Alphabet Squadron (Star Wars)

by Alexander Freed

  He was tired of war. Tired of the galaxy.

  Yet Polyneus was not free of the Emperor’s shadow, and he was the last survivor of Riot Squadron. He owed it to both families not to run again; not to flee as he had in Oridol, when he had failed the cluster’s test.

  * * *

  —

  Dawn came slow and early. For a long while, as the night-noises faded, the world seemed filtered through a blue haze like campfire smoke—the effect of the forest canopy or unseen particles in the air. Wyl tasted grit on his lips when he rose. It tasted of capsaicin and mint.

  They ate breakfast and broke camp before resuming their trek. None of them spoke as they walked, though the silence seemed less tense than it had the previous day. Maybe they were simply exhausted. It wasn’t yet midmorning when the ground sloped upward and Quell called, “Shouldn’t be far now.”

  Wyl had seen enough rebel safe houses to know what to expect: a rude bunker planted in the soil or a hatch leading to a natural cavern. Something well camouflaged. He swept his gaze over the forest, searching for a sign, and saw the others doing the same. But the search wasn’t necessary.

  It seemed to form out of the woods as they approached. The structure was wide at the base, with spokes like roots leading into a central tower like a cathedral spire. Wyl assumed it was made of painted duracrete at first, until they drew nearer and he saw that it was both tree and stone—the structure appeared to be an unbroken, gargantuan piece of petrified wood.

  It was an impossible creation, unlike anything built on Polyneus. Wyl felt both awed and somehow ashamed in its presence. Why, he wondered, had the teachings of the Sun-Lamas never manifested so beautifully?

  He spotted openings—windows, he thought—in the upper reaches of the spire but none toward the base. He heard Chass laughing and glimpsed her running, disappearing from view around one of the spokes. Quell snapped, “Everyone, careful,” but even she didn’t seem to mean it.

  “What is it?” Nath asked.

  “It’s a rebel base,” Wyl said.

  It took them fifteen minutes to find the entrance: a set of disguised double doors carved into a joint between the spokes. The doors opened at the slightest touch. The interior was more conventional, but only marginally—the central enclosure was airy and vacant, with the fossilized walls of the spire stretching as high as the forest canopy and glittering with reflected sunlight. The spokes were rough, round hallways off the main chamber, each narrowing as it went so that a human would be forced to crawl to reach its end.

  “This isn’t a rebel base,” Nath said, as the five walked and gazed in wonder. “It’s a Jedi temple.”

  “You sure?” Quell asked.

  “Not sure,” Nath said. “But it would explain a few things.”

  Wyl knew little of the Jedi—he’d barely heard the word on Polyneus, but during his time in Riot he’d heard stories from officers who’d served in the Clone Wars. The Jedi were warrior-mystics, attuned to the “universal Force,” who believed themselves guardians of justice. Wyl had encountered whispers that the rebel General Skywalker was the last of the Jedi Order—heir to an ancient tradition, whose preternatural wisdom had helped lead him to victory time and again. But troops told a lot of strange stories. Wyl didn’t know the truth of it.

  “It’s some sort of temple, anyway,” Wyl agreed. “It can’t be anything else.”

  “Look for the supplies,” Quell said. “Maybe there’s a storage area somewhere.”

  But only Quell, so far as Wyl could ascertain, was really trying to look. Kairos stood in the center of the main chamber, peering directly upward into a shaft of sunlight. Nath rubbed his hands against the walls. Chass, Wyl saw, was deep in one of the root-spokes, her back against one wall and knees bent, feet pressed against the wall opposite. Her head was turned to face the dark terminus of the spoke.

  She was shaking.

  Leave her be, Wyl told himself. She’d made her needs clear.

  Nonetheless, he bowed his head and took three steps down the passage toward Chass. Etched into the walls were thousands of pictograms, whorls and lines and figures depicting nothing he could identify.

  “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

  He promised himself he would withdraw if she said nothing. Instead she looked at him and he saw a gentleness he’d never seen from Chass.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I’m not used to thinking of cults as beautiful.”

  There was meaning in what she’d said, hints of something old and painful. But he heard no invitation to pry, so he only nodded.

  V

  They discovered a removable panel in the floor of the main chamber. Underneath was a storage cellar that appeared to have been built separately from the rest of the temple—the walls and ceiling were reinforced with metal beams, and artificial lighting was strung haphazardly throughout. This, clearly, was Syndulla’s cache—there were stacks of crated ration bars, disorganized piles of power packs and engine parts and loops of cabling, and who-knew-what else. Raising it all out of the basement and getting it back to the ships would be slow work, but that, Nath supposed, was why they were there. It wasn’t supposed to be a fun job.

  They jury-rigged a system of rope and low-power repulsorsleds and began hauling up the goods by early afternoon. Nath stripped down to short sleeves—the exertion and the shelter more than warded off the chill—and stayed in the main chamber with Quell while the others loaded sleds down below. Quell wasn’t much of a lifter, but she put in her share of effort and she supervised well enough.

  They spoke only about the work. Nath figured that was fair, given the last real conversation they’d had he’d threatened to kill her. But eventually, Quell surprised him with a question:

  “How’d you know? About this being a Jedi temple?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you were confident. Like it’s something you’ve seen before?”

  Nath studied Quell’s face awhile. “You’re younger than me. Older than the others—except Kairos, maybe, who knows?—but young enough to have gotten the second revised history of the Clone Wars.”

  Quell bristled and tried to hide it. “What does that mean?”

  “The Empire’s been erasing the Jedi from history, step by step. First they said the Jedi tried to murder the last chancellor—Palpatine, before he was Emperor—in some sort of coup at the war’s end. It’s what I grew up hearing.”

  “I heard that version from the older officers. It never made any sense because—”

  “Because you were taught there weren’t many Jedi to begin with, right? That they were relics, mostly forgotten?” Nath grinned. “That’s the trouble when they keep changing the story. Nah, there were thousands of them, and real influential in the Republic. Believe me, you hear a lot about the legend of the Jedi and the Force when you join the Rebel Alliance.”

  Nath saw Quell trying to reason through it all. He’d seen that look from more than one rebel recruit. “How do you know it’s not all propaganda on your—on the rebel side?” she asked.

  “I don’t. That’s the nasty thing about the Emperor changing history. Leaves you doubting, doesn’t it?”

  They tabled the conversation long enough to haul up a hunk of metal, piping, and glowing lights that Nath guessed somehow related to battleship hydraulics. When that was done, Quell asked, “What about now? The Rebellion had its share of fanatics. Is the New Republic going to bring back the Jedi? Are we going to live in a theocracy?”

  “Don’t know, but I don’t expect so,” Nath said. “For all that the Rebellion liked to win converts, I never saw many practitioners of the Jedi religion. You’re not uncovering any great conspiracy here, sister—you’re just a little behind the times.”

  Quell hesitated, then nodded and began hollering instructions down to Chass and
Wyl.

  Nath decided to leave out the rest: that the Jedi might not be worth worrying over, but that the fall of the Empire would bring a thousand lesser cults crawling up from the sewers, piggybacking off the Jedi legend and the fame of General Skywalker. He’d seen the dark side of pilgrim worlds, and he didn’t care to see that make its way into the wider galaxy.

  But that was a problem for another day. For the moment, better to keep Quell focused on Shadow Wing. Poor girl has enough worries.

  He’d still kill her if he had to.

  * * *

  —

  By nightfall, they hadn’t completed the extraction nor made a run back to the ships. Rather than risk an accident, Quell called for them to make camp. Without anyone saying a word, they agreed to do so outside; somehow, it seemed wrong to set up bedrolls inside the temple.

  As they sat around the heat lanterns, Nath and Wyl chattered about the joys and perils of atmospheric flight. Even Chass, to Nath’s pleasant surprise, threw in the occasional opinion. Quell remained characteristically detached.

  Nath wasn’t sure how long Kairos had been standing before he noticed her. When he did, the others’ gazes followed.

  She was a silhouette in the shadows, standing between the trees. In her cloak and wrappings and half lit from below, Kairos looked more monstrous than usual. She was staring toward the group, both fists clenched at her sides.

  Wyl asked, “Is something wrong?”

  She strode forward until the camp light splashed across her body. She knelt, slowly opening her right hand. A trickle of dust—of loose soil or gravel—slowly poured onto the ground, as if out of an hourglass.

  “Kairos?” Quell was tense, ready to rise. “What’s going on?”

  As the dust grew to a small pile, Kairos moved her fist in an arc, drawing a line from the first pile to a new, second mound. She reached out with her other hand and a second stream began to fall; soon she was moving arms and wrists in deft gestures, creating intricate patterns before the lanterns. When her first hand was empty, she caressed the piles of dust and gathered up a fresh fistful.

  She stroked pictures into existence. Images formed, were cast away and remade. Nath couldn’t comprehend it at first, but at some point during the process the pictures resolved in his mind into something greater. One led to another. He saw meaning.

  “This is her life,” Wyl murmured.

  This is the story she told.

  * * *

  —

  Great spirals and a hundred motes portraying the galaxy, all swept into a mound of dust in the Outer Rim. From the mound comes the next image—a fire, a bowl, an endless horizon. A simple life on a world far from the Core.

  A Star Destroyer in the sky. A cloaked figure walking below. A dozen quick slashes through dust create a storm of blaster bolts, disrupting the simple life.

  A series of images more difficult to decipher: More stars, perhaps. A circle with a chord cutting between points of the circumference. A dozen little squares, little boxes. A humanoid figure constantly shaped and reshaped, artistically adjusted, until it becomes clear that the changes are not the refinements of the artist—of Kairos—but an aspect of the art itself. A humanoid changing.

  The boxes aflame. The changing figure aflame. The circle with the chord on one side and the starbird symbol of the Rebel Alliance on the other.

  The changing figure, no longer changing, standing amid ashes and bones.

  * * *

  —

  There the story ended. Kairos swept away the dust and stepped back, seating herself far from the group.

  It was beautiful and disturbing. Quell was trembling. Wyl was watching Kairos. Chass was staring into the dust. Nath suspected they’d all read what they wanted into the tale.

  He wondered how much of it was truth.

  VI

  It was well after midnight when Quell woke to a sonic boom above the forest. She immediately recognized the sound of speed but not its form. The trailing engine whine suggested a Kuat Drive Yards craft. She scrambled out of her bedroll and after a moment of indecision activated her comlink to her astromech droid.

  “What’s on the X-wing’s scanners?”

  The others were half dressed and pulling their equipment together when Quell got her answer: an image transmitted to her handheld holoprojector showing a single ship flying over the moon.

  Probably a scout, she thought. General Syndulla had warned her about pirates and looters. The newcomer was moving fast and low, reconnoitering the forest.

  She looked between her pilots and the temple. She glanced at the dust Kairos had scattered across the ground. “Stand down,” she called. “I’ll handle this for now.”

  Chass na Chadic was rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she turned toward Quell. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means,” Quell said, “that we’re well hidden. Whoever is out there is searching for the temple but won’t find it quickly. Maybe not at all. Stay focused on the salvage job while I head back to the ships—they’re easier to see than anything down here, and if a hostile spots us I’ll be in position to launch.”

  “Maybe we should all launch,” Tensent said. “Chase down whoever’s out there while surprise is on our side.”

  Lark frowned. “We don’t know they’re hostile. But I agree it doesn’t make sense to—”

  “I’m not asking for input,” Quell said. “If more ships show, I’ll call you. If it’s just one—even hostile—I can deal with it. Get some sleep, keep your comlinks close, and resume work in the morning.”

  She began to pack her own gear. She heard Chadic mutter, “Because splitting up worked great last time,” and felt her body flush with cold ire.

  Last time, she wanted to say, I trusted you to act like Imperials. This time, I’m letting you be what you are.

  But she didn’t say it aloud.

  No one troubled her as she slung her pack over her shoulders (ignoring the ache from her right side) and started back the way they’d come the previous morning. She kept her glow rod low to keep herself from tripping over roots or deadwood, and to avoid any risk of detection. She heard the chittering sounds of the burrowing night insects—or whatever it was that caused the ground to murmur.

  She’d been watching her team over the past day. She’d seen Lark and Tensent and Chadic begin talking to one another like comrades. Now even Kairos was opening up. Quell didn’t know why it was happening—she didn’t think it was Tensent’s manipulations or Lark’s natural ability to harmonize—but she knew it was valuable.

  She also knew that a group bonded best as equals. That as their commander, she was only holding this process back. And she remembered General Syndulla’s words: Do they know that you’ll fight for them?

  This was her chance.

  If there was a threat out there—an enemy she could face alone, for the benefit of the mission and the squadron—so much the better.

  But the night was cold and the sounds were strange, and after an hour of walking Quell began to see things flickering in the distance between the trees. Figments and faces, like the ones she saw when she closed her eyes tight and the blackness churned and took form.

  She saw the soldiers from Abednedo dying to blasts from her X-wing or suffering in the cargo hold of the Verpine smuggler. She saw the battered dead of Nacronis floating in silt, flesh torn from the storms and bodies bloated from the flood.

  And whenever she turned her head, seeking the source of a soft padding sound upon the frigid ground—what seemed to be footsteps close behind—she caught a glimpse of black robes and a withered face like running wax. It was a face she recognized from the rarest of video clips and public proclamations: the face of Palpatine, Galactic Emperor, to whom she had sworn an oath. Palpatine, who had brought nearly all known worlds under his command. Palpa
tine, who had ordered the cleansing and destruction of many of those worlds, even before Operation Cinder.

  She wondered what she would say to him, if he had really been there—if his ghost were haunting the Jedi temple, awaiting a group of New Republic pilots to torment. If he had another order to give, would she listen? If he could explain, justify Operation Cinder, would she accept it?

  She shut it all away, sealed it up in her mind, and set her eyes on the path to the mountain.

  CHAPTER 12

  SPIRITUAL REAWAKENINGS

  I

  There were no further signs of raiders that night. They posted a watch, and Quell checked in every sixty minutes, reporting no sightings or sensor readings. Chass was surprised to find she wasn’t disappointed. She wasn’t enjoying the work at the temple, but she wasn’t spoiling for a fight.

  In the morning Nath scrambled ration bars and nutrient paste in a skillet over a heat lantern. “Won’t do a lot to improve the taste, but it’ll perk it up,” he said as he handed out helpings. When they got to work, Nath played den mother as he had the day before, watching from above while the rest of them loaded equipment in the basement. They didn’t speak often, but when they did it was in good spirits.

  Quell didn’t return by nightfall. “Better to stay on guard,” she told them. They’d brought almost everything up but still needed to load and secure the repulsorsleds and move them to the U-wing—another half day’s work, at least.

  “By this time,” Nath was saying at their camp, “Vanguard Squadron and the rest of Syndulla’s fleet are probably wrapping up on Argai Minor. Unless they really got their butts kicked, in which case we’re hauling a lot of equipment for no good reason.”

  “Nice.” Wyl shook his head. “Let’s assume they win. Then it’s Pandem Nai not long after—”

  “—we hope,” Nath said.