Rage Against The Dark Ch 8

Good morning, afternoon, or evening y'all! Here is new chapter!

You know, originally this was going to have more shenanigans and be even more lighthearted and stuff. But then a conversation between the characters happened and it kinda got away from the initial plan.

That said, I do think that was overall for the chapter's benefit.

Anyways, here is chapter! Drop me a comment and lemme know if you liked!

=][=

Boy was I glad the clones all reacted well to an amalgamation of a few canned battlefield sermons. I had a feeling that Huītzilōpōchtli would have been proud of me.

And he likely would have offered me a cup of the blood of my enemies which I’d need to find some way to politely pour on something else when he wasn’t looking, because drinking raw human blood is how you got hepatitis.

“Put me down.” Sussurro muttered where she lay almost bonelessly in my arms, her tail hanging limp and her helmet resting on my plastron, one of her ears occasionally twitching, making the ear covering of the helmet smack me lightly in the mask. “I can stand.”

“Shush you.” I said, the clones of Torrent and the 212th giving me what little space they could, the halls of the Negotiator packed tightly as one of the ship’s naval crew led me to what would be my temporary quarters for the short hop to Tatooine, then to wherever the Resolute ended up.

“Here we are, sir.” The clone Naval officer said, gesturing to an officer’s quarters.

“Thank you.” I said, walking past him and into the room. Just like my quarters in the Resolute, the room was relatively large, but when the rest of my girls arrived it would be a bit cramped. I walked to the nearest bed and gently set down my tuckered-out vixen on the floor. I took my helmet off and set it down on the stand next to the bed cut into the wall.

I then began to gently strip the fox girl out of her armor. She protested that she could do it herself, but she was already more asleep than awake, offering neither resistance nor aid when I peeled the under suit and smallclothes off her, and she was snoring gently when I slipped a clean pair of panties on her, as well as one of my shirts over her head.

Lastly, I placed her on the bed, tucked her in, gave her a quick peck on the tip of her button nose, and threw her dirt, oil, ash and blood smeared clothes into the sonic fresher.

With all that done, I slipped my helmet back on and stepped out so I could make my way to whatever quarters my boys ended up saddled with.

I felt the ship shudder as it jumped to Hyperspace, meaning we were some twenty hours away from Tatooine. We’d arrive just in time to be too late to make a difference, one way or the other.

Putting that worry out of mind, I followed the Force’s directions and arrived at the bay, where the clones were efficiently unpacking what they would need for their short stay at the Negotiator.

I walked until I found Rex and inserted myself into the conversation he was having with the company’s Lieutenants and Sergeants.

“Pardon the interruption.” I said as they all saluted. “At ease, at ease. Rex, please continue.”

“Yes sir.” Rex answered with a nod. “But before I do, what’s the status of erm…the medic?”

“Her name’s Sussurro.” I said with a nod. “She’s fine, just not used to such a long and intense stint of using her powers to heal. She’s resting and will be fine.”

“Thank the Force.” Said one of the Lieutenants. “The men feared the worst.”

I snorted. “Don’t worry, she’s tougher than she looks. Also, I can’t keep calling you ‘the officers’ in my head, what are your names?”

The gathered Clones glanced at each other before speaking. “My name is Ashton, sir.”

“Grabber.”

“Tips.”

“Popper.”

“Coric.”

“Nox.”

“CT-5223.”

I raised my hand, stopping the next one before he could start. “I didn’t ask for your number. I asked for your name.”

5223 looked embarrassed. “I uhh…I don’t have one yet, sir.”

I nodded. “Okay 5223, the moment you pick one, you let me know, okay?”

“Uhh…yes sir.”

5223’s number joined his brothers’ names in hovering over his head unobtrusively in my HUD, and I turned to the last trooper.

He stood at attention. “Acting Sergeant, Slippery, sir!”

I nodded. “You did good Trooper, I’ll see about trying to make that bump in rank permanent.”

“Sir!” Slippery said, looking stoic, but bursting with pride in the Force.

“And I’m Rex.” Rex said in a deadpan. “But I have a feeling you already knew that.”

“Tone down the smarminess, Captain.” I said with a grin.

“Recalibrating smarminess levels, sir.” Rex said dutifully.

I dropped the grin. “Alright, by my count we had almost a dozen fatalities, with a few dozen of my boys who are going to need intensive care for a while, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Rex said

I nodded. “I’m not certain how these things are handled, but I’m telling you to hold off on sending them off to some medical facility. Between Sussurro getting some time to rest and meeting back up with Iris, we should be able to have the men back to fully fit in a few days.”

All of Torrent’s officers blinked at that. Rex eventually said. “That…That is very good to know, sir. Thank you, the men will be glad to hear it.”

I snorted and slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t be too grateful yet, there’s only so many they’ll be able to heal per day without adversely affecting their health, meaning someone is going to draw the short stick and go last, and I’m delegating the unsavory task of making the list to you.”

“Majority of gratitude retracted, sir.” Rex said with a complete deadpan, one that the rest of the officers weren’t able to maintain, emitting a few suspiciously mirthful coughs.

I stuck around for the continued conversation about the supplies expended during the fight, learning that the fighting had become so fierce after I fucked off to try and kill or Stamp Ventress, that a few of the men had gotten down to their last charge pack. The only reason they hadn’t run out of ammo being that they’d redistributed supplies off those who had become too wounded or dead to fight.

I made a note to come up with a fix for that. Blaster charge packs were a lot lighter than rifle magazines, so each clone could carry an amount of ammo that anyone from my Prime’s world would find staggering, but while B-1 battle droids fell to one or two shots, Super Battle Droids often took multiple charge packs each, and those were deployed by the platoon with B-1 support.

I couldn’t exactly fill a room in my apartment with charge packs and give the clones access to my pocket dimension for them to get the ammo they needed, so maybe I could make a type of carrier drone droid that carried extra charge packs and had slots that spent charge packs could be slotted into to recharge mid-operation.

Of course, because I was enjoying myself, I did not heed the Force’s subtle warning that my fun was about to end.

“Rylanor.” Said Obi-Wan.

I turned around, bringing my…what was the term again? Not exactly my grandfather because Jedi were dumb like that.

Oh right, bringing my Grand Master into view, my girl, Asami, at his heels. I made a note to check in on her and see how he was treating her. Her safety and happiness were my responsibility after all.

“Yes, Master Obi-Wan?” I said, turning to face him.

“A word, if you would, Padawan.” Obi-Wan said, gesturing for me to follow.

“Of course.” I said, then turned to Rex. “When you get a chance, compile whatever reports for me to go over later, I want to be kept abreast of the state of the men.”

“Yes sir.” He said, him and the officers all saluting me as I left.

Obi-Wan took us to a briefing room, asking Asami to wait outside.

Once the door was closed, he turned around to regard me, he remained quiet for an uncomfortably long time, but after two minutes where I didn’t speak, he began. “Rylanor…I will be having this conversation with Anakin as well. You should not have separated from Anakin, a Padawan’s place is at his Master’s side. I do not know what possessed Anakin to leave you behind.”

I stood at attention. “Sir! A Padawan’s place may be by his Master’s side, but a Commander’s place is beside his men. Master Skywalker and I separated in order to best achieve our strategic objectives.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “We may be given honorary rank in the GAR, but we are Jedi first. Peacekeepers. Not soldiers or warriors. This is not the Jedi way.”

Ah yes, this argument. One I had been having for years. “Sir, I disagree!”

“Oh?”

“You may call us Peacekeepers. But we are given rank, leadership positions, duties and responsibilities in the Grand Army of the Republic.” I pointed to the 501st Legion patch I’d painted on my armor’s plastron. “So long as we agree to shoulder the responsibilities of these positions, then we are soldiers. We are soldiers in command of soldiers, responsible for the lives of the men under our command.”

I looked him in the eye and squared my shoulders, trying to keep my gaze from becoming a glare. “Peacekeepers have no place in a war, for a war, by definition, is not peaceful. I have been made a Commander in the GAR, the lives of thousands of men are now my responsibility. Until the war ends, and I am made to muster out of the GAR, then I am not a Peacekeeper, and I refuse to go into battle with the mindset that I can talk the enemy killing my men into not achieving their strategic objectives.”

Obi-Wan stared at me for a long time, and what pissed me off the most, was the look of abject pity he flung at me. “The conflict may seem easier if you adopt that mentality. But you must be careful not to lose yourself in—”

[General Kenobi.] Said a clone’s voice over the ship’s intercom. [Your presence is needed in the bridge. I repeat, General Kenobi, to the bridge.]

Obi-Wan stared at the intercom with a neutral expression for a few seconds before sighing, then threw that damned pitying look at me again. “We will continue this conversation later. Rest, you’ve more than earned it.”

And then he walked away, leaving me ready to have it out, Asami falling into step behind him.

The bastard.

=][=

In a storage room I’d claimed for my personal use, I swung my lightsaber through the Forms, immersing myself in the movements, free from the constrains of my armor, using the exercise to banish the feeling of needing a fight, to push away the whirling thoughts, the feeling of inadequacy. The supplies piled up high along the walls to make a clear space to practice taunted me.

It had been stupid to push Obi-Wan for a confrontation. But I had just about a decade of memories of rehashing the same argument, of bowing my head, gritting my teeth, and saying I agreed, purely because to do otherwise would have assured I was placed under increased scrutiny.

It had felt good to finally say the quiet part out loud, to throw into a sanctimonious Jedi’s face that there was no place for a Peacekeeper in a Galaxy that wasn’t holding onto a relative peace. That a time of war required warriors, soldiers, men willing to do the hard things and stain their hands with blood so others didn’t need to.

I shook my head trying once again to push the thoughts away, to exist only in the now. But quiet serene meditation was not for me, and purely practicing the Forms wasn’t doing it. I halted my twelfth repetition of the Soresu basic form and sank into the quintessential Shii-Cho stance; shoulders squared, right leg forward with knee slightly bent, left foot back, lightsaber held in a vertical position in front of me.

I used the Force to bring about a mental construct of Ventress. In my mind’s eye, she stood there, her lightsabers held in an aggressive grip, her legs and back bowed into a predatory slouch. Her head, shaven menacingly bald, glinted under the overhead lights.

I could hear the sizzle of her lightsabers, feel the heat off her red blades.

She exploded forward in complete silence, her blades seeking my neck and liver. I stepped back, blocking the left blade as the liver strike had been a feint, then ducked and kicked off to the side to avoid a sweep of the right blade.

The duel continued, her movements cold, controlled, her offensive was magma flowing under a thin crust of ice. Her blades getting ever closer to my body as she dissected my use of Shii-Cho, patiently waiting for me to make a mistake. I switched to Makashi, then Djem So in an attempt to build up momentum, but her cold fury sabotaged my every attempt to change the tempo of the fight.

I was the first to slip and had to draw my red lightsaber into my left hand to parry aside a stab while I fended off a slash with the blue blade in my main hand. The duel entered its second phase, but her greater experience using Jar’Kai shone through. She once more picked me apart any time I used Soresu, sabotaging my every attempt at building momentum, not falling for my attempts to sabotage her tempo, always forcing me to play her game. Until I made a mistake, I misread a stab that at the last instant turned into a sweep, the red blade slicing through my neck.

My mental image of Ventress vanished like smoke in the wind, leaving me panting as I tried to regain my breath, my lightsabers clutched tightly in my hands.

By my new estimation, Anakin had held back on our one spar a hell of a lot more than I’d initially thought, thus I had overestimated my own ability, and underestimated Ventress. The initial Force Push had rattled her, my immediate pursuit, relentless aggression, and constant taunts had stopped her from regaining her composure, my willing channeling of the Dark Side, minute as it had been, had flabbergasted her.

Had she had greater emotional control, not allowed my taunts to make her forget most of her technique, then that duel would have gone very differently. I may well have had to retreat into the clones, trading dozens of their lives to slow down Ventress, and considering how close the fight had turned out to be? We may well have been overrun.

I needed to get better fast, I needed to do more than practice the fundamentals to exhaustion.

“That’s not how Jedi are taught to spar.” Asami’s voice made me twitch. Turning around, I saw she was standing at the very edge of the area I’d cleared for my practice.

Huh, guess the practice had finally worked, I hadn’t even noticed her come in. I shut off my lightsabers and answered her unasked question as I went to the opposite edge of the cleared area and grabbed my water bottle. “I wasn’t practicing a spar. And it’s not how Jedi are taught to fight now, but just about every manual and holocron from before the Russan Reformation taught us to fight, not to spar.”

Asami frowned. “Those were restricted.”

I finished drinking and gave her a grin. “Only if you asked permission.”

She tilted her head as she studied me. “You are not what I expected.” When all I did in response was raise an eyebrow, she continued, stepping forward into the cleared area. “You are rather infamous in the Temple. You have a reputation for being unsociable, obsessed with the lightsaber, and lacking in the serenity expected of a Jedi.”

I mulled that over, leaned against a box of supplies and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like me.”

Asami shook her head. “The entire 501st has done nothing but brag to the 212th that they got ‘the best Padawan in the GAR.’ Tales of your daring are already spreading throughout the Negotiator.” She stopped in front of me. “In the days since you’ve left the Jedi Temple and become a Padawan, you were instrumental in a battle that decided the fate of Christophsis, devised a plan to storm a heavily defended monastery on top of a plateau with minimal casualties, fought a Sith to a standstill and forced her to retreat, and led the clones through a battle, outnumbered over twenty to one, and left the planet having lost less than ten men to that battle.” She looked down at her hands, which slowly curled into fists. “I left the Temple at the same time as you, and the only thing I managed to do was deflect a few blaster bolts. I didn’t even destroy a battle droid, let alone seeing the Sith I am supposed to be able to counter.”

I could feel her emotions roiling inside her, as well as the tenuous hold she had on them as she tried to push them down. “How can I call myself a Jedi, when after preparing for fifteen years, the best I was able to accomplish was to be a burden to everyone around me?”

I tilted my head back and forth, my neck eliciting a few loud pops. “Well, as brave and bold and super-Jedi as you made me sound. I crawled through a few kilometers of dirt on Christophsis, pants-shitting terrified I was going to have to fight a whole battalion of droids with just Master Skywalker while deep behind enemy lines. I nearly splatted myself against the side and top of the plateau at Teth. My ‘genius leadership’ consisted of spewing quotes from really old war movies and telling the men ‘all of you shoot in the same direction until you run out of ammo or enemies to shoot at, whichever happens first,’ and the Sith would have skewered me if she’d managed to get her head out of her ass long enough to take a deep breath and fight me slightly more calmly.” I looked into Asami’s confused eyes and smiled. “Don’t tell the men though, it’d probably affect morale if they learned that I was essentially making it up as I went along.”

She scowled. “So, you’re saying it was all just luck?”

“Nah, the Force and the clones did a lot of the heavy lifting.” I said, scratching the back of my head. “Not to mention, I literally trained myself for this. It makes sense that I’d do a bit better than most on my first outing.”

Asami sighed and finally relaxed enough to hop up to sit on one of the supply boxes. “That’s a really unsatisfying answer.”

“Welcome to the Galaxy, where things are messy and don’t always wrap up with a neat little bow.” I said with a snort. “Anyways, shouldn’t you be with Master Kenobi? Did he let you off the leash to explore the ship?”

“In a manner of speaking.” She said, kicking her legs. “He seemed…distracted, after his talk with you. When we got to the bridge, he was pulled into two meetings about supplies and the positioning of ships around the sector. And something about projected crop yields. In the middle of the meeting, he told me to familiarize myself with the ship.”

Hmm, so the higher ups are worried about the Separatists cutting off supply lines from agricultural worlds to the Core and Mid-Rim. Not a bad worry to have, the way the Republic set up agriculture in the mid and outer rim, was to have a planet dedicated almost exclusively to harvesting of various organic resources and shipping them all to an industrialized planet for processing and canning, before those shipped it off to various worlds that acted as a warehouse for sorting and shipping. It wasn’t unheard of for meat harvested on an outer rim planet to be shipped all the way to the mid-rim as it was processed, only to be purchased at a premium and end up on the same planet it was harvested from. One of the plethora of valid reasons for resentment against the Republic.

Suffice it to say, blockading even one of those steps would increase spoilage by anywhere from two to a hundred percent, depending on the specific resource being processed. This would in turn affect the Mid-Rim and Core worlds, the Republic was still in the process of switching its immense industry to a war economy, that’s what happened when several of your major manufacturing cities were literal planets. Food shortages would quickly lead to riots, which would be far more destructive to an ecumenopolis than any Separatist sabotage…

“What is it?” Asami asked, bringing me out of my spiraling thoughts. “You feel…not dread, but it’s almost like you got a lot more out of what I said than…I feel said.”

I shook my head. “Nothing too important.” For a mere Commander, that is. “Just, thinking.”

She remained quiet for a while, probably able to feel my partial lie. I felt her emotions tighten into a feeling like a…a fist clenched in determination. “Will you teach me to fight like you?”

I blinked in surprise. “Isn’t that Obi-Wa—I mean, Master Kenobi’s job?”

She shrugged, then hopped cutely off her seat and walked to the center of the open area. “Master Kenobi is busy, and I feel the need to improve. I do not want my next showing to be as poor as my first and second.”

“Well alright then.” I said. “I don’t suppose you happen to have a pair of training sabers?”

She twitched, her attempt at Jedi Serenity dissolving into a rather adorable little pout. “No.”

I grinned. “Then follow me, grasshopper!”

“What’s a grasshopper?” She asked, falling into step behind me.

I, wisely, ignored her query. “We go to adventure and the men’s quarters!”

“Why?”

“Because; we are going to make them scrounge up some sticks, and then we’ll smack each other with them for their amusement!”

“Is that necessary for my training?”

“Vital!”

=][=

“And what possessed you to abandon your Padawan in the middle of a warzone!” Obi-Wan ‘asked’, the dressing down of all dressing downs happening on the main flight deck of the Negotiator, where the rest of my girls had joined me.

Anakin cringed back. “He made a good argument!”

“An argument!? Anakin you left him behind to fight Ventress! I’ll remind you that she gives even you trouble!” Obi-Wan thundered.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time!” Anakin whined.

“A good idea, a good idea!? Have you any idea the type of menace your Padawan is!? I left him unsupervised for less than two hours! He drew my Padawan into a running battle through the ship’s corridors! We’re still cleaning the main mess hall!”

Okay that was unfair! I had neither started nor instigated the food fight! That was Asami tripping on a Clone’s lunch and sending it flying into the back of a Trooper’s head, which he had assumed had been thrown by another Clone, because in his mind, no Jedi would ever be that clumsy.

That said, having to dodge all those projectiles had added a new level of difficulty to the spar.

“Well…did he win?” Anakin asked, concentrating on the important matters.

“What does it matter if he won!? He nearly demolished a mess hall!”

Which, again, not my fault.

I would defend myself, but I did not wanna get caught up in the dressing down myself.

“I, umm, I didn’t know Master Kenobi could be this…spirited.” Asami said, watching her Master with wide eyes.

I snorted. “In the part of the archives I totally didn’t read because it’s restricted, I absolutely didn’t read about this ancient philosopher who thought that you do not really know a man until you’ve seen him furious.”

“Congratulations.” I said, gently nudging Asami with my hip. “You’ve just met your Master, I’m willing to bet few in the Jedi Order have ever seen this side of him.”

She made a confused humm.

“Sith Sweets?” I asked, holding out a few wrappers of the hard, caramel flavored candy.

“My Crèche Instructor always said those candies had the Dark Side in them.” Asami said, absently taking the wrapped bit of hardened sugar and popping it in her mouth.

“Clearly that’s what makes them so good.” I said, chewing the crystalized sugar and popping another one into my mouth.

Obi-Wan’s dressing down of his former Padawan continued for a surprisingly long time.