Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Chapter 86

Botajef Orbit, Botajef System

Belsmuth Sector

“Disable, not destroy,” Master Obi-Wan Kenobi commanded, “We’re not here as conquerors.”

If her Master’s words had any effect, Ahsoka Tano could not tell. The skies above Botajef were rife with thunder and fire, hundreds upon hundreds of warships exchanging death among the towering cables of Botajef’s skyhooks. Even the words of the highest Jedi Generals were drowned out by the jamming and chaos, and the only verbal confirmation the young Padawan could hear was those of the 2nd Airborne Company sharing the gunship with them.

Ahsoka closed her eyes tightly as the Bad Kitty swung around, narrowly dodging as a flurry of laserfire streaked past, close enough to make the starboard hatch glow with heat. Her hands were snapped onto the overhead handles, knuckles white as she fought to keep her balance as the LAAT gunship veered through the battlespace. The hatches were completely sealed, and the holding bay was a dimly lit locker filled with dozens of rocking bodies, bubbling with frantic anticipation.

“Check your seals, boys!” Clone Commander Cody barked, “Those ports open and you’re feeling a little chilly–you’re dead!”

Ahsoka has witnessed the ritual what felt like a million times before; the soft yet satisfying clicks and rustles of gear. Double-checking rifle charges, patting the extra ammunition and ordnance belts, calibrating jetpacks, stomping the deck with magboots, the murmur of chatter over cycling comm circuits. And most importantly of all, ensuring their vacsuits were sealed properly.

“You too, Ahsoka,” Master Obi-Wan instructed, not unkindly, putting on his own helmet, “We’re landing in a hotzone, and it’ll be a miracle if the skyhook’s atmospheric shields are functioning.”

Her Jedi Master was steady and composed as always, and she could count the number of times the Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed out of his depth on one hand. Even as their gunship weaved through the siege, Master Kenobi was relaxed, one hand braced against the hatch and the other casually resting on his lightsaber hilt. Compared to him, Ahsoka was a frenzied jumble of nerves. She had to admit it grated her no matter how many times she saw it–how could he be so calm when they were flying into this?

One day, I’ll be just like you. She swore to herself.

Ahsoka snapped her helmet into place, specially designed for her Togrutan features, hearing the hiss and click of the vac-seal and the buzz of the digital HUD springing to life. She gave it a shake for good measure, eyes taking in the data-laced display and counting all the transponder blips and ID codes stuffed into the cramped holding bay.

Bandomeer was a walk in the park compared to this.

The gunship swerved again. The bulkhead groaned with the shockwaves of turbolaser blasts, close and far; explosions bracketed the hatches; the whine of starfighter drives cutting through the void.

I hate space, I hate space, I hate space!

Whose idea was this in the first place, anyway?

Oh right, it was Master Plo Koon’s, the overall naval commander of the Expeditionary Fleet.

Unlike their current predicament, with the Force screaming in her ears around every corner, the Siege of Botajef started as all sieges do; with encirclement. Ahsoka recalled the expanse of the Expeditionary Fleet, hundreds of warships dedicated to the capture of Botajef whilst hundreds more were deployed throughout Serenno space to take the nearby sectors. She thought it would be another simple fight, with the headless Separatists folding before the week was over.

But Botajef was not Bandomeer.

Botajef was not a mining world past its prime; it was the premier shipyard world of the New Territories, once supplying the entire galaxy with countless civilian freighters and liners. These days, however, the only ships emerging from these hallowed docks were gun-bristling battlecruisers and destroyers. The entire world was like a sea urchin; a veritable forest of carbonite elevator cables rose 325-kilometres from planetside into orbit, tethering a vast lattice of hundreds of orbital berths and supply hubs and graving docks–collectively known as the Botajef Shipyards.

Master Plo Koon was adamant that to successfully execute a planetary invasion of Botajef, they’d first have to take the Botajef Shipyards. Master Mace Windu, the overall army commander of the Expeditionary Fleet, agreed.

“Kitty, this is Crumb Bomber,” Ahsoka overheard on the circuit, “Do you read?”

“Loud and clear, Bomber.”

“Jag’s vac-heads say the birds got kicked up over the dropzone!” Crumb Bomber’s pilot relayed, and Ahsoka’s stomach dropped, “Ro-Ti-Mundi’s moving in to clear out the nests but we gotta drop early to make it!”

“I hear you. You’ve got the point!”

“Copy. Tell your boys and we’ll start our runs ASAP!”

There was a hiss and crackle, and Crumb Bomber’s pilot dropped from the circuit–likely to inform the other gunships. The 2nd Airborne Battalion had six gunships in total, flying in line ahead like a sea snake weaving through the steel kelp.

“General Kenobi!” Bad Kitty’s pilot wasted no time.

“We heard you, Captain,” Master Obi-Wan’s voice was measured, but Ahsoka knew him well enough to identify the displeasure in his tone. He hated this as much as she did. “Get us there in one piece, and we’ll handle the rest.”

“Copy that, General!”

The Jedi General nodded sharply at Commander Cody, and the clone marshal immediately started barking out the brief.

“You heard the big man!” he snapped over the comms, “We aren’t making it to the landing zone, and it’s going to be a cold drop! So check your gear again! Mag-boots, jetpacks, grapples and tethers! I don’t want to see any of you knocked without your boots on the deck, is that understood!?”

“Yes, sir!”

The clone paratroopers chorused their affirmation, shuffling around as they obsessively checked their gear again, plastoid bodies rocking into each other over and over. Ahsoka swallowed thickly, unconsciously patting herself as well. Suits sealed tight... hopefully. Mag-boots? She clicked her heels and stomped, feeling herself latch to the deck. Lightsabers? She fondled her belt, grasping at her waist until she came across the two familiar cylinders.

Then she checked it all again.

I hate space.

“Heads up, boys,” the pilot announced over the comms, Bad Kitty’s drives purring louder than before, “We’re making the run!”

And I hate the run!

Also known as the gunship’s final approach, the ‘run’ was the most dangerous part of any landing. It was the moment of storming right into the enemy base, into their cordons of point-defense and swarms of snub wings, past the safety net of friendly cover. It was the moment where more troopers died helplessly than any other, the moment where the only thing you could do was sit tight, wait, feel each lurch and shudder, and hope you didn't get vaporised the next second.

For Ahsoka Tano, it was pure torment. Trapped in the tight confines of the troop bay, she had no control over what’s happening outside. Her lightsabers, her training, her instincts–none of it mattered until the gunship's hatches opened. Until then, she could only grip the overhead handles, feel the vibration of the engines beneath her boots, and pray that the pilot could outfly whatever the Separatists threw their way.

Hope you’re having a better time than I am, Scout. The young Padawan thought humorlessly. It has been so long since she has last been in contact with her friend, Ahsoka could only hope Scout was faring well–or at least, better than her. Probably not, though. Can’t imagine going up against the kriffing Tombmaker.

Ahsoka ultimately decided to count her lucky stars that she was here and not there.

“Standby for depressurisation!”

The LAATs hatch slits opened up, exposing the bay to the cold void of space, and suffocating, terrifying silence flooded into the crew bay. The only sound Ahsoka could hear was her own thumping heartbeats, even as the battle raged around them, her lekku twitching with nervous energy.

She peered through the slits, and her breath caught in her throat as the seemingly endless expanse of the siege unfolded before her.

Hundreds of ships filled the void, a swirling melee of capital ships and starfighters battling for their own dominance. Venator-class Star Destroyers traded volleys of turbolaser fire with Separatist battlecruisers, their shields glowing under the relentless exchanges. Starfighters darted between the larger vessels like schools of minnows, weaving through flak bursts and missile trails. The orbital shipyards themselves loomed ahead, enormous floating islands of durasteel tethered to the planet below by the massive elevator cables that stretched down to the surface.

Beneath them, a Venator–the Ro-Ti-Mundi–listed dangerously as a Providence’s batteries pounded against her hull, engines flickering as her starboard wing snagged with one of the elevator cables. The cable snapped taut, and the 2nd Airborne Battalion could only silently watch as the massive battlecruiser’s engines failed, pulling herself and the skyhook plummeting into the planet’s surface. For a moment, Ahsoka could only stare, wide-eyed, as the warship and the collapsing structure disappeared into the atmosphere in a fiery trail.

“Holy kriffing shit,” Ahsoka whispered, wincing as the sudden deaths of thousands rattled in her head. Almost every skyhook was the centre of their own local battles, as Republic and Separatist armies duelled for control over them.

And soon, the 2nd Airborne was coming up on their own target.

“Eyes up, Ahsoka!” Master Obi-Wan snapped, a rampant urgency coloured his tone, “Stay focused!”

“I’m looking!” she yelped, casting a wary glance through the hatch at the shipyard looming ahead, “I’m looking!”

The skeletal framework of the orbital facility bristled with turrets, each one spitting red-hot fire at the approaching Republic forces. Clone Captain Jag’s ARC-170 wings were already buzzing around it, busy keeping the Separatist starfighters off their backs. Those aren’t Vultures, Ahsoka thought, those are citizen starfighter designs.

The gunship lurched again, this time accompanied by a shrill alarm. There was a triplet of smoke trails shooting out from one of the shipyard’s missile launchers.

“Incoming!” the pilot barked, “Brace!”

Ahsoka felt her stomach flip as the gunship was kicked into a steep dive, skimming the edge of a drifting wreck that had once been a Recusant-class destroyer. She barely had time to register the flash of an explosion behind them as the Bad Kitty pulled into a tight bank, evading the missile by a hair’s breadth. Smoke blasted through the slits, sending a wave of heat rippling through the cabin–and sending them inside careening against the port hatch.

“That was way too close–” but even as she spoke those words, somewhere in the distance, she saw another LAAT gunship spinning out of control, its engines sheared away by a direct hit.

“Keep it steady, Captain!” Obi-Wan’s voice cut through her jumbled headspace, calm and commanding. He glanced back at Ahsoka, his expression unreadable but his presence steadying in the Force.

The Force. She closed her eyes for half a heartbeat, letting it flow through her, grounding her in the storm of chaos around her. When she opened them again, her hands were steady, her mind clear.

“Thirty seconds to drop zone, boys!” the pilot called back, “Hold on!”

Bad Kitty jolted again as a flurry of green plasma bolts streaked past, too close for comfort. The clones shifted their stances but didn’t flinch. The gunship burst through a thick cloud of debris, the shipyard now filling the viewports. Ahsoka stilled as she took in the scale of it: a sprawling maze of girders, docking bays, and weapon emplacements, all connected by a lattice of turbolift tracks and catwalks. Six Munificents were still berthed at their graving docks, the clamps stuck or disabled, though their blazing batteries were very much active and acting as stationary turrets.

Commander Cody’s voice cut through her helmet; “Jetpacks ready! Grapples primed! Keep your tethers tight–we’re not losing anyone out there!”

Ahsoka didn’t answer, wordlessly staring at the planet beneath them, tracing each and every strand in the elevator cable with her eyes.

Commander Cody coughed to catch his attention, “There’s another thing, General. General Plo wishes to speak with you.”

“Master Plo?” Obi-Wan couldn’t hide his surprise, “Of course, let me take it.”

The Clone Commander startled, “No, sir. He’s coming here. Personally. He sent word ahead that he will be waiting for you and Commander Tano at the hangar bay.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at Cody’s report, “Master Plo is coming here? Personally? That’s... unexpected.”

Ahsoka turned to face him, her brow furrowing in sudden interest, “Do you think something’s wrong?”

“Possibly,” Obi-Wan admitted, his tone cautious, “Master Plo wouldn’t leave his command unless the situation is particularly urgent.”

Commander Cody shifted slightly, his posture stiff but not betraying any more information, “He didn’t specify the reason, General. Just that he’d meet you both at the hangar bay. ETA is fifteen minutes.”

Obi-Wan nodded his thanks, returning Cody’s salute before the clone moved off to resume his duties, leaving Obi-Wan and Ahsoka alone on the observation deck. Ahsoka glanced at her former position, where she’d been staring down at the planet below, the long elevator cables gleaming faintly in the sunlight.

“Do you think this has to do with General Grievous?” Ahsoka wondered, “We never heard back from Taris.”

Perhaps. I, too, find it worrying that we haven’t heard from Master Piell or even Master Luminara in so long. I fear the worst. The Separatists have no shortages of monsters in their pockets.

Obi-Wan sighed and gestured for her to follow him toward the nearest lift, “It’s hard to say. But we won’t have to wait long to find out.”

They walked in silence for a moment, their boots clanking softly against the battered deck plating. Around them, clones moved with purpose, hauling away wreckage and tending to wounded comrades.

“Fifteen thousand,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Obi-Wan slowed his pace slightly, glancing at her, “Ahsoka–”

“I know, I know,” she interrupted, her voice tinged with frustration, “You’ve told me before, and I’ve seen it before. Hundreds of times. But I just can’t shake the feeling–”

“Good,” Obi-Wan agreed, his voice soft. “Never shake that feeling away, Ahsoka. If you can–if you can ignore the cost, if you can order men into battle without regard for their deaths... then you take your first step on the road to the dark side. You must never get used to that feeling.”

They reached the lift, and Obi-Wan keyed in the command to take them to the hangar bay. The doors closed, sealing them in a quiet bubble as the platform began to descend.

“However...” the Jedi Master stroked his beard thoughtfully, “I feel that we are nearing the end of this terrible war.”

“Really? I can’t see the end of it.”

“You’ve lived all of your adult life fighting it,” he sighed, “When Dooku is put to an end, the Separatists will see the writing on the wall. Then–you will be able to live in an era of peace.”

The lift chimed, and the doors slid open to reveal the hangar bay. The space was bustling with activity, ships landing and taking off, supplies being ferried to and from vessels, and medical teams rushing injured soldiers to safety. Amidst the chaos, a familiar figure stood near the entrance, his tall, masked frame unmistakable even at a distance.

“Master Plo,” Obi-Wan greeted warmly as they approached.

“Obi-Wan. Ahsoka,” his deep, filtered voice carried an undercurrent of gravity, “I am afraid the Open Circle Fleet will not be participating in the planetary assault.”

“Are we going somewhere?” Ahsoka blurted out.

“Celanon. I wish for the Open Circle to confirm the state of the Celanon System.”

“Celanon?” Obi-Wan mused, “That’s where the Ninth Sector Army was defeated by General Grievous, wasn’t it? Celanon is the last major star system before Serenno; I imagine it’s a foregone conclusion that Count Dooku would attempt to put a stop to us there.”

That’s when Master Plo Koon shook his head, gesturing for them to follow him into his shuttle for privacy, “That is what I wish for you to confirm, Obi-Wan. That Celanon is completely undefended, and that the road to Serenno is completely open.”

“That’s... unbelievable, frankly,” Obi-Wan half-laughed, “Not even Count Dooku would be so... where did this information come from?”

The grooves on the Kel Dor Jedi’s face deepened, “Admiral Trench.”

“Admiral Trench!?” Ahsoka hissed, “You mean that Admiral Trench!? The Old Spider?”

“Indeed, Ahsoka. I mean that Admiral Trench. Which is exactly why I must take this claim seriously.”

“But... he’s the enemy!”

“Master Rahm Kota decided otherwise,” Master Plo said in a tone that brooked no argument, “Phindar Station had permitted Admiral Trench’s warfleet to bloodlessly transit the Salin Corridor. While we have been busy at Bandomeer and Botajef, the Confederate Second Fleet has secured the Thesme and Kalamith Sectors leading up to Serenno, ostensibly paving the way for us.”

Rahm Kota? That man has always been a maverick, but he is also a soldier through and through. There was a reason the Republic assigned him to the critical stronghold of Phindar. To think he would find reason to let Admiral Trench, however...

“But why?” Obi-Wan pressed.

“Because the Raxus Confederacy views the Serenno Confederacy as a rogue, breakaway state,” Plo Koon said with a dry humour, “Much like how the Republic views the Confederacy as a rogue, breakaway state. Our scoutships corroborate this information, but I would like for the Open Circle Fleet to secure and monitor these spacelanes, just in case.”

“No... but why the Open Circle?”

“Because not all of us are so open to cooperating with the Separatists,” the older Jedi Master admitted easily, “To tell you the truth, Obi-Wan, some in the Republic, and in the Jedi Order I am pained to admit, cannot accept a conditional peace with the Confederacy. The Open Circle Fleet must secure these spacelanes so that we have reason to traverse them without worry.”

“Masters!” Ahsoka protested, “We’re talking about Admiral Trench here! This must all be one big trap! I don’t know what Master Kota was thinking, but–”

“This is no trap, Ahsoka,” Master Plo rebuffed firmly, “I have conversed with Master Kota personally, and he is not a Jedi who would make such a drastic act without meaningful cause. I would not have any of us disparage a Jedi Master of his character.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms, his expression calm but his thoughts churning as he absorbed Master Plo’s words. The implications were great, and not in a way that sat comfortably with him. Admiral Trench, one of the Republic’s most cunning and ruthless adversaries, aligning against Serenno was one thing... but to aid the Republic? On the surface, it seemed absurd–an enemy of such stature offering aid, even indirectly, to the Republic. Obi-Wan knew better than to dismiss such moves as mere coincidence.

Still, the Old Spider aside, none of this explained why the Republic–or more specifically, Master Kota and Master Plo–would entertain such a dangerous proposition. The Jedi Order had always aligned with the Republic in being wary of compromises with the Separatists, especially after the Attack on Coruscant. Yet here they were, considering the possibility of using Trench’s moves to their advantage.

Obi-Wan’s mind traced the threads further. If Trench’s fleet had been allowed through the Salin Corridor, it wasn’t a matter of oversight or miscommunication. It had been deliberate. Rahm Kota had permitted it, knowing full well the implications. Obi-Wan respected Kota as a soldier and a tactician, but the man’s maverick tendencies often led him down unconventional paths. This decision, however, bordered on reckless–unless Kota saw an opportunity, an opportunity Plo Koon knew about, but nobody else did.

...

What if Admiral Trench isn’t aiding the Republic so much as he is aiding the Expeditionary Fleet specifically?

Obi-Wan’s gaze lingered on Plo Koon for a moment longer. The Kel Dor was a Jedi of great integrity, and Obi-Wan never once doubted that he meant well... but if this truly was a conspiracy...

“How many Jedi are cooperating with the Separatists?” seeing no reason not to ask, Obi-Wan did.

“What?” Ahsoka gasped, aghast.

“Not cooperating,” Plo Koon corrected, but did not deny outright, “Our goals simply have us aligned on parallel paths. But to answer your question, Obi-Wan, it is not just Jedi, but everyone who wants this war to end.”

“A conspiracy,” Obi-Wan felt the need to sit down, “A conspiracy in the heart of the Republic.”

“You understand why I am sharing this with you?” the Jedi Master asked, “You understand why I say not all of us would be so open-minded?”

Radical, more like it!

“How many?” Obi-Wan asked again, more forcefully this time.

“Hundreds,” Plo Koon answered simply, “Hundreds of Jedi. Hundreds of senators and representatives. Thousands of star systems. Thousands of armies and fleets.”

Ahsoka was deathly silent, staring at the man who brought her to the Jedi Temple with wide eyes.

“Why?” Obi-Wan whispered, “We’re at the war’s end.”

“Because to counter a conspiracy we must have one of our own,” Jedi Master Plo Koon declared firmly, but not unkindly, “A Sith Lord sits at the heart of the Republic, wielding this war to his own ends. Coruscant is no longer the Jedi Order’s home turf, but the Sith’s. Even if we bring Dooku to justice, there is the very real possibility Coruscant will refuse to end the war, if it means treating with the remaining Separatists.”

“The Sith Lord has that much power?” Ahsoka whispered, “Master, with all due respect, you make it sound like the Sith is controlling the government!”

“Of course he does,” Jedi Master Plo Koon replied gravely, “He is the Supreme Chancellor of our Republic, after all.”