by Tim Lebbon
“Look,” Tre said, pointing. “Another door there.” He was almost shouting, and blood ran from his ears. Lanoree also heard the fading whine from her tortured eardrums, but that was the least of her worries.
“That Cathar’s bomb can’t have done that,” she said, pointing at the rent in the wall. It was on the opposite side of the room from the doorway the explosion had blocked.
“There was another explosion when I was trying to wake you,” Tre said. “Far away, up there. To feel it down here it must have been big. What’s happening? What have we started?”
“A war. And Dal started it. Come on. We’ve got to stop him leaving Greenwood Station.”
“I feel sick,” Tre said. “It stinks. My head hurts. I think my skull might be—”
“I’ll break it myself,” Lanoree said. “Come on! Help me with this door.” She searched the room for her sword, knowing she would not find it, mourning its loss. Tem Madog himself had forged that sword for her. She’d rather have lost an arm.
Perhaps it had been dropped somewhere beyond that blocked doorway. Or maybe Dal had taken it with him.
They tried the door, but it was electronically locked.
“Cover your ears,” Lanoree said. She concentrated on the lock and Force-shoved, crushing the mechanism and shorting the circuits. The door slid open, and a flood of sewage washed in around their feet. She and Tre clasped hands to keep their balance. The thought of falling into that mess …
When the levels of filth had equalized, they left the room and emerged into one of Pan Deep’s corridors. It was long and empty, and several other doors led off it. They were all closed, marked only with laboratory numbers, and Lanoree had no wish to open them. Soft, reactive lighting glowed behind ceiling panels, and on the walls were touch panels, 3-D holo screens, and several indentations that might have housed implement printers. This was advanced tech for a place so hidden away. The money pumped into Pan Deep must have been vast.
They saw no one else. Perhaps the six murdered scientists were the only ones who worked here. Or maybe Dal had paid others to stay away.
Not much of a head start, she thought, but he’ll know his way up, would have an escape route planned from here and from the city. She could barely believe the enormity of the events that Dal had set in motion. Initiating a battle between two domes—cities whose specialty was the design and manufacture of weapons of war—was as good as murdering the battle’s victims himself. All to cover his tracks.
It was brutal. It was inhuman. He claimed freedom from the Force, but willingly removing himself from its influence had made him a monster.
Pan Deep was not as large as she’d imagined. At the end of the corridor they emerged into a rough cavern, at the other end of which a string of lights led into a tunnel that sloped slowly upward. The cavern floor was swilling with sewage and the stink was almost unbearable, but Lanoree knew that a person could get used to a lot in extreme circumstances. Even Tre was surprising her. He’d quickly stopped complaining and wiped the blood from his face and ears, and now he nudged her shoulder and pointed.
“Think he’ll have set traps?”
“He thinks we’re dead,” she said.
Another blast rumbled down from above, spilling grit and dust from the cavern ceiling. From somewhere close by came a shattering, grinding crack, shaking the floor and setting the air itself vibrating.
“And we don’t have time for caution,” Lanoree said. “I think they’re using plasma bombs up there. We’ve got to get clear of Greenwood Station and back to the Peacemaker, or this will be our grave.”
“Laid to rest in a bath of shak,” Tre said. “Well, I guess I had it coming.”
Lanoree laughed out loud. Tre’s eyes went wide with surprise. And then they ran.
It was a journey through a nightmare—flowing sewage, crumbling walls, three security grilles that Lanoree had to Force-shove open before they could continue—and what made it worse was the uncertainty of what they were moving toward. The farther they went, the louder the noises of battle. But they had little choice.
Frustration and fear drove her on. Not fear for herself so much as for the countless people who Dal’s scheme would put at risk, and not only those now dying in the conflict initiated here. Seeing the shape of the device beneath the dust sheet had been strange—that something so small might contain such energies. The pursuit had clouded her thoughts about the hypergate, and the truth or not of its existence. But seeing Dal again, and his madness, and being so close to the device that might be born of Gree technology had all combined to focus her thoughts.
It was just possible that the device would work, which would be amazing, and the consequences of that she could not allow herself to consider. But it was much more likely that it would doom them all.
The farther they fled from beneath the massive tower’s foundation, the greater the impact of the explosions. When she reached her Peacemaker she would contact the Je’daii Council and tell them of events here, and maybe they could intervene in time to prevent a greater tragedy. But doing so might be admitting their continued interest in Greenwood Station and the laboratories and expertise of Pan Deep. Perhaps they would be happier to let the domed city meet its fate and fade away from memory.
Their route took them upward, and Tre commented several times that they should have already reached street level. But they had no time to pause, and when Lanoree consulted her wrist unit, the schematics were confused. She could not pin down their location on the plans.
People passed by them in both directions, none sparing them a glance. They were all wide-eyed and scared.
At last they reached a set of heavy blast doors. Lanoree used the Force to fry their controls, and Tre found a heavy iron bar to pry them open. Heat and noise flooded in, the stenches and sounds of chaos, and Lanoree stumbled through onto a wide balcony several stories above the ground. They had emerged just above the base of the central tower, overlooking Greenwood Station’s western side. The sounds, sights, and chaos of war were almost overwhelming.
They were confronted with a scene that took their breaths away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SAD HISTORY
Perhaps there is a madness in remaining on Tython while not strong in the Force. One would not submerge long beneath the surface of the sea if one did not possess gills. One would surface. One would escape. So to stay here, now … that way, insanity lies.
—Unknown Tythan, circa 9,000 TYA
When Master Dam-Powl knocks on her door and disturbs her from sleep, Lanoree knows that something is wrong. She has been expecting it. Like the sense of imminent danger always apparent at Anil Kesh because of the Chasm below, her own perception of Dal has been of a coiled spring. Now, the time has come. Dal has sprung.
“He’s a fool!” Dam-Powl says as they march along the corridor. “I saw trouble in him the moment you arrived. As did Master Kin’ade.”
“At Stav Kesh?” Lanoree asks.
“Of course. You think the Je’daii Masters don’t talk among ourselves about those on their Great Journeys?”
“What has he done?” Lanoree asks.
“He fled into the Abyss of Ruh. Put lives in danger.”
“He’s gone?” breathes Lanoree.
“Oh, no. Not gone. They pulled him out and are bringing him back. They’re just coming in to land.” Dam-Powl climbs a staircase and a heavy door slides open before her. Wind roars, rain splashes in across the floor, and Force lightning thrashes about the square of night sky revealed.
Oh, Dal, what have you done? Lanoree thinks. He has been gone for four days, taken with others by Master Quan-Jang on a visit to the Riftlands to collect specimens for the alchemical labs here at Anil Kesh. At first she welcomed his absence; it gave her the opportunity to study in peace with no concerns about what Dal might be doing. But her dreams these past three nights had been troubled. It was almost as if she knew that something terrible was going to happen. She follows the Je’daii Master outside. The
re is someone else out there already, standing at the edge of the platform and looking east. A Cloud Chaser is visible, drifting down toward one of Anil Kesh’s landing zones.
“Master,” the young man says, turning to greet them. He barely glances at Lanoree. “Master Quan-Jang reports that the Journeyer said nothing. But he appears fit and well.”
“Good,” Dam-Powl says. “The others?”
“Sickened from their time in the Abyss.” He looks pointedly at Lanoree then. “It is a place of dark, dangerous energies.”
Lanoree glances over the handrail and looks down into the Chasm. She feels woozy, and it’s Dam-Powl’s hand that steadies her.
“Breathe long and deep,” the Master whispers. “The Force is very strong in you, and so the Chasm plays with you.”
“That’s what you think it is?” Lanoree asks. “Playing?”
Dam-Powl smiles enigmatically. “A turn of phrase.”
“So what will happen?”
“Happen?”
“To Dal?”
It’s the other Je’daii who replies. “We ensure that he’s fit and well, unharmed from his escapades. And then we will arrest him and escort him from Anil Kesh first thing in the morning.”
“Escort him where?”
The Je’daii’s face is grim. “Once beyond the temple, he can go where he wishes.”
“Banishment,” Lanoree says.
“I think we’ll actually be saving his life.”
So is this how my brother’s sad story ends? Lanoree wonders. But she thinks not. Dal has a weight to him, increasing the farther he removes himself from the Force. In her dreams, at their worst, his end comes with terrible greatness.
“I’d like to wait here for him,” she says. The Cloud Chaser has touched down now, visible between skeins of low cloud. “Speak to him when he arrives.”
“I’ll wait with you.” The Je’daii bows. “Journeyer Skott Yun.”
Lanoree starts to object, but she realizes it was not a request. “Lanoree Brock,” she says.
“I know.” Skott Yun smiles.
“Afterward, bring him down to me,” Dam-Powl says. “I’ll go to make sure the medical bay is ready to receive those others still sickening.”
Yun bows his head as the Master turns and leaves.
Lanoree watches her go, surprised at Dam-Powl’s confidence in Dal’s well-being.
“I’ll fetch your jacket for you,” Yun says. “It can grow cold out here.”
It takes Quan-Jang and the others a surprisingly long time to reach the temple from the landing zone. Yun tries talking, but Lanoree is too distracted and troubled to enter into any meaningful conversation. Most of the time she stands with her eyes closed, her thoughts her own.
It is Yun who finally announces their arrival. They arrive at the temple on foot, Master Quan-Jang in the lead. There are ten people behind him, three being carried on stretchers. Even though she sees Dal with them, he seems to walk alone.
“I’ll go to meet them,” Yun says. “Wait here and I’ll bring your brother.”
Lanoree waits, and watches. They climb the leg onto the temple, and Yun meets them at the far end of the viewing platform.
Dal seems even more apart from them all than she first thought. There is no expression on his face, and he doesn’t seem to acknowledge where he is at all. He’s more hurt than Master Dam-Powl let on, Lanoree thinks. But she still wants him close so that she can assess his condition for herself. And she realizes that though it has only been four days, she has missed her brother.
Quan-Jang and the others move off into the temple, and Yun touches Dal’s shoulder. Then the two of them walk toward Lanoree, across the viewing platform that is buffeted by winds from below and heavy, warm raindrops from above.
“Dal,” she says as they reach her, but his expression gives her pause. So serious. So adult. There’s something expanded about him, as if since she saw him last he has grown to fit the world he will live in. He seems assured, too, and confident, even though his skin appears burned, his eyes puffy and red.
“I came to say good-bye, Lanoree,” he says. The words are strange and unexpected. He turns to leave, and Skott Yun stands before him.
“You’re to be arrested and—” the Journeyer begins.
“There are such depths,” Dal says. He is speaking directly to Lanoree. She wonders whether these are the last words they will ever share.
“What did you see?” she asks.
“Things you never can.” His eyes are so bright they seem to glow. “Such promises and opportunities down in the Abyss! Such depths, of history and potential. And now I must go elsewhere, to find something more. And so—”
“Dalien Brock,” Yun says, “you’re to accompany me to—”
Dal strikes out. Lanoree sees it coming and is surprised that Yun did not. But though the Journeyer may be comfortable at Anil Kesh, he has yet to visit Stav Kesh to learn the martial arts. Dal’s fist connects with his chin, and as Yun leans back, Dal spins and kicks him in the face. Another punch as he falls, and Lanoree hears bones break even before Yun strikes the metal platform.
“Dal!” Lanoree shouts, but she sees her brother’s determination. I cannot lose him now! She goes for him, reaching out, wishing to hold him and try to undo everything that has passed between them since leaving home. It is a naive wish, and one that suits a child more than the Je’daii woman Lanoree is becoming. But familial love is a powerful force in itself.
From the corner of her eye she sees Skott Yun lift himself on one elbow and then raise his other hand, pointing toward Dal.
“No!” she shouts. “Don’t try to—” She will always wonder whether her voice gave Dal warning, and whether in fact she wanted that.
The moment she speaks, Dal crouches and spins on one heel, his robe billowing as he brings one hand out from beneath its folds. His blaster coughs. Skott Yun cries out and is shoved across the platform by the impact. Blood bursts from his back, and his clothing smokes.
“Dal,” Lanoree breathes, feeling weak and suddenly hopeless. This is the point when everything goes too far.
“Good-bye, Lanoree,” he says again. And then he is gone, dashing across the platform and climbing a sloping ladder fixed into the temple’s curved wall.
She should stay to help Yun. She kneels briefly by his side and examines the wound, and though still breathing, she knows that he will not survive. Lanoree should stay to tell Master Dam-Powl what has happened.
But instead she chases her brother. Up onto the temple’s high wall, across its curved roof where deep ditches channel water and moss makes the surface treacherous, following his distant shadow through the increasing downpour until he scurries down one of the massive legs toward solid ground.
Her first Great Journey ends, and her pursuit of her brother begins.
“Your brother did this?” Tre gasped.
“So he said.”
“But how?”
“A word in the right ear. A rumor, a threat, a challenge. A murder.”
“It’s … monstrous. It’s terrifying.”
Lanoree could not argue.
The air was filled with violence. Smoke, screams, the pounding and roaring of weapons, and the groaning and grinding of the giant dome under stress. They had emerged onto a balcony just above the base of the central tower. To the west was the previously damaged area of the dome, with its massive buttresses and chaotic-looking repairs sealing it from the toxic air outside. And to the south, an attack was under way.
Several large parts of Greenwood Station’s dome had been destroyed, the ragged holes still smoking and dropping burning, molten detritus to the buildings and streets far below. The dome’s atmosphere screamed as it was vented to the outside, as if in distress at mixing with the toxic clouds beyond. At the nearest of these wounds in the protective skin, Lanoree could see several large, bulky shapes—battle droids—hunkered low by the hole and firing laser cannons into the city. The barrage seemed to be indiscriminate, and many
fires were already taking hold. The battle droids edged forward and the first of them dropped, retros beneath its many arms firing to ease its descent.
A missile streaked from the tower above them and struck the droid. It bloomed fire, fell out of sight into a manufacturing district, and exploded. More missiles curved away from the tower, sweeping in graceful arcs and impacting the dome around the shattered area above. Some droids erupted in fiery death, others tumbled across the outside of the dome. More dark shapes replaced them and the barrage began again.
At another smashed section an attack ship hovered. A plasma cannon started pulsing into the ground close to the column’s base. Each impact was huge and shook the city, the ground, the air itself. Explosions of fire and smoke mushroomed up, and Lanoree could not help wondering how many people were dying with each impact. Beneath the central column, she thought, just where Dal would have told them Pan Deep lay. More rockets were fired from the tower, but as they approached the dome’s underside they evaporated into clouds of blazing white vapor. The attack ship had defenses. Lanoree could hardly imagine the destruction involved if it succeeded in getting inside.
“We’ve got to go!” Tre shouted above the noise, grabbing her arm. The balcony vibrated with each impact, and if the attack ship shifted its targeting by just a few degrees …
“Come on,” Lanoree said. She grasped Tre’s hand as he pulled away, squeezed to calm him. “Trust me!” Then she hauled him to the edge of the balcony and tipped over.
Any normal person would have been killed instantly by the fall. But Lanoree eased them down with the Force, slowing their descent and landing them with barely a jolt on the street below. People ran around them in confusion and terror. No one even seemed to notice them.
“Don’t ever do that again!” Tre shouted, almost hysterical.
“Next time I won’t hold your hand.” Lanoree ran, and Tre went with her.
Far to the south, hidden by smoke and the haze of many weapons, a ground battle seemed to be taking place. She could not make out the details, but she could just see the sparking impacts of artillery fire speckling the outside of the dome’s shell several kilometers in the distance, and the constant thump, thump of returning fire sang through the air. Hundreds of bright lights dropped from punctures in the dome. Battle droids, or perhaps even ground assault troops.