The crew of the balloon bailed out in a small speeder. Seeing it abandoned gave him an idea. When his enemies regrouped for a second combined charge, he wrenched the balloon physically downward from the sky, crashing its entire weight down on them all—and then, when the petals of the explosion were at their peak, sweeping the entire mess off the dock with one cathartic flexure of telekinesis.
He stood in a tiny dome of clear space, exhaling pure energy, as the circle of burning debris rained down through Bespin’s thin, cold air below. Triumph and satisfaction filled him like pure helium, buoying him upward.
“How many were there?” asked a voice from behind him.
He turned to see Kota stumbling onto the dock. Although drunk, he was a sobering presence. The empty eye sockets hidden behind his filthy bandage seemed to stare right through the young man before him.
The apprentice straightened and lowered his lightsaber. He wondered if Kota was about to berate him for causing so much death and mayhem. “I lost count,” he confessed.
“Doesn’t matter. There will be more. The Emperor’s army is infinite.”
The apprentice scowled. A telling-off he could handle. Indulgent despair was a different thing entirely.
“We have to go, General.”
“It’s a fool’s errand. You’ll be killed—or worse. And what will have changed? Nothing.”
The apprentice clicked the comlink for Juno’s attention. “I’d rather die fighting than drown in some cantina, old man. Are you with me or not?”
Kota took a step forward, stumbled, and looked momentarily lost. “Do you have a name, boy?”
“No.”
Again the apprentice felt as though he were being studied by eyes that no longer existed. “Well, there’s no denying your willingness to kill stormtroopers. I have a contact in the Senate who might be able to use your lightsaber. Where’s your ship?”
The apprentice smiled slightly as the Rogue Shadow rose up behind him, its repulsors whining and ramp extending. Perfect timing, he thought. If only Kota could have seen it …
With one hand in the old man’s right armpit, he guided the first of his would-be rebels into the ship.
CHAPTER 16
THE FORMER GENERAL AND JEDI MASTER might have looked—and smelled—like a brain-dead derelict, but Juno soon learned that, even in his much-reduced state, he possessed resources she could only marvel at. First, he had survived a duel with Starkiller. Second, he had somehow crossed halfway around the galaxy without the use of his eyes. Third, he knew codes and ciphers she had no hope of slicing …
For an hour after their refueling stop at Cloud City, he had sat behind her in the jump seat, tapping madly into a keyboard and sending rapid-fire messages to unknown destinations. Every now and again she’d glanced back and tried to read surreptitiously. All she saw on the screen, however, was gibberish; the sound coming out of the earpiece she had loaned him, likewise. Whatever he was talking about, he was keeping it very much to himself.
“Can I help?” she’d finally asked him.
“No.” He had leaned back into the seat and pushed the keyboard away. “It’s done.”
“You spoke to your friend?” Starkiller had asked, leaning in close from the copilot’s seat.
Kota neither confirmed nor denied anything, given the choice. “Our destination is Kashyyyk,” was all he had said.
“The Wookiee homeworld?” Juno had felt a sinking in her gut. “That’s under Imperial rule now, isn’t it?”
Kota had nodded.
“It’ll be dangerous.”
The old man had smiled at that, with no humor at all. “The entire galaxy is dangerous when you make an enemy of the Emperor.” He had waved away any further questions. “Don’t bother me now. I’m tired and I have a headache. You don’t have any Andoan ale aboard, by any chance?”
“No,” said Starkiller with a tight expression.
“Then let me sleep. You owe me that much.”
Reclining the seat, he had put his hands behind his head and almost immediately begun to snore.
Starkiller had shrugged and told her that he was going back to the meditation chamber to prepare for whatever would come next.
And now she sat with PROXY beside her in the copilot’s seat, wondering how she could prepare for something when she had no idea what it might be.
The warped perspectives of hyperspace slid rapidly by, simultaneously comforting and disconcerting. Familiar it might be to look at, but that environment was one explicitly hostile to human life. So was life on the run. Kota looked about as reliable as a drowned Wookiee. He and his mysterious contact could be leading them right into a trap. She and Starkiller had only just managed to scrape out of enough already while scouring the galaxy for the wretched old man …
She told herself not to be so surly. They’d all been through a lot, and it wasn’t as if she had much choice. She had seen how Darth Vader rewarded loyalty. Returning to the Empire now, with two fugitives in tow, would be the fastest way to see herself shot. Her sleep was still disturbed by dreams of her long incarceration, in which the fear and hope of the final bullet still resonated.
Starkiller never talked about what was going on in his head, but she could tell that he, too, was troubled. His social skills were nonexistent. He wouldn’t talk about his feelings, his past, or anything other than the present. Only the fact that he had saved her made it endurable.
He never talked, although she had prompted him to, about how he had managed to survive the terrible wound his Master had inflicted. In the absence of hard facts, she could only wonder. Prosthetics weren’t the only answer she had come up with. Could he be so strong in the Force that he could stave off death, the ultimate enemy? Was that how he had survived against so many adversaries? Or had some disloyal Imperial really scooped his body out of the sky and shipped it to the secret lab, where it had been repaired without his former Master finding out?
The alternatives were too strange and horrible to contemplate.
Sometimes his screams woke her from restless sleep, ringing out from the meditation room and echoing through the ship. Sometimes he called Vader’s name; other times he called hers, in fear, despair, or anger. More often, he just screamed as though his heart were being cut out.
Her heart broke to hear it. And despite the fact that her life had fallen to pieces ever since they’d met, she remained inclined to follow him. Still, if he expected her to nursemaid this crusty old Jedi on the brink of utter decrepitude, he would find out just how far her loyalty could be stretched …
PROXY suddenly stirred. She blinked out of her thoughts and guiltily tried to look as though she was working. The droid paid her not the slightest attention, however, unfolding from his seat and heading aft. The sound of his metal footsteps led to the meditation chamber; the hatch slid open, and PROXY went inside.
She hesitated a moment, then opened the screen that enabled her to spy on the activities within. In the deep gloom of the chamber, Starkiller knelt with his eyes closed and his back to the door, which her viewpoint covered. The faint shape of PROXY glowed all over for a second, morphing into a new shape. When the transformation was complete, he stood some centimeters taller and broader than before, with a beard and long hair, and wearing the standard robes of a Jedi Knight. The new expression he wore was one of determined solemnity.
Starkiller opened his eyes but didn’t move until PROXY had activated a bright green lightsaber and raised it vertically in a balanced, two-handed pose on the right side of his body. Then Starkiller was up and defending himself so quickly that Juno had hardly seen him move. PROXY rained blows upon him with a speed and athleticism belying his construction. Spinning, tumbling, and cartwheeling all across the room, he was constantly on the offensive, employing swings that were both fast and powerful. Starkiller had his hands full deflecting them all. In the flickering light, she saw sweat standing out on his forehead.
The clash and crackle of lightsabers filled her earpiece. She turned th
e volume down so as not to disturb Kota’s sleep. This wasn’t the first time she had witnessed a duel between Starkiller and his training droid. They had fought like dervishes during the first days after fleeing the Empirical, the droid obviously helping him let off steam. But for those releases, she wondered if the pressure cooker of his mind would steadily build up stresses until he exploded.
She hadn’t learned, however, to relax during them. Starkiller never lost—which was lucky, because PROXY spoke with disarming openness of his intention to kill his master should he ever find a chink in his armor. What life would be like after such a fatal mishap, she didn’t like to think, so for now she tolerated the occasional practice sessions, even if she couldn’t enjoy them.
PROXY didn’t stay still for a second, attacking from the ground, the walls, the ceiling, even from midair. It was like watching a dance, but one in which the slightest slip could mean death. Starkiller danced with him long enough for her to worry, then he changed his own style to match that of the droid’s—and suddenly she could see the difference between the human and the mechanical. Where PROXY had been fast, Starkiller was graceful as well. Where PROXY had simply slashed and stabbed, Starkiller applied flourishes to his offensive strikes. Where every move PROXY made involved his entire body, Starkiller could launch an attack with one finger, or block by shifting his foot a single centimeter.
The end came suddenly, with the green lightsaber stabbing deep into the belly of the unknown Jedi. Starkiller withdrew the blade and stepped backward. The other lightsaber deactivated and fell with a thunk to the metal floor. Starkiller’s virtual opponent crumpled forward and had returned to PROXY’s usual form before he hit the ground.
“I’ve failed again,” came the muffled voice of the droid. “I’m sorry, master.”
“It’s not your fault, PROXY.” Starkiller extended a hand and hauled the droid to his feet. “Ataru doesn’t work properly without the Force. You managed a credible impersonation of it, though, especially in such a confined place.”
“Thank you, master. Perhaps I will succeed next time.”
Starkiller patted him with genuine affection. “You know, you did surprise me. I thought you were Kota.”
“Now, he would make a fine training module.” The droid fairly quivered at the praise. “Perhaps one day I will see him fight. That way I could observe how he moves and re-create him for you.”
“Perhaps, PROXY,” Starkiller said, his expression taking on a darker shade. “Is he awake yet?”
“I do not know, master, but our destination nears.”
“Good.” Together they left the chamber.
Juno switched off the screen and turned to be ready for them when they emerged into the cockpit.
She jumped when she saw Kota sitting up in his chair. For a moment she feared that he had heard everything she’d been listening to through her earpiece, but then she realized that what she had initially read as alertness, perhaps even suspicion, was actually the aftereffects of alcohol poisoning.
“I was beginning to worry that you’d died in your sleep,” she said.
The corners of his lips pulled down. “I wish I had.”
Starkiller entered with PROXY in tow. “Are we close?” he asked, taking the copilot’s chair and turning toward her. The strange angularities of hyperspace reflected in his eyes.
She checked the instruments. “We’ll be arriving any second now.”
Right on cue, the view blurred and shifted into the more familiar starscape of the galactic backdrop. Kashyyyk was a patchwork sphere in green and blue hanging off the starboard bow. It was a beautiful world, but she could tell that it had seen hard times. The scars of orbital bombardment were still visible, years after they had been inflicted. She imagined the smoke that must have risen from those burning forests and was glad for the Wookiees that their home had been spared Callos’s fate.
She employed the Rogue Shadow’s advanced sensors to scan the space around the planet. It was dense with signals, but not much traffic, both mostly Imperial in origin. Several capital ships prowled the upper orbits, cannons and patrols at the ready. Quite a few transports were gathering about a point just out of sight around the planet’s horizon. She urged the ship on in order to obtain a clearer view.
When the particular orbital location came into sight, it took her a moment to realize what she was seeing. It was more than just an ordinary equatorial docking station, but at first glance the difference defied her imagination. Her eyes saw it; her mind rebelled.
A skyhook hung over Kashyyyk, floating on repulsors just outside the planet’s upper atmosphere. A sturdy, utilitarian structure tethered to a cleared area far below, it obviously wasn’t the local dictator’s mansion or a resort for jaded Moffs. It wasn’t finished yet, either. Dozens of cargo ships and construction droids surrounded its summit, glinting in the golden sunlight.
At the sight of the rare construction and the strong Imperial presence, she shook her head.
“I definitely think this mission is too dangerous now.”
Even Starkiller seemed to be having second thoughts. “Your contact had better be reliable,” he told Kota with a sour look.
“I trust him with my life.” The hungover general didn’t ask what they were seeing. Perhaps he already knew. “He smuggled me to Cloud City, and he’s an old ally of the Jedi Order.”
“It’s all very well to hear that,” Juno said, “but without knowing who he is, you’re putting us in a difficult spot.”
“You’re not the only ones reluctant to give names to strangers.” The general huffed out his cheeks. “If you want my help, this is how you’re going to get it. There’s something very valuable to my friend down on Kashyyyk. You extract it for him and maybe he’ll agree to help you fight the Empire.”
Juno watched Starkiller’s face. He showed no sign of uncertainty.
“Have we been spotted, Juno?”
“No. The cloaking device is operating at peak efficiency.”
“Then take us down.”
She mock-saluted to cover her unease. “It’s going to be tricky keeping our heads low out here,” she said as she turned the ship on its new course. “The traffic’s not heavy enough to vanish into, but it is sufficient that someone will spot us if we go to ground. And we can’t use the cloak forever. If the stygium crystals overheat, they’ll be useless.”
“Do what you can,” Starkiller told her. “I’ll try not to be too long.”
“Is that what you told your last pilot?”
The words came out before she’d properly thought about them, and she regretted them instantly. Kota was listening, she told herself angrily. The ex-Jedi could never know who they were or what they had done, no matter what.
She glanced at Starkiller. His ears were burning. His expression looked furious.
Juno pushed the Rogue Shadow down into the atmosphere, hoping that the noise and turbulence of entry would cover the fact that she was furious at herself, too.
SWOOPING OVER ROLLING, GREEN HILLS close to the coordinates Kota gave her, she brought the ship down low enough and long enough for Starkiller to leap into the forest canopy and shimmy down a wide-boled tree. She didn’t stop to look behind her, waiting only until his voice over the comlink assured her that he was safe. Then she was flying the ship back up to space, where no messy contrails or lookouts could betray their presence. PROXY wandered back to the meditation chamber, perhaps to practice his Kota impersonation in private.
It took her half an hour to plot an orbit that would keep the ship well out of range of Imperial sensors. When she was done, she glanced over her shoulder. The general had slumped down into his seat with his arms folded and let his chin rest firmly on his chest. His skin was pale and drawn. His eye sockets were sunken beneath their bandages.
“Stay awake, General,” she said.
“If there’s really nothing to drink on this ship,” Kota said with a surly drawl, “I’d rather you let me go back to sleep.”
“
Our friend down there might need your help.”
“Your friend, not mine.” Kota’s lips pursed. “I don’t even know who he is—or how you two came to own a ship like this.”
She thought quickly. So the general had heard her comment about Starkiller’s previous pilots. He was surely bringing it up now to needle her. The obvious option was to ignore him, but that would only rouse his suspicions even further. She had to tell him something, just as long as it wasn’t the truth. Or at least the whole truth.
“We stole it,” she said.
“Who from?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“I can guess. I’ve flown a few ships with cloaking devices down the years, but I can’t pick out the sound of this one’s hyperdrive. It’s something new, probably military.” Through the grouchiness he wore like his own disguising cloak, she could tell that he was testing her. “Our common enemy, perhaps.”
She said nothing. He was a Jedi. If she gave away too much, he might match the Rogue Shadow to the ship in which Darth Vader’s assassin had arrived at the TIE fighter factory—and that would be the end of everything.
He chuckled low in his throat, then coughed long and hard. “Don’t worry, Juno,” he said when his voice returned. “I’m hardly going to turn you in.”
“I didn’t think—”
“You’re fugitives, just like me. You have nothing to lose.”
Only our futures, she thought. Our slates are clean. We could start all over again, if we wanted to.
His face seemed to visibly age. She wondered if he was thinking of all the friends and loved ones he had lost over the years—not just to Order 66, but throughout his subsequent insurgency as well. And his sight, too. He had yet to tell her how he had come to be blinded, and she had never asked. She figured she could guess, and that he wouldn’t ever want to talk about it, with her or anyone.
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