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Chapter 23
The Red Window
The crew assembled in stellar cartography. Flickering in the air, Neecho's black sites seemed impenetrable.
Julian levered out of his chair, face warped into a rictus. "Great—three options. How do we know which one's right?"
"We can't know," said Padme. "We have to choose one."
"If we choose wrong, they'll both be dead."
"We're aware of the stakes, Doctor," Obi-Wan said. "None of the three is a better candidate. But distance matters."
"How's that?" asked Julian.
"Site A, the jungle; and Site B, the cavern, are within a hundred-mile radius. If we strike out at one, we might have time to try the other."
"What about the third site?"
"It's on the other side of the planet," Obi-Wan said. "30 minutes' travel. If our friends aren't there, we'll have tipped off Neecho. He'll have plenty of time to do what he will."
Aayla's gut roiled at the thought. She tugged on her brain-tail.
Quinn said bluntly, "It's not a choice. It's arithmetic."
Palmer sneered. If there are fulcrums in the Force, he was their negative. He was the outline of a drawing cut out of paper. "Arithmetic? The answer's in front of you and you're doing math."
"Enlighten us," Obi-Wan said.
"Don't ask a beggar for the meaning of life. But he'll teach you how to beg."
Obi-Wan crinkled his eyes. Perhaps their only chance was an unspoken malefaction against the Force. "Indeed. Aayla, I withhold my judgment for an appropriate time. Right now, I need you."
Aayla's coupling with Miler betrayed the Jedi Code. Admitting it now would etch it in history, perhaps prompting her expulsion. But she'd rather face that with Miler than be a Jedi alone.
She closed her eyes and entered meditation.
At first, there was nothing: an empty star field. Except the stars were like pictures, possessing no gravity, and thus nothing drew her in. Her energy dissolved in the vapid blackness. "I can't see anything."
Obi-Wan's voice had a tinny echo: "Don't refuse the path."
"I don't understand."
He said, "You created something, with Miler, that the Force did not intend. It tethers you together across space and time."
"Love," said Julian.
Obi-Wan beseeched her: "Concentrate, Aayla. Think of how you feel when you're in his presence. His Current: the core of who he is."
Padme squirmed. Aayla shouldn't have to pour her heart out in a room full of people.
"Think of the last time you saw him," Obi-Wan pressed. "Place yourself there. Find his Current..."
Aayla's faced twitched. There were paths, and dead ends, and switchbacks leading to more dead ends. But at the edge of everything, she heard Miler's voice, humming a hymn, and followed it blindly. The Force offered other things, light and dark, but she followed the river that connected their Currents, swept up and invigorated by Miler's love.
Aayla's brow creased. Her hands trembled at her sides.
Miler's bright, naive eyes bore into her depths. "I know it's wrong for ya. I know it couldn't be. But Aayla, I love ya. Call it madness—or the will of the Force—I love you."
He ran to a t-junction, taking a left. Suddenly the nondescript metal that encased every corridor was replaced by glass. The ceiling, floor, and walls were like one large window. An endless ocean sprawled out before him.
Aayla gasped. Her eyes shot open. "Water! I saw water! He's at the third site!"
Julian flattened his mouth. "If you're wrong..."
"She's not wrong," said Obi-Wan.
Quinn slithered to his feet with a sphinxlike stare. "Let us rescue the fools."
"Don't be foolish," Vos chided. "You must confront pain. Only then does it lose power."
Aayla pulled at her brain-tail. His slippery voice made her restless. "Pain is not to be kept," she quoted Mace. "We must release it into the Force."
"Pain released unbidden will find you again. And be stronger for having roamed."
"Then we confront it like Jedi. The path is not easy. But if we do not walk it, what good are we to anyone?"
"Define 'good.'"
Aayla was aghast. "It can't be defined. Good just is."
"Perhaps you're right," Vos said. "Let's try to find it."
Aayla was peering at him through the darkness. It was nighttime on Kashyyyk, and the sky was full of stars, but the canopy of trees was a lid on its beauty. The Shadowlands were silent, dark limbs holding court. Neither spider nor wookiee chanced an appearance.
"What do you suggest?" she asked.
Vos leaned on his elbow, utterly serene. "Tell me about your childhood. What do you remember?"
"I remember it was short. My childhood ended when the Jedi found me."
"I assure you, Aayla: when we met, you were a youngling."
"Biologically. In behavior. But in my thoughts, I was a thousand years old."
Naked curiosity shone in his eyes. "And what is it made you wise?"
"I didn't say 'wise.' I merely said 'old.'"
"I would hear your story that I might know the difference."
Aayla unfurled her legs, leaning against a tree. Her master's silhouette seemed to loom over her. "I remember my mother. Our house on Ryloth. We lived near the Bright Lands, where the planet faced the sun. The heat was unbearable."
"What did she look like?" asked Vos.
"She was tall for a woman, with light pink skin. She had a very old scar down the side of her face. I think we had the same cheekbones. But maybe we didn't. It was a long time ago."
Vos' eyes crinkled with focus. "There was a window," said Aayla. "A red window on the bottom floor. It was tall, and thick, to block the heat."
"You remember the window. Why?"
"Because I used to look through it," she said.
"And what did you see?"
Aayla's skin chilled with a wave of emotion. She touched her leather headband, staring at the ground. "Men. The occasional woman, but mostly men. Come to take out their rage, or sorrow, for whatever pittance my mother charged them."
Vos said with no inflection, "Your mother was a prostitute."
She chortled darkly. The sadness on her face was cleansed by anger. "She was many things. That mightn't have been the worst of them."
"What could be worse?" Vos wondered.
Aayla was silent. His probing gaze had her shifting on her rear. He tipped his head and asked, "What was her fate?"
Aayla's anger matured. In her mind's eye she saw debauchery. She hated her mother, and hated herself for hating her, and hated the men whose hate had started the dominoes. Her brain-tail ached where she clenched it. She looked dangerously at her master.
Vos split his face in a toothy grin.
"Now you are strong," he said.
Han didn't care that his knuckles were broken. It was something like sex, satisfaction deferred for enjoyment of the journey. Landon's eye was swollen shut, rimmed in red where blood vessels burst. He prayed to black out but was savagely lucid.
"Good," laughed Neecho. "Good, Han..."
Han found another gear at his mentor's praise. He took Landon's head, slammed it on the table. Then he jammed his thumb into Landon's good eye. His father screamed, legs kicking wildly. Han took Landon's knee and twisted sharply. Landon howled as his kneecap left its socket.
Han grabbed his jaw. "There's no running this time," he growled in his face.
Every corridor looked the same. But Miler's penchant for detail allowed their distinguishment. Scars in the metal, discolored doors marked where he'd been.
He moved in a stealthy creep. His shackled hands preceded him, clenched into fists. He'd yet to see a soul. In Neecho's paranoia, there were no security cameras.
Miler heard a faint rustle. He proceeded silently along the wall, peeking around the corner. A steel door opened, flashing a sign that read "Control Center." Two men walked out brandishing rifles.
Miler pulled his head back. He held his breath. He could hear his blood like a creeping tide.
"What the hell is he doing down here anyway?" one of the men asked.
"What do you care?" the other man scoffed. "He doesn't pay us to be curious."
Miler focused his hearing. Their footsteps, vibrating the deck, slowly diminished. Risking a look, he found them walking the other way.
"You take east. I've got west." They disappeared down separate corridors.
Miler looked at the door. The hinge squealed as it slowly swung shut. He ran as quietly as he could, catching the handle. He snaked through the opening.
A Woman gasped, leaping from her chair. "What are you doing here?!"
Miler presented his hands. "I'm not gonna hurt ya." He looked about, adding with a harder edge: "But you are gonna help me. What is this room?"
The Woman reeked of death sticks, with a messy bun that summed her up nicely. Around her were computers, clunky anachronisms in need of replacement. She stammered, "I—I—I just keep an eye on things."
"What kind of things?" Miler demanded.
The Woman sputtered, "Neecho—if he—when he has orders—I relay them upstairs—or I—I get him information!"
Miler tightened his jaw. Displayed behind her was the photo from his navy ID. She pleaded through a sheen of tears: "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please don't—"
"Shut up!" Soon the guards would find Augustan. And the place would be swarming. "How do I get out of here?"
"Besides the elevator? There is no other way."
"There's always a way."
"No, there isn't! Not unless you plan to walk out an airlock."
Miler glanced off. The airlock. It was crazy to consider. Yet 'crazy' had become his last, best hope. He couldn't do it alone, though.
"The radio," he said. "Is this a secure line?"
The Tangent streaked over mountains. Obi-Wan pushed the ship to its absolute limit. Screws and bolts fell from the walls.
Aayla was behind him. He could feel her tension pour through the Force.
A sudden crackle ripped her from her thoughts. Her head snapped to the radio, blinking green.
"Dawn Tanget, this is Crata! Can anyone hear me?"
Hope flooded through Aayla. She tried to speak but was too overcome.
"We copy, Miler!" Obi-Wan said. "Where are you? Are you all right?"
"For the moment," Miler's voice hissed. "We were captured. A man named—"
"Neecho," said Obi-Wan. "R2 filled us in. What's your location?"
"I'm under the bloody ocean!"
Aayla wrestled her voice from the clutches of emotion. "I know exactly where you are. We're already close. Send us coordinates and we'll pick you up."
Even now, his voice brimmed with affection. "I'll do what I can, love. But Neecho has an army. They'll be here any moment."
"Then get out of there!"
"It ain't that easy. The bloke has Landon."
"Can you get to him?" asked Obi-Wan.
"Fifty-fifty," said Miler.
Aayla's Jedi instincts were pushed down inside her. "You can't take the chance! You have to get out of there!"
A staticky pause. She let herself hope. But this was foolish, for she knew him too well. "I'm not gonna leave 'im."
"He wouldn't come back for you."
"I know," said Miler.
Aayla felt tears rolling down her face. Her quivering lip pulled into her mouth.
"Brave heart, Aayla. I'll see ya soon."
The shriek of alarms pulled Neecho from his pleasure. He ran to the corridor, bathed in red light. He immediately surmised the source of the danger. "Report!" Neecho growled into his comlink.
A voice crackled back: "Augustan is dead! Culprit at large!"
The god damned fool! Bested by a grunt. Years of investment matured to a corpse.
He returned to the room, where a blood-bathed Han waited for news. "Your mercy has been betrayed," Neecho lamented.
Landon looked up at Han with one cracked eye. It pleaded, and apologized, but there were no better angels to which it could appeal.
Han's hateful mask became one with his visage. "Enough, old man."
Klaxons wailed all around him. Harried shouts filled the halls. Emergency strobe lights painted him red.
Miler knew he couldn't hide. He had to go through them.
Two Rodians appeared brandishing rifles. Miler swung his shackles, cracking one in the face. The other lifted his gun. Miler kicked his leg, dropping him to a knee. Another blow with his shackles knocked the man out.
He grabbed his other foe, bashed his head against the wall. Blood soaked the dented mental.
Miler's heart pounded. He searched them for a sidearm. He wrenched it from the holster after panicked fumbling. More were coming, following the sound.
He pressed the blaster to his shackles. He shut his eyes. The shackles exploded. Debris pelted his face. Miler was a mess of bloody abrasions.
"There he is!"
A row of five—blasters locked. Miler tucked into a roll and came up firing. Three men dropped, smoking corpses. Helmet and skull bits skirred through the air.
Two left, a Gungan and Duros. Miler lowered his shoulder. He speared the Duros to the wall. Then he flipped their positions, blaster to his stomach. The Duros' innards exploded everywhere.
Miler threw the body. The Gungan avoided it. Using the delay, Miler shot him point-blank. The Gungan flew to the wall, dead when he hit. One vacant eye fell in his lap.
Miler sucked air. Bending forward, hands on his knees. He couldn't keep doing this. The flow of reinforcements had to be stopped.
He searched the bodies, taking a rifle and grenade. The halls were silent as he rushed to the elevator. He arrived at the same time as a car full of goons.
Miler pulled the grenade pin, clenching the trigger. He took comfort in knowing death, if it came, would be quick.
The elevator car bounced and then settled. He heard ten men, maybe fifteen.
The doors retracted. Halfway open, the grenade rolled through. The leader froze, meeting Miler's stare. "Shit! Everyone—!"
Fire, heat bloomed from the grenade. The car disappeared behind a swirl of orange. Metal shards, choked screams burst through the air.
The concussion wave knocked Miler to the ground. He rolled groaning to his side, pushing to his knees. The lights had blinked out. Jagged beams, charred corpses burned in the darkness.
The elevator car was rendered useless. But the shaft was intact. Reinforcements could still climb down. Had he bought enough time?
Miler's eyes hardened at the memory of a promise.
"I'll see ya soon."
The Tangent was dangerously close to Axxila's energy shield. Too high, too fast, but it wasn't enough. Aayla was gripping Obi-Wan's chair. "Faster! Faster!"
Aayla rushed through the trench, dodging blasterfire. No one had expected the speed of the attack. The Sith had breached their perimeter—how, no one knew—and punched through the commandos to the Jedi midline. Sonic booms punctuated the flicker of blaster bolts. Whirring lightsabers talked over nature.
Ahead was base camp, where the artillery was mounted. The guns had been dormant since the Sith began to push. The base was in a cavern, carved from the rock face. Aayla hurried inside. She leapt from the bottom of makeshift stairs to reach the artillery.
Aayla gasped at the stair-top. Ten commandos lay dead, neatly severed heads scattered about.
A familiar figure stood at the turbo-blaster. His hand froze on the console, and he turned to face Aayla. "Hello, padawan."
Her stomach plummeted. She stared disbelieving at his blood-blotted face. "What—" Aayla's voice cracked. "Master, what are you doing?"
A nimbus of dark energy surrounded Vos. He wore it like armor, fortified against his padawan's light. "I'm reprogramming the guns to attack the Republic."
Aayla trembled at his nonchalance. How could this be? Why did this happen? Vos heard the words she thought so carelessly. "I tried to tell you we must face our pain," he said. "The teachings of the Sith have set me free."
Vos smiled at the snap-hiss of her saber. "You are not my enemy, Aayla. You are truly special. Your passion is remarkable."
"I will never join you!"
"The Jedi cannot save you. You are still the little girl who looked through a window."
His accusation of rage provoked it into being. She cocked her saber, eyes tinged yellow. She felt real power. Just once she'd use it.
Aayla screamed. With a Force-assisted leap, she swung at her master. He ignited and blocked. Blue and green made music in the air. Aayla was skilled, but Vos had experience.
He easily repulsed her. Every counter deepened her anger. Aayla kicked him in the chest. He thudded the rock face but blocked a killing blow. She pressed the advantage, hammering repeatedly.
Vos exploited her pattern, swiping between shots. Aayla cried out at a hit to her side. She stumbled back, collapsing to the ground. The pain of the blow sent her body into shock.
Vos laughed, stepping on her neck. "Still that little girl..." He cocked his arm, before catching a blue glow in the corner of his eye.
Obi-Wan's saber sobered the Sith. "Did you think I wouldn't realize? You wear Darkness like a garment."
Vos scowled. The black heart in his chest ached for a fight. But he knew full well the Jedi outclassed him.
Vos reached for the ceiling. A telekinetic wave ripped a hole in the cavern. He leapt through the opening and escaped outside.
Obi-Wan crouched beside Aayla. The girl was sobbing. He checked the gash on her side before embracing her.
Even as she wept, like a child saved from a dream, he sensed remnants of the rage that had driven her to fight. "It's okay..."
Landon's face was a wreck. Egg-sized welts, blood-matted hair. His scalp was torn open, laid bare to the skull. He wheezed feebly, semi-conscious.
With one last punch, Han ceased his threshing. He took the blaster from Neecho's outstretched hand.
Landon was mumbling, syllables not words. His split lips pursed and he concentrated hard. "Son..."
Han flinched.
The door flew open. Han spun around. Miler blew him away. A glowing hole signaled his death.
"No!" Neecho dove at Miler. They tumbled to the ground. Miler rolled on top, throwing a punch. It landed true on the fleshy head. Green blood sprayed from a gash.
Neecho kneed him in the crotch. Miler dropped. Neecho looked for his blaster. But Miler was moving. The Duros broke for the door, disappeared into the hall.
Miler staggered to his feet and unshackled Landon. The dazed scoundrel stared at his son.
"He's gone," said Miler.
"No! No no no!"
Miler met him with savage straightforwardness. "Ya made your choices. Shut your bloody mouth."
Miler slung Landon's arm over his shoulder. He dragged him to the door. Landon squirmed in his grasp: "No! Please!"
They entered the hallway and Han disappeared. Landon's head drooped like a doll. His only son. The only good thing he'd done in his life.
A Twi'lek ran into the corridor. Miler blew his head off. Landon was dead weight sliding in his grasp. "Bloody walk!" growled Miler.
Landon obliged if barely. Cast in red light, he barely looked human. The screeching alarm urged him along, though.
Miler took the next turn. The airlock waited fifty feet on. He picked up speed, ignoring Landon's cries. "I'll see ya soon." He adjusted Landon, who helped less and less. "I'll see ya soon." Twenty more steps. "I'll see ya soon." Ten more steps.
A Bothan ran up the corridor behind them, firing at their backs. Just barely he missed. Miler dropped Landon, spinning and shooting. The Bothan fell back clutching his throat.
Miler grabbed Landon's collar. Gritting his teeth, he dragged him to the airlock. It was a small room with two pressure-sealed doors: one inner, one outer. Miler could see two pressure suits hanging on a rod.
He pulled Landon inside and dropped him on a bench.
A voice on the intercom shouted over the alarm: "Attention, all units! Proceed to the airlocks! Targets are escaping!" Neecho. Miler cursed his failure to kill him.
He handed Landon a pressure suit. It was surprisingly light, but in his weakened state, Landon struggled to hold it. Miler walked to a cabinet marked "Life Support." Inside were two tanks. The first was marked 'Oxygen,' the second 'Ammonia.' Miler growled at their luck.
"What's wrong?" Landon mumbled. Miler pulled him to his feet. "There's only one tank," he said, helping Landon into his suit.
"One tank..."
"We'll make do," said Miler.
"How?"
"How d'ya think? We'll take turns."
Landon chuckled hysterically, swayed on his feet. Miler kept him from falling and worked at his confidence. "I'm not gonna die," Miler said firmly. "Neither are you." He grabbed a helmet from the bench, snapping it over Landon. The suit blinked green.
Miler retrieved the oxygen tank. It fit neatly into a slot in the back of Landon's suit. "You're first. I'm next."
Miler turned to grabbed his suit, but Landon's hand stopped him. Landon's visor hid his face behind clean black glass. Yet Miler felt his stare, strangely intense. Landon's voice came modulated from inside his helmet. "I'm sorry, kid."
"I'll die of exertion," whined Aayla.
Eisley smiled indulgently. Kind eyes moored her ever-calm face. The wind ruined her side-part, whisking her locks myriad ways. "Hyperbole becomes you."
It was fall on Dantooine, and the Burad Mountains were rapidly cooling. It was a seven-mile hike to reach the first summit. Eisley had assigned her to carry both packs. She called it a lesson in perseverance.
Aayla fussed with her sweaty brain-tail. "How will this prepare me to be a warrior?"
"It won't. It will prepare you to be a Jedi."
"In a war for everything, they're one and the same."
Eisley watched two kath hounds fight over scraps. "A Jedi who goes to war may one day return. A warrior without a war has no place in the temple."
Aayla abandoned her challenge but conceded nothing. She adjusted their packs, finding the next peak. Eisley sighed at her impatience. "You push too hard," master told padawan. "Quinlan was the same."
Aayla glowered at his mention. "Quinlan was a Sith."
"It's a razor-thin line between Jedi and Sith."
"Worlds burn while you measure it."
Eisley watched one kath hound feast on the other. Its denuded jugular glistened in the sunlight. "I fear you see the Force through a red window on Ryloth." She braced against the anger rolling off her pupil. "You lived too long with your mother. Attachment leads to the Dark Side."
Aayla stared at her master, impregnably sure. "I would know love's foibles to bask in its joy."
Aayla paced in the cockpit. The ship hovered on the ocean, as it had for many minutes. These were the coordinates—double and triple-checked.
"Give it time," Padme said.
"They'll be here," added Obi-Wan.
Every coddling remark kindled Aayla's anger. She felt out of control, swathed in emotion unbridled and vast. She could almost hear Eisley judging her tumult.
"Something's wrong," said Julian. "They're taking too long."
Aayla's voice wavered. "He's right. We have to—"
Obi-Wan touched her arm. "They'll be here," he repeated.
"You don't know that! What if—"
R2's shriek silenced the cockpit. They looked out the window, finding a lone figure floating in the ocean. There was no movement, no sound. It was at the waves' mercy. Its identity was hidden behind a large pressure suit.
Aayla's brows mashed together. Her breath caught in her throat.
"There's only one," said Julian.
Obi-Wan looked at R2. "Take us in low. I'm going to get him."
He was soaked to the bone, tunic like an anchor. His muscles rippled as he heaved his crewmate onto the ramp. Julian took over, dragging the body to the deck.
Obi-Wan gulped a breath. He felt Padme grasp him. She pulled him to the ramp. He climbed to his feet and staggered inside.
The body didn't move inside its suit. Frost hid its face inside the helmet.
Obi-Wan trembled, water pooling at his boots. His chattering teeth grinded together. He caught Aayla's stare, filled with potentials at opposite extremes. She was a rocket lifting off; soon, relief; or soon, implosion.
Julian knelt down. He braced his hands on each side of the helmet. Steeling himself, he unveiled their crewmate.
Obi-Wan looked down at a beaten Landon. Nose dislodged, lacerations all over, both eyes black with one swollen shut. He was conscious if barely.
"Landon," said Obi-Wan, "where is Miler?"
Landon wheezed, staring at nothing. With the last of his strength, he shook his head.
Julian flinched, forcing back tears. Aayla's hand flew to her mouth. Her head dropped forward, a puppet cut from its strings. She stared wide-eyed at the deck beneath her.
Padme turned, swiping at her face. It didn't make sense. He'd survived Darth Vader, the betrayal of his commander. He'd escaped the cruel end that Grievous gave Sarna. Why? For what?
Drawing on the Force, for he lacked strength alone, Obi-Wan projected surety and calm. "Doctor," he said gently.
Julian lifted his head. "Yes. Quite right." He told Padme: "Give me a hand, ma'am."
At the perimeter of the room, Aayla stood in shadow. Her head was bowed, lekku clutched in a brutal grip. Her Force signature, which Obi-Wan knew as well as his own, was reduced to a tapestry of rage and denial. He tried to shut it out, for it nearly overwhelmed him.
He'd never seen anyone so disconsolate. He'd watched friends die, attended countless funerals. But this was something else. This wasn't pain. It was a wound in the Force.
He took a step toward her. Her brain-tail was dark from lack of blood flow. He pried her hand free. "Aayla—" he began, before his throat evacuated. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.
Aayla's eyes squeezed shut. His gentle voice broke her denial. Suddenly it came: Miler was dead. Aayla couldn't breathe. Miler was dead. Wild moans ripped from her throat. Miler was dead. She clutched Obi-Wan's tunic, and he took her in his arms.
"He promised..." sobbed Aayla.
Obi-Wan felt a tear jewel on his eyelid. "I'm so sorry..."
"What are you sorry for?" Miler asked.
"Everything," said Landon.
Whatever feeling was in his voice, the radio static washed it away.
Shouts rose in the distance, signaling danger. Landon gestured outside: "See if there's a blast door. We need to buy time."
Miler agreed. He dashed to the corridor. But there was no sign of a blast door. Neecho's mob rapidly approached.
Miler's head snapped at the sound of metal joints. The airlock door was closed and sealed. "Landon!" He ran to the door, pounding on the window. "Landon, what are you doing?! Open the bloody door!"
Miler's heart blasted. Fear swelled in his eyes like leveed water.
"There he is!" a voice shouted.
"Landon! You're killing me! Open the door! Open the bloody door!"
"I'm sorry," choked Landon.
"Don't do this!" cried Miler.
"There's only one tank. We'll never make it together."
"We can make it! I promise! We'll bloody make it, mate!"
"I can't take the chance."
"You son of a bitch! I will haunt you forever! Every moment, ya bloody—"
Blood sprayed on the window, misted in smoke. Miler's body dropped and vanished. Landon cried behind his helmet, watching Neecho's men arrive.
He staggered to the outer door. He punched the control. In seconds, the outer door opened and the room filled with water. Landon's suit protected him, but the temperature plummeted. The scoundrel's tears froze into crystal.
Promise kept.
Promise broken.
Landon moved forward.