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Chapter 12

The Onderonian Embassy on Raxus could be found on the far fringes of Raxulon, the planetary capital. Accessible either by a short shuttle flight, or a winding road trip through the wooded hills, the Embassy was built atop of a rocky promontory overlooking the rest of the city. Built like a gothic mansion, the building looked especially eerie at dusk, surrounded by the whispering autumn forests.

Strange, for an embassy, yes–but if you wanted to get the Onderon experience on Raxus, then this was the closest you were going to get. I never liked the estate back on Onderon, and I never liked this place either.

I arrived at a bad time, because there was already a transport on the landing pad, so I directed my shuttle pilot to just drop me off at the edge and enter a holding pattern. I stepped over the perilous gap, and found my footing soon after. Ducking under the wing of the transport, I curiously eyed the build in an attempt to identify the owner.

I didn’t have to, because I found Senator Avi Singh coming down the staircase leading up to the Embassy right after. The well-aged man was completely bald, sporting a rather glorious moustache that strung from his greying hair, which was already more white than anything.

Waiting at the bottom of the staircase out of respect more than anything else, I noticed that the Senator from Raxus had grown more rotund since we last met, and had to use the balustrade to support himself.

“Senator Singh,” I greeted, “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

Senator Singh looked at me in surprise, before raising his head to glance past me–likely at my shuttle circling overhead.

“Not at all, I was just coming out the door. Nevermind that, I must have inconvenienced you,” the Senator scampered down the last rows of steps, “But it is a pleasurable surprise to see you again, Rain.”

“Please,” I grasped his hand, “I never sent word of my arrival beforehand, so you couldn’t have known. In fact, I am quite surprised by my presence here myself.”

Avi Singh grinned beneath his moustache, “Indeed. I was under the impression you were still deployed in Abrion. Will you remain on Raxus for long? I would love to have a chat over tea, at a better time than this.”

“That will definitely be in order,” I laughed, “Yes, I will be on Raxus for some time as I assemble a new fleet.”

“A new fleet, you say?”

There was a spark of intrigue in the Senator’s eye at my words, that told me he wanted to know more about the reason. Of course he did–despite my efforts in distancing myself from politics, I was still peripherally involved due to my name alone. He was ultimately a politician, and politicians traded in secrets. Every snippet of information can give him an upperhand in Parliament–and something as significant as a shiny new fleet?

“I can’t say much, unfortunately,” I smiled apologetically, “I hope you understand.”

“No no, of course,” Senator Singh waved his hand, “Don’t let the politician get in your way… but if you encounter some pushback from interest groups, don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“I will keep that in mind, Senator,” I paused, “I shouldn’t take any more of your time–you are a busy man. Have a good night, sir.”

“You as well, officer,” he patted my shoulder, before moving on.

I remained still as his guards walked past me–and when they were finally behind me, I broke into a satisfied smile. Score. What a fortunate encounter. After all, what was leaking some maybe-confidential secrets in exchange for a much easier job? Half the military was already doing it–making a business out of it, rather–and Senator Singh, the representative of this very star sector? I could shiver in delight.

My smile bled away as I considered the next senator I had to meet.

I reached the huge doors just as the senatorial transport blasted off behind him, repulsorlifts whining as the craft raced back towards downtown. I cracked my neck, loosened my shoulders, lowered my expectations, and opened the doors.

“...Master Rain?” a high-pitched, synthesised voice said in surprise.

I instinctively stepped back, trying to find the source.

“Down here, sir!”

I looked down– “Oh, it’s just you. Hello, Hare.”

Hare was a LEP servant droid, with her egg-shaped chassis and the pair of rabbit ear-like antennas that she was named after. Hare was holding a tray of drinks, and after a brief moment of hesitation, held it up to offer a glass.

“Thank you,” I gratefully picked one to soothe my parched throat, before rubbing her head, “How have you been?”

“Very well, sir,” she cooed, “Should I prepare your room?”

“No need,” I said, “I won’t be staying this time. Can you lead me to Mina?”

Hare’s ears drooped, “This way, Master Rain.”

As we strolled out of the foyer, past the staffers, and into the actual residence, I pondered on what to do with Hare. After my parents’ accident, I moved in with Mina and her husband, and lived with them ever since. Or rather, until they moved to Coruscant for senatorial duties, leaving me to look after the estate in Iziz while I served in the Royal Army. When the war broke out, we reunited back in Raxulon. In this house.

Which came with the LEP droid, who I found adorable. The first thing I did was name her Hare, because remembering a droll alphanumerical wasn’t for me. She seemed to like it, so it stuck. Artificial intelligence was a big thing back on Earth, which is why I always take care to treat whatever droids I come across like another person. That didn’t exactly translate to this galaxy, I discovered, because Lux was the only other person in the household to refer to Hare by her name.

Which is stupid, in my opinion. For some reason when these aliens give machines quasi-sentient personalities, they never quite realise the implications that arise due to it.

“Tell you what,” I said, “We’ll ask Mina if I can take you. If she says yes, you can come with me.”

I’ll need an assistant anyway, now that I’m a flag officer. I’m not going to use Tuff or any other Class 4 droid for that, and employing Vinoc or Barriss doesn’t exactly seem safe.

“Really?” Hare glanced up at me.

“Really,” I pushed open a door, entering a drawing room.

The ornate windows to my left were pushed open a sliver, leading in a refreshing breeze that keened and whistled as it winnowed into the lounge. Almost like a wind chime. Outside, I could make out the glowing lanterns of the pavilion, squat in the centre of an Onderon-style garden–because of course there was one–and the buzzing insects that were drawn in by them.

“You’ve returned,” Mina barely looked at me, occupied by her tablet, “Lux will be here shortly, so the hot water’s on. Don’t use all of it.”

“Let’s save it for him,” I sat on the couch opposite her armchair, shrugging off my overcoat and laying it over the backrest, “I’m only visiting.”

That caught her attention. The Senator from Onderon was a stern-faced woman with short-cropped brown hair that was greying at the fringes. Despite the signs of age–or stress–Mina Bonteri still possessed the hawkish eyes and severe tone that made her people stop and listen when she spoke.

Mina finally dragged her eyes off the tablet, “This is your house.”

I snagged the sleeve of my overcoat, showing her the plaque stitched onto the shoulder, “I have business in the city, so I bought an apartment downtown.”

She frowned, “How long is your stay?”

Until the Republic launches its offensive, I wanted to answer, which could be in a week, or in months. What matters is that we are caught by surprise, and I, as the ranking officer in the sector, has to be hastily mobilised into action. But I couldn’t tell her that, obviously.

“Until I am redeployed,” I answered half-honestly, “But I’ll be visiting some nearby systems too, so I won’t be on Raxus the entire time.”

I had my work cut out for me. Separatist officers were extremely independent, and those deployed on the Perlemian were especially prideful. Not many were going to listen to a human from an Inner Rim planet, and whose entire career has been spent far away in the Trailing Sectors. If I wanted to defend the Foundry successfully, securing their cooperation–if not their loyalty–was a must.

I also had to visit the nearby shipyards in order to procure some ships for my core fleet. The nearest one was right in orbit around Raxus Prime, but I was going to have to negotiate with Hoersch-Kessel and Free Dac Volunteer branches in order to guarantee good quality vessels and crews, as well as to implement some specifications I had in mind.

Hare plucked my now-empty glass from my hands and refilled it.

“Where’s the old man?” I made a show of looking around.

“He’s been deployed to Aargonar to shore up the defences there.”

A sinecure, as befitting an Onderonian noble and the husband of a senator. An unimportant system, deep in Separatist space, and tangentially protected by the Confederate First Fleet, which units regularly patrols the Perlemian. Mister Bonteri probably thinks hell would freeze over before he comes downrange of a clone’s blaster rifle.

Hell was about to freeze over, then. The First Fleet was being mobilised and redeployed to Nixor, taking most of the Foundry’s active defence with them. Aargonar was about to be pushed from being an uneventful backwater posting to staring down the barrel of the Republic.

What to do about this?

“How long is his tour of duty?” I suddenly asked.

Mina frowned, “Six standard months. Why?”

“Can you get him out of there?”

She sat up, eyes narrowing, “What’s going on, Rain?”

“Why do you think I can tell you?” I said wryly, “I owe him, and you, quite a bit, so all I am doing is repaying the favour. You might also want to keep an eye on Lantillies.”

Just a hop and skip Coreward on the Perlemian was Lantillies, the headquarters of the Grand Army’s Twelfth Sector Army. Only 3,000 parsecs from the Confederate border, if the invasion of the Foundry was to occur, the system would undoubtedly be their staging grounds. Mina Bonteri was not stupid; she knew exactly what I was implying.

“Odd time to do it,” Mina raised an eyebrow, “And odd way, too. There’s been no movement on the Perlemian–the Republic wouldn’t dare, not with our victories in the south.”

I scoffed, “I’m not in the mood to start anything, alright? It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not, what matters is that I clear my conscience.”

I pushed myself to my feet, slinging my coat back on, “Oh, and I’m taking Hare with me.”

Mina briefly glanced at the droid, “Why are you here, really?”

“To take command of Raxus’ defences,” I answered, “We are on track to lose the war, Mina. We outnumber the Grand Army three-to-one, but that advantage is falling through our fingers everyday.”

“Aren’t we on the offensive?”

“Defensive,” I corrected, “All our ‘offensives’ are… well, unimportant.”

The Republic was pushing hard in the New Territories, having taken Muunilinst and now on track to capture Dantooine. Our Third Fleet was outnumbered and outgunned by the Republic’s 8th, 9th, and 10th Sector Armies. In the southern sphere, the Republic’s 20th Sector Army was surrounding Fondor and Bassadro, while the 18th in Eriadu was probing Sullust and Bith.

The problem was that despite outnumbering the Republic Navy three-to-one, we only had three full fleets, while they had twenty. Despite General Tann’s successes, the Second Fleet couldn’t be everywhere at once, not to mention she too was in a precarious situation. Soon the First and Second will be tied up in Operation Sidestep, and our fleet-in-being strategy will be washed down the drain. Which was, granted, exactly the plan.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Our military is a bucket of crabs,” I told her, "Everyone wants operational independence, and no-one wants cooperation unless they are in charge. That’s why we have three fleets and they have twenty–a single person commanding an element of that size would upset the status quo. Instead we have all these independent squadrons doing their own thing without any unified chain of command.”

I huffed, “In the end, we are losing because we are fighting ourselves more than we are fighting the Republic. When was the last time Count Dooku introduced a Supreme Commander candidate to the Senate?”

“Three weeks ago,” Mina replied carefully.

“Who?” I pushed, “How many ayes were there?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“A Pantoran named Sev’rance Tann. There were a quarter ayes, mostly from the War Faction.”

Not enough.

“Do not ask me to abandon my principles, Rain,” Mina warned me, “I will not vote to escalate this war.”

And there it was.

“This war has already escalated, Mina,” I rebuked softly, “It is only because you live among the pleasantries of Raxus that you can preserve yourprinciples. What about my principles, or those of every Separatist giving up their principles on the frontlines to preserve the Confederacy?”

“Do not patronise me, child,” her voice turned gravelly, “It was because I had principles that I took you into my house.”

I laughed, “Let’s not joke around, lady. You sold my parents’ estate the moment you managed to get your hands on it. The only reason you took me in is to avoid the media’s scrutiny. You want to argue principles? I had to look after your estate while you used my inheritance to fund your shiny career on Coruscant.”

Mina Bonteri circled around the tea table between us to look me in the eye. Both of us were tall people, and we towered over Hare as she swivelled her head between us in a mix of confusion and an unspoken mood of ‘really, again?’

“You don’t get to say that to me,” she stared daggers, “Not when it was my family who made your career after you ran to the Army.”

“And who do you think convinced General Tandin to not purge the nobles when you declared for the Separatists,” I shot back, “Do you know just how close your coup came to being a civil war?”

And I never regretted participating in that, despite my knowledge of the Clone Wars. King Dendup’s statement of neutrality was deeply unpopular among the Lords of the Royal Court–House Bonteri included–who quickly started to plot against him. Too quickly. General Akenathen Tandin caught wind of the conspiracy and prepared to wipe them out.

He didn’t. Because a bloc of moderate officers reasoned that purging Iziz would only prompt the other cities of Onderon to revolt in the name of their Lords, plunging the planet into civil war. A bloodless coup to join the Separatists was seen as the lesser evil. In the end, the Royal Army stood by as the Royal Court ousted Ramsis Dendup, replacing him with Sanjay Rash. Days later, Mina Bonteri submitted the Articles of Secession to the Galactic Senate, and King Rash signed the Treaty of Iziz.

“And now, I’m flouting the rules to save his life,” I continued, “We’re all playing politics, Mina, neither of us are saints. The only reason you’re holding onto your ‘principles’ so tightly is because it’s your second chance at having them. Be honest; if we’re not escalating the war, then the Republic will.”

“We can still negotiate with the Republic,” she insisted, “Not everyone wants a war.”

“The people who matter want a war,” I sighed, “If words alone can resolve conflict, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

I plucked the tray out of Hare’s hands and set it down on the table. The atmosphere had shifted; the conversation was over.

“Make sure to wipe its memory,” Mina was referring to Hare, “I suppose it’s about time I buy a newer model, anyway.”

“Don’t tell anyone what I told you,” I reminded, “Not that you will, because that would be feeding the War Faction’s narrative.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Mina said dryly, “Take care on your way back.”

I inclined my head, “You as well. Let’s go, Hare.”

⁂

Orbit of Raxus Prime, Raxus System

Barriss didn’t know how long she had been sleeping, or even when she fell asleep. She did know that she woke to an infuriating itch in her left arm and waist, and that she did not recognise her cell on the Separatist frigate.

“The operation is complete, sir,” a modulated voice said, “The patient should be awake soon.”

The Jedi Padawan feigned unconsciousness, reaching out through the Force to understand her situation. A shadow moved over her… there was another person standing outside the room–a Force sensitive. Another Sith?

“Very well,” another voice replied, “Good work… are you awake, Jedi?”

Barriss didn’t move, and focused on keeping her breathing consistent. There were metallic footsteps as the–what she presumed to be a medical droid–retreated away from the cot. And the person looking down on her… she couldn’t feel them. Barriss knew they were there precisely because she couldn’t feel them through the Force, only where they weren’t. The space they occupied was… cold.

They lifted Barriss’ slacked arm over her face, and dropped it. It fell by her wayside.

“You aren’t fooling anyone, Barriss,” they sat down, “I’m running on a tight schedule here, so let’s try to make this quick.”

Barriss opened her eyes, and saw–

“M-Master Luminara?”

Master Luminara’s face stared back down at her… but as she held her gaze in disbelief, Barriss realised they didn’t quite wear Master Luminara’s face. There was just something… wrong about it, something unsettling that made her squirm inside. Maybe it was that Barriss couldn’t place the colour of her eyes, or the hue of her hair. Or that she didn’t have the same tattoos her Master had. Dark Side trickery?

“Flattered, but I’m not her,” the human said, “How are you feeling?”

Barriss shifted uncomfortably, “My arm hurts. Who are you?”

“Rain; I believe this is the first time we’ve met,” Rain smiled amusedly, “Despite being the captain of the ship you’ve been held on the entire time. Let’s get you up.”

As the woman reached over her and pulled her cot into a sitting position, Barriss suddenly noticed the Separatist roundel patched to her shoulder.

“You’re a Separatist?” Barriss didn’t know why she sounded surprised.

“Do I not look like one?” she asked back, “What does a Separatist look like to you?”

“They look like–”

Aliens. They looked like Neimodians, Kerkoidens and Geonosians and a thousand other Outer Rim species. They were slimy, corrupt, serving the fallen Jedi Master Dooku to impose their tyranny over the Republic. It’s all over the HoloNet.

“Are you a Separatist?” Rain asked her, in a too-honest voice.

“No!” Barriss refuted indignantly, “Why would I be a Separatist?”

“You’re Mirialan,” the Separatist told her, as if it explained everything, “Mirial is a prominent Separatist world, and the I-Sector was one of the first to join the Confederacy. I’ve personally met the Senator from Mirial.”

“I–” Barriss’ throat was dry, “I’m a Jedi– they don’t represent me.”

“But you represent them,” Rain pointed out, “I see your tattoos. You still adhere to your people’s culture.”

I represent Master Luminara, Barriss wanted to say. She vividly realised she couldn’t remember a single thing from Mirial, and that everything she knew of Mirialan culture was from Master Luminara. Why did Mirial join the Separatists? She wanted to ask at the same time, because Barriss realised she had never spared a thought about her people before.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Rain asked rhetorically, “Conflict is easier to feed to the masses when it’s nice and simple. One side is good, another is evil. Isn’t it your duty as a Jedi to know the truth, and protect the truth, instead of parroting what the pundits say?”

“But it is the truth,” Barriss insisted, “Count Dooku is a Sith Lord! He wants to destroy the Republic!”

“That’s his view of it,” she shrugged, “Not all of us do. Have you ever thought about what ‘Separatist’ actually means?”

Barriss opened her mouth to refute her again, but one of Master Luminara’s lectures chided her the confines of her mind. This woman–Rain–wanted to antagonise her, get a rise out of her. If Barriss lets her do that, then she would be letting her win. Barriss forced herself to calm down and think clearly. There was no reasoning with Separatists, they’ve all been captured by Dooku’s lies.

They are all puppets of the Dark Side, unknowing or not.

“It means you want to separate from the Republic,” Barriss answered simply.

“That’ll all,” Rain agreed, “Nothing about the Force. Nothing about taking over the galaxy. It should have been that simple. But the Republic didn’t let us, and now some of us are convinced that the only way to separate is to remove the Republic from the equation.”

Their attention was grabbed by a knock on the door.

Rain stood up with a mild smile, “There will be moderates and hardliners on both sides–those who want peace, and those who want victory. My question is which side does the Jedi Order represent? If you want peace, then you ought to allow those of us who are more reasonable, a chance to carry the day.

The woman offered a hand–one which she warily took–and used it to pull Barriss to her feet, “I look forward to working with you.”

The door hissed open, revealing a rather nondescript man in Separatist uniform. Barriss immediately found her eyes drawn to the lightsaber hooked onto his belt. When she cast her eyes back at Rain, her appearance was different again, as if shifting with the light. The same way the colour of water seems to change, like an illusion. The word she was looking for came to her tongue–like a mask.

“Your orders, sir?” the man asked.

“Give her a tour,” Rain gently nudged her forward, “Both of you may be Jedi, but I\'m in charge now. So get to know the ship and the crew, because it will be your new home for the coming months. No need to get comfortable in here; we’re off to the Wheel in two days.”

Rain turned on her heel and retreated down the hallway with a brisk pace, leaving Barriss alone with the Sith.

“Name’s Vinoc,” the man said, “The uniform looks surprisingly good on you.”

“The uniform–” Barriss looked down, finding herself in a stale grey uniform, “Why am I…”

When she realised her head felt oddly light, Barriss patted her head to find out she wasn’t wearing her headscarf either. And her lightsaber…

She tried not to let her outrage show on her face, “Do you think trying to coerce me into joining you is going to work? I’ll never fall to the Dark Side.”

Vinoc rubbed his bearded chin, “We’re not asking you to. Dooku already thinks you are dead, so we are going through all this trouble to keep you out of their sight. Sorry about your lightsaber–it was proof of your ‘death’–but you can always make a new one. Follow me.”

Barriss contemplated escaping for a brief moment, but decided better of it. For now, she will humour these people. Only when she has gotten her bearings, can she start hashing out a plan to escape–or send a distress call to the Jedi Temple. By the time Barriss departed her thoughts, she realised Vinoc had already moved on ahead–and she raced to catch up.

She passed by a window–and saw a desolate planet with an atmosphere of sickly yellow.

“Raxus Prime,” Vinoc said, “Welcome aboard the Raxus Starbase, headquarters of the First Fleet.”

As if on cue, a vast shadow drifted over the planet–a Separatist dreadnought–its beaked prow and painted facsimile of an eye piercing straight through her as if saying ‘you don’t belong here.’ She had never seen one so close before, and it was like standing beneath a leviathan. Her situation became real to her like a knife pressing into the back of her neck: I’m in the heart of enemy territory. Even if Master Luminara is trying to rescue me, she will never be able to reach me.

By the Force, luckily she didn’t try anything reckless. She would’ve never even gotten out of the system. Barriss was truly alone now, at the mercy of the strange game her captives were playing.

“...You said Dooku thinks I’m dead,” Barriss mumbled, “Don’t you serve him? Why am I still alive?”

Vinoc wrinkled his nose, “I only served him because he was the only choice. I found another. As for what your purpose is, that’s beyond me.”

They stopped before a turbolift, stepping aside to let the occupants through–a Quarren and a Sullustan–before quietly stepping through. As the doors slid closed, Vinoc pressed a floor button. Level 3 Docks.

“That lady–Rain–she called you a Jedi,” Barriss realised.

Vinoc coughed in surprise, “N-No, Commodore Rain’s a man… probably.”

A– man!? Barriss’ cheeks purpled in shame as she desperately tried to recall her–his–appearance… but nothing came to her. She couldn’t describe his appearance in her mind’s eye any more than she could describe the appearance of the Force. But for some reason, Barriss remembered that s–he–looked somewhat like Master Luminara.

“And I wouldn’t call myself a Jedi,” Vinoc cleared his throat, saving her from stewing in her own embarrassment, “I was raised in the Jedi Order, like you, but I never got to be a Padawan. You’re fortunate, you know? Mirialans always look after one another.”

It took a moment for Barriss to understand what he meant– “You’re Service Corps.”

Vinoc nodded, “I was assigned to Folende, right here in Tion, along with my brother. There were only a handful of us, on Folende and Omman, but I guess it was the Republic’s way of showing the Outer Rim they still cared.”

There was a ding as the turbolift jolted to a stop, and the doors slid open.

“Why did you join the Separatists?” Barriss asked as they stepped out.

“Because the Republic didn’t care,” he answered, “Folende and Omman didn’t feed the Core, so we barely saw Republic officials, or any supervision from the AgriCorps. I– we realised what most Separatists realised; that the Republic didn’t care about any of us. If they did, it was to take our stuff. So when Tion seceded, we just… decided to join them. I suspect some of us had gotten attached to our new home, and for others… I guess it was just apathy.”

“Apathy?”

Vinoc shrugged, “We were already there, and had lived there for years. I know some of us down in Ukio also joined the Separatists when Abrion seceded. I imagine it’s the same for many Outer Rim outposts.”

So how many Jedi joined the Separatists? The thought alone unnerved her. How many Jedi were on Separatist planets when they left the Republic, and had just decided to stay? How many couldn’t leave?

Barriss looked around, as if suddenly expecting to see a lot more lightsaber-wielding people on the station. But it was just the usual affair on any repair yard; repulsorlift tugs, people-movers, transporters, pipe-layers. All like bees working to keep the hundreds of warships berthed beyond the atmosphere containment rays serviced and spaceworthy.

“So you didn’t fall to the Dark Side?” Barriss blurted out.

A shadow crossed over Vinoc’s face, his eyes growing darker–weary–as if he had aged by a decade in a second.

“Briefly,” he replied curtly.

Barriss decided not to push the issue. But if he didn’t, how many Jedi did fall to the Dark Side, she wondered. Like Count Dooku…

“There it is,” Vinoc’s voice snapped her from her thoughts, “Star frigate Repulse. Flagship of the White Hand Fleet. Nobody’s going to be able to reach you onboard of it.”

Neither Dooku nor Master Luminara was left unsaid.

Repulse was a Munificent, its Separatist roundel freshly repainted and vibrant blue, overlaid over the mess of earthen-coloured stains that Barriss’ couldn’t make any order out of. A camouflage? But it’s a starship, not a tank.

As she approached the ship, Barriss discovered it wasn\'t just random paint, but a meticulously hand-drawn battlefield. Armies of primitive stick figures wielding spears and bows fought against a variety of creatures, including what appeared to be Nabooan tusk cats, Alderaanian deer, Batuuan bears, common nerfs, and huge bantha-sized creatures on stout legs with Ortolan-like heads–if Ortolans had long, curved, and menacing tusks.

Wrapping around the entire ship, it was difficult to make them out even from a few feet away–and at a klick out, she imagined that all the effort would be completely unrecognisable from the drab hull. The only thing that stuck out was a massive, stark white handprint, painted onto the upper hull. The very same one, Barriss surmised, that gave the fleet its name.

“He said it’s an Onderonian cave painting,” Vinoc commented, “But there’s not a single Onderonian creature on it… let’s get you onboard. You’ll have to get used to the crew–they’re a bit… special.”