Shatterpoint

Kar Vaster and his Akk Guards paced the perimeter of the room, restless as the wild animals they so nearly were. The Force swirled around them as they stalked among the terrified prisoners; Mace could feel them drawing on the prisoners' fear and pain and anguish, gathering it into themselves, storing it like living power cells.

Mace hadn't asked what Kar was pla

In the darkest corner of the room stood an armored console, separated from the rest; it wore a codelocked cowl of durasteel to prevent tampering. This console was a late addition to the command center, having been installed by specialists from the Techno Union at the same time they had modernized the spaceport defenses. It was called the mutiny box, and contained individual triggers for each of the destruct charges built into every turbolaser and ion ca

It seemed the Confederacy did not trust that the justice of its cause was sufficient to ensure the loyalty of its troops.

In the shadow of this console, on a makeshift pallet made of seat cushions ripped from nearby chairs, lay Depa Billaba, nearly blind with pain. She had been weakening ever since the seizure of the command center, and now she lay with one arm covering her eyes. Blood trickled from one side of her mouth, where she had gnawed her lip raw.

Troopers controlled all the essential stations in the command center. Several of them had removed their helmets to accommodate ear pieces or goggles; Mace avoided looking in their direction. Empty helmets sitting on the consoles too closely resembled the full one he had left on the arena sand at Geonosis.

Mace stood at the satellite console. At one shoulder stood Nick, breathing out a continuous whisper of obscenities. At his other was the stolidly motionless presence of CRC-09,'571.

CRC-09,'571 was still wearing his helmet. This made it easier for Mace to talk to him. He didn't particularly want to see the commander's face.

He remembered too well the first time he had seen it. Just knowing that face was there, under the smoked mask of the helmet, was like a mocking finger tapping on the back of his head to remind him of Geonosis. Of everything that had happened there.

Of everything his failure had begun.

He did not want to be reminded of Geonosis. Especially not now.

He couldn't take his eyes from the monitor. Onscreen was the realtime display from the detector satellites in geosynchronous orbit.

"Seven-One." The clone commander's voice crackled through his helmet speaker. "Sir." "Get the landers' engines hot. All of them." "We never shut them down, sir." "All right." Mace's habitual frown deepened. "If we go, we'll need to give them plenty of targets. Initiate start-up on every ship in the port. Every one that's armed gets a gu

Nick stopped cursing long enough to ask, "Are we leaving?" "No time," Mace said, still staring into the screen.

It showed the airspace over Pelek Baw.

"It's that bad?" Nick spread his hands. "I mean, you've got a plan, right? You've got some trick to get us out of here?" "No more tricks," Mace said.

The sky was full of droid starfighters.

Incoming.

"How long do we have?" Mace shook his head again. "Seven-One. We hold the ranking militia officer, yes?" "Yes, sir. Major Stempel." "Get him." CRC-09,'571 saluted stiffly. Mace acknowledged his salute with a wave of dismissal, and the clone commander strode away toward the huddle of prisoners.

"What good is he go

"I–I know what you want. But I can't help you. I don't know it! I swear. I never knew it.

The codes are on a datapad-it's just a big personal datapad in an armored shell. He carries it with him. I didn't even know what he was doing-he just ordered me to relay his signal through the control console-" Mace closed his eyes, and put his hand to his forehead.

He felt a headache coming on.

"Of course. I should have expected this," he muttered to himself. "I keep forgetting that he's smarter than I am." "He? He who?" Nick demanded. "Who is this he you keep talking about?" "Priority signal incoming," the trooper at the comm board a

"He says his name is Colonel Geptun," said this stranger with the face of a dead man. "He's asking for you, General. He's calling to accept your surrender." An immense, bluishly-translucent Lorz Geptun smiled his well-fed lizard smile down into the command bunker from the main holoprojector view. His khaki uniform shirt was again impeccably starched, and his aluminum-colored hair was swept back from his forehead.

"General Windu." He spoke with the same cheery lilt. "When last we met, I had no idea I was entertaining such a distinguished Jedi Master. Not to mention famous. It's an honor, sir.

How was your trip upcountry?" Depa was sitting up now, leaning on a desk, staring dazedly up at the screen. The light cast by Geptun's image threw black shadows that swallowed her eyes.

Kar and his Akks still paced. The clones stood motionless.

"I take it," said Mace Windu, "that you did not get my message." "Message? Oh, the message. Yes, yes, quite. My Jedi Problem and all. Very thoughtful.

Most appreciated." "Then you didn't believe it." "Should I have?" "You had the word of a Jedi Master." "Ah, yes. Honor, duty, justice. The flavor of the month. I can't imagine why I wouldn't simply take the word of a Jedi Master. Really, what could I have been thinking? Mmm-by the way, how is Master Billaba? Hasn't found the mass murders of our citizens to be a strain on her health, has she?" "You," said Mace Windu, "said something about surrender." Geptun's lips pressed together as though he tasted something sour. "Really, Master Windu, it's not every day a man in my position achieves such a resounding victory. In any civilized society, I should be permitted a moment to savor it." "Take all the time you want. Call back when you're finished." "Ah. Quite. After all, I didn't call to gloat. Well, not entirely. So. This is your situation.