Montegue: Chronicles - Judges

[Hugo Montegue]

For god's sake, man! How many of these bloody Origins and Chronicles things are there?! To be honest, I can't remember the number, and can't be bothered to check. But here's another one anyhow.

Manaan - 23 BE

Ahto City was deserted, just as it had been when they arrived. The surface city had long since been abandoned by Manaan's native Selkath inhabitants, who had fled to their ancient underwater cities; unfortunately, the engineers responsible for designing Republic spacecraft had neglected to provide all of their shuttle with the capability of functioning in underwater conditions, and thus they had been forced to make use of the only 'dry land' on the planet. For an instant, Inyos found himself questioning the judgement of whatever branch of the Jedi-led Grand Army of the Republic had been responsible for making the choice of craft for this mission; he had to wonder why they hadn't chosen to send them in one of the old AIAT/i Transports that the Judicial Forces had used before the war. No doubt there was hidden wisdom in the choice however, and Inyos chose to question it no further.

If he had to describe the deserted interior in one word, it would probably be 'creepy'. Given his degree of emotional control, honed through years of dedicated study as part of the Jedi Order, the fear and ill-ease that normally came associated with the term was absent in him; but even so he felt the term was appropriate. It fulfilled the correct criteria to qualify it; and of course, there was empirical evidence visible through the responses of his unfortunately less-disciplined Padawan.

"Why'd they send us?" young Lúka enquired, finally breaking the dutiful silence that Inyos had hoped would last all the way back through hyperspace to Coruscant. He had tried, time and again, to temper Lúka's inquisitive nature with patience; tried to teach him to hold on to his questions until the time was appropriate, and seek out the answers through observation, or silent study in the Jedi Archives. He had also tried to teach him to carefully consider whom each question should be directed towards: in this regard particularly, he had apparently failed. Their mission to Manaan - to negotiate with the Selkath for a supply of kolta to help offset the Republic's dwindling bacta supplies - had been a success however, and Inyos was feeling in a generous enough mood to provide him with a response, just this once.

Well, fairly generous. This was an opportunity, same as any other, to hone his Padawan's deductive skills. "Why do you think we were sent, Lúka?" he asked, converting an innocent question into a challenge: one that would hopefully distract young Lúka from the nervousness that had been plaguing him ever since they'd begun walking down the deserted corridors back to their shuttle.

Lúka frowned, silently accepting the challenge presented. He was young - only thirteen - but was incredibly bright for his age. It was that intelligence that had helped inspire Inyos to select him as his first Apprentice: he had hoped that his calm guidence would help hone that intelligence into the sort of wisdom that would one day make Lúka a great Jedi. His analytical mind working, Lúka began to speak his thought process aloud. "It seems strange that they would send us," he mused. "No offense to you of course, Master, but Master Kenobi is a far more experienced negotiator; and Master Fisto is a Nautolan, who would have been far better suited to negotiate with a species that lives underwater. Both were on Coruscant when we left; they were even in the Council meeting when they gave us this assignment. So why not send them?"

A ghost of a smile passed across Inyos' face - about as much emotion as he ever chose to show. "No offense taken," he assured his Padawan. "Your logic is sound, and your points are well made." He paused, a faint frown forming on his brow; he had briefly wondered at the reason himself, but had stopped himself from dwelling on it. They had been assigned to this task by the Council, and he would obey, without question. To worry over such things was to burden oneself with needless worries. Even so, with their assignment complete, he supposed there was no harm.

"It is worth considering the fact," he explained to his Padawan, "That after Count Dooku was killed at the Battle of Coruscant, General Grevous is now the sole commander of the Separatist Army. Master Kenobi has a great deal of experience fighting the General, so logicially it is wise for him to remain ready to be sent in search of Grevous, should he be found. And meanwhile, many of the Council are deployed leading major campaigns across the galaxy: it would be unwise for the Jedi to commit another of their senior Generals on a mission such as this."

Lúka considered his master's speculation carefully. "You're saying that Master Fisto was too important to go, so they sent us instead?"

Inyos' smile returned; it vanished quickly however, and a web of sincerity laced into his words as he replied. "You and I respectively are a Commander and a General in the Grand Army of the Republic. We may not command entire armies or battlefields between us, but we are no less important - vital - to the war effort. Do not underestimate your own value, Lúka."

The Padawan's eyes took a solemn, considerate turn towards the deck beneath his feet. "Yes, Master," he said quietly, taking the words deeply to heart.

Rather than reassurance, Inyos merely offered a change of topic; as his eyes scanned their surroundings, he recognised the same Selkathi sigil that he had memorised to help them navigate back towards their shuttle. "Come on," he announced, "Let's not keep the clones waiting any longer than we have to."

[Hugo Montegue]

Kashyyyk

Okay, so it wasn't Naboo. There weren't rolling, open plains and grasslands. The trees reaching up high overhead weren't dotted around infamous swamps populated by mentally deficient yet kind-hearted, floppy-eared non-Humans. The local equivalent stood at least a foot taller than him, and was covered head to toe in glossy, brown-hued fur that hid muscles capable of tearing the arms off most species. This was Kashyyyk, not Naboo. But hell, at least it was green.

It was strange that Mandan felt such an affinity to his birth-world - homeworld didn't seem like the right term, given how young he'd been when his parents had released him to the Jedi Order. He couldn't remember much from his very early youth on Naboo; and his subsequent visits had been fleeting. But that was what Mandan Hidatsa did: he formed an 'affinity' with things. Some Jedi praised it as a deep connection to the Living Force. Others were troubled by the connections that he formed; concerned that he was walking down that dangerous line between compassion and love that had corrupted so many Jedi in the past. It had been that concern that had delayed his ascension from Padawan to Knight, after his Master had died at Geonosis. But whether through his demonstration of balance, or because of the desperate needs of a war-weakened Order, the Jedi had seen fit to allow him to take the Trials; to become a Jedi Knight, and a General in the Republic's army.

And so here he was: Mandan the Knight; Mandan the Jedi; stalking his way through the forests of Kashyyyk, and loving every second of it.

He held up a fist to halt the quartet of Clones that had been deployed alongside him - Advanced Recon Troopers, on loan from Commander Gree. Their camouflaged armour was perhaps a more practical way of blending in with their surroundings in the lush, forest-floor vegetation on Kashyyyk, but it was nowhere near as stylish as his own, unorthodox, leaf-green robes. Inyos had often teased him that his choice of attire made him look like one of the poorly-conceived heroes from the early-morning holo-shows that bounced around Coruscant's airwaves, aimed at children. Master Skywalker on the other hand had complimented on his sense of style; and frankly, Mandan was more likely to set stock - in terms of what was cool and fashionable, at least - in the opinion of the guy who dressed in black and had a scar down the side of his face, than the uptight ass who'd had a Force lance rectally inserted since the first day he'd arrived at the Temple.

His eyes peered through the undergrowth around him; his other senses reached out, probing for indications that Separatist droids were nearby. Unfortunately, the mechanical creatures didn't resonate nearly so strongly through the Force as a living army might have - an inadvertent advantage for the Separatists, against the Jedi-led Republic army - but there were other ways in which a trained warrior could learn to sense their presence. A smile quirked on Mandan's face. One such way was to use one's ears: aside from their commando droids, the Separatist's army was hardly quiet.

Scanning around him, Mandan set his sights on a branch overhead and, mapping out a course over lower boughs, branches, rocks and such, sprang his way up into the canopy. He leapt from his tree to the next, moving with a lack of effort that would probably have made a Wookiee proud; within moments he'd covered several dozen feet, moving him into perfect position a few seconds later when a pair of super battle droids and an octet of their smaller cousins burst through the undergrowth, and into the small clearing in which the Clones had found themselves.

The droids weren't surprised to find the Clones there: they were ready for that, blaster carbines and wrist-mounted weapons unleashing a rain of crimson that the Troopers fortunately managed to evade by swiftly diving behind cover. They were however surprised when a Jedi suddenly descended into their midst, a viridian lightsaber carving through their framework as if it were an oar through water. A few heartbeats of exertion later, and the droids collapsed to the ground, in several more pieces than they were designed to be in.

Climbing out from the fallen trunk they'd leapt behind for cover, one of the Clones sighed, and shook his helmeted head. "For people who are supposed to set aside pride and arrogance," he muttered, "You Jedi sure do a lot of showing off."

Mandan flashed a grin; but an instant later, it took effort to keep it on his face. One of the Clones - the leader of his quartet of scouts - was hesitating a few paces behind the others, apparently receiving some sort of important communication through his helmet. That Mandan hadn't received the message himself though his own comm device made him nervous; though deactivated, he kept his lightsaber clutched in his hand.

Then he felt it; the shift in their attitude through the Force. It was as if a switch had been flipped; as if their loyalty - and their friendship - had evaporated. Were they droids, he'd have suspected a hidden protocol written into their base code; it dawned on him that as Clones, that notion perhaps wasn't so absurd after all.

He barely had time to react; but barely was time enough. His lightsaber hissed into life, battering aside blaster fire as the four Clones opened up on him. A subtle manipulation of his wrist deflected a bolt into the thigh of one Trooper; more deflected bolts acted like suppression fire, earning him a few precious instants to act. He reached out with the Force, gesturing with his off-hand as a way to focus his mind, two Clones shoved back to contact heavily with the fallen trunk behind them; another lifted from his feet and flung towards a still-standing tree. The force of the impacts was enough to either daze or render unconscious; no time to waste, Mandan sprung forward, the Force tearing blasters from Clone grips, and tossing them away to relative safety.

He advanced on the Clone he'd wounded; heaved him from the ground and into the air with the Force. "Why?" he asked; the question needed no further clarification.

"Orders," the Clone replied simply, struggling for breath beneath Mandan's psychic grip.

Mandan could have asked 'Who?', but it didn't matter. Though not as attuned as some members of the Order, he could still feel the deaths of his fellow Jedi, out there among the stars. This Order reached far beyond Kashyyyk; the world was no longer safe, and he needed to escape it.

But first I need to escape from here, he mused, releasing his grip on the Clone; a swift kick to his helmet ensured his slide into unconsciousness. With a mournful glance around the four crumpled forms - his eyes twisted in sympathy at how their minds must have been manipulated right from birth to make their 'hidden protocol' a possibility - he turned his back, leapt up into the trees, and disappeared into the jungle.

[Hugo Montegue]

Republic Shuttle

Inyos' eyes opened, surfacing him from the deep meditative trance into which he had fallen. Despite Mandan's frequent allegations to the contrary - and often to the amusement of his young Padawan - the Jedi did not spend the bulk of these interstellar voyages sleeping, but rather chose to use the time to calm himself, and better order his mind, and thoughts.

At least, that was half of the truth. To take the issue a little deeper, Inyos had always - not struggled, necessarily, but certainly had difficulty - with some of the more spiritual, abstract aspects of the Force. When it came to the here and now - the immediate, easily observed ways in which the Force affected the physical world - he was extremely proficient. He would never be so arrogant as to compare himself to some of the order's true Masters: he would not attest to rival Master Windu, or Master Yoda as a swordsman; but when it came to his immediate peers, like Mandan, or Ilias perhaps, he could always more than hold his own. His Force-sharpened perceptions were honed to near perfection; speed, and strength, and agility too were all at the pinnacle of his Jedi potential. He was every bit the Jedi Guardian that his Master had trained him to be.

But beyond that, his abilities fell short. His understanding of the Living Force, his sensitivity to visions and insights, and even his ability to wield the seemingly magical Force powers that some of his fellow Jedi possessed to some degree lagged far behind those of others; especially Mandan, much to his frustration. With effort and extreme concentration, he could make it work; but for Mandan, much of it seemed to come as naturally as breathing. And so, in the fullness of truth, it took him these deep and intense meditative trances to experience the Force in a way that Mandan literally could do while napping.

For once, the Force had graced him with one of those illusive insights, and just in time. As his eyes opened, his senses reached out into the immediate vicinity; his mind felt the hatch begin to open moments before his eyes corroborated the observation. Inyos sprung from his crouch, lightsaber ripped from his belt in one fluid motion as he interposed his body and its blade between Lúka and the pair of Clone Troopers that appeared, blasters drawn. The first sweep of the ice blue blade separated barrel from butt on both rifles; the return arc did the same for head and shoulders.

Wasting no time he advanced, a nudge of the Force deflecting the angle at which one of the now decapitated corpses tumbled to grant him passage through the doorway. He covered the distance to the cockpit hatch in quick strides; the copilot reached the controls before him, and was pulling a pistol from his hip as the durasteel door panels parted. The lightsaber carved upwards, rending him from navel to throat; Inyos span on his heels, the still-standing Clone momentarily providing a shield between him and the rest of the cockpit. A quick elbow strike to the Clone's faceplate sent him tumbling towards the ground; the deflection from the impact reversed the direction of Inyos' turn, and he deftly converted the momentum into a snap of his arm, which sent his still-active lightsaber lancing through the air to impale itself through the back of a seat and the pilot's chest.

Inyos heard the snap and hiss of his Padawan's lightsaber deactivating behind him; the sound prompted him to summon his own back to his waiting hand, mind deactivating the blade in mid-flight. He glanced around him with a slight glimmer of regret: the same way he felt about every death he caused in the name of the Order, and the Republic. Had there been more time, and more space, he would gladly have battled the Clones in such a way that would have left them wounded or incapacitated: but with the close quarters making it impossible for both he and his Padawan to defend themselves effectively - and not to mention the complications that could arise from having blaster bolts flying around inside as small a spacecraft as this - it had been essential to subdue the Clones before they managed to squeeze off even a single shot.

Lúka understood this too but, if the expression on his face was anything to go by, he didn't seem to condone it none the less. Feeling his shoulders sagging a little beneath his robes, Inyos wasn't entirely sure he condoned it, either.

There was no time to hesitate however; not now. Whatever it was that had reached out to him through the Force, it shone doubt on any illusions that this might have been an isolated incident. Striding across to the vacant copilot's seat, Inyos pulled up the computer logs, searching for any recent incoming communications. What he read inspired an icy lump to form in the pit of his stomach.

Peering over his shoulder, Lúka asked the obvious question. "What's Order 66?"

The eidetic aspect of his memory stirred into life, Inyos recited the relevant phrasing from the official documents word for word; his tone was somber, and laced with dread as he did: "In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander, GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force."

Lúka's expression twisted in naive horror. "What did we do wrong, Master?"

Sorrow tugged ever so slightly at Inyos' normally expressionless mask. "Not us, Lúka," he assured, though it was little consolation; he understood what it was he must have felt through the Force. "It means all of us. All of the Jedi. Everywhere."

Stunned silence fell over the Padawan; he seemed to sway a little, unsteady on his feet. "All of them?"

Inyos didn't spare time to console his apprentice further; his fingers rattled away at the shuttle's controls, pulling up the most recent report of the Grand Army of the Republic's most recent deployment orders. Settling on his destination, he keyed the coordinates into the nav computer. "We need to get out of here. Find help."

"Back to the Temple?" Lúka asked, a hopeful note in his voice.

The Knight didn't respond directly; didn't have the heart to explain what would likely have ensued on Coruscant if the Republic truly had turned against the Jedi. "No, to Kashyyyk," he deflected, dancing away from such implications. "We're going to try and find Master Yoda." Something tugged at the back of his mind. And with any luck, Mandan too.