Клаудия Грэй - Into the Dark

So where have these coordinates taken me?

He paid attention to his immediate surroundings first. He recognized the circular motifs of the Amaxines in the landing platform, which coiled around, clearly setting up the hyperspace pods for their return trip. Helix rings hung in place there, too, which meant there was probably power and fuel enough for more than one voyage. Reath had to hope so; otherwise, this was his new planet of residence. Although moss had grown over some of the central hub—the controls?—all the equipment appeared to be in working condition.

Which meant he probably had a way to get back to the Amaxine station. He just had to figure it out.

Then he heard rustling in the leaves, in the reeds. Reath whirled around, lightsaber in hand, to see…nothing. Just trees. Just plants.

Yet as he stood there, he could feel an oppressive weight settling over him—the presence of the dark side, powerful, acute, and focused. Someone was approaching him with ill intent, seemingly from every direction at once.

It occurred to Reath that he could make a run for the pod controls. This technology appeared to be highly automated; he might be able to launch a return trip to the Amaxine station within only a few minutes. Another pod had been waiting for no telling how long. That meant he had two chances to get himself out of there, to return to the others and the important mission at hand.

But the Force told him he had to stay. That whatever was on the planet—dangerous as it might be—was of critical significance. That he could learn something he and all the Jedi badly needed to know. The secrets of the Amaxine station would not remain on the station; they would expand far past their old boundaries, into the galaxy at large. The Jedi had to be ready.

Reath took a deep breath, settled into defense stance, and ignited his blade.

Cohmac’s research into Force artifacts and lore had taught him that the containment of the dark side usually took one of a very few forms: the echo of a Sith or other servant of darkness; a specific memory of an atrocity, usually the remembrance of those who had committed it; or a more amorphous, unfocused energy.

What he felt now—on the unbound, unprotected Amaxine station—was something entirely different. As impossible as it was, or ought to be, this was consciousness . Sapience. Individual will…

No. The will of multiple individuals, every single one possessed of murderous intent.

“Did you ever hear of the clay warriors of Zardossa Stix?” Cohmac murmured as the two Jedi moved deeper into the forested glade in the center of the station.

Orla said, “Sure. The ancient statues of a fallen army. The Zardossan legends claimed that the statues were the only things keeping the warriors dead—that if they were ever destroyed, the army would spring back to life. Now I’m asking myself why you’d bring that up at this particular moment, and none of the answers are good.”

“I think these idols,” said Cohmac, “may have been holding back a sort of army, or some other dangerous group.”

Orla stopped in the middle of the glade and held out her arms. “I’m not seeing any army.”

“But you can sense one,” Cohmac said as the impressions became more tangible. His stance shifted from merely alert to battle ready. “Reach out with your feelings.”

“I feel something ,” Orla replied, “and I sense its malice. Still, we made a pretty thorough search of this station. Are you telling me we somehow managed to miss an entire military force?”

Then they heard the first footstep.

Both Jedi whirled around until they stood back to back, a single fighting unit. They ignited their lightsabers in the same instant, two white beams from Orla’s double-bladed saber and Cohmac’s lone blue beam shining into the murky patches among the vines.

The rustling grew louder with every heartbeat, yet the more Cohmac heard, the less he understood. None of the approaching enemies wore boots; nor could he hear any telltale clicks of metal hinting at weaponry. And the sound was off, somehow, unmistakable and yet strange.…

He saw a tree sway toward their clearing, as if pushed. Then it came closer and he realized it wasn’t a tree at all.

The creature that stood before them was two meters tall, gnarled and hulking. It possessed nothing as central as a trunk; instead it seemed to be a slithering mass of thorned vine tentacles, many of them plated in bark-like armor. There did seem to be a kind of “head,” one antlered with thorns and possessed of a wide, grinning mouth like the trap of a carnivorous plant, designed to snap shut on its prey. Coming up behind it were at least a dozen more of the same species, all of them enormous. Cohmac realized these things had blended in perfectly with the thickly overgrown greenery within the Amaxine station, but earlier, the creatures had been still.

Dormant.

Until the Jedi had set them free.

“Finally,” their leader said in a low, rumbling voice. “Some meat.”

“Stop hiding,” Reath called to his unseen foe. “Show yourselves.”

The vines around the pod launcher swayed. Branches rustled. Still, Reath saw nothing but plants.…

His eyes widened as he took in the incredibly huge forms approaching him, crawling toward him on dozens of vines, or tentacles. If anything they looked like swamp matter compressed together, plated with bark, then studded with thorns. Only one detail clashed with their arboreal appearance: in their…stems? stalks?…they held blasters that looked both extremely old and extremely lethal.

The enemy hadn’t been hiding in the plants. Somehow they were plants.

“Whoa,” he said. The researcher in him had overtaken the warrior. “That’s amazing. You guys are botanical rather than animal, but you’re sentient?”

They all looked at each other, apparently nonplussed. Whatever reaction they’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

Reath had already collected himself, but he sensed that keeping the enemy off guard was a smart strategy. His initial response had done that pretty well, so he’d stick with it.

Slightly lowering his saber (while keeping it at the ready), he said, “Your mouths look a little like flytraps. Is that what they are? Or is that the kind of creature you evolved from? Do you have histories that go back that far? I hope I’m not being rude. Just—wow. I’ve never met a species like you.”

“It speaks more than the other one,” said one of the swamp beings to the others. “But it too has forgotten the name of the Drengir.”

“Never heard of the Drengir before,” Reath said truthfully. He was only guessing that was the name of their species, but since none of them contradicted him, it must’ve been an accurate guess. “Or anything remotely like you. There are sentient plants in the galaxy, sure, but they tend to be rooted in place. Literally rooted. Not you guys.”

None of them looked at him even once. One Drengir said, “I think it is younger than the other.”

The Drengir leader snarled, “All meat looks alike to me.”

Meat was really not a descriptor Reath wanted to hear applied to himself. He plowed on as though nobody had spoken, mentally taking the tally the entire time. “I’m a human. My name’s Reath Silas. Coming here was an accident, so if I’m intruding, uh, very sorry about that.” Seven Drengir in the party. Two keep their weapons at their sides and may be noncombatants. Vulnerable spots uncertain, but watch for the thorns.

“If it is younger, then it is even less likely to have information than the one we have,” the Drengir leader continued. “It will not know how this relay works. Pieces of foolish meat tumble out of the pods and we learn nothing. But two visitors means we have confirmed—our landing space remains intact. We can again find our brethren. And we can stop asking questions of our prize. At last we can eat it.”