The command deck of the Steadfast was a flurry activity. Clones manned their consoles, and constantly shared data with one another, dispatched orders, or monitored the state of the battle for any subtle changes. Their actions drove the entire war effort at the behest of Grand Admiral Octavian Grant.
Despite their energy, few raised their voices above a whisper. The silence was brittle, and left the men on edge. They had gone into this conflict with a great deal of gusto, yet 12 hours in, and they had made little progress.
Octavian Grant stood near the central holotable, his white uniform cut a sharp figure against the sterile light. His gloved fingers twitched against the rim of the console, his jaw clenched, and his teeth ground into one another like gears.
A datapad clutched too tightly in his hand nearly warped due to the pressure he was exerting. Its contents had displeased him.
"This…" Grant spat, throwing the cracked pad down onto the table where it shattered beside the flickering image of a Jedi, a Padawan no less, wrecking havoc across their line. "This is unacceptable."
No one dared speak.
The command staff stood stiffly at their stations-dozens of officers, analysts, tech specialists-none of them spoke a word. Each and every one of them waited for someone else to draw Grant's ire.
"I want names." Grant snapped, his voice began to rise in volume. "Commanders. Squad leaders. Whoever authorized that disastrous blitzkrieg assault towards Eriadu City's shield generator, they will answer for this failure."
Where everyone else kept their heads down, or averted their gaze from Grant's sight, one man met his eyes without flinching. Crimson met brown, and Grant silently waited for the young upstart to say his piece.
"Perhaps it would be wiser to ask what we are facing, rather than who is to blame." A calm voice came from his left.
Lieutenant Thrawn stood near the viewport, hands behind his back, perfectly composed. His blue skin caught the edge of the starlight, his glowing red eyes fixed downward—toward the burn-scars striping the planet below. His voice was modulated, and spoke with a melodic charisma that was difficult to ignore.
"I read your report, Thrawn." Grant dismissed. "A single Jedi Padawan and a handful of genetic misfits do not destroy two Imperial command posts and annihilate an entire battalion of 50,000 men without warning."
Thrawn turned to face him, unshaken in the face of a superior officer. "This one did."
Withholding an eyebrow from twitching, Grant desired to send the Lieutenant to the brig, yet the blue skinned xenos seemed to have Vader's favor. That didn't mean he wouldn't give Thrawn a hard time. Grant didn't care about the racial divide, but confidence and competence oozed off the young man's shoulders like the finest Nabooian musk. He smelt a rival!
Grant advanced a step, and stared deeply into Thrawn's crimson eyes. "You expect me to believe this child-this ghost-crippled an entire forward operating zone on his own? That he evaded an entire battalion, an Inquisitor, and my elite guard without loss?"
Thrawn's gaze did not waver. "Yes."
Grant's mouth twisted. "Do you find this amusing, Lieutenant?"
"No, Admiral." Thrawn replied softly. "I find it…educational."
Grant's fingers twitched, and his mind spun. He had not been so disrespected in ages!
Thrawn stepped forward, seemingly ignoring Grant's shock, and readjusted the holotable. A tactical scan of the engagement zone bloomed in pale blue light, it showed collapsed structures, frozen terrain anomalies, scorched troop positions, and scattered signs of lightsaber marks.
"What you witnessed was not a failure of planning, Admiral. It was a miscalculation of threat." Thrawn gestured calmly toward an ice-rimmed crater near a command node. "This was no typical Jedi. He used stealth tactics far beyond his age or known training. He phased in and out of battle, striking at will and vanishing before counterattack could begin."
Grant waved a hand. "Invisibility. I've seen this before. Stealth generators are novel, but not unbeatable. Seismic trackers should be enough to solve this prob-"
Thrawn didn't even cough into his hand as he gently interrupted Grant. "Have you seen a Jedi project an aura of fear that makes veteran clones quake in their boots? Or apply mass healing techniques while engaged in open combat? This one wields the Force like a wild beast."
Grant was momentarily silent.
Thrawn turned back to the viewport, his voice dropped in volume, and adopted a reflective quality.
"I believe what we encountered was not simply a Padawan, but a Jedi acting as an avatar. I've studied the records from Malastare, and the descriptions the natives left behind. Before dying, one of the men detailed the sensation of being frozen in place. The ancient records detailing the Zilo beast matched his fear."
Grant blinked. "I seem to recall something about a Zilo beast going rampant on Coruscant. But this idea of majesty, or such, is simply nonsense. A myth!"
"A myth, Admiral?" Thrawn questioned with a tilt of the head, then he began to tap on a datapad. "Cross-reference the molecular degradation patterns on the battlefield, and then compare them to the data the scientists on Coruscant had collected…there is a near perfect match."
The holotable then showed security footage of the Zilo beast, as well as the psychic scream, and the paralyzing effect it had on people.
Grant scowled. "You're suggesting he's…channeling this sensation? Is Jedi-ism…real?"
Thrawn inclined his head. "Either through chemicals or the invisible molecules known as the 'Force' the fact remains, this is happening, and he is a very real threat."
Grant exhaled, long and loud, stepping back from the table. He rubbed his temple with gloved fingers.
"Recommendations, then, Lieutenant. Since you seem to know everything." Grant asked in a somewhat sarcastic tone.
Thrawn's eyes narrowed faintly. "We stop chasing him."
Grant froze. "What?"
"We stop reacting to his movements and instead shape the battlefield around his instincts. Use his compassion against him. He spares civilians. He heals allies. And always attacks the 'enemy' commander from the cloak of invisibility. That tells us everything we need to know about where he will strike next."
A beat passed, and Grant ever so slightly inclined his head, implicitly granting Thrawn permission to continue.
"We shall set a trap. Place men dressed as ordinary citizens under threat of a faux execution. Dredge up an old officers uniform for a 'commander' and he shall deliver himself to us."
Grant stared at him, both appalled and intrigued.
If this succeeded, he would make sure to take credit for the victory. Once Eriadu fell, he would be the one most likely to become the next Naval Supreme Admiral. However, he showed none of that on his face, and raised an enquiring eyebrow at the Chiss.
"And if that fails?"
Thrawn turned away again, his red eyes gleaming.
"Then we build a cage the beast cannot break. The Padawan shall not be bound by our might, but by his own convictions."
Thrawn then took a step back into the shadow of the bridge as he gazed out into the stars.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The moon was setting on the horizon, and the barest motes of sunlight were beginning to peak over the horizon. Jax, the Bad Batch, and a thousand men from elite special forces units had acted as sharp blades throughout the night. Every hotspot that needed reinforcements received his attention, every time he caught wind of an over extended flank, he made himself known.
During the chaotic war, lights flashed so brightly from the laser fire, it scarcely felt like night at times. Jax was so caught up in his revenge, that he never had time to speak with his Master. Most of the time, he was radio silent, as he didn't want to leak his position, or plans to the enemy. Several times, he had heard scattered reports of a masked Jedi showing up on the battlefield. Reading enemy reports, he learned that they had come to fear the Ghost of Eriadu, but for all his accolades, they paled in comparison to Master Corvus's.
Jax admired his Master for fighting directly on the front lines, whilst he skulked in the dark. The man feared as Revan was known to bring back the dead, and heal the grievously wounded. Wherever he passed, entire enemy squads disappeared, and ally morale soared. Throughout the entire city, one could see billboards, and 3D displays meant for advertisement showcasing Master Corvus's past brilliance. Although the air was chock full of death, he was the one brilliant ray of light that broke this grim situation.
Knowing that his Master was soaking up the voru's (space lion) share of danger, it only emboldened him to press further, and eliminate backline troubles, such as artillery pieces, and walkers.
At the moment, Jax stood at the edge of a cratered thoroughfare. He was alone, but unworried. Wind tugged at his robes, now tattered at the hem. His cerulean eyes fixed on a column of civilians huddled in the open beneath the fractured remains of a broken aqueduct.
This was a building marked on the map designated as a point for evacuation. The signs were clearly marked, yet the Imperials had shown their true faces, and ignored them.
He saw a child crying. A mother trying to be brave. An elderly man shielding the others with arms that shook. Yet he was no fool. He saw that for every truly innocent person, there were perhaps two or three in the crowd who had shifty looks in their eyes.
The Force caressed him in warning.
Those innocents he was so concerned over, they were bait.
But Jax still stepped forward. As a Jedi, it was his duty to protect the weak. As a Jedi Shadow, and student of Master Corvus, it was his duty to solve this problem intelligently.
'What was it Master always said? Don't be a saber monkey?' Jax thought to himself, and wore a miniscule grin.
He planned on using [Mind Trick] on the unsuspecting terrorists. His goal was to find the Imperial in charge, and issue new orders. Once he separated the bad guys hidden amongst the citizens, then he would order the Bad Batch, and other special forces units to gun them down.
However, his thoughts were destined to remain a fantasy, as the trap was sprung when he passed by a broken support beam, and had landed behind the officer who wore the most medals.
Several innocuous, palm-sized devices flashed red, and a chain reaction occurred.
Then, the officer exploded, and shrapnel shattered everywhere. Jax escaped the blast, but a metal flachette scraped off the edge of his robe, breaking his invisibility, and revealing him to the world.
Seconds later, ARC-170 starfighters thundered overhead in a tight formation, their twin engines streaking across the smoky dawn like hunting hounds.
From the flanks, 12 AT-TE walkers lumbered into view.
And then the earth itself parted.
Emerging from hidden trenches and subterranean deployments, fifty thousand clone troopers poured onto the street, and began to ascend nearby skyscrapers. Dozens of platoons took position in a hexagonal pattern around him, tightening around him like a noose.
Whoever had planned this must have had the ARC-170'S slowly, painstakingly dragged through the city-wide shield, as their repulsorlift technology made flying through a shield impossible. Likewise, the sacrifice necessary to arrange 50,000 men in this location, and have it gone unnoticed must have been astronomical.
All this had been arranged to kill him. To eliminate the elite special forces unit that had been troubling their flanks in one fell swoop.
Jax's eyes narrowed. His breath stayed calm, and he moved.
Blasterfire erupted the moment he was revealed. The air boiled with plasma, and the walkers loosed their thunderous blasts. The troopers advanced with chilling synchronicity, their formation was methodical and inescapable.
Jax danced through the chaos, deflecting when he must, absorbing with his energy resistance shield, personal shield, or even his cortosis-weave armor when he had to. Yet for all the items and abilities that granted him second chance after second chance, he was beginning to be overwhelmed. The Imperial formation was tightening around him, and despite the sounds of his reinforcements joining the fight, they were ultimately only 1,000 men. No matter how elite they were, or how good their armor was, a hundred rifles barking at once, or a direct hit from an AT-TE's cannon was a death sentence.
He felt it in the Force. His time was almost upon him. A vision clouded his mind. It depicted the architect of this trap, a blue alien, a charismatic man, the Force sang his name:
Thrawn.
Yet despite this seeming prophecy, he did not panic.
As the Force let him know of something else.
Sparing a glance up into the sky, Jax smiled.
Like a thunderclap, he appeared.
Master Corvus dropped from the clouds like a falling star, surrounded by a maelstrom of lightning and motion. Cloaked in majestic robes his twin blue lightsabers snapped to life mid-fall, and reflected off his mask, making him appear as if he were some deity descending from the heavens. Twisting his body into a cutting spiral, he crashed into the formation of Imperial troopers like an angry bowling ball.
A hundred fell in nearly an instant as they were cleaved, diced, and smote into ruin. Blasterfire then began to converge on him from every direction.
What few bolts that managed to hit him died upon impact as they met his cocoon of pure Energy Resistance. The light beams rippled harmlessly off his body like rain on stone. His movements seemed erratic, and made no logical sense; yet Jax appreciated them, having been on the receiving end of sparring more than once.
Master Corvus became invisible, then reappeared behind the cockpit of an AT-TE, blade already stabbing through the pilot's heart. Then he was gone again, reappearing on an ARC-170. The starfighter raked three other ships in its squad, as its pilot was under [Mind Trick], he was then forced to crash land into an AT-TE.
The Imperial clones continued their assault, but their morale was beginning to shift. This ambush had transformed into a counter ambush.
Sparing a glance to the side, Jax was relieved to see that the citizens had retreated back into the shelter.
"It is good to see you, Jax!" Master Corvus dropped down beside him, and ran with him behind some cover.
"Master." Jax said one word, yet he practically glowed with embarrassed love-like the kind of love a son would have for his father when his friends saw his dad giving him a hug-in the Force once he felt the confidence and fierce protectiveness brimming from his Master's aura.
The two exchanged glances. No more words needed to be said, yet Jax knew everything was under control. His tense shoulders slightly relaxed, and he allowed himself to smile slightly. Fighting for vengeance had taken its toll on him, and now he was safe.
"Heh." Corvus ruffled his hair.
The cover they had found was beginning to be worn away by the heavy torrent of blasterfire, yet Jax was willing to bet his rare pazaak card collection that his Master was smirking underneath that mask.
Corvus's aura suddenly blazed like a storm. He left from cover, and moved like war given form-his mastery of Form VII had reached new heights, and pushed him deep into enemy ranks. Each one of his seemingly random attacks struck with devastating grace. With a flick of his wrist, that aura of electricity he had been gathering this entire time culminated into a [Force Lightning] of epic magnitude.
Bright bolts of unblockable plasma tore across the ranks, and leapt from soldier to soldier, birthing havoc and devastation.
And then, when his Master had exposed himself, and the remaining AT-TE's were drawing a bead on him, a battalion from the Starcrusher Corp made themselves known.
Clad in superior beskar armor, supported by LAAT's, and ARC-170's, they began to absolutely dominate their lesser equipped brethren.
"FOR THE REPUBLIC!"
They surged into the encirclement, detonating charges, dragging civilians behind shield walls, and carved a path toward Jax.
And Jax, trembling slightly from over exerting himself throughout the night, looked up from his hiding spot. Master Corvus stood there, shadowed by the dawn's early light, with an extended hand toward him.
[Force Valor] fell upon his shoulders, and Jax took the hand.
The Starcrusher clones closed in, forming a diamond formation around the Jedi. Civilians were evacuated behind them. Walkers fell in controlled detonations. The Imperial air superiority was broken as the more numerous Republic ARC-170's dominated the skies.
They were winning.
And then he felt it. The blue image of that alien came to mind once more.
Thrawn's contingency was activated.
From the deep tunnels below, the ground groaned.
Master Corvus's posture changed to that of someone who expected a great foe. He turned towards the disturbance, and tiwrled his twin sabers as he scanned the haze.
A sound like garbled static pulsed through the air, and then an explosion ripped open the lower street level.
That feeling of demise slowly began to creep up his spine as he saw the shadowy outline of his enemy.
This was Thrawn's true trap.
Corvus turned to Jax. "You studied the report, you know their capabilities. If I say run, you run."
Jax nodded. He raised his hand, guiding wounded clone and child alike into the lift tubes of the lower levels. The fight that was about to take place…it would be his most challenging one yet.
Through the Force, Jax felt Thrawn's gaze. Slightly inclining his head, he couldn't help but admire his tactical genius. But with his Master here, there wasn't anything that couldn't be overcome.
At that moment, emerging through the smoke, a hundred T-1000 cyborgs strutted into view. Their weapons gleamed with killing intent, and murder permeated the air.
Whilst the Starcrusher Corp were held off by the sacrificial battalion, and only a handful could come offer their support, Jax came to a cold realization.
The civilians weren't the bait…he was. Thrawn had lured him into a precarious position, not simply to capture the ghost…eyes going wide, he glanced at his Master. Thrawn wanted to swallow it all!
~~~~~~
AN: The T-1000's are cloned Tarkin brains piloting the cybersuits that Corvus fought previously. As you'll recall in the Interlude, Papa Palpatine deployed a thousand of them.
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