Another of the scout ships fired at the rathtars overhead—the ones after Burryaga? Another? Elzar Mann couldn’t tell—and the echoes of the blasts drowned out any sounds either rathtars or Burryaga could’ve made. The other ships had begun powering up their engines, the building sound making it impossible for Elzar to know whether Burryaga remained alive.
Yet Burryaga had been the first to say it didn’t matter. Elzar’s duty was to the people in these ships, who deserved a chance to live.
Now all he had to do was open these massive bay doors by himself…
More and more ships began arriving in the Eiram system. Some were larger spacecraft: transports, ore carriers, even one mid-space shipbuilder from Corellia. Most, however, were smaller—one- or two-person gigs, or standard payload haulers. They came from dozens of different planets, all in response to Starlight Beacon’s desperate call, all willing to do whatever they could to help.
But they had no leader, no logistics. Nor could one emerge from the thick swirl of overlapping communications that clogged every possible frequency. So it took precious time for them to coordinate efforts, each ship so equipped bringing tractor beams to bear on the remaining half of the station. However, as it happened, the timing didn’t matter; even their combined tractor beams lacked the strength to free Starlight from the grip of Eiram’s gravity.
Increasingly far-fetched plans were hatched, shared, debated. Could they attach physical tow lines to the station, haul it up and away, just like Starlight had been towed to Dalna and Eiram? But tow lines were largely designed only for use with small to midsized ships, and even when Starlight Beacon was structurally sound, such towing was risky and had to be meticulously planned. Now it was beyond hope.
Yet they came. All the Republic shared in the dream that Starlight Beacon represented. People and species from across the galaxy saw its plight and were willing to do anything they could to help, even risking reprisals from the Nihil.
And all of it did no good.
The system became ever more crowded with ships that could not help—that could only stand and watch as Starlight fell.
All of this sounded ideal to Marchion Ro.
“Each of the Tempests has been made aware of your triumph, my lord,” said Thaya Ferr, bent over her console as she had been for hours, scarcely budging. KA-R9 hovered behind her, a malevolent shadow carved of ice, but she had not let it unnerve her. (This stood in sharp contrast to Ghirra Starros, who remained on the far side of the bridge from KA-R9 at all times.) “Two of the Runners have already asked to bring Clouds and Strikes to the Eiram system, to raid the ships that have come to assist—”
“It is forbidden,” Ro said. “Any Nihil ship that enters this system will be destroyed by the Gaze Electric itself. If they wish to see the devastation, they can do so on holonet—like billions of other beings throughout the galaxy. Any other Nihil activity at this time will only distract the witnesses from our ultimate victory.” He rose from his chair and stared at the scene before them: the jagged remnant of Starlight descending into the outmost haze of Eiram’s atmosphere. “This is what I want them to see. The only thing I want them to see.”
Thaya Ferr bowed her head. “It shall be as you command, my lord.”
There was another motivation for Ro’s stance, one he preferred not to voice: Personally witnessing Starlight’s demise from the Eiram system itself was a privilege that belonged to him and him alone.
The atmospheric suit helmet slipped easily over Elzar’s head. When he hit the seal, a faint hiss around his neck became sharply audible as the sounds from all the ships and rathtars in the cargo bay were muffled to a fraction of their former volume. The respirator kicked in, pumping air from the pack on his back through the suit. Although the insulating shield remained silent, he could feel the energy humming along his skin, prepared to protect him against the frigid void of space.
But the same shielding that was so necessary for this moment was antithetical to the Jedi ideal of openness, awareness, connectedness. Wearing the suit caused a mental block only, but Elzar knew such blocks could be as impenetrable as any physical barrier.
It’s not just the suit, Elzar thought. It’s believing that I deserve to fully connect to the Force again, after allowing myself to use its dark side. He’d begun reopening himself to that power in order to help Stellan, but this would require more.
Orla Jareni’s voice spoke in his head again: Trust yourself, stupid.
Elzar took a deep breath, strapped on his safety harness, and closed his eyes. In his mind, he once again stood on the surface of Ledalau, looking out at the broad expanse of the ocean. In his ears, he heard the tide.
You always imagined the Force as the ocean, Orla had said. But the ocean isn’t a power we get to control. It’s a power we can partner with. First you have to decide: Are you going to keep fighting something too infinitely vast to be fought? Or are you going to study its currents and set sail?
They had agreed that he wouldn’t “tinker” with the Force again for a while, only until he’d reached a place of greater peace and strength. Elzar had thought that wise. But that, too, was fighting the current. The ocean had brought him here, to a place and a time where he could only save others by trusting himself.
Elzar lifted his hands and focused his attention—not ever outward, toward the totality of his surroundings, but forward. His spirit sought only those fellow beings aboard the waiting ships. Gradually, gently, he began to sense their fear and their panic, but also their hope. Their determination. Their faith.
The link strengthened. Elzar realized that he was drawing some of his power from these people, something a Jedi would normally never do. In this moment, however, he knew the rightness of it. Each one of these individuals would have given every shred of strength, would have fought with ultimate will, if it meant the chance between life and death. Their strength and their will flowed into Elzar, and—
—he felt the doors, but not their heaviness, they were mere objects, and their size mattered not—
—Open, he thought. OPEN.
A slash of light split the bay in two. Powerful suction clutched him, yanking him forward until the straps of Elzar’s harness seemed as though they would cut through his chest. His feet left the floor. He barely noticed. More important were the ships in the bay, all of which were struggling against the suction’s power at full engine strength.
Elzar’s eyes widened as he saw the doors slowly, slowly sliding apart to reveal Eiram below. The planet was bathed in sunlight that streamed in, filling the bay. Just a little more, just a little more—
He glimpsed dark shapes overhead, being sucked through the gap at such speed they were unidentifiable. Were they smaller ships? Rathtars? The thought that one might be Burryaga pierced Elzar’s heart, but he remained focused.
Finally, when the gap was wide enough, the first ships began to dart through. One by one by one, they took off, bursting into outer space and to safety.
I did this for you, Orla, he thought. And for you, Burryaga, Nib, Regald. I did it with all of you.
Grateful tears filled Elzar’s eyes, catching the sunlight, until they seemed to swim with molten gold.
The networked droids had reported to Stellan that the cargo bay doors were opening—but he had not allowed himself to truly believe it until several minutes later, when Elzar returned, wearing an atmospheric suit and carrying a helmet under one arm.
“You’ve done it,” Stellan said, a smile breaking across his weary face. “You got them all away?”
“Every ship,” Elzar confirmed, but he wasn’t smiling. That was when it hit Stellan that Elzar had come back alone.
“No. Not Burryaga—”
“The rathtars took him.” Elzar swore under his breath, but after that continued with something that could almost pass for equanimity. “Burryaga called for me to complete the escape plan without him. That must have been his very last act.”
I should have been the one to go with Elzar. It should have been me. Stellan said only, “His courage stands as an example to us all.”
“Hey.” Elzar stepped closer. “I’ve had a thought.”
Stellan raised an eyebrow. “A useful one, I take it?”
“I was able to call powerfully upon the Force while I was in the cargo bay. Part of that was, well, ingenuity. But part of it may have been the absence or at least distance of the thing or things that have been causing such problems for every Force-user aboard the station.” Elzar began removing the gloves of his atmospheric suit, preparing for greater action. “The varying locations, plus the fact that the Nihil transport was falsely marked as carrying wildlife, makes me think that it—no, they—are living creatures.”
It was a rational deduction, one Stellan felt he’d probably have reached himself if he hadn’t been so incapacitated. “How can we use that knowledge to our advantage?”
“At the present?” Elzar asked. “Only one way. We understand that any Jedi, anywhere aboard Starlight, is vulnerable to these…attacks, at any moment.” His eyes met Stellan’s, dark with foreboding. “Any of us—all of us—may fall.”
The formerly crowded docking bay had become a lot quieter. While almost all the ships still remained, most of those had lost their crews. Affie Hollow, standing on the ramp of the Vessel, couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a terrible mistake. Her ship was her world, but—her life was her life.
Leox emerged, chewing on a mint stick. “Lookin’ kind of shaky, Little Bit.”
“I’m not shaky,” Affie insisted. “It’s just hard. We don’t have tons of time left, and I know the Jedi always think of something, but…I wish they’d go ahead and think of it already.”
“No way out for them that I can think of,” Leox said. “The only way out for us I can think involves cannibalizing the Vessel.”
Now that the possibility of abandoning her ship to destruction was real again, Affie remembered why she hadn’t been able to bear the thought before. “What do you mean?”
“We get down in the guts of our ship, rip out her core power cells, use that to jump-start an escape pod.” Leox offered her a mint stick. “But if we do that, it’s the last flight the Vessel ever takes. It’s a hell of a choice.”
She went to take the mint, then gasped. “Leox, that’s it!”
“You’re really willing to let her go? I guess we’re about there—”
“We can’t dig the power core out of the Vessel without basically destroying the ship, even if the Jedi do save the station,” she said. “But everybody who already left—they’ve already abandoned their ships. Those power cores are available. Which means—”
Leox finished it for her: “The escape pods are, too.”