7 months after the Battle of Yavin
Emerald and ruby laser-bolts were almost beautiful as they flashed against the dark of space, but Luke Skywalker had to weave a careful path between them lest his starfighter and his life vanish in a split-second inferno. The green ones came from TIE fighters, the red ones from X-wings like his own, but they were equally deadly.
The space directly ahead was lit up by those crisscrossing bolts. Plugged into the X-wing's dorsal socket, R2-D2 wailed an unnecessary warning. Luke was well aware that his shields were fried, his hull already pocked by scorches and fractures from when he'd been forced to dive through an exploding TIE earlier in the battle. One unlucky laser bolt, emerald or ruby, and it would all be over.
There was no time or space to break away. Luke plunged into the fray, twitching the control stick and dancing his X-wing around the bolts. He moved without thinking, relying on split-second instinct to save him, just like it had in the Death Star trench and Beggar's Canyon as a boy.
Instinct and perhaps something more, something he was only beginning to understand.
The lethal moment lasted forever and no time at all. As fast as they'd come the bolts disappeared and Luke soared free through black space. Artoo squealed and Luke exhaled, both in relief, but the battle wasn't done. Tugging the control stick, he wheeled his X-wing around until space's cool backdrop was again broken by the red and green flash of lasers, the blue burn of starship drives, and the glinting gray of metal hulls.
When the convoy had kicked off from the Rebel base at Kemparis they'd had eleven transports, mostly Gallofree Yards bulk transports, plus a couple Corellian Action-model freighters and a Sullustan carrier called Armiger. The Imperials had come after them as soon as they'd breached orbit, bringing two Carracks and three full squadrons of TIEs. The two Imp cruisers were still giving chase, but the convoy had been winnowed down to just the carrier, one Action freighter, and three transports. They'd cleared Kemparis's gravity well but the Imperial harassment was fierce. TIEs swarmed around the remaining transports like angry piranha-beetles and it was impossible for the ships to escape to lightspeed.
"This is Chancer's Luck," a cry crackled over Luke's headset, and he recognized it as the last Corellian freighter. "We've taken heavy aft damage… engines failing… Ejecting escape pods… We'll try to hold them off..."
The static became too much and the transmission ended. Luke pointed his nose at Chancer's Luck and accelerated; even from a distance the ship looked like it was in bad shape. It was limping along, flame trailing from its engine section, the lead Carrack cruiser right behind it. Artoo whistled, calling his attention to sensors, which marked a half-dozen pods escaping from the cruiser.
The sick part was, the escapees' fate would be no better. Within minutes that Carrack would be in range to reel them in, and the Luck's crew would end up Imperial prisoners; possibly a fate worse than death.
A clearer voice came on Luke's headset: "Rogue Leader, this is Rogue Five. Do we protect the pods?"
It was the exact question that needed to be asked, but Luke had no good answer. Armiger might theoretically be able to scoop them up; as a carrier it had good long-range tractor beams. But if it lingered the lead Carrack would be on it, and Armiger might not survive that brawl.
In a second, the equation changed. Chancer's Luck strained its dying engines, changed course, and began accelerating as best it could. Directly ahead of it: the Carrack cruiser.
"Oh, stang, she's going to ram," another pilot gasped.
The Imperials saw Chancer's Luck coming and the Carrack unleashed a full barrage from its forward guns. At the same time, the TIEs swarmed back to their base ship and tried to knock the Luck off course, but Correllian bulk freighters were durable machines, and nothing would veer this one from its final course.
The two massive ships collided head-to-head. For a moment the explosion was so bright Luke had to look away. When he glanced back he saw very little was left of Chancer's Luck. It seemed to have dissolved into a massive tangle of debris that only partway resolved into the aft half of the Carrack cruiser. The rest of that ship was gone, and what part of it remained was jettisoning its own escape pods.
Luke watched it all from a distance and felt very, very tired.
And then things got even worse. Armiger's captain hailed him next, saying, "Rogue Leader, we need you to approach the Carrack and take out its escape pods."
"What? Captain, can you say that again-"
"We're going to pull in whoever we can from the Luck but we need you to keep the TIEs distracted by going after their escape pods."
"But Captain, that's-"
"It's the only way. You have your orders, Rogue Leader."
And just like that, the line clicked off. Luke felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to point his X-wing in the complete opposite direction and jump far, far away, even if it meant leaving the convoy behind.
He was sick of this war. When he'd first joined, he'd felt terrified and sad for the loss of Ben and Biggs, but he'd also been flushed with victory. In destroying the Death Star he'd vanquished a great evil, struck a bigger blow against the Empire than he'd ever dreamed he'd make, and learned his first lesson about the mysterious Force which was apparently his birthright. The universe had never felt so grand or full of promise.
But those heady days were gone. In the seven months since he'd blown up the Death Star, the Empire had renewed its assault and the Rebels had been forced to retreat from one base after another. They'd even had to flee from Yavin Four, site of his triumph. Luke had lost count of how many grueling rear-guard actions he'd fought, how many lives he'd seen wink out in flashes of green and red.
As for the Force, he was starting to wonder if it wasn't hokey tales after all.
He had to focus on the now. He'd been ordered to attack the escape pods. Helpless escape pods, packed with panicked crew.
"Rogue Leader, what do we do?" Rogue Five prodded him.
Armiger's captain was right. The crew from Chancer's Luck deserved saving; their ship's sacrifice may have bought the convoy it's one chance of survival. And that meant Luke had to do his part. There were some lines he wouldn't cross, orders or no…. But he could at least make a show of it.
To his pilots he said, "All Rogues, we're going after the dead Carrack. Harass the TIEs and draw them off Armiger when she goes for the rescue. And… make it look like we're going for the escape pods."
A tiny pause, then Rogue Four: "Sir, did we hear that right?"
"I didn't say shoot the pods. Just shoot at them."
"Got it," Four said with relief. "On our way."
As Luke dove toward the dying Carrack he asked R2-D2, "Have you got any juice back in the shields, Artoo?"
The astromech whined a negative.
It had been too much to hope for anyway. Other X-wings got to the Carrack ahead of Luke as he watched his pilots weave around the expanding debris field and flash their red lasers across the drifting hull. TIEs joined in, and the pretty, multi-colored death show began anew.
At a chirp from R2, Luke checked his long-range sensors and saw that the lead two Gallofree transports had jumped to lightspeed. That left one more to run, plus Armiger. The Luck's sacrifice had brought the chasing Imperials to a halt and just might save the rest of the convoy. Luke prayed his own battered ship would last him through the fight.
When he joined the battle, he did as he'd ordered the others to do. He fired red bolts at the broken hull and a few in the direction of the escape pods, always aiming carefully to make sure he didn't land a hit on the fragile capsules. That was enough to draw the TIEs, and soon he, like the others, was engaged in a fierce dogfight around the spreading debris field.
He had no qualms about shooting down TIEs that were trying to kill him. The Imperial ships were fast and agile but also poorly-protected and the broad octagonal solar arrays were easy targets when approached from the flank. Luke crested the Carrack's topside then came down on a pair of passing TIEs. He easily clipped one solar array and sent the fighter spinning out of the control. The other dodged his attacks and ducked beneath the Carrack. Rather than pursue, Luke pulled up and accelerated before wheeling around in order to give him a better view of the battle zone.
He immediately spotted two TIEs giving chase to an X-wing and rushed to help. His sensors marked the ship as Rogue's Four; an Outer Rim bush pilot just as young as him, who'd signed on in those heady days after Yavin.
"I've got you, Four," Luke told him. "Get ready to veer port on my mark."
"Hurry up, Lead, I've lost my shields and these things are fast."
Indeed they were. They were gaining on Four's X-wing and he'd strayed dangerously close to the debris field, perhaps to discourage pursuit. That wasn't working but Luke was almost within firing range.
"Get ready," he told Four. "Do it… now."
Four broke left and the TIEs mimicked his move. Relying on instincts instead of his targeting computer, Luke tapped his trigger and sent out a spray of lasers. They shot ahead of the nearer TIE but took the other one dead-on, punching into the cockpit and turning into a blossoming fireball.
The other TIE broke hard starboard, but not before popping off a few green shots at Rogue Four. One of them hit, and Luke saw fire spark from the X-wing's upper-starboard engine.
"Four, are you alright?" he called.
"I can hold it, Lead. Just give me a-"
Rogue Four vanished in a burst of flame and shrapnel. Luke's heart fell into his stomach; against the fireball he could just barely see the black fleck of debris Four must have collided with. A piece of the Carrack or a chunk of Chancer's Luck, what did it matter? Like laser bolts, wreckage knew no sides and killed indiscriminately.
Yet another pointless death. That sick, tired feeling came on Luke again, the feeling that he wanted, needed to get away from all this-
Then R2 screamed and green bolts whipped over his head, dangerously close. Luke immediately dove down and checked his scanner. Somehow that other TIE must have come around and gotten behind him. Luke pulled away from the debris field to avoid sharing Rogue Four's fate, but the TIE on his tail was good, and without shields all it would take was one lucky hit to end the career of Luke Skywalker, Jedi's son turned farmboy turned Rebel hero.
More green flashed overhead and R2 wailed again. Then red bolts cut higher above and a concussive force buffeted his ship. Luke checked his scanners and released a deep, relieved breath.
"Thanks Wedge," Luke said, "You really saved my tail."
"Don't worry, Luke, we've got your back. Can't afford to lose you now."
Rogue Five settled close on Luke's aft and in sync the two X-wings wheeled back toward the Carrack. Luke spotted another starfighter burst into flames- thankfully a TIE- but it brought him back to Rogue Four, and Rouge Eleven, who'd they'd lost earlier in the fight. Even simple fall-back actions cost too many lives. In a few months he'd forget their names, just like he'd already forgotten half the people who'd died on the Death Star attack.
Then relief came with the crackle of static and the voice of Armiger's captain. "Rogue Squadron, we've recovered all escape pods and are preparing to withdraw. Bring your fighters home."
Rogue Twelve whooped audibly over the headset; a few other pilots chuckled but most knew not to call it victory until they were safely in hyperspace. "You heard the man," Luke told his pilots. "All ships, fall back now!"
The X-wings raced back to the carrier's broad flat form. A few TIEs gave pursuit but most lingered around the dead Carrack. The Imperials seemed satisfied with destroying half the convoy; enough to call a victory, perhaps, or at least a draw. In truth neither side had won today. Lots of people had died, and nobody had won.
Luke closed his S-foils and slowed down as he soared into Armiger's hangar bay. Its broad deck contained a few of the reeled-in escape pods too, some of which had been badly damaged. As the carrier shuddered into hyperspace, Luke popped his cockpit open and immediately got a whiff of smoke. One pod in particular had been badly hit and fire suppression teams had surrounded the capsule to spray it with foam.
Maybe it was instinct or maybe it was the Force, but Luke sensed a lot of panic from that pod even after they'd put out the fire. Without waiting for flight crews to roll up a ladder, he jumped off the nose of his fighter and trotted across the deck, dodging mechanics and other pilots as he made his way to the pod. When he got closer he saw that an impact, probably debris, had concaved the pod's hull, warping the hatch in a way that prevented opening. Emergency workers were still spraying coolant onto the superheated metal. Luke heard crew arguing over how to get inside before the passengers ran out of air or got cooked by their own pod. They were talking about placing charges and blowing the hatch open, but that might also injure those inside.
Luke had a different, simpler solution: his lightsaber. Well, his father's lightsaber. Luke still couldn't think of thing as his own, even though he practiced with it in his scant spare time. Igniting it in public always drew looks, some shocked, some afraid, some adoring. He wasn't used to any of them and rarely took it out, though he still carried it with him in a sealed pouch at his belt.
Lives were at stake, and this was no time for embarrassment. Luke called loudly, "Clear the way, please!" and strode past the rescue crews. They looked at him in confusion until they saw him draw out the lightsaber and ignite it.
Taking the weightless weapon in both hands, Luke stepped up to the escape pod's steaming hull and carefully plunged his blade through. Metal glowed and melted in front of his eyes and he carefully moved the superheated blade around the edge of the hatch, cutting through its warped frame and gnarled seal like they were warm butter.
When he completed his work he stepped away, lightsaber lit and dangling at his side. The rescue crews moved in, placed magnetic clamps on the hatch, and quickly tore it open. The first thing to escape the pod was smoke. It billowed out into the hangar, grim and ominous, but then the first man pushed his way out of the pod, then another and another. Luke watched as seven total staggered out, all of them hacking smoke. Their bodies were bruised, their clothes singed and dark with ash. They waved rescue crews inside, and soon more injured were being pulled out on stretchers.
Nobody said anything to Luke. The lightsaber seemed to have that effect on people. Just the sight of it disarmed them, like its very existence was a denial of the reality they'd heretofore known. Luke understood; he felt the same way about his father's weapon.
And then, to his surprise, one of the first men out of the pod, a balding middle-aged human with soot all over his face and bloodshot eyes, staggered toward Luke and rasped, "Is it… is it really you? That saber, it has to be."
Before the man could fall forward and impale himself, Luke shut off the weapon. "Who do you think I am?"
"Why, you've got to be Star… no, Skywalker. The one who killed the Death Star."
Luke's lips pressed tight. Though the Alliance leaders had put out a statement proudly proclaiming their victory over the Emperor's superweapon, they'd put out no official word as to who'd landed the killing blow. For his own safety, they'd said, and Luke had no qualms about that. He wanted to be a hero, but he was no glory-hound. However, the Rebel Alliance was a small organization in many ways, and of course rumors about him spread, even to lowly freighter-crew.
The injured man clapped hands on Luke's shoulder and looked him up and down. "Amazing… It really is you… I never thought we'd have a Jedi with us again."
Normally when people called Luke a Jedi he immediately corrected them, but his mind latched onto that again. He felt a bittersweet flutter and asked, "Are you talking about Ben Kenobi? Did you know him?"
"Kenobi? No…. Not Kenobi. The other ones. General Kota… and Starkiller."
Luke frowned. The name Kota was vaguely familiar; he thought he'd heard it in reference to a fallen Rebel general. But Starkiller was such an unusual name, like his own but harder, almost cruel-sounding.
"This Kota and Starkiller… They were Jedi?"
"Yes, yes. They were amazing… At Kamino, when we took out the cloning facility... I'd never seen anything like it. They were like… heroes from old stories..."
"I'm… not like them."
"But you are, I know you are!" Those bloodshot eyes bore into his. "You destroyed the Death Star, didn't you?"
"Well… yes."
"I knew it… I knew Jedi could..." Suddenly the man retched and coughed against Luke's chest. He put hands on the man's arms to hold him upright. Still weak and swaying, the man stared at Luke with adulation. "Jedi can work miracles. I've seen it. I was with Kota's commandos then… I saw Starkiller defeat Darth Vader. He took him captive."
Vader. That ominous name, that black shadow of a man who Luke had glimpsed only briefly on the Death Star, slicing through Ben Kenobi with a red blade. His teacher's killer and, so Ben had said, the killer of his father. He'd also known, through the Force perhaps, that Vader had been there in the Death Star trench, shooting down pilot after pilot, chasing Luke himself to the very edge of death.
Nobody could defeat Darth Vader, not even Ben. The smoke and heat must have made this poor man delusional.
"You've been hurt, sir, you really need to lie down." Luke raised his voice. "Can we get a medic for this one?"
The man still stared up at Luke, hands clawing his shoulders. "With you on our side we can't fail. I know it... I..." His words dissolved into hacking coughs again.
This time a white-clothed medic took the man by the shoulders and pulled him back. The man released his grip on Luke reluctantly and allowed himself to be led away.
Luke tried to walk off his shock. The flight deck was busy with pilots and crew doing post-battle cleanup and with his lightsaber sheathed he was back to being anonymous. It made sense that some Jedi would have fought the Empire, and he did recall hearing about a raid on that clone factory, but he couldn't believe the part about defeating Darth Vader.
Nonetheless, when Luke headed to the Rogues' cramped locker room, he spotted Wedge walking ahead of him and hurried down the hall to tap his friend on the shoulder.
"Ah, Luke," the brown-haired pilot said, "How did your X-wing make do? Is Artoo intact?"
"Artoo's fine," Luke said. "Wedge… didn't you say you were with the Rebels when they hit the old cloning facilities at Kamino?"
Wedge stopped and gave him a look. "Yeah, I was. That was less than two years ago but it feels like forever. I was brand new then and stuck flying a Y-wing. Why?"
Luke couldn't believe he was asking this question. "Was there a… Jedi at this battle?"
"There was a Jedi general, I think, with the ground troops. His name was Kota. But like I said, I was in a Y-wing."
"Was there another Jedi? Somebody else, called Star-killer?"
Wedge's eyes slipped away from his. "Let's get out of the hall and someplace quiet, all right?"
Wedge led Luke past the Rogues' locker room and down another hall to an equipment storage room. When the door closed behind them they were sealed in silence amongst the racks of foodstuffs and droid parts. A single overhead light shone down on Wedge's face, adding shadows and lines that made him look older.
Everything felt suddenly grave. Luke said, "There was a Jedi called Starkiller, wasn't there?"
Wedge twitched a shrug. "I don't know. When I was in my Y-wing, flying my attack runs, I picked up this… extra rider."
"You mean like a stowaway?"
"No, I mean he was clinging to the outside of my Y-wing. He rode me to the cloning spires."
"And he was human?"
"He was human and he had a lightsaber." Wedge shook his head. "And when he wanted to get off, he just… jumped, hundreds of meters. Nobody should have been able to do that. Nobody could have survived it. But I guess Jedi can do amazing things."
"Why didn't you mention this before?"
"Honestly, I thought I'd lost my damned mind. I asked around after the battle but everyone was so evasive. I'm just a snubfighter pilot. I know there's a lot I'm not meant to hear, but this didn't feel like some ordinary need-to-know secret."
He trailed off. Luke pressed, "Did you find anything?"
"Just rumors. Some said there was a Jedi who helped organize the Rebellion and get all its leaders together. I asked if they meant General Kota and they said yes, but there was another Jedi too."
"Starkiller."
"I don't know. I've never heard that name before. How did you hear it?"
"One of the men who escaped the Chancer's Luck. He was injured, so I wasn't sure if he was making sense, but he said he was at Kamino with General Kota and Starkiller." Luke swallowed. The next part was the most incredible of all. "He said Starkiller defeated Darth Vader. He beat him in a fight and captured him."
Wedge gnawed his lip. "There was a rumor that we captured Vader at Kamino. In fact, I heard that from people on the ground team. But obviously he got away from us."
"I can't believe there's a Jedi out there who took down Vader, and nobody told me about it."
"There's got to be a reason..." Wedge winced. "Listen, Luke, when we raided Kamino everybody thought it was a big victory, the kind that could unite the whole galaxy behind our cause. But things went bad after that."
"Don't they always?"
"I mean a lot worse than after Yavin, and a lot faster too. I didn't take part in it, but I know there was some other engagement shortly afterwards. They say we lost General Kota there. In fact, I think we might have lost everybody. If we did capture Vader, that's probably where he broke free."
"Where was the battle?"
"I have no idea. Our leaders don't like to advertise crushing defeats." Luke gave a sigh of frustration and Wedge threw up his hands. "I'm sorry, all I know are rumors."
"And that a Jedi hitched a ride on your Y-wing."
"Honestly, I'm still not sure I didn't hallucinate that part. You hear all these stories about Jedi and the miracles they can do, but actually seeing them is something else."
"I know what you mean," Luke muttered, and stroked his palm against his lightsaber's pouch.
Wedge knew what he kept in there. "Listen, Luke, if you really want to know about other Jedi who helped the Rebellion, you're going to have to talk to somebody more important than me."
"I intend to."
The survivors of the Kemparis convoy were due to rendezvous with the Alliance fleet in the Atrivis sector. Unless things had changed one of those 'higher-ups' would be with the Atrivis fleet. This was a 'higher-up' he knew quite well, though perhaps not as well as he'd thought if she'd been keeping the story of these Jedi from him.
Once they reached their destination, he'd get all the answers he needed from her.
-{}-
Reviewing after-action reports was one of those unglamorous necessities of a command position. No one enjoyed it but everyone had to do it, whether you were a lowly frigate caption or a grand admiral of the Imperial navy. When he'd ascended to the latter rank, Rufaan Tigellinus had considered consigning this task to a deputy but decided against it. There was sometimes important information in these reports that less keen eyes would miss, and no mind was as keen as his.
Thus he devoted three hours a day to reading reports. Usually those hours were spent in his private cabin aboard his star destroyer Avatar, which currently drifted along the Corellian Run on the outer edge of the Expansion Region. There'd been a lot of Rebel activity in this area recently and he'd been forced to spread his ships wide to ferret them out.
In the past day alone, his ships had engaged with the Rebels at Wendacca, New Cov, Kemparis, and Cularin. The terrorists had slipped away at New Cov but at Wendacca and Cularin they'd been wiped out entirely, he was pleased to read. Kemparis had been something of a draw: half a convoy destroyed at the expense of a light cruiser. Nonetheless, it would be easy to spin that as a win when he passed on his own report to his superior. And for a grand admiral there was only one superior. He answered to the Emperor alone.
Tigellinus and his Avatar had not taken part in any of those engagements. It was not that he was afraid to battle the enemy directly- he'd done it many times- but as a grand admiral his duty was to oversee and administer rather than jump at every Rebel shadow. That task seemed to belong to Lord Darth Vader himself. To the secret dissatisfaction of many a fleet officer, Vader hadn't perished with Tarkin on the Death Star. No, he'd survived and the Emperor had gifted him a super star destroyer to boot. With the massive Executor under his command, Vader was scouring the Outer Rim clear of Rebels, especially the ones who'd destroyed said Death Star. He'd gotten off to a bad start by botching the Yavin blockade, but he nonetheless clung to the Emperor's favor and every fleet officer he crossed paths with was compelled to give whatever ships, supplies, and men he requested.
Tigellinus wasn't happy overseeing the galaxy's mediocre middle, but at least his posting kept him clear of Vader.
When he'd reviewed every after-action report, the grand admiral transferred his body and the glass of Raltiir wine he'd been sipping to his writing-desk. As he'd done dozens of times before, he drafted a summary of all actions under his purview, re-read it multiple times, and when he was satisfied signed and encrypted the report so that only the Emperor could view it.
There. Duty was done, and now Tigellinus could begin more pleasant tasks.
He went over to his cabin's communications suite and opened a link to the bridge. Avatar 's Captain Roddiger was a man from a good old Alsakan family, and when his holo-image appeared he was already snapped to salute.
"Your orders, Grand Admiral?"
"I am sending you a data package. Tight-beam it to Coruscant immediately."
"Yes, Grand Admiral. I'll have communications sent it right away."
"Good. Do you have my shuttle prepared?"
"It's standing by as requested."
"I will be at the hangar in twenty minutes. I want it crewed and prepped for takeoff when I arrive."
"Yes, Grand Admiral."
"Once I depart I expect to be gone for nine standard days. You are in command of Avatar and all regional operations in that time."
"Thank you, Grand Admiral."
The link shut off. Tigellinus liked Roddiger; the captain always showed him the respect he deserved. The respect he'd earned. Though Tigellinus spoke with a perfect Coruscanti accent he wasn't a native; he wasn't even from the Core. No, he'd been born on Cyrillia, one speck in the galaxy's mediocre middle. His family had been affluent by local standards and he'd thought himself refined until he'd attended the naval academy on Anaxes and learned was real high culture was. In the twenty years since he'd done everything to prove himself worthy of that elite company, chasing down terrorists, pirates, and whatever other vermin threatened the Empire. When he'd been awarded the white uniform and gold epaulets of a grand admiral, one of only twelve in the galaxy and the youngest to receive the honor, he'd thought he'd reached the pinnacle.
Babysitting the Slice was not the height he'd desired. He was determined to climb higher still, and if this week-long sabbatical didn't nudge him upward he could at least enjoy the company of a higher class of people.
When Tigellinus arrived at his shuttle it was prepared and ready to fly, just as requested. After he boarded the shuttle it sailed out of Avatar's private hangar bay, spread its wings, vectored toward the faint lights of the galaxy's Core, and burst into hyperspace.
As he settled back in the shuttle's well-appointed cabin, Tigellinus poured himself a little more Raltiir wine. Until he climbed higher he'd have to be satisfied with this, a brief sojourn to the place where he belonged.