No Prisoners

by Karen Traviss

  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.”

  “Recorded or real-time?”

  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.

  This is it.

  Yularen’s nod was swift and grim. “Very good, Lieutenant. Master Kenobi?”

  “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.

  She’d learned that lesson from Clone Captain Rex.

  “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.

  Soon we’ll be fighting. And if I make a mistake I’ll get Anakin killed.

  “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.”

  He always knew. “Sorry, Master.”

  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.

  “Patch it through, Lieutenant.”

  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.

  Master Yoda.

  “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.”

  Master Yoda’s image winked out.

  “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—”

  “One ship?” Anakin shook his head. “Obi-Wan—”

  “It’s better than nothing, Anakin.”

  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 beat him with three cruisers last time,” said Anakin, deceptively mild.

  “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—”

  “Anakin,” said Master Kenobi quietly.

  “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.

  “So,” her Master added. “I guess now we head for Kothlis.”

  “Without further delay,” said Master Kenobi. “Admiral?”

  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.”

  Stay behind? While he threw himself heedless into danger? “But—”

  Anakin’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t argue.”

  Not fair, not fair, she raged in silence.

  “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 unsympathetic smile. “I’ve yet to meet a Jedi who couldn’t outsense 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.

  “Sorry,” he said. “You’re right. I should know better.”

  “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.”

  “You?” Anakin’s eyebrows shot up. “I find that hard to believe.”

  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.”

  Rex’s perfect teeth bared in a feral smile. “Ah. Then it’s game on.”

  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 th
at monster Grievous and save the helpless people of Kothlis from Separatist enslavement—or worse.

  Ahsoka Tano, you know better.

  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.

  Checkers felt her gaze on him and looked up. “Ma’am?”

  She blinked. “Oh, I’m not a ma’am.”

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

  “You can call me Ahsoka,” she said, charmed. “Everyone else does.”

  “Ahsoka it is, then,” he replied. “Togruta, aren’t you?”

  “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.”