Cincey poked a few buttons, and a holo flashed to life: a narrow stiletto with a black blade. “It’s a Force dagger, and the message said explicitly we aren’t to unsheathe it. Apparently it’s rumored to be evil or something, and meant to cut someone off from the living Force with a single slice.”

  “That’s impossible,” Kor said, leaning away from the holo in horror. “The Force is part of us. Part of everything.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” Yana murmured, perching on a high stool while Kor sat next to Treze on the room’s lone table. Treze murmured something to Kor, and her glance slid over to Yana, but Yana ignored it. It was probably just more of Treze’s bantha fodder about never trusting an Evereni. Yana knew the reputation her kind had throughout the galaxy, and she’d talked to Kor about it more than once. Kor understood, and nothing Treze said would be able to twist her feelings. Yana found that a little naive but also endearing. Almost enough to fall in love.

  To be Evereni was to learn trust was weakness, and it was one of the lessons Yana had taken to heart. She remembered the stories of how their family had been slaughtered in the dead of night, and she’d been out in the galaxy enough to know life was bite or be bitten. It was one of the reasons she wanted Marda to remain on Dalna: let one of them be better than the rest of their kin. Marda trusted and cared for others; she had never learned to lock her soft heart away. Going out into the galaxy would break her. Not everyone was as kind as the Path. Not every place had the Mother.

  “Yana, do you think you can slice it?” Kor said, pulling Yana from her thoughts.

  Yana blinked and looked at the holoprojection in the middle of the table. The stiletto had been replaced, and she squinted at the mock-up of the security system. “I guess we’ll find out,” she said, not bothering to admit that she’d missed whatever Cincey had been saying before. The human had a bit of a temper, and Yana was in no mood for one of their usual tantrums.

  Still the side-eye look Cincey gave her made it clear that they knew she hadn’t been paying attention. “Okay, so just to go over this one more time: The dagger is being kept in a Republic storage locker in Port Haileap, among a collection of several other weapons, which may or may not also be Force artifacts. The message we got from our contact said the evil dagger clouded her vision of the others. The docks and station itself are all pretty new, but they haven’t had time to really put any security protocols in place. You all set up with the usual song and dance. ‘Join the Path, protect the Force, blah blah blah.’ Treze will trigger this fire alarm over here in the main corridor to distract the officials there while Yana slices the security system to open up the secured area. Kor will grab the goods, and once they’re secured, you’ll join the rest of the Children in trying to gather new members for the Path. Any questions?” Cincey said, looking right at Yana.

  “How’re we getting there?” Kor said.

  Cincey nodded. “Treze finished repairing the malfunctioning array on the Harmony this morning, and Yana, you have the new registration ready?”

  Yana nodded. “I started as soon as we got back last time. The Herald is worried about unwanted attention after the object we liberated from Hynestia.”

  The Herald was the original leader of the Path, guiding them under advice from the Elders, though now everyone listened to the Mother’s word first. She was a prophet, after all. Kor’s father was a serious, solemn man, with violently shorn head tresses because of an incident in his youth. Like so many members of the Path, he’d come to Dalna when he was still very young, looking for a place where he was accepted and appreciated despite his disability. He had resisted the Children’s work initially, but the Mother’s clear understanding of the Force and obvious passion for collecting Force artifacts for safekeeping had won him over. Instead of simply living in harmony with the Force, they acted to create better balance in the galaxy.

  “It was a glorious act,” Treze said with a wistful smile, his pink head tentacles waving slowly, mesmerizing in the way they undulated. “In and out before they were any the wiser. Why can’t they all be that perfect?”

  “Because some people forget that not everything is an audition for a holo-show,” Kor said, standing. “Let’s get going. The sooner we can get there and back, the better. I don’t want to miss Naming Day for the hatchlings. It’s bad enough that we missed the hatching.”

  “The Force will forgive the trespass. Especially once we finish funding the build of the Gaze Electric and we can spread the message of the Path throughout the galaxy,” Cincey said. “You leave tomorrow, but it’s going to be a quick turnaround. You’d better not miss the naming. The Herald is not quite as forgiving as the Force.”

  Yana, Kor, and Treze left Cincey’s and began to walk toward Ferdan, the nearby town where they docked the Path’s ship. There were rooms there where they would stay the night, out of sight of the Path, to better prepare themselves for their upcoming work. Yana knew it was because the Herald wanted to obfuscate their comings and goings as much as possible. But it was also a chance for them to cut loose before a big job. Once in town they would shed their robes and have fun, their responsibilities forgotten for one glorious moment before the work began.

  Kor linked her arm through Yana’s, and Yana grinned at Treze’s narrowed eyes.

  “What were the two of you whispering about?” Yana said when the Mikkian stomped on ahead, clearly annoyed at Kor’s display of affection.

  “Oh, nothing. Just his usual static.”

  Yana nodded along as Kor changed the subject to a discussion of the Kessarine hatchlings. But secretly she was wondering at what point Treze would outlive his usefulness.

  Because as soon as that happened, Yana would show him just how treacherous an Evereni could be.

  As the skiff broke the Dalnan atmosphere, Kevmo Zink could not keep still. His left heel dancing lightly against the metal deck was the only outlet for his energy. The rest of him focused on guiding the controls as he piloted them toward the docking beacon at Ferdan.

  Kevmo couldn’t see the town yet but skimmed over the peaks of three volcanoes toward the purple-and-green forest at their feet. He wanted to pull up and turn the ship for a joyride around the northern edge of this supercontinent while the red suns blazed. Skiffs performed excellent split rolls, and the sky was perfect. But they were on a hunt, and Kevmo knew from experience that the argument that aerobatics genuinely helped him with his focus and his relationship with the Force would not fly with his master. And…it was probably for the best.

  “Kevmo,” the Soikan Jedi said in her coolest voice.

  He stopped his leg and smiled apologetically without glancing at her. Taking a deep breath, Kevmo stilled his thoughts and calmed the threads of his constantly reaching awareness. He checked the skiff’s bearings and flicked the communication switch, indicating their approach to the beacon. In the Outer Rim the smaller ports were often unsupervised, and Ferdan was no exception, with only a droid managing the beacon. It made absolutely no sense that the Hynestian Rod of Seasons had been smuggled all the way out to Dalna. Yet there they were.

  The Hynestian queen had been furious to have her rod stolen and demanded the aid of the Jedi, but the culprits hadn’t left anything behind. They’d been in and out with surprising ease, given the security of the palace. The theft had taken place during a time when many different groups of people had visited the capital city, more than usual thanks to a local festival. Kevmo and Zallah had sifted through immigration evidence for hours looking for any possible leads, and their best one was that a missionary group from Dalna had registered with the port authority for two days. And there was a rumor that there was a buyer especially interested in Force-related artifacts on Dalna. The planet hadn’t been a priority for the Jedi because nobody had been hurt and until then there hadn’t been obvious thefts involved—as far as they were aware. Everyone had a right to the Force, as long as any artifacts were legally and safely acquired.

  This part of Dalna, from above, looked like a fertile agricultural paradise to Kevmo. Snowcapped volcanoes circled the river valley. Tall purple and spreading red-green trees lined the river, spilling into a rolling prairie that glinted with wide opal deposits like pools of rainbows. The town of Ferdan didn’t look like much, but Kevmo bet they had really delicious fruit and baked goods there.

  The droid managing the port beacon acknowledged them, and Kevmo nudged the skiff into its final descent.

  It was a simple drop, and the moment the landing gear made contact, Zallah unlatched her safety harness and left the cockpit. Kevmo put the skiff through its shutdown procedures and joined her to grab his things. They’d be staying in Ferdan, because even though Kevmo and Zallah weren’t currently assigned to a Republic Pathfinder team, part of their mission remained doing that work: introducing themselves to the locals to learn as much as possible about their needs and opinions, scouting potential locations for future temple outposts, and looking out for Force-sensitive children.

  Most of the planets they visited had their own sentient indigenous populations, but nothing like that ever evolved on Dalna, and the planet had been settled off and on in a remarkably haphazard way. Probably thanks to the unstable belt of super volcanoes basically ringing the whole planet. They’d been quiet for more than a century, though, and Ferdan was the heart of one of several agrarian centers—as well as an apparent smuggler outpost and open market. Right in the middle of a huge underground caldera.

  At his bunk, Kevmo stuffed his cloak in his bag and tied his heavy black braids into a club at the nape of his neck, careful to pull the tiny Padawan braid free to fall forward over his shoulder. Then he tugged it, a reminder of his old habit when he’d first put it in, because the presence of that specific braid comforted him, reminded him he belonged—just like the bright gold clan tattoos striped across his blue cheeks.

  Then Kevmo grinned at himself, excited, and hurried to join Zallah where she waited with her hands clasped calmly behind her back. She did not look at him, but when he stepped beside her, vibrating with anticipation, there was a tiny impression at the corner of her ice-blue lips. He’d learned to read it as a micro expression of amusement.

  She tilted her head in inquiry, and he nodded: he was ready. He reached out and hit the lever to open the skiff.

  Calling the strip of pinkish land where Kevmo had set down the skiff a port turned out to be extremely generous. Kevmo laughed lightly at the squelch of mud when the boarding ramp extended. But the air smelled good—like rain and astringent flowers behind the exhaust. He centered himself as quickly as possible and followed Zallah down the ramp.

  The town spread out in short one- and two-story buildings of pink stone and gnarled pale wood that clearly had been pulled out of a river. Like many frontier settlements, it was a combination of thrown-together local build and prepackaged housing. To Kevmo it felt full of potential. People there didn’t have a lot, but they used every advantage.

  They stopped in the port office, and Kevmo filled out the required registration for parking their skiff, then paid the charge plus a little extra. He couldn’t help it. There were only two other ships at port, a cargo hauler and a run-down, obviously repurposed pleasure cruiser. Ferdan needed the credits.

  As they headed into town, Kevmo took in everything he could while Zallah drifted at his side. The streets were full of people from all over the galaxy. Kevmo recognized many species—Mon Calamari, human, Chagrian, a family of Grans, and even a Wookiee very far from home—but there were several people totally strange to him. Everyone had the weary look of refugees and rustic farmers, and paid little attention to Kevmo and Zallah, despite their Jedi robes and the lightsabers hanging from their belts. Zallah drew looks for her elegance and cold demeanor, but Kevmo slipped under the radar. There they were only as threatening as any new face. Kev liked that—the nearer one got to Coruscant, the more opinions everybody had about Jedi, and those opinions, whether good or bad, got in the way of their work.

  At a broad crossroads, Zallah paused. Her glance directed him to the tavern across the way and the flickering holo projected from the first-story eaves declaring rooms for rent. Kevmo nodded.

  “I will acquire rooms and seek information in the bar,” his master said. “You head into that market for supplies and do what you do best.”

  Kevmo nodded and handed her his pack. She meant make friends with everyone he came across. By sundown he’d have the start of a network of gossip in Ferdan.

  Zallah studied him for a moment, then said, “Remember the difference between trusting your feelings and enthusiastically expressing them.”

  A laugh bubbled up from his chest, but he managed to choke it back and only smile in response. The blue-white skin around Zallah’s eyes tightened in her version of an eye roll.

  With a jaunty little bow, Kevmo turned on his heel and was off in the opposite direction of the tavern, toward the busy market.

  The afternoon sun gleamed off the dark metal of the booths lining the market street as sellers yelled out in several languages but mostly Basic. Kevmo passed ruby-red fruits and leafy orange vegetables, candied nuts, grass hens already plucked and strung up by their legs. He chatted with an old Rodian tending a booth with personal sun shields, charming her into describing a map of the neighborhoods in town. A family of humans all covered in freckles and selling water purifiers and jars of pickled vegetables elaborated on the local population, including the newest camp of refugees from Eiram and E’ronoh, and the nearby cultists called the Path of the Open Hand. Those were the ones who’d been on Hynestia Prime, but Kevmo tried to hide his deep interest in the target. The market teemed with people from across the galaxy, bumping into him, yelling, laughing, haggling—and Kevmo breathed it all in.

  He wanted to stop in the middle of the market, surrounded by all that chaos and life, and just plop down to meditate. The Force thrummed around him: Kevmo was fairly certain he could vibrate with it if he closed his eyes and let go. The Force was so brilliant, just like the suns blazing overhead, and it was noisy with light and life.

  Kevmo did have to pause in the shade of a juice stand, just to remind himself to center. He was one being, part of the living Force but his own. It was those boundaries he needed to hold, what separated him from others, from the ground and sky and stars. He needed to block out the glorious crush of life around him, and he needed to buy himself and Zallah some dinner.

  Reaching for the Force, he welcomed the warm flow of it, letting himself feel how it pulsed in his heart, and then just as it flooded through him, he carefully, purposefully narrowed his connections. The Force dimmed, distant stars instead of the blazing sun, and Kevmo smiled.

  He wiped sweat from his brow, flicked his braids back over his shoulder, and opened his eyes.

  The first thing he saw was a beautiful girl in plain undyed robes, surrounded by children and flowers. Her black hair was sleek and twisted into a knot at her dark gray neck, adorned with tiny white and yellow blossoms. Three blue waves marked her forehead, reminding him of his family tattoos. She smiled sweetly as she turned one of the children around, directing them to offer a small bouquet of those same flowers to a passerby. As Kevmo stared, the girl suddenly looked back at him: her eyes were solid black, as black as space, and for a moment he could swear he saw stars shine in them.

  Kevmo didn’t even try to stop himself from heading her way.

  She stood in a cluster of younglings—a Rodian, a Mikkian, two adorable Klatooinians, three humans, a Gran, and a tiny Mon Calamari literally bouncing in place. They occupied one of the rusty tables at that end of the market available for anyone’s use, selling—no, giving away—flowers. White river roses floated in water-filled bowls, and scraggly bouquets of meadow blossoms and wilting orange starium and random feathers were scattered across the table. They had a small banner with Aurebesh words painted in vivid blue: The Path of the Open Hand. Freedom, Harmony, Clarity.

  Oh. He’d come right to them.

  Kevmo stopped within arm’s reach of the table and smiled at the girl. “Hi.”

  Her lashes fluttered as she glanced away. “Hello.” Her gaze moved back to his, as if she couldn’t do anything but look at him.

  An introduction stuck to Kevmo’s tongue as he studied her, feeling even warmer than before. His lips parted, but none of his usual easy conversation fell out. He wanted to—

  Suddenly, the girl darted forward to grasp the wrist of the Rodian child who was in turn reaching for Kevmo’s lightsaber. “Hallisara,” the girl said with a bit of panic as she snatched the Rodian’s hand away.

  Kevmo angled his body back, letting out a light chuckle. “Hallisara, is it?” He crouched. “It’s not a toy, but here.” Unclipping the lightsaber, he held it carefully in both hands. “You can touch there along the grip, gently.”

  The little Rodian’s turquoise antennae twitched, and she reached out to place one suckered finger exactly where Kevmo had indicated. Her big black eyes widened even further, and she said, “Oh,” very reverently. Kevmo thought Rodians saw a different light spectrum than Pantorans, but he wasn’t sure what. To him, his lightsaber was gorgeous, plated with red gold and an alloy that reflected the sun like mirrors, but maybe the child saw something totally different.

  “What is it?” the girl in charge of all the younglings asked.

  “A lightsaber.” Kevmo glanced up at her. “A weapon.”

  Her pretty mouth turned down. Her deep black eyes were incredible, even when she was concerned. Kevmo could see the light in them still, and the sweep of darker gray shading back toward her slightly scalloped ears. He had no idea what her people were. She was entirely new to him. And he didn’t want to believe she was a thief. He stood, holding her gaze as he reclipped his lightsaber on his belt. “My name is Kevmo Zink,” he said. “I just landed on Dalna.”

  The girl blinked and smoothed her hands down her plain tunic. “I am Marda Ro, from the Path of the Open Hand. These are our older Littles.” She indicated the nine children surrounding her. One of the humans hid behind Marda’s arm, the Mikkian twisted two of her vivid yellow head tendrils together, the two Klatooinian siblings stuck out their lower jaws to display their big blunt teeth, and the rest grinned at him.