by Claudia Gray
But, like all his other attempts so far at using the Force to change minds, this failed. The red-scarved man swaggered forward, hands on his hips. “Do your worst, little boy.”
Never before had Reath been in this position—where he would have to be the first to take action, to do harm. He’d always wondered if he would hesitate. If he’d doubt himself.
When it came to saving a life, however, there could be no hesitation.
Instead Reath said, “I understand prosthetic arms are more advanced than prosthetic legs. More comfortable, too.”
No flicker of understanding showed in the man’s face, not until the moment after Reath’s lightsaber had swept through his arm, severing it at the elbow. A forearm tumbled down onto the ground. The red-scarved man’s expression shifted from smugness to disbelief, then crumpled into a grimace as his shocked nerve endings finally broadcast pain.
Immediately the bigger guy dropped Nan and ran into the shadowy jungle surrounding them. Nan put her hand to her mouth as she stared at the abandoned forearm. Reath said, “I have to stand guard at the airlocks. Come with me.”
The red-scarved man finally fell to his knees and howled. “What have you done to me?”
Reath holstered his lightsaber. “We’ll give you a full medical checkup as soon as the situation calms down.”
With that he pulled Nan against his side. He wasn’t sure how to balance himself for the leap while carrying someone else, so he recalculated swiftly. “Hang on.”
Her arms went around his neck. Reath jumped forward and upward in a sharp arc—until his free hand clutched one of the longest vines. Their momentum and weight did the rest, sending them swinging in a long curve back to the airlock ring.
No sooner had they landed than Nan dashed toward the lock where her ship, and Hague, awaited. Of course she’d want to find her guardian. But she glanced back over her shoulder and called out, “Thanks!”
Reath managed a brief smile for her before he took up his lightsaber again.
The Orincans leveled their blasters at Cohmac as he leapt onto their deck of the station. Magnetically sealed? he wondered of the station. Possibly.
The blue blade of his lightsaber ignited, its gleam slicing through the murky dark. As the Orincans fired, he spun his saber, expertly deflecting the beams into the trunks of the larger trees that could bear it, or into some of the boxes and trunks of abandoned cargo. None hit the walls, which was his main objective.
Squealing in consternation, the Orincans beat a hasty retreat. He glanced down just in time to see Orla hold out her lightsaber and ignite it—two blades, shining white, piercing the shadows. The Mizi began backing off immediately. But it was too easy for the looters to escape; the layout of the station meant he and Orla would literally be running in circles trying to pursue them all.
The Vessel lacked the military heft to forcibly stop the looters from leaving with their ill-gotten gains. Therefore, stopping the ransacking would have to be accomplished through more than sheer strength. Reason and persuasion hadn’t worked, either.
Time for awe.
Cohmac climbed the rungs of the atrium railing. His eyes detected Affie Hollow cleverly concealed behind a greenery-overgrown barrier, but that hardly mattered—except that this girl, too, would finally learn what the Jedi truly were.
He focused his energy and drew upon the Force. Though darkness surrounded him, the sheer vitality of the living things on the station worked on Cohmac like fuel. Strength flooded his body, and ultimate clarity sharpened his mind.
With that, he jumped.
Affie screamed, but the sound flowed past Cohmac, just one more aspect of the illusion-reality around him. Reaching out with the Force, he sensed the atrium floor and balanced himself above it. Eight meters above it.
Levitation was a complex art. The more academic Masters bickered over the reasons why it should be more difficult for Jedi Knights to lift and steady themselves than any other object. Cohmac considered the discussion academic to the point of esoteric; besides, this was a skill that, for him, came naturally.
As he floated in the center of the atrium, he held his lightsaber above his head. Its blue glow flickered against the exposed slivers of metal as though igniting dozens of small flames. He called out, “Hear me!”
His voice echoed throughout the atrium, as Cohmac had calculated it would. The sounds of combat slowed, then silenced. Faces of many species stared out, weapons at their sides, slack in astonishment at seeing a human male airborne, held aloft by no power but his own.
Really, it was among the least significant of a Jedi’s abilities. But it made people pay attention and earned their respect, which was all Cohmac required at the moment.
“In the name of the Republic, I command you to cease looting and thievery aboard this station immediately.” Cohmac’s resonant voice filled the entire vast space, reaching every antenna and ear. “Within fifteen minutes, every captain of every ship now docked here must have done one of two things: packed up their crew and left, or prepared themselves to peaceably cooperate. You accept the authority of the Republic’s laws and stay, or you reject it and leave. It doesn’t matter which. But choose one, now—or we will be forced to make that choice for you.”
Nobody hurried to leave. Instead, many of the groups collected themselves, put down the finds they’d stolen, and began shuffling back toward the airlock level. They’d be ready to negotiate. He and the other Jedi would have a chance to discuss the strange phenomenon emanating from the idols, so strongly linked to the dark side.
But Cohmac didn’t fool himself that he’d achieved anything more than a temporary reprieve. As he descended through the air, robe rippling around him, he knew this fragile peace would not last long.
Dez knew the quiet on the station was fragile, that he was needed to patrol and preserve the calm. Yet he had to remain on the Vessel for a few moments, to try to make some sense of what Cohmac Vitus was telling him. He asked, “What do you mean, you were transported?”
Cohmac shook his head. “I do not mean that my literal location in space changed. But my consciousness was not here. I was someplace dark and terrifying. Staring down into a terrible abyss. My soul ached with a kind of anguish that could have torn it in two. Why, I cannot say. But the pain was very real.”
Dez considered this. “You were investigating the ancient artifacts at the time, weren’t you?”
Cohmac nodded. “Throughout the galaxy, there have been legends of objects imbued with the dark side. Of amulets and crystals and even glaciers that contained as much malevolence as any living creature. Some said that the most powerful Sith of old were able to do that—to infuse their own darkness into the objects around them.”
“Do you think the artifacts could be marked by the dark side in the same way?” Dez asked.
“Such things are generally no more than legend,” Cohmac said cautiously, “but all legend is rooted somewhere in truth. At least one dark side artifact is known to have existed. So we cannot discount the possibility.”
“If it’s not the idols,” Dez reasoned, “then the darkness has to be emanating from the plants aboard the station.”
Cohmac made a scoffing sound. “No. I’ve encountered trees deep in the dark side before; I know what it feels like. The sensations can be powerful, but this was…focused. Targeted, even. There was intelligence behind it.”
Dez frowned. “Intelligence? Without a sentient being behind it?”
“It sounds odd,” Cohmac admitted, but he was deep in thought. “But it is possible, especially if—”
“If what?”
Slowly Cohmac said, “If the idols serve as a kind of…warning beacon. If they communicate an intelligent message, namely, that we must stay away from the darkness enclosed within them.”
“At the moment, we’re very much not staying away from them,” Dez pointed out. “What do we do?”
“Nothing. We need someplace for everyone to shelter while the hyperspace lanes are closed. This is the only possibi
lity within the system.” Cohmac breathed out heavily, rubbing his temples.
Dez took this in. “So you’re saying the dark side is present—”
“And we are trapped here with it,” Cohmac finished.
What can I do? That was the question Master Jora had trained Dez to think of first. In this case, however, warnings or no warnings, there wasn’t much at all he could do about a vague threat of the dark side’s presence. If that darkness made itself manifest, then he’d act. Until then, he’d focus on the tangible aspects of their mission.
The memory of Master Jora made Dez realize what should come next. “Take it easy for a few minutes,” he said to Cohmac, who inclined his head in concession. “I’ve got to find Reath.”
Reath had spent the majority of his Padawan training immersed in the Archives, but he’d been on rescue missions before. Once he’d helped clear passengers from a badly malfunctioning transport in the Brield system. Another time, he had joined a Jedi team assisting in evacuations from a burning tower in Coruscant itself. The second, in particular, had been difficult, even death-defying. He didn’t lack experience.
However, he’d never seen—and was convinced he would never see—any group of people so ungrateful for being rescued as the station refugees were. Even many days into their stay on the Amaxine station, they remained as obstreperous and unpleasant as ever.
“First you park us next to Mizi scum!” snarled the Orincan captain. “Then you tell us we have to turn over all our food! Who do you think you are?”
A human in a satin-and-fur cloak stroked his goatee as he proclaimed, “Obviously our passengers paid in advance for the deluxe menu, prepared by our famed chefs with premium ingredients, so we couldn’t think of depriving them of what they rightfully purchased.”
“None of you knows how to share!” retorted Nan, who stood in the middle of them with her arms crossed against her chest. Thanks to her stubborn chin and her diminutive height, she appeared more like a little girl than the young woman she was. The elderly Hague, behind her, kept his hand firmly on her shoulder. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?”
The Mizi captain looked down his long nose at her. “No.”
“Everyone needs to stay calm,” Reath said for what felt like the eightieth time. He stood amid a huddle of most of the passengers, datapad in hand, trying not to show his irritation. (Probably that was why Master Cohmac had stuck him with this task. It was a test of patience.) “We’re all in this together, and we don’t know for how long. We could get the signal to leave in an hour—or in fifteen months. If you’re wasteful or selfish now, there’s every chance you’re going to regret it, severely.”
Silence. They didn’t look entirely convinced, Reath thought, but at least they’d stopped arguing for a second.
“Howdy.” Leox Gyasi strolled out of the Vessel’s airlock door, hands in his pockets, his multicolored beads swaying with each step. “Man, oh, man. Gorgeous in here, ain’t it? Spectacular. Like an island getaway, except instead of an ocean we’ve got open space.”
Some of the refugees exchanged glances. This seemed to be a standard reaction to meeting Captain Gyasi.
“Sure could be stranded a lot of worse places than this,” Leox mused as he strolled beneath a thick canopy of leaves. He sniffed a yellow flower and grinned. “Coulda been stuck on a desert planet. Or a volcanic one. Or just dead space, alone, sitting around wondering if we’d run out of air before we could ever get away.”
Reath reflexively took a deep breath. He wasn’t the only one who did.
Leox leaned against a tree, mellow and easy. “See, we can look at this one of two ways. One, we didn’t get where we wanted to go as fast as we’d like. That’s unlucky. Not really that bad in the scheme of things, but unlucky. Or two, while hundreds or thousands of people died in a terrible disaster, we were delivered to safety—hell, not just safety, but someplace beautiful. That’s lucky as all get out, don’t you think?”
A few people nodded. Nan didn’t, but Reath caught the shadow of a smile on her face. Even the Orincans began to shuffle a bit on their feet as they relaxed their usual battle stances.
“So instead of looking at our little bit of unlucky, I say let’s celebrate the huge amounts of good luck we’ve had,” Leox said. “We’re coming at this from a place of strength. Why not act like it?”
The luxury ship captain paused only briefly before saying, “Honestly, most of our meals could be comfortably halved and still provide the nutrition of a meal. We do have some to share.”
Not to be outdone, the Mizi captain chimed in with, “As it happens, we’re transporting a shipment of repair parts. Some of them may be of use to those who took damage in hyperspace. Our insurance will cover the losses to our client.”
The Orincan captain grunted, which wasn’t exactly a friendly sound but suggested she and her people would cooperate.
After that, Reath was able to put together an overall manifest of food and other meaningful supplies fairly quickly. At the end, as everyone strolled away, he turned to Leox, who was still leaning against the tree. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, kiddo. Sometimes we all need a reminder to focus on the good things in life.”
Even a few days before, Reath would’ve been reluctant to believe that he could learn anything (besides basic ship mechanics) from a person like Leox Gyasi. He was glad to have discovered differently.
As Leox continued his meditative stroll through the greenery, Reath was left alone for the first time since the abortive looting of the Amaxine station. It was an unwelcome solitude. If he didn’t have to concentrate on an immediate issue, his mind had time to wander back to the moment he’d faced off with Nan’s would-be kidnapper—
The sound of the lightsaber—the heavy thud of the severed limb on the floor—
Reath was startled out of his reverie by rustling in the ferns, which parted to reveal Dez Rydan stepping through. Dez smiled, but Reath knew why he was there even before Dez said, “How are you feeling?”
“Shaken,” Reath said. “Not…guilty, exactly, but not not guilty, either, if that makes sense. I just—I just keep thinking about that moment, and wondering if I could’ve done something differently so that man would still have his arm.”
Dez sat cross-legged on a patch of soil. An 8-T droid laboring nearby scanned him swiftly, must’ve determined he posed no risk to any roots, and kept on working. “Probably there was something else you could’ve done,” he said. Reath felt it like a lash. But Dez kept speaking. “You don’t know what that would’ve been. Neither do I. In that moment, did you feel like that was necessary in order to rescue Nan?”
“Yes. Otherwise I’d never have done it.”
“You know,” Dez said, “every couple of years or so, an apprentice gets into trouble for being too aggressive. Using a lightsaber instead of words, resorting to action when diplomacy or negotiation would’ve better resolved the situation. You wouldn’t be brought up on that kind of review, Reath. It was a dangerous moment. The threat was clear. Your response was proportionate to the risk to Nan.”
It helped a little to hear Dez say that. But not that much. “I keep thinking about it—replaying it over and over in my head, trying to think of a different way it could have ended.”
“Good. It takes strength to question your own actions. Just don’t dwell on the past to the point of forgetting the present.”
Reath managed a crooked smile. “You’re good at this.”
“Tell Master Jora that sometime.” Dez grinned back. “She won’t believe it.”
Already Reath’s spirits had improved. The weight of what he had done would linger, but only in the ways that would help him learn from the experience. Still, he couldn’t stop wondering: “That guy—the one I—how is he?”
Dez replied, “Oh, he’ll live. Unless Orla Jareni finishes him off.”
“It’s a clean severing—right at the joint, so you can move to a prosthetic quickly—and the wound was instantly cauterize
d,” Orla said as she saw the painkillers finally taking full effect on the red-scarved man. “You don’t have to worry about infection.”
“Infection’s not what I’m worried about! I’ve lost my arm!” the man bellowed. Full consciousness had returned, with fury not far behind. “You Jedi are responsible for this—”
“Just as you are responsible for the attempted abduction of a young woman.” Orla got to her feet, taking care with the small confines of the Vessel’s utility bay and making no effort to disguise the contempt in her voice. “You were warned to stop. You could have stopped. But you chose not to, because you thought a Jedi Padawan wouldn’t be able to prevent you from stealing the girl. You’re reaping the consequences of being very, very wrong about that.”
The man knew he was guilty, obviously, but he was unwilling to let go of what he considered the righteousness of his wrath. “Don’t get all high-and-mighty with me. Don’t the Jedi abduct children, too?”
It took all Orla’s training to cast that flash of anger aside. “Families willingly give their Force-sensitive children to the temples, so that they can be trained in the ways of the Jedi. It’s their free choice.” She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. It only partly worked. “For future reference, when a young girl’s screaming for you to let her go? She gets a free choice, too. If you ignore that, then you can’t complain about the results. Now, assemble your crew and get your ship away from this station within the hour, or we’ll do that for you.”
The red-scarved man blanched. “You’d cut us off from air? From food?”
“You’ve surely recirculated enough air by now to breathe for a few weeks. We won’t let you starve. But we also won’t allow kidnappers to roam freely.” Orla snapped the medpac shut. “In other words, get out.”
Once the criminal vessel had detached itself from the station, and an orderly division of goods was underway, Cohmac Vitus felt he could spare a few minutes to center himself.
The ominous darkness aboard the station continued to trouble him—but in order to explore that more fully, he needed his strength in the Force. Meditation was a necessary prelude to action.