” she started.


    “The result of the Republic’s atomic warfare,” Tuff said flatly.


    “You… you don’t know that,” Barriss dared to challenge, “Any side could have started it!”


    “Atraken is the capital of the Rolion Sector, which unanimously voted to secede from the Republic,” his vocabulator expressed a unique tone of disgust, “When the Republic realised they couldn’t take the planet, they decided neither side could.”


    “I didn’t think you would care so much,” Barriss mumbled weakly, feeling a headache coming on.


    “It is careless,” the droid scorned, “It is wasteful. I can calculate a hundred other courses of tactical import other than defoliating an entire planet in a vain attempt at resource denial.”


    Barriss deflated, not for lack of response, but to concentrate on keeping the collective sorrow of Atraken out of her head. It felt like the entire planet was writhing in agony, its hands pounding on her mind’s doors, visions of collapsing skies and scorched cities flashing through her consciousness. Warheads that fell like hail, and columns of ash and smoke that blotted the sun in great mushroom form.


    But there was a glimmer of hope in the Force-a light spark in darkness-and she had a feeling she knew where it came from.


    “The civilian government has evacuated to Trilos,” Tuff explained, “Now, our mission criteria is not to defeat the Republic, but to save as much of the population as possible.”


    The light codes on the sensor displays grew far sparser as they cleared the minefield, and Unicorn moved forward more rapidly, accelerating as it settled into its inbound vector for Trilos. There’s a Republic fleet on the other side of the planet, Barriss realised, directly opposite to the Separatist fleet on this side. They must both be too depleted to engage each other head on.


    As they approached Trilos, Unicorn and Centaur merged into the clutter of starships surrounding the planet. An indiscernible number of freighters and perhaps commandeered merchantmen, a handful of frigates, and a single huge Lucrehulk that dwarfed them all to insignificance. Golden lights were strewn across the moon’s habitable surface; a government, and a people, in exile.


    “Notify Trilos Control of our arrival and request instructions,” Tuff ordered.


    “Unicorn, Centaur,” Trilos Control hailed, “Disengage all drives and standby for tractor tug guidance. Welcome to New Kattellyn.”


    The surface of Trilos was rocky and destitute, but livable. New Kattellyn was a small city of mostly tenement blocks, straddled by two streams cutting through a desolate promontory. Massive open pit mines scarred the landscape, the heads of great highways that disappeared into the flanks of a mountain range.


    Barriss afforded herself one last wry grimace of distaste at playing Separatist, and folded her true feelings beneath a mask of composure before leaving the ship.


    A man in grey uniform met her, a mixture of thinly hidden dread and monumental relief on his face at the same time. Barriss wrinkled her nose in annoyance as white jets of steam blasted the ramp as the warship equalised its atmospheric pressure, and the man snapped into an uncertain salute upon her appearance, as if he had forgotten the fine details of the gesture.


    “Lieutenant Rame Cartroll reporting, sir!”


    Barriss swallowed some bile at that.


    “Where’s your commanding officer?” she asked.


    Lieutenant Cartroll faltered, but recomposed himself valiantly, “Dead, sir. Everybody above me is dead. I’m now the ranking officer of our forces in the system… I suppose you’re my CO now, sir.”


    She blinked, somewhat stunned.


    “… My captain was assassinated a week ago by enemy saboteurs,” he supplied, glancing over her shoulder at the droids unloading cargo, “Thank the stars at least one of our distress calls got through the Republic’s jamming.”


    “I’m only a lieutenant,” Barriss said slowly, “Lieutenant Offee. I don’t have the… authority.”


    Cartroll’s expression fell, “But… But you command this squadron right? I only have a corvette. That makes you my superior.”


    Barriss winced internally, but didn’t let it show, “I suppose it does. Lead the way.”


    Along the way, they passed by conspicuously out-of-place Coruscanti AA-9 freighters, the universal red sigil painted onto their hulls that signified humanitarian work and protected them from military attack. Despite that, many of them still showed signs of battle. Scorch marks, half-melted plating… Barriss could not see any gun emplacements. She didn’t know if she wished she did.


    “Courtesy of the Refugee Relief Movement,” Lieutenant Cartroll nodded at them, “When the government realised they had to evacuate the planet, they contacted the RMM for help. Volunteers from Coruscant, Naboo, Alderaan, flooded here. Didn’t stop the Republic from shooting them. Now, they’re trapped on this rock with the rest of us. With some luck, your ships will change things.”


    I don’t see how they can, Barriss thought. But she didn’t want to be pessimistic, and she still couldn’t quite believe the Republic would fire upon humanitarian vessels.


    The same way you can’t believe they would glass a planet over losing? A traitorous part of her retorted. This isn’t the same Republic you know, girl.


    They didn’t go into the city, but towards a large encampment on its outskirts. A refugee camp. It sprawled beneath an unforgiving sky, fabric tents and makeshift shelters huddled together like soldiers in formation. The emblem of the red sigil was displayed everywhere, on the tents, on the flagpoles, on the official uniforms of RRM workers, or even hastily patched onto the dresses of Atrakenite volunteers.


    Barriss felt her heart ache in the Force. A symphony of voices weaves a tapestry of stories-tales of loss and resilience. Survivors, their faces etched with the weight of their ordeals, gather in communal spaces, sharing meagre meals but bound by a shared determination to rebuild shattered lives.


    Names were heard over the bleakness. Not everybody was so fortunate. Not the dead-eyed children drifting between the shelters in packs, hunting for their parents. Nor the mothers shouting themselves hoarse, for a reply that might never come.


    The want for survival and hope was prevalent, but Barriss sensed another want in the Force. A want for vengeance. Lingering. On the rear seat for now, but she did not know for how long more.


    Barriss allowed herself to be immersed in it. Empathy was the Jedi way. Compassion was the Jedi way. These were not her enemies.


    Two holograms awaited them in the largest tent, one a opulently dressed woman in purple silk, and another a tall, nondescript man with Coruscanti features.


    “Lieutenant Cartroll,” the woman smiled, “Welcome news, I hope?”


    “Very good news, Madam Organa,” Cartroll replied, easing himself, “Relief from Ringo Vinda; two star frigates laden with food, provisions, and medical supplies.”


    Organa? Barriss wracked her head, recalling her Master’s old lessons. The Organas were the royal family of Alderaan, weren’t they? That means this must be… Celly Organa, the Chairwoman of the Refugee Relief Movement.


    “Warships?” Celly Organa’s smile flattened.


    “Pardon me, Madam Organa,” Barriss inserted herself in the conversation, “But this place is an active warzone, and if Lieutenant Cartroll is correct, then the Republic has seemingly no qualms about invading the sanctity of red sigil ships.”


    A pained look crossed Celly Organa’s face while the other man scoffed in derision, folding his arms.


    “Well said, officer,” he grunted, “Whichever Jedi’s in charge there, they’re not very Jedi-like, are they?”


    “A Jedi is in charge of the Republic forces?” Barriss couldn’t stop herself from raising her voice in surprise-and with a tinge of denial.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    “So it would seem,” Madam Organa rubbed her forehead tiredly, “Nevertheless, it is a pleasure, officer. I am Celly Organa, Chairwoman of the Refugee Relief Movement. You might’ve already heard of us, but we’re an interstellar humanitarian group that operates throughout the galaxy.”


    The man greeted her sharply, “Firris Palbert, Acting President of the People’s Inquest. A Jedi-accountability watchgroup. We find cases of Jedi overreach and send our journalists to report on the situation. The Atrakenites invited us, and we''re working with the RRM to give their plight some much needed exposure. The galaxy needs to see the injustice done here. We look forward to working with you.”


    Barriss had heard of the People’s Inquest. Only a couple months ago they were fighting with the Jedi Temple over the Baby Ludi custody case, and probably still are even now. With how highly publicised the case was-she even heard a feature film was being made on it-Barriss would have to be living on Tatooine to not have heard of it. As it went, Jedi rescue workers took custody of an infant girl-Ludi Billane-in the wake of a devastating earthquake on Ord Thoden, thinking her parents were dead.


    As it turned out, the girl’s mother-Jonava Billane-was in fact alive, and after a full rotation of searching for her daughter on Ord Thoden, bought a one-way trip to Coruscant in an attempt to get her back. The People’s Inquest, along with the majority of Coruscant’s student population, quickly supported her. The Jedi Council, however, denied her appeal, citing that it would be too dangerous now that Baby Ludi-renamed Aris-Del Wari-had Jedi training.


    Barriss herself was rather neutral on the situation, having been on a mission off-world for the majority of the scandal, but she knew the case had gone interstellar. Alsakan, Alderaan, Corellia, even as far out as Eriadu-there were people marching on the streets against the Jedi on nearly every planet in the Core, to the point where rioting students even breached the Jedi Temple and defaced it with graffiti and paint.


    “Lieutenant Offee, nice to meet you,” she deflated, letting her anxiousness go and serenity back in, “Alright, give me the situation.”


    Lieutenant Cartroll straightened, “From a military standpoint, sir, our strategic position is unrecoverable-”


    “From the beginning,” Barriss interrupted, “How did the situation deteriorate to this point?”


    Mister Palbert raised a thin eyebrow, “Did the media war on the HoloNet not inform you, officer?”


    Barriss stared blankly, “Are you telling me I should value the media over an official report?”


    Cartroll flinched, “My apologies, sir! Give me a moment… !”


    He fumbled with a handheld holoemitter, dialing some of the buttons-and a projection of the planet burst out the top.


    “Several decades ago, prospectors found huge doonium mines on Atraken, and the government quickly invited Republic mining companies to extract them,” the Lieutenant wetted his lips.


    “The most precious resource in the galaxy, these days,” Mister Palbert commented cynically.


    “When Atraken seceded in favour of the Confederacy’s trade laws, the companies used their PMCs to seize the mines and call for help,” Cartroll ignored him, “Our fleets arrived first, obviously, and recaptured the mines before the Republic came. But they did, and the planet was split into east and western hemispheres. Thinking more enemy reinforcements were on route, the Commodore opted to blockade the planetary system with minefields. With their supplies dwindling and no reinforcements incoming, we began pushing them back.”


    “The Republic started Operation Katabatic,” he continued, “We controlled the capital, Kattellyn City, most of the doonium mines, and orbital supremacy over the eastern hemisphere, see? So they resorted to using intercontinental ballistic missiles to target our bases and mines, and then cities when they realised the Atrakenites weren''t going to surrender. The Commodore ordered a full assault to stop them, which cost us our fleet-and his life-leaving both our forces incapable of another engagement. That’s where we are now.”


    “And the evacuation effort?”


    “That’s where we need your help, officer,” Madam Organa said, “Atraken’s watersheds and oceans have been poisoned by the fallout, leaving the entire planet uninhabitable. We’ve been receiving thousands of distress signals from the surface, but can’t access half of them due to the Republic’s orbital control over the western hemisphere.”


    “Can’t you negotiate with them?”


    “You think we haven’t tried!?” Firris Palbert raged, “Instead, they’ve threatened to shoot down every ship in their airspace!”


    Barriss glanced at Lieutenant Cartroll, but the officer only shook his head solemnly. Something’s up, she felt it in the Force, something beyond rescuing refugees. There must be a reason the Republic is targeting humanitarian ships. It is unlike them to, much less the Jedi.


    But for now, she couldn’t sense anything that gave her any reason to believe they were lying about the evacuation efforts. Besides, why would the Chairwoman of the Refugee Relief Movement of all people lie about this?


    This isn’t about the Republic or Separatists anymore, Jedi or not. This was about saving innocent lives. When she returns to Coruscant, Barriss will find her answers; she swore it to the Force. She owed it to every lost Atrakenite, to every life lost to nuclear hellfire. If she had to wear her enemy’s colours, and fire upon those supposed to be her friends… if it meant righting injustice, Barriss will do so. If not gladly, then out of her duty as Jedi.


    Whomever was in command of the Republic here… they were not Jedi. They can’t be.


    “Alright,” Barriss finally conceded, “What’s the plan?”


    “The Republic fleet is locked in geosynced orbit,” Lieutenant Cartroll pointed out, “Every day, Trilos crosses them. We dispatch our refugee ships, the Republic intercepts them, and our warships fend them off to limited success. Most of the time, we are forced to withdraw. Now, though, your squadron is here. To be honest, sir, we don’t have a chance in hell of retaking Atraken. My late captain had already agreed to pledge our remaining forces to helping the RRM, and I intend on following through.”


    “Our agents planetside have already assembled the remaining survivors to designated pick-up points,” Madam Organa explained as red dots popped up on the holographic planet, “Simply put, we need your ships to guard our transports as we evacuate them.”


    “What’s the state of the Republic fleet?” she asked.


    “Poor. Like ours,” Cartroll said wryly, “They haven’t been resupplied since the start of the battle, half a year ago. They’re almost certainly low on fuel and ammunition. Their warships are in a poor state, and almost all their snubfighters have been put out of action. That''s why they''ve resorted to assassins to take out our command ladder. Right now, sir, Unicorn and Centaur are practically superweapons.”


    Barriss closed her eyes, unable to believe what she was about to do. Unable to believe the entire situation really. The Battle of Atraken… was so wrong on nearly every level. Why was it the Separatists saving refugees? She rubbed her face.


    “… Sorry, sir,” Cartroll slowed down, “With all due respect… you look young, sir. Is this deployment your first?”


    No, she wanted to say. Yes, she thought.


    Firris Palbert exhaled softly, glancing down at his ghostly feet. Celly Organa bore a sympathetic smile that made her want to puke. Alderaan, working with the Separatists. It came to this. Why couldn’t they make it easy for her to hate them? Barriss swiftly discarded that thought-it was not the Jedi way.


    “Sorry, sir,” Rame Cartroll repeated himself, as if he couldn’t help it, “But there’s no such thing as a clean war. For every neat and tidy battle, there’s a hundred more like this one. It’s what we signed up for.”


    I know that now. Barriss stiffened her nerves, calling on her Master’s training once more. Detachment. Forget Republic or Separatist. Sorry, Master, but I’m going to have to do what’s right.


    Orbit of Coruscant, Coruscant System


    Corusca Sector


    Scout knew she would get used to the sight of warships sooner or later, but for now she felt confident that the sight of hundreds of star destroyers gathering in orbit over Coruscant will never fail to leave her awestruck. Even as the shuttle descended towards Harbinger’s flight deck, she rose to the tips of her toes to catch one last sight of the single greatest fleet in Republic service; the Open Circle.


    One-hundred and fifteen warships; twenty-five of them the newest generation star cruisers out of Allanteen VI, or so it was said. Scout once heard them described as the weight behind the Jedi Council’s words. She thought it was fitting.


    The shuttle landed gently as the mighty hangar doors clamped over them, atmosphere flooding back into the clearance.


    “Time to greet the boys,” Master Skywalker grunted as he stood up, “Thanks for the ride, Axe.”


    “Part of the job, sir,” the clone pilot raised a thumbs up as he disengaged the engines.


    A squad of clones welcomed them at the bottom of the ramp, some with blue paint, others in plain and shiny white armour. Pleasant surprise exuded from her Master, though it quickly folded into somewhat hopeful apprehension.


    “Commander Appo reporting, General Skywalker,” the lead clone saluted, “General Renau wishes to speak with you as soon as possible. He’s waiting for you in Communications.”


    “Good to see I’m still as popular as ever,” Master Skywalker joked, sweeping his gaze over the assembled soldiers, “… Coric? Good to have you back.”


    A trooper with the universal red sigil on his pauldron saluted with a grin, “Good to be here, General. Torrent Company’s back in action.”


    Despite the reunion, however, Scout only sensed rising uncertainty from her Master. It was as if she was back in the Combat Centre, staring down Master Skywalker’s chilling gaze. Except, this time she wasn’t in his focus, yet still crossed her arms in an instinctual effort to preserve her body heat.


    “And where’s Rex?” Master Skywalker asked, almost too casually.


    Coric’s smile flagged, “The Captain’s declared MIA, sir. The last anybody saw of him was back on the Resolute, shoving us into the escape pods.”


    “Expect nothing less from our old boy,” there was a pulse in the Force, “We’ll honour him.”


    Scout didn’t have to see Master Skywalker’s face to know it bore a smile. A smile was his default expression when he had unwanted feelings to hide. Master Skywalker doesn’t want the men to see him falter, she realised, whoever this Rex was, he was important. She then eyed the Clone Commander, Appo, who was quietly minding himself off to the side.


    Appo was like her, Scout guessed, not exactly involved with the Torrent Company or this Rex person. From the way he stood solemnly however, Scout concluded the Commander knew Rex enough to respect him.


    “… Let’s not waste Renau’s time,” Master Skywalker abruptly declared, marching on, “Coric, what exactly did Intelligence want out of you guys?”


    “Don’t know exactly, sir,” Coric shrugged, “They questioned us separately. But they asked us to retell the whole battle, especially our rescue.”


    “Right, the rescue,” Master Skywalker furrowed his brow, “How did that happen?”


    “The Seppie commander, General,” Coric replied, “Called himself Rain… what was it?”


    “Captain Rain Bonteri,” another trooper said, “Recited the Yavin Code on open frequency and everything.”


    “Thanks, Denal,” Coric nodded appreciatively, “Like he said. After that, pod hunters came in and dragged us all into a battleship. They put us in our cells and left us alone after that. Until Cascade and Waterfall rescued us.”


    “That’s it?” Master Skywalker asked disbelievingly, “They just left you alone?”


    “Aye sir,” Denal confirmed, “Food wasn’t great, but at least it was different from battlefield rations, so I count it as a win.”


    “Bonteri, huh?” Master Skywalker mumbled with a conflicted expression, “I’ve heard that name before… Padawan, your first task is to find out the meaning of that name.”


    Seriously? I know he means well, but this is getting ridiculous! What am I, some errand girl? Scout wanted to complain; her head was filled with nothing but names. But she sucked it up and ground out a dutiful- “Yes, Master.”


    Anakin Skywalker narrowed his eyes, “Your emotions betray you, Scout.”


    “My apologies,” she replied in a dryer tone than intended, “Master.”


    Her Master scoffed, “Sorry, Appo. Looks like I’m putting you on babysitting duty.”


    “Hey!” Scout protested, “I’m not a- child… ”


    Her voice shrunk towards the end as she realised that was exactly what Ahsoka would say, and she cringed at herself for it. Damn it, I should be more mature than this.


    “You’re a child until I decide you aren’t,” Master Skywalker told her, “That’s how it goes, isn’t it?”


    “I’m ten years old,” Commander Appo said with a straight face, “But I’m tall for my age.”


    “Don’t humour her, Appo.”


    One of the troopers-Denal-snorted, “You can’t really tell when the Commander’s joking, sir.”


    “Alright!” Master Skywalker said loudly as he stepped into a turbolift, “Enough of that. To your stations, I have a date with the General. Appo, take Scout to the bridge and wait for me there.”


    “Very good, sir.”


    Master Skywalker spun around just as the lift doors slid shut, but Scout spied a small smirk fashioned onto his lips just before he disappeared from view. Torrent Company bade them farewell as they disappeared into the labyrinthine corridors, leaving Scout alone with the Clone Commander as they waited for the next turbolift.


    “CC-Triple-One-Nine, sir,” Appo recited his designation number to break the silence, “But everybody calls me Appo. I’m the commanding clone officer of the Five-Oh-First Legion.”


    Scout had to crane her head up to look at him, “Padawan Learner Tallisibeth Enwandung-Esterhazy. Looks like I’m your Jedi Commander now.”


    “…”


    “But all my friends call me Scout,” she hastily added, “Because my name’s a bit… long.”


    “Commander Scout, then,” the lift opened, and they stepped through, “I hope you don’t mind.”


    “I don’t,” Scout said as Appo punched in their floor, “… So, uh, who''s Rex?”


    Commander Appo stilled, and then relaxed slightly, “Captain Rex was the General’s second-in-command. He’s been MIA-well, dead-since we lost our flagship over Christophsis. I’m the CO because everybody above me lost their lives on the Resolute.”


    “O-Oh,” Scout wanted to say something-maybe words of sympathy-but she feared coming off as disingenuous, “Um… Ahsoka was supposed to go to Christophsis.”


    Her stomach dropped as the turbolift accelerated, and she winced internally. Seriously, is that the best you can come up with, Tallisibeth?


    “Ahsoka?” the clone inquired.


    “My friend, I mean,” she clarified, “Ahsoka. She’s Master Kenobi’s Padawan.”


    “Hmm,” Scout couldn’t take anything from Appo’s stoic face, “If your friend was at Christophsis, she wouldn''t have been a child for very long.”


    “Child…?” it took a second for Scout to realise he was referring to her previous complaint, “You mean, because she would have fought a battle?”


    The turbolift halted before Appo could answer, and he led her down a length of corridor before turning into a dim room strumming with clones and officers. There was a big circular table in the centre, and screens and gizmos filled the walls. Scout recognised some of them, from the books she used to self-study, but she couldn’t make heads or tails out of most of it. Beeping and buzzing and chatter and a hundred other small noises blended together into a solid backdrop. This is the Battle Operations Room.


    I guess manuals never prepare you for the real thing.


    A thin, smartly dressed officer with a moustache like a grey caterpillar over his upper lip passed by them. Upon noticing her, his mouth opened as if to inquire why there was a child in the room, before understanding flashed over his sharp eyes.


    “Commander,” the man nodded down at her, “I am Admiral Wullf Yularen. Welcome aboard my ship.”


    Scout had to catch herself from bowing, “Padawan Tallisibeth, sir. Or, uh, Commander. Sir.”


    Admiral Yularen’s eyes widened fractionally, “I did not expect this from Skywalker.”


    “Expect what, Admiral?”


    His mouth twisted into a miniscule smile, “You.”


    The Admiral snapped into a salute, and Scout hastily mirrored the gesture, hoping she didn’t fumble it too badly. Admiral Yularen shared a look with Commander Appo, before turning back to… whatever he was doing.


    Appo then dragged her to one end of the wall and then- woah. The blast doors slid open noiselessly, revealing the command bridge beyond it. And from the windows’ 180 degree view… she once more saw the Open Circle Fleet in all of its glory, eclipsing the sun in a hundred forms. Scout slowly stepped through, as if she was entering a different dimension.


    It’s real. I’m really here.


    “Not because she would have fought a battle, Commander,” Appo’s voice was a spear through her engrossment, “But because she would have fought Christophsis. The planet was a disaster. Disaster for us, but a complete hell for Jedi. We call it the Second Jabiim.”


    “Jabiim?” she heard that name before, but couldn’t recall where or when.


    “Forgive me, sir, but I can’t say,” he replied, “Just know that you don’t really grow up until you’ve seen a battle like that. Not even for us clones… you’ll have to ask General Skywalker for more. You’re his apprentice, right?”


    “-Ask me about what?” Scout jumped as Master Skywalker’s voice suddenly appeared behind her.


    Appo, unmoved as ever, twisted his head slightly and gave a brief nod, “General.”


    Scout was about to take Appo’s advice, but immediately saw her Master’s face and realised he wasn’t actually in the mood for taking questions. He met her eyes, saw something her recognised, and continued on to one of the command pits.


    “Lieutenant Avrey,” he called, “I’m going to need you to inform Obi-Wan that we’re going ahead.”


    “Anything he needs to know, sir?” a female officer returned.


    “It’s an order from General Renau. Something urgent,” Master Skywalker said, “Tell him I’ll see him at Columex.”


    “Right away sir.”


    “Admiral!” he then shouted towards the Battle Room.


    “Yes, General?” the Admiral in question appeared out of the darkness with a polite expression.


    “Plot us a course to Phindar. We’re leaving ahead of schedule.”


    Admiral Yularen wrinkled his moustache, like chewing on something, “Very well, General.”


    The man spun on his heel and disappeared back into the Battle Room. The ship, Harbinger, seemed to rumble in satisfaction as it began to turn.


    “What’s going on, Master?” the question finally broke out of Scout’s lips.


    Master Skywalker stopped to look at her, “Have you heard of Atraken?”


    “Have I-” has anybody not!? “-Kattellyn System, Rolion Sector. Yes, Master, I have.”


    “The planet has been abandoned over the battle, but the Separatists has built new shipyards on one of the moons,” Master Skywalker’s face was dark, “As if poisoning the planet wasn''t enough, now they’re using the excuse of evacuating refugees to transport doonium from planetside to the shipyards. Master Krell has reported that Seppie reinforcements have arrived in-system, which could turn the battle against him and lose us the system. Do you know where the Rolion Sector is, Tallisibeth?”


    “… Right on the Salin Corridor,” she answered, realising what was at stake.


    “Then you understand our purpose,” Master Skywalker nodded satisfactorily, “We will head to Phindar, then take an advance force to aid Master Krell. We cannot allow the Separatists to win Atraken and establish a forward base on the Salin, not so close to Operation Trident.”


    With his piece said, Master Skywalker swung around and marched to the viewports, crossing his arms as he watched the fleet move into formation for the hyperspace jump. Scout tried to calm her beating heart; she knew she was about to fight her first real battle soon, but not this soon. And not at Atraken.


    Commander Appo, who had been silent beside her for the entire time, revealed he was sharing the same line of thought.


    “Well, sir,” he muttered, “Looks like you’re about to get your wish.”


    Scout suddenly had the thought that being a child was rather nice, and that she would prefer to remain one.