by Claudia Gray
Geode was speechless. Leox turned so slowly his beads didn’t even sway, and said, “Why exactly do we have to do that?”
“Other Guild pilots are using that station,” she said. “Indentured people, and anybody else who’s broke and desperate enough to risk their lives just for one of Scover’s bonuses.”
“Which is a terrible thing.” Leox studied her carefully. “It’s also a risk they accept. That bonus alone tells any pilot looking at it that there might be no coming back.”
“She doesn’t offer those runs to the pilots who are genuinely free to turn them down. Only people who are desperate. That’s why none of us ever knew about the station before.”
“Right, because it’s a terrible place to be. And we would be going back there to do what exactly?” Leox asked.
“To get records,” she said. “To make a case. If anyone took all this to the Republic authorities, and they actually listened—and it seems like they do—well, Scover would be in big trouble.”
Leox folded his arms across his chest. “That’s an understatement. Something like that would earn her jail time. Could even lead to the dissolution of the Guild. Are you ready for that?”
Affie couldn’t answer that question yet. Maybe she didn’t have to answer it ever. “If I show this to Scover, she’ll realize she has to back down. That she has to stop using that station, and any other hazardous locales she sends indentured people to.”
“You think Scover will accept that?” Leox looked doubtful. “She’s not a lady who accepts many limitations.”
Once, that had been what Affie admired the most about her. “She’ll have to accept it. Besides, even if she won’t listen to anyone else, she might listen to me.”
“She might at that,” Leox said. He still seemed doubtful. “We need to be prepared, though. The Orincans might’ve stuck around, and they probably won’t be as welcoming when we don’t have the Jedi at our side. I mean, the Vessel’s got gunnery enough to defend herself, but no more. Nor can we openly purchase a major upgrade in armaments without attracting undue attention from the authorities.” Nobody cared if they powered up in preparation to return to an ancient Amaxine station, probably—but Affie understood that the authorities absolutely, positively could not go snooping in the “secret” cargo container. “We’d want more personal weapons, as well.”
“That one, we can do something about. I bet there are black market weapons for sale somewhere on Coruscant.” Elation swelled within Affie’s heart until she felt as if it shone from her like sunbeams. “Geode, you know some—let’s say, interesting characters. Somebody who might sell a little on the side? Maybe even a thermal detonator or two?”
Geode’s knowing look spoke volumes.
Slowly Leox began to smile. “All right, then. Let’s get incendiary.”
The millennia-old history of the Jedi meant that there was protocol or precedent for virtually every possible situation a member of the Order could wind up in.
But not for making any mistake as utterly enormous as this.
Orla knew the Council would’ve put it more elegantly than that. She preferred her own version. There was no point in trying to hide from unpleasant truths, in her opinion, and the unpleasant truth here was that they’d screwed up royally.
Not everyone could accept failure so easily, which Cohmac Vitus was currently demonstrating. Anger roiled around him as tangible as storm clouds. “It felt like the kind of binding used with artifacts of that era. Nearly identical.”
“No one faults you, Master Vitus,” said Giktoo, and maybe she meant it. “It can be hard to differentiate the various forms of Force-bound objects. The only error here was in performing the protective ritual at the very end of your stay on the Amaxine station.”
Orla bit back her frustration as she realized Giktoo was right. “If we’d hung around even another day or two, we’d have recognized what we’d done. The darkness aboard the station would’ve manifested itself.”
“Your caution was understandable,” Poreht La insisted. “You did not wish to expose yourselves and the crew of your vessel to darker powers. I cannot say you made the wrong choice.”
“We released something deep in the dark side.” A throb at Orla’s temples presaged a headache. “That feels like the wrong choice to me.”
“But what could it have been?” Cohmac said, talking more to himself than to the others in the room. “There was nothing else alive on that station, save for plants. And what I sensed was far more complex than anything I’ve ever picked up from plants strong in darkness.”
“Another reason the mistake was understandable,” said Tia. The only word Orla could fully take in was mistake.
“The warnings,” Orla said. “The visions we had on the station. They weren’t telling us to reckon with the darkness trapped within the idols. They were telling us the idols should be left completely alone.” Frustration grated at her. It was the way of the Force to speak in images and instincts, but Orla wished it could just be precise once in a while.
Cohmac took a deep breath, visibly attempting to center himself. Control usually came so easily to him—the struggles he’d spoken of must’ve run even deeper than Orla had realized. “What’s past is past. What matters is the present. What are we going to do about the Amaxine station?”
Orla hadn’t had time to ask herself what came next, but the answer seemed instantly clear. “We have to return. We have to replace the seals we broke, and make them even stronger than before, if we can.” That would be tough. The previous seal had lasted for centuries, before they came along and ruined it. But Orla was determined to try.
Even though the Masters all nodded, Tia said, “Not yet.”
“What are we waiting for?” Orla said. “For someone else to get hurt or killed? That station’s still in use by smugglers and free traders. Even if they’re engaging in illegal activity, that’s no excuse for exposing them to that kind of danger.”
It was Cohmac who answered her, though it was to the others he spoke. “Transit to that area is still hazardous. Most of the Jedi close by are assigned to Starlight Beacon, and are busy handling the fallout there. You do not have the Masters to spare.”
“We don’t need Masters,” Orla insisted. “We took that seal down on our own; we can put it back, too.”
“You would be unnecessarily endangering yourselves,” Poreht La said. “We’ve lost too many courageous Jedi in this disaster to take such risks. Yes, this must be done. The Council will soon establish a party to go to the Amaxine station. Just not yet. For now”—he gestured at the idols—“these should be removed to a safer location, and the shrine sealed once again.”
“Of course. I will take charge of it personally.” Cohmac accepted so easily that Orla felt she couldn’t object without coming across like a crank. As they left the chamber, Orla’s head was pounding. She was determined to talk with Cohmac and see if she couldn’t win him over. If both of them presented a united front, the Council might actually listen.
Instead, almost as soon as the doors had closed, Cohmac turned to her and spoke under his breath. “You will notice that they didn’t actually forbid us to go.”
“They didn’t, did they?” Orla’s head felt better already.
“On our first mission together, we made a mistake,” Cohmac said. “Now we have made another. But this one, at least, we can put right—and I intend to do it.”
Acceptance, even resignation, was a skill the Jedi were meant to master. All their skills and all their authority could not set every situation right. The Order might call on them to do things and go places they would not have chosen. Any great Jedi could accept this swiftly and even painlessly.
It was a skill Reath was still working on, with little success.
Since he had no assigned tasks at the moment, and no master to assign any, he was responsible for filling his own time. Memories of Master Jora and Dez pricked him from every side. Everything he’d done or learned during the past few years was tied
to one or both of the people he’d lost. Concentration was impossible. Instead, he’d taken himself to his favorite place, the only sure source of comfort he knew.
In the vast Archive chambers, Reath sat inside his old comfortable carrel with one of the texts he’d neglected in recent years—one that retold the fairy tales and legends of the Core Worlds. These figures were all familiar from songs and rhymes taught to children, even within the temples; some of them were even rooted in fact, like Good Princess Chaia of Alderaan or the Ithorian pirate Bluebrow.
Like the Amaxine warriors.
He scrolled through the images of the Amaxines’ armor, ships, and weapons, most of them artistic representations found in ancient art. But there were real artifacts pictured, too. As Reath studied the images, he saw patterns with endless circles—looped together, sequenced, enclosing each other—whether etched in metal or painted on vessels.
No wonder they built a spherical station with rings around it, he thought. Circles meant something to them. Maybe some of the legends will explain why.
Before he could scroll any further, however, another person edged into his carrel. “Hey,” Reath said. “This one’s taken—Master Cohmac?”
“Good afternoon, Reath.” Master Cohmac wore the hood of his gold cloak up, which wasn’t unusual for him but at the moment seemed somewhat…furtive. His voice was lowered, too, though that was the rule in the Archives. “I saw that you requested to return to the Amaxine station.”
“I, uh, yeah.” Reath sat up straight and brushed his brown hair back from his face. “For all the good it did. You saw about Nan and Hague, too, right?”
“Correct.” Master Cohmac didn’t seem nearly interested enough in the fact that they’d been bamboozled by the Nihil. “Also, we have discovered that the darkness we encountered on the Amaxine station was not bound within the idols at all. They served as suppressors, and as sentries. By removing the idols, we set that darkness free. This cannot be allowed to stand.”
It took Reath a moment to process that. “Wait. We weren’t supposed to move the idols?”
Master Cohmac winced, as though in pain. “So it would appear. It is important that the idols be returned to the station, and that the darkness is again suppressed.”
It was flattering to be asked for help with the binding ritual, which was surely what this was about, but Reath felt it only fair to explain that he had a completely different agenda. “I asked for permission to go back to the station to seize Hague and Nan. They refused and said they couldn’t spare anybody, even a Padawan. Did the Council reverse their decision because of the idols?”
“No. That decision is final. However, nobody has been forbidden to travel to the Amaxine station. You and I are both currently at liberty, as is Orla Jareni, who shares our concerns. My personal stipend would cover the hire of a ship—preferably the Vessel, as they can make an informed choice about the dangers inherent in traveling there.”
“So you’re suggesting we…go rogue? Oppose the Council?”
“The Council has not explicitly forbidden this. Nor would I describe it as a rogue action.” Master Cohmac turned out to have a very sly smile. “I prefer to think of it as ‘showing initiative.’”
Every single second Reath had spent on the Amaxine station had been proof that adventures were not for him. At all.
But he couldn’t leave a task unfinished.
He whispered, “Do we have to come up with a cover story?”
“No. We do not lie. We simply go.”
“What do we need to bring?” Reath tried to think of special devices that might help them capture the Nihil.
Master Cohmac, however, was clearly thinking more about the darkness they would again encounter. “We need the idols.”
That had been mentioned before, but only now did Reath see the full implications. “We’re stealing them?” Okay, cool to spend more time with historical artifacts, not cool that we have to somehow get them out of the Temple without being noticed.
“They are the only objects that we know to be powerful enough to counter that darkness. So, we take up burglary.”
Reath hesitated before saying, “You made a joke.”
“It has been known to occur,” Master Cohmac said, straight-faced. “The Council tasked me with removing the idols from their place in the Temple and finding a more suitable location for them. It just so happens that the most suitable location is back on the Amaxine station.”
Smiling for a change felt good. But Reath’s grin was short-lived. “It’s just us? Nan and Hague didn’t look like deadly warriors, but I’d bet anything they’ve got weaponry aboard that ship.”
“No doubt you are correct.” Master Cohmac became even graver than usual. “Be aware, Padawan Silas, that the journey we are undertaking is extremely dangerous. If—no, when we run into trouble, we will not be able to call upon the Jedi Order or the Republic for help. What we do here, we do alone. Consider this carefully before you accept.”
“I realized that part from the beginning,” Reath said. “I’m in.”
Affie was double-checking the landing gear of the Vessel when she heard footsteps behind her. Scover, she thought, and her gut dropped.
Instead, it turned out to be Reath Silas and Cohmac Vitus, both of them wearing their cloaks with the hoods up like it was windy and rainy instead of a totally beautiful day. Cohmac seemed serene, but Reath’s eyes darted from side to side in a manner she could only call sneaky.
“Ms. Hollow,” said Cohmac, “we wish to hire the Vessel again. Privately, this time. For another trip to the Amaxine station—if you would consider such a thing.”
“More than consider it.” Affie wiped her greasy hands on a rag as she got to her feet. “We’d take that charter in an instant. Problem is, somebody else already hired us.”
Reath’s shoulders sagged. Even Cohmac looked disappointed. “May I ask how long that customer’s journey will take?”
“Ask our passenger.” She pointed to the gangway, where Orla Jareni had just stepped out to collect the last of their things.
Orla grinned. “I’m sorry, Affie—did I not mention that the others would be coming with me?”
“No, you did not.” Affie did some quick calculations of risk in her head, but ultimately simply waved at the others in welcome.
Cohmac raised an eyebrow. “Were there any problems removing the idols?”
“Not one bit,” Orla said. “Everyone assumed I was taking them to a research facility. I just never happened to mention which one. As long as we research them a bit on the way, I say the Vessel’s as good a facility as any.”
After that, all three Jedi huddled together at the nearest docking arch in the spaceport, discussing their plans in hushed tones. Affie watched them from the cockpit, standing between Leox and Geode.
“Should we tell them we were going there anyway?” Affie asked. “And reduce their fee?”
Leox shook his head. “Man needs bread.”
The Vessel slipped away from Coruscant without incident, just one of the thousands of spacecraft leaving the planet every day. Sometimes, Leox mused, it was good to be just a single drop in the water, a single grain of sand on the shore.
Traveling back was easier than it had been the first time. The hyperspace lane, while still bumpy, was a whole lot clearer. Leox felt free to leave Affie and Geode in charge of the bridge. Besides, those two needed some catch-up time.
He meandered to the mess, hoping they’d picked up some more of that fancy caf—you really could tell the difference, with the good stuff—only to run into Orla Jareni looking madder than a Grindalid at noon.
“We need to have a talk,” she said, hands on her hips.
This does not sound favorable, Leox thought. “On what subject shall we converse?”
“I accidentally entered your port cargo bay instead of the starboard one you’d refitted as my cabin.” Her dark witchy eyes narrowed. “Which means, I know what you’re hauling.”
Granted, this w
as not how Leox had hoped the subject would be raised. In point of fact, he’d hoped it would never be raised at all. Still, if explanations were due, might as well get them over with. “Ma’am, I assure you, that spice is perfectly legal.”
“Legal, in that it’s actually legal?” Orla demanded. “Or legal as in, the laws of the Republic haven’t quite caught up to that sector yet?”
“Entirely legal. Absolutely. One hundred and one percent.”
“There’s no such thing as one hundred and one percent.”
Leox shrugged, the expansive and liquid gesture of a man at ease, the sort of man who might put others at ease, too. “A figure of speech. But there’s absolutely no reason to object to that spice.”
Orla’s eyebrow remained raised in an extremely skeptical arch. “No reason, huh?”
He played his best card. “It’s medicinal.”
“Riiiiiiiight.” She sighed. “There isn’t anything we can do about it now. And I think you’re too smart to lie outright about it being legal—at least, in the most limited sense. So I guess we’ll have to let it go.”
“That, and I’m the only pilot you’ll find who’s willing to take a job involving killer gardening robots, poisonous vines, winsome young ladies who turn out to be Nihil warriors, and some mysterious element of the dark side that you, personally, set free.”
After a pause, she admitted, “That too.”
It turned out to be a much quicker trip when they were heading directly to the Amaxine station, not finding it as an emergency stop. Within the hour, Affie announced, “Everybody strap in. We’re dropping out of hyperspace soon.”
Reath strapped in. From the moment Master Cohmac had come to him in the Archives, he’d been keyed up—energized by purpose. However, he had to center himself. If he was going to confront Nan and Hague, he needed to do so with the utmost control.
They’re dangerous warriors, he told himself. They probably have weapons that you didn’t discover before. You have to be ready for them.