He focused on the fire of the power core. Felt its heat against his face. The delusion of a dying mind or the leading of the Force? He knew which he believed.

Ember barked, Indeera fought, and Bell pressed down hard on the trigger. He didn’t see the lasers lance out, but he saw the result. The Nihil ship exploded in a ball of light, silent in the void, but Bell felt as though he could hear the screams of everyone on board. The lives he had snuffed out to save others. As a youngling Bell had been told this was the burden of every Jedi who took a life, no matter how justified: that every silenced voice would stay with them until the end of their days. He had never believed it until now, but welcomed the truth of it. The voices would be a reminder to always look for another way.

Of course, always was a relative term, especially with a harpoon in his gut. Superheated debris struck the Vector, spinning it around. This time he couldn’t protect Ember. He could barely protect himself. He caught sight of Indeera’s Vector, smothered with scav droids. There was something else, flicking out in front of him. It was the harpoon’s cable, severed in the blast. Bell smiled through bloodstained teeth. Indeera had saved him. Now it was time to repay the favor, one last task before the Force took him.

Bell reached out with his senses, nudging the cable as it whipcracked through space. It sliced through the scav droids, wiping them from Indeera’s hull. More would replace them, but he had bought Indeera time to focus. Finally, she could worry about herself.

His eyes closed as the Vector whirled toward the Innovator’s hangar.

“That’s it, girl,” he wheezed at Ember, still scrabbling in the back. “Keep barking … Keep …”

And Bell Zettifar fell silent.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Coruscant Dawn

The Coruscant Dawn’s comm board had lit up like a Solstice tree the moment news of the shipyard attack had reached the Core.

Norel Quo had gone into overdrive fielding requests and arranging meetings for Lina Soh, who stood as calm as a Jedi Master as the tempest raged around her. If Stellan had been impressed with the woman before, his admiration had grown by the second in the midst of such a crisis. The tension in the room reached fever pitch within seconds, and yet she remained calm and controlled, at least on the surface. He could sense her true emotions, the concern that knotted her stomach, but they never even remotely approached panic. She sat behind her wroshyr-wood desk and gently stroked the yellow head of one of her targons, listening to every report and piece of advice in turn.

“Do we have word from Cyclor?”