Race to Crashpoint Tower

by Daniel José Older

  Master Sy stepped forward, their robes fluttering around them in the Trymant winds. “We come in peace.”

  “Be gone, I said!” a short, hunched-over figure yelled, scrabbling forward. Lula drew her saber but held off on igniting it.

  “Fall back!” Master Sy commanded, one hand raised. Lula knew well what that hand was capable of. With barely a second thought, Master Sy could send the attacker sprawling backward. But she also knew the last thing they wanted was to seem like the aggressor.

  The hunched figure kept approaching though, howling incoherently.

  “Stop!” came a different voice, rumbling like a faraway clap of thunder. Something huge stepped out from the shadows in front of the other masked figures. “Let me handle these intruders.”

  Zeen took a sharp breath. “Elder Barbatash,” she whispered.

  Purple and red streaks slashed the early evening sky as stars began to twinkle to life against the darkness. Ram lay on his back, allowing breath to slowly return to his body. Echoes of his run-in with the Nihil ricocheted through him, tinged with a heady mix of terror and exhilaration.

  He’d been in his first real fight! He’d lived! And so had everyone else! Which was a huge relief, really. The idea of taking a life, even in battle, was almost as scary to him as the thought of losing his own. He hoped he’d never have to do it, and then, as he’d been trained to do, he did his best to release any attachment to outcomes and just exist in the gigantic spinning galaxy.

  Something wafted through the air above him. It was small and trailed tiny tendrils, or microfibers, behind it. Another one floated by, then another. Ram sat up. What in the stars? A whole swirl of the specks sailed gently around him, just visible in the fading light.

  They were beautiful, Ram had to admit, but something about them didn’t sit right with him.

  The pod the raider had dropped!

  It hadn’t exploded, sure, but what if it had ruptured and…? Whatever these things were, Ram had to alert the other Jedi about everything that had happened, and to do that, he needed to fix the comms.

  “Master Ram?” V-18 asked, blinking out of what must’ve been an enjoyable nap.

  “I gotta see what those Nihil raiders did up here,” Ram called, starting to climb up the metal ladder that ran the height of the tower. “And we gotta get you fixed up so we can get back in a hurry. If only we’d brought some of the Bonbraks with us.”

  “Ah, about that,” V-18 said.

  Ram heard the rustle of leather and then a small familiar chirp. He glanced down and yelped with joy as two tall ears emerged first and then a familiar face. “Tip! You little stowaway!”

  The creature glared up at him with shiny black eyes from one of the saddlebags and squawked a long explanation that Ram didn’t follow. Then two more pointy ears and another furry head poked out of the satchel: Breebak. “Man, I’m glad to see you guys,” Ram said. They both scurried out, tools already in hand, and set to work squabbling and fussing with the engine attached to V-18.

  The communications unit on the tower wasn’t too badly damaged—just some cut wires—so it only took Ram a few minutes to replace them and restart the system. He’d tried to reach Master Kunpar and the others, but no one was answering. They were probably all at the Jedi temple already and in the midst of the opening ceremony with the Chancellor, which meant he’d have to track them down himself. Between him, V-18, and the two Bonbraks, they managed to get the engine on V-18 up and running, but it was a little janky and sputtered out every once in a while.

  The sky was mostly dark by the time he rode back into Lonisa City proper on V-18, with a Bonbrak perched on each shoulder. The ceremony must’ve already begun; the wide avenues and winding alleyways of the Carnival District stretched on and on, empty, empty, empty. Everyone was gathered at the nearly completed Jedi temple. Banners and light displays stretched from balcony to balcony, swaying in the early evening breeze. It was so peaceful, Ram thought. Even though he didn’t like crowds much, he was happy Valo was getting so much attention from the other worlds. They had always seemed so far away—impossibly far—and now they were all right there! A few kri-snorts flapped lazily toward the lake. The world, the galaxy maybe, was holding its breath, ready for the celebrations to begin.

  And then, with a shriek and an explosion so sudden it sent Ram veering off to the side, they did. A huge burst of light sparkled over the rooftops: a firework. That high-pitched noise just before had been a Jedi Vector streaking across the sky. Another soon followed, along with more smacks and booms as different-colored flashes sent shimmers cascading down over Lonisa City.

  The Republic Fair had begun, which meant that it would be all the harder for Ram to get to the other Jedi and warn them about what had happened. “Come on, Vee-Eighteen,” he urged, kicking the propulsors into overdrive. “We gotta find Master Kunpar.”

  Up ahead, the tall gates of the Lonisa City zoo loomed in the shadows. Ram slowed back down as they approached. The hoots and growls of creatures from all over the galaxy emanated from behind the bars. Those chirping noises were probably the tiny night barbarbarbs, serenading each other. And that soft hooting had to be a sanval—a gigantic winged reptile that was older than time and rumored to never forget a face. A sudden, horrific screech tore the air, followed by the sound of many teeth crunching something wet and fleshy. That would be one of the hragscythe, creatures with too many claws and too many jaws, which Ram hoped to never get too close to. Sounded like it was having a tasty dinner.

  He shuddered and slid to a halt, looking around for the best route to get around the zoo.

  “Nrenat brak brak patak,” Breebak insisted.

  “The riverway shortcut?” Ram considered, then shrugged. “All right, if you think it’ll get us to the temple faster.” He swerved V-18 down a winding ramp that led to a pathway along the dark waters of the Karova Canal. Pleasure rafts and some security cruisers had dropped anchor along the far side, where the windows of a high-end hotel glared down at the riverway.

  They zoomed under a bridge and through a creepy tunnel, then emerged alongside the scaffoldings that marked the still unfinished portion of the Jedi temple. There the four Valo Security Force gunships hovered in the air, sending their bright searchlights dancing across the surrounding rooftops, the shimmering waters of the canal, and the empty alleyways of Lonisa City. Ram ducked quickly under a dangling tarp. He shouldn’t be sneaking around such a high-security area as if he didn’t belong there. He was a member of the Jedi Order after all, not some intruder. But he was also pretty sure there was no other way he’d be able to get anywhere near Master Kunpar, not with all the hubbub and fanfare going on.

  “Through here,” he said, taking V-18 up a freight-elevator shaft. A crowd had gathered outside the temple. Ram caught glimpses of them staring intently ahead, their mesmerized faces awash in the glow of what must’ve been a giant holoprojection of the opening ceremony.

  “Good people of the galaxy,” an enthusiastic voice boomed out across the night, “welcome to the Republic Fair!”

  Beyond the scaffolding, Lonisa City stretched toward the darkness of the lake in a patchwork of illuminated avenues and crossroads. The sky around the Carnival District was filled with the World Pavilions—floating islands that representatives of different Republic planets had set up to present their cultures at the fair. Each lit the night with a different color as they hovered around the main complex.

  A gunship buzzed past, a little too close for comfort.

  “Stay here,” Ram said. He crawled off V-18 onto a scaffolding and squirmed through an opening. Down below, all the Valon dignitaries and Jedi had assembled in their finest robes. There was Master Kunpar in the middle, nodding serenely across the dais at a tall woman in an elegant cape: Chancellor Soh. Her two saber-toothed targons sat at attention on either side of her, gazing suspiciously at everyone around.

  If Ram could just get down there without being spotted, he’d be able to—

  “You, there!” someo
ne with a gruff voice hollered from the scaffolding behind him. “What are you doing up here?”

  Drat.

  The towering creature stood perfectly still at the far end of the dusty, red-dark street.

  Zeen had told them about Elder Barbatash, an ancient being who had survived some long-ago massacre and kept the dwindling light of his strange little community alive long enough to find them a safe haven on Trymant IV. She spoke about him in hushed tones and had only even seen him a handful of times. All of it made Lula imagine him as some kind of shadowy demon who haunted the edges of her nightmares.

  And there he was, squinting four long-lashed eyes against the flying particles and leaning forward on great muscled arms that extended from his tattered robes. He wasn’t even wearing a mask like the others.

  “You are Jedi,” Barbatash boomed. “Are you not?”

  Master Sy nodded. “We come only with questions. We mean no harm.”

  “And?”

  A weighty pause extended for several moments. Lula felt the tangled grip of tension emanating from Zeen, felt it heighten till it became everything. Just as she reached out to put a hand on her friend’s shoulder, Zeen stepped forward. “And I’ve returned, Elder Barbatash. Disciple Zeen, of the Mrala clan.” She pulled her cowl back, revealing the wide halo of tendrils swirling behind her head.

  Would they try to kidnap Zeen and keep her forever back in the compound? Lula tightened her grip on the lightsaber.

  The elder nodded like he’d always known this would happen, but a short Zabrak beside him raised his blaster. “She deceived us, Elder! She is with these betrayers of the Force now! And it is said she herself wields—”

  “Enough,” Barbatash said, his voice a dull boom. “The Jedi have been our sworn enemy for many ages, yes, but were they our sworn enemies when they saved so many of us during the disaster?”

  “It was the Nihil who saved us!” another one screeched. “The Republic and their Jedi dogs just showed up to take the credit!”

  “We’ve had enough of your shamefaced mewling, Barbatash!”

  “Kill the Jedi!”

  “Kill the traitor!”

  “Kill them all!”

  “ENOUGH!” Barbatash yelled, winding one long, shaggy arm over his head and then sweeping it down in a fierce slash that toppled all three masked men around him. Lula stepped back, eyes wide. Barbatash slammed both hands on the cracked duracrete ground, sending pebbles flying, and bellowed at the writhing figures: “BACK INSIDE, MY INSOLENT CHILDREN!”

  They crawled off, sobbing and sputtering their apologies, and disappeared behind a gate.

  The elder shook his head. “How embarrassing. They do this more and more as our numbers and resources dwindle. Come, we have much to discuss.”

  He led them down a small side alley into a cramped room that was sealed off from the heavy atmosphere. “You look well, my daughter,” Barbatash said as Zeen took off her mask.

  Lula didn’t trust him. Sure, he’d just intervened on their behalf, but he’d convinced Zeen to hate her own Force abilities for so long. That couldn’t be any good for a person.

  “I am well, Elder Barbatash,” Zeen said without meeting his eyes.

  Barbatash had to crouch to keep from hitting the ceiling. He gestured for them all to sit around an old table that emitted a gentle orange glow, the only light in the room. “You have questions, mm?”

  Zeen nodded. “The Nihil who came here during the disaster, they took Elder Tromak with them. Why?”

  Barbatash seemed to chew on the question for a few moments, blinking through memories and internal debates. Finally, he nodded. “The Nihil,” he said sadly, “began as an infection, you could say, within our ranks. And when we cut off the affected area, instead of dying, it grew. It grew and spread and became many different things, chaos. But everything must return to its source, you know. Everything must return to its source.”

  “What does that mean?” Lula asked.

  The elder fixed her with an exhausted, penetrating stare, and for a second she worried she’d spoken out of turn and somehow offended him into silence. Instead, he acknowledged the question with a shrug. “Elder Tromak was with me in the old days of our tradition. He carries with him knowledge that most don’t even know to look for.” He nodded, lost in memories.

  “What knowledge?” Lula asked.

  “The location of a very powerful weapon,” Barbatash muttered. “Something that could change the galaxy forever.”

  A heavy silence took over the room, cut only by the howling wind outside.

  “Where is Elder Tromak now?” Zeen asked. “Where did they take him?”

  Barbatash shook his head. “I do not know. We only know the location of one of the Nihil cells, and that is because one of them sent a holo back to us to let us know he is alive.”

  Zeen perked up. Lula felt the sudden urgency rise in her friend. “Is it—” Zeen started.

  “Mmm,” the Elder cut in with a nod. “Your friend Disciple Krix, yes. He messaged us from the Stygmarn system, where he said the Nihil had a base. He asked about you, Zeen, but we had not heard anything at that point, besides the rumors of course.”

  He’d probably been digging for info on her whereabouts, Lula thought wryly.

  “Is that where they are now?” Master Sy asked, a little too eagerly.

  Barbatash turned those ancient eyes to the Jedi. Then he nodded. “Perhaps.”

  The galaxy streamed past, and then the stars stretched and spun around them as the Star Hopper hurtled into hyperspace.

  Everything seemed to be happening so fast; Lula could barely catch her breath. It seemed like just yesterday the galaxy was at peace and all she had to worry about was learning the skills she needed to become the greatest Jedi ever. Now entire worlds had been nearly destroyed and secret plots to bring down the Republic lurked everywhere. Combat training had always felt like a kind of meditative exercise, learned more because of tradition than any dire necessity. Padawans learned the forms, memorized each step, and honored their lightsabers as a part of themselves, and in doing so, they walked the path of every Jedi before them, and every Jedi yet to come.

  But now—Master Sy took them through some exercises on the bridge as PZ1-3 coordinated with Vernestra via holo, but the familiar motions felt suddenly urgent, not just a pretty martial dance anymore.

  “Dayanar Seven,” Sy called, and Lula and Zeen moved as one, sweeping their arms in wide windmills and hopping backward, then pushing forward with both hands. When Zeen had first started practicing with the Padawans, Lula had felt a little bristle of irritation about it. The Mikkian wasn’t a member of the Order; she was just Force-sensitive. She’d grown up hating the Jedi. It seemed unfair that she got to jump in with the rest of them. But Lula had faced that feeling and released it as best she could, and she was relieved to have her friend beside her, stepping and swinging her arms in time with her.

  “Alpha-Paraval Seven.” They slid sideways in sequence, then dropped into a crouch.

  How many times had Lula ignited her saber to save her own life or those of her loved ones in just the past few months? She’d lost track.

  But Jedi weren’t supposed to have attachments, even to the past, even to a simpler, safer life. If this was the time she’d been born into, she would face it with everything she had. It was the only choice.

  “I did some checking on the Stygmarn system,” the holo of Vernestra announced. “There’s a moon on the far edge. It’s remote enough that it could be crawling with Nihil without anyone noticing.”

  Master Sy nodded. “Peezee, set the course. Vernestra, we’ll meet you nearby and then scout from there.” They glanced at the girls. “Better get ready.”

  “Ah,” V-18 began unconvincingly, “we are here to speak with Master Kunpar about an urgent security—”

  “Security situations are the domain of the Valo Security Force,” the gruff voice insisted. “And that’s me: Captain Idrax Snat, of the second division.” Still hiding
behind a tarp, Ram cringed. Everyone in Lonisa City knew the VSF mostly just ran around pretending to be important and busting up parties when they got bored.

  “And anyway,” Idrax went on, “no one’s allowed on this scaffolding.”

  “Well, I most certainly—” V-18 started.

  “And why do you have Bonbraks with you?”

  “I myself did not choose to bring the Bonbra—”

  “There are no pets allowed on the premises, either, droid.”

  The Bonbraks erupted into dueling litanies of rude epithets about Captain Snat, his extended family tree, and the VSF in general. Ram only hoped the guy didn’t speak Bonbreez.

  No such luck. “Hey! What did you say about my grandgrub?”

  The Bonbraks didn’t even pause to breathe.

  “That’s it! You’re all coming in!” A static-filled click sounded, and Idrax barked a series of codes into his comlink.

  “Wait,” Ram said, jumping out from behind the tarp.

  “Whoa!” The captain leapt back, pulling his blaster and dropping to one knee in a single slightly clunky movement. He had the wrinkled green face and wide cloudy eyes of a Neimoidian; boney ridges lined his cheeks and forehead, and he looked like he might have never smiled in his entire life. The bulky VSF uniform made his head look too small for his body, and a bunch of probably unnecessary gear bags and canteens dangled off belts strapped across his chest and around his waist. “Identify yourself!”

  Ram raised both hands. “Padawan Ram Jomaram,” he said, “of the Valo Temple.”

  “You don’t look like a Padawan!”

  On that point, Ram couldn’t argue. He was covered in grease and dirt. He had his goggles on and a whole tool kit with him. All the other Padawans were probably in their pristine temple attire, standing serenely at the ceremony.

  “I’m—I need to talk to Master—”

  “What you need isn’t my concern.”

  The buzzing roar of a gunship’s positional thrusters grew louder, and then its metallic hull rose beside them. A sliding door groaned open.