Eastern Veil, Llon Nebula
Itopol Sector
“It is not our intention to kill you here, Ventress.”
Naradan D’ulin crossed her arms, as if she were not at all engaged in a tense, three-way standoff between an unstable Sith assassin and a famed Jedi Knight. One might think, wrongly, that being ordinary mercenaries meant the Mistryl Shadow Guard were at a disadvantage, but that would be a mistake. The Mistryl were well-prepared for such an exchange–for any exchange, really–and Anakin himself would be remiss to underestimate them. There was a reason Emberlene built an army out of them, and a reason somebody as canny as the Hydra hired them.
He noticed the curved handle of a concealed sword at Naradan’s waist, and the bejewelled ends of multiple hair pins neatly sheathed into thick black hair, and Anakin Skywalker knew there wouldn’t be a fight without some nasty losses. Those swords could be phrik, or cortosis-weave, and those hairpins could be zenji needles. Anakin was more worried about the zenji needles; they were poisoned, for one, and the Mistryl were known for cracking and piercing armour just by throwing them hard enough.
“I am unsure why you would be after me, then,” Ventress’ voice was hoarse, and paranoid.
Her presence in the Force was… unstable, maddened, even panicking. Ventress is riding high on adrenaline, Anakin realised that. That… didn’t happen with Ventress, in his not-so friendly experience with the Sith Acolyte. Even during their torrential duel on Yavin-IV, it was Anakin who was aggravated and wild, while Ventress remained as silent and cool as a sliding blade. This loss of control… could only mean something drastic had happened to her.
“The Admiral has already given you a way out,” Naradan continued, her Mistryl fanning out behind her, “You’ve had enough time to realise this.”
Similarly, Commander Appo seized the opportunity to secure the bridge compartment, a flash of hand signals ordering the 501st troopers to tactically mirror the Mistryl on the opposite side of the room. Anakin eyed the dimensions of the compartment, and the sizes of its openings–namely the two bulkheads on forward and aft. If a firefight were to break out, there was a good chance nobody was getting out…
Anakin took on a stance Dooku was likely to take; a simple Form II stance with a one-handed grip with the other hand clenched behind his back. He could feel both Ventress and the Mistryl analysing him closely, wondering why he was adopting a duelist’s form in the worst situation possible. Staring them down, he made a series of hand signals with his hidden hand, ordering Appo to send two squads of troopers down the port and starboard corridors to outflank the Mistryl.
He could not hear the clones’ internal comm circuits, or even if Appo noticed the order. But when Anakin’s Force-enhanced hearing picked the muffled clamour of moving boots elsewhere on the ship, he knew the Clone Commander did.
Anakin made a second signal: expect combat.
Two Mistryl destroyers had split off to target this ship, Storm-001, but there was only one Mistryl team in front of them. Anakin would bet his mechno-arm there was a second Mistryl team crawling aboard this ship at this moment.
“I don’t understand half the things he does,” Ventress snarled, “All I know is that he expected this.”
“Where is your starfighter, Ventress?” Naradan’s eyes hardened.
“Drifting in the black,” Ventress bit.
Irritance flashed across the Mistryl’s beautiful features–there was something on that starfighter she wanted–as she finally settled into a fighting stance, drawing out a handful of zenji needles from her hair, nesting them between her fingers.
“In that case, your testimony is necessary,” Naradan declared, “We will be taking you in. Do us a favour and don’t resist.”
At that moment, Anakin stepped it, brandishing his lightsaber; “I dislike being ignored, ladies. I’m afraid it’s the end of the line for you Ventress. I’d like to just kill you here, but it seems I must give you the opportunity to come to Coruscant for trial. Your miserable existence might last a bit longer that way, behind bars.”
“You aren’t getting out of here,” Naradan raised a fist, and the Mistryl unsheathed their weapons–gleaming black swords, shock whips, zenji needles and holdout blasters, “Listen to me, Ventress. It’s either the Republic, or the Confederacy.”
“The Confederacy betrayed me,” Ventress snarled, her twin, curved lightsabers growling with burning energy, “The Republic seeks my death. I will not die here. There is something I must do.”
“And what is that?” Naradan raised an eyebrow, “Put a blade between Count Dooku’s eyes? Not in your state.”
“Count Dooku?” for a brief moment, Anakin was taken aback, “Count Dooku betrayed you?”
Was that why the Storm Fleet suddenly fired upon itself? To kill her? Firstly, why would Dooku suddenly seek the death of his most prized apprentice? And second, how did Ventress survive?
Then, Anakin laughed.
“Count Dooku betrayed you,” he said again, just to confirm the absurdly believable fact with his own two ears, “Count Dooku led you to some secret super fleet, then ordered to kill you. That’s… so Sith.”
If his intentions were to goad Ventress on, he succeeded with flying colours. The irritance Naradan wore changed targets–from Ventress to him–but instead of leaping at him like the cornered animal she was, Ventress took them all by surprise. By taking a deep breath and lowering herself into a more compact fighting stance, pulling her lightsabers closer to herself and adopting a clearly Form III stance. With her twin lightsabers, Anakin could visualise the defensive bubble she created around herself.
“Honestly,” Anakin said, exasperated, “Why are you still holding out? This destroyer doesn’t have a hangar, and without your starship, you’re trapped…”
He trailed off, finding a certain calculating glint in Ventress’s pale eyes that forced him to re-evaluate the situation. That wasn’t the look of a cornered animal, but one of a starved beast planning out its next hunt. A cornered animal and starved beast may appear similar, but were very different battles to tackle altogether.
The 501st troopers must have noticed their General’s newfound wariness, because they levelled their blasters and carbines. The tension in the compartment heightened, until Anakin could almost grab it with the Force.
“What… what does the Admiral want?” Ventress gripped her lightsabers in reverse, slowly pivoting as she analysed the two forces blocking the exits.
The pieces started to click into Anakin’s mind. Her defensive posture, her lack of aggressiveness… Ventress is stalling, he realised. She’s protecting something. But what? Something behind her? That would explain the reverse grip. So… the data console? Should I allow her to stall? Anakin had no choice but to wait for his troopers to flank around the bridge, however, as there was no way to decisively win the upcoming firefight without them.
“He needs the Storm Fleet,” Naradan answered easily.
Anakin narrowed his eyes, “I thought you needed her starfighter?”
“I need proof of Dooku’s betrayal,” Naradan snapped, “It doesn’t matter if it''s her starfighter, Ventress, or this star-damned fleet! I need something that can be presented before the Separatist Senate, something that can put Dooku’s credibility in its grave.”
“...Bonteri’s part of the Anti-Dooku Faction,” Anakin suddenly stated, “I have… heard of that.”
“Do you realise that we are not the Jedi Order’s enemy, then?” the Mistryl appealed, “The common mission of the Jedi Order and the Perlemian Coalition is to dethrone Dooku and bring him to justice.”
Anakin’s lightsaber was heavy, but his mechno-arm couldn’t feel its weight, “Answer me this, mercenary; was it on Dooku’s orders that Eriadu was decimated?”
Naradan D’ulin stilled, and Anakin knew then that Dooku had nothing to do with Eriadu.
“You may be speaking to me,” the Jedi Knight switched back to Form V, “But all I hear are the Hydra’s sweet words, and the slither of their forked tongue. I don’t know what the Jedi Order is fighting for, but I know the Republic is fighting for the end of the Separatist State. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s what I’m fighting for too.”
“Eriadu was the act of a single madman who lost everything to the Republic,” Naradan gritted her teeth, “And lost everything in the single-minded pursuit of bloody vengeance. As we speak, both Dooku and the Pantoran are being summoned to Raxus Secundus for a formal hearing.”
“But not the perpetrator, General Ambigene himself?”
“...The Pantoran is protecting him with her influence,” the Mistryl hissed, as if that pained her physically, “He is considered too important to pull off the front now.”
“Then I know where the Separatist State’s priorities lie.”
“Do not act like the Republic is all that different, Jedi.”
Anakin released a guttural growl, “I put Pong Krell in chains myself!”
As the last word left his mouth, a thunderclap shook Storm-001, filling the bridge with sounds of boots stomping against the panels as men and women restabilised themselves. The holoscreens flashed and fizzled, red light and blue pouring in through the observation bubble overhead. Then the room dimmed, a great shadow passing overhead–the belly of a Venator, flying so closely Anakin could count the gunships in its ventral hangar bay.
Then, Ventress’ poise changed again, back into a more aggressive style more befitting of the dual-bladed form of Jar’Kai.
“Ventress,” Naradan clearly realised this change, “Do not make this difficult. It was not the Confederacy who betrayed you–it was Count Dooku. We have the same enemy.”
Ventress’ eyes flashed towards the console and back, “It will be I who kills Count Dooku.”
“As you wish.”
Anakin was hardly registering the conversation, so fixated on deciphering Ventress’ intentions, that seemed to change with every passing moment. He circled back to the original question; how did Ventress survive the initial betrayal? He recalled how the Storm Fleet destroyers had abruptly stopped shooting upon each other and formed its battle lines. One could assume it was because they decided Asajj Ventress was suitably dead, but a single bioscan could have disproven that.
The only other reason a fleet of slave-circuited ships would so sharply about-face would be… because they received conflicting orders.
Ventress was stalling. Why?
Now he knew the answer. The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place in his mind’s eye. The Storm Fleet was shooting upon each other because Ventress had weaselled her way into one of the ships, and using the control codes she somehow intercepted from Dooku, commandeered the fleet to turn against the combined forces of the Mistryl and the Open Circle. That’s when Anakin and Naradan found her on the bridge.
And now she was stalling, because she was trying to extract the flagship privileges and control code rotors out of the Storm-001, so she could command the Storm Fleet from anywhere she was.
Another blast rocked the ship.
Appo broke the uneasy silence, “General, our squads have engaged the Mistryl in the operations compartment.”
A beat passed.
“Open fire!”
The 501st broke the deadlock with lasers blazing, laying down a heavy cover fire as they slowly retreated through the bulkhead behind them. The Mistryl responded in kind; first an incisive volley of zenji needles that zipped through the air that Anakin himself could barely track, even with his enhanced senses, much alone block and vaporise them with his lightsaber.
The forward rank of clone troopers dropped dead the moment the first wavefront of needles struck, filling the air with screams and splintering plastoid armour. And suddenly, the pitch of a different class of weapons joined the cacophony as the Mistryl opened up on the 501st, drawing out their holdout blasters and energy-absorbant phrik vibroblades.
“Get to the Sharihen!” Anakin could hear Naradan shout, “Ventress!”
Ventress was a whirlwind of red light, an oblate sphere of fire that blocked any and all projectiles that came her way, or the console’s way, for that matter. She ignored the Mistryl’s calls, much to Naradan’s chagrin. Anakin knew then, that the command privileges were still being downloaded.
“Appo!” he grunted, “Don’t let them reach their ship! Leave Ventress to me.”
Appo released a shout of confirmation, corralling the last of his men through the bulkhead. For a few seconds the two groups of weapons continued to vie with each other. Then, with a screech of strained metal, the sounds were cut off. It was only he and Ventress left on the bridge.
But the fight continued. Anakin could not see it, but he could feel it in the Force. Spreading throughout the ship like a rampant wildfire, laserfire tearing through bulkheads and panelling like a necrotising disease.
Sith and Jedi levelled their sabers at each other.
Ventress struck first, any and all semblance of defensiveness gone as she leapt over the consoles and crashed down on him with lethal grace. She swept down with such swiftness Anakin barely had time to register the attack, his body mechanically moving on its own to step back and parry her strike. Ventress pushed down him, and as his mechno-arms inhuman strength pushed back, the Sith assassin adroitly sprung over his head and onto the wall behind him.
Deftly bouncing off it, Ventress launched herself at him and Anakin turned, again nearly moving too slowly to prevent her from slicing him in half. Their blades clashed and sizzled, and she moved forward, her face mere centimetres from his. It was at this point Anakin would have expected some sort of cruel smile or mocking wit, but found himself surprised to see her full lips drawn into a determined line, her eyes set ablaze with an obsessive desire to live.
“Let… me… go!” she yelled, executing a backward flip and landing in a crouch atop the console.
“I can’t do that,” Anakin growled, “I came here to do one thing; and that’s to put an end to you!”
The hum of his lightsaber was the only warning Ventress got before he was upon her in a forceful downward blow. Ventress’ pale face was contorted in a snarl, and unable to match him in physical might, relaxed her joints and slipped beneath him in a slide. Already reacting before she even finished the manoeuvre, Anakin whirled around to parry her attack from behind.
“That’s just like you Jedi!” Ventress gritted her teeth, “How does it feel, leaving your apprentice behind, to the mercy of the enemy? That’s what you Jedi do, isn’t it?”
“Unlike you, Ventress,” Anakin reached out with his organic hand to crush the console, only for Ventress to snap back with her second saber, “We Jedi can trust each other! Now that’s a luxury you wish you have, don’t you!?”
That struck a chord. Ventress released a guttural roar, any semblance of grace leaving her form as she came at him with full force, raining blow after blow upon him. Rage fuelled her as she held nothing back, pushing for the kill. Anakin took one step back, and then another, concentrating on blocking and parrying her attacks as they grew increasingly sloppy. All he needed was for her to slip once. The musty air, tinged with the sharp scent of smouldering electronics, muffled the sizzle and crash of lightsabers clashing in deadly earnest.
“Do you really think your puny trap will work!?” Ventress hammered down, the Force magnifying her strength to impossible heights, “Do you know who you pitted her against?”
“Is that admiration I hear?” Anakin couldn’t help but ask in disbelief, “You must be getting drunk on the dark side!”
“I’ll admire anybody with the power to put the Republic in its place!” bringing down both sabers, Ventress was able to break Anakin’s guard–much to both their surprise–though Ventress reacted first, capitalising on his off-kilted poise to launch a flying kick that sent him careening into the wall.
“Scout’s not alone,” Anakin gasped, forcing stale air to refill his lungs, “I won’t leave her alone.”
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“You… did,” Ventress was out of breath too.
“No. I never trained her in the Jedi way,” Anakin drew himself back up to his full height, brandishing his sapphire flame once more, “Everything she learned, she seeked. If not from me, then those who know better than me. I never restrained her.”
“And you think that’ll help her defeat the Hydra?”
“You won’t know this, Ventress, but the Jedi and Republic Navy don’t have the best relationship,” he smiled wryly, “If she is defeated, it won’t be because she couldn’t trust the crew of the Harbinger.”
Anakin knew the old masters of the High Council would never let him hear the end of it should it be revealed he ‘abandoned’ his Padawan, but they were at war, and that called for flexibility. Anakin Skywalker had never been the best apprentice himself, nor would he be a traditional master. Tallisibeth has only known two places her entire life; the Jedi Temple, and the Harbinger. She had never been able to embark on the galactic adventures and missions that made the bedrock foundation of every Padawan Learner’s experience.
For Tallisibeth, the Harbinger was her Jedi Master as much as Anakin Skywalker was. Whether it be Admiral Yularen, the sensor chiefs with Lieutenant Klev, the comms specialists like Avrey, or even down to the gunnery officers. Everything, anything she wanted to learn, Anakin never restrained her. The flagship of the Open Circle was her bedrock. Anakin was no stranger to the extant friction between Jedi Command and the Republic Navy, and from that perspective it could certainly be argued Tallisibeth was left among belligerent strangers.
But she wasn’t. Anakin made sure of that. He made sure Tallisibeth was in good company, among friends and comrades, of men and women far more capable than he.
“And if she dies?”
“She won’t,” Anakin Skywalker inserted with such utter confidence that for a moment, Ventress believed him wholeheartedly, “After all, I am still her Master.”
And the Open Circle Fleet was still the best of the best, with the Chosen One’s presence or not.
“Your arrogance will undo you,” Ventress retorted nonetheless.
“I’ll await that day eagerly.”
A tense silence settled as the two warriors circled around the central command console, squaring each other off as they analysed and reacted accordingly, making minute adjustments in their stance to counter the other, all wholly invisible to the untrained eye. The console beeped inconspicuously… and then it chimed.
A tiny datacard popped out the slot.
Anakin and Ventress clashed gazes.
Anakin reacted first.
Ventress was faster.
Like an impossibly lithe cat, Ventress snapped up the datacard with her lips–seeing as her hands were occupied with her sabers–careful not to damage it with teeth, landed in roll, and raced out of the bridge.
“Ventress!” Anakin roared as he dashed after her.
By the time he caught her, she had already hidden the datachip away. Their lightsabers clashed, and then she darted down the next corridor. Their battle carried down the maze-like interior of the Storm Fleet destroyer, sabers blazing to the background roar of clamouring footsteps, yells, and blasterfire. They crashed through narrow cross corridors lined with battle droids and clone troopers laying down suppressive fire, smashing down doors and tearing up abandoned crew quarters, only to emerge back into the middle of another firefight between Mistryl mercs and more troopers.
As they combated through the corridors and across the bulkheads, Anakin started mapping out a mental diagram of the ship’s interior, comparing it against what he knew of the PCL 27’s interior. Already knowing the rough layout, he steadily began shepherding Ventress towards Appo and the rest of the 501st, where they could overwhelm her. Molten metal scarred the walls as lightsabers clashed and scrapped, the harsh golden glow of liquefied steel illuminating the dust-filled corridors.
Ventress would run, Anakin would catch up, they would clash, and Ventress would break away and run again. That cycle repeated multiple times until Anakin had Ventress right where he wanted her. Appo had Naradan D’ulin and the Mistryl sieged down at the emergency blister airlock they had erected where their ship, the Sharihen, was docked to Storm-001. The only reason the Mistryl hadn’t already retreated, ostensibly, was because they were waiting for their guest of honour.
Asajj Ventress herself.
Problem was, to get to the cordon the mercenaries had laid down, Ventress had to somehow make her way through a narrow junction flanked by dozens of clone troopers.
“Ventress!” Naradan shouted, “Come on!”
“It’s over, Ventress,” Anakin pointed his saber at her.
The Sith assassin was on her last legs, having withstood the Chosen One’s onslaught for the better part of half an hour. Her dress was all but torn away, revealing her skintight bodysuit and bandage wrappings that contained her lithe, yet well-muscled legs. Her arms bubbled with blisters and burns, from the few times Anakin’s lightsaber brushed just a few inches too close for comfort.
“Go on, make a run for it,” he taunted her, “See if you can.”
Ventress looked at him with wild eyes, glancing between the Jedi Knight and the deadly crossfire behind her. She was trapped, and she knew it. The scar of Anakin’s eye burned, and his lightsaber crackled in anticipation to finally return the favour.
Asajj Ventress bit her lip.
Then she ran.
The junction exploded with laserfire. Anakin dashed after her, only for a number of Mistryl to punish him with a flurry of zenji darts. Without enough time to pull up his lightsaber to block them, the Jedi Knight resorted to the last minute instinctual act of raising his right arm to swat them aside.
He failed, of course, and the zenji needles pierced deep into his arm. Anakin winced. He met the eyes of Mistryl–confused eyes, wondering why wasn’t dropping dead due to the toxins undoubtedly being injected into his bloodstream. Before the Mistryl could launch a second wave, Appo’s troopers closed their ranks and laid down a blistering hail of covering fire, forcing the mercenaries to fall back–or fall over dead–frantically waving for Ventress to reach them.
Anakin tested his glove-covered arm, flexing his fingers with a mechanical whirr. He grinned. All in working order. With that, just as Ventress reached the cordon, he grabbed her with Force, and wrenched her back to him. The Sith contorted her body midair with all the grace of an acrobat, landing in an aggressive posture to press the attack.
But the Hero With No Fear no longer had the patience to toy with her. Anakin Skywalker countered Ventress’ attack with his own surprise offensive, blowing her momentum out of her with an elbow to the gut. She was forced to give ground as he advanced on her, to the steady drumbeat of his heart, swinging his lightsaber so swiftly it was little more than an icy blur.
As Ventress drew back to escape once again, his mechno-arm shot forward and closed in on her throat, the protective glove damp with dripping toxins. Anakin’s unfeeling fingers dug into the warm flesh of her neck, lifting the comparatively small woman into the air easily, her legs kicking helplessly, and slowly began to crumple her windpipe. With a final, desperate blow, Ventress mustered the last of her strength to strike him with her lightsaber.
Anakin hurled her into the ground just in time, freeing up his mechno-arm and catching her downward swing just time. His mechanical phalanges closed around her wrist, twisting the red saber out of her hands with a growl, before crushing every single one of her carpal bones into a fine dust.
Ventress screamed in pain–a high pitched yell that overpowered even the cacophony of blasterfire. Jedi and Sith met eyes once more, and the Sith’s eyes were full of fear. Ventress tried to tug herself free, but there was little chance she was prying herself out of Anakin’s iron-vice grip, and especially not with her captured hand as useful as a wet sheet of flimsi.
Before them, the 501st were now pushing the Mistryl back into the airlock. The window of Ventress’ escape was closing. For a moment, Anakin thought of how easy it would be for him to simply cut down and end the assassin’s pitiful existence right there and then.
But that wouldn’t be the Jedi way, would it?
It wasn’t Padmé’s voice in his mind, or Master Yoda’s, or Qui-Gon’s, or even Obi-Wan’s. It was Tallisibeth’s. Looking up at him with her wide, curious eyes, so eager to prove herself by mimicking everything he did.
“Surrender, Ventress. So I won''t have to kill you.”
Ventress responded with hateful eyes, and spat on him. Anakin sighed, and lifted up his lightsaber to finally kill his foe. I gave her a chance, he told himself.
What he didn’t expect, however, was for Ventress to ignite her remaining lightsaber and cut off her seized arm at the elbow to free herself. With a flash red light, Ventress was free and scampering away, leaving the Jedi Knight dumbfounded with a sizzling, severed arm in his hands. Ventress, on the other hand, wasted no time with shoving any clone trying to intercept her out of the way and Force leaping towards the safety of Naradan’s Mistryl.
Anakin, now suitably incensed, bludgeoned his way after her, once again reaching out to grab her with the Force–
Electricity burned through his limbs as the Anakin caught a fist full of shock whip instead–one of the Mistryl having decided it was a healthy decision to attempt to subdue a Jedi Knight by ensnaring his arm. Before he could bright round his lightsaber to break free, however, a second Mistryl snared his other arm. Anakin writhed as another agonising pulse seared him, but bit back a cry.
His clones were pressing onwards, but Anakin knew they would be too late. Mistryl laid dead by the airlock by the dozens, but Ventress would escape with their sacrifice.
Like some untameable beast, Anakin fought through the pain and took another heavy step forward. As if in response, a third Mistryl whipped at that leg, and Anakin convulsed in another gold crackle of electricity, pinning him down long enough for Ventress and the last of the Mistryl to flee through the airlock.
Critically, this excluded the three who had him ensnared. Without even waiting for the three left behind, the blister airlock deflated, like a popped balloon.
“Shut it!” Appo barked, and the clone engineers deployed their own emergency blister seal just in time, before they all got sucked out of the breach.
Features fixed in a rictus snarl, Anakin converted the pain into anger, and anger into strength. Even as the Mistryl released another pulse of electricity, Anakin hardly felt it, wrapping two of the whips up with his glove-insulated mechno-arm and drawing them towards him.
Then with a Force-enhanced tug, they all but flew off their feet. Anakin speared the first through her chest with his lightsaber, and caught the second by the throat. This time, he wasted no time in crumpling her neck like a can of soda.
He stomped towards the last of them. It was an older woman, who stood defiantly against him with eyes like hard chips, valiantly attempting to conceal her shivering from his enhanced senses.
“Why?” Anakin asked, tone stony as he gestured to all the dead around them.
“Everything… for Emberlene!” the Mistryl yelled, rushing at him with her vibroblade.
The clones didn’t even react, counting the dead. Anakin plucked one of the zenji needles out of his mechno-arm and flung it into the Mistryl with it before she could even respond. Within seconds, by the time she reached him, the old woman was slumped down in his arms. He dropped her ingloriously.
“The Mistryl will have to lift the jamming to bring the Storm Fleet out of here,” Anakin rolled his shoulders, “Try to reach our gunships and have them pursue the moment they lift it.”
“Very good, sir.”
“...Do you think I made a mistake, Appo?” Anakin asked, looking down at his organic limb, now marred with a reddish lightning tree that grew up his forearm, “Should I have just ended Ventress when I had the chance?”
“I would’ve,” Appo immediately answered, “Nothing gets in the way of the job. But you’re Jedi, sir, and Jedi have their own way of doing things… may I speak freely?”
“Go ahead.”
Appo straightened, “There’s being a Jedi, and being a soldier. I know you try to be both, sir, and try to teach Scout to be both, but sometimes they contradict. And this happens. So… the way I see it, General, you need to decide which one you want to be. Or else this’ll just keep happening, and you’ll just keep asking the same questions.”
“Blunt,” Anakin sighed, “But I appreciate it. How soon do you reckon we can get back to Yag’Dhul?”
If Appo was affected by the change in subject, he didn’t show it. Clone helmets didn’t show much at all.
“We took a beating from the Storm Fleet,” the Clone Commander reported, “We’ll have to take a headcount and search for survivors. And… we’ll have to count casualties.”
And the Seppies don’t? Anakin wanted to ask. He didn’t, however, because he already knew the answer. The Separatists don’t count losses, they just churn out more soulless droids and soulless ships to replace the negative numbers on their datapads.
“Well,” Anakin rubbed his face as reality settled in, “Shit.”
Ventress escaped his clutches, again. The primary goal of this side adventure, however, was to prevent the Storm Fleet from reinforcing the Perlemian Coalition’s Armada. Whether they did enough damage to succeed in that endeavour, however, Anakin had no way of knowing right then.
He punched a bulkhead in frustration.
“Kriff!”
And the bulkhead crumpled.
?
Pain was no stranger to Ventress, but Anakin Skywalker had a way of making her forget that immunity she thought she built up over her tenure as Dooku’s premier apprentice.
Sprawling against the polish steel panelling of the Mistryl flagship, Ventress could scarcely recall her own pride and dignity as she clutched at her throat, her one remaining hand desperately clawing the pry open Skywalker’s phantom hold upon her. She barely registered how her entire body alternated between numb and sluggish and excruciatingly alive with torment, as her nervous system contended with the fact that she was now missing an entire arm.
At the very least, she would not bleed to death: her lightsaber saw to that. For the first time in living memory, she gave thanks to the little mercies.
“Pick her up,” a female voice commanded, and Ventress was unceremoniously hauled off the ground. She could feel her cheeks wet with some mix of tears, sweat, phlegm, and blood. She coughed violently, hoarsely, and through her hazy vision she could make out red spittle, and maybe sections of her trachea, flying free of her jaws.
Through that blurred haze of pain and numbness, she heard some alien swearing, and considered herself lucky she escaped with neck relatively intact as well. Ventress tried to take in a breath–only to come out hacking her lungs again as her throat was seared with a fiery sting, as if she were not breathing oxygen, but unrefined tibanna.
The Mistryl holding her swore loudly as she dry heaved, choking on her own breath.
“Kriff– losing her!”
“Get her– bacta– codes!”
Ventress faded in and out of consciousness for the next several minutes, distantly feeling the warship jerk beneath her feet–of which were being dragged against the ground as the the whine of an opening compartment blasted her with the fresh, sterilised scent of cleaning chemicals and bacta. Medbay, she realised hazily.
Shadows swam in and out of her vision. She felt herself being dropped onto a bed, followed by the soothing wet compress of bacta patches against her burnt skin, and the stinging pierces of multiple injections. Slowly, awareness began to return to her, her heartbeat quickening from a crawl to a pounding beat in her chest.
“W-wha–?” she slurred, coarse and rasping.
“Good, the adrenaline spike worked,” she recognised one of the shadows–Naradan D’ulin–staring down at her, “Try not to talk, Ventress. I just need you to hand over the Storm Fleet’s command codes.”
No! That was her initial reaction. Why would she give away her most powerful weapon so freely, a weapon she bled and suffered betrayal for? Still paranoid about Dooku’s and Bonteri’s schemes, Ventress was never more aware of just how insignificant she was in the galaxy’s grand plans. Whereas once she believed she was a critical piece of Dooku’s vision of a better galaxy… she now realised she was utterly expendable.
Naradan herself said she only needed either the Banshee, the Storm Fleet, or Asajj Ventress herself. If Ventress gave away the one thing that still made her valuable, then her life was all but forfeit.
So she shook her head violently, trying to force out a denial from her vocal chords, and only managing an animalistic growl.
“You want to live, Ventress?” Naradan hissed mere inches from her face, “Then give us the codes! We need the Storm Fleet to escape! The Republic fleet is tearing us to shreds! Either you give it to us now, or we’ll rip it out of you!”
There was a legitimate panic in the Mistryl’s voice. She must be telling the truth.
Hah… Dooku. What was it you said about these battlecruisers? Ventress thought humorlessly. And yet, they are so easily struck down by Anakin Skywalker. Bringing them against the Battle Hydra would be little more than an elaborate method of suicide.
“What…” it took her every effort to speak, her vocal muscles flexing and somehow scraping, and Ventress could feel blood pooling at the back of her throat from the lacerations caused by Skywalker’s grip, “...what is to become of me?”
“Dooku might have thought you expendable,” Naradan quickly said, “But you are crucial to the Perlemian Coalition’s plans. In that, you have my word.”
“The word of a… mercenary.”
“The word of a Mistryl Shadow Guard.”
Ventress silently reached into the lapels of her suit, and drew out the thin, tiny chip in shaking hands.
“Thank you,” the Mistryl took it with no small amount of exasperation, before moving away to speak to the medical droid, “Get her fixed up. I need her in fighting shape by the time we reach our next destination.”
As Naradan moved to leave, Ventress reached out, the Force prickling against her fingertips. And the woman halted, though not of her own volition.
“W-Wait,” Ventress croaked, “W-Where are you taking me?”
“...We’re returning to Yag’Dhul first, to report our progress and hop back onto the hyperlane.”
Her arm drooped, the last of her strength leaving her body. Ventress’ eyes began to close, though she struggled desperately against it.
“I… I–!” she coughed, “I should’ve let Skywalker kill me… if I knew I was going to be on the receiving end of Bonteri’s gloating anyway.”
“There won’t be time for that,” Ventress swore Naradan was smiling as she spoke, “We’ll be taking the Storm Fleet down the Harrin Trade Corridor to bypass the entire war on the Rimma Front. Once we reach the Kira System, we’ll transfer onto the Enarc Run.”
“...”
Ventress had so much to say, and too little energy to say it. Raging against her own helplessness, the once-powerful Sith assassin felt like a prisoner trapped in her own infirm body.
“You want revenge against Count Dooku? You won’t have to wait. We will finish what Bonteri and Trilm started; we will undo Dooku’s power, and tear down his authority right before his eyes, piece by piece,” Naradan told her, and Ventress witnessed only truth in the Force, “Our destination will be where his power over the Confederacy began; Geonosis.”
Geonosis. Geonosis.
The name rang over and over in her head like a bell.
“Sleep well, Ventress.”
Dooku, Ventress felt her consciousness slipping from her grasp, you should have killed me twice.
As she inserted the control codes into Sharihen’s transponder, Naradun Du’lin ordered the electronic jamming lifted and all remaining lightspeed-capable Storm Fleet destroyers to break out of the Open Circle Fleet’s iron grasp. The Mistryl were not naval officers, and this was obvious, for the hasty and chaotic withdrawal allowed the captains of the Open Circle to lay into the fleeing enemy virtually unopposed. These captains, who all realised the significance of preventing the Storm Fleet reinforcing the Battle of Yag’Dhul, each individually came to the same conclusion and purposefully targeted the engine drives of the Storm Fleet as the enemy ships turned about to escape.
The unorganised withdrawal would inadvertently decisively turn the tide of battle in the Republic’s favour, especially as the jamming lifted. Though the Mistryl managed to escape with all intelligence frigates loaned to them intact, they were only able to count the number of Storm Fleet destroyers when they emerged on the other side in the Yag’Dhul Star System.
Of two-hundred Storm Fleet destroyers, only seventy-eight escaped the Battle of Llon Nebula, of which only half was in fighting shape. To the Mistryl’s chagrin, if Anakin Skywalker’s objective was to prevent the Battle Hydra any reinforcement, then he had succeeded.