A New Dawn

by John Jackson Miller

  Vidian responded with a digital snort. “And which of us do you think would fare better in such an event?” He stepped over to a console and clamped his left hand on it. “I won’t be going anywhere. And my respiration is augmented already.” He shook his head and let out an electronic cluck. “But I find what you’ve said much more interesting. We’ve come to it, at last. You want to save the moon, Cynda.” He looked around at his workers—and at the few mobile stormtroopers, recovering and raising their weapons. “Tell me who you’re working for, now!”

  “I’m working for everyone. The people of Gorse. The people of the galaxy!”

  Vidian seemed surprised. Then he laughed. “I think we have an agitator here!”

  “If you destroy the moon, you’ll destroy the thorilide,” Hera shouted. “The Emperor won’t stand for that!”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Vidian said. “I’m smarter than you think.” He turned to face the console. “I am going to do this. And then I am going to find out who each of you really is. And the Empire will destroy everyone important to you.”

  Kanan glared. “You’re a little late on that one.”

  “And your time is running out. Four minutes until optimal detonation window.” He smiled back at Kanan. “Shall we all wait together?”

  Sloane knew back on Calcoraan Depot that she had walked into a trap. She just didn’t know whose trap it was.

  The mouthy pilot had told her about Vidian’s double identity, his fraudulent test results, and his desire to make the Emperor’s deadline by destroying Cynda—and Gorse along with it. She’d thought it all nonsense, and very likely some bizarre test of loyalty from Vidian. After the speaker and his shadowy companions sank into the floor on the hydraulic lift, Sloane had been ready to dismiss the entire thing.

  But Vidian had laid it on too thick. He’d tried too hard to ensure her cooperation, insisted too much on speeding the project to a conclusion. Her elevation to permanent Star Destroyer captain—ahead of all the others with more seniority—was more than a bribe. It was a bludgeon, something no one could refuse.

  And the suggestion that he might have some way of elevating her to admiral—her, a green captain without a permanent posting yet—was simply insulting to her intelligence and to the service to which she’d devoted her life.

  Vidian, the mystery man had said, lived by terrorizing people into meeting quotas. Yet fear of loss of standing was driving him to destroy a resource that the Emperor could have expected would produce for years to come.

  And Sloane believed him.

  But there was no reporting the pilot’s information up the chain—not the usual way. It was too explosive. Instead, she’d returned from Calcoraan Depot to Ultimatum where Chamas had arranged a secure connection with Baron Danthe, using the contact information the latter had provided. It was highly irregular to involve a civilian, but Danthe was the only person she knew who had a hope of directly reaching the Emperor or one of his minions.

  Silence had followed, during which she’d done her job as ordered. Then, finally, she’d heard back from them in her ready room. The Emperor’s people had confirmed that everything the young man said was true. And there was more.

  Vidian had already launched one scheme to defraud the people of Gorse, starting before the days of the Empire. By secretly purchasing and controlling Minerax Consulting, he had issued the critical report accelerating the end of thorilide mining on Gorse. That single act damaged the guild he once worked for while lifting the interests of the comet-chaser industry, which he mostly controlled. On Gorse, mining work had literally gone to the moon then, defacing what had been a famous natural preserve.

  That had been enough for Vidian, until the past week, when he returned to the system for the first time in years—and Sloane’s part in it began. On his return to the system, Vidian had cut the last connection between him and Lemuel Tharsa by using her and Ultimatum’s power to eliminate the miners’ medcenter where he had convalesced. But that matter was minor compared with the problem he faced meeting the Emperor’s new production targets. The newly discovered prospect of destroying the moon for thorilide had been a sudden blessing, and his metal fingers grasped at the reed with full force. There, again, he had used Minerax to lie, asserting that the project would be a successful producer, long-term. Minerax, and its chief researcher: Lemuel Tharsa.

  As Vidian had expected, Tharsa’s name and reputation had been enough to gain Imperial approval for destruction of the moon. The man and his résumé were real. Hadn’t Tharsa been a veteran of the Interstellar Thorilide Guild, before dropping out to change his line to consulting? And hadn’t he given the okay to dozens of projects over the past several years, some of which redounded to Vidian’s personal profit?

  Yes, and no. Because the renegade pilot had spoken truly. Vidian was Tharsa. But Vidian had also kept Tharsa’s name alive, using it in order to advance his goals and to enrich himself. Moreover, Tharsa’s supposed existence helped hide the count’s past from others, who might have found his true origin—as a functionary for a guild where everyone was on the take—less compelling than his self-scripted myth of a military ship designer who had taken on his superiors in the name of the troops.

  There had been one other consequence: The Emperor hadn’t known the truth, either.

  Emperor Palpatine’s reach and resources were immense. Little went on in the Galactic Empire that he didn’t know about—usually, before it even happened. It was a good thing, and it worked to the advantage of all his subjects. But Vidian had spent well to cover his tracks. And perhaps Vidian’s past image as a fame-seeking business guru had caused the Emperor to accept his identity as it was described. As long as Vidian was as effective as his reputation advertised, what difference did it make that he lined his pockets playing the show-off?

  A whole lot, Sloane now understood. Because “Kanan”—the Emperor’s agent, she now accepted—had, through her, supplied his master with the truth. Vidian had lied about the lunar test results. Before passing the report along, Sloane had Ultimatum’s technical staff confirm the man’s claim: Within a year, the vast majority of unharvested thorilide from the moon’s remains would decompose in space, destroying the Emperor’s precious prize.

  Vidian’s aides aboard her ship—the ones that existed, anyway—had helped to rig the test, ensuring that false data would be reported. While still docked at Calcoraan Depot, her crack technicians had reexamined every probe droid in Ultimatum’s stores. Vidian’s people had done a good job of hiding their tampering, but not good enough. In order to fast-track the destruction of Cynda, Vidian had been forced to prepare his deception too quickly.

  Of course, the truth would have come out a year after the moon’s destruction: Vidian had to know the result would enrage His Highness. And yet, here the count was, going ahead with the project. Sloane wondered whether the quest for revenge had driven the man mad.

  But Vidian wasn’t insane. He had a plan, outlined in a supplemental document given her by the stranger: an encrypted file from Vidian’s computers. The Emperor’s experts had cracked it just minutes before, prompting his call. Her anger rose now as she read the file.

  Cynda would be destroyed, and within a year would be worthless rubble—but by that time, it would be the responsibility of someone else: likely his underling and greatest nemesis, Baron Lero Danthe. The baron would naturally point at Vidian, who would in turn blame Sloane and her demolition crews’ incompetence. He would call her appointment to interim captain premature. And then he would rush to the rescue with another revelation: something so startling that she could barely believe Vidian had concealed it all this time. It was a fact Minerax Consulting had discovered fifteen years earlier, and that Vidian had bought the firm in order to bury.

  The moon Cynda did have more thorilide than the nightside of Gorse. But Gorse’s dayside held incalculably more, all buried under the blazing heat of a sun that never left the sky.

  It would otherwise have been a useless bit of knowledge
: Organics couldn’t toil in that heat. And at the time, the suppliers of heat-resistant droids belonged on the side of the Separatists in the Clone Wars. The stuff was unreachable. And when the war ended, it left Danthe as the monopoly supplier. Such a prize would make Danthe incalculably rich and powerful, she realized. No wonder Vidian had hidden the fact.

  And it further explained what she had seen on Calcoraan Depot: workers of Vidian’s, trying to reverse-engineer Danthe’s droids. Vidian’s file described a one-year timetable for having his own droids ready to rush to Gorse’s dayside, able to fill the need when Cynda’s remains ran out of thorilide. In a sequence of events typical of his preference for neat solutions, Vidian would eliminate a competitor and save the day for the Empire—all while turning a huge profit.

  But he would destroy Gorse’s population in the process. And worse, he would ruin Sloane’s career.

  She wouldn’t allow that. And neither would the Emperor. The Emperor had no quarrel with destroying places for short-term gains or with dealing harm to rivals. But the galaxy and all its assets belonged to him—and he alone would decide where and when such actions were taken.

  That made her next command easy. Walking from her ready room onto the bridge, she knew the next moments would startle her crew as much as her would-be patron.

  “Channel to Count Vidian,” she said.

  Chamas, looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern, snapped his fingers. Count Vidian’s holographic image appeared.

  “Ah, Sloane,” he said. “You’re back just in time. I’m just about to detonate the charges and pulverize the moon.”

  “Then I am just in time,” she said, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Ultimatum technical crews—rescind the Detonation Control link to Forager.”

  “What?” The shimmering Count Vidian looked at her in surprise—as did the very real form of Commander Chamas, standing nearby.

  Sloane clenched her fist. “And all stormtroopers aboard Forager, in the name of the Emperor: Arrest Count Vidian!”

  It had happened this way to the Jedi, Kanan remembered. Responding to some command from the Emperor, clone troopers had eliminated the Republic’s cherished fighting force. It had been a dark day—by far, the darkest in Caleb Dume’s young life. Kanan Jarrus usually avoided thinking about it.

  But seeing the stormtroopers turning on their master: That was both amazing and delicious. Even if the Imperials were also pointing their weapons at Kanan and his friends. More troops hoisted open the main door, bringing the total number of white-armored guards to a dozen.

  Up atop the bulk-loader, Kanan saw that Hera didn’t know what to think. But there was no mistaking Vidian’s reaction to the holographic captain.

  “This is a rash act, Sloane. Have you lost your mind?”

  “You’re under arrest for multiple violations of the Imperial legal code. Falsification of testimony to the Emperor. Profiteering without permission of the Emperor. Breach of faith with the Emperor. Attempting to damage or destroy strategic assets deemed vital to—”

  “The Emperor,” Vidian finished, anger rising. “You dare invoke his name?” He pointed at Kanan. “These—anarchists have poisoned your mind against me. They’re Gorse partisans, seeking to hinder our project.” He looked back outside the viewports at the moon. “A project that must go on!”

  “Forget it, Vidian,” Sloane said. “You won’t be destroying anything today.”

  Kanan could hardly restrain his response. His gambit had worked, after all.

  Vidian stared as the pair of stormtroopers approached him, as if deciding what to do. “I don’t think so,” he said. He looked over to a pair of his cybernetic assistants. “Restore the Detonation Control uplink.”

  Sloane snapped at him. “We already disconnected—”

  “You disconnected nothing. The injection towers, the logistical systems—you only installed them. My workers manufactured them—and my workers can take back control for me at any time.”

  “If that’s the way you want it,” Sloane said. “Death warrant extended to all workers on Forager’s bridge. Stormtroopers, fire!”

  The stormtroopers executed their order—and several of Vidian’s aides—immediately, at point-blank range. Vidian yelled something, but Kanan didn’t hear it. Blasterfire blazing all around, he hit the deck. Scrambling behind the smashed remains of the forklift cab, he saw Zaluna. She looked rough, her face a scorched mess.

  We’ve got to get out of here. He looked back to see Hera scrambling down the bulk-loader to the floor, dodging shots as she did. All around, Vidian’s droids and aides fell.

  Blaster in hand, Kanan considered joining in before having second thoughts. For an older man—if any man was still in that body—Vidian had worked into a superhuman rage. Whatever source powered the man’s limbs, it had yet to run out of juice. Shaking off a blaster shot from a stormtrooper, Vidian launched himself at his attacker, crushing the man’s helmet in his hands. A horrific scream later, and Vidian was on to another stormtrooper.

  Kanan spotted a newly opened portal to the side. Hera provided cover fire as Kanan lifted Zaluna’s body. He rushed to the exit and set her down outside the door.

  “Wait here,” he said.

  “That … a joke?” she muttered.

  “Sorry.” Kanan turned back to face the room.

  Hera, even amid chaos, remembered what they most needed to do. “The comm console,” she called out, pointing past the latest melee. She leapt out from behind the forklift, even as Kanan bounded from the other side.

  Vidian was already there.

  The last stormtrooper had already fallen, Kanan realized too late. To a person, Vidian’s workers were all down, too—just more workplace casualties in the count’s machine. Only he, Hera, and Vidian remained here alive. And Vidian had just completed punching in a series of keys. “Detonation Control linkup restored,” Vidian said. “Just over a minute to spare.”

  It was the same smug, self-satisfied voice they’d always heard from Vidian—but the man himself was much changed. His tunic was in tatters; his artificial skin and nose had been scorched off his face, leaving just a charred silver mask. Sparks flew from his mechanical joints. Yet he was unbowed. He turned back to Kanan and Hera. “I don’t know what you told Sloane. But once the Emperor sees my results, it won’t matter.”

  “Your results?” Hera yelled. “Destruction and genocide!”

  Vidian snorted. “You’re going about this wrong, you know. You’ll never get anywhere against the Empire. You’re too undisciplined, too disorganized.”

  “We’ll learn,” Hera said, brandishing her weapon. “The people will stop you. We’ll stop you.”

  “We’ve had this fight before, the three of us. You don’t have anything that can hurt me.”

  “Maybe I do.” Kanan felt for the holder on his left leg where his lightsaber was hidden.

  “Nonsense,” Vidian said, waving his hand dismissively. “If you had anything, you’d have used it already. Right?”

  Hera looked searchingly at Kanan as Vidian turned back to the console. Kanan began to reach for his secret weapon—but then he paused. Something, somewhere told him: No, not that. Not now.

  Not yet.

  “Forget him, Twi’lek,” the cyborg said, reaching for the console. “He doesn’t have what it takes to stop me.”

  “But I do,” said Captain Sloane, hologram flickering back into view. Her expression was icy, her eyes narrow. “Ultimatum gunnery control, target the transmission tower and fire.”

  Now Kanan moved. Moved the way his instincts told him to go. He dived not at Vidian, but at Hera, bowling her over even as one of the viewports behind the count lit up like a hundred suns.

  If there was a sound, Kanan didn’t hear it. There was only light, and motion, and heat as Forager wrenched violently under the impact of the Star Destroyer’s turbolaser barrage. Rolling away from Hera, it took what seemed like an eternity for his eyes to adjust. The lights were out in the comman
d center, and Vidian was staggering around like one caught in a hurricane. Kanan realized why, looking out the windows. It wasn’t just Ultimatum, now, but the TIE fighters pummeling Forager’s energy shield. The vessel was in one piece—for the moment—but every strike on the shield shook everything inside madly.

  Somehow, Vidian reached the console again. Kanan was ready to go after him, even shaken—but this time it was Hera who grabbed him, keeping him down close to the floor. He saw the reason. Forager’s superstructure was holding, but the transmission tower, visible through the room’s viewports, shook itself to pieces under a direct hit on the shield from Ultimatum.

  Sloane had called her shot, Kanan realized. And her gunners had done their jobs.

  His chance to destroy Cynda gone, Vidian howled and turned. He ran back through the main entrance, paying Kanan and Hera no mind. Finding his blaster on the floor nearby, Kanan rose to follow Vidian.

  Behind him, Hera called out. “Kanan, no!” He looked back. She was still getting to her knees near the door he had dragged Zaluna through, beneath the catwalk that had been damaged earlier. “We have to get to a—”

  Time stopped for Kanan. And then it started again, slowly.

  He saw everything. He saw the TIE bomber outside, unloosing its torpedo at Forager’s energy shield. He saw the bridge shake violently, in response. He saw the heavy durasteel catwalk, already weakened from Hera’s forklift entrance, snap from its moorings. He saw it fall toward Hera. Hera—not oblivious, but in no position to get out of the way.

  He recognized the obstacles between them—the debris and the bodies, lying across the fastest route. Without thinking, he swept them away with his mind, clearing a path. No barrier blocked him from Hera.

  And he moved. He moved faster than when he’d saved Yelkin, faster than he’d remembered moving in years. All in the hope of grabbing her and diving beneath the doorway.

  Except time moved faster, too—faster than his hopes. He reached her too late, just as he’d been too late to save Master Billaba. The Force had been too late for many that day. But it was with him now, as he slid to the floor by Hera’s side. Hera, knowing the danger she was in, put her hand up as if to shoo him away, to safety. Kanan looked instead upward, waving with his hand—