He steeled himself for a repeat of his clawing other selves, just in case the cave wasn’t finished with him yet, and pressed on his way.
EVEN THE MURKY SWAMP LIGHT seemed bright and green to his eyes when he finally staggered out of the cave. The air smelled sweet and fresh. He clung to a fall of tangled vines and gave himself a moment to recover. He felt utterly drained by what lay behind him, and utterly daunted by what lay ahead.
Juno could not die.
That was the only thing keeping him going.
The click of a tiny wooden cane brought him out of his thoughts. His head came up. His searching gaze found the little creature sitting on a rock, calmly watching him.
How he stayed so close to the cave was beyond Starkiller. He could feel the dark side rolling in waves at him. The undertow was powerful. He had only just escaped. To be constantly within range of such an assault, and to remain sane—or what passed for it on this sodden, forgotten world—was utterly inconceivable to him …
The little creature possessed a power out of all proportion to his appearance.
“Whatever you have seen,” he said, pointing the tip of his cane at Starkiller’s heaving chest, “follow it, you must.”
Starkiller nodded. If that was wisdom, then he shared it. “To the ends of the galaxy if I have to.”
The creature returned his nod and lowered the cane. His eyes closed, and Starkiller knew that his audience, if such it was, had ended.
Leaping out of the clearing, propelled by a sense of urgency that transcended time and space, he ran as fast as he could for the Rogue Shadow.
CHAPTER 10
NORDRA WAS ANOTHER HIGH-GRAVITY WORLD, but one that was extremely tectonically active, with numerous precipitous mountain ranges crisscrossed by deadly blue glaciers. From orbit Juno spied several low-altitude lakes of bubbling lava, alongside which the inhabitants had built several heat-devouring cities. She tapped into their local version of the Holonet News, NordFeed, and found a hardy if not particularly lofty race that had learned to live with constant physical threat and danger. Some of the reports were openly critical of the Emperor’s policies. Only their isolation saved them, Juno suspected. Although technically on the Hydian Way, the well-traveled hyperroute detoured around a nearby nebula, bypassing Nordra and several other nearby worlds.
Juno bided her time waiting for the Rebel Alliance to pick up her transponder by half watching NordFeed, half staring blankly out her viewport at the vast and beautiful nebula ahead, all the while trying very hard not to think about Berkelium Shyre. She hadn’t intended to hurt him. She had thought they were only friends. She had valued his friendship, and was guilty only of wanting everything to stay the same between them, even though she knew now that it could never be …
They couldn’t go back, but they couldn’t go forward, either. She wasn’t ready for anything like that, and she didn’t want to be ready, ever. It seemed stupid even to think it, but if she couldn’t have Starkiller then she wouldn’t have anyone. His death had left such a huge empty space in her life that no one seemed likely to fill it.
“We have you on our scopes, R-Two-Two,” came a voice over the comm. “Identify.”
She scanned her own screens but couldn’t pin down the source of the transmission. There were five ships in orbit around Nordra, any one of which could belong to the Rebel Alliance. Possibly all of them did.
“Juno Eclipse,” she broadcast. “Authorization Onda Cuvran Twenty-three Seventeen Ninety-one. Is the Solidarity here?”
“The Salvation, too, Captain. Here are the coordinates.”
She fed the data into the navicomp, thinking: Still Captain. That was a welcome sign.
“These coordinates are on the other side of the nebula,” PROXY warned her.
“Ion drive only, I presume?” she checked with the Rebel contact.
“You presume correctly. Itani Nebula is diffuse, for the most part, but it casts a big enough mass shadow to ruin your day.”
“Understood. Thanks.”
She fired up the ion drives and pulled the starfighter out of orbit. Ion drive would take longer, but it was worth it to ensure that the Alliance fleet couldn’t be surprised by ships appearing out of hyperspace right on top of them. Thus far Commodore Viedas had managed to keep one step ahead of the Empire’s spies, but it was only a matter of time before something critical leaked.
And that, she told herself, was of much greater concern than a broken heart.
JUNO DOCKED WITH THE SOLIDARITY and turned the R-22 back over to the hangar crew. She half expected to find Leia or her droid waiting for her, but the welcoming committee awaiting her consisted solely of an aide asking her to meet the commodore in his quarters, immediately. She said she would. No off-the-record chats in the officers’ mess this time, she thought. That could be a good or a bad thing.
“You should consider yourself fortunate, PROXY,” she said as they wound their way through the ship’s corridors. “Not having a primary program means you don’t have to worry about losing it.”
“I do not feel fortunate, Captain Eclipse,” he said in a mournful tone. “It makes me wonder if droids have a layer of programming even more fundamental than the one I am missing—a layer that makes us feel incomplete without instructions. We are built not just to serve, but to crave to serve. I cannot decide if this is slavery or a form of liberation.”
“From choice, you mean?”
“From doubt.”
Juno wished she could alleviate her own doubts by undergoing a quick memory wipe and restoring her factory presets.
She saluted the sentry outside Viedas’s door and was waved through. The Rodian commodore was sitting behind a desk, studying charts. He half stood when she entered and waved her to a seat, then he sat back down again. PROXY stayed by the door, yellow eyes watching unblinkingly.
“Congratulations, Captain Eclipse,” was Viedas’s opening remark. “The inquiry found you not guilty of putting Alliance resources and staff in undue peril.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, feeling an immediate lightness in her chest.
“As of now you are reinstated to full rank, privileges, and security clearance. But of course you have a whole new hurdle to leap over.”
“Sir?”
“There’s a meeting of Alliance leadership in half an hour to discuss the situation on Dac. You’ve been asked to attend.”
“By whom?”
“By Mon Mothma.”
Juno nodded. “I don’t suppose I could get back in my starfighter and circle the nebula until it’s over?”
“Not a chance. And we’ll know if you send that droid of yours in your place.” Viedas’s antenna twitched in something that might have been amusement. “Go freshen up. I’ll have someone call your droid when we’re ready.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, and you might be interested to know, Captain, that your mission to Cato Neimoidia is now being considered a success.”
Juno frowned, thinking of Kota. “How is that possible, sir?”
“Baron Tarko was killed during insurgent action shortly after you left. Clearly you started something that someone else chose to finish. That’s all.”
She returned his salute and left the room, still puzzling over this latest development. There was very little to think of it, though, except to feel fortunate that someone had done her that favor. If she ever found out who it was, she would be sure to express her heartfelt thanks. With Cato Neimoidia now seen in a more positive light, it would be easier to talk about Dac, surely.
The sentry gave her directions to the nearest common area, where she did her best to look as though she had only just stepped off her bridge. She couldn’t wait to get back to the Salvation and see what kind of mess Nitram had made of her duty rosters.
She studied her face in the mirror for a long time, wondering despite herself what Shyre saw in her. Couldn’t he see how wrecked she looked? Was he oblivious to the bags under her eyes and her flight-helmet-hair?
Would he still like her if he saw her as she really was, psychological scars and all?
Not for the first time she wished there were someone among the Rebels she could talk to about things other than tactics and starship specifications. If her mother were still alive …
A hand touched her shoulder. “Excuse me, Captain Eclipse. The commodore has asked for you.”
She tore her eyes away from her face—and saw another version of her standing behind her.
“Thanks, PROXY. You know you’re doing it again? Only this time you look like me.”
The droid’s holographic image shimmered and vanished with a flash. “I’m sorry, Captain Eclipse. I don’t know what compels me.” He put a hand to his metal forehead. “Perhaps another overhaul is in order.”
“Next time we see that handy little droid, I’ll put in a request.” She took a second to make sure her uniform wasn’t out of order. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”
The meeting was in the same place as before. This time, she and the commodore were the only flesh-and-blood participants. Mon Mothma and Garm Bel Iblis attended via hologram. Their gray-blue forms flickered and crackled, thanks to interference from the looming nebula. Leia Organa was conspicuous by her absence.
“Difficulties arranging transmission,” Viedas explained when he saw her glance at the empty projector. “I suggest we begin regardless.”
“We’ve received an overture from the Dac resistance,” said Mon Mothma without preamble. “Ackbar has successfully united the Quarren and the Mon Calamari and convinced them to openly stand against the Empire. He promises ships, if we help him liberate the shipyards.”
“That’s excellent news,” said Bel Iblis. “And excellent timing, given our recent conversation on this matter.”
“The very thing that makes me suspicious,” Mon Mothma said. “Where were you these last two days, Captain Eclipse?”
“I was relieved of command,” Juno said, “so I took the opportunity to tie up some loose ends.”
“On Dac, perchance?”
“I’m flattered, Senator, if you think I could pull off something like this on my own—”
A third holographic figure flickered into being next to the others. Instead of Leia, though, it was Bail Organa, looking scruffy and cramped in his miner’s disguise.
“Sorry to hold you up,” he said. “I had to move to Mon Eron to obtain a secure line. It’s a mess here at the moment. You might have heard.”
“We were just talking about it,” said Mon Mothma, looking unsurprised at his appearance, rather than his daughter’s. “Captain Eclipse here denies any involvement.”
“Actually,” Juno put in, “what I said was that I couldn’t have done it alone.”
“Indeed.” Mon Mothma raised an eyebrow. “I suppose, Bail, your daughter would say the same.”
“I don’t know what Leia would say,” said Organa, “and I’m not sure why you’re asking me. Why don’t you ask her directly instead of hauling me in out of the cold?”
Mon Mothma’s disapproval was a formidable thing, even over a hologram. “She might deny it, but I know that Leia orchestrated this unsanctioned operation, with Captain Eclipse and Ackbar as her conspirators, using confidential, privileged information. She acted precipitously and without consideration for the decisions we had made regarding the future direction of the Alliance. She abused her position as your representative and betrayed our trust in the process.”
“Perhaps she did, but what do you expect me to do about it? I can’t suspend her like you suspended Captain Eclipse.”
“I believe it’s time for you to come out of hiding and resume your position on this council, before she comes up with yet another wild scheme.”
“I thought it was rather a good scheme, myself. That was why I was part of it.” He threw Juno a self-deprecatory salute. “If you’re going to censure Leia, you’d better censure me, too.”
Mon Mothma’s lips tightened. She looked around the gathering, taking the measure of everyone present.
“Did you know about this, Garm?”
Bel Iblis looked warily amused. “Not the slightest thing—but I can’t say I disapprove. This is everything Kota believed in: small, strategic strikes employed to great effect. This little action might change the course of the battle, if we follow it up quickly.”
“But the risk,” she said. “We might have lost Ackbar and Bail.”
“There’s no such thing as a risk-free war,” Bel Iblis said. “And you can’t force people not to fight, if they want to. Isn’t that a kind of tyranny, in its own way?”
Mon Mothma stiffened as though physically threatened. Then she sagged. “Yes, I suppose you’re right—and even if you’re not, it’s clear I’m in a minority. So what now? Do you propose we hand control over to an eighteen-year-old girl and let her decide our course?”
“Hardly,” said Bail, “but you can listen to her and act on what she says. She speaks with my voice. Trust her judgment, as I do. If her plan on Dac had failed, I might well have died—but it didn’t. She’s an Organa, remember. We bring more than just our money to the cause.”
“Very well,” said Mon Mothma. “I shall do as you say. But that doesn’t change the situation right now. The Mon Calamari star cruisers are promised but not delivered. Ackbar is in no position to replace Kota, dealing as he is with his own planet’s problems. Our resources are precious, and stretched very thin.”
“The Rebellion isn’t something you can put on hold,” said Organa. “It’s a living thing. It needs to be doing something, not just being.”
“A symbolic strike,” said Juno, remembering what Organa had told her on Dac’s Moon. “That’s what we need. Something that will show our own people we still mean business, as well as the Emperor.”
“Agreed,” said Bel Iblis. “All this skulking around, effective or not, doesn’t do much to bring in new recruits.”
“All right,” said Mon Mothma. “All right. A symbolic strike it is—but against what? There are thousands of potential targets, each as dangerous as the next. What are our criteria? What’s our time frame? Who leads the operation?”
“These are important questions,” said Organa. “I leave them in your capable hands, Senators. For now, I’d better sign off. The Empire is closely watching every signal that leaves the system. I don’t want a squadron of TIEs landing on top of me, just as things are starting to get interesting.”
“We understand,” said Bel Iblis. “When we’ve reached a decision, we’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, Bail,” said Mon Mothma. “Be safe.”
The third hologram flickered out.
“Leadership is hard,” said Bel Iblis to Mon Mothma, not unsympathetically, “when there are three of us trying to lead at once.”
“If it were easy,” she said, “we would have finished this long ago.”
The two remaining Senators signed off, leaving Commodore Viedas, Juno, and PROXY alone.
“I think we just witnessed some progress,” said the commodore, standing. “Of a sort.”
Juno understood what he meant. Mon Mothma had given ground, but the leadership might still argue for weeks before settling on an appropriate target. And this time, something low-key simply wouldn’t do. It would have to be extremely visible to have the effect required.
“I guess being seen to do something is better than doing nothing at all,” she said, “even if it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.”
“Careful, Captain Eclipse. You’re becoming a cynic.”
“Politics will do that to you.”
“There are few immune to it, unfortunately.”
Starkiller would have been, she wanted to say as the door closed between them, but she kept that thought to herself.
ON THE BRIEF SHUTTLE RIDE to the Salvation, PROXY changed shape without warning.
Juno looked up from the controls.
“Is that really you, Princess, or is PROXY playing up again?”
“Call m
e Leia,” came the instantaneous reply. Wherever she was transmitting from, the signal was good. “Congratulations on the success of your mission, Captain. How did the meeting go?”
“Well enough, I think,” Juno said, glad the shuttle was empty apart from her and PROXY. “I’m relieved your father was part of it.”
“Yes. He can handle the others better than I.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Juno said. “You have the advantage of being young. I think it puts Mon Mothma off her game.”
“It doesn’t feel like an advantage when you’re arguing with some of the old fools I have to deal with here at home. Alderaanian politics makes the Empire look like child’s play.”
“Still, you got what you wanted. Don’t discount that.”
“All right. Maybe I softened them up, but Father sealed the deal. And we couldn’t have done it without you, of course.”
“Happy to serve,” Juno said, “although that might be a little more difficult now that I’ve got my command back—thank goodness.”
“There was never any doubt of that. You’ll be exactly where we can use you best—in the middle, not too far away from the action that you forget what’s at stake, and not so close that you can’t see the big picture. And you have a frigate at your disposal, which is nothing to be sniffed at when it comes to winning arguments.”
Juno smiled. It didn’t sound so bad, the way Leia put it.
“The important thing,” Leia went on, “is that we keep fighting on all fronts at once. Big stuff, small stuff, everything in between. The Empire isn’t just the Emperor: it’s all the people beneath him who serve him willingly. We have to take the fight to them, too.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“I get tired just thinking about it.”
They laughed together, more out of companionship than at anything particularly funny. Juno couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything at all to laugh about.
“What are your plans now?” she asked.
“Well, the Death Star is still out there,” said the Princess. “The Emperor has it well hidden from us, but it’s too big a project to keep out of sight forever. We’ll find it, one way or another, and we’ll do our best to disrupt its construction. That’s our number one priority, because if it’s ever operational, the entire galaxy will suffer.” She shrugged. “Apart from that, life goes on. University, training, all that ridiculous Old House palaver. If my aunts had their way, I’d be paired off to some brainless boy before the year is out—and there’d go any chance I had of doing something real ever again.”
Star Wars: The Force Unleashed II Page 13
