Star Wars - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Covalent Bonds ❯ Chapter 49

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Far below Plo Koon's starfighter, Dantooine looked as somnolent and pastoral as ever. Is this droid pilot brain part of a new series? It's turning to the left after doing that scissors maneuver perfectly and taking out one of ours. Good that I took out its partner. Plo saw that he was not going to be able to catch up to the droid ship. A Delta-7 with unusual paint pulled up beside him, pacing him effortlessly. "Fine, Anakin, we'll take it out together," he said to himself, humming a war chant in his usual monotone. He extended a talon to click on his intership comm.
"Anakin, to me! We'll do this, you and I!"
"Copy, Plo. Boing-Boing Maneuver?"
"Exactly." He's changed. He's reached the potential that Obi-Wan saw in him when I sampled Obi-Wan's mind.
"Code name, code name, keep it on the downlowside, take you out, taaake you out ... now." Plo mumbled and hummed and chanted the Kel-Dor litany as he always did in combat flight. His wingmates were mostly used to it. The droid's Vulture-class fighter curled into a vector that would return it to its Lucrehulk-class Droid Control Ship. Those concentrated fuel slugs only power you for thirty-five minutes, tinnie. The Chosen One and I should be trashing you long before that. Perfectly coordinated with Anakin's Delta-7, differentiated in appearance only by Anakin's ship's sparkling paint job, Plo opted for smaller boing-boings rather than one large one, as he predicted that Anakin would fly. Sure enough, as Plo relaxed his angle of bank slightly before pulling high over the plane of the droid's flight, right before Plo inverted for the third time he spotted Anakin swooping Master-like over him after their mutual objective. Plo's speed dropped as did Anakin's and their radius of turn diminished. Both on target to the droid sprinting to its home ship and refueling, Plo and Anakin stuttered their fire. The droid ship blew apart, whether from their fire or from its self-destruct programming because its link to its control ship were severed or both, they didn't know. They rolled their ships away from the jetsam.
"Good job, Plo!" Anakin jerked his smoothly-shaven chin downwards to his shoulder, trying to reactivate his recalcitrant transponder. It lasted me through Tatooine, Ossus, on to the Mid-Rim and now back to the Outer Rim. It's probably losing power and I don't have the time to fix it. He shrugged.
"Think they'll rotate another swarm of tinnies out?" Plo checked his chrono and couldn't believe that only twenty minutes had passed since the Second Battle of Dantooine began. The stars have brought us luck. If we had not brought our noses up high enough, we'd have overshot it and missed. That is, if we hadn't collided right above it.
"I think so, how about you?"
Plo hummed. "Yes. It's early yet. Seen Siri?"
Master would be sad if she didn't make it. "No, you?"
"She contacted Adi on their private channel as soon as we got here, right before you arrived. Siri says that Adi and the rest are safe in their shelter." We've got to win this one. For their sake. Who knew that the CIS would target Dantooine more than once? It's a peaceful place, or used to be. "There she is!"
Another starfighter identical to Plo's flew at his left wing. "Adi's going to try something new. Ever hear of a battle meld?" Siri began without preamble.
Previously, in the Temple Map Room ...
"Our revised methods of fighting the crystalline droids, thanks to your input, Six, tested well on Boz Pity and Master Tholme says his latest intel from probes and the odd Bothan informant puts the Separatists' biggest upcoming push on Dantooine. Again." Obi-Wan dropped heavily on the Map Room's uncomfortable plastene seating, one hand to his back. Anakin's dream-purpose and Qui-Gon's teachings on the Living Force have brought me to this pass, he thought, and I've never felt so tired in all my life. Seven months earlier, Adi had planted the new location of the small enclave of former Jedi in Dooku's listening bug. Dantooine, it, it has traces of the first major galactic government, the mystical Rakatan Infinite Empire. Obi-Wan's tired mind churned. Ossus, right, Ossus was a Jedi stronghold for millenia, there is the old Jedi Enclave in ruins on Dantooine ... He sat up straighter. Dooku is scouting and then conquering worlds rich in history, he's substituted that for collecting rugs. He's a greater menace than ever. Would Dooku flout his presence so near to the Old Folks' Home on Dantooine, or on one of its moons? Only one of its moons has atmosphere, and I can't see Dooku living in a pressure suit longer that he has to. For one thing, it would wrinkle his cloak. Now that he was coordinating Yoda's and Aayla's chip with the information from Anakin's transponder, like a shot it came to him: Dantooine. Dooku and possibly Grievous had a base on Dantooine. He had his mouth open to speak when a pain worse than Dooku's lightsaber burn sliced through him. "Heh. It's started."
Weeks ago, Obi-Wan had felt first a rolling sensation as the twins' growing heads brought their position to head downward inside him, then an easing in his breathing. Today's events were far from such benevolence; there was less movement by the twins, but the following tearing sensation obliterated his train of thought. "Aghhh, help ... " He knew he had approximately twenty minutes of fully-anesthetized downtime to face on Luminara's table, preceded by a who-knew-how-long abruptive process. Most likely ten to fifteen minutes, she said upon her arrival last week from her official assignment, and he Sensed that with the aid of Stass and Bant, she was finally correct in his timetable. "Dantooine," he choked out and doubled over. "D-Dooku and --- " Lulu, I know you'd rather be on New Holstice, but we're in this together to the end.
Just then, the second battle of Dantooine began with an assault from Separatists surging from hyperspace. Their deployment of warcraft to conquer the world via land and air forces took place seconds later. Within minutes, Admiral Yularen's fleet appeared and took up the battle. The Map Room's automatic battle display of hotspots erased the rest of the galaxy as it homed in upon the Raioballo sector. The feed showed Dantooine's appearance from orbit, then zoomed in to focus on Republic starfighters and Vulture-class droid ships in the Separatist forces rattling intricate spears of combat. Carrier craft unloaded crysties, acceptably far from the Old Folks' Home on the planet's surface, but too close to eliminate all worry.
Tyler took one look at the red blossoms of laserfire and issued a wail that would have shamed an accipiptero. He was assaulted by multiple stresses in his personal sphere by another moan from Obi-Wan and by the Map Room comm station's feed of real-time battle. I can't handle this, I really, really cannot. This is too real. I need to return to my spire.
"Sir! I've got you, sir!" It's like he's been gutshot, the most painful kind of wound. Hang on, General. Six supported Obi-Wan's shoulders. "Focus! Can you walk?"
"Ye-N-No. It doesn't let up, Six, it doesn't let up --- " The breathing that females do wouldn't help me. This is continuous. "T-Try the smaller moon of Dantoooooooooooh-ine first, let Anakin know, you've got to let Anakin know, patch into his ship's comm, I haven't heard from him in a while --- " I can't distract him when I'm in this shape.
In situations like this, Praci were useless, Regork decided. "Tyler, sshut it and ssolidify asss much asss you can. Get out of the ssuit firsst." Tyler blubbed but obeyed, oozing out the neckline of his suit and forming an opaque whitish blob the size of Master Yoda's hoverchair. Regork patted Tyler into a comfortable shape and eased Obi-Wan into the makeshift seat. "Form handholdss." Tyler molded himself into a supportive chair with slots for Regork's and Six's hands. For once, the Praci was too upset to attempt speech. Regork said, "Three, two, one, lift!" and they set off for the infirmary, Six relaying the information about Dantooine's moon to Anakin's Delta-7 as he jogged along, barely able to keep up with Regork.
A change in plan. Must remember it's not my plan, but the Force's. Anakin won't be with me when our littles are born, Yoda is pulling together his grand backup scheme for ending the war, and I still haven't come up with an appealing girl's name. "Ohhhmmmmnnggn ... " Obi-Wan welcomed the peace and quiet of his temporary room as he reached for his datapad, thought a moment and then scribbled a name down. He erased it with a clawing of his fingernails on the scratched screen as a sharper pain in his back rolled over him. Moments later, the truly perfect name hit him along with the next surge of pain and he scrawled it down rapidly. "Ohhhhhhh ... " The pain was escalating now.
Luminara entered and took the datapad from him. "Let's go onto the birthing table, Obi-Wan. No more datapads. It's time to work." She lay a discerning hand on his abdomen and another on his forehead. He felt the edge go from the pain. The holocam coverage he would indulge Luminara in, as he saw her surreptitiously nod to the hovering sphere, and when the red light near its aperture blinked hypnotically, he used its rhythm to lose himself in the Force. Now it blinks, now it's blank, now it blinks, now it's blank, blink, blank, blink, blank ... The next thing he knew, he was sliding onto a comfortable ergonomic table. He noticed the built-in handgrips near each edge. Don't get ahead of yourself, Jedi. There seemed to be a large amount of Jedi healer personnel in the room and some Padawan he didn't know rolled him to his left side slightly while another slid a wedge pillow behind his back to brace him to stay that way. Soon it became easier to breathe.
... at the Old Folk's Home on Dantooine...
Saesee and Adi formed the center of a group of aged Jedi, ringed by all of the Olanet Three Hundred who could fit in the largest chamber of their underground shelter. "What have you gotten us into, Adi?" The words that not one Jedi or trooper would say echoed and reechoed in Adi's head. We're not in the old Jedi enclave area, but we're near enough to it to hear the bombing. Adi laughed at herself. With Siri and the Chosen One near, what could happen to them? She closed her eyes to concentrate on her task.
Saesee's telepathy had its limits in range. Until now. As if beginning a Force Laying On Of Hands, Saesee joined hands with Adi and gentled his other roughened hand into an elderly Jedi's feeble grip, a Jedi whose name he hadn't memorized yet. No. This would not happen. We'll not be pushed away from our new home. He Felt Adi gathering the experiences from her colleagues and send them out to Siri who reached out for Plo. He joined them with his own memories of his spectacular fight in the Stark Hyperspace War, when he was Adi's wingpilot. From ripples to a full-on wave of power, the Jedi sortie from the main Republic Forces added their own memories and experiences of combat. It was very quiet in the underground shelter.
... above Dantooine ...
Admiral Yularen barked into his comm, his usual deference to the Jedi gone. "What are you doing? We can't follow your moves, Black Group! Explain yourselves! Do you copy?"
"Follow us? Support us by tackling the vulture ships, we're going after the Droid Control Ship, Admiral," Siri stated succinctly.
"Three of you? Only thr--- "
"Tachi out." United with Adi in spirit as she had rarely been as a Padawan, Siri and Plo and Anakin sped as one to the Droid Control Ship, arcing under its docking claws and heading straight for the core ship. It's like I'm her and she's me and we're --- Siri stopped thinking for herself as she let down her shields, unafraid for once to be too close to any other being. The target's importance made the decision an easy one. Thoughts of Adi's strategies from the Stark Hyperspace War and especially Saesee's tactics in the Fifth Battle of Qotile came to the fore and she pressed her firing button without need of the targeting sensor. Through their meld, she sensed Plo and Anakin doing the same. This will prevent them from deploying more crysties and tinnies, but we're relying on the Admiral to take out more droid ships. I think he is capable.
... in a turbo tank on Dantooine ...
Quinlan Vos felt a great deal of satisfaction as he crushed through the crystalline droid lines. "Boomer Girl," as he had named his TX-130 Saber-class fighter tank, led the way of his squadron of thirty such behemoths along the edges of Dantooine's rustic plains near Khoonda. "Same as before, Commander."
The clone Commander smiled before his General could, not that Vos ever smiled much. "Good to see them turn to dust, sir." He charged the top turret's composite-beam laser to form a plasma booma. The time to construct the huge blue energy ball had been honed from one full minute to thirty seconds since their last engagement. At his direction, the multiple laser beams met at a central point in front of the turbo tank, making a plasma booma that glittered with blue sparks. It took on a life of its own as it launched itself at the battlefield. Combined with the mechanical stress provided by the tank's mass, the charged ball provided counterpiezoelectricity, a two-pronged attack to crush the crysties to plain white dust. It was a chain reaction: the crushing of one crystal droid meant its connection to the next was redirected to the one after that and if enough crysties were crushed, say fifteen percent of them, the connection disintegrated and they lost the sense of their orders. Like any computer chip, the synergy dissipated and the crysties wandered aimlessly every which way, rolling like unstrung beads from a jeweler's silken cord. The tanks closed in, crushing more and more. They were like integrated chips, needing something like a processor to direct their energy. By themselves they formed useless loops, full of potential but not deeds. Just the thought of what they were accomplishing today made Quinlan smile as he had not done since leaving Kashyyyk and his family.

Knife Eight was one of those rambling, waving his weapon, firing heedlessly into the wintry air. Sometimes he shot his crystallization mates or himself, just to see their shapes reform. He couldn't tell who he was and who his mates were. I obeyed my Maker. Why am I leaving this plane of existence? It made a pretty sight for a dispassionate onlooker, if a being could be found to be dispassionate about such a battle. Like a tornado swirling glittering debris, the battlefield's chaotic crysties had their calm eye. Knife Eight headed for it with his last coherent thought. He dropped his weapon as he ran.
The mobile chip that was Knife Eight pulsed a warning to its processor. "Knife Seven is down. The chain is broken. Retreat." As the same message entered Knife Eight's circuit about Knife Nine, he knew he had only one minute before the tank behind him, arcing electricity back and forth to its fellows, would pulverize him. His chip frazzled, his weapon lost to the muddy plain, Knife Eight searched for succor to his situation, but there was none and the push that had begun his mobile existence two hundred fifty-two days ago ended when he discorporated back to his constituent atoms on Dantooine. He had known nothing but battle in that time and was as content as a soulless being could be.
Meanwhile, back on Coruscant ...
"He is so ... scarred," Bant choked out. She wrapped spongy humid digits around Luminara's arm.
Luminara oversaw her prepwork and passed her hands under the sterilight, observing her patient through the transparisteel window above the sterilight's spigot. In seconds she would be caring for one of her dearest friends. She needed to know that Bant would support her. Kriff this war. Anakin needs to be here.
Luminara only nodded to Bant's remark, supervising the Padawans through the window with gestures and mouthed commands. This has never been done before. I've got to do it right. She observed Bant's quivering lip feelers and unshed tears and tried to see Obi-Wan's body as Bant saw it. Bant was Obi-Wan's oldest friend, but had never cared for him beyond the occasional allergy attack and insect sting reaction. The things she thought were making Bant even more empathetic than usual were not the newer marks on his outsized body, but the older scars, evidence of his years of service to the Republic and their Order. Here, a burn on his shoulder that bacta healed, but had not erased. There, on his ribs curling into where his waist used to be, a gundark's claw made that one on Vanqor. And on his right thigh up near the hip, a very old, widespread mark incurred from the crushing rockslide when he was sixteen. Luminara shook off the mood.
"Bant, are you up for this?" I need you for an hour, tops. Stars prevent any complications, for everyone's sake.
The Mon Calamari looked away. "I feel fine." Don't interrogate me. Sensing that she needed to act and not react, Bant straightened, passed her hands under the sterilight and entered the operating theater. Luminara followed closely.
To Be Concluded