Клаудия Грэй - Into the Dark

Probably some of them had been Byne Guild pilots. Why else would this system’s coordinates be preprogrammed into the Vessel ’s computer? Definitely nothing else remotely interesting was to be found around there; even by the standards of open space, that area was bleak. So this station had to have been of some use to the Guild, sometime, or it wouldn’t be one of the places in their navicomputer.

Hundreds of places , she reminded herself. Maybe even thousands. We never counted them all—what’s the point? Some of that data might be old, out of use. Obsolete to how the Guild runs today. Scover built everything off preexisting navicomputers, back when she was first creating the Guild.

Then she remembered that Scover might at that moment be dead or injured because of a disaster far larger than anything they’d ever encountered before, and her heart ached anew. For the Jedi this disaster was of great but abstract concern; for her it was intensely personal. Remembering how hard her foster mother had worked to build her shipping fleet made Affie even more fiercely hopeful that Scover had lived. She deserved to live, to reap the benefits of all that effort.

But the others killed in the disaster had probably deserved to live, too. Chance was too cruel to pay attention to what people deserved.

Dez was studying the inscription on the sandstone statue. Reath asked, “Can you read it?”

“No, it’s not written in Aurebesh, and the glyph groupings don’t look like Basic,” Dez said. “But it’s not wholly unfamiliar, either. Reminds me of a couple of ancient languages we studied. An actual scholar might be able to translate. Luckily we’ve got one on board.”

Affie wondered whether she should mention the tools or not. The Jedi didn’t seem to care one way or the other about who might’ve used the station recently, so she decided she’d keep that information to herself for the moment. When she had a chance to talk with Leox or Geode alone, they could discuss this and decide what the Jedi did—and didn’t—need to know.

When Cohmac got his first good look at the small ship approaching them at one-tenth power, he felt a moment of empathy—almost tenderness. It had been literally patched together from at least four or five other ships, none of which appeared even vaguely similar in design. What poverty must have inspired this? At least desperate need had been matched with determined innovation. Where most would’ve considered themselves planet-bound and trapped, these people had found their own way to the stars.

As soon as they had confirmation that all species aboard could breathe inside the station, Cohmac indicated that the ragtag ship could dock at the nearest airlock and went out to meet them, Orla at his side. The initial exploration trio returned to stand beside them as the second airlock spun open.

“Oh, look,” Nan whispered as she walked forward. She was even tinier than she’d appeared on the screen—a girl hardly more than a meter and a half tall, dressed in a shabby but colorful dress. Her dark hair was vividly painted with blue streaks, a flash of vivacity and life. “It’s like my terrarium, but big enough to walk in!”

“Yes, just like your terrarium,” said the elderly Zabrak hobbling out after her, chuckling. His clothes were a match for hers, and his walking stick had countless notches carved into it as a record of some measure of a life Cohmac could hardly imagine. “Hello, there. I’m Hague, and apparently you’ve met my ward, Nan.”

“Cohmac Vitus, Jedi Knight.” He held out his hand to shake, a custom that fortunately seemed to be as familiar on the frontier as at home. “Welcome. Let me introduce my compatriots, Dez Rydan, Orla Jareni, Reath Silas, and Affie Hollow. We hope to turn this station into a place of refuge for those stranded by the hyperspace closure.”

“You’re the ones in charge, eh? Good, good. I don’t mind saying that we’re grateful to see you. Hardly enough provisions on board to last us three days. I don’t need so much, but the little one—”

“I believe the larger transports will offer adequate food for us all,” Cohmac said. Assuming they’re willing to share, and that the hyperspace lanes aren’t closed for too long. No point in worrying these people about it. “For now, get yourselves settled.”

Orla nodded her greetings but moved past Cohmac, back into the Vessel for reasons of her own. The travelers weren’t offended by her departure; Nan, in particular, looked delighted to have found people her own age. No wonder—Cohmac wasn’t familiar with Zabrak life spans, but Hague was at a minimum several decades older. Looking back and forth between Reath and Affie, Nan asked, “Are you both Jedi Knights, too?”

Affie made a sound that Cohmac decided not to interpret as rude. “Hardly. I’m the copilot on the Vessel .”

“I will be a Jedi Knight someday,” Reath said, “but for now I’m still a Padawan. A student in the ways of the Force.”

Nan lit up. “I’ve heard tales of the Jedi. Can you tell me more about your Order? How you learn to do the things you do?”

Curiosity about the Jedi was great in the frontier region, in ways both good and bad. Cohmac hoped they would make a good impression starting from this moment on. However, he suspected Nan’s interest had as much to do with Reath’s pleasant face as it did with the Jedi. Probably far more.

As older Jedi always did when observing such interactions between younger ones and outsiders to the Order, Cohmac mused, I fear someone will have to break it to her that the Jedi don’t—

Well. Let Reath deal with that if and when it arose.

Orla came to his side. “Listen, I know you have plenty to think about at the moment. Leading the group, organizing the refugees as they come on board—”

“Your point?” Cohmac asked.

Orla arched an eyebrow so sharply it could have cut. “My point is, you can delegate your other roles. You can’t delegate your knowledge of ancient artifacts. Dez has pointed out that this place is chock-full of ancient tech and even more ancient statues. With inscriptions . In unknown languages .” Orla pronounced all this in the same tone of voice she might’ve told a racing enthusiast about the Neutrino Angler in the hangar next door, or described holiday sweets to an excited child.

Even though Cohmac was usually more moderate in his enthusiasms…Orla had caught his attention. “Totally unknown languages?”

“One of them, at least, reminds Dez a little bit of Old Alderaanian. He could be wrong, though. An expert’s eyes would see much more.”

“Then I leave it to Dez and Reath to handle the station boarding for now.” He put one hand on Orla’s shoulder. “Lead the way.”

After they had walked several steps away, Orla said, more quietly, “It threw me, at first. An accident in this area of space, a ship we didn’t know well—”

“I thought of it, too,” Cohmac replied. This chapter of his past was one he rarely reflected on. The parallels between this mission and the first one he and Orla had undertaken together—he’d hoped to put them aside and ignore them for the duration of the disaster.

Apparently Orla didn’t intend to let him. He should have expected no less. Cohmac could practically see the words hovering on her lips. However, before she could delve into the subject, she halted in her tracks and said, “Do you feel that? The…shadow? The chill? Reath and Dez sensed it as well.”

“It’s darkness,” Cohmac said. “I’ve felt it, too. Something on this station is bound to the dark side.”

Some people were awestruck by Jedi, unable to relate to them; others could be hostile, afraid of what they didn’t understand, afraid of power they couldn’t possess. Sheltered as he’d been within the Temple, Reath often wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap and connect with regular people as, well, people .