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The Demolisher hangs as if strung from the stars in the front viewport of the shuttle, framed by purple wisps from the nebula behind it. Ordinarily, the sight of a Republic Venator is more than enough to ease Gree’s stress. Today, however, the sight only makes him tense, fingers tapping restlessly over the barrel of the DC-15 at his side. The muffled chatter of the squad of clones in the cargo hold behind him dies out as Crash, their pilot, steers them towards the cruiser. He glances towards the co-pilot seat where General Unduli sits. She appears unmoved, as usual, eyes closed and expression neutral. He spares the briefest of moments to admire her composure. 

Crash reaches up to flick a switch above his head. “We’re making our descent, General. The landing sequence puts us in the main hangar. General Krell is waiting for us.”

“Very well,” General Unduli says. She rises from her seat with ten times the grace Gree could ever muster. “See to me, Commander Gree.”

“Yes, sir,” Gree says, already moving to follow. 

General Unduli leads the way into the cargo hold, where Gree’s chosen squad straightens to attention as soon as she passes through the door. Sparrow, Ari, Nox, Crash, and Cloud are one of the most effective teams in the 41st. If anyone can clear the way for everything to succeed today, it’s them. 

“We’re landing soon, men,” Gree announces. “Double check that your comms are synced.”

“Master Windu and his men are counting on us to allow them to board with discretion,” General Unduli says. “I have no doubt you will succeed in your tasks.”

“Thanks, sir,” Nox says gruffly. The fact that he’d spoken at all shows how pleased he is by the General’s faith in them. 

“Sir…” Sparrow says, shuffling his feet. “Is it really that likely that he’ll try to put up a fight?”

General Unduli doesn’t answer immediately. Shinies new to the 41st occasionally mistake her pauses for hesitance. Gree is quick to correct them. He learned long ago not to fear the General’s silence. It means sincere consideration, careful thought. His men have learned the same, relaxed and waiting as she thinks. 

“I would be surprised, Sparrow, if he did not,” she finally says. “Even from a distance, I sense roots of darkness growing around him.”

“Roots, sir?” Gree says. 

“They will be difficult, if not impossible, to dig up.”

“Great.” Gree shoulders his weapon. “Be prepared for a fight, men. But if all goes as planned, Krell won’t have time to worry about us, anyway.”

“He will not hesitate to harm you, if by chance you are in his way,” the General reminds them. 

Gree grimaces. His men shudder. In the back, Cloud hunches his shoulders. They’ve all seen the video sent to the Senate. They’ve all seen what the Besalisk is capable of. 

“We’ll be okay, General,” Ari says. “We’ll get him before anything like that can happen. Don’t worry about us.”

She hums. “With any luck, you are correct. Regardless, I will protect you from him as much as I am able.”

Gree feels a surge of gratefulness. “Thank you, General.” 

She offers them all a small, gentle smile. Gree swallows. They’re lucky. So kriffing lucky. He can’t imagine serving under a different Jedi, much less one of Krell’s caliber. 

He sets his jaw. They’ll free Krell’s men today if it’s the last thing they do. The clones have enough to worry about with the recent news spreading through battalions of the control chips in their heads. No one should have to suffer what these men do on top of that. 

Crash’s voice comes over the speakers above them. “We’re docking, sirs.”

The ship rumbles beneath their feet. Gree widens his stance to steady himself as the ship dips, then lands with a gentle thud. 

“We’ll be ready in no time, General,” Gree tells her. “You worry about Krell. We’ll take care of the rest.”

General Unduli nods and turns for the ramp, robes sweeping across the floor. Gree and his men follow, heads held high as they march in posture-perfect formation. They descend from the ship, and Gree gets his first good look at a living, breathing Besalisk. 

Gree’s A Guide to the Biology of the Galaxy datapad doesn’t do Besalisks justice. Krell is massive, dwarfing Gree and his men easily. Even General Unduli looks small next to him, which makes Gree nervous. He doesn’t doubt his Jedi’s abilities at all, but It looks like Krell could snap her in half with only two of his arms. No clones accompany him, which isn’t surprising. In fact, the main hangar is… startlingly devoid of clones. Only a few mechanics work quietly in the distance.  

“Master Krell,” General Unduli greets calmly. “It has been a while.” She folds into a bow, which Krell returns. Gree notes a bit sourly that he doesn’t bend nearly as far as General Unduli had. 

“Indeed, Master Unduli. I was surprised to learn that you would be joining me for this campaign.”

A slight rumble hides underneath every word the Besalisk speaks. Curious, Gree tilts his head just a little to peer at the inflatable wattle hanging from Krell’s throat. Besalisks only have one set of vocal cords, and the three-pronged headcrest at the top of his head is dense bone, which means that the distortion must come from the wattle. Thinner skin to allow expansion could potentially mean that the throat is a vulnerable point. Gree makes a mental note to inform the rest of his squad. 

“What of your young apprentice?” Krell asks.

Gree scowls, thankful that his helmet hides the expression. To anyone else, the question might seem natural enough, but Krell’s toothy smile puts Gree on edge. 

“Unfortunately, Barriss has a number of studies she must complete before the cycle ends. But she will be prepared to join us during our next session.” 

By “studies” the General means that Commander Offee is busy overseeing the Tranquility and managing the arrival of General Windu. But Krell doesn’t need to know that.  

“I see.” Krell crosses all four arms over his chest. “Shall we begin our meeting, then?”

General Unduli nods. “Very well. My men will remain here.”

“Very good,” Krell says smoothly. Gree knows he doesn’t imagine the gleam of approval in Krell’s eyes. The Jedi move towards the doors leading into the war room. General Unduli is the perfect picture of polite professionalism. Krell seems none the wiser as he matches her step for step. When the doors close behind them, finally hiding Krell from view, Gree can’t decide if he should relax or not. On one hand, Krell is gone. On the other hand, General Unduli is alone with him. 

Gree’s men relax from parade rest slowly. 

“Kriff me, he’s huge,” Ari mutters. “Did you see how thick his fingers are? Each one is the width of my forearm—!”

“Enough,” Sparrow huffs. “Commander Gree? Can we proceed?”

“Hold,” Gree says. “Let’s give them a moment to get into their conversation just in case—”

“It’s quiet,” Cloud says. 

Gree glances at him in confusion, and in the silence that follows, understands what the other trooper is talking about. The main hangar of the Demolisher is almost completely silent. A few straggling mechanics slip through the waiting supplies and ships on light feet, but other than that, Gree can’t hear a single thing. It’s so quiet that he can practically feel the hum of the Venator’s distant engines through the floor if he concentrates hard enough. Even as Gree watches, two mechanics pass with barely a nod to even indicate they’d seen each other before hurrying towards their destinations. 

“They’re scared,” Nox grunts. “They won’t even come greet us.”

Silence as the Generals speak is mandated in cases like these. Once the Generals leave, however, the 41st battalion morphs into a flurry of gossiping loudmouths unless Gree orders otherwise. Krell’s men spare Gree and his squad wary looks, but they don’t approach.  

Gree wonders what Krell’s done to make them this way. He clenches his jaw. “Split off. Find your targets. It’s time our brothers got the justice they deserve. Let’s arrest a Jedi.”

Sparrow whirls immediately, signing up to Crash in the cockpit of the Nu-class shuttle. The pilot quickly descends from the ramp and darts off with the rest of the squad. Gree watches them split up, each headed for different portions of the ship. Crash to the comms deck, Sparrow to the bridge. Ari and Cloud to the barracks, and Nox to the armory. With any luck, over the next few minutes a large portion of Krell’s troops will become aware of General Windu’s imminent arrival. With the comms deck and bridge keeping him in the dark, Krell shouldn’t realize anything’s amiss until it’s far too late. 

Gree takes a deep breath and sets off to find Captain Kyber. 

When he steps out into the hallway, he’s relieved to find that the clones aren’t all cowering in the barracks like he’d feared. They go about their business, but they seem subdued. Most are shinies. Gree only sees a few painted armor pieces, worn and in need of touch-ups. A squad of men are closest, and stare at Gree with wide eyes as he approaches. 

“I’m Commander Gree, from the 41st,” Gree introduces himself quickly. They snap to attention. “At ease. We’ve come to help you.”

“With the campaign?” one of the men asks slowly. None of them relax.  

“Sort of,” Gree says. “Where can I find your Captain?”

The men eye him warily. One of the troopers keeps the left side of his body turned away from Gree, consistently enough that it must be deliberate. Gree’s chest aches. Their trust has been trampled into the dirt and crushed so much that they can’t even confide in another brother. 

“I promise I’m here to help you. Please trust me. We don’t have much time.” He drops his voice. “The campaign is one of the last things on my mind right now.”

The men shift in place, nervous. Gree sees indecision and confusion play across their faces. 

“He’s in the medbay.” The clone hiding his face doesn’t look at Gree as he speaks. 

“Is he injured?”

“...Always.”

Gree swears inwardly. “Take me to him?”

The clone nods slowly, and finally turns to expose his entire face. A vertical burn running up the side of his face causes the skin around his left eye to swell. His gaunt face shows a twisted combination of youth and starvation. “Come with us.”

Krell’s men surround him like a silent vanguard as they hurry towards the medbay. Gree’s comm chimes a few minutes into the journey. 

“Commander, this is Sparrow. The bridge is on board.”

“Copy that. Good work, Sparrow. Wait for my signal.”

He receives a few curious looks from his guides, but none of them comment. Gree tries to move a little faster.  

“What are your names?” he asks quietly. Their heads turn to glance around as if worried the Besalisk will leap from the shadows to silence them before they answer. Terrace, Eight, and Climber are all shinies. Tuff is older, has suffered a little longer, and the scarred clone smiles bitterly and introduces himself as Blister. 

“Sir,” Eight says, barely more than a whisper. 

Gree twists to look at him as they round a corner. “What is it, trooper?”

“Any holoprojector we have that can connect to the holonet has been, um, deactivated. Please—are the rumors true?” 

Gree hesitates. “Which rumors?” The inhibitor chips, Krell’s arrest, Windu—

“About Hevy. The Senate clone. Is he really dead?”

Gree’s gut clenches. Oh. “Yeah, kid. I’m sorry.”

Eight reels back as if struck. Climber groans out loud. Terrace trips over his own feet. Tuff only shakes his head. 

“That’s it, then,” Blister says, voice flat. “There’s no hope.”

Gree stops dead in the middle of the hall. They scramble to stay with him. 

“Sir?” 

“Listen to me,” Gree says. He closes his eyes for a moment under the helmet, imagining the way his General projects calm confidence. “Hevy didn’t die in vain. The bill hasn’t been passed yet, but it will.” Senator Amidala is nothing if persistent. “We have more reason to hope than ever.” 

Their body language doesn’t change. Gree takes a deep breath and drops his voice even further. “The fact that we’re even here is proof of that. Krell doesn’t do joint campaigns, right? This time it was mandated by the Jedi Council. They made it so he couldn’t refuse. It was intentional.”

“What’s your point?” Blister asks. “They would do it if it was necessary for the campaign, regardless of the—of the General’s wishes.”

“We’re not here for the campaign,” Gree admits. “The Jedi Council sent us for another reason. We’re here on Hevy’s behalf.”

It takes a moment for them to understand. He watches the realization hit one by one. 

“Force,” Terrace breathes. “Are you—you’re joking.”

“It won’t work,” Tuff whispers, voice hoarse. “You came in a shuttle. That’s not enough men. He’s strong. He’s too strong, even with your General I don’t think—”

There’s no time to explain everything. “Get me to your Captain,” Gree orders, “and I promise it’ll be alright.” 

They don’t need much more convincing. Whether or not they believe him, Gree’s words have energized the men. They whirl him through hallways and up an elevator until the medbay doors slide open in front of them. 

Gree had prepared himself, but he can’t help but hiss a curse under his breath as he steps into the room. 

Krell’s men haven’t fought any battles in several weeks. Even so, the medbay is completely full. Clones cluster around beds and sit against the wall while harried medics bustle past them. An entire squad of troopers with black bruises ringing their throats shuffles over to make room for Gree and his escorts. The scent of bacta hangs heavy in the air. Gree spots at least two other troopers with burn wounds similar to the one on the scarred trooper’s face. 

A medic shoves his way through the crowd to approach them. “Who’s injured?”

“None of us for now,” Blister says. His scar stands out starkly against his face in the bright light of the medbay. “He’s here for Kyber.”

The medic frowns. “He’s in the usual bed.”

“Thanks.” 

They lead Gree to a bed with curtains drawn around it near the back of the medbay. A scout sits silent sentry outside, and rises to meet them. “Hold it right there.”

“Exit,” one of Gree’s guides hisses, “this is Commander Gree. He’s from the 41st."  

Exit. The name is familiar. Gree frowns as he struggles to place it.

Exit’s expression wavers, but he doesn’t back down. “The Captain is resting. He needs it before we begin the assault.”

Gree pulls his helmet off, stepping forwards. “I understand that, and I’m sorry to interrupt. But this is urgent. I need his help.”

“You need his help?” Exit repeats. 

Gree blinks, struck by realization. “Exit. You’re the one that sent the holorecording to the Senate.”

Exit freezes. “I… the Senate actually received the recording?”

“Received it, debated it,” Gree grits his teeth, “and condemned it.”

Exit doesn’t speak for a moment. Gree realizes that the medbay has quieted down—the brothers around him shamelessly eavesdrop. 

“I need to speak with Captain Kyber,” Gree reiterates. “Please.”

Exit’s breathing picks up. He nods slowly, eyes wide, and steps behind the curtains. It takes a minute, but eventually they slide back. 

Captain Kyber sits propped up against the headboard of the medbay cot. A trail of winding white scars creeps across his face. He grimaces as he adjusts himself. Gree can’t see any visible injuries, but one of his hands stays cradled down by his chest, protecting his ribs involuntarily. “Commander Gree. I was under the impression that you and your men wouldn’t leave the hangar.”

“If that was the impression, then good,” Gree says grimly. If it was enough to fool Krell’s men, it was enough to fool Krell. “But it’s wrong.”

His comm chirps, and Ari’s voice filters through. “Sir. Barracks are informed. They want word from their Captain before they move, though.”

Kyber’s eyebrow, the one not scarred over, raises. “Commander. What is this?”

Gree glances at the time and bites the inside of his cheek. They don’t have much time. General Unduli can’t keep Krell distracted forever. “We’re here to place Pong Krell under arrest.”

The medbay goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Kyber barely seems to breathe. In the silence, the chime of Gree’s communicator makes him jump.  

“Comms deck is going dark, Commander. Krell won’t hear a word from them until it’s far too late.”   

“Thank you, Crash.”

“Force.” The word tears from Kyber’s throat as if punched out. “Okay. Okay.” He buries his face in his palms. Exit reaches for him, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. Gree pretends not to see how they both tremble. The clones in the medbay hold almost completely still, silent as ghosts. 

“Commander Gree?” Commander Offee’s young voice comes through his comm. “What is the status of your men? Is Master Windu clear to make his approach?”

“Kriff,” Gree mutters. “Hang on, sir.” He turns away from Kyber and the other clones, allowing them a moment to process as he contacts his men. “Nox. Are you in position?” 

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir. It took some convincing. But we’re ready.”

Gree breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Commander,” Kyber says. His voice shakes on the first syllable. It’s steady by the third. “What’s going on?”

“I wasn’t lying. We’re here to arrest Krell. But the Jedi are convinced that he’ll try to run as soon as he realizes that they’re onto him. It would have been suspicious for two Jedi Council members to show up and help him with a lower-priority campaign, so General Windu is waiting to sneak his battalion aboard while General Unduli distracts him. We’ve prepped your men to keep him unaware until they arrive. All hyperspace rings should be shut down, tractor beams are prepared to fire just in case, and escape pods are deactivated.”

Kyber’s eyes narrow. “And the comms deck—?”

“I sent a trooper up to tell them not to alert Krell when General Windu’s cruiser shows up.”

Kyber swallows. “He won’t go down easy.”

“Not even he can stand against two Jedi Generals and three battalions.”

“Three?”

Gree grins. “Yes, three. The 41st, the 91st, and you. The men in the barracks have been informed. All we need is your go-ahead and we’ll start sending them to the armory. ”

For a moment, all Gree can see on their faces is that same fearful hesitance. He draws himself up. “Come on. You’ve lived under his feet long enough. Get up. Arm yourselves. Fight. He won’t get away with this any longer. We’ll stand with you.” Gree suspects that just the 91st and the 41st would be enough to subdue Krell, but Krell’s men need this. They need the chance to fight back if they ever want to recover. 

“Fight like Hevy would have wanted,” a shiny whispers under his breath, but it carries. Several men draw themselves up. Gree spots set jaws, clenched fists. 

Kyber swings his legs around the side of the bed to stand. 

“You’re injured, sir,” Exit snaps, shoving him back. “Let us handle this.”

“I won’t.” Kyber’s eyes flash, and suddenly Gree understands how he’s survived so long under Krell’s command. His gaze is unyielding as durasteel—as kyber. “Commander Gree. We will help you.” 

When he puts both feet on the ground, it’s as if an unseen energy flashes through the medbay. Krell’s men clamber to their feet wherever they’re able. Fragments of Kyber’s fierce tenacity flash in their eyes. They rally around their Captain, who meets Gree’s gaze as if seeking his approval.  

Gree nods. “You going to be alright?”

“Just a couple bruises. Now.” Kyber pulls himself up to his full height. “What do you need us to do?”

General Windu’s men disembark from the arriving gunships quickly and quietly. Gree’s own 41st are right with them, filling the hangar with a mixture of maroon and green. Kyber and his men stand out in the throng, armor in disarray comparatively. Gree distracts himself from his fury by busying himself directing squads of men to different locations around the ship. Their aim is to cut Krell off no matter where he tries to run, and overwhelm him if the Jedi can’t take him down. 

General Windu’s arrival makes his stomach twist with nerves. Commander Ponds accompanies the Jedi as usual, offering Gree a nod in greeting. 

“Commander. Are your men in place?” General Windu asks. 

Gree salutes. “Yes, sir. General Unduli is keeping him occupied, as planned.” He falters for a moment. “Or at least, I would assume she is still doing so. We haven’t heard from either her or Krell since they entered the war room.” 

General Windu nods. “We’ll wait for the rest of your men to prepare. As soon as you’re ready, I’ll join them. We’ll see if we can get the late General Krell to come quietly.”

“His men seem to be convinced that he won’t, sir,” Gree admits. 

Ponds taps his blaster. “Then we’ll be waiting eagerly for his arrival,” he says, and Gree can picture his brother’s scowl even if he can’t see Ponds’ face. 

It doesn’t take long for the clones to finish setting up. Gree has men everywhere, from the bridge all the way down to the cargo hold. He’s not taking any risks. This ends now. Every man is armed, and more than happy to shoot any vaguely-looking Besalisk shape that they come across. 

Gree and Ponds accompany General Windu through the hangar and into the hallway leading into the war room. Gree’s mouth goes dry the closer they get. He’s heard the stories of Krell’s prowess. The fear of his own troops only makes Gree dread this encounter even more. 

“We will do our best to contain him,” General Windu says. “But remain alert.”

“Yes, sir,” Ponds and Gree chorus. General Windu steps up, and taps the door controls. 

The door is only open long enough for Gree to see General Unduli and Krell standing in front of a holomap and hear Krell’s surprised, “Master Windu?” before the door slides shut again. 

Ponds exhales loudly. “That’s it, then. Let’s hope he surrenders.”

“I hope so,” Gree mutters. 

Ponds glances at him. “It is nice to see you, though. Regardless of the circumstances.”

Gree grins. “Likewise. Kamino feels like a lifetime ago. I wish we got to serve together more often.”

He strains his ears, hoping for any hint as to what’s happening in the war room. No luck, though. He can’t hear anything except his own breathing. 

“I hope they tear him a new one,” he mutters. Ponds hums in agreement, something savage and angry in the sound. “What they did to these men is unforgivable.”

“We’re in agreement, then. And to think that there might be others like him in the GAR—”

“It’s up to us to finish what Hevy started,” Gree says, tightening his grip on his gun. He lowers his voice. “Are your men de-chipped yet?” 

“We’re about halfway there,” Ponds answers. “You?”

“About the same. It’s tough to get around to. Our medics are already overworked enough. But it’s too important to put off. General Unduli prioritizes it when we can afford to, though.”

“Good, that’s good.” 

Muffled voices draw their attention back to the doors in front of them. They rise in volume. Krell’s booms louder than the others, distorted enough that Gree can’t pick out individual words, but his anger is palpable. 

“Kriff. That’s not good,” Ponds hisses. Gree slips a finger down to the trigger of his DC-15. 

The voices go silent for a moment. Then, clearly audible through the doors, Krell lets out a bellow of rage. Gree hears two lightsabers ignite, then two more. 

“Here we go,” he mutters. 

Blades clash. Gree hears the telltale sound of a lightsaber slashing through metal. Someone shouts, and then the doors fly open. 

Krell barrels through with the Jedi hot on his tail, deflecting their attacks even as he flees. Sparks fly where his blades hit the walls. Gree fires, lighting the hall with blue stun bolts. Krell dodges around them and lets out another roar of fury. 

“Ponds!” Gree shouts. “The door!” 

Ponds slams his hand down onto the door controls leading into the hangar. They seal shut with a hiss. If they can stop Krell here, none of their men will even be at risk, even if that means momentarily trapping themselves in with him—

The three Jedi whirl and slash and hack at each other, blue and green and purple swirling together in a kaleidoscope of color. Generals Windu and Unduli dart around Krell’s massive form, never holding still enough for him to use his bulk and pin them down. Ponds and Gree take careful shots from afar. None of their attempts hit home, but it is enough to distract Krell and give the Generals more openings. The Besalisk bares his teeth at them, lightsabers spinning in dizzying circles. 

General Windu lunges just as Krell has to jerk to block a stun bolt. His blade cuts one of Krell’s lightsabers in half, nicking his hand. Krell howls. He strikes with his remaining lightsabers, forcing the Jedi back. 

Then Krell turns on his heel and charges Gree and Ponds. 

“Back up!” Gree screams, but they can’t move fast enough. Krell ducks under their stun bolts and lashes out. Ponds dives away from his lightsaber. Gree throws himself to the side—too slow. A massive palm catches him across the chest and slams him against the floor. Once, twice. Even his helmet can’t fully absorb the impact. Pain lances down his spine. His vision goes white, then black. 

He wakes up when his helmet is torn off, flung towards the Jedi. Krell towers above him, a sneer on his lips. Gree freezes. Oh Force.  

He tries to stay calm. It’s what General Unduli would do. But it’s hard, especially when Krell wraps four meaty fingers around Gree’s throat and drags him into the air. He wants to struggle, to thrash and fight, but his body refuses to obey him, still weak from being knocked unconscious for a few moments. 

The Jedi stall as Krell thrusts Gree in front of them, pulling back. Through his flickering vision, Gree watches General Unduli’s expression twitch with worry. 

“Release him,” she orders, lightsaber humming. 

Krell barks out a laugh. He squeezes his hand tighter around Gree’s neck. Gree chokes, limbs flailing. He kicks against Krell, but it’s like hitting a tree. 

“Your attachment to these creatures is abhorrent,” Krell snarls. “Since when do Jedi prioritize the lives of lab-born cannon-fodder over their own?”

“Drop the clone,” General Windu orders. “Your quarrel is with us.”

“Oh, is it?” Krell raises his remaining lightsaber, ghosting it inches from Gree’s skin. Gree swallows back a groan of fear. “Then why have you ceased your attack? This clone is replaceable, yet you hesitate. Your pity for them makes you weak.” He takes a few steps back, hauling Gree with him. The grip around Gree’s neck loosens by a fraction. Gree gasps for air. 

The room vibrates with tension. General Unduli shifts her stance, gaze darting from Gree to Krell.

Stop him! Gree wants to shout, but he can’t suck enough air into his lungs. Stop him, it doesn’t matter what happens to me!

Desperate, he tears his gaze towards Ponds, advancing slowly behind his General. Shoot him, Gree signs. His fingers fumble the signals a little, sloppy and uncooperative from oxygen loss. Ponds tenses. He doesn’t obey. 

General Windu jerks as if about to rush forwards, but Krell swings Gree around like a living shield, and the General stops in his tracks. 

Krell laughs. Gree is close enough to feel it vibrate through his own chest. “Truly pathetic.”

“Cruelty is not the Jedi way,” General Unduli says, voice tight with a hint of anger. 

“Neither is sentiment!” Krell spits.

Gree’s mind whirls. If this keeps up, Krell will find the opening that he’s searching for, make his escape, and Gree will die anyway. He pries at Krell’s grip, but the Besalisk doesn’t even react. 

“You have fallen prey to the darkside,” General Windu says, raising his blade. “It has fooled you into believing it can make you strong.”

“Am I not strong?” Krell’s voice lilts, mocking. He shakes Gree like a ragdoll. Black spots flash across Gree’s vision. “ Am I not strong?” 

Gree’s lungs burn. A Guide to the Biology of the Galaxy flashes in front of his eyes. He reaches for any tidbit of information, frantic for anything that could be useful. Besalisks. Superior and inferior arms, connected by a quad-joint in the center of the back. Inflatable wattle, thinner skin — He couldn’t reach Krell’s neck if he tried. An extra segment in the cardiovascular system to facilitate blood to additional limbs, a small secondary heart near the left hip with only two valves instead of four —

Krell’s fingers squeeze, cutting Gree’s airway completely. Gree twists his lower body and drives both booted feet as hard as he can into Krell’s left hip, right where his secondary heart should be.

Krell snarls and jerks, limbs curling down to cover the vulnerable spot. His grip on Gree vanishes. 

Ponds fires. Krell barely gets his blade up in time to deflect. General Windu charges, lightsaber a glowing beacon of purple. General Unduli throws her hand out. The Force plucks Gree from Krell’s feet and tugs him to safety by his General just as General Windu’s saber clashes with Krell’s. 

Krell roars in anger. He pushes out with all four hands in a massive Force repulse. General Unduli throws herself in front of Gree to defend him. Ponds isn’t so lucky, slamming against the back wall. General Windu slides back, arms crossed over his chest. 

Krell flees for freedom. He pries the blast doors open with the Force, wrenching them open with a violent jerk of two hands. Metal squeals in protest. He thunders through the opening, escaping towards the hangar. General Windu hurtles after him. General Unduli spares a fraction of a second to look Gree over before following.

Gree coughs, clutching at his throat. It hurts to inhale, like his throat is lined with glass shards, but he can finally breathe.

“Gree!” Ponds hurries to his side, slinging his arm underneath Gree’s to lift him from the floor. “You kriffing idiot, you wanted me to shoot you?”

“I didn’t want you to,” Gree complains. Ponds supports him as Gree tentatively puts weight on his own legs. 

Ponds mutters a curse in Huttese. “You okay?”

“It hurts, but I’ll live. You?”

“Bruised ribs, probably. Nothing worse than ARC training gave me.” 

Gree manages a ragged laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

Distant blasterfire makes them both tense, heads snapping up towards the wrecked doors. 

“They might need help,” Ponds says. 

“Ahh.” Exhaustion hits Gree like a speeder. He tilts his head back and takes one breath. Two. His head throbs. Then he lets go of Ponds completely. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They climb through the blast door wreckage and sprint through the corridor. The door to the main hangar slides open. 

Generals Windu and Unduli dart around Krell doggedly, lightsabers flashing. They work in perfect tandem. General Windu aims low with a flurry of powerful hits while General Unduli leaps high, somersaulting overhead, green blade striking out and robes flying around her. Krell keeps them both at bay. His remaining lightsaber spins furiously, humming like an angry insect. 

Shouts from across the hangar catch Gree’s attention. Captain Kyber leads a platoon towards the fight, weapons at the ready. 

Krell sees them coming. He bares his teeth and knocks the Jedi back with a massive swipe of his lightsaber. As soon as they aren’t in his way, Krell throws himself at the clones like a rampaging rancor. His yellow eyes blaze with hatred, lightsaber aimed to decapitate—

Krell’s men fire. The sheer quantity of bright blue stun bolts is enough to blind Gree for a moment. Krell staggers back, lightsaber tumbling from his hand. It clatters and bounces across the durasteel floor as its master keels over, limbs splaying wide.  

Captain Kyber shoots him again, for good measure. Just in case. 

Krell’s men don’t cheer when General Windu’s men clamp binders around his wrists. They just watch, silent, until the gunship sweeps him away. Once he’s out of sight, Captain Kyber lets his helmet drop and sits down hard on the hangar floor. His shoulders slump. A few men follow him, sprawling out on the ground. Their eyes are wide and disbelieving. Gree spots more than one man pinching himself furiously, as if determined to wake up.  

41st and 91st men trickle back into the hangar. They do cheer, and Gree lets himself get swept up in it for just a moment. Krell is gone. With any luck, he’s the first of many abusers to go. 

It only takes a few minutes for his advance squad to return. Sparrow, Ari, Crash, Nox, and Cloud cluster around him. Sparrow’s eyes go wide when he sees the state of Gree’s face and neck, impressively bruised. 

“Holy kriff, sir,” he mutters. “Cloud, do you still have those bacta patches?” 

Gree suffers through their advances patiently, allowing them to apply the bacta to his wounds. He meets each of their gazes one by one. “You did well, men.”

Ari grins, smug. “Of course we did, Commander.” Nox slugs him in the shoulder, but Ari, as always, is unrepentant. Cloud smiles at the praise. 

“These are the men responsible for getting us on board so quietly, right?” Ponds says, clapping one hand on Crash’s shoulder. The pilot jumps, eyes going wide. 

“Yeah,” Gree says. “They’re some of my best.” 

“I can tell.” Ponds’ eyes travel the length of the hangar. His gaze lingers on Krell’s men. “It’s thanks to you boys that our brothers are safe.”

“What will happen to them?” Crash asks. 

“General Windu has us making room for them in our barracks. There’s… not as many of them as there should be. And we just came from a campaign, so…” He shrugs. “We’ve got space. If some of us need to double up for a few weeks, it’s not the end of the world.”

“They’ll need all the help they can get,” Gree says quietly. 

Ponds nods in solemn agreement. He squeezes Crash’s shoulder and draws back. “Get some rest, Gree. It looks like you went one too many rounds with Alpha-17.”

Ari laughs, loud and delighted. Nox snorts. Gree scowls as his fellow Commander heads for General Windu. 

His presence is replaced by a familiar one a few minutes later. Gree can feel his body physically relax as General Unduli approaches them. He watches her stride carefully for any sign of injuries, but she moves as smoothly as ever. That doesn’t mean she’s unharmed. Gree starts working on his plan to lure her into the medbay as soon as possible in the back of his mind. 

“Good work, General,” he says. 

“You as well. All of you.” She frowns. “We have brought down a formidable foe today.” 

Gree falters. “I’m… sorry, sir.” Krell was, after all, a Jedi. General Unduli has likely known him for a long time. 

She shakes her head. “It is… unfortunate. But he has chosen his path.” She eyes the bacta smear across Gree’s face. “I apologize, Commander. I could not protect you as promised.”

“Ridiculous, sir,” Gree says instantly. “You protected me perfectly. I’m fine, and Krell is in the brig. That’s what’s important.”

Her expression softens with a hint of amusement. “Indeed. Not to mention that your diligent studies bore fruit today.”

Gree smiles. “All thanks to you, sir.” A Guide to the Biology of the Galaxy had been a gift from  her, after all, given after one of their first campaigns together, where Gree had spent half the occupation frantically trying to understand just how exactly the native species of the planet had been able to secrete acidic liquid from their bodies. “I’m just glad I could remember what I needed in time.”

The General’s comm chimes. She glances at it. “Barriss requires my presence. Will you accompany me back to the Tranquility, gentlemen, or remain here?”

Gree pauses and glances back towards Krell’s men. Ponds and a few other men are making rounds through the crowd, offering gentle touches and ration bars. Captain Kyber hasn’t moved from where he first sat down. 

“I’ll… stay for a while, sir,” he answers. “But my men can choose for themselves—”

“We’ll stay, too, General,” Sparrow answers for his squad. 

The General nods. “Do what you can for them. Their pain echoes through the Force. It is not one that will heal easily.”

Gree winces. That doesn’t sound good. “We’ll do our best, sir.”

As soon as he’s gone, he makes a beeline for Kyber. 

He isn’t surprised to find Exit sitting next to them, keeping a watchful eye. Gree meets the scout’s gaze, seeking silent permission. Once Exit nods, Gree lowers himself into a crouch and puts a hand on Kyber’s shoulder. The man flinches. 

“Hey,” Gree says, voice low. “Sorry.” 

Kyber doesn’t meet his gaze. “Commander,” he acknowledges. 

“You did well,” Gree says carefully. “Things would have gone much worse if you and your men hadn’t gotten into position so quickly—”

“I almost couldn’t fire.”

Gree snaps his mouth closed. 

“Everything froze. Everything was static. The moment he charged us, all I wanted to do was sit back and let him do what he wanted. That’s how it always was. That’s what…”

Gree grips him tighter. “But you did shoot.”

“Only because my men did.”

“But you did. And he’s gone now. He can’t control you anymore.”

Kyber shudders. “Can’t he?”

Gree shakes his head. “No. You’re not alone anymore. You’ve got brothers everywhere ready to lend a hand. No matter what he’s done, you can fight it.”

Kyber lets out a weak laugh. “You’re so certain.”

“Trust me,” Gree says. “Please. Trust us. We’re here to help.”

Kyber sags suddenly, shoulders dropping. A wretched sound tears from his lips. “I’m tired, Commander.” 

“I’m sorry.” Gree’s chest aches. 

“And my men—they’ll need—”

“Let Commander Ponds and I look after them, just for a bit. They’ll need you. But right now you need to rest.” 

Kyber exhales. He glances over at Exit. 

The scout nods at him. “We’ll be okay without you for a few hours, sir. The Commander is right.”

For the first time, Kyber meets Gree’s gaze. The dark bags under his eyes make him look older than Gree, but there’s still a hint of a spark left in his expression. 

Gree smiles. He’s a brave man. He’ll recover. And so will his men. 

He stands and offers Kyber a hand. 

The Captain stares at it blankly for a moment. Then he reaches out. Gree plants his feet, grips his brother tight, and hauls Kyber to his feet.