Admiral Wilhuff Tarkin stood confidently on the bridge of the Liberator, his hands clasped behind his back, and observed the battle outside. One of the enemy’s Munificent-class frigates had broken formation to charge into the heart of the Republic fleet and fired several Droch-class boarding ships into the Liberator’s hull from close range. The short distance they had to travel had ensured that the vast majority of the boarding craft had evaded his guns and survived to punch through the Star Destroyer’s outer hull. The four spikes on each boarding ship had opened to disgorge a number of B-2 super battle droids and B-X commando droids into the Republic ship.
The cost of all of this was the fact that the Munificent-class frigate that had broken formation had put itself into the teeth of the Republic’s guns. Badly out of range of enemy help, Tarkin watched with satisfaction as the Star Destroyers of his fleet overwhelmed its shields and silenced its guns one by one. Soon enough a turbolaser battery penetrated the frigate’s armor and outer hull, scoring a hit on its primary reactor core. The frigate exploded in a tremendous fireball that briefly filled the sky with a second sun. And then it was gone, and all that was left were chunks of debris deflecting off the shields of his fleet.
Tarkin smiled confidently. The Separatists had had a slight advantage in the long-distance battle of attrition that the space combat had become. Now, with one of their capital ships destroyed, the odds were weighted in the Republic’s favor again. Yes, it was obvious why they had chosen to do so – the timing of the boarding so soon after Grievous’ arrival was too close to be a coincidence – but it didn’t matter. His crew were well-disciplined veterans of many battles. They had repelled droid boarders before, and they would do so again now. They knew what to do, so he needn’t bother with interfering. His task was to focus on destroying the enemy’s armada and secure the system for the Galactic Republic.
Besides, Master Kenobi was aboard. Whatever their ridiculous notions of honorable warfare, the one thing that the Jedi could be counted on to do well was swing their lightsabers around. He could certainly see off another wave of mindless machines.
Admiral Tarkin smiled once more. Yes, the battle was his now. Still… it couldn’t hurt to be certain…
Obi Wan Kenobi raced through the corridors of the Star Destroyer, the wailing of the boarding alarms ringing in his ears. He had to get to the detention level. He knew, immediately and instinctively, that the boarders would be heading there. The Jedi called on the healing power of the light side to reinvigorate his worn muscles and speed his steps, his lightsaber ready one hand.
Without warning, his wrist comlink beeped, alerting him to an incoming communication.
“General Kenobi?” came the sound of Admiral Tarkin’s voice a few moments later.
“Yes, what is it?” Obi Wan barked into the device, holding his right wrist not far from his face as he ran.
“As you are no doubt aware, we have been boarded. Several Droch-class vessels have punctured our hull and unleashed boarding parties, which have spread out in all directions. My crew is hard at work trying to repel them. I believe, however, that most of these attacks are merely a distraction for an attempt to rescue General Grievous. They don’t have enough droids to take the ship.”
“I agree,” said Obi Wan. “I’m heading to the detention level right now.”
“Good. I trust you can command the defense there without my aid?”
“Anything you could send would be appreciated, Admiral, but I’d ask that you focus on not allowing any more ships to board us.”
“Very well, general. Admiral Tarkin ou-”
Obi Wan Kenobi didn’t quite catch the admiral’s last words, as he had just rounded a corner and come face-to-face with a B-2 super battle droid. The machine immediately leveled its double blaster cannons built into its right arm at the Jedi and opened fire. But Kenobi’s blue blade was already active and in motion, deflecting several of the droid’s shots into the walls, floor, and finally right back at it. The B-2 staggered, its grey armor only partially succeeding in negating the blaster fire.
Before the droid had any chance to recover, Obi Wan leaped forward and sliced off both of its arms at the elbow in one smooth motion. He thrust his left hand into the machine’s face at point-blank range. The powerful Force push hurled the helpless droid back down the corridor where it bowled over two of its fellows. There were more still behind that trio, and these super battle droids also opened fire on the Jedi Master.
But Obi Wan Kenobi was in his element. The B-2s were powerfully-built and well-armed, but compared to the likes of General Grievous their attacks came at a snail’s pace. Further, their cheap processors were simple and predictable, knowing little of tactics beyond marching forwards and firing at the enemy. The Jedi blocked or dodged each blaster shot with ease even while running directly at the droids. They meandered forward with the stupid fearlessness only those lacking in brains could possess.
Obi Wan reached the first droid and sliced it in two with one move. The second got a stab through it face, and then was grabbed by the Force and held between the Jedi and the other droids, getting a volley of blaster shots into its back. Kenobi then dropped the droid and thrust both of his hands forward, generating a powerful Force wave. In the narrow corridors of the Star Destroyer, the battle droids had nowhere to go and were bowled over en-mas. Very top-heavy in their armor, they struggled to regain their feet as Kenobi rushed by, dealing each droid a single, quick finishing blow. The Jedi Master left a full dozen B-2s behind as smoking scrap.
By the time that Obi Wan reached the detention level of the Liberator, it was in chaos. Clone troopers, taking cover around walls, outcroppings, and control consoles, were exchanging blaster fire with B-X commandos. Several bodies of both clones and droids littered the ground, and Kenobi saw that one of the droids was toting a rocket launcher.
It was that particular commando droid that the Jedi targeted first, leaping gracefully over the heads of the others to descend on the rocket-equipped machine. He beheaded it before it had time to do more than look at him, then turned and deflected a trio of red blaster bolts from another. Two of the machines drew vibro-knives and flipped through the air to land before him. Kenobi blocked the first slash, his lightsaber easily cutting through the ordinary durasteel of the droid’s blade. The other droid made a simultaneous stab at him, which he sidestepped.
Obi Wan brought lightsaber down on the second commando’s extended arm, slicing its hand of at the wrist. The claw-like hand and knife hadn’t even hit the ground yet when he followed up by slicing upwards across the droid’s chest. The first commando was frantically backing off, drawing its blaster rifle again and opening fire on full auto. Even at that speed the bolts came too slowly, the blue lightsaber moving in tune with the Force to block each and every one of them. A clone trooper took advantage of the droid’s preoccupation to take aim and put a blue blaster bolt straight through the droid’s head, dropping it.
The last two commando droids turned their entire attention to the Jed Master, firing their blasters on automatic, trying to overwhelm his defenses. But Soresu had yet to fail Kenobi, and it did not this time either. He caught or dodged each and every bolt the droids fired at him, deflecting one right back into the face of the droid that had fired it. The last commando found itself lifted into the air by the power of the Force. It flailed briefly before Obi Wan pulled it directly onto his outstretched blade, impaling the machine through the chest.
The droid’s white photoreceptors winked out, and Obi Wan deactivated his lightsaber, allowing the ruined machine to fall to the floor with a clang. The Jedi took a deep breath while the seven surviving clones slowly got to their feet.
One of the clones, wearing the colors of a sergeant, saluted. “Thanks for coming when you did, sir,” he breathed. “Was gettin’ a bit hairy for a minute there.”
“So I see,” said Obi Wan, taking in the number of bodies littering the floor. He glanced back up at the troopers. “Shouldn’t there have been more of you here? Admiral Tarkin said he was sending reinforcements.”
“That’s what we heard too, sir,” the officer shook his head. “But no one showed up. And nobody’s responding to our communications.”
“What?!” Kenobi’s eyes widened a fraction. Being jammed onboard their own ship? He immediately activated his wrist comm. “Admiral Tarkin, do you read me? Admiral?”
Nothing happened.
“Admiral, do you copy? This is General Kenobi, reporting from the detention cell block. Do you read me?”
Again, there was no response.
“That’s what we got too, sir,” one of the other helmeted clones noted.
Obi Wan shook his head. “Communications cut off on our own cruiser? How is that possible?”
“It seems simple enough to me, Master Kenobi,” came the sound of an uncomfortably familiar bass voice.
Obi Wan Kenobi whipped his head around, his lightsaber already back in his hand. Striding through the entranceway to the detention level was an elderly, well-dressed human man, who moved as though he was on nothing more than a gentle stroll through a park. His features were distinguished and pleasant, complimented well by a full head of white hair and neatly-trimmed beard. He wore a broad smile, showing pearly white teeth.
“Count Dooku,” the alarmed Jedi Master said, taking several steps backwards. The clones behind him leveled their guns at the old man.
“Indeed,” he said, pleasantly. “If you would do me the kindness of releasing my general without further unpleasantness,” he smoothed a small wrinkle from his sleeve. “I should be favorably inclined to accept your surrender.”
“I don’t think so,” answered Kenobi, activating his blue blade once more and falling into a defensive stance.
“Hmmm,” Dooku sighed. “Pity.”
Then his hands shot up from his sides. Dooku’s fingers curled into claws and unleashed a withering torrent of Force Lightning. The blue electricity flew through the air at everything before the Sith Lord. Consoles shorted out, computers went haywire, downed droids twitched spastically with unnatural vigor. But the manifestation of dark side cared nothing for the technology, concentrating on the living things.
Kenobi was able to channel the light side, drawing the lethal forks of lightning that came at him into his lightsaber, dissipating them harmlessly. The clone troopers were not so lucky. They screamed their agony to the world as unnatural electric currents coursed through their bodies, burning skin and armor, searing organs, and boiling blood. By the time the current ceased a few seconds later, the seven clone troopers had become seven smoking corpses, which collapsed to the ground in a heap.
“Now then, Master Kenobi,” said Dooku, his voice still incongruously pleasant. “For the sake of my old apprentice, Qui-Gon Jinn, and the bond you once shared, I shall permit you one more chance to lay down your arms.”
Obi Wan grimaced at the mention of his Jedi Master, murdered years ago on Naboo by the Sith Lord Darth Maul. But his face remained resolute.
“Master Qui-Gon would have rejected everything you stand for, Dooku,” he declared. “As do I.”
Dooku’s face darkened. His curve-hilted lightsaber flew from his belt into his empty right hand, spouting its crimson blade with a *snap-hiss*.
“So be it,” he said, twirling the saber in an elaborate Form II salute. “But remember, Skywalker is not here to save you this time.”
“I won’t need saving, Dooku.”
“We shall see.”
Dooku threw himself forward with speed that would have astounded an unprepared onlooker. Kenobi had seen it before, though, and had been expecting as much. The Count of Serenno immediately fell into the quick jabs, pivots, and slashes of Form II, Makashi. As Kenobi had mastered his chosen form, so too had Dooku perfected the finesse-based dueling style. His attacks lacked the raw physical power of Grievous or the cyborg’s sheer speed, but all the same Obi Wan found them much harder to defend against. Dooku’s blade seemed to be everywhere at once, constantly alternating between attack and defense, keeping his opponent unbalanced.
Slowly but surely, Obi Wan was forced to cede ground to Count Dooku, backing out of the ruined detention level control room and into the hallway with the cells themselves. Dooku never stopped pressing the Jedi Master, coming uncomfortably close to his neck with one jab of his red ligthsaber. Kenobi backed off some more. He couldn’t beat the count in a straight fight, but he didn’t necessarily have to. He needed only to hold him off until reinforcements arrived to secure the area.
But then, as Dooku stepped forward and fell into another rhythmic Makashi attack sequence, Kenobi noticed something. The man was starting to breathe more heavily. It was a slight thing, not particularly serious when one considered Dooku was well into his eighties, but the Jedi Master spotted it nonetheless.
“Maybe…” he thought. “Just maybe…”
Kenobi shifted tactics, throwing himself forward directly into Dooku’s face. His blue lightsaber flashed over and over again, pounding at the count’s defenses with a series of unsubtle overhand power blows. It was not Obi Wan’s specialty, but Makashi’s weakness had always been to overwhelming strength, so maybe…
It was when the two blades were locked together, both of Obi Wan’s arms pressing down hard against the one arm holding Dooku’s weapon, that he noticed something quite different. His opponent wasn’t breathing hard anymore.
And he was smiling.
Dooku’s rancor leather boot shot up without warning, bypassing the locked blades to deliver a potent kick directly into Obi Wan’s Adam’s apple. Instantly, the Jedi stumbled back, clutching his throat and coughing madly. Dooku’s left hand was extended in a heartbeat, and once more unleashed Force Lightning.
Obi Wan Kenobi was enveloped in the agonizing blue forks of electricity. His nerves spasmed wildly as the sheer force of the attack lifted him from the ground and flung him down the long detention cell corridor. He smashed into the solid durasteel wall on the far end at great speed and fell to the ground, smoking.
Weakly, the Jedi Master managed to look up. Count Dooku deactivated his lightsaber and returned the curved hilt to his belt. Reaching out with one hand, he made a simple gesture. Immediately, the hallway’s sets of double durasteel blast doors, meant to contain any would-be escapees, slammed shut between the two, cutting them off altogether.
General Grievous sat sullenly in his cell, brooding on his capture, and on what he would do to the treacherous equines once he was free of this place. There was very little else to do in that confined space, consisting as it did of heavily-angled grey-black durasteel walls, an elevated, matching, flat block for a bed, and absolutely nothing else. He could neither see nor hear anything that went on outside, and so was left with nothing but his own thoughts for company.
To make himself feel better, he imagined crushing Kenobi’s skull between his clawed hands. Slowly, of course. Nothing less for his most hated of enemies. The image was delightfully messy, which was almost enough to make Grievous feel better about his own failure and miserable captivity.
Almost.
And then, without warning, the cyborg was yanked from his thoughts by the sound of the cell door’s hydraulics hissing. The automatic door rose as Grievous looked up, wondering who the Republic had sent in to interrogate its most famous enemy. His yellow eyes widened considerably when he saw who it really was.
“General,” said Count Dooku, taking a few steps down into the cell.
“My lord,” answered Grievous, blinking before bowing his head both out of respect and shame to be seen in such a state. “What are you doing here?”
“Is it not obvious?” the count queried.
“Of course, my lord,” Grievous said, feeling increasingly humiliated by the second. “I just… I just…” he struggled to find the words. “I just was not expecting to see you here,” he finally managed, now positively burning with shame.
“Indeed,” replied Dooku. He grasped his lightsaber and thumbed the activator. With a smooth flick of his hand he severed the shackles binding Grievous’ feet together.
General Grievous got to his taloned feet, wordlessly nodding his thanks.
“Come then, general,” continued Dooku, turning his back and marching right back up the stairs and into the corridor outside. “We must not tarry here.” As Grievous also made his way from the cell, the count paused to add. “Lord Sidious is most eager to hear your account of this place.”