Star Wars: Knight Errant (37 page)

“You could do something else!”

“Like what?” He looked at the commuters, dashing to their assignments. “I’m a little old to start tending to riding animals.”

“Something real,” Kerra said, shoving aside his trench coat collar and grabbing at the medals on his chest. “Look
at you, Rusher. You’re wearing insignia that you’ve just
made up
. You’re not part of anything real. You don’t fight for anyone.”

“I’m wasting my life, is that it?” Taking her arm, Rusher edged her out of the foot traffic and into the glow of the towering alga vial. “Look, what exactly did you think would happen? That I’d carry you all across Daiman’s creation and more to get you someplace I’ve never been? This sector is my home,” he said. “This is my
job
. I’m not some scoundrel with a heart of gold that you can sweet-talk into joining your …”

“Don’t say it!” Kerra tried to force past. “This conversation is over!”

Rusher blocked her path and grabbed her wrists. “Look, you’ve got a lot of opinions—but not a lot of facts. You don’t understand anything.”

“Let me go.” Hazel eyes blazed with hate.

“In a minute—once you understand what it is that I do,” Rusher said. “Yes, I’m a mercenary. Yes, I work for the Sith. But there’s no one else to work for.”

“That’s not true,” Kerra said. “You could work for the
people
!”

“Fine. You tell me how,” Rusher said. “You want me to be a part of something, but you don’t know
what
. It’s all good to set your own course when you’re just one person, carrying around a shiny stick. But I’m a cannoneer. Those artillery pieces weigh tons! Some take sixty operators to set up, fire, and withdraw! How am I supposed to feed those people, to fuel that ship, while working for your you-don’t-know-what? On the grift?”

“That’s how you do it now!”

“Yeah, with the permission of the Sith whose territory I’m in. How many places do you think I could land
Diligence
if I were a renegade?” Rusher shot a glance back toward the watchers and lowered his voice. “They’d enslave every person in my crew, and they wouldn’t care
what happened to them. You’ve got a galaxy of people to worry about. I’ve got five hundred and sixty. And I’m not going to lose any more,” he said. “So before you go deciding what other people’s responsibility to the galaxy is, maybe you’d better take a closer look. They might have responsibilities already.”

Kerra stared angrily at him. And then he saw her eyes widen, just a millimeter, those black eyebrows beginning to arc. For the first time since meeting her, Rusher saw something new in that small, determined face.

Doubt
.

He released her hands and let out a deep breath, surprised and a little ashamed by the intensity of his outburst. He kept forgetting: Kerra Holt was just a kid, not much older than those refugees of hers, and the same age as many of his own recruits. He’d traded fire with her because she’d seemed to be able to handle any barrage.

But this was her Gazzari hillside.

Kerra looked away, sullen. “I don’t even
have
my shiny stick.”

Rusher remembered. The lightsaber was back on
Diligence
, where they’d been ordered to leave it. “Well, you broke mine.”

One of Arkadia’s minions stepped around the alga column to address them. “Kerra Holt, you have been invited to meet Lord Arkadia in her museum.”

“Museum? Sounds interesting,” Rusher said.

“And you should await our lady outside, Brigadier, once you’ve finished your work with our engineers.”

Somberly, Kerra began to follow the minion through the crowd. But before she left Rusher’s sight, she turned.

“It’s true,” she said, looking down at the cerulean shadows on the floor. “Arkadia hasn’t asked for anything—yet. She’s only given. And she looks like the best option we have.” She looked up. “But she’s still Sith. And that means something.”

Rusher looked at her. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means keep your eyes open, Jarrow. For my kids—and yours.”

From the balcony of the level above, Bothan eyes watched as the humans parted.

Narsk hadn’t been able to keep track of the Jedi the entire time on Syned; Arkadia had given her surprising freedom of movement. It hadn’t mattered. Kerra had been easy to find, roaming the great ice halls listlessly. She seemed deflated, wholly contained.

But while he knew where the Jedi was, Narsk still had no idea what Arkadia was trying to accomplish with her presence. He didn’t care, despite a personal interest in seeing her suffer. But observing Kerra was part of the instructions he had received in the desert, instructions he would carry out. Thinking back on that short, sunny respite, Narsk shivered. Why couldn’t Arkadia have picked a planet like
that
for her citadel?

After his work on Byllura, he’d expected Arkadia to bring him into her confidence about her plans. That hadn’t happened, but the fact that he was still in Calimondretta suggested that hope wasn’t lost. Another assignment might be in the offing—and he knew what would more than likely prompt it.

The Bequest was finally happening.

He’d received word of the upcoming event just an hour earlier, via his implant. Seven long pulses, transmitted by a system that remained a mystery to him. They meant that today would be a special day. They always were. How could they not be? When power consorted with power, the galaxy shook.

Walking back from the chilly balcony railing, Narsk imagined the preparations being made in capitals across the sector. The conversations with advisers, the secret side deals already being considered.

The Bequest was on.

And if his eyes could be trusted, Arkadia had just summoned a Jedi to her presence. What was she
up
to?

Narsk bolted for the escalator. It was time to have a talk with the mercenary.

Kerra had rarely gotten around to visiting Coruscant’s museums. It was always something for another day. She’d hardly imagined that her first museum since Jedi Knighthood would be under an ice sheet in a Sith Lord’s redoubt.

Arkadia’s aide had led Kerra up several flights of stairs into a rotunda, open to the stars above through a small transparisteel aperture. Synedian algae cascaded through fixtures around the room’s circumference, giving the place a cool glow. A heptagonal pylon half a meter high sat at the room’s center, focal point of floor tiling leading to the seven equally spaced exits.

A lot of empty space
, she thought, watching her guide depart.
More planetarium than museum
. The only exhibits were on the walls, sitting in small elevated alcoves between the doors.

She’d expected to see the usual Sith relics—as if there could be anything “usual” about sinister instruments of mayhem. Instead, many of the items seemed commonplace, although their vintage was clearly ancient.

Here, according to the captions, was a translation device used by an aide to Chancellor Fillorean during negotiations with the Duinuogwuin. A diamond bit used by a nameless slave to mine crystals in the Great Hyperspace War. A holorecorder used to interview the philosopher Laconio—but not the famous recordings themselves. A fusioncutter used by a Sith trooper to board
Endar Spire
. All were critical to history—and yet all seemed mundane, as anonymous as the people who used them.

Looking up at the organic light fixtures, she realized the common element. These things were all
tools
. Arkadia shared something else with Daiman besides a liking for sevens in interior design: there was no art in her realm. Everything was functional, even the display in the plaza where she’d left Rusher. The pretty tubes simply routed Synedian algae from the pumps to the final destination. Some of Calimondretta’s architecture was remarkable, but as with Daiman, it served mainly to fete Arkadia, rather than soothe the people.

And they needed soothing. They were all so frantic. Kerra thought back to the family of Gotals she had seen parting in the hallways of the academy. She’d thought there was something missing from the scene at the time, but she didn’t realize what it was—until now.

Joy
.

The Arkadianites didn’t suffer from the same kind of oppression that Daiman’s slave laborers did, but they lived under a cloud nonetheless. People didn’t have to be threatened with physical danger to be afraid. And Arkadia’s system kept them fearful. Fearful of loss of status, should they underperform. Fearful of being shifted to occupations they didn’t know anything about, should they perform too well. Arkadia kept them in perpetual motion. Perhaps they
were
happier than Darkknell’s hopeless residents; certainly, they weren’t as bad off as the drones of the Dyarchy. But in their own way, the people here suffered.

Kerra’s eyes fixed on a single item, just over a meter long. It was another implement, but different from the rest. A branding tool carved from the bone of some monstrous creature, it had a metal tip worked carefully into hand-polished grooves. Carvings in its curved length depicted the story of the owner’s family.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Arkadia asked.

Kerra looked to see the Sith Lord behind her. She was in her war regalia again, just as she’d been when aboard her flagship. “It’s very nice work,” Kerra said.

“Even I can see that,” Arkadia said, stepping past her to the display. “The crafter who made it toiled thirty long years at creating such pieces. They were signs of status, prized by heads of households.” She lifted the branding tool from its stand. “This was from the end, near the apex of the woman’s skills.”

“The end?”

“Trading vessels from one of your Republic corporations arrived on Odryn to launch a trade in prefabricated goods. They were able to replicate existing tools at a hundredth of her price. The artisan, who knew nothing else, threw herself into sea and drowned.”

Arkadia’s hands clenched, snapping the branding tool in half. “Beauty is meaningless against the wave.” She threw the fragments to the floor.

Kerra looked at the broken tool, dumbfounded.

“Such a thing would never have been allowed here,” Arkadia said, “because the craftswoman would have had other skills to rely upon.” The idea of spending a lifetime in a single pursuit was a recipe for stagnation, for obsolescence.

“But the cost is the masterpiece.”

“Then it is worth paying.”

Kerra knelt and picked up the pieces. “There’s more cost than that,” she said, gently replacing the fragments on their stand. “Your people. You keep them running. But you’re going to run them to death.”

“What about the Republic?” Arkadia said. “Your society—even your beloved Senate—is driven by commerce. You create occupations, but you don’t guarantee them. You allow competitors and new technologies to disrupt them, without so much as a thought to those whose livelihoods are impacted.”

“But we choose to face those challenges,” Kerra said.

“Do you?” Arkadia walked to the pylon at the center of the room. “With me, they know change is coming. But that change has meaning. It serves a cause. It happens to be mine.”

Kerra stared, perplexed. The woman wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Misguided as she was, Arkadia was …
logical
.

Noting her expression, Arkadia laughed. “Did you expect all Sith Lords to be murderous, knuckle-dragging villains? You can’t run a galaxy that way.”

“Then let the students go.”

“I can’t do that,” Arkadia said. “Understand, Kerra. If I seem reasonable, it’s because I value reason. But I’m still Sith—and I am not going to release lives I control just to gain the trust of a Jedi.” She walked behind the pylon and touched a hidden control. “But I will offer them refuge—and I have something else that I think will be of even greater value to you.”

Around them, the living lighting dimmed—and above, the skylight went opaque. The sides of the heptagonal pylon slid down, revealing projectors that cast images of stars and nebulae around the darkened rotunda. Kerra looked up, straining to find a point of reference. She couldn’t.

“You came here to strike a blow against the Sith,” Arkadia said, “and perhaps to help some of the people under our sway. But I sense that you also want something else. Something you haven’t been able to get from anyone, on any of these worlds.”

Drowning in a sea of stars under Sith domination, Kerra closed her eyes. There
was
something she wanted.

An explanation
.

“An explanation,” Arkadia repeated. “An explanation for all the wars, all the destruction you’ve seen. How brothers came to war. The strange ending to events on
Gazzari. And how all this chaos rests within a larger order.”

Arkadia stood before dual projector lights, shadows falling before her. “I need something from you, but for you to help me, you have to know something no one outside Sith space knows. You have to know
why
.”

Kerra sat, a student again in stellar cartography just as in the Jedi academy. Only this was a lesson no Jedi Knight ever had—from a teacher none would suffer to live.

And yet she was spellbound. The stars above had meaning now, painted in colors and outlined. There was Chelloa, where she’d arrived. There was the winding path to Darkknell. And there was the refugees’ flight path, leading through Byllura to Syned. Symbols hovered in the air, marking Arkadia’s best guesses at who controlled what.