“So, I guess this is the last time we’ll get to hang out,” she said, sitting down next to him. “Seems like you’re in pretty big trouble.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” he said.
“What happened to you?”
Imri shrugged. “A Jedi is supposed to understand that hate and anger are too destructive to be nursed for long. I forgot that, and it kind of led me to make some terrible decisions.”
“Like trying to fight Vern?”
Imri actually smiled. “Yeah, that was dumb.”
Avon sighed. “Everyone makes mistakes. They’re not going to kick you out of the Jedi for that, are they?”
Imri shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Vern seems to think I’ll have to go back and spend some time in one of the temples, repeat some of my training. But I don’t know if I want to do that, either.” Imri blinked hard, like he was fighting back tears. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a Jedi.”
“Pffft, nonsense.” Avon bumped her shoulder against the much larger boy’s. “When I arrived at Port Haileap no one worked harder to make me feel welcome than you did. You’re a good person, Imri. The Jedi are lucky to have you.”
He sniffed and nodded. “Thanks, Avon. I appreciate that.”
“Also, if you want I can hold on to your lightsaber for you, just until you’re better.”
Imri laughed. “I don’t even have it. Vern took it after we fought. Besides, the thing is broken. It’s completely useless.”
Avon’s heart leapt in both excitement and despair. She hadn’t really expected Imri to say yes, but she also hadn’t expected to get a broken lightsaber. This was the best of all possibilities. If no one was looking for the lightsaber, no one would be missing the lightsaber.
So when Vernestra was distracted with the newly arrived Jedi Master and Honesty was talking to Imri and J-6 was waiting for a chance to shoot the Nihil, Avon scurried over to Vernestra’s pack.
One day, science would thank her for her questionable behavior. Avon was certain of it.
As more and more Jedi arrived, cutting their way through the jungle and eventually bringing in a cargo speeder to get everyone back to their ship, Avon very quietly found the pieces of Imri’s lightsaber in Vernestra’s pack. She slipped them into her own knapsack right next to the powered-down SD and a single leftover packet of joppa stew.
Overall, not a terrible adventure.
Vernestra looked out one of the many observation windows on Starlight Beacon. They had arrived in time for the dedication. They’d made good time from the Haileap system, less than two days, and that had required a couple of lightspeed skips as they navigated lanes that had not been impacted by the recent disaster. Reports stated that the Jedi were still responding to Emergences, but the worst of the catastrophe was past them.
As they’d approached the station, it shone like a benevolent star, the white glow warm and welcoming. The central spire blinked in a slow array of rainbow colors, and ships approached in organized lines, following predesignated lanes. The space station would increase communication, provide a waypoint for weary travelers, and help the Jedi carry out their missions of peace. Everything about it had been chosen with the majesty of the Republic and the light of the Jedi in mind, and just seeing it helped ease some of Vernestra’s doubts and fears. She would never be Master Douglas, but she could try her best, just like she always had.
As for the rest of their group, Vernestra had no doubts that things would be fine. Avon and Honesty had already announced that they planned on seeing every centimeter of the marvel of Starlight Beacon before they left, and they would have some time to do just that. Vernestra was calm and at peace. They had survived the destruction of the Steady Wing and captured those responsible for the loss. Honesty would plead his case in an address to the Senate, and Avon was excited to spend some time in the research labs on Starlight before going back to Port Haileap.
But Vernestra could not find any joy in the outcome. All she could see was the fervent way the Nihil had spoken about waging war against the Jedi, their conviction that they could do as they pleased, even going so far as to sabotage innocent civilians. Hundreds had been lost with the Steady Wing, and those deaths would reverberate throughout the galaxy, stoking fear and anger. Even though the Republic and Dalna would respond, they would look to the Jedi for help. It was what the Jedi did, and Vernestra vowed she would be ready when she was called. That tempered any joy Vernestra might have felt at being off Wevo and back to civilization.
Plus, there was still the matter of Imri. What would become of the Padawan with no master?
“You are uneasy, Vernestra.” The words were spoken with a hiss, which meant the voice could only belong to one person.
She turned around to find Master Sskeer standing in the doorway to the observation chamber. She gave him a smile and turned away from the window to walk toward him. She’d found the Jedi Master’s guidance to be helpful and calming, and even though she had thought herself past the need for such direction, she knew that it was still helpful to have someone to talk to.
“I am worried about Imri,” Vernestra said with a sigh. The Padawan had become even more withdrawn since they’d boarded the Radiant Blessing back on Wevo, and no one had been able to get through to him. He’d locked himself away emotionally and Vernestra was worried that the Order would lose him.
“Then you should take the boy as your Padawan,” Master Sskeer said. His calm suggestion hit Vernestra like a sack of droid parts.
“What? What are you talking about? I already let Imri down on Wevo. If I had been better prepared he never would have given in so completely to anger. He could have gone to the dark side.”
The Jedi Master chuckled a little. “The Force is not so simple, and neither are the emotions of living creatures. Most Jedi have felt the temptation of the dark side. It is only natural. But we resist it. It is a deliberate path to the dark, not a series of bad days. Being a Jedi is about choosing the light over and over again.”
Vernestra heaved a sigh. “I know this, deep down. But I don’t know how to teach that to Imri when he’s so filled with doubt.”
Master Sskeer held out his hand in supplication. “Imri was able to find his way back to the light with your help, Vernestra. Only yours. You are a fully accomplished Knight, and taking a Padawan is something you will be expected to do. So why not now?”
“I will think on it.”
“Ah, and now you are driven by your own doubts.”
Vernestra laughed. “I guess I am.”
They stared out the observation window, at the light that shone from the top of the Beacon.
Vernestra excused herself and went to find Imri. She could sense him in the meditation garden, and she found him sitting on a bench next to a pond filled with bioluminescent fish that sang their joy through the living Force as they swam. It was a lovely sound, and Vernestra could not help smiling at their elation.
As she entered the garden Imri’s head jerked up guiltily.
“Am I in trouble?”
Vernestra frowned. “What would make you think that?”
“I could sense you thinking about me, but the emotions are a tangle. I figured I was finally going to be in trouble.”
Vernestra shook her head and sat next to Imri on the bench. “No, you’re not in trouble. I told you before that there would be no punishment for what happened on Wevo.”
“But I embraced Honesty’s anger, letting it fuel my own, and fought with you. That was so wrong.”
“Recognizing our mistakes and doing better is the path of a Jedi. Imri, the Jedi Order isn’t going to kick you out for a single mistake. It just doesn’t work that way. If it did there wouldn’t be anyone left. I was scared on Wevo because I didn’t think I could help you, and I was afraid to reach out the way I wanted to. But I think now that we could work well together. I’d like you to be my Padawan if that wouldn’t be too weird.” When Imri didn’t say anything, Vernestra gave him a hopeful smile. �
��I’m not Master Douglas, but he was right about you: you’re going to make an amazing Jedi one day, because you are willing to adapt and change.”
“Do you really mean it?” Tears streamed down the boy’s pale cheeks, and Vernestra wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
“Of course. We can start your training right after the dedication is completed.”
Imri nodded, smiling for the first time in days. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” Vernestra said with an answering smile.
They sat in the garden a few moments more before Imri asked Vernestra, “Do you think we should be worried about the Nihil?”
Vernestra didn’t say anything for a long time, but then she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think we have seen only the least of what they are capable of, Imri. But don’t worry. We’re Jedi. We’ll be ready when next they strike.”
Kara Xoo leaned back in the command chair of her ship, the Poisoned Barb. She looked at the holo and gnashed her teeth. It was from a week before, from the far edge of the Haileap system. In it Klinith Da, one of Kara’s least favorite humans, talked too fast and looked more than a little scared. If the woman had been a proper Quarren like Kara she would have known how to hold herself to look fierce. Instead every emotion flickered across Klinith’s face, making her look less like a Nihil and more like prey.
“We have been stranded on a small moon that we’ve identified as Wevo. I’m pretty sure it’s cursed, but Gwishi says it’s just because there are a couple of Jedi kids here. We’re going to take care of them, don’t worry. The Steady Wing massacre will look like just another dangerous hyperspace accident. No witnesses, no problem.”
Kara turned toward the Weequay standing nearby. She couldn’t remember the little grunt’s name, and she didn’t try. He was only in her command room because he’d been part of the Strike sent to find Gwishi and Klinith.
“You’re sure there was no sign of them?” Kara asked.
The Weequay nodded. “Just the smashed remnants of that ship we helped them steal before they left.”
“Fine. Get out.”
Kara stood and swallowed a curse. Like most Nihil in her Storm, she wore a tunic and trousers with heavy magboots, all black, all of it stolen along the way. She had lost one of her face tentacles in a recent battle; the glistening tip showed blue, the only hint of color on her besides the reddish-brown of her skin. She knew she made an imposing figure, especially when she stood, and the nervousness of the Weequay as he scuttled away gave her a measure of joy.
She waited until the grunt had left before she started pacing. It would do no good for the small fry to see her nervous. Klinith and Gwishi were the seventh Strike Kara had lost in as many days. She’d sent a large measure of her forces to Kassav as he had requested, and she had heard nothing from them, either. No Strikes meant that her Storm was losing strength, and when they looked weak one of the other Storms would move in to destroy them.
That was the way of the Nihil.
Kara had to do something, and she stroked one of her tentacles as she walked. She needed to increase her numbers, and fast, anything to make her Storm look less vulnerable. They’d tried recruiting the normal way, through scouting cantinas and straightforward fear, but it was slow going and Kara needed a way to increase her fighting force faster.
There are a couple of Jedi kids here. . . .
Kara blinked as the idea blossomed in her mind, and she went to her command chair and pushed a call button. “Pere, how many schools are there on Dalna?”
There was a burst of static before the answer came across the comlink. “Um, maybe a hundred or so? Why?”
Kara sat back in her chair. If she could grin like a human she would, but instead she let her face tentacles dance. “We have some recruiting to do.”
She would show the Republic and the Jedi just what the Nihil were capable of. Kassav and the other Tempest Runners would be proud. And when she was done, the Dalnan sector would be nothing but ashes.
Justina Ireland is the author of Dread Nation, a New York Times best seller and YALSA 2019 Best Fiction for Young Adults Top Ten selection. Her other books for children and teens include Deathless Divide, Vengeance Bound, Promise of Shadows, and the Star Wars novels Lando’s Luck and Spark of the Resistance. She enjoys dark chocolate and dark humor and is not too proud to admit that she’s still afraid of the dark. She lives with her husband, kid, dog, and cats in Maryland. You can visit her online at www.justinaireland.com.
READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT ANOTHER EXCITING HIGH REPUBLIC ADVENTURE, COMING IN JULY 2021!
Floating a half meter above an old starfighter pilot seat, Ram Jomaram closed his eyes and tried to block out all the clatter and commotion outside. There was plenty to block out: dignitaries and visitors from the entire known galaxy were converging on the scenic mountains and forests of Valo for the first Republic Fair in ages. Most of Valo City’s residents were putting final touches on banners, cooking scrumptious food, and preparing guest quarters. Pretty soon they’d be getting ready to gather at the almost fully constructed Jedi temple for the opening convocation.
But!
None of that mattered.
All that mattered was this very moment.
Ram had slyly mentioned to Master Kunpar that one of the security team’s speeder bikes was out of commission with a faulty gasket hub, and all the state mechanics were busy setting up the light show, sooooo . . . Master Kunpar had grumbled and fussed with his chin tentacles some before finally relenting, but he had, and that’s why Ram got to be in his favorite place on the planet: a dingy, dim garage full of rusty mechanical parts and tools.
The team of repair Bonbraks scurried back and forth on the shelves around him, chattering at each other and futzing with various smaller projects, but otherwise, Jedi Padawan Ram Jomaram was in the most peaceful state he knew: all alone in his garage.
No complicated rules or protocols to follow, no ancient wise Masters to show the correct deference to. Just metal and bolts and plastic and some big-eared, long-tailed fur balls who made plenty of squeaky fuss but mostly minded their own business.
Ram was one with the Force, and the Force was with Ram, he reminded himself. Here, in this peaceful, grease-stained hideaway, he could give over fully to the quiet, powerful place inside. All around him, a small constellation of speeder parts hovered. There was the leather seat and metal casing over the main hub—he could swing those out of the way for the moment. Here was the engine, with its grill and gaskets and piping. Here was the fuse box that would fit in alongside the fan belt and connect into the rest of the machinery. And there was the repulsor lift hub, still shiny with residue from when it had spluttered fission oil earlier during a routine patrol.
Ram could feel the quiet thrum of each part, the tiny vibrations in the air that described them as they floated in a slow circle around him, that faraway trill within the hub that rang just a fraction of a note dissonant from the rest of the parts. There! That meant something was off. Something had warped the shape of it, probably too much heat, but how? Something else must be wrong. Ram continued the scan, his mind sliding along the accelerator foot pedals, steering mechanism, control panels, and exhaust pipe. He had just caught the faintest sense of something, a teensy, off-key ding, when—
“GREETINGS, MASTER RAM!” the metallic voice of V-18 called from the doorway.
“I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” Ram whispered, eyes still closed. The speeder parts faltered in their slow rotation, dipped toward the ground.
“JomaramaRam do chunda mota mota-ta!” an irritated Bonbrak countered. That was probably Tip, the youngest and surliest of the crew. Several others concurred loudly.
“Well, there’s no need to be rude,” V-18 said.
The speeder parts slid lower. “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” Ram growled.
“Bacha no bacha kribkrib patrak!”
“Pratrak patrak!”
�
�JomaramaRam!”
“I simply expressed my salutations,” V-18 insisted. “I happen to be both excited to see the young Padawan and on an errand of some urgency, which is why I modulated my voice into a higher frequency and volume, for your info—”
One of the Bonbraks grunted out a squeak (almost definitely Fezmix—he was always the rowdy one), and then a metallic ding! rang out and V-18 yelped.
“Unnecessary!” cried the droid.
“I AM ONE WITH THE FORCE AND THE FORCE IS WITH ME!” Ram hollered as all the speeder parts except one clattered to the floor. He looked up to see seven pairs of black beady eyes and one glowing electronic one staring back at him.
“Oh dear,” muttered V-18.
Ram sighed, and then the last piece landed with a clank!
The Bonbraks immediately began bickering among themselves, and Ram lowered his legs onto the pilot seat and rubbed his eyes. “What is it, Vee-Eighteen?”
The droid had been around for Force knew how many years and it showed. He towered over everyone like a big, ridiculous rusty crate with stumpy legs. Ram had had to paint him bright purple because people kept accidentally loading V-18 onto ships when he was in sleep mode, thinking he was cargo. A single off-center eye glared out of each side and sometimes blinked, which either indicated impatience or a programming glitch—Ram was never sure. “Masters Kunpar and Lege are on a routine check of the lake,” V-18 announced.
“Okay?”
“And Masters Devo and Shonnatrucks are greeting some of the new security forces the Republic has sent for the fair.”
“Vee-Eighteen . . .”
“And all the other Padawans are with them.”
“Vee-Eighteen, why are you telling me the location of all the Valorian Jedi?”
“Because the comms tower is glitchy.”
The comms tower was outside Valo City proper, deep in the Farodin Woods. And it would be dark soon. “Well, I better take a look at it.”
A Test of Courage Page 13
