#harpstar

General Dane stumbled onto the gunship, half dragging and half carrying an injured shiny over one shoulder. One of her Lieutenants – Omen, she suspected – swooped in to take the shiny from her, but her eyes were too crusted over with dried blood and mud to be sure.

“General, focus on me.” The calm, smooth voice of her medic, Canvas, echoed hollowly through her skull as gloved hands cupped her cheeks, a flash of light stinging both eyes as it was shined at her. “Can you hear me, sir?”

His voice was muffled, far away, and Lyra realized for a split second that one of her earpieces had been knocked loose in the battle. Kriff, she needed to see his mouth. Let me read your lips.

She reached a hand up to wipe away the grime covering her eyes, but a hand on her wrist stopped her. “Hang on, General. You’ve got a nasty gash on your forehead, let me clean that first.”

She felt another hand on her arm, and a finger rapidly tracing letters into her palm. I-A-M-H-E-R-E.

“Whisper.” She managed, her own voice sounding thick and dazed.

“The Captain’s right here, sir.” Canvas answered quietly, still working on her forehead. He said something in a clipped voice to somebody nearby, and Lyra felt a second set of hands against her shoulders, easing her slightly to the side. “We’re almost back to the fleet, General. Just hang in there a bit longer and we can get to the med-bay.”

She could feel her Captain tracing words into her palm again, but she was too out of it to recognize what the movements were. She blinked at the blurry shape she thought was Whisper, and was answered by a flurry of rapid Handspeak as her Captain tried signing to her.

“With all due respect, Captain, I think she has a concussion. She’s not going to be able to process anything when you’re signing that quickly.” Canvas spoke aloud to the Captain, and Lyra’s vision cleared just enough to catch a glimpse of Canvas shooting a sharp look at his Captain.

“Hang on, sir.” Canvas soothed again, and Lyra felt a cool, damp cloth swipe over her face, and her vision cleared a little further.

Captain Whisper had his helmet off, and was hovering slightly behind Canvas, his lips pressed into a tight line as he looked at his General. His helmet was tucked under one arm, but he let go of it and let it clatter to the floor so he could sign roughly to his General. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t think that’s your place to say, Captain.” Lyra replied with a chuckle, holding still as Canvas spread bacta across the gash on her forehead. “I’m alright, Canvas.”

“With respect, sir, you aren’t.” Canvas answered shortly as Whisper signed “You aren’t.” over his shoulder. “We’re almost back to the fleet. Can you hear me?”

“Sort of.” Lyra replied. “Think I lost one of my earpieces.”

“We know. Blaze found it on the field. It’s broken, but at least we have the pieces, maybe we can-.” Canvas cut himself off, turning towards the front of the gunship. “We’re docking with the fleet now, sir.”

“Excellent. I’ll manage until you can take care of the rest of the men.”

“Sir-.”

“That’s an order, Canvas.” Lyra told him curtly, pushing herself to her feet as Whisper picked up his helmet off the floor, putting it back on roughly as he moved to stand beside Lyra. She stumbled slightly when she stood, her head spinning, and she called on the Force, waiting for the calm to wash over her before descending the gunship.

“General Dane?” A familiar voice called to her as a trooper skidded to a halt in front of her gunship. “Captain Whisper called for me. You need a hand?”

Lyra turned towards Whisper. “You called the 69th?”

“They were on board anyway.” Whisper signed back. “Rashe offered, and their Commander can help fix your earpiece.”

“Very well.” She sighed, turning back to Rashe. “Thank you, Rashe. I believe Canvas has his hands full in the med-bay, if you’d like to help him. We took a beating.”

“Your head, sir.” Rashe prompted quietly, offering Whisper a small tube of bacta and some bandages. “If you won’t come to the med-bay, at least let Captain Whisper help you patch it up?”

“My men are hurt far worse than I am. I’ll manage on my own, thank you.” Lyra insisted again, and she heard an audible sigh from Whisper.

She reluctantly allowed Whisper to lead her out of the hangar, the muffled voices and chatter from around her overwhelming, coupled with the strain on her body from injuries and the fatigue of battle.

Captain Whisper removed his helmet again once they’d made it into General Dane’s quarters, and he closed the door behind them, setting his helmet on the table and grabbing the bacta and bandages, beckoning Lyra to sit on the bed. The Jedi did as her Captain instructed, sitting quietly as Whisper sat across from her, tilting her chin up with one finger to apply a bit more bacta.

“I would’ve been fine, you know.” Lyra told him quietly. “I knew I had plenty of time to get out, and I could’ve deflected the blast if my hands weren’t full.”

Whisper didn’t have to sign for Lyra to know he was upset with her. His steely grey eyes said enough as he looked up at her, picking up the bandage and pressing it lightly against her forehead. When he pulled back, he began to move his hands again.

“It doesn’t matter if you thought you had time or not, sir.” He explained patiently. “My job – our job – is to keep you alive. How can we be expected to do that when you break your own formation to run directly into the line of fire?”

“As a Jedi, it is my duty to preserve all human life, including those of my men.” Lyra replied in a hard voice.

“And as your Captain,” Whisper’s eyes narrowed, his hands jerky and curt. “It is my duty to keep you from behaving like a bolt-brained shiny.”

“Watch your tone.” Lyra snapped back, rising to her feet. “You forget your place, Captain.”

She could feel the hurt in the Force, and Whisper narrowed his eyes at her. She sighed softly, taking one of his gloved hands in hers and squeezing lightly. “I apologize.” She murmured. “The day has been unkind to us, and to our men.”

Whisper squeezed her hands back. A small gesture, yet reassuring all the same. They stayed like that a moment, and Lyra dropped his hands, stepping back. “I’m going to check on the rest of our men.” She told him. “Will you contact Commander Doubles, see if there is anything that can be done for my earpiece?”

Whisper nodded, signing a quick “yes sir” before picking up his helmet and sliding it back on and ducking out the door.

“Whisper.” Lyra called suddenly, and her Captain stopped, looking at her over his shoulder. She hesitated, and he tilted his head to the side slightly in question. She shook her head. “Never mind. Carry on.”

Bright white light flashed to her left, and Lyra Dane groaned, squinting her eyes open at the glare and rolling over, pulling the blankets up over her head. She could hear the muffled alarm bellowing from beside her, and she flicked a finger out from under the blankets, a blatant misuse of the Force to shut down the alarm.

As peaceful silence washed over her quarters once more, the Jedi sat up, running a hand through her tangled hair before picking up her earpieces off the nightstand, carefully positioning him in her ears and switching them on.

The light continued to flash on the side of the room, though she didn’t need the visual cue now that she had her earpieces. Her joints creaked as she stood up, trotting over to the flashing light and pressing a button to the left of the light’s console. A face appeared on the console, frowning up at her.

“General Dane?” The man said, raising an eyebrow. “General Chase requested I check on you. She said you were… projecting.”

Lyra frowned at the clone commander. “I’m quite alright, Commander Dust.” She mumbled. “Tell Vega to mind her own business.”

The clone smirked. “She said you’d say that. She also told me to remind you that there’s a briefing in -.” A dramatic show of checking his commlink, how like his General he’d become. “-fifteen minutes. And you’re going to be late again.”

“Oh, kriff.” Lyra cursed, not bothering to say goodbye to the insufferable commander before hanging up and sprinting to the fresher, tearing off her sleep clothes and pulling on her tunic as she braided her hair, half with the Force and half with her own fumbling fingers. She pulled on her vambraces, quickly calling her Lieutenant’s comm channel.

“Good morning, sir.” Came the chipper reply. “The Captain is already in the briefing room.”

Lyra sighed in relief, calling her lightsaber to her hand and affixing it to her belt as she headed out the door. “Thank you, Bird.” She told her Lieutenant fondly.

“Of course, sir.”

She clicked off her commlink, her door sliding shut behind her as she skidded down the halls of the Jedi Temple, sprinting towards the briefing room as quickly as her legs would carry her.

~

“Ah, General Dane,” Mace Windu drawled from the center of the room. “How kind of you to join us.”

Lyra bit back a response – she wasn’t even late this time – and settled instead for knifing her palm against her chin at Vega Chase and her Commander Dust across the room. A rather crude gesture, and certainly not proper etiquette for a council meeting, but, she reminded herself bitterly, who among the esteemed Jedi would’ve stooped to learn Hand Speak just for her?

Judging from the sudden shift in energy in the room, Lyra guessed one did not necessarily need to be well-versed in Hand Speak to understand she had signed something profane.

“Generals Kenobi and Skywalker need reinforcements on Cristophsis.” Master Windu was saying as Lyra fell into place beside her captain. “We intend to send reinforcements as soon as Admiral Yularen can pass through the separatist blockade, and we’re sending the Padawan for Skywalker along with them.”

Lyra lifted her eyes to Vega in question. The Mirialan Jedi simply shrugged her shoulders in response.

“And what of the situation with the Hutts?” Adi Gallia, another Jedi, questioned.

“Situation?” Lyra interjected.

“Jabba the Hutt contacted the Chancellor directly,” Master Windu explained. “Bounty hunters have kidnapped his son, and Jabba has tasked us with finding him.”

“If we’re to find him, it will open up trade routes through the Hutt territory.” Vega nodded her understanding. “Hmm… is anyone readily available to begin searching for the Huttlet? We don’t want to delay on this, not when the Separatists are hot on our heels.”

“Kenobi and Skywalker will be wrapping up on Christophsis soon.” Master Windu continued. “They can pick up the search once they wrap up their current conflict.”

“They will need a lead,” a deep voice resonated somewhere to Lyra’s left. “We cannot expect Kenobi and Skywalker to simply happen upon the Huttlet.”

Lyra Dane hadn’t initially noticed her former master in the room. Plo Koon had been silent almost the entire meeting, his holographic form glittering in and out of focus. She turned towards him, and his hands fluttered in a brief greeting. Lyra smiled, signing back in similar fashion.

“Master Plo makes a good point.” Luminara Unduli, another Mirialan Jedi, spoke up from Mace Windu’s right side. “We need scouts to track the bounty hunters who took Jabba’s son.”

“I can send men.” Lyra spoke up quickly. “My battalion has some of the best scouts in the GAR.”

Captain Whisper hummed his assent beside her, and Plo Koon spoke again.

“Yes, Tiptoe Battalion is well-known for its Reconnaissance tactics. Well done, Knight Dane.”

Lyra swelled with pride, turning towards her Captain. “Whisper and I will speak to our Lieutenants. I have a few men in mind who can set out as early as tomorrow morning.”

“Are you well, General?”

Captain Whisper signed it to his General Dane as they walked together towards the 235th’s barracks. The quiet Captain always preferred Handspeak to actual speech, a trait Lyra privately adored.

“Yes, I’m quite alright.” She replied aloud, trying to keep the tension out of her voice.

“Bad dreams again, sir?”

Her composure faltered, but only briefly. Lyra had always been very close with her Captain, and not much was kept from one another. Though his face was covered by his helmet, Lyra could picture the familiar scrunch of his brow whenever Whisper seemed to understand he was broaching a difficult subject with his General.

“Sorry, General.” He signed quickly, body rigid as his Handspeak grew rougher, more apologetic. “I didn’t mean to offend-.”

Lyra took his hands, stilling them. “No need to apologize, Whisper.” She told him gently, dropping his hands. “Yes, I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

Whisper lifted his hands like he was going to persist but thought better of it and dropped his hands reluctantly. They walked together in silence, steadily making their way back towards the barracks.

The GAR was based out of Coruscant, just like the Jedi Temple and the Senate building. Each of the battalions were assigned a specific block in the barracks to house their men, typically with private quarters for higher ranking officers like Commanders and Captains. The Jedi Generals kept their quarters in the Temple, though Lyra’s personal quarters were stationed as close to the barracks – to her men – as she could possibly be.

“I hear General Plo is returning soon.” Whisper signed conversationally. “It’s been some time since you’ve seen him,” A deliberate pause. Damn him. “Or his men.”

Lyra shot her captain a look, could feel his smirk even through his helmet, rolled her eyes.

“I’d tell you to watch your tone,” She nodded towards his hands. “But I suppose that would be a bit difficult for you.”

Whisper acted offended, pressed his hand flat to his chest, and Lyra chuckled, nodding for him to continue.

“Sir,” Whisper began, his hands slow, sincere. “May I speak frankly with you?”

“You know you can, Whisper.” Lyra answered, looking at him fondly. He moved in front of her then, stopping her in her tracks. He slid off his helmet, offering it to her so she could watch his expression as well as his hands. She studied his face for a moment, taking in the features of her treasured Captain.

She noted the familiar pale patch of white skin across his mouth and jaw juxtaposing his dark skin. The white splotches continued down into his blacks and armor, dotting the rest of his skin, residual damage from a training incident way back on Kamino, when he was still a cadet. That was when he’d stopped speaking, and he’d earned the name Whisper. He’d almost been decommissioned, after that accident, but Lyra had stepped in, claiming him and the rest of his more – unique batch brothers as her Captain and Lieutenants. It seemed fitting that the damaged Jedi should have the damaged Captain, but it was his flaws that made Lyra love him so, and they’d grown closer through their differences.

His hair was an unusual white – another odd feature of his, but this one inherited from birth. Whisper’s entire batch, composed of himself and four other troopers, were all born with strikingly white hair and sharp grey eyes, both of which highly irregular in the clone genome. The Skeleton Batch, they’d been called, after their fellow brothers got an eyeful of their ghostly hair and haunting eyes.

One of his eyebrows quirked up as Lyra studied him, and she returned to the present, focusing back on her Captain.

“I’m sorry, Whisper. I was… distracted.” She managed. The eyebrow arched higher, and she shook her head at him. “It’s nothing. Please, what were you going to tell me?”

Whisper hesitated slightly, squared his shoulders and began to sign. “I know it’s been,” he paused, searching for the right word. “Difficult, for you sir.”

Lyra stiffened slightly, and Whisper recognized her change and body language, sped up his hands.

“Not to say anything against you, sir.” Whisper tried to amend, his face scrunched up in concern. “You’re a fantastic general, the boys and I are lucky to have you.” He slowed down, smiled softly. “I just wanted to tell you we get it, sir. General Plo, the 104th, they were home for you. We understand that.”

Another long pause.

“Guess what I’m getting at sir,” Whisper straightened up. “Is don’t feel like you have to act like everything’s shipshape if it isn’t.” He made a move like he was going to take her hand, but aborted at the last moment, settling instead for taking a small step closer. “If the nightmares are still bad, please tell me, sir. You’re our general, it’s our duty to look after you, to protect you.” He paused, hands turning gentle. “Whatever that may entail.”  

Oh. So that’s what this was about.

“Really, Whisper,” Lyra moved past him, handing his helmet back to him, brushing him off. “The dreams don’t mean anything. You needn’t worry yourself with that sort of thing. Besides,” She flashed a grin at him over her shoulder. “I believe it’s my job as not only your general but as a Jedi Knight to look after you, and the rest of my men, not the other way around.”

“Can’t help it, sir.” Whisper signed back with a smile. “That’s the first thing they teach us on Kamino: Protect the Jedi, at all costs.”

Lyra’s smile faltered slightly at that. She’d never liked Kamino, the way the clones were treated there. Even in other battalions, under the command of fellow Jedi, she still sometimes doubted how the clones – the men – were being treated.

“Don’t start that.” Whisper signed deliberately, coming back to her side. “You do right by us, the 235th. You don’t have control over what happens to the rest of the brothers in the GAR, so stop worrying about them.”