Stumbling forward through the fog, Reath called out, “Why are you doing this?”

That would fix it. No Jedi would willingly harm another. The other Jedi would come close enough to see Reath, realize that they weren’t enemies, and put away his weapon. Reath was so certain of it that his muscles relaxed slightly, ready to declare the emergency a false alarm.

Instead the figure jumped forward at a speed that rendered him (her? it?) nothing but a blur. Reath had no time to focus on his attacker before a booted foot hit him squarely in the chest, knocking him to the ground. He gasped for breath that wouldn’t come; he tried to push himself up, only to sink his hands deeply into warm, oozing mud.

A lightsaber’s hum made his ears prick and sent a shiver along his skin. It wasn’t his own blade—that one had been knocked away from him—so it had to be his opponent’s, rising overhead and then slashing down—

And nothing. Reath found himself on all fours on the floor of the space station, surrounded by nothing more ominous than ferns and a couple of contented 8-T droids. His heart pounded with adrenaline, his whole body still on edge for a fight that was no longer happening, or had never happened.

Reath stood up, took a deep breath, and brought his awareness back to his body. Normally he would have called on the Force to center himself, but not now. They were surrounded by darkness—a darkness that sought to terrify and confuse the Jedi.

To judge by the vision Reath had just had, it also sought to turn them against each other.

The tiny communications area had become the place for the Jedi to confer and plan. Orla wished they’d chosen differently—maybe someplace without a low, arched ceiling, someplace she could actually have stood upright. But the Vessel offered few options, and at least this way she, Cohmac, and Reath had to huddle together, which she found comforting. Long-limbed Dez stood in the doorway, which if not comforting was probably more comfortable for him.

“We know the following,” she said, counting off points on her long fingers. “Darkness resides within this station. It has a very different ‘feel’ from the kind normally sensed from plants deep in the dark side. This means we cannot determine its source.”

Cohmac nodded. His gaze looked into the middle distance, someplace known but unseen. “We’ve all sensed that these warnings are emanating from the idols. From their appearance, they are almost certainly not original to the station. Therefore the idols were placed here later for some significant reason. Orla theorizes that they represented conquered peoples, which if true adds another factor for us to consider. Sealing some defeated darkness within these idols—and setting some kind of psychic warning upon that seal—that could explain it. Of course, this is only a possibility.”

Orla shrugged. “Let’s call it a working hypothesis.”

Reath leaned forward, wordlessly asking for permission to speak, which was given. “The Force emanates from life. Not from inanimate objects. There are legends of powerful Force artifacts created by the ancient Sith. But the Sith wouldn’t have imprisoned darkness, surely. They’d have set it free.”

“You assume,” Cohmac replied, “that because every such artifact we know of has its origin in the Jedi or the Sith, that only Jedi or Sith could create one. We cannot make such assumptions. Others have possessed that power in the Force.”

Orla considered the possibilities. “So what do we do? Continue to ignore their warnings? Because those warnings are intense.”

“Ignoring them would be dangerous,” Cohmac agreed, steepling his fingers together. “If the idols contain and warn against darkness, then that darkness must be examined. Imprisoned even more thoroughly.”

“They’re already pretty isolated out here,” said Dez from the place in the doorway where he stood. “On a station nobody much travels to, in an obscure corner of space.”

“Not necessarily,” Cohmac replied. “Affie has indicated that some traders currently use it from time to time. It wouldn’t be surprising if this station were soon reclaimed by even more travelers. All the more reason to act.”

“I can’t see any harm to the station in removing the idols,” Orla said. “There’s nothing else here but some plants and some gardener droids. So let’s test the hypothesis,” she said.

“How?” Dez asked.

“One of two ways,” Orla said. “Either we try to move and isolate the statues, or we destroy them.”

“But we can’t destroy them. They’re ancient artifacts!” Reath protested. “They’re history!”

Orla gave him a look. “More to the point, if we destroy something that turns out to be a containment system for the dark side, we wind up setting the darkness loose. So I vote for the first option.”

Dez frowned. “There’s another possibility, one we haven’t even investigated properly yet. What if the darkness that’s confusing our minds is linked to whatever’s protected by the energy field in the station’s lower rings?”

They all exchanged glances. Everyone had thought about this, but apparently with varied conclusions: Reath appeared deeply doubtful, while Cohmac had the look of someone relieved to hear sense for a change. Orla considered herself open to whatever possibility, but not to endless debate. Time to do something.

“Then we test that hypothesis, too,” she said. “But first you have to figure out how to get down there without being scraped by poisonous vines, and without Aytees…pruning you to death.”

That made everyone chuckle, as Orla had intended. Good. Laughter made people relax and smile. It cast the dark side away and brought them closer to the light.

Reath could hardly have blamed Affie, Nan, and the Mizi if they refused to have anything else to do with the station’s lower rings—even if they had managed to pull up the poisonous vines (gently, so as not to disturb the 8-Ts) and cast them harmlessly to the side. However, all three of them rejoined the group to make the next attempt.

“There’s got to be something good down there,” Nan reasoned as she rechecked her field utility belt, glancing up just once to smile at Reath. “No way I’m letting you guys have it all.”

The Mizi nodded in agreement—the difference being, in Reath’s opinion, that Nan was joking with him but the Mizi was completely serious.

Affie was harder to get a read on. Her attention seemed only half-focused on the task at hand. “So what’s our plan? We have a plan, right? Better than the last one?”

“Let’s say we have a plan to make a plan,” Dez began. “Specifically, let’s do recon. Do a more thorough survey of this level and see if we can find any potential points of entry besides the main tunnel, and so on—without setting off the Aytees this time.”

“That would be preferable,” said the Mizi, straight-faced.

It was really the only next step. But Reath couldn’t stop himself from wondering whether they couldn’t take what they’d learned last time and use it tactically. Master Jora always said, “If you use your defeat to learn the path to victory, it was no defeat at all.”

Everyone shifted, about to disperse. Before they’d begun, though, Reath blurted out, “I have an idea. It’s either really good or completely ludicrous.”

“If it’s ludicrous, it’s probably great.” Affie’s enthusiasm had been renewed. “I’ve learned that working with Leox and Geode.”

No doubt. Reath turned to Dez. “The Aytees are programmed to attack any threats to the plants on this station, right?”

“Sure looks like it.” Dez rested his hands on his hips. “What’s this about, Reath?”

“Watch.” Reath went to one of the smaller plants on the station, a budding yellow flower in a fist-sized round container. Many of them lined the walkways; the containers seemed to operate as makeshift nurseries for the 8-Ts. Gently he eased the container from the soil. As he brushed away some of the dirt, a handful of 8-Ts swiveled to stare at Reath. This behavior was clearly suspect.

Very carefully, he tucked the flower’s container into the folds of his robe jacket, then snugly tied the belt around it. His knot was so secure that he could’ve done an acrobatic flip in the air without bruising a single petal. The 8-Ts stared for another second or so before turning to go about their business.

“There,” he said. “They realize this doesn’t count as damaging the plants. And if we wear these on our mission—”

“They won’t attack us,” Nan said. “Because hurting us would mean hurting the flowers!”

Dez grinned, too, and even the Mizi nodded. Affie, however, folded her arms. “So you’re saying that we’re taking plants as hostages. Using them as body shields.”

When she put it that way, it sounded worse. But—“Well, yeah.”

“Ludicrous,” Affie said. The smile she’d hidden so well before finally shone. “And great.”

Within a few minutes, each member of the party was wearing their own flower. The 8-Ts found them more interesting now that they wore plants, but otherwise took no actions as they made their way back to the tunnel and began their descent.

“Now for that energy field.” Dez stared at the flickering, purplish light. “Nothing to do but get down there and take a closer look.”

“Agreed.” Reath started the climb down, followed by the others. To his dismay, the 8-Ts whirred closer and started down the tunnel walls again.

Dez swore under his breath. “Looks like they’ll sacrifice a few flowers for the greater good.”

“By the greater good, you mean killing us.”

“That’s what they mean by it, I think.”

But Dez was wrong. The 8-Ts swarmed along the tunnel walls all the way down to the very edge of the lower ring, extended various tools—and then, in the next instant, the purplish light disappeared.

“The droids turned the energy field off for us,” Reath said in wonder. “To make sure we wouldn’t fry the plants!”

Dez actually waved at the 8-Ts. “Don’t worry,” he said, patting the planter that rested against his chest. “We’ll bring them back safe and sound.”

Were the droids relieved? Plotting revenge? Reath didn’t know and couldn’t care, not when they’d finally reached the last, most secret part of the Amaxine station.

Once Affie had clambered into the lower rings, she felt vaguely let down. It wasn’t all that different from the upper rings—same tilework, same rails—except that it was entirely devoid of plant life, and she didn’t yet see any signs of smugglers’ code on the walls. Yet.

The ring that welcomed them was very narrow; other curving corridors, yet unexplored, must’ve made up the rest of the circumference. Without the purple glow of the energy field, the only illumination came from the station above. Still, they had glow rods, so that was enough light to search by.

“So, let’s split up,” Affie suggested. “Check different passageways on our own.” Could you be any more obvious? she scolded herself.

But apparently nothing about her suggestion struck Dez or Reath as suspicious. “Sure,” Dez said. “Doesn’t seem like there’s anything too dangerous down here. Might as well cover ground as quickly as possible.”

Affie nodded like that was exactly what she’d been thinking.

Finally they broke up, and she was free to delve into one of the passageways by the light of her glow rod. Affie wondered whether she’d find codes, whether the others would, too, and whether they’d be able to make sense of them as quickly as she had.

Sure enough, after the first bend, the first lines of writing appeared. She went right up to them, eager to translate as best she could. Above all, she hoped to find something that would vindicate her mother and prove to Leox that there was a corrupt element at work within the Guild.

“There,” she whispered. Her fingers touched the metal just next to the star symbol of the Byne Guild, still stark against the whitish background. This hadn’t been written that long before—a decade at most, she’d guess. She tried to follow along, uncertain how to interpret the next few marks, until she came to a small drawing of a bird of prey, beak down, tail feathers up.

Affie stared until the image seemed to be burning into her eyes. She recognized it immediately but refused to believe that it could mean what it so clearly seemed to mean.

There could be tons of other interpretations, she told herself. True.

But her parents—her biological parents, the ones she only dimly remembered but still dearly loved—their ship had been named the Kestrel’s Dive.

Whoever wrote this had been talking about her parents.

That, or it had been written by her parents themselves.

Reath’s journey through another tunnel was shorter, or at least the part he took alone. It was darker down there, so much so that his glow rod seemed weaker—an optical illusion, surely, but a disquieting one. Every one of his footsteps sounded unnaturally loud as he ducked his head under the curved arches of the tunnel’s beams.

If plant life has taken over almost every other part of this station, Reath wondered, why did it never come down here? Was that energy field meant to protect what lies down here—or protect us from it?

His passage and Dez’s intertwined after only a few meters, with nothing but a handful of storage lockers and some scribbles on the wall to mark the significance of the spot.

“Looks like we share the same destination,” Dez said. “C’mon. Let’s check it out.”

He felt a quiver of pride. What would his friends say, the ones who so idolized Dez Rydan? There they were, on a mission together! Partners!

Okay, Dez was possibly too excited about plunging into the dark unknown, but it was like Dez had said earlier: if some people disliked adventure, some others had to love it.

“Look at this,” Dez said. He was gesturing at a circular door ahead. Its hinges were at top and bottom center, suggesting that it rotated to open.

“That’s weird. Why build it that way?”

“Could mean something. Could mean nothing.” Dez readjusted the planter cradled against his chest, making sure not to crease any of the leaves. “Come on, let’s see if anything interesting is on the other side.”

Reath reached out with the Force, knowing Dez was doing the same. He sensed no sentience on the other side, no echoes of darkness. “Nothing alive, anyway.”

“So it would seem.” Dez walked ahead quickly, leaving Reath several paces behind. “Now, is this locked, or—”

The door flipped around, rotating on its central axis hinges so fast that it knocked Dez off his feet, spinning him around to the other side. Reath blinked, suddenly alone. “Whoa. Dez, turn that around.” It had actually looked pretty funny; Dez had enough of a sense of humor to appreciate that.

But Dez wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t speaking. The door didn’t flip again.

Vibrations began to shudder through the floor, the walls. Through the thin slits of the doorway, stark white light beamed out so strong that Reath winced and lifted one hand to shield his eyes. “Dez?”

A strange grinding sound—like engines, or some other vast machinery—began. Whatever was happening didn’t sound good, and Dez Rydan was trapped in the middle of it.

Dez shouted wordlessly, a sound that betrayed pain. Reath ran toward the door, ignoring the blinding light, and tried to force it open. But the hinges that had swung so easily before refused to budge.

The light flared even brighter, so much so that Reath had to shut his eyes. Through his own eyelids he saw a lacing of fragile veins and capillaries, silhouetted against dull red.

In the next instant, it was dark. The vibration and sound had stopped.

It took Reath a moment to recalibrate. “Dez? Are you okay?”

No reply.

Reath pushed at the door once more without much hope. This time it swung open immediately. The door was surprisingly heavy; the heft of it nearly knocked Reath down, the same as it had done to Dez. He could see into the tunnel—and it was narrow, thickly grooved.

Dez was not inside.

Carefully Reath leaned in to get a better look. Still no Dez, but he glimpsed two helix rings, ancient but still unmistakable. Helix rings were incredible energy boosters, the equivalent of enough pure coaxium to fuel forty or fifty large spaceships; they were seldom used because they generated too much power for almost any non-hyperspace purpose.

They had a tendency to malfunction, especially when older, and created energy surges capable of melting metal, blowing circuits, or—

Or disintegrating a human body, down to the atoms.