And that would be it. He’d never set foot on the moon again. And tomorrow, he’d find a way off Gorse. It was time to move on.
He’d been in motion since that dark day, years earlier. The darkest of days. The day when life as he knew it had fallen apart, had been blasted apart, by something he hadn’t then understood. He still didn’t understand much of it. There he’d been, fourteen years old, having relied for his entire life on the Jedi Order for everything: food, shelter, education, and security. Maybe not love, but at least stability, calm, sense.
And then, all at once, the Republic and its clone soldiers had turned against the Jedi. Depa Billaba fought to protect him—and he fought to protect her. She died. He fled. She died so he could flee, but to what end? What did she hope for him?
The young Caleb hadn’t known. He’d known only that, in the end, the Force hadn’t helped her. Or any of the other Jedi he’d heard about.
It’s not your friend, he’d told himself. It was one reason he refused to use it, even to make his life a little easier. He’d also refused to take up his lightsaber. He still had it: Besides the finicky Force, it was his last tie to the past. But what good were lightsabers? What good was the Force, if it allowed its most devoted followers to be cut down by rank betrayal?
“A Jedi uses the Force for guidance,” his first teacher had said. Yeah, guidance right into a freaking wall!
The problem was that the Force couldn’t be turned off like a switch. Many of the benefits it conveyed were subtle. They enhanced traits without his conscious effort. No act of will could make it stop; no lapse of belief could make it fully vanish. Kanan would always be better at some things. And that had been the problem of his life. He was still driven to take jobs that interested him, and to excel at them. That was just his way.
But excelling by too much, or for too long, risked notice. And that was something he had been told to avoid.
Obi-Wan had used the beacon to warn Jedi to avoid detection. It hadn’t taken long for Kanan to understand why. For days and weeks after the Jedi generals had been cut down by their own clone troopers, the new Empire continued to hunt and kill Jedi. It wasn’t just about hiding physically from the Empire. Avoid detection meant hiding from everyone the fact that he had a connection to the Force.
The Force was a death mark.
The early months had been a blur of terror for young Caleb. He’d lived constantly with nightmares of what could happen. The Empire had control of the Jedi headquarters. That surely included the database with whatever information the Jedi had on file for Caleb Dume. They would have learned his name, for sure, and likely had images of him taken by the training center’s security cams. What else did they have? He’d racked his brain many times trying to remember what, if any, biometric information the Jedi had taken from him over the years. Did they have a soundprint of his voice? A genetic sample? It bewildered Kanan now to think that the Empire might know more about his family history than he did.
Whatever had happened to the other Jedi Knights and their Padawans, he had to assume the Emperor would have been thorough about it. They’d have found a list, or constructed one. They’d have marked off everyone who fell. And they would’ve known Caleb Dume did not fall when Depa Billaba did.
So in the beginning, Caleb did everything right. When he took jobs to feed himself, he made sure not to excel too far beyond the expected norm. Personally distributing his own payloads on Cynda was a holdover from that; it kept his number of flights per day to a number that was merely exceptional, and not suspicious. He’d resisted friendships and long-term romantic connections, and he’d mostly restrained his chivalrous impulses. The teenager had done all those things, for fear of a middle-of-the-night visit by stormtroopers.
But weeks turned to months, and months to years, and no one came to his home—or cot, or tent, or patch of spacecraft floor—to wake him and drag him away. And the young man now known as Kanan Jarrus discovered that carousing eliminated those worries entirely.
So he’d done more of the same. He’d drunk to forget. He’d brawled to let off steam. He’d taken the dangerous jobs to fund his lifestyle—and then began it all again. He wasn’t some chivalrous nomad, skulking from planet to planet doing good deeds and leaving when things got too hot. No, he left when things got dull. When the drinking money ran out, or when the bar-owner’s daughter suddenly wanted to marry him. Kanan didn’t leave because the Empire moved in: He’d stared down Imperials like Vidian before and lived. They knew he was something to ignore. No, he left because where the Empire went, fun usually died.
And he also left whenever he got too comfortable. That was when the Force, tired of being suppressed, would sneak back like an ignored pet. He didn’t want it complicating his world, making him feel like somebody’s prey again. And he didn’t like being reminded about what had happened in that other life.
Watching Ultimatum growing in his cockpit window as he headed for Gorse, Kanan thought for the umpteenth time about the text portion of the message from Obi-Wan. Republic forces have been turned against the Jedi. There was something in that wording: have been turned. It suggested that maybe the people themselves hadn’t turned against the Jedi, despite the Emperor’s claims to the contrary.
That might have mattered years earlier, Kanan thought, but it hardly did now.
He had always been aggravated by how little Obi-Wan had shared. It made sense that he’d been short of time. And perhaps he hadn’t known much, yet, when he sent the warning. But why hadn’t he sent another? If he didn’t have access to the beacon on Coruscant any longer, wouldn’t he have found another way to get a message out, later on?
Kanan knew the answer. Because there probably aren’t any Jedi left to contact. And because Kenobi’s probably dead himself.
At one time, those had been hard thoughts to have; now they only produced a tired yawn. He couldn’t see Obi-Wan willingly hunkering down on some remote world, waiting for things to blow over. He’d have had a mission, if he were alive—an important one. He’d want people to know about it. And all the missions Kanan could imagine would have put Obi-Wan into motion all around the galaxy. No, if Kenobi lived, Kanan would have heard something.
But Kanan knew he wouldn’t care even if the Jedi Master popped up in the seat right behind him. Caleb Dume hadn’t yet been a Jedi Knight, and Kanan Jarrus wasn’t one now. None of it affected him, need ever affect him. He’d been dealt his hand, and that was what he would play. Play, for as long he could keep from stupid stunts like the one he’d pulled on Cynda.
He just wouldn’t play here anymore.
He would return Expedient to Moonglow; it would be a dumb starship thief indeed that would want it. He’d collect his back pay, gather his few goods before Okadiah got home, and be on his way. The Star Destroyer was still out there, he saw, but it hadn’t yet barred commercial flights from Gorse. He would pick a direction and be on his—
Kanan took a second look at the Star Destroyer, now ahead and to his right. From Ultimatum’s underside, two four-vehicle flights of TIE fighters emerged and headed in his direction.
Snapped alert, Kanan leaned forward and grabbed the steering yoke. Which way? They were headed right for Expedient. The ship had a little rock-shooter of a cannon, nothing more, and the vessel hadn’t been refueled since that morning, four lunar flights earlier. Kanan switched the comm system from channel to channel, listening for Captain Sloane’s voice. Someone, something to tell him whether he needed to fight or fly.
The voice he did hear came from the backseat—but it wasn’t Obi-Wan Kenobi, or even kindly old Okadiah. “They’re not after you,” it said. “They’re looking for me.”
Kanan looked back.
Skelly!
“You!” Kanan grabbed at Skelly’s collar, yanking him violently forward and slamming him against the top of Expedient’s dashboard. Kanan’s first instinct was to deal with the stowaway—but the Imperials were still out there, still heading in his direction.
“Loo
k!” Skelly said, gasping for breath, arms flailing.
Kanan followed the upside-down man’s gaze and saw, past the TIE squadrons, a Lambda-class shuttle departing Ultimatum. As its trapezoidal wings folded into flight position, another one followed. And then another—until five shuttles were heading in Kanan’s direction. Two TIEs from each group broke formation and moved to flank the shuttles as the others continued ahead, clearing the space lanes. Kanan watched, disbelieving, as the vessels passed over his head on the way to Cynda.
“I told you, they’re all looking for me,” Skelly said. “Not you.”
“Congratulations,” Kanan said drily. He didn’t let Skelly up. “There’s about to be a hundred more stormtroopers on Cynda, thanks to you. I’m tempted to send you back to them!”
Skelly wrested free—and Kanan gave him a hard smack. Blood spurted from Skelly’s nose. “You jerk! What did you do that for?”
“You blew up Zone Forty-Two. You tried to kill us!”
“I didn’t!” Skelly said, wresting free.
“You’re lying!” Kanan grabbed Skelly’s left arm and twisted it behind his back. Turning, he started to shove the unwanted guest toward the airlock. “They’re looking for you? I’m giving you back to them!”
“Watch it! Not that arm! Not that arm!” Skelly said. Putting his free hand—his mechanical hand—before him, he grabbed on to a handle near the airlock door. After a few moments’ scuffling, Kanan realized the hand was in a death grip, and that Skelly wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“Fine,” Kanan said. He turned and grabbed his holster, which had been hanging on the back of his pilot’s seat.
Skelly looked back and sneered. “What, are you going to shoot me now?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s gratitude! I saved you!”
Kanan had the blaster fully out of the holster when he finally registered what Skelly had said. “Wait. What?”
“I saved you,” Skelly said. “You and your whole rotten corporate bunch!”
“Saved—” Kanan was flabbergasted. “You brought a mountain down on my head!”
Skelly went silent.
Aggravated, Kanan stood and turned back to the controls to direct Expedient onto a path well away from any other convoys, Imperial or otherwise. He glanced back to see Skelly slumped against the airlock door, massaging a hand that had finally come free from the handle.
Kanan lowered his pistol but didn’t put it away. Suddenly exhausted, he dropped onto the acceleration couch facing the airlock. “I need a drink,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Now, tell me this again. You were saving us by blowing us up?”
“I wasn’t trying to blow you up. I was trying to show the Imperial inspectors we shouldn’t use baradium to open new chambers. Cynda can’t take it.”
“You could’ve killed people!” Kanan said.
“No, no,” Skelly said. “You Moonglow guys weren’t supposed to be working Forty-Two until tomorrow. I saw Boss Lal’s schedule earlier!”
“That was the schedule before the Empire got here. We were working double time. We weren’t on today’s schedule anymore.”
“Oh,” Skelly said in an awkward, small voice. “Er—so, did anyone die?”
“Glad you care,” Kanan said, reaching for his shoulder holster and putting it on. “No. Not that I know of.”
“Good,” Skelly said. “I was just trying to prove a point—and it worked.” He tugged at his collar. “The joint caved in, just like I said. If they’ve told Vidian I was right, he’s probably looking for me now to thank me.” He gestured with his left hand to the cockpit window. “That’s what all the ships are about. They think I’m down there still. Search-and-rescue!”
“Uh-huh. Which is why you stowed away, instead of staying there.”
“I needed a place to wait while the Empire figured out what happened. I had no idea you’d come back so fast and take off!”
Kanan shook his head and holstered his blaster. He didn’t know what to believe. But before he could say anything, Skelly got to his feet and walked forward like a man with a purpose.
Kanan stood. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m hailing the Star Destroyer!”
Kanan did a double take. “What?”
“I told you, they’re looking for me.” Skelly reached for a button, only to be shoved into the passenger seat by Kanan.
Reaching for the seat’s restaint harness, Kanan snapped Skelly in. Then he pulled out his blaster again.
“Hey! Don’t shoot!”
Kanan didn’t shoot. Instead, he activated the safety and turned the blaster over in his hand. Using the butt of the handle as a hammer, he pounded Skelly’s harness buckle until it was bent out of shape.
“You broke it. I can’t believe you did that.”
“It’s not my ship,” Kanan said. Or it wouldn’t be, after he landed. The harness would keep Skelly in place now. “I’m not letting you hail the blasted Star Destroyer!”
Skelly shook his head. “You still don’t get it.” With his left hand, he reached inside his vest and pulled out the holodisk he’d shown Kanan earlier. “I just need to take this information to Vidian—”
“Vidian.” Kanan sat down in the pilot’s seat, his head spinning. “That weird guy the Empire sent?”
“Don’t you follow the news? Vidian’s a fixer. He’s like me—he sees what’s wrong and he takes care of it. He’s probably suspending all work on Cynda right now for an investigation. All I have to do is get in touch with him, show him my facts. He’ll whip those corporate hacks into shape!”
Kanan looked out at Ultimatum, shrinking in the starboard window—and then back at Skelly. “You really think that’s what’ll happen?”
“Sure. Once they see what I have to show them, they might even reward you for bringing me in.”
Kanan looked back to the controls—and then up. There, from the darkness of Gorse’s permanent nightside, he saw something familiar rising into space.
“There’s your response,” he said.
“What?” Skelly turned his head. He saw dozens of ships: empty cargo vessels, personnel transports, and explosives haulers like Expedient. All were headed to Cynda. “The next shift?”
Kanan laughed. “So much for the Skelly Memorial Holiday.”
He turned on the comm system. The Imperial traffic was all scrambled, but Boss Lal was talking on Moonglow’s dedicated channel. Work zones affected by the collapse were being cordoned off, but mining operations would continue in the other areas. “Count Vidian’s orders,” she said, launching into a list of rerouted landing instructions.
Listening, Skelly was dumbfounded—but only for a moment. “They’ve just seen what blasting in the wrong place can do. And they’re keeping on?” Shaking with rage, he spat three words Kanan could tell Skelly hated. “Business as usual.”
Kanan snapped off the comm system and stretched back in his chair.
Skelly, unable to move, stared at him. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Well, now what?”
“I’m going home,” Kanan said.
“Home?” Skelly asked. “Where’s home?”
“I’m taking Expedient to Moon glow’s shipyard, like always. I’m going to park the ship, and I’m going to turn you over to that security chief husband of Lal’s.” Kanan turned his attention to flying the ship.
Skelly shook his head and lowered his voice. “Some friend you are!”
Kanan bolted upright in his seat and turned. “Let’s get something straight,” he said, jabbing a finger in Skelly’s direction. “I’m not your friend. I’m not your accomplice, and I’m certainly not your coconspirator. I didn’t help you in this, and I am not going to help you get out of it. I’m done!”
Skelly looked at Kanan for a few moments—and then turned his head away. “Great,” he growled. “It’s just like always. Nobody ever—”
In the window, Skelly caught the refle
ction of Kanan standing up. He turned his head to see Kanan walking into the back. “Wait, where are you going now?”
“Somewhere I can’t hear you.”
Safely back aboard her starship, Hera sent the encrypted message to her contact on Gorse. She was more certain than ever that a meeting was necessary. That the Empire spied on workplaces in a system that produced a strategic material was no surprise. But it had no qualms about using such technologies everywhere, and her contact could tell her a lot about the latest Imperial surveillance capabilities and how to defeat them. She had to risk the meeting, whether she got another chance to spy on Vidian or not.
Hera studied the scene outside. Listening, she took everything in. The Empire was encrypting its own signals, but the mining companies weren’t, and she had gotten a clear picture of the hours that had just passed on Cynda. A miner tagged as a troublemaker or dissident had been identified by Imperial surveillance. But Skelly the demolitions guy had surprised his employers, the Empire, and everyone else by using explosives in order to escape arrest. And not long after that, the big explosion had occurred in a work area—unscheduled, and evidently far more destructive than anything to be found in normal operations.
The Empire had hustled then, sending more than half the Star Destroyer’s complement of troop shuttles to Cynda. Since no medical ships were on the way from Gorse—the moon’s clinic was limited—she had to assume there were no casualties. That meant the stormtroopers sure to be on the shuttles weren’t part of search-and-rescue. They were there to continue looking for the bomber.
But in between the reports of the blast and the Imperial scramble, she’d noticed something else. An explosives hauler—Moonglow-72, by the call sign—had been the only ship besides hers to depart Cynda before the grounding order came. She’d seen it jerk violently when the TIE formations approached—and while the sight of the Imperial fighters might have that effect on any simple tradesbeing, the ship had flown unusually after that, as if no one was piloting. Finally, it had settled on an approach to Gorse that kept well away from the most traveled lanes.
A New Dawn: Star Wars Page 7