"What's the situation, Commander Bly?"
Aayla Secura moved through the Temple corridors with her characteristic grace, her skin catching the artificial lighting as she walked. Commander Bly matched her pace, his yellow-marked armor pristine despite the endless campaigns. Behind them, Commander Wolffe's distinctive cybernetic eye gleamed as he kept stride, his gray and white armor bearing the scars of a hundred battles.
Captain America, Black Widow, and Falcon followed, their expressions tightening as they read the tension radiating from the clone commanders.
"What happened?" Steve asked, his tactical instincts already cataloging possibilities. The urgency of the summons had been clear—this wasn't a routine briefing.
"We're facing what you might call a double crisis," Bly replied, and despite his helmet's vocoder, the dry humor came through clearly. "Two problems, same time. It's almost impressive."
"Double?" Sam's eyebrows rose. "That's never good. What kind of double?"
"The kind where both situations demand immediate response," Bly clarified, "and we don't have the resources to properly address both simultaneously."
Wolffe's growl was audible even through his helmet. "With our luck? We're walking straight into whatever fresh hell the galaxy's cooked up for us."
They continued in weighted silence, boots and repulsor-assisted footsteps echoing through the marble halls. The Temple's usual serenity felt strained, like a string pulled too tight.
The war room was packed when they arrived.
Jedi Masters, clone officers, and Avengers filled every available space. Holographic displays cast blue light across intent faces. The air hummed with barely contained energy—that particular quality of a room full of warriors waiting for the other boot to drop.
"Force help us," Sam muttered. "This is bad."
"Everyone's here," Obi-Wan announced, his voice cutting through the low murmur of conversation. "Let's begin."
Natasha was already analyzing the room's dynamics, noting who stood where, who looked at whom. "Obi-Wan, what's going on? You pulled everyone from their assignments."
"We received two transmissions," Obi-Wan said without preamble, his diplomatic warmth replaced by tactical directness. "Yesterday, within hours of each other. Both... significant."
He gestured, and the central holodisplay shifted, showing a star map with two points highlighted in pulsing red.
"The first transmission originated from the Clarisium system." Obi-Wan's finger traced the location—far out on the galactic edge, practically kissing Wild Space. "Normally, we'd dismiss it as interference or dead signal echo. But analysis revealed something unusual: a Jedi distress code that hasn't been used in two thousand years."
Ahsoka straightened so fast she nearly knocked into Barriss beside her. "Two thousand years? Master, holocrons are one thing, but an active distress signal using ancient codes?" Her montrals twitched with agitation. "How is that even possible?"
"Deep space," Plo Koon rumbled, his clawed hands folding behind his back. "Clarisium borders Wild Space—possibly extends into it. Uncharted territory. Old things can linger in such places, undisturbed for millennia."
"Still uncomfortably close to the Outer Rim," Anakin observed, his eyes fixed on the holographic map. His jaw was tight, his posture radiating the restless energy of someone who wanted to be doing rather than discussing. "I don't like it."
"None of us do," Obi-Wan agreed. "Which is why we need a solid plan before committing resources."
Peter Parker—sitting cross-legged on the stairs leading up to the observation platform—raised his hand like he was in class. "Okay, but you said there were two transmissions. What's the other one?"
Mace Windu stepped forward, and the room's temperature seemed to drop several degrees. His expression was carved from stone, his presence commanding instant silence.
"We believe," he said, each word weighted with significance, "we've located one of Ultron's manufacturing facilities."
The room erupted.
Avengers surged forward, questions overlapping. Jedi exchanged sharp glances. Clone commanders straightened, hands instinctively checking weapons that weren't drawn.
"How?" Rhodey demanded, his War Machine armor already running diagnostic checks, preparing for immediate deployment. "Ultron doesn't leave breadcrumbs. He's too smart for that."
"He's a ghost," Matt added, his head tilted as if listening to everyone's elevated heartbeats. "Tracking him has been nearly impossible."
Several voices rose in agreement.
Kit Fisto held up his hands, his tentacles swaying with the gesture. "ARC Captain Fordo and his newly graduated squad discovered a distress beacon during their final training mission. It was encoded—deliberately hidden. The signal came from Jedi Master Even Piell."
Steve's eyes narrowed. "How do you know it's legitimate? Ultron could fabricate a Jedi distress call if he wanted to lure you in."
"FRIDAY and Karen helped us decrypt it," Obi-Wan explained, gesturing toward Vision, who stood quietly at the room's edge. "Vision provided the processing power to break through the encryption layers. The message is authentic—Master Piell managed to send it before Ultron's forces captured or killed him."
The whispers started again, a low buzz of speculation and concern.
"Both situations are critical," Anakin cut through the noise, his voice sharp. "We need to address them properly. Quickly."
Wanda, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, frowned. "But one's just an old signal, right? Why is it as important as stopping Ultron from building an army?"
"Could be a Separatist trick," someone suggested—one of the Jedi Knights whose name Peter didn't know. "Draw our forces away from critical positions, hit us where we're weak."
"Old tactics still work," Steve said, his strategic mind already running scenarios. "Create a distraction, exploit the response. But there's another possibility—someone within the Order might be using outdated codes specifically to avoid detection. If Ultron's monitoring Jedi communications, ancient codes might slip past his analysis."
"Or," Vision offered quietly, "it could be exactly what it appears to be: an echo from the past, reaching across time to find us now."
Barriss Offee stepped forward, her dark eyes thoughtful. "Master Luminara, we've seen a lot of ancient knowledge resurface recently. Holocrons, lost techniques, forgotten philosophies. Maybe this isn't coincidence."
Luminara's hand settled on her Padawan's shoulder, pride evident in the gesture. "Well observed, Barriss. Ancient Jedi codes shouldn't be dismissed lightly. They were created for specific purposes—purposes we may have forgotten."
"That's great," Rhodey interrupted, his patience clearly strained, "but we've got Ultron building murder-bots right now. We can't split our forces chasing a two-thousand-year-old ghost story when there's a clear and present threat."
"We can't abandon it either," Ahsoka countered, her young voice ringing with conviction. She glanced at Barriss, finding solidarity there. "If someone's sending that signal, they need help. That's what Jedi do."
Aayla Secura moved forward, her presence commanding attention without demanding it. "Then we address both." Her calm certainty cut through the building argument. "Split into two teams. One investigates the Clarisium signal. The other moves on Ultron's facility."
"We'll need to be efficient," Obi-Wan agreed, already working through logistics. "If the Clarisium signal proves false or irrelevant, that team regroups with the main force. Then we hit Ultron with everything we have."
Heads nodded around the room. It wasn't perfect, but it was workable.
Plo Koon's artificial voice resonated through his mask. "The critical question becomes: who goes where?"
The room fell silent as everyone considered the implications.