Into the Dark

by Claudia Gray

  I’m learning, master, he thought.

  Dez seemed to recognize the impact his words had had on Reath. “What will you do next?”

  “I think—” Reath paused, then nodded. “I think I just figured that out.”

  By midday, at the spaceport, Republic officials were busily cataloging every Byne Guild ship and interviewing every Byne Guild pilot. As far as Affie could tell, they’d started within minutes of her report to the authorities. She’d assumed it would take the Republic days or weeks to act—time that might’ve given Scover a chance to travel back to the frontier. She had more influence there, and the Republic less; she could’ve remained free.

  Instead, officials had arrested Scover right away. Affie had forced herself to watch the arrest footage from the hotel (which had made it available to her, as Scover’s guest). Scover had remained calm and quiet the entire time she was being cuffed and led away.

  That calm might shatter when she learned Affie was the one who had reported her, which was news Affie intended to deliver herself. This would be the toughest encounter of Affie’s life, but it was one she could not turn away from. Scover had raised her, cared for her, even loved her. She deserved the chance to ask how her foster daughter could’ve done this to her.

  And Affie deserved the chance to explain why.

  She stood awkwardly in front of the Vessel, watching the activity throughout the spaceport. The worst part wasn’t the guilt or the uncertainty; it was knowing her entire future was being shaped by forces outside her control, and having absolutely nothing she could do about it.

  Footsteps on the boarding ramp made her turn. Leox was strolling out alongside the human Republic official checking the Vessel. The official nodded her head as she checked off items on a datapad. “No irregularities here, so I can clear this ship for takeoff.”

  “Most kind of you,” Leox said, “but at the moment we have no place to go.”

  “Take whatever work you want.” The Republic official obviously saw herself as their savior, or at least the bearer of very good tidings. “According to Republic law, upon the dissolution of an illegal shipping concern, all ships are considered the individual property of their senior officers. Which means the Vessel is now yours, Captain Gyasi.”

  Leox shook his head. “Not so fast. If you’re jotting all this down for the annals of the Republic, be sure you get it right. I’m not the senior officer assigned to the Vessel. That’d be Affie Hollow, standing over there.”

  When he pointed at her, Affie managed to close her mouth so she wouldn’t be goggling at them like a fool. “Me?”

  “Official Guild representative trumps the captain every time.” With a shrug, Leox was handing over ownership of the thing he loved most in the world—the thing he could’ve claimed for his own in a heartbeat. Although Scover had showered a few fine things on Affie over the years, she had never received a more generous gift.

  The Republic official seemed willing to take Leox’s word for it. To Affie she said, “Will you be changing the designation of the ship?”

  “No,” Affie said, a grin spreading across her face. “This is the Vessel, always and forever. And Leox Gyasi remains her captain. He just…works for me.”

  Leox was smiling, too, as he shook his head. “What have I got myself into?”

  As the Republic official went on her way, Affie hugged Leox with all her strength. “I want it all to remain the same. Just like it was before, except this time we’re in it just for ourselves. On our own.”

  “Works for me, Little Bit—and I can call you that again, because you’ve become my boss, which means the nickname has become ironic.”

  Was she going to fight him on that? Maybe later, Affie decided. “All three of us—wait. Where’s Geode?”

  In the spaceship depot, Orla looked from the sample holo she’d been given to the actual item: the new ship that would be hers. Almost pyramidal in structure, with three engines, a pointed prow, and an equally angular stern, the ship had a sharpness to it—like a dart or a shard of glass. Like Orla herself. The vessel gleamed against the stark blackness of the depot, its pearlescent hull as beautiful as any jewel.

  The sales droid whirred up to her. “If you wish to enter the ship—”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, I do.”

  Orla stepped within her new ship almost with reverence. During the hyperspace disaster, and the events on the Amaxine station, she’d wondered whether she was being selfish by declaring herself a Wayseeker and setting out on her own. Now that it was all over, however, she found herself newly certain of her choice. The galaxy was bigger and stranger than any one being could ever know. There was a place for the Jedi Order to operate within it—and places for other Jedi to discover on their own. Serving the Order was important, but she could never give it the best of herself unless she knew herself, her instincts, and the Force more truly. She’d never felt more ready for the journey to begin.

  “She’s beautiful,” Orla said, running her hand along the sleek pilot’s chair. “A work of art. Pass my compliments on to the designers.”

  The sales droid’s lights blinked with pride. “Does that mean you’ll take it?”

  “After a little haggling on the price.” Orla shrugged. “What can I say? I’m in love with it, but that’s one hell of a markup.”

  The haggling didn’t last too long; Orla’s suggested price was fair, and the droid clearly had a sales quota to meet. Within the hour, Orla had put her thumbprint to every document and obtained all the passcodes for her new ship.

  “The Lightseeker,” she said. “I’m calling her the Lightseeker.”

  “Duly registered,” replied the sales droid. “Shall I report that she travels with a crew complement of one?”

  “Yes—unless I can convince my navigator friend to join me?”

  Geode stood nearby, his silence his only reply. He’d been willing to look over ships with her, but Orla already knew his loyalty was to Leox, Affie, and the Vessel.

  Besides, this was a path she needed to walk alone.

  “Maybe next time,” she said, patting Geode on the side, already dreaming of the voyages to come.

  Once she was alone on the bridge of her ship (her ship!), she sent a message to Cohmac. When his face appeared on the screen, Orla scooted over so he could see more of the Lightseeker than of her. “What do you think?”

  “Beautiful.” Cohmac’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I am truly happy for you, Orla. The Force has called you, and you have answered.”

  “I’ve been fighting my instincts my entire career,” Orla admitted. “Forcing myself to follow a path that wasn’t mine. I want to serve the Order, and the galaxy, but I can’t do that if I’m living a lie.”

  She thought again of that long-ago day when they’d rescued one hostage but lost another, all because she’d put what was “right and proper” ahead of what the Force told her. Orla wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  Cohmac nodded. “I envy you the surety of your convictions, Orla.”

  The anger he’d felt after Dez’s supposed death—the echoes of the death of his master and of the hostage, so long before—had taken a toll on Cohmac, a deeper one than Orla had realized. She said, “Are you all right? Do you need to do some wayseeking of your own?”

  “No. I need the Order now, more than ever. But I need something else, too. A new direction—a focus. That, only time can provide.”

  Orla wasn’t positive that the Order was what Cohmac required. But she couldn’t give him those answers. That would be up to the Force.

  “May the Force be with you, old friend.” She raised one hand as he did, a mutual salute of farewell.

  Reath entered the Jedi Temple’s meditation center with some trepidation. It was impolite to disturb others’ trances. However, by chance, Master Cohmac was in the room alone, sitting in midair.

  That couldn’t be easy. No doubt this was a profoundly deep meditation. Reath wondered whether he should tiptoe out again and was on the verge of doing so
before Master Cohmac said, without opening his eyes, “What is it, Reath?”

  “I was hoping to speak with you,” he said. Which was obvious. But at least Master Cohmac didn’t point that out.

  Instead he descended to the ground and walked with Reath to a gathering area just outside, one where a carved fountain bubbled. “How can I help you, Reath? I assume it is urgent.”

  “I didn’t want to interrupt you,” Reath said, “but I saw that you had put in to leave on one of the next transports to the frontier, to take up your original assignment. Since I didn’t know when that would be, exactly, I figured the smart thing to do was find you right away.”

  Master Cohmac cocked his head. “Yet you still have not told me why.”

  He wasn’t sure how to phrase what came next. “I wanted to ask—just ask, no pressure, no hurt feelings if you say no—”

  “Ask me.”

  It came out in a rush: “Would you consider taking me on as your apprentice?”

  Master Cohmac stared, as though he had never dreamed of such a thing. Probably he hadn’t. But it wasn’t such a strange request, was it?

  Maybe Reath hadn’t made himself clear enough. “During our adventures on the Amaxine station, I came to have a great respect for you. In many ways you’re not a typical Jedi—but I think, maybe, I need to expand my idea of what a Jedi can be. Of the kind of Jedi I can be. Training with you would teach me so much, and I want to learn. If you’re willing to take me, that is.” After a moment’s hesitation he dared to add, “Returning to the frontier is what Master Jora would’ve wanted for me. We’re both heading out there. I thought we might go together.” Master Cohmac still looked nonplussed. Reath decided to offer a tactful out. “If this isn’t the right time, I understand.”

  “It is…an interesting time,” Master Cohmac said. He began to pace slowly along the courtyard, and Reath fell into step beside him. “I have heard Jora Malli described as the kindest and wisest of teachers,” he said. “It’s difficult to imagine picking up where she left off. But what she had to give you and what I have to give are two very different things.”

  Reath brightened. This sounded promising. “Yes, exactly. I mean, yes, sir.”

  “You’ve shown initiative in coming to me, and in wanting your training to proceed along a new path. Now I must show courage and be open with you.” Master Cohmac stopped in place and met Reath’s eyes. “I have had doubts, these past weeks, about whether the ways prescribed by the Jedi Council are invariably the best course to follow.”

  Had he heard that right? He couldn’t have. “Sir?”

  Master Cohmac sighed. “The darkness is as much a part of the Force as the light. The Order thinks it can bisect the Force so neatly—as though the primal living energy of all existence were a thing to be sliced and served.”

  Reath took a moment to consider this. “Doesn’t that separation keep us safe?”

  “Does it?” Master Cohmac said. “Or does the divide only make the darkness darker, more dangerous, than it ever would have been in a state of nature?”

  “I don’t know,” Reath admitted. He hadn’t thought abstract philosophy would be a major part of training—but it seemed it would be with Master Cohmac. At least, it would be if he took Reath on. “I only know that our work is good work. That we save lives, end conflict, and bring peace.”

  Master Cohmac smiled at him. “You are sure of your path, Reath Silas. Never let anything shake you from it.”

  “I only thought I was sure before,” Reath confessed. “But before I left for the frontier, Master Jora asked me a question. She said when I knew the answer, I’d know why we needed to leave Coruscant. She asked why no Jedi can cross the Kyber Arch alone. Now I understand. No one crosses it alone because the arch itself wouldn’t exist without all the Jedi Knights that have gone before. Both the ones who fell in battle and the ones who built the arch for others to remember. I was giving the Order only as much of me as I wanted to give. It was all about me. Not about us. From now on, I’m putting us first.”

  “Jora Malli was a wise woman,” said Master Cohmac. “I doubt I could match the profundity of her teachings.”

  That sounded suspiciously like goodbye. “So,” Reath began, “are we—”

  “I still have much to learn,” Master Cohmac said. That sounded even more like a no until he added, “And there is no better way to learn than to teach. You will be my first Padawan, Reath, and perhaps my greatest instructor in the Force.”

  Weeks later, Starlight Beacon officially went online. Its beams shone out through the galaxy, bright as any supernova, in a wordless message of the Republic’s promise of guidance, protection, and prosperity.

  As the beams were illuminated, applause rang out aboard the station from the many parties present: the senior Jedi Avar Kriss, Elzar Mann, and Stellan Gios; other Jedi such as Sskeer and Burryaga; Republic officials; various diplomats; and delegations from nearby worlds—

  And one Padawan who’d made the last choice he would ever have expected just a few short weeks before.

  Reath Silas clapped along with the rest. For a moment he wished Master Jora were there to celebrate with them—to stand in a position of honor up on the dais. She had wanted this for Reath, this place on the frontier where anything and everything could happen but nothing could be taken for granted. At long last, he recognized the value of what she had wished to give him, and he had resolved not to refuse his late master’s final gift.

  No, he didn’t care for adventures. They were dangerous, messy, and best avoided; the Amaxine station had proved that beyond any doubt. Reath still preferred for adventures to remain in stories, where they belonged.

  But someone had to live the stories before they could be told. Someone had to tell the tales. Maybe Reath was meant to be one of the tellers. All he knew was that he was ready to serve the means of the Force, whatever—or wherever—they might be.

  There had been various speeches and performances throughout the ceremony, and those would continue for some time to come. The next, however, seemed to draw special attention—an older woman with vivid silver streaks in her black hair was ascending the dais to cheers and applause. Her sumptuous cloak and glittering coronet testified to her royal status even before it was announced, “To address the crowd, Queen Thandeka of Eiram!”

  The queen lifted her chin, and the entire crowd fell silent. She was the wife of the ruler of a nearby planet, as Reath understood it, but something about her presence gave her a greater authority.

  “We welcome the Republic,” she said, her voice ringing out over the crowd. “Twenty-five years ago, we had sealed ourselves off from the rest of the galaxy. We didn’t trust the Republic, or the Jedi, or even each other. All that changed when the Jedi came to rescue me, and the late Monarch Cassel of E’ronoh gave his life for mine.” She bowed her head slightly when she said Cassel’s name. “After that, our worlds began to listen to each other more. We dared to learn more about the galaxy beyond our narrow confines. We learned that independence is an illusion—that no one truly stands alone. We regained the courage to trust, without which we could never have moved forward. To trust is to hope, to believe in a better future and believe that others will work with us to make it possible.”

  Many people clapped. Reath joined them.

  “It is in memory of Monarch Cassel, and of the Jedi Master who died on our rescue mission, that the decision was made to place Starlight Beacon so close to the planetoid where the crisis took place,” Queen Thandeka continued. “We celebrate their memory here, today and forever.”

  More applause, and the queen descended from the dais as a choir assembled to perform. Reath, never a music lover, was relieved when his new master began steering them away from the center of the ceremony. “What comes next?” Reath asked.

  Master Cohmac, beside him, continued applauding. “I believe what follows is the grand feast.”

  “Good. I’m starving.”

  That made Master Cohmac laugh, which Reath cons
idered a good sign.

  After the musical performance, as they began walking with the crowds toward the banquet, Reath said, “What happens after this, master?”

  “Anything could happen,” said Master Cohmac. “And that is the joy of it.”

  Half a galaxy away…

  Nan knelt before the leader of the Nihil. The leader—the Eye—Marchion Ro, a figure so high above her she’d never have presumed to dream of any meeting. She would’ve prostrated herself before him; never had she felt so unworthy of her stripes. But her emotions were less important than communicating the facts.

  “My guardian, Hague, was killed by the Jedi’s trick,” she said. “Along with so many of the others. I only survived because I had returned to the lower tunnels to make sure they were clear of other Drengir.”

  Marchion Ro nodded; the light shimmered dully on his metallic gray skin. “You are not to blame,” he said. “Their deaths are the responsibility of the Jedi. And the Jedi will pay.”

  The anger in his voice restored Nan, gave fuel to the vengeful flame inside her. And yet she had to caution him. “I fear the Jedi are very powerful. They have abilities unlike anything we’ve ever encountered before.”

  Marchion Ro merely smiled. “You are wise to fear the Jedi and the Republic. But they should fear us in return. For the Nihil will be the destruction of the Jedi.”

  READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT ANOTHER EXCITING HIGH REPUBLIC ADVENTURE, COMING IN SUMMER 2021!

  Sylvestri Yarrow looked at the balance sheet before her and tried not to scream. Why hadn’t anyone warned her how expensive it was to own a ship? Between the rising cost of fuel and the Nihil threat forcing them to alter their routes, she and her crew were barely scraping by. Once the shipment of gnostra berry wine—the most lucrative cargo they’d had in months—was delivered, there would still be a slight shortfall from their last fuel pickup in Port Haileap. Not to mention the bill they still owed on Batuu. At this rate she was going to be in debt to half of the galaxy.