by James Luceno
There were lingering questions as to how the original schematic had fallen into Republic hands, though most accepted that the plans had been found during or shortly after the second Battle of Geonosis—not however by the Jedi, who were neither represented on the committee nor aware of the project. Even Gubacher had been required to sign the Official Secrets Act and was going to have to keep his slit-mouth shut when dealing with members of the Order.
“With our prime meridian now complete,” the alien scientist was saying, “we can proceed with the fabrication of a temporary equator, along with a series of latitudinal bands to rough in the sphere. As these bands are secured from pole to equator, construction of the hull will commence, along with the partitioning of individual interior sections. These cabinspaces will be clad, sealed, and pressured in order to permit the use of sentient laborers in addition to droids.”
“Where will this sentient labor force come from?” someone down front asked.
Gubacher pirouetted toward the voice. “Various options are being explored.”
“I’ve seen workforce estimates ranging in the millions,” the same person said.
An alien seated a few rows in front of Krennic spoke before Gubacher could respond. “The cell subcommittee is considering providing the Kaminoans with a template to grow a labor force of clones adapted for deep-space work.”
Before anyone else could jump in, all two meters of Mas Amedda rose to his feet, banging his figure-headed staff on the floor in a call for silence. “I want to caution everyone present not to get ahead of themselves. An adequate supply of workers will be found when the need arises.”
Krennic focused his gaze on the splendidly robed Chagrian vice chancellor, who had his pink-rimmed eyes narrowed and his large head angled so that his two impaling horns were pointed straight at the audience.
He steeples his fingers when he has doubts about what is being presented. His dangling lethorns quiver when he is engaged. His forked tongue darts out when he equivocates…
Gubacher called for holoimages of a Trade Federation starship to be displayed alongside the schematic. Republic engineers had postulated that the battle station had been inspired by the central control orb of the decades-old Lucrehulk-class transport.
“Imagine, if you will, the twin arms of the Lucrehulk as the eventual equator of our battle station. Save that ours will be a kind of trench in which will be housed docking and hangar bays, tractor beam generators, projectors and emitter towers, turbolaser emplacements and mooring platforms for ships of the fleet. Shield projectors and communications arrays will be distributed all across the armored surface, analogous to colonies. This will allow us to devote the entire interior space—except for a habitable crust several kilometers thick comprising command centers, armories, maintenance blocks, and such—to the fusion reactor, the hyperdrive and sublight engines, and of course the weapon itself.”
Krennic watched Amedda, whose long-taloned fingers caressed his chin as he began to circle the projected images, which were more than twice his substantial height.
“What is the status of the weapon?” the Chagrian asked.
Gubacher swiveled to someone seated nearby and motioned with his willowy upper limbs. “Professor Sahali, perhaps you should speak to that.”
Lead scientist of the Special Weapons Group, the man who stood to tackle the question was nearly as wide as he was tall, and sported a floppy hat and a pair of goggle-like glasses.
“As regards the weapon,” he began in a thick Outer Rim accent, “even the schematic is vague. We suspect, however, that the Geonosians envisioned making some use of the focusing dish to house a weapon capable of evaporating planetary atmospheres, or perhaps disrupting planetary cores.”
“Does such a weapon exist?” Amedda asked, stopping to look down at Sahali. “Is it even within our scope to create one?”
“Since the very inception of the Republic there has been no need for such research,” Sahali made clear, “let alone funding. That said, following the Naboo Crisis of just eleven years ago, Republic Special Weapons Group developed plans for an automated battlemoon asteroid.”
“I believe there were also plans for a torpedo siege platform,” someone said.
Sahali acknowledged the remark with a curt nod. “Needless to say, Vice Chancellor, neither of the projects made it past the design stage.”
“I should think that those were mere toys compared with this,” Amedda said, gesturing to the battle station schematic.
“Quite so,” Sahali said.
“The weapon will prove to be our greatest challenge,” Gubacher said. “The hypermatter reactor, the drives, all the rest, are merely elaborations of the armaments our finest engineering firms have been able to provide to Star Destroyers and other vessels. But the weapon…the weapon won’t merely be a larger version of the turbolaser. It will be something that has yet to be seen.”
Amedda turned to him. “How long will it take to develop this…marvel of technology? I need an estimate.”
Gubacher’s dome of a head rolled in uncertainty. “Very difficult to say. Many of the greatest minds in the Republic are working on it. Nevertheless, the weapon will require something truly novel in the realm of energy enhancement. A breakthrough of, dare I say, galactic proportions.”
Krennic sat back in confident repose, convinced that fate had supplied the means for him to move to the front row.
—
“Let’s not stand on ceremony, Lieutenant Commander,” Mas Amedda said, welcoming Krennic at long last into his spacious office in the Senate Dome. “Please be seated.”
Krennic assessed the room and took the best seat. “Thank you, Vice Chancellor.”
“I apologize that I’ve not been able to meet with you sooner.”
Krennic replied with a dismissive flick of his hand. “I know you’ve been busy. The war and all…”
He’ll steeple his claws.
Amedda steepled his long fingers and appraised Krennic from across the expanse of alloy desk. “My aides tell me that your visit has something to do with the project.”
Krennic fed him a beaming smile. “Everything to do with the project.”
“Which component—precisely?”
“The weapon.”
The Chagrian’s bulbous lethorns didn’t disappoint; they quivered, which suggested engagement. “Well, then, I’m very sorry I couldn’t meet with you sooner.”
Krennic had never spent personal time with the vice chancellor. They had been in many a room together, and Krennic had observed him out and about, at the opera before the war and in the Senate Building and elsewhere on numerous occasions. Krennic’s invitation—in effect his orders—to join the Strategic Advisory Cell had originated with Amedda, though Krennic doubted that the Chagrian had any memory, or perhaps even any knowledge, of that.
Ever since he had been transferred from the Corp of Engineers and required to swear to innumerable security oaths, Krennic’s life had been transformed. He naturally assumed that his personal comlink was tapped; that his close friends, remaining family members, and past and present lovers had been interviewed; that his every search on the HoloNet was monitored and evaluated. Though he wore a white tunic, publicly he was still a member of the Corps of Engineers; only his associates in the cell were aware of his duties as coordinator of the Special Weapons Group. The new assignment had also required a return to school to suffer through intensive courses on the weapons Rothana, Kuat, and others had built for the Kaminoans to equip the Grand Army, and on the weapons Baktoid, Hoersch-Kessel Drive, and others were engineering and producing for the Separatists. On graduating he had supervised a brain trust of research experts who reported directly to the upper echelon of the Republic military. As vice chancellor, Mas Amedda didn’t have any real authority over him, but Krennic thought it useful to pretend that he did, if only to establish their relative standing.
“If this concerns the weapon,” Amedda was saying, “you should have spoken up at the briefing.
”
Krennic nodded. “Perhaps I should have, but I felt that this matter is better discussed privately.”
A slight tremor shook Amedda’s dangling lethorns. “Well, here we are.”
Krennic plunged in. “Dr. Gubacher was right to say that many of the finest minds in the Republic are working on developing the battle station’s principal weapon—all except one.”
The tremor in Amedda’s fleshy growths grew more sustained.
“His name is Galen Erso.”
Amedda pressed his claws together. “Erso. Should I be familiar with him?”
“You can’t be expected to know everyone.”
“My sphere is politics, after all, not science and technology.”
In fact, Amedda’s sphere was overseeing the Republic slush fund and placating Palpatine, Krennic told himself. But if the Chagrian wanted to play, he was game.
“Galen Erso is one of the Core’s most renowned polymaths. A theoretician, a mathematician, an engineer and experimental physicist. At present he is the preeminent authority on crystals and their use in supplying enhanced power.”
Amedda showed him a blank look. “Crystals?”
Krennic nodded. “For the past ten years he has been experimenting with many types. But his recent research has focused on the kyber crystal.”
Amedda’s expression didn’t change. “I have a passing familiarity. My understanding is that kybers are exceeding uncommon.”
“They are—especially large ones.” Krennic sighed dramatically. “If the Jedi Order could be persuaded to share information, things might be different.”
He’ll show the tip of his forked tongue.
Amedda wet his lips. “These kyber crystals are important to the Jedi?”
“Among other uses, the crystals power their lightsabers.”
“Well, no wonder then. The exclusivity must frustrate this Galen Erso to no end.”
“That’s exactly why he has been attempting to synthesize them.”
Amedda’s ice-blue eyes widened. “That seems a bold enterprise. I have heard the kyber described as a living crystal.”
“I’ve heard the same.”
“But what makes you think that Erso’s research would have some bearing on the battle station weapon?”
Krennic took a breath. “I’ll confess that I’m not acquainted with the state of his current research. But Special Weapons has evaluated his earlier research, and there are indications that Erso’s theories could lead to a new direction in energy enrichment. We’re studying ways to adapt the research.”
“To weaponize it, you mean.”
“More accurately. However, we need a complete understanding of his work—not to mention access to his current research on synthesis.”
Amedda took a moment to parse it. “How is it that you know Erso, Lieutenant Commander?”
“We became friends on Brentaal as students in the Futures Program.”
Amedda offered a tell that reeked of skepticism.
“You were in the gifted program?”
Krennic let the slight slide. “For a period of time—before being offered a position in the design regiment of the Corps of Engineers.”
“Ah, yes,” Amedda said, sinking back into his big chair. “If memory serves, your team is responsible for many of Coruscant’s military headquarters.” He fell silent, then said: “Do you believe that the Separatists are working on a battle station?”
Krennic rocked his head. “Dooku has left plenty of clues to that effect—massive procurements of certain rare resources, computer intrusions to acquire scientific data that have since been redacted and quarantined—including much of Galen Erso’s published research.”
Amedda thought about it. “Why wasn’t Erso approached to join the cell when it was inaugurated?”
“At the time he was already under contract to work for Zerpen Industries.”
Amedda glowered. “Neutralists—and yet profiting from both sides of this contest.” He waved the issue away. “Then we simply need to induce Erso to break his contract.”
“Unfortunately, we learned recently that Dr. Erso is languishing in a prison on Vallt.”
Amedda’s anger returned. “Why of all worlds is he on Vallt? You realize that Vallt has gone over to the Separatists?”
“I do. But Vallt was a Republic member world when Dr. Erso agreed to oversee Zerpen’s onworld facility. A deal was cut with Vallt’s former leadership that allowed for mining and construction in return for a very generous aid package.”
“A poor choice regardless,” Amedda said. “Why was he arrested?”
“Trumped-up charges of espionage.”
“Perhaps to compel him to change allegiances?”
“As we see it.”
Amedda gave his head a somber shake. “Vallt teetered on the edge for a decade. As former chair of the Senate, I served on a committee with Vallt’s representatives, and even then they were a disaffected group, complaining about being ignored by the Republic. And now the military has staged a coup and affiliated itself with the Separatists.” He paused to regard Krennic. “How did Zerpen react to Erso’s arrest?”
“Republic Intelligence has of course been monitoring Zerpen. Several standard weeks ago, a burst transmission was intercepted, sent apparently by hypercomm from a Zerpen ship on Vallt to the company headquarters in the Salient system, alerting them to the seizure of the facility and the arrest of Dr. Erso.”
“What was their response?”
“Zerpen planned to take action, but we’ve asked them to stand down from making any overtures.”
“Who is we in this instance?”
Krennic smiled lightly. “I took it upon myself, Vice Chancellor.”
Amedda interlocked his fingers and leaned forward, lowering his horns. “For what purpose, Lieutenant Commander?”
Krennic took the menacing posture in stride. “It’s my belief that a rescue by us will go a long way toward persuading Dr. Erso to share his research with the Special Weapons Group.”
Amedda retreated somewhat. “Why does he need to be persuaded? You said yourself that he was in the Republic Futures Program. He should be more than willing to comply and cooperate.”
“Except that he’s something of a pacifist. A conscientious objector, if you will.”
Amedda blew out his breath in disdain. “If that’s true, then we needn’t worry about him serving the Separatists. Let him rot in prison.”
The Chagrian’s change in posture told Krennic that he was in danger of losing Amedda unless he acted quickly, so he altered his approach.
“Under normal circumstances I would agree. However, the one sticking point is that Dr. Erso’s wife was pregnant when they left for Vallt, and unless something untoward has happened, she is close to delivering the baby by now.”
Amedda took a moment to respond; his lethorns stirring slightly. “Are you suggesting that those in charge on Vallt might use Erso’s wife and child as methods of persuasion?”
“We are at war, Vice Chancellor. Anything’s possible. And if the Separatists are indeed working on a battle station…”
Amedda nodded slowly in understanding. “I see what you’re getting at. Still, I’m prone to let this lie—or perhaps allow Zerpen to take the lead on freeing Erso.”
“Again, I’m inclined to agree. But I’ve an idea for having it both ways.”
Amedda’s lethorns quivered, and he regarded Krennic with intensity. “Somehow I expected you might. But I don’t want the details, Lieutenant Commander. And I insist that you take care to distance yourself to ensure full deniability.”
“Naturally.”
“If in the end Erso’s research moves us closer to engineering a weapon for the battle station, then you will have not only my gratitude, but also that of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine and the Republic itself.”
Krennic restrained a smile. “We all play our part, Vice Chancellor.”
THE BABY’S FIRST CRIES ECHOED off the high walls of Lyra�
�s chamber. As was customary on Vallt, a birth within the walls of the Keep was regarded as a cause for jubilation—more so in that the birth of the human child coincided with the first day of the spring season. From the courtyard below, rocket bombs were launched into the night and a small crowd that had learned of the birth and braved the arctic temperatures was celebrating, gathered around fires and stalls selling skewers of grilled meats and root vegetables, with many of the men seated on low benches quaffing glasses of strong homebrewed alcoholic drinks.
Jyn, as Galen and Lyra had named her, had been placed on her mother’s still-heaving chest by one of the midwives, to be soothed by her warmth and familiar heartbeat.
It had been a long labor, but not especially difficult, and Lyra had been a champ throughout, even when she was snarling at anyone close by. Pale and drenched in sweat after all the hours, she nevertheless seemed to be in better shape than Galen, who was still processing the experience.
He asked himself: Was there actually some benefit to having been captured? Just about anywhere else, he and Lyra would have been surrounded by well-meaning but all-business droids in an environment so sterile as to be lifeless.
Was it bizarre to feel gratitude?
Lighter by a couple of kilos and as fully bearded as most of the Valltii—in a transparent effort to leave him closer in appearance to his captors, Chieftain Gruppe had never come through with the promised scissors or razors or depilatories—Galen had been released from his cell the moment Lyra’s water had broken, and been transferred by a taqwa-drawn sled to the Keep chaperoned by two prison guards whom he assumed would return him to the prison as soon as Jyn’s cries yielded to sleep.