Artel put a hand to his head. It was sticky, covered with a strange red substance. He opened his eyelids slightly, turning away from the bright light, then he heard the roar, the endless, ground-shaking roar... the sound of marching footsteps.
"The city is ours, Commander," he heard someone say. The voice was mechanical, artifical, and put Artel's hair on end.
"Excellent," said another voice. This one was also artificial and computed, but it was deeper and more malevolent. Artel heard footsteps coming across the ground in hsi direction and tried to get up, but the pain in his head, an immense, burning sensation behind the eyes, stopped him in his tracks. He fell to the ground, groaning in pain.
The shuffling footsteps stopped just next to him. "Who is this?" he heard the second, deeper voice say.
There was the sound of a computer scanner, and then the first voice replied, "Looks like a Jedi, Commander Onakkit." Artel vaguely felt metallic hands grabbing his lightsaber.
"Is he alive?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good. Take him to my ship."
"Roger roger," the first voice obeyed, and Artel felt metal hands grabbing him by the shoulders and dragging him along the ground. The earth beneath his feet seemed to be disappearing beneath him, until everything went black and he lost consciousness.
"Now, Master Jedi," a voice was saying. Artel jerked awake, looking around the room in a panic.
He recognised the voice... and then he realised. He spat blood and sat up, putting a hand to his brow, and then said, "Onakkit."
"That is correct, Master Jedi. And would you tell me your name?"
Artel spat in the Skakoan's direction. The saliva dribbled down his chin and rolled onto the floor. His throat was dry, and it was all he could do to mutter, "Go to hell, traitor."
"That isn't very polite now, is it, Master Jedi?" Onakkit chided, before lashing out with a cool metal fist. Artel fell to the floor, the chair he had apparently been sitting in falling beside him. His chin stung and his eyesight was blurry and unclear, but he could still make out the Skakoan's next words. "I want your name, Master Jedi!" He lashed out again, this time with his foot, slamming Artel in the belly and making him scream in pain.
"Please, don't make me kill you, Master Jedi," Onakkit chided. Artel couldn't see the face behind the plain, blank metallic mask, but he could well imagine that the traitorous piece of smile beneath was grinning like a maniac.
When Artel didn't reply, Onakkit was about to stomp on Artel's arm, splayed out to his side, when a battle droid entered. Artel looked up, his eyelids clammy and half stuck together, but he could have made out the inhuman, skeletal shape anywhere.
"What is it?" Onakkit demanded, obviously cross.
"We've identified the other's DNA," the droid reported in a dull monotone. "His DNA registers as that of Jango Fett."
"A clone?" Onakkit exclaimed, incredulous. "Ha! I'd have never have thought it." He turned back to Artel. "We've got one of your little friends locked up in there. If you answer my questions, we may even give him a peaceful death."
Artel had no choice but to give in. "My name..." he murmured, "is... Bolo Artel."
"Indeed? I've never heard of you, Master Artel. Why are you in this system?"
"Responding... Responding to a message by Baron Administrator Hyarkis."
"And are there any other Republic forces in this system?"
Artel was counting on the fact that they hadn't intercepted Doc on his mission back to the shuttle. "No..." he admitted, defeated.
"And are there any other Jedi in the system?"
"Yes." Both Artel and Onakkit turned to see a figure standing in the doorway of the shuttle, brandishing a lightsaber. "It appears there are," the figure continued, advancing upon Onakkit.
"Master... Master Mundi..." Artel moaned before losing consciousness once more. He was awake long enough to hear the single swish of a lightsaber and saw the head of Chatt Onakkit fall to the ground.