Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Raxus Secundus, Raxus System

Caluula Sector

The Onderonian Embassy on Raxus could be found on the far fringes of Raxulon, the planetary capital. Accessible either by a short shuttle flight, or a winding road trip through the wooded hills, the Embassy was built atop of a rocky promontory overlooking the rest of the city. Built like a gothic mansion, the building looked especially eerie at dusk, surrounded by the whispering autumn forests.

Strange, for an embassy, yes–but if you wanted to get the Onderon experience on Raxus, then this was the closest you were going to get. I never liked the estate back on Onderon, and I never liked this place either.

I arrived at a bad time, because there was already a transport on the landing pad, so I directed my shuttle pilot to just drop me off at the edge and enter a holding pattern. I stepped over the perilous gap, and found my footing soon after. Ducking under the wing of the transport, I curiously eyed the build in an attempt to identify the owner.

I didn’t have to, because I found Senator Avi Singh coming down the staircase leading up to the Embassy right after. The well-aged man was completely bald, sporting a rather glorious moustache that strung from his greying hair, which was already more white than anything.

Waiting at the bottom of the staircase out of respect more than anything else, I noticed that the Senator from Raxus had grown more rotund since we last met, and had to use the balustrade to support himself.

“Senator Singh,” I greeted, “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

Senator Singh looked at me in surprise, before raising his head to glance past me–likely at my shuttle circling overhead.

“Not at all, I was just coming out the door. Nevermind that, I must have inconvenienced you,” the Senator scampered down the last rows of steps, “But it is a pleasurable surprise to see you again, Rain.”

“Please,” I grasped his hand, “I never sent word of my arrival beforehand, so you couldn’t have known. In fact, I am quite surprised by my presence here myself.”

Avi Singh grinned beneath his moustache, “Indeed. I was under the impression you were still deployed in Abrion. Will you remain on Raxus for long? I would love to have a chat over tea, at a better time than this.”

“That will definitely be in order,” I laughed, “Yes, I will be on Raxus for some time as I assemble a new fleet.”

“A new fleet, you say?”

There was a spark of intrigue in the Senator’s eye at my words, that told me he wanted to know more about the reason. Of course he did–despite my efforts in distancing myself from politics, I was still peripherally involved due to my name alone. He was ultimately a politician, and politicians traded in secrets. Every snippet of information can give him an upperhand in Parliament–and something as significant as a shiny new fleet?

“I can’t say much, unfortunately,” I smiled apologetically, “I hope you understand.”

“No no, of course,” Senator Singh waved his hand, “Don’t let the politician get in your way... but if you encounter some pushback from interest groups, don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“I will keep that in mind, Senator,” I paused, “I shouldn’t take any more of your time–you are a busy man. Have a good night, sir.”

“You as well, officer,” he patted my shoulder, before moving on.

I remained still as his guards walked past me–and when they were finally behind me, I broke into a satisfied smile. Score. What a fortunate encounter. After all, what was leaking some maybe-confidential secrets in exchange for a much easier job? Half the military was already doing it–making a business out of it, rather–and Senator Singh, the representative of this very star sector? I could shiver in delight.

My smile bled away as I considered the next senator I had to meet.

I reached the huge doors just as the senatorial transport blasted off behind him, repulsorlifts whining as the craft raced back towards downtown. I cracked my neck, loosened my shoulders, lowered my expectations, and opened the doors.

“...Master Rain?” a high-pitched, synthesised voice said in surprise.

I instinctively stepped back, trying to find the source.

“Down here, sir!”

I looked down– “Oh, it’s just you. Hello, Hare.”

Hare was a LEP servant droid, with her egg-shaped chassis and the pair of rabbit ear-like antennas that she was named after. Hare was holding a tray of drinks, and after a brief moment of hesitation, held it up to offer a glass.

“Thank you,” I gratefully picked one to soothe my parched throat, before rubbing her head, “How have you been?”

“Very well, sir,” she cooed, “Should I prepare your room?”

“No need,” I said, “I won’t be staying this time. Can you lead me to Mina?”

Hare’s ears drooped, “This way, Master Rain.”

As we strolled out of the foyer, past the staffers, and into the actual residence, I pondered on what to do with Hare. After my parents’ accident, I moved in with Mina and her husband, and lived with them ever since. Or rather, until they moved to Coruscant for senatorial duties, leaving me to look after the estate in Iziz while I served in the Royal Army. When the war broke out, we reunited back in Raxulon. In this house.

Which came with the LEP droid, who I found adorable. The first thing I did was name her Hare, because remembering a droll alphanumerical wasn’t for me. She seemed to like it, so it stuck. Artificial intelligence was a big thing back on Earth, which is why I always take care to treat whatever droids I come across like another person. That didn’t exactly translate to this galaxy, I discovered, because Lux was the only other person in the household to refer to Hare by her name.

Which is stupid, in my opinion. For some reason when these aliens give machines quasi-sentient personalities, they never quite realise the implications that arise due to it.

“Tell you what,” I said, “We’ll ask Mina if I can take you. If she says yes, you can come with me.”

I’ll need an assistant anyway, now that I’m a flag officer. I’m not going to use Tuff or any other Class 4 droid for that, and employing Vinoc or Barriss doesn’t exactly seem safe.

“Really?” Hare glanced up at me.

“Really,” I pushed open a door, entering a drawing room.

The ornate windows to my left were pushed open a sliver, leading in a refreshing breeze that keened and whistled as it winnowed into the lounge. Almost like a wind chime. Outside, I could make out the glowing lanterns of the pavilion, squat in the centre of an Onderon-style garden–because of course there was one–and the buzzing insects that were drawn in by them.

“You’ve returned,” Mina barely looked at me, occupied by her tablet, “Lux will be here shortly, so the hot water’s on. Don’t use all of it.”

“Let’s save it for him,” I sat on the couch opposite her armchair, shrugging off my overcoat and laying it over the backrest, “I’m only visiting.”

That caught her attention. The Senator from Onderon was a stern-faced woman with short-cropped brown hair that was greying at the fringes. Despite the signs of age–or stress–Mina Bonteri still possessed the hawkish eyes and severe tone that made her people stop and listen when she spoke.

Mina finally dragged her eyes off the tablet, “This is your house.”

I snagged the sleeve of my overcoat, showing her the plaque stitched onto the shoulder, “I have business in the city, so I bought an apartment downtown.”

She frowned, “How long is your stay?”

Until the Republic launches its offensive, I wanted to answer, which could be in a week, or in months. What matters is that we are caught by surprise, and I, as the ranking officer in the sector, has to be hastily mobilised into action. But I couldn’t tell her that, obviously.

“Until I am redeployed,” I answered half-honestly, “But I’ll be visiting some nearby systems too, so I won’t be on Raxus the entire time.”

I had my work cut out for me. Separatist officers were extremely independent, and those deployed on the Perlemian were especially prideful. Not many were going to listen to a human from an Inner Rim planet, and whose entire career has been spent far away in the Trailing Sectors. If I wanted to defend the Foundry successfully, securing their cooperation–if not their loyalty–was a must.

I also had to visit the nearby shipyards in order to procure some ships for my core fleet. The nearest one was right in orbit around Raxus Prime, but I was going to have to negotiate with Hoersch-Kessel and Free Dac Volunteer branches in order to guarantee good quality vessels and crews, as well as to implement some specifications I had in mind.

Hare plucked my now-empty glass from my hands and refilled it.

“Where’s the old man?” I made a show of looking around.

“He’s been deployed to Aargonar to shore up the defences there.”

A sinecure, as befitting an Onderonian noble and the husband of a senator. An unimportant system, deep in Separatist space, and tangentially protected by the Confederate First Fleet, which units regularly patrols the Perlemian. Mister Bonteri probably thinks hell would freeze over before he comes downrange of a clone’s blaster rifle.

Hell was about to freeze over, then. The First Fleet was being mobilised and redeployed to Nixor, taking most of the Foundry’s active defence with them. Aargonar was about to be pushed from being an uneventful backwater posting to staring down the barrel of the Republic.

What to do about this?

“How long is his tour of duty?” I suddenly asked.

Mina frowned, “Six standard months. Why?”

“They look like–”

Aliens. They looked like Neimodians, Kerkoidens and Geonosians and a thousand other Outer Rim species. They were slimy, corrupt, serving the fallen Jedi Master Dooku to impose their tyranny over the Republic. It’s all over the HoloNet.

“Are you a Separatist?” Rain asked her, in a too-honest voice.

“No!” Barriss refuted indignantly, “Why would I be a Separatist?”

“You’re Mirialan,” the Separatist told her, as if it explained everything, “Mirial is a prominent Separatist world, and the I-Sector was one of the first to join the Confederacy. I’ve personally met the Senator from Mirial.”

“I–” Barriss’ throat was dry, “I’m a Jedi– they don’t represent me.”

“But you represent them,” Rain pointed out, “I see your tattoos. You still adhere to your people’s culture.”

I represent Master Luminara, Barriss wanted to say. She vividly realised she couldn’t remember a single thing from Mirial, and that everything she knew of Mirialan culture was from Master Luminara. Why did Mirial join the Separatists? She wanted to ask at the same time, because Barriss realised she had never spared a thought about her people before.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Rain asked rhetorically, “Conflict is easier to feed to the masses when it’s nice and simple. One side is good, another is evil. Isn’t it your duty as a Jedi to know the truth, and protect the truth, instead of parroting what the pundits say?”

“But it is the truth,” Barriss insisted, “Count Dooku is a Sith Lord! He wants to destroy the Republic!”

“That’s his view of it,” she shrugged, “Not all of us do. Have you ever thought about what ‘Separatist’ actually means?”

Barriss opened her mouth to refute her again, but one of Master Luminara’s lectures chided her the confines of her mind. This woman–Rain–wanted to antagonise her, get a rise out of her. If Barriss lets her do that, then she would be letting her win. Barriss forced herself to calm down and think clearly. There was no reasoning with Separatists, they’ve all been captured by Dooku’s lies.

They are all puppets of the Dark Side, unknowing or not.

“It means you want to separate from the Republic,” Barriss answered simply.

“That’ll all,” Rain agreed, “Nothing about the Force. Nothing about taking over the galaxy. It should have been that simple. But the Republic didn’t let us, and now some of us are convinced that the only way to separate is to remove the Republic from the equation.”

Their attention was grabbed by a knock on the door.

Rain stood up with a mild smile, “There will be moderates and hardliners on both sides–those who want peace, and those who want victory. My question is which side does the Jedi Order represent? If you want peace, then you ought to allow those of us who are more reasonable, a chance to carry the day.

The woman offered a hand–one which she warily took–and used it to pull Barriss to her feet, “I look forward to working with you.”

The door hissed open, revealing a rather nondescript man in Separatist uniform. Barriss immediately found her eyes drawn to the lightsaber hooked onto his belt. When she cast her eyes back at Rain, her appearance was different again, as if shifting with the light. The same way the colour of water seems to change, like an illusion. The word she was looking for came to her tongue–like a mask.

“Your orders, sir?” the man asked.

“Give her a tour,” Rain gently nudged her forward, “Both of you may be Jedi, but I'm in charge now. So get to know the ship and the crew, because it will be your new home for the coming months. No need to get comfortable in here; we’re off to the Wheel in two days.”

Rain turned on her heel and retreated down the hallway with a brisk pace, leaving Barriss alone with the Sith.

“Name’s Vinoc,” the man said, “The uniform looks surprisingly good on you.”

“The uniform–” Barriss looked down, finding herself in a stale grey uniform, “Why am I...”

When she realised her head felt oddly light, Barriss patted her head to find out she wasn’t wearing her headscarf either. And her lightsaber...

She tried not to let her outrage show on her face, “Do you think trying to coerce me into joining you is going to work? I’ll never fall to the Dark Side.”

Vinoc rubbed his bearded chin, “We’re not asking you to. Dooku already thinks you are dead, so we are going through all this trouble to keep you out of their sight. Sorry about your lightsaber–it was proof of your ‘death’–but you can always make a new one. Follow me.”

Barriss contemplated escaping for a brief moment, but decided better of it. For now, she will humour these people. Only when she has gotten her bearings, can she start hashing out a plan to escape–or send a distress call to the Jedi Temple. By the time Barriss departed her thoughts, she realised Vinoc had already moved on ahead–and she raced to catch up.

She passed by a window–and saw a desolate planet with an atmosphere of sickly yellow.

“Raxus Prime,” Vinoc said, “Welcome aboard the Raxus Starbase, headquarters of the First Fleet.”

As if on cue, a vast shadow drifted over the planet–a Separatist dreadnought–its beaked prow and painted facsimile of an eye piercing straight through her as if saying ‘you don’t belong here.’ She had never seen one so close before, and it was like standing beneath a leviathan. Her situation became real to her like a knife pressing into the back of her neck: I’m in the heart of enemy territory. Even if Master Luminara is trying to rescue me, she will never be able to reach me.

By the Force, luckily she didn’t try anything reckless. She would’ve never even gotten out of the system. Barriss was truly alone now, at the mercy of the strange game her captives were playing.

“...You said Dooku thinks I’m dead,” Barriss mumbled, “Don’t you serve him? Why am I still alive?”

Vinoc wrinkled his nose, “I only served him because he was the only choice. I found another. As for what your purpose is, that’s beyond me.”

They stopped before a turbolift, stepping aside to let the occupants through–a Quarren and a Sullustan–before quietly stepping through. As the doors slid closed, Vinoc pressed a floor button. Level 3 Docks.

“That lady–Rain–she called you a Jedi,” Barriss realised.

Vinoc coughed in surprise, “N-No, Commodore Rain’s a man... probably.”

A– man!? Barriss’ cheeks purpled in shame as she desperately tried to recall her–his–appearance... but nothing came to her. She couldn’t describe his appearance in her mind’s eye any more than she could describe the appearance of the Force. But for some reason, Barriss remembered that s–he–looked somewhat like Master Luminara.

“And I wouldn’t call myself a Jedi,” Vinoc cleared his throat, saving her from stewing in her own embarrassment, “I was raised in the Jedi Order, like you, but I never got to be a Padawan. You’re fortunate, you know? Mirialans always look after one another.”

It took a moment for Barriss to understand what he meant– “You’re Service Corps.”

Vinoc nodded, “I was assigned to Folende, right here in Tion, along with my brother. There were only a handful of us, on Folende and Omman, but I guess it was the Republic’s way of showing the Outer Rim they still cared.”

There was a ding as the turbolift jolted to a stop, and the doors slid open.

“Why did you join the Separatists?” Barriss asked as they stepped out.

“Because the Republic didn’t care,” he answered, “Folende and Omman didn’t feed the Core, so we barely saw Republic officials, or any supervision from the AgriCorps. I– we realised what most Separatists realised; that the Republic didn’t care about any of us. If they did, it was to take our stuff. So when Tion seceded, we just... decided to join them. I suspect some of us had gotten attached to our new home, and for others... I guess it was just apathy.”

“Apathy?”

Vinoc shrugged, “We were already there, and had lived there for years. I know some of us down in Ukio also joined the Separatists when Abrion seceded. I imagine it’s the same for many Outer Rim outposts.”

So how many Jedi joined the Separatists? The thought alone unnerved her. How many Jedi were on Separatist planets when they left the Republic, and had just decided to stay? How many couldn’t leave?

Barriss looked around, as if suddenly expecting to see a lot more lightsaber-wielding people on the station. But it was just the usual affair on any repair yard; repulsorlift tugs, people-movers, transporters, pipe-layers. All like bees working to keep the hundreds of warships berthed beyond the atmosphere containment rays serviced and spaceworthy.

“So you didn’t fall to the Dark Side?” Barriss blurted out.

A shadow crossed over Vinoc’s face, his eyes growing darker–weary–as if he had aged by a decade in a second.

“Briefly,” he replied curtly.

Barriss decided not to push the issue. But if he didn’t, how many Jedi did fall to the Dark Side, she wondered. Like Count Dooku...

“There it is,” Vinoc’s voice snapped her from her thoughts, “Star frigate Repulse. Flagship of the White Hand Fleet. Nobody’s going to be able to reach you onboard of it.”

Neither Dooku nor Master Luminara was left unsaid.

Repulse was a Munificent, its Separatist roundel freshly repainted and vibrant blue, overlaid over the mess of earthen-coloured stains that Barriss’ couldn’t make any order out of. A camouflage? But it’s a starship, not a tank.

As she approached the ship, Barriss discovered it wasn't just random paint, but a meticulously hand-drawn battlefield. Armies of primitive stick figures wielding spears and bows fought against a variety of creatures, including what appeared to be Nabooan tusk cats, Alderaanian deer, Batuuan bears, common nerfs, and huge bantha-sized creatures on stout legs with Ortolan-like heads–if Ortolans had long, curved, and menacing tusks.

Wrapping around the entire ship, it was difficult to make them out even from a few feet away–and at a klick out, she imagined that all the effort would be completely unrecognisable from the drab hull. The only thing that stuck out was a massive, stark white handprint, painted onto the upper hull. The very same one, Barriss surmised, that gave the fleet its name.

“He said it’s an Onderonian cave painting,” Vinoc commented, “But there’s not a single Onderonian creature on it... let’s get you onboard. You’ll have to get used to the crew–they’re a bit... special.”