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Chapter 42
They Will Not Learn Another

"Galen wouldn't explain it," Padme said. "Obi-Wan's baffled."

Across the garden, Coda watched little Galen juggle pebbles with the Force. "Well, trillions of people practiced the Force for millions of years before the first Jedi had a notion."

"Including you."

"I suppose. I like to think that was some other redhead."

Padme smirked and shook her head. She noted Coda's wrinkled nose, quickly explaining: "Sorry—that wasn't—I'm just remembering something."

"About..."

The senator blushed, looking down. Having only recently reckoned with her considerable ego, it was hard to admit something could damage it. "When I first met you, I was really jealous of how pretty you are."

Coda smiled delightedly. "You weren't!"

"A little."

"Senator—"

"Padme."

"Padme. You're beautiful," Coda creased her brow. "Don'ya have men fallin' all over you?"

"I wouldn't know if I did," Padme told her shoes.

The archaeologist hummed. Her mind's eye blinked through images of Brummel like a library data tape, sputtering at reel's end until she shook her head to clear it. "It may be the good ones require our patience."

"As we do theirs," Padme said.

When you looked at Cuimhn from a distance, parts of it gleamed; the rest was dull, like an uninspired painting; put them together and you had what his master called the world's dirtiest diamond. From his current vantage point overlooking the ravine, he experienced simultaneously the scope's of man's innovation and that of God or the Force or whatever one called the will that made everything.

"Are you meditating or standing there?" Ashley asked.

"Contemplating," Brummel said.

"What's the difference?"

"Semantics mostly."

Ashley giggled. Brummel pulled her to his chest, buried his grinning face in her pixie-cut hair. He took a breath of soap, honey, and everlasting life. He hadn't sought the Force's blessing, but for the peace in his soul he inferred he'd received it.

Brummel placed his hand on her belly. Reaching through the ether, he felt the spark of creation, his own and Ashley's, like water passed through a distillery to make something purer than they were.

"Does Master Gallia know?" she asked.

"I don't think so. But I'm worried Master Windu will recall us to Coruscant. We've already overstayed our deployment."

He felt her face wrinkle against his tunic. "What then?" Ashley whispered.

Brummel pulled back, smiling serenely. The fear she felt couldn't weather his confidence. "Then I won't be a Jedi," Brummel said.

If you watched Yoda at triple speed, you might think he was pacing. But his rumpled visage was blank.

Standing in a circle around the projector were Mace, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Eisley, Yaddle, and the ghostly holograms of Agen Kolar, Salar Hurth, and Evan Peele. The Council members were joined by Colonel Veers and several fleet commanders.

Admiral Ackbar was too young for his station, but instincts and steadiness helped close the gap. He lifted his head to study the map, spinning above him in a holograph sphere, touching a webbed hand to his inset chin. "I agree Metellos was a necessary loss. But we must contest Thokos. It's the weakest part of the Sith blockade. We have to create an opening for more ships to get through."

"If we contest Thokos," General Krennic said, "we'll seal our fate in days, not weeks."

Captain Chewbecca growled his dissent.

"My esteemed colleague," said Krennic, "may wish to defer to more... experienced officers."

Pre Vizla emerged from shadow, aiming a bleak stare. "The Wookie fought in this war. You've spent it staring at Coruscant."

Krennic measured him with a squint. "And how did Mandalore look in your rear viewport?"

"Like beautiful fire," Vizla said. "This time we will burn in it. Together, General."

Veers smiled grimly. Mandalorians were self-important, but they didn't countenance posturing (Krennic's primary skill). The tension in the room had thickened to mud, placed around their feet so no one felt balanced.

"I think 'together' is the takeaway," Veers said.

"A noble sentiment," Peele said dryly. "But the matter remains: do we contest Thokos?"

"We need reinforcements. That's obvious," Veers said. "But we don't know if they're even out there. We can't break through the Sith's jamming signal. We can only hope that others have survived—and that they'll act on any opening."

Eisley's serene gaze touched everyone in the circle, seeming to calm even those without benefit of the Force. Veers wondered if her skin was really that pale or if she'd returned prematurely. "The Sith have more ships, more soldiers, and better armaments," she said. "Hope is our only advantage. I pray for wisdom that we do not renounce it."

Yoda's ears turned forward. Fear, anger had metastasized to hatred, to hopelessness, not only in the soldiers' ranks, but among many Jedi. Even those in this room.

His comlink chirped: "Fisto to Master Yoda."

"Yes?"

"Master, I need to speak with you," said the voice.

"Outside the briefing room, meet me," Yoda replied.

Ki-Adi-Mundi didn't move, didn't blink. But inside, in a dark compartment of the Force that contained his true self, he watered the seed of fear.

Mace looked at him sidelong. Mundi stared back.

There was little water and no food on the the civilian transport. That it ferried people was a recent development. It was carrying crucial war provisions when the Sith blockade began. Ignoring official orders, Captain Ajax dumped his cargo, helping evacuate Metellos.

In the chaos and confusion, Darkfall Squadron slipped aboard.

Filling vast, empty spaces, travelers sat on the cold deck or stood with nothing to brace themselves. The air was rent with cries of distress from injuries physical and mental. The only illumination came from red emergency lights, so that every face on the freightor seemed to be lit by a Sith's saber.

Somehow Lang fell asleep sitting crosslegged. Fennec fidgeted with scrap. Weet stared unmoving like a statue of himself.

Out of the throng of people, a woman grasped Trail's shoulder. He found a weary mother with streaks of gray in her hair, clutching a boy to her side.

"You are strong," the woman said.

"Okay," Trail replied bewilderedly.

"When we get to Coruscant, you must take my son."

Trail looked at the little boy, dirty and tired, with none of his mother's madness but all of her panic.

"I can't take your son," Trail said.

"Please, you must!"

His eyes crinkled. He shut his heart off from the rest of him. "Listen to me," he growled. "I don't care about you or your son. I'm not gonna help you. Go try your crazy eyes on someone who gives a damn."

Tears welled in the woman's as she dragged her boy away.

"That was harsh," Fennec said.

Trail turned back, eyes flinching to a squint. She watched a part of his person shrivel and blacken. Fennec looked off. This war had to end.

A beleaguered voice came through the PA: "Approaching Coruscant. Thirty minutes until arrival."

"Ahhh! Pleeeeeeaaaaaaasssse! Stoahhhhh!"

Depa Billaba hung in the air, blue lightning crawling over her. Her scalp melted, hair burning to brittle wisps. Wrath laughed like a child playing with a pet.

Grievous marveled. The attack was effortless. Truly these Sith were a breed unto themselves.

Vader breathed. "The pain will stop when you answer the question."

"Pleeeeaaaassse! Stooopppp!"

"Name your conspirators!"

"K—Kraxis! Do—donna! They—they—they have the Razor!"

"You are fortunate that I found you first," Vader said. "They will not die as quickly."

Vader waved his hand, loosing a bolt from the bulkhead. It snapped through the air, ripped through Depa's eye, skull, and brain, and burst through the back of her head, before falling straight to the floor beneath her feet.

Released from Wrath's lightning, Depa's corpse crashed to the floor.

"Assemble a boarding party," Vader ordered. "I want the Razor under our control within the hour."

Demic asked, "Do you want them interrogated?"

"I want them to die slowly on an open com channel."

"Understood."

Demic, Wrath, and Malice departed from the room. Grievous emerged from the dark corner where he'd observed the proceedings. His posture always told Vader what he was feeling. Now the droid-man was hunched, arms drawn inward, in a signal he was nervous.

"Speak, my friend," Vader said.

"Lord Demic is an ally," Grievous explained, "but I do not trust the others. They will come for your throne."

Vader's voice echoed like a laugh, in spite of its solemnness. "It is the way of the Sith. And they will not learn another."

Free from the burden of his secret worry, Grievous straightened out. He met Vader's gaze, seeing not the mask, or even the scarred face under it, but the handsome face ruined by Tarkin. "I will not betray you," Grievous vowed. "I would die for you, Emperor."

"I know," Vader said. "And that is why you will never have to."

When the Red Death came, Bo-Katan Kryze was stranded on Mareth. There was a narrow window to get off-world before the quarantine. So narrow, in fact, that her team left without her. (She fully intended to settle that score.)

Surviving the bombing of Mí-ádh City, Bo-Katan went on to wander the Dead Zone, taking jobs as a hired gun. From time to time, she thought of owning a fiefdom. But to rule over ash was unbecoming of her people.

Padme wasn't thrilled to have another traveller. Yet she knew Bo-Katan held all the cards. Still, she took secret satisfaction that there weren't enough horses. Bo-Katan would have to walk.

Once they were on the road, and over Padme's objection, Obi-Wan revealed the truth about the plague. Remarkably, Bo-Katan was so ensconced in hating her abandoners that Obi-Wan's revelation didn't move her. It was a single-mindedness worthy of Anakin.

"I can't believe it," she said in answer to the news that Mandalore fell. "How did they let that happen?"

"It was a tactical retreat," Obi-Wan said. "They've been vital to the war."

"Apparently not. You said you're getting routed."

"Lately," he allowed. "But we're here to change that."

Bo-Katan smirked. "Right. You want some artifact. You think you'll find it where we're going?"

"You tell me."

"Well, I don't know about artifacts, but I'm told it's a doozy. Locals call it 'The Dream Chamber.' They say Jedi have visions there. To me, it's a cave." Enigmatically aloof, she looked back at Galen, possessing nary a hint of motherly instinct. "Maybe you should ask the kid. He looks pretty nervous..."

That the boy was silent wasn't strange. It's a wonder he ever spoke, under weight of trauma and confounding ability. Memory like holoreels gleamed in his eyes.

Landon ruffled Galen's hair from behind him on the horse. "You okay, buddy?"

"Yeah," Galen said weakly.

"If you're scared, you don't have to be. Obi-Wan will protect you. Me and wolfie, too."

"I'm not scared."

"Then what's the matter?" Landon asked, observing him.

Galen was harder to access, more mysterious, than any child he'd ever met. What terrible thing was the little boy dragging? What happened to his parents?

Landon had put these questions to Wilk, receiving no satisfaction.

Trotting beside them, Wilk caught his eye: "Mister Solo, please infer no contempt, but I ask you, sir, to prorogue your queries. I expect they will be answered, in due time."

Landon smiled gently. "I don't know how, but I actually understood that. Am I getting smarter?"

"My friend, the difference in our speech is not one of intellect," Wilk said. "It may be said the keener mind distills data succintly."

"Thanks, wolfie. But don't ever change."

Galen turned his head, feeling Brummel watching him. For what reason he could not divine. Behind his skeleton mask, Brummel was a vacuum in the Force.

After ten excruciating hours, Ashley gave birth to Barrett Michael Carde. 'Barrett' was Brummel's middle name, while 'Michael' honored Ashley's grandfather. They'd only decided on it yesterday. Names doesn't mean much to a Jedi.

Now, Ashley slept, the glow of pregnancy given way to gaunty exhaustion. Beside the bed, Brummel sat in a rocking chair, cradling his son.

Barrett smacked his lips, which had the effect of puffing his cheeks. Everything about a baby is strange. Theirs heads are misshapen. They come into the world looking like gluttons. They can't say a word, can't write or read, or even think complexly. Yet we laud them for every meaningless gesture. Is it just our egos? Is it our secret way of honoring ourselves without fear of derision? Of course, none of this matters where it concerns your own child. You're too busy loving them to deconstruct what love is.

Brummel smiled dreamily. "He has her nose. Thank the Force."

Adi Gallia stood expressionless on the other side of the bed. Within the folds of her cloak, each hand held the other wrist. "He is strong in the Force. I can already sense it."

Brummel deadpanned, "He's not coming with you, if that's what you're getting at."

Even after eight years, his wit escaped her. "The child does not concern me," Gallia said. "Nor should he concern you. I beseech you to reconsider. Return to Coruscant. Leave behind this mistake."

Her apprentice didn't look up. A tinge of pity tempered his smile. "It says so much that you think I have a choice."

The briefing room doors slid open. There stood Yoda, calm and inscrutable. A silence colder than space fell over the room.

Mundi's heart beat steady by cause of the Force. But inside its black vault, in awe and enmity, Mundi's demons thrashed at their chains.

Mace stood arms akimbo, staring demandingly. But still Yoda said nothing. The only sound in the room was the clop and scrape of the old man's gimer stick.

Mundi twitched his fingers, warm with the thought of lightning. What was the green bastard waiting for?

Yoda turned to the group. Like sinking continents his ridges deepened. His eyes slitted, and he said, "Colonel Veers, into custody take General Krennic."

"What?!" Krennic exploded. "What is the meaning of this?"

Mundi's mouth hung open. He looked rapidly between them.

"At an end, your treachery is," Yoda said.

"I haven't done anything!"

Veers drew his sidearm. "General, will you come with me, please?"

Krennic's blood-drained face rippled ragingly. "I will do no such thing! I am not a traitor!"

"The courts will decide your fate," Mace said.

When Veers took Krennic's arm, pulling him up the stairs, the general didn't resist, but he screamed over his shoulder: "You will regret this! Your order will be ash! Do not beg me for help when it rains on our Republic!"

The dumbstruck council stared after him when he vanished. Mace turned away, privating his asperity.

Ackbar looked gravely at Yoda. "How many more traitors are in our midst?"

"Everywhere, they are," Yoda murmured.

Inside the black vault, Mundi's demon had stilled. It held its chains like a prize. It smiled scorningly.

Brummel rushed through the crowd. Heart thumping. He couldn't let her go. She couldn't take Barrett.

To the left were moving stairs, leading down to a platform. Ahead was the local rail that ferried through the city. Above him, on the skyway, was a bullet train to Cuimhn.

He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, searching the Force. It started with a laugh, utterly naive, sacrosanct music that made his head tingle, an indescribable pleasant numbness. Then a tiny hand, grasping his finger.

His eyes snapped open. He took a running start and leapt to the skway. Flipping mid-air, slowing his descent, he landed catlike on the platform above.

Throngs of passengers waited impatiently. He shoved through the crowd, throwing off limbs.

"Ashley! Ashley!"

"Now boarding. Watch your step," a droid's voice said.

"Ashley!"

"Brummel?!"

Ahead thirty feet, separated from Brummel by scores of passengers, Ashley stood holding their darling child. She was harried, disheveled. Her clothes didn't match and her eyes were rimmed black. Brummel felt regret, betrayal; not in himself but vicariously.

"Don't get on the train!" he cried, jostled by others doing exactly that.

"I won't! I never wanted to!"

"It'll be okay! Whatever's going on!"

Ashley's watery smile lit up the world. "I love you!"

"I love you, too!"

"Agghhhhh!" Blood sprayed on Brummel's face. Bodies fell around him. Blinding bolts of red light eviscerated everyone.

"Brummel!" Ashley screamed.

He sprinted across the platform—tripping on a corpse—falling on his stomach. He clammored to his knees. Ten thugs wielding carbines ripped the crowd apart.

Ashley.

His head swam. Heart blasting.

Ashley screamed screamed screamed.

Brummel rolled into a sumersault, straight into a leap. At the peak of his flight, Ashley's head jerked back. Her body and her baby began to jerk, too, in a brilliant spectacle of apple-red light.

"No! Noooo!"

By the time he landed, there was nothing to be done. Ashley and Barrett lay on the ground.

Time crawled, a cruelty of the Force. Like the first photographs, when you held pose for minutes, their bodies remained still, searing the image into his brain for all time.

"Ashley... Ashley... Ashley..."

He took her in his arms, Barrett in hers, and repeated their names. Like their eyes would spark alive if he said their names enough. He couldn't draw a breath. Didn't want to. If he didn't breathe, maybe he'd go with them.

Brummel held them close. Begged the Force for reprieve. But the evil little taker offered nothing.

"No," he sobbed. "No no no no!"

It would never happen. Riding a speeder. Playing Sabbac. Sharing the Force. How to love—because love wasn't wrong.

But he had no child. He had no woman. Only embers of a flame that had barely burned. Everything he was, that he had been and could be, were scraped down to their leanest, flimiest form. Without the flame nothing could grow.

So Brummel embraced Death.

"Are you all right?" Coda asked.

Brummel had pulled her eyes with him to Galen. His reply was silence, causing Coda to try again. "I want to help," she said. "Is it about last night? Did I ask too much?"

"I have no patience for frivolity," said his mechanized voice. "I'll not indulge it again."

Coda was proud she didn't flinch. "Being human isn't frivolous."

"It is when you're not human."

Her heart broke and her face set in grim determination. "But ya are. And that's the one thing in the galaxy that truly scares you."

Up ahead, they heard Bo-Katan's voice: "We're here. That's the Dream Chamber."

Brummel stared at the towering rock face, bearing the symbol of the Mercian Council, before turning his head to its last living member. "The only thing that scares me is life continuing after death."

Brummel climbed the steps leading to his and Gallia's apartment.

He hadn't seen a soul since entering the building. Everyone was at work, or glued to the holo-news. A group called the Black Novas had been blamed for the massacre. Their motive was unknown... to everyone but Brummel.

At the top of the stairs, he waved the door open.

The luxurious apartment was unbecoming of Jedi. Sprawling marble floors, walls covered in rare paintings and tapestries, ensconced trendy furniture, a large stone fountain, with dream-like carvings of sleeping angels.

A glass wall led to a balcony. That's where Adi Gallia stood, watching speeders fly by. "You are troubled," she said. "We will discuss it on our way back to Coruscant."

Her lips tightened when she faced him. Brummel's tunic was bathed in blood and grist. "I see..." When he said nothing, she went on: "I am sorry you witnessed that. But it's the will of the Force. Your place is with the Jedi."

"The will of the Force," Brummel gnarled. "Is that what you have to say? The will of the Force?"

"What more is there?"

"I asked one of those monsters. He was happy to tell me. Before I killed him."

"This was not my intended lesson," Gallia lamented. "But it is one worth learning. I see from your demeanor it is slow to sink in."

"You killed my child!"

"A necessary evil. Don't you see your potential?"

"I have none left!" Brummel screamed. "You ripped it from my chest!"

"On the contrary," Gallia said, as if explaining to a child, "I stopped you from doing that very thing. Now cease your whimpering and prepare to disembark."

His grief was fathomless. What stood before him was worse than a Sith, acting not from an inconsolable animal passion, but from the absence of passion, a vacuum of being in which feeling couldn't breathe.

Brummel's orange blade flashed into being.

Only now did she realize that she'd truly erred. She brandished her saber in august salute.

Brummel was moving. Gallia was faster. He swiped the air where she'd stood. Reversing his blade, he blocked a killing blow behind him. Keeping their sabers locked, he spun so they were facing.

Gallia thrust her palm. Brummel met it with his own. Their attempts at Force-push canceled out.

His master pulled away. Brummel came in hard left to right. Gallia parried, shoving his blade wide. This time her Force-push sent him flying at the window.

Brummel smashed through the glass, tumbling on the balcony.

In mid-roll blue light snapped at his head. Brummel bobbed. Sparks flew in his face when the blade hit stone.

He rolled away, came up standing. His saber flew to his hand in time to block Gallia. She pressed the advantage, stabbing, slashing, forcing her apprentice to the edge of the balcony. Below was twenty stories of sprawling city.

"You could've been so much more!" Gallia sorrowed.

She forced his guard low. A slight turn of her wrist would have cut him in half. But he was simply too fast, jumping so his boot was above Gallia's wrists, which he stomped to the ground, so her hands hung ruined from shattered carpals. His knee slammed into her chin, breaking her jaw.

He kicked her saber off the balcony, and placed his boot on her throat.

"Are you going to kill me?" Gallia breathed in a whisper.

"I won't give you the dignity," Brummel said.

"What then—a trial? Do you really think they'll believe you?"

"This is Mareth. I'll give them the memory."

"Very good, padawan," Gallia smiled deviantly. "There's only one problem..."

"And what's that?"

"The drop."

Gallia's fading strength coalesced into a Force-push. Her desperate last act sent Brummel sliding, over the balcony edge, into the urban abyss.

Brummel was falling. He didn't scream. Try to slow his descent. He simply demanded, with a great pull of the Force, that Gallia share his fate.

They plummeted together. Air whistled in their ears. The ground rushed at them.

The open back of a trash truck came into sharp relief. Gallia's last thought was that she would live before she splatted on the pavement five feet away.

Brummel landed like an anvil in the pile of trash. Every rib broke. One of his legs was turned around like a manipulated toy. His last thought was of Death before blackness overcame him.

The next time he saw light, Coda Prosper stood over him, mopping his brow.

"Hello, young man."