Stellan Gios was among those Jedi who perceived the Force as the entire firmament of stars in the sky. Points of brilliant heat and energy, seemingly distanced from one another by infinite absence and cold—but actually profoundly connected. Families, friends, tribes, organizations: Each formed a different constellation, carving shape and meaning from the sky. (Were not he, Avar Kriss, and Elzar Mann such a constellation? Stellan had always thought so, even in childhood.) The Force shone forth from them all, illuminating the vast dark; if Stellan but had the ability to perceive every living being, it would have the same effect as being able to see every star in the universe at once: total, pure, all-encompassing light.
Rarely had he felt so close to that ideal moment as he did on this day.
Colorful banners streamed in the sunshine, fluttering over a throng of thousands who were laughing, eating food from tents and carts, and enjoying the beautiful day and—at last—a sense of true safety and belonging. Or so Stellan liked to think.
Finally, he thought, we’ve regained the joy the Nihil stole from us for so long. At last we can celebrate our unity the way we should’ve been able to from the beginning.
Stellan stood at the head of the Starlight delegation upon a dais that overlooked the celebration. In the eyes of most of the galaxy, Eiram was an insignificant place, a tiny dot on a star chart too obscure to bother with. But this had been one of the worlds that had led the campaign for this part of space to finally join the Republic, which made their recent mission here all the more symbolic.
Eiram had recently suffered a storm—the kind of vicious cyclone only a handful of planets could muster, one that had at its apex covered almost an entire hemisphere. Terrible winds had badly damaged the desalination structures that supplied the planet’s only fresh water. This was a crisis that would devastate an independent planet, leading to a mass exodus or even starvation.
But planets in the Republic had a reason to hope.
“And so, instead of returning to its place in the heavens, Starlight Beacon was transported here, to Eiram!” The storyteller gestured at the holo that showed Starlight being towed through outer space, for only the second time ever, following a lifesaving mission to the planet Dalna. Ringed around the storyteller, dozens of children oohed and aahed in wonder. The shimmer of the holo was reflected in their bright eyes. “The Republic and the Jedi came to save us all, by bringing us water, supplies, and most of all…hope.”
Stellan felt a faint twinge of regret that he hadn’t been here to personally oversee the station’s moving and the beginning of the repairs. He’d still been on Coruscant then, so he’d tasked Master Estala Maru with supervising every step—not because he doubted the specialists, but because it was so important for this to be absolutely right. Nobody in the galaxy paid more attention to detail than Maru.
Upon Stellan’s return two days prior, the repairs for the desalination plant weren’t entirely complete. All they had to do now, however, was attach the sluice gates—something that would be accomplished as soon as the tow craft were available, a week or two at most. The people of Eiram might still have water rationing in place, but the rations were generous, and after several weeks of hardship the planet was ready to celebrate.
Stellan said as much to Maru, who replied, “Right. It’s the perfect time for everybody. But it doesn’t hurt that this is when the chancellor happened to be free.”
“Such is the state of politics,” Stellan said.
In truth, it was good of Chancellor Soh to have made the time to attend, even holographically. The flickering images next to him on the dais saw her sitting comfortably in an informal chair, her enormous targons lying on either side of her, dozing in the contentment of beasts. Stellan’s eyes met Lina Soh’s, briefly—each sharply conscious of the memories of the Republic Fair. The image of Stellan lifting her unconscious body from the rubble had already become iconic: both of the evil of the Nihil, and of the resilience of the Republic. Thus the two of them were in a strange way bound together in the public eye; in the same way, Stellan had become the Jedi, the symbol of the Order.
“If we’re a constellation,” Elzar Mann had said, before leaving for his retreat, “the Council has made you the polestar.” Stellan would’ve liked to disagree, but he couldn’t.
Stellan wasn’t sure how he felt about that. So he was guiltily relieved that the chancellor hadn’t attended in person. Otherwise there would’ve been pressure to come up with some new iconic image, somehow.
From the Jedi Council, his fellow members Masters Adampo and Poof watched via their own holograms as well. Cam droids hovered amid the streamers and balloons, capturing the event for people from Kennerla to Coruscant. No matter how distant this part of the frontier might be from the Galactic Core, the people of Eiram could know themselves to be truly as much a part of the Republic as any other world.
“They’ve needed this,” Stellan murmured as he looked out at the revelry of the crowd.
Maru surprised him by answering, “We’ve needed this.”
And that was the truth of it. Stellan’s keen gaze picked out white-and-gold-clad figures among the festival-goers: Bell Zettifar and Indeera Stokes, sipping bright-orange ram’bucha from their cups; Nib Assek helping OrbaLin to make his way toward the dancers, the better to watch their performance; and Burryaga, playing with some of the tinier children. Being a Jedi was a sacred duty—but the light demanded more than obedience and sacrifice. Sometimes a Jedi had to be open to the simple, pure experience of joy. Today they all had that chance.
“A fine thing to see, isn’t it?” Regasa Elarec Yovet of the Togruta was there in person, standing near the flickering image of Chancellor Soh.
It was the chancellor who answered, though Stellan entirely agreed: “It is, Your Majesty. And it’s about time.”
“It is almost time, my lord,” said Thaya Ferr.
Marchion Ro gave his underling the slightest nod as he stared into the depths of the holographic star chart. His preselected targets glowed red among the whiter stars, and he studied each one in turn.
These were ordinary worlds. Large and prosperous enough to be of note at least to neighboring systems, not so large as to have strong planetary defenses or to draw undue attention. He walked through the holographic chart, imagining the suns and planets pushing apart to let him pass.
The worlds he had chosen had two things in common: First, they all had good communications systems that would allow them to reach officials on Coruscant within minutes.
Second, they were all very, very far from Starlight Beacon.
He smiled his bloodless smile. “Begin.”
Aleen: a planet neither particularly obscure nor noteworthy. Although Aleen had been racked by wars in its distant past, it was now a place where nothing of significance had happened in a very long time—even by its own inhabitants’ reckoning—and nothing of significance was anticipated for perhaps an even longer time to come. The legends of the wars were enough to make every soul on Aleen satisfied with an uneventful life.
Yeksom: one of the longest-standing Republic member worlds on the Outer Rim, one that had suffered terrible groundquakes in recent years. The Republic was helping the planet rebuild, but it was a protracted, painstaking process. Its people remained guarded, uncertain, sad-eyed; everyone had lost someone in the quakes, and grief veiled the world’s gray sky.
Japeal: a planet on the frontier, newly bustling, with no fewer than three small space stations in various stages of construction. Its temperate climate and plentiful water practically invited settlers to find a place they might call their own. Dozens of species set up storefronts and eateries; engineers mapped bridges and roads; families put finishing touches on brand-new, prefab homes.
Tais Brabbo: Anyone on Tais Brabbo who wasn’t up to no good had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Rumor had it the Hutts had considered moving some operations onto Tais Brabbo but decided against it—the place was too corrupt even for them. It was a good place to get lost, and on any given day it housed millions of souls who wanted nothing more than to remain out of sight of any authorities more powerful than the ineffectual local marshals.
On each of these very different planets, under four different shades of sky, millions of very different individuals were going about tasks as divergent as spinning muunyak wool or taking bounty pucks when they each heard the exact same sound: the thudding hum of spacecraft engines descending.
All those millions of people looked up. They all saw Nihil ships streaking down out of the sky—numerous as raindrops—the beginning of the Storm.
Explosives dropped. Plasma weapons fired. The assault slammed into homes, factories, bridges, cantinas, medcenters, hangars. There was no specific target, because everything was a target. It seemed the Nihil wanted to cause mayhem for mayhem’s sake, which nobody who had heard of them found difficult to believe.
One passenger ship leaving Japeal at that very moment got lucky. It took damage—a devastating hit to its port side—but was able to limp out of orbit and even get into hyperspace. Its crew and surviving passengers thought it was a miracle they were still alive and might even remain so, if they could get to help in time.
The so-called “miracle” was, in fact, no more than a standing order Marchion Ro had given before the Nihil attack began. Some people needed to escape—because the Nihil needed them to run straight to Starlight Beacon, where they would be given comfort, medical treatment, and the full attention of the Jedi.
No sooner had Stellan Gios returned to Starlight Beacon from Eiram than the news of the Nihil attacks arrived. Estala Maru, normally not given to bad language, used phrases considered obscene on most planets when word came in of the Aleen assault. “Still more Nihil, still attacking, and for what? Nothing, so far as I can tell. They’re not even bothering to plunder ships or planets any longer.” He shook his head grimly. “The Nihil mean to cause us more trouble so long as there’s even one Cloud remaining.”
“This isn’t close to the scale of destruction we saw from the Nihil at first,” Stellan said, reminding himself as much as Maru. “We’ve made real progress. We ought to have expected to see the Nihil thrash around in the group’s death throes. For now, our attention should remain on helping those affected. It looks like some damaged ships are heading our way, no doubt with some injuries aboard—”
“Already on it,” Maru said. The man’s fanatical attention to detail only sharpened in times of crisis, and Stellan had rarely been gladder of this. “I’ve sent a couple of the Padawans to ready the medical tower for a few extra patients.”
“Excellent.” Stellan put one hand on Maru’s shoulder, a gesture of gratitude. “Maru, sometimes I think you’re the one holding this place together.”
“And don’t forget it,” Maru sniffed. His grumpy demeanor was only a thin shield, however; Stellan saw the glimmer of satisfaction in Maru’s gray eyes.
Stellan hurried away, leaving the situation that was being taken care of to deal with the many that had yet to be resolved. A few damaged ships had already signaled their need of a place to land, and more would be coming.
In truth, he was somewhat more disquieted by the Nihil assaults than he’d let on to Maru. Stellan had had misgivings about Avar Kriss’s search for the Eye of the Nihil from the very beginning; it felt too much like a personal vendetta. Avar had walked away from Starlight Beacon—her assignment from the Council, the very symbol of the Republic in this part of space—all in the hope of making a capture others could have made equally well. Was it possible that her search had antagonized the Nihil, driven them to lash out instead of skulking off into oblivion?
Or maybe these scattered attacks are a sign that Avar’s plan is working, Stellan allowed. The Eye is fleeing from her, possibly losing contact with the Nihil at large. Perhaps what we’re seeing is the Nihil newly decentralized, lashing out wildly before falling apart.
If so, Stellan would be the first to apologize to Avar for doubting her. Until they knew more, however…he would keep his own counsel.
An electronic voice chirped: “Master Stellan Gios?”
Stellan half turned to see a logistics droid rolling toward him, coppery and bright, with a vaguely humanoid body above a rolling base. “Yes—are you delivering a message?”
“The message is that you are my new master. I am Jayjay-Five One Four Five and I stand ready to label, prioritize, sort, file, collate, and otherwise organize every aspect of your existence.” The droid practically vibrated with readiness to begin.
“There must be a mistake, Forfive,” Stellan said. “I haven’t ordered any droid, and the Council would’ve mentioned—”
“I am a gift,” JJ-5145 declared with apparent pride. “I come compliments of Elzar Mann, who sends word that as he can no longer be your right hand, he wished for me to serve in that capacity.”
There was almost nothing Stellan would’ve wanted less than a droid following him around to organize everything.
Which, of course, Elzar knew perfectly well.
Stellan had previously been concerned about sending Elzar off to work through his current crisis without accompanying him—as he had first planned, and in fact promised. In the end, Stellan’s many tasks had not allowed him any opportunity to step away, and he’d found an excellent replacement to guide Elzar through this difficult passage. But he’d worried that Elzar might on some level resent it…and in Elzar’s current state of mind, that resentment could too easily have turned to darkness.
It now appeared that Elzar wasn’t resentful in the slightest—and only irked enough to play a practical joke.
JJ-5145 said, “You have remained silent for three point one seconds. Do you lack clarity on how to prioritize your thoughts? Voice them and I can help you order them most efficiently.”
“That’s quite all right, Forfive,” Stellan hurriedly replied. “How about you help the Padawans get the medical tower organized? That would be of great assistance.” He guided the droid on its way, relieved to have something else for it to do. Later he would ask it to schedule some other tasks for a few days in the future.
One of those tasks would be, “Think up the ideal revenge for a practical joke.”
The first ship to arrive at Starlight Beacon after the Nihil attacks was neither damaged nor carrying the injured; it was the Longbeam tasked with bringing some of the Jedi back from their raids on the Ocktai system, with a handful of prisoners in tow.
Bell Zettifar, fresh from checking supply stores in the medical tower, prepared to assist in the prisoner unloading—but his Master, Indeera Stokes, waved him off. “There are only a handful of captives, and if help is needed, I can supply it,” she said. “Take some time to yourself.”
No doubt she’d noticed how dark his mood remained, months after Loden Greatstorm’s death. Bell didn’t want his new Master to think he didn’t appreciate her—to let his admiration and grief for his old Master cloud his new apprenticeship. (And it was clear he needed more time as an apprentice. Bell’s conviction that he was ready to become a Knight had turned to dust with Master Loden.)
That was something he should consider later. For now, there was little to do besides say, “Thanks, Master Indeera.”
She nodded as she began to walk away. “We’ll all have plenty to do soon enough. Best to take free time where it can be had.”
Burryaga, who was also at liberty, asked with an inquisitive growl whether Bell might want to meditate together. Dual meditation techniques sometimes succeeded where solo efforts failed; it was often easier to calm another person, or to be calmed by them. It wasn’t a bad idea, but a shadowy form at the far end of the corridor reminded Bell that there was something much more important to do first—someone he hadn’t been able to visit since returning to Starlight from Eiram that morning.
“Hang on just a second,” he said to Burryaga before dropping to his knees and opening his arms wide for the shape hurtling toward him. “C’mon, Ember!”
The charhound bounded from the shadows and leapt onto Bell, welcoming him back with all the enthusiasm she could muster, which was a lot. Bell allowed a couple seconds of frantic licking before he put his hand out to calm his pet. Her fur blazed warm against his palm. “Steady, Ember, steady. I’m back now.”
Ember wriggled with delight, and Bell couldn’t help grinning. There was nothing like a pet to remind you to release your worries and live in the moment.
Burryaga made a low, huffing sound. Bell glanced up to see his Wookiee friend watching Jedi Knight Regald Coll lead the two Nihil prisoners away. One was a tall, fierce woman with long braids and cheekbones sharp enough to cut. The other was a girl not even his own age, her hair pulled back in a tail, her garments slightly too large for her body—creating the illusion she was even younger than her true years.
Bell knew the young woman’s face, not from personal experience, but from security briefings.
“I thought of Nan as almost still a kid,” Reath had warned them, soon after word had come of her capture. “She’s not. She’s as capable as any Padawan—arguably more than me, because she fooled me completely. Don’t take Nan for granted.”
Bell figured that speech was mostly about making Reath Silas feel a little better for having been so skillfully deceived. But as he watched Nan walk away, head unbowed despite her cuffed wrists, Bell found himself hoping Regald Coll had heard that warning, too.
“I suggest waiting before you question them,” Regald told Stellan Gios. “Our transport was small. The Nihil prisoners might’ve heard about their comrades’ successful attacks, and if so, that’ll make them—”
“Overconfident,” Stellan finished for him. “Exultant, even. Convinced help will come quickly. When it doesn’t, then, perhaps, they’ll be ready to talk.”
“They claim they’re not Nihil any longer,” Regald said, “but the girl called Nan was absolutely with the organization just a few months ago, and it’s a really convenient time for her to have left it, don’t you think?”
“But not impossible.” Stellan looked thoughtful. “If she did leave the Nihil, and we can figure out why—it could provide some valuable information about how to psychologically disarm the group.”
“It would save a lot of time. Still? I kinda doubt it.” Regald missed the old days when he had worked in the Jedi crèche, where when you saw a problem (three-year-old fascinated by fire), the solution was obvious (remove three-year-old from vicinity of fire). “Will you handle the interrogation yourself, or will Elzar Mann take point? I’m happy to assist, but I’ve got to warn you, my jokes make me a little less than intimidating. Though there’s always the chance the captives will reveal all, just to get me to shut up.”
Amusement played on Stellan’s features. “I’ll call on you if I become truly desperate. Elzar, I fear, is unavailable. He’s off doing something even more important.”
“And what in the worlds would that be?”
“Elzar is taking some time to strengthen his ties to the Force,” Stellan said. “Connecting with the greater Jedi he may yet become.”