Star Wars: Rise of the Machines (To Chapter 10)

[haard]

My money is on Windu. The only reason he lost was because of Anakin.

Really? It was a while ago, but I thought Palpy feigned defeat to turn Anakin. My money is on Anakin interfering to save Windu.

[Darth Fanboy]

Really? It was a while ago, but I thought Palpy feigned defeat to turn Anakin. My money is on Anakin interfering to save Windu.

That debate still rages. We'll see who Anakin sides with depending on whether or not Palpatine still tries the "I can save PAdme" bit. But I think that's out the window at this point because he hasn't had the visions yet.

Maybe Anakin stands up and throws Palpatine down a shaft like in RoTJ but ends up getting killed. Then theres one left superpowered Jedi to prevent Greivous from running amok.

[NecronLord]

To work out what's truly going to happen, re-read the bit with Needa.

[CaptainChewbacca]

I showed this story to my brother, and he liked it, but he pointed out something that I couldn't answer;

What made Grievous notice? I've reread chapter 1 three times. What suddenly made him decide to run voice analyses? What made him suspicious?

[NecronLord]

What made Grievous notice? I've reread chapter 1 three times. What suddenly made him decide to run voice analyses? What made him suspicious?

This is the key bit.

Grievous wanted to frown as he stalked away, shutting the holo-recorder down, that didn’t seem likely unless they could pull off a strategic turnaround. Still, he supposed such a morale defeat could turn into that. Providing, of course, that Dooku was up to the task of defeating what jedi would eventually penetrate the Hand’s defences. Remaining here so long to trap yet more jedi seemed negligent.

If the count failed, the personal danger overcome would make Palpatine’s political position all the stronger.

They would probably make him King.

Greivous considers his orders:

1. Do not kill the Chancellor.
2. Remain in orbit longer than necessery in order to gloat, rather than taking Palpatine to a place of obscurity.
3. Allow the Jedi to engage Dooku.

Considering this, and the way Sidious has established in the past that he has power over the Senate ("I will make it legal") and Republic military strategy (procuring secret routes to Coruscant, sending the core fleets to engage in outer rim seiges) as well as the fact that they're delaying and possibly offering him the chance to look even more heroic by escaping them, he, after thinking 'they'd make him King' wonders if Palpatine and Sidious could actually be the same person, given that everything Sidious does seems to benefit Palpatine.

He'll be talking about this topic in greater detail to the seperatist council in one of the next chapters.

[Battlehymn Republic]

Does that mean he's less of a bloodthirsty monster now? If he's willing to let the Separatist Council live as long as they serve him, I mean.

I'm hoping that you have a lot in mind for the future of the CIS now that all of its actual political and ideological leaders are dead or uncovered for what they are.

[NecronLord]

Does that mean he's less of a bloodthirsty monster now?

In no small part, his unhinged monster personality was due to brain surgery (not that he wasn't ruthless before, but he wasn't a planet melting psychopath either). At the moment, he's only moderately bloodthirsty.

If he's willing to let the Separatist Council live as long as they serve him, I mean.

Much as he might want to kill them, *eyes San Hill, in Greivous' background story in Star Wars Visionaries* he'll conclude they're too useful to kill, for a time.

I'm hoping that you have a lot in mind for the future of the CIS now that all of its actual political and ideological leaders are dead or uncovered for what they are.

Oh yes. Very much so.

[Darth Fanboy]

I don't know if this helps with your story or not, but a "Pre-Cyborg" General Grievous action figure has been released, and it shows what his face looked like under the mask. If you're going more in depth with the character it might come in handy.

[NecronLord]

I don't know if this helps with your story or not, but a "Pre-Cyborg" General Grievous action figure has been released, and it shows what his face looked like under the mask. If you're going more in depth with the character it might come in handy.

Yeah. I've seen pictures of it. Haven't got/seen one yet though.

[Darth Fanboy]

Well they are on shelves in the States for sure, saw one tonight for six bucks.

[bazymew]

Nice fanfic. Want more!

[NecronLord]

Sorry about the delay. I was busy with University, but I've not forgotten this...

Chapter 6: Freedom and Imprinsoment

Padmé frowned as she watched the broadcast transmission. The images they’d had before were replaced now by a professional, prim, presenter. He was part of a regular pairing with a Duro presenter, who had far less ‘screen time’ (an archaic phrase) these days than she used to, thanks to his species’ resemblance to Neiomodians. The human presenter was talking about the battle in orbit, “At the moment, we’ve still not got a picture back, and not much has changed since before…” He seemed haggard and drawn, and so was Padmé, they’d shown some of what had happened before, until the ‘droids had been destroyed, and a terrifying audio record of what had happened afterwards.

She didn’t quite know when she’d started crying. Not just at what she’d heard happen, although it was the most terrible thing she could imagine, but at her powerlessness to affect it. She didn’t have a ship capable of running that gauntlet, and even if she had, she probably couldn’t help. She could only hope; she’d given very serious thought to calling the Jedi and asking what they were doing, but that would only, she knew, get in their way. Even though she could, until they’d thankfully cut the sound, hear her love screaming in agony, she could do nothing. She could only hope that the Jedi would do something.

But if you had to hope for something, under the circumstances, that was a good thing to hope for.

The image altered, to show the slick black haired figure of Armand Isard, head of, among other things, the Republic Cryptanalysis department. “Throughout the war, there has been a constant danger of Separatist propaganda and psychiatric warfare, and we are presently investigating the potential authenticity of these illegitimate transmissions. We can of course all hope that they are the same kind of lies that we have seen a thousand times before. Until further notice, due to the danger of viral economic warfare and other illegal activities, affected holonet repeaters are being put into lockdown. We thank you for your patience, citizens.”

The image flicked back to the news presenters – Coruscanti locals – who began to apologise for the lack of a signal now. Padmé wanted to – did – scream with the frustration. She could move again, rising to her feet, sweeping outward with her hand to toss the projector aside, it flew across the room, flicking off as it broke, and skittering under one of the sofas. Worse than the awful knowledge, even for a moment, was awful ignorance.


The tactical hologram of the immediate environs of the Invisible Hand showed a jedi vessel approaching quickly, and Grievous hummed silently to himself in his own mind. That wouldn’t do… He beckoned the translator droid over with a slight twitch of his hand, ‘Send this; “Jedi Transport, your quickest access is a person-standard docking hatch on the dorsal surface, twenty meters back from the bridge. Physical access code nine seven seven eight four.”’


Leaning over the clone pilot’s shoulder, Master Windu frowned, “Do it.”

He was the first through the hatch, of course, which, fortuitously, took him to land literally inches from the Chancellor. His purple blade ignited, flicking outwards and severing tendrils of lightning.

“I don’t think so,” he said, staring into the Chancellor’s eyes. Palpatine backed away, Anakin’s lightsaber shooting into his hand, flicking forwards to attack.

Behind Mace, the diminutive figure of Yoda dropped from the transport, followed by a quartet of taller jedi Masters. The serpentine crack of lightsabers igniting echoed from behind him.

“At an end your rule is, and not short enough it was…” Yoda said, with finality, “Chancellor.”

They attacked. There was none of the famed restraint of the Jedi. For twenty five thousand years, the Jedi Order had defended the Republic, freedom, truth, justice, and its other virtues. And they had not done that so successfully, ultimately destroying every enemy, by holding back.

Three of the Jedi Masters, Kit Fisto, Naret Say, and Saesee Tiin, hung back, keeping their blades in neutral guard positions, and providing, rather than direct attacks, telekinetic aide, pressing their enemy with walls of telekinetic force, to limit the Sith Lord’s movement.

The other three, Masters Yoda, Windu and Kcaj, attacked, and the Chancellor reeled backwards, stolen sabre flaring in tight, controlled arcs, as he sought a position where they couldn’t come at him from multiple directions. Unfortunately for him, the corridor was wide, and he found himself moving backwards as quickly as he could counter the force holding him forwards, parrying attacks from either side of him.

As they fought, Palpatine seemed to become something greater, something far more than just one man. The culmination of a line of Sith lords reaching back a thousand years, their plans and schemes and discoveries, fought the jedi. He seemed more menacing, almost a thing of darkness.


Mace Windu drove his amethyst lightsabre forwards, piercing the dark with a strong stabbing motion. The Sith Lord leaned back, just an inch, as Anakin’s lightsabre was immobilised by Yoda, his movement stopped at the last moment, and the blade punctured his shoulder, just above the collarbone. The body’s reaction outraced Sithian control, and he turned a fraction of a circle away from the pain. The mass-less blade sliced, and Palpatine’s arm fell limp at his side as his shoulder was burnt, the young jedi’s lightsabre clattered to the floor.


Lying nearby, Anakin moved his arm. He was sure he could feel bits of his skin flaking off, but he couldn’t really see if it floated to the floor as ash. His bones still, somehow, felt as if they were burning him from the inside outward. He could dimly hear, through a seemingly endless whining noise in his ears, Master Windu demanding the Chancellor’s surrender.

Behind him, he could hear the regimented lock step of droids approaching. He reached out with the force, and his weapon flew back to his hand. Were it living flesh, the pain of simply holding the metal would have likely been unbearable.

He opened his eyes, wanting to scream but unable to from the dry scraping feeling of it. Rising to his feet, he staggered towards the other jedi, the joints of his legs feeling as though each step squashed more of the bones into some gelatinous mass.

With the force, so clear and cool, as how he imagined water would feel in his current condition, he turned his lightsabre on. He threw it.


Grievous watched as the projected semi-three dimensional images resumed, as a platoon of super battle droids came into view of the combat, raising their arms and preparing to fire.

‘Hold fire’ he ordered, watching, as the figure standing beyond the others crumpled downward. It appeared that they had been surprisingly effective. ‘Relay last image publically, and begin the retreat… Oh. And send an order to Utapau to have the Council remain there. Detain them if necessary.’


Obi Wan groaned. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on, at the moment, he was struggling to move, with the staff impaling him, spear-like, and his only view being of the deck-plates of the Invisible Hand. Nonetheless, he could feel the malevolence of the sith lord nearby, and the waning power of Anakin, he’d crawled a little way; whenever he tried to draw on the force, nothing happened, he was completely overshadowed and outdone. Then, as he felt himself passing out familiar forces, the familiarity of other, older, jedi – Yoda, for one – appeared, somehow.

He drew his will ‘together’ there was no more appropriate word, and called upon the force, which came into him again, in strength he had never before felt or needed. His weapon flew back to him, and he rose, bleak uncertainty and unconsciousness receding. The battle was over before he could do more than bring himself towards the Sith Lord; a duel of such differing power that one foe overcame the other in a few moments, but what he hadn’t expected to see was Anakin; how he looked, how ferociously wrathful he had become, what he did.

He couldn’t quite believe what he saw Anakin do. He fell forwards again; the danger was passed, and the temptation to rest was stronger than his desire to stand.


The majority of the Confederate fleet was no longer fighting, but still trapped behind Coruscant’s vast overlapping shields, and surrounded by the now numerically superior enemy forces.

Fortunately, the cease-fire worked to their advantage; a large proportion of the mass-manufactured ships in Grievous’ original attack fleet had been Banking Clan Frigates, with massive and powerful forward guns linked to incredible capacitors capable of overloading shield sectors with a massed volley. Now, with enough of a ceasefire to recharge, and at a single signal from vice admiral Ardan Tonith, the Muun commander of that section of the force, they fired. It didn’t really matter what direction they fired in, for it was almost impossible not to hit the shield unless one deliberately fired downwards at Coruscant.

Miles long bolts of ravening red brilliance crackled and met imperishable walls of force for a mere few seconds. With an inconsistent crackle of lightning and sheets of brilliance, the shield envelope collapsed, sheets of hard radiation blasting out to cover the system, giving dangerous doses of energy to the thousands of V-wing fighter pilots even in their shielded cockpits, and the workers in the less securely protected of the great city planet’s orbital complexes.

With the flares of charged and primed engines leaving searing ion trails hundreds of miles long, the confederate fleet began to jump. This was less coordinated, as the ships needed to constantly, individually re-calculate and reorient to avoid collisions, but nonetheless, it was in its way, more impressive than their sudden and terrible arrival within the Coruscant system.

It wasn’t perfect; the star destroyer Indevitatus passed through the escape vector of the frigate Rebel Passion, and both were instantly annihilated in an explosion that sent debris scattering in a lethal cone at relativistic speeds. The Seperatist destroyer Independence XI jumped without her crew realising that its drive had been damaged, and although they would only experience a few minutes of travel, they would find themselves emerging back into the galaxy thirty two years later, to find it utterly changed. A dozen similarly damaged Confederate ships were never heard from again, doomed to drift, as far as anyone knew, for all time. More than a few of the ships simply exploded, or stalled, helpless.

Nonetheless, the thousands of ships for the most part made it safely to their first rendevous point, a hundred light years away.

“The General instructs the fleet to continue random jump pattern,” Sisfree said, his crimson hand tapping the back of a console manned by a pilot droid, “Until we reach Utapau, and will now retire…”

The cyborg general rose, turning and leaving the command deck of the centre-sphere core ship as the star-fields outside its ‘windows’ disappeared into the swirling, tumultuous riot of hyperspace.

He strode into the lifts, IG 102 and Sisfree accompanying him without comment, staring at the wall before him. He wasn’t quite sure what to do next. Soon, in a matter of hours, even with the tedious and circuitous route they intended to follow, that would take the ships to a hidden fuelling station in a globular cluster fifty thousand light years above the galactic plane, they would arrive at Utapau. And by then he’d have to think up the best possible way to deal with the Seperatist Council.


The Coruscant sky was overcast with smoke from the Seperatist attack. “We’re not going to last long here unless we can deal with the jedi,” a bald, firm jawed yet shifty looking man said, “And Amedda has absconded.”

“That might be a good thing,” another said, a tall, bare headed woman at the panoramic window, “We can dump most of the trouble that’s headed our way at his feet. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking one for the team, when he’s secure… wherever it is he’s gone.”

“Right, Sly. If nothing else, we could try and claim mind control,” the first conspirator said.

“I don’t think that would hold much water.”

“I’ll tell you what… What if we make it seem like we’ve no idea what happened… We could buy some time by having the Jedi arrested…”

“What? How?”

“We’ll call Isard and have him take them into custody while the judiciary starts an investigation into the murder of the chancellor. It’ll only do for a day or so, but if we get our forces moving first on our own investigation into his secret identity, and seem to be busy little drones, then they’ll have to deal with a jurisdiction question. They’re sticklers for doing things in the correct way, at times…

“In any case, Isard and his closest people are the only ones who’ve seen the end of the duel. Perhaps we can obscure events a little. The less of all this that gets out, the better, I feel.”


Greivous looked out of the windows of the trade stateroom as the vast battleship stopped suddenly in real space, once more, high beyond the galaxy, at the fuelling depot labelled FS-292. Two nine two was a vast ring ahead of them, with visible tanks of hypermatter fuel on the inside, looking for all the world like water bottles, from this distance. It was only as the ships began to approach, the Acquisator having first clearance for refuelling.

He could see his golden eyes reflected in the transparisteel, as the outer ring of the Acquisator began to move vertically in his vision. It took him a moment to realise that they must be swapping core ship with another vessel in order to get him to Utapau as quickly as possible. He held a hand up at the window, analysing its reflection against the darkness of interstellar space in the curved glass.

He could imagine crushing, say, San Hill’s, head, in it. Bone and wet tissues dripping from the polished bone-texture of the duranium claws. He could see it. He could even feel…

No, he realised, what he felt an almost alien feeling, was something else. His hand twitched. He looked at it as it did so again, clamps along the middle of the palm suddenly released and it went haywire, arms flying apart, as fingers squeezed shut against the metal palms, soundlessly grinding. A moment later, he crunched forwards, falling against the wall as he twitched spasmodically, clattering backwards to the carpeted ground.


“I’m afraid,” the guard said, “that no one will be allowed to see Jedi Skywalker or Kenobi for some time. They are both undergoing bacta treatment.”

“I’m certain,” Padmé said, “that they wouldn’t mind me,” she gave the red-visored chancellry guard a solid stare.

“That is as may be. But this area has been sealed.”

“Who do I need to talk to in order to get in?” she asked, firmly.

“That would be the Emergency Council…” the visored red guard at the doorway of the Chancellor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Centre said, “Ma’am.”

“Emergency Council? I’ve heard nothing of this…”

“Well, Senator, That’s what my orders said. Now if you don’t mind, authorised traffic may need the pad.”


“And so we must announce that we have asked for and been given special authority by the Judicial Department and the Chancellor’s office to limit all travel for senators, senatorial aides, and staff…” only about a fifth of the seats of the senate were filled, “while the investigation is ongoing…” Armand Isard smiled thinly at the hovering cameras, “Mas Ammeda has already escaped, possibly to some Seperatist system. We can’t risk the same happening to more suspects and witnesses. HSC and the Emergency Council thanks you for your time. While we are aware that posting shock troopers to your offices and persons may seem drastic, but there is an extremely serious risk of terrorism and desertion. We do not wish anyone who may be responsible for the acts of high treason we now believe to have occurred during the war to escape.”

“This is a travesty…” Bail Organa said under his breath, as he walked out from the central chamber. He’d heard enough.

“Citizen Organa!” a distorted voice said from behind him, “I have been assigned to your security detail.”

He turned to view the imposing red-painted guard behind him with a long, heavy, rifle. “That would be security as in the act of securing me for someone else, or securing my safety?”

The red-white head tilted to the side, “Securing you for the Republic sir.”

“Well said. If you don’t mind, I will try and secure the republic, while you secure me.”

“Just don’t leave the senate district Sir.”

“I have no intention of doing that you may be sure,” the senator said, walking along the corridor around the great assembly chamber. “Ah. Senator Mothma!” he said, looking at the white-clad woman a little way away, attempting to persuade her own looming guard to stand a little further away.

“Senator Organa…” she said, turning to face him, “can you think of any legal authority this might be happening under?”

“Oh. Many. Homeworld Security Command,” he tried not to roll his eyes; it wasn’t his homeworld, “has a legal power to assign guards as required, and issue travel notices. I just don’t think it was ever envisioned going quite this far…”

‘Translation,’ he thought, ‘don’t say that too loudly.’

“But how will we possibly get any business done like this?” she asked.

He could read that too, with the senate spread out so widely, many having fled Coruscant during the attack, or simply moved to other districts. The best translation, to his mind, ‘How will we reach Quorum and tell these traitors where to put their Emergency Council…’

That was definitely a problem.

“Well, Senator, much as I would like to talk more about recent developments,” he said, “I believe I have an appointment with Master Ti… Good day, Senator.”

In other words, ‘I’ll see what the jedi can do.’


“General…”

Grievous opened his eyes, which stung in the light, ‘Yes?’

“General… I hate to be the one to bear bad news,” the Muun doctor said, probably worried about his long neck, Grievous thought, “but it appears that your brain is re-asserting a linkage to the implanted systems. Unfortunately, most of the implants were not designed to be used in such a way, and those that aren’t overloaded completely are essentially suffering interference, as they’re damaged, and aren’t sure which nerve pathways are”

‘How will this affect me?’

“In the short term, we can keep the cells in question anaesthetised, but if we do that for more than a day or so, we risk doing some permanent damage, as many of these are in important areas to your autonomic functions, and chemical seepage could kill you… They’ll have to be removed, within the next day.”

‘Can I move?’ the general asked.

“Yes, General. But I wouldn’t try to be too active…”

‘I’d prefer being able to speak.’

“That I can do, Sir!” the Doctor said, stuttering a little, still clearly afraid, “We have space to carry extensive supplies…”

‘Hearing?’

“I’m afraid not, s-sir.”

‘Never mind. That’s not so obvious as problem.’


He opened his eyes, against the sticky, stinging pressure of the fluid filled tank, breathing the pure oxygen feed deeply, hungrily. Anakin Skywalker remembered who he was; and he felt curiously deadened… Perhaps it was for the best that he couldn’t feel much at the moment. Somehow, he knew it was likewise good that he couldn’t quite remember through a soporific haze, the immediate past.


“of the dark side, this place feels,” Yoda sighed, looking at the darkened metal walls of the surgery centre.

“The capitol is still under communications lockdown,” Mace said, watching another error message scroll across the screen. “I don’t think it’s merely precautionary…”

“Absconding, you suggest?” Yoda sighed.

“They’ve let us land here, and then posted guards and told us not to leave, even those who aren’t injured,” Saesee Tiin said, “I hardly trust them…” he wasn’t even sure who ‘they’ were at the moment.

“Nor do I,” Windu said, “One of us should investigate what’s going on here,” he nodded at Yoda, he felt it too, “and one of us should go to the temple. We’re not being watched directly, so if one of us were to remain, they should be able to cover for a time, and ensure that nothing happens to our wounded.”

Saesee and Kit Fisto were only slightly wounded, no more so than Yoda or Mace, but Kcaj, along with Skywalker and Kenobi, was more seriously wounded, and their presences could be felt nearby.”

“I’ll stay,” Fisto said, looking out of the small window of the waiting room.

“As will I. But I can distract the guards…”

“We’ll be seen on cameras as soon as someone bothers to go back through the logs,” Mace said, “but it might give us a while…”

Tiin nodded, stepping close to the door, his dark robes rustling on the floor, as he closed his eyes; there was a faint disturbance in the force from a subtle talent for telepathy that even Yoda couldn’t match.

“There… They see an officer and more guards, coming…” Tiin reached over and opened the door, the physicality adding to the illusion, the guards hadn’t actually locked them in; it would be pointless, and too obvious, anyway.

He nodded, and Yoda and Windu strolled out, past the trio of red robed guards keeping watch on the door, who simply nodded amiably at a point ahead of them, and into the circular corridor.


The dirty scrub of the surface of Utapau whipped by below the shuttle, surrounded by a flock of ‘droid vulture and tri fighters, and the ship angled down, towards a metal orb that clung to the side of the sinkhole of Pau city.

They landed, vulture ‘droids prattling their identification codes to the local interrogating ‘droid intelligences, and strutting on their legs, the three shuttles settling with clicks of landing legs and pneumatic hisses as ramps descended.

Eight magnaguards trotted down the ramps of two of them, heavy guns held at the ready, as they scanned the crowd for threats to their master’s security.

The council were there, as he’d requested, along with hundreds of battle ‘droids in rigid ranks.

How tempting it was, he thought, to simply with a wave of his hand, order those companies of ‘droids to open fire on the various plutocrats arrayed before him. But then, he thought, it was tempting to simply lie down and die, as he had wished to when he had first had what they’d had the nerve to call an accident, but the Kalee had always believed that those with power had responsibilities.

And with the demise of the Sith Lord, and the Republic’s government in disarray, he was without question the most powerful being in the known galaxy.

And he most certainly wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

Nute Gunray was coming toward him, but the general didn’t feel up to entertaining his obsequious complaints.

“Comrades!” he said, he’d never addressed them as such before, and he certainly didn’t think of most of them that way, “We have won the war. Not as we hoped to, nor as we expected.

“Nonetheless, the Republic will make peace,” he held up his hand to forestall dissent, “We will see to that, I have already ordered it made public that we wish to make a lasting peace. Even if the Republic’s government itself does not meet with us, it will soon find itself without any support.

“You have all struggled hard,” he wondered inwardly at how many of the ‘escapes’ some of the Council had managed from Republic custody were the doing of the Sith Lord, “some of you directly, others with your assets and intellects, to make this day possible. And now, barring the inevitable celebrations, we must consider what kind of state we wish to build with this new Independence,” he resisted the urge to snort derisively at the idea of letting them have any say in such a matter. He would need to keep them thinking that they were profiting, if he were to keep them united without their charismatic Dooku to lead them.

He would, if he lasted the night, have a new and far more traumatic change to contend with.

He would have to become a politician.

[bazymew]

Yay! New Chapter!

Now to read.

[Crazedwraith]

Nice and Anakin's being all vengeful and dark-sidey. History to flow as intended in that case? Though without any remaining Sith, a fallen Anakin would be quite different.

[NecronLord]

Oh he's messed up emotionally, no doubt about that. He won't of course, turn to the Sith, but the plain old dark side lurks around every corner...

[Crazedwraith]

Re-reading I noticed a slight error.

Behind Mace, the diminutive figure of Yoda dropped from the transport, followed by a quintet of taller jedi Masters. The serpentine crack of lightsabers igniting echoed from behind him.

Mace + Yoda + a quintet (5) would be a total of 7.A later description names only six Jedi.

[CaptainChewbacca]

I think that as long as Anakin has Padme with him and no Sidious to whisper into his ear, he'll continue to be a problematic, though generally good, Jedi.

And now there won't be the craw-sticking of the Council refusing to make him a master, because he won't be getting appointed by Palpetine. That was (to me) the biggest insult to Anakin that pushed him into Palpatine's camp.

[Themightytom]

Well Anakin HAS had the trauma of being cooked by Palpy's Eveelbeam, plus not only will the points palpatine made about the decay of the old republic eventually sink in, but add ot that the chaos of the clone wars is out in the open and it doesn't look like the Republic is headed in the right direction.
As the ultimate balidation, Anakin drew on the force and killed palpatine as well, so he will have learned killing is rghteousness.
Anakin could still very well decide the galaxy needs order and he should be the one to arrange it.
I can still see Anakin being sent down the dark path, all he has to do is find Exar kun or Byss or somewhere with a Sith holocron.

[Edward Yee]

The Seperatist destroyer Independence XI jumped without her crew realising that its drive had been damaged, and although they would only experience a few minutes of travel, they would find themselves emerging back into the galaxy thirty two years later, to find it utterly changed.

Is this a throwaway line, or...

[NecronLord]

Is this a throwaway line, or...

Yes and no. I don't plan to follow up on the Independance XI, but by 48 GR the galaxy will be radically different.

[Themightytom]

Is this a throwaway line, or...

Yes and no. I don't plan to follow up on the Independance XI, but by 48 GR the galaxy will be radically different.

so this won't be a cantina scene where every ship taht jumps away is an uber critical character to the overall plot and has a story to tell?

[FA Xerrik]

I loved the last line. Something about Grievous standing up to two Sith Lords, an entire Republic fleet in orbit around Coruscant, and a shuttle full of Jedi without breaking a sweat, and then dreading a change of profession, made me laugh. Am I right that your brief medical scene between Grievous and the Muun doctor hinted at the original Kaleesh personality restoring itself over the Confederate implants?

One suggestion: Try and make your scene transitions a little clearer. Adding an extra line between isn't readily apparent on the BBS posting, at least on my monitor, and it makes it confusing when the scenes jump quickly.

[NecronLord]

so this won't be a cantina scene where every ship taht jumps away is an uber critical character to the overall plot and has a story to tell?

Mostly, it's just a matter of them not getting away scott-free, even successful military manouvers tend to result in casualties.

I loved the last line. Something about Grievous standing up to two Sith Lords, an entire Republic fleet in orbit around Coruscant, and a shuttle full of Jedi without breaking a sweat, and then dreading a change of profession, made me laugh. Am I right that your brief medical scene between Grievous and the Muun doctor hinted at the original Kaleesh personality restoring itself over the Confederate implants?

Not as such, that's already happened, as an ongoing process. Rather, this is related to things looking quite bad, health-wise; with one extensive suite of implants half-gone, and another (soon) required to keep him alive, there's only so many alterations that the brain can take.

One suggestion: Try and make your scene transitions a little clearer. Adding an extra line between isn't readily apparent on the BBS posting, at least on my monitor, and it makes it confusing when the scenes jump quickly.

Will do.

[CaptainChewbacca]

If I could second Xerrik's advice about transitions, it was VERY confusing for me to read as well. Perhaps including a line with "***" to indicate when the viewpoint is changing or something like that.

[NecronLord]

Chapter 7: Iniquity

Jalen Antaris sat in the bar, a mere five levels deep, that was the brigade’s favourite. Today, it was packed solid, and he was lucky to have got a seat when he did. They thought that the Great War, the greatest war in a thousand years, was over. TO their mind, they’d won, Trantor was not overrun by the ‘droids. On a grand scale, the ‘droids were still there.

It hadn’t taken long, hours, even, for people to get over their surprise, their horror, at the revelation that the Chancellor had been behind the entire war. Jalen could hear another off-duty soldier, down the bar, proclaiming loudly, “Never Trusted that Palpatine, no-sir! Always thought there was something shifty about that man, always nice, not like other politicians…”

Jalen would have sworn that he’d heard the same man leading a rousing cheer yesterday when Palpatine had announced the deployment of another four thousand clone legions to the outer rim sieges. And most of Coruscant’s own defences, of course, they knew now.

It wasn’t that surprising, he decided, no one wanted to feel foolish for long…

--□--

The General looked out from the great windows of the modified core ship Unlimited Projection’s chief guest suite, one of many expanded staterooms this cut-down core-ship contained. It lacked any serious reactors; these would have made landing it on Utapau for such a long period of time impractical.

Now, it was returning to space, great doors folding inwards, its legs lifting and tucking themselves away in the lightly armoured hull. This was a slow ship anyway, for it was not equipped with heavy engines, and even if it had been, it would have been constrained in the speed it could lift off; a backwash could totally destroy Pau city, which would seem counterproductive, after Grievous had informed the city’s leaders that he was leaving.

He should probably have said so directly to their faces, but he couldn’t really face more personal drama, no matter how justified it might have been. As such, he’d simply sent it as a text message, and then ordered the factories to withdraw and leave; they would be gone within a day.

“General,” Sisfree said, “If we may turn to more important matters…”

That ‘droid was, now that it was no longer so desperately required, able to speak on its own initiative. It was irritating, and he could finally see why protocol droids were usually obsequious.

“The Commerce Guild operations department is protesting its orders to cease the campaign in the falling rose cluster…”

“Are their ‘droids obeying us?”

“Yes General.”

“Then tell them that if they don’t like it, they’re welcome to take up arms and try it directly.”

“That is part of the problem general, the seventh campaign armada is largely composed of several major volunteer corps,” the droid said, the narrow horizontal slit that made his eyes look so helmet like tilting to one side.

“Fine. Tell them that they’re to immediately deploy and reinforce our besieged assets in the Rishi Maze.”

“As you command, General.”

Another person in the room coughed slightly, doing so with as much grace as she could, which was to say rather a lot. Although she had no better legal status, she was not a ‘droid, unlike the vast majority of persons on board the Unlimited Projection, but rather had been a gift given to Grievous in an effort to encourage him to spare certain business assets, by a major Hutt gangster by the name of Garun. Given what the slaves of hutts were generally forced into, he had the suspicion that Garun had been operating with no idea of either his species, or his damaged state. Nonetheless, he’d found the slave girl worth keeping around because at least she distracted some of the endless stream of officials and underlings who clung to the Confederate leadership like parasites; neither he nor Dooku had ever really permitted such hangers-on much leeway, but occasionally, having to deal with them was unavoidable. Thus he tended to maintain a small staff of aides, generally of ‘droids, to keep trivialities away. He supposed that if he were to continue this way there would be a limit to how long he could do such things. Perhaps he would die soon and be spared such an indignity.

“Master,” she said and he decided that he didn’t think much of the way she said it, he considered, before, the implied fear of it had been pleasing, but he didn’t find it so now, “That was San Hill again.”

“Remarkably concerned about my health, I would expect,” Grievous said, turning to regard the red-skinned twi'lek, she was he had been told, the most expensive variety, which was, he thought, why he’d not had Garun killed for the ignorant insult at the time.

“Yes master,” she said, demurely.

“Tell him that I have already made arrangements…” At last, the atmosphere beyond the view-port began to give way to the blackness of space, “Inform him that we are under silent running, and if he continues to ask for access to the communications array, have the magnaguards thrash him.”

“Master?” she asked.

“Oh, and,” he had to think for a moment to recall her name, “Karii’saa,” it wasn’t quite the formal name, he thought, but would do, “stop calling me that. Lord or General would be more appropriate…”

She seemed to be torn by indecision, and then bowed lithely, “As you wish, my lord.”

He returned his gaze toward the window, and their escorting craft, as they altered course, heading towards a battleship hull.

Silent running indeed; he needed to see to it that, should he perish soon, that the cabal of plutocrats under him would not be left to their own devices. He knew of only one place he could recruit people he would truly trust with such a task.

-□□-

Yoda frowned, standing before one of twenty doors in a circular inner companionway behind the observation and recuperation rooms of the tower. Most of these seemed to be closets for supplies, but this one, he felt, was different. It was of course, securely locked, but this was no barrier to him. He raised a hand, pushing its tree-climbing claws forwards, and the force pushed with him.

The doorframe broke, falling forwards. Yoda smiled grimly, and stepped onto the rubble, looking into the large interior space beyond, labelled on the maps as auxiliary fluids storage.

What waited beyond was quite different; there was a large chamber with a pentagonal walkway apparatus suspended over a deep abyss. His hand drifted to the hilt of his lightsabre, detaching it from his belt cautiously. As an afterthought, he waved a hand, causing the faceless helmets of the two guards reacting to his arrival to snap backward, bouncing from the walls behind them, and sending both men into a heap of force pikes and robes.

The dark side reeked in this place, every surface seemed to be utterly steeped in it. Yoda stepped out onto the area around the abyssal centre of the room, looking up at the causeways above, and the hanging leads for monitoring the sundry items that sat there, ranging from a large throne to ominous feeling crystal suspended by large clamps.

He leapt upwards, blade at the ready, but no further danger presented itself, and he relaxed a little, as much as he could allow himself to. He put his weapon away, he would not need it.

There were locks, and traps, but he could feel them in the force before they became problems. He recognised much of the equipment in this place, so much of the jedi’s known sith artefacts collection had disappeared in recent years, holocrons, lightsabres, journals and weapons, as raids and battles had occurred near to old vaults and storage centres early in the war, and even before, after master Jinn had first confronted a Sith Lord.

Some items, Yoda himself had retrieved.

The place was ingenious; the press had observed that Palpatine went here from time to time, and it was simply presumed that he was either receiving treatment for some health problems, or some form of cosmetic surgery. Even if they had found out about this place, the Jedi would have had to take a low-key approach in attacking it; patients made good hostages. Instead, it was built in a place where the dark side was strong, the kind of place where a Sith Lord could practice the strange rituals that were his trade without being obvious to the Jedi.

Here was the knowledge and power to take over the galaxy.

Yoda felt the call of the Dark Side, he knew it, he had fought it, he had felt it, and on occasions, long ago but never forgotten, he had even been tempted. He had never expected to feel the temptation again, but yet, here, he did. The knowledge of domination and charisma here, and the chaotic situation outside combined to make him wish for a moment that he could simply deal with the conspiracy that had shaped this place, and the rotten complacency that had allowed it to thrive.

A moment only, though.

He thrust such thoughts from his mind, and considered; why would the remaining civilian leadership have insisted that the Jedi be confined here, in such a trove of incriminating evidence?

There could be only one reason.

He frowned, closing his eyes, and feeling outward, to the future. The shroud of the dark side, even though this was a place of evil, was not what it had been. His powers of foresight had been hamstrung by the horrors of the war, and the Sith Lord who orchestrated it, but now, the former was abating and the latter dead.

His eyes shot open and he reached into his robes, pulling a communicator from them, “Master Fisto…” he said, and then sighed; of course, technology could never truly be relied upon, such was the way of the world. It should have occurred to him that this place would be insulated heavily from communications. He leapt down, running for the door again. There was little time…

-□□□-

General Grievous watched with interest as he wrote, his mechanical hand doing so with exact precision, even though his control of his functions was so severely reduced. It had taken them an annoyingly long time to find some paper; a weakness, he thought. Information recorded on paper was rather hard for slicers to get their hands on.

“‘Droid,” he said, turning his head to regard Sisfree for an instant, as he wrote from right to left, “You can read Kalee, I assume.”

“I have this capability, General,” Sisfree said.

“Delete it,” he said, turning back to his writing, there was much to be done, and if things went wrong – or right, he was undecided – then he would not have long to do them.

□□□□

Master Fisto frowned; there was an irritating vibration which, after a moment, he recognised as from his commlink; he pulled it out immediately, activating it.

“Master Fisto. Landing pad four,” it was Yoda, and he sounded near to panic, or at least, desperation, the younger jedi started moving immediately, still listening, he didn’t catch the next bit, but the word he did get was “bombed…”

The guard outside the door moved to stop Fisto, and his hand disappeared in a flash of green as the jedi settled the matter with his lightsabre, running, now. Saesee Tiin followed him, pelting down the short corridor beyond.

They split, unsure of which way to go, and Fisto came to a window overlooking two of the landing pads, taking his weapon, and slicing into the hardened transparisteel before him.

It flared and melted, losing its transparency in places as the heat changed it, and the jedi pushed it aside, dropping down a dozen meters to the catwalk below. A guard lunged at him, and he ducked, punching, grasping, and throwing, his blade locked out wide as he pushed one of the red guards backwards from the railings, sending him toppling over the recessed radiator panels below. It was raining, the cold water would have been refreshing, even in the high winds, as he ran, but for the urgency…

Which way?

He could see nothing on either landing pad, but he trusted implicitly that there was something amiss.

The first Jedi lesson he remembered came back to him. Trust your instincts, trust the force.

He looked over, past the guard, clinging on for life near him, to one of the pads. Best to make a decision, in any case. He vaulted the rails and ran down the slick surface, not keeping his footing – he was unbalanced, but at the moment he would have fallen, leapt, calling on the force to aid him.

The two guards by the doorway from the catwalk he crashed into were unlimbering heavy weapons; they probably had no idea why he was doing this, to them, it was an escape attempt, but regardless, he couldn’t let them succeed in shooting him. His lightsabre, hissing in the rain, deflected a steady steam of blue lightning bolts, fired on single shot, at careful angles to prevent them being deflected back easily. They must have been trained for this, he thought, reaching into the force again to throw them backward, and turning.

He still couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t guess where a bomb might be. It could well be too small to see, or hidden inside, for all he knew. There was no way to find it. But for a Jedi there was always something that could be done about a situation, even, at times, waiting.

Then it occurred to him; a landing platform had to be quite tough, especially one at a hospital, in case a heavily laden ship landed on it and lost power. They were even designed to resist damage from accidental impacts. Chances were that an explosive intended to kill the Jedi, he guessed, wouldn’t be more powerful than a heavy thermal detonator; enough to blast the top of the tower off, but not enough to flatten the region around it.

He leaned forward, crouching, plunging his blade into the catwalk. The metal turned orange, then red, hissing and melting, and the Jedi wondered if he’d accidentally electrocute himself doing this, as he began to pull the blade across the catwalk.

His body cried out to move, as the heat washed over him, the thermoregulative processes of the Nautolan body were quite limited in that respect, and he was used to it. The mounting sense of anxiety he felt with each passing second didn’t help, either. Something popped, hissing what was probably evaporated fuel (thankfully, it wasn’t something that combusted) over him, as he continued to cut his way across the wide catwalk floor as fast as possible.

Rain beat down on the molten edges, flashing into steam and billowing up in his face, as he pushed, forcing the energy blade through the liquefied metal.

At last his blade came loose at the other side, and the platform moved a little in the wind. He dropped his lightsabre beside him, and pushed, plunging his entire will behind him, reaching forwards with both hands from instinct.

The platform slid away like a boat buoyed up by water, its emergency repulsors keeping it aloft, for now, over the city. The Jedi continued to put his will into the force shoving the platform away, feet became meters, and seconds passed with aching slowness as he hoped, gritting his teeth, that it would be far enough away when it detonated.

It did so just far enough, the hovering, damaged, platform disappearing in a flash of light that seared his large, absorptive eyes. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

The platform was totally vaporised, nothing falling onto the hospital wings below the main tower, but if the tower’s windows had been glass, instead of steel, they would have been shattered. The Jedi fell backwards with a sigh as more guards ran out onto the platform, pausing for a moment in confusion.

■□□□

The thriving green orb of Kalee dominated the view-port from the Unlimited Projection’s flag bridge as the General, heralded by a trio of Magnaguards carrying heavy ‘Bulldog’ rocket launching rifles, entered.

He hadn’t realised how much the sight would affect him. He had family there, he realised. Wives, though not his first love, children, even. He wondered what they thought of him now, how they would react if he were to see them.

He feared that, even more than he had feared the idea a few days ago.

He would avoid them, of course. He told himself that there was no time, and there wasn’t, really. But he didn’t think he could very well stand to return even if he lived out the night.

Still, he did have business here, business he could only trust to be done here. He gave a nod to two of the ‘droid guards, and they stepped into place around the main holoprojector, and the Neimodian admiral in command. Their orders were to kill him using their brutal rocket rifles should there be any evidence of disobedience to the General’s orders, and the officer’s expression, to Sisfree, skilled in reading the many degrees of Neimodian worry, showed that he knew as much.

“Admiral,” Grievous said, “prepare my shuttle, I’m going to the Shrupak temple complex. See to it,” he said, turning, followed by another of the heavy gun armed magna guards, IG 102, Sisfree and Karii’saa as he left the command deck.

□■□□

Yoda sighed. Regardless of the fact that they owed their lives to the Jedi, the guards assigned to them were being irritatingly literal, having insisted, at gunpoint, that all three return to their assigned room, where they’d laid land mines, and ray shield generators to keep them confined, and deployed a dozen seeker drones between the door and the shield generators.

They’d had one piece of luck, though. The guards had not yet noticed, thanks to Master Tiin’s foresight, that Master Windu was missing. Very thorough, they had been, but not thorough enough to deal with the same telepathic techniques as before.

■■□□


The shuttle soared from the torus shape of the battleship, the same type as the one he’d ridden from Coruscant, its chief passenger realised, and he considered what he would do when they set down.

The atmosphere flickered around the leading edges of the shuttle’s triangular wings, and he watched eagerly, despite himself, on the small screens, as they came down across shining sea and rocks with a green sheen, heading toward a large ziggurat shaped temple, that also served as a landing pad for special missions. He’d left from that, on the last day he had been physically whole.

He directed the pilot ‘droid to land on the beach before the buildings, rather than on the temple, and glanced at the guard ‘droids, considering how they would look to his own kind, dressed much as his own elite commanders had been.

He would see, soon.