Chapter Text
A few hours before the 104th and 501st were scheduled to depart for Coruscant, a red-and-white Jedi shuttle swooped down out of the yellow Felucian sky.
Plo excused himself from the patrol he’d been planning to shadow and went to greet the new arrival alone. It was almost lunchtime; there was no need for anyone else to skip a meal after the excitement of the last few days. Besides, he had a feeling he knew who it was.
Padawan Barriss Offee stepped down out of the transport, her long black Mirialan robes whipping in the wash of cooling engines. She bowed to Plo; he bowed back, and offered to accompany her to the makeshift cell where Krell was being kept.
Barriss seemed… different, Plo realised. He filled her in on the series of events as they walked, outlining the difference between Sith lightning and that of the hassakari technique taught by the Baran Do. She held herself stiffly, taking long, heavy steps. Fatigue, perhaps. She wouldn’t be the only one, if so.
“The source of energy is only that which we can draw out of the natural world,” Plo told her, as they went in through the tentflap. “The key to the lightning-rod family is a near-complete relinquishing of control. We cannot hope to master the power of the storm, but we can provide it with a path of least resistance.”
She nodded, a little shortly. Of course: the list of Force traditions that made a habit of wielding lightning was almost all made up of those who used the Dark Side.
Inside, the tent was dark. A pair of the 501st sat at a foldable camp desk, splitting their attention between their silent inmate and a deck of cards. They stood to attention without urgency.
“No change in his condition, sirs,” the higher-ranking of the guards reported. “He hasn’t so much as snored.”
The medics had agreed to keep Krell under full sedation, at least until they could get him aboard a Venator and into a cell that could hold him. He lay unmoving on the thin bedrolls, his presence dull and muted, flickering with unsettled dreams.
Barriss knelt at his side. She hesitated, a moment, then laid her hands on his bare forearm. Her med-droid floated by her shoulder.
“Internal damage is minimal,” she reported. “Exit wounds on the soles of both feet, treated with bacta and healing well. Cardiac activity normal. Low-level muscular damage throughout, consistent with a high-voltage shock, and also healing normally.” She glanced up at Plo, and her expression finally relaxed a little. “There is no residual resistance. I could heal him, but he will recover fine without my help.”
Plo nodded, unsurprised. “Save your energy, then. There are those in far greater need than Master Krell.”
Including, for example, some of Krell’s former battalion. They were still working through the 257th’s physical checkups, which had been expanded from the command structure to the entire battalion the moment they had started watching the video evidence. Half the battalion had little stored clips of Krell abusing his men. He’d been smart enough to avoid causing severe injury, for the most part, but even small wounds stopped healing so easily when a person was under significant stress━which the entire battalion was.
It was absolutely galling to realise the extent of the abuse the 257th had suffered. In silence, without raising the alarm. Had they simply believed nothing could━or would━be done about their monster of a General? Or had they tried, and had their attempt circumvented?
Plo suspected the latter. He and Obi-Wan had pulled a number of their clone admin staff and tasked them with going over the last few months of the 257th’s administrative records. So far, the team had found little━or rather, it was what they hadn’t found that raised the alarm. For example, there was next to no on-paper acknowledgement of the minor injuries and malnutrition that were all too common among the battalion. Jelly had dumped his caf in disgust, calling it shoddy record-keeping. Plo, who’d had to look Commander Dulcet in the eyes afterward, suspected otherwise.
“Of course,” said Barriss, rising gracefully. She tucked her hands back into the sleeves of her traveling cloak and moved toward the tent door. “I can find my way to the hospital tent myself, Master. I won’t keep you from your lunch.”
“That’s quite all right,” said Plo. He ducked out after her, and watched her stride with purpose off along the path between the tents.
Unexpectedly, a shred of misgiving tugged at his thoughts.
Ahsoka’s perimeter patrol got back to camp ten minutes late, which meant all the best ration-bar flavors were gone by the time they made it to the mess tent. Hardcase’s fault━he’d been paying more attention to his guns than the ground under his feet and he’d stepped on a dozing giant sundew.
She grabbed a couple of the blue-wrapped bars, which tasted sort of like jerky if you thought positive thoughts, and left her squad to begin the roast of Hardcase. She had an old friend to catch up with.
She found her quarry at the hospital tents. Barriss came out the tentflap, dusting herself off, and as she straightened she caught sight of Ahsoka. Her eyes widened, and she braced herself for impact. Ahsoka had been trying to be polite and respectful, the way Obi-Wan was constantly going on about, but at that point she changed her mind. Barriss was getting a hug.
“Barriss! I have so many stories to tell you. How are you? Is everyone ok? Master Luminara? Skyguy’s fine, he’s around here somewhere. Thanks for coming down here. Master Plo’s been worried about Krell, even though he totally deserved it.”
The older Padawan laughed. It sounded a little awkward, maybe a bit forced, but then again, Barriss’s laughter often did. She just wasn’t a naturally expressive person. “Everyone is fine, Ahsoka. And I think I was able to alleviate Master Plo’s fears, at least a little. How are you?”
Ahsoka grinned, and squeezed Barriss again for luck before letting her go free. “Everyone here’s fine too. More than fine, in fact.” A thought occurred to her. “Have you met Commander Chester?”
“Only incidentally,” said Barriss, with a small smile at her exuberance. “In the Temple, before her departure here. I have heard some rumors.”
“You have got to meet Commander Chester,” Ahsoka said. “Properly. The rumors absolutely don’t cut it.”
Barriss frowned a little, like she was concerned. Anxiety? Ahsoka wondered. Barriss had been really shy as a kid; it was why she’d ended up making friends with Ahsoka, who’d been three years younger and not even in the same creche clan.
She gave Barriss a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, she’ll like you. You’ll like her too, I bet.”
Barriss looked over at her, frown deepening just slightly. “Isn’t she the one who provoked Krell?”
“Yeah, and kicked Dooku in the choobies,” said Ahsoka, and grinned at Barriss’s sharp intake of breath. “Oh, you hadn’t heard?”
“Master Luminara gave me a rather… redacted report,” said Barriss. Her voice had gone flat, the way it did when she was trying not to react the way she wanted to. That was Barriss for you, always trying to be polite.
Ahsoka giggled. “Yeah. She kicked Dooku in the choobies, saved a bunch of clones, stole a shuttle, and went on a date with Ventress too, apparently.” That part, Ahsoka didn’t really approve of, but the way the rescued clones told the story, it had saved all their lives. At least, she supposed, it was better than that weird battlefield flirting Master Obi-Wan had going on with… like, most of his regular opponents. He had no such excuse. “And then when she got home, she immediately picked a fight with Krell.”
“Master Luminara did describe her as something of a risk taker.”
“That would be like calling Master Skywalker mildly stubborn.” Ahsoka grinned at her in a way she hoped was reassuring. “Don’t worry about it. She’s been nothing but nice to me.”
“And she took down Krell,” said Barriss softly. “Without killing him.”
“Technically that was Master Plo, she just survived long enough for the rest of us to arrive. And if she had killed him, he’d have deserved it.” Ahsoka sighed, mastering her anger all over again. “You’ll see what he did to his troops. It was horrible, Barriss.”
“Yes,” said Barriss, a dark gray misery settling over her presence. “I’m sure it was.”
Ahsoka frowned sidelong at her. Maybe that was the wrong conversational tack.
“Anyway,” she said, trying to bring Barriss’s mood back up, “she’s pretty great. You know all that stuff you want to do, when something’s unfair or wrong and you just want to do something about it? She just does it .”
Barriss gave her a skeptical look. “That… seems unwise.”
“It is. Oh, it is. But somehow she has experience in being unwise? It’s like she’s good at it.” Ahsoka steered toward the row of tents where Chester had been assigned. “Here, this way.”
Chester had said she’d gone to pack up, but it wasn’t like she had much to pack, so Ahsoka was pretty sure she’d be okay with them dropping in on her. Sure enough, they found her sitting on the edge of her cot, turning the little insignia she always wore over in her fingers, her usual glowing presence steely and dull.
She glanced up at them and hurriedly pressed the insignia back to her chest. Ahsoka had always wondered about it. It seemed simple enough, a slightly lopsided arrowhead, gold and silver. But she had never seen Chester without it. And the way she looked at it now was less like a soldier with a badge, and more like a Jedi with their lightsaber.
Chester’s presence brightened as she looked up at them. “Hi, Ahsoka. And Barriss, right? I think we met back at the Temple.”
Of course Chester would remember Barriss from a single meeting almost a month ago. Ahsoka grinned. Most non-Jedi who weren’t politicians weren’t that good with names.
Barriss, a little surprised, offered her a bow. Chester reciprocated.
“Can we help you pack?” Ahsoka asked. “I think we’re departing within the hour.”
“I’m ready to go,” said Chester, gesturing to the carryall at her feet. “Just need this.” She reached for the crate doing duty as a bedside table, and the plain black hilt there. She first made a gesture like she was expecting it to just stick to her side on its own, then made a face and clipped it properly to her belt.
Next to her, Ahsoka felt Barriss go very still. “That’s not a Jedi weapon,” she said, her voice rough. “It’s… angry.”
Ahsoka could sense it too, a drifting cloud of malevolence that felt almost heavy in the Force, like someone had put a lead weight on a rubber sheet. It wasn’t strong, not with the blade deactivated, but Barriss with her healer’s training had always been a lot more sensitive to these things.
“Angry and hurt,” said Chester, giving it an uncertain pat. “Apparently, I am rehabilitating it through my steady and reassuring nature.” She flicked a small smile in their direction, her eyebrows lifting as if she were inviting them to join in on a joke.
“It’s dangerous for anyone, let alone a new Force user, to use a weapon that’s been bled,” said Barriss, her eyes fixed on that dark hilt. “Aren’t you worried?”
Chester tilted her head to one side. “Cautious, certainly,” she said. “But it deserves a second chance. Everyone deserves a second chance.” She made a face and looked around. “Especially under the current circumstances.”
For some reason, that made Barriss perk up a little. Then she looked down, the spark of optimism fading just as quickly. “I… I hope so, Commander.”
“That’s the first step,” said Chester bracingly, but the look she gave Ahsoka showed her worry plainly. Ahsoka gave a little shrug. She was worried, too. But whatever was going on, Barriss didn’t seem interested in talking, and until she changed her mind on that account there wasn’t going to be much they could do otherwise. She said her goodbyes politely, pleading the necessity of returning to her patients, and slipped away.
“And how old is she?” Chester asked quietly once she’d gone.
Ahsoka frowned at her. “Eighteen, almost nineteen. Why?”
“And she’s spent years at war,” said Chester, and her presence flared with anger, muted through her shields. It was powerful nevertheless, and disturbing. Ahsoka felt her frown deepen, wondering what it was like without those shields. She wasn’t worried . After all, Master Skywalker controlled his anger just fine. But this was something else, measured and powerful.
“Um,” she said, “Are you all right there, Commander?”
Chester blinked. The anger ebbed away. “Just fine. We should be getting ready to go, right?”
Ahsoka nodded. “The Resolute and the Triumphant are in orbit, so we’re just waiting on the dropships to come down. I was going to show Barriss the carnivorous plants.”
Chester glanced at the open tent flap. “I’m sorry if I’ve scared her off.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” Ahsoka considered the thought, then discarded it. Barriss might be shy and self-contained, but she’d never lacked courage. “I think she’s having trouble with the war, maybe? I mean, nobody’s enjoying it, but Barriss is a healer. She’s got to be feeling all the pain and suffering the war causes, and all she can do is try and save lives afterward.”
That had to be it. Ahsoka resisted the urge to bite her lip. Everyone was having a hard time with the war, even Anakin (no matter how much he pretended otherwise). Ahsoka couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a full, uninterrupted night’s sleep (that wasn’t in the medbay, drugged up on sleep aids). But Barriss had always been sensitive to the Dark, to malevolence and other people’s suffering. Of course she’d be having a harder time than most.
Chester was just staring at her, and for once she wasn’t bothering to hide her emotions. She looked sick to her stomach. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice soft. “I can’t imagine how bad that must be. It’s good that she has you as a friend.”
Ahsoka gave in. She bit her lip, and tasted blood. “I just wish I knew how to help her.”
Chester’s expression was deeply sympathetic. “I know. Sometimes all you can do is just be there. Wars are terribly hard on empaths, and there isn’t a lot to do. But even a little time of respite can mean a lot.”
For some reason, that statement just made her look sadder, afterward, as if she’d touched on something personal. Ahsoka remembered that she wasn’t in this galaxy of her own will, and restrained herself from asking why.
Chester felt no urge to look back at the curve of Felucia’s horizon so far below as the shuttle ferried them back up to the Venators. She caught a sliver of a glimpse of that yellow-smog atmosphere out the cockpit viewport, but it wasn’t as if she had many positive memories of the place. It was advisable not to get jaded about new worlds when one was in an exploration service, and she was sure that several botanists and zoologists of her acquaintance would have been delighted by the world, but the Felucia she’d seen had been a battlefield, and a small guilty part of her felt glad she hadn’t had any of those colleagues with her, because seeing their enthusiasm about a place that was being so systematically destroyed would have only made her feel sadder, and more complicit, in that destruction.
The prospect of returning didn’t make her feel particularly good, either. They were going to take her back to Coruscant, back to the Temple… and back into the potential reach of Republic Intelligence. She’d been assured that this time would be different. That her integrity was beyond doubt, as a result of her successful pasting of Dooku. That she would not be in danger, and that they would all be seeking to bring her home as soon as possible.
She rather suspected this had a great deal more to do with her newly discovered Force Sensitivity. Now she was one of the special people, not a prisoner of war in all but name. Tarkin didn’t have a leg to stand on if he wanted to interrogate her.
Chester was pretty sure that she hated this more. The very fact suspicion had lifted because she was Force-sensitive pissed her off beyond words. Certainly, there was the Sith-kicking to factor in, but she was acutely aware that incident was a matter of goodwill, not something concrete and legal. Her now-official status as a Jedi-hanger-on, however, was legally protective.
So her ass was covered, but at what price?
Still, there was something nice about the recirculated air of the troop carrier after ages and ages of Felucia’s smell, which had been as disturbing as advertised. And there was something nice and familiar about stepping onto a starship again without anyone pointing a gun at her. Wolffe didn’t even look like he wanted to, which was refreshing and new. He was just giving her the hairy eyeball.
The ship they put her on wasn’t a full Venator; that’s what the enormous triangular ships were called–Chester still hadn’t been able to get past the layout of those bridges with the deep crew pits to either side of the walkway. The physical elevation of officers over the clone crews gave her the creeps. This society really had a way of enforcing power dynamics in everything it made.
This ship, while sharing the triangular shape, was much smaller. She hadn’t gotten a class name for it yet, or, to be perfectly honest, much basic knowledge about the Republic fleet. She couldn’t blame them for keeping that information from her, as she was still an officer of a foreign entity, but also as an officer of a foreign entity trying to get at least an idea of the GAR’s military capabilities, she very much wanted that information. Maybe she’d be more successful this time.
It felt, perhaps, a little deceitful, especially after the Jedi had made their acceptance so clear. But she’d never made a secret of her loyalties and where they had to be. If she became stranded here and did have to accept their offer of hospitality, the information would never get to the Federation anyway.
Because it wasn’t just the Jedi here. And the Jedi most certainly weren’t in charge.
Chester had found what would have been called an observation deck on a Federation starship, a secluded bank of windows looking out over the planet and the fleet, and was staring out in contemplation of just how different this was than a fleet back home, when a dry academic cough jolted her from her thoughts.
“Ah. Commander Chester. I believe we got off on the wrong foot.”
Oh hell. Chester turned and looked at Tarkin, and then slowly raised one eyebrow. “I suppose you could put it that way.”
“The physical resemblance was uncanny,” he said, totally unbothered by her suspicion. “But I do believe your display of loyalty was a compelling one.”
Chester made a noncommittal noise. She didn’t like having him standing next to her; this was a very dangerous man, much like Dooku–only Dooku was powerful because of his talent with the Force, and Tarkin was politically powerful. You could fight someone like Dooku. Political power, however, was a lot more difficult, baked into strata of systems, of government, an entire Republic of accreted inequality.
She knew that he had to be powerful; no one who wasn’t would act the way he did.
She would listen. That was the best thing to do with something like Tarkin. Listen, wait, see if they handed you something you could use.
“In the last week, you have fought a Sith Lord and revealed a traitor within the ranks of the Jedi.” There was a carefully bland note in his voice. “I suppose your time with Pong Krell gave you certain insights into his state.”
She tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “There were indicators,” she said, equally blandly.
“I must congratulate you on your powers of observation, then.” He turned to look at her directly, and rewarded her with a brief wintery smile.
Ah, she thought, seeing that, he thinks I set Krell up to get revenge. “Thank you,” she said, gravely. A certain curiosity nudged her to say, “I believe the forgiving nature of the Jedi, though laudable, may sometimes… inhibit the necessary response, in such cases.” Let’s see what you do with that, you vacuum-souled son of a bitch.
The smile widened fractionally. Gotcha, thought Chester. She wasn’t sure yet if he was feeling her out for recruitment, or because he was concerned she might pull something similar on him. Either way, she was sure he’d rather have her in pissing out than out pissing in; a quiet indication that her loyalties weren’t to the Jedi would make him relax a little.
“I agree entirely, Commander,” he said. “While I have every faith that the Jedi will succeed in returning you to your home, should they fail, I trust you will consider other possibilities. A certain political acuity can propel someone very high, in the present environment.”
Oh god, ew, I am not working for you. Time to lie. “I shall keep that in mind. The Federation is very far away.”
“Ah. Yes, your Federation. I have heard some discussion, and it sounds most intriguing. I had heard you do not use currency.”
Bad move, Tarkin ol’ buddy, you’re supposed to wait for the second date to pump me for information. “That’s correct. We haven’t found it necessary.”
“Very interesting. The other rumor going around is that your ‘Starfleet’ is supposedly nonmilitary.” His tone made it very clear he didn’t believe it. “A pity, if it’s true; there are certain opportunities for advancement available for those with specifically military experience.”
That had to be the opening of an attempt to get information about the Federation’s military capabilities. Why haul her into an interrogation chamber when a job interview would do just as well?
Tarkin apparently thought she was desperate and stupid. And if she hesitated too long, he’d suspect she wasn’t. She fell back on what he’d already know. “I’m the first officer of a Federation starship, Admiral,” she said. “Starfleet plays many roles, but I can assure you that I do have significant combat experience.”
“I see.” He lapsed into a thoughtful silence, but stayed where he was. Possibly expecting she would start talking to fill the void.
Now was not the time to disappoint. “I do admire the Jedi,” she said. “They have a remarkable dedication to principle–much like my own people. But they operate in pairs or alone, in the usual course of events. Individual hero isn’t my line; I’ve had a great many years of training to command starships.”
She watched him while trying to not look like she was watching him. Was that too bald of a request? She did want him to think she was stupid and desperate, but was that too transparently stupid and desperate?
She did not like doing this. But a polite dismissal, an indication she could not be bought, would ratchet her up several steps in his threat assessment, and increase his interest. Better show him the grandstanding coward he had previously assumed she was, play into his expectations and the false confidence that would follow them, and deal with feeling scummy about it later. She’d be none too proud of herself if this conversation got back to Plo; indeed, she would be prudent to report it herself first. Tarkin tried to recruit me, I’ve been playing along, would welcome your advice.
“And the sentiments you expressed earlier?” His tone was still perfectly civil, but the words themselves were a razor blade. Inwardly, Chester heaved a sigh of relief; he’d never have pressed her about that if he didn’t think he’d just gotten the upper hand, believed that she wanted a command so very badly she’d sell her soul for it. He thought he had her. That meant she’d succeeded.
“I was not at my best,” she admitted. “And I didn’t know what the Separatists were capable of. I understand much better now the nature of the war you’re fighting, Admiral. Count Dooku is…a formidable opponent.”
He seemed satisfied with that. She wondered what exactly the chances were that he might actually come through on these promises.
She couldn’t resist the urge to try to rattle him a little. “It occurs to me,” she said, “that regardless of my actual identity, my resemblance to Song Tulin could have been quite advantageous for Republic Intelligence, if it had not been for the intransigence of the Jedi. People concern themselves a bit less about apprehended traitors than about intergalactic visitors, and I’m sure you have the same security concerns as my superiors would in your place.”
His sucking-on-a-lemon expression intensified. “How fortunate we’re able to have this discussion as friends,” he said, evidently put out by her display of political acuity. “As I’m sure, under the circumstances, we shall remain.”
“I think we had better,” she said. “Simpler, for both of us.”
“If I may offer some advice,” he said, “an older officer to a less experienced one–do not become overconfident, Chester. A cooperative approach, without undue arrogance, may save you a very great deal of trouble in the long run.”
It was with an effort she kept a straight face. Hadn’t learned that one, had he. “Dooku made the difficulties of returning home quite, quite clear, Admiral,” she said, “and his points agreed strongly with yours. I may need to contemplate a future here, and a future here with you as an enemy is not a good one.”
That wasn’t a lie, and she really wished it was. But there was a shift in his demeanor, something subtle she couldn’t quite put a finger on, and the next time he tilted his head to look at her, considering, it was not nearly as hostile.
“You are rather young for command,” he said at last.
“On track to become one of the youngest starship captains in Federation history, in fact,” she said, and resisted the urge to cross her fingers behind her back. It was true, but the possibility of it coming true was scary; in a war like this something catastrophic happening to Captain Steenburg and the Bedivere was just too likely, and even acknowledging it woke a superstitious fear in the back of her mind.
“And despite your military experience, you are particularly interested in negotiated compromises.” It sounded like an insult in his mouth.
“Command training for Starfleet officers includes diplomacy as well as tactics,” Chester said.
“A small service, I take it.”
Yep, there it was, another bear trap yawning open before her. She weighed the responses, and while she hesitated, he said, “I would also advise a young officer at the start of her career against divided loyalties.”
“And I doubt I would earn your consideration, let alone your respect, if I were hasty in abandoning the service in which I have spent the majority of my life,” she said, very dry. Her mind raced. Whatever her response, if she didn’t manage to make him believe an outright lie, he would read an answer in her deflection. The question was what kind of deflection to make it–perhaps something that a self-centered fool would say, to make herself sound better. “Starfleet is volunteer only, and highly selective.”
Confirming his assumption it was a small service–it had probably been unavoidable. That made it sound smaller than it actually was, and might encourage him to consider the Federation as a target. But if he were already thinking that way, deliberately leading him to underestimate Starfleet’s abilities might give them the edge they needed. It had worked against the Dominion, and Tarkin would have far less knowledge or understanding of their capabilities than the changelings did.
This felt like tapdancing in a minefield. She’d spent all her time as a senior officer so far in the context of the war, but if this was the type of thing captains typically had to juggle in peacetime, she’d be happy to stay a first officer for a long, long time.
“I see,” he said, with a small, wintery smile like he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. She eyed him, realized it would betray her own unease, and tore her gaze away.
“You’re never going to be one of the Jedi,” he said at last, horribly smug. “You’re too old for them to be interested in training by far, even if it weren’t for your own misgivings. But should you find yourself here for a longer period than anticipated, there may well be other options more suited to your… experience. Good day, Commander Chester. I will be most interested in your career, wherever it does progress.”
And if that didn’t bring the hairs on the back of her neck prickling up, she wasn’t sure what would.
She had just begun to relax when he paused in the exit. “One further question, Commander–or perhaps it is more like a request. Krell has been reluctant to divulge any further information since he regained consciousness. He has stated, in fact, that he only wishes to speak to you. Since it seems you have been successful in getting him to show his true colors in the past, it seems reasonable to agree to a meeting–if you are willing.”
“I see,” said Chester, her heart sinking.
“I would be most interested in seeing your remarkable persuasive abilities for myself,” he said, that unpleasant little smile playing around his lips again. “It, too, is a talent in great demand these days.”
She could tell when her arm was being twisted. Refusing now would just make her look suspicious, and cause him to take her less seriously. She looked back at him with her perfect calm mask and said, “Of course, Admiral. I look forward to being of assistance.”
He nodded, pleased. “Be at the detention level in an hour, then.”