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Pyro's Pyrotechnic Love Life - Chapter 11

A late birthday gift for the wonderful @contentment-of-cats. Happy Birthday, dearest one.

Also on AO3.

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The Corellian Pride, AgralCo Private Fleet

Pirate King Jashin Agral Senior, properly titled Lord Agral of Corellia on official channels, didn’t really know what to expect when he got the call from Jashie. Last he checked, his son was snug as an Alderaanian bug with his wife on Canto Bight and still had three weeks of leave.

And then he was informed about Krownest.

The whole thing was over so quickly Jashin didn’t even have the chance to be updated on it. Hell, even Shiya, Matriarch of the Slicing Clan, didn’t know until it was almost over.

Thirteen minutes. Thirteen. Kriffing. Minutes. That was all it took for an entire Mandalorian Clan to fall and their homeworld seized. He knew the Tagges were dangerous, but he didn’t expect this.

Jashin thumbed the signet on his left hand. That was a lie. He fully expected something like this to happen at some point. The Agrals and the Tagges were essentially the same, both pirate families that were really kriffing good at what they did. One of them was just exponentially older, bigger, and better at running a legal business, and it wasn’t his family.

Beskar was one of the last materials TaggeCo were having trouble acquiring in large quantities, they wouldn’t have turned down a legitimate excuse to invade. Hell, he wouldn’t have either, in that position.

Jashin checked the message his son sent him again. It was wrapped up in enough code to give a security droid an aneurysm, but he got the gist of it. An alliance was, at its core, a very simple concept.

“Are we there yet?”

He turned in his seat and leveled a look at the youngest Lomar sitting behind him. “You’re closer to the nav console. You tell me.”

Malina rolled her eyes at him, earning a glare from her eleven aunties in the process, but she took his quip as an order and checked the console. “Three more hours!? Nah kriff this, I’m getting a snack.”

“Language, Malina!” Lani shouted after the girl.

“Sorry, Auntie!” was thrown over her shoulder as she left.

Well, hopefully she’d calm down a bit once she was around Aylin again. Her girlfriend always calmed her down, or so he’d been told from one of Shiya’s monthly venting sessions.

“Get me one of those waffles while you’re there!” Jashin shot back over his shoulder. Credit toss on whether she actually heard him or not.

He checked the autopilot and leaned his seat back. Three hours to go, might as well get some sleep. He had a feeling it’d be a rarity after this meeting.

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Sparring Dojo, The Levinbolt, Task Force Spearhead

As their sabers clashed together again, countless times over the past three hours, Obi-Wan had to admit that Artur was a damn good blademaster. Either that or his own skills had atrophied much more than he thought.

Anakin, or Vader rather, had trained the boy extremely well. He fought like the beast he was, pure strength and skill with absolutely no reliance on Force techniques.

He would’ve made a terrible Jedi.

He was as excellent a Sith as he could be, given the low M-count.

Obi-Wan dropped a shoulder, eyes wide as he barely dodged an upwards swing of the blade, twirling his own lightsaber around for a backwards counterthrust that was deftly parried.

“When was the last time you fought someone? Gruncle Wullf used to sing your praises, and you’re falling short of every one of them.”

Obi-Wan locked blades with Artur again, giving himself a moment to collect and redirect as he stared into golden eyes. “Around seven years ago. I fought Vader, actually, on an unnamed moon in a system neither of us bothered to remember. I barely won.”

“So that’s why he was all pissy when he came back onboard.”

“No, that’s just Anakin in his usual state.”

They both chuckled. That was true enough.

Obi-Wan delivered an overhead swing and noticed that Artur’s right leg seemed to lag behind his left a little. It was only slightly, but it was behind. Strange, he didn’t take the boy for a fighter that neglected basic footwork.

“Your footwork needs improving.”

Artur dipped under his guard, slashing savagely up his back as he came up behind the old Jedi. “I know. New knee, still figuring it out.”

That would explain the nasty scar he was sporting. Artur’s commlink chimed before Obi-Wan could ask further. The man took one look and tossed it to him.

Obi-Wan lifted it to his face – he’d been meaning to go off-planet to see an ophthalmologist for the longest time – and raised an eyebrow at the message. “Your cousin has a very strange sense of humor, Artur.”

Artur looked at him, equally surprised. “Kestis must’ve tracked you from Coruscant.” Which meant there was either a leak or Kenobi was followed.

He shot Gruncle Wullf a message, just to be safe.

Obi-Wan watched as Artur’s face shifted through at least four different emotions before settling on calculating. “He wants to meet you. A secured room’s been arranged. What do you know about him?”

Obi-Wan thought back, to the youngling with the striking red hair, to the young Padawan that was always so very hyperactive, to the duo of young boys that could always be found in one of the kitchens at night. And he realized. “Not much. I knew of him, but I never knew him.”

“Tell me what you know.”

And Obi-Wan had to think about it some more. “I know he was a great duelist, or at least Jaro said he was. I know he was with his Master above Bracca when Order 66 happened. I’ve heard rumors about his exploits throughout the galaxy, but never anything concrete.”

“So less than what we know. Got it.”

He frowned, confused. “What do you know?”

Artur typed out a reply to Lapin before pulling up the Tagge file on ‘Callan Revano Kestis’. “Quite a lot, actually. We know he survived 66. We know he worked as a scrapper on Bracca for five years before fleeing the Inquisitors. We have records of him on Zeffo, Bogano, Koboh, Jedha, Dathomir, and Nova Garon. He flooded the Fortress Inquisitorious on Nur, blew up an Imperial outpost on Kashyyyk, shot up half a sector on Coruscant, got knighted by Cere Junda somewhere along the way, racked up an eight-million bounty pool, and married a Nightsister.”

Obi-Wan’s head snapped up. “Married a what!?”

A raised brow in response. “That’s what you latch onto? Really? Yes, he married a Nightsister. Sent in his registration remotely and left before ISB could swarm the terminal he did it from. Nightsister Merrin of Dathomir. Merrin Kestis now.”

The old Jedi leaned on a wall, taking deep breaths. Honestly? He was fine with it. He had no room to judge, and would he begrudge a fellow Jedi what little happiness they could find? No. Not really.

Sure, the Code chafed at him for that thought, but Obi-Wan Kenobi was nothing if not adaptable at this point.

That or Qui-Gon’s ‘Kriff the Council’ attitude had been rubbing off on him, even as a ghost.

Yes. Probably that. Yes yes.

“Alright then, I’ll comprehend all of that later. When am I meeting him?”

“When the gas wears off in about an hour. Go shower, I’ll have someone take you there.”

Obi-Wan went back to his quarters, limping slightly from all the exertion and the earlier hits to his legs. His robes had been cleaned, pressed, and folded in the proper Jedi fashion. A little piece of familiarity, greatly appreciated.

He stripped off the borrowed clothes, scrubbed the sweat and soreness off his body, then carefully unfurled his old robes, one edge and corner at a time, before slipping it on, relishing in the feeling of clean Jedi garbs on his skin for the first time in nearly fifteen years.

There was a knock on his door. Obi-Wan opened it, ready to meet Cal Kestis for the first time.

He froze instead.

“Cody!?”

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When Cody decided to go AWOL after his conversation with Crosshair, he never wanted to be anywhere close to a capital ship again. And for a while that was true. He had a life on Ertegas, working for Cut and his family as a farmhand and a guard. He expected to live out the rest of his accelerated lifespan on that farm, a peaceful life, intentionally ignorant to major galactic events.

But when Kix – of all people – contacted him six years later, looking for a new Group Forces Commander for the 501st, Cody found himself tempted. Very, very tempted, if it wasn’t for the fact that he would’ve been working for Vader.

Then Kix told him who Vader actually was and Cody signed the recommission form on the spot. He sent most of his pay back to Cut through an intermediary every month, a thank you for harboring him all those years. Colonels got paid quite well, a lot better than commanders.

If he knew he’d end up being sent to the Levinbolt and attached to the Obi-Wan Kenobi detail, he would’ve stayed on the farm.

“Cody!?”

He turned around, the image of a consummate military professional. “Master Kenobi, right this way.” He walked ahead, not waiting for the Jedi to follow.

“Cody?” Obi-Wan’s confused tone broke his heart. He kept moving. “Cody! Wait up a second!”

He stopped. Turned back around. “Did you need something, sir?”

Cody saw the exact moment that he broke the other man’s heart. “Cody? Can we talk? Please?”

No. No, he couldn’t possibly. Surely not? Not after Cody sent the order to shoot him? No. No no no.

No.

“There’s nothing to talk about, sir. If you want an apology, that will have to wait. I have orders.”

Good soldiers followed orders.

Obi-Wan grabbed him by the arm as he turned to keep walking, and something inside Cody, something deep and close to where that Force-damned chip used to be, snapped. He yanked on the offending hand and slammed the old Jedi into a wall, pinning him by the neck. “Fine. You want to talk, General? We can talk. Right here, right now.”

He looked around quietly. This was executive country, reserved for flag ranks and VIPs. There was no one around. Good.

Obi-Wan let out a wheeze but otherwise didn’t struggle. Cody wished he did, wished he would fight back, hurt him, anything but look at him with pity in his eyes. “Cody…” he said softly.

Cody broke.

Obi-Wan caught him deftly as the clone collapsed to his knees, nearly two decades of bottled up emotions breaking out. He gently lifted the helmet off and pulled his old love into a hug. “I’m here, Co. I’m here.”

Cody held on tightly, arms clawing at the Jedi’s back like he was searching for a handhold on a lifeline, sobbing into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Obi. I’m so sorry.”

Obi-Wan held him tighter. “I know. I know, Cody. I forgive you. Shh, I’m here. I got you.”

They stayed that way for a while. There was so much Cody wanted to tell him, so many things he still wanted to say. Instead he sobbed, and choked, and held on for dear life.

That was how Artur found them nearly thirty minutes later. Cody found that he didn’t have it in him to care.

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Secured Meeting Room Six, The Levinbolt, Task Force Spearhead

Cal Kestis was no stranger to being captured.

He was, however, a stranger to waking up unrestrained after the fact.

He knew, by intimate reputation, that The House was anything but sloppy. If they left him unrestrained, they either had a reason, or they saw him as a threat that could be easily contained and neutralized, which was, again, a reason.

Cal checked around the room he was in, surprised to see something more like a meeting room than a cell, or even an interrogation room. Then again, mayb- his lightsaber was on the table.

Eyes widening, he felt around in the Force for any signs of a trap. Finding none, he pulled the familiar hilt back into his hands and ignited the blade.

Or tried to, rather. They removed the power cell. Smart.

He’d deal with that later. First, escape. All the doors were locked – he checked, even tried to get them open with the Force – so Cal looked around for a grate, a vent cover, or even something to use as a weapon. Nothing, just a table and some chairs that were too heavy to be useful.

Shit. This was bad. Cal collapsed back into the seat they’d left him in. He knew BD wasn’t with him – first thing he noticed – so that was priority one. But this wasn’t the Empire. This wasn’t a ship with a too-full-of-himself admiral and a cocky, laxed security force. This was the Tagge Armada, the best of the best. This was the people the Empire hired to do the jobs they couldn’t. This was the standing army of the wealthiest and most powerful family in the galaxy.

He had to get out of here.

One of the doors opened, then swiftly closed again. BD-1 scurried onto the table and trilled as he hopped back onto Cal’s shoulder.

“BD! Oh, I’m so glad to see you, buddy.” Cal patted the droid’s little dome, checking him over for damage. “How did you escape?”

BD jutted out a leg. There was a note on it. ‘A gesture of goodwill, for an hour of your time. – Domina Tagge’

Holy kriffing shit. Domina Tagge. The Lady of Aurum herself. Okay. Okay okay okay. It was fine, just the head of the single largest supercorporation in the galaxy asking for a little bit of his time. After he tried to scam his way into one of her ships. To take one of her prisoners.

Oh kriff. He had to get out of here now.

“BD, did you see any way in or out? How did you get in here?”

“Beep beep boop bah.”

“Show me.”

A hatch on top of BD-1 popped open, the same hatch he’d eject stims out of whenever Cal decided to be stupid and needed a pick-me-up. Instead of a stim, he ejected a small, round object, one that Cal deftly caught with muscle memory and lifted to eye-level.

“Short range access chip. Smart design.”

Of course he tried it on all of the doors. Of course he did.

Of course it failed. Of course it did.

“Why did I even bother?”

“Because you never quit, Cal. That’s who you are.”

He snapped up, reflexively reaching for the powerless lightsaber on his hip. A young man around his age stepped through the door, giving him a smile that was so very familiar. Cal reached out, past the beard and the scar and the horrendous haircut – what, did he cut it in the dark himself? – to the core of the other Jedi’s signature. What he saw nearly buckled his knees.

“Caleb!? What the kriff are you doing here?”

Kanan spread his arms as if to say ‘kriff if I know’. “Felt you in the Force when you popped into orbit, arranged a meet. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to- wait, how did you arrange a meet? I’m in TaggeCo custody.” Cal narrowed his eyes and pulled on the Force in anticipation of a fight. “Caleb, are you working for the Tagges?”

Kanan backed up, hands up nonthreateningly. “Yes, but not the way you think. It’s complicated.”

“Yeah? Simplify it for me, Caleb.”

“I have a wife. She’s pregnant. We got captured by TaggeCo and cut a deal to avoid being handed over to the Empire. That’s the short version.”

Cal felt his brain stuttered. He was expecting a lot, but not that. “What?” Yes, very eloquent, Kestis. His brain caught on one snippet of that and, before he could think, “I have a wife too” came out of his mouth. And then realization set in. “Who’s going to kill me once she finds out I lied about where I was going.” A groan, the groan of a husband with a healthy amount of fear and respect for his wife.

Kanan stared at his old friend in shock. “You’re married? When? And who’s stupid enough to marry you!?”

Cal glared at him. “Yes, I’m married. Just over five years ago. Her name is Merrin, and I think she married me out of pity, not stupidity. Your turn, same questions.”

Kanan sat down. “Uh, I’m actually not married yet, not legally anyway. Her name’s Hera, she’s a pilot, and I’m not sure how it happened, it just did.”

Cal sat down opposite him. BD scrambled onto the table. “Oh by the way, this is BD-1. He’s my best friend. BD, Caleb Dume, my good friend from the Order days.”

“Beep boop.”

“I go by Kanan now, actually. Kanan Jarrus. Your droid is… surprisingly polite.”

Cal looked up in confusion. “He’s standard, if a little playful. What kind of droid have you been talking to?”

Oh, Kanan really needed to introduce him to Chopper at some point.

“To be fair, your droid’s politeness is an oddity amongst Jedi droid companions, Knight Kestis.”

All three snapped their eyes to the door as the elder Jedi Master came in, appearing from the doorway dramatically.

Cal reacted first. “Master Kenobi! I’m Cal, Cal Kestis. I’m a Jedi, I’m here to get you somewhere safe.”

“I’m aware of who you are, Knight Kestis. While I do appreciate the offer, my place is here, at least for now.”

The redhead stopped cold at that. “What? Why!?”

“There is someone I need to see. Someone I need to help and make right with.”

Kanan frowned. “Not to downplay the importance of a fellow Jedi, but who would be worth risking your life like this?”

Obi-Wan hesitated. He attempted to reach into the Force for guidance and got the astral equivalent of a shrug. The kriff was that supposed to mean?

He let out a long-suffering sigh and made a choice. “Anakin Skywalker. That’s who I’m here to save.”

That got to both of them. “Anakin Skywalker is alive?”

That was Cal. Kanan was just staring blankly at nothing, thinking back on everything he thought he knew. “Has he been in hiding?”

Obi-Wan expected that question and was fully prepared to reveal what he could. “No. He’s been quite active, just under a different name.”

Cal frowned, confused. “A different name, Master?”

“Darth Vader.” Kanan muttered, looking up at Obi-Wan as his mind and Force sense connected the dots. “That’s who he’s been all this time, right?”

Obi-Wan stared at him, wide-eyed. “How did you-”

“I worked with Ahsoka a while back.”

“Oh? How is she?”

“She’s dead. Don’t change the subject. Did you know?”

Obi-Wan hesitated a second time. Kanan noticed. “Of course you did. He was your Padawan.”

They sat there in silence for a while, none of them really saying anything. What would they even say? Two of them just found out that the figurehead Sith of the Empire, the demon with the mechanical breath that heralded the inevitable death of his enemies, was the Jedi’s Chosen One, the Hero With No Fear.

Everything they thought they knew about the Order’s fall was just upended. The worst part? Neither of them even felt the need to question it. The revelation just felt… right. Well, not so much ‘right’ but ‘correct’, a chill of acceptance through the Force.

Obi-Wan broke the silence first. “Wait, Ahsoka’s dead!?”

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TaggeCo Communication Relay, Classified Location, Deep Core Border

Senior Analyst Meachum stared at the scanners, watching as two wandering blackholes collided in the middle of their only charted hyperlane into Station Zero. Only the second time in his entire career anyone important ever wanted to come through here, and this happened.

He dialed the comm number highlighted in ‘OH KRIFF’ red in his handbook and waited for the signal to breach the cosmic storm lining the border. “Sir?”

“What is it?”

“We need to suspend travel to and from Station Zero. I’m looking at two blackholes tearing each other apart right on the hyperlane. Should take at least a month for them to clear, perhaps even longer.”

There was a long pause. “Kriff.”

His sentiments exactly.

“Keep an eye on it, let me know the moment it’s clear to travel again.”

“Yes, sir.”

He really needed to finish updating his résumé at some point.

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Frigate Liberator, Massassi Group, Yavin VII Exoplanetary Airspace, Outer Rim

General Jan Dodonna watched as his fighters maneuver, flank, and shot at each other with training rounds, assessing the individual combat readiness of each pilot. There were murmurs of changing power dynamics within Imperial ranks, of the Tagge Empire making bold moves, and people were on edge.

The swift and complete fall of Krownest didn’t help. The Alliance was counting on the Wrens to become their first official Mandalorian cell.

The public arrest of both Organa and Mothma, right from the Senate Chamber itself, absolutely didn’t help.

His pilots were restless. His colleagues in Rebel High Command were torn between waiting out the change and taking action now while their current intel and inside agents were still viable.

Nothing he could do about the latter, but he could let his pilots work out their restlessness by making them do training runs on each other.

A scanner chirped. Then beeped. Then started sounding off. His sensors officer looked alarmed. “Sir, multiple Destroyer-class ships detected, approaching quick from galactic north! ETA to contact five seconds.”

Dodonna’s eyes widened. “All fighters regroup and reload with live ammo. How did they get that clos-”

The enemy ships broke out of hyperspace and he got his answer. Not the Imperial Navy.

“Yavin Command, this is Jan Dodonna. Contact with Tagge Armada destroyers above Yavin VII. Initiate full evacuation. Repeat, evacuate immediately.”

“Sir! Yavin IV reports an Imperial fleet present in orbit. System interdicted.”

“Send out a distress signal. Warn every cell we can to stay away from Yavin.”

His comms officer looked up at him. “Comms are jammed, sir. I can talk to Yavin IV, but nothing else.”

Dodonna felt his heart sink. Their rebellion, their Alliance, so carefully built on so much blood and pain and sacrifice, and this was how it all ended?

“Casualties?”

Now the woman looked confused. “Uh… none, sir. Yavin Command reports the SSD Executor is telling them to quote ‘stay put and out of our way’ end quote. Otherwise no movement.”

What the actual- Wait.

“All fighters, return to cruisers. Repeat, all fighters stand down and return to cruisers. All cruisers prepare to proceed to Yavin IV once all fighters are accounted for on my order. Do not engage. Repeat, do not engage unless fired upon.”

As pilots expressed their confusion through comms but otherwise followed his orders, he kept his eyes on the destroyers, waiting for movement, praying that his instincts had led him true.

No shots fired. No fighter deployed.

“Sir, the lead destroyer is hailing us.”

“Put them through.”

“Nebulon-class frigate Liberator, this is Rear Admiral Kirk of the TAS Enterprise, Tagge Armada. Who am I speaking to?”

“Admiral Kirk, this is General Dodonna, commanding officer of the Liberator and the Massassi Group. We were not aware that Yavin was under stewardship of The House.”

A short pause. “Liberator, repeat your last.”

He frowned. Signal was clear on his end. “Enterprise, this is General Dodonna, commanding officer of the Liberator. How copy?”

“Good copy, Liberator. General Dodonna, in conjunction with ISB Deputy Director Wullf Yularen and in compliance with Imperial Warrant 160-3, you are under arrest. Surrender yourself willingly and your fighters will be allowed to return to Yavin IV. Resist and there won’t be enough left of the Massassi Group to bury.”

So he was right. He hated being right.

“Contact Yavin Command, tell them one of our own sold us out. Find out who. Enterprise, this is General Dodonna. I wish to negotiate the terms of my surrender.”

“Request denied. Power down and heave to, Liberator. Prepare to be boarded.”

Dodonna sighed. This was it, at least for him. “Enterprise, may I have a moment to hand over command of my ship?”

“You have five minutes, General. Boarding party on approach.”

“Understood, Enterprise. Five minutes.” He cut off the line at that, staring out at the big kriff-off fleet staring him down.

This was it.

…

If this was it, he was going down swinging.

“All ships, load fighters with high-power ammunition and deploy into offensive formation Zeta-4, forty-degree offset. All weapons hot, fire on my command. All cruisers prepare for evasive maneuvers and counter-suppressive fire. Frigates fall back, support and rearguard. All ships hold bowside shields, prepare for overwhelming enemy fire.”

It was bigger than even a standard Imperial fleet, but the Massassi Group did their best work when faced with overwhelming odds.

“Massassi Group, this is General Dodonna. It’s been an honor to lead you all, to fight alongside you. For the Cause.”

“For the Cause.”

One deep breath, possibly his last.

…

“All ships, weapons free. Open fire.”

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Cap- Admiral Piett stood tall – or as tall as the man who forced the GAR to reduce minimum height requirements just for him could stand – and looked at the short-range scans in confusion.

“What the kriff is he doing?”

His Sensors officer rebooted the scanners just to make sure everything was working properly. “Uh… he appears to be deploying fighters against the Armada’s 32nd Task Force, sir.”

Piett scoffed. “I can see that. What the kriff is he doing!?”

He watched, fascinated the way a civilian would be fascinated at a twenty-speeder-pileup in progress, as the Massassi Group deployed every asymmetrical warfare tactic ever developed. Strafed bombing runs, covered by suppressive fire from cruisers. Direct, multidirectional assault, fighters running rampant around the Armada capital ships.

None of them were particularly effective. Some damages, a few Armada fighters shot down, but nothing that would leave even a scar on the task force as a whole.

He glanced over at Max, who was prepping for a planetside drop.

He got a glance back, amused and bewildered.

He turned back to the sensor readouts, ready to watch the slaugh- oh.

Oh.

Sneaky.

“TAS Enterprise, this is Admiral Piett with the Executor. Be advised, Nebulon frigate Liberator is attempting to execute a Marg Sabl off their starboard. We have them in range if you need fire support, over.”

“Executor, good copy. Requesting danger-close fire support on Liberator starboard, over.”

Piett smirked slightly, just enough to still be in proper decorum. “Fire support danger-close copy, ETA one minute.” He turned around, looking at his bridge. “Helm, set new heading 0-9-0, starboard fifteen degrees steady, until we are bearing 2-7-0 from Liberator.”

“Aye sir, helm is starboard fifteen, heading 0-9-0.”

“Weapons, all portside stations hot, fire on my mark bearing 2-7-0 from Liberator.”

“Aye sir. All portside weapons hot, holding bearing 2-7-0 from Liberator. Standing by for your mark, Admiral.”

“Sir, we are heading 0-9-0, holding bearing 2-7-0 from Liberator.”

“Sensors, range to Liberator?”

“Sir, Liberator is four hundred klicks from portside, bearing 2-7-0.”

“Enterprise, this is Executor. Danger-close fire support inbound, over.”

“Enterprise copies, over.”

“Weapons, mark. Fire at will.”

“Aye, sir. Fire at will, bearing 2-7-0.”

Piett nodded, still at parade rest, eyes fixed on the viewport as his darling ship – finally his now that Ozzel went and got another stroke – rained plasma and ion fire on the cluster of fighters coming out of the Liberator’s hangar, the Pyrondi System working overtime to keep both recoil and heating down. Most of them would hit true, and the ones that didn’t would drain their shields just a little more.

He hummed – once, accepting. He knew Dodonna from their time as together as lieutenants, respected what the man was capable of even as he despised him for his treason, but no one besides Thrawn and maybe Vader was ever getting out of a situation like this alive, much less victorious.

And as good as Jan Dodonna was, he was no Thrawn.

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Galactic Antiquities and Objects of Interest, Level 5127, Coruscant

Kleya listened, horrified, as old tap code transmissions from Yavin buzzed through her radio, barely caught by the metro tower she was spliced into. It was faint – signs of transmission quarantine – but it was decipherable. And it was bad.

She noted it all down. Death Squadron. Tagge Armada. Yavin compromised. Interdicted. Dodonna named target. Massassi Group under attack. All cells avoid and evade.

She sent the message out to all cells available to her, seething. First they had to deal with Grand Admiral kriffing Thrawn coming into the gallery, then they lost both Krownest and Phoenix Squadron in a single battle, then lost their senators right here on Coruscant, and now this!?

She sent a message to start setting up the contingency they’d gamed out for this exact situation. Got a message back. Stared at it, then slammed her head on the radio.

Because of course Cal Kestis got himself arrested by The House.

Deep breath, Marki. Figure it out.

Kleya groaned. Stared at the radio.

Caf first, then figure it out.

#star wars #star wars rebels #cal kestis #obi wan kenobi #firmus piett #jan dodonna #star wars empire #darth vader #anakin skywalker #bd 1

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