CHAPTER TWELVE
Danaé's emerald blade shimmered to its full length only a hairsbreadth in front of her face and blocked the incoming strike of the red lightsaber. The strength of the blow sent a jolt through her muscles and for an instant she wondered if the ear-splitting screech of the clashing laser swords meant that her block had come too late. By throwing the weight of her body into a push with her blade, however, she managed to shove the attack aside and set up in a proper two-handed defensive stance.
Without pause her opponent slid his blade around her parry and began to attack. His expert swings drove her backward down the deserted, dimly lit hallway.
She snapped her lightsaber from side to side, parrying away the assault with relative ease. A year ago she would have had great difficulty against this offensive, but now her skills had improved enough that she could hold her own. She deflected a high blow, then rolled her wrists to slap aside a strike aimed for her legs. The next barrage came more quickly, though, and Danaé perceived that she wouldn't be able to parry them all. With a quick dip of her knees she burst under an arcing slice of the humming ruby laser sword, tumbled smoothly along the floor past her opponent's legs, and sprang to her feet again several meters behind him.
Oga Trill's face wore a malicious scowl when he spun on his heel to face her. He approached with deliberate strides, his red blade cutting a series of short practice strikes through the air. "Arrest me?" he chuckled. "Surely you must be joking."
Danaé retreated a few steps while keeping her green blade ready. "I will do my duty," she said firmly. "But there is no need for this. Surrender your weapon to me and we can avoid this confrontation."
"You have become either brainless or delusional, Danaé," her attacker scoffed. "I will not surrender to the judgment of the sham justice administered by the Jedi Order. It is you who must surrender, so that I can teach you the truth that you yet deny."
When Danaé stopped her retreat and held her ground, her former mentor took the offensive again, launching strike after vicious strike at her. While she continued to parry them away, Danaé reached out her feelings again in the living Force and probed his spirit. His angry frown, his dark words, and his terrifying actions spoke for themselves. But she could not believe that the good man Master Trill once was could have been eradicated completely. Somewhere within him a kernel of the light had to remain. With all her heart Danaé sought that spark of hope.
The anger inside her opponent boiled over into a blazing fury as his attacks continued. The speed of the strikes increased and their deadly aim seemed somehow to become even more accurate. "Cease this, Danaé," he said in a frustrated, acerbic voice. "There is no need for this. Cast aside your weapon."
It took every bit of skill she had to successfully defend the onslaught. The red blade came within centimeters of her shoulder, then her knee, then her wrist. Her green lightsaber met each attack in turn but with no room to spare. Every minute the duel continued worked to her disadvantage. But Danaé would not concede – not to the grotesque monster that was her former Master. "Not a chance," she laughed, hoping the feigned bravado would conceal the anguish tearing at her insides like a mother gundark protecting her young. "Now it is you who must be joking."
Oga's dark eyes narrowed and flickered with a malevolent fire. "So be it, my young apprentice."
Danaé found herself retreating again, her long backward strides complementing the blindingly quick parries of her emerald blade to prevent the ruby laser sword from striking home. Most of her concentration was directed to her weapon as the Force surged through her mind and guided her muscles to snap and roll and spin and slice the blade through the air to keep pace with her opponent's latest offensive. But part of her awareness continued to search the Force signature of her former mentor, digging and prodding and pleading for any sign of the Oga she remembered.
Her efforts were met only with continued attacks from the red lightsaber. And these were no sparring moves or training exercises. This was real. Entirely real. He was trying to defeat her – to harm her – to kill her.
Danaé kept her defenses tight as she unswervingly pursued any flicker of goodness in Oga. Then her perceptions detected a weakness in his technique. A vulnerability. An opportunity for her to take the offensive and gain the advantage. And yet she could not bring herself to do it – and she let it pass by. This was Oga. She knew it was. Somewhere inside this grim figure dressed in black and attempting to slay her was the soul of Master Trill. Somewhere. She just had to find it. Please, Oga, she beseeched frantically, please stop. You're not gone. You can't be. You can't be. Please!
Indifferent to her desperation, the ruby laser sword relentlessly strove to land a killing blow.
---
The comlink in Bryon's helmet crackled open with the voice of one of the Special Forces scouts patrolling a few dozen meters from the rear of the column of refugees. "Alpha Three here. Bad news, Major," the young man said.
"Go ahead, Alpha Three," Bryon said quickly.
"We have three or four squads of brownshirts coming up on us, sir. They're at a fast clip, so they'll catch up to us in no time."
"Understood, Alpha Three," Bryon replied. "All Alpha units return to formation. Repeat, all Alpha units return to formation." Bryon clicked off the transmitter and waved over the officers nearby. When they arrived he drew them into a small circle. "We have a couple of squads of brownshirts approaching. Too many for us to fight with the refugees here. It won't work. Captain Solo, Sergeant Birks, I want you and the others to take the regulars and get the group to the hangar as quickly as you can. Captain Graff and I will stay here with the Special Forces – we'll set up a barricade and hold them off as long as possible. Then we'll make a fighting retreat and meet you back at the hangar. Is everyone clear on the plan?"
"Absolutely, Major," said Solo as Birks, Calrissian, Chewbacca, and the remaining officers snapped firm salutes.
"Excellent," Bryon said. "Let's go!"
He turned around to see Sarré glaring up at him, and felt a ball of tension form in his stomach. "Yes, my love?"
"I'm staying here with you," she said, her uncompromising tone clearly indicating she expected an argument – and expected to win it handily.
"As you wish."
Sarré blinked, then smiled. "How can I help?"
Bryon reached out his black-gloved hand and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. "Aim at the brownshirts, follow orders, and don't get shot."
She winked at him. "In that order?"
For the first time in the entire operation, Bryon laughed. "Don't get shot, follow orders, and aim at the brownshirts."
"I'll do my best," Sarré laughed too. Then the two of them joined Graff and Kessa in directing the two dozen Special Forces soldiers in building a makeshift barricade in the middle of the wide street. Several damaged speeders were dragged into position, along with crates and hunks of metal and other debris cluttering the thoroughfare. Smashing the windows of a few nearby buildings gave them access to large furniture and heavy metal equipment. After only a few minutes the cobbled-together wall stood nearly two meters high and blocked the street. It wasn't ideal, but it would give them a good defensive position temporarily. With any luck they could hold off the brownshirts for several minutes and buy the refugees enough time to get away.
The lookout's voice sounded in Bryon's helmet. "Here they come!"
"Everyone in position," Bryon shouted. He cast his eyes over the barricade to the street beyond and watched the swarming throng of tan-armored enemy soldiers surging toward them. He waited until just the right moment, then gave the order. "Open fire!"
---
"I don't like this," Leia said, her blaster rifle swinging at her side. The remainder of Alpha squad continued to lead the group of refugees toward the government building. "We just left our best soldiers behind."
"Yeah," Han groaned, "because me and Chewie and Lando and these Army guys are a bunch of worthless nerfs."
"You know I didn't mean it like that," she snapped. "I just meant that we're so much more exposed now if another group of brownshirts attacks us."
"I guess that's true," Han nodded. "But we'll be fine. It's just a few more minutes and then we're there."
"I still don't like it."
"Look, Your Anxiousness, your brother knows what he's doing. It's been over fifteen hours since we started, and has he once led us wrong? Has he?"
"No," Leia conceded with a frown. "No, he hasn't."
"See? It's gonna be fine," Han said.
Leia shook her head and smiled. "I don't know how you do it."
"What?"
"How you make ridiculous situations like this seem like they're perfectly normal – nothing to sweat about."
"I guess hanging around with me has its advantages, huh?"
Leia smirked. "Han, I never got into these kinds of situations before I started hanging around with you."
"Sure," he smirked back, "but I always get you out of them somehow, don't I?"
Leia only rolled her eyes in disbelief. "I suppose you do have your moments. Not many, but you have them."
---
Anakin cut down the final brownshirt and turned to face his apprentice. She was in a stance of readiness, her eyes scanning the plaza around them as the twin lightsabers hummed in her hands. "Excellent, Mara," he said. "You performed exceptionally with these techniques. It is most impressive for someone your age."
"Thank you, Master," she nodded, a burst of appreciation mingled with embarrassment trickling through the battle meld. "I do my best."
He strode the six paces over to her. "As always," he smiled warmly. "I'm very proud of you."
"Thank you, Master," she said again, her eyes looking down at the ground.
Seeking to reassure her about his sincerity, Anakin reached out his free hand and brushed a few stray strands of her red-gold hair away from her face. It was a fatherly gesture he had done countless times before.
This time, however, her smile flinched and her eyes flickered in fright when they jumped instinctively to his. Her cheeks flushed and she tore her eyes away to stare at the ground again.
Anakin could sense her trying to suppress her emotions, but it was too late. Images and memories flashed in her mind, and through the battle meld into his as well. A tender hand on her face. A soft kiss. A lock of hair swept away lovingly. A moan – a gasp – a flare of ardent passion. A pair of intense blue eyes.
Luke.
Before Anakin could begin to understand or comprehend or think or consider or even be sure what he had seen and felt from Mara, the roar of a repulsor drive shook the plaza. He looked up to see a Vyhrragian tankship swooping over them. The single-pilot vehicle was little more than a cockpit attached to a flying artillery cannon. About five meters long and two meters across, the small atmospheric craft zoomed away, then swerved around to point its gun toward them.
He and Mara sprang apart with Force-powered leaps, forcing the tankship's pilot to choose between them. After a moment's hesitation the tankship swung toward Anakin. Instinctively he dropped to the ground and tumbled smoothly along the stone tiles of the plaza to leave only a moving target for the pilot. A trio of cannon blasts flew at him, but they all impacted into the stone tiles meters away.
When the tankship passed overhead again and prepared to set up for another strafing run, Anakin sprang to his feet and extended his left hand outward. Mara had perceived his intentions perfectly in the battle meld and already had tossed him the deactivated handle of the ultraviolet blade. It smacked firmly into his palm and the humming invisible blade snap-hissed to its full length.
This time when the tankship fired Anakin did not dodge. Instead he took a single long stride forward – into the path of the incoming cannon blast. He crossed the blades in front of his body and tensed his arms and shoulders for the impact. With a sharp twang the laser blast collided with the precise intersection of the two blades and deflected straight back into the tankship. The enemy craft exploded in a fireball only ten meters away from them.
The flaming wreckage flew right at him. Anakin was about to duck away in panic when he realized Mara had the situation well in hand. The debris from the incinerated tankship bounced harmlessly off the barrier she had erected around them in the Force. After a few seconds all the smoking scraps and smoldering wreckage had fallen to the ground, and Mara released her focus and the protective shield vanished from the ether.
Anakin met her eyes and tipped his head. "Thanks," he said, chagrined. "I forgot about that part."
"Typical," Mara winked, a sly grin on her face.
"Watch it, my young apprentice," he glowered with false sternness as he deactivated the invisible blade and clipped its handle to his belt. "It is unwise to mock one's elders."
She only shook her head and laughed. "Yes, Master. Of course, Master. It won't happen again, Master."
Anakin laughed too. "I'm glad my point is understood, my dear Padawan."
Their broad smiles disappeared when their Force perceptions drew their eyes to the far edge of the plaza again. Two more squads of eight brownshirts each were charging them at a brisk run.
"Oh, this is much better," Mara said.
"Indeed," Anakin agreed. "We can take the offensive with this few."
Mara looked at him expectantly. "I'll take the one on the right," she proposed, "you take the one on the left."
"Why am I even saying anything?" he shrugged. "You seem to be on top of things."
---
Jaytoo blooped and honked in frustration at the protocol droid. "I most decidedly am not pacing, you inconsiderate bucket of bolts," Threepio exclaimed. "I am simply trying to find the position that provides the most complete view of the battle assessment table down on the floor there."
Jaytoo toodled, then rolled forward. "You'll have to be more clear," insisted Threepio. "What do you mean I should just go down there and get a better look?"
The astromech trilled indignantly and rolled even further forward, backing the protocol droid right up to the railing of the gallery over the bridge of the Invictus from which they recently had been observing the final steps of the evacuation operation. "Stop it right there, you lunatic," shouted Threepio in dismay. "You'll knock me clear over the edge."
Backing up without turning around, Jaytoo whistled in amusement. "I have a perfectly fine sense of humor," Threepio declared theatrically. "It's just that I don't find your little attempted murder stunt the least bit entertaining."
Jaytoo beeped and whirred a question. "No, I have not been able to hear word of Master Anakin or any of the others," Threepio lamented. "If you're willing to behave yourself, perhaps we can learn something from one of the bridge droids."
Jaytoo tipped his tubular torso forward and back at the shoulders – an astromech nod. "Very well," Threepio said as he began to amble toward the turbolift at the far end of the gallery. "Just remember, you promised to behave."
Jaytoo honked and trilled, and then followed right behind.
---
Luke retreated across the wide floor of the darkened docking bay, his blue lightsaber whipping and slicing madly through the air to parry away the Sith's attacks. By now he could tell for certain that she was more powerful than he, and it took all his concentration to remain composed and confident in the face of her relentless onslaught. When the next series of strikes became too much he tumbled smoothly to the floor, rolled several meters away, and leaped to his feet again. The brief respite allowed him a deep breath to control his frenetic heartbeat and to set his feet and blade in a proper defensive position.
The Sith approached him deliberately, her scarlet blade humming ominously in the air. "Your pathetic defense is doomed, young Skywalker," she said. "Your only hope for survival is to join me."
"I'll never become a Sith," Luke declared sharply. "I'll never fall to the dark side."
"Never is a strong word," the Sith chastised him. "Such vows are notoriously difficult to keep."
"You won't win," Luke said. "You'll never defeat my father. He is the Chosen One, and you won't beat him."
"Such confidence for someone so young," she laughed. "And are you actually so foolish that you believe those ancient riddles on which the Order pins its hopes?"
"I believe in them," Luke said with absolute conviction. "I believe in my father."
"Your faith is admirable," the Sith said, "but it is sorely misplaced. Your father never told you about the other prophecy."
Luke stared at the evil woman in shock. She was lying. She had to be. It couldn't be true. "I don't believe you," he finally sputtered. "There is no other prophecy."
"Oh, but there is, young Skywalker. There is." The Sith suddenly lunged forward and attacked again, her shimmering blade cutting a spearing strike toward his abdomen.
Luke parried it away. "You're lying!"
"No, young Skywalker, I am not," the Sith chuckled darkly. "It is a prophecy the Order has buried in the depths of its Archives. Only the most trusted and wise Masters are ever permitted to learn of its existence. You know, of course, of the prophecy of the Chosen One. But your Masters have concealed from you the other prophecy – some might say its companion. Its twin. The prophecy of the Knight of Darkness."
Luke realized the Sith had not attacked again but simply stood by, waiting for him to act. Failing other words, he repeated, "I don't believe you."
The Sith only smiled. "The prophecy foretells that a great Jedi Knight, a pinnacle of the Order, will fall from grace to take up the mantle of power and might and ambition. His strength shall be unparalleled, his dominion beyond compare, his victory unstoppable. He will bring the Republic to its knees and the Order to its grave."
Luke felt a gruesome chill run down his spine, and something awful in his heart told him that despite all the desperate denials he was proclaiming in his mind, the Sith spoke the truth. The other prophecy did exist. "If you think that's my father," he said with compelled firmness, "you're wrong. He'll never fall to the dark side."
"Perhaps not," the Sith conceded with a nod. "But if it is not he, then perhaps the Knight of Darkness is you."
Luke shook his head and charged forward, attacking the Sith with rapid strikes of his turquoise blade. "No! You're wrong," he yelled. "No! I'll never fall to the dark side either!"
"Your destiny lies with me, young Skywalker," the Sith grinned in response. "Obi-Wan knows this to be true."
---
Danaé retreated deliberately down the darkened hallway, her emerald blade slicing precisely through the air to parry away another series of strikes from ruby laser sword wielded by the demon with Oga's face. In her awareness the energy currents of the Force churned wildly from the effects of her duel and others she could only barely perceive, as if they were taking place far in the distance. And yet through the furious boiling of the Force she sensed a building convergence in the ether, the tug of innumerable different futures all streaming toward a single momentous collision point.
During her training with Master Windu he had begun to teach her to see in the Force what he called shatterpoints – flashes in time and space and destiny when many possible fates coalesced into a single instant, when a Jedi fully attuned to the Force could pierce her opponent's greatest vulnerability with a decisive action and turn the tide against even the greatest odds. She had struggled to understand his meaning and had told him so.
Now, here, by herself, dueling her former mentor, with no wise Masters to consult and no time for reflection and contemplation, she understood. A shatterpoint was approaching – and that crucial, fateful action would be hers and hers alone to take.
The grim, wicked face of Oga Trill smiled at her. "You cannot run forever, Danaé," he said. "The time of the Jedi has passed, and the time for a new future has arrived. You must abandon your pathetic Jedi ways and see the truth. It is inevitable."
Danaé paused, her lightsaber held ready in front of her body. He was leaving her openings. Testing her. Baiting her. But she could not bring herself to attack – not yet. She still had to try to reach him, to find the good in him and bring him back to the light side. Her blade dipped and found the balance point of its defensive position. "The truth is that I am a Skywalker and a Jedi, and my future is my own to make. You will not persuade me otherwise."
The bearded figure chuckled. "You are mistaken, my young apprentice. Your future is ordained by your heritage, just as your father's is."
A strange weight seemed carried in his words, giving them a strength far beyond the tutelage she remembered. After a second, though, Danaé realized it was the power of the dark side clouding her mind and disrupting her judgment. She took a deep breath and readied her defenses again, though he did not strike. "No. You are wrong. My destiny is my own."
Master Trill smiled again. "You do not yet realize your importance. You have only begun to discover your power," he said coolly. "The future of the Skywalkers lies not with the Jedi, but with something far greater – the power to rule the galaxy, to bring the millions of star systems under a wise and strong leadership."
Danaé only shook her head.
"You cannot avoid your destiny, Danaé, as much as you might wish it were so," her opponent said. "You must release the barriers in your mind the Jedi have placed there and open yourself to the true nature of the Force. Join me and I will complete your training."
When Master Trill strode forward, Danaé retreated again. She knew they were moving further down the hallway, away from the central corridors and the hangar. She took another deep breath and composed her emotions and her voice. "I will never join you," she said. "Not on those terms. Not now. Not ever."
"If you only knew the power the Jedi have tricked you to forgo," he said confidently. "Yours is a future of supremacy and domination – of the very things your father could have seized for himself all those years ago but was too weak to claim. Take up the mantle he has abandoned and bring the galaxy the stability and guidance it needs. I can teach you to find the might within yourself the Jedi have suppressed. I can give you the wisdom the Jedi refuse to instill."
"You will not," Danaé said firmly, still retreating as the tall, black-clad figure advanced on her. "That is a role you gave up when you turned your back on me and went over to the dark side and joined the Sith. I may still be a learner, but I am no longer your apprentice."
"No, Danaé," intoned Oga forcefully. "I am your Master."
---
Ryoo Naberrie tapped her fingertips nervously on the ceramic sides of the mug of steaming cocoa that warmed her lap. She sat huddled in a comfortable plush chair in the sitting room of her grandparents' home in Theed, transfixed by the live Holonet broadcast on the family's viewscreen. To her right, nestled in the lap of her betrothed, the young Cliegg Lars, Pooja's eyes also were focused on the images of the session of the Galactic Senate that now was being called to order by the presiding officer.
Although it was deep in the middle of the night local time in Theed, Ryoo knew that the entire city was gathered around viewscreens as they were. The Chancellor Regent of the Republic, Sabé Bellion, had served for fifteen years as Naboo's Senator. In this time of terrible crisis the Naboo would honor their own more than ever.
Even more significantly, however, everyone on Naboo had heard the rumors that the news agencies had been reporting all day about Ryoo's beloved aunt. Senator-at-Large Padmé Naberrie Skywalker would be the first delegate to address the session. With her staunchest ally installed as Regent, there could be only one reason for the Senator-at-Large to speak. And yet no advanced text had been released, no assurances or denials given by her office, and no indication provided of the actual content of her speech. Padmé had kept herself in such seclusion that she had not even contacted her parents or her sister.
Ryoo carefully sipped her drink as Chancellor Regent Bellion finally brought the chamber to a respectful silence and recognized Senator-at-Large Skywalker. The pod detached from its moorings among the lowest rows of delegations and rose gracefully to a hover a few meters from the presiding officer's dais high in the air of the gigantic bowl of the Senate. The camera droids were not in position to show Padmé closely, but Ryoo could see the outlines of a distinctive traditional Naboo hairstyle and gown and could tell that two of Padmé's oldest and most trusted friends, Jenny Antilles and Jar Jar Binks, had joined her in the pod.
The pod reached its final position in the air and Padmé rose from her seat. With her head bowed she strode confidently to the front of the pod, placed her hands on the small podium there, and then raised her face to her colleagues and the Holonet cameras. A profound, intense murmur of shock and surprise and amazement echoed inside the Senate chamber.
Ryoo gasped and nearly spilled the contents of her mug, and she heard a whimper from her sister. Ryoo somehow found her breath again and called out down the hallway. "Mom! Dad! Everybody! You… Come on… you… you… You have to see this now. Hurry! Hurry!"
Only a few heartbeats later the others joined them. Ryoo's parents, Sola and Darred, entered hand-in-hand, clearly still brushing the fog of sleep from their thoughts. Her grandparents, Jobal and Ruwee, entered the sitting room right behind. Of the new arrivals Jobal was the first to glance at the viewscreen, and when she did she gasped in dismay and slumped into her husband's supporting arms. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh. Oh, no."
The woman on the viewscreen – daughter, sister, aunt – wore a black gown of mourning. Her long brown hair was pulled into an elaborate design that rose over her head and to the sides, with golden filaments and tassels decorating the traditional elegance of commemoration. But what truly shocked them was her face.
Her skin was coated in a thin layer of white powder, on top of which had been drawn a few brilliant marks in a shade of red the color of blood – a small dot on each cheek, a streak along her upper lip, and a thick vertical line down the center of her bottom lip.
The Scar of Remembrance.
And in that moment Ryoo knew the rumors were true. Her doubts vanished and her hopes that something – anything – else might happen fell away. She knew with absolute certainty what Padmé would say next, even as she watched from many lightyears away as her aunt drew in a deep breath.
"I am Amidala of Naboo," the painted face on the viewscreen said, "and I stand before you as a candidate for Supreme Chancellor of the Republic."
---
Artoo Detoo watched Obi-Wan Kenobi descend the boarding ramp of one of only two remaining evacuation transports in the hangar of the government building. The enormous docking bay was now almost empty, with four other transports having departed minutes earlier. Once the Jedi Master stepped off the bottom the ramp rose from the ground and slowly closed. The transport's repulsors activated with a rumbling whir and the starship began to fly ponderously from the hangar with Beta squad and its group of refugees aboard.
"One left, my robotic friend," smiled the white-bearded man. "Alpha squad should be here momentarily. I told the others to be here within ten minutes."
Artoo toodled a query. "Yes," Kenobi said. "Anakin acknowledged my signal on his comlink. He and Mara will be on their way shortly."
Artoo blooped and whistled insistently. "No, actually, I haven't heard from them," the Jedi Master frowned. "And you're right. Luke and Danaé should have been back by now."
After Kenobi tried to reach the two apprentices on the comlink but got no reply, Artoo wheeled over to the data port on the wall and plugged in. Almost immediately he trilled in frustration. "The security cams are out?" Kenobi was frustrated too. "Any other ideas?"
Artoo disengaged from the data port and spun his dome around to face Kenobi again, then whistled and beeped. "Very well. But make it quick. We don't have much time."
A few minutes later Artoo trundled speedily down a dark hallway of the building. He was attempting to retrace the most likely path Luke might have taken during his check of this wing of the facility, but as yet hadn't found him. The astromech beeped softly to himself in annoyance – the thick stone used to construct the building blocked his scanners and hindered his ability to perform a quick and efficient search.
Artoo turned the corner into another hallway and noticed a wide door at the far end. Zooming quickly to check it out, he discovered it was a small side hangar. Although the docking bay was mostly empty, a single Republic Army gunship rested on its landing gear inside – in the haste of the evacuation the soldiers carrying out the first stage of the exodus must have inadvertently left this vehicle behind. Artoo rolled up the boarding ramp of the gunship and plugged into the data port just inside. Sure enough, the vehicle was fueled, armed, and operational.
Disconnecting from the data port and rolling down the ramp again, Artoo whistled in satisfaction. He always preferred to have a backup escape method ready, and now he had one. He had been on too many missions with Skywalkers to count on everything going according to plan.
After he resumed his progress through the hallway, Artoo opened his comlink connection to Kenobi and toodled a question. A moment later the Jedi Master reported that there still had been no word from Luke or Danaé.
Artoo switched off the comlink and blooped in amusement. If Threepio were here, the protocol droid would be issuing one exclamation of doom and gloom after another and pronouncing his utter dismay that he would never see either of the young Jedi again. And that they would all be destroyed. And that the Maker had forsaken him. And that suffering must be his lot in life.
Heading toward another likely path Luke might have taken inside the building's corridors, Artoo realized he almost missed having Threepio along. Even though he could imagine perfectly the protocol droid's entire frantic, immeasurably anxious soliloquy, it just wasn't the same.
Had the astromech been capable of a shrug, he would have. There was always next time.
---
Luke pressed his offensive, his swift and powerful blows driving the Sith back across the stone floor of the docking bay. Although his feelings told him the Sith was not deceiving him about the existence of the other prophecy, he refused to accept her interpretation of it. Striking high, then low, then high again, he took hold of the momentum of the duel and attacked even harder.
To avoid his next strikes the Sith stepped back quickly and spun away, her black cloak swirling out around her shoulders and her brilliant scarlet blade tracing hypnotic patterns above her head. She whirled smoothly into a defensive stance two meters away. "Impressive, young Skywalker," she said. "But it will not be enough. Your Jedi skills pale in comparison to the true might of the dark side."
"Deceit and mistrust are the ways of the dark side," Luke replied through clenched teeth. "The dark side isn't stronger – only quicker, easier, and more seductive. It's not stronger."
The Sith only smiled haughtily. "But surely even if what you say is true," she chuckled, "a Master of the dark wields more power than a mere apprentice of the light?"
Luke felt his heart sink and his stomach lurch. He'd known this Sith was strong, but it hadn't occurred to him she might be the Master. And if she was, then what she said was no doubt true – for even if his father or Master Obi-Wan was stronger than the Sith Master, he was not. Not yet – not now – not today. Luke took a deep breath, found his own defensive stance, and smiled. All he said was, "Possibly."
Without a word the Sith Master strode forward in a blur, her scarlet laser sword swiping down at his legs.
Luke jumped into the air and let the red blade swing harmlessly beneath him, then snapped his blade upright to block the return arc as he landed on his feet again. She continued her barrage of strikes, her shimmering weapon slicing at his head. Luke let the Force guide his hands, and his wrists snapped and rolled to parry away each blow. His defenses held, and after a moment the Sith Master spun away again.
She set her feet and released her two-handed grip. Dancing the tip of her lightsaber in the air with her right hand, she stared coldly into his eyes. "You have controlled your fear," she said. "Now release your anger. Only your hatred can destroy me."
The instant those words left her mouth Luke found himself parrying wildly to stay alive. The Sith Master was attacking him with incomprehensible speed and precision – with as much strength and grace and accuracy as any sparring match he'd ever fought with his father. Luke felt the fear rising in his soul after all, but he focused on the flow of the Force through his arms and swung his blade without conscious thought. Amazingly he somehow repelled the entire onslaught and managed to spring into a twisting double backflip that brought him three meters away from the Sith Master.
"Impressive yet again, young Skywalker," she grinned. "But your skills will not save you. And more importantly, they will not save your little sister."
Luke felt the jolt of terror rock him to his very core. "What… what… what are you talking about?"
"Surely you must have figured it out by now, Jedi," the Sith Master said derisively. "Her old Master, Oga Trill, has seen the truth and joined me. For the last year he has been my apprentice, learning the ways of the Sith and assisting me in training others."
Once again Luke knew immediately that she spoke the truth. And between this revelation and her knowledge of the other prophecy, he felt his confidence shatter into a thousand shards. "What does any of that," he demanded after a deep breath, "have to do with Danaé?"
"Are you really so imperceptive?" the Sith Master scoffed. "Darth Malus is here, now, in this building. As we speak he has found your sister and implores her to join him again."
"No," Luke exclaimed in horror. "No. Leave her alone! I thought this was about my father and me. What does any of this have to do with her?"
"Can't you see, young Skywalker? By now it should be obvious." The Sith Master had closed the distance between them to less than a meter, but still she did not attack. "If you will not turn to the dark side, then perhaps she will."
Instantaneously Luke's dread exploded into fury. "Never!"
Against his barrage of vicious, fierce, enraged blows the Sith Master retreated calmly. With seemingly no effort she snapped aside his deadly attacks and stepped away from mortal strikes. "Good," she smirked as his determined offensive continued unabated. "Your hate has made you powerful."
Luke swung his blazing turquoise blade with unmitigated hostility. "No! Leave her out of this! Leave her alone!"
"You cannot win, young Skywalker," the Sith Master laughed. "You cannot save your sister. You cannot save yourself. You are doomed."
"Stop!"
shouted Luke brutally. "You leave her
out this! Leave her alone!"
"Fuel your power with your hatred, young Skywalker," the Sith Master said with a tempting, husky, inhumanely seductive voice. "Let it consume you. Now fulfill your destiny and take your father's place at my side!"
Thinking only of protecting Danaé from this demonic, despicable, atrocious monster, Luke felt his mind unhinge as his rage poured through his veins with a power and strength in the Force he had never felt before. He charged forward with his blue blade swinging aggressively, assaulting the Sith Master with a primal, blind ferocity.
---
Darth Barbarus moved swiftly along the rooftops, his long strides carrying him easily toward the place his spotter had informed him about moments earlier. Reaching the edge of this building, he sprang into a Force-powered leap that brought him down gently atop the adjacent one. A few more leaps later he arrived at his destination and rushed to the northeast corner of the roof.
In the street below he saw a large group of several hundred refugees retreating to his left in the direction of the main government building, which for hours had been one of the Republic's three evacuation sites in Gonnolli. That group was of no consequence. Instead he looked to his right, where a much smaller group of perhaps two dozen soldiers had taken up a position behind a makeshift barricade. From there the squad was defending the rear of the refugee column from several squads of approaching brownshirts.
Barbarus had no trouble finding his target. In the middle of the group at the barricade was an enormous figure in the black battle armor of the Republic Special Forces. The towering officer was barking orders to his troops and firing his heavy blaster rifle over the barricade, taking down a brownshirt with each shot.
It was the Skywalker boy. There was no doubt about it.
Barbarus raised his eyes to the rooftop across the boulevard. Quickly he found Darth Delicti's head peering out from behind a parapet. She met his gaze and smiled.
Delicti's eyes closed and Barbarus heard her voice in his mind. Do you have a clean shot from there? she asked. There is a closer location up ahead.
Barbarus focused his concentration but kept his eyes open. No need, he sent back calmly. This will do fine.
Excellent, my friend, Delicti replied. Fire when ready. I will cover your escape.
Confirmed, Barbarus acknowledged. He slung the strap off his shoulder and brought his long, narrow sniper rifle into his hands. He hefted it with his left hand and checked the alignment of the sight one last time. Next he flicked a switch and released a plate on the top of the rifle, exposing an empty, round chamber just above the trigger.
Then he unclipped his lightsaber from his belt, spun it in his fingers until the activation plate faced downward, and inserted the handle into the chamber in the rifle. It fit perfectly, sliding into place with a quiet click. Barbarus closed and latched the chamber before he lay down prone and scooted carefully to the edge of the rooftop.
With marksman's precision Barbarus trained the rifle's sight on shining backplate of Skywalker's black battle armor. After holding the aim for several heartbeats, his thumb flicked a switch just above the trigger. A low hum buzzed in his ear as the lightsaber activated within the rifle. A second later a soft beep sounded. The energy packets were formed and ready.
In just that instant Skywalker turned around to speak to a short blonde girl in a red-and-white military jumpsuit. The broad, smooth chestplate of his armor glimmered in the sight – it was a wider, simpler bulls-eye than Barbarus ever could have imagined.
"And now it is finished," he whispered. Barbarus rapidly squeezed the trigger three times. The bolts hissed through the rifle's long barrel and popped from the muzzle with only a brush of sound as the silencer muffled their noise. Through the sight Barbarus saw all three shots strike home, slamming into Skywalker's chest and propelling his body backward into the barricade. The armor was punctured by a triangle of smoking holes, exactly as intended.
Barbarus slithered away from the edge of the roof, then sprang to his feet and began to run. By the time he had jumped to the next building, his lightsaber handle was clipped to his belt again and the rifle was slung diagonally across his back by its strap. Reaching the edge of the roof he cleared the distance to the next one with ease as well. In the back of his mind he felt a subtle push from Delicti, letting him know she was on her way to meet him.
Unexpectedly she pushed a second thought into his mind too – her confidence that he had succeeded.
Barbarus smiled to himself as he continued to run and leap from building to building. Of course he had succeeded. In taking three bolts from the Sith sniper rifle, Skywalker had suffered wounds nearly as devastating as being stabbed in the chest three times with a lightsaber. Internal organs were shredded, blood vessels severed and cauterized, lungs collapsed, and more. Injuries of that magnitude could not be survived, even by someone strong in the Force. And this boy was no Jedi. Barbarus knew their objective had been achieved.
Bryon Skywalker had met his destiny.
---
Mara gripped her shimmering violet laser sword in both hands as she charged the four surviving brownshirts, who continued to fire their blaster rifles at her. She turned her shoulders into the rapid swings of her blade as she approached. With two quick rolls of her wrists she repelled the incoming bolts and returned them directly at her opponents. A few bolts dissipated against the tan battle armor, but others found gaps in the plating and two brownshirts collapsed to the ground. The other two continued to fire, and the reduced numbers allowed Mara to concentrate more fully on her deflections. Her wrists flicked her weapon in a swift arc and a pair of blaster bolts careened into the enemies, dropping them before she got close enough to strike with the blade itself. She swung her lightsaber into a position of readiness and scanned the plaza with her eyes and the Force.
With a soothing breath she confirmed that the bloodied, corpse-strewn area was momentarily empty. To the left her Master had finished off his opponents as well. Without needing to be summoned she began to jog toward him to regroup for the next squad that was surely on its way.
Just as she arrived at her Master's side a blazing, ripping, tearing, burning stab of pain exploded in her chest. The agony spearing into her through the battle meld was so intense it nearly knocked her unconscious. She stumbled and fell forward to her knees, smacking them sharply on the stone. After a moment she regained clear thoughts and looked up at her Master.
His face wore an expression of shock and anguish and incomprehension. So unreadable were his eyes that she didn't know whether his next action would be to cry or scream or pass out. And then he spoke. "Bryon," he gasped. "Bryon."
At first Mara tried to surge her perceptions out into the Force, searching for Luke's brother. But after only a heartbeat she knew it was a futile effort – Anakin was far more powerful than she, and he had been able to keep part of his awareness on his children during the battle without impairing his ability to fight. It was through that connection that he and she had experienced the pain of whatever injuries Bryon had just suffered. Any attempt to find Bryon now, without a preexisting connection, would be virtually impossible within the raging battle around them – even for Anakin. Mara compelled herself to rise to her feet and gazed into her Master's eyes.
"I can't feel Bryon," Anakin said hollowly. "I can't feel him."
---
Just as Alpha squad's column of refugees arrived at the main hangar of the government building in the center of Gonnolli a frantic shout rang out from Han's comlink. "Captain Solo," one of the soldiers at the rear of the group yelled in panic, "we have a squad of brownshirt on us. We need reinforcements! Now!"
Han quickly motioned the others over. "Lando, take the group and get them inside and on the transports. Chewie, get all the Army guys together and get them to the rear. I'm heading there now."
Lando nodded and burst away, waving for the refugees to follow him. Chewie wroofed in agreement and roared at the gray armored Republic troops as he motioned for them to follow him. Han was about to run too when he felt Leia's hand on his arm.
"What about me?" she demanded.
"Go with Lando," he said brusquely. "Help him load the refugees and get onboard."
"No," she said. "No. I want to stay with you."
"Forget it, Princess," he snapped. "This isn't evacuation any more. This is war. Go with Lando."
"No, Han. I can fight," she insisted, hefting her blaster rifle for emphasis. "You know I can. I want to come with you and…"
"You heard me, Leia," he barked. "Go. That's an order."
Leia's face lit up in rage. "How dare you! I only asked if I could…"
He cut her off angrily. "No time to discuss this in committee."
"I am not a committee!"
"Look, Senator," he growled, watching her face fall as he used her formal title viciously, "I'm not going to let you get yourself killed over something stupid like this. Understand? Now go with Lando. I'll be back before you know it. Go. Now!"
Stung by his words, Leia looked away and her chin quivered. Then she nodded weakly and ran after Lando.
---
Anakin held Mara's gaze and saw that tears had welled up in her green eyes. In the Force he could sense that the pain he had felt from Bryon had screeched its way through the battle meld to his apprentice. The sensation had been more intensely agonizing than anything he had felt in his life, even Padmé giving birth. Only his dominating Jedi focus had kept him conscious through it, and as strong as Mara was her concentration was not yet that impervious. She was fighting off the pain as if it had happened to her directly. It was remarkable she hadn't passed out, much less that she hadn't cried.
She blinked again and grimaced. "Do you want me to…" Her voice trailed off and in the Force it was clear she didn't have any idea what she could do.
"No," he shook his head. "Clear your mind. Stay sharp. There will be more brownshirts here any moment."
"Yes, Master," she nodded. Reluctantly she turned away, her shoulders shuddering as she took a series of deep breaths. Her legs were quivering and her arms hung limply at her sides.
Anakin knew he should find some reassuring words for her, that he should say something to try to help her regain her composure from the stab of fire that had rocked both of them through the Force. But he couldn't do it. No words would come. His mind could think only one thought – Bryon. He stretched his feelings out in the Force, searching for his son. The warm strand of feelings in his mind where the connection to Bryon should have been was now cold and empty. Anakin pressed his concentration toward that severed string, trying with all his might to compel the broken link to open again. He didn't even care how much screaming agony he might find if it did – all he wanted was the connection.
It would not reopen. As hard as he pushed, he found nothing.
Anakin closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. Maybe he was trying too hard. Maybe if he relaxed and let the Force flow into him the perceptions would come. Maybe if he could control the panic building in his soul he would be able to reach out more effectively in the Force.
Still he found nothing.
He reached out with his awareness once more, launching wave after wave of exploratory probes into the battle around him. He touched his connection to Leia and found her determined and calm. Instantly he knew she and Bryon must have become separated, because her emotions belied any awareness of the injuries Bryon had suffered. Then he tried to reach out for Sarré, only to realize that he had not created a connection with her. His chances of finding her in the Force were so slim that his only option was to direct his efforts to other things. So again Anakin smashed his Force perceptions at the vacant spot in his mind where the whisper of Bryon had fallen silent.
And again he found nothing.
But he hadn't felt Bryon die. He knew he hadn't. Anakin had felt many deaths through the Force over the years, friends and enemies alike, close by and far away, Jedi and not. He had perceived tremendous, indescribable pain from Bryon – that he couldn't deny. But the distinctive whistle of death had not been there. So Bryon wasn't dead.
At least not yet.
Then Mara's voice intruded into his contemplations. "Master, get ready," she said quickly. "More brownshirts."
Anakin took a deep breath and gripped his humming laser sword with two hands. He opened his eyes to the sight of roughly forty brownshirts rushing across the plaza toward them. "Let them come to us," he said deliberately. "Too many for us to take the offensive. Maximize deflections during the charge, then group decimation tactics once they're upon us."
"Agreed, Master," replied Mara, her voice wavering.
"We've beaten many more than this already today," he said as calmly as he could. "It won't be a problem."
Mara's eyes met his again as her presence in the battle meld trembled. "If we stay focused, Master."
Anakin nodded, fully aware of what she was worried about. With these kinds of numbers, any distraction could be fatal – and he was already distracted. If something else should happen during the fight… He shook his head firmly and clenched his jaw. He would not allow himself to think that way. He simply wouldn't. He would defeat this next group of attackers and then he would go to Bryon. They weren't going to take his son away from him. He wouldn't let them. Bryon had been injured and Anakin would go to him. As soon as that decision settled in his mind he clenched his jaw even harder and narrowed his eyes. He was going to end this and get to Bryon. Nothing would get in his way and no one would stop him. Nothing. No one. He was going to save his son.
No matter what it took. No matter what.
---
Bail Organa blinked repeatedly until he convinced himself he wasn't dreaming. When he did, the gravity of the situation formed a tight ball of tension in the pit of his stomach. The Regal Prerogative. After all these years, Padmé actually had invoked it. She had come before the Senate in the ceremonial attire of a Queen of Naboo, as was her privilege as former monarch. She had called herself Amidala, the native name-of-state she had not used in nearly a quarter century. And she had declared her willingness to take on the obligations and burdens and dangers of the highest office in the Republic at a time when no other Senator dared.
He shook his head in consternation. In retrospect he should have expected this, of course. And yet he hadn't, and now he sat here in stunned silence, gaping like an idiot at the image of his old friend on the pod's small viewscreen. When this session ended, he knew the Viceroy of Alderaan would have an unending series of questions for him, demanding to know why he, the highly respected Acting and erstwhile Senator and former Supreme Chancellor, hadn't provided his homeworld's leaders with any clue about this. He doubted that the admission, however true, that Padmé still had the capacity to surprise him would help matters any.
Quickly he toggled the viewscreen's image to the Chancellor's podium, where Sabé stood impassively. So she had known of Padmé's plan, apparently, but no one else. It wasn't the first time.
With a contemplative shrug Bail toggled the image to Padmé again and leaned forward to listen to her address. Finally the rumbling murmur in the gigantic chamber had subsided and she began to speak. Her voice flowed from the audio device in Bail's pod with a grace and authority and clarity that never failed to make him shiver.
"Chancellor Regent Bellion, my fellow Senators, honorable Representatives of the Republic, my fellow citizens. I am Amidala of Naboo," she repeated with more emotion than the first time, "and I stand before you as a candidate for Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. In a matter of days our great democracy has witnessed the most rapid changes in leadership in all the centuries of its existence. We have seen the assassination of a respected and long-serving Chancellor and the murder of the enthusiastic and dedicated young man we had chosen as his successor. So tumultuous were the circumstances that this body despaired at selecting another leader until the ancient procedure of the Regency was invoked. Now we stand at the threshold of disorder in the Senate, for none of us has been willing to take up the mantle of our fallen comrades."
"I will do so," she said simply. The image of Padmé seemed to stand up straighter and gain resolve. "This is not a time in which the Republic and the Senate can afford to be weak. We have declared war against our enemy, and now we must wage that war until the enemy is vanquished. Argis and his Vyhrragian legions press onward against us each day, not only conquering more planets in the Mid Rim but also bringing death and suffering to innocent civilians far from the theater of war. This tyrant – this despot – this madman must be stopped. As Supreme Chancellor, I will direct the Army and Navy to implement immediately a plan of complete and total war through use of overwhelming strength. With the authority granted by the Declaration of War I will empower our commanders to unleash the full extent of our military capabilities against the enemy. This is my first pledge – when I am your Chancellor, Argis will discover that he has not yet learned the definition of war."
As an ovation like a peal of afternoon thunder swelled in the chamber, Bail heard a soft sniffling from the seat beside him. He turned and smiled at Nalé Bellion, who had joined him again while her mother presided over the session. Gently he reached out to hold her hand reassuringly while he tenderly wiped a few tears off her cheek with his other hand. "Everything will be fine," he whispered to the girl. "We must have faith."
The applause quieted and Padmé resumed her speech. "And our enemy is more than simply Argis and his military. It is something far more dangerous and far more alarming. For the last half year we have known of Argis' so-called Crusaders of Justice, whom the tyrant maintains are benign Force-wielders dedicated to the goals of justice and rightness his New Justice movement purports to expound. But no less than Argis' political claims are lies, so are his claims about his Crusaders. The time has come to put aside our differences within this body and accept the disturbing truth the evidence plainly reveals – Sith Lords have returned to the galaxy, and Argis has allied himself with that dreadful menace from the past. The Jedi Knights are numerous and strong and valiant, and once given the approval of the Senate they will stop at nothing to free us from the torment of these warriors of darkness. This is my second pledge – when I am your Chancellor, we will defeat not only Argis and his minions but the Sith as well."
The applause was less vigorous this time, which Bail knew reflected the reluctance of many Senators to admit to themselves or their constituents that the Sith were again threatening the galaxy. But the cheers of approval were strong nonetheless.
"These two threats pose the most significant danger to the Republic we have faced in many generations," Padmé continued at the first opportunity. "Even the violence of the short-lived Separatist insurrection two decades ago pales in comparison to the threats we now face. In these circumstances the very foundation of our democracy is at risk. Only yesterday, before the selection of our able Chancellor Regent, this august body debated with serious minds and sober intentions the possibility of martial law. While we stepped away from the brink this time, similar temptations will no doubt arise in the course of this conflict. And other emergency powers exist, including those that may be invoked by the Chancellor. Although I pray that I would never need to claim such authority, in the condition of the current war I know that I cannot in good conscience say that I would never do so. Too much is at stake, too much at risk, for any such promise devoid of context and perfect foresight."
For a brief moment Padmé paused, then pressed ahead. "As I stand before you, I hope that my actions in the past have proven to you my integrity. Twice in my life, as Amidala of Naboo, I have held great power – and twice I have voluntarily relinquished it. After two terms as Queen of my homeworld I walked away from the Royal Palace with no regrets and a happy heart. Soon, however, my people called upon me to serve again, and I was elected to represent our star system in this body. But fate had other ideas in mind for me, and after only two years I resigned my seat to claim the private life about which I had always dreamed." A little smiled crossed Padmé's face for the first time during her speech. "Of course my life has never been especially private, nor have I ever truly been far from the political circles of our great Republic. And yet my life was not one of power and authority and leadership. Had I sought those things, I have no doubt I could have attained them. They were not – and are not – my ambition. When I held power in the past, it was not as an end – not power for its own sake. It was as a means – a means to the service of my people, who called upon me to serve."
"It is in the same spirit," she said, "that I stand before you now. I have rather enjoyed my life away from active politics, and it was with a considerable measure of regret that I accepted the appointment by my friend Gannis Trellem to the at-large seat I currently hold. His call to service was one I could not ignore, however, and I willingly set aside my personal objections to do my duty for the greater good. I do the same today. One of us must cast away our regrets and fears and accept the duty to serve in the highest office of our democracy. I will do so. This is my third pledge – when I am your Chancellor, I will serve the interests of our people for the good of all and will not be guided or swayed by ambition or power or any force other than my duty to the Republic."
Another roar of approval from the delegates shook the enormous chamber. While he stood in his pod and cheered with them, Bail pondered the seemingly out of place emphasis in her final sentence. After a moment it dawned on him that he had completely misunderstood the significance of the appearance Padmé had chosen. It was not merely, as he had supposed and she had mentioned, to remind the delegates of her prior service as Queen and Senator as a demonstration of her trustworthiness to wield the awesome powers of the Supreme Chancellor. It was also to reinforce the image and name of Amidala – not Skywalker. Her gambit of voice was a rhetorical mind trick, proving to her audience that Amidala was her own candidate, not the candidate of the Jedi Order. Any doubts about her independence of will from her husband – which would be ignorant and absurd regardless – had been shunted aside by the dominant, regal personality of Amidala of Naboo.
Brilliant, Bail thought to himself as he took his seat next to Nalé again, absolutely brilliant. Well done, my friend. Well done. No one will oppose you now. No one.
---
Sarré stood in place in complete and utter shock. One second Bryon had been turning around to answer her question about when they would retreat. The next second his chest had exploded in a brilliant flash of lasers and blood, and his body had been thrown backward into the barricade where it smacked with a sickening thud and then slumped lifelessly down to the ground.
Around her she heard the soldiers reacting. "Where's the shooter?" "Check the rooftops!" "They're still coming!" "Hold them off!" But Sarré could only stand and stare. Her husband lay in a heap at the base of the barricade, thin wisps of smoke rising from three blaster wounds in his chest. It was as if his armor hadn't even been there. And he hadn't screamed in pain or said a word. He just lay there, unconscious and unmoving.
Sarré finally told her feet to move again, and she rushed forward the few paces to him. She tugged him away from the barricade, laid him down on his back, and kneeled next to him. His eyes were closed and his body was limp. She was pretty sure he wasn't breathing, but she could see from the pulsing veins on his neck that his heart still was beating. For now.
A moment later Kessa arrived and kneeled down opposite Sarré. The young corporal in gray battle armor dropped a medpac in front of her began to dig through it frantically. Her hands emerged with sealed packages of bandages. Kessa tore one open and handed the contents to Sarré. "Put it in the wounds," she ordered. "It's the best we can do for now. It'll stop the bleeding."
The bacta-soaked fabric squished in Sarré's fingers as she took the bandage from Kessa. She had no idea how she did it, but somehow Sarré compelled her fingers to press the fabric into one of the holes in Bryon's armor, using two fingers to wedge into him as much of the healing bandage as she could.
"Here's another," Kessa said.
Sarré took it from her and pressed the soggy bandage into another wound. Then she looked up to see Kessa finishing doing the same on the third hole. "What now?"
Kessa had a grim look on her face. "Talk to him. Reassure him. Try to get him to open his eyes or breathe. Do whatever you can." Her hand emerged from the medpac holding a huge syringe with a needle of truly appalling girth. "I'll give him the cardiac stimulant, and hook up the breather. And anything else we've got in here that might work."
"Okay," Sarré nodded and looked down at Bryon again. Even after the nauseating sound of the needle being inserted into his arm Bryon did not react. Sarré tore one of his gloves off and gripped his bare hand in both of hers. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I'm here, Bryon," she said. "I'm here. You're going to be okay. Can you hear me?"
While Kessa worked desperately to get the breather attached to his mouth, Sarré looked for any sign of life in Bryon. His chest was not rising or falling. The pulse in his wrist already was becoming weaker. And his eyes still were closed.
"Give me a sign, Bryon, please," she pleaded. "I know you can hear me. I'm here. You're going to be okay. Let me know that you can hear me. Open your eyes or squeeze my hand. Anything. Just let me know you're still with me. Please, Bryon, please."
The breather device began a slow hissing intake, followed by a popping sound and a hissing outtake. Bryon's chest moved a little, but not much. And still he did not respond to her words.
Sarré leaned her face down to Bryon's. His skin was now completely pale and his eyes remained closed. She clenched his hand firmly and whispered in his ear so not even Kessa could overhear. "Don't leave me, Bryon," she sobbed. "I need you. I'm pregnant, Bryon. I found out on the Falcon and I kept trying to tell you but I just never had the chance to tell you because we never got to be alone and I'm sorry I didn't tell you I know I should have and I'm really, really sorry and I need you so much please don't die please, please don't die you have to make it you just have to."
There was no reaction from him. No reaction at all. All around them the zinging retorts of blaster fire and explosions of laser hits filled the air with noise and acrid smoke.
"Please don't die, Bryon, please," Sarré begged as she rested her tear-soaked cheek against his. The breather device hissed and popped and hissed next to her ear. "I need you. I need you so much. You can't die. You can't die! I need you to help me raise our baby."
Very faintly – but clearly nonetheless – she felt him squeeze her hand.