Bloodlust: Corruption/Chapter 1

"Can you see anything yet, Commander?"

"Negative, sir. The foliage is too thick up here; we may have to move our command post further east."

Bolo Artel looked out from atop the ridge. It was true; nothing could be seen through the tangled mass of trees and plants and bushes blocking their path. Still, they knew it was there. Beyond the trees, in a massive clearing just out of sight, lay their target.

Artel shivered as the wind whistled through the trees. It was late, and moonlight streamed in through the gaps in the trees, painting the earth silver. It was nearing Autumn on Batorine, the overgrown hellhole they'd been assigned to. The Akarak was in orbit, looking down on the planet from the heavens, and the leaves were just starting to turn from green to brown to gold. It would have been beautiful, if not for the thousands of creatures crawling through the undergrowth that had a habit of crawling into Artel's clothes and biting his legs.

Ballo, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the cold. He was tightly wrapped up in his new armour, proudly painted in the burgundy of the 511th Legion. His helmet was resting on a stone protruding nearby, and Artel could see the breeze disturbing his unbrushed, unkempt beard that hung down from his face like a dead animal.

The rest of Ballo's head, however, was completely hairless. An ugly purple scar sat on the other side of his head, thankfully out of Artel's view. Ballo had got that particular souvenir while fighting on Geonosis, in the very first battle of the war. Artel hadn't been there that day; he'd been writhing in one of the beds in the Temple hospital, overcome by his bloodlust... and now with a pupil of his own to teach.

He'd woken up a few days later only to be told that the Republic was at war. At once, he'd been carted away to address the Council, despite his complaints and pleas that he should be allowed to train his new apprentice in peace.

They hadn't listened, of course. He'd been carted away to the Atairis system, and after that he'd been taken all over the galaxy by the war. He'd liberated Osooine, blockaded the neighbouring Otooine and fought with Master Mundi on Mygeeto. And now he was on Batorine, about to begin another pointless battle that would only bring the end of the war a few seconds sooner.

"You alright to stay up here?" he asked Ballo, sliding off his perch on the top of the ridge.

"Of course, sir." Ballo's voice was rough and stern, hardened by years of relentless training and brutal warfare. He barely sounded like a clone trooper, and that was why Artel liked him so much.

"Good. I'll send someone else up to relieve you in a couple of hours, then you get some rest."

"Yes, sir. I'll see you later."

Artel made his way down the dirt half-track that led from the ridge to the small clearing where they had made camp. There were hundreds of clone troops further south and even more on the Western ridge, all waiting for his command to attack, but this was the advanced guard; the elite forty or fifty Artel had handpicked for the assault. One of the clones saluted as he drew near.

"The men are all accounted for, sir," the clone announced, lowering his hand.

"Very good, Captain. Get some rest."

"Yes, sir."

Artel found his tent and bundled himself inside. He took out the comlink from around his neck and activated it, wondering if Opa would be awake at that time.

Her voice came almost immediately. "Master?"

"Opa," Artel smiled. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Master. The men are all present and correct; we're getting some rest at the moment."

"Good. They'll need all the strength they can get for the offensive tomorrow." There was a pause. "What's it like being in command for once?"

"Very good, thank you, Master. It's nice to have a responsibility for once."

"Indeed. You get some rest too, by the way."

"Yes, Master. Good night."

"Good night, Opa." Artel cut off and stared at the roof of his tent. It was just starting to rain, and he could hear the raindrops splashing on the fabric above his head. He wondered whether or not to call Ballo in, but decided against it. They needed someone to stand on guard, even if they couldn't see anything.

Artel sighed, thinking of Opa. He'd tried to train her for the two years the war had dragged on for, but he couldn't help feeling that he had failed her, somehow. She was growing quickly, and had the potential to be a far greater Jedi than he had ever been. But still, he had failed to impart all his knowledge to her. And if she was killed in battle... he wondered, for the thousandth time, whether to ask the Council to assign her to a different Master, but decided against it as soon as he thought of her smile. She had had no parents, and he couldn't help feeling a... fatherly bond with her.

Artel turned onto his side and lost himself in the Force. He could feel every raindrop falling, every man around him tossing and turning, every tree waving in the wind. He forgot his anxieties, disappearing from his physical form and becoming truly One with the Force.

His view widened. He could sense the entirety of the ridge now; the whole clearing. Opa's forces were gathered on the ridge, awaiting his command, while beneath them lay their target, lying open and exposed in the moonlight; an enormous pyramid buzzing with activity. Droids inside were running about, carrying crates and passing on messages, all preparing for the attack which they knew would come.

He focused in on the pyramid, searching for his target until, finally, he found them. It was like a dream as he strained his senses, listening in on their conversation.

They were all sitting round a table, in a chamber lit only by the half-light of the moon. Several of them, all huddling together to escape the dark, quivering with fear and stinking of sweat.

"The Army of the Repubic is closing in," one of them said. This one was tall, lean faced and covered with scaly green skin, his eyes red and gold and a ridiculous leather crown perched atop his head.

"The droid forces can repel them easily enough," another said. This one seemed strange, inhuman; encased in metal, its eyes hidden behind tinted glass and its voice deep, mechanical, and ominous.

Another said something in some strange language Artel didn't understand. She was smaller than the others, thinner, with a small blue face and long neck swallowed up by golden rings of all shapes and sizes.

The green-skinned one shook his head. "No. They'd find us easily enough in here."

"And their firepower is enough to destroy the temple," added another with pasty white skin and a tall, thin head.

The metal one seemed offended by that, crossing his arms and glaring at the tall-headed one through his tinted goggles. "Our shields are capable of deflecting any Republic firepower."

"Nevertheless," said the green-skinned one again. "We must evacuate."

The rest of them, with the exception of the metal man, seemed content with that. The blue one said something else, and the green one nodded. "Very good. Prep the shuttle; we'll be gone by morning."