Клаудия Грэй - Into the Dark

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.