One of the good guys. The technicians hadn’t known who he was, and that was undoubtedly for the best. Maybe they had heard of a young man who had played a role in the formation of the Alliance; they might even have heard rumors of his death on the Death Star; they were very unlikely to connect him to that person, and even if they did, who would believe them? People didn’t come back from the dead. It just wasn’t possible, even for Jedi.
Starkiller wondered if Darth Vader thought himself one of the good guys. He wondered if any servant of the Empire did, for long. Juno had been having doubts long before she’d met him. Vader had guided her toward evil the same way he guided everyone he encountered. Anyone who fought back, or tried to, was killed.
He wondered, not for the first time, who the Dark Lord had been before being subsumed by the Emperor’s plan for galactic domination. Could he have been a Jedi Knight, perhaps one of the many whose bodies had never been found after the execution of Order 66? Several times Starkiller had strained to detect a hint of Jedi training in his former Master’s own teaching techniques—but there was little evidence to pore over from a man who let actions speak louder than words, and whose philosophies concerned only power and domination. The only subtlety Starkiller could discern was that, although the lessons were brutal and the cost of failure high, there was no malicious cruelty. Once the equation was laid down—obey and succeed versus fail and die—the rest was entirely up to him.
The world was black and white through Darth Vader’s mask, Starkiller thought. There were no grays. He imposed this view on everyone around him, and people either fell in line or fell by the wayside.
That didn’t stop Darth Vader from emulating his own Master, though. He plotted treachery and had schemes that might take years to unfold. He was smart, and had learned the hard way to be cunning—probably thanks to the long years of his own tutelage under the galaxy’s ruling Sith Lord.
But Vader preferred the direct approach, whenever possible. He fought the way he thought. It was easier to lure Starkiller back to him by using Juno as a hostage than any other method, so that was what he did. Instead of negotiating with Starkiller, he would simply kill him. Black, white—open, shut. Vader’s mind was a puzzle box from which he let little escape, but the shape of the box said much about him.
I will surprise you, Starkiller promised his former Master, if it’s the last thing I do.
In this life, he added, or any other.
The bridge was scarred with the signs of battle—blood, blaster scoring, burned consoles—but amazingly functional nonetheless. Like any band of mercenaries, Kota’s squad had plenty of experience with operating in less-than-perfect conditions. They patched sensors out of spilled components; they rewired control systems by hand. The medic, Ni-Ke-Vanz, was nowhere to be seen. Starkiller assumed he was in the surgery suite, doing what he could to patch the crew back together.
PROXY was helping, too, stabbing at buttons on two consoles at once. After a hasty repair job on his chest and eye, he seemed to be back to his old self, more or less. A flicker of Kota swept across the droid’s metal body, and Starkiller wondered why.
“Forget about the cargo bays,” Kota shouted into a comlink. “If engine six fails in the next five minutes, we won’t care about what stores we’ve lost.”
He glanced up as Starkiller walked to stand next to him. Kota looked as battered as he had on Cato Neimoidia. Clearing out the last of the camouflaged stormtroopers had taken its toll, it seemed.
Kota acknowledged Starkiller with a nod. “We’re running slow. The fleet will get there ahead of us at the rate we’re moving, but we will get there in the end. That I guarantee you.”
Starkiller was somewhat reassured, but the anxiety he felt for Juno was unabated. If the fleet had arrived at Kamino, that meant the bounty hunter had arrived, too. She was almost certainly in the hands of Darth Vader right now, suffering in a thousand unknown ways.
To distract himself, he checked on the Rogue Shadow. It was still docked along the frigate’s spine, seeming undamaged. Its shields had protected it during the dogfight, and it hadn’t been boarded. That was something. Just having a solid link to the past nearby helped him settle his thoughts.
Get to Kamino, he told himself. Find Juno. Free her. Easy.
“I’m sorry, General Kota,” PROXY was saying, “but I have been unable to restore the targeting computer to its full capacity.”
“So we’ll be firing by hand,” Kota said, “which will drain some crew-power. Fighter complement is down to fifteen. Make sure they’re ready to launch the moment we come out of hyperspace,” he called to one of his squad members.
“How long now?”
“Two minutes.” Kota studied Starkiller’s face. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”
Starkiller acknowledged the general’s attempt at reassurance with little more than a grunt. He knew what Kota wanted. He wanted Starkiller back in the fight. Kamino was just a means to that end. Once Juno was free, presumably, Kota hoped to announce Starkiller’s return, reunite the Alliance behind him, and storm the Emperor’s stronghold on Coruscant.
Perhaps, Starkiller thought, he was being unfair to Kota, but he saw little compassion in the general’s blind eyes. Just determination to win—at all costs. If the operation at Kamino was a success, there would be another one, and another one, and another. It would never end, until the Empire itself was ended.
Starkiller didn’t know how to tell Kota that what came after finding Juno was a mystery he himself hadn’t unraveled yet. He could barely think farther ahead than the next few minutes.
Get to Kamino. Find Juno. Free her.
Everything else could wait. Whether it was his faulty clone brain talking or a clear-eyed certainty that Juno mattered more than anyone else, he was sure of that much. The near future, as glimpsed in his visions, needed to be changed before he would think about what would happen afterward.
A long, slow shudder rolled through the ship in response to a random power fluctuation from the main reactor. Starkiller took hold of a nearby console and rode it out. There was nothing else he could do. This wasn’t an enemy he could fight with force. He could only trust the people around him and the machines they maintained to bring him safely to where he needed to be.
When it passed, Kota addressed the makeshift crew.
“We’re nearing Kamino. All power to forward deflector shields.”
“Yes, General,” replied PROXY.
The ship shuddered again, this time in reaction to the drain caused by the shields. Starkiller held his breath, hoping the hyperdrive wouldn’t fail just moments before reaching its destination. Or that it would bring them to a point light-years from where they needed to be. There was no guarantee they could get the drives working again, once they were shut down.
Ahead, the tortured topology of hyperspace began to transform into the familiar streaked stars of realspace. The ship was spinning around its long axis, making the view even more disorienting than normal. Metal creaked and decks swayed. Pressure alarms went off in a dozen quarters.
Again, Starkiller wondered what Juno would think of the condition of her ship when she got it back. Again, he relegated that concern to join the others he would worry about later. After.
The Salvation slammed back into reality with a bone-shaking thud, and suddenly it was in the middle of a war.
Kamino hung dead ahead, its white-streaked blue face looking deceptively placid against the unfamiliar constellations of Wild Space. Starkiller counted a dozen Rebel starships facing off against no less than five Imperial Star Destroyers. Clouds of TIE fighters, Y-wings, and Z-95 Headhunters engaged in dogfights across the hulls of the larger vessels. Bombers stitched bright trails in their wakes. Energy weapons and shield flashes painted the sky in every wild color imaginable.
Just seconds after it exited hyperspace, the Salvation was hit by a blast from one of the Star Destroyers.
“Cannons on those warships!” Kota ordered. “Scramble fighters!”<
br />
Starkiller went to leave the bridge, intending to take the Rogue Shadow into battle, but Kota took his arm.
“Not you. I want you on the primary forward turbolaser. Whoever’s firing down there couldn’t hit a planet from low orbit. Operate the controls by remote.” He indicated an empty console. “When the planetary shield is down, we’ll take the Rogue Shadow to the surface together.”
Starkiller didn’t argue, although he yearned to be out in the thick of it. Being a gunner wasn’t the same thing as cutting and weaving through the mess of ships and energy outside, but he could still do good from where he was. A frigate’s primary turbolaser wasn’t a weapon to be dismissed easily.
He called up the remote controls and settled into a seat. The interface was one he hadn’t used before, but it was easily navigated. Gas charges. Galven coils. Cooling. Tracking. He smiled. Trigger. That was what he wanted.
A holographic display of the battlefield hung in front of him. He swung the targeting reticle from Star Destroyer to Star Destroyer, seeking a weak spot. The weapon was more sluggish than the Rogue Shadow’s armaments, but that was only to be expected. He took opportunistic shots at TIE fighters that darted nearby, guided by the steady hand of the Force, and soon made a significant dent in the Imperial numbers.
Targeting ion cannon and bridge towers to great effect, Starkiller brought the Salvation to the attention of the Star Destroyers’ gunners. The frigate’s shields groaned and complained while the Rebel starfighters did their best to retaliate.
With half an ear, Starkiller listened to panicky comm chatter from the pilots.
“We’re getting ripped apart up here!” one cried as a concentrated blast of turbolaser fire tore his squadron apart. “Order the retreat!”
Kota’s response was immediate. “Hold your position, Antilles.” He changed frequencies to broadcast to all ships. “Keep pressing the attack! We won’t get another chance to take this target!”
A flickering hologram appeared in front of him. It showed a stocky Rodian in what looked like a commodore’s uniform.
“The planetary shield around Kamino is proving stronger than we thought,” he said. Static ate up a couple of words. “—ground assault is impossible until they’re down.”
Kota looked desperate. Starkiller knew what he was feeling. This was the Rebel Alliance’s first and best chance to strike the Empire hard. If it failed, the symbolic defeat could be much worse than a mere military setback.
“PROXY,” Kota said, “can you slice into the defenses and bring them down from out here?”
“I have been trying, General, but it will take too long. The Salvation is suffering heavy damage. We’ve already lost decks eight through twelve, and can’t hold out much longer.”
“There has to be a way.” Kota gripped the edge of the main display so tightly, his knuckles were pure white. Tiny images of starships danced and whirled in front of him. The commodore waited, image dissolving and firming every second or so. “But what can we do? The ship is falling apart around us. The fleet is being pounded. And we’re no closer to the target than we were when we arrived.”
Starkiller restored control of the turbolaser to the crew and went to join Kota. An idea was forming in his mind—an idea that ought to be crazy but might, he thought, barely be crazy enough to work.
“Where are the planetary shield generators?” he asked.
PROXY leaned over the main display and pointed out the location on a map of Kamino. Among the domes and towers of the facility, he instantly recognized the familiar lines of the main stormtrooper breeding facilities and, nestled among them, the secret spaces in which Darth Vader had conducted his experiments.
“Here, Master. Both generator and reactor are in the same location, making it exceptionally vulnerable. The shield it creates, however, is strong enough to prevent any form of attack, so we are unable to take advantage of that fact.”
Starkiller nodded. Crazy indeed, he told himself, and Juno was certain not to approve, but it was the one plan he could think of that had the slightest chance.
“Head to the Rogue Shadow,” Starkiller told Kota. “I’m pretty sure those shields can’t take a direct hit from a frigate.”
Kota’s blind eyes stared at Starkiller for a full second. His chin came up as he fully grasped the details of the plan. “You sure about this?”
“It’s the only way. Just be ready to clean up.”
“All right.” Kota’s fist slammed into a button on the console. “Abandon ship! Abandon ship!” His gruff voice echoed through the frigate. “All crew, abandon ship!”
He took his hand off the button and reached for Starkiller. They shook hands firmly, without saying anything. Then the general turned and swept with his squad from the bridge.
“You too, PROXY.”
“Yes, Master.” A re-creation of Starkiller’s own face flickered across the droid’s features. “Even without primary programming, I remain committed to the principle of self-preservation.”
For some time after PROXY was gone, and even as he threw himself into the complicated issue of slaving the ship to his commands, Starkiller wondered at the droid’s parting words. They had been stated with great significance, but he didn’t think they were intended as an attack on his own motives. PROXY wasn’t trying to imply that he was suicidal—he hoped. And he hoped his motives weren’t remotely bent that way. The plan wasn’t half as crazy as others he had been party to. It was just the voice of Ni-Ke-Vanz again, adding to his uncertainty.
Insanity. Psychosis. Suicidal tendencies.
But for that, he told himself, crashing a frigate from orbit into a planetary shield generator might seem a perfectly sane thing to do.
The image of the Rodian commodore had long flickered out for good. Starkiller assumed Kota had passed on the decision, and the disposition of the fleet bore that out. Starfighters converged on the Salvation, offering covering fire while he was distracted with realigning the ion engines and turbolasers. The frigate’s shields bore the brunt of everything coming his way, and that situation was certain to worsen when the Star Destroyers’ commanders realized what his intentions were.
Slowly, the damaged frigate came about. All seven ion engines flared to full thrust. Every forward turbolaser and cannon fired continuously at the planetary shield below. Starkiller adjusted the Salvation’s trim so it was aimed directly at the shield generator. A chron began to count down in the main display, estimating how much time remained before impact.
There would actually be two impacts, Starkiller reflected as the frigate picked up speed. First, against the shield; second, against the surface of the planet itself. There was no way to tell how far apart they would be spaced. It would depend on how successfully the shield managed to keep the Salvation at bay. Not long, he estimated, but even a second could significantly reduce its momentum, to the point, perhaps, where the frigate didn’t so much ram the generator as simply fall on it.
That would still be enough. He was sure of that much. Nothing was designed to withstand an impact like that.
Not even him.
The planet grew large ahead of him. The Imperials gradually figured out what the frigate accelerating toward them was intending to do. Energy weapons and TIE fighters came in wave after wave, attempting to destroy the Salvation before it got anywhere near impacting the shield. The Rebels literally threw themselves between him and the Imperials, taking hits for him in an attempt to ensure the success of his last-ditch gambit. A Star Destroyer rumbled by, too slowly to physically intercept the falling frigate. He wondered who had issued the order to attempt a ram—Darth Vader or the ship’s commander. Probably the former. If anyone could guess who was at the controls of the Salvation, it would be him.
And Darth Vader, of all people, would know what Starkiller was capable of. On Raxus Prime, he had changed the course of a Star Destroyer using nothing but the Force.
“What is mass?” Kota had asked him. “Concentrate on what’s important.”
/> Kamino loomed large ahead. Already he felt the faint fringes of atmosphere.
Starkiller clung tightly to the edge of the main display and held an image of Juno’s face steady in his mind.
CHAPTER 18
JUNO FELT THE PITCH of the prison ship’s engines change beneath her, and she was on her feet in an instant. The hyperdrives had cut out. A second later, ion engines kicked in—three of them, mounted at the base of the craft. That was an unusual configuration, one that would make it easier to identify the ship later. There were no portholes to peer through, and no visits from her captor, either, so she had no way of knowing what, exactly, was happening outside. But she could guess. They had reached their destination and were accelerating into an equatorial insertion trajectory, preparatory to landing.
That guess was confirmed when she heard repulsors kick in. The ship rocked a couple of times and shook from nose to stern. Wherever they were, it was bumpy.
She stayed where she was, riding out the short trip to the surface with an uneasy sensation in her stomach that wasn’t motion sickness. She hadn’t been face-to-face with Darth Vader since her arrest, the first time Starkiller had “died.” His opinion of her was unlikely to have improved since then.
The ship’s flight steadied. She imagined it hovering over a pad, preparatory to landing. Gravity shifted minutely as the ship’s artificial field gave over to local ambient levels. She lightly jumped twice into the air. There wasn’t much change, which didn’t help her refine the possibilities at all.
The ship settled with hardly a bump as it touched solid ground. The repulsors eased off, and all the other noises of flight gradually ceased. The hull allowed very little sound from outside into her tiny cell. She heard a faint hiss that wasn’t life support, and an incessant, threading whine that might have been wind.
Star Wars: The Force Unleashed II Page 20