by James Luceno
“The emergency repulsorlifts,” Kit said.
Once more the train lurched, but this time the cars began to level out as antigrav repulsors levitated those that had dropped into the notch.
By then, too, the pair of repulsorlift platforms had cozied up to the train’s left side, and scores of emergency craft were rushing in from all sides. Mace could feel an increasing sense of desperation sweep through the cars as passengers grew frantic to exit. He knew that it was only going to get worse, since none of them would be allowed to leave until Palpatine had been moved to safety.
He and Kit did their best to make that happen as quickly as possible. Within moments, they had ushered everyone who had been in the lead car onto one of the platforms. Pressed in among his Red Guards, Palpatine couldn’t even be seen. Disengaging from the mag-lev, the platform was moving away from the train before a single passenger—even any of Palpatine’s advisers—could scramble out onto its twin.
The air was filled with escort craft and gunships, two of which put down on the platform as it was closing on the canyon’s eastern rim. Leaping out of the craft, two platoons of commandos assumed firing positions along the platform’s perimeter. Behind them came four Jedi Knights, who rushed to join Shaak Ti and Stass Allie in guarding Palpatine.
Mace recognized the more scorched of the pair of gunships as one of two that had been in pursuit of Grievous’s gunboat. Hurrying over to it, he signaled the pilot to raise the bubble canopy.
Cupping his hands to his mouth, he said: “What became of the gunboat?”
“My wingmate is in pursuit, General,” the pilot said. “We’re awaiting word.”
“Did Grievous fall from the mag-lev?”
“I was too far back to see much of anything, sir. But I didn’t see him fall, and I didn’t see anyone on the train.”
Mace replayed the events in his mind. Saw himself Force-pushing Grievous from the roof of the car; saw Grievous plunging over the edge, down out of sight, toward the rail or the canyon floor. The cyborg’s gunboat disengaging from the train, descending into the canyon before it and the second gunship had commenced their corkscrewing race around the mag-lev …
Mace clenched his hands, and swung to Kit. “The gunboat could have caught him—somehow.” He gazed up at the pilot again. “Any word yet?”
“Coming in now, sir … Sector H-Fifty-Two. My wingmate is in close pursuit. I’d better get a move on.”
“General Fisto and I are going with you.” Mace turned to Shaak Ti, Allie, and the four newly arrived Jedi Knights.
Shaak Ti nodded at him. “We’ll see the Chancellor the rest of the way to the bunker.”
Shaak Ti was the last to board the gunship that would deliver Palpatine to shelter, somewhere deep in the narrow service chasms that fractured the exclusive Sah’c neighborhood. Encircled by the contingent of Red Guards, Palpatine stood silently in the rear of the troop bay. His hair and robes were mussed, and he looked pale and feeble among his striking protectors. Stass Allie and the four Jedi Knights Yoda had dispatched from the Temple stood just inside the door, shoulder-to-shoulder with commandos and government agents. Shaak Ti knew the human male Jedi and the female Twi’lek by sight, but she couldn’t recall ever running into the other two—a male Talz and a male Ithorian. All four of them looked able enough, though she hoped there would be no call for them to demonstrate their skills.
Moments earlier, the gunship carrying Mace and Kit had banked north, back toward the Senate District, in apparent pursuit of Grievous’s gunboat. Palpatine’s gunship had taken off to the south, and had immediately begun to descend. Dusk had already fallen on the rim of the canyon. Bruised by the day’s events, Coruscant’s skies were a swirl of blood red, orange, and deep lavender. Down below, the buildings and thoroughfares were illuminated.
Halfway to the floor of the canyon, a gunship that had seen recent action fell in alongside the Supreme Chancellor’s, and remained just off to starboard and slightly astern through the numerous twists and turns that led ultimately to the mountainous structure that served as the bunker complex.
A final turn to the north brought the two gunships to the mouth of a narrow urban ravine, where they hovered for the moment it took to lower the particle shield that safeguarded the shelters, tactical and communications centers, landing platforms, and the network of tunnels that linked them. The complex could be reached by alternative means—under normal circumstances, Palpatine would have been conveyed by repulsorlift speeder through deep tunnels that arrived from 500 Republica, the Great Rotunda, and the Senate Office Building—but the ravine was the best way of entering from anywhere west of the Senate or Financial Districts.
Shaak Ti didn’t allow herself to relax until the gunships had been cleared through the shimmering screen and had been issued approach vectors for landing.
Her relieved exhale seemed to go on and on.
The escort gunship shot ahead and was already on the pad when Shaak Ti and the rest arrived moments later. The craft bearing the Supreme Chancellor had scarcely touched down when the side doors flew out and back, and the Red Guards hurried Palpatine off to a waiting speeder. The commandos leapt out to reinforce the bunker’s contingent of troopers.
Shaak Ti instructed the four Jedi Knights to accompany the Red Guards, promising to join them after she and Stass Allie had apprised the Temple of their safe arrival.
The two Jedi women watched the speeder race off into the broad tunnel that accessed the bunker, then swung themselves down to the landing pad. Allie grabbed her comlink and depressed the SEND button. After several failed attempts to reach the Temple, she glanced at Shaak Ti.
“Too much interference. Let’s move away from the ship.”
It was the interference that saved them from the explosion that mangled and consumed the gunship. As it was, the blast set their robes on fire and hurled them ten meters through the air. Retaining consciousness, Shaak Ti used the momentum to propel herself through a tucked roll that carried her almost to the edge of the landing platform. Stass Allie lay facedown nearby. The missile that had destroyed the gunship had been launched by the craft that had preceded them into the ravine. That same craft’s several cannons were firing now, laying waste to other vessels and making short work of the troopers.
Shaak Ti saw several soldiers jump from the gunship’s doors and move with astounding speed into the mouth of the access tunnel. She raised herself to one knee, then sprinted to Stass Allie’s side to put out the flames that had engulfed her cloak.
Allie stirred and raised herself on the palms of her hands.
“Stay down,” Shaak Ti warned.
As the gunship was lifting off—no doubt to gain a better vantage on the landing platform—additional troopers appeared from somewhere below the landing pad. Rocket-propelled grenades swarmed after the rising craft, several of them infiltrating the vented nacelles of the repulsorlift engines. The ensuing detonation resounded in the ravine and cast fiery hunks of metal in all directions.
Shaak Ti curled her body and tucked her head to her chest. A wave of intense heat washed over her and Allie, and a hail of fragments clanged and clattered down around her.
One of the last pieces to land—not two meters from her face—was the charred head of a battle droid.
Mace and Kit stood in the open doorway of the Republic gunship as it threaded its way among the monads and skyscrapers of the Senate District. Grievous’s gunboat raced ahead, darting left and right as it fired continuously at its pursuer.
Mace backed into the gunship as bolts sizzled past the doorway, nearly catching the underside of the starboard wing. The fact that it had taken so little effort to track and catch up with the Separatist craft gnawed at Mace. Neither he nor Kit could shake the feeling that the gunboat had practically been waiting for them above the squat Senate Building, and had only then attempted to go evasive. And yet it had obviously eluded the original gunship that had chased it through the Sah’c skytunnel.
Mace leaned into the hatch to the gunner
’s compartment and called up to him. “Where’s your wingmate?”
“Lost him, sir,” the gunner shouted. “He’s not anywhere on the tactical screen.”
“The ship could have gone down,” Kit suggested.
Mace’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. Something’s wrong about this.”
Overhead, missiles roared from the launchers and an explosion boomed and echoed from the surround of buildings. Black smoke and debris swept past the doorway, and the gunner whooped.
“We got him, sir! He’s trailing fire, and surface-bound!”
Mace and Kit leaned out the doorway in time to see the gunboat tip to one side, then begin a rapid downward spiral.
“Stay with him, pilot!” Mace yelled.
Coiling into a city chasm east of the Senate, the craft clipped the edge of a skydock and started to come apart. The pilot of the gunship jinked to avoid airborne wreckage, but managed to remain in the wake of the doomed ship. The collision with the skydock had added an end-over-end flip to the gunboat’s spiral, and now the craft was simply falling like a stone, straight down toward brightly illuminated Uscru Boulevard, which was blessedly free of traffic. Fires sputtering out, it hit the surface nose-first, cratering the street and shattering windows in buildings to all sides.
Maintaining a safe distance from the crash site, the gunship pilot engaged the repulsorlift engines and hovered to a landing at the frayed edge of the impact crater. Mace, Kit, and a dozen commandos jumped to the hot ground to secure the area. Crowds of startled onlookers formed almost immediately, and the sirens of emergency vehicles began to wail in the distance.
Lightsabers ignited, Mace and Kit strode along the perimeter of the shallow well, alert to the slightest movements. The crumpled ship had been torn open from bow to stern along one side, and they had clear views into every cabin space. Neither Grievous nor any of his elite guards were anywhere to be found.
Only battle droids: slagged, mangled, twisted into peculiar shapes.
“I can accept that Grievous might have fallen from the maglev,” Mace said, “but not that he would have included only two of his elite on a mission like this.”
Kit gazed at the wedge of night sky. “There could be a second assault craft.”
“Pilot!” Mace called toward the gunship. “Comlink the Supreme Chancellor’s bunker, and arrange for us to be cleared through the shield.”
Grievous and six MagnaGuards cut a bloody swath through the broad corridors that led ultimately to Palpatine’s sanctuary. Republic soldiers—cloned and otherwise—fell to Grievous’s lightsabers and the deadly staffs of his elite. Behind them, the firefight at the landing platform was raging. If nothing else, Grievous told himself, the clash would tie up two of the Jedi and dozens of troopers.
Thus far, things were still on target—if not proceeding according to plan.
At Palpatine’s apartment, Grievous had managed to fool everyone by placing the gunboat on display, then clandestinely transferring himself and his combat droids into the Republic gunship Lord Tyranus had promised would be waiting for them. He had been forced to improvise when Palpatine’s protectors had opted to follow an alternate route to the bunker, and he had enjoyed chasing the mag-lev—if not the brief duel on the roof of the train car.
Tyranus had warned him about Mace Windu’s prowess with a blade, and now he understood. His literal “misstep” had shamed him, and he was grateful that the two MagnaGuards that had fought at his side had not survived to bear witness to it. Had he not managed at the last instant to grab hold of the mag-lev rail and be retrieved by the borrowed gunship, all the efforts the Banking Clan had undertaken to have him rebuilt would have been for nothing.
But as it happened he was now about to give the Separatists more than their credits’ worth. Perhaps a means to proclaim themselves victors of the war.
Grievous and five remaining droids completed their march to the bunker, deflecting the fire of three troopers guarding the entrance, then decapitating them. Hexagonal, the sturdy portal was impervious to blaster bolts, radiation, or electromagnetic pulse. Grievous was well aware that his lightsabers were capable of burning through the door. While doing so would have heightened the drama of his entry, he did the next best thing.
He used the code Tyranus had provided.
“Under no circumstances are you to harm the Chancellor,” he exhorted his elite, while layers of the thick hatch were retracting.
The astonishment registered by Palpatine and his quartet of Jedi Knights assured Grievous that he could not have made a more dramatic entry. A large desk dominated the circular room, and banks of communications consoles formed the circumference. Centered in the curved wall opposite the entrance was a second door. Posing for effect in the polygonal opening, Grievous granted his opponents a moment to activate their lightsabers, force pikes, and other weapons. Also for effect, he deflected the initial flurry of blaster bolts with his clawed hands, before drawing two of his lightsabers.
His brazenness summoned the Jedi to him in a flash, but he knew in the first moments of contest that he had nothing to worry about. Compared to Mace Windu, the four were mere novices, whose lightsaber techniques were some of the earliest Grievous had mastered.
Behind him rushed his elite droids, with a single purpose in mind: to tear into the guards and soldiers arrayed in a defensive semicircle in front of Palpatine. Tall, elegant looking, dramatic in their red robes and face-masked cowls, the Supreme Chancellor’s protectors were well trained and fought with passion. Their fists and feet were fast and powerful, and their force pikes sliced and jabbed through the near-impervious armor of the droids. But they were no real match for fearless war machines, programmed to kill by any means possible. Perhaps if Palpatine had been intelligent enough to have surrounded himself with real Jedi—Jedi of the caliber of Windu and the tentacle-headed Kit Fisto—the engagement might have gone differently.
Fencing with his four adversaries—for that’s all the fight amounted to—Grievous saw six of the soldiers and three of the Red Guards jolted to spasming deaths by the MagnaGuards’ double-tipped scepters. One of his elite had gone down, as well, but even though blinded and savagely slashed by the guards’ staffs, the droid was continuing to fight. And those elite still on their feet had altered their combat stances and offensive moves to adapt to the guards’ defensive strategies.
Grievous enjoyed going against so many Jedi simultaneously. If time wasn’t of the essence, he might have protracted the fight. Feinting with the blade in his right hand, he removed the head of one Jedi with the blade in his left. Distracted when his right foot inadvertently booted the rolling head of his comrade, the Ithorian dropped his guard momentarily, and received as penalty a thrust to the heart that dropped him to his knees before he pitched forward.
Stepping back to absorb what had happened, the two remaining Jedi came at Grievous in concert, twirling and leaping about as if putting on some sort of crowd-pleasing martial arts demonstration. For practice, Grievous called two more blades from his belt, grasping them in his feet even as the antigrav repulsors built into his legs were lifting him from the floor, making him every bit as agile as the Force did the Jedi.
With his four blades to the Jedi’s two, the duel had come full circle.
Whirling, he severed the blade hand of the Talz, then his opposing foot, then took his life, as well. Mists of blood formed in the air, swirled about by the ventilators.
The fourth he intimidated into retreat by wheeling all four blades, transforming himself into a veritable chopping machine. Fear blossomed in the Twi’lek Jedi’s dark eyes as she backed away. He had her on the run, poor thing. But he awarded her some measure of dignity by allowing her to land glancing blows on his forearms and shoulders. The burns did little more than add a new odor to the room. Emboldened, she pressed her attack, but was fast exhausting herself from the effort of trying to amputate one of his limbs—to hurt him in some fashion.
And all for what? Grievous asked himself. The
timid old man backed to the bunker’s rear wall? The would-be champion of democracy, who had loosed his clone army against the merchants and builders and traders who opposed his rule—his Republic?
Best to put the Jedi out of her misery, Grievous thought. Which he did with a single blade to the heart—for it would have been cruel to do otherwise.
Elsewhere his three surviving elites were doing well against five Red Guards. With time counting down, he waded into the thick of the action. Sensing him, one guard feinted a rotation to the left, then pivoted to the right with his force pike raised at face level. A move Grievous could appreciate, although he was no longer in the space through which the weapon sliced. Using two blades, he nipped the guard’s cowled head from his torso. The next he speared from behind in both kidneys. Opening the backs of another’s thighs, he moved on, disemboweling the fourth.
The last guard was already dead by the time he reached him.
With a gesture, Grievous instructed his elite to secure the bunker’s hexagonal door. Then, deactivating his lightsabers, he turned to Palpatine.
“Now, Chancellor,” he announced, “you’re coming with us.”
Palpatine neither cowered nor protested. He merely said: “You will be a true loss to the forces you represent.”
The remark took Grievous by surprise. Was this praise?
“Four Jedi Knights, all these soldiers and guards,” Palpatine went on, gesturing broadly. “Why not wait until Shaak Ti and Stass Allie arrive.” He cocked his head to one side. “I think I hear them coming. They are Masters, after all.”
Grievous didn’t respond immediately. Was Palpatine trying to trick him? “I might at any other time,” he said finally. “But a ship awaits us that will take you from Coruscant—and from your cherished Republic, as well.”
Palpatine mocked him with a sneer. “Do you actually believe that this plan will succeed?”
Grievous returned the look. “You’re more defiant than I was led to believe, Chancellor. But, yes, the plan will succeed—and to your deficit. I would gladly kill you now but for my orders.”
