Shatterpoint (звёздные войны)

by Matthew Stover

  It was Kar Vaster.

  Nick leveled Chalk's gun. "This is for her, scum-packer," he muttered. "Never liked you either." But her pistol was too heavy for him to hold steady. His own seemed to have gained a dozen kilos as well. "What the frag-?" His knees turned to cloth.

  He looked over at lolu's corpse. The other shield, one that still hung silent along his dead arm, was stained bright red. Dripping.

  Nick said, "Oh." He looked down. A huge diagonal gash opened his tunic across his abdomen, and his legs were soaked with blood. He sagged back against the wall.

  "Oh," he said again. "Oh, nuts." And, in the end, he was just too tired. Too old.

  Too wounded.

  Through the trace of Force connection he had with Nick, Mace felt the young Korun collapse. Something broke inside his head, and all his own wounds crashed upon him.

  Every cut and bruise, every cracked bone and sprained joint, the man-bite on his shoulder and the hole through his guts: all of them blossomed into silent screams.

  His lightsaber went heavy, and his arms went slow. She burned a stripe across his chest, and he staggered.

  His fighting spirit wasn't destroyed. It wasn't even far away. He could feel where it had gone.

  He could reach out and touch it.

  It was waiting for him in the dark.

  Lorz Geptun quivered uncontrollably. Crouched in the cramped chamber that was filled with the refresher-sized tranceiver, he tried not to listen to the steady diminuendo of the blaster fire above. Each gun that fell silent was one less man up there to protect his life.

  His hands trembled so badly he could barely punch the keys on the codelock that sealed his datapad's armored shell. When he finally got it open, he had to fumble in the inky shadows for the linkport on the transceiver. His shaking hands made inserting his pad's datalink resemble threading a needle with his feet, but he got it done.

  With a gasp of triumph, he keyed the droid starfighter recall sequence.

  Nothing happened.

  A moment later, his datapad's screen announced: ECM FAULT. UNABLE TO EXECUTE. ECM FAULT. ECM: Electronic Counter- Measure. The signal-jamming was still on.

  In the Force, Mace felt Geptun's despair. It felt like a gift.

  Another man might even have smiled.

  He took one last look at the darkness that called to him- Darkness within mirroring darkness without- And turned away.

  He let his blade vanish. His arms dropped to his sides.

  Depa moved in for the kill.

  Mace backed away.

  She leaped for him, slashing, and he slipped aside. She pressed her attack and he retreated, over bodies and through blaster-riddled wreckage of console banks, until he came hard up against a console that still had power: indicator lights flashed like droid eyes in the gloom.

  The blade of green fire whirled up, poised, and struck.

  He let himself collapse.

  He fell to the floor at her feet, and instead of cleaving his skull, her blade slashed the console behind him in half. Cables spat blue sparks across the burned gap.

  This was the console that controlled the spaceport's signal-jamming equipment.

  Down in the transceiver chamber, Geptun stared at his datapad's screen with astonished reverence, conscious of having been unexpectedly granted undeserved grace.

  It read: COMMAND EXECUTED.

  In the skies over Pelek Baw, as the snowcap on Grandfather's Shoulder kindled with the first red rays of dawn, droid starfighters disengaged from clone-piloted ships and streaked back into the depths of space.

  In the command bunker, the swirl of dark power crested, paused, and began to recede.

  Mace lay on the floor. He didn't think he could get up. Depa stared down at him, her face lit jungle-green by the glow of her blade, and a single needle of light seemed to pierce the dark madness in her eyes. "Oh, Mace." Her voice was a moan of astonished pain. Her blade vanished, and her arms fell limp and helpless to her sides. "Mace, I'm sorry-I'm so sorry." He managed to lift a hand to reach up to her. "Depa-" "Mace, I'm sorry," she repeated, and brought her lightsaber up to put its emitter to her own temple. "We shouldn't have come." "Depa, no!" Mace found he did have the strength to rise, to stand, even to leap for her, but he was exhausted, and wounded, and far, far too slow. She squeezed the activator plate.

  A single sharp report-like a handclap-rang out behind him, and a spark flew from the metal of her blade as it was smacked spinning from her hand.

  It twisted lazily through the air and clattered among the wreckage. She blinked dizzily, as though she couldn't quite understand why she was still alive, then crumpled to the floor. Mace turned toward where the sound had come from. Sitting next to the corpse of a dead Akk Guard, his back propped against the wall, one hand pressed to his chest to hold closed a horrible wound, Nick Rostu grinned past the smoking barrel of the pistol in his other hand.

  "Told you." "Nick-" "Told you I can shoot." he said. His fingers opened and the gun fell to the floor; his hand dropped on top of it and his eyes drifted shut.

  "Nick, I-" The young Korun was beyond hearing. Mace said softly, "Thank you." He swayed. He had to put out a hand to the wrecked comm console to steady himself.

  The bunker had once again gone quiet and dark and full of death. Quiet except for a low growl.

  The growl came from a black shape that rose like corpse-fungus from among the bodies.

  So, doshalo. Here we are. For the last time.

  "Perhaps." The shape smoked with power. More power than Mace had ever felt.

  And he was so tired. So hurt. The lightsaber wound in his belly radiated pain that scraped away his strength.

  The shadow beckoned. Come on, then: jungle rules.

  "On the contrary," Mace said slowly. "Jedi rules." What are Jedi rules'?

  "You don't need to know," Mace told him. "You're not a Jedi." Vibroshields whined to life. I am waiting for you, Jedi of the Windu.

  Mace extended a hand, and his lightsaber found it.

  He stood, waiting.

  "You fear to attack me.

  "Jedi do not fear," Mace said. "And we do not attack. As long as you stand in peace, so do I. You have just learned two of the Jedi rules. For what little good they will do you. You haven't been paying very close attention, Kar. And it's too late to start now. It's over." Nothing is over! NOTHING. Not while we both live.

  "This is another Jedi rule." Mace took a couple of steps to one side, to find a space of floor where he didn't have to fear tripping over a body. "If you fight a Jedi, you've already lost." The dark shape came closer. Fine words from a man I've beaten before.

  "The starfighters have been ordered off. The city will stand. They've surrendered to the Republic. We have no reason to fight." Men like us are our own reason.

  Mace shook his head. "This isn't a big dog thing. If I must, I will hurt you. Badly." You can't bluff me.

  "No, but I can kill you. Though I would rather not." More Jedi rules?

  Mace sagged. "Do you have a move to make? I'm too tired for this." Sleep when you're dead, Vaster snarled, and leaped.

  Ultrachrome flashed. Mace could have met him, blade to shields, but instead he slipped aside.

  He had no intention of fighting this man. Not here and now. Not anywhere. Not ever.

  Vastor was younger, stronger, faster, and immensely more powerful, and he wielded weapons that could not be harmed by the Jedi blade. Mace couldn't win such a battle on his best day, and this day was far from his best: he was exhausted, badly wounded, and heartsick.

  But the fact that his lightsaber couldn't hurt those shields didn't make them invulnerable.

  As Vastor gathered himself to spring again, Mace reached into the Force. The vibroshield stuck into the wall above Nick's head squealed against the bunker's armor as it came to life and pulled itself free and streaked like a missile toward Vastor's back.

  Vastor's incredible reflexes whirled him, and those same reflexes snapped his shields in front of his chest
in plenty of time to block- But they didn't actually block anything.

  There was a reason why, when Vastor's shields met to make that metallic howl, he always brought them together back-to-back, instead of edge-to-edge.

  The flying shield's vibrating edge sheared through both Vastor's shields, through both his wrists, and buried itself in the bone of his chest, stopping less than a centimeter short of his heart.

  Vastor blinked astonishment at Mace as though the Jedi Master had betrayed him.

  Mace said, "You were warned." Vastor's head shook weakly, suddenly palsied. He dropped to his knees. You've killed me.

  He sounded like he couldn't make himself believe it.

  "No," Mace said. "That's another of the Jedi rules. Killing you is not the answer for your crimes. You're going back to Coruscant. You're going to stand trial." Vaster swayed. His gaze went blank and blind.

  "Kar Vaster," said Mace Windu, "you are under arrest." Vaster pitched forward. Mace caught him and turned him face-up before lowering the unconscious lor pelek to the floor.

  Then he pulled himself back to his feet, leaning on the console.

  His vision grayed and lost focus; for a moment he wasn't sure where he was. This might have been Palpatine's office. Or the interrogation room at the Ministry of Justice. The Intel station, or the dead room at the Lorshan Pass.

  Perhaps even the Jedi Temple. but the Jedi Temple wouldn't ever smell like this.

  Would it?

  "Master Windu?" He remembered the voice, and it brought him back to the command bunker.

  "Is it over?" Geptun called tentatively from the transceiver chamber. He sounded very old, and more than a little lost. "Can I come out now?" Mace looked down at Kar Vastor, and the spreading pool of blood in which he lay. He looked at the scattered corpses of clone troopers and militia techs. He looked at Nick Rostu, crumpled against the wall.

  "Master Windu?" Geptun's head appeared slowly over the rim of the hole in the floor. "Did we win?" Mace looked at the sad, shrunken form of Depa Billaba, and thought about his victory conditions.

  "I seem to be," Mace Windu said slowly, "the last one standing." It was the only answer he had.

  AFTERWORD THE JEDI" S WAR FROM THE PRIVATE JOURNALS OF MACE WlNDU: I still dream of Geonosis.

  But my dreams are different, now.

  A Republic task force arrived to take possession of Haruun Kal and the Al'har system within forty-eight standard hours of my arrest of Kar Vaster; it seems they had already been dispatched to answer a distress call from the acting commander of the Halieck.

  Their landing was unopposed.

  The Republic will not occupy Haruun Kal; acting under my authority as General of the Grand Army of the Republic, I redesignated the Korunnal Highland. It is no longer enemy territory, and Haruun Kal is no longer officially a war zone. On my recommendation, the Senate has declared the combat operations on Haruun Kal to be a police action.

  Because I have decided to treat the Summertime War as a law enforcement problem.

  Which it would have always been, had the financial interests behind the thyssel bark trade not been able to buy off certain Senators and Judicial sector coordinators.

  We are in the process of disarming the jungle prospectors and the remaining bands of Korunnai guerrillas. It's going surprisingly well; the jups are terrified of Republic soldiers, and the Korunnai bands are mostly exhausted and sick. As they come to understand that they will not be mistreated, many simply surrender altogether. All charges of atrocities are being investigated. If those responsible can be identified, they will be tried, and they will be punished.

  The planetary militia remains, though at greatly reduced strength. The militia regulars will now become what they should always have been.

  Keepers of the peace. Not soldiers.

  Many of them have volunteered to be inducted into the Republic Army.

  Including, unexpectedly, Colonel Geptun.

  He has not been charged with any crime. The vast bulk of the atrocities committed against the Korunnai were done by jungle prospectors, not the militia. Even his threat of a massacre at the Lorshan Pass turns out to have been a bluff. He never ordered any such thing; in fact, the militia's written rules of engagement specifically prohibit the targeting of civilians.

  Not only have I recommended he be accepted into the Grand Army of the Republic, I have already written out his transfer to Republic Intelligence.

  We will need him.

  Nick-I should say, Major Rostu-continues to convalesce in a medical center here on Coruscant. I do not know if I can keep my promise of a job teaching unconventional warfare, but I have no doubt we can find something for him. I have submitted a recommendation to the Senate that his brevet rank be confirmed.

  And that he be awarded the Medal of Valor for conspicuous gallantry under fire, and actions above and beyond the call of duty.

  I have also assigned to Chalk a posthumous commission. Her real name, I have learned only now, was Liane Trevval, and that name will appear in the Senate record. I gave her the commission to render her eligible for the same medal.

  I have no other way to express my respect for who she was.

  Her great akk, Galthra, has vanished. If an akk's Force-bonded part ner dies, it is customary to put the beast down, for it is not uncommon for akks who have lost their person to go insane, and vicious.

  Galthra went into the jungle. I can only hope she stays there.

  Pelek Baw will be rebuilt. There is too much money in the thyssel trade for its epicenter to lie in ruins for long. The casualties- Are recorded elsewhere. It is a staggering number.

  No one on Haruun Kal will ever forget that night.

  Kar Vastor also continues to recover from his wounds. His hands were saved, and he is under detention here in the Jedi Temple, where his power cannot sway his jailers.

  He will not be immediately tried for the murder of Terrel Nakay; that will only be filed against him in the event of his acquittal on his initial charge. For the trial of Kar Vastor, we have revived a category of crime under which no one has been prosecuted in four thousand years: since the days of the Sith Wars.

  Kar Vastor has been charged with crimes against civilization.

  And Depa- Depa will face the same charge.

  Someday.

  If she's ever declared competent to stand trial.

  After reading my report on Haruun Kal, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine-in his characteristically warm and compassionate way-took time from his more pressing duties to come to the Temple and look in on Depa personally.

  He was accompanied by Yoda and myself; the three of us stood alone in a darkened observation room, watching through a holoviewer as three Jedi healers attended to poor Depa.

  She hung suspended in a bacta tank. Her eyes were open-submerged in bacta one has no need to blink-and they stared fixedly through the transparisteel at something only she could see.

  Depa has not spoken-has not moved-since her collapse. The greatest Jedi healers of the Temple can find nothing organically wrong with her. Bacta has cured her physical wounds; it cannot touch the rest.

  When the healers touch her through the Force, all they find is darkness. Vast and featureless.

  She is lost in infinite night.

  The Supreme Chancellor watched only for a moment or two before he sighed and shook his head sadly. "Still no progress, I take it?" Yoda watched me gravely while I struggled to find words to answer. Finally he sighed and took pity on me.

  "To end her life, she tried," he said. "Most tragic this is: to have sunk so deeply into despair that she can no longer see light. Yet we must not follow her there; hold on to hope, we must.

  Recover she may. Someday." Though perhaps I should not have admitted it, the truth pushed its way out of me. "I would almost have preferred to lose the planet, if I could have saved Depa." "And do you know what caused her breakdown?" Palpatine pressed his hand against the holoviewer, as though he could reach through it and stroke her hair. "I recal
l that learning this was one of the stated purposes of your mission to Haruun Kal, and yet your report offers no definite conclusion." Slowly, I admitted, "Yes. I do know." "And?" "It's difficult to explain. Especially to a non-Jedi." "Does it have anything to do with that scar on her forehead? Where her-what did you call it?" "The Greater Mark of Illumination." "Yes. Where her Mark of Illumination once was. I recognize that this is painful for you, Master Windu, but please. The Jedi are vital to the survival of the Republic, and Master Billaba is not the only Jedi we have lost to the darkness. Anything we can learn about what might cause one to fall is incredibly important." I nodded. "But I cannot offer a specific answer." "Well, the scar, then. Was she tortured?" "I do not know. Possibly. It is also possible that the wound was self-inflicted. We may never know." "It is a pity," Palpatine murmured, "that we cannot ask her." Some few seconds passed before I was able to respond. "I can only speculate in general terms, based upon what she told me, and upon my own experiences." Palpatine's eyebrows twitched upward. "Your own?" I could not meet his gaze; when I lowered my head, I found Yoda staring up at me. His wise wrinkled face was filled with ancient compassion. "Fall you did not," he said softly. "From this, strength you can take." I nodded, and found myself once again able to face the Supreme Chancellor. "It's war," I said. "Not just that war, but war itself. When every choice you make means death. When saving these innocents means that those innocents must die. I'm not sure that any Jedi can survive such choices for long." Palpatine looked from Yoda to me, his face a mask of compassionate concern. "Who would have thought that fighting a war could have such a terrible effect on a Jedi? Even when we win," he murmured. "Who would ever have thought such a thing?" "Yes," I could only agree. "Who would have thought it, indeed?" "Wonder, one must," Yoda said slowly, "if that might be the most important question of all." There followed a long, uncomfortable silence, which Palpatine finally broke. "Ah, sadly, questions of philosophy must wait for peacetime. We must focus on winning this war." "That's what Depa did," I said. "And look what it did to her." "Ah, but such a thing could never happen to-say, for example-you," Palpatine said warmly. His lips wore an enigmatic smile. "Could it?" I didn't tell him that it could. That it nearly had.