A figure dropped down from the ceiling. It was a humanoid nearly two meters tall, with a triangular head and two large, matte-gray eyes. I recognized the species immediately—an Arcona. Reptiles without scales. Their homeworld is the planet Cona, in the Teke Ro system. Despite those oversized eyes, Arcona have poor vision. To compensate, they possess a special organ between their eyes, often mistaken for a nose.
"Who are you?" Ahsoka asked.
"It doesn't matter," he replied, spreading his clawed hands to the sides. In each palm was the hilt of a lightsaber. Apparently, the second one is his Master's sword.
"Everything is clear here. You're a traitor who killed this Jedi. I suspect she was your Master," I said.
I sensed a wave of disgust coming from Ahsoka through the Force. And I agreed with her completely.
"The Jedi have compromised themselves. They serve a rotten system—"
"And you decided to switch sides to the enemy? Well, well."
"Yes! I serve Count Dooku! I killed Master Ghana and joined the Separatists. Count Dooku sent me help to fight against you!"
"You fool," I cut him off. "To him, you're expendable. He'll discard you the moment you stop being useful."
"Never! And now—you will die!"
Here we go!
Ahsoka and I ignited our lightsabers and engaged him.
We had the numerical advantage, and his training left much to be desired. Only his raw physical strength kept him from going down quickly. For two minutes we pressed the fallen Padawan, driving him back step by step, until Ahsoka finally shattered one of his sabers with a precise thrust from her shoto.
"Surrender!" she shouted.
"Never!"
With that, he leapt, kicked off the ceiling, and landed behind us. But we weren't his target.
The clones—and the Moff.
At that moment, I felt it: darkness, suddenly flaring from him. He must have fallen to the Dark Side when he killed his Master, masking himself all this time with Force Concealment. Damn. I'll have to work on that. I don't want this happening again…
Ahsoka caught up to him and forced him on the defensive with a relentless barrage, while I lagged behind for a split moment—my armor prevented me from matching their speed.
With a heavy blow, he knocked Snips away. She rolled toward the clones and Trachta, who wisely kept their weapons trained on him but didn't open fire. Rightly so—they'd only have interfered. Thus, the girl had placed herself between them and the crazed Padawan.
With a hoarse gasp, the Arcona jumped back. A thermal detonator suddenly appeared in his hand. Where did he get that? He thumbed off the safety and hurled the sphere straight at Ahsoka and Trachta.
Ahsoka, use the Force!
I caught the grenade with telekinesis, yanking it toward myself and flinging it behind my back, while simultaneously launching forward at the Arcona, aiming straight for his chest. He raised his remaining blade to parry—and in that instant, two things happened at once.
Ahsoka leapt upward, slashing into the ceiling with both sabers. A panel tore loose. The Togruta seized it with the Force, using it as a shield—covering herself and the others, who wisely hit the floor.
The grenade detonated.
A wave of heat washed over my back. At the same time, my blade obeyed my will—extending, lengthening—and pierced straight through the enemy's head, right where his "nose" was. He never had time to react.
I crashed into the already lifeless body and was carried forward together with it. The Padawan's corpse absorbed most of the impact against the wall, and I even managed to stay on my feet.
"Master, are you all right?" Ahsoka cried anxiously, dropping the twisted sheet of metal to the floor.
"I'm fine," I said, exhaling. "But the armor's done for. Again. Puck, status?"
"Everyone's fine, General. There was a bit of a commotion, but no one was even injured. As for the armor—you're right," Puck remarked as he passed me. "Your entire back is melted."
He reached the Padawan's body, took careful aim, and fired two blaster bolts into the chest and head.
"Just in case," he explained.
"That's called a control shot, you ignoramus."
At that moment, Trachta—who had finally recovered—slowly rose from the floor of the command center.
"Thank you, Vikt. And thank you to your Padawan. It seems I was very close to dying," he said, straightening his uniform.
"You're welcome, sir. You would've survived," I replied to his skeptical look. "So what if it had torn off both your arms at the shoulders, burned out your eyes, and shattered your lower jaw…"
"Well, thank you for the lower jaw, then," Trachta said dryly, rubbing it with a short chuckle. "I'm rather fond of it."
***
After that, it was back to business as usual.
The clones swept the complex once more, finished off the last remaining droids—just a couple of B-1 сompanies—and secured key positions. Christen worked his way through the station's systems, restoring communications to full functionality. Trachta contacted his headquarters and requested reinforcements: clones, ships, and fresh equipment. The tracking station would need repairs.
A few hours later, three Peltas touched down on the landing pad, delivering a temporary garrison. Soon after, ships from the Tango-North squadron entered orbit. We began packing up.
"So, Vikt," Trachta said casually, "can you give us a lift to Coruscant?"
"No problem."
Somewhere after the fight in the command center, we somehow imperceptibly switched to informal terms and communicated more freely. Well, everyone was in a good mood. The clones had blown off steam, scrapped a few clankers, and suffered zero losses. Training conditions, you might say. Trachta was satisfied: the station was back under control and would soon resume operations. The breach in Coruscant's defenses was closed.
And Ahsoka…
I noticed she took it all more calmly than I'd expected. The death of that Padawan hadn't shaken her much. Or me, for that matter.
It seems we've grown a little harder…
We boarded the gunboat and headed back to the Akagi.
It was time to leave.
And finally, to take this armor off… Looks like it's really reached the end of the line. Shit.