Star Wars: The Force Unleashed II

by Williams, Sean

  “I led the troopers, in the opposite direction from the real Grand Moff,” the droid said. “They are currently on their way to the landing pads, with orders to arrest the pilots responsible.”

  “Good work, PROXY. It went almost perfectly.”

  Derricote stared at the droid in shock, clearly beginning to piece events together.

  “What are you going to do with me?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” said Ackbar.

  His eyes narrowed. “Nothing?”

  “Tarkin will accept your explanation,” Organa explained, “but I’d say your career is pretty much ruined here regardless. Grand Moffs don’t like inferiors who draw attention to themselves. You might want to pull your head in for a while, if you still have one.”

  The Senator released him, and Derricote stepped slowly away, as though expecting to be shot at any moment.

  “You’re really letting me go?”

  “Yes,” said Ackbar. “You are a witness to what happens when one interferes with the Dac resistance.”

  The commander was too busy hurrying up the ramp to promise anything, but Juno didn’t doubt that the message would get out. With one short action, the Empire had been humiliated and the local resistance strengthened. It was the very embodiment of Kota’s methods.

  Juno wondered if Mon Mothma would see it that way, when she found out.

  When they were alone, Organa put one hand on Tels’s shoulder, the other on Ackbar’s. “I don’t think I need to say anything,” he said, echoing Garm Bel Iblis’s philosophy: Actions speak louder than words.

  “In this case, yes,” said Tels, tentacles curling tightly in gratitude. “Thank you from the free people of our world for showing us that we can fight together—and must fight together in order to remove the Emperor’s net from our world. We will join your Rebellion as one world, in the spirit you have shown us.”

  “Does he speak for you, too, Ackbar?”

  “You know he does, my friend. And I thank you, too.” Ackbar’s large, golden eyes took in Juno and PROXY. “We owe your Rebel Alliance much already.”

  “It’s not ours,” said Organa, and for a moment Juno feared that he would declare it to be Starkiller’s, as Kota had on Felucia, once. “The Rebellion can’t belong to any one person, or it’s no better than the Empire. It’s yours. Everyone’s. It belongs to all of us.”

  “Our dead, too,” said Tels, acknowledging the body his fellows had lifted in preparation for leaving the city. “We have lost so many already.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, Juno thinking of Kota and Starkiller and wondering what they would make of this strange moment of communion among three species in a waterlogged basement.

  There was no way of knowing, now. No way at all.

  CHAPTER 7

  The same day.

  “WHERE IS SHE?”

  Kota stumbled into the cockpit behind him. He was covered in blood and dirt and looked on the verge of collapse.

  Starkiller didn’t care.

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why not? This is her ship.”

  “It was. It isn’t now. She’s moved on.” Kota slumped into the nearest seat and put his scarred face in his hands. “The Rebel Alliance fleet is scattered across the Outer Rim, constantly on the run. She could be anywhere now.”

  Starkiller frowned. It just didn’t make sense. “She wasn’t with you when you came here?”

  “She was, but I had my own squad on the ground.” Kota’s blind eyes came up. “All dead now, of course. I was the only one Baron Tarko ‘spared’ when he captured us. The ship went into hiding, awaiting my signal. Then you came. Thank you.” The last was said with great gravity and sincerity. “I don’t know how much longer I would’ve lasted.”

  Starkiller dismissed that with a wave of one hand and checked the controls. Now that his anticipation at seeing Juno had been punctured, more mundane concerns took priority—like making sure the ship wasn’t being followed by any of the deceased Baron’s underlings.

  The Rogue Shadow had brought itself out of the sinkhole and was heading for orbit, where it would await further orders. He didn’t know what those orders should be, now. And he wasn’t ready to take the empty seat at the controls where Juno should have been sitting.

  Should have been, in his previous life. But now Kota had his own squad and Juno had “moved on,” whatever that meant. Things had changed in ways he had never considered.

  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  The general related the circumstances of his capture with his usual economy. An unofficial raid on a local despot had gone unexpectedly wrong, thanks to bad intel regarding the size and capabilities of the forces on Cato Neimoidia. Under other circumstances, that might not have been the complete disaster it had very nearly turned out to be, but with no backup to speak of, apart from a small frigate in orbit, there had been no second chance for Kota and his squad.

  “She tried her best,” Kota concluded, “and I don’t blame her for leaving. She couldn’t take on the entire Empire herself, although I’m sure she wanted to.”

  “She was here?”

  Kota nodded. “She was the captain of the frigate. Mon Mothma recognizes talent, even if she won’t always put it to good use.” He leaned forward excitedly. “But now you’re back, and she will have to see what an opportunity this represents. We must capitalize on it immediately—a major strike to take the fight back to the Empire—”

  “Wait.” The return of Kota’s vigor took Starkiller by surprise. One moment he was half dead; the next he wanted to wage war on the entire galaxy with Starkiller leading the charge. Kota’s faith in him was touching, but it needed to be tempered with a little reality. “Don’t you want to know where I came from?”

  “Why? You’re back; that’s all that counts.”

  “But I’m not back. I’m not him.”

  Kota shook his head emphatically. “I may be blind, but I’m still connected to the Force. I know what I’m sensing.”

  “I’m not Starkiller!” It was vitally important that Kota understand that much, at least. The general wasn’t his Master, and couldn’t be until he was certain who he was. They couldn’t just pick up where they had left off. “Not the original Starkiller, anyway. I’m a clone, grown in a vat by Darth Vader to take the old Starkiller’s place at his side. That should worry you, shouldn’t it?”

  Kota leaned forward and scratched at his filthy beard.

  “I figure I already know the worst you can do,” he said, tapping the corner of one dead eye, “but I’ve experienced the best, too, so I’m prepared to take my chances.”

  Starkiller backed down, wondering if Kota was referring to his blinding alone or to something much worse?

  “You should know that Shaak Ti is dead,” he heard Bail Organa say, out of the past. “She was murdered by Vader or one of his assassins.”

  “Probably the same one who did this to me,” Kota had replied, making much the same gesture Kota had in the present.

  The guess had been correct, but had Juno told him? Had he furthermore connected Shaak Ti’s death to the disappearance of Kazdan Paratus, whom Starkiller had also murdered? Kota had forgiven Starkiller for blinding him, but the deaths of two Jedi—one of them a former Jedi Master on the High Council—were an entirely different magnitude of guilt. Could such a thing ever truly be forgiven?

  “Light, dark,” Shaak Ti had said. “They are just directions. Do not be fooled that you stand on anything other than your own two feet.”

  Even from the grave, she had something to teach him, as Kota had taught him in life. He was no longer a creature of the dark side, or the light side. The only direction he cared about was the one leading to Juno, where his emotions led him.

  Kazdan Paratus, moldering on Raxus Prime in his junkyard version of a living death, was another educative example for him, courtesy of one of his victims: If he were to avoid living entirely in the past, he would have to foc
us on what really mattered.

  “Help me find Juno. That’s all I’m asking you to do.”

  Kota studied him with senses that had nothing to do with his eyes.

  “Head for Athega system,” the general finally said. “That was the last rendezvous point. When we get there, maybe we’ll find some hint of where they’ve gone.”

  “They could still be there now, couldn’t they?”

  Kota shook his head. “If there was any chance I or one of my squad could have survived, the fleet would have had to move. Even Mon Mothma would see the sense in that.”

  That was the second time Kota had downplayed Mon Mothma’s role in the Rebel Alliance. Starkiller filed it away for future consideration.

  “I’m going to the ’fresher,” Kota said as Starkiller turned to the controls and began plotting the jump. “And then I’m going to sleep. Wake me when we get there.”

  “All right.”

  Kota paused on the brink of leaving the bridge. “I’m glad you’re back, boy.”

  Before Starkiller could say, He’s not, the general turned and limped away.

  THE ROGUE SHADOW had been modified since he had last flown it, and not entirely for the better. Its shielding was heavier, giving it a different feel when under thrust, and some of the compartments had been expanded to make room for Kota’s squad. That left several critical components crushed uncomfortably together, at constant risk of overheating. Starkiller kept a constant eye on the instruments as the ship jumped through hyperspace, waiting for a warning light to flash.

  Amazingly, none did. Whoever had rejigged the systems had made absolutely sure to push the envelope, but never cross it. Someone with extensive battlefield engineering experience was responsible, he suspected. He also assumed they had died with Kota’s squad on Cato Neimoidia, so he would never be able to ask how they had done it.

  Ultimately, it didn’t matter. They were under way, and that was the main thing.

  He had time to think, too, although that wasn’t necessarily something he welcomed.

  His brief exchange with Kota had stirred up a whole raft of anxieties he hadn’t even known he possessed. “I’ve already seen the worst you can do … a major strike to take the fight back to the Empire … I’m glad you’re back.” He hadn’t considered what might happen after finding Juno. Did the rest of the Rebels know about Shaak Ti and Kazdan Paratus? Had they forgiven him for the trap he had unwittingly set on Corellia? Would the stain of Darth Vader’s Mastery ever wash off him?

  “He stinks of Sith, all right,” Kazdan Paratus had said. “You reek of that coward Vader,” Shaak Ti had agreed. Only Kota had sensed the goodness within him. Did he really sense it now, or was that just blind hope speaking? Starkiller would have to wait until Kota woke up to ask him.

  The issue of what came next connected inevitably to what he had been created for. Until Vader had pushed him too far, he had assumed that his purpose was to serve at his former Master’s side, killing his enemies and possibly assisting him one day in making a grab for the Imperial throne. That was how he had been trained in his former life, after all, and it was easy to default to that status.

  But now, with his memories gradually piecing back together, and more and more of the former Starkiller’s life becoming clearer, he began to question that assumption. Darth Vader had plans within plans, making them hard to unravel.

  Starkiller’s first resurrection had been on the Empirical, after the Emperor had ordered Vader to kill his secret apprentice—the betrayal Starkiller had remembered on Kamino, when Vader had declared him a failure, fit for the same fate meted out to the others he had made. Starkiller remembered the almost-blackness of something much like death, and then awakening on an operating table to receive new instructions. Vader said that he had faked Starkiller’s death in order to make him a free agent, free to target the Emperor more directly. That had seemed plausible, for that was what Sith did, according to Shaak Ti: betray each other as a matter of course.

  But then, on Corellia, Vader had revealed that this had never been his plan, that his intention—the Emperor’s intention—had been to use him to gather all the Empire’s enemies into one spot, in order to destroy them once and for all. And then, Vader had hinted, it would be time to take on the Emperor, but not with Starkiller.

  “I lied, as I have from the very beginning,” Vader had said.

  Vader always lied, Starkiller now realized, but somewhere underneath the lies there had to be a measure of truth. A cloned Starkiller must serve some purpose, otherwise why go to the trouble? Did he exist to continue one of Vader’s previous plans, or an entirely new one? Was Vader still following the Emperor’s orders? Or was the Emperor’s enforcer making it up as he went along?

  That didn’t seem likely. One thing Starkiller did know was his former Master’s nature. Darth Vader was meticulous and controlling. He would leave nothing to chance. His motives and intentions might be hidden for the moment, but they would have to become visible sometime. Perhaps, with enough thought, the clone of his former apprentice might be the one to work it out.

  “Without me, you’ll never be free,” he had told Vader on Corellia. On the Death Star it had seemed that only death would release his Master from servitude, for the Emperor himself had so thoroughly steeped Vader’s mind in the dark side—and there had been a moment when the Dark Lord’s life had literally been in Starkiller’s hands. He could have released his Master from a life of torment had he chosen vengeance over the lives of his friends among the Rebels. If he hadn’t, he might not have died and been reborn as a clone. Or he might have died for good.

  He wasn’t sure which would have been better.

  “Do not forget that you still serve me,” Darth Vader had said.

  In the back of his mind, ever present, was the fear that this would always be the case. That any semblance of freedom he might find would only be an illusion. That at any moment his Master would walk back into his life, as he had on Corellia, and destroy everything he had built.

  He swore to himself that it would never happen. He hoped it was a promise he could keep.

  And if only he could forget. His mind was full of so many things …

  The controls beeped at him. Time had passed with uncanny speed while he sat in silent contemplation. The Rogue Shadow was due to arrive in Athega system at any moment. Starkiller thought about waking Kota, but decided to let him sleep. After fighting seven days straight, the old man deserved his rest.

  The blue-white streaks of hyperspace vanished. Blinding yellow radiation took their place, making the ship shake. Starkiller’s hands danced over the controls, raising shields and frantically scanning the environment. It felt as though he’d landed right in the middle of an explosion, but what could produce so much force without ebbing in intensity? This was no isolated blast. It was a sustained rage.

  The answer was simple: a sun. The sun at the center of Athega system, to be precise. It was huge and highly active, throwing off corona loops longer than most ring systems and deeply pitted with sunspots. Hull temperature was rising fast. Even with the extra shielding, the Rogue Shadow wasn’t going to last long.

  Sensors indicated two rocky planets. A cluster of small dots sheltered behind one of them. He grinned and punched in the coordinates as fast as he was able, assuming that he had indeed found the Rebel fleet.

  The relative calm of hyperspace enfolded him. His ears rang in the sudden silence. He took a moment to catch his breath while the ship ticked and pinged around him, slowly shedding its excess heat into the infinite vacuum of an empty universe. He eyed the countdown on the chrono, sure that conditions would be more temperate in the world’s shadow. Why else would the Rebel fleet hide there?

  The hop was a short one. Barely a minute passed before the ship emerged from hyperspace again, and this time the ride was considerably smoother. The ship’s shields were more than adequate to keep the worst at bay. He scanned the ships around him, hoping to find the frigate Kota had mentioned. The S
alvation: Juno’s ship.

  None of the transponders matched that name, however—and very quickly another hard fact became apparent. None of the ships belonged to the Rebel fleet. They broadcast the standard transponder signals of the Empire. The fighters swarming around him matched, too. TIE fighters, in their dozens.

  He had landed in the middle of an Imperial fleet!

  “Identify yourself, unknown vessel,” snapped a voice from the comm. “Cease accelerating and prepare to be boarded.”

  Starkiller wasn’t going to sit around and let his ship be taken over. He was already driving hard for the edge of the planet’s shadow cone. Rogue Shadow’s engines roared as the TIE fighters came about in pursuit. He frantically piloted while at the same time calculating the next jump.

  He hit the sun’s blazing light the very instant the ship jumped.

  Then it was quiet again.

  “I told you,” Kota said from behind him. “They always find us, no matter where we hide.”

  Starkiller turned to face him. “Spies?”

  “Informers, traitors, lucky guesses—the Force, even, if Vader is looking.” Kota fell into the copilot’s seat with a weary sigh. His armor was marginally cleaner, but still dented and scratched beyond recognition. “Nowhere is safe.”

  The ship traveled smoothly to its next destination—the empty shadow behind the second moon. There Starkiller performed a more thorough sweep of the system. He found no signs of a prolonged space battle, which came as a relief. The Rebel fleet must have moved on before the Imperials arrived. But there was no sign, either, of where they might have gone next.

  “The fleet doesn’t leave coordinates behind,” Kota said. “They could be decoded too easily. The only way to find the fleet again, once you’ve lost it, is to work back up through Rebel contacts.”

  “That’ll take too long.”

  “What’s your hurry? The Empire isn’t going anywhere.”

  Starkiller didn’t know how to explain. If Kota didn’t already understand, maybe he never would.