Etain could hardly believe what she was saying. “They’re farmers. You’re elite troops. With the gloves off, this would have taken you no time at all.”
“You want one last try at talking them down, ma’am?”
Level knew her better than she thought. He seemed to understand that she’d blame herself later if she didn’t offer them one last chance to surrender. How many more times she had to offer she had no idea. They’d made their intentions clear.
“Okay. Bring up the A-tee.”
Blaster exchanges continued, but the troopers seemed to be fighting in complete silence. They could hear their comlink circuit in their helmets; she couldn’t. There was just the crack of blaster rounds and the rain of frozen soil as cannon rounds ripped into the farmland around them. When she remembered to click her teeth to activate the platoon comlink circuit, the voices switched on in her earpiece and she was plunged into the chaotic noise of battle, of men calling positions and range and elevation, and one voice repeating, “Is he okay? Is Ven okay? Is Ven okay?”
Ven. He did have a name. She knew it now.
Etain switched back to her closed circuit with Levet. “How long before the A-tee’s in range, Commander?”
“Twelve standard minutes, ma’am.”
“Okay.” She concentrated on the hillside opposite, thinking into the minds of the men and women she’d known— trained-and tried to persuade them by thought influence that they were hesitant, uncertain if they wanted to continue this, anxious to leave for a better life. “Cease fire. Stand by.”
The troopers lowered their blasters immediately and edged back from the wall, some dragging wounded comrades. One of them wasn’t showing any signs of movement at all. Ven lay a little way from the E-Web, helmet beside him, bright scarlet blood leaking into the snow and melting it. His comrade was still pumping his chest two-handed.
The firing from the hillside tailed off into silence.
Etain could sense the emotions around her like patches of colored light; sharp yellows of fear, the blue-white pulsing intensity of ebbing life, and something she could only identify as child-like, faint and gray. It was an echo of what she’d first sensed of Darman. It wasn’t innocence, though: it felt lost and in need.
The baby kicked again. For a moment she thought it was him. One day he would need to know that his mother had done everything she could to give the farmers a way out.
“Birhan?” she yelled. “Birhan, are you out there?”
The valley echoed. On rural Qiilura, sounds carried a long way. She thought she could hear the distant ee-unk ee-unk of the assault walker picking its way through the fields toward the road.
“It’s not Birhan.” The voice that called back to her was a woman’s.
“You can stop this now. You can all walk out of here.”
There was a long pause. “You’re the ones who are cut off on both sides …”
“And we’re the ones who’ve been trying to take you alive … up till now.” The yelling was making Etain’s throat sore. She checked her chrono. “I’ll give you five standard minutes to lay down your weapons and surrender.”
Silence. Absolute silence, other than the backdrop of wild sounds that Darman had labeled NFQ-Normal For Qiilura.
“I suspect that’s going to be a no,” Etain said.
She waited, glancing at her chrono from time to time. It was so quiet that she could hear the snow flurries hitting the troopers’ armor, rattling like beans. Levet worked his way back toward her and signaled to check ahead.
Narrowing her eyes against the snow, she could see movement. From the lower slopes of the hill, figures in drab working clothes, faces swathed in scarves, rose slowly and held their hands up in surrender. Thank the Force. Some sense at last. She watched carefully for weapons, but they really did seem to have thrown down their rifles. She risked standing up, lightsaber in hand.
“Ma’am, when will you learn to keep your head down?” Levet said sharply. “Jedi doesn’t mean invulnerable.”
“I’ve got armor,” she said, “and I can deflect blaster bolts if they lake a polshot at me.” It seemed unnecessarily aggressive to activate her lightsaber, but she did it anyway. She wasn’t laking any chances. As she edged forward, with the weapon held away from her body, more figures popped up from snow-covered crags, some with hands on heads, some simply holding blasters and rifles aloft. The farmers on the lower slopes had started to pick their way down toward the road.
Their resistance seemed to be a gesture now. They just wanted to show some fight, save face, and be able to tell their children that they hadn’t gone quietly. Pride mattered to them. She understood that.