Чарльз Соул - Star Wars - Light of the Jedi (The High Republic)

“Not quite enough,” Marchion said, gingerly touching the back of his skull. “Try that again and I’ll kill one of the prisoners.”

The Jedi did not respond.

“As I said, many paths, one goal. Hetzal was mine, too. I sent one of my ships to intercept the Legacy Run. A Stormship. They had no idea. I just needed an accident, a disaster, something to put the Nihil on the Republic’s radar.”

“Why would you do that?” Loden asked.

“Everything and everyone is a tool,” Marchion Ro said, “I will use them however I need.”

He smiled. A predator’s smile…though this Jedi was dangerous, too, and he could not allow himself to forget it. His family had trusted the Jedi once, and it cost them everything.

“They will come for me,” Loden Greatstorm said. “My Order. And if I am dead…”

He tilted his head, and a little smile played around his mouth.

“…then they will come for you.”

Marchion Ro reached inside his tunic and pulled out an object of stone and metal, a rod, three hands long, carved and incised with symbols—screaming faces, fire, chains. It looked as if it had been melted once and re-forged. As his hand touched the object, it began to glow, a sickly purple color that somehow overpowered the star-bright lighting of the prison deck.

This thing was almost as fully to blame for what happened to his ancestors as the Jedi—but that was an old story, and this was a new time. He could accomplish what they had not.

The rod grew warm under his hand. It felt almost alive, breathing. He showed it to Loden, whose eyes narrowed. In the purple light cast by the object, the Jedi’s face looked strange. Dead.

“I’m not worried about your Order. If they think they can take me…”

He smiled at this Loden Greatstorm, so brave, the perfect Jedi Knight. So unafraid.

“…let them come.”

The station was a wonder, gleaming in the void, an intricate gemstone sparkling in space, one of the largest offworld structures ever built. Its construction had taxed even the limitless resources of the Galactic Republic—but that was the point. Even the Outer Rim Territories deserved the best of the Republic.

We are all the Republic.

This was the Starlight Beacon, and it was, at last, complete. Not a day early, and not a day late. It was designed to serve many purposes, to attend to the diverse needs of the many citizens of the Republic in this region.

Perhaps two cultures required neutral ground upon which to negotiate a dispute—the Beacon would provide. Or if that dispute turned heated, and threatened to turn from words to war—the Beacon was a military base, with a strong contingent of peacekeepers staffed on a rotating basis from the worlds of the Republic Defense Coalition. Its superstructure was 19 percent triazurite, a rare mineral that boosted transmission signals, allowing it to serve as a massive relay point to facilitate better, faster communications among the peoples of the Outer Rim. It was a hospital, it was an observatory, it was a research station, it was a bustling market, trading in goods from across the Rim and beyond.

The Starlight Beacon was open to all citizens, built to allow them to experience the Republic in all its grand diversity. From subsonic whisper-fiber concerts by Chadra-Fan masters, to Mon Calamari ocean dancing, to modules demonstrating the flora and fauna of worlds from Kashyyyk to Kooriva…this was the Republic, the exhibits constantly changed and updated to provide a truly representative experience.

And of course, there was no Republic without Jedi. The Starlight Beacon housed the largest temple outside Coruscant, to serve as a hub for the Order’s activities in the Outer Rim and beyond. Designed by renowned Jedi architect Palo Hidalla, and staffed by some of the most experienced members of the Order, the Starlight temple provided everything younglings, Padawans, Jedi Knights, and Jedi Masters might require to serve the people and the Force.

The Jedi quarter lacked a leader, after the tragic loss of Master Jora Malli at the battle against the Nihil…but perhaps that, too, might be addressed.

Luminaries from around the galaxy had arrived to mark the occasion of the station’s dedication. The Third Horizon , hero vessel of so many recent events of galactic import, had already docked, its passengers released. And here, too, was the Jedi cruiser Ataraxia, permanently seconded to the Starlight Beacon as the Order’s mode of transport to and fro. It had gathered Jedi from Coruscant and beyond, bringing them here to witness a great moment that would change the galaxy forever.

The visitors disembarked, all dressed for celebration and ceremony. The Jedi in their bright sashes of cerulean and vermillion and purple, draped across the gold and white of their tunics, with the symbol of the Order shining out, the rising light of the Force. The Republic diplomats and warriors and leaders of industry and culture, wearing whatever best reflected the occasion, a spectacle of chatter and enjoyable pomp.

The Beacon’s staff took them in groups to demonstrate the station’s many features, pride and optimism on every face, visitors and guides alike.

Bell Zettifar had come from Elphrona, along with Indeera Stokes and Porter Engle. The surviving members of the Blythe family were invited to this event, but declined, choosing instead to return to their relatives on Alderaan.

Bell was lost. He did not understand what had happened, how his master could be with him one moment and then…not. Indeera, who had taken him as her Padawan until some other arrangement might be made, believed Loden Greatstorm was dead. Bell did not. Technically, he could take the vows to become a Knight back on Coruscant, but he could not countenance doing such a thing. Loden Greatstorm was to preside over the ceremony, as was right and proper. But now…how?

Ember padded along at Bell’s side. Perhaps unorthodox, but who would tell the Padawan he must be even more alone?

Porter Engle walked along with the group, quiet, and seemed to barely notice the wonders of the Starlight Beacon. He was remembering what it felt like to be the Blade of Bardotta, and remembering why he once chose to never be that person again.

Indeera thought about every decision she made during the rescue attempt on Elphrona, and wondered if some other path could have saved Loden and Ottoh Blythe. She did not know, and never would.

Led by another guide with a different group, Stellan Gios, Avar Kriss, and Elzar Mann walked through the station’s bright corridors, together, as they often were whenever the business of the Order allowed it. There were rumors about who would lead the station’s Jedi quarter now that Master Malli was gone, but the trio did not gossip. They were Jedi. All Masters now, too. The Council had finally indicated that they would allow Elzar Mann to take the vows; he would be able at last to see what awaited him in the depths of the endless sea that was the Force.

They passed the Trandoshan Jedi Sskeer, who had spent much time on the Beacon during its construction, and so did not require a tour. He stood at a viewport, looking out at space beyond. Avar offered a greeting, but Sskeer did not respond. He had survived the Battle of Kur, and his missing arm was slowly regrowing in the manner of his species, but the wound in his heart at the loss of Master Jora Malli was proving harder to repair.

In the huge assembly room at the heart of the Beacon, Nib Assek and Burryaga watched as Chancellor Lina Soh made her way to a dais in the center of the chamber. She walked side by side with Yarael Poof, a master on the Jedi Council. Every prominent Jedi in the galaxy was aboard the station, even Yoda, which surprised some. Ordinarily, the ancient master avoided non-essential social gatherings with determined glee, but here he was with the class of younglings he had taken under his tutelage in recent months. His reasons for attending the dedication of the Starlight Beacon were his own. Yoda kept his own counsel.