By the time we made it back to Coruscant from the asteroid outpost, I'd had just enough sleep to remember I needed more. The urban speeder rode the traffic lanes toward the Temple like an old brush swobing through fresh paint. Bad Company peeled off to debrief with GAR High Command, and I got the summons nobody likes seeing on a holopanel:
JEDI HIGH COUNCIL – IMMEDIATE PRESENCE REQUIRED
No "please." No "when you have a minute." Just a polite way of saying "get your ass up here now, kid."
The Council Chamber always feels bigger than it looks. Circular room, high windows drinking in the Coruscant sky, twelve seats in a ring like they're politely trying not to admit they're a cage. The floor echoes just enough to remind you that you're small and your boots are loud.
Today the seats weren't all full, but the important ones were: Yoda, perched like a knot of old roots; Mace Windu, all hard angles except for the bald head, his eyes were harder; Plo Koon, quiet and present, his presence was almost warm; Shaak Ti, folded calm, and very beatiful indeed; Obi-Wan Kenobi, beard included, hiding his sassy remarks; Ki-Adi-Mundi, thinking before he'd even decided what to think, to emotionless for my taste; and a few others cycling in on holo from the front. Anakin wasn't in a seat—he stood to the side, arms crossed, jaw tight, he'd been invited to the meeting for reasons unknown to me.
I stepped into the center, bowed. "Masters."
"Knight Kriss," Mace said. "Report."
No warming lap. It was fine.
"We inserted onto the asteroid outpost under stealth—asteroid designation RM-1147, Separatist listening post welded to the spine. Bad Company neutralized exterior defenses and infiltrated without overt engagement. Internally, B1 garrison only, supplemented by automated turrets and a basic sensor grid. Node located in central relay room."
I kept my hands loose, folded in front of me, cuts and bruises still aching under the sleeves. The Council watched. Yoda's eyes were half-lidded, but he was listening like shores listens to the sea.
"The primary relay was broadcasting on standard Confederacy lattice," I continued. "But there was a secondary feed tied into what Spark—our tech specialist—identified as a shadow bus. It mirrored key intelligence packets off the main stream and forwarded them through an encrypted Coreward route."
"Coreward?" Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned forward. "You're certain?"
"Spark is," I said. "And Beeper, my droid. I don't know which of them swears more, but they agreed, and when they agreed, something is serious. The encryption profile didn't match CIS, and it didn't match GAR. The passphrases had Coruscant fingerprints. Someone informed that outpost how to talk like a central node."
"Could it be a compromised Republic system," Shaak Ti asked, "rather than an intentional channel?"
"Possible, but not likely, Master. The routing was deliberate. It wasn't just shooting; it was aiming for it first. Whoever set it up wanted front-line intel shipped Coreward on a separate line, quiet and deniable."
Anakin shifted, the movement sharp. "You're saying someone on our side is feeding them?"
"I'm saying someone with our codes is getting a copy of everything the Separatists hear on that front," I answered. "Whether they're feeding the Seps, themselves, or someone else—we don't know. Yet."
Mace's gaze went flinty. "You captured the node."
"We did. Spark spoofed the check-ins, snared the shadow stream, and packaged the log. We transmitted a tightbeam back to the Temple and a mirrored copy to the Chancellor's office, as per standing protocol." I let my jaw tighten for half a beat. "With respect, Masters, I think that protocol is now a problem."
The room shifted, just a little. You can feel it when a word lands heavier than its weight.
"Explain," Windu said, narrowing a bit his eyes, colder than before.
I took a breath. Don't chew the air; it bites back. "If the leak—or whatever we're calling this—is Coreward, then every additional person we loop in increases the risk that we're telling the fox the coop's missing feathers. Until we know who or what is sitting at the other end of that shadow bus, I recommend we keep distribution of the data extremely limited. Council. Maybe one or two trusted analysts. No wide dissemination. Not even through standard Temple channels."
Ki-Adi frowned. "You're suggesting we ignore the Chancellor's right to be informed?"
"I'm suggesting we don't give whoever set up that line any hint that we saw it," I said, meeting his gaze. "If they realize their toy's been spotted, they'll burn it, and we'll lose our only lead. If they're in the Republic—inside Intelligence, inside the Senate, inside the Chancellor's staff, for all we know—then our normal reporting tree is compromised by definition."
Anakin made a small noise that might have been agreement. Obi-Wan shot him a look that said "behave", then turned it on me, gentler but sharp.
"A serious accusation, Knight Kriss," he said. "One we've… considered, in other contexts."
"Not an accusation," I said. "I don't have a name. If I did, I'd be asking you to arrest someone, not asking you to play shell games with data. I'm just saying: we've stumbled onto a line that shouldn't exist. That line runs from a CIS node to somewhere near the heart of the Republic. That's… not nothing."
Yoda tapped his gimer stick softly. Tuk. The sound cut across the air like punctuation.
"Wise, your caution is," he said. "Hmm. Dangerous, also, suspicion can be. Yet blind, we must not be, when shadow where light should be, we find."
Mace folded his hands. "We cannot simply stop informing the Supreme Chancellor of critical intelligence."
"I know," I said. "You'll have to tell him something. But maybe… not everything. Not yet. We can say we neutralized the listening station and captured a data node. That's true. We don't have to mention the extra passenger riding the transmission lines until we've had a chance to digest it."
The air went still. Plo Koon watched me with that unreadable kindness behind the mask.
"You distrust the Chancellor," Ki-Adi observed.
I shrugged, careful. "I distrust systems that assume everyone at the top is automatically above suspicion. No disrespect to the office. Or to the man itself."
"Suspicion of power is not inherently disrespect," Plo said quietly. "Nor is trust inherently naive. The question is the balance."
Anakin glanced at Yoda. "Masters… Senator Amidala has been warning for months that something's wrong in the Senate. Too many bills that hobble us, too many that… conveniently prolong the war. Maybe Will's right. If someone's running their own private intel game, and we spook them now, we may never—"
"Skywalker," Mace cut in. Not harsh, but final. "This is not the forum."
'Not the forum' is Council-speak for "we know, we're thinking, stop making it sound like your idea." I kept my mouth shut. Mostly.
Yoda's eyes came back to me. "Much, you have seen, in a short time. Heavy, your thoughts are."
"So are my boots, Master," I said before my brain could stop my mouth. "Doesn't make the floor less real."
A beat. Then a ripple of amusement—not quite smiles, but something softened around eyes and mouths. Even Mace's shoulders loosened half a centimeter.
"Very well," Shaak Ti said. "We'll restrict access to the full contents of the shadow bus to the Council and a minimal circle within Temple Intelligence. I will personally oversee the analysis."
Yoda nodded. "Inform the Chancellor, we will, of the outpost and the data captured. Of the shadow within the data, speak carefully, we must. Hmmm. Until clearer, the picture is."
"Understood," I said. Relief and worry tangled in my chest. Secrecy is a blade that cuts both ways.
Mace let that topic settle like dust on stone. Then his posture shifted, a new weight settling on the room.
"There is… another matter, Knight Kriss," he said.
Yoda's ears dipped. Plo's head turned slightly, like he'd been waiting for this part. Anakin straightened, suddenly alert and anxious.
"We've received a distress report," Obi-Wan said. "Indirectly."
"Indirectly?"
"Through the Fleet," Plo clarified. "A gunship went down on Felucia in a Separatist ambush. Master Skywalker and his troops took heavy fire. During the infiltration of a CIS base, his Padawan—Ahsoka Tano—was separated from the main force in a Trandoshan raiding action."
My stomach went cold. "They took her?"
Anakin's jaw clenched hard enough I heard his teeth. "We believe so. The Trandoshans have a tradition of… hunting sentients. Particularly those they consider challenging prey. Jedi, unfortunately, qualify, even padawans."
I felt a flicker of memory: Ahsoka in the training salle, sweat-slick, eyes bright, calling me too serious. Padawan, yes—but prey? The idea made my knuckles itch.
"Her tracker was disabled shortly after," Shaak Ti said. "But long-range Intel picked up chatter matching known Trandoshan slaver-hunter routes. Their preferred hunting ground is a moon in their home system. Wasskah."
I'd heard of Wasskah. Most Jedi had, if they read the darker parts of Intel briefings. Dense jungle islands, broken into hunting zones, Trandoshan dropships seeding captives to be "harvested" later for Jagganath points and other bullshit glories that make murder sound like a sport.
"Is she alone?" I asked.
"No," Plo said. "We believe she's with other captives. Three young Jedi—Initiates who were taken in earlier raids. One Mirialan female, one Twi'lek male, one Cerean male. Names still being confirmed; the records are fragmentary. There is also mention of a Wookiee prisoner. Non-Jedi. Large. Strong. Currently cooperating with the other captives to survive."
"A Wookiee?" Burner would love that, I thought absently. "Do we know his name?"
Plo inclined his head. "Intelligence intercepted a fragment of Trandoshan comms: they refer to him as 'the big furball' and 'the one that keeps breaking things.' But one of our asset translators picked out a Shyriiwook identifier in the background: Chewbacca."
A Wookiee with that profile, that attitude? Yeah. That tracks.
"So," I said slowly, "we've got Ahsoka—who is infuriating, stubborn, and competent as kriff—three younglings, who have no business on a kill-moon, and a pissed-off Wookiee stuck in a hunting preserve. And we're going to go… what, exactly?"
"Get them back," Anakin said, voice tight and fierce. "Preferably before the Trandoshans mount their heads on a wall."
"Rescue mission," Obi-Wan said. "Covert. Trandoshan hunters expect game, not counter-infiltration. That's where you come in, Knight Kriss. You and your… company."
Plo's gaze warmed a fraction. "Knight Kriss, your recent operation demonstrates that you and your unit are well suited for stealth, capture, and disruption of enemy infrastructure. Wasskah will require all three."
I looked around the ring. "Respectfully, Masters, if Ahsoka's there, Skywalker should—"
"No," Mace said, flat. "Skywalker is too close to this. His attachment to his Padawan is… known."
Anakin bristled. "You think I'd jeopardize—"
"I think you'd do anything to get her back," Windu said, not unkindly. "Including rush in where patience is required. You are valuable on the front where you are, General Skywalker. On Wasskah, we need a knife, not a hammer."
Anakin's eyes flashed to me. There was anger there, yes, but also something else. Desperation. Trust, maybe, in a twisted shape.
I looked back, and my stare said "don't worry, she is coming back home alive."
"You're her friend," he said. "You know how she thinks. You've sparred together, been in the field. You'll know how to read her moves, her… stubborn streak." His hands knotted and unknoted at his sides. "Just bring her back, Will."
No pressure.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the ghost-weight of the clone armor plates now sitting back on my quarters' shelf. "What resources do we have?"
"A stealth corvette with full sensor dampening, currently on loan from Republic Intelligence," Shaak Ti said. "You'll take Bad Company, insert into Wasskah's upper atmosphere away from primary hunting zones, and proceed on foot or low-altitude to locate and extract the captives."
"Trandoshan structures are crude but dangerous," Plo added. "They favor elevated platforms, kill-zones with overlapping fields of fire, and environmental traps. Expect sensor nets tuned to warm-blooded movement. The jungle canopy is dense, visibility low. Cloaked movement will be difficult but not impossible."
"Any known CIS presence?" I asked.
"Minimal," Obi-Wan said. "The Trandoshans operate this moon as a… private enterprise. Their relationship with the Confederacy is transactional. As long as they keep harassing Republic forces and thinning our numbers, Dooku turns a blind eye. But there shouldn't be a heavy droid presence. This won't be a conventional battlefield."
"So more like a long, angry, rigged game preserve," I said. "With better weapons."
"Yes," Ki-Adi said. "But that also means your presence can be contained. If you can capture their dropship or communications hub, you can cut off their ability to redeploy captives or call for reinforcements."
Mace steepled his fingers. "Your objectives are threefold. One: locate and extract Padawan Tano and the other Jedi captives. Two: secure and evacuate the Wookiee, Chewbacca. Three: disrupt or destroy the Trandoshan hunting infrastructure on Wasskah as much as your primary objectives allow."
I thought of Ahsoka, of three likely scared kids trying to pretend they weren't, of a Wookiee roaring defiance in a forest that smelled like fear. I thought of the shadow bus, of secrets crawling along wires.
"And the leak?" I asked quietly. "The shadow line?"
Shaak Ti answered. "We'll handle that here, for now. Quietly. Your focus is Wasskah. The war will give us more than one fire to put out at a time, Knight Kriss. I suggest you carry one bucket at a time too."
"Understood," I said. "Bad Company will need full briefing on Trandoshan hunting practices, local wildlife, and any known exfil corridors. We'll also need whatever we have on Wookiee distress beacons if this Chewbacca tries to call in friends. They usually do."
Plo's eyes softened. "I'll send you my logs from prior Wookiee engagements. They trust those who fight beside them. Fight well, and you may have more allies than you expect."
Yoda's gaze settled on me like a hand. "Dangerous, Wasskah is. Brutal, its games are. But hunted, the hunters can be, hmm? Trust in the Force, you must—and in those you lead."
I bowed again, deeper. "We won't let them down, Masters."
As I turned, Mace's voice stopped me. "Knight Kriss."
I looked back.
"You were right to question the intel chain," he said. "Don't let it turn you cynical. Suspicion is a tool. Don't sleep with it."
"Yes, Master," I said, and tried to file that between trust nobody and don't be an ass in the mental drawer labeled impossible balance.
Anakin caught me in the corridor outside the chamber. The Temple traffic flowed around us: Padawans, Knights, droids humming, a couple of Masters in debate about some obscure point of philosophy that would probably outlive us all.
He grabbed my arm. Hard.
"Will."
"Yeah."
"Ahsoka…" His voice dropped. The bravado slid off for a second, and I saw the man underneath: terrified, furious, helpless. "She's tough. But Wasskah isn't… it's not a battlefield. It's a slaughterhouse that likes to be called sport."
"I know."
"She won't quit. She'll put herself between those kids and every bolt. She'll make dumb, brave choices because that's what we trained her to do. Don't—" His throat worked. "Don't lecture her out of it. Use it. Lean into the way she fights. She'll be looking for high ground, chokepoints, ways to hit back instead of run. Find those. And if you have to choose…"
He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
"I'm not leaving her," I said. "Or them. Or the Wookiee. That's the plan. Full stop."
He let out a breath like it had edges. "Good. Because if anything happens to her and I wasn't there and I didn't at least send the right bastard in my place…"
"I'll take that as a compliment," I said.
He squeezed my arm once, hard. "Bring her home, Will."
"I will," I said, because sometimes the universe deserves a bad pun.
"Just... be ready for a distress call from me, okay? I will send my already formed plan later to you holopad." I said, with a very non-jedi like plan formed. This is war, after all.
Bad Company didn't need a motivational speech. They needed facts.
We gathered in the briefing room on the Resolute Dawn's forward deck. The holo table painted a spinning model of Wasskah: green-brown orb wrapped in cloud bands, with highlighted zones where Intel thought the hunting grounds were thickest.
Rift leaned his right elbow on the rim, helmet under the left arm. Burner sprawled in a chair, boot on a crate. Doc stood, arms crossed, pretending he didn't care. Spark sat on the table edge, legs swinging, Beeper beeping behind his leg like a smug stray pet. Frost lingered near the back, where he could see everyone. Brick had his shield propped on top of a crate but close enough to reach. Jackal paced a slow circle like a caged predator trying to memorize bars.
"So," Burner said, watching the holo zoom into one of the islands. "We're going from space rock bug-zapper to lizard hunting resort. I feel underdressed."
"Problem we can fix," Brick said.
I tapped the control. The holo shifted, showing elevated platforms connected by rope bridges, crude sensor towers, landing pads. Tiny red triangles marked likely Trandoshan positions based on known patrol patterns.
"Trandoshan moon," I said. "Name's Wasskah. They use it as a private hunting preserve. They grab sentients they think will put up a fight and drop them into the jungle, then play who's the biggest asshole for points."
"If you're choosing a game, bad one," Jackal muttered.
"They've got one of ours," I continued. "Ahsoka Tano. Jedi Padawan. Young, smart, stubborn. She's not alone. Intel says three younglings: Mirialan girl, Twi'lek boy, Cerean boy. Plus one Wookiee prisoner, name of Chewbacca."
Spark's eyebrows went up. "Wookiee? Great. If we screw this up, we'll have Kashyyyk mad at us. No pressure."
"Objectives: we get them back," I said. "We break as much of the hunting infrastructure as we can on the way out. And if we can steal or destroy their comms, we do that too. Trandoshan presence should be light-to-medium, no heavy droid support expected. This isn't a CIS fort; it's a rich sadist's playground."
Rift nodded slowly, tracking terrain lines. "Insertion?"
"Stealth corvette with sensor dampeners. We drop into high orbit, then into low at night. Two LAAT/is modified for silent running. No screaming gunship engines, no lightshow. We come in where their sensors are weakest. On foot from there."
Frost tapped the holo. "Canopy will block our optics. We'll be blind more than I like."
"You'll still see more than they do," I said. "But yeah, expect short sightlines, shit visibility, and more things that want to bite us than we have ammo for."
"Standard day out, then," Burner said.
"We've got some intel on local wildlife uploaded to your HUDs," Spark added. "Poisonous plants, ambush predators, that kind of fun. Try not to lick anything that hisses."
"Rules of engagement?" Rift asked. The important question.
"Trandoshan hunters are legitimate targets," I said. "Droids, if any, same. Protect the captives first. If it's a choice between glorious sabotage and getting them onto the ship breathing, we pick breathing."
Doc nodded appreciatively. "I love it when the plan is 'don't kill our own on purpose.'"
"There's another wrinkle," I added. "We're going in quiet. That means minimal saber work from me until it's truly necessary. Lighting up a full-length green in a dark jungle is like strapping a beacon to my ass. I'll be running mostly with my blue shoto-pike, single blade. Short, precise, low signature. And I will use yours—not so elegant—blasters too. "
"No big flashy heroics," Brick said. "Got it. Tragic."
"I reserve the right to use the other end as a surprise," I said. "But if everything's going right, most Trandoshans won't even know we're there until their guns stop working."
Rift gave me a long look. Not doubting—measuring. "You put on the armor plates again?"
I glanced down. I'd strapped the recovered forearm and shoulder plate back on, plus a second thigh plate Spark had refit to my build. Temple cloth between, but the silhouette was shifting: less robed mystic, more line trooper with glow-sticks.
"Yeah," I said. "Seems we're going to be spending some quality time in the mud together. I'd rather it not be entirely my blood."
Doc smirked. "My bacta reserves thank you."
Burner nodded at the shoulder plate. "He's one of us," he said to no one in particular.
"Nah," Spark said. "We're one of him. He's the idiot who signed for responsibility."
"Everyone shut up and pack," Rift said, but there was no bite in it. "You heard the general. We're hunting the hunters. Quiet insertion, quiet extraction, loud if necessary. Frost, I want eyes customized for tree lines. Jackal, memorise every scent profile in that jungle brief. Burner, prep charges for structural, not ornamental. Spark, harden our comms—we don't want Trandoshans listening to us insult them. Doc, med kits for claws and poison. Brick—"
"Yeah?"
"Make sure we all come home."
He thumped a fist on his chest. "Roger, roger."
I didn't miss the grin when he said it. The droids had no idea the clones had turned their catchphrase into a joke—and a shield.
We broke. Gear checks. Last-minute diagnostics. I walked the bay, tapping shoulder plates, adjusting straps, trading insults and small corrections. Frost's rifle got a extra clip. Burner's det-pouch was one charge too heavy; I made him put one back. Doc tried to sneak an extra stimulant into my belt; I let him. Spark had modified Beeper with a low-light mode that made it look like a small, angry meteor. Jackal had tied little strips of scented fiber to his harness—markers only he could interpret.
At the end of the line, Rift stood waiting, helmet on now, T-visor reflecting my face back at me in dark-tinted distortion.
"You're sure about this, General?" he asked quietly. "Moon full of lizards who think we're trophies, jungle that'll eat us, kids who'll do something heroic and stupid if we blink…"
I considered lying. Decided against it.
"No," I said. "I'm not sure about anything except that Ahsoka's out there, those younglings are out there, and a Wookiee who keeps breaking shit is out there. And nobody else is coming. So we go."
He nodded, slow. "That's all I needed to hear."
The stealth corvette was smaller than the cruisers I was used to, and meaner. No gleaming Republic sigils, just matte plates and smoothed edges and drives tuned to whisper instead of roar. Inside, the hum was muted, like the ship knew we were about to do something that needed quiet.
As we strapped into the deployment bay, I caught a glimpse of Coruscant receding through a tiny porthole: layers of light and shadow, sky traffic weaving like arteries. Somewhere down there, the Council was staring at the same stars, sifting through a stolen shadow bus. Somewhere in the Senate building, Palpatine would be reading a carefully edited version of my report and smiling that warm, unreadable smile.
Secrets in the Core. Hunts in the dark. A war that liked to multitask.
I thumbed my shoto-pike. One end asleep, one ready to wake. The clone armor plates pressed into my skin, warm from my body heat. I could feel Bad Company's breath around me, in and out, in sync without trying.
The pilot's voice crackled over the internal comm. "Dropping out of hyperspace above Trandosha system in three. Dark-entry vector locked. Wasskah insertion in ten after that. We stay invisible, or we get very dead. Your call, grounders."
Rift looked at me. "First in, General?"
I smiled, just a little. "Last out," I said.
The stars stretched, snapped, and the viewport filled with a sullen-looking green moon haloed by hunting grounds we hadn't seen yet.
Somewhere down there, Ahsoka Tano was running out of places to hide.We were coming to teach the hunters what it felt like to be prey.