As an apprentice, Orla Jareni had once traveled on a mission to a world that had been known for its beautifully realistic sculpture. Its artists crafted forms so lifelike from their famously iridescent gray native stone that they seemed to have softness, texture, even spirit.
She thought of those statues as she stared at the husk that had been Regald Coll.
His features had been preserved so finely that he could have been one of those statues—gray as stone, delicate as any artwork. But the illusion of vitality those sculptors had created was totally absent. Only hours ago, Regald had been joking, laughing, utterly alive. At this moment, looking at the husk left behind, it seemed impossible to imagine anything more lifeless.
Stellan’s overeager logistics droid had taken undue pleasure in activating one chamber’s hazmat pod protocol. The air had the flat scent of sterility; the faint hiss of atmospheric filters came from every direction. Sophisticated analysis droids whirred around the table where Regald’s husk lay, taking readings, but Orla felt certain that the mystery of what had happened here would not be solved by mere data.
The doors slid open, and Elzar Mann walked in, graver than she had ever seen him.
“This isn’t the first time, you know,” he said as he came to her side. “Loden Greatstorm was found like this, though his—husk, whatever you want to call it—fell to ash at the first touch.”
“This has more substance to it,” Orla said. It had been transported to the hazmat pod without difficulty. “But you feel sure it’s the same thing?”
Elzar nodded. “The question remains, what the hell is it? What has the power to do something like this?”
Orla had been asking herself that. Although she had come up with no definite answers, she had reached the next question, one even more ominous: “The disturbance in the Force—do you believe it’s the cause of Regald’s death?”
“You’d know more than I,” Elzar said. “So far…well, it hasn’t affected me much.”
“Of course.” Orla couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized this for herself; then again, neither she nor the other Jedi were exactly themselves, at present. “You’re not calling upon the Force in the same way you once were. That’s shielded you, to a degree—protected you. Elzar Mann, you may be our only hope.”
Elzar gave her a look, which seemed to say, Anything but that. He didn’t fully trust himself again yet, then. No matter. Orla was confident that Elzar would rise to whatever challenges confronted them.
If only she could feel so sure of herself.
Orla had strong mastery over her fear; it had not greatly troubled her since her earliest days as a Padawan, regardless of the danger she’d found herself in through the years. Yet a wave of it swept through her as she thought, We need to get off this station. We need to get out of here now. Open the docking bay doors and board the ships along with their pilots. The Nihil may still be out there, but we’re better off facing the Nihil than we are against…whatever this is. At least with the Nihil, we know how to fight—
She took a deep breath, regained her control. Her expression had never wavered for an instant. “We need to search again.”
Elzar didn’t look enthused. “The last search wound up with Regald dead.”
“If we don’t find what’s doing this and stop it,” Orla replied, “he won’t be the last to die.”
When Nan had been very small, when her parents were still alive, they had shared one of the bonding rituals of most spacefaring families. Among her few memories of them was of sitting on her father’s lap while he showed her how to rewire a basic conduit, and the way her mother had hovered nearby the first time Nan took a T-7 anx into her hands. Learning how to repair and modify their ship—their home—was a rite of passage for any child who spent most of her life among the stars.
Who could’ve guessed, Nan thought as she worked with the plasma torch, sparks flying around her, that I’d wind up using my skills for this?
“Almost there,” Leyel said. “Step back and let me finish.”
Nan, Chancey, and the other Nihil team members did as Leyel asked, allowing the older woman to complete the last bit of cutting. Then Werrera, the Ithorian, applied a magnetic clamp and pulled out the large slab of metal they’d cut from the core casing. Internal panels and workings hummed and glowed with signals meant for only maintenance workers to see. From where she stood, Nan couldn’t glimpse any more than that, but she knew that if they peered upward into that hollow darkness, they’d have a view all the way through the station.
Cale, the Pau’an, nodded with satisfaction. “Almost exactly on time. We have less than an hour to wait.”
“If only the Eye could know how well this has gone,” Leyel said.
“It will be obvious from the results.” Pride emanated from Cale—from the entire Nihil team, really.
But Chancey shot Nan a look, one she understood instantly. It meant, Why wouldn’t the Eye know about this? Aren’t they going to tell him how it went? It’s his big plan, after all.
Nan could think of only one reason the team wouldn’t tell Marchion Ro about this: They would never get the chance.
Werrera took off the backpack he’d been wearing all along and let it drop to the ground with a heavy thud. When it was unsealed, Nan saw what was inside. Her gut clenched, and her body went cold as she realized: Those are explosives.
The image of Regald Coll’s remains lingered in Elzar Mann’s mind, almost blinding him to his surroundings. After the third time he nearly walked straight into a droid, he stopped himself and remembered his teachings. The past is gone. The future is only a dream. The present is all.
That was what Yoda would say, were he here. But Yoda’s teachings could guide Elzar to serenity even in his absence.
And just then, as though the Force were taunting his ambitions for balance and harmony, station comms buzzed with an announcement: “Republic ship Ataraxia requesting permission to board.”
The Ataraxia. The ship carrying Avar Kriss.
At least this filled his mind with new images, even if those images were distinctly unhelpful: Avar’s golden hair draped across his pillow, her eyes as bright as the jewel she wore in her headband, her fingers entwined with his—
“Stay in the present,” Elzar muttered, willing himself to follow through.
During their time on Ledalau, Orla had told Elzar that guarding against darkness was about more than simply avoiding an excess of fear or anger. Negative emotions might be overwhelming at times, but it was easy to name them for what they were. The real danger, she had said, lies in those emotions that seem positive at first, but take too great a hold over our minds and hearts. Give way to those feelings, embrace them, and before you know it, they’ve been twisted into something else far more damaging.
Elzar could not make himself reject his feelings about Avar. But he couldn’t let those feelings turn poisonous. That would be the ultimate betrayal—of Avar’s goodness, of his emotions, of every memory they’d made together.
“Steady on,” he told himself, and it seemed that he had regained his balance.
But he’d make himself scarce for a little while. No point in tempting fate.
After JJ-5145 had finished setting up the hazmat pod, Stellan found further stalling impossible. “You will greatly appreciate the efficiency and cleanliness of the new marshal’s office,” the droid insisted. “In addition, I have arranged all equipment and furnishings in a fashionably minimalist style.”
If there was anything in the galaxy Stellan cared less about than having a stylish office, he wasn’t sure what it could be. Still, inspecting the droid’s efforts was a task he felt up to, and so he accompanied JJ-5145 down to the level of the station that housed the docking bays and what had been, until recently, the quartermaster’s office.
“What do you think?” JJ-5145 swiveled on his base, clearly eager for approval. “Will it not suit your every need?”
“I…believe that it will.” Against his expectations, Stellan was impressed. Though the quartermaster’s office was only a fraction as large as the Hub, JJ-5145 had managed to set up arrays with readouts that provided constant updates on all major station systems. His chair seemed almost like the pilot’s seat in a small, hyperefficient ship, with everything he could possibly need within arm’s reach. And a decorative mobile hung in one corner. “You’ve done amazing work here, Forfive. Thank you.”
“It has been my great pleasure!” JJ-5145 chirped. “What other tasks may I perform for you? If there are no major station matters to attend to, I can help with your personal needs. Does your clothing require organization?”
Stellan did not intend to have a droid rooting around in his sock drawer and would’ve said so had the announcement over the comm not interrupted him.
“The Ataraxia?” he said, in unwelcome amazement. As though they didn’t have enough to worry about, Avar had decided to abandon her obsessive quest to capture the Nihil Eye just long enough to drop by for a visit?
Perhaps other members of the Council had informed her that she was no longer marshal of Starlight Beacon, and she was here to protest. Or maybe she didn’t yet know. If that were the case, she was in for a rude awakening. Stellan wouldn’t hesitate to provide one.
Pride, this is your pride talking to you and it is unworthy, repudiate it.
This unknown power aboard the station is draining me of the ability to feel almost anything.
Pride is the last emotion I have left.
And if he fell apart during this crisis, he wouldn’t even have that.
Stellan pulled himself together insofar as possible and nodded to the communications tech. “Patch them through.”
“Starlight, this is the Ataraxia. Come in, please.”
The hologram shimmered to life before him, revealing Avar Kriss, her golden hair surrounding her face as though she glowed. “This is Starlight,” Stellan replied.
Her first reaction was to frown. “Stellan—I…is everything okay? Where’s Maru?”
I must look even worse than I feel, he thought. “Attending to his duties in the Hub. I’ve just begun operating from the quartermaster’s office.”
Avar’s frown deepened. “Operating in what capacity?”
“As the marshal of Starlight Beacon.”
Saying it was every bit as fulfilling as it shouldn’t have been. Her eyes widened. Avar would’ve been less shocked if he’d walked up and slapped her.
(Which he wouldn’t do, which he would never do, why was he having these thoughts, where was the Force to guide him?)
She collected herself quickly, however. “You mean, until I returned.”
“I mean, permanently. We warned you, Avar. I warned you, and yet you abandoned your post—”
“Abandoned?” Avar said, cutting him off. “Stellan, you can’t mean that.”
It felt too good, defying her. “You abandoned your post, defying the Council, and for what? A wild mynock chase.”
“Stellan, you need to listen to me.” Avar remained undaunted. “The ‘wild mynock chase’ was a success. We have—”
A loud BOOM shook the walls, floors, Stellan himself, everything. The lights flickered; Avar’s hologram vanished. The reverberations continued, on and on, as though they were planetside in a tremendous thunderstorm.
Something’s gone wrong, Stellan realized. Something’s exploded.
In the medical tower, the jolt sent Bell sprawling; he was barely able to catch himself against the side of Master Indeera’s bed.
“What was that?” cried one of the patients, echoed by Burryaga’s alarmed whine. Ember crept to his side, tail between her legs.
“They’ll tell us,” Bell said, as reassuringly as he could manage. “Probably there’ll be an announcement really soon. Within a few seconds.”
No sooner had he spoken than the lights flickered, dimming the ward into almost total darkness.
Koley Linn slammed sideways into his ship so hard, it was as though it had struck him. He managed to stay on his feet, however, which was more than could be said for most of the people in the docking bay. Cries of dismay and alarm rose from all over.
I need to get out of here as fast as possible, he thought, and I’m trapped on this damn thing.
Elzar Mann’s ears rang from the blast as he braced himself against the corridor wall. His first thought was that something had happened to the Ataraxia—but that made no sense. The vibration beneath his feet told him the explosion had been a great deal closer, and that Starlight had taken considerable damage.
His personal comlink wasn’t picking up anything at the moment. The wall next to him held a comm panel within easy reach—maybe it still had a good connection? Elzar staggered to it. “Stellan? What’s happened?”
No response from the quartermaster’s office.
Stellan wouldn’t have all the information yet anyway, Elzar decided as he called the Hub instead. “Maru? It’s Elzar Mann. What’s going on?”
No response.
Comms were down, which meant that, for the moment, every person on this station was on their own.
Affie Hollow picked herself up from the floor of the Vessel with the assistance of Leox’s helping hand. The sabacc cards from their game had scattered across the floor. Her first instinct was to call to Geode, to tell him there was a problem, but she realized, Not even Geode could sleep through that. He’d be there shortly.
“Did one of the ships in the docking bay blow up?” Affie wondered if they’d be able to see it from the cockpit.
“Don’t think so,” Leox said. His expression was unusually grim. “We’d have heard debris against the hull, and fire suppression systems would be going off like crazy.”
“What else aboard this station could explode like that?”
Her gut dropped when Leox replied, “It’s gotta be the station itself.”
It had taken all Orla Jareni’s considerable talent in the Force to remain upright when the explosion rippled through the station and the lights in her quarters flickered down almost to black. She waited for the tightness in her ears that would signal decompression, which would of course be followed by her swift and painful demise, along with the deaths of everyone else aboard Starlight.
Fifteen seconds passed. The tightness never came. Not dead yet, Orla thought, which means we’ve got work to do.
Nan coughed, crawling along the floor away from the thick smoke. Chancey was by her side, and it sounded like the rest of the Nihil team was right behind her. They’d all survived, then. But Nan wasn’t sure how much good that did them.
The core of the station had been massively, permanently compromised. Nan could feel the instability, the subtle shifting that rendered the floor unsteady beneath their feet. She’d ridden on too many patched-together ships not to know when a structure was on the verge of falling apart. Starlight Beacon was in danger of that now.
The web of gravity reinforcement that bound the station together and oriented everyone aboard with a sense of “up” and “down” was faltering. Nan realized true “down” was slipping by a few degrees. The taut invisible framework holding the station together had begun to go slack.
Once they’d made their way to a less smoky corridor, they all got to their feet. As Nan wiped soot from her face and hands, she expected to hear the Nihil team’s fear and regret. They’d used too many explosives, surely. Or detonated at the wrong spot.
But no. They were smiling. They were glad.
Chancey didn’t look one bit surprised. “Tell me you’ve got a way off this station.”
Cale shook his head. “If we could escape, so could others. That would defeat the Eye’s plan.”
“We need nothing else,” Leyel added. “We’ve completed his work. The galaxy will see this and finally understand the might of the Nihil.”
Nan had wondered before, but finally she knew: This was a suicide mission.
The station was going to be destroyed, and Nan would die with it—as would every other being aboard Starlight Beacon.