Chapter Text
The news came during one of Cal’s training sessions.
His padawan was progressing nicely. Jaro admitted as much to himself as he watched the boy delicately balance himself on the floating platforms spread across the training center, arms splayed for balance. He steadied himself, then jumped up again, using a Force-assisted push to propel himself up to the next platform. A moment later, a stun shot rang out—and Cal’s lightsaber flew into his hand, the blue blade slicing the stun into a fizzle of crackling energy.
“Hey! Cheap shot, Commander!” He yelped, jerking backwards, but Commander Alloy just laughed, firing off another shot that the padawan easily deflected.
“Focus. Were you concentrating, you would have anticipated that distraction,” Jaro cut in before they could start goofing off in earnest, sending an appraising look at his commander, who was only mildly chastened by his words. Shaking his head, he typed in a few more commands, sending the platforms flying across the room. Cal scurried after the new path, now paying attention to his exposed back, and Jaro watched his progress with no small amount of pride.
In the ten months since he had been apprenticed, Cal Kestis had improved in leaps and bounds in his training. Jaro was already considering taking him to the field on their next assignment, months before he’d initially planned. He’d be far from the front lines, of course; age aside, Jaro had focused much more on Cal’s Force abilities than his saberwork, which was nowhere near ready for the battlefield. But he would be planetside, likely helping with the supply division, and hopefully it would be enough for his padawan to begin to see this war as more than an abstraction.
The clinking of leather boots on metal drew him out of his musings, and Jaro allowed himself a satisfied expression as Cal clambered his way into the observation office, glistening with sweat but grinning at his accomplishment.
“Excellent work, Padawan,” he rumbled. “We’ll get you started on physical training first, then—”
He was cut off by the ping of Commander Alloy’s communicator. He paused, glancing over as Alloy answered the ping with a click.
“Lieutenant Commander Tomcat,” Alloy greeted, mildly relieved. “I hope you’ve come with good news.”
“I wish I could give it to you, sir,” Tomcat sighed, his miniature hologram crossing his arms with great consternation. “It’s official: the Albedo Brave ’s hypercomm system is completely busted. We won’t be getting any signals further than Bracca until we can get it up and running again.”
“That’s not good,” Cal mumbled, his disappointment flaring in the Force. Jaro knew that he had been hoping to message some of his padawan friends earlier that morning, but with the hypercomm currently malfunctioning at the level it was, it looked like that wasn’t going to be an option for him.
He stopped himself there, then made a mental note to work on his pawadan’s mental shielding—Jaro couldn’t afford to be drawn into the typical preteen trials that Cal was projecting, not out here—as he turned over to his commander.
“How long can we expect repairs to take?” He asked, and Alloy turned the comm so Tomcat could address him directly.
“Hard to say, General,” he admitted. “Without the hypercomm, we don’t have faster-than-light communications, so we can’t ask the engineers on Coruscant or Kamino. Burrow’s looked into it, though, and thinks we’re out an essential part to the amplifier that we don’t have a replacement for. Fortunately, Bracca will almost certainly have it somewhere in the scrapyards planetside, but it’s impossible to guess how long that will take. I’ve already spoken to Lieutenant Commander Flick about sending a squad down to look, if I may have your permission?”
“Yes,” Jaro agreed immediately. “But make sure that your sailors have some infantry protection as well. Major Keel from Gold Company should have a squad or two to spare.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” The hologram flickered off.
Right as the transmission ended, the Force screamed.
It was a shuddering, grievous wail, with such strength that it very nearly made Jaro lose his footing and cry out. As it was, the fall became a wobble, and the cry a grunt as a hand flew up to his head in an effort to steady himself.
“Master!” Cal cried out, his concern in the Force a pinprick against the maelstrom of the greater galaxy. Little hands grabbed at his free arm, and it was enough for Jaro to center himself, blinking reflexive tears out of his eyes. He was gasping for breath, he realized, and as he returned to his bearings, there was a sudden chill in the air.
It was Dark. So Dark.
“Should I call medical, sir?” Alloy asked, all business. He had to be well aware that this was a Jedi matter, but Jaro had served with him long enough to see his question as his way of showing concern.
“No, Commander…” he trailed off, shaking his head as he looked down at Cal, who was watching him in worry. He did not seem to have sensed the scream, and for that Jaro was grateful. “Something terrible has happened. We must get our communications up as quickly as possible and contact the Jedi Order.” He paused, then set a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “Padawan, go and find Lieutenant Cabur.”
The dismissal went over about as well as he thought it would. Cal’s eyes shot wide, big and green in dismay.
“But Master, if something’s happened—”
He had no patience for it. “Now. Go.”
For a moment longer, Cal stared back in protest with those eyes of his (and he really ought to know better, the big-eyes look hadn’t worked on Jaro Tapal since the second week of his apprenticeship), before finally crumbling. He gave a curt, stiff nod, then darted off, the lapels of his robes swaying behind him before the door wooshed shut.
Jaro sighed heavily, running a hand over his face again. He had not been so unnerved by the Force since he was a young padawan under Master Yaddle, and his natural sensitivity to the living Force had gone unchecked. He was lucky Cal had a different proclivity to the Force than he—the last thing he wanted was for his apprentice to have suffered what he had.
His hands were shaking. Jaro stared at them for a moment, surprised, then clenched and unclenched them to quell it.
“Inform the Lieutenant that my apprentice is to remain away from any area of importance on the ship until I call for him,” he commanded Alloy, who nodded curtly and started typing into his com immediately.
“I’ll get him to Medical,” he replied easily. “Sargeant Mantle is still recovering from his concussion, and I know the Commander has been asking for him.”
Jaro nodded, only half-paying attention to the news of Cal’s clone squad. Technically they were there for his apprentice to lead, though more often than not they were his bodyguards—as Sgt. Mantle had valiantly demonstrated during the space battle above Bracca, saving his padawan from falling down some stairs due to an errant missile hit—and even more often, his babysitters. Cal would be in good hands with Lt. Cabur while Jaro dealt with this new development. That man knew how to distract a youngling without them even noticing.
“Something dreadful has happened, Commander,” he finally said, removing his hand from his face. He took a deep breath and centered himself. “A great many Jedi have just died.”
“Sir?” Alloy echoed, shocked, but Jaro just shook his head.
“I have no answers for you, but a great evil has occurred. We must get our communications up and running as soon as possible. Have Lieutenant Commander Tomcat head the efforts personally if he must. It is imperative that we know what’s just happened.”
“Yes, sir!” Alloy saluted, then made his way down towards the Communications wing. Jaro watched him go for a moment, then shook himself and started towards the bridge.
And everything continued on as normal. It unsettled Jaro deep in his core, in that manner of speaking that was more due to the Force than any instincts of his own. It set him on edge. He felt almost like he was a dead man walking, like he was missing something vitally important, and he had no method of figuring out what.
He hardly registered the greetings of his officers as he walked onto the bridge, waving away the officer of the deck in a manner unbecoming of his station, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. With the Force as tumultuous as it was, he found himself feeling quite adrift in the busywork of his men.
The minutes ticked by. There was a faint shudder as the Albedo Brave’s hangar doors swung open and two landing ships began their journey down to Bracca. Jaro couldn’t see the planet directly from the bridge due to their orientation, but the two small moons the planet boasted swung into view as he watched Tomcat’s men make their way to the surface. As he watched the ship leave his line of sight, he prayed that they would find their replacement parts quickly.
In a moment of morbidity, he wondered if anyone he knew personally were among the deaths he had felt in the Force.
Perhaps an hour passed in silence before the officer of the deck called them to attention. Every clone in the room who was able snapped to their feet, and Jaro turned just in time to see the bridge’s new arrival set them at ease.
“Admiral Venaya,” he greeted, dipping his head as the Pantoran woman strode towards him. Only a few years older than him, Rear Admiral Myran Venaya was impeccably dressed as always, her uniform neatly pressed and hair tucked underneath a simple, small white headdress. Her expression was kept smoothly expressionless, but Jaro had served with her for almost four years now, and knew the tells of her concern when he saw it.
And she had every right to be. As captain of the Albedo Brave, Admiral Venaya was of equal rank and authority as him when it came to naval matters, and so Jaro was not surprised when she immediately got down to business.
“Commander Alloy told me that something happened,” she said in lieu of returning his welcome, quiet so the men couldn’t overhear. “Something to do with the Force. Is it a matter I should be concerned about?”
Jaro hesitated. It was not often that he spoke of Jedi matters with Venaya—they both knew their authorial purviews and rarely went beyond that. But the Force, still stinging and sobbing, prodded at him, and so he decided to be open about it.
“A great many Jedi died, all at once,” he said, swallowing against the dryness of his throat. “I cannot say how or why, only that it is true.”
“All at once?” Venaya repeated, and Jaro nodded. “A coordinated attack, then.”
“After the kidnapping of the Chancellor, it does not seem beyond their capabilities. The question in my mind is where it happened, and how many.”
For a long moment, Venaya was silent. The darkness of the Force clouded Jaro’s ability to sense greatly, but even in his diminished state, he could see the moment a thought she found quite horrifying crossed her mind.
“General,” she said after a long moment, glancing at him. “There is only one place in the galaxy where any large number of Jedi can be killed at once.”
The Temple. The mere thought was so horrifying that Jaro shuddered, and it was made worse by the fact that he knew she was right.
“That’s impossible,” he replied, sounding much more certain than he felt.
“I can only speculate,” Venaya deferred, turning her attention back to the vastness of space before them. Thankfully, she changed the subject when she spoke next. “I just finished speaking with Lieutenant Commander Tomcat. He’s headed down to the surface personally to oversee the replacement retrieval. He expects repairs to take another quarter rotation at the least, however.”
Too long. Jaro resisted the urge to twitch at the news. He almost suggested setting a course for Coruscant immediately, to provide help wherever needed, but stayed his hand before the idea could get too far. The last orders the 13th Battalion and the Albedo Brave had received was to ensure the containment of Bracca—the system was too critical to risk losing just because they had lost their comms.
“Is there a chance of using Bracca’s communications systems to contact the Order?” He tried again, and Venaya shook her head.
“The Separatists’ bombing of the capital was thorough,” she replied. “I had Communications look into it during the ground campaign, and it was unusable by then. The Scrapper's Guild… perhaps they have a hypercomm, but…”
“They wouldn’t give us access to it even if they did,” Jaro finished with a sigh. That was what he thought. The Scrapper’s Guild of Bracca had sided with the Separatists in the battle for the planet, and opinions of the Republic would be as low as they could be right now.
They stood together in companionable silence for a while longer, listening to the bustle of the clones as they went about their typical duties. The more Jaro listened to it, the more it grated underneath his skin, that burrowing wrongness emanating from the Force. He felt like a dead man walking, waiting only for the moment that some unforeseen enemy would come and strike him down where he stood.
He suddenly wished that he hadn’t sent Cal away. Despite the common sense of the move, the Force was still echoing danger, danger, you should be dead, and it was severely unsettling.
“General Tapal,” Venaya said, breaking the silence. “I can keep the watch here on the bridge. Like as not, things will get busy once the hypercomm is up and running again.”
It was a subtle offering, and Jaro raised an eyebrow at her. Venaya shrugged minutely, and he acquiesced.
“You know me too well, Admiral,” he chuckled hoarsely. “Very well. I’ll retire to my quarters for a few hours. Inform me immediately if anything changes.”
“As you say, General,” Venaya nodded, then hesitated before adding, in a softer tone for only him to hear: “I hope you can forgive me when I say that I want your instincts to be wrong.”
They were not. Deep in his heart, Jaro knew that something had gone terribly wrong, even if he could not say what. But for the sake of his men, he held himself high and dipped his head, then left the bridge to try and clear his mind.
He likely should have slept, but Lasats as a species needed less sleep than the typical human, and even if he had wanted to, Jaro knew himself well enough to know that he would be lucky to get anything deeper than a light doze. So instead, he tried to meditate.
Key word being try. It was another thing this upset in the Force had set askew in himself. When Jaro tried to immerse himself in the Force, to try and deduce where the screaming was coming from, he found himself nearly drowning in a whirlwind of grief. Never before, even in the worst days of the war, had the Force felt so dark. There was no peace to be found in meditation, not today.
When he finally gave up and resurfaced, he was shivering.
Only a few hours had passed, so Jaro took his meal in the privacy of his quarters. Just as he was putting his dishware away, there was a flicker on the edge of his consciousness, and he moved to the door. He opened it just in time to see Commander Alloy raising his hand to knock.
“Commander,” he greeted, and Alloy went to attention. “What is it?”
“News from Bracca, sir. Tomcat’s men found the replacement part quicker than expected. He’s returned to the Albedo Brave and has initiated repairs.”
“That is good,” Jaro nodded, though he found it difficult to find relief in it. “Has anything else changed?”
“Commander Kestis convinced Lt. Cabur to run the jungle gym,” Alloy answered, dryly, and that did bring Jaro some alleviation to his troubles. “Without direct authorization.”
“Let it slide this once,” he decided, waving a hand. Cal was always itching to try out the different trainings Jaro would facilitate for him, and more than once had tried to run one on his own when he was bored. These unsupervised escapades usually ended with him stuck in some high corner of the training room, which was why the troopers referred to it as the ‘jungle gym’. “I want Cal uninvolved with these troubles for the moment.”
Alloy nodded, typing a brief message into his com before returning his attention to him. “The hypercomm should be mission ready in a few minutes if you’re ready, sir.”
Jaro took a deep breath, steadied himself, and nodded. “Then there is no time to waste, Commander.”
Alloy fell into step behind him as Jaro made his way over to the Communications wing. As they went, he noted the temperaments of the men—calm, content, happy in some cases. That, at least, put him a little at ease. The ship’s all-knowing rumor mill had yet to add his worries to its catalogs.
Admiral Venaya was waiting for them just outside the main communications room, LCDR Tomcat at her side. The latter came to attention as he approached, then relaxed when Jaro nodded at him, pulling out a datapad as he came to a stop.
“How are the repairs, Tomcat?” he asked, doing his best to quell the Force-inspired jitter in his heart.
“Better than expected, sir,” he replied, a deep satisfaction in his voice. Jaro could not blame him; communication issues were notoriously difficult to address, and Tomcat had addressed a critical failure within a day. “It will take around another hour to reconnect our inner communications with the hypercomm, but everything’s up and running.”
“Any news?”
“We have several missed messages, including from Master Yoda on Kashyyyk and from the Senate.” He paused then, his pride fading into a flicker of worry. “Less than I would have expected. Nothing from the last four hours. I didn’t want to open anything before you arrived, sir.”
“Nothing?” Alloy echoed. “No new orders from High Command?”
Tomcat shook his head, and Jaro’s frown deepened. They had been told to expect new orders sometime today—why hadn’t it arrived?
“Put us through to the Jedi Temple immediately,” he ordered, and Tomcat nodded, hurrying off to pass on his orders. Jaro didn’t wait for him to return, pushing into the communications room. It had been entirely emptied during the repairs, thankfully, and as Venaya and Alloy filed in after him, the holotable in the center of the room flickered on, pulsing blue as it waited to be picked up.
The minutes ticked by. The call continued to go unanswered. The pit in Jaro’s chest opened into an abyss.
“They would have answered by now,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Something has happened.” It was becoming frustrating to say. Something had happened, but what?
“Should we take the messages we’ve already received?” Alloy asked, and Jaro considered it. Yoda’s message had been expected, likely an update on the campaign on Kashyyyk, which was only two sectors over. The Senate, though, was odd. Any news they had to give was typically transmitted through High Command.
“If I may,” Venaya began, glancing over at them. “I have the personal communication number of Admiral Jaskyl, in Mace Windu’s command. He’s on Coruscant with him right now, and has his personal communication number.”
“Do you trust him?” Jaro asked, and Venaya nodded firmly.
“With my life. I’ve known him since we were midshipmen at Coruscant’s Naval Academy. He’ll be able to put us in contact with the Temple.”
“Very well, then,” Jaro acquiesced, and Venaya pulled out her personal comlink, plugging it into the holotable. She typed in a few commands, then stepped back as the call went through.
For perhaps half a minute, the call hovered in limbo. Just as Jaro was about to voice his concerns, however, the holotable flickered, and then their call was picked up.
What met them was a human male in a ragged military uniform, balding at the top and with a pair of glasses perched on his nose. He was walking, almost jogging, and his breaths came in short bursts as he immediately began talking, eyes trained on something out of sight.
“Myran, am I glad to see you. I was starting to worry that you were dead too. Are you alright? It’s just the 13th around Bracca, are you alone? The clones—”
“I’m not alone, Admiral Jaskyl,” Venaya cut in, her voice thin. Finally, Jaskyl looked down at his communicator and stopped dead in his tracks.
“...General,” he said, suddenly very quiet as he addressed Jaro. He glanced over at Alloy, and Jaro had a feeling that if the hologram was in color, they would have seen him gone white. “Five minutes, Myran. Take no other communications. That’s an order.”
The hologram flickered off.
“Sirs,” Alloy said after a long, drawn out moment of silence. “What was that?”
“Whatever happened,” Jaro replied, deep in thought.
They said nothing else for a long time. Jaro could feel Venaya’s roiling fear rising in the Force, which was enough for him to know that Admiral Jaskyl’s demeanor had been extremely unusual. He had thought that Venaya might have been dead too… perhaps this disaster had taken place off Coruscant after all? It was a morbid relief, but the thought that the Temple might have been attacked was even worse.
After what felt like an eternity, the holotable indicated an incoming call. Without a word, Venaya bent down and accepted it.
Admiral Jaskyl’s hologram reappeared. He seemed to have composed himself somewhat, but Jaro suspected that he was still white in the face as he adjusted himself.
“Admiral Venaya, General Tapal,” he began, then paused to swallow. “Forgive my bluntness, but I must ask that clone trooper to leave the room.”
Alloy straightened, and Tapal glanced over at him, confused. “Admiral Jaskyl, I can assure you that Commander Alloy is completely trustworthy—”
“No, he’s not,” Jaskyl interrupted him. “Forgive me. But I will say nothing until he leaves, and I don’t have much time.”
“It’s alright, General,” Alloy cut in. “I can go see to the bridge.”
“Very well,” Tapal sighed, and Alloy left the room.
“Haven’t you received the Order?” Jaskyl asked as the door closed, and Venaya shook her head.
“An order? No, our hypercomm was defective. We just got it back online.”
“Thank the Force,” Jaskyl breathed, staring off into the distance. “That’s why you’re still alive.”
“What happened, Admiral?” Jaro bit out, growing quite tired of all this mystery.
“I hardly know,” Jaskyl replied, his voice suddenly thick. “There was… I don’t know, something happened. The Chancellor’s taken power and declared the Jedi to be traitors. There was some sort of order…” he trailed off, emotional. “The clones have been turning on their Jedi. All of them. Captain Criscov called me just before you, Venaya, with news from the 104th. Master Plo Koon’s gone, shot down by his own men above Cato Neimoidia. When Melisa tried to stand them down, then protested their actions… they shot her dead, too. Criscov got promoted to replace her.”
Jaro did not know who this “Melisa” was, but considering how Venaya’s hand flew to her mouth, she had been close to both officers.
“There was no hesitation?” He asked, in disbelief, and Jaskyl shook his head.
“None. The reports are still coming in, but… Master Tapal, it was the entire Grand Army. Plo Koon will only be one of many. Every clone who got the message turned. The 501st marched on the Temple; I don’t know what happened there, but it’s burning. I think Mace Windu is dead as well. None of my calls to him have gone through.”
Jaro felt like he might faint. The 501st. The Temple. Burning.
Then he sucked in a long breath, held it, and released the barrage of emotions he was feeling into the Force. The last thing his men needed in this time of trial was for him to break. He would not let them down.
“Admiral Venaya,” he said. “How many non-clone officers do we have on board?”
“A dozen, including me,” Venaya replied. As if she could sense Jaro’s resolve, she too brought herself up, wiping at her eyes briefly before reigning herself in. “All of us are Navy. We wouldn’t stand a chance against the clones.”
“Then we must ensure that they don’t receive this order. Tomcat must not continue in his repairs; if the hypercomm is reconnected to our inner communications all will be lost.”
“I have to go,” Jaskyl cut in, glancing at something out of range of the hologram. He chuckled loosely, but it didn’t last long, fading back into grief as he spoke. “There’s only so long I can hide in the refresher. I’ll contact you when I have more information.”
“Stay safe, Terris,” Venaya said softly, and he nodded.
“You need it more than I, Myran.” He turned to Jaro then, and dipped his head. “May the Force be with you, Master Jedi.”
The hologram flickered off. For a moment, they stood there, processing. Finally, Jaro forced himself to think. There would be a time for grieving later—for now, his first priority needed to be the safety of himself and Cal.
“Ensure that no clone gets access to the communications system, Admiral. Transfer as many non-clones here as you must to ensure this. I need to find my Padawan.”