The deck of the starship jolted violently. Again. The structure of the massive cruise liner Corona was barely enduring the assault being inflicted upon it by a huge unidentified vessel. The crew who filled the ship's innards; influential diplomats from hundreds of star systems; the bodyguards protecting their precious lives; and a small garrison of clones under the command of two Jedi… all of them got to feel, in full, what it was like when the floor and the ceiling switched places for a fraction of a second.
The first crushing hit landed on the hyperdrive engines, robbing the Corona of any chance to flee into hyperspace. The next barrage, apparently, struck the sublight main drives, leaving the ship drifting on maneuvering thrusters. Somehow, what was happening was even worse than the catastrophe a year and a half earlier, when a traitor had guided a Separatist landing party onto the cruise liner, hoping to abduct the Duchess in the confusion.
The liner was a civilian luxury vessel, custom-built at the order of Satine Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore. After her murder and the treacherous seizure of power on the planet by the terrorist organization Death Watch, the ship's crew refused to obey the "new authorities" and made a hyperspace jump to orbit above Coruscant, where it was soon decided—by collective agreement—to transfer the vessel into the ownership of the Neutral Systems Alliance: an объединение of a thousand worlds that refused to take any part in the civil war that had erupted.
In life, Duchess Kryze had been a committed pacifist, and while her convictions and her willingness to die for them deserved respect, now they did the Corona's passengers no favors. Many called Mandalore's ruler a naïve idealist, but none of her political opponents could accuse her of hypocrisy. The Duchess's cruise liner carried no shipboard weapons at all, and its deflector shield hardly met the standards for a vessel of that class, leaving the Corona utterly defenseless even against a pirate raid—let alone something far more dangerous.
***
"General, th-the enemy has completely knocked out our e-engines!" the pilot reported over the internal comm, stuttering on every other word. "I'm afraid they're preparing to board us!"
The notes of desperation in the pilot's voice spoke for themselves. Jedi General Jaro Tapal did not need great intelligence to fully grasp the ugliness of the situation they had landed in. Under his protection were a crowd of important figures from the Neutral Systems Alliance, their attendants, and even a couple of senators of the Galactic Republic. And the burden of protecting this whole mass of civilians had fallen onto the shoulders of the Jedi Master, a platoon of clone ARC troopers, and young Cal Kestis—a former youngling, whom the old Lasat had recently taken as his apprentice.
"Karabast!" the Jedi swore involuntarily, glancing at his Padawan's terrified face.
Only a month and a half had passed since, during one of his last visits to Coruscant, Tapal had visited the Order's Temple to take a new student under his hand. Among dozens of talented younglings, it was this plain-looking human boy who, at first glance, caught the mighty Lasat's attention. The Force itself seemed to tell the Jedi that a great future awaited Cal Kestis.
"Master," the Padawan began in a trembling voice. "Is the enemy… pirates? Or Separatists?"
The boy was afraid. Tapal felt how the sticky fear had sunk deep roots into his young heart. Fear was always a double-edged sword for any Jedi. It could save its wielder's life—or doom him to death; but worse still, fear was a straight path to the dark side of the Force. For a child, the coming fight was meant to be his first real battle. Why did it have to happen like this…
"Stay close to me, Cal." Smiling gently, the Lasat tried to calm his student. "Don't try to be a hero, and listen to what I tell you."
A Jedi's first mission with his apprentice was supposed to go differently. The Jedi Council had tasked Master Tapal with escorting a diplomatic mission. After the tragic death of Satine Kryze, the Thousand Systems Union—which the Duchess had largely led in name—had been swallowed by chaos, confusion, and a struggle for power. For months, representatives of the neutral systems had shouted themselves hoarse, unable to agree even on the location of their next session, let alone its agenda.
The Republic's authorities grew seriously concerned. The deepening political crisis and the de facto collapse of the Neutral Systems Alliance threatened to push a significant portion of its former members into the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Mandalore's grim fate also cast the late Duchess's pacifist ideas in a far from flattering light. It was no surprise that the Republic intervened, proposing—under the aegis of the Jedi Order—to hold a conference at which a new leader of the Alliance would be elected.
"Captain Baki." The Lasat hailed the commander of the ARC troopers. "Form counter-boarding teams. Hold the decks as long as you can until I get there!"
"As you command, General!" The tension in the clone's voice betrayed his uncertainty that his men could carry out the order.
"Master, if you're going into battle, then should I…?" The Padawan's confused question stirred another stab of guilt in the Jedi Master's mind.
"Forgive me for dragging you into this, young Kestis." Jaro Tapal ground his teeth, so that—by the Force—he would not speak the thought aloud. Children should not take part in war. They must not…
"You will have a very important assignment, my Padawan." The Lasat, towering over two meters tall, knelt before his student and, placing his hands on the boy's shoulders, looked the former youngling straight in the eyes. "Our mission is to ensure the safety of the diplomats aboard this ship! Young Kestis—while I and the clones hold the enemy back, your task will be to organize evacuation to the escape pods!" Yes. The boy had to live. At any cost. "Save them—and survive yourself. Do you understand, apprentice?"
"Master, but what about you?" Realization of the Lasat's true intent struck the Padawan like lightning.
"You understand me, Cal?!" Tapal's massive hands pressed down on the fragile shoulders, making it clear that the Jedi would tolerate no objections.
"I understand, Master," the Padawan nodded shortly. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes. "I will do as you will…"
"Good." The old Jedi ruffled the boy's hair as he fought back tears. "May the Force be with you, my apprentice!"
"May the Force be with you…"
The Force had already failed him once today. The premonition of the oncoming threat had come too late for Jaro Tapal to influence the rapidly approaching events. Now all that remained was to hope the Force would prove far kinder to this young soul.
***
The luxurious hall on the upper deck, where formal receptions had been held back when Duchess Kryze still lived, looked like a war zone—or the heart of a hurricane. Tables and chairs lay overturned; guests' bodies moaned in pain. Lavish dishes and delicacies from across the Galaxy that had recently decorated the meal now, in utter disorder, covered antique furniture, carpets, and fabrics.
"We're under attack! It's pirates!"
"You idiot—what pirates fly ships that are multi-kilometer monsters like this?! It's Separatists, definitely. Damn Dooku offered my king that he join the CIS…"
"Why didn't you earlier—"
Where, just ten minutes ago, wise statesmen had been seated, panic now reigned. Heated debates over galactic politics had snapped off the moment the unidentified ship unleashed the power of its guns upon the cruise liner. Caught off guard, the representatives of a thousand neutral systems threw themselves facedown. Some of those most respected people whimpered about certain death; others tore at their hair in despair; some even went at neighbors with knives to settle scores.
"Where has the Jedi Master gone?!" bellowed the corpulent Orn Free Taa in a shrill voice. "I am a senator of the Galactic Republic! He is obligated to protect my life!"
Clones were barred from the upper decks. Some political nonsense about "the Republic pressuring neutral representatives." Only senators and the leaders of neutral systems had gathered here, along with their personal guards and members of the ship's crew. The more quick-witted diplomats—or those who, in their lives, had taken direct part in the many local conflicts that had bloomed in the decades before the Clone Wars—had already grabbed their bodyguards and hurried toward the escape pods.
"Oh, you fat little freak!" A highly respected guest with an exotic turban wrapped around his head struck the honorable senator of the Galactic Republic from Ryloth square in the eye, sending the overweight Twi'lek crashing into a side table smeared with Naboo gravy. "You only care about your own ass?!"
"A-a-ah!" the "guarantor" from the Republic, having taken the blow, shrieked even louder than before, slipping into outright squealing. "They're killing us! Help!"
The unfortunate bodyguards could only watch helplessly as the high-born gentlemen put on their circus. To try to drag away one's employer—or to lay hands on any of these elite backsides—was to sign one's own death warrant; and to deal with the external threat at all was sheer fantasy.
"Please stop panicking and proceed to the escape pods in an orderly manner."
The boy's voice—paired with the Padawan braid so characteristic of the Order—drowned helplessly in the ocean of chaos that had swallowed the deck.
***
The mighty Lasat barely kept his footing, gripping a maintenance ramp. The cruise liner shook hard again, but this time it felt completely different.
"General, were those shuttles?!" The reporting clone's voice was full of confusion. The comm's interference did not help. "We're being boarded!"
"Karabast!" the Jedi Master swore through clenched teeth.
He had made the right decision when he sent young Kestis to organize the evacuation of the VIPs. A boarding melee was not the best way to receive a first baptism of fire. This way the boy would have a chance to get out of this alive.
***
Ba-bang!
A bright flash split the space. A massive decorative chandelier, fashioned from rare varieties of crystal and far more exotic materials, crashed to the floor with a savage roar, forcing the clamoring sea of people to freeze in bewilderment.
"Please—listen to me!" A boy in a Jedi monk's robe stood atop a table, trying with everything he had to force much-needed confidence into his voice. "Master Tapal has ordered an evacuation."
A soft hum cut into the ringing silence. For extra persuasion, the boy backed his words with an ignited blade. A gentle blue light illuminated his freckled face. His eyes were full of resolve. The little guardian of order was ready to carry out his Master's order.
"If you want to live, follow me."
***
Taught by bitter experience from the many enemy boardings their Legion had endured, the clone squads quickly contained the enemy's landing zones. Well, as much as that was even possible. Who knew what the unknown enemy was using… Those boarding torpedoes were so large they could make some corvettes blush.
Those huge, angular shuttles tore through several decks completely, nearly sawing the ship in half. Lucky that the safety protocols kicked in, reliably sealing off the damaged sections of the liner. Reports of casualties and damage were already coming to the captain through his helmet, but clone 8012—nicknamed "Baki"—was worried about something else entirely.
A standard compact Separatist boarding torpedo was enough to deliver at least a couple dozen heavy B2 droids onto a ship. So just how much could fit inside a monster the size of a multi-story building? A rhetorical question. A great deal—far, far too much. And it went without saying that his platoon was, to put it mildly, not enough to neutralize that kind of threat.
"I need crossfire on those bastards who dared to punch holes in the ship!" Baki rattled off the last of his orders on autopilot. "Remember—no heroics. Our job is to hold as long as possible while the big shots evacuate!"
Baki nodded approvingly as he watched one of his brothers set up a firing position for a Z-6 rotary blaster cannon. Big guns were comforting, and they instilled a false sense of hope. The captain tightened his grip on his DC-17s. Soon these little beauties would have some serious work to do…