The escape pod had carved a rut into the rocky ground that ran almost half a kilometer, kicking up dust that turned the air hazy. Elzar Mann had emerged from it, coughing and unsteady, but knowing that he had to see what he could of Starlight’s last moments.
I need to find other Jedi, he thought. And to keep a lookout for Stellan’s escape pod. For the moment, however, he could only stand and watch.
Starlight passed directly overhead—crashing in slow motion, thanks to the thrusters that had been activated too late, but crashing all the same. Its shadow briefly blotted out the sun, a momentary eclipse. In another instant it was past them, arcing relentlessly downward toward the distant sea.
The station passed out of his sight, and seconds later an enormous shock wave hit. Elzar hung on to the side of the escape pod as the ground rattled beneath his feet and enormous plumes of water shot up toward the sky.
Worse than any of that was the psychic blow—the sudden awareness that at least a few others had been alive and trapped elsewhere on the station, because their deaths ripped through Elzar’s consciousness, a terrible call of anguish that could never be answered, could never be healed.
And worst of all was the inner silence that followed.
He began trudging away from the pod, toward other small groups huddled in the near and far distance: evacuees from the nearby coastal city, crews from smaller ships that had landed. Elzar paid them no particular mind until someone broke from one of the most distant groups and began running toward him—and then he recognized the Jedi robe, and the long blond hair streaming behind her.
“Avar,” he breathed, then shouted her name with all his might, “Avar!” Let the others hear him. Let the world see.
Elzar ran toward her until they met in the middle and clutched each other in their arms. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, willing away anything in the worlds farther away than this.
“You made it,” she said, her voice hoarse with unshed tears. “I was so afraid you hadn’t.”
“I knew you were alive.” Elzar stroked her hair. “You had to be.”
While the city of Barraza had narrowly avoided obliteration, it had not escaped the station’s crash unscathed. Despite the city’s energy shielding, the massive waves unleashed by Starlight’s fall had battered and flooded countless buildings on the shoreline, leaving the streets muddy and sand-logged, littered with debris and broken glass. Fishing boats had been tossed aside, crumpled, and left in strange places, like a careless child’s toys. While almost all had evacuated the dangerous areas in time, not everybody had been able to leave, or had even chosen to do so; already Eiram’s medical crews were searching through the most damaged areas for the bodies that undoubtedly lay there.
Droid probes had been immediately dispatched to check the wreckage, just in case…but it was clear to all that the crash had been unsurvivable for anyone who might still have been on board. In-depth retrieval searches would of course begin soon, with more droids sent in to contain and remove radioactive materials and other hazards. But they were on gravediggers’ errands, and everyone knew it.
“We exchanged one disaster for another,” said Queen Thandeka, who was one of the first wave of volunteers, making her way through sodden heaps of sand in what had been a busy thoroughfare. “First the quakes, now this.”
Queen Dima, working next to her, nodded. “And now we’re back to where we were before the Jedi ever arrived.” She gestured toward the desalination plant—so near completion, so brief a time ago, and now lodged off-kilter, crooked, and unable to deliver fresh water to anyone. The next crisis would be water deprivation…and it would be upon them before the day was out.
“Where’s Stellan?” Avar asked as she and Elzar led the other Jedi toward the coastline, where Eiram’s queens were establishing disaster relief efforts.
“He would’ve taken a later pod.” Elzar scanned around, still seeing no sign of it. “Hope he didn’t make another water landing.”
They shared a smile, remembering a long-ago ship-evacuation drill when they were young Padawans, one in which Stellan had wound up dunking himself thoroughly. But the reminiscence didn’t last long; they had too much to do.
The journey to the shoreline wasn’t a long one, even on foot, and more and more Jedi joined Elzar and Avar as they went. Groups of Eiram’s citizens were flocking toward the coast, too; this was a planet with a strong sense of unity, a commitment to helping one another even at the height of crisis.
Elzar knew eventually he’d have to tell Avar what he’d done, how he’d given in to anger, killed a woman trying to rescue them, and doomed the last chance Starlight had left. But to do so at this time would be to assert that his personal despair was more important than this planet’s crisis. The truth would keep.
He brightened as he saw a familiar droid rolling up to them. “Forfive!” Elzar called. “About time. Where’s Stellan?”
JJ-5145, for once, sounded solemn. “Master Stellan remained at the thruster controls to ensure that the station did not hit the coastal city of Barraza.”
Elzar’s mind went numb. It was Avar who said, “No. Please, no.”
“He ordered me to take the final escape pod from Starlight,” JJ-5145 reported. “He said that I was his gift to you, Master Elzar. And he wished for me to bring you this.”
A panel on JJ-5145’s chest slid open, revealing Stellan’s lightsaber.
“He knew,” Elzar whispered as he took the lightsaber in hand, holding it reverently. “Stellan would never have given up his lightsaber if he hadn’t known—”
“He’s gone,” Avar said, with the searching look that told Elzar she’d been searching the song of the Force for Stellan’s note, and that she hadn’t found it. She never would again. “Stellan Gios is dead.”
Although the traffic jam of would-be rescuers and blatant gawkers would hover within Eiram airspace for days to come, a few ships left almost immediately—which meant that Marchion Ro could do the same without attracting any attention. This freed the Gaze Electric to return to the Nihil, and to the greatest celebration that group had ever known.
He had prepared for victory, had anticipated the feast and frenzy that had to follow. Thaya Ferr had already made arrangements for a vast celebration in a small star system beyond the Republic’s control, one where they could carouse wildly with no chance of restraint; automated signals had gone out, inviting the entirety of the Nihil to join them, and indeed, all did. (Except Lourna Dee, who went uninvited for several reasons, and whose whereabouts were unknown regardless.) Ro understood his people needed to literally taste the victory over the Jedi—and what better way to mark this win forever with his name, his will, his intent?
Thousands upon thousands of Nihil had gathered together on the chosen planet’s surface before Thaya Ferr signaled the droids that it was time to begin distributing the massive stores of food and intoxicants laid aside in preparation for this day. Wines and ales flowed like fountains; tip-yip and gornt were brought out steaming on long platters. It was opulent. It was decadent. It was the greatest victory celebration the Nihil had ever known.
Only one gathering would ever be grander: the one Marchion Ro intended to hold as soon as the Jedi had been crushed forever.
He smiled to himself, beneath his mask, secure in the knowledge he wouldn’t have to wait very long.
Elzar winced as they walked past the desalination plant, which had been so close to complete. We should have finished the work before we celebrated, he thought dully. We tempted fate by toasting a project not yet done.
No, worse. We tempted the Nihil.
The cost had been Eiram’s safety, Starlight Beacon’s existence, and Stellan’s life.
Remorse threatened to swallow any resolve or concentration Elzar had when Avar stopped and made a gesture, one that drew all the other Jedi close.
“The desalination plant’s connection is only slightly off,” Avar said. Sunlight caught the jewel on her forehead, making it sparkle above her tear-reddened eyes. “We can put it back into place, if we all work together.”
The others’ smiles were fragile and uncertain—the kind of smiles that can surface in the face of tragedy. Elzar couldn’t manage one at all.
But the only way they could make up for their hubris, for all the lost lives, was to get back to work saving this planet.
The Jedi stood together at a promontory near the coastline, looking out over the water plant and the most heavily damaged area of the waterfront. Elzar felt sharply aware that they were being observed by dozens, even hundreds of citizens gathering near, but the other Jedi paid that no attention, so he attempted to do the same.
The desalination plant seemed more distant than it had only moments before. As one, the Jedi each held out an arm, pointing their hand toward the object of their plan. This wasn’t necessary—but many Jedi found that it helped to focus their efforts. Elzar reached out, too, and called upon the power within him, the one he distrusted but had to use for good, to prove that was still possible.
He found that power—but more important, he found the others.
It suffused every cell of Elzar’s body—the power of it—as he sensed the enormous effort coming from Avar, Bell, and all the rest, the purity of their goodwill, the tremendous energy they had found and shaped and wielded—
The surrounding crowds gasped with surprise and relief as the desalination plant’s connection slowly, slowly, shifted back into alignment, then settled in with an audible thunk. As one, the Jedi all exhaled…even Elzar.
You would be proud of this, he thought, imagining Stellan’s face. Even without Starlight, the Jedi have much to give the galaxy.
I will learn how to give the best of myself, how to constrain the worst part of myself.
My actions deprived the galaxy of one of its greatest Jedi. For the rest of my life, I will be trying to create some small fraction of the goodness he still had to give.
Moving the desalination plant had helped center Bell anew. Learning of Master Stellan’s death had shaken him. As had the temple attacks. And there was a battle on Corellia. Plus dozens and dozens of Jedi were still unaccounted for. But duty was stronger than grief. Stellan Gios would’ve been the first to say so…unless Master Loden had beaten him to it.
As Bell headed back toward his shuttle, he was stopped by Elzar Mann. “Hey,” Elzar said. He looked pale, haggard; Bell remembered then that Mann and Gios had been good friends from childhood. But it was not of his own loss that Elzar spoke. “I wanted to say…I’m sorry about Burryaga. You two were friends, weren’t you?”
“We still are.” When Elzar gave him a questioning look, Bell continued, “I assumed—we all assumed that Master Loden was lost when really he was being held captive by the Nihil. If I’d kept the faith—if I’d insisted on looking for him—we’d have spared him a great deal of suffering, and we’d probably have saved his life. So I’m not giving up on anyone else like that, ever again. That starts with Burryaga.”
Elzar didn’t seem convinced. He spoke gently, like a man attempting to break bad news. “What happened to Burryaga was very different. He couldn’t have been captured. I don’t see how he could have survived the rathtar, the opening of the cargo bay, and the crash.”
“If there was any way, Burryaga would’ve found it.” New as their close friendship was, Bell already felt certain of that much. “Even if there wasn’t a way—even if he’s gone—I’m going to search until I know for sure, and nobody’s going to stop me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of trying.” Elzar held up his hands in mock-surrender.
Bell resumed the walk back to his shuttle. “Check on Master Indeera in the medical cruiser for me, will you? And make sure Ember has her dinner.”
“I promise,” Elzar said, and Bell believed him.
Now to find his friend.
“Your ship’s seen better days,” said Joss Adren to Affie Hollow, “but she’ll see plenty more once we’re done with her.”
Affie patted the side of the hull fondly. “We’ll have her shining like new. Well, not today. But soon.”
In the past few hours, everyone who’d escaped via pods had regathered near the coast, so it hadn’t been hard to find Joss and Pikka Adren again. Affie had made them a deal: transport to wherever they needed to go in the galaxy, as long as they helped with the Vessel’s last necessary repairs. It was a good deal, and the Adrens knew it, which was why they’d been working alongside Affie, Leox, and Geode for a while now.
“Thank goodness we took out a policy on our ship,” Pikka said as she double-checked some wiring by the ramp. Leox, who sat between Pikka and Geode as a kind of buffer, nodded sagely. “We’ll be able to get another craft, though I don’t know where we’ll find one we like so well.”
“If it’s the right ship,” Leox said, “you’ll know it. Soon you won’t be able to imagine your lives without it.”
Affie wondered if she could’ve replaced the Vessel so easily. Thank goodness she didn’t have to find out today, or hopefully for a long, long time to come.
As evening fell on Barraza, the Jedi continued assisting in the planet’s relief efforts. Now that water readily flowed, cleanup was simplified and the populace was at least partly reassured. More and more citizens of the city who’d fled were returning, not to their homes but to the places that needed the most work. Long lines of people sweeping, bailing, bandaging, cooking, comforting…doing whatever could be done to console and restore those damaged by Starlight’s fall.
Elzar Mann couldn’t help but look out at the water, which by this point appeared almost tranquil. Starlight Beacon was the one part of this that could never be put right again. Its loss remained an open wound within him—within them all, surely—one that would not heal for a long time to come.
And it’s partly my fault, he thought.
Already Elzar burned to confess to someone that he’d murdered a Nihil woman who had actually been trying to save all their lives. Avar Kriss would be the person he’d find it hardest to talk to, which meant she was exactly the person he must talk to.
He glanced across the long first-aid line in which he currently worked; at the far end stood Avar, bent over a young patient, a tender expression on her face. Elzar hoped she’d show him a little of that mercy.
When a brief pause came in their labors, Elzar made his way to Avar’s side. She gazed upward at the darkening sky, and as he reached her, she stretched out one hand. He took it and looked up with her. Amid the emerging stars were tiny specks that he knew to be some of the ships that had swarmed here, hoping to help, but powerless in the face of destruction.
It still matters that they came, he reminded himself. It will always matter. That unity, that compassion, that courage…this is what the Nihil lack. We will not win by stooping to their level, but by rising so far above it that even the Nihil cannot reach.
Avar murmured, “Stellan always saw the Force as the firmament. As brilliant and expansive as all the stars in the galaxy.”
“He told me that he saw the three of us as a constellation.” Elzar’s vision blurred with tears he fiercely blinked away. “An incomplete one now.”
“No. He’s still with us, as surely as the Force is with us. Stellan has become one with the Force, after all.” Avar leaned her head against Elzar’s shoulder. “And when we think of him—we can always find him, as long as we look to the sky.”
Elzar held her close. “Our polestar still shines.”