Into the Void: Star Wars (Dawn of the Jedi) (18 page)

Ashla and Bogan were out of sight, along with Tython, a hundred sixty million kilometers
away on the other side of Tythos. Yet she felt their pull and presence, as did every
Je’daii wherever they might be in the system. Ashla was light and Bogan dark, and
they tugged at her with a comforting gravity, as if she were suspended at the most
perfect balancing point between the moons, influenced by both yet pulled in neither
direction.

It had not always been like this. After she had lost Dal, halfway through her Great
Journey, she had experienced a period of unbalance. Returned home. Learned from her
parents to be trusting and
trustworthy in the Force once again. It had been nowhere near serious enough to warrant
exile, but it had troubled her greatly then, and still did now.

And Dam-Powl had warned that her experiments had the potential to upset the balance
once more. The alchemy of flesh—genetic manipulation of cells that, though seeded
from her own body, had a life of their own—held such dangers. But Lanoree could not
help playing to her strengths. Ignoring them would be like trying to deny the Force
itself, and she had already seen the results of that.

Death, she had believed. But now in Dal maybe something worse. A terrible kind of
madness.

Perhaps at some point during this mission she might find cause to return to her studies.

“Greenwood Station,” Lanoree said. “The Stargazers were communicating with someone
there. That’s not good.”

“It’s not?” Tre asked.

Lanoree looked at the partial communications Ironholgs had managed to extract from
the damaged memory cell. All of them had been encoded, and even when deciphered by
the droid they had used mundane language that was beyond any code breaker. But the
origin and destination of each signal had been scrambled with military-level ciphers.

“Greenwood Station is one of the worst places on one of the most dangerous planets
in the system,” Lanoree said. “If there’s a general dislike for the Je’daii on Nox,
they
hate
us there. It’s surrounded by three destroyed domes, bombed by the Je’daii during
the Despot War. I was only young then, thirteen. But my parents went to war, and my
father served some of his time on Nox. A terrible place, he told me. Acid rain, corrosive
gas storms. We warned the domes the bombings were going to happen—they were supplying
Hadiya with weapons, however much nonmilitary pressure we exerted—but thousands still
died. Many thousands. No one has ever really known how many.”

“I’m older than you,” Tre said. “I seem to recall Greenwood Station being bombed as
well.”

“But not destroyed. The original dome was breached but quickly repaired. It’s a damaged
place, and everything around it is ruin.”

“But it’s still where they make the most advanced military tech outside Tython,” Tre
said. It seemed he’d known everything about Greenwood Station, but had feigned ignorance
and let her say it anyway. Another one of his games.

“And how would you know that?”

“I’ve had cause to use them, from time to time.”

“You’ve been there?” Lanoree asked. She had no interest in Tre’s business or his reason
for using high-end tech. Not then.

“Of course not! I told you, I hate space travel.”

“But you’ll be known there?”

Tre raised an eyebrow, shrugged. “Not by anyone who’d help us.”

“Why not?”

“You’re Je’daii.”

“Great,” Lanoree said. It was a perfect place for the Stargazers and Dal to flee when
they knew she was on their trail. And yet …

This was not about escape. Some of the older communications her droid had plucked
from the damaged memory cell proved that. They were going to Greenwood Station for
one reason, and that could only be the construction of the Gree device. How complete
their plans were, Lanoree could not tell. The old Osamael Or diary was far from comprehensive,
and there was no way of knowing whether he had ever found those Gree plans. If he
had, perhaps they existed in another diary. One that Kara had been too sensible to
leave even in her hidden room. And even if the Stargazers
did
have the plans in some form, whether they could build the device effectively—and
make it actually
work
—was something no one could know. Her mission remained one of unknowns and ambiguities.

One thing she
was
certain of: this had already gone further than she could have hoped. The dangers
were too great, the chances of Dal’s success too dreadful to comprehend. The chase
had to end on Nox, and there she would face her brother.

“I’ll plot a course,” Lanoree said. “Then we’ll find you somewhere to sleep.”

Tre feigned surprise and held his hands out, indicating the narrow but comfortable
cot.

“Don’t even think about it,” Lanoree said. She pointed at the door she’d shown him
before.

“With the laser pods? And the food stores? There might be space rats in there.”

“I keep a clean ship,” Lanoree said. “And I’m sure you’ve slept in worse.”

“Well …” His three lekku stretched in amusement. Lanoree tried not to smile; she sensed
that he wanted to make this as painless as she did.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s just get by. I’ll fly us there as quickly as I can.”

“I’m not sure I
want
to get there that quickly,” Tre said, and his tired smile might have been the first
genuine one she’d seen.

“We’ll be fine. I’ll look after you.”

“And who’s looking after you?”

The Force will be my guide
, Lanoree thought. She turned her back on Tre and went up into the cockpit again to
chart the fastest, safest course to Greenwood Station on Nox. All the while she was
thinking of Dal, and that as a Journeyer she had never truly understood how dangerous
he might be.

Not until close to the end.

Even though Master Kin’ade is adept at healing, Lanoree’s arm and hand still hurt.
It will for some time
, Kin’ade told her.
I can fix the damage, but the scarring will remain, and the memory of pain is stronger
than you think
.

The memory of pain means that she can barely sit still, even in Temple Master Lha-Mi’s
chambers.

Dal is also there. His own wounds are less serious than hers—bruises and lacerations
from impacting the ground—but Master Kin’ade paid them just as much attention.

“You are not here to be punished,” Temple Master Lha-Mi says to Dal. Even though the
chambers are large and impressive, Master Lha-Mi sits in a simple wooden chair, his
sword propped beside him. Lanoree has heard many tales of this man, and this sword.
“You are here so that I can hear what happened at the top of Stav Kesh. I’ve learned
through my long life that stories are … fluid. And that the
truth is often found in the sum of the parts. So I’ll have each of you tell me your
own version of events.”

“It’s very simple,” Dal says. He is sitting before Lha-Mi alongside Lanoree, and on
his other side sits their instructor. “Master Kin’ade took away all my senses and
expected me to shoot straight.”

“I haven’t yet asked you to speak,” Lha-Mi says. His voice is not stern, but it carries
the authority of age and experience. “Master Kin’ade. If you will begin?”

She stands and bows her head. “Master. I was training a group of students with the
Darrow sphere.” She goes on to relate events exactly as they happened, expressing
no opinions, simply relaying the facts. Lanoree cannot perceive any elaboration to
her story—it is exact and correct in every detail. Kin’ade finishes and bows again.

“And now you, Lanoree Brock,” Lha-Mi says.

“It’s as Master Kin’ade described. I did my best to feel the Force and fight the sphere,
but I admit to becoming overconfident. The others did well, mostly. Some bruises,
burns, bloody noses, and one or two hits on the sphere, too. And then it was Dal’s
turn. He moved well, and at first I thought he was seeking the Force, and I felt … proud.
Pleased for him. But then the Sphere took him down easily, and he pulled his blaster.
He got off several shots before Master Kin’ade stopped him.”

“She flung me to the ground and almost broke my arm,” Dal says. “I almost went over
the parapet.”

Lha-Mi does not even look at Dal. He is still staring at Lanoree, his old eyes almost
closed as he listens and thinks. “And your thoughts when one of those blaster shots
passed close to your arm?”

“I was frightened for Dal,” Lanoree says.

“Because of what Master Kin’ade might do to him?”

“No. Because of his own loss of control.”

“And now
your
version of events, Dalien Brock.”

Dal sighs deeply, an almost petulant breath. But Lanoree can sense his fear.

“Go on, Dal,” she says. He glances sharply at her, then his gaze shifts to her bandaged
arm and hand, and he looks wretched.

“I tried,” he says. “I tried to find the Force.”

He’s lying
, Lanoree thinks.
I know him so well, I can hear it in his voice
.

“I tried my best—and when the sphere hit me, I went for my blaster, tried to … follow
the Force, shoot where it told me.” He shrugs. “It didn’t work. I’m sorry, Lanoree.”

“Every scar tells a story,” she says, repeating something their father once told them.

Temple Master Lha-Mi nods. “It’s fortunate that no one was killed. Master Kin’ade
is adept at healing, and I consider myself lucky that she chose Stav Kesh instead
of Mahara Kesh. She can mend flesh wounds and knit bones, given time. But no Je’daii
can defeat death. Your actions were foolish, Dalien. Led by impetuousness, not guided
by the Force. I put that down to youth’s enthusiasm. Perhaps some more traditional
weapons training might be in order for the next few days, Master Kin’ade.”

“Just what I had in mind,” Kin’ade says. She stands as if at a silent signal and motions
Lanoree and Dal to stand, too.

“Stay with me, Lanoree,” Lha-Mi says. The other two leave, and then Lanoree is alone
with the Temple Master. He is old and strong, but not intimidating. There’s a kindliness
to him that makes her feel comfortable, and she can sense his concern.

“Your brother,” he says, and then he says no more. A question?

“He’s trying,” Lanoree says. “He knows what our Great Journey is for, and he’s doing
his best.”

“No,” Lha-Mi says. “I fear he has already given up. For some, the Force is never comfortable
or easy to find balance within.”

“No!” she says, standing before the Temple Master. He remains seated and composed.
“Our parents are Je’daii, and we will be also.”

“You already
are
, Lanoree. I sense a great future for you. You’re strong, sensible, mature, and you
have—” he held out his hand, tilted it left and right “—balance, give or take. But
your brother is different. He carries a darkness within him, and his shunning of the
Force makes it too dark to penetrate, too deep for me to plumb. There
may
still be a way back for him. But you have to realize how dangerous he might be. You
have to be careful.”

“I made a promise to my parents. He’s my brother, I love him, and I’ll save him.”

“Sometimes love is not enough.” Lha-Mi rises and takes her hand. He speaks no more.
But she feels a touch on her mind, brief but potent, that shows her a blink of what
Dal had been thinking in the Temple Master’s chambers.

Deep, dark thoughts.

The Je’daii say, “There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.” But they are ignorant
of your lives, your struggles, and their superiority blinds them. They say, “There
is no fear; there is power.” Yet in their power they are smug. And I will make them
fear me
.

—Despot Queen Hadiya, 10,658 TYA

Even from a distance, Nox looked like hell. Lanoree plotted a route that brought them
into the planet’s atmosphere well on the opposite hemisphere from Greenwood Station,
swinging them in an arc around the planet and approaching from the nightside. The
seas were a heavy, sullen gray, the landmasses mostly covered by sickly looking yellowish
clouds that glowed and pulsed with interior storms. The small patches of land she
could see between the clouds were of a uniform bronze color. There was no green. She
wondered what Greenwood Station had been like when it had been named, or whether the
name was bitterly ironic.

Tre sat in the copilot’s seat again. He hadn’t said much for quite a while, and Lanoree
was starting to fear that he was succumbing to
space sickness. If that happened, he’d be no use at all and she’d have to leave him
in the Peacemaker. And she would
not
leave him here with her ship alone and awake.

She knew exactly where to hit him.

“Pretty,” he said as they started skimming the atmosphere.

“Not very. It’s going to get bumpy.”

She’d taken them in a steeper descent than was normal, eager to enter the atmosphere
as quickly as possible. The longer their approach, the more likely they’d be noticed.
She could see at least seven other craft on the scanners, all describing different
descents to various parts of the planet, and she’d heard no hailing on the comm. But
that didn’t mean they weren’t all being tracked. And maybe those other seven were
expected.