Conflicting impulses warred within him, triggered by the ongoing cascade of recollections. Juno was Juno Eclipse, the woman Starkiller had, yes, loved. But he wasn’t Starkiller, so what did he owe her? He was just a clone, and she was only a droid, an illusion fashioned to test him. What did it matter if he did as he was told, as he had been bred to do?
His hands trembled. The twin red blades wavered. They grew steadier as he drew his elbows back, preparing to strike.
“I guess I’ll never need to live this down.”
He remembered a tender pressure against his lips, the feel of her body against his, a heat he had never experienced before, in this life or any other …
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill her.
With a double click, he deactivated his blades. His arms came down and hung at his sides.
“It is as I feared.”
Darth Vader lashed out, channeling the dark side with practiced ease. Starkiller winced, but it was the training droid the Dark Lord had targeted. His lightsaber sliced it neatly in two. The image of Juno Eclipse vanished in a shower of sparks.
Starkiller held his ground. No more my Master. No more pretense. “What will you do with me?”
Darth Vader strode to face his former apprentice, kicking the body of the droid out of his path.
“You will receive the same treatment as the others.”
“What others?”
“Those who came before you went mad within months, tormented by emotional imprints I was unable to erase. Some would not kill their father, others their younger self. With you, it is this woman. Now you will suffer the fate they did.”
Starkiller bowed his head, rocked by the revelation that he wasn’t the only Starkiller Darth Vader had re-created. This he had never been told. The possibility hadn’t even been insinuated—although he should have guessed.
How many had come before him? How many had died before they had ever truly lived? Could his creator possibly be telling the truth about their stubborn emotional imprints? He spared no feelings for the father he could no longer remember or the boy he had stopped being long ago. It didn’t seem remotely possible that any version of Starkiller could do anything other than share that love for Juno Eclipse.
Another vivid memory tore through him.
Staring down in shock at the sight of his Master’s lightsaber protruding from his stomach. Unbearable pain. Falling heavily to his knees with a choked scream.
And another woman’s voice, the dying words of a Jedi Master he had killed.
“The Sith always betray one another—but I’m sure you’ll learn that soon enough.”
His mind cleared, and he stared in new understanding at the Dark Lord before him.
Vader was lying. There had been no other clones—or, if there had been, they had felt the same way as him. The original Starkiller had loved Juno Eclipse, and so did he. He was sure of it. He felt it in his bones, in the genetic machinery of his cells. It was the one thing he was sure of.
Vader wanted to weaken that certainty, to turn him back into a weapon, by implying that this feeling was spurious.
And worse—the act of killing Juno Eclipse was symbolic only, here in the Vader’s secret cloning laboratory. How long until that became Juno’s actual slaughter? Would that have been the next stage in his training?
The hum of the Dark Lord’s lightsaber changed pitch slightly as Vader shifted position.
Before Vader could strike, Starkiller turned. He didn’t activate his own lightsabers. Vader would expect be expecting that—a defensive pose, or at best a halfhearted attack. Starkiller would surprise him with the one weapon Vader couldn’t wield in return.
A burst of lightning arced from Starkiller’s fingers. Too late, the Dark Lord raised his lightsaber to catch the attack. Lightning crawled up and down his chest plate and helmet, provoking a painful whine from his breathing apparatus. The servomotors in his right arm strained.
Starkiller had only a split second before his former Master repelled the attack. The Force flowed through him. Droid parts and debris rose up and spun around the room. With a harsh rending sound, the metal wall burst outward, letting in the fury of the storm.
But even in the grip of his passions he knew that there was a difference. He was intimately familiar with what being driven by negative emotions felt like. His original had been a slave to the dark side until Juno and Kota had shown him how to be free. That legacy remained even now. He would choose the emotions that ruled him. He would not be a slave to them.
The dark side tugged at Starkiller, and it was hard to resist. He hated his former Master. He feared for Juno. He doubted the very fact of his existence. Killing the man who had created him would go some way to solving at least two of those problems. The temptation was very strong.
Vader’s blade caught the edge of the lightning. The Dark Lord began to straighten.
Starkiller leapt for the hole he had torn through the wall and entered the storm. He jumped high and long, aiming for the landing platform he had located by hearing alone, weeks ago.
He came down with a solid thud on the slick metal platform, just meters from Vader’s TIE fighter. Lightning split the sky into a thousand pieces. Thunder boomed. Far below, and all around, the sea raged.
The rain and wind scoured him clean. He opened his mouth and felt moisture on his tongue for the first time in thirteen days. After so long in the pit, it tasted like freedom itself.
His arrival took the squadron of stormtroopers guarding the facility by surprise, but they reacted quickly enough. Sirens sounded. Blaster rifles came up to target him. Three AT-STs standing guard over the landing platform clanked and began to turn.
Starkiller bared his teeth. His heart beat with an excitement he hadn’t felt since his awakening in Vader’s laboratory. This was why he had been made. This was why he existed.
He reached out with his hands and flexed his will. The Force responded, swelling and rising in him like an invisible muscle. A nearby communications tower groaned and twisted. Sparks flew. He wrenched the tower down and sideways, sweeping it over the platform, knocking the AT-STs into the ocean and crushing the stormtroopers gathering to rush him.
Something exploded—a generator, pushed far beyond its capacity. Through the exploding shell of shrapnel stalked a black figure holding a red lightsaber. Vader was moving with surprising speed.
Starkiller almost smiled. Vader’s rage was not so easily escaped. But he had done it once before. He would do it again.
The starfighter behind him was unharmed by the devastation he had wrought. Starkiller ran to it and leapt inside. He worked its familiar controls with confident speed, activating systems still warm from its last flight. Its ion engines snarled.
An invisible fist gripped the starfighter. Starkiller increased the thrust. His determination met Darth Vader’s rage, and for an instant he was unsure which would win.
Then all resistance fell away, and the TIE fighter leapt for the sky. He fell back into the seat and watched the black storm clouds approach him. Electrical discharges danced around the cockpit. Darkness briefly shrouded him.
Then he was through and above the clouds and rocketing high into the atmosphere. The planetary shield surrounding Kamino was designed to keep ships out, not in, so he passed easily through their visible barrier. Stars appeared, and Vader was far behind.
Now what?
He didn’t dare believe that he was entirely free, or that Juno was entirely safe. He had to find her before Vader did. He had to be with her.
Every breath he took filled him with the certainty of that fact. This was the emotion that would rule him, not revenge or blood-lust or despair. But how to pursue this mission? Where did he start looking for one woman in an entire galaxy?
“Starkiller’s former conspirator has been captured.”
General Kota. If anyone knew where she was, it would be him.
As the cloud-racked face of Kamino receded behind him, Starkiller locked in a course
for Cato Neimoidia.
CHAPTER 2
Four days earlier …
THE SOLIDARITY shone like a miniature star in the reflected light of Athega system’s blazing primary. The streamlined, organic-looking star cruiser, a recent Mon Calamari model, hung in the shadow of volcanic Nkllon, a small world about as inhospitable as any Juno could imagine. There the Solidarity and its small flotilla of attendant vessels were simultaneously hidden from any passing gaze and shielded from the blazing, hull-stripping light of the deadly sun.
“Your request to come aboard has been granted,” Juno’s second in command said. Nitram spoke cautiously, as though reluctant to intrude on her mood. “The shuttle is ready to launch.”
Juno didn’t blame him. Knowing what she faced, she had been tense throughout the journey, and her crew had left her alone, which was exactly what she had needed. She had a lot to consider where the Alliance leadership was concerned.
“Thank you, Nitram. You have the helm until I return.”
He saluted, touching his left ear with the tip of one paw-like hand. “Yes, sir.”
She strode unhesitatingly from the bridge, keen to give the impression that she had no doubts at all about her return, when in fact there were no certainties at all. She had put her ship at risk to assist Kota on one of his unauthorized missions. In the past, the success of Kota’s missions had protected her from disciplinary action. This time, she had no such recourse. Officers had been demoted for much less.
The short hop in the shuttle seemed to pass in seconds. She saluted the escort awaiting her at the other end, keeping the fear that it was there to take her prisoner deeply concealed.
“Welcome aboard, Captain. Commodore Viedas is expecting you. This way, please.”
The detail fell in around her, and she matched their pace step for step. Around them, the ship hummed with industry and discipline, its white fittings clean and well maintained. Her ship, the Salvation, seemed old and clunky by comparison. It had been liberated from the Empire during a skirmish over Ylesia and renamed in the style of the fledgling Rebellion. The Salvation still bore the scars of battle, unlike the Solidarity, which looked brand new.
The issue of the ships making up the Alliance’s fleet occupied more than her own mind, as she discovered on being admitted into the commodore’s secure conference room.
Yat-de Viedas was a Rodian, and a natural for enlistment with the Rebel forces, given the Empire’s xenophobic stance on non-humans. A privateer of some standing, he had risen quickly through the ranks of the Corellian Resistance, ultimately to be handpicked by Garm Bel Iblis to lead the attack group Juno belonged to. He was short, and his Basic became increasingly accented under stress, but he was liked and respected by his officers. Juno had served with him briefly after the birth of the Rebel Alliance on Kashyyyk, and she knew that, whatever came next, it wouldn’t be born from maliciousness or ill feeling on his part.
“I’ll hear nothing bad said about the MC-Eighty.” Viedas was pacing from one end of the conference room to the other, addressing the rest of the small gathering. Present via hologram were Mon Mothma and Garm Bel Iblis, presumably from their respective homeworlds. The Senators looked stressed and didn’t notice Juno’s entry. Princess Leia Organa attended in person. She returned Juno’s salute with a respectful nod.
So far, thought Juno, so good.
“The redundancy of its shield system is of prime advantage,” Viedas was saying. “I cannot overemphasize how important this is in conflicts against the Empire. We will always be outweaponed, so defense should always be our first priority.”
“I understand, Commodore,” said Mon Mothma. “But the simple fact is that we can’t afford any more of them. Not at the moment. Our resources are stretched too far as it is.”
“If the Mon Calamari won’t give them to us,” said Bel Iblis, “then we must take them.”
“We’re not pirates,” said Leia. “My father would not agree to this.”
“Your father isn’t here. Perhaps if we had greater access to his resources—”
Juno cleared her throat, and the commodore turned to face her.
“Ah, good. Captain Eclipse, would you care to report the outcome of your mission to Cato Neimoidia?”
“Of course, sir.” She came deeper into the room, trying to take the measure of the meeting. Clearly something had leaked. Someone on her bridge, or perhaps in the starfighter squadrons, had let slip what had happened, so the people before her already knew part of it. The question was: Would they give her a fair hearing, or had they already made up their minds?
“My orders were explicit,” she said, deciding to draw the picture in black and white herself and thereby disallow any enemies she might have the advantage. “Gather intelligence, shake up my crew. That’s all. When the opportunity came to assist General Kota in his mission to kill the Imperial administrator on Cato Neimoidia, I decided to do so.”
“What kind of assistance did you provide?” Bel Iblis asked without any sign of prejudgment. She knew that he would be interested, first and foremost, in the military angle.
“We acted as a distraction for the ground forces, primarily by launching starfighters, but also by making the frigate’s presence known. We jammed signals in and out, inasmuch as we could. The Salvation engaged directly with the enemy only when it became clear that General Kota required our active support.”
“Did he know you were going to be there?” asked Mon Mothma, who no doubt cared less about the tactical details than the circumstances under which the brief alliance had come about.
“He did, Senator,” Juno said.
“And how did he come to be privy to this information?”
“Because I told him two days in advance.”
“I see.” Mon Mothma’s lips tightened. “Would you care to explain why?”
“I wasn’t aware that I was required to keep secrets from a general in the Rebel Alliance.”
“But you are aware, no doubt, that the general’s actions are not always sanctioned by the Alliance.”
“Yes, Senator.”
“Do you consider yourself to be part of his renegade campaign?”
“No, Senator.”
“Yet you disobey orders in order to help him. How do you explain that?”
Juno felt as though the deck were slipping out from beneath her. She wondered again who had sold her out, and if she would get the chance to find out why before she was decommissioned, maybe worse. “Permission to speak freely, Senator.”
“Granted,” said Garm Bel Iblis.
Mon Mothma glanced at him in surprise and some annoyance, but didn’t countermand him.
“I have helped General Kota before,” Juno said, “on Druckenwell, Selonia, and Kuat. Each time, his missions were successful in helping the Alliance. Each time, my assistance cost the Alliance nothing. I took no orders from him, and he accepted the limitations of our arrangement. He knew that the responsibilities of my command took precedence over the success of his mission.” At least I hope he did, she added silently to herself. “We were on the same side, Senator, and I am not ashamed of helping him. I would help him again, in a heartbeat.” If I could.
Everyone started to speak at once, but it was Mon Mothma’s voice that carried the moment.
“Did you know about this, Commodore?”
“No, Senator, but I take full responsibility.” Viedas’s green skin had turned faintly purple around the edges. Juno hoped that didn’t mean anger among his species.
“Commodore Viedas couldn’t have known,” she said. “I was careful to keep it a secret from him, because I knew that he would not approve.”
“Did you take any losses, Captain?” asked Mon Mothma.
“Six starfighters,” she said. “That’s less than our last official mission, which was considered a success.”
“I want more details,” said Bel Iblis, leaning forward in the hologram to steeple his fingers. “What did your collaboration with Kota gain us?”
&n
bsp; “Well, we know that Cato Neimoidia is better defended than we initially thought. It’s taken some hits and brought in reinforcements. The Empire knows we’re watching the slave industry now. Baron Tarko will be more cautious in how he mistreats his ‘stock.’ ”
“So he’s still alive?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You said were,” put in Leia. “You and Kota were on the same side.”
Juno couldn’t meet the Princess’s observant eye. It was she who worried Juno more than the others. Her father had been an old friend of the general. They had known each other longer than Juno had been alive.
“Kota fell on Cato Neimoidia,” Juno said. “His end of our joint mission was not successful.”
The air in the conference room seemed to solidify as the news sank in.
“Did you try—” Bel Iblis began, but cut himself off. The thought didn’t need to be finished.
“You were constrained by your orders,” said Mon Mothma, nodding. “That I understand. But do you see where you have left us? By assisting Kota—by actively encouraging him in his reckless solo campaign against the Empire—you have cost the Rebel Alliance our most experienced general. Can you honestly say that we have benefited from this outcome?”
Juno met the Senator’s accusatory stare without flinching. “I believe he would have died anyway—perhaps long before now—without my help. You know his history as well as I do. He was never going to sit around and watch as opportunities came and went.”
“She’s right,” said Bel Iblis. “The longer we wait, the more people like Kota we’re going to lose.”
“But if we attack now, we might lose everything.” The passion in Mon Mothma’s voice was naked. Even by hologram, the mixture of grief and determination could not be mistaken. “Renegades like Kota would have us die by degrees or burn in one final conflagration. There must be another way!”
“There is,” said Juno.
Star Wars: The Force Unleashed II Page 3