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Chapter Text

Jedha, Holy City

Day One, early morning

The vast expanse of the shadowy desert beyond the walls of NiJedha lay chilly and silent in the predawn light. Head Guardian Emmkar leaned against the temple parapet, gripping at the stone's cold, rough edges with equally rough hands as he waited for the sun to rise. Gradually, the shadows cast by the zeugen and the sand dunes began to stretch and lengthen across the desert, and an unseasonably wintry breeze brushed the towers of the temple. In the city below, people were stirring.

Emmkar listened to the familiar sounds of the awakening city – faint voices, crying infants, doors opening and closing, and occasional laughter, and tried not to think about the vision he had received last night. He should be meditating on it, but Emmkar found it difficult to even think about without recoiling. So much death. . .

The vision was simultaneously the worst and the most vivid that he had ever received. Images of an explosion, of his people and city twisted and burned and ruthlessly obliterated over the course of mere seconds – the last thing he wanted to do was relive that.

But meditate on it he must, and examine his vision in the Force. Only after this could he determine whether there were any actions he could safely take to prevent such a catastrophe.

Over the course of his seventy-nine years, Emmkar had learned never to act in haste when it came to visions. It was incredibly dangerous to do such a thing. In an attempt to avoid a particular fate that had been foreseen, people would often take a strange path to avoid it, and in doing so, meet the very doom they tried to flee.

Emmkar closed his eyes in weary consideration and allowed the Force to recall to his mind everything he had seen. Once again, he watched, as if in real life, as the massive explosion obliterated his home and all the people – not only the Holy City, but a huge portion of Jedha itself.

The sun rose, softening the intensity of the autumn chill, but Emmkar did not feel any warmer. He stayed where he was, gripping the edge of the wall even though his hands were stiff with cold. The images themselves gave him no further insight, and yet by the end of an hour, he understood beyond a shadow of a doubt that the fiery death of the Holy City would be directly connected to the theft of the kyber that the Temple had housed and guarded for so many ages.

The Head Guardian gazed towards the deep orange of the sunrise, patting the wisps of his short white beard back into place as the wind brushed past him. One thing was clear enough – the theft of the kyber must be prevented. But how? Who would attempt to steal thousands of statues, some of them a dozen meters tall, from the center of the city?

As Emmkar went slowly down the stone steps and towards the temple courtyard, he could hear the familiar sounds of the city. It was full of life, counteracting the silence that continued in the Force. Despite the time spent in meditation, Emmkar couldn't discern whether the destruction he had seen in his vision would take place years in the future, or within days. What he did understand, beyond the shadow of a doubt, was that the end of the Holy City would come . . . Of course, Emmkar had always been aware that nothing in this life lasted forever – but the annihilation of Jedha was something he had never even considered.

Only one bit of the knowledge he'd been given in the vision brought him some comfort. Emmkar understood that there was still time to consider a course of action, because until the kyber statues were gone, and the Temple of the Whills had been entirely emptied of the living crystal, the Holy City would not be destroyed.

Jedha, Crescent Caverns

Day Two, early afternoon

The cave where the Adder had landed was loud with activity and many voices. Dozens of men were setting up camp, their boots stirring up a haze of dust which drifted a few inches above the sandy floor. Meanwhile, Kage Akar stood watching from the boarding ramp, his arms folded.

A long, thin, poison-green snake coiled around his left sleeve and rested its head on his hand. It seemed restless, but Kage gave it only the briefest of glances. His resistance to the venom was so strong by now that it wouldn't matter if he was bitten a dozen times today.

A clatter of noise at the northern tunnel drew his attention there, along with the guards', but it was only Merrick and his men returning from their scouting trip. The thin chains that hung from the lieutenant's belt clinked a little as he gestured, sending the men to assist in setting up camp.

Kage stroked the snake's head with one finger, waiting while Merrick approached at a brisk walk.

"My lord Viper," he said, keeping a respectful distance from his leader – or, more likely, from the snake, as he always tended to stand farther away when Kage held Shépa. "As you expected, this cave system will work perfectly. There are two tunnels leading out of here to the main passage – one north, one west. Perfect for escape routes. The northern one cuts across the main passage to the ship cave."

"Excellent," said Kage. "What is the main passage like?"

"It's almost a mile long, heading east-west," Merrick said. "And there are dozens of caves leading off of it to either side."

"I thought there would be," said Kage. "The Crescent Caverns used to be a place of retreat for monks."

"Yeah?" Merrick grinned caustically. "Well, they did us a favor, carving out all those small rooms. Plenty of places ready for our job, and we hardly had to lift a finger."

"I want the chains in place early, all the same," Kage said.

"Sure, we'll be doing that over the next couple days." Merrick took out his datapad and turned it on. "By the way, we shot a few animals. I think they're going to be a problem."

"Animals. What kind?"

"They're called dunescratchers. Grif looked 'em up – seems like they're pretty dangerous, especially for the snakes."

Kage took a step closer to Merrick, peering at the picture on his screen. It showed a large, rat-like creature with grey, veiny skin, six red eyes, and pointed fangs.

"They'll go after helpless humans, too," said Merrick. "But we won't have to worry about that."

"Not yet, we won't," Kage agreed. "But they could be an issue in a week. Order the guards to kill them on sight, and set a double watch around the snake pit."

"Got it." Putting his datapad away, Merrick stepped back. "I'll get the men onto setting up the caves. Anything else?"

"Are the other ships in the main cavern?"
"Yeah, except for the one we sent for fuel. I warned Talbor not to do any scouting this time around."

"Very good." Kage thought that putting Merrick in charge of the men in his absence had definitely been the right choice. The Pit Vipers' client had called just as they reached Jedha, so Kage had been delayed in landing his own ship by nearly an hour; so far, though, it seemed that Merrick had made the same decisions in organizing the camp that Kage would have made. A promising sign.

"We'll scout the city slowly, over the next few days," the Viper said to his lieutenant. "Once we commit, we'll try to clear out within the week, but until then there's no rush at all."

"Right," said Merrick. "I'll get things organized."

"One more thing," Kage told him. "Pick ten men and send them to me. You direct the others. . . we'll work on the snake pit."

With a casual salute, Merrick left to do his bidding. The snake shifted on Kage's arm, and he closed a thumb and finger around the base of its head and hoisted it into the air. The creature coiled in lazy protest and hissed a little, too cold in this chill desert air to do much more.

The pit would not be ready for hours, so Kage took the snake back into the cargo hold of his ship. Hundreds of thin green snakes coiled and twisted in the confines of the huge glass tank that took up most of the room. Kage reached over the edge of the glass, ignoring the sudden hissing, and dropped his pet into the tank to join the others.

When the pit was finished, he himself would take care of putting the snakes into it. His men were afraid of them – with reason, Kage knew. None of them were willing to put themselves through the pain of repeated bites. And why should they? They had no real reason to work with the creatures as he did. And Kage had immunized himself to the venom's effects over the past few years. He no longer had reason to fear being bitten by the snakes, not even by Shépa.

Of all the rest of the gang, only Brett Modree had followed Kage's example; he, too, was now immune to their venom. The fact that he'd had to guts to do so, and his ability to handle the snakes without fear now, were two of the reasons he'd been left in charge of the Pit Vipers' home base. The Nautolan was nearly as good an organizer as Kage himself. In fact, Brett had only two failings as a gang leader – one was his impulsiveness, and the other was his lack of ambition. He had no interest in running the entire gang. The only reason he was in temporarily in charge of Coruscant was that Kage had insisted . . . or so the Nautolan had assured him.

Smiling thinly to himself, Kage Akar entered the cockpit to put a call through to Coruscant. Perhaps Brett knew that the surest way to stay alive, as the second-in-command of one of the most dangerous crime lords in the galaxy, was to maintain a careful lack of personal ambition.

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Three, mid-morning

Commander Fox straightened from his examination of the floor and clasped his hands behind his back, watching as the blue-armored forms of the Coruscant Security Force left the room with the dead senator's stiffening body carried between them on a stretcher. The Coruscant Guard stood around the perimeter, containing the scene, while more members of the CSF ushered the emergency response team out after the body and tried to gather evidence.

That last wasn't going to be an easy task for them, given that nearly everyone in the room had panicked – and probably trampled evidence – when Senator Hilt reportedly dropped dead in the middle of his drink. Since the on-call medic had immediately confirmed that it was poison that had killed him, and not a heart attack, the security forces would be actively treating it as a homicide case. The general rule was that everyone was suspect and no one could leave. . . But things were different when dealing with senators, especially when Hilt might not have been the only target.

And with over two hundred senators and escorts in the large room at the time of Senator Hilt's death – not to mention the kitchen staff and various serving and security droids, any of which could be reprogrammed by an enterprising criminal – it was going to take a very long time to collect evidence of any kind.

Unfortunately, Fox didn't have a long time in which to make a decision about the senators remaining in this room. He needed to ascertain, quickly, if there was a threat to any of them. For now, there was no immediate visible threat, though. All the senators' personal weapons were being secured by the CSF, despite protests.

Ordinarily, Fox would have kept a close eye on anyone who protested their weapons being confiscated, because that would imply they had a reason for wanting a weapon at hand – a reason such as intending to commit another homicide, or being ready to fight their way out to freedom. But quite a few important people seemed to feel themselves above the law, and a number of them were arguing with the CSF as they were ordered to temporarily turn over all their weapons.

Tuning out the loud protests of the woman behind him as an officer confiscated her blaster – "you have no right to do this! Do you know who I am?" – Fox checked the room for any signs of immediate trouble. There was nothing, so far, and he had no ideas as to who specifically to focus his attention on. At this early stage of the investigation, he didn't have much to go on, and neither did the CSF.

All Fox knew about the victim was that Senator Hilt was not an especially loud voice in any of the senatorial debates. As Fox thought about it, he couldn't remember even seeing Hilt with any kind of frequency. . . perhaps in the halls, a few times, and Hilt had never been arguing or debating or raising his voice. He just wasn't someone the security forces had associated with trouble or danger, unlike Senators Chuchi and Amidala. This made both Fox and Lieutenant Divo worry that the murder attempt had not been aimed specifically at Hilt. His death could be a mistake that would soon be rectified by another attempt on the actual intended victim, or – even worse – part of a mass attack.

Ironically, just as Fox thought the words mass attack, Orn Free Taa barged through a small knot of servants to reach the clones on guard. "You cannot keep us here! I demand you allow us to leave!"

"It's for your own safety, sir," Stone said, somehow managing to sound both apologetic and inflexible. "We don't know if this is an isolated incident or not."

"Incident!" The Twi'lek senator turned disbelievingly to the women who accompanied him everywhere, then gestured at the clones. "Senator Hilt dropped dead in front of my eyes, and you call it an incident!"

Stone didn't reply, probably because he knew he didn't need to. Orn Free Taa shouted and blustered all the time, and very rarely required a response.

Other senators, meanwhile, were more worried about the CSF men who were now moving among them.

"It's outrageous!" a turbaned woman exclaimed, jerking back as if in disgust when one of the black-clothed guards stopped in front of her. "You cannot suspect any of us of killing Senator Hilt!"

Fox could and did, and was more than a little surprised at her statement. After all, there were plenty of senators in this room with huge political differences, and senators had murdered each other before – through assassins, obviously; they would never do it themselves. Not only that, but murders or attacks in the Senate buildings usually turned into finger-pointing within minutes. . . and this time, nobody had blamed or hinted at anyone in particular being the culprit. Most likely, Hilt had been low-profile enough that no one really knew who he was, or were bothered that he was dead.

The angry woman folded her arms when the CSF guard asked her to turn over her weapon. "I don't have one!"

"Yes, you do," said the guard in a bored monotone. "In your left sleeve. Ma'am, we have to secure the room for the safety of everyone involved, including yourself."

The woman only scoffed at him, but when a few senators around her started sending dark looks her way, she subsided. Yanking a tiny blaster out of her sleeve, she all but threw it at the guard and spun away in a huff. She marched to the door, hesitated when she saw Commander Stone, and suddenly tried to force her way past him. He blocked her without seeming to move and angled his helmet down to regard her. Faced with the implacable commander, she eventually subsided with an angry glower and melted into the crowd.

An older woman near Senator Organa blotted at her eyes with a piece of white material, smearing makeup over her face. "Who would want to kill him, anyway?" she demanded querulously.

"I can think of a few interested parties," Organa said, and lifted a calming hand before the outraged looks had even half-begun. "Not in this room, of course," he added diplomatically. "But every powerful person will have his enemies."

Organa's statement set off a low buzz of conversation around the room, but at least everyone seemed distracted from trying to leave.

After a moment, Commander Fox determined that there was no harm in asking Bail Organa's opinion, even though he was a civilian. Organa was dependable, and had unofficially helped the Guard multiple times. On top of that, he'd survived so many assassination attempts himself that he'd probably developed a second sense for them.

Once decided, Fox lost no time in ushering the Alderaanian senator over to the door. "Sir," he said in a low voice. "Would you explain your comment about interested parties?"

"Certainly, Commander." Organa paused as two Rodians and their retinue wandered past, huddled in a knot. "There are those on Senator Hilt's planet who strongly believe he gained his position by killing his rival during the election."

"It's not unusual that they say it, though, is it?" Fox said, as he kept an eye on the crowd. "As you said, they all have their enemies. You've been accused of worse things."

"Yes." Organa frowned slightly, resting his thumb and forefinger on either side of his chin. "But the accusations against Hilt came from all three of the major political parties on his planet – his rival's, his own, and the party that was not involved in this vote. Although there was no definite evidence against Hilt, it is undeniably the case that his rival only died after winning the election, thus placing Hilt, the next in line, directly into a position of power he would never have been voted into."

Fox thought that through. "Is the CSF already aware of that?"

"I could not say for certain, but I imagine they are." Bail Organa tilted his head thoughtfully. "Commander, if it is not too presumptuous, I would like to make a recommendation."

"Please do, Senator."

"I believe that the CSF should focus its research on Hilt's history, and the suspicious death of his rival. They will likely find the motive for murder there, and not among the other senators."

"Why not the other senators, sir?"

"Senator Hilt had no true enemies in the senate. For that matter, he had no true allies, either. He was . . . noncommittal in the extreme. Easy to sway to either side of any given issue, and just as easy to sway in the other direction after he'd committed to one side."

The commander watched out of the corner of one eye as Thire and his men kept people moving into a line for the CSF to register as witnesses. "He wasn't what you'd call a good senator, then?" he asked.

Bail Organa replied with an eloquent shrug.

"The fact that he'd switch sides on a vote," Fox said thoughtfully. "That's been grounds for murder before."

"Indeed it has." Organa frowned. "And yet, Senator Hilt could have vanished from Coruscant some months ago, and not caused any of the debates or votes to turn out differently than they did."

Tilting his head, Fox hesitated. "You've . . . been tracking that, sir?"

"Of course." The Alderaanian smirked faintly. "I believe there are few senators who do not. At any rate, that is why I believe this murder was not a political assassination – at least, not in the usual sense of the term."

"I see."

Raised voices caught Fox's attention, and he glanced up to see Inspector Tanivos Divo not three meters away. The short man, who had a typically exasperated look on his face, was standing with his hands in the pockets of his long coat as he stared at a young female senator, who was pale and looked close to angry tears.

"I don't know anything about this murder!" she shrieked. "I hardly even knew Senator Hilt!"

"Sure, sure. But he died by poison, didn't he, Senator – ah . . ." Divo glanced down at his datapad. "Senator – Elin, was it? And after all, poison is a politician's weapon of choice."

Senator Elin spun away, chin lifted, and Divo wandered over to join Fox, muttering under his breath. "Come to think of it, poison is a woman's weapon of choice too, for that matter. Historically."

Fox's comm beeped twice, and he glanced over at Stone, who had lifted his wrist to his helmet. "Sir," Stone said. "How soon can we move these senators out of here?"

"Give me a moment," said Fox. "Inspector Divo?"

Divo, who had just reached the door, met Fox's visor with his sharp, ferret-like eyes. "What is it, Commander?"

His voice had changed completely from the sneering tone he always adopted with politicians.

"Many of the senators are demanding to leave," Fox said, then realized he should have led with something else.

"Ah, yes." The short inspector straightened his sleeves with a flourish and narrowed his eyes at Organa. "And of course their whims are more important than a murder investigation. Is that correct, Senator?"

"Hardly," Organa replied, unimpressed by the inspector's aggressive attitude. "If you have no further questions, Commander Fox, I will see what I can do about calming my fellow senators until you allow us to leave."

"I have no further questions," Fox told him, thankful that Bail was good at staying detached. "Thank you, Senator."

"Yes," Divo chimed in. "We'll do the investigating while you get back to your politicizing of . . . whatever."

Organa's only reply was a slight bow, and then he drifted back into the crowd as if he had been discussing the weather, rather than a life-or-death situation. Divo opened his mouth to say something, and his comm rang. With a disgusted huff, he mumbled for Fox to 'wait just a minute' and stepped aside to answer it.

While the commander waited, he glanced over the room and checked the positions of his men. Stone and Scrapper were standing at the wide double doors. On the other side of the room, Warden and Lock assisted a pair of CSF guards in checking the serving droids for foreign substances before clearing them. In front of the western entrance, Kilo paced, looking silently threatening, while Steele mirrored him on the opposite side. The two ARCs were very good at containment situations.

Fortunately, the situation was well in hand by now. It was still busy, but the senators had calmed down, and the most jittery ones remaining – the Rodians, predictably – were being talked to by Organa.

Fox didn't trust many senators, but Bail Organa was one of the very few he definitely did trust. The Alderaanian didn't beat around the bush or twist situations or evidence around to work in his favor, and he stuck to his guns. He also had a head on his shoulders and actually used it in dangerous situations – unlike the Ithorian senator, who panicked a lot because he got death threats every other week, poor guy. . . and who, come to think of it, didn't even have a head that was physically on his shoulders.

Fox was unable to avoid a smirk at the thought, but he quickly pulled himself back to the situation at hand.

"Politicians," grumbled Divo, scrolling down his datapad through dozens of notifications and updates from his men. "They're the worst."

Fox didn't bother to correct him. Lieutenant Divo's dislike of politicians – who, he claimed, all lived in extreme wealth while ignoring the squalor and misery on their own planets, as well as on Coruscant – was known throughout the entire Senate district. He made no exceptions for the good senators, apparently because he was convinced that there was no such thing.

"This situation's not good," Divo said. "We know it was a murder, but the news is already spinning it like a suicide. How they even got in here that fast . . . ugh. How'd they get in here?"

"Unknown," said Fox. He'd ordered that nobody enter the room, but he couldn't blame his men. Last time, there had been an undercover journalist in the room already, and the time before that, a reporter had been found in the ventilation shaft. It was ridiculous.

"I hate the media," said Divo, quite calmly. "They'll milk it for all it's worth, then we'll have to pick up the pieces, as usual, and hope that we can disabuse people of the notion that it was a suicide. Ridiculous. Now, all these people here are going to tell me that 'oh, yes, Inspector, now that I think about it, Hilt seemed out of spirits this past week', or 'he looked sad' or 'I heard his girlfriend from twelve years ago died in a speeder crash last month."

Before Fox could get a word in edgewise, Divo continued his rant. "You realize that the odds are not in our favor here. Forty percent of all witnesses wouldn't know a useful clue if it bit 'em in the nose, and another fifty-seven percent report things that that didn't actually happen and identify people they've never actually seen before. The worst part is, most of them believe they did see something. There's probably not a single reliable witness in this room."

"You could try Riyo Chuchi," Fox told him.

"Who?" Tan Divo looked up, interested. Then the light seemed to dawn, and he slumped. "The Pantoran girl . . .? Kid's not even old enough to be a senator – eh, can't lose anything by asking, I suppose. Did she know this Hilt?"

"She met with him last week."

"Ah. . . right. Was she friends with him?"

"I wouldn't know," Fox said. He doubted it, personally, but had no real knowledge one way or the other. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Divo explained, for once not sneering. "We've got to approach these things more carefully if the witness is a friend of the deceased. . . or an enemy, come to think of it. Hard to separate fiction from fact in both cases."

"Hm." Fox gestured at the crowd. "Once your men have finished interviewing them, can we let them go? Or do you have a reason to think there will be another attack?"

"No reason to believe there will, no reason to believe there won't."

"But you're sure it was murder," Fox said.

"Of course I'm sure." Divo sniffed. "Hilt was known for his lack of – shall we say, a backbone? Do you really think he'd have offed himself in one of the most painful ways possible?"

"You've found out what kind of poison it was, then."

"Just that it was an awful one. If forensics is right, we've got an extremely rare poison with no known antidote on our hands. And we've got no way of tracing it right now. Look, it's been over an hour. I'll interview Chuchi and . . ." He looked around, as if in search of a target. "One more senator."

"Organa," Fox suggested. "If you want reliable information."

Divo shot him an irked look, but nodded with obvious reluctance. "Chuchi and Organa, fine. And while I do that, I'd appreciate if you could take care of guards. I don't have the manpower available right now."

"Understood." Fox tapped his comm as Divo left. "Warden, Lock, call in your squads. The CSF is screening the witnesses. As they finish, have the natborns sorted into groups of five, by destination. We'll provide a two-man escort for each group and get them to safety. If we don't have enough men to handle the various destinations, the senators will have to wait until we do."

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Four, early morning

The dead woman was curled on her right side on the marble floor, left arm thrown back at an unnatural angle. Beneath her right shoulder and arm were the shards of a porcelain teacup. As Commander Fox took off his helmet, he caught the scent of cold spiced tea, mixed with the faint tang of blood from the cuts inflicted by the shards.

"She was poisoned," a voice said, and Fox glanced up towards the door as Lieutenant Divo entered. "The test results aren't back yet, but I'm willing to bet she was killed with the same poison Hilt was."

"And you think that because she was associated with Hilt," guessed Fox.

"Hmm." Divo gave him an approving nod. "Yes. You've been doing your homework, I see. We'll make a detective out of you yet."

"Thank you, no," Fox said dryly. "I have enough to do running the CG and dealing with investigations that take place on Senate territory. As for this woman, I've seen her with Hilt before, taking notes for him. A secretary, I assume."

"One of two. I've sent someone to talk to the other secretary and warn her." Divo rocked back on his heels, folded his hands behind his back, and surveyed the room.

Fox followed the inspector's gaze to the porcelain shards scattered across the floor. "It must have been someone she trusted who killed her," he mused. "Or, she was so used to the serving staff around here that she didn't even think about who brought her the drink."

Divo stepped to one side to let the scene photographer slip past him. "I'm inclined to think it's the latter, but we'll see," he said. "In the meantime, I've got to find the motive."

"Did you talk to Senator Organa?"

"I did. And communicated with Hilt's home planet – um, ah . . . Taylos? Tellis?"

"Telos Five," one of his aides said, from where she was using tweezers to collect bits of porcelain from the floor.

"Yes, thanks. Telos Five. Their police force is investigating that end of things." He shrugged, jamming his hands into his coat pockets. "I do agree with Organa that Hilt's death was probably not caused by Senate business here. Thing is, though, if revenge was the motive, why continue killing after eliminating Hilt? Unless this woman was involved with Hilt's rise to power . . .? Hm. Well, guess we won't know that without finishing the background checks. I'd better get to work." The short man spun on his heel and headed for the door, calling over one shoulder, "I'll update you when I have something solid."

Fox looked back at the dead woman, now lying on a stretcher, and then at the team of specialists who worked silently around her, collecting evidence. He'd been called here because the murder had taken place in the Senate District; but, practically speaking, there wasn't much he could do to assist the investigation.

Nodding to the blue-clothed officer on guard, Fox left the room.

Half a minute later, Thire called in with a report, and then Stone sent him the guard roster for the next Senate-hosted event, which included a speech from Senator Amidala, to be given from the open-air forum three districts over. That would require a lot of vigilance, a lot of extra men on the ground.

Commander Fox appreciated that Amidala wanted to speak directly to the people, but he didn't appreciate the extra work, stress, and manpower that her face-to-face speeches inevitably required. Three public assassination attempts in two months was a little much. . .

By the time Fox got back to his office, the murders of Hilt and his secretary had all but vanished from his mind.

Coruscant, Level 1313

Day Four, early morning

Swinging off his speeder, Brett Modree nodded a greeting to the two guards on duty. Everything seemed quiet around headquarters – at least, there was no yelling, shouting, or drunk swearing audible to him – so he went straight to the chief's room without bothering to ask the men for a report. His foray into the higher levels of Coruscant had been a complete success. In and out, and no one had seen him. It was a pity the woman had to die, really, but she knew too much. Or rather, she'd known too much. Now, she didn't know anything at all, which was how the Pit Vipers liked it.

Brett hadn't been able to deal with the other secretary yet, but there was still time. Anything she knew would be safe enough for the immediate present, because she wasn't aware that she knew anything. In fact, if it weren't for the police and their prying questions, Brett figured he'd even be able to leave her alive.

Unfortunately, Lieutenant Inspector Divo, who was in charge of the case, was skilled at questioning witnesses. Sometimes, they would suddenly manage to remember inconvenient things that they hadn't realized they knew. Inspector Divo might not be in a rush to interview the second woman immediately, but it was a sure thing he'd decide to question her extensively later on.

Brett would have preferred to exterminate Divo, and be done with it; but, as Viper had pointed out earlier, the fastest way to get the law aggressively involved in a case like this was to go after the law enforcement. Ah well.

One way or the other, Brett knew he would have to get rid of the second secretary by this evening, at the very latest. This time, though, he'd send someone else to do it. Down here, in the lower levels of Coruscant, Brett wasn't too unusual, but there was only so much he could do to hide his blue skin; and even if he could have easily hidden it, Nautolans themselves were very much a rarity in the Senate buildings.

Humming to himself, Brett entered the code into the security panel of the chief's room. When the lock on the gilded door clicked, he opened the door and entered, pausing in mild surprise as he realized that Asher was waiting for him. The muscular human was lounging in one of the cushioned chairs, boots resting on the carefully polished wood of the desk.

Brett eyed him and set to work pulling off his gloves, one finger at a time. "I don't remember sending for you, Asher," he said.

"You didn't." Asher, thankfully, removed his feet from the desk. "But a message came in from the boss while you were gone. Nothing important, just checking in. He says that nice little cave system north of the city is as good as he'd hoped."

Brett took the datapad from him and read the message for himself. "Hm. 'The natives have proven to be very welcoming'. . . Perhaps that means he has already obtained the first sample for our client."

Grunting his agreement, Asher stood. "And how 'bout your mission?"

"A complete success." Sitting down at the desk, Brett reached for a flask of wine. "At least, it was a success as far as the initial target went. But I could not risk attacking our secondary target. Asher, I want a skilled assassin sent to deal with her tonight. I assume she has guards by now."

"Probably," said Asher.

Brett sipped thoughtfully at his wine. "Do you know, I believe a slow-acting venom would be best."

"I'll get Vresh on it." The burly human folded his arms. "Brett, I think you're taking this whole business a bit too fast. The boss would've waited to get rid of the secretaries until all the fuss had died down."

"Perhaps so." Swirling the wine in his glass, Brett shrugged. "But we were forced to kill Hilt quickly, and who knows what he told his secretaries and servants. The man had no sense."

"Sure didn't." Cracking his knuckles, Asher went to the door. "Threatening the Pit Vipers instead of paying up. . . what a moron."

"He should at least have asked for more time to gain the required funds," agreed Brett. "I realize our prices are on the high end, but it is no secret to our clients that we've given extensions when asked."

"Yeah," said Asher, already bored by the conversation. "I say the idiot signed his own death warrant."

Brett lifted his glass in agreement. "Nonetheless, you make a good point about being cautious," he said. "We will take every precaution with the remainder of the assassinations. Oh – and Asher, be sure to warn Vresh that the Coruscant Guard is working with the CSF on this case."

"Oh, great," muttered Asher. "Okay, I'll let 'im know."

He left, and Brett poured more wine into his glass and sat back to think. The Pit Vipers had gone up against the CSF for years now, always in secret; but the clone troopers were relatively new to the scene. Despite that, there were several things about them were already proving to be an issue. They were highly trained warriors, alert for any signs of trouble, and they had excellent memories for faces.

Just last week, one of Viper's best assassins had died because a certain Commander Thire had recognized her, and she'd tried to shoot her way out of the situation. It had been foolish of her, of course, because all Thire could have done to her would be to detain her on suspicion. From what intelligence Brett could gather, it seemed that Thire had seen her watching Organa too closely during an event some three weeks before and become suspicious.

The clone's suspicion had certainly been justified, given that she'd been there to poison Organa into a severe illness, should he start to give a speech about certain issues that the Vipers' best client wanted him to keep silent about. Organa hadn't attempted the speech, though, so the assassin hadn't given him the venom; but something about her bearing and focus on the target had clearly caught Thire's attention. And he'd remembered her three weeks later, and acted on it. That, as far as Brett was concerned, was more than a little worrying.

Brett tapped the fingers of one hand on the desk. He finished his wine and thought about how he might train select operatives to avoid notice by the clones. The client who wanted Organa out of the loop for a few days had paid well – he always did, whether the Vipers' services had been needed or not – but money couldn't replace trustworthy assassins. It could, however, pay for extra training . . .

With a shake of his head, Brett stood up. The clones were a problem for another time. For now, the Viper was absent, and as the second-in-command, Brett had a good deal of work to do. Taking a datapad and stylus with him, Brett left the luxurious office, writing a list of tasks as he walked.

He had to check in with the men, make sure the newly hatched snakes had been checked for diseases and parasites, see if there were new orders for venoms, powders, or drugs . . .

Ah, yes; and he also had to find out if Prince Whatever-His-Name-Was wanted that assassination carried out or not. If the Hutt dallied much longer, Brett would have to raise the price ten percent simply to cover for the inconvenience.

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Five, early morning

Two days after Senator Hilt's death, the third murder was reported – the second secretary had been found dead. The senators and their aides were in a mostly quiet but barely controlled frenzy, and an order was sent out to double the guard in the Senate.

In his office, Bail Organa glanced at the order and shook his head, a bit irritated at the misallocation of resources. Doubling the guard would, perhaps, provide security in the minds of the hundreds of people who walked these halls daily, but it would not accomplish much else. As it was, the clones and the police were stretched thin these days, and the required numbers of guards under normal circumstances often had to be filled in by security droids. And of course, droids would not even register a threat unless they were directed specifically, or unless someone ran down the hall, shooting.

Whoever these assassins were, they had been very careful never to show themselves. . . and none of the murders had been committed exactly the same way.

Senator Hilt had drunk the poison, but his first secretary had been shot with a tiny dart, causing only a small injury to the back of her neck that would have been missed entirely if not for the autopsy. In fact, they only knew there had been a dart at all because of that wound. The doctors said it had been made of an incredibly potent venom that dissolved into the bloodstream.

The second secretary had also been shot with a dart, just behind the ear, but this time, the poison was different. The injury, the pathologist reported, had been some eight hours old. Traces of a powerful numbing agent had been found on her skin, and the poison had acted slowly. As near as they could tell, she been shot while with her guards, and had never even felt the injury – and if she had, she had felt such a slight prick that she hadn't even touched the area of the injury, or she'd have felt the dart, small as it was.

After making her way home, she'd gone to bed, still without knowing or suspecting that she was poisoned. She'd died in her sleep sometime after midnight. Her bodyguards had called the Senate Guard and the police when she couldn't be woken by her maid.

Bail sighed and picked up the report again. He sat down at his desk, hands clasped under his chin as he read the details. He'd requested updates on the case from the Senate Guards, because he had been asked to greet Hilt's replacement when she arrived. Chancellor Palpatine had requested it personally, saying he thought that Bail could help her familiarize herself with the Senate building for a couple of days.

At this point, Bail thought the replacement senator should be advised to remain on Telos Five until the situation was resolved; he had said as much, too, both to her and to the chancellor, who had agreed.

Of course, the question was whether she would take his advice. If not, he would have to ensure her safety as well as he could under the circumstances; it was fortunate that he would have competent help.

This wasn't the first time that Bail had reason to be grateful that he had a good working relationship with the Senate Guard and the Coruscant Guard. Even the CSF would give him information on the case if he needed it. Whether Inspector Divo personally liked him or not, the man was professional enough not to let that get in the way of other people's safety.

Until other information about the murderer surfaced, however, Bail would have to rely on his own wits. Getting to his feet, he checked that his robes were arranged properly to cover the twin blasters he carried. Then, putting on his chain of office and his pleasant smile, he went out into the halls.

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Six, early morning

Nearly a week had passed since Emmkar's vision, and he still had no new knowledge or insights. He had not had another vision, and life at the Temple of the Kyber continued as it had for centuries, undisturbed by Emmkar's knowledge, which he had only shared with a few of his closest friends.

The Guardians stayed busy, occupied with their year-round tasks of raising food, making baskets and robes and jewelry to sell and trade, and caring for the thousands of pilgrims who visited from all over the galaxy.

Despite the fact that hundreds of planetary systems were at war with each other, and hundreds more hesitated, seemingly on the verge of entering the war, Jedha remained a haven in the midst of an uncertain galaxy. . . at least, for now.

The pilgrims were more agitated in some ways than Emmkar was used to, and the citizens of NiJedha were a bit more watchful than in previous years. Still, things continued to move smoothly along. People came and went, the sun rose and set. . .

And then, on the sixth new day since Emmkar's vision, Baze Malbus came running into his room and woke him with horrible news. A caretaker had been found murdered, and the arm of one of the kyber statues was gone.

Hastily, the Head Guardian dressed and followed Baze to the west courtyard. At the feet of the desecrated statue lay the body of Emmkar's oldest friend, Carmen. Some kind soul had covered her face with a cloak, and Emmkar knelt stiffly to remove it.

Carmen had been killed by a knife-thrust to the heart, from the front, and her clothes and the stones all around were stained with blood. She had been facing her murderer when she died. Strangely, her expression was utterly calm, even though she had always been such a timid person. She'd had a hard time conversing with people she did not know, and the utter lack of fear on her face . . . she could not have known she was about to die.

Closing his eyes against sudden tears, Emmkar prayed for her spirit. He and Carmen had been friends for over sixty years, and while Carmen had always said she would die before he did – she was fully twelve years his senior – Emmkar had never imagined that her passage from life would be like this.

Emmkar knelt in silence near her for several minutes, lost in emotion and memories; then he sighed and opened his eyes again, and sent Baze to fetch others who would prepare Carmen for burial.

"Goodbye, my old friend," Emmkar whispered. He clasped Carmen's right hand, still frail and limp, gently in his own. "May the Force release you, and grant you swift passage to the afterlife. Please ask that I not be sent to join you until I have found this threat to our people and the Temple."

After a moment, Emmkar released Carmen and closed his eyes again, hoping that the Force would give him the identity of the murderers. It was always possible. But more likely, it would not tell him. Emmkar was no Jedi, to control the Force; and the kyber would sing, or not, as it was commanded, and not as he willed.

Sure enough, although Emmkar listened for some time, he heard nothing from the kyber. All he knew, from his own observations, was that this could be no petty criminal or mercenary that the Temple was facing.

At last, feeling years older than he had last night, Emmkar finally looked up again at the injured statue.

When a kyber crystal was first placed for a statue, no one knew for certain what shape it would gradually take on. This particular statue had started out as two separate crystals, placed on either end of a short wall. Like all the statues in the Temple of the Kyber, these two had been slowly grown and guided over the years by the meditations of scores of Guardians. Gradually, a statue of an armored warrior formed on one side of the courtyard, and that of a graceful woman in a flowing dress took shape on the other.

As they grew and took form, the warrior had reached out his left arm, and the woman had done the same with her right until finally their hands clasped in the exact center of the temple wall. They had not changed since then, except that the woman's hair had grown longer, and the man had gotten a little taller.

Out of all the statues in the Temple, this joined statue had been Emmkar's favorite, and Carmen's as well. It was considered by many to be the most beautiful of the kyber statues, and it was celebrated throughout the galaxy under many different titles. Justice and Mercy. Lord and Lady. Strength and Beauty. Passion and Peace.

Emmkar, who was not known for a poetic turn of mind, had simply thought of it as Man and Woman.

But now, the right arm of the man was gone, up to his elbow, and a blackened sheen marred the surface of the gleaming crystal where the cut had been made.

Cutting or damaging kyber was not easy. One could take a vibroblade to it, and the crystal would barely be scratched. With enough blows, the crystal would certainly shatter, but no one had heard a thing last night – and besides, the cut had been clean, almost precise.

There were tools with which to cut or mine kyber, but they were few and far between. Emmkar himself had never seen one outside of old documents. It was strange, that these thieves would have had one available. This theft could not have been a casual matter. It must have been planned, and planned carefully – and as for his vision. . . The murderers would be back.

Emmkar was still kneeling next to the bloodstained stones when Baze returned with four of the healers who performed the duties for the dead.

As they approached, Emmkar lifted Carmen's hand gently from the ground again, in a final gesture of farewell; as he did so, he received a sudden understanding through the crystals. When Carmen died, she had been speaking to someone she believed to be a pilgrim. The Temple was not opened to pilgrims at night, and she had been surprised but not alarmed, as the man who approached her had appeared to be old, weak, and feeble.

For the first time in many years, Emmkar felt the stirrings of real anger. Standing, he turned to Baze, who was staring down at Carmen with a look of repressed fury. The young Guardian had a violent temper, which he continued to struggle with the mastery of, despite how many times he had been sent to meditate. But Emmkar could not blame him for his anger here. This was no mere annoyance or even a petty crime, but an injustice of the highest degree. To willfully steal another's life . . . Not only that, but to steal the life of one who could be in no way a threat to their wicked plans –

Feeling weaker than he had in a long time, Emmkar stood and leaned on Baze's arm. "This is beyond us," he said.

"Beyond us?" Baze's free hand clenched, and his eyes flashed. "Head Guardian, how can you –"

Emmkar looked at Carmen, and Baze lowered his voice out of respect for the dead. "Forgive me, Head Guardian," he said, in his gruff voice. "But we can't let the murderer get away with this!"

"Did I say we would?" Emmkar glanced at the healers who were standing respectfully on the side, waiting to prepare Carmen's body for burial, and gestured them forward. "No, Baze. I merely said that it was beyond us. We might perhaps locate the murderer on our own . . . but this is the work of a web. The city itself is at stake. Assist me to the tower, young one. We will seek the help of others."

Lieutenant Divo:

Chapter Text

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Six, early morning

Emmkar made his way to the tower and spoke to the grandmaster of the Jedi Order, the Temple of which was based on Coruscant. The Whills and the Jedi communicated only infrequently, but despite their disagreements and differences of belief, there had always been a mutual – if sometimes distant – respect between the two orders. Master Yoda had helped the Whills several times over the course of the last five centuries, and, less often, requested their help in return.

When Emmkar had finished explaining the situation, including the seriousness of his vision, the elderly Jedi bowed his head and did not respond. He was so still that it would have appeared the hologram had frozen, had Emmkar not seen his clawed hands shifting on the top of his gimer stick.

Baze fidgeted, but Emmkar waited silently. A few minutes might seem like hours to the young and impatient, but it was far better to lose a few minutes to thoughtful reflection than to act quickly and regret it for months afterwards. Emmkar had long since been convinced of the truth in the saying 'act in haste, repent at leisure'. Baze had not.

So, when another full minute had passed and Yoda still showed no signs of speaking, Emmkar took pity on the young Guardian and sent him out to begin his day's work. There was no need for him to wait on two old beings.

It was just as well he did, because it wasn't until several minutes afterwards that Yoda finally looked up. "Hmm," he sighed. "Head Guardian Emmkar. . . Believe that the Dark Side is involved in this, I do."

Emmkar nodded his understanding and gestured for him to continue. He did not think of the dark the way the Jedi did, but neither had he studied it the way they had.

"To cut kyber as you describe, difficult, it is," said Yoda. "Have the tools for this, not many do."

"No," Emmkar agreed. "But the Force indicates a web of beings – perhaps a large organization."

"Yes. A gang, perhaps." The Grandmaster frowned heavily. "To steal kyber in such quantity – strange, that is. And stranger still that no Guardian sensed the theft, hmm?"

"It is strange." Emmkar rested his hands on the holotable. "None of the Guardians felt the injury to the crystal, even those who were awake at the time. Is that why you suspect the Dark Side is involved?"

"Yes. A dark influence, this tool had. Perhaps an artifact of the Sith, it was."

"An artifact – that would make sense," Emmkar said. "This organization may have found or purchased one for the purpose of stealing kyber. But why would they have any interest in stealing so much of it? A small amount is enough for many uses, and there are other, less dangerous ways to obtain it."

"Why they stole it, know, I do not."

Yoda fell silent again, as if musing on something, and Emmkar sighed. "What worries me the most, Grandmaster Yoda, is the vision I spoke of. These thieves do not just want to steal one piece, or even one statue, but all the kyber in the temple. . . and once all the kyber is gone, the temple will be destroyed."

Yoda nodded slowly. His large eyes were almost closed as he tapped his short staff on the stones. "A possibility, there is. Used in alchemy, kyber is. . . Used in Sith alchemy. Most often, used to make weapons, it is."

"Yes. That would make sense, in a terrible way." Emmkar recalled the massive explosion he'd seen in the dream. "And we know there are at least three Sith. . . But of the three, I am convinced it is not Yan Dooku who is responsible for this. I met him in the past, and it was not his presence that I or the crystals sensed this morning."

"Agree, I do, that Dooku, it is not." The short Jedi's ears drooped. "A Sith he is, yes, but great respect for the Whills, he still has; other places to obtain kyber, he certainly has; and an alchemist, he is not. See him as the mastermind, I cannot. But sure that Sith are behind it, I am. Another thread, this is, that may lead towards the secret Sith lord. Or, another thread to lead us towards an ancient Sith, this is."

Emmkar had received a warning from the Jedi Temple a few months ago, following a Jedi's strange mission to an old Sith planet, and the very thought of the Sith woman in the report chilled him. "You warned me of Darth Zenaya," he said. "Was she an alchemist?"

"A powerful alchemist, she still is," Yoda agreed heavily. "With your permission, Guardian Emmkar, send a Jedi to your temple, I will."

"Send as many as you wish, Grandmaster," Emmkar replied. "And I pray they have more success than I or my Guardians have had in discovering where this threat is coming from."

"Send you one of our Jedi Shadows, I can," Yoda replied, then almost seemed to hesitate. "If agree, he will. Much experience with Sith artifacts, he has . . . And much experience with Zenaya."

"He is the Jedi who went to Malachor?" asked Emmkar.

"Hm, yes. . ." Yoda tapped his stick on the floor again. "But worry not. If go to Jedha he cannot, another, I will send."

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Six, early morning

Commander Fox walked briskly through the halls of the CG headquarters, intent on reaching the briefing room as soon as possible. He preferred to start his morning by being apprised of any and all new information about cases or situations that were being dealt with by the Coruscant Guard. It was easiest to absorb all the relevant information early in the day, along with a cup of strong black caf.

He was halfway to the briefing room when a strange sight brought him to an abrupt and unscheduled halt. There was a trooper on guard at the divide in the main corridor, and at his feet was a small animal.

Fox blinked once, to make sure he wasn't seeing things. "Trooper . . ."

"Yes, sir," the clone answered cheerfully.

Pointing an accusing finger at the small green, round, shelled creature that stood near the guard, Fox said, "Helmet off, rookie, and tell me what that is."

The creature in question looked up at him, then withdrew its head into its shell.

Meanwhile, the trooper removed his helmet, revealing a bright grin along with a small shamrock tattoo on his cheekbone.

Fox recognized him as Lucky, one of the new recruits. "Well?" he said.

"It's Turtle, sir," said Lucky.

Fox waited a moment, but his mind failed to comprehend that statement no matter how many times he replayed it in his mind. He gazed down at the creature and repeated, "It's Turtle."

"Yes, sir. That's his name."

"What. Is it."

"It's – well, sir." Lucky paused, looking faintly abashed. "It's a turtle, Commander."

"A turtle that you named Turtle."

". . . Yes, sir."

"And where did he come from?" Fox asked, hoping desperately that Thire hadn't been smuggling animals to the troopers again. Cute as they were, those little blue dogs from Vinnda Prime did not belong on Coruscant, especially not in the corridors of the CG and Senate buildings, racing around people's ankles and causing grief.

Much to the dismay of the troopers training on Vinnda Prime, Fox had ended their little operation by pointing out several things: the rookies could get in trouble, the CG could get in trouble, they had rations for the men but not for pets – and, the blue dogs were extremely energetic and furry, and really belonged on a snowy planet anyway, not on an ecumenopolis, Wolffe.

(At the time, Wolffe swore up and down he was innocent of giving the younger troopers the idea for the smuggling operation in the first place, and absolutely none of his batchmates believed him. He might not have done it on purpose, but it was a sure bet he'd been the one to do it, one way or the other.)

"I found him three levels down, sir," Lucky said. "I think he used to be a pet, because he had this little collar on – here, I'll show you."

The rookie dropped to one knee to give Turtle's shell a couple of gentle taps, and the creature's small head slowly and unwillingly emerged. Sure enough, there was a thin collar around his neck.

"His first one was too wide for him to get his head back in the shell," Lucky explained. "I wanted to put a leash on him so he wouldn't wander into a hole somewhere and get lost, but he likes to hide, too. So, I made him a new one that lets him put his head in his shell."

Fox nodded his understanding, not that he really understood. "And why is this turtle with you while you're on guard duty?"

"He keeps the time, sir."

It was here that Fox experienced a second moment of utter incomprehension. He opened his mouth, closed it, and gestured for Lucky to explain.

"He walks back and forth when I'm standing still. See?" Lucky stood upright, and the turtle gave Fox a wary, sleepy look before dragging itself to its stubby legs and ambling forward. It moved so slowly that it was hard to see any progress unless Fox stared at it for five or six seconds.

"By the time he's gone to the end of his leash and back twice, my shift at guard is up," Lucky said, grinning down at the creature. "Turtle's regular as a chrono, sir."

"Lucky," Fox said in a stern voice, just to let the rookie know he hadn't distracted his commander one bit from the issue at hand. "Do you have a chrono?"
"Yes, sir." Determinedly, Lucky stared straight ahead. "But Turtle's better, sir."

Fox's instinct was to say 'no, put the turtle away', just on principle – but kriff it all, the rookie's worried-trying-not-to-look-worried expression was making him reconsider.

Then, remembering that he didn't have to be responsible for this nonsense because he wasn't the kid's immediate superior, Fox said, "Who's your CO, Lucky?"

"Commander Thire, sir."

That just about figured, and Fox held back a sigh. "Does he know about Turtle?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what does he think about him?"

"He said I could keep him, Commander –"

Because of course he did, the enabler, Fox thought.

"– as long as I don't take him on duty anywhere except in the CG buildings."

"I see." Fox pretended to consider that for a good ten seconds. ". . . All right," he said at last, in as begrudging a tone as he could manage. "But I'd better not catch him anywhere except in these buildings, or I will turn him into soup."

"Thank you, sir!" Lucky's excited smile showed that he didn't take Fox's threat at all seriously, and Fox wondered if he was losing his touch. Sure, it wasn't like he'd actually turn Turtle into soup – for one thing, he couldn't cook, much less skin a turtle or shell it, or whatever you did to the little beasts – and for another, Turtle was bite-sized, hardly worth the effort. Either way, the point was, the rookies used to take him and his threats much more seriously.

Fox thought about this for a moment more, then let out an inaudible sigh of resignation. "Carry on, trooper," he said, and went off to his meeting.

Despite the delay, he still arrived five minutes early. The only other person in the room at the moment was Thire – excellent.

The newly-promoted commander was busy pouring himself a large cup of caf, but when he saw Fox's expression he smiled too brightly and gave it to him instead.

Fox accepted it as his due and took a long sip, never losing eye contact with Thire. Then, setting the cup down, he said, "Thire. Good morning."

". . . Good morning, sir."

"I just talked to a rookie who had a pet with him."

"Oh, you met Turtle," said Thire, smiling.

Fox narrowed his eyes. Thire glanced sideways, at the empty wall.

"Yes, I met Turtle," growled Fox. "And I told the kid he could keep it. Thire . . ."

Commander Thire stood at attention. "Apologies, Commander. It –" The typical resolve in his expression faltered. "It probably won't happen again."

Fox sighed heavily, then tossed back the rest of the caf in a few gulps. "Not what I want to hear, Thire."

"I know, sir. But – he wasn't smuggled this time?"

It seemed that Fox could trust Thire to think clearly in every single circumstance except those where a cute animal was involved. Good to know.

He didn't have to say anything further on the subject because Stone and Thorn arrived just then, and the meeting started. Thire was very careful to penitently avoid Fox's gaze for the first five minutes; but, by the time the meeting was over, he was back to his usual cheerful self-assuredness.

After the meeting, Fox turned to Thire while Stone elbowed Thorn out of the way in order to get the rest of the fresh caf. Fox intended to make some comment or other about how his conversation with Thire hadn't officially been finished; but before he could, his comm beeped.

He answered it promptly, with a final stern look at Thire, and said, "Commander Fox here."

"This is Lieutenant Divo," said the familiarly harassed voice. "There's been another murder. One of Hilt's servants. I recommended that the remaining members of Hilt's retinue go back to Telos Five for safety. They'll be leaving in half an hour to make the five-thirty shuttle. Fox, would you send a squad of men to escort them to the landing pad?"

Fox glanced at Stone, who saluted and left. "We're on it, Lieutenant," he said.

"Thank you," Divo said, relief clear in his voice. Then he cleared his throat and added, "Commander, I hope you know the CSF usually handles its own business. I'm not trying to palm the dangerous situations off on you – though I have to admit, in this case there is danger of your men having to deal with those rabid news reporters. But there are exactly two men left in our district headquarters, and I'm still trapped in this bloody meeting."

Fox hoped it wasn't literally bloody, because Divo could get quite aggressive when politicians were, according to him, being idiots. "No worries, Inspector," he said, and headed out to start arranging the security detail for the Senate session that afternoon.

Coruscant, Temple District

Day Seven, mid-afternoon

Quinlan Vos flopped on his back under the tree, arms clasped behind his head as he whistled tunelessly under his breath. The stack of datapads beside him lay untouched, and he left them untouched for a good five minutes. The roof of the Temple was pleasant and calm today – cool air, warm sun, an unusual lack of noisy younglings chasing each other around. . .

Though come to think of it, that last wasn't much of an advantage when one was trying to avoid redoing flimsiwork.

Mumbling about whichever officer had refused to clear the forms, Quinlan finally picked up the first datapad, opened his communications, and observed the several pages of text. "It's just fine," he said, squinting at it. "Duly written, signed, and everything. Oh. Oh, kriff it all."

He'd made an idiotic mistake and spelled the last name 'Vauss' instead of 'Vos', even though he was currently Vos and not Vauss –

"Come on, I knew Vauss wasn't the persona for this mission," he groaned, resigning himself to having to submit the entire form all over again. "That was an idiotic mistake. Great, now I've probably blown my cover as Ebon Vauss for all eternity –"

He'd started using 'Vauss' in the first place because if he used a name that sounded like his own, he didn't have to work hard to remember what his name was supposed to be when people were addressing him. Now, it appeared to have backfired on him. That's what he got for being lazy.

"Right," he grumbled, re-signing the form. As soon as he finished it, he lay flat on his back again. "Good job," he told himself. "There, form submitted, signed by General Quinlan Vos. . . Seriously, they're giving me a company of troopers to lead. Why do I have to be a general?"

"Because a Jedi, you are."

Quinlan almost jumped in surprise, but managed to hold still. "Master Yoda," he said, bracing himself on one elbow. "What are you doing here?"

"A general you are, because a Jedi, you are." The grandmaster hobbled towards him, stopping once to squint at a large pink flower on the nearby shrub. "In this war, most Jedi, the rank of general, they hold."

"Yes, Master." Quinlan sighed. "I actually knew that."

"Know, you did?" Looking artificially surprised, Yoda shuffled closer. "Then ask of nobody, why did you?"

Quinlan sat upright. "Because I was complaining, Master Yoda, as I'm sure you know perfectly well."

The grandmaster only squinted at him in pretended confusion.

Quinlan was only too glad to continue his rant. "It makes absolutely no sense to give me the rank of general. I'm hardly even involved in the war."

Yoda snorted and reached carefully out to pick a flower.

"I'm not involved directly," corrected Quinlan. "Not in the battles. Master Yoda, we both know I'm not going to be just given military commands. I'll still have Shadow missions, espionage – things I'll have to do on my own."

"Yes, yes," said Yoda dismissively, and sniffed the pink flower. "Busy, you often are. Busy we all are."

Quinlan sighed. "My point is, any troops I'm assigned will have to operate without me most of the time. Wouldn't it be better for them to be assigned to a Jedi who can help them and work with them – and actually carry out missions with them?"

Yoda actually looked like he was considering that for a long time. Then, he nodded briskly and said, "Work with clones, you can."

"Well . . . yeah," Quinlan said, getting to his feet. "Of course I can, if I'm available and not off on some mission halfway across the galaxy."

"See what you mean, I do," Yoda told him, finally sounding serious. "But a large number of troops – leading it, you will not be. One company only, for smaller operations; and when available, you are not, to the nearest fleet, they will go."

"A company?" Quinlan said. "That's almost two hundred men."

"An entire fleet, Master Fisto commands, hm? Command two hundred men, you can. Worry, do not."

"Worrying, I am not," muttered Quinlan, untruthfully. He had barely managed to keep track of two to five teammates on the missions when he had teammates, let alone two hundred men. "Anyway. What brings you to the Temple roof, Master Yoda? Don't tell me you came here to study flowers."

"Disrespectful, you are," Yoda said. "Because irritated, you are. To take out your feelings on another . . ." His eyes twinkled. "The Jedi way, this is not, hm?""

Quinlan frowned at him, then gave in. "You're right. Sorry, Master Yoda."

"Busy now with previous missions currently, are you?"

"Not really. I've got two open cases with the Coruscant Guard, but we haven't had updates on them for three and six days, respectively, and they might even have gone cold by now. Why?"

"Because help, we have been asked for. A mission, I have for you. . . If take it, you will. Hmm."

Quinlan waited for a few seconds, then made a questioning gesture.

"Want it, you might not." Moving stiffly, the grandmaster seated himself on the stones in a meditative posture. Quinlan did the same, more gracefully. "Concerned, it might be, with Darth Zenaya."

The words were like a bucket of cold water in the face, and Quinlan blinked and shook his head. "What? . . . No – Master Yoda, if I even might be concerned with Zenaya, I absolutely want it."

The grandmaster narrowed his large eyes for a long moment, as if fully aware of Quinlan's internal conflict at the idea of chasing Zenaya down. Maybe Yoda was aware of it. Quinlan wanted to take Zenaya out, more than he wanted anything else in the galaxy, but he was also terrified at the very idea of coming face-to-face with her again.

During the course of his thirty-six years, Quinlan had often disagreed with the mantra 'there is no emotion, there is peace'. Sometimes he disagreed with it a lot more than other times. Like now. Right now, he was disagreeing with it quite strongly.

Yoda shook his head. "Surprised you want it, I should not be, hm? Very well, then. Describe the mission to you, I will."

Chapter Text

Ichtose, Mid-Rim

Day Seven, evening

The unexpected explosion from close to the hidden base had just started to die away when Delta Thirty-Eight activated his comm. Staying low to the ground, he said, "Delta Four-Oh, report. What's your status?"

His only reply was static.

"Fixer," Boss said, louder than before. "Fixer – report in, Delta! Scorch, Oh-Seven, do either of you have eyes on Fixer?"

"Negative, sir," replied Sev. "Want me to make my way around?"

"No," Thirty-Eight told him. "Stick to the objective. Scorch?"

"Locked on to Fixer's location," replied the explosives expert. "Creeping towards his position now, sir. . . Gimme a sec. . . Oh. I found him."

Boss waited, keeping half his attention on the tracking device that showed their quarry's location. If Fixer's situation had been dire, Scorch would have immediately notified him.

"Hang on, Fixer," Six-Two was saying, and Thirty-Eight heard the faint beep of the bacta injector. "Help's on the way . . . See? I told you I should have taken care of this bit. At least I'd have seen that trap."

"Ugh – how," Fixer groaned, and Boss relaxed.

"Because that's exactly where I'd have set a trap," Scorch said cheerfully.

"Delta Lead," said Fixer groggily, apparently choosing not to respond to the unarguable logic of Scorch's remark. "All remote data was successfully retrieved before the trap went off. I recommend that Six-Two and I pull back and try entering from a different direction."

"Fall back to the gorge entrance," Boss said, turning into the westward canyon they'd already cleared. He glanced at his tracking device. "Target's on the move again. I think our droid friend is finally going for the entrance. Sev?"

"In position, sir." Sev paused, then added, "Again."

"This time, it had better come out and let us shoot it," Scorch announced. "We've been circling this rocky racetrack for over eighteen hours."

Oh-Seven snorted. "Rocky racetrack?"

"Yeah. Didn't it look like a racetrack to you? I mean, it's this big, flat, circling path encased by walls. That's literally all a racetrack is, right?"

". . . I guess."

"Let's not get distracted, Deltas," said Thirty-Eight, before Fixer could order the other two to keep the comm channels clear. "Forty, hold position. Six-Two, make your way towards my position. I'm at the secondary exit."

"Roger that."

Once again, the sergeant settled in to wait, watching his datapad and the little dot that showed the Deltas' target. By the time Scorch reached Boss, eight minutes later, the droid had walked close to the exit three times and then back into the base, but never actually started to leave. Hm. Either the droid had pinpointed the commandos' locations and was waiting for them to leave, or it was carrying various items to the door. Quite likely, it was trying to escape with valuable cargo – or, to destroy it.

"Fixer," Boss said. "The target appears to be moving objects. Any idea what they might be?"

"No, sir. One moment, I'll calibrate for a scan."

Boss waited. Scorch pulled a thermal grenade from his belt and fussily brushed it clean of the rocky dust that covered everything in this place.

"Scan complete," Fixer said, the faintest hint of urgency in his voice. "Sir, you might want to back away from that door."

"More explosives?" guessed Thirty-Eight.

"Affirmative."

"Explosives," Scorch said, crawling back a few meters. "That's a little weird, isn't it, Boss?"

"How so?" asked Boss immediately, because when Scorch said there something weird about a situation with explosives, there generally was.

"Well, what does the droid need them for?" Six-Two asked.

"Destroying itself," said Boss.

Scorch tilted his head just-so, in the way that implied Boss was being just a little bit obtuse. "No, Boss. All tactical droids are built with the ability to self-destruct. They don't need explosives for droid-icide."

Thirty-Eight huffed, amused. "Droid-icide, Scorch?"

"Which means," Fixer said, ignoring Scorch's new vocabulary word, "that this tactical droid is presumably trying to take the base out as well as itself."

"The base, or us," Boss agreed. "And either way, we can't let the droid blow itself up. We can't retrieve that data rod without a semi-intact droid."

"We were ordered not to enter the building," Fixer reminded him doubtfully.

"I know, Forty. But we were also ordered not to risk the data."

"Yes, sir."

"Scorch," Boss said. "It wouldn't be sensible of us to enter through that back door, would it?"

"You read my thoughts, Leader-man."

"Then I guess you need to make us a new door, don't you?"

"With pleasure, sir!" Keeping his head down, Scorch ran to the base wall and slapped a piece of detonator tape horizontally across one segment. "This'll take just a second."

No matter how many times Boss had seen Scorch place explosives in the past, at random and – by all appearances – with a complete lack of discrimination, Boss never found it easier to watch. He focused on the exit door instead.

"Ready when you are, Boss!" Scorch took cover in the nearest canyon passage.

"Sev," said Thirty-Eight. "Give me a distraction."

There was a delay of barely two seconds, followed by a sharp explosion from the other side of the canyon that could only have been caused by an anti-armor round.

On the tracking device, the droid froze suddenly, then raced towards the front entrance.

"Stay ready, Sev," warned Fixer.

But once again, the droid didn't exit the building. Holding back a sigh of irritation, the sergeant ducked behind the nearest boulder, hefted the detonator, and clicked it.

It resulted in a very satisfying explosion. As the clattering metal and rock died away, Boss said, "Let's relieve this droid of its explosives, shall we?"

Whooping, Scorch rushed forward and into the building. Boss was right behind him, gun at the ready. Leaving his younger squad mate to 'ooh!' and 'aah!' over the small crates of grenades that had been stacked near the exit, the sergeant moved a farther into the building.

"Sarge," Oh-Seven all but growled. "Target's headed your way. AGAIN."

"Is it." Pulling an EC from his belt, Thirty-Eight stalked forward to meet the tactical droid. "I think it's high time I put a stop to this little game of escape-and-evade."

"Please do," Fixer said dryly. "I'm covering the roof exit. Again."

"Understood." The clanking footsteps of the droid drew closer – closer –

Boss flung the grenade.

Fizzling blue streaks of electricity scorched up all the walls in the immediate vicinity, and the droid's vocabulator audibly went on the fritz. As it made garbled, incomprehensible sounds, Boss walked around the corner, glanced down at the spasming hunk of metal and the data rod attached near its neck, and put a dozen or so shots through its chassis.

"Target down," he said, when it finally stopped twitching. "Delta Forty, data rod's all yours. Let's wrap up here and get back to the Predator. We have to make the rendezvous with the fleet."

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Seven, evening

There was less than an hour remaining before the new senator for Telos Five, a middle-aged woman named Senator Alita, would arrive. Bail Organa had reviewed all the security precautions twice, and still he did not feel ready. If the murderer of Senator Hilt decided to target Alita, the perfect time to attack would be when she got off the ship, and the landing platform was entirely exposed.

Lieutenant Inspector Divo and the CSF would ensure that the airlanes in close proximity to the landing pad would be completely cleared once her shuttle entered the atmosphere, a precaution many people would feel to be excessive. Senator Alita certainly felt it was excessive. But Bail – and, surprisingly enough, Inspector Divo – had insisted. This criminal had proven to be capable of operating in many different situations with equal results, and the police had not been able to discover a motive apart from, possibly, vengeance.

But if it were vengeance, why would his secretaries and servants be targeted, when they had not been involved in Hilt's dubious rise to power? Or had they been involved?. . . No, surely not. They had no power themselves, were not in the least related to Hilt, and none of the background checks done by the officials had turned up any evidence of blackmail or bribery. The secretaries and servants had been just that.

And yet, Bail had no doubt that the few members of Hilt's retinue who had not been murdered would be, had they not been sent back to their home planet. At least they were safe now.

Or, most of them were safe. One man had insisted on remaining behind: Lane Tarr, a quiet, loyal bodyguard, who was sixty years old and had served on Coruscant as the head of security for the last ten senators from Telos Five. Of those whom he had served, not even the most particular and entitled senators had never made any kind of complaint against him. He did his job, and he did it extremely well.

In fact, as far as Bail was concerned, Lane did his job a little too well. He wished that Lane had gone back with the others, but the man would not be persuaded.

"The murderer has targeted Senator Hilt's people," he'd told Bail in his easy, quiet way, when the senator had tried to convince him to leave with the others. "That means I'm on a hit list, Senator."

"Yes," said Bail. "But nonetheless –"

Lane hadn't let him finish. "It's a death sentence, whether I hide or not. If the security forces don't find the murderer, I'll be dead within the week."

"I know," Bail said. "Which is why –"

"I appreciate your concern, Senator" Lane had answered, with a quiet smile. "But I'd rather face death while doing my job than get killed in my sleep."

Bail hadn't been able to argue with him after that, except to say that he sincerely hoped Lane was wrong about the other servants still being in danger. Lane also said he hoped he was wrong; and yet, the look in his eyes was the look of a man expecting to die at any moment – a man who had been afraid, but no longer was. Lane Tarr refused a security escort, because he would not risk anyone's life but his own.

Bail Organa respected his decision, and proceeded to join him on the landing platform anyway. As he walked up the steps to the landing pad where Senator Alita's shuttle would land, he saw that Lane Tarr was already on duty.

"Any news, Lane?" Bail asked, joining him.

"No, Senator," said the security officer, one hand resting lightly on his blaster as he watched the traffic. "You're here early, sir."

"I am aware."

"You don't have to be here for nearly an hour."

". . . I am aware of that, as well."

The grey-haired man turned to him. "Senator, I must insist you go back inside until you have to come out. It's safer."

Bail smiled politely and stayed where he was. "And yet here you are, quite early too, I might add."

"Senator –"

"I hear you have an escort of clones ready for Senator Alita," Bail interrupted.

Lane seemed to consider continuing the argument for a few seconds, but at last he gave in. "Yes, Senator. They'll be here half an hour before she lands."

"Ah, good."

The bodyguard adjusted his hat to shade his eyes as he peered out towards the sunset. "The police are currently in position to clear the traffic lanes, and Clone Captain Thorn will also be on duty with a squad of his men."

"Excellent," Bail murmured. "Perhaps the sheer numbers will discourage any potential attackers."

"Perhaps," Lane said. He was silent for a few moments before saying, "I received word from the shuttle the others left on."

"Have they arrived?"

"No, Senator; they're still in transit. . . And all three of them are suddenly ill with violent fevers. The cause is unknown. The ship medic has tried everything. She can do nothing for them now, except keep them comfortable."

"So the murderer got to them before they even left," Bail said, and sighed despite himself. He and Lieutenant Divo had been so sure that the servants would be safe, and now there was nothing anyone could do to help them. Those poor people must lie there and wait for death.

Bail looked worriedly at Lane. "Please tell me you have not been poisoned."

"I am in perfect health, sir," the security chief told him. "The others must have been poisoned before they boarded the shuttle, or maybe even as they boarded."

"Then I am thankful I did not convince you to leave." Sighing again, Bail shook his head. "I trust you informed Lieutenant Divo?"

"I did. He was even less happy about the news than I was, if that is possible."

"I can imagine," Bail said grimly.

Lane Tarr turned to scan his surroundings again. "He suggested that perhaps the food supplies on the shuttle were poisoned. But none of the other passengers are sick."

"Which means that the servants were poisoned while they were with the clone guards," Bail said. "And even they noticed nothing wrong. These assassins are highly skilled . . . But we already knew that. If only we could find some kind of solid lead!"

Lane nodded. "Even the two Jedi investigating the murder scenes found nothing."

Frankly, Bail was surprised that Lieutenant Divo had asked for the Jedi's assistance at all. It was a sign of how serious the situation was. Divo didn't hate the Jedi the same way he hated senators, but he also had no qualms about criticizing them, loudly and frequently, whenever he thought they should be doing something that they weren't – like keeping the peace on Coruscant, or taking crime and crimelords much more seriously.

Lane Tarr's comm beeped, and Bail heard the pilot informing him that Senator Alita's shuttle was waiting for clearance to enter the atmosphere. The estimated time of arrival was forty minutes.

Above them, the air lanes slowly began to clear as CSF men swooped around on their speeders, redirecting traffic and setting up a perimeter. On the level below the landing pad, Captain Thorn and his men were already working to secure the area before coming up to escort Senator Alita.

Thirty-five minutes before the shuttle was supposed to arrive, Lane Tarr contacted the Senate guards to ensure everything on their end was going according to schedule. It was. There were no signs of anything unusual. Somehow, that only put Bail more on edge.

Two minutes later, Captain Thorn commed. "Landing pad's secure from below, Officer Tarr," he said. "We've removed the ladders and sealed all access vents to your level. The senate guards are down there now, keeping an eye on things. My men and I are on our way to your location."

"Understood," said Lane, glancing down at his chrono. "Shuttle ETA is twenty-seven minutes."

"We'll reach you in three," said Thorn, and ended the call.

Lane turned in a full circle, his gaze flickering around to encompass the platform, the airlanes, and the CSF officers who were swooping back and forth on their speeders, maintaining a perimeter of five hundred yards.

Bail peered into the distance, but unsurprisingly, Senator Alita's shuttle wasn't in sight yet. It wouldn't be long before she was being escorted inside – but even once she was safely off the platform, there was no guarantee she'd be safe. Bail himself wasn't safe, and hadn't been for many years. At least, though, when assassins were sent after him, he almost never had any warning. More often than not, he had survived only because of others around him.

For Senator Alita, though, unless there was some clear indication that she was not in danger from the Hilt murderers, it would be different. She would have to live knowing that every hour might be her last.

Of course, that wouldn't be so different from how Bail himself lived, even without an active bounty on his head, but it could be very hard for senators who weren't used to that level of danger.

Bail watched Lane Tarr, who was now walking towards the edge of the landing pad. The senator was just trying to determine how much of the coming week he could devote to aiding Senator Alita when something sailed through the air and clinked to the ground right between himself and Lane.

Jumping aside, Bail reached for his blaster. At the same time, Lane reached him, grabbing him by both arms and throwing him towards the shelter of the doors. "Get down!" he yelled, kicking the grenade away.

As Bail slammed shoulder-first into one of the marble supports, he caught sight of a second grenade. He opened his mouth to warn Lane, but the grenade exploded in a cloud of cloyingly sweet smoke that enveloped him and made everything waver. He felt an almost irresistible urge to close his eyes, until he saw Lane stagger back in response to the smoke.

Swaying, Bail dragged himself upright and drew his blaster, stumbling forward to get out of the smoke cloud. When he caught sight of several figures in black climbing up onto the platform, he fired.

After only two shots, everything shifted and warped so badly that Bail dropped to his knees, barely managing to keep his gun hand raised. Lane was next to him again, almost in front of him, somehow on his feet as he shot at the attackers while yelling into his comm.

"We need backup! Thorn, get Organa to safety, now!"

The attackers were getting closer. Bail knew he had hit two of them, and saw Lane stumble again – had he been hit? – but his vision was blurring so badly by now that he couldn't tell anything for certain. He could hardly make out his enemies' forms.

"Senator," gasped Lane, grabbing his elbow to pull him upright. "You have to get inside!"

Bail couldn't locate the door through all the spinning and tilting. Switching his gun to his left hand, he clutched at Lane's wrist to steady himself and fired again in the general direction of the attackers. "We have to get to the door!" he cried. "Where –"

"Can't make it," Lane gasped, and Bail heard the agony in his voice as he tried to bring his gun up again. "They hit me – get inside, sir –"

He collapsed to the pavement, his blaster hitting the ground next to him.

Bail dragged himself upright against the pillar, firing shot after shot at the blurry forms of the enemy, but the attackers were now running from the fight. Bail kept shooting, but only managed to injure one more as the assassins left, dragging their fallen member with them.

As they vanished, Bail fell to his knees and reached for his comm, "Senate guards!" he said. "Attackers headed for you, going under landing platform three!"

Then he crawled over to Lane and felt around until he located his neck. The bodyguard had a pulse still – his heart was beating horribly fast and hard, and his skin was covered in sweat.

Frantic, Bail fumbled at his comm again as darkness slowly encroached on his vision. "Medic team to landing platform three," he managed, mouth as numb as his hands. "Lane – Lane! Can you hear me?"

There was no answer, and Bail was struggling to form the words, to tell the medics to hurry, when the bodyguard seized violently and started choking. His right hand fumbled desperately at Bail's, and the senator clutched it in both of his own and held on, as if he could keep the man alive through sheer force of will.

Footsteps pounded on the pavement behind him, and Bail heard Thorn shouting for his men to secure the area. The clone medic threw himself to the ground beside them with a clatter of armor against duracrete, but Bail didn't look up at him. He was watching Lane's face, though he could hardly see it through the fog that pressed against his eyes.

Lane struggled, seized again, grip tightening until he was half-crushing Bail's fingers – and then he abruptly relaxed. Hesitantly, Bail released him and leaned forward to feel for his neck again.

The clone medic said something, which Bail didn't hear. Through the sharp tingling in his fingertips, the senator could feel that Lane's pulse was gone.

Then, the last hints of light faded from his vision and he felt himself falling.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWb8BMk1ODU

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Eight, early morning

Fox sat at attention in the waiting room of the medical center, staring at the polished tile of the nearby hall as he tried to figure out what he and the lieutenant had missed. There must be something – there had to be something, because despite all of their painfully careful precautions, another man had died. And on top of that, they hadn't gained even a real lead on the attackers.

In the chair across from Fox sat Lieutenant Divo. He was slouching lower and lower in the seat, his dark hair greasy and his long grey coat getting more rumpled with every passing minute.

Then, without warning, he jerked upright and stared at Fox. "We have to have missed something!" he exploded.

The elderly nurse at registration shot him a warning look, and Divo froze, then cleared his throat. "We have to have missed something," he repeated, in a much quieter tone. "Some test we could have tried, some interview, some suspect, some lead or other. Commander Fox, we missed something, and I need ideas. And don't give me the 'I'm not a detective' line, because I'm bordering on desperate. Is there anything else we could have done?"

"I've been wondering that myself," Fox admitted reluctantly. "I don't think that there is. We went above and beyond the requirements to protect Senator Alita."

"Fat lot of good that did! They didn't even go after her!"

"Then we did learn one thing, Lieutenant," said Fox, ignoring his outburst. "It's clear that the assassins had no intention of targeting her in the first place."

Divo snorted, then subsided. "True enough. I guess we can safely say their motive isn't getting rid of senators from Telos Five. Senator Alita's fine, all members of her retinue are fine. So. . . where does that leave us? If the murders have nothing to do with Telos Five itself, great. Another lead closed. Maybe. But apart from that, we haven't actually learned anything except that the murderers are hellbent on killing everyone associated with Senator kriffing Hilt – which we already knew, didn't we?"

"We hadn't had it confirmed," said Fox. "We still don't. The other senators associated with him haven't been attacked."

"Not yet they haven't." Divo groaned and ran a hand through his hair again, then scoffed in bitter amusement. "Huh. Maybe I should send out generic letters of condolence to the families of everyone Hilt ever shared a drink with, just get the job done early."

There was a long pause. Divo slouched in the chair again and began bouncing one knee.

"We know it's a gang," Fox offered, at last.

"Do we though? It could just as easily be a bunch of random mercs hired for this specific job. They could be hired by a single person, or they could be hired by a gang, or this is the gang acting for themselves. So which is it?" Divo held up a hand as Fox opened his mouth to answer. "And yeah, I know you don't know."

"I'd guess that it's a gang, acting for itself," said Fox, and waited for Divo to start yelling about the lack of evidence.

But to his surprise, the inspector only shrugged. "I've been thinking the same," he said. "With not much proof to support my theory. What have you got?"

"Gangs aren't usually hired to kill people," said Fox. "Not discriminately. They avoided Senator Organa after rendering him unconscious."

"That was one of my thoughts, too," said Divo, straightening a little. "Common hitmen are a dime a dozen here, but these guys weren't common. At the same time, assassins usually work alone, or with one other person, maybe two."

"On the other hand, the attackers had no identifying insignia," said Fox. "Which isn't necessarily evidence one way or the other."

"Agreed," said Divo. "It could be argued that they were hired for a hit, but it could also be argued that their gang doesn't want the credit for the assassinations. And then there's another point we have to consider in favor of a gang acting in its own interest."

"What is it?" asked Fox curiously.

"Every security droid we have is out combing the streets that the attackers must have initially escaped through. And yet we have no leads, no witnesses – at least, none that'll talk. Those attackers have to have passed someone on their way down through the levels, but not a single one of the civilians will say anything. Why not? Fear?"

"Likely, if it's a gang we're dealing with. But why would the civilians know who the gang is?"

"They wouldn't, unless the gang's operated for a long time. And I'm starting to bet that it has. See, Commander, the CSF has dealt with many cases before now where the gang we were up against was never identified. We've seen an upsurge in cases like that in the past five years. The media thought we were trying to cover up for the fact that we couldn't solve various cases. 'The So-Called 'Mystery Gang' Versus the CSF' – that's what they kept saying."

"Hm," said Fox, who had actually seen that headline a couple months ago. Divo had a personal vendetta against the media and their often-sensationalized stories, and sometimes Fox thought he had very good reason for this.

"We knew the gang was there, just not who they were," said Divo. "Or who they were hired by. But the costumes, the lack of an insignia, the higher-profile targets, the striking quickly and leaving . . . all four of those things are the same this time as in the last unsolved one. I was reviewing our casefiles this morning."

"So," said Fox. "You're thinking that the gang we're dealing with is new."

"I'd be willing to bet that I'm right, yeah. Offhand, would you say it's a big group we're facing?"

Fox didn't even have to think about that. "Given how fast they got the information on where every one of the murder victims was, yes."

"Exactly." Divo ran a hand through his limp hair again and tugged thoughtfully at his collar. "And that's what our experts thought about the CSF's 'mystery gang'. I don't think you'd have dealt with them yet. . . they tend to stay in the shadows, not go up directly against law enforcement."

Fox nodded slowly. "When's the last time the CSF interacted with them?"

"Directly? Never," snorted Divo. "We never actually caught any of them. But the last case was a couple months ago."

"I see." Fox stared at the carpet, which was a strange grey-pink, and wondered if it was a requirement for hospitals to have unattractive waiting rooms. "Anything new on this one since an hour ago?"

"Yeah," sighed Divo. "I got an update from the Telos Five shuttle. The servants who left all died within fifteen minutes of each other. That was the last of Hilt's retinue."

A sudden thought occurred to Fox, and he hummed. "One of the attackers also died," he pointed out. "That could give us something."

"Oh?" Divo questioned, folding his arms. "Like what, an 'us versus them' body count? Mystery gang: eight, Galactic Republic: one?"

When Fox shot him a cool look, the lieutenant deflated, just a little. "What is it, then?" he asked reluctantly. "You want to search the morgues? The streets?"

"I don't know," said Fox. "Whoever these people are, they're being exceptionally careful about remaining unidentified. If they slowed down their escape for the purpose of bringing their teammate's body with them, I doubt they'd do something so foolish as leave him where he'd be found easily. . ."

"Yeah," Divo admitted. "But you do realize a lot of the morgues have furnaces, right?" He checked his old-fashioned watch and stuffed it back in his pocket. "The nurse said Organa would be awake within a quarter of an hour. It's been twice that."

Fox hardly heard him. He was thinking through everything they'd done so far to catch or thwart the murderers, and everything they could still do – not that there were many options left. "If we found the morgue," he said. "If we narrowed it down to bodies brought in, cause of death blaster wounds, within the last six hours. . . maybe the owner would have some of his personal effects still. Or even some knowledge of the people who brought him in."

Divo snorted again. "Long shot," he said. "But . . . Yeah. I'll send out the droids, just to be sure. But I'll bet a year's pay that even if we find the correct morgue, the owner won't talk."

Fox thought the same thing, but he wasn't inclined to add to Divo's pessimism by agreeing out loud. The case felt impossible enough as it was. "We could call in the Jedi," he said.

The lieutenant inspector sighed again, but this time he sounded more defeated than irritated. "I did call in the Jedi, Commander. Two of 'em showed up . . ." He snapped his fingers rapidly, as he often did when trying to remember something. "A master and padawan. Oh, what were their names – there was a Nautolan kid and a Roonan . . . Master Halls, maybe?"

Fox thought for a moment before putting names to the description. "Master Halsey and Padawan Knox?"

"Right, right. Those two. They worked at it for hours and didn't find a thing. After that, I tried to call Quinlan Vos in, but of course he's not around. . . Or, at least, he's not answering his comms."

It was Fox's turn to let out an irritable snort. "He's got a bad habit of not answering comms. Did you try contacting him after that?"

"Not today." Divo slouched, somehow sinking further into the hard-cushioned chair. "What's there for him to search, anyway? I can't give him the murder weapon to use his psychometry on, because we don't have a murder weapon. We have a case where every clue melts into thin air and leaves us with nothing."

"Vos could search the landing pad," Fox said, feeling as pessimistic as Divo looked. "Or we could show him where the first secretary was murdered and he could try to figure out where the killer stood while shooting the dart. . ."

"No," said Divo, reluctantly sitting upright. "Even I know that's never going to work, not with all the people who visit that hall every day. We need one of their weapons. If I could just get a weapon to Vos, he could probably tell us something about what the killer was thinking. Maybe even a name."

They exchanged looks, and Fox thought, Yeah, if the killer in that case wasn't a droid. . .

"Well," Divo muttered at the same time, putting his elbows on his knees. "If the killer they used for that murder wasn't a droid."

The two of them were sitting in semi-defeated silence when a young blonde nurse scurried into the room. "Commander Fox? Lieutenant Divo?" she said, looking up from her datapad. "The senator is awake."

Lieutenant Divo jumped up, jammed his hands into the deep pockets of his coat, and followed the nurse. Fox took out his datapad and joined him, prepared to record everything the senator might tell them. At this point, they just needed a lead, any lead, no matter how small. And since the attackers had not seen fit to kill Organa, there was an extremely small chance that there might now be a lead.

The nurse knocked on the door of a private room, leaned in to murmur something, gestured Divo and Fox inside, and left.

Fox wasn't sure what condition he'd expected to find Bail Organa in – after all, the man had been heavily drugged and knocked out not six hours ago – but he certainly hadn't expected to find him fully dressed and sitting on the side of the bed as he wrote on a datapad.

"Senator," the inspector said, with a brisk nod.

"Lieutenant. Commander Fox." Organa set aside his datapad, his usually easy smile more forced than usual. "I wish I had some real information to give you, but although I keep thinking back, I cannot remember much would be useful. I only noticed a few things about the attackers."

"Anything you can give us. . ." Divo trailed off with a gesture.

"There were eight that I saw," the senator said, folding his hands in his lap. The fingers of his right hand were bruised. "They were dressed in black, and wore masks; I believe at least one of them was a woman, but everything was so blurred that I can't be sure. Lane Tarr or I killed one. I injured two more, and I believe Lane also injured two – but again, I'm not sure."

He lifted his hands slightly, and Divo huffed a breath out through his nose.

"As I said," murmured Organa. "Hardly useful."

"Well," Inspector Divo said. "Better than nothing, I guess. Can you tell us what happened?"

"The attackers climbed up over the edge of the landing pad approximately a minute and a half after Captain Thorn cleared the landing pad below ours. They did not fire blasters, and seemed to have no interest in killing me, even when I shot one – or perhaps two – of them." He glanced down. "I believe they hit Lane Tarr with a poisonous dart just like the one used to kill Senator Hilt. The symptoms were identical."

"That's exactly right, Senator," Divo said. "It was the same substance, same concentration. Hilt drank it, Lane was injected with it. The pathologist thinks the assassin fired a retractable dart this time, rather than a dissolving one."

"I see. . . So, they either know or expect what we'd be looking for."

"That seems likely," said Fox. "What happened after Officer Tarr was hit?"

"I continued shooting at the assassins," said the senator. "They left, taking the body with them. I went to Lane, and warned the Senate Guard that the attackers were moving towards them –"

He broke off, giving Fox a questioning look.

"They heard the blasterfire and headed towards you," said Fox. "By the time you warned them, they were already halfway to your position. They returned to the lower landing pad immediately, but were too late to head off the attackers."

"They should have left a couple of guards," said Divo, shaking his head. "But what's done is done, I guess."

Fox thought that Divo would never have been so nonchalant if the CSF men had been the ones to make that mistake. He demanded a high level of professionalism and competence from his men, which they did not resent, because he demanded an even higher level from himself.

Rhys had recently pointed out that for all his complaining, Divo was rather like Fox – and then he'd hastily explained that it was a good thing, Commander . . .

Bail Organa was frowning. "Captain Thorn had already cleared the platform below us, hadn't he? How did the assassins hide without him seeing them?"

"We found that out, actually," said Divo. "After the fact, as usual. They'd gotten inside landing platform three hours before. They waited until the guard had cleared the inside, got inside, waited until Thorn cleared the lower level, climbed up – in other words, they were incredibly efficient about it . . . and they probably had someone watching all the platforms for hours to figure out which one we were using."

"We should have used decoys," said Fox, grimacing. He hadn't considered it earlier, but he should have considered it, and done so before another person died instead of after.

"What's done is done," repeated Bail. "Inspector Divo is right. None of us knew that there were so many attackers, or that they were this determined or this prepared."

"That's no excuse, though," said Divo, voicing Fox's thoughts.

The senator glanced at him and smiled a little sadly. "Isn't it? You cannot foresee or plan for every eventuality, Inspector."

". . . Let's not waste our time," said Divo. "I think we should –"

But Senator Organa interrupted with a sharp glance at Fox. "I believe that both of you, as well as your men and the Senate Guard, were working with what soldiers in the field call bad intelligence."

"Yes, Senator," said Fox, mostly to put an end to Organa's well-intentioned excuses for everyone involved in not preventing Lane Tarr's death. To Fox's mind, bad intelligence wasn't a sufficient excuse for failing so completely; and yet, what else could he demand? As he'd told Divo earlier, they'd not only followed all reasonable precautions, they'd exceeded them.

Divo cleared his throat. "Senator," he said. "To continue our report. . . Thorn and his men reached the scene before you'd fully passed out. They searched Lane immediately. No dart was found, but the wound in his shoulder was significantly larger than the secretary's injuries."

Organa sighed again, his attention shifting to the floor. "Lane Tarr was a good man," he said, then looked up sharply, as if realizing something. "Is Senator Alita safe?"

"Yeah," said the lieutenant, fidgeting with a loose thread on his wide-collared coat. "Not even the faintest hint of trouble in getting her to the building."

"At least that went well, then." The senator swayed a little, leaned an elbow discreetly against the bedside table, and studied Fox and Divo with dark eyes. "Lane Tarr was the last member of Hilt's retinue to be targeted."

"Yes, sir," Fox said. "Which means that might have been the last of the murders."

Lieutenant Divo shook his head irritatedly. "You mean, 'that might have been the last chance we'll get at catching the killers'," he said. "Senator, is there anything else you can give us? Anything at all? The attackers didn't speak?"

"Not a word."

"Of course they didn't." Divo stared at the wall in obvious disgust for several seconds before glancing at his watch and straightening abruptly. "Well. . . thanks for your cooperation, Senator. Uh, glad you're all right, by the way. I've got an emergency meeting to attend, so I'll be bowing out now. Commander – see you later."

And he did, in fact, bow ever so slightly to the senator before heading out.

". . . Hm," Fox said dryly. "I think that he's become more tolerant of you."

"Surprisingly, yes." Organa got to his feet, keeping a one-handed grip on the nearby table. "About the case, Commander – there is no way to get another lead?"

"Not immediately," Fox said. "Forensics analyzed the blood from the attacker that you or Tarr killed. Definitely human, but that doesn't help us much. We watched what little camera footage there was, and we think one of the other attackers might have been a Weequay, but. . ."

"But that doesn't help either," finished the senator, rubbing his forehead. His grip on the table was loosening as his hand trembled.

"Sir," said Fox. "Perhaps you should sit down."

Organa didn't seem to hear him. "Commander, if there are any resources that you or the Coruscant Security Force might need, please be sure to ask immediately. I will provide whatever help I can."

"Thank you, sir," Fox said, keeping a cautious eye on Organa as the senator took a wavering step back. "We'll do that. But at the moment, the only plan the lieutenant and I have is to send out private agents."

"Ah." Organa caught his balance, then nodded. "Perhaps they will discover something where none of the official forces can. I'm afraid I have none currently at my disposal, but I know the police force has several agents available."

"Yes, sir." Those agents were very good ones, fortunately. But Fox had one of his own, whom the CSF didn't know about – and who, Fox thought, was very likely better than any two of theirs. There was no reason to mention her to Senator Organa, though, much as he respected him. At least, not until there was a need.

After exchanging a few more words with the senator, who finally sat down again, Fox left the hospital. Once he was away from the main entrance, and out of the hearing distance of immediate passersby, he took out his comm and entered his agent's code.

She answered on the fifth beep. "Commander Fox?"

"Yeah. Do you have a moment?"

"I am currently safe."

"Good. This case we've been on. . . The trail's gone cold. Is there anything at all on your end?"

"No," she said, sounding displeased. "So far, I have discovered nothing that could help us. Whichever gang these murderers belong to, the headquarters must be very, very well-hidden – or, they are hundreds of levels down on Coruscant. And there are no leads from Telos Five."

"I was afraid of that," muttered Fox, as a team of emergency medical responders rushed a covered stretcher into the hospital. Probably a speeder accident, based on the scent of burned metal and engine fuel that trailed behind them.

"You say the trail has gone cold," she said after a moment. "Even Organa could give you nothing?"

"Right." Fox walked towards his speeder. "We're going to have to approach this from a different angle."

"Very well," she said. "What is it you need?"

"I need one of the murder weapons." Fox waited for her response, fully aware that he was giving her the hardest possible assignment while being unable to give her any good information to work with.

But she didn't argue. Instead, she only stayed silent for a quarter of a minute before saying, "And if I cannot get one?"

"Then capture one of the murderers," Fox answered. "Preferably before the next murder is carried out."

There was another long silence. Then, she said, "Do you think there will be another murder?"

"Yes, I do." Swinging one leg over his speeder, Fox started the engine, cast a quick glance over his shoulder, and cut into the traffic lane, steering with one hand as he kept talking. "Whichever gang we're dealing with – they're determined to cover their tracks."

"I agree with that. They clearly believe that Hilt told his servants something incriminating. But the last member of Hilt's retinue was just murdered."

"I know he was." Fox swerved hard to avoid a couple of police bots as they rushed past on their way to some crime scene or other. "But Hilt didn't only talk to his servants, and if I know that, you can bet the gang will know it, too."

"Ah," she replied, sounding thoughtful. "Yes, I see – though Hilt presumably spoke to many people. I need a potential target, at least to start with. Commander, can you get me the names of everyone Hilt spoke to through comms?"

"Maybe," he said. "How far back?"

"Three months, I think."

"Okay." Angling his speeder down a few degrees, Fox headed for the CG headquarters. "Why three months?"

"Because if the servants were considered a threat to the gang, then it is likely that anyone Hilt spoke to at length within that time frame will be a threat. And Hilt's newest servant joined his retinue eighty-one days ago."

Fox wondered how she'd found that out, but didn't waste time in asking for details. "Understood," he said. "I'll talk to Divo and get a list of names to you in the next couple of hours."

Chapter Text

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Eight, early afternoon

Just after noon on the second day after Carmen's murder, Emmkar was informed that the Jedi had arrived in the city. Walking slowly, the Head Guardian went to the walls of the temple.

He had ordered the Guardians to ensure that no pilgrims were to enter the west courtyard until after the Jedi performed his search. It was a disappointment to those who wished to see the famous statues there, but Emmkar could not risk any evidence being hidden.

He waited for a quarter of an hour for the Jedi, watching the pilgrims who passed through the gate beneath him. When the Shadow finally did arrive, Emmkar did not realize him at first, thinking he was another pilgrim. He was dressed in the brown robes common to pilgrims, and shared the same peaceful demeanor and slow walk that visitors to Jedha usually had.

It was only when Emmkar heard the greeting statue's song that he realized the man was a Jedi. The soft chime of the crystal's usual greeting, inaudible to most – even to most Force-sensitives – was different when a Jedi entered the temple; perhaps it was a response to the kyber in lightsabers.

Emmkar listened to the chiming note from the statue, pondering the slight dissonance that he had never heard for another Jedi, then made his way down to the west courtyard. Since the vision, and especially since Carmen's murder, he'd found it physically harder to move. It was as though he had to focus now, in order to make his aged bones move the way he wanted them to.

As soon as he stepped into the west courtyard, he saw the Jedi. He was a Kiffar, dressed entirely in black – an unusual choice, among the dozens of Jedi whom Emmkar had met. His pilgrim's robes had been draped over a stone bench, and he was standing before the injured statue, both hands pressed to the blackened stump of the statue's wrist. He did not appear to be aware of his surroundings.

Content to wait, Emmkar seated himself on the low wall of a nearby garden bed in the sun, and watched and listened. Sure enough, the kyber crystal in the Jedi's lightsaber did have an unusual resonance. It was new, perhaps less than two months removed from the cavern in which it had been born, but it hummed with an unusually bright life – and a tinge of death. A strange combination in a kyber crystal, especially one so young.

But perhaps that had to do with the Jedi himself, who was a Shadow. From the archives last night, Emmkar had learned that Shadows dealt far more in death than most Jedi ever did . . . at least, during times of peace. And of course, this particular Shadow had been the one to face the ancient Sith woman, Zenaya, so it could be no surprise that he had tinges of darkness in his mind and soul. . . And yet.

Emmkar blinked slowly and continued to observe the Kiffar.

It was a full minute before the Jedi finally registered there was someone else nearby. Emmkar knew because the Kiffar started to turn away from the statue, then jumped ever so slightly.

Emmkar stood, and the Jedi bowed, introducing himself as Quinlan Vos.

"Knight Vos," Emmkar said. "Welcome to the Temple of the Whills. I am glad that you are here – but sorry that you have arrived as the result of a horrible crime."

The Kiffar glanced at the serene courtyard, which was marred by the desecrated statue. "So am I," he admitted. "This seems like a peaceful place."

Emmkar gestured to the statue. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"To some extent. The kyber was cut, as you suspected, by a Sith artifact. And that artifact was a red sword." He closed his eyes as though trying to remember something. "I'm fairly sure that the sword could only cut kyber."

"Ah. . ." Emmkar clasped one hand tightly at his side. "Do you mean to say that the sword was not used as a weapon?"

"As far as I can tell. I'm pretty sure it can only be used to – harvest? –" He glanced down at his hands with a slight frown. "Harvest crystal, maybe. I can't say for sure yet. The impressions were in the statue, not the weapon."

Emmkar had met Kiffar pilgrims before, and several of them had spoken of the impressions left in kyber statues. All of those impressions, though, had been of peace and growth. . . a kind of memory, the Kiffar pilgrims had told him, that the crystals had of the Guardians who'd helped to direct their growth.

"Did the statue see what happened?" Emmkar asked quietly.

"It echoed it." The Jedi touched the statue of the Man again, then looked suddenly at the Woman. "The Lady," he said, and crossed the courtyard to touch her lowered hand. "She echoes the sense of the murder, but I can't see exactly what happened. There's an absence – a death. . . that's all."

It was similar to what Emmkar had felt as well, and he found himself leaning more heavily on his staff, disappointment filling him although he was sure the Jedi had done his best. "I hoped that perhaps a Force-user would be able to tell us who had committed the murder," he murmured. "Though knowing who committed the crime might not have helped us in catching him, I suppose."

"We don't need the name," Quinlan agreed.

"Perhaps not," said Emmkar. "But did you learn anything else? The crystals spoke of a web of sorts."

"A web? That's a good word for it." The Knight stepped away from the statues and cast a sharp, lingering look around the courtyard. "It's possible that the perpetrators are smugglers, or a gang, or . . . a cult."

"A cult?" Emmkar repeated. "Are you thinking that these people are worshippers of the Sith?"

"I don't know." Quinlan glanced around before heading towards where Carmen had died. "I don't think so, but they could be. Worshippers of the Sith . . . It's strange, isn't it, how many of those show up when a Sith returns from the dead?"

His voice was strangely, almost forcibly lighthearted as he stopped where Carmen had died and dropped to one knee, resting his arms on the other knee as he stared at the ground.

"No, that is not strange," said Emmkar slowly. "After all, Sith returning from the dead – that is a highly unusual occurrence. Is it not?"

"It's happened five or six times, according to ancient records – which is five or six times too many. But every time, for centuries after, these death-dealing cults existed, sometimes doing more damage than the original Sith they worshipped."

Emmkar nodded. "And does Darth Zenaya have worshippers?"

"Not that we know of, yet. But she will . . ." Quinlan trailed off, putting both hands against the ground. "She died instantly," he murmured, and moved his touch out farther as though searching for something.

The Head Guardian watched, horrified despite himself at how casual the Jedi sounded about the caretaker's death. Carmen had been his closest friend, a beautiful soul, and the Jedi felt her death – but felt no real horror or sorrow. Emmkar could tell that clearly enough. What must it be like, to be so familiar with death that even murders did not truly touch him?

Suddenly, the Jedi flinched and pulled his left hand away from the spot where Emmkar had been kneeling when he said his farewells to Carmen.

Emmkar said nothing, but now he could feel sympathy from the Jedi as Quinlan looked up and said, "I'm sorry for your loss, Head Guardian."

"As am I," said Emmkar softly. "She was a good woman."

The Jedi nodded. "It might help you to know that Carmen felt no pain," he said.

It did help. Even though the Guardians were supposed to fear no pain, Emmkar had never resigned himself to the thought of others suffering.

"Thank you," he said. "Who told you Carmen's name?"

"No one." Quinlan looked back at the Woman. "It was in the statue."

Stepping forward, Emmkar studied the face of the statue with its calm, downcast eyes and gentle smile. Kyber was alive, but not aware. Living, but not sentient. "The statue remembers its caretaker?" he murmured, surprised.

"Not consciously." The Jedi hummed in thought. "It's more that Carmen loved that statue, and left imprints of her own thoughts on it – strongly enough that I could learn her name. The kyber almost resonated with it. And so did the stones where you knelt near her."

"I see." Emmkar studied the Kiffar for several long seconds, with a new understanding of the shadows that surrounded his spirit. "I wonder, young Jedi, if the gift you possess is a burden or a blessing."

Something guarded entered Quinlan's eyes. "Both." He grinned, but there wasn't much humor behind the expression. "Sometimes it's good, other times it's not. Like most other Force abilities, really."

He was deflecting, clearly uncomfortable with the Head Guardian's obvious scrutiny, so Emmkar gestured at the open gate. "Has your ability told you anything about the people who own the weapon?"

"No," Quinlan said. "Not beyond that sense of an organization. I'll search the rest of this area, though. It might take me a while."

He wandered around, pausing now and again to stare at some detail on the walls or in the paved stones that Emmkar could not see. Then he walked the perimeter of the courtyard, occasionally touching the ground, the statues, the edge of the gateway, or the walls while the Head Guardian sat, watching through partially closed eyes and half-dozing in the warm sunlight.

Fully an hour passed before the Jedi returned to stand in front of him. "There were twelve people here," he said. "Only one of them – the leader of the group – came in before Carmen's death. He was the murderer. The others came after, cut the arm of the statue, and left immediately. Did anybody in the Temple see or hear anything?"

"No," Emmkar told him. "The gates are closed at night, the walls guarded by two pairs of sentries who walk around the parapet in opposite directions."

"Easy to time, then," the Jedi said.

"Yes." The Head Guardian pointed at the statues. "And during the theft, neither pair of guards heard anything. But what alarms me more is that not one of the Guardians of the Whills, including myself, sensed any threat to that which we protect."

The Kiffar narrowed his eyes at the ground, then glanced up. "Maybe that's not a cause for alarm," he said. "How long has it been since there was a threat? Have you ever felt an urgent warning from the crystals before?"

Emmkar considered for a long, long moment. "No," he said at last. "None of us have. You are suggesting that we may have felt the warning after all, and simply not recognized it?"

"Yes. If you question the others closely . . ." The Jedi shrugged. "I'd be willing to bet that every one of the Guardians had some kind of dream or thought where he or she was threatened."

Given that one of Emmkar's dreams the night of the murder – his only remembered dream, in fact – had been a strange, distant one of watching himself falling from a tower, the Head Guardian was inclined to agree.

"But there is one other thing," he said. "Now that the theft has occurred, there are many Guardians patrolling the streets of NiJedha. They have all been listening for the stolen crystal – for its song – but not even the slightest indication of it has been found. I wonder if perhaps it is no longer on Jedha. After all, dozens of ships arrive and depart each day."

"I doubt it's been removed from Jedha," Quinlan said. "Or if it has, the gang hasn't left. Whoever they are, they fully intend to take more kyber."

"So my vision indicated," said Emmkar. "But assuming the stolen kyber is still on Jedha, why can the Guardians not hear it?"

"Because it doesn't have a song anymore. It's been killed." Looking up at the walls where several Guardians stood conversing, the Jedi Knight added, "It was smart of them to kill it, too. It's the only way they'll keep the Guardians off their tracks."

"Killed?" Emmkar shook his head in momentary disbelief. "But surely that removes the value of the crystal, doesn't it?"

"In most cases, it would. . . But not if it's being sent to an alchemist who can channel dark energy through it." Quinlan Vos turned abruptly, staring through the open gate that led into the city. It seemed like he was watching for something, but after a brief pause, he glanced at Emmkar again. "After all, the Sith are known for using kyber for their own purposes."

"This is true." Sighing, Emmkar started towards the interior courtyard. "Come, young one. If you are finished here, I will find someone to bring you to the guest quarters, and to assist you in your investigation."

"Thank you," Quinlan said, gathering his discarded robe. "But don't worry about the guest quarters, Head Guardian. I might stay on guard here at night, but other than that I doubt I'll be in the Temple."

"Oh?" A weight on Emmkar's shoulders, which he'd hardly been aware of, started to lift. "You do not think, then, that anyone here has something to do with the crimes?"

"No." The Jedi's glance was knowing. "In fact, I'm absolutely sure that none of the Guardians had anything to do with it."

"Thank the Force," whispered Emmkar, who had already been trying to believe what the Jedi had just assured him of. "A traitor among the Guardians of the Whills has never existed, not in all our ten thousand years of history. For one to exist now – I can only imagine how that would affect everyone else here."

Quinlan said nothing, and Emmkar thought about Yan Dooku, whom the Jedi considered a traitor to the Order. But Emmkar himself, who thought about the Force and the Code so differently in comparison to the Jedi, considered Dooku a traitor only in the sense that he had started out as a reformer, and turned into a tyrant.

When they reached the courtyard, Emmkar paused to study a group of Guardians, all of whom were occupied in the daily tasks of sweeping and scrubbing and gardening. He had already decided who would be assigned to the Jedi, but Chirrut Îmwe did not seem to be present.

"Chirrut!" he called.

From the garden he was weeding, Baze Malbus looked up, looked around, and rolled his eyes. "I will find him, Head Guardian," he said in his deep voice, tossing aside a weed and brushing dirt from his hands. "He has probably lost himself again."

"Hardly," said a cheerful voice, and the blind Guardian appeared from the tool shed, staff balanced in the crook of one elbow as he clasped his hands gently around something. "This butterfly, however, was lost. She emerged from a cocoon she had spun in the flower pot, and could not escape the shed."

Baze looked briefly as if he was at his wit's end; then, sighing loudly, he went back to weeding.

"A butterfly. . ." Quinlan took a step closer, cocking his head. "In the desert?"

"Life thrives in many unlikely places," Chirrut said serenely, and opened his hands. A large yellow butterfly crawled up his index finger and perched there for a moment, opening and closing its wings. "If she flies into the desert, of course she will die; but she is not so foolish. There is shade for her here, as well as food and water –"

The butterfly flapped its wings, soared into the air, and floated over to a large snow-acacia bush while Chirrut smiled in its general direction. Baze, meanwhile, shot the butterfly a perplexed frown, as though concerned by its existence. Or perhaps he was wondering if the small creature had understood and listened to the blind Guardian.

Quite frankly, Emmkar would not put it out of the realm of possibility. "Chirrut," he said, stepping forward. "We have a guest here who requires your guidance. This is Jedi Knight Quinlan Vos."

The Guardian approached, and Emmkar slipped his hands into the sleeves of his robe, watching as Chirrut stood in front of the Kiffar.

For a moment, Chirrut stared almost absently past Quinlan. Then he smiled and reached forward hesitantly, hand hovering in the air – as though he did not already know exactly where the Jedi was.

Before Emmkar could introduce Chirrut, though, Quinlan narrowed his eyes and took a swift step to the side.

Instinctively, Chirrut turned to follow the movement, and the Jedi grinned. "You are not as blind as you seem, Guardian."

"Physically, I am completely blind." Chirrut rocked back on his heels once or twice before admitting, "But you are correct. I see in ways others do not."

The milky-blue of Chirrut's eyes seemed almost to focus for an instant as he smiled; then he moved, reaching forward suddenly to close one hand around the Jedi's left wrist. "It seems that both of us see with a sense beyond that of physical sight."

Quinlan watched him without blinking. From the garden, Baze looked askance at his fellow Guardian, as if wondering what strange thing he was saying this time.

"You," murmured Chirrut, the sun glinting in his eyes. "You see through the Force, and the past, as well as with your physical sense of sight. I wonder, though, which of us is truly more blind."

Although the Jedi Shadow continued to hold Chirrut's unseeing gaze without flinching, his expression changed to one of wariness.

Chirrut lifted his chin and tilted his head as if listening to something from far away. "Yes," he said. "There is something obscuring your sight, Quinlan Vos."

With an abrupt motion, Quinlan pulled his wrist from Chirrut's grasp. "Something obscures the sight of all Force-users, now," he said casually, but his uneasiness was apparent.

Emmkar knew that his sudden change in demeanor did not necessarily mean anything about the Jedi Knight personally. Chirrut Îmwe had a habit of making people feel uneasy for no apparent reason – he was fully aware of it, too, and often seemed to do it on purpose.

Sure enough, when Emmkar looked at Chirrut, the blind man was gazing at nothing again, but this time there was knowing smirk on his face.

To Emmkar's left, Baze tossed a long, tangled weed aside with more force than necessary and hit Chirrut's robes. "Stop bothering the Jedi," he said.

"I do not bother him." Chirrut used his staff to flick the weed back towards Baze's face. "Any more than you bother that garden."

Baze groaned. "I'm weeding it, you fool. So that it can grow."

"Yes," allowed Chirrut. "And in doing so, you are bothering the weeds."

Quinlan only continued to stare at Chirrut, as if trying to read him.

"Knight Vos," Emmkar said, forestalling further conversation. "Before I leave you, please tell me: is there anything else you have discovered about the thieves?"

The Kiffar nodded and glanced up. "To start with, there was no real emotion involved in the theft – or in the murder. There were no feelings of anger, or revenge, or even glee. Everyone involved was . . . dispassionate, at the time of both crimes. I think this was a job, nothing more. Apart from that, I only know that they'll be back."

"What is your plan, then?" Emmkar asked.

"I'll try to track them." The Jedi's hand strayed to his lightsaber. "If that fails, which it probably will, given the number of people here, I'll spend a couple days in the city placing some leads. There were at least twelve people involved, likely more. I doubt they'd have committed their full gang to one job. If they are staying in NiJedha, someone has to have noticed something unusual."

"This is a pilgrimage site," Baze said, brushing dirt from his hands and standing upright. "We have hundreds of people coming through here each week. And we do not keep track of them."

"I figured as much. There aren't even numbered landing zones." The Kiffar tapped his fingers against his lightsaber hilt. "Well, I'll think of something."

"And when you locate the thieves?" Baze asked, with a wry look. "You will proceed to . . . what, attack them? On your own?"

"I might," Quinlan admitted. "But it's not likely. Depends on how many there are, what they're planning to do, and how many Guardians are willing or able to fight."

"Well, count me in," Baze said, as he started sweeping up the loose earth. "I have no interest in staying in the safety of the Temple while a Jedi Knight fights our battles for us."

"No worries," Quinlan promised. "My research on the Whills indicates that you Guardians don't need anyone to fight your battles for you."

"We do not," agreed Emmkar, and nodded towards a group of pilgrims. "We pursue a path of service, and sometimes, it is our ability to defend ourselves and others that allows us to be of the greatest service."

"Indeed." Chirrut thumped one end of his staff decisively into the ground. "I have a plan, Jedi Knight. You will locate the thieves. Baze and I will bring them to justice. And if you like, you may help us while we take them into custody."

Smirking a little, Quinlan studied him, then his weapon. "Something tells me that, blind or not, you're pretty good with that staff."

"Perhaps the Force tells you?" Chirrut suggested with a whimsical smile.

"Yeah. Maybe it's the Force. Well, we'd better get started."

"I will show you around the town. It will help with your cover as a pilgrim." Chirrut marched towards the gate.

The Jedi slipped his robe back on and bowed to Emmkar. "I'll be in touch as soon as I find anything," he said.

"My deepest thanks," Emmkar said sincerely.

"Try to keep up, Quinlan," Chirrut ordered over one shoulder. "The blind walk a clear path because they have none. Those with sight, however, are confused by anything in their way."

"I'm not interested in pretended philosophical debates!" Quinlan called, running to catch up.

"Then perhaps I should convert you." The blind man stopped short, causing Quinlan to almost crash into him.

"You see?" Chirrut said smugly. "Had you been blind, you would have simply run over me, unconfused."

"Yeah. . ." Quinlan said. "Speaking of being confused, I'm trying to figure out exactly what your argument is."

"So am I. Please share your insights."

They headed out the gate, still bickering, and Baze grumbled under his breath and left with the pile of weeds.

Emmkar was glad he had picked Chirrut to accompany the Jedi, both for Chirrut's sake – and for everyone else's. The young guardian had a spirit for adventure that most of the elders did not; and, although he faithfully fulfilled his duties, there was always that longing to do more. He had an irrepressible spirit and hardly seemed to be hindered by the blindness he had inherited from his grandmother, who was a Miraluka.

That in itself had been an oddity. The humanoid Miralukans had no eyes at all, and saw only with the Force; but when they married humans it was most often the case that their children were born with eyes.

Chirrut's father had human eyes, and had married a human woman. It was strange, therefore, that Chirrut himself had been born with eyes but could see only through the Force. The Îmwes had brought him to the Temple of the Whills when he was twelve, at his own insistence. Much to Chirrut's delight, the Îmwes had then settled close by, and still lived in NiJedha to this day. In between running their business of handcrafted jewelry, they helped with all the Guardians' endeavors in the city.

Chirrut Îmwe himself was the kind of person who behaved serenely but enjoyed starting debates and arguments – most of them useless. He was helpful, but also capable of a good deal of mischief. He habitually made pilgrims underestimate him by tapping his staff along the road and moving slower than a child as he guided them to various sites in the Temple – and then laughed at their surprise when he broke into a run and vanished, leaving them to find their own way back to the gate.

His occasionally childish behavior, despite the fact that he was nearing thirty years of age, was a point of frequent contention between Chirrut and his peers; especially between Chirrut and Baze, who carried out his duties with a conscientiousness that was, according to Chirrut, mind-numbing.

Emmkar had made the two of them his personal assistants for good reason. They were both extremely dedicated. One always did things properly but too somberly; the other could be flighty and impulsive, but kept others from being too serious. Life, Emmkar had learned many years ago, was not supposed to be frivolous, but neither was it supposed to be joyless and without laughter. Neither were dedication, or religion, or service . . . though recent events were making that hard to remember.

A new group of pilgrims entered the garden area, and Emmkar watched as one of Carmen's students guided them to each statue. How much longer could this peaceful existence last? No vision he had received had ever proven to be false, and a slow conviction was growing in his mind that – try as he might – the Guardians of the Whills, the Temple of Kyber, and even NiJedha itself would eventually be destroyed. But he was equally sure that the destruction would only occur when all the kyber had been taken.

That will not happen during my lifetime, he vowed silently. One way or another, I will be dead before that happens.

Then a young scribe approached, her hands clasped around a stack of papers, and Emmkar shook himself from his reverie. If need be, he would die protecting the kyber crystals; but in the meantime, he had done everything that he could. And until such time as Quinlan Vos came back with information, there were still everyday tasks to perform.

Chapter Text

Today's soundtrack - I'm sure some of you will recognize it from In the Shadows:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3wiiifvbiY8

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Nine, middle of the night

It was an hour after midnight. The huge, old-fashioned bell tower somewhere in the depths of the Uscru District let out a single chime. During the day, the bell would have been inaudible with all the traffic, and even now it could only just be heard over the sounds of speeders and airbuses.

In the Senate District, most of the lights had been turned off. It was as dark now as the upper levels of Coruscant ever got. The lights in Senator Elin's penthouse had finally gone off half an hour ago.

Vythia Archane walked silently to the back of the penthouse. There were two guards at the front, but no one guarded the cargo door. They likely had no need to; short of using explosives, no one was getting in through the heavy metal door.

Once at the edge of the railed walkway, Vythia fired her cable into the roof and jumped off, letting herself hang over the empty drop into the city as she swung at an angle towards the wall. As her movement slowed, she grabbed at one edge of a duracrete slab with her right hand, keeping the other hand on her cable, and climbed up until she reached a narrow ledge on the fifth story.

Standing upright, she put her back to the wall, retrieved her cable, and fired a grappling hook into the duracrete at her feet. The only window to the senator's bedroom was directly below her, now, and Vythia could also keep an eye on the area near the front entrance, even though she could not see the actual door.

The Nautolan woman wound the slack of her grappling cord around one wrist, leaned back, and stood motionless on the ledge in the cold wind. The security patrols would be coming through within an hour, locating and evicting or arresting everyone who did not belong here – including Vythia herself, if she was not cautious. And then, an hour after that, the daily supply deliveries would begin. Vythia was certain that, should there be a murder attempt tonight, it would have to take place soon.

Her task of locating a likely target for this gang of killers had been surprisingly easy. Hilt had not been a discreet person in the least; and Senator Elin, who was young, inexperienced and unfortunately in love, was little better. After only a glance at the number of calls the two had exchanged in the month preceding Hilt's death, Vythia had realized that the young woman was the most likely target of all.

She had warned Commander Fox, of course, and he had tipped off Divo, as well as Senator Elin's personal security detail. But Vythia was not confident that this would be enough. So far, the gang had avoided all efforts to locate them. They had outmaneuvered the planetary security forces and the clones. . . and, somewhat more annoyingly, they'd outmaneuvered Vythia herself. But they would not tonight, not if she could possibly help it.

The chilly, damp breeze blew again, stirring her head-tentacles and bringing her hints of emotion from the deeper levels of the planet. There were so many emotions just touched upon, and more than anything else she sensed the constant fight for survival that was life on Coruscant among the poorer classes.

Vythia leaned back against the cold duracrete and glanced around. She idly wondered what Elin could possibly have seen in Hilt. From what Vythia could find, Hilt had possessed no inner conviction, no definitive morals, and no true ambition – beyond being ambitious enough to, apparently, have his predecessor murdered. But he hadn't used his potentially ill-gained position as senator to further any cause, or even to gather more power. No, all Senator Hilt had been interested in was wealth.

Vythia raised an eyebrow. Perhaps Senator Elin had not actually seen anything in Hilt after all, but had merely been flattered by his attention. It was a weakness many young women shared.

Still, Vythia was not as scornful of Elin as she once would have been. Only a few months ago, emotions such as love were not only foreign to Vythia, but they were to be scorned and avoided at all costs. She had been convinced that emotions, overall, caused weakness and inconsistency, miscalculations. . .

In fact, to some extent, she was still convinced of that. After all, it had been her own feelings of admiration and curiosity involving the ancient culture of the Sith that had led to her studying them. Her pride, and her feelings of superiority towards those who could not see the value and strength in the Sith culture, had led more and more to her studying the Sith leaders, their philosophies and lies.

And yet, Vythia had been so confident in her strength of will that she had not felt fear when she began thinking about Sith alchemy. She had hesitated only once, when she discovered the Crystal of Aantonaii and sensed the overwhelming power contained inside it. Fool that she was, she had taken it from Malachor . . .

Some distance away, a speeder backfired, then roared into the traffic pattern, headed away from the Senate District.

Vythia could feel her muscles stiffening from the tense position she had to maintain on the ledge. She checked for any observers, then carefully paced the length of the ledge and back.

The Crystal of Aantonaii. . . She had been awestruck and inspired when she first discovered it, along with the ritual which, she thought at the time, would give her the power of Darth Zenaya. But it hadn't. Her arrogance had been her undoing, and the crystal haunted her now, as well it should. Since performing the ritual on Malachor, Vythia had not gone a single night without Zenaya, and the massive red crystal, appearing in her dreams.

Zenaya . . . Force knew where she was. She had hidden, shielding herself from Vythia's thoughts – though every so often she would make sure that Vythia knew she was still watching, still waiting for the right moment to strike from the shadows. Vythia knew that there would be another confrontation between herself and the Sith woman someday, and some part of her looked forward to it.

The Crystal of Aantonaii itself was somewhere on Coruscant – or so Vythia hoped, because if it was than Zenaya did not have it.

After recovering from her injuries, Vythia had spent some time tracing Cad Bane's ship from Nar Shaddaa. The bounty hunter had gone directly to Coruscant. But what had happened after that, and where the crystal had been sent, and who had purchased it from the bounty hunter, Vythia could not discover.

Perhaps Zenaya had already gotten it back.

Vythia frowned and paced the ledge again. Her goal for weeks had been to find that crystal and destroy it – somehow. The Force-bond in her soul, which had left her connected in some way to both Darth Zenaya and Quinlan Vos, told her that the Crystal of Aantonaii was still important to Zenaya. Not only that, but Quinlan's original mission had been to locate the person buying the artifacts, in the hopes of discovering who the secret Sith was.

If Darth Sidious had not been the one to purchase the crystal, finding and destroying it would still do one of two things: it would anger Zenaya and perhaps draw her out of hiding so the Jedi could deal with her once and for all; or, at the very least, destroying it would inconvenience her. And Vythia very much wanted to inconvenience the Sith woman who had tricked and lied to her, stolen her body, tormented Vythia's entire team, and was now – somehow – focused on rebuilding the Sith Empire.

Yes, inconveniencing the Sith woman was the very least that Vythia would do to her. Ideally, of course, she would kill Zenaya. She must. It was Vythia who had released her on the galaxy, and she was never able to forget it.

Something stirred in her mind – a tinge of cool, calm amusement and a sense of dismissal, followed by a strikingly clear image: Vythia and Quinlan in Trayus Academy, with haunted eyes and wearing dark robes, their faces and arms covered in whip-marks as they stumbled through a dark labyrinth from which there was no escape.

Vythia brushed the image aside and murmured, "You wish that would happen, but it will not. I have not even spoken to Quinlan since we returned from Malachor, and neither of us has any intention of returning."

Zenaya's replying laughter was almost audible, and her words sounded in Vythia's thoughts. How does that matter? I see the future. You do not.

"Is that where you are?" Vythia asked.

Again the laugh, and a sense of denial. Zenaya was not on Malachor. She was just meditating, idly – almost playfully – reaching through the bond into Vythia's mind and sending her image after image of pain and death.

After seeing herself uncharacteristically sobbing, kneeling with her hands over her face while Quinlan lay there, bleeding out from multiple claw-inflicted wounds, Vythia became irritated at the Sith woman and therefore proceeded to ignore her. Clearing her throat, she glanced around at the Coruscant night, checked that all was quiet, and then attempted to close off her end of the Force-bond again.

Zenaya managed to send a final sharp image – Quinlan, with golden eyes and black Sith robes, lifting Vythia off the ground with one hand and choking her against a wall while she struggled weakly and pleaded with him.

Vythia raised an eyebrow, allowing her skepticism to reach Zenaya. She did not and would not plead . . . and she would certainly not kneel there and cry while someone needed immediate medical attention.

Dismissing the vision again, Vythia finally succeeded in closing her end of the bond. Any of those images Zenaya had shown her might be the future, and they might not; regardless, none of them was currently relevant. And it was not as if Vythia trusted the Sith woman to show her an accurate future.

One of Zenaya's recurring attempts since Malachor had been to drive a wedge of fear between Vythia and the Kiffar Jedi – for what reason, Vythia did not know.

Of course, the Sith woman's attempts were not working. Vythia knew Quinlan better than anyone else in the galaxy, and he knew her just as well. . . certainly, each knew the other far better than either had wanted to know anyone, perhaps even better than they knew themselves.

It was unfortunate, but unavoidable. Vythia's way of dealing with it, so far, had been not to contact the Kiffar for anything, and to keep her side of the bond as tightly shut as possible.

He had done the same. Only twice had Vythia felt brief flashes of emotion and thoughts that were not her own or Zenaya's, and they had – thankfully – vanished within moments. One of those had occurred only a couple of days ago; it had been a sense of sharp, nervous anticipation followed by relief and disappointment, and Vythia knew that the Jedi had expected to find a hint of Zenaya's whereabouts, but failed.

Hoping she could find something where he could not, she had almost reached out; but then her common sense reasserted itself, and Vythia had realized that if Quinlan could find nothing, there was nothing to find. She would simply have to approach the problem of locating Zenaya from another angle. And thus, the crystal. It always came back to that Force-forsaken crystal.

But that was not her current mission.

Dismissing the Jedi from her thoughts, Vythia paced along the ledge again, back to her former position above Senator Elin's window.

She was vaguely considering her syndicate contacts, and wondering why they had been unable to find nothing about a massive, red kyber crystal of all things, when there was the faintest sound of a footstep.

A dark figure appeared, abruptly, on a walkway some thirty meters across from her, and Vythia watched him through narrowed eyes, all her focus in the present as she closed her fingers around her pistol.

The person, whoever it was, walked to a position opposite the senator's window and paused. Vythia tightened her grip on the gun, ready to lift it the instant the need arose.

But it wasn't that figure who burst suddenly out of the darkness on the level below her, so fast that Vythia hardly had time to react. As the figure scrambled for the senator's window, a thin pipe raised overhead, Vythia leaped down.

She swung on her cable and released it, landing on the ledge outside the senator's window just as it shattered. Ducking aside to avoid the falling glass, she jerked her gun-arm up into the attacker's face.

As she pulled the trigger, leathery fingers closed hard around her own and yanked her arm aside with ease, making her shot miss completely. Then he wrenched the gun from her hand and threw it. Vythia, a bit surprised at the strength in those fingers, drew her knife in her free hand. This was no human or Twi'lek she faced.

Even as she slashed at him, the would-be assassin shoved past her, nearly knocking her off the ledge, and jerked the pipe up to his mouth.

Vythia kicked him hard in the back of the knee and grabbed his throat with one arm, using him to keep herself on the ledge. The assassin slammed her against the wall, stabbed ineffectively at her, and ran for freedom.

Inside the room, there were shouts from the guards and high-pitched screams of alarm from several females – probably the maids – but Vythia ignored them all. Twisting the grappling hook's cord free of her wrist, she darted after the escaping criminal, who had run onto a covered walkway and was now shielded from her view.

"Got a pursuer!" he was saying, probably into a comm. "I think I lost her for the moment, wait –"

He stopped running, and Vythia also stopped short, tilting her head so that she could hear better.

"Hold on," the voice mumbled. "I don't hear her anymore."

Creeping forward, Vythia tilted her head against the wall of the walkway and peered inside. The figure on the walkway was nowhere to be seen. He must have hidden in one of the alcoves.

After a moment's consideration, Vythia stepped onto the railing and climbed soundlessly up. Lying flat on the roof, she held her breath and listened. Somewhere on the walkway itself, her quarry moved, walked a short distance, and paused again.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the other end of the long corridor, approaching rapidly before they, too, stopped.

"That you, Asher?" the assassin asked. Now that he was speaking louder, Vythia could hear the distinctive rasp of a Weequay's voice.

"Yeah, it's me," said a second voice. "What happened?"

"Someone was waiting above Elin's room," answered the assassin. "I barely got my shot off."

"Kark it!" snapped the other man. "Do we have to go back and check?"

"Nah, I got her for sure. But whoever attacked . . ."

"You don't know where she is?"

"No. I think she stopped following, though. Maybe she was a guard or something."

"Huh, maybe. You know anything about her for sure?"

"Yeah. She was a Nautolan."

Asher swore again.

Coming to a decision, Vythia pushed herself slowly to her hands and one knee. If these men were right, Senator Elin was dead and Vythia's primary objective had failed . . . but she could still attempt to get the murder weapon. Ideally, she would capture both men as well, but that was not a realistic goal to set. If she had the chance, though –

The men were walking away now, talking in voices that would have been too low for a human to make out. But Vythia had no trouble discerning their words as she walked silently along the edge of the walkway roof, a little behind their position.

"Maybe she was a Jedi," the assassin said. "She moved awful fast."

"You moron!" Asher retorted. "Jedi have lightsabers."

"But I stabbed her and she didn't react."

Asher groaned. "I've stabbed a Jedi before, they bleed and feel just like the rest of us humanoids. You ever hear of armor?"

"It wasn't armor," insisted the Weequay. "Felt like cloth."

Cortosis did feel rather like cloth in some ways, so Vythia forgave him that particular oversight.

"Whatever," said Asher after a pause. "Look. . . Jedi or not, I don't like this. The boss didn't want any witnesses."

"It's not like she can identify me or anything," mumbled the assassin.

"No, but if you think she's not following us –"

"How could she? It's completely dark."

"Don't be a fool, Vresh," snapped Asher, in a low voice. "You should know how freakishly good Nautolans are at seeing in the dark."

"Why should I know that?" grumbled Vresh, and from the sound of his voice he'd turned to check over his shoulder. "I haven't worked with the boss like you have."

Vythia smiled to herself and looked ahead to the end of the long walkway. She judged the men would emerge from their cover in less than fifteen seconds. Even if she failed, somehow, they had just given her invaluable information in telling her that the leader of the gang was a Nautolan.

She would thank them momentarily by taking the incriminating murder weapon from their hands.

Increasing her pace, she hurried to the last bit of the walkway and crouched, one hand on the hilt of her electrowhip as she waited for the two men to reach her.

"Still don't hear anything," Vresh said. "She might have lost us."

"Yeah." Asher sounded dubious. "But we'll take a different route, all the same."

They were directly beneath her, now, and Vresh was on her left. Vythia stood upright on the edge of the walkway and gazed down, waiting for the two men to move a few paces out of the shelter of the walkway.

The instant they appeared, she gathered herself and leaped. Before even landing, she'd ignited her electrowhip and lashed out. The coil of electricity wrapped around Vresh's chest, and Vythia jerked her arm, sending him sprawling. Asher had his gun out, but Vythia ignored him, because he wasn't aiming at her head. She was more interested in the blowpipe she'd just caught sight of, hanging from Vresh's belt.

Asher fired twice, and the lasers were easily absorbed by her cortosis vest.

"What?!" Asher exclaimed.

Knowing he would not make that mistake a second time, Vythia swung her whip overhead and lashed at his hand. Asher jumped back, dropping his gun, and she whirled, hitting him again before rounding on Vresh.

As the Weequay staggered to his feet, she kicked his legs out from under him and deactivated her whip.

In the sudden darkness, Vythia had an instant to act, unhindered, while the other two collected their wits. She ripped the blowpipe from Vresh's belt, leaped from a metal windowsill to the top of the walkway, and dropped flat again. Now that she had the murder weapon, she had some leisure to observe the two men – and, possibly, a chance to follow them to their hideout.

Asher was on his feet by now, swearing at the top of his lungs. Clearly, he was either too angry to keep his wits about him, or he had no fear of attracting the guards' notice, despite the blazing lights that now surrounded the penthouse where Senator Elin had lived.

"Quiet!" the Weequay hissed at him. "We need to get out of here – no. Kark! We have to go after her!"

"Why?"

"That filthy little water-witch got my blowpipe."

There was a moment of stunned silence from Asher. "That does it," he said darkly. "We're not going back to headquarters tonight. Let's get to a secure location and inform the boss."

"But if she follows us –"

"We can lose her in the undercity," Asher muttered. "And if she manages to follow us down there, we'll kill her. Now come on, let's move."

Vythia decided that she had no intention of following them into the undercity, especially if they had no intention of leading her to their base.

So, instead, she waited until the men had vanished into the darkness, then got to her feet and walked back along the roof towards the penthouse and the semi-controlled chaos of a murder scene. The lights of the CSF air speeders were flashing, painting the whole scene in blue and red flickers. Officers had surrounded the building, some conferring with the members of the CG who had shown up to assist. Two clones were shouting orders, directing the civilians who inevitably showed up at this kind of scene to get back, and Inspector Divo's voice sounded from inside the penthouse as he tried to contain the situation and calm the panicked members of Senator Elin's household.

When Vythia reached the darkest shadows cast by the searchlights, she climbed down off the walkway roof and glanced over the activity. The Coruscant Security Force men were now inside the building, while the clone troopers stood on guard outside. That was ideal; she had no wish to waste time trying to explain her presence to an officer, since Fox had never told the CSF about her existence.

Stepping to the edge of the shadows, Vythia waited for one of the clones to notice her. It only took an instant, which said something for the alertness of the men on-duty as three troopers spun on her, lifting their guns.

"Stay where you are!" snapped a voice she recognized instantly.

Vythia raised her hands as rapid footsteps approached from her right, and two ARC troopers halted in front of her.

Casting a brief look at the red-and-grey kamas they wore, she said, "Detain me if you wish, Kilo and Steele, but I must speak to Commander Fox immediately."

Steele lowered his gun without a word.

Meanwhile, Kilo let out a hefty sigh. "Agent Archane," he said, sounding tired and resigned. "Why didn't you announce yourself beforehand?"

"I did not wish to explain my existence to Lieutenant Divo's men," she said. "And it was a good test of your men's alertness."

"They might have shot you," Steele pointed out, not sounding worried about it. If anything, he sounded concerned by the potential inconvenience of it all, and Vythia smiled a little.

"All right, men, stand down," said Kilo to the other troopers. "It's just our informant. Steele and I will take her to the commander."

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Jedi Temple

Day Nine, mid-morning

Commander Fox stood outside the Jedi Council room, waiting for one of the Jedi to come out through the currently-closed doors. He didn't mind waiting, because he couldn't make any real progress in solving this case until he talked to them.

In fact, after last night, there was no chance he or Lieutenant Divo could make any progress until he talked to them. Fox needed a Jedi's help. More specifically, the help of a psychometric Jedi. More specifically yet, a certain Kiffar named Quinlan Vos.

But, as usual, Fox had no idea where General Vos was; and, as was also usual at random intervals, the Kiffar was not answering Fox's calls. One of the Jedi's many annoying traits was a lack of communication. He had a habit of vanishing off the face of the planet without notifying Fox or any of his men, and then staying absent and utterly radio-silent for anywhere from two days to two weeks.

Which was why Fox was now at the Jedi Temple, trying to track him down. He could have wasted time sending messages, but things tended to get done faster and more efficiently when he spoke to people face-to-face.

Several minutes ago, a Temple Guard had told him that a Jedi Master would be available to speak with him shortly, and Fox had leaned against a wall to wait. Whether he liked it or not, the next step in the case involved getting Vos onboard.

The Kiffar had worked with the CG on several criminal cases in the past. He also, somehow, managed to get along with the CSF, who were not fond of working with outsiders – the Senate Guard most of all, but outsiders in general. Even their contacts were relatively suspect. But they got along with Vos.

Mysteriously, Vos even got along with Lieutenant Divo – who, while he didn't detest Jedi the way he did politicians, also wasn't overly fond of them.

Fox himself, however, did not get along well with Vos. The Kiffar was one of the most annoying people he'd ever met, and that was saying something. He was certainly the most annoying Jedi he'd ever met.

This was partly because Vos refused to behave like a normal Jedi. He poked and prodded and investigated and made a nuisance of himself. Where the other Jedi usually had the courtesy not to probe – in fact, they had the polite habit of pretending not to notice at all – when things were wrong, Vos. . .

Well. Simply put, Vos did not.

He also refused to follow protocol in the matter of – anything and everything, really, including flimsiwork; but most particularly, Fox was irked by how the Kiffar refused to follow protocol when it came to informing the authorities during a case.

He had a terrible habit of working alone, trusting no one unless he had no choice except to trust them, taking unnecessary risks, and going behind Fox's back to finish off cases. Sure, it had been somewhat of a relief when Fox woke up one morning to hear that a Rodian-hating serial killer was behind bars, and to discover that all the evidence had been neatly documented and sent to him – the one time Vos didn't hate flimsiwork, apparently, was when he was wrapping up a case – but it was also nerve-wracking, dangerous for the Jedi himself, insulting to the CG and the CSF, and absolutely unnecessary.

The Coruscant Guard had some of the best-trained troopers in the galaxy, and none of the other Jedi scorned their help. But it seemed that Vos did.

Either that, or he didn't want to risk their lives. . . That was ridiculous, of course. Fox's men could hold their own. Even Vos should know that.

Maybe he did know that, and didn't care? Fox supposed that it was possible, however unlikely, that the Jedi considered clones to be useless. It was possible that he considered them to be useful, but not in his line of work. It was even more possible that Vos just didn't think at all.

Glancing at his chronometer – it had now been eight minutes since the Temple Guard told him 'a few minutes' – Fox mentally noted that it was only fair to admit that the Kiffar was helpful . . . at times . . . even when he was being annoying. Even when he was appearing in Fox's office at random, unannounced intervals; or teaching the younger troopers to hotwire speeders; or trying to bribe Fox with caf, of all things.

Of course, Vos and Fox's relationship had been rocky from the very start. Shortly after being assigned to Coruscant, Fox had been split off from his men while racing down a narrow, low-level alley after a Pantoran drug-runner. Just as he was closing in, he'd been jumped by six men. After shooting one of them, he'd gotten slashed across the collarbone with a knife, and then taken a beating which ended with a kick to the neck that left him reeling and breathless.

The drug-runners had cuffed Fox to the nearest pipe, and were discussing whether to kill him or sell him to the fighting rings, when Quinlan Vos descended out of nowhere. Literally. Fox was never going to be able to forget the way the Jedi had decided to jump from a height of eight meters, without a weapon, to attack five thugs, instead of calling for backup. If one of his men had done what Vos did, Fox would have given him fresher duty for a month. Of course, the Jedi was not one of Fox's men, and although he worked with the CG, officially he was not under their authority in any way.

There was also the small fact that, at the time of the rescue, Fox hadn't been fully conscious of what was going on. So, when Quinlan pulled him to his feet without warning and before the commander was fully aware that the Kiffar was an ally, Fox's self-defense reflexes had kicked in, and he'd slammed his cuffed hands into the Jedi's face, breaking his nose very efficiently.

Hours after the two of them had managed to stagger back to headquarters, get treated, and finally get released from the CG's medbay, Fox had actually witnessed his CMO snickering into his caf at the idea of his commander breaking a Jedi's nose. Hypo had always had an odd sense of humor.

Checking his chrono again, Fox absently wondered if any other Jedi Knights in the GAR were as difficult as the Coruscant Guard's was. He didn't know all that many Jedi, really, but his batchmates thought the galaxy of their generals. Or at least, they thought the galaxy of them as people, if not as military leaders.

Which reminded him. . .

Fox took out his datapad and checked the communication channel he shared with his batchmates. Then, opening the Jedi tally, he glanced through it for updates.

As it turned out, Monnk now owed his life to General Fisto nine times. It had been eight, a couple of days ago. The 442nd must have been in another battle.

And Wolffe – currently, he was claiming that he'd lost count of how many times his general had saved his life, which probably meant that Fisto had the lead over Koon right now and Wolffe didn't want to admit it.

Bly was prejudiced in Secura's favor and was most likely giving inaccurate reports. If she'd really saved Bly six times this week, well, that didn't say much for Bly's competency, did it?

Cody, though, was in the negatives again, meaning he'd saved Kenobi's life as many times as Kenobi had saved his, and more. His current tally, which had been at negative one not three hours ago, now showed a negative two.

Gree had an unusual tally. He would save Luminara's life, and then she would save his, and neither of them ever seemed to get solidly ahead of the other. In fact, the most commonly seen number on their tally was a zero.

As for Fox himself. . .? Well, yesterday, after realizing that Vos had been around for several months, he had finally added the Kiffar's name to the tally, along with a negative three and a message: He's not officially assigned to us. I've worked directly with him seven times. He saved my life twice, I've saved his five times. One of those times was because he almost got run over by a speeder on a landing pad. I leave you to work out the details.

Now, there were two more messages, which had only recently arrived. From Wolffe: Is he a padawan? Or maybe he was just knighted?

From Cody: Doubtful, given the CG's listed as not having a general. Might be secret ops.

With another glance at the still-closed Council Room door, Fox typed, He's not a padawan. He's a full-fledged, completely reckless Jedi Knight.

A minute later, a new message from Wolffe popped up. Name?

Fox told him, even though Wolffe could have looked it up himself.

It wasn't even ten seconds before Cody replied with a simple, My condolences.

Great. Cody, who had the infamous Kenobi to deal with, was sending Fox his condolences.

Fox sighed and typed, I don't want to know how you know or what you know.

Just as well, Cody answered, about five seconds later. You don't currently have the level of clearance to read up on the mission I'm referring to.

Now Fox really didn't want to know. He told Cody as much and put away the datapad just as the Temple Guard finally leaned forward to open the door.

Commander Fox had asked to speak with General Yoda, or Windu, but it was Kit Fisto who sauntered out into the hall.

When the Nautolan general caught sight of the commander, he gave him a beaming grin, as if Fox was a close friend whom he hadn't seen in a very long time.

The commander saluted. "General Fisto."

"Commander Fox!" Stars, Fisto even sounded happy to see him. "How can I assist you?"

"I was hoping to speak with General Yoda, sir."

"Ah. Well, unfortunately, you may be waiting a long time." Fisto gestured at the closed door. "He and Master Windu are finishing up a last-minute briefing before they meet with several important dignitaries –" He glanced at his chrono, and his black eyes widened. "Whom, I might add, are on their way here at this very moment. Might I suggest we make ourselves scarce?"

Far be it from Fox to disregard his advice. He followed the Nautolan general down a corridor to a small side room filled with plants and flowers and running water.

"Now, Commander," said Fisto. "Is there anything I can do for you? You are welcome to wait here, of course, or to come back at a later time, but Master Yoda will be occupied with the delegation for some hours."

Fox considered. General Fisto was a Council member, after all, so he probably had as good a chance as any of the others when it came to where the kriff Vos had taken himself off to now.

"Well, General," Fox said. "I intended to ask if Quinlan Vos is still on-planet. And, if he isn't available, I'll need to request the help of another Jedi."

"Hmm," Fisto said. "Quinlan left Coruscant three days ago."

"I see. Do you have any idea when he'll be back?"

"One moment." Fisto pulled a datapad out of his robes and scrolled down. "He told me something about it earlier – ah, yes, here. . . Hmm. How typical."

The commander tilted his head in a silent question.

Kit Fisto shrugged, then said, "I shall quote what he said. 'No idea when I'll be back. But if you don't hear from me after a week, presume me to be dead – and hopefully buried.' "

Fox sighed.

"Yes," agreed the Nautolan, putting his datapad away. "I must say, that message was even less helpful than his usual updates. But I expect he means he should be back within a week, as it is. Do you need a Jedi sooner, Commander?"

"Ideally, within the day, sir." Commander Fox folded his arms. "This is a high-priority, high-security investigation, and the trails are turning cold."

"Perhaps I can assist you," suggested Fisto. "I am on-planet for the next several days."

"Thank you, sir, but we already had two other Jedi attempt to help us. At this stage of the investigation, I specifically need a psychometrist. Do you know any who are available?"

"Any who are . . . No, Commander, certainly not. There are only a few psychometrists in the entire Order."

Fox looked at him in surprise. "I didn't know psychometry was that rare."

"Oh, it is quite rare among Jedi. There are two other psychometrists currently at the Temple, but they have only just become padawans."

"Ah," Fox said. "Well – I wouldn't want a kid helping with this, sir, and I doubt you'd allow it. It won't be a pleasant job."

"Oh?"

"No, sir. I need someone to read a weapon."

Fisto blinked and shook his head. "Ah. Then you are correct in your assumption, Commander. The Jedi do not usually allow padawans to read weapons."

"Makes sense." Fox tapped the fingers of one hand against his kama. "I imagine their reading a murder weapon is absolutely out of the question."

"A murder weapon?" The Jedi blinked, emphatically. "Definitely out of the question, Commander. In fact, even Master psychometrics are heavily discouraged from reading weapons that were used to commit murder. It is not forbidden, but . . ."

"Understood," said Fox, deciding not to mention that Quinlan Vos had read several murder weapons for the CG before. "General Fisto, we have had two hundred and fifty-six personnel involved in this investigation, and we're getting nowhere. I expect you've been dealing with requests from senators for Jedi guards."

"Yes, we have." General Fisto stroked thoughtfully at his chin. "In relation to the murder of Senator Hilt and his retinue. Was this morning's murder the eighth?"

"The ninth, General. Trouble is, it's not just Hilt's retinue being targeted at this point."

"I heard," said Fisto, frowning. "It was another senator."

"Yes, sir," said Fox. "And that's only made the situation worse. We think there may have been some romantic attachment between Hilt and the woman who was killed, but we don't know for sure; so we can't exactly reassure the other senators that they aren't going to be next."

Fisto nodded his understanding.

"The problem with senators," said Fox, a bit surprised at himself for actually complaining, but also not caring, "is that they spend a lot of time covering their tracks, so it's hard to find anything without the proper permissions and a lot of time."

"Hmm. And you are therefore not sure who the next target will be."

"Correct, General. At this point, we have dignitaries panicking right and left that they could be next on the hit list, because they talked to Hilt last week, or last month, or even last year."

"That sounds problematic," Kit Fisto said, in the understatement of the year. "Is there no other Jedi who could help you in some way besides psychometry?"

"Not unless there's another Force-ability that can read weapons and figure out the intent or identity of the owner."

Fisto shook his head. "Not that I am aware of, no. And you cannot bring in civilian psychometrists from Kiffu; that could take weeks."

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm." Folding his arms, Fisto said, "It might be possible to recall Quinlan from his current mission."

"That would be ideal, General," Fox said. He hoped that the Kiffar wasn't too ticked off about it, mostly because an irritated Vos was even more impossible to work with than a cheerful Vos.

"Very well," said the Nautolan general. "I will submit a request to the Council right now. One moment."

Fox watched Fisto compose and send in the message. "Thank you, sir. I know Jedi missions are important."

"It is quite all right. Given the nature of the mission he was on, I can easily send another Jedi to finish it for him."

"Even so," Fox said. "If we didn't need to track down these criminals before anyone else is murdered – and before people panic and make rash decisions that end up killing more than the murderer did – I wouldn't be asking you to recall him."

"No worries." Fisto waved a dismissive hand. "Since the war began, the Jedi have been pulled in many directions – in more ways than one, I am afraid. We are getting used to it . . ." His voice quieted as he went on. "Which is not necessarily the best thing. But at least it serves some purpose."

"Yes, sir." Fox put on his helmet and fell into step with him, checking his comm for new alerts as they headed for the main doors. There was only one message, from Vythia Archane. She said that, so far, she'd been unable to locate any details about a Nautolan gang leader, but would keep trying. Fox shook his head at the probable dead end, but acknowledged her message. At least now he knew Vos would be back; until then, they would probably not make any headway.

As he and Fisto stepped through the doors, the general sent him a considering look. "And speaking of being pulled in different directions. . ."

Fox put away his comm. "Sir?'

"Why is the Coruscant Security Force not taking charge of this investigation, given their resources?"

Fox eyed him, wondering what Fisto's angle was. "The investigation is under the CSF's jurisdiction, sir," he said truthfully. "All murder cases are."

"Oh?" The Nautolan general smiled brightly. "I must have been mistaken. I thought that perhaps you had an informant working for you – one who, rather against regulations, is not reporting to them on this case."

Behind the safety of his helmet, Fox narrowed his eyes.

"Tell me," Fisto went on. "Has the CSF approved her working on the Hilt case, or is she not involved yet?"

Jedi were absolute menaces. Fox remained calm. "They don't know about her existence, General Fisto, as you know perfectly well."

"Ah, you are correct! . . . I had – forgotten."

That was absolutely a lie, or sarcasm at best, but Fox said nothing. He did scoff, though.

In reply, Kit Fisto only gave him another blinding grin. "Well. It is far more prudent at times to apologize than to ask permission, is it not?"

"I wouldn't know, sir," Fox said sanctimoniously – and untruthfully.

This time, it was General Fisto who scoffed, which was fair. "Indeed," the Nautolan Jedi said. "Do you know, Commander, I find I do not believe that."

When Fox didn't answer, the Jedi went on. "I myself used to believe it was best to go the fully legal route in these matters, but have since come to change my mind."

"Yes, sir," Fox said blandly. "I am fully aware of that. But I don't know why you'd be bringing her up in relation to this case. After all, you were the one who sent her to me, without asking permission of the proper authorities."

"True." Kit Fisto smiled again. "It is fortunate that, as far as legality is concerned in this particular case, if we should be challenged about it . . . it will simply be your word against mine."

Fox was surprised and a little impressed that a Jedi Master would sink so low.

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Jedi Temple

Day Nine, mid-morning

Kit Fisto stood, arms folded, in front of the holotable as he waited for a connection between Jedha and Coruscant to be established. It took several minutes for that to happen, and another half hour for the Guardian on duty to locate Quinlan Vos, during which time Kit meditated and finished some Council-related work. At last, however, the blue light flickered, glitched, and resolved into a three-dimensional image of the Kiffar.

"Hey, Kit," he said, sounding a bit surprised. "Baze said the Jedi requested my presence. I assumed the Council wanted a report."

"Ah," the Nautolan replied, belatedly realizing he should have explained himself to the messenger. "He was not precisely mistaken. A Jedi requested your presence, and that Jedi was myself."

"I see," said Quinlan. His commlink beeped, and he glanced briefly at it. "What's up, then? I've got about five things to do in the next couple hours, including placing false trails and sabotaging an enemy speeder."

"Don't get caught," Kit said in a cheerful voice. "Because, as it turns out, you are needed back on Coruscant."

"What?!"

"I said –"

"I heard you," Quinlan interrupted, and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "But . . . Coruscant? Seriously?"

"I am perfectly serious," Kit Fisto said.

"Oh, come on. Of all times – I only just got a solid lead!"

"Another Jedi will finish tracing this lead for you," said Kit.

"I suppose another Jedi can't deal with Coruscant," said Quinlan.

"No."

The Kiffar sighed.

"I will explain," said Kit Fisto. "The situation in the Senate –"

Quinlan lifted a hand to stop him. "There's always a situation in the Senate, Kit. Which one are we talking about?"

"The one involving Hilt and his mysterious killer. It has gotten worse. Only a short time ago, Commander Fox came to the Temple to personally to ask for your help."

"Well, I feel honored." But despite his flippant tone, Quinlan frowned. "He actually came to the Temple? And asked for my help? Kit. . . exactly how bad is this situation?"

"Bad enough."

"There were four murders, right?"

"There were." Kit Fisto shook his head. "In all, there are now nine murders. The latest victim was one Senator Elin."

"Oh," said Quinlan, straightening a little. "The one who insisted she barely knew Hilt . . .? Now, that's interesting."

The Nautolan eyed him. "Quinlan, people are being systematically executed. I would hesitate to call it interesting."

"Right, yeah." Kit's fellow Jedi gave a faint grimace. "I should probably keep that in mind when talking to people. Were the rest of the victims Hilt's former servants?"

"Yes. His entire retinue is now dead. Neither the Coruscant Guard nor the CSF have any definite leads at the moment. Commander Fox will give you the details, but the short version is that he believes a psychometric reading of a murder weapon to be the only current option."

"Oh, great. . ." Turning, Quinlan glanced over his shoulder. "Tell me this: is anyone else likely to die if I don't show up in the next twenty-four hours?"

"I have no way of knowing that, as you are perfectly aware. There are no further potential victims – that we know about. Nonetheless, it would be best if you come back swiftly."

"Right."

"And do not worry about the mission to Jedha. The Council has authorized me to send another Jedi, who will take over for you."

"Cool. . . maybe. Who were you thinking of sending?"

Kit Fisto ignored him, because he hadn't decided yet. "Quinlan, is there any reason – any reason whatsoever – to suspect that Zenaya is personally involved on Jedha?"

"None." To Kit's relief, Quinlan looked and sounded utterly confident. "I went in presuming she was responsible, and still found nothing. The murder and theft here were definitely the work of a gang, who seem to have money as their motive. My best guess is, they're gathering the kyber for a client."

"But could that client be Zenaya?"

"It's – possible." Quinlan folded his arms and gazed at the ground. "But I haven't caught even the slightest hint of her involvement. She'd . . . yeah, she'd definitely make herself known if I'd been interfering in her plans."

"Excellent." Slipping his hands into his wide sleeves, Kit Fisto thought for a moment. There were only a few Jedi Knights right now who were on leave, and who were experienced enough with criminals to handle solo missions. He'd already narrowed it down to a choice between Agen Kolar and Aayla Secura. . .

"Well, then," he said. "Would you say the mission on Jedha will require a strong, forceful approach –"

The Jedi Shadow scoffed.

"– or," Kit went on, undeterred, "would you say that an ability to blend in and approach things secretively would be more important?"

Quinlan actually stopped to think about that. "The second for sure," he said at last. "And not just because that's my preferred method. This gang is no group of ruffians. By all appearances, they're organized and well-trained, and I'm still not sure how many of 'em there are."

Perhaps Aayla would be best choice, then.

"Ah," Kit said aloud. "Best estimate as to their numbers, then?"

"Fifty, at least, and they're not just thugs."

"Fifty?" Perhaps Agen Kolar was the better option after all.

Even as Kit thought it, though, he sensed that wasn't the case. "I will be sending Aayla to Jedha," he said. "She knows how you work, and will be able to keep hold of things while you are on Coruscant."

Quinlan nodded reluctantly. "Send her with some help, then," he said. "I could be wrong about the threat level, and I doubt I'll be able to wrap up the Coruscant mission within a couple of days."

"Unfortunately, I am incapable of sending another Knight with her," Kit said. "We are stretched too thin as it is. However, I might be able to request a team from among the clone troopers."

His former crechemate only shot him a critical look, as if he didn't trust the Nautolan Jedi to pick anyone skilled enough.

"Do not worry," Kit Fisto said firmly. "I will ensure that Aayla has help. Once she and her team have met with you and been briefed on the situation, return immediately to Coruscant."

"Will do," said Quinlan casually, leaning his weight on one foot as he looked down at his comm again. "Uh – is there anything else? Because I left a couple of Guardians trying to sabotage a landspeeder."

Kit blinked. "Trying to?"

"Well, one of 'em doesn't know how to sabotage vehicles," Quinlan explained off-handedly. "And the other one's blind, so. . ."

Kit Fisto shook his head, wondering how his former crechemate got himself into so many unlikely situations. "Well, in that case," he said, "may the Force be with you."

And he ended the call without waiting for a response.

Then, he put in another call, this time to Obi-Wan's flagship, the Negotiator. An obliging clone officer redirected his call from the Negotiator to the Resolute, where Commander Cody had been stationed for the past couple of days. Then, once the connection was finally made, another obliging officer went to fetch Cody, who was no doubt occupied with organizing some large-scale operation.

Kit waited for several minutes. He was just wondering if he had time to obtain a cup of tea from the drink station across the hall when Cody appeared in front of him and saluted.

"Commander Cody!" Kit Fisto said, smiling. "I am relieved to see that you are alive and well."

Cody took the comment in stride, like he always did. "Thank you, General," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "What can I do for you?"

"I would like to send some commandos to assist Jedi Knight Aayla Secura, who will be on the moon Jedha before evening. I have already sent the data to you."

"Yes, sir," said Cody, his head tilted just a little to the side. The computer screens around Cody didn't show up on the holograph, but Kit was certain that he was reading the mission details. "Any specific skills needed?"

"An ability to adjust rapidly to the situation will be necessary," said Kit. "Please pick a few good men at your discretion, Commander . . . Although, if the Delta Squad is available, I would request them in particular."

"They're available, General," said Cody, and leaned forward to type something into the consol nearby. "I'll redirect them to the Resolute immediately."

"My thanks, Commander. And please, extend my greetings and my thanks to the Deltas."

"Of course, sir. Is General Secura's ETA on Jedha still sixteen hundred hours, Coruscant time?"

"That is correct. But there is no rush, Commander; even if the squad does not join General Secura until late tonight, it will not affect the mission."

"Understood, sir."

After his call with Cody ended, Kit tried to contact Quinlan once more, to assure him that he had a team ready to assist Aayla. By the time the call went through to Jedha, though, Quinlan was out in the city. According to the young woman on duty, he was busy scouting with two of the Guardians.

"I see," said Kit, unsurprised that Quinlan had left no further contact information with the girl. The Shadow had a habit of going comms-silent when he was investigating something. "Will he be back soon?"

"I don't know, Master Jedi. He might not be back in the city tonight."

"Very well," said Kit. "It is not too terribly important. But if you see him again, please tell him that I am sending him a team I have worked with before."

"Certainly, Master Jedi."

Kit thanked her and said goodbye. The girl was still conscientiously writing down the message when he ended the call.

Coruscant, Jedi Temple

Day Nine, late morning

Aayla Secura sat cross-legged, eyes lightly shut and hands resting on her knees as she meditated beneath the drooping branches of an uneti tree. She had loved this room her whole life as a Jedi – in fact, the very first time she'd seen it had been the day she was brought to the Temple.

As clearly if it were only yesterday, she remembered clinging to Quinlan's and Master Tholme's hands as the three of them entered the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It had been so vibrant and so full of life, especially for a girl who had only ever seen the dune-filled deserts of Ryloth.

To this day, it remained her favorite place in all of Coruscant. The halls of the Temple were always quiet, but this room was truly peaceful, in a way Aayla rarely experienced elsewhere. The waterfalls and vibrant greenery and songbirds would have been beautiful enough on their own; but it was here that the Force was truly serene, free of the eddies of intent and concern and grief and doubt that filled the Jedi halls.

When Aayla had been a padawan, those threads of emotion had often been present in the Temple, but not prevalent. Since the start of the war, though, they had become constant and unwavering, feeding each other in a slow but never-ending spiral.

The Jedi, those who felt those emotions, rarely had the chance to pause now, to truly stop and consider; Aayla was no different. She was so used to the sadder, more muted Force ambience of the Temple now that she hardly even noticed . . . until she meditated in this life-filled room. It was as if all the Jedi had been exposed to so much doubt and sorrow and fear on the battlefield that the Temple seemed utterly peaceful by comparison – when, in reality, before the war began, the current level of tension and emotion in the atmosphere of the Temple would have been cause for significant alarm.

Sighing, Aayla leaned back against the smooth bark of the tree, greeting it in her mind. Uneti trees were not sentient, but they were mildly Force-sensitive. In the Force, they felt similar to kyber crystals, but more . . . sedate. Less affected by the ebbs and swirls of the Force. It was, of course, possible to affect a tree with the Dark Side; it was possible to affect most things with the dark. But it was much harder to corrupt a tree than it was to bleed a crystal.

This particular tree had been rescued as a sapling, nearly seven centuries ago, by Master Yoda, who had found it struggling to grow in a Sith valley. Master Yoda had once told Aayla that when he found it, the leaves and bark were black and grey. But it had clearly flourished after being brought to the Temple; now, the leaves were gold, and the bark was a smooth cream color. The only evidence that remained of its exposure to the Dark Side was the slight twist in the base of its trunk.

Unexpectedly, something brushed at Aayla's lekku, and she looked up to see that a thin branch was bent now, brushing her head with its feathery golden leaves. Smiling, she turned to rest the side of her forehead against the tree.

"You will never be what you were before you were corrupted," she said softly, touching the branch which now rested over her shoulder. "But you have healed, my friend. If only that could be true of the Jedi Order. . . I do not think we will ever return to what we once were. We have lost something, somewhere along the way, and none of us seem to know what it is. . . Perhaps we have been losing something for generations, and never noticed it."

The tree, of course, gave her no answer.

Ever since Maridun, Aayla had been increasingly uneasy about the war. She did not think, as the village leader Tee Watt Kaa had, that violence was never necessary or permissible. He had thought that the Jedi should not be fighting at all, and that there was never a reason for violence, not even in self-defense. . . not even against droids.

But despite his unwillingness to let Aayla and her teammates defend his village from the droids, he had made one good point – the Jedi could no longer be called peacekeepers. Perhaps that was what the Jedi had lost. . . but no, it couldn't be just that they fought. Martial abilities had always been part of the Jedi Order. In past decades, Jedi would rarely have had to fight on the battlefield, but they had always fought. It was necessary for them to fight in defense of the innocent when called on.

Aayla closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the tree.

There were Jedi who did not care for the Republic, and there were Jedi who felt a kind of patriotism towards it. Then there were Jedi who thought the Order should help the Republic, but be independently governed, answerable only to their Council in all matters except crime, free to act on their beliefs regardless of the Senate's current political agendas. Aayla was one of these Jedi. So were Quinlan Vos and Kit Fisto, and others who were less vocal about their opinions.

There had been hesitation at first, when the war broke out, among some of the more pacifist Jedi; they hated the idea of fighting on a battlefield, taking life after life while fighting enemy soldiers who wouldn't stand a chance against them, and Aayla understood. Fighting enemy soldiers was vastly different from fighting terrorists or criminals or assassins.

But in the end, even those Jedi joined the war effort. What made the choice so easy was that the Separatists used droids as their soldiers. Even the most scrupulous among the Jedi had no hesitation about cutting down pieces of programmed metal.

The clones, on the other hand, were living beings, and the Jedi could not refuse to protect the millions of troopers being sent into battle by the Republic.

Just in Aayla's 327th, there were scores of troopers – including, by now, many of the officers – who would be dead three times over if she hadn't been there to shield them with her lightsaber.

". . . And yet," Aayla murmured.

The tree leaves quivered, rustling ever so faintly against the side of her neck, and she touched the branch again as it withdrew from her shoulder. "Our path forward is hidden," she said quietly. "The Force is so clouded. What can we do, but make the best choices we can see at the moment?"

There was no answer to that. So why did it sound like she was making excuses for herself and her fellow Jedi?

I can't explain it, her master had said tiredly, in the comm call he had with her some weeks after Malachor. I'm not justifying it. I don't know, Aayla – I just . . . made the best choices I saw at the moment.

And those choices had led to him Falling. Aayla had known, from across the galaxy, the exact moment when he let the Dark take over and use him, even though she hadn't recognized it for what it was at the time. At first, she had been afraid he was dead; only later had she realized what had truly occurred. When he explained everything to her, days later, she could hardly believe it. And yet, she had to.

Maybe it should not have surprised her as much as it did. Her master was one of the very few Jedi she knew who truly became attached to people. . . a tendency she shared, and had long struggled against. Quinlan had always had more trouble with it, though – and more trouble with following the Code.

But he was not the only one at fault in this regard. More and more frequently, lines were being drawn in the sand by Jedi – knights, padawans, and even masters. More and more, they were questioning things that they had never questioned before, and making decisions based on their values and principles, sometimes in direct violation of the Jedi Code, or against orders from the Council. And as a result, there was more and more division among the Jedi themselves, even if it was, as yet, relatively subtle.

Standing, Aayla turned to the tree and rested a hand against it. Her gaze flitted from the odd twist near the base of its trunk to its softly rustling golden leaves. It gave her hope that even if the Jedi were going through a time of upheaval and uncertainty, they could eventually recover, as this tree had. It was the way of living things to heal, after all – if they did not die.

"Aayla?"

Sending a quiet farewell to the tree, Aayla stepped away from it and turned to face Kit Fisto as he appeared around a bend in the path. The Nautolan was a childhood friend of her master's, and had been more an uncle to Aayla herself than her biological uncles ever had.

"Ah, I thought I would find you here," he said, his black eyes observing the uneti tree. "I apologize for disturbing your peaceful solitude, but the Council has a new mission for you."

Aayla smiled at him, even though she didn't feel like it. It had hardly been two days since she and the 327th had returned from an extended mission. "A mission, so soon?" she said, joining him on the narrow dirt path. "My men will have hardly finished resupplying, and many of the troopers are on medical leave. I will need reinforcements, and time to rejoin my fleet."

"Ah, do not worry about that." He gestured for her to precede him across a wooden bridge. "Your men will not be involved. This is a solo mission, at least for the moment – though Commander Cody is assigning a special forces team to you."

Aayla was surprised. "A special forces team?"

"Yes, a squad of clone commandos. I have worked with them in the past, and they are excellent. They are traveling separately. But in the meantime, you will fly to Jedha, where you will meet Master Vos."

"I am to replace him on one of his missions?"

"Yes, he is needed here. But he will give you all the details before turning the mission over to you."

"As the Council commands," Aayla said. Despite her reply, though, some part of her dreaded meeting her former master. She had not seen him since before he went to Malachor. "When should I leave?"

"Within the hour," he answered, and then added, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, "That is, if you do not need more time to prepare."

He knew perfectly well that she would be ready to leave within a third of that time, if need be. Smiling again, this time more sincerely, Aayla said, "You might find that timeframe difficult, Master Fisto, but I have an unfair advantage."

"Yes?" Kit Fisto asked a bit warily. "And what is that?"

"The advantage of youth."

The Nautolan laughed. "On your way, young Aayla, and tell your master not to waste time in returning here."

"I will do so," she answered, and the two Jedi exchanged bows and went their separate ways.

Mid Rim

Day Ten, middle of the night

Hunter stared out into hyperspace, not really thinking of anything in particular as the Marauder traveled towards the supply station. He'd been on hyperspace watch for a few hours, and hyperspace watch was a mind numbing task at best. It was hard to keep his focus on anything after the first thirty minutes. Because of this, it took him a moment to notice that there was a light flashing on the consol to his left. Hunter blinked. Double white light – their unofficial comm channel.

Suddenly feeling more awake, Hunter straightened and turned his head to notify his teammates. "Incoming transmission on secondary channel."

"It's probably Quinlan," said Crosshair, and settled disinterestedly back in his chair. "You answer it."

"Transmission?" Wrecker, who had been dozing in one of the chairs, sat up suddenly as Tech came into the cockpit. "Hope it's Cody with a new mission for us!"

"If it were, he would be using the official comm channel," said Tech, straightening his goggles. "He is not. Therefore it is most likely Cody without a new mission for us, or it is Quinlan."

Now that they were all present, Hunter answered the comm.

The blue holographic figure of Quinlan came into view. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, slouched forward, elbow on one knee and chin in his hand. "You guys are so slow at answering your comms," he complained.

"Good to see you, too," Hunter answered, trying to hold back a grin. It had been a few months since their mission to Malachor, and in that time they'd only received one comm call from the Jedi Shadow.

Tech leaned forward to track the transmission source, and Wrecker moved closer so he could be within range of the transmitter. "Quinlan!" he yelled cheerfully.

"Hey, big guy!" Quinlan straightened a bit, grinning. "How're things? Everyone alive and well and more or less sane?"

"Alive and well." Crosshair sidled into the holotransmitter's range, then added, around his toothpick, "Not sane."

"Good to hear," Quinlan said. "I wouldn't expect anything less. I mean, more."

"What about you?" Hunter asked.

". . . definitely less sane than I used to be."

"Hm," Tech said absently. "That is a relatively frightening thought. Quinlan, what are you doing on Jedha?"

"Currently? I'm sitting at a campfire."

"Sounds fun," said Hunter, folding his arms. "So. What else are you doing on Jedha?"

"Making tea." The Kiffar leaned forward to pick up a metal canteen, presumably as proof, and gave it a shake. "Because I'm sitting at a campfire."

Hunter attempted to look unimpressed. "And . . . what, you called us because you were bored?"

"Exactly, I was bored and you were the only option at a semi-intelligent conversation, emphasis on the 'semi-'." The Jedi carelessly tossed the canteen back near the fire. Then his face lost its smirk, and he said, "Actually, that's not true. I'm calling to ask if you guys are between missions right now."

"Yup!" Wrecker answered. "Why, you got something for us to do?"

"Potentially."

"Well," Tech said. "We are currently en route to resupply. It would not take particularly long to get to Jedha from there."

Hunter met Crosshair's gaze questioningly, received a nod in reply, and turned to Quinlan again. "Are you asking if we're available for a mission?"

"Yes."

"I think we are," said Hunter, wondering if this would be anything like the last mission with the Shadow. "We haven't heard anything from the commander."

"The commander?" A quick grin flickered across Quinlan's face. "As in, 'the commander' with capital letters?"

Hunter tilted his head. ". . . What?"

"You say it a certain way when you're talking about Commander Cody as opposed to any other commander. Kind of like this: 'The Commander.' Know what I'm saying?"

"I –" As Hunter blinked in surprise, Quinlan grinned, Tech smirked dryly, and Crosshair snorted.

Wrecker, meanwhile, seemed to find it absolutely hilarious. "Capital letters!" he guffawed, clapping Crosshair on the back. "Aw, man, that's so right!"

The sergeant sent a quelling frown in Wrecker's direction. "Yes, I meant Commander Cody," he said grumpily, which only made Quinlan look more amused.

"So," the Jedi said. "In short, are you currently available to come bother some gangsters and the like."

Hunter nodded, putting a hand on the armrest. "As far as our official status is concerned, we're on standby. Since Cody hasn't contacted us, I guess that means we're available for now."

"Awesome." Quinlan grinned. "And hey, if he ends up calling you in for a job, you can always leave Jedha."

"Hmm," said Crosshair. "If we're able to leave. Unlike last time."

"You'll be able to leave," the Jedi answered, rolling his eyes. Then he looked down at his chronometer and added, "Going by GST, it's oh-one-hundred, so – yeah. If you guys get here in the next twelve hours, I'll be able to meet up with you and brief you on the situation before I head back to Coruscant."

"Coruscant?" Hunter asked. "We aren't working with you?"

"Eh – no . . ." Quinlan shrugged. "As it turns out, I'm needed back on good old Triple Zero for another CG-slash-psychometry-related mission, which means I have to leave you under the dubious direction of another Jedi Knight. But that won't be a problem because she's – hang on, wait a sec." He jumped to his feet, glancing over one shoulder, then turned back to the commlink and whispered, "Uh, the assassin's on his way back. When you get to Jedha, meet me at the Catacombs of Cadera. Bye!"

The hologram flickered once, then faded.

Tech pushed his goggles up the bridge of his nose, and Hunter frowned in thought, leaning his chin on one hand.

"The assassin," repeated Crosshair flatly. He shifted the toothpick between his lips and leaned back in the copilot's seat, closing his eyes.

"Eh, Quinlan can handle it." Wrecker didn't sound in the least concerned. "Hey, you think we can get to Jedha in the next twelve hours?"

"Barring any unforeseen complications, yes." Tech tapped the navi-computer's screen. "We are currently forty-three and a half minutes from the supply station. From there, even including loading time, we can get to Jedha in approximately ten hours."

Hunter drew a breath and let it out, hoping again that this mission wouldn't be like the Malachor one. It didn't sound like it – gangsters were pretty easy to deal with, after all. Then again, even the 'easy' part of that mission, on Nar Shaddaa, hadn't exactly lived up to the description.

"Okay, then," he said to Tech. "Guess that's our plan."

"Hey," Wrecker mused. "I wonder which Jedi Knight he meant."

"There are currently three thousand, six hundred and seventy-two Jedi Knights positioned in the Mid Rim," said Tech. "Approximately forty-eight percent of those are female. Considering that the Jedi Council is simply assigning a replacement for Quinlan, the Knight who ends up on Jedha could be any of the one thousand, seven hundred and sixty-two Jedi in question.

"Right," Hunter said. "Guess we'll find out when we get there. In the meantime, let's get some rest and make sure our supplies and ammo are in order."

Chapter Text

The  Resolute

Day Ten, late morning

Delta Thirty-Eight leaned an elbow against the viewport and gazed out into the twisting blue streaks of hyperspace. It was nice to have some real down time, after three back-to-back high-stake missions. The last week had been a constant whirl of activity involving two of them. Then there was Ichtose, and then, the Deltas had been stuck in their shuttle for nearly two days, because on their way to deliver the intel to General Kenobi, they'd been contacted and retasked for the purpose of blowing up a cache of deactivated droids, ten hours in the opposite direction.

And then, late yesterday, when they'd once again been heading for the Negotiator and the rest of the Third Systems Army, the Delta Squad had been redirected again, this time to Pantora to rendezvous with the Resolute. Upon arriving, they immediately brought the captured data stick to the bridge, because Boss wanted to wrap up the old mission – classified as non-urgent, but nevertheless – and Skywalker was the closest Jedi, and the Jedi had been the ones who wanted the intelligence in the first place.

The young general, who was more than pleased with their results, thanked them and ordered them to get some rest while they could, because they'd be traveling with the 501st for a day or so before being dropped off again, which was news to the sergeant. Less than an hour later, the Resolute had entered hyperspace. Boss thought about asking where the 501st was headed, but supposed it didn't matter. The Deltas wouldn't likely be involved in their mission, anyway.

In the meantime, Thirty-Eight and his squad mates had taken advantage of the fact that they were not stuck on a shuttle. As a matter of fact, Boss hadn't laid eyes on any of his teammates since leaving the Predator, early this morning. The others had scattered in all directions. Boss himself had eaten breakfast in a slow and unhurried manner. Then he'd hit the gym, talked with some of the troopers, sparred with some of the other troopers, two against one – he'd lost twice and won eight times, which irked the 501st rookies greatly – and then taken a quiet walk around the spacious corridors.

Currently, he was in one of the forward observation decks, staring out into hyperspace and trying not to think about anything in particular, just for a change of pace. Fixer was on the bridge, running a group of officers through the new missile logistics at Captain Rex's request.

Thirty-Eight didn't know where Sev and Scorch were, but he hadn't any comms from irritated officers. He figured that as long as they weren't trying to start fights, weren't trying to bribe the loadmaster, and weren't swapping grenades with the ARC troopers, he didn't really care where they were.

Sitting on the bench next to the viewport, Thirty-Eight leaned back against the cold transparisteel and closed his eyes. He wore his armor so much that, when he did wear fatigues, he was always surprised at how comfortable they were in comparison. As a matter of fact, they made him feel so much lighter that it actually took a bit of getting used to. Well, he'd have time. Another few hours of silence, and –

His commlink beeped.

Boss opened one eye and stared at it, hoping he'd heard wrong. Unfortunately, the green light for short-range comms was, in fact, flashing.

After indulging in a brief thought about not answering, he answered. "Delta Thirty-Eight here."

"Sergeant," said Commander Cody's voice. "I heard you'd boarded."

"You heard right," Boss answered, sitting upright with a faint smile. He'd had no idea the commander was on the Resolute. "Were you calling to verify a rumor, sir, or do you have a job for us?"

Cody huffed a laugh. "I've always got a job for you lads."

"Eh, that figures." Thirty-Eight got to his feet. "Where should I meet you?"

"Briefing Room Twelve."

"I'll contact the squad."

"They're on their way." A short pause. "Already wanting to get back to the action, eh, Sergeant?"

Thirty-Eight headed aft and did not disguise the sarcasm in his voice as he replied, "Yes, sir; we debriefed from the Ichtose mission nearly six hours ago. I was starting to think we'd been forgotten."

". . . No chance of that, I'm afraid."

The way Cody hesitated made Boss raise a suspicious eyebrow. "Why? Do I need to corral Scorch?"

"No." Cody chuckled, as if in realization. "Sorry, I was distracted. No, no fights have broken out . . . Though, fair warning, apparently that bet from the mission to Vassek Three and Rattatak is still good as far as some of Rex's men are concerned."

"That was months ago." Boss sidestepped a mouse droid. "Is Rex still trying to even the score?"

"Rex isn't," Cody told him. "But Fives and Echo and Hardcase are."

As Boss entered the lift, he said, "I don't recall a trooper named Hardcase."

"He's a demolition expert. He takes challenges to the Five-Oh-First personally, even if he wasn't present at the time they were given."

"Don't introduce him to Scorch," Boss requested promptly.

"I didn't. . ." Cody sounded a little too amused as he added, "But Fives did."

"Just what we needed," Boss said. Fives, he remembered, had been quite the risk-taker. "I'll be with you in a moment."

He deactivated his comm just as the lift doors opened.

Two troopers without helmets, who were waiting for the lift, stepped aside to let Boss between them. As he did so, one of them glanced down at the commando sergeant's stripes on his right sleeve. "Hey!" he said, sounding both surprised and pleased. "You're Delta Thirty-Eight, aren't you?"

"Yes." Boss turned slightly to glance at a Two-Twelfth trooper. He didn't recognize this guy, but then again, he hadn't really worked with many of the regulars.

"I thought I recognized you!" The trooper gave him a wide grin and elbowed his companion, who wore the blue markings of the Five-Oh-First. "Flash and me were wondering the other day if you guys were still around."

Flash? Boss paused, tilting his head. He was on the Rattatak mission.

And the voice and intonation of the Two-Twelfth clone brought back a vague memory of a trooper being shot, Fixer trying to keep the medic back, General Fisto staying behind to help . . . "Gadget," he said.

"Yep!" The trooper grinned and fell into step beside him.

Thirty-Eight glanced over at Flash as he kept pace beside Gadget. "Weren't you two headed somewhere else?"

"We sure were," Flash answered brightly, despite the fact that they were very obviously not heading somewhere else. "Where are you headed, Sergeant?"

"To the briefing room. What's the Two-Twelfth doing on the Five-Oh-First's flagship, anyway?"

"There's only a couple of us here," Gadget explained. "Ghost Squad is stuck out near Pantora for a while to train a bunch of new guys. Wooley's in charge of that, because Cody got recalled to the main fleet, so General Skywalker had to pick him up on his way by . . ."

Delta Thirty-Eight turned a corner.

Gadget kept talking. "And Cody pulled a few of us less experienced troopers to go with him, because we weren't being useful where we were."

Boss cast a meaningful look in his direction, because he didn't think that unnecessarily escorting a commando sergeant was useful either, but said nothing.

Just as well, considering that Gadget completely ignored his look. "Waxer and Boil got stuck with Wooley, though. And we won't be on the Resolute long – maybe another shift or so. Kind of funny, huh, Sergeant?"

Boss gave a noncommittal grunt, as he had no idea what was supposed to be funny or whether it was, and kept moving.

"I mean, running into you here." Gadget gestured with all the enthusiasm of a newly deployed shiny. "If you'd finished your mission tomorrow, for example, we wouldn't have seen you at all."

The briefing room door was in sight. Thirty-Eight picked up his pace a little.

"Sergeant," Gadget went on, completely undeterred by his continued silence. "Is your whole squad here? On the ship, I mean?"

Halting in front of the briefing room, Boss finally turned to look at him. "Yes." He keyed the door open and was just about to stride in when familiar footsteps sounded to his right.

"Hey, Boss." Fixer, also wearing fatigues in the relative safety of the ship, stopped next to him and cast a curious glance at the two regulars.

"Corporal!" Gadget said excitedly.

Fixer blinked once, but that was all the indication he gave of being caught off-guard. "Gadget," he said. "Flash."

Boss gave an amused huff. Of course Fixer remembered names ten times faster than he could. "Commander's waiting, Forty."

Gadget's smile wilted a little in disappointment, and Flash said, "Come on, Gadget, we've got our own duties to attend to."

"Uh – right." Gadget grinned again. "Hope to see you around, sirs!"

Boss and Fixer nodded back before entering the room. Cody was standing at the holotable, leaning both hands against the edge as he observed a map of a city. Scorch and Sev, meanwhile, were sitting on a bench at the opposite side of the room, heads bent over a single datapad as they read silently.

The sight was unusual enough that Boss and Fixer paused to exchange wary glances. Scorch and Sev were acting strange. Instead of jumping to their feet and complaining about how long it had taken their sergeant to show up, the two batchmates muttered back and forth for a minute, looked at Boss, and then side-eyed each other.

Scorch hesitated almost guiltily, then typed something into the datapad and turned it towards Sev, who gave a miniscule nod of approval. Then Six-Two tapped a button, almost like he'd just sent a message.

Wondering if he should be concerned, Boss headed over to Cody.

The commander was focused on a map of what appeared to be a cave system situated to the east of a city. He set a holographic marker in the centermost cave before finally looking up.

"Commander Cody," Thirty-Eight said.

"Boss, Fixer." He stepped forward, clasping their hands in turn. "Glad to have you on board, as always."

Boss smirked. "Because you get to send us off on another mission, sir?"

"That's only partly true. It's always good to see you're alive."

"Can't trust the reports, eh, Commander?" Thirty-Eight asked, stepping back.

"Not as much, lately." Cody's easy smile faltered. "Keeping track of different units was a big enough chore before, but lately intel's been harder and harder to verify."

Fixer tilted his head. "How so, sir?"

"Well. Last week, we received a transmitted code from a platoon leader, reporting a successful mission. But he and his men never showed up at base. We sent a search party, finally located them. All dead. The lieutenant's comm was still transmitting the code, but as a matter of fact, the mission had never even started."

He paused as his datapad pinged, glanced at it, then looked back at the commandos. "Some unidentified group of Separatist patriots not only managed to kill them all within a few minutes of deployment, but were clever enough to get through our codes and use them against us."

Boss frowned. "And you're seeing this tactic more frequently."

"Yeah. . . We have to verify everything with verbal codes now, when direct observation is impossible." Cody stared at the floor for a long moment, then straightened. "But we know how to deal with that whole mess. That's not why I called you here."

"No?"

"No." Cody typed on the holograph table for a moment, and the image zoomed out until the entire planet became visible. "Sev, Scorch."

"Right here!" Scorch bounced up from the bench and hurried over.

Sev followed, met Thirty-Eight's eyes briefly, and focused on the holograph table.

"Alright, gentlemen," Cody said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Four days ago, the Jedi Temple received a request for aid from the Temple of the Whills, which is, to the best of my knowledge, a sort of . . . sister order of the Jedi. General Vos was dispatched and arrived there two days ago. Today, he was reassigned, and his former padawan was sent to replace him. She is on her way there now."

Fixer raised an eyebrow at his datapad. "So General Vos is the one who knows the situation, but General Secura will be the one going in."

"Wait." Scorch glanced at him. "Who's General Secura?"

Delta Forty tilted the datapad toward him for less than an instant. When Scorch tried to tilt it back towards himself, Fixer pulled it away and said, "General Aayla Secura, Twi'lek female, former padawan of Jedi Knight Quinlan Vos."

"Exactly," said Cody, not batting an eye at Forty's rapid-fire research. "The situation is not ideal, but unfortunately Vos and his particular skillset are needed in an ongoing investigation on Coruscant."

"I take it this is where we come in," said Boss.

The commander nodded. "You're going to Jedha to assist General Secura."

"Just us?" Scorch checked. "Or will it be a joint mission with the Five-Oh-First?"

He sounded a little too eager, and Oh-Seven gave him a slow look.

"What?" Scorch asked, all innocence.

". . . Nothing."

"The Five-Oh-First has another assignment," said Cody. "A planetary invasion, to be exact."

"Aw, blast." Six-Two huffed. "I thought it would be a good chance for them to try and even the score, seeing as how they lost last time."

Thirty-Eight folded his arms. "Commander, given our lack of data, do you think our squad will be enough?"

"General Fisto suggested that I pick a few good men," Cody said. "I believe you fill those qualifications nicely."

"And conveniently," Fixer said in a dry voice. "Respectfully, Commander, you didn't know we'd be here this morning."

Cody looked smug. "As a matter of fact, I did."

"That's weird," Six-Two said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "We didn't know we'd be here this morning."

"Who do you think redirected you to the Resolute?"

". . . Advisor?" guessed Scorch, and Fixer facepalmed.

"As a matter of fact," Cody said, easily ignoring the Deltas' tendency towards theatrics. "General Fisto particularly requested Delta Squad, and asked me to pass on his greetings and thanks."

"Oh," said Scorch. "Cool."

Sev, never one to let Scorch have the last word, shook his head. "And here I thought General Skywalker just wanted to work with us again."

"He was very impressed with your work on the Rattatak mission," said Cody, then glanced sidelong at Boss. "Actually . . . That brings up a little complication. You guys have room on the Predator for one more?"

The commandos exchanged swift glances. They had the room, all right, something which Cody knew perfectly well. In fact, Boss decided that he really didn't like Cody's tone of voice or the look of bland innocence on his face.

So, he chose to ask a question instead of answering directly. "Room for who, Commander? General Skywalker?"

"No. His padawan, Ahsoka Tano."

His padawan. Boss clearly remembered the skinny little Togruta girl who'd pranced onto the bridge of the Negotiator before the Vassek Three mission. She couldn't be more than twelve or thirteen, standard.

Cody was eyeing the Deltas, obviously enjoying their hesitancy.

"Ahsoka Tano?" Fixer repeated blankly.

"You mean . . . the Togruta kid?" Sev added, in a tone that indicated he sincerely hoped he was wrong.

"Oh! Oh, her!" Scorch exclaimed, as though he'd had no idea who Cody was talking about. "Yeah, I mean, it'll be a tight fit, but we could probably stuff her in a storage rack . . . Maybe if I move some of my explosives, what do you think, Boss?"

"Sir," Fixer put in. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"What," Sev grunted, deliberately being difficult. "Moving explosives, or stuffing her in a storage rack?"

"Both!" Scorch said, over Fixer's, "No, taking her with us."

"Hold on, hold on." Boss turned to Cody. "Commander, did General Skywalker request that she join us?"

"He – suggested it," said Cody, still holding back an amused smirk. "I'm sure he'll talk to you about it."

There was a moment of silence while Fixer pulled up Ahsoka Tano's service record; Sev and Scorch stared uncertainly between each other, their other teammates, and Cody; and Boss stood, gazing down at the holotable and wondering 'why'.

The Deltas were one of the top commando teams in the entire GAR. If they'd been picked for a mission, it was because the mission required higher levels of skill and focus than the regular troopers could provide. They didn't need to have their focus split by babysitting a kid who probably couldn't keep her mouth shut to save her own life, let alone those of her teammates. He'd mention as much to the general, respectfully of course . . .

But I can't refuse if Skywalker insists, can I? Boss gave an inaudible sigh. Great.

Having gotten his mental complaints out of the way, at least for the moment, Thirty-Eight cleared his throat. "We'll . . . talk to the general."

"Good idea," Cody replied.

Fixer shifted and looked up from his screen. "What's our specific destination, Commander?"

Cody zoomed the holograph out even more, until Boss could see that what he had thought was a planet was actually a moon, and pointed at a blinking red dot on the moon's surface. "You boys are headed to the Catacombs of Cadera."

"Roger that," Boss said. "Any chance we can contact General Vos and obtain mission data?"

"You'll be rendezvousing with him in the catacombs before he heads to Coruscant," Cody said. "Secura should be there in a few hours, and Vos will brief you on the situation when you arrive. Any further questions?"

"Yes!" Scorch answered promptly. "Boss, can we visit the armory before we take off? The Predator's kind of low on supplies."

Fixer looked confused. "I restocked our supplies already, including standard ammo."

"Yeah, yeah." Scorch brushed him off with a wave. "But we're low on the important stuff. The Resolute just picked up a new supply of thermals."

Boss eyed him. "How do you know that?"

"Ah. . . a trooper named Hardcase told me."

Cody looked stoically down at his datapad, probably glorying in the chaos that Boss definitely hadn't asked for on his first eight hours of leave in three weeks.

"We could use some more sonic detonators," Boss said at last, when he'd let the silence last long enough to indicate his disapproval. "We'll ask the quartermaster before we ship out. Commander, is there anything else?"

"Not unless you have questions. The Resolute will drop out of hyperspace to let your shuttle off in less than three hours."

"We'll be ready." Thirty-Eight glanced once more at the holograph. "How long will our flight to Jedha take?"

"About six hours."

"Okay. Any estimations on mission length?"

"None." Cody raised a dissatisfied eyebrow. "I don't even know the mission objectives. It's been sanctioned by the Jedi Council, but might not be related to the war effort. Very likely not, as a matter of fact. Jedha's a destination for pilgrims, and that's about it. There hasn't been a hint of Separatists taking even the slightest interest in it."

"Hmm." Thirty-Eight tapped a hand thoughtfully against his leg. "What if we get recalled by the GAR while we're on Jedha?"

"You won't. You're working directly under General Secura for the duration of the mission. Command knows not to call on you until you're back with the fleet."

"Understood. I'll verify with Advisor after I speak with the general."

"Excellent." Cody straightened. "Good luck, Delta Squad."

They saluted him together, then turned and left the room. All four of them remained quiet until they were halfway down the corridor, at which point Fixer drew ahead a bit. Strangely, both Sev and Scorch kept pace on either side of Boss, but neither of them made any comments.

Just as Thirty-Eight was about to ask what was up with them, Scorch said, "Hey, Boss, do you remember Fives and Echo?"

". . . Yes."

"They're ARCs now."

"Are they?" He raised an eyebrow. "They were good troopers, but I'd never have guessed they'd make ARC."

"I know, they're still surprised about it. At least, Echo is. But anyway, they got to train with jetpacks."

"All commandos train with jetpacks," Boss said, tilting his head. "We did."

"Yeah, but they have theirs here!" Scorch said excitedly. "And we've got a couple hours until we leave. You think we could – "

"No," said Boss. "I'm going to speak with General Skywalker. You three need to make sure the shuttle's ready for takeoff."

"Already done, sir," said Fixer absently, poking at his datapad.

Scorch and Sev both looked at Boss, who found himself wishing, just a little, that Fixer wasn't so blasted efficient all the time.

Noticing Scorch's eager grin and the way Sev was poised, ready to bolt for the hall leading to the hangar – as if Boss had already given permission – Thirty-Eight pursed his lips.

"Come on, Boss," Scorch begged. "I promise I won't smuggle any jetpacks into the Predator."

Had that been in Scorch's original plan for the day? Boss decided he didn't want an answer. "If you land yourselves in medbay, I'm leaving you behind."

"Yes, sir," Sev told him. "Wouldn't expect anything less. We'll be in Hangar B."

Without missing a step, he and Scorch turned right at the next fork in the corridor.

Boss gazed after them for a moment, then continued toward the lift. "I suppose they were planning that when we got the briefing room."

"Probably," said Fixer. "Want me to head to the armory, sir? I'll sign off on the requisition forms."

"Oh?" Boss adopted a pointed tone. "Sure you wouldn't rather help me convince General Skywalker not to send his padawan with us?"

"I'm sure, sir. I don't mind doing supply runs."

"You mean you don't mind bailing on me."

Fixer shot him an injured look. "Sir?"

"Never mind." Boss huffed. "You handle the grenades. I'll talk with the general."

Chapter Text

The  Resolute

Day Ten, late morning

When Thirty-Eight entered the Resolute's bridge, General Skywalker was speaking with Admiral Yularen at the holotable.

"Sergeant!" the general greeted cheerfully, looking up. "Cody informed me you're on your way to rendezvous with General Secura."

"Yes, sir." Boss came to a halt and saluted both officers. Admiral Yularen nodded in reply, then went off to speak with one of the navigators. "We'll be under her command until the mission on Jedha is complete."

"Right." The young Jedi general folded his arms. "And did Cody mention my request?"

"Yes, sir."

Skywalker eyed him for a moment. "And . . .?"

Before Thirty-Eight could decide whether to begin with, "I have some reservations," or "to be honest, sir," or simply to say, "I think it's a terrible idea", the Jedi raised a hand to stop him.

"I know it was sudden, Sergeant, but let me explain," he said placatingly. "The Five-Oh-First is headed into a major engagement. It'll be us and the Two-Twelfth and the One-Oh-Fourth against an entire planet – which means aerial invasion and constant redeployment. Non-stop battles over difficult terrain to take a key point, then lift off and land, fight our way to the next outpost . . ." He waved a hand. "You know how planetary invasions work. Ahsoka's not ready for that, not on this scale, no matter how much she thinks she is."

He folded his arms. "I don't want to leave her on the Resolute unless I absolutely have to – if something goes wrong, we could lose the whole ship. . . But also, we're in the middle of the Outer Rim. I can't send her back to the Temple alone."

Boss failed to understand, despite his best efforts. If Ahsoka Tano couldn't be sent back to the Temple because it was too dangerous, then what in space was she doing in active war zones in the first place?

He registered an instant later that his thoughts must have shown on his face, because General Skywalker was watching him with a knowing, bitter smirk. "You're right, you know," he muttered, then sighed. "She's . . . young. Normally, padawans of her age would only just be starting to go on more dangerous missions with their masters, and they wouldn't be fighting a war. No padawans would be fighting a war."

Anger brushed over the general's face and was gone. He tapped his prosthetic hand nervously against the opposite forearm, then straightened as though tossing the thought aside.

"Ahsoka's very capable, Sergeant, and it'll do her good to be on a different kind of mission for a while. I was considering leaving her on Pantora, but there's nothing for her to help with, there. And when Cody reported to me about General Secura being on Jedha, and you joining her – well, I think it'll be better."

"It could be, sir." Boss frowned a little. "But we know nothing about this mission, General. It could be very high-risk."

"Not the way as a major battle would be," General Skywalker said. "Ahsoka's endangered herself before, trying to protect all her men. That's – well, that's what a Jedi's supposed to do, but she doesn't have the level of control and experience needed to pull it off all the time. All it takes is a single distraction, missing that one laser . . . I think a smaller mission will help her gain experience without unnecessary risk."

"I can't guarantee her safety, General," Boss said. "I can't guarantee any of my team mates' safety on any mission, no matter how small."

"I understand," the general said sincerely. "But I've worked with you, and I trust you and your men to do your best."

"Thank you, sir, but –"

"I'm sure Ahsoka will be fine. Even without your squad, Sergeant, you're more capable than any of my own troopers – well, except for Rex . . ." He paused, as though considering, then added, "Oh, and Sergeant? About the difference in rank – I am putting Ahsoka under your command for the duration of the mission. She might have the rank of commander, but that's. . . an official thing. She doesn't have anywhere near your experience. So, when General Secura isn't immediately present, Ahsoka will be deferring to you."

Boss nodded slowly. For some reason, he had simply assumed that as a Jedi youngling, Ahsoka would be taking orders from General Secura. It hadn't occurred to him that the padawan technically – automatically – held the same rank as Advisor. "Yes, sir," he said. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Only that Ahsoka's very strong-willed," said General Skywalker.

Boss hesitated. "She doesn't take orders well, sir?"

"No – she . . ." The Jedi frowned again. "She hasn't disobeyed orders in a while."

She disobeyed them at all? Boss thought, surprised and even more concerned than before. If he couldn't be sure that she'd follow his orders . . .

"That's partly my fault," General Skywalker admitted, rubbing his chin. "As a general, I often make decisions that go against the original plan. As a Jedi, I do the same thing – more than I should. Ahsoka had the same tendencies even before becoming my padawan." He sighed, then met Thirty-Eight's eyes. "In her defense, the only times I've known her to disobey are when she's convinced that she's right."

"That's still a problem, sir," Boss said flatly, wondering if the general would make it a direct order for the squad to take her with them. "I don't –"

"I wasn't the best example for her," the general told him; for some reason, Boss suddenly realized how young Skywalker himself was, for a general. "But like I said before, it's been months since she's disobeyed orders, especially while on the battlefield. She'll argue with me when we're planning, sure, but when it comes down to it, she'll listen."

Boss stared out the viewport at the twisting whirls of hyperspace, liking this whole idea a lot less than he had before. "Sir . . ."

"Trust me," General Skywalker said. "Ahsoka won't interfere with your mission. In fact, half the time you probably won't even know she's there." He paused, then grinned a little. "Okay, you'll probably know she's there. Ahsoka asks a lot of questions. But she won't be any trouble for you."

Thirty-Eight gave up on trying to word his refusal correctly and went straight for the throat. "General, are you ordering us to take her with us?"

"If I have to, yeah." To Thirty-Eight's surprise, the general sounded remarkably casual, not offended by the question at all.

"Understood." Boss held back a sigh. "The Predator's docked in Hangar A. We'll be heading out as soon as the Resolute exits hyperspace."

"Very good, Sergeant." General Skywalker studied him for a moment, then smiled. "I think this mission will be good for Ahsoka. Maybe she'll even learn something about protocol and the value of experience over simple enthusiasm. Captain Rex will bring her to the Predator within the hour."

"Yes, sir."

The general gave a firm nod and stepped back. "Dismissed, Sergeant."

Thirty-Eight saluted, turned on his heel, and left the bridge. In the hall outside, he commed Fixer. "Everything ready?"

"I'm loading the grenades now," Fixer answered, then stayed on the line.

Boss cleared his throat. "Ahsoka Tano will be joining us on this mission."

"Understood, sir," Fixer said neutrally. "Any further orders?"

"Negative. I'm going to check in with Advisor." Boss signed off and headed back onto the bridge, where he moved to the long-range comm station and faced Admiral Yularen, who was reading through a data manifest. "Admiral. Requesting permission to contact CC Oh-One slash Four-Two-Five, squad advisor, aboard the Prosecutor."

"Granted." The admiral didn't even look up from his work, and his tone was so vague and preoccupied that Boss couldn't help but wonder if he'd have given his permission even if Boss had asked to speak with Chancellor Palpatine. With that amusing thought, the sergeant waited for the comm to be activated, then punched in the long code.

Advisor appeared within seconds. "Delta Thirty-Eight, nice to see you. I hear Commander Cody picked your squad up for reassignment."

"Yes, sir," Boss replied, unsurprised at this point by how fast Advisor gathered intel. "We're under the direct command of General Secura until the mission's been completed. Sorry, you'll have to make do with inferior squads for a few days."

"I'm sure I'll manage," Advisor said in a dry tone. "Theta Squad will be glad to get an opportunity at some of the higher-profile targets. The Deltas have taken the last five."

"The Thetas? I guess they should have a chance," Boss said generously. "Their reputation could use the help. Tell Sergeant Dire and his boys good luck."

"Will do." Advisor turned away from the comm, spoke to someone behind him, and turned back with a resigned expression. "Dire says you're the ones who'll need it, and that he hopes you crash at least once."

"We won't," Boss promised, speaking louder. "Fury's the one who does that. Has he destroyed any more GAR ships lately?"

"I heard that, and no I haven't!" came through the comms, followed by Deadeye's voice – "Actually, that kinda depends on your definition of 'lately' –" Dire's, "It was a full week ago!" and a smack. That last had probably been Tracer hitting Deadeye.

"I'll report in as soon as the mission's complete, Advisor," Boss said, in his most formal tone. "Then you can send us to pick up the pieces of Theta's mission."

And he signed off before Theta Squad could properly retaliate.

Smirking to himself, Thirty-Eight left the bridge. Delta and Theta squads hardly ever crossed paths anymore, as their downtime never overlapped. However, since a good year before the war began, whenever they were within hearing range – either in person or long-distance – they always made sure to insult each other, somewhat to the annoyance of those around them.

Given that they were almost never on the same planet or ship at the same time, insults were now most often traded via comm or via Advisor, whichever was more convenient at any given moment.

It was just as well that Boss hadn't had Six-Two with him just now. Scorch and Fury had a running feud that was more cheerfully violent than the overall Delta-Theta feud. Scorch said it was because Fury was both the demolitions expert and the pilot (as Scorch didn't like piloting), but Boss was positive that it was because both Scorch and Fury had chosen yellow paint for their armor markings.

As a matter of fact, Boss had plenty of proof that this was the case.

Where most other commandos chose one color to distinguish their squad from other squads, the Deltas had decided early on to paint their armor distinctly from one another – less because they thought it was unique and more because they hadn't been able to agree on a squad color.

Then, not a week later, Theta had followed their example. Boss didn't think that was a coincidence at all: Theta had just seen the Deltas' differently-colored armor and liked the idea.

But really, Boss didn't care, and neither did Fixer or Sev. However, when the squads next met up, and Scorch realized that he and his fellow demolitions specialist not only had the same color, but very similar markings, well. He'd accused Fury of copyrighting.

Delta Thirty-Eight smiled faintly as he remembered the yelling match that had followed while Fixer and Tracer tried to convince Scorch there wasn't a copyright on armor patterns.

It had been a loud and involved argument. Boss had just been trying to figure out what the heck a copyright was while Fury said it wasn't his fault that great minds thought alike; Deadeye threw in a comment that there wasn't a full mind between Fury and Scorch, let alone a great one; Sev agreed; and then Dire told Scorch and Fury to shut up and quit acting like brats.

After everyone cast a concerned look at Theta's sergeant, mostly because of the unusual word choice, they went right back to arguing. Sev told Deadeye, unprovoked, that purple was a seriously weird color choice for a sniper; Deadeye retorted that Sev had no taste and besides Dire had picked green and Fixer wasn't complaining about it; and then Fixer called out that Dire was the sergeant, not a technician.

As if that had anything to do with it.

After that, for some reason, Fixer continued the argument by saying that Tracer, the tech specialist, was peculiar because he'd picked blue of all colors. In reply, Tracer whacked Fixer upside the head and said he liked blue better, otherwise he would've picked green for the sake of annoying Fixer; Dire told everyone to shut up again; Scorch said that all the Thetas were complete weirdos and he was surprised they'd even passed their first test, let alone their finals; Fury said that Scorch ought to know, he was a delinquent and had only passed because of dumb luck; Dire rested his forehead against the wall and sighed loudly; Deadeye said that yes, Scorch was an idiot, and so was Fury; and Boss finally finished researching what a copyright was, decided it wasn't worth arguing over and didn't apply to armor anyway, and reinforced Dire's order with a barked command that made even Fixer jump.

Still amused at the memory of that altercation, Boss strode into Hangar A. The Predator's boarding ramp was down, and the door was open. Fixer was overseeing the clones on duty as they finished fueling up the shuttle. The troopers removed the fuel line, sealed the hatch, saluted Boss, and left.

Well . . . most of them left. Gadget hovered near Fixer, watching over his shoulder as he worked at a control panel. Every ten seconds or so, he'd ask a question, and Fixer would answer patiently.

Thirty-Eight raised an eyebrow, amused by Gadget's continued and obvious hero-worship, and Fixer's uncharacteristic tolerance of the talkative trooper. It occurred to Boss that Fixer was probably unaware of the fact that Gadget hung on his every word, or he'd have sent the younger clone packing.

When Boss entered the Predator, he proceeded to inspect it from cockpit to stern, making sure that there were no loose explosives or weapons out. The Deltas were careful – usually – about their weapons, but with a curious padawan being on board for at least six hours . . . Well. It never hurt to triple-check.

The  Resolute

Day Ten, late morning

Ahsoka stared at her master and shook her head once, not sure she'd heard him correctly. "What do you mean, I'm not going with you?"

"I mean exactly what I said, Snips." With an apologetic look in her direction, Anakin slid under the starfighter, felt around the pile of scattered tools that he'd left on the floor, then huffed and reached a hand out. "Hydrospanner?"

"But – Master –" Still struggling to find words, Ahsoka grabbed the hydrospanner and dropped it in his hand. "This invasion is huge. You'll need my help!"

"Don't be too sure of that," he replied, voice muffled by the ship. "We've already got Obi-Wan and Master Koon on the ground. Once the 501st gets there, we'll take care of coordinating the airstrike."

"But I could help with that!"

"No," said Anakin. "Cody and I can handle it. And you wouldn't be sent out in the main invasion force anyway, Ahsoka, so even if you did go with us, you'd just end up sitting out most of the mission."

"You mean I'd be kept out of the way," she mumbled, folding her arms.

"Nope." Anakin slid out from under the ship and sat up, only just missing hitting his head on the wing. "But you wouldn't be in the fight most of the time. Not everything in war is about slicing droids and winning, little one."

Ahsoka sat down on the wing with a huff. When her master spoke in that tone of voice, it meant he had fully made up his mind and would not be dissuaded. A few months ago, Ahsoka would have kept arguing with him, in the hopes of changing his mind at least a little.

Now, though, she only sighed loudly to show her displeasure, then looked at the datapad her master had handed to her a minute ago. "Jedha," she said, letting her gaze flicker over the words. "Kyber crystal thieves and at least one murder."

"Yep." Anakin found the piece he'd been looking for and dove back under the starfighter. "It should be pretty straightforward, but hey, at least it's not a diplomatic mission. And it'll be good for you to have a smaller mission for once, anyway."

Despite his words, Ahsoka was sure that her master just wanted her off the ship because he thought the upcoming battle would be too dangerous. With a shake of her head, she looked back at the screen and tried to find something good about the situation. "Well, maybe I can learn something from Master Vos," she said. "I've never gotten to work with a Shadow before."

"Sorry, Snips, but you won't be working with one this time, either." Anakin squirmed into view again, a smudge of engine grease on his forehead. "Vos was recalled to Coruscant, and you'll be working with Aayla."

Her initial disappointment at not being able to work with a Shadow lightened when she heard that. She hadn't seen Aayla since Maridun. Although the Twi'lek woman was ten years older than Ahsoka, and they'd only spoken once or twice before, they'd gotten along well during the mission. In fact, Ahsoka found it a lot easier to work with Aayla than to work with Master Luminara or even Barriss, whom she knew well.

"Well," she said. "That's good, at least." Then, turning her head to watch a squad of troopers as they jogged by in formation, she added, "But I still hate running off before an important battle."

"You're not running off." Anakin got up, wiping his hands on a rag that was so greasy it only made his hands worse. "As your master, I am sending you on a different mission. I'm sure Aayla could use your help, even with the Deltas there. Oh, and speaking of the commandos –"

At the sudden change in his tone of voice, Ahsoka looked up, interested. "What about them?"

"I'm putting you under Boss' command for this mission." When Ahsoka pulled a confused face, Anakin explained, "He's the sergeant."

"Well, I know that."

"Good. And I already told him that you're to follow his orders. Or Aayla's, if she's there. Got that, Snips?"

"Yes, Master." Sighing yet again, Ahsoka sat back. She had every intention of obeying the sergeant's orders, but that didn't mean she had to like it. He'd probably keep her on the ship the whole time unless Aayla intervened. Still . . . it was better than being expected to lead a mission while being fully conscious of how little she knew.

"Hmm," said Anakin. He tossed aside the rag, finally giving up on trying to clean his non-prosthetic hand. "Oh, come on, Snips, cheer up. It's not like I'm sending you to escort royalty or anything like that."

"Yeah. . ." Ahsoka met his apologetic gaze and tried to cheer up. "I guess it could be worse, huh?"

"Absolutely," agreed Anakin, smirking. "Remember, you could be pulling guard duty at the Temple library again."

"Ugh, Master. . ." Shaking her head with a reluctant smile, she hopped down from the wing and straightened her shoulders. "Well, I guess I'll see you when the Jedha mission's over, then. Don't get killed."

"Oh, I won't," he replied with a cocky grin. "Be careful out there, Ahsoka, and remember what I've taught you."

"I'll remember, Master," she assured him, and began counting items off on her fingers. "Rush into a fight at the first hint of trouble; settle situations by using a lightsaber instead of words; have way too much confidence in my own abilities as a Jedi warrior –"

"Okay," her master said, rolling his eyes. "That's enough out of you, Snips. Get up to the bridge. Rex should be there by now – he'll bring you to the hangar and introduce you to the Deltas."

"Yes, Master." Ahsoka hesitated at the thought of the upcoming battle, but instead of voicing her concerns again, she only said, "May the Force be with you."

Anakin gave her an almost sympathetic look, as if he knew what she was thinking. "And with you, Padawan. See you soon – and don't get into any trouble that I wouldn't get into."

"Right," she answered. "I'll try to limit it to one kidnapping and a couple explosions, does that sound good?"

"Long as you win," he agreed, already diving back under the fighter.

Chapter Text

Jedha

Day Ten, mid-afternoon

Aayla Secura brought her starfighter to a lower altitude, not paying much attention to the desert landscape around her as she flew closer to her destination. Somehow, despite her best efforts, her trepidation at meeting her master again had only grown during the hours in hyperspace.

She had not felt like this in several years – not since just after her first solo mission as a Jedi Knight, as a matter of fact. And yet, the reason she had felt so uncertain at that point had been entirely different. Then, it had been her fault; this time, she knew it was because she was afraid her master had changed.

Closing her eyes, Aayla sank into the Force, allowing it to guide her hands on the steering yoke as past happenings flashed through her memory.

Shortly after being Knighted, Aayla had volunteered to capture a dangerous criminal for the Coruscant Security Force, who were occasionally glad to have a Jedi's help. It had been her very first solo mission, and she'd done well – up to a point. She'd tracked the man down and been closing in on him when her Force-bond with Quinlan wavered suddenly.

Concerned, she'd slipped into an alleyway and reached out to him, but received no answer beyond a confused flicker of impressions that died away. As soon as she understood that he'd been overpowered – and most likely by the very men he had been hunting down, who were slave runners – Aayla abandoned her mission in order to help her former master.

It was only hours later, after the two Jedi had escaped to a safehouse and Quinlan was sleeping off whatever they'd drugged him with, that Aayla even thought about her mission again. Instantly, she'd rushed back to the upper levels of the city, where she'd left off in her chase; but the criminal she'd been assigned to capture had already fled the planet, killing three people in his attempt to steal a shuttle.

Unable to follow him directly, as she did not yet have a ship of her own, Aayla decided to alert the planetary security force. They set out after the criminal, and when he fired on them, they were forced to shoot him down. By the time Aayla received another communication from the CSF, she was back in the safehouse.

Kneeling in the middle of the cold duracrete floor, she closed her eyes. She knew she could have carried out the arrest by herself, if only she'd kept after the criminal; but because she had acted out of fear for her master, there were four people dead. Four dead, four people's families whose lives would never be the same again, and one of the security officers was so badly injured that it would be months before he could work again . . . all this, because Aayla had acted on her emotions.

Perhaps it was fortunate that, because it was not a Jedi mission specifically, Aayla had not had to report to the Council. She almost told Quinlan what had happened, but then decided against it, even when he returned to consciousness long enough to ask her what was wrong. Telling him would only be a way to alleviate her own feelings of guilt, and Aayla was no longer a padawan in need of his guidance . . . or so she had thought at the time.

In the end, she stayed in the safehouse only long enough to be sure that Quinlan would recover and be able to return to the Temple. Then, waiting until he once again dozed off, she slipped out. On the short table near Quinlan's head, next to his lightsaber, she'd left behind a necklace – the one possession she had kept ever since the day he'd found her, almost twenty years before. She knew that he would understand what it meant.

Then Aayla had returned to the Temple, quietly requested an off-world assignment, and been gone before Quinlan returned. It was months before she saw him again, between his missions and her own, and in that time, she had actively worked on muting her Force-bond with him.

When they finally met again, quite by mistake on the steps of the Temple, she halted in surprise, but her former master only watched her for a long moment, nodded ever so slightly as if confirming something in his own mind, and then proceeded to greet her in his overly rambunctious way, as if nothing had happened. He'd never mentioned it since, either.

This time, though, Aayla was almost more uneasy than she had been then. Then, she had known he'd been hurt by her actions, necessary though those actions were; this time, she was afraid he would be different – perhaps so different that she would no longer recognize him.

With a sigh, Aayla opened her eyes. It was ironic that she was so concerned about it, when she had been the one distancing herself, and spending the last few years attempting to let go of all her attachments.

A loud beep made Aayla blink as she withdrew her mind from the eddies of the Force. From the astromech station, Q-T let out another questioning warble.

Aayla glanced briefly at the screen, reading her droid's question. "I was perfectly conscious, Qutee," she said. "And I will take care of the landing."

The pink astromech beeped disapprovingly, and more text appeared on the screen: Response time indicates distraction.

"Yes," Aayla replied. "I was remembering something."

Clarify.

"It was something that happened a few years ago," she answered.

Evasive response, the pink astromech diagnosed promptly.

Aayla shook her head. From past experience, she knew that Qutee would keep questioning her until she gave some kind of answer. Quinlan and Kit Fisto, who'd purchased the droid just a couple weeks before Aayla's Knighting, had named it before gifting it to her – much to Aayla's chagrin, and Anakin's never-ending amusement.

"A cute pink droid named Q-T," Anakin had laughed, patting it on the head. "They couldn't have picked something more cliché and unlike you, Aayla. It's absolutely perfect!"

Aayla had definitely not thought so, but the name had stuck despite all her efforts to change it. "Cutie, indeed," she scoffed under her breath, but was unable to hold back a hint of a smile.

Her droid beeped a questioning, Yes?

"I was not speaking to you."

You used my designation, the text on the screen said. I conclude that you are about to answer my question from forty-three seconds ago.

In Aayla's less tolerant moods, she was convinced that her master and Kit had picked Q-T out for its programmed tenacity. "We are nearing our destination," she said.

Evasive response, Q-T answered again. You are still distracted by your previous thought process.

Aayla huffed lightly as she checked her altitude. "If you must know, I was thinking about my master."

Quinlan Vos, chirped Q-T promptly, and continued to chirp while the words appeared on the screen. Your facial expression one minute and twelve seconds ago indicated concern or possibly sadness. Did he make you sad?

Aayla thought back to the news about Zenaya. "I suppose you could say that."

Affirmative, said Q-T, the beeps taking on a lower-pitched, somehow disapproving tone. Quinlan Vos. Status: enemy.

"No," said Aayla, surprised. "He is not an enemy."

Correction, the droid answered. Jedi Council records indicate he Fell for a brief period of time. Falling, according to Jedi records, indicates an enemy.

"He did Fall," she agreed, surprised that her droid knew about it. "But not for long, and it does not mean he is my enemy."

Q-T appeared to consider this. Clarification. Quinlan Vos – status: temporary enemy, regardless of current affiliation.

"Why?" Aayla asked curiously.

The little dot on the screen blinked for a moment before a line of words appeared again. QT-KT: primary function – to serve and protect Aayla Secura in any and every way possible. Therefore: if Quinlan Vos made you sad, he is my enemy."

Apparently, Qutee's definition of protection extended to mild revenge, which was a bit concerning . . . but not surprising, considering who had purchased her. "Qutee," Aayla said. "That is not –"

She paused, wondering why in the galaxy she was attempting to teach a droid the Jedi way, and cleared her throat. "Qutee, I want you to erase all your records of Quinlan Vos, immediately. And in the future, do not access Temple databanks without my explicit permission."

Affirmative, the pink droid chirped cheerfully. Erasing. . . Data erased.

"Thank you," said Aayla, just as she caught sight of the city of NiJedha. "Ah, we are nearly there."

There: Destination, reported Qutee unnecessarily. Flight logs indicate we are approaching the Catacombs of Cadera, and that we are en route to meet with Quinlan Vos. Who is Quinlan Vos?

Aayla rolled her eyes, wishing she'd been a bit more specific in her instructions a moment ago. "He is my former master, and a friend," she said firmly, and was a little surprised to notice that her worry at the upcoming meeting had faded. Wondering, she reached out into the Force and nearly smiled with relief.

She must be close to Quinlan's position, because she could sense him through their bond more clearly than she'd been able to in months . . . and he did not feel truly different. There was a hint of darkness, of course, his Force-bond with her had always had that muted touch of shadow, but what she sensed now was only a bit darker than usual.

All her worry and trepidation, it seemed, had been for nothing. As a result Aayla was both relieved and annoyed. Relieved, because her master had not drifted away from the Light again as she had feared he would, after Malachor. And annoyed, because she had spent so much time and energy in unnecessary emotional turmoil when she should have known better than to allow herself that.

"Qutee," she said. "Please take over flight controls for a moment."

She turned to her scanners, searching for her master's starfighter. He had told her to land in the Catacombs of Cadera, which meant he was most likely there – unless he was in the Holy City. Perhaps he had gone there to meet with his contact, or the Head Guardian.

A tiny blinking light indicated her master's tracking beacon. "There he is," she said confidently. When no one answered, she blinked and sat back, taking over the controls again. She was so used to leading missions and giving briefings that speaking aloud to clarify things was now instinctive, even though the hyperspace flight to Jedha had been long and silent.

Leveling her ship out as she neared the entrance to the cave system, she noted the position of Quinlan's starfighter. He had landed deeper inside the catacombs than she would have expected, which was perfect.

Cutting speed until the ship was all but hovering, she guided it through the entrance and into the catacombs. She would have had plenty of room to maneuver through the winding tunnels – if she wanted to fly to the cave where Quinlan had landed. But Aayla did not want to fly to the same cave.

Smiling to herself, she piloted to a smaller cave, a hundred meters south of his position. After landing, she shut down all systems, paused for a careful look around, then popped the hatch and vaulted out of her ship. It was cold on Jedha, and the caves were even colder, especially this early in the morning. She was glad she'd chosen a fur-lined coat and headwrap, because even with that on, she was starting to feel the temperature.

"Stay here, Qutee," she ordered, and turned away, casting her senses cautiously outward. Not a sound could be heard in the muffled stillness.

"All right, Master," Aayla murmured, taking a few steps forward. "Where are you hiding. . .?"

It was a sure thing that he would be hiding. Remembering the last time she'd played this game with him, Aayla removed her lightsaber from her belt and left it in the cockpit of her the ship. Jedi could sense kyber crystals, even from a distance, if they tried hard enough. . . which was exactly how Quinlan had found Aayla the last time she'd tried to sneak up on him.

Closing her eyes, she searched for another lightsaber crystal, and located it – in the exact position as Quinlan's ship. He had also remembered that trick, it seemed, unless he was actually inside his ship, or somewhere else without his lightsaber.

Aayla doubted it. Quinlan had known she was supposed to arrive this afternoon, and it was a four-hour walk to NiJedha; he wouldn't have had time to go there and return. He must be hiding. Early on, he had developed a habit of trying to sneak up behind her and catch her off-guard; he claimed that it was something all Shadows taught their padawans. Aayla believed him, because Master Tholme, who had been nearby at the time, had given an amused smile.

Quinlan is shielding himself, Aayla thought with a smirk. But that means he cannot find me through the Force, either.

The last few times, Quinlan had won their little game. This time, Aayla was determined to win. She had just spent several weeks on Felucia, and much of that time had been spent in hiding, leading scouting parties, ambushing droids, killing acklay before they could creep up on the camp . . .

I've learned a lot since my last meeting with you, Master, she thought. You won't win this time.

The fact that he was actively shielding his mind meant that he was not asleep, which was a pity. Her best victory to date had been the time she crept up on him while he was sleeping. She'd woken him by poking him in the back of the neck, and he'd sat up abruptly, upending the container of water she'd spent half an hour balancing on two sticks above his head.

Smiling at the memory of his surprised shout, she darted across the corridor and pressed her back against the rock wall. After waiting for several seconds, she peered carefully out into the cave.

There was his ship, black with red flames painted along the sides. There was his campsite, his bedroll placed near a crackling fire in a ring of stones. And there was her former master, sitting on the front of his ship and leaning casually back against the viewscreen, arms clasped behind his neck, eyes closed.

Just like that, all of Aayla's vague premonitions melted away completely.

He's falling asleep, she realized, then clamped down on her amusement before he could sense it. This time, she would catch him.

For a moment, Aayla thought about exercising restraint, and not creeping up on her former master, because after all she was a Jedi Knight who was thinking of looking for a padawan of her own, and therefore needed to practice giving a good example in all things. . .

The moment passed quickly.

The temptation is too strong, she told herself gravely. If ever I am on a mission with my master while I have a padawan, I will be better. But for now . . .

Now, it looked like Quinlan was definitely falling asleep. Or he was doing a good job of pretending, which wasn't at all out of the realm of possibility.

He nodded off, jerked awake, slid off the starfighter to add a few more sticks to the fire, and then sat down on his bedroll. When he pulled out his datapad, Aayla winced. There was no way he had not heard her landing, and now he would probably locate her starfighter.

But he didn't look up, or narrow his eyes suspiciously. That could mean only two things: either he hadn't thought to look for her starfighter, or he had already found it and was trying some other way to find her. She pressed herself back against the wall and frowned. He wasn't supposed to use technology, that was cheating!

"Y'know," Quinlan's voice floated out from the cave. "There's a way to mask heat signatures."

Aayla glared through the stone wall, since she couldn't currently see him, and said nothing. It was just possible that he hadn't found her and was trying to trick her into revealing herself. . .

"Also a way to hide biosignatures," he went on. "But that's not really relevant, is it? Because I'm not going to cheat by looking for either."

Aayla felt her left eyebrow tilt in unsurprised irritation.

"Nope," he went on. "What really gave you away, Aayla, was the kyber crystal."

She smirked. So he hasn't found me, then. He is bluffing.

"Because you left your lightsaber on the ship," Quinlan added. "And it hasn't moved in, like, five minutes."

Oh.

"Which means you're trying to sneak up on me. But here's the thing . . . there's only one corridor that leads from your landing position to mine. No matter how stealthy you try to be, I know you're in that corridor."

She could feel him looking for her.

"It also means you can hear me."

Aayla kept her shields strong and ignored him.

"And that means I can just keep talking until you get so annoyed that you come out just to make me shut up. But I'll give you a few seconds to think it over, first."

Aayla pursed her lips, undecided. He'd be watching the entrance to the corridor now. There was no chance of her getting through that way unseen, unless . . . Unless she could distract him and make him look in the opposite direction.

"A few seconds and counting," said Quinlan.

Aayla eyed the corridor's ceiling thoughtfully – it was rocky and uneven, with plenty of protuberances. Perfect.

"Well!" Quinlan said brightly. "It looks like you've decided to make it painful for yourself, Aayla. Just yell at me when you want me to shut up. What've you been up to lately? How's Felucia? Glad I wasn't sent to that insect-infested swamp . . . But I hear you're doing well enough there. How's the war effort going apart from Felucia? How's Bly? I mean, Commander Bly? You know what, I got a comm from him the other day."

Aayla, who was currently occupied with climbing the corridor wall and trying not to be distracted, paused mid-step to wonder what in space Bly could have had to tell Quinlan.

"To be fair," said Quinlan. "Bly only called because he was answering a comm from me. I commed him because I couldn't reach you. And I couldn't reach you, Bly said, because an acklay had just stepped on your commlink and crushed it when you tackled it."

With an embarrassed grimace, Aayla swung her lekku over her shoulders so that they hung down her front. As she shifted one hand to the ceiling, feeling for a good handhold, Quinlan went on.

"Bly sounded kind of impressed about the fact that you'd tackled an acklay and only gotten your arm stepped on. I told him I'd forgive him for his carelessness in a similar situation but I wasn't so sure about yours. You should know better than that, Aayla. Hey, are you tired of listening to me yet?"

Rolling her eyes, she shifted her other hand to the ceiling – then one foot, then the other. Now, she was more or less lying down in the air, facing the rock ceiling.

"Guess not." Her master paused, let out a long sigh, and said, "So, what's the latest gossip from Coruscant? Yeah, I know, you're probably thinking 'but Master, you were just on Coruscant', and I was . . . but you never know – things change fast. It's always good to know what's been going on when you're heading back into the depths of crime central, wouldn't you say? I mean, it's not like I miss Coruscant or anything, but it's where all the interesting stuff seems to happen."

Aayla had about ten comments she could have made in reply, especially as concerned her master's usual bordering-on-deadly missions not being interesting, but she remained quiet. Closing her eyes, she felt in the Force for a loose rock she'd noticed on the opposite side of the room.

There was a sudden, suspicious silence. Clearly, her master knew she was going to try something, but he could not possibly know what . . .

Aayla located the rock and moved it. The instant she heard it scraping against the sandy floor, she gathered the Force around her and kicked off the ceiling, launching herself into the cave and corkscrewing in mid-air.

She landed facing Quinlan's position, not two meters from the fire – but he was gone. Before she could spin, a pair of arms closed around her waist and arms from behind and squeezed her in a hug, lifting her off the ground.

"Master!" yelped Aayla in protest, grabbing at his wrists.

"Good tactic you tried there," he said cheerfully, not loosening his grip in the slightest.

"Master, really!"

"But next time, you might want to aim the rock at my head. You know, to force me to duck or dodge or whatever so you could have another second to reach me."

"Quinlan!" Aayla stopped struggling, trying to maintain her dignity as a full-fledged Jedi Knight. "Put me down!"

". . . Aw, but why?"

Twisting, she stuck one foot between his knees, hooked it around the back of his right leg, and yanked, both physically and with the Force. They went down in a tangle, with Quinlan landing flat on his back beneath her.

Aayla rolled to her feet and hopped up, shaking the sand from her clothes, but Quinlan seemed quite content to stay where he was. Still lying on his back, he clasped his hands behind his neck, crossed his legs, and said, "Hey, former padawan mine."

"You," she announced, tugging her jacket straight, "are insufferable."

"No, that's actually my ship."

Aayla was not even surprised. She slowly raised both eyebrows at him. "You named your starfighter the Insufferable?"

"Why not? If Kit Fisto can name his command ship the Indomitable I can name my starfighter the Insufferable."

Planting her hands on her hips, Aayla gazed suspiciously down at him. "Why do I feel as though you made that up just now?"

He grinned a little. ". . . Hey, that's a nice coat. Good color on you."

"Thank you," she said wryly, glancing down at the dark brown material. "Speaking of coats, why are you not wearing one? It is extremely cold here."

"Yeah." He sat upright and brushed his arms free of sand. "The ground especially."

"Then perhaps we should move to the campfire, which you so thoughtfully lit?"

Her former master bounded to his feet and gestured towards it. "By all means. I made your favorite tea – help yourself."

While Aayla settled herself near the fire and held her hands toward the crackling flames, Quinlan puttered around in the background, locating and putting on his own jacket. When he returned to the fire, she realized why he'd not bothered to wear it earlier. A blaster burn had scored through the left side around the stomach area, leaving a wide hole.

Aayla lowered her cup of tea and gazed from the damaged jacket to his face.

"I wasn't wearing it at the time," he protested, reaching for the canteen he'd left near the fire. "I was trying to lure someone out."

"I see." She felt herself relax slightly. "Well, it seems to have worked."

"Yup." Quinlan fastened the coat up the front, for all the good that did, and poured himself a cup of tea. "I stuffed it with clothes and covered it in the bedroll. The assassin thought it was me, so he fired at it and then I jumped him."

"You have been here three days," Aayla told him, unimpressed. "And you already had an assassin after you."

"I'm just unpopular, okay?"

She sipped her tea and did not answer.

"Fine," he said at last. "I may have angered a few people."

Aayla swirled the tea in the bottom of her cup, then drained it. Hot drinks were always pleasant, but she enjoyed them most when she was on cold planets. Tea just did not taste the same on Felucia. Bly always said it had something to do with all the pollen and plant life floating around, and he was probably right.

"A few people?" she repeated.

"The thieves might have discovered I was after them," her master said. "And their leader might have sent someone to kill me."

Eyeing him knowingly, she reached for the canteen.

". . . and I definitely broke one guy's nose. And another guy's wrist, when he grabbed me." Quinlan squinted at the ceiling, nodded to himself, and said, "Yep, that's everything pre-assassination attempt."

Aayla poured herself a second cup of tea and took a sip, then put it down. "You are, according to multiple sources, the most competent Jedi Shadow to have existed in the past century," she announced.

"Ah," said Quinlan uncomfortably. ". . . I'm flattered."

"If that is the case," said Aayla, "then how is it that, if no one is supposed to know you're around, you got into so much trouble in three days?"

"Oh, no, all that was in the past day or so," Quinlan answered. "After Kit called me back to the Temple."

Aayla stared at him, then shook her head.

"What?" He grinned. "My cover as a pilgrim had no value anymore, and I needed to get some intel."

"And this leader you spoke of sent an assassin after you? He tracked you here?"

"No. I had a decoy campsite, between here and NiJedha. The assassin –" His voice lost its chipper tone. "He's dead. Which also means that the gang leader knows by now that his assassin failed. I did get the intel I needed, though."

She nodded. "Good, because Master Fisto wasn't able to tell me anything particular about the mission."

"That's because I didn't tell him much. But don't worry, I'll tell you everything I know, and there are a couple of contacts in town who will be happy to assist you. Oh, and of course you'll have a squad of commandos to help you."

"Yes, I heard." Aayla set her cup down. "The Delta Squad."

". . . No?" he said questioningly. "I called in the guys I worked with on Nar Shaddaa."

"The Bad Batch?" she asked, surprised. "But you told me that they weren't able to be reached."

"Not when I spoke with you, they weren't." He held up his commlink, wearing a slightly guilty grin. "And still not officially. Tech ended up getting a separate comm frequency."

"I see," said Aayla, a little confused. "Well, in that case, we might have a slight difficulty. Master Fisto also requested a squad for me – you were supposed to know about that. Commander Cody has already sent the Delta Squad to meet us here, and they have been given official orders."

Quinlan tilted his head, interested. "I knew Kit was trying to get a squad, but didn't hear if he'd succeeded or not. He must have tried to call me after I left the city."

"Most likely."

"Hm. . ." Her master thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, the Bad Batch are also on their way and you won't get any complaint from me about the Deltas being here. Instead of four hypercompetent commandos, you'll have eight. I think. At least, according to Kit, the Deltas are really good at their jobs. He worked with them on Vassek Three."

"Yes." Aayla nodded. "And Bly has also informed me that they are excellent."

"Oh, well, if Bly said it . . ." Leaning back on his hands, Quinlan grinned.

"Master." Aayla shot him a glower. "If you have something to say, perhaps you should say it."

"Um, what?" He blinked, sat up a little, and looked around. "Okay, so we know the Deltas are excellent. Yes. That's great."

"Mm-hmm." Aayla eyed him for a long moment before deciding to drop the subject. "And the Bad Batch . . .?"

"They're just about the best team you could ask for."

"You have said that before," she said thoughtfully. "But I don't believe you told me much about them."

"Really?" Quinlan squinted. "Yeah – I guess I wouldn't have. This is the first time I've really seen you in . . . a long time."

"Yes," she agreed. "You summarized the Malachor mission for me weeks ago, but I still have many questions."

"You and me both," he muttered, looking at the ground. After a moment, he glanced up again. "Well, we have time right now, I guess. Once I've acquainted you with the intel for this mission, I'll answer some of your questions about Malachor . . . if you answer one of mine about Felucia."

"Oh?" Aayla asked, a bit suspiciously. "And what might that be?"

"That time you commed me, when Bly had gotten himself shot . . ."

She frowned, the sharp worry of that time coming back to her. "Yes?"

"You told me that while he was in medbay, he nearly flatlined – and then, only a few seconds after you came in, his heart rate jumped back to normal."

"Yes," Aayla replied, remembering the rush of gratitude that had filled her.

"Okay." Quinlan nodded seriously. "So, here's the question: how likely is it that Bly recovered simply because he happened to see you arrive . . .?"

"MASTER!"

Chapter Text

The  Resolute

Day Ten, mid-afternoon

Boss seated himself on the Predator's boarding ramp and re-read the information on Jedha that was in the GAR database. There wasn't much available at the moment, or much that was of immediate use: some history, a few notable geographical features, pages and pages on the more common flora and fauna. . .

It seemed that the most mission-relevant fact listed was that Jedha was a cold desert moon. It was too bad the Deltas didn't know more about the mission itself. There was plenty of time for preparation, and yet he didn't know anything about what he should be preparing for.

He heard the hangar bay door slide open, but ignored it until Fixer, in the shuttle doorway behind him, cleared his throat. Boss glanced up to see Captain Rex approaching, helmet clasped under his right arm as usual. Trotting along beside him was a skinny Togruta girl with wide blue eyes and an open, friendly expression. Two lightsabers hung from her belt, and she wore leggings and a short maroon dress with a low back and no sleeves.

Delta Thirty-Eight eyed her for a moment, then stood and descended the ramp with Fixer.

Captain Rex stopped in front of them and glanced at the Jedi girl. "Commander Tano, this is Sergeant – Boss – and Corporal Fixer."

Fixer's eyes glinted with mirth, and Boss pretended not to notice. Of all things for the squad's straightlaced corporal to be amused by, it had to be the fact that the sergeant's name confused people when they heard it for the first time. Boss hadn't exactly named himself. In fact, it was Fixer who had started it. . . and he'd probably done it on purpose, too.

"Hi," said Ahsoka, with a tiny wave. "So, should I call you Boss and Fixer? Or do you prefer rank?"

"We usually go by Thirty-Eight and Four-Oh in the field," Boss told her. "But name or rank works too."

Ahsoka glanced questioningly up at Rex, who said, "Commandos are a bit different from regular clones, kid – armor's different, training's different – attitude's different . . ." He smirked a little at Fixer's look. "Eh, don't overthink it, Ahsoka. You'll catch up."

Boss wasn't so sure. Ahsoka looked quick and alert, but Jedi or no Jedi, she was small . . . not to mention young. He didn't like this one bit. He liked it even less when he noticed the wide-eyed, concerned look she was giving him. "Commander Tano," he said, trying to phrase his concern correctly.

"Yes?"

Boss gestured at the Predator. "We'll try to make sure you can stay on the shuttle if need be. We want to ensure your safety on this mission."

Captain Rex was studying him thoughtfully, so Boss addressed the next sentence to him. "I don't know how high-risk our mission will be, Captain."

Before Rex could even start to answer, Ahsoka crossed her arms over her chest and bit her lip. "I'm not being sent on this mission so I can hide on a shuttle."

While Boss considered the merits of this statement, she went on. "Master Skywalker wouldn't send me if he didn't think I was ready."

Since Thirty-Eight wasn't sure how to answer that, he said nothing. Meanwhile, Fixer was studying Ahsoka with a look bordering on disapproval.

When the girl met Four-Oh's gaze with a spirited frown, Rex cleared his throat and broke the awkward silence. "Where are Sev and Scorch?"

Knowing Rex wouldn't like the answer, Boss kept his voice neutral. "Testing out jetpacks with your new ARCs in Hangar B."

Rex's face went carefully blank, and the look in his eyes was a strange mix between exasperated and concerned. "They're with Fives and Echo? How did they –"

"We don't know, sir," Delta Forty replied formally. "Oh-Seven and Six-Two requested permission to join them."

"Don't worry," Boss said, by way of reassurance. "I told them I'd leave them behind if they got injured."

Ahsoka covered her mouth with one hand, her whole expression bright again, and Captain Rex shot her a narrow-eyed look. "This isn't funny, kid."

"It is to me." She straightened to attention, holding back a grin. "Well – good luck, Rexter! Take care of everyone."

"I'll do my best, littl'un."

As he started to turn away, her shoulders slumped the tiniest bit, and Rex paused to look down at her. "You'll do fine."

"I know." Ahsoka was trying too hard to sound chipper. "And I'll be glad to see Master Secura again. I'm just . . ." She hesitated, glancing uncertainly at the commandos.

She doesn't want us to hear, Boss realized. Turning slightly away from her, he held the datapad out to Fixer. "Fixer. Is this really all the info we've got on Jedha?"

"Yes, sir." Four-Oh tapped away at the keypad, pretending to be busy. "I can't compile much data until we know what we're really up against. . ."

And he wasn't even trying to compile anything. Thirty-Eight watched Fixer pull up pictures of irrelevant plants and flowers, and pretended not to hear the conversation taking place to his right.

"I'm worried, Rex," Ahsoka said in a small voice. "Master Skywalker doesn't think I'm ready for something as big as the upcoming invasion, and that's why he's sending me away. But I've been in some big battles. And this one will be worse, if and something happens and I'm not here . . ."

This was uncharted territory for the Deltas, and Boss knew that his corporal was as uncomfortable as he was. They exchanged glances, then looked down at the datapad, currently displaying an image of a tiny desert crab.

"It's blue," Thirty-Eight observed.

"Yes, sir."

"Ahsoka," Rex was saying. "You shouldn't worry about what's happening here. If you do that, you won't do well on your mission."

"I know." Her voice was still quiet. "But – the Deltas and Master Secura don't need me. The mission on Jedha will go fine even if I'm not there."

"Maybe it will," Rex answered. "But you don't know that, Ahsoka."

She sighed. "I guess I don't. But if it turns out that Skyguy did need me, or if you did, Rex, or if any of the 501st did and I wasn't there –"

As her voice trailed off, Fixer pulled up a picture of the Temple of the Whills and pointed out a random fact about the architectural structure. Boss pretended to be interested.

"Think of it this way," Rex said. "If you're not with us during the battle, General Skywalker will be more focused. He'll do a better job."

"Because I'm not here for him to worry about." She sighed, hunching in on herself even more. "You're right."

"Always am." Rex's voice was light. "And it doesn't have anything to do with how capable you are, Ahsoka. General Skywalker worries about everyone. It's just what he does."

"Yeah," she agreed, glancing up briefly. "He even worries about you."

"And you know how capable I am," Rex said, pointing a thumb at his chest.

Out of the corner of his eye, Boss saw Ahsoka smile a little and then straighten.

Rex stiffened to attention and put his helmet on. "Focus on your mission, kid, and you'll do just fine." He lowered his voice conspiratorially and added, "And I'll take care of General Skywalker and make sure he doesn't do anything – ah –"

"Stupid and reckless?" she suggested in a mischievous whisper.

". . . I won't tell him you said that, but yes."

Then Rex turned to Boss and Fixer. For a moment, the jaig eyes on his helmet stared at them, and then the captain tilted his head forward and said, "She'll do fine."

Boss did not argue.

Rex saluted Ahsoka, nodded to the Deltas, and left, leaving the Jedi girl staring after him. Only when the hangar doors had closed behind the captain did she turn, offering Boss a small but hopeful smile. "Sergeant," she said. "Do you know what we'll be doing on Jedha?"

"No, Commander."

There was an awkward pause. Ahsoka fidgeted a little, set a hand against the hilt of one lightsaber, and said, "Well, do you know anything about the mission yet?"

"No, Commander." Boss was busy wondering if he should address her as 'sir', or if 'ma'am' would be more appropriate. He hadn't worked with a female Jedi before, and he didn't remember seeing anything about it in the regulations.

"Okay, well . . ." Ahsoka had a determinedly cheerful tone in her voice. "Have you heard anything from Master Vos?"

"No, sir. Ma'am."

She smiled, rolling her eyes expressively. "Look, just call me Ahsoka, okay?"

Boss hesitated. Troopers were not supposed to breach protocol by addressing superior officers by first names – especially not Jedi. But neither were they supposed to breach protocol by ignoring direct orders – especially not from Jedi.

He glanced questioningly at Fixer, then narrowed his eyes. His corporal was intensely occupied with examining a map of an area of Jedha that they weren't even going to. In fact, it was a map of the opposite side of the moon.

"Fixer," said Boss.

"Yes, sir?" Forty glanced up at him, but when it took Boss longer than two seconds to begin speaking, the corporal went back to studying.

Thirty-Eight could – and usually did – smack his teammates upside the head when they acted oblivious or pretended not to know what he wanted them to do, but he didn't think that was appropriate behavior in front of a superior, or a kid . . . and Ahsoka was both.

He clasped his hands behind his back instead and said, "Fixer, any word from Sev and Scorch?"

This time Fixer looked at him knowingly. "No, sir. Given that it's downtime, I had assumed they wouldn't be checking in."

Unbelievable. Dismissing him for the moment, Boss turned to the padawan, who was watching them, arms still folded. "So, you know General Secura, si – Ahsoka. Did you join her on a mission?"

"Yeah." She grinned, revealing sharp canines. "Not on purpose, though. See, a few months ago, she and Commander Bly were trapped on her cruiser, which was getting shot down. Master Skywalker and I went to help, but during our escape – on a shuttle – one of the pilots was thrown into the hyperspace controls. Anakin was too injured to pilot, and I had to take over piloting because Bly said we were headed for a star."

Fixer, abruptly distracted from his pretended studying, looked up and raised both eyebrows in a silent question as to how that had happened.

"Anyway." Ahsoka gestured widely. "I crashed the ship – safely – on Maridun, and we got stuck there for a couple days. The villagers took us in, more or less willingly, because Master Skywalker was injured, and then we fought off Lok Durd and his Seppies and left once the Resolute arrived."

"Lok Durd?" Fixer asked, his tone sharpening with interest. "You mean the Separatist weapons developer?"

"Yep!" Ahsoka perched on a nearby girder, swinging her feet. "Well, unless there's another Neimoidian by that name who tests weapons on innocent villages."

"What'd he look like?"

Her eyebrow markings drew together in thought. "A really fat Neimoidian?"

Thirty-Eight recalled the last picture he'd seen of the warlord and nodded. "That sounds right."

"Hm," said Fixer. "We destroyed one of his research facilities, shortly before Vassek Three. There was a prototype there for a grenade that would destroy organics but not droids."

"Well." Ahsoka frowned. "I guess he improved on the grenade idea afterwards, because he was testing a missile version on Maridun. It was crazy, it burned everything except droids."

Before Boss could reply, the hangar doors slid open, and the sound of loud arguing heralded the approach of four clones: Sev, Scorch, and two ARC troopers, each of whom wore a kama and pauldron. One of the ARCs had a blue handprint on his cuirass – Echo, Thirty-Eight remembered. It looked like he'd gotten new armor, but kept the design.

The second ARC trooper, who was rolling his eyes dramatically at Echo's complaints, was clearly Fives. He looked the same, except that the goatee he was so proud of was more distinct now.

Boss opened his mouth to tell his younger squad mates that Commander Tano was present, but neither of them were paying attention to anything except their argument with the ARCs.

Scorch made a snippy comment that Boss couldn't quite hear, and then Echo shoved him, hard. "That jetpack was fine!"

"Oh, yeah?" Scorch stumbled a couple of steps to the side and shoved the corporal back. "Then why'd I crash into the wall?"

"Because you're overweight," Sev muttered, making Fives snicker.

"No." Echo gave a long-suffering sigh. "It was because –"

"Listen," interrupted Scorch, only a few meters away now. "Just answer this. If that jetpack was fine, then why'd I crash?"

"Because you went too fast!" Echo yelped disbelievingly. "There are regulations and safety parameters for a reason!"

Scorch stopped dead in his tracks, took off his helmet, and turned to regard him in confusion. "Well, yeah . . . but it's not fun that way."

Fives stepped forward and shook hands fervently with him. "You and me both, brother." Using his grip on Scorch to pull him closer, he whispered, quite audibly, "Hey, listen, next time you're here we'll try your idea."

"No, you will not, Fives," Echo snapped, planting a hand on his gun belt. "You can't wire jetpacks together."

"Yeah, you can! Jesse did it with a –"

"No." Echo shook his head fervently. "I don't want to hear about it."

Scorch glanced from him to Fives, eyes gleaming. ". . . Well, I do."

As Echo buried his face in one hand with a groan, Sev elbowed him in a show of solidarity. "Don't worry, ARC. We won't be here much longer."

At this point, Thirty-Eight decided that the comedy routine had gone on long enough. "Six-Two, Oh-Seven," he called. "Pull it together."

"Yes, sir," Scorch agreed, jostling Echo one last time. "Pulling it together, sir."

Sev grabbed him by the elbow and shoved him forward, just as Fives finally noticed Ahsoka.

"Ahsoka!" he exclaimed, sauntering over to where she sat. "Echo and I were going to head up and say goodbye to you. Didn't realize you were here already."

"Yeah, I'm not as slow as I used to be." Ahsoka hopped off the girder and clasped Fives' forearm, then Echo's. "I'll see you boys when I get back. And listen . . . stay alive, okay? That's an order."

Fives saluted with exaggerated fear. "Yes, ma'am."

"We'll be careful," Echo promised.

She smiled and stepped back.

Fives gave Thirty-Eight an appraising look, then saluted him casually. "Keep an eye on her, Sergeant."

It wasn't a request, and Boss nodded his understanding.

With a final wave for Ahsoka, the two ARC troopers exited the hangar, leaving an awkward silence in their wake.

Scorch and Sev were watching the Jedi girl curiously and pretending not to, so Boss cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Commander Tano, this is Six-Two, and Oh-Seven."

Scorch waved to her. "We go by Scorch and Sev, Commander. Glad to have you on board."

"I'm glad to be on board." Ahsoka smiled. "Master Skywalker told me about you guys after the Vassek Three and Rattatak mission."

"Oh yeah, that one," said Scorch, squinting at the memory. "Hey, maybe we'll be able to blow up stuff on this mission, too."

Fixer glanced up. "Thirty minutes until hyperspace drop."

"Right." Thirty-Eight gestured to the Predator. "Comman – Ahsoka, if there's anything you'll be needing, you'd best get it quickly."

Ahsoka put a hand on each of her saber hilts. "I don't generally bring anything with me except my lightsabers," she admitted.

"What." Sev narrowed his eyes. "You don't bring food, or med supplies?"

"I have food!" she defended, touching a narrow leather pouch on her belt. "But just emergency rations."

"What about water?" Scorch asked. "And do you bring a pack or something to carry stuff in?"

"Not usually." Her blue eyes flitted from one commando to the other. "The troopers carry some supplies, but mostly we keep everything at the base."

Sev put his helmet back on. "Well, there's not going to be a base on Jedha."

"But . . ." She looked confused. "I thought the Predator was your base?"

"It is," Boss told her. "When we have it available. But we usually get deployed in active zones. We'll probably have the Predator accessible while we're on Jedha, but don't count on it. In the field, you never know what's going to happen. Only depend on having what you bring with you."

"Okay." She gave a determined nod. "I'll get supplies from the quartermaster. Is there anything else I should bring? What do you normally carry?"

Boss was wondering if she wanted the whole list when Scorch said, "Anything that might be useful on the mission."

"Well, we don't know a lot about what we're doing," Ahsoka said, one finger tapping against her chin as she thought. "But we know where we're headed, so maybe that'll tell us what we need. What about the mission location? What's Jedha like?"

Fixer raised an eyebrow, and his gaze traveled pointedly from her sleeveless, low-backed outfit to her face. "It's cold," he said in a dry voice.

Ahsoka blinked, caught off-guard, and folded her arms. "Okay," she said, a bit defensively. "I'll . . . go grab some warmer things. . ."

Turning on her heel, she walked quickly away.

"Hey, Boss?" Scorch cleared his throat. "Do you think the Jedi know what armor is for? I mean, none of 'em seem to wear it."

"Some do," said Fixer, predictably.

"Yeah . . ." agreed Sev. "At least General Fisto wore vambraces."

"The Jedi's fighting style prioritizes speed and maneuverability," Boss said neutrally, then thought, a little too much, in my opinion. Aloud, all he said was: "Come on, lads. Let's get everything squared away."

As the other three went into the ship, Boss cast a look at Ahsoka just before she vanished from the hangar. She was just a kid, even though she seemed to have a lot of confidence in herself. Captain Rex seemed to have a lot of confidence in her, too; so maybe she did have the skills to back it up. Still, Boss did not like the idea of taking her into battle.

But there was nothing for it. He'd just have to keep an eye on her, and hope that she listened to him.

Ahsoka tossed her pack onto the bed and opened the tiny closet that was set in the wall in one corner of her quarters. The only thing that hung in it was her Jedi robe, which she hardly ever wore. Still, there was a temple on Jedha, and pilgrims often wore robes of some sort; she needed to be able to blend in, just in case.

Jerking the robe off its hook, Ahsoka bundled it up and stuffed it into her pack, her pride still smarting from the disapproving way the commandos had been looking at her. She'd intended to show them that she wasn't just some kid in need of protection, and instead all she'd done was show them exactly how little she knew.

Fortunately, Ahsoka had always been a quick learner. A few months ago, she'd have been tempted not to change into cold-weather clothes, simply to prove that she was strong enough to handle a little discomfort. Even then, though, she'd have known she was being childish, and so would the Deltas.

Ahsoka dug through her pack and replaced her usual clothes with her winter outfit, which was exactly the same as far as color went. The leggings, however, were fleece-lined and lacked the cutouts that her usual outfits had; and the tunic was made of heavier material, as well as being a bit longer – and having sleeves and a back. She also set aside her decorative armbands, which really served no purpose if she was wearing sleeves. She didn't have a secondary pair of gloves, but that didn't matter. As far as she was concerned, fingerless gloves worked best for lightsaber use. . . assuming that her hands didn't freeze to the point of numbness.

Ahsoka adjusted her lightsaber belt, pulled on her boots, glanced down at herself, and gave a satisfied nod. If nothing else, she'd be able to prove to the commandos – especially Boss and Fixer – that she was mature enough to take valid criticism properly.

And she wanted to prove it. She had a feeling that none of the Deltas really wanted her on their shuttle or on the mission. Quite frankly, Ahsoka wasn't used to that at all. She knew she could be annoying, and talkative, of course, and that she asked a lot of questions, but overall, the troopers of the 501st were only too happy to have her around – especially in battle. With the Delta Squad, Ahsoka got the feeling that they thought she was an inconvenience at best.

At least Master Secura would be on the mission. Maybe she would be able to let the commandos know that even Jedi padawans had their uses.

Ahsoka opened the closet for her coat, then remembered she'd already emptied it. Frowning, she looked around. She'd definitely owned a coat, at some point, but maybe she'd left it on Coruscant? Or on Master Kenobi's flagship? Or –

Ahsoka flopped on her stomach across the neatly-made bed and hung over the edge to peer under it. There was her extra locker, half-open, her winter coat crumpled inside along with a spare robe and the long dress she'd had to wear on Naboo for a ceremony.

Oops . . . Guess I forgot to put those away. Ahsoka pulled out the locker and tried to straighten everything, but gave up when she glanced at the chronometer. She had to be on the shuttle in fifteen minutes, and she'd rather be early.

Shoving the locker back with one foot, Ahsoka stood up and tugged on the grey coat. It felt odd, and when she swung her arms to test her range of motion, she realized exactly how little she could move her arms. "Ugh." Ahsoka peeled the coat off. "That's no good."

Holding the hooded coat at arms' length, the padawan considered it. She hadn't remembered about the tight sleeves, because she hadn't worn the coat since Padme first gave it to her as a gift. Although Ahsoka was grateful, she'd discovered very quickly that she was not fond of Naboo fashion. The coat itself fit nicely, not too restricting, not too baggy. . . but for some reason, from the shoulders to the wrists, the sleeves were extremely tight. Not at all like the sleeves she'd seen on Padme or –

Ahsoka grinned at the thought of the ridiculously puffed sleeves the Chancellor wore. Maybe, on Naboo, the nobles' status was shown by the size of their sleeves. The more important you were, the bigger your sleeves were.

Either way, she couldn't maneuver in it, so Ahsoka draped the coat over one arm, grabbed her pack, and hurried into the hall. She definitely wouldn't need her coat on the shuttle, so maybe during the journey to Jedha, she could turn it into a vest. A couple of slices with a lightsaber would suffice – though a pair of shears or a vibroblade would be safer, and would probably make the alterations much less noticeable.

Chapter Text

Hyperspace, the  Predator

Day Ten, late afternoon

Ahsoka leaned an elbow on the cool durasteel and stared out at the ever-changing light patterns of hyperspace. It was quiet in the cockpit of the Predator, and had been for a good half-hour or more, because Fixer, who was piloting, was the only one present apart from herself. And Fixer was, as far as she could tell, the least talkative of the squad, including Sev, who had hardly spoken so far.

So here she was, sitting quietly and watching hyperspace flow past. Meanwhile, Scorch and Sev and Boss were in the cargo hold, checking and repacking their gear and weapons. Maybe she should do the same thing. . . not really much point, though, because she hadn't brought much with her.

Ahsoka crossed her arms and tried to tilt her seat back, but couldn't manage. It was the kind of chair that only tilted back when the person sitting in it leaned back hard enough. Clearly, the Predator had not been designed to accommodate skinny Togrutan teenagers whose feet couldn't quite reach the floor.

Giving up, Ahsoka hopped to her feet and went to stand behind the empty copilot's station. Resting her forearms on the back of the chair, she asked, "How long's the flight, Corporal?"

Fixer's helmet angled pointedly towards the counting down chronometer, and Ahsoka sighed. "Just . . . trying to make conversation."

There was a pause. "About six hours until planetfall," Fixer said at last. "You should get some rest, Com – Ahsoka."

"Maybe," she agreed. "But it feels weird to sleep when it's not even dinnertime yet. Hey, is Jedha's planetary rotation similar to Coruscant's?"

"Similar enough," said Fixer. "A standard day is twenty-three point seven five hours."

"Okay, so it'll be dark when we get there?"

He shook his head and reached over to adjust one of his instruments. "It'll be mid-morning, as far as the Jedhans in the eastern hemisphere are concerned."

"Oh," she said. "In that case, I guess I will try to get some sleep after all."

But first, before she forgot, she had to alter her coat. Taking it out of her pack, she spread it on the floor and knelt beside it, considering. It was easy enough to see where the shoulder seams were, but she didn't have a vibroblade or a knife. . . and she really didn't think using her lightsabers would be a smart idea.

Casting a quick glance back at the corporal, who appeared content to focus on his job, she picked up her coat again and trotted into the cargo hold.

Sev and Boss were occupied with stacking crates in one corner. Scorch was perched on a weapons locker near the door, holding a grenade at arm's length as he squinted consideringly at it.

"Hey, trooper," she said, approaching him.

Scorch looked up with a grin. "Hey, Commander!" he answered. Then he shook his head and tried again. "Oh, right . . . Uh, hey, Ahsoka! You looking for something?"

"Yeah," she said, a little relieved that she could ask him rather than Boss. "I'm looking for a knife – a sharp one."

"Wow," said Scorch, looking a bit concerned. "You sure? I mean, I know Fixer can be annoying sometimes, but –"

Ahsoka giggled, then stopped because giggling was very unprofessional. "This has nothing to do with Fixer," she said, tossing the coat onto the crate. "I just need to cut the sleeves off this thing so I can move."

"Oh, is that all." Pulling a thin, collapsible knife from his belt, Scorch handed it over. "Think that'll work?"

"Better than my lightsaber," she said, perching on the crate next to him. Flipping open the blade, she set to work carefully slicing through the layers of fabric, just past the shoulder seam.

On the other side of the room, Sev and Boss were discussing the best way to store a crate of sonics. Ahsoka stopped paying attention to them for a bit, too busy focusing on not cutting past the seams; when she tuned back in, it was to hear Sev saying, "Sir, with all due respect, you never need as many sniper rounds as I do."

Ahsoka glanced at Scorch, who rolled his eyes ceilingward. "They argue about this every couple of weeks," he murmured. "Boss thinks Sev should keep more space in his pack for medical supplies, and Oh-Seven figures that if he kills the enemy fast enough, he won't need a lot of medical supplies."

"But –" Ahsoka paused to adjust the fabric. "Sev was the one asking if I brought medical supplies."

"Sure." Six-Two hopped off the crate, clipping his grappling hook to his belt. "We all carry medical supplies, believe me. But Sev brings only the absolute necessities. I guess he prefers to carry so much ammo he can't even walk."

Unfortunately for him, Sev chose that moment to walk by and overhear his comment. He elbowed the demolitions expert hard, making him jump.

"What?" Scorch demanded, lifting his hands in a gesture of both innocence and surrender. "You do."

"Deltas," said Boss, with a neutral look at Ahsoka. "We have approximately five hours until touchdown. Get some rest."

"Yes, sir." Sev vanished.

"Will do, Boss." Setting his blaster rifle on the weapons rack, Scorch turned to Ahsoka. "All set with that?"

"Just – about – there. . . Got it!" The blade sheared through the last bit of fabric on the second sleeve. Ahsoka closed the knife with a flick of her wrist and flipped it around in her hand, holding it out towards Scorch.

"Huh," said the yellow-armored commando, taking it. "I didn't know Jedi knew how to use knives."

"Of course we do." Ahsoka picked up her coat, admiring how clean the cuts were, and crumpled the useless sleeves in one hand. "Good practice for dexterity. Thanks, Scorch!"

As he left the room with a wave, Ahsoka noticed that the sergeant was eyeing her thoughtfully. He reminded her a little of Cody, back when she'd first met him. He'd stood there exactly the same way, hands clasped behind his back as he watched her with that half-questioning, half-considering look.

"Ahsoka," Boss said.

She slid off the crate and straightened, tilting her chin up so she could look him in the eye. "Yes, Sergeant?"

"Did General Skywalker talk to you before you left?"

"Yeah," she said, putting the coat down. "Right before I met you."

"About . . .?" he prompted, as if he didn't already know. Anakin had said he'd talked to him – and that probably meant that her master had mentioned that Ahsoka was a little too free-willed sometimes.

Putting one hand on her hip, Ahsoka gestured with the other. "About the fact that I'm supposed to defer to you?"

When Boss didn't say anything, Ahsoka deflated a little. ". . . Sorry," she said, glancing at the floor. "Anakin told me that I'm to follow your orders, in particular when Master Secura isn't around."

He nodded silently, turned, and went into the cockpit.

Confused, Ahsoka picked up her coat again and followed him. She couldn't tell much about what he was feeling. Was he hoping he'd be able to leave her on the shuttle? Was he thinking that her master had been right, and that he'd have to keep an eye on her after all?

Ahsoka stuffed the cut-off sleeves into one of the storage pouches on the wall, since she had nothing better to do with them at the moment.

"I'll take over the watch," said Boss, approaching the pilot's seat.

"Understood." Fixer got up and headed for the bunkroom, only to return a moment later with a folded blanket, which he held wordlessly out to Ahsoka.

"Oh, I –" Ahsoka paused. She'd intended to tell him that she didn't need it, because she'd brought her cloak and a blanket with her, but for some reason, she changed her mind. "Thanks, Fixer," she said, and took it with a small smile.

He only gave her a terse nod before leaving again.

Sighing quietly, Ahsoka sat down in the narrow crash seat. Well – of her four new teammates, at least Scorch was friendly. And Sev seemed to have a sense of humor . . .

The cockpit was silent for several minutes, except for Ahsoka's fidgeting as she tried to find a comfortable position. After all of the planets and campaigns she'd been on, she should be used to sleeping just about anywhere, but the seat was just the wrong size and angle, even when she finally managed to tilt it by throwing herself backwards as hard as she could.

Exasperated, she sat up again and put on her Jedi robe to help compensate for the hardness of the chair. It didn't do much.

She was just considering sleeping on the floor when Boss turned his head and said, "You might find the copilot's seat more comfortable."

Ahsoka immediately took his suggestion, grabbing the grey blanket and hopping into the seat. It felt a lot more like an actual chair and a lot less like the crash seats in a transport, which she was grateful for.

Dragging the blanket over herself, she tilted the chair almost all the way back with the built-in control.

"You're right," she said. "This is comfortable."

Boss reached up to dim the cockpit lights. "Better than the cargo hold or a hammock, anyway," he said.

"Better than Felucia," said Ahsoka, gazing out at the slow spirals of hyperspace as she held back a yawn. "And it's a lot better than Geonosis."

Boss gave her a curious look, but Ahsoka hardly noticed. She was, to her own surprise, rather tired after all.

Coruscant, Jedi Temple

Day Ten, evening

Kit Fisto stood on the Temple roof, arms folded against the breeze as he stared out over Coruscant's unending lanes of traffic. He was waiting to meet with Monnk, and with whichever captain Monnk had picked to serve as the captain of Quinlan's new company.

Normally, Kit was not outside on Coruscant at this time of day. He was a little surprised when he saw that the city, which was usually so unattractive, now had some hints of beauty to it. The sun was setting, already out of sight behind the skyline, but the last remainders of light shone through the buildings, causing thousands of window panes in the upper levels to glitter and glint.

"General!" greeted a familiar, cheerful voice. "Staring dramatically over the city again, I see."

Laughing, Kit turned to greet his commander. Monnk was alone, at the moment, but presumably the other trooper would be along soon.

"I don't do this that often," he said, gesturing at the roof. "By the way, Commander, thank you for coming on such short notice."

"No worries, sir." Monnk took off his helmet and stared at the tall buildings. "Wow, I see why you were looking at it. That's . . . really nice."

"It is," said Kit. "Though I find I still vastly prefer the glitter of the sun on ocean waves."

"Well, yeah," Monnk agreed. "Who doesn't."

Kit hummed his agreement, watching as a couple of speeders far overhead engaged in a brief and very illegal race from one level to the other. His commander stood beside him, as usual.

Monnk had been assigned to Kit Fisto because, first and foremost, he and his entire battalion had been trained as scuba troopers. The combination of a Jedi who could breathe underwater, and troopers who could fight underwater, had been a very unpleasant surprise to many Separatists, especially to those who had spent millions or billions of credits on setting up secret underwater lairs.

Kit found Monnk very easy to work with. It wasn't that Monnk was in any way lacking a spine – he was no pushover, and when he had a reason to argue one of Kit's plans, he argued it energetically. So far, Kit had insisted on his own plan only once, and that was because the Force was nagging him to follow his original plan. It had turned out for the best, that time; but the rest of the time, he listened to Monnk.

"Commander," said Kit. "I assume you have selected a captain for Quinlan Vos by now."

"Yes, sir. I picked Captain Faie," said Monnk. The breeze blew his curly, just-too-long hair into his eyes, and he shoved it back inattentively.

"Captain Faie," mused Kit. He had only a vague memory of a clone with a stiff, by-the-book demeanor. "I wonder if I should I write him a note of apology for his new assignment."

"I guess you'd know that better than I do, sir," said Monnk, uncaring. "I've only met Vos once."

"And I have only met Faie once. Would you explain your choice of officer to me?"

"Sure thing, General. For one thing, the Four Forty-Second's been taking more and more underwater missions, and only a couple of my captains have been trained their whole lives as ground troopers. Faie's one of those two."

"That is true. Faie has very little experience with underwater missions. . ."

"Yes, sir. And apart from that, Faie does best with smaller operations. He's got a genius for planning with limited supplies and troops, and that's wasted when he just has to sit out missions or join a legion in an attack. I think he's the perfect man for this assignment, since he'll be commanding about two hundred men."

"Excellent," Kit said, just as Monnk's comm beeped.

When he answered it, a voice said, "Captain Faie here, sir. I'm at the Temple, but the guards won't let me through without authorization from a Jedi –"

Scoffing lightly, Kit leaned towards the comm and said, "Guards, I know you can hear me. This is General Fisto. Kindly allow Captain Faie through."

There was a clatter of movement on the other end of the comm, and Monnk hung up with a grin. "How'd you know they could hear you, sir?"

"The Temple guards have very little to do some days," Kit answered. "And as a result, they become bored . . . which, somehow, always ends in their taking some unnecessary action or precaution or other."

Monnk tilted his head to one side, clearly considering. "Yeah, I can see that," he said. "Guess I can't blame them."

"Neither can I." The Nautolan smiled. "But I do intervene, occasionally. . . unless the guards are keeping an important official or reporter from speaking with me. And then I give them my sincerest gratitude – once the coast is clear, of course."

"Of course. . ." Monnk shook his head, grinning. "Very professional, sir."

Kit laughed just as a clone captain strode into view around the corner of the Temple wall. He had his helmet tucked under one arm, and wore a kama that matched the dark brown swirled designs on his armor. He had no distinguishing tattoos, but as he approached and Kit saw his face for the first time, he realized that Faie would stand out easily, even among dozens of clones. His eyes were not the usual brown that most of the clone troopers shared; instead, they were very obviously and unmistakably green.

"General Fisto," the captain said, coming to a halt and saluting. "Commander."

"Captain Faie," Kit answered. "Thank you for coming. I know that the Four Forty-Second is still on shore leave, but as we have some time before General Vos returns to Coruscant, I thought it would be efficient if took the opportunity to make all the necessary arrangements for you and your new company."

"Yes, sir," said Faie.

Monnk glanced at Kit. "I hear the new company is getting a new ship."

"It is," said the Jedi. "An Arquitan-class light cruiser. It is currently at the shipyard, being stocked."

Faie nodded, his expression formal, but his eyes gleamed with delight. "That's a nice class of ship, sir. Small and fast. What's it named?"

"Nothing, as of yet," Kit answered. "But I'm sure you and General Vos will come up with a good name."

By now, the deeper chill of evening had set in. As a breeze blew across the top of the Temple, tugging at Kit's tunic, he said, "Let us go inside and ensure that our data is in order. Once General Vos arrives, he should be on Coruscant for a few days, but one never knows. It pays to be prepared."

"You can say that again, sir," said Monnk fervently, and Kit suspected that he was thinking about one of the many times he'd had a lot of extra flimsiwork to do, due to a lack of preparedness on either his or Kit Fisto's part. The 442nd was, unfortunately, not the most efficient when it came to keeping on top of official details.

The three of them walked across the roof and through a side door which led to a hallway full of small rooms. Before the war, this area of the Temple had mostly been used by Jedi who wanted to take a few minutes to meditate without having to travel through the entire building in order to reach their quarters. Most of the rooms were still used for that, but a few had been repurposed for meetings.

Kit headed to the sixth room on the left, hoping it wasn't in use. It was his favorite room for meetings, because it had both a table and a drink machine. Most of the meeting rooms had either one or the other, as there had been quite a few people on Coruscant who'd donated items to the Temple over the past few months. Even though some of the items had been used in the past, they worked perfectly well and made everyone's lives easier.

A quick glance through the doorless entrance showed that it was empty, and Kit led the way inside.

"Hmm. . ." said Monnk, hands on his waist as he studied the room. "Fancy."

"Very much so." The Nautolan grinned. "Caf?"

"Please."

"Black with sweetener, correct?"

"Correct, sir."

"And you, Captain?"

Faie's gaze flicked from the general to the commander, and he blinked once.

"He takes it with sweetener and cream, when we've got it," said Monnk. He pulled a chair out from the table and fell casually into it. "You'd better get used to this, Faie – it's only going to get worse from here."

"Get used to what, sir?" asked Faie, still standing stiffly.

"The lack of formality," Monnk said. Hooking an ankle around the nearest chair, he dragged it out for the captain and gestured. Faie hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the chair.

"Indeed," said Kit, putting two steaming mugs of caf on the table. "When I am not on duty, I vastly prefer to behave like a Jedi, not a general."

Monnk smirked, and Kit shook his head and went to get himself a mug of tea. His commander was of the opinion that Kit didn't act very much like a Jedi even when he wasn't on duty. Well, that was on him. It wasn't Kit's fault that Monnk seemed to have the false opinion that Jedi lived completely ascetic lifestyles, and that putting honey in one's tea was the opposite of ascetic.

Kit Fisto put exactly the correct amount of honey into his tea, then sat down between the two clones. "You do have interesting opinions, Commander," he said.

"Always have, sir," admitted Monnk. "And I still say honey's a luxury."

"It is a necessity," replied Kit, and drank some tea. "As for you, Captain . . . I believe Monnk is correct in saying that you should get used to the lack of formality, because General Vos is even more informal than I."

"So I've heard," said Faie, who looked like he'd recovered slightly. "Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"Is the – lack of formality – because you Jedi weren't raised to be generals?"

"Most likely. We are not soldiers, Captain. That is why I rely so heavily on Commander Monnk. He has expertise where I do not."

Faie glanced down at his caf, forehead creased as he thought. "And General Vos, sir?"

"He does not have much experience in leading," answered Kit. "In fact, in that particular field – and when it comes to working with clone troopers – he has even less experience than I. For the most part, in the past, he has worked alone. . . but I'm sure you'll get along with him just fine." He took a meditative sip of tea and hoped his assumption was correct.

Faie turned uncertainly to Monnk, who said, "You'll be fine, Captain. Drink your caf, and let's get through this flimsiwork."

The captain blinked, vaguely insulted at the implication that he was anything less than fine, but drank his caf anyway.

"Ah yes, flimsiwork. . ." Kit pulled out his datapad. "Captain Faie, what is the name of your company?"

"Shadow Company, sir."

"Oh?" Kit looked up. "An apt name. Did you pick it?"

"No, General. Monnk did."

Kit cast a sidelong look at Monnk, who was smirking into his caf again. "Well, Commander, I'm sure Quinlan will appreciate your subtlety."

"I thought he might, sir."

With a sigh of mock disappointment, Kit wrote down the new company's name and signed the form. "Captain Faie, I'm sure you have noticed that I've not promoted you officially to commander."

"Yes, General."

"I decided against it, due to the nature of the missions that General Vos is most often given. Quite frankly, a lack of higher rank may give you added protection when it comes to decisions that are made on any given mission. You will still be acting commander, but for now your official rank will remain that of captain."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Faie sounded relieved. Considering that he had only been promoted to captain a couple of weeks ago, Kit wasn't surprised.

"Very good," he said. "You went through ARC trooper training, Faie?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, he did, and came out top of the class!" Monnk clapped his captain proudly on the back, almost making him drop his caf. "He's practically a commando, Faie is."

Faie looked seriously at him. "Practically?" he said. "I am a commando."

"Really?!"

"Yes, sir." Now Faie seemed a bit concerned. "ARC – Advanced Recon Commando. . ."

Kit Fisto shook his head. His commander was clearly baiting the younger officer, but Faie didn't seem to get it until Monnk laughed.

"At any rate, Captain," Kit said. "You have elite training that will serve you very well on the kind of missions Quinlan takes. And what about your men?"

"We don't have any special ops troopers in Shadow Company, General, but they're all veterans – and they're all skilled."

"I'm sure they are," said Kit. "And your men were all picked from the ranks of the Four-Forty-Second?"

"Of course," said Monnk, raising an eyebrow.

Kit filled out the form. "I am merely asking as a formality," he said, which Monnk already knew. "Captain Faie, this means that your men have another four days of shore leave?"

"Yes, sir," Faie told him. "I thought to leave them in their usual arrangements until it was time to transfer to the new ship."

"That sounds reasonable."

The captain held out his datapad. "Here is the list of men, sir. Our main issue is that the officer structure is a little irregular."

"Yes, so I see," the Jedi said, scrolling through it. There were fewer than half the sergeants that there should have been, according to standard regulations, and only one lieutenant where there should have been four.

"Lieutenant Star was just promoted a few days ago," Monnk explained.

Faie nodded. "Commander Monnk and I assigned only ground troopers to Shadow Company," he explained. "But most of the original officers were killed in the attack on Worrsek."

"Yes. . . that was a costly victory." Kit frowned and looked at the captain. "I do not believe a lack of officers will be an immediate issue, though. I will leave you to make the calls as to whom to promote over the next few days."

Chapter Text

Jedha, Catacombs of Cadera

Day Eleven, morning

Squinting a little in the morning sun, Delta Thirty-Eight brought the Predator down towards the surface of Jedha. Sand stretched for miles in all directions, broken here and there by rocky valleys, some low lying mountain ranges, and the occasional city. As the shuttle got closer to the surface, he realized that the Jedhan desert – at least, on this area of the moon – was much less flat than he'd originally anticipated. The city of NiJedha lay on top of an immense mesa, and was circled, distantly, by yet another mountain range. Scattered across the sand between the two major geological features were areas of exposed bedrock, some several meters high, some curving around to block off what looked like paths through the dunes.

Boss input the coordinates to the Catacombs of Cadera and turned the shuttle to starboard until he was flying due east. It was, according to Fixer, a four-hour walk from the catacombs to the city, and another hour from there to the Temple of the Whills, but it only took a few minutes for the Predator to cross the distance.

The main entrance to the catacombs was not particularly large. Boss knew he could get the shuttle inside, but not without a lot of finagling. However, there was an opening in the base of a cliff just south of the main spire, and that entrance was more than large enough.

Once the shuttle had landed, with a heavy crunch of metal on sand, Thirty-Eight locked the controls and got to his feet. Ahsoka was still curled up in the co-pilot's chair, sleeping peacefully, and there was no sound from his teammates. In fact, the ship had been quiet ever since he'd ordered everyone to rest up. That wasn't surprising, really. Going by Galactic Standard Time, it was now 21:15. Going by local time, however, it was about nine in the morning.

And local time was what they'd be following until they got off Jedha, so Boss stretched the stiffness from his arms and neck, headed aft to the bunkroom, and flicked on the lights. The others barely stirred.

Boss rapped his knuckles against the metal wall and announced, "Planetfall, troopers."

"Right, sir," Fixer answered. He sat up, looking passably alert, and hopped down from the upper bunk.

The other two had only just started to move, though, so Thirty-Eight tapped the wall again. "Scorch, Sev. Ten minutes."

Scorch yawned loudly.

"Yessir," Sev muttered, rolling out of the second top bunk. "Hey. Six-Two. MOVE."

When Scorch didn't move fast enough, Oh-Seven assisted him from bunk beneath his own with a well-placed kick.

The demolitions expert yelped and scrambled to his feet, tripping a little before untangling himself from the blanket. "I'm gonna get you for that, Sev!"

"Yeah?" Sev fastened his left greave. "You and what army?"

"I won't need . . ." Scorch cut off his words to yawn. For a moment, he stood in the middle of the room, looking confused. Then he dropped his blanket onto the bed, shook his head, and finished: "I won't need an army, you crazy nutter."

Instead of carrying out his threat, though, he went to fetch his armor. Boss got his pack from the bunk below Fixer's and double-checked that everything was ready.

As usual, Delta Forty left the room well before anyone else. He had a habit of sleeping in his armor when the team was on its way to another mission, even when they were on the ship. He said it allowed him to stay prepared. Scorch said it was what gave Fixer such a stiff neck.

"There's caf in the galley," Boss announced as he left the room. "But only if you get there in time."

Scorch and Sev began to move with a bit more alacrity.

Back in the cockpit, Ahsoka was still asleep in the chair, arms wrapped around her bent knees. Hesitating, Boss looked at Fixer, who was monitoring the sensors.

When his corporal ignored him, Thirty-Eight frowned disapprovingly. That's getting to be a habit, he thought.

But when Fixer had continued to ignore him, for ten seconds straight, Boss gave up and decided to wake the kid himself.

He cleared his throat. "Ahsoka," he said.

To his surprise, she woke up right away. "We're on Jedha already?"

The next moment, she had sprung from her seat and was reaching for her pack.

Youth, Boss thought resignedly.

Fixer turned to face him, once again acknowledging his presence now that there were no padawan-focused duties to perform. "Sir," he said. "Ambient temperature is zero degrees centigrade."

"Wow," said Ahsoka, fastening the coat she'd brought with her. It wasn't particularly warm-looking, and it didn't have sleeves, but it was a sight better than her earlier getup. Maybe Togrutans just didn't have as much of a problem with cold as humans did.

"Zero degrees?" Ahsoka said, tugging the pointed tips of the hood over her montrals. "That's pretty cold. Is Jedha always like this?"

"Not everywhere," Fixer said. "It's warmer outside the caves."

"Caves? Oh, right, we landed in the catacombs, didn't we?" Ahsoka edged over to peek at Fixer's datapad. "Is Master Secura here already?"

"I'm reading two Jedi starfighters," Forty answered. "Thirty-Eight, are all of us heading out?"

"Yes." Boss clipped his helmet to his belt and went into the galley, where Sev was chewing on a protein stick while Scorch gulped caf like it was going out of style.

"All right, Deltas," Thirty-Eight said. "The Jedi are already here, and I don't want to keep them waiting. You have five minutes. Ahsoka?"

She popped up next to his elbow. "Yes?"

"We've got plenty of rations. Keep what you packed for when we're in the field."

"Okay." She caught sight of Sev's choice of breakfast, grinned, and pulled the same thing off the shelf.

Sev stopped eating to watch her, and Scorch said, "Uh, Ahsoka, you might want to choose something else. Those things taste like fire."

"Nah, this'll be fine. I love gold chili pepper." She grinned and took a large bite.

Thirty-Eight tilted his head.

Scorch eyed Ahsoka warily, as if he expected her to start shrieking and hopping around. He probably did, considering the yelp he'd let out when he'd tried one of them.

Instead, she took another bite. "I don't know what you're talking about," she told Scorch. "These aren't even that spicy."

"What?!" Six-Two looked betrayed. "Not that spicy? I could barely swallow them!"

"Huh." She shrugged. "Well, they taste good to me."

"If you say so . . ." With another dubious look, Scorch unwrapped one of the fruit-flavored ration bars that Fixer swore tasted like dehydrated molasses. Why Fixer knew that, Boss had never been sure, but he also detested those ration bars. Scorch was the only one who would touch them, outside of an emergency.

Behind Ahsoka, meanwhile, Oh-Seven's expression had lightened into one of uncharacteristic cheer. "Told you," he said to Scorch. "These are good. Even the kid knows it. The stuff you eat is just tasteless."

"You know what, Ahsoka?" Scorch said. "You should be careful how many of those you eat. I always figured Sev's voice was weird because he burned his tonsils scarfing 'em."

"Huh," Sev grunted. "Like your voice is normal."

Ahsoka giggled, and Boss, halfway through his own breakfast, mentally shook his head at his youngest squad mates. They were definitely upholding their habit of being unable to get through a single day without fighting about something stupid.

"Actually." Ahsoka finished her protein stick with gusto and threw away the wrapper. "I was kind of wondering about that. . ."

"About what?" asked Scorch. "Our voices?"

She nodded.

"Oh," he said, with a careless shrug. "Yeah, I don't actually know why they're so different."

There was an audible sigh from the doorway, where Fixer was eating his usual breakfast of caf and a cold biscuit-bacon sandwich. "I've told you why before, Six-Two."

"Well, yeah." Scorch tilted his head back to drop the last piece of dehydrated-molasses-fruit bar into his mouth. "But I don't think I was paying attention at the time."

At the look Fixer gave him, Scorch lifted both hands. "Seriously, Fixer, you can't expect me to remember everything! That's your job."

Ahsoka hastily covered her mouth with one hand.

Fixer ignored Six-Two, but because Sev looked like he was on the verge of making another caustic comment, Boss decided to put a stop to further bickering. "We have to go meet with the Jedi," he reminded them. "Are we done here?"

Sev clipped his rifle to his pack. "You tell us, sir."

Thirty-Eight reached for his helmet, encompassed his team with a look, and announced, "We're done here."

"Yes, sir," said Oh-Seven.

"Understood, Three-Eight," said Fixer.

"Yeah! Time to move out!" Scorch grabbed a couple of thermal detonators off the shelf of food packs, pretended not to notice the sharp look Fixer gave him, and breezed out into the hallway.

". . . I thought we secured this place," Boss said, into the sudden quiet.

"You did, Boss," Sev assured him. "But that was last night."

As the sniper left the room, Fixer turned to Ahsoka. "Short answer," he said, in a tone of voice that indicated a short answer was all he was going to give her. "Except for Boss, all of us Deltas had slight anomalies in our growth tanks. Those, to some extent, affected our voices. Sev's became even more – different – after a throat injury, and Scorch and I seem to have imitated the accents, pronunciation, and tones of our first trainers."

Fixer finished his statement with a bland tone and then, without leaving her time to respond, left the room.

Ahsoka blinked in surprise, then cast Boss a half-apologetic look. "Um," she said, hesitantly. "Should I have asked about that?"

Thirty-Eight put his helmet on. "I don't see why not.""

"Well, he seemed kind of upset." Her tone of voice was both taken aback and questioning as she followed him into the hall and down the boarding ramp.

"He wasn't," Boss answered absently, glancing at their rocky surroundings. "Four-Oh, do we have a direction?"

"Yes, sir," said Fixer, pointing north. "The starfighters are in the main cavern."

"All right, Deltas, let's go meet the Jedi Knights. Fixer, take point." Boss took a step forward, then turned to look at the padawan, who was already drifting a few meters off. "Ahsoka. . ." he said.

She answered with a slight roll of her eyes. "Yes, I know, I'll stay close," she promised.

Three-Eight kept his gaze on her for a couple more seconds, just to be sure she knew he'd seen that. She blinked, then looked a bit guilty, but Boss didn't say anything about it. He performed a quick visual scan of his surroundings, then headed down the ramp.

The catacombs didn't look much like Boss had imagined they would. There were no graves or tombs visible. The ground might have been stone, but if so it was covered in several centimeters of sand. When he scuffed one boot experimentally against it, he found nothing but more sand. More than several centimeters of sand, then.

Ahead of him, Scorch turned on his helmet lights and peered around. "Hey," he said. "Where are all the bones?"

"What bones?" Ahsoka asked.

The demolitions expert turned to her. "You know, all the skeletons. Weren't there a bunch of people buried here or something?"

Thirty-Eight couldn't help but wonder what kind of a reaction Scorch's demeanor would cause in the natives of this planet.

"There are people buried here, Six-Two," said Fixer disapprovingly. "According to the NiJedha library, the Catacombs of Cadera were once a monastery. The monks died out thousands of years ago, or moved, and their dead are still buried in the side caverns. Some people still come here to honor them, on specific holidays, but in general the locals avoid the catacombs. They think the caves are haunted."

"Why?" Ahsoka asked. "I mean, if the locals honor the monks, why would they be scared of them haunting the caves?"

"I don't know," said Fixer. He paused, then added, "Presumably because most sentients have an instinctive fear of death."

"Insightful," said a voice from above them, and all the Deltas jerked their rifles towards the ceiling before stopping short.

Boss removed his finger from the trigger, eyed the Kiffar who was sitting cross-legged in a rocky indent close to the ceiling, and lowered his weapon with a huff.

"General Vos," he said.

"The one and only." Putting a hand on the edge of the indent, the Jedi vaulted down and straightened, brushing a few of dreadlocks out of his eyes as he did so. "Hey, little 'Soka."

"Master Vos." The Togruta girl's voice was cheerful, but slightly hushed, as though she were in awe of him.

The Jedi gave her a thoughtful look, then snickered. "Chill, kid. I'm not exactly the grandmaster, or – Force forbid – Master Windu."

Ahsoka's eyes widened in shocked amusement, and Fixer tilted his head at Boss, who cleared his throat. "General Vos," he said, and saluted. "RC One-One-Three-Eight, Delta sergeant, reporting. We've been assigned by Commander Cody to assist General Secura for the duration of this mission."

"Uh-huh, I know – well, once Aayla told me, anyway. I would have known earlier, but I was out of range of the call or something, I guess."

"You didn't know, sir?" Boss unsealed and removed his helmet. "We were informed that you had requested a team to assist Secura."

"I had." Folding his arms, the Kiffar leaned sideways against the wall. "But here's the thing, I didn't actually get a confirmation about that, and I'm not liking the look of this mission. So, I ended up calling in another squad of commandos. They should be here pretty soon."

Oh-Seven looked at Boss, who shrugged. He hadn't known anything about a second squad. But they almost never knew all the details going into a mission.

"Um," Six-Two said, raising his hand. "General Vos – quick question?"

"Sure."

"This second squad wouldn't happen to be Theta Squad, would it?"

"Nope." The Kiffar's gaze flickered to each of the four Deltas, and he huffed. "You know, you guys don't need to stand at attention or keep your helmets on. We're in almost no danger."

Thirty-Eight's hand brushed his pistol. "Almost no danger, sir?"

"Yeah, well, I would have said no danger, but y'know, there's always the chance of the ceiling caving in, or an earthquake, or an old enemy showing up out of nowhere, or a random group of bandits trying to kill us for fun. Therefore – almost no danger." He straightened and clapped his hands together. "So! Are you all going to introduce yourselves, or what?"

Fixer, who had been running scans on their surroundings, stopped his work to stare at the Jedi for several long seconds. Then he clipped the datapad to his belt, took off his helmet, and said formally, "Delta Four-Oh, sir."

Before Quinlan could do more than open his mouth, Scorch interrupted. "His name is Fixer, he's just too professional to use it while we're on an actual mission. I'm Scorch." He removed his helmet, grinning. "The sergeant's name is Boss, and the quiet guy who's glaring daggers at me is Sev."

Sev, who hadn't even been looking at the chipper commando, grunted and whacked Scorch's arm with his own helmet.

"Ow," complained Scorch.

"Boss, Fixer, Scorch, Sev. Check." The Jedi hummed a couple of notes and then turned to Ahsoka. "And you were sent to help them?"

"Well –" She cut her own words off, then nodded. "Yes, Master Vos."

"Gotcha."

Boss checked the cave entrance behind him, wondering where General Secura was. "General, who's the other squad?"

"They're called Clone Force Ninety-Nine." For some reason, the Kiffar general smirked.

Boss didn't remember ever hearing of them; judging by Sev's and Scorch's confused looks, neither did they.

He turned to Fixer, who was now staring thoughtfully at his screen. Curious, Boss said, "What is it, Forty?"

"Clone Force Ninety-Nine isn't showing up in the GAR database."

"No?" The Jedi ambled over to peer over his shoulder, then shrugged. "Eh, sometimes they show up, sometimes they don't. Depends on who they work with."

"Strange," Fixer said, with an absent frown.

"Oh, not really," said General Vos. "Except when they get into huge altercations over stupid things. Then they kind of are."

Oh-Seven's expression lightened in pleased surprise, and Scorch grinned widely.

"No, sir," Four-Oh said, humorless as usual. "I meant it's strange that they are added and then removed from the system."

"Oh. Yeah. . . Well, I guess it depends on if the guys they work for are trying to hide their existence or not, or keep other people from requesting them for missions."

"So they're black ops?" Boss asked.

"Not that I know of. But I don't think they have an official designation, beyond their numbers and squad name. They don't even have a direct commanding officer in the field; mostly, they report to Cody."

Thirty-Eight nodded his understanding, not that he really understood, and wondered when this Clone Force 99 had entered the war. Only a couple of weeks ago, he'd heard rumors from a group of 41st troopers about a squad of four commandos who had taken down three tanks and five squads of droids without any help.

Before he could ask Fixer to check the 41st's mission records, a comm beeped.

General Vos answered his comm with a flourish. "Yes, my young former padawan?"

"We're back at the catacombs," a Twi'lek female's voice replied. "I see the Delta Squad has arrived."

"Yep, we've been having a nice friendly chat." Quinlan flashed the commandos a grin. "Oh, and Ahsoka's with them."

"Ahsoka Tano? What is Skywalker's padawan doing here?"

Boss caught her voice from the cave just behind him and turned halfway.

"Not much, at the moment," Quinlan replied, ignoring how Ahsoka's eyebrow marking went up. "Actually, she's here to help with the –"

A sharp click interrupted him, and he sighed. "She always hangs up on me," he complained, a lot louder than was necessary.

"Not always, Master." A Twi'lek female – a Rutian Twi'lek, judging by the aqua-blue color of her skin – entered the cave. "I only do it when you are saying irrelevant things. Which, I will agree, is almost always."

The Kiffar Jedi put a hand to his heart in mock injury, and the Twi'lek ignored him, instead turning to look at the others. Aayla Secura was reportedly famous for her beauty, and as she smiled at Ahsoka, Boss reflected that her reputation had done her justice . . . at least as regarded her appearance. Hopefully, her reputation as a good general was just as accurate.

Behind General Secura stood a man who was carrying a wooden staff and wore floor-length robes – presumably, he was a native of Jedha. As he stepped into the light cast by the heat lamps, his eyes caught Thirty-Eight's attention. They were a pale, opaque blue, weirdly vacant and unfocused.

Scorch leaned towards Boss and whispered, "Is he blind?"

Thirty-Eight had just opened his mouth when the man folded both hands on the top of his staff and lifted his chin. "Blind?" he mused. "Yes. But perhaps not so blind as others here."

"Ugh," complained Quinlan, planting both hands on his waist. "Do not start that again, Chirrut, I swear I'm going to lose my mind."

"You cannot lose what you do not have," intoned Chirrut.

"I can if I want," Vos retorted maturely.

There was a long pause as Chirrut appeared to consider the truthfulness of this statement.

Thirty-Eight noticed, with some amusement, that Fixer and Sev had shifted closer to each other. Even Scorch seemed a bit wary, but Ahsoka looked delighted.

Boss wondered if the Force-users in the room could read undertones in the argument that the rest of them could not. It was an interesting thing to consider, the Jedi being able to communicate on a different level than most sentients.

"Introductions," announced Quinlan Vos, and Boss blinked.

"Yes." General Secura looked up from her comm. "Please introduce us, Master."

Vos grinned. "Everyone, this is Aayla Secura, Jedi Knight, who will be taking over the mission for me. I was not a general at her age, so I'm kind of impressed by her."

"Thank you, Master," Secura said, straight-faced.

"You're welcome." He gestured at the blind man. "This is Chirrut Îmwe, a Guardian of the Whills. I've been working with him for the past couple of days, and he's, um. . ."

"Wise?" suggested Chirrut, with an expression of bland disinterest.

"No." The Kiffar Jedi stared at him. "I was gonna say something like weird or mildly insane."

Sev shifted and glanced at Boss, who did not respond. He had no answers at this point, only an increasing number of questions.

"Perhaps some would think I was insane," Chirrut allowed. "But then, as I said, those who are not blind are often more blind than those who –"

"Oh, snap, I set him off again." Quinlan Vos dragged a hand down his face and shook his head. "Oh-kay, anyway. . . Aayla, Chirrut. The clones are Boss – he's the sergeant – Sev, Scorch, and Fixer. They're the commandos of Delta Squad, and, by all accounts, are pretty awesome."

Boss opened his mouth, then closed it again, and Fixer looked blank. In the background, Scorch and Sev exchanged a quiet fist-bump. Boss definitely heard Scorch whispering, "See? I told you other people besides me think we're awesome."

"Quinlan," said the blind man, gesturing towards Ahsoka with his staff. "Who is the Togrutan girl?"

"Her name's Ahsoka," said General Vos, over Sev's too-audible whisper of, "I thought he was blind!"

Ahsoka sidled over to them. "He is," she whispered, much more quietly. "But he can see with the Force, somehow."

Before Boss could even start to figure that one out, General Vos said, "And, yep, that's everyone. Let's move on."

Everyone stood motionless, except for Chirrut, who continued to rock back and forth on his heels as he smiled at nothing.

"Um, people?" The Kiffar gestured expansively to the tunnel behind him. "I mean let's move on, literally. There's a nice warm cave a ways back, where we could wait for the other squad. Unless you'd prefer to stand here and freeze, which . . . is fine, but not the best idea as far as I'm concerned."

Ahsoka glanced up at Boss, who nodded in reply. "Lead the way, General," he requested.

"Will do, Sergeant." The Kiffar set off at a brisk walk, guiding them through the sandy tunnels.

Boss hoped that the general did not actually take orders from sergeants in his normal missions.

"General Vos," Four-Oh said after a moment. "Would you give us a brief overview of the current mission?"

Thirty-Eight smirked to himself, vaguely amused. Fixer's doubt about the situation – or perhaps about General Vos himself – was clearly audible, but Forty probably didn't realize that. Sev and Scorch, meanwhile, maintained their highly unusual levels of silence.

"I've got to go over some new intel with Chirrut, first," the Jedi answered, turning into a left-hand tunnel. "I'll brief you guys on the mission when the Bad Batch gets here."

"The Bad Batch?" Ahsoka repeated, surprised.

"Yeah. It's the name Clone Force Ninety-Nine picked for themselves."

Scorch perked up. "Hey, that's a cool name. Isn't it a cool name, Boss?"

Delta Thirty-Eight turned to regard him and gave the matter a moment of careful thought. "Yes," he decided at last. "Let's hope it's not literal."

Sev snorted, and Scorch said, "I'm just saying."

"We know," Fixer told him quellingly.

To Fixer's left, Chirrut ambled along without guidance, humming softly to himself as he let his empty gaze drift over the ceiling.

A few seconds later, Ahsoka skipped ahead of the Deltas and fell into step beside Aayla Secura. The two of them exchanged smiles and a few words each, then began to converse. Soon, they were speaking in quiet but animated voices. Based on the way the Togruta girl was gesturing at her coat while Aayla nodded sympathetically, it looked like they were discussing clothes. Hm.

Thirty-Eight tuned them out in favor of keeping an eye on his surroundings. At one point, he hung a little behind the others to peer into a narrow side-corridor. At the end was a small cave, with alcoves carved into the walls. In each alcove rested a human skull, with small objects around each – dried flowers, candle stubs, clay jewelry, and the like. It seemed a strange way to honor the dead, putting their heads – or skulls, at least – in shrines like that, but given the many simple graves and the lack of skulls in the next cavern, maybe only a few had been set in alcoves.

When he went to catch up with the others, Chirrut joined him. "The skulls are those of the revered dead," he said.

"The monks?" asked Boss.

"They were quiet servants of the people," said the Guardian with a nod. "Do you know, Sergeant. . . many of my acquaintances from the city dislike to visit the catacombs, and yet I have always found them to be very peaceful."

At first, Boss wasn't sure how to answer that. He understood the fear of death, but not the fear of the dead. They couldn't hurt anyone; and even if they could, it sounded like these monks, at least, wouldn't.

Chirrut was half-turned towards him as they walked, apparently waiting for an response of some kind. At last, Boss said, "It does seem peaceful."

"The dead rest," Chirrut said, with a decisive nod, and faced forward again. "You see that, Sergeant?"

Thirty-Eight thought about it, then nodded. "Yes."

The Guardian smiled, almost in approval. "I wish others saw as you did."

When they reached the main cavern, Boss stopped inside the entrance. This cave was much larger than the others, and noticeably warmer. A bright fire crackled cheerfully in the center of the sandy floor, and there were a couple of heat lamps standing on the edge of the firelight. Parked some meters behind the fire was a black Jedi starfighter, its wings decorated with brightly painted flames.

Delta Thirty-Eight cast a silent look at Scorch, who had probably spent several collective hours asking if the squad could repaint the Predator. He wanted to paint it one of two ways. His first choice was grey, with brilliant, multi-layered flames of red, orange, and yellow ("Sorry, Fixer, green's boring!"), and his second choice was to paint the ship yellow but to add teeth on the prow and decorate the wingtips with claws.

His design ideas, however, had not been accepted by the other three. First of all, they were too bright and attention-grabbing. And second, Scorch had a weird habit of starting out by intending to draw frightening or intimidating creatures – and ending with them looking more . . . endearing. The eyes were always too large and happy looking, and even the unpoetic Fixer thought that painting a ship called the Predator with a cute design was ridiculous.

Six-Two's defense was that, well, Ewoks were kind of cute and also dangerous, so you could have both in the same creature. Or spaceship. The others refused to hear of it. Thirty-Eight even gave a lecture on self-respect, which did not convince Scorch in the least.

As the group neared the fire, Quinlan dropped to sit cross-legged and pulled out a datapad. Chirrut moved purposefully over to join him, and Thirty-Eight raised an eyebrow at the sudden focus that both of them were showing as they began to talk to each other.

With nothing better to occupy his time with, Boss turned to check Ahsoka's location again. She was still talking with General Secura, who stood with her arms folded in a relaxed manner. Presumably, there was no nearby danger.

Scorch sidled up to him, still eyeing the ship. "Hey, um," he began. "Boss . . .?"

"No," said Thirty-Eight.

"But it's perfect."

"No."

Six-Two let out a hefty sigh. "But it looks so awesome."

From where he sat near the fire, the Kiffar paused mid-sentence to send him a grin of agreement.

Boss wondered how, exactly, the Jedi managed to do things like that.

General Secura went to put some more wood on the fire, then stood gracefully, putting a hand on her hip as she observed the commandos. Ahsoka, meanwhile, looked between Aayla and Thirty-Eight, as if wondering where exactly she belonged.

"I don't know, Sarge," Sev muttered, almost reluctantly. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be."

When Boss turned to him, Sev shrugged. "Just saying, sir. We could try it. It's not like we ever take the Predator on covert missions, anyway."

"Sev?" Scorch was staring, mouth open. "You're agreeing with me?"

"Oh, please," Fixer scoffed, not looking up from his work. "You guys are always agreeing and scheming."

At the disgusted looks Sev and Scorch gave each other, Ahsoka folded her arms, biting her lip to hold back a smile. She did that a lot, Boss had noticed. Maybe she was trying to appear professional.

"He's got a point," Boss said to his squad, not specifying which of them had a point. Leaving his teammates to wonder, he set to work observing the rest of the main cavern. There was nothing much – mostly sand and rocks, and, near the starfighter's landing gear, a jacket with a hole burned through it. Chirrut and Quinlan were still talking in low voices.

After a moment, Thirty-Eight decided that he should report properly to General Secura, since that hadn't happened yet. Snapping his fingers once to get his squad's attention, he headed over to where the general stood with Ahsoka.

"General Secura," he said. "Delta Squad reporting. Commander Cody has assigned us to your command for the duration of this mission."

"Thank you for coming," Secura replied, inclining her head. "It seems that this mission is going to be more dangerous than my master had hoped, and I will need all the help I can get."

Boss felt, rather than heard, the quick looks his squad mates were giving each other. He could almost hear Sev's mental commentary: 'Of course we came. That's what we were told to do', or something along those lines. Fixer was probably wondering if the Jedi even knew how an army – or orders – worked.

"Do we know any particulars yet, sir?" Boss asked. "Ma'am."

The Twi'lek smiled. "General Vos will update us on all the details. However, Ahsoka and I will be keeping our identity as Jedi secret, so please avoid referring to us by our ranks. We will be disguising ourselves as pilgrims."

"I brought my robe!" Ahsoka interjected, bouncing slightly on her toes. Then, abruptly, she went still. "Wait, does disguising mean we'll have to leave our lightsabers with the ships?"

"Of course not, Ahsoka," the older Jedi woman said. "After all, robes are excellent for hiding lightsabers in."

"Well, yeah. . ." Scorch said hesitantly. "But they're not so good for hiding anti-armor in. Or armor, come to think of it."

"Don't worry," General Secura said, clearly trying to keep a straight face. "Ahsoka and I will be the only ones disguising as pilgrims. I'm sure that we will come up with a plan – or you commandos will – as to how you will enter the city, and I doubt it will involve you trying to wear robes over your armor."

Boss decided that he was glad to hear that.

Chapter Text

Jedha, Crescent Caverns

Day Eleven, mid-morning

Kage Akar walked slowly through the main corridor of the cave system, glancing right and left into the small caves as he observed his men's work. Heavy metal chains had been drilled into the cavern walls at regular intervals and bolted securely into the stone, and even heavier chains had been set across the entrance to each cave.

"It seems sufficient," he said to Merrick, who was keeping pace beside him. "I assume you've tested the strength required to break one free of the wall?"

"Yeah," Merrick answered. "It took twenty men. And, of course, we won't have anywhere near that many per chain."

"Excellent." Turning, the Viper stared down the length of the corridor. Lights had been placed at the entrance to every cavern, as well as every three meters along the walls. There were no shadows to hide in here. . . Good. That was exactly what he wanted. "Do we have any further information about the Kiffar?"

"One of the men reported seeing him," said Merrick. "But the idiot can't remember whether it was before or after the time when the Kiffar was observed leaving the city. His message to the Guardians indicated he was leaving, but . . ."

"But you think otherwise."

"I don't know." Merrick's closed one hand around his broken wrist. "The blind guy we spoke to was upset, alright . . . but I guess the Kiffar might be smart enough to lie to him in order to throw us off the scent."

"Perhaps he is."

"He's got to be," said Merrick. "Talbor and I both think he's a spy, or maybe an assassin. He definitely fought like one. I don't know why he'd back out all of a sudden."

"Well," said the Viper dryly. "He may have realized what precisely he was getting into. It wouldn't be the first time someone tangled with the Pit Vipers and then got out."

"Eh. I guess that's true enough. But why'd he get involved in the first place?" The lieutenant considered for a moment. "We don't know how long he's been here. Maybe he's just some small-time crimelord who wanted to know if we were going to interfere with his clients."

Kage considered that for several seconds. "No," he said at last. "If that were the case, he would have found a way to contact us directly."

Merrick grunted. "So what should we do about him? Wait for him to leave? I'd prefer to take him out for good, but both previous attempts failed."

"I am aware," Kage said, still irritated by the fact. "Did you find F'rol's body?"

"Yeah, a couple hours ago. He was near an abandoned campsite, wrapped up nice and neat in his cloak."

"Had he been interrogated?"

Merrick frowned. "We're not sure."

"Not sure?" The Viper eyed him. "How is that possible? How did he die?"

"Shot three times, but it didn't look like the shots were close-range."

"And where was he hit?"

"In the chest and stomach. Pretty quickly fatal. But he might also have been interrogated – we don't know. By the time we found him, the dunescratchers had gotten at him. That would have hidden other injuries."

"Not all of them," answered the Viper. "There were no broken bones? No bruising? Electrical burns?"

Merrick shook his head. "Nothing like that."

"I see." Kage Akar started back towards the main cavern, thinking through the possibilities. It seemed safe to assume that this Kiffar had not interrogated F'rol before killing him – but that didn't give Kage much information to work with as far as the Kiffar's personality and motives were concerned. It could mean that he had no interest in questioning Kage's men . . . or, it could simply mean that he'd been caught off-guard and killed F'rol immediately in order to survive. The latter seemed more likely.

"I think we will ignore the Kiffar for now," Kage decided at last, straightening his right sleeve. "He is – or was – working for the Guardians. . . Either for them or with them, we aren't sure. But they would never hire an assassin or bounty hunter."

"Agreed," said Merrick. "Unless they didn't know what he was. And assassin or not, he could still be a problem. If he'd really wanted to, he could have killed both me and Talbor."

"Oh, I agree he is an issue, if he is in fact staying on Jedha. But he seems to have taken our warning to heart."

Merrick scowled. "Yeah. . . but I still don't think a guy who can take on three people and survive is just gonna back off."

Tired of his lieutenant's pessimism, Kage stopped walking and faced him. "We have our own schedule to keep, Merrick. And unless we decide to make another attempt at killing him, which would take a good deal of time and effort, there is nothing more to be done about the Kiffar."

"Let's make that attempt," said Merrick decisively. "Send a few of the men to take him out."

"No, we need everyone here."

"I'll do it, then."

"With a broken wrist?" Kage asked, surprised. "You feel rather strongly about this Kiffar, Merrick."

"Yeah, well," grumbled the lieutenant, swinging his whip of short chains restlessly at his side. "Something about him just creeps me out."

The Viper eyed the lieutenant. As far as he was concerned, Merrick was overreacting. He must be annoyed and possibly alarmed by the Kiffar, who had halfway beaten him in a fight, because Merrick never lost, especially when he had allies.

Kage had no intention of alarming the citizens of NiJedha by any further blatant actions – such as assassinating the Whills' hired guard, or whatever he was – before he was ready for the main part of his plan. Still, there was no reason to antagonize the Viper lieutenant by brushing off his concerns.

Coming to a decision, Kage glanced at Merrick again. "I suppose it would be wise to take precautions," he said. "Send the Kiffar's description to all the Pit Vipers. We'll keep watch for him when we go into the city. No one is to catch his attention in any way, but be sure to report every sighting of him to me. I will decide how to deal with him once we know more."

"Right," said Merrick, looking just a bit relieved.

"And in the meantime, ensure that the first shipment of crystal is ready. We will be sending it off-world as soon as we have packed the gains from tonight's raid."

Coruscant, Level 1313

Day Eleven, night

The cantina was quiet at this time of night. A group of four people sat at the bar, drinks in front of them as they muttered to each other in low, barely audible voices. At one of the tables sat a Rodian, idly toying with his burnt-out deathstick as he stared into nothingness. A haze of smoke from various substances drifted among the metal rafters of the old cantina, dimming the already weak lights.

Vythia wandered across the room and sat down at a small corner table, rotating her chair so as to put her back against the adjoining walls. Setting her drink down, she leaned one forearm on the table and turned on her datapad. To any casual observer, she would appear to be reading, which was exactly what she wanted them to think.

In reality, though, the Nautolan was waiting for a Twi'lek woman and her companion to enter the cantina. They had been making deliveries of poison to various clients, and tonight, Vythia intended to track them, in an attempt to locate the particular gang that Fox and the CSF were currently after.

Commander Fox had thanked her for getting the murder weapon, but hadn't told her what evidence he hoped to find, or how he intended to search for it. She remained unbothered by this. Fox would call as soon as he had anything relevant to tell her; in the meantime, Vythia wanted to discover where this gang maintained its headquarters.

It would be a few minutes before her quarry arrived, though. . .

Out of curiosity, Vythia took a quick look at the first page of the holonovel she'd randomly selected and downloaded. As expected, it was a cheap romance thriller, probably not worth the single credit she'd paid for it.

To keep up appearances, though, she scrolled down a ways, skim-reading every few paragraphs. Within a minute or so, she was raising an eyebrow at the fact that the heroine had just beaten twenty thugs on her own in her first hand-to-hand battle. How was that possible?

Curious, Vythia scrolled back up a little to read the earlier part of the story. She blinked in disapproval when she learned that the fight had occurred, during an undercover mission, because one of the thugs had been staring at the heroine and her excessively revealing outfit.

Vythia blinked in disdain. If the girl was undercover, she needed to stay undercover and complete her mission, not outright attack an entire gang of thugs simply because one of them offended her. Not to mention, any agent worth her salt would never travel to her next mission briefing in an eye-catching outfit. Red glitter silk, really.

And since when did this . . . protagonist. . . even have missions? Either she'd missed that part, or it had happened somewhere between the woman getting headaches and beating twenty men.

Because that apparently wasn't ridiculous enough, this heroine hadn't even known how to fight half a chapter ago. She'd received three days of training, from some wise master or other. Three days! That was nowhere near enough to allow the petite heroine on the front cover to beat even one man in a fight, let alone twenty. And hadn't there been something about this female suffering from constant and debilitating headaches?

What nonsense.

More than offended by the female character, Vythia scrolled further down the story. There was a male character in this novel, somewhere, who was supposedly on the side of good, but Vythia had yet to learn anything real about him. In fact, ten minutes and twelve glanced-through chapters later, she still knew nothing at all about him, except for the fact that he existed, that he didn't know the heroine existed, and that his looks – according to said heroine – were to die for.

That was absurd. Vythia thought that if a girl was willing to die because a man was good-looking, she deserved all the migraines she got and then some.

At long last, Vythia came across a scene where the two characters finally ran into each other, quite literally. The female actually fell into the male's arms, somehow, despite being oh-so-competent; and the man . . . he suddenly recognized that she was a gorgeous woman and wondered if she was the woman he'd unconsciously been waiting for all his life. He wondered this, in flowery detail, despite the fact that a strange woman had fallen against him, carrying a drawn knife, with her knife-hand was rather close to his throat.

Vythia rolled her eyes, glanced at the next paragraph, and froze. With no warning whatsoever, the woman apparently decided that now, in the middle of a crowded street, during a mission, while holding a drawn blade, would be a good time to kiss him? For what reason? Because of his looks, apparently.

Revolted, the Nautolan woman set down the datapad with a sharp click of plastic against durasteel. She took a sip of brandy and considered that perhaps it would have been worth buying a more expensive novel, if only so that she wouldn't be subjected to such drivel while waiting for her quarry.

Vythia blinked, took a longer sip of brandy, deleted the novel, and checked to see if Commander Fox had contacted her yet. He had not.

Fortunately, it was only a minute or so later that the door opened and a Twi'lek woman entered the cantina – without the Trandoshan.

Her comm buzzed, and Vythia glanced down to see a message; it was her contact, reporting that the quarry had entered the cantina and that the Trandoshan was loitering outside, probably keeping watch.

Vythia replied, ordering her contact to get out of the area. Meanwhile, the Twi'lek woman had gone to the bar and tossed a few credits on the counter. While she stood waiting for the bartender to get her drink, Vythia took the opportunity to observe her more closely.

The Twi'lek had yellow skin, and an intricate pattern of black tattooed on her forehead and around her throat. The tattoos were very distinct, which was good; distinct features were useful when tracking and researching people. The tattoos around the woman's neck looked almost like a fancy necklace, and the thin swirls on her forehead ended up looking like part of her headpiece, which was made of black fabric and had dozens of small yellow swirls stamped into the material.

When the bartender served her, the Twi'lek tossed back the entire shot and then slid the glass back with a smile, murmuring something inaudible.

Vythia watched inconspicuously, hoping the Twi'lek wouldn't walk away from the bar. She didn't want to leave so soon after the quarry had arrived – especially if the Trandoshan was waiting outside – but if they abruptly left . . .

The Twi'lek didn't leave, though. The bartender got her another drink, and this time the yellow-skinned woman sat down at the bar, glanced at her chrono, and leaned an elbow against the smudged metal counter.

She was probably waiting for her companion, which gave Vythia time to send a picture, brief description, and a priority inquiry to the CSF's intelligence department, using an identification code that made her request look like it came from Fox's office.

The clone commander, who had the authority to use planetary security resources whenever necessary, insisted on keeping Vythia off the CSF's radar. He wanted, he said, to avoid more flimsiwork and red tape . . . really, he understood the value of having an operative who could work outside the system. Of course, that also meant that he had access to all her requests for information, which was smart of him; but since Vythia had nothing to hide from him, that didn't bother her in the least.

For her part, she was only too glad to do as Fox wanted when it came to gathering intelligence. She wanted to stay independent of large organizations as much as possible. Technically, she did work for the CG, but really she worked for Fox. She was willing to take direction from the other clone officers, though, especially if they were willing to explain what was going on in the cases they were assigned to handle.

While Vythia waited for one of the intelligence officers to send her a response from the CSF's massive data system, the Twi'lek woman drank slowly. She seemed relaxed, only glancing up once when the door opened and a couple Pantorans came in.

When Vythia's comm blinked, she opened her communications on the datapad to see the CSF's return from the search. The tattoos were immediately identifiable as those of the females of the Saresh clan, of which hundreds of members were wanted criminals. According to the description, the males had very similar tattoos, though the lines tended to be thicker and less delicate.

Several images had been attached, and Vythia studied them. Only one of them was of a female, but she was a pale pink color and had different features than the Twi'lek in the cantina. The tattoos, though, were exactly the same as the ones her quarry had.

At least Vythia knew one of her quarry's names now.

The door opened again, this time to admit the towering figure of the Trandoshan male. He had brown skin and yellow eyes, and a lankier stature than Vythia was used to seeing on members of his species. He was tall, and his left arm was noticeably thinner than his right. He must have lost that limb sometime in the past couple of months, and was still regrowing it.

The Trando went directly to the bar and sat next to the Twi'lek woman, who nodded a greeting. Vythia checked the surroundings for anyone watching her, then quietly took a picture of the two gang members.

She listened carefully while finishing her drink, in case either of them should speak, but neither did. After a couple of minutes, Vythia stood up and put away her datapad. She took her time, so that her quarry would not have reason to notice her, and was careful not to drag out her motions for exactly the same reason. The Twi'lek was almost done with her drink, but the Trandoshan still had half a mug in front of him.

After setting her glass on the end of the bar, Vythia left the building without looking at anyone and headed down the sidewalk. She walked for a good thirty seconds before cutting down a side street and doubling back.

When she neared the cantina again, she slipped through an alleyway and climbed up the back of the adjacent building, using the dozens of small windows as holds. Once on the roof, she crawled to the edge overlooking the cantina door and waited.

Only a few minutes later, the Twi'lek emerged, pulling her coat collar more snugly around her neck. "It was a general alert, Hirrsk," she said. "And he's in an entirely different system. Why are you so fired up about it?"

"Becaussse. . ." hissed her companion. "I recognize him."

"Seriously, what are the odds he's the same guy?"

"No matter, Aleena." The Trando's tongue flickered between his teeth. "I have sssseen him before."

"Oh, come on, you can't be that sure. They all look the same, anyway."

"Jusssst like all Twi'lek look the sssame?"

"Okay, point taken," the woman said lightly. "Let's not quarrel. I don't say I disbelieve you."

He replied with a rattling hiss, but Aleena didn't even glance at him. The two strode on side by side, and Vythia waited until they rounded a corner before climbing down from the rooftop.

By running through an alley parallel to the one they were taking, she managed to come out on the main street just after they did. Vythia sent one brief glance around the other occupants of the road, but no one appeared to be paying attention, so she reached into her vambrace and pulled out a tiny tracking device.

It took only a few quick steps and a flick of her wrist to stick the device to the back of Aleena's jacket, and then Vythia ducked back into the shadows of the nearest shop doorway.

She would still follow them, to be doubly sure that she would find the gang's headquarters, but she'd keep a good distance away. There was no need to take too many risks so early in the game.

Coruscant, Level 1313

Day Eleven, late night

Brett stood in the basement and prison level of the Pit Vipers' headquarters, watching as a group of ten Vipers brought small crates to the edge of the pit.

"I trust you checked all of them for illness, Doctor," said Brett to the thin man who stood next to him.

"Twice," said Doctor Jairab. He sounded permanently exhausted, like he could find no interest in life. Maybe he couldn't. After all, he hadn't exactly volunteered his services to the Vipers, but needs must and all that. Sadly for him, the Vipers had need of his expertise with snakes.

The first crate was opened, and a Rodian carefully leaned forward to empty the mass of writhing snakes into the deep pit.

The doctor fidgeted with his pen. "They – they won't live long."

"They will," Brett assured him. "They have everything they need. I believe you have been breeding dozens of mice for them to eat."

"Yes," Jairab answered. "But the snakes will still die in this temperature."

"Oh! Didn't we tell you?" Brett asked. "This is the new and improved snake pit. It is not only much larger, but it is heated as well." He took the reluctant doctor by the elbow and dragged him forward to the edge of the pit. "There is a trench along one side where a small amount of fresh water will always be running."

"Yes, so – so I see." The doctor tried to pull back, but Brett kept a firm grip on his arm and pointed.

"There is a place they can drink from, anytime they want," he said. "And you, of course, will be feeding them if they require it."

Jairab blinked and shook his head, startled out of his attempts to escape. "If they require it?"

"Of course." Brett smiled. "They only need to eat once every couple weeks, no?"

"Yes, but –"

"Besides, they won't always be eating mice. Sometimes. . ." Brett gave a heavy, exaggerated sigh. "Sometimes we just happen to have on hand a lifeform who would be better off dead."

A look of dawning horror crossed the doctor's thin face. "You wouldn't," he said, trying again to step back.

Brett laughed and pushed him away. "We've been doing it all along, you know."

"You've – but I thought –"

"You thought," mocked Brett.

Jairab took a deep breath and got control of himself. "Snakes that small cannot eat humans."

"Yes, I was waiting for you to remember that." Brett smirked at the flash of outrage on the other man's face. "Do not fear, Doctor Jairab. The snakes will be fed every two weeks. And in the meantime, you will get back to work on that antivenom."

The doctor stared once more at the crates of live snakes, fingers twitching slightly. Then, without looking at Brett, he walked away. He'd only just opened the door when he had to step aside to let Aleena and Hirrsk into the room.

The Twi'lek woman sauntered in, as confident as ever, while Hirrsk loomed over her shoulder.

"We finished," Aleena said, tossing her lekku over one shoulder. "Took care of both deliveries at once. I handled talking to – oh, whoever the little worm in Level Twenty-Eight is. "

"He does pay well," Brett scolded mildly. "And in advance, too. And you, Hirrsk?"

"I took care of the Black Ssssun order. . . they paid up." He hefted a sack. "Want this in the sssaferoom?"

"If you would be so kind. Well done, both of you."

"Thanks, boss," said Aleena. "Anything else?"

"Not at the moment. Hirrsk, you're on guard tomorrow."

The Trandoshan's breath rattled between its teeth as he nodded. "Got it."

"Aleena, at some point tomorrow I'll be sending you, Asher, and Vresh to pick up our incoming shipment."

"I'll be ready." The Twi'lek spun on her heel and headed for the door.

Brett had already started to turn back to the snake pit when he suddenly registered what he'd just seen. Jerking around, he narrowed his eyes at her jacket, and the small black circle that clung to the back of the shoulder. "Aleena, wait!"

Surprised, she stared as Brett caught her by the shoulder and tugged the device off her jacket. "Where did this come from?" he demanded.

She stared, eyes widening. "I don't know! You don't think the client –?"

Brett dropped the device on the floor and stomped on it. "No, we've worked with him for years. He has no interest in learning of us."

"That woman," hissed the Trandoshan. "The Nautolan. . . ssss. She was in the cantina. She left before ussss."

Brett went still. This was the second time a Nautolan woman had been reported to him. "What did she look like?" he asked.

"She was dressed in black." Aleena frowned. "Dark purple skin."

There was no question, in Brett's mind. Vresh hadn't been sure about his attacker's skin color, but he'd described it as 'dark'. And purple was a rare color for Nautolans, who were already somewhat rare on Coruscant. This must be the same woman who had stolen the blowpipe.

"I didn't notice any weapons on her," said Aleena. "Apart from an electrowhip."

"I did," said Hirrsk, tongue vibrating between his pointed teeth. "She had a knife in her sssleeve."

"And somehow," Brett said, "She planted a tracking device on you without your noticing it."

Aleena nodded, drumming her fingers against her leg. "I don't know how it happened, boss. Want me to go after her?"

"No. Not yet. The damage has already been done." Brett thought for a moment, then dismissed Aleena and Hirrsk with a wave of his hand. "She may have been hired by someone from Hilt's family. If that is the case, we can handle her easily enough, once she finds her way to us."

"Got it," said Aleena, heading for the door again. "Maybe she'll even be useful."

"Yes." The thought had already crossed Brett's mind. People who worked for pay usually did agree to work for the Vipers, when they were offered the choice between good pay, or undergoing a painful, lingering death. "Maybe she will be."

Chapter Text

Jedha, Catacombs of Cadera

Day Eleven, late morning

Delta Thirty-Eight walked slowly around the main cave, occasionally stopping to observe some rune or other that had been carved into the rocky walls. For the past quarter of an hour, Quinlan been talking with Chirrut near the campfire. Based on their expressions, the topic of conversation was serious enough, and Boss wondered if they were talking about the mission, or Jedi things. Either way, they still hadn't called him and his team over, so there was nothing to do except observe the cavern and those in it.

Case in point: Ahsoka and Scorch were standing near the cave entrance, studying a marking in the wall and arguing about what it could possibly mean, while Oh-Seven wandered the perimeter. General Secura had gone back to her ship to lock it down. And Fixer was standing in front of General Vos' starfighter, looking askance at it.

Lacking anything better to do, Thirty-Eight crossed the sand-covered floor to join his corporal. "What is it?"

"He has a modified engine," said Forty, and the faint tinge of reluctant approval in his voice meant that the modification probably wasn't legal. "But I can't figure how he got that particular model to work with a Delta-Seven."

Sev, who was just passing by, stopped short and turned to Fixer, who huffed in mild amusement. "Not you, Oh-Seven, the ship."

"Oh," said Sev, and went back to his wandering.

Boss nodded towards the Kiffar Jedi and murmured, "Maybe you should ask the general how he got it to work."

As if he knew they were talking about him, General Vos looked up at Fixer and raised his eyebrows. When neither of the commandos moved, he tilted his head and returned to his conversation.

Three-Eight hadn't worked with a Jedi since Vassek Three, but he was starting to remember just how strange they were. And they weren't the only strange ones on this mission. "Fixer," he said, glancing at Chirrut. "Do you think all the Guardians are like him?"

"No, sir. Ahsoka said that seeing only through the Force was very rare."

"Hm." For a moment, Boss studied the blind man. He was just about to look away when Chirrut gave him a pleased smile and gestured him towards the fire.

"Come join us, Sergeant!" he said.

"Yeah," said General Vos, leaning back on his hands. "You too, Fixer. Chirrut was just reporting on the current state of affairs as far as the mission's concerned. It looks like the gang might be more determined than we'd realized. . . Figures, doesn't it."

He waited as the commandos approached, then said, "By the way, I have no idea how that engine works with my ship, but I do know it doesn't fit standard regulations."

"You didn't alter it?" Fixer asked, as Secura came back into the cavern.

"Nope, Anakin did. General Skywalker."

". . . ah," said Fixer meaningfully.

The Kiffar laughed. "I take it you guys have met him."

"Yes, General," said Boss, locking his hands behind his back. He waited as Sev and the others approached, then said, "You received new intel, sir?"

Vos nodded. "There was another robbery last night, in the tunnels deep under the Temple of the Whills. The thieves made off with three statues."

"Those statues are heavy," said Fixer in surprise. "How were they moved?"

"They were destroyed," Chirrut said. "Hacked into pieces, and then stolen. The other crystals sang of their deaths."

Ahsoka didn't seem surprised by this, only frowning a little sadly as she sat down next to Aayla, but Oh-Seven and Scorch gave each other strange looks. Boss was inclined to agree. First a blind man who was able to see through the Force, and now singing crystal statues.

General Vos turned to Thirty-Eight, as if about to speak, but then glanced past him with a grin. "Hey," he said, getting to his feet. "Looks like the cavalry has arrived."

Thirty-Eight spun around, watching in surprise as four armored figures entered the room. Not only had he not heard a thing, but Fixer hadn't mentioned their arrival – or even seen it, judging by the way he was glancing repeatedly between the commandos and his screen.

"I thought we were the cavalry," Scorch said into the silence, even though he'd known perfectly well that another clone squad was going to join them.

One of the new commandos, who towered over the others by at least a foot, laughed and cracked his knuckles. "Nah, we're the cavalry. Who are you lot, anyway?"

Another commando elbowed him with a sharp crack of armor on armor and whispered, "We aren't starting fights."

"Yet," murmured one of the other two.

Boss tilted his head. Most of the new arrivals didn't look or move like clones. One of them was a bit short, and another was unusually thin. The new squad stopped a few meters away, studying them, and the tallest of the lot folded his arms.

Ahsoka and Aayla watched without speaking – but Vos brushed his tunic free of sand and approached the grey-and-red-armored commandos at a brisk walk.

"Heya, Hunter," Vos said, grinning. "Good to see you again."

The trooper, who carried a long vibroblade in his vambrace, reached forward to clasp the Jedi's forearm. "Good to see you, too," he replied, a smirk audible in his voice, then added, "Surprisingly."

"Yeah!" the biggest one chimed in, shoving his way between the other two troopers. "Hi, Quinlan!"

Quinlan? Boss frowned.

"Hey, Wrecker, glad to – ow!" The Jedi's yelp was cut off as Wrecker crushed him in a hug that lifted him right off the ground.

"Huh," said Six-Two, sounding mildly interested. "I guess they know each other."

Fixer rolled his eyes.

"Aw, man, it's been forever!" exclaimed Wrecker, and dropped Vos. As the Kiffar staggered, trying to regain his footing, the shortest clone of the group lifted his visor to reveal a pair of tinted goggles.

"That is inaccurate," he said, in a clipped voice that was a bit higher than Boss was used to hearing from clones – well, except for Scorch. The goggled commando glanced sidelong at Wrecker. "It has not been forever. It has been ninety-seven point three six standard rotations."

"Really?" the Jedi said. "Wow, I'm flattered, Tech. . . I didn't realize you were keeping count."

"I was not," Tech informed him. "I merely performed a simple calculation to answer Wrecker's exaggerated statement."

The Kiffar grinned and put a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Yeah, I know."

". . . Oh."

The fourth commando had not spoken at all. He only folded his arms and tilted his head back slightly, as though staring down his nose at General Vos, who was shorter than him by the grand total of maybe a centimeter.

But the Jedi was not intimidated. He stepped right into his space and clouted him on the arm. "Hey, sniper guy," he said, with a grin. "Still got that sunshine-and-smiles attitude, I see."

"Watch it, Vos." The sniper's voice was unusual – all of the Bad Batch's voices were unusual, except for Hunter's. "I could kill you in your sleep."

Ahsoka's eyes widened.

"Yeah, whatever," the Kiffar said. "I won't be around long enough for you to wreak vengeance. So I win. Besides. . ." He paused, forehead creased in thought. "I'm not actually convinced that you could kill me."

Oh-Seven turned to meet Boss' gaze with a skeptical look. All Thirty-Eight could do in reply was shrug. He was sure that commandos giving death threats to a Jedi wasn't normal, or allowed; still, nobody seemed worried about actual violence breaking out, so it could probably be left alone.

"Want to bet?" the sniper demanded, while the one called Hunter shifted his attention to the Deltas.

"Sure," said Vos. "What are the stakes?"

"How about a bottle of Corellian whisky?"

"I don't have any, and neither do you."

". . . I know where to get it."

"You don't have credits."

"I know where you hid your stash."

Vos blinked. "Grand theft? Really?"

"You use the Force to cheat. It's even."

"Crosshair." Hunter cast a surreptitious glance at the Deltas. "That's enough."

"Technically," Tech said, turning to the Kiffar general, "Placing bets on the subject is pointless, since Crosshair cannot actually test his ability to kill you."

"Tech . . ." said Hunter.

"Course not!" said Wrecker. "But he could at least pretend."

The sergeant rounded on him. "Wrecker."

"He could pretend," admitted Tech, nodding his agreement. "In which case, I would also place a bet."

"Oh?" asked General Vos. "That what, Cross would succeed?"

"Not helping, Quinlan," muttered Hunter, and the Jedi grinned at him.

"Yes," said Tech. "Because I, for one, believe that Crosshair is fully capable of killing you in your sleep."

"Tech! That's not –" Hunter lifted a hand towards his helmet, then stopped and lowered it to his side as though giving up. After shooting another look at the Deltas, he cleared his throat and spoke to the Jedi again. "Quinlan. You didn't mention there'd be another squad on this mission."

"Yeah, I didn't know about their assignment until after I called you. This is Delta Squad. This is Boss – the sergeant – and Fixer, Scorch, and Sev. Deltas, Hunter is the sergeant of Clone Force Ninety-nine."

Boss stepped forward. "RC One-One-Three Eight, Delta sergeant," he said formally, and gestured to his teammates. "Looks like my squad will be working with yours for the duration of this mission, Sergeant Hunter."

Four helmets turned in his squad's direction as Clone Force 99 sized up the Deltas, who studied them right back. Boss knew who the sniper was, based on his rifle, and Tech was clearly the technician, which left Wrecker as the demolitions expert.

So maybe he shouldn't have been surprised that Crosshair and Tech were eyeing Sev and Fixer, or that Wrecker was studying Scorch. Hunter folded his arms again when he noticed Boss watching him.

Then General Vos rolled his eyes, sighed, and turned to the Bad Batch. "Look, guys," he said. "Not that I don't love awkward silences, but stop being drama queens and lose the helmets already."

They obeyed without protest, although Crosshair appeared to elbow the Jedi while taking his helmet off. Or at least, Vos stumbled sideways and the sniper looked pleased with himself.

Boss didn't blink when he saw the Bad Batch's faces, but he was surprised. The size difference was strange enough, but the fact that none of them really looked like clones was somehow more surprising. The closest in appearance to Boss and his squad was Hunter – at least, his features were closest to theirs – but it seemed that he'd gone out of his way to look as unlike normal clones as possible. Not only had he tattooed half his face like a skull, but his hair was a lot longer than regulations permitted.

Scorch gave an audibly confused hum, and the four members of the Bad Batch eyed him suspiciously in return.

Boss huffed to himself. So far, this was shaping up to be an interesting mission.

"Okay, so," General Vos said. "Since you guys were late, I have to run through introductions again."

"We were not late," said Tech. "You said, 'within twelve hours'. Since then, it has been eleven hours and four minutes."

"Well, whatever." Quinlan gestured at General Secura. "Anyway, this is Aayla Secura. She's a Jedi Knight and my former padawan."

For some reason, Hunter gave a noticeable doubletake and looked at Secura as though surprised by her existence. Aayla nodded politely to him, her gaze taking in all the Ninety-Nines.

"The Guardian's name is Chirrut Îmwe," went on Vos, then put a hand on Ahsoka's shoulder to pull her a step forward. "And this is Ahsoka Tano, a padawan who will also be working with you during this mission."

With a friendly smile, Ahsoka waved at them.

Wrecker looked delighted and waved back, but the other three only gave her enigmatic and disapproving looks, which they then transferred to Quinlan.

The Kiffar folded his arms and spoke firmly. "Ahsoka is a Jedi."

They continued to appear unimpressed. Boss couldn't blame them for their skepticism – but all the same he was glad when Ahsoka lifted her chin defiantly and raised one of her white eyebrow-markings at Hunter.

"And," said Quinlan. "She's got to be pretty competent and-slash-or awesome, because otherwise she wouldn't be Skywalker's padawan, and she wouldn't have been selected for this mission."

Thirty-Eight glanced sidelong at Ahsoka and was surprised to see her doing the same thing to him. When he didn't say anything, she frowned, a look of confusion on her expressive face, and Boss shrugged ever so slightly in reply. He might not be the nicest guy, but he had no intention of embarrassing her by telling the others that her master had sent her away from her own legion for safety.

Besides, that part still didn't make sense to him.

"So!" said Quinlan, clapping his hands together once. "Now that we've all met each other and are friends, anyone got a question or five?"

Hunter shot him a disgruntled look, but the general only smirked. "I guess you guys can get acquainted," he said, gesturing between the two groups of clones. "While I update my fellow Jedi on random Force-related things."

Crosshair narrowed his eyes as the three Jedi moved back to the fire, and Hunter muttered, "Hopefully it's just normal weird Jedi stuff."

"Yeah. . ." said Wrecker.

Chirrut stayed where he was, eyes almost closed as he leaned both hands on top of his staff.

When none of the clones spoke, Thirty-Eight turned to gauge his teammates' reactions. Scorch was rocking back on his heels, frowning thoughtfully at Wrecker. Oh-Seven and Crosshair were locked in a staring match, for whatever reason, and Delta Forty, predictably, had his gaze on his datapad. So did Tech.

Boss nudged his corporal with an elbow. "Fixer," he muttered. "What are you doing?"

"Checking up on their mission files, sir," Forty murmured. "Their squad comes up in 'past service', now, even though they're still not listed as currently active."

"Interesting." Boss watched as Hunter leaned towards Tech, whispering.

In reply, Tech tilted the screen towards him, and Boss clearly heard the technician's words. ". . . researching Delta Squad's mission records."

The two sergeants looked up at each other at the same time, and the slightly confused exasperation in Hunter's eyes was so familiar that Boss almost smiled.

Chirrut hummed in amusement for no apparent reason and did smile . . . at the ceiling.

Boss decided that someone had to break the ice between the two squads, and clearly it wasn't going to be Scorch this time. He considered, then stepped towards Hunter. "Glad to have you on the mission, Sergeant," he said, holding out his hand.

". . .Thanks." Hunter shook his hand, but continued to eye him warily.

Boss kept a neutral expression, but couldn't help thinking that this sergeant was just a kid. All the Bad Batch members were just kids. Nine standard years old, maybe ten? "How long have you been deployed?" he asked.

"Four months," said Hunter, straightening. "You?"

"Since Geonosis."

"We graduated a couple months after that." Hunter paused, as though well aware of the questions Boss must have, then added, "And we're . . . an experimental unit."

No wonder they looked so different. Boss had seen a few of the experimental clones in his time on Kamino, but most of them had vanished quickly. And then there were the ones like old Ninety-Nine – ones that hadn't grown right, or who aged too quickly, or who were in some ways diseased. The Kaminoans had deemed them to be failures, and there were rumors that those who were worst-off, unable to work, had been exterminated. The remaining troopers were assigned to maintenance, never even trained as soldiers because most of the time they couldn't hold a blaster or see well enough to shoot straight.

But this squad . . .

A rumor Boss had heard around Tipoca City came back to him, and he said, "You must be one of Nala Se's."

Hunter didn't answer immediately. "Yeah."

The conversation died after that, but by now Thirty-Eight's squad mates had gotten over themselves a bit. Scorch had joined Wrecker, who was standing off to one side; and Sev, for whatever reason, had decided to actually initiate a conversation with his fellow sniper.

"Hey," said Oh-Seven in his low voice, walking over to Crosshair. "Is that a Firepuncher?"

Crosshair, who had just put a toothpick in his mouth, switched it from one side to the other and stared at Sev as though he were trying to read his soul out of him. He had weirdly intense eyes – as well as a formidable frown, and an attitude to match.

"Yeah," he drawled at last. "It's a Firepuncher. What about it?"

Sev didn't take the bait. "Pretty hard to get your hands on one of those," he commented.

The Batch's sniper only shrugged, but Tech looked up from his datapad. "That is correct," he said. "Our superiors gave us a good deal of experimental gear that other commandos did not generally have access to."

Hunter smirked a little, expression lightening. "They . . . might have regretted that decision once or twice," he said to Boss. "Especially with the explosives."

Thirty-Eight, who'd once used explosives to wake his teammates in an impromptu battle drill, couldn't criticize him.

"Hm," said Tech. "Sarge, it seems that the Deltas have some of the top scores as far as the regs are concerned."

Fixer, who was still reading on his datapad – probably looking for more of the Batch's mission records – gave an absent hum. "The regs?"

"Regular clones," explained Hunter. "Not reg manuals."

"I see."

Behind Thirty-Eight, Scorch laughed and said, "No way! Seriously, Wrecker, that is so cool. I should have thought of that myself."

"Aw, it was nothing," said Wrecker, sounding pleased.

"It's awesome," insisted Scorch. "What about that one?"

Thirty-Eight tilted his head, his instincts flickering with a sense of concern for his future peace of mind as he turned to look.

The Delta Squad's most talkative member was currently kneeling next to Wrecker. Both commandos were observing a pile of explosives gear that had somehow materialized on the sand in front of them.

"That's just an EMP," Wrecker explained. "But I wired the timing device different."

"Hmmm. Okay. Yeah, I see how that works." Scorch poked at something else, grinning. "And what's with the smile face one?"

"Heh." Wrecker sat back on his heels. "That's one of my favorites."

The sense of imminent danger grew. Boss joined the demolitions experts and peered cautiously over Scorch's shoulder. Sure enough, right in the middle of the pile sat a bright yellow grenade, painted on one side with a crooked smile face.

"Is it a thermal?" Scorch asked, picking it up.

"Yup! But not just a normal one. It's got a serious blast radius. That's why I painted it differently, so I could tell it apart easy."

"Oh yeah . . ." Scorch tossed and caught the grenade. "Also a good idea. I should have thought of that."

"Scorch," Boss said flatly. "Put that away. You're going to lose a hand."

"I wouldn't," Scorch protested, but he obeyed, reluctantly handing over the smile-faced thermal.

"You said that last time," Oh-Seven cut in, from several meters away. "Before you set off an explosive in your face and almost killed yourself."

"Oh, come on, Sev." Scorch twisted to face him. "I barely even had to go to medical, it was just some small burns!"

'Barely had to go to medical' was stretching it in the extreme, as was the 'just some small burns' part, but Boss decided not to comment.

Wrecker grinned, touching the side of his head that had massive scarring. "Same here – except I lost vision in this eye. Training accident."

"Ouch." Six-Two pulled a face. "Yeah, mine wasn't a training accident. I was experimenting with a timed land mine, and it kinda went off a few seconds earlier than I thought it would."

Shaking his head, Boss turned back to the others. His corporal was now standing next to Hunter, turning the sergeant's long vibroblade over in his hands.

"Nice," Fixer said. "I usually use this. . ." He bent his left wrist sharply, and the vibroblade beneath his gauntlet shot forward. "Or this." Slipping a thin blade from his belt, he handed it over.

The younger clone slid it between his fingers, then flipped it in a series of quick motions. "The balance isn't bad," he said. "Little heavy on the undercut, though."

"That's because it's not a throwing knife," said Fixer. "I tend to favor close-range combat. Looks like your knife is perfect for both, though."

Hunter nodded his agreement as Wrecker and Scorch ambled over to join Tech, who was once again occupied with his datapad.

Meanwhile, Sev and Crosshair had placed their sniper rifles against the cave wall, a meter apart, and were now standing in silence, arms folded, contemplating the weapons with enigmatic looks on their faces.

"The deecee's got a good balance," Oh-Seven said. "Especially when you have to switch from close to long-range fast."

Crosshair shot him a scandalized look. "That's what a pistol's for."

Sev grunted. "Not for me, it's not. I never use 'em unless I have to."

"Hm."

There was a pause. Then, Sev said, "Longest kill shot?"

"Eight kilometers."

Oh-Seven's dark eyes narrowed. "Spotter?"

Crosshair scoffed. ". . . no."

The Delta sniper raised an eyebrow, unwillingly impressed, and Thirty-Eight snorted quietly just as Quinlan materialized beside him.

"Hey, Sergeant," the Jedi said. "How's it going?"

Boss wasn't entirely sure what to make of the question – or of the Kiffar himself, really. The Jedi was standing motionless, and looking him in the eyes for the first time, as if he were actually interested in Thirty-Eight's response.

". . . It's going well enough, General," Boss said truthfully.

"Glad to hear it." Only then did Vos study the other members of Delta Squad. He seemed to be waiting for Boss to say something, based on the way he stayed turned towards Thirty-Eight, but the sergeant had nothing to say. So instead, he gazed at the squad of younger commandos and wondered if the Bad Batch's sergeant was good at his job.

For Thirty-Eight, corralling his own squad could be a full-time job, when there wasn't immediate action taking place, and mixing that with a group of rookie commandos . . .

"You have more experience than they do," General Vos said, out of nowhere. It was almost like he knew what Boss was thinking.

Now there was a disconcerting idea. Thirty-Eight eyed the Kiffar for a long moment, wondering. "From what I hear," he said at last, in a neutral tone, "the Ninety-Nines are good at what they do. But they've been in the field only four months."

"Not very long, is it?" Vos considered. "Then again, there are a lot of troopers that haven't been in the field for even a week."

"Yes, sir," said Boss. "But unless I miss my guess, these commandos are fully three years younger than we are."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were right." The Kiffar tilted his head, then glanced up. "Regardless, you won't have to keep an eye on them like you will on Ahsoka. . . and even she can carry her own weight."

Maybe, thought Boss. All fifty kilos of it.

His doubt must have shown in the look he sent at Ahsoka, because Vos laughed and said, "Don't worry, Sergeant. Despite appearances, you haven't been assigned to this mission as a babysitter."

Thirty-Eight blinked, then decided to change the topic because the Jedi's level of perception, or mind-reading, or whatever it was, was alarming. "Sir," he said. "Are we ready to start the mission?"

"Ready as we're going to get," replied the Jedi. "If you'll be so kind as to round up the others, I'll fill you all in on the mission."

Chapter Text

Jedha, Catacombs of Cadera

Day Eleven, late morning

As Quinlan went to fetch the commandos, Aayla Secura seated herself cross-legged near the fire and looked down, swirling her tea in the cup. “This may be a very difficult mission, Ahsoka.”

          “Can’t be as bad as Maridun, right?” the padawan asked cheerfully. “At least this time we don’t have a pacifist village leader trying to keep us from protecting his people from droids.”

          “That is true.” Raising her eyebrows, Aayla took a sip. “But it may be every bit as hard as Maridun, in a different way. Quinlan suspects the presence of at least fifty enemies – most likely more.”

          “Yeah.” Ahsoka leaned back on her hands and crossed her ankles. “But we’ve got eight commandos and two Jedi. That means each of us gets to handle five of the bad guys.”

          “Ahsoka . . .” Aayla chided. “That is hardly the proper approach to take to a mission, especially when sentients are involved.”

          “I’m sorry, Master Secura.” The Togruta girl managed to look repentant for all of three seconds, then spoiled her attempt with a grin.

          Aayla watched her, wondering a little at her carefree attitude. “Please tell me that you don’t think war is a laughing matter.”

          That sobered Ahsoka immediately, and she shook her head. “No – of course not, Master Secura!”

          “Then what is so amusing?”        

          “Well . . . Just, that’s how we do it with droids. Rex and Master Anakin and me, I mean. We divide the droids up and then try to take each other’s for the highest score.”

          “I see.” Relieved, Aayla took another sip of tea. She definitely couldn’t preach further on treating that kind of battle like a game, because she’d done the same thing with Bly in the past. . . And, what was perhaps worse, Bly had somehow won, despite the fact that he did not have a lightsaber. “Nevertheless –”

          “I know,” the padawan said, with a serious nod. “Battles aren’t games. . . except with droids. Uh, at least, when the people fighting the droids can all take care of themselves, and no one gets hurt. . .”

          Aayla shook her head. “Sometimes, Ahsoka, I’m afraid that we Jedi are learning not to desire peace.”

          The Togrutan girl looked up briefly, startled. “Barriss said something like that after Geonosis.”

          “Oh?”

          “Yeah. She was able to meditate just fine, but I couldn’t sleep or even relax.”

          “Why not?”

          “Because we were on a cruiser, and it was just too – too quiet. You know what I mean? I guess I got so used to having to be on watch, or hearing all the ships and explosions, or something.”

          Aayla regarded her, wondering if Anakin was continuing his instructions about meditation or not. “Ahsoka, when you are free from your duties as a commander, what do you usually do on the Resolute?”

          “My studies,” she answered, tossing and catching a small rock she’d picked up from the ground. “And when I’m done with those, I go down to the mess hall or medbay and talk with the troops.”

          “When do you rest?”

          “When I sleep,” Ahsoka said, with a surprised look. She was still tossing and catching the pebble. “Or when I’m on guard, I guess. It’s pretty quiet then.”

          Frowning, Aayla decided to be more particular in her questions. “And if I might ask, when do you meditate?”

          “Hm . . .” The padawan tilted her head in thought, not appearing the least discomfited by the question. “I guess whenever Master Anakin does. Probably a couple times a week?”

          Anakin had always been like that, so that part didn’t surprise Aayla at all. “But never on your own?” she asked.

          “Sure, once in a while.” Ahsoka flicked the pebble into the campfire and leaned back on her hands again. “But . . . that’s mostly after battles.”

          “Because you are tired,” guessed Aayla, even though she already knew this wouldn’t be why.

          “No.” Ahsoka shook her head, the corners of her mouth turned down slightly as she answered. “It’s because we almost always lose troopers.”

          Secretly, Aayla was relieved at her answer. Ahsoka usually acted so cheerful and unaffected that Aayla had begun to fear that the padawan was becoming desensitized to death – or, worse, that she was losing her compassion.

          But Ahsoka had finally gone still, soberminded at the thought of what she had to face after battles. “I know death’s part of life,” she said softly. “Master Kenobi says it’s the way of the Force, but . . .”

          “I understand what you mean,” Aayla told her. “Death may be part of life, but that does not make it easy for anyone to witness.”

          “Or to deal with after,” Ahsoka mumbled.

          “I understand,” said Aayla. Perhaps a wiser master would have reminded the padawan that resignation was an important part of being a Jedi, but somehow Aayla thought that would just make Ahsoka close up.

          The padawan hesitated, chewing on her lower lip, then met Aayla’s eyes. “It’s not easy to see,” she admitted. “Especially when someone dies because I wasn’t fast enough, or because I saved someone else instead. Or . . . because someone saved me instead.”

          Having had to deal with that herself, Aayla knew exactly what she meant, but she could tell that the padawan was struggling with something. “What happened, Ahsoka?”

          “I guess all three things at once,” said Ahsoka, slumping. “Last week.”

          Aayla waited.

          Glancing up at her ever so briefly, Ahsoka said, “Anakin pushed me away from a droideka that I hadn’t noticed – I didn’t see it because I was keeping Fives and Echo covered. I got too focused on the droids that were getting near them. They could probably have handled it. . . and I could probably have handled the droideka. But instead, Anakin had to save me, and when he did the droideka’s lasers killed another trooper instead of me.”

          “Did you tell your master?”

          “Of course!” She looked defensive, then almost guilty, and Aayla knew she felt bad for turning to another master with her questions. Aayla had felt guilty herself, back in the day, even though Jedi were expected to ask questions of any master who could give them answers.

          “What did Anakin say?” Aayla inquired gently.

          “He said –” Ahsoka hesitated, and Aayla was sure that she was wondering if Aayla would think badly of Anakin’s response.

          Finally, Ahsoka shrugged. “He said it was the reality of war, and that I couldn’t be everywhere at once, or have my attention everywhere at once. And that we just have to try our best and let the rest go. And he’s right, I know he is. But – I just . . . I don’t know, Master Secura. I guess sometimes it feels like if I don’t make a game out of war, I’ll never be able to face another battle.”

          Aayla gazed at the sand, heart aching. She knew Ahsoka wasn’t alone in her struggles. Hundreds of padawans were having the same trouble, she was sure; they must be, because even the masters were struggling. This was what the Jedi Order had turned into.

          “Your master was right,” she said at last. “That is the reality of war. It is why we must learn to do our best, and yet not blame ourselves for every bad thing that we could not prevent.”

          Ahsoka’s gaze shifted aside. “I know. I can’t help it, though.” She smirked, a little of that defensive humor coming back. “Not like I have the best people in the galaxy as examples, either. Master Kenobi, Master Skywalker . . . even Rex. They all blame themselves for things they couldn’t prevent.”

          Aayla nodded. It sounded all too familiar.

          “My own master is the same way,” she said, and they both glanced over at Quinlan, who was talking to Boss.

          “Is he?” Ahsoka said, with a wry weight to her voice that was almost out of place on someone of her age. “Must be a common Jedi failing. . . if it is a failing.”

          “I have wondered the same,” said Aayla. But before she could say anything further, the others joined them.

          Her master hesitated at the edge of the circle around the campfire, aware he was interrupting something, but when Aayla nodded at him, he flopped down next to Ahsoka and said, “I’m gonna give you guys a brief rundown of the situation. Chirrut, quit drifting around already and come join the fray.”

          The Guardian wandered over, his blind gaze scanning all of them, and Aayla could have sworn his eyes met hers for an instant. How strange. . . though if he saw through the Force, perhaps it was not so strange.

          Quinlan turned on a small projector, and a blue image of a temple floated over his palm. “This is the Temple of the Whills,” he said. “Also known as the Temple of the Kyber. Kyber, for those of you who don’t know, is a type of crystal, and what Jedi use in their lightsabers. It’s . . . sort of a crystal energy source.”

          Tech, sitting next to Ahsoka, raised an eyebrow. “That is putting it very imprecisely.”

          Fixer looked mildly scandalized by his interruption, but Quinlan only waved a hand and went on. “Yeah, I know. . . potentially semi-sentient, bonds with Jedi, has a voice of some kind, yada yada yada. But that’s really hard to explain to a non-Force-user. Anyway, the important thing is, the Sith use the crystals in alchemical experiments.”

          Hunter, who had been spinning his knife around one hand, froze abruptly, and his eyes narrowed. “Quinlan . . .” he said. “We’re not dealing with Sith again, are we?”

          The Delta sergeant’s gaze sharpened, and he glanced swiftly from Quinlan to each of the Ninety-Nine commandos.

          “Not directly,” said Quinlan. “If we were, I would absolutely be staying with this team, CG case or no CG case.”

          Hunter did not look mollified, but he gestured for Quinlan to continue.

          The Jedi flicked off the holoprojector. “Here’s the deal. You know that secret Sith lord we talked about?”

          “Oh, yeah,” Wrecker replied, nodding. “The one we were supposed to trace?”

          “And ran in circles looking for?” muttered Crosshair.   

          “And failed to find?” Hunter added.

          “Yes,” Tech said, rolling his eyes slightly. “He means Lord Sidious.”  

          Ahsoka was watching them with interest, and Boss raised a curious eyebrow, but neither spoke.   

          “Yeah, him.” Quinlan huffed. “We’re still looking for him. The reason I bring him up is because I can’t think of anyone who would steal kyber – apart from a Sith.”

          “But you think it’s Sidious who needs it, right?” Hunter asked. “Not . . .” He trailed off, his Force-presence tinged with apprehension.

          Aayla’s master shook his head vehemently. “It’s not her. There’s no indication whatsoever of dark Force users around here, and believe me, Hunter – I was extremely careful.”

          Delta Thirty-Eight sent a questioning look at Aayla, who replied with a silent shrug. Her master hadn’t told her everything about his mission to Malachor, but she knew that he, and the Jedi Council, were still worried about the ancient Sith, Darth Zenaya, who had been woken there. They knew she was not dead; without real leads, though, they could not spare the resources to search for her.

          Quinlan had hoped Jedha would be a lead, but despite his frustration that it was not, Aayla knew he was also just a little relieved that Zenaya had nothing to do with the current situation.

          Wrecker shifted, leaning his back against Quinlan’s starfighter. “You’re sure?”

          “Positive,” Quinlan replied. “I searched for her presence. Used psychometry on half the temple and the whole courtyard and the statues . . . nothing.”

          Crosshair, who had been sitting motionless, finally relaxed a little.

          “Anyway,” said Quinlan. “I got a couple of leads on the tool the thieves used to cut the statues. This tool has been floating around for some time. The last recorded sighting of it was a few years back, when Crimson Sun raided the mines on Ilum. A few Jedi defeated them, but I guess they lost track of the artifact.”

          Tech and Crosshair eyed him sharply at that, and Quinlan shook his head. “It’s not like those,” he said. “It is a Dark Side artifact, but – um, think of it more like a less powerful version of a spirit urn?”

          “Ah . . .” said Hunter, and the look in his eyes was uncertain.

          Aayla was not given to curiosity, in general; but she had to wonder exactly how much Quinlan had failed to tell her about the Malachor mission.

          “Wait,” said Ahsoka. “Master Vos, how would a spirit urn break crystal?”

          “It’s not a spirit urn, I just meant it’s less powerful than a spirit urn we’d come across on Nar Shaddaa. As far as I can tell, this particular artifact – a sword that only cuts crystal – won’t affect Force-users badly.”

          Fixer and Boss exchanged looks, and Fixer started typing quietly again.

          “Huh,” said Wrecker, frowning in concentration. “That seems a little harmless for a Sith artifact.”

          “Uh, you’re telling me,” agreed Quinlan. “But for whatever reason, its presence just isn’t that malevolent. Maybe it was made by a scientific Sith.”

          Tech perked up, opened his mouth, and lifted a finger; Hunter hastily reached over to cover his mouth with one hand. Tech slouched with a sidelong, mildly irked glower at his sergeant.

          Aayla assumed that Tech being interested in scientific Sith was not something Hunter was willing to deal with right now.

          “So,” said Crosshair, folding his arms. “The sword’s safe to handle? It wouldn’t give even you a seizure or a nervous breakdown if you were to touch it?”

          Aayla raised an eyebrow. Quinlan did not look amused.

          “I did not have a nervous breakdown,” he muttered, barely audible.

          Hunter and Crosshair scoffed in disbelief, Wrecker eyed Quinlan dubiously, and Tech said, “Well, technically, you –”

          “The sword,” Quinlan interrupted, louder than necessary, “is probably safe to handle. It’s currently in the hands of the gang you’ll be going up against.”

          “This gang,” Boss said, smoothly interjecting himself into the conversation. “What do we know about them?”

          “They call themselves the Pit Vipers.”

          “Nice,” Fixer said disapprovingly, and cocked his head. “How’d you get the name, sir? Are they locally known?”

          “No; in fact, no one around here had ever even heard of them. I only know the name because I got them to send me a death threat.”

          Thirty-Eight nodded. “So they know you’re investigating them.”

          “They know I was.”

          “What happened?” asked Hunter.

          “I got into a fight with them, broke someone’s wrist and another guy’s nose. Keep that in mind, it might help you identify a couple of ‘em.”

          Fixer, who had his stylus out, conscientiously wrote it down.

          “After that, the gang sent a death threat, I ignored it, they sent an assassin after me, he failed. Then, earlier today, I sent a message to the Guardians, saying I was clearing out. Too much danger, not enough pay, all that stuff.”

          “Huh,” Sev grunted. “Did they get it?”

          “The Vipers? Yeah, they waylaid my messenger.” Quinlan tapped Chirrut’s arm with the back of his hand. “And believe me, Chirrut pulls off the whole scared, helpless look a lot better than I do.”

          “I do,” Chirrut agreed, with an almost smug look. “But that is because you are incapable of keeping your mouth shut. I pretend to be afraid, but when you are threatened, you only come up with retorts and annoying remarks that provoke your enemies to retaliate.”

          Crosshair snorted, and Ahsoka giggled, then cleared her throat hastily. “Um, Chirrut,” she said. “Did the guys who questioned you tell you who they were?”

          “Yes, partly,” Chirrut replied. “They did not reveal their identities as Vipers to me, though one of them – a female Weequay – gave her name as Suraq. When I pretended fear and uncertainty, she claimed to be a pilgrim. She even gave me money for the Temple, which was quite generous of her.”

          “Generous?” A flicker of confusion crossed Tech’s features. “I do not see how falsely donating money to a place which you intend to rob can possibly be construed as generosity.”

          Wrecker facepalmed. “Tech,” he whispered loudly. “Even I know he’s being sarcastic.”

          Meanwhile, Chirrut went on, unbothered by the interruption. “I recognized this Weequay and her companion,” he said. “I know they must have seen me with Knight Vos, because they were spying on us yesterday.”

          “I see,” Aayla said. “And did they believe your pretended fear and uncertainty?”

          “They did.” The Guardian smiled. “I allowed them to question me, of course, and I referred to the thefts and murders. Also, I complained about how a Kiffar was supposed to help us – but that the coward was running at the first sign of trouble, abandoning us.”

          Quinlan grinned. “At least they swallowed it.”

          “They did. They even expressed sympathy, and said they would keep watch on the Temple for as long as they were here.”

          “Well, I hope you thanked them nicely,” Quinlan said. Then, turning on his projector again, he displayed a map of the surrounding area. Glancing around at all the commandos, he said, “Here’s where you come in. There’s a cave system north of the city that the Vipers use as a base. I never managed to get into it, but we know they’re in there, and so is at least one of their ships.”

          Tech pulled out his datapad and began typing, while Fixer continued to scribble and rearrange notes.

          “So far, there have been three thefts in all,” Quinlan went on. “The first was the reason Emmkar called the Jedi in. The Vipers cut the arm off one statue and murdered the caretaker. The second theft happened the night I arrived, a couple hours after sunset, while Chirrut and Baze and I were busy poking around in town.”

          “Hm,” said Hunter. Drawing one knee up to his chest, he rested a forearm across it. “No one saw the attackers?”

          “No. There were several Guardians on guard, but until the statue was cut – it was in a side courtyard – they sensed no threats.”

          Chirrut Îmwe, who was seated with his staff leaning on one shoulder, turned to Boss and said, “Guardians are not accustomed to using the Force actively. We remain open, but for the most part we hear and see through it only when in deep meditation.”

          “Except for you,” Ahsoka piped up. “. . . Right?”

          “Except for me.” Chirrut smiled.

          Tech stopped typing and hummed. “Quinlan,” he said. “Did you learn anything at all from the impressions you received after the second theft?”

          “Nothing new,” he admitted. “It was similar to the first time – no emotion at all from the thieves, which is why I figured they’re professionals. No fear, no guilt, no concern, not even glee, or any sense of a thrill.”

          Fixer nodded, glancing at his notes, and said, “In summary, we’re dealing with a group of coldblooded scumbags.”

          “. . . I mean, yeah.” Quinlan paused. “The third theft occurred this morning, along with two murders. The Vipers raided a tunnel beneath the Temple and made off with two entire statues.”

          “What?” Scorch asked, surprised. “But aren’t these statues . . .” He gestured widely with both hands. “Huge?”

           “Not all of them,” said Chirrut. “Besides which, the Pit Vipers did not leave them intact. They cut them into manageable pieces, as we learned from the other statues.”  

          Across from Aayla, Boss and Sev exchanged long, questioning looks.

          “Right,” said Quinlan. “And the two caretakers on duty, who were killed, never raised the alarm. However the Vipers carried out the attack, they must have been quick.”

          “So,” said Sev. “That’s where we come in.”

          Quinlan nodded. “Chirrut and Aayla have all the intel I gathered. This mission might be simple, but it won’t be easy.”

          “Sure it will,” said Crosshair.

          Quinlan scoffed. “Sure it won’t. Every time a mission seems simple, something goes wrong.”

          The sniper considered, and raised an eyebrow in reluctant agreement. “Can’t be worse than last time, though.”

          “Ha!” Wrecker slapped Crosshair on the back, almost folding him in half with the strength of his blow. “You got that right!”

          Hunter and Tech didn’t look as enthusiastic, though, and the Delta sergeant was shaking his head. “We’ll need to watch our step,” he said thoughtfully. “Keep it slow and careful.”

          The Ninety-Nines, to a man, looked askance at him.

          “Sure thing, Boss,” said Scorch. “After all, slow and careful’s my middle name.”

          Sev rolled his eyes skyward, as if he were begging for patience. “You don’t have a middle name.”

          “Yeah, I do – it’s Six-Two.” He grinned, despite the fact that he’d just canceled out his own statement.

          Boss sighed, ever so faintly.

          “General Vos,” said Fixer, putting away his datapad. “How were the two Guardians killed?”

          “Stabbed through the heart,” Quinlan said. “And they were already unconscious when it happened.”

          “What?” Ahsoka blinked. “You mean, the Pit Vipers stunned them and then killed them? Why not just shoot them, if they were going to do that?”

          “They were not stunned with guns,” said Chirrut. “We believe the Vipers used poison in their attacks.”

          Everyone fell still for an instant.

          “Well,” said Hunter. “That complicates matters. What kind of poison?”

          “I don’t know.” Quinlan pushed a hand over his forehead to shove a few errant dreadlocks away from his face. “I didn’t get a chance to swipe any.”

          “Hm.” Sev folded his arms. “They carry it with them?”

          “Some of them do,” Quinlan answered. “At least, I assume it’s poison they’re carrying because if it’s not I don’t know what it is. The two guys who attacked me in NiJedha both had vials hanging near their gun holsters. Small glass vials with a translucent black snake painted on the front. That, and the way the Guardians were knocked out, makes me think it’s poison.”

          “Seems likely,” said Boss, nodding. “We’ll keep our eyes open.”

          “What does the poison do?” asked Scorch.

          Aayla glanced at him. “What do you mean?” she asked.

          “General Vos knows how the Guardians were taken out,” said Scorch. “Did the poison get into their lungs, or did they eat it?”

          “Or was it injected?” Sev added.

          “I don’t know for sure,” said Quinlan. “The healers at the Temple haven’t finished their examinations.”

          “Then how –”

          “I read the bodies,” Quinlan explained.

          “. . . you what,” said Fixer, and despite the grimness of the situation, Aayla couldn’t help feeling amused.

          Sighing, Aayla’s master gestured. “Force stuff. I saw their last memories. The Guardians felt tired, on the verge of falling asleep, and both of them noticed a mild burning sensation in their chests. But that’s the last thing they were ever consciously aware of.”

          “The poison might be deadly,” said Chirrut. “But at this point, it seems unlikely.”

          “Yeah,” said Boss, looking up. “Given that they were stabbed after –”

          “Exactly,” said Aayla.

          “At least not that kind of poison,” said Quinlan, and hopped to his feet. “They might have more than one kind. Anyway, time’s running short. I’ve got about fifteen minutes left before I have to head back to Coruscant. Aayla and Chirrut know absolutely everything I learned, in case I skipped anything just now, which I probably did.”

          For an instant, Ahsoka looked like she wanted to laugh.

          “Any questions?” the Shadow asked.

          Everyone considered, then shook their heads.

          “Great.” Quinlan gave his black tunic a tug to straighten it out, his gaze flickering over everyone else. “I’m sure you guys will be fine and all that.”

          Hunter smirked wryly at the sand. “No, you’re not,” he said.

          Aayla sent a questioning glance at her master, who looked like he’d just been caught in something illegal; meanwhile, Fixer stared at Hunter, vaguely appalled.

          “Hunter.” Quinlan eyed the tattooed sergeant and folded his arms. “I thought I did the whole reading emotions thing. Remind me which one of us is actually the Jedi?”

          Hunter stood and faced him, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Remind me which one of us actually killed a Sith?”

          The Deltas exchanged startled looks, and Fixer got back on his datapad and began to type rapidly.

          “Uh,” said Quinlan, and then added, at the same time as Tech, “Technically, no one killed her.”

          Hunter blinked, bemused; Wrecker said, “Well, yeah, but she was kinda weird that way,” and Crosshair scoffed under his breath and reached for another toothpick.

          Ironically enough, Aayla was now finding herself grateful for the fact that her master would not be on the rest of this mission. Given the few interactions she’d seen between him and the members of Bad Batch, it would be – well, it would make everything more complicated, to say the least.

          The Deltas had gotten to their feet by now, and were standing near Ahsoka. Sev and Scorch seemed a bit uncertain, Fixer still looked judgmental, and Boss was merely watching the continuing argument, a bland expression on his face.

          In the background, Chirrut smiled away, as though nothing could delight him more than listening to teammates bickering.

          Hopefully, Aayla thought, Chirrut actually did enjoy hearing snide remarks and commentary, because although the Deltas had been relatively quiet so far, the Ninety-Nines would most likely do plenty of bickering among themselves. . . even without Quinlan there.

          As it was right now, they were still going at it.

          “Well, she kind of died,” Aayla’s master was saying.

          Hunter rolled his eyes, and Crosshair materialized beside Quinlan and elbowed him. “It counts.”

          “What? Why?”

          Crosshair apparently chose not to answer that, instead saying, “You wouldn’t have survived Trayus without us, Jedi.”

          “Well – yeah, but same goes for you.”

          “We wouldn’t have been there in the first place, if it hadn’t been for you.”

          “Huh. . .” Quinlan gave him a begrudging frown. “Fair enough. But that doesn’t mean you’re right about Hunter being the one to kill her because I almost killed her the same way he almost killed her.”

          “Not the same way!” Wrecker said, clapping Quinlan on the back.

          “Right,” said Hunter. “I stabbed her.”

          Crosshair smirked at Quinlan. “And you just turned into a human lightning rod.”

          “He most certainly did not,” said Tech. “If he had, he would not be here.”

          “Tech’s my only ally right now,” complained Quinlan.

          “Generals,” said Boss, stepping forward. He hadn’t spoken loudly, but all eyes immediately turned towards him. He remained quiet for a couple of seconds before continuing. “What, specifically, are the mission objectives?”

          Quinlan only blinked, and Aayla filled in the abrupt silence. “We are here to help the Guardians of the Whills,” she said.

          “Yeah,” said Quinlan, recovering. “More specifically, we’re here – well, you’re here – to put the Pit Vipers out of commission.”

          Fixer stirred. “Sir, we’ll have . . . eleven on our team, once you leave.”

          “Twelve,” said Chirrut. “Baze Malbus will join us.”

          “Right,” said Fixer, and glanced at the Jedi. “And you think the Vipers have fifty.”

          “Yep,” said Quinlan. “At least.”

          “So what?” Wrecker asked, shrugging. “That’s not a lot.”

          “Indeed,” said Tech. “Then if your initial estimation is correct, there will be four point five four enemies for each of us.”

          Ahsoka was amused, but she sobered immediately when Aayla sent her a disapproving look.

          “What?” asked Scorch, staring. “Hang on, I can’t kill half an enemy. How would that even work?”

          Tech rolled his eyes upward and kept them that way during his next sentence. “I do not know. I am merely telling you the approximate average.”

          “Right,” said Crosshair. “There’ll be five for each of us, not counting the Guardians.”

          “Do not dismiss the Guardians,” Chirrut said, out of nowhere. “I alone could take on three of you – as long as none of those three was Wrecker – and win.”

          “Really?” Scorch said, sounding intrigued. “You think you could take us out, just with that staff of yours?”

          Chirrut smiled, a little thinly.

          “The point,” Fixer said loudly, “is that we don’t know how many enemies there are at the moment. There could be a hundred.”

          “Yeah.” Quinlan leaned an elbow on his starfighter wing. “Which is why I’m annoyed I got pulled from the mission. But I hear you Deltas are highly skilled. . .”

          Boss appeared to consider that for a moment before nodding in agreement. “Yes, sir. We are.”

          “And the Bad Batch are stupidly skilled,” the Jedi went on. “Of course, they’re also bereft of common sense, so make sure you keep an eye out for – oof!”

          “Oops!” Wrecker withdrew his forearm from the Jedi’s stomach. “Sorry about that, didn’t know you were there . . .”

          “Did too, you tank,” grumbled the Kiffar.

          Aayla, sure this was about to turn into yet another argument, sat down and put her canteen near the fire to make some more tea. Sure enough, she had barely had time to open a new packet of tea leaves when Hunter spoke again.

          “You’re one to talk about common sense,” he said. “Jumping out of your starfighter mid-landing? Goading assassins into attacking? Never shutting up when you’ve been captured? Trying to attack alone when –”

          “Quiet, Hunter, you’re ruining my reputation,” complained the Jedi. “The Deltas didn’t need to know about all that.”

          “Master,” Aayla said, putting several fragrant tea leaves into the canteen. “I am firmly convinced that your reputation was ruined a long time ago, and without any help from Hunter or the others. Now. What were you saying about having to leave soon?"

          He checked his chrono, then shot her an dramatically injured look. "Are you that eager to get rid of me, Aayla? Eh, guess I can’t blame you. This is your mission – and yet I’m the one doing the briefing.”

          Aayla refused to be baited. “Master,” she said, standing. “If you would be serious, for once, it would be much appreciated. Is there anything else that we need to know?”

          “I don’t think so. I told you and Chirrut everything, far as I know . . .” Quinlan rested a hand against his mouth and considered. “Yep, all set. Only thing I’d like to add is that you’ll all have to be careful, because these guys are professionals.”

          Boss nodded, intent on everything the Jedi was saying, while Hunter spun a knife idly around one hand and did not appear to be paying attention.

          “Then again,” Quinlan added, grinning. “You guys are all professionals, too – with the possible exception of little ‘Soka here.”

          “Hey!” She folded her arms in pretended indignation.  

          He only winked at her. “Guess that’s my cue to leave,” he said. “Good luck, may the Force be with you, and don’t die.”

          Normally, Aayla would have scoffed or rolled her eyes. But since half the commandos there were already doing it for her, all Aayla did was smile. “May the Force be with you, Master,” she said, bowing. “I trust your own mission will be successful.”

          “I sure hope my mission will be successful,” he replied thoughtfully. “If it’s not, Fox won’t be happy.”

          For some reason, Tech smirked and said, “As long as Commander Fox is happier than when the incident with his stolen speeder took place.”

          “Yup, okay,” said Quinlan, grabbing his blaster-scarred jacket. “When the blackmail starts is when I make myself scarce.”

          “Really?” said Hunter, immediately – and falsely – surprised. “Make a note of that, Tech. For future reference.”

          Even if Aayla hadn’t already known the commandos were friends with her master, she would have been able to tell at this point. Of course, most people wouldn’t have been able to tell; for the most part, they acted as if they barely tolerated each other, and anyone who didn’t know them might believe their behavior. But Aayla knew Quinlan, and he didn’t keep in contact with people he disliked. He barely kept in contact with his closest friends at the Temple.

          Still, as Quinlan headed for his ship, and the Batch joined him, still bickering and bantering, Aayla couldn’t help but feel a vague premonition . . . about what, she couldn’t really begin to say. But there was something just a little strange in the Force around them, as if something tied them together. It wasn’t immediate, but it was there, and although Aayla did not know what shatterpoints felt like in the Force, she couldn’t help but wonder if what she sensed now was, at least, similar.

          As if sensing her look, Hunter met her gaze. Aayla studied him, then turned away. The commandos had been on Malachor with Quinlan, and had been attacked by the same Sith woman, and the Force did affect even those who were not Force-sensitive. Either way, there was nothing obviously dark about whatever it was that she was sensing. . . so it was nothing for her to be concerned about.

Chapter Text

Jedha, Catacombs of Cadera

Day Eleven, late morning

As Quinlan gathered his pack and jacket and threw them carelessly into the tiny cargo hold of his starship, Hunter glanced back at General Secura, who was studying him with a distant, very Jedi expression in her eyes.

Eventually, she turned away, and Hunter wandered over to the starfighter to join Quinlan. "So," he said, resting his weight on one foot and an elbow on the side of the ship. "Jedi Knight Aayla Secura was – your padawan."

"Yeah." The Kiffar shot him a curious look, then grinned. "Let me guess, you've heard about her before, and her reputation does not match up with mine."

"Something like that," admitted Hunter.

"Well, she's different, in a lot of ways." Quinlan's gaze rested fondly on the Twi'lek woman, who was now speaking with the Deltas. "Obviously. Among other things, Aayla's more a Jedi than I ever was."

The Kiffar sounded both proud and a little sad about that. Then he blinked, glanced to one side, and proceeded to elbow Crosshair away from the fuel intake valve so he could check that it was secured. Crosshair ignored him, having apparently decided that at this moment, retaliation against physical violence was beneath him.

Hunter watched as the Jedi finished readying his ship. "Well," he said, halfway to himself. "This should be a fun mission."

"Hm, yeah." Quinlan's normal attitude had already returned. "Gangsters who kill indiscriminately and brutally, real fun to handle."

"They won't be a problem," said Crosshair.

"I guess not." Quinlan considered. "Yeah, nope. Not after the leviathan, and the stormbeasts, and Zenaya . . ."

"Like I said," said Hunter. "It'll be a fun mission."

"Ha!" yelled Wrecker, clapping Tech on the shoulder. "That's for sure! And it'll be a heck of a lot more fun than sitting around in the Marauder and waiting to be given a new mission!"

"Wrecker," Tech said crossly. "Your enthusiasm is commendable. But why do you feel the need to practically dislocate my arm every time you get excited?"

"I don't," protested the big commando.

Tech eyed him in a supercilious manner and turned away. "Quinlan," he said. "I had meant to ask, have you seen Vythia since the Malachor mission?"

"No," he answered. "I knew she'd been around the Temple once or twice, that first week, but haven't seen or heard of her since then. Why?"

"No particular reason, I suppose," said Tech. "Beyond the fact that I find myself curious as to what she has been up to."

Quinlan shrugged. "Same here. I wonder. . . well, if I had to guess, I'd say she's hunting for Zenaya."

"Wouldn't surprise me," said Hunter.

Crosshair hummed his agreement. "If she does find her, she'd better have the sense to get a hundred or so Jedi involved."

"At least a hundred," agreed Quinlan. "And me."

"And us," said Tech, adjusting his goggles. He glanced down at his chronometer and added, "Well – goodbye, Quinlan."

"Oh, right," said Wrecker, suddenly mournful. "Hey. . . too bad you hafta head out so fast. It would've been nice to hang around for a bit."

"Yeah," said Quinlan. "Look, next time we're all on Coruscant, we'll have to hit that cantina again."

"Good idea," Hunter answered, then remembered the headache he'd had the day after the mission ended. "I think."

"Of course it's a good idea," said Quinlan. "Junk food and alcohol? Consider it an incentive not to die."

"Hm," scoffed Crosshair, but without his usual sneer. "Some incentive."

"The best," the Jedi retorted, grinning. "Well . . . see you all later."

He almost made it a step towards his ship before Wrecker reached forward to crush him in one of his signature rib-cracking hugs for the second time that day. Quinlan yelped in a very un-Jedi-like fashion, and Hunter cheerfully decided not to help him.

As usual, Wrecker paid no attention at all to Quinlan's dramatics. "I miss you sometimes!" he announced at the top of his lungs.

"Just sometimes?" wheezed the Jedi, in what was probably supposed to be a snarky tone but sounded more suffocated than anything else. "Okay – Wrecker – need to breathe, here, buddy."

"Whoops," said Wrecker, grinning and not loosening his hold in the least. "Well, anyway, Quinlan, you'd better stay alive, got it?"

"He's trying to," Crosshair pointed out with a smirk. "Bit hard to do when you're crushing the life out of him."

"Aw, I'm not crushing him!" protested Wrecker. "See?"

And he dropped Quinlan, who staggered sideways into the ship with an exaggerated gasp for breath.

Tech lowered his datapad long enough to announce, "Quinlan, there is no need for such theatrics. Your oxygen levels are within perfectly acceptable parameters."

"Oh," said the Jedi, straightening up. "Cool."

And with a final grin and a wave, he hopped into his ship and closed the cockpit.

The commandos ran a couple dozen meters away, and Hunter turned to the Deltas and Chirrut. "Better stand back," he advised. "Vos takes off like –"

With a roar of sound and a streak of movement, the Delta-7 starfighter vanished from the cave, leaving a curtain of dust in its wake.

"– a malfunctioning droid in a podrace," finished Hunter.

"– a drunk Gungan," said Crosshair at the same time.

Boss looked from one of them to the other, then said, "Hm. I see that."

For a few moments, they could hear the starfighter zooming through the cave system beyond, and then even the sound vanished.

Tech, who had his datapad out again, rolled his eyes. "He has already accelerated to two hundred and eighty kilometers per hour."

"Oh, don't worry," Ahsoka said. "Master Skywalker flies at that speed in atmosphere a lot, too, and he doesn't usually crash."

Hunter blinked.

Meanwhile, Tech was eyeing her in evident confusion. "I disapprove of his method of taking off because it is an inefficient use of fuel," he said. "I am not concerned about Quinlan crashing. I myself have piloted at – well. . ."

He adjusted his goggles with a thoughtful hum. "Let us just say I have piloted faster than that before."

"Yeah," said Hunter quellingly, remembering the three hundred and fifty kph flight through a canyon Tech had once put them all through – even though, that time, it had actually been necessary. "We remember."

Scorch snickered under his breath.

The Delta sergeant was looking at General Secura, as if waiting for her to take charge of things, but she didn't say anything. She was standing next to Chirrut, her head tilted a little to one side as she watched Ahsoka and the clones.

Boss eventually turned to face her. "What's our next step, General Secura?" he asked. "Are we headed into the city?"

"We are, yes. . ." She stood motionless a moment longer, as if thinking, then went to fetch the small projector that Quinlan had left near the fire.

Turning the hologram on, she zoomed out so they could see the distance between the catacombs and the city itself. "Chirrut and I went into NiJedha earlier today, and we spoke with Headmaster Emmkar. I believe we have come up with a workable plan. Ahsoka and I will be staying in the Temple guest quarters, as pilgrims. You commandos will also be staying at the Temple, but less obviously."

She paused, and Boss said, "We'll be keeping a low profile, then."

"For the moment, yes. Ahsoka and I can hide who we are far more easily than you can, and we do not want the Vipers to discover that there are Jedi or Republic troopers here."

"I can see why," Tech piped in, stepping forward. "But how do you propose we get into NiJedha unnoticed? There does not appear to be any real cover in the desert immediately surrounding the city."

"We will fly in," Aayla replied. "All of us, on one shuttle. Then, Ahsoka and I will exit it and walk to the Temple with Chirrut, who has been assigned as our guide."

"Understood, ma'am," said Boss, and glanced at his corporal, who had just taken a slight step forward. "Fixer?"

"I recommend we leave the Predator here," Fixer said. "Unlike the Marauder, our shuttle is easily recognizable as a Republic ship."

"That would be best," General Secura agreed. "As soon as an opportunity presents itself, we will get you into the Temple of the Whills. Chirrut – we can use the underground tunnels, no?"

"Of course," Chirrut said. "But we should wait until after the pilgrims have stopped coming for the day. You commandos may have to wait on the ship until nightfall."

"That won't be a problem," said Boss, in a tone of complete confidence.

Hunter wondered how in the galaxy Boss planned to prevent trouble between the squads while everyone was stuck in the Marauder for several hours. Maybe he didn't anticipate trouble. Or maybe he figured his commandos could keep the Bad Batch in line without an issue.

Well. Hunter didn't plan on causing trouble, himself, but the Deltas would be in for a major surprise if they tried to throw their weight around. . .

"Very good," Aayla Secura said, and checked her chronometer. "There is no need to rush, but I think it would be best if Ahsoka and I had at least a few hours to scout around the city before making our plans. We shall leave within the hour."

Hunter nodded his understanding, and Boss said, "Yes, ma'am."

"Ahsoka," the Twi'lek woman went on. "Do you have everything you need from the Deltas' ship?"

"Yeah – just a sec," Ahsoka answered, and dropped her pack on the ground with a thud.

Hunter watched as she took out a long brown robe and wrapped it around herself, hiding the two lightsabers she carried at her waist. He wasn't sure whether the kid was as good as Quinlan said she was, but the fact that she carried two lightsabers was interesting.

Tugging the hood of her robe up over her montrals, Ahsoka said, "Master Secura, what's the plan once we're all the Temple?"

"The only definite plan so far is for you and I to meet with the Head Guardian this afternoon." Aayla took a robe that was nearly identical to Ahsoka's out of her own pack. "But first, we will walk through the Temple and some areas of the city."

"General," said Hunter. "Are we going to try and catch the Vipers in the act of stealing more kyber? Or set a guard and keep them from even starting?"

"Perhaps both," said Aayla. "We haven't decided yet. But Chirrut and Quinlan are both sure that another theft will occur soon, and I agree. If the Vipers want to steal all the kyber in the Temple, as the Head Guardian's vision indicated, they will have a long and difficult job ahead of them."

"How long and difficult?" Scorch asked. "I mean, are we talking days here, or weeks?"

"I don't know," Aayla answered.

Fixer stirred, clipping his gun to his belt. "Depends how many there are, I guess."

"In part," Chirrut agreed. "It also depends on how much time they are able to dedicate to it. There are over two thousand statues in the Temple and the tunnels beneath it, several of them very large. If these Pit Vipers do try to steal all of them, I sincerely hope they find it an arduous and very unpleasant task."

Boss huffed a faint chuckle, and Aayla smiled a little.

"In the meantime," she said, turning to Ahsoka, "you and I are going to take the opportunity to meditate near one of the shrines."

Ahsoka looked the opposite of thrilled, but nodded obediently all the same.

"I will guide you to my favorite shrine," Chirrut offered.

As Ahsoka followed Aayla and Chirrut out of the room, Boss turned to speak to his men.

Meanwhile, Hunter folded his arms, frowning in thought. If there really were over two thousand statues, which there probably were, and if this Head Guardian's vision was right . . . Well, even if there were a hundred gangsters working, an undertaking of this size just didn't make sense. The Guardians would fight the gangsters if they caught them stealing, and unless all the Vipers invaded the Temple at once. . .

Even then, it didn't make sense.

"Tech," he said. "How many Guardians are in the Temple?"

"I cannot discover exact numbers," Tech answered. "But my research indicates that there are between seventy and eighty."

Hunter was still thinking about this when Boss and his men stopped talking among themselves and turned. Without warning, they were all, suddenly, walking towards the Bad Batch as a unit. Hunter stepped forward and planted his weight, arms ready at his sides, and felt Crosshair and Tech shifting towards him while Wrecker towered over all three of them from behind.

The Deltas came to a halt, at the same instant, a few feet away. Scorch met Hunter's look with a curious tilt of his head and lifted both hands in a gesture that clearly meant 'what's the problem?'

Hunter narrowed his eyes in response. He had no problem with the Deltas – not yet, anyway.

Boss, who had his helmet clasped under one arm, was eyeing the Bad Batch with an expression of mild curiosity. His attitude and bearing reminded Hunter strongly of Cody, even before Boss said, "You lads expecting trouble?"

Hunter had just opened his mouth to answer when Tech said, "We tend to expect trouble, yes."

Crosshair narrowed his eyes. "Especially when we're dealing with regs."

"Yeah . . ." agreed Wrecker.

Fixer's sharp eyes flicked from one member of the Bad Batch to the other, studying and analyzing in a way that seemed much more aggressive than Tech's passively observant gaze.

"Huh," said Sev, in his weirdly low voice. "Well. I suppose that's good. Expecting trouble keeps you alive, anyway."

"Keeps you alive?" Scorch objected. "Yeah, maybe, but what's that got to do with right now? We're not looking for trouble, and even if we were – clones don't just kill other clones! That's ridiculous!"

Sev smirked and elbowed him. "We might," he pointed out in a dark tone. "If we had a reason. . ."

"Stow it, Seven," said Boss, before Crosshair could do more than take a step forward. "Scorch, I hardly think the Ninety-Nines are worried about us killing them."

"Oh," said Scorch, sounding a little relieved. "Good. I was gonna say."

"Yeah." Wrecker chortled and cracked his knuckles. "We expect trouble. Not getting shot at or nothin' like that. Just brawls."

"Hm," said Fixer, whose attention was now firmly fixed on his datapad. "Yes, it seems your squad has a reputation for starting brawls on Kamino."

Hunter shook his head. "We don't start them, Corporal. At least – not often." He smirked a little at Fixer's questioning look. "But we sure finish 'em."

"I see," said Boss, in a dry voice. "Then we should have no trouble, because we don't intend to start any fights. Am I correct, Deltas?"

"Yes, sir," said Fixer, over Scorch's, "You betcha!"

"You got it, Sarge," said Sev. "Long as they don't start anything. . . 'cause we're also used to finishing fights."

Hunter held out a hand, signaling again for Crosshair to stand down. "Then what is it?" he asked, turning to Boss.

When the Delta sergeant only gazed at him, Hunter gestured at the Deltas and said, "Did you want something?"

Boss tilted his head in silent confusion for an instant longer before comprehension entered his eyes. "We're going to scout the cave system," he said, gesturing to the rest of his squad. "I came over to suggest you take the east caves, and we'll take the west."

Oh, Hunter thought, re-evaluating how the Deltas had looked when they approached. Now that he thought about it, they hadn't actually appeared threatening, just confident.

"Sure," he said out loud. "We can do that. What are we looking for?"

"Nothing in particular," Boss answered. "But there's no reason not to scout. And, given that we're leaving our shuttle here, I'd rather know ahead of time if there's anything in the caves that might have an inclination to damage it."

"Right," said Hunter. "Come on, Bad Batch. Let's do a bit of scouting."

Jedha, Holy City

Day Eleven, early afternoon

As Aayla and Chirrut walked towards the Temple of the Whills, Ahsoka hung back a little, moving slowly, pausing every so often to look at something that caught her attention. The city of NiJedha was busy and bustling, like so many other cities Ahsoka had been to, but that was the only real similarity between NiJedha and other cities. The people here, as a whole, were calm – and happy.

Normally, when Ahsoka visited a new city, it was in response to some threat or disaster, and as a result, the civilians were almost always tense or sad or angry. And, while she had visited other places that weren't involved in the war, and hadn't been struck by a disaster, they'd just been ordinary cities, with thousands of people, all living their own lives, for the most part with no reference to anyone else. Most people in the big cities she'd seen kept their heads down and tried not to notice anyone around them, which Ahsoka thought was strange. But Anakin told her that it had to do with how people lived. They were all focused on their own goals and hopes and fears, and while it might not seem like it, there were still plenty of good people who would be willing to help those around them if only they knew how – or if they knew in the first place that there were others in need. But they didn't know, because so many people had gotten in the habit of keeping their heads down, especially during the war. No one really felt secure anymore, and they'd started to close off from those around them whom they didn't know.

Ahsoka thought that Anakin sounded worryingly knowledgeable about such things. It probably had to do with his own past life as a slave.

But in NiJedha, everything about the city felt different. There was a sense of confidence and peace. The people here, as far as Ahsoka could tell, knew their purpose and were content in living their day-to-day lives.

NiJedha wasn't idyllic, by any means. There wasn't much in the way of plant life, and it was crowded. Some sectors were clearly poorer than others, though Ahsoka didn't see anyone who looked even close to starving. Children ran and shouted and played and occasionally fought, and men and women moved quickly along the streets on some task or other. Several women haggled with a fruit seller in the corner of what looked like a large marketplace.

But there was an underlying sense of wellbeing, and even the bickering over prices was done good-naturedly. It looked like everyone here worked hard, and was generally satisfied with life. For some reason, it reminded her of Shili, even though she barely remembered her home planet.

At one point, Ahsoka caught sight of a couple of Guardians, dressed similarly to Chirrut, moving among the crowds. One of them was speaking to a small group of Rodians – probably pilgrims – while the other stopped to give a piece of fruit to a child who was playing near the side of the road.

Ahsoka watched, smiling, then ran a few steps, intending to catch up with Aayla and Chirrut. But she stopped again almost immediately to look at another busy side street where ten women – Twi'leks, humans, and a Rodian – were working together to hang a brightly colored canopy from one rooftop to the other.

There were about ten thousand people in this city, and from what Ahsoka could tell, they generally got along . . . which the padawan thought was amazing.

It was the sense of contentment in the Force that let her notice, without her even looking for it, the thin tendril of a cold anger from somewhere nearby. Instantly on the alert, Ahsoka stopped next to a group of people and listened to the Force. There was someone here who had malicious intentions – not towards her specifically, but towards one of her companions. Glancing up, Ahsoka realized that Master Secura was almost thirty meters ahead of her.

Given that the person had just started watching, Ahsoka knew better than to attract attention to herself She slowed down so she could walk alongside a large hoverbus that was making its way through the streets with a group of robed pilgrims onboard. As she wandered near the vehicle, out of sight of whoever was watching, she clicked on her comm and murmured, "Don't turn around, Master Secura, but do you sense anyone watching us?"

In front of her, Aayla was quiet for several seconds, but at last she lifted her wrist to her mouth and said, "Your instincts are good, Padawan. Someone is watching Chirrut with anger. Have you located whoever it is?"

"Not yet, but I will," promised Ahsoka. "And don't worry – I won't let him know he's been noticed."

When Aayla did not immediately tell her 'no', Ahsoka turned off the comm and kept wandering along. Angling her steps away from Chirrut and Aayla, she headed towards a stone column, carved with flowers, which stood by the side of the road. She didn't even have to pretend to be interested in it, because it was pretty neat.

As Ahsoka stood, eyes fixed intently on a stone apple blossom, she cast her senses out, listening carefully with both echolocation and through the Force. She could track Aayla and Chirrut as they turned a corner, their footsteps growing fainter with distance. And then, sure enough, someone separated from the crowd and walked briskly after them.

Ahsoka turned just as a figure stepped into the alley and came to a halt. The padawan walked past, mingling with other pedestrians, and glanced casually at the stranger as she went by.

The person watching Chirrut was a Mirialan woman. She had olive-tinted skin and dark hair that was cut straight across at shoulder level. There were dark blue diamonds tattooed on either side of her throat, and she wore a sand-colored jumpsuit with long sleeves. As Ahsoka studied her, the woman suddenly moved, hurrying down the alley after Chirrut. Ahsoka thought that the sense of anger from her was less now, but still there, almost like she was just controlling it better.

Her comm beeped. "Ahsoka," Master Secura said. "Did you find our watcher?"

"Yes, Master," Ahsoka replied, heading down an alley parallel to the one Aayla had taken. "She's a Mirialan, and she's still following you – or following Chirrut, anyway."

"All right, I've caught sight of her now," Aayla said. She murmured something inaudible, and Ahsoka could hear Chirrut replying. Then the Twi'lek said, "Ahsoka, Chirrut says he believes he has noticed her before. I think she could be a member of the Pit Vipers."

"Why do you say that?" Ahsoka asked, interested.

"Because she is not from the city, and she is certainly not a pilgrim," said Aayla, rather dryly. "Ahsoka, I think it might be best if you and I remain separate after all. I trust you can find your way to the Temple from here?"

Ahsoka glanced up at the towering building near the top of the hill. "Shouldn't be a problem, Master."

"Good. Rejoin us inside. I will be interested to see whether our Mirialan friend enters the courtyard or not."

Chapter Text

Jedha, Holy City

Day Eleven, mid-afternoon

Delta Forty sat in the cockpit of the Havoc Marauder, using the ship's computer to run a diagnostic on his datapad. Once he was sure every system, preset, and sensor was working exactly as it should, he used the datapad to run a diagnostic on his gear.

The corporal disliked entering the active phase of a mission without having personally checked all his weaponry and armor for flaws. There were probably no flaws at the moment, as Fixer had already done a touch-up on the electronics earlier, when he fixed the weakened patches caused by the IED damage on Ichtose; but there was no harm in double-checking. He rather enjoyed being able to take his time to check and fix equipment, especially when he had a few hours on his hands.

And, even better than the few hours of downtime, there was the fact that the cockpit was relatively quiet at the moment. Tech and Hunter were the only other commandos present – Tech was sitting on the floor, tinkering with what looked to be an interface adapter, and Hunter was in the pilot's seat, watching the landing platform and the people who walked by.

Fixer had expected a lot more chaos when he heard that he and his squad mates would be waiting around with the Bad Batch. The younger squad of commandos seemed highly confrontational. But so far, apart from a brief misunderstanding when the Deltas first approached them, there hadn't been much in the way of confrontation or chaos.

In fact, it was strangely peaceful. . . for now, at least. Delta Forty could hear Wrecker and Scorch talking in the cargo hold, and neither of them were what one could call 'quiet', especially when they got excited.

"Like this!" Wrecker exclaimed, and there was a metallic crash.

Well, there was some of the expected chaos. Fixer inhaled quietly and went back to work while Scorch laughed and said something that sounded alarmingly like 'use a different vector and throw it harder.' But why would he say that? More importantly, what would he say it about?

"Hm," said Tech, distracted from his own work. He glanced towards the cargo hold, left eyebrow lifted in an expression of concern, but when there were no further sounds, he returned to soldering a piece of wire.

Hunter drew his vibroknife and rotated it idly around the back of one hand. Fixer, finally satisfied with how the electronics in his helmet were functioning, set it aside and stretched a crick out of his elbow.

"Hey, Cross, look at this!" Wrecker's voice sounded again. Someone shoved a crate over the floor, and then Fixer heard the Ninety-Nines' sniper say, in a dramatically weary tone, "Look at what?"

"This!"

" . . . It's just a grenade."

"It's not just a grenade!" protested Scorch. "I'm telling you, this is an amazing grenade!"

Fixer found himself tilting his head, listening for the sniper's response, which came a moment later. "An amazing grenade, hm?"

"The best!" Wrecker sounded excited, and Fixer hoped that Boss was somewhere nearby, because it didn't look like Sergeant Hunter was going to move or put a stop to any potential nonsense.

Of course, if it got bad enough, Fixer could pull rank, at least over his own squad mates, but in the meantime he had no desire to disturb the semi-peace onboard by causing a fight. It wasn't like Scorch would be inclined to back him up.

"Seriously, look, Crosshair!" Wrecker said, half-pleading. "Scorch added strontium carbonate."

"Yep!" Scorch chimed in. "Strontium carbonate and lithium salts. So when I set this baby off, there's gonna be a blast of absolutely glorious red light."

"Oh," Crosshair drawled. "Goodie."

". . . Aw, whatever," grumbled Wrecker after a moment. "You just don't know enough to appreciate explosives, that's all."

"I know they're loud," said Crosshair, with finality. "And bright. And that they give your position away to everyone for miles around."

"Nah-ah," said Scorch. "Not if you put 'em on a timer and run."

Hunter let out an amused huff, and when Delta Forty glanced at him, he seemed to sense it. Turning to face Fixer, he explained, "Crosshair actually enjoys watching explosions almost as much as Wrecker does. He just doesn't like setting them, 'cause he'd rather see the action from a distance. . ."

His voice trailed off.

Curious, Fixer looked up from his vambrace to see the sergeant gazing across the landing pad with narrowed eyes.

"Hunter?" Tech's head popped into view over the arm of the co-pilot's seat. "What is it?"

"That man's watching the Marauder," said Hunter, leaning so close to the viewport that his crooked nose was nearly touching the transparisteel.

"Which man?" asked Fixer, getting up.

"The one near the fuel tower."

The corporal shaded his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun as he studied the person in question. He was human, or at least near-human, and there was no mistaking the fact that he was definitely watching the Havoc Marauder – and intently, at that.

"I wonder what he hopes to determine," Tech said. "He cannot see through the viewports, and any scanners he might have will be scrambled by the jamming device."

"I dunno," Hunter said. "Maybe he saw General Secura and Ahsoka leaving it and got curious about why they had such a large ship."

Fixer put on his helmet and used the amplification feature on his visor to get a better look at their watcher. "He's definitely not a pilgrim," he said.

"Yeah?" Hunter asked. "How do you figure that?"

"He's got at least two guns, and some kind of an odd weapon on him – hm. It looks like a whip made of chains."

"Ah," said Tech, and put his own helmet on, tilting the visor down over his goggles. "So I see. That is decidedly unusual. . . Hunter, his left wrist is splinted."

"His wrist? Didn't Quinlan say he'd broken a guy's wrist?"

"Yes. Though admittedly, a broken wrist is not statistically an uncommon injury."

"Yeah, but for him to be watching the ship too? And to have extra weapons?"

"In this case, he is probably the same man."

Fixer was sure he was, but at the moment he was more focused on the man's face than on the conversation. "Interesting," he said, squinting until he could make out the green spiral pattern on the right side of the man's forehead. "We might have just found a member of the Pit Vipers."

"That is what I implied," agreed Tech.

"Right. But in case the broken wrist and the strange weapon weren't enough, take a look at his tattoos."

The other technician obeyed and let out an interested hum. "I believe you are correct," he said. "I cannot entirely make it out, but the one on his forehead looks like a snake. . ."

"Crosshair!" called Hunter. "Get in here. Can you tell what's tattooed

on that guy's forehead?"

Fixer took off his helmet as the Bad Batch's sniper wandered in. He studied the man without the binoculars or his helmet – and without even squinting – then said, "It's a snake."

"Can you describe it?" Tech asked.

"It's tattooed in green ink, very detailed scales. I can't tell what species it's supposed to be, but I don't think it's large. The snake has fangs and is coiled, ready to strike."

Blinking twice, Fixer looked sidelong at him. "You can see all that from here?"

"Mm-hmm. . ."

"Yes," said Tech. "Crosshair has enhanced eyesight."

The few bits of data Fixer had been able to find on Clone Force Ninety-Nine had been inconsistent and vague. Curious, he turned to Tech, who continued his explanation in a bland near-monotone. "He also has exceptional motor skills – which is to be expected. After all, he was engineered to be a sniper after the Kaminoans discovered preexisting aberrations in his design."

Hunter looked uncomfortable, and Crosshair pushed himself away from the wall with a scoff. "Nobody cares," he said, and slipped past Tech to go back into the cargo hold.

Tech blinked after him, then turned to Fixer again and said, "Some of us are more sensitive about being enhanced than others. Personally, I believe our enhancements are an advantage, despite their occasional drawbacks, but –"

"Uh, Tech," Hunter interrupted, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Can you get me any info on that guy? We should let Secura know about him when she comms."

"Of course. One moment." As Tech set to work, Fixer nodded to Hunter and went aft to locate his own sergeant.

He entered the cargo hold first, but Boss wasn't there. Wrecker and Scorch were, though. They were kneeling on the floor, and by all appearances had occupied themselves with some kind of game – rolling a grenade across the metal panels to knock down a row of loose cotter pins that they'd stood on end.

"Six-Two!" Fixer scolded.

His teammate jumped, missed his shot and half the metal pins, and twisted to glower up at him. "Oh, come on, Fixer, we're just having a little fun!"

"Yeah. . ." agreed Wrecker, using the back of one hand to hastily sweep the cotter pins out of sight. "We're just bowling, not doin' anything too dangerous!"

The corporal stared for a long moment. "I suggest you find something to do that's even less dangerous," he said at last. "Have either of you seen Boss?"

"He's in the lower hold," Scorch grumbled, stuffing the grenade back in the packing crate he'd pulled it from. "So's Oh-Seven. Hey, are we still waiting for orders from the general?"

"Yes." Fixer opened the trap door in the floor and swung himself down onto the vertical ladder that extended down to the next level. A couple rungs away from the floor, he hopped off and located Boss, who was sitting on a large crate nearby. The sergeant had a datapad on one knee and was gazing contemplatively down at it, holding a cup of steaming hot caf. On the opposite end of the room, Sev was seated on a metal bench, polishing his sniper rifle. . . again.

"Boss," said Fixer, joining him. "We have one potential hostile just outside the landing pad, observing the ship. I believe he might be a member of the Pit Vipers."

The sergeant's dark eyes flickered up to meet his. "Oh?"

"Yes, sir. He has multiple weapons, a tattoo of a snake, and a broken wrist."

"Hm," said Boss. "General Vos' handiwork, I take it."

"It seemed unlikely to be a coincidence," agreed Fixer. "Considering the snake."

Thirty-Eight considered. "Does he have a rocket launcher? Or any anti-armor weaponry?"

"No, sir."

"Then we'd best leave him be, for now," Boss decided. "Long as someone's on watch."

"Hunter and Tech are keeping an eye on him."

"Good." Boss opened his mouth to say something further, but was interrupted by a thud from above them, followed by a sliding crash. Fixer jumped, Boss looked slowly up at the ceiling without moving, and Sev got to his feet with a growling sigh.

"Forget about watching the potential hostile," he grumbled, climbing up the ladder. "Better have someone keeping an eye on Scorch and Wrecker."

He went up the ladder and vanished. "Listen, nutter," he scolded, voice floating down the shaft. "That had better not be what I think it – huh. Whose idea was that?"

"Wasn't mine!" replied Scorch.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't mine, either!" Wrecker joined in. There was a pause. "It just kinda – happened. Worked, though, didn't it?"

"Sort of." Sev sounded just a little impressed. "Not the sturdiest setup you could have, though. I think if you add just one more of the –"

The trap door slammed shut over his words.

Thirty-Eight blinked, gave his head a slight shake, and tapped his datapad with one finger. "Fixer," he said briskly. "I've been researching the cave system north of NiJedha. Based on these scans, there's a large number of cells and side tunnels."

"Yes, sir." Fixer dragged an empty crate over and sat down next to him, turning on his own datapad. "According to the library in the Temple of the Whills, that particular cave system is known as the Crescent Caverns. It used to be a place of retreat for monks, but now nobody enters it. I guess it's too far from the city for most pilgrims."

"Let's hope the same can be said of the Catacombs," Boss told him, with a humorous look. "Otherwise we'll have a lot of explaining to do about the Predator."

"Chirrut said only the locals really go there," Fixer told him. "And only on specific days of the year."

"One less thing for us to worry about, then."

"Hmm." Fixer was staring down at his screen, not thinking about the Predator at all as he studied the layout of the Crescent Caverns. "This cave is huge. It looks like the Vipers could land a large shuttle here. Maybe even three, if they wanted."

"I noticed."

"Do you think they intend to steal all the kyber crystals before ever leaving Jedha?"

"No." The sergeant shifted, setting down his caf. "They couldn't hope to remain undiscovered for that long. And from what Guardian Îmwe told us, it would take more than three or even ten shuttles to transport the amount of crystal that's in the tunnels."

"They might make a shipment off-planet soon, then," said Fixer. "I suppose we could send the Predator into atmosphere to get a vector. . ."

Thirty-Eight shook his head. "Even if the Vipers thought they weren't being followed, they might choose to make several jumps."

"True. And I take it we're not shooting them down."

"Correct. We don't want to let them know we're after them until we're ready to spring our trap. Besides, I'd like to get the kyber back intact – or as intact as possible, at any rate."

Fixer nodded his understanding, reached sideways to pick up Thirty-Eight's caf, and took a sip. Over the next few moments, he continued to study the map on his datapad. When it came to setting traps, there were multiple options, even when dealing with fifty gangsters.

He drained the caf and set the empty cup aside, tapping the map with one finger as he considered NiJedha and its surrounding from all angles. "Boss," he said, eventually. "Exactly what kind of trap are we looking to set?"

There was no answer.

After several seconds, Fixer looked up to see the sergeant eyeing him with a look of abject betrayal.

"Sir?" the corporal asked.

"Fixer . . ." said Boss, in an injured tone. "That was my caf."

Jedha, Holy City

Day Eleven, mid-afternoon

Head Guardian Emmkar was sitting at a small stone table in one of the small outdoor gardens when he heard Chirrut's cheerful voice approaching.

"There he is," Baze said, and hurried to the gate to meet the Guardian and the Jedi.

Emmkar set down his tea and pushed himself to his feet. Baze had been waiting for the new Jedi to arrive since early that morning, when he'd first learned that there would be some hours between Knight Vos leaving the city and the others arriving. He wanted to finish hunting down the Pit Vipers as soon as possible, and the hours he'd had to wait had been a strain on his patience. It didn't help that Chirrut had gone out to meet them, while Baze had stayed behind to help Emmkar.

The Head Guardian understood Baze's eagerness. It couldn't be easy for a young and athletic Guardian to wait on an old man like himself, even for one as kind and patient with the elderly as Baze was.

A young girl's voice floated into the garden, addressing Chirrut, and Emmkar wondered what a child was doing in the side gardens, away from her group. Perhaps she was a pilgrim who had a question, or maybe Chirrut had found another orphan in the city.

As the voices drew closer, Emmkar stepped away from the table to greet his guests. "Knight Secura," he said, bowing as she entered the garden.

The Twi'lek woman had just returned his salutation when Chirrut breezed into the garden with Baze alongside him. They were arguing in low voices, robes fluttering out behind them, and as a result Emmkar didn't notice the fourth person who had entered the garden until she slipped between the two Guardians and came to stand near Aayla.

It was a Togrutan girl, who couldn't have been more than fourteen, and it was only when Emmkar met her eyes that he realized she was also a Jedi.

"Head Guardian Emmkar," said Aayla. "This is Ahsoka Tano, the padawan of one of my fellow Knights. She is here to assist my team."

Baze opened his mouth, and Chirrut elbowed him in the ribs.

"You are welcome here," Emmkar said, smiling at the Togruta. She bowed in reply. Emmkar gestured his guests towards the table, and didn't miss the irked look Ahsoka gave Chirrut and Baze.

Baze stared back at her, shook his head, and whispered something to Chirrut, who frowned at him.

"Chirrut, Baze," said Emmkar. He wished they would refrain from bickering around his guests – especially when they were arguing, as he suspected, over one of those guests. "The Jedi and I are going to discuss our plans. If you would care to join us, please do sit."

The two Guardians did sit, on opposite sides of the table. A peculiar thing to manage, considering that the table was round, but manage it they did. Ahsoka and Aayla, who were already sitting across from Emmkar, ended up between them with Ahsoka next to Chirrut.

The Head Guardian poured acacia-berry tea for everyone and passed the honey jar around before sitting down. "Thank you for coming," he said, inclining his head to the two Jedi. "I am sure that Knight Vos has described the situation to you."

"He has," said Aayla. "And as you might already know, there are others with us who will be assisting as well – two squads of clone commandos. They are currently in their ship at the landing pad."

Emmkar nodded his understanding, but he was uncomfortable at the idea of meeting these clones, and of having them help in the mission. He . . . understood, to some extent, why the Republic was using the clones in this galactic conflict, but he did not agree with it. And even their existence. . . How could so many citizens, how could the Jedi, be comfortable with the fact that the army defending them was one that had been created, in an unnatural way, for the sole purpose of fighting and dying in defense of the Republic? Apparently, no one had even known of the clones' existence until the beginning of the war; while this certainly made the Republic's position more understandable, it was also something that seriously alarmed the Head Guardian.

He hid his discomfort with a slow, thoughtful nod. It wasn't the clones' fault that they were on Jedha. "The commandos will come here, of course?" he asked.

"Yes," Aayla said. "But not while the Temple is open to visitors. We do not wish the Pit Vipers to know that the Jedi or the Republic are involved. It would put them too much on their guard, and the commandos just reported to me that there was someone watching our ship."

"I see," said Emmkar. "Baze – as soon as it is dark, you will go to the ship to fetch the remainder of our guests. You must ensure that no one is watching, and then guide them here, through the tunnels."

Baze nodded.

"I can go with him," Ahsoka offered, glancing at the older Jedi for approval. "So that the clones will know he can be trusted."

"Or Chirrut can come with me," Baze said flatly. "The commandos already know him, don't they?"

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, just the slightest bit, and Aayla cleared her throat. "That might not be wise, Baze. Someone is watching Chirrut – I suspect she is a member of the gang. She did not follow us into the Temple, but was still waiting outside the walls when I last looked."

"Someone is watching you, Chirrut?" Emmkar asked. "You did not mention this."

"I did not know," Chirrut said. "At least, not until a few minutes ago."

"Ahsoka discovered her," Aayla explained, and Emmkar turned an inquiring gaze to the padawan.

As she described the Mirialan woman, and how she felt in the Force, Emmkar listened closely. He knew of no reason why the Mirialan would look at Chirrut specifically with hate, but when he asked, Ahsoka said that the woman had paid no attention to the other Guardians in the streets. And Chirrut could think of no reason for her hatred towards him.

Baze, however, did. Straightening up with a thoughtful frown, he said, "Chirrut was with Quinlan Vos a lot."

"I was," said Chirrut with a nod. "But what could that have to do with it?"

"Well," Baze said. "Could be it's him she's angry at, for something he did, but she can't do anything about it."

"Yes. . ." Aayla looked at him thoughtfully. "You could be right, Baze. Quinlan did have a few altercations with members of the gang."

"Indeed," said Chirrut. "And so did Baze and I. We sabotaged one of their speeders, though they did not know it was us."

Emmkar frowned a bit, his mind focused mostly on the Mirialan – but also half-wondering how and where his Guardians had learned how to sabotage a speeder.

"Padawan Tano," he said slowly. "You mentioned anger and hatred. Are you sure of that?"

"I'm sure, Head Guardian," said Ahsoka, with conviction.

He nodded. "So, she hates Chirrut. . . perhaps in place of Quinlan, but we do not know for certain, and you cannot guess why."

"Pretty much," admitted Ahsoka.

"I cannot guess, either," Chirrut said with a shrug. "But, unless she tries to kill me, I do not think it is something to worry about."

"Nevertheless," said Emmkar, before Baze could – justly – tell Chirrut off for being so careless. "You should stay inside the Temple walls for now. These gangsters have already proven their willingness to kill."

"As you say, Head Guardian," Chirrut answered. "Ah well, Baze, you shall have to take Ahsoka with you, after all."

Baze frowned heavily, but straightened out his expression just before Ahsoka turned to look at him. Emmkar knew what was in Baze's mind. He was very protective of children, especially the orphans of Jedha, and Emmkar was sure he was horrified by the fact that the Jedi sent young teenagers into war. Baze would never willingly take a youngling into a dangerous situation.

From what Emmkar could see, the youngling in question resented that, quite likely because she did not see the situation as dangerous or beyond her abilities.

Emmkar decided to leave that whole argument up to Aayla, as the senior Jedi in the small team, and pretended not to notice the brief glowering match between Ahsoka and Baze. "About the rest of the plan, Knight Secura," he said, keeping his focus on her even when Chirrut immaturely poked Baze under the table with his staff. "Please acquaint me with any ideas you've been considering."

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Twelve, early morning

Commander Fox stood on the landing platform, arms locked behind his back as he gazed out towards the rising sun. General Vos was supposed to arrive within five minutes, and Fox didn't want to waste any time in getting him involved in the investigation. The unease among the senators had died down a little in the last day or so, since nobody had been killed since Senator Elin's murder; but now, Elin's family was pressuring the CSF to find out who had done this – which meant that the CSF, in turn, was pressuring Fox.

Since last night, Lieutenant Divo had asked Fox six different times about when General Vos was coming back, and Fox hadn't been able to give him a definite answer because the Kiffar refused to answer his bloody commlink. . . Well, that, or he couldn't answer because it was broken or he was injured or dead, in which case it was probably still Quinlan's fault.

Either way, the best Fox had been able to give Divo as an answer was 'General Fisto commed him, he'll be here soon'.

And then, not ten minutes ago, Vos had contacted the Coruscant Guard headquarters directly and said hey, how are things going, and that he was in atmosphere and heading to the CG; which was why Fox was now here, keeping an eye out for him, instead of finishing the usual briefing with his officers.

Soon enough, an all-too-familiar Delta-7 zoomed into view, diving from one of the main airlanes that passed the Jedi Temple, and then proceeding to very illegally fly between two other airlanes. Fox rolled his eyes into the back of his head. He couldn't decide whether he hoped the Jedi would get arrested by the CSF for being an idiot, or whether he wouldn't get arrested, thus allowing Fox to get him started on the murder case immediately.

As it turned out, Vos was either not noticed by the CSF, or they were too far away to do anything about his disregard for law and order. Or maybe Jedi got a free pass when it came to doing illegal things. . . Fox snorted at the thought, shaking his head. If that were the case, it would explain a lot.

Above him, the Delta-7 glided to an abrupt hover. Then it started to descend. And then, fifteen meters above the ground, the hatch popped open and General Vos jumped out of the ship, somersaulted in mid-air, and landed on the platform next to Fox.

Fox ignored him.

Vos straightened, dusting off his tunic. "Hey, Commander," he said, with the casual attitude of someone on an evening stroll.

Commander Fox watched the Delta-7 finish landing on autopilot. Then, only after the engines had shut down, he turned to the Jedi and said, "About time you got here."

". . . wow, rude," said Quinlan, tugging a wrinkle out of his tunic. "And after all my efforts to rush back, too."

The commander gazed at him for several seconds, then spoke in a monotone. "I really appreciate your efforts to rush back."

"Hm, I can tell." The Jedi held back a yawn, glanced at the rising sun, and said, "I left Jedha around noon. It technically should be evening because it's only been six hours, and instead it's bright and early on a new day. I feel like I've been cheated."

Fox did not care. "I have the murder weapon in my office," he told him. "Apart from whatever you can get for us with your psychometry, the trail on this case has gone dark. If you're willing to read the weapon right away, so much the better."

"Oh, yeah, can't wait for that. . ." Quinlan cracked his knuckles, tilted his head back, and then stretched his arms to either side before letting them flop at his sides. "By all means, Commander, lead the way."

"Right this way," said Fox, even though the Jedi knew perfectly well where the CG headquarters were.

Not only did he know where they were, he also knew all the ways one could get inside – both while being normal and also while breaking and entering. In fact, by the time Vos had finished with locating all the different ways he could enter headquarters illegally, the CG's security had been vastly improved by its newfound knowledge of sentient-accessible hatchways and ventilation shafts.

Together, the commander and the Jedi crossed the walkway and headed across the duracrete platform that fronted the building.

"So," Vos said, his demeanor finally businesslike. "Senator Elin was assassinated."

"Yeah. They broke her window, hit her with a dart."

The Jedi nodded. "I heard about what happened to Senator Organa. These guys, whoever they are, are clearly skilled."

Fox huffed at the obvious statement, but Vos ignored him and continued.

"At this point, I'm assuming the murderers are part of a gang, as opposed to a guy hiring random bounty hunters."

"That's probably the case," Fox agreed. "Lieutenant Divo hasn't officially ruled out the possibility that these murders were committed by some fellow politician or other who hired a gang to do their dirty work, but both he and I are acting on the assumption that the gang – or gang leader – decided to kill Hilt for their own purposes."

"Hm." The Jedi clasped his hands behind his back. "My sources indicate that Elin had almost nothing to do with Hilt until recently. Is there any chance that romantic entanglement was the cause of Elin's association with Hilt? And therefore the cause of her death?"

"Going by what my informant discovered, that's precisely it," Fox told him. "Elin and Senator Hilt had a lot of meetings and conversations. About eighty percent of the known ones were over comms."

"Then it's no surprise the gang picked her as their next victim," Quinlan said with a frown. "It's a pity, though. Whatever they're trying to cover up, she couldn't have known about it. . . or could she? Was Hilt really that stupid?"

"As far as we can discover, he only made one reference to what we think was his association with this gang," Fox said, entering headquarters. "Two nights before he was killed, Hilt told Elin in a comm call that he wouldn't be at some Senate function that night, because he had unfinished business with 'former employees' to deal with."

"Idiot," muttered Quinlan. "And that was all it took to sign her death warrant."

"Maybe." Fox shook his head. "We don't know. He could have meant someone else, though there are no records of him calling or dealing with anyone that evening. We also haven't been able to find out how the murderers would have gotten that information, or even if they had it at all."

"Yeah. . . you're right. I guess they might not have needed it."

"What do you mean?"

"Assuming they didn't know about the comm calls, would they have had any reason to think that Elin was close to Hilt?"

"Unknown," answered Fox, opening the lift doors. "But given that the murderers killed Hilt's servants, whom he'd have even less reason to discuss his concerns with, I suspect they might have."

"I think they must have." Quinlan stepped into the lift and hit the button for the top floor. "Fox, did anyone else – apart from the murderers, presumably – pick up on Hilt's relationship with Elin?"

"I haven't received any definite answers from the senators I asked. . . but that's often how politicians are."

"Well, yeah. But there are usually at least a couple who are gossips, or willing to tell people that they just knew there was going to be trouble." He affected a rather snobbish look and a confidential tone. "You know how it is, Master Jedi, a young lady and a significantly older and richer man. . . Well. Anyone could have seen trouble was coming."

Fox snorted, and the Jedi regained his usual expression.

"It's happened," Quinlan said, as the lift door slid open. "Even when there was absolutely nothing between the people in question. People instinctively want to feel like they're in control of an unexpected situation by retroactively 'knowing' things."

Fox eyed him sidelong, a little surprised.

"What?" said Quinlan defensively.

"Nothing," said Fox, who was occasionally taken aback by the realization that Vos did, in fact, think a considerable amount. "At any rate, the senators don't want to talk; probably afraid of the perpetrator thinking they know something. But at least some of them must have known about Elin and Hilt."

"Oh?"

"Neither of the deceased senators were careful to keep their relationship hidden when it came to comms." Fox started down the hall. "I suppose they had no reason to hide it."

"No reason that either of them knew about." The Shadow frowned. "Until Hilt's death, anyway."

"Yeah," Fox agreed. "Because right after he died, Elin insisted that she hardly even knew him."

They walked on in silence, boots clicking against the polished plasteel tiles that lined every hallway.

"Then again," Fox added. "Claiming ignorance or stating that they didn't know the victim is a pretty a standard reaction for a lot of civilians when they're suddenly involved in a murder case."

"Yeah. . ." Quinlan huffed lightly under his breath. "That's true enough, isn't it?"

They fell silent as they walked, going up one flight of stairs and then down the main hallway. Around them, the troopers coming off of night shift walked briskly towards the barracks or mess hall, while the troopers coming on duty had a bit more of a slump in their movements. It was the opposite of how normal civilians seemed to operate.

Jek and Rhys, who were just starting their shift, had the particular slouch that Fox had come to associate with: 'morning caf has not yet hit system, please do not address until situation is rectified'.

Fox raised an eyebrow at them, because he could, and both troopers made a minimal effort to straighten. Very minimal.

Ahead of him, Thorn was coming out of the briefing room, helmet under one arm as he shuffled through a stack of flimsi that was six centimeters high. When he saw Fox and Quinlan, he visibly perked up and came over to join them.

"Commander!" he said. "And General Vos! Glad you're back, sir."

The Jedi flashed a smile. "Always happy to help the Guard," he said, and gestured at the pile of flimsiwork. "But, uh, not with that."

"I was afraid of that," complained Thorn. He sighed, then touched his forehead in a lackadaisical salute to Fox. "Guess I'll be on my way, then."

"Be sure not to misfile it, Thorn," Fox requested, and the other clone groaned out a 'yes, sir' as he left.

Smirking a little despite his usual façade of professionalism, Commander Fox went to his office door and punched in the passcode. "In here, General," he said, leaving the door ajar so his officers would know he was present. "I'll get the weapon."

"Right. . ." The Jedi wandered in and leaned sideways against Fox's desk, watching as Fox unlocked a strongbox and removed the blowpipe from it. "How'd you get hold of that, anyway?"

"One of the CG's agents," said Fox. "She stole it from the murderer, right after Senator Elin was killed."

Quinlan looked impressed, and it suddenly occurred to Fox that the Jedi did not know that Vythia worked for the Coruscant Guard. Come to think of it, Vythia probably didn't know that the Jedi Shadow frequently worked with the Coruscant Guard. . . Well, that might prove interesting. He didn't know much about what had happened on whatever mission they'd been on together, but General Fisto had dropped a couple of vague hints when he first suggested that Vythia work as an agent for the CG. Whatever had happened, it had been bad – and top secret. According to Fisto, almost none of the Jedi knew of Vythia's existence, let alone her presence on the planet, and it was to stay that way as much as possible.

"Okay," Vos said, taking his gloves off and dropping them on the nearest available surface, which happened to be Fox's desk. "What are you hoping I'll find?"

"At this point in the case?" Fox shrugged. "Anything that'll help us. The agent who got the weapon for us also discovered, while spying on the murderer and his companion, that their leader is a male Nautolan. We've put out some leads on that, but gotten no results yet. Whoever this gang is, nobody is willing to inform on them. Not even the CSF's usual underworld contacts."

"Huh," said the Jedi, and sat cross-legged on the floor. "Well, no promises, but I'll see what I can find."

He held out a hand, and Fox gave him the blowpipe and stepped quickly to a safe distance. He'd been on the receiving end of the aftermath of one of Quinlan's more violent psychometry-induced visions before, and had no desire for a repeat performance. One time of taking an Force-enhanced blow to the face was enough for him, thank you very much.

Sitting at his desk, the commander opened his comms and sent off a message to Divo, informing him that Vos was back and in CG headquarters.

The lieutenant replied four seconds later: About time. On my way.

Fox would have called him with any information gained by Vos, of course, but Lieutenant Divo preferred to get his information firsthand.

Vos, meanwhile, was not reacting in any way – in fact, he was sitting quietly, eyes shut. No violent emotions on this weapon, then. He'd probably had to slip into meditation to find evidence.

While waiting for him, the commander took out a datapad and set to work reviewing the guard assignments for the following week.

He'd only just finished when the Jedi got to his feet and dropped the blowpipe on the desk in front of Fox. He looked a little vague, but not overwhelmed, or like he was going to treat the closest person as a threat. Small blessings.

Clearing his throat, Fox looked up from the blowpipe. "Well?"

"I hate murderers," the Jedi grumbled, and rubbed his hands together as if to clean them. "But at least this one was impersonal. As if that makes it any better for the victims. . ."

Fox had been asking about evidence, not Quinlan's opinion on murderers, but he waited until the Jedi had put his gloves back on to say, "Did you see anything?"

"Yeah – uh, the guy who murdered Elin – his name is Vresh, he's a Weequay assassin. But you probably already knew that, didn't you?"

Fox nodded. That much, he'd learned from Vythia.

"Apart from that. . ." Quinlan gestured at the blowpipe. "The same weapon was used to kill one of the secretaries. Also Vresh's work, I'm guessing."

For the first time, Fox realized that it might be possible that Vos wouldn't be able to get any new information, not even with his especially weird Force-ability. "You get anything else?" he asked.

"Not really," Vos said, squinting in thought. "Vresh is good at his job. To him, just like to pretty much every other assassin, killing people is just that: a job."

Fox nodded, because he'd already known that, too, and it wouldn't help in locating this Vresh character at all. "Right," he said slowly. "And that means what, exactly?"

"That there aren't many emotions or memories tied into this weapon at all, let alone strong emotions or memories." The Jedi frowned. "Sorry, Fox."

So. . . That was that, then. Fox's only remaining idea for gaining leads had been to bring the Shadow into the investigation. Now what. . .?

As the commander sat there, gazing at his desk and wondering what in the galaxy he was supposed to do next, the door swung open and Lieutenant Inspector Divo swept into the room, his long coat flapping around his ankles with the speed of his movements.

"Knight Vos," he said, with a quick nod. "Glad you're on the case again." His sharp eyes flicked expectantly to the blowpipe.

"Lieutenant Divo," Quinlan replied. "Unfortunately, I didn't find anything useful."

"What?" The lieutenant stared. "How? You always find something useful."

"Not this time, I didn't. Fox already knew the identity of Elin's murderer, and clearly that hasn't helped much."

"It hasn't," Fox agreed, as he got up to put the blowpipe back into the strongbox.

With a shake of his head, the inspector stalked past Quinlan and sank into one of the nearby chairs. He sat there for a long moment, then looked up and demanded, "Are you telling me that the case has gone cold? Even colder than it was?"

"I hope not." The Jedi brushed a hand against Fox's desk a couple of times, as if to clear it of residual impressions from the murder weapon. "But if I'm going to find anything useful, it's not going to be from that weapon."

"Huh, and it took us way too long to even get our hands on that." The inspector tapped two fingers against his mouth, eyes narrowed at the Jedi. "Hm. What about objects that were being held by the murder victims at the time of death? Could you read those?"

"I could," Vos said. "And I'd only get impressions of people dying. Unless they were actually in a position to see their murderer, and recognize him or her as their cause of death . . ."

"Even so," said Fox, leaning both hands on the back of his chair. "If all else fails, you might try that."

Quinlan stared at him, the opposite of enthusiastic, and Fox shrugged. They needed a lead, and Vos was their best bet – unfortunately for him, maybe, but also unfortunately for everyone else involved in solving the case. It wasn't the CG's fault that Vos had decided to be a Jedi Shadow and investigate crimes using Force-abilities.

"Right, then." Inspector Divo jumped to his feet and paced around the desk. "Last resort, Vos, you can try to read objects – things like the secretary's teacup, Lane Tarr's weapon . . . now, he might have noticed something Organa didn't. . ."

"Yeah, he might have, at that," admitted Quinlan. "He was in the habit of actively looking for threats."

"Hm." The inspector whipped past Fox's desk again and walked to the window and back. "That's an option, at least. And you could try reading something from the cup Hilt had – no, because he dropped that right away. But maybe there was still enough time for an impression or a thought or whatever you call it. Wait!"

Skidding to a halt, the short detective rounded on the Jedi. "What about reading bodies? Can you do that?"

Quinlan folded his arms almost defensively. "I . . . can," he admitted warily, and Fox remembered what General Fisto had said about psychometrics reading murder weapons. If reading the weapons was strongly discouraged, Fox imagined that reading the bodies of those who had been murdered was probably even more discouraged.

"You can?" Divo narrowed his eyes. "Then why haven't –"

"I can't guarantee what I'll find," the Kiffar said, which was a neat way of sidetracking the question. Fox presumed he actually meant 'I didn't think of it, and also it might not be that useful'.

"What does that mean?" asked Divo.

"Sometimes I won't get anything from impressions," Vos answered. "Sometimes, it's just what they felt emotionally at the moment of death, sometimes it'll be an image of the most important person in their life, or the last clear thought they had, or whatever they were feeling physically."

". . . I see," said the inspector, with a perturbed expression. Then he abruptly returned to pacing. "So, what you're saying is, there's a chance you might learn something useful, and there's a chance you might not."

"Yeah."

"And you might see what they thought before they died?"

"I might." The Jedi clasped both hands against the back of his neck and eyed the inspector. "But we'd have the same problem as we'd have with reading objects. Given how quickly this poison kills, the victims wouldn't have had the opportunity to see or notice much."

"They wouldn't have needed to see or notice anything." Divo waved a hand, brushing the idea aside. "I didn't mean for you to read most of the victims, I meant for you to read Hilt's body. He probably knew who killed him, and why he was dying, and maybe even what killed him, right? And he'd have had that information foremost in his mind, wouldn't he?"

Fox felt himself straighten, and Quinlan nodded slowly. "Yeah. . ." he said. "Yeah, he probably would have, at that. It's worth a shot."

"Good," said Divo, whipping out his comm. "All right, then, Vos, we'll take my speeder. Let's get to the morgue."

"The body's still there?" the Jedi asked, surprised. "I thought the family would have claimed it by now."

"They would have." The inspector hurried out of the office. "But I'm holding it as evidence. The relations who came forward haven't put up a fuss about the delay. They seem to be eager to keep everything quiet."

"Not surprising," said Quinlan, keeping a hand on the half-open door. "You coming, Fox?"

"Give me a minute." The commander glanced at his chrono, then double-checked his schedule. There was still more than an hour before he would have to be at the Senate to check the security detail; and no doubt, Inspector Divo would want to discuss the case with him following this experiment, whether Vos found anything or not. "Yeah, I'm coming."

Fox grabbed his helmet, tucked it under one arm, and secured his office door before running a few steps to catch up with the others. Divo was moving at his usual energetic pace, and the Jedi somehow managed to stick close while looking like he was on a stroll. As they left the building, Fox noticed that Vos was holding a datapad, which, come to think of it, looked suspiciously like Fox's spare datapad. He was reading from it as he walked.

Coming up alongside him, Fox peered at the screen. The Jedi had somehow accessed the entire log of reports filed by Fox and his officers about the Hilt case, and was browsing rapidly through them.

"You own a datapad," Fox pointed out, as Divo gestured them towards his personal speeder.

"Uh-huh," the Jedi said, still reading. "But it's not up to date with the CG base; I didn't have time to do that when I reached Coruscant."

The commander got into the back seat with him and huffed loudly, to make sure Vos knew he was displeased. Then he blinked in realization.

"Vos," he said slowly. "I didn't give you my pass code."

"Hm?" Quinlan opened a new report and skimmed through it as Divo took off, edging properly into the traffic lane above them. " 'Course you didn't."

"Then how –"

"Oh, please. I've seen you put it in a dozen times."

The commander's pass code for shared cases was fifteen digits long. On top of that, he'd always taken care not to have people – apart from his highest-ranking officers, that was – behind him when he put it in, which meant that Vos had somehow memorized his pass code based on the motions of Fox's fingers as he input it.

That he could memorize it wasn't so surprising; it was probably some bizarre Force-ability or other, because Jedi had a lot of those. But why Vos would be memorizing his datapad code was beyond him.

Maybe he'd done it automatically. Maybe memorizing codes came along with being a Shadow and sticking your nose into everyone else's business. Fox had often wondered if prying into other people's affairs without being asked, or while actively being discouraged, was in the job description of 'Jedi Shadow'.

He was still considering whether or not that particular description would be likely, given the overall formality of the Jedi Council, when Quinlan suddenly shut off the datapad and handed it over. "Thanks," he said. "Just wanted to catch up on the case files before we reached the morgue."

"You could have asked," Fox informed him.

The Jedi looked surprised, as if the idea had never even occurred to him, and the commander slouched a little in his seat. Other Jedi who had worked with Fox were very particular about maintaining boundaries and asking permission for literally everything, to the point of absolute annoyance. Why couldn't Vos have at least half of that reserve?

The flight to CSF headquarters was short, and within a couple of minutes Divo was landing the speeder on a narrow platform attached to the long, flat building that housed forensics and the morgue.

"This way," the inspector said, hopping out. Straightening his coat with a swift tug, Divo strode towards a metal door guarded by two blue-armored officers.

Fox and Quinlan followed. Divo nodded briskly to the guards, waited for them to swing back the heavy door, and led the way into the building. The air was artificially cool and dry, and the halls were filled with quietly hurrying officers and scientists and inspectors, all busy with their own cases.

The inspector headed through another door and down a flight of metal grating steps into the basement. Fox had been down here before, several times, but something about the rows of sheet-covered bodies lying on cots and tagged with numbers still made him uncomfortable, especially when there were doctors moving among the bodies, dressed from head to toe in white.

Maybe it shouldn't have made Fox feel better when he saw the Jedi also staring at the floor as he walked, but it did.

Divo headed to cold storage, which was at the far back of the large room, and where most of the autopsies were carried out. "Still nothing on the substance that killed Hilt," the inspector commented as he held a small tag up to the camera and unlocked the door. "The pathologists say it was some kind of neurotoxin, but that doesn't narrow it down much."

"I imagine not," Vos said, as he and Fox followed Divo into the freezing cold room. It was negative ten degrees centigrade, according to the thermostat on the wall, and their breath hung in clouds. The Jedi pulled his short black cape around his arms.

The inspector tugged on a pair of rubber gloves and pointed to the third cot, where a covered body lay, labeled with Hilt's name and an identification number. "Okay, Vos," Divo said, turning to the Shadow. "Do your thing. You want me to have him brought out to the hall first? It's pretty cold in here."

"No." the Shadow answered, going to stand next to Hilt's body. "In here's better."

Fox agreed, because in here, there were fewer watching eyes. Putting his arms behind his back, the commander clasped one wrist in the opposite hand.

Divo folded back part of the sheet to expose Hilt's neck. "No need to uncover his face," he said bluntly.

With a faint grimace of agreement, Vos pulled off his gloves. "Fox," he said. "Is the door shut?"

"It will be," Fox said, and went over to shut it. "And if you're going to insist on working in this refrigerator while the rest of us are locked in with you, you've got a time limit."

"Right. I'll be quick." The Jedi knelt, holding the side of the cot with one hand, and touched Hilt's throat. Immediately, he stiffened, tightening his grip on the cot. His expression didn't change, but his eyes flickered back and forth unseeingly.

Fox's official opinion was that psychometry was the weirdest and most undesirable Force-ability he'd ever come across.

Divo came over and stood next to him. "That retrocognition of his is useful," he commented. "I'd hate to have it myself, though."

"Yeah," Fox said. "Let's hope it's actually worth it this time."

Vos blinked, went pale, doubled over, and muttered some phrase or other several times in a row.

"Should be worth it . . ." Divo answered, the words sounding like a question more than a statement. "I can't imagine he'd get nothing from Hilt's body."

Abruptly, Vos jerked away from the cot, jolting to his feet to lean sideways against the wall as he stared blankly at the sheet-covered corpse.

Fox wandered forward, watching for signs of potential collapse or aggression, since both of those had happened before. When neither occurred after a couple seconds, he said, "Vos. I take it you're alive. And aware."

"You kriffing moron," said Vos, with perfect clarity.

"What?" Divo blinked. "Who – Commander Fox?"

The Jedi didn't seem to hear him. When he looked up, though, and met Fox's raised eyebrow, he said, "Uh . . . What? What'd I say?"

"Were you cussing me out?" Fox asked, folding his arms. "Or Senator Hilt?"

"Hilt. Obviously." Vos went to the sanitizer pump and used it liberally. Then he wiped his hands on the sides of his tunic and pulled his gloves back on. "Lieutenant, we're done here."

Divo unlocked the door again without a word, and they filed out into the hall. Only after the door was shut behind them did Fox say, "What did you learn?"

"I know the gang's name," said the Jedi. He blinked. "Um, but first – Hilt was killed by a neurotoxin made from snakes. It's extremely painful."

Divo took out his datapad and jotted something down. "Any particular area where the pain is concentrated? Stomach, chest?"

"Both at first, but only for a few seconds," said the Jedi. "Then it spread everywhere."

The lieutenant nodded. "I'll give that data to forensics. No idea of the toxin's name, I suppose, or the snakes it came from?"

"No, but Hilt recognized the symptoms immediately. He'd had the same poison used on someone else – um. . ." He closed his eyes briefly, trying to remember. "Not sure if this was a first or last name, but a guy named Amano?"

Fox and Divo exchanged looks of recognition. Amano. Hilt's political rival, who had unexpectedly and conveniently – for Hilt – died.

"Amano, huh?" asked Divo. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah," said Vos. "Hilt was thinking about him pretty loudly."

Divo eyed him, then proceeded to scribble more notes on his 'pad. "Okay. What about the gang's name? No chance of a mistake there, I take it."

"None. Hilt knew exactly who was killing him and why. They're a gang called the Pit Vipers. They assassinated him because he wouldn't pay them for Amano's death."

"Hm," said Divo. "Dug his own grave, didn't he?"

". . . You could say that," said Quinlan, a bit stiffly. Fox supposed his usual morbid sense of humor had been impacted by having experienced a shadow of the senator's death.

The inspector strode a few steps down the hall and then back, tapping his datapad against the opposite hand. "This'll never stand up as evidence, but I can at least tell the Senate we received intelligence incriminating this gang . . . Put out a few probes, start looking for the gang itself. . . Thanks, Vos. Thanks, Commander. You can find your way out? I'll talk to you later."

Before either of them had a chance to respond, the short inspector had rushed off and out of sight.

"Guess I'll get back to headquarters," said Fox into the sudden silence. Then, jerking his chin towards the door Divo had rushed out through, he added, "Of course, we'll have to find ourselves another speeder."

As they headed back outside, the Jedi said, "Hey, Fox?"

"What?"

"I'll give you two guesses about the name of the gang I was hunting down on Jedha."

Fox stopped walking and turned to him, raising an eyebrow. He knew the answer just from the Jedi's tone of voice. "Also the Pit Vipers?"

"Got it in one."

"The same exact gang?" Fox asked. "Or . . . different divisions and bases, like with the Pyke Syndicate?"

"That's what I don't know yet," the Shadow answered. "The poison used on the victims there wasn't the same as either of the ones you mentioned – but the gang could very well be the same."

"I see," said Fox. "Well. Isn't that just our luck."

Chapter Text

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Eleven, night

Aayla stood in a small garden, watching the moonlight reflect in and around the dozens of beautiful crystal statues that stood among the flowers. The size of the kyber statues varied greatly throughout the Temple grounds. In this particular garden, they were mostly under a meter high; whereas in another part of the Temple, there had been a crystal tree that towered almost fifteen meters into the air.

The Head Guardian of the Whills had shown Aayla around the entire place before leaving to attend to his duties, some thirty minutes ago. After that, Aayla had commed Ahsoka, who had gone with Baze to guide the commandos back; then, the Twi'lek woman had meditated for a bit, the quiet, peaceful sounds of the city at night fading into the background.

While waiting for the others to join her, Aayla spent some time walking around the path, enjoying the beauty of the garden and the crystals that grew in it. Some of the statues portrayed creatures, both real and mythical – at least, mythical to the best of her knowledge – while others had grown to look like plants. There was even a tiny crystal flower, perfectly formed in every detail but only three centimeters in height, that appeared to have sprung directly from the rock it stood on. It glowed in the moonlight just as brightly as the largest statues, and Aayla bent to touch it with one finger. The crystal was cool to the touch, and so smooth that it felt soft.

She was admiring another small crystal, one so young that it hadn't even begun to take its shape, when she heard quiet voices and footsteps approaching. Aayla turned to face the arched doorway just as Ahsoka trotted into view, followed closely by Boss and the rest of the commandos.

"All set, Master Secura," Ahsoka whispered, hurrying to join her. "We weren't followed, and the guy from earlier hadn't been near the Marauder in hours. Baze just went to make sure the other Guardians are in position."

"Very good." Aayla encompassed all the clones with a quick look and led the way to the fountain, where she'd left her datapad.

As they joined her, helmets off, she noticed all of them glancing around at the soft crystalline glow that permeated the garden. Sev glanced at each and every statue in sight within the space of a few seconds, as if he were assessing them as potential hostiles, and then settled on looking at one of an ocean wave.

Wrecker blinked twice, opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally settled on whispering, "Wowwww."

Hunter and Fixer stared at a cluster of crystal roses without saying anything, while Boss observed the entire area with a look of serene approval.

"Hm," said Tech. "This garden is beautiful."

"Yeah," said Scorch. "Pretty amazing, if you ask me."

"No one did," Crosshair said absently. But despite his words, he was the only one of the troopers who continued to stare unblinkingly at the crystals, the light reflecting oddly in his eyes.

Aayla cleared her throat. "All right, commandos," she said. "This is the plan that Head Guardian Emmkar and I decided on. Although we do not know whether there will be a raid tonight, we intend to prepare as though there will be one. Already, the Guardians of the Whills are taking positions throughout the tunnels, and barricading the entrances behind them."

Scorch raised one hand with a slight wave. "Quick question, here."

When Aayla nodded for him to continue, he asked, "What if they blow the tunnel doors?"

"If they do, we will be able to converge on their location," she told him. "So far, however, Emmkar tells me they have carried out their raids as silently as possible."

"If that's the case," Boss said, "then sealing the tunnel entrances will force any raiders up here."

"Exactly," said Aayla. "My hope is that once the Vipers realize that the tunnels are inaccessible without a good deal of effort and risk, they'll come into one of the courtyards instead."

"And we can deal with them there," finished Ahsoka, arms folded. "Right, Master Secura?"

"To an extent, yes." Aayla pointed to her datapad. "We will be watching the four main entrances."

Crosshair and Wrecker shifted, exchanging looks, and Hunter said, "Just watching, ma'am?"

"No," she answered. "Part of what we do will depend on what the Vipers do, and how many there are. I am certain that even if there were twenty raiders, we could deal with them. However, a defeat that serious on the Pit Viper's part could result in the entire gang choosing to withdraw from Jedha."

"Wouldn't want that," said Sev, with a nod of agreement. His gaze flickered to the garden's arched doorway. "What's the objective, then? Discourage 'em?"

Aayla shook her head and pulled up a different map. "Not necessarily. We don't know what, exactly, we are dealing with yet. According to Quinlan, this is the cave system where they are hiding out."

"Crescent Caverns," said Fixer. He also opened a map of the place, and looked like he was about to say something further when Sev and Scorch corralled him roughly from either side so they could lean over his shoulders and see the diagram.

"As you can see," said Aayla, "the cave system is immense. When I spoke with Emmkar, he said that there are dozens of tunnels and side passages and small caves in the system. Anyone who wished to stage an ambush in there could do so easily."

Hunter looked up in sudden interest, a question obvious in his eyes.

"We are not planning to stage an ambush there," Aayla told him wryly. "At least, not yet. I would like to know, first, what we are dealing with in terms of enemy numbers and strength. In order to do that, I need prisoners."

"No problem," Scorch said, cracking his knuckles loudly. "How many do you want, ma'am? And would you like them plain, or lightly toasted?"

"Delta Six-Two!" snapped Fixer.

"Whaaat?" protested Scorch, all false innocence, while Crosshair looked unwillingly entertained.

Aayla suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "We will have to take at least two prisoners," she said. "And we will have to be cautious. I do not want the Vipers to learn that Jedi are here."

"So, no lightsabers," said Ahsoka.

"Unless they prove to be necessary," Aayla clarified. "We need every advantage over them that we can get, and that includes the element of surprise. If they do not know we are Jedi, so much the better. But not at the risk of our lives, or anyone else's."

"Except the bad guys'," whispered Wrecker. Aayla pretended not to hear, and Sev elbowed him in solidarity.

The padawan nodded her understanding, and Aayla turned to the soldiers and said, "The same goes for you; if you can stay out of sight, do so. We will split into teams for the remainder of the night and keep our comms open at all times."

"Understood," said Boss. "How many teams, ma'am?"

"Hm." Aayla rested a hand on her chin. "As many as possible; there are at least ten gardens and courtyards that are likely targets, including this one, but I don't want anyone alone. Putting two in each team will maximize our ability to cover ground."

"That gives us five teams, then," said Hunter, and either didn't notice or chose to ignore Crosshair's eyeroll at his obvious statement. "Guess we can split the gardens and courtyards up among teams and patrol –"

"Six teams," interrupted someone, and Aayla glanced up as Baze strode into the garden, his dark blue tunic swishing around his knees. He was closely followed by Chirrut, who was spinning his long, thin staff idly at one side.

"Six teams, then," said Aayla, raising an eyebrow. A few other Guardians had spoken to her, assuring her that if she needed help defending the Temple, she had only to ask; but Aayla didn't want to ask, unless she truly needed the help. The Pit Vipers were ruthless, proven by the fact that they'd killed an elderly woman; and then, in the raid on the tunnels, a boy who'd only just turned twelve. Those had been unnecessary deaths, to the point where most of the criminals Aayla had dealt with in the past – even the gangs – would not have carried them out.

But although Aayla didn't want to risk the elderly or the very young, especially when there was no need, Chirrut and Baze could handle themselves. And, based on the almost challenging look Baze had in his eyes, he at least would not be taking no for an answer.

Fixer, who was looking down at his screen, took a step closer to Aayla. "Which areas are the ones you think will be targeted?" he asked, gesturing to a map with a rough outline of the Temple of the Whills.

Aayla had only just glanced at it when Tech joined them. "I have already marked that out, based on the proximity of each garden to the main entrances," he said, adjusting his goggles with one hand. "I believe this assessment is accurate?"

"Ask the Guardians," Aayla suggested. "They'll know best."

"Ah." Tech turned and went over to them. "Do you think these courtyards and gardens are at the most risk?"

"I could not begin to say," said Chirrut blandly.

Baze huffed and held out a hand; after a brief, confused pause, Tech gave him the datapad.

The tall Guardian studied it through narrowed eyes, then tapped one area of the screen. "All except this one, maybe," he said. "It's close to the entrance, but it doesn't have many statues. This one's farther in, but it has a lot of meter-high crystals in it."

"Easy to steal?" Boss asked.

Baze nodded grimly. "Easier than hacking apart the biggest ones, anyway – if we presume the Vipers have scouted out enough of the Temple by now to know what the best targets are."

"They have," said Chirrut, with absolute certainty. Several of the others turned to look at him, including Baze, but Chirrut didn't bother explaining himself.

"Very well," said Aayla. "The raids so far have happened after midnight, so that should give everyone a few hours to familiarize themselves with the layout of the Temple. Be wary, in case the Vipers decide to attack earlier than usual."

"Right," said Hunter. He turned to his team, as if he were going to give an order, but then his gaze flickered to Boss.

The Delta sergeant noticed. "I don't think there's any particular way we need to team up," he said. "Is Ahsoka teaming up with you, Gen – ma'am?"

Aayla shook her head. "If something were to go wrong for one of us, the other Jedi needs to remain uncompromised. We have only twelve people in all, at the moment. We should use them as efficiently as possible, even in a simple area of the mission such as this. Divide your teams as you like."

"Same goes for us," said Baze. "Chirrut and I can be in separate teams. We know the Temple best, after all."

"Understood." Boss glanced over the others. "Sergeant Hunter, I recommend we split our forces between squads. Fixer and Tech are both capable of helping direct the rest of us, if they have a good vantage point. I'm putting Fixer on overwatch."

The sergeant of Clone Force Ninety-Nine eyed him. "Crosshair, you're with the corporal. Watch his back. Tech, you're also on overwatch, opposite position."

Crosshair put a toothpick in his mouth and ambled over to Fixer.

Aayla watched, mildly interested by how Hunter had not assigned Crosshair to Tech instead. He seemed to be making an effort to cooperate with the Deltas. Or, perhaps, in the two squads' time on the Havoc Marauder, the infighting had gotten tiresome to both sergeants, to the point of making them want to swap squad mates for a bit. The idea amused her because it seemed very likely.

"Sev, you're with Tech," said Boss. "Don't let him walk into anything."

When Tech glanced up, affronted, Sev said, "Don't worry, Three-Eight. The first time was more 'n enough for me."

"It only happened once," whispered Tech fiercely, as Sev joined him. "And it was only because I was preoccupied."

"Exactly," grunted Sev.

Aayla wondered what in the galaxy had taken place on the Marauder. Then again, perhaps nothing much had happened. There had been often been equally confusing conversations happening among the members of the 327th, and Bly always ignored them. Perhaps he had the right idea.

"Wrecker," said Hunter thoughtfully. "You should go with the g –" He cut himself off, actually rolling his eyes, and tried again. "Go with Secura."

He shot Aayla a questioning look, and she nodded. "As you say, Sergeant."

"Okay," said Wrecker cheerfully. He marched over and stood next to Aayla, towering over her five feet seven inches by almost a foot. "You can grab the Pit Vipers with the Force," he suggested. "And I'll pound 'em for you."

"Wrecker," Hunter said. "It's a stealth mission."

The tall commando shrugged, lifting both hands. "Okay, I'll pound 'em quietly!"

Aayla glanced up at him, unable to hold back a smile at his good-natured demeanor. "Hopefully, that will not be necessary," she said. "But I will keep it in mind."

He grinned in reply.

"Scorch," said Boss. "You're with Ahsoka. You two will be the backup team and stay out of the fight until you're called in."

Both of them looked disappointed, but both of them nodded.

Then, Chirrut said, "I shall go with you, Sergeant."

The two sergeants glanced at each other, then at the two Guardians. Chirrut was smiling innocently, waiting for a response.

Baze groaned and went over to Hunter. "There are two sergeants, you nitwit."

"True," said the blind Guardian. "I meant that I would go with Boss. But saying both the title and the name –"

The smirk on Fixer's face, and the irked sigh that Boss let out, said it all.

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Twelve, morning

Once Fox and Quinlan finally managed to locate a speeder that the CSF droids would let them borrow, the commander insisted on being the one to pilot them back to CG headquarters. As he started the engine, Quinlan vaulted into the passenger seat, wondering about chance and fate and how in the galaxy he'd ended up being assigned to two separate missions that involved the same gang. . . Well, if this mission did involve the same exact gang as on Jedha, that was. If it was two divisions of the gang, he'd still have to worry about them communicating with each other; but not the same way as if they were both under the same boss.

Fox muttered something and made a hard turn to skid between traffic lanes. It was evident that he'd learned to pilot and drive the same exact way Cody had – which made it all the more surprising that he hated having Quinlan be the one in the driver's seat.

The Jedi was about to ask a question about the case when Fox accelerated and pulled back on the steering yoke, forcing the speeder up and cutting through two of the lanes above them.

"Careful," said Quinlan, out of habit more than anything else. "There's these annoying things called speed limits around here."

"Yeah," Fox grunted, swerving again so he could get around the long airbus ahead of him. "You'd know all about those, wouldn't you?"

"Hmm . . ." Quinlan wasn't really paying attention anymore. He sat back, drumming his fingers on the door handle as he considered. "Hey, Fox – as far as this case is concerned, what's your next step going to be?"

The clone commander angled the speeder down towards the CG headquarters and slowed before he answered. "I figure I'll wait until Divo has a chance to reach out to his informants. Once we have more intel, of any kind, I'll go from there. If Senator Hilt was buying from these Pit Vipers, he obviously learned about them, had a way to contact them. I doubt they go around looking for corrupt politicians to sell to."

"I mean, they might," said Quinlan.

Fox sighed. "Yeah, they might. Not statistically likely, though."

"Fair."

"So far, this hasn't been like dealing with Black Sun, or the Pike Syndicate," said Fox. "This gang of Pit Vipers seems to be pretty much off the grid. Our best slicers couldn't find anything on how to contact them even after going through all of Hilt's accounts and devices."

"Nothing?" Quinlan frowned. "But surely he wasn't speaking to them in person, was he? He has to have commed them, at some point."

"He did comm them. At least, we think he did. Found a stash of burner comms in his rooms – not that it means they were for this business." Fox swerved onto the landing pad, bringing the speeder to a halt right next to Quinlan's starfighter. "But we haven't found that he was mixed up in anything else illegal."

"And he hired the Pit Vipers when he was still living on Telos Five."

"Yeah. The police there haven't found anything, but he was on Coruscant before the election. Several times, in fact."

Quinlan hopped out of the speeder. "So we can presume that's when they got hold of him, or when he got hold of them."

"Exactly." The commander took off his helmet and swiped a hand over his hair to brush it back from his forehead. "And now that we've got a name, Lieutenant Divo should be able to find something. Until then, I don't see there's much either of us can do about the case – unless you want to keep investigating the one on Jedha, long-distance."

"Doesn't seem to be much point in that."

"Guess not," Fox agreed. "If they are the same gang, isn't it surprising that you found them so quickly?"

"Maybe not," Quinlan answered, wandering towards his starfighter. "I have a feeling they aren't planning to be there long term."

"A feeling," scoffed the commander, which was fair enough.

"Okay, fine," said Quinlan. "I think they're not going to be there long term, because there's no real market. The city's got a population of ten thousand, mainly peaceful, crime rate practically nonexistent."

Fox eyed him.

"I'm not kidding," Quinlan said. "There's not even a police force."

"What?!"

"The Guardians deal with any petty theft that comes up, and there were only four instances of that over the last year."

"Only four?" The commander shook his head disbelievingly.

"Yeah," said Quinlan. "The people there are not like the people here."

"But only petty theft?"

"Yes."

". . . Vos, that doesn't even begin to make sense."

"NiJedha is just an entirely different place," answered Quinlan. "I know it's a culture shock, but just calm down and take a deep breath before you pass out."

Fox did not look amused. "So," he said. "The crime rate on Jedha – or at least in NiJedha – is unbelievably low. At least, it was until the Vipers showed up. And you found them easily."

"I knew they probably weren't hiding out in the city," Quinlan said. "So the next obvious place to look was one of the cave systems. There are quite a few, all several miles from the city."

The commander hummed his understanding. "How'd you learn the gang's name?"

"They sent me a death threat."

"They signed it?" Fox clipped his helmet to his belt and folded his arms.

"Well . . ." Quinlan paused, thinking back to the flimsi note that had been given to him in the street. "Someone signed it. Hold on a second."

He ran to his starfighter, unsealed the hatch, and took out his pack. It took a moment, but he eventually located the note, which he'd stored in a plastic bag. "Here."

He'd barely started to unfold it when Fox snatched it from him, eyes skimming quickly over the paper. Quinlan raised an eyebrow and waited. The note itself was nothing interesting – just the typical 'stop interfering with our business or we'll make you wish you'd never been born' type of threat that a lot of gangsters seemed to like using. Rather generic, no imaginative threats . . .

"This doesn't say 'the Pit Vipers'," Fox said.

"It doesn't?!" Quinlan joined him, peering over his shoulder. To him, the signature still looked like it said, 'the Pit Vipers', but clearly the commander was seeing something he wasn't. "Okay, then what does it say?"

Fox pointed to the last letter. "That's not an 's', Vos, just a flourish. It says 'the Pit Viper."

". . . It does?" said Quinlan. He squinted, turned his head sideways, and finally said, "Oh, you're right. Huh. Then I guess we can assume that the leader of the gang is on Jedha and not here."

"I guess we can." Fox considered, tapping the note against his other hand. "It still doesn't tell us for sure whether the gang here is the same division as on Jedha, but given that the Vipers have, as far as we know, been on Jedha for less than two weeks, it's a safe assumption."

"Great," said Quinlan. "Might make it easier on our end, then, if their usual boss is gone."

"Maybe," said Fox. "Vos, you have anything to do right now?"

"Why, you trying to get rid of me?"

"I wouldn't be so obvious if I were," Fox said.

"Right, sorry." Quinlan considered. He was supposed to meet with Kit Fisto and Monnk, and his CO, whoever that was. . . not that he'd be working with his newly-assigned men until this mission was over. "I'm supposed to go the Temple at some point, but I haven't heard that there's any rush about it."

"Good," said Fox. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he were putting pieces of a puzzle together. He probably was. Quinlan had noticed early on that the commander of the Coruscant Guard was extremely smart.

"Okay, let's hear it," Quinlan said.

Fox blinked and looked sidelong at him. "What?"

"I know you have an idea."

"An idea of sorts," he admitted. "Could be a somewhat useful . . . or, it could be a complete waste of time."

"Well, if it's even a little useful, it'll be better than nothing. What is it?"

"Let's get back to my office," said Fox. "I want to come up with a timeline for all the occurrences related to the Vipers that we're aware of, involving both Jedha and Coruscant. If we do it right, we might be able to build some kind of profile whoever's currently in charge of this end of things."

Quinlan thought about that, then gestured. "Can't hurt. By all means, Commander – lead the way."

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Twelve, morning

The sound of the door closing as Vos left the room brought Fox back to the present, and he cast a quick look at the chronometer, surprised at how quickly the time had passed.

Sitting back in his chair, the commander pressed the palms of his hands against both eyes to alleviate the pressure in his head. He hadn't been staring at the screen that long. . . less than an hour, really; and there hadn't been any crises today. Yet. So, this headache was probably due not to unusual stress, but to a lack of caf. That's what he got for having an early, caf-less start to the day.

Come to think of it, a fresh, hot drink sounded like an exceptionally good idea right now. Of course, he'd forgotten to restock the caf grounds in his office – that had to go on a priority list for later today, actually – but he could head down to the mess hall. . .

Fox was about to stand up when his comm dinged. He answered it with an inaudible sigh. "Commander Fox speaking."

"This is Agent Archane, Commander," said the Nautolan woman's voice. "I am on my way to headquarters with an update for you."

And she ended the call before he could even start to ask what she'd been up to since vanishing from the grid, some three days ago.

Fox huffed and stared down at his comm. She'd found something, that much was obvious. Disappearing for three days and then reporting casually like it was a standard check-in. . .

And, since Vythia never notified him that she was 'on her way' until she was literally at headquarters, it meant he had less than two minutes before her arrival in his office. She was as bad as Vos.

Unfortunately, her proximity meant that Fox wouldn't have time to walk down to the mess hall and brew a quart or so of caf before she got here, but it couldn't be helped. This case was important.

Those couple of minutes, though, might give Fox just enough time to run down to the break room and swipe a cup of freshly brewed caf from an innocent, unsuspecting rookie. There were usually several troopers around there, this time of day.

Decided on his course of action, Fox got to his feet and took one step. Then the door opened, and the Guard's resident headache-inducing Jedi sauntered back into the room – and placed a cup of hot black cinnamon caf on the desk with a flourish.

"I figured I should bring you some," Vos said, falling gracefully into the nearest chair. "I felt you plotting against your poor rookies from across the building."

"No, you didn't," muttered Fox. He picked up the caf and sipped it anyway, narrowing his eyes at Vos over the edge of the cup. "You've been gone for less than a minute. Thorn handed this to you and told you to say that, didn't he?"

Instead of answering, the Jedi hopped to his feet, went back to the door, opened it, and yelled down the hallway: "Okay, so you were right! Happy now?"

From outside, Thorn laughed.

Sometimes, Fox wanted to open an official investigation into whether Quinlan Vos was actually a Jedi, or whether he was just a random Force-user the Jedi Council had decided to install in the Temple just before the war began.

Thorn didn't have the same excuse, because Fox had known him for years and personally promoted him to captain; and yet, nonetheless, there were times where he had to wonder.

Captain Thorn claimed, to the shinies, that his name was Thorn because he was a thorn in the enemy's side. That was not strictly true; somehow, Thorn had conveniently 'forgotten' the day when Fox and Cody and Wolffe agreed that he was a thorn in their sides, and then realized that it would make a good name.

Taking another sip, Fox activated his comm. "Captain Thorn," he drawled. "Since you clearly aren't busy right now, get in here."

He hung up before Thorn could answer and began a mental count. By the time he reached five, Thorn was in his office, wearing a smile that was only a bit sheepish.

Fox met his gaze and slowly raised an eyebrow. "Captain," he said.

Thorn ignored him, instead glancing at Vos in surprise, as though he hadn't been placing bets with the Jedi thirty seconds ago. "Oh – General Vos!"

Vos glanced up from his datapad with a serious nod. "Captain."

"General." Thorn turned to Fox and saluted. "Commander."

"Kriff's sake," protested Fox, in a mumble. He stared down at the series of notes he'd written about the crimes committed on Jedha. "Thorn, I want you to go to the side entrance and unlock it. Escort our informant to my office."

"Yes, sir." Thorn glanced at Fox's caf and left, still grinning.

The commander shook his head and got back to work, flicking his gaze between the two datapads he had set in front of him as he compared the dates and times of each crime that had been recorded.

"Any conclusions about the leader yet?" asked the Jedi, who was half-sitting, half-lying down, legs draped over one arm of the chair as he stared up at the datapad he held over his head. "I have one, and only one."

"Yeah?" Commander Fox tapped at the datapad with the end of his stylus, then set aside the writing implement. "Here's one observation. Whoever ordered Hilt's assassination – presumably, the Nautolan male whom we know to be currently in charge on Coruscant – didn't waste any time going after Hilt's servants. If you ask me, the victims' deaths were too soon after Hilt's."

"That's my observation as well." Vos twisted around to sit upright. "And my conclusion is that this Nautolan, whoever he is – he's confident. Overconfident, even."

Fox nodded his agreement. "Either that, or he's trying to lure us into a trap. If he didn't want the CSF or CG to draw any kind of a connection between the murders and themselves, why would he have everyone connected with the case killed within such short order?"

"I thought of that, but it seems more likely that he's just overconfident." For a moment, Quinlan looked thoughtful, but then he gave a distracted blink and sent a sharp look at the closed door. "Fox. . . who is this informant of yours?"

The commander eyed him, surprised that Vos had picked up on Vythia's presence. Even General Fisto, who could easily tell clones apart in the Force, had complained that she was hard to sense, let alone read, because her mental shields were so strong. Maybe the Kiffar Jedi had just gotten good at sensing her, on whatever Sith-cursed mission the two of them had been on.

The commander was about to answer when Quinlan got to his feet. "Vythia?" he said. "What in the galaxy –"

From outside the door, Fox heard Thorn's voice, coming closer. "What? How do you know it's Vos?"

Fox shut his month, concluding there was something weird about both Vythia and the Jedi. Some Force-nonsense or other. Well, this should be fun.

The door opened, and Thorn entered; but the Nautolan woman behind him stopped just outside the doorway, one hand resting on the casing, her fake eyebrows lifted in obvious surprise.

"Quinlan Vos," she said at last, tone utterly neutral. "I did not know that you were on Coruscant."

"Neither did I," he answered, apparently too surprised to make sense. Then he blinked at his own words and pulled a wry face. "I mean, I didn't know you were planetside."

"She's been working with us for a while," said Fox, standing up and shoving all the datapads to one side of the desk. "Vythia, are you coming in, or do we have to conduct this meeting in the hall?"

The Nautolan woman sauntered deliberately into the room and shut the door, casting the Jedi another sideways look before turning her attention to Fox. "I have an update on the case," she said.

"Good." Fox pointed her to the nearest chair. "So do we."

"And who is 'we'?"

"Vos and myself," said Fox, jerking his chin at the Jedi. "He learned that Hilt was killed by a gang named the Pit Vipers."

"Ah, is that what they are called?" Vythia smoothed out her skirt and sat down. "I was curious."

"Yeah." Fox paced to the old-fashioned bookcase and back. "So, we now have some fairly solid information to work from; the gang name, the fact that they sell poison and possibly assassinations for a living, and the knowledge that the current leader is a Nautolan male."

"Current leader?" she asked.
"Yeah," said Vos. "There's a slight potential complication to this case. If my suspicions are correct, part of the gang we're dealing with is currently on Jedha, stealing kyber crystals."

Vythia sat upright, her whole demeanor sharpening as she leaned towards the Kiffar. "Stealing kyber crystals from Jedha?"

Fox looked at Thorn, who turned his hands palm-up in a shrug.

"It's not her," Quinlan said.

"You are certain?" Vythia demanded.

"Beyond certain."

"Because of the Force?"

". . . mostly."

Thorn and Fox glanced back and forth between them as the rapid conversation continued.

"The kyber could be going to her, all the same," said Vythia.

"Could be, but it's not."

"You cannot know that."

"You'd think I would." The Jedi tilted his head. "Actually, I'd think you would know better than anyone. She's . . . waiting, for now."

Vythia stared at him for almost a quarter of a minute, as if she was trying to read something out of his mind, while Quinlan held her gaze. At last, the Nautolan woman relaxed and inclined her head.

"Perhaps you are right," she admitted, sitting back and crossing her legs.

Thorn stepped sideways, nudging Fox with his shoulder. "Hey, Commander," he whispered. "What in the name of the Republic was that all about?"

Fox shook his head, because he had no answers and was a little afraid to ask.

"So," said Vythia. "That is why you have transferred to this case."

"The CG needed my help. The others didn't." Vos wandered to Fox's desk and glanced at the timeline on the screen. "Let me guess, Vythia: you just brought the commander some information that renders my presence here totally obsolete."

"Hm." Vythia smirked. "Perhaps, perhaps not. But I believe I have narrowed down the search, at the very least."

She turned to Fox, who clasped his hands behind his back and announced, "You haven't reported in since Senator Elin's death."

"I am aware."

"Three days," said Fox sternly. "What have you been up to?"

"Working." Vythia gave him a half-amused smile. "Do not tell me you were worried."

"Frankly?" Fox sat down behind his desk again. "I was worried. Worried that I'd have to find a replacement for you."

"That is a reasonable concern," she said, with a calm self-assurance that wasn't quite arrogance. "You would be unable to replace me."

"Right. . ." He glanced at Thorn, who was standing near the bookcase, and who seemed to be amused by Vythia. Of course he wouldn't be any help. Fox gestured to the Nautolan woman and said, "Your report, please."

She nodded. "After leaving the Senate District, I spoke to some of my contacts and placed watches on several of the larger gangs who are known by the CSF to use poison in their attacks, both deadly and otherwise."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because I suspected that the gang we were after sold poison, rather than just employing it. Hilt's questionable history with his rival, the fact that his rival died in a similar fashion to Hilt himself, and the fact that Hilt suddenly transferred most of his funds into a private account back on Telos Five – all these, taken together, made me wonder if Hilt had been unable or unwilling to pay for services rendered by the gang that, as a result, executed him."

"You're absolutely right," Fox said. "Vos confirmed that this morning."

"Oh?" Vythia eyed him. "How did he confirm that?"

"He read Hilt's body," Fox replied, and brushed aside the topic with a gesture. "So, you went after gangs who bought poison. And found something."

"Yes. There were deliveries made to three separate gangs, in two days, by a rather noticeable team, whom I was able to identify last night – a Twi'lek female named Aleena Saresh, and a Trandoshan male named Hirrsk. All three times that they were reported to me, before last night, I ordered my contacts to trail them. And, all three times, even when working on different deliveries from each other, this team met at Javyar's Cantina after completing the deliveries. After they left the cantina, however, my contacts lost track of them."

"I see," said Fox, sure he knew where this was going. "So you followed them yourself, is that it?"

She blinked slowly. "Last night, I set multiple contacts around the sector to watch for them. They were picked up and trailed, to separate buyers. As soon as my contacts reported in, I went to the cantina and waited. When Hirrsk and Aleena arrived, I followed them a short distance, then attached a tracking device to the Twi'lek. From there, I quickly lost sight of them. However . . ."

Taking a datapad out of her satchel, she turned it on and stood up to give it to Fox. "Here are the coordinates. She did remain in the same area for a few minutes before the signal vanished, and I believe she was at her destination when the signal was lost at the source."

"She found the device," said Fox, copying down the coordinates before even looking at the map. "Or someone else did."

"Yes," she answered. "And I am sure that the Pit Vipers – if I was tracking the same gang – are now aware that they are being hunted."

"Fun," said Quinlan, appearing next to Fox and leaning over his shoulder. "Oh, they're on the borders of the Uscru District. . . Huh."

"What?" demanded Thorn, promptly leaning over Fox's other shoulder. "What are they doing in the entertainment district?"

"They're not really in the district," Fox pointed out. "Besides, the lower levels of Uscru have always been a hellhole."

"True," said Vythia. "But it is still an odd choice, is it not? Putting themselves in an area designed to be easily accessible. . . They could have hidden far down, in a maze, as most of the skillful gangs on Nar Shaddaa did."

"This isn't Nar Shaddaa, though," said Quinlan. "Even though it can occasionally be hard to tell."

She raised an eyebrow.

Quinlan went on. "The Pit Vipers clearly serve rich clientele, possibly even a large percentage of the time, and the Uscru District is the best place to be for that."

"Really?" Thorn asked, with a confused glance. "How do you figure that?"

Vos shrugged. "You're a rich person and want to poison someone? Get in touch with the Vipers while you're at the opera house or restaurant . . . no real name needed, just a description of yourself and an ID code and a simple, one-use phrase for them to test you with when they get there. Then the Vipers show up under some guise or other, deliver what you want, you pay, transaction closed – no further contact ever likely to happen . . . Y'know, when you think about it, it's ridiculously simple. As far as criminal transactions go, anyway."

Sometimes, Fox thought that Quinlan was a little too comfortable with thinking like a criminal. "Right," he said, and looked at his captain. "Thorn, make sure Kilo gets this information. See if he and Steele can pinpoint the exact building and get us some intel about it and the surrounding area."

"Right away, sir." Taking Fox's neatly scribbled notes, the captain hurried out of the room.

Quinlan wandered away from the desk. Vythia leaned back, an elbow on one arm of the chair, and rested her head against her hand as she watched Fox.

The commander pulled up the CG's duty roster to see what kind of numbers he had available for an emergency raid, if need be. As it turned out, the numbers weren't looking fantastic. While he could pull any squads he needed in an emergency; and in fact could pull from CSF resources if he needed to, a decision like that would leave other officers like Stone and Thire and Divo dangerously shorthanded, should they need to stage a rescue or break-in. Fox couldn't just pull security for this.

And the CSF was even more shorthanded than the CG right now, which was a bad sign. Still, there was no use in planning too far ahead. It would likely be at least a day before Fox could even think about actively raiding the Pit Vipers. Right now, there was too much he didn't know.

When Fox reached for his comm, intending to message Lieutenant Divo and let him know about developments, he noticed that Vythia was still watching him. The Jedi, meanwhile, was staring out the office window into the depths of the city.

"What is it?" Fox asked, meeting Vythia's eyes.

She blinked at him in that distinctly Nautolan way. "I am wondering what you intend to do, and how."

"Nothing, yet," Fox told her. "It would be suicide to try to raid the gang this early on. Maybe even suicide to investigate them too closely. We'll need to gather intel about the area and their numbers, see if the CSF doctors have had any luck with figuring out an antivenom, organize some kind of raid that won't tip every other gang in the neighborhood off. . . if that's even possible."

He trailed off, considering. "Ideally, the Vipers would be in one large building, and we'd be able to subdue them with sonic weaponry or other nonlethal means."

Vythia scoffed, very quietly, and then acted like she hadn't.

Behind Fox, the Jedi gave an amused huff and said, "Vythia, trying to take the Vipers alive isn't from an excess of sentiment. It's more useful, long-term, to capture them than to kill them. Coruscant gangs are different from Nar Shaddaa. The ones here tend to have a lot of interaction with each other, and capturing the members of one gang often helps the CSF take out three or four other gangs. Besides. . . sometimes gangs keep prisoners in their headquarters as collateral."

"I see." She inclined her head slightly, then stood. "Well, there is no use in my waiting here. I shall go back into the city, until you are ready to plan the raid."

Fox didn't like that idea, and he allowed his doubt to show. "By yourself?"

"Of course." Vythia touched her right hand to the pistol and the electrowhip that hung at her side, as if checking that they were still there. "I always work alone."

"Always work alone," repeated Vos, finally coming back into Fox's view. "Yeah, that sounds weirdly familiar."

Vythia gave him a freezing look and then ignored him in favor of turning to the commander. "Why are you hesitant this time as opposed to any other?"

"Because the Pit Vipers know someone's after them," Fox explained, pulling his datapad towards him. "They might even know you specifically are after them. It's not like you can blend into a crowd easily, Vythia."

"That is true." She considered. "I will be sure not to approach the building which we suspect of being the hideout."

"What kind of intel are you after?" Fox asked.

"At the moment, nothing in particular." She tapped her fingers against her electrowhip hilt. "I will visit the safehouse in the Uscru district and check its security measures. Before that, though, I will get any remaining reports from our contacts, pay them off, and tell them to leave the area."

"Good idea," said Fox, as he started to compose the message to Divo. "We don't need anyone accidentally tipping off the enemy. If you can, report in every two hours."

"I will do so." She inclined her head and went towards the door.

"And call earlier if you run into trouble," Vos suggested. "I'm on this case until it's over or I get pulled off it, so I've got plenty of time to stage rescues."

She glanced over her shoulder, a faint smirk touching her face. "Quinlan," she said. "Believe me, if ever I wish to get in unnecessary danger, or to overcomplicate a situation, I shall be sure to contact you before anyone else."

And she slipped out of the room before he could even start to retort.

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Eleven, late night

Delta Oh-Seven stood motionless on the wall surrounding the Temple courtyards, his back pressed against the tower that joined this wall to the one adjacent. He had good visibility from here – certainly as good as one could expect, in a city at night. The Temple was positioned at the highest point of the city, on top of a long, wide hill of sorts, and none of the rest of the city buildings even came up to the height of the walls. The walls, and even more so the towers at each corner, were perfect for looking out over the city and keeping an eye on it.

And that wasn't even counting the immense spire of rock that housed the Temple proper, and which was only open to pilgrims on certain days of the year.

Sev figured the Temple that surrounded the main spire had been built higher than the rest of the city as a kind of protection. It would make sense, given that the Guardians spent their time watching the city and its people. Seemed like a good system to him, really. As far as he could tell, the Guardians didn't rule over the people, but they sort of guided them, all the same.

Earlier, when the squads were following Baze Malbus to the Temple, Sev had watched a female Guardian bringing a runaway little kid back to his mother, who hadn't rushed frantically to meet them. She'd smiled and thanked the Guardian, and ordered the boy not to run off again, but she hadn't sounded scared. In fact, never once did she seem to think the kid was or had been in any danger at all.

That, and a few other things he'd seen, showed Sev that the people of the city tended to trust each other, and really trusted the Guardians. But Baze had said that the people were behaving more nervously today, because of the murders.

Sev considered. There was probably a downside to living in a safe city, with good people. He supposed you might just be caught off-guard when vicious or evil people decided to enter your city and exploit its resources.

That was where he and his squad came in, though, and the Jedi and other commandos, as well as the rest of the Guardians. Oh-Seven wasn't so sure yet that the Guardians were actually capable of fighting like warriors. At least some of them must be, though, because Baze not only had a rifle, but handled it properly and with a familiar ease that Sev had only seen with other soldiers. But Chirrut . . . who knew, with him. He acted confidently, despite his blindness. Odd.

"This is fascinating," murmured the quiet voice of his companion. "The history of this Temple goes back several ages. Although the spire is the oldest portion of it, the walls we stand on now are nearly two thousand years old. Amazing."

Sev took his gaze away from the city long enough to look down at Tech. The shorter commando was sitting with his back against the outer wall, knees drawn up and datapad resting on them as he read.

It wasn't as if Tech's speaking would necessarily draw attention – after all, there were faint sounds of quiet conversation from all over the city as people walked home after their work, and from the Temple itself as the Guardians went inside or walked in the gardens – but Sev wasn't sure why the kid commando felt the need to talk every couple of minutes. Good thing Tech wasn't a sniper.

Sev looked out over the city again, letting his gaze travel from one side of this quadrant to the other. Nothing caught his gaze or looked out of place. Quite a few houses had lights on, and there was still a bit of activity in the streets. Less than there had been five minutes ago, though.

Sev wondered if the Vipers were already in NiJedha, waiting for things to quiet down completely before commencing the raid, or if they would stay in the Crescent Caverns until the city had gone to sleep before even starting towards NiJedha.

"Hm," Tech said, "The tunnels are older than most of the city, including a major portion of the Temple of the Whills."

Sev grunted in reply, wondering if the Bad Batch's sniper was annoying Fixer by being talkative. Probably not. Tech and Wrecker seemed to be the talkative ones. The sergeant certainly had hardly spoken, and when they were on the shuttle, Crosshair had been ready enough to fight, but didn't have much to say otherwise – at least, not that Sev heard.

"Also," said Tech, in that same tone of calm interest. "There is a group of twenty-eight life forms approaching the city."

Sev definitely did not perform a slight doubletake at the casual mention of potential hostiles. "A group of – where?"

"To the south," Tech said, and twisted into a standing position to point past the rest of the Temple complex and towards the main area of the city. "Directly opposite our position, at the base of the plateau."

"So we've still got plenty of time," Sev said with a nod. He hit his comm and muttered, "Boss. Tech says we've got twenty-eight approaching the city, south side of the plateau."

"Understood," said Boss. "Do they have vehicles?"

"Negative," said Tech, and only then remembered to switch his comm on. "They do not have vehicles. I will update you, should that change."

"Sir," said Delta Forty's voice. "I've located the group. At their present speed, it should take them an hour, maybe a little more, to reach the Temple."

"No vehicles," said Hunter. "That doesn't make sense."

Sev thought about that. "Why do you say that?"

"Can't imagine they're going to steal kyber and carry it off by hand."

"I agree that it is decidedly unlikely," Tech said. "But presumably they have a ship nearby, ready to fly in at a moment's notice."

"No problem," Six-Two said. "Ahsoka and I can handle the ship, if it shows up."

There was a faint click as another comm joined the main channel. "We will work something out," Aayla Secura said. "But taking out their shuttle will not be part of the plan. They must be expecting resistance, after several raids."

"That would make sense," Hunter said. "So, we focus on taking a couple prisoners, maybe only burst in on them after they get some kyber onboard. Keep them from getting everything they wanted, while also not completely discouraging another attempt."

"Something like that," said Boss thoughtfully. "Only a few of us are going to show ourselves, anyway. The rest of the team will be focused on keeping the Guardians safe."

"Worry about yourselves, commandos," said Baze, in a rather cheerful voice. "We can handle ourselves."

"Ah," said Chirrut, over whatever Hunter was about to say. "How fortunate. I do not need to speak now, because Baze has spoken for me."

Tech looked away from his datapad with a blink. "Technically, you just spoke," he pointed out.

"Let's keep it down," Thirty-Eight suggested, before anyone could reply. "Stick to your positions. When the time comes, Secura will give us orders as needed."

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Jedi Temple

Day Twelve, late morning

Jedi General Kit Fisto, who sat cross-legged on the Temple roof, just outside the entrance to the meeting rooms, was pretending to meditate.

In reality, he was just enjoying the sunshine and the cool air and a cup of strong oceangrape tea, but he hoped that he looked from a distance as though he were meditating, so that no one would talk to him.

Because he was feeling introspective, Kit took the time to consider whether that was selfish of him or not. He decided that it both was and was not, because if people actually needed to talk to him, they would have no problem disturbing his meditation, apparent or otherwise.

The traffic continued its never-ending drone all around the district, but overall the Temple itself was quiet. Kit had only arrived at the Temple four days ago, but a part of him already missed the bustle and constant activity of his command ship, the Indomitable. The Four-Forty-Second still had three days of shore leave, and unless some emergency came up, Kit was determined that his men would get their full week off-duty.

By all normal army standards, the clone troopers likely had three times that due them, but the GAR was spread thin as it was, and Kit had never heard of a clone trooper being able to take all the leave time he was due.

Of course, some part of that was because of the clones themselves. They enjoyed shore leave, but not enough to want to stay out of the action for long. And they had no families to return to during leave, as civilians did. In fact, clones were similar to Jedi in that regard – their families were made up of their fellow soldiers, or Jedi. Kit knew that, when the troopers went somewhere for shore leave, they would often meet up with clones from other battalions. But, in the end, they were closest to the people they already saw daily – the ones they ate and drank with, and fought and bled and died beside.

Kit was certainly seeing that tendency in himself, and increasingly so. Until recently, he'd always at least somewhat practiced the outwardly distant attitude that many Jedi maintained. They were able to greet each other in the Force, and regard or respect for another could easily be felt if a Jedi chose to extend it to another.

But that wasn't the case with the troopers, at least not with each other, and while Kit Fisto had often sent the younger ones in particular senses of calm and assurance when he could tell they were worried or afraid, the clones couldn't do that with each other. . . and so instead, they spoke. And, the longer Kit worked with them, the more he found himself speaking in their terms, and becoming more open with gestures of encouragement or support.

It would be almost alarming, really – if Kit had a problem with being more open and emotive; but he didn't, and so it wasn't. In that way, he had it easier than many Jedi as regarded the troopers, both because of his personality and because he was a Nautolan. After all, Nautolans were used to knowing the emotions of others and responding as well as they could, whether they were Force-sensitive or not.

Familiar footsteps sounded nearby just as Kit finished his tea, and he quickly closed his eyes again, clasping the empty cup loosely in both hands.

"I know you're not actually meditating," said Monnk's voice, and Kit opened one eye reluctantly. His commander saluted him, but he was obviously laughing.

"You know that, hm?" Kit said, in pretended disapproval. "And I suppose you think you know the mind of a Jedi?"

"To some extent, sir . . . yes."

Monnk gazed down at him, and Kit stared back. Then his commander's helmet tilted in that half-concerned, half-questioning way.

"There is a bench," said Kit, who was noticeably not using the bench that stood against the short wall. "Sit, before one or the other of us gets a stiff neck."

Monnk chuckled.

"What is so amusing now?" asked Kit.

"I knew you were going to say that." With that, the commander went over to the bench and sat.

"Very funny," Kit admitted. "Is Faie with you?"

"He's . . . on his way. I told him he might as well take the scenic walk through the Temple to get to the meeting rooms."

"Hmmm," said Kit. "And you did not want to take the longer route?"

"Well, sir," said Monnk, and if he wasn't holding a grin back he certainly sounded like he was. "I came faster – ran into an acquaintance on the way to the main doors, and –"

Kit, who was not a Jedi Master for nothing, sensed trouble. Getting easily to his feet, he cast his Force-senses out and promptly honed in on the amusement he felt from somewhere behind and above him.

"I should have known," he announced. "Quinlan Vos, if you would be so kind as to announce yourself like a normal person . . ."

There was no answer.

Kit peered up at the flat roof of the building he stood beside, just as Quinlan poked his head over the edge and said, "I almost had you, though."

"Almost," Kit said. "And this is serious business, my fellow Knight. I asked you to join me here so that you could meet your new captain."

"Well," said his former creche-mate. "He's not here yet, is he?"

"No. And that, I am sure, is by design," said Kit, while Monnk took off his helmet, grinning. "Now, are you coming down?"

Quinlan slid face-first over the edge of the roof, dreadlocks flying as he somersaulted to land on his feet. Then he gave Kit a friendly punch in the shoulder that was so vigorous it almost hurt. "Good to see you."

Kit grinned and slapped Quinlan on the back even more vigorously, laughing when the shorter man gave a startled cough.

Quinlan stepped away from him with an injured look and turned to the clone commander. "Commander Monnk."

"Always a pleasure, sir."

"Your distraction skills could use some work."

"Yes, sir," Monnk said, unrepentant.

Quinlan shook his head in mock frustration, and the clone stood and opened the door that led to the meeting rooms. "After you, generals."

Kit led the way to the meeting room. While they waited for Faie, he made drinks for everyone, just because he could. That was one definite advantage of being on shore leave – there was no need to ration the extras like tea and caf, as there was when one was in the middle of space.

Once he had made tea for himself and Quinlan, and caf for Monnk – and for Faie, who hadn't arrived yet – Kit pulled out his datapad and shoved it across the table towards his fellow Jedi.

"This is the last form you will have to sign," he announced. "Monnk has designated your division of troopers as 'Shadow Company'."

Quinlan glanced down at the form. "Cool name."

Monnk lifted his caf mug in a casual acceptance of the compliment.

Footsteps in the hall outside slowed to a halt, and Kit looked up to see Captain Faie standing in the doorway.

"Captain!" he said, getting to his feet. "Do come in."

Faie's helmet turned a little towards Monnk, questioning, as Quinlan stopped lounging against the wall and straightened up.

Monnk stood and gestured Faie towards him. "General Vos," he said. "This is Captain Faie, commanding officer of Shadow Company."

For once, Quinlan didn't answer flippantly. He leveled a thoughtful look at the clone captain, who still wore his helmet, and said, "I'm glad to be working with you, Captain."

"Thank you, sir." Faie hesitated again, but at a subtle nod of encouragement from Monnk, the captain took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. "General Vos, I'm sorry to report that Shadow Company isn't in order yet. I'll get you the officer assignations as soon as I can, but it might take me a day or so to get everything straightened out. The men are transferring from many different companies."

"That's fine. There's no rush," Quinlan told him, folding his arms. "I'm on an active mission with the CG for at least the next two days, possibly longer. Your men were part of the Four Forty-Second, so they're still on shore leave, correct?"

"Yes, sir, they have three more days allotted." Faie paused, accepting the drink Kit handed him with a mildly surprised look. "Thank you, sir."

"Good, that times out nicely." Quinlan set a datapad down in front of Faie. "This is my comm channel code, because if I'm supposed to have a military-specific one, I haven't heard about it yet. If you have any questions and I'm not answering right away, just send me a message; I can usually reply quickly. . . well, quickly enough. Within an hour, at the outside."

"Yes, sir." Setting down his drink, Faie carefully entered the information into his wrist commlink, then sent Quinlan his comm number and military code. Monnk, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair and sipped his caf.

"Any other orders of business?" asked Quinlan. "I've taken care of all the forms on my end – the ones I'm aware of, anyway."

"You have, General," said Faie, and paused. "There's only one more thing to handle, sir. Shadow Company has been assigned an Arquitan-class light cruiser, but it lacks a name."

"Ah." Quinlan tilted his head thoughtfully. "Does the general usually name the command ship? I thought that was something the ship captain did."

"Yes, sir, it is; but in this case, although we have navigators and a pilot, the only one with the rank of captain is myself."

Quinlan smiled faintly. "I should have seen that one coming – we don't even have the required number of sergeants; why would we have naval officers?"

For the first time, Faie's surprisingly green eyes gleamed with a little humor. "My thoughts exactly, sir. The reg manuals and army directives don't refer me to any other officers, so you might have to be the one to assign the ship a name."

"I'll officially assign it," said Quinlan. "But I'll leave picking the name up to you and your officers."

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Twelve, middle of the night

Ahsoka, who was lying on her stomach on top of a tower that stood at the corner of two walls, lifted her electrobinoculars to her eyes. "They're still approaching," she muttered to Scorch, watching as twenty-eight silent figures neared the Temple gate.

"Yeah, I see 'em," he assured her. "Hey, Fixer, you got eyes on these losers?"

"Yes, Six-Two." Fixer didn't quite sigh. "The hostiles have been in range of sensors for an hour."

"Just making sure you hadn't fallen asleep," Scorch replied. "Boss, it looks like they'll be passing right by us. What do you want us to do?"

"Do not engage," the sergeant replied immediately. "Not until Secura gives the order."

Master Secura joined the conversation in a quiet voice. "Wrecker and I will focus on capturing at least two of them. The rest of you, watch the enemy, protect the Guardians if necessary. Fight if you must, but attempt not to eradicate the enemy. Our goal is not to scare them off-planet – yet."

"Understood, ma'am," said Boss. "We'll let them get fully inside before the rest of us do anything. Scorch, you and Ahsoka keep an eye out for approaching vehicles."

"Copy that, Boss."

The gangsters were just outside the gate, now, and Ahsoka put down her binoculars. It was dark out, but she had good vision in the dark, so the kyber crystals reflecting in the moonlight gave her more than enough light to see by.

Ahsoka checked the commlink she'd kept on her coat collar and made sure it was clipped securely, so she wouldn't lose contact with the others if she had to start running; then she turned it down until only she would be able to easily hear it.

Keeping her attention on the gangsters as they congregated near the gate, Ahsoka rested her chin on her crossed forearms and settled in to keep watch. Scorch crawled forward a couple of inches and took up a similar position next to her, setting his helmet aside.

"You keep an eye out for shuttles," he whispered. "I'll watch the ground for speeders."

"Got it." Ahsoka narrowed her eyes at the night sky, but there wasn't a hint of movement.

"Presuming they have speeders," mused her companion.

She glanced at him. "They have to have ships somewhere, unless they walked all the way from the Crescent Caverns and around the entire city."

"Yeah, not likely," Scorch agreed. "I'll bet they used speeders earlier and parked them around the city where they wouldn't be noticed."

"That may be correct," Tech said. "I am not picking up the presence of any shuttles outside the city, and the Guardians report there were no large ships in the city itself. They might still fly one from the caverns, however, so it is not a complete impossibility."

From the main gate – the only one with an electronic lock – Ahsoka could hear a faint click . . . click . . . click.

"Delta Lead," said Fixer. "They're slicing in now."

"Understood. Everyone, hold position. Deltas, visor check."

"All set, Boss," said Sev.

"Yes, Three-Eight," said Fixer.

Scorch grinned and tapped his helmet, lying on the ground beside him. "No glowing blue lights giving away my position, Boss."

"No?" The sergeant's response was matter-of-fact and disinterested. "Good, keep it that way."

Ahsoka propped herself on one elbow as the main gate of the Temple opened silently and the attackers ran in, one after the other. The man in front of the rest was tall and strong-looking, and held what looked to be a rope in his right hand. He gestured to the others, whispering instructions, and they quickly divided into several groups of five or six.

The leader himself joined one group, which moved towards a small side garden with high walls that stood outside the main spire. Because of the height of the tower Ahsoka was on, she could still see into it, but not enough to really keep her gaze on them.

"Hunter," she whispered. "I think the group headed towards you is the one with the leader."

Fixer was narrating the groups' movements. "Five groups of hostiles," he murmured. "One is headed for the eastern gate, one towards the main spire. Two groups are going towards the western sector. The last one is also moving west – seems to be aiming for the tunnel entrance at the south-east corner."

"We have a group nearing us," Hunter said quietly, and Ahsoka glanced towards the base of the main Temple spire. She knew Baze and Hunter were somewhere on the southern edge of the towering structure, but couldn't catch even the faintest glimpse of them.

While she waited, she checked the sky again, but saw nothing. A minute passed before Tech reported that the group near the south-east tunnel had come to a halt just outside it.

"I have eyes on the hostiles," Crosshair said, and Ahsoka caught the briefest glimpse of motion from the tower opposite hers. "Let me know if you want their numbers thinned."

"Not yet," Boss replied. "Wait for the signal."

"Wrecker and I are moving in," reported Master Secura's soft voice. "We are targeting the group near the eastern gate, and could use a distraction in a minute or so."

"We're on it," said Boss. "Hunter, Baze – the group coming towards you – can you confirm that the leader is with them?"

"Pretty sure he is," Hunter answered, voice so soft it was nearly inaudible. "I think he's the man who was watching the Marauder earlier. Fixer?"

"Definitely the same one," said Fixer. "He's got that chain whip with him."

"What?" said Ahsoka, and turned to Scorch. "That's a weird weapon, isn't it?"

Scorch shrugged. "Good for dealing with unarmored people, I'll bet. But he's going to be surprised when he tries to swing that thing at one of us, I can tell you that much."

"With your armor? That'll make a racket." She gave an exaggerated wince. "But maybe I'll keep out of the leader's range."

"Uh, yeah," he answered, blaster trained on the group headed towards Fixer's location. "Please keep out of range. I don't want to tell General Skywalker that his padawan got snapped in half by a thug."

She rolled her eyes, setting her lightsaber next to her as a group of Pit Vipers slowed to a halt near a patch of crystal growths. "Okay, that wouldn't happen."

He glanced at her and tilted one hand from side to side.

"It wouldn't," she hissed, and if she could have folded her arms, she would have.

It wasn't until Scorch grinned that she realized he was teasing her – well, mostly teasing her, anyway. Resting her chin on her forearm, she returned to watching the largest group near the western gate. The Vipers, now more easily visible since they were huddled right near a patch of crystals, seemed to be discussing something amongst themselves. One of them, a Twi'lek, moved suddenly, gesturing to the largest crystal. In one hand, he held a sword that caught Ahsoka's attention immediately. It was bright red, though not glowing, and it felt somehow wrong . . .

Then the Twi'lek swung the sword, and one of the kyber crystals fell. As it did, it stopped reflecting the moonlight entirely.

Ahsoka stared, then blinked.

Hastily, she tapped her comm. "Master Secura, the group I'm watching definitely has the artifact Master Vos told us about."

"The sword?" Aayla said, concern in her voice. "Ahsoka, does it feel dangerous?"

"Not really." The padawan tried to get a better look at the sword, but the Twi'lek was turned away from her, slicing more crystals. "It killed the crystal, and I wouldn't want to touch it, but it doesn't feel like a threat."

"Very well; but keep your distance from it all the same. Sergeant, we are in position. The group has begun to collect small crystals."

"Yes, ma'am," said Boss, as the people near the Twi'lek loaded their arms with crystal and headed for the main gate. "Hunter, Baze, wait until the first load of crystal has left the Temple. Then give the Vipers something to worry about."

"I'll give 'em more than that," answered Baze grimly. "Any attacks on the tunnel?"

"Not yet," Fixer answered, in a low voice. "They've tried to open the door twice, unsuccessfully."

"Okay," whispered Scorch. "First group just left with a bunch of crystals . . . wait, hold it – there's a landspeeder, approaching the Temple down the main road."

"Let it approach," said Boss. There was a pause, while the sound of the speeder engine got louder, until finally it slowed to a halt just outside the gate. "Hunter," said the sergeant. "Move in."

Ahsoka checked the sky again and turned towards the main spire just before a sudden scuffle and outcry rose from that general area.

"Now, Wrecker!" exclaimed Master Secura.

Ahsoka propped herself on both elbows, tensing as the sound of sudden fighting was joined by shouts of alarm.

From outside the wall, the Twi'lek shouted, "Get that kyber out of here! The rest of you, with me!"

And he ran back inside the Temple walls, without the sword, several others falling in behind him as the speeder left at top speed.

"More hostiles incoming," reported Scorch.

"Hunter," said Crosshair. "All groups converging on your location."

"Got it," the Bad Batch sergeant replied. "We could use a little help."

"Be careful, Baze," warned Chirrut's calm voice.

"These Pit Vipers are the ones who have to be careful!" retorted Baze. He sounded angry, and Ahsoka supposed she couldn't really blame him. She'd be mad, too, if someone had killed several of her friends. Still, anger could blind people, especially in battle. . .

Hunter ran into view just past the walled-in garden, closely followed by the man with the chain-whip, and then, further back, Baze. The sergeant ducked away from an attack and melted into the shadows by the wall, evading the gang leader, and headed back towards the main battle, but Baze rushed the gangster.

As Ahsoka watched the Guardian's rapid attacks, a twinge in the Force made her rise to one knee. "He's being reckless," she said, and Scorch clamped a hand over her forearm.

"Boss said stay here."

"Baze is in trouble," she protested, obeying all the same.

"Yeah – I got him." Scorch lifted his blaster to point at the gangster.

But there was no way he could get a clear shot. Frowning, Ahsoka watched the duel going on below her. Baze kept swinging his staff in vicious attacks, each of which the gang leader easily avoided. Finally, Baze's antagonist spun, his right arm straightening abruptly, and there was a heavy thud of metal on skin and bone. Baze staggered sideways and dropped to one knee, the staff falling from his hand, and the gangster lifted his whip again.

Scorch fired, the shots hitting the gangster's shoulder and back. The man stumbled forward but didn't fall, and then a group of other Pit Vipers were surrounding him, running towards the gate.

"Let them go," said Master Secura, a bit breathlessly. "We have what we wanted."

"Enemy in full retreat, sir," reported Fixer.

"You sure?" asked Sev.

"Fixer is right," Tech said. "There are no hostiles left within the Temple walls."

"Baze is hurt," reported Ahsoka, hopping to her feet. "I'm heading down."

Boss didn't say 'no', so she left Scorch – who had to take the long circular stairway down – and jumped off the edge of the tower, landing in a crouch.

Baze was trying to get to his feet, one hand clutching his staff while the other pressed against his left shoulder near his neck. Ahsoka didn't even need the Force to sense that her interference would not be welcome right now, so she waited next to him, just close enough to lend a hand if he happened to lose his balance.

When he was once again standing, if still bent slightly with pain, she said, "That was a bad hit you got."

"Not too bad," the Guardian replied.

"I heard it all the way from the top of the tower," she retorted, even though having heard it wasn't a particularly remarkable feat. "If I were you, I'd be already in medbay."

Baze snorted. "Hospital wing sounds like a good idea," he admitted, shooting her a taut smile. Ironically, it was the first time he'd looked at her without frowning. Maybe he didn't actually dislike her after all. He took a step towards the Temple, then paused, eyes narrowing. "But first I want to talk to our prisoners."

"That's a negative," replied Boss, striding into view with Chirrut. "Secura has taken them into custody and will be questioning them later."

"Alone?" Baze frowned.

"She will have others with her," Chirrut replied, approaching Baze. He stared past him, then thumped his staff against the ground with a mildly irked expression and scolded, "I told you to be careful."

"I was being careful, you fool."

"Clearly. That is why you have a fractured collarbone."

"I don't –" Baze paused, then grumbled, "You don't know that."

"I will make you a bet," offered Chirrut. "If I am wrong, I will take an extra shift at caring for the orchard. You have a fractured collarbone."

"I'm holding you to that bet," said Baze, slowly starting towards the Temple. "And if I'm wrong . . . well, I guess you'll get to gloat about being right. Again."

"Of course I will," said Chirrut.

Chapter Text

Jedha, Crescent Caverns

Day Twelve, middle of the night

Kage stood near his tent, waiting for his lieutenant and the raiding party to return to the caves. It was getting on towards two in the morning, and most of the Pit Vipers were currently asleep in the smaller side caverns.

The Viper himself, however, was not. There was an outgoing shipment of kyber crystals to oversee; on top of that, he was sure there would have been trouble during the raid tonight. The Guardians of the Whills had suffered enough losses from the raiders by now that they would be highly on their guard, perhaps even ready to attack anyone who entered unannounced. In fact, the Viper fully expected there to have been a couple of fatalities on the part of his men. Even if there were three or four dead, he considered those to be acceptable losses . . . as long as at least a hundred kilograms of kyber had been obtained.

Of course, soon enough, the Guardians would not matter. Within a day – no, less than that – the second stage of his plan would be carried out, and the crystal would be free for the taking.

Cold scales brushed at the back of his left hand, and Kage stooped a little, letting the poison-green snake coil around it and slither up to rest across his shoulders. Shépa, his favorite snake and his pet for the last couple of years, had grown to over two meters in length by now. Kage was certain that, unlike the smaller snakes, Shépa had nothing to fear from the dunescratchers. Already, he had found two of the beasts dead outside his tent. They had tunneled close to the snake pit, but it seemed that Shépa had killed them with her death-swift bites before the guards could even begin to fire at the intruders. Her venom was deadly to small mammals, and perhaps even to some large ones. Kage never allowed her near prisoners.

Idly stroking a finger over her shiny green head, Kage watched for the landspeeder's return. It approached soon enough, grains of sand jolting off the cave floor as it drew nearer. In the snake pit, hundreds of small green vipers shifted slowly around, disturbed by the vibrations.

Shépa didn't so much as twitch. As the landspeeder drew to a halt, Kage lifted her from his shoulders and set her on the edge of the pit, prodding her forward. She slithered down the steep wall to the large heat lamp and coiled up near it, the smaller snakes keeping a respectful distance from her.

Merrick vaulted out of the speeder and stalked towards Viper, who clasped his hands behind his back and said, "Well, Merrick?"

His lieutenant halted, chain whip in one hand. "They were waiting for us, as you expected," he said, shoving his weapon back in his belt. "Two killed, two captured."

"Captured," he repeated thoughtfully. He hadn't been expecting that, but perhaps he should have been. After all, his whole plan was based on the Guardians' sentimental approach towards life – based on it, and dependent on it. And it was smart of the Guardians to capture whenever they could; prisoners could be questioned and corpses could not. He should have foreseen it.

"What happened?" he asked.

"We went in, split into teams," said Merrick. "I sent Kol with the sword, and he and his group got to work. But it was only a short time after we arrived that we were attacked. The Guardians put up a solid fight, better than we anticipated."

"They are known to be well-trained warriors," said Kage. "You should have anticipated their ability. Were there many?"

"No," said Merrick. "But they did have a couple of guys with them that I'd never seen – maybe bounty hunters or mercenaries. They wore armor."

"How many?"

"Two that I saw. There was some knife-wielding demon, and then a big guy that picked me up off the ground with one hand."

Merrick was a tall, powerful man, and Kage narrowed his eyes, briefly concerned by his description. "One hand? What was he, a giant?"

"Not exactly." The lieutenant lifted a hand several inches over his head, demonstrating how tall the opponent had been. "But he's strong. I had to get some good hits in before he dropped me. Then he grabbed Mazz and vanished."

Mazz was the new Rodian recruit, Kage remembered. He hadn't been with the Vipers long and didn't know much. As long as he kept his mouth shut about the base on Coruscant, he wasn't a real liability – or a real loss. And who would think to question him about Coruscant? No, the Viper wasn't concerned about him. "Who else was captured?"

"Alyx. Suraq saw her getting pulled away from the battle right before I called the retreat."

"I see." Kage took a couple of steps towards the landspeeder, watching as the rest of the raiding party unloaded the kyber they'd obtained. Alyx knew more than Mazz did, but not by much; and this was by design. Kage had told the men that the plan wouldn't be put into effect for a few days; in reality, he intended for the plan to be acted on very soon. Besides, Alyx had been a captive before, and ransomed before. She knew it was in her best interests to keep quiet.

"She'll wait for a hostage exchange," said Kage, and dismissed the prisoners from his mind. "Now, this knife-wielding demon you mentioned. He isn't the Kiffar, by any chance?"

"No. I thought he was at first – he fights similarly – but he's not. And no one's seen the Kiffar since you sent out the alert to the gang."

"Perhaps he did leave, then. . . And yet somehow, there are now more bounty hunters or assassins at the Temple."

"The Guardians might've asked someone else for help," said Merrick, turning to look at where the Vipers were loading the newly-stolen kyber into boxes.

"But who?" asked the Viper, resting his chin in one hand. His gang members had packed three crates by now – excellent. There were more than a hundred kilos of crystal.

"I dunno," said Merrick. "Does it matter?"

"Possibly." Kage walked over to inspect the packing job his men had done on the crates of kyber. "Good," he said. "Load them on the shuttle and prepare it for takeoff."

"You got it," said Suraq, straightening. She glanced at the shuttle and lowered her voice. "Want me to go with the crew, Viper?"

"No need," replied Kage. The flight crew was mostly new recruits, and not really trusted yet, but they would not dare deviate from their path, even if the idea came to them. They would not deviate, because Kage had told them that he would be informing Brett Modree of a shipment, due to arrive in eight to twelve hours. There wasn't enough time for them to even start coming up with a way to betray and hide from the Vipers.

The Weequay woman nodded to him and signaled to her teammate to lift his side of the metal box. As they headed towards the shuttle, the Viper turned back to Merrick and said, "I see no reason to delay the next phase of our plan. We have scouted the city thoroughly and documented all necessary information."

"Yeah," Merrick agreed. "Want to do it around dawn?"

"No," said Kage. "We will wait until this evening. They will not expect another attack until after midnight."

"Good point," said Merrick, folding his arms. "There might not be as many people outside in the evening, though."

"We will strike while most people are returning from their daily work," Kage told him. "And while the Guardians are at their evening meditations."

Merrick scoffed and nodded. He had as dim a view of the Guardians of the Whills and their ridiculous beliefs as Kage himself did. But at least the Guardians and their pointless spiritual exercises would give the Pit Vipers an excellent chance to carry out their plan.

The Vipers had a good chance of success, as long as these bounty hunters, or whoever they were, didn't interfere too much. The newcomers had armor, and would likely be protected from the coming attack. Of course, only two had been seen, and they could be handled easily enough. But where there was smoke, there was fire.

The Kiffar had been worrisome enough, and the Vipers had failed to kill him. Now there were two new players in the game, perhaps more. They would not prevent him from using his current plan, but he would have to warn the rest of the Pit Vipers to be cautious, and to watch for unexpected resistance. No, Kage would not be taking their presence lightly.

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Twelve, early morning (6:00 a.m.)

The sun had only just started to rise when Ahsoka woke up. For a few minutes, she lay on her back on the soft mat she'd been given and stared at the vaulted ceiling of the guest room. The stone had been carved into twists and whorls, which were scattered here and there with tiny crystal blossoms. The flowers twinkled like stars as the sunlight shifted through the window.

Ahsoka watched them for several minutes before sitting up, stretching her arms as she glanced around. Master Secura was gone, and so were the two female Guardians who had been sleeping here last night – or early this morning, really. Only one person was left, a girl who was probably a few years younger than Ahsoka. She was still sleeping, curled on her side with her head cushioned on one elbow.

Standing quietly, Ahsoka rolled up her sleeping mat and secured it with the scarlet fabric ribbon provided for that purpose. A lot of the Guardians wore that same orange-scarlet that Chirrut Îmwe had – she would have to ask if there was some significance to it.

Ahsoka tiptoed back to her belongings and put on her boots, then reached for her ligthsaber belt.

"Good morning, Jedi Padawan," said a soft voice, and Ahsoka turned to see that the younger girl was sitting up now, watching her.

"Good morning," she answered. "I don't think I met you last night."

The girl shook her head and stood up, then bowed with both hands clasped at her waist. "I'm Sachi."

"My name's Ahsoka Tano. Are you a Guardian at the Temple?"

"No." She giggled, turning to roll up her own sleeping mat. "Well – not yet. I'm only eleven."

"Then you're an initiate?" guessed Ahsoka.

Sachi nodded. "I'm in training right now. This is my Year of the Garden."

Ahsoka clipped her belt and reached for her robe. "You have a year where you work just in the gardens?"

"Mm-hm, except for classes and drills." Sachi wrapped an orange ribbon around her head, tied it at the base of her neck, and braided it into her long black hair with swift fingers. "All the initiates spend their first year in the garden, learning about plants."

"Why is that?"

"Well, if we don't learn how to grow flowers and vegetables and trees, we won't understand the kyber crystals as well."

"I see." Ahsoka considered, one hand on her hip. "I used to meditate in the Jedi gardens, but I've never planted anything before. It sounds nice."

"It is!" Sachi's entire face lit up, and she hurried towards the door, the scarlet overskirt she wore on top of her black dress fluttering out behind her. "Come on, I'll show you the flower garden – unless . . ." She paused. "Was there somewhere else you were supposed to be?"

"Not yet," said Ahsoka, checking that her comm was on. "I'm sure Master Secura or Boss will contact me if there's something I need to do. Lead the way – I'd love to see the garden."

The two girls headed through the long corridor, which contained many small sleeping rooms. Ahsoka wondered if any of the commandos were still asleep, or if they'd been awake since four in the morning. Rex and her master were both terribly early risers, which meant that Ahsoka, who usually got up at the oh-so-late hour of five, inevitably arrived 'late' to their caf-fueled planning sessions.

Suddenly worried that she was later than the rest of her team, Ahsoka glanced around. "I wonder if the others are awake."

"Who?"

"The commandos. You might not have seen them yet."

"I haven't. But this is the women's wing," explained Sachi. "The men's wing is on the other side of the courtyard. Your friends are probably there."

Ahsoka hoped they were, but suspected they'd already left and were busy arranging a raid on the Crescent Caverns. She really hoped not. She didn't want to get left in the Temple while Master Secura and the commandos had all the fun. Maybe if she promised to stay close to Boss, and then they ran into a situation and she was able to handle it, he'd realize she didn't need him constantly watching out for her.

Sachi skipped down a flight of stairs, and Ahsoka hurried after her, still thinking about the current situation. Maybe the sergeant would trust her more if she'd stop acting so defensive. Rex had. The captain had been like Boss at first, a little wary of leaving her alone, sticking too close, hindering both of them when it came to their ability to fight during battle. But once she'd stopped acting like a spoiled kid and learned to listen to him a little, he'd stopped keeping such a close eye on her.

Trust has to be earned, Anakin had told her once, immediately after a mission that involved him throwing Jesse and Rex off a wall with the Force. Obi-Wan had asked if Anakin thought he was earning his troops' trust by hurling them off walls. Anakin said he didn't know, but throwing them was necessary to save them; and then, from the other end of the medbay, Jesse gave a disbelieving cough. Kix told Jesse to shut up, and that he was lucky the general threw him when he did because one laser through the side was one too many, Jesse, what were you and Rex thinking rushing those droids with no backup.

Ahsoka followed Sachi outside. It was chilly, but nothing like the ice-cold of the Catacombs of Cadera. Despite the early hour, it was well above freezing, but while Ahsoka didn't need the cloak, she was still glad to be wearing it.

Sachi gestured her towards a long stone wall, and Ahsoka joined her. The opening in the wall which served as a door was encased by a flowering vine that smelled like orange blossoms, and inside the wall was a beautifully laid out garden, with white stone benches and a crystal fountain. It was also noticeably warmer inside the garden.

The water bubbling up from the fountain seemed extra-clear, and the longer Ahsoka looked at it, the more she thought it looked like liquid crystal rather than water.

While she was considering that, Sachi took a key from the sash around her waist and unlocked what seemed to be part of the wall. It was a cleverly hidden storage cupboard, which contained dozens of cups, a supply of medkits, and a neatly organized stack of tea boxes, along with a couple of kettles.

"We keep supplies here," Sachi told her, filling two cups with water from the fountain. "That way, we have everything we need available, but it doesn't interfere with the way the garden looks. Are you thirsty?"

Ahsoka accepted with a smile. "It's so clear it doesn't even look like water."

For some reason, that made Sachi giggle.

When Ahsoka took a sip, she blinked in surprise. The water was cold and fresh, and tasted a lot better than the sterilized water in ration packs. Come to think of it, the packaged water didn't really have a taste, did it?

She returned the empty cup. "Not liquid crystal," she confirmed. "It's delicious."

"It comes from an underground spring," said Sachi. She plucked a bright pink, five-petaled blossom from a bush and put it in her hair. "The spring supplies the whole Temple, and some of the city. We have plenty of water here."

"When I heard Jedha was a desert planet, I assumed it would be hot and dry and, I dunno, lifeless," Ahsoka said, sinking to her knees in the lush grass. "Guess I didn't think about it much. But if it's so cold at night, how do the plants here stay alive?"

"Well, they have always existed in this environment. They don't grow in winter, but right now it's still warm enough." She giggled again. "We're not trying to grow tropical plants, you know."

"I guess not," said Ahsoka, glancing around. "Is this the garden you take care of, Sachi? It's beautiful."

"Four of us tend it," said Sachi. "For now, I get the early morning shift, which is my favorite."

"Oh?" Ahsoka smiled. "And why's that?"

"Because it means I get to pick flowers to sell in town later." She went back to the wall with the storage unit and pushed aside a section of long, hanging vines to expose an alcove. "One of my other jobs is to make sure there's food here for our guests, and to restock it every day. Here, let's have some breakfast."

She handed Ahsoka something that looked almost like an apple, except for the shimmering yellow of its skin.

"It's a sunfruit," she explained, and bit into it. "Try it, it's good!"

Amused at her enthusiasm, Ahsoka took a bite. It was good, with a sharp bite to its sweetness that made her mouth water.

"I see why they call it sunfruit," she said.

For a couple of minutes, they munched their breakfast while Sachi pointed out various plants and explained their purposes – some for healing, some for food, some simply because they were beautiful.

"You have to have pretty things around," the girl explained, leaning back on both hands as she looked up at a bush with white flowers. "It's good for everyone, especially when they aren't used to it."

"You're right," said Ahsoka. "I'm really glad to be here. . . even though we're here because of criminals. I haven't been to a planet like this in a long time."

"Do you at least have flowers?" Sachi asked.

"No." Ahsoka shrugged. "I'm always in space, really. I never even thought of bringing a plant on the ship. And besides, we generally don't have keepsakes or anything like that."

"Are you not allowed to?" Sachi asked, collecting the sunfruit cores.

"Well – I guess we are. I don't really know." Ahsoka reached up to touch her headband. "Jedi aren't encouraged to have a lot of possessions, though. And in the war, most people don't bring personal things with them. Maybe a couple of pictures, or a datapad or something."

"Oh. That's sad." Sachi looked thoughtful, then scrambled to her feet. "Your friends are coming," she said, just as Boss and Sev appeared in the garden entrance.

"Sergeant," Ahsoka said, hopping up. "Does Master Secura need me for something?"

"No," said Boss. He and Sev were both in full armor, except for their helmets. "I wanted to check in with you on my way to report to Secura. We'll be questioning the prisoners. Sev, I'll join you later."

He vanished. The remaining commando sent a wary look after him, then turned almost hesitantly to the girls.

Ahsoka gestured at the younger girl. "Sev, this is Sachi. She's an initiate here."

Sachi smiled and waved, and Sev inclined his head a bit, expression as dark and foreboding as ever.

In the next garden, a bird gave a warbling call. A door closed, dishes clinked together, and cheerful voices sounded from somewhere in the Temple.

"Anyway," said Ahsoka, determined to continue the conversation despite Sev's resolute silence. "Sachi was showing me the garden she works in."

The Delta Squad's sniper looked from the garden to Sachi, and then back to the garden again. He folded his arms. Then his wandering gaze paused suddenly, and Ahsoka glanced over to see what he was looking at. The sun had risen more fully by now, and there were sunbeams filtering in through the morning mist.

Next to her, Sachi also noticed the sunbeams, and gestured delightedly. "Aren't they beautiful, Ahsoka?"

"Mm-hmm," said Ahsoka, nodding. Then, unable to help herself, she cast a mischievous look at the stalwart commando and said, "What do you think, Sev? Isn't this garden absolutely gorgeous?"

He cast a mildly resentful look at her, then glanced at the young initiate, who was obviously waiting for his response. "It's . . . nice," he offered after a moment, and Sachi absolutely beamed.

"I have to get to work," she said to Ahsoka. "But maybe I can show you some more of the Temple later."

"I'd like that," Ahsoka answered. With a wave to the younger girl, she headed over to Sev, who was still looking rather wrong-footed.

"What's up, trooper?" she asked, with an innocent smile.

He narrowed his eyes. "Nothing," he muttered. "Far as I know. Boss went to check in with Secura and Emmkar."

"Yeah?" Ahsoka asked, falling in with the commando as he headed away from the garden. "Do we have a plan yet?"

"Not yet." Sev jerked his chin at the base of the tower where the prisoners had been put. "I think that depends on what Secura gets out of them. She could be at it for a while."

"Is she already there?"

"Yeah. Guess you're stuck with us. . . or the Ninety-Nines."

"That doesn't seem so bad," Ahsoka said, vaulting a short wall while Sev walked through the gate not two feet away. "Except for the part where we probably won't have anything to do for a while."

Sev grunted what might have been an affirmative.

"Where are we headed?" Ahsoka asked.

"We've got one of the side courtyards set up as our base of operations."

"Okay. Are the others there?"

Sev shrugged. "Hunter was looking for Tech . . . probably found him, by now."

When they reached the small courtyard a minute later, all of the commandos except for Boss were present, and so were the two Guardians. Fixer was seated against the wall, working on his datapad. Chirrut sat close by, in a meditative posture, looking calm and relaxed while Baze wandered the perimeter, his left arm in a sling. Ahsoka smirked, knowing that Chirrut had won the bet.

At the far end of the courtyard, Crosshair and Wrecker were arguing about something, while Scorch stood on the sidelines and watched interestedly. Hunter, meanwhile, sat on top of a short wall near Ahsoka and Sev, staring vaguely down at Tech, who was holding a small sprig of a plant in one hand as he scanned it.

"It is not poisonous to Twi'leks," Tech announced. "As I suspected. The shape of the leaves is what differentiates this particular genus."

"Mm-hm," said Hunter, who didn't seem to be really listening. He toyed with his knife, spinning it so the sunlight flickered off the blade. Then, abruptly, he turned towards his arguing teammates and called across the courtyard, "Okay, that was not what happened!"

Both Crosshair and Wrecker turned to give him disbelieving looks before continuing their argument. On the sidelines, Fixer looked up sharply, observed Hunter with a raised eyebrow, and went back to his datapad with renewed vigor.

"It wasn't my idea!" Wrecker said, followed by Crosshair saying something about a knife and how yes, it was.

"It was Tech's," said Wrecker loudly. "I just – improved it. And you were the one who shot the explosives, anyway!"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Wait," interrupted Scorch. "You shot explosives? What kind of explosives?"

Sev and Ahsoka looked at each other.

"Huh," said the sniper, and marched off towards Scorch.

Tech, distracted from the plant, gazed after Sev for a moment before turning to Ahsoka. "Sev does not need to be concerned," he said. "There is no supplier for sequenced detpacks in NiJedha."

Ahsoka shook her head, smiling. "The fact that you even know that would probably concern him."

The goggled commando tilted his head to the side. "You have a point," he conceded, and went back to work.

With nothing better to do, Ahsoka went over to the wall. Hopping up, she caught the edge with her elbows, then pulled herself up to sit near Hunter, who immediately put away his knife.

"Don't let me stop you, Sergeant," she said. "We'll just be sitting around here until we hear from Master Secura, anyway."

He shrugged and drew his knife again, spinning it idly around his fingers. Ahsoka watched for a minute or so, wishing she could go through some katas, as she usually did in the morning. But taking out her lightsabers here would be a bad idea – Master Secura had warned her that the Vipers might have spies posing as pilgrims. And even if they didn't, the real pilgrims coming into the Temple wouldn't be likely to keep the presence of a Jedi a secret. Why should they?

Hunter switched to his left hand, rotating and spinning the knife with equal ease, and Ahsoka said, "Do you ever use two knives?"

"Yeah," said Hunter. "Why?"

"Just curious, I guess. Master Secura has two lightsabers, but she generally sticks to one. I prefer dual-wielding."

His gaze sharpened, and the motion of the knife slowed a little. "I saw you had two sabers," he said, his tone interested. "You good with them?"

"Pretty good. . . That's what Anakin says, anyway." She swung her feet idly. "I need to get better, though."

There was a pause, during which Sev put Scorch into a headlock and tripped him flat. Ahsoka figured they were just sparring, until she heard Fixer order them sharply to 'quit arguing'.

Tech was now observing a small black beetle, his nose close to the stone it was crawling along, and Crosshair was lounging against the wall nearby, chewing on a toothpick as though it had personally offended him.

"So," Ahsoka said to Hunter, when the silence began to drag. "What about you?"

Hunter tossed his blade one more time and put it away. "I usually use one knife, along with my pistol," he said. "But two knives is just as easy. Bit less range, though."

She hummed her agreement. "It's more instinctive to use two, at least for me."

"Are they the same length?" Hunter asked, frowning thoughtfully.

"No." Ahsoka tapped her left-hand saber, hidden beneath her robe. "This one's a shoto lightsaber – it's shorter than a standard."

Hunter nodded.

In the background, Scorch abruptly walked over to Sev, threw him on the ground, and pinned him, at which point Fixer got up from his reading and stalked over to them.

As the two commandos got up, reluctantly, with a shared dark glower in Fixer's general direction, Hunter said, "I don't know that I'd use two sabers at the same time, though. One seemed good."

"Wait, you used a lightsaber?" Ahsoka asked in surprise. Having a clone trooper use a Jedi's saber wasn't completely unheard of – Obi-Wan wouldn't admit it, but everyone in the 212th and 501st knew that Cody had once had to use General Kenobi's lightsaber to defend him because Obi-Wan dropped it and got knocked out and almost got stepped on by a crab droid – but it was really unusual.

"Yeah," said Hunter, as if it was a perfectly normal thing. "Quinlan was trying to stay undercover, so I carried the lightsaber and ended up using it."

"In battle?"

"Yeah. We were fighting these creatures called stormbeasts."

"Wow." Ahsoka considered for a moment, wondering what using a lightsaber would feel like to a non-Jedi. "So, what weapon did Master Vos use?"

"My knife," said Hunter. "We found out later that the person we were trying to fool already knew he was a Jedi, so it was a wasted effort. But I can't complain about getting to use a lightsaber."

"You liked it?" she asked, swinging her feet.

"Yeah." Hunter grinned briefly. "Felt really instinctive, I guess. Too bad I can't find one on the black market somewhere. We had a few available on the mission, but they were returned to the Temple."

"From Grakkus' palace, right?" said Ahsoka, sitting upright as something occurred to her. "They were younglings' lightsabers?"

". . . Yeah," he answered, with a curious look. "The Jedi kids they belonged to were still missing, last I heard, but someone was out looking for them."

"Master Fisto didn't find them," said Ahsoka. "But they were found, by mistake, later on. A couple weeks ago, I was kidnapped by a group of Trandoshans and put on an island so the lizards could hunt me and the other prisoners down. The younglings came across me, and we figured out an escape. . . eventually."

She frowned. "Calipha didn't make it, but Jinx and Omer were brought safely back to the Temple. And you should have seen how glad they were to get their lightsabers back."

Hunter's gaze lightened a little. "Thanks for telling me," he said. "I'd wondered about them. Glad to hear that at least a couple of them are safe."

Chapter Text

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Twelve, early morning

Aayla stood with Emmkar outside the prison tower, waiting for the Delta's sergeant to arrive. She could have questioned the prisoners on her own, but it was wise to have a couple of others with her; others might catch things that she failed to notice. Emmkar, as the Head Guardian in charge of the Temple which was being raided by these criminals, was here already, standing a little to one side and appearing to doze.

As for Boss, he had a different purpose here. In order for Aayla to use her Force-powers subtly – since there was a slight risk that the prisoners might find ways to speak to their fellow gangsters and inform them that a Jedi was present – she needed a distraction. Boss was imposing. He would serve as a distraction and perhaps even intimidation.

Even if she didn't influence the prisoners to speak, they would hopefully be more concerned with keeping an eye on Boss than they'd be with watching Emmkar or the Twi'lek woman who was, to all appearances, just another Guardian of the Whills.

Aayla had spoken to Emmkar this morning, and he'd sent one of his assistants to fetch her an outfit that would allow her to disguise as a Guardian. Now, Aayla wore a cream-colored coat and pants, along with an orange skirt. It was long, but tied shut only at one side of the waist, allowing for plenty of movement. Rather than attempt to hide her lightsabers beneath the skirt, Aayla put them in a brown satchel, which she strapped to the left side of her belt. Many Guardians carried these satchels with them on their charitable tasks around the city, and there should be no need for anyone to suspect she carried weapons rather than food or medical supplies.

Emmkar, who had been standing with his eyes lightly shut, opened them and glanced over Aayla's shoulder. She turned at the same moment, watching as Boss approached. He wasn't wearing his helmet, since the clones' helmets were the most distinctive part of their armor, and Aayla thought they should give no hint of Republic troops being on the planet for as long as was possible.

Boss stopped a few feet away from her. "Reporting for duty, ma'am."

As Emmkar led the way towards the tower door, Aayla said, "Sergeant, we kept the prisoners in separate halls during the night, so that they couldn't communicate with each other, but we will be questioning them together."

The commando nodded. "Seems like a good idea."

The three of them entered a room that was empty, apart from some chairs. Two faced the door, and the other two were set opposite them, in the middle of the room.

The Head Guardian cast a half-apologetic look at Boss and said, "It is not hospitable, perhaps, but I believe it would be best if you stood."

The sergeant gazed blankly, and Aayla could tell he was both confused and just a bit insulted.

"I am on duty, sir," Boss said, with the exact same tone Bly used when he was trying not to offend someone.

"Ah, of course." Emmkar inclined his head. "Forgive me my error, I am not used to speaking with soldiers."

His words were sincerely meant, but although Boss nodded in reply, Aayla knew he was even more confused than before. He brushed it aside, though, and took up a position behind and between Aayla and Emmkar.

A few seconds later, the door opened and two women escorted the female prisoner inside. She was a human of average height, with shoulder-length pink hair and fake eyelashes. She wore heavy makeup, which was smudged, and her hands were cuffed in front of her.

"Sit here," said one of the Guardians, guiding her towards a chair.

"Wait, why? What are you doing?" demanded the woman, twisting to stare at Emmkar and Boss. "Who are these losers?"

The taller of the Guardians frowned and pushed her into the nearest chair. "You will kindly refer to the Head Guardian with respect."

"I will, huh?" The prisoner glared up at her, then blinked and jerked her head towards Emmkar. "Wait," she whispered, to the younger of her guards. "You mean the old guy's the one in charge of this joint?"

"I oversee the Temple," said Emmkar calmly. "My name is Emmkar. And who might you be?"

The pink-haired girl huffed and lowered her eyelashes sullenly. "My name's Alyx, as if you needed to know."

The taller female Guardian sighed and left the room, trailed by her companion.

"Well, Alyx," said Emmkar. "I have some questions for you."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do. And I suppose the dark-eyed guy over there's gonna beat me up if I don't answer, huh?"

Boss only glanced neutrally at her, arms folded, but Emmkar said, "I do not believe in mistreating my guests.".

Alyx laughed unpleasantly. "Oh, okay, I get it. You're one of those do-gooder types. Fine. If you're not going to mistreat me, why should I answer your questions?"

"You tell me," said Emmkar, and folded his hands peaceably in his lap.

There was a pause. Alyx tossed her head, then fidgeted with her cuffs and looked out the narrow window, refusing to acknowledge Emmkar.

The Head Guardian closed his eyes again in apparent meditation. He was obviously content to wait for Alyx to start talking.

Aayla exchanged a look with Boss, who remained expressionless except for a slightly raised eyebrow. Aayla had to agree with his confusion. This was not how interrogations usually went.

The door opened again, this time to admit a rather short male Rodian and his guards. Upon noticing them, Alyx finally looked away from the window and frowned.

The Rodian was mumbling insults in his native language – Aayla knew this not because she understood the language, but simply because of the tone of his voice.

"That's enough out of you, Mazz," said one Guardian, pushing him none-too-gently towards the chair.

Mazz agreeably switched to Basic. "Great hulking clodhoppers," he muttered, staring up at his much taller guards.

"Sit down," sighed the Guardian.

Emmkar opened his eyes. "Welcome," he said to the second prisoner. "Your name is Mazz?"

"Mazz Troapac," said the Rodian. "Look, would you tell your brutes to leave off?"

As Aayla reached into the Force, gently influencing Alyx to lower her guard, Emmkar nodded to his men. "Thank you," he said. "You may go."

They bowed and left, and Alyx twisted in her chair to look at Mazz. "He won't call them names, Mazz. He's one of the good guys. This isn't even a real interrogation, can you believe it?"

Mazz's large eyes narrowed, and he muttered, 'Have you said anything?"
" 'Course not."

"She has not told us anything," said Emmkar. "I have questions for both of you."

"You won't get any answers," said Mazz.

Emmkar ignored his statement. "How many of the Pit Vipers are currently on Jedha?"

"Pit Vipers?" Alyx laughed. "Gee, kinda a hard question to answer. You mean us, or Viper's little pets?"

"Alyx!" snapped Mazz.

"What?" she retorted, tossing her head. "Everyone knows about 'em. . ."

Her attitude was suddenly defensive, though, and Aayla could tell she was wondering why she'd let so much slip. Through the Force, the Jedi extended her influence to touch Mazz as well. She was careful not to compel them, or to reach into their minds and search for the answers. Aayla could have gotten the information more easily that way, but she was convinced that tearing thoughts out of someone's mind should never be done.

"I have not heard of them," mused Emmkar. "But I was asking about how many of you there are. How many members of the gang are there?"

They didn't answer, and Aayla said, "If you will not answer that, perhaps you will tell us about the sword. It cuts crystal; I have heard it does not cut anything else."

They still didn't answer, but Aayla felt a sense of agreement from Mazz.

The conversation went on like that for some time, with Emmkar asking a question or making a statement, Alyx and Mazz refusing to answer, and Aayla drawing her own conclusions based on their expressions or emotional responses. But at the end of twenty minutes, she hadn't learned much. She had guessed that the Viper's pets were snakes of some kind – which was hardly surprising. And she didn't even know for sure if she was correct, but the slight hints she got from the prisoners' body language and emotional states indicated that she was.

The only thing she knew for certain was that the sword wasn't considered dangerous, and that multiple members of the gang had handled it and cut up crystal with it, and no one had suffered any ill effects.

As far as Aayla was concerned, that was a good sign; it meant the artifact was nothing to worry about. It might still be an issue for her and Ahsoka to handle, given that it was a Dark Side artifact; but any of the commandos would be able to carry it without a problem. In fact, they might even be able to destroy it.

Once she was certain of her facts, Aayla leaned towards Emmkar and quietly informed him about the sword.

"Very good," he murmured back, while the prisoners watched suspiciously. "But we still need to know about the Pit Vipers themselves, and their leader; or, at least, their numbers."

"I agree." Aayla turned a thoughtful gaze on the prisoners. The best way would be to make a guess at how many enemies there were, and to judge Alyx's and Mazz's reactions as accurately as possible. The trouble was, if she tried it more than a couple times, they might figure it out and take extra care not to react.

Before she could decide on which wording she would use, Boss stepped forward and said, "Ma'am?"

She turned to him. "Yes?"

He tapped the commlink in his ear. "Fixer is asking permission to go into the town with a couple of others, scout routes and positions, see if the townspeople can give us anything."

Across the room, Alyx leaned over and whispered something about mercenaries, and Mazz nodded.

Aayla realized that her two prisoners, at least, seemed to have no suspicion whatever of Boss being a clone. "It is a good idea," she said. "Tell him to wait until we are finished here, though."

"Understood." Boss tapped the comm again. "Fixer, hold off for a bit. We'll be done shortly."

"Huh," said Alyx. "We'll be done, hm? What, you getting bored already?"

Boss ignored her.

After a moment, Emmkar said, "We have much to do today, and if you will not speak then we should proceed to our other tasks."

"Mm-hmm." Alyx smirked, reaching up with her cuffed hands to brush a lock of pink hair from her eyes. "Well, hopefully you and the Twi'lek have better luck with that than you've had with this interrogation."

"Interrogation?" Boss said, unexpectedly. "So far, they've asked you questions, but I wouldn't call this an interrogation – yet."

When Emmkar did not rebuke him, Mazz stared at Boss, a hint of apprehension crossing his face.

Then the Rodian shifted, and Alyx rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Mazz. The old man doesn't believe in mistreating guests. I'm pretty sure Handsome is just standing there for appearances."

Boss glanced sidelong at Aayla, who inclined her head ever so slightly. A different tactic was definitely in order.

Without speaking, the commando strode across the room, grabbed Mazz by the collar with one hand, and lifted him to eye level. "Answer the questions," he demanded, in a low voice.

Aayla extended her mental influence even more, focused on lowering the prisoners' automatic feelings of defense.

Without changing expression, Boss gave the Rodian a hard shake before dropping him back in the chair and rounding on Alyx with a dark glower. "The Head Guardian might not believe in mistreating people," he informed her. "But you're not my guests. And I don't answer to Emmkar."

Ejecting the vibroblade from his left gauntlet, he held the point of the blade under her chin. "So. Start talking."

Alyx stared up at him, eyes wide in her suddenly pale face. "Uh, kriff," she said, and licked dry lips. "Look, back off, okay? I've got nothin' against you Guardians or whatever you are, but we can't talk. The Viper'll kill us if we give away too much."

"Will he," said Boss, utterly uncaring.

"Yeah!" She shifted, fidgeting with her fingers. "Look, we're just here to do a job."

Without looking away from her, Boss drew his pistol and aimed it at Mazz's shoulder. "Just a job, hm?" he asked. "What kind of job?"

Alyx's gaze flicked to Emmkar, but the Head Guardian seemed unbothered as he stood, hands folded in his sleeves.

When Boss touched the blade to the underside of her jaw, the girl jerked back as far as she could. "It's just – a job!" she snapped. "Like any other, right? We're taking the crystal, we're selling it to whoever asked us to get it, and we're clearing out!"

"How much crystal?" asked Emmkar.

"All of it," Mazz answered sullenly, moving away from the pistol.

Boss didn't even look at him, his gaze still boring into Alyx, but he tilted the gun, somehow keeping it pointed at the Rodian's shoulder.

"How many gang members are there?" asked Emmkar. "Fifty?"

When Alyx let out a snort of amusement, Aayla narrowed her eyes and said, "Not fifty. Closer to a hundred, perhaps?"

She felt the girl's agreement even before Alyx replied.

". . . Yeah," she said, and the sullen tone had re-entered her voice. "Something like that, yeah. Anything else you want to know?"

"One more thing," said Emmkar, and this time he walked towards her. "I do not believe the Pit Vipers could hope to steal kyber crystals, night after night, without us fighting back; and there are not enough of you to battle against us every night for weeks on end. You are vastly outnumbered by the people in this city. Surely your leader knows this. He must have some other plan."

The prisoners exchanged hesitant looks, and Boss prodded Mazz in the forehead with his gun.

"He – has another plan," said Mazz, shrinking back. "But we don't know what it is or when he'll be using it. He doesn't tell us that kind of thing."

"Yeah," muttered Alyx, who was also leaning as far back in her chair as she could, and still not managing to avoid the edge of the vibroblade. "He tells Merrick and Talbor, a few others. The higher-ups, y'know? But we're not told anything until it's time for the action."

Emmkar studied her for a moment, then nodded. "I believe you," he said, and went to the door to call the guards.

Aayla shifted all her focus in the Force onto Mazz, since the majority of Alyx's attention was still taken up by Boss and his knife, and said, "Mazz. What is your leader's name?"

When he hesitated, Boss rounded on him with the vibroblade as well as the gun, and the Rodian jerked sideways with a yelp. "His name's Kage!" he answered. "Kage Akar. But we call him the Viper."

Aayla asked Alyx to spell the name, which she did, with a sullen glower in Boss' general direction.

As the guards returned to escort their prisoners back to their respective cells, Aayla stood quietly, arms folded as she thought. She had a name, and a general sense of the number of enemies she and her team faced. That would give her some direction at least.

After the prisoners had been sent out, Boss sheathed his weapons and rejoined her, and Aayla said, "Thank you, Sergeant."

He gave her a casual nod.

"Aayla," said Emmkar, putting a hand to his beard. "Is it possible that your fellow Jedi know of the existence of this Kage Akar?"

"It is possible," Aayla agreed. "The Shadows at least might have some knowledge about him. But if they do not, and the gang is unknown, they will want to be informed of its existence."

"Then I shall contact them," Emmkar said. "And you?"

"I will come with you," she answered. "I sense that this mission is, in some way, connected with my master's. It would be best to keep each other informed whenever possible."

Emmkar inclined his head and walked slowly towards the door.

As Aayla turned to follow him, she glanced at Boss. "I'll be back shortly. We will divide into teams and explore the town, specifically looking for anything that could be turned into a threat. I am concerned that the Viper's plan for obtaining the crystal may involve some large distraction, such as a bomb or a landslide."

"Yes, ma'am," said Boss. "I'll inform the others. We'll be waiting for you."

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Twelve, evening (about 7:00 p.m.)

Captain Faie strode purposefully down the polished hallway of the Coruscant Guard's headquarters and hoped he was going the right way. Fox's office should be on the right side of one of the upper floors, if he remembered the floor plan correctly, but buildings were harder to navigate than ships.

As he walked through the corridors, he ignored the curious gazes, both subtle and not-so-subtle, from the troopers who were on duty. It was likely unusual to see an ARC trooper – and a captain, at that – from a different battalion in these halls, especially since Faie was not currently accompanied by any of his officers; but it also was none of their business and he felt no inclination to relieve them of their curiosity.

The rest of Faie's company was currently at 79's, or busy exploring the city; Faie had left Lieutenant Star in charge of keeping the peace, along with the two existing sergeants, Griffin and Cloud. If there was any trouble, they knew how to handle it, and Faie had told Star to update him in the evening with the company's status.

As far as Faie was concerned, this new assignment, and his new general, were unknowns. He wasn't sure exactly what his duties would be, or what kind of work his general did. Monnk and General Fisto had explained that Vos was a Jedi Shadow, but none of Faie's research had turned up much on the subject. The only thing he knew for a fact was that some Jedi Shadows were on record as refusing to work with clone troopers. General Vos had not refused, according to the all-knowing Monnk (General Fisto and General Vos had been friends for years, and Monnk knew more than most about the Kiffar as a result) but he had requested not to be given a company of troopers. Why this was the case, Faie didn't know. He also didn't really care, as long as he was able to work properly and efficiently with his new general. But Monnk hadn't been able to give him any information as concerned Vos' abilities. All he knew was that Vos was one of the best Shadows in the Order.

But as for ordinary warfare, and being a general? Monnk had simply shrugged and said, "Who knows?"

That was the major issue at hand right now. Shadow Company still had two days of leave but if Vos hadn't finished his current mission by then, Faie and his men would be going into their new assignment blind, with no idea of what kind of situation their general would be leading them into. Even if Vos had finished his mission by then, the newly-formed Shadow Company would still be entering a new mission with, possibly, no time at all to acclimate.

Thus, Faie's current search for Commander Fox's office. He knew the Jedi was working with Fox, which meant Fox knew more about Shadow work than Faie did. Faie had quickly decided that the easiest way to learn about Shadow work was to accompany Vos and Fox on this particular mission. If Vos refused to allow him on the mission, Faie would still learn what he could from watching them work. . . Or, he'd talk to Fox and get him to change the Jedi's mind. Faie didn't believe in losing, whether that was an argument or a physical fight; he'd learned that particular trait from Fox.

Faie was a year younger than Monnk and Fox, and therefore a year behind them in training, so he'd ended up in many sparring classes where Fox was the instructor, overseer, and general dispenser of knowledge and justice. Fox was well-known for teaching the younger troopers everything about how to fight in a less-than-honorable manner – so much so that, by the time Faie's class got through training, they were beating all the other commanders' classes in every hand-to-hand match there was. Fox did not believe in losing. He didn't fight until he needed to, but when he did need to, he fought until he won, no matter what.

In fact, Commander Wolffe still carried a scar on his index and middle fingers to prove it. Fox had gotten carried away and bitten him. According to Wolffe, in the loud arguments that took place in the command barracks one night, Wolffe and Fox had been eight standard years old when that happened and Fox was just immature for his age and tended to bite when things didn't go his way. According to Fox, they'd only been four standard, and the scar was still in existence because of how hard he'd bitten.

Cody and Bly and Grey, who had witnessed the fight, all agreed that Fox and Wolffe had been six standard, twelve biological, and that was final.

Faie was sure that Fox's skills and refusal to be beaten served him very well on a place like Coruscant. From what he'd heard, this planet was one of the most dangerous in the Republic, simply because of the concentration of criminal life.

As the captain rounded a corner at a brisk walk, still deep in thought, he only just managed to avoid stepping on a small, green animal that was ambling towards him.

Perplexed, Faie watched as it crawled headfirst against his boot and stopped, confused by this sudden obstacle to its chosen path.

It was a turtle, Faie realized, as it started to crawl again despite being unable to move forward. He recognized it because over the years, Gree had developed a habit of sending his batchmates pictures and descriptions of hundreds of animals. What in the galaxy was a turtle doing in the CG hallway? And why did it have a leash around its neck that was the same deep red as the CG's armor markings?

Faie glanced around, but there were no other troopers in sight. Sighing because whoever owned it against regulations definitely should not be letting it out of sight, Faie dropped to one knee and touched the turtle on the head. It stopped crawling in place and looked sidelong at him.

"You know what," he said, picking it up by the back of the shell. "You're going to get crushed walking around like this."

The turtle stared at him. It didn't look insulted, exactly, but somehow Faie got that impression from it. "Right," he said briskly, straightening. "Let's go find your owner and give him a piece of our minds, shall we?"

They didn't have to go far. In fact, Faie had taken only a few steps when a rookie came tearing around the corner, staring at the floor as he double-timed it down the hall.

Faie cleared his throat, and the shiny skidded to a halt before finally noticing the captain – and the turtle. "Turtle," he said, with obvious relief, then glanced hastily at Faie and threw him a quick salute.

"It's a turtle," agreed Faie, not impressed by the rookie's deviation from acceptable protocol. The turtle bit Faie's thumb at that point, and the captain lifted the little beast and leveled a sharp gaze at it. It gazed back, not in the least bothered by his obvious displeasure, while the rookie watched uneasily.

"He, um . . ." The kid, who had a shamrock tattooed on one cheek, cleared his throat. "Sir, he doesn't usually bite."

"Oh?" said Faie. "Does he only bite people he dislikes?"

The rookie stammered. "Um. Well – sir, you see –" His expression said it all.

Relenting, Faie smirked and said, "I'll take that as a yes?"

The shiny hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sir. He bites people he dislikes."

"Regular watchdog, this one," said Faie, moving out of the way when the turtle tried to nip him again. He held the creature out towards the rookie. "Is it yours?"

"Yes, sir," replied the rookie, coming forward to take him. He picked up the turtle and balanced him carefully on his right shoulder. "His name's Turtle."

Faie said nothing, because he didn't want to laugh and embarrass the kid.

"I don't know how he got over here," the shiny went on, wrapping the end of the leash around his wrist.

"I assume he walked," Faie said dryly. "What's your name, rookie?"

"Lucky, sir."

"Well, Lucky, I take it you know your way around this building?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm looking for Commander Fox's office."

"Oh. I can help you, sir. Right this way!" Lucky took off at a fast walk, leading him around two corners and to an old-fashioned door made of heavy wood. Presumably, this building had been in existence before the war, and it had then been assigned to the Coruscant Guard. . . interesting.

When they stopped outside the door, Faie dismissed Lucky with a quiet thanks before rapping on the door. When there was no immediate answer, he proceeded to rap on it again, harder this time.

"Come in," growled the displeased and very familiar voice of Commander Fox.

Amused, Faie opened the door and stepped inside.

Commander Fox didn't even look up from where he was staring at a large flimsi map that had been spread over the surface of a desk. Two ARC troopers stood next to him. They clearly belonged to the CG – their armor wasn't so much marked with CG red as it was CG red. Even Fox had more white on his armor than they did.

Both ARCs wore dark grey kamas, decorated with diagonal red stripes, and double pauldrons, trimmed with red. Both of them carried two pistols each, and had shock rounds clipped to their belts. Their helmets were also red, but one of the ARCs had an inverted triangle painted in white on the front, the tip just touching the upper edge of his visor; the other had a small '1000' painted in white on the left side. This particular ARC wasn't wearing his helmet, which was on the desk, so the '1000' tattooed on the left side of his neck was also visible.

"It's the worst part of the sector," said Fox, running a hand through his hair and inadvertently drawing attention to the streaks of grey at his temples. Faie didn't remember him having grey hair.

"Yeah," said the trooper with the triangle-marked helmet. He leaned a hip against the table and pointed at something on the map. "I figure our best bet will be to take over the top floor of this place. Top floors are unoccupied – according to records. Probably some squatters there, but we can convince 'em to share a floor for a bit."

"Possibly," said Fox. "If you and Kilo take a squad there, scout it tonight . . ."

"Steele and I could do it alone, sir," suggested the clone with the '1000', who was presumably Kilo. "It's going to take a lot of work to get more than three, maybe four troopers down there unnoticed. The captain's here, sir."

"Only three or four?" Fox asked. "That's not going to be anywhere near enough, if our intel's . . . wait. What captain?"

He turned, eyebrows lifting when Faie took off his helmet. "Faie?" he asked, and a half-smile appeared and disappeared in less than a second. "Hmm. You finally got promoted, I see."

The captain saluted properly, then stepped forward to shake Fox's hand. "Good to see you, Fox," he told his former training officer. "Monnk says to tell you he'll drop by tomorrow, and that he'd better not catch you napping."

"Oh, he said that, did he," said Fox in a threatening tone despite the flicker of a smile in his eyes. "Well. I'm looking forward to it. Now, Faie. . . What are you doing here?"

Chapter Text

Jedha, NiJedha

Day Twelve, morning (about 7:30 a.m.)

After speaking with the Jedi Council and giving them information to pass to Quinlan, if and when he was able to be contacted, Aayla left Emmkar in the communications tower and made her way down to the courtyard, where she found Ahsoka, all the commandos, and Baze and Chirrut waiting for her.

The Deltas were wearing armor but not helmets. . . and the Bad Batch, for some reason, had swapped out their armor for black clothes. The Deltas looked no different than normal, each with a pack, a single blaster – though multiple attachments were hidden in their packs – and their hidden vibroblades. Aayla assumed they had grenades as well, but they'd had the sense to hide them. All in all, the Deltas looked like alert but relatively laid-back mercenaries. The Bad Batch, on the other hand. . .

Hunter had a knife at his waist, another on his left forearm, and one strapped around his right leg. He also carried his blaster. Wrecker had a massive vibroblade that likely served as a knife for him, his blaster, and a handful of grenades attached randomly to his belt. Crosshair's long rifle was slung over his back, but he also carried a couple of thin knives, one of which was partly concealed under his left sleeve. Tech had his twin pistols, as usual, but also half a dozen miniature EC detonators. Between that and the black clothes and the habitually brooding expressions that Crosshair and especially Hunter wore beneath their tattoos, the group of commandos looked like assassins on the prowl, rather than mercenaries. Aayla thought, rather wryly, that her team was supposed to help the people of the city, not frighten them.

As Aayla approached, Ahsoka hopped off the low wall, smiling a greeting. The Deltas turned slightly to face her, but the Batch didn't seem to notice her arrival. They were too busy arguing with the Guardians.

As she drew nearer, Aayla heard Hunter say, "So . . . what'd you mean by disguises, then?"

"Well, we didn't mean that," retorted Baze, whose left arm was in a sling. "You guys look like you're on your way to execute someone."

Crosshair removed his toothpick from his mouth and studied it. "Maybe we are."

The taller Guardian groaned, and Chirrut said, "You are not. The Force moves darkly near a being about to kill. You have no intentions of killing."

"That cannot be accurate," said Tech, who had some kind of fitted black cap tugged down over his ears. "We are perfectly prepared to kill the Vipers, if the need arises."

"Prepared, yes," said Chirrut with a smile that was somehow unsettling. "But you have no intention of going out and killing or murdering anyone."

Tech considered, then nodded his agreement. Wrecker sighed loudly, bored by the whole conversation.

"Hey," said Scorch, snapping his fingers near Tech's head. "You done arguing semantics? Secura's here."

When he snapped his fingers again, Tech elbowed him away sharply, but with a calm expression.

"I just spoke with the Council," Aayla reported, encompassing them all with a quick look. "And they agree with our concerns. Emmkar and I believe that the Vipers will not continue to raid the Temple of the Whills, as they have been; but they will not stop making attempts to gain the crystal, especially given Emmkar's vision. We must assume that the gang has some other plan in place."

Ahsoka nodded, chin resting on the knuckles of one hand as she narrowed her eyes in thought. "They could get the crystal out in large amounts by landing a ship in the Temple courtyard and attacking with a big group."

"They could," agreed Aayla. "And we will be on the lookout, just in case. But it is unlikely that the Vipers will take such a risk. They would have to leave their stronghold vulnerable, and even attacking the Temple with a hundred men would not let them succeed. There are many capable citizens who have been trained to defend the Guardians and the kyber, should the need ever arise."

"Most of the citizens have been trained to fight," said Baze. "If we sound the alarm, for any reason, hundreds of people will drop everything and come running."

"Hm." Fixer locked his hands behind his back. "And even if we counted on only a quarter of the civilians, the Vipers would still be outnumbered twenty-five to one. For the Vipers to attack, even with all their men, would be suicide. . . unless they somehow disabled the alarm system."

"They cannot," said Chirrut. "Any fully trained Guardian can sound the alarm by speaking to the crystals. The crystals throughout the city will inform the citizens."

Sev sent a querying look at Tech, who merely shrugged.

"What about the snakes?" Boss said.

Hunter tilted his head curiously. "Snakes?"

"Yes." Aayla rested a hand on the satchel that held her sabers. "According to our prisoners, the leader of the gang owns hundreds of snakes."

"Oh, yeah?" said Wrecker, and cracked his knuckles. "Wonder how they'd react to a few incendiaries?"

"Unfavorably," Fixer suggested. Sev looked almost cheerful at the thought.

"Hey, Boss," said Scorch, frowning. "Do you think they might release the snakes into the town or something?"

There was a pause.

"It's a possibility," Boss said at last. "Unless the Pit Viper keeps them only as pets and has no other use for them."

"That is unlikely," said Tech. "They must be used for the venom that the Vipers utilize in their raids. Also, the Vipers will want the people of NiJedha out of the way or distracted during the Temple raid. Leaving venomous snakes around the town in large numbers might be one way of doing that – though highly inefficient."

Hunter frowned doubtfully. "How would they make snakes attack the whole town, though?" he asked. "Even if they dropped them off at multiple locations . . ."

"Hm," said Tech. "You have a point. Perhaps a hive mind situation."

Hunter grimaced. Wrecker and Scorch looked at each other, pulling expressions of disgust.

"Hive minds are the worst," mumbled Scorch. Wrecker elbowed him in solidarity.

"The logistics aren't promising for the Vipers," said Fixer slowly. "Especially if the civilians are prepared to fight off invaders. But I think Thirty-Eight is right that the gang will be causing some kind of major distraction."

"Or catastrophe," said Ahsoka.

Everyone glanced at her, and she shrugged. "Whenever Master Skywalker and I want the Separatists not to notice us sneaking in to one place, we find something at a different place to blow up. Keeps them occupied."

Crosshair said, "It's a solid plan."

"Yep," said Scorch. "We do the same thing all the time. Don't want someone to see what you're up to, find another enemy place and boom. Works great."

As Ahsoka nodded, Baze glanced between her and the commandos, eyebrows furrowed in obvious concern.

"Perhaps the snakes are the distraction, then?" Hunter suggested.

"Unlikely," mumbled Fixer, who was typing on his datapad again.

Chirrut stirred, his pale eyes gazing off into nothingness. "Do you think the Vipers will bomb the city?"

"I don't know," said Aayla. "That is my chief concern."

Fixer looked up. "If they do plan to bomb the city, they must have a different ship somewhere. I haven't located any bomber-class vessels in the vicinity."

Tech lifted a finger. "I was about to say the same thing," he said. "Even using the Marauder's sensors, I have picked up nothing within ten kilometers of our ship, the city, or the Predator."

"How'd you link to the Predator?" Fixer asked. Then he paused before giving his head a brief shake. "Never mind. It must have been when I logged in before leaving the catacombs. You got one of your own access codes registered in the system?"

"I – did, yes," Tech answered, and he even had the grace to look almost guilty for approximately half a second.

Hunter gave him a look and muttered, "Tech, we talked about this. . ."

Somewhat to Aayla's surprise, Fixer narrowed his eyes, tilted his head in thought for several moments, and then gave Tech a brief but – approving? – glance. Tech blinked at him. Hunter sighed.

"Right," said Sev, putting everyone back on track. "You found nothing on scanners. The rock structures could be interfering, though."

"Could be," said Boss. "But even if we assume the Vipers will not be bombing the city, the next most likely thing would be explosives."

Aayla nodded slowly. "You are correct, Sergeant. But I doubt they would use them in the Temple itself. Apart from other objections, the risk to the crystals themselves would be too great."

"Okay," said Scorch, resting his hands on his waist. "So we go out into the city, ask around, and locate explosives. Then, Wrecker and I can temporarily disable any bombs, and then we can ship them back to the Vipers, with interest."

"No," said Boss.

". . . Oh," said Scorch. "Okay, then, what's the plan?"

Boss turned to Aayla. "Ma'am, we have two explosives experts with us," he pointed out, ignoring Scorch's mumbled, "That's what I just said!"

Sev elbowed him subtly, and Scorch stepped on his foot.

Fixer shot them both a severe look, and they quieted down as Boss continued speaking. "Even if the Vipers have planted nothing yet, Scorch and Wrecker could find spots that would be good for explosives, and the rest of us could consult with them if we see anything suspicious."

"That is a good approach," said Aayla. "We should cover as much ground as possible while the daylight lasts, as we cannot know whether the Vipers have put their plan into effect or not. Chirrut, Baze – if we go out into the city as we are, will the citizens have cause for alarm?"

"Not in the least," said Baze, and all of the Bad Batch commandos immediately shot him looks of betrayal. "As long as your faces are visible, and you are in small groups and don't carry a dozen weapons each, they will see no reason to treat you any differently than the pilgrims who come through every day."

"Huh," said Wrecker. "So what was all the fuss about the black clothes, then?"

Chirrut smiled. "The fact that it was your idea of civilian attire, or at least your idea of how to blend into the population."

When Hunter pulled an unimpressed face, Aayla smiled and teased gently, "Let me guess, it was Nar Shaddaa."

"Yeah!" said Wrecker in surprise, while Tech and Crosshair gave her matching, cautiously interested looks.

"The mercenaries there wore black," said Hunter, folding his arms. "Not the civilians. Even we know that civilians don't usually wear black."

"In that case," said Chirrut happily, "it makes your idea of a disguise even worse."

Before Crosshair could do more than scowl, the blind Guardian added, "Which teams shall we be in?"

"You won't be in any team," Baze reminded. "You're staying here until we've figured out if that Mirialan woman is still after you."

Chirrut blinked, expression disappointed, then thumped his staff decisively against the ground.. "I will stay," he announced abruptly, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. "But only because Emmkar has told me to, and not because you have."

Baze rolled his eyes, unable to deal with the childishness of that remark, and Boss said, "If we want to cover as much ground as possible, I recommend that one team take the Marauder and fly over the city. The Vipers know our ship is here anyway, and a few in-depth scans can only help us."

"That is a good idea." Tech pushed his goggles up his nose. "I will pilot."

"Scorch, go with him," Boss ordered. "I want you to look for positions where you'd plant explosives, if you were one of the Vipers."

"Oh!" Scorch grinned. "So that means I get to be a villain?"

Sev grunted. "You get to be an idiot."

Boss did not acknowledge either comment. "Tech, Scorch, if you catch sight of anything suspicious, direct one of the ground teams to investigate."

"One more thing," Aayla added. "Our prisoners, at least, were under the impression that you commandos are mercenaries. We are still attempting to keep your identities as Republic troopers secret, so keep that in mind when speaking. And leave your helmets behind."

"Right," said Boss. "Everyone have comms?"

When they all replied in the affirmative, Fixer reminded Tech and Scorch, twice, to perform a careful security check on the shuttle before starting their part of the mission.

As they two of them left, with Scorch mumbling about overcautiously by-the-book older brothers, Boss said, "Fixer, you should start at the communications tower near the center of town. Could be there's something for you to trace from there."

"Yes, Three-Eight," said Fixer, then hastily corrected, "Boss."

"Take Ahsoka with you," suggested Aayla. "She can search the Force for any threats while you are busy."

Fixer nodded and headed for the gate without hesitation, moving so quickly that Ahsoka had to run to catch up with him.
Baze watched them leave, then shrugged. "Seems like they won't need a guide, anyway," he said. "What about the rest of you?"

"I will need one," Aayla replied. "I believe it would be wise to check the places that pilgrims often visit."

"Yes," said Chirrut, sober. "The shrines would be the most likely places to be targeted by the Vipers as distractions – many people would hurry to them. Baze, you will show her?"

"I will," said Baze.

"Thank you." Aayla glanced at the other commandos, considering what her master had told her about each member of the Batch. "Hunter, you will come with us. I hear you are capable of following people who are not in sight."

Boss and Sev exchanged questioning looks.

"Yes," Hunter answered. "Want me to keep my distance from you?"

"For now, yes, and for two reasons; first, you may notice something that I do not."

"Like someone following you," said Hunter.

"Yes, though I do not anticipate that." She gestured at the white-and-orange outfit she wore. "I also want to maintain my disguise as a Guardian for as long as possible, and people will certainly take notice if you are nearby. If I am with Baze, however, no one should pay any particular attention to me."

"Sounds like a plan." Hunter elbowed Wrecker. "I think that leaves you with being on the lookout for explosives on the ground."

"Don't worry." Wrecker cracked his knuckles loudly. "I'll find 'em. Uh, if there are any to find."

"Sev, you're with him," said Boss. "Start at the opposite end of town. Crosshair, you and I are going to start at the city wall near the Temple."

The sniper, who had been quiet so far, turned to study him. "Understood," he said at last. "You think they'll be trying to breach the wall?"

"No," said Boss. "But the Crescent Caverns are north of the city, and you might be able to spot something useful from here."

As the teams headed off in different directions. Aayla nodded to Baze, and the Guardian strode towards the gate, leading her out into the city.

At first, Aayla kept her Force-senses attuned to Hunter, attempting to keep track of his position. But there were many people around, and while she recognized when he left the Temple, she couldn't keep his position in her mind after that. When she glanced back a moment later, at the mostly empty road behind her, he was nowhere in sight.

"He's still following us," said Baze. "But I don't know where he – Disappearing like that isn't normal."

She smiled a little. "Where are we heading first?"

"The Shrine of the Moon," Baze told her. "Over these past few days, there was no moonrise, so there wouldn't have been many visitors."

"I see," said Aayla. "Anyone could have gone in unnoticed, then."

When Baze nodded, Aayla briefly informed the rest of the team as to where she was headed and told everyone to keep her updated on their progress as well; there was no point in multiple teams searching the same places.

They quickly arrived at the Shrine of the Moon, which was only a quarter mile from the Temple. The shrine was a small cave with doors, which currently stood open, showing the large crack in the rock that had been the original entrance.

Aayla stepped inside and glanced around. The cave walls were streaked with quartz, and a few steps away, a stairway led downwards. The Force was so utterly calm and serene here that she didn't even have to wonder if there were enemies nearby. She went downstairs without hesitation.

Twenty steps later, she arrived at the shrine itself. The room, currently free of occupants, was circular and quite large. The floor itself appeared to be solid quartz, which had been polished to a translucent glow. In the center of the large floor stood an archway. It was formed from kyber crystal and had two arches, placed perpendicular to each other so that they intersected at the middle. It seemed that something was supposed to be hanging there, but nothing currently was.

Baze stepped up next to her. "When the moon rises, it reflects through a complex series of crystals and mirrors so that it appears there," he said, pointing to the center of the archway. "The light reflects in the floor so the entire room glows. . . It's beautiful."

Aayla smiled. "It sounds beautiful. I hope I can see it before we leave Jedha."

"Yeah. . ." Baze glanced around. "Well, at least there's no place to hide things except for along the stairs. I didn't see any explosives. Do you sense anything, Aayla?"

"Nothing," she answered. "There is no threat here."

"Good," muttered the Guardian. He glanced again at the gleaming crystal. "I would hate to see this place damaged."

"As would I," Aayla told him. "Are there other places like this, that would be targeted?"

"Yes." Baze headed back to the stairs. "Come on, I'll show you."

As they walked down the main road, Aayla took the opportunity to observe the people of NiJedha. She had noticed the peaceful happiness of the city yesterday, and she noticed it even more as she walked through the crowds of inhabitants who were on their way to their daily occupations. For the most part, people walked; the roads were wide enough for two land speeders, but it seemed that no one had a use for them here.

Then Hunter commed on a private channel. "Aayla," he said. "I have eyes on the man who was watching our ship yesterday. He's a hundred meters behind you – didn't seem to notice you and Baze, and isn't following your path. But he was watching when the Marauder took off. I think he's headed to spy on it again. Want me to follow him?"

"Yes, but keep out of sight," she said. "Unless you have to, do not draw his notice in any way."

"Got it." The comm shut off, and Aayla quietly explained the situation to Baze as they continued walking.

There were many small stores along the road, some selling fruit or bread, while others sold candles, or flowers, or robes for pilgrims, or hot drinks. At one spot, Aayla saw a tented booth with a young man working outside at a small grill. Several pilgrims stood in line, waiting to buy the sticks of meat and fruit he was cooking.

Baze stopped at the next stand, which was run by a middle-aged woman.

"Hungry?" he asked Aayla, then leaned closer to add, "Blending in, right?"

She rather suspected that he was hungry, and that blending in was a secondary concern, but she agreed that breakfast was a good idea. Baze purchased a couple of small pies for himself and Aayla. Each was shaped like a half circle, and had a thin crust wrapped around fried steak and some kind of cheese, along with onions and tangy bits of citrus fruit. Aayla immediately decided she would have to introduce the idea to the Jedi Temple kitchens.

As they continued on towards the next shrine, several people called out greetings to Baze by name, and others nodded respectfully to Aayla. They did not seem surprised to see her, perhaps because they thought she was visiting from another temple. The Whills themselves had no other temples apart from this one, but there were other orders on Jedha, in other cities.

"We'll cut through the marketplace," said Baze, turning left. "The closest shrine is a level down from the west side."

The marketplace was busier than the rest of the town, and it seemed that most of the people here both bought and sold things. There were some large food stalls, and some with pottery and other wares, but for the most part people walked around carrying their goods as they tried to find customers.

One girl had brightly-colored garlands that she'd hung over one shoulder, and Baze gestured towards her. "The Day of Crystal is coming up," he said. "Everyone decorates their houses for it, so it's a good time of year for the children to make and sell things."

"So I see," said Aayla, observing the large number of younglings. Some of them were trying to sell bags full of large stars that were made out of gold or silver paper. A young Rodian boy tripped while running after his crowd of friends and dropped his armful of bags. One of them burst, flinging large paper stars everywhere.

Sighing with a world-weary attitude, the child began to collect the stars, then smiled as Baze knelt suddenly to help him. With Aayla helping, they finished quickly.

"Thank you, Guardian," the boy said, standing. "And you, lady." Quickly, he thrust a bag of stars towards each of them and rushed off as soon as they'd accepted them.

Aayla put her bag into the satchel with her lightsabers, and Baze pocketed his.

"The children here seem very happy," said Aayla.

"They are," Baze answered, with a proud smile. "Things aren't perfect in NiJedha, but . . . they're good. Very good. Everyone here works hard and plays hard."

They were nearly across the marketplace when a familiar voice said, "I think you would be interested in a necklace."

Aayla knew somehow that he was speaking to her. Turning, she noticed a market stall filled with beautifully made jewelry. The man behind the counter had a instantly recognizable smile. Before Aayla could open her mouth, Baze said, "Master Îmwe, I didn't know you'd be in the market place today. How are you and your wife?"

"I am well," said the man. "My wife is also well. She is busy aiding a sick mother and her child, and so they will soon also be well."

Baze glanced at Aayla. "This is Chirrut's father," he said unnecessarily. "Master Îmwe, this is a friend of mine, Aayla Secura."

Chirrut's father beamed, expression much too delighted, and Baze gave Aayla an embarrassed look. "She is a visiting member of another Order," he clarified. "Only here for a few days."

"Oh, I know that," said Master Îmwe cheerfully. Aayla bit back a smile.

Baze sighed, very quietly, and wandered away to look at the handmade candles in the next stall.

"Would you like to purchase a necklace?" Master Îmwe asked, meeting Aayla's gaze. His eyes were dark and sharp, unlike Chirrut's, but he still gave that impression of seeing straight through everyone, the way his son did. "It seems to me that you are looking for one."

"I do not believe I am," said Aayla, but she had known too many Jedi and Force-sensitives to take his words lightly, so she glanced at the counter all the same.

The very first thing she saw was a small, rectangular stone of mottled grey and blue, attached to a leather cord and secured with gold beads. Aayla gazed at it in some surprise. It looked exactly like the necklace Quinlan had given her. . . the necklace that she'd left next to his lightsaber, when she went away without saying a word. Had he kept it?

Feeling strangely unsettled, Aayla glanced up at Master Îmwe, who smiled vaguely at her. "If that one is not quite to your liking," he said, "perhaps you would prefer a different one."

Silently, Aayla examined the rest of the necklaces. All of them were beautiful and well-made, but only one other really caught her attention. It was a green crystal pendant, shot through with streaks of translucent black and hung on a black cord.

Before she even said anything, Master Îmwe picked it up and handed it to her. "It is a kyber crystal," he said, though she knew full well what it was. "In the Temple of the Whills, the Guardians meditate and encourage the kyber to grow."

"Yes," said Aayla.

"But the kyber must come from somewhere," the jewelry-seller went on. "There is a cave, miles into the desert, where the crystals begin their lives. The Guardians only harvest once every ten years; they touch the crystals that are ready, and the kyber simply falls off the wall. But sometimes, the kyber behaves differently than anticipated."

Aayla looked away from the necklace, her interest piqued. "In what way?"

"Certain crystals still fall off the wall, but change color at once and cannot be encouraged to grow," he answered. "These particular crystals have long been known to have other purposes than being turned into statues."

"And . . . what are those purposes?"

"They still are influenced by the Force, and therefore they can influence the wearer, especially one who is already strong in the Force. Some kyber encourages healing, some gives greater insight or perception. Some crystals might even provide different abilities or help depending on who is wearing them."

"Oh?" said Aayla. "What does this particular crystal do?"

"Well!" Master Îmwe smiled excitedly and leaned closer. "This crystal. . . I have no idea."

". . . I see," said Aayla.

"I myself do not wear them," the jewelry-maker explained. "My son brought me this particular pendant, along with several others, after his first trip to the cavern. He had tried to harvest five small crystals, and not one of them was meant to be turned into a statue. So the Guardians allowed him to give them to me. He and I both believe that we will know when one is needed. So, which would you like?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, because she didn't think she needed a necklace, and on top of that, she didn't have anywhere near enough money for something like this. The small paper tag on the cord told her that the price was ten thousand credits.

Master Îmwe smiled and rocked back slightly on his heels. "I mark these crystals at exorbitant prices, so that they will not be casually purchased," he said to the roof of his booth. "They are relatively common, but I prefer to save them for the people who need them. A doctor might use a crystal that encourages peace for his critically ill patients, for example. I will give him a lowered price, if his heart is in the right place."

"I see," said Aayla again. She stared down at the kyber for a moment longer, feeling the slight but undeniable pull in the Force. "And why do you believe that I need this crystal?"

"You do not," said Master Îmwe. He wrapped up the green-and-black pendant in a sheet of thin paper. "It doesn't quite suit you, does it?"

"No," said Aayla slowly. He held out the packet, and she said, "What is your new price?"

"One hundred credits," said Master Îmwe. "It is always the same."

Silently, Aayla gave him a hundred-credit chip. She stared down at the tiny package for a moment before securing it in one of her coat's inside pockets. "Thank you," she said at last.

Master Îmwe, who was now at work making a chain out of tiny gold links, replied with a nod. "Of course. Thank you for stopping by," he said, as if he hadn't been the one to call her over in the first place.

Aayla returned to Baze, who said, almost by way of apology, "He and Chirrut are very much like each other."

"Yes," said Aayla. "Even apart from the similar looks and personalities. And they are both Force-sensitive."

"Most Guardians are Force-sensitive, to some degree," agreed Baze. "But Chirrut and Master Îmwe . . . they just know things."

Chapter Text

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Twelve, morning (about 8:00 a.m.)

Delta Thirty-Eight climbed the long, narrow steps to the top of the city wall while Crosshair climbed the wall itself. Boss hadn't bothered asking why the sniper preferred crawling up the rock face (without safety gear) over using the stairs. A lot of clones seemed to like rock climbing, snipers in particular. Thirty-Eight had known Sev and Deadeye to insist on using every possible way of getting up an obstacle except for ladders or stairs. Cables were an acceptable substitute – mostly, Boss was sure, because at times it was simply impossible to freeclimb steep or overarching cliffs.

Thirty-Eight assumed that Crosshair was taking advantage of the fact that he was wearing simple clothes right now. Boss had done a fair bit of climbing himself, not only during training, but also after missions while the squad was waiting to be picked up. He knew that climbing could be fun, even relaxing, when your armor wasn't weighing you down or pushing you away from the wall at every step.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Thirty-Eight walked across the wall to peer at the distant cave system. The Crescent Caverns themselves were visible as a tumbled pile of boulders at this distance, but he couldn't make out any details such as entrances or trails. He couldn't see any ships, either. Quite likely, the Pit Vipers kept the shuttles inside the caves.

Crosshair hauled himself up onto the wall, hopped to his feet, and glanced at Boss, who said, "Can you see anything helpful?"

The sniper glanced north and announced, unhelpfully, "There's a cave system."

Boss peered across the desert again. "Hm," he said, allowing some surprise into his voice. "My vision must be as good as yours. I can see it, too."

The younger commando scoffed, but shaded his eyes with one hand and studied the caves for a long moment. "One entrance on the visible side," he said at last. "But I think there's another. . ."

He took the electrobinoculars Boss held out and used them. "There are two entrances at ground level," he said. "One's small."

"Two?" said Thirty-Eight. "There was only one shown on the scans from a few days ago. They must have added a new one."

"Looks like it," said Crosshair. "I think there might be another entrance higher up, at the peak. Might go to a separate cave."

"Are any of the entrances big enough for a shuttle?" Boss asked.

"Negative. I don't see any shuttle, either."

"Maybe it's parked in back," said Boss. "Or there's a larger entrance out back now. . ."

Hitting his comm, he said, "Three-Eight to Marauder. Scorch, do you copy?"

"Reading you loud and clear, Boss-man."

"Any way you can get intel on the Crescent Caverns without flying closer?"

"Good question," said Scorch. "Tech – how good are the sensors on this thing?"

"The sensors on this 'thing' have been carefully upgraded," said Tech, in an offended tone. "They will reach farther than the sensors on the Predator, I am sure."

"I dunno about that," Six-Two said cheerfully. "Fixer upgraded the sensors on our ship fifteen ways from Coruscant, so – uh, hang on, how do you work the long-range topographical scan?"

"Switch to piloting," ordered Tech. "I will run the scans."

While Boss waited, he idly watched Crosshair, who was now lying flat on his stomach with one leg bent over the edge of the wall as he observed the Crescent Caverns. It was a long, long fall down the side, but the sniper seemed unconcerned by either the height or his precarious position.

"Sarge," said Tech at last. "Ah – Boss. None of the ships are active right now, which makes it hard to get precise data, and the caverns themselves are not helping matters, but there is certainly at least one shuttle in the main cavern."

"So they do have another entrance now," said Thirty-Eight.

"One would assume," Tech replied.

"Got it. You done a full circuit of the city yet?"

"Negative. We will begin our first as soon as I take over piloting again."

"Yep," said Scorch. "We'll let you know the minute we find anything, Boss."

"Understood," he answered. He ended the call and set off along the wall, which extended around the entire city. "Come on, Crosshair. Let's scout the perimeter."

The sniper got to his feet in one motion and followed wordlessly.

Coruscant Guard, Senate District

Day Twelve, evening (about 8:30 p.m.)

Captain Faie stood at one end of a fold-out table, looking down at a holomap and watching as Steele and Kilo tossed ideas back and forth like bolo balls. Fox had recently left the room to get some food and move around a bit, since he'd been on duty for the past twelve hours.

As for Faie, after explaining to Fox why he was there, he'd been told that General Vos wouldn't be back for a while – if he came back at all tonight. But Fox had decided that Faie could join the mission until told otherwise. He claimed that it would be a waste of time, waiting for Vos to show up and give Faie permission. As the CG commander put it when Faie questioned it, "Vos might be the general, but I'm the one in charge."

Faie had blinked at this, because the regulations were very clear that the Jedi were the ultimate authority.

Then Kilo, noticing Faie's unease, clapped him on the shoulder and said, "The CG doesn't operate like the rest of the army, Captain. We work with civilians and the CSF all the time. The rules are different."

"Yeah," said Steele, coming up on Faie's other side. "For example, half of our informants aren't officially allowed on the case, but – they're on the case. Even though there's a danger of betrayal from any of them, at any time."

"Exactly," Fox agreed. "And it's not like we have to worry about that with you."

Faie couldn't decide whether that was a compliment or an insult, or just a mere statement of fact. Despite his misgivings, though, he assumed that Fox knew what he was talking about and that his authority stood.

So Faie had nodded and asked to be filled in on the situation, and Fox had given him a succinct briefing on the Pit Vipers and the case up to this point. He mentioned that the Coruscant Guard and the Coruscant Security Force knew very little so far, but were gathering information as best they could, now that most of their informants had been reassigned to other work. The only agent who would be continuing to work on this case was a Nautolan woman whom Kilo and Steel referred to as Agent Archane, and whom Fox simply called Vythia.

Now, with Fox gone on a mission to locate 'edible rations', Faie was standing near the table and listening to the two ARC troopers, who were engaged in a rapid-fire discussion that was increasingly hard to follow; they seemed to know what the other was thinking, and by this point had stopped using full sentences.

And they'd been going at it for a while.

Faie had complained about it, and Steele and Kilo had promptly started using full sentences . . . for at least two minutes. Then they'd gotten invested in their plans – or in their argument, it was hard to tell which – and the half-sentences and incomplete thoughts took over again.

"The left-hand building," said Kilo, pointing.

Steele pushed his hand aside and pulled out a flimsi map, which he unfolded over the holographic one. "Ideal, except for the parking garage."

"Right. . . good point." Kilo switched off the holomap and peered at the flimsi instead. "But the middle level has the balcony. Except the upper level has too much –"

"Accessibility, right." Steele huffed. "Great, that means we're stuck again. Let's take it from the top. If we go through the –"

"Not happening. I wouldn't trust that lift with Turtle's life, let alone ours."

"Fine. What about the stairs? The back entrance still has –"

Faie interrupted by sighing loudly.

The ARCs looked up at him, then at each other.

"We were doing it again?" said Steele.

"Yeah," said Faie, leaning back against the corner of the bookcase with his arms folded over his chest. "I have no idea what either of you are talking about."

"Right. Sorry." Kilo tapped at the table and cleared his throat. "So, the building that Agent Archane traced the Vipers to is right here."

"I got that part," said Faie. "And you want to watch that building. All the levels of it, or just a few?"

"The top three, at least," said Steele. "There are two newly-sealed-off levels below that. It seems reasonable to assume, at least for now, that the Vipers are the ones who sealed off those levels and are staying above them."

Kilo pointed at the map. "We were discussing the best spot for a stake-out."

"Ah," said Faie, studying the diagram. "In preparation for a raid, I take it?"
Steele shook his head in disappointment, and Kilo said, "If only. We probably won't be able to risk a raid."

"Why not?" Faie asked. "Surely, between the CSF and the CG –"

"We could scrape together the men," said Steele. "Maybe."

"But openly raiding a powerful gang?" Kilo shrugged. "Other groups will get involved. We stand a good chance of beating the Vipers if we fight them, but it never is just one gang that you fight."

Faie considered that for a few moments as he looked up at another flimsi map pasted to the wall – this one showing which sectors had aligned themselves with which gang. "Even though these gangs are all enemies to each other?" he asked.

"Heh. . ." Kilo smirked a little. "First thing you need to know about Coruscant, Captain – the enemy of my enemy is my friend. The fastest way to unite the crimelords of Coruscant is to have the police or the military openly go after one of them."

"I see," said Faie, who was struggling to comprehend the sheer number of gangs listed on one side of the map. "But you and the police force aren't just letting criminals run free, are you?"

"No," replied Steele. "Well. No and yes. It's just how we do it that we have to watch. Gangs don't care if we go after fellow criminals. We do it all the time – have taken out quite a few, as a matter of fact, and even dismantled an entire gang, piecemeal."

Kilo glanced up. "Yeah, that worked. But as soon as the attack looks like a large, organized raid, the other gangs get scared they'll be next, and they attack us. And there are enough of them that if they weren't always involved in their own turf wars, they could completely overwhelm the CSF and the CG, and probably even the Senate."

Faie considered. He'd known this planet was infamous for its crime levels, but hadn't realized the balance of power was so tenuous.

"In other words," said Steele. "There's an uneasy truce between the criminals and law enforcement. They (mostly) don't murder us randomly while we're out on patrol, and we don't bomb every hideout we come across."

"So, they're not scared into attacking, as long as you're subtle?" guessed Faie, trying to keep up.

"Pretty much," said Kilo. "For example, they know we're the ones who took out Ajaxx – he was a weapons smuggler – and his gang. . . but we did it with only a few men, here and there over the course of a few weeks. No one else interfered. I guess the other crimelords figure it's Ajaxx's fault he got captured, because he'd slipped up several times on his checkpoint security and didn't kill us in time."

"Ah." Faie studied the flimsi map, and the scribbled lines the ARCs had left all over it. It looked like most buildings at the edge of the Uscru district had been categorized as unavailable, for one reason or another. But there were several others, near the red-marked building that showed the Vipers' hideout, that had question marks scrawled on them.

Faie moved the flimsi map aside and activated the multi-layered holomap again, quickly locating all the buildings in question. "This one's not useable because of the parking garage?" he asked.

"Right," said Kilo. "Too much easy access from the airway. It's the perfect location for us to be hemmed in and gunned down."

Faie studied the three buildings, noting their weaknesses. "Go from above," he said at last. "If this is just a stake-out, you can stay on the top level of this building –" He pointed to a towering skyscraper, a bit farther from the hideout. "There's a line of visibility here, through the traffic lanes. Not ideal, but at least it's safer."

"I like that plan," said Kilo promptly.

Steele nodded. "Should've thought of looking farther out before now. Okay, Captain, put your mind to work on this one. We need to decide on a potential location for a temporary CG base, just in case we need one."

"Parameters?" said Faie.

"Not too many inhabitants. . . room for a few vehicles." Kilo hooked his thumbs in the crisscrossed gun belt he wore. "Ideally within a kilometer of the hideout."

Faie was still looking when the door opened and Fox came in with a bag. "Got some food," he announced, going over to his desk. He set the bag down and pulled out a paper container. "Help yourselves, boys."

As Kilo and Steele dragged chairs over, Fox sat on the edge of his desk and nudged the container in Faie's direction.

The captain leaned closer to study it. The paper box held a neatly arranged stack of tuber wedges, each wrapped in thin strips of meat and then fried. The smell was mouthwatering, and Faie took one of the fries without hesitation. It was crunchy and piping hot, and he'd never tasted anything like it before.

"Fox," he said. "This isn't from the mess hall."

Fox elbowed Steele, lifted his eyebrows in Faie's direction, and spoke in a confidential murmur. "Sharp as a tack, that one."

Just for that, Faie moved the container out of his reach, so that Fox was forced to stand up in order to get it again. Kilo gave Faie a thumbs-up.

There was no more talking after that, because the four troopers settled in to do justice to the food. They'd worked their way through the first container, and Kilo was just opening the second, when there was a sharp, floor-shaking clang of metal against metal.

Faie jumped off his chair and landed on one knee, pistol drawn and pointed towards the ventilation shaft in the ceiling, which was now missing its grate.

Fox, who hadn't even looked up, took another fry and said, "Faie, it's just –"

There was a blur of motion as General Vos slid out of the ventilation shaft head-first and somersaulted to land in a crouch on the floor.

"– Vos," finished the commander.

"There's another potential building," the Jedi announced, straightening. Only then did he register the blaster pointed at him. He froze for half a second, then raised an eyebrow at Faie, who quickly holstered his pistol and stepped back.

"Sorry, sir." he said, shooting a dark look at his fellow troopers. "I didn't realize it was you."

Vos waved away his apology and went over to the map.

Faie stared after him, distantly concerned. He had just pointed a gun at his general, and the general didn't seem to be bothered by it. Vos had seen the gun, had even hesitated, but . . . hadn't said anything?

Kilo elbowed Steele and scolded him for getting bacon grease all over the desk, and Steele took Kilo's empty water bottle and smacked him over the head with it. Then the two ARCs stopped acting like cadets and went over to the map, where Vos was scribbling notes and lines. He had a black pen in one hand and had tucked a red one behind his ear.

While Vos talked to the ARCs about whatever he'd found, Faie took a long breath and aimed a pointed glower at Fox.

"Sorry about that," said the commander, tossing him a water bottle. "I should've remembered to warn you."

"It would have been nice," grumbled Faie under his breath. "I just pointed a weapon at a general, Fox."

"It happens," the commander said.

"But –"

"Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?! Fox –"

"Faie," said Fox, meeting his eyes. "When I say it happens, I mean it happens frequently, and that it's usually the general's fault. He's used to it. First time I met him, I broke his nose."

Faie did not gape at him, but it was a close thing. "You what?"

"He startled me," Fox said, with a shrug, and took another bite. "And I guess he hasn't learned, because in the past few months, he's startled several other troopers, too. . . including Hypo, of all people." He smirked.

"But I could have shot him," hissed Faie.

Fox seemed to consider that for a few seconds. "Well . . . maybe," he admitted dubiously, taking another tuber fry. "You could have shot at him, at least."

"But – Fox –"

"Look," said the commander, holding out the fry as a peace offering. "I try to remember to warn people, but in the end, it's no one's fault but the general's that he doesn't know how to use doors."

"I do too know how," said the Jedi, wandering over to swipe a fry. "Fox, I'm going down to Javyar's Cantina. I'll need access to one of the unmarked speeders."

"Leave my tuber fries alone," said Fox, and pushed the container aside so he could reach his datapad.

Quinlan ate the fry anyway, watching as Fox typed in a few codes.

"Okay," said Fox. "Bay Eight is accessible with your normal code."

"Great, thanks." The Jedi took another fry, then said abruptly, "Food court on Third Street. Six levels down."

Fox rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's where I got them. Happy now?"

"Mm-hmm. Are you able to get in touch with Vythia?"

"Yes," said Fox. "I've already told her to keep clear of Javyar's, just in case the Vipers decide to watch it. Want me to check in with her?"

"It's probably a good time to touch bases."

"Right. While I do that, you can review the report that the Council forwarded from General Secura," said Fox, nodding to a datapad. "It just came in."

"Thanks." As Fox stepped away from the desk, Vos picked up the datapad and scrolled through the report.

Faie glanced around as Fox spoke quietly into his comm and Kilo and Steele continued to draw complicated paths and notes in five different colors on the map.

After a minute or so, Vos tossed the datapad onto the desk and reached for Fox's comm panel. While Fox growled in obvious annoyance from the other side of the room, Faie wondered why and how General Vos had access to Fox's comm codes.

"Lieutenant Divo here," said a tired voice.

"It's Vos," said the Jedi, taking the red pen from behind his ear. He scribbled a note on the nearest piece of flimsi, circled it, and pointed to it while making eye contact with Fox. "We have the name of the leader of the gang that we're after. Unfortunately, he's not currently on-planet."

"Oh?" The voice sounded incredibly sarcastic. "Is that a fact or hearsay?"

"A little of each. Do you want this intel or not?"

A heavy sigh. "So, the leader's not on Coruscant? Then where the pits is he?"

"Potentially on Jedha," said Quinlan, while Fox took the note he'd written and started entering it into some database or other. "Which is where we have another active case."

"I have to care about this case first," said the voice. "So. Info. Give."

Quinlan nodded. "Gather all intel on a Kage Akar – K-A-G-E, A-K-A-R. He's known for keeping vipers, probably hundreds of them, as pets."

"Got it," said the voice, now more awake, and there was a click as the lieutenant hung up.

General Vos picked up the datapad again, typed for a minute, and submitted a message. Then, straightening up, he cast a sidelong glance at Faie. "Captain, did you try to contact me earlier?"

"No, sir."

"Good," he said, glancing down at his own commlink. "Because I don't see any missed calls. So . . ."

He trailed off. When Faie tilted his head uncertainly, Vos leaned back against Fox's desk and gestured for the captain to speak.

"Ah – sorry, sir," said Faie, suddenly realizing that the general would of course want an explanation for his presence here. "Commander Fox gave me permission to assist the Coruscant Guard during the current mission."

"Okay," said the general. "But I thought Shadow Company was on leave?"

"The men still are, sir; I just wanted to take the opportunity to learn."

"Gotcha," said Vos, one hand on his chin. "You mean because my missions are different? Nonstandard? . . . Is there even such a thing as a nonstandard mission?"

"I don't know, General," said Faie. "But yes, that's why. I'd like to learn about the missions I'll be working on – if you have no objections."

"I've got none. It's a good idea," said the Kiffar. "But there's one thing that all of Shadow Company has to learn quickly. Don't call me 'general', or even 'sir', unless we're in a military situation. In this particular war, everyone knows that Jedi are the commanders or generals. If anyone overhears that, my cover's gone – and sometimes, so is the mission."

"Understood, Vos," said Faie, and made a mental note to forward that order to Lieutenant Star and the others.

"Right. For now, you'll mostly be in the command center, observing or coming up with ideas as you get new intel. The 'command center' is here, by the way."

"I figured," said Faie, glancing around the crowded office.

Vos laughed and pointed to the map. "The next thing we'll be doing is to set up a forward operating base near the Pit Vipers' territory," he said as Fox returned. "And then I'll check the safehouses. Rule number two of being on Shadow work is to have a safehouse available at all times."

"Will the new base count as a safehouse?" asked Faie.

"No – though if we're lucky we won't be raided. In case our operating base is compromised, I have three safehouses set up in this sector, which reminds me. . . Fox, you know where they are, right?"

"I know where two of them are," replied Fox. "And I know where Vythia's is."

"And you have all the codes as well?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then you have backup locations in case anyone tries to kill you. Remind me to give you the third location later."

Faie wanted to ask how often the safehouses got used, but the general had already moved on to the next topic. "Did you reach Vythia?"

"Yeah," said Fox. "She's cleared out all our contacts and is on her way back. You headed out?"

Quinlan nodded. "I want to keep an eye on Javyar's."

"For how long?"

"Until I find something useful. . . Could be an hour, could be five."

"Could be never," suggested Fox.

"Something usually turns up." The Jedi opened a hidden panel on the wall and took out a black half-cloak, which he clasped around his neck. "So . . . I think I'll just head into the cantina for a drink. Or . . . in an attempt to find work?"

As Faie raised an eyebrow, Fox said, "No."

"Why not?"

"Because every time you go undercover in a gang, you get caught."

The Jedi paused, looking insulted. "Not every time."

"Every time that I've seen you do it."

"Come on, we haven't worked together that long," said Quinlan, as if that countered Fox's argument.

"Three times, Vos," said the commander, and cleared his desk of the trash from dinner by sweeping the entire pile into a nearby wastebasket. "Three times."

"But you only had to stage a rescue once." Vos strapped an extra knife-holster to his right leg and checked his pistol, then unclipped the lightsaber from his belt. "Oh, and I'm leaving this here."

"That's another thing," complained Fox, catching the lightsaber when Vos threw it to him. "The time I did have to rescue you, you could've gotten out on your own if you'd had this."

"Maybe," admitted the Jedi, emptying a bag of credits onto Fox's desk. "Or I'd have been executed – something which I actively try to avoid."

Captain Faie stared, blinked, and glanced at Kilo and Steele, who seemed completely unbothered by the exchange.

Vos swept half the credits into his hand and pocketed them, then put the rest back in the pouch and tossed it into the compartment. Then he closed the hidden panel while Fox stood there, still holding the lightsaber.

"Right," said the Jedi, pulling on a pair of black fingerless gloves. "I'll be back. Or not. Hey, Kilo, could you put the grate back for me? Thanks."

With that, he hopped up into the ventilation shaft and disappeared.

Faie tilted his head in consideration, watching as Kilo stood on a chair to clip the grate back where it went. Then the ARC trooper went back to the holomap, nodding in response to whatever Steele was saying.

Faie glanced at Fox, hoping for some kind of clarification on – anything. Fox provided none. He merely huffed once before going to check his comm.

"Fox," Faie said. Not sure what to ask first, he hesitated once or twice before finally settling on: "You have a secret compartment in your office."

"Yeah." Commander Fox looked down at the lightsaber. Then he yanked open a drawer in his desk and carelessly tossed the invaluable weapon onto a stack of flimsi, coins, paperclips and pens before slamming the drawer. "We put it there pretty much first thing."

"Ah . . . " said Faie slowly. This was in no way standard operating procedure.

Fox slapped a magnetic lock onto the front of the drawer and turned to his ARC troopers. "You have your location?"

"Yes, sir," said Steele. "Captain Faie made a suggestion for a lookout post. Kilo and I are going to scope out the Vipers' place; we'll check the operating base location from Vos on the way back."

"Give me all possible intel on the hideout," said Fox.

"Will do, Commander." Kilo put his helmet on. "We'll take an enclosed speeder."

"Use Number Eighteen," suggested Fox. "The others haven't used it recently."

Steele saluted and headed out, with Kilo on his heels.

". . . Number Eighteen?" asked Faie, into the sudden silence.

"We cycle through the speeders we have available," Fox explained. "Because we aren't allowed to disguise them – in case we need them for Senate business – we have to be sure not to use the same one too many times in a row when we actually go into the city. Criminals don't pay as much attention to unfamiliar vehicles as they do to familiar ones."

"Sounds counterintuitive, somehow," said Faie, sitting near the desk.

Fox snorted. "A lot of this Coruscant business is counterintuitive," he said. "But don't worry, it'll only be that way for the first couple weeks. After that, you'll start thinking as backwards as all the operatives. Just be glad you don't have to think like an operative and like a normal, practical GAR commander."

"Hm," said Faie. He thought of Fox and Wolffe, as he'd known them on Kamino, and of Fox's craftiness as opposed to Wolffe's blunt honesty and straightforward approach. "I guess it's a good thing Commander Wolffe wasn't given this posting."

Grimacing, Fox went over to a small counter in one corner. "It's a very good thing," he said, taking a stack of datapads off a small caf machine. "Want some caf?"

"You have a caf machine?"

"Yes," said Fox, with finality. "It was a non-negotiable requirement, once I found out that Vos wanted to store half his arsenal in my office walls. So he picked up one somewhere, practically new. And he got some caf grounds that are better than usual."

Faie was still confused by everything involving the general and Fox and the mission overall, but two officers sitting over cups of caf was familiar. And maybe Fox would be able to explain more of this whole Shadow business thing. "You know what, Commander," Faie said. "Caf sounds perfect right now."

The commander gave him a look that was not entirely unsympathetic. "Oh, I'll bet it does."

Chapter Text

Jedha, NiJedha

Day Twelve, morning (about 8:30 a.m.)

Scorch leaned back in the co-pilot's seat, bracing his feet against the floor as Tech brought the Marauder up and out over the desert. They'd circled the city walls once and seen nothing special; so now they were going to try again, this time at a lower altitude.

Tech was humming happily under his breath, paying no attention to his instruments as he angled the ship down sharply and directed it towards the city wall with reckless abandon.

"Uh, Tech," said Six-Two, now leaning back as hard as he could, for all the good that would do. "You can slow down."

The other commando, who was perhaps an inch shorter than Scorch – just enough that it was noticeable – looked at him in obvious confusion. "Of course I can."

"Well, you're not," Scorch said.

"That," said the goggled clone in a calm voice, "is because I do not want to."

"I can tell," said Six-Two. But as they drew closer to the main gate and Tech still did not slow down, Scorch started to become very concerned. "Seriously, Tech, you're going too fast. You won't be able to make the turn."

A devilish smirk, there and gone so quickly that Scorch wondered if he'd just imagined it, crossed Tech's face. Then he hit the decelerator, jerked the control stick to bring up the right aileron, and banked hard, slipping into a controlled skid that whipped the nose of the ship ninety degrees to port and ended only when he slammed on the airbrakes.

Scorch took a moment to recalibrate his head, since his brain was sloshing around inside his skull like a suddenly contained ocean wave.

When he looked up, Tech was watching him, expression a little too obviously innocent. "Did that qualify as 'making the turn'?"

"Now, you listen to me, kid –" Scorch began sternly. He couldn't maintain the strict tone, though, so he gave in with a grin. "You know what, you're crazy."

"Others have observed as much," said Tech, with a small, pleased smile. "But I prefer to think of it as being willing to take calculated risks."

"Of course you do." Shaking his head, Scorch activated the comms and announced, "Making another circuit around the town, lower altitude."

"Copy," said Boss. "Tech, pull it back. If you fly any lower or faster or the civilians might think you're an attacker."

"Understood," said Tech. After Scorch ended the transmission, the younger commando added, "I would have done so anyway. It is harder for most people to spot potential threats at high speed."

"Most people, not including you?" asked Scorch disbelievingly.

Tech snorted. "Most people, not including Crosshair. Usually, he and I are the ones who scout with the Marauder."

"Right," said Scorch, getting up to peer out the side viewport as the city swept past below them. "Well, sorry to disappoint."

There was a brief pause before Tech answered with a note of confusion in his voice. "You have not disappointed," he said. "I was merely observing that you do not have Crosshair's abilities. Your skill set is different, that is all."

Scorch realized that the Bad Batch, or at least Tech, clearly saw things a different way than most troopers did. "I was being sarcastic," he explained. "Let's take it a little slower over that marketplace. If it's this crowded all the time, the Vipers will almost definitely choose to target it. We should look for any potential bomb locations."

"Yes," said Tech. "And there are several marketplaces. This might take a while."

The Marauder slowed to a near crawl, and both Tech and Six-Two stared out the viewports. Scorch caught the briefest glimpse of Wrecker and Sev, both of whom were staring up at the ship, and immediately commed them to let them know they were terrible at undercover work.

Sev told him to shut up and focus on his own task. Scorch told him that his task was to look for threats, and Sev being terrible at staying undercover was a threat. Sev grunted and remarked that Boss had probably put Scorch up in the ship because he was even worse at being undercover; at which point Fixer cut in and ordered them to keep the comm channel clear.

Sighing dramatically, Scorch obeyed. As the Marauder soared over the market place again, he glanced at Tech and grinned when he saw that the younger commando wore an amused, if slight, smile.

Jedha, NiJedha

Day Twelve, morning (about 8:30 a.m.)

Delta Oh-Seven was having a hard time blending in, because Wrecker didn't seem to know the meaning of the term. To be fair, even if he did known the meaning of the term, he might not be able to accomplish it, given his height. But also, Wrecker kept pausing to exchange cheerful greetings with vendors, or in one instance, help a man who was struggling to lift a small but heavy crate that had fallen from a wagon. The civilian had stared in shock as Wrecker hoisted the crate in one hand and set it gently on the wagon.

After the fifth interruption, Sev decided it was pointless to tell Wrecker to keep away from people.

So, for the past quarter of an hour, Sev had kept his distance. While Wrecker walked through the streets, practically parting the crowd before him, Oh-Seven slunk along, keeping to the west side of the buildings so as to take advantage of the morning shadows. Every so often, he muttered directions via comms about where he was headed so that Wrecker could parallel him in the street.

The only comfort was that Sev's team wasn't the only one failing to keep a low profile. Scorch and Tech were doing an absolutely lousy job of it. Judging by Six-Two's chipper tone as he reported in, they were doing it on purpose, too.

"I see a spot," Wrecker announced loudly, forgetting to use his comm.

Sev paused and sighed, because although plenty of civilians had been looking at Wrecker already, there were now even more looking in his direction. Maybe trying to stay out of sight wasn't worth the effort, in this case.

"Fine. Where?" he asked, walking over to join him. "And don't point."

"Oh, come on," grumbled Wrecker, mercifully keeping his voice quiet. "I'm not that obvious."

Sev gave him a look, which Wrecker either didn't see or chose to ignore.

"See that picnic-looking area?" he asked, lowering his voice marginally. "With the tables and benches? I'm thinking those bushes near the left side would be perfect for hiding explosives."

Oh-Seven observed the spot. The shrubbery was thick enough that he could have taken cover in it, if he wanted. Definitely a concern.

"Let's move closer," he said. "It's not too crowded right now. You tell me what to look for, I'll look."

"Got it," said Wrecker, suddenly serious. "You know how not to set off stuff by mistake?"

"I think I can handle it," Sev assured him. He had almost stepped on a mine once, just after Geonosis. He'd only learned afterwards that the mine was even there because the guy behind him had stepped on it, getting himself blasted into oblivion and throwing Sev forward with a piece of shrapnel under his left shoulder blade.

After that, Oh-Seven had spent a week learning everything he possibly could about how and where mines could be placed, and what could set them off. Now, apart from Scorch, he was the squad member who knew the most about them.

Not that the Pit Vipers would be likely to place mines. Timed or remote-linked detpacks were a lot more probable, considering. . .

It took a full quarter of an hour to search the bushes and clear the area without creating too much of a disaster. Sev refused to let Wrecker crawl under the bushes, because there wasn't much space. In fact, there was so little space that even Sev broke a few branches, but all he could do was hope they wouldn't show badly. They shouldn't, unless there was a gardener here. The gardener would no doubt notice. Nothing for it.

Sev peered out from beneath the branches to make sure the area was clear of observers before crawling out of the last bush. Still on his hands and knees, he took a twig out of his collar and spat out a leaf. "No explosives," he grumbled to Wrecker. "Just a lot of unnecessary foliage."

Wrecker pulled him to his feet with no effort and clapped him on the back. "Guess we'll have to check the next place, then."

"Yeah," muttered Sev. "Hopefully we don't spend the next three days searching the town for something that isn't there."

The taller commando made a face. "That would be boring," he agreed. "Still, it's better than having the town get blown up."

Oh-Seven nodded.

They went down three more streets, keeping their search pattern to a predetermined grid – Sev had predetermined it with Boss, because disorganized searches wasted everyone's time. The Deltas knew this, and had waited for Three-Eight's directions on the matter, but the Bad Batch had been a little surprised when he commed and gave them their orders. The younger commandos seemed inclined to just wander off and hope they'd hit something. Maybe that was because they were used to working with Vos? He seemed like a pretty disorganized and spur-of-the-moment person, especially for a Jedi. But they'd only done one mission with him. Sev puzzled this out for a couple of minutes, and concluded that maybe the Batch were just inexperienced at this kind of work. No search-and-rescue missions yet, maybe.

He and Wrecker, following the search pattern Boss had set, soon found themselves in a town square of some kind. Hundreds of civilians were milling around the area, buying and selling and talking.

"Uhhh," said Wrecker, looking around in bewilderment. "I guess any of those booths could hide explosives, but how are we supposed to search them?"

Sev grunted. "I don't think we should try," he said. "If we need to search them, we'll do it tonight when no one's around."

"Okay." Wrecker paused, staring at one of the nearby food booths. "Hey. . . you think we can grab something to eat?"

Oh-Seven glanced around. "With what money?"

"We have a stash of credits," said Wrecker. "I brought some. C'mon, I'll get us both something."

Sev hesitated, but the smell of grilled meat was making him hungry, despite the early hour. He tilted his head.

"We should get some," decided Wrecker.

Sev eyed him.

"We could," the other commando said hopefully. "I really know how to blend in while buying food. Learned that on Nar Shaddaa, too . . . actually, I always buy the team's food now."

"Fine," said Sev. "But make it quick."

To his surprise, Wrecker did, in fact, know how to blend in when it came to acting like a normal civilian. He didn't stumble or stammer over his order, he engaged easily in small talk with the seller, and he paid without dropping any credits.

Neither Scorch nor Sev could make the same claim. At least, not truthfully, not after the last couple of times they'd attempted to buy food. Scorch – who was arguing with Sev via comms – had managed to buy food successfully, but then he'd walked right into another customer with a full tray and caused a brief scuffle.

As for Oh-Seven, he'd tried to purchase food, and ended up paying with too few credits. Twice. Somehow. Sev suspected it had something to do with the fact that the seller had a very heavy accent, and was impossible to understand. But somehow, Boss had been able to understand her just fine when she got angry, so Sev had let him take care of paying.

Fixer, well. . . Fixer was hopeless. Even Sev understood that civilians found commandos intimidating, and he'd learned to tone down his stance and attitude when necessary. Scorch, of course, was a natural at not looking like a threat. But Fixer didn't seem to get it. He'd stand and observe sellers with the same sharp, daunting gaze that he used on enemies, droid positions, his datapad, and cold caf. Last time, the woman he was watching had yelled, "Look, I don't deal in stuff, okay? Just search the booth, already, if that's what you want!"

Fixer had blinked, stared, said he didn't suspect her of drug-dealing, he was just waiting for the order . . . and then stepped back hastily when the woman slammed a pan down on the stove and burst into tears. Noticing that the corporal was completely at a loss, Boss had then wandered up to the booth, gestured Fixer subtly back towards the squad, smoothed everything over, picked up the order, and left the seller recovered and smiling. As far as the Deltas were concerned, Thirty-Eight could take care of buying food from now on.

Wrecker came cheerfully back with two steak wraps, and bottles of some kind of fruit drink.

"It's lemonade," he announced. "Good stuff."
Sev eyed it suspiciously. It looked alcoholic – he always avoided the stuff while on missions, because he never knew how strong it was. And it wasn't like he was really able to taste it, anyway, much to Scorch's amusement and Fixer's concern. ("What if you accidentally drink some?" Delta Four-Oh had asked, and Sev had told him to stop inventing things to worry about.) "Lemonade," he repeated. "Not alcoholic, is it?"

"Nah." Wrecker shoved one in his hands. "Kids drink it all the time. Where we headed next?"

"We're still keeping with the pattern," Oh-Seven answered, and led the way slowly, eating as he went. He was used to food not tasting like much, unless he added a lot of extra salt or spices. A good side effect of adding so much flavor was that it worked nicely to keep Six-Two from stealing his food, but without it, food was pretty flavorless.

This food was not. Sev ate his way through half of it before saying, "This stuff's so good it probably counts as a distraction from the mission."

Wrecker shrugged and grinned. "Better eat fast, then, right?"

"And waste the flavor?" Sev shook his head.

They did keep alert, though, glancing into alleys and narrow side roads as they walked. They finished eating, checked a narrow courtyard that could easily have hidden an entire cache of explosives under the shed roofs, and headed to the other side of the marketplace.

They were nearing the third alleyway on that side when a young girl's voice chirped, "Hi, Sev!"

The commandos turned, Sev jerking around so quickly that his elbow almost clipped Sachi in the head. She dodged out of the way, still smiling, but Oh-Seven felt like he'd just avoided a speeder crash. What if he'd hit her? He would have knocked her senseless, cut her face open with his armor –

"Kid!" he snapped. "What are you doing so close behind me?"

Her smile wobbled, and tears sprang into her eyes. "I was just – saying hi. . ."

"Hey," scolded Wrecker, and elbowed Sev into the wall a foot away. As Sev regained his footing, the taller commando frowned darkly at him. "Look what'cha did, you made her sad!"

Sev stood there, expressionless, as Wrecker dropped to one knee and rested a big hand on Sachi's head. "It's fine," he said. "You didn't do nothin' wrong, you just scared him because he didn't hear you coming."

"I'm sorry," said the girl in a tiny voice. She was holding a rectangular basket that held flowers which had been bunched up into groups, the stems tied together with long pieces of grass. "I just –" She sniffed. "I just saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"Yeah," said Sev gruffly. "It's fine. You startled me, is all."

Sachi replied with an uncertain smile and blinked the tears away.

Wrecker got to his feet and glowered meaningfully at Sev, who had no clue what the towering commando wanted him to say. When the silence continued, and Wrecker's glare only continued to grow, Oh-Seven cleared his throat and thought fast.

"Guess I wasn't the only one who got startled," he muttered. "Uh . . . sorry about that, Sachi."

"Oh," she said, and straightened the flowers in her basket. "It's okay."

When Wrecker continued to eye him, Oh-Seven made a helpless gesture before turning back to Sachi. What else was he supposed to say? Something to cheer her up more? Like what, saying the flowers looked nice? He winced at the idea. Definitely not happening. But he could tell her she could go on about her business? No – that was a bad idea. The kid wouldn't like that. And Wrecker would protest loudly.

Sev cleared his throat. "Uh – Sachi. What are you doing in the marketplace?"

Her smile came back all at once. "I was selling flowers, but I'm finished now and I've got extras. Do you want a bouquet of jeweldrops?"

"No thanks," he replied hastily, because she was already reaching for a bouquet of dark red flowers. "We're working – Wrecker and I, I mean."

Sachi glanced around curiously. "On what?"

"Scouting," said Oh-Seven, before Wrecker could say anything about explosives that would scare the kid. "Hey . . . You down here by yourself?"

"Yes," she answered.

Sev didn't think his expression had changed, but it must have, because she laughed suddenly and said, "Don't worry, I'm plenty old enough."

Sev's instincts begged to differ. "Do you. . . usually do this?"

"Sure, every morning." She smiled. "It's my favorite part of the day."

Oh-Seven narrowed his eyes. She was so young. Why was she by herself in the middle of a busy town?

"Well," Sachi went on, much more cheerful now. "I guess I'd better get back to the Temple. Will you be at there later?"

". . . that's the plan," said Sev.

Wrecker nodded enthusiastically and grinned. "You bet we'll be back, kiddo!" he said. "See you there, okay?"

"Okay!" Sachi waved and skipped off into the crowd, leaving Sev to stare after her, a frown creasing his forehead.

Wrecker elbowed him, more reasonably this time. "Aw, lighten up," he said.

"It's a half-hour walk to the Temple," said Sev, still concerned by the fact that she was alone.

"Yeah. . .? Well, she doesn't look like she minds it, does she?"

"No, but –"

Wrecker grinned. "She's just a little kid, doing little kid things. She's happy."

"But why's she by herself?" asked Sev.

Wrecker rolled his eyes and clapped him on the back. "This city is the safest place I've ever seen," he said, as if he'd had fifty times Sev's experience. "It's fine."

Jedha, NiJedha

Day Twelve, morning (about 8:30 a.m.)

Delta Four-Oh stood in front of the communications tower, studying it with his scanners as well as his physical sight. According to the helpful civilian who had answered his questions, the tower was used to receive and transmit all interplanetary comms, as well as ground-to-air communications. When shuttles neared the city, someone always contacted them to ask their business and then logged the data – those logs were what Fixer was hoping to access.

There were always a couple of people on duty in the tower, available to answer questions that incoming tourists might have about where to land or where to go. It was almost like a tourist information center, really. The other thing the comm tower was used for was to broadcast city-wide announcements to the holotables that were set in each town square. Those were heavily restricted, however, and could only be used by people who had been given the correct transmitter chip.

Fixer had asked permission to access the communication logs, which hadn't gone over all that well. Still, he hadn't really expected it to. And, all things considered, it hadn't gone badly. Once he'd mentioned that he was working for Emmkar, and that he was hoping to help prevent more attacks on the Temple, the man had rushed off to contact the Head Guardian so that he could verify the report.

At the moment, all Delta Forty had to do was wait with Ahsoka and –

He froze, suddenly realizing that the energetic padawan had vanished. He'd seen her fidgeting around near the tower door not half a minute ago. Where was she?

". . . Ahsoka," he said, glancing around. She was nowhere in sight. He'd told her to stay in the background while he talked with the owner of the establishment. He hadn't told her to disappear.

Uncomfortably aware of a sudden feeling of concern, he turned on his comm and tried again. "Ahsoka."

When she didn't answer immediately, he snapped, "Ahsoka! Verify your location."

"I'm right behind you," she chirped, and Fixer did not startle.

Rotating sharply on his heel, he gazed down at her. "Where were you?" he demanded.

"Behind the comm tower," she answered, a look of honest confusion in her bright blue eyes. "Where did you want me to be?"

"Behind the tower is fine," he said, because he hadn't specified where she was to take a position. "But why didn't you answer your comm?"

"I – well, when you commed I ran right over." She didn't seem to see a problem with this.

Fixer stiffened, then let out his breath silently, trying to remind himself about what Boss had said. She wasn't a clone. Jedi probably weren't raised to have the same kind of strict obedience that clones were taught. She probably wouldn't respond the way the Deltas expected her to. . .

And yet. She was working with the Deltas. Thirty-Eight had been put in charge of her, and he'd put Fixer in charge of her for this part of the mission.

"When I comm you," he said sternly. "When any of us comms you, you answer, immediately, unless you are physically incapable of it. Do you understand?"

Her lips thinned for half an instant, but then she met his eyes and gave a sharp nod. "I understand."

"Good," said Fixer. "Now, wait near those houses. After the owner lets me look at the logs – if he lets me – you should come in and pretend to be checking for off-planet messages, or looking for information."

"Got it," she said, and he gestured for her to get over to the houses so she wouldn't be nearby when the owner came back.

While the people of NiJedha seemed very friendly and trusting, overall, Fixer didn't think they'd believe him if he said Ahsoka was working with him. She was much too young for anyone to be convinced by that – unless he were to announce that she was a Jedi, which he couldn't do. He supposed the other option was to say that she was visiting the Temple, and let Emmkar verify that as well. . . of course, he should have considered that before the man had gone off to speak to the Head Guardian.

A brief time later, the owner came back. "Emmkar says to give you access to everything," he said. "I'll ask one thing of you, though, in a moment."

"All right," said Fixer, following him into the tower. There was a wide open room with several desks where people worked, talking to pilgrims and selling maps. A fair number of people had congregated around a large table that held a three-dimensional map of the entire city. An extreme amount of care had been put into it, from the topography to the tiny, individually-built houses to the details on the walls, which rose up over the edge of the table and neatly contained the entire city. There were even miniscule trees and plants and fountains scattered here and there.

"Impressive," he said, nodding to the table.

The owner smiled, leading the way to the main consol. "It is easier for most people to see a map in three dimensions," he replied. "I am proud of it. It took months to make."

"I can imagine," agreed Fixer, following.

The owner wrote down the data log pass code and handed it to him. Fixer memorized it with a glance and gave it back.

"Are you sure you have it?" asked the man in surprise.

"Positive."

"Very well. I'll leave you to your work. Oh – but here's what I want you to do for me. If the criminals have been using this communications array as a way to coordinate their attacks on the Temple, I want to know about it. Please."

"I'll let you know," Fixer promised, and the owner left.

It was always a nice change of pace when he got to work on a computer system without having to slice into it first. It took Four-Oh a minute or so to narrow down his search parameters so that the results would only involve shuttles that had come onto the planet in the past two weeks. If he found nothing suspicious, he'd extend the length of time.

He heard Ahsoka come in, give her name, age, and planet of origin, and ask if there were any messages left for her by a Togruta named Ashla.

The dark-haired man at the desk replied that there were not. "Were you expecting one?" he asked.

"Not necessarily," Ahsoka replied. "I was just checking, as long as I was here. I figured that this would be a place to buy maps of the city."

"Of course!" the man answered. "Here is our most detailed one. You can buy a copy, or just study our map table here."

"Ohh!" she exclaimed, sounding excited. "I'd love to see the table. . ."

Fixer glanced over his shoulder to see a middle-aged man guiding Ahsoka to the large, three-dimensional map table. "If you need any help," the man said, "you just let me know."

"I'll do that. Thank you." Ahsoka leaned over the map table, studying it with obvious interest.

Delta Four-Oh left her to it, since she'd found a way to occupy herself that would draw no attention from others, and went back to searching for the enemy's shuttle. If he could learn at least a little about it, his team would have an edge over the Vipers.

At first, he found nothing suspicious or concerning. There appeared to be a good number of shuttles arriving, sometimes as many as five a day. Some pilgrims came in ships that carried two or three people, but most of them came in groups of thirty to fifty people. That general size of shuttle, presumably, was what the Vipers also used.

Fixer transferred all the shuttle IDs to his datapad and put them into a graph, which he charted according to the number of shuttles that arrived each day. Average was three point five per day. . . but there, ten days ago, was a day where nine shuttles had arrived.

Before committing to examining those, Fixer checked the number of shuttles that had arrived each day for the past four months. Only one other occurrence above five shuttles in a day had taken place, and that was nearly three months ago.

A quick check of the peak times of year for pilgrims to arrive confirmed that there were no specific religious feasts that had occurred ten days ago, or even a week ago, so Fixer concentrated on the nine shuttles. He was able to clear four of them by matching their IDs to the list of ships that had left a day or two after their arrival.

That left five shuttles that were not officially listed as leaving the planet. But perhaps they'd been noted by the system since arriving on Jedha, even without having established deliberate contact.

Humming thoughtfully under his breath, Fixer ran a deep search on the five shuttle IDs in the local system. Two of them showed up again, both of them very early in the morning. They had automatically linked to the comm tower, as it was the nearest communications array and shuttles often located those without being prompted. The first ship was, Fixer knew, the escape shuttle from the attack.

The other one had left atmosphere, nearly an hour after the attack ended. If Fixer had to guess, it probably carried the stolen kyber on it. But that still left four shuttles on-planet . . . and, according to their IDs, they were a model that could carry forty passengers each. Well, that was good to know, if a little disturbing.

Fixer checked that there was no one nearby before quietly updating his teammates. "If those shuttles were filled to capacity," he said, "and the men from the fifth shuttle stayed here, we might have as many as two hundred hostiles to deal with."

"Or more," said Tech. "They may have transported men in the secondary cargo hold as well."

Fixer blinked.

"There are likely not that many," said Aayla Secura. "Not according to our prisoners. But regardless, we will keep that information in mind."

"Fixer," said Thirty-Eight. "What about the tower's immediate surroundings? Do you think it's likely to be targeted?"

"Negative," he replied. "There are twelve meters of empty space on all sides, then a row of stone houses. Unless the Vipers have a large amount of powerful explosives, an attack in this area would cause damage to the tower, not the town."

"If scans show nothing, we'll presume it's clear," said Boss. "Crosshair and I are making our way along the perimeter wall, observing the immediate surroundings. We're halfway done, and so far haven't seen any good locations for explosives. Scorch, Sev, report in."

"Still nothing on our end, Boss," answered Six-Two. "But any of the marketplaces would be a good target, if the Vipers were to attack in the middle of the day. They're all filled with civilians."

"Understood," said Boss. "What about you, Sev?"

"Wrecker and I are making our way back," answered Oh-Seven. "We're on a street that makes a circuit of the inner third of the city. Nothing to report, but Scorch is right about the marketplaces. We weren't able to search the likely hiding spots."

"Baze and I are still searching the shrines," said General Secura. "There's been nothing so far."

"Understood," said Fixer. "We'll take the main road back and check out the west quadrant on our way."

When the others signed off, he put his comm on standby and approached the owner again. "I located the thieves' ship IDs," he said. "They have not communicated with each other through this tower."

"Ah, thank goodness," said the owner, sighing with relief. "And thank you for putting my mind at ease."

" . . . You're welcome," said Fixer, though it could hardly have been the owner's fault if the Vipers used the communications array as was intended. "Sir, I might need access to this station again, over the next couple of days."

"I will tell my employees to let you in at any time," the man promised.

Delta Four-Oh nodded his thanks and left, going a little ways down the street before pausing near a fountain to wait for Ahsoka. He observed the glittering, high-arching streams of water and considered the engineering that had gone into the fountain until the padawan appeared at his elbow.

"Okay," she said brightly. "It sounded like you got some useful information. So, what now?"

"Now," said Fixer, "we're going to make our way to the west quadrant."

He glanced at his datapad, and at the map it displayed; then a thought occurred to him, and he turned to Ahsoka. "I assume you studied the map?"

"Yep!"

"Hm," he said. This would be a good test of the padawan's skill at following directions. "See if you can get us there without using the main roads."

"Can do." She started off at a brisk walk, Fixer strolling alongside her as they made their way through the crowds of civilians, most of whom minded their own business. Some of them looked curiously at Ahsoka and Fixer, though, and he hoped that it would look as if she was a pilgrim, and he was her guard.

Come to think of it, he could have thought of that as a cover story earlier. . .

Ahsoka led the way along a narrow side street that traveled down a sloping hill towards another wide road. She was nearly to the end when she stopped short and turned halfway towards Fixer, eyes narrowed as she glanced around.

Delta Forty came to a stop next to her. "What's wrong?"

"I sense someone. . ." she whispered, casting a hurried look at the civilians who were moving past them. "That same presence as before. Hey, Fixer, can you get me onto the roof?"

He hesitated, because of the crowd, then decided that boosting her would attract less attention than her Force-jumping. "Alright," he said. "But keep in contact."

"I will," she replied. "Hurry!"

Fixer locked his fingers together and crouched, and she got a foot into his hands, jumping and turning as he straightened to his full height. Her fingers caught the flat roof of the building, and she pulled herself up easily, vanishing over the edge.

A very elderly woman stopped next to Forty and stared after Ahsoka with a slightly disapproving expression. "Well!" she said, pushing strands of wispy white hair from her forehead. "What was that all about? You two lost?"

"No, ma'am," said Fixer. "We're looking for someone."

"I guess that's one way to do it." Shaking her head and muttering something about youngsters, the woman moved off.

Seconds later, Ahsoka appeared again, glancing over the edge of the roof just long enough to point Fixer down a side alley.

He headed through at a quick walk and emerged from the row of houses just as Ahsoka hopped down from a roof adjacent to him.

"Ahsoka?" he said. "Who are we following?"

"The Mirialan woman who was after Chirrut," she answered, and hurried off again. "She feels a little less angry today, but not by much."

Fixer assumed this was somehow important. "And we're following her because?"

"Well, because I'm pretty sure she's a member of the gang."

"Hm," said Fixer. "Did she see us?"

"No, not yet. Why?"

Four-Oh considered. Taking her prisoner would remove the danger to Chirrut, and possibly other Guardians – if there was real danger. Firearms were always a concern; still, his research indicated that the Guardians were well-trained in martial arts.

But taking the woman captive would definitely attract attention, both from the civilians and the gang members, and Aayla Secura wanted to avoid that . . . Still, it would be best to get what intel they could – and it was a sure bet that if he talked to the woman, she'd react with suspicion, if not aggression. He'd have to let the padawan take the lead on this.

"Ahsoka," he said. "Try to talk to her."

"What about?"

"Anything. Just get her to face you for a moment."

Ahsoka thought about it, then nodded. "I know," she said. "I'll ask for alms for the Temple. Want me to go now?"

"Yes," said Fixer, eyeing the crowd. He was pretty sure the Mirialan woman wouldn't try anything in a place with this many witnesses. "But be careful. I'll be nearby."

She took off at a quick trot, weaving and ducking her way through the crowd. It took Fixer longer than he'd intended to make his way through the civilians, and he worried that he wouldn't be in time. Fortunately, when he neared the crossroads he saw that Ahsoka was smart enough to wait for him before approaching the woman. Once he caught the padawan's gaze, she went over to the Mirialan woman and tapped her on the shoulder.

The woman turned sharply to look at her.

Fixer already had his datapad ready, and he got a picture immediately. The Mirialan had straight, black hair, and dark blue diamonds tattooed on her throat. She wore a jumpsuit that was obviously meant to blend in with the light-colored sand of the surrounding desert, and carried one pistol.

After staring down at Ahsoka for a moment, expression annoyed to the point of anger, the Mirialan spoke to her a couple of times, then suddenly strode off in the other direction. Ahsoka followed quickly, still chattering, and the older woman spun to face her and snapped something.

The Jedi girl backed off, hands lifted apologetically, and wandered off into the crowd, leaving the Mirialan staring after her for several long seconds.

Fixer had updated General Secura and Boss via commlink before the Mirialan finally stopped glaring and instead headed towards the city gates.

Ahsoka rejoined him a minute later.

"I got the picture," said Forty. "Any intel?"

"More than I figured I'd get," said Ahsoka, her manner subdued. "I've got her name, and I think I know why she hates Chirrut."

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Twelve, night (about 10:00 p.m.)

Quinlan sipped slowly at his glass of ambrostine, using the movement to disguise a quick look at the three people who were leaning against the bar. The Twi'lek woman was wearing a hood, but even as he watched, she helpfully pushed it away from her face. Now that he was able to see her tattoos, he recognized her as the woman Vythia had tracked – Aleena Saresh.

The name was familiar, so he'd taken the time to check his personal database of crimes and criminals. As it turned out, he'd remembered the name Saresh because of Obi-Wan and Anakin. They'd run into a guy with that name, back while Quinlan himself was on the Nar Shaddaa mission. Tar Saresh had lived on Rattatak, where he'd run a lovely little establishment known as the Cauldron, in which people and animals fought to the death (or were just executed) for the entertainment of other people – and animals, if one was to get technical. Quinlan still despised the Hutts.

At any rate, Tar Saresh had run the Cauldron, right up until the point when he got shot . . . by Delta Thirty-Eight, otherwise known as Boss: competent commando sergeant and cool operator extraordinaire, according to all sources, both reliable and otherwise.

The Cauldron had been closed after that whole fiasco, mostly due to structural disintegrity, though the record hadn't said whether Tar Saresh survived or not. Probably one of those things no one had been given time to discover while running for their lives and all. Quinlan idly wondered if Tar was related to Aleena. Probably, given all the professional criminals in the Saresh clan.

Quinlan eyed her for a moment, then glanced at the other two. The human male was fairly nondescript, except for the tattoo of a coiled snake on his forehead. If that wasn't a dead giveaway, Quinlan didn't know what was. Even if Aayla's report from Jedha hadn't included a detailed description of the tattoo, it wasn't exactly a leap of logic to say that a man who had a viper tattoo, and who was currently out drinking with a woman already known to be in the gang, was also a member of the gang.

The male Weequay with the two Vipers was presumably also in the gang. It was hard to draw any details from his appearance. But Senator Elin had been killed by a Weequay, and Quinlan had touched the weapon.

Dragging his hood forward over his eyes, Quinlan let himself slip into the Force, just barely reaching out towards the three who sat opposite him. Once he sifted through all the other Force-signatures nearby, he recognized the Weequay's presence immediately. It was the one he had sensed while touching the blowpipe. Nice. The assassin Vresh was in easy reach. . . mostly.

Slouching in his seat, the Jedi Shadow tossed back the rest of his drink. His original plan had involved approaching one of the gangsters and hinting that he needed to buy poison. But where one of them alone might be mildly interested, if cautious, three would be instantly suspicious. And while he could deal with suspicion, it was a lot harder to deal with aggressive suspicion.

The situation was interesting at this point. Between Quinlan and the door stood a skilled assassin, a Twi'lek woman who was probably very good with the two blasters she carried, and a most likely important member of the Pit Vipers.

At least Vresh didn't seem to have another blowpipe with him right now, although Quinlan knew better than to count on that being the case. Keeping half his attention on the gangsters, he pulled out his datapad and began typing up a description of each of them for Fox, just in case. A picture would have been better, but taking one would be way too obvious.

He was nearly finished when the big guy straightened up and took a step back, turning towards the door.

"Look," he said, voice raised just enough that Quinlan could just hear it through the constant hum of voices, tinny music, and clinking dishware. "He doesn't care how it's done, so that part's up to you. Just get it done. I'm going to check in with the base."

Well, that sounded potentially important. Quinlan finished typing the description and sent it to Fox.

By the time the tattooed man left the cantina, the Jedi had made his way halfway across the room, lurching unsteadily towards the other two criminals. As he got into their peripheral vision, he let himself stumble again. Hopefully when Tattoo Guy came back, he'd be in a good position to eavesdrop.

The Twi'lek woman was speaking, but Vresh elbowed her sharply and jerked his head towards Quinlan, who ignored both of them and slouched against the bar.

Aleena Saresh fell silent, and Quinlan shoved his glass limply towards the barkeep and mumbled, ". . . 'nother."

The barkeeper, a towering man with a heavy beard, stared down at him with a raised eyebrow. "This is a strong drink, pal. You sure you want another?"

The Jedi slapped a fifteen-credit chip down on the counter and leaned both forearms on the bar. "'m askin' for one," he slurred belligerently. "Aren't I?"

The barkeep replied with a massive shrug and took the glass. "Guess it's none of my business if you insist on getting robbed blind the second you hit the street," he said carelessly. Despite his words, though, he didn't put much liquor in the glass, instead filling it with ice chips before pouring in just enough ambrostine to make it look full. If it hadn't been for the concern he showed in the Force, Quinlan would have suspected him of trying to cheat an honest drunk out of his hard-earned money.

"Here," said the barkeeper. "But this is the last drink you're buying here tonight, got it?"

Quinlan mumbled some vague approximation of a thanks, took a sip, and let the glass clunk heavily against the bar. He himself remained slumped in place, head bowed.

A few meters away, the Twi'lek lowered her voice and said, "He's drunk as they come, Vresh, stop worrying."

"I don't think we should stay here," said Vresh. "She might never show up."

"Let's give it an hour," Aleena answered. "She was waiting for us last time, and Brett thinks she must have been trailing us for a couple of days. I don't know why she'd drop it now."

"Because she knows we're onto her?" suggested Vresh sarcastically. "Could be a good reason to back out."

"She attacked you and Asher and managed to get what she was after," Aleena retorted, still in such a low voice as to be nearly inaudible. "And she got a tracker on me without my noticing. I don't think she's just going to back out."

"Fine. We'll wait for another hour, but that's it," said Vresh. "There's no way she won't recognize you. If she sees us, she'll probably be lying in wait outside."

The Twi'lek rolled her eyes. "That's why I have Hirrsk coming. He'll be here in a few minutes. I figure we can ask him to watch the entrance from outside, trail her once she trails us."

After a moment's consideration, Vresh grunted his approval. "Good. We won't have to watch ourselves for a knife in the back, anyway."

Aleena laughed. "Boy, she really did a number on your nerves, didn't she?"

"Shut up," Vresh retorted, and gulped his drink. "I know what it takes to be that fast and quiet. We've got every reason to be concerned about her."

This was all very interesting, and Quinlan intended to listen further, but just then the barkeeper came around the front of the bar and marched over to him.

"Look," he said, taking the Jedi's arm. "Sit down before you fall."

Quinlan pulled the 'I'm fine, leave me alone' card that really wasn't convincing when he was pretending to be so drunk he could barely form words. The barkeeper, who was at least twice Quinlan's weight, had no problem tugging him over to a chair and shoving him into it.

"You can't even walk," he muttered. "I'm going to call an airbus for you."

"Why," slurred Quinlan.

"Because I hate it when people leave my place and walk off the road," the bartender answered. "Happened twice already. Twenty levels down, ker-splat. What's your address?"

The Jedi thought about this and decided that deflection and redirection was the best option. "Can' go back," he said dejectedly, and slouched forward until his forehead was resting on his arms. "Not . . . anymore."

"Oh," said the bartender, in the tone of one with long experience. "She kicked you out, huh? Well . . . Guess you can stay here for the next few hours, until you can walk straight. Don't try to leave, get it?" He headed off. "And next time you show up here, remind me not to sell you ambrostine. Good grief. I thought Kiffar were resilient when it came to alcohol."

Quinlan was used to asking barkeepers questions, because they knew and observed a lot. He was not used to the barkeepers interfering in his investigations – at least, not by accident – and found himself hoping that Aleena and Vresh hadn't taken much notice of the whole exchange.

If they had, though, they didn't seem to care. When Quinlan tilted his head so he could see them, a few minutes later, they were sitting at a corner table with their drinks, not even watching the surrounding patrons.

For the next quarter of an hour, Quinlan pretended to doze, eyes almost but not quite shut. Tattoo Guy never showed up again, so Quinlan spent the time watching Aleena and Vresh. In between, he also watched the pazaak game going on at the next table, and placed bets with himself on who would win. The Quarren lost twice, even though he was cheating, which was pretty lame. The female Rodian kept winning, but she was also definitely cheating. In fact, by the time the third game was finished, Quinlan had finally realized that every single person at the table was cheating. He distinctly saw a Weequay palm a card to the woman next to him, and the Ithorian kept filching cards from the underside of the table.

When the game broke up in a shouting match, with everyone yelling and accusing each other of cheating, hurling imaginative threats, insulting each other's parents, heritage, birthplace and race and declaring war on each other's descendants, the bartender marched over with a couple of shockrods and glowered until the players decided that maybe it would be smart to leave. They headed out together, still arguing loudly but also settling on a game time for the following night.

The barkeeper went back to his post, grumbling about 'every night' and 'that idiot club of theirs'.

That was the most exciting thing that took place for nearly half an hour. Aleena and Vresh seemed unconcerned by their surroundings, except for whenever the door to the cantina opened. They would both glance at the new arrival, then go back to whatever they were doing at the table. It looked like Aleena was sketching on a sheet of flimsi, and Vresh was playing a game on his datapad.

Quinlan couldn't see too much of the rest of the cantina, so after another minute or so he decided he might start to come out of his 'drunken stupor'. Keeping his hood pulled forward, he sat slowly up, leaned back and sideways in his chair, and folded his arms limply. Still nothing interesting to observe, but at least now he could see the cantina as a whole, while still maintaining his half-asleep appearance.

A few minutes passed before the door opened again; this time, a Trandoshan stumped into the room. He was tall, but lankier than most Trandoshans that Quinlan had come across. His scaly hide was brown, he had yellow eyes, and it would be hard to mistake him in a crowd, because his left arm was noticeably thinner than his right. He must have lost that limb recently . . . maybe within the past month or so.

Aleena and Vresh glanced up, and the Trandoshan hurried over to them, weaving his way easily through the tables and chairs. Despite his size, he moved with an ease that was almost serpentine.

The three gangsters spoke together in low voices. Quinlan considered whether he was likely to learn anything else by eavesdropping. Probably, but the odds of him getting close to Aleena and Vresh without them getting suspicious. . . Yeah, that wasn't happening.

An abrupt silence and a watchful sensation from the three gangsters made him half-glance in their direction. He tensed when he realized that the Trandoshan was staring right at him. Aleena whispered, and the Trando shook his head slowly. Then he jolted to his feet and left, running out the door.

Great. Just great.

Before Quinlan could do more than wonder what his next move should be, Aleena also got up, picked up her drink, and wandered towards Quinlan's table. Vresh hovered a meter behind her, wearing an uneasy expression.

Well, this should be fun.

The Jedi Shadow gave up on the drunk act, since they'd seen him glance at them, but he continued to ignore Aleena while she sat down next to him.

"Listen, Kiffar," she said softly. "I know you're not drunk."

"Wow," he said. "Congrats."

She rolled her eyes and tossed her head, so that the little glass beads that hung from her headdress clinked together. "I thought you were watching me," she said. "But I couldn't be sure. And now Hirrsk tells me that you have been around here before."

Quinlan met her intensely blue eyes and raised an eyebrow. "Who is Hirrsk?"

"The Trandoshan who just left."

"Okay. And?"

"And . . . what?" she murmured, with a smile that was probably supposed to be attractive. It looked a little too predatory to be convincing.

"Hirrsk says I've been here before. So what?"

"As if you didn't know." She smiled and leaned closer to him to murmur, "Playing hard to get, I see."

Quinlan eyed her sidelong and didn't move.

Aleena shifted her chair closer while Vresh scowled in the background. "So," she said. "You were not spying on me?"

"Spying?" Quinlan said in a bored tone, wondering if he could get from here to the door in less than ten seconds. "What would I gain from that?"

"Oh, I'm sure I don't know." Aleena fluttered her eyelashes. "Maybe you didn't know who I was, and someone told you to find out."

Quinlan checked his chrono.

"Maybe you wanted to find something out about me, or about my friend? Or maybe," she whispered coyly, reaching for his arm, "you weren't spying at all. Maybe you were just watching me because you think I'm attractive."

"Uh, no," said Quinlan, leaning away from her.

"No?" She blinked, clinging to his arm with both hands, which was not ideal. "Not even the slightest little tiny bit?"

"Please," he said, tugging free and shifting away. "I've seen prettier Twi'lek women in cheaper bars than this."

Aleena sat back with a slight pout, and Vresh huffed. "Aleena, quit fooling around."

"Oh, come on," she fired back, in a normal tone. "It was worth a try."

"It was a waste of time," Quinlan said seriously. "You're not very good at it."

Vresh snorted, and Aleena said, "Well, it's worked on other guys."

"Yeah," Quinlan explained patiently. "Because they don't have any taste."

Vresh actually laughed at that, and Aleena rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair. "Fine. We can always do this the unpleasant way. Trust me when I say that both Vresh and I are good at that."

"I trust you on that," Quinlan said.

"You'd better," said the Weequay, drawing a knife. "Maybe you tell us a couple of things, so you don't, say, lose a couple of fingers."

"Sure," said Quinlan agreeably. "I'll tell you a couple things. One: I don't come to Javyar's much."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I dunno," he said. "Two: I've never seen Hirrsk."

"Oh, is that so?" Aleena, who had been glancing around the room, spun suddenly to face him.

Before Quinlan could do more than jerk aside, she reached forward and flicked his hood off. The Jedi was confused by her gesture, until he noticed Hirrsk peering through the window.

The Trandoshan's rattling hiss of recognition could be heard through the glass, and Quinlan stared at him, one eyebrow raised. Clearly, Hirrsk either thought Quinlan was someone else, or he actually recognized him – somehow – and knew he was a threat. Either way, not great news.

When the Trandoshan vanished, Quinlan glanced at Aleena again. "Is that guy Hirrsk?" he said. "I've never even laid eyes on him before tonight."

"Maybe not," said Vresh, who had now maneuvered to stand closer to Quinlan than to Aleena. "But he's seen you."

"Uh-huh," said Quinlan, unconvinced. "Mind telling me why he looks like he wants to spit and roast me?"

Aleena tossed her head, flicking her lekku behind her shoulders. "Maybe he does," she said. "You know how some Trandoshans can be."

The Jedi hummed in reply, already knowing this conversation wouldn't go much of anywhere. "I take it you're not going to let me leave."

Her hand dropped to her lap, and Quinlan said, "You have a gun aimed at me under the table, don't you."

"At least you're not stupid." She smiled sharply and fluttered her eyelashes once or twice. "Yes, I do . . . and Vresh has something a lot worse to use on you."

Quinlan flicked a glance in the Weequay's direction. "Poison dart?"

"Exactly." Vresh rotated the long dart between his fingers and reached into one pocket to pull out a short blowpipe. "And you won't like what this poison does to you."

"I believe it," Quinlan said. "Most people don't like being poisoned."

The three of them spent a few seconds staring at each other.

"So," said Quinlan. "Now that you've finished your whole cliché threatening thing, what do you want?"

Aleena hesitated. "Nothing . . . yet," she replied at last. "But don't move."

"Right," he said, deliberately sitting back and relaxing. "You two clearly didn't think through your plan. So, if you don't mind, I'll just sit here quietly and let you figure out what you intend to do next."

They exchanged cautious looks, but Quinlan ignored them. He had to figure out what he was going to do next, because he had a feeling that Hirrsk had just gone to get help. The tables in this cantina were secured to the floor, which was a pity, and while he could flip Aleena's chair backwards with the Force and then bolt for the door, there wasn't a reason to risk that – yet. Vresh was extremely skilled with those darts.

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Twelve, night (about 11:00 p.m.)

Vythia, who was studying all the main routes from CG headquarters to the new temporary base, had been doing so for the past quarter of an hour. She liked to have a good understanding of the area she would be working in, as such information was always useful.

Behind her, Commander Fox was pacing the room, overseeing two operations at once. In between receiving reports from Thorn and Thire, who were in the middle of raiding a smuggling depot with eight squads, Fox was communicating with Kilo and Steele, who were at the new base; and with Lieutenant Divo, who was coordinating things for the CSF's end of the mission.

Fox ended his latest call with Thire, set down the comm, and walked over to the window. He locked his hands behind his back and stared out into the Coruscant night for about three seconds of silence . . . and then his comm beeped again.

Vythia and Fox looked at each other, then at his blinking comm.

"At least you are popular?" she offered.

He huffed and answered the call. "Kilo? What is it?"

"Sir," Kilo reported. "There's a lot of sudden activity around the Vipers' place. I'm counting twelve, armed and entering two enclosed speeders."

"Where are they headed?" demanded Fox.

"I don't know, sir, but Steele's moved closer with our spyware, he should be in hearing range any moment n–"

The comm beeped again. "Commander," said Steele, in a voice that was almost a whisper. "There's a Trandoshan leading the Vipers. He's warning everyone to be careful because the target is a Jedi."

"A Jedi," said Fox, going icy calm as he always did when he had to make fast decisions. "Naturally. Vos got caught again. Of course he did. Steele, Kilo, pull back to the new base, continue gathering intel at a safe distance. We'll handle this."

"Understood, sir," they said together.

"Vythia," said Fox. "We have about twelve minutes before they reach Javyar's Cantina."

"I will come with you," she said, unsurprised that he had already calculated times and distances.

"The Vipers were watching specifically for you."

"That does not concern me," she answered. "I am not undercover."

Fox grunted, went to the control panel, and typed in a code that made something click in the bulkhead to his left.

At the same moment, Captain Faie came into the room. Vythia looked twice at him, just as they had the first time she met him. She was still caught off-guard by the startling green of his eyes, accustomed as she was to most clones' eyes. Faie was Quinlan Vos' captain, and seemed to be rather unlike him in personality, based on what little she had seen so far. Quinlan put on a different persona every hour. Faie was steady and calm, almost serene, and straightforwardly honest without being blunt. He was also sharply intelligent, and one could tell that he was watching and observing everything at all times despite his stiff and proper manner. Vythia rather liked him.

"Fox?" Faie asked. "What's going on?"

"I'm going to get your new general out of trouble, again," said Fox, tugging open the bulkhead to reveal a suit of armor. It was completely black, and didn't look quite like clone armor. The design was sleeker, the material shinier.

Faie tilted his head slightly, then nodded. "I'm coming with you."

"No. You've got a whole new company to look after." Fox began yanking off his CG armor and replacing it with the new suit, and Vythia eyed him curiously. She had suspected for some time that he owned an undercover suit of armor, but this was the first time she had actually seen it.

"My company is on leave right now," said Faie calmly. "There are multiple officers on-duty. And you said I could join the mission, which – I take it – this is part of. What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" With quick movements, Fox snapped the cuirass into place. "The entirety of Coruscant knows what my armor looks like. I don't need a bunch of criminals with grudges to recognize me and decide to join the fun."

"That is true," said Vythia, in a reflective tone. "Fame has its downsides."

"Fame. . ." Fox snorted. "More like, I just happen to have a reputation because I show up on camera at every important Senate function ever."

"As I said," said Vythia.

"Fox," said Faie. "You don't need to come, do you? You're in charge of the entire CG, aren't you too –"

"If you say 'too valuable', I'll punch your nose in," said Fox.

"I was going to say 'busy'." Faie considered him. "But valuable would also be correct."

"What did I just say?" Fox demanded, checking his blaster.

Faie replied with a slight smile. "That hasn't changed, anyway."

"What, me threatening idiots?"

"No," said Faie. "Your insistence on leading from the front and endangering yourself with no consideration to long-term consequences."

Somewhat to Vythia's surprise, the commander didn't reply to that rather succinct and accurate analysis. Instead, he said, "You have no disguise, Faie. You should stay behind."

"No," said Faie, and went over to the open bulkhead. He examined the contents for a moment, then took a dark brown cloak without asking. Moving quickly, the captain took off his kama and belt and helmet and set them aside, then put the cloak on. It didn't disguise his armor, exactly, but it certainly covered the telltale cuirass and pauldron marks, and because it was closed up the front, it was probably the best disguise he could ask for on short notice.

Fox huffed a little and reached for his gauntlets. "Come if you want, Faie."

Vythia was amused by this; anyone could see that Faie hadn't asked for Fox's permission and wasn't going to.

"But don't get shot," Fox added.

"I don't plan to," said Faie. He fastened his black, crisscrossing belt, which held two holsters – pistol and knife – over his cloak.

"Good," said Fox. "Because I really don't want to deal with Vos after he hears that his new captain got taken out. Speaking of which –" He went to a drawer and pulled out Quinlan's lightsaber. "You've got the cloak, you hide this. He'll need it."

Faie hesitated, and Fox shoved the weapon in his hands. "Just don't push the buttons, and you'll be fine."

As Faie reluctantly clipped the lightsaber to his belt and pulled a fold of the cloak over it, Vythia said, "Faie. This rescue may involve a street fight."

"Yes, ma'am," said Faie, and slanted an almost mischievous look at Fox. "I'm familiar with street fighting."

The commander put on his gleaming black helmet and strapped on a belt similar to Faie's. "Let's go," he said, holstering both pistols. On his way out, he hit his comm and said, "Stone, you're in charge until I get back. Office is unlocked, main comm panel's open. Override code two-zero-one-eight, rotating in seven hours."

"Yes, sir," said Stone. "Commander, I have no reinforcements available for you."

Fox hesitated for just an instant, then answered. "We won't need reinforcements, don't worry." His voice sounded different through the new helmet's vocoder – colder, more threatening. Unsurprising. Vythia was of the opinion that when Fox wore this armor, looking and sounding threatening was exactly what he was going for.

The three of them reached the lift at a quick walk. As soon as they reached the ground floor, they jogged to Fox's speeder, which would seat four. Vythia vaulted the back door, and the two clones took the front with Fox driving.

"Six and a half minutes to Javyar's," said Fox. "Vythia, timetable?"

"Based on your initial estimation, the Vipers will arrive in six minutes."

Fox cut into traffic at precisely twice the legal speed limit. "Comm Vos," he called over one shoulder. "See if he's aware that he's in danger. He probably isn't."

"I am sure he is aware," said Vythia, punching in the Jedi's comm code and bracing a foot against the wall so she wouldn't be thrown as Fox swerved. "He is not entirely incompetent."

The comm beeped several times, and she added, "He is also not picking up."

"Make it high-priority," said Fox.

Vythia was already adding the high-priority code. This time, there were only two beeps before the call was picked up and a woman said, "Who is this?"

"Who is this?" Vythia asked, recognizing the voice instantly. Aleena Saresh.

"I am sorry," the Twi'lek said, in a light-hearted voice. You must have the wrong channel code."

"I do not," Vythia answered. "How do you have this comm?"

There was a pause, during which Vythia could hear Aleena whispering to someone. Then there was a crash, followed by Quinlan's voice as he grabbed the comm and snapped, "Don't come here, it's –"

He cut off with a choked gasp, and Vythia raised an eyebrow and answered in a cold voice. "Of course it is a trap, Kiffar, do not be foolish."

The call ended, and she assumed that he had been restrained. Vythia waited five seconds and commed again. This time, as soon as the comm was answered, she snapped, "Wait!"

There was a rustle and a click. "What?" asked the Twi'lek, sounding annoyed and a little worried. "Who is this? Do you work for Vos?"

"No," said Vythia, stalling for time. Quinlan shouting that it was a trap would not work in her favor, and neither would her own reply, but there was nothing to lose by giving this a try anyway. "I do not work for him. However, I have a message for him, and your capturing him will be an inconvenience to the man I do work for. Trust me . . . you do not want to make an enemy out of him."

In the front seat, Fox huffed in amusement even as he cut through two lanes and three levels of traffic to reach the cantina. He seemed to think Vythia was joking. She was not.

"Look," said Aleena. "Sorry about getting you in trouble with your boss, but I have a job to do, too. Conflict of interests. It happens."

She hung up.

"Commander," said Faie, ducking as another speeder rushed by overhead. "How did they know that Vos is a Jedi?"

"The Trandoshan," said Fox, raising his voice to be heard over the rushing of the traffic. "He was warning the Vipers. Don't ask me how he knew."

Something Hirrsk had said came to mind suddenly, and Vythia called, "I have an idea about that."

"Let's hear it."

"When I was spying on the Trandoshan, he spoke about an alert from Jedha, and said he recognized the target. Perhaps the Vipers on Jedha warned the entire gang about Quinlan."

"You're probably right," Fox said, with a growling sigh. "It would be just our luck."

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Twelve, night (about 11:15 p.m.)

Jedi Knight Quinlan Vos was a little tired of having a gun pressed into his ribs. It was annoying, and on top of that, if Aleena got any twitchier, the gun might go off without her meaning for it to.

The barkeeper, who was the only one who might possibly have noticed or cared that he was being held at gunpoint, had retired for the night, leaving a surprisingly obese Rodian in his place.

"So," Quinlan said conversationally. "Out of curiosity and all. . . Why do you guys keep saying I'm a Jedi?"

"Because we know you are a Jedi," said Vresh, who had been standing very close ever since Quinlan had made a dive for the comm. The Weequay had convinced him to let go of the comm, mostly by jamming a hand against his throat – which, rude. But at least Quinlan had managed to warn Vythia off, assuming she'd listen, which he already knew she wouldn't. Maybe Fox would listen though? . . . No, he wouldn't.

The Jedi sighed, then said, "Okay. Why do you know I'm a Jedi?"

"Hirrsk recognized you."
"Not this again. How did he recognize me?"

"Just shut up," said Aleena, jabbing him for about the eighth time.

"Oh, come on," complained Quinlan, shifting away. "If you want to put a hole through my ribs, you can just shoot me, you know. You don't need to do it manually."

The Twi'lek woman's response was to put a lot more force behind her next blow, so Quinlan decided to shut his mouth. Wisdom of the Jedi, and all that.

Then Vresh's comm beeped, and he answered it without moving away from Quinlan or lowering the small blowpipe he held. That was unfortunate, because it didn't give Quinlan an opportunity for an escape attempt; still, at least Vresh was close enough that Quinlan could overhear every word from both sides of the conversation.

"Vresh," said Hirrsk's voice. "Report in."

"About time you called," snapped Vresh. "We've still got him, but there may be interference soon from the woman who called."

"We're nearly to you," Hirrsk replied. "Stun the Jedi."

Okay, then.

Quinlan used the Force to wrench Aleena's gun hard to the right and jumped out of his chair, somersaulting across the table to gain some distance. Aleena's blaster hit the floor.

Thunk.

A tiny dart quivered in the wood where his hand had just been, and Quinlan ran for the entrance, dodging startled patrons as he went.

But the assassin was faster than he'd hoped, and just as Quinlan was reaching for the door, a sharp warning in the Force made him dive sideways. Another dart pinged off the metal door, and Quinlan glanced back to see that Vresh was standing on the table, lifting the small blowpipe to his lips.

Reaching a hand out, the Jedi grasped the nearest chair with the Force and hurled it at the Weequay, who didn't quite dodge in time. But when Quinlan turned back to the door, Aleena was blocking him, gun raised.

Quinlan dove sideways, and her shots hit two of the customers. He could only be thankful that she was shooting to stun and not to kill. The music abruptly cut off, and everyone in the cantina hastily took cover behind tables and in booths like the experienced cantina-goers they were.

"You're not getting out of this, Jedi," Aleena called, as he ducked behind another booth. "Better surrender, or you'll pay for –"

Quinlan interrupted her by hurling another chair at her face so he could deal with Vresh and his fancy blowpipe. His own weapons, taken earlier by the Weequay, were nowhere in sight. Oh well. Time to improvise.

Vresh lunged, grabbing his shoulder, and Quinlan wrestled him to the floor and knocked the blowpipe out of his hands. The Weequay pulled a knife and stabbed at his shoulder. Quinlan dodged the attack and punched his opponent in the face. Vresh twisted onto his side, caught Quinlan's wrist as he grabbed for the knife, and jammed a dart deep into his forearm.

"Ah, sithspit!" hissed Quinlan, jerking back. He stumbled to his feet, dealt Vresh a swift kick to the head, and ripped the dart out of his arm, hoping that whatever poison was in it would be one of the many that Kiffar were resistant to.

As it turned out, it wasn't. He'd taken three steps towards Aleena, dodging a stun bolt on the way, when the poison took effect. It felt like a shot of boiling water through the veins in his arm, and he almost went down before dodging again by instinct. Vresh got up, staggering heavily, while Quinlan hissed under his breath, forcing himself to remain steady as his two opponents approached. He avoided two more stun bolts and ducked beneath a table.

"Don't bother, Aleena," snarled Vresh. "He'll go down on his own."

"Excuse you," grunted Quinlan, steadying himself against the table leg with one hand. "No I won't."

As soon as he got used to the pain, he was able to function again. This, whatever it was, wasn't the same as the poison that had killed Hilt and the others. Even the feeling hadn't spread beyond his arm. So, the Vipers used more than one kind of poison in their line of work, and he wasn't about to drop dead. Good to know.

Taking a breath, Quinlan straightened up.

Aleena let out an exasperated yell. "I thought you said he would go down on his own!" she snapped, while several people peeked out from behind tables and chairs.

Vresh snarled and took out another dart, and Quinlan reached out with his left hand, hurling both assassins back with the Force.

Aleena slammed into the wall and rolled to her feet, already shooting, so Quinlan threw her again and ran for the door – which retracted suddenly into the ceiling to reveal Hirrsk's towering form.

"Kriff it all," Quinlan muttered, and dove forward, sliding between Hirrsk's legs to get outside. But as he jumped to his feet, he realized that he was surrounded. Eleven thugs stood glaring at him, weapons raised, and Quinlan slowly lifted his hands.

"Well," he said, already glancing for the nearest place he could Force-jump to. "I guess you win this round. . ."

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Twelve, night (about 11:20 p.m.)

As Commander Fox drove the speeder directly towards the landing platform of Javyar's Cantina, Faie took the electrobinoculars out of the front compartment and focused them on the cantina doors.

There was General Vos, standing just outside the building, surrounded by Pit Vipers. His hands were raised. Suddenly, he turned his head and looked directly at Faie.

The clone captain lowered the binocs in surprise. "He's surrendered," he told Fox. "I'm counting fourteen hostiles surrounding him. And I think he knows we're coming."

"Eh, he probably does," said Fox. "Thirty seconds to destination, Faie. Sitrep."

Faie checked the platform again. "We might have a couple of problematic hostiles," he said. "The Trandoshan looks fast and dangerous, and there's a female Devaronian."

"A Dev?" complained Fox. "Just what we need."

"One of the Weequay is injured," added Faie. "He's limping. Twi'lek woman's yelling about something, and her arm's broken. . . Oh. She just punched the general."

Vythia huffed faintly. "That does not surprise me."

"No." Fox let out an exasperated sigh. "Vos probably deserved it, but we need him conscious."

Faie observed the general again. "He's conscious," he reported, and put down the binoculars.

"Good. Let's take them down fast," said Fox. True to his word, he didn't even begin to slow the speeder as it neared the platform.

Only when they were about to touch down did he suddenly slam on one of the airbrakes, sending the vehicle careening across the platform in a wide, rotating curve that knocked down three of the thugs instantly.

Faie vaulted the side of the vehicle while it was still moving, somersaulted to absorb the momentum, and charged the enemies surrounding the general. He shot two of them before the others could recover from their surprise, but before he could get close enough to give the Jedi his lightsaber, the general had darted off.

The next few moments were a blur of chaotic movement. Vythia was in front of Faie, her electrowhip whirling and snapping as she blocked and attacked. Fox lunged directly at the Devaronian, black armor gleaming dangerously in the landing pad lights as he dodged a blow from her metal-tipped staff.

Three people jumped Faie, and his pistol was smashed out of his hand as he staggered forward. The captain let himself fall, twisting as he did so to throw one attacker straight into a thug who was sneaking up on Vythia. As he rolled to his feet, the Nautolan woman whirled, her whip snapping around the neck of a Twi'lek who was lifting a gun towards Faie.

Faie ducked the wild shot that followed as the Twi'lek collapsed. Then he pulled out his knife, dealt with his third attacker, and straightened up in time to see Fox rush the Trandoshan and punch him in the jaw – an action which would have sent a human flying, but which the Trando brushed off with a rattling snarl.

Vythia ran towards the two combatants, so Faie took the opportunity to survey the rest of the platform and find his general. Many of the thugs were down already, some dead and the others unconscious or groaning. There were only a few remaining upright, including the Devaronian woman, whom Vos was currently defending against with one knife.

Before Faie could lift his gun to intervene on the general's behalf, some instinct made him glance sideways. The Twi'lek woman with the broken arm was mounting a speeder, and even as Faie turned, she spun the vehicle and gunned it at him.

He jumped only just in time, landed on one knee halfway up the front of the speeder, and punched her off the vehicle before diving off himself. The Twi'lek hit the duracrete with a scream of pain and curled in on herself, clutching her arm as Faie rolled sideways and got to his feet.

In front of him, the general dodged another blow from the Devaronian and attacked her, but got pushed back. The next second, his knife was knocked out of his hand, and the Dev's metal staff caught Vos in the side, throwing him. As he landed, a female Rodian ran at him from behind, vibrosword humming.

Faie rushed forward. "Vos!"

The Jedi got to one knee, dodging another blow from the Devaronian as he did so, and jerked aside, half-facing Faie, who threw the lightsaber. In a single motion, Quinlan caught it, twisted around, and ignited it right through the Rodian before she could finish the deadly swing of her blade.

The Devaronian stalked towards the Jedi. Faie had just lifted his gun when something pricked his face. He instinctively slapped it aside, then rounded on the Weequay, who had already lifted the blowpipe to his lips again.

But even as Faie took a step towards him, he was immobilized by a searing rush of pain through his head and throat. The Weequay lifted his blowpipe again, and General Vos appeared out of nowhere, landing in front of Faie and taking the second dart in the neck.

Faie staggered and gasped, still half-blinded from the skewering pain. The Jedi reached out a hand, Force-lifting the Weequay, then yanked the dart from his neck and hurled the Weequay aside before stumbling forward.

There was an unpleasant crunch as the Weequay hit the wall above Commander Fox, who was still fighting the Trandoshan. Fox jumped aside, ducking a swing from his own opponent and simultaneously avoiding the falling Weequay, who hit the duracrete with a thud. The Trando glanced over, distracted by the sudden appearance of an unconscious ally, and Vythia lashed her whip around his neck and tightened her grip, letting the electrical pulse continue until the Trandoshan finally slumped, unconscious or dead.

Fox stepped back with a satisfied nod, and Vythia inclined her head. Then she turned to look in Faie's direction – and her black eyes widened. "Behind you!" she cried.

Faie jerked unsteadily around, just in time for the Devaronian's staff to land a heavy hit between his shoulder and neck, dropping him to the ground. He instinctively twisted onto his back half an instant before the staff smashed down again, right where his head had been.

Sparks jumped from the duracrete, and General Vos Force-pushed the Devaronian away from Faie before rushing her, his lightsaber a green blur in Faie's unfocused vision. Faie shook his head hard, trying to regain his equilibrium as the Devaronian and two other gangsters defended against the Jedi, vibroblades and staff humming.

As Faie caught sight of a fallen pistol, the Dev woman dealt Vos a savage blow under one arm that sent him reeling.

Rolling to his stomach, Faie got hold of the pistol and pushed himself up on one knee, shooting the Devaronian at point-blank range. She stopped her attack on the general and turned, glaring down at Faie as he staggered to his feet.

He and Fox shot her three times each as she stalked towards Faie, but the lasers didn't get through her armor – not enough to do more than annoy her. Faie aimed at her head. Vythia raced to attack her as well, and the Devaronian waited until Vythia drew back her whip-arm, then darted sideways and backhanded the Nautolan woman so hard that she slammed into Fox and crumpled. Fox staggered aside, got attacked by another thug, and turned to deal with him. Behind him, Vos fought off a human who was slashing at him with two vibroswords.

Faie noticed all this as he shot the Dev in the head five times; unfortunately, the horns that spread across her forehead and curled upwards absorbed lasers without difficulty. He shifted aim again, firing at her face – and then she was on him, bending his right wrist back until he had to drop the gun while her other hand wrapped around his left arm.

The clone captain kicked her above the knee, buckling her leg, and she snarled and lifted him bodily, almost over her head, before hurling him aside.

Twisting, Faie clutched desperately for any kind of handhold as he went over the edge of the landing pad. He just managed to grab the lightpost with his injured hand, but he couldn't reach all the way around it. Gasping, he tried to pull himself up – he caught the briefest glimpse of Fox and the general rushing towards him; then his fingers lost their grip, and he was falling into the depths of Coruscant.

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Twelve, night (about 11:20 p.m.)

Fox's breath snagged in his throat as Faie's fingers slipped from the metal post.

"Faie!" he shouted, lunging forward. Then he stopped himself, because he could do nothing about the captain, and the Dev woman was in his path.

"Hurry, Quinlan!" cried Vythia, and Fox looked up to see the Kiffar dodge around the Devaronian's grasp and dive off the edge of the landing platform after Faie.

The tight grip around Fox's chest eased slightly, and he took a breath. If anyone could save Faie now, it was the idiot general.

Meanwhile, Fox had a Devaronian to take down, and she wouldn't be easy to fight. Devs were never easy to fight. They were taller, stronger, faster, and a lot tougher than humans. And they were immune to flamethrowers, for kriff's sake. . .

The only upside to the criminal Devaronians' existence was that they provided a challenging fight. Fox stared down his adversary, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from the battle – and from seeing Faie's fall. This wouldn't take long.

Vythia stumbled a little on her way over to Fox, but her black eyes were as sharp as ever as she straightened up next to him.

The Devaronian sauntered towards them, running her long tongue lightly over pointed teeth, and spun her metal-tipped staff with no effort. She was taller than Fox by at least half a foot, and so far his shots had done nothing. But there was black blood trickling from the right side of her face, where Faie had managed a hit. Good. As Fox so often pointed out to the shinies – if something could bleed, it could die.

He drew his knife. "Eager to die?" he said. "Come on. Let's get it over with."

She sneered, blue eyes gleaming in her dark red face. "What's the rush?" she demanded. "I plan to kill you slow."

Then the Trandoshan staggered forward. "Jennar," he hissed, voice sounding rougher than ever after the electrowhip injury. "Don't bother. The Jedi isss gone."

The Devaronian snarled in reply, but stopped advancing. Fox was about to reach for his pistol, which was on the ground, but when she stopped moving, he also hesitated. He could probably take her down, but not her and the Trandoshan and the other semi-conscious thugs who might take it into their heads to rejoin the fight if Fox so much as twitched.

"We're leaving," announced the Trando, and stomped over to one of the speeders, opening the doors. "Get in, Aleena!"

The Twi'lek woman, clutching her arm to her stomach, limped to the indicated speeder. The Trandoshan hauled the unconscious Weequay over one shoulder and tossed him in next to her while the other living gangsters cautiously joined them.

Jennar waited, smirking at Fox and Vythia, until all the living Pit Vipers had loaded their dead into the speeders and gotten in themselves.

Then Jennar wiped blood from her face, pointed at Fox, and said, "I'll be dealing with you later, Merc."

Fox smirked. She thought he was a mercenary? Nothing so common.

The Dev seemed irritated by his silence, because she took a step forward and hissed, "Better keep alert, Merc. Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," Fox droned.

"Good." She lowered her voice and spoke viciously. "So keep sharp, because I intend to break all your bones and leave you to the sewer rats."

Vythia shifted, but Fox lifted a hand slightly, and she went still. As far as Fox was concerned, both he and Vythia had better things to do than dying recklessly – or, at best, staying alive but spending the next standard week in medbay. He had no idea what Jennar had against him, apart from the fact that he'd landed a hit on her, but he also didn't care. He had neither the time nor the inclination to consider all the imaginative threats that criminals had hurled at him over the past few months.

Jennar, with a last pointedly leering smile, got into the speeder with the Trandoshan. Fox and Vythia backed into the cover of the cantina, just in case the speeders were armed, but the Pit Vipers left without so much as looking at them.

As they vanished, Vythia let out her breath, deactivating her whip at last.

Glancing around, Fox realized that everyone in the cantina was still gathered in the doorway and staring, wide-eyed. He holstered his pistol and planted his free hand on his waist. "What are you staring at?" he asked coolly. "Nothing to see, is there?"

Mumbled versions of 'no' and 'of course not' and 'were we staring?' answered him, and suddenly the patrons were scrambling back to their tables, picking up drinks and card games as if nothing had ever been wrong.

Fox left the cantina after Vythia, who murmured, "They were careful to bring their dead with them. We cannot gather more information from them now."

"It doesn't matter, though," said Fox, and jogged across to the edge of the platform. "We already know where they are. They just don't know that, yet."

"True." She joined him, wiping blood from her face and neck as they both peered down over the edge.

There was no sign of Faie or Vos. A few vehicles traveled through the airlanes, close to the cantina; but below that, all Fox could see was level upon level of empty darkness. Repressing sudden worry, he hit his comm. "Vos. Faie, respond. Vos, come in! Faie, can you read me?"

Next to him, Vythia was trying her own comm.

"No response," she murmured, but her voice was back to its usual steady tone.

Fox turned quickly. "Are they alive?"

Something surprised flickered in her eyes. "How would I –?"

The commander stepped towards her, taking off his helmet. "Vythia," he said. "I don't know what weird Force-thing you and Vos have going on, but I do know there's something. You knew he was there before I told you. He knew you were there. You can sense him, can't you?"

"I – yes," she admitted. She folded her arms, glancing at him and then aside and down. "Though it isn't by choice. We have a Force-bond – have had one ever since Malachor. I had closed it off as much as I could, but . . ."

Fox said, "I don't care what or why or how. I want to know if Vos is alive."

Vythia inclined her head and closed her eyes for a few seconds, then opened them. "Yes. He is alive."

"I'm sure he is," grumbled Fox, because he was relieved. If Quinlan was alive, then Faie must be, too. He asked, all the same. "What about Faie?"

"A moment," she replied, and gazed into the distance. Then – "Quinlan is worried," she said. "But not afraid, or especially upset."

Fox let out his breath before he realized he'd been holding it. "Faie's alive then, but injured."

"It is likely," she agreed, then gave Fox a sidelong look that was nearly guilty. "I apologize for the secrecy, Commander. I had not considered the Force-bond's usefulness . . ."

"Vos hasn't been on-planet since Malachor," he replied. "You didn't have much of a reason to think it useful, I take it."

"None at all," she answered, putting her lightwhip on her belt and straightening her skirt. There was a new faint sheen on one panel – the only evidence that someone's laser had hit her above the knee. "It is not comfortable, having someone else close to your mind."

Fox winced at the very thought. "Glad I'm not a Jedi."

"No more am I," she replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Fair enough."

"But I have now opened myself to the Force-bond, at least a bit more."

"Good," he said. At least, he assumed it was good. He had no idea why she should feel defensive about being able to sense someone else, but decided not to push the matter. "That is good, right?"

"The bond is of use, currently," she admitted. "I suppose I should have told you of its existence earlier."

He shrugged, because he wasn't surprised. Vythia was the kind of woman who habitually kept secrets that weren't even secrets.

She said, "If you wish, I will go after Quinlan and Faie. I could find them, now."

Fox considered for a long moment, but finally shook his head. "If they're out of comm reach, they're pretty far down," he said. "You're injured as it is. It's too dangerous to send you alone."

She smirked, but did not disagree.

"Vos knows this district," said Fox, heading for the speeder. "And he has his lightsaber – for once. He'll find a way back up. In the meantime, you and I are going back to headquarters. We'll notify Divo and then join Kilo and Steele at the new base."

"Very well," she said, and followed him back to the speeder.

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Uscru District

Day Twelve, night (about 11:30 p.m.)

Brett Modree walked quickly down the hall towards the hangar. Out of the twelve Vipers he had sent out to deal with the Jedi, six were dead. Six. The Viper would be angry to hear that. Six dead was a reasonable price to pay for catching a Jedi – except that they hadn't caught him. There had been an expenditure with no return, and Brett intended to find out why. Hirrsk and Jennar had never failed him before, so surely there must have been a good reason. If there was not, they would pay.

The Vipers on guard outside the hangar hastily opened the door for him, and Brett strode into the large room just as the speeders he'd sent out glided to a halt.

The Nautolan folded his arms, watching as Hirrsk and Jennar left the first speeder, closely followed by Aleena, who had a badly broken arm; Vresh was semi-conscious and was being carried by two others.

Brett frowned. His best assassin was badly injured, left leg and arm very obviously broken.

Only two Vipers stepped out of the other speeder, and Brett eyed them. "The dead?" he asked.

The Rodian pilot pointed at his speeder. "All in here."

"Call people to handle them," said Brett, then stalked over to the rest of the group. "Get to medical. . . except for you two." He eyed Hirrsk and Jennar without blinking until everyone else had left. "What happened?"

The Trandoshan hissed. "We were about to restrain the Jedi when three others attacked."

"Three other Jedi?" Brett asked in alarm.

"No. . . sss. Three of his friends. The Nautolan woman was one of them."

Brett cursed silently. That woman – whoever she was – had caused him more than enough trouble already, and she would keep doing it until the Vipers got her. "And the others?" he asked.

"Pretty sure I killed one of 'em," said Jennar. "I don't know who he was. Green eyes, about six feet tall, good with a knife? One of the others called him Fey."

Brett considered, then shrugged. He didn't remember any enemy agents that fit that description. "One of the woman's contacts," he guessed. "The other?"

"I don't know," said Jennar. "He had black armor, no markings at all."

"He . . . wasss good," Hirrsk added. "Attacked me, attacked Jennar. No hesitation. We didn't manage to ssseriously injure him."

"Pity," said Brett. "Black armor and no markings. . . hm. A mercenary?"

"Probably," said Jennar, observing a scratch across her knuckles. "Seems to be in charge, though. He stopped the woman from attacking, when we decided to leave."

That was problematic. A man with black armor, going after the Vipers? Could he be a mercenary from one of the Pit Vipers' many customers? Unlikely. . . Still, it bore consideration.

"So, a man and the Nautolan woman," said Brett. "You killed this Fey, though?"

"I threw him over the edge of the landing platform," said Jennar, and smirked a little. Brett eyed her. He was reminded, once again, why he disliked her. As competent as she was, she was also a brute who enjoyed injuring and killing others for no good reason. She had no subtlety, no thoughts as to the future, and had killed more than one useful prisoner simply because she liked killing.

"Hm," said Brett, allowing his disapproval of her to show in his voice.

Jennar shrugged a little, her sharp teeth showing as she smiled. She knew he couldn't get rid of her, because the Viper himself had hired her.

Brett turned away. "And what about the Jedi?"

Hirrsk hissed between his teeth again. "The Jedi threw himssself over the edge of the landing platform."

"What?!" Brett blinked. "Ah. Of course. You mean he went after Fey."

"Precisssely."

"They are known to each other, then."

"Maybe, maybe not," said Jennar, resting her staff on one shoulder. "After all, the Jedi will try to save anyone, just because they can."

"It is one of their many failings," agreed Brett, before she could get started on a rant about how stupid the Jedi were. "I must think about this situation. Go to medical, and report to me when you have dealt with your wounds."

They left, Jennar muttering something under her breath to Hirrsk, who chuckled silently.

Brett checked that the other men were removing the bodies from the speeder, then went back to the Viper's office. Pouring himself a glass of wine, he sat in the high-backed chair and stared at the wall.

As soon as Hirrsk had reported the Kiffar's identity and location, Brett had ordered him captured, and then waited for the results. He had not notified the Viper yet, though, and now he needed to. . . whether he liked the idea or not. Still, not all hope was lost. The Jedi was somewhere in the lower levels below Javyar's Cantina, unless he had located Fey and gotten back up with him. But how could he have? He had no vehicle, and any kind of speeder was a rarity in the lower levels. Perhaps there was still a chance that the Vipers could catch him. A very small chance, because the Jedi might choose to hide out anywhere in the city, but a chance nonetheless.

As for the Nautolan woman. . . Brett wanted her caught, and brought to him. Still, he had to admit that Hirrsk had been right to call off the attack. There would have been too many Vipers lost, and on top of that, Brett needed the woman alive. He had questions for her. And, if it were at all possible, he intended to sway her loyalties. She would be an incredibly useful operative.

Also, if she were to join Brett, he would finally have a fellow Nautolan to work with. There were not many Nautolans on Coruscant, and even fewer in crime circles. It would be pleasant to work with one again. That was one thing he missed, because of joining the Pit Viper gang – the ability to work with other Nautolans. Not too many of his kind chose a life of crime on Coruscant.

Shaking his head in wry amusement at his – loneliness? – surely not; Brett contacted the Viper. It took several minutes for the call to go through, during which time Brett finished his wine and cleared up the glass and decanter.

At long last, Kage Akar answered. He was in the cockpit of his ship, the empty snake cage visible behind him, and as usual, Shépa was coiled over his arm. "Brett Modree," he greeted, in a cold voice. "You missed my call earlier. I was surprised to realize you were not on duty."

"I apologize for missing the call," said Brett smoothly, and glanced sideways to see that the Viper had, indeed, tried to contact him not an hour ago. "I was on duty, but not here. I was busy dealing with a situation."

Kage's mismatched eyes fixed on him. "A situation," he said, right hand stroking Shépa.

"Yes." Brett folded his hands on the table. "The Kiffar who interfered with you on Jedha is now here, and aware of our presence."

Kage stopped petting the snake. "The same Kiffar?"

"Indeed," said Brett. "He was spotted in Javyar's Cantina, shortly after we learned about the Nautolan woman."

"So," said Kage. "The woman works with this Kiffar."

"I believe so."

"Then the Kiffar's arrival on Coruscant cannot be a coincidence," Kage said. "He must be dealt with, whether you are right or not about him being the same man."

"Hirrsk is certain that he is," said Brett. "And now I am convinced, as well. My lord, the situation is worse than you understand. When the Kiffar's picture was sent to us, Hirrsk claimed to recognize him from a previous job. He claimed he was a Jedi named Quinlan Vos."

There was no answer for some time. The Viper stroked Shépa's head as he took in the information. "A Jedi?" he mused at last. "The Kiffar is a Jedi? And yet, he left Jedha despite being aware of our presence. Could he have realized that the core of our operations was on Coruscant?"

"I have no idea," Brett answered. "I only know that fourteen of our own tried to capture him, and that they returned just now, unsuccessful and with six dead. I had doubts about his being a Jedi, but after hearing how he threw Vresh and Aleena without touching them, I am sure. He is a dangerous enemy."

"A dangerous enemy?" said Kage, and shook his head. "Yes, but not in the way you think, Brett. He is only one man, no matter how skilled. But if we handle this incorrectly, we might have the entire Jedi Order to deal with."

He paused for several long seconds. "You were a fool about the business with Senator Hilt. I warned you before I left that your impetuousness would get us into trouble."

"I am aware of my errors," said Brett, bowing his head. Inwardly, he was furious that the Viper had brought it up again – hadn't he spent an hour last night making vague threats and lecturing Brett for how quickly he'd had Hilt's servants executed? – but outwardly, Brett was careful to appear remorseful. "But, my lord, I might remind you that the Jedi was involved on Jedha before he came here."

Kage Akar narrowed his eyes, and Brett knew that if the Viper were here now, he would have allowed Shépa to bite him, perhaps several times, for that reminder. If there was one thing Kage tolerated less than mistakes in his men, it was being reminded of his own failings.

At last, however, the Viper said, "You are correct. As far as I can tell, the Guardians were the ones to call him in. Somehow, Vos must have discovered something here that led him back to Coruscant. You must be doubly on your guard now, Brett. . . Deal cautiously with our existing clients, and do not take on any new ones until I return. Did Vos have help in his escape?"

"Yes," said Brett. "Even he would hardly have escaped from fourteen Vipers on his own. There were three others – the woman, and two men. Hirrsk reported that based on the men's armor, they have no obvious affiliations."

"Underworld freelancers," mused Kage. He lowered his hand to the computer desk, and Shépa slithered onto it and vanished out of sight. "Or friends?"

"Perhaps both," said Brett. "One mercenary was thrown off the platform, and Vos jumped after him."

"How telling," said Kage. "Then these mercenaries may be our way to the Jedi."

Brett tilted his head. "You think they can be bought?"

The Viper shook his head. "It is a possibility, but I would not count on it. It would take too much effort and time to convince them. Remember, however, that Jedi are known for their weakness."

Since all of Brett's intel stated that Jedi were dangerous adversaries and very much the opposite of weak, he tilted his head in confusion. "Their weakness," he repeated, then remembered Jennar. "Ah. You are speaking of their lack of sense when it comes to defending others."

"Yes. Reportedly, many of them have this failing. Although, this Quinlan Vos did kill F'rol before he left Jedha. . . Hm. The plan may not work after all, if he doesn't share the beliefs that the other Jedi do."

Brett didn't particularly care about the Jedi or their religion, but he did hope that Viper did not intend to make a plan that depended entirely on what-ifs. "I could search for him," he offered. "He and the mercenary must have fallen quite a ways, but that is hardly assurance that they are dead. I will lead the search myself."

"Do not stray too far," said Viper. "If they survived, they will be searching for the base. And we already know the woman is a danger to us."

"Yes." Brett frowned. "I have fifteen men watching all the approaches to our base, specifically keeping an eye out for her."

"Good," Viper said. "You might as well send a couple of people to track down the Kiffar and mercenary, and learn about their movements if possible. But don't waste other resources on them. I suspect they will come to you, soon enough."

"Very well," said Brett. "And if the mercenary was killed in the fall?"

"The Jedi would have taken him, no doubt," said Kage slowly. "But on the chance that Vos never found him. . . Yes. If you happen to come across his body, bring it back to base. We may be able to convince the Jedi that he is alive and held captive."

"Hopefully we can locate him," said Brett, already reaching for his comm.

"Report back to me as soon as you have more information," said Kage. "In the meantime, I will be coordinating our main raid."

Brett straightened up a little. He had assumed that preparations would take days longer. The space the Pit Vipers had found for the temporary base must have been ideal. "You are ready?"

"More than ready," replied the Viper, a thin smile crossing his face. "We will begin the raid within five hours."

"I'll contact you with updates before then," Brett promised.

When Kage nodded and ended the call, the Nautolan leaned back in his chair, gazing at the holoprojector where the Viper leader had been. Kage Akar disliked Brett's hastiness, and his overly straightforward approach. To some extent, Brett agreed with this viewpoint; but he worried that the Viper was not reacting straightforwardly enough to what had taken place tonight. When it came to Jedha, there was a foolproof plan. But when it came to Coruscant –

Now that there were mercenaries and a Jedi in the mix, Brett was even more concerned than he had been when Hilt threatened to expose the Vipers' headquarters.

Unless Kage could trust Brett to handle things, there might be real trouble. Brett had acted hastily in executing everyone connected with Senator Hilt. . . but the risk of exposure had been too great, by his judgment.

Meanwhile, Kage Akar could not be in two places at once, or even available for contact at any given moment. His interference, when he did hear about things, could only make the situation here worse, perhaps dividing the men, making them hesitant to carry out Brett's orders. And if an emergency arose. . .

The Nautolan got to his feet, resolving to show none of his uncertainty when speaking to the others. Surely, if Kage did not trust Brett to make most decisions, he would not have left him in charge. If minor complications arose while dealing with the Jedi, well . . . surely there was no need for Brett to inform the Viper of everything that happened, at least not right away.

And perhaps fortunately, there seemed to be no way for the Jedha plan to fail, which might put the Viper in a more forgiving mood when he returned to Coruscant.

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Senate District

Day Twelve, late night

When Faie lost his grip on the post and fell, he froze for an instant, staring at the rapidly shrinking landing pad. Then instinct took over, and he turned face-down in the air, arms spread in an attempt to slow his fall, even though some part of him already knew he was going to die. There was nothing beneath him except darkness and the occasional light from rushing traffic.

The wind rushed into his face, forcing tears up the sides of his forehead even though his eyes were too dry. A bright light caught the corner of his vision, coming right at him; he saw the transport and twisted away, already knowing he wouldn't make it.

Then something invisible wrapped around him, slowing his fall and pushing him aside, out of the path of the massive transport –

But not out of the path of the cargo. Faie tried to turn again, but one of the jutting crates on the freight carrier hit him in the side and spun him around in mid-air. His armor cracked sharply, and several ribs snapped under the force of the blow. Clutching desperately at the metal bands that secured the crates to the transport, Faie managed to hang on for the briefest instant before his weight made the metal tear through his gloves and skin. Unable to maintain his grip, he fell again.

Above him, something landed on the transport with a thud; then a figure dove off it and streaked downward, past the captain. The next moment, the person hit Faie from behind and arms wrapped tightly around his chest, compressing his ribs and nearly making him black out as the general's voice gasped, "Okay, that didn't go as planned!"

Faie couldn't answer. His vision was blurred and dim, and he half-questioned his own senses. Why was the general here? Was the general here? But he must be, because he wasn't letting go, and they weren't falling as fast anymore.

Below him, a wide road came suddenly into view, and the speed of their fall slowed drastically. Faie was pulled upright just before impact, and he and the general landed heavily, staggering in place. As soon as Faie was released, he crumpled onto his hands and knees, adrenaline shooting through his veins. He was shaking so much he couldn't even get to his feet. After a couple of attempts he gave up and let himself hit the ground fully, turning onto his left side.

The general flopped flat on his back next to him, staring up into the blackness as if he were trying to see the landing pad they'd fallen from. "You okay?" he asked.

". . . Yeah." Faie could barely form the word. Stars were still bursting behind his vision.

To his right, heavy trams rumbled by, and the sound of flying transports came from below. All the traffic sounded close, too close, but Faie couldn't see much of anything in the Coruscant night. There were only a couple lights along the street, and they were flickering and grimy.

Finally, Faie managed to speak. "Sir," he said.

"Uh-huh?"

"Where . . ." Faie trailed off, unable to draw in enough breath to formulate a question. He coughed. "Are we?"

"Dunno, exactly." Vos blinked and rubbed a hand over his face, then sat up and glanced around. "Remember, names only . . . 'specially down here."

Before Faie could answer, the general rolled to his knees, eyes narrowing as he glanced around. "Aw, blast it. Looks like we're in the middle of an industrial sector."

Faie wondered what that meant, but didn't ask. All his energy was focused on trying to get up.

"Here." The Jedi sprang to his feet, then leaned down to pull Faie upright. Faie didn't feel anything, but Vos muttered something and glanced down at his hands, which were now covered in Faie's blood.

"Not – serious," said Faie, and swayed in place, still shaking. He cleared his throat again. "What's the plan?"

"That depends." Quinlan wiped his hands on his tunic and studied Faie, features shadowed in the dim light. "We need to get out of sight, figure where we are. Once I know that, we'll make a plan. I'm hoping we're close to a safehouse. . . Think you can walk okay?"

"Yes, sir," said Faie, only registering his mistake a couple seconds later. He didn't bother apologizing, because the harm was done. Glancing around, he noted that there were no sentients in the immediate vicinity, but that there were voices coming from a nearby building.

"Come on," said the Kiffar. "Let's get off the loading dock."

Oh, that's what they were on. Yeah, better to get off that before a transport landed on their heads. Faie limped alongside the general, hunching a little over his broken ribs, and hoped that nothing would shift around too much. He was so focused on walking that when Quinlan stopped it took Faie two steps to realize it.

"Okay," the general muttered. "We have to get our bearings."

Faie nodded. "Shouldn't we just go straight up?"

"Yeah, ideally. But we can't climb through airways," he answered, squinting up at a grimy metal sign. "Oh, this is one of Czerka Corporation's warehouses? Great. . . That means they've got forty or fifty workers here. Let's avoid being seen."

Faie tilted his head. "Czerka's an enemy?"

"Nooo . . ." The Jedi paused. "Well, not officially. But they're thugs, and not above making a quick credit here and there. They sell out to the Hutts a lot, and the Seps. And the Sith, historically."

"Ah," said Faie.

"I'm going to climb up a ways and find out which level we're on. Uh – you're armed, right?"

Faie glanced at his holsters. "Got my knife."

"Here." The Jedi handed him a small blaster. "I'll only be gone a few minutes."

With that, he crouched and leaped, soaring to the top of the building. From there, he jumped even higher, vanishing into the next level.

Faie made his way around the back of the sign and leaned against it, taking the chance to catch his breath. Now that the adrenaline was fading, his whole right side burned, but at least whatever was in the dart had stopped affecting him – as far as he could tell – and his face no longer felt like it was on fire.

He tried his comm, on the off-chance that Fox or Monnk could get a signal, but there was no response. Probably too far away.

General Vos landed in front of him so fast that Faie had already raised his gun by the time he registered who it was. For an instant, they stared at each other.

"Sorry," they said at the same time, and Vos grinned, the expression there and then gone as if it hadn't happened.

"I have to remember to stop doing that," the Jedi said. "Okay. I have a good idea of where we are."

"Below Javyar's Cantina?" said Faie dryly.

Vos smirked. "That, yeah. We're probably about twenty levels down."

"About?"

The Jedi shrugged and tilted one hand from side to side. "Coruscant's weird," he said, by way of explanation. "It's got levels and half-levels, and if you go down far enough there are definitely eighth-levels. Point being, we're far enough down that no one can get comms from us. And speeders are rare down here, so unless we swipe a company-owned transport. . . which we might have to . . . we'll have a long walk."

"How far away is the safehouse?" asked Faie.

"Eight levels up," said Quinlan, with a faint grimace. "And at least three kilometers west, assuming my bearings are correct."

Faie nodded. "Should we try for it?"

"I'm not sure yet." The Jedi jumped, caught the top of the sign, and peered over it. "I somehow doubt you're able to climb right now."

He was technically right, but Faie chose not to agree out loud. "There must be lifts," he said.

"The public lifts here are guarded by citizens who demand payment for any passage at all," answered the Jedi. "Which would be fine, except the lifts generally go up only a couple levels. Since Aleena swiped my credits, arguing or fighting my way past everyone is going to take forever. It'll leave less of a trail if we borrow a Czerka speeder."

"Czerka will come after us," said Faie. "I might not be able to climb easily, but I'm pretty sure that fighting fifty guards will be worse."

"You have a point." The Kiffar hopped back to the ground. "I wasn't planning on fighting, though. I'm going to take a hostage."

"You're going to what," said Faie, concerned. Maybe the rumors were true after all. Maybe his new general was crazy.

"Take a hostage. Well, either that or I'll just convince someone to bring us up to the Usuru District." Vos moved to the edge of the sign.

With a quick step, Faie got in front of him. "And if you're captured?"

"Ah – if I get captured –" The long pause was answer enough.

Curious, the captain eyed his general. "You don't have a backup plan?"

". . . No," admitted Vos. "In situations like this, I usually wing it."

Faie was neither surprised nor irritated by this, but he was certainly beginning to understand why Fox was so annoyed at the Jedi all the time. Fox had never been fond of spur-of-the-moment plans, unless he was the one making them up.

"Vos," said the captain, and had to pause to draw in a breath as his ribs ached fiercely. "If you intend to make plans as we go, then we shouldn't split up."

"Hm . . . Fair enough. Come on, then." The general took his elbow and they walked onto the landing platform. "Cover story: you were injured in a fight and I'm trying to bring you up to a healer."

"That's – a cover story?" asked Faie.

"Yep. The best cover stories are always true. . . they just don't include all the details."

"Got it," said Faie, nodding. He added another mental note to the list of things he had to tell his men about this Shadow business.

As they approached the front of the warehouse, two armored men stepped out of the shadows, pointing guns at them. Faie's hand twitched towards his own blaster before he could stop himself, but Vos blocked him with the slightest motion.

"Well, well," said a big human with orange hair. "Who've we got here?"

"No one special," said Quinlan. "I'm looking for a speeder."

"What do you think this is, a rental booth?" He drew a gun and gestured vaguely with it. "Get out of here."

The general watched him, then said, "My friend's been injured, and I need to get him to a healer."

"There's healers down here," replied the human, giving a shrug. "Somewhere, anyway. Now beat it."

"Look," said Vos. "Everyone knows that all the good healers work for Czerka."

"He has a point," the Twi'lek guard muttered, nudging the human.

"Not our problem."

"I could make it your problem," offered Vos, and smiled over the blaster he was now pointing at them. Faie hadn't even seen him draw it, and the guard with the gun wasn't ready. He was frozen, weapon still pointing several feet to Faie's left.

Everyone stared at everyone else for the space of a few seconds.

"Huh," the human said warily. "Look, if you fire that gun, fifty men will respond, and you'll be torn to shreds."

"I know," said Vos. "And because of that, I'd rather not shoot you. But if I do have to, my being killed afterwards won't matter to you personally, will it? Because by the time your pals show up, you'll be dead."

". . . Yeah," said the man, begrudgingly. "Look, we don't have to quarrel. A hundred credits will rent you a speeder ride, up one level."

"That's ridiculous," said Quinlan.

"It is ridiculous," repeated the human, but then shook his head suddenly and added, "That's the price. Take it or leave it."

The Jedi gave a dramatic sigh. "I didn't want to do this, but can either of you pilot a speeder?"

Somewhat to Faie's surprise, they both nodded without argument.

"Well, then. . ." Quinlan turned to the Twi'lek. "Since you're the less unreasonable one, I'll ask you to pilot us to the edge of the Senate District."

The Twi'lek hesitated, then shook his head. "We can't go there."

Quinlan huffed, and asked again, and both the guards refused. Faie watched silently, wondering what the Jedi was trying to do. He'd learned about mind tricks, of course, in his research on the Jedi, but was that actually what Vos was doing? It didn't seem to be working.

"Okay," the Kiffar said at last. "If you can't take us to the Senate District, then pilot us to the edge of the Uscru District."

After a longer pause for consideration, the Twi'lek shook his head again.

"Why not?" demanded Vos.

"We have to stay on the Czerka-controlled levels."

Based on the exasperated look the Jedi was wearing, this conversation was not going at all the way he'd hoped. Faie shifted, hand on his gun, while his general and the guards stared each other down.

"You know what?" said Quinlan at last. "Fine. How far up does Czerka's control extend?"

"Ten levels," said the human proudly. "We cover a lot of territory. And if you cross anyone from Czerka, the rest of us will find you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know," said the Jedi, gesturing. "I've dealt with you lot before. Multiple times. Now . . . you will kindly take us to level six-forty-nine. It's eight levels up – still in Czerka territory, and it won't take much time."

"It won't," agreed the Twi'lek, and headed towards an enclosed speeder.

The human opened his mouth; the Jedi turned a sharp look on him, and the man froze, a look of confusion crossing his face. He ended up not saying anything, and as Quinlan and Faie walked past him, the Jedi said conversationally, "You really should check out that disturbance behind the warehouse."

"I should check it out," mumbled the man, and headed around the long building.

Faie slanted a look at the Jedi, a little surprised by how powerful the Force trick had been. There hadn't been even the hint of a disturbance. Could Jedi just fool anyone that way? Did they use their mind tricks often? . . . Did they use them on everyone?

When they reached the speeder, Quinlan hopped into the front seat, where he kept up a one-sided dialogue about nothing important as the Twi'lek piloted. Faie sat in the back seat, one arm wrapped around his ribs, and kept his pistol in hand just in case the pilot suddenly realized he'd been tricked.

Nothing went wrong, though. Within minutes, the speeder slowed to a halt, the doors opened, and Vos and Faie got out.

"Thanks," said Quinlan to the Twi'lek. He hesitated, a slight look of amusement crossing his features, then pulled the pistol out of his belt again. "Here – take this, to pay for your time."

"I will," said the Twi'lek.

"Best return to your guard post now," said the Jedi. "Thanks again."

Without a word, the Twi'lek took off, and the speeder vanished.

Quinlan glanced briefly at Faie and started off down the wide, metal walkway.

"What was that all about?" asked Faie, hurrying to catch up.

"What, the mind trick part, or the giving him a blaster part?"

The captain considered. "Both," he said. "Why'd the guards listen to one of your demands, but not the others?"

"Well, they had no reason not to listen to my last demand," said Quinlan. "But since they'd been ordered not to leave the Czerka-controlled levels. . . clearly, that order was enough to keep them from being overly influenced by the mind trick."

"I see," said Faie, trying to disguise the fact that he was limping. He'd heard about the criminal element of Coruscant from Fox. The CG commander said that troopers had to be careful not to show weakness when patrolling in the lower levels, because there were plenty of people looking for an easy target.

"So," Faie said to the Jedi. "You can't just trick anyone to do anything."

"I wouldn't try," Quinlan answered. "Sometimes you just let people think something's their own idea, and they'll do it easier than if they're compelled."

They stayed quiet as they crossed another walkway, which was crowded with droids and people. Once they entered an emptier area, Faie said, "And the blaster you gave him?"

"That was just a weapon from one of the Vipers," said Quinlan. "I grabbed it during the fight. So, if the Vipers trace us to Czerka's warehouse, which they will, I'm sure they'll be told where we were dropped off."

"Then . . ." The captain thought for a moment, wondering if he was missing something obvious. "Does the blaster serve a purpose?"

"Not really," the Jedi told him cheerfully. "But I have no reason to keep it, and I like leaving my opponents something. You know, sort of a 'I know you're following me, and now you know that I know' message."

Again, Faie considered. It didn't make much sense from a strictly practical viewpoint, but at the same time he supposed he could see what the Jedi was saying. As they took another side road, he asked, "Vos, is this always how Shadow work is?"

"What, getting in trouble and escaping all the time? Kind of, yeah."

"And thinking in a very – roundabout manner?"

"It doesn't have to be." Another quick smile followed, though, and Faie got the impression that Vos was either disinterested in or incapable of thinking in a simpler manner. He thought about this while they crossed one more street and headed up a short flight of steps. That tendency might be good for Shadow work, but maybe it was best that the general wouldn't be leading them in normal battles against the Separatists.

"Here we are," said Vos, and nodded at what looked like a massive parking garage to their left. "There's a room, two stories down. It's fully supplied and secured, and once we're there, we'll probably be able to get a call through to Fox."

Faie was glad that they'd be stopping soon. His broken ribs weren't keeping him from walking, but they were slowing him down and sapping his will to move. A chance to rest would be good.

"Two stories down?" he asked. "Why didn't we just go one story down, from the level we were on a minute ago?"

"I don't want people seeing the entrance," explained the Jedi. "If they see me enter on this level, they'll assume my destination is on this level. Which it's not."

He went up to a rusted metal door, which slid into the ceiling on his approach, and Faie followed him inside. The interior of the building was brighter than the dimly-lit Coruscant night, but not by much.

"Lobby," said Quinlan, and gestured grandly to a small, dimly lit room with a floor of grimy tiles. A desk stood at one side, manned by a dented protocol droid.

"Your name," said the droid.

"You don't remember me, B4?" asked Vos. "Well. How about my passcode, then."

"Your passcode is acceptable."

"Phantom One-One-Seven."

"Have a good day," said the droid.

The Jedi led Faie through another hall and then down two flights of metal steps to a sealed door. Holding up a small card to the access panel, he waited until the door slid upward, then grabbed Faie's arm and yanked him through.

"Sorry, forgot to warn you," he said, as the door slammed shut behind them. "The door's faulty, it only opens for a second. Everyone who lives here complains about it, but the management doesn't seem to care if its guests are at risk of being guillotined."

Faie recovered from his surprise – and the new jolt of pain in his side from Quinlan yanking him around – and said, "Hm. I'll keep that in mind."

"Good." The Jedi glanced up at the security camera, which had been turned to point at the wall. "I see my smuggler neighbors have been busy again. All the better for us, I suppose."

With that, he opened a door on the right, and went into a room which contained a bed, a refresher unit, and a large closet. Everything was dusty, and it was clear that no one had been here in at least a couple of months.

"This is the hideout?" asked Faie.

"Nope." The Jedi took the blanket off the bed and tossed it on the floor, covering the area between the bed and the closet. "This is the hideout's hideout, and we don't want visible footprints. Make sure the door's locked."

Faie obeyed, then watched as Vos opened the closet. It was empty, except for a couple of limp tunics that probably hadn't been worn since the Jedi Temple was first built, but Vos stepped inside. "Here," he said. "I want you to know how to get in, in case you ever need to."

As Faie watched, he shifted a panel in the plasteel aside, then held up his pass card to the blank wall. Another panel slid out of view, revealing an access panel, and Quinlan said, "Passcode is ninety-nine oh-two three four five. Got that?"

As Faie nodded, Vos punched in the numbers, and half of the closet wall swung inward to reveal a large room.

"I'll give you a card once we're back at the Temple," Vos said, stepping into the room. "Oh, and a map so you can find this place again."

"I won't need either, sir," Faie said, glancing around the thankfully clean room. "I remember the number, and I know how to get here from the Senate building."

"Wait, really?" Quinlan raised his eyebrows and gestured to a huge map that covered one of the walls. "So, if I show you this map right now, you can find our location?"

The captain stepped closer to the map, located the CG headquarters, and then tapped a spot. "We're here," he said. "But fourteen levels down."

". . . Yes," said the general. "Okay, I am seriously impressed."

Faie wasn't sure why it was impressive, because any clone who had trained as a pilot or a navigator learned to always keep a map of his surroundings in his mind. And clones picked to train as ARCs often had even better memories, both by nature and training. Still, Faie was glad that the Jedi found at least one of his abilities useful. He had been concerned that he, and his men, had been assigned to a Jedi who had no use for them.

Glancing around the room, the captain asked, "It's secured?"

"Yep," said the general. "Once the door has been opened with a passcode, the traps shut off, and they only reactivate once we leave and enter the code again. But if the door opens from the outside without a passcode, all the traps will stay active."

Faie glanced at a small black device just inside the door. "What kind of traps?"

"Mostly stun traps," said Vos, opening a cabinet to rummage through the contents. "Laser-triggered sonic pulses, that kind of thing. And if the traps go off, they set off an alert back at the Temple. Anyone hit with the traps won't be waking up for some hours – long enough for me to get over here and figure out what they were after."

"Hm." Faie studied the windowless walls. "No one getting in from the outside, either."

"Not without cutting through half a meter of durasteel and wires, anyway. Here. I think you'll want this."

The captain accepted the painkiller and jabbed it in his neck. "How long are we staying here?"

"Couple hours at least," said the Jedi, and opened a storage box to pull out a comm unit. "I need to set up the comm and get a call through to Fox before he comes down here."

"He wouldn't," said Faie, because while Fox had a reputation for fearlessness, he wasn't foolish.

"You're right," admitted the Jedi. "But Vythia might have decided to come down on her own, and I don't want anyone stumbling around in the dark, looking for us."

Faie nodded. While Vos fiddled with the comm unit in one corner, the captain decided to deal with his injuries. He took off his belt and cloak and upper armor and poked gingerly at his ribs. Something shifted immediately, which wasn't a good sign. His blacks provided some compression, but not enough, so Faie went to the medical cabinet and looked through the supply of bandaging until he found a strong, stretchy material that would do well.

"Got it," said Vos at the same time, and Faie dropped the material and came over as the Jedi kept speaking. "Commander Fox, come in. Fox. Hey, Fox. Fox. FOX! You still alive and all that?"

There was a crackle of static, and then Fox's voice. "Vos?"

"In the flesh," said the general, then quirked his mouth. "Except – well, you're only hearing a voice, but the point stands. I take it you survived those last few thugs."

The commander gave a dismissive snort, which amused Faie. Except for the greying hair, his former instructor really hadn't changed at all.

"Where are you?" said Fox. "Is Faie with you?"

"He's here," confirmed Quinlan. "And touched by your concern, I'm sure."

"Shut up, General," said Fox. "Faie, you all right?"

"I'm fine, sir," said Faie, taken aback by Fox's casual disrespect of the general.

"How fine?"

"Broken ribs, possible cracked collarbone. Otherwise, nothing major."

The Jedi shot him a look that expressed both surprise and concern.

"Better than I'd expected, then," said Fox. "Blast it, Faie, I told you to –"

"You told me not to get shot," Faie retorted, smiling a little. "I didn't."

Fox sighed heavily, mumbled something, and then said. "Vos, where are you right now?"

"Safehouse."

"So I assumed. But which one, Phantom or Phoenix?"

"Phantom," replied Quinlan. "I hope you and Vythia are still in the upper levels."

"For now," said Fox. "I didn't send anyone after you."

"Glad to hear it."

"When and where do you want a pickup?"

"Hm." Vos considered. "It would be good if we're out of here before daylight."

"So – never, then," Fox said dryly. "You're pretty far down in the undercity."

The Jedi almost laughed, then cleared his throat. "Let's say seven hundred. We'll be waiting at the Astro-Agro clearinghouse in the Uscru District, LP Ten."

"Understood. Someone will pick you up there."

"Thanks, Fox. Is Vythia still at headquarters?"

"I am here," said the Nautolan woman, in a tone of heavy disapproval. "And you named a safehouse Phoenix, Quinlan? Really?"

"Well, yeah." The Jedi grinned. "I got the second safehouse after Malachor, see, and I needed a good code name. I wasn't about to name it Trayus. Or Adas."

"That is not amusing."

"It amused me."

There was a pause. Then the Nautolan woman spoke again. "Did you ask if I was at headquarters for a reason?"

"Yeah," said Quinlan. "I wanted to make sure that you weren't doing anything foolish like chasing after the Vipers by yourself."

"I am not," she said frostily. "And I am greatly unmoved by your concern for my wellbeing . . . I have managed quite well without it."

"That's true," he said. "At least, as far as I know. I might ask Fox about it later."

She scoffed quietly. "Quinlan, if you have nothing important to say, I am going back to work."

"Don't let me keep you," said the Jedi, and then Fox spoke again.

"Don't get into any more trouble tonight, Vos. Faie, rest up. We'll pick you two up at seven hundred."

"Yes, sir," said Faie.

"Got it," answered Quinlan, and ended the call. He stretched his arms to either side and slanted a look at Faie. "Broken ribs, you said?"

"Three, I think," agreed Faie, going back to the bandaging. It only took a couple of tries before he realized that, between his sliced hands and his ribs, he wouldn't be able to wind the material properly. "Sir, would you help me with this?"

"Sure thing." Vos wrapped the bandage, correctly, without the slightest hesitation, and Faie thought he must have experience with field injuries. As the added pressure relieved the grinding pain, Faie felt himself relax.

But the Jedi didn't seem too happy with his work. "Those are bad breaks. You should've said something, Faie."

Faie supposed he should have, but things had been a bit busy. He pointed out as much, to which Vos replied with a put-upon sigh.

After tying off the bandages, the Jedi stepped back. "I could've sworn I'd gotten you out of the way of the transport."

"You did, sir," said Faie, breathing easier now. He took off his gloves carefully and poured saline over the slashes in his palms.

"I did? But you hit something."

Faie nodded. "It was the crate jutting over the edge that did it."

"Oh." The general glanced at Faie's hands and grimaced, hummed once, and then tapped his fingers against his lightsaber hilt as he glanced around the room.

Faie bandaged his hands carefully, then dropped his blood-soaked gloves in the disposal unit. The material was so badly slashed that it wasn't worth the effort to fix them. "Vos," he said. "Do you have any idea what was in those darts?"

"Some kind of neurotoxin," the Jedi answered. "Local effect only, I suspect. It hurt plenty, but doesn't seem to have any long-term consequences."

"That we know of," Faie pointed out. "It's been less than an hour since we were both hit. Are you sure there won't be consequences?"

"Relatively sure," said the Jedi. "At least, my Jedi senses tell me there is no further threat . . . So yeah." He gave a wry smirk and added, "How reassuring is this statement, Faie?"

Faie smiled a little. "Relatively reassuring. Sir."

Chapter Text

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Twelve, early afternoon (about 2:00 p.m.)

It was midafternoon when Aayla and Baze had finished visiting all of the many small shrines in the city and were finally making their way back to the Temple. Ahsoka, Fixer, Wrecker, and Sev were still out in the town, and Scorch and Tech were double-checking the perimeter of the Temple itself. She had not heard from Hunter in a while, not since he reported that his quarry was heading back towards the Crescent Caverns; she had told Hunter not to follow. She hadn't heard from Boss and Crosshair, who had gone to scout the city walls again; but, as of their last report, they had found nothing.

As Aayla entered the Temple courtyard, Baze glanced around, hesitated, and then led the way to one of the side gardens.

Chirrut, seated cross-legged on the ground, didn't move at their entrance. As Aayla drew closer, she realized that the blind Guardian was holding a bird. He kept both hands clasped gently around its sides and one wing as the brown creature fluttered the other wing feebly.

"Ah, you are back," the blind Guardian said, his voice quieter than usual. "That is good. Aayla, would you assist me?"

"Of course," said Aayla, with a questioning glance at Baze. Judging by the equally questioning look on his face, this was not something that normally occurred.

She knelt near the blind Guardian. "What is the trouble?"

"He is injured," said Chirrut, moving one hand so she could see the torn wing of the bird. "I can hold him, but he gets frightened if I let go to treat the injury."

As Aayla took the tiny strip of bandaging that the Guardian had left draped over his wrist, Baze squinted suspiciously at Chirrut and said, "This kind of bird doesn't usually come into the city. Just where were you when you found him?"

"Baze Malbus." The blind Guardian rolled his eyes to heaven. "You worry like an old woman."

Baze snorted. "And you are as careless as a child."

There was a pause while Aayla set to work winding the bandage gently around the bird's wing.

"If you must know," Chirrut said at last, huffily, "I did not leave the Temple. The bird was lying outside the city wall, and it was Boss who found and brought him to me."

Aayla would not have expected that of the sergeant; though not at all unkind, he seemed to be a very practical man. The mental image of him carrying a tiny bird all the way to the Temple made her smile. "Boss and Crosshair are back?" she asked, carefully tucking the end of the bandage in.

"Yes," Chirrut replied. "I sent Crosshair to locate one of the initiates, who is good at caring for injured birds and animals, and Boss is talking to the rest of your teammates who have returned."

"Good," said Aayla, and touched the bird's head with one finger, reassuring it through the Force. "I have finished, Chirrut. The injury looks like it was caused by a claw. This little bird must have escaped being eaten by a very narrow margin."

The Guardian gazed sightlessly at the bird, considering. "No," he said. "It was never in danger of being eaten."

Aayla tilted her head, confused. "What do you mean?"

"He means it was probably a dunescratcher," said Baze, crouching next to her to get a better look at the bird.

"A dunescratcher?" she asked.

"Large rat-like creatures," explained Baze. "They have six red eyes, claws, grey skin – they are vicious. Those beasts are the only ones I know of that will injure or kill prey they don't need. They'll go after humans, too, if they look weak. Kids especially."

"Ah," said Aayla, frowning. "Given that no one has mentioned them until now, I take it they are not an issue in the city?"

"Correct," said Baze. "It's not worth the effort, I guess. For one thing, they've got a long climb to make."

"What about people who leave the city?" asked Aayla. "I intend to search outside the walls tonight, if we find nothing in the city itself."

"Hmm . . ." Baze shrugged a little. "No one goes outside the city walls at night without a vehicle, so we haven't had trouble yet. But I guess if you took a group of three or four, you'd still be fine. Dunescratchers travel in packs – makes 'em more dangerous, but we can also kill them easier."

Aayla nodded. "First we shall see what the others think. No one reported finding explosives, but perhaps they learned something else that will help guide us."

"They did," said Chirrut, absently stroking the bird.

Baze and Aayla exchanged looks.

"He's usually right," whispered Baze, as if the admission pained him.

Chirrut smiled serenely.

A moment later, Crosshair ambled into the courtyard. He still wore his black clothes and habitually forbidding expression, and Aayla was a bit surprised that the sniper rifle slung over his shoulder hadn't caused any of the civilians to report him. With the sharp look in his eyes and the distant, untouchable attitude he seemed to surround himself with, Crosshair certainly did not appear to be non-threatening.

He paused just inside the courtyard gate, aimed his piercing gaze at Chirrut, and said, "Found the kid."

As if on cue, a young boy with floppy brown hair rushed into the courtyard and skidded to a halt near the sniper. "Where is he, Crosshair?" he asked excitedly.

"Use your eyes," retorted the sniper. "Where do you think?"

"Oh, right!" The boy ran to Chirrut, sandals slapping against the stones, and held out both hands. "Can I see him, Guardian Îmwe?"

Aayla half-expected Chirrut to say something along the lines of 'can you? Are you not looking at him?', but all he actually said was, "Yes, Ivo, but be gentle."

"I'll be gentle," Ivo promised. He took the bird and stared intently down at it. "Aw, you're hurt," he murmured. "But you'll be okay, won't you? I'll give you some fruit and a nice soft place to sleep. . ." He wandered away, still talking. "You'll be fine in the morning, you'll see. And as soon as you're able to fly again, I'll bring you to the wall and you can decide where you want to go."

He stopped talking long enough to send a grin over one shoulder. "Thanks, Guardian Îmwe! I'll take really good care of him."

"I know you will," said Chirrut peaceably. He was back to sitting in his typical meditative posture, hands folded and back straight. "Or I would not have sent Crosshair to find you."

The boy beamed at him, then hurried over to the sniper. "Hey, Crosshair, look at this cute little bird!"

When Crosshair obliged but did not react with obvious delight, Ivo grabbed one of his hands and turned it palm up. "You have to hold it like this, because it's so little," he explained, and set the bird down in the sniper's hand.

Crosshair looked at the bird, then at the boy, then back. Finally seeming to realize that Ivo expected an answer, he relaxed slightly and said, "It's small."

"Yeah, isn't it cute?" Ivo grinned. "Hey, you're holding it right!"

". . . Shocking, isn't it."
Ivo only laughed at the sarcastic remark. "Have you held birds before?"

"Yeah."

"What kind?"

"Not sure," said Crosshair, giving the bird back to him. "Small white ones on a snow planet."

"They sound cute." Ivo closed his hands around the bird, then glanced down in sudden realization. "Oh, he's getting cold. I'd better get him to a warm spot."

Crosshair stepped aside, and Ivo hurried away. He was just about to leave the courtyard as Boss entered, and the sergeant only avoided a collision by pivoting sharply on one heel. Then, waving away Ivo's hasty apologies, he headed over to the group with Crosshair trailing behind him.

"Sergeant," said Aayla, getting to her feet. "Are the others returning?"

"They'll be here momentarily, ma'am," Boss said. "Fixer and Ahsoka were just entering the Temple."

He halted and stood at parade rest, his gaze drifting constantly as he observed the courtyard and its occupants, the small statues that were scattered about, and the Temple tower.

Baze adjusted the sling around his left arm. Chirrut, meanwhile, had taken to staring towards Crosshair – who was staring back with narrowed eyes.

Fortunately, before the sniper could do more than begin to shift into a more aggressive stance, Hunter arrived, along with Fixer and Ahsoka. Chirrut was distracted by this, and Crosshair stopped glaring.

Delta Thirty-Eight unfolded his arms, sauntered over to Fixer, and asked a question in a low voice. As the corporal handed him a datapad and began pointing things out, Ahsoka joined Aayla.

"Hey, Master," the padawan said, her gaze flickering to Chirrut. "We just saw that woman again, the Mirialan."

"Yes," said Aayla. "So Fixer informed me."

"The Mirialan?" asked Chirrut, leaning his head back so he could gaze at – or at least towards – the blue sky. "Was she still angry at me?"

"Yes," said Ahsoka. "And I think – I'm almost certain I know why. But . . ."

When she frowned at the wall, Aayla prompted her with a gentle nudge in the Force. "What is it, padawan?"

The Togrutan girl looked down in confusion, then up at Aayla. "Master, the Force isn't usually so . . . precise. When I tried to sense the Mirialan's feelings, the reason behind them was so clear – it was strange."

"Not so strange," said Baze. "Not if that was all she was thinking of."

Chirrut nodded and stood up. "Baze is right."

The taller Guardian glanced at him in surprise, but didn't retort.

"Ahsoka," said Chirrut, as Scorch, Tech, Wrecker and Sev entered the courtyard and headed towards the group. "What did the Force tell you?"

Ahsoka tilted her head, still hesitant. "It told me that the Mirialan hates you because – you were friends with whoever killed her fiancé?"

"Ah." Chirrut tapped his staff lightly against the ground. "I understand."

Aayla frowned and exchanged a look with Boss, whose expression said that he was as confused as she was.

"You understand?" repeated Fixer.

"It is not complicated," said Chirrut, seeming to gaze through the wall. "Ahsoka, did the woman tell you her name?"

"Yes." Ahsoka blinked. "I don't know if it's her real name, though. I asked her who she was and if she'd like to have me write her name down in a list of benefactors for the Temple, and she said, well." She glanced at Baze.

"What did she say?" asked Aayla.

"She said, um, 'My name is Sharjeel, and I don't help religious freaks, kid, now get lost already!' So I left."

Baze shrugged at her apologetic look, and Aayla smiled a little. The Guardians of the Whills had almost certainly heard far more offensive insults than the one Ahsoka had been hesitant to repeat.

"Sharjeel," said Chirrut. "Yes. That was her true name."

"Guardian Îmwe," said Fixer. "With all due respect, you can't know that for a fact."

Hunter slanted an amused look at the corporal, and Chirrut said, "I am one with the Force, Corporal. So are we all. That is how I know Sharjeel told Ahsoka the truth."

As Fixer eyed him skeptically, Baze huffed. "Chirrut. . ."

"Yes?"

"Never mind." Baze shook his head. "Her name isn't important anyway, right?"

"Not as far as I know," admitted Fixer, and turned to Boss.

The sergeant shifted his weight, then glanced sidelong at the Guardians and said, "Chirrut. Why did you say you understood?"

"Ah," said Chirrut, rocking back on his heels. "Because there is only one person, apart from the Guardians, who has died in the past few days."

"The assassin," said Hunter.

"Vos killed him," Fixer said in realization, and turned to Chirrut. "The Mirialan might have seen you with him."

"So now she wants to kill Chirrut?" said Scorch, who was leaning an elbow heavily against Tech's shoulder. The shorter commando did not appear to appreciate this, based on the irked eyeroll he gave, but he was too busy scrolling through his datapad to make any attempt to stop him.

"Yes," Ahsoka said.

Scorch considered, straightened, folded his arms, and announced, "That doesn't make sense. Are you sure that's right?"

"It is what the Force said," Chirrut replied, and used his staff to gently nudge a turquoise-and-yellow caterpillar towards the safety of the garden. "And the Force is usually accurate when it speaks."

The Deltas looked askance at him, but the Bad Batch didn't seem in the least surprised by the statement. Not even Crosshair so much as blinked.

"Well, the Force might be accurate, but there's still something weird about this whole thing," Scorch decided, hooking a thumb in his belt. "Why would she want to kill you for something General Vos did – in self-defense, at that?"

"Huh," grunted Sev. "She probably thinks Vos should have let himself get assassinated."

"She might believe that," said Aayla. "When emotions are heavily involved, reason is not."

"And that," said Baze, poking Chirrut in the arm, "is why you're staying in the Temple until we settle this."

"My grandmother was less of a worrier than you," Chirrut observed brightly, which sent Scorch and Wrecker off into hastily suppressed snorts of laughter.

"I don't get it," said Ahsoka, chin in one hand as she frowned. "Why would the Mirialan be engaged to an assassin?"

"How should we know," said Crosshair in a bored tone, and flicked a toothpick into the garden.

Baze narrowed his eyes after it, and Hunter elbowed the sniper and hissed, "It's bad enough when you throw 'em all over the Marauder!"

"It's wood," whispered Crosshair. "So's the stuff around the plants. What's the big deal?"

Aayla cleared her throat gently. "Regardless of why Sharjeel was engaged to an assassin, the fact remains," she said. "Now, I do not see that we can do anything about her for the moment, so let us move on."

"Yes, ma'am," said Boss, and glanced at his squad mates. "None of us found any explosives, but we weren't able to search the marketplaces."

"Too many people around," explained Wrecker. "But there were a couple of spots in particular that I'd want to go check out after dark."

"Same," said Scorch. "Tech and I saw a few places that I'd use if I wanted to take out half the city."

Aayla nodded. "Then we will do that once night has fallen," she said. "The Guardians will be watching all approaches to the Temple tonight, and they have agreed to lend us speeders so that we can search more quickly – and so that, if there is an attack, we can return and help them."

"Maybe we can even hit the Vipers' speeder on the way," said Hunter. "If they use the same approach as last night."

"Yes," said Aayla. "We will coordinate as we go, depending on what the Guardians report to us. In the meantime, I have one more piece of information, which is very important."

Everyone straightened up and focused, and Aayla said, "The Jedi Temple forwarded me a communication from Quinlan. He says that Kage Akar is the leader of the Pit Vipers – a gang that is based on Coruscant. Quinlan believes they are responsible for the crimes that he and the Coruscant Guard are busy investigating."

"What?!" said Ahsoka. "We're dealing with the same gang that Master Vos is?"

"Yes."

The Deltas considered this, with varying degrees of confusion and surprise.

The Bad Batch, however, did not. Wrecker chortled, Tech huffed, Crosshair rolled his eyes, and Hunter folded his arms and said, "That just about figures, doesn't it."

"The same gang?" said Scorch at last. "Huh."

"Kinda weird," Sev added suspiciously.

"Convenient, though," said Fixer. "We can exchange intel that either group might otherwise not get."

"Yeah." Hunter idly spun his knife and jammed it into the sheath on his belt. "You do that. We'll focus on taking down this division of the Pit Vipers – and the leader."

"Precisely," said Tech. "Meanwhile, Quinlan and Commander Fox can deal with the remainder of the gang on Coruscant. This mission could be very efficient."

"Let us hope so," said Aayla, who found that she did not share the Bad Batch's optimism in the least. "In the meantime, is there anything else?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Boss. "Fixer located the IDs of the enemy shuttles."

The corporal nodded. "One shuttle left the planet after the raid. I confirmed that there are four shuttles still here. All of them have a passenger capacity of forty – or more, if they don't follow standard safety protocol."

"Can you track them right now?"

"Negative, ma'am. Not while they're either out of range or powered down. But I could rig something to automatically transmit a request for contact with any of the four shuttles."

"I will help you," offered Tech. "We can link the Marauder's sensors to the communications array in town, which should allow us to transmit the request much farther. That will allow us a warning if any of them take off."

"An excellent idea," said Aayla to both of them. "Any information we can gather right now can only help us. Get that set up as soon as possible. As for the rest of you, we will reconvene at dusk. Baze – when would the best time be?"

"Most people have gone back to their homes by five-thirty or six o'clock," he replied. "The marketplaces will certainly be empty by then. They close around five."

"Very good," said Aayla. "Report back here at eighteen hundred hours, commandos. Until then, you are dismissed."

Jedha, Crescent Caverns

Day Twelve, late afternoon (about 5:00 p.m.)

Kage Akar paced the length of the main cavern, watching closely as the men and women under his command outfitted themselves for the upcoming raid. The bombs had already been loaded in the shuttles, and the cargo holds were emptied except for necessary items – large crates, shackles and chains, stuncuffs and stun batons; all that remained was to ensure that everyone was aware of the proper procedures.

He went to the snake pit and knelt down, reaching an arm in towards Shépa. She lifted her head, tongue flickering rapidly, then slithered across the loose sand. As she glided up his arm, the smaller vipers moved to fill the space that she had left empty near the heating lamp.

Sitting back on his heels, the Viper let Shépa settle herself around his neck while he checked that all the heat lamps were working properly. He was not going on this raid, and would be here to keep an eye on the heat levels. Still, he preferred to check them whenever he was nearby. The vipers he had with him were native to the hot jungle regions in his home system, and would die within an hour if left to the sub-zero temperatures of the forsaken rock that the Guardians called home.

A faint humming sound was emanating from one of the lamps, and the Viper adjusted it slightly, checking that it was not malfunctioning.

Then he stood, Shépa trailing around his neck like a heavy scarf as he went to his lieutenant. "Merrick," he said. "Call everyone."

Merrick nodded and stalked off into the room, shouting for everyone to get over to the Viper for orders. Those who did not respond instantly were given a prod or shove by the towering man; within seconds, all the Pit Vipers were standing in front of Kage, watching him with varying degrees of interest and energy.

"I have not yet told all of you the plan," said the Viper, nudging Shépa away from his hand. She coiled up his arm and into the collar of his tunic, and Kage saw several people in the crowd, most of them women, shivering or cringing at the sight.

He always found it amusing. The Pit Viper gang members were known for being fast, accurate, and deadly, and they had carried out, collectively, thousands of assassinations and poisonings. And yet, despite being willing to poison their targets with venom from the snakes, many of Kage's men and women disliked and feared the very creatures that their gang used and was named after.

"Your orders are as follows," Kage announced, stroking Shépa's glossy back with two fingers. "There are four main marketplaces in NiJedha. Our men in the city have just notified me that they have closed for the evening, and the citizens are leaving them. In a moment, you will enter your predesignated shuttles. Talbor!"

The olive-skinned Togruta male stepped forward. "Yes, Viper."

"You are in charge of coordination. Name the targets."

"The Temple first," said Talbor. "I'll be hitting that personally. . . the Guardians will be meditating at the time."

"Heh." One of the other men laughed. "They won't need to put themselves to sleep this time."

"We'll do it for them," said Talbor. "We're as generous as they are, right?"

Laughter answered him. Viper allowed the briefly sidetracked attention because he was in no particular rush.

"After I hit the Temple," Talbor went on, "we'll hit the main city square, then the Pilgrim's Quarter, and then each of the smaller sectors. Each pilot has the necessary data uploaded."

"Very good," replied the Viper. "Now. After the strike, the pilots will land, one shuttle to each of the four marketplaces. You will wait for the command, then go out into the town and take hostages." He smirked. "I know it is counterintuitive, but I do not want any deaths at this point. Understood?"

Nods, chuckles, and murmurs of affirmation answered him. The Viper let Shépa coil back up around his arm, just in case anyone was inclined to forget his orders, or the consequences of disobeying those orders.

"It is important that you take hostages from as many families as possible," he went on. "It is the only way we will control the entire town. The neurotoxin might not work on all of the citizens equally. Use whatever means necessary to render them unconscious and get them on the shuttles. Break down doors – break a few bones, if you have to. No matter the cost, I want one thousand hostages by midnight. But remember: no men. Women and children only."

"Got it," said Merrick. "You have an age limit?"

"Try to avoid taking infants," said the Viper. "They die so easily. Oh, and do not take a large number of the very young women. They will be more useful in the city, encouraging the Guardians to accede to our demands. But take as many mothers as you can. They can be counted on to obey in order to protect the children."

He paced a few steps before turning back to his gang. "No more than two shuttles should be making deliveries here at any given time; we need enough men in Jedha to maintain control of the situation.

"We won't lose control," said Kol, swinging the red sword at his side.

"See that you don't," said the Viper. "And leave that here. You won't be collecting kyber this time around."

"Right." Kol flipped the artifact around and approached the Viper, holding it towards him, hilt-first.

Kage took the sword, resting the tip on one boot. He'd handled the weapon several times, but was always surprised by the glass-smooth texture, and the apparently dull blade. It would cut nothing, until you swung it against kyber crystal, and that it would slice through effortlessly. Strange Force-magic, no doubt. The Viper had no use for the Jedi, but the Sith . . . now, they came up with useful things.

Jabbing the weapon point-first into the sand, he said, "You have your orders, Vipers. We have controlled the fate of millions, for the gain of our clients – now, let us see if we can maintain control of a city with our own skills, for our own gain."

A ragged cheer went up, and the gangsters raced for the shuttles, leaving only the Viper behind to stay on guard and coordinate the rest of the job. He wasn't concerned, though. This would go smoothly, he was sure. The citizens were powerless to stop him, and would be even more so within a few hours. A few mercenaries, no matter how skilled, would do nothing for the Guardians – they would not be allowed to act, once the plan was fully underway.

No, there was nothing to concern himself with. The only threats right now were the dunescratchers, who might try to approach the snake pit, and he had already killed several of those. If ever there got to be too many of them, he would release Shépa.

Chapter Text

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Twelve, evening (about 5:00 p.m.)

The sun was beginning to set behind the mountains, but Ahsoka could still feel rays of its warmth, meager now in the cool evening air, as she sat on top of the Temple's central tower. From here, she could see the main courtyard, where dozens of Guardians were meditating. For the most part, they had their eyes closed and sat peacefully, though a couple of the youngest initiates were fidgeting a bit.

Ahsoka grinned when she caught sight of Sachi. The young girl was seated, half-leaning against the wall and toying with her red flower as she stared out through the gate. Then Baze, who was overseeing the younglings, strolled past and tapped her on the shoulder with one finger. She scrambled to sit properly, hands on her knees. Baze gave her what could almost be mistaken for a stern look, then picked up the flower she'd dropped and tucked it back into her hair where it belonged.

The sounds of city life, distant and calm, floated up to Ahsoka. The Temple of the Whills was so peaceful right now that the conversations and laughter from the citizens seemed to drift over the area as if it was protected in a bubble. In a few hours, when the sun had fully set, Ahsoka and her team would go into the town, searching the marketplaces for explosives – just in case; for now, though, she enjoyed the serenity of the Temple. In many ways, it was calmer than the Jedi Temple, and Ahsoka thought she knew why. There was no undercurrent of war here. Not that the Jedi could avoid the war, of course, but sometimes Ahsoka couldn't help thinking wistfully about the Temple before the war began.

She'd been able to be excited, back then, about little things. The fact that a special kind of dessert was being served that evening. An outing to a museum or a walk through the upper streets of Coruscant. A field trip with other younglings to a nearby planet. Earning a compliment from one of the masters who oversaw saber training. A free evening spent with her friends, doing nothing in particular.

But once the war began, everything had changed. Now, Ahsoka didn't perfect her lightsaber work in order to gain good scores or to beat her crechemates or to become a strong Jedi in the future – she perfected it to keep herself and others alive. She didn't learn about different cultures or traditions anymore – but she learned about the enemy and their weaknesses. She didn't take classes on how to make beautiful things; she learned, instead, how to disarm bombs and recognize traps.

The last peaceful planet she'd been on, before Jedha, had been Maridun, where the Lurmen village was. It had been beautiful – and quiet, mostly, except for the huge four-legged birdlike creatures attacking . . .

It had certainly been a lot more peaceful than the village, at least in Ahsoka's mind. As far as she was concerned, the village leader was ridiculous. He had talked over and over about peace – which seemed, to him, to mean 'let everyone else walk all over us no matter the cost'. He hadn't allowed his people to defend themselves, not even against droids, which couldn't be killed. And – worse – he'd been willing to let his people die rather than have the Jedi defend them, which was beyond absurd

But despite how irritated she'd been at Tee Watt Kaa – and still was, when she thought about him for more than a couple of seconds – Ahsoka had to admit that he'd had at least a little tiny bit of a point when he said the Jedi weren't peacekeepers anymore.

Ahsoka thought that the Jedi fighting for the Republic was a good thing. After all, they were defenders of the peace, fighting for peace, weren't they? They were guardians and protectors by training . . . But not all of them were warriors, and not all of them were fit to lead. In fact, as Ahsoka knew from listening to other masters, most Jedi worried about the fact that they had very little knowledge of tactics or strategy. Some also worried that the Jedi were becoming too militaristic, taking orders from the Senate without first seeking the guidance of the Force.

And yet, there was no other way . . . was there? The Jedi had to lead the Republic's armies; if they didn't, there would be thousands – millions – more dead by now, both clones and civilians.

Ahsoka opened her eyes, uncomfortable with the wandering train of thought that had occurred to her more than once recently, and blinked once or twice. Straightening up, she went back to observing the Guardians as they meditated.

Then Chirrut got suddenly to his feet. He hurried over to the Head Guardian, his staff never touching the stones, and helped Emmkar to his feet. As he whispered to him, the Head Guardian frowned worriedly.

Concerned, Ahsoka got to her feet and looked in all directions. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary – but when she reached into the Force, she did sense a threat.

Her comm blinked, and she switched it to the team channel. "Ahsoka here."

"Ahsoka," Hunter said. "Where are you?"

"On the central tower."

"Tech says there are signs of activity near the Crescent Caverns. Stay alert."

"Understood," she replied. "Where's Boss?"

"With the other Deltas. Secura's questioning the prisoners again. The rest of us are on the east –"

"Boss," Fixer cut in. "A shuttle just took off. It's –"

"Two shuttles," interrupted Tech. "They are hovering outside the caves. I suspect that they will be heading for the city, which is not ideal. Oh – wait."

"Three shuttles," said Fixer. ". . . All four are in the air. Orders, sir?"

"Get to the Marauder, Bad Batch." Boss was already running; Ahsoka could tell by the slight unsteadiness in his voice as he spoke. "If they're coming for the city we'll need to take them out before they get in range. Secura!"

"On my way." The Jedi Master sounded tense but calm. "Ahsoka, warn the Guardians that the enemy may be approaching. Get them to cover, then join us in the main courtyard."

"Got it." Ahsoka hurried down the stairs, mindful of Aayla's warning to keep her Jedi abilities hidden, and raced across the stone-paved yard.

All around her, the Guardians sprang to their feet, except for Baze and Emmkar and Chirrut, who were already standing together. Chirrut was staring sightlessly towards the caverns, and Baze had pulled a rifle out of nowhere.

"Head Guardian," Ahsoka said, skidding to a halt with a hasty bow. "The Vipers have four ships in the air. We think they're coming here."

"Take the children inside," Emmkar ordered, his glance traveling from her to Chirrut. "Protect them. Baze, warn those in the outer courtyard. I will sound the alarm."

Spinning to face the initiates, Ahsoka raised her voice. "Alright, kids – get inside!"

They stared at her, then at the older Guardians around them, who were hurrying after Emmkar; then they looked at Chirrut, who merely inclined his head.

Somehow, that was all it took to get them moving. The children hurried into the central building in an orderly line, and Ahsoka closed the door behind them. "I've got to join the others," she said.

"Go," said Chirrut. He stood in front of the door, facing the courtyard, and thumped his staff against the ground. "I will guard the initiates."

She almost asked him if he was sure, but closed her mouth in time. Something told her that Chirrut could hold his own, and on top of that she needed to get to Master Secura and the others.

As she hurried out, her comm went off again.

"Shuttles approaching the city at top speed," said Fixer. "They're splitting off from each other – Ninety-Nines, you won't reach the Marauder in time!"

"Oh yes we will," said Wrecker. "Tech! Grab hold!"

"Oh dear," Tech complained absently. "The systems are started and there is no need for –"

Wrecker grunted with effort, and Tech let out a startled yelp.

"Stop throwing Tech!" snapped Hunter. "Tech, get the Marauder in the air, don't wait for us!"

"Understood," said Tech. "It will take me a moment."

Ahsoka raced around a corner and into the courtyard where Aayla and the Deltas were gathered. The clones had their helmets on and weapons out, and Fixer had set up a holoprojector in the middle of the courtyard.

As Ahsoka skidded to a halt next to him, he said, "One shuttle is headed directly for the Temple."

"Not for long, it won't be," said Sev. He slapped the sniper attachment onto his rifle and glanced at the tower, then Ahsoka. "Kid! My cable won't reach. Can you get me up there?"

"You got it." Ahsoka grabbed him with the Force and hurled him straight up a dozen meters, then held him in place so he could grab the nearest windowsill. From there, he fired a cable into the roof and swung himself up. Once on the domed turret, he straightened, balancing easily with his rifle lifted to his shoulder, and fired.

"The shuttle just veered off," reported Fixer. "No – it's correcting course now."

"The Marauder is in the air," Tech reported. "Opening cargo hatch now."

"You're what?" asked Boss, while Aayla considered the hologram gravely.

"Crosshair," said Hunter. "Do your thing."

The Marauder zoomed overhead, and Ahsoka glanced up at it – and at the open cargo bay doors, where Crosshair was standing on the very edge, almost lounging against one of the struts as he fired once. Twice.
"Good shots," grunted Sev, adding his own fire to the mix.

"Their shields are up," complained Crosshair, and took another shot.

"Use your turrets, Marauder," ordered Aayla.

"They are still warming up," reported Tech. "Switching to auto-pilot –"

"Look out!" yelled Sev, and jumped off the tower roof. He fired his cable towards the wall as he fell, but Aayla had already reached out with the Force. As he released the cable, she lowered him swiftly to the ground, while Boss grabbed Ahsoka's arm and yanked her into the shelter of a doorway.

The enemy shuttle rushed into view again, thirty meters overhead, barely clearing the tower. Something dropped from it, into the courtyard, even as Scorch fired two anti-armor rounds that smashed against the side of the cockpit.

Ahsoka ducked, covering her head with her hands as Boss stepped in front of her. The thing hit the ground. Even as it exploded in a cloud of white mist, the Marauder roared overhead, heavy lasers slamming into the stern of the enemy shuttle.

Both ships vanished.

"Poison gas!" snapped Fixer, firing at the shuttle as it zoomed away. "Secura, Ahsoka, get to cover!"

Ahsoka obeyed, yanking open the nearest door and diving inside. Aayla joined her an instant later, and Boss slammed the door behind them, staying outside.

"Master!" Ahsoka cried, hand clenched on her saber. "The commandos have helmets, but the Guardians, and everyone else –!"

"I know, Padawan," Aayla said. "Poison . . . and I worried they would attack the city with explosives! Hurry! We must warn those inside."

They'd hardly taken ten steps when Ahsoka realized that the crystals in the walls were glowing brightly; as she focused on them, she realized that they seemed to be chiming in the Force with a an almost physically audible sense of warning.

"Emmkar's already told them," she realized, gesturing to a large group of crystals.

Aayla slowed to observe them and nodded. Then, instead of heading further inside, she turned left, towards the main courtyard.

"Secura," Boss said. "The poison gas is a kind of neurotoxin. It's knocking people out, but Fixer says no one's in danger from it."

"Thank the Force." Aayla let out a quick breath of relief. "Are the enemy shuttles landing?"

"Negative," Boss replied. "I've got the squad on the walls, ready to take them down, but we can't destroy them while they're above the city."

"Understood," Aayla said. "Hunter, report."

"Wrecker and I are making our way to the marketplace," Hunter replied. "Trying to get civilians inside."

"Hunter," said Tech. "I am flying around the perimeter, trying to get an angle on one of the ships. The city square was just hit with a bomb."

"Got it. Crosshair – can you take out the bombs?"

"I took out one," the sniper replied. "Didn't do any good – the neurotoxin's heavier than air. It just sinks. Effective range, five meters above ground."

"The city will be defenseless," Aayla said, turning again and running up a flight of stairs. "Tech, try to force one of the shuttles down. We must do everything we can do to slow them and interrupt their plan."

"Understood," said Tech, sounding rather pleased. "Crosshair, I recommend that you either get inside, or jump."

"Get me over the main tower," Crosshair answered.

As he spoke, Ahsoka and Aayla ran out a narrow door onto one of the tower balconies.

"What's the plan?" Ahsoka asked, looking down at the top of the white cloud of knockout gas, a mere five feet below them. It was thinning, but very slowly. "We stay here and defend the crystal?"

"We must," Aayla said, frowning. "We cannot allow it all to be taken. . ."

"Emmkar's vision," Ahsoka agreed, and glowered at one of the enemy shuttles at it swooped down. "Those creeps better not hurt anyone!"

The Marauder rushed into view, pulled back over the main Temple tower, and spun. Crosshair jumped from the cargo bay, landing casually on the very top of the rounded turret that Sev had been on moments before, and took another shot at the nearest enemy. The Marauder's cargo bay door slammed shut as it roared off, accelerating to attack speed in under three seconds.

"I guess we'll just have to stand here until the Vipers land," Ahsoka grouched, wishing she was in the Marauder. She could jump to the enemy ship, put her lightsabers through the viewport –

"Hunter," said Aayla. "You are certain the neurotoxin is harmless?"

"Everyone's vital signs are stable," said Hunter. "We got a few people inside before this sector was hit, but everyone else is down. The streets are packed. Emmkar sent a warning over the city holocomms, but it was half a minute too late."

"They timed their attack well," Aayla said.

Ahsoka bounced on her toes. "I could get a ventilator and go down there."

"To what end, Padawan?" murmured Aayla patiently. "Here, we are in a central location. As soon as we know which sector of the Temple the Vipers intend to raid, we can head them off. Until then. . ."

The balcony door swung open, and Baze stalked over to them, wearing a ventilator over his mouth and nose. He said nothing at all, though his eyes were glinting darkly and he had a rifle clenched in his right hand. He still had his sling on, but Ahsoka suspected that he'd pull his left hand free as soon as he needed it.

"Where is Emmkar?" asked Aayla.

Baze jerked his head at the main tower. "In communications."

Ahsoka glanced at the tower. Crosshair was still on the roof, taking shot after shot.

"Tech!" yelled Hunter. "Gain some altitude, will you?"

"In just a moment."

Ahsoka peered through the thinning haze that covered the city below her. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Havoc Marauder – it was flying through one of the main streets, the tips of its wings very close to the buildings on either side. Then Tech pulled up, directly in front of an enemy shuttle as it came around. Ahsoka gasped as it swerved violently to avoid him, banking sharply towards the desert. Even as the enemy pilot tried to straighten out, there was a flash and an explosion from the nearest city wall, and the shuttle wavered violently.

"HA!" yelled Scorch. "Take that, you snake-loving freaks!"

"They took it," Sev drawled. "But the ship's recovering. . . aww. Good thing I just took out the main turret. Now that was real precision work, there."

"Hey, mine was precision work too!" Scorch retorted. "The anti-armor rounds just have more of an area of effect, unlike your toy gun."

"I'll show you a toy gun," Sev began, but Fixer interrupted.

"Would you two cut it out? Secura, the entire city has been hit. The shuttles are coming around, splitting up. One is breaking off to deal with the Marauder, but –"

"But it can't," said Crosshair, in a tone of cool satisfaction. "And neither can the others. No turrets online, on any of 'em, anymore. Sad."

"Yeah," said Sev, impressed. "I think you got almost as many of 'em as I did."

"Almost?!"

"Secura," said Fixer, before Crosshair could continue. "The shuttles are heading for the marketplaces."

"The marketplaces. . . of course." Aayla glanced at Baze. "They're empty now, and more than big enough to serve as landing zones."

"And once they land they'll be coming here, no doubt." Baze checked his rifle. "I didn't get to the outer courtyard in time. Nearly all of the Guardians are unconscious. Chirrut and some others are protecting the kids."

"At least they are safe," said Aayla. She squinted, shading her eyes with one hand from the setting sun, and Ahsoka followed her gaze. She could definitely see one of the shuttles landing. Her hand was sweaty against the hilt of her lightsaber, and she shifted, releasing it.

"The shuttles are landing," reported Boss. "Deltas, stay ready, but check your aim. There are civilians lying in the streets."

"Tech," said Aayla. "You can't do anything more to stop them now. Land at the airfield and come back."

"We're on our way to meet you, Tech," Hunter said. "Aayla, you want my squad at the Temple, or should we set up some ambushes?"

"The Temple," she said. "We know the territory here, and this way no citizens will be endangered by stray shots. Come, Ahsoka. We will clear the courtyard."

"Got it." Ahsoka hopped up to balance on the balcony rail, the Twi'lek Jedi next to her. Together, they raised their arms and brought them down and forward in a powerful Force-push that sent most of the white fog out through the main gate.

"That's a neat trick," Scorch commented, hurrying into view along the Temple wall with Sev behind him.

Aayla jumped down from the balcony. Ahsoka drew the Force around herself for protection and followed. The neurotoxin was still present, though not strongly, and Ahsoka knew that if she relaxed her mind she would become drowsy.

Crosshair was climbing down the tower, rather more quickly than looked safe. He kept letting himself fall, sliding a few feet before catching at protuberances that Ahsoka couldn't even see.

As Baze ran out of the tower – using the door – Boss and Fixer jogged into the courtyard. They met Sev and Scorch at the base of the stairs and the squad huddled for a moment at the main entrance, discussing something.

Then Emmkar hurried out of the main entrance, and Aayla ran to meet him, followed closely by Baze.

At the same time, Crosshair hit the ground in a somersault, got up, and loped over to Ahsoka. As he came to a halt, he slung his rifle over one shoulder and glanced down at her. "What's the plan?"

"Dunno yet," Ahsoka answered, both hands clenched over her lightsabers, which were still clipped to her belt. "I just hope we can finally take action against these guys."

"Hm. . ." He gestured. "We should sabotage the enemy ships while they're on the ground. Easy to do with a Jedi weapon."

"That's a great idea!" She grinned, then sighed. "If I don't get sent back to wait with the younglings."

Crosshair considered, then tilted his head. She could hear the smirk he wore when he spoke. "If you do, just give us your lightsabers and we'll sabotage the ships."

"Hey! No fair," she complained, folding her arms, and he actually hummed a laugh in reply.

At the same time, Chirrut appeared, walking briskly across the stones. His staff was held easily at his side, balanced to strike in any direction, and if Ahsoka hadn't recognized him she would never have known he was blind.

"Chirrut!" Baze called, causing all the Deltas to glance over at him. "Why aren't you wearing a ventilator?"

"I am one with the Force," Chirrut answered calmly. "And the Force is with me."

". . . Yeah," said Baze. "But what does that have to do with breathing?"

A peculiarly exasperated look crossed Chirrut's face at that, but for once he said nothing. Instead, he joined Ahsoka, who said, "Where are the initiates?"

"Five Guardians are protecting them," Chirrut said. "And so, now I am here to protect the kyber."

"There's a lot of it to protect," said Ahsoka, looking around at the softly gleaming crystals that grew everywhere. "Should we split it up by courtyard?"

Chirrut said nothing, only sending a worried look into the city.

The Deltas were approaching now, moving together as though they were one person instead of four. Ahsoka didn't notice that kind of thing often; maybe because she didn't work with commandos much, or even small teams of clones. Even when she did, she was usually completing parts of the mission or working with Master Skywalker, rather than dealing directly with the troopers. The clones, who provided fire support and ideas and information on any given mission, were good team players by nature – even though you wouldn't always know it, listening to them bicker and wrestle and outright brawl during downtime – but there was something different about the Deltas, a kind of absolute confidence that most squads didn't have. Maybe it wasn't just that they were commandos, but that they, unlike most troopers and even most commandos, still had their original squad.

Maybe, she thought sternly to herself, you'd better focus on being a good team player yourself instead of getting distracted by everything.

Boss was standing next to her, rifle in one hand while he observed Fixer's hologram of the Temple. Emmkar had gone inside, and Aayla and Baze were approaching again.

"We need to spread out," Aayla said, as the rest of the Bad Batch dashed into the courtyard. She waited until they ran up, breathing heavily – had they run all the way from the landing pad? – then said, "Emmkar will send out all the Guardians who are conscious, but there are only a few. Chirrut, Baze, we will be dividing into teams and placing a guard on all the most likely targets. Would you –?"

Chirrut whipped around suddenly, his pale eyes narrowed in the direction of the city. At almost the same moment, faint cries rose from farther down the main road.

Tech yanked his datapad off his belt and began inputting multiple scans. On his left, Fixer was doing the same thing.

"What is it?" Aayla demanded, and Ahsoka waited tensely, once again reaching for her saber. Something had gone wrong – but what?

Tech stared at his screen, then lifted the yellow visor that flipped down over his goggles, as though to see better.

"I'm not sure what's happening," said Fixer.

"We assumed," Chirrut said sharply. "We thought the enemy would come here."

"What?!" Ahsoka demanded. "What do you –?"

"He's right," Fixer said. "Scans are irregular, but based on the active heat signatures I can pinpoint – assuming they aren't citizens – Boss, it looks like the Vipers aren't coming to the Temple. They're spreading throughout the city!"

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Phantom Safehouse

Day Thirteen, morning (about 5:15 a.m.)

Quinlan Vos woke up to the sound of clicking plastoid. He opened one eye, wondered what time it was, did not receive an answer because he hadn't wondered out loud, glanced at his chrono through sleep-fogged vision, and said, ". . . It's morning."

Captain Faie, who stood across the room, paused midway through securing his vambrace and said, "Yes, sir."

"Well, nothing for it," Quinlan said, and tried to jump up. This was a mistake, as his bruises reminded him, and he added, "Kriffin' Devaronian."

Faie smirked, putting on the hooded cloak he'd worn the previous night – it was now rather tattered, but still did a relatively good job of hiding the fact that his armor was that of a clone trooper's. "I wonder if Fox took her out."

"Hm. . ." Quinlan straightened his tunic with a couple of tugs. "My guess is no, because he'd have mentioned it if he had."

He checked the weapons locker, which contained a couple of basic pistols and not much else – he'd traded off his stash of vibroblades for info not long ago. Quinlan took one of the pistols and handed Faie the other.

The captain clipped it to his belt, using his bandaged hands a bit gingerly.

Quinlan, who had just watched him limp across the room, raised an eyebrow at him. "They make painkillers for that, you know."

"Yes, sir; I took one already."

"Oh." The Jedi sauntered to the wall, peered at the map until he located the Agro-Astro clearinghouse, and said, "Faie, we've got quite a ways to travel . . ."

Faie looked quizzically at him.

"Think you're up for it?" Quinlan finished.

"Of course, General," Faie replied, sounding almost injured. He blinked and gave his head a slight shake. "I mean, of course, sir. Ah, Quinlan. Vos."

"Wow," said Quinlan, and grinned. "Anyway, let's eat something and then head out. In this particular resort, I have. . ." He glanced in the supply crate. "Ration bars of dubious quality."

"Any caf?" Faie asked jokingly.

"Actually, yeah – somewhere. Check that box behind you."

Faie opened the box, rifled through the contents, and finally held up a couple of instant caf packets. Then he tilted his head, studied them, and tossed them both in the tiny disposal unit. "Never mind."

Quinlan swallowed deliberately, handed Faie a ration bar, and said, "Why in space did you just do that."

"Because they're expired," said Faie.

"So. . .?"

The captain gave him a cool, unconcerned look. "By several years, Vos."

"That's, like, only a thousand days past the date," said Quinlan.

"You may want to die young, sir," said Faie, peering suspiciously at the ration bar's wrapper. "But I do not, especially not from such a preventable cause."

Quinlan snorted. "Fair enough, though I'm sure I restocked the supply only a year ago. I'm going to check the perimeter, and then we'll get started."

He left carefully, checking for potential watchers with both his eyes and the Force. After traveling the metal walkway that surrounded the immediate area, he determined that no one was paying close attention to him, or to the safehouse itself. So, either no one had followed him and Faie last night, or someone had and was spying from a distance of several hundred meters. Unlikely. With the number and variety of buildings crammed into the area, there were very few points – outside a range of a few hundred meters – where someone could even see the safehouse, let alone spy on it successfully.

Quinlan headed back in, punched in the security code (Vythia, when he gave it to her, had recognized it immediately and informed him that it was ridiculous code and that as an undercover operator he ought to be ashamed of himself), and entered the room.

"Nobody around," he said. "Looks like we're –"

He trailed off in surprise. The captain was standing, head tilted to one side as he gazed curiously at the necklace he was holding towards the light. A semi-rectangular grey stone, shot through with blue crystal and cut all over with slight angles so that it flickered continuously in the light, hung from a gold-beaded leather cord.

Aayla's necklace. She'd left it here when she left Coruscant, and Quinlan, muting the padawan-master bond they shared until he could almost not sense her except when he was in deep meditation. Quinlan had brought it back to the Temple, at first; but then, in the vague hope that she would return for it – she'd had it ever since he'd rescued her from her uncles, back on Ryloth – he'd put it back in the safehouse. Once she finally did return to the Temple, he'd never thought to check whether she'd gotten her necklace back.

"What is this, sir?" Faie asked, holding the necklace out towards him. "I've never seen a stone like that."

"The Twi'lek call it a moonstone," said Quinlan. "There's something in their folklore about how moonlight got trapped in some of the desert stones. Pretty neat."

Faie nodded his agreement. "I found it in that box when I went to check for unexpired caf – of which, sir, there is none."

"Ah," said Quinlan, stretching carefully. "Well, Fox'll have some at the CG. Ready to go?"

"Hm." The clone captain was still swinging the leather cord ever so slightly, watching the light glint off the facets of the stone. "What's this even doing here, sir?"

"Oh, my padawan used to use this safehouse," said Quinlan. "But that was quite a while ago – she probably forgot she left it here. Guess I might as well take it back to the Temple with me."

Faie handed him the necklace. As they left the safehouse, Quinlan slipped it into one of the pouches on his belt before double-checking that the security systems were activated.

"Now for a nice morning stroll," he said. "We'll be taking the main streets, so just keep an eye out for random debris and people underfoot."

"What?"

"There are many kinds of beings in the galaxy," Quinlan lectured.

"Sir," Faie said, almost apologetically. "You aren't making sense."

The Jedi didn't answer until they'd both skirted a pile of scrap metal that had shown up overnight. "Some people sleep in the streets," he said. "But they generally stay out of the traffic area. What you really need to worry about is the people who less than half a meter tall. There's one kind in particular, covered in fur, very fast-moving. I don't actually know what they're called, but they tend to take offense if you think they are an animal."

"How would they know what you think?" asked Faie.

"Er, well – you know how if a tooka keeps walking around your feet, you end up nudging it aside?"

Faie considered. "No," he said. "I've never been around a tooka."

"Have you ever been around any small animal?"

"Yes, sir," said Faie, stepping over a broken pipe that was leaking rusty water into the road. "Turtle. But I just picked him up."

Quinlan laughed. "Well, anyway, a lot of people tend to nudge tookas aside rather than trying to pick them up – it's safer for everyone. I ended up doing that to one of these little aliens, without realizing that said alien was . . . well . . . sentient. And then I had to run."

"Were they that dangerous?"

"Not exactly," he admitted. "But when ten of 'em come at you with sticks that are taller than they are – and also, where they got sticks on this glorified hunk of metal is beyond me – your options are to run, or to fight. I don't like the idea of fighting beings who are a third my size."

Faie gave the statement a moment's thought, then said, "Neither do I, if they are mostly harmless civilians."

"My thoughts exactly."

They reached a long ladder, which was positioned in such a way that it leaned in, under the level they were trying to get off of. It was one of the more irksome ladders in the place – large rungs, some of which were missing, and slippery sides. It was practically a landmark of this district; it was a well-known fact that everyone complained about it, and no one fixed it.

The Jedi swung onto it first. Faie was keeping up well so far, but with his hands slashed like that, and having to hold his full weight when bypassing a missing rung, he might just lose his grip. Quinlan thought it was preferable to get down first, in case he had to catch the captain.

"The rungs that aren't missing are very strong," he called up to Faie, who seemed reluctant to follow. "This ladder can have a dozen people on it at any given time, if need be. You're good."

"I'll wait, sir," Faie said. "I don't want to knock you off if I fall."

"You won't," Quinlan assured him, holding on with only one hand so he could lean back far enough to peer up. "Okay, you might, but even if you do I can deal with it."

The captain nodded, taking Quinlan at his word – and wasn't that refreshing, because most people didn't do that – and swung carefully onto the first rung. He didn't fall during the long downward climb, but there were a couple of close moments. At one point, Quinlan saw him slipping and sent a quick Force-push to pin him in place against the rungs. He was a little too aggressive in his attempt, though, and winced when he heard Faie slam into the ladder.

"Oh," said Quinlan, at the same time as Faie gasped, "Thanks, sir."

He then proceeded to stay where he was, trying to regain his breath.

"Ah. . ." said Quinlan. "Were you being sarcastic just now, or. . . I just injured you again, didn't I."

Faie glanced down, his face entirely the wrong color. "A little," he said steadily.

"Force, I'm sorry –" Quinlan slid the rest of the way to the ground, wincing as he landed. The circular walled area that opened onto another byway was currently empty, and he looked up. The captain was still a few stories away. "Faie. Probably bad timing to ask this, but do you trust me to catch you?"

"You did last night," said Faie. He glanced down at the eight-meter drop, hesitated for half an instant, and released the ladder.

Reaching out with the Force, Quinlan brought him to a slow halt just above the ground. "I think we should have tried that from the start," he said. "We've got another hour's walk. You good?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?" Faie asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

The Jedi sighed. "I dunno. Guess it's because I've had broken ribs and it was hard for me to move even with the Force."

"We still have to travel, though," the captain pointed out, then smiled faintly. "Fox always used to tell us, 'better to get to safety injured than die trying to recover'. After that, a couple guys insisted on walking on sprained ankles during training. When Hypo found out, he really had it out for Fox."

Quinlan grinned. "Hypo has it out for everybody, poor guy. It's his job. Hey, I meant to ask about the battalion. You have at least one medic, don't you?"

"We do, yeah." Faie limped around a group of sewer rats, which were busily feeding on – something. "His name's Herb."

Noticing that the 'something' was the remnant of a human arm, Quinlan grimaced and Force-shoved the rats away. They scuttled off into the shadows, their harsh squeaks of protest grating on his nerves.

Faie drew his pistol as they traveled deeper into the dim, pipelike byway. "Once we get back, I need to get in contact with the men."

"Yeah," said Quinlan. "They must be wondering about you."

"Fox would have updated them," said Faie. "They're probably wondering more about their new gen – ah, leader. Fisto didn't tell us much."

Quinlan hesitated. "They're still on leave," he said at last. "Time enough to get acquainted once this mission's over and we're on our way to . . . wherever we're getting sent."

Jedha, Temple of the Whills

Day Twelve, evening (about 5:15 p.m.)

Hunter stood with his arms folded, frowning a little as Fixer and Tech hurriedly compared scan results. The Vipers were undoubtedly spreading out into the city, and not towards the Temple – but that made no sense. Surely they weren't searching Jedha itself for kyber? The only large amounts of kyber he'd seen were in the Temple. . .

An image of Malachor and its crypts flashed into Hunter's mind, and he narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. "Is there a way into the Temple from the city? Tunnels?"

"Some," Baze answered. "But they haven't been used in years, and the city entrances are sealed."

"The people," Chirrut said abruptly, speaking louder than normal. "It is the people who are in danger right now."

Aayla Secura inclined her head, looking worried. "We need to find out what's happening. I'll be in touch."

The Twi'lek Jedi took two running steps forward, leaped to the top of the Temple wall, and vanished into the slowly clearing fog.

"She doesn't have a ventilator!" Baze exclaimed, removing his own.

"She doesn't need one," Hunter answered with a shrug. At Scorch's surprised head-tilt, he tried to explain. "Something about the Force. . . I dunno. Jedi can do weird stuff."

Sev marched towards the city wall, and Crosshair – after a brief moment of visible indecision – skulked after him. Hunter smirked. Crosshair was probably irritated that he hadn't been the first one to think of climbing it.

"The shuttles were empty," said Tech. "But now there are multiple life forms aboard the shuttle again. Corporal?"

"I'm getting the same readings," Fixer answered. "Either the hostiles are getting onboard again to come here, or they got what they came for."

"Hey," Sev said gruffly, lowering his sniper rifle. From the wall, his voice was just audible to Hunter amidst the conversation going on around him. "Crosshair. What's going on near the west marketplace entrance?"

"There's a Weequay female, and a Twi'lek male. They're carrying. . ." Crosshair leaned forward and flipped his rangefinder over his visor. "The Weequay's carrying a kid. The Twi'lek's got a citizen – unconscious female – over one shoulder."

In a flash, Hunter understood the Vipers' plan. He rounded on Boss, who wouldn't have heard the exchange, and said, "They're taking the citizens hostage!"

Without questioning him, the Delta sergeant hit his comm and said, "Secura. The Vipers are taking hostages."

"Understood," she answered grimly. "I was afraid of that; the Vipers are in groups of two or three, and they're on every street I've passed. Sergeant, we must find a way to keep them from taking more hostages!"

"Deal with the ship farthest from you," Boss said. "South marketplace?"

"Yes."

"We'll do what we can with the others."

"Stay in contact. May the Force be with you." Her comm clicked out.

Ahsoka, who had been standing near Boss, joined Tech in staring at the holoprojector.

"This isn't going to be easy," Fixer said. "I'm pretty sure we're dealing with at least a hundred hostiles."

"So?!" Wrecker lifted both hands and shoulders in a massive shrug, and Hunter said, "Numbers don't matter."

The corporal didn't spare either of them a glance. "They matter when the mission fails because you get killed," he said shortly. "Delta Lead?"

Boss looked at the condition of the courtyard, now fully clear of the fog, took off his helmet, and said, "Baze."

"I've got half a dozen Guardians on their way," Baze reported, settling his ventilator firmly into place. "We're going out there."

"Then keep near the north marketplace," Boss ordered, in a tone that brooked no argument. "We don't need friendly fire incidents. Scorch, stay with him."

"I'm on it." Scorch slipped a blaster clip into place. "Sabotage?"

"Low-impact," said Boss. "If you can't manage it, don't try it. We can't risk the ship blowing up halfway to the Caverns. Better living hostages than dead civilians. And Scorch – we're severely outnumbered. No heroics."

"You got it, Boss-man," Scorch replied.

The Delta Sergeant spun, pointing swiftly at Crosshair, Wrecker, and Fixer, then at the main gate. "You three, get to the east marketplace. Ahsoka, Tech, you're with me on the west. Secura's on the southern one – Hunter, you can get to her the fastest. You and Sev head that way."

Hunter sent a quick look at the rest of his squad, all of whom had already separated into their designated groups, gave Boss a terse nod, and took off at a run that was almost a sprint. Within the first ten steps, as soon as he was out of the gate, he had to dodge around the body of an unconscious civilian. Then another. Sev was keeping pace on his right, for now, but Hunter knew the other commando couldn't keep it up for as long as he could. He slowed a little, knowing it was better to arrive a little later than exhausted and useless.

As soon as he slowed, though, Sev growled, "Keep going. Doesn't matter if you're ahead of me. Just get to Secura before we lose the Jedi."

"Right," Hunter said, and raced to the end of the street, veering to the left of the stairs. Instead of running down them, he vaulted the chin-high wall and let himself fall over the terrace to land in a somersault some four meters below. Immediately, he was up and running again, but the unconscious civilians were in his way every few steps. He had to look at the street too often – it was slowing him down.

Hunter clipped his rifle to his belt and climbed rapidly up the side of the next building he reached. Once on top, he started running again, jumping from one roof to the next, occasionally slipping a little on the grit-covered stone.

"I'm up top, Sev," he reported. "Easier up here."

"Good," Sev answered, sounding short of breath. "Wondered when you'd figure that out. I'm on your four."

Hunter only huffed in reply, then increased his speed as the end of the next level approached. There were no sounds from the citizens anymore, though he heard voices every now and then – rapid exchanges that he was sure belonged to the Vipers; the voices all had the faint mechanical overlay that resulted from using a gas mask. A few times, he heard a door slam shut, but other than that the city was weirdly quiet.

He was almost to the south marketplace when he was spotted. A shout of warning and a shot sounded almost at the same instant. Hunter twisted to avoid the laser and sent back one of his own, aiming high. Trying not to hit civilians when he couldn't even see them was going to be a problem.

Another shot sounded. Hunter flicked his weapon to stun and fired back, hoping that he wouldn't run into any aliens who could resist stun rounds. But there was nothing else to do, except to try and hide – something Hunter avoided, once battle was engaged.

Besides, if he did run across some tough adversaries, he wouldn't have to risk the civilians. He'd just get in close and use his knife.

Another laser was coming at him from the left, and Hunter slowed, letting it fly across his field of vision before he'd even quite realized it was there.

"HEY!" roared a voice. "Kage said NO DEATHS!"

The next laser that flew at him was a stun round, and Hunter briefly ducked behind a chimney. Flicking on his comm, he said, "We might have an advantage. The Viper ordered 'no deaths'."

"He did?!" gasped Scorch in obviously pretended shock. "Well, somehow, I don't think I should listen to him. Oh wait, I'm already not."

"You know what I mean," Hunter replied. He waited, sensing the muted footsteps of the approaching attackers, then leaped off the roof.

He landed right where he wanted to – in the center of a small group of Vipers, all of whom jerked back and fumbled their weapons. Hunter spun, dropping low and kicking one man's feet out from beneath him. Straightening, he shot that man, but couldn't reach the other two. They were already in the alleys, shooting back; leaving them behind, Hunter got back to the roof and took off running again.

"One down," he panted. "Sev, careful – they're on the lookout."

Another shot came from behind him; then the familiar sound of DC-17 sniper rang out, and Sev said, "They're following you. Too many alleys. I'll cover you, you get to Secura."

From the east side of the city there was a flurry of shots, followed by an explosion. Wrecker had clearly reached his destination.

"It's the mercs!" yelled another voice, not ten meters from Hunter's location. "On the lookout, Vipers! Stun anything that moves!"

As rounds flew past on all sides, Hunter dove from one roof to a lower one, took a quick glance around to reorient himself, and sprinted for the south marketplace.

Chapter Text

Coruscant, CG Headquarters

Day Thirteen, morning (about 5:30 a.m.)

General Kit Fisto slowed his starfighter to a near-hover, glanced over the CG landing pad to ensure that no one and nothing was beneath his ship, and initiated the landing sequence. He did not have to retract the cockpit enclosure, as he never kept it up during flights on-planet, so he was able to vault out of the pilot's seat before the ship had quite landed – a habit he'd had before Quinlan Vos and Anakin began the practice, despite what both the Knights insisted.

The starfighter settled down with barely a bump, and Kit Fisto eyed the ship's other occupant. In the pod behind the pilot's seat, where a droid would normally be located, sat Commander Monnk. He was leaning back, hands linked behind his neck, a calm smile on his face. His curly hair, unruly enough on a good day, now stood up in all directions from the force of the wind.

"We are here," Kit Fisto announced, in case the commander had somehow missed that blatantly obvious fact.

"What, sir, already?" Monnk grinned and sat upright, causing his hair to fall into his eyes. He shoved it aside, leaped out, jammed his grey cap into place, and gave the starfighter an appreciative pat. "It's a good little craft, General. I never thought you'd use it as a common ordinary speeder, but I'm not complaining."

"You never do," Kit observed.

"Hm?" Monnk stopped mid-step to consider this, then shook his head. "Pretty sure I do complain, sir . . ."

"When?" the Jedi asked curiously, trying to recall a single time his commander had actually, honestly, complained. The two of them started towards CG headquarters, squinting a little in the bright morning sun.

"Well, sir," Monnk said. "I complained the time you forgot to notify me that the One Oh-Fourth was coming to support us. The men had a hard time before the battle, thinking we were fighting alone and that a lot of us would die and all. So, when I found out you'd known for an hour before – well, as I recall, I got just a bit mad. And complained. Loudly."

"That," said Kit Fisto in a severe tone, "is not complaining. I remember the situation clearly, Commander. After the battle, you brought the issue to me – and it was most certainly an issue – in a perfectly reasonable manner. My forgetting to give you intelligence, no matter how last-minute, was unforgiveable . . . not to mention completely unbecoming of an officer."

"Unforgiveable's a strong word, General," Monnk said lackadaisically. "And anyway, we were talking about whether I complained or not. I do."

Kit Fisto led the way into the CG halls, directed a bright smile at the clone on-duty at the desk, and said, "I was under the impression that complaining had more to do with things that could not be fixed."

"Not exactly, sir," Monnk said, turning on his heel to dodge an oncoming cleaner droid. "To complain is to express annoyance and dissatisfaction."

"Yes, but it sounds like a word one would use for petty annoyances; not truly important ones."

They proceeded to argue about it and ended up discussing semantics all the way to Fox's office, leaving more than a few confused rookies in their wake. Since they weren't truly disagreeing, except as a pastime, the fact that they hadn't reached a conclusion by the time they reached the office didn't bother them in the least.

Monnk said, "I still say that the etymology of a word is more important than – oh, is this Fox's office?"

"Indeed," Kit Fisto said. "And based on my experience, the good commander is here more often than not."

Monnk rapped on the door. Nobody answered.

"When he is not here," Kit Fisto went on, after a short silence, "he is on a mission, or . . . Hm. I do not actually know."

The commander tilted his head. "Barracks?"

"Perhaps," said the Nautolan, tapping on the door. "I am not in the Coruscant Guard's headquarters all that often. Quinlan is the one who works most with the CG, and he says that if one cannot find Fox in the office, it means that Fox is either on a mission, or dead."

"Dead?" said Monnk, readjusting his cap. "I guess that tracks. Fox tells me Vos is insane."

"He is," beamed Kit Fisto, trying the old-fashioned door latch. "But if Fox is not here . . . hm. There should be someone on duty. . ."

He opened the door and entered the room, Monnk on his heels. At the unusual sight that met his eyes, he chuckled quietly.

Commander Fox, fully armored except for his helmet, was at his desk – fast asleep, but still seated nearly upright in his chair. An active search was running on the computer to his right, the incoming data sending flickers of light across the screen and reflecting on his face. On the narrow couch, to Kit Fisto's left, another man lay flat on his back, also sleeping. He had sharp, lined features, limp black hair, and a long grey overcoat that he seemed to be using as a blanket. A datapad dangled from his hand, threatening to fall at any moment.

Monnk crossed the room, took the datapad, and looked at it carefully. Giving a soft whistle, he said, "Looks like they were waiting for search results to compile, but this is going to take forever."

"Why, what is it?" Kit Fisto peered over his shoulder.

"They've entered pretty specific terms into both the CG and the CSF database simultaneously," explained Monnk, and proceeded to show Kit by flicking through a number of screens faster than the Nautolan could even begin to read.

"Oh?" Kit glanced at Fox, who was still asleep. "Such as. . .?"

"They're looking for autopsies performed on Coruscant, or autopsies done on Coruscant residents – whether temporary or permanent – wherein the victim is pronounced dead of 'unknown causes' and was thought to have enemies, or was thought to have been connected to political or high-profile deaths. Hm! Fox doesn't seem to be interested in deaths unless they're more recent than fifteen years."

"Ah," said the Jedi. "He is probably trying to connect more cases to the Viper, to see if that gives him more leads."

"I thought Fox already knew where the Viper's base was," said Monnk.

"He does. Perhaps, although he does not need this information in the moment, he is attempting to simultaneously locate everyone who might possibly have connections to the Viper. . ."

"Correct, General," said Fox, and both Monnk and Kit Fisto started and turned to face him. The commander was in exactly the same position as before, except that his eyes were now open. He did not seem to be surprised at their presence, or to care that they were poking their noses into his cases. Gesturing towards the sleeping officer, he added, "Figured we might as well as not. So. What are you doing here?"

"Delivering a report," said Monnk with a bright smile. "And visiting. Fox, it's good to see you again!"

Fox only raised an eyebrow and said, "Monnk. You're still alive."

Monnk tilted his head to one side, unperturbed by the cold greeting; then he set the datapad on the still-sleeping officer's chest, crossed the room, hauled Fox to his feet, slung an arm around his shoulders, and said, "Is that any way to greet your long-absent batchmate?"

"The only way," growled Fox, pulling away to sit down again. He turned to his computer and eyed the search results, then sighed. "Move along, Monnk. Can't you see I have work to do?"

"Yep," answered Monnk. He leaned both forearms on Fox's shoulders and peered over the commander's head at the screen, ignoring the faint growl his superior let out. "I'm thinking these results won't help you much, though. Way too many variables. Also not especially relevant, are they? You said you might as well as not, and I guess that's true. . . but you'll get something a lot more definite once you access the records in the Viper's main base, which I assume you intend to do."

Fox groaned and stared up at the ceiling, as though begging for patience, but Kit Fisto could sense the almost reluctant amusement he felt. "Huh," he scoffed. "You don't need to tell me how to run a case. Which reminds me. I heard that General Fisto would be delivering a message from the Council, but what are you doing here?"

"We came to help you," said Monnk. "I have a couple days with nothing to do but kick around and watch the lads find their way to the brig and try to start brawls. Fun as that is, I've already done it for a day or so. I figured I could help out, maybe give you landlubbers a few tips."

"Best not," said Fox dryly. "There are a couple of deep-water locations on Coruscant, but I doubt that even you would want to swim in them."

"Ah," said Monnk thoughtfully. "Then maybe you landlubbers can give me tips."

Fox swiveled to face Kit Fisto, who sensed that the commander's resistance was weakening. "Commander Fox," he said. "Monnk and I have no duties at this time. We are here to help –"

He did not add 'whether you like it or not', but he let his tone imply it, while maintaining a bright smile. Senator Organa had been very concerned about the Coruscant Guard. . . particularly the commander and those of his officers who were on the Viper case. Whether this was because his connections gave him a solid reason to worry, or because Organa had a peculiar mix of good instincts and long experience that accurately warned him of danger nine times out of ten, Kit didn't especially care. Organa had been proven right often enough.

Fox studied him for a moment longer, then dropped all pretenses. He sighed, rubbed at his eyes with the heels of both hands, sat back in his chair, and peered blearily at the sleeping officer. "We were here until four working on a separate case," he explained. "Got that wrapped up, anyway. . . then we heard you'd be bringing intel on the Viper case."

The Jedi nodded. "This was sent to the Council by General Aayla Secura and Delta Squad's corporal, Fixer." He tossed the data chip across the room.

In one motion, Fox snatched it out of the air and plugged it into his datapad. As the report popped up, his eyes sharpened and he said, "Divo, wake up! New intel on the Viper case."

The CSF officer sat upright like he'd been shocked. "Anything useful?" he demanded, as sharply alert as though he'd been awake, and a part of the conversation, all along.

"Not from our search," said Fox. "But one of the commandos on Jedha got a shuttle ID for us. He says it was carrying at least a hundred kilos of kyber crystal."

"We don't need it to find the Viper's hideout," said Lieutenant Divo, putting his coat on and buttoning it up. "But I want to know who's behind this, who hired the Vipers for this job – I want to know if the jobs are connected or not. Get me a copy, Fox. I'll put my whole department on tracing that shuttle."

"It would have reached Coruscant by now," said Fox, handing him a second data chip. Apparently he'd already made the copy. "I'll put Warden and his lot on contacting the spaceports. Let's pin the shuttle down and be ready to track the shipment."

"Right." Divo put the chip carefully into his wallet. Then he nodded to Fox, acknowledged Kit Fisto's and Monnk's presence with a glance, and raced out the door, already on his comm.

Kit Fisto sat down on the vacated couch and said, "So, Commander. I have been wondering – do you plan to raid the Vipers?"

"If we can pull it off," Fox replied. He folded his arms, frowning thoughtfully at the screen. "An outright raid isn't something we'd normally aim for. But with so many people involved, and with half the gang gone. . ."

"Yes," said Kit. "And also with the pressure from others. . ."

"Sir?" Fox said, with a studied blankness.

"Oh." Kit waved a hand. "I hear from Bail Organa that the Senate and Chancellor are pressuring both the CG and the CSF to find the murderers."

Fox glanced sidelong at him. "I'd want to find the murderers anyway, General."

"Of course." Kit smiled peaceably. "But I trust Senator Organa's judgment, Commander, and he said there is some unnecessary anger towards our law enforcement due to the lack of arrests for the murder. He also claims that it would be helpful for the Guard if a Jedi apart from Quinlan Vos could be involved here and there."

"Yeah," agreed Monnk, who spoke to senators and kings as easily as he spoke to Jedi, peasants, and criminals. "You see, Fox, as far as most of the Senate is concerned, Vos doesn't even exist. They can't blame him for the lack of results. So it'll be good if General Fisto hangs around."

"Oh?" Fox said, glancing between them as if he suspected a trap. "Why?"

"You see, Commander," Kit told him, and grinned. "It is, in Bail Organa's words, much harder for the Senate to criticize a Jedi than to criticize the Coruscant Guard, or even the Coruscant Security Force."

The clone's frown lessened slightly. "Well," he admitted. "He's right, at that. I can handle the case without help, General. I could even catch the perpetrators without too many deaths – but not in the time frame they want. And not the way they want."

Monnk grinned. "The Senate probably wanted 'em caught and tried before the murders were even committed," he said, with the easy confidence of a lifelong statesman, which he most certainly wasn't. "The Four Forty-Second will be shipping out in a couple days, if orders come through. . . But until then, we'll try to help you get ahead on the case."

"Indeed," Kit said. "Assuming I do not get called in for Council duties, I will be on the case at all times – under your direction, of course."

"Right," said Fox. He didn't seem resistant to the idea so much as a bit confused by it.

Kit assumed he'd figure it out eventually. "I am glad that is settled," he said. "Now, would you like us to begin by picking up the Coruscant Guard's Jedi and his captain?"

"Vos isn't the CG's Jedi," began Fox, then narrowed his eyes. "Hold up. How did you know they needed a pickup?"

"Faie's lieutenant," Monnk said laconically, toying with a stack of datapads and carefully straightening each one. "Starr. Good man. He called me last night after you updated him on Faie's whereabouts – wanted to know what the SOP was for missing Jedi and captains on Coruscant."

"Did you tell him we don't have one yet?"

"No," said Monnk. "I didn't realize. But I told him that if you weren't worrying, neither should he."

Fox groaned and got to his feet. "I've got a briefing to attend," he said. "Then I'll check if Warden's found anything. At oh-seven-hundred, Vos and Faie will be at the Astro-Agro clearinghouse on Landing Pad 10 in the Uscru District. Use the airbus located one level below the main entrance. General, you're a Council member, so you should automatically have access to everything and clearance for anything you might need. If you don't, talk to Stone or Thire. Any other questions, find Captain Thorn."

And he clapped his helmet on his head and left.

Kit Fisto turned inquiringly to Monnk, who grinned. "I know Fox," he said. "He's more than happy to have the extra help. And he's very happy that he'll have a Jedi to blame when it all goes south."

The Jedi laughed. "And how can we blame him for that?"

"Oh, we can't, sir." Monnk glanced at his comm. "Hey, we've got some time before the pickup."

"Indeed," said Kit, starting for the door. "Then let us find Captain Thorn, and some datapads, and use that time to acquaint ourselves with the details of the case."

Jedha, East Marketplace

Day Twelve, evening (about 5:30 p.m.)

Fixer ran down a narrow alleyway, Crosshair and Wrecker close on his heels. As they neared the entrance to the east market place, Fixer skidded to a halt and lifted a closed fist, warning the others to stop. Putting his back to the nearest house, he angled his head carefully, trying to see the market place and get an idea of the opposition they faced.

From here, all he could see was the enemy shuttle, half-surrounded by the fog from the neurotoxin bombs. The ship had landed right in the center of the market place, leaving a full ten meters of empty space on all sides. There was no cover for anyone approaching it, though the stalls on the edges of the market place might be useful at some point.

Leaning out further, Fixer caught sight of a couple of guards standing near the loading platform. He flicked his visor settings, using thermal imaging instead. There were four guards, not two. And the dull red overlay around the hold of the ship indicated a number of prisoners already locked in the hold.

Crosshair sidled over, glanced out, and huffed. "What exactly are we waiting for?"

"We don't know what we're walking into," said Fixer.

He couldn't see the younger commando's face, but he didn't need to. The way Crosshair's helmet moved at his remark was definitely caused by an eyeroll. The Delta corporal didn't comment on the sniper's attitude; instead, he leaned out and tried to check the main street.

"What's the holdup?!" Wrecker asked next, in what was probably supposed to be a whisper.

"Well," Crosshair said snidely. "The corporal's worried about the enemy. We could've taken 'em all out by now."

"Shut it," Fixer ordered. He flicked through his scanner presets and activated the one that would locate any life signs whose nervous systems showed signs of normal activity. It wasn't extremely accurate, because of the variables involved in what constituted 'normal' for the different species, but at least it wouldn't pick up unconscious humans and mark them as potential hostiles.

"We gotta hurry," hissed Wrecker. "Look, they're dragging people onto the ship!"

He started forward, and Fixer had to look up from his scans in order to grab the big commando by the forearm. "Rushing out there won't accomplish anything. There are eight hostiles and those within immediate range have hostages with them."

"Not a problem," said Crosshair. "We've dealt with worse."

"Maybe you have," said Fixer, and studied the market place again, trying to calculate the best angle of attack. "But I don't have evidence for that, Crosshair, and there are hostages to worry about."

"Let me worry about 'em," said the sniper.

Fixer ignored him, tapping through a few more screens. He had a better idea of the situation now, but still needed a good plan – either he had to rescue the hostages, without risking them at all, or he had to damage the shuttle enough that it couldn't take off. . . without harming the hostages.

Out in the near-silent market place, two men laughed raucously at something and there was the sound of a scuffle – then a snapping of electricity and a cry as one of the hostages was subdued.

"Okay, that's it!" Wrecker growled, pounding a fist into his palm. "I'll take 'em myself!"

"No." Fixer studied the shuttle's readouts. "Boss said no heroics."

"He was talking to Scorch," Wrecker mumbled. In the back of his head, Fixer thought that Wrecker's petulant tone of voice was very much at odds with his size, and with the ferocious design on his helmet.

"Yeah, well." Crosshair slung his rifle into position. "We're not heroes. . . and the sergeant's not here."

Fixer looked up, surprised. "His order still stands."

"I guess maybe it does," said Wrecker, and edged over to Crosshair. "But we break orders all the time."

The corporal stared, stupefied. "You – Both of you, stand down! Delta Three-Eight gave an order!"

"Who cares," said Crosshair, flipping his visor down over his eyes. "He's not our sergeant. And we were sent to rescue hostages, not cower and watch."

"Crosshair!" Fixer stood, trying to get in his way, too late. Crosshair shoved past him, swung his rifle up and fired twice, dropping one of the guards nearest the ship. At the same time, Wrecker charged into the mist, roaring like a nexu.

Fixer didn't even take the time to update his sergeant. Grabbing his rifle, he rushed into the fog, determined to keep the others in sight and alive, because clearly, someone needed to. How had they survived for so long? Ignoring orders, rushing headlong into battles – Fixer cursed under his breath as Wrecker tackled two of the guards and was hit by a stun round.

"Wrecker!" Fixer yelled, ducking a shot and returning it with two of his own. "Get back, you idiot!"
"He's fine," Crosshair retorted, and shot towards something at the edge of the market place that Fixer couldn't even see. "What's got you so riled up, Corporal?"

Fixer couldn't – wouldn't – respond to that, but as he tried to get to cover he thought to himself that the fifth-years acted more mature than the Bad Batch, who were fully twice their age. Even Ahsoka Tano, who had never had military training, listened better than these two.

Chapter Text

Jedha, West Marketplace

Day Twelve, evening (about 5:30 p.m.)

Ahsoka dashed after Boss and Tech, panting a little through her ventilator as she tried to keep up with her taller companions. She was fast, and she'd been able to keep up with them for the first minute or so, but a sustained run was not like dashing from cover to cover – which was what she was used to. There were sleeping civilians every few feet, too, which made it much harder to keep up a steady pace of any kind.

"Ah," said Tech, and skidded to a halt, already on his datapad. "We are now one street from our destination."

Ahsoka stopped next to him. "Okay!" she said breathlessly. "What's the plan?"

The Delta sergeant edged into an alleyway and stood observing the west market place for some moments before answering. "They've already got a number of hostages," he said. "We want that shuttle disabled . . . Tech, I could rig explosives, but if the hostiles take off despite damage, we'll lose the prisoners."

Tech blinked behind his goggles, somehow conveying an impression of high disapproval at the idea. "That would be undesirable," he said. "Shall I disable the ship from inside?"

"That's the goal." Boss glanced out again. "But we'll need a distraction. There are a dozen hostiles on the ramp."

"I would not need to access the ramp," Tech said. "If Ahsoka can get me on top of the shuttle, I will enter through the docking port."

"Wait," said Ahsoka. "That's usually sealed. How are you going to do that?"

Tech pulled a handful of complicated-looking tools from his belt, most of which Ahsoka had never seen even Anakin using. "I'm sure I will find a way," he said.

"Okay," said Boss. "Get as close as you can to the shuttle without gaining attention. I'll stay ready to draw their fire, if needed. Ahsoka, you get Tech up top and then come back."

"Come back?" she asked, surprised. "Shouldn't I be going with him? The hostages –"

"Negative," said Boss firmly. He turned to look at her. "We will go in after the hostages once Tech gives us the all-clear."

Ahsoka recognized that this was not up for debate – at least from Boss' point of view. But then she remembered what she'd thought earlier, about proving to the Deltas that she could obey, and that she wasn't just some obnoxious kid. She nodded.

"I'll be back," she said, and hurried after Tech into an alley that ran parallel to the market place street. "Alright, Tech. Lead the way."

"Actually," said Tech, ducking a hanging flower pot. "I believe you should lead the way. Your abilities in this case are more useful than my scanners."

"You mean because –" She almost said 'because I'm a Jedi' before remembering that shouldn't risk her cover, even when there were no enemies nearby. "Um, you mean because I'm like Aayla and Quinlan?"

"Precisely," said Tech.

"Okay, then." Ahsoka took the lead, surprised but also a little pleased that Tech didn't seem to think like most of the other clones; most of the troopers she'd worked with acted like she had to be protected more than anyone in the whole legion. . . partly because she was one of the commanders, but mostly because she still looked like a kid.

She left the alley after a careful look around, slipped into a narrow street perpendicular to the one they'd just left, and gained the market place. No one was nearby, and although she could sense danger, it didn't seem to be immediate. Ahsoka dropped to her hands and knees and crawled to the closest market stall.

As Tech joined her, Ahsoka closed her eyes briefly and reached out with her Force-senses. "All the hostiles are together, near the back of the ship," she told him in a whisper. "I wonder why they aren't surrounding the shuttle."

Tech, who was busy on his datapad, paused long enough to look up almost smugly. "I assume that is because of Hunter and the others," he said, as a distant explosion sounded. "The Vipers most likely were surrounding the shuttle, but are now acting on the idea that there is strength in numbers."

"Well," said Ahsoka. "They're not wrong. . . But at least it looks like we can get all the way to the front without being spotted. Let's go."

Tech followed her, and she led him on a winding course towards the ship, from one stall to the other, zig-zagging her way through the slowly clearing fog. There were no alerts, and the only sounds were those of shuffling and muttering as the Vipers carried more and more hostages on board.

Ahsoka paused, a few meters from the shuttle, to ask Tech if the Vipers would have set up proximity alerts.

"Yes," Tech whispered. "I do not know why the Vipers linked their alert system to one of the publicly accessible networks instead of wiring it into the ship, but I did not inquire too deeply. I shut it down some minutes ago."

The padawan snickered. "Probably because the Vipers did a lazy, last-minute job," she said, and Tech hummed his agreement.

Abruptly, they emerged from the slow-drifting fog into an area that was almost clear. Ahsoka ducked back into the fog – but no one had seen her. Getting her bearings again, she signaled to Tech and sprinted toward the shuttle.

"Here," she whispered, leading him to an area just aft of the cockpit. "No one should see you if you get up at this point. Ready?"

"Of course," he said. He took a running start and jumped, and Ahsoka caught him midair with the Force and flung him upwards. She kept her grip on him, so she could lower him silently to the top of the shuttle – it seemed he'd had a lot of experience with this before, because he didn't attempt to guide his own landing in any way. As soon as he touched the roof, he waved to her and she darted back into the fog.

"Okay, Boss," she whispered into her comm. "Tech's in position."

"Understood," the sergeant replied, also quietly. "I'm in a street across from the cargo hold. Make your way here, I'll direct you if you need it."

"Right," she said, and changed course. She gained the streets easily and made her way through the houses and unconscious people until she was on the correct side of the market place. Then she contacted Boss, who guided her via landmarks for the last couple of streets.

As she joined him a trot, there was a flurry of activity from the Vipers down below, and Tech's voice came through her comm. "Sarge, I am in the cockpit and have sealed the door. Unfortunately, one of the pilots got off an alarm before I shot him."

"Roger that," said Boss. He stood, stepped into the market place, armed a detonator, and hurled it in the direction of the shuttle.

Ahsoka's mouth fell open, but the detonator exploded before she could say anything. She ducked, shielding her eyes against resultant burst of intense light, caught between relief and chagrin – she should have known Boss wouldn't throw a deadly grenade when there were civilians in the way.

"Tech," said Boss, arming another grenade. "The fog's getting in our way. Can you do something about it?"

By way of response, the shuttle roared to life. As Boss flung the other flashbang, Tech edged the ship forward a meter or so. The backwash from the engines blasted through the cloying fog, increasing visibility to almost normal in a matter of seconds.

The Vipers had all dropped their hostages by this point. Some of them had entered the ship, and the others had taken cover behind a long, low stone building that appeared to be some kind of permanent bake house. Ahsoka could see smoke curling up from one of the chimneys.

"Now what?" she whispered.

"Now, they'll want their ship back," Boss said, and took out his blaster. "Tech, do not close the boarding ramp. There are civilians on it."

"Understood," said Tech.

"Sitrep?" Boss asked.

"Sabotaging this ship may take a while," Tech replied, almost apologetically, as the shuttle powered down. "I am currently occupied with cutting a hole in the ceiling so that I can travel through that to the engine room. There are six life forms outside, hammering on the cockpit door, and I believe they are making progress."

Boss nodded. "We're making our way to you."

He gestured to Ahsoka. She sprang to her feet and followed as he led the way back around the market place, keeping one row of houses between them and it.

"Boss," said Scorch. His tone was clipped, quite unlike his usual cheeriness, and Ahsoka held her breath to listen as he went on. "The shuttle just took off."

"How many hostages?" asked Boss.

"Maybe a couple hundred. We got a few away from the Vipers, but none of 'em out of the ship. Two of the Guardians are dead, Boss. The rest of the team's still here, waiting to go to the next market place."

"Make your way to the western one," said the sergeant. "But go through the streets on your way and take out any hostiles you encounter."