Aboard the Gaze Electric, the news came as a simple comm chime, one that might’ve meant no more than a distant Cloud making contact. But this was the time Marchion Ro had dictated—and, it appeared, his team had met his expectations.
He rose from the captain’s chair, which meant dislodging Ghirra Starros from his lap. Laughing, she said, “Isn’t there anyone at all aboard your ship? You need someone around to take care of things like this for you. I thought that was what that Ferr woman was for.”
Marchion didn’t address the question of who else was aboard his ship. Starros would learn that in time, and he’d deal with her reaction—or not—later. Hearing this communication was far more pressing.
Just as he reached the console, Thaya Ferr hurried in. Starros made a small huff of irritation. Ro paid neither of them any mind.
He hit the switch himself. All screens on board lit up with the simple, automated text communication: An explosion has damaged the Starlight Beacon station core. All systems responding as predicted.
“We’ve done it, then.” Starros, with great and obvious effort, sounded cheerful. “You’ve pulled it off. While Lourna Dee and all the other Tempest Runners are off pursuing their own selfish concerns, running after glory, you’ve struck at the heart of their enemy.”
“And drawn blood,” Ro said, before turning to Thaya Ferr. “Keep monitoring that channel.”
Ghirra Starros interrupted. “There will be…more?” Her face seemed pale.
“So much more,” Ro said. Did she not fully comprehend what she had done? Only a fool wouldn’t. But Starros was undoubtedly like most beings—capable of considerable denial when it came to the harm she could do. He had never had any need for such self-deceit. Let her face the truth of what she’d wrought. “You see, we could have detonated the kind of device that would’ve destroyed Starlight instantly. Smuggling it on board would’ve been more difficult…but, with our intel, not impossible. Yet that would’ve defeated the purpose. The entire galaxy must see this. They must watch it happen. They must know the true power of the Nihil.”
Stellan Gios did not know if the disturbance in the Force aboard Starlight had been destroyed in the explosion, or if he’d finally pushed past the effects of insomnia, or whether the immediate demands of a crisis had helped him throw off the stupor that disturbance had created. Regardless, he could focus again, and just as the station needed him the most.
Elzar reached him within minutes of the blast, with Nib Assek trailing along behind. She looked rumpled, no worse, but he had a small scrape along one cheekbone that hadn’t been there earlier in the day. “What’s happening?”
“No solid information yet,” Stellan said, tossing on his robe as he hurried out from the quartermaster’s office toward the nearest lifts. Elzar fell into step beside him. “Internal comms are down. The droids aren’t able to pull up system-wide information. Hell, we don’t even know whether this was an internal systems failure or a bomb.”
“My money’s on the bomb,” Elzar replied.
That was Stellan’s guess, too, which meant they had the additional problem of saboteurs on board. But he said, “Speculation won’t help us as much as getting the actual facts as to what’s gone wrong. Once we’ve reached the Hub, we ought to be able to get a better picture of the overall situation.”
However, the first lifts they tried weren’t working. Neither were the next lifts. To judge from the murmurs of dismay Stellan heard from every clustered group along the way—more and more as they went on—every lift on Starlight had been rendered inoperable, as a precaution against faltering internal integrity systems. The obvious next step was taking one of the maintenance shafts; that would be a long climb, time Stellan wished they didn’t have to waste, but at least it could be done.
Or so he thought, until the three of them looked up into the maintenance tunnel and saw the shimmering ray shield well above—one that was holding back glowing waves of radiation. A glance downward revealed that another such ray shield had been automatically generated several levels below them, too.
“Do those shields run all the way through the station?” Nib asked.
Elzar sighed. “If so, we’re stuck here.”
Stellan felt almost ablaze with the need to reach the Hub—the new setup in the quartermaster’s office seemed comprehensive, and yet he would’ve preferred to take no chances. But he summoned all his patience. “Let’s talk to the Hub, then. Some of the comm panels are damaged, but surely they aren’t all offline. If I know Maru, he’s probably already analyzed every bit of damage and come up with pro and con lists for each possible solution.” That won him a flinty smile from Elzar, a real smile from Nib.
But those smiles faded as they tried one comm after another, to no avail.
“This is impossible!” Stellan said. “There are independent power and signal banks for comms throughout the station. No explosion should be able to take them all out while the station remains intact.”
Nib looked grave. “What if they’re not broken? What if they’re being blocked?”
As soon as Nib had spoken, Stellan knew she’d hit upon the truth. “Saboteurs, then. They not only hit us with an explosive device, they’ve kept us from calling for help, even from talking to one another. What else might they have done?”
With a grimace, Elzar said, “I have a feeling we’re going to find out.”
JJ-5145, who’d been quietly running analysis, piped up. “At minimum, they have sabotaged the escape pods.”
“What?” Elzar said sharply. “How?”
“Power to the escape pods has been cut, apparently permanently,” said JJ-5145. “Each individual pod would require its own power cell, of sufficient strength to fully and independently launch. We do not keep a supply of such strong cells aboard Starlight.”
“All right, then,” Stellan said, projecting more confidence than he felt. “No escape pods. We have to find a way to open the docking bay doors to let everyone out. So let’s get started on that.”
When the others were gone, and could not see him falter, Stellan leaned against the nearest wall to gather his wits. At least the disturbance in the Force is gone now, he reminded himself. Whatever the cause was, the saboteurs must have destroyed it completely.
The cause had not been destroyed. In fact, it was now on the move.
Damage from the blast had been greater within the cargo bay than in many other areas, due both to its proximity to the explosion itself, and to the percussive resonance that spread across so many unbattened cargo containers and vessels. While some ships remained intact and in good order, others had been upended or sent crashing into one another.
One ship—the one brought to Starlight by Cale, Leyel, and Werrera—looked as if it had been somehow cracked open by the force of the explosion. Instead the lock on its cargo hold had released, as it was programmed to do, after detecting extreme seismic shock.
It didn’t take long for their cargo to realize they were finally free.
“This is Bell Zettifar calling to the Hub—to anybody who might be checking our communications—anyone?” Bell had been repeating variations on this for a few minutes, but finally gave up. Comms were down for the moment, and his time would be better spent helping out in the medical tower.
The shock waves in this location had been intense. Patients had been tipped out of their beds onto the floor; pill droids had crashed into walls. Burryaga had assigned himself the task of putting the heavier items to rights, which left Bell to console and check on people as much as possible.
He took an extra moment by his Master’s bedside. Indeera’s condition remained stable. Despite still having no idea what exactly had happened to her, Bell was increasingly convinced that she could survive—but only if they were able to keep her stable long enough for her to heal. That was a hard thing to feel confident about while working with only emergency lights for guidance. Still, even without speaking to the rest of the station, he knew that many Jedi and Republic officials were working hard to set right whatever had gone wrong.
Bell then knelt on the floor. Beneath Master Indeera’s bed, Ember lay curled in a ball, tail tucked between her legs. Charhounds didn’t like big scary noises. Bell didn’t blame them.
“It’s okay, girl,” he murmured, stroking her warm fur. “I think the worst is over.”
Next he went to Burryaga’s side to see if he needed help. Burryaga good-naturedly pointed out that Bell had waited to do this until after all the heaviest stuff had already been moved.
Bell made a face, then got back to business. “Listen, comms are still down. Should we send a droid to the Hub to get info? Or should I run it myself? Looks like sending somebody is the only way we’re going to find out what’s happened. It’s like the old frontier messenger days again.”
Burryaga shook his head, growling as he explained that he’d tried going for help himself immediately after the blast—and had run directly into an air lock that wouldn’t unseal. Anyone who had ever traveled in space knew: It was highly unwise to blow a sticky air lock, because there was a good chance that air lock was stuck for a good reason, namely, keeping out the bone-chilling vacuum of space.
The reality sank in, heavy on Bell’s shoulders. “In other words,” he said, “we’re trapped.”
At that moment—though virtually nobody else on Starlight knew it—Avar Kriss and a handful of the others who’d arrived on the Ataraxia were boarding the station. Even this had taken considerable ingenuity, as they’d been unable to signal for any of the docking bay doors to open. The Jedi were instead reduced to carving through the station’s outer hull with their lightsabers, thanks to the powerful seal within the Ataraxia’s cofferdam.
“The midsection juncture is flooded with radiation!” Frozian Jedi Nooranbakarakana warned as Avar strode through the corridors, intent upon reaching the Hub. “The top and bottom halves of the station are almost entirely cut off from each other. The conductive elements designed to transmit energy throughout the station are now serving as conduits for radiation, with limiters and dampening fields meant to prevent such a cascade overwhelmed. If this was an accident, it was a profoundly unfortunate one.”
Nooranbakarakana didn’t think it was an accident. Avar could tell. She didn’t think it was accidental, either.
She paused, considered, decided. “For the moment, we devote our energies to helping here in the top half of the station. Once we’ve done that, maybe we can find a way to connect the two.”
(Certain beings were traversing the divide at that very moment—beings incapable of understanding what havoc radiation would work on their bodies within a few days. They understood nothing beyond their terrible hunger, and the desperation to feed.)
As Avar continued resolutely on her way toward the Hub, she found herself compelled to reach Stellan Gios if at all possible. He’d taken her position as marshal—stolen it out from under her, while she was trying to save the galaxy from the threat of the Nihil by capturing their leader. And what was the result? This. Stellan hadn’t even had charge of Starlight for a month before disaster struck.
Despite that compulsion, she couldn’t help thinking of Elzar Mann, too. He’d be on her side. Maybe he could even make Stellan understand. His loyalty—that was something Avar never had to question.
Her steps quickened. Would she find him above, or was he within the bottom half of the station, trapped on the other side of the barrier between them?
Wherever he was, whoever was with him, Avar felt sure that Elzar would be fighting as hard as she was to save them all.
Is Avar all right? Was the Ataraxia affected by the blast?
After that one sudden, piercing moment of concern for Avar, Elzar forced himself to put such worries aside. He could not concentrate on his fear for one life and still do his best to protect all the many lives presently at risk on Starlight Beacon.
As he worked on the comm panel nearest the quartermaster’s office, hoping to restore some fragment of signal, a figure in white appeared through the emergency-light gloom: Orla Jareni, concerned but calm. She said, “I’m assuming you’re as cut off as everyone else?”
“So it would seem,” Elzar replied, looking her up and down. “Are you ever going to explain how you keep those robes pristine white even through explosions?”
“No. Now stop wisecracking and fill me in.”
Elzar told her what little he could, leading to the latest and worst news: “The astromechs’ ability to obtain data is severely limited, but based on what readings we do have, it looks as though the top and bottom halves of the station are almost inaccessible to each other—and the joining between the halves has been structurally compromised. It may not hold. Right now we can really only reach the medical tower. Everything else above is off limits.”
Orla nodded as she took that in. “As long as both halves remain airtight, it’s still something that can be fixed.”
How did you put two halves of a space station back together? No doubt there were Republic engineers who could manage it, given time and material, but Elzar hoped they wouldn’t have to find out.
Stellan emerged from his office, haggard but focused. “Any luck?” Elzar shook his head. “Then I guess we need to assume the worst-case scenario and act accordingly.”
Orla said, “Which means one of our first priorities should be getting the refugee ships off this station.”
“Exactly,” Stellan said. “Elzar, Orla, I’m putting you on point for this. Not every ship is spaceworthy yet, but the ones that are need to prepare for takeoff within the hour.”
It’ll be chaos, Elzar thought, but he had a feeling that even the most uncooperative pilots would follow the plan if it meant they could get off Starlight faster.
“We’re not in great shape, but we can fly out of here, make our way down to Eiram,” said Leox Gyasi as he and Affie began going through the preflight checks. Geode already sat at navigation, steady despite the chaos. “It may be a lump of a planet in the middle of nowhere, but it’s got breathable air. Starlight Beacon may not be able to say the same before long.”
Affie looked stricken. “Air circulation—of course, that’s powered, too. How long do you think they can hold on?”
“Depends on the damage—a couple days, maybe?” Leox knew the thought of leaving behind people in distress would upset Affie even more, so he added, “The best thing we can do for them is leave. The more people who get out of here, the more breathable air is left over for the ones still on the station.”
From the cockpit he saw an astromech roll up; seconds later their takeoff slot and coordinates appeared on the controls. Affie breathed out in relief. “We’re in the first wave.”
“See? The station’s luck might’ve run out, but ours is still holding.” Leox started the engines; the Vessel hummed to life. On the console the countdown to their takeoff window began.
His hands were tense on the controls, ready to take them into flight the instant the docking bay doors slid open. Those doors, there to keep them safe in case of hostilities or disaster, were now just the bars on their cage. Leox wouldn’t be sad to see the last of them. He counted the last moments down silently in his head: three, two, one.
The doors didn’t open.
Maybe the droids weren’t in perfect sync—hardly surprising given the chaotic situation. But as the seconds went on, Leox’s gut began to tighten, and the bay doors remained shut.
“They should open,” Affie said. “The problems with the power source shouldn’t matter. Starlight Beacon’s bay doors have their own independent emergency power sources—Orla told me that. They should work no matter what!”
“They should,” Leox agreed. “But apparently they don’t.”
Geode had gone very still. Affie whispered, “You mean we’re stuck here?”
Leox wished he could pretty this up for her, but he didn’t like to lie. “We’re trapped.”
Networking together a group of astromechs was a poor substitute for a proper command center—but at least they had this much, and Stellan was grateful for it. Combined with JJ-5145’s earlier efforts, they were producing a level of analysis that the Hub itself would find difficult to match. As data finally began rolling in, he, Elzar, Nib, and Orla gathered together to study it.
“They’re able to get our position via Eiram’s satellites?” Nib murmured.
Stellan nodded. “More or less.”
“Let me guess,” Orla said. “We’re not where we’re supposed to be.”
“Doesn’t look like it.” Elzar’s voice sounded strange. Probably that was because he had just looked at the data stream Stellan was studying—the one that was tracking Starlight’s position in real time. That position was changing moment by moment. “And it looks like we’re getting even farther off track.”
By this point Elzar must have realized the truth. Maybe he simply didn’t want to say it out loud. Or maybe Stellan really was the only one who’d seen it yet.
But it couldn’t be concealed for very long.
“The change in our position is slowly accelerating,” Stellan said. “That wouldn’t happen if our movement was purely a result of the explosion.”
Nib’s eyes widened. Orla put one hand to her chest as she said, “You mean—we’ve drifted into the planet’s gravitational pull.”
“And without control of our positional thrusters, we have no way to free ourselves from it,” Elzar added. His eyes met Stellan’s in mutual, terrible understanding.
Stellan forced himself to say it: “This station is going to crash.”