We Were Soldiers Once, And Clones

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

He had a bad feeling about this.

The planet ahead dominated the field of vision through the transparisteel viewports, a promise of what was to come. It grew like the blossoming sense of dread, or the anxiety that was gnawing away at the pit of his stomach. Spreading further and further until the view of space fell away, and not even the edges of the planet were visible anymore. Just a giant field of blue, green, tan and white.

The ship bucked as explosions ripped through both internal and external compartments as circuits overloaded. The smell of ozone, smoke, and burning electrical cable filled the air with a noxious perfume of oxidizing chemicals. Tears welled up in his eyes, his nostrils burning from the fumes which choked his throat and sent a fire searing through his lungs.

"Braking thrusters," the boy shouted, doing his best to speak through the miasma.

"They've already fired," the man at the helm answered coarsely. A daunting moan could be heard, the sound of twisting metal. A violent shudder could be felt through the deckplates, before a series of earthquake-like tremors began to pound through the ship. Inertial forces were beginning to twist and bend the frame.

"We're coming in too fast!"

Grimacing, the young Jedi forced himself forward, balancing precariously as he moved. He grimaced with the pain lancing at him from his left side. Dark stains stood out against the tunic that the youngling wore. Some of it was his blood. Most of it wasn't. Limping against injury and struggling to maintain his footing on a ship that was rapidly tearing itself apart, the Corellian Jedi managed to fight his way to the forward part of the bridge.

They were running out of options, but even for what few alternatives might still be available to them... they were running out of time.

"Angle the deflector shield and roll us seventeen degrees," the boy ordered, leaning forward as he stared down at the scopes which provided the necessary astrogation data to the pilot and co-pilot. "We might be able to bounce off the atmosphere."

Might being the operative word.

The co-pilot immediately shook her head at the suggestion. "We've lost the lateral controls," the woman announced, sadly.

As ideas went, they had them. But the mobility simply wasn't there.

They were losing control of the ship.

And the ship was losing altitude.

"We're going down."

. : TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLIER : .​

Corellia, 16 GrS​

19 years before the Battle of Yavin​

"Charlie-Two-Five, this is Charlie-One-Nine."

The roar of repulsorlifts resonated with so much force, that the clone trooper could feel the vibrations in his bones. In spite of that, the sound was drowned out by the heavy blaster fire. Explosions shook the ground and echoed overhead, sending a pummeling hail of rock and sand down on the trooper's white armor as the clone took a knee and tried, again, to signal their reinforcements. "I repeat, this is Charlie-One-Nine. ETA on reinforcements?"

The clones were bunkered down just outside a southern route into Coronet. The Separatists had advanced on the planet more than eighteen hours earlier, and this position was exhausted from the fighting. They were running low on ammunition and their numbers were thinning from the dead or wounded.

And the droids? The droids just kept coming.

"Clankers!"

A blaster bolt sailed just inches from the clone's head. Even still, the man kept his head down as he continued to call for help. "I repeat, this is Charlie-One-Nine. Charlie-Two-Five, do you copy?"

"We've got clankers everywhere!"

"Commander Kyle, do you co--"

The sound of mechanical servos reached the clones ears just a moment too late. Even as he reached for his blaster rifle, the clone turned his eyes up to find himself staring down the barrel of a carbine in the hands of a spindly B1 battle droid.

Then the droid's head separated from it's body.

In his focus on the weapon pointed at him, the clone had almost missed the flash of green. Blinking in confusion, the clone saw it now. A blur of green light, arcing through the air as though it were alive. It looped upward, then seemed to snap back.

It was a lightsaber.

As though guided by some invisible tether, the blazing green saber dropped into the hand of a small boy. "I hope we're not late," the youngling deadpanned, as Republic dropships appeared from out of the clouds.

"Fashionably, sir," the clone replied wryly. The man was smiling in spite of himself at the sight of the Jedi.

And, with that, the boy was gone in a green blur. As he turned his head, the clone could see sparks of emerald light appear from where the Corellian Jedi cut a path through the droid offensive, as the fresh influx of clone troopers pounded upon the opening he created.

They would smash open the Confederate lines. A lone Jedi leading a grand army of the Republic.

The Clone Wars, as they called it.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

. : EIGHTEEN HOURS EARLIER : .​

Venator-class Star Destroyer Sentinel​

The blast doors parted to admit the clone trooper. Helmet tucked beneath one arm, the man strode inside of the meditation chamber where the small figure of the green robed Jedi stood before the blue-scan image of a Nautolan Master Jedi. The clone's yellow accented armor gleamed a dark gold in the dim lighting, casting shadows across the otherwise stark white of his uniform. At his entry, the Jedi -- the one in the room and the one in the hologram -- bid him welcome with a nod of their head.

Even so, it was clear that whatever conversation had preceded him was over.

"...and may the Force be with you."

With those words, the Nautolan Jedi blinked out of view. As the dark room grew darker with the dying of the blue light, the small Corellian made no move. Standing back a respective distance, the clone trooper remained silent while the Jedi did... whatever it was that he was doing.

Meditating perhaps. Or pulling his thoughts together.

3X197, or Commander Kyle as he'd been dubbed, had served with General Xantha since the second Battle of Duro. Even still, as months had turned to a year, and that year had seen skirmish turn to battle, and battle to retreat, or victory into mourning... Commander Kyle still couldn't have said that he really knew or understood the Jedi.

He knew of him. Or, he knew the rumors surrounding the rather odd creature.

He looked like a youngling, but he was said to be a half-century or more old. They called him the Hero of the Line. Some reference to the Yinchorri Rebellion, when the boy had led Republic Judicial Forces in a battle on Yinchorr Prime. His second such experience before the Clone Wars. He'd served as a lieutenant in the Judicial Forces during the Hyperspace War.

And that had been twenty-five years ago.

So the fact that the Corellian looked like he was ten was disturbing to say the least. Maddening even.

What kind of creature was he?

The clone snapped to attention as the green Jedi at last turned away from the communications console. Taking one step back, the man stepped out of the boy's path before neatly falling into step behind him as the pair exited out into the ship. He wouldn't ask if there was news. There was always news. So, instead, the clone asked, "Any good news, sir?"

"Count Dooku is dead."

The statement hung in the air, without either elaborating further upon it. The man was many things. A former Jedi. Leader of the Separatist Rebellion. A tyrant. A noble. Once a great hero. Perhaps an ever greater man. Now the greatest villain that the Republic had ever known. For all of those reasons, his death was both a victory and a defeat.

"Our intelligence is also reporting that General Grievous is dead on Utapau," the boy stated, continuing to walk for a pace before he stopped. Hands folded into the sleeves of his emerald robe, the young-looking Jedi turned his head up to the clone as he casually opined, "This war might soon be over."

There was something in his voice. A hope that hadn't been there for some time. Not since Manaan, when they'd lost the Reliant. And a lot of good soldiers. Sixes. Chives.

Now, General Sor-Jan Xantha seemed to be thinking of a day when he might never wear the title of 'general' again. And it made the clone trooper realize now that this wasn't the same Jedi he'd met at Duro only a year earlier.

But where the Jedi found respite, the clone found an uncomfortable void. A void of purpose. "What do you suppose will happen to us then," the man asked pointedly.

Looking up at the clone for a moment, the Jedi seemed confused by the question for a moment. Then he smiled. Not exactly a friendly smile, but one of those cryptic, Sith-eating grins that seemed to suggest that the Jedi knew something which the rest of us didn't. "War's end will only be the start of work to come," the youngling intoned, as the hem of his robe flared about his feet as the boy turned to walk on through the ship. As he did, he spoke and said, "The Separatist systems will need to be integrated back into the Republic."

The man said nothing as he joined along the walk. Pretty words, but what the Jedi spoke of was no easy task.

"We have a lot of civil affairs work to be done in order to restore order to the galaxy," the boy stated, as though reading the clone's mind. Which, was possible. As unnerving as that was. Turning his head up toward the man, the boy added, "I think that we'll require your service for years to come."

"Thank you, sir," the man intoned cordially, offering the expected, perfunctory reply. As the conversation seemed to have de-railed somewhat, the clone decided to get straight to the point of why he had sought the enigmatic Jedi out. "Orders, sir?"

"You're going home," the boy answered, in the same unnerving manner in which he answered without really answering. Sensing the clone bristle beside him, the boy flashed another of those Sith-eating grins as he explained, "We'll drop the young ones off at Kamino, then we're to proceed to Lothal."

As the young Jedi finished speaking, the pair arrived in a large bay where a number of clone troopers were cleaning their weapons and armor. At their entry, a shout was given for everyone to come to attention. A roar like thunder echoed as boots slapped against the deck, as the soldiers brought themselves neatly into orders with perfect military precision.

Turning to make his way through the bay, the boy continued speaking up to the clone commander as he walked. "With so much happening around the Core Worlds, we need to reassure our outlying systems that they're not forgotten." And so that was what this mission to Lothal would be. A gesture. Waving the flag and singing All Stars Burn As One.

They'd been soldiers. Now, they'd be politicians. Ambassadors of the Republic's good will.

Pausing, the Jedi arrived to a squad that was a little bit shorter than the rest of the clones. In fact, they were all about a hair shorter than the Jedi was. Garbed in the distinctive blue-on-blue uniform of a juvenile clone, the young troopers-in-training all stood at attention as the Jedi walked in front of them. "So what did you think about Corellia?"

By the time he arrived at the end of the group of juvenile clones, the question just hung in the air amid uncomfortable silence. Walking back a few paces, the blue-eyed Jedi scanned the young faces. "Come on. Speak your minds," the boy invited warmly, looking from one clone to the next. "I know you have them, I can hear you thinking."

"I wish we coulda seen some action."

The arrogance was amusing, as much as it demonstrated the behavioral mindset that was part of their programming. Even still, the Jedi couldn't help but smile wanly as the comment opened up the floor to further commentary.

"Yeah! I'd have trashed a clanker," a second boasted.

"I'd have trashed five clankers!" a third clone blurted in answer.

"Well, I know what you think about the Clankers, but..." Surveying their observers, who were here for their own training, the green Jedi interrupted their boasting as he pointed out, "...that wasn't the question."

The squad of juvenile clones all looked at each other. "Uh, what was the question again?"

The smile on the young Jedi's face only brightened. "Corellia is my home," the boy remarked, pausing as he looked several of the clones in the face. "Like Kamino is for you," he explained, trying to cast the statement into words or phrases which would help the clones to better understand the sentiment which the boy was trying to get across to them. "I'm very proud of it. And I'm proud to have had your help in defending it."

A tremor ran through the deck plates. The vibrations made several crates of armor shudder loudly, as the juvenile clones jumped at the sudden change.

"We've just made the jump into hyperspace," the Jedi noted, in a soothing tone. Looking around at the juvenile squad, then at the group of adult clones surrounding either side of them, the boy raised his voice as he said, "Get some rest. You'll be returning to your training soon."

Beside him, Commander Kyle's heels could be heard to slap together as the man belted aloud, "Company!"

There was an audible clang as the clones all came back to attention.

"Dismissed!"

The clones broke formation, returning to their labors or retiring to their racks. The blue tunics of the juveniles blended into the sea of white and black, as the Jedi was again left standing there. Perhaps meditating. Perhaps thinking. "Credit for your thoughts, sir?" Commander Kyle uttered after a moment.

"Does anyone remember when we used to be explorers?"

The question was certainly an odd one. Not that the Jedi was normal to begin with. "Afraid that I don't, sir," Kyle answered frankly. Shifting his helmet from the crook of one arm to the next, the man peered down to ask, "If I may ask, General, what did you do? Before the war, I mean."

The shadow of that Sith-eating grin returned. "What's the pool up to?" the boy asked wryly.

Gambling was of course illegal in the Grand Army. And the General knew that. But, then, so did the Commander. "Sixty creds, sir," the clone answered without any hesitation.

"And your bet?"

"I said you were a teacher... sir."

The guess seemed to cause a change in the Jedi. For a moment, he almost looked... sad. "You're not right," the young Jedi offered cryptically. "...and you're not wrong."

Not right, and not wrong. Giving the boy a quizzical stare, the clone just asked, "Sir?"

Turning to face the clone, the boy craned his head back to look up at the man. And then simply bowed slightly. "Goodnight, Commander," the Jedi said, offering no explanation.

Well, that was typical.

"Goodnight, sir," Kyle answered stiffly, coming to attention before he turned to leave the Jedi to his own... whatever.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Spoiler

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A1o4eM7gOzg[/youtube]

. : D A N T O O I N E : .​

902 years earlier​

“Master, what happens when we die?”

The Thisspisasian’s lightsaber staff struck the ground softly as the serpentile figure paused to consider the question which had been posed by the small human-looking child that was perched atop the bearded snake’s shoulders. A large, taloned hand came up to stroke the long, graying beard as the Jedi Knight mulled over how such a basic question could invite so complex a response. “Look around you, my pupil,” Azul Gol said finally, allowing his own golden eyes to take in the sights and sounds of the forest in a new light. With the marvelous wonder of a child. “Death and life happen all around us...”

“I know about that,” the young Anzat said flatly, interrupting the Thisspisasian in a very pouting tone. Obviously whatever the Jedi was about to say wasn’t what the child wanted to hear.

So curious, the mind of a child. Wanting to ask questions, yet wanting also to assert their own knowledge. “You do?” Gol commented with a dry chuckle, the serpent-like figure beginning to move through the jungle once more as he casually invited, “Then why don’t you tell me the answer, Master Xantha?”

The youngling’s legs kicked in a kind of tell-tale reflex of boredom as the child began, “It’s, like, the circle of life thing. The rain... The rain, like, waters the grass, but the sun evaporates the water and then the vapor becomes clouds and rain falls,” the small Corellian began, pausing to yawn before he continued. “Or the… the rancor, like, eats the womprat, but then when the rancor dies, it’s body feeds nutrients to the soil that supplies the womprat with food.”

“An excellent understanding of ecosystems you have there, Master Xantha,” the Thisspiasian Jedi remarked, sweeping aside an errant branch as the pair made their way through the underbrush. “But it doesn’t answer your real question, does it?”

The Jedi allowed the question to hang in the air for a moment, feeling the small boy shuffle as his young mind tried to reconcile science with philosophy.

“Death and life are one in the same. In living, we are a manifestation of the Force. In dying, we return to the Force,” Gol provided finally, as the pair emerged from out of the treeline and into a field. With a sweeping gesture, the Jedi guided the boy’s eyes across the tall grass. “Look around you, Sor-Jan, but not with your eyes. Be conscious of the Living Force. It is in the stars, in the grass, in the smallest creatures. It surrounds us, penetrates us, and binds the universe together.”

The answer didn’t seem to answer the boy’s question either. “So...” Sor-Jan began, his legs swinging once again, “What happens when we become one with the Force?”

Gently with his mind, Gol lifted the boy off of his shoulders and reached up to take the boy into his arms. Shifting back, the Thisspisasian set the child atop one of his coils and looked the young Anzat in the eye. “The Force will be with you, always. And so will I,” the Jedi stated somberly, before tilting the boy’s head up and directing his eyes above. “Even when this form has passed away. Look at the stars of the sky. I will be there, watching over you.”

. : H Y P E R S P A C E : .​

19 years before the Battle of Yavin​

The Force will be with you, always. And so will I.

The words of his former master echoed in his ears. It was as though he was hearing them again, for the first time. The boy's eyes snapped open. In an instant, the lightsaber flew from across the room to his hand as he bounded from out of the bed. It came alive the moment it made contact with his skin, the green light bathing the room in emerald shadows as the dark-haired boy stood at the center of the room and tried to comprehend just what it was that had disturbed him.

Something terrible had happened.

There was a great disturbance in the Force. He couldn't describe it, except that he'd only felt it's like one time before. It felt like the last time he'd been in the presence of his former master.

It felt like Azul Gol dying in his arms all over again.

Swallowing against a sudden swell of emotion, the young Corellian made his way to the commlink recessed into the nightstand by the bed. It was only a moment before one of the clones answered the link.

---

"What's our status?"

The boy's voice trickled through the link on the bridge. Human navy officers mulled about beside clone troopers at the various stations throughout the expansive control center. A man in yellow accented armor leaned down to answer the call. "We're just coming out of hyperspace," Commander Kyle announced. "We were going to re-synchronize our systems, then make the final jump to Kamino."

Of course, the Jedi knew this. It was standard procedure. Hesitating a moment, Kyle re-keyed the link to ask, "Is... everything all right, sir?"

There was a pause before the reply came.

"Hold us here, a moment. And try to get an uplink with Coruscant."

The Jedi was anxious about something. The clone frowned at the tone which came through. It betrayed something he hadn't often heard from the boy. Fear. There was fear in what he said.

What struck fear into the hearts of the Jedi? "Yes, sir," the clone commander responded neatly, as he terminated the link.

He'd only just straightened up when a clone came bearing a datapad. "Commander, there's a link coming up from Coruscant now."

Probably fleet re-synchronization protocols. Or daily movement boards. Standard stuff. It was to be expected, after coming out of hyperspace for so long. And so Commander Kyle thought nothing of it when he keyed up the order of the day.

"Execute Order 66."

The clone commander was silent for a moment, as though processing the command.

"It will be done, my lord."

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

. : Y I N C H O R R : .​

33 years before the Battle of Yavin​

“Master?”

When he’d become a Jedi, Sor-Jan had fervently hoped that these days had been behind him.

Overhead, air speeders provided cover for troop transports while anti-aircraft barriers exploded proximity charges and sent shock waves echoing all around them. Smoke obscured friend and foe, the hulking form of the Yinchorri appearing like boogeymen from out of the shadows, while the soldiers of the Judicial Forces surged and fell with the tide of battle. The urban environment in which the two sides now fought was a city blasted to ruin. Blood and parts of bodies painted the canvas. The sounds of war and the dying were the music that was playing.

When he’d become an archaeologist, Sor-Jan had thought that the lightsaber he’d constructed would be for show. The badge of knighthood. A symbol of rank at best and a trinket at worst. Or a paperweight. It made a good paperweight actually.

With its distinctive sound, the lightsaber came alive for only the third time – the first since he had demonstrated it during his trials. Deflecting incoming blaster fire, Sor-Jan found his mind divided.

He was here to rescue someone... but he was no longer certain who that someone was.

Before he’d left Dilly to coordinate the placement for the M.A.S.H. units, he’d enabled the lethal power setting on the padawan’s lightsaber. The fact that his padawan was on his own was one that ate at Sor-Jan’s mind.

But that was why Sor-Jan was doing this, because this must have been exactly how his master had felt during the Hyperspace War.

Through the smoke, Sor-Jan could see a familiar green tail – just visable beneath a mound of rubble.

“Master!”

There were no words to describe the power of emotion flowing through him. Without thought, the Anzat put forth his hand and the ruins were lifted off the still form of the Jedi Master. Pushing them aside with his mind, the green-cloaked Jedi rushed to the side of the white-bearded snake.

The look on the Jedi Master’s face was one of pure tranquility. “I... was just thinking that I would find you here, youngling,” the Thisspiasian remarked, the once grave voice now little more than a whisper as the venerable teacher seemed to beckon the Anzat closer. Looking the boy-Jedi in the eye, Azul Gol asked, “You weren’t digging for artifacts on Yinchorri Prime were you? Offended their religion perhaps?”

How was it possible to laugh at a time like that? “No, but now that you mention it...” Sor-Jan replied glibly.

Incredible. They were joking, even at a time like this. The boy's face grew somber then, and afraid. “Master, we’re evacuating your forces. We’re outnumbered. We can’t stay here.”

What remained of a once powerful hand brushed against the boy’s arm. “Then... go, youngling,” Gol said finally. “Remember... the... Force...”

And he died.

. : T H E • C L O N E • W A R S : .​

14 years later​

The scene on Yinchorr played through his mind. Again, and again, he suffered the loss of his former master. His teacher. His mentor. His friend. Azul Gol was the one person in the galaxy who had been like a father to him. Everything that he knew about the Jedi, that he knew about living, came from the lessons he'd learned at the Thisspiasian's side.

Now, as he walked through the interior of the ship, the green-robed Jedi found himself feeling as though the Jedi had just lost the war.

But why? He very much wanted to know why. It didn't make any sense...

General Grievous, the leader of the Separatist army, was dead. The droid armies dismantled at the battle over Coruscant.

Count Dooku, long the cornerstone in the Separatist political foundation, was dead. The leaders of the Confederacy were scattered, directionless.

The end of the war had been signaled. Master Fisto had said that the Jedi were on their way to address the Supreme Chancellor, to ask him to relinquish the emergency powers granted him by the Senate and allow democracy to resume. The Chancellor had said as much in his acceptance speech, the he looked forward to this day.

This was a victory.

...so why did it feel like defeat?

It was more than that. Something... clouded. The Dark Side of the Force. It was almost tangible, blocking his attempts at piercing whatever veil had fallen over the galaxy. Leaving behind merely a sense of loss. It was as though a wound had opened up in the Force itself.

Death. The Dark Side. Loss. Pain. Anguish. Despair.

He feared something terrible had happened.

Striding through the ship, the small Jedi's robe whipped about his slight frame as he proceeded toward the meditation chamber. He needed to speak with the Jedi Council immediately. Someone. Anyone.

As the boy walked, his head turned to look behind him. There were clone troopers emerging from out of adjoining corridors, moving up behind him.

They wore armor.

Their helmets covered their faces.

And their weapons were carried at the ready.

As he looked forward again, the Corellian saw clones advancing toward him. In armor, with their weapons drawn and helmets obscuring their faces. The child's face grew stern as the disturbance in the Force only seemed to deepen. Reaching up, the boy casually flipped the sage colored robe off his shoulders. Dropping his arms, he casually allowed the outer garment to fall away from his small form onto the floor. His hand closed around the handle of the lightsaber at his side, drawing it from off his belt as he continued forward.

He stopped a few feet away from where the clone troopers had formed a line to block his path. As he did, the group before him and behind moved to encircle the boy.

The Anzati youth's thumb hovered over the activation switch for the lightsaber, though his eyes never wavered from the clone in front of him. "Before we begin..." the child intoned quietly.

The clones leveled their weapons, the sound of the blaster carbines being drawn back echoed by the snap-hiss of the lightsaber being brought to life.

The glow of the green blade illuminated the contours of the child's face, as he patiently stared forward. As though his gaze pierced straight through the clones before him.

"...is there anyone who would like to walk away?"

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

The air was rank with the stench of ozone and blaster gas.

Let go your conscious self.

The green blade hummed as it moved through the air, creating arcs and orbits around the small boy's form. As the hail of red blaster bolts sailed across the room, the young Corellian moved with the grace of a dancer and the poise of an acrobat. Like the oceans of Dac, his body seemed fluid. The ebb and flow of each action blended naturally into the next, creating a seamless choreography in which his slight frame passed between the shots fired. The verdant blade seemed an impenetrable barrier, deflecting, blocking, and shielding the blaster bolts from advancing any further as the youth found himself as one Jedi against an entire army.

It was the army he'd been leading up until just a few moments ago.

In many ways, this battle was harder than any other that the boy had fought throughout the Clone Wars. The droid armies of the Separatists were faceless. The clones were different. They all shared the same face, but each was a unique individual. Many clones had asked in wonder at how the Jedi could tell the clones apart from one another. In truth, it was quite simple.

And quite painful to strike them down.

At the boy's feet was a man who had been born 3X259, but Sor-Jan had named him Rancor. He had the soul of a giant. And a heart to match. He was dead now, with a wound from a lightsaber visible in the scorched puncture that was still smoldering from where Sor-Jan's weapon had fused alloy composite and flesh.

The boy raised his lightsaber to deflect a shot which hadn't even been fired yet. The bolt impacted the blade the moment that 3X146 had pulled the trigger. Burger was his name. The shot was bounced back, entering through the visor of the clone trooper's mask as it passed through to the other side.

For every day of the last year, Sor-Jan had placed his life in the hands of these clones. Asked them to put their lives in his. They had saved each other countless times. And yet, they were trying to kill him. Without remorse. Without regret. Without any discontent whatsoever.

It made no sense.

Trust your instincts, young one.

The lessons of his former master echoed though the boy's mind as he wove a path through the torrent of blaster fire. With one hand outstretched, the young Jedi casually triggered the door controls on the far side of the corridor. The heavy blast doors slid shut, sealing off the aid of reinforcements. As two more shots were fired, the young Jedi neatly knocked one aside and the other back at the shooter. As the clone trooper toppled to the deck, the child turned to look for any more opponents.

A moment in which to catch his breath.

As he let go a breath he had not even been conscious of holding, the boy's shoulders sagged with fatigue. He moved with an obvious limp, hobbling further down the hallways and corridors of the ship's internal labyrinth. Shifting the lightsaber to his off-hand, the child gingerly reached across his body and clutched at his left side. As he did, he winced as pain lanced up and down his ribs. Retracting his hand, the boy saw blood slicking the palm.

Apparently not all the shots had missed after all.

My masters, I take Dil Andau to be my padawan learner.​

What did a Jedi think about, when faced with their own mortality?

If a Thisspiasian had been his father, then it was a Twi'lek that was his son. As the young Jedi struggled to take even one step further, he found that his thoughts fell away from the memory of his master. Or even his own pain.

Instead, Sor-Jan thought of a boy. A youngling that he'd watched grow from hopeful to initiate, initiate to padawan. Time well spent. On Ord Mantell, Corellia, into the Outer Rim. And all of the hidden places where his master had shown him. He thought of an awkward teenager, left to fend for himself in organizing and defending the field hospitals on Yinchorr Prime.

And how very proud that Sor-Jan had been of the result.

I present Dil Andau for the trials. He is ready, and there is nothing more he can learn from me.​

It was at Yinchorr Prime that Sor-Jan had learned to go on without his master.

It seemed strange, but Azul Gol had never really gotten to see his padawan grow up. Sor-Jan matured, but he wasn't much different now than he'd been thirty years ago. In another fifty or so years, he'd hit a major growth spurt. One which would change him dynamically, physically as well as physiologically. But that was time that Sor-Jan hadn't gotten to share with his mentor and friend.

In contrast, Sor-Jan was often amazed at how much Dil Andau had changed in so short a season as had seen a child become a man, and that man become a Jedi Knight. A healer. Doctor. In many ways, Sor-Jan looked at his own former padawan and saw someone who was a better Jedi than Sor-Jan could have ever hoped to have become.

He had looked forward to watching Dil Andau continue to grow.

It had made him prideful. Arrogant. He wanted to take credit for the good man that the boy had grown into, and believe that it was because of him. Because of what he'd taught the boy.

Perhaps this day would be the day that Dil Andau would continue without him.

The door was only five steps away, but Sor-Jan already knew that he'd never make it there. There were people waiting on the other side. People ready for a fight. A fight which Sor-Jan no longer had the strength to continue.

That was what Sor-Jan thought about when he saw his own death approaching. He would very much miss being able to watch Dil Andau grow up.

The boy even had his own padawan now.

As the elevator doors opened, the young Jedi brought his lightsaber up. A serenity overcame him, as he let go of his pride and prepared himself to go and join his former master.

Two clones came through the door. Jack and Wild.

But neither pointed their weapons at the Jedi. Instead, they moved past him to sweep the passage for any signs of pursuit.

One of the female Republic officers emerged next, with a few of the juvenile clones and two more Republic officers. Without preamble, the woman stopped just a few feet short of the boy to announce,"The Jedi have been declared traitors to the Republic."

Whatever was happening on this ship, it appeared that the Jedi had some friends.

Or, at least, people who were not shooting at him. For the moment.

Shutting down his lightsaber, the child clipped the device back to his belt as he thought about that statement. Traitors to the Republic? The Jedi Order? How did that even make...

Oh, wait.

"Then I take it that the Supreme Chancellor has not surrendered his emergency powers," the boy commented, recalling the task which Master Fisto had described to him over the comm earlier.

"The Supreme Chancellor has dissolved the Republic," the woman stated flatly.

The boy just looked at the woman, as though quite certain one of them had gone mad. And, at this point, he wasn't imagining that it was her. "What?"

"He's declared the Galactic Empire," Jack commented, turning and lowering his blaster. "...the New Order."

"And installed himself as Emperor," the woman added, motioning for two of the clones to come help the small Jedi.

As the young clones helped the Jedi to stay on his feet, the Corellian found himself reflecting on all the wrongs that it had taken for them to get to this point. The war. The clone army.

It was like some brilliant game of chess.

"We were on the wrong side," the Jedi said finally. They'd been saying that they'd been fighting for democracy, even while becoming less democratic every day. Until democracy died. With the help of the Jedi. "We were on the wrong side the whole time."

"I don't even know whose side we're on any more," Wild commented, sharing a look around the hall with the others. "But right now, we need to get control of this ship."

"There's too many of them," the boy said, motioning toward the elevator. "We have to get to the hangar bay. Quickly."

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

The clone's thick fingers stabbed painfully at the burns, as the trooper clumsily applied the kolto patch to the young Jedi's side.

The blaster bolt had clipped him, passing right beneath the shoulder joint as it seared through the clothing, skin, and sinew along his ribcage and the inside of his left bicep. An inch either way and he'd have either lost an arm or a lung.

"It's too bad Doc's not here. He'd..." 3X845, or Jack, stopped talking in mid-sentence. As though realizing now how inappropriate it was.

Doc was dead.

Sor-Jan had killed him.

They all knew it. Awkwardly trading glances as no one knew just what to say in the vacuum created by the silence which hung uncomfortably in the air.

"It's too bad," the young Jedi repeated finally, wincing as he lifted himself up. The truth was, the bandage hurt more than the wound. But, he could survive a little while longer.

There was a piece of shrapnel in his right leg. Putting weight on it hurt. Which, at least took his mind off the hole in his side. Or the chunk that had been taken out of his arm.

All of that would have to wait for later. Right now, they were sitting ducks on this ship. Pulling his tunic closed over the bandage, the small Corellian adjusted the belt at his waist as he slid next to one of the juvenile clones that was monitoring the hangar bay.

"'s double the standard patrol, sir," the boy reported dutifully.

Peeking his head out just enough to verify where the guards were position, the Jedi remarked, "Commander Kyle's no fool." The clone commander knew there was a greater likelihood of the 'rebels' fleeing the ship than trying to take it by force. That kind of bold maneuver was more in the vein of General Skywalker.

Leaning against the bulkhead, the Jedi felt his body being pulled toward the deck with the weight of fatigue. Meditating for a moment, the boy took a moment to try and clear his mind. "I think I can create an opening for us, but we'll have to move quickly," the youth stated, as he opened his eyes back up and looked around at the small cabal of co-conspirators that he'd picked up. Or that had picked him up. Looking over at the two clone troopers, the boy said, "Once we're inside, Jack, Wild, I want you to turn to ship's defenses on the hangar bay."

That would discourage pursuit, and possibly disable the ship. Take out some of their maneuvering capability at the least.

The two clones looked at one another, obviously less than enthusiastic about the proposed plan. And Sor-Jan couldn't say that he blamed them. He was less than enthusiastic about everything that had happened in the last eight hours.

Pushing himself up from off the deck, he pushed aside the pain as he slid out from behind the wall. Ducking into the shelter of a cargo palette, the boy stared up at a pair of clone troopers on the level overhead. With a wave of his hand, an echo resonated somewhere off to their left.

"What was that?"

"Signal 3X521. We're going to check it out."

As the two troopers walked off, the boy slipped out from around the cargo palette to spy another pair of troopers who were standing at the foot of the bridge which led to the Defender -- a Consular-class frigate moored within the star destroyer's lower hangar bay. Another wave of his hand sent a clatter echoing from the other side of the hangar.

"We've got something over here."

As the clone troopers turned their back on the path to the entry to the ship, the boy gestured for the group behind him to hurry as he raced for the entry into the ship.

"They'll know we're here the moment the engines cycle," the young Jedi warned, holding the door for the last of the juvenile clones to enter into the ship before he let it seal shut. And then collapsed under the weight of the effort he'd put into just being able to walk. Let alone run.

It was a sad thing that the plan worked perfectly.

Jack and Wild were in the turrets the moment that the ship's internal power batteries were brought on-line. The first shots fired sent explosions ripping through the internal pathways of the Sentinel. The shields disabled, the clones in the hangar bay were blown out into space as the small frigate hammered at the star destroyer from within.

And then the Jedi felt the docking clamps pulled free of their moorings, as the Consular took flight.

Gritting his teeth, the boy pulled his way along the walls of the ship to arrive up in the bridge.

"Well, the good news is, they're no longer shooting at us with blasters," the Navy woman commented from the co-pilot's chair.

"What's the bad news?" the pilot beside her asked.

"They're shooting at us with turbo-lasers."

As though true to form, the ship rocked violently as a sudden impact resonated from the stern.

Maybe they should have taken their chances on the star destroyer.

Jump.

The Thisspiasian's voice echoed in the boy's mind. Blue eyes looked up to his left, as though he'd honestly expected to see the bearded snake there beside him.

It was actually kind of extraordinary. He almost felt that same presence...

"How long to make the jump to lightspeed?" he heard the woman demanding from the front of the bridge.

"Give me a minute," the pilot announced.

Sor-Jan, trust me.

The boy's eyes narrowed as the words echoed through his mind. This time he was certain. He could feel the presence of his former master, as though the Thisspiasian were coiled right in front of him.

A second volley slammed into the ship.

Jump, SJ.

"The hyperdrive's been hit!"

"Is it functional?"

As the commentary from the front continued, the young Jedi found himself at something of a loss to explain what he was now experiencing.

"The hyperdrive is leaking, I'll have to re-calculate..."

Stretching out his hand, the boy reached out to touch the three levers on the center console with his mind.

There was nothing more dangerous than a blind jump through hyperspace.

Jump. NOW!

With a wave of his hand, the boy threw the hyperdrive into motion. The stars expanded outward.

And they were gone.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

. : L O T H A L : .​

863 years later​

The hyperlane seemed wild, chaotic.

The ship continued to buck and tremble, as though ready to fly itself apart. There was a distortion rippling through the inside of the ship. As though there were some delay in between thought, speech, or action. It was like seeing yourself in slow motion. Echoes and a blur revealing nuances in movement and sound, as though everything were being slowed down. Or even happening in reverse.

The pilot's large hand came up into the light. For a moment, there might have even been three hands. Or three pilots. Each occupying the same space, yet... different.

He grabbed hold of the hyperdrive controls and pulled up.

And, for a moment, nothing happened. Then it was as if hyperspace itself exploded.

The ship moaned as it sailed back into normal space, careening wildly as the stars popped back into view. And just as quickly disappeared. Replaced by the view of a planet.

He had a bad feeling about this.

The planet ahead dominated the field of vision through the transparisteel viewports, a promise of what was to come. It grew like the blossoming sense of dread, or the anxiety that was gnawing away at the pit of his stomach. Spreading further and further until the view of space fell away, and not even the edges of the planet were visible anymore. Just a giant field of blue, green, tan and white.

The ship bucked as explosions ripped through both internal and external compartments as circuits overloaded. The smell of ozone, smoke, and burning electrical cable filled the air with a noxious perfume of oxidizing chemicals. Tears welled up in his eyes, his nostrils burning from the fumes which choked his throat and sent a fire searing through his lungs.

"Braking thrusters," the boy shouted, doing his best to speak through the miasma.

"They've already fired," the man at the helm answered coarsely. A daunting moan could be heard, the sound of twisting metal. A violent shudder could be felt through the deckplates, before a series of earthquake-like tremors began to pound through the ship. Inertial forces were beginning to twist and bend the frame.

"We're coming in too fast!"

Grimacing, the young Jedi forced himself forward, balancing precariously as he moved. He grimaced with the pain lancing at him from his left side. Dark stains stood out against the tunic that the youngling wore. Some of it was his blood. Most of it wasn't. Limping against injury and struggling to maintain his footing on a ship that was rapidly tearing itself apart, the Corellian Jedi managed to fight his way to the forward part of the bridge.

They were running out of options, but even for what few alternatives might still be available to them... they were running out of time.

"Angle the deflector shield and roll us seventeen degrees," the boy ordered, leaning forward as he stared down at the scopes which provided the necessary astrogation data to the pilot and co-pilot. "We might be able to bounce off the atmosphere."

Might being the operative word.

The co-pilot immediately shook her head at the suggestion. "We've lost the lateral controls," the woman announced, sadly.

As ideas went, they had them. But the mobility simply wasn't there.

They were losing control of the ship.

And the ship was losing altitude.

"We're going down."

The red haze of atmospheric friction crawled up the viewports, as smoke trickled in from the deckplates below as the ship was superheated by the air it was now passing through. As the violence of re-entry began to overtake them, the young Jedi held fast as flames encompassed the view from the bridge.

They were sailing straight into hell.

---

He'd blacked out.

Sunlight trickled through the canopy of the Consular-class frigate's bridge, stabbing at his eyes from where the boy had folded underneath a communications console. A myriad of bruises screamed as the youngling stirred, grabbing onto the console for support as he heaved himself up. And just as quickly discovered that the deck was less than stable.

The ship was listing precariously to the port. Dirt covered the lower third of the transparisteel viewport, revealing that the ship had struck down hard on the planet surface.

Sliding forward carefully, the young Jedi scooted up between the pilot and co-pilot hunched over their controls.

Dead, both of them.

Letting out a haggard breath, the Jedi looked up at the light as he looked out over a pastoral landscape. A terrestrial world. Farm land perhaps. Where ever they were, this wasn't Kamino.

And it damn sure wasn't Coruscant.

Pulling his way to the back of the bridge, the boy slipped into the recesses of the former Republic frigate Diligent. Perhaps the last Republic ship to fly a Republic crew.

Jack and Wild had both been in the gun mounts. The lower turret had been crushed when the cruiser had slammed down into the earth, burying Wild in a tomb of durasteel. Jack had been tossed down the ladderwell during the impact, breaking his neck.

Two of the juvenile clones were dead as well.

When the small Jedi had finished going through their stolen victory, the price of freedom was evident in what remained of their last stand on the star destroyer Sentinel.

The Jedi, a juvenile clone, and a 2-1B medical droid.

On an unknown planet, in a galaxy gone mad in which none of the truths they had clung to seemed to matter any more.