Star Wars

by Charles Soule

  The station was a wonder, gleaming in the void, an intricate gemstone sparkling in space, one of the largest offworld structures ever built. Its construction had taxed even the limitless resources of the Galactic Republic—but that was the point. Even the Outer Rim Territories deserved the best of the Republic.

  We are all the Republic.

  This was the Starlight Beacon, and it was, at last, complete. Not a day early, and not a day late. It was designed to serve many purposes, to attend to the diverse needs of the many citizens of the Republic in this region.

  Perhaps two cultures required neutral ground upon which to negotiate a dispute—the Beacon would provide. Or if that dispute turned heated, and threatened to turn from words to war—the Beacon was a military base, with a strong contingent of peacekeepers staffed on a rotating basis from the worlds of the Republic Defense Coalition. Its superstructure was 19 percent triazurite, a rare mineral that boosted transmission signals, allowing it to serve as a massive relay point to facilitate better, faster communications among the peoples of the Outer Rim. It was a hospital, it was an observatory, it was a research station, it was a bustling market, trading in goods from across the Rim and beyond.

  The Starlight Beacon was open to all citizens, built to allow them to experience the Republic in all its grand diversity. From subsonic whisper-fiber concerts by Chadra-Fan masters, to Mon Calamari ocean dancing, to modules demonstrating the flora and fauna of worlds from Kashyyyk to Kooriva…this was the Republic, the exhibits constantly changed and updated to provide a truly representative experience.

  And of course, there was no Republic without Jedi. The Starlight Beacon housed the largest temple outside Coruscant, to serve as a hub for the Order’s activities in the Outer Rim and beyond. Designed by renowned Jedi architect Palo Hidalla, and staffed by some of the most experienced members of the Order, the Starlight temple provided everything younglings, Padawans, Jedi Knights, and Jedi Masters might require to serve the people and the Force.

  The Jedi quarter lacked a leader, after the tragic loss of Master Jora Malli at the battle against the Nihil…but perhaps that, too, might be addressed.

  Luminaries from around the galaxy had arrived to mark the occasion of the station’s dedication. The Third Horizon, hero vessel of so many recent events of galactic import, had already docked, its passengers released. And here, too, was the Jedi cruiser Ataraxia, permanently seconded to the Starlight Beacon as the Order’s mode of transport to and fro. It had gathered Jedi from Coruscant and beyond, bringing them here to witness a great moment that would change the galaxy forever.

  The visitors disembarked, all dressed for celebration and ceremony. The Jedi in their bright sashes of cerulean and vermillion and purple, draped across the gold and white of their tunics, with the symbol of the Order shining out, the rising light of the Force. The Republic diplomats and warriors and leaders of industry and culture, wearing whatever best reflected the occasion, a spectacle of chatter and enjoyable pomp.

  The Beacon’s staff took them in groups to demonstrate the station’s many features, pride and optimism on every face, visitors and guides alike.

  Bell Zettifar had come from Elphrona, along with Indeera Stokes and Porter Engle. The surviving members of the Blythe family were invited to this event, but declined, choosing instead to return to their relatives on Alderaan.

  Bell was lost. He did not understand what had happened, how his master could be with him one moment and then…not. Indeera, who had taken him as her Padawan until some other arrangement might be made, believed Loden Greatstorm was dead. Bell did not. Technically, he could take the vows to become a Knight back on Coruscant, but he could not countenance doing such a thing. Loden Greatstorm was to preside over the ceremony, as was right and proper. But now…how?

  Ember padded along at Bell’s side. Perhaps unorthodox, but who would tell the Padawan he must be even more alone?

  Porter Engle walked along with the group, quiet, and seemed to barely notice the wonders of the Starlight Beacon. He was remembering what it felt like to be the Blade of Bardotta, and remembering why he once chose to never be that person again.

  Indeera thought about every decision she made during the rescue attempt on Elphrona, and wondered if some other path could have saved Loden and Ottoh Blythe. She did not know, and never would.

  Led by another guide with a different group, Stellan Gios, Avar Kriss, and Elzar Mann walked through the station’s bright corridors, together, as they often were whenever the business of the Order allowed it. There were rumors about who would lead the station’s Jedi quarter now that Master Malli was gone, but the trio did not gossip. They were Jedi. All Masters now, too. The Council had finally indicated that they would allow Elzar Mann to take the vows; he would be able at last to see what awaited him in the depths of the endless sea that was the Force.

  They passed the Trandoshan Jedi Sskeer, who had spent much time on the Beacon during its construction, and so did not require a tour. He stood at a viewport, looking out at space beyond. Avar offered a greeting, but Sskeer did not respond. He had survived the Battle of Kur, and his missing arm was slowly regrowing in the manner of his species, but the wound in his heart at the loss of Master Jora Malli was proving harder to repair.

  In the huge assembly room at the heart of the Beacon, Nib Assek and Burryaga watched as Chancellor Lina Soh made her way to a dais in the center of the chamber. She walked side by side with Yarael Poof, a master on the Jedi Council. Every prominent Jedi in the galaxy was aboard the station, even Yoda, which surprised some. Ordinarily, the ancient master avoided non-essential social gatherings with determined glee, but here he was with the class of younglings he had taken under his tutelage in recent months. His reasons for attending the dedication of the Starlight Beacon were his own. Yoda kept his own counsel.

  All around the chamber, many more people had gathered, the guides bringing their charges to the room as the tours ended for the primary event of the day. Mikkel Sutmani. Joss and Pikka Adren. Keven Tarr, Admiral Kronara, even Chief Innamin and Lieutenant Peeples. Jedi prodigy Vernestra Roh and her newly acquired Padawan, Imri Cantaros, just arrived from their own encounter with the Nihil at Wevo. Senators and ministers and presidents and more, people from stations low and high. Thousands of people had gone to extraordinary lengths to ensure this moment happened, and as many as possible were present today. Those who could not or chose not to attend were given access to a secure holochannel, to allow them to see and listen in real time.

  Chancellor Soh reached the dais. Cam droids hovered, recording the moment. She spoke.

  “You know I envision a galaxy of Great Works—connected and inspiring and filled with peace for all citizens. I believe this is possible, but not because of me, or any special ability of mine. I believe it is possible because of us. Because we can and will work together to achieve it. We are, every one of us, a great work. I see a galaxy where we use our strengths to shore up each other’s weaknesses, where we understand and celebrate our differences and hold them up as valuable. We are a Republic where every voice matters, whether in the Core or on the farthest planet at the edge of the Rim.”

  She continued, addressing the sacrifices made to bring safety to the Outer Rim and allow the station to be completed. The deaths of Hedda Casset, Loden Greatstorm—Bell Zettifar blinked hard at this—Merven Getter, Vel Borta, Captain Finial Bright, and many more were acknowledged. A memorial was proposed, another Great Work, for all those killed in the Legacy Run disaster and the Emergences that followed. A multipiece sculpture, with works placed at the site of the Emergences in Hetzal, Eriadu, and Ab Dalis, containing the names of all who died.

  Lina Soh spoke for precisely the right amount of time, and concluded with these words:

  “This station will be a symbol of the Republic in the Outer Rim. A place where we will celebrate our union, and help each other to make it grow. It will send out a signal
, for anyone in this sector to hear, at any time. The beacon. The Beacon of the Republic. The sound…”

  Here she paused, and the cam droids captured sincere optimism on her face. This was not a politician. This was a woman who believed every word she was saying.

  “…of hope.”

  Across the atrium, against the stars, lightsabers ignited. Hundreds, in all the colors of the Jedi Order, a salute, held high.

  In the space outside the station, anyone who looked would see a surging glow rush out from the beautiful, open space at its heart, pushing back the darkness.

  The light of the Jedi.

  The beacon activated, a signal, a sound, a chime, a tone that anyone with even the most rudimentary equipment could hear, for hundreds of parsecs around the station. Anyone who was lost, afraid, confused, hopeless…they could tune in. They could listen, and the sound would help them find their way.

  The Starlight Beacon. The first of many.

  All was well.

  “This is a beautiful place,” Elzar Mann said.

  Avar Kriss was at his side; they had left Stellan Gios behind at the dedication, deep in conversation with several Council members. Elzar and Avar walked along a path through one of the garden modules on the Starlight Beacon: a huge transparisteel bubble, through which a long spiraling walkway had been built. The base of the sphere was filled with the native soil of a world called Qualai, a small, low-gravity planet on the edge of the Outer Rim.

  From that soil grew trees, tall and thin and elegant, reaching all the way from the module’s base to its top, some three hundred meters above. Descending from the bright-blue branches of those trees, a drapery of vines, rippling ribbons stretching from crown to ground. These were varied shades of red and orange, graceful gradients running their lengths. Air currents stirred the vines, so they washed gently back and forth, their fragrance like incense.

  The spiral path let one walk through these vines as they swirled and parted, tiny insects and birds bright with bioluminescence flitting between like sparks, each tree its own ecosystem.

  At the center of the garden, with space looming beyond the transparisteel, the effect was something like standing inside a campfire, looking out at the night.

  “Yes, it is,” Avar said.

  “And all ours,” Elzar said. “No one else seems to have found it yet.”

  “It won’t last,” Avar said. “I’m sure people will leave the party and find their way here soon enough. Couples looking for quiet spots to be alone, probably.”

  “Then let’s enjoy it while we’ve got it, eh?”

  They kept ascending, the sound of the flame-ribbons washing through the chamber.

  “Look at us, huh? Just a couple of Jedi Masters, taking a quiet moment together. Can you believe it? Sometimes I never thought it would happen.”

  Avar smiled at him.

  “I knew the Council would promote you eventually,” she said. “Was never a question.”

  “Easy for you to say. You made Master a few years ago.”

  “Hey, the Council knows talent when they see it. When will it happen?”

  “Soon, probably. I’ll need to stand before the Council, back on Coruscant. It feels like a formality, really. I can’t imagine my life will change as much as it did at the last elevation.”

  “True. The jump from Padawan to Jedi Knight…that’s where it all really sinks in. The choice of it…” Her voice trailed off.

  Elzar suspected they were both thinking about the same thing. Shared moments as Padawans, tolerated and understood and even common—but things to be left behind once one ascended to become an adult in the Order.

  They hadn’t discussed those moments, not in a very long time, and never with more than an oblique reference, but they were never very far away from the other’s mind, especially when they were together.

  Those times, many years in the past, seemed very present just then.

  Avar stopped. It took Elzar a step to realize she wasn’t keeping pace, and he turned to look back at her.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  She held out her hand.

  He took it. Held it up, looked at it, then looked at Avar Kriss, his friend.

  The look she gave him was like that sea he found inside himself, the Force, deep and endless and impossible to fully comprehend.

  You could drown in it.

  “We are Jedi,” he said.

  “We are,” she replied.

  She looked away, and let go of his hand, and he was no longer drowning, but perhaps some part of him wished he was.

  They kept walking.

  “They gave me the station,” Avar said.

  “What?”

  “I have command of the Jedi contingent on the Starlight Beacon. With Master Jora gone, they asked me to take over. I guess I impressed the Council after what happened in Hetzal, and everything after, and…”

  “Yes. You are very impressive,” Elzar said, his voice soft.

  A little higher on the path, walking through the flames.

  “I have work on Coruscant,” Elzar said. “Research in the Archives…what we achieved in Hetzal has given me all sorts of ideas about new ways the light side might speak to us. I know the Council doesn’t always understand the things I try to do, but I’m a Master now. I feel like this is my chance to really demonstrate how useful I can be to the Order.”

  “Yes,” Avar said, her voice quiet as well.

  “We won’t be seeing each other as often,” Elzar said. “Do you think we got too used to spending time together? Was that a mistake?”

  “No,” she said, her voice certain.

  “I agree. And we’ll stay in touch.”

  “Yes. We can speak whenever we want. Chancellor Soh’s comm relay project will make that easier than ever.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  They had reached the top of the path, the end of the spiral, where an exit led back to the rest of the station. The sounds of celebration could be heard—dim and inviting.

  “Sounds like it’s ramping up. You want to put away a few glasses of whatever they’ve got? I wouldn’t mind dancing, either. Should we go dance, Jedi Master Elzar Mann?”

  He wondered what she thought of the look he was giving her just then. If she might be drowning a bit, too.

  “I’ll be along in a bit,” he said. “It’s nice here, and I don’t know when I’ll get to see this spot again.”

  “All right,” she replied.

  Avar hesitated, then smiled, full and open and honest, and walked away.

  Elzar watched her go, then turned and looked out at the stars, at the emptiness of space, the deepest sea of all. Below him, the flame-trees churned, rustling and whipping—it was like standing atop an inferno. He let his consciousness roam out into the darkness beyond, looking, looking…

  The Force seized his mind.

  Awful visions flashed before his eyes, things he could not understand, cast in a sickly purple light. Jedi, many he knew, friends and colleagues, horribly mutilated, fighting battles they could not win against awful things that lived in the dark. Things that lived in the deep.

  The Jedi, those who survived, were fleeing. Not retreating, but fleeing.

  The visions spiked into his mind, the Force screaming some sort of warning or prophecy at him, shearing through his consciousness, and they would not stop.

  Elzar fell to his knees, blood dripping from his nose. This did not feel like an unknowable, avoidable vision of the future.

  This felt inevitable. Certain.

  Evil, horror, sweeping across the galaxy like the tide.

  He saw Jedi dying, screaming, and himself last of all, unable to escape what was coming.

  Slowly, agonizingly, the vision receded. Elzar returned to himself. He gasped, and more blood spattered the d
eck.

  What had he just seen? What had he seen?

  The worst was not the chaos; the battles; the pain; the unknown, monstrous horrors surging out of the dark. It was what he had seen on the face of every single Jedi the Force had shown him.

  The greatest enemy of all.

  Fear.

  For Hannah, Sam, Chris, and Jay, who love Star Wars as much as I do

  Acknowledgments

  Star Wars projects, of any type, are always a collective effort—from films to games to toys to this very novel…it takes a galaxy. That’s particularly true of Light of the Jedi, which is the result of literally years of work by the group of people first introduced to the world as a collective of five writers working on the mysterious Project Luminous. I didn’t know any of them personally when the project that would eventually become The High Republic began, though I knew their work. Now, though, it’s rare that a day goes by that I don’t talk to this incredibly talented group of writers: Claudia Gray, Justina Ireland, Daniel José Older, and Cavan Scott. They began as my colleagues and became my friends, and this book would not exist without their constant encouragement, vetting, and wonderful ideas.

  Next, of course, the maestro who put Project Luminous together, and has sheltered his little group of writers from countless storms and kept us going since those first emails started circulating about what Luminous would become: Michael Siglain, creative director at Lucasfilm Publishing. He’s the best, and I guarantee no one who’s ever met him would tell you any different. He brought me in for this ride—brought all of us in—and I couldn’t be more thankful.

  The folks at Lucasfilm Story Group gave us endless time and focus as we were building The High Republic, and I’d like to particularly mention Pablo Hidalgo, whose notes were always additive and often came with instructive diagrams about the mysterious nature of hyperspace. James Waugh, for his constant, unflagging support. Matt Martin and Robert Simpson, Brett Rector, Jen Heddle, Troy Alders…the list goes on. It’s what I said at the beginning—Star Wars is a galaxy, and everyone contributes. It’s wonderful to see.