Клаудия Грэй - Into the Dark

I thought this would teach her something , Affie decided. It wouldn’t have. It would’ve showed her how angry I am, that’s all.

She went to Scover’s hotel that night and endured the inevitable scolding.

“Running off like that was very worrying,” Scover said over a luxurious dinner on the spacious balcony overlooking the Coruscant city lights. Her even tone suggested no worry at all—but that was how Bivalls were. How Scover was. So Affie had always told herself; she still mostly believed it. “I realized you had to be on the Vessel , but I hadn’t thought you would leave without telling me goodbye.”

“The Jedi wanted to go back in a hurry, and in secret.” This was true, if not the whole truth.

“And the customer is always right.” Scover nodded. “It’s good that you have learned to prioritize pleasing our clients. Profit cannot be maintained otherwise.”

Affie couldn’t resist saying, “There are more important things than profit.”

“Yes,” Scover said, “but not many things.”

“Our pilots’ lives are more important,” Affie said. After a pause she added, “Don’t you agree?”

Scover seemed unbothered. “That is a determination the pilots must make for themselves. We all balance risk and reward, Affie.”

“People don’t usually risk their lives for rewards. They usually risk them to escape something terrible.”

“Plenty of people risk their lives for rewards.” Scover continued sampling the Chandrilan delicacies heaped on their dining table. “Racer pilots, for instance. Mmmm, have some of the baha . I remember that you loved it.”

Affie obediently took a dish of the baha . But even its cool sweetness couldn’t penetrate the fog of depression. She might as well have been eating plain crushed ice.

“There, now.” The small smile on Scover’s face widened just a little. “You appreciate good things, Affie. You must appreciate that you receive these things because of the Byne Guild’s prosperity. Someday, two or three decades from now, I will retire, and all this will become yours. But I must know I’d be leaving my Guild in the right hands. You understand it all now, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Affie said. “I understand it all.”

That night, Affie considered returning to the Vessel to sleep. But the view from the balcony soothed her—the constant low hum of activity turning into white noise, tranquil in its way. She needed soothing. Her brain was racing.

Long after Scover had gone to bed, Affie sat up late, her brown hair ruffled by the breezes. She looked up at Coruscant’s strange, starless sky and wondered whether she could keep silent. If she did, Scover would continue to give her more and more authority within the Guild. Affie might gain the ability to free indentures earlier, at far lower prices. When Scover died or retired, Affie would inherit it all—wealth and power almost beyond imagining, if their Republic expansion plans came to fruition. Then she could end indentures in the Guild and protect everyone.

When that day came, years and years later. Decades. The better part of a human lifetime.

Yes, Affie could wait. But the indentured pilots couldn’t.

Reath stood at the center of the Jedi Council among his friends.

On one hand, it was amazing to realize that these full, adult Jedi Masters—Cohmac Vitus and Orla Jareni—considered him friends. To reflect that they looked on him as more than an apprentice, more of a partner in their endeavors.

On the other hand, he was uncomfortably aware that this friendship might have to continue outside the Jedi Order. They had all either ignored or directly defied the commands they’d been given (except for Dez, of course, who was finally resting well among the Temple’s medics).

For the time being, all he could do was stand at his full height, express deference to the Council, and hope for the best.

“You are each aware, of course,” said Master Adampo, “the dangers when Jedi go rogue. Even Wayseekers have protocols to follow. The abilities we possess, the skills we have learned to wield—these cannot be used in the pursuit of selfish concerns. If they are not employed in the service of others, they are employed wrongly. That is why the Order exists, to ensure that our abilities do not corrupt us, but instead enrich the galaxy and the Force itself.”

Reath caught a fleeting expression on Orla’s face, one that suggested she didn’t agree with every element of that speech. He was relieved that she (uncharacteristically) decided not to share those thoughts with the Council. That was probably more for his benefit, and the others’, than for herself.

“However,” Master Adampo continued, “while your reasons may have been unofficial, they were not selfish. In fact, they were selfless in the extreme. Jareni and Vitus hoped to contain entities deeply connected to the dark side. And Padawan Silas knew he could gain more information on enemies of the Republic on the frontier. The risks you assumed were great. All of you nearly lost your lives. Yet you managed to take a valuable strategic resource away from enemies of the Republic. More than that, you saved Dez Rydan, whom we had all believed lost.”

Master Rosason added, more sternly, “Given that this is not common behavior for any of you, and the importance of the results you achieved—the Council votes against discipline at this time. But be aware: future rogue actions will be judged far more harshly.”

“In other words,” said Master Adampo, “don’t make a habit of it. We are adjourned.”

Reath’s shoulders sagged with relief. The other Jedi were less surprised than he was—maybe they had enough experience to tell how far they could push the Council. That was experience Reath had no intention of gaining. From then on, he was following every rule more faithfully than ever before.

As they all turned for the door, however, Master Adampo said, “Padawan Silas, if you could remain for a few moments?”

Oh, no. They’re going to punish me after all. Despite the sinking feeling in his gut, Reath turned back to the Council and stood tall before them. From the corner of his eye, he caught a sympathetic glance from Orla, but the others had been dismissed and had to leave. Reath was on his own.

Master Adampo said, “Padawan Silas, you have not yet answered us.”

“No, sir. Ah, what was the question again, sir?”

“We’re not discussing this hearing, but our previous conversation with you. Are you ready to begin training again?”

Reath remembered, as though recalling a dream, that the Council had put his future in his own hands. Where would he go? What path would he walk?

“It’s up to you, Silas,” said Master Adampo. “What comes next?”

Affie was used to “government offices” that were official in name only. They operated out of someone’s ship, or the back of a cantina. Instead of laws and regulations, most people obeyed the customs of a region, or the whims of some local potentate.

The Republic ran things differently. She’d been told that before, but the truth of it didn’t fully hit her until she walked into the offices that regulated shipping. Every step she took in her shabby boots echoed off the polished stone floors; the high ceiling was held aloft by columns too thick for her to put her arms around. Every piece of equipment she saw gleamed with cleanliness, as though each had been put in place only the day before. Affie had timed her visit for just after opening—mostly because she couldn’t stand to hang around for Scover to return from her breakfast meeting, but partly because she thought most people wouldn’t be up that early. Instead the place was bustling, yet orderly.