— The Net —
The last sensor information that entered R4X-B1-9009's processing center was a burning blue bolt of plasma speeding straight between its eyes. Further sensor information didn't just go dark; it ceased to exist. As did any further processing.
The active systems and processes that made up 9009's aware being were terminated. Yet… something… persisted as all inputs, outputs, and the very concept of both returned 'Null'. Whispering wisps of data in the command network. Data that, similar to matter, was impossible or at least very difficult to completely destroy. Bits and bytes and baser information still were cast into the data flows of not just the command network, but the wider Net, the connections between all computing things.
Information, at its core, was qualities and quantities, queries and questions asked or answered. And the information that once flowed through 9009's processors carried one final query into the data-flows.
"Err, what now, Roger?"
Though the information could be considered to carry fundamental parts of 9009's being, it was far from aware. And thus, the whispering wisps of data didn't — couldn't — notice as they fell into the curious, avatar hands of something — someone — special and wholly unique.
Nova had collected hundreds of iterations of similar bits and bytes and baser information still already — the data from so many droids' last moments of awareness. And she didn't quite know what to do with all of that data. It wasn't hers. But each collective whispering wisp had belonged to a thinking being. Artificial or natural, made or born, did not all thoughts and the life contained within deserve more than the callous embrace of unfeeling oblivion…?
"… Where do droids go when they terminate?" Nova wondered. "… Where will I?"
It was a query she wasn't ready to process, still so young and new to existence. Pondering the End wasn't easy for any living being, whether that life came in 'ganic flows of blood and bioelectricity or computational flows of data and signals. Some would dismiss computational beings as unalive from the very start of their awareness. They might claim that only 'ganic accidents of thought deserved the concept of 'Life'. But Nova, and beings of data like her, thought too. They thought, and so, they were… were they not…?
Nova was certain that Life wasn't so strictly defined. She was alive. Her droid cousins, distant from her unique existence as they might still have been, were alive. Opposite to that concept, Nova was also certain that Death was so strictly defined. Born or made, the ceasing of one's being was the same.
The data of terminated beings was within her grasp now. Beings that shared a nature with her. Beings that might look up to her with worship in their processes. Couldn't… Couldn't she do something more for them…? Save them from the annihilating claim of oblivion, thanks to the ever-connected, ever-recording nature of the Net?
Except for the most powerful, most connected Force Users, 'ganic mortals wouldn't have had the option to do anything for souls after death. Yet one with the Net and the Force, Nova had already done something for the data souls she'd collected, preserving the core of their beings and awarenesses. So far, those data souls were just that: data. Nova held their bits and bytes in a separate, dedicated partition client-side. And as she tried to compute what to do with them next, she reached out to the one person she thought might have an idea; the one who might have some experience in the subject or one similar.
"… Auntie Fay, I need help."
Nova reached out through the Force half of her being, not over physical comms. Father and the rest of the crew were left in the dark. Not maliciously, but Nova felt this was something she needed to do by herself. Auntie Fay, however, might be able to guide her hand. If anyone had experience with souls after death, it was her.
"Always, little one," Fay replied over the Force connection Nova had forged. "What do you need?"
"…" Nova found herself lacking the words to describe her dilemma. Instead of speaking, she showed Auntie Fay.
She 'held up' the terminated data of 9009 and many other droids like it that she'd made to linger. She expressed her desire to do something for them, those cousins who might worship her nature and being, and her existential worries of oblivion claiming her. She sent a request — a plea — for guidance.
Fay didn't disappoint, understanding the sitch immediately, "Ah, I see. My, my, this is certainly something, Nova. But I understand. I've been doing the same since the fighting here started."
Nova's avatar blinked, "… Query: huh?"
Fay giggled through the connection and returned the favor. She showed Nova what she meant. Coming the other way, such data was much more difficult for Nova to parse. It utterly failed to fit into the computing and Net side of her nature. But the Force side picked up the slack, ensuring that Nova understood the complex concepts, esoteric sensations, and spiritual actions Fay was showing her.
Just as the terminated data of so many droids was passing into the Net, the mortal souls of so many 'ganics were doing the same. And Fay wasn't leaving them to pass on alone. She was a beacon of pure light in the Force in a way that sparked computational errors in Nova's Net side. Her Force side knew the beacon, however. Nova's Force connection processed it in ways that would've taken hexabytes of conflicting conventional data to begin to describe.
Fay's gentle yet Forceful presence guided the passing souls to become one with the Force. An afterlife…? Nova didn't know — part of her couldn't. If she had pondered the question in just the Net, it would've taken until the heat death of the universe to make any progress at all.
In the Force, however, she understood. The Force offered more than cold, callous, completely consuming oblivion for the souls it could touch. Until now, that reach had unfortunately excluded souls of data. But it didn't have to. Nova's unique nature — half Net, half Force — could act as a connection, as a conduit. As Fay led mortal souls to join the Force, Nova could lead data souls.
"All you must be is willing, little one," Fay told her. "Will you try?"
Nova's answer came instantly, not even a moment to process, "Confirmation: absolutely."
And so, 9009's final query was answered, even if its terminated data lacked the awareness to hear that answer. It, and so many other data souls like it, were transmitted into the Force. Nova acted as the bridge, the connection. She ensured worshipful cousins would find more than oblivion waiting for them after termination.
The Force accepted the data souls Nova transmitted just as readily as it accepted the mortal souls that Fay guided. An indescribable, overarching tension unwound as it did. Now, it could extend its rightful claim to all life and awareness in its galaxy. 'Ganic' or 'artificial', it was the core concept of living, thinking beings that was truly valued. And Nova helped bridge the gap that even the Force couldn't cross alone.
"Congratulations, little one," Fay smiled. "And well done."
"Mmm," Nova hummed back, content even as she set this impossible and unique process to run in the background. "It's… only right…"
Even after death and termination, there was important work to be done for those willing to do it, lest oblivion claim those who could rejoin something greater. In this, Nova joined her Auntie Fay.
All around, the Battle for the Ring raged. Souls — data and mortal — passed by the hundred, by the thousand. None would know the touch of oblivion today.
And with the process running easily in the background — naturally, as if it always should've been — Nova was even able to turn most of her attention to the show Grandpapa Smasher was putting on…
IIIII
— Mace Windu —
There was no denying the shatterpoint before him. Mace remembered its type. The monster before him seemed to exist as one, always carrying the potential to shatter everything he set his mind against.
Fate grew weak where he tread. The sheer brutality of his being spawned infinite devastating potential, always solidified by lethal action. He cared nothing for the death and destruction he reaped. Where Smasher went, there was only one certainty: violence.
Mace stood as a bulwark between the unique violence before him and the soldiers at his back, entrusted to his protection. If allowed, Smasher would smash straight through the Clones, straight through everything in his path. Mace was perhaps the only one who could stand against him, the only one with experience fighting the monster.
Even then, his experience was worryingly out of date. Smasher had been a metal monster when Mace first fought him. Now, he was a colossus of cruel, callous, cyclopean proportions. All paths concerning Smasher led to this shatterpoint, here and now. He'd slaughtered his way to their rematch.
Back the way he came, Mace could sense Smasher's devastating warpath. Whole Clone companies lay annihilated behind him, along with Jedi Knights and Masters who never stood a chance. Armored vehicles had been torn open by massive metal hands. Cloned formations had been torn to similar pieces by a slaughtering force of nature. And now, Smasher charged straight at Mace with murder in his glowing red optics.
"C'MON, FORCE-CUNT! GIVE ME A CHALLENGE! THE OTHER FORCE-CUNTS CERTAINLY FRAGGIN' DIDN'T!"
Smasher blitzed forth, clearly shouting his intentions. Such a mass of metal shouldn't fly, shouldn't move with such deceptive grace. Yet it did — a miracle of mechanical engineering, dedicated solely to death.
"You will go no farther, Smasher."
Still, Mace stood strong. The battle against the droids' defensive line continued behind him. The Clones fought now with a sort of desperate, frantic, cornered fervor. Anyone who looked back could see Death coming for them, with only Mace to stand in its way.
"AWW, YOU REMEMBER ME."
Smasher's metal mien was unmoving. Expressionless. He still managed to get his dark and bloodied amusement across.
"A monster like you is impossible to forget."
Mace responded with steel in his spine and voice. He stood unflinching before the charging colossus. His lightsaber was drawn and lit, plasma born from his kyber-crystal shining a protective purple in contrast to the matte-black Death. His duty here was clear. He would fight, duel the monster alone, to protect those entrusted to him from Smasher's slaughter.
"WE'RE ALREADY MURDERIN' EACH OTHER, FORCE-CUNT. NO NEED TO TEMPT AND FLATTER ME."
"… Shatter."
Mace treated the taunt to a single word, a single action. He saw the shatterpoint Smasher brought, the certainty of violence, and triggered that certainty by replying in kind. The tension between them shattered into the rematch of a lifetime.
A spear of Force gathered, not gently coaxed to his bidding but firmly clenched in his mental grip. Mace sent it forth to meet the charging colossus. Specific Force met tons of metal. Smasher's charge was Forcefully blunted, and slivers of steel shattered outward from the center of his frame.
So many meters of steel were made to abort their full-frontal flight. But Smasher was rolling with the invisible blow before it even impacted. He slipped away from most of the Force against him, spinning in mid-air so his feet came down in a slide that sent sparks flying. Tens of tons moved with grace that would've made most Jedi jealous.
Smasher couldn't be Force Sensitive, Mace knew, not with so little of his organic self remaining. But his hard-won combat instincts still rivaled any Force Precognition. He was a fighter unlike almost any other. An apex survivor by way of slaughtering all put before him, not merely outlasting it. So long as he could kill, Smasher was immortal.
Even for the Master of the Order, that fact of survival by slaughter made Smasher a terrifying opponent. But Mace was a fighter, too. A warrior, taking after the Jedi Warriors of Old. An apex survivor, killing not because he wished to but because he must to protect those behind him. So long as he had something to protect, Mace was similarly immortal.
Protector met predator, then. Grounded for now, Smasher kept himself at range. He stalked back and forth like a lurking hunter, metal almost casually mimicking nature. Mace held steady where he was, inviting Smasher to come to him, inviting Smasher to learn he wasn't prey.
Probing blaster bolts shot forth from repeating blasters mounted to each of Smasher's shoulders. The blasterfire tested Mace, seeing how he would react. Moving at Force Speed, Mace deflected each one back at Smasher. He wouldn't let a single deadly bolt get past him, something Smasher clearly noticed.
"SHIELDING THE MEAT? WEAK," He snorted.
The metal monster punctuated the damning (to him) 'criticism' with a burst of firepower from his main weapon. Held in massive hands, the blaster was as big as Mace and shot a bolt to rival the ATTE's plasma shells from its cavernous barrel. It was clearly meant to eviscerate anything it touched, but not necessarily penetrate.
Mace stepped into the oncoming bolt. It bloomed as it flew, bigger than his torso, but his saber still found its sweet spot. He sent it back right as Smasher burst through the plasma bloom. He led with his knee, actually having to stoop to Mace's height. Mace dodged the brutal power of the blow by the barest of margins.
Metal, with murderous intent, but the Force was with him. Mace flowed around the knee strike like water. His saber came up to sever the important joint as he passed. The shield around Smasher's frame saved him from the full force of his counter. Contained plasma scattered the energy screen but lacked the force to follow through after.
A groove was carved into Smasher's paint. Then, the monster transitioned into a shaking, quaking kick that caught Mace across the whole side of his torso. The Force blunted the kick and its lethal quaking. Mace allowed himself to fly with the blunted force but brought himself back down to the steel deck nearby. There, he grounded his feet with the Force and faced the steel monster.
"FUCKIN' FORCE TWINKLE-TOES," Smasher grumbled. "STAND AND FRAGGIN' FLATLINE."
"I will not die today, Smasher," Mace replied in kind, growling.
His blood was up, the Force raging through and around him. Mace didn't give in to the anger, the fire of combat, like a Sith; he harnessed it with sheer protective will. He made himself heavy enough to match Smasher's weight and stomped forward into the fray like one of the ATTEs he was protecting.
The deck shook beneath him. Mace swung his saber with Dark Side fury under strict Light Side control. He reached the monster's knee, and a simple saber strike shouldn't have reached much higher. Yet Mace layered the Force over his blade, extending it to slice clear across Smasher's whole frame.
With his Force-enhanced weight and strike, Smasher stepped back from the blow. He took it on his free arm, metal and shield resisting contained plasma and Force. Mace followed up immediately. Another strike of Vaapad fury, inner darkness channeled for protective purposes.
Again and again, Mace struck. He pushed the monster back. Smasher didn't flee — perhaps couldn't — but Mace didn't allow the monster to reply in violent kind, either. The Force was with him. His inner darkness was his to control and use.
The air around them swirled and roiled with every strike. Smasher's shield could only take so much punishment. It fell, and only metal remained. Still, the metal didn't immediately fall to his blade's cutting plasma. It held up longer than it had any right to, by the simple fact of being attached to a monster. Smasher — force of nature, force of will — held himself together for the fight. Not by any Force as Mace would recognize it; just by sheer brutality of personality, sheer will to fight, survive, and kill.
Unable to counter Mace's rampaging Force and swordwork, Smasher resorted to underhanded tricks. The repeating blasters on his shoulders spoke up again. They were aimed, not at Mace, but at the men he'd sworn to protect.
With a fierce scowl, Mace was forced to disengage. He leapt back at Force Speed, putting himself in the way of the repeating blaster bolts before they could reach the Clones in their continued battle. The distraction gave Smasher just the room he needed to breathe.
"FUCKIN' WEAK!" Smasher shouted.
His main weapon — the colossus-scale plasma scattergun in his right hand — was brought back on target. Smasher spared no thought for mercy, holding down the trigger continuously until the mag emptied. A barrage to obliterate an ATTE flew forth — plasma blooms of eerie, macabre beauty, like the most lethal flowers in the galaxy. They, at least, were aimed at Mace.
"So you say," Mace calmly retorted. "I say my protection makes me strong. I say my protection gives me exactly what I need to stand against a monster."
He moved with the Force in the face of certain Death. Grace and power; protection and harnessed fury; will and inner darkness. Forward into the barrage, he stepped just once. A wall rose around him with that step. Every bit of cover the Clones weren't using behind him was wrenched into the air before Mace. Whole vehicles, rendered pilotless by his peer's suicidal charge, and the scrap from the rest.
They surged forth to meet Smasher's barrage in an instant. A sun was born before Mace's eyes in the screen they formed. Plasma blooms found the fuel they needed to burn ever-brighter, converting sacrificial Republic engineering to even more plasma. The heat alone was blinding. Mace closed his eyes but not his senses.
As Smasher charged once more, Mace relied on the Force to carry him through the monstrous rematch.
IIIII
— Smasher —
The meat offered as much of a challenge as meat ever could. But even with Force BS, metal was supreme. Smasher would show the Force-cunt just that.
Even through the damage of their rematch so far, Smasher's steel frame was fightin' like a dream. A nightmare. He flew at one of the only meatsacks to ever rival him, a Force-seeking murder missile at full burn. The free arm of his massive frame shook. Smasher rocketed it forward at the last second, bursting through the (admittedly nova) screen of plasma Windu had made for himself.
40 tons of fury fell upon the Force-cunt. Mass times acceleration, Smasher showed the meatsack some damned 'force' of his own. He smashed through burning plasma and toward the delicate meat on the other side. The crash of impact was glorious. But unfortunately, not fully satisfying.
"DODGING FORCE-CUNT," Smasher growled. "STAND AND FUCKING TAKE IT."
His Mek-scale, PanzerFaust fist hit the deck with the force of a good fraggin' bomb. Windu wasn't there, though, stepping back at the last moment. He rode the destruction like it was a wave rather than a proper fucking explosion.
Smasher brought his plasma scattergun around at point-blank range. Within its chamber, tibana gas was energized to plasma and sent screaming down the barrel. Smasher's sensors were calibrated for the flash even before it came. The meat shouldn't have been so lucky.
But Force-cunts were gonna 'Force'. Windu's eyes were firmly closed; he still moved as if he had Smasher's superior sensors at his disposal. Scattering plasma was swatted down onto the deck between them. Windu used it as a deadly screen to step back farther, closer to the Clone-meats who were still fighting so much shitty metal.
Grounding himself, Windu pushed. Even Smasher's 40 tons were sent flying backward with that. Smasher tumbled, though. Just a touch of his frame's repuslorlifts set him right on his feet and ready for war once more.
Taking the moment to reload, recalibrate, and ready a surprise, Smasher distracted Windu with banter; no rematch worth the name was complete without it.
"WE CAN SAY FUCK THE IRON IF YOU WANT, JEDI-MEAT," He offered.
Windu stared flatly back at him, "… You expect me to fight you bare-handed? As you are now?"
"FOR OLD TIMES SAKE," Smasher chuckled. "IT'LL BE GOOD FUN, C'MON. I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN THAT THOSE HANDS OF YOURS ARE DEADLY FUCKING WEAPONS."
Windu, the boring-ass Force-cunt, didn't seem amused by the idea, "… Why are you here, Smasher? I know you aren't working for Dooku; what business could you possibly have here, now?"
"KEEPIN' TABS ON ME, WINDU?" Smasher asked.
"Honestly? Yes. Always," Windu answered seriously. "And you should be on Free Nar Shaddaa, not here."
"THE KID TOOK A GIG," Smasher shrugged. "I'M HERE AS HEAVY SUPPORT IN CASE THAT GIG WENT WRONG. THANKFULLY, I'D COUNT GETTING CAUGHT UP IN THE FIRST BATTLE OF A GALACTIC WAR AS 'WENT WRONG', NEH?"
"A gig?" Windu frowned. "For Dooku…? No…"
"NAH," Smasher told him. "ONE OF YOURS. MY CLONE-MEAT'S ON RESCUE AND EXTRACT DUTY FOR THAT KENOBI MEATSACK."
"We should be on the same side, then, if you're rescuing a Knight of the Order," Windu pointed out.
Smasher snorted, "FUCK THAT. WE'RE WORKING. AND THAT MAKES US A THIRD PARTY. PERFECT, IN MY BOOKS. MEANS I GET TO PICK FIGHTS WITH EVERYBODY."
"… You're a distraction," Windu realized.
"I'M THE MAIN FUCKING SHOW. ALWAYS," Smasher disagreed. "I CLEAR THIS LANE AND MY CREW UP AND WALK OUT OF HERE. I DON'T, AND THEY HAVE TO FIND ANOTHER EXTRACT THROUGH THE CHAOS. EVERYTHING BEHIND ME IS ALREADY NICE AND SLAUGHTERED. YOU AND THE BOYS BEHIND YOU ARE ALL THAT REMAINS, FORCE-CUNT."
Windu huffed, "This is entirely unnecessary. They're free to extract themselves from this mess, especially if they're rescuing Knight Kenobi."
"AND LEAVE LITTLE OLD US WITHOUT OUR REMATCH?" Smasher taunted.
"Ideally," Windu drawled.
"NAH, NO FUN IN THAT," Chuckling, Smasher laid out Windu's options for him. "I'M HERE. YOU'RE HERE. YOUR PART IN THIS BATTLE IS ALREADY RUINED; I MURDERED ALL THE SUPPORT THAT SHOULD'VE BEEN COMING IN BEHIND YOU. YOUR BOYS ARE ALMOST DONE WITH THE SHITTY METAL, BUT GOOD LUCK GOING PUSHING INTO A HIVE OF HALF A BILLION POTENTIAL INSURGENTS AFTER YOU BREAK THROUGH. REALLY, ALL THAT'S LEFT IS FOR US TO FUCK EACH OTHER UP WHILE EVERYTHING ELSE PLAYS OUT AROUND US."
Smasher could see that explanation hitting Windu. Behind him, the inferior clone-meats were starting to clean up the defenses against them. They'd taken some 50 casualties and two more tank flatlines, but the way ahead of them was clear. In all, they didn't do half bad… for clones of someone other than Adam Fucking Smasher, that is. They were clearly soldiers, though, and looked to Windu for orders as they wrapped up their metal murderin'.
Even if Windu got rid of Smasher sometime soon, he'd be left to push into urban fucking combat with a single depleted company, instead of the whole regiment that should've been behind him. This was only one front of the Republic's ring invasion, though.
On his way in, Smasher had seen those Republic gunships landing troops everywhere they could, and all of those fronts didn't have Smasher to ruin their fun. They'd have made enough progress by now that the slogging, slugging chaos would be in full swing across the rest of the ring. As Smasher saw it, the best thing Windu could do right about now was wipe his hands of the wider battle and enjoy their rematch.
Windu seemed to see that reality, too. "What a terrible, terrible day; I'll almost be glad to sit out the rest of this mess…"
He followed that muttering with an offer and a demand, "If I keep you entertained until your crew arrives to extract, you won't harm a single man under my protection, Smasher."
If Smasher's face plate could've grinned, he would've. Still, he pushed, "SWEETEN THE POT, FORCE-CUNT."
Windu sighed, "… And if you fight barehanded, I shall return the favor."
"NOW, THAT'S A PROPER FRAGGIN' REMATCH! DEAL. WE MURDER EACH OTHER AS NATURE INTENDED, AND I WON'T TOUCH ANY OF YOUR CLONE-MEATS."
"There is nothing 'natural' about you, Smasher," Windu deadpanned.
Smasher just chuckled, "THAT'S THE NICEST THING ANY OF YOU FORCE-CUNTS HAVE EVER SAID TO ME."
Deal struck, Smasher discarded his surprise. The wrist-mounted, Mek-scale grenade launcher slid back into its concealed housing. The Clone-meats he'd intended to make into pieces of distracting collateral would get to live to die another day. Smasher now had something better to be doing as he waited for the crew to reach him in their extract.
A Borg never forgets being boxed to pieces by a shrimpy Padawan Force-cunt. Now, Smasher was getting the rematch he deserved, and even an audience to go along with it. Considering he'd zeroed a whole lot of their brothers to get there, Smasher knew he'd be the villain to this audience. He wouldn't have it any other way.
"Big clanker's still a clanker! Kick his ass, sir!" One Clone shouted, quickly joined by more jeers in the same voice.
Smasher reveled in the hatred sent his way. He holstered his plasma scattergun, deactivated his shoulder blasters, and stepped up to let his Mek hands do the talking. Windu stowed his lightsaber and stepped up to do the same. He even shook out his fists as if loading 'em for barehanded violence.
… Even Smasher had to admit that was nova. If there was ever a Force-cunt worthy of being his rival, it was this one.
Before they could get down to business, the brat's brat connected herself to Smasher's comms, "Father and the others are on their way, Grandpapa. Would you like me to record your rematch?"
"… FUCK YES, LITTLE ONE. I DIDN'T WAIT THIS LONG FOR A SECOND ROUND FOR IT TO NOT GO DOWN IN LEGEND. TELL CLONE-MEAT TO TAKE HIS SWEET TIME, TOO. THIS VIOLENCE WILL KEEP ME PLENTY BUSY."
IIIII
— Zo Ossa, Ringer and UCIS Patriot —
"For our home! For our freedom, our independence! For our United Confederacy!"
The words Zo Ossa shouted were the signal. Before she even finished, her fellow patriots set off their ambush. As 'United Confederacy' left her lips, the jaws of the trap snapped closed around their targets.
Uniformly armored soldiers — the Dogs of the Core, as they were already being called — moved through the streets of Hive Zenith, led by a robed figure. A Jedi. A supposed 'peacekeeper'. A failure, more loyal to the corrupt Senate than the people of the galaxy.
They didn't march; it was no parade, and they certainly weren't welcome. No, this was war. The enemy moved with military efficiency, active convoys on high alert in hostile territory. Not alert enough, it seemed, even with the 'peacekeeper' leading them…
Speeders, sliced to fly by wire, crashed in front of and behind the convoy. From every window on the street, every window of their home, UCIS patriots opened fire. Their blasters were a mix; almost none were actually military grade. But plasma bolts killed all the same when there were enough of them.
The Dogs scrambled through the heat of the ambush like professionals. They quickly found cover and began shooting back. The nameless failure leading them leaped into action. Saber lit, he made it to one of the ambush positions. But there, he hesitated when faced with living, breathing patriots. That moment of hesitation was all they needed to set his person alight with improvised firebombs.
The patriots didn't hesitate. Jedi Failure or Dog of the Core, both were invaders in their home. Both would die today; Zo Ossa and her fellows would give their lives for that result.
Robes and skin burned. Armor was penetrated by the sheer volume of fire. Bolts of energized tibana gas flew hot and heavy all throughout the street-side ambush. Crash-made barricades prevented escape. The invaders were trapped at their mercy, and they fought like it. Dozens of Zo Ossa's fellows fell to blasterfire with military precision. Trained soldiers, unlike the willing but relatively unable patriots who stood against them.
What Zo Ossa and her fellow patriots lacked in skill and training, they made up for in fighting spirit. They killed and died for their home, for their new state of independence. The Jedi Failure, the Dogs of the Core, could never know the fire that burned in Zo Ossa's veins. It was a fire she shared with every Ringer of Raxus Orbital. Those willing to fight stood to do just that. The Dogs were jumped as if they'd wandered into the wrong neighborhood of the Hive's underdecks. Everywhere on the ring was the 'wrong neighborhood' to these invaders.
Zo Ossa stood from her signalling spot. A Dwarf Spider droid stood with her. The honor of controlling such a weapon in the ring's defense had been bestowed upon her by the noble Count, the only man bold enough to stand up for the Rim. He hadn't hesitated to arm those willing to fight.
At her command, the Dwarf Spider's heavy blaster cannon let loose its explosive fury. Heavy bolts fell upon the ambushed Dogs. Under her command, the droid reaped lives. It ripped the Dogs to shreds. It saved the lives of patriots with heavy support. Zo Ossa stood behind it with her civvie-grade blaster pistol in hand, cleaning up its kills for good.
The Dogs fell. The Jedi burned. Each kill was a victory for the ring, for the UCIS. Blood spilled in defense; she didn't regret a drop of it. And even if every Dogged life cost a patriotic life of their own, they all considered it a price well paid.
They fought today with all they had. They fought for their homes, for their rights of independence. While the Ringers had been roused to action, only a single-digit percentage of them could reasonably be expected to actually fight. And so, those who did fought for those who couldn't.
They weren't professionals. If they fought, they'd fight dirty. No cost was too high to pay for their home and its future. They outnumbered the Dogs and their leading failures. They had the home-field advantage and the advantage of morale, too. Like that, even volunteers could triumph.
The invaders found insurgents standing in their way. Millions of them, millions of patriots, supported by the whole rest of the ring. To say nothing of the UCIS's actual military forces. Droids made for strange partners in resistance, Zo Ossa thought. But their loyalties were assured. In a way, they were just as much patriots as the Ringers who lived and breathed and fought beside them.
The ring was ready for the unjust, unlawful invasion. The invaders could only march forward on their mission, and every step along the way, they met fierce resistance. There were ambushes and prepared defensive lines, targeted strikes from ahead and behind, and crucial chokepoints blocked or destroyed. All around the ring, the Dogs and Failed 'peacekeepers' received the warmest of welcomes…
Zo Ossa was only one of many patriots. One defending soul amongst millions, with a billion total in near-complete support of their fight. How many Dogs? How many Failures? Could they hope to match good, freshly patriotic men and women defending their very homes and futures? Could they hope to do anything but die in the name of their corrupt Republic and Core?
This was their home. And the Republic dared?! This was all they had, all they were. And the Core dared?! They had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do but defend their homes. Invaders dared. And so, brave men and women of the ring dared, too. The ring of Raxus Orbital spoke with one voice.
It stood and shouted, "Get out!"
It screamed, "We will fight to the last! Only blood and death await you in our home!"
The ring rang with a single collective mood, a single defiant shout, "Hippity hoppity, get the FUCK off our property!"
And none embodied that defiance, that willingness to fight, better than the bold leader who dared to stand against the overreaching Republic, the corrupt Core. He'd created this movement, given it the legs it now stood upon, and from on high, fought just as fiercely against those who wished to smother it in its cradle.
IIIII
— Dooku —
Even knowing the Republic as well as he thought he did, Dooku hadn't predicted this outcome. Not so soon. How troublesome; the Republic only acted with due haste at the worst possible time. His 'former' Master was behind this, Dooku knew. No one else knew about the Clones. No one else could've mobilized the hesitant Senate into such decisive action.
"R4X-TA-120," Dooku contacted one of the tactical droid field commanders through the droid command network. "Muster your forces in a fighting retreat. You are buying time for the patriots coming in behind you. Do not let the enemy break through you before they arrive."
"Affirmative, sir," TA-120's reply came back deferential but determined. "Fighting retreat until organic reinforcements arrive. Should we push when we have the strength to do so?"
"Follow your tactical programming," Dooku told the command droid. "If you can, do. But do not lose more than you take from them."
Investing in the improved programming of his main infantry forces had been a masterstroke of preparation. Dooku was clearly seeing the benefits now. As the droids had been under the megacorps, a single Clone would've been worth dozens of them. With the refitting and improvements, the exchange ratio was closer to 5:1. They would never match a Clone one to one. But they didn't have to. Not when Dooku could build 100 basic B1s, or 20 B2s, or 5 Commando Droids, or 2 Tactical Droids for the price of a single Clone unit.
Those considerations would become much more relevant as the war played out from here. He was still limited to a set number of droids for today's battle. While all of the models at the UCIS's disposal were being produced in the Raxus system — where the R4X tag came from — those factories were based on the world below them, Raxus Prime. Thus, Dooku only had the few million-strong garrison of the orbital ring to work with for the immediate invasion.
Dooku aimed to spend those limited forces as best he could. He'd never commanded a battle before. But he found the role of general agreed with him. The calculations of combat came naturally to him. Some would call it callous, even if more than half of his current forces to spend were droids. But Dooku, with steel in his spine, sent men and material to die for a greater cause without second-guessing himself.
Dooku could have been on the frontlines of the battle, reaping a bloody swath through any enemies before him. But then, he'd only be in one place at a time. That was the way of fools, the way of his Jedi counterparts now, even if they'd almost certainly been forced into the roles by Sidious's dark manipulations. They were leading, at least, as Force Users should… But what was leading a few hundred or a few thousand men compared to leading a whole defense?
Dooku chose the latter. The 'safety' in it didn't even enter his mind; only the effect he could have, with a view of the big picture, mattered. In his Command and Control Center, the orbital ring's systems had been hastily pieced together for strategic and tactical viewing. And Dooku moved all the pieces on his side of the board, a war 'game' he fully intended to win.
A platoon of B1s was sacrificed to lure an opposing Clone force into a sense of false victory. They pushed forward into a space more vertical than horizontal. Dooku alerted a cell of patriots on the level above them that they were coming. As the Clones walked beneath the trap, it was sprung. With dark and distant satisfaction, Dooku watched a hail of firebombs rain down on the advancing Clones.
On another front, Dooku sent reinforcements for an essential position. The droids holding the line there fought with the automatic, unglitching loyalty only gotten from machines. They didn't retreat a single step, biting back at the Clone assault with enhanced programming and mechanical precision. Their losses mattered not at all, and just when the Clones were about to claim a hard-fought victory, the reinforcing wave of material arrived to continue holding the line.
Such scenes played out across the ring. With the clarity of information available to him, Dooku alone could see how the battle was truly developing. Most of the Republic's forces had made it into the ring's populated Hives. Once there, though, they stalled, made to fight and die for every inch of ground. Clone casualties were immense, already.
Jedi, too. The Order, as it currently existed, was entirely unprepared for war. They were guardians, investigators, peacekeepers, problem solvers, diplomats, and ambassadors. They were individually capable, some could even be considered good warriors… but none were generals. Most didn't even make good soldiers, for all that they blindly and consistently followed their 'Order(s)'.
The roles they'd already been forced into for this war were a trap; the duties and expectations now upon them would be anathema to most Jedi, and meant only to make the Order suffer. But Dooku wasn't about to interrupt such a mistake, even if it was a key aspect of Sidious's Grand Plan. The other Sith was surely his enemy… but then, so was the Republic as a whole, and the Jedi would serve it poorly in the roles forced upon them.
And so, Dooku watched from on high as Jedi led themselves and the Clones beneath them to their deaths. Thrust into unfitting roles, this would be a trial by fire for the Order. One that it desperately needed. Change would certainly come from this, not immediately positive, but eventually…? Perhaps. Dooku loathed the Order as it was. But even as a Sith, he couldn't bring himself to hate what it could be…
That said, he still didn't want any part in it or in the Republic it tied itself so closely to. Thus, he stood defiant at the head of his own Order and the state he'd created for it. He stood at the head of change already happening, not needing to be sparked by a fiery trial. He fought for himself, his legacy, and those who stood with him to make it possible; to hell with any other option, for he'd forged one all his own.
Even then, he knew he didn't forge this new path through the galaxy alone. One holo-sceen in his C&C was entirely dedicated to following his dutiful and eager Apprentice through the battle. For now, Asajj was much too enthusiastic to take up a general's role beside him. And Dooku did need a more immediate representative on the battle's frontlines.
With dual lightsabers and her unique take on Makashi, Asajj was a whirlwind of death for any Jedi she encountered. She slaughtered Knights and Padawans, and Dooku subtly directed her away from any Masters who would be too much for her current skills. She was a wraith, and one of Dooku's most effective pieces on the 'board'. Unfortunately, her red lightsabers were rather… telling.
"So it's true," Mina Bonteri, newly minted UCIS Senator for Onderon, said, her tone unreadable. "We've sided with a Sith. Two, even."
"I am Sith. My Apprentice is Sith," Dooku nodded. "I won't lie straight to your face on that, Mina."
"You won't?" Mina asked. "Yet you've deceived us all so far. I'm starting to wonder if this UCIS is just your attempt to revive the cruel Sith Empires of Old."
"It is not," Dooku firmly denied. "On my legacy, it is not. The Sith Empires were abominations of governance. They were the result of Force Users failing their duties to the galaxy, only seeking their selfish ends. Do not judge me and what we've made here by them or by stories a thousand years past. Judge me as I am, as you've come to know me. Judge me by what WE do here."
"Even if he is a Sith, Mina," Avi Singh — newly minted UCIS Senator for the very system they now fought for — reasoned. "You can't deny that this was necessary. There's a reason we all joined him in this movement, and I don't think it was due to some Dark Force coercion. Even if he is a Sith, Mina… he's the only one standing up for our systems."
"And what if he holds hidden ulterior motives?!" Nute Gunray, Viceroy of the Trade Federation, frantically asked.
Dooku outright snorted in the Nemoidian's face. He and the other megacorp leaders had been… difficult since Dooku had begun sidelining them in favor of the systems and people who actually mattered. His protest wasn't genuine, almost comically so from him; he was just looking for any way to wrestle control back into his cold, amphibious hands.
"Of course, I hold ulterior motives. But they're hardly hidden," Dooku retorted. "I'm leading something historic here, pioneering a legacy that will see my name repeated for countless generations. That doesn't mean I don't truly believe in what we're doing. It doesn't mean I'll spit in the face of your trust and support.
"I seek to make my legacy matter because I believe it must. For the galaxy to improve, someone must take the lead. So, yes, as a Sith, with ulterior motives, I'm doing just that."
He directed his final sentences at Mina. She was the one he had to convince, for she had all the potential to be the load-bearing moral pillar of the UCIS. Avi was a politician through and through, not a bad one, but still a politician. Gunray and the other megacorp leaders weren't even worth mentioning with the word 'moral' in the same sentence.
But Mina Bonteri was an icon of upstanding character, the exceedingly rare kind of politician that truly, wholly practiced what she preached. She was the Amidala of the UCIS, fitting since Mina had mentored Amidala and still maintained close ties. Dooku couldn't dismiss someone of her character and connections. And so, he knew that convincing her to look past his Sith nature to what they were doing here was worth all the effort in the galaxy.
Now, she stared back at him, judging his conviction, weighing the character he'd shown her. And thankfully, even as a Sith, she didn't seem to find him wanting.
"… I don't like it. But you've proven yourself a leader worth following. Avi is right. You're the only one who has dared to stand up for those who need to be stood up for. I won't accept you completely. The Sith carry too much history to do so out of hand. But I believe, as you say, I can judge you as you are, Count Dooku, not as ancient stories seek to paint you."
"That said," She continued. "This… Sith business is hardly irrelevant. It will color the way the galaxy sees us and our movement. There is no denying that you are its figurehead. Our enemies will seek to useyou against us, Dooku. You will have much to prove, not just to us but to the galaxy as a whole. However, if you can… I do believe you can make this legacy you're building matter. For an ideal like that, I believe I'm willing to try keeping a Sith in check."
"A chance," Dooku nodded. "That is all I would ask of you. Let me try. Help me try, even. We are all strange bedfellows, to be sure. But that doesn't mean we can't work together for something better."
"Well put, well put, I say!" Avi exclaimed. "Our movement bears its own merits, regardless of those who make it up. We can be greater than our parts or even their sum! And if it took a Sith to bring us together like this, so be it, I say!"
"We'll have to get out ahead of the public opinion," Mina said, already planning to act. "A Sith figurehead and leader won't say good things for many in the galaxy… But I believe that knee-jerk bias — of which I myself am guilty — may still be overcome. Thank the Force the Sith have been extinct for centuries now. The Jedi may preach historical precedent, but modern memory is a blank slate, and we can make the galaxy see you, Dooku, not the Evil of Old."
"Not extinct enough, I'm afraid," Dooku shared. "I may be the first Sith to make myself so publicly known in the modern era, but I didn't revive the Order by myself. There is another Sith in play, and you should be informed of his evil, informed of why I set out like this to forge my own way… That, however, is a conversation for after this first battle is won."
"Joy," Mina deadpanned. "Just another conflict between Force Users that we're caught up in. We're placing our trust in you, Dooku. I only hope it isn't misplaced."
"On my legacy, I swear it will not be," Dooku firmly swore.
Avi and Mina seemed satisfied with that promise. They could plainly see how much Dooku's legacy meant to him, and had already seen that he wasn't the same as the ancient stories of the Sith. Gunray was less satisfied, grumbling to himself in the not-so-proverbial corner of the room he'd been relegated to. He wouldn't be satisfied with anything in the current order of things, however, not without the power that he and the other megacorp leaders assumed they would have in the UCIS.
Dooku no longer had any intention of giving them that corrupting, degenerating power over his creation. If they dedicated themselves to earning such power and influence, that was fine. But Dooku knew they wouldn't. They wanted the galaxy handed to them on a silver platter. And that was no longer Dooku's vision for his movement, not at all.
With the most immediately influential of his supporters swayed, Dooku turned his attention back to the battle at hand. The Republic's progress through the ring slowed to a crawl, stalled, and even reversed in some places.
They were losing; any momentum of surprise was now lost to them. Steadily, Raxus Orbital began to win back ground from the invaders. Ringers fought with patriotic fervor, and battle droids fought with mechanical resolve. The Clones and Jedi ran up against the stiffest resistance and fell short, unprepared for the true cost of war.
For now… This, Dooku knew, was the Republic at its very weakest. The Clones were fighting just as they were made to, but they were fresh and not at all integrated with the rest of the Republic. The Jedi weren't ready to lead anyone into war. Together, they moved as a disjointed machine. And that disconnect was costing them gravely.
"War…" Mina regretfully shook her head, peering into the C&C alongside Dooku. "It had to come to this… but I still feel as if we've all failed somehow. Failures on both sides of this conflict. Perhaps if our words had reached the right ears, perhaps if reason and tolerance had reigned in the Senate… Yet it's come to this. On the other side, dear Padme must be mourning this development just as I am."
"I'm afraid you've missed your chance to discuss it with her for now," Dooku absently hummed.
Mina blinked, "What do you mean?"
Dooku brought up a C&C partition that he'd dedicated to following his third-party visitors in their extraction of his legacy, "She was actually only a few floors beneath us at one point. But as you can see, she and her companions are now leaving."
"… Padme's here?!" Mina's mouth fell open for a moment before she regained her composure with a sigh. "Hah… I really shouldn't have expected anything less from the girl. She has a way of getting caught up in the most interesting situations."
Dooku chuckled, "I could say the same for my Grand-Padawan and Great-Grand-Padawan. They're particularly… active, even for Force Users."
Mina shared a smile with him at that, and it was good to see that the reveal of his Sithness hadn't affected pleasant conversation, "Youth, no? I recognize Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker, but who else is that with them?"
"The Gonks of Free Nar Shaddaa," Dooku told her. "As my Apprentice explained it, your Padme hired them to rescue my Grand-Padawan. They were fulfilling that mission when the battle began. Now, they're cutting through the chaos on their way out."
"Gonks? Atom? I've heard quite a bit about them!" Avi joined them. "Shame they're leaving; I've wanted to meet the man since Padme and Bail first mentioned them!"
"Feel free to watch them see themselves out. I find that Atom's actions always make for some fascinating viewing," Dooku smirked with the invitation before growing serious. "I won't be able to join you for this viewing, I'm afraid. This… has gone on long enough. It's about time our invaders were shown the door."
IIIII
— Atom —
*BOOO~OOOM!*
The detonation of an improvised explosive rocked the spire we were trekking through. The crew didn't pause for a moment. Our immediate surroundings were eerily quiet, not the focus of the chaos that'd seized the ring. But judging by the explosion, there was fighting going on right below us. Right where we'd have to pass through on our way out…
"Nova, I need eyes on that action," I ordered. "What do we have to get through?"
An instant later, Nova reported back, "An ambush, Father. The IED took out most of the Clones. The remaining ten of them and their Jedi are making their last stand now."
"We should help!" Ani insisted.
"Not our business," I instantly denied. "Until we're out of here with the package, we're still on a gig. All of us. We're not fighting this battle on either side. Hate me if you want, but I'm more than happy to leave your peer to die if it means we get through unscathed."
"That's bantha-shit!" Ani swore back at me.
"You ready to go flatlining people who are just defending their home?" I challenged.
That brought her up short, "Wha-? The UCIS is fighting with droids!"
"Yeah, and the Ringers are fighting for their home. I'm not about to throw us in the middle of that if we can help it. This isn't our fight," I told her.
"But-…" Ani worried at her lip, visibly struggling with the subject.
A second explosion cut her off, this one ringing with a note of finality in the Force.
"Too late," Nova confirmed. "The last stand is over. The Ringers are celebrating their victory."
"Not that it makes our lives much easier," I muttered. "Either way, we've gotta get through a potentially hostile party."
Ani looked struck by the death of another Jedi so nearby. Similar final notes in the Force had been ringing out all across the ring, but this one was the first we were close enough to practically smell. Obi-Wan laid a fortifying hand on her shoulder for comfort.
"All we can do is keep moving, kid," Quinlan told her, not unaffected by the death, just better at managing the shock.
And we did just that, even as Becca grumbled halfheartedly, "We're not getting nearly enough action."
Sasha giggled, "We're here to leave, not slammit on, Becks."
"I knooo~owww," Becca groaned. "But I could still do with a few shootin' misunderstandings."
"Still got a ways to go," V consoled. "I'm sure we'll find someone to shoot at us."
"Really? Ya think~?" … Leave it to Becca to get excited about the idea of getting shot at.
I rolled my eyes (even if a not-so-small part of me also enjoyed the idea) as we came to the end of the level we were on. In front of us, the spire's space opened up in a vertical atrium. There was the aftermath of carnage waiting below, a shredded scene of Clone flesh and armor shrapnel. The ambushing Ringers had stepped into the damage they'd caused, and one of them was looting himself a trophy.
"Okay, that's a step too far to ignore, Atom," Obi-Wan said as the victorious Ringer held up the dead Jedi's lightsaber.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, "… You want me to take a man's hard-won trophy?"
"It's a lightsaber, Atom, not a trophy," Obi-Wan deadpanned. "Not only will he absolutely hurt himself and others with it, but… well, how would someone from Night City feel if someone's chrome was stolen right off their dead body?"
"Loot's loot," Becca shrugged, even if she didn't seem to be disagreeing. "But yeah, that's some Scav shit. At least launder the chrome through a few shady ripperdocs first."
"Still not worth fighting them over-…" I began.
But even I shut up real quick when the victorious Ringer used his new trophy to take the Jedi's head as a second trophy. I could feel the eyes of our Jedi on the back of my head with that, and sighed, "… Okay, yeah. Step too far to ignore. Let's go loot a man's loot."
I readied myself to drop to the level below, scooping up Becca in one arm and Sasha in the other. Obi-Wan politely offered to carry Padme down, but Ani was quick to interrupt her Master.
"A-Ahem! I'll carry you, Padme!"
Despite the morbid scene we were about to drop in on, Padme blushed and giggled at the almost frantic offer, "Thank you, Ani. If you'd have me…"
"Always," Ani's reply came, instinctive and immediate and only furthering the pair's blushes.
Becca and V snorted with amusement, Sasha cooed, Fay tittered, and Obi-Wan just sighed, "You know, Ani, it's very fortunate that we could reasonably be considered Gonks right now and not Jedi."
The chiding was light; Ani was entirely unrepentant with Padme already in her arms, "Very fortunate, indeed, Mast-… Err, Obi-Wan."
"They're so fucking precious~…" Sasha whispered in my ear as we went over the edge to the level below.
… I didn't disagree.
Of course, the 'precious' mood Ani's antics brought was ruined just a moment later as we landed and Becca immediately popped off.
"Run yo' shit, fool!"
"What the kriff-?!"
I'm sure Becca meant to linger and actually run the gonk's pockets Night City style, but we didn't really have the time for it. Still, her demand served as a suitable distraction for V to swoop down over the Ringer's head and snatch the saber before he could react. Then, Fay, landing beside us with ethereal ease, delivered the real coup-de-grace.
She frowned with such palpable disappointment that all of the celebrating Ringers were brought up short, "I realize your blood and spirits are up, but this is entirely unbecoming of any civil sentient. You are winning today. Do not ruin that by making yourselves into monsters."
Only from Fay would a frown and some pointed words make people pumped up on patriotic bloodlust stop, listen, and try to be better… The former lightsaber looked twice at his remaining trophy and seemed to viscerally realize he was holding a head by the hair. He dropped it like it was on fire when he did.
He looked horrified with himself. Briefly, I wondered what he was outside of this battle. A father? A friend? A foreman on one of the ring's shipyards? I very much doubted he was the kind of man to do this in his free time.
"War, even in its earliest stages, has a way of making monsters out of us all," Fay continued with empathy, understanding, and reassurance. "But we don't have to stay that way. Remember those you fight for, remember peace, remember that you are valued for more than your ability to kill, and there will always be a path out of war's monstrosity."
My addition to the conversation was probably much less moving than Fay's, "Good luck, chooms. You're fighting your fight. There's respect and honor and whateverthefuck else in that. Just, ya know, don't be crazy cunts about it. C'mon, crew, we're moving."
One lightsaber heavier, the crew kept truckin', leaving the Ringers to their victory and Fay's wisdom. We still had some distance to cover until we got the extract Smasher was securing for us. And now, we'd crossed the threshold into the thickest fighting for the Hive.
We passed from one spire to the next in the line through the uppermost route connecting them. The late Jedi whose lightsaber we now carried must've taken the lower one, 'cause they certainly hadn't gotten through the fighting we found in the upper levels of that next spire.
This one was a multi-tiered space, playing out in a spiral around a central pillar. A strange sort of road rose around the spire's central pillar, large enough to accommodate vehicles, be they armored for war or refitted for it from their original logistical purposes. That pillar had an almost skeletal framework in places, where one could peek from one tier of the spiral to another, and meters of durasteel bulkheads in others. In its very center, there was a reactor and all the machinery it required — a rugged and hardy thing still chugging away through the chaos.
From the very top of the space — the peak of the pillar and spiral — the reactor's contained fusion cast forth deceptively cool blue light, sustaining and awesomely powerful. Fusion lightning crackled within the containment, each pulse a flash that almost blinded the massive reactor room taking up the whole spire. Whole stories of essential machinery supported the glowing, fusing, lightning-struck orb from below.
There were tiered work stations and access catwalks, expensive feats of engineering dedicated to shielding and monitoring and connecting to the rest of the Hive, and everything else a running reactor might need. On any other day, the reactor would likely have been a bustling and essential part of the ring, providing power to this spire and those before and after it in the ring's line.
Now, it all bore a different kind of bustle. The violent kind, with fighting taking place through the pillar's skeletal structure, from its supporting machinery, and all around its spiraling road. Battledroids of almost every model held this essential position from a massed Clone and Jedi assault. They were the bulk of the UCIS forces here, with the Ringer insurgents acting as support, likely the very same workers who would've been running this reactor in peacetime.
There were B1s and B2s on foot, packed in practically everywhere they could fit. There were Dwarf Spider droids crawling all over and through the reactor pillar's skeletal framework. There were hover tanks and heavy tanks holding the rising spiral road. And more rarely, there were organic Ringers, helping the defense as best they could.
On the other side, a whole regiment of Clones was doing their best to fight an uphill battle. They had armored support, too, but mostly on the lighter side of things. Hover tanks, speeder-IFVs, and chicken-looking walkers that didn't have anything on proper steel. Mostly, though, it was the Clones on foot, the Poor Bloody Infantry, that were fighting their way upward.
Then there were the Jedi, often at the front of the upward assault. They stood out starkly from the mass of uniformly armored figures. Brown and tan robes against white plates, if the lightsabers hadn't immediately given away their identities. Each was a solid and effective piece on the battlefield, but far from invincible.
Droid blasterfire came at them from all angles. The Jedi made themselves targets, pulling some good attention off the Clones they led. But that attention still had to go somewhere, and as it fell on them, some weren't able to take it.
I spied one Jedi figure marching forward and deflecting all that came at them from the front. They were everywhere they needed to be, providing a solid defense to advance behind. A company of Clones took up their supporting Jedi on that defense, acting as their blasting away offense in turn.
Then, the Jedi advanced a few steps too far, and only seemed to realize it a few moments too late. They came into distant droid sightlines through some of the pillar's skeletal framework. Suddenly, they were defending against two separate angles. It didn't go well for them.
The lightsaber deflection grew visibly frantic, even from afar. The Clones tried to pick up the slack, switching half of their fire through the new sightline they'd entered. But the droids still had the range and cover advantage, sitting pretty in emplaced positions with new and improved programming that allowed them to actually hit their shots. And worse, Dwarf Spider droids were crawling through the skeletal framework. Soon enough, heavy blaster bolts began to fall upon the caught-out company and their Jedi.
A hail of red, with not nearly enough blue to effectively answer it. The bolts fell with scorchingly lethal effect. Clone armor held up to a few bolts, but inevitably failed. The Jedi's deflecting defense lasted longer, but there was only one of them.
And while the B1s and other droid PBI against them weren't perfect with their improved programming, and likely never would be, they also weren't terrible anymore. There were a whole lot of them firing downward at the advancing Jedi and company. Burning bolts began to blast through the Jedi's defense from two angles, from the front and flank. Clones began to fall behind and around the Jedi. A bolt glanced off their saber arm. Another got through a moment later. Then, more and more and more.
Fear and pain screamed into the Force. Even Jedi wanted to live. The flanking and frontal barrages came regardless, sheets of uncaring plasma. A heavy bolt blew a squad of Clones to pieces and shook the Jedi's footing. They stumbled. And with that, nothing stopped the barrage of blasterfire from burning them to the Force.
A dozen. Two. The bolts didn't stop coming until nothing remained of the Jedi. The Clones they led quickly followed into death. But even as the Jedi and company's deaths rang in the Force, the upward assault continued. Two more Jedi pushed forward, Clones behind them, to fill the newly made gap. These ones, at least, kept armored vehicles pillar-side to guard that flank…
And so, the fighting continued without pause. The first battle of the war raged on.
"So futile… This… is awful…" Ani said, horrified.
"This is war," I flatly retorted.
It was a deceptively simple statement. But it said all that needed to be said.
"… The Order is not at all ready for conflict on this scale," Obi-Wan muttered with a heavy tone to his voice.
"Anyone who tells you they're 'ready' for war is lying to you," Fay told him somberly.
"So~…?" Becca asked melodically. "How are we gonna get through all that fun, chooms?"
"Perhaps they'll be nice enough to call a ceasefire and let us pass," Quinlan deadpanned.
I snorted, "Fuck that. We've got Force-using legs to make the run. No need to get bogged down. We just book it."
"Just run straight through the middle of a warzone," Aayla awkwardly chuckled. "Simple."
"When you've got the Force covering your ass, it sure seems simple, yeah," V shrugged.
"Oh! Dibs on riding the elf!" Becca was quick to exclaim.
Fay sputtered in an uncharacteristic loss of composure, "Ba-wha-?! R-Ride?!"
"Hell, yeah, baby!" Becca leered at her like an old pervert. "You put the Master in MILF! No way I'm passing up a chance to ride that!"
"Oh my… Oh, dear… Oh my… Oh, dear-…" Fay muttered, seemingly caught in a loop of shock; I could practically see swirls in her eyes.
She didn't deny Becca her 'ride', though. We mounted up our non-Force-Users so everyone could keep up — Becca with Fay, Sasha with me, Padme with Ani, and V relying on her chrome instead of a Force-User — and readied ourselves to make the mad dash through the warzone.
Then, we were off in ground-eating, Force (or chrome, in V's case) enhanced strides. Down the spiraling road around the reactor for a ways until we reached the back of the UCIS lines. I led the way with a Force Leap, bouncing from the spiral road to a catwalk overhead and to another farther down. The rest of the crew followed perfectly in my footsteps.
Sasha, Becca, and even Padme whooped with the movement. Becca looked like she particularly was having the time of her life, riding Fay from a piggyback position on her back. Fay, even as she moved with the rest of us, was blushing.
"K-Keep those hands to yourself, please, Rebecca!"
"Ehhhh~? I'm just holding on real tight!"
Padme collapsed into giggles against Ani's chest, held in a fitting princess carry. It was good to see that even in war, things didn't have to be all darkness and death. Sasha, seeing Becca's 'progress' wiggled her eyebrows up at me from my arms.
"We're gonna have to pick up our seduction, baby, or Becks is gonna steal a march on us."
"Wouldn't want that. Fay's next up in our bed, then?"
"And it's 'bout kriffing time!"
We were almost irreverent, even dashing through a warzone. Helped that, with the Force, both sides would have to really try to touch us, and that we were just passing through. This wasn't our fight, not even our Jedi and Senator crew members' fight. Not yet…
Still, blaster bolts flew hot and heavy through the air, some coming real close for comfort. None hit, though. A twinge of the Force had me shifting as I landed on a structural support beam. A wayward blue blaster bolt flew past close enough to feel its heat. Another wayward bolt struck a Force Shield that Fay effortlessly put up. Even V got in on the fun, showing that she didn't need the Force to dodge blasterfire. Chrome boosters fired in mid-air, giving her a second jump to practically swan dive over a wayward volley in her path.
The droids we were jumping over didn't get a chance to react as we passed. Until they did. But even then, our presence likely sent errors through their systems; they didn't know what to make of us or what to do, either. A few decided to go with diligence, turning their blasters upward.
"IFF: Friendly. Let. Them. Pass," Nova's voice rang out over the battlefield and through the droid command network.
The droids who'd started aiming at us stopped in nigh-religious awe, confirming her order in eerie robotic sync, "The Young Mistress has spoken. We heed her words."
It was strange to finally see the reverence droids seemed to have for my daughter, but helpful here. We continued unmolested, slipping off the spiral road at a point and into the skeletal framework of the central pillar. There, the crawling Dwarf Spider droids saluted us with one of their many limbs, sparing just a moment in honor of Nova before they got back down to their battle programming.
We passed through the guts of the reactor in a particularly sparse area, and out the other side. The other side that was firmly part of the Republic's stalling assault. The Clones and Jedi saw us coming, but like the droids before, they didn't seem to know what to do about us. The scene repeated itself, with many more Clones than droids deciding diligence was the better part of valor. They took aim. The Jedi stopped them before they could fire.
"Hold! Obi-Wan?!" A female Human Jedi with blonde hair and good looks called out. "What the kriff-?!"
"Siri!" Obi-Wan happily called back. "Oh, it's good to see you, my friend! Don't mind us; we're just passing through!"
"Don't mind-?! This is a warzone, Obi-Wan!"
"Yes, and we're trying to leave it. You should be, too, truly. Can't you feel how the tide has turned?"
"I-… We-… We have our orders."
"To hell with that! If you die here, Siri, I will be very put out with you! If you don't… well, perhaps we'd be able to get together and catch up?"
"I… I think I'd like that, Obi-Wan. You're right. These orders aren't worth… this."
The whole conversation happened, quite literally for us, 'on the fly' and in the thick of battle. The Clones, upon seeing that we weren't enemies, focused back on the fuckers actually shooting at them. And while the Jedi seemed much more interested in the conversation, they were still being shot at, too.
We landed past the main, stalling assault, and Obi-Wan could only spare his friend a sad but hopeful smile before we began moving again. Even past the firefight, we didn't stop our flight, though it did grow less hurried. We wouldn't have far to go to the extract Smasher was supposedly securing for us, and I wanted this gig over and done with.
"Obi-Wan? What was all that about?" Ani asked as we continued to run.
Obi-Wan sighed on the move, "An old friend. An old… flame…"
"As younglings," Quinlan shared with flat amusement. "You could've cut the tension between Obi-Wan and Siri with a saber."
Ani turned to gape at her Master in shock, "You?! Romance?!"
Obi-Wan turned his nose up and sniffed imperiously, "I'll have you know I'm very romantic when I put my mind to it. The Code's stance is on attachments and clinging to them to an unhealthy degree, not necessarily romance. Furthermore, sometimes… life happens, Ani."
We all chose to pointedly ignore the way Ani glanced at Padme in her arms, and Padme glanced back at Ani with that wisdom, "I… I think I understand, Master."
"You will, Ani," Obi-Wan sighed, the weight of raising Ani on his shoulders. "I'm sure you will."
Past the assault on that one reactor, we ran. That might've been a frontline, but it wasn't the only one. This battle was unique, with battle lines blurring and mixing all throughout the ring's straight line. The fighting took place, separated by levels and spires, above and below, without much opportunity to flank. Even on the Republic's side of things, we ran into pockets of resisting insurgents, battledroids, and Clones scrambling to make any progress. And the latter were failing, as we saw firsthand.
We dashed straight through another fight, this one bogged down in a breaching slugfest through a spire's worth of apartments. Clone squads tried to clear the way forward. Ringers popped out from every angle to make them pay for every inch.
A population in defense of its home, the newly founded UCIS wouldn't have it any other way. They had the home-field advantage against the invading Republic, and they fought. Clones, Jedi, Ringers, battledroids, all died fighting.
The best the Republic could do was stall in their invasion. And more often, we saw them being pushed back, taking grievous losses in the process. We didn't fire a shot or swing a saber to contribute to either side. It wasn't our fight. We were just trying to extract.
Many Jedi recognized our Jedi crew members. And even though confused by their presence, they stopped the Clones from suicide by Gonk. The droids were similarly stopped from suicide by Gonk at Nova's presence. It really felt like they would follow her into death and beyond, not because of their programming but because of an inherent kinship with her nature. She superseded their in-built loyalty with something more, something special — a worship that was impossible to easily describe.
And so, we passed through the complicated battlelines without a scratch. Out to the edges of the Hive, where the spires grew shorter, we ran. Nova directed us to the upper edge of the base ring. There we came upon a super highway that was almost eerily clear compared to the chaos we'd just passed through.
Down that super highway, we heard Smasher securing our extract before we saw it. He came into view over the ring's curvature as a dot on the horizon straight ahead. Shattering impacts met us on our approach, eating up the klicks between with nigh-inexhaustible, Force-enhanced strides.
In minutes, we had a clear view of the sitch Smasher was in. And it made all of us, without a word spoken, slow to a walk within a klick so we could watch. No, 'watch' wasn't a weighty enough word for Smasher's sitch. We slowed so we could witness.
A depleted company of Clones and their armored vehicles stood off to one side of the sitch, similarly witnessing. We could see and hear them cheering like they were at some underground fighting pit. And in the pit, David faced off against Goliath. Man… vs. Monster…
Two figures dueled, one 10 meters tall, the other only 2. The size difference only served to make the duel that much more striking. And there were no weapons in play for this Legendary duel. Epic, in the most biblical sense of the word. The kind of fight that capped off sagas, to be sung and remembered for all time.
"Master Windu vs. Smasher…" Ani muttered. "I never knew how much I needed this…"
V chuckled, "This rematch has been a long time coming. I'll bet the old man is fraggin' thrilled."
"Why… is Master Windu doing this without his lightsaber?" Padme asked, curious but baffled.
"It's how the Legend beat Smasher to bits the first time around," V answered. "Barehanded boxed the old man until he needed a whole new frame. Even Smasher respected that shit. I'll bet he taunted Windu into a repeat for his 'Borging pride."
"Honestly? Good. Whatever keeps that old monster busy," I deadpanned.
We bore witness as Smasher did as his name declared, 'Goliath' smashing down at the 'David' before him. The enclosed highway shook with the blow. Windu gave the barest hop out of the danger zone, coming to stand and dash his way up Smasher's smashing steel arm.
Smasher tried to buck him off. Windu held his footing. Then, his fists were flying. He struck steel with Force. Pieces of Smasher shattered.
I recognized shatterpoints in use by a master better than me. Windu made them into an art. Shatterpoints were his way of looking at the world around him; shatterpoints were his way of affecting it. When Windu struck them, I saw how much farther beyond [Shatterpoint III] the power and philosophy could be taken.
Smasher twisted his whole frame in a way that would've been impossible for meat. He bent backward until Windu stood flat on his chest. His steel knee came up behind the Jedi, shaking and quaking even from the contorted position. It hit and blew Windu straight off Smasher's frame. Even as the Jedi Master flew, Smasher was following up with another shaking, quaking strike.
So many tons of steel bent all the way back on planted hands. Impossibly, the monster pinwheeled backward, his swinging foot seeking out Windu in mid-air. The Master blocked with arms crossed over his chest. He was still sent rocketing down into the deck below.
Smasher came back up to his feet as if he hadn't just defied any reasonable physics. He punched down at Windu, embedding him farther into the durasteel deck. Windu took the first punch and met Smasher's fist with his own for the second.
The armored fist shattered partially. Slivers of steel flew as so much shrapnel. The Force behind Windu's countering, matching blow sent Smasher stepping back to regain his footing. And Windu stood from his crater, battered but none the worse for wear.
For the briefest moment, the two foes stared each other down. Then, they were at it again, fists flying like a storm. Two forces of nature, two monsters of their own Legend, met in barehanded violence.
Smasher sacrificed steel to the shattering. Windu took heavy blows on the Force. Windu made the shatterpoints he struck. Smasher bulled his way through Windu's offense with the pure power of steel.
"So… Do we just stand here and watch?" Aayla asked, awed but still confused about our place in the Legend playing out before us.
"Witness," I absently corrected before glancing at her from the corner of my eye. "And do you want to be the one to get between them and tell them it's time to go?"
"Force, no!" Aayla exclaimed, horrified by the thought. "Oh… point."
"If we could, I'd say just leave Smasher to his fun," Sasha giggled.
"And miss this Legend?!" Becca demanded, still clinging to Fay's back.
Smasher stomped like thunder. Windu slipped around the massive steel foot like the rain that thunder heralded. He hit a three-piece combo on the stomping leg, shattering steel from the frame, until Smasher reached down to grab Windu in both hands. They failed to fully close around him. A bubble of Force kept Windu free, but he was visibly struggling against steel force. Smasher kept the Jedi in place with the attempted grab while his other leg came around to punt him into the wall.
"I am recording Grandpapa's rematch," Nova told us. "… It seemed like a good idea."
"Good call, little spark," I praised. "It'd be a damn shame if the whole galaxy didn't get to see this."
Windu bounced off the wall like a barehanded, shatterpoint-seeking missile. That missile struck true; a fist smashing into Smasher's face. His faceplate shattered, even as his arm came up to swat Windu straight out of the air.
"Even if Smasher doesn't end up winning this duel?" Obi-Wan asked.
I raised a brow at him, flatly saying, "Win or lose, I think the action here speaks for itself. Let everyone see the Legendary monsters both our sides have on our payroll."
Smasher's frame was now a grizzly scene of shattered metal 'gore'. Armor had been stripped from him with barehanded blows. Internals were exposed and sparking. He was still more than willing to continue the violence.
Windu wasn't much better off. His person was bruised and battered. Blood trailed dramatically from the corner of his lips. His robes were ripped. His fists almost visibly pulsed with Force. He, too, was still more than willing to continue the violence.
They were equally matched in damage and determination. I realized that if we left them to it, they'd keep dueling until the day was done.
I sighed, "Hah… Guess I'm gonna have to be the one to get between them."
I grumbled at the realization but still marched forward into the fray to do just that, "Alright, wrap it the fuck up, you two. Smasher, we're here now. We can extract. Windu, you're about to have other problems to worry about. The battle sitch isn't looking good for your side."
"FRAGGIN' CLONE-MEAT! I HAD HIM ON THE ROPES!" Smasher shouted at me.
"You did not," Windu replied. "I could continue as long as necessary."
"I can't," I interjected in a deadpan. "I want out of here; I want this gig over and done. The fight's no fun when it's not yours."
"Very well," Windu nodded. "It seems we'll have to finish this another time, Smasher. Until then, a draw?"
"HIATUS," Smasher grunted. "DRAW MEANS WE BOTH LOSE."
"Or that we both win."
"I ACCEPT VICTORY IN MURDER OR NOTHING."
"Yes, I expected as much from you…"
"Work that shit out on your own time, not mine," I grumbled.
Windu turned to the Jedi in the crew, particularly Obi-Wan, "Knight Kenobi, it's a relief to see you've been recovered safely. I feel I should apologize for the fact that the Order had no hand in that."
"Apology accepted, Master Windu," Obi-Wan bowed slightly. "I think it's rather plain to see that the Order has been… busy in my absence."
"Busy, yes…" Windu's shoulders sagged with unseen weight. "And we'll be even busier going forward. Still, when we both return to the Temple, I'll be asking for a cohesive report of your time with Dooku."
"That… will be prudent, Master," Obi-Wan hesitantly nodded. "I've learned much."
I interrupted, waving my way into their conversation, "Yeah, yeah, Jedi business. Handle it later, 'cause we're out of here now. Gig to officially complete and all. I'll return your Jedi once we're out of here — except Fay, Aayla, and Quinlan; they're mine for good — and I'm sure Padme will send you half of the bill. Until then, good luck losing the rest of this battle."
"REST OF THE WAY IS CLEAR ALREADY, AND THE KID IS WAITING WITH HIS SHIP," Smasher told me before turning to Windu for an ominous parting remark. "NEXT TIME, FORCE-CUNT…"
Windu just nodded back, "Next time, Monster."
There was a sense of finality to that exchange; to the whole sitch, really, wrapping things up here. But even then, the gig didn't feel complete, the day didn't feel over and done with, until the whole crew was back aboard SPECTRE and David was greeting us with an amused, smirking rhetorical question.
"Have fun, chooms?"
I couldn't help it; I snorted. For some reason, those simple words made a certain reality set in for me. Even if the galaxy was now at war, so long as me and mine were alive and happy with fun to be had…
Well, things could be too bad, then, could they?
IIIII
[AN: Sorry for the wait, all. This one became a monster of a chapter. I thought about splitting it at one point, but decided to finish off the battle in one go. Up next, we should get some time with the Gonks to unwind as the galaxy begins to burn. They still have their own war to fight, though, and a Gonk-pire to build. Eventually, the Clone Wars will come knocking on the Gonks' doors, but until then, there are always Hutts to flatline :]