Chapter 18

Sometimes-all the time, really, but Barriss tried to believe in optimism-Barriss felt like a puppet motivated by whatever strings Rain felt like wielding that day. Why her captor left Barriss alone on her own ship was beyond her, and as all things surrounding him, the Force was of no usefulness.

Star frigate Unicorn blazed a path towards the distant world of Atraken, threading a precarious line through the orbital minefield that enveloped the planetary system. The lifeless husks of warships drifted here and there among the moons, whatever interstellar battlefield there was long since metamorphosing into a new artificial ring of debris.

From the corner of her eye, Barriss noticed a bright explosion as a ruined corvette hull impacted a leftover mine, blasting microparticles their way. She was about to return her attention at first, but a voice rang through her mind-remember, repeaters are your friend; look at them enough and you don’t need the viewport-and Barriss forced herself to read the relevant readout.

The monitor displayed a flashing silhouette of Unicorn, offset bars fluctuating as the ship’s particle shields absorbed the rippling blows.

“Two-Two-Double-Oh,” the tactical droid TF-1726 called, “Have Centaur report her condition.”

OOM-2200-Taylor-lifted his head from his console, “Her shields are holding, sir. Gallow advises we find another path through the minefield.”

“Inform him that is denied,” TF-1726 droned, “The minefield is protecting us from enemy interception.”

TF-1726, or Tuff, as he was known as, was the new captain of the small Unicorn Squadron-which consisted of Unicorn and its sister ship Centaur-and apparently Barriss’ new commanding officer. Internally, the young Jedi didn’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted that her captor had concluded a mere droid was enough to watch over her. It’s almost as if he didn’t care if she escaped.

Which must be why, hindsight hummed in her head, he sent me to Atraken. I don’t need to be watched here. Even if Barriss managed to escape to the Republic battlelines, nobody was getting out of the planet’s orbit, much less the system.

The vast minefield was deployed by Separatist minelayers, and as such possessed trackers that allowed Separatist ships to avoid them. Apparently it was originally done to prevent even more Republic reinforcements from arriving, but inadvertently turned the ravaged system into an isolated battle forsaken by both sides of the war.

“We’re receiving a transmission from Trilos, sir,” a comms droid chirped.

“Patch it though.”

“Unidentified ship, this is Trilos Control, be advised that you are entering the Atraken Exclusion Zone,” an humanoid voice cautioned, “Identify yourself and your purpose, and standby for transponder verification.”

“Trilos Control, this is Confederate Navy ships Unicorn and Centaur,” Tuff replied, “We were dispatched by Ringo Vinda to assist in the relief efforts. Transmitting transponder codes.”

The tactical droid nodded at Taylor, prompting the OOM to send the codes. Barriss briefly saw a code scramble across the display; CNF_2.11.4931.51.81.4_1310RV.

“Copy. Unicorn, Centaur, you are cleared for entry,” Control returned, “Please follow the designated spacelane to avoid mines and enemy interceptors. Report again as soon as you enter Trilos orbital zone.”

Unicorn decelerated smoothly as it passed the inner perimeter of the minefield, navicomputers plugging in the data received from Orbital Control to plot a safe inbound heading towards the moon of Trilos. As the only of Atraken’s three moons to possess a habitable atmosphere, Barriss heard from both the Shadowfeed and HoloNet News that the survivors of the battle had relocated there.

What she didn’t know, however, was that the moon was under Separatist control.

“Lieutenant Offee,” Tuff abruptly said to her, “You will act as the captain of this ship, and as the commanding officer of this squadron.”

What kind of trick is this now?

“… Why?” Barriss asked carefully, wary of whatever plot her captors had cooked up now.

She had spent enough time with TF-1726 to know that the tactical droid was one of Rain’s most trusted aides, perhaps second only to Hare, or Stelle. Whatever he had planned, the droid was almost certainly in on it.

“This is a mercy mission,” the tactical droid reminded, and she still couldn’t quite fully believe it, “A droid cannot represent a humanitarian effort, due to organic preconceptions. The ranking officer of Confederate forces on the moon will also be more receptive to an organic commander. While you speak with them, I will oversee the off-loading of medical supplies and provisions.”

When it was put that way… Barriss could somehow see the reason for it. Sweat gathered around her neck, and she tugged at her restricting collar to relieve the heat. She was about to reply something fierce, but then the dim glow of Atraken consumed the bridge.

Barriss was unwittingly agape, her mouth closing with a quiet click. Atraken was a beautiful world, with bountiful seas and great continents. Once, perhaps. Its oceans were a soupy sludge of grey-green, and its vast continental expanses transformed into sickly shades of yellow, weather patterns boiling and bubbling over it. There were little flowers that bloomed over the surface like water lilies, and tendrils of fire that lashed out from them razing the atmosphere as if it was poplar fluff.

The defiant lights of civilization still lingered-especially noticeable on the night side-but from afar, they appeared to Barriss like fireflies hiding within the brush while the forest burned around them, winking out one by one.

“This is…” she started.

“The result of the Republic’s atomic warfare,” Tuff said flatly.

“You… you don’t know that,” Barriss dared to challenge, “Any side could have started it!”

“Atraken is the capital of the Rolion Sector, which unanimously voted to secede from the Republic,” his vocabulator expressed a unique tone of disgust, “When the Republic realised they couldn’t take the planet, they decided neither side could.”

“I didn’t think you would care so much,” Barriss mumbled weakly, feeling a headache coming on.

“It is careless,” the droid scorned, “It is wasteful. I can calculate a hundred other courses of tactical import other than defoliating an entire planet in a vain attempt at resource denial.”

Barriss deflated, not for lack of response, but to concentrate on keeping the collective sorrow of Atraken out of her head. It felt like the entire planet was writhing in agony, its hands pounding on her mind’s doors, visions of collapsing skies and scorched cities flashing through her consciousness. Warheads that fell like hail, and columns of ash and smoke that blotted the sun in great mushroom form.

But there was a glimmer of hope in the Force-a light spark in darkness-and she had a feeling she knew where it came from.

“The civilian government has evacuated to Trilos,” Tuff explained, “Now, our mission criteria is not to defeat the Republic, but to save as much of the population as possible.”

The light codes on the sensor displays grew far sparser as they cleared the minefield, and Unicorn moved forward more rapidly, accelerating as it settled into its inbound vector for Trilos. There’s a Republic fleet on the other side of the planet, Barriss realised, directly opposite to the Separatist fleet on this side. They must both be too depleted to engage each other head on.

As they approached Trilos, Unicorn and Centaur merged into the clutter of starships surrounding the planet. An indiscernible number of freighters and perhaps commandeered merchantmen, a handful of frigates, and a single huge Lucrehulk that dwarfed them all to insignificance. Golden lights were strewn across the moon’s habitable surface; a government, and a people, in exile.

“Notify Trilos Control of our arrival and request instructions,” Tuff ordered.

“Unicorn, Centaur,” Trilos Control hailed, “Disengage all drives and standby for tractor tug guidance. Welcome to New Kattellyn.”

The surface of Trilos was rocky and destitute, but livable. New Kattellyn was a small city of mostly tenement blocks, straddled by two streams cutting through a desolate promontory. Massive open pit mines scarred the landscape, the heads of great highways that disappeared into the flanks of a mountain range.

Barriss afforded herself one last wry grimace of distaste at playing Separatist, and folded her true feelings beneath a mask of composure before leaving the ship.

A man in grey uniform met her, a mixture of thinly hidden dread and monumental relief on his face at the same time. Barriss wrinkled her nose in annoyance as white jets of steam blasted the ramp as the warship equalised its atmospheric pressure, and the man snapped into an uncertain salute upon her appearance, as if he had forgotten the fine details of the gesture.

“Lieutenant Rame Cartroll reporting, sir!”

Barriss swallowed some bile at that.

“Where’s your commanding officer?” she asked.

Lieutenant Cartroll faltered, but recomposed himself valiantly, “Dead, sir. Everybody above me is dead. I’m now the ranking officer of our forces in the system… I suppose you’re my CO now, sir.”

She blinked, somewhat stunned.

“… My captain was assassinated a week ago by enemy saboteurs,” he supplied, glancing over her shoulder at the droids unloading cargo, “Thank the stars at least one of our distress calls got through the Republic’s jamming.”

“I’m only a lieutenant,” Barriss said slowly, “Lieutenant Offee. I don’t have the… authority.”

Cartroll’s expression fell, “But… But you command this squadron right? I only have a corvette. That makes you my superior.”

Barriss winced internally, but didn’t let it show, “I suppose it does. Lead the way.”

Along the way, they passed by conspicuously out-of-place Coruscanti AA-9 freighters, the universal red sigil painted onto their hulls that signified humanitarian work and protected them from military attack. Despite that, many of them still showed signs of battle. Scorch marks, half-melted plating… Barriss could not see any gun emplacements. She didn’t know if she wished she did.

“Courtesy of the Refugee Relief Movement,” Lieutenant Cartroll nodded at them, “When the government realised they had to evacuate the planet, they contacted the RMM for help. Volunteers from Coruscant, Naboo, Alderaan, flooded here. Didn’t stop the Republic from shooting them. Now, they’re trapped on this rock with the rest of us. With some luck, your ships will change things.”

I don’t see how they can, Barriss thought. But she didn’t want to be pessimistic, and she still couldn’t quite believe the Republic would fire upon humanitarian vessels.

The same way you can’t believe they would glass a planet over losing? A traitorous part of her retorted. This isn’t the same Republic you know, girl.

They didn’t go into the city, but towards a large encampment on its outskirts. A refugee camp. It sprawled beneath an unforgiving sky, fabric tents and makeshift shelters huddled together like soldiers in formation. The emblem of the red sigil was displayed everywhere, on the tents, on the flagpoles, on the official uniforms of RRM workers, or even hastily patched onto the dresses of Atrakenite volunteers.

Barriss felt her heart ache in the Force. A symphony of voices weaves a tapestry of stories-tales of loss and resilience. Survivors, their faces etched with the weight of their ordeals, gather in communal spaces, sharing meagre meals but bound by a shared determination to rebuild shattered lives.

Names were heard over the bleakness. Not everybody was so fortunate. Not the dead-eyed children drifting between the shelters in packs, hunting for their parents. Nor the mothers shouting themselves hoarse, for a reply that might never come.

The want for survival and hope was prevalent, but Barriss sensed another want in the Force. A want for vengeance. Lingering. On the rear seat for now, but she did not know for how long more.

Barriss allowed herself to be immersed in it. Empathy was the Jedi way. Compassion was the Jedi way. These were not her enemies.

Two holograms awaited them in the largest tent, one a opulently dressed woman in purple silk, and another a tall, nondescript man with Coruscanti features.

“Lieutenant Cartroll,” the woman smiled, “Welcome news, I hope?”

“Very good news, Madam Organa,” Cartroll replied, easing himself, “Relief from Ringo Vinda; two star frigates laden with food, provisions, and medical supplies.”

Organa? Barriss wracked her head, recalling her Master’s old lessons. The Organas were the royal family of Alderaan, weren’t they? That means this must be… Celly Organa, the Chairwoman of the Refugee Relief Movement.

“Warships?” Celly Organa’s smile flattened.

“Pardon me, Madam Organa,” Barriss inserted herself in the conversation, “But this place is an active warzone, and if Lieutenant Cartroll is correct, then the Republic has seemingly no qualms about invading the sanctity of red sigil ships.”

A pained look crossed Celly Organa’s face while the other man scoffed in derision, folding his arms.

“Well said, officer,” he grunted, “Whichever Jedi’s in charge there, they’re not very Jedi-like, are they?”

“A Jedi is in charge of the Republic forces?” Barriss couldn’t stop herself from raising her voice in surprise-and with a tinge of denial.

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“So it would seem,” Madam Organa rubbed her forehead tiredly, “Nevertheless, it is a pleasure, officer. I am Celly Organa, Chairwoman of the Refugee Relief Movement. You might’ve already heard of us, but we’re an interstellar humanitarian group that operates throughout the galaxy.”

The man greeted her sharply, “Firris Palbert, Acting President of the People’s Inquest. A Jedi-accountability watchgroup. We find cases of Jedi overreach and send our journalists to report on the situation. The Atrakenites invited us, and we’re working with the RRM to give their plight some much needed exposure. The galaxy needs to see the injustice done here. We look forward to working with you.”

Barriss had heard of the People’s Inquest. Only a couple months ago they were fighting with the Jedi Temple over the Baby Ludi custody case, and probably still are even now. With how highly publicised the case was-she even heard a feature film was being made on it-Barriss would have to be living on Tatooine to not have heard of it. As it went, Jedi rescue workers took custody of an infant girl-Ludi Billane-in the wake of a devastating earthquake on Ord Thoden, thinking her parents were dead.

As it turned out, the girl’s mother-Jonava Billane-was in fact alive, and after a full rotation of searching for her daughter on Ord Thoden, bought a one-way trip to Coruscant in an attempt to get her back. The People’s Inquest, along with the majority of Coruscant’s student population, quickly supported her. The Jedi Council, however, denied her appeal, citing that it would be too dangerous now that Baby Ludi-renamed Aris-Del Wari-had Jedi training.

Barriss herself was rather neutral on the situation, having been on a mission off-world for the majority of the scandal, but she knew the case had gone interstellar. Alsakan, Alderaan, Corellia, even as far out as Eriadu-there were people marching on the streets against the Jedi on nearly every planet in the Core, to the point where rioting students even breached the Jedi Temple and defaced it with graffiti and paint.

“Lieutenant Offee, nice to meet you,” she deflated, letting her anxiousness go and serenity back in, “Alright, give me the situation.”

Lieutenant Cartroll straightened, “From a military standpoint, sir, our strategic position is unrecoverable-”

“From the beginning,” Barriss interrupted, “How did the situation deteriorate to this point?”

Mister Palbert raised a thin eyebrow, “Did the media war on the HoloNet not inform you, officer?”

Barriss stared blankly, “Are you telling me I should value the media over an official report?”

Cartroll flinched, “My apologies, sir! Give me a moment… !”

He fumbled with a handheld holoemitter, dialing some of the buttons-and a projection of the planet burst out the top.

“Several decades ago, prospectors found huge doonium mines on Atraken, and the government quickly invited Republic mining companies to extract them,” the Lieutenant wetted his lips.

“The most precious resource in the galaxy, these days,” Mister Palbert commented cynically.

“When Atraken seceded in favour of the Confederacy’s trade laws, the companies used their PMCs to seize the mines and call for help,” Cartroll ignored him, “Our fleets arrived first, obviously, and recaptured the mines before the Republic came. But they did, and the planet was split into east and western hemispheres. Thinking more enemy reinforcements were on route, the Commodore opted to blockade the planetary system with minefields. With their supplies dwindling and no reinforcements incoming, we began pushing them back.”

“The Republic started Operation Katabatic,” he continued, “We controlled the capital, Kattellyn City, most of the doonium mines, and orbital supremacy over the eastern hemisphere, see? So they resorted to using intercontinental ballistic missiles to target our bases and mines, and then cities when they realised the Atrakenites weren’t going to surrender. The Commodore ordered a full assault to stop them, which cost us our fleet-and his life-leaving both our forces incapable of another engagement. That’s where we are now.”

“And the evacuation effort?”

“That’s where we need your help, officer,” Madam Organa said, “Atraken’s watersheds and oceans have been poisoned by the fallout, leaving the entire planet uninhabitable. We’ve been receiving thousands of distress signals from the surface, but can’t access half of them due to the Republic’s orbital control over the western hemisphere.”

“Can’t you negotiate with them?”

“You think we haven’t tried!?” Firris Palbert raged, “Instead, they’ve threatened to shoot down every ship in their airspace!”

Barriss glanced at Lieutenant Cartroll, but the officer only shook his head solemnly. Something’s up, she felt it in the Force, something beyond rescuing refugees. There must be a reason the Republic is targeting humanitarian ships. It is unlike them to, much less the Jedi.

But for now, she couldn’t sense anything that gave her any reason to believe they were lying about the evacuation efforts. Besides, why would the Chairwoman of the Refugee Relief Movement of all people lie about this?

This isn’t about the Republic or Separatists anymore, Jedi or not. This was about saving innocent lives. When she returns to Coruscant, Barriss will find her answers; she swore it to the Force. She owed it to every lost Atrakenite, to every life lost to nuclear hellfire. If she had to wear her enemy’s colours, and fire upon those supposed to be her friends… if it meant righting injustice, Barriss will do so. If not gladly, then out of her duty as Jedi.

Whomever was in command of the Republic here… they were not Jedi. They can’t be.

“Alright,” Barriss finally conceded, “What’s the plan?”

“The Republic fleet is locked in geosynced orbit,” Lieutenant Cartroll pointed out, “Every day, Trilos crosses them. We dispatch our refugee ships, the Republic intercepts them, and our warships fend them off to limited success. Most of the time, we are forced to withdraw. Now, though, your squadron is here. To be honest, sir, we don’t have a chance in hell of retaking Atraken. My late captain had already agreed to pledge our remaining forces to helping the RRM, and I intend on following through.”