Beyond the crowded docking bay, Starlight Beacon felt almost normal. Still active, still bustling with personnel and droids. Thank goodness he’d ultimately turned down the position as head of the outpost temple on Valo; not only had Elzar recognized he was in no fit place to lead, but he also would’ve denied himself the pleasure of returning to Starlight. Tension he hadn’t realized he felt uncoiled within his chest, and despite all the uncertainty that surrounded them, Elzar began to smile. He could be in this familiar place without reverting to the thought patterns that had led him down such troubling paths.
I still carry what I learned on Ledalau, he thought. No—I don’t carry it. It’s a part of me now. Not something to be lost at the first challenge.
Yes, he remained somewhat more closed off to the Force than a Jedi should be, but Orla had said that could be healthy. Elzar had come to trust her judgment.
Finally, Elzar reached Ops. A smile dawned on his face as he strode confidently into this familiar room—alight with the finest technology the Republic had to offer, filled with some of the greatest Jedi of the age. It felt like stepping into the sun again after too long in the shade. “Oh, Master Gios of the Jedi Council,” he called with mock gravity. “Did you miss me?”
Stellan Gios was, at that moment, bent over a control panel, leaning away from the door. When he stood up, Elzar expected to see his friend’s hands outstretched in greeting.
Instead he saw an uncertain man, one with dark circles under his eyes—as though he had not slept for many days, still propping half his weight on the panel. Elzar felt the smile slip from his face.
“Elzar,” Stellan said. His voice was raspy. Had he been ill? “Welcome back.”
“I—ah—do you have a moment?” Obviously something was going on, but he knew his friend well enough to understand that Stellan wouldn’t appreciate being questioned about it in public. Elzar gestured toward the marshal’s office. “If so, I’d appreciate a chance to get caught up.”
It took Stellan a moment to nod. Every movement, every reaction, seemed somewhat slowed, as though the man were underwater. “Of course. Come. We’ll talk.”
Most other Jedi would, in a similar situation, have found a tactful way to indicate that they’d noticed Stellan’s distress. Elzar Mann waited not half a second after the closing of the office door to say, “What’s wrong with you? Should I call a pill droid? I know we’ve got a handful of refugees in need, but—”
“Do I look that bad?” Stellan laughed raggedly. “I suppose I must. It’s nothing, really. Wretched insomnia, no more. Besides—” He became focused again, more like his usual self. “—We have more important matters to attend to.”
Elzar nodded mechanically as Stellan updated him on the Nihil activity, the growing number of people stranded by the same, the stalled work on Eiram—all things Elzar already knew, more or less. Instead his attention remained focused on the evident distress Stellan felt, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Yes, sleeplessness could be terrible, particularly over an extended period of time. But a night or two wouldn’t bring down a Jedi as vital as Stellan Gios.
Within a few minutes, Elzar had reached a conclusion, one he didn’t like: Stellan was not attempting to hide physical pain. Instead he was doing a very poor job of concealing emotional distress.
When Stellan finished, Elzar didn’t even bother pretending he’d been paying close attention. “Will you tell me now what’s troubling you?”
He expected more denials. Instead Stellan’s face fell. “Would you believe—it is no more than a dream?”
“A dream? This can’t be because of a mere nightmare.”
“This dream lingers on and on—intruding on every waking moment.” Stellan leaned heavily against the desk, shoulders slumped. “It nags at me. It demands attention. And yet the details seem so insignificant. For some reason I can’t fully comprehend, this nightmare…this nightmare has darkened my connection to the Force.”
That phrase shivered along Elzar’s skin. Was Stellan Gios struggling with the dark side now, just as Elzar had been struggling months before? It seemed unfathomable, not least because that meant Elzar would have to take on the mantle of being the steadfast one. Not his specialty.
But maybe there was a ready explanation. His journey on the Vessel reminded him of the reports Orla Jareni and Master Cohmac had filed after their time on the Amaxine station. “Do you suspect the presence of the Drengir? They’re said to be strong with the dark side. Those Jedi on the Amaxine station reported feelings of lingering dread.”
Stellan shook his head. “I doubt it. Avar defeated them, the ones we put on ice are still very much frozen, and I can’t imagine who would have brought them here. At any rate, they haven’t made their presence known, and the Drengir aren’t known for subtlety.”
“Fair enough,” Elzar admitted.
“Besides—what I’m experiencing isn’t the presence of the dark side. It’s—it’s indescribable.”
“Do you even have an image? A word?”
“If I could come up with anything like that,” Stellan said, “this would be half over.”
None of this made sense to Elzar, but it didn’t have to. When he’d needed help, Stellan had provided it—
—not personally, as he promised, whispered the less worthy voice within Elzar’s head—
And if Stellan now needed help, Elzar intended to give it in return. “Then tell me some task I can take up for you, to ease your burdens until Avar returns.”
The mention of Avar prompted an odd look from Stellan, but he said only, “There’s not much you can do for me. Everything is centered here, and—oh, seven hells of the Sith. The prisoners.”
“What prisoners?” Elzar frowned.
At that moment, the doors to the marshal’s office slid open again, and Orla Jareni entered. She stopped short when she caught sight of Stellan. Elzar had believed he was being direct, an illusion shattered when Orla flatly said, “You look like death itself.”
“Nice to see you again, too, Orla.” Stellan shook his head, though the shadow of a smile appeared on his face. “Tactful as ever.”
“I find tact only slows conversations down.” Orla stepped closer, and Elzar sensed real concern there. “Any chance you’ll talk about it?”
“There’s honestly not much to share,” Stellan insisted, “and the best help either of you can give is by picking up some of the things I’ve let slide. Namely, the prisoners I’d like Elzar to question next.”
Elzar focused on the task ahead. “Did we capture some of these Nihil stragglers?”
“Maybe. Two people were captured on one of Avar’s raids. Known Nihil collaborator Chancey Yarrow and a girl of apprentice age, known only as Nan. Nan is confirmed to have been affiliated with the Nihil as recently as a few months prior. They claim to be employed by someone else these days, but there’s a good chance they have at least some useful intel.” Stellan rubbed his temples. “That is, if we do something besides leaving them to rot in a cell, which is what I’ve inadvertently done.”
“I’ll look into it,” Elzar promised. “Besides, it won’t do them any harm to cool their hyperdrives for a while.”
Nan sat on her flat metal bunk in the cell, staring up at the light that came from the grid above. “Why haven’t they come for us?”
“Other things to do,” Chancey replied. She was idly tracing invisible designs on the wall of the cell next to her bunk, on which she stretched as if she had not a care in the worlds. A few of her long braids dangled off the edge of the bunk. “Besides, it’s a classic interrogation technique. Let ’em sweat. If we get nervous, think they’ve forgotten us, we wear ourselves down before they even start asking questions. So don’t do the Jedi’s work for them, all right?”
“All right.” It was an easy thing to promise. Not an easy thing to deliver. But Nan intended to try.
She kept her other concerns to herself, because she knew Chancey Yarrow wouldn’t be sympathetic. The fact was, their arrest had made Nan doubt many of her choices—especially, above all, her decision to temporarily leave the Nihil.
Nan had had dreams of becoming an information broker, a power player, a spy with the kind of knowledge and connections that would make her valuable to anyone, underworld or legitimate. The Grafs were only the beginning. But even at the height of her dreaming, she had always intended to return to the Nihil someday—hopefully, more useful to the Eye than ever before.
She had rarely been farther from her dreams than she was at this moment, trapped in a Jedi holding cell, apparently forgotten.
Why did I ever leave? Nan asked herself as she hugged her knees to her chest. The galaxy could be brutal; it was better not to be on your own. Better by far to be a part of something bigger, something powerful, something like the Nihil. Her individual desires had blinded her to that for a while, but she saw it only too clearly now.
Still—Nan had left. She was facing the consequences, and the Nihil weren’t coming to save her. If she ever hoped to rejoin them, she’d have to get out of this mess on her own.
Leox Gyasi was not a man to hold grudges. Unfortunately, he had learned that it only took one person to hold a grudge—and if someone chose to hold one against him, he might have little choice but to respond in kind.
Koley Linn was not only the kind of guy who held grudges, he was the kind of guy who enjoyed them. If there was ever a time and place when trouble was likely to be fomented, Leox figured it was Starlight Beacon on that very day.
A dozen years ago, when Leox was still working his way up to pilot status in the Byne Guild, he and Koley Linn had been assigned as techs to the same ship. Koley had gotten there first and made a big show of teaching Leox the ship’s ins and outs—all of which were pretty ordinary quirks, nothing anybody with any experience couldn’t figure out on his own. It was Koley’s attempt to show dominance, to make Leox look small. Might’ve shaken some guys up.
But status came very low on the list of things Leox Gyasi cared about, somewhere between “fashion” and “owning good toenail clippers.” So he just kept rolling.
As it turned out, Koley wasn’t only trying to put Leox in his place with those explanations; he was attempting to mislead him. He’d claimed this ship’s power cells lost energy a little too quickly because they were older and needed updating. However, Leox soon realized that the cells were low on power because someone—namely, Koley Linn—was siphoning them off into portable cells, which he promptly sold on the black market during shore leaves.
Leox decided not to report Koley. He wasn’t a snitch. However, instead of performing his maintenance checks the way Koley had suggested, Leox instead did them properly. This pointed out the discrepancy almost immediately, which promptly got Koley transferred to another position on another ship, where he could do less damage.
It wasn’t like Leox set Koley back so far. The Byne Guild cut too many corners to care much when its members showed a little entrepreneurial initiative. Koley wound up having to leave the guild to get a ship of his own—but he had gotten the Ace of Staves, and had even partnered with guild pilots from time to time. Given these circumstances, Leox would’ve figured Koley Linn’s annoyance level with him to be pretty mild. The sort of thing you might razz a guy about over a couple mugs of Port in a Storm.
Instead Koley Linn hated Leox Gyasi the way you’d hate someone who’d plunged a Mandalorian kal into your heart. By this point, Leox knew nothing would ever change that.
So, as a rule, he steered clear of Koley Linn, and intended to obey that rule aboard Starlight Beacon.
Leox’s first plan was simply to draw a mental diagram that halved the main Starlight docking bay, with one part for the Vessel and the other for Koley’s ship, the Ace of Staves. This plan’s flaw was that it required Koley Linn to stick to his half, which it appeared the man had no intention of doing. Leox discovered this when he walked down the ramp to find Koley standing there, waiting for him.
“Looks like you’re stuck.” Koley’s arms were folded across his chest, his expression smug.
“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re all stuck.” Leox gestured around the crowded bay.
“I’m only stuck because these Jedi tyrants won’t allow me to fly free. You’re stuck because your poodoo ship’s broken down. Again.”
Leox thought about mentioning their rescue mission, decided against it. That wasn’t anything Koley Linn would respect. “Are you here to offer assistance? Because, forgive my mentioning it, that doesn’t sound like you.”
“I can help out,” Koley said, surprising Leox until he added, “For a price. If you’re not low on funds, that is.”
Times were hard now that they operated independently, without the Byne Guild, but they’d have to get a damn sight harder before Leox would do business with the likes of Koley Linn. “We’re fine, thanks.”
“Whatever, Gyasi. Stay mired here as long as you like. Tell that rock hello, unless you’ve replaced him with some mud and dirt.”
“Geode is an individual with a rich and vibrant personality,” Leox said, “though those of limited perception often fail to see it.”
Which was a lesson for Koley Linn, if he’d have cared to learn one, but instead he was walking away, studying the other stranded ships, perhaps looking for someone desperate enough to strike a bad deal.
Orla could’ve respected Stellan’s privacy, excused herself when Elzar left, and minded her own business.
But where was the fun in that?
“You’ll wind up telling me eventually, you know.” She sat opposite Stellan’s desk, giving him the full intensity of her gaze. “No point in putting it off.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” Stellan insisted. “I’ve had insomnia. I’ve had nightmares. I’m not rested, and there’s too much to do on Starlight, and—isn’t that enough to tire any man?”
“Most men, sure. Stellan Gios? Hardly. You’re one of the bravest and most resourceful Jedi Knights I’ve ever known—even if I did have to totally save your hindquarters back on Pamarthe.”
Stellan groaned, sounding a bit like himself again. “Are you ever going to let me live that down?”
“Surely you realize by now the answer is no.”
“I do, I do.” When Stellan smiled at her, Orla felt like some of his protective shell was beginning to crack at last. And then he had to go and add, “You’re wasted as a Wayseeker. You ought to be an investigator working alongside Caphtor.”
And there it was: the disdain for her choices that Orla knew Stellan felt, deep down, even if he had only intended to make a joke. “You’ve always had an issue with Wayseekers. I have a theory as to why, but—you tell me.”
For a moment Stellan looked wearier than ever, and Orla regretted bringing it up. But he responded with surprising resolve. “The Jedi are meant to find meaning in the Order. In one another. In doing our duty. If it’s difficult to stay that course sometimes—that’s a sign we need to work harder, not to step back. It’s also a sign that our own selfish desires might be turning into attachments, and that those desires need to be sacrificed. Forgive me, Orla, but—you’ve never found it easy to walk a line.”
“No, I haven’t.” Which didn’t have a damn thing to do with selfishness or an unwillingness to sacrifice. Orla felt no need to defend herself, but decided it might be time for Stellan to hear a few of her thoughts in return. “You’ve found it all too easy, though, haven’t you? Stellan Gios, the brightest of the bright, bravest of the brave, symbol of all that is good in the Jedi Order, youngest member of the Council in quite a while, and front and center of every publicity effort the Republic makes on our behalf. Don’t misunderstand me—you look good in the spotlight, Stellan. But I know you well enough to realize how uneasy you are there. You’ve always had to be the golden child of the Order. You’ve never felt free to search, or to fail. You’ve never had the luxury to chart your own path. Is that why you’re threatened by the Wayseekers who do?”
Stellan’s face had seemingly turned to stone. “I’m not threatened. And we’re meant to follow the path the Order and the Force show us.”
Orla shook her head. “That’s where we differ. You still think the Jedi Order and the Force are the same thing.” She rose to her feet and put one hand on his. “I wouldn’t say any of this if I didn’t think the world of you, Stellan. As opposite as we are—I respect you and everything you’ve done, more than you can know. But I think you’re in danger of disappearing into that spotlight. Someday, when this present crisis has ended—maybe take a little time for yourself.”
“No, we don’t see things the same way.” Stellan managed to smile back at her, but stiffly. “I hope you know that I respect you, too.”
“Of course you do,” Orla said airily as she sauntered out of the room. “How could you not?”
Several of the maintenance shafts within Starlight Beacon housed info panels from which various systems could be checked—or, if you knew what you were doing, manipulated. Leyel knew what she was doing.
She also figured she might as well collect a little extra intel on what was going on inside Starlight. Cale always liked to stick to the letter of the plan, but what if conditions had changed in a way that thwarted the will of the Eye? They had been entrusted with his most important mission—with what deserved to be his single greatest triumph. Leyel would not see it endangered.
As various data sets scrolled past her, one intriguing item caught her attention. “Look at this,” she said to Cale and Werrera, who paused in their work on the station’s stabilizer connections. “ ‘Suspected Nihil’ prisoners, here, aboard the station.”
Cale leaned in to examine the panel, too. “I don’t know this Chancey Yarrow. But Nan—didn’t she used to travel with Hague? He was a fine man, a capable warrior. He fell victim to the Jedi.”
Werrera hissed with anger and contempt, emotions Leyel shared. She’d known Hague, too. The Nihil had no fiercer fighters than Hague had been.
“We shouldn’t leave them trapped in their cell,” Leyel argued. “We shouldn’t give the Jedi the satisfaction.”
Although Cale seemed wary, he finally nodded. “After we’ve completed the most critical preliminaries, when it won’t matter as much if an alarm is raised. Who knows? Maybe they can help us.”
Leyel tried to imagine going from being a helpless prisoner, at the Jedi’s mercy, to instantly being given the power to destroy them all. What a gift. She almost envied those two women their captivity. Their release would be that sweet.
And then they, too, could serve the Eye’s great plan.