Into the Void: Star Wars (Dawn of the Jedi) Page 4

  Reflecting on the fight with the hook hawks, she stares across the fire and sees movement in the shadows beyond. Tensing, nudging Dal, she realizes that he is also alert to the movement. Lanoree stands. Dal crouches. Firelight flickers from something, and a nightmare slashes into their camp.

  Silik lizard! she thinks. Rare but deadly, these silicon-based creatures absorb energy from the sand itself, but have been known to supplement their diets with mammalian spinal fluid. The size of a human adult, they are viciously spiked beasts, six limbed and capable of charging on their hind legs. Encounters with them are often fatal. For some, siliks are much-prized hunting trophies.

  For the second time in half a day, they must face a terrible danger.

  Lanoree is so shocked by its appearance that she freezes. Sparks scrape from its extremities as it lopes toward her; its curved claws dig into the sand and splash up fleeting flames; and its mouth falls open to display crystalline teeth beyond counting. The complete silence of the attack is perhaps the most shocking aspect, and Lanoree opens her mouth in a soundless scream.

  The lizard leaps through the fire, scattering burning brands around it and throwing up a confusion of sparks.

  Force-punch, push it back, shove it back! Lanoree thinks, but her instincts are petrified by disbelief. That she will die so soon after beginning her journey, victim of such a beast—

  A flash lights up the night, and the scattered campfire seems to erupt with new life. The terrifying creature twists and squirms away, slicing shadows with its limbs and slipping through them to safety. One heartbeat it is there, the next gone, and Lanoree turns a quick circle to try to see where the next attack will come from.

  Dal is holding his laser blaster. Its muzzle is still warm. No, she wants to say, because she is meant to protect him. Her limbs quiver in fright, and as she starts to draw in her senses and balance herself within the Force, the darkness beyond Dal sparkles with a hundred dancing stars.

  Lanoree opens her eyes wide as she tries to form a Force punch. But her fear is still a barrier, seemingly muting the Force as this desert mutes sound.

  Dal crouches and spins, alerted by Lanoree’s reaction, and the night is lit by three blaster shots in quick succession.

  The silik lizard spins a full circle as it powers from the darkness. It hits the ground close enough for Lanoree to kick. Dal’s gunfire and the creature’s fall are silent.

  Her brother is still aiming the weapon at the lizard. He’s shaking slightly, his eyes wide as if he can’t quite believe what he’s done. It is an old weapon, bequeathed him by his grandfather, and Lanoree has always dismissed it as clumsy and unreliable compared to the Force. Now, though, it has saved them both. The lizard’s head hangs by a thread. Its blood is dust.

  She embraces Dal and tries to speak into his ear, Thank you. Even as she does so, she is troubled and ashamed at her hesitation. Perhaps after the hook hawks she was too confident in her abilities. Misplaced pride has no place in the heart of a true Je’daii.

  They drag the silik lizard away from their camp and bury it to prevent interest from carrion creatures. The burial is silent, even the shush of sand between their fingers unheard. Before sand covers its face, the beast stares past them at the glorious night sky with violet eyes.

  Forty days out from home, not having even reached the first temple, and already their lives have twice been endangered. Lanoree thinks of the long journey still ahead; the perils they will face; the distances they will travel on water, in the air, and largely on foot. For the first time since leaving their parents, she wishes for home.

  That night in her dreams Lanoree sees great shapes rising out of the desert, sculptures in sand that live in a manner beyond her comprehension, feeding on sound and taking sustenance from every whispered word, each expression of love or fear. In the morning the desert around them has changed in profile, there are three humped mounds of sand close by, and she wonders what watched them sleep.

  They march hard for the next two days. In the afternoon of their third day in the desert they see curved rock spires rising from the landscape far ahead, and know that they mark the location of Qigong Kesh. Lanoree feels a rush of excitement, but she has also seen the holos about this place. As the desert steals sound, so its dry, scorching atmosphere also muddles distance; the temple could still be another four days away.

  They walk on, traveling by day, camping by night, watchful for danger and barely sleeping.

  When they arrive at last they are tired, hungry, disoriented. The silence has become a great weight crushing them down. Even communicating by sign language is an effort, and for the last two days Lanoree has felt so alone even with her brother constantly by her side.

  But the sight of the giant rock spires, and the mysterious Tho Yor floating between them, brings a sense of anticipation.

  We’re here at last! Lanoree thinks. Qigong Kesh! The temple is belowground in a network of natural caverns and tunnels. Beneath the desert, they will be able to speak, to hear once more. As they pass within the shadow of one of the massive rock spires, several Je’daii guards emerge from a cavern in its vast base. They look Lanoree and Dal up and down; smile; and hold out two canteens of cool, fresh water.

  Then they take the exhausted brother and sister down beneath the desert. Here, in a huge cavern, lies the majestic Temple of Qigong Kesh where the arcane, mysterious, and enlightening training in Force Skills will commence.

  It is here that Dalien Brock’s fall will begin.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE GOOD AND THE GREAT

  Not every Journeyer will complete their Great Journey. Some will fall victim to Tython’s many dangerous landscapes or creatures. Some will lose themselves. Some may even lose their way in the Force and leave Tython far behind, scattering out to the system, lost in a much more fundamental way. But as Je’daii we must accept this, because this is not an existence of absolutes. Life is a challenge, and facing that challenge is what makes the good great.

  —Master Deela jan Morolla, 3,533 TYA

  Even though she had been away from home for four years, Lanoree still kept to Tython time. She was used to it, it suited her natural sleep patterns, and she saw little point in adapting her ship to Standard Time. In her less-guarded moments she might also admit that it reminded her of home.

  The computer calculated the optimum flight path from Tython to Kalimahr for the time of year and current planet alignments. And before committing to the route Lanoree also calculated it manually. The computer was never wrong in such matters—the navigational elements were programmed and designed by the Je’daii’s most experienced space travelers—but she was always pleased when her calculations came out the same. Rather than questioning the computer, she was testing herself.

  Pushing her Peacemaker to its limits, it took a little over seven days to reach Kalimahr. She used this time to meditate, prepare herself for the coming mission, exercise, and review every aspect of the information downloaded to the Peacemaker’s computers. There wasn’t much. Whatever contacts had informed the Je’daii of Dal’s scheme had not been very thorough. Rumors, speculation, and a few hazy images. But even in those grainy images of covert meetings and mysterious exchanges, she recognized the face of her brother.

  He looked older, of course. But she was surprised at how much older, as if he’d lived three lifetimes since she had last seen him, not nine years. He was taller, thinner, his child’s sadness translated into adult bitterness. His dusky skin had turned darker and more rugged. And there was something haunting about his blurred visage. Lanoree berated herself for letting her thoughts of his death cloud how she viewed him now. Yet the idea remained. Seeing those images of Dal felt like looking at a ghost.

  “We’ll meet again,” she said to the screen, “and I’ll ask why you let me think you were dead all these years.”

  For the first few days of the journey she left Dal’s image on the cockpit flatscreen, also feeding it through to a screen in the living quarters directly behi
nd the cockpit. A reminder of who she sought and who she had lost. But seeing him there only confused her more, so by day five she left the screen blank.

  Lanoree had visited Kalimahr twice over the past four years. The first time was to act as mediator in a troublesome deal between three landmass developers, all of them bickering over an island called Hang Layden in the planet’s vast Southern Ocean. Normally a Je’daii would not have been concerned with such matters, but the Je’daii Council had sent Lanoree because of the island’s suspected archaeological importance. Though the island appeared bare, it was believed that an ancient structure—possibly of Gree origin—existed a kilometer beneath the surface. Her presence had been resented, but she had taken an active role in the negotiations, ensuring that each of the three interested parties had a portion of land to develop. More important, she had covertly protected the cave network that might lead deep down to that ruin from ancient history. The Force illusions she had left behind of rockfalls and impassable ravines would last for a hundred years.

  Her second time on Kalimahr had been less peaceful. That time, her sword had been wetted with blood.

  Even so, she did not pretend for a moment that she knew this place. A good Je’daii was always on guard and ready for surprises. Especially a Je’daii on a mission as important as hers.

  As she entered the atmosphere and her computer contacted air traffic control, she saw two Kalimahr Defense ships shadowing her thirty kilometers away. They would be no threat. It was more likely that the pilots were excited at spotting a Peacemaker, and they’d go home that night to tell their families and friends that they’d seen a Je’daii arrive! They followed for the next hour, and just before peeling away they made contact. She replied with a gentle push of grace and humor, responding to them while revealing nothing. If we met in a tavern, we might even be friends, she thought, smiling. It was a subtle Je’daii talent, but one that often served her well. They disappeared from her screen when she was more than a hundred kilometers from her destination.

  She approached Rhol Yan above a startling azure sea. The Peacemaker shuddered as she passed across the waves. She was so low that spray from the sea misted the windows, but she enjoyed flying like this. Out in space there was no context—she could fly for days with the starscape changing hardly at all. Depth was infinite, and distances were so vast that her mind could barely grasp them. But down here she was close to something. Sometimes closeness mattered.

  Rhol Yan had been built on an archipelago stretching out into the Southern Ocean. There were five large islands and countless smaller ones, all of them developed, and hundreds of bridges both large and small spanned the spaces between landmasses. Gleaming white spires reached stark fingers to the sky, and several classes of Cloud Chaser airships drifted between them like lazy birds flocking around ak trees back on Tython. Lower down, buildings and streets clung to the islands and sometimes protruded out over the ocean on slender stilts, and beautifully wrought bridges stood in isolation over the waterways. Ships dotted the ocean, and the inner waterways were busy with smaller watercraft. The white metal spires pulsed here and there with colored lights, illuminated even during daytime to identify an island, a building, or a street. It was an attractive city, and most of its money came from tourism. People traveled from all over Kalimahr to holiday on Rhol Yan. And with tourists came the vultures and parasites who preyed on them.

  She was directed to a landing platform on a high tower on one of the outer islands. There were scores of gracefully wrought landing pads and bays around the tower, and exterior elevators whisked up and down its uneven sides. Even the city’s air and spaceport were beautiful.

  As the Peacemaker settled, Lanoree prepared herself for what was to come. Her mission started here.

  “Keep an eye on the ship,” she said to the droid. It grumbled and clicked. “Yes, I’ll have my comlink.” She felt the sliver of tech in her lapel just to make sure. Then she stood within the cabin and smoothed down her clothing, checking that her sword was strapped correctly to her thigh, ran fingers through her hair. She used her metal Je’daii star to fix her cape around her neck. For now, there was no need to hide.

  She was surprised to realize that she was nervous.

  Somewhere at the end of this mission, her brother waited.

  Like any visitor who had landed on one of the spacecraft platforms, Lanoree was directed through to a large room with lines of interview pods. One entire side was a window offering staggering views across Rhol Yan and the glimmering sea beyond, and the opposite wall was splayed with extravagant artwork that labeled it the Welcome Hall. But its real purpose was obvious. Kalimahr’s security services were efficient and discreet, and even a Je’daii was not simply waved through. She respected that. And by the time she was ushered from her interview pod, the three officers inside also respected her privacy. A subtle push, a gentle word. Perhaps in a few days’ time they might start to question their decision to let her in so lightly, although by then she would be long gone.

  But by the time she had traveled on three elevators down through the tower to ground level, Lanoree began to suspect that she was being followed.

  She paused in the vast lobby of the port tower, bought a drink from a vendor droid, and melted into the shadows beneath a wide, low tree. There were tables and chairs there, and a massively fat Zabrak woman was harvesting large insects from the tree’s lower canopy, flash-frying them, and selling them to eager customers. Lanoree decided she was not hungry.

  As she drank, she watched the bank of elevators she had just left. Her sense of being followed was strong, but though she waited for a while, none of those exiting the elevators seemed to be looking for her. Strange. She was certain it was not one of the customs officers.

  “Lady, you’re a fine one,” a voice said. A tall robed figure had approached, and she was annoyed with herself for not noticing.

  “I’m drinking,” she said.

  “So drink with me.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Come on, Ranger. You’re young. I’m almost two hundred years old. Got experience. Got three bottles of chay wine in my rooms, almost as old as me, just waiting for a special occasion.”

  She rested her hand on her sword’s haft. The Force was calm and settled, and the weapon was part of her. “Would losing your life constitute a special occasion?”

  He stared at her from beneath his hood, amused, uncertain. Then he waved a hand and turned to leave. “Ach. Je’daii. So tightly wound.”

  She finished her drink, then moved out across the lobby area. There were hundreds of people there, a varied mix of the many species who had spread out from Tython to colonize the system. Humans and Wookiees mingled with Twi’leks, with their prominent head-tails, and red-skinned Sith. Near-human Zabrak, with their vestigial horns, walked alongside Iktotchi, whose heavy horns gave them a fearsome appearance. Kalimahr had been the first planet settled after Tython and its moons, and it remained the most racially mixed and diverse. It was proud of its diversity, and it was a pride well earned. Even on Tython it was rare that so many species were seen in one place at any one time, and Lanoree paused for a moment in the center of the lobby to feel the ebb and flow of so many people in transit.

  She paused also to try to spot any pursuer. Still nothing. She’d seen no one obviously stop when she had. And although some people looked at her as they passed by, she sensed that it was only out of interest when they recognized the Je’daii star. And on occasion, perhaps even distaste. She knew well enough that some Kalimahr thought themselves above the Je’daii.

  I’m alone too often and for too long, she thought. Perhaps a subtle paranoia was a natural part of being among so many people once more.

  Leaving the spire’s lobby, she passed a group of Dai Bendu monks chanting one of their strange, haunting ululations. A small group of travelers had settled around them, and some were swaying slowly in time with the song. Just outside the main doors, down a wide, long ramp that led to street level, a circle of
feline Cathars was meditating upon an image of their god painted on the ground. The image was beautifully wrought, and their meditations had drawn several smoke snakes up from the ground to dance in a slow, hypnotic pattern. Lanoree had heard of the Cathars’ smoke snakes but had never seen them.

  Such diverse beliefs being celebrated in such close proximity. Her immersion in the Force meant that she believed neither, but it was still pleasing to see such inclusivity.

  The streets outside were bustling with people, trade stalls, performance artists, religious groups, speakers, security officers, and children and adults alike pointing and chattering in delight at their surroundings. She felt almost unnoticed, and she welcomed that. But she also knew that it was an ideal environment in which to be followed, and that feeling persisted. Though she cast her Force sense around, there were so many people that her thoughts were confused. She would have to remain alert.

  Cloud Chasers floated above, and occasionally drop ships came down to pick up passengers. But Lanoree had studied maps on her ship and knew that the tavern she sought was close by. She chose to walk.

  “Bet you’ve never seen one like me, eh? Eh?” Tre Sana grinned at her over his glass of wine. His yellow eyes and blazing red skin gave him a fearsome appearance, but she perceived a gentle intelligence behind the startling exterior.

  “Your coloring is quite rare,” Lanoree said. “Rarer still for a Twi’lek, the extra lekku.”

  “Rarer? Oh, yeah, rarer indeed.” He stroked the third head-tail that grew behind the usual two. “Least you use the right terminology. You wouldn’t believe what some people call these things.”

  “I probably would.”

  “They call me freak.” He growled suddenly and leaned forward, baring teeth that seemed to have been filed down to points. “A scary freak!”