The Resolute, 8 Hours From Boz Pity
Anakin Skywalker made his way to the medbay with purpose, bracing himself for whatever Malachite had to say. Whatever he discovered, he claimed that it could potentially impact their effectiveness in the field significantly. Something that had Malachite that rattled… that was worth paying attention to.
Rex walked alongside him. At the end of the day, these were his clones, and this was his command as much as it was Anakin’s. “Any plans to talk to our guests afterward, sir?” he asked. “I heard what Ahsoka told you about her last meeting with them.”
Anakin nodded. “Yes. As much as they are confusing, what they did at the refinery tells me that they can be a real help in battle. If we have an advantage the Seps don't know about, it'll wrap up this war quickly.”
Rex nodded. “That makes sense to me,” he admitted.
“Speaking of things that are happening because of our guests,” Anakin said, “did Malachite ever tell you about… whatever this is? The fact that it’s taken this long for him to say anything…”
“That's to be expected,” Rex replied. “Out of all the combat medics, he's the one that wants to be the most confident in his findings before saying something. Whatever he's found, he's absolutely sure It’s worth mentioning.”
Anakin nodded. “You've probably worked with him more than I have,” he admitted. “I'll trust you on that one.”
With that, they entered the primary medbay of the Resolute. What was immediately obvious was the group of a little over a dozen clones clustered around a medical droid and its readout.
They turned to look at him, and Anakin, through the unique ripples in the Force they produced, remembered their names. Krayt. Galler. Jahaala. Bubble. Cutup. All of them medics, and Malachite, along with Fives and Echo, at their center.
Some of them whispered to one another, some in Basic, others in the clones’ unofficial second language of Mando’a. All of them were tense, uncertain… afraid. He could feel it rippling off them in the Force. Was what Malachite found really that distressing?
“General. Captain,” Malachite said. “Thank you for coming. What I've found… well, it has deep implications, and that's putting it lightly.”
“What is it?” Rex asked.
Malachite was silent for a moment as he checked a data pad for something, then looked back at the two men. “It started when Dan noticed an old surgical scar right here.”
He reached up to a spot on his head, showing the remarkably faint scar there. “He said that Rex had one as well. Then I asked Fives and Echo, who were there too. Fives found it as well. Then I started looking elsewhere, pulling some of the other medics in. We looked past the skin and found… it.”
“It?” Anakin asked uneasily as Rex put a hand to his own head.
Malachite looked over to the smooth, ovaloid medical droid, nodding at it. “M70?”
The medbay’s CZ-M70 droid hovered forward through the cloud of clones, dispersing it only for a moment before it spoke. “All clones present have, at a point early in their creation, been implanted with a bio-technological chip on the right side of the cranial structure. The purpose of this chip is currently unknown, and requires extraction for further examination.”
An anatomical hologram appeared from one of the droid’s emitters, likely a scan of Fives or Echo’s head in profile, showing a red dot right where the droid said the chip was. A rough image of what must have been the chip, a roughly rectangular mass with bright dots that must have been the tech part of the chip, came up beside the scan.
“Are you saying that every clone in the 501st could have one of these things inside their head?” Rex said with growing concern, the hand on his head beginning to become a claw.
“Bigger,” Fives said, standing from leaning on the bed that the clones surrounded as he swept his gaze across the group before landing on Rex. “These things could only have been implanted back on Kamino. There's a chance every clone has one of these chips.”
The medbay fell silent, the weight of the possibility pressing down on all present. “That leaves one last question,” Echo said darkly. “What are these things supposed to do?”
“I wish there was time to find out,” Anakin finally said with a quiet sigh, drawing all attention to him. “We're only hours out from Boz Pity. We've got a planet to liberate. Once we've got time and space to breathe, yes, I want this thing out and understood. But I trust it won't impact any of you. It hasn't yet, so we'll just keep an eye on it.”
Malachite nodded, the others following slowly. “That's about the best I can recommend at the moment,” he said with a slight grimace. “I'll wrap things up here, and get ready for combat.”
Anakin nodded. “That's all I can ask of you. I'll talk to Master Kenobi and Commander Cody, too. If any of his soldiers have this, we should know.”
Malachite nodded, and Anakin turned to leave, leaving Rex to talk with the clones.
It left Anakin alone with his thoughts as he walked to the bunk room that contained their guests. These chips… they had an ominous effect on the Force. Even just knowing they existed set him on edge. Had the creator of the clones decided these things were needed? What did Sifo-Dyas have in mind? What did Dooku, who picked out the template in whose image the clones were made in, have in mind?
Dark thoughts, indeed. But dark thoughts that might distract him from the battle ahead. ‘Be mindful of the future, but not at the expense of the present.’ Obi-Wan had taught him. They both knew that teaching had been one that Qui-Gon had emphasized. There was a part of Anakin that would have liked Qui-Gon’s continued wisdom. That he'd given his life fighting Maul was a grievous blow indeed. And a sorrow he told few, if any, about. He didn't even need to say anything to Obi-Wan. He had realized many years ago that was something that they shared.
He found himself at the door of the bunk room, pausing at the door for a moment as he gathered his thoughts with a few deep breaths.
After a moment, he opened the door, and stepped in.
The most eye-catching thing was the young man that stood next to Elle. His hair was now blond, his skin smooth, though not without the remarkable scars that Ahsoka had described. He looked to be as old as Anakin was now. If he hadn’t heard Ahsoka’s description, seen the pictures that Malachite had taken, he would have thought that this man was some sort of changeling species.
All eyes turned to him. “General Skywalker,” who was obviously Dan said. “I'm ready for duty, as we all are.”
Anakin nodded. “That's what I came to talk about. I'm allowing you all to come into combat with us on Boz Pity.”
He looked over at Luke. “Master Starkiller, you'll be getting that Z-95 you asked for. I can hope you'll help us swing the balance in space in our favor.”
Luke nodded, and Anakin put away his wonderment at the man's last name as he regarded the non-Jedi complement. “You'll need to get fitted for some armor, get some blasters from the armory. But Rex will be in command of you. Stick near him, follow his orders, and you should come out just fine.”
Elle and Dan nodded, but Merrin crossed her arms. “I'll take your armor, but I have my own weapons,” she said. “The only thing I'll need is a pistol for backup.”
Anakin shrugged. “Fair enough,” he said. “Master Starkiller, meet us in the hangar when you’re ready. Otherwise, all of you should get to the armory for some armor. Jedi robes are nice, but an extra layer of armor is always wise.”
He paused for a moment as he looked around the room. “I’m looking forward to working with you. You’ve already got the attention of my master, Master Kenobi. After this battle wraps up, you’ll likely be meeting him.”
He sensed something from Luke. Some pang of… confused emotions. Melancholy? Nostalgia? Did Luke know Obi-Wan somehow?
Again, a question for the future. He turned and left the room. There was a war to prosecute.
. . .
As the door closed, Dan looked down at his hand, once again, and tried to focus.
He was silent for long moments, his brow furrowing and his jaw clenching. Finally, a tiny flicker of light coalesced in the center of his palm.
He held it for long moments, then let it go with a quiet gasp, the light disappearing. “Damn…”
“Did traveling here do this to you?” Luke asked, no small amount of concern in his voice.
Dan nodded. “My very soul’s almost gone to pieces with how it’s shattered. It's a wonder I even managed to survive like this.”
He shook his head. “I can barely even mimic the Force at this point. It'll take time and focus to put it back together and regain access to my former powers.”
Mara looked between Dan and Elle. “Is that the case for both of you?”
Elle nodded. “With how I helped him to not be destroyed and scattered across time, that's true for me too.”
“We'll need those blasters and armor for a little while,” Dan admitted. “At least until I can approach your level and feel confident with a lightsaber or something like it.”
The others nodded as the door opened, Fives walking in and regarding the group. “Alright, I’m to lead you to the armory, get you all kitted out.” he nodded toward the door. “Now, if you’ll all follow me?”
The group trailed out of the bunk room, following Fives through the corridors. Most trailed behind Fives. Cal, however, was just beside Fives as they walked. Something the man noticed.
“You know your way around a Venator, don’t you?” he said after glancing at the man yet again.
Cal blinked, then sighed quietly. “It’s been a while. But I’ve been on a few.”
Fives nodded. “Didn’t know they still used these ships after the war.”
“Those with enough credits to buy one and modernize it spent their money well,” Dan remarked. “It’s a solid design.”
“I’ll say,” Fives said as he nodded, pausing in front of a rather thick door.
“Welcome to Tibana Lane,” Fives said as he inserted a data capsule into the door, which slid open after a moment. “Everything you’ll ever need to fight a war.”
They walked into the stark gray space, the walls lined with racks and the floor taken up with still more, blaster carbines, rifles, and pistols filling them alongside other weapons as they saw unpainted armor in a separate screened-off area, a table with blue stains and what were likely painting materials on it next to other tools opposite of the doorway.
A trooper, in battle dress save for a helmet, with swirling, remarkably intricate designs on the armor’s arms and one side of the chest, emerged from the armor locker, taking in the group in an instant before he smiled.
“Jate haa’taylir gar, Fives!” the clone said. “Tion olar bah tsikador kaysh?”
Fives smiled ruefully. “Basic, Gaid. Yes, I’m going to need some armor and for them to take a blaster or two for the fight ahead.”
Gaid nodded. “Good to hear. It’s going to be a little uncomfortable for them without doing some finework on the armor, but it won’t be anywhere near osik, and better than just robes. Let me take a look while you keep an eye on them.”
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With that, Gaid disappeared back into the armor locker while Fives nodded to the racks.
As the group examined the weapons with critical eyes, Dan looked over at Fives after slinging a rifle over his shoulder. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but was that Mandalorian?”
Fives nodded. “Yes. Mando’a. As the war started dragging on and we started operating in the Mid and Outer Rim, especially near Mandalore, we found ourselves fighting alongside a bunch of Mandalorian mercenary groups. ‘Traditionalists’, they called themselves, fighting for the honor of their home, and by extension the Republic it was a part of. Even if the Mandalorian government denied their connections. When they saw our armor, learned who our template was, it didn’t matter that we all had the same face. We were vod. Comrades. Brothers.”
“And they taught you the language?” Merin asked as she belted on a holster, sliding a pistol into it.
“The ones that were the most eager to learn the culture and language first did,” Fives replied. “And I can’t say I don’t understand. After growing up learning only what the Kaminoans understood was exactly what we needed to wage war, the Mandalorian culture was… a start. A foundation we could make a more complete identity for ourselves on.”
He chuckled softly. “Now, even if you don’t follow the culture or take part in the little rituals that have sprung up like Gaid does, you have to learn the language just to keep up with some of them. And besides, it sounds… right, sometimes.”
Before Fives could continue, Gaid emerged with a few chestplates stacked on top of each other, a stripe of blue down the right side. “Now,” he said as he handed out the armor, “even if you don’t have a kute for these to fully lock on to, they’ll still have a strap system to secure them in place. I’ll have some greaves, gloves, vambraces, and boots in a minute.”
“Vor’e, Gaid,” Dan said as he began to slide into the chestplate. “I appreciate your work.”
A huge grin grew on Gaid’s face. “Ba’gedet’ye, burc’ya. Always a nice surprise to see someone else who knows Mando’a.”
“I don’t know much,” Dan admitted, “but I get the feeling I have a chance to learn more.”
“That you will,” Gaid replied. “Good luck on the battlefield. I hope you’ll do well.”
After a few more moments, they were as ready as they could be. “We’ll get going now, Gaid,” Fives said. “Don’t go too crazy in here.”
“Oye, Fives!” Gaid replied. “Shoot a clanker for me, would you?”
“I always can, you know that,” Fives replied with a slight smile.
. . .
The Resolute, alongside the Venators Prism, Tempest, and Momentum, with screening elements, dropped out of hyperspace at the edge of the Boz Pity system, making their way with all due haste toward the battle lines.
The system, Anakin and a hologram of Obi-Wan explained in the hangar bay, was cut in half between the Republic-controlled world of Pine and its stations and the world of Boz Pity itself, under the control of the Confederacy. The 501st was to be the siege-breakers, probing Boz Pity, its stations, and its sibling in a synchronous orbit, the dead volcanic world of Mourn, for any weak spots.
Luke listened intently as Anakin continued the briefing. “Master Kenobi has already identified a station that’s in between Pine and Boz Pity, which is going to be our first target. It’s not too heavily fortified, and should we capture it, it’ll give us a commanding place to strike out at Boz Pity proper.”
Obi-Wan’s hologram was joined by a recreation of the station in question, a blocky, dumbbell-shaped thing with no small amount of heavy firepower evident if one looked close enough.
“I’d advise caution on any approach,” Obi-Wan said, “The station has significant anti-capital defenses and a dedicated defense fleet to cover the station’s weaknesses. It’s necessary for there to be a distraction.”
“Which is why the Prism, Tempest, and Momentum will be joining Master Kenobi’s fleet to make a move towards the planet,” Anakin replied. “With 11 capital ships and their screening elements, there’s a good chance that the defense fleet will be drawn away. When that happens, we’ll move into position and launch fighters to disable these hangar defenses.”
The holographic station model began to show a glowing ring around the hangar bays in question, two on each lobe. “After we do our part, transports will launch and make for the bays with troops under Commanders Tano and Appo. Once we’ve taken command of the station and its defenses, Master Kenobi’s fleet will press the attack toward the station, pinning our enemies.”
Luke found the plan as daring as any he’d put into action during his time in the Rebellion. Even then, it was rather… brash. Moreso than he’d expected. His fall must have burned that out of him. There was every chance that the station might still have sufficient fighter defenses to ward them off or pick off transports. But that was a far easier risk to take than trying to move an entire fleet in to pound it to dust.
There were no questions or comments, and Anakin proceeded to partition the squads to their designated targets. “Master Starkiller will be flying alongside me and Titan Squadron as we take this top hangar,” he said, looking at Luke as he pointed to the hangar in question. “I’m looking forward to working with you. Don’t worry about trying to keep up with me. Just focus on keeping yourself alive and completing our objectives.”
Luke smiled slightly. He may have been a Jedi, but even before that, he was a damn good pilot. “I’ll be able to keep up with you, Master Skywalker,” he replied. He’d done it before. And he could do it again.
Arched brows from Anakin accompanied the murmuring and muted chuckling of the clones. “I have to warn you,” he said somewhat warningly, “I’ve got far more piloting experience than most Jedi. You’d better be ready to back that claim up.”
“I had a notable amount of combat starcraft experience before I fully became a knight as well,” Luke said assuringly. “I may not quite be in the same league as you, but I’ll watch your back.”
“Fair enough,” Anakin said after a moment, turning his attention to the rest of the pilots. “We’ll be lifting off in 1 hour. Make sure you and your craft are ready. Good luck, and may the Force be with you.”
With that, the pilots rose, making their way to their respective fighters and bombers. Luke walked past the rather strange V-19 Torrent fighters and the far more familiar-looking BTL-B Y-wings to his craft, a simple Z-95, painted in the red and white of the Republic and bearing its cog on the wall near the open cockpit. It was different than the ones he’d been used to seeing in the days of Rebellion, small, rather stubby canards near the tip of a rectangular nose that tapered as it drew away from the body of the ship. As well, the laser cannons at its wingtips were short-barreled, the familiar arch cone not more than a meter or two away from the wing proper.
But the space superiority fighter would have the weaponry to protect himself and his wingmates, Luke knew. The controls he might find inside the cockpit were another matter. He climbed the ladder, taking a seat inside the cockpit and considering the layout with a critical, practiced eye.
Control stick, throttle, weapons display, sensors, altimeter, artificial horizon… there was some oddity in the placement of some things compared to what he knew, but otherwise…
‘Incom knows when something works, it seems,’ Luke mused with a slight smile. Skyhoppers, X-wings… now this. He could make this work just fine.
He looked out the cockpit canopy window, across the bay, at Anakin as he prepared his fighter. It was a blade-shaped thing, gray and yellow, with an astromech socket centered in front of its rearward cockpit. A compartment was open, Anakin working on it himself with several tools nearby. Also with him was an all too familiar silver and blue astromech droid.
R2-D2 shone a small light into the compartment Anakin was working on, conversing with the man who was his master as they made whatever modifications to the fighter.
For the briefest of moments, Luke felt the strangest sensation, a mix of melancholy and longing. His little friend was right there… well before Luke Skywalker even existed. He wondered, for a second, how strange it would be to go over and introduce himself to the droid, even if it might mean so little.
He shook his head as he took himself to task. ‘R2 — my R2 — is safe, waiting for me when we decide to get out of here, right alongside everyone else we managed to get out. Thank the Force for that.’
“Sir?”
His attention was pulled to the clone pilot standing beside the fighter, another astromech, with deep purple colors accented by bright blue highlights, beside the man. “We wanted to make sure you had an astromech for your ship. This is R2-S8. It’ll accompany you into battle.”
“Thank you…” Luke said, trailing off as he waited for a name.
“Thundercrack, sir,” the pilot said, saluting sharply. “Fly well, sir.”
“You too, Thundercrack,” Luke replied, returning the salute with a slight smile.
As Thundercrack turned and walked back to his fighter, Luke began to get out of the cockpit of his fighter, coming to stand before S8. “Hello, S8. Pleasure to meet you,” he replied.
S8 beeped and chirped inquisitively, somewhat plaintively.
“Not used to someone trying to get to know you?” Luke said. “I guess when there are so many pilots you could be working with back to back, mission to mission, connections can get to be a little weird beyond the niceties.” he sighed quietly. “But that’s war for you. Even for a Jedi.”
S8 began to warble and beep quite animatedly after a few seconds of silence, Luke’s brows rising slightly as he chuckled after a moment. “Slow down, slow down,” he said, raising his hand slightly. “Being assigned a Jedi shouldn't be too much different when it comes to flying. Besides, I don't know how long we'll be flying together.”
S8 squawked assertively. Luke nodded. “I see. Well, that's not a bad way to think about it. I'll see if I can put in a good word for you.”
. . .
In the darkness between planets, a fortress hung. The Confederacy codenamed the battle station ‘Shadow Hammer’, and built it to repel the mightiest of the Republic’s naval might.
Its attendant fleet was equally strong, 3 trios of beetle-like Munificents and almost a dozen spire-like Recusants able to cover every other type of ship that might try to cross them.
At least, until an armored spear of Republic durasteel several light-seconds away began to charge toward Boz Pity.
As the space between planets lit up with blue and red bolts of plasma-wrought fury that scored and stabbed through shields and metal, the local defense line found itself beginning to buckle under the weight of fire.
The Separatist ships began to lose more and more ships in balls of fire and scrap, one after the other. Finally, their commander put out the call for help, system-wide.
By what surely had to be remarkable coincidence, the closest fleet available to reinforce was the Shadow Hammer’s. After a brief, but tense discussion between the station and fleet commanders, the ships turned aside from their posts and got underway towards the battlespace.
As the fleet disappeared from sight though, one last Venator powered up from silent running, opening its hangar doors.
Luke was ready, feeling the thrum of the engines kicking on and revving them as he followed Anakin’s Aethersprite out of the Resolute’s hangar, the stars enveloping him as he let himself slip into the flow of following the Force, the feel of the seat and the joystick in his hand almost seeming to sharpen.
“Titan, form up on me, reverse claw formation,” Anakin said over the comms. “Honor, Laser, Stalwart, break off now and head to your targets. Bomber squads, split off as well, one for each fighter squad.”
“Copy that, sir,” came the replies as fighters and bombers began to scatter like seeds from a cluster-flower.
“Fighters incoming on sensors,” Anakin said, Luke spotting the dots as they flew from the hangars, anti-fighter cannons, remarkably few for a station this large, beginning to open up as they came within effective range. “Brace for contact.”
Luke modulated the shields, gave some instruction to S8, and sent the Z-95 into a spinning dive opposite Anakin’s steep climb, a barrel roll sending him swirling through the vulture droids that now began to pass them. He let his trigger pull on finely honed instinct, a brief, flashing fireball following after 2 or 3 smooth trigger pulls each time a droid strayed into his path. Sensing whenever a fighter decided to try and tag him from behind, along with S8’s remarkably calm warnings, he began a random selection of several evasive maneuvers, the ghosts of the pillars and arches of Beggar’s Canyon still with him in his mind as he either shook his pursuers or got behind them and ended them.
As he went, he weaved through the fighter cloud, between friend and foe, like an artisan seamster, lasers flashing as S8 made calculations and necessary repairs.
Luke blinked, and found himself on two fighters that were doggedly pursuing Anakin’s fighter, which dipped and swerved the shots with what would have been maddening speed for a biological opponent. This was easy.
He gunned the fighter’s accelerator, sending it blazing forward as he pulled the trigger, a long burst of fire sending both foes up in flames. He blazed through the rapidly fading fireballs and swooped up and over Anakin’s fighter, glancing up at the cockpit and, for the briefest of moments, meeting somewhat startled eyes as he pulled out of the barrel roll ahead of the Aethersprite.
Was it remarkably showy? Oh, certainly. Completely unnecessary, too. But there was a certain satisfaction in showing Anakin Skywalker, however unknowingly it might be at the moment, that great pilots would run in the family.
Now, though, he drove towards the anti-fighter defenses, letting proton torpedoes, deftly aimed, fly out, sending gun stations and secondary shield generators up in so many superheated atoms. It was quick work with as many fighters and bombers as they had, all told. Now, though, came the more difficult part.
“Titan, break off and escort the troop transports!” Anakin said, turning and burning through the droid fighters that stood between them and the glittering dust that was the LAATs in the distance. “All other squadrons, follow suit once your objectives are completed.”
The squadron followed along with remarkable spacing and precision, the pilots managing to follow far closer and in tighter formation than Luke had expected. What the clones lacked in the sort of current experience and skill that he’d seen from some Rebel pilots, they made up for with a remarkable amount of competence and adaptability.
The droid fighters found themselves forced to turn again to face their initial attackers, the furball intensifying all over again as the troop transports blazed past. The droid’s numbers were thinning, though, especially as more and more fighter squads began to return from their newly opened hangars.
The transports, at last, began to land in the wide bays that had been opened for them. All told, Luke’s part in this battle was likely now largely over, as the last pockets of vulture droids began to be surrounded, swept up, and shot down.
“I hope they’re able to be quick,” he mentioned over the comms. “This thing’s probably broadcasting a distress call across the whole system.”
“You’re probably right,” Anakin replied, his starfighter turning away from the waiting Resolute and towards the station. “If you want to follow me, we can land and go help the infiltration teams.”
Luke didn’t even have to think it over, his own Z-95 turning away as well. “That sounds like a good idea to me.”
With that, they drove towards the battle that was surely commencing within the station with all due haste.