In the medical tower, the situation was—well, not serene, but as close as any part of Starlight Beacon could come to it at present. When Bell Zettifar had first begun assisting the tower personnel in preparing for an influx of patients, he’d thought they’d be scrambling to keep up for some time to come.
But he’d underestimated the medical staff, the patients, the droids, the Force, even himself. They’d had to pull a few extra beds, but the wards remained orderly. All patients were being cared for, and they had (just barely) enough medical droids and supplies to go around.
“Can you believe it?” Bell asked Burryaga. “We actually pulled this off.”
Burryaga pointed out that the reward for restoring order in the medical tower would probably be getting assigned to restore order in the main docking bay.
“Then we’ll manage that, too.” For the first time in days, Bell felt almost like himself. The eerie distortion of the Force barely touched him, and he dared to hope that perhaps it was ending, fading away as mysteriously as it had begun.
A med droid in the corridor whined in dismay at the sound of footsteps hurrying toward their ward. Bell and Burryaga exchanged glances—another patient? They each knew that no more ships were supposed to be docking at Starlight Beacon anytime soon—before heading out to help. He just hoped there hadn’t been another Nihil attack; already, the number was beginning to make him nervous that this wasn’t just a few last remnants striking out, but perhaps a sign that the Nihil had more life in them than the Republic and the Jedi had hoped.
Upon stepping into the corridor, Bell saw that Orla Jareni was walking alongside a hovergurney, on which lay a Tholothian—
No, Bell thought in that first horrified moment. It can’t be, I would have felt it, how could I not have felt it?
His Master, Indeera Stokes, lay on the stretcher as gray as death.
Another of Bell’s Masters had been cut down, and the Force had told him nothing.
The Republic had to be made up of foolishly trusting people, Nan decided, because the station’s regulation-issue work coveralls turned out to be stored at an easily accessible location, inside a locker that opened without code or key.
“We don’t exactly match the rest of you,” Chancey Yarrow said as she cuffed her coverall’s sleeves, “but it’s close enough that I suspect no one will notice the difference.”
The Pau’an team leader nodded. “None of them have noticed that what we’re wearing is any different from what they usually see.”
Nan couldn’t resist a small smile as she thought of the high-and-mighty Jedi being brought down by something as simple as this: the revelation that they didn’t look very carefully at those who did menial tasks for them.
“Still no alarms going off,” Chancey noted. “No announcements about escaped prisoners. Maybe the Jedi have forgotten about us.”
“I’m just glad we’re out of there,” Nan said. “And that we finally have something to do. Sitting around and waiting—I hate it.”
“Our work for the Eye is vital,” the Pau’an said, “and you will be glad to know that it is very nearly complete.”
“Very glad,” Nan replied. It felt so good to have purpose again. “Now how can we help you?”
“If you’re planning on making some trouble aboard Starlight, I’m not a bad engineer,” Chancey said, with what Nan knew to be false modesty. “Give me a look at some schematics, and I can probably put a few kinks in their system.” She was still being careful of the Nihil team, holding something back.
Should Nan do that, too?
The Nihil team members exchanged glances. “We already have a comprehensive plan, one that is very near completion,” said the human woman on the team—Leyel, or something like that. Nan hadn’t bothered listening closely to their names. “But the final stage will be easier, with your assistance.”
The Pau’an interjected, “You must follow our instructions precisely. We cannot be too cautious. Too much depends on the mission the Eye has entrusted to us.”
Nan felt a stab of jealousy: These people were special to Marchion Ro already. That wasn’t supposed to matter to her any longer—but it did.
“No problem with that,” Chancey said. She might feel no loyalty to the Nihil, but Nan thought the woman seemed genuinely willing to assist them. Gratitude carried more weight with her than the Nihil did. “Nan, you know your way around a tool kit, right?”
“Of course,” Nan said. As though anybody who’d been spacefaring since infancy wouldn’t.
“What about you?” Leyel narrowed her eyes as she stared at Chancey. “Are you capable with tools? Do you understand station technology?”
Chancey’s mouth quirked, a stifled smile. “I think I can manage.”
Nan wanted to tell the Nihil who they were really dealing with—an elite scientist who had just developed an entirely new type of gravitic weapon—but that would mean openly betraying Chancey, something she wasn’t ready to do. Besides, the Nihil already had a plan, didn’t they? Chancey’s expertise didn’t come into it. Yet.
The Pau’an simply nodded. “It is nearly time to take the final steps. Follow us.”
Meanwhile, within the Hub, Stellan Gios was attempting to regain some measure of balance. A hard thing to do, without the steady guidance of the Force—but the Force had not yet entirely abandoned them here. It remained, perceptible but faint, making its influence known in swift moments. Those moments were buoys in the stormy sea of Stellan’s mind.
He clung to the memory of them especially strongly at the moment, because it would not do to have the head of Starlight Beacon show weakness to a planetary leader.
“We’ve heard the latest reports that people and ships have taken refuge aboard Starlight,” said Queen Thandeka of Eiram, shimmering in the hologram before him. “Is it not a burden to your operations?”
“It is,” Stellan admitted, “but one we are capable of handling. You need not worry—we don’t expect any overflow on Eiram.”
The queen tilted her head, studying him. “You misunderstand the purpose of my call, Master Gios. The people of Eiram do not fear the arrival of refugees. We wish to welcome them if it will be of assistance.”
“Your planet is in no shape for that,” Stellan insisted, realizing only as he spoke that it was highly presumptuous to explain to a queen the condition of her own world. Still, the facts were undeniable. “You have barely enough water for your citizens, and many of your greater structures have taken considerable damage.”
Thandeka lifted her chin. “We have medical personnel capable of traveling to Starlight to assist in treating the injured. Although we are a small world with no real fleet to speak of, we do have a medical cruiser that can be dispatched. And though we are still working on repairs from the groundquake, we are not without shelter for those in need. What we have, we can share.”
Other protests bubbled up in Stellan’s mind, but he had the sense not to speak them. “Queen Thandeka,” he began, “the generosity of Eiram cannot be doubted. But Starlight Beacon is meant to offer help to those in need, not to receive it.”
The queen shook her head. “ ‘We are all the Republic.’ Are those mere words, or do you mean them?”
“—Of course we mean them, but—”
“If Eiram is no less a part of the Republic than any other world, then we are no less bound to offer whatever help is in our capacity to give.” Humor glinted in her dark eyes. “Or are the Jedi too proud to ask for help?”
Stellan knew when he’d been bested. He held up his hands, a brief gesture of concession. “We are not as proud as that, Your Majesty. I promise you, if and when we require Eiram’s assistance, we will call upon your people. But for the time being, the situation here is stable. Our medical tower is more than capable of handling the injured we have, and at this point it would be more burdensome for us to try to move them again than it is to take care of them where they are. Our medical supplies and rations are sufficient and will remain so for some days to come.”
Her posture relaxed somewhat, and her smile became easier. “You’ve handled your problems very well, Master Gios. I congratulate you.”
“Save your congratulations for the end of this crisis.”
The queen laughed. “Superstitious?”
“Only prudent. Thank you again, Queen Thandeka.”
She nodded as her hologram shimmered to black.
Once he could no longer be seen by anyone outside the Hub, Stellan slumped back into the nearest chair.
What would the galaxy at large say, if they could see him now? Stellan Gios, scion of the Jedi, Council member, and leader of Starlight Beacon, no longer the confident guardian of peace and justice—just a tired, confused man who feels older than his years—
He imagined Orla Jareni raising an eyebrow. Indeed, he knew exactly what she’d say if she were here: Why are you comparing yourself with a fiction constructed by the media of the Republic? You’re doing the best you can at this time. No one can ask more.
So loosen up already.
If she’d actually been present to speak the words, he might even have been able to believe her.
Stellan had the sudden, irrational thought, I am being punished for my pride. For thinking I knew better than Avar Kriss, that I alone knew the right course of action to take against the Nihil, for Starlight—
But was it his pride that had created this falseness? Or had the Republic and the Jedi fashioned it, then draped the mantle over his shoulders?
It didn’t matter, Stellan realized. The point was recognizing it for what it was. Not comparing himself with something he’d never been and could never be.
But without that—who was he?
The Nihil team—newly five beings strong—had made its way to the base of the station, to the very wall of the structure’s foundation.
“What’s kept here?” said the younger human they had rescued, the girl called Nan. “Or is it solid?”
“This,” Leyel said, giving the metal wall a satisfied pat, “houses the reactor core that powers the entire station.”
The older human woman, Chancey, nodded. “Take this offline, and they’ll be begging for help within hours. Plus our rescue ship can fly up safe as you please to get us out of here.”
Werrera, Cale, and Leyel all exchanged quick glances. This was not the plan—but there was no need to tell the newcomers that just yet. It also seemed that Chancey knew a bit more about engineering than she’d let on, but they could ensure she did not disrupt the Eye’s plan.
Cale said only, “We’ve disabled the alarms that would sense activity along the core wall. So they should detect nothing.” Already Leyel and Werrera were unpacking their plasma torches.
Chancey bent down to open a nearby maintenance shaft—sure enough, they had more plasma torches here just waiting for orderly repairs when necessary. These torches weren’t as strong as those the Nihil had brought, but they would help get the job done. Once both of the women they’d freed had the torches in hand, Cale turned to stare at the wall they were about to rip apart. “Begin.”
It was very nearly “evening” aboard the station. Bell Zettifar was overdue to collect his dinner ration, but he refused to leave his Master’s side. Even Ember had taken a place beneath the medical bed and curled into a ball to sleep.
Master Indeera remained unconscious. Her frightening twitching had ceased, but Bell didn’t know whether that was a good sign or a terrible one. The med droids had reported that all of her vital functions had slowed tremendously—as they might in someone of very great age—but that they continued to flow. While there was life, there was hope. Yet Bell felt farther away from that hope than he had been in a long time.
A soft growl made him look up. Burryaga stood there, holding not one but two packets of dinner rations.
For the first time since Master Indeera had been brought in, Bell was able to smile, sort of. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Burryaga handed him the smaller of the two packets (Wookiee rations were, understandably, more ample), and together they wordlessly took places at a small table nearby. The food had so little flavor that Bell thought he might as well have been munching leaves.
No, scratch that, he realized. Some leaves taste great. Emergency rations don’t.
It was Burryaga who broke the silence, asking kindly after Master Indeera, though surely her condition was obvious.
“Nothing’s changed,” Bell said. “I wish I could reach her through the Force, but I can’t.”
Burryaga growled a suggestion—what if they worked together? If they both reached out, perhaps they would prove stronger than whoever or whatever was muffling the Force aboard Starlight.
Bell wasn’t certain. The Force didn’t operate according to mathematical principles. Two Jedi working in combination might have a greater effect, or might not.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try.
After finishing their rations, they returned to Master Indeera’s bedside. Bell stood facing Burryaga, and something about that moment made him realize that their friendship had deepened, these past few days—and he’d needed a friend more than he’d realized. “Thanks for being here,” he said quietly.
Burryaga simply inclined his head, then closed his eyes, silently summoning Bell to begin.
Bell closed his eyes, too. He took a deep breath—then another—then began reaching out with his feelings. A memory from the crèche drifted through his mind: Master Yoda teaching the younglings how to do this for the first time, whispering to them, Let go. To this day, it helped Bell to imagine how Yoda had sounded when he said it.
At least, it usually did.
Today was different.
Bell reached out and did not find the Force. He could still sense it, but at a great distance, and it did not flow through him. It was…distorted. Twisted. Wrong.
He couldn’t connect with Master Indeera, even subconsciously. Bell could only barely detect Burryaga’s presence, and that was with Burry not even a meter away and actively reaching out to him as well.
Bell’s eyes opened to see Burryaga looking equally stricken. He whispered, “It’s all wrong for you, too?”
Burryaga nodded.
“It can’t go on like this,” Bell blurted out. “Whatever’s happening on this station—it can’t last forever. The Force is eternal. Nothing can permanently damage it. Nothing ever could.”
With a growl, Burryaga agreed that this situation couldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, everything would change.
The question was how.