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Chapter 47
Out of Silence Came Wonder

A child's reality exists on the sands of imagination. When he's known peace his whole life, and war breaks out, his menagerie of fears puts parents' to shame.

When a child only knows war, when it predates his sentience—that's a different matter. Parents curate narratives, establish rules. And they convince them that all of it is oh-so normal.

Inside a chic shopping mall, on an upper level of Coruscant, little Braka swung on his mom's legs. He had not a care, surrounded by munitions and anxious voices.

Mother Nara and father Porter spoke in harsh whispers.

"What do you want me to do?" Porter demanded.

"I want you to save our son."

"Do you think I don't want that? More than absolutely anything? He's seventeen, Nara. That's old enough to fight. He has to, and he wants to."

"Is that what you'll write on Goren's tomb?"

Porter's jaw clenched. His nostrils flared and he spoke very slowly: "Stop feeling, and think. I didn't send him to fight in the Outer Rim. This is our last stand as a people. Open your eyes."

Angry tears streamed down her face. "If you won't fight for our son, I will."

"Nara! Where are you—?"

The sentence died at Braka's stare. Porter took the boy in his arms, held him to his chest, as Nara turned a corner.

Trail stood at the window, hands clasped behind him. Republic armor was surprisingly flexible, considering its weight. Obtaining the suit took exquisitely forged records.

As far as the Republic knew, he was Lieutenant Paul Hatcher, an experienced noncom who just completed officer training. By necessity of Veers' plan, he'd received a battlefield promotion; Commander Hatcher was made leader of Company 12K1.

Fennec, Lang, and Wheet posed as civilian recruits.

"Excuse me? Commander Hatcher?"

At Trail's door was a gaunt woman twisting her tunic.

"Yes, ma'am..."

"Can I talk to you?"

"Of course," he gestured to a chair. "How can I help?"

"It's about my son."

He thought she might tap a hole in the floor. "What's his name?"

"Goren, sir."

Trail referenced his data pad. "Private Goren Marsden. Is that him?"

"Yes, sir. He's only—"

"Seventeen. The cutoff's fifteen."

Nara's lips trembled before pressing tightly. "Which general threw a dart to decide fifteen?"

"That's over my head."

"Do you have children, Commander?"

Trail's brows pulled down. He sighed deeply, looking at threaded hands. "I haven't had the pleasure."

"Maybe if you did," tears pricked at her eyes, "you'd have the decency to know that seventeen is too young."

He left her anger in the air. It's a parent's prerogative to be irrational where their children are concerned. But it seldom comes to good.

Trail pulled to the desk, a perfect 90 against the chair back. "What's your name, ma'am?"

"Nara."

"Nara, listen carefully. Darth Vader is coming. And he's worse than anything you were taught about Sidious. He is relentless. He has no mercy. He will raze this planet until we are dead." Trail flinched at his voice. But it only grew colder. He seethed through gritted teeth: "The Sith will find your boy. They won't ask how old he is. They won't check for a rifle. They will rip out his heart and receive a commendation."

Nara's shoulders curled and she was hugging her stomach.

Trai looked at his roster. There were eight thousand one hundred and fifty-eight souls assigned to Company 12K1. His task from Vader was to lead them to ruin. And he would do it expertly. But fifty-seven souls would accomplish as much.

His eyes lifted and his hands unclasped. "But I'm not his father. And my rank wasn't earned. We'll spare your son the degradation." Trail tapped his data pad. "Goren Marsden is excused from service."

Nara sobbed and laughed in a single noise. "Oh, thank you! Thank you, Commander! Thank you!" She staggered to the door, turning her head. "Long live the Republic!"

"Or at least its memory," he said when she was gone.

The Memory Master strained under weight of his newest degradation. That he was irreplaceable had been enough armor for hundreds of years. But in a matter of days, Kenobi and Sidious tore it from his person.

Manhandled by a doctor. Knocked out by another and locked in a room. Brought food by a droid, who would tell him nothing.

Never in his life had the Master been a prisoner. The one who did this would discover what's worse. The good doctor, however, could have other uses. Taciturn—naive—foolishly sentimental—but his mind was keen the little time that he used it.

The Master was testing the integrity of each of the walls when R2 announced itself. "Leave it on the floor, you contemptible thing..."

"Well, this is a picture."

He slowly turned to Sidious in the doorway. "Is it?"

"The very essence of a cautionary tale. Your arrogance blinded you."

"All the better for my hearing."

Sidious gave a half-smile at odds with his snarl. "Hear this, little prince: your life depends on my charity. And I'm feeling very miserly. Be clear on this as you consider the following..." He walked to the wall adjacent, turning his back, smug in his safety. "I've looked through your databanks. You know how to transfer a full set of memories from one mind to another. I require that you do so."

The Master said, "Secura has agreed?"

"She agreed the moment I wished it."

A warm gleam filled his countenance. Hubris: his favorite flaw. The flaw of gods who reach for greatness. He truly admired Sidious, even if didn't respect him.

"No," said the Master. "This does not interest me."

Sidious calmly faced him. "An unfortunate choice. Gravely so."

"You might try the doctor. A word of advice: don't threaten his life. Threaten hers. He has little resolve where friends are concerned."

The dark lord bowed his head in mockery of thanks. His eyes flicked to R2. A metal implement appeared from inside the droid's body. Electricity sparked between its two prongs.

The Master squinted.

Sidious stood at the door, voice deeply silken. "R2 will remain to keep you company. I think you'll find he's very intriguing."

"Look at the carving," Coda said. "What do you see?"

Obi-Wan ran his finger along the image. "A wolf, with a torch. Walking through the jungle. A friend of yours, Wilk?"

"Surely not. He has only two legs," said the erudite wolf.

Coda interjected, "Wolves sometimes symbolized the Mercian Council."

"Are you saying only a council member can open this door?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Not at all. Look at the torch..."

Landon frowned, stroking his beard. His head turned sideways. "The fire; the flames are shaped like—letters? It sure ain't Basic, though."

The matter crystallized in Obi-Wan's mind. "It's a password, isn't it? To be said aloud."

Coda glowed like a proud professor. "And that's what's interesting," she said in a sing-song voice. "In Marathene, it's just a jumble of letters. But when spoken out loud, they match a word in Basic..."

"For God's sake," Callum said, "just say the damned word!"

Brummel's stern glance sent him slinking.

Obi-Wan forced back a smile. He touched Coda's arm patiently. "What is the password?"

She tipped her chin proudly. The grin on her face could have powered the Tangent.

"Virtue," she said.

And the great stone rumbled.

Wheet felt like a peasant wearing this tunic, though it succeeded in hiding his beskar arm. "Next time, you play civilian..."

"Suck it up," Trail said.

"There won't be a next time," Lang interjected. "Operation Kyber is the end of the line."

Fennec studied her Republic-issued blaster. The civilians received models that were two cycles old. Wise money said it wasn't even tested.

"It's not the end," Fennec said. "Sidious was an idealist. Vader's a conqueror. When the Republic's dead, he'll find another enemy."

"He won't have to look far," Trail suggested.

"Mm. The way of the Sith."

"Take your pick: Demic, Malice, Mundi."

Lang scoffed. "So—what—we just keep doing this? Over and over, for whoever's in power?"

"Is this your first day?" Fennec said.

"Fuck you, Shand."

"Stand down," Trail said mildly. He dropped into a chair. "This isn't the hard part. Don't fold before it starts."

Fennec smacked Lang's shoulder. "We're ready, Cap. If we make it through, we'll get those statues."

"In the Hall of Strength? Big dreams, Fen..."

"Yes, sir. Small dreams annoy me."

Trail laughed silently. He was reaching for an ale bottle when the door chimed. "Enter."

An overweight Falleen hung on the door frame. "Co—commander! General—W—Windu is coming. Sur—prise—inspection!"

Trail worked his jaw before springing up. "Thank you, Mister Tolbin." He walked out the door, Darkfall in tow. "Fen, I need fifty men who won't embarrass me. Make formation in the lobby. Wheet, Lang: find some colors. I want them hanging."

"Where?" Wheet grumbled.

"Wherever."

Trail tugged on the soft neck piece of his armor. His blood often ran hot before meeting Jedi. But this was wholly another matter.

It was only days ago that Trail and Lang had walked through the Jedi Temple, posing as engineers to sabotage its defenses. There was always the chance that Windu had seen them.

Was the inspection a ruse? A pretense to test his hypothesis that Trail was a spy?

Even if it wasn't, Windu was known to pierce people's thoughts. But Darkfall Squad had been trained for such things.

Resistance required that you pile up junk (meaningless thoughts) around and on top of anything of value. Most Jedi would withdraw upon finding clutter.

Yet General Windu was not most Jedi.

The front doors pushed open. Mace Windu entered, flanked by his entourage.

"Company, attention!" Trail said.

His arms slapped to his sides. He stood straight and stared ahead. The civilian force did its best imitation. Fennec, Lang, and Wheet mimicked the imitators.

Hands folded in his cloak, Mace stood before Trail.

"Commander Paul Hatcher! Company 12K1! Welcome, sir."

The Jedi bowed in reply to his salute. "Good evening, Commander. I trust training is going well."

It could be going better, Trail thought. I'm not ready to lead a company.

"Yes, sir! We'll be ready."

Mace looked down the line before scrutinizing Trail. "Are you sure about that?"

I don't have a choice. This is my home. We have to save it.

"Permission to speak freely, sir," Trail said. Mace nodded. "We'll kill every Sith bastard we possibly can, sir."

Mace's mouth was a wrinkled line. He held Trail's stare like God himself preparing his verdict.

Trail didn't flinch. He thought over and over that he'd die for the Republic.

After a long moment, Mace broke his gaze.

He gestured to the brass comprising his entourage. "They have some updates for you. If there's somewhere private."

"Of course, sir."

"In the meantime, I'd like to talk with your men. Thank them personally for their service."

"Absolutely. Lang, give the General whatever he needs."

"Understood, Commander," Lang said.

Mace half-turned before stopping suddenly. He squared his shoulders to Trail, extending his hand. "May the Force be with you, Paul."

Trail didn't blink. "And with you, General."

Everyone in the Command Operations Hub knew every minute counted. They ran between stations, spitting info at each other.

The only men standing still were Generals Yoda, Yaddle, and Veers.

"Assume, we must, our plan leaked," Yaddle said. "Everywhere, their spies are. Meanwhile, gone totally dark have ours."

Yoda grunted. "Mm. Yes. But to their knowledge, limits there are. Randomized strategies, we have assigned to every company."

Eisley descended the steps from the upper level. She joined the masters, speaking discreetly: "The ships are loaded. The principals are aboard."

Veers tilted his head. "Ma'am?"

Yoda ghosted a smile, nodding permission.

"Plan B," Eisley said. "There's a hidden planet in the Deep Core, where we maintain an enclave. I'm taking the younglings there. If the Republic falls, I'll train the next generation of Jedi."

Veers took a moment to digest the information. "Well, General, I wish you success," he said a little sharply. "But we could certainly use one more Jedi."

"I'm flattered."

Yoda laughed. "Mind not the general. Many commendations; none for diplomacy."

"One day, sir," Veers said.

On the upper deck across the COH, Ki-Adi-Mundi held the railing and watched. After four long years of interminable restraint, the war would soon be home, and he'd finally strike these little green despots.

Darkness was coming.

The fractured light that shone through cracks in the cave walls ended at the doors. The temple beyond was pure black. Obi-Wan's saber made a circle of light.

He pressed inside, Padme, Brummel, Coda, Callum, and Palmer at his flanks. The dark demanded they move as a unit.

Padme hit his shins thrice before stumbling. She grasped blindly, lucking onto a stone.

"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Sorry. I'm fine."

He turned his light, revealing a pillar twice his height.

Palmer studied an inscription, looking doubly guileful in the blue saber glow. "Let there be light..."

"We're working on it," Coda said.

"No: the inscription. It says, 'Let there be light.'"

Her eyes moved up the pillar to another stone, disconnected from the brickwork. She took Obi-Wan's wrist to move the light higher.

Carved into the stone were a deep network of lines, intersecting in places, making byzantine shapes of which she knew nothing. Through the finely made cracks, she saw a perfect sphere inside the stone.

"Brummel? I need yer hand," she grinned.

He let her drag him to the pillar and place his palm on it.

Out of silence came wonder. Responding to his touch, the stone lifted from the pillar, floating, humming, as the sphere within spun, and from its core came cerulean light.

Other stones came to life throughout the chamber. Together, they illumined the remnants of the ancient temple.

Coda laughed, giving Brummel a hug he didn't return. "It's beautiful..."

They were standing in a narthex. The temple proper lay ahead.

On either side of a great archway—two hundred meters high—two naked women were carved into pillars. Despite time's steady gnaw, they were grand and vivid.

On their heads were flowered crowns. The women's eyes, jewels covered in grime, seemed to stare into their souls. Between their legs were reliefs lionizing their wombs.

"Kinda looks like you," Callum told Coda.

"No, it doesn't."

"Yeah, it does. Look at the nose. You can always tell by the nose."

Brummel's touch soothed her annoyance. He peered through the archway, past the stairs into the corridor, where a pattern of pillars and inlets repeated.

"The lights responded to the Force," he pointed out. "Why?"

Palmer answered, "Force ability was poorly understood. They may have seen it as a test by the goddess—" he gestured to the statues "—to decide who's admitted."

"A test of what?"

"Virtue."

Padme lifted her brow. "Looks like you slipped one by her, Brummel."

"Oh, I'm sorry—are you not the goddess?" he said.

Obi-Wan gave them a withering look. "Let's feign amity in their holy place, shall we?"

He led them up the stairs, into the corridor. The four light stones followed like homing droids, leaving darkness in their wake.

In every inlet between pillars there was some kind of artifact. A crystal vase, dead projectors, what appeared to be a wrist-worn chronometer.

Obi-Wan said, "These are too advanced for ancient Mareth."

"But not for the Architects!" Coda grinned. "The ancient Maretheans wouldn't understand tech. To them, these were totems of the gods' power."

Pulling up the rear, Callum slyly pocketed the chronometer. He jogged to catch up, inserting himself between Obi-Wan and Padme. "At the risk of you—um—killing me, why are you here?"

Padme looked to Obi-Wan, receiving a nod. "There's an artifact here. It will help us find a weapon."

"So you're—what—arms dealers?"

"We're patriots," she said. "Or at least I am."

Callum's eyes flicked side to side. "You're Padme Adama."

"Amidala."

"Whatever. You screwed us royally."

"That's what I've heard," Padme said.

"Did you ever regret it? Or was your office too comfy?"

"I can't change what happened. To your people or mine." She caught Obi-Wan's gaze, and it was like a fleshy tether connected their eyes, so that they were neither hers nor his, but theirs. After many days' thought, she realized now that all the mistakes piled at her feet could be collected and organized, put on a mantle, never forgotten but not in her way. "I know the Republic. I know its soul better than mine. It's imperfect, but it's decent. For me that's good enough."

Coda gasped, pulling Padme's stare with her. The homing lights had taken posts in the chamber ahead. Coda pushed to the front, palming her forehead.

"I never thought I'd see one! Gad's alive..."

At the center of the chamber was an octagonal base, raised from the floor, with cryptic hieroglyphs etched on its border. At each point on the base, large metalwork teeth angled inward. A golden circle was carved into the base at its absolute middle.

The base precisely aligned with a cut-out in the ceiling. Golden light shafted down, hitting the metalwork teeth, which focused the light into the circle.

"What is it?" asked Padme.

"It's called a Journey Well," Coda said. "The early Maratheans—and I'll put it crudely, forgive me—thought it was an elevator to Heaven. For the pure of heart."

"What if you weren't pure?"

"Then bring your sunscreen," Obi-Wan said. He looked at Callum. "What do you make of this?"

The tech circled the base, careful not to touch it. He observed a spiral of air rising from center, dust making the shape of a double-helix. A coincidence? An optical illusion? His brain still mush from Brummel's grenade?

"I don't see any mechanisms," Callum said. "It may not do anything. For all we know, they sacrificed babies here."

Coda looked at Obi-Wan. "I don't like him."

"Noted. See what you make of these inscriptions."

Obi-Wan marveled that he stood in this place mired in obscurity. Despite the temple being sealed for perhaps thousands of years, the air smelled clean, like the filtered brand he'd breathe on the Tangent.

Padme came up beside him. "How are you doing?"

"That I'm on my feet suggests an answer."

"No one takes a beating the way you do."

His eyes danced. "We should all excel at something."

Padme smiled with teeth. "Your greatest ability is making me worry."

"It's effortless, really."

"Mm-hmm."

Obi-Wan leaned on a pillar. "You're lighter," he observed.

"I've been thinking of what you said. About my arrogance."

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be. You were right. I've indulged myself. Pitied myself for every error. But in my heart it's my biggest mistake that I've been wrestling with. Ever since we got here, I've been locked in the moment I abandoned Mareth."

"Sometimes the thing we want most is to punish ourselves."

"Well, it's no way to live," Padme said. "I think I'm finding some peace. I don't know if I deserve it. But I realized in its absence nothing good would ever bloom."

He looked off, and she swore she saw a watery gleam underpin his syrupy smile. "And what could bloom, my dear."

Brummel's gloved hand ran along a metal tooth, removing dust, exposing ancient runes that were crudely scratched in. "Coda..."

She stood and joined him, knitting her brow. "Hmm. Second-era Marathene. It's much newer than the others."

"What does it say?"

"It says... 'for the looter, Hell."

Brummel shook his head. "You don't really believe this thing judges your soul, do you?"

"I wouldn't think so," she said. "But I also didn't think I was two million years old."

"You don't look a day over one point five."

"You're getting dangerously close to a compliment."

He touched her chin and stepped back.

Coda returned to Palmer's side. He pointed to a string of glyphs he'd just deciphered, seeking confirmation.

"What's your translation?" he asked.

"It looks like... 'Have no evil in hand.''"

"Again it calls the pure," Palmer laughed. "Whatever are we to do, with no one matching that description?"

"Pure needn't mean perfect," Coda argued. "One must only be repentant. Genuinely repentant."

"As determined by whom?"

"Whoever runs Heaven."

"It's ironic, then. Who else but the unrepentant would aspire to such a post?"

"If it opens up, I'll give them yer name."

Brummel appeared between them, offering Coda his hand. "If there's no mechanism, it must be triggered on the other end," he said.

"Then I guess we need—"

"A volunteer," said Obi-Wan. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Obi-Wan, wait—!"

He stepped between the metal teeth and onto the circle at the center of the base. It sank six inches from his weight, lighting up red.

He waited some moments before frowning. "Mister Adler, you're sure there's no aaaahhhhhhhh!"

Red light made a cylinder around him. Like scarlet fire it wrenched out screams. He yelled and retched. Smelled his flesh. It must burning. I'm not pure. Of course I'm not. I'm burning burning.

Padme screamed. "Obi-Wan! Help him!"