Star Wars, page 3
She liked the way he listened, the permanent furrows of his brows deepening. “And you believe you should do that on Jedha?”
“It seems the obvious choice,” she said. “What better way to learn about the Force, and my place in it, than to train with all the religions and groups who live their lives by it? Perhaps it’s safer to learn and train that way…”
“Safer?” Master Sun asked softly. “From whom? Or what?”
Gella met his kind eyes, the brown of forests. The first reply that came to mind was Myself, apparently. But when she went to speak, she could not say it out loud.
“I know how deeply you believe in our cause,” he said, noting her silence. “To be a guardian of peace and justice in the galaxy, we must first experience the galaxy. Better understand all the living beings that are connected through the Force. The Council didn’t send you on this mission so you could help deliver medical supplies. They sent you to learn to be part of a team.”
As a Padawan, Gella had done everything she was told. She leapt off a cliff and trusted the Force to stop her fall. She trained at temples across worlds. On Jedha, she learned about the wide spectrum of Force wielders and believers. She trained. For hours. Days months years. She tuned in to the very makeup of her body, meditated until she didn’t know where her physical being began and the Force ended. She’d done everything she was supposed to, but when she was called on for her most important mission as a team leader—she’d failed.
“Perhaps I’m better off serving the Order on my own,” she mused.
Master Sun raised his brows sympathetically. “There are many paths, and I trust, in time, you will find yours, Gella Nattai. But it seems to me that you are only scratching at the surface of what you might be capable of. You must have—”
“Patience,” she finished for him.
“Exactly,” he said, turning to leave the cargo hold. “You have the ability to connect in ways that are not obvious to the rest of us. We will all work in tandem.”
“I appreciate that, Master Sun,” Gella said. She would not fail again.
“Now let’s hurry and buckle in. Our last trip to Eiram was a bumpy drop out of hyperspace.”
She followed Master Sun through the corridor and up to the cockpit, where Master Char-Ryl-Roy was at the helm. Even sitting, the Cerean man towered over the others. He acknowledged Gella with a quick nod, the yellow and white cabin lights gleaming off his smooth, oval head.
“You’ve been to Eiram before, is that right?” Gella asked Master Sun as she strapped herself into the seat behind Enya.
“Oh yes,” Enya said, eagerly cracking her knuckles. “Though last time we evacuated before we could even dock.”
Master Sun’s lips flattened slightly, then he said, “This will be our third time in the last year. Eiram and E’ronoh have been embroiled in a conflict for going on half a decade now. Though I remember hearing about their squabbling when I was a Padawan. I fear the opening of the hyperspace lane in their sector and the tragic circumstance behind the death of E’ronoh’s prince stirred old wounds.”
“Is it wise to still get involved, then?” Gella asked.
Master Sun’s brown eyes were shadowed in deep consideration. “It is our duty to aid those who ask for help. Eiram has asked for aid several times, but E’ronoh has never called on us. Their monarch is wary of outsiders.”
Gella considered this. “And Eiram’s queen is not?”
“Oh, she is,” Master Sun said grimly. “The recent destruction of a military hospital left Eiram desperate. We convinced them the only way to safely get more medical relief was to agree to the cease-fire proposed by E’ronoh’s princess. I do believe it’s been the longest cease-fire since the fighting started.”
“A victory indeed,” Master Roy added from the pilot’s seat.
“How long is that?” Gella asked.
“Three days,” he answered with a pleased smile.
Three days! Gella thought. That was nearly as long as it took them to get to the Eiram-E’ronoh system within the Dalnan sector.
“Speak your mind, Gella Nattai,” Master Sun encouraged her. “I know you have joined us by suggestion of the Council, but I want you to feel like you are part of our team. I can sense you are holding back.”
Gella had never felt particularly eloquent when asked to voice her thoughts. Still, she cleared her throat and said, “To be honest, I don’t think three days is much of a victory.”
Enya snapped her attention to Gella, her large eyes nearly bugging out of her head.
“Perhaps. But it is a start,” Master Sun said confidently. “It is a delicate time for Eiram and E’ronoh. The wounds between these planets go deep, but I am hopeful they will find a way toward true, lasting peace.”
“A start,” Gella repeated. Is that what this mission was for her? A new start after so much trouble? “Right.”
Then the ship jerked in the hyperspace tunnel.
“Hold on to your backsides!” Enya shouted, white-knuckling her harness. Master Sun shut his eyes and grabbed hold of the handlebar above him.
Gella felt oddly steady, moving with the ship as they entered realspace and the blue glow faded to star-speckled black. Master Roy grunted as his head slammed into his headrest. There was a hard thud, and the entire ship trembled.
“What the kriff?” Enya blurted out.
Gella hadn’t heard the Padawan curse in front of her master before, but the situation called for it. Emergency lights blinked and alarms blared as the ship took a hit. At first, she couldn’t understand what they were colliding against. Straight ahead was what looked like some kind of old cargo hauler careening through a field of debris and toward the turquoise planet. Gella knew to expect Eiram’s military escort, but E’ronoh’s forces remained stationed in the narrow gap between worlds. She would have thought it impossible to divide something intangible like space, but these warring planets had found a way.
“Pull back!” Enya shouted.
Emerging from their blindspot was a second Longbeam cruiser. Gella’s insides churned as Master Roy strained to avoid the Republic ship attempting to right its course, but the nose of the Valiant ground into the tail of the other ship.
“It’s the Paxion,” Enya said, reading the control panel.
“Are you sure?” Master Sun asked.
Gella knew that ship’s name by reputation alone. “What’s Chancellor Mollo’s ship doing out here?”
Before anyone could speculate, a green blast shot through the dark. It impacted a bit of wreckage, but the source seemed to be a lone Corellian devilfighter charging through the debris.
“I guess the cease-fire is over,” Gella said, holding on to the copilot’s headrest.
Master Sun’s lips flattened into a scowl, then braced as they took another hit.
“This is Master Char-Ryl-Roy with the Jedi Council,” the Cerean male thundered into the comm. “We are a medical relief transport en route to Eiram. I repeat. We are a medical relief transport. Halt your fire.”
The cockpit’s lights flickered, and everything rattled as laserfire and debris rammed into them from all sides.
“Redirecting auxiliary power to the shields,” Enya said, punching in the directive.
“Erasmus Capital City, come in,” Master Roy roared, but only garbled comm feedback answered. “Eiram, come in!”
“I was trying to respond to the Paxion’s hail, but I think”—Enya’s pointer finger tracked a dish spinning into the debris field—“we took out their receiver.”
“Head toward Eiram,” Master Sun shouted over the alarms. “We can’t wait for the escort.”
“I have good news and bad news,” Enya said over the din. “The good news is that now they’re shooting at each other instead of us.”
“Interesting idea of good news, but go on,” Master Roy said.
“I can’t get in touch with Erasmus to give them our landing clearance. Without that, the city’s defenses might shoot us down as soon as we enter the atmosphere.”
“Well, we can’t stay here,” Master Sun argued.
He had said that it was a fragile time for Eiram and E’ronoh, but what had been enough to trigger an attack when both planets were urgently waiting for much-needed relief?
Gella gripped the armrests of her seat, itching to do something. She could sense Master Sun’s frustration, too. “We should get out there.”
“We can’t,” he said, lament thick in his words.
“We can’t choose sides,” Master Roy agreed. “Our mission is to deliver the requested aid to Eiram, not fight their war. For now we’ll head for the moon before we get pulled into E’ronoh’s gravity.”
Gella kept her eyes trained on the dogfighting in dead space. She reached out through the Force to the destruction ahead. Anger and fear tinged every pilot, but one radiated brighter among the rest. A vessel that was out of control. The Corellian model, an older class by the looks of it, red paint splattered over the gray metal in haphazard violent stripes, and a laser cannon protruding from each wing. She watched as the fighter pilot tried, but failed, to regain control of the ship. She could sense the pilot’s absolute fear and panic. It left an acrid taste on her tongue.
Gella pointed at the rogue devilfighter. “There.”
“I feel it, too,” Enya said. “The pilot has lost control and is scared.”
“There’s nothing we can do. We must get to safety first,” Master Char-Ryl-Roy said as the ship took another hit.
They could make it to the moon’s surface, and Gella would have to convince the masters to let her take one of the Alpha-3 Jedi starfighters and help the pilot who seemed to be in distress. But by then it would be too late.
Before the plan had fully formed in her mind, Gella Nattai unbuckled her harness and hurried to the back of the ship, descended the ladder, and boarded one of the two starfighters. The thought of flying alone made the pit of her stomach squeeze unpleasantly, but she steadied her breath. Her own feelings didn’t matter, not when someone was crying out for help. After all, wasn’t that what they were there to do? Help. She punched in the controls to release the magnetic clamps, let the cockpit canopy pressurize shut.
As Gella descended into the fray, her nerves vanished, and her goal was clear. She wasn’t the best pilot in the Order, but she had the Force on her side. Darting past red blurs, Gella pierced into the heart of the battle. Blue metallic ships with rounded tops zigzagged between the larger chunks of debris, chasing down red-streaked starfighters. Chunks of charred metal and what looked like the remnants of a boot were deflected by her shield, the green crackle of energy a momentary comfort as she raced toward the pilot in need.
“Come in, Alpha One,” Master Roy said. He did not sound pleased with her. “Return to the Valiant, at once, that’s an order!”
“I’m sorry, master. But this pilot is in too much distress. They won’t make it out here much longer.”
There was a grunt of disapproval followed by, “We’ll clear your path.”
Gella stayed on course toward the Corellian devilfighter. Up closer, she could see a number painted on its wing. Nine. The pilot was locked in trajectory toward Eiram, forward-facing rapid-fire cannons blasting a path. Eiram’s defenses were engaged with E’ronoh’s forces in an attempt to obliterate the threat.
Gella considered the angle she’d have to fire to clip the pilot’s wing and glide the ship safely. She was certain she had to steer the pilot away from Eiram—landing there would cause another planetary incident.
“One thing at a time,” Gella reminded herself.
Her sensors detected two ships fast approaching her flanks. She took evasive maneuvers and pulled up on the controls to shake them. They sailed in an upward arc, barreling clear of the debris.
An urgent voice spoke through her comm. “This is Captain Xiri A’lbaran. Back off, Alpha, or I will fire. This is your only warning.”
“Oh, Captain,” came the second, bitter voice. “We should have known you were up to something. A liar, just like your father.”
“This is a misunderstanding, General,” Captain A’lbaran said, her words interspersed with static and immeasurable restraint. “I am willing to uphold and resume the cease-fire, just let my pilots reach the hauler safely.”
“You think I care about ice when an enemy ship is bound for my capital?”
“He’s not in control!” the captain shouted.
Gella could sense the situation called for action, not words. By the Force, she truly hated flying, but there was no place for fear in her heart. She gunned her controls hard, jerking against her safety harness as she flew in a diagonal loop, cleaving the space between the enemy ships close enough to drag the edges of her ship’s wings against their flanks. The grind of metal grated against her ears, but now their focus was on her.
“Now,” Gella said, heart pounding, “General, Captain, I’m trying to help you, dammit.”
“Help?” Captain A’lbaran scoffed, still flying in lockstep, trailing after the rogue pilot.
“Yes, help. My name is Jedi Knight Gella Nattai.”
“Jedi,” came a hiccup of surprise from one of the other pilots. It seemed no matter where she went in the galaxy, the word was voiced with the same tone of surprise. Gella focused on that, on the recognition, the weight of it. Nothing as selfish as pride but bolstered by a sense of rightness she could never truly put into words.
“Call off your fighters,” Gella said.
“There is an enemy starship flying toward Erasmus Capital City,” the general spat. “Absolutely not.”
“Eiram called for our help, General,” Gella said. “I can keep them calm while they reset their control systems. Please, trust me.”
There was a beat of silence, the maddening growl of dead air, and then a begrudging, “Do it.”
“I’m coming with you,” Captain A’lbaran said.
Gella wasted no time. She took off, accelerating at maximum speed to catch up with the rogue E’roni devilfighter. One by one Eiram’s forces pulled back, while E’ronoh’s squadron surrounded the cargo hauler. The Valiant and the Paxion coasted along the corridor toward the silver moon between worlds. Gella exhaled a pent-up breath of relief, but she couldn’t celebrate yet.
“Nine, come in,” Gella said, racing at its side as it approached the giant blue planet. “What’s your name?”
She nudged into the ship from the right side, pushing it up and away from the capital city’s trajectory.
“I can’t stop! I don’t know—”
“Listen to my voice.” Gella’s voice was a smooth alto that seemed to cut through the comm and right into his thoughts. “What’s your name?”
“Who are you?” he asked, and Gella heard just how young and scared he was.
“It’s okay. Talk to her, Blitz,” Captain A’lbaran encouraged.
“Bly,” he said, panting. “Bly Tevin, but everyone calls me Blitz.”
“All right, Blitz, I want you to listen to your captain.”
His devilfighter veered into hers again, a flare of automatic beams blasting from its forward cannons. It was trying to redirect, to get back toward Eiram. Captain A’lbaran squeezed in from the other side, the three of them locked together in a crunch of metal and sparks. Gella reached out through the Force, letting the weight of it envelop the pilot. If she had time with him, perhaps she could better understand him. Ease the riot of emotions clouding his actions. This would have to do.
“Blitz,” Captain Xiri urged. “Shut it down.”
“I can’t, I don’t—!”
“You can, you will,” Gella said, letting the calm vibrations of her voice reach him. “It’ll be for a moment.”
She felt him spark with anxiety, losing control of himself and the ship again. It rattled against them, and together, Gella and Xiri redoubled their efforts to keep him in place.
“It’s not working,” Blitz shouted. “It’s running an autopilot program. I’m locked out of the controls. You’re—you’re going to have to shoot me down.”
“That is not an option, Thylefire Nine,” Captain Xiri shot back. “I don’t care if you have to open up that panel with your bare hands, find a way to shut it down.”
If Blitz responded, they didn’t hear it. Gella turned her controls as far as they’d go. The Alpha-3 was lighter than the old E’roni starfighter and devilfighter. Gella could fly faster, more gracefully with the Force, but the effort it was taking for her to keep Blitz aloft would physically and mentally split her at the seams. Her grasp on their already tenuous connection frayed as a new guttural voice interrupted their comms.
“Many apologies, Princess,” the stranger said. “But we did not sign up for this. Releasing cargo.”
Gella caught the flash of the hauler blinking out of the sector, the massive crate plummeting toward the debris, as the princess blared a string of curses. In that moment of uncertainty, Blitz broke free, his ship diving back down to its intended target of Eiram. “They dumped the ice and bolted! Lieutenant Segaru, do not lose that haul.”
Then, all at once, the out-of-control devilfighter powered down, drifting into a spin. “I did it. I got it!”
Gella sensed Blitz’s relief, the bitter tinge of his fear scraping against her skin like gravel.
“General Lao…Please…” Captain A’lbaran began. Blitz was still on a collision course with Eiram, but at least he wasn’t armed.
“I understand,” General Lao said with reluctance. “I’ll personally make sure you both get home.”
“Thank you, Gella,” Captain A’lbaran said, as Gella maneuvered her ship away from the trio, and made for the Valiant.
“Captain,” Blitz’s voice rang with fear. Gella turned to see the captain and general still flying side by side with the pilot. Something was wrong. “There’s a problem. I—”
