Chapter Twenty Six: Always Be All Right.
In which Padme reports in with Master Yoda and sees how, exactly, shit can get worse.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
It was much later in hyperspace that Padmè rubbed her temples. Somehow, she mused, she had had a long day. If anything, she had managed to kill Grievous and Dooku. That was the good news, at least. The bad news was the fact that now, she mused, she was on the run from her own clone troopers. Something that she never imagined in a million years would happen. Or at least less. She never thought it would come to this, and yet, here she was.
In the cockpit next to her, Artoo gave a mournful beep. She turned to look at him now. “I know, Artoo,” she said, patting his dome. “I just hope that Master Yoda’s all right. And everyone else.” She couldn’t imagine losing any more Jedi like she had lost Ahsoka. That, she thought, was something that she doubted that she could ever bear.
It was then that the secret Jedi code flashed across the communications system. Padmè frowned. “Someone’s trying to get through,” she said. She could only hope that it was Master Yoda. Or someone else.
And on the screen was, thankfully, the aged Jedi Master. Padmè sighed in relief. “Master Yoda,” she said, “Thank goodness you’re here.”
“Received your message I did,” Yoda said. “Barely escaped from the clone trooper attack on Kashyyyk I did.”
If Master Yoda barely escaped, that must have been a hair raising adventure! And yet at the same time, Padmè thought, hair raising was probably the wrong word. If anything else, she mused, hair raising was no doubt an understatement. “I already escaped the clone troopers on Mustafar, Master Yoda,” she said. “They tried to fire on me without warning. I...” She bit her lip. “I had to kill them."
She had never thought that she would have to fight her own soldiers. And yet at the same time, here she was. Fighting her own soldiers, who had fired on her without warning. It had to do with the Order 66 that Count Dooku had spoken of. It, plain and simply, had to. After all, there was no other explanation. Either that or something that had tripped something else in them to go rogue. Perhaps tying into Order 66 again?
Stop it, Padmè, she said, There’s no time to go over the shades of what and why. You have to get to Kashyyyk and speak with Master Yoda. It’s the best you can do right now. You don’t know if anyone else has escaped -
And even that was the worst thought of all.
Master Yoda looked at her with something that could only amount to sympathy. “Far from an isolated occurrence, this is. Felt the deaths on Kashyyyk, I did.”
Something in Padmè’s blood ran cold. “Tell me that Serra Keto is all right,” she said, “Tell me that everyone is all right. They couldn’t have been - ’’
And yet something in her told her that that was, indeed, the case.
The Jedi had fallen.
All of them.
Or almost all of them. Yoda was all right, at least. But that was cold comfort, at least.
And Obi-Wan...what had happened to Obi-Wan?
She already bit her lip again, hard enough to draw blood - something, she thought, that at least reminded her, if only miserably, of the fact that she was still very much alive. Miserably because it was possible, very much possible, that she and Master Yoda were the very, very last.
And the thought was almost too much to bear.
Master Yoda, meanwhile, looked at her with those solemn green eyes. “Sorry I truly am, Padmè,” he said, and something about him calling her by her first name, and not the more formal “Knight Naberrie” was enough to make her blood run colder than before, if that was at all possible - the situation had truly shaken Master Yoda. The thought of his friends having been slaughtered seemed to have shaken the seemingly unflappable Jedi Master. His students, all most likely dead. “But death...death I sensed across all worlds. Master Plo Koon, Master Ki Adi Mundi, Master Kit Fisto, Master Agen Kolar - ’’
“Do you have a list of the dead?” Padmè said. It sounded almost foolish, she mused, and yet at the same time, she had to know.
“Sending it to you already, I am.”
And even observing it scroll across the screen, something in Padmè froze. Watching the seemingly endless list of dead scroll across the screen - Master Plo Koon was already confirmed. And Master Ki Adi Mundi - Padmè swallowed. He was one of the first Masters to express doubt in her, really, and yet at the same time...he was so kind, really. One of the most brilliant Jedi Masters who had ever lived. And then there was Serra Keto and Aayla Secura. All these brilliant, wonderful men and women, slaughtered by this new mandate. This Order 66.
And then there were the missing. Masters Roan Shryne and Rahm Kota. Kento Marek. To name a few, at least. Padmè swallowed - at least there was solace that at least some Jedi had survived. Hopefully. Assuming that they hadn’t been slaughtered.
“Master Yoda,” she said, “We need to get back to Coruscant.”
“On my way, I already am. Contacted Senator Bail Organa I already have. May the Force be with you, Knight Naberrie.”
Padmè had to smile if only slightly. At least Senator Organa was on their side.
“And with you, Master Yoda.” And be careful, she thought, even as Master Yoda’s transmission ended. We’ve lost too many good men and women today. I doubt we can afford to lose you too.
Once they got back to Coruscant, they could get more information about what was going on. And find a way to the Temple to save any more lives. If possible.
Then again, there were always possibilities. She couldn’t give up now.
Artoo gave a mournful beep. Gently, Padmè reached over and patted his dome again. “We’ll be all right, Artoo,” she said. “We’ll...” Her voice cracked, even remembering a similar statement she had made to Obi-Wan, back when she was young and naïve and could never imagine that Ahsoka would die, or this would happen. “We’ll always be all right,” she said, softly, “You and me.”
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
It was much later in hyperspace that Padmè rubbed her temples. Somehow, she mused, she had had a long day. If anything, she had managed to kill Grievous and Dooku. That was the good news, at least. The bad news was the fact that now, she mused, she was on the run from her own clone troopers. Something that she never imagined in a million years would happen. Or at least less. She never thought it would come to this, and yet, here she was.
In the cockpit next to her, Artoo gave a mournful beep. She turned to look at him now. “I know, Artoo,” she said, patting his dome. “I just hope that Master Yoda’s all right. And everyone else.” She couldn’t imagine losing any more Jedi like she had lost Ahsoka. That, she thought, was something that she doubted that she could ever bear.
It was then that the secret Jedi code flashed across the communications system. Padmè frowned. “Someone’s trying to get through,” she said. She could only hope that it was Master Yoda. Or someone else.
And on the screen was, thankfully, the aged Jedi Master. Padmè sighed in relief. “Master Yoda,” she said, “Thank goodness you’re here.”
“Received your message I did,” Yoda said. “Barely escaped from the clone trooper attack on Kashyyyk I did.”
If Master Yoda barely escaped, that must have been a hair raising adventure! And yet at the same time, Padmè thought, hair raising was probably the wrong word. If anything else, she mused, hair raising was no doubt an understatement. “I already escaped the clone troopers on Mustafar, Master Yoda,” she said. “They tried to fire on me without warning. I...” She bit her lip. “I had to kill them."
She had never thought that she would have to fight her own soldiers. And yet at the same time, here she was. Fighting her own soldiers, who had fired on her without warning. It had to do with the Order 66 that Count Dooku had spoken of. It, plain and simply, had to. After all, there was no other explanation. Either that or something that had tripped something else in them to go rogue. Perhaps tying into Order 66 again?
Stop it, Padmè, she said, There’s no time to go over the shades of what and why. You have to get to Kashyyyk and speak with Master Yoda. It’s the best you can do right now. You don’t know if anyone else has escaped -
And even that was the worst thought of all.
Master Yoda looked at her with something that could only amount to sympathy. “Far from an isolated occurrence, this is. Felt the deaths on Kashyyyk, I did.”
Something in Padmè’s blood ran cold. “Tell me that Serra Keto is all right,” she said, “Tell me that everyone is all right. They couldn’t have been - ’’
And yet something in her told her that that was, indeed, the case.
The Jedi had fallen.
All of them.
Or almost all of them. Yoda was all right, at least. But that was cold comfort, at least.
And Obi-Wan...what had happened to Obi-Wan?
She already bit her lip again, hard enough to draw blood - something, she thought, that at least reminded her, if only miserably, of the fact that she was still very much alive. Miserably because it was possible, very much possible, that she and Master Yoda were the very, very last.
And the thought was almost too much to bear.
Master Yoda, meanwhile, looked at her with those solemn green eyes. “Sorry I truly am, Padmè,” he said, and something about him calling her by her first name, and not the more formal “Knight Naberrie” was enough to make her blood run colder than before, if that was at all possible - the situation had truly shaken Master Yoda. The thought of his friends having been slaughtered seemed to have shaken the seemingly unflappable Jedi Master. His students, all most likely dead. “But death...death I sensed across all worlds. Master Plo Koon, Master Ki Adi Mundi, Master Kit Fisto, Master Agen Kolar - ’’
“Do you have a list of the dead?” Padmè said. It sounded almost foolish, she mused, and yet at the same time, she had to know.
“Sending it to you already, I am.”
And even observing it scroll across the screen, something in Padmè froze. Watching the seemingly endless list of dead scroll across the screen - Master Plo Koon was already confirmed. And Master Ki Adi Mundi - Padmè swallowed. He was one of the first Masters to express doubt in her, really, and yet at the same time...he was so kind, really. One of the most brilliant Jedi Masters who had ever lived. And then there was Serra Keto and Aayla Secura. All these brilliant, wonderful men and women, slaughtered by this new mandate. This Order 66.
And then there were the missing. Masters Roan Shryne and Rahm Kota. Kento Marek. To name a few, at least. Padmè swallowed - at least there was solace that at least some Jedi had survived. Hopefully. Assuming that they hadn’t been slaughtered.
“Master Yoda,” she said, “We need to get back to Coruscant.”
“On my way, I already am. Contacted Senator Bail Organa I already have. May the Force be with you, Knight Naberrie.”
Padmè had to smile if only slightly. At least Senator Organa was on their side.
“And with you, Master Yoda.” And be careful, she thought, even as Master Yoda’s transmission ended. We’ve lost too many good men and women today. I doubt we can afford to lose you too.
Once they got back to Coruscant, they could get more information about what was going on. And find a way to the Temple to save any more lives. If possible.
Then again, there were always possibilities. She couldn’t give up now.
Artoo gave a mournful beep. Gently, Padmè reached over and patted his dome again. “We’ll be all right, Artoo,” she said. “We’ll...” Her voice cracked, even remembering a similar statement she had made to Obi-Wan, back when she was young and naïve and could never imagine that Ahsoka would die, or this would happen. “We’ll always be all right,” she said, softly, “You and me.”