The mood in the docking bay was shifting, from “tense” to something much stranger and more ominous. Leox could think of plenty of reasons for that: Nobody liked being trapped, the Jedi weren’t doing a great job of keeping everyone briefed, and the sensors aboard individual ships were no doubt being used to establish just how messed up Starlight Beacon really was.
But that was nothing compared with how things were going to change once more people figured out this station was going down.
Leox, Affie, and Geode all sat in the cockpit of the Vessel, in what he reckoned were varying degrees of numbness. Geode had shut down completely, saying nothing; Affie wasn’t much better. Leox, who prided himself on taking a philosophical approach to life, was somewhat disappointed to discover that he couldn’t face his own likely death with a greater sense of calm.
Wish I could at least say goodbye to my sister, he thought.
Then he said, “Communications.”
Affie turned to him. “What?”
“Communications.” Leox thought fast. “We’re in a top-level emergency, which means emergency protocols are supposed to snap into place. Which would block communications by independent ships docked aboard Starlight.”
“Which do block communications,” Affie said, pointing at the red indicator light that told the tale.
“Maybe not.” Leox turned to Geode. “Hey, run a scan on those frequencies. Show me what we’ve got.”
Another screen began fluctuating with data, and a slow smile began to spread across Leox’s face. “Sometimes the beneficence of the galaxy astounds me.”
“They’re not sending the emergency signal on all frequencies?” Affie was having trouble wrapping her mind around it. “Why not? If this isn’t an emergency, what is? And if they aren’t sending the emergency signal, then why do our sensors say our communications on the Vessel are blocked?”
“Whoever sabotaged this station went all-out.” Leox said. “There’s tricks within tricks, lies within lies.”
Geode gave him the flat look that generally meant Leox needed to get to the point already.
“Okay, start with the basics,” he explained. “Starlight Beacon’s emergency signal is just like the one on a whole lot of space stations: It’s made up of two almost entirely separate systems. There’s one system that actually broadcasts for help on every available frequency, and another, separate system that handles more localized tasks—including, and most pertinent to our current situation, telling ships docked on the station that communications are blocked. If somebody wanted to sabotage this station—as somebody obviously very much did—an obvious first step would be blocking Starlight’s ability to call for help. Which appears to be exactly what happened.”
Affie’s face lit up. “And an obvious second step would be separating those two emergency systems, so every ship on board would think their communications were blocked by Starlight. So those ships wouldn’t call for help themselves, thinking they couldn’t—but they actually could. I mean, we can!”
“That is precisely what I’m telling you.” Leox took a moment to consider, then decided the last station they’d been docked at, the one orbiting Parlatal, was their best bet. “This is the Vessel calling, reporting an emergency at Starlight Beacon. Repeat, we have an emergency on Starlight Beacon, station crashing, multiple trapped ships aboard, possibility of catastrophic impact. Please confirm signal.”
It took a few seconds for a reply, which came in a bored drawl. “Vessel, this joke isn’t funny.”
“Nor is it a joke,” Leox said. “This is for real.”
“Okay, sure,” said Parlatal station control in much the same tone of voice. “And you’re telling us this instead of Starlight personnel—why, exactly?”
There were plenty of reasons why, but little point in elaborating on them when a better solution was at hand. Leox turned to Affie. “Go find somebody in charge and get them over here pronto. Or to any other ship. We’ve gotta call for help while the help might still have a chance of getting here in time.”
Stellan was equally relieved and chagrined. Relieved that he at last had a way of alerting the Republic of the danger Starlight was in; chagrined that he had simply accepted the signals instead of double-checking the communication frequencies for himself. How could he have had such an inexplicable blind spot?
“Doesn’t seem so inexplicable to me,” said Leox Gyasi as he led Stellan inside the Vessel. “You’re Republic. You’re Jedi. Where you guys come from, if you’re told something doesn’t work? Yeah, it probably doesn’t work. Out here on the margins, we don’t trust anything we haven’t personally verified. We ask more questions. And when you ask more questions, you get more answers.”
“That makes sense.” Which it did, on one level. But Stellan couldn’t absolve himself so easily. His blindness had cost the station valuable time—and could make the difference between salvation and destruction for all aboard.
Was it the disturbance in the Force that had muddled his thinking? Possibly so. However, another suspicion haunted Stellan far more. Orla Jareni had said he was too used to following the path the Jedi had set out for him; this was an accusation that it did not occur to him to deny. He trusted the Order as he trusted in the Force. He might disagree or argue with the Order sometimes, but he never questioned it.
Ask fewer questions, he thought, get fewer answers.
Perhaps he should meditate deeply on this question, even talk to Orla about that, when all this was over. But Stellan laid the matter aside for later, when they had the leisure to do so. His first priority was contacting the Council and the Republic, and thanks to the Vessel’s comm system, he was able to do so right away.
“We read you, Master Gios,” came the voice of Master Rosason from the Coruscant Temple. “Rest assured that we are in full communication with the chancellor and other Republic officials.” He could hear that for himself; the bustle of activity around Rosason had audibly increased during the few minutes of their conversation. “Help should be on its way to you within three hours.”
“Three hours?” There had to be a hyperspace shortcut faster than that. “We may not have three hours!”
Master Rosason said, “Ships are coming as quickly as they can. But resources are spread thin—some Jedi went to help the worlds and stations affected by the scattered Nihil attacks. Republic vessels were routed to those worlds for protection and recovery efforts. We can’t get through to the Jedi outpost on Banchii, but we’ve sent people to Chespea, to investigate the destruction of the temple there…”
Her voice trailed off, no doubt because she was having the same realization Stellan had just reached: “The Nihil attacks weren’t scattered,” he said, sitting up straighter. “They weren’t random. Chespea and Banchii were targeted because it takes several hyperspace jumps to get from here to either planet. This wasn’t a few stragglers lashing out in any direction—it was a coordinated attack.”
Leox Gyasi, standing nearby, drew himself upright, registering the terrible news, too. His expression matched Rosason’s tone as she answered, “They didn’t detonate the device aboard Starlight until they knew both the Jedi and the Republic had scattered their forces.”
“So much for Lourna Dee being the Eye of the Nihil.” Had Stellan learned this a few days earlier, it would’ve felt like a point scored against Avar Kriss. The power play between them seemed so petty now, so small. Why had he let their disagreement become personal, on any level? It mattered so little compared with the real danger that had descended upon them both. “The Nihil’s true leader is still out there, somewhere.”
“So it would seem,” Master Rosason said. “That must inform our efforts going forward, but at the moment it must remain a secondary concern. We can and must find a way to assist Starlight Beacon. Have hope, Stellan.”
He still had hope. What he didn’t have was a plan. But now that communication had been restored, there was a reason to believe they could prevent the Nihil plan from reaching its full, fatal conclusion.
Bell and Burryaga crept forward through the maintenance shaft. It was slow going, as they had next to no light, and the dimensions of the shaft had not been built with Wookiees in mind. The cramped space had been rendered even narrower, and more hazardous, thanks to various ruptured joists, bent plating, and other obstacles that bowed more and jutted farther in than the station’s architects ever intended. Despite a few tight squeezes, however, the two apprentices managed to travel around some of the blocked areas and were currently approaching the main docking bay.
At least, Bell hoped they were. If they’d gotten mixed up and turned a wrong corner somewhere, they might be headed straight toward an irradiated zone.
A long whine echoed through the tube. “I know,” Bell said, carefully stepping over a high joining. “This isn’t the most fun I’ve had today, either.”
Burryaga pointed out that he never thought he’d miss the medical tower but had become almost homesick for the place.
Bell recalled the moment they’d left it, gear strapped to their belts, unsure of where to go. “Stay with Master Indeera,” he’d commanded Ember, and she had gone straight to Indeera’s bed and sat down, keeping the vigil Bell had been forced to abandon. Leaving them behind had been hard—but at least he was finally on the verge of getting some real help.
Or dying. One or the other.
They came to a door and shared a quick glance before Burryaga pushed it open. Bell grinned as he saw the corridor that led to the quartermaster’s office and, beyond that, to the docking bay. “We made it!”
Burryaga guffawed in triumph. Almost immediately, a familiar face appeared—Elzar Mann, sooty and disheveled but otherwise well. “Thank goodness you’re both all right,” he said, coming toward them. “We were guessing you were in the medical tower—it’s undamaged?”
“Relatively speaking,” Bell said. “But getting in and out is a challenge.”
“Are you able to access the rest of the top half of the station from there?”
Bell’s spirits sank. “No. Which means—what, Starlight’s been split in two?”
“We’re holding together so far, but I don’t know for how much longer. The rest of the station is becoming more unstable by the minute, and is on a trajectory to strike Eiram in about three hours’ time, perhaps slightly less,” Elzar said. Though Bell had grasped as much, hearing the information still felt like a punch to the solar plexus. “Still, we’ve finally been able to make contact with the Republic. Help is on the way. We just have to hope it reaches us in time.”
“Of course.” Bell hadn’t doubted for a second that help was already near. It turned out he’d been too optimistic. But he swallowed hard and kept going. “We’re trying to find a way for the Eiram medical cruiser to dock with the station somehow, maybe even just through a standard air lock in the medical tower. Got any ideas?”
“Not one,” Elzar said flatly. “As for our Force disturbance, Orla’s looking into it—we can’t face this challenge if we’re not at our best.”
Bell was about to ask where Orla was when a more cheerful voice called, “There you are!” Nib Assek came up to them, her arms wide, and Burryaga welcomed his Master’s embrace, practically burying her tiny frame in his shaggy fur. “Goodness. I knew you were all right, wherever you were, but I didn’t know when I’d ever see you again.”
With a gruffle, Burryaga made it clear that his Master wouldn’t be able to get rid of him that easily. Seeing Master and apprentice so joyfully reunited made Bell’s heart ache, in the best way. Maybe it would be like that for him and Master Indeera when she woke—if she woke—
—but that would never happen with Loden Greatstorm, and deep inside, Bell was still hoping helplessly, endlessly, for a reunion that could never come—
Elzar brought Bell back to the here and now. “Tell you what—I’ll think about that Eiram medical cruiser while you two help us get the situation under control here, all right?”
Burryaga nodded, and Bell fell into step behind them as they went, thinking, They’ll come up with answers. Or I will. We have three hours.
A lot can happen in three hours.
What Elzar meant by “getting the situation under control” was calming down the many people trapped in the docking bay because the mood was darkening by the minute.
Koley Linn, true to form, wasn’t helping.
“We’re definitely crashing,” he said to a terrified pair of Arcona huddled near their ship. “I overheard that girl from the Vessel telling the woman with the curly hair—that one.” He pointed toward Pikka Adren, who was at the moment helping her husband work on their ship. “They didn’t think the rest of us deserved to know.”
He’d given variations of this information to nearly everyone in the docking bay by this point. Koley’s goals were twofold: First, to get people to trust him, because trust might come in very handy in the next short while.
Second, to get people to distrust the crew of the Vessel, for the exact same reason. Koley badly wanted to escape from Starlight Beacon, but getting out of here would be even sweeter if he could ensure that Leox Gyasi and his friends got left behind. Leox was a traitor and a snitch. He deserved whatever came to him.
If Koley Linn had known that his own behavior had motivated the decision not to inform the pilots aboard of the station’s peril—he would only have shrugged. His mistakes were no one else’s to criticize; other people’s mistakes were opportunities upon which to capitalize, if possible.
The more Koley talked, the more the news spread.
The more the news spread, the more afraid people became.
Affie had already learned that being in a group intensified emotion. Many individually brave people could unify into an incredibly courageous whole. However, many frightened people could easily degenerate into a panicked mob.
She was pretty sure that she was seeing the mob forming before her eyes.
As she walked toward the Adrens’ ship—they were all keeping on with repairs because that was the only constructive thing to do—Affie saw people staring at her. No, glaring at her. In the distance, others seemed to be accosting every single Republic crewmember or Jedi they could find, pointing fingers and raising voices that she could hear even over the low, troubled murmur of the crowd.
When Affie reached the Adrens, they were both tense and pale. “It’s getting ugly in here,” Pikka confided. “More people realize the danger we’re in, and they seem to blame us.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Affie said, though she knew “panic” and “sense” didn’t have a lot to do with each other.
“It maybe does? Kind of? A little bit?” Pikka winced. “The docking bay doors—the ones currently trapping us inside—well, Joss and I helped install those after the Great Hyperspace Disaster. They were meant to be a safeguard against the Nihil. Instead the Nihil found a way to use them against us.”
“That doesn’t make this your fault,” Affie insisted. “Let’s just keep our heads down.”
But it didn’t look like they were going to get the chance. Nearby, a Neimoidian had become angry enough to accost a Republic crewer. “You’re keeping us here against our will! You could open the doors, but you won’t!”
The crewer tried to protest, but the Neimoidian’s angry shout had sparked a flame. People began crowding around, shouting in various degrees of fear and fury:
“Just open the doors! Do whatever you have to!”
“Maybe the Nihil have taken control of the whole station. Maybe you’re working with them!”
“We’re sick and tired of this! Let us go or face the consequences!”
That last came from Koley Linn. Affie thought the situation couldn’t get any worse until Koley pulled his blaster.
A nearby Wookie Jedi put out his broad arms, shielding the nearest people, but Koley aimed his weapon at the tall ceiling of the docking bay. He shouted, “We’ve had enough!”—and fired.
Which was how every visitor to the station discovered that the main docking bay on Starlight was magnetically sealed.
Affie dived for the floor as the blaster bolt ricocheted around at tremendous speed, bouncing off walls and floors until they might as well have been caught in a firefight. The Wookiee bellowed in protest, and the curse words of three dozen worlds were shouted and screamed. Beneath the Adrens’ ship, Affie and Pikka shared a look; they both knew that bolt wasn’t going to stop until it hit something besides a wall, which meant either a ship was going to get damaged or somebody was about to get killed.
The bolt zapped by them and—szzzzzzzz.
At the instant of that strange sizzling sound, the bolt stopped. Like everyone else, Affie looked up to see Geode standing there, burn mark in his midsection still smoking, completely undaunted. He’d thrown himself in front of the blasterfire and taken the hit. As she watched, he sloughed off the scorched dust and gravel and let it crumble to the floor.
“No time for pain,” Joss Adren said, admiringly. “I had the wrong idea about you, man.”
Geode modestly said nothing, even as others began to applaud. Pikka still seemed concerned, but she got to her feet. “Isn’t he hurt?”
“He’s fine.” Affie grinned at her friend. “Vintians can choose to be magnetically sealed or not. For them it’s as easy as holding their breath.” She patted Geode on the back.
Koley Linn could’ve taken this opportunity to apologize for firing his blaster as a stunt, if he had been a completely different sort of person. Instead he said, “We’re still trapped here, and the Jedi aren’t helping.”
“They’re doing everything they can!” Affie put her hands on her hips. “Stellan Gios is in the Vessel right now, calling for assistance, which happens to be on the way. Until then, if we need help, we have to help ourselves—and each other. So why don’t we try that for a change?”
The crowd was sufficiently sobered by the blasterfire incident to listen, at least for the moment. People began talking to one another in earnest. The Wookiee Jedi gave Geode a quick hug before hurrying away. Affie returned her attention to the Adrens and their ship, which was nearly fully spaceworthy again.
Koley Linn watched her go with narrowed eyes, determined to score a point against the crew of the Vessel before this was all through. They’d wrecked the Byne Guild; he didn’t intend to let them wreck any more of his plans, ever again.
Besides, he always wanted someone else to blame.