Second Chance/Part 1

1,389 BBY Two months later

"When we make planetfall," Mali Darakhan warned his Padawan, "stay close to me until we know what we're dealing with."

"Yes Master," Aldayr replied.

Mali could sense their cruiser had decanted from hyperspace, because he could feel the unmistakable markers of battle in the Force. He had a special sense for conflict; he could feel whenever it was occurring nearby, from a single duel to a massive battle, even if he wasn't part of it. These days, though, if he was nearby, it usually wouldn't be long until he was part of it.

Their transport lifted off, heading for the planet, and Mali calmly braced himself. There is no death, there is the Force. Being shot down while shipboard was a bad way for a Guardian to go, but he'd seen it happen more than once, and the only way to conquer the fear of it was to embrace it and move on. At his side, he could feel Aldayr's jitters, but they were born of anticipation, not paranoia for ignominious death.

Not that anticipation was free of problems, either. "Keep it cool, Aldayr. It'll be whatever it'll be."

"Yes Master," Aldayr repeated, and Mali sensed him running through a centering exercise. Nodding approval, Mali followed the same exercise himself.

The shuttle rocked only once, and Mali thought it was a glancing blow rather than an intentional shot. The ship rattled as they passed through the atmosphere, and then he could hear the rumble of wind against the hull. "Open 'er up, pilot!" he called up toward the cockpit. "I want to see what we're dealing with."

"Aye aye, sir!" the pilot called back. "Grab onto something."

He dropped the transport's ramp, and the rumbling wind became a roar. Soldiers grasped onto handles and Aldayr seized the crash webbing of his seat. Using the Force to anchor himself to the deck, Mali cautiously advanced down the ramp, the wind ripping at his green robes and tousling his hair.

Below, fair Taanab was looking markedly less fair. From some four kilometers up, he saw vast stretches of once-fertile farmland that were blackened by orbital bombardment or charred by fire. He could see where Republic forces had dug in a defensive line, and watched hair-thin flashes of light go back and forth between the Republic and the Sith troops some kilometers away.

A blast from the ground flashed by about fifty meters out, but the pilot still sealed the ramp, and Mali returned to the troop bay.

"Hold on back there!"

The shuttle went into a dive, and even Mali had to grab for an anchor; Aldayr caught his arm as he started to slide along a floor that was rapidly becoming a wall. Dropping hard to avoid Sith fire, the transport was near ground before it sharply leveled out and everyone rocked back. Releasing Aldayr with a grin and a word of thanks, Mali strode to the ramp again, and this time he took his lightsaber hilt in hand.

"Aldayr and I have the point," he told the lieutenant commanding the platoon with him. "Fan out behind us, but check your targeting; this should be friendly territory."

"Roger that, General," the lieutenant replied.

General. It still sounded odd.

Anticipating him this time, the pilot dropped the ramp before they touched down, and Mali took the incline at a jog, leaping the last ten meters as the shuttle was still coming down; if he had called it wrong and the Sith had made it behind allied lines, he was going to take the first strike rather than blithely lead his men into a slaughter. But he knew the precaution was unnecessary even before Aldayr landed at his side; the only beings visible were a handful of Republic troops, and the only reaction was a half-hearted wave from a corporal among them.

Once the entire platoon had debarked, Mali led them over to the troopers on the ground. "I'm Mali Darakhan. Where's the command center?"

He sensed a flash of recognition and surprise among them, but the sergeant of the group said, "About a klick from here, sir. I'll take you."

Mali and Aldayr followed the sergeant, their platoon forming up and marching behind them. The city seemed intact, although a few windows were broken, probably from concussions. He did not see many Taanabites, although he could sense a pervasive aura of fear.

"Have the Sith gotten this far, sergeant?" Aldayr asked.

"Not yet," the sergeant replied grimly. "The line's been holding, but we need reinforcements. I hope you brought more than just your platoon, Jedi Darakhan."

"General Darakhan," the lieutenant of Mali's platoon corrected, but Mali waved the correction off.

"We brought what we could spare," he said, feeling lousy at the essentially empty words but unable to offer anything better.

"We brought us," Aldayr noted, trying to put a positive spin on it.

"I guess two more Jedi can't hurt," the sergeant said, but he did not seem nearly as reassured by the presence of Jedi as Mali was used to, and that alone spoke volumes.

The command center was a town square with a gazebo that looked like the love child of a band stand and a tank—it had been militarized, covered in communications equipment, fitted with a durasteel roof and what looked like a miniature shield generator, and assigned a pair of guards for good measure. Gesturing for his troops to check in at a hotel fronting the square, Mali advanced to the guards with Aldayr. "Who's in command here?"

"Here here?" one of them asked. They apparently hadn't gotten the "General" datafile either, and Mali was somewhat relieved by it; he had half-feared the answer would be You are. "I think Lieutenant Colonel Kasbar is here, sir."

"And who's the senior Jedi?"

"They kinda come and go, sir," the guard said. Then he glanced over Mali's shoulder. "There's one."

Mali turned, following the soldier's gaze. The Jedi in question slumped with weariness, but as soon as Mali's eyes fell on him, he looked up as if he had been called.

Mali's eyes widened, and he jogged the twenty meters between them. "Tirien?"

Tirien Kal-Di looked much worse than the last time they had met. He had evidently forgone his Jedi robe, and he had his tunic sleeves rolled to his elbows, but the tough fabric was marked with dirt, carbon scoring, and what Mali suspected was blood. The Pantoran's face was thinner, his yellow eyes shadowed. The knuckles of his sword hand were scabbing over.

"Mali," he said, his voice hoarse. He extended a hand, and they clasped forearms.

"You remember Aldayr?"

Tirien only nodded, but Mali wasn't as concerned about that; that was Kal-Di being himself. "Where's Master Cazars?"

Tirien frowned. "I think she went about fifty klicks south last night. Something about a Sith initiative with tanks."

Mali frowned. "And you didn't go with her?"

Tirien gave him a look. "The Sith keep coming, Mali, all day and night. We're basically taking it in shifts; we can't be everywhere at once, but it keeps more of us alive, and we're able to mostly keep them in check."

There was a certain tactical logic to that, Mali had to admit. "All right, so what's…"

He trailed off, looking over Tirien's shoulder, and his face smoothed into combat readiness as his hand fell on his lightsaber. "Zygerrian!"

Aldayr reached for his own weapon, but Tirien raised a hand to stop them without a backward glance. Mali worried for a moment as the Zygerrian walked up behind him, but Tirien didn't even look at her. "Yes, she's a Zygerrian," he said in a rote way, as if he had given this speech so often it was becoming reflex. "No, she's not with the Sith, she's a Jedi."

He paused, looking from Mali to Aldayr and back, and added, "Narasi is my…she's here with me."

Mali looked at the young woman, who was obviously trying to conceal her own frown of disappointment. Taking his hand off his lightsaber and swallowing his embarrassment, he looked her in the eye and said, "I've fought Zygerrians before on the other side, but I shouldn't have assumed. I'm sorry."

The Zygerrian girl, Narasi, worked up the imitation of a smile as she shook his hand. "Thanks."

"I'm Mali Darakhan. This is my Padawan, Aldayr Nikodon."

He could tell Narasi recognized his name, but she constrained herself to a nod. "Narasi Rican."

Mali looked at Tirien, who drew a deep breath and an influx of the Force, then stood a little straighter. "I should fill you in. Narasi, show Aldayr his quarters."

"All right," the Zygerrian said, and, not looking at Tirien, walked past and gestured for Aldayr to follow. Mali followed Tirien out of the square.

"It's hard to estimate, because they keep reinforcing, but we think they must have at least a dozen Sith Lords committed to this assault," Tirien said. "No solid estimate on Acolytes and other dark siders, but a good number."

"Speaking of which, I met your friend Alecto," Mali commented.

Tirien looked at him hard, eyes narrowed. "She's here?"

"Negative," Mali answered. "Well, if she is, I don't know it. No, I ran into her on Corsin.  She and some of her lackeys sabotaged a HoloNet relay.  I think they were trying to stop us bringing reinforcements the back way; if we leave Corsin now, we leave the whole Greater Plooriod sector blind."

"You're sure it was her?"

"I read your data bulletin after Gizer fell. Three arrowheads, right?" He traced a finger around his left eye. "Oh, but it's Darth Alecto now. She was kind enough to correct me."

Tirien grimaced. "A reward for killing Admiral Arstyn and Master Shadeez. You didn't kill her?"

"Gave it a shot," Mali said, pulling back the collar of his robes to show the still-raw flesh on his neck. "I took down one of her people, but you were right, she's good."

He remembered the sparks flying from ruined systems, the clash of blades, the Mirialan's red hair streaming like blood, and the lighthearted laugh that didn't match her cold violet eyes. Good didn't really do her justice, but Mali thought if anyone didn't need elaboration, it was Tirien.

"Let's hope you're the only visitor from Corsin," Tirien growled. "The last thing we need here is Darth Alecto."

"How bad, Tirien?" Mali asked.

The Pantoran drew another deep breath and blew it out; trying to purge negative emotions, Mali suspected. "The lines don't move much, although we lost a city last week. It's not a flood of reinforcements, but they're coming essentially unchecked down the Perlemian from the Empire.  Intelligence says Lantillies hasn't fallen yet and is trying to disrupt them, but that's not much better, because their fleets have a shooting match every other day.  We've lost eight Jedi here already."

Mali shook his head. "What about Shadeez's forces? Didn't your report say they have a fleet?"

"They fought alongside the Navy at Gizer during the initial attack, but they withdrew when it was obvious we were going to lose," Tirien said. He did not sound bitter about it, only resigned. "No word since then. Republic reinforcements?"

"Sorry to say it, but Aldayr and I may be the best we're going to get. I came in with a flotilla of Hammerhead cruisers; it was enough to screen us while we made planetfall, but I don't think it's going to put a dent in the Sith fleet." Mali shook his head in disgust. "Aresh is using the distraction here to keep probing up north. If the Navy reinforced us enough for a clean victory, we'd have to effectively cede whole sectors to Aresh."

Tirien arched his back, looking skyward. "I'd trade my sword hand for Rhosa right about now…"

"What?"

"Nothing," the Pantoran said, shaking his head and coming back to the moment. "Can we expect any Jedi reinforcements?"

"Unlikely," Mali confessed. "The Temple's a mess. Master Z'dar's champing at the bit to be allowed to join us, but the Council's saying no.  Sounds like he and Shadeez were old friends.  I had to argue with the Council for an hour before they let me come."

"I was starting to wonder why you weren't here," Tirien said dryly. "Seems right down your hyperlane."

"I think they didn't want too many of—" Mali started, but stopped himself; Corellian he might be, but the arrogance of it was a bit too much. They don't want too many of their best Jedi in one place, he thought, in case we lose.

Tirien studied him, and there was something a little too perceptive around the Pantoran's shadowed eyes. Consulars were like that, Mali thought; even exhausted and bloodstained he could still pick up on little slips.

But Tirien did not seem offended; indeed, when he nodded, it looked like a grudging sort of agreement. "They have to defend the whole Republic, not just Taanab."

"Yeah," Mali commiserated.

As they started to walk back, Tirien pointing out buildings the Republic had commandeered and their functions, Mali said, "How are you holding up, Tirien? You look tired."

The shorter man gave a single, mirthless exhalation. "I'm having a long day, Mali."

He rubbed his eyes, and Mali frowned. "How long have you been having it?"

Tirien's lips turned up, but only a great fool would have called the expression a smile. "About two and a half months now."

Mali knew Gizer had only fallen two months before, but he didn't want to pry. Trying for a less contentious issue, he asked, "So what's the story with the Zygerrian Jedi—Narasi, was it?"

Tirien stared ahead. "Good question."