Chapter 38

Onderon, Japrael System

Japrael Sector

Scout expected it to be colder. Well, she honestly didn’t know what she expected–she had never ridden a dragon before, after all. Steam curled from the warbeast’s armoured hide, every powerful beat of its wings like a climbing and descending an entire mountain in the span of seconds. She snuggled herself into an uncomfortable spot between the spines, white-knuckled grip around the frayed ropes that criss-crossed the body like overgrown vines.

She had no idea how any of the Onderonian riders felt confident enough to walk, much less even stand, across the monster’s back. Some held onto the sorry excuse for a harness for insurance, while others placed their absolute trust into their sure-footed stances and braced lances to counterbalance against the torrential winds.

Not that the fear of plummeting to her death stops Ahsoka from trying to learn anyway, her montrals whipping sideways as she holds onto the ropes for dear life. One slip, Scout thought morbidly, and this’d be the last I’d see of her.

“You’re afraid,” Rain Bonteri observed, “Don’t be. You’d be caught before you hit the ground, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” Scout felt sick.

Bonteri shrugged, leaning back against a horn’s flank, “We have to learn to fly somehow. There’s a dozen men on this warbeast, and more than half know the feeling of freefall. They’re still alive, aren’t they?”

Curiosity got the better of Scout, despite herself, “And have you fallen before?”

He gave her a wry smile, “I catch, not fall. See those smaller warbeasts? I was a ruping rider, not a drexl. They aren’t large enough for one to stand on. Skreevs and drexls are a different story. They can fly for days, crossing the oxygen bridge, and so their riders must learn to eat and sleep on their backs. You can tell if a man rides a Dxunian warbeast when they don’t walk right on the ground.”

Captain Vander–the ‘captain’ of this particular warbeast–caught her attention when she spotted him in the middle of a precarious balancing act creeping out to the tip of the warbeast’s wing. A single flap, and he’d be thrown right off. After an exchange of hand signals with a neighbouring raptor, he all but skipped back to the harness.

“Hragscythe spotted approaching Darrastead, Bonteri!” Vander shouted as he tugged the ropes, prompting the huge beast beneath them to irritably lumber starboard.

“Tell Oarr to deal with it and bring us lower,” Bonteri looked up at him, “We continue to Jyrenne.”

“I take it hragscythes aren’t a normal sight around here?” Master Plo guessed, sitting cross-legged.

“We had to lighten our patrols to prepare for the summit,” Vander explained as a nearby drexl rose, tucked in its wings– and dove straight down with all the speed of a blaster bolt, whips of lashing out and knocking Ahsoka off her feet.

If it wasn’t for Master Plo’s timely interference, her Togruta friend may have found herself impaled on a spine. Instead, she casually floated back towards them, courtesy of Master Plo’s command of the Force.

“It wasn’t my fault I fell,” Ahsoka said indignantly as she was carefully set down.

“Then can’t imagine what it’s like to fly through a cloud, much less a storm,” Captain Vander laughed in spite of his passenger’s near-death experience.

“Through a storm–” Ahsoka interrupted herself, “–How do you even hold on? You aren’t Jedi.”

“Tightly. This old girl doesn’t care,” Vander patted his warbeast, “So we just hold on tightly and trust her to bring us through it.”

Ahsoka looked at the two Onderonians strangely. As the warbeast descended, the emerald canopy approached rapidly, smeared with the purple-red crowns into a blur. If Scout was brave enough to crawl to the edge and lean over the rumbling mass of muscle and keratin, she’d think she may have been able to reach out and brush against the leaves–and lose a hand in the process.

“If Onderon doesn’t like both the Separatists and Republic, why do you still fight?” Ahsoka was looking directly at Bonteri, and Scout envied her forthrightness.

Bonteri and Vander shared a look only years of camaraderie could create, before turning back to her friend, “Why does anybody fight for the Separatists? Because they believe in Separatism, or because they are simply fighting for their homeworlds. Why do I fight? To prevent something very, very bad from happening to the galaxy.”

Vander looked down, tugging at the loose strand of rope that unravelled endlessly, “We must be approaching Jyrenne. I’ll get us down.”

With a final harsh jerk, he snapped the strand and released it, watching the thread disappear behind them as he stood and left. Instead of clarifying exactly what he meant, however, Bonteri rather simply kicked his boots over a protruding ridge or armour and closed his eyes. He must be feeling much less comfortable than he’s actually showing, Scout decided. There was no way lying on a bed of thorns was anywhere pleasant–she definitely didn’t think so. But these riders slept on the backs of their warbeasts, so maybe Onderonians simply had thicker skin than her city-raised self.

Master Plo seemed fine too, but he didn’t count. He was a Kel Dor.

“Ahsoka and Tallisibeth can be trusted, Lord Bonteri,” Master Plo leaned forward, “You know what I came here for.”

“Tallisibeth? What is it like being Anakin Skywalker’s apprentice?”

The irrelevance of the subject was so precipitous Scout found herself flinching at the sudden question, “Apprentice–? Uh… he’s fine?”

Bonteri popped one eye open, regarding her strangely. Scout internally winced at just how lame her answer was.

“I mean–” she took a deep, freezing breath, “He cares a lot more than he lets on. I know that, at least.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, “And during your training sessions?”

“Wha– why are you asking me this?” Scout suddenly felt defensive, “What’s it to you?”

“I fought him on the field twice. Beat him bloody twice,” Bonteri said easily, bragging so casually she doubted if it was even his intention to do so, “I want to know who he is as a person. Is he learning? Will I still beat him the next time?”

“And how will you learn that from me?”

“By getting an answer,” he finally cracked open the second eye, tone in deadpan.

This guy… I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“Speak truthfully, Tallisibeth,” Master Plo advised, “There is no shame in a Jedi’s teachings.”

“…Well, Master Skywalker doesn’t really know how to teach me,” she cringed, “Since I’m not all that powerful with the Force like him. Instead, he has me training with the troopers.”

Bonteri scratched his cheek, “And you, Ahsoka?”

“Jedi things,” Ahsoka shrugged, “Every other lesson is about patience, it feels like.”

The vast jungles whittled away into walled clearing surrounded the ruined foundations of an old castle. Far from the mortar-and-brick of the capital, weathered durasteel of dozens of buildings and transports glimmered a dull sheen in the sunlight. Soldiers patrolled the grounds in rank and file, while warbeasts flocked in and out of a pit-like structure that clearly served as some kind of stable. Scout’s stomach lurched as their drexl landed with a heavy thump, comically dwarfing the humble shuttle on the adjacent landing pad.

Rain Bonteri stood up first, slowly, doing little to hide the shaking of his legs, “So Kenobi teaches you to be a Jedi, and Skywalker teaches you to be a soldier… not exactly what I was looking for, but it’ll do.”

“And what were you looking for?” Master Plo spoke the question on all their minds.

Bonteri glanced at them, “Proof that Anakin Skywalker is who I think he is.”

Then, he stepped off the edge and deftly slid down the warbeast’s wing membrane until his boots hit solid ground. Master Plo and Ahsoka skillfully followed him by vaulting off the back and using the Force to survive a fifty-foot fall. Scout, having none of those handy abilities, resorted to the tried and tested method of sliding down the wing–but not without tripping over extended phalanges, because of course she did.

By the time she caught up with the group, Scout found Vander and Bonteri staring into the distance, towards a group of warbeasts near the far wall.

“What is it?” Ahsoka peered, her alien vision catching much more than any of their’s will.

“Beast Riders,” Rain Bonteri mumbled, “What clan?”

“Clazca, looks like,” Vander said, “Entertain our guests, Bonteri. I’ll deal with them.”

“I thought you already did.”

“The Clazca don’t hang around these parts, you know that,” offence leaked into Vander’s tone, “The Ezelk are the closest clan, and they’ve already allowed access through their forests. The Clazca are here for a different reason.”

“How can you tell they’re Beast Riders?” Scout questioned, “All warbeasts look the same.”

“Those don’t have harnesses,” Ahsoka pointed out.

“Wha–” she spluttered, “How am I supposed to know that!?”

Bonteri shook his head, “Nevermind that. Let me bring you to the internment camps.”

As they forged deeper into Jyrenne Base, the only thing Scout could think was; oh, so this is where all the droids went. There weren’t any battle droids marching about, per se, but she easily recognised the Multi-Troop Transports and C-9979 landing ships littering the parade grounds like out-of-place monuments. The soldiers she could see were less ornamental than those in the capital, as well, sporting modern–well, as modern as Onderon seems to get–tactical combat gear and blaster carbines instead of antiquated laser lances.

The prison compound was tucked away, out of view from the rest of the base, surrounded by a chain link fence that Scout hazarded was electrified. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of prisoners milling in the yard, many of them wearing the same face. Others held themselves straighter, taller, unwilling to discard their pride even in chains.

“You keep officers with the clones?” Ahsoka noticed the same thing.

“They all eat the same thing, don’t they?” Bonteri answered simply, swiping the blast door open to permit them entry, “Aliens are handled case-by-case, because as you might have noticed, we don’t have a lot of experience with non-humans.”

The doors thudded shut behind them, locking them inside.

“Has Count Dooku sanctioned this summit?” Master Plo immediately asked.

“No, but the Parliament has voted in favour of it, so that’s the matter concluded. Dooku’s only role is to sign the flimsi.”

“And if he doesn’t?” the Jedi Master pressed.

“Then he loses all legitimacy, and the Confederacy will finally see him for what he is. That’s why he will never let us get to that point. Before you ask me; I don’t know how. That’s the problem.”

Even as the exchange dragged on, Bonteri didn’t fail to tour the compound. While it was obvious the whole building was pre-fabricated, the matter of fact was that it was also sanitary and spacious enough. The bunks in particular were no less cramped than those on the Harbinger, which was a point of wry amusement for Scout.

“If you are on the reacting end, how do you expect to drag him into the open?”

Scout and Ahsoka pretended not to listen, or rather, failed to pretend. Because Master Plo was clearly treating the bane of the Republic Navy as a Separatist traitor, and how was that not riveting? Was this what Master Tiin meant by potentially deciding the course of the war? What a stupid question–of course it was.

The architect of the Republic’s single largest loss of life in living history, being a traitor? Questions raced through her mind; was this a whole conspiracy in the Separatist ranks? How and when did Master Plo find out? Why doesn’t Bonteri just switch sides? Did Master Tiin and Master Kenobi know as well?

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author’s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Reacting?” Bonteri opened the door leading out into the yard, “The one thing preventing us from going on the offensive is not us only capable of reacting, but the Republic’s capability for reacting.”

A thousand pairs of blank eyes widened and brightened the very moment they caught a glimpse of Jedi robes. Scout had a feeling they would have been rushed, if not for the presence of Rain Bonteri’s purple cape dissuading them.

“You want the guarantee that the Republic will not intervene?”

Bonteri spun around, “The only thing we want is confirmation that the Jedi Order’s enemy is Count Dooku, and not the Confederacy. I am certain you already know this, Master Jedi; the only path to reunification left is through force, and we have already made our bed. The Rim will never surrender its newfound independence, and the Rim will gladly bleed to the last man for it.”

Master Plo Koon was silent for a long while, thinking, picking his next words carefully.