Chapter 24

Orbit of Metalorn, Metalorn System
Talcene Sector

“Thank you, Admiral,” Master Obi-Wan Kenobi handed back the datapad.

Admiral Block nodded stiffly, stifling a sigh, “Loathe am I to say it, General, but Metalorn’s going to be a tough nut to crack. It’s my opinion that the planet’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

A reasonable conclusion, Obi-Wan had to admit. The Techno Union has always kept a close hand on their possessions, and being Skakoan-dominated, it was perishingly difficult for spies to infiltrate their corporate hierarchy. It was public knowledge that Metalorn was one of the greatest forge worlds of the Outer Rim, but their scans had unearthed the depths of their ignorance.

Expansive subterranean factory-cities, automated ordnance foundries, uncountable numbers of droid command posts… there might not be a single sapient being left in the world, but that didn’t mean it was undefended. Far from it. There may be more battle droids crawling on the floating scrapheap then there are clone troopers in the galaxy. Each and every trench and derelict compound would be trapped to Malachor and back, and every tunnel fortified. And all the while, the droid foundries would continue churning out soldiers that fear nought, and needed no supply.

Completely clearing out the planet might take as long as the Clone Wars would rage, if it wasn’t completely impossible outright.

“What do you recommend, Admiral?”

“Base Delta Zero,” Admiral Block said bluntly, “I recognise that it is an extreme measure, but the protocol was created for precisely a situation such as this. We will never hold Metalorn in any meaningful capacity. There aren’t any civilian casualties to fret over. And our foes are all entrenched under the surface. We will slag the planet’s upper crust, and let the magma seep into the underground complexes, destroying any and all resistance.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. To his great shame, he couldn’t poke any holes in the Admiral’s logic. A thorough orbital bombardment would indeed be the simplest way to deny the Separatist Alliance the industrial powerhouse of Metalorn, even if it means the Republic will never be able to use it themselves. Then again, they might never will.

The Metalornians have already proven themselves willing to defend their world tooth and nail, launching every single one of their warships into orbit in a last-ditch attempt to destroy Master Plo’s taskforce. Not that it succeeded, but it proved their resolve and desperation.

“It might take months for us to crack their planetary shields,” Obi-Wan pointed out, not for opposition any more than curiosity as for what the Admiral thought of it.

“And it might take years to capture the planet, General,” Admiral Block replied professionally, “In my opinion, I see no other recourse. After the destruction of Metalorn’s standing fleet, we command complete and total orbital supremacy. We can station a handful of Acclamator-Twos in orbit and free the rest of our fleet. There is simply no reason, moral or rational, to not execute Code Base Delta Zero. Other than the sell-outs in the Senate, that is–they’ll protest–if that matters to you.”

It didn’t. But there was a small part inside Obi-Wan that did not want to be one of the few Jedi Masters who sanctioned such a horrific act, but the pragmatism of the soldier inside him eventually came out above. Still, with every passing day, Obi-Wan could feel himself ageing by years. He could not remember when he accepted that there was no ‘good’ in war–only lesser evils–and he did not know if that was preferable.

Some days, he felt as if the Jedi were slipping down a slope they could not see. And then when the fog of war lifts in its good time, they will find themselves in a pit they could not climb out of. Setting a precedent was opening a box you could not easily close, and he feared he was doing just that. One thing was true; the sooner this gruesome ordeal ends, the sooner peace can return to the galaxy.

Obi-Wan swallowed to prevent his voice from cracking, “Very well, Admiral. You have my leave.”

A miniscule, grim smile appeared on Block’s lips. One that suggested that while he was both relieved and satisfied that his Jedi General did not veto him, he was no happier with an orbital bombardment than Obi-Wan himself was. It must chafe him as a professional officer, if for different reasons compared to Obi-Wan, to utilise such a crude and blunt weapon.

“General Kenobi!” a messenger came up behind him, “General Koon is awake. He and Commander Tano are waiting for you in the medbay.”

A ray of light in these increasingly dire times.

“Inform them I will be there soon.”

“Yes, sir!” the messenger looked relieved to go, likely feeling as out-of-place on the command deck as a janitor would in a starfighter’s cockpit.

Obi-Wan swept the viewports with his gaze as he swung around, observing the remnants of the battle once fought here. He had read the report, and had wondered what sort of man the Separatist commander was to detonate his own flagship in a half-fireship, half-scuttling action.

Unfortunately, everybody who knew what had happened on the Impavid was dead, more than likely without even knowing what had killed them, so the only answers he will find will be with the handful of comatose troopers who were lucky enough to escape the blast. Master Plo Koon among them.

He chanced upon Saesee Tiin as the Iktotchi Jedi Master was coming up from the flight deck, his face stiff as the horns that framed his head. As Iktotchi were naturally attuned to the Force–with a particular gift for foresight–Master Tiin was able to sense the explosion before it happened, and lead his fighter wing behind the cover of a battleship. Still, it couldn’t prevent the loss of half his squadrons.

“It is unlike Master Plo to be taken at unawares by such a… choreographed action,” the reticent Jedi Master expressed, “Something happened inside that ship, the Castigation, that shook him.”

“It is not everyday you find an opponent willing to go to such lengths to deny victory,” Obi-Wan agreed, “Even tactical droids have some form of self-preservation programming.”

Plo Koon was one of the oldest members of the Jedi High Council, having ascended in the same year as Master Windu himself. Having led the Republic to victory during the Hyperspace War, he was one of the few Jedi Generals with any real prior military experience. His loss would have been a massive blow to the Jedi Order, and Obi-Wan was of the opinion that this time had cut it too close.

Vigilance’s medbay was clean and sterile, with rows of cots and bacta tanks lining the room, capable of treating hundreds at a time. Even though there were only a couple dozen beds occupied, it already seemed too high a number. Master Plo was already sitting up, thankfully completely intact–no doubt in due part to his thick Kel Dor hide.

Ahsoka was standing by his bed, having kept her vigil over him ever since he was recovered. Obi-Wan had heard it was Master Plo who had personally inducted the Togruta into the Order after discovering her on a mission to Shili. He knew there was a special bond between them that he would never be able to emulate, and maybe that was a good thing. For all of her zeal and alacrity, this was one a perishingly few times he had witnessed his Padawan adopt a face of patience and reflection.

Whether it was his teachings paying off–Ahsoka was a second-coming of Anakin in that regard, oddly enough–or simply mere worry for her old friend, Obi-Wan was grateful for it nonetheless.

“It’s good to see that you are well, Master.”

Plo Koon looked up at Saesee Tiin slowly, “The loss of Impavid–”

“Shies before the importance of your recovery,” Master Tiin interjected, “Worry not over it, my friend. What matters is that you are alive.”

“You left her in my care.”

“Nobody could have expected our foe to do such a foolhardy thing,” the Iktotchi shook his head, drawing the curtains that would separate them from the rest of the medical bay.

Master Plo attempted to stand up as the injured troopers beside them disappeared from view, but Ahsoka swiftly–and gently–held him down, not unlike a fretting nurse, “The medical officer said you are still too weak to walk, Master. Please don’t.”

The old Master grunted, but acquiesced.

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said softly.

His Padawan snapped up at him like a cat, reading his face. Her sharp eyes flitted between the three Jedi Masters, and her annoyed expression morphed into tacit understanding.

She bowed her head, “I will take my leave, Masters.”

Masters. Three Jedi Masters on one ship. And not just mere Masters, but members of the High Council. If the Separatists ever got wind about this… Obi-Wan could already hear the ired–but not unjustified–berating of Republic Intelligence attachés. The only reason both Master Plo and Master Tiin were assigned together was because of their shared history, and the sheer significance of Metalorn to the war.

Obi-Wan dragged out two chairs for he and Master Tiin to sit on, feeling the ship sway beneath his feet as Admiral Block’s steady hand guided them through the debris field.

“Master, what exactly happened on that ship?” he asked as straightforwardly as he could without sounding insensitive.

“We found the man we were looking for,” Plo Koon looked him in the eye, “Rain Bonteri. Who defeated Skywalker at Corvair, you at Christophsis, and now I, here over Metalorn.”

“But he wasn’t on the ship.”

“No,” the Kel Dor sighed through his antiox mask, “He had tightbeamed a real-time holo of himself to the bridge of that ship. We were convinced the Castigation was his flagship since it was the command nexus, but in hindsight it was an obvious trap. Castigation was the relay, not the source.”

“Played us for fools thrice now,” Master Tiin commented gruffly, “Clone Intelligence made a file on him. Relative of former Republic Senator from Onderon, Mina Bonteri. He enlisted in the Royal Army when he became of age, before transferring to the Onderonian Space Force. Then Geonosis happened.”

“So we have nothing on him,” Obi-Wan summarised, “Do we know why he joined the navy?”

“He and a few other officers transferred to their planetary navy after the Royal Army supported a pro-Separatist coup,” the Iktotchi said, “After that are only suppositions.”

It took Obi-Wan a lifetime in the Jedi Temple to recognise what contemplation looked like on a Kel Dor face, doubly so with the mask. That, and the tremor in the Force.

“Master?” he prompted.

“It was a protest,” Master Plo rubbed his chin, “He and the other officers transferred out of the Royal Army in protest. They didn’t support the coup, but were ultimately loyal to the will of their government. The Space Force represented an alternative way to serve their planet while also serving as a political asylum, as the navy was based in orbit.”

“And when the Separatist Crisis escalated towards war, Onderon was forced to contribute their share of naval officers,” Obi-Wan finished, “It makes sense… even if it doesn’t particularly align with what little we know of Bonteri. He has been zealously serving the Separatist Alliance all this time, after all.”

Master Plo’s frown deepened, “I will have to disagree, Obi-Wan. If he wished me dead, I would be. Instead, he saved my life.”

Saesee Tiin leaned forward, “What do you mean?”

“We had a conversation aboard the Castigation,” Plo Koon revealed, “One which ended with a warning to leave the ship as soon as possible. Even after we evacuated, there was still enough time for us to escape the blast radius before the detonation occurred. It wasn’t as if he had to evacuate himself either–he could’ve kept distracting us as he armed the ordnance. I suspect his goal was to speak with me.”

“And what did he say?” Master Tiin pressed.

“First, that there was movement amidst the Separatist ranks to undermine and overthrow Count Dooku–” Obi-Wan jolted in surprise, but even that did not prepare him for what came next; “–And second, that there is a Sith Lord in control of the Republic. The very same unbelievable claim Dooku himself made. In fact, he knew Dooku told you that.”

“Misdirection,” Obi-Wan rasped, “It must be. If it were true, we would know it. Dooku told him about our encounter.”

“Dooku told a no-name officer about a conversation he had with you?” Master Plo’s words were laced with scepticism, “Do you suppose he is trying to play all sides?”

“And you, Master?” Master Tiin asked severely, “Do you believe what this man says? Is there actually an internal plot against Dooku’s government?”

“I suspect he is using his anti-Separatist roots to leverage a bloc against Dooku’s platform, ever since Geonosis. A mole in Dooku’s camp is the only reasonable way he could have learned of your conversation,” Master Plo concluded, “He had given me no reason to believe he was lying the entire time… though truthfully…”

Plo Koon trailed off, his head tilting to stare past their heads and into the void.

“Master?” Obi-Wan nudged, “Is there something?”

“…I cannot seem to remember what he felt like at all,” the old Jedi Master murmured, “Not in the Force. Nor can I remember his face.”

Obi-Wan was struck by a strange sense of familiarity, like an experience from another life. But no matter how he tried to hone in on that feeling, it always slipped through his mental fingers. Trying to bring those memories to the forefront of his mind was like trying to grasp water.

“He could have been in another system,” Master Tiin said, “And the hologram might have been of poor quality. But it would be wise to trust your instincts, Plo. If it is particularly unsettling, it might be worth investigating.”

“No… no. You may be correct,” Master Plo heaved, “Regardless, I am inclined to believe him.”

“If that is the case, we may have to consider the prospect of opening a channel with him,” Master Tiin mused, “The sooner Dooku is overthrown, the sooner this war can end and the galaxy reunited.”

Master Plo shifted at those words, near imperceptibly. But Jedi were perceptible, and Obi-Wan saw it clearly. So did Master Tiin. They never pushed the issue, however, as the old Jedi Master never followed up on it. Perhaps it was important, but they had known each other for far too long to be lacking in simple trust. Whatever it was, Master Plo will air it in his own good time.

“The Senate won’t allow it,” Obi-Wan told them, “Not with the Non-Communication Act they passed. Anything of this sort will have to go through Republic Intelligence.”

“If we do, we won’t be able to tell their agents everything, especially about the Sith Lord,” Master Plo said, “And Bonteri purposely made sure to speak to a Jedi. He isn’t going to trust a Republic spy. If we want to foment a collaboration government, we are going to need to foster trust between our parties.”

“Assign a Jedi attaché, then,” Saesee Tiin advised, “We already have some within Intelligence, but in case they cannot be recalled from their missions in time, the Council can send another. We’ll tell Intelligence the broad strokes, but give our attaché the specifics.”

“That is… very subversive,” Plo Koon lamented, “I dislike it, but cannot deny that it could work. We will have to speak to the Council as soon as possible.”

“All of this will only work if Bonteri is forthcoming in the first place,” Obi-Wan cautioned, “This may still be a Separatist plot. You cannot deny that he is a cunning one, with how he fights.”

“I concur,” Master Plo agreed, “This is a delicate case that we must approach cautiously. We will have to take every precaution.”

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Master Tiin nodded decisively, “Then it is concluded.”

“Then, what of Metalorn?” Master Plo inquired, “What happened to the enemy fleet?”

“Their retreat trajectory suggests they had jumped to Wobani, Saleucami, or Jabiim,” Saesee Tiin said.

“We can’t reach Saleucami or Jabiim, unfortunately,” Obi-Wan sighed, “There is a phantom fleet menacing our rear. Only about sixty to seventy percent of the allocated supplies are actually reaching the frontlines. Lantilles has ordered us to mop up the Bryx Sector before proceeding to Sy Myrth in order to block any southern reinforcements. They want to end the skirmishes and force a major field confrontation at Centares.”