Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit

KAREN MILLER is a speculative fiction novelist who lives in Sydney, Australia, and writes full time. When she’s not having too much fun adventuring in that galaxy far, far away, she’s writing fantasy novels under her own name and her pen name, K. E. Mills.

Shelly Shapiro at Del Rey, for her unwavering support and guidance. Sue Rostoni at Lucasfilm Ltd., for being such a fabulous gatekeeper. The support teams of Del Rey and Lucasfilm Ltd., for helping to keep us writers on track. Karen Traviss, for lighting the way. Jason Fry, Mary Webber, and James Gilmer, for their insights.

Ahsoka Tano; Jedi Padawan (Togruta female)

Anakin Skywalker; Jedi Knight (human male)

Bail Organa; Senator from Alderaan (human male)

Bant’ena Fhernan; scientist first level (human female)

Lok Durd; Separatist general (Neimoidian male)

Obi-Wan Kenobi; Jedi Knight (human male)

Padmé Amidala; Senator from Naboo (human female)

Palpatine; Supreme Chancellor of the Republic (human male)

Taria Damsin; Jedi Master (human female)

Wullf Yularen; Admiral for the Republic (human male)

Yoda; Grand Master of the Jedi Order (nonhuman male)

AS FAR AS Ahsoka Tano was concerned, the only thing worse than being up to her armpits in battle droids was waiting to find out just how long it would be before she was up to her armpits in battle droids. She hated waiting. But it seemed that war was all about waiting—at least, when it wasn’t about staring death in the face.

With Resolute out of rotation for a refit, she stood on the bridge of Indomitable, one of the next generation of cruisers to come out of the Allanteen VI shipyards. Cruisers that were faster and more responsive than ever before, thanks to her Master’s—what had the chief shipwright called it? Oh yes. Tinkering. Thanks to Anakin’s tinkering, the new vessels were a definite cut above the first Republic Cruisers that had rolled out of production for service in this war against Dooku and his Separatist Alliance.

The differences had been noted, and were talked about whenever and wherever military types crossed paths—in battle, in briefings, sharing some chitchat and a drink in this mess or that one, or even the occasional civilian bar. The Jedi who fought on the front lines were talking about them, too. Everyone who relied on the massive Republic warships knew that their odds of survival had increased because Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker liked to muck about with machines—when he wasn’t busy being the scourge of the Separatists.

That’s how she thought of him now, after arduous months of fighting by his side, learning from him, saving him, and being saved by him. But she never called him that to his face. She couldn’t. The idea of saying Anakin felt more disrespectful than a cheeky nickname. Skyguy was familiar but it wasn’t … intimate.

First names were intimate. They implied equality. But she and her Master weren’t equals. She suspected they never would be. She was pretty sure that no matter how hard she trained, how hard she tried, even after she’d passed the trials and been made a Jedi Knight, she would never come close to matching him as a Jedi.

How can I? He’s the Chosen One. He can do things that aren’t meant to be possible.

She snuck a sideways look at him, standing on the far side of Indomitable’s bridge in hushed conversation with Master Kenobi and Admiral Yularen. Letting down her habitual guard the tiniest bit, she prepared to stretch out her senses. To feel what he was feeling behind his carefully constructed mask. It wasn’t prying. She didn’t pry. As a Padawan it was her job—no, her duty— to make sure her Master was well. To be constantly attuned to his mood so she could anticipate his needs and more perfectly serve him. Since joining Anakin on Christophsis she’d lost count of the times that keeping a close eye on him had made the difference between success and failure. Life and death. Young she might be, and still in training, but she could do that. She was good at that.

Besides, once assigned to this man she’d made her own private and personal vow quite apart from the public oaths she’d sworn in the Jedi Temple.

Around her, the bridge crew conducted its military business with brisk efficiency. No chatter, since the admiral was present. When Yularen was elsewhere his officers sometimes indulged in a little gossip, a few jokes, a smattering of idle wartime speculation. Nothing detrimental to discipline, nothing un toward, just harmless camaraderie to help while away the tedium of days, like this one, when battle was yet to be joined and the void beyond the transparisteel viewports remained empty of enemy ships and impending slaughter.

She could hear, humming in the background, all the baffling hardware that made these warships possible. Sensor sweeps and multiphasic duo-diode relays and cognizant crystal interfaces and quasi-sentient droid links and—and stuff. So much stuff, and it made no sense to her. The slippery info-laneways of computers she could work with, but she didn’t possess any kind of knack for nuts-and-bolts-and-circuits machinery—constructing her own lightsaber had nearly given her a nosebleed. Anakin, on the other hand …

But she was letting herself become distracted, so she pushed those thoughts aside. Her immediate task was to ascertain what Anakin was feeling. That way she’d have a better idea of what to expect from him when the news they were waiting for at last came through … and an idea of how best to deal with him, once it did. Dealing with her Master’s sometimes overpowering emotions was becoming more and more a part of her duties—and as the war dragged on, and their losses piled up, that job wasn’t getting any easier.

He feels too much, too keenly. Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve got the highest midi-chlorian count in Jedi history. Maybe that’s the trade-off. You feel everything, so you’re brilliant. You feel everything, and it hurts.

Not that his emotions got in the way. At least, he didn’t think they did. And to be honest, she didn’t, either. At least not as often as some people thought. Like Master Kenobi, for example, who chided his former Padawan for taking crazy risks, for pushing himself too hard, for letting things matter too much and losing his carefully measured Jedi distance.

She didn’t always disagree. And sometimes, when Anakin had given her a really bad fright or when his mood became difficult, she wished she could chide him, too. But as a Padawan she had to find another way to let her Master know he’d gone too far. So she sassed him, or invented nicknames that were guaranteed to get under his skin. Sometimes she even deliberately flouted his wishes. Anything to break him free of sorrow or frustration or some bleak memory he refused to share. Anything to let him know, Hey, what you did then? That was stupid.

But mostly she kept her fears for him to herself, because all his bright and burning passion for justice, his reckless courage, his hunger for victory and his refusal to accept defeat—they were what made him Anakin. He wouldn’t be Anakin without his feelings. She knew that, she accepted that, no matter what Temple teachings said about the Jedi and their emotions.

And even though he scolds, I think Master Kenobi accepts it, too. He only scolds because he cares.

Eyes drifted half closed, Ahsoka breathed out a soft sigh and let her growing Jedi awareness touch lightly upon him.

Impatience. Concern. Relief. Loneliness. Weariness. And grief, not yet healed.

Such a muddle of emotions. Such a weight on his shoulders. Months of brutal battle had left her drained and nearly numb, but it was worse for Anakin. He was a Jedi general with countless lives entrusted to his care, and every life damaged or lost he counted as a personal failure. For other people he found forgiveness; for himself there was none. For himself there was only anger at not meeting his own exacting standards.

Feeling helpless, she chewed at her lip. She didn’t know what she could do to make anything better for him. She couldn’t heal his grief for the clones who’d fallen under his command, or the civilians he’d been unable to save. She couldn’t make him less tired, or order him home to Coruscant where his mood always lightened. She couldn’t promise the war would end soon, with the Republic victorious.

At least he had Master Kenobi’s company for a little while. She was sure that accounted for his relief. They cheered each other up, those two. No matter how dire the straits, Anakin and Master Kenobi always managed to find a joke, a laugh, some way to ease the tension and pressure of the moment. Between the two men lay absolute trust. Absolute faith. Now, they were equals. On the outside, looking in, she couldn’t help feeling a little forlorn.

Will he ever feel that way about me? Will he ever believe in me the way he believes in Obi-Wan?

She opened her eyes to find Anakin looking at her. Though she’d tried so hard to be discreet, still he’d felt her sensing of him. She held her breath, expecting a reprimand. Anakin hated when she did this.

But no reprimand came. Instead her Master raised a tolerantly amused eyebrow at her … and in his eyes was a kind of tired appreciation. She felt herself shrug, a tiny twitch of one shoulder, and curved her lips into a small, rueful, I can’t help it smile.

He took a breath, he was going to say something—but then his head lifted. So did Master Kenobi’s. A few moments later she felt it, too: a sharp, almost painful tingle of awareness. Something was coming. And a few moments after that, the comm officer straightened in her chair and pressed a finger to the transceiver plugged into her ear.

Admiral Yularen, lean and predatory as ever, and alerted already by the Jedi on either side of him, practically leapt for the comm station. “Lieutenant Avrey?”

The slight, blond officer danced her fingers over the ship’s comm panel, frowning, then gave a pleased nod. “Sir, I have an incoming message from the Jedi Council, Priority Alpha.”

The lieutenant checked. “Recorded, sir. Sent by triple-coded multiple-routed shortburst.”

Priority Alpha. Skin prickling, senses jittering, Ahsoka held her breath. This was it. This was what they’d been waiting for as they dangled idly out here for hours in the middle of nowhere, an empty stretch of space on the border between the Expansion Region and the galactic Mid Rim, parsecs from anywhere remotely civilized.

“I think we’ll take this one in the Battle Operations Room, Admiral,” Master Kenobi said. His voice was mild, completely unperturbed, as though an Alpha transmission from the Council came along once or twice a day … instead of only as a last-resort emergency.

Ahsoka eyed him with unbecoming envy. One of these years I’m going to be as untwitchy as him. “Masters—”

“Yes, Padawan, we means you,” said Anakin. “So what are you waiting for?”

She nearly said, An invitation. The smart remark was awfully tempting. He’d practically asked for it. But she held her tongue, because she was no longer that uncertain, mouthy Padawan who’d met her new Master in the midst of battle on Christophsis. She’d changed. Grown. Smart remarks at a time like this weren’t funny. They were disruptive and unhelpful and they made her mentor look bad.

“Lieutenant,” said Admiral Yularen, sounding almost as calm as Master Kenobi. “Comm the captains of Pioneer and Coruscant Sky. Stand by for orders, battle alert.”

“Yes, Admiral,” said the comm officer. Color washed into her space-white face. All around the bridge the crew snapped to stricter attention. The scrubbed air tightened with a palpable anticipation.

Yularen flicked a tight smile at Anakin and Master Kenobi. “Lead the way, gentlemen.”

With an effort Ahsoka smoothed her expression into uncaring blandness, hating that Anakin and Master Kenobi could sense her true feelings. As her Jedi superiors and the admiral swept past her she fell into step behind them, lightsaber bouncing lightly against her hip. Her mouth was dry—how annoying. She’d seen plenty of action since the start of the war; surely she should be bored by this now. But no. Her body betrayed her with a dry mouth and a racing heart, and sweat slicking the skin between her shoulder blades.

“Ahsoka,” said Anakin, not even looking over his shoulder. “How many times do I have to tell you? Our thoughts create our reality. Cut it out.”

It wasn’t far from the bridge to the Battle Operations Room, just one short corridor and a single flight of stairs. As soon as they were ranged around the broad central holodisplay table, Admiral Yularen toggled his comm to the bridge.

The holoimagers blinked on, bright blue-white light against the Battle Room’s muted illumination. The air above the holodisplay shivered, mirage-like, and then an image flickered, partially disintegrated, flickered again, and finally coalesced into a recognizable form.

“Confirmation we have, Master Kenobi, of the initial report,” said the Jedi Order’s most respected Master. “Misled the Special Operations Brigade was not. A target have Dooku and Grievous made of Kothlis and its spynet facility. In Republic hands must they remain, for compromised the Mid Rim cannot be. Once the strength of the enemy you have determined, call for reinforcements you can if defeating Grievous without them is not possible. But contact the Council in real time do not until Kothlis you have reached. Stealth and secrecy are our most potent weapons. Use them wisely. May the Force be with you.”

“Well,” said Master Kenobi, breaking the tense silence. “This is going to be interesting.”

Anakin frowned. “What reinforcements? Our people are scattered from one side of the Republic to the other.”

“Coryx Moth is on patrol near Falleen, is she not? That’s the closest—”

Anakin didn’t think so, if the look on his face was anything to go by. He scowled at Master Kenobi and Master Kenobi stared back, his expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry, but Master Yoda’s message is too cryptic for my tastes,” said Admiral Yularen. One narrow finger stroked his mustache, a sure sign he was uneasy. “Bitter experience has taught us we can’t attack Grievous with anything less than overwhelming force. Not if we wish to finish him once and for all—and avoid a catastrophic level of loss on our side.”

“And in an ideal galaxy we would have that overwhelming force at our disposal,” said Master Kenobi, arms decisively folded. “Alas, Admiral, this galaxy of ours is far from ideal. And cryptic or not, we have our orders. Yoda’s right—we must keep Kothlis out of Separatist hands.”

“I know that,” said Yularen curtly. “But the notion we can’t call for support until we’re in the thick of the fight? We all know that’ll likely be too late.”

“True,” said Anakin, stirring out of somber thought. “But we’ll have to live with it. In fact—” He shot the admiral a dark look. “I think we’ll have to think twice about calling for help at all. Because if someone does come to our aid, it means somewhere else gets left undefended.”

Yularen bristled. “What? You want me to risk this battle group—three cruisers—against—”

“I know!” Yularen retorted. “And that would be my point, General Skywalker. Grievous isn’t stupid. He learns from his mistakes. He’s going to make sure he has more than enough firepower to easily take us down! I’m not prepared to risk—”

“I’m sorry, Admiral,” said Master Kenobi, still calm. “But I’m afraid you might have to. Anakin’s made a good point. What we’d prefer hardly factors in to this. We simply don’t have spare battle groups idling about.”

Abandoning his mustache, Yularen drummed his fingers on the edge of the holodisplay table, angrily resentful of the cold, hard facts. “I know. I know. I’m just—” He sighed. “I don’t like it. That’s all I’m saying.”

“We should comm Grievous, then,” said Anakin, his eyes glittering in the dull light. “Let him know his plans are inconvenient. Ask him to make sure he only sends in a couple of—”

“Sorry,” said Anakin, and made a visible effort to relax his gloved prosthetic hand. “I’m a bit … on edge.”

Ahsoka looked at him from under lowered lashes, feeling his agitation as a hot breeze blowing over her skin. No kidding.

Yularen nodded, his face grave. Resigned now to what had to be done, no matter how hard he found it. “Agreed. And with any luck we’ll beat Grievous to the punch and be waiting for him. Even the smallest advantage might make the difference for us.” He toggled the comm button again. “Lieutenant Avrey? We have a mission.”

While Yularen relayed battle group orders with staccato speed, Master Kenobi drew Anakin aside with a glance. “I suggest we play to our strengths on this one, Anakin,” he said, his voice low. “If we do reach Kothlis and find that Grievous has stolen a march on us, it’s likely we’ll be looking at both air and ground assaults. Should that prove to be the case, I suggest you lead the fighter squadrons and I’ll take care of the ground assault with Captain Rex and our clone trooper companies.”

Anakin almost had his edginess under control. Just a hint of disquiet churned in him now, like water on the brink of boiling. “And if we’ve stolen a march on him?”

“In that case,” said Master Kenobi, his expression fastidious with distaste, “I shall join you in leading the fighters against Grievous’s pilots.”

Ahsoka watched them exchange quick smiles, then cleared her throat. “Um—Masters? What about me?”

They stared at her, startled, as though for a moment they’d forgotten she existed. In the silence she heard—felt—the shift in the warship’s sublight drives as they broke their stationary position, getting ready for the hyperjump to Kothlis. Washing in its wake, the subliminal buzz through the Force as every sentient being on all three cruisers accepted the reality of imminent battle. Possible death. It was a song sung without words, in a minor key. Haunting. Sorrowful. Shot through with stark courage.

“You, Ahsoka?” said Anakin, blinking himself free of the same thing she was feeling. “If it comes to a ground assault, you’ll fight with Obi-Wan and Rex. And if it doesn’t, you’ll stay here on Indomitable.”

“Ahsoka …” Anakin gentled his tone. “This isn’t about your competence. I know what you can do. But we have plenty of pilots. Your skills will be better utilized here.”

“Master Skywalker’s right,” said Admiral Yularen. Finished giving his orders, he was unabashedly listening in. “If you do remain aboard ship, there’ll be a tactical targeting array with your name on it.” He unbent far enough to offer her a small, not un-sympathetic smile. “I’ve yet to meet a Jedi who couldn’t out-sense our best sensors.”

“But it’s more likely you’ll be needed on the ground,” added Master Kenobi. “With me. I do hope the prospect’s not unbearable, Padawan.”

He was being sarcastic. She felt her cheeks burn. Anakin was watching her closely. If she protested again, she’d disappoint him.

“Not unbearable at all, Master Kenobi,” she said, staring at the deck. “Serving by your side is always an honor.” She risked glancing up. “It’s only—”

“I know,” said Master Kenobi, more kindly. “You worry for Anakin’s safety. But there’s no need. And now the subject is closed.” He turned to Yularen. “What’s our estimated jump time to Kothlis?”

“Thirty-eight standard minutes,” said the admiral. “I’m dropping us out of hyperspace just inside sensor range of their spynet. Close enough for us to contact them, and to sweep for Sep ships if we have beaten Grievous there.”

“Our own intelligence agents will have alerted the Kothlis Bothans to the danger they’re in,” said Anakin, frowning again. “For all the good it’ll do them. Without a standing army or space fleet of their own, they’re ripe for plucking.” His gloved prosthetic hand clenched. “I should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve known Grievous wouldn’t forgive or forget the insult of losing to me at Bothawui. This is a rematch—and you know he’s itching for the fight. If we lose Kothlis to him—if he manages to breach the Mid Rim …”

“Don’t let your thoughts run ahead to disaster, Anakin,” said Master Kenobi sharply. “As you say, you defeated Grievous once. There’s no reason to think you—we— can’t defeat him again.”

Anakin’s chin lifted at the reprimand. Ahsoka, watching him, felt her breath hitch, felt the flash of fury sizzle through him. And then he relaxed, pulling a wry face.

“Thirty-eight minutes,” said Master Kenobi, his eyes warm now. “Give or take. Just enough time, I think, for a little pre-battle meditation. You’re not the only one who’s feeling a trifle on edge, my friend. I could do with some refocusing myself.”

Master Kenobi rested his hand briefly on Anakin’s shoulder. “Believe it, Anakin. You know how much I hate to fly.”

“I think you just say that,” Anakin retorted, grinning. “You couldn’t be such a good pilot if you hated flying as much as you claim.”

Master Kenobi grimaced. “Trust me, if I’m a good pilot it’s out of a well-developed sense of self-preservation. As far as I’m concerned, Anakin, anyone who actually enjoys flying is in serious need of therapeutic counseling.”

Anakin was struggling not to laugh. “If you’re not careful I’ll tell Gold Squadron you said that. So—are we going to navel-gaze or aren’t we?”

“Please excuse us, Admiral,” said Master Kenobi, the amusement dying out of his face. “And look for us on the bridge ten minutes before the battle group drops out of hyperspace.”

Admiral Yularen nodded. “Of course, General. In the meantime I’ll have the fighters and gunships prepped for flight.”

“Ahsoka,” said Anakin, as Master Kenobi headed for the Battle Room’s closed hatch. “Make yourself useful and give Rex the heads-up, will you? Run through the pre-battle routine with him and his men. Half of Torrent Company’s still a bit green. They’ll settle with you there.”

Under his careless confidence, she sensed a hint of that unhealed grief. The loss of greenies Vere and Ince during the Jan-Fathal mission … the loss of other Torrent Company clones since then … his pain was like a kiplin-burr, burrowed deep in his flesh. Anakin had a bad habit of nursing those wounds, and no matter what she said, tactfully, no matter what Master Kenobi said without any tact at all, nothing made a difference. He hurt for them, and always would.

“Yes, Master,” she said. She waited for him to leave so she could sprint to midships and let Rex know that like as not they’d soon be going into battle together. Again.

“SO, WHAT’S THE SKINNY, little’un?” Rex asked, as Ahsoka skidded into the mess hall. “Since we’re on the move at last, have we got that clanker Grievous in our sights?”

“Sort of,” she said, dropping into a spare chair beside Checkers, one of Torrent Company’s latest additions. “We’ve confirmed the preliminary intel—he’s definitely after Kothlis. Now it’s a race to see who gets there first.”

The crowded barracks mess hall erupted into muttering and exclamation. Force-sensing from habit, Ahsoka tasted the clones’ swirling emotions. A little caution. A lot of excitement. At first she’d thought the Republic’s clone soldiers welcomed battle because they had no choice—because they’d been genetically programmed to fight and not question that duty. But while that was an uncomfortable truth, one she found herself wrestling with more and more as the war dragged on, it was also true that most of the clones she knew enjoyed combat—and not because some Kaminoan scientist had tweaked a test tube and made sure they would. No. They enjoyed winning. Outsmarting the enemy. Liberating citizens who were being used as pawns by Count Dooku, and Nute Gunray, and the other shadowy leaders of the Separatist Alliance.

Was it so hard to believe, really? Saving the innocent—that did feel good. Besting—or surviving—lethal foes like Asajj Ventress? Like Grievous? That felt good, too. She knew Anakin and Master Kenobi deplored this war, deplored the senseless loss of life, the suffering … but she wasn’t blind. She’d seen in their faces the exhilaration that came with victory. It was no less real than their grief when lives were lost. She’d felt it, too. She’d celebrated when vicious, venal beings were defeated.

It’s so complicated. If war is wrong, how come we can find moments of pleasure and triumph in it? Isn’t there something … twisted … in that?

Disturbed by the thought, she heard herself whimper in her throat, just a little bit. And that alarmed her so much she crushed the notion, savagely. Little fool. It was exactly the wrong thing to be thinking when they were racing through hyperspace to confront that monster Grievous and save the helpless people of Kothlis from Separatist enslavement—or worse.

Rex was deep in conversation with Sergeant Coric, so she turned to Checkers. He might be a newcomer to Torrent Company, but he wasn’t a greenie clone. The deep scarring on his right cheek attested to previous combat experience … as did that certain glint in his eye. The same glint she sometimes saw in Rex, and Coric, and any number of Torrent Company’s men. It set them apart as soldiers who’d been fought to a standstill, who’d stared down death—and survived.

“What, then?” said Checkers, with a wry half smile. “Something tells me I won’t get away with little’un.”

“That’s right. Checkers, can I ask how you got here? I mean, how did you get assigned to Torrent Company?”

Checkers flicked a glance at his fellow clones talking among themselves in the mess hall, pursed his lips for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision. His face relaxed, and his shoulders settled. “I requested the transfer. Used to be in Laser Company, under General Fisto.”

Oh. “Is that when you were wounded?” she asked, her voice small. “In the Kessel encounter?”

His fingers came up, touching lightly to the bubbled scarring under his eye. “That’s right.”

“I knew there was only one clone survivor, but I didn’t realize that was you.”

He shrugged. “No reason you should. You weren’t here when I joined Torrent, and there’s no point talking about it. Can’t undo what happened.”

“But there’s still a Laser Company, isn’t there?” she said, frowning. “I thought Master Fisto—”

“There is,” said Checkers, with another shrug. “But I wanted a clean break. After they got through patching me up at the clone medfacility, they offered me a posting of my choice.”

“And you chose Torrent Company?” Charmed all over again, she couldn’t help smiling, even though his terse story covered a chasm of pain and loss. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad, but—why?”

“Not because I blamed General Fisto,” Checkers said quickly. “Don’t think that, Ahsoka.” His dark-eyed gaze shifted and came to rest on Rex, still talking logistics with Sergeant Coric. “The truth is I want to survive this war. That means serving under the best officer I can find.”

Checkers was keeping his voice down, but Rex still heard that last comment. Startled, he broke off whatever he was saying to Coric and shifted in his chair. Seeing and feeling his barely muffled astonishment, Ahsoka grinned. It wasn’t easy to rattle Rex … and she did find it comforting to know he could be rattled. At least when they weren’t on the front lines, facing death.

Silence claimed the mess hall, abrupt as a cut comlink. Ahsoka winced at the suddenly ratcheted tension buzzing through the Force like a vibroblade. It made her teeth ache and her vision blur.

“Ahsoka,” Rex added, skewering her with his most direct, no-nonsense stare. “What’s our ETA at Kothlis?”

She checked her almost infallible Jedi time-sense. “Twenty-three minutes, Captain.”

“Not confirmed, but highly possible. If the Seps have beaten us there and started an invasion of Kothlis, General Kenobi will handle the counteroffensive while my Master and Shadow Company clear the skies.”

Rex nodded. “That means you’re with us? Good.” His gaze swept the hall. “Then we need to gear up. Torrent Company—get to work!”

Within a heartbeat the mood changed again. Lingering anxiety and uncertainty disappeared in a wave of purposeful action as Rex’s men began the familiar countdown to combat.

Because she couldn’t help with that, because she couldn’t do anything now but wait, Ahsoka got out of the way. She perched herself in a corner and tried, like Anakin, to calm herself with meditation. Which was fine, mostly—except one thought kept intruding, over and over.

May the Force be with us. And please, please, don’t let my actions get any of these clones killed.

“IT’S NO GOOD, Admiral,” said Lieutenant Avrey, Flushed with dismay. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how they’re doing it but the Seps have every comm channel jammed, even our internal network. We’re silent across the board.”

Yularen glared at her. “That’s unacceptable, Lieutenant. Find the problem and fix it.”

“Sir—” The comm officer’s face lost its hectic color. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

As Yularen swallowed an unprofessional response, Anakin looked to Obi-Wan. His former Master raised an eyebrow, resigned. “This time the advantage goes to the enemy,” he murmured. “It’s going to get ugly, I fear.”

Beyond the bridge’s main viewport Grievous’s new flagship and its four satellite cruisers hung low and threatening above the Bothan colony world of Kothlis. Two of the planet’s three small moons were completely obscured by Grievous’s fleet, and the void of space lit up at haphazard intervals as the Separatist general’s invasion troops blasted a path through the thin belt of asteroids ringing their intended target, bullying their blundering, unopposed way toward the planet’s undefended surface.

Joining his Jedi colleagues, Yularen blew out a furious breath. “We’ve never lost communications like this before. They’ve upgraded their countermeasures. How in the Nine Hells are they getting their intel?”

“That’s an excellent question, Admiral,” said Obi-Wan. “And we need to find the answer—just as soon as we’ve dealt with General Grievous.”

“Obviously—but how can we do that if we can’t talk to one another?” Yularen demanded. “And if it turns out we’re outgunned and we’re not able to send for reinforcements, how can we possibly—”

“Sir!” said Lieutenant Avrey, crawling out from under her comm console, her light hair darkened with sweat and grime. “Sir, I think it’s a virus.”

With a grunt and a swipe of her sleeve across her face, Avrey scrambled to her feet. “It’s corrupted the comm software, Admiral. As far as I can tell we’ve got ship-to-ship tightbeam—and most likely the clone troops’ helmet tightbeam will work, too. Aside from that—” She shrugged. “We’ve been gagged. And the systems diagnostic can’t recognize the virus coding. I can tell you it’s complex and multi-stranded—three quadruple helixes at least—self-replicating on a random cycle and specifically targeted to our systems.”

For a moment Anakin thought Yularen was going to burst a blood vessel. “And it’s on my ship?” He turned, every muscle rigid. “General Skywalker—”

“Admiral, each new cruiser tested clean before it left Allanteen Six,” Anakin said. “And none of my modifications could’ve introduced a virus. In fact, I designed blind-alley redundancies to make sure something like this couldn’t happen.” He glanced at Obi-Wan. “And if they’ve failed, that means—”

“Sabotage,” said Obi-Wan, his eyes bleak. “The Seps must have infiltrated our shipyards.”

“Avrey, can you fix this?” said Yularen. “I can’t send men into harm’s way without communication.”

Seated again at her console, Avrey looked up from punching in a swift succession of commands. “Admiral, I’m initiating a systemwide purge but it’ll take time—and I don’t know how effective it’ll be. I’ve never seen a virus like this. I’m almost positive it was remotely activated—probably from Grievous’s command ship as soon as we jumped into range. Whoever designed it—they’re a genius. For all I know—” Breaking off as her console beeped and flashed, she adjusted her earpiece, listened for a moment, then turned back to them. “Tightbeams from Pioneer and Coruscant Sky. They report the same problem, Admiral. Battle group comms are down.”

“Is there nothing you can do, Lieutenant?” said Obi-Wan. “No other solution but trusting this purge?”

Avrey dragged her fingers through her hair. “I don’t think so, General. I don’t—”

“What?” said Yularen, stepping closer to his officer. For all his formidable self-discipline, a note of hope sounded in his voice. “I know that look, Lieutenant.”

She flicked him a frowning glance. Anakin, focusing all his senses on her, felt trepidation and a faint buzz of cautious optimism. “Sir, I did my Academy dissertation on pre-praxis crystal bio-anode circuitry,” the lieutenant said. “The technology’s years out of date, it’s practically ancient history, but the theory’s still sound.”

“If it’s ancient history, how can it help us?” Yularen demanded. “I need solutions, Lieutenant, not—”

“This might be a solution, Admiral,” she said, meeting his hot gaze unflinching. “For all the upgrades and improvements we’ve got around here, I’m pretty sure we’ve still got some of that circuitry on board—in the waste core’s tertiary adjunct conduits. They’re another kind of triple redundancy. Pre-praxis bio-anodes used to have comm applications. If I can strip them out and rig them into the comm console, I think I can punch a signal through subspace strong enough to reach Coruscant.”

“Sir,” said Avrey, the remaining color draining from her cheeks. “I know.”

A muscle leapt along Avrey’s narrow jaw. “I’m saying we’ve got a better than even shot at it, yes, sir.”

“Then another two hours for Pioneer and Coruscant Sky?” Yularen shook his head, frustrated. “That’s three hours neither we nor Kothlis have to spare. Have you looked through the viewport? Grievous’s forces are invading as we speak.”

“Lieutenant,” said Obi-Wan, mildly, as though they weren’t facing an utter disaster. “Can you tightbeam detailed instructions for the comm officers on our other two ships? If all three of you work simultaneously, your plan might still succeed in time to do us some good.”

Avrey snapped out of her almost imperceptible slump. “Yes, General Kenobi. I can do that.”

“Then get on to it,” said Yularen. “Every minute wasted means more lost lives.”

“Wait,” said Anakin, abruptly unsettled. I have a bad feeling … “What about our fighters? And the larties?”

“They should be unaffected, General,” said the lieutenant. “They’re not linked into our comm systems.”

He looked at Obi-Wan. “No. But if Grievous can remotely activate a computer virus—”

“Then he might have the power to jam our ship comms,” said Obi-Wan. There was unease in him now, too, the bad feeling shared. “Despite our anti-jamming precautions. I suggest we find out before we launch an attack.”

Leaving dourly silent Yularen and frantically working Lieutenant Avrey, Obi-Wan and Anakin made their way to Indomitable’s flight deck. The hangar’s deckhands, on standby now that they’d prepped the fighters, watched them with wide eyes. Gold Squadron’s pilots were in their barracks, mentally preparing for action.

“Don’t disturb them,” said Obi-Wan as he swung himself into his own fighter’s cockpit. “If it is bad news, best they’re spared hearing it for as long as possible.”

Sickened, Anakin stared at his Aethersprite’s unresponsive comm panel. Then he looked over at Obi-Wan, whose expressionless face said it all. “So, Grievous isn’t taking any chances.”

Computer viruses and broadband jamming equipment? The barve’s gone and got himself some serious upgrades. I wonder how long we’ve got before he can take out our tightbeam as well? “If he’s jamming the fighters, it’s a good bet he’s taken out the gunships, too.”

“Come on,” said Obi-Wan, all emotion ruthlessly repressed. “Yularen’s waiting.”

The admiral took one look at them as they returned to the bridge and spat a soft curse. “Then that’s it.”

“Not at all,” said Obi-Wan, eyebrows lifting. “We can’t afford to wait until communications are restored. Kothlis needs us now. We go in.”

“You mean fight blind?” said Anakin, disbelieving. “And deaf? Obi-Wan—”

“I grant you it’s not an ideal way to conduct a war,” said Obi-Wan, the merest glimmer of bleak humor in his eyes. “But I don’t see another choice. Do you?”

Stang. He didn’t. Grievous was delivering mayhem and slaughter while they stood here helpless, watching. He wasn’t even bothering to divert any of his cruisers or droid starfighters their way, so arrogantly confident was he that he’d rendered them impotent.

“How do you want to play it, then?” Anakin said, his belly jumping with nerves. He felt shock run through the officers close enough to overhear this crazy conversation, and Yularen’s dismay, swiftly stifled for the sake of his crew. “It’s not like we can communicate with hand signals or color-coded flags.”

“Actually, Anakin, your task is relatively simple,” said Obi-Wan. “Engage the enemy and keep on shooting his ships out of the sky until none is left.”

Simple? Yeah, right. Although, being coldly dispassionate, Obi-Wan wasn’t too far off the mark, come to think of it. “Fine. But what about you?”

“Using the fighters as cover, the clones and I will run Grievous’s gauntlet in gunships, make atmospheric entry, and insert on the ground. Kothlis has only two points of interest—the capital, Tal’cara, and the spynet facility on the city’s northwest outskirts. We’ll target those two areas first and see what happens once they’re secured.” Obi-Wan looked at Yularen. “Unless you can think of a better plan, Admiral.”

Yularen shook his head. “No. We’ll go with yours. For one thing it’s uncomplicated—barring disaster, we won’t need communications once all cruisers and squadrons are reading from the same flimsi. Besides, it’s too risky asking the larties to tackle Grievous’s droid starfighter defenses.”

Anakin nodded. Spaceworthy the gunships might be, but top-of-the-line fighters they assuredly were not. “Agreed. So, Obi-Wan, that gets you boots on the ground. And then what?”

Again, that wry, dry glimmer of humor. “Oh, I’m bound to think of something. Imminent death tends to stimulate the imagination.” He turned. “Lieutenant Avrey—”

The comm officer looked up from her console while she was pushing the systemwide purge as hard and fast as it could take. “General?”

“Have you some spare data crystals? I’ve a few instructions for the other clone companies—and the captains of Pioneer and Coruscant Sky.”

“Sir,” she said, and nodded at a slot in the comm console. “Help yourself.”

“Excellent,” said Obi-Wan, accepting her invitation. “Anakin, it’s time you briefed Gold Squadron. I’ll need you ready to launch in fifteen minutes.”

“Obi-Wan, if you’re recording orders for our other pilots then maybe I should—”

Obi-Wan smiled tightly, his hand full of data crystals. “Just this once let me speak on your behalf.”

Again, that ugly jump of nerves. Blast it, I think we really are crazy. “Fine. Tell them to use their best judgment. Tell them to keep their eyes peeled and—and think of themselves as one-man squadrons. Tell them to launch on my mark—once Gold Squadron’s clear of Indomitable, Hammer Squadron launches from Pioneer and then Arrow Squadron from the Sky. After that they’re on their own. Obi-Wan—”

His mentor—his friend—nodded. “Yes, Anakin. I’ll take care of your Padawan.”

Obi-Wan just smiled. He smiled back, not even trying to muffle his feelings, then turned to leave—but Yularen raised a hand. “I know you Jedi don’t believe in it—but I wish you good luck, General Skywalker. And don’t worry. Comm or no comm, we’ll have your backs.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” Anakin said, nodding. He trusted the man, even though Yularen’s reservations about the Jedi lived close to his surface. “Good hunting to you, too.”

On the way down to his pilots Anakin took a swift detour via the clone troops’ barracks where Rex and Ahsoka and Torrent Company were geared up and waiting.

“Master!” said Ahsoka, practically gasping, as she and Rex answered his beckon from the opened hatch. “What’s going on? What’s the—”

“Be quiet and listen,” he said, quelling her with a frown. “Grievous beat us here. His invasion of Kothlis is well under way—and to make things interesting the comms are jammed, so we’re going in blind. Indomitable and the other two cruisers will be escorted through the upper atmosphere by our fighters. On my signal you’ll go in on gunships, then while you’re taking care of Grievous’s ground troops we’ll mop up his warships and droid starfighters. The action’s going to be hard, fast, and dirty, so stay on your toes.”

Ahsoka blinked at him, for once in her short life lost for words. Clasping his hands in front of him, Rex frowned. “When you say all comms …”

“I mean all comms,” he said quietly, meeting Rex’s concerned gaze. “Except your troops’ helmet tightbeams—we hope.”

“Maybe. And there’s a chance we’ll be able to call for help if we need it.”

Beneath her bold exterior Anakin could feel her anxiety. He resisted the urge to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. The last thing he needed was Torrent Company thinking either of them was worried.

“Good enough,” he said, keeping his voice clipped and businesslike. “But that’s not your concern. Follow Obi-Wan’s lead and you’ll all be fine.”

“And what about you, sir?” said Rex. Nothing in his attitude indicated unease, but the Force told a different story. Like Ahsoka, the experienced clone captain was deeply unsettled.

“So if we don’t have communications,” Ahsoka said slowly, “how will we know when it’s time to launch the ground assault?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll know. Now hop to it, Rex. Get your men down to the gunship hangar—those larties are lonely. Obi-Wan will join you there shortly—and I’ll see you both when the party’s over.”

“The force will be with us all, Padawan,” he replied. Then he left them, before his self-control slipped and he revealed the depth of his own doubts.

Gold Squadron, with their unerring instinct for imminent trouble, was waiting for him on the hangar deck, laconic and restively ready for action. Clone Captain Fireball, his clipped hair dyed an eye-searing scarlet, a single black-and-scarlet scalp-lock proclaiming his stubborn individuality, greeted him as he joined them.

“Game on, Fib,” he said. “With a twist—we’ve got no communications.”

His captain’s only reaction was a raised eyebrow. “Fine. I’ll take fighting over chitchat any day.”

Oh, these men. He loved them. “It means we’re going in hot and wild, no plan but this: blast those kriffing Sep ships out of my sky.”

Fireball grinned with ear-to-ear ferocity. “It’ll be our pleasure, General.”

The rest of Gold Squadron was listening, their focused attention and absolute belief in him as warm and as reassuring as his mother’s hand on his back.

“Grievous is out there, sitting on his clanky butt thinking he’s got us whipped before we fire a single shot,” he told his pilots, sharing with them his own unbridled ferocity. “I’m in the mood to contradict him, boys. How about you?”

“Forget about the comm troubles,” he added. “You don’t need me telling you what to do. You were born knowing what to do. You’ve done it before, and after today you’ll do it again.”

“Torrent, Cascade, and Waterfall companies are depending on us to sweep the streets for ’em,” he finished. “And we are not going to let them down. Agreed?”

“Agreed!” his pilots shouted, so loud this time that the hangar’s metal struts and deck plating thrummed with the sound.

He was so proud of them—and at the same time so afraid. The brutal reality of combat meant the odds were they wouldn’t all come home. They knew it, too, but no one would read that in their faces—faces that were at first glance, to the uncaring observer, identical. But he knew them as individuals, and he loved them for themselves. He could list each man’s scars, recite each man’s quirks, describe each man’s idiosyncratic hair. Close-helmeted, in full body armor, he knew every one of them by his walk.

Letting his gaze touch each unique, committed pilot, he locked their faces tightly in his memory, in case this was the last time.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said. “On me in standard formation until we clear the ship. Once we hit free space take care of business in your own time. Last man home buys the drinks.”

Laughing and eager, the clones broke ranks and headed for their fighters. R2-D2 hooted and whistled as Anakin climbed up to their ship’s cockpit.

“Don’t panic, Artoo,” he told the agitated droid. “Someone’s working on the problem.”