The Clone Wars: No Prisoners

by Karen Traviss

  “He’s not married.”

  Joc should be in Intel. The kid has a natural talent.

  “But maybe his lady friends are,” said Rex.

  Ahsoka chimed in. “Attachment leads to the dark side. Because it leads to fear, jealousy, and anger.”

  “Yeah, but that’s just for Jedi,” Coric said, seeming to give up on his carefully prepped talk on electronic warfare. “Not everyone else.”

  Nobody asked the obvious—whether clone troopers were everyone else or not. Joc looked from Ahsoka to Rex and back again. “What’s wrong with attachment?” he asked. “Why can’t you have attachments? You mean love, right?”

  Ahsoka looked at the clones wide-eyed but in slight defocus, as if she was trying to recall something.

  “Love is acceptable,” she said at last. “But not attachment.”

  “What’s love if it isn’t attachment?”

  “Attachment is… putting personal relationships first, caring about the people you love so that it influences how you act.” Ahsoka seemed to be picking her words carefully. Coric stared back at her. “You know, it affects your judgment.”

  “But ol’ Pellaeon’s just having a spot of romance, if you know what I mean. It’s not like he gets attached to any of them, is it? Is romance allowed? Can you have a spot of romance if you don’t get attached?”

  Ahsoka’s stripes became more vividly colored, embarrassed. Yes, she obviously did know what Coric meant by romance. It wasn’t the word he usually used for it, but Ahsoka was only a kid, and Rex had decided from the start that talking about that sort of thing was something best left to her Jedi Masters. Yes, General Skywalker, I think that’s a job for you, sir. It wasn’t a clone’s duty at all.

  “Romance,” Ahsoka said stiffly, “is acceptable. Jedi are not… celibate. Just… no attachment.”

  Ince adopted a wonderful frown of apparent bewilderment. “That’s a bit cold, ma’am. Love ’em and leave ’em?”

  Not that he knows what that means, poor lad, but…

  “What about all the negative things Jedi might feel without attachment?” Boro asked. They were all piling in now. “You know… bitterness. Resentment. Jealousy. Loneliness. Anger.”

  “Yeah,” Ross said. “It’s not normal. Can’t be healthy.”

  Ahsoka was under siege. Rex debated whether to stop the baiting or see where it was going. These were kids, all of them. If Ahsoka wanted to command—and she did, it was clear—then she had to learn that young officers got a rough ride. His young clones, regardless of the constant training that told them Jedi were invincible and omniscient, saw her as a novice like them, projecting no real authority.

  I don’t remember being like that. I’m maybe a year older than them, if that.

  And it’s only months since Geonosis, not even a year. It feels like a lifetime ago.

  Ahsoka let go of her fierce defensive grip around her legs and sat up straight, boots on the floor.

  “I don’t make the rules,” she said at last. Her voice was very different; there was a faint, rasping undertone, like the echo of a sand panther’s growl, and Rex was reminded yet again that the Togrutas’ primal ancestors were predators. “But I accept that wiser beings made them, and so I’ll follow them.”

  “We follow orders, too,” Hil said. “We understand. Except we can usually see what goes wrong when we don’t.”

  “Yeah, you get hurt,” Ross said. “Or worse.”

  “I have to deal in the unseen,” Ahsoka said quietly.

  Coric looked as if he was going to say something, and then thought better of it. He went back to his datapad. Rex decided the maneuvering was over and that Ahsoka had at least maintained her dignity.

  “Okay, I want you all to be ready for enemy contact,” he said. “And this is not a drill.”

  It was a cue for Ahsoka to leave if she wanted to. He knew her well enough by now to spot the ebb and flow of her moods, and he was guessing that she probably felt outnumbered; she would want to find a quiet spot to meditate.

  “Shall I check out the ops room, Rex?” she asked.

  “Yes, good idea.” When he first met her, she’d tried to pull rank on him as a Jedi. Now she’d matured enough to understand that she got a lot more respect by using a little restraint. “Lieutenant Meriones probably needs cheering up. I think he’s the wardroom outcast. I’m not good at that kind of thing, but you are…”

  Ahsoka gave him a sad smile that said she knew perfectly well what he was doing and why. It was a good understanding to reach. After she was well out of earshot—Togruta Jedi earshot, which was a lot farther than a regular being’s range—Rex folded his arms and leaned on the narrow table that was bolted to the deck between the bunks.

  “Okay, why are you on her case?” he asked. “Ince? Vere?”

  Vere hadn’t said much at all since he’d arrived at the 501st barracks. “Just making her feel part of the team, sir. She likes joining in.”

  “And she’s a bit of a know-it-all, sir,” said Ince. “Even if she is an officer. Even if she’s a Jedi.”

  “I think she knows that. Go easy on her. We’ve no way of knowing just how touchy some Jedi are about their regulations.” Rex realized he’d inherited a tight-knit group of new troopers who were now settling in even better than he’d expected. He needn’t have worried about them. “She means well. Jedi were never trained to lead troops.”

  “Well, at least she understands orders,” Joc said. “Even if she’s lonely.”

  Yes, she did. Rex thought back to the look on Skywalker’s face whenever he saw Senator Amidala on the HNE newscasts or heard her name mentioned. Now, there was a man dealing with attachment. Nothing overt, just the small giveaways that another man noticed if he spent enough time with his boss: the way Skywalker didn’t look away from the Senator quite soon enough, the way he always seemed to snap to attention when he heard her name.

  Must be hard for him to know he can never do a thing about it.

  Rex put the thought out of his head. Gossip was for the ranks, and dwelling on life’s restrictions didn’t do much for anyone’s morale.

  “Come on,” he said, standing up. “Get down to the hangar deck. I want fifteen circuits of the deck, in full fighting order, record time, and then we’ll familiarize ourselves with all the planets in the Fath system. We’ll be in range soon. Get to it.”

  Busy. That was the way to deal with everything. Stay busy. And clones were never short of tasks to complete.

  Athar, Janfathal

  One Hour after the Start of the Workers’ Uprising

  Hallena har one choice, and she took it.

  Someone had shoved an obsolete blaster rifle in her hands and pushed her along with the growing mob that now crowded the streets around the center of Athar. There was an undercurrent of steady noise, the hum of thousands of voices—not yelling or screaming, just talking.

  All the street lighting was out, and the homes and shops and factories were in darkness. A red glow marked the heart of the city.

  “Burn, you scum.” Varti sounded almost conversational. He was looking toward the fire, a beatific smile on his face. “It’s been a long time coming. Right, brothers and sisters?”

  A cheer went up again. “Right! Yeah, it’s payback time!”

  Mob—no, mob was the wrong word. There was a solid sense of purpose. It was, for an armed crowd with no apparent plan, quite orderly. Nobody was looting. Nobody was setting fire to anything—except in the city center. A collective decision had been made, like a flock of migrating birds deciding that snow was coming and it was time to move.

  If anything, it felt like a busy shopping mall in Coruscant on Republic Day, when the half-price bargains went on sale; crowded, a little harassed, but generally good-natured.

  Yes, but these people are armed. Not with credit chips—with rifles.

  And my job’s to see that the Regent stays in power long enough to aid the Republic.

  Hallena was alone, and there was nothing she could d
o now to stop a revolt. She’d failed.

  Hey, come on. I didn’t fail. Intel didn’t come through for us. And my job is to reassess, to regroup, to look for another plan.

  The only thing that could stop the riots was screaming along an elevated section of highway above the advancing mob, now thousands strong. It was a string of government armored vehicles; searchlights swung wildly from side to side. The convoy was heading for the bridge that led down into the factory quarter.

  “Barricades!” a voice yelled.

  A column of fire rose into the air about a hundred meters away, not far from the munitions factory Hallena had spent the day cleaning. A deafening cheer went up. Something was burning. She could guess what it was—a prearranged signal to set fire to barricades around the city—but she didn’t know. The sense of helplessness was overwhelming.

  She caught Varti’s arm. A little way ahead, she could see Merish and Shil walking steadily, a little space around them as if they were spearheading an advance even in the middle of this apparently leaderless mass. Mainly men, most in working coveralls, but some in relatively tidy suits, others in waterproof boots that suggested they’d come from a ship or a dockside factory.

  “You going to tell me what’s going on, Brother Varti?” Hallena asked. “I’m along for the ride, but I’ve been away for a bit. Someone draw me a picture.”

  “We’re overthrowing the Regent. We’re burning down Government House. And we’re setting up a citizens’ parliament.”

  Hallena’s brain was trying to process a dozen questions at once. Where were the Athari intelligence agents she’d made contact with yesterday? If the Regent was out of office, dangling from a rope somewhere in the glowing red heart of the city, should she now be trying to get the new regime on the Republic’s side? Did the Separatist connection matter anymore?

  “How many times have we tried that before?” She tried to remember her background briefing on JanFathal. Past revolts had been brutally put down. “And it never worked.”

  “This time,” Varti said, “things are going to be different.” He was walking beside her at a steady pace, turning occasionally to glance at her. “I really should remember you. I’m sorry. It’s troubling me.”

  “Not important now,” she said. The comlink in her pocket shuddered silently. Either her Athari contact was trying to raise her, or Republic Intel was calling. Neither were calls she could safely take. “What do you need me to do? Right now, I mean.”

  “Get ready to fight,” he said. “You look like you know how to use that rifle. Where did you learn that?”

  Of course; this wasn’t Coruscant, and in a dictatorship like this, there’d be were much tighter controls on who owned firearms. No tyrant worth his salt wanted an angry armed mob lurking out there—although that seemed to be exactly what the Regent was facing now.

  She was firearms-trained, a qualified sharpshooter, able to handle most of the commonly used weapons available around the galaxy. Spook core skills: something—the one thing—she did almost without thinking.

  Varti had spotted it.

  “I like to be prepared,” Hallena said cryptically. Who was to say she hadn’t picked up bad habits in the jail she’d never been in, from bad guys she’d never met? Varti couldn’t know. “And I’m a fast learner.”

  But she could feel the comlink shuddering in her pocket, its chime silenced. There were very few people who could reach her that way, and none of them were social. It can’t be Gil. He never uses Intel links. It had to be her Athari intelligence contact or her controller. Either way, they weren’t calling to see how she was.

  Stang…

  She had to check the message. She reached into her pocket casually and took out the comlink. The more furtive she looked, the more likely Varti was to ask questions. When she glanced down at the miniature screen, the comm ID was clear: Coruscant, her emergency controller, the being—she had no idea of their gender or species at any given time—who gave her instructions.

  SEP SHIPS INBOUND TO YOUR LOCATION. STAND BY. IF UNABLE TO TALK, KEY 555.

  Stand by? Okay. Fine.

  She hit 555, trying to look as if she were stabbing in frustration at a nonoperational control panel. Were Republic warships inbound, too? Was there going to be some battle for control of JanFathal? She couldn’t ask. She didn’t dare comm back over voice links. She was—as spies often were—completely on her own and without backup.

  And the most immediate problem was staying alive because she could hear the armored convoy heading down the ramp, on an intercept course with the path of the mob.

  “Too late to comm home,” Varti said, slipping his rifle off its sling. “We just blew the transmitter.”

  A woman to the far side of Varti tried her comlink. “Yes, the network’s down.”

  But not mine, brother…

  “Right on time,” Varti said.

  “Nobody home anyway,” Hallena said, keeping in character. “No home to be in.”

  Beams of white light stabbed at the night sky as the vehicles turned right and trained their searchlights on the road. She forgot the fires raging beyond. All that mattered now was not dying when the security forces opened fire on the crowd.

  They would. She had no illusions.

  Stang, I would if I were them.

  No good guys and bad guys now, just folks trying to stay alive—confused, scared, reduced to instincts and reflexes.

  She checked the charge on her rifle and knew she’d do what her own instincts told her; either those packed in front of her would be mown down, in which case she had a shield, or the crowd was in fact an army that had a plan.

  In a few seconds, she’d know.

  Yes, she was scared. Her gut knotted. She found herself worrying in that flash-frame, end-of-life way about whether Gil would ever find out what happened to her, who would take the Khomri tapestry on her apartment wall, and if she would be buried or left to rot.

  Everyone should face this, just once, just to know what matters.

  A volley of cannon fire ripped in a sheet above their heads. The crowd ahead of her parted like grain, everyone diving for the cover of buildings on either side of the road, and then they returned fire.

  Hallena—still standing there, idiot, idiot, idiot—could see bodies flat on the pavement, picked out by the flaring light of weapons fire. The rectangular outlines of riot scoops on the front of the security vehicles rushed at her. The darkness and relative quiet of seconds before had erupted into white-hot light and the deafening bdapp-bdapp-bdapp of blasterfire, and the air tasted instantly of discharged blaster and scorched hair.

  And here she was, standing in the middle of the road, wondering why everything was taking so long.

  When the searchlight blinded her, she simply fired down its beam and rolled to one side. Or maybe she fell. She didn’t know. She just felt her elbow crack on the pavement, and the pain seared through her body right to the roots of her teeth.

  Someone grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away. Whatever happened, the arrival of a Separatist fleet was the very last of her problems.

  Chapter Four

  The military has to do this nobody-gets-left-behind thing because it’s part of holding a team together. But us, sweetheart—we work alone. And one day, maybe we’ll need to leave you behind. Be sure you can handle that. There’s a special capsule for you, because when we say no prisoners, we mean it.

  —Republic intelligence recruiter, name withheld for security reasons, explaining the realities of an agent’s life to Hallena Devis, job candidate

  Senator Amidala’s Apartment,

  Coruscant

  Anakin woke to the insistent chirping of his comlink and reached for it without opening his eyes. Padmé didn’t stir.

  “Skywalker,” he said sleepily.

  “Sir, I need to brief you for your situational awareness.”

  “Oh, Rex…”

  “Bad time, sir?”

  “No. Go ahead.”

  “Leveler’s d
iverted to the Fath system. There’s Sep activity around there, and we’re the only vessel close enough to keep tabs on it. I’ll keep you updated.”

  Rex was loyal; not just the professional, soldierly kind of loyal, but personally loyal. He knew what might happen if his general was caught being out of the loop—a loop he really should have been in. Anakin just hoped Rex didn’t know why.

  Do I, though? I think Rex would understand. Of the few beings I feel I owe an explanation about all this subterfuge, he’s one of them.

  “Good thinking, Rex.”

  “Captain Pellaeon’s warned Fleet, so you may well be asked questions about it.”

  “I’ll add diplomacy to your list of skills, Rex.”

  “And you should be aware that the work-up has shaken out a few faults and that your Padawan is settling in with the new trooper intake.”

  Anakin could have left it in Rex’s hands, but the Force nagged at him. Something would go wrong. He knew it. And here he was, taking an illicit break, when his troops were facing potential action. It didn’t matter that the rest of Torrent Company were in barracks. There were seven men on their own out there. And he was sitting on his backside.

  “Rex, I’ll rendezvous with Leveler. Keep sending me position and intended movement, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “No need, sir.”

  “Yes, there is. Skywalker out.”

  Anakin was fully awake now. He went to the refresher, ran the water cold, and felt certain he was being tested by the Force for his dishonesty. Lying about his marriage was wrong on many levels; but leaving your men to fend for themselves—that was the worst. He’d sworn he’d never leave anyone to their fate again. He’d already left Rex behind once at Teth, and it was down to the man’s own courage that he came out of that alive.

  Nearly the whole kriffing company killed. And I told Rex I’d come back for him.

  And then there was his mother.