Revenge of the Jedi/Part 36

Tirien allowed Narasi to take the Second Chance into orbit, but as soon as he had gotten the Tapani Jedi settled in the hold, he took Yan, Harshee, and Raven into the cockpit and sealed it behind him.

"Navicomputer's got the coordinates for Allanteen, Master," Narasi reported. "Quick stop at Fondor, then it's a straight shot. Just say the word."

"Hold," Tirien said. He took the co-pilot's seat and rotated it to face the others. "I've composed a message to Master Bnodd telling him what we've done. I wanted to discuss it with all of you before I sent it."

Yan cocked her anvil-shaped head. "Why send it at all?"

"We have ten Jedi here, including four Knights and a Padawan of the Republic. If we all die, the High Council deserves to know why—and they need to be prepared for Gasald's reprisal."

Yan grimaced, but did not object. Raven asked, "Why Master Bnodd? Why not Master Tem-Fol-Rytil?"

"Master Bnodd is operating in Gasald's territory; he may have last-minute intelligence we don't," Tirien admitted. "And if it's too late to stop us, he's likelier to share it."

"Or be able to send help?" Narasi suggested.

Tirien frowned. He knew his Padawan had been disappointed that Argus Z'dar had not found forces to spare, and though Tirien shared her disappointment, he did not wish to mislead her. "I don't even know where his fleet is. If they're off a major hyperlane, the issue may be decided before he could get there."

Harshee shrugged. "Seems fair to give them notice. Can I see the message?"

She took the datapad Tirien handed her, but her eyes narrowed. "This makes it sound like it's all your idea."

"I don't mean to diminish any of your contributions—"

"No, you mean to take the heat on yourself," Harshee said. She flipped the datapad to Raven, and as he scrambled to catch it, she said, "Nothing doing, kid. Reporting in is the same as this mission: if we're going down, we're all going down together."

"Agreed," Raven said, studying the message before passing the datapad to Yan.

She did not even bother reading it. "I'd be happy to tell the Council exactly what I think of them cowering in front of Gasald and saying 'please don't hurt us' while our brothers and sisters are space dust because of that witch. You tell Master Bnodd I said the Council can stick their plan right—"

"That might be a bit much," Raven said with a hasty glance at Narasi, whose big eyes had widened above a nascent, confused grin. "But the key point's there. We're all Knights apart from Narasi, and all five of us made adult, informed decisions to defy the Council and take the fight to Gasald because we believe it's the Force's will.  I embrace my decision, and everything that comes of it.  Please respect me enough to let me take my share of that burden."

"Same here," Harshee said.

Narasi nodded. "Me too."

Tirien rewrote the message, and when they were all satisfied with the contents, he transmitted it and Narasi sent them into hyperspace before Master Bnodd could reply.

The Second Chance had barely had room enough for four adult sentients and a gizka; eleven Pantoran-sized beings, Harshee, and a droid filled the hold so much there was barely room to move. Not twenty minutes had passed before Gaebrean and Zaella went off to the engineering section to play sabacc; Harshee went with them to, as Harshee put it, "make sure it doesn't become strip sabacc". Yan, who felt more comfortable in a cockpit as a default, offered to reroute them when they came off their short jump to Fondor. As Amaani Wisté worked with Jirdo on wristlocks and escapes while Narasi and Kobold Baliss looked on, Tirien sat down with Raven, Chiron Brascel, and Lezascan Wisté.

"We'll never get twelve sentients passed their scanners," Tirien said.

"I still think mind tricks are our best bet," Raven said. "We have the codes for the Kiss of Death, we don't need to linger. We only need to be on the shipyards long enough to reroute."

"And if they have droids?" Lord Brascel asked. "We can't mind trick machines."

"We should send a few to scout the shipyards," Lord Wisté said. "Kobold could go, perhaps with Raven or Gaebrean."

"If we're sending anyone, it will be Zaella, Jirdo, or Harshee," Tirien said.

"And why is that, if I may ask?"

"Because you show your nobility, my lord," Raven said. "You carry your rank and lineage in every aspect of your bearing, which will be ideal for the second phase of the mission, but less so when we're trying to pass people off as spacers."

Lord Wisté frowned. "Are you suggesting I'm so removed from the travails and ordeals attendant to the condition of the common being that merely to see me among them is to discern my identity?"

"Yes," Lord Brascel said. "Tirien's right, Lezascan; neither of us is well-suited to reconnaissance, and Amaani and Kobold are little better."

Lord Wisté made a face and lowered his voice. "We would make a grave error if we trusted the Sith alone. A fine lookout it would be if we put all our trust in a being who sold us out to Lady Gasald."

Tirien narrowed his eyes. "I trust Zaella completely."

"I don't. And the deserter's little better."

"Do you have some objection to Harshee, too?"

"I…of course not. A bit unconventional, I suppose, but a Jedi Knight is a Jedi Knight…"

"We may be able to avoid all this," Raven said. "Bernius."

The droid had been standing against one wall to be as out of the way as possible, but it advanced as soon as Raven called its name, looming over them. "Yes, Master Raven?"

"Do you have any slicing capabilities?"

Bernius held up one hand, and its palm irised open to project a scomp link. "I have some uplink and data access capabilities, sir, but I don't know whether my ability to slice military-grade software has remained as proficient as it once was, given the decades I've spent in attendance on your father and grandfather on Pelagon."

"If we got you a personal access card, or a code cylinder," Raven pressed. "Could you download their data and use that?"

Bernius tipped its head to one side; Tirien found the distinctly sentient gesture jarring. "It would substantially increase the odds of successful system penetration, sir, yes."

Raven laced his hands together. "I say that's the plan, then. We find someone with system access, steal his credentials, let Bernius slice them, and program the ship into the system."

"It still might be faster to try to hijack a military shuttle," Lord Wisté said. "To say nothing of an Imperial craft being less suspicious than this vessel to board Lady Gasald's flagship."

"If we need to make a quick escape, the Sith can't send a code to turn the Second Chance off," Tirien replied.

"And if I may, sir," Bernius began. When Raven nodded, the droid said, "Given the nature of your cover story going aboard the Kiss of Death, the type of Sith shuttle to be found and easily hijacked aboard the shipyards might generate greater suspicion than a unique vessel."

"I agree," Lord Brascel said. "That leaves us only the matter of obtaining the credentials for Bernius to slice."

"Tirien and Narasi certainly can't go," Lord Wisté said.

Tirien frowned. "Why not?"

The Human showed him a long-suffering look. "I don't know whether that's modesty to the point of distraction, or simple ignorance of your own fame, but you're not exactly shrouded in anonymity on either side of this war. Every Jedi and Sith knows your name and your face; coupled with your Padawan, and this ship, we'd as well to surrender to the docking bay guards and get it over with."

"Narasi will draw attention either way," Raven said. "She's a Zygerrian who's not a slaver; even in Imperial space, that will draw too many questions. Tirien alone might be a different story."

"And as for my face…" Tirien said. "Gaebrean!"

A moment later, the Human poked his head out of the engineering section. "You called, good sir?"

"I think it's time we find out how much your friend's expertise is worth."

"Ah, too right you are! Forgive me, ladies, forgive me, but duty calls…"  He appeared a moment later carrying an attaché case; as he set it on the floor beside them, he muttered, "Something of a relief, if the truth's to be told.  My dear Zaella's a dab hand at sabacc and no mistake, but that Harshee…Shey's soul in glory—another half hour and I wouldn't have two credits to rub together."

"That can't be a novel feeling, can it, Gaebrean?" Lord Wisté asked.

Gaebrean chuckled it off, opening the case and showing the synthskin swaths beneath. "It's made of a reactive polymer; give it a moment to sense you out, and it'll replicate your coloration."

Narasi wandered over, and Tirien let her smooth the thin strips onto his forearm. Raven observed the process for a moment before asking, "You're certain this will work, Gaebrean?"

"Beyond doubt. The doctor who developed them did a study of sea creatures with color-change chromatophores.  Genius woman," he added with a dreamy smile. "The first time I met her, we talked for hours…she has these stunning blue eyes—"

"Oh?" called Zaella from the engineering door.

Gaebrean cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Ahem. Er, right…as I was saying, she's absolutely top of her field and I respect her scientific achievements."

"Big, perky scientific achievements, are they?" Zaella asked.

Narasi snickered, and though Lord Wisté made a face, Tirien swore he saw a smile hidden in Lord Brascel's mustache. The synthskin on his arm gradually turned blue, and Narasi carefully peeled the pieces off and pressed them to Tirien's forehead and cheeks to cover his tattoos. Once she had smoothed the last piece on his chin and pressed the edges flat, she nodded. "True blue, Master. Now you just need some markings.  Got any ideas?"

"Oh yes," Tirien said darkly. "I know just the thing."

He took the pot of yellow face paint and the brush from the case. Though he had not applied his own face paint since he had received his tattoos at nineteen, muscle memory came back so strongly he had to stop himself applying the diamond in the center of his forehead. He had only applied the crescent on one cheek before Narasi realized what he was doing, and her face darkened too. Once he was done, Tirien set the brush aside, studied the Sokos markings in a handheld mirror, and nodded. "Narasi?"

"Looks just like them," she said in a thick voice.

"I'll touch them up when we're on approach," he said. "Until then, let's go over the schematics. And then I suggest we all rest; this will likely be our last chance before we confront Gasald."

Bernius projected the enemy destroyer from one photoreceptor as they all crammed into the hold around the image. The Kiss of Death schematics the Republic spies had obtained showed the whole ship, but not every detail of it; many rooms simply showed walls without interior features or even labels. The cavernous chamber toward the aft of the ship could only be the reactor core, though, and they found passages leading there. Gasald herself would be trickier—neither her throne room nor her chambers were labeled or clear from context—but Tirien was confident they had only to get close to her before her power would betray her presence.

Barely enough standing room made the notion of them all sleeping in the hold a joke, and they spread throughout the ship; at Fondor, Tirien evicted Yan from the cockpit so he and Narasi could stretch out in their piloting chairs. Narasi showed signs of wanting to talk, but Tirien sat back and closed his eyes; many days awake caught up to him, and the familiar glow of hyperspace through his eyelids lulled him to sleep.

Tirien woke from a nightmare at once and completely, heart pounding. He had left a hand on the control panel, and Narasi's fingers were wrapped loosely around his palm. She mumbled her way out of a snore, and Tirien realized his mind had disturbed her. Carefully laying his other hand over hers, he channeled her peaceful thoughts until she settled back down and started snoring again. Slipping his hand free, he ghosted back into the hold.

The only light came from the galley and Bernius's photoreceptors; Tirien nodded to the droid, which stood protectively over Raven's prone form. Harshee was asleep in Tirien's bunk, and Yan in Narasi's. Lord Wisté was stretched out by the supply cabinets, but Amaani and Kobold slept side-by-side sitting up against the bulkhead, leaning their heads together. Jirdo had sprawled on the galley deck, and when Tirien checked the engineering section, he found Zaella curled up against Gaebrean's chest.

Only Lord Brascel was awake, and barely that—he sat in meditative posture beside the refresher door, channeling the Force. His eyes opened to slits as Tirien returned to the hold; Tirien nodded, but Brascel got to his feet with the limberness of a man half his age and picked his way across the crowded deck. Tirien hoped to be that spry in his sixties, if he lived that long.

"How long until Allanteen?" Brascel whispered.

"An hour and a half or so."

They gazed upon the sleeping Jedi together. They had all gone to sleep in their civilian clothes, but Brascel said, "We must wake them soon."

Tirien said nothing, thinking of Narasi, and of all the Jedi on the Crescentia who had woken a month before thinking the day's excitement would be the end of Darshkére, never suspecting the trap into which they were about to fall. Brascel laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "You perceive it too, don't you?"

"Perceive what, my lord?"

"That we must wake them for them to be ready, but it is a species of cruelty, because we will take them from pleasant dreams into the last day some of them will ever see."

Tirien squeezed his jaw shut and swallowed to buy himself time enough to keep his voice level. "What else could I have done? With so little intelligence, so little help from your spies, and so little time to act…"

"I meant no criticism," Brascel said. "I believe no Jedi could have done more. But this endeavor would be perilous for even your High Council Masters to undertake.  The Force demands sacrifice of us all—no victory is achieved without it, and it is a great victory indeed that we ask of it this day."

Tirien had no response. The Force had claimed hundreds of Jedi already; was it too much to ask that a dozen of them be spared to destroy the butcher who had orchestrated that "sacrifice"? And yet, much as the idea of leading any of their team to join Slejux, Ayson, and so many others filled his chest with fire, he knew it to be true. And he knew that Gasald's death was worth whatever price must be paid…although…

Turning from Brascel, Tirien heated up meals in the galley, then returned to the cockpit, where Narasi was still sleeping. If the only way for Gasald to die was through Narasi's death, it would have to be so; Narasi was a Jedi, and Tirien knew—with no small amount of pride—that she would insist on the exchange. But if given any other option, Tirien knew too that he would sacrifice any of the others in her place—he would, in fact, sacrifice all of them, and himself too. He sat in the pilot's seat, eating his breakfast in silence and musing upon the dangers of attachment. Would Suwo have traded other Jedi's lives for his? Would Mali sacrifice Kenza, or Narasi, or Tirien himself to recover Aldayr? And if they would, was that wrong? Life and death was no simple cost-benefit analysis; one had to know the will of the Force. Did it will Narasi's death today?

Eventually he could hold out no longer, and he nudged her awake. Her last snore choked off, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes and smothering a yawn in her elbow. "Wuttimeizzit?"

"We're about an hour out. Here, eat this."

She dug in, and Tirien let her eat in silence. When she was done, she set her bowl aside and said, "Master…"

"…yes?"

"I…it's just something Zaella said. Never mind.  It's just bugging me.  Don't worry about it."

Tirien rotated his chair to face her. "I don't know what's going on between you two now, and we don't have time to get into it. But whatever it is, I need you to put it aside—to be the Jedi I know you are.  This is the most dangerous thing we've ever done, and the margin for error is a hair thin.  I need you in top form today."

Narasi nodded. "I will be."

She started to get up, but he gestured her back down. "One last thing."

"Yeah?"

Tirien drew a breath. "If I die, and you're certain Gasald's dead, you know what to do?"

Narasi's ears backed a little and she bared her teeth for a second. "Get Harshee and Jirdo and get off the ship?"

"Leave my body there, but take my lightsaber in case you need it, then take everybody else who's still alive and get back to the Second Chance," Tirien corrected. "If Raven's alive, do what he tells you to do. If not, save as many of the team as you can, but get out.  If Harshee and Jirdo die, don't try for the reactor; once Gasald's dead, you'll never make it there too.  If they've set it to overload, wait for them if you can…but if the timing isn't right, and they won't make it, don't stay aboard and die with them for nothing."

Narasi gave him one of her reflexive Zygerrian snarls, but Tirien could feel the logic taking hold of her, and he held her gaze until she hissed and said, "Yes, Master."

He squeezed her shoulder once, then tipped his head toward the hold.

By then most of the others were awake; Bernius raised the lights, and Kobold elbowed Amaani. Tirien touched up his face paint while the others ate, Raven shaved off his goatee in what struck Tirien as a feeble attempt at anonymity, Gaebrean trimmed his mustache for no apparent reason whatsoever, and Zaella tied her lekku back with a leather headdress that covered her tattoos. Tirien and Jirdo retrieved a weapons case from the cargo bay, and they all strapped on sidearms and synched their comlinks. Tirien accessed the weapons safe built into one cabinet and handed Harshee a thermal detonator.

"If all else fails in destroying the reactor…"

"This'll do it," she finished, tucking it into one of the pouches on her belt.

Yan tried to shuffle through the mass of beings toward the cockpit, but Lord Brascel said, "A moment of meditation first."

"We'll be there in about ten minutes," Yan warned.

"Then now is our last chance. We can not risk collectively drawing on our powers at Allanteen, where the Sith might sense our light—not until we face Lady Gasald."

They sat in a cramped circle, holding hands; Jirdo and Zaella hung back with palpable uncertainty, but several beings gestured them into the circle, and the twelve of them channeled the Force as one. The Force withheld the outcome of the struggle from Tirien's sight—the dark side clouded his vision, fogging his mind's eye with smoke and shadow as he labored in vain to see—but he focused his mind on the accomplishment of his goal, the single-minded, unemotional Jedi commitment to wiping Gasald's blight from the galaxy once and for all. When the moment came, he knew they would look to him to lead.

He knew it because Lord Brascel had been right—he was the most powerful Jedi present, the greatest weapon the strike team could bring to bear against Gasald's command of the dark side. He could feel it, too, as he honed his being to their single objective; the praise and misty-eyed predictions of his many Jedi instructors were so many words, but he could feel the potential of the Force in him as he rarely had before—his internal sensors had begun to understand the depth of what he could bring to bear against the Sith Lord. Of course, all the Force's gifts made him the primary target as well, but that suited him; as long as he remained alive, he could draw Gasald's wrath to himself.

As if with a single decision shared among a dozen minds, the Jedi and their allies stirred awake, four seconds before the proximity alarm sounded. Yan rose to dart for the cockpit, and as the Jedi let go of one another's hands, the Force gave Tirien a touch of intuition after all.

''The first time and the last. We will never be here again.''

Twelve beings and the droid had arrived at Allanteen, but they would not all depart.