Into the Void: Star Wars (Dawn of the Jedi) (25 page)

You’ll never be normal
, she thought.
Not after what you’ve seen and done
. And Lanoree should know. But she said nothing to shatter his dreams. While he still
dreamed, he could help her. She felt sorry for him, but she also recognized that a
wish to leave such a life did not absolve him of the guilt he had earned. He’d told
her only a small part of what he had done. His red skin was stained with blood, though
of how many victims she would never know.

“After this, Dam-Powl will set me free,” he said. He seemed so confident. So sure.

“She’s a Master of her word,” Lanoree said. “And she gave me a large part of what
I am, too.”

Tre raised an eyebrow and his lekku formed the questioning touch. But Lanoree said
no more. He might have opened his heart, but her story was not one to share with someone
like Tre Sana.

Lanoree nodded to the dome’s western expanse where filtered yellow light bled weakly
across the city. “Dusk is close. Time to hear Maxhagan.”

Ashla. Bogan. They’re just moons. My own destiny lies elsewhere … and it has such
gravity
.

—Dalien Brock, diaries, 10,661 TYA

Lanoree wakes from a dream of home in which she is dreaming of the stars, and Dal
is sitting beside her. He is bathed in firelight, but most of his face is in shadow.
Still she can read him from his stance and his stillness—he is staring at her with
a terrifying coldness.

“What? Is there something …?” But she knows there is no threat from outside. They
are a day away from Anil Kesh, camped beneath a copse of heart berry trees. They have
eaten several berries each, and Lanoree’s stomach is warm and comfortably full, the
berries’ goodness thrumming through her. There is wildlife in these foothills that
might mean them harm—acid spiders, and rumors of a family of flame tygahs that crossed
the Moon Islands—but she would sense if any of them came close. She would know.

“I am the Chasm,” Dal says. His voice is lower than before, deeper, as if echoing
from somewhere deep.

“What do you mean?” She sounds like a scared little girl. She
is
scared.

Dal shifts, turning toward the fire so that its light reveals his face. He is still
her brother but he looks older than before. Wiser. As if she is seeing a Dal who has
already completed his Great Journey.

“I have depths waiting to be filled. Places you can never see, and go, because you’re
Je’daii, and my depths are my own. Not steered by something else.”

“The Force doesn’t steer me, Dal.”

He snorts. She is even more scared. She went to sleep still knowing who her brother
was, but now …?

“What happened?” she asks.

“I am the Chasm. I have depths to explore and fill.”

“Depth implies mystery and fullness. But in you I sense only void.”

“Your Force tells you that,” he says, almost spitting the words, “and you believe
it.”

“No. I know that because of my love for you as a brother.”

For the briefest instant a look of regret seems to cross his face. But perhaps it
is merely a flame from the fire casting a sympathetic shadow.

“My own Great Journey ends soon,” he says. “After I’ve taken everything I can from
Tython, bled it of everything that can be of use, I’ll be leaving. Don’t get in my
way.”

At dusk the next day they approach Anil Kesh.

Lanoree has heard many stories about this place, but nothing can prepare her for the
reality. The temple itself is an incredible structure, graceful and brooding, huge
and yet insectile in its shape and proportions, an engineering marvel that surpasses
any other on Tython. Its Tho Yor floats about it, sometimes close, sometimes farther
away. It’s believed that it drifts with the Force.

Beneath the temple, the Chasm. One of the most amazing places on Tython, and also
one of the most enigmatic and dangerous, the Chasm is a seemingly bottomless pit within
which Force Storms rage and mystery resides. No Je’daii has ever gone deep enough
to find the Chasm’s
bottom … or if they have, they have never returned. The stronger one is with the Force,
the greater the Chasm’s detrimental influence—disorientation, pain, and eventually
death. Many have tried. Some have died, and some have gone so deep that they returned
insane, deluded. Suicide is common among those who ignore all warnings and their own
better judgment to try.

One of Anil Kesh’s main aims is to plumb the depths of the Chasm, because it is Tython—and
the Force—at its most mysterious. Lanoree has seen holos of Temple Master Quan-Jang
discussing the Chasm, and even through these she can sense his awe and fascination.
The Je’daii, he says, will find the bottom one day. It’s what might exist there that
possesses them to keep trying.

I am the Chasm
, Dal said. Standing close to Anil Kesh now, Lanoree expects him to be staring at
this strange wound in the land, but he seems untouched and unconcerned. Unlike him,
she can feel the draw of the Chasm and its incredible, primeval power. The Force is
in turmoil within her. She feels sick.

To manage that sickness, she knows, will be one of her first lessons at Anil Kesh.

This is not the final destination of their Great Journey. But Lanoree cannot help
feeling the sense of an ending hanging over them both.

Greenwood Station was a city that never slept. The sun had set and the dome was now
illuminated by hundreds of huge lights suspended beneath the massive support ribs.
They were a poor substitute for the sun, but Lanoree supposed this was their night.
Shifts were changing, the air was filled with the smells of industry and cooking and
sewage, and she and Tre were once again approaching Maxhagan’s imported-water stall.

She saw him from a distance, closing broken shutters across his tables and instructing
several helpers on where to store those bottles not yet sold. He waved away a couple
of late customers with an apologetic smile, then saw Lanoree. His smile remained,
but it was no longer soft.

Lanoree did not break her stride, but she did feel comfort from the Force flowing
through her. Muscles tensed, her sword sang with power, and her senses—always alert—became
attuned to danger. Maxhagan
was her focus, but if he meant her harm, then he would desire that focus. Any attack
would come from those around him.

“Tre Sana!” Maxhagan called. “Lanoree! So good to see you both again!” Tre glanced
around nervously to see if anyone else had heard his name, and Lanoree could not help
smiling. She wondered how many enemies the Twi’lek had made over the years.

“I’m surprised you’d close up shop,” Lanoree said.

“Only for a while. People travel to work now, intent on their journey. Or others go
home, or to the taverns, where water isn’t their prime concern. Also … I find that
information is at its driest at this time of day.”

“I expect you’re filling and resealing the bottles, too, eh?” Tre asked.

Maxhagan looked genuinely hurt. “You doubt my product?”

Tre didn’t answer.

“Other water merchants come and go. They fill bottles from poisoned springs in the
caves below Greenwood Station, drop in a few purifying tablets, seal them up, sell
them as pure. None of them last long. That’s why I’m still here, selling purity after
four years. That’s why they always come back to me.”

“Everyone buys their water from you?” Lanoree asked.

“Everyone that matters,” Maxhagan said. His face dropped abruptly. “But that’s enough
about water. Follow me.” He turned and pushed his way through curtains at the back
of his stall, and Lanoree and Tre had to climb over the tables to follow.

He led them across the busy square toward a doorway in one corner. At first she thought
he was taking them down into one of his opulent rooms again, but then she heard the
sounds of revelry and smelled spilled drink and spiced food. When Maxhagan entered
the tavern, only a few inquisitive eyes turned their way. Most lingered more on Lanoree
than the water seller, and she kept the hood of her robe raised. She never could shake
the feeling that her Je’daii heritage was easy to see.

“In the corner, round table,” Maxhagan said. “I’ll bring drinks.”

“We’re not thirsty,” Lanoree said.

“But I am.” He shoved his way toward the bar, and Lanoree scanned the tavern. It was
filled with workers, their jobs sometimes
apparent, sometimes not. All manner of people, species, creeds. None appeared to be
armed. She glanced at Tre, pleased that he’d concealed his blaster well.

By the time she’d examined the corner booth to make sure it appeared safe, Maxhagan
was with them again. He
must
have had his bodyguards. But Lanoree was slightly disturbed that she could not make
them out in the crowd.

“Did you find him?” she asked.

“Your brother? Yes.” He took a huge drink from an opaque glass.

“Where is he? Still on Nox?”

“No,” Maxhagan said.

Lanoree’s spirits slumped, but she kept her eyes on Maxhagan. Inside he was laughing.
Playing with her.

“He’s not
on
Nox. He’s aside from it. In a place that in diplomatic terms is not here at all.”

“Explain,” she said.

“You’re young for a Ranger, aren’t you?” He sat back on the bench and relaxed, resting
his hands on his ample stomach. It was the fact that he made his smile touch his eyes
that troubled Lanoree the most.

“Not particularly. And what has my age got to do with anything?”

“Young Je’daii often don’t know as much as older Je’daii. They’re not told as much.
Secrets have a way of being … passed down. I should know. I deal in secrets.”

Lanoree drank, taking the opportunity to look around the noisy, smoky tavern. She
didn’t like Maxhagan using the word
Je’daii
so much, but no one seemed to be listening. Her Force senses alert, the irony that
both men she sat with were shielded from her was obvious.

“Your brother is visiting a place that still sometimes carries out commissions for
your people. It’s called Pan Deep. It’s in the base of the central tower, in its roots,
its oldest foundations. Close enough to the surface to benefit from Greenwood Station’s
life-support systems and infrastructure but deep enough to survive when the Je’daii
bombed us during the war. Closed off enough to be … somewhere else.”

“I’ve never heard of—” Lanoree began.

“Of course not. It’s a secret. But don’t you wonder why Greenwood Station only suffered
a flesh wound? The domes around were
reduced to nothing. The people fried or crushed or blasted. But here …” He raised
a hand as if indicating the ruptured dome, repaired now, where a Je’daii attack had
scooped out a small portion of the city.

“So how do I get there? What does this place do?” she asked, but she already knew.
Dal was having his device built there. A sense of urgency took her, and she calmed
her excitement.

“High-end tech stuff,” Maxhagan said. “Very high. Military. Sometimes beyond. Really
advanced science that I can’t even be bothered to try to understand.” He smoothed
a hand back over his bald head and past his ear, smiling softly. “I’ve used the place
myself, on occasion. I have an interest in it, and even more of an interest in those
who would use it.”

“He’s there now?” Lanoree asked. “With his Stargazers?”

“He landed two days ago, and his ship is still in the spaceport outside the city.
But I don’t know how many people landed with him.”

“Tell us how to get into Pan Deep,” Lanoree said.

“You’re that desperate to speak with your brother, Lanoree? And, Tre … you’re that
eager to help?”

“Yes, and yes,” Tre said, answering for both of them.

Maxhagan glanced aside, and for the first time Lanoree saw movement across the tavern
that sparked her senses. Two human men, short but strong, and neither seemed to be
paying their drinks any attention. They stared down at the table where they sat, concentrating.
Listening. The glint of metal in their ears.

Lanoree leaned across the table, pleased to see Maxhagan pull back. “You know who
and what I am,” she said. “You might mock my youth, but you’re an older man who’s
survived all these years doing what you do. That’s because you’re wise. You court
safety. So you’ll know not to mess with a Je’daii, Maxhagan. We’ve paid you for information,
which is gratefully received. So now we’ll be on our way.”

Maxhagan’s smile remained on his lips but faded from his eyes. “Are you threatening
me?”

“Yes.”

With the three of them frozen that way, Lanoree ranged her senses out across the tavern.
The two men, staring at the table. A Wookiee at the bar. A Zabrak just outside the
door, a triple-barreled blaster concealed in her backpack but within easy reach. Three
Noghri laughing
uproariously in another corner, blades tied to their legs, claws equipped with artificial
poison sacs. All Maxhagan’s people, all watching her.

If things went wrong, it would be a bloodbath. And Lanoree did not have time to be
killing.