Into the Dark

by Claudia Gray

  “Any Jedi would’ve done the same.”

  “It wasn’t ‘any Jedi.’ It was you, and I will tell them so.” Nan looked into his eyes with great solemnity for a long moment—then smiled, her cheerful self once more. “Thanks for telling me so much about the Republic and the Jedi. The galaxy is changing, and you helped me understand it.”

  Reath felt happy to have done so, but also happy to eventually report this to Master Jora. Then she would understand that he wasn’t just rejecting the people of the frontier out of hand, which meant his reasons for wanting to return to Coruscant were completely objective. “Glad to be of service.”

  They parted ways at last. He glanced back over his shoulder once to see her go—the same moment she’d turned to look at him. When their eyes met, Nan raised one hand in farewell.

  I’ll see her again, Reath thought. He knew it as surely as he knew anything. The Force declared it.

  “This hyperspace lane might’ve been cleared for transit, but that doesn’t make it smooth sailing.” Leox shook his head as he studied the nav coordinates. “Geode, can you triangulate the vortices…except, look here, it’s already done. Should’ve known you’d be one step ahead of me.”

  Geode had the good manners not to rub it in, for which Leox was grateful. His moods had been on edge of late, and he was not a man whose temperament reached the edge very often. He was no Force user, but he did not doubt that the universe had spiritual dimensions, and on this station, those dimensions were seriously out of whack. Call it the dark side, call it whatever: Leox would be glad to see the back of it.

  Of course, they’d be flying off with idols that took up the last sliver of storage the Vessel had without revealing compartments the Republic never needed to know about. The Jedi said they had it under control.

  Not that he took the Jedi’s word for everything. But the Force—that was their wheelhouse. Besides, the spiritual dimensions of the galaxy weren’t warning him about his cargo hold. They were warning him about the station. All the more reason to get out.

  “How long until our departure?” Cohmac Vitus asked from the cockpit entrance.

  “Just waiting for our copilot,” Leox said.

  Even as he said it, Affie shouldered past Cohmac and stomped onto the bridge, making the Jedi raise one eyebrow. The glance he gave Leox clearly meant something along the lines of, Adolescents—what can you do?

  Affie’s problems were a whole lot more complicated than that. A whole lot more valid. But none of that was Cohmac’s business.

  Leox said only, “Tell everyone to get themselves strapped in. We’re out of here in five.”

  Once the Jedi had departed, he returned to his seat. Affie kept her gaze fixed on her controls, not acknowledging her fellow crew members. Geode hadn’t dared start a conversation with her, and Leox couldn’t blame the guy. He didn’t intend to start one, either.

  Not because he was afraid of Affie’s temper—though that was a very reasonable thing to fear—but because any conversation was going to loop back to her asking the wrong questions, and him holding back the answers she wasn’t ready to hear.

  The coordinates were set. “Detaching from airlock in five,” he announced.

  Affie nodded. “Five, four, three…”

  On the mark, she turned the lever that released the clamps; a heavy metallic thud echoed through the Vessel, the sound of their freedom. As the engines powered up, Leox brought the ship’s nose around, bringing back their usual view of the stars. It was a relief to see open space again. Leox was uneasy with containment on planets or stations, and only felt at home with a ship at his command.

  Often, Affie teased him about that—“We’re taking off at last, you can breathe again!”—but that day she stuck to the bare minimum. “Preparing for hyperspace jump.”

  “That water’s still gonna be a little choppy,” Leox muttered. “Geode’s linked the routes up as smoothly as possible, but that’s not the same thing as actually being smooth. You ready?”

  Her only reply was, “Jumping in five.”

  Leox grabbed the handle, took a deep breath, and made the leap. Space stretched into infinity, every star a comet for one brief instant. Then hyperspace surrounded them, blue again (but dark, violet-tinged, not at all right) and shimmering, almost alive.

  And angry.

  He’d been speaking metaphorically earlier, but the chop was very real as the first of Geode’s programmed jumps kicked in. The Vessel bucked under them like a blurrg having a bad day, and Leox stayed in his seat only by clutching the arms.

  “Whoa.” Affie was surprised enough to speak to him normally. “What happened out there?”

  “Something even worse than we knew,” he said. “Soon we’re gonna find out what.”

  Orla considered herself a good traveler—adaptable, flexible, inventive—and had counted this among the reasons she’d make a good Wayseeker. (Not that such considerations were truly significant, in terms of deciding how best to follow the Force, but she had to go over every factor before making such an enormous decision.)

  So it was discouraging to realize she could still experience motion sickness.

  “It’s like we flew into an asteroid field,” she said to Cohmac. They stood together in the cargo hold with the idols, ensuring that the holds they’d placed would remain strong.

  “We haven’t, have we?”

  “No, we’re in hyperspace. But hyperspace itself is a little rocky right now.” Orla hesitated. “How is that even possible?”

  “Not sure,” Cohmac said. “As I understand it, there’s still quite a lot of interstellar debris from the Legacy Run that needs to be accounted for. Probes sent from Coruscant have given the crew—in particular, Geode, I suppose—enough information to stitch together a makeshift route home for us, which involves several patchwork jumps merged by the navicomputer. Normally there are no intermediate jumps, so this feels like hitting bumps in the road.”

  Orla sighed. “In other words, it’s safe, but not comfortable.”

  “Exactly,” Cohmac said. “It almost makes me wish I’d paid more attention in supraliminal topography class, back in the day.”

  “Aren’t archivists supposed to be interested in all subjects?”

  “In theory.” Once in a very great while—like now—Cohmac Vitus had a wicked smile.

  Reath was making the trip in his quarters, where Orla had suggested he get started on assembling a report for Master Jora Malli. They’d leaned on their Padawan heavily throughout this journey; he deserved some rest and privacy. She knew he was also saddened by Dez’s death, especially because of the bond they shared from having the same master. It was not the Jedi way to mourn, but sadness was a thing to be worked through, not denied. Particularly for an apprentice facing his first real experience of grief, it could be difficult.

  Better grief, Orla told herself, than anger. She gave Cohmac a sidelong glance. Her old friend seemed appropriately calm and focused again. Yet whatever underlying storm had fueled that anger—it still raged beneath the surface. Orla knew that much. But she’d pried enough. The rest was Cohmac’s to work out on his own.

  The floor shuddered under their feet; the idols trembled. “If one of these falls and breaks,” Orla said, “what would you say are the chances that whatever’s trapped inside gets free?”

  Cohmac shook his head slowly. “Let’s hope we don’t find out.”

  No path to the Vessel was straightforward. Affie’s had been odder than most.

  Affie Hollow had been fourteen years old and eager to make her mark on the Guild. Her foster mother, Scover Byne herself, had thought it a good idea to begin teaching the girl their trade. Already the Byne Guild had grown almost past Scover’s ability to personally control. A loyal, bright, capable daughter would be the ideal second-in-command—once she had experience outside piloting simulators, out in the real worlds.

  So when Affie’s tour of Guild ships had begun, she’d brimmed with excitement, practically setting off sparks the f
irst time she stepped onto a bridge without her mother by her side. Those sparks had been dampened the minute she looked at the other crew members’ faces. The kindest words she could come up with for their attitude were “not impressed.”

  No reason for them to be. Affie knew she was young and untrained, more a nuisance than a help. But wasn’t that the whole point of training? To make someone useful?

  For a few months she bounced from ship to ship, never rejected (she was Scover’s daughter, after all) but never accepted, either. A couple of the pilots grudgingly taught her basic skills. That was as good as it got. Once Affie had overheard a navigator grumbling, “My job’s plotting courses, not teaching little snot-nosed brats.” This was deeply unfair and gave her a complex that led to her carrying around kerchiefs for months.

  Then she was sent to the smallest ship yet, the Vessel.

  Geode was the first individual Affie had felt truly welcomed by in far too long; him, she trusted immediately. Leox Gyasi had been another story. He smelled like spice, and he talked about “the deeper spiritual dimensions of the cosmos,” and he wore open-necked shirts with lots of beads like he didn’t even care if that was impractical for long-haul flights. (Thanks to Scover’s influence, Affie cared a great deal about practicality.) The Vessel was tiny, and not particularly noteworthy, so she wasn’t sure how much of the goings-on would apply to other ships.

  But she had to learn about the entire Guild, not just the main ships. She resigned herself to the journey.

  To her surprise, her first trip on the Vessel taught her more than all her other journeys combined. Leox talked her through every step; Geode let her observe him whenever she wanted, as much as she wanted. Nobody looked down on her because of her age or inexperience. They let her learn by doing.

  Scover was nonplussed when, at the end of that journey, Affie asked to travel with the Vessel again. She’d tilted her birdlike blue head as she said, “I had thought you might wish to try one of the larger passenger transports, such as the Legacy Run, perhaps.”

  The Legacy Run was the biggest, best thing going in terms of transports, trusted to only the finest captains, and Affie wavered for a second, but no longer. “I’ll stick with the Vessel if it’s okay with you.”

  Scover didn’t like it, but she okayed it.

  As they finalized preparations for their next takeoff, Affie came up with what she hoped was a tactful question. “Why do you think Scover assigned me here in the first place?”

  “Because I’m safe for you,” Leox said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I have been born blessedly free of the passionate fevers that seize so many beings.” He leaned back in the pilot’s seat; apparently he’d modified it to serve as a recliner, when he wished. “I possess no desire to reproduce, nor—and more to the point—any desire to perform the actions of reproduction with no generative goal in mind.”

  Affie worked through this. “You mean you…don’t have sex.” Her cheeks flushed hot; she wasn’t a child, but she wasn’t used to talking about this with grown people.

  However, for Leox, she might as well have been discussing the weather. “I’ve tried it out. Not an unpleasant practice, to be sure. But in my case it’s not an imperative, for which I’ve always been grateful. Seems to free up the mind, insofar as I can judge the minds of other beings. Certainly frees up a whole lot of time. And I relish the knowledge that I am the ultimate fulfillment of my ancestral line, the point to which all their striving led.” After a pause he added, “Well, me and my sister. Until she has kids. In which case, the grand cycle turns anew.”

  “But—our pilots are good people, not criminals or smugglers or—nobody would—”

  Leox held up a hand. “Even good people bring their paramours aboard their ships from time to time, and in close quarters, no telling what a young person might see. But here it’s just me and Geode, and he won’t go into his next mating smelt for another, what, nine years or so?” Geode didn’t contradict him. “Like I said, here, you’re safe. You’re also on duty. So how about you get cracking and show me you can steer this boat out of atmosphere?”

  For the first time, Affie flew a real ship. Their course wavered a little, but she managed it. Leox neither overpraised her nor criticized her, saying only, “You’ll know to check for atmospheric turbulence next time. Geode’s going to set courses from here.”

  It had been that simple. Leox accepted her as crew and expected her to keep up. Affie always had. Over the next two years and change, they’d developed more than a working rapport. If she had a best friend, it was Leox.

  Which was why she couldn’t stay mad at him forever.

  Geode had evened out their path somewhat, to the point where they had only a mildly bumpy ride. Affie ventured, “I hope Scover’s there to meet us.” It was easier to say that than, I hope Scover’s still alive.

  Leox understood without her saying it. “I’m sure your momma’s just fine.” He acted like nothing had gone wrong between them at all. Maybe for him, nothing had. “Except for worrying about you, that is.”

  This was trickier, but she wanted to say it. “I’m going to report everything I found on the station. Scover will know how to interpret it.”

  “No doubt.”

  He said it easily enough, but…did Leox look worried? He never looked worried. Ever. Except now.

  Affie refused to think of reasons why he wouldn’t want her to report a smuggling operation. She focused on keeping the ship steady and put everything else out of mind.

  —Journey to the Amaxine Station, by Reath Silas—

  REPORT CONCLUSION

  The reasons you gave for accepting a frontier assignment have been fulfilled, master. I’ve encountered situations more unpredictable than anything that could’ve happened in the Archives. I’ve used my knowledge in real conflicts, not just through simulations. I’ve gained information about unknown cultures, though Master Cohmac says we still have a lot to learn about the idols and whatever darkness is trapped within them. I’ve gotten out of the Archives for a while. And I’ve met forms of life I never knew existed; while I can’t say I’ve managed to communicate with Geode, I sense him through the Force more. A little more. I think.

  Since I’ve already accomplished all that, why remain on the frontier?

  Please, just consider, master. Not only did the hyperspace disaster trap both of us in separate parts of the galaxy, separating us for days, but this mission also cost Dez Rydan his life. I know you feel his loss even more than I do. Dez had more experience, more skill, more—well, almost more everything than me. More than almost anyone. He still died, because there are threats out here we don’t know about. We don’t even know enough to guess what they are, or when we’ll encounter them. How can we study the deepest secrets of the Force, achieve higher levels of meditation, if we’re too busy fighting to stay alive? How can I put my knowledge to use when the frontier doesn’t call upon most of that knowledge?

  You know I’m no coward, Master Jora. I’ve never failed to do what was necessary and right. But being on the frontier isn’t necessary. At least, not for us.

  If thinking about the Kyber Arch was supposed to clarify things for me, well, it hasn’t. Jedi can and do cross it alone. Maybe that was just a puzzle you gave me to distract me from the upheaval of leaving Coruscant.

  I’m never going to turn this in for you to read. This is just about working through things in my head. There’s no convincing you to change your mind—I know that if I know anything.

  But is it so bad if I hope you’ll change your mind on your own?

  Reath turned from his holocam when he felt the subtle shift in vibration that meant their hyperspace journey would end soon. To the cam he said, “Delete all,” then got to his feet.

  When he reached the jump seats, Orla Jareni was already settling in and adjusting their belts. From the bridge, Leox called, “Should we secure those idols? Last thing I need is evil spirits messing up my landing.” />
  “They’re steady.” Orla spoke with such confidence that Reath almost quit worrying about the idols himself. That flutter of darkness they inspired had gone mute, which was a relief. No more creepy warning visions, which was even better. It seemed their containment ritual had worked perfectly.

  (Just one more advanced task he’d already accomplished and didn’t have to seek out on the frontier! Just one more thing that was important to study, and to write up for future generations of Jedi!)

  Master Cohmac joined them only seconds before the announcement came. “We’re receiving a distress signal,” Leox called. “Traffic’s still shut down all over the place. Nobody else is going to reach them soon—”

  “Go,” Master Cohmac commanded. “We’re ready to help.”

  Reath readied himself. Was someone stranded, like they’d been not long before? That would be a fairly simple thing to fix, if so.

  “We’re about to drop out of hyperspace!” Affie said. “Hang on!”

  Reath grabbed his harness. Almost as soon as he’d closed his hands, the ship rocked once before settling into the familiar subluminous drag of realspace.

  He unclipped his harness in the second before Leox muttered, “By the gods.”

  “What?” Orla called. “What is it?”

  “You’d better see this for yourselves.” He sounded breathless and yet somber. “I don’t have the words.”

  The Jedi dashed to the bridge.

  It wasn’t that unusual for a ship to run into trouble on its journey, to drop out of hyperspace to deal with whatever issue it was before continuing on. No doubt that was what had happened to strand a ship so deep in empty space, in the billion-kilometer stretch of nothing between various star systems.

  What was unusual was to be almost arm’s reach from a ship on the point of destruction.

  It appeared to be a personnel carrier, though it was hard to tell, crumpled and carbon-scored as its hull was. Not the carbon scoring that meant combat, with the streaks of weapon hits, but the more ominous kind, the expanding black blotches that indicated out-of-control fires within the ship. The upper areas of the ship, including the bridge, had already burned away. Probably that meant nobody was in charge of evacuations that needed to happen immediately. Reath couldn’t spot as much as one escape pod being fired.