Stass Allie dies in a single moment.
There is little fanfare to it.
There is no struggle, no fight to remain.
One moment she is alive, focused on moving on to the next operation.
The next she is gone, the remains of her speeder left scattered in the mud and forgotten.
Well, not quite forgotten. They will likely be reported as evidence, together with whatever remains of her, cited as proof that her men have accomplished their ultimate mission.
She is not alone, not unique in her end.
There are many Jedi who die on this day, most of them in fact. From some of the oldest of over a hundred years experience resting in the Temple Gardens to the little one told he would be a Jedi only days before. Stass Allie is one of the first of many to die, if one is concerned with measuring such things.
Stass doesn’t know that.
She doesn’t know anything.
She is alive in one moment and dead the next.
There is no time to consider much else.
No time for betrayal or fear or regret.
No time to feel the Force cry out with its grief.
Death is rarely kind, it has no interest in what should be, only what is.
That should be the end of it.
Stass Allie: Jedi Master, Council Member, Healer, Traitor. Deceased on Saleucami, killed by her men under the orders of the newly declared Emperor, nothing else of note.
It is not.
Stass Allie loses control of her speeder in one moment and in the next wakes up in the makeshift medbay she’d left behind hours earlier.
Well now, that wasn’t meant to happen.
That wasn’t meant to happen at all.
It did, though.
That’s the important thing.
Stass registers the sound of blaster fire and has just enough time to experience the beginnings of a swoop of adrenaline as her speeder dips and swerves and then...
Nothing.
She opens her eyes to the ceiling of the medbay she helped to set up the day she arrived.
“General.” She turns her head, still half-convinced this is some sort of dream.
Stass can feel all of her limbs, nothing hurts, nothing is numb or floaty in a way that would imply painkillers.
She tries to sit up and, to her surprise, the medic lets her.
She can’t imagine he would do that if she’d barely survived a speeder accident.
The blaster fire came from behind.
“Bach,” she smiles.
“General Allie,” he nods and starts to fuss over her head. “You recognize me, that’s a good sign.”
“What happened?” She just… she doesn’t know how she could have survived it. The ground rising up to meet her, the metal twisting in screeching agony, the impact alone should have broken her.
She feels no pain.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” He frowns.
“I…” She pauses, noticing for the first time that she’s holding something. It’s small and cube-like, cold to the touch and almost like a holocron with designs all showcasing the central design, a star with five points. As she examines it, the topmost point glows intensely for a moment before fading again.
“I was on a speeder.” She refocuses and glances up at Bach’s face. “There was… blaster fire. I lost control. I don’t remember anything else.”
She hadn’t realized the Separatist forces on Saleucami still had the capabilities for such effective ambush tactics.
The Force hadn’t warned her.
He frowns, glancing down at a datapad.
His frown grows. “What’s the date?”
She tells him and the frown grows confused.
“General, that’s tomorrow. Today’s Benduday.” He checks the datapad again and mutters. “The report doesn’t say you hit your head on anything.”
Stass hums, acknowledging, and starts to examine the cube closer. It’s familiar, somehow.
A vision? Perhaps, that would explain the date but… Stass has never been prone to them. Even if she was, she’s never heard of a vision so clear and consistent, following the events of a day in all its banal moments. The Force is clouded these days, a vision of that level of detail would have to be powerful to cut through uninvited.
Visions do not grant artifacts, in any case, not that Stass has ever heard.
The artifact may be familiar but she did not have it with her before.
She closes her eyes and reaches out, a potential risk but one she finds she isn’t too worried about.
The Force isn’t warning of any traps, nor does it feel Dark.
“Where did this come from?” She asks.
Bach looks up for a moment and shrugs before glancing back down at whatever readings hold the majority of his attention, it’s clearly not one of his top priorities.
“You collapsed out of nowhere while talking to the Commander. You were holding it when he brought you in, and it didn’t look dangerous so…”
“I see.” She turns it over in her hands. “Could I get a record of my mission reports please?” She pauses as the medic calls a trooper over, seeking guidance from the Force. “The last nine months, I think.”
The trooper nods and rushes off. She doesn’t know his name yet and isn't sure he’s chosen one.
Stass absently taps the top of the cube with her finger as she waits.
She’s seen this artifact before.
If only she could remember where.
The trooper returns, datapads in hand, and tries his absolute best not to look like he’s hanging around.
Unfortunately for him, Stass has seen that look on more than one young padawan.
“Would you like to assist me?” She asks and smiles when he startles.
He nods and she passes a datapad over, gesturing for him to sit at the foot of the bed.
“I don’t believe I’ve caught your name.” She says as he settles.
“Oh, it’s Re!” He grins, obviously proud. “I got it last week!”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you Re.” He’s young, very close to too young even by the ever expanding standards of the Senate.
Stass finds herself glad that he is here, with her on mop-up operations and not on one of the fiercely contested planets.
It is a terrible thing to be even a little grateful for.
She takes in a breath and explains her search to him, shows him the no longer glowing artifact and points out the parts of the design that may be easiest to look for in the reports.
Stass is usually careful to leave some record of the artifacts she encounters in her reports, even if she only manages a rushed sketch or description.
She doubts anyone else will recognize it, her last stint of investigations was before… before Adi’s death.
Stass breathes through the now familiar grief, for Adi, for those lost on Geonosis, for the clones and Jedi she has known and lost in this war.
They have lost so many.
This battalion is still new to her, none of them joined her for those missions.
She allows herself a moment before starting her search.
Re began with the oldest reports so Stass begins with the latest ones before Adi’s death.
It isn’t an enjoyable task exactly but it is calming in its own way.
She isn’t critiquing her own decisions or clarifying some minor point to an admiral who didn’t get around to reading her report until four months after she’d filed and marked it urgent.
All she needs is the right description.
She vaguely registers Bach moving around, shuffling to help another patient. She trusts that he’ll let her know if it’s something he needs help with.
The first few reports reveal nothing relevant but they do help her place the most likely time period. She’s just starting her search when another joins them.
Stass can feel Re stiffen up under the gaze and shifts to face her Commander.
“General.” Neyo's attention is all focus, assessing. He doesn’t relax at the lack of visible injury exactly but he does give her a firm nod. “You’re alright?”
“As far as I and Bach can tell,” she reports, and offers, “I may have experienced a vision.”
She’s almost confident it wasn’t but she doesn’t exactly have another explanation, at least… nothing that sounds plausible.
“May have?” His focus narrows and Stass tilts her head in acknowledgement.
“I am not… prone to visions.” She starts, not sure how familiar he is with the concept, Adi wasn’t prone to them either. “I am familiar with them, as a healer. I’ve never experienced a true waking vision.”
“You think that’s what that was?” He pushes.
“I’m not certain.” She frowns. “It was… very detailed and consistent. I may need to call the Temple and consult.” She warns, logically it may not be urgent at all.
Logic is not all that she must consider.
“Am I needed, Commander?” Stass will leave this, if it is necessary.
“No.” He shakes his head, a courtesy call then. “There’s word of movement to the south but nothing precise enough to warrant an operation yet.” He pauses and continues. “Planetary comms are still in and out, the men are working on a more permanent solution but they haven’t finished yet.”
“Thank you, Commander.” Stass bows her head a bit. “I will keep my comm on and let you know if I leave the medbay in case local communications begin to have trouble.”
He bids her goodbye with a stiff wish for recovery and Stass smiles.
The clones are so often kind, in their own ways.
She turns back to the matter at hand.
Re finds it, in the end.
He passes the datapad over. Stass scans over the report and frowns.
Yes, she remembers this.
She examines the artifact to be sure.
A few weeks before Adi’s death, Stass had been investigating an old temple of unknown origin.
The Separatists were doing their best to get in, Republic intel didn’t know why but the sudden interest in a mysterious temple was cause for concern. Who knew what ancient and dangerous weapons it might contain.
The mission itself had gone well, they’d made it inside the temple through a side entrance before the droids had figured out how to get through the first trap.
Stass hadn’t found any weapons and neither had the squad she’d taken with her.
She closes her eyes and tries to remember the feel of the Force in the temple.
It was old, so old she thought it might be far older than the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.
It wasn’t Dark and it certainly didn’t feel like a Sith temple.
It was mostly empty, like everything had long been lost to time, weathered away by the elements, with one exception.
The artifact, kept carefully in a nook off to the side.
They’d almost missed it.
It was only when a poorly-aimed explosion unsteadied her that Stass found her hand touching something that decidedly wasn't a wall.
She’d reported it, of course, feeling strangely like the luck of certain other Jedi had come upon her as she did.
They hadn’t found anything harmful and the case was quickly closed as Stass failed to fall ill or succumb to a mysterious curse.
And now… it’s back.
Months later, systems away.
The artifact sits innocently on the cot, as if it had never been left behind in the first place.
That… is… well, Stass isn’t going to pretend it doesn’t mean anything. If only she knew what it meant.
She doesn’t sleep well that night.
The sound of blaster fire and the feeling of losing all control and the blank terrifying nothing haunts whatever sleep she does get.
She wakes with no new insight.
The Force is unsettled and clouded.
She too grows more unsettled as they prepare to leave, Neyo and another trooper planning to follow close behind as they start towards the South.
It’s just as before.
The words are nearly the same, the plan is the same, the route is identical.
Now is the time for change.
She proposes a slight shift in route, Neyo frowns and asks why. She can tell he doesn’t love her reasoning, but it will only delay their arrival by a few moments.
He sends troopers to investigate for snipers and traps.
She can’t help her nerves as she steers the speeder through the terrain. There’s something familiar itching under her skin, the flash before nothing.
Stass isn’t dead.
She only half registers her companions moving behind her, only hears the first shots.
There’s no loss of control this time.
Stass Allie doesn’t live long enough to register the dip of the speeder.
That should be the end of it.
It isn’t.
Stass breathes in sharply and opens her eyes to the blank ceiling of the medbay.
Again.
She shudders through the stiffness, her body preparing to fight far too late.
The blaster fire came from behind.
“General.” It’s a near thing that she doesn’t startle.
“Bach.” She breathes carefully, doing her best to calm.
There’s no threat here.
The blaster fire came from behind.
“General Allie,” he nods and starts to fuss over her head. “You recognize me, that’s a good sign.”
“I…” She pauses, fingering at the artifact she knows she left behind in her quarters before moving out. “Yes.”
The star from before and the one next to it glow, shining bright for a few moments before going out again.
That’s new.
“What’s the date?” She asks, feeling out of sorts at the change.
Bach frowns, narrowing his eyes before telling her.
It’s Zhellday.
One day before she woke up the last time.
Two days before… what must be her death.
Whatever is happening, it’s tied to that speeder accident.
It wasn’t an accident.
The blaster fire came from behind.
She takes a breath.
“Are you feeling alright?” Bach asks. “Dizzy? Disoriented?”
She hums, considering.
“I think I’m alright.”
“Do you remember what happened?” He pushes.
“Yes, I do.” He doesn’t seem satisfied by that answer but doesn’t argue. “I think I should meditate.”
His brow furrows at that, likely somewhat frustrated with the implication this is Force related.
She takes the artifact with her, tucked beneath her sleeves.
Answers evade her.
It’s like the last few days never happened.
They haven’t, if… if this is time travel.
It’s almost too much to even consider.
Time travel? The debates are all hypothetical, more concerned with ethical dilemmas and possible consequences than they are with proposed reality.
At least, she does feel more settled as time goes on.
The steadiness of the Force, even clouded as it is, is a comfort and a balm to her nerves.
She opens her eyes as a presence draws nearer, steady and focused.
“Come in.”
“General.” Neyo starts.
“Commander.” She returns and tips her head towards a seat.
He doesn’t take it but nods his thanks regardless.
“You’re alright?”
She smiles. It isn’t quite as relaxed as the last time he asked her that, the time that may never be now.
“I am well, thank you.”
His face shifts into a grimace, debating with himself whether to ask or not, if Stass had to guess.
In the end, he nods again and takes his leave.
There is a terrible theory taking shape in her mind.
The blaster fire came from behind.
She doesn’t understand.
The Force is not so clouded as to give her no warning, nothing at all.
She should have felt the intent, even if she wasn’t able to identify it.
Shock, hatred, fear, something.
If the clones hate her enough to kill her, she should have felt something.
All she feels each time she speaks to Neyo is focus, and maybe a little concern.
He doesn’t hate her.
There are, however, many reasons to kill someone.
Hate is only one of many.
She would like to think that he would hesitate, if there were orders.
She would like to think there would be a trial, if her actions were in question.
Ultimately, she doesn’t know.
They’ve only been working together for a short time.
It hasn’t come up.
Well, something clearly has.
It could be a disease, some parasite. She’s read the reports from Geonosis and the ensuing incidents.
She doesn’t technically know that they’re killing her.
She’s a Jedi Master, she cannot afford to continue in denial.
Stass needs information, knowledge she doesn’t have.
There are ways to gather it.
Saleucami is a strangely quiet planet, much of the time.
Stass doesn’t know if that has always been the case, but it certainly is now.
The artillery is mostly silent now that the majority of the Separatist forces are defeated or in retreat.
There’s little wildlife around, likely hiding to avoid the violence of war.
She fights back a shiver as she stops the speeder.
She recognizes this place.
There are no signs of a crash, not that she expected there to be.
It feels wrong, examining the place she will-, has-, may die in.
She walks, lightsaber in hand, to the only place that would provide the cover necessary to hit a speeder traveling south.
The angle isn’t right.
Stass takes a breath and lets it out.
She doesn’t know precisely the angle she was hit other than behind but… even a skilled sniper wouldn’t be able to make that shot.
They would have hit Neyo first, out of necessity.
They didn’t.
Stass is… tired.
This war has taken so much from all of them.
Her men have killed her twice over.
Is it only her men? Or is this something far worse?
Stass squeezes her eyes shut at the thought. She can hardly bear it.
The Temple in flames.
She doesn’t know that.
It will do her no good to worry about how truly terrible things may be.
As it stands, she doesn’t know.
She can only do so much.
She grips the artifact in her hands for a moment and begins the trek back.
“General Allie.” Neyo does not look pleased to see her.
She tries not to take it personally.
He didn’t appreciate her refusal to take a squad with her.
It is very hard not to take it personally, knowing what she does now.
She musters an apologetic look regardless.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” He grumbles.
“I did.” She manages a smile and says nothing more.
She reads her report of the mission and its affiliated follow ups again, grateful for her tendency to keep even seemingly irrelevant reports.
There’s little to be gained.
The artifact likely has something to do with what she’s experiencing.
It’s possible this is all an elaborate illusion but… the Force gives no indications of treachery.
She seeks and finds truth in her surroundings.
The writings she recorded written on the temple walls are all in a long dead language, translations are spotty and the only word the follow up notes mark as translatable into basic is almost certainly “death.” The nuances are lost to time.
She tries to comm the Temple, knowing it’s likely a futile effort.
As Neyo said, in the first repeat, planetary communications are spotty at best.
Even if they were up and working, records of things like time travel are generally heavily restricted and even Stass’ status as a council member will not allow her to request those transmitted.
If she were in Temple, certainly.
As it stands it is far too easy to slice into even restricted communications.
She is limited in what she can do here.
The time of her death is rapidly approaching.
There’s no time to travel back to the Temple and she has no excuse.
Neyo may begrudgingly allow Stass her wanderings, but she has no way of knowing if a sudden insistence to return will be suspicious enough to advance whatever timetable he’s working on.
At the very least, she has responsibilities.
Mopping up operations or not, there are people here who need protection.
Perhaps, this time, she can make it long enough to go back and learn more.
Perhaps, this time, she won’t wake up again.
She doesn’t know.
“Are you certain, General?” Neyo asks again. It’s a little uncharacteristic, from what Stass has observed.
“Yes, I’m certain.” She gestures to the map again.
If nothing else, they can work faster.
She knows where the Separatists are located, or are supposed to be located, she’s never actually made it there.
His expression flattens out into disgruntled exasperation for a moment before hardening into something determined.
She usually isn’t quite this precise.
Stass is a healer, more than anything.
Before the war, if she’d been asked, she would have said that was where her talents lie.
Now, if she was asked, she wouldn’t be able to say she is not a fighter.
She’s survived Geonosis, three years of war, honed skills to points she never would have otherwise.
Stass is still a healer, more than anything.
She’s also a general, now.
There is nowhere this is more clear than the battlefield.
She is not powerful, likely couldn’t match Dooku in sheer strength, but she is fast and precise and skilled.
It is necessary.
She saves lives like this too.
It has never stopped being strange.
She dashes around trees, slicing droids left and right.
Someone calls out a warning and she’s dashing for the lone piece of large artillery. She has it disabled before the droids can get the first shot off.
The battle, if it could be called that, skirmish may be a better word, is over in minutes.
“All good here, General!” Someone calls.
Stass doesn’t relax, cannot calm her still tense muscles.
It won’t be long now.
She offers Neyo a slight smile, it must look more like a grimace with the way his attention shifts into concern.
“Injured?” He asks.
“No, I am well.” He frowns and there is nothing in his presence that speaks to anything but honest concern.
Stass almost wants to snap at him.
She takes a deep breath instead, untensing as best she can and taking Neyo’s suggestion to return and leave things to him.
It won’t be long now.
Stass makes it back to base, almost feeling as if she hasn’t seen it in a long time.
Things are quiet, it leaves her unsteady and she’s quick to leave her speeder behind to investigate.
She grips her lightsaber but doesn’t turn it on, not yet.
It may be her own fears getting the best of her.
She finds Re first, rushing somewhere and feels him startle at the sight of her.
She opens her mouth to ask… what she isn’t sure when he pulls his blaster up, no hesitation or fumbling, and fires.
She deflects it into the ground.
It’s starting, whatever it is, it’s happening again.
She tries reaching out, tries getting a feel for his mind, but it’s too late.
He calls out, loud in the quiet of the encampment.
The others are rushing over, she can’t spare the moment it would take.
She catches Bach ducking out of the med-bay out of the corner of her eye, a blaster larger than he usually prefers in his hands.
She deflects a few more blaster shots, hesitates a moment too long and runs.
The others will be back soon and she can’t fight all of them, especially like this.
She may not know these men well, might not have spent much time with them but… she doesn’t want to hurt them.
It doesn’t matter.
They want her dead.
She jumps, higher than any of them could manage and heads for the other side of the camp.
The idea of taking a speeder turns her stomach.
It must be done.
Stass can hear the indistinct back and forth of orders and shouting that follows her, too close.
She realizes it’s a trap a moment too late.
They’re waiting for her.
She blocks seven shots before the others catch up.
She feels three shots before she knows nothing more.
Stass hisses through her teeth at pain that isn’t there.
“General?!” Bach rushes over to fuss.
She only just manages to contain her flinch. In her moment of weakness, nearly asks him why.
Why? She doesn’t understand.
He is all flustered worry now, checking her pupils and consulting his charts.
There is no blaster in his hands.
In three days he will try to kill her, along with his brothers, if the pattern holds.
It hits her all at once.
She will find no answers here.
The artifact in her hands glows, three points this time.
Two left.
She can’t keep doing this.
She can’t abandon them.
They do so much worse than abandon her.
“I need to meditate.” She grits out.
“What?” He protests, following as she tries to leave. “General, you collapsed not an hour ago! We don’t even know why yet!”
“I’m fine.” She comes much closer to snapping than she meant to.
It’s not his fault.
He is not the version of himself that kills her yet.
He might be.
She takes a breath, calms.
“My apologies, Bach.” She can’t quite look him in the eye. “I will let you know if I need assistance.”
He feels… shocked, worried more than anything.
The phantom pains in her torso throb.
She wants to cry.
She wants to ask him why.
She doesn’t.
Instead Stass makes her way to her quarters and leans against the door for a moment.
To act out of fear, out of panic will do her no good.
As much as she wants to run, she mustn’t be hasty.
There are many ways to make things worse.
She calms her breathing as best she can.
The Force is still clouded.
It does not warn her of danger from her men. Danger, yes, growing and nearing its crest.
It does not tell her of the threat she knows she’ll soon face.
Stass changes her approach, seeking guidance for her next steps.
The Force does not object to the thought of leaving.
She marks the places the Separatists still lurk on a map, notes the ideal angles of approach, spares a moment of thought for success, and packs her bag.
“General?” That’s Neyo. “Are you alright?”
She doesn’t open the door, doesn’t acknowledge him.
His mind is tinged with a bit of worry. It hurts, a bit, that he still cares.
“Uh, Bach said you were meditating.” He tries.
She can feel his intent waver with hesitation and holds her breath.
“Right. Well, let us know if you need anything.” She listens as the sound of his steps fade and closes her eyes.
Despite everything, she hopes they’ll be alright.
The planetary comms are still down when she tries the council.
An hour later, they’re still down.
She tries several clicks away from camp, just in case Neyo was lying.
That doesn’t work either.
So, just Stass.
She can’t risk going back.
If Neyo hasn’t noticed she’s gone, Bach definitely has.
She doesn’t know what’s so important about three days from now.
She can’t risk the suspicion of her men.
Negotiating for a ship that is only mostly falling apart is easy and reminds her of makeshift solutions found to more than one mission gone sideways.
She wonders, halfway absent during takeoff, whether she’ll wake up on Coruscant if she dies this time.
She doesn’t know if that would be better.
She knows there’s little that could be worse.
The ship is steady but not as efficient or fast as she’s grown used to.
Stass spends much of the trip meditating, considering her next steps.
Pain.
It’s like the Force itself is being ripped apart.
Stass has never, not in her many hours in medbays across the galaxy, not in her numerous missions facing some of the worst the galaxy could offer, felt anything like this.
She pulls back instinctively, rips herself out of her meditation and tries to catch her breath.
That was… She cautiously reaches out for her bonds.
Gone, so many of them are gone.
The holes they’ve left behind seem to ache.
Stass regains her composure enough to glance at the chrono.
It’s time.
She’s made it past her death.
Now, to face whatever horror follows.
The grief is hard to face, difficult to comprehend.
She takes a deep breath.
There is nothing she can do inside this ship.
Out of an abundance of caution, she uses one of the authorization codes that won’t mark her as a Jedi right away.
She is right to.
The Temple is burning.
For a moment, she can do nothing but freeze in place.
She can’t…
The sick, the children, the elders.
The Temple is burning.
Her home is burning.
It’s all so much worse than she could have imagined.
She pulls on a loose fitting poncho from the ship’s storage and pulls the hood up.
It isn’t just her men.
It’s…
She makes it to one of the side entrances leading to the Temple.
There are men, clone troopers guarding every exit.
She recognizes a few of the Coruscant Guard but most are in 501st blue.
She reaches out, only barely managing not to wince.
There, through the pain of grief and betrayal, there is… something.
A moment’s hesitation, a breath caught in her lungs.
She moves.
“Sir,” She pitches her voice high, curious. “What’s going on?”
A trooper turns for half a moment before gesturing dismissively.
“Official business. Move along.”
His mind is not dark, not in any way she recognizes.
There is…
Suddenly, the focus breaks.
A commotion from inside the Temple.
Shouts.
Blaster shots.
Two figures dart out, desperate and terrified and alone.
She does not recognize them.
Her next steps were never in question.
Stass dashes forward, taking the padawan’s place and blocking the blaster bolts that follow.
“Master!” They exclaim, the word is half-choked on a sob.
“Padawan.” She grits out. They haven’t been one long, perhaps months, but she managed to glance at the short braid in their hair.
The other figure is small, both hands wrapped around a too-large lightsaber and tucked squarely behind the padawan.
An Initiate.
They’re sobbing and by the heaving sound of half-stifled cries she doubts they can see through the tears.
Stass focuses on moving, blocking and redirecting and shuffling and keeping the younglings behind her.
She misses one.
The padawan barely blocks it as it flies past her defense.
“Good.” She has no time to manage anything else.
They are doing so well.
The clones that must have driven the younglings out have been joined by a squad of others.
She recognizes one of them. She saw him lift a lost Initiate up once with one arm, swinging them lightly as they shrieked with delight, nothing but joy and care in his intent.
It doesn’t matter.
Not now.
Stass has only moments.
She cannot move quickly, not with the lives behind her.
A blaster bolt hits her shin, enough to make her hiss with pain but not enough to make her stop.
“Padawan.” She grits out from behind her teeth. “I am going to move, I need you to take them and run.”
“But–” They are so brave. She wishes she had the breath to tell them that.
“Go!” She shoves hard with the Force, a bolt hitting her shoulder as she does.
Several men go flying, crashing into each other.
She barely registers the sound of little feet running before she moves, up close, too close.
They will focus on her, they must.
She is a master, a threat even when wounded.
They must know this.
The children can be tracked down later.
They must believe this.
There is no cry of grief as she takes one down, then two, then more.
They do not hesitate, do not flinch.
She doesn’t allow herself to flinch either.
Everything is a blur of movement, instinct, training.
The throb of her leg and shooting pain of her shoulder will not stop her.
The graze of her other arm is not enough either.
Nor is the loss of two tendrils, no matter how much the stubs left behind seem to scream.
The burning pain of her hand makes her drop to a one handed grip but it does not force her still.
Ultimately, it’s the sixth shot that does it.
Straight to the heart.
There is no grief, no pain radiating in the Force when she wakes up.
Somehow, it’s the lack that makes her breath hitch.
Bach fusses, quiet this time, as if he can sense she needs it.
Not even the littlest ones, with their big eyes and endless faith.
She breathes, deep and pained.
They are not dead yet.
She clings to that thought, that hope with everything she has.
“Bach,”—he half startles at her address—“What day is it?”
She must be sure.
“Centaxday,” he says slowly. “General, pardon me if this is out of line, but… are you alright?”
She hesitates.
“No, I don’t think so.” Four points on the artifact glow.
The Force comforts her, bolstering her as she considers.
What happened? She goes through the events, the wrongness, not quite darkness as she recognized it.
The trooper.
There had been no deception in his heart as he swung the delighted Initiate around all those months ago.
There had been no hesitation in his mind as he aimed and fired in the not too distant future.
The sense of wrongness grows.
Stass is a healer, before anything.
She was not on the council when Master Tiplar was killed, and she has no way of accessing those files at the moment.
If she remembers correctly, communications will stay down most of the day.
They were friends, though.
It all feels so long ago.
Something is wrong with the clones.
Stass is a healer, before anything.
If she works fast, works well, there will be time to return to the Temple.
There will be time to save them.
There must be.
Mind made up, she meets Bach’s eyes.
“There’s something wrong. I need your help to find out what it is.”
He nods, slowly. “With you?”
“With you.” She stands, tucking the artifact away as she does.
“General.” He sounds slightly exasperated. “What does that mean?”
She turns, hesitates.
The Force urges truth, the clearest guidance she has gotten in some time.
“In four days, you are going to kill me.” He freezes, startled so thoroughly his mind seems to stop.
“What!? General!” She’s already moving. “That- I won’t, I swear-”
The scanner hasn’t seen much use recently and they’ve tucked it away in a corner.
“Not only you.” She clarifies. “All the clones.”
“A vision?” He suggests, and she absently remembers his discomfort with the Force, something he cannot feel or diagnose.
“You could call it that.” She wouldn’t, but it is close enough.
“I thought the future was always in motion,” he says. She wonders if he heard that saying from Adi and quickly puts it from her mind.
There is fear in his heart. He believes her for all he does not want to, for all that he hopes she is wrong.
“Yes, it is.” A vision is so unlike the pounding repetition of death and revival. “We will see.”
Bach hesitates, wavering for a moment before stepping forward to assist her in setting up the scanner. When it’s set up she steps back a moment, it probably isn’t ideal for Bach to undergo the scan. She tells him as much and he agrees.
There is no telling how valuable his skills as CMO may be.
Instead, she hurries to find someone else.
“Re!” She calls, missing his startle at his name. “Could I ask for your assistance?”
“Of- of course, General Allie.” He marches over.
Stass takes a breath, she needs to explain. It would not be right to deceive him about the purpose of her actions.
“I believe there is something wrong with the troopers, in your minds.” She starts. “I have seen it. I need to examine someone, to find out more.”
He nods, wide-eyed.
“I am not sure what all might be necessary. I will keep you informed. I would like to perform a brain scan, to start.”
He swallows but actually considers it. Good.
“Where should I go?” His attention sharpens with determination and Stass lets out a breath.
“Here.” She directs him inside and nods to Bach to start the scan.
Neyo comes in during the third scan, deeper than the others and still coming up empty.
They may need to try the deepest scan next.
“Commander.” Stass greets, frazzled.
“General.” He slows as he takes in the scene.
She doesn’t respond.
The brain is the most likely place, if one wants to control the mind.
It could be some form of brainwashing.
She’s nearly positive it is not an infection of any sort.
The 501st and her battalion haven’t connected in months and only briefly before that.
If the clone who killed Tiplar was the same, a natural infection becomes even more unlikely.
Brainwashing is terribly difficult to maintain, takes time to implement.
The only place that could manage it would be Kamino.
Many of her men, like most of the 501st, have been off Kamino for a long time.
Stass is a Healer, trained in the Force.
There is more to this than just the physical.
She reaches out and begins to chant under her breath.
She seeks the familiar feeling she first grasped outside the Temple.
The strange wrongness in their minds.
It takes several moments, the room quiet around her.
She finds it, grasps the feeling and opens her eyes.
Bach is already studying the results, muttering under his breath about tumors and abnormalities and surgery.
Stass closes her eyes again and just breathes for a moment, relieved.
“General…?” Neyo again, careful this time.
“Commander.” Stass nods. “I believe I’ve found something.”
“Alright…” He begins.
She will have to tell him something. There is a part of her that doesn’t want to.
She explains, haltingly, as Bach prepares Re for surgery.
She doesn’t tell him everything, not the feeling of dying, not the pain of betrayal, not the Temple in flames.
But it’s enough.
It’s enough that he accepts her words, his mind whirring with possibilities and plans.
“You’re sure it’s all of us?”
“Yes.”
He makes a noise she can’t quite decipher.
“You want to go back.” It isn’t a question, and the insight surprises her.
“I must.” She pauses. “I will not ask you to come. I have seen several of the Separatist locations.”
“We can leave them.” Neyo says firmly before clarifying. “If your vision,” he grimaces slightly at the term, “is correct, there is not enough time for all of us to undergo the surgery. I trust my men to handle a few droids.”
That is… “You’re not staying?”
“You’re my General.” There’s grief in the words. “I’ll follow you.”
She sucks in a breath and reaches out to touch his arm. “Thank you.” There’s nothing else she can say.
Bach handles the surgery, bringing in the other medics to assist, and Neyo takes the location information with him, leaving Stass with the results.
She runs an analysis on what they’ve removed from Re and finds, well, not a lot.
It’s organic in nature, that much she can tell and analysis identifies it as a chip. But Stass is a healer, not the kind of scientist who could discover much more from it.
Bach suggests handing it over to one of the slicers and she does so.
Bach is fast as he moves on to the others. Stass is confident they will find plenty more information in between the many surgeries and chips.
She performs several of her own surgeries, including Neyo’s.
She is not usually a surgeon but she is a healer of many abilities.
She pulls back only to see the final results of the slicers’ investigations.
Order 66.
That would explain.
That would explain everything.
Neyo takes a deep breath when he reads it, emotions flashing and spiking in ways she can’t bother to decipher at the moment.
He storms out and Stass can hardly blame him.
She takes a shaky breath and goes back to work.
“General.” Stass jerks and turns. “We’ve got the planetary comms back up.”
“How long?” How much time does she have?
Neyo shakes his head and tips it in the direction of the door.
“Not long.”
“Alright.” She hurries for the relay, considering all the ways she might try to warn them, cursing the fact the chips failed to reveal the enemy’s identity.
“Master Allie.” Mace cuts in and out, the signal is terrible, but just the sound of his voice is enough.
“Master Windu.” She starts. “It is good to hear your voice.”
“Stass.” His expression gentles. “Are you well?”
No, she is not well. She hasn’t been well in days.
She has seen the end.
She has died.
“I am…” She hesitates, and turns to the trooper doing his best to maintain the connection. “Is this a secure comm?” He shakes his head.
“I-, these are dark times, Master Windu.”
“Indeed.” He nods. “You have Seen something?”
She nods.
The chips may be too much, there is no telling if this comm is monitored and she cannot risk triggering things early.
Instead, she forms the generic sign for betrayal and follows it with the sign most used to indicate the Temple.
The signal cuts out.
It doesn’t come back.
Stass breathes in and does her best to reassure the trooper trying to get it back up.
She hopes it’s enough.
She knows it isn’t.
There are, in the end, more men de-chipped and determined to come than Stass expected.
She stands and warns them all, before they leave.
“You may have to fight your brothers, may even kill them. I will not blame you if you stay behind. There is much to be done here.”
In the end, none of them walk away.
She slumps when they leave atmo, tired and shaky. Now, to wait.
“General.” Neyo hesitates, touches her arm. “I think you should rest.”
She can’t find it within herself to argue.
Some part of her that has remained tense since long before she woke up this time around unfurls, just a little, at the sight of the Temple unscathed.
She isn’t too late, not yet.
“Ready, sir?” Neyo puts on his helmet.
“Yes.” She means it, she really does.
The Temple is quiet, almost too quiet.
She heads for the Council Chambers first, in hopes of finding help with her fellow council members.
They’re empty.
A passing Knight tells her which council members are off planet, most of them.
“Thank you.” She gives them a tight smile. “Would you gather the masters and knights you can find in…” she considers, “the salles closest to the crèche? I have news.”
They agree.
“General,” Neyo speaks up. “We can help set up a perimeter while you speak with them.”
She hesitates. The part of her that still recoils in horror over what she has seen wants them as far from the crèche as possible.
“Yes, but flight may be the most wise.”
“Understood.”
She meets those who have gathered together and breathes.
“Thank you for joining me.” This may be more difficult than she previously thought. “I have seen… there is a trap coming for us.”
Several of her companions nod, they’ve sensed it too.
They haven’t seen it.
“I have found something,” best not to complicate things with words of time travel. “The clones-”
She pulls a mostly decayed chip from her sleeves and shows it to them.
“Someone has placed a chip in their minds.”
Shaak Ti nods calmly. She was told some of this then.
“I have found… they contain orders to override their will.”
Some surprise, some disgust, some grief, some horror.
“One of the orders is to kill the Jedi.”
The emotions are too numerous and horror-filled to count.
“I don’t know who has done this, but the troopers with me have had their chips removed.” She reveals. “I have come for one purpose, to give warning and protect the younglings.”
The others nod, some processing the news, many still reeling.
“Then we must move.” Shaak is the first to speak, closing her eyes as she does so. “The Force speaks to the truth of your words, Master Allie.”
Stass nods and realizes they are looking to her.
“Yes, well, the younglings must leave, along with any elders and wounded who can.”
And so it begins.
They are careful, spreading out with news to those not already informed.
Comm notifications are kept to a minimum, even if not actively monitored the spike in activity may arouse suspicions.
Master Che vows to stay, no matter what comes.
No one can find Mace or Saesee or Kit or Agen or Anakin, the Council Members meant to be on Coruscant.
Stass is afraid to consider what that means.
There are many, many Jedi to evacuate.
Neyo and Stass discussed some of the particulars but putting things into practice is a much more complicated task.
Force sensitive younglings reflect back the feelings of those around them and even the most practiced crèchemasters are having trouble keeping their worries from leaking out.
It is mostly organized chaos tinged with fear.
There is only so much she can do to soothe when she knows what’s coming.
One of the troopers at the Temple entrance sends out a short code, designed to warn them of incoming violence.
He sends nothing more.
Stass tries for calm.
There is an entire squad of troopers at the entrance.
Master Drallig and several Temple Guards took their places there without questioning her, though she caught looks of concern passed between them.
The crèche is not near empty, so many of them still remain.
Stass believes in the Jedi between the entrances and the crèche.
The sound of blaster fire reaches her ears far faster than she could have imagined.
What of Cin? Shaak? What of the guards and knights?
She takes a deep breath and turns.
If she can delay them, for even a few moments—
Her saber dips.
Oh.
Of course.
She brings it up again in an instant.
Tightens her grip.
That would explain it.
Stass Allie meets Anakin Skywalker’s eyes.
Anakin Skywalker’s hate-filled eyes.
She understands.
The clones following him, the 501st, do not give her a moment’s quarter.
How could he?
How dare he?
Stass Allie is a healer, before anything.
But she is also a warrior.
A survivor of Geonosis when so many others were not.
A member of the Jedi Council.
A general.
She takes a step forward.
Anakin Skywalker is not a healer.
He is a fighter.
He is powerful.
She knows this.
They were friends.
She thought they were friends.
He meets her with nothing but grim determination.
She is fast, precise.
In the end, it isn’t enough.
She can hear Neyo and his squad rush to help.
It won’t be enough.
She knows it with all the grim certainty of death.
She is right.
She doesn’t feel the lightsaber cut across her chest.
She sees it coming.
She isn’t strong enough to stop it.
Stass does not startle when she wakes this time.
There is no gasp or panic.
She sits up carefully, gazing at the five glowing points of the artifact.
One last shot.
One more try.
It’s Primeday.
If she’s right about this—which she suspects she is—it’s the last time she will wake up after the end.
“Bach.” She calls, still staring at the light fading from the details of the star in her hands.
“Yes, General?” He glances up.
“Could you get someone to call Commander Neyo for me? And whichever medics can be spared?”
One last time.
The Force sings truth, a strong beat in her heart.
She watches them file in, quiet and curious, only a tiny trace of concern hidden in their minds.
“I have something to tell you.” Stass starts, drawing strength from the Force’s encouragement. “I ask that you hear me out. I have woken up on this cot each day for the past week.”
She can feel their confusion swirling. They have not seen this before, they would have known.
“Not yesterday, not the day before but tomorrow and the day after.” She takes a breath in and cuts to the point. “I have died and each time I do I come back a day before the last time. I’m not sure why or how. This artifact seems to have something to do with it.”
She holds it up in front of her so they can see.
“We have five days before the end, of my people, of many other things.” She closes her eyes, pained.
There, growing horror, upset, dismay.
“There is a chip inside your brains. When activated, you will kill me, and any other Jedi you come across.”
This they cannot abide. She never expected them to, and only waits until the protests fade.
“We can remove it.” She still has to raise her voice. “It has worked before. I can show you.”
“I cannot tell you who placed it there, I’m sure you have your own theories.” Their anger crackles in the air, clear and dangerous.
“There is time.” She soothes. “If we are careful, if we are quick, I believe we can do this.”
They are not happy, that much is clear.
She doesn’t need them to be.
Some of them do not believe her.
That’s alright.
She only needs them to listen.
The process is quicker this time.
She knows exactly how to find the chips, the most efficient way to remove them, the most likely timeline for breakdown.
She knows to send the chips to the slicers right away and to show the findings to her men as soon as possible.
She does not tell most of them how she knows, how she’s died and come back several times now. Only Neyo and the medics hold that knowledge.
The Temple is her priority, the children and their most vulnerable. She will do all she can to save them.
There is a cost to it.
There always is.
She sends troopers to the south, even some to the west where they performed operations the last time the sun rose on this Primeday.
It is possible there are more, hiding elsewhere. It is possible that Saleucami will suffer as she takes her men to save her people.
There are hundreds of Jedi across the galaxy, terribly unaware of the betrayal and pain they will soon face.
There are millions of clones across the galaxy, painfully unaware that their minds are not truly their own.
She could travel to another planet, send them a comm.
In doing so she would risk destroying them all.
There is a Sith, somewhere, waiting.
So powerful and prepared their trap was set and baited long before this war began.
She doesn’t know who it is.
She doesn’t know when Skywalker Fell, doesn’t know why.
Only knows that he does, did, might, will.
“General.” Neyo, again.
There is a steadiness to his voice, to his mind.
Neyo is not unaffected by the news of the chips and their horrors, Stass can feel the roiling of his emotions deep down.
He is also focus, action.
“Commander.” She turns.
He wavers but only for a moment.
“You said it’s all of us.” She nods. It is, as far as she can tell. “If we could get the comms up, would you warn them?”
Would you, not could you.
“I can’t.” Her voice cracks, it’s been a long time. “I don’t know who’s done this. I don’t know who’s watching.”
Skywalker won’t join the council for a few days yet.
Skywalker isn’t the only one she needs to be careful of.
The Clones are their own people, in all the ways that matter, with individual values and personalities.
Jedi are not meant to be alone.
They are not meant to fear help.
It isn’t the Jedi she fears.
“This is my last chance, I think.” Stass takes the artifact out from within her robes, shows it to him. “I’ve failed so many times, Neyo.”
He makes a pained noise, likely not meant for her ears, and steps forward with something insistent in his eyes. “We have three ships, capable of hyperspeed and small enough to miss. Flimsi can’t be intercepted. You can keep it close, only those you can trust. You don’t need to tell them everything, only enough.”
A part of her wants to say no, wants to scream that they can’t risk it.
A Jedi does not succumb to fear.
She can feel it eating at her chest.
She lets it go as best she can, looks to the Force beyond it.
“I think—I think you’re onto something, Neyo.”
In the end, they send de-chipped volunteers, each with a sheet of flimsi tucked carefully away and instructions on how to go about warning each Jedi and CMO they find and how to convince them to keep everything quiet.
Her information is outdated and confused with the last few days but… Kaller is not too far and, well, Stass knows Depa has a new padawan to protect.
Even one would be enough.
She meets with Neyo and others, discussing and debating the best ways to evacuate, the most likely methods of escape.
The possibilities that may help free some of the clones in the aftermath.
They cannot save everyone.
Stass will not forget them if she can help it.
Soon, and it almost feels like far too long, it’s time.
Everyone heading for Coruscant is packed and ready, the explanations have been prepared and the officers covering for them have been prepped.
They’re gone before anyone not already in the know can ask what they’re doing.
If there is one good thing about the Battle of Coruscant, as Stass first heard it called in the hours after its conclusion, CorSec has many more important things to worry about than the unexpected arrival of a portion of a battalion and its Jedi General.
Their excuse is barely glanced at and it’s up to her navigators to ensure that they aren’t caught up in the chaos. They are lucky there are still pockets that remain relatively safe.
Obi-Wan and Anakin have already engaged and Dooku will be dead soon. She has faith that this will not change. Stass does not protest the orders to hold back. Allies may be more dangerous to one another than to the enemy if poorly coordinated.
Besides, Stass is not here for the Chancellor.
The Councillors on-planet and many of the other available masters are away from the Temple, protecting the Senate as the fight rages over the skies of Coruscant.
The Temple feels empty.
There is much to be done.
Escape is only the first step in survival.
Whoever the Sith is, wherever they hide, Stass doubts they will settle for a single day’s massacre.
The squad assigned to the task leaves to find and modify ships, small and large and in between. In hopes of making them untraceable.
There are very few ships not already tasked at some far away front.
Stass wonders if this was planned too.
Neyo takes his own squad, hoping to obtain much needed supplies while the attention of Coruscant is elsewhere.
Stass considers, seeks the Force’s guidance.
The Council will not return for some time, Anakin is not a member of their body yet.
There is little she can do to prevent him from becoming one.
There was nothing the Jedi could do the first time, knowing it was not their choice.
Any word spoken without care, to the wrong person, at the wrong time, may be their downfall.
She strides in the direction of the crèche.
Stass is lucky the people she must warn have very little opportunity to say the wrong thing to the wrong person.
There are many things that have changed in this war.
She does not ask to speak to all of them, only the most senior and well-regarded.
“Masters.” She bows when they have gathered. “These are dark times.”
They nod in agreement, grim and tired.
“I have seen—” she cuts herself off and takes a breath. They are patient with her, soothing her in the Force on instinct.
“The Temple is in danger.” She begins. “There is a trap laid out for us and if nothing is done we will not escape it.”
“A vision?” One asks, Stass can feel the tingle of disbelief.
“I have lived it masters.” She insists. “I can’t explain how but—”
They signal for silence and Stass obeys without question.
“Take a breath, Stass.” Their voice is gentle. “We will not turn you away without listening. Show us, so that we can know.”
“I am sorry.” She is not talking about her words.
One of them takes her hand, guiding her to the meditation mats like when she was young and still learning how to sit still and breathe.
They come together in a circle.
Stass takes a deep breath, the Force greets her as something loved.
She shows them, not everything, not Skywalker, not dying.
The little padawan and initiate, fighting and running and terrified.
She shows them the feeling of facing the clones, the betrayal and horror.
The Force sings with nothing but truth.
There are tears in several eyes when she pulls back.
The grief seems to soak into the very room.
“They—” the speaker cuts themself off with a pained sound.
“The clones have control chips inside their minds.” Stass explains. “All of them, as best we can tell.”
She can feel them grasp the magnitude.
There are millions of clones.
There are thousands of Jedi.
“My men have had them removed.” She continues. “But—”
“We are not safe.” One of the crèchemasters finishes, decisive.
“We must keep this quiet.” She implores. “I do not know who the Sith is and—”
“—they may spring their trap early.” Another quietly agrees. “How long?”
“Two days.” A little more, in truth, but Stass will take no chances.
Several of the crèchemasters are still stuck in disbelief, in horror.
The master facing Stass nods, decisively.
“Then two days will have to be enough.” She reaches out, takes Stass’s hand in her own. “Thank you, Master Allie. You have a plan?”
It is not a question. Stass outlines what they’ve considered with care, accepts their suggestions and questions.
By the end, the Force thrums with determination and faith. They leave, one by one, unhurried and calm.
Stass recognizes the last to leave, one of the trainees who watched her Clan when she was a child.
She gives Stass a smile and reaches up to brush a hand to her cheek.
“May the Force be with you, Master Allie.”
Stass feels her breath hitch and doesn’t pull away.
“And with you, Master.”
Less than three days left.
When the time comes, she finds Mace in his rooms, only a slight furrow in his brow to indicate the stress he must be under.
“Master Allie.” He greets, proper and slightly surprised. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“It was… unexpected.” She hedges. It is the truth, none of this was expected.
“Is everything alright?” He pushes.
Stass purses her lips and takes a breath.
“I have… seen something, Mace.” She starts. “Meditate with me?”
He agrees.
If there was one person Stass had planned on confiding in completely, it was Mace.
There are others, of course, who are just as trustworthy, just as light, but she trusts him to be steady.
She feels his grief and anguish just as he feels hers, the shock of watching the Temple burn, the mourning once she’d identified the chips, Anakin’s betrayal.
Once she has shown him the important things she leaves him to meditate on the revelations and tracks down the ingredients for one of his preferred teas.
It is, as it always has been, an almost meditative process in itself.
He opens his eyes at the sound of the cup being set on the table.
Mace takes a deep breath. Stass wonders if she looks as tired as he does.
“These are dark times.” It is almost a sigh.
“Yes.”
They sit in silence, for a while.
“The Chancellor has asked that Anakin be placed on the Council as his personal representative.”
“Yes.” She says no more.
“He hasn’t Fallen yet.” The sound is weary.
“It doesn’t appear so.” She agrees. “He is troubled.”
“The future is always in motion.” Mace reminds her, almost hesitant. “We will be careful.”
She nods with a shudder.
It is not the Jedi way to condemn Anakin for the things he has not yet done. He may be troubled but he is not yet Dark, not like he was in the no longer future.
He asks more questions, but Stass doesn’t know what triggered Anakin’s Fall before, doesn’t know who the Sith Lord is, isn’t sure why Order 66 goes out when it does. There is death lurking and she has only glimpsed its shadow. She wishes she had answers, wishing brings her no closer to knowing.
Finally, Mace and Stass settle to finish the tea.
The warmth is pleasant and comforting in her hands.
The taste is familiar and reminds her of the best parts of her home.
It is enough.
Stass misses the next day’s council meeting, not for the first time.
She knows her limits and she isn’t sure she could interact with Anakin as if nothing is wrong.
He was angry, the first time around, that they did not make him a master.
She meets with Neyo and the others instead.
They’ve obtained ships and moved enough supplies to last some time.
“Sir,” Neyo starts, voicing the question Stass can feel the crèchemasters want to ask. “When should we start?”
“Soon, I think we can begin packing the Initiates, frame it as an exercise perhaps, if anyone asks.” She is needed in the archives, she isn’t sure what Mace told her but Jocasta has been searching all morning for a suitable place to go.
The crèchemasters nod, coordinating as best they can with the clones preparing transportation.
Neyo steps to walk at her side as she leaves, speaking quietly.
“Do you think it is too risky to bring the Guard in on this?” He asks, she recognizes the tone.
“You have a plan?” She turns to a private room and gives him her attention.
“A vaccination, one that’s become a recent concern, very mundane and easily done in the Temple, might as well do a routine scan while we’re at it. No need to even report it.”
“You would not tell them?” She tilts her head, seeking his intentions.
“I can’t risk it, sir.” His expression twists. “They’re so close, and…” She can feel his grief, reaches out with a comforting hand.
He has spent time with the younglings since they arrived.
Stass saw him early this morning with one hanging off each arm and another trying to figure out his armor at his feet.
He was trying to speak privately to one of the crèchemasters about the logistics of their escape, not realizing the real challenge was escaping their charges.
“I understand.”
They risk it, careful to leave enough troopers that no one notices the absence and ensure Commander Fox is too distracted to properly file the paperwork to ask permission.
By evening, they have a place and several back-ups.
The first ships make their way off Coruscant, the first clans to leave but not the last.
Stass listens as they leave, no indication that anyone has noticed anything amiss.
On to the next.
The morning of Primeday dawns bright and eager, with a delight that Stass can hardly stand.
She turns at the sound of someone at her door.
Neyo hands her a cup of caff and, uncharacteristically, joins her with his own for a moment.
She can feel the consideration, examination, and doesn’t comment on it.
“It’s today.”
“Yes.” She returns.
“General…” His expression shifts into a frown for a moment. “This, it doesn’t have to be the end for you.”
Stass actually turns, looks at him head on.
He isn’t looking at her, eyes firmly fixed on the brightening sky outside.
“I need you to try.”
“I am trying.” She retorts though she knows that isn’t what he’s saying.
“Just— they’ll need you, after. We all will.” He returns to his caff without another word.
“Alright, Neyo.” She’s so tired. “I will.”
The day passes quickly, far more quickly than the others.
Kit passes information on cheap and relatively reliable ship sellers that won’t ask questions to her on his way down the hall.
Jocasta employs the Troopers who can spare a moment in hiding or cramming pieces of the archives in unused corners of the ships before departure.
She doesn’t see Anakin, but then again, she isn’t sure he stays in the Temple these days.
The youngest of the crèche are gone by early afternoon.
Vokara has finished stabilizing those she can an hour later.
The Initiate is a surprise.
Stass had almost not expected to see them again.
It is a relief.
“Master.” They are afraid, nervous in a way they never should be in their home.
They are not terrified, running from their death.
“Initiate…?”
“Mari!”
“Initiate Mari.” Stass leans down. “What are you doing so far from your Clan?”
“I, um, I wanted…” She mumbles, too quiet to hear.
“Yes?”
“Master Sena says we’re going on a trip,” she whispers. “I don’t think we’re coming back.”
Stass hums, neutral and unconcerned.
It will do no good to lie to her. Children are more perceptive than many give them credit for.
“There’s a flower in the gardens, it’s purple and Master Jambe says it’s very delicate. He lets me water it.”
“I see.” Stass begins to guide her back.
“Could we take it with us? I promise I’ll take good care of it.”
“Mari.” Stass drops down to her level again. “That is very kind of you, to think of the flower. I need you to go back to your Clan now but if you tell me more I will do my best to ensure that it is safe.”
Mari studies her for a moment before nodding and heading back, a slight skip in her step despite the worries in her heart.
One of the gardeners promises to see the flower to a Trooper organizing the transports.
Agen darts over briefly, as the sky begins to turn and her heart starts to clench with the number that remains, to tell her that Grievous is dead.
It is not a joyful proclamation.
“We are going to see to the turnover of emergency powers,” he says.
“May the Force be with you, Agen.” The end approaches.
“And with you, Stass.”
The moment of truth is coming, fast and unstoppable as a raging river.
She glances at Anakin’s departure towards the Senate out of the corner of her eye.
Now, the time is now.
A quick signal is sent, they’re close enough now that the risk is acceptable.
Cin and Neyo send back an acknowledgement.
Stass takes a deep breath.
The final departure begins.
They’ve nearly made it.
They’re so close.
“Wait!” One of the older Initiates stops her before they close the door of their ship. “I haven’t seen my friend!”
Stass, for all she is not inclined to prescience, can feel the shift in the Force.
The time is now.
She sets out to find them.
It’s tempting to think this was always meant to happen, when she finds the new padawan in question.
Stass knows that isn’t the case.
“Padawan.” She starts, can hear the blaster fire coming closer. “You need to head to the ships, now.”
“Master Allie, I don’t understand what’s going on.” She can almost see Mari clinging to a lightsaber behind him, the terror in his eyes.
Mari is safe, soon he will be too.
“It will be explained, I promise.” She takes his hand, squeezes for a moment. “Hurry.”
Stass pushes lightly and waits until he’s started to leave before she takes her saber in her hand.
The marching feet are audible now.
She cannot run, can’t risk that brave little padawan.
She spares a moment’s thought for Neyo and promises she will try her best to see tomorrow.
Skywalker does not speak, so neither does she.
Stass is a healer, before anything.
She has lost this fight before.
The future is always in motion.
She takes a breath, centers herself and strikes.
She fights as she never has before.
There is determination in her veins.
The last few ships are leaving, they need every moment she can give them.
In the end, Anakin is not what strikes her down.
He may land the final blow, but it is one of his men who fires the shot to her side that seals her fate.
She should not take pride in it, it is not the trooper’s choice to kill her.
Still, the part of her that bares bloody teeth and holds the shaking saber in position wants to grin.
Anakin Skywalker has not beaten her this time.
He takes a step forward.
Her legs no longer hold her weight.
She swings her saber at him anyways.
He doesn’t even bother to block it.
She closes her eyes, one final time, breathing ragged and fading.
She’s won.
Systems away, in a dusty, ancient temple, an artifact sits untouched and undisturbed.
There is no one to see it glow, all of its intricate designs shining for a moment.
There is no one to see the light spread to the etched words above it, their meaning lost long ago with the language.
There is no one to see the light fade again, like it had never been there in the first place.