The Eye of Darkness, page 18
That was it.
Not a big ask at all.
The plug finally clicked into place. Porter reached for another section of circuit board.
As anxious as he was to finish up here and send the droid on its way, he knew that rushing wasn’t going to help. And so he’d cleaned everything, and oiled the necessary parts, and now, hoping that his cluttered old memory remembered what needed to go where, he was in the process of final assembly. One droid restored from the wreckage of the few. Or at least, one complete enough to function.
His fingers worked, parts clicking together. Connections were made. Components fell snugly into place.
He thought of Creighton as he worked, his memories stirred by his presence here on Daedus. The man had been infuriating at times. Stubborn. Occasionally arrogant. But he’d also been an impeccable moral compass. Much like Stellan Gios.
Much like Barash.
Too many old friends were gone.
That’s why he had to keep fighting for the ones that remained.
He worked unconsciously as the memories tumbled: The first time he’d met Avar Kriss. His weeklong debates with Yoda. His sparring sessions with Rooper Nitani.
And Barash. So many memories of his sister.
He hoped her vow had served her well. That she was still out there somewhere, away from the Nihil and the Occlusion Zone and all the death and devastation. That she was helping people like she’d always wanted to.
Porter would have given anything to still have her at his side. Together, they could have helped to lead the fight back against Marchion Ro. But that was what he wanted, not her. She had done what she’d felt was right. He couldn’t blame her for that.
No. That was all down to General Viess.
He tried to put such thoughts out of mind. He had a job to do.
The components continued to click into place, like the pieces in a puzzle that wished to build itself.
A droid that wanted to come back to life.
Porter shook his head. Now he was just getting sentimental.
Regardless, Porter liked old machines like this. There was a certain satisfaction to be found in their simplicity. Built to do one job, and to do it well. Made to survive whatever the galaxy could throw at it.
A bit like Porter himself.
The thought made him chuckle. At over two centuries old, he wondered how long he really had left, and how much it really mattered anymore. He had doubts he’d ever make it out of the Occlusion Zone, and in truth, the thought didn’t trouble him. So long as he found a way to help others escape, and to get a message out to Elzar and the Council, to help them find a way in.
Assuming there were any other Jedi left inside the zone. He’d seen what the Nihil had done to Pra-Tre Veter, the ignoble death they’d given him at the hands of their cruel beasts.
Porter kept his salvaged receiver unit working on a recurring cycle, constantly scanning both the well-used frequencies and the little-known channels for any messages from those in need, or those trying to organize resistance against the Nihil.
Sometimes people tried to bury those messages among the static, looking for a way around the Nihil communications blackout. It was how he’d first picked up Elzar’s message, transmitted via the ancient relay beacons. But it also meant he picked up all the Nihil propaganda and the chatter of raiders as they went about their nauseating work. And it meant he’d seen the execution as it was played on a constant, taunting loop.
Porter continued his work, and the heaps of components dwindled. An hour passed. Then another.
When he next looked up, the suns were beginning to sink over the horizon, casting a pale-golden aura over the land.
It was beautiful, this near-forgotten planet on the outskirts of nowhere. Peaceful. That the Nihil had taken it, made it a place of death and ugliness, was unforgivable.
He wouldn’t be able to stay for long, though. The Nihil would be on his trail. As soon as the patrol he’d left dead at the site of the wreckage didn’t report in, others would be dispatched to locate them, and when they found the bodies they’d know immediately that they had a Jedi in their midst. Word would go out, and others would arrive.
Jedi-hunters.
Trackers like the Umbaran who would be able to trace his movements. Combatants with more firepower, and in greater numbers.
Or worse. More of their pets. That was a battle even he couldn’t survive. He had to finish up with the droid and move on before they found him. And he still didn’t have a flightworthy ship.
He glanced down at his lap.
He did have something, though. He had a complete droid.
Porter set his tools aside, turning the droid’s casing over slowly, ensuring he’d closed all the access panels. Its surface was old and craggy, pockmarked from years of interstellar travel.
“Tired and old, but you still have a use, don’t you?” muttered Porter. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
So far as he knew, everything was in its right place. The power pack was fully charged. The memory core appeared to be intact. The navigation systems—the crucial element that Porter hoped would allow it to traverse the Stormwall—were complete.
This was it. The moment he’d been working toward for months.
Cautiously, Porter flicked the power switch.
For a moment nothing happened. His breath seemed to catch in his throat. Then a low whine as the systems slowly came online. Lights flickered in some arcane sequence, diodes winking. A pinprick of red light appeared deep in the bottomless depths of its scratched eye lens. The light grew, like a pupil dilating.
The droid twitched. And then its propulsion systems engaged, and it pulled itself free of his grip, rising to hover above him, looking down at him with its implacable gaze. Its three legs jerked spasmodically as it tested them for the first time.
“Wheee woo,” it said.
Porter’s face cracked into a broad grin. His heart swelled. “Memory’s not so bad after all, eh?” He tapped his left temple with the tip of his index finger. “Still got it, Porter.”
“Bee-do-deee-wooo?” asked the droid.
“I’m sorry, little guy. Don’t mind me.” He got to his feet. “Welcome back. It’s been a while.”
“Wheee,” said the droid, in what Porter took to be a semblance of agreement.
“I’m guessing you’re a little confused about your designation. Your memory core said you were Eeex-Zerogee, but I’m afraid I had to borrow a few parts to get you up and running again. So why don’t I just call you Ex-Wun for now?”
“Beedle-doo-whoo,” said the droid.
“Good. Why don’t you run a full diagnostic while I fetch myself something to eat. I’ve got an important job for you, so we need to make sure everything’s in full working order.”
EX-1 gave a further series of tooting responses, and then drifted over to a large, flat rock and lowered itself there, its three trailing legs furling up beneath its domed body. Lights flickered in a sequence around its outer shell.
Stretching his weary muscles—hunching over for hours on end had caused his old frame to stiffen up—Porter got to his feet and slipped inside his ship. Or at least, the ship he’d stolen from some hapless Nihil after ambushing their patrol on Exu Prime many months earlier.
Porter had taken to calling the vessel the Torment, because of the torturous journeys upon which they’d embarked together, and it was looking worse for wear. Not only had the outer shell been nearly chewed apart by successive swarms of scav droids, but the interior wasn’t in much better shape.
Nests of wire erupted at intervals from the walls where he’d been forced to patch or bypass damaged systems. Panels lay scattered about the floor. Bits of old droids lay in heaps of unused salvage: the leftovers from his months of scavenging across the worlds of the Occlusion Zone. Some of the salvage was from other shuttles, too—parts he’d use to keep on patching up the Torment after each scav droid attack he managed to shake off.
There were even remnants of the Nihil marauders from whom he’d taken the vessel in the first place: gas masks, primitive weapons stolen from other captured worlds, gas grenades. He didn’t have much use for any of it.
Porter crossed to the small galley kitchen and fetched out a pan. Then he took a silvered pouch from a drawer, tore it open, and emptied the contents into the pan, which he set on the small burner.
The stew was brown and smelled unappetizing, containing large hunks of unfamiliar vegetables and meat. The markings on the packet were unclear, too, being written in some language that Porter had neglected to learn. Or perhaps it was just another thing he’d allowed himself to forget. It was difficult to tell, these days.
He set the food to warm. His stomach growled. It was no Nine-Egg Stew, but it would do. He’d been living off the stuff for weeks. It was fuel, that was all. He didn’t have time to savor his food anymore. He didn’t have time for anything but the mission. In here, behind enemy lines, alone, Porter was simply existing.
Soon, though, that simple existence was going to bear fruit. Soon his hastily reassembled EX droid would carry word all the way back to Coruscant, and life would begin again. Finally, the Jedi would be able to fight back.
The thought gave Porter great comfort. He imagined a massive fleet of RDC ships, led by Elzar Mann, Bell Zettifar, Keeve Trennis, and the others, piercing the Stormwall using the EX droid’s long-fallow technology, swarming into Nihil space to bring Marchion Ro to his knees. And Porter would be right there at their side. One last hurrah.
It wasn’t such a big dream, was it? That the Jedi could prevail. That they’d eventually win out against the jumped-up pirates who’d clearly bitten off more than they could chew.
He had to hope. Hope was the only path left, because to succumb to despair was to let the Nihil win. And Porter refused to let that happen.
When the stew was bubbling hot and gloopy, Porter grabbed a wooden spoon and ate the stuff right out of the pan. It was tasteless, but he didn’t want to waste time trying to season it. He finished it quickly and took a drink of lukewarm water from his decanter.
Then, with a forlorn glance at his bunk—it had been some time since he’d managed to sleep—Porter ventured outside again to where he’d left EX-1 squatting on the flat rock, running its system checks.
The droid was nowhere to be seen.
Cursing, Porter’s hand brushed the hilt of his lightsaber. Had the Nihil caught up with him much sooner than he’d expected? If they’d found the droid…
He dropped into a crouch, scanning the surrounding area, looking for signs of ingress into the camp’s boundaries.
Nothing.
He turned, his left hand extended, right hand now gripping his lightsaber hilt. He reached out with the Force…
But there was no sense of impending danger. He could feel no presence in the immediate area, beyond the tiny creatures that burrowed in the ground beneath his boots.
Slowly, Porter crept around the outer edge of the ship. Somewhere close, a bird squawked and took wing, disturbed by movement. Porter rounded the nose of the ship…and, to his immense relief, saw that EX-1 was hovering nearby, exploring the perimeter of the camp.
Perhaps he was just growing paranoid. It’s what came of spending months on the run, being hunted by those who would obliterate him without a second’s hesitation.
Porter relaxed—just a little—and lowered his hand. He slipped his lightsaber hilt back into its holster. He supposed he could hardly blame the droid for being inquisitive after having its memory core deactivated for so long. “Am I to assume that everything is in working order, then, Ex-Wun?”
EX-1 swung around to regard him with its single, central eye. “Whoo-da-bee-do-waa,” it quipped. The affected air of innocence was impressive for a droid.
Porter laughed. “You’re going on a long journey. All the way to Coruscant. Can you remember the way?”
EX-1 drifted closer. “Doop-dee-baa.”
“Good,” said Porter. He crossed to the waiting thruster pod. “I need you to find a Jedi named Elzar Mann. He’ll be at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. I want you to deliver an urgent message.” He fixed EX-1 with a firm stare. “No deviating from your course unless you have no other option. If you’re discovered, there are people who will try to prevent you from completing your mission. You must be swift and take no unnecessary risks. Is that clear?”
“Woo-naa-dee.” EX-1 sounded nervous.
“Thousands, if not millions of lives could depend on this, Ex-Wun. It’s why I put you back together.” He reached out and patted the droid’s shell. “The old hyperspace tech inside you may be what the Jedi desperately need to save everyone.”
“Beet-beet-da,” said EX-1 a little more brightly.
“All right,” said Porter. He crossed to a boulder and sat. “Now, listen carefully. I want you to record this message…”
PRANDRIL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE
“Well? What does it say, Kaysee?”
Avar drummed her fingers impatiently on the arm of her seat. It was the fourth time she’d asked. Beside her, the astromech remained silent and still, just as before. The only indicator that he was still working at all was the blinking sequence of lights that continued to flicker across the front of his head.
They’d been forced to wait for the repeating message to finish and cycle again, so that KC-78 could capture the entire sequence. Now he was scrubbing away layers of static and over-recording to seek out the message buried deep beneath the public broadcast. And he was taking his time, much to Avar’s frustration.
She was trying hard not to speculate but finding it near impossible. Her best guess was that KC-78 had stumbled upon some subwave communication technique that the Nihil used to transmit orders to their teams in the field. If so, it could be revolutionary. Knowing what the Nihil were planning would enable her to move much more freely, to warn beings throughout the Occlusion Zone when the Nihil were gathering for a raid, and to better work to frustrate their efforts by getting ahead of them whenever she could.
What was more—she needed this. She needed the win, especially after all she’d been through to get the grain shipment here, to Prandril, and the terrible realization that it would make no real difference to the plight of the colonists. She had to find something to grab hold of. A purpose. Because, deep down, she knew that the scattershot approach she’d been taking just wasn’t working.
She’d been playing it safe. Acting as a loner. Chalking up each tiny victory as her justification for continuing to avoid her real responsibilities. But if she was going to make any real difference at all, she was going to have to make some noise.
Only some big breakthrough was going to do that, and while she wasn’t yet ready to admit it, even to herself, she was already pinning her hopes on the idea that this could be it.
KC-78 emitted a single beep and turned his head toward her. The sequence of lights had stopped dancing.
He was done.
“Well?”
The droid issued a disapproving tone.
“I know. I’m sorry,” said Avar. “It’s just…” She trailed off, then glanced away. “I just need to know what it says, Kaysee. I’m sorry for hurrying you.”
KC-78 trundled forward until he bumped gently against her leg. It was a kind gesture that almost brought a tear to her eye—the kind of thing Maru might have done, a light hand upon the arm, just to let her know she wasn’t alone.
She wondered if the old stories were true—that a droid who spent enough time near its master would begin to pick up some of their traits. It was probably just a fairy story, wishful thinking, but the idea nevertheless had a certain appeal.
She patted the top of KC-78’s head. He gave the equivalent of a heartfelt sigh, and then reversed half a meter.
“Right then,” said Avar. “What have you got?”
KC-78 activated the distilled recording. The hiss and pop of static echoed around the inside of the ship’s cockpit.
Rhil Dairo’s voice spoke in a hushed, hurried tone. “This is a message for any Jedi out there in the Occlusion Zone. I hope you hear this. My name is Rhil Dairo and I am a prisoner of the Nihil. Marchion Ro and his followers are holding me against my will on Hetzal and forcing me to broadcast their lies and propaganda.” She paused for a moment, as if catching her breath.
Avar felt pained. She’d guessed as much.
“But I’m doing everything I can to work against them,” Rhil continued. “I’m trying to broadcast the truth. To tell people that the situation in the Occlusion Zone is worse than anyone imagines. This is a message that needs to get out. Back to the chancellor and the people of the Republic. To the Jedi Council and those who can make a difference. They need to know how bad things are here. How people are starving and dying at the hands of these barbarians.”
Another pause. And then: “And I think I’ve found a way. One of the Nihil is helping me. He’s the one who’s making these messages possible. He’s looking for a way out, and he’s prepared to help. If there are any Jedi hearing this, he has a plan. He’ll get you out of the Occlusion Zone, through the Stormwall, in exchange for immunity from prosecution by the Republic. He wants to defect. To disappear.”
Avar stared at KC-78, who remained as implacable as ever.
“I’m not going to lie to you. This is a dangerous plan. But I believe him. The people here, even some among the Nihil, they’re scared of Ro and what he can do. I’m sending some coordinates with this message. A safe harbor here on Hetzal. And a time that we’ll be there to meet you. Come if you can.”
The message ended with a fizz of static.
Avar’s mouth was dry. She swallowed. “And you have the coordinates and schedule she mentioned?”
KC-78 gave a reluctant beep of affirmation.
“Then I don’t see we have a choice.”
