Jedi Trial (32 page)

The droids, unable to give way, unable to surrender even if Anakin would have spared them, flew apart like cheap dolls as the lightsaber cut through them in a broad swath of destruction. The clone troopers following the Jedi had difficulty finding targets, and stumbled over the debris he left in his passage through the complex.
They merely followed in his wake, covering his back. Before long he was outside the building and heading with unerring accuracy toward Pors Tonith’s bunker. It seemed as if Tonith’s entire army was firing at Anakin, but as he ran at full speed over the uneven ground that separated the communications facility from Tonith’s command bunker, not a single bolt touched him. The troopers following hugged the ground and crawled painfully onward while their commander stood erect and ran unscathed through the burning trajectories of death.

Tonith’s engineer droids had constructed the command bunker with standard internal blast walls to baffle the explosive force of any demolition charge an attacker might use to blow the entrance doors open. Anakin set a thermal detonator at the base of the bunker’s massive doors and took cover in a slight depression about twenty meters from them. He counted the seconds, and was ready when the massive detonation erupted. Even before the debris from the blast had settled, he was up and through the gaping hole. The first blast wall inside had been destroyed, but where the entrance tunnel turned sharply to the right the protective permacrete was intact—and three droids waited there, weapons leveled.

Inside the bunker, Pors Tonith stood calmly, a cup of tea poised in front of his purple lips. They’d all felt the concussion of the thermal detonator when it went off, but Tonith and his technicians had been unharmed by the blast. Several of the technicians made as if to flee for cover somewhere.

“Everyone stay at your station,” he ordered. “We do
not have the means to resist and we shall not.” He could clearly follow the fight in the entrance corridor by the sounds that Anakin’s and the droids’ weapons made in the closed space. In seconds all had fallen quiet.

He sipped his tea. One of the technicians began to whimper. “Silence!” he snapped.

Anakin stepped into the control room, his clothing smoldering from near hits, his eyes blazing with fury. The technicians gasped and shrank away from the ghastly figure. Tonith, however, merely gazed upon Anakin with a slight smile on his face. The room went deathly silent except for the gentle hum of the Jedi’s lightsaber, which he held before him, shifting its blade slightly back and forth as if looking for targets. Nobody moved.

“I surrender,” Tonith announced, smirking. “I surrender to you, Jedi Knight.” He bowed slightly from the waist, careful not to spill any of the tea in his cup. He sipped the liquid and smacked his lips. “You have won,” he continued, “and I congratulate you.”

“Give the order for your troops to cease fire,” Anakin rasped. His voice, reverberating hollowly throughout the room, sounded as if it had come out of a deep well. “Do it! Do it now!”

Tonith nodded at the technicians, who were more than happy to communicate the cease-fire order to the droid commanders.

“My dear sir,” Tonith intoned, “I am now your prisoner and claim for me and my sentient beings here and elsewhere on this position the status of prisoners of war.” He lifted his cup and insouciantly, in full confidence
that he was now protected, swallowed the remaining tea. He smiled, showing his stained teeth.

Anakin was so fully filled with the Force that he was barely aware of himself. All he knew was the joy of the Force, a greater joy than he’d ever felt before. There was so much power in the Force, and all that power was his—
his!
—to do with as he would. He knew that, and he knew that the Muun before him was the one who led the Separatist army that had attacked and occupied the Intergalactic Communications Center. Tonith was the one who had commanded the forces that had wiped out General Khamar’s army, that had killed most of Captain Slayke’s Sons and Daughters of Freedom, the one who had brought the fight that killed so many of the clone troopers.

This was the one who had given the order to the droid that had shot down Reija Momen in front of him.

This Pors Tonith deserved to die, and Anakin Skywalker was the one to kill him.

These technicians were traitors to the Republic who had aided Pors Tonith in his murderous operation; they deserved to die, as well. Let this vile, stained-tooth creature watch as his underlings died, so he would know his fate, and fear before he died.

Anakin Skywalker, filled with the Force, the agent of vengeance, raised his lightsaber and advanced toward the nearest technician.

He stopped as a voice came unbidden into his mind.

“You must use the Force for good, Anakin.”

Confused, he looked around. The voice sounded like that of Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan’s Jedi Master—the one
who had seen the potential in the child Anakin and helped win the boy’s freedom from slavery. But Qui-Gon Jinn was dead …

“Master Jinn?” Anakin breathed.

“The Force is too strong to use for anything but good, Padawan. Remember that, and you can be the greatest Jedi of all,”
the voice said.

Anakin stood unable to move for a long moment. Then he shook himself and severed his connection to the Force. He almost staggered from the sudden loss of so much joy and power, but controlled himself so rapidly that he was the only one in the room aware of his momentary disorientation.

Kneeling on the floor in front of him was a cowering form; Anakin realized he had been about to murder the hapless technician and shuddered.

He glanced at the others, then turned to face Pors Tonith.

“You are my prisoners,” he choked out. “I will take you back to Coruscant and hand you over to the Republic Senate for assignment to trial.” He didn’t turn off his lightsaber.

Pors Tonith, captured admiral of the Separatists, rattled a chuckle deep in his throat.

“Please, sir,” B’wuf begged in a tiny voice from the corner in which he still sat, “may I get up now?”

P
rivate Vick whistled when he led the others into Pors Tonith’s control room.

Trooper Odie Subu looked up at the Muun and asked, “Is he the one in charge?”

Anakin, still breathing heavily, kept staring at Tonith and didn’t reply. For his part, Tonith was no longer defiant. He’d become afraid of this young Jedi who had captured him; he thought he was unbalanced and unpredictable.

“They’ve stopped fighting outside,” Corporal Raders announced. “The firing stopped just before we reached the bunker, sir, and—oh.” He stopped talking when he took in the tableau.

“Sir,” the ARC sergeant said in a sergeant’s command voice, “your lightsaber.”

That got Anakin’s attention. “What?”

“Your lightsaber, sir.”

“My …” Anakin looked at his hand and flinched, as though surprised that his lightsaber was activated. He turned it off and attached it to his belt.

He staggered slightly as he turned toward his troopers. Odie, thinking he was reacting normally for a soldier
who’d just come through deadly combat, rushed forward to assist him. She saw his face close up—it was white as a sheet, drained, and he had lines around his mouth like those of an old man.

He waved her away, saying, “Thanks, I’m all right, I’m all right.” He smiled weakly. One of the guards, he couldn’t remember which one, handed him a canteen of electrolyte fluids and he thankfully drank it dry in one long, thirsty gulp. He handed the empty canteen back. “Thanks, thanks very much,” he said, wiping his lips with the back of one hand. He gestured at Tonith and the others. “All of these are our prisoners. Take charge of them, would you, Sergeant? Take them to General Halcyon to be locked up.”

B’wuf spoke up. “I was only a hired hand, sir. I was not a part of what this creature did here!” He pointed at Tonith. “He saved my life,” he said, pointing a finger at Anakin. “They were going to execute me. I told the admiral that what he was doing was evil and I wasn’t going to serve him anymore, and he was going to have me executed. The Jedi saved my life. They were going to kill me—he saved my life!”

The comlink installed on Anakin’s wrist bleeped. He vaguely remembered it bleeping regularly as he’d fought his way to the bunker, but he’d ignored it at the time. Now he answered it.

“Anakin?” It was Halcyon. “Is that you? Are you all right? The enemy has just stopped fighting. What’s going on?”

“Master Halcyon,” Anakin said tiredly, “I’m fine. I’m in the control bunker with my troopers. I captured
the Separatist commander and his staff. We’re about to bring them to you.”

“That’s a relief,” Halcyon said. “Give your prisoners to the clone commandos to secure. I’m sending a transport to pick you up. The Separatist relief fleet is on the way, and I’m told it’s a big one. I’m having our starfighters ferried down here at once. We’ve got a big fight on our hands, and I need you right away.”

Only the technicians looked at Tonith when he gave out an anguished wail—if only he’d been able to hold out for a few more minutes!

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Anakin replied. He turned to the ARC sergeant. “You heard that?” When the sergeant nodded, he ordered, “Take control of these prisoners and secure them.”

“There’s an enemy fleet coming, sir?” Corporal Raders asked, a troubled expression on his face.

“It sounds like it.” Anakin stood erect, oddly feeling better at the prospect of more action.

The Republic fleet commander had not been idle while Halcyon pursued the ground war against the Separatists’ forces on Praesitlyn. He had planned carefully for an attack like this. Several scenarios were considered, but it was decided that whatever tactic the enemy might use, the fleet would remain intact in order to concentrate and coordinate its combined firepower. If the enemy attacked by squadrons from different directions, the Republic fleet would take on each squadron in turn; if they attacked with their ships in line ahead, an attempt would be made to use superior speed to cross the enemy’s line of advance and rake
their ships with every weapon available. Whatever tactic was used, Halcyon’s ships would be screened by his fighter fleet.

But every battle plan becomes useless after the first shot is fired. The enemy commander chose to attack in a box formation with his flagship in the center, protected by his ships, and the fighters met in a wild melee between the two armadas. It’s not always the number and size of the ships engaged that wins battles, but the way they are used.

For this battle, Nejaa Halcyon chose to give over command of the fleet to Admiral Hupsquoch, while he led the fighter fleet against the enemy.

“A fine ship, sir!” the clone pilot who’d ferried
Azure Angel II
to the surface of Praesitlyn said as he helped Anakin into her cockpit.

Anakin smiled as he strapped himself in. He was in his true element now. “Thanks for bringing her down here,” he said. “How’d she handle?”
Azure Angel II
was heavily modified. Even though clone troopers had the natural ability to learn how to handle any aircraft, flying a modified starfighter without knowing what had been done to it could be very tricky. Anakin was both very proud and very jealous of the modifications he’d made to her on his own.

“Just fine, sir. I was very careful to follow the ‘shiny switch’ rule once I saw you’d made some major after-market adjustments to her control panel.”

“Very wise. Just a few customized adjustments.” He really felt uncomfortable that someone else had flown his starfighter, but that had been necessary to allow the
fighter to take off from the surface. He changed the subject. “I see a big scratch along the port side. It wasn’t there before.” He grinned as he put his helmet on. The pilot just stared at Anakin, uncomprehending. “I’m only joking,” Anakin assured him.

“Oh, yessir! I understand,” the pilot replied without smiling. He jumped to the ground and saluted solemnly as Anakin sealed the cockpit and gave him the traditional thumbs-up sign.

Anakin adjusted the mouthpiece to his headset and dialed in the frequency for ship-to-ship communications. “General Halcyon?”

“Anakin, won’t you ever learn to use proper comm procedure?” Halcyon muttered. “You know the rendezvous point. Let’s get there, fast.” He glanced over his shoulder at Anakin’s starfighter. He could just see the young Jedi through the cockpit. His airfoils were deployed. They’d be useful up to twenty thousand meters. Already Anakin’s repulsorlift engines were raising a cloud of dust around
Azure Angel II
, and as Halcyon watched, the machine gradually rose vertically from the ground.

Anakin armed his blasters and proton torpedoes and engaged his IFF system. Gradually he increased his airspeed. At twenty thousand meters he retracted his airfoils and engaged his sublights to attain escape velocity. Now all the horror of the recently concluded ground combat faded away as he settled into the exhilarating world of high-speed, high-tech destruction, where pilots and machines disintegrated instantly in clean blossoms of flame, and pain and terror were endured only for milliseconds.

He passed through the fleet without incident. A thousand kilometers beyond, he got a visual on the fighter fleet. Beyond that, not yet within human eyesight but already registering on his instruments, was the enemy.

“I’m right on your six,” Halcyon announced.

“General Halcyon, won’t you ever learn to use proper comm procedure?” Anakin laughed.

“Switch to the guard channel,” Halcyon ordered. He was serious now, and he was right to be—Anakin’s instruments showed hundreds of blips fast approaching, the enemy fighter screen. They were now in among their own fighter fleet ships. The plan agreed upon in advance was that an element of fighters led by Halcyon would head for the heart of the enemy fleet. The rest of the fighter arm would run interference. If the enemy chose to employ the same tactic, then a lot would depend on whose pilots were better. There was no doubt in Halcyon’s mind whose were.

“This is Halcyon Six. Follow me!” A hundred other fighters peeled off from the formation and followed him.