Chapter Text
With a shake of his head, Obi-wan made his way back to the cargo hold where the remaining clones now waited. While it was true that their journey back to the Cruisers was relatively short, it was also nowhere near as harried as the one to the Dreadnought. As such, it would be a minute or so before they got back. Looking over the small squad, Obi-wan was both saddened and relieved by what he saw – of the eleven men they’d set out with, there had been three casualties. One of the troopers was patching up the blaster wound another had suffered to his shoulder, but for the most part, the clones were silent and wrapped up in their own thoughts. One of them, though, looked up as Obi-wan re-entered. It took a moment for Obi-wan to place his face and name – Sickle, a newer recruit to the 212th – he and a few others had been the ones to head down to the brig.
“Something on your mind, Sickle?” Obi-wan asked, noting the expression on his face.
“Oh – er, well, I just wanted to thank you, Sir. For the save.” He explained. “If you hadn’t showed up when you did, me an’ the others would’ve been goners for sure.”
Four other clones nodded in agreement with his words.
Obi-wan’s brow furrowed slightly and he folded his arms reflexively, one hand reaching up to stroke at his beard thoughtfully. He frowned to himself before addressing Sickle once more:
“I never made my way down to the brig, Sickle.”
The trooper blinked in confusion while his fellow squad-mates exchanged glances and frowns amongst themselves. Eventually, one of them spoke up.
“But we saw you there, Sir,” he said.
“You saw me?”
“Well…” he hesitated. “Not really? I mean, the lights went out – we couldn’t see a thing.”
“But we saw someone with a lightsaber cut down those droids!” Sickle cut in. “It had to have been you, Sir!”
“I was on my way to the engine room at the time,” Obi-wan said contemplatively. “And there certainly weren’t any other Jedi aboard. So who, then…?”
Obi-wan trailed off, growing silent while the clones awaited some explanation for what they’d seen or tried to figure things out themselves. While they were undeniably confused, they were not unduly concerned, confident that it had been their General. Only Cody noticed Obi-wan’s eyes widen fractionally, suggesting that he had realized something. But despite this, it was easy to tell that whatever conclusion his General had reached, it was not one that put him at ease. Rather, it seemed to be quite the opposite instead.
The Jedi himself was stunned by the realization of what he had been told.
It hadn’t taken him long to realize that – while it was true he had been the only Jedi present aboard the Dreadnaught, the same could not be said for him being the only one there in possession of a blue-bladed lightsaber. Because try as he might to ignore it, there was no denying the fact that there had been another individual aboard the ship who could have wielded a lightsaber.
And that was none other than General Grievous himself.
Yet the more he thought about it, the more he came to see that this was the only explanation for such an instance. But it still made no sense…! Why would Grievous of all people even think of aiding clones, troopers fighting on the opposing side? Perhaps…it was for the same reason that he had informed Obi-wan of the planted charges… But why…?
Obi-wan knew better than to jump to conclusions without the necessary evidence to back it up. Just because Grievous had seemed out of character when speaking with him hardly meant that he had now suddenly become a Republic sympathizer. He noticed, somewhat absently, that he was still holding his lightsaber in his hand. It was out of reflex that he moved his hand, not really paying any attention as he moved to clip it back to his belt. However, he was snapped out of his thoughts when his lightsaber unexpectedly clunked to the floor.
Surprised, Obi-wan looked down, half-expecting to find that he had imagined the sound but it seemed as though he had not. For sitting innocuously next to his foot, was his lightsaber. But at the same time, something about it seemed…strangely off. It was somehow longer? Frowning, the Jedi picked it up, confirming that yes – his lightsaber had apparently grown by a few inches.
“Is that a data spike, Sir?” Cody asked.
“So it would appear,” Obi-wan agreed, nevertheless bemused. “But where could it have come from…?”
He gave the spike a sharp yank, pulling it free from the back end of his lightsaber. Holding it, he turned it over in his hand, perplexed. He returned his lightsaber to its place on his belt and continued to study the data spike. It wasn’t of a particularly noteworthy design, but still Obi-wan wondered how it could have possibly wound up on his lightsaber. And yet again he found that there was only one suspect – Grievous.
Was he trying to help Obi-wan?
Whatever the answer to that question was, he would soon find out.
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“We’ve compared the data on this to every known Separatist encryption, Sir. We’ve had no luck,” the technician shook his head wearily.
Cody looked again at the projected lines of seemingly indecipherable text that had been stored on the data spike that had somehow found its way onto the General’s lightsaber. The clone commander had a few ideas over how it had wound up there – just like he was sure he had reached the same conclusion regarding the mysterious rescue of his men from the brig. But since General Kenobi hadn’t mentioned anything about it, Cody, too, decided not to bring it up. Suppressing a sigh, he returned his attention to the wall of text before him. The information stored in the spike hadn’t all been text, though, as there had been schematics for a station of some kind too. However, in the past standard hour they’d been trying to decrypt it, they’d made no headway whatsoever.
“Try again.” Cody said firmly, “It could be a combination of different codes.”
“Right, Sir,” the technician nodded.
He and another bridge officer got to work on the decryption process, while Cody lent his help where he could. When they were trying yet another different approach – the ninth one since they’d tried combining different codes to no avail. Still, though, they didn’t stop trying to crack this one, too. Hearing the doors to the bridge open, Cody turned, immediately spotting the General entering. Not long after they’d gotten back, the General had headed off to give his report to the Jedi Council – and had been stuck in conference with them since now, apparently. He approached the station where the data was being worked on.
“Any luck yet?” He asked.
“Nothing so far,” Cody admitted. “The code is…tricky. It isn’t like anything we’ve seen before.”
“Hmm,” Obi-wan’s eyes flickered over to the blocks of text. “Tell me, Cody, does anything about these characters stand out to you?”
“Not…really, Sir?” He answered, unsure what the General was getting at.
“What I’m saying, Cody, is that I don’t think this is a code at all,” the General answered, a gleam in his eyes. “I think this information is in another language.”
Cody stilled. Another language…? Of course, it was completely possible that it was – after all, they had merely assumed it was an encryption purely out of habit. Because when had the Separatists simply used a language that wasn’t Aurebesh?
“Another language?” Cody echoed, glancing back at the projection. “What made you think of that, Sir?”
“Just a feeling,” Obi-wan admitted with a somewhat strained smile. “Check the data we have available…and see if the data matches against Kaleesh.”
“Kaleesh?”
Now Cody is a little more concerned. He knows that the only Kaleesh he – or even the General for that matter – have ever met is none other than Grievous himself. So if the information they’ve received is in Kaleesh, as his General suspects, then that would all but confirm that Grievous was helping them and undermining the efforts of his own side.
But why?
Nevertheless, Cody nods in response to General Kenobi’s suggestion, turning towards the techs who had been working on the data all this while. Giving them a nod, he doesn’t need to elaborate any further. They heard the conversation that passed between their two superiors and immediately got to work. However, it wasn’t long before they hit a snag.
“What’s wrong?” Cody asked with a frown.
“It’s nothing too serious, Commander,” the tech sighed, “it’s just that we don’t have the Kaleesh alphabet stored in our databanks. We’d probably have the necessary data, but most likely it’s back on Coruscant.”
Cody turned back to General Kenobi, who didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. Instead, there was a look of anticipation in his eyes; as if he couldn’t wait to see if his assumption was correct. Cody, too, was curious as to what they’d find out, should the General’s hunch prove to be right. General Kenobi nodded in response to the tech’s words, his hand going to his beard as he thought for a moment.
“Very well, I think the Jedi Archives will have just what we’re looking for.”
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For the time being, Grievous was satisfied.
The information on the dataspike he had successfully passed on to Kenobi had been put to good use. Within four standard rotations, the Separatist outpost had been destroyed by Republic Forces. Not only that, but Grievous knew that some of the clones who had participated in the raid had coincidentally found yet more valuable information. Once again, information that could be well-utilized.
Smiling to himself, Grievous reclined in his seat aboard the bridge of another Destroyer, pleased with everything that had come to pass so far. Granted, these were only small victories, but Grievous knew this was only the beginning. He would not stop here – oh no – Grievous would lay clue after clue after clue until finally – finally – he could lead the Republic straight to Dooku. And perhaps…perhaps even Dooku’s Master…
No - Grievous could not help but shudder at that thought – his eyes darting around as if expecting a leering figure to materialize out of the gloom, knowing what he was thinking. What he was planning.
He pushed away his thoughts of Dooku’s Master – the one they all answered to, even indirectly – and turned his thoughts back to Dooku once more, his mood significantly soured. However, thoughts of revenge somewhat lightened his disgruntlement. Soon, he told himself. Soon, he would be able to pay back Dooku for everything he had ever done to him; everything he had taken, and all the lies he had fed him. But should he succeed, then he would be free.
Free to do as he pleased. He could go back to Kalee or even travel to the very edges of the known Galaxy, far away from any fighting… far away from any war and bloodshed… Free. Free to be with Ronderu. And who knew? Maybe he could finally wipe out the scourge that were the Huk once and for all. But Grievous sighed then, knowing that now was not the time to let his mind ramble over what the future could hold. He was getting ahead of himself; there was little point thinking about these things before Dooku was dead.
Deciding then that a transmission to Kryolos to check up on things there was long overdue, Grievous got to his feet and left the bridge. None of the droids acknowledged his leaving, nor did they need to – he’d ordered them not to interrupt him unless it was urgent. He walked down a passageway, deliberating which would be the most private section of the Destroyer. It was a pity that Separatist ships weren’t built with any living quarters – those would have been ideal.
Eventually, Grievous made up his mind and entered a separate chamber – one that had been designed and built for Dooku, complete with an escape route in case of an attack. The cyborg closed and locked the door behind him, not wanting any interruptions, and proceeded to sweep the room for any bugs. One could never be too cautious, after all. Once he was satisfied that his surroundings were secure and his comm wasn’t being tapped, Grievous placed a holo-transmitter on the floor and contacted his fortress on Kryolos. The transmission was answered in a few moments, and a shaky blue hologram of A4-D appeared before him.
“Ah, Master,” the EV droid began, “to what do I owe this unexpected transmission?”
“Do not pretend you don’t know the reason for my transmission,” Grievous responded, his voice mildly exasperated even though he was inwardly amused.
“Why Master, you flatter me!” A4-D exclaimed, “I’m so honored that you called merely to enquire after my wellbeing!”
“A4-D,” Grievous’ voice took on a warning tone.
“Oh, alright,” the droid said with what sounded like a huff. “You wanted to check up on your lady friend, I take it?”
“Yes,” he scowled. “How is she?”
“Oh, don’t worry Master, she is perfectly fine,” A4-D assured him. “However, I have posted a guard outside her room after her poor attempt at an escape.”
“She tried to escape?!” Grievous started in alarm. “What happened? Is she hurt?!”
“I believe her pride took a bruising,” A4-D snarked, “but other than that, she is unharmed.”
“How did she try to escape?” Grievous asked, feeling mildly relieved.
“Through the lower levels,” the medical droid sounded all too amused. “The creature we share our residence with is quite the menace, I must say. Four Magnaguards were required to simply free her! And did I mention that two of them were rendered completely useless in the process?”
Despite his initial worry, Grievous couldn’t help but laugh at his doctor’s recount. The whole situation just seemed so absurd, he had a hard time believing it actually happened. What he could easily imagine though, was how Ronderu would have been after such an ordeal – she certainly would have been less than happy about how things turned out, no doubt. However, when his laughter gave way to coughing, his humour disappeared almost at once and he grew serious once more.
“This guest is quite the handful, Master,” A4-D griped, “I don’t understand why you insist on keeping her around – she’s going to be nothing but trouble for as long as she’s here.”
“Don’t tell me you cannot handle her,” Grievous shot back sarcastically.
“I most certainly can!” He responded, miffed by the implied accusation.
“So where is she now?” Grievous asked, changing the subject before A4-D got too worked up.
“She is in the library,” the medical droid answered. “By the way, Master, did you know that she didn’t even know of the existence about the Clone War? Quite honestly, I find it quite hard to believe that she couldn’t have known…!”
“She has been a – a slave since before the war began,” Grievous frowned to himself, disliking how that word sounded to him.
“Even so, that’s hardly an excuse to be ignorant of a Galaxy-wide conflict that’s been ongoing for almost two standard years, now!” A4-D’s tone was incredulous. “Wouldn’t you agree, Master?”
“There would have been a language barrier,” the cyborg growled, his eyes narrowing fractionally, “no one offworld of Kalee speaks Kaleesh.”
Well, maybe that wasn’t exactly true, but the number of non-Kaleesh individuals who did know the language was negligible. And somehow Grievous doubted they spent much of their time translating coverage of the War to a language nearly no one else spoke.
“Then it is a good thing she learned Basic,” A4-D’s words brought Grievous out of his thoughts.
“Yes,” he grunted.
“Would you like to talk to her?” The EV droid suddenly asked, catching Grievous off-guard.
“What?” Grievous blinked in alarm, a little stunned. “No, A4-D!” He snapped, quickly regaining his composure, “I do not have the time – “
“Oh, would you look at that, Master, she’s already here!” A4-D abruptly cut in. “In fact, she arrived while we were speaking.”
Before that point, Grievous had never known it possible for a droid – defective or otherwise – to sound quite so maddeningly smug. It shouldn’t even have been possible, but somehow, his doctor managed to pull it off.
“A4-D!!” Grievous snarled as the droid moved out of view.
Grievous knew that A4-D wouldn’t have dared pull such a stunt had Grievous been on Kryolos – or even in the general vicinity of the system – out of fear of bodily harm. But with Grievous being so many hundreds of parsecs away, it seemed that the medical droid simply could not resist. But at the same time, Grievous was dreading speaking to Ronderu. It had been over two standard weeks since he had initially taken her to his fortress – or even spoken to her, for that matter. Mostly, it was because he was afraid she would figure out who he really was. And he didn’t want that.
He wasn’t ready for her to know, and in all honesty, Grievous doubted he would ever be ready.
But regardless of his inner turmoil, there was Ronderu, stepping into view and there was nothing Grievous could do. He froze, looking at her, finding himself pinned by her gaze. He could always end the transmission and that would be that. But…he didn’t. he couldn’t bring himself to. Grievous hesitated, and in that time, Ronderu folded her bare arms over her chest. The movement snapping the cyborg out of his thoughts. Only then did he notice the Magnaguard lurking just at the edge of the hologram. So it would appear that A4-D was more wary of Ronderu than he let on.
He couldn’t help the twinge of pride he felt at that realization.
“Ronderu,” Grievous spoke first, “it is good to see you again.”
The words the General spoke were genuine. Seeing her again, it… made him feel lighter somehow. Unfortunately, the faceplate he wore distorted his already modulated voice to the point that it sounded sarcastic even to him. And Grievous knew that if he could notice it, then there was absolutely no doubt about Ronderu picking up on it, too. He winced inwardly as he saw her face grow colder.
“General Grievous,” her voice was flat and dry as the steppes he had grown up in. “I wish I could say the same.”
He felt wounded, but decided to push on, anyway.
“I hear you tried to escape,” he said simply.
“Yes, but that was almost eight days ago, now,” Ronderu admitted with disinterest. “Or did your faithful doctor not inform you sooner? I’m surprised.”
“You’re not the only one,” Grievous muttered, his eyes flicking over to the barely-visible figure of A4-D at the edge of the hologram. “But I trust you have learned something from the attempt?”
Ronderu frowned thoughtfully, raising her left hand so she could tap at her jaw with one clawed finger. The movement drew Grievous’ attention to her smaller-than-usual tusks and he remembered how she had once told him how she had been insecure about them. At the time, he had been surprised by her unexpected confession, but that had not stopped him from offering her comfort in his own, admittedly rather awkward, way. Still, he had succeeded in convincing her that they were nothing to be ashamed of.
“They’d be a smaller liability in battle,” Qymaen had pointed out, trying to be logical. “Less of a chance of someone trying to go for them – and succeeding.”
“And long hair isn’t a liability?” Ronderu had half-snorted.
“Of course not.” He’d said with such certainty. “Not when it comes to you.”
She had looked at him in surprise then. And Qymaen, too, had stared back at her, blinking once in confusion. Her surprise gave way to a smile and she had punched his shoulder affectionately. It was by no means a soft blow, and he had almost fallen off his precarious perch from the force of it. Watching him struggle to maintain his balance had made her laugh, and Qymaen made an irritated face at her when he was no longer at risk of falling over. She, of course, remained unfazed, merely grinning back at the younger warrior. In return, he’d rolled his eyes and turned away – though a smile tugged at the corners of his own mouth.
“Besides,” he added gruffly, “you’ve survived this long, haven’t you? I’d say that speaks for itself…”
“Look at you – must have been quite the sweet-talker back home, hm?” She’d teased.
Qymaen had sputtered, caught off-guard by her comment and failing to produce anything beyond inarticulate sounds. And oh, how Ronderu had laughed then.
He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of Ronderu’s voice as she replied to his earlier question.
“Oh, I’ve certainly learned something,” she concluded, her eyes flickering back towards him. “You have poor taste in pets, General.”
“That thing is not my pet,” he growled in response, while sadly remembering Gor.
“As you say,” came her flippant response.
Closing his eyes wearily, Grievous sighed wearily. When he opened them again, it was to look at the Magnaguard that was standing a little ways behind Ronderu.
“I believe that concludes our conversation for today, Ronderu.” He said, attempting to remain as polite as he could manage. “Take her to the library,” he instructed the Magnaguard.
The IG droid nodded dutifully before proceeding to seize hold of Ronderu’s upper arm and steer her away. Grievous saw her bare her teeth in a show of anger she didn’t bother to conceal. She yanked her hand out of the droid’s grip and walked ahead imperiously, not bothering to look back. And even though he couldn’t see her face, Grievous could just as easily picture the thunderous expression that would be on it. He waited for a little while until the two figures had disappeared, before looking at A4-D who shuffled back into sight.
“Why didn’t you inform me of this sooner?” He asked the doctor.
“Why?” A4-D’s voice was incredulous. “I’ll tell you why, Master, because you were busy, that’s why. If I had told you of what had happened when it did, you would have been distracted when you should have been engaged in glorious battle against the Republic!”
A4-D shook a raised fist to further reinforce his point of ‘glorious battle’. Honestly, that droid really had all the wrong ideas about war…
But Grievous understood what A4-D was getting at. Distraction in the middle of a battle could lead to possible injuries – or worse – that would require him to return to Kryolos for repairs. And returning to Kryolos would mean having to confront Ronderu again. Something that he was not ready to do. Something that he didn’t want to have to do. And something told him that in such an instance, it was doubtful he would have been able to keep up his façade. He would have slipped up somewhere; accidently give away information that would have raised Ronderu’s suspicions…
“Very well, A4-D,” Grievous huffed, wresting himself away from his swiftly spiraling thoughts. “That will be all for now.”
The EV droid bowed his head, maybe in acknowledgement or maybe in respect, it was hard to tell with him – and then the hologram flickered out.
For a few moments, Grievous stood alone in the quiet of the room. He continued to look at the transmitter still on the floor for a little while longer before actually bending to pick it up and stow it away in the folds of his cloak. Looking up, he found his attention drawn to the view beyond the panes of transparisteel that were set opposite the door. Grievous barely registered how his feet carried him right up to the panes so he could see more. Not that there was much to see… There was nothing but the black void of space, dotted with pinpricks of blue and white light from stars in other systems. The sight made Grievous think of his own situation. Even in the darkness of space, there was light.
Even in his sorrow, in his despair, there was still hope.
Hope for a better future. A better future for Ronderu, and for all his people.
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Walking back to the library, Ronderu could feel the Magnaguard following closely behind her.
Choosing not to roll her eyes, she was annoyed at the fact that Grievous’ droid doctor would no longer be taking any chances with her after her failed escape attempt. Because for as much as he may dislike her, she knew he dared not go against his Master’s orders – the ones that specifically said that she was to remain her, alive and unharmed. But she still wondered what the cyborg could possibly want from her. Was he hoping to get something out of this?
Certainly, he must have needed something from her – why go through all this effort otherwise?
He could deny it all he wanted, but Ronderu knew that Grievous was concerned for her wellbeing – in his own odd, possessive sort of way – or else he wouldn’t have been so invested in her being alive. Was it just because they were both Kaleesh?
But then surely he would realize that at a time like this, death would be a mercy to her. No sooner had that thought crossed her mind that Ronderu snorted with derision. Grievous may have been Kaleesh, but there was no denying that he was a coward – unable to bring himself to grant her an honorable death. she frowned then, something beginning to take vague shape within her mind.
What if…the next time Grievous was here, she challenged him to a duel…?
Warrior against warrior, he wouldn’t be able to refuse. He would have to accept. And if she won, she would be able to return home. If not, then… at least she would have the dignity of dying a warrior’s death.
Even this simple idea stirred the smallest flicker of hope within her. And then, unexpectedly, she felt that hope swell and could not help but smile. She recognized Qymaen in some of it, and the thought that he was out there, possibly even waiting for her, gave her a much-needed boost of morale.
It was heartening to know that despite everything, Qymaen was still out there.