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James Luceno

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“The Carrion. There it was again: that strange word he had heard so often growing up. But just then he asked: “What is the Carrion?” His father seemed pleased that his son had finally wondered aloud. “A place that teaches you the meaning of survival.” In the quiet comfort of the family dining room, rich with the heady odors of exotic spices and long-simmered meats, the statement had no meaning. “Will I be afraid?” he said, again because he sensed he was meant to ask. “If you know what’s good for you.” “Could I die there?” he said, almost in self-amusement. “In ways too numerous to count.” “Would you miss me if I did die?” he asked them both. His mother was the first to say, “Of course we would.” “Then why do I have to go there? Have I done something wrong?” His father placed his elbows on the table and leaned toward him. “We need to know if you are simply ordinary or larger than life.” To the best of his ability, he mulled over the notion of being larger than life. “Did you have to go there when you were young?” His father nodded. “Were you afraid?” His father sat back into his tall, brocaded armchair, as if in recall. “In the beginning I was. Until I learned to overcome fear.”

“Did it work?” “Did what work?” “Defiance. Was that enough?” “That wasn’t the point.” “What was?” “Believing that your actions mattered, and believing that a good end would come of them, even if you didn’t live to see the results.” Has snorted. “Cheery thought. Throw dirt in your enemy’s face, get crushed underfoot.” Saw stopped what he was doing and walked over to him. “Look at it this way, Has. If we can persuade enough people to start throwing dirt…” Realizing that he was supposed to finish the thought, Has considered it, then said: “Eventually we bury them.”

“Brazen and shameless, and at their own mortal peril, they had waged etheric war, anticipating that their own midi-chlorians, the Force’s proxy army, might marshal to boil their blood or stop the beating of their hearts. Risen out of themselves, discorporate and as a single entity, they had brought the power of their will to bear, asserting their sovereignty over the Force. No counterforce had risen against them. In what amounted to a state of rapture they knew that the Force had yielded, as if some deity had been tipped from its throne. On the fulcrum they had fashioned, the light side had dipped and the dark side had ascended.”

“What hope is there for freelancers like myself if the Empire is determined to vanquish every independent system?” he said. Glancing at Saw, Molo, and Yalli, he added: “All of us will end up Imperial employees, imprisoned, or dead.” Saw clapped him hard on the back. “That’s the spirit, Has. But there’s more to it than that. To the Empire we’re nothing more than clots of dirt they’d kick from their boots. Even Salient is nothing more than a trial run. Not when the goal is subjugation on a galactic scale. And that’s where we come in, even if it’s just to rattle them some: to rebel against injustice.”