Into the Void: Star Wars (Dawn of the Jedi) (6 page)

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 behind 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!”

“You don’t scare me,” she said.

“Hmm.” Tre’s lekku—those three long, curious tentacles growing from the back of his
skull—twitched a little, one tip stroking over his left shoulder, the other two pointing
like fingers tapping at the air.

“ ‘Yeah, well,
this
bitch is a Je’daii,’ ” Lanoree translated.

Tre’s eyes opened wide. “You know Twi’leki!”

“Of course. That surprises you?”

“Huh. Huh! Nothing about the Je’daii can surprise me.”

“Oh, don’t be so sure.” Lanoree took a drink and looked around Susco’s Tavern. With
more than fifteen settled planets and moons and spread over sixteen billion kilometers,
there were places like this all across the Tythan system. Places where people gathered
to drink, eat, and talk, no matter what their color, species, creed, or breed. Where
music played in the background—either a local tune or perhaps something more exotic
from another continent or another world. Where travelers found common ground, and
those who chose not to travel could hear outlandish tales of faraway places. And it
was in these taverns that tongues could be loosened, news spread, and secrets overheard.
Lanoree loved places like this, because often after a drink or two she could have
been anywhere.