Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Coruscant, Corusca System

Corusca Sector

How are you going to weasel your way out of this one?

That was the sole thought running through Jedi Master Adi Gallia’s mind as she carefully observed the Supreme Chancellor. Palpatine’s gaze lingered over shoulder, and Adi itched to glance behind her to see for herself what was just so interesting to Sith Lord. She heard the doors of the suite slide open, and the knocking of a dozen more armoured boots storming into the residence.

With each passing moment, more and more of the Coruscant Guard was entering the building. And it was evident some were losing their patience.

“Answer the question, Your Excellency,” ARC Commander Valiant ordered in a tone that brooked no choice, as if he was not speaking to the most powerful man in the galaxy, “Cooperate, and we can all get this over with.”

Something dark flashed through the Chancellor’s eyes, unnoticeable to all but the most perceptive of Jedi. Blink, and one would miss the minor slip, seeing only the fabulously feigned face of confused concern he wore. Even right then, Adi Gallia could scarcely believe the man was a Dark Lord of the Sith, if not for one single reason. Once, Adi could read the surface-level emotions of Sheev Palpatine, as all emphatically talented Jedi were to do, and now no longer. The Supreme Chancellor had completely shielded off his mind, and all Adi could find was a sinister fog that obscured everything within.

For an utterly fleeting moment, Palpatine’s irises flicked to her, then back to Valiant. The Tholothian Jedi Master’s flowing head tendrils stilled, her lips thinning to a pale sliver. Shaak Ti moved, the Togruta Jedi soundlessly gliding away under the guise of conferring with a shocktrooper captain, but in reality flanking into the Supreme Chancellor’s blindside. Adi Gallia doubted the Chancellor didn’t notice; but if he did, he made no show of it.

“Forgive me, Commander,” the Supreme Chancellor demurred, placing a hand over his chest, “You must understand, my schedule has been filled for quite some time, and I am astonishingly busy these recent days. The Works, you say? The name is of some passing familiarity–may I ask you to… jog my memory? Is it on Coruscant?”

“Your Excellency,” Captain Dyne spoke up from right behind her, holding onto his datapad with an iron grip, “The Works is an industrial arcology just southwest of the Senate District, and next to the Fobosi District. I believe you would recognise it by its administrative name: Dacho District. Republic Intelligence had recently submitted a memorandum to you, detailing a possible Separatist cell in the Works. You had personally approved the investigation.”

The Chancellor’s eyes widened in surprise, “I see. And I presume this is that very investigation… but to lead you here of all places…. I hate to discredit your team, Captain, but are you certain you haven't missed anything?”

It was hard to ignore the blatant self-doubt Captain Dyne wore on his sleeve, the prior confidence he had in his team and equipment seemingly vanishing into thin air. He was, after all, accusing the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic of high treason, no matter how diplomatically he worded it. Despite all available evidence pointing this way, Captain Dyne struggled to articulate his certainty.

ARC Commander Valiant didn’t.

“The Jedi Generals asked you a question, Your Excellency,” Valiant’s gloved finger rested on his blaster’s safety, “Answer it.”

Irritation flashed through the Chancellor’s expression again, evidently incensed by the ARC Commander’s failure to buy into his misdirection. At that moment, not even the Jedi Masters could predict how Palpatine would react–but after a second’s hesitation, all of his facade’s dropped. The Supreme Chancellor slumped, heaving a great exasperation as any and all lightheartedness disappeared from his aged countenance.

And for the first time, the Dark Lord of the Sith uncaged his true character.

“So what if I–or any of my staff–did?” the Sith Lord drawled, a terrible flame drawing to his eyes, “What does it matter?”

In a single swift motion, Jedi Master Adi Gallia snatched her lightsaber from her waist. The sound of clicking metal filled the suite as over a dozen Jedi Knights followed her lead. At the Sith Lord’s flank, Shaak Ti was a crouched tiger, still and unmoving as she tracked her quarry’s every move. Valiant and his commandos hefted their blasters in surprise; not even they could scarcely imagine the blatant–

“Is that an admission of guilt, Chancellor?” Captain Dyne blurted in shock.

Commander Valiant pushed his way forward, having already come to his conclusion. He produced a pair of stun-cuffs from his utility belt, “We’re taking you in, Chancellor, as well as everybody who frequents this place, including staff and caretakers. Homeworld Security will be securing this apartment until the investigation is completed.”

The Sith Lord’s lips twisted into a derisive snort, “I think not, Commander.”

Valiant was frozen–bang! The doors behind them were smashed open, and the two Red Guards posted outside crashed into the carpeted entrance, tackled by a squad of ARC troopers, their weapons–ceremonial and practical–forcefully confiscated from them as stun-cuffs were slapped onto their gauntleted wrists.

“Don’t force me to do the same to you, Chancellor,” with one hand, Valiant extended the cuffs, urging the Chancellor to surrender peacefully. With the other hand, he toggled his blaster to stun mode.

“You can’t,” the Supreme Chancellor chided.

Captain Dyne tried to defuse the situation, “Your Excellency, we will follow all due processes. A Senate committee will be tasked with overseeing the–”

“No they won’t,” the Chancellor chided again, before he could even finish.

Valiant made to speak again, but before he could–

Thud!

Master Yoda slammed his wooden cane against the carpeted floor, drawing the stark attention of the entire room. The diminutive Jedi Master then lifted that cane, and jabbed its end at the Chancellor, not a single ounce of his usual whimsy present on his expression.

“Explain to us, you will,” Master Yoda ordered, “What you have done.”

Palpatine bowed mockingly, “My gratitude for permitting me to explain myself, Master Jedi.”

“Master Yoda–” Adi Gallia started.

“Listen, we should,” Master Yoda had already decided, “And learn, we must.”

The Supreme Chancellor smiled faintly, the expression not reaching his eyes as he shuffled backward. His burgundy robes whispered against the polished floor, and he extended a crooked hand in invitation. Master Yoda moved to follow, his gimer stick tapping softly against the ground. The Chancellor came to a stop with his back to the expansive permaglass window that framed the Senate District in all its nocturnal splendor.

With a deliberate step to the side, he revealed what had been concealed behind his form–the immense, ovular silhouette of the Senate Building. Its iconic dome stood out against the backdrop of Coruscant’s endless cityscape, gleaming under the lights of the Republic’s capital. Beyond it, traffic lanes shimmered like streams of liquid fire, an unceasing flow of speeders and shuttles moving to and from the Republic’s beating heart, even in the depths of night.

“Tell me,” the Chancellor began, his voice low, smooth, and laced with amusement, “Could you guess what our esteemed Senate is deliberating at this very moment?”

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. The Jedi present shifted uneasily, their discomfort palpable. But none dared to answer. Palpatine’s smile widened, a sharp glint in his eyes.

“A hearing,” he said at last, savoring the word as though it were a fine vintage. “A special session called for Chandrila and their like-minded allies.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over the Jedi, daring them to respond. “Could you guess the purpose of such a gathering?”

Still, no one spoke. Yoda’s ears twitched, his ancient eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded the Chancellor with quiet intensity.

Palpatine’s chuckle was soft, almost indulgent.

“A vote. A vote to end my administration,” he grinned, “A vote to end the state of emergency and force a new general election. And yet, here I am, dealing with you, and not them. Do you know why? Do you want the truth?”

Before anyone could respond, a chime echoed through the room. A nearby telescreen flickered to life, casting a pale blue glow over the gathering. All eyes turned to the screen as the emblem of the Galactic Senate appeared, followed by the stern visage of Mas Amedda, presiding over the emergency session. The telescreen was muted, but all could see the tally graphic pushed to its side, numbers climbing as the votes were counted. Red bars and blue bars surged upward, representing the opposing sides. For a moment, it seemed as though the votes to end the emergency might prevail. But then, the red overtook it, surging past with a decisive margin.

By a margin near sixty to forty, the motion fails. No sound was needed to understand the scene unfolding on the telescreen. The Senate Chamber erupted into chaos, senators rising from their seats in a mix of jubilation and outrage. Some cheered, others jeered, their voices lost in the storm of celebration and despair. The Chancellor chuckled softly, the sound cutting through the room like a blade. He turned back to the Jedi, his expression one of feigned humility.

“And there it is,” he said, casually gesturing to the screen, “The will of the Senate. The voice of the people.”

His laughter deepened, more like a crackling ember, and he turned his gaze to the vast permaglass window behind him. With deliberate precision, he raised his hand, cupping his fingers slightly. From the Jedi’s perspective, it appeared as though he held the Senate Building itself in the palm of his hand.

But he did not linger, next gesturing toward a towering megastructure beyond the Senate dome.

“Behold,” he murmured, his voice taking on a conspiratorial edge, “the Galactic Courts. Tell me, do you know how many justices on the Supreme Court I’ve personally appointed?”

He allowed their imagination to answer, shifting his crooked finger to point at another skyscraper.

“And there,” he said, almost lazily, “The HoloCommunications Commission. A fine building, though I fear it has been all but absorbed by Homeworld Security. How much of that Senate hearing do you think the galaxy saw? Only what I wanted them to see, I assure you.”

Palpatine turned back to face the Jedi, his smile widening. He stepped deliberately into the center of their view, once again obscuring the glowing Senate Building.

“Media. Law. Justice,” he said, his voice dropping to a silken whisper, “Every pillar of this Republic now answers to me.”

He spread his arms wide, the gesture almost inviting, though his tone dripped with triumph, “Isn’t it magnificent? My suite offers the perfect view, don’t you think? A fitting vantage point for my great work.”

He stepped closer, taunting them with his truth:

“Every institution, every structure beneath your feet, now bends to my will. You see, Masters,” he said, his smile hardening into something sharper, colder, “You are far too late to stop what I have set in motion.”

Master Yoda’s cane tapped softly against the floor, the sound booming in the charged silence of the room. He looked up at the Chancellor, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of centuries.

"Forgotten one, you have," Yoda scolded the most powerful man in the galaxy like a parent admonishing their child, "The Jedi Temple. So long as the Jedi exist, justice will be upheld. If the Senate is unable, if the Courts are unable, then that duty will fall onto us. The future is not yours, yet. Not if anything to say about it, we have.”

“Ah, the Jedi Temple,” the Dark Lord of the Sith mused, his voice dripping with mockery, “A monument to outdated ideals, a crumbling bastion of your legacy. You cling to it as though it could shield you from the inevitable. You speak of justice, but what justice is left when every institution, every seat of power, bends to my will? The courts, the legislation, the media–they are all mine. I am the Republic.”

“And if you dare move against me–” he claimed, voice rising, “–you betray the Republic itself.”

Master Yoda’s green lightsaber ignited. That collective hum of lightsabers igniting filled the room as Adi Gallia, Shaak Ti, and a dozen more Knights all activated their blades, their faces set with grim determination. The room was bathed in the eerie glow of blue and green light, shadows flickering against the walls.

The commandos and shocktroopers had all taken the cue from their Jedi Generals, faceless soldiers with weapons raised against the Supreme Chancellor. Captain Dyne and his operatives had retreated to the rear of the room, escaping out of harm's way as they attempted to contact Republic Intelligence.

“We serve the Galactic Republic,” Adi Gallia levelled her blade at the Sith Lord, “Not your twisted version of it.”

“At an end, your rule is,” Master Yoda declared, “Before it even began.”

Palpatine’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowed into yellow slits.

“Then you are enemies of this Republic,” the Supreme Chancellor announced, “Commander Valiant, the Jedi Order is attempting to stage a coup.”

Valiant blatantly aimed his blaster at the Chancellor, “What are you–!?”

“By the authority of the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic: Execute Order Sixty-Six.”

⁂

Bode Akuna strode through the stark, sterile halls of Republic Intelligence, his boots echoing faintly against the polished durasteel floors. At this time of night, the building was usually relatively quiet, with most of the staff off their shifts and sound asleep. Not for this night, however; not for this recent month. As the nexus point of all intelligence flowing in and out of Coruscant, it was no exaggeration to say the Republic Intelligence HQ was the brainstem of the Galactic Republic.

The halls of Republic Intelligence were alive with a subdued hum, a murmur of voices layered over the rhythmic clatter of boots and the occasional chime of datapads. The usual tide of chatter carried rumors, and while it wasn’t the frenetic energy of peak operational hours, the undercurrent of tension was unmistakable.

Whispers of the Expeditionary Fleet’s battle over Serenno had rippled through the ranks, while the sting operation in the Works was the talk of the more action-oriented agents–an ambitious effort to dismantle a suspected Separatist cell linked to the recent satellite terror attacks. And then there was the Senate hearing, the event casting the longest shadow of all.

Chancellor Palpatine, voted out of power?

The thought lingered in Bode Akuna’s mind like an uninvited guest. The idea seemed absurd, almost laughable. Chancellor Palpatine–the man who had not only consolidated their war effort but expanded Republic Intelligence into the behemoth it was today–toppled by a vote? Impossible.

Bode navigated the corridors, weaving through clusters of analysts and junior operatives exchanging whispered speculations in safety of Republic Intelligence’s isolated walls. His steps seemed purposeful, but his mind wandered. For all the rumors flying around, one thing was clear: the Chancellor’s machine was far too entrenched to be undone by a Senate session. The Chancellor had thousands of agents at his disposal, men and women like Bode but not like Bode, who ensured that dissenting voices were quieted and critical votes secured. Whether through persuasion, coercion, or the occasional veiled threat, Republic Intelligence made certain the Chancellor’s grip remained unbroken.

It’s not a question of whether he wins the vote, Bode thought, but by how much.

He passed a holoterminal displaying a muted feed from the Senate Chamber, where senators gesticulated passionately. Even without sound, the tension on the display was palpable. Bode didn’t need to hear their words to know the arguments being made. Freedom versus security. Democracy versus control. The same old song, just a different verse. Was the vote already over? It seemed so. He wondered about the outcome, not loitering long enough to catch the details from the display he just passed.

The thought didn’t linger–replaced by an acute sense of unease creeping up his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing upright. A premonition of danger all Jedi possessed. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

Bode’s commlink buzzed against his belt. He slowed, glancing at the identification code. His eyes narrowed.

Adi Gallia.

Bode resisted the urge to look around, taking the call as casually as he could. Nothing to see here, his relaxed gait seemed to say, just business as usual. In his Republic Intelligence uniform, he blended right in. As subtly as he could, he turned down the first quiet corridor he found.

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Only then did he actually answer.

“Master?”

“Delete– this!” her voice came through in bursts, fractured and chaotic, underscored by the unmistakable sounds of battle–lightsabers shrieking, blaster fire ricocheting, and distant shouts, “Palpatine– Order Sixty-Six!”

Bode froze, the words striking like a physical blow.

“–have time!” she tried to say, “–stop– warn–! –satellite–!”

Her response was garbled, interrupted by a muffled crash and shouting.

“Not yet–transmitted!” she shouted, “–PRIESTESS–!”

The connection cut. Bode breathed out.

And crushed the comlink in his fist.

Then he took off towards a particular wing of Republic Intelligence, where he would find the ground terminals for the military satellites up above. He knew the place by heart; after all the central operating centre was one of the places he had to scout in order to pull off the very stunt that installed PRIESTESS in place. His mind was already piecing together the discordant information Master Gallia had imparted in haste, and mapping it to a greater plan.

This was why Adi Gallia had me on standby here at this ungodly time of night after all.

Two security guards stood at attention by the entrance to the restricted wing, their gazes sharp as Bode approached. Without hesitation, he inserted his clearance code cylinder into the dataport embedded in the wall panel. The soft hum of the terminal processing his credentials filled the silence as the guards exchanged a quick glance. Bode broke the tension with a friendly smile.

“Sorry about this,” he said casually, his tone disarming, “I know the graveyard shift’s supposed to be quiet.”

One of the guards shrugged, his posture relaxing slightly, “Better than just standing around.”

The other, more curious, tilted his head. “What brings you here, sir? My apologies if it’s classified–”

“Oh, nothing that sensitive,” Bode waved the question away with a dismissive gesture, “Managed to find a lead on the satellite case. I’m just here to verify some data for my report.”

The second guard’s eyes widened. “The satellite case? That’s big. Are you sure you can be–”

A soft chime interrupted him, and the dataport ejected Bode’s code cylinder. The terminal flashed green, signaling approved access. The guards stepped aside and gestured for him to proceed.

Bode hesitated, adopting a sheepish expression, “Actually, one more thing. My comlink’s out for maintenance, and I need to contact my supervisor. Supervisor Denvik, you should know him. Mind giving him a heads-up that I’m here following a lead?”

The guards exchanged glances again, “Denvik might not be in his office at this hour.”

Bode chuckled lightly, playing along, “Oh, trust me, he’s there. The man practically lives at his desk. If he says no, it’s no skin off your back. Just give me a shout, and I’ll come right out. Either way, I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you.”

One of the guards brightened. “You’d do that?”

“Don’t worry, sir,” the other one jabbed their partner to compose themselves, “We’ll let him know.”

“Great!” Bode said with an easy grin, already stepping through the now-open door. “Thanks for this. I owe you both.”

Inside, Bode paused for a moment to get his bearings. The central operating center was dimly lit, with rows of terminals lining the walls and stretching into the room’s core. Each station was assigned to a specific satellite, its designation marked above the corresponding terminal. The hum of machinery blended with the soft chatter of the graveyard shift inside–the chatter that immediately vanished the moment his footsteps echoed.

Bode’s eyes swept the room. There were only a handful of operatives and agents scattered across various terminals, one or two visiting like him, the others at their stations. Upon his entrance, they took sneaky glances at him from their corners of their eyes, but upon the realisation he wasn’t one of the suits, it was back to business as usual. The terminals themselves were sleek, each equipped with multiple holoscreens displaying live data feeds and encryption readouts.

His gaze settled on the terminal he needed, and thanked the stars it was unoccupied. He moved toward it, weaving between rows of workstations. The faint glow of the screens illuminated his face as he reached the terminal, and he took a moment to ensure no one was watching too closely.

This is it, he thought, sliding into the chair and scanning the terminal’s interface. He produced PRIESTESS’ access key that Barriss had procured for him, and slotted it into the dataport. The window emerged, and as he mentally finalised his plan to exploit the satellite network’s security system, he got to work, fingers dancing over the keys as he issued commands.

Adi Gallia was trying to warn him about Contingency Order 66. He knew what it was, of course, even though it was above his paygrade–not that he got paid–courtesy of Master Gallia’s briefings:

"In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander (Chancellor), GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force, and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) until a new command structure is established."

Likely, Adi Gallia had been trying to tell him that Order 66 hadn’t yet been transmitted off Coruscant. If there was any chance to save the Jedi scattered across the galaxy, it would depend on intercepting the transmission before it reached the troops. And that was where PRIESTESS came in, and Bode Akuna was the one person at the right place and the right time to pull it off.

But therein lies the question: how?

Contingency Order 66 could only be issued by the Supreme Chancellor or the Security Council, bodies operating with the highest-level security clearance. Such transmissions were given absolute priority, overriding all other outgoing signals. PRIESTESS could, in theory, intercept it. But the moment she did, the entire apparatus of Republic Intelligence would come crashing down on her.

The best option wasn’t outright interception, he decided, it was delay. Slow the signal, clog the system. Create just enough congestion to buy time without drawing immediate suspicion. In a way that wouldn’t immediately compromise the best spy network they had into Palpatine’s administration.

How?

“PRIESTESS,” Bode muttered under his breath, fingers flying across the keyboard, “Forge as many Priority Alpha transmissions as you can. Route them all through the slowest satellite in the network. When Order 66 comes through… shove it to the back of the queue.”

He paused, considering. How much time would that really buy? Even the slowest satellite could process traffic in seconds, even faster for Priority Alpha ones like Order 66. Worse, once Intelligence noticed the delay, they’d just reroute he transmission through a different satellite.

“No,” Bode growled, backspacing furiously, “That won’t cut it.”

A new plan formed, desperate but simple; “PRIESTESS, forget the queue. Flood the network. Dump everything–every file, every log, every byte of junk data you can rip out from Republic Intelligence. Transmit it all. Everywhere. Overload the system.”

It wasn’t elegant. Bode wasn’t a slicer or a tech expert; he didn’t know the exact capacity of the satellite network. Maybe the servers would crash under the strain. Maybe they wouldn’t. But if he could force enough digital traffic, he could create the equivalent of rush-hour gridlock in the network. The hope was that Order 66 would get stuck in the chaos. A delay of minutes. Maybe hours. Enough time for the Jedi to be warned.

“Oh, and…” He hesitated, then typed another command, “Inform Barriss Offee. She’ll know what to do.”

The commands were submitted with a final keystroke. Bode unplugged the access key, wiped the logs from the terminal’s history, and exhaled slowly.

Just in time for the two guards outside to burst into the room, making everyone within flinch in alarm. Their eyes scanned the terminals, then settled on Bode in particular. The Jedi Knight sighed, and stood up.

“Is something the matter?” he posed the question innocently, ignorantly.

The cheerful guard was dead serious, lifting up his tablet to reveal a list of names and faces, “Sorry, sir. Your name is Bode Akuna?”

Oh kriff. I hope Denvik is on his way right now.

“That’s me,” he confirmed, feigning confusion, “Has Denvik arrived?”

“We just received an order, you see,” the guards looked at him apologetically, clearly unwilling to make a fuss with the others in audience, “Can you come with us outside?”

“Well,” Bode crushed PRIESTESS’ access key, and together with his broken comlink used the Force to toss both into a nearby trash bin, “I don’t see why not.”

Out of the four of us… Adi and Iskat are together at the Works. Sounds like they got hit first. I’m next. So the last one is…

Barriss, at the Temple.

Bode Akuna silently clenched his teeth.

All up to you now.

⁂

Yoda’s response was instantaneous. In a blur of green light and supernatural speed, his lightsaber ignited and swept through Commander Valiant’s neck before the clone could even turn around. The Commander’s head fell, his body collapsing with a metallic clatter as his blaster hit the floor.

“Sith, you are!” Yoda roared, his voice uncharacteristically fierce as he launched himself at Palpatine, spinning like a whirlwind of liquid emerald.

A dull blur shot out of his sleeves, and the Sith Lord’s crimson blade hissed to life, intercepting Yoda’s attack with a clash that sent sparks flying. His cackle echoed through the chamber as he pushed back, his strength in the dark side amplifying his strikes.

Behind him, however, Shaak Ti moved with equal swiftness, her blue blade arcing through the air toward Palpatine’s unguarded flank. The Sith Lord snarled, twisting his body unnaturally to parry her strike while keeping Yoda at bay. The three of them became a blur of motion, their lightsabers crackling and hissing as they clashed.

Behind them, chaos erupted.

Jedi Knight Iskat Akaris spun on her heel, her lightsaber deflecting the first volley of blaster bolts fired by the shocktroopers.

“Behind us!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the confusion as the other Jedi Knights followed suit, their blades forming a defensive wall of light against the deadly barrage.

Blaster bolts ricocheted wildly off the walls and floor, the sharp tang of ozone filling the air. The Republic Intelligence operatives cowered in the corner, their faces pale and their comms equipment clutched tightly to their chests. They were frozen, caught between two impossible realities.

Adi Gallia seized the moment to contact someone, frantically speaking into her comlink whilst she parried bolt after bolt with her lightsaber. Iskat couldn’t hear the words, the roar of the Force drowning out everything else. Shadows dripped and oozed colour at the corners of her eyes, weaving and coiling up office walls, slipping over chairs, spreading along the floor.

A sudden explosion rocked the room as a grenade hurled by one of the shocktroopers detonated against the far wall, scattering debris and briefly disorienting the Jedi Knights. Iskat growled, using the Force to hurl a piece of shattered durasteel back at the troopers, sending two of them flying back–and painfully crushed underneath. Fragments of white plastoid blasted out like bullets, whilst the carpet matted with fresh blood.

Iskat Akaris let the scent of blood and the metallic tang of spilt iron fill her senses, feeding her. The Force surged in her ears, not the gentle hum she had once known but a roaring symphony of violence. The Force was singing in her ear, and it was familiar. Like the greeting of an old friend. Where had she last waved them goodbye, on that satellite over Coruscant? It sung a poem, a dance. It sang a single song, a single desire, a pure, singular focus and goal.

Kill.

Kill!

KILL!

KILL! KILL! KILL!

It became a harmonious choir, an overwhelming drive to spur on her every limb, her every thought. Her body moved on instinct, leaping into the fray. She didn’t see the Jedi Knights around her falling one by one, overwhelmed by the relentless tide of shocktroopers pouring into the room. She didn’t hear the panicked orders of Palpatine’s aides as they scrambled to contact Commander Thorn, ordering him to march on the Jedi Temple. She didn’t notice Yoda, Shaak Ti, and Adi Gallia pressing the Sith Lord further toward the edge of the massive permaglass window.

All she saw was red.

Was it blood? Was it rage? Or was it simply the color of the armored clones closing in on her?

There was a time when Iskat had feared the darkness within her. She had always felt it there, lurking beneath the surface, a wild thing that never seemed to fit within the serene mold of the Jedi Order. Her late Master had sensed it too, urging her to meditate endlessly, to recite the Code like a prayer to keep herself grounded.

It had worked–until moments like this. Until survival was on the line, and her body moved faster than her mind could intervene. She didn’t know whether it was a symptom of the mysterious species she belonged to, or the problem was unique to herself, but at that moment, she could hardly care. She thanked it, divulged it, embraced it. She reveled in it.

She ignited her second blade–her mother’s lightsaber–and it was a fountain of molten gold. And she plunged into the relentless advance. There was no scrap of carpet nor shred of chair that might not at any second disintegrate in flares of green or gold; lampstands became brief shields, sliced into segments that whirled through the air; couches became terrain to be climbed for advantage or overleapt in retreat. She let her body handle it without the intervention of her mind.

And while her blade spun and crackled; while her feet slid and her weight shifted and her arms cleaved through body after body after body, her mind slid along the circuit of dark power, like invisible hands feeling along the scales of an oily snake, following its snarling head, telling her where to go. Her enemies fell, one after another, their shouts and cries unable to reach her ears.

It was only when a shocktrooper’s blaster bolt struck Adi Gallia in the leg that Iskat’s focus shifted, the Force willing her to turn around. Master Galli stumbled, her lightsaber dipping as pain contorted her face. In that brief instant, the Sith Lord lunged.

The crimson blade of his lightsaber pierced her chest, the sickening sound of searing flesh cutting through the chaos. The Tholothian Jedi Master gasped, her saber clattering to the ground as she collapsed.

The sight of the fallen Jedi Master jolted something in Iskat. The chorus in her mind faltered, its harmony breaking, the snake unraveling around her. For the first time, she looked around. The other Jedi Knights–her supposed comrades–were gone. Their bodies lay scattered across the room, their robes punched through with hundreds of smoking holes. Dead.

And because they were dead, there was nothing shielding the duel between masters of light and dark.

Meanwhile, Master Yoda and Shaak Ti hardly had the luxury to call out for their fellow Councilmember, faces fixed in rictus determination as they pressed their assault on Palpatine. The Sith Lord moved with terrifying speed, his blade a crimson blur as he laughed maniacally, feeding off the slaughter and chaos in the room. Yoda’s strikes were precise and unrelenting, his small frame darting around Palpatine’s defenses, while Shaak Ti’s elegant, flowing style forced the Sith Lord to divide his attention.

It was evident even to Iskat, that between the three Jedi Masters, Adi Gallia had been the weak link in terms of raw battle skill. Their blades flared and flashed, crashing together with bursts of fire, weaving nets of killing energy in exchanges so fast that Iskat could not truly see them, only oblate spheres of green, red, and blue within which there seemed to be dozens of swords slashing in all directions at once. But she could feel them in the Force. The Force itself roiled and burst and crashed around them, boiling with power and ricochets of lethal intent.

The clamber of even more footsteps drew her back to the entrance. Iskat gritted her teeth–there were more reinforcements still coming in.

“Rats,” she snarled, extending an arm, “All of you!”

Her fingers snapped around her lightsaber, and the private turbolifts leading up to the Chancellor’s exclusive suite were crushed like soda cans. There was a flare, a burst of pain and brief agony that stabbed into her temple like a hammer and chisel. The sensation of men imploding. She ignored it, and focused on the remaining troopers ahead of her.

Her grip tightened on her sabers. She had a job to do; buy enough time for the Jedi Masters to put Palpatine in his grave. And it was a glad duty. Her mother’s golden blade humming fiercely as her rage burned anew.

But this time, the fury was focused.

This time, it wasn’t just about killing.

It was about revenge.

⁂

Jedi Knight Barriss Offee stood motionless in one of the Jedi Temple's tranquil rooftop courtyards, the faint hum of Coruscant's endless traffic echoing in the distance. The Senate District skyline gleamed in the soft glow of the night, a monument to the Republic’s grandeur. She folded her arms, the fabric of her robes fluttering slightly in the cool breeze, and allowed herself a moment of calm amidst the chaos brewing across the galaxy.

Then, her tablet chimed.

Her brow furrowed as she reached for it, expecting an update from the warfront or perhaps a directive from the Council. Instead, the sender’s identifier gave her pause.

PRIESTESS.

She tapped the screen, her curiosity piqued, and saw the message was forwarded from Bode Akuna.

Her heart sank, and a cold weight settled in her stomach. Before she could fully process the implications, a strange ripple in the Force pulled her attention toward 500 Republica. Barriss turned sharply, her eyes narrowing on the gleaming skyscraper that housed the Supreme Chancellor’s private residence.

Using the Force, she sharpened her vision, extending her senses to pierce the distance. Her breath caught as she saw a figure–a humanoid–hurtling through the air, crashing out of a shattered window on one of the penthouse levels. They plummeted toward Coruscant’s endless cityscape, a faint, radiant blue light illuminating their descent.

Her mind raced. Who was it? Was it one of the Jedi Masters?

But before she could linger on the sight, her attention was drawn to another, more immediate threat. In the distance, moving steadily closer, were bright white searchlights slicing through the night, separate from the constant traffic more akin to rivers of flowing gold. They belonged to LAAT gunships, painted red in the unmistakable colour code of the Coruscant Guard. And they were growing larger, sweeping across the ziggurat’s vast facades. Strain her ears, and she imagined the unmistakable thunder of boots and walkers marching on the Temple Precinct.

Barriss froze, her breath catching as the pieces clicked into place.

How long do I have? The Jedi Temple was empty, filled with elderly masters and too-young apprentices. All the best Jedi Masters and Knights were on the frontlines, or at Serenno. The Jedi Temple was as empty as it has ever been since the start of the war.

But I can’t let it fall like this. Master Gallia put me here for a reason.

Barriss Offee fumbled with her robes, searching through its myriad pockets until she grasped a familiar cold metal, unlike anything belonging to the Republic and its Grand Army. Separatist tech.

She turned away from the edge, sprinting toward the nearest access hatch. She still had time until the first gunships arrived, and even longer until the ground forces of the Homeworld Security did. She had rooted out the moles and the spies in the Jedi Order. Barriss Offee was certain she could turn the Temple into a fortress, and hold out for a time. At least, long enough for help to arrive.

Finally, after nearly two years of holding onto the tiny device, Barriss toggled the switch. The device chimed, and went dark. It was state-of-the-art Separatist tech, a long-range communicator stuffed into the size of a comlink. Unable to transmit any detailed message, but more than capable of sending a specific signal through just about any distance or interference the galaxy could throw its way.

Her tablet chimed again.

[FROM CND_1.252.491.472.01.51.4_1310RV] SIGNAL RECEIVED. REINFORCEMENTS EN ROUTE. FLIGHT PLAN KROS–JLEK–RUAN–FOST–CANT. ETA 0018 HRS. STANDBY.

Eighteen hours, Barriss lowered the tablet, staring out to the approaching searchlights, we have to hold out for eighteen hours. Those gunships will be on top of us within the hour.

She stowed away the device and pulled out her comlink. She turned away from the edge, sprinting toward the nearest access hatch. Her voice was steady but urgent as she activated her comlink, reaching out to the Temple’s security command.

“Gate Master Jurokk, this is Jedi Knight Barriss Offee,” she called the gatekeeper of the Jedi Temple, “Seal all hangar bays, entrances, and external means of access to the Jedi Temple. Raise the Temple Precinct deflector shields. I believe Master Gallia had previously briefed you on this situation?”

“...So the Sith have finally acted.”

“I am afraid so,” Barriss replied gravely, “I have summoned for reinforcements, but it will take time for them to arrive.”

“Good news. How long?”

“Eighteen hours.”

“...Then the Jedi Temple is under siege.”

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