Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Columex Approach, Columex System

Vorzyd Sector

Barriss Offee felt cold.

The very moment the blinding glow of pseudomotion retreated from her vision, an energy of coldness and forceful silence took its place. Something is very, very wrong. She flicked a glance towards Tuff, but the tactical droid was as impassive as ever.

“Plot to intercept with that dreadnought,” the droid commanded, “And inform Task Force Nardolin of our presence.”

Dreadnought. The word rang in her skull. She could see it in the distance; a great island of steel buffeted by relentless waves of warheads and lasers. And it did not falter. Every crashing barrage it unleashed was like a hammer to her skull, followed by the cries of the fallen echoing in her ears and the pain of death coursing through her veins.

The Jedi healer raced to the front of the bridge in sheer instinct, pressing an open palm against the freezing transparisteel. Every fibre in her body screamed out –her training, her duty, it was as if everything had led up to this moment. Barriss was well aware of her talent; empathy was a key trait of a skilled Jedi healer. She was supposed to receive the suffering of others, and respond with comfort and healing in return.

But she could offer no comfort. Not here... no against this.

As Messenger sailed through the debris, she was assaulted by visions of crunching hulls and swift bursts of agony. The Force was trying to tell her something, but she was too tired–tired of everything–to apply Master Luminara’s teachings and find out what it was. She didn’t need to know, not when she already knew everything that matters.

Loyalists were killing Separatists, and Separatists were killing Loyalists. It was people murdering people on a galactic scale, for reasons that did not matter. And as a Jedi, she could only witness. Witness the battle approaching, and soon to take part in the slaughter.

Barriss wanted none of it. She was a Jedi. She was supposed to have none of it. But as Messenger forged on ever nearer, the cruelly familiar sensations returned. Sensations that once represented the warmth and respite of the Temple, transformed into the bitter swords that led the Republic to battle.

Jedi Masters.

There were Jedi Masters in the bridges of cruisers, impassively looking on as they commanded the deaths of thousands. It’s people you’re killing, she wanted to scream, not droids! Do you not realise!? Master Luminara has always preached serenity, to be devoid of emotions and connect with the Force more intimately than ever before. But Barriss had to doubt; was this the meaning of serenity?

The Force once again pounded her psyche as if it was a shut door. Sinister discomfort continued to rise like bile as Messenger proceeded further into the debris field, her bow shoving steel corpses from her path. Whatever happened here... was so swift and painful it left a hateful rend in the Living Force. An open wound that would heal in time, yet continued to fester with the lingering emotions of the dead. We’re sailing through a graveyard, Barriss realised numbly.

“Messenger, Kronprinz,” a staggered voice caught her attention, “This is Admiral Greyshade. Do you have the interdiction mines we requested?”

“Affirmative,” Tuff confirmed, “We are currently on course for intercept the dreadnought’s port flank, please advise.”

“Very good–” there was a sharp gasp, an abrupt disconnect, and two minutes of silence before he returned, “–We will proceed with the plan. Locate our mark and follow our lead. Shields to starboard beam; you will be running the gauntlet.”

Barriss stumbled towards the nearest repeater, snatching the droid operator’s shoulder and watching the astronav plot. She could roughly understand the formations of the battlefield through her pounding headache, but with a visual aid, the picture of sheer scale could be fully pieced together.

The battle lines were in a diagonal slant, with the Republic’s right flank furthest away from the planet and left flank nearest to the defensive line of what appeared to be orbital cannons. There were two Republic star dreadnoughts–the furthest one cutting a bloody swath through... Barriss read a familiar designation; White Hand Fleet. A complicated emotion stirred in her chest, one she did not have the energy to unravel.

In any case, the nearest dreadnought was spearheading the Republic’s White Cuirass Fleet towards Columex. The navigation droid promptly ignored her, calculating out the dreadnought’s vector in order to modify Unicorn Squadron’s new approach heading. A dotted line was drawn out, extending from the dreadnought’s bow and stabbing into Columex’s orbital defences.

“Legacy of the Founders is too unwieldy to navigate around the orbital cannons,” Tuff explained, “And presenting a target that large, their only course of action is to close the distance as quickly as possible. And that means they have no choice but to overextend themselves.”

As if on cue, the gargantuan ion drives of the Legacy were in full view, along with two more identifiable blips. First was Kronprinz, a Tionese warship that looked wholly out of place. Her glassy armour shimmered in kaleidoscopic colours surrounded by the hail of red, green, and blue laser bolts, gracefully minnowing through the torrential chaos. She swung around just within the dreadnought’s blindspot, stern narrowly missing the battleship Hexenkoenig, who along with the rest of Task Force Nardolin was holding off the onslaught of the White Cuirass Fleet with determined steadfastness.

Unicorn Squadron’s vector was gradually spelled out on the plot–to skirt the edges of Legacy’s firing envelopes and deploy their interdiction mines before pushing on to the safety behind the orbital cannons.

“We are going to... mine it?” she asked.

“No. We are going to mine our reinforcements,” the droid answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

⁂

“Dive, dive!” I roared as Repulse was bracketed by a cannonade of furious turbolasers.

The entire White Hand Fleet immediately turned on a dime, rotating ninety-degrees south–just as it did at Centares–and overclocking their drives the get the fuck out of the Mandator’s range. Unlike her smaller cousins, Pride of the Core was not lacking in ventral firepower, and my personal command was getting savaged. Ten warships disappeared off the map within the first three minutes, and another sixteen followed by ten minutes.

Twice that number were left disabled, with their stern shields buckling under the intensifying firepower, followed by their engine blocks giving way. Left with only inertia carrying them away, the renewed assault of the Steel Blade was all but certain to eat them alive. Benevolent Mother and thirty-one other ships suddenly pitched upwards, rolling over and punching out three furious salvos into our unexpecting pursuers.

“Sir?” Stelle looked up at me.

Fifteen minutes. Half my fleet was gone. Those who couldn’t escape had already chosen the hill they’d die on; slowing down the enemy. I checked the condition of the Clysm Fleet, and found out they had been hit just as hard–if not harder than we were. While the White Hand was stuck beneath the Pride of the Core, the Clysm was unfortunate enough to be trapped in the process of crossing the Cerulean Spear’s ‘T,’ and was now finding themselves between an immovable juggernaut and a vengeful warfleet.

I prayed for them, and reverted my attention to my own survival.

“Communications of Renown, sir!” the comms droid shouted–

“Sir!” Zenith-II hailed me, “Cylinders Seventy-Five to Eighty-Nine are still loaded and ready! And with us out of the way, they have a clear shot!”

Even when the answer was so damn obvious, it had somehow slipped my mind in the chaos and carnage. I didn’t hesitate to respond.

“Then have them open fire!”

Repulse’s transmitters screamed out the order in the general direction of the planet, brute forcing its way through several layers of Republic jamming. Almost immediately, the Steel Blade cut their pursuit and veered away, taking refuge behind the massive bulk of the Mandator.

Pride of the Core, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky.

Thump, thump, thump. I could somehow hear the blasts of the Cylinders echo through the vacuum, with the sheer energy output of their gravitic ignitions rocking every warship in the vicinity as if they were dinghies in storm-tossed waves.

Pride of the Core tanked the first and second shots with hastily prepared kinetic shields, which shattered with the third shot. There was now a race between the Mandator frantically diverting power to her frontal shields, and the Cylinders frantically trying to bring her down. But as buckshot after buckshot of asteroids just disappeared into the dreadnought’s mass, I realised that at this range, the asteroids didn’t have enough time to get up to useful velocities, allowing the Pride to literally tank the barrages with sheer bulk alone.

I could’ve sword the dreadnought was wracked by an internal ignition following another well-placed shot, with panels of armour bulging out briefly, but her bulkheads must have contained the detonation. A detonation that would’ve completely vaporised a Venator. I had to admit, to my own chagrin, that Kuat really built these things to be unstoppable.

“All units, return to your stations,” I commanded, “We will reorganise and sweep back around. Stelle, are we able to redeploy Victoria Louise?”

Victoria Louise. Our dreadnought-killer. Except, there were two dreadnoughts and one dreadnought-killer. Not the most advantageous situation, but if we can get rid of the Pride, the White Hand and Clysm can mop the fragile Steel Blade and flank around the Cerulean Spear and White Cuirass.

“Cylinder Ninety is lining up their shot against Legacy of the Founders,” Stelle reported, “It will take at least half an hour to modify their station, to say nothing about calculating a firing solution. They’ll have to fire across the length of our battle line. If Victoria fragments, that’ll be the death of us.”

“So that’s out of the option,” I grunted, tunnelling my attention to Task Force Repulse reforming into an elliptical formation just below the Steel Blade.

The Steel Blade attempted to take some pot shots with long-ranged missiles, but Benevolent Mother and a handful of other crippled warships had taken up the mantle of being out ad-hoc point defence screen. With their ion thrusters under repair, they were stuck between us and them. The only thing stopping the Steel Blade from completely thrashing the disabled warships was the malevolent threat of our Cylinders.

We were at an impasse. And every second that ticked away was a second that Task Force Sol and Task Force Clysm had to endure, unsupported and grossly outgunned.

My mind raced with ideas, for anything that could reverse our fortunes. I had a hard time limit; and that was until Cylinder 89 fired. Meanwhile, the Pride of the Core was ponderously yawing to starboard in order to bring the Cylinders in range of her broadsides, while relieving her beleaguered bow shield generators of pressure.

“Registering a new drive cone!” the sensor droid called, “They extracted right on top of the Pride. Transferring data... looks to be a Star Destroyer, sir!”

I leaned forward, checking my sensor repeaters. There was indeed a new signature about a thousand or so klicks above the Mandator, but nothing that outright confirmed its build. Still, Star Destroyer drive signatures were pretty recognisable, but Repulse unhesitatingly identified the ship as a Venator-class star cruiser.

Even more enemy reinforcements? I wiped my face, blinking away salty tears as I double-checked the Venator’s extraction vector. The easiest way would be to analyse the correlating radiation involved, but Cronau radiation detection required specific sensors, and Repulse’s had either been shot off of disabled for more combat-relevant ones.

A heartbeat later, thirty more drive cones blinked into existence around the Venator. And Repulse identified them as Separatist warships, from the plumes of their ion drives.

“Cylinder Ninety, I am commanding you with the authority of Commodore Bonteri,” he quickly rebounded.

Barriss snapped around, realising Cylinder 90 was referring to the orbital cannons right next to them. The Force pulsed in her head. She could stop him. Right now. She was a Jedi. A Padawan, but a Jedi. And with the Force, not even every droid in the bridge at once could stop her.

But should she? Should she stop him from putting an end to a mass-murderer, Jedi Master or not? The only reason the Republic is still fighting is because of the Legacy, and destroying it would put a definitive end to the slaughter.

“If you remember nothing else from this talk, Barriss, remember this: Power wants to be used. It must be kept under constant vigil, else it will seduce and corrupt you. One moment you’re swatting an annoying training toy; the next you’re paralysing an offending being’s lungs and choking him to death. You do it because you can. It becomes an end in itself. As a Jedi, you always live on this edge. A single misstep, and you can fall to the Dark Side. It has happened to many, and it is always a tragedy. As with an addictive drug, it’s too easy to say, ‘I’ll do it just this once.’ That’s not how it works. The only thing that stands between you and the Dark Side is your own will and discipline. Give in to your anger or your fear, your jealousy or your hate, and the Dark Side claims you for its own. If that happens you will become an enemy to all that the Jedi stand for—and an enemy of all Jedi who hold to the path of right.”

Master Luminara’s lesson echoed in her head, every fragmented piece coming together in her memory. Awareness came to Barriss sharp as a knife into her back, twisting in her spine.

But what if the entire Jedi Order has already fallen to the Dark Side, and it’s that nobody has noticed yet?

Count Dooku didn’t create the Separatist Alliance, he only helped them accelerate what was already inevitable. There aren’t any Sith here, only people. People fighting for their freedom, and the Republic is trying to crush them underfoot. For what reason? Why do the Jedi partake in all of this bloodshed? Just for Dooku? Barriss couldn’t quite convince herself that was the case.

What will you do, the Force seemed to ask her, what would a Jedi do?

“This is Cylinder Ninety,” time was running out, “We have confirmed your codes, Messenger. Go ahead.”

A swell of hatred rose within her. Hatred for the injustice of the war. Hatred for the Jedi Council’s juvenile lies. Hatred for the Republic’s false narrative. Hatred at her own inability to accomplish anything. All this time, she’s been a passive observer, witnessing one bloodshed after another without doing anything about it. And each and every time, she told herself excuses.

“I’m trapped.”

“I’m only a Padawan.”

“Someone will save me.”

“I can’t do anything about it!”

“–So you expect someone else to do something for you?”

Barriss blinked.

“–Just who in Nine Hells do you think you are?”

Her eyes flashed towards the tactical droid on the captain’s podium. In a split second decision, the Force flooded into her body with a familiar recall, like an old friend’s embrace. Energy gathered in her limbs, pulsing a power that billowed like vapour down a block of frozen air.

The nav droid besides her must’ve sensed something amiss, because he hastily swung around, steel limb whipping out.

Barriss caught his arm in an open grip, twisted and snapped it at the elbow, and Force pushed him away. Scrap metal hit the transparisteel viewports as the droid slammed into the console and shattered at the joints.

Two dozen droids whipped around. Barriss ignored them, singling out the tactical droid with the precision of a raptor. Power surging, she was right above him in three bounds, ripping out the command console from the floor with a harsh tug of the Force and thrown across the bridge–scrapping three more. The very air seemed to pulse with fervour as she closed in on the droid–as she caught the source of her every problem by the throat with one hand and ripped the comlink from his grip with the other.

She grit her teeth, somehow lifting the eighty kilogram droid off his feet with strength beyond her means, “I won’t sit idly by, droid!”

Tuff stared down at her with baleful eyes, “This was an expected response.”

Her grip slackened against her will; a sudden shock of freezing burning through her muscles and nerves. Barriss dropped to the floor, unable to control neither her legs nor arms. She attempted to speak, but surrendered after only a slurred noise came from the attempt.

With every ounce of control she had left, the girl craned up her head to see a familiar droid bending down to pick up the fallen comlink. For the briefest moment, her eye’s met Taylor’s, and then the blaster in his hand.

Of course... she closed her eyes, and the mental barrier she’s been maintaining finally fell.

“Have you fallen to the Dark Side, young Padawan?” an old, hushed voice called out to her, in almost a murmur.

Barriss lifted herself into an upright sit with trembling arms, coming face-to-face with the hem of a dirt-coloured robe. A gruff, sandpaper sound betrayed the long, reptilian tail hidden just within it. She looked up, gaze following the trail of an unkempt white beard that led to a mass of silvery hair that concealed a green-scaled head.

She recognised them. There was no Jedi Master so distinct in appearance.

“Master Rancisis...?”

The ancient Jedi Master took a good look at her face, and recognition danced within his beady eyes.

“You resisted my battle meditation. Master Luminara trained you well,” he acknowledged.

Indignation rose within her in a boil, “You! Is it the Jedi way to turn every man and woman in this fleet into your slave!?”

A small piece of her wanted to cringe at the mere thought of shouting at a Jedi Master, much less a Councilmember. But the larger whole of her found that she no longer cared.

Oppo Rancisis looked down at her as if she was an impertinent child who knew nothing of what she was talking about, and the indignation only grew.

“Everyone was willing, else it would not have worked,” Master Rancisis slithered towards the viewports, turning his back on her, “It was unfortunately necessary, Padawan. The Republic could not afford to lose this battle.”

“Republic? And what about the Jedi!?” she screamed, “Look around you! Millions are dead! Is this the Jedi way you preach!?”

The Thisspiasian Jedi didn’t deign to reply, instead silently folding his arms behind his back as he regarded Cylinder 90 and Victoria Louise. Still too weak to stand, Barriss pulled herself forward, scraping her nails bloody against the flooring as she did. Claxons blared in the background; panicked footsteps crashing all around her as the Legacy’s crew tried to coordinate a response.

Nobody noticed the girl on the ground dragging herself forward, even as their boots stamped inches from her head.

“Shouldn’t the Jedi be stopping the Republic from going too far?” she pleaded, tears bubbling up, “Answer me! Why are you enabling the Republic!?”

“So you have fallen to the Dark Side,” the Jedi Master lamented, pivoting to face her again, “Perhaps I should rescind my previous statement. Do you truly believe Dooku’s lies? Master Luminara will be sorely disappointed in you.”

The... the arrogance. Has Master Rancisis always been this arrogant? Have the Jedi? Has Barriss been part of it for long she became accustomed to it? Something within her finally snapped.

“Are you willfully blind!?” she cried, “It’s the Jedi who have fallen to the Dark Side! We’re perpetrating a war that means nothing to us! Instead of keeping the peace like we should’ve, we are waging war on behalf of the Senate! No wonder Count Dooku left us; he must’ve realised the truth!”

Master Rancisis sullenly shook his head from side to side, ignoring her once more. Barriss could feel the Force unravelling; the vision falling apart at the seams. The Jedi Master finally had enough of her, and wanted her gone.

“I’ve seen the war,” she told him, “I saw what went wrong. It’s the Republic. The Republic has corrupted the Order; made us into something we’re not.”

There was no answer. The dreadnought’s bridge was fracturing. The viewports were being blown out, crew pits crumpling like flimsi and crushing everybody inside them, and plating peeling apart like the skin of jogan fruit and exposing the bridge to the void.

“I will save the Jedi,” she made a promise; a promise to the unhearing master, and to herself, “I’ll stop the Republic, the Separatists. I will find out the truth behind the war. I’ll return the Jedi to the right side!”

“You’re only a Padawan. What can you do?”

Barriss didn’t know if it was Master Rancisis who said that, or her own mind.

“I’ve been making excuses this entire time,” she replied anyway, “This time, I’ll face it. If I’m helpless until the end, at least I know that I tried.”

Tuff’s emotionless voice reverberated through her skull– “Aim for the bridge. Open fire.”

With a new determination settled in her chest, immovable as permacrete, Barriss closed her eyes one more time. This time, however, she resolved to do something about it the next she opened them.