“I’m uncomfortable with this, Master,” Burryaga said. “We were just doing our job.”
He spoke in Shyriiwook, and as far as he knew, the only person within a parsec who could understand him was his master, the Jedi Knight Nib Assek, standing at his side. But he didn’t want anyone to think he was complaining, or didn’t want to be there; this was a solemn occasion. They were both in their Temple attire to mark the moment. For him, that was just a sleeveless, layered tabard with an azure sash, but Nib was in the full white and gold, her long, gray hair tucked up in a bun, her boots and her lightsaber hilt both polished to a highly reflective shine.
“This isn’t for us, Padawan,” Nib said. “We’re here to give these people some closure, some peace. They wanted to meet us. Come on. It won’t be so bad.”
The two Jedi were standing near the entrance to a high-ceilinged, cathedral-like chamber. The huge room took up most of the middle portion of the Panacea, a gigantic medical aid ship, one of Chancellor Soh’s earliest Great Works. In the years since its completion, the vessel had been sent to various conflict zones, disaster sites, and areas affected by outbreaks of contagion, tangible evidence of the Republic’s commitment to its citizens, especially the weakest. Most recently, Soh had dispatched the vessel to the Hetzal system to collect and treat survivors of the Legacy Run disaster.
The Panacea’s huge central chamber, called the viewdeck, was a transparisteel dome. Under ordinary circumstances, the dome revealed whatever happened to be outside the ship, but in deference to most of the room’s occupants, a different choice had been made. Instead of the dark void of space, circuitry within the dome had rendered its surface opaque, with subtle green and blue tones moving through it, and warm yellow light shining down from above. Calm sounds played softly in the distance—burbling water, wind through leaves. The ship’s medical psychologists had subtly re-created the colors, sounds, and feel of a planet very like the one the settlers aboard the Legacy Run had hoped to make their new home. That was, if their transport ship hadn’t been destroyed in an instant of terror and flame, throwing them out of hyperspace and into a disaster that was not yet over.
Burryaga was tracking the Emergences closely. Because he had been present at the start of the disaster and played a fairly central role in its resolution, he felt connected to the whole terrible situation on a deep level. He wanted to stay involved, and help however he could, until the whole slow tragedy finally came to an end. Among other efforts, he read the daily report issued by the chancellor’s office on the status of the crisis. Recently, it was focused on burgeoning unrest as the effects of the ever-growing hyperspace blockade were felt. But it discussed the Emergences, too. Current count: twenty-one, and one of those last had caused the destruction of an orbital shipping facility over Dantooine that was coordinating a massive aid shipment to the increasingly beleaguered systems of the Outer Rim Territories.
Nib Assek walked out toward the center of the viewdeck, where thirty or so people were gathered, chatting among themselves in low voices. The Panacea’s staff had set out refreshments, and most of the people had drinks in their hands. It was like a party…but it wasn’t.
These were the first survivors of the Legacy Run to be rescued, the very ones whose fear Burryaga had detected just before he, Nib, Te’Ami, and Mikkel Sutmani nearly destroyed their passenger module. The survivors had gathered here to meet their Jedi and Republic saviors—it was both an attempt at closure and a chance for them to express their gratitude in person. It all made Burryaga uncomfortable—you didn’t thank Jedi for being Jedi.
Joss and Pikka Adren, the married Longbeam pilots, didn’t seem to have any such qualms. They looked completely at ease, already talking to some of the Legacy Run passengers. Burryaga didn’t have an issue with that, of course—they’d been an integral part of the rescue, and he was glad they were here, if for nothing else than to take some of the social load away from him.
Burryaga surveyed the Legacy Run survivors. Through the Force, he could sense the strange tension in these people—an odd mix of regret, shame, exultation, and relief. Survivor’s guilt, he supposed.
Nib greeted a young couple warmly, embracing them one after the other. As she released the second woman, she flickered her fingers toward Burryaga, in a signal that he knew meant “advance into battle”—one of their private Master–apprentice signals.
Burryaga sighed and stepped forward, adjusting his sash, the polished weight of his lightsaber hilt a comfort in its holster at his side. It shone just as brightly as Nib’s, though his was fashioned from the amber of a white wroshyr tree from the Wookiee homeworld of Kashyyyk, with a broad crosspiece in electrum. Not that he expected to use his weapon in this place, but “advance into battle” felt pretty accurate. His master knew how much he hated gatherings like this. None of these people would be able to understand him. Sometimes that was good, because often people assumed people who didn’t speak weren’t listening. Useful when he was trying to gather intelligence—but this wasn’t actually a battle, and he wasn’t in enemy territory. It was just a strange sort of social event, and he couldn’t imagine he’d learn much no matter how many conversations he overheard.
That said, he knew Avar Kriss had asked Nib to gently inquire as to the experiences of the Legacy Run survivors, to see if any details about the disaster might manifest. Master Kriss and her partner, Elzar Mann, were looking for clues about what had happened. She thought some of the survivors could have repressed memories that might emerge with a bit of time and distance from the original event. But seeking that information was his master’s job, not his—he couldn’t see how he could ask people to tell him their stories under the circumstances. None of them could understand a word he said.
Maybe if the Panacea had a translator droid aboard—but no, just a few therapy droids, with their wide-eyed faces and serene way of moving, and some pill droids floating around. It was a medical ship, after all.
Burryaga walked up to three people chatting quietly among themselves—a Mimbanese couple and a human female. They seemed washed out, reduced. Even the scarlet skin and huge, blue, pupil-less eyes of the Mimbanese seemed pale. He understood that. They had all spent what must have seemed like an eternity tumbling through space in that cargo compartment, certain they were going to die at any moment. Burryaga held up a hand in greeting.
“Hello,” he said in Shyriiwook, expecting and receiving a very familiar set of blank looks in response.
“Master Jedi,” the Mimbanese male replied, in Basic. “It’s an honor to meet you. We’re all so grateful for everything you did.”
“Of course, sir,” Burryaga replied. “No need to thank us. All life is precious, and we are all the Republic.”
More blank looks. He suppressed a sigh.
“Hey, Burry,” he heard a voice say, and looked over.
It was Joss Adren with his wife, Pikka. Both had drinks in their hands and seemed utterly relaxed. He didn’t know how they did it. Maybe it was the drinks. The two pilots walked up to the little group.
“You guys might not know this,” Joss said, “but this is Burryaga. He’s the reason you’re all alive.”
“Uh, dear, perhaps there’s a better way to phrase that?” Pikka said. She wasn’t tiny, for a human, but next to her husband, she appeared so. Joss Adren looked like a tree trunk with a head on top.
“But it’s true,” Joss said. “We were getting ready to blast you guys into vapor—I mean, we didn’t know you were aboard. We thought you were just another fragment, and wanted to make sure you didn’t smash into anything. But then Burryaga here got on the comm and started yelling up a storm—he sensed you in there, and stopped us from firing just in time.”
He grinned.
“But it was close. I mean close. One more second, and—”
Pikka hit him in the arm, hard.
“Ouch,” Joss said.
“C
ome on, darling,” she said, leading him away.
The three survivors were staring at Burryaga. He felt hot and wanted to start panting, but knew some people saw that as a threatening move, but he was a Wookiee, and of course his teeth were sharp, and—
“Is that true, what he said?” the Mimbanese woman said. “Was it really that close a thing?”
He nodded, and their faces went very thoughtful, and Burryaga felt very embarrassed. They were treating him like he was some sort of…
He decided to take the opportunity to escape, and headed for the refreshment tables. He was starving—which wasn’t unusual. His fur was light in color, mostly golden, with streaks here and there of the darker mahogany. He was in his prime growing years. He ate every chance he got.
The refreshment tables were full—the Panacea’s droids had made sure of that—but a glance told him it was all cheeses, breads, fruit, fresh-cut vegetables, spreads and dips and sweets…not a bit of meat. Wookiees could eat almost anything, but at that moment, Burryaga felt he needed fortification beyond what mere carrotins and pipfruit could provide.
Still, food was food. He took what was offered, filling a plate and beginning to graze. If nothing else, a full mouth might mean no one would engage him in conversation.
Munching away on a bright-green fruit he’d never had before, actually quite good, Burryaga cast his eyes across the room, this strange reception held amid a sort of illusory meadow floating in the middle of deep space. Little knots of people—Nib Assek in animated conversation with a family, Joss in the middle of a story to another group, who were smiling. Pikka holding a woman’s hand, listening earnestly to whatever she said.
Burryaga spared a thought for the two other Jedi who had been involved with rescuing these people—Masters Te’Ami and Sutmani. How had they managed to escape this assignment? His mood souring, he ate the core of the fruit, seeds and all, crunching it into nothing and swallowing.
He turned back to the plates of food, thinking he might try one of the cheeses next, when someone caught his eye. There, off to the side, standing at the very edge of the white floor, staring out at the swirls of blue and green on the viewdeck’s dome, a human boy, red-haired, speaking to no one. One of the therapy droids stood not far away, its broad, cheerful face slowly cycling through a range of warm, pleasant pastels as it spoke to the child. Burryaga wasn’t always expert at estimating ages of other species, but he thought the boy was ten years along, maybe a little older.
He wasn’t answering the therapy droid, despite the best efforts of the helpful little machine. Just staring, thinking whatever thoughts occupied his mind.
Burryaga set his plate down and walked in that direction, reaching out with the Force as he did. He sensed an immense sadness coming from the boy, mixed with…guilt. Guilt for something monstrous and immense, nothing someone of his age should ever have any reason to feel.
He walked up to the boy. The child’s eyes were hollow, just pits in his face.
“I’m Burryaga,” he said, touching his chest, even though he knew the boy couldn’t understand. He pointed at the child. “What’s your name?”
The gestures were universal enough, obvious, and the boy smiled sadly.
“Serj,” he said. “Serj Ukkarian.”
Burryaga gestured over toward the other survivors, a questioning expression on his face.
Serj looked over, a long, slow, sad look that did not seem to end, as if he was searching for something among the survivors he knew was not there. Someone, more like.
He shook his head.
Burryaga reached out and folded the boy up in an embrace. He couldn’t understand why anyone hadn’t already done this. When someone was hurting, you did what you could to heal them.
When someone was lost, you found them.
With the Force, he did what he could to soothe poor Serj. He couldn’t take away his bad feelings, but he could take some of the weight, make them a bit easier for the boy to bear.
Serj held himself rigid, but slowly began to relax, setting down some part of whatever he was carrying. Burryaga felt him begin to shudder in his arms, and realized the boy was crying.
“I did it,” Serj said, his voice muffled against Burryaga’s chest. “It’s all my fault. I was slicing into the bridge systems because Captain Casset thought she was so smart. I wanted to show her she didn’t know as much as she thought—I was going to put a holovid on the bridge screens, but right when I got in, I saw…I saw…and then the ship ripped apart, and I was in compartment eight, but my mom and dad were in compartment twelve, and they still haven’t found it, and I think…I think…”
He collapsed into sobs. Burryaga held him for what seemed like a long time.
The boy wasn’t quite done talking, though, and Burryaga listened to everything the child had to say. Eventually, when Serj seemed to be talked out, he released him and stepped back.
“You,” he said, tapping the boy gently on the forehead, “did nothing wrong.”
He touched his fingertips together, then pulled them apart gently, miming an explosion.
Burryaga shook his head gently, and gave Serj a smile.
“You did nothing wrong,” he said again.
The boy surely could not speak Shyriiwook—but he could understand, and he did.
Burryaga steered Serj over to Nib Assek, who was chatting with another group of survivors.
“You need to hear this, Master,” he said.
She looked at him, curious.
“This is Serj Ukkarian,” Burryaga said, patting the boy on the shoulder, who suddenly seemed very nervous indeed, which made sense—being the focus of Jedi attention could be intimidating. “He fears he lost his family in the disaster, and we should do everything we can for him.”
Nib Assek nodded.
“Of course,” she said. “Everything we can.”
Her tone was respectful, but also a little curious. His master didn’t understand why he had brought this child to her—after all, nearly everyone on the viewdeck had a sad story to tell.
“Serj accessed the bridge systems on the Legacy Run just before the accident,” Burryaga said. “He was playing a prank, nothing serious, but as part of that he sliced into its screens, and when he did, he got a glimpse of whatever it was they ran into out there that caused the ship to disintegrate.”
“That’s fascinating,” Nib said, purposely avoiding looking at Serj so as not to spook him. She could sense his state as well as Burryaga could—well, perhaps not as easily as he could, emotions were his particular strength in the Force—but the boy’s tension and confusion blazed out like a burning tree at night. A youngling on his first day at the Temple would be able to sense Serj’s turmoil.
After a moment’s thought, she turned to the boy, going down on one knee, putting herself at his level.
“Burryaga tells me you’re very brave,” she said.
Serj didn’t answer.
“He also tells me you saw something when you sliced into the Legacy Run’s systems, just before the disaster began. We’re trying to do everything we can to stop the Emergences, and prevent something like this from ever happening again. I know it has to be a painful memory, but can you tell me what you saw, Serj? Can you explain it to me?”
Serj looked at the Jedi, his eyes gone hollow and distant again.
“Lightning,” he said. “It looked like three strikes of lightning.”
“We’re going to be all right,” Erika said, looking her children in the eye as she said it—first little Bee, then Ronn.
Ronn was older, just a few years from being ready to go off on his own, but at that moment they both just looked like babies, terrified and desperate for reassurance from their parents.
The Nihil with them in the cart snorted.
“Yeah,” she said, “just fine.”
She wore a
mask, like the others, but Erika knew she was Trandoshan from the look of her arms—long in comparison to the torso, gray pebbled skin gleaming in the sun, ending in hooked white claws. A single line of jagged blue paint bisected her mask from forehead to chin. She held a rifle, and had a holstered blaster and the galaxy only knew what other weapons.
Erika and her family weren’t going to overpower this woman, even if all four of them managed to free themselves from the plasticuffs pinning their arms behind their backs. They were two miners and their kids, and Ottoh was barely conscious; he’d taken a nasty punch to the head when the Nihil finally pulled them out of their house.
No, they weren’t going to be all right.
But you didn’t say that to your kids.
“Just stay brave,” Erika said.
They were racing along a dirt track that curved between two sets of hills. Iron on the left, magnetite on the right, the field generated by the two part of the reason ships couldn’t fly through this part of Elphrona, and the reason they weren’t already in the Nihil’s starship headed offworld. With their speeder gone, the Nihil had decided to add livestock rustling to their list of crimes and stolen five of the Blythes’ herd of steelees to make their getaway.
The kidnappers had harnessed two of the creatures to pull the repulsorcart in which the family was currently riding. Another three kept pace alongside, one Nihil per mount. They were inexpert riders, Erika noted with contempt, slumping in the saddles, holding their weight all wrong. They kept digging in their heels and slapping the creatures’ haunches in an effort to coax out more speed, not realizing that if they would just sit on them properly, the steelees would move twice as fast.
Not that Erika intended to tell them that. The slower their party moved, the better. Because someone was coming after them, and the longer it took the Nihil to reach their ship, the better the odds the people behind them could catch up.
Ronn had noticed it first. He was sitting in the cart facing away from the direction they were moving, which meant he had a view of everything behind them.
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