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Chapter 47

Out of Silence Came Wonder

When a child's only known peace, he creates a menagerie of fears far worse than his reality.

When he's only known war, when things can't get worse, parents are empowered to curate narratives. They convince him that life is oh-so-normal.

In a Coruscant shopping mall, little Braka hung on his mom's leg, oblivious to the weapons and strained voices all around him.

Parents Porter and Nara whispered harshly.

"What am I supposed to do?" Porter demanded.

"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."

"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."

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 scooped him up, held him to his chest, as Nara turned a corner.

Trail stood at the window, hands clasped behind him. Republic armor was surprisingly flexible.

His exquisite forgery identified him as Lieutenant Paul Hatcher, a recent academy graduate. By necessity of Veers' plan, he'd received a battlefield promotion; Commander Hatcher was now leader of Company 12K1.

Fennec, Lang, and Wheet posed as civilian recruits.

"Excuse me? Commander Hatcher?"

At his 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, 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 heard 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." 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 degradation. For hundreds of years, his irreplaceability had been sufficient armor. But in a matter of days, Kenobi and Sidious tore it from his person.

Manhandled. Knocked out. Locked in a room. Brought food by a droid, who'd tell him nothing.

The Master had never been a prisoner. His captor would suffer. But the good doctor could have his uses. Taciturn—naive—foolishly sentimental—but his mind was keen the little time that he used it.

The Master was testing the walls when R2 announced himself. "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." 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 he 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."

The dark lord bowed 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 said, "R2-D2 will 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."

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 stroked his beard. His head turned sideways. "The flames are shaped like—letters? It sure ain't Basic, though."

Obi-Wan realized, "It's a password..."

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

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

Brummel's stern glance sent him slinking. His brow raised expectantly.

The grin on Coda's face could have powered the Tangent.

"Virtue," she said.

And the great stone rumbled.

Wheet felt like a peasant wearing this tunic. "Next time, you play civilian..."

"Suck it up," Trail said.

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

Fennec studied her Republic-issued blaster. The civilian weapons were old, beaten. She doubted they were 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 ran hot before meeting Jedi.

Three days prior, 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 confront them?

Even if it wasn't, Windu was known to pierce people's thoughts.

Darkfall Squad was trained for intrusions. Resistance required you to pile up junk—meaningless thoughts—atop anything of value. Most Jedi withdrew upon finding clutter.

Yet this was a rare man.

Mace Windu entered, flanked by his entourage.

"Company, attention!" Trail said.

His arms slapped to his sides. He stood straight, staring 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."

"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.

"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."

Every minute counted in the Command Operations Hub. Dozens of officers ran between stations, spitting info at each other.

Yoda, Yaddle, and Veers stood to one side watching.

"Assume, we must, our plan leaked," Yaddle said.

"Mm. Yes," Yoda agreed. "But designed, the plan was, for this eventuality."

Eisley descended the steps from the upper level, joining them 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. "Well, General, I wish you success," he said a bit 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.

Across the COH, Ki-Adi-Mundi watched them. After four years of interminable restraint, the war was coming home, and he'd finally strike these little green despots.

The last light in the galaxy would go out forever.

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 its inscription, looking guileful in the 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 sacredizing their wombs.

"Kinda looks like you," Callum told Coda.

"No, it doesn't."

"Look at the nose. You can always tell by the nose."

She rolled her eyes, peering through the archway into the corridor, where a pattern of pillars and inlets repeated.

"The lights responded to the Force," Brummel said. "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, a wrist-worn chronometer.

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

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

Pulling up the rear, Callum 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. "I am, at least."

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." Padme caught Obi-Wan's gaze, a permanent tether connecting their souls through their eyes. After many days' thought, Padme realized now that all her mistakes could be collected and organized, put on a mantle, never forgotten but not in her way. "I know the Republic. I know its heart as well as 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. "Mister Adler, what do you make of this?"

Callum circled the base. Dust rose in a spiral, forming the shape of a double-helix. Coincidence? Illusion?

"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 here. Despite the temple being sealed for 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 with a 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..."

"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."

"Sweet talker."

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 base. It sank six inches, 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. Burning. Burning.

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