Orbit of Metalorn, Metalorn System


    Talcene Sector


    “Thank you, Admiral,” Master Obi-Wan Kenobi handed back the datapad.


    Admiral Block nodded stiffly, stifling a sigh, “Loathe am I to say it, General, but Metalorn’s going to be a tough nut to crack. It’s my opinion that the planet’s more trouble than it''s worth.”


    A reasonable conclusion, Obi-Wan had to admit. The Techno Union has always kept a close hand on their possessions, and being Skakoan-dominated, it was perishingly difficult for spies to infiltrate their corporate hierarchy. It was public knowledge that Metalorn was one of the greatest forge worlds of the Outer Rim, but their scans had unearthed the depths of their ignorance.


    Expansive subterranean factory-cities, automated ordnance foundries, uncountable numbers of droid command posts… there might not be a single sapient being left in the world, but that didn’t mean it was undefended. Far from it. There may be more battle droids crawling on the floating scrapheap then there are clone troopers in the galaxy. Each and every trench and derelict compound would be trapped to Malachor and back, and every tunnel fortified. And all the while, the droid foundries would continue churning out soldiers that fear nought, and needed no supply.


    Completely clearing out the planet might take as long as the Clone Wars would rage, if it wasn’t completely impossible outright.


    “What do you recommend, Admiral?”


    “Base Delta Zero,” Admiral Block said bluntly, “I recognise that it is an extreme measure, but the protocol was created for precisely a situation such as this. We will never hold Metalorn in any meaningful capacity. There aren’t any civilian casualties to fret over. And our foes are all entrenched under the surface. We will slag the planet’s upper crust, and let the magma seep into the underground complexes, destroying any and all resistance.”


    Obi-Wan closed his eyes. To his great shame, he couldn’t poke any holes in the Admiral’s logic. A thorough orbital bombardment would indeed be the simplest way to deny the Separatist Alliance the industrial powerhouse of Metalorn, even if it means the Republic will never be able to use it themselves. Then again, they might never will.


    The Metalornians have already proven themselves willing to defend their world tooth and nail, launching every single one of their warships into orbit in a last-ditch attempt to destroy Master Plo’s taskforce. Not that it succeeded, but it proved their resolve and desperation.


    “It might take months for us to crack their planetary shields,” Obi-Wan pointed out, not for opposition any more than curiosity as for what the Admiral thought of it.


    “And it might take years to capture the planet, General,” Admiral Block replied professionally, “In my opinion, I see no other recourse. After the destruction of Metalorn’s standing fleet, we command complete and total orbital supremacy. We can station a handful of Acclamator-Twos in orbit and free the rest of our fleet. There is simply no reason, moral or rational, to not execute Code Base Delta Zero. Other than the sell-outs in the Senate, that is–they’ll protest–if that matters to you.”


    It didn’t. But there was a small part inside Obi-Wan that did not want to be one of the few Jedi Masters who sanctioned such a horrific act, but the pragmatism of the soldier inside him eventually came out above. Still, with every passing day, Obi-Wan could feel himself ageing by years. He could not remember when he accepted that there was no ‘good’ in war–only lesser evils–and he did not know if that was preferable.


    Some days, he felt as if the Jedi were slipping down a slope they could not see. And then when the fog of war lifts in its good time, they will find themselves in a pit they could not climb out of. Setting a precedent was opening a box you could not easily close, and he feared he was doing just that. One thing was true; the sooner this gruesome ordeal ends, the sooner peace can return to the galaxy.


    Obi-Wan swallowed to prevent his voice from cracking, “Very well, Admiral. You have my leave.”


    A miniscule, grim smile appeared on Block’s lips. One that suggested that while he was both relieved and satisfied that his Jedi General did not veto him, he was no happier with an orbital bombardment than Obi-Wan himself was. It must chafe him as a professional officer, if for different reasons compared to Obi-Wan, to utilise such a crude and blunt weapon.


    “General Kenobi!” a messenger came up behind him, “General Koon is awake. He and Commander Tano are waiting for you in the medbay.”


    A ray of light in these increasingly dire times.


    “Inform them I will be there soon.”


    “Yes, sir!” the messenger looked relieved to go, likely feeling as out-of-place on the command deck as a janitor would in a starfighter’s cockpit.


    Obi-Wan swept the viewports with his gaze as he swung around, observing the remnants of the battle once fought here. He had read the report, and had wondered what sort of man the Separatist commander was to detonate his own flagship in a half-fireship, half-scuttling action.


    Unfortunately, everybody who knew what had happened on the Impavid was dead, more than likely without even knowing what had killed them, so the only answers he will find will be with the handful of comatose troopers who were lucky enough to escape the blast. Master Plo Koon among them.


    He chanced upon Saesee Tiin as the Iktotchi Jedi Master was coming up from the flight deck, his face stiff as the horns that framed his head. As Iktotchi were naturally attuned to the Force–with a particular gift for foresight–Master Tiin was able to sense the explosion before it happened, and lead his fighter wing behind the cover of a battleship. Still, it couldn’t prevent the loss of half his squadrons.


    “It is unlike Master Plo to be taken at unawares by such a… choreographed action,” the reticent Jedi Master expressed, “Something happened inside that ship, the Castigation, that shook him.”


    “It is not everyday you find an opponent willing to go to such lengths to deny victory,” Obi-Wan agreed, “Even tactical droids have some form of self-preservation programming.”


    Plo Koon was one of the oldest members of the Jedi High Council, having ascended in the same year as Master Windu himself. Having led the Republic to victory during the Hyperspace War, he was one of the few Jedi Generals with any real prior military experience. His loss would have been a massive blow to the Jedi Order, and Obi-Wan was of the opinion that this time had cut it too close.


    Vigilance’s medbay was clean and sterile, with rows of cots and bacta tanks lining the room, capable of treating hundreds at a time. Even though there were only a couple dozen beds occupied, it already seemed too high a number. Master Plo was already sitting up, thankfully completely intact–no doubt in due part to his thick Kel Dor hide.


    Ahsoka was standing by his bed, having kept her vigil over him ever since he was recovered. Obi-Wan had heard it was Master Plo who had personally inducted the Togruta into the Order after discovering her on a mission to Shili. He knew there was a special bond between them that he would never be able to emulate, and maybe that was a good thing. For all of her zeal and alacrity, this was one a perishingly few times he had witnessed his Padawan adopt a face of patience and reflection.


    Whether it was his teachings paying off–Ahsoka was a second-coming of Anakin in that regard, oddly enough–or simply mere worry for her old friend, Obi-Wan was grateful for it nonetheless.


    “It’s good to see that you are well, Master.”


    Plo Koon looked up at Saesee Tiin slowly, “The loss of Impavid–”


    “Shies before the importance of your recovery,” Master Tiin interjected, “Worry not over it, my friend. What matters is that you are alive.”


    “You left her in my care.”


    “Nobody could have expected our foe to do such a foolhardy thing,” the Iktotchi shook his head, drawing the curtains that would separate them from the rest of the medical bay.


    Master Plo attempted to stand up as the injured troopers beside them disappeared from view, but Ahsoka swiftly–and gently–held him down, not unlike a fretting nurse, “The medical officer said you are still too weak to walk, Master. Please don’t.”


    The old Master grunted, but acquiesced.


    “Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said softly.


    His Padawan snapped up at him like a cat, reading his face. Her sharp eyes flitted between the three Jedi Masters, and her annoyed expression morphed into tacit understanding.


    She bowed her head, “I will take my leave, Masters.”


    Masters. Three Jedi Masters on one ship. And not just mere Masters, but members of the High Council. If the Separatists ever got wind about this… Obi-Wan could already hear the ired–but not unjustified–berating of Republic Intelligence attachés. The only reason both Master Plo and Master Tiin were assigned together was because of their shared history, and the sheer significance of Metalorn to the war.


    Obi-Wan dragged out two chairs for he and Master Tiin to sit on, feeling the ship sway beneath his feet as Admiral Block’s steady hand guided them through the debris field.


    “Master, what exactly happened on that ship?” he asked as straightforwardly as he could without sounding insensitive.


    “We found the man we were looking for,” Plo Koon looked him in the eye, “Rain Bonteri. Who defeated Skywalker at Corvair, you at Christophsis, and now I, here over Metalorn.”


    “But he wasn’t on the ship.”


    “No,” the Kel Dor sighed through his antiox mask, “He had tightbeamed a real-time holo of himself to the bridge of that ship. We were convinced the Castigation was his flagship since it was the command nexus, but in hindsight it was an obvious trap. Castigation was the relay, not the source.”


    “Played us for fools thrice now,” Master Tiin commented gruffly, “Clone Intelligence made a file on him. Relative of former Republic Senator from Onderon, Mina Bonteri. He enlisted in the Royal Army when he became of age, before transferring to the Onderonian Space Force. Then Geonosis happened.”


    “So we have nothing on him,” Obi-Wan summarised, “Do we know why he joined the navy?”


    “He and a few other officers transferred to their planetary navy after the Royal Army supported a pro-Separatist coup,” the Iktotchi said, “After that are only suppositions.”


    It took Obi-Wan a lifetime in the Jedi Temple to recognise what contemplation looked like on a Kel Dor face, doubly so with the mask. That, and the tremor in the Force.


    “Master?” he prompted.


    “It was a protest,” Master Plo rubbed his chin, “He and the other officers transferred out of the Royal Army in protest. They didn’t support the coup, but were ultimately loyal to the will of their government. The Space Force represented an alternative way to serve their planet while also serving as a political asylum, as the navy was based in orbit.”


    “And when the Separatist Crisis escalated towards war, Onderon was forced to contribute their share of naval officers,” Obi-Wan finished, “It makes sense… even if it doesn''t particularly align with what little we know of Bonteri. He has been zealously serving the Separatist Alliance all this time, after all.”


    Master Plo’s frown deepened, “I will have to disagree, Obi-Wan. If he wished me dead, I would be. Instead, he saved my life.”


    Saesee Tiin leaned forward, “What do you mean?”


    “We had a conversation aboard the Castigation,” Plo Koon revealed, “One which ended with a warning to leave the ship as soon as possible. Even after we evacuated, there was still enough time for us to escape the blast radius before the detonation occurred. It wasn’t as if he had to evacuate himself either–he could’ve kept distracting us as he armed the ordnance. I suspect his goal was to speak with me.”


    “And what did he say?” Master Tiin pressed.


    “First, that there was movement amidst the Separatist ranks to undermine and overthrow Count Dooku–” Obi-Wan jolted in surprise, but even that did not prepare him for what came next; “–And second, that there is a Sith Lord in control of the Republic. The very same unbelievable claim Dooku himself made. In fact, he knew Dooku told you that.”


    “Misdirection,” Obi-Wan rasped, “It must be. If it were true, we would know it. Dooku told him about our encounter.”


    “Dooku told a no-name officer about a conversation he had with you?” Master Plo’s words were laced with scepticism, “Do you suppose he is trying to play all sides?”


    “And you, Master?” Master Tiin asked severely, “Do you believe what this man says? Is there actually an internal plot against Dooku’s government?”


    “I suspect he is using his anti-Separatist roots to leverage a bloc against Dooku’s platform, ever since Geonosis. A mole in Dooku’s camp is the only reasonable way he could have learned of your conversation,” Master Plo concluded, “He had given me no reason to believe he was lying the entire time… though truthfully…”


    Plo Koon trailed off, his head tilting to stare past their heads and into the void.


    “Master?” Obi-Wan nudged, “Is there something?”


    “...I cannot seem to remember what he felt like at all,” the old Jedi Master murmured, “Not in the Force. Nor can I remember his face.”


    Obi-Wan was struck by a strange sense of familiarity, like an experience from another life. But no matter how he tried to hone in on that feeling, it always slipped through his mental fingers. Trying to bring those memories to the forefront of his mind was like trying to grasp water.


    “He could have been in another system,” Master Tiin said, “And the hologram might have been of poor quality. But it would be wise to trust your instincts, Plo. If it is particularly unsettling, it might be worth investigating.”


    “No… no. You may be correct,” Master Plo heaved, “Regardless, I am inclined to believe him.”


    “If that is the case, we may have to consider the prospect of opening a channel with him,” Master Tiin mused, “The sooner Dooku is overthrown, the sooner this war can end and the galaxy reunited.”


    Master Plo shifted at those words, near imperceptibly. But Jedi were perceptible, and Obi-Wan saw it clearly. So did Master Tiin. They never pushed the issue, however, as the old Jedi Master never followed up on it. Perhaps it was important, but they had known each other for far too long to be lacking in simple trust. Whatever it was, Master Plo will air it in his own good time.


    “The Senate won’t allow it,” Obi-Wan told them, “Not with the Non-Communication Act they passed. Anything of this sort will have to go through Republic Intelligence.”


    “If we do, we won’t be able to tell their agents everything, especially about the Sith Lord,” Master Plo said, “And Bonteri purposely made sure to speak to a Jedi. He isn’t going to trust a Republic spy. If we want to foment a collaboration government, we are going to need to foster trust between our parties.”


    “Assign a Jedi attaché, then,” Saesee Tiin advised, “We already have some within Intelligence, but in case they cannot be recalled from their missions in time, the Council can send another. We’ll tell Intelligence the broad strokes, but give our attaché the specifics.”


    “That is… very subversive,” Plo Koon lamented, “I dislike it, but cannot deny that it could work. We will have to speak to the Council as soon as possible.”


    “All of this will only work if Bonteri is forthcoming in the first place,” Obi-Wan cautioned, “This may still be a Separatist plot. You cannot deny that he is a cunning one, with how he fights.”


    “I concur,” Master Plo agreed, “This is a delicate case that we must approach cautiously. We will have to take every precaution.”


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


    Master Tiin nodded decisively, “Then it is concluded.”


    “Then, what of Metalorn?” Master Plo inquired, “What happened to the enemy fleet?”


    “Their retreat trajectory suggests they had jumped to Wobani, Saleucami, or Jabiim,” Saesee Tiin said.


    “We can’t reach Saleucami or Jabiim, unfortunately,” Obi-Wan sighed, “There is a phantom fleet menacing our rear. Only about sixty to seventy percent of the allocated supplies are actually reaching the frontlines. Lantilles has ordered us to mop up the Bryx Sector before proceeding to Sy Myrth in order to block any southern reinforcements. They want to end the skirmishes and force a major field confrontation at Centares.”


    “Inform them we will proceed after securing Metalorn.”


    Obi-Wan steeled himself, “On that note, Masters. Admiral Block had insisted we execute Code Base Delta Zero. After a brief discussion on the matter, I have to admit I am convinced, but I would like to hear your considerations on the matter.”


    Silence followed in the wake of his proclamation. Under the scrutiny of his two elders, Obi-Wan felt not like a Jedi Master and their equal, but once more like a snot-nosed Padawan seeking validation from his masters. Even while they all sat on the Council, there was still a not insignificant part of himself that does not consider him equal to their standing and stature.


    How could he? He only joined the Council this very year. Despite that, he never let it show, keeping both his face and his emotions in check with a firm hand.


    “The Force guides us, Obi-Wan,” Saesee Tiin reminded, “You must trust your instincts. Meditate on it, if you must. What matters is not us, but whether you believe this to be the correct decision.”


    “That’s what frightens me, Masters,” Obi-Wan stared them in the eye, feeling aged beyond his years, “I do.”


    Quell Departure, Quell System


    Nuiri Sector


    “You’re needed in the Battle Room, General,” Commander Appo notified, helmet tucked under his arm, “It’s the Governor-General.”


    “Belay the jump, Admiral,” Anakin swung around, “Let me see what this is about first.”


    “Of course, General.”


    Anakin started down the command bridge, Appo close by his side, “What’s General Secura’s condition?”


    He could feel the Clone Commander staring at the back of his head, “Mourning the loss of her men. The Seps got us good there, sir. All three cruisers, gone.”


    What was supposed to be a non-descript raid on a purported Separatist supply hub, turned into a strategic disaster. Even more so, with the discovery of an entire auxiliary mobile repair and resupply fleet–one that they let slip through their fingers. Not that Anakin regretted his decision not to pursue in favour of rescuing Master Secura. If he did do that, he would be no better than the cold-blooded ‘strategists’ in the general staff.


    It was always easier to make ''rational'' decisions from the rear when the consequences weren’t up in your face. And after delivering Pong Krell to Republic Intelligence in chains, Anakin swore to never repeat the fallen Jedi’s mistakes. No matter how reasonable, or ‘rational’ they may seem.


    The blast doors opened before them and closed after them as they stepped into the familiar otherworldliness of the Battle Room. Standing about the central holoprojection table, Tallisibeth was already talking animatedly with the Governor-General Renau of the Gordian Reach Oversector.


    “So how about it, Governor?” Anakin announced his presence with a bounce in his step and smug grin on his lips, “Was I right, or was I right?”


    As the CO of the Salin Front, the Governor-General was adamant that they had neither the time or resources to mount a ‘high-risk low-reward’ rescue of General Secura. He cited that she wasn’t subordinate to the Salin Front, and instead an officer from the Perlemian who had gone wayward chasing rumours, and such not their problem. It wasn’t that Anakin didn’t sympathise, but he simply had a gut feeling they would be able to pull it off. And as Obi-Wan always said, a gut feeling was enough for a Jedi to act on whim, precisely because it was no longer a whim.


    That said, the Governor-General wasn’t about to sanction such a mission with only a ‘gut feeling’ as proof of its plausibility. To both his and Anakin’s surprise, however, Tallisibeth came forward with detailed charts of the local spacelanes and explained how they would both be able to make it in time–provided they jump immediately–and also a plan to lure the Separatist commander in the region into an ambush.


    “This is an exception, not the rule,” Renau snapped, though Anakin could tell he was in a good mood, “But I concede I have little experience with Jedi under my command. Twice is coincidence, thrice is a rule, as they say. Keep pulling this off, Skywalker, and I might just buy it.”


    “Glad to hear it, General,” Anakin placed his palms on the table, “So, what’s the situation? You caught us right on time.”


    Renau curled his lips in a pleased–if particularly vaunting–smile, “Commander Esterhazy’s stratagem worked out quite nicely. Your absence prompted Horgo Shive to lead a counterattack on Indu San. One we defeated rather handily. Well done on that regard Commander, though I wonder where your knowledge of this region of space came from. I can’t imagine it was merely homework.”


    If Anakin noticed the flinch, or the tremble of sudden anxiety in her Force presence, he did not show it, and neither did Renau. There were only two major hyperlanes in this region; the Perlemian and the Salin–though calling the Salin ‘major’ was a stretch–and they only met at Columex. Between them was an empty quarter devoid of any contiguous hyperlane–which showed, considering the low population density. Tallisibeth had come forward with her personal tablet with a starchart describing an opposite, contiguous hyperlane linking Indu San, Stygeon, and Quell.


    Tallisibeth scratched her head, staring at a spot on the polished floor, “I found it during one of my astrocartography classes in the Jedi Temple.”


    Governor-General Renau’s smile bore curiosity sharp as a phase-knife, “So am I to presume it was a fortunate coincidence?”


    His Padawan sucked in a wince, “I was charting the Vorzyd Sector for an assignment. It was just luck.”


    Anakin could’ve poked a hole straight through her story as easily as his lightsaber could through a flimsi, but decided it wasn’t the time for it.


    “Jedi luck is strangely reliable, isn’t it?” Renau shot Anakin a raised eyebrow, “In any case, we have new orders, and as the vanguard of our force, I’d think you’d like to hear them.”


    Anakin straightened up, falling into his General persona comfortably, “Lay it on me, General.”


    “The Separatists pulled a magic trick on us,” Renau revealed, “One moment we’re aimed right at Columex, and the next our cruisers are out of fuel and ammunition, our hangar crews are out of repair parts. Phindar confirms they are dispatching resupply ships, but they aren’t making it to us.”


    “What are our patrols doing?” Anakin demanded.


    “Arriving too late,” the Governor-General said, “Every time. And when they try to predict where the raiders strike next, the raiders never show up at all. The Separatists are always a couple steps ahead of us. And this isn’t the kind of info a mole could get them–our patrols are jumping on the fly. Either our ranks are as steeped with worms as a Chandrilan Squig, or they’ve got their hands on a Starpath unit.”


    Republic Starpath unit. Hooked up the right scramble–which it always is–and it can track every Republic-registered ship in a certain radius. It’s anonymous and untraceable by design, but with the right know-how, the ship being tracked can normally tell when they’re in the vicinity of a Starpath. Except, every Republic patrol is equipped with a Starpath out of necessity to do their job. And with hundreds of them on Salin, the Separatist raiders are just another unidentifiable blip on the screen.


    “What’s the new plan, then?” he asked.


    “We’ve decided to force a battle at Centares,” Renau’s blue-scanned form fizzed, “The Cerulean Spear Fleet finally got their shit together and subdued the Eucer, Tennuutta and Perkell Sectors, with Bryx and Maldrood next. Our job is to prevent Horgo Shive from reaching Centares while they do that.”


    “Sounds simple enough,” Anakin mused, “But while the Seppies are as cagey an anooba in a field of scurriers, you can’t deny they’ve got numbers. The problem with forcing a battle is that we’re forcing a battle. They’ll realise what’s happening, and overwhelm us with sheer numbers.”


    Renau provided a confident smirk, “High Command’s pulling out the stops. They’ve mobilised the Legacy of the Founders.”


    Anakin’s next words lodged in his throat. He could feel a knot of pain forming between his eyes.


    “You can’t be serious,” he coughed out, “Those things can fight? They were built under the Ruusan Reformations; they have a big hull and too little everything else. Central must realise they’re feeding the Separatists Vulture-bait!”


    “Central certainly feels confident about it,” Renau shrugged, “They must’ve updated the designs. In any case, unless you plan to gallivant off again, they’re not your problem.”


    “Master?” Tallisibeth questioned.


    Anakin struggled with himself for a minute. High Command can’t be this stupid. How the hell did KDY convince them to go through with this stupidity? He thought it through for a few more seconds, before concluding that Renau was right; if KDY wanted to feed their money-pit of a ship to the Vultures, all the power to them.


    “Whatever. Not our problem,” he decided out loud, turning to the Governor-General, “So, where did Shive run off to? Where do you want us?”


    “We traced his exit trajectory,” Renau lifted a datapad, “And considering the state of his forces, there’s only one place he could have retreated to: the Vorzyd System.”


    Tallisibeth tensed up beside him, almost shivering in anticipation–or anxiety. Anakin narrowed his eyes.


    “We’re a single jump away from Vorzyd,” he ignored her for the moment, “Give the order.”


    “Wait!” Tallisibeth finally let her bottled up thoughts explode, “Are– are you sure we should do that, Master? We only have three ships, and the Blazing Claw Fleet will have to take Gala, Vjun, and Lucazec before they are able to reach us.”


    “We have the element of surprise,” Anakin said, “We jump in, deploy fighter wings, and mop them up. Then we take Vorzyd-Five, and secure the entire Salin.”


    “...I think she is implying that three ships is not enough to trap Shive, Skywalker,” Renau lifted his chin in a calculating stare, “You may score a tactical victory, but it would defeat the purpose if he retreats further to Centares anyway. Besides, Shive knows you’re in Quell. How else would he know you aren’t at Indu San? He’ll be expecting you.”


    “So, Commander,” Renau pivoted on a dime to face her, “How do you think we should solve this conundrum?”


    Tallisibeth glanced at her Master nervously, and swallowed, “We’re only a single jump from Nam Chorios. It’s an isolated system with no defences, due to its population of drochs. If we station ourselves there, we’ll be putting ourselves between Vorzyd and Centares, effectively pinning both until the Blazing Claw can catch up, especially if Shive is cautious of us.”


    Renau inspected his starmap with a keen eye, slowly nodding, “Yes… a sound plan. Looks like your apprentice has outdone you again, Skywalker. You have my approval; jump to Nam Chorios at your discretion.”


    “Understood, General,” Anakin replied stiffly, “Skywalker out.”


    He cut the connection, silently ordered Appo to relay the commands to Admiral Yularen, then wheeled on his Padawan with a cold glint in his eyes.


    “Sorry, Master!” Tallisibeth apologised preemptively, bowing deeply, “I didn’t mean to undermine–!”


    “Undermine my authority?” Anakin laughed unconvincingly, “Do you think I care? I made you read those books. For all I or Renau care, you’ve done a good job. What I care about is you letting your emotions get to your head! Did you think I didn’t notice?”


    Tallisibeth kept her head down, passive as a porcelain doll as she took the scolding with nary a word. Frustrated beyond his mind, Anakin took her by the shoulders and forced her to look him in the eye.


    “Hello!?” he growled, “Tell me what the kriff is going on with you, Padawan. Is this something to do with your outright lie of having the Vorzyd Sector as an assignment for astrocartography?”


    Anakin knew. He took astrocartography as well. There was a charting assignment, but you would never get a backwater Outer Rim sector like Vorzyd unless you really pissed your teacher off, or already had a fast-track for the ExplorCorps. You would’ve been assigned an already well-charted Core sector, or Inner Rim at most. An Outer Rim sector would’ve forced you to dig through ancient starcharts and records in the Jedi Library, which would be too demanding for an elective like astrocartography.


    His Padawan remained impetuously silent, and he blew out a furious breath. Dragging her out of the Battle Room and into the empty corridor aft of the bridge, he spun around again.


    “Well?” he asked, “Ready to talk?”


    “I did chart Vorzyd for astrocartography,” Tallisibeth protested weakly.


    “But not for your assignment.”


    She deflated, “...No.”


    “Well?”


    Tallisibeth fidgeted with her fingers, before finally deciding to out with it– “My homeworld is Vorzyd-Five.”


    Ice formed in his chest as his stomach dropped. I know that tone. I know exactly what she’s feeling right now. Sure, she charted Vorzyd out of a curiosity for her homeworld, but Vorzyd-V being her homeworld wasn’t enough to prompt such an extreme reaction like this. Unfortunately, Anakin knew exactly what would.


    “You are scared for your parents,” he stated.


    She shrunk into herself, as if expecting him to expel her from the Jedi Order right then and there.


    “I– I know it’s not the Jedi way–” Anakin’s heart wrenched when he realised she was on the verge of tears, “–But I owe them everything. I– I don’t even know if they’re still alive– but…!”


    But you don’t want to see Vorzyd-V consumed by the war, on the chance they still are. Much less be responsible for it. Her suggestion to divert to Nam Chorios wasn’t one made out of reason, but out of the vain hope to save her family from the war.


    And how could Anakin blame her? How could– after everything he did for his own mother?


    “Wipe your tears, girl,” he told her gruffly, “And clean up your face. A commander must look presentable before their men. You can’t show weakness.”


    “W– What…?”


    Anakin shot her a sharp look, “I never heard of this. You never told me anything.”


    Tallisibeth stared at him with wide eyes, as if she didn’t know who he was, and he was forced to remind himself that she was a girl of twelve, thirteen years. A child. She was already mature beyond her years. If he faulted her for this, he would be no better than the stuffy old Jedi Masters he hated in his younger years.


    “Yes… Thank you– I mean, yes, understood, Master,” his Padawan furiously wiped her face and stood straighter.


    "Report to the bridge when you''re composed. Well done today, Commander," he nodded, turning back around, "Oh, and I''ll tell you something someone told me once. Be careful. We''re Jedi. Our thoughts create our reality, so don''t think so hard about it."


    I couldn’t protect my family. I can still protect yours. That’s the least I could do.