The Senator rubbed his bearded chin, weighing his options. His sharp eyes studied both men in front of him, the young and the old, and what he made of their strange alliance he kept to himself. “You’re the first to openly take direct action against the Empire,” he said. “But we’re not prepared to go to war. We need weapons and starships, and people with the courage to use them. I don’t know how many others will stand with us.”
“Ships and weapons we can find,” said Kota.
“There’s no shortage of people,” said Juno.
“And you’re already thinking about who you’ll approach first,” said Starkiller, studying the Senator with a shrewd expression.
Organa looked at him and nodded. “Well, yes. There are other Senators who have spoken out against the Emperor. But they’ll be hard to convince. Talk is cheap in the Senate, sometimes. Action is a much more expensive commodity.”
“We just need to show them that the Empire is vulnerable,” said Kota gruffly.
“Yes,” Organa said. “Show them in a way that can’t be written off as an accident. HoloNews doesn’t cover everything, but word still spreads. And that word will be like acid eating at the foundations of the Empire. When push comes to shove, it will topple. The right push in the right place …”
“Let me meditate on the details,” said Starkiller. “I’m sure I’ll find the right target. In the meantime, Senator, make contact with your friends and allies. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
The Senator hesitated, then nodded. “All right. Alone, I could not prevent even my own daughter being taken hostage. Together we might make a difference for everyone in the galaxy.” He reached out a hand and gripped Starkiller’s tightly. “That is the hope you’ve given me today. I will honor it.”
Nodding farewell to Juno, he turned to Kota. “What about you, General Kota?” he asked. “Where does your path lead? I have room in my ship for a passenger.”
Again, Kota snorted. “Not on your life. The booze is better in the boy’s ship.”
Organa’s face filled with sorrow, but Kota couldn’t see it. The Senator gripped him by both shoulders and said in a voice that was superficially cheerful, “Well, be sure to keep your head down, old friend, and leave the fighting to someone else.”
They parted. Organa walked across the spongy mushroom cap to his transport, which PROXY still guarded. The droid saluted the Senator as he entered his ship, then all four of them walked back into the Rogue Shadow.
“Give him an escort to orbit,” Starkiller told Juno before heading aft. “It’d be a disaster if he were caught by a lucky Imperial patrol now.”
Kota said nothing as she warmed up the drives and lifted off. Glad to be leaving Felucia behind—for the last time, she hoped—she trailed Organa’s shuttle as it broke atmosphere and prepared to engage its hyperdrive.
“Who are you contacting now?” Juno asked Kota as she noted a coded message leaving the ship.
He didn’t answer. When she turned to check on him she saw that he was sitting in the jump seat with his hands folded across his lap, to all appearances asleep.
Shrugging, she lay down a course to an empty system and sent the ship on its way.
CHAPTER 27
THE APPRENTICE STOOD IN THE meditation chamber with his head bowed, and waited.
The plan was going well. Bail Organa had been rescued and convinced to contemplate open aggression against the Emperor. His daughter, too, had failed to see through the disguise he wore—one of loathing for Imperials and their hard lines against aliens and women. Kota’s continuing presence unnerved him slightly, but he was certain he could keep the old man fooled. The disguise was becoming second nature now.
But was it entirely a disguise? Certainly when he talked of betraying Palpatine, he meant every word. The Emperor deserved no less for ordering his death. And he remained under no illusions as to the ultimate outcome of his mission. Everyone he gathered to the cause would be used by his Master to destroy the Emperor, but not to destroy the Empire. Kota and Bail and their allies would all be killed, no doubt, before putting someone they wanted in charge.
He told himself not to lose any sleep over the would-be rebels. Theirs was a cause lost before it was even begun. And if he took a certain pride in being looked up to and relied upon, he knew it couldn’t last. Best not to think about it anymore.
But what about Juno’s fate? Could he save her from that awaiting the others? He longed to talk openly with her about his ultimate goal, to abandon the lies and the deception with her, if no one else. But the thought provoked a storm of emotion. For every argument in favor of it, there were three against. She had been branded a traitor by the Empire so had no choice except to follow him—but he couldn’t bear the thought of what she might say, so he stayed silent in the hope that all would become clear on both sides, in time.
While he waited, he considered a change of clothes. The uniform his Master had given him on the Empirical now stank of rancor blood, and always would, no matter how he scrubbed at it. The Rogue Shadow had been stocked with several outfits in his size, in preparation for his mission, but the range was limited to either black or brown. The colors of the Sith or Jedi, he realized, depending on whom he was representing. He had pulled out a rack of dark browns, thinking it might be time to more clearly display his supposed allegiance to the forces of so-called good, but he balked at putting them on. Stripped to the waist, clad only in his blood-tainted leather pants and boots, he looked inside himself for the courage required simply to dress.
It matters, he thought, if not to me then to those around me. I’m not used to having allies …
Someone moved in the shadows. Gooseflesh tightened the skin between his naked shoulder blades. He raised his head.
“I know you’re there,” he said. “Show yourself.”
A brown-robed human figure stepped out of the shadow, with one gloved or artificial hand and thick, dark blond hair. His eyes were in shadow, but there was no mistaking his intent. A bright blue lightsaber flashed into life as the figure approached, his steps quickening, intent on attack.
“A new one, PROXY? Excellent.”
The apprentice swept his lightsaber into his hand and blocked the first of a series of rapid-fire blows. The droid had been working on this module for some time, it seemed, judging by the skill he displayed. His combat style ranged from the aggressive Jedi style Shien to the more advanced form of Djem So with occasional flashes of rage that pushed the combat beyond offensive barrage to outright, fury-fueled Juyo. The apprentice danced with feet and blade, admiring the techniques and tricks of his newest opponent—whom he naturally recognized as the long-dead Clone Wars hero Anakin Skywalker—and prolonging the duel to see where it might lead.
But despite his intellectual interest in PROXY’s handiwork, his heart wasn’t in it. He had fought real Jedi Knights now, and fallen Jedi Padawans. In his visions he had fought as his Master, Darth Vader, and even fought himself. Such duels were very real, whereas this felt, suddenly, empty, and no longer served even as a distraction. Were it not for PROXY’s feelings, he would end it quickly and conserve his energy for other purposes.
Even as he thought that, PROXY surprised him. Ducking under a particularly rash stroke, the droid rolled as expected but came up empty-handed. The apprentice looked for the lightsaber and saw it barely in time to avoid dismemberment. PROXY had used his repulsors to imitate a telekinetic push that sent the hilt of the lightsaber spinning across the room and back again—a move the apprentice had never seen him use before. The apprentice’s block stopped the blade from slashing his throat, but in ricocheting it scored a gash down his arm. The light wound sent a neural shock through his system. He laughed, not just at the sudden rush of adrenaline and endorphins.
“Well done, PROXY,” he said. “You almost had me there.”
The droid didn’t break his disguise as he fell back under a flurry of retaliatory blows. Revitalized by the reminder that even play-fighting with
PROXY could be deadly, the apprentice drove the droid into a corner and rammed the tip of his blade through PROXY’s metal chest.
The hologram sparked and flickered. PROXY’s familiar features appeared through those of the legendary Jedi Knight, and the apprentice reached out to steady him.
But something was wrong. The static didn’t dissipate as normal. It seemed, if anything, to be growing stronger, as though the semblance of the dead Anakin Skywalker was reluctant to dissipate.
“Master!” the droid gasped in some agitation. “Master, he’s here!”
PROXY stiffened, straightened, and seemed to swell in size. It wasn’t the brown of the Jedi’s robes and hair forming out of the chaos of the static, however, but the black protective suit of Darth Vader.
Surprised, the apprentice took two steps backward and regained his composure.
Going down on one knee, he bowed his head before his Master.
“Lord Vader, you received my message.”
The domed head didn’t move. The apprentice didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. Behind that black mask, invisible eyes seemed to dissect him like a failed experiment. “Tell me of your progress.”
“I have recruited several dissidents to my cause. They trust me, and I believe they have the capacity to do as we require.”
“If your mission goes so well, why do you seek my counsel?”
The apprentice took a deep breath. “My allies seek a major strike against the Empire, something that will galvanize all the Emperor’s enemies into one potent force. I told them that I would supply a suitable target.”
Lord Vader contemplated the question a moment before responding. “The Emperor rules the galaxy through fear. You must destroy a symbol of that fear.”
“Yes, Lord Vader.”
“The Empire has been building Star Destroyers above Raxus Prime. That shipyard is your next target.”
The apprentice nodded, thinking the proposal through. Star Destroyers were very visible symbols of Imperial control, monstrous oppressors dreaded in the skies of those yearning for freedom. Destroying even one would be quite an achievement; destroying the source of many would be a rallying cry for outright rebellion—if he could only do it …
Then he remembered. He wasn’t talking to rebels now, and this wasn’t a proposal. It was an order.
“Thank you, Lord Vader,” he said. “I will leave at once.”
He waited for the hologram to disperse, as it usually did when he was dismissed, but his Master hadn’t finished with him. He raised his head and found himself still the subject of that darkly penetrating regard.
“There is much conflict in you,” his Master said.
Taken off guard, the apprentice was momentarily lost for words. A rush of images overwhelmed him: of blinded, dispirited Kota, of Maris Brood begging for her life, of his dead father and himself—Galen—lying slain at his feet, and of the fiery pain of his Master’s blade burning through his back.
He straightened, then, knowing what he should say. “My injuries trouble me, Master. I can’t help wondering how much of me is still human.”
“No.” The plausible lie wasn’t accepted by his Master. “Your feelings for your new allies are growing stronger. Do not forget that you still serve me.”
With that, the hologram did dissolve and PROXY returned to his normal appearance and size.
“Ugh,” the droid said with a shudder. “I hate being him.”
The apprentice stood, deep in thought, and nodded. “I think he does, too.”
PROXY’s photoreceptors blinked and looked over his shoulder. “Master …”
He knew Juno was there before he turned. He could feel it in the sinking of his stomach and the sudden surge in his heartbeat. But how long exactly had she been there? What had she seen?
When he saw the expression on her face, he knew she had seen everything.
“Juno …”
“I—I wanted to find out where we’re heading next. You were training and didn’t hear me come in, so I decided to wait.” Confusion and concern threatened to overwhelm her; then her expression hardened. She swallowed and said, “But it looks like you’ve already been told where to go.”
She turned to leave, and the apprentice crossed the room in a panic and took her shoulder.
“Juno, wait, this isn’t what—”
“Of course it is,” she snapped, pulling away from him and folding her arms. “You’re still loyal to Vader. After all he did to us—branding me a traitor and trying to kill you—you’re still his … his …” She seemed close to tears.
“His slave.”
Juno stared at him with eyes full of hurt. She seemed taken aback for a moment.
“Yes.” Her voice took on a hopeful note. “But if that’s so … why? Why did you defy your Master to rescue me?”
His answer was harsh to his own ears. “You were at Callos. It’s in your file. You know what it’s like to follow orders to the letter.”
She winced. “And?”
“And I needed someone to fly the ship.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
He turned away, and and this time it was she who pulled him back.
“My being here has never been about my piloting.”
His throat was so tight he feared he couldn’t talk at all. He couldn’t meet her eyes, either. The disappointment in them, the dashed hopes, was all too acute.
And too close to what he felt in his own heart.
She let go and went to leave, but on the threshold she turned back.
“I don’t know who—or what—you really are,” she said. “Maybe I’ll never know. But sometime soon, you will decide the fate of the rebellion, not your Master. That’s something he can’t take away from you. And when you’re faced with that moment, remember that I, too, was forced to leave everything I’ve ever known.
“Please,” she said, “don’t make me leave another life behind.”
With that she left him full of frustration and self-doubt, staring at the clothes he had laid out, with his fists clenched and shaking at his sides.
Once, he remembered, he had considered taking steps if Juno came too close to him. Now it was entirely too late for that. They had feelings for each other that he couldn’t deny—and now she knew the truth about him and his ongoing plot with Darth Vader. He should kill her immediately to safeguard the plan. There was no question about that.
But he could not, and in a strange way he trusted her not to tell Kota. That would mean his death, and he was certain she didn’t want that, either.
He had hoped that she would be glad when she learned she might be able to rejoin the Empire and work for the navy again. It had been naïve of him, he now realized, to assume that she could forget everything that had happened since her capture. She had been traveling with Kota too long, nursing her own resentments. She had even tried to talk to him about it once, and he’d brushed her off. If he’d listened, perhaps he would’ve known better.
Whether it would have changed anything was another story. Really, he supposed, the plan was irrelevant. It was his continued involvement with Vader that was the problem. How could she possibly want someone so intimately entangled with the man who had imprisoned her without reason for so long?
Still, it was out in the open now, at least between the two of them. He had no choice but to continue with the plan in order to gain revenge on the Emperor. Afterward, he would patch things up with her. If they could work together until then, well and good. That was all they needed to do. But he would hate it if she thought of him the way he thought of Maris Brood: as a conflicted, wounded creature possessing little hope and few prospects.
He slipped into the robe and hood, adopting the garb of a Jedi Knight with resignation and a heavy heart.
CHAPTER 28
RAXUS PRIME—AGAIN. JUNO FELT as though she were traveling in circles, or perhaps a spiral leading ever downward. She’d thought her situation complicated enough the last time, but all she
’d had to worry about then was Callos and her father. She’d barely thought of either since breaking out of an Imperial lockup and beginning her life on the run. And now Starkiller’s betrayal …
She caught herself thinking about that and told herself angrily to stop. It wasn’t a betrayal. He hadn’t even lied to her. He’d just let her believe that when he talked about getting revenge on the Emperor, he had meant on Vader as well, and the Empire as a whole. He had let her believe that all his talk of rebellion was genuine, not a ruse to further his own ends. And she had believed it, like the good pilot she was supposed to be. Just a lackey, as she had been under Vader and remained under Vader’s apprentice. She had no one to blame for her naïveté but herself.
It wasn’t as if she deserved anything else. She had trusted too freely and let him do all the thinking. She hadn’t pressed him hard enough to tell her how he had survived Vader’s betrayal—when it was obvious now that Vader himself had saved him, solely for this purpose. How had she—an Imperial captain who had once commanded whole squadrons of pilots, some of them the best in the Empire—been so easily sucked into the spell of this stranger, this tortured soul? It seemed incredible to her.
She wanted to weep at the thought of how deeply she had betrayed herself. She wasn’t a vassal, a pawn in someone’s vast game. She was an individual, a person of talent and—once—ambition. What was she now?
The list of her recent achievements was vanishingly small. Fly here; pick up there; do this; repair that. She’d had nothing to offer on Felucia except her opinion of Starkiller, and that had been proven completely unfounded. If blame was being passed around when the rebellion ended up spitted on Vader’s lightsaber, she supposed that she deserved a chunk of it, too, for not thinking, not trying, not doing any of the things advocated by the unknowingly lost cause.
If she wasn’t spitted herself, alongside all the other traitors …
Kota couldn’t fail to be aware of her mood. She had been silent ever since her confrontation with Starkiller, and her concentration was off. She had checked the final jump three times before seeing a mistake in her calculations that would likely have spelled all their deaths. She had even snapped at PROXY when he’d offered to fix it for her. Droid brains didn’t have anything like the troubles she was currently juggling. It was all numbers and prioritizing task lists and obeying orders, no questions asked.
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