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Nick shrugged. "Not off a lightsaber."

Mace lowered his head. He had no answer.

The sick weight that had gathered in his chest for so long now threatened to crush him altogether.

"Captain Four-Nine," he said slowly. "No one comes out of there but us.

Do you understand? No one."

"General, we should go in first-"

"No."

"With the general's pardon: That's what we are for."

"Your purpose is to fight. Not to die uselessly. Master Yoda knew better than to send troopers against a single enemy Force-user on Geonosis; in that bunker may be as many as seven."

"Eight."

Mace glared at Nick. Nick shrugged. "You know it's true."

The Jedi Master set his jaw.

"Eight."

He turned again to CC-8,'349. "I will go in first. Your men will enter on my command. Two platoons. Come in shooting: blast anything that moves.

But this is not search and destroy. You're there solely to cover Colonel Geptun. You will take all available measures to protect him, and to ensure that he completes his mission. His mission is the objective of this operation, understood? If he fails, nothing else matters."

"Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

"The rest of you will remain out here to hold the doorway. If you have to. And if you can."

"Um, if I might interrupt-?" Geptun coughed delicately. "Has anyone considered just how we are going to get z"?"

"Just like we do everything else," Nick said. "The hard way."

"Pardon?"

"Shaped charges," Mace told him. He turned to the trooper captain.

"Proton grenades. Blow the door."

"General-!" CC-8,'349 stiffened to attention. "With the general's pardon, sir, Commander Seven-One's still in there! With more than twenty men. And there are prisoners to consider, sir. Including civilians. If we use proton grenades, the casualties-"

"There is no one in that room except the dead," Mace said heavily. "And the people who killed them."

He nodded to Nick. "Cover my back from the doorway."

The young Korun drew Chalk's pistol from his left holster. He held both guns low and loose, and nodded back.

"Colonel Geptun."

The plump little Balawai pushed himself to his feet. He clamped the armored datapad under one arm but still held it with both white-knuckled hands. One of his kneecaps jumped and shuddered, but his voice was light and steady as ever. "Ready when you are, Master Jedi."

"I can't protect you in there."

"Lovely."

"You won't be using the console. The transceiver unit itself is in a chamber below the bunker. I will provide access. Stay out here until I call for the troopers."

"Certainly. I am in no, ah, hurry, if you take my meaning. I have never been anything remotely resembling a hero."

"People," Mace said with tragic conviction, "change."

He ignited his blade. He held it with both hands.

"May the Force be with us."

He looked at CC-8,'349.

"All right, Captain. Blow the door."

THE HARD WAY

Greasy smoke curled from the shattered blast door. It reeked of blood and flesh and human waste.

The smell of death.

Mace stood next to the door, waiting for the smoke to thin.

The command bunker was dark as a cave. The only light was the white shaft that spilled in through the opening that used to be the door. The interior materialized as though it slowly drew substance from the haze itself.

Bodies were everywhere.

Piled along the walls. Draped over the banks of monitor consoles.

Facedown on the floor in black pools.

Some wore combat armor. Some wore militia khakis. Some wore no uniform at all.

Some were missing pieces.

Mace's blade hissed in the smoke as he went inside.

As a weapon, a lightsaber was uniquely tidy. Even, in a sense, merciful.

Its powerful cascade of energy instantly seared and cauterized any wound it inflicted. The wounds rarely bled at all. It was a clean weapon.

A vibroshield was not.

The floor in the command bunker was treacherously slippery.

Mace trod with care. Behind him, Nick slipped through the doorway and put his back to the wall.

All was silence and death. A whole different world