Elzar flicked his glance at the shortest Council member. He certainly did hope with every part of him that he wasn’t about to make another mistake.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Republic Space, Border of the Occlusion Zone

  The Blue Range rendezvoused with the RDC star cruiser Axiom at the edge of the Font-Alor system, and Avar concentrated on helping the refugees transfer themselves to the guest quarters for their journey to the nearest station. It wasn’t until she’d stopped in her own temporary bunk to clean up and change and head for the crew mess that she ran into Jedi Knight Vernestra Rwoh.

  Avar smiled. She wasn’t close to the young knight but felt a kinship because of their mutual connection to Stellan. She vividly recalled teasing Stellan, about a year after he had taken Vernestra on, that of course a prodigy can only be trained up by a prodigy. Stellan had made the expression he saved for when he was being too mature to stick out his tongue, and told her he didn’t see how Avar could tell the difference anyway.

  Vernestra waved wearily, looking like she’d just walked off a mission of her own. Avar tracked back in her head as she wandered over to the pantry to pick something basic to eat, remembering that Vernestra had been on an on-the-ground rescue mission in Nihil space for the past six days. It was the kind of mission Avar didn’t allow herself to be assigned, thanks to the weight of being so recognizable. She couldn’t do that kind of fieldwork without cause. Especially now that she’d made the holo for Rhil. Besides, the Mirialan had different contacts on the Nihil side, including her own former Padawan Imri Cantaros, who was still working undercover in the O.Z. the way Avar had when she was trapped all last year.

  Unlike Avar, who’d immediately changed back into standard Jedi mission attire, Vernestra wore brown robes without any insignia; the only obvious marks of her status were the lightsaber and a few of the less overt design elements of her belt. The only permanent change to Avar’s attire was that she no longer wore her diadem, having sold it last year for food to help people on Merisee in the Elrood sector, and she tended to pull her shorter blond hair back into practical tails. Vernestra meanwhile had chopped her purple hair above the shoulder and seemed to have aged a decade, despite the longevity of her species.

  It reminded Avar of how much the Jedi had changed, not only individually but also as a whole, in the wake of devastating defeats. And the looming threat of the Nameless. Jedi weren’t used to losing—they weren’t even used to constant fighting. Of course, there had always been strife across the Republic and those in need whom the Jedi strove to aid through the Force. Bad things always happened. But Jedi like Avar and her peers, and Vernestra and hers, had come up in the Temple during a time of widespread prosperity and—if Avar made herself admit it—glory. The Jedi Order was grand and wealthy with knowledge and strength and resources, well suited to the task of managing peace and justice alongside the Republic.

  Then the Nihil came, their target the Republic itself and everything it stood for. Alongside it, the Republic’s Jedi allies—their guard dogs, as Avar had heard the Order called. And the Nihil brought with them Marchion Ro’s strange, horrifying creatures who devoured the living Force, stripping it away and leaving behind only fear and ashes. The chaos of the Nihil was a foil against the Republic, but the Nameless were a brutally efficient enemy of the Force itself.

  Jedi had something to truly fear.

  In some ways, Avar thought, the worst thing Marchion Ro had done to the Jedi was take away their certainty. It had been a piece of their very identity.

  “You look upset,” Vernestra said as Avar joined her at a long table in the corner of the mess with a glass of fiz water and a nut-berry-honeychip protein bar. The two Jedi were isolated from the few crew stragglers in here at this hour.

  Avar smiled a bit sadly. “Just thinking about…courage, I suppose.”

  Vernestra’s eyebrows lifted. “You?”

  “Me,” Avar said with a little laugh. She knew how she was viewed, but she also trusted anyone who’d worked closely with Stellan. And anyone doing the work Vernestra had set herself to. They were absolute peers now. Some of the stories Avar had heard of Vernestra’s exploits—half of them rumors—convinced her that Stellan would be proud of how ferocious his Padawan had become. How ferocious she’d had to become in the face of the Nameless. Avar softened her voice. “I don’t remember ever having to choose to be brave when I was a youngling or a Padawan. I studied and meditated and went out with my master and my friends, eager to face challenges. I experienced nerves and anxiety, of course, but nothing overwhelming. I don’t remember thinking about fear except as something to accept and dismiss. As almost irrelevant.”

  The Mirialan Jedi glanced down at her bowl of some kind of hot cereal. “But the Nameless compel us to.”

  Avar nodded. “I still am not…afraid very often. Sometimes, but always on behalf of others, for others, for potential danger, but it isn’t like the inevitability of the kind of fear the Nameless demand. The relentlessness.”

  “The panic,” Vernestra admitted plainly.

  “You’ve faced one.”

  “Yes. No.” Vernestra’s gaze went distant, and she shivered. “I’ve been close enough to feel the effect, to lose myself. But I wouldn’t say I faced it, exactly. If I’d been alone…”

  “We need better methods to defend ourselves against them. Or work around them.”

  “Or we need to stop fighting them ourselves. Maybe it’s a weakness we can’t avoid. Retreat. Let those who don’t sense the Force lead the charge against them. Or security droids.”

  The idea turned Avar’s stomach. Retreat was necessary sometimes, but to assume it would be necessary, to let others do the fighting on behalf of the Jedi, galled her. There should not be any place a Jedi could not or would not go in service of the Force. Avar held her silence, not wanting to burden Vernestra with her reservations when her fellow Jedi already bore so much.

  Picking apart her nut bar, Avar gave both of them a moment to compose themselves before asking after Vernestra’s latest mission across the Stormwall.

  “It was a rescue. We heard through Takodana of a cell of resistance fighters who had been on the run after their city was destroyed by Nihil—lucky Nihil who stumbled upon them. They included one of the informers who’ve been providing the group with anti-scav codes…” Vernestra sighed and dropped her spoon into the last of her uneaten cereal. “It was successful, but now a new informer will need to be sourced.”

  “Or the pressure on those remaining might grow too tight and they might snap.”

  “Exactly. I’m not sure if the end result is fortunate or unfortunate. I tell myself it’s not part of my duty to know. That doesn’t sit well, either.”

  Avar huffed. “It’s different, doing this sort of work, isn’t it? I was the marshal of Starlight Beacon. I’ve led strike teams and large-scale battles, not to mention what happened at Hetzal. But these days it’s just me and my pilot throwing ourselves across hyperspace to try to save a few people at a time.”

  “I’m good at it,” Vernestra said slowly.

  “You are. I think I am, too. Better, maybe, at this kind of mission than those at the grander scale, despite my particular gifts. Grand leadership is for Stellan—” Avar stopped. She still thought of him like this sometimes: vital and living and only a comm away. “Now Elzar.”

  Vernestra’s gaze flicked away at the mention of Elzar. She knew about Chancey Yarrow, about how the woman had died. Avar considered opening the subject, but as she studied Vernestra and listened to the Force, brushing her awareness against Vernestra’s song, Avar could hear that Vernestra was fine now. Concerned, not entirely certain of herself, and young, but fine. Strong enough for what she needed. Elzar was the rattled one, the Jedi who continued seeking his place in this war, in this new Order. Vernestra Rwoh didn’t need the counsel of Avar Kriss, who’d made as many mistakes as Elzar, as many as Vernestra had or would in days to come.

  The only person any of them wanted to talk to was Stellan. Avar could wrap herself up in the steady baritone of his Force song. It had always been so vivid, but it worked best as part of a whole. A harmonizing line. A charming countermelody.

  Ah, he would be so annoyed with them.

  Avar hummed a soft note under her breath, letting the loss and grief drift away, melt into her again. She was getting better at this: accepting her feelings without allowing them to hurt or control her. Amazing how long it had taken her to achieve it. How long and how much suffering.

  Just before she popped a chunk of nut bar into her mouth, the mess intercom chirped. “Master Kriss, this is Captain Ba’luun. A Nihil ship just dropped out of hyperspace in Republic territory at the same mark your Blue Range did. We’re jumping back to the mark in three—two—”

  By the time the captain said “One” and the ship hummed with the quiet lurch into hyperspace, Avar was on her feet and across the room. It sounded like Nihil had followed her out of the Occlusion Zone. That shouldn’t be possible, unless one of her refugees had a tracking beacon or was a spy. She flicked the intercom and said, “Captain, how many Vectors are berthed on the Axiom?”

  “Three, Master Kriss.”

  Avar spun around to catch Vernestra’s eye. The Mirialan nodded, grabbing up their discarded food. Avar said, “Vernestra and I will get two powered up and ready to deploy.”

  Together they dashed through the cruiser to the fighter bay, bypassing RDC crew heading to their own battle stations.

  “How long is the jump back to your exit coordinates?” Vernestra asked as they took turns hopping down the ladder, landing hard on the metal floor of the bay.

  “A few minutes.”

  “It can’t be a coincidence,” Vernestra said. “It’s not a public beacon on this side.”

  Avar only shook her head and let the Force draw her to one of the sharp Jedi Vectors lined up like sleek, deadly stars beside a row of RDC fighters. The likelihood of a Nihil ship exiting at the exact same place as her route through the Stormwall was so small as to be impossible. The only reason it could happen besides one of the refugees betraying them was that the Nihil knew Cair San Tekka’s data—they had caught him, or Belin and Rhil, or possibly had infiltrated his group long ago and chose now to reveal their hand. Because of Avar’s message.

  Vernestra touched the Vector beside Avar’s, and they both unlocked the cockpit bubbles.

  Avar called, “May the Force be with you, Vernestra!” and climbed into hers.

  She settled quickly once the transparisteel bubble closed around her, first opening communications from the Vector to the bridge of the Axiom. She confirmed Vernestra’s engagement with her fighter. Then Avar opened her feelings to the Force and the second skin the Vector could become.

  “Ready over there?” she commed to Vernestra.

  “As ready as I ever am,” Vernestra said wisely. It made Avar smile.

  “Ready to launch on exit from hyperspace,” she told the captain.

  The Force flowed through and around Avar, ringing the Vector. She closed her eyes as she waited for the Axiom to drop out of hyperspace. Avar didn’t pilot Vectors often—as she’d told Vernestra, she’d more frequently led from a cruiser or Longbeam deck in the past decade—but Avar had never grown out of the thrill they gave her. They were like an exoskeleton of strength that melded perfectly with her own strengths. She liked the maneuverability and power, the necessity for total communion with the fighter’s internal processes. The reliance on her own focus, her own skills.

  Captain Ba’luun’s voice filled the cockpit: “Arriving now.”

  The Axiom dropped and instantly the alarms rang; the fighter bay energy field sparked blue and dropped. She smiled grimly to herself and launched into the stars.

  The Vector dipped instantly and spun around, and Avar loosed her senses into the fighter.

  “Nihil ship holding location at the Republic beacon,” Ba’luun’s voice rang in the cockpit. “No fighters of theirs scrambled.”

  “Coming around,” said Vernestra.

  Avar set her lightsaber onto the keypad and it locked in magnetically, keying open the weapons for use. Avar pushed up the speed of her Vector and zipped ahead of Vernestra, who fell into flank.

  The rush of coming battle raised Avar’s body heat, and she pushed it down, focused on the mass of the Vector and the appearance of the Nihil ship. It was bulky and snub-nosed, with blasts of paint and scoring like many Nihil ships. Cannons aimed in every direction as if a child had glued sticks haphazardly around a toy. It was smaller than the Axiom, and Avar was confident that, unless the Nihil had a secret weapon or trick up their fuel lines, they and the RDC could take it.

  “Nihil ship,” Ba’luun’s voice rang out over comm channels. “This is the Republic Defense Coalition ship Axiom, and I am Captain Ba’luun. You have entered Republic space. Stand down immediately and return to your space or you will be destroyed.”

  Avar thrust her Vector to the port side of the Nihil ship as Vernestra swung opposite. They darted back and forth like little fireflies with the greater Axiom rising behind.

  Suddenly, a forward bulkhead on the Nihil ship exploded. Pale gas billowed out and flames flickered, then evaporated into the vacuum of space. Avar double-checked, but nobody had fired.

  A second explosion in the belly of the ship flared vivid blue, bright enough that Avar blinked at the afterimage. “That was the Path engine,” she said on the private channel to Vernestra’s Vector.

  “Nihil ship!” Ba’luun commanded. “Stand down! If you require assistance, stand down and it will be provided.”

  Just then, a top panel of the Nihil ship, along the neck beside the cockpit, blew. Avar saw living beings evacuated into space. Their limbs flailed as the ship vented.

  Lights flickered along the spine of the ship, and in tandem three cannons detached, tearing away strips of the hull.

  “What’s happening?” Vernestra asked.

  “I have no idea,” Avar replied, nudging her Vector nearer. “Perhaps sabotage?”

  Captain Ba’luun’s voice emerged again. “This is your final chance, Nihil ship.”

  “—need! No need!” drawled a response, crackling and almost too loud. “We’re here to surrender.”

  Avar felt the stutter of her surprise shift through the body of the Vector. She reached out and flicked her comm switch. “Nihil vessel, this is Jedi Master Avar Kriss. Who are you and why should we let down our defenses to believe you?”

  “Ah, Master Kriss! Just who I was looking for. What a pleasure to meet you. I assure you, I have no designs on your lovely little Vectors or our Republic.”

  “Avar!” Vernestra hissed through their Vector-to-Vector comm. “I know that voice!”

  “I’m Xylan Graf, of the Core Grafs, and I can now state more accurately that I don’t come to surrender so much as rescue myself from the clutches of those dastardly Nihil—but I also come bearing a gift! I can tell you how to destroy the Stormwall.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sarumo, Inside the Occlusion Zone

  It was the middle of the night in the northern parts of the supercontinent of Sarumo, the burnt-out fields lacking the usual activities of the daytime, as desperate farmers continued to coax life back into them. The streets of the once-lovely, if blocky, capital city were silent. Here, unlike some planets in Nihil territory that had made the transition of power more seamlessly, the citizens had been pressed into harshly policed districts: Farmers toiled constantly to regain the lost agriculture, former merchants and traders now worked in quarries and mines, displaced children were left to run their own gangs in the absence of education or families, and there was a small district of wealthy people, who had sided with General Viess when she handed the whole planet to Marchion Ro last year.

  Some refugees had fled to the south, whose ice deserts and tundras were useless to the resource-hungry Nihil. If they survived, they did so barely.

  Porter Engle slipped under elegant marble beams of the peristyle court of the sprawling manor that once had served as General Viess’s barony and alflacow ranch and now was an operating base for her Ministry of Protection. The first established, in fact, and rarely inhabited by the minister herself.

  For once, Viess’s absence served Porter just fine.

  Using the Force, he muffled his presence. You-don’t-see-me, it-was-only-a-shadow, just-a-night-bird-taking-wing.

  The sleepy nighttime patrols were easy to fool.

  Porter moved silently, divested of his Nihil costume for this mission, wearing plain dark notice-nothing clothes instead, with a cowl pulled low over his brow. His lightsaber was wrapped with a strip of gray cloth to keep the hilt from gleaming. Porter could still ignite it if everything went sideways and he needed to fight his way out.

  At the rear door, he waited patiently, at one with the Force, until a patrol approached. Porter breathed nothingness into the air, whispering commands to the dull ears of the two Nihil. They didn’t even glance his way, but when the door opened, he followed them inside. They didn’t notice that, either.

  Porter kept pace with them, murmuring commands through the Force, unconcerned with being seen by others: He looked as if he belonged at first glance, despite the plain clothes. He walked with them, near enough that it should be impossible for him to be an enemy. Any fellow Nihil would assume he was guest or prisoner.

  The Nihil turned off toward the smell of grilling meat. Porter didn’t follow. That wouldn’t be the right way. He ducked into an alcove and reached out: The Force flowed out and back in, and Porter sensed the whereabouts of the Nihil guards. He sensed where they slept in barracks, where they ate a quiet meal in a mess nearby, where several stood in constant vigilance near the center of the manor. That was his goal—what else would they guard but their general’s office? Or if it was something else, he should investigate that, too.