by Claudia Gray
Quietly she asked, “How do we get away from here?”
Leox replied in the same tone of voice. “Blast our way out or die tryin’.”
As softly as they spoke, they were still audible to Cohmac, who stood not far from the cockpit entrance. He’d meant to talk with them about Dez, to get more information on the scene inside the station, before returning to fight alongside Orla and Reath. Instead, he turned and dashed out of the ship, back into the docking ring.
What happens between the Nihil and the Drengir at this point is no longer our most immediate concern, he reasoned as he leapt over the snarl of vines along the deck. We are responsible for the lives of the Vessel’s crew, and that of Dez Rydan. Any other complications can be dealt with later.
Now, we must escape.
His pathway through the debris scattered across the station led him closer to the arboretum, where a battle was raging. Before he could even seek Orla and Reath through the Force, they burst from one of the passageways, smelling faintly of toxic chemicals. Their comlinks were blinking at their belts, no doubt with Affie’s warning about the vines.
However, they were able to see the problem for themselves. “What now?” Orla said. “Is it some kind of…giant Drengir?”
“Uncertain,” Cohmac said as Reath kicked at one of the vines. “Undoubtedly the Drengir have created the vines; that’s all we know. The vines have already begun to entrap the Vessel. We must leave immediately.”
Orla fell into step at Cohmac’s side while they hurried back. “The good news is, the Drengir and the Nihil are keeping each other busy. If we can get away, I don’t think we have to worry about being pursued. How’s Dez?”
“All but delirious,” Cohmac said. His mind was only half on the present moment as he attempted to consider ways of damaging the vines.
Which was why he didn’t notice their party was missing someone until they were already boarding the Vessel.
Orla realized it at that same moment. “Wait—where’s Reath?”
Reath had swerved away from the others after only a few meters.
He’d watched Cohmac and Orla go, wanting to stay behind and make absolutely sure that events were unfolding the way they should. If anything went wrong with their plan, he and his friends would need to know right away. But even if everything went right, Reath had an important job to do.
This station couldn’t be left for the Nihil and the Drengir to fight over. It had given the Amaxines a tactical advantage, millennia before; it remained capable of enabling a great deal of harm. Maybe the Republic could claim it—but the Republic wasn’t coming to this area of the galaxy to conquer by sneak attack.
We would only be holding it to keep the Drengir or Nihil from taking control, Reath thought. Both groups will want it back. It’ll stir up needless conflict, cost lives, and for what?
If the station couldn’t be safely held, then it needed to be destroyed.
Not literally, at least not now: Reath wasn’t carrying anything like the kind of firepower necessary for that. The Vessel wasn’t, either. But he didn’t have to demolish the Amaxine station to end its strategic capability.
All he had to do was launch every single hyperspace pod, at once, empty, and preferably to locations in the middle of dead space.
No doubt, if he’d spoken of his plan, either Orla or Master Cohmac would’ve insisted on performing the task instead. Reath didn’t want anyone else taking a risk.
“Controls are going to be down low,” Reath muttered as he made his way into the central globe. “Not looking forward to going through that tunnel again.”
His second descent through the tunnel was as uneventful as the first, though his sense of suspense had gone from ratcheted up to almost unbearable. When he became a full Jedi, maybe he would be able to enter a meditative trance at such times. But he wasn’t there yet.
When he found the controls again, he placed his hand on them; they lit up. It took a little experimentation and a lot of faith in the Force to bring up location holos, but Reath finally got them going—tiny circles of light hovering in midair. The language and the notation systems were very old…but not unfamiliar to anyone who’d done multiple studies on the ancient Amaxines.
Research, he thought with a glimmer of satisfaction. Don’t knock it.
Reath shifted the coordinates for each of the pods by a measure that should put them near, but not on, any planet to which they’d previously been headed, even for the largest inhabited planets known to science. Space stations and closer space traffic would also be safe. A distant moon or two might take a hit—but it was much more likely that the pods would simply appear in empty space and float there until they were smashed by random asteroids or harvested for scrap metal.
Once the coordinates were laid in, he pressed the central control. Instantly the entire lower ring began to vibrate—the power that had jolted through the station when he and Dez left but exponentially greater. Reath was nearly flung to the floor, but he held out his hands, keeping his balance as the pods zipped away to the far corners of the galaxy. The Amaxines’ work was undone.
It felt a little sad, spoiling a piece of ancient machinery that had worked so well for so long. But as Reath heard the continued clash of the Nihil and Drengir above, he thought, Nothing can last forever.
He clambered up and out of the tunnel, wincing as he realized how much closer the fight had come. They remained oblivious to him thus far, and to the loss of the pods. But Reath had no clear route to the outer ring of the station—to the Vessel, or to escape.
Then his comlink buzzed. Trusting the din of battle to cover the sound, he lifted it to his ear and heard Leox: “I would ask what the hell you’re up to, but I’m guessing it has something to do with the jillionty pods I just saw launch from this station.”
“Good guess,” Reath said. “Listen, my way back is blocked right now. I’ll try to get to you, but if I can’t make it—I trust you guys to leave in time to save yourselves.”
“Noble sacrifices are not currently of any use. We can’t leave. The Drengir have the Vessel tied in, literally. Sent vines to bind us to the station. We’re going to try breaking free, but we need to go as soon as possible—the vines are still growing.”
“What?” Reath had never even considered that the others wouldn’t be able to handle the vines on their own. They were just vines, weren’t they? But when he thought about how long and thick the roots would have to be to burrow through the station itself, he realized the ship might as well have been bolted in. “Is there any way to stop them?”
“Not that I know of, other than brute force. If brute force is to be of any avail, it needs to be applied immediately. This is the best chance we’re ever going to get.”
It wasn’t much of a chance. Reath could hear that in Leox’s voice.
If the Vessel was going to get away, the people on board would need time to cut away the bindings. Time when neither the Nihil nor the Drengir would or could attack them. The current battle had their enemies distracted, but for how long?
He thought of Dez, injured and helpless—the other Jedi on the mission, who’d tried to lead him in Master Jora’s absence—and the crew of the Vessel, who had somehow become his friends. They were all in peril, all grasping at their last chance to survive.
Master Jora’s voice echoed in his mind again. Why can no Jedi cross the Kyber Arch alone? And, finally, Reath knew the answer.
Reath had to save his friends if he could.
Even if the cost was his own life.
“If we get through this,” Cassel said to Thandeka, “at least things will be better from now on.”
Thandeka, distracted by her raw, aching wrists and the angry muttering guards near Isamer, took a moment to process what he’d said. “What do you mean? What things?”
He flushed deeper blue again. “I mean, between Eiram and E’ronoh. We can stop all this silly bickering and be allies. Friends, even.”
There were more substantive disputes bet
ween their two planets; it wasn’t merely a matter of “bickering.” And friendship took time. But Thandeka had seen the opportunity, too. “We’ll open diplomatic relations. Allow some travel back and forth.”
Cassel looked more cheerful than Thandeka had yet seen him. “Oh, I love diplomatic events. Getting dressed up with the stole and the regalia and all that.”
Thandeka couldn’t help smiling back at him. “I have to admit, Dima loves any chance for us to wear the crown jewels. Sometimes we fight over the best tiaras.”
“Splendid, splendid.” Cassel nodded as though everything was already set. “It’s good to have something to look forward to, isn’t it?”
Thandeka wasn’t sure she believed they would outlive the day. But the Jedi were coming—and there was no point in not having hope. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Orla crept closer to the cave entrance. By then she and the others could hear movement, even muttering. They had clear passage into the very chamber where the hostages were being held. Master Laret, just ahead of Orla and Cohmac, held herself in battle stance, waiting for the right opportunity.
Tactical training clearly indicated that the ideal moment for action would come when sounds were farthest from the entrance, and that they should enter swiftly, immediately scan for the hostages and the kidnappers, protect the hostages first, and go after the kidnappers second. Their lightsabers would provide cover that allowed them to first defend, then attack.
Yet all Orla’s instincts were telling her, Find the kidnappers and take them out first.
But tactical training existed for a reason. She decided not to ignore it.
Heavy footsteps headed farther from the door. Master Laret shifted position subtly, but enough to tell the apprentices the moment was at hand. The order was silent but Orla heard it as surely as though her master had shouted:
Go.
All three of them burst through the cave entrance at once. Orla’s instincts were so strong they seemed almost to be steering her blade—but she held on, maintaining formation as they moved to surround and protect the hostages.
A tall, heavily armed Lasat sprang forward, but not at the Jedi themselves. Most species couldn’t have leapt over two humans and an Umbaran in one bound, but a Lasat could, and this one did. Orla realized what was happening too late to jump up and block him, only in time to think, There’s nothing between him and the hostages—
Thandeka screamed as Isamer’s blaster pointed directly at her. It was the first and only time she’d screamed during her abduction, and despite her mortal terror, she hated that she’d broken, even in the last split second of her life.
Then Cassel flopped toward her, not able to cover her body completely but close. His blue face was only centimeters from hers. Their eyes met.
The blaster bolt fired, deafening and blinding her as though it were the end of the world.
Master Laret spun around, slashing her lightsaber through the Lasat’s midsection in the instant after he’d fired. The two halves, cauterized, fell to the floor, and then there was no sound at all. It was all over within one minute. Orla stared at the wreckage before them—the smoldering walls and crates, the dead bodies on the floor, shot by their own deflected blaster bolts. How could it have ended so quickly?
The next sound she heard was sobbing.
Orla turned to see Monarch Cassel lying on the ground, his robe still smoldering from blaster burn. He was very near death. Queen Thandeka knelt beside him, tears streaming down her face. “You covered me,” Thandeka managed to say to Cassel. “You protected me. Why?”
“So—so you could go home—to your queen.” Cassel smiled weakly. “Invite the—the next monarch—to…”
His voice trailed off. His eyes went blank. Cassel was dead.
The queen leaned down, resting her forehead against Cassel’s shoulder, and surrendered to tears. “He gave his life for mine.”
“Then he died nobly,” said Master Laret, putting one hand on Queen Thandeka’s back. “He will be remembered.”
Orla’s instincts had told her to go after Isamer immediately. Why hadn’t she listened to them?
Because that’s not what the Jedi Order says to do, she reminded herself. It would be many years before she fully reckoned with that moment, and realized that if the Order was telling her to ignore the Force…it wasn’t the Force that was wrong.
Cohmac watched Queen Thandeka with an emotion so strange it took him a few seconds to recognize it as envy.
She could cry for her loss. He could not even acknowledge his.
Master Simmix would’ve told me to bury the grief, Cohmac told himself. There’s no place for it in the Jedi. No place for it within you.
So he buried it as deeply as a mine.
One that could wait years before exploding.
A few days later, and half a galaxy away, word of the Directorate’s failure reached the Hutts. Reports indicated that not only had Lord Isamer been killed, but the information gathered at the kidnappers’ lair had allowed the authorities to track down and arrest nearly every top official in the entire organization. The Directorate was gone.
Which was just what the Hutts had hoped for.
They’d set up a fool’s errand. Laid a snare. The Directorate had been fool enough to step in it gladly. Now the only major criminal syndicate in that area of space was no more.
So whenever the Hutts decided to move in—be that one year later, or twenty-five—nothing would stand in their way.
Reath had to buy the others time. But how? Desperately he looked around the chaotic scene surrounding him in the station’s central globe. It took only a moment for him to find a possibility.
As he’d noted earlier, one larger, irregularly shaped airlock to the side opened directly onto the arboretum area. He could see the controls only a few meters away. He crawled over to check them out. All signs suggested they were fully operational.
What he was about to do might kill him. But it was the only way to eliminate both the Drengir and Nihil threats to the Vessel at once.
Besides, maybe he could make it. Exhale, he reminded himself. Exhale and hang on with all your strength. That’s your only chance.
With that, Reath eliminated the time delay, clutched a nearby service ladder, breathed out hard, and hit VENT.
The airlock slid open, exposing the arboretum to the emptiness of space. Normally the delay would’ve kept the magnetic containment field in place long enough for anyone present to escape; this time, it flicked out of existence immediately.
Explosive energy grabbed everyone and everything in the center of the station: Nihil, Drengir, droids, plants, debris, heat, air. Shrieks of dismay sounded in the first instant; after that, there wasn’t enough air for sound to travel through. It felt as though he were being buffeted by gale-force winds. Reath clung to the service ladder with all his strength, but it felt as though he were being dragged by his feet, his elbows, his hair, every part of his body. Space wanted to claim him.
Vines streamed out of the arboretum like ribbons. Walls that had been covered with plants for centuries were stripped clean. The bodies of Nihil and Drengir pinwheeled past him—limbs flailing, weapons sometimes still firing—and Reath felt regret at being required to spend so many lives. But they had been determined to take the lives of others; that made them forfeit in combat.
Ice crystals began to form in his hair and on his clothes. Reath kept his chest flat, empty of breath, though the strain made his ribs ache. If he inhaled and took in any of the remaining air, the lack of external pressure would cause the gas to expand, rupturing his lungs. Hang on, he told himself, hang on, hang on—the doors will shut soon—
But not soon enough. The ladder began to shake; the screws holding it to the wall had begun to give. It would tear away at any moment.
Reath was not afraid. Sad, but not afraid. If this was when he became one with the Force again, so be it. At least he had bought his friends some time, and a chance to live. That was more than most deaths earned.
He was lucky that his had meaning. Nobody could ask for anything beyond that.
His mind filled with the memory of Master Jora’s kindly face. We’ll unite in the Force soon, he thought.
The ladder gave way. Reath slid across the floor, toward the airlock and open space. He closed his eyes against the void—
And hit something very solid, very hard.
What the— Pain echoed through Reath’s whole body. But whatever barrier he’d hit wasn’t giving way to the vacuum; it was too strong for that. He opened his eyes to discover he could see around the edge of the thing—which showed him the airlock doors finally sliding shut.
The vacuum vanished. Reath tumbled to the ground, gasping for air. It took the station’s environmental controls a few more moments to restore oxygen. In those blurry seconds, he looked for what had saved him.
No, not what. Who.
“Geode?” Reath gasped.
Geode stood above him, reassuringly calm and steady. And Reath could feel that now—a connection to a life-form profoundly alien, and yet as vividly alive as any being he had ever encountered.
Reath’s comlink buzzed. “What just happened?” Affie’s voice rang out. “The readings we’re getting—Reath, are you still out there?”
He managed to reply in a raspy voice: “Thanks to Geode, yeah. Still here. We’re still here. But the Nihil and the Drengir are long gone.”
“You’re going to have to explain that later,” Affie said. “Hang on. We’re coming to get you.”
He flopped back onto the floor and stared up at Geode. “My hero.”
Geode made no reply, but Reath knew he understood.
Vines had begun tracing their way across the cockpit, signaling the complete enclosure of the Vessel, when their sensors had lit up red. The ensuing panic about the decompression inside the station had distracted them all. But when Orla and the others finally knew Reath was safe and the station was intact, they turned back to see that the vines had not only stopped growing but had also begun turning black. They’d died when the Drengir did.
