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It was afternoon in summer-time, and the forest seemed to sleep. Hardly a breeze stirred the broad fans of the tropical ferns, and the only sound was the low hum of insects that flew to and fro under the wide-spreading boughs.
It seemed so quiet and so lonely, that one might almost think that nothing but quick-darting creatures of the forest had ever crawled this way since the birth of the planet. There was a little path worn among the thick foliage, but it was so narrow and so faint it could have well been worn by the tiny feet of the birds, picking fruit and catching meal, or the insects, with their miniscule antenna.
Few indeed, were the people that ever came this way, for it was in the midst of the loneliest part of Felucia, far from the farmers that resided in their humble villages, and once, far from the war that had been tearing the galaxy to pieces.
But now Felucia had been caught in the crossfire, another piece of collateral damage cast high into the air by the rapid destruction of the Republic and Separatist forces. Small and lonely as it was, its rich resources and strategic location were now being fought over for control, and muted sounds of gunfire echoed oddly in the midst of the buzzing heat.
Droids stomped through the undergrowth, and steady shots sliced through the air, their grim songs ending in death-cries as they reached home in honest hearts.
One such battle took place during the Outer Rim Sieges, on the same afternoon.
“Run!” Bly yelled, as he and Secura finished planting the last of the thermal detonators on the ion cannon.
“Commander Gree, warn your troops to fall back,” he said through the internal comms. “The distraction is no longer needed. We have successfully sneaked past.”
“Alright, Bly. Me and my men have had enough of this stinking planet. Let’s move out.”
The comm beeped out.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” he yelled, waiting until each of his soldiers had made their way to safety before following in their footsteps.
“Bly!” Aayla yelled.
He was too late. The detonators went off with a resounding boom , creating a blast that destroyed the cannon and the shield generator, as well as many of the droids and tanks. Bits of shrapnel soared over his head as he lay in the dirt, breathing heavily.
Kriff.
His soldiers cheered and patted each other on the back, while Aayla walked over to him, offering a hand. He took it eagerly, grunting as he sat up.
“Blast. Now my armour’s all ruined.”
“You’re fine and that’s what matters,” Aayla called over her shoulder.
They packed the remaining artillery in high spirits, grateful to have halted the Separatist attack.
Aayla stood arms crossed beside a tree, a grin on her face as she watched her men pack the weapons into metal crates. She wiped the sweat from her brow, saying, “Once we’re all done I proposed to meet at the rendezvous point with Unduli and Gree.”
“It’s not far, don’t worry,” she added, as the men stifled groans. “Yes, General,” came several voices.
A few moments later they had begun the trek through the horribly humid forest, and the sun was slowly sinking in the sky, pounding down on them a little less harshly than before. Aayla could feel their spirits sinking, but privately she enjoyed the walk. Feeling the soft earth beneath her feet and the wild, musky air in her lungs was truly delightful.
The forest was alive with sounds and smells, and the birds sang freely, paying no heed to the marching below. It was almost like a sanctuary, a safe haven that strayed away from the clamour and dread of the warzone. The forest can almost be likened to a temple, a place of ancient solitude where I have yet to learn from years of wisdom and resilience, she mused.
“That was a close one, General,” Bly said, and she jolted out of her thoughts, blinking at him. “We barely made it out of there alive.”
Aayla smiled and returned to the world for the present. He’s always so happy. Never looking past the battlefield. But perhaps… he’s better off.
“Yes, we did well, Commander. We achieved our objective and prevented the attack, mainly due to the enduring bravery of your men. We and the 41st make a great team.”
Bly nodded. “Thank you, Aayla. To tell you the truth, without you here, we wouldn’t have been as lucky. You’re a great strategist.”
She blushed. “You are too kind. It was a combined effort.”
They continued to walk and talk, sharing their thoughts and feelings about the war, the Jedi, the clones, and the Force. Although the time passed quickly for them, Aayla could sense weary protests radiating from the clones.
“Alright everyone!” she called out. “Stop here. We can afford a rest, in fact, we have already made good time.”
Shared looks of relief went around.
“I am in need of rest as well, General,” Bly said. He drifted away from her side and went over to the others. “Commander, my blaster pistol got jammed. The others don’t…” muffled chattering. “Here, let me have a look…” The speech faded into jumbled sounds, slowly stretching far, far, farther away…
Aayla sat cross-legged on the dirt and closed her eyes, reaching out to the Force. Something felt wrong today - slightly off. But it had no apparent cause. So she let each of her worries become like a bird singing on a nearby branch. They came of their own accord and left of their own accord. She heard all their songs, and let them pass. She relaxed, feeling more and more worries passing, fading, diminishing, disappearing as she relaxed. The songs became quieter and quieter until the birds stopped visiting altogether and they became nothing more than a blurred memory, fading into oblivion…
“General.”
She started, blinking her eyes in the bright daylight. Bly stared down at her.
“The men have rested. We should move on.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she replied, still feeling disconcerted. She slowly rose.
“Yes. Okay. Let’s move out!” she cried.
It appeared that everything had already been prepared, so they continued on quickly, tramping with new vigour on the well-worn path. She looked up and ahead, absently admiring the graceful flight pattern of a colourful bird.
“How long was I out, Commander?” she asked.
“Not too long, I hope?”
Silence.
“Commander?”
She turned and looked at him. He was standing there in the middle of the path, stiff and straight, but gave no reply.
“Commander, are you all right?”
His helmet was on, so she could not discern his facial expression. She reached out slowly, then grunted, spluttering. She slowly looked down at the gun planted on her chest, feeling the cold metal on her skin, then back up at him.
“Don’t move.” he whispered, words clipped.
“Bly, what-”
******
Commander Bly stood in silence, watching her go through more levels of confusion than he thought was possible. Staring at the gun he had pointed at her chest, the barrel moving slightly with the rise and fall, rise and fall of every breath. Eyeing the nervous sweat trickling down her blue skin in rivulets.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Because it was never meant to happen. Not today, not ever, not as long as he was alive and breathing. This woman, standing right in front of him, had been observing a bird taking flight only mere seconds ago. Nothing more.
He heard the words echoing again in his helmet and turned around to see his soldiers staring at him. They had all received the order as well. They tilted their heads, some in confusion, and others waiting for approval.
“Will you follow through, or not?”
That oily, tantalising voice had pierced through his mind, and it had struck a deep longing in his heart. To follow the order… it was so easy… he wanted to do it so badly. But… he couldn’t deny the nagging feeling in his chest. He shifted the grip on the gun, fingering the trigger. It was an order directly from the Chancellor. All orders had to be obeyed.
Good soldiers follow orders.
So it would be a quick death.
He removed the rifle from her chest and raised it steadily, aligning it with his vision. Pointing directly at the woman in front of him. Aayla… Her eyes grew wide. Those eyes… his hands faltered again.
Comply, he ordered them. Karking comply! But they wouldn’t. Why is it so difficult?! The order had been given. All he had to do was follow it. He tried to close his eyes and do it but he couldn’t. He kept opening them again to face her. The leader who had led them through fire and fury. Who had never given up on them. Who had given them names, not numbers. He paused, finally processing the words he had heard in his comlink.
To fire, or not to fire?
A strange buzzing roared in his head, and he grasped it in agony. There was something wrong here. Something terribly wrong. In every battle they had fought, every sore day the rain had pounded on their heads, every time a comrade fell, there was never a time that Aayla did something wrong. Something that made her unworthy of life.
The moment’s hesitation was all the clones needed. Lieutenant Galle took one last look at Bly: the gun that was now lowered, with the finger still resting idle on the trigger, the other hand clutching his head in pain, panting, doubled over. He wasn’t going to shoot. So his gravelly voice rang out in their helmets:
"Execute Order 66."
It was rather strange, how it occurred.
The cacophony of rainforest noises and buzzing insects faded into a low hum. The bird Aayla had been watching was still flying near them, flapping its wings in slow motion. The round of blue laser pulses fired from the guns made no sound. And he watched, almost as if from another body as his finger moved, pressing firmly on the trigger.
“Continue firing!” he urged. “She has committed treason against the Republic!”
Aayla deflected each shot, her lightsabers a blurring spinning spiralling flash of blue light.
As the rounds kept going, he managed to shoot her in the arm. The fire was thunderously heavy, but somehow, she knew it was him. They looked into each other's eyes for a startling millisecond.
Confusion. Betrayal. Agony.
All at once.
You must die.
He fired three consecutive shots.
Sadness.
Her hand spread outward, and the world went black.
******
She had felt warning signs the whole day. Strange echoed cries in her mind, warning her to “ look out, look out, be wary. Not all is as it seems!”
Her Force senses had warned her a precious second before. Just in time for her to ignite her lightsaber and deflect the first blow. It had been on instinct, and she had watched in horror as the laser bounced back, burying itself right into one of the clone’s chests.
A great thunderstorm of fire roared around her, the blue pulses forming a blurring wall. And her arms, of her own accord, spun like mad, pushing desperately to reach the surface. The shots bombarded her at such an immense speed that her bones were almost shaken from their tendons; she felt her jaw vibrate, her eyes spin in her head. The storm was coming too fast, much too fast.
She was slowing. Her barrier was broken.
When it was all over she felt like she had been thrown from a cliff, whirled in a tornado and spat out over a waterfall that fell and fell into emptiness and emptiness and never—quite—touched—bottom—never—never—quite—touched—bottom . . . and she fell so fast she didn’t touch the sides either . . . never . . . quite . . . touched . . . anything.
The thunder faded. The guns stopped blazing, yet they still echoed in her eardrums. Her head spun, black stars spotted her vision. The not-quite result of a glaring cacophony. The adrenaline of still being alive, somehow. And then, those who weren’t. Her squad, lying motionless on the floor. Spread out in a circle just a metre away from her.
Then the pain sunk in. My arm, -oh- my arm! The fire burned into her flesh, surging through her, a million needles and a million punches radiating through her core. Bly. You did this to me… Why???
She ran her finger over the shot, looking down, curiously. It was burned, blistering, ugly, and black. Her lightsabers lay still in the red dirt. Slowly, she bent down and picked them up, subconsciously, slipping them into her belt.
She sank to her knees and stared at the fallen clones in front of her. No. No… they can’t be.
“What is wrong with you?!?!” she screeched. A cluster of birds rose from the trees, disrupting the silence.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!?!”
They didn’t respond. In front of her lay the crude, smoking evidence—their fallen Commander.
She let out a piercing wail, crying out in the sea of armour that surrounded her. Her comrades, her friends, her brothers. She lifted Galle’s hand and clasped the fingers. The same ones that had been on the trigger only moments before. No response.
Yet, even unconscious, she could feel the rift in the Force. A heart-wrenching, throbbing agony from each of them. It broke her heart to know how well she could still feel them. How close they still were. Yet even now, some threads were fraying, slowly slipping farther and farther into the black abyss that lay beyond.
Except for one.
Aayla turned back to Bly, crawling over and kneeling beside him.
"Commander?"
Her insides tied themselves into a knot. She hurriedly tugged his helmet off. His once-bright eyes were closed, and his skin tone was ashen.
"Commander Bly?"
She pulled one of his eyelids open, and leaned down by his ear.
"Commander Bly!"
She took off the gauntlet and rubbed his wrist.
Bly's eyes flickered as he raised one hand, reaching for her. Then the hand stilled again—even that movement was too much to bear.
"It's alright, Commander. " She put her arms under Bly and slowly lifted him up, cursing as her wound protested in agony. Even with aid from the Force, he was heavier than she had expected.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, “stay with me,” as she hobbled as fast as she could, with him in her arms. Soon enough she had entered a thicket of greenery, vibrating with life and filled with shadows and crevices.
She turned this way and that, hands on her lightsabers, then let out a quick sigh of relief: there was no one in sight. Aayla immediately turned back to Bly. He lay unmoving on the floor, almost like… a corpse. Icy tendrils spread across Aayla's entire system, freezing her in place.
With impending dread, she knelt down next to his still form. She rested a hand up against his neck and extended her Force senses at the same time.
Aayla almost fainted when she felt a wavering pulse. His breathing was noticeable, but laboured at the same time. He had many wounds to the chest, arms, legs—everywhere. Massive burns covered his body, leaving gaping, corroded holes in the armour. They melted right into his skin.
Her… work.
Bly groaned.
"Bly?" She leaned in closer, inches away from his face.
At an agonizingly slow pace, he opened his eyes, blinking, and tried to focus on his surroundings. He turned his head slightly and focused on Aayla.
"Are you—" he began, then was taken by a coughing fit. He spat up blood, and she turned him to his side, letting him finish. The redness trickled down his cheek, and he gestured weakly with his uninjured hand.
"You—alright?"
She gave him a sad smile.
"Am I alright?" she asked, placing her hands gently on either side of his face.
He was staring into her eyes, his own brown ones wide with concern, as if there was a whole world there she couldn't see. Answers he could find.
He firmly grasped her hand.
"Yes, I am," she finally replied, realising he had been waiting. "Can’t say the same for you." She bit her lip, trying to keep the tears from sliding down her cheeks.
He let out a shaky breath, then gave her a sad smile.
“I don’t know why we - acted- that way..” he croaked. “I- felt it too. I could almost - resist- but it was- too - strong.”
“I’m so - sorry, Aayla.”
His eyelids fluttered closed. She wiped the blood from his cheek, feeling his life Force growing weaker and weaker. Bly’s features suddenly went slack.
"No!" she cried out. "No!" Loud shouts and footfalls echoed in the distance, but she didn't care.
She gripped his hand. "Don’t go!" She squeezed it, trying to get a response from him, to no avail.
"No, Bly, no!”
That was all it took.
He was dead. Bly. Was dead. She sat back a little, staring in a catatonic stupor. She felt like a little girl. No more military façade, tough demeanor. She didn’t care. Not anymore. Her soldiers had gone insane. Her best friend was dead. And there was no one left to comfort her. To tell her that her men hadn’t gone mad, that everything would work out.
She began to cry huge, wracking sobs, and buried her face against his ruined armour. It burned her cheek, but she didn’t care. No. Not him. Not him, too. Why?!? Why had he done this for her?
It was then that she felt it. A small pulse in the vein on his neck. It was there. Barely, but it was there. “Bly!” she yelled, jolting up in shock. With enormous effort, his eyes flickered open, boring into hers.
"Aayla!" He grabbed on to her, pulling her back down close to his face. He struggled to speak, then choked out, "Leave—now. -T-they’re coming for you.—I can't—go—with you. -Order—66."
His body went limp in her arms.
For a second she stared in stricken silence, her eyes wide.
She touched his face, and this time, didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to feel.
The wall was pushing, threatening, nearly exploding with the pressure. And she let it take over, the thoughts, worries, and images wash over her. She retched in horror.
There was so much pain. The terrible chaos and death she'd been sensing from her fellow Jedi over the past hour. Images of the deaths of her own friends. Their gaunt faces stared up at her, gaping, starved holes where their eyes should be.
She staggered and stumbled, grasping the stem of a nearby plant for support. Then there was the image of her own troops firing upon her… the sight of smoke rising off of Bly's armor as he fell into the sand... And now, Bly was gone. Finally, truly, gone.
What has happened? Who… why? This cannot be happening. I can’t just leave him here.
But, if anything, she had to honour him by heeding his last words.
As she walked away from Bly, she couldn’t tear her eyes off of him. She stumbled away, tentatively putting one foot in front of the other, gripping her injured arm in one hand to staunch the flow of- whatever was leaking out of it.
Bly’s wounds were still smoking. But she forced herself to look forward and run. Run faster than she ever had in her life. Because he had been the only one.
The rest were coming to kill her without a second thought.