Star Wars: The High Republic: The Eye of Darkness is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated. All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Random House Worlds, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

RANDOM HOUSE is a registered trademark, and RANDOM HOUSE WORLDS and colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Names: Mann, George, author.

Title: The eye of darkness / George Mann.

Other titles: At head of title: Star Wars: the high republic

Description: New York : Random House Worlds, 2023. | Series: Star Wars: the high republic

Identifiers: LCCN 2023035718 (print) | LCCN 2023035719 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593597934 (hardcover; acid-free paper) | ISBN 9780593597941 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Star Wars fiction. | LCGFT: Science fiction. | Novels.

Classification: LCC PR6113.A546 E95 2023 (print) | LCC PR6113.A546 (ebook) | DDC 823/.92—dc23/eng/20230731

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023035718

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023035719

Ebook ISBN 9780593597941

randomhousebooks.com

Cover art: Grant Griffin

ep_prh_6.1_145431659_c0_r0

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

The Star Wars Novels Timeline

Epigraph

Introduction

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Chapter Fifty-eight

Chapter Fifty-nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-one

Chapter Sixty-two

Chapter Sixty-three

Chapter Sixty-four

Chapter Sixty-five

Chapter Sixty-six

Chapter Sixty-seven

Dedication

Acknowledgments

By George Mann

About the Author

_145431659_

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….

It is a time of great turmoil. A year has passed since the destruction of the STARLIGHT BEACON station by the nefarious Marchion Ro and his Nihil marauders.

The Nihil have established an OCCLUSION ZONE in the Outer Rim, stranding hundreds of worlds behind their Stormwall. Communications are blocked, and ships that enter are lost to the void or destroyed by the Nihil.

The Republic is helpless against this sinister threat, and the brave and wise JEDI KNIGHTS remain fearful of Ro’s fabled NAMELESS creatures, which the Jedi have learned are very real, and very deadly….

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Like all living things, Jedi Grand Master Pra-Tre Veter had known fear.

It was, after all, a natural, biological impulse, a reaction to external stimuli that governed the behavior of beings and animals across the entire galaxy. Fear was what kept people safe, a warning system that alerted you when you were in danger, an impulse that urged you to flee, to seek safe ground away from the predators that would do you harm.

But fear was also a tool. A weapon wielded by the misguided, an instrument of control. Fear could be applied, sometimes with delicacy and precision, sometimes with the might of a hammer striking stone. Fear could topple even the strongest of individuals and drive entire populations to misery and subservience.

Fear could bring down stars.

It was, though, the weapon of cowards. Fear could be overcome. It could be defeated. It could be turned into strength.

As a Padawan, as a Jedi Knight, Veter had learned to control his emotions, to contain them, understand them, and use them. It was not that he had stopped feeling or recognizing fear—more that he understood it for what it was and had learned to compartmentalize it. To him, as to most Jedi, fear was simply information—that warning system flaring—allowing him to acknowledge danger and then act accordingly. As a Jedi Council Grand Master, no longer did he allow his thoughts to become clouded by fear. Each and every decision he made was rational, considered.

In this way, Veter, like so many Jedi before him, had learned to face danger head-on. To put himself in harm’s way to protect others, and to do it calmly, logically, and with acceptance.

Which made his current predicament even more troubling.

It wasn’t that he was troubled by the absolute, tar-black darkness. Nor the walls and cold metal bars of his cell. Nor was he scared of the Nihil, of Marchion Ro and his lackeys, of death and transcendence into the Force.

But that thing, that creature that lurked out there, somewhere in the gloom far beyond his cell—that was something different. That was something made to eat away at who he was, to erode him. It was designed to bring fear, and it was a fear that he couldn’t shake, coiling in his guts like a cold compress. The Nameless were supposed to be creatures of myth, the inhabitants of stories designed to scare younglings. But Veter—like too many unfortunate Jedi before him—had learned to his cost that the monsters were very real indeed.

If he listened carefully, he could hear the thing pacing, somewhere off in the distant gloom, tracing the walls of its own prison; a caged predator waiting for the moment to strike, to be free. A starved beast that knew its prey was near.

Veter opened his eyes, but there was nothing to see. No stirrings in the depths, no hint of a light. Memories were his only solace now. Trapped here, with that nameless thing so close, he’d been unable to clear his mind, to focus, for days, weeks, months? He’d lost all track of time. But he was a Jedi still, and he had not yet lost himself. He was fortified by his recollections of his fellow Jedi—by the hope that they had once inspired, not just in him, but in the entire galaxy. Hope that they would rekindle.

He wasn’t scared. But he had known fear. And he would find the means to overcome it, just as he always had.

Veter reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and hesitated, cursing himself as pain flared along the length of his forearm. His left hand was gone, reduced to an ashen stump. Traces of the strange calcification ran up the remainder of his forearm, like poisoned veins, marring his brown-black flesh. The calcification was still spreading, but slowly, agonizingly, consuming him a little more with every passing hour. He’d suffered other wounds—the Nihil had delighted in cutting away the horns that crested his head, trying to humiliate him, to make him lesser than the Tarnab he was. But he had never been proud. Those were scars he could live with, that didn’t alter who he was. But the strange calcification was something different, a creeping death, caused by his proximity to the creature.

It was the result of one of the Nihil’s “experiments,” carried out in a makeshift laboratory by a fervent, hammer-headed Ithorian who had muttered in his echoing native tongue throughout the entire process, providing a running commentary as Veter was brought slowly closer and closer to the creature held on an electrified chain leash on the other side of the room. Or so Veter believed—the creature had defied observation, its mere proximity warping his vision, driving hot spears of pain into his skull, causing terror to spike beyond all sense of reason as it began to feed on him, slowly leaching the living Force from his body.

That was the point Veter had lost control. The fear had overtaken him. His sanity had fled. He couldn’t quite remember what had happened next, but he knew he’d been dragged away before the creature could consume any more of him. He’d heard it howling, straining at its electrified leash to try to reach him, breaking its own bones in utter desperation and hunger as he was thrown back into his cell, slipping into a deep, disturbed unconsciousness.

When he woke again, he was surprised to be alive. His throat was raw from screaming, and his left hand was gone, reduced to a calcified stump where his wrist had once been.

He didn’t know how long had passed since that day. It might have been hours. It might have been days. But since that time, he’d been alone, with just a jug of tepid water left in the corner of the cell to sustain him. Whatever the Ithorian had done to him—Veter had noted the tracks of injection marks on his other arm, suggesting further experiments while he’d been unconscious—it seemed to have slowed the husking process.

A slower, more painful death.

How like the Nihil.

Veter sensed movement in the darkness.

The clang of a mechanical lock. The grating of hinges. And then a sudden flare of light, so harsh that it left him dizzy, as though reality had suddenly rushed in and burned a hole into his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding up his remaining hand as an imperfect shield against the light.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

For Light and Life.

Footsteps moved closer—the thud of heavy boots. They stopped outside the bars of his cell. Veter thought he heard a snort of disgust.

Slowly, he peeled open his eyes to discover that the light wasn’t as sharp and bright as he’d first thought. So accustomed had he become to the gloom that the merest glow—a familiar glow—seemed stark and painful to his dark-adapted eyes.

No, this was merely the yellow light of a stolen lightsaber, clutched in the fist of another. Veter felt the stirrings of indignation. A flash of his old spirit.

How dare he? How dare he use our own weapons, our own symbols against us?

How did we fall so far?

Like the beacon tumbling through the skies of Eiram, the Jedi had been brought low. But they would rise again. They would walk in the Light.

“You’ve regained your spirit.” The voice was cold, emotionless. “I see it in your eyes. You’re resilient, I’ll give you that.” The figure stepped closer, into the shimmering glow of the lightsaber. “But that seed of hope that you cling to, that belief that the Jedi will rise above this, will bring an end to all that I have done…it is a fallacy. I shall crush it as I have crushed everything else you and your kind believe in. I shall watch you beg.” The figure paused, then lowered his voice, adopting a reasonable, affable tone. “But perhaps not today.”

Veter glanced up. He fixed this being—this monster—with a defiant stare.

Here was the orchestrator of it all, the pain, the suffering, the chaos. Here was Marchion Ro, the Eye of the Nihil, the very center of the storm.

He looked resplendent in his crimson cloak, its fur-lined collar draped across his broad shoulders. And then there was the helm, its strange, swirling, cyclopean red eye peering down at Veter, where he sat in the dirt, like a penitent at the foot of his liege.

Just how Marchion Ro had devised it.

Determined not to give the Eye the satisfaction he so clearly craved, Veter levered himself up, trying hard to disguise the strain, the weakness that he felt deep down in his bones. He’d been starved, and tortured, and exposed to that thing, but he was still a Jedi. Still a member of the High Council.

He forced himself to his full height and took a step toward the bars, closer to his captor. The hum of the lightsaber was the only sound, save for Veter’s ragged breathing. Soon, he knew, he would be one with the Force.

He glowered defiantly at Ro, staring back at that stark, single eye in the center of the Evereni’s helm.

If he could only reach out and take the lightsaber back…

Veter reached for the Force. It was distant, faint, like an echo of what it had always been. The proximity of the creature was disrupting his connection to it, as if it were somehow siphoning away the living Force inside of him.

Veter had always felt the Force as a solid thing. Pliable and moldable, like clay. Something he could shape in new ways to express himself. But now it felt thin and loose, unable to take on the forms he tried to mold in his mind. The creature’s hunger gnawed at the edges of his concentration, distracting him, interfering with his every thought. A constant, ever-present needle, hot in the back of his skull, refusing him peace, preventing him from finding his center. And yet, as Master Yoda had once taught him, back when Veter was still a youngling: There is no trying, only doing. No matter the circumstances, no matter the pain.

Veter reached for the lightsaber, pulling it toward him. The hilt shifted slightly in Ro’s palm, twitching as if drawn toward Veter like the needle of a compass, but it was too much, and he took a staggering step backward, relinquishing his tenuous grip on the weapon.

Ro extinguished the lightsaber with a flick of his thumb, thrusting them back into the perpetual night of the brig. And then, without another word, Marchion Ro simply turned and walked away.

CORUSCANT

High above the soaring spires of Coruscant, the stars turned in their firmament as they always had, as they always would. Pinpricks of light denoting distant suns, distant worlds, distant peoples, mirrored by the glittering lights of the city far below.

It should have been beautiful.

Yet to Elzar Mann, the stars looked wrong. No matter how hard or how long he peered up at them from his vantage point on the grand balcony outside the chancellor’s office, they just seemed somehow off kilter, out of sorts. As if the galaxy had become kinked, twisted, changed. As if everything he’d once relied upon—every still point in a chaotic galaxy—had been suddenly yanked away, pulled out roughly from under him while he tried to remain standing.

It had been the same ever since the fall of Starlight Beacon and…

…and Stellan.

Elzar closed his eyes and allowed the breeze to ruffle his unkempt hair, as if hoping that the chill wind could somehow sweep away the memories, carry them off into the streaming lanes of traffic and away through the spires and domes until they were gone. He’d noticed that a few gray strands had appeared around his temples in recent months. He’d lost weight, too, and while he was still toned—he’d taken to practicing lightsaber drills late into the night, most nights—he’d grown thin. He’d tried to convince himself that it was a result of the work, of keeping himself so busy trying to figure out a solution to the Nihil problem, but he knew he was allowing things to worry away at him.

How Stellan would have laughed at him. Nudged him in the ribs and told him to cease dwelling on things that were done. To focus on the here and now. To do what needed to be done, and accept that the Force guided his hand, now as it always had.

But Stellan was gone. He was one with the Force. He had been for a year. Elzar knew that his old friend had found peace. And yet his absence was still marked. Not just a hole in the Jedi’s hearts and minds, but in their leadership, too. Especially now that the Nihil had won, had shattered Starlight Beacon and subsequently annexed dozens of worlds, an entire sector of the Outer Rim, from the rest of the galaxy. This area was being called the Nihil Occlusion Zone, and was separated by an invisible barrier that made it all possible.

The Stormwall: a vast web that disrupted hyperspace travel, causing any vessel that attempted to cross it to be wrenched violently back out of hyperspace, either destroying it immediately or causing it to disappear without a trace. There’d been much debate about what exactly happened to those missing ships, given that communication across the Stormwall was also impeded, but the assumption was that any ships that weren’t destroyed in the attempt were being corralled by Nihil patrols on the other side and deposited into so-called kill zones. Certainly, they were never heard from again.

Worse, the network of relays and buoys—or “stormseeds”—that powered the Stormwall was so large that traveling across it without lightspeed was equally out of the question. Any ship trying to breach such a vast gulf of space at sublight speeds would have to travel for a hundred years before reaching its destination. Not only that, but any attempt at sublight ingress was being met and destroyed by Nihil patrols or swarms of scavdroids, alerted by the automated systems that controlled the Stormwall technology. Patrols that could traverse the Stormwall and deliver a killing blow before the target was even aware it had happened.

It was ingenious, in its own way, and it had so far frustrated all Jedi or Republic attempts to bypass it, usually with disastrous results. Ships flown by droids. Electromagnetic pulses. Data slicing. Sustained attack on the well-shielded stormseeds. Nothing had worked. Nothing at all.

With the Stormwall, the Nihil had carved out their own domain, challenging the Republic at every turn. And with the Nameless—or “Force Eaters,” as they were also known—they had unleashed a weapon that even the Jedi could not stop. A weapon that targeted the very essence of who the Jedi were. A weapon designed to obliterate them.

Elzar exhaled.

This would all have been so much easier if Avar were by his side. Instead, she was somewhere deep in the Occlusion Zone, as distant to him as Stellan was.

They’d stood together on Eiram, watching the last vestiges of the Beacon slip beneath the cold, crushing waves, carrying all the Republic’s hopes and dreams down with it. It had been a symbol of strength and unity, of light in the dark, of hope. And the Nihil, led by Marchion Ro, had turned that symbol against them. Now it was a symbol of nothing but failure and loss.

Elzar had allowed Avar to take his hand in that moment, to lend him strength. He’d taken comfort from that; a shared understanding, a silent acknowledgment that they still had each other, despite everything. Despite the galaxy turning to chaos around them. But he cursed himself now that, lost in his own shock and grief, his own shame at what he had done, he had failed to ask Avar how she had felt. Had failed to offer her the comfort that she had offered him. And that pain she’d been carrying, that sense of loss and failure, had driven her away.

Unless it was him that had driven her away. That was the notion that haunted him, that plagued him with uncertainty and shame. He’d finally worked up the courage to confide in her about what had happened in the final moments of Starlight Beacon. How he’d acted without thought, murdering the Nihil woman, Chancey Yarrow, as she’d tried to save them all. He hadn’t known it at the time, of course. He’d assumed she was just another Nihil trying to sabotage the Jedi’s attempts to save the station. But the results were the same: He’d ended their last chance at saving Starlight, and in doing so had taken the life of someone who’d been trying to help.

Everything that had come afterward was now partly his fault. He had to make amends, to try to embody even a tiny sliver of the good that Stellan had gifted to the galaxy. To somehow try to fill the hole that Stellan had left behind. He’d told Avar all of this, the words spilling from his mouth on the shores of Eiram.

Avar had said all the right things, of course. All the platitudes and reassurances, repeating all the tenets of the Force and the reminders that everything happened for a reason, that he wasn’t to blame. That only the Nihil carried that weight upon their shoulders. She’d shown him all the mercy and understanding for which he’d hoped.

And yet…Elzar couldn’t help but wonder if it had also been part of the reason she’d gone, accepting a mission to try to get closer to the Nihil, to discover their intentions in the aftermath of their victory. Intentions that none of them could have anticipated.

Now she, too, was lost. Trapped behind the Stormwall, deep in Nihil space. He didn’t even know if she was still alive.

No, Elzar. You’d know. She’s still out there.

She has to be.

He would bring her back. Avar and the others who shared her fate. He would find a way. The threat of the Nihil would be ended. The Stormwall would fall, and peace would be returned to the galaxy.

There was no choice. He would do what Stellan would have done. No matter that they’d already tried everything they could think of. No matter that the Nihil had defeated them at every turn.

He would find a way.

He had to.

It was the only way to make things right.

Elzar turned at the sound of the balcony doors swooshing open behind him. A familiar droid trundled out on its rolling base, its upper, vaguely humanoid half turning to regard him. It fixed him with its blank, coppery visage. The droid he had gifted to Stellan, JJ-5145. A final tether to his old friend.

“Supreme Chancellor Soh is almost ready to begin, Master Elzar,” said the droid. Its chirpy, electronic tones seemed abrasive after the silence of Elzar’s contemplation. Abrasive, but a welcome distraction, nonetheless.

“Thank you, Forfive. I’ll join you in just a moment.”

The droid held his gaze for a moment. “Your hesitation suggests uncertainty. If you would care to share your concerns, I can help to order your thoughts and prioritize your responses.”

“I’m fine, Forfive.”

“Hmmm,” was the droid’s only response. It turned and trundled back through the sliding doors.

Elzar grinned. Trust Stellan’s droid to see through him better than he could see through himself. He’d given JJ-5145 to Stellan as a joke, but also as a way of reminding Stellan to ask for help, to lean on others when he needed to. And now JJ-5145 was reminding him of that very same lesson. Urging him to live in the here and now, to concentrate on the task before him.

Elzar smoothed the front of his temple robes and set out after the overly opinionated droid.

OUTER RIM

The Tractate slid through hyperspace like a tiny mote being swallowed by the very throat of the galaxy itself; insignificant and alone.

Unseen and uncharted, the Pacifier-class Republic ship carved a path across the Outer Rim, skirting the outer edges of the so-called Occlusion Zone, comm channels open and scanning the planetary systems on the borders of Nihil space for any hint of a distress call.

Jedi Knight Bell Zettifar stood in the command center at the prow of the ship, watching the blue smear of hyperspace. Worlds flitted past, many of them teeming with life; a cacophony of voices, each one a pinprick in the living Force. Bell could sense them, their hopes, and their fears, burning bright and strong.

For Light and Life.

That had always been the Jedi’s mantra. And no matter what had happened, Bell held on to those words as truth.

For every living being.

For peace.

That was why he was out there, now. To uphold those fundamental tenets. To ensure that all the terrible losses they’d suffered, all the pain and anguish they’d endured, hadn’t been for nothing.

Bell patted Ember gently on the head. Beside him, the charhound issued a low murmur, steam venting from her nostrils.

“I know, Ember. Quiet, isn’t it?”

Ember nudged his thigh gently in response, but he could tell she was picking up on his unsettled mood.

Bell tried to push his mounting anxiety to one side. He rolled his neck, trying to ease the knots of tension in his shoulders. He’d tried meditating, but he’d been unable to center himself, plagued by thoughts of the impending anniversary of Starlight Beacon’s fall, and of the beings—some of them friends—lost behind enemy lines.

People such as Avar Kriss, Porter Engle, Pra-Tre Veter, and so many others. He had no idea if any of them were even still alive, and the thought filled him with something dangerously close to anger. Especially as he’d been there when Veter had been taken two months earlier during a Nihil raid. The Jedi Grand Master—a Council member, no less—had volunteered to hold off a wave of Nihil while Bell and Burryaga evacuated a settlement, but somehow, the Nihil had managed to overwhelm him, taking him prisoner and dragging him back behind the Stormwall.

Veter hadn’t been heard from since. And the Nihil raids had continued.

At least out here, on the edge of the Occlusion Zone, Bell felt like he was doing something, fighting back. Resisting.

While Elzar Mann and the rest of the Jedi worked on the problem of bypassing the Stormwall, Bell had sought permission to focus on defending the needy who had suddenly found themselves on the outer edges of this militarized space. These worlds had become isolated, cut off from their former trade routes and subject to irregular raids by Nihil vessels that passed in and out of the Occlusion Zone with impunity, using the secret hyperspace lanes provided by their Path drives to bypass the Stormwall’s barrier. Where once they had nestled among neighboring systems in relative security, now entire cultures—entire civilizations—were at risk.

The Jedi Council had given him the latitude necessary to carry out this self-imposed mission, granting him an exception from the Guardian Protocols that had been insituted just a week after Starlight’s destruction, knowing full well that, if Bell and his small team were to prove successful in bringing down one of the Nihil raiding vessels, there was also a chance they could salvage the Path drive that gave it safe passage through the Stormwall, thus providing the Jedi with the access they so desperately sought.

For Bell, this was an important but secondary concern. More pressing was the need to save lives. While the Jedi were busy trying to figure out a way to stop the Nihil, someone had to focus on what they had always done best: help people in need. Defend those who couldn’t defend themselves. The Nihil left behind a river of spilled blood and misery after every raid. It was the Jedi’s job to stop them…no matter the risks involved.

And there were risks. Grave risks. Bell was only too aware.

The Nihil had caused so much pain. So much loss. And while the Jedi still didn’t quite understand the weapon the Nihil had deployed against them—despite over a year of trying to make sense of the creatures and how they disrupted or fed on the Jedi’s connection to the Force—Bell knew the Jedi couldn’t afford to take a back seat, to stand down in the fight against the Nihil. And so they fought on, despite the danger.

Images of Bell’s former master, Loden Greatstorm, flashed through his mind. The horrified, contorted expression on his ashen face. The gray flesh that had been reduced to nothing but an empty husk. Bell felt a pang of loss, still acute, still sharp. And the same thing had happened to others, too. Orla Jareni. Nib Assek. So many others, all of them friends, teachers. Each of them had left behind a void that was impossible to fill.

The Nihil had to be stopped.

So, while the rest of the Jedi turned their attention to breaching the Stormwall or finding a way to combat the Nameless, Bell, along with others like Mirro Lox and Amadeo Azzazzo, would continue trying to foil their raids and prevent them from hurting anyone else.

In this war—and it was a war to Bell—every single life mattered. Every death was a failure. What else did for Light and Life mean if not that?

Talk among the ship’s crew—consisting primarily of RDC soldiers—had inevitably turned to the impending anniversary of Starlight Beacon’s fall, and while they had been mindful to speak in hushed tones around their Jedi passengers, it had nevertheless put Bell in a reflective mood.

For a fleeting moment after the Beacon went down, Bell had thought he’d lost everything. But it had only been for a moment. For all that they had lost, the Jedi Order remained. And while they still stood—those survivors, all those Jedi back on Coruscant—they could still uphold the Light. They could still be the beacon in the dark.

Bell had never given up hope. He had never—

“Rwwwaaaarrrwooo.”

Grinning, Bell turned to see his friend Burryaga standing behind him. The Wookiee Jedi fixed him with an inquisitive stare, cocking his head slightly to one side, so that the thin braids of hair beneath his face dangled across his left shoulder.

“Arroorrrooo,” said Bell, gruffly. He’d spent much of the last year studying Shyriiwook, but forming some of the words and expressions still hurt his throat.

Burryaga gave a barking laugh. “Warrraa roowarr.”

Bell shrugged, his face creasing in a broad smile as he joined in with his friend’s teasing laughter. “Well, at least I tried.” He smoothed the front of his robes. “And yes, I was feeling reflective, what with the anniversary and all.”

Burry’s expression darkened. He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. Ember trotted over to brush against Burry’s leg, causing a small patch of the Wookiee’s fur to smolder. He patted it out.

“I’m sorry,” said Bell. “I know it’s still hard.” His breath caught in his throat, and he glanced away. He was still coming to terms with how close he’d come to losing another friend to the Nihil.

Burryaga had disappeared fighting a rathtar during the final minutes of Starlight Beacon’s fall and had failed to emerge after the station crashed into Eiram’s churning ocean. He’d been presumed dead, lost alongside Master Stellan, Maru, and all the others who had given their lives trying to prevent Starlight’s destruction or help with the desperate evacuation attempts.

But Bell had refused to acknowledge it. He’d been sure Burry would have found a way to cling on, to survive, despite the odds. And he’d been right. He’d found Burry deep under the Eiram ocean, trapped inside a cave system with a dwindling supply of oxygen. The Wookiee had survived against all odds. He’d managed to find a pocket of air inside a submerged cave, and had remained there for a month, desperately clinging to life, wondering whether any of his fellow Jedi had even considered he might still be alive.

And then Bell had found him, and Burry’s return to Coruscant had been a much-needed win for the Jedi, a boost to their flagging morale. In his darkest moments, though, Bell still wondered what might have happened if he’d listened to the other Jedi, returned to Coruscant, and assumed Burry was dead, down there in the black depths of the ocean.

The Force had guided him to Burry, despite everyone’s doubts. He understood that the High Council had decisions to make, that the threat of the Nihil was bigger than any single life, but all the same he’d learned a valuable lesson about trusting his own instincts, even if those instincts sometimes seemed at odds with those around him. It was why he was out there now. He was where he was supposed to be. He could feel it.

His friendship with the Wookiee had grown closer during the months that followed Burry’s rescue, and they had been Knighted together, snipping off their Padawan braids to become full Jedi Knights, their efforts during the fall of Starlight being recognized by the Jedi Council as trial enough to prove any Padawan worthy of elevation to Knighthood.

They had supported each other on several missions to the galaxy’s new frontier—the edge of the Occlusion Zone—and had fought side by side to protect a settlement against marauding Nihil on the moon of Saltear, where they had first encountered the Nihil raiding ship Cacophony and its dangerous, white-haired captain, Melis Shryke. The same Nihil warlord who’d been responsible for the abduction of Grand Master Veter.

When Bell had petitioned the Council to allow him to undertake this mission, Burry had been by his side, steadfast and resolute. He believed wholeheartedly in Bell’s calling, sharing his friend’s desire to defend those who could not defend themselves. So it was that they were here, now, on the prow of a Republic ship, working with the small detachment of RDC soldiers as they tried to anticipate the locations of future Nihil raids.

It seemed to Bell that the raids were opportunistic, striking at settlements just outside the Occlusion Zone, targeting those who were too weak or too scared to fight back. The work of cowards.

They’d tried tracking the Nihil ships, but all communications within the Occlusion Zone, including the signals broadcast by tracking devices, were down, or were controlled by the Nihil. As soon as a Nihil vessel passed back through the Stormwall it effectively disappeared, and there was no way of knowing where it might emerge next. All they’d been able to do was remain close to the most vulnerable systems and…wait.

And waiting didn’t suit Bell. Not when lives were on the line.

He glanced around the sparse bridge of the Tractate. “Any word from Master Elzar?” asked Bell, turning back to Burryaga.

The Wookiee shook his head.

The lack of progress was troubling. With all the combined resources of the Jedi and the Republic, it was surely only a matter of time before they found a way to bypass the Stormwall. Yet it seemed the Nihil had been efficient in turning the Republic’s own technology against itself, and so far they’d lost several ships—and their pilots—trying to force a breach. Some had been dragged out of hyperspace as mangled wrecks, while others had simply disappeared, never to be heard from again, and presumed dead.

And now there was talk about trying to negotiate peace.

Bell was in favor of any solution that eschewed violence, but the truth was, he didn’t trust, for even a minute, that peace was what the Nihil wanted.

They’d all heard Marchion Ro’s speech in the aftermath of Starlight’s fall. The mocking, bragging tones of the “Eye of the Storm.” In fact, back on Coruscant, Bell had been part of the team that had tried to analyze the broadcast for clues, playing it over and over until the Evereni’s words were burned like furrows into his memory.

There is no hope in this part of the galaxy. There is only despair.

It was a lie. A blatant, terrible lie.

But Bell wondered how many people inside the Occlusion Zone had been persuaded to believe it was true, especially after an entire year of knowing nothing else but the terror of Nihil rule.

Burryaga brought Bell back from his reverie with a low, concerned whine.

“Yes, I know. You’re right. I should take some time out to meditate. But what if—?”

A shrill klaxon sounded, rending the air throughout the ship. Close by, Ember barked, alerted by the sudden noise.

“Saved by the alarm,” said Bell, with a sideways glance at Burry. He crossed to where the Tractate’s captain, Amaryl Pel, was hurriedly issuing orders for the pilot to drop the ship out of hyperspace.

“Another raid?” asked Bell.

The woman glanced briefly at Bell, and then shrugged. “Unknown distress signal, originating on the planet Ribento.”

“But is it the Nihil?” pressed Bell.

“Does it matter?” said Pel, failing to hide her irritation. “People need our help.”

Bell nodded. “Of course.” He looked up, meeting Burry’s gaze. “You ready?”

“Wrrraaw.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” said Bell.

CORUSCANT

Supreme Chancellor Lina Soh was sitting behind her desk, her shoulders hunched, her head bowed over a datapad. She was flanked by her idling targons Matari and Voru, two huge felines with soft, downy fur, four eyes, and pronounced, tusklike fangs. They served as both pets and guardians, and the chancellor was rarely without them. They both glanced up at Elzar as he entered the room, eyeing him judgmentally. Or sizing him up. He was never entirely sure.

The chancellor looked contemplative, her brow furrowed in deep concentration, and Elzar couldn’t help but notice that the lines around her eyes had deepened—not through advancing age, but no doubt due to the unrelenting pressures of her station. Here was a woman who carried the weight of the entire Republic on her shoulders, who had weathered the storm of some of the greatest losses the galaxy had ever known, who had suffered injury and terror, and yet was able to remain focused and calm, and do whatever needed to be done.

At least, most of the time. Her son Kitrep Soh was also missing, presumed lost behind the Stormwall with his boyfriend Jom Lariin, and the chancellor was growing increasingly desperate to get him back. The two young men had been traveling—sightseeing—on the Outer Rim when the Stormwall went up a year earlier, and like so many others, they hadn’t been heard from since.

The chancellor looked up as Elzar approached her desk, the corner of her mouth twitching in a welcoming smile. “Master Mann. Elzar.”

“You’re running through your speech one last time?”

She shook her head. “If only.” She lowered the datapad to the desk before her. “Agricultural reports. With Hetzal still locked in the Occlusion Zone, we’re having to redistribute the harvests on other worlds to help keep those on the outer edges of the zone fed and watered. It’s causing a strain on the whole Mid Rim.”

Beside her, Matari issued a snort, as if picking up on her simmering frustration. She reached down and ruffled the fur of his mane.

“You know I’m not one for platitudes, Chancellor. But you’re doing an incredible job. And an unenviable one at that.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, I’m glad someone thinks so, at least. Try telling that to the Senate.”

“You know they’re just struggling, like everyone else. Until we deal with the Nihil…”

“It’s been a year, Elzar. An entire year. I’m starting to think we might need to face the truth. That the Nihil are here to stay.”

“No. Not after what they did. Think of all those people trapped behind the Stormwall, on Delemede, Galtea, Pantora, struggling under the yoke of Nihil oppression. We can’t just accept that and move on.”

“You’re saying that to me?” she snapped, and Elzar inwardly chided himself for his insensitivity. “I can’t think of anything else. I don’t even know if Kip is still alive. And it’s eating me away, every day. More than anyone could imagine.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” said Elzar. “We need to keep going. Pushing. We need to find a way to get inside the O.Z. and stop them. The threat they pose to the galaxy…not to mention the Jedi.”

The chancellor nodded resignedly. “I know. It’s just—there are those pushing for us to make an accord. To recognize the legitimacy of ‘Nihil space’ in the hope of reopening trade routes. And their voices are growing in number.”

“Then they’re wrong,” said Elzar.

“Are they?” said Soh. “I find myself wondering—what if it’s the only way to get our people back? Do some sort of deal, agree to the Nihil’s terms? Perhaps we could negotiate an exchange.”

Elzar shook his head, appalled by the very suggestion. “No. Capitulating now would be to give up. To forget all that we’ve lost. Who we’ve lost. We can’t trust the Nihil, not now, not ever. How do we even know that any overtures they’re making aren’t just another way of toying with us?”

“We don’t,” conceded the chancellor.

They lapsed into silence for a moment.

“I miss them, too,” she said, shifting her position to adjust her prosthetic leg—the result of her injuries on Valo during the Nihil attack on the Republic Fair. A reminder to Elzar, perhaps, that the chancellor knew all too well how much they’d lost.

Elzar swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “They’d keep fighting. Both of them. Avar and Stellan.”

“I know.”

“And Avar won’t have given up. She’s in there now, doing everything she can to bring them down from inside the Occlusion Zone.”

Soh nodded. “You’re right. We’ll find a way. You’ll find a way.” She moistened her lips. “Just make it soon. For all our sakes. I can’t hold the Senate off forever. And I can’t wait. I need to know he’s okay, Elzar. You understand that. Of all people.”

Elzar nodded. “He knows you’re trying to reach him. They all do. They know we haven’t given up.”

Soh gave a strained smile. “Yes. Of course. And there’s always the chance that one of your messages has gotten through. That would give them hope that we’re still coming for them, wouldn’t it? I have to believe that.”

“I hope so, too,” said Elzar. While the Nihil were blocking all transmissions in and out of the Occlusion Zone, Elzar had nevertheless spent months broadcasting a series of messages on a broad spectrum of channels and frequencies, some of them ancient and arcane, derived from findings in the Jedi Archives. He hoped they might serve as a reminder to all Jedi, all beings, inside the Occlusion Zone that the Jedi stood with them, no matter what. That there was still hope. That together, the Republic and the Jedi would find a way to bring them home, or free them from the oppression under which they had found themselves.

He only hoped that somehow, somewhere out there, people had heard.

Elzar rubbed his chin thoughtfully, reacting in puzzlement at the short, sharp bristles that prickled his palm. Had it really been that long since he’d shaved?

“It suits you,” said the chancellor with a smirk.

Elzar shook his head. “Oh no. I’m not—”

Chancellor Soh smiled.

I’m not trying to grow a beard like Stellan, Elzar finished, silently. He glanced away, took a deep breath, and expelled it.

“I’m sorry, Elzar. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” said Soh. She smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. She lowered her voice. “We’re all feeling the pressure. Especially today, of all days.” She let that hang for a moment. “How are you? Really.”

Elzar met her gaze. How could it be that a person carrying such a tremendous burden could think of others, particularly on a day like today?

“I just hope the Nihil aren’t planning to mark the occasion,” he said.

“They’ve been quiet for a month now,” said Soh.

“They’ve continued to raid some of the outlying systems,” countered Elzar.

“Yes, but our intelligence, such as it is, isn’t suggestive of any large-scale attacks,” said Soh. “Nevertheless, the Republic Defense Coalition is on full alert. We’ve set up precautionary measures and stationed fleets close to any vulnerable targets along the border of the Occlusion Zone.” She straightened her back, sitting up in her chair as if switching her demeanor from the more personal, open Lina Soh that had greeted him to the officious supreme chancellor of the Republic. As if, by this very act, she was attempting to convince herself as much as Elzar. “We’re not anticipating any trouble.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Elzar.

The chancellor blinked, inhaled, and stood, causing the two targons to rouse beside her. “Now then, time to give that speech.”

RIBENTO SYSTEM

The Tractate plunged out of hyperspace. Proximity alarms erupted, rude and intrusive. Warning lights flared a harsh, strobing red. Crew members were shouting, running, clamoring for attention.

“Three Nihil vessels!”

“They’re bombarding the planet from orbit!”

“They’ve seen us!”

Bell closed his eyes. He took a long, deep breath, clearing his mind.

Focus…Focus…

His eyes flicked open again.

“Brace yourselves,” he said. His voice was steady, level, but somehow seemed to cut through the cacophony of alarms and strained shouting. At their stations, the crew clutched their chairs and consoles as the Tractate shuddered, strafing laserfire raking its left flank. More alarms trilled. A shower of sparks sprayed from the ceiling. Ember gave a warning bark.

“Arrrwooo,” muttered Burryaga.

“Yes,” said Bell. “Four Nihil vessels.”

“Damage report!” bellowed Captain Pel.

“The starboard air lock is venting, but otherwise integrity is holding.”

“Bring us around,” ordered Pel. “And get Hintis to send reinforcements, now!”

“Aye, Captain.”

The Tractate’s hammer-head nose dipped as it swung right, panning across the vista and awarding Bell and the others with their first real view of the Ribento system into which they’d emerged. It was glorious—bright binary stars locked in a majestic dance with three planetary bodies, the planet Ribento and its two inhabitable moons, Morlas and Tho—but the view was presently marred by the scattered debris of what appeared to be former outpost stations, and the presence of several Nihil ships.

Three of these were smaller, mismatched vessels, typical of the Nihil—heaps of junk, a marriage of ill-fitting parts reclaimed from wrecks or stolen from hijacked victims—while the other was altogether more familiar.

The Cacophony. Melis Shryke’s ship. The Nihil warlord who had taken Grand Master Veter from right under their noses and had waged a campaign of terror across the scattered worlds on the border of the Occlusion Zone.

“Finally,” breathed Bell, his chest tight. A chance to right a wrong. To bring Melis Shryke to heel. The opportunity he’d been waiting for.

“Scramble the Skywings,” ordered Pel.

Quarik relayed the order.

Eight of the small, arrowhead-shaped Republic fighters launched from the Tractate’s bay, peeling off to form two squadrons.

At the moment, the Cacophony was raining cannon fire down from orbit upon a burning settlement on the planet Ribento, presumably the origin of the distress call. The other, smaller Nihil vessels were turning their way. One of them—a fighter-class ship with a bright-blue eye painted on its flank—blinked out of existence as it slid into hyperspace.

“Target point-seven-nine-mark-three-two-five with a missile,” said Bell.

“But there’s nothing there,” said Pel.

“Trust me,” said Bell. He was operating on instinct now, allowing his senses to reach out beyond the confines of the ship, to feel each small tremor in the Force.

“Target acquired,” called the gunner, a tall, thin Kel Dor named Pha Rool. His voice was slightly muffled by the presence of his rebreather, which all Kel Dors were forced to wear in oxygenated environments.

“Fire!” bellowed Pel.

The missile—one of only six carried by the Tractate—shot from its housing with a roar of ignition, streaking across the empty void toward the star.

Seconds passed. Pel turned to glance at Bell, frustration creasing her brow. The two other small Nihil ships closed in on their position.

“Hold,” said Bell, raising his hand to beg for patience. “Hold…”

And then the Nihil fighter emerged from its hyperspace Path directly into the flight path of the oncoming missile. There was nothing they could do. No time to even react, as the missile collided with the ablative plates on the side of the vessel’s nose, causing the entire ship to erupt in a blazing inferno, scattering what was left of it like dust among the stars.

Bell sensed several lights flickering out of the Force, and grimaced.

A hoot of triumph erupted from the crew. Pel eyed Bell with a look that was half respect, half suspicion.

“Incoming!”

“Evasive maneuvers!”

The Tractate lurched as the rear thrusters fired, sending the ship into a deep dive. An arc of cannon fire from the second Nihil fighter raked across the portside nose fin as they turned, narrowly missing the central command center where Bell and the others stood.

Four of the Skywings fell in behind it, laser cannons thudding. The others circled around, preparing to engage the remaining Nihil ship.

“We need to reach the Cacophony,” said Bell. “The Skywings can deal with the fighters.”

Burry nodded, setting his braids jangling. In growling Shyriiwook he suggested they head to their Vectors.

“Yes,” said Bell. He turned to Pel. “But can you get us closer first?”

“Of course. Quarik, take us in,” said Pel.

The Tractate slid forward, gathering speed as its sublight engines burned.

Nearby, visible through the forward viewport, four of the Skywings had caught one of the Nihil fighters in a tight pincer movement. Cannons flashed.

The Nihil ship bloomed like a raging star.

Elsewhere, the rest of the Skywings were chasing down the remaining Nihil fighter. It wouldn’t be long before it, too, was so much stardust.

Bell felt a surge of hope.

This time.

This time, we can do it.

Ahead of the Tractate, the Cacophony had ceased its bombardment of Ribento and was slowly turning, pulling itself away from the planet’s gravity well to face them.

Bell nudged Burryaga in the arm. “I hope you’re ready for a fight.”

Burryaga threw his head back and issued a defiant roar.

“Ready the cannons,” ordered Pel, leaning forward in her command chair. “Strafing fire across their prow as soon as we’re in range. And keep the missiles primed. Remember, we’re aiming to disable not destroy. We want that Path drive.”

“Aye, Captain,” came the chorus of replies.

The Tractate continued its onward rush toward the Nihil raider.

“We’ll keep them busy while you deploy,” said Pel, looking at Bell, her eyes hard. “But remember—reinforcements will be arriving soon. There’s no need to take any unnecessary risks. I know you’re Jedi, but you’re still part of this crew.”

Bell nodded. Pel had been there when Pra-Tre Veter was taken, too. She clearly wasn’t ready to see any more Jedi captured on her watch, either. “I’ll target their sublight drives. Burry will go after their weapons systems. If we can keep them pinned until the reinforcements arrive, we stand a chance.”

The Wookiee nodded his agreement, already starting toward the rear of the ship where their Vectors waited in the deployment bay.

“Wait!” called Quarik.

Bell turned. “What?”

“They’ve cleared the planet’s gravity well. They’re powering up their hyperdrive.”

Bell paused, staring out at the Cacophony as it suddenly blinked into hyperspace, ghosting out of view.

“They’ve engaged their Path drive,” said Pha Rool.

“Have they run?” asked Pel.

Bell fought a tide of welling frustration.

So close. Again.

Another failure.

“It seems that way,” said Quarik. “I’m not picking up any sign of them.”

Pel cursed under her breath. “All right, let’s recall the Skywings as soon as—” Her remaining words were lost as the thunderous roar of cannon fire raked across the top of their hull, causing the entire vessel to shudder. More alarms blared as red warning sigils flashed across readouts throughout the bridge.

“Report!”

“It’s the Cacophony! They’ve dropped out of a hyperspace Path right on top of us,” bellowed Pha Rool.

“And they’ve launched more ships,” said Quarik, her voice tight. “They’re coming right at us.”

RIBENTO SYSTEM

Melis Shryke was beginning to understand why Marchion Ro and the rest of the Nihil harbored such a burning hatred of the Jedi.

She’d only joined their ranks six months ago, after the Nihil’s so-called Minister of Protection—a fierce Mirialan who wore inlaid black armor and was referred to by the other Nihil as General Viess—had arrived at the city of Jodzia on Shryke’s home planet of Bantoo, demanding tithes. When the city mayor had refused to pay those tithes, claiming that the Nihil had acted illegally in erecting the Stormwall and sealing Bantoo inside the Nihil Occlusion Zone, Shryke had watched from her balcony as the Nihil ripped through the city like a raging storm, leveling three entire districts, blasting their atrocious “music,” and violently murdering anyone who got in their way.

She should have been appalled. She should have called to mobilize the house guards, to try to protect the citizens. She should have done what her family was supposed to do and stepped up in the face of catastrophe. To stand against the monstrous oppressors. Because, as her father had always told her, members of the Shryke family were the only ones allowed to oppress anyone in Jodzia.

But Melis Shryke had done none of that.

Instead, she’d simply remained on the balcony and watched, transfixed, as the Nihil rampaged through the streets, leaving a trail of devastation and bloodied corpses in their wake.

More than that, though, she’d enjoyed it. In fact, she’d reveled in it. She’d found herself drawn to the purity of the Nihil’s actions; the honesty inherent in their brutality. Here, she decided, were beings unimpeded by societal imperatives, by the infuriating rituals and rules that had always guided her life as a daughter of a preeminent house. Rules that had made that life a prison. Here, among the Nihil, were people who understood the joy to be found in complete abandon. Whose code was to live by whatever impulses impelled them, to give in to their base desires without question, concern, or guilt. Who took what they wanted and said exactly what they thought. And who had a beautiful, devastating aptitude for violence.

For a woman who had lived her entire life as the heir to a noble fortune, who’d been dressed and preened and paraded her entire life, who was never allowed to say, or do, or act the way she wished, it was utterly intoxicating. To her, the Nihil were free in a way she could never have imagined anyone could be free. And in General Viess, she had finally found someone to look up to. A being who lived her life exactly the way Shryke had always wanted to live her own.

So for the very first time in her life, she had allowed her own impulses to guide what happened next.

First, she’d decided she needed something more appropriate to wear. Something that Viess, in her resplendent armor, might appreciate.

She’d hurriedly dressed in her own suit of ceremonial armor, which had been forged for her to wear during the ostentatious parades her family made through the city each season. While she detested the pomp and circumstance behind such events, she’d always loved the armor itself, the shimmering blue carapace, the weight of the plating upon her shoulders and back, the way the polished cobalt offset the stark white of her braided hair. Wearing it, she felt powerful. Like she could do anything or be anyone.

Once she was appropriately attired, she had taken her father’s ornate blaster from the drawer in his study and shot the miserable wretch where he slept. She’d felt no loss or sense of guilt at the man’s death—he’d hardly been an exemplary father to her, and she still held him responsible for her mother’s death. In fact, she’d felt a great sense of liberation the moment she’d pulled the trigger and watched the shocked realization flee his eyes.

Next, she’d turned the blaster on her father’s chief adviser until the Neimoidian had finally been persuaded to open the family vault (it had taken the deaths of two of his minions to convince him she was serious). She’d taken as many credits as she could carry, and then she’d walked right out of the palace and into the ruined streets.

As the black smoke of her burning people coiled through the air, she’d approached General Viess, laying the heap of credits at the woman’s feet.

“I’ll pay your tithes. But I want in.”

Viess had offered her an amused smile, taking in her gleaming armor, her defiant stance, and then given the briefest of nods.

Now, six months later, Shryke was running her own ship, the Cacophony, and her own crew, carrying out raids beyond the outer edges of Nihil space. Putting the fear of death into those who might have considered revolting against the new regime. Continuing the good work of Marchion Ro and his people, bringing chaos and disorder to the galaxy. Raining death and harvesting credits.

And most important, having fun. For the very first time in her life.

And now the Jedi wanted to spoil it all. She just wanted to kill them, so they’d stop getting in her way. That was the lesson she’d learned from the Nihil. And it was the only lesson that really mattered.

Killing them wasn’t part of the mission, though. Sadly. Viess had ordered her to bring them in. To capture them alive and take them back to the Nihil base on Hetzal. More fodder for those horrible creatures that Ro kept locked up in his basement, or paraded around on an electric leash, just like that Tarnab she’d brought them a couple of months ago.

Now, that had been a worthy fight. She’d been grateful for the Nihil tech then, generating a field to prevent the Jedi’s lightsaber working, after they’d picked up his incapacitated ship. The look on his face had been prizeworthy.

Not that she’d have that luxury this time. Seems there weren’t enough field generators to go around.

“What next, Storm?”

Shryke glanced at the diminutive Caphex, currently lounging at the pilot’s station, one leg cocked louchely over the arm of the chair. They were tugging at one of the wisps of white hair that grew out of their face. All Nihil were expected to wear the symbol of the Eye, daubed on their bodies or their armor, and Bryn wore it swirled upon their forehead in blue paint.

“I’ve told you not to call me that, Bryn.”

Bryn gave an amused sneer. “You get it’s a sign of respect, right? You ain’t no Tempest Runner, but you’re all right by us. So, Storm it is.”

Shryke considered wiping the smug grin off their face with her blaster, but then she supposed they were right. Maybe she should lean into it. It was just that she’d figured she was done with titles when she renounced her family and any connections to her old life.

She shrugged. “Whatever. Right now, I’ve got bigger things on my mind.”

“Right. Like those damn Jedi.”

“Yeah. They’re becoming a real thorn in my side.” Shryke laughed. “Which gives me an idea…”

Bryn watched her for a moment, before the light of understanding finally reached their eyes. They swung their leg down from the edge of the chair. “Oh. Oh. I like your thinking.” They leaned over the controls, fingers scooting over the keypad. “We going all-in? The full kaboosh? All six?”

Shryke shook her head. “No. Not yet. Two should be enough to bring that Republic monstrosity to a halt. And to take care of whatever’s inside of it.”

Bryn positively cackled. “Jedi soup.”

“I wish. We need them alive,” said Shryke. “Don’t forget.” She turned, making an expansive gesture with her arms, drawing in the attention of the other Nihil on the bridge. Her crew. The only ones smart enough to listen to her. “Now, where’s the music?” she called. “Aren’t we supposed to be enjoying ourselves?”

There was a raucous bellow of approval as the Nihil stamped their feet and howled their support. The thunder of wreckpunk flooded through the jury-rigged speaker system, the floor plates rattling as the industrial dirge reverberated through the entire ship.

Shryke closed her eyes, basking in the moment, the brewing tension, the rush of adrenaline, the adoration of her crew, the noise. This was true chaos. This was the essence of the Nihil. And it was beautiful.

“On your command,” said Bryn.

Shryke opened her eyes and grinned at the Caphex. “Do it.”

RIBENTO SYSTEM

“More ships?” said Pel, rising out of her command chair on the bridge of the Tractate.

Bell hurried to the viewscreen to peer out at the oncoming ships.

Four new Nihil fighters were now engaged in a deadly dance with the Skywings, flitting like gnats around the two larger ships as the bombardment from the Cacophony continued to wreak havoc on the Tractate’s hull.

Quarik was doing her best to weave a defensive path, dragging the bulky vessel through maneuvers it was never meant to achieve, but the Cacophony was sticking to their every move, more nimble, more powerful.

More deadly.

Now two more odd-looking ships, larger than the other Nihil fighters they’d dispatched, had launched from the Cacophony’s rear bay, fired like projectile weapons on plumes of shimmering light. They were different from the other, smaller fighters, yet still typically Nihil in appearance, with mismatched hull plating, scarred and dulled with rust and pitted with the traces of ancient impacts. Graffiti had been sprayed across their flanks, depicting the bright, swirling eye of Marchion Ro. It was clear the ships had been built around the same old industrial model—both had tapering, spiralized nose cones that glinted in the cool light of Ribento’s sun.

And they were coming right at the Tractate.

“Evasive maneuvers!” barked Pel.

Too late, Bell realized what the Nihil vessels were: drill ships. Ancient mining ships designed to burrow through asteroids or other rocks and minerals, probably bought or stolen from a salvager who’d dug them out of some forgotten battlefield abandoned after the end of the Forever War between E’ronoh and its neighboring planet, Eiram.

The place where Starlight Beacon fell. The place where Burry nearly died, and so many others were lost. The place of our greatest shame.

The Nihil were trying to remind them of all that they had lost.

And it was working.

Quarik fought desperately with the flight controls, trying to swing the Tractate around, but it was too late.

The Cacophony had sprung its trap, and there was nothing they could do.

The first drill ship struck the portside flank with a thunderous impact, causing the entire ship to lurch. Bell felt as much as heard the tip of the drill puncture the Tractate’s hull, rending the metal plating with a sickening screech. He twisted, eyes widening as he reached out with the Force to prevent Amaryl Pel from being thrown across the bridge by the force of the blow. He released her gently as the ship slowly righted itself.

“We have a breach!” bellowed Quarik, poring over the readouts on the datascreen at her console.

Pel glanced at Burry, who was helping her up off the floor. “What in the name—?”

She was cut off by the thud of multiple clamps engaging. The groaning of the hull as the weight of the drill ship pressed against them. Bell knew what was coming.

The air filled with the high-pitched whine of the boring mechanism as the drill ship began to burrow deeper into the side of the Tractate, causing the entire vessel to shudder and vibrate.

“Seal the blast doors before we vent! Close off the breach!” bellowed Pel.

“Aye!”

Bell braced himself as the second drill ship struck the starboard flank, adding its shrill whine to that of its twin.

Within moments they would both be through, the Tractate pinioned between the two invading vessels. And with the blast doors sealed, there was no way they could reach their Vectors.

“They’re going to tear through the entire ship!” said Pha Rool. “There’ll be nothing left.”

“Are the escape pods still accessible?” said Bell.

Pel nodded. She looked gaunt.

“Then I don’t think we have any choice.”

“All hands abandon ship!” bellowed Pel. “I repeat, all hands abandon ship! To the escape pods now!”

It was a dangerous gambit. The escape pods would be easy targets for the Nihil. But remaining on the Tractate was no longer an option.

“Captain, there are reports of fighting,” said Quarik. None of the bridge crew had abandoned their posts, despite the captain’s order. They would wait until the last possible minute to ensure as many other crew members as possible got clear first. “We’ve been boarded by enforcer droids, coming through the breaches made by the drill ships. Some of them got through before the blast doors shut.”

Bell turned at the vrroosh of a lightsaber igniting.

“Rrrrawww waaarrghh,” said Burry.

“Yeah,” said Bell. He pulled his own lightsaber from its holster, igniting the blade. “Me too.” Bell met Burry’s eye. “One each?”

“Warraarrr,” said Burry, emphatically.

Bell turned to Pel. “We’ll cover the evacuation. Get your people off this ship.”

He turned and ran from the bridge, charging down the central corridor alongside Burry before veering off, Bell to the port side, Burry to the starboard.

All around him, the tortured sound of the ship filled the air as the hull was rent apart. The only thing protecting them from utter destruction was the sealed blast doors, but the oxygen supply wouldn’t last long, and there was every chance the integrity of the Tractate could fail at any moment.

He had to work fast.

Up ahead, the sound of zipping blasterfire cut through the leviathan groan of the dying ship. He propelled himself faster, rounding a bend, his lightsaber whipping to deflect a stray blaster shot.

Dead RDC soldiers littered the floor of the passageway. Others, a group of six led by a Togruta with large blue-and-white montrals, were returning fire at a group of enforcer droids farther down the same passageway.

There were at least ten of the tall, humanoid figures, their three red, asymmetrical eyes stark and bright. They each bore the sprayed-on sigil of Marchion Ro’s eye, large and proud upon their chests, and were heavily armed with blasters. They were old—so old that Bell was surprised they were still upright, their outer shells dented and marred by patches of rust—but no less deadly for it.

The droids presented their weapons.

The RDC soldiers braced themselves.

Bell loosened his shoulders, gripping his lightsaber hilt with both hands, and ran.

“Get clear!” he bellowed to the RDC soldiers. “Evacuate now! I’ll cover you.” He rebounded off the wall with one foot, propelling himself into the air, using the Force to lengthen the extent of his leap. His green lightsaber—which had once belonged to Rana Kant—flashed as he came down amid the tightly packed droids, removing the head from one, slicing another from shoulder to hip.

He wheeled, bringing his lightsaber back up and around, removing another droid’s leg at the knee and causing it to topple heavily, forcing two more to step back as it crashed to the floor.

The corridor had erupted in blasterfire, coming from all directions. Bell danced, weaving in and around the hail of searing plasma, his lightsaber whipping around him to deflect those that came too close.

Several of the droids had charged the RDC soldiers and were now locked in a bitter close-quarters exchange as the soldiers tried to retreat, doing their best to keep their footing as the ship listed, tossing the combatants around.

Four additional droids were almost on top of Bell. They closed in, synchronizing their attack, moving with a speed that belied their bulky forms. Bell ducked, punching his lightsaber up through the chest of one droid, causing it to erupt in a crackling halo of electrical discharge.

But he was too slow to avoid the thunderous punch of another, which caught his left shoulder and sent him stumbling back, crashing to the ground amid the wreckage of another droid.

He could still hear the rending of twisting metal as the punctured hull beyond the blast doors continued to buckle and twist.

Faster, Bell.

Buy them more time to escape.

Now that there was more room in the narrow passage the remaining droids were moving with increased precision and speed. They came on, blasters opening up, spraying him with a storm of fizzing bolts. Bell was barely able to get his lightsaber up to deflect them in time, sending them whistling away in random directions.

He dug his heels in, pushing himself back until he had room, and then twisted left, flipping himself up into the air, his lightsaber spinning around him like a shield. He landed, swung the blade up and out, and jabbed it through the throat of another droid. It bucked and toppled back, its limbs still kicking maniacally.

Two more.

Bell judged the distance between them. Then, closing his eyes, he reached out with the Force. He grabbed for one of the droids, using the Force to drag it toward him, spearing it on his lightsaber even as it tried to raise its arm to let off a shot.

The remaining droid did exactly that, firing a well-aimed blast at Bell’s head, but, almost lazily, he swung his lightsaber up, sending it straight back at the droid. It struck the machine in the head, and it dropped without another sound.

Farther down the passage, the RDC soldiers had managed to bring down two of the droids but had sustained several losses of their own. Two of them—both human—were now pinned against the wall by the final droid as it closed its fists, attempting to choke the life out of them.

Bell weighed the hilt of his lightsaber in his right hand. Then, squinting, he launched it like a javelin. It flickered and hummed as it sailed through the air, spearing the droid through the side of the head. Its hands scissored open, dropping the gasping soldiers as it staggered back and then dropped.

Bell was waiting to collect the hilt of his lightsaber as it rolled clear. He turned to the two soldiers. “Get to an escape pod. Now.”

He then vaulted over the remains of the droid and hurried off back down the corridor the way he’d come.

A moment later, he hurtled back onto the bridge. Burry was already there, standing by the forward viewscreen, peering out at the steep curve of Ribento before them.

“Why are you still here?” he called. “Come on! The ship is coming apart!”

But then he saw it. Space all around the listing wreck of the Tractate was filled with RDC ships.

The reinforcements had arrived.

They were going to be okay.

“Where’s the Cacophony?” he said, between gasping breaths.

Pel turned to meet Bell’s gaze. Her expression was weary, but her eyes were piercing, brimming with unresolved anger. “It’s over,” she said, through gritted teeth. “It fled as soon as the reinforcements arrived. It’s gone.”

CORUSCANT

“We are all the Republic.”

Chancellor Soh paused for a moment to allow her words to hang, to gain weight. She glanced from side to side, taking in the full extent of the bustling Senate.

Elzar watched from a balcony far below, alongside JJ-5145. The vast chamber was silent, and the tension was palpable.

“What does that really mean?” continued the chancellor from her podium. “Are they just words? Is it merely a thoughtless motto we all toss around without considering its true intent?” She held her gaze, looking straight at the glinting array of cam lenses that hovered before her, as if challenging any who might dare to look away. “Perhaps to some, that’s all those words have ever meant. To our enemies, certainly, they are a point of ridicule. But this is because they do not understand the strength that might be found in unity. While we of the Republic share a common purpose, we share, too, common values. Compassion for our fellow beings. A desire to raise one another up, to help where help is needed, to grow. And to do it together.

“This is what the Nihil do not understand. This is why, when they try to tear us down, it merely fuels our resolve and makes us stronger, more united than we ever were before. Our shared pain makes us stronger, precisely because we share it.

“Tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of the destruction of Starlight Beacon. A sobering moment. A lamentable day. We all mourn its terrible loss, along with the lives of those who died aboard, who sacrificed themselves so that others might live. Starlight was once a symbol of hope. Our enemies would have it become, instead, a symbol of fear and oppression. And for a while, it seemed that they would succeed.” She raised her chin, angling her head. “But we are stronger than that. So, when I say that We. Are. All. The. Republic”—she jabbed her finger along with each word to emphasize her point—“I do not mean merely those who live within the boundaries of our great, shared realm, but also all those who carry the Republic in their hearts. Those who share our values, who long to see the galaxy returned to a state of peace. Those who, even now, are trapped behind the Nihil’s illegal Stormwall, deep in the Occlusion Zone, cut off from the rest of the galaxy, but still holding hope in their hearts.

“I say to those beings now, even though they cannot hear my words: We are with you. And we will come for you, and all like you who need our help. We will find a way.” Elzar noticed the slight crack in her voice, the way her chin rose in determination. She wasn’t simply addressing some abstract population of strangers on the other side of the galaxy—she was addressing her son.

She spread her arms, bellowing to the gathered members of the Senate. “The Republic will prevail.”

A thunderous roar of approval echoed throughout the Senate chamber. Elzar joined in, although he couldn’t help but wonder how the chancellor hoped to deliver on such promises. Faith was fundamental to a Jedi—faith in the Force, in the Order, in one another—but there was a point where that conviction became blind faith. Became as much a need as a path to truth.

He should know.

The chancellor waited for the applause to die down, drew a deep breath, and then let it out. When she spoke again, her tone was softer, more measured. “There has been a lot of speculation, on the eve of this fateful anniversary, as to whether the Nihil plan to mark the occasion with another attack. Let me assure you now, the Republic Defense Coalition, along with our allies in the Jedi Order, are doing everything they can to ensure that is not the case. We will protect you. There will be no repeat of the horrors of last year. No one will be hurt.”

Elzar felt a pang of uncertainty at the conviction in her voice. This was a speech designed to reassure and placate, to quell the breeding fear across the worlds of the Republic. But it was based on hope as much as truth.

“Furthermore, I can tell you now that I have entered into a discourse with a senior representative of the Nihil, and have been assured that, while there will be no immediate cessation of hostilities, they have no plans to engage in any terrorist activities against the Republic. Our day of mourning will pass without incident.”

A hush had fallen over the gathered crowd. Elzar scanned their faces. This last revelation was news to many of them—that a Nihil representative, in the form of Ghirra Starros, a former senator, had reached out to Chancellor Soh the previous week, if not to sue for peace, exactly, then to seek to open diplomatic channels.

On the advice of the Jedi Council, the chancellor had replied coolly to these unexpected overtures, arguing that the Republic would need to see some evidence of the Nihil’s intentions if the Senate was to even begin entertaining the notion of diplomacy. And so Ghirra had made encouraging noises to suggest that the Nihil, and Marchion Ro, would allow the anniversary of Starlight’s fall to pass unremarked.

As the chancellor finished her speech, continuing to offer reassurances, Elzar turned to JJ-5145. “I hope she’s right, Forfive,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“The timbre of your voice suggests you do not believe that she is, Master Mann.”

Elzar gave JJ-5145 a sideways glance. “You misunderstand, Forfive. That’s exactly why I hope that she is.”

The droid emitted what Elzar took to be the approximation of a thoughtful noise—although it was truthfully more of a long, mournful beep that sounded more like JJ-5145 was powering down. “You believe a Nihil attack is imminent?”

“We are all thinking it, Forfive. But as with so much in this life, none of us can be certain.”

Elzar turned to see Grand Master Ry Ki-Sakka approaching. He was wearing his temple robes, the hood down, revealing his brown, bearded face and sharp eyes. His hands were folded inside his voluminous sleeves.

“Grand Master,” said Elzar, nodding his head in acknowledgment. Ki-Sakka had been promoted after the loss of Starlight and the disappearance of Grand Master Pra-Tre-Veter.

“Less of the formalities, Elzar,” said Ry, with a light, chiding tut. “I know the chancellor has to wear her airs and graces for the Senate, but since when did the rebellious Elzar Mann start respecting the rules?” He grinned warmly, in an evident attempt to put Elzar at ease.

“Almost exactly a year to the day,” said Elzar, his voice level.

Ry nodded solemnly. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Elzar. When all is said and done, being true to ourselves is the only path toward true peace.”

Elzar bristled. “Perhaps I am being true to myself. Perhaps I’ve changed. I’ve learned some difficult lessons. I’ve accepted my responsibilities and the duty I bear to the Order.”

Ry studied him for a moment. He gave an almost imperceptible sigh. “The war against the Nihil has changed us all, in different ways.”

Elzar nodded, unsure if that was Ry’s way of capitulating, or simply a change of subject. “It has.”

“Are you worried?”

“Aren’t we all?”

“What you went through on Starlight…It must be hard. To have survived. To be the one who lived.” Ry put a hand on Elzar’s shoulder. He squeezed it firmly. “And now all of this. Platitudes and assurances on the eve of the anniversary. It brings it all back, no?”

Elzar ground his teeth. What was Ry getting at? “Yes. And that’s why we must be vigilant. Do you really think Marchion Ro isn’t going to use the opportunity to brag? To twist the knife that he left buried in our gut? Even now, he’s probably planning some sort of raid or attack, rousing his troops, filling their heads with promises of power and rebellion against the Republic.”

Ry slowly withdrew his hand, sliding it back into the sleeves of his robe. “You’re right. I have no doubt that the Eye of the Nihil is doing all those things, and more.”

“Then why aren’t we doing something?” said Elzar.

“What more would you have us do? Republic Defense Coalition forces, supported by Jedi, are stationed close to all vulnerable targets, including Coruscant. We’re leaving nothing to chance. Others patrol the borders of the Stormwall. Others still, such as Bell and Burryaga, or Mirro and Amadeo, are trying to secure us a Nihil Path drive so we can find a way to breach the wall. Still others, such as Reath and Emerick, seek a solution to the Nameless problem. And our best minds are working tirelessly to find another solution, another way to bypass the Stormwall.” Ry smiled. “There’s no more to be done but trust in the Force.”

“There’s overwhelming might,” said Elzar. “There’s taking the battle to the Nihil.”

“A siege?” Ry frowned. “We’ve tried brute strength already. As you well know.”

“Then we try again,” said Elzar. “Surely it’s just a matter of scale. If we hit the Stormwall hard enough, with enough firepower, maybe we can take the fight to the Nihil. Liberate the worlds they’ve annexed. With the full force of the Jedi and the RDC, surely it would be enough.”

“In doing so we’d leave the rest of the Republic completely exposed. Remember, we have responsibilities to the rest of the galaxy. The Nihil problem—while pressing—remains only one concern of many. For most beings out there, life continues as normal, with all the usual disagreements and disputes, trade negotiations, migrations, and matters of governance and guardianship that require our help. We cannot ignore them.” Ry shrugged. “Besides, there’s no guarantee an assault like that would even work. In fact, every bit of information we’ve gleaned suggests that it wouldn’t. The buoys are too well protected, and the Stormwall is self-repairing. Mounting a siege like that would be an enormous risk, with little to no chance of success.”

Elzar hated to admit it, but Ry was right. About their lack of success, at least. Nothing they’d tried had worked. And so, they continued to seek new ways to approach the problem. The Guardian Protocols had been enacted after the recall to Coruscant; Jedi Outposts were left to be staffed by droids, and no Jedi was to travel alone. And for the first time in generations, Padawans were being fast-tracked to undergo their trials to replace Jedi Knights who had been lost. But progress had become glacial as the Council was being unduly cautious in authorizing almost any Jedi action. To Elzar, the lack of forward momentum felt like a slow death.

“There are people behind the Stormwall who are counting on us. People who are trapped. Both Jedi and civilians.”

Avar.

Ry nodded. “I share your concern, Elzar. We all do. And I’m glad to see a little of your old rebellious spark. But right now, an all-out assault is not the answer. We’re following the Guardian Protocols to protect the Order, while we gather more information. Devise a better plan. Otherwise, we’d just be sending more people to their deaths.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” countered Elzar, although he already knew he’d lost this argument, as he had a dozen times before.

“The odds are against us. And we cannot risk more lives without even an indication that we might succeed. Until then, we must remain patient and have faith that the Force will guide our hand.”

“Of course,” said Elzar, forcing himself to capitulate. “But just answer me this—how can we say we’ve done everything in our power to help those people, when we haven’t tried this?”

Ry looked pained. “Because too many people have already died, Elzar. That’s how.” He reached out and squeezed Elzar’s shoulder again. “If you need to talk, I’m here. Anytime. You know that.”

Elzar fought to quell his frustration. Ry meant well. Of course he did. Even if Elzar didn’t agree with his conclusions. “Thank you. I do.”

For a moment, Ry looked as if he was about to say something else, but then seemed to think better of it and turned to walk away.

Elzar watched him disappear into the milling crowd of beings in the passageway beyond the balcony. The chancellor had already gone, no doubt whisked away by her secretaries to avoid the pressing questions of reporters.

All around Elzar, the Senate was bustling. The clamor of voices seemed to press in on him, noisy and oppressive, drowning out his thoughts, until he was lost at sea, the silence contained within the raging heart of the maelstrom.

Empty. Hollow. And alone.

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Ghirra Starros hated the noise. She couldn’t understand how these people considered it music. To her, it was just a chaotic, raging stream of rending metal, thudding bass notes that caused her bones to shake, and screaming.

She supposed that was the point—that it sounded like something being broken, that it appealed to the Nihil’s mob mentality, their lack of order, their rebellious nature.

Sometimes, she wondered why she’d ever fallen in with the Nihil. But she knew why she’d made that particular choice—to gain power, to back the winning side, to take what she could by aligning herself with the rising storm that she’d seen brewing on the horizon.

That storm was personified in the form of one man, the Eye of the Nihil, Marchion Ro.

Everything that had happened had been engineered by him. Everything had been the vision of this one twisted mind.

Yes, others had played their parts. Of course they had—Ghirra included. But it was the singular genius of Marchion Ro that had led them to this point.

Now he had everything he’d ever wanted.

The Republic on their knees, unable to even trespass into Nihil domain.

The Jedi running scared.

A dominion to rule over.

And all the adoration the Nihil could offer.

Even Ghirra herself.

Why, then, did he seem so ill at ease? He hadn’t talked to her properly in days. Even when they’d shared a bed, and that was less frequent these days than it had once been.

She watched the Evereni as he lounged in his huge, jagged throne—a cacophony of twisted metal sheets reclaimed from the wreckage of the Legacy Run, the Republic vessel he’d destroyed to instigate what the galaxy now referred to as the Great Disaster. The panels had been stripped from a hunk of the wreck and beaten, folded, and welded into the form of a huge eye, mirroring the symbol on his helm. And then this eye had been set high atop this fortress built of junk and scuttled spacecraft, constructed around the shell of the former parliamentary building on the pastoral world of Hetzal.

He’d even overseen the construction of another scrap-built eye, forming a window in his bedchamber on the upper level, into which he’d inserted the hilt of a captured Jedi lightsaber. He lit it sometimes at night, so that it shone out across the plains like a beacon, or, Ghirra thought, perhaps more of a warning, as if to say to the workers who still toiled in those fields each day: I’m watching you.

Ro knew what he was doing, using the symbols of the Republic against them. Becoming the malformed reflection they saw in the mirror each morning, staring back at them with wild, hungry eyes.

Hetzal meant something to the Republic, and the Jedi. Not just for the bounty of its vast harvests, which fed huge swaths of the frontier, but because of what it had come to symbolize. This was the world that was saved during the Hyperspace Disaster. The place that Jedi Master Avar Kriss, the marshal of Starlight Beacon, had become a true hero.

Now Marchion Ro had taken that from them, too.

Yet there he lounged in this vast, chaotic feasting hall, flanked by two of his disgusting beasts, his implacable helm obscuring his face, his shoulders draped in the gray fur of some extinct animal from another sector of the galaxy. He did not appear to be in a celebratory mood.

The two misshapen creatures—which some had named Force Eaters, or Shrii-Ka-Rai, or just Nameless to those too afraid to speak of them—had become more twisted, more feral in the months since Ro had brought them here to Hetzal. They strained constantly at their electrified leashes, eyeing the reveling Nihil like predators that understood they could gain no sustenance from the creatures that surrounded them, but were considering killing them all anyway, just to deal with the noise.

Ghirra understood how they felt.

To the left of Ro’s throne stood his She’ar, his band of elite bodyguards. They were a mismatched bunch of grizzled warriors, old faithfuls pulled from the ranks of the Nihil to carry out specific tasks for the Eye, aside from his three ministers—herself, the Minister of Information; the Mirialan, General Viess, Minister of Protection; and Baron Boolan, the towering Ithorian, Minister of Advancement. The very thought of those other two, particularly Boolan, caused Ghirra to give an involuntary shudder. He was an enigma, and a disturbing one at that, always dressed in black, shroudlike robes, with a translation device implanted in the flesh of his throat that lent his voice an eerie, electronic timbre.

Both Viess and Boolan were over 150 years old, and the very fact they were still alive impressed upon Ghirra the thought that they were both either very lucky, or very good at dealing with their enemies.

Thankfully, neither of them was present now. Viess was debriefing her protégée, Melis Shryke, after the latter had returned from a raid outside the Stormwall where she’d encountered some Jedi, and Boolan—well, he rarely stepped outside of his laboratory complex on the lower levels.

All things considered, though, the She’ar weren’t much better than the ministers. They carried themselves with an easy, cocksure manner, giving every impression they were enjoying the festivities, but Ghirra knew that they could turn on a knife’s edge. She’d seen one of them decapitate a low-ranking Nihil for deigning to question an order. And it hadn’t been a clean cut. One of them—a monstrous Tarnab named Arathab Fal—hardly ever seemed to leave his side, even when she and Marchion were alone.

Ghirra supposed the She’ar perfectly encapsulated everything that frightened her about Ro: his arrogance, his unpredictability, and his excessive propensity for extreme violence.

All qualities that made Ghirra’s job that much harder. And not just her job, her plans. She still harbored ambitions. She still craved power. And Ro’s instability put all of that at risk.

She watched as Thaya Ferr, the tall, thin human who served as both assistant and confidante to the Eye, approached the throne, flicking a glance at the She’ar out of deference. She stooped low, whispering into Ro’s ear.

Ro gave an almost imperceptible nod, and then turned his head to watch as Thaya walked away. His gaze seemed to land on something. Ghirra twisted, scanning the crowd of partying Nihil, a riot of flesh, tattoos, scrappy armor, blasters, masks, and waving limbs. Where once they had worn the three blue lines of the Nihil upon their brows, now each of them now wore the smeared eye of Marchion Ro, in an uneasy mix of tribute and fear. Ro had instigated the change almost as soon as the Stormwall had gone up. He always had craved adoration, even if it was only given on the wrong end of a blaster.

Ghirra’s eyes settled on the person that Ro had seemingly spotted in the crowd: the young woman Nan. The former protégée, now ousted from her favored position by Thaya. Still celebrated, of course, perhaps even promoted, in the eyes of most Nihil, to be one of the last survivors from Starlight Beacon. A true Nihil who’d escaped capture after helping to ensure the station’s demise. At least that was how the stories went. Ghirra thought the Nihil had probably written a song about her. It was also true that she still had Ro’s ear, too. Just…not as often as Thaya did.

Nan was staring after Thaya with murder in her eyes. That would amuse Ro. A rivalry for his attention. Ghirra made a mental note, repressing an unbidden flash of jealousy. Maybe she could use that information, somehow.

The music stopped. A ripple of annoyance passed through the gathered Nihil. Looks were exchanged. Frowns deepened. All eyes turned to Marchion Ro.

Who didn’t move. Not even to lift a finger.

A crackle came over the comm system. And then a familiar, echoing voice. A woman’s voice. Midway through a speech.

“…as to whether the Nihil plan to mark the occasion with another attack. Let me assure you now, the Republic Defense Coalition, along with our allies in the Jedi Order, are doing everything they can to ensure that is not the case. We will protect you. There will be no repeat of the horrors of last year. No one will be hurt.”

Silence. None of the Nihil seemed to know how to react to this sudden, bizarre interruption to their celebration. Here they were, invited to the grand feasting hall to revel in their triumph, to mark the anniversary of the destruction of Starlight Beacon, their greatest moment, this singular achievement.

And now this. The voice of their enemy, echoing through the fortress, assuring her people that the Republic and the Jedi would keep them safe.

The silence stretched until it was almost unbearable, like a crawling, excruciating itch that Ghirra couldn’t scratch.

All eyes again settled on Marchion Ro.

Just as he likes it.

Slowly, Marchion Ro stood, rising out of his throne like some elder king, ready to address his subjects. Ghirra half expected them all to fall to their knees, but then remembered—these were Nihil.

Ro reached up and removed his helmet, tossing it back onto the throne behind him with a dull clang. Stray hair fell across his shoulders. He turned his dark-blue face, taking in the hushed crowd.

“Well, it’s good to hear the Republic and their Jedi lapdogs are doing everything they can.” Ro’s voice boomed in the massive hall. “Which amounts to just about nothing.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd like an infection. They stomped their feet by way of applause. Close by, a tall, willowy Falleen named Selch, with dark reptilian flesh—one of Viess’s favored disciples—hooted loudly. She turned to glance at Ghirra, and smiled.

Ro waved them silent again. “And apparently, no one is going to be hurt.” He bared his teeth. “Well, I can assure you all, right here and now, someone is going to get hurt. And the entire galaxy will be watching!”

More raucous cheering and stomping of feet. Ghirra felt sick as she joined in.

Not more needless death. Please.

She had so much blood on her hands that she knew she’d never get them clean again. And she’d come to terms with that. She knew she’d made those choices and accepted what they meant. She’d pulled the trigger herself, felt the strange, ringing sensation that came with the knowledge that you’d just ended a person’s life. She’d acted out of defense, and rage, and fear, but most of all out of pragmatism. She’d done what she had to in order to thrive. To protect her daughter.

But Ro—he reveled in the death of his enemies. He enjoyed it. Especially the Jedi.

“Tomorrow, the Nihil will mark the anniversary of our greatest triumph, and it will serve as a reminder of what we are capable of.” More cheers. Ro seemed to lap them up, buoyed by the enthusiasm of his people. He threw his arms wide in an expansive gesture. “A reminder to those in Nihil space who would consider rising up against us! A reminder to the Republic of why we remain undefeated!” He gave a sly grin. “And a reminder to the Jedi of why they are weak and have failed as the protectors they claim to be.”

He lowered his arms, turning his head slowly from side to side. It left Ghirra with the disturbing impression that he was looking at each of the gathered Nihil in turn, his black eyes boring right through them. Herself included.

He raised his voice, bellowing now, raw and impassioned. “We shall show them what happens when they forget the lessons they should have learned a year ago, when their great beacon fell and the Jedi were finally brought low. We shall show them what happens when they try to impose order on the beautiful chaos of the Nihil!”

The wreckpunk erupted from the speakers once more, and the Nihil returned to their celebrations with even more vigor than before. Somewhere on the other side of the hall a fight broke out, drawing the attention of the nearby revelers. Ghirra imagined that at least four or five beings would die before the night was through. It wasn’t considered a good party otherwise.

She saw Marchion Ro making a beeline for the door and hurried to intercept him. His She’ar had fallen in behind him, and one of them—a tall male Pau’an—shot her a warning growl. She ignored the ignorant buffoon, shoving her way directly into Ro’s path. He saw her and stopped, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Ghirra. Are you enjoying the party?”

She ignored his obviously baited question. “Eye. With the greatest respect, do you think it’s wise to go ahead with whatever lesson it is you plan to teach the Republic?”

“From your tone I would infer that you don’t, Minister?” He used the word like a curse.

It had been six months since Ghirra had reorganized the Nihil, naming the ministries and attempting to impose some sort of governmental order on the otherwise chaotic structure of Tempests and petty warlords. Ro hadn’t resisted the move, exactly, but had simply remained silent on the subject, unwilling to engage with the process as Ghirra had defined roles and responsibilities for each of the three ministers. The others, in turn, had taken his silence as tacit agreement, and had gone along with Ghirra’s orders. But Ghirra knew that Ro didn’t like it. And ever since he’d seemed more distant, colder—if that was even possible.

She tried to get a read on him now, but his expression remained fixed and unreadable. What was clear, was that whatever enthusiasm he’d roused in himself for the crowd had already seemingly bled away. If anything, he looked weary. “I just think another attack on the Republic would be…counterproductive,” she said. “We already know they take us seriously. We won. Now we have responsibilities. An entire region of the Outer Rim to govern. People to feed, and placate, and rule.” Her mouth was suddenly dry. She knew he wasn’t going to like what she said next. “I think it’s time to build bridges with the Republic. To send a delegate to their Senate. To force them to recognize us as a legitimate political body.”

Marchion Ro held her gaze until she began to grow uncomfortable and had to fight the urge to look away. She stared right back.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice low. “I do not need the recognition of the Republic”—he practically spat the word—“or their notions of legitimacy. The Nihil have proven themselves time and again. Be it on their own heads if they fail to understand that. We will build no bridges. And the subjects of Nihil space will soon come to understand the nature of our governance. You may have once been a politician, Ghirra, but now you are Nihil. Do not forget that.”

She stepped to one side as he continued on his way, brushing past her, his crimson cloak billowing around him as he walked.

Ghirra watched him leave, trailed by the She’ar. Now, more than ever, she was convinced that something was deeply troubling the Eye of the Nihil.

And that posed a danger to them all.

DAEDUS, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Porter Engle crouched in the gloaming forest, warming his hands over the pit of a small fire. He’d dug the firepit deep, to minimize the chances of being spotted in the gloom, and was keeping the flames low and smoldering to ward off too much smoke. He was also dressed head-to-toe in gray and black—pants, tunic, and poncho—which fitted snugly around his ample, muscular bulk. He wasn’t going to be easy to spot among the shadowy boughs of the trees.

Not that there were many out here in the wilds of Daedus to spot him. The small planet had always been sparsely populated, even before the arrival of the Nihil and the creation of the Stormwall. Porter remembered that from back in his youth when he’d accompanied Master Creighton Sun on a diplomatic mission to the sector. They’d visited this place. Or rather, their shuttle had been brought down here by the pirates who’d been raiding settlements throughout the sector. Porter grinned, remembering the look on Creighton’s face as they clambered from the twisted shell of the ship to find more of the pirates waiting for them.

That had been some battle.

Now the outpost stations on Daedus—built to monitor hyperspace traffic in and out of the Bentora system—were mostly abandoned, inhabited only by a band of Nihil raiders who’d decided to make the place their unofficial base.

It was funny how time had a way of folding back on itself, repeating the rhythms of the past.

Always someone who wants something for nothing.

He’d undertaken a brief reconnaissance of the closest outpost station soon after his arrival, two days earlier. He’d had to ditch his shuttle quickly—the swarms of scav droids patrolling the uncontrolled routes through Nihil space had latched onto him quicker than ever, this time. He’d only just managed to shake them off, and he was going to have to make some repairs on the shuttle’s engine housing before he could get the thing airborne again. And then there was nothing to say the swarm wouldn’t be waiting for him in high orbit.

The Nihil were nothing if not adept at controlling travel within the zone. All the approved hyperspace lanes—the ones used for supply shipments and the like—were subject to Nihil patrols, which made them too risky to travel openly, especially for a Jedi. And so Porter, and anyone else wishing to move around without attracting the Nihil’s attention, was forced to make use of the uncontrolled lanes instead. Which wouldn’t have been a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that doing so attracted swarms of Nihil scav droids that quickly set upon any unauthorized ship and started tearing it apart.

The scav droids were appalling things, used in this context. They were originally designed for breaking up junk in scrapyards and orbital docks, and resembled large, metallic spiders, with squat bodies and powerful, bladelike limbs. They could clamp onto a vessel and strip it down to its constituent parts in a matter of minutes. If there were still beings inside…well, they’d get stripped, too. The Nihil had clearly found a means to manufacture them in bulk—probably from a seized construction plant somewhere else in the Occlusion Zone. And they’d programmed them to swarm upon any ship unable to provide the correct Path engine codes.

Codes that Porter didn’t have.

He was going to have to do something about that. Maybe make another attempt to take a Nihil ship and acquire the codes that would let him navigate more freely inside this forsaken Occlusion Zone. He supposed having the codes could get him out, too. Back to Coruscant and the others.

The thought did carry some appeal. But despite the ever-present danger from the Nihil Jedi-hunters that were inevitably still on his tail, he wasn’t ready to quit just yet. There were beings inside the zone—millions of them—that needed help protecting themselves from the Nihil. Porter couldn’t abandon them. No matter the cost. But he could keep trying to get word out to the others. To let them know how bad things had gotten in Nihil-controlled space.

The Nihil here on Daedus were typically ignorant. They were so arrogant, so self-satisfied, that they’d practically blinded themselves to the possibility that someone might be sneaking around right under their noses. This crew—led by a hulking Abyssin with a missing arm that, oddly, didn’t appear to have grown back—had clearly set up some kind of fiefdom of their own. Porter had gathered they would run the occasional raid or visit a neighboring settlement demanding tithes, then return here to wallow in their spoils.

Whether their superiors in the Nihil organization, such as it was, were aware of their activities, Porter could only guess, but presumably so long as the tributes kept coming and the uprisings remained at a minimum, the Abyssin and his followers were given latitude to behave in whatever way suited them.

Porter had carefully considered removing them from the picture. A night attack, catching them when they were drunk and unprepared—he had no doubt he could take them all out, pass through their base swiftly, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. But that wasn’t the Jedi way. That would have been cold-blooded murder. It would also likely have drawn the attention of whichever of the Nihil’s three ministers they worked for, which would in turn make things worse for the surrounding worlds.

Besides, Porter could do without drawing their eye. He had things to attend to. If he was going to get a message out to the Jedi beyond the wall, he had to find some way of bypassing the Nihil’s communications dead zone.

And for that, he had an idea. An idea he’d been working on for months.

That shuttle he and Creighton had once ditched here, all those years ago. Smashed into fragments and unsalvageable, it had been left where it fell. But there were components in that wreckage from the old days, from back when the Pathfinder teams roamed these regions, contacting worlds and species then unknown to the Republic of the wider galaxy. Making use of tools that had long been defunct.

Tools that Porter remembered and had been desperately gathering from any and all such sites he could find. Places he’d been, long ago. Worlds that he knew the Pathfinders had visited. Anywhere inside the Occlusion Zone where he might be able to salvage the components he needed to complete his task.

I’m old. Too old. Head full of memories.

It had taken him months of false starts, wasted journeys, and scores of battles with the Nihil, but now, back on his shuttle, he had the almost completed shell of an EX droid. These were the droids that the Pathfinders had taken with them on their exploration missions out to the frontier, in the days when the outlying regions still had to be mapped. The droids’ purpose was simple—the Pathfinders would establish contact with a world and people outside of the Republic, and then send the EX droid off into hyperspace to make contact with a communications team, who would then set up a series of beacons and relays, thus creating a primitive network of comms across the region.

What interested Porter, though, was the fact the EX droids used a proprietary system for making short, successive hyperspace jumps that—if he was right—operated in a different way from most ship-based hyperspace drives, and therefore might allow the droid to pass through the Stormwall without triggering the hyperspace disruption, much like the Nihil’s Paths.

It was a long shot, but it was the best one he had.

All he needed now was an intact memory core and a transit pod and the droid would be complete.

All. As if it’s that easy to find working droid parts that haven’t seen use for over a century.

Still, he’d made it this far already. He wasn’t about to give up now.

It had been Elzar who had given him the idea. The young upstart had always been good at thinking out of the box. Pushing for new ways of doing things. Only, he didn’t always realize how clever he really was. Didn’t always see through to the logical endpoint of his ideas.

Some months ago, Elzar had broadcast a message. A rallying call to all Jedi behind the Stormwall, all those trapped like Porter within the Occlusion Zone. A message to let them all know that they hadn’t been forgotten.

Knowing that the Nihil were jamming all transmissions into the zone, Elzar had—and now Porter was relying on supposition—transmitted the message on a broad spectrum of channels, hoping that one or more of them might find their way through.

The clever bit was that, instead of simply relying on the regular frequencies, Elzar had broadcast his message on a repeating loop, using all known methods and channels, including those that hadn’t been in commission for over a century.

And one of them had gotten through, using the old sublight relay system that the Pathfinders and communications teams had established all those years ago. Porter was probably one of the few alive who remembered it. He was surprised it still worked; most of the relays had probably been long destroyed. But the message had made it through, a clatter of pips and beeps and synthesized tones, transmitted across the gulf of stars, through the Nihil’s obscene barrier, and beyond.

A song of comradeship. To Porter, it felt like hope.

He thought of Avar, then, who had always experienced the Force as a kind of song, echoing through every living thing. Last he’d heard, she was trapped behind the Stormwall, too, running interference with the Nihil’s operations.

He hoped she was still alive, still fighting. He’d thought about seeking her out, more than once. But while the company would have been welcome, he’d be putting them both at risk if he’d tried. They were more likely to stay alive, and therefore more effective, if they kept to themselves, always moving, like grit in the cogs of the Nihil’s workings, causing their gears to grind.

Porter reached into his pack, drawing out the receiver unit he’d also salvaged from a previous crash site. Tomorrow, at first light, he’d set out in search of the wreckage. For now, he was content to listen once again to the pips and whistles of that repeating message, and in doing so feel closer to those who were otherwise so far away.

CORUSCANT

Dawn crested the glinting spires of Coruscant like the long-awaited breaking of a storm.

Elzar lay for a while on his bed, watching the play of the thin shafts through the shutters, the dance of the dust motes on the gentle, sifting breeze. And for a moment, he felt peace. He existed only there, in that singular moment. He allowed the Force to ripple over and through him, and he embraced its quietude, its weightless inevitability.

And then he remembered.

The peacefulness was shattered. Stuttered images kaleidoscoped through his mind’s eye: the calm look on Stellan’s face; the body of Chancey Yarrow, bisected by his own lightsaber; the look on Avar’s face when he’d told her; Starlight Beacon smashing into the foaming waves; Bell Zettifar’s look of indignation, his inability to accept that his friend might be dead.

Elzar wished he still had faith as strong as Bell’s. That burning belief in his friends, in their will to survive, the immortality of youth. Once, he, Stellan, and Avar had been like that. They’d thought it would go on forever. That nothing could tear their friendship apart. That no danger would ever really be deadly enough to take one of them away.

How wrong they’d been.

Elzar dragged a hand across his face. Where a moment ago he had been filled with peace and tranquility, now he felt listless and weary.

It had been a turbulent night, fueled by dreams of drowning, deep in the ocean of Eiram, where the wreckage of Starlight Beacon loomed from the sandy floor in the hazy gloom, massive, broken, and still. At other times, he’d been sinking into the blackening waters of the Force, chilled and desperate, enclosed from all sides by the thickening darkness. Elzar had always experienced the Force as a series of swirling currents, hazy shallows, and crepuscular depths. He took comfort from it; was able to make sense of the world through this tangible metaphor.

In his dreams, though, he’d been thrashing around, unable to find his way as he was slowly, inexorably dragged deeper and deeper into the fathomless murk. Farther away from the light. From clarity.

Such dreams had plagued him for months. He’d tried meditating, had even tried reaching out to others at the Temple for their guidance. All of them had tried to help, of course, offering various reassurances and suggesting meditative techniques, but Elzar knew that they didn’t really understand. They couldn’t. They believed his dreams were simply a manifestation of his grief, his way of dealing with the loss of Starlight, Stellan, and the rest.

But it was more than that. If only he was able to talk to Orla Jareni. If only she hadn’t died aboard Starlight Beacon. She would have looked him straight in the eye and told him what she really thought.

Or Avar.

If only he could talk to Avar.

Avar understood him in ways only Stellan had. She saw beyond the Elzar Mann that most others knew. He trusted her implicitly.

In some respects, she was all he had left. That’s why he couldn’t bear to let her go. To accept that she’d been lost inside the Occlusion Zone.

Avar was the last tether he still had to the man he had once been. Before he became this. Before he threw himself into proving Stellan right.

Stellan had believed in him. Now Elzar had to earn that belief. He had to show the galaxy that his friend’s deep optimism wasn’t misplaced. About Elzar, about the future, about the Nihil.

What would you do if you were here now, Stellan? How would you mark the day of your own death? Of the fall of Starlight and everything we’d built. What would you do to make us all feel better?

You’d smile, and laugh, and tell me to stop worrying so much. And then you’d tell me to trust in the Force. To let all the anguish go. To focus on doing what needs to be done.

And the thing is—I’d have listened to you.

Elzar heaved a tired sigh.

Perhaps it was to be expected, on today of all days. The other thing Stellan would have told him was not to be so hard on himself. It was only natural that, on the one-year anniversary of those fateful events, he’d be somewhat distracted.

What he needed to do was harness that discomfort. Let it power him, push him to do better. A year on, and there was still so much to be done. So many people who still needed his help, and the support of the Jedi. Perhaps that was the answer, the way to process those feelings that were welling up inside him again.

To turn them into something positive. To rededicate himself to the path he had chosen, back on that Eiram beach. To make today about reminding himself how far he had come.

Elzar swung his legs out of his bed, stretching out the muscles in his back and neck. He scratched at his beard, which had begun to itch, thinking of the chancellor’s words the previous day. He discounted shaving it off just yet. He was growing to like it.

He padded across the room and pulled open a drawer.

There it was.

The familiar silver-and-black lightsaber hilt, with its bright-golden accents and cross guard.

Elzar hadn’t looked at it for months, but now something seemed to guide his hand, and he reached down and wrapped his fingers around it, lifting it carefully out of the drawer. He turned it over in his hands, feeling its perfectly balanced weight.

Oh, Stellan.

Elzar stepped back, held the hilt out before him, and thumbed the switch. The humming blade ignited, bright and blue, the cross guard folding down to support the two smaller quillon beams.

Elzar’s breath caught in his throat. And then he lifted the lightsaber high, holding it up before him, just like Stellan at Starlight’s dedication ceremony all those many months ago.

For Light and Life.

Elzar felt a sudden flush of confidence.

Perhaps it was going to be a good day, after all. Perhaps Lina Soh had been right, and the Nihil really weren’t going to attempt any new acts of violence.

Thank you, Stellan.

Elzar glanced around at the sound of JJ-5145 trundling in. He powered down the lightsaber and replaced the hilt in the drawer. “Ah, Forfive. Time for breakfast?”

“No, Master Mann. You should come quickly. Something is emerging from the Occlusion Zone.”

THE GAZE ELECTRIC, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“Okay, move into position. You know the drill.”

The diminutive Talpini shoved the nub of its blaster painfully under Rhil Dairo’s ribs.

“All right! All right! I heard you.”

The Talpini, whom Rhil had gathered was called Petrik, or Pet for short, sneered at her, his beady eyes glistening with pleasure. He had tan skin, a balding head, and a gray, furry beard. His mouth was downturned, his lips parted to reveal a row of uneven, yellowed fangs.

Another gormless, vicious example of the sort of being filling out the Nihil’s lower ranks. Those who thrived on chaos, disorder, and other people’s pain. Some of them really believed in the Nihil cause, but most of them, in her recent experience, were just like Pet—in it for their own gratification. That was what Rhil really wanted to tell the Republic. The truth.

Not this. Not more propaganda.

Rhil shuffled to the left, taking up her designated position before the small array of hovering cams. She pretended to smooth her hair.

“Better,” said Petrik.

“For whom?”

“For you, of course,” spat the Talpini. “You understand he doesn’t actually need you for this, don’t you? He’s only keeping you alive because it amuses him to turn the mouthpiece of the Republic upon them.” He leaned in closer, his fetid breath hot against her neck. “I could kill you now, and he wouldn’t even blink.”

“Then why don’t you try it?” said Rhil, just managing to keep the quaver out of her voice. She turned to look at him, looking him right in the eye. “Why don’t you pull the trigger of that blaster right now and see what happens. See what Marchion Ro really thinks of you.”

The Talpini glowered at her. He jabbed the blaster at her again, and then spat on the ground from the corner of his mouth. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? A way out. Well, Petrik here isn’t going to give you the satisfaction.”

Rhil cocked an eyebrow. “No. I don’t suppose you are?”

The Talpini looked at her for a moment, confused, then shook his head. “Just get ready. The Eye will be here any minute. He’s expecting you to get it right.” He craned his neck, glancing out of the nearest viewport in the port side of the Gaze Electric, Marchion Ro’s flagship vessel and the control center of the entire Nihil operation. “Here we go.”

The ship dipped out of its hyperspace Path, the entire fabric of the vessel rattling noisily as its sublight engines kicked in.

Rhil felt nauseous. Not so much from the turbulent space travel—although traveling in this old, flying cathedral certainly didn’t help—but from thoughts of the impending broadcast that she was about to be forced to make. Added to that, she was still suffering disorientation from losing her networked cam droid, T-9. They’d been separated when the Nihil captured her on Bentora, interviewing the victims of recent Nihil raids, and, after so long sharing an electronic link via her implant, it still felt like a part of her was missing. There was an emptiness where the droid should have been. She hoped the little guy was okay, wherever he was.

Petrik jabbed her in the back again. She twisted, nudging the nose of his blaster away.

Rhil had no idea what Marchion Ro had planned for today, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good. He was cruel and calculating, and whatever he’d engineered would be designed for maximum impact.

And here she was, about to tell the entire galaxy.

As the Gaze Electric began to slow, she heard the whoosh of a sliding door and the clang of multiple booted feet upon the metal gantry.

Ro.

The hairs prickled on the nape of her neck.

It was easy to be cocky around fools like Petrik. To stand up to their childish games, to see them as nothing but the bullies they were. But Marchion Ro—he was something entirely different. Being in his presence was like standing before some predatory, prowling beast. One wrong move, and he would devour you without a second thought.

She turned to look at him now, strolling in like he didn’t have a care in the world, his fur-lined cloak billowing from his shoulders, the strangely hypnotic eye swirling upon the front of his helm.

Behind him marched his three ministers: Ghirra Starros, the fallen senator who seemed ill fitted to such unpleasant company; General Viess, the collaborator who had so readily given up her own world when the Nihil drew their veil around the Occlusion Zone; and Baron Boolan, the terrifying Ithorian with a taste for bizarre body modifications—both his own, and those of others.

Ro came to a stop close to where Rhil was standing. She risked making eye contact, only to find, to her horror, that he appeared to be looking right at her.

“An auspicious morning indeed,” said Ro. He paused, as if waiting for her to reply. Close by, the ministers were taking their seats. Other Nihil were flooding in now, too, forming a large circle around Rhil and Ro. She noted, with a glance, that Petrik had already melted back into the crowd to join his fellow tormentors.

When it became clear that Rhil wasn’t going to speak, Ro took a step closer. He raised his arms and slowly lifted the helmet from his head, so that she could see his glassy black eyes staring right at her, the dark blue of his Evereni skin, the sharp incisors in his jagged smile. “I do hope you’re going to find your voice, reporter. I’d hate to have to do all the talking myself.”

Rhil swallowed. Her throat seemed to be constricting. She took a deep breath. “What is this all about?” she said, after a moment.

“There,” said Ro. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Rhil chewed her lip. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Ro cocked his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “No. I didn’t, did I? I guess you’re just going to have to wait and see like everyone else.” He turned to the gathered Nihil, circling on the spot. “Are we ready for a celebration?”

The ensuing roar was loud enough to rattle the walls of the room. The Nihil stomped their feet on the ground, creating a thunderous beat. Ro waved them quiet again.

“Now is the time for the Republic’s reckoning,” he said. “Now is the time we show them just what it means to act against the Nihil.”

Rhil realized the ship had stopped moving. All eyes in the room had now settled upon her. She felt exposed in a way she never had before. She’d broadcast hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, and she had always reveled in the knowledge that, all across the galaxy, people would be hearing her words, and they would know them as the truth.

She’d been in captivity for some time, since the Stormwall went up and she’d found herself trapped within the zone that Ro and the others now referred to as Nihil space. She’d been forced to make broadcasts before. Little bits of propaganda, directed at the planets inside the zone, lying to them about how the Nihil would look after their interests, urging them to pay their tithes so that they might benefit from the protection of their new overlords. Pretending that everything was going to get better now that the new golden age of the Nihil was upon them.

It was a betrayal of everything Rhil stood for, and speaking every word had sickened her to her stomach. Yet she’d found a way to come to terms with it. To use it. She’d found her own little way to resist. One that Marchion Ro and his cohort had yet to discover. One that she hoped might aid the cause of any Jedi trapped within the zone, or any others who were trying to fight back. Working with a Nihil defector named Quith Meglar, she’d found the means to turn their propaganda against them and encode her own messages among the Nihil broadcasts.

Today, though, was different. Standing here now, on the Nihil’s flagship, with the nozzles of blasters pointed in her direction, with Marchion Ro standing over her and the words of his propaganda about to leave her lips, she felt utterly appalled.

Today was the anniversary of the fall of Starlight Beacon, and rather than confining her broadcast to the planets of the Occlusion Zone, Marchion Ro was forcing Rhil to speak to the entire galaxy.

She only hoped that people would understand. Would know this wasn’t her. Would believe that she was no willing collaborator. That she was only doing this because she had no choice. And if she wanted to continue helping those inside the zone, she had to survive.

Rhil told herself that, over and over.

It’s okay to want to live. And living means fighting, in any small way I can. It means helping others to fight, too.

Today, it meant going along with whatever Marchion Ro had planned.

“It’s time.” Ro’s voice cut across her thoughts, dragging her back to the here and now.

Rhil steeled herself. She looked directly into the bank of cams. Lights blinked red. Words scrolled across a monitor for her to read. She cleared her throat and started.

“Greetings. This is Rhil Dairo, reporting live from the Gaze Electric, the flagship of the Nihil fleet, under the direct command of the great Eye of the Nihil himself, Marchion Ro.

“I speak to you all on this important day to commemorate the great triumph of the Nihil that took place precisely one year ago: the destruction of Starlight Beacon and the freeing of the Outer Rim from the oppression of the Republic and their lapdog Jedi. For too long, the Republic has imposed rules and laws upon the simple people of worlds who wish to have nothing to do with their Senate, and their sects, and their hypocrisy.

“Now those people are free. Nihil space is a testament to that freedom, a protected realm where people are at liberty to be who they want to be. To live free from the interference of politicians.”

Rhil took a deep breath, fighting back the rising bile in her throat. The words tasted bitter in her mouth. “The Nihil have found a home. They kindly allow others to share in that place of respite, to benefit from their benevolence and become a part of something greater. And they are flourishing. Yet the Republic continues to interfere, to send its agents deep into this protected zone. To try to do us harm. And so, on this otherwise great day, when the entire galaxy should be celebrating the anniversary of this moment of liberation, we are instead forced to bear witness to a trial, for the most heinous of crimes.”

The words had finished scrolling on the monitor. Uncertain, but filled with a mounting sense of dread, Rhil turned to regard Marchion Ro. He studied her with blank, emotionless eyes. The cams swung about to face him, leaving Rhil to slump back, her shoulders dropping as she expelled air from her lungs. But it was too early to feel any sense of relief. What was this trial?

Ro stood before the bank of cams, smiling for the lenses, revealing his gleaming, pointed teeth. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. It is, indeed, a day of joy and celebration, and I for one will not allow the misguided efforts of the Jedi to undermine that, for any of us.” He turned, looking briefly away from the cams. “Bring in the prisoner.”

Rhil’s heart was in her mouth. A prisoner? She wasn’t aware the Nihil were holding anyone but her. She glanced over at the three ministers. Boolan was grinning ominously. Viess was watching with affected disinterest. Only Ghirra Starros looked uncomfortable, fidgeting in her seat.

The door slid open. Two Nihil pushed a thin, stooped figure into the room. The cams slid closer, tracking his movements. The prisoner was wearing voluminous white-and-gold robes, freshly cleaned, the hood raised over their head like a shroud.

A Jedi.

The figure raised its head, shaking off the grip of their two guards, and as the hood fell open, Rhil caught a glimpse of the thin Tarnab face beneath.

Pra-Tre Veter. A Jedi Grand Master she’d met back on Coruscant, back before any of this. Back when the galaxy had seemed safe and predictable. Back before anyone had even heard the name Marchion Ro.

Veter looked ill. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes bruised pits. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, and the horns had been shorn from his head, leaving raw, blood-encrusted stumps. He’d lost a great deal of weight, and one of his arms—Rhil could see by the way the robes had been pinned—was missing from just below the elbow. Yet his expression remained one of defiance. Of calm and acceptance.

The two guards led him closer, until they stood just a few meters from Marchion Ro. All around, Nihil were jeering and spitting, muttering curses and insults. Ro waved them quiet. The two guards pushed Veter onto his knees. He didn’t even try to resist.

“Pra-Tre Veter. Are you not a Jedi?” said Ro, emphasizing the last word with evident disgust. “A grand master, no less?”

“I am.” Even Veter’s voice seemed thin and dry. Rhil could hardly believe that someone so powerful had been brought so low. She only hoped that it was all an act, just like she’d been acting, going along with what Ro wanted until the right moment. Maybe Veter was waiting, too…

“And do you deny that, for the past year, the Jedi have been carrying out illegal operations in Nihil space, attempting to undermine the good work of the Nihil people, to seed rebellion among the subjects of Nihil space, and otherwise interfering with Nihil operations,” continued Ro.

“This is an illegal and unjust occupation. I was captured in Republic space and brought here against my will. I deny the very legitimacy of your regime. I stand against everything you represent. All Jedi do.” Veter’s tone was calm, even. “So yes, the Jedi have worked to undermine what you have done. For Light and Life.”

Marchion Ro turned to the cams. “See? You see what he claims to represent? You see how boldly he admits to the Jedi’s crimes?” He paused, as if weighing his words. “There can be only one judgment. Only one outcome. You, Pra-Tre Veter, Jedi, must serve as an example to the galaxy. Your fate shall serve as a reminder, a warning, to the rest of the Republic, and your ridiculous Order, what happens to those who stand against the Nihil.”

Rhil took a step forward, as if to hurry to Veter’s side, but Petrik was once again at her back, grasping her painfully by the wrist, holding her at bay. She felt the blaster pressing into her spine. “Oh no, princess. Not this time.”

Ro gestured to more guards, who hurried out of the door. “You have brought this upon yourselves. You left me no choice, just as, a year ago, you forced me to destroy your so-called Beacon. I am transmitting this trial on Starlight Beacon’s frequency now, into the homes of people all across the galaxy. The Nihil will not be stopped. Not by anyone. Least of all a mere Jedi.” He looked up, and Rhil followed his gaze.

The guards returned, and one of them now held a long, electrified chain leash, with one of Ro’s disgusting pets straining at the end of it. Rhil could hardly look at the thing. It was a creature born of nightmare, a twisted, malformed horror of gangly limbs and writhing proboscises, its body moving in a stuttering, awkward gait. How the natural systems of any world could have given rise to something so inherently monstrous, Rhil couldn’t even begin to imagine. Worse, she knew what the Nameless could do. She’d never seen it, but she’d heard the stories, whispered with reverence even by the Nihil.

It was a Jedi-killer.

Rhil wanted to avert her eyes. She wanted to turn and run, to get as far away from these monsters—Ro, the Nihil, the Nameless—as she could. But Petrik held her firm. All she could do was watch and hope that Veter still had something up his sleeve, some Jedi trick or a hidden lightsaber, that he might summon to cut the creature down.

Marchion Ro beckoned for the guards to release their hold on the grand master. Veter’s shoulders slumped. He wavered, his face screwed up in obvious pain, as if the mere proximity of the Nameless was excruciating.

The creature strained at its leash, tentacles writhing.

Ro peered down at the kneeling Jedi. He pushed back his cloak and pulled something—a lightsaber hilt—from his belt. Scoffing, he tossed it onto the ground before Veter, where it clanged loudly and rolled to a stop against the Jedi’s knees.

“You might need this,” said Ro, his tone mocking. “Not that it’ll do you any good.”

The Jedi peered at the lightsaber hilt but didn’t move.

Rhil stared at him in confusion. Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why hadn’t he snatched up the weapon and cut down Marchion Ro where he stood? Now was his chance!

Slowly, Ro backed away, ushering the guard to bring the Nameless forward.

“No…No…please.” Veter hung his head. These were not the words, the actions of a Jedi Grand Master.

Tears welled in her eyes as Veter—such a brave, kind man, such a scion of the Jedi—shuffled back pathetically while the Nameless was brought closer. Spittle flecked his mouth as he moaned in obvious, terrible pain. The Nameless leered, its malformed head lifting, as if it were drinking in the scent of its prey, savoring the moment before its captors allowed it to feast.

And then Veter rose shakily to his feet.

He raised his trembling right hand, and the lightsaber ignited with a rush of brilliant green. His jaws were still working, as if he was trying to say something, and his eyes were wide and staring, but there was a hint of defiance in his stance as he took a single step forward toward the creature.

The lightsaber hummed as Veter brought it around in a wide arc. But his aim was off. He took another step, gave another wild swing, but Rhil felt her heart sinking. It was almost as if he couldn’t see the thing right before him.

Veter’s head jerked from left to right. He was panicking now, crying out at things that weren’t there. It was as if the creature had affected his mind and, in his sorry, weakened state, he seemed unable to function, despite the devastating threat right in front of him. He stuttered to a halt, trembling, paralyzed by fear, his lightsaber hanging limply at his side.

And the Nihil were just…laughing.

Rhil felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

“It’s time to enact his sentence,” said Ro. He was holding something in his fist. A rod of some kind. He raised it, holding it over Veter’s head. “Release the Leveler.”

The Nihil holding the leash let it drop to the ground.

“No…” Rhil tried to scream, but all that spilled out of her mouth was a breathless, horrified whimper. She felt Petrik’s blaster jab harder against the small of her back.

The cam droids were now circling Veter and the creature as it set upon him, knocking him backward and sending the lightsaber, now extinguished, spinning away. The Nameless fell upon Veter, pinning the whimpering Tarnab to the ground, its front claws on his shoulders, its strange proboscises dangling just above his face.

Veter twisted his head, squeezing his eyes shut, wailing as the creature issued a contented burr, tossing its head back in rapturous satisfaction. Beneath it, Veter had stopped moving and was merely whispering, over and over, begging it to stop.

Something was happening to his body. Trapped beneath the bulk of the creature, he was beginning to grow pale, ashen. No. Not just pale…he was turning to dust. As the Nameless fed on him, Veter’s entire body was cracking, like it was first turning to pale stone, then crumbling to dust beneath the creature’s weight. Rhil watched, transfixed, as the effect spread rapidly along the length of Veter’s body, incorporating even his robes. As it reached his chest, Veter gave one last, groaning breath, and then his head lolled to one side. His eyes remained open, but Rhil could see that they were already sightless, having succumbed to the same strange plague of dust that was now crawling up around his throat, his chin, the side of his face.

Within moments, there was nothing left of the Jedi Grand Master that had once been Pra-Tre Veter. Nothing but spilled dust and the vague outline of a body-shaped husk.

Unable to prevent herself, Rhil turned her head and vomited, the sickly stream spattering the floor by her feet. Petrik cursed and took a step back, making noises of disgust.

All around them, the Nihil cheered, roaring in abject glee at the death of one of their sworn enemies. In the midst of this, Marchion Ro basked in their adoration, turning on the spot, his arms flung wide as he welcomed their applause, as if he were the one who had vanquished his foe in an arena, and not the beast.

The Nameless grunted, sated, and padded back toward the guards, who looped the chains around its collar and immediately led it off the way they had come.

The cams now clustered around Ro. “Today I have been forced to remind you what the Nihil are capable of. The Jedi do not scare us. Neither the Jedi, nor the Republic, have any jurisdiction in Nihil space. You are not welcome here.” He gestured at the husked remains of what had once been Pra-Tre Veter. “Understand that this will be the fate of any Jedi caught trespassing behind the Stormwall. This is Nihil justice, swift and fair.” He looked directly down the lens of the cam, a wry smile writ large on his thin lips. “You are all the Republic, but we are the Nihil. Underestimate us at your peril.”

Ro gave a signal, and the cams winked off.

Rhil wiped tears from her eyes. She fought to stop the racking sobs that threatened to burst forth from her chest. She hadn’t known Pra-Tre Veter, but that hardly mattered: No one deserved a death as horrifying as what she’d just been forced to witness. No one.

Marchion Ro might have wished to show the galaxy that the Nihil had strength, and power, and a weapon that could decimate even the Jedi…but he’d also shown them that the Nihil were even more brutal, twisted, and dangerous than they already knew.

All Rhil could hope was that, far from sending others running scared, an act such as this would only help to strengthen their resolve, to drive them to fight back harder than ever.

Ro had shown the galaxy who the Nihil really were.

She glanced at Ghirra Starros—the only one of the senior Nihil who wasn’t celebrating. Ro had noticed, too, and Rhil saw the look that passed between them. Ro was not happy with his “minister” and purported lover.

For her part, Ghirra looked…scared. Uneasy. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, smoothing the front of her dress, and glanced away, as if she’d found the entire scene as distasteful, as horrifying, as Rhil and no longer wished to look upon the husked corpse and the reveling Nihil.

So. Things weren’t quite as rosy in the upper echelons of the Nihil as Marchion Ro might have them all believe…

Rhil watched as Ro turned back to his people, now swarming him from all sides, shouting and cheering his name.

“Time to move.” She felt Petrik’s foul breath against the back of her neck again. He gave her a shove, pushing her in the direction of the door. “This party’s for Nihil only.”

Rhil didn’t argue. She didn’t want to be in that room any longer than she had to. Feeling hollow, she made her way toward the door.

CORUSCANT

“No!”

Elzar slammed his fist against the desk so hard that one of the chancellor’s targons issued a low warning growl. He fought to contain the sudden spike of rage, remembering back to what Orla Jareni had taught him; remembering that to succumb to such feelings was to walk a path he did not wish to tread.

Lina Soh couldn’t look at him, couldn’t meet his eye. Her entire frame shook, her fists bunched by her sides, her lips pursed tight. She turned away from him, took a long, deep breath, and then let it out.

When she turned around again, she’d composed herself, but he could see that her hands were still trembling, not with fear, but with fury and adrenaline.

“I’m sorry,” she ground out.

The words seemed to wash over him, meaningless.

Pra-Tre Veter was dead. Killed on cam and broadcast on the same frequency that had once carried the reassuring tones of Starlight Beacon. On the anniversary of the station’s fall.

And Marchion Ro had laughed. The maniac had actually enjoyed it.

What was more, in witnessing this tragedy, right there on the holoscreen, Elzar had finally caught a glimpse of the monstrous creatures that had plagued the Jedi for so long.

He’d seen the creature known as the Nameless. They all had. Caught on cam, in all its sickening glory, with its monstrous aspect, its tentacled mouth, its chalky-white skin that was simultaneously too loose and too tight for its massive frame. It had seemed to look at him with its glowing eyes, right down the lens of the cam. Now the Jedi knew what they were really up against. The true extent of the horror that faced them.

Even a grand master hadn’t been enough to stand in its way.

Elzar shuddered. What chance did any of them have?

He glanced up at the chancellor. Her eyes were filled with steely determination.

“That thing…The way it…” She trailed off, as if she couldn’t find the words, but Elzar understood the sentiment all too well.

He shook his head. He couldn’t do this, allow himself to give in to this pain, this despair. Not again. He buried it, pushing it down deep, using it to stoke his resolve. “Pra-Tre Veter is one with the Force now.”

“Did you know? That he was inside the Occlusion Zone?”

Elzar nodded. “He was taken by the Nihil during a mission to the edge of the Stormwall. Trying to help Bell, Mirro, and the others capture a Path drive and prevent more raids. We held out hope that he was still alive, but there was no way of knowing for sure.”

The chancellor’s voice was level. “How many more, Elzar?”

“Too many. Most of the Jedi responded to the general recall issued by the Council, sending messages even if they were unable to return. A few, we know, are too far out in Wild Space. Others are embroiled in localized conflicts or events. The rest…we can only assume they were trapped inside the Occlusion Zone when the Stormwall went up.”

“Just like Kip and Jom.”

The silence stretched.

“It…It was horrible, what they did to him.” Even Lina Soh, usually so unflappable, so stolid, seemed shaken by what she’d seen on the holo. “I mean, I’ve heard the stories. I even saw an image of what happened to poor Loden. But to see it happen like that. To watch what that thing could do…” She unfurled her left fist, then formed it again. “For the first time, I believe I truly understand why the Council called you all back here to Coruscant.”

“We still don’t know how to fight them,” said Elzar. He looked away. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You will. And so will the Council. And you have the full backing of the Republic Defense Coalition. And me. You have me. For what it’s worth.”

“Thank you, Chancellor. What will you do now?”

She stood, closing her eyes, drawing a deep breath. “Once again, that wretch Marchion Ro has made a mockery out of me.”

Elzar was momentarily taken aback by the edge that had crept into her voice. She saw his surprise and nodded.

“Oh, your teachings might keep you from expressing your anger, Elzar, so I’ll curse for the both of us. And let me tell you now, with no uncertainty—he’ll pay for his crimes. One way or another.”

She crossed to the window, looking out at the city spires beyond. “Last night I stood there, before those cams, and told the galaxy that no one would be hurt. That the Nihil would do nothing to mark the anniversary of Starlight’s fall. That I had even entered discussions about a cease-fire. And now this.” The ire in her voice was palpable. “I made a mistake. I wanted so much for it to be true that I started to believe it myself. I’m a fool.”

“No, Chancellor. Never that,” said Elzar, his voice level.

“It cannot stand. Ro cannot be allowed to act with impunity. We must be seen to act.” She turned to face him again. “So this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to double the RDC ships patrolling the Stormwall’s border. I’m going to draw a tighter ring of protection around Coruscant. And I’m going to gather the RDC commanders and find a way—any way—to levy a military response. Even if we can’t breach the Stormwall, there has to be some way to show the Nihil that we won’t stand for this.”

Elzar nodded. He could hear the desperation beneath the growling anger in her voice. He pushed his chair back and stood. “I’ll arrange a meeting with the Jedi Council. You’re right. There must be an answer to this. We cannot wait any longer.”

He crossed to the door.

“We’ll get them back, Elzar,” said Soh, her voice strained. “We’ll find a way. It’s time we stopped this. Somehow.”

HINTIS IV

“You are all the Republic, but we are the Nihil. Underestimate us at your peril.”

Bell punched a button on the holo receiver and the hazy, shaky recording began to cycle again. Translucent figures stuttered to life like gossamer ghosts.

There was Rhil Dairo, barely holding herself together before the floating cam, clearly reading from a prompt. The words were spilling from her lips, but they did not belong to her. Bell could see as much in her eyes.

And there was Marchion Ro, the Eye of the Nihil, standing over the bent, subdued form of Grand Master Veter. Lauding it over his broken prisoner.

Veter’s arm was missing. The cam shuddered and the holo flickered, adding to the sense of disorientation, dislocation.

Bell hunched forward. He was in his private berth in the RDC base on Hintis IV, sitting cross-legged on the floor with the small holo device before him. He had retreated here after seeing the broadcast in the main briefing room with the other assembled RDC personnel and Jedi on the base. He knew Burryaga had been worried about him, but Bell hadn’t been able to talk about it.

Not then. Not now.

He’d barely been able to contain his bubbling frustration, his pain.

Bell forced himself to keep his eyes fixed on the scene playing out before him, even as the creature—the Force Eater—was led out. He shuddered. He wanted to tear his eyes away, to look at anything but the monster, at what he knew it was going to do, but this was the only way. He had to try to understand it. And he had to see if she was there.

The creature’s tentacled mouth twitched in anticipation. Bell had no idea if it was the same beast that had killed Master Loden, but Ro had called it the “Leveler.”

The creature disgusted Bell in a way no living thing had ever disgusted him before. The sight of it made his skin crawl. He watched as it strained on its leash, almost consumed by its own terrible hunger. Feral and bestial, its glassy eyes fixed on its target.

Bell wanted to look away when Master Veter was forced to stand, to try to fight the beast. The wild look in his eyes, the sheer horror on his face, the disorientation…It was difficult to witness.

What was more, Bell understood. He had felt that same panic, that same fear, when he had tried to rescue Loden. When the ground had fallen away, and his vision had spun and nothing had made sense anymore. It had been debilitating. It had made him somehow less.

And it had killed his former master, and so many more since.

The husk of Pra-Tre Veter lay on the ground at Marchion Ro’s feet.

The holo recording stuttered toward its closing moments. Bell studied the faces in the crowd. They were blurred and indistinct.

Was Melis Shryke even there? Had she not even been present to witness the horror she had perpetrated? He couldn’t see her.

This had been her doing. She’d been the one who’d delivered Master Veter to Marchion Ro. Who’d lured him in, using innocent people as bait.

And she didn’t even have the decency to see the fruit of her labors firsthand.

Bell tried to steady his breathing. To seek peace. But it wasn’t forthcoming. He felt inadequate. He felt guilty. He felt lost.

He should have done something to stop them taking Master Veter. He’d been there, on what should have been a straightforward rescue mission to assist the people of Solunus in the wake of a Nihil raid.

The Jedi Grand Master had stayed behind to hold off a wave of attacking Nihil while Bell and Burryaga evacuated the civilians. But he’d been overwhelmed. Trapped. Taken by Melis Shryke.

And then imprisoned and executed, in the worst possible way.

Bell wondered if Master Veter had understood the gravity of his sacrifice. If he’d known how things might end. If he had, would he still have done what he did?

Bell had to believe he would. He had to hope that he, too, would have had the strength to do the same if their situation had been reversed. That’s what Jedi did—they put others before themselves, no matter the consequences.

Master Veter was one with the Force now. Just like all the rest.

For Bell, it was time to draw a line. Shryke had to be stopped. And then when that was done, all the other Nihil, too. Otherwise, they would just keep going and going, until they’d destroyed everything and everyone that Bell cared for. Until they’d undermined everything that the Jedi were.

He punched the button again. For the fifth time. The sequence started again. Bell watched.

The door indicator trilled.

Bell paused the holo.

It trilled again.

“What is it?”

The door slid open. Burryaga stood in the opening, silhouetted by the bright light of the passageway beyond.

“Wrraaarooo rooo raaar,” said the Wookiee, his tone inquisitive.

“I know, Burry. But this is important. I’m going over the broadcast again, trying to make sense of what happened. Looking for faces in the crowd.” Bell didn’t meet his friend’s eye. He pushed the button again, setting the holo cycling from where it had left off.

Burry stepped inside the room, stooped low, and grabbed the holo receiver off the floor. He jabbed at the controls and the holo blinked out. “Rwaaar.”

“All right. I’m listening,” said Bell, sounding more frustrated than he’d intended.

Burry fixed him with a glare. Then, slipping the holorecorder into his robes, he explained that there had been another raid, on a small mining settlement on the planet Phrill. The local defense force had been obliterated and the settlement almost destroyed. An RDC team was setting out immediately to help on the ground.

“Shryke?” said Bell, grinding out the word.

Burry nodded, but explained that she’d already gone, returning to the safety of the Occlusion Zone.

Bell studied his friend for a moment. “Then why…?” He trailed off. He knew why.

People were in need of help, and Jedi put themselves before others, always.

In his own way, Burry was reminding Bell that they had a job to do, beyond capturing a Path drive or stopping Melis Shryke and the other Nihil.

No matter what had happened. No matter how hard it was. It was their duty.

This is what Jedi do.

Bell got to his feet. He clapped Burry on the shoulder. “Let’s go. There are people who need us.”

NIHIL TRANSPORT SHIP, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“Quiet now, Kaysee. They’re coming this way.”

Avar Kriss shifted her weight from one foot to the other, crouching low behind the pile of storage crates to avoid the eyeline of the two Nihil guards. Neither were wearing their masks, which were lying discarded a few meters from where Avar was hiding. One was a female Pantoran with blue skin, pale-golden eyes, and a shaved head that bore the typical tattoos of her culture. The other was a male human with light-brown skin and a scruffy, patchy beard. Both wore the daubed eye of Marchion Ro on their armor, like some sort of ancient ward. Both also seemed far too at ease as they strolled along the upper gantry of the transport hauler, chatting idly about some plan they’d been concocting and how they were going to get it past the leader of their Storm. These were guards who weren’t used to actually guarding anything.

They were in for a surprise.

Avar flexed the fingers of both hands. Beside her, KC-78, Estala Maru’s old astromech droid and the only friend she had in this forsaken corner of the galaxy, trembled nervously, as if unsure about his role in events to come.

She reached out and patted the droid on the top of his head.

Avar no longer resembled the Jedi she had once been. For a start, she’d abandoned her robes in favor of less identifiable attire: gray pants with a buckled gray tunic, brown boots, and a charcoal-colored cloak to help her blend into the shadows. She’d even lost her diadem, pinning her blond hair back in a tight ponytail. The only concession she’d kept to her old Jedi apparel was her lightsaber holster, still sitting snugly on her hip.

She hadn’t enjoyed shedding the skin of her previous life, but the last year had proved tough, to say the least. Hers was a recognizable face, and she’d heard about what happened to Jedi caught operating inside the zone. So she’d taken the necessary steps, disguising herself, working in the shadows, doing all she could to help the civilians who’d also found themselves trapped by the Nihil after the Stormwall went up.

At least, that was what she told herself. In truth, it had felt liberating to cast off the vestments of her old life, to free herself of the expectation, of the burden of the mistakes that had led her here.

Here, now, she was just Avar. Nothing more, nothing less. No more marshal of Starlight Beacon. No more Hero of Hetzal. Just Avar, doing what needed to be done. It felt like returning to her roots. Doing the work. Making things right, one small step at a time. Like lurking in the back of a transport hauler, waiting to hijack their grain shipment and deliver it to those in need.

Deep down, she knew she was kidding herself. In her darkest moments, alone, she felt lost, adrift, cut off from the people who really needed her and from those she needed in turn. Elzar, Reath, Vernestra, Yoda…and so many more. She’d left them all behind.

The song of the Force had become distant and discordant, too, as if everything was broken, misaligned. She could still feel it there, still call on it when she needed to, but her connection to the Force lacked the harmony and peace that it had once provided.

Avar wished she’d never come here, leaving Eiram in such a hurry, so keen to escape from the site of her worst failure.

She’d dressed it up in terms the others could understand. Someone had to keep an eye on the Nihil, to figure out their next move. Someone had to report back on what was happening and figure out a way to stop them. Someone had to act quickly and decisively against those who had nearly brought about their ruin. Someone had to stop the Eye.

In truth, she’d just been running away. And in doing so, she’d abandoned those who needed her most.

She thought of Elzar, standing there on that sodden beach, pouring out his heart, confessing what had happened in the last minutes of the Beacon’s fall, the mistake he had made, the guilt that threatened to consume him.

And she had left. That very night. Too consumed by her own failures to help him, to be the friend he needed.

She didn’t know if he would ever be able to forgive her for that weakness, that moment of selfishness. At the time, all she’d been able to do was get away.

In his final moments, Maru had told her she always was their “shining light.” But it was a mantle she had never deserved. She’d tried to live up to that expectation, and she’d failed. She’d led the Jedi on a flawed hunt to seek out Lourna Dee, the Nihil Tempest Runner that Avar had become convinced was the Eye of the Nihil, but who’d turned out to be nothing but one of Marchion Ro’s former lieutenants. She’d treated Stellan with disdain and disregarded his warnings in the lead up to the attack on Starlight Beacon, when, in truth, she should have heeded his words and been there to help. She’d failed to show the leadership required by a Marshall, and people had died.

Now she was doing what she had always intended. She was helping people. And that had to be enough.

There was a time for such thoughts, though, and they weren’t now. Avar buried them, just like she’d buried everything else.

She peered over the rim of a storage crate. The Nihil guards had now passed by and were about to turn around and double back on themselves, completing their pass of the cargo hold. This would be her chance. Take them down. Bind them. Push them out in an escape pod. Then get to the civilian pilot up front.

Avar glanced down at KC-78. Ready? she mouthed.

The indicator light on the front of KC-78’s head flashed green.

She nodded, glanced over the top of the storage crate again, and then gave him a little shove. “Go.”

The droid seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if hoping she was going to change her mind, but she fixed him with an urgent glare. His indicator light flashed silently again, and then he was off, trundling out from behind the crate, his wheels thrumming as he climbed the ramp up to the raised metal gantry. Beneath him, the grain silo shushed gently as the particles shifted.

“What the…?” The Pantoran frowned at the sight of the unexpected astromech in her path. KC-78 trundled along, ignoring her, as if merrily going about his business.

“You! Droid. Stop right there.” The human’s voice was gruff and weary. His shoulders slouched as he walked toward KC-78, clearly more bothered by the fact he was now going to have to do some actual work than he was by the implication of an unexpected stowaway. “What are you doing here?”

KC-78 stopped on the gangway. His head turned slowly toward the human Nihil. He issued a stream of binary. The guard looked at him with confusion, and then back at the Pantoran. “Do you speak droid?”

The Pantoran glowered at him. “Do I look like I speak droid?”

The man frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense, Niquita. How can you look like you know something?”

Niquita smiled slyly. “You’d understand if you knew, Dascha.”

This seemed enough for Dascha, who turned his attention back to KC-78. “What are you doing here?”

KC-78 gave a verbal shrug in the form of a long, weary tone.

Dascha seemed to consider this, then shook his head. He nudged KC-78 with the edge of his boot. The droid shifted position slightly but didn’t move.

“Hey,” said Dascha. “How about we have some fun?”

Niquita frowned. “Look, I’ve already told you—”

“No, no,” said Dascha, cutting in, clearly embarrassed. “I mean with the droid.”

“You what?”

“I mean target practice. What do you say?”

Niquita smiled. “I like your thinking.”

“So do I.”

“Of course you do. It’s your idea.”

They both withdrew their blasters.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

Niquita and Dascha shared a confused look.

“Say that again, droid,” said Niquita, frowning.

KC-78 issued another stream of frantic pips and whistles.

Niquita leveled her pistol at the droid. “In Basic.”

KC-78 just stared at her blankly. Her finger closed on the trigger.

“I said, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The two Nihil turned in unison to look back over their shoulders.

Avar was standing on the walkway behind them.

Dascha raised his blaster. “What is this?”

Avar released a calming breath. “A hijacking,” she said matter-of-factly. “And you have a choice. You can lay down your weapons, get into the escape pod, and leave right now. No need for anyone to get hurt. Or…”

“Or what?” said Dascha.

“Or she hurts us, you fool,” said Niquita. “That’s what she’s trying to imply.”

Dascha laughed. “What, you?” He looked her up and down. “I don’t think so.” He sighted along the length of his blaster and squeezed the trigger.

All at once, Avar was leaping. The hilt of her lightsaber slid from its holster, and she palmed it, igniting the blade with an air-rending vrooosh. The blade sang as it whipped in an arc, striking the blaster bolt and sending it wide, where it rebounded from a metal hull plate and struck one of the storage crates below.

“Jedi!” screamed Dascha.

“I gathered!” replied Niquita, testily.

The two Nihil let loose with a flurry of blaster shots. Avar whirled her lightsaber back and forth, deflecting each shot as it came, careful not to send any of them back toward her attackers. It would have been easy to kill the two Nihil. Too easy. And while Avar would kill to defend herself or others, she also believed in avoiding death at all costs. After all, she was the one hijacking their ship. And there was another way.

“Shoot her!” bellowed Dascha.

“I’m trying!”

Avar glanced down at the grain silos beneath the walkway. Then, swatting aside another flurry of blaster shots, she backed up a few paces and ran. Her lightsaber raked across the metal plates of the gantry as she leapt, twisting, and curling, right over the heads of the two Nihil guards. She landed softly on the other side, beside KC-78, who beeped loudly in admiration.

The walkway groaned as it shifted uneasily, a line of molten metal tracing where Avar’s lightsaber had sliced right through a section of floor plates and struts.

The Nihil turned, confused, as the gantry began to sag. Dascha, still undeterred, raised his blaster again.

Avar simply swung her lightsaber low, cutting through the floor plates just before her feet.

There was a shrill screech of rending metal, and then the entire section of the upper walkway—the section that the two Nihil remained standing on—slewed to the left, before tumbling away, crashing down into the grain silos beneath. The two Nihil went with it, arms flailing, thudding down hard into the large, open cylinder of grain below.

They sprawled beside each other on the grain, rendered unconscious from the fall.

KC-78 beeped dramatically.

“Oh, I know, Kaysee. I went easy on them. Better for my conscience that way.” She glanced down at the prone Nihil.

Did she really believe that in sparing the lives of these two, and the others she’d refused to kill during the last few months, she was somehow finding a way to compensate for all the lives that had been lost? To be better than the Nihil, who killed indiscriminately?

She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure she ever would. But what choice did she have? While she was content to work from the shadows, she was not prepared to become an assassin. Her way of doing things was just going to have to work.

“Ready the escape pod, Kaysee. I want these two out of here in the next five minutes.”

KC-78 gave an indignant beep, and then turned and trundled off down the only remaining ramp.

CORUSCANT

“Tell me you have good news for me,” said Elzar.

He was standing in the Senate Building, in one of the tactical briefing rooms that had been turned over to the RDC teams working on the Stormwall problem.

The technician and data slicer, Keven Tarr, had been requested by the Republic to assist them in attempting to decipher the underlying structures of the Stormwall. It had been a good appointment, and while Tarr hadn’t yet managed to spearhead a breakthrough, Elzar knew there were few others in the whole Republic who could match his proficiency and understanding of complex data systems.

Tarr was peering at Elzar now, a little confused. Around the two of them, the team of RDC engineers and researchers continued to buzz and flit, arguing over data stations or examining readouts. “If I had good news, Master Elzar, I would have sent word to the Temple immediately.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just—after what happened to Grand Master Veter…I’m looking for something—anything—that I can use to help me persuade the Council to act.”

Tarr nodded. He was a tall, thin human, with bright-red hair and pale skin. “I understand. I saw the broadcast.” His expression was somber. “But we’re working as fast as we can. We’re still trying to understand how the Nihil technology works.”

Elzar sighed. This wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “So, we’ve made no progress at all?”

Tarr looked pained. “I’d have told you if we had. I’m trying, Master Elzar. We all are.”

“I know. And I’m sorry,” said Elzar. “I’m just…I need something.”

“I understand. I’m just not sure what else I can say.”

“You can answer a question?” said Elzar.

“Of course,” said Tarr. “Anything.”

“How much firepower would it take to destroy one of the buoys? I know we’ve tried before and never managed to breach their shields. But what would it actually take?”

“That’s not really the right question,” said Tarr, frowning in thought. “You see, even if we did manage to destroy one, the others around it would immediately shift position, extending their disruption fields to cover the hole. The system is self-repairing. To make enough of a difference, we’d have to take out several buoys at once. And even then, we’d only have a matter of moments before it healed itself again. It’s a fascinating system.”

Fascinating isn’t the word.

“But it is possible?” prompted Elzar.

“It’s possible,” said Tarr, “but it wouldn’t work. Not for the purpose we need. Think of it this way. We force a breach, destroy—say—four, five buoys. We then have a limited window in which to traverse the Stormwall before it closes back up again. To maintain any sort of gateway we’d have to deploy a huge, standing fleet, constantly firing to keep the breach open as the other buoys moved into place.”

“A fleet that would be sitting ducks for Nihil attack, meaning we’d have to find even more ships to defend them,” said Elzar.

“Precisely,” agreed Tarr. “And then there’s the fact the Nihil could simply deploy more stormseeds, strengthening the Stormwall around the site of any breach. We don’t know how many more they have.”

“And any ships that did get through could find themselves stranded in Nihil-occupied space,” said Elzar, “with no way to return.”

“And no way of knowing what awaited them on the inside,” added Tarr. “We can assume that the Nihil have some way of controlling the hyperspace routes inside the Occlusion Zone, too. Not to mention plenty of their own ships, all with Path drives, meaning they could outmaneuver any Jedi or RDC ships easily. They’d likely rip apart any vessels that made it through.”

“The Path drives use hyperspace lanes, don’t they? Why aren’t the Nihil ships ripped apart by the Stormwall’s distortion fields?” said Elzar.

“That’s not quite right,” said Tarr. “The Path drives allow the Nihil to access bespoke, untested, and unmapped hyperspace routes—their so-called ‘Paths’—but there must be another component. A key. We think the Path drives must communicate with a central hub, somewhere deep inside the Occlusion Zone, that allocates a code to each drive as needed. That code tells the buoys to grant passage to the specific route and drive in question.” Tarr shrugged. “It’s both incredibly complex and incredibly simple at the same time. But without the controlling tech, there’s currently no way to breach it.”

“So you’re telling me it’s hopeless,” said Elzar. He’d hoped to come here for answers, and instead had learned that they were no closer to finding a way through the barrier than they’d been a year ago.

“No,” said Tarr. “I’m telling you we don’t have the answers yet. But we will. It’s just a matter of time.”

Elzar nodded. Time was the one thing they didn’t have. It’d already been a year, and they were only now starting to understand how the Stormwall operated. How much longer would it be before a solution presented itself? How many more people would have to die?

“All right. Thanks, Keven. I’m sorry for pushing so hard. It’s just…I feel so helpless. I need to do something. To find a way to stop them.”

“Like I said, I understand. And we’re already doing everything in our power. I’ll keep you apprised. We will find a way through.” Tarr offered him a tight smile.

Elzar forced a smile in reply. “I know.”

I just hope it’s soon enough.

NIHIL TRANSPORT SHIP, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“Who are you?”

After jettisoning the escape pod containing the two still-unconscious Nihil, Avar had made her way to the transport ship’s cockpit, where a series of alarms was blaring and the Ugnaught pilot seemed to be in something of a panic. He turned to stare wide-eyed at Avar as she strode purposefully into the small space, leaned over the controls, and silenced the annoying alarms. KC-78 trundled in behind her.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m here to help.”

The Ugnaught—a small, hairy, porcine male with a heavy brow ridge and downturned mouth—looked at her appraisingly. “A pirate? A smuggler?” He caught sight of the holster strapped to Avar’s hip. “Oh no. No. A Jedi!”

Avar narrowed her eyes. “You sound worried.”

“Well of course I’m worried!” spat the Ugnaught. “There’s been a disturbance in the cargo hold, and one of the escape pods has been jettisoned. Now, instead of the two Nihil guards that were supposed to be overseeing this grain shipment, I’ve got you, standing there all uppity with your lightsaber.”

Avar tried to keep her smile to herself but failed. “All uppity?”

“Well, you do seem rather pleased with yourself.”

“Hmmm. Well, I can assure you, my lightsaber is staying right where it is, in its holster.”

“Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?” said the Ugnaught.

“You’re not Nihil, then?” said Avar. It was thunderingly obvious that the Ugnaught was not affiliated with Marchion Ro’s regime, but Avar thought it might be a way of drawing him out, calming him a little. Her best guess was that he was just a haulage pilot who’d been co-opted into serving the Nihil through coercion and threats.

“Me? I’ve got nothing to do with those mask-wearing fools. I mean, look at me.” He thumped his chest. “Do I look like I go running about threatening folk and daubing blue paint on my face? Well, do I?”

“You don’t,” conceded Avar. “So I’d imagine you’ll be happy to be free of them.”

“Free of them? They’ll probably feed me to a whickersnipe for this! Reptile food! That’s all I’ll be good for. That’s assuming I even survive whatever foolishness it is you have planned.” He shook his head. “Jedi,” he muttered under his breath.

Avar examined the navigation readouts. “Don’t you want to know what I’m doing?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Do I?” replied the Ugnaught.

“I’m redirecting this cargo. To people who need it.” She leaned over the control panel and started inputting a course to Prandril, a small Rodian colony on a moon in the Minos Cluster, which Avar had heard was running close to starvation after the colonists’ regular food supply channels had been disrupted by the Nihil. It was close by. They’d be unloading the grain within a couple of hours. Grain that had been grown on Hetzal, where the Nihil now had their main base of operations, and from where they were controlling all food shipments in the region, starving out the populations that refused to pledge fealty or pay tithes. It was utterly barbaric.

“Are you mad? If the Nihil catch you…”

Avar shot the Ugnaught a glance. “They won’t.”

“So you say. They’ve caught plenty of others.” The Ugnaught stuck out his chin. “And what about me? Where do I fit into this plan?”

“You can tell them I held you against your will. Threatened you if you didn’t help me.”

“Are you threatening me?” asked the Ugnaught, cautiously.

“Of course not.”

“Hmmm.” He looked thoughtful. “What have you done with the guards? Kill them, did you?”

“No,” said Avar. She slipped into the copilot’s chair as she finished inputting the new course. She was beginning to like this spiky Ugnaught pilot. “I didn’t kill them. I knocked them unconscious and jettisoned them in the escape pod. They’ll be picked up by another Nihil ship within a few hours.”

The Ugnaught looked stricken. The color drained from his face. His hands clutched the arms of his chair. “You’ve killed us both, you fool!”

Avar frowned. “And how’s that?”

“The Nihil patrols! This ship doesn’t have a Path engine. It’s just a hauler. Without the guards to vouch for us, we’ll never get past the blockades.”

The Ugnaught was right. No one moved inside the zone without the correct permissions. Avar had just assumed a haulage ship from Hetzal would be programmed with the correct codes.

Clearly, she’d been wrong. Of course, the Nihil would ensure any haulage ships were reliant on them for safe passage. Especially as they knew the pilots and other workers were operating under duress. They didn’t have time for revolts, and they didn’t have enough Nihil to pilot the ships themselves.

Avar examined the flight map, seeking alternative routes. The shortest, uncontrolled route would get them near, but they’d have to emerge close to a dangerous debris field that orbited Prandril. Making use of such a route risked attracting the attention of the scav droid swarms, too. Without the right access codes, the swarms would attack indiscriminately. But there was no other option. Avar couldn’t give up now. She started inputting the new coordinates.

The Ugnaught’s frown deepened as he watched the new route appear on the readouts. “You’re taking us through an unapproved hyperspace lane! And into the middle of a debris field! What about the scav swarms?” His voice rose in pitch as he grew increasingly panicked.

“We’ll deal with them. Kaysee has been working on slicing their attack protocols. We’ll find a way.” Avar looked across at him. “Of course, there’s another escape pod back there if you’d rather take your chances with the Nihil?”

The Ugnaught folded his arms across his chest. “And abandon my ship? I don’t think so.”

Avar engaged the hyperspace drive. “Then you’d better hold on,” she said.

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“There are still Jedi here,” said Marchion Ro. “Behind the Stormwall. Stirring dissent like parasites, worming their insidious way into people’s minds.” He paced back and forth before a row of large metal cages. Inside each of them a Nameless cowered, trained by a harsh regime of pain and hunger to fear Marchion and, perhaps more pointedly, the looming figure in black who was the more immediate master of their destiny. “We cannot rest until they’re all dead,” Ro continued. “We cannot rest until we’re free of them. They pose an ongoing threat to the Nihil. To me.”

Baron Boolan, the towering Ithorian, stepped into the gloomy light of the laboratory.

This was his domain, a series of linked chambers that Ro had built for him when the fortress was erected here on Hetzal. These lower levels had once been part of a Republic Longbeam, and Ro took great delight in knowing what was now being tested down here, in the belly of an old Republic ship. He enjoyed turning the tools of the Republic against them, showing them that anything they threw at him could be twisted into a weapon.

Anything.

“I’m nearly ready for another test,” said Boolan. His translator crackled and echoed, leaving Ro with the strange impression that Boolan was farther away than he really was. Another of his strange affectations, designed to make people feel uneasy in his presence. To Ro, it was a mere annoyance.

“Then we need to find more Jedi to test them on,” said Ro. He peered at the creatures in their crates but could discern nothing of use in the low light. “General Viess and her insufferable protégée assure me they’re close to securing some new test subjects.”

Boolan chattered his teeth. “Yes. So they say. I wish them luck. My own sources tell me all efforts to obtain more Jedi are being…curtailed. Someone inside Nihil space is frustrating our efforts. Nevertheless, I am making alternative arrangements. I have several promising students. My children have shown an aptitude with the beasts and are desirous of the prestige that comes from serving you, my Eye.”

Ro could never tell whether the Ithorian was mocking him or not. One day he’d have to do something about that. For now, though, Boolan fulfilled an important function, and his deference was just the right side of sycophancy. There was no doubting the fact he was an exceptional scientist, and he understood the beasts in a way no one else had, even Ro’s Evereni ancestors who’d first discovered them. Boolan understood, too, the pleasure to be found in turning the creatures into the weapons that Ro so desired. The tools that would obliterate the last of the Jedi. The “refinements” he was making to their physiology had resulted in a pack of enhanced Force Eaters that would prove utterly unstoppable. Not just Levelers, but weapons of complete annihilation.

His so-called “children,” though—they were something different. Sentient beings, former Force users, upon whom Boolan had experimented with disturbing relish, twisting their bodies into something sickening and new, breaking their spirits and building them back up to become dangerous zealots aligned with his cause. He’d raised a small “family” of these hybridized monsters and planned to use them in the fight against the Jedi.

Sometimes, Ro wondered whether Boolan was ever really a baron, or just a butcher with an endless capacity for cruelty. He supposed it didn’t matter, so long as the Ithorian remained useful.

“Very well,” said Ro. “In the meantime, I’ll impress upon Viess the need to bring forward her plans.”

“And Starros? I understand she was less than impressed with your recent broadcast,” said Boolan.

“Starros remains a useful tool. But she is a creature of the Republic and their Senate, so while her perspective can occasionally prove useful, she finds it difficult to think in different terms. Like many of us, she adheres to the worldview she was given as a child. She’s never seen anything else, and so she would impose the structures of the Republic upon us all. She does not understand why we continue to provoke those fools on Coruscant, high up in their gleaming spires.”

“And why do we continue to provoke them?” asked Boolan.

“Because it pleases me.”

“Ever my son,” said a familiar voice from just behind Ro’s shoulder. He turned, but there was no one there. Just the empty shadows, and the low mewling of the captive beasts.

But the voice had been real. He’d heard it.

Asgar.

Father.

The unquiet spirit who refused to leave him in peace. The father he had murdered to seize control of the Nihil.

“Are you well, my Eye?” said Boolan, peering at him with unreadable eyes. Once again, there was no hint of irony in the Ithorian’s clipped electronic speech, but this time Ro was certain it was there.

“Carry on,” Ro said, turning to leave.

The Ithorian mumbled something in his own indecipherable language and returned to his work.

“Are you going to stand for that?” said Asgar as Ro marched toward the exit to the upper levels. “Are you going to let a creature like him speak to you like that? You should kill him for his insolence.”

Ro carried on walking, ignoring the chiding, amused tone of the ghost. Burying the welling anger. He’d been hearing his father’s voice more often in recent weeks, along with another, one from the distant past, an Evereni whose story had echoed down the centuries, a name he had heard a thousand times as a child: Marda Ro. The original founder of the Nihil.

Perhaps he was just tired.

Perhaps.

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Ghirra Starros stood with her hands behind her back, peering out at the pleasant, rolling fields of Hetzal from behind the huge sculpture of the swirling eye affixed to Marchion Ro’s bedchamber.

Behind her, Ro lay on the bed beneath mussed sheets, divested at last of the trappings of rule: the cloak, the mask, the pomp and circumstance. But perhaps not the brooding attitude, the coldness, the detachment that left her feeling pushed away and used.

Not that she hadn’t gotten something out of it, too. She’d embarked on this relationship partly as a way of getting closer to him, of seeking his approval and protection, but there’d been an attraction as well. She’d always been drawn to power, and Marchion Ro wore it absolutely.

Now, though, she wondered if she hadn’t simply trapped herself in something more dangerous than she could ever have imagined.

Ghirra turned back to the window. Down below, workers toiled in the fields to gather the harvests, assisted by lumbering menial droids that pulled huge metallic containers along in their wake, into which the workers tossed their freshly picked produce. It might have seemed idyllic if it hadn’t been for the Nihil guards, lounging about on the backs of their speeders, ready to lay claim to every grain that the workers picked.

Not only that, but the workers knew what would happen to them if they didn’t hit their quotas. The Nihil had recently quashed an uprising among the local populace, and the result had been that the workforce had been reduced by almost twenty percent. That said, it had worked—the remaining eighty percent were now delivering even better growth in production rates. As Ro himself had put it, the rebellion had been a blessing—it had helped them remove the deadweight and remind the rest of the civilian population who was in charge.

She supposed it was the only way. The free market of the Republic was a thing of the past, at least behind the Stormwall. The only way to ensure everyone got fed was to seize control of the distribution network.

She watched a murmuration of birds, gathering on the horizon. They swept low, then doubled back on themselves, mirroring one another’s movements with perfection.

Changing course.

Ghirra remembered a time when she’d stood by such windows in Coruscant, looking out on an entirely different view. One filled with buzzing traffic lanes and neon lights, towering sheets of glass and ancient palaces. Back then, her daughter, Avon, had been at her side, marveling at the world beyond the windowpane.

But Avon was becoming increasingly distant with every passing day. A rebellious child who wanted nothing more to do with her mother. Ghirra wished she’d been able to make Avon understand. She’d backed the winning side. That much was clear already. Marchion Ro had done what he set out to do. He’d brought the Republic to its knees. He’d loosened the stranglehold of the Jedi. And he’d established a territory of his own.

By being at his side, Ghirra’s own power had grown commensurately. And if she continued to play her cards right, there was still a great deal of potential for her to continue to grow that power base. Perhaps it was time for her to remove some deadweight too.

“You’re still here, then.”

Startled, Ghirra turned to see Ro standing just behind her. She cursed herself. She’d vowed never to turn her back on the Evereni, and now here he was. He hadn’t even had to sneak up on her, she’d been so lost in thought.

“Eye.”

He crossed to join her, looking out over the same fields. She wondered if he saw something different when he looked upon those toiling beings far below. He clasped his hands behind his back. His upper body was naked, and Ghirra fought the urge to reach out a hand, to caress the rippled muscles, the thin web of puckered scars, the traceries of tattooed star charts and hyperspace routes that covered his blue-gray skin. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, surprising her.

She swallowed, turning to follow his gaze. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

“To think, as far as you can see, and so much more beyond, belongs to me. To us. All those distant worlds, paying tribute to the Nihil.”

“That’s a different kind of beauty, Marchion. One that speaks of power.”

“Power. Yes. You’re right.”

Ghirra closed her eyes, swallowed. Then: “It was a mistake, executing the Jedi like that. Broadcasting it to the galaxy.”

Ro gave a wan smile. “Why? Because it ruffled a few feathers on Coruscant?”

“Because the beings of the galaxy now think we’re villains.”

“I have news for you, Ghirra—they always have. Ever since the attack on Valo. Since our triumph at Eiram, bringing the Republic’s Beacon crashing down into the waves. Do you think I care what people think?”

“I think you care more than you pretend to,” said Ghirra. She knew she was treading dangerous waters. But she also knew that if she didn’t get through to him, didn’t find a way to make him understand, everything he’d built here, everything she’d backed, even killed for, would come crashing down around their ears.

“And I think you have been poisoned by the ideology of a government that insists on imposing order and control systems upon its people. The Republic revels in systemically infiltrating different cultures through the casual dissemination of its beliefs. And the Jedi are at the heart of it, preaching peace while bearing arms, claiming non-interference while doing precisely the opposite. They’re nothing but hypocrites. All of them.”

Ghirra felt backed into a corner. How was she supposed to defend the Republic to the Eye of the Nihil without appearing to condemn everything he stood for?

Carefully.

“The Republic has many faults. We know that. And yet…” She hesitated, framing her next words very carefully indeed. “And yet, they hold the balance of power in the galaxy, irrespective of those faults. Thousands of worlds subscribe to that ideology, those systems.”

Ro narrowed his eyes. Ghirra felt as if she were walking into a trap.

“What you did, what we did, was highlight those flaws,” she continued. “We showed the galaxy that the Republic’s arrogance had not been earned. That the Jedi weren’t up to the task of protecting them.”

“Hmmm,” murmured Ro.

“Now we have the opportunity to finish the job. To supplant the Jedi. To show that we have the means to succeed where they failed. To beat them at their own game. To infiltrate just as they do and show them a different way of doing things.”

“You speak of peace and platitudes. Of compromise.” He spat the final word with abject distaste. “You speak of politics.”

Ghirra straightened her back. “I guess I do.”

“I am the Eye of the Storm.”

“Yes, but what happens when the storm blows itself out?”

Ro met her gaze. His eyes were pools of black ink, revealing nothing. He bared his teeth. Ghirra shuddered, suddenly cold. “I do not know anything else.”

For a moment, she thought this was a capitulation, an admission of weakness, the gap in his armor that would finally let her in. A rare moment of raw self-awareness. But this was Marchion Ro.

His tone hardened. “This is what the Nihil are. A storm that sweeps through the galaxy. An unstoppable force. Chaos does not become order when it disrupts. It merely breeds more chaos, pushing outward like a wave, a ripple that does not stop. So it is with the Storm. It knows nothing but how to rage.”

“But we won, Marchion.” Ghirra wondered if he could ever truly understand. Here was a man who had spent his entire life fighting. Not just to win, but to exist. His entire philosophy was built around that raging, roiling tempest.

“We did?” Ro turned back to the view from the window. “Tell me—what part of this is ‘winning,’ Ghirra Starros?”

“We brought down Starlight Beacon!” She wanted to scream it in his face, force him to understand, but she held herself back, dampening her mounting frustration. How could he not see? “You sent the Jedi running scared. You built the Stormwall and conquered an entire region of the galaxy. How is that not winning?”

“And yet the Republic continues as it ever did. You said it yourself. The Jedi sit in their temples, and the politicians flit from meeting to meeting. What’s really changed? How can this be enough?”

“So you want to destroy them all?” said Ghirra, incredulous.

Ro turned to look at her again. He looked hollow. Empty. And it scared Ghirra, more than he had ever scared her before.

Here is a man who doesn’t know what he wants.

And that’s more dangerous than any tyrant, any revolutionary, any warlord.

Because no one can predict what he’s going to do next.

And here I am, trapped here with him, caught in the storm.

“I’m going to Coruscant,” she said, trying to keep the sudden tremor from her voice.

“Is that right?”

She’d been half expecting him to order her not to go, or worse. In truth, she was surprised he hadn’t killed her already for her insolence. “People are starving. Here, in the zone. We send grain from Hetzal, but it’s not enough, and we withhold it from those who refuse to pay tithes. We’ve imposed travel restrictions. Set up blockades. We’ve erected a barrier, trapping people inside Nihil space. We’ve flooded space with scav droids programmed to tear unauthorized vessels—and their occupants—to shreds. If we don’t want them turning on us, if we want to show the galaxy a different way of doing things, we have to find a way to rule. And to do it effectively. To beat the Republic at their own game.”

“You presume that I have any interest at all in ruling,” said Ro.

“I don’t see that you have a choice,” said Ghirra. “Not unless you want our dominion over Nihil space to be deemed a failure bigger than anything the galaxy has ever seen. Losing control of the systems in our own sectors, encouraging them to foment rebellion and starve—that’ll be judged more harshly than any failure of the Republic to protect themselves and their people against us.”

Ro gave a wan smile, and it was more disturbing than any sneer. “See what I mean about winning, Ghirra Starros? There is a lesson that the Republic and the Jedi have still to learn: that to win at this sort of game, you must become your enemy. And ironically, there is another lesson that I have only just learned for myself.”

“What is it?” said Ghirra.

“That in becoming your enemy, you lose after all.” He turned his back on her. “Go to Coruscant. Beg at the feet of their leaders. See how far it gets you. See how they treat those they deem not to belong in their pathetic Republic. It is the only way you’ll learn.” He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “And be sure to give the Jedi Council my regards.”

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Standing there in General Viess’s private rooms in the fortress on Hetzal, under the Mirialan’s intense scrutiny, Melis Shryke felt ill at ease. She’d been called in to report on her recent efforts to capture more Jedi prisoners for the Eye, and while she’d carried out two further raids on the border territories since Ribento, she’d had no further encounters with any Jedi. She knew Viess wasn’t going to be happy, but really, what could she expect? It wasn’t as if Viess herself was doing any better hunting inside the Occlusion Zone, and those Jedi were at least operating in Nihil-controlled space.

She folded her arms across her chest, and then unfolded them again so she didn’t come across as too guarded.

The reception chamber was well appointed for what Shryke had come to expect from the Nihil. Viess had clearly dressed it with the spoils of various raids: art from several worlds lined the walls, and she was sitting now behind a desk carved from ancient Batuuan ebony. Legend had it she’d choked the previous owner to death atop the desk with her bare hands, so as not to spill any blood upon its prized, polished surface.

Shryke thought that particular story was probably true.

That was what she liked about Viess: The general knew what she wanted, and she took it without hesitation. Shryke had learned so much from her, from studying in the older woman’s shadow. Ways of carrying herself with an air of confidence that had helped her integrate with the Nihil all those months ago; ways of dealing with her enemies that had helped to keep her alive.

Shryke had heard the whispers, of course, the sly comments muttered among the other Nihil—that Shryke herself was nothing but an imitator, that she idolized Viess so much that she mimicked the so-called Minister of Protection, that she was nothing but a lapdog to the real thing.

But that was missing the point. Viess was a survivor. She was at least three times older than most of the Nihil and she’d probably outlive them all, too. Shryke wanted to learn from the best. And when the time did finally come for Viess to take a tumble out of an air lock—well, Shryke would be the one thumbing the release switch.

And yet, despite all of that, being in the presence of General Viess always seemed to set Shryke’s teeth on edge. The woman had a certain way about her, a particular dismissive air that always made Shryke feel that she needed to somehow prove herself; that Viess was judging her every word, every gesture.

She probably was.

Viess reclined in her chair, looking up at Shryke from beneath lazy eyelids. Her lip curled in a sneer. Shryke had not been offered a seat. She clasped her arms behind her back in military fashion, the way her mother had taught her.

“The Eye wants a report on your progress,” said Viess.

“I’ve been carrying out raids beyond the Stormwall, as ordered,” said Shryke. “We’re striking unexpectedly, pillaging, and destroying settlements on each world before moving on. Word seems to be spreading—we’ve begun to meet more resistance from both the locals and the Republic, but it’s nothing my crew can’t handle.”

“Good,” said Viess, although she sounded less than impressed. “The Eye wants you to keep the pressure on. Remember—the raids are an exercise in showing the Republic that nothing has changed. Just because we’ve thrown up the Stormwall doesn’t mean we’re not Nihil. The raids are an indicator of our intent. They must continue at pace.”

“I understand,” said Shryke.

“There are certain factions within the Nihil who seek to embrace the ways of our enemy and engage in settlement talks. We are not a part of those factions. We never will be. The Eye knows this, and relies upon us to do his bidding,” said Viess.

She’s talking about Ghirra Starros.

Viess, on the other hand, seemed to be more of an opportunist, like Shryke herself. There was no doubt in Shryke’s mind that, whichever way the wind eventually blew, Viess would come out of it on top.

“And the Jedi?” said Viess. She rapped the fingertips of her right hand against the vambrace on her left arm.

Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat.

She’s anxious then, too. As soon as she mentioned the Jedi.

Interesting.

Shryke glanced away, unable to hold Viess’s penetrating stare. “I came close at Ribento, but the Jedi were able to reinforce with a whole fleet of Republic ships. We were forced to retreat. No Jedi have shown up at either of the raids I’ve carried out since. I’m thinking we need to be more obvious in our baiting. Let them think they have the edge to lure them in.”

“Hmmm.” Viess sounded less than convinced. “Whatever you do, you’d better do it fast. Remember that securing more test subjects for Baron Boolan is your primary objective. Your results have been somewhat lacking, of late.”

Shryke couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I brought you Pra-Tre Veter! A Jedi Grand Master. Just two months ago.”

Viess inclined her head. “You did. And you were suitably rewarded. But you’re only as good as your last mission, Shryke, and as you said yourself—it’s been two months. The Eye demands results. As do I.”

Shryke resisted the urge to reach for her blaster and shoot the other woman where she sat.

That wouldn’t end well.

Not yet.

She nodded, biting back a retort. “I understand,” she finally ground out.

“Good. Capturing the Jedi must become your sole aim.”

“And what of the Jedi already inside Nihil space? Wouldn’t we be better served concentrating our efforts on finding them, given the fact they’re already trapped within our boundaries?” It was a calculated question, designed to wipe the smug look off Viess’s face.

Viess worked her jaw. “I shall see to them myself. We suspect there are at least three of them, working independently in different sectors. At least one of them is known to me: Porter Engle. He went to ground soon after the Stormwall went up, but recently he’s been on the move and has caught the attention of the scav swarms. We have footage as evidence of his survival.”

“I could assist—” started Shryke, but Viess cut her off with a wave of her hand.

“He is too much for anyone of your abilities to handle. I shall see to it. You stick to the fools stuck on border patrol.”

Shryke clenched her fists behind her back so hard that she felt her fingernails biting into the soft flesh of her palms.

My abilities?

I brought you a grand master.

“Very well,” said Shryke. “I’ll see to it.”

“Excellent,” said Viess. She waved a hand. “You’re dismissed.”

Shryke made for the door.

“Oh, and Shryke?” Viess called after her.

“General?”

“Get a new look. I’m flattered, but it’s growing tiresome.”

“Yes, General,” said Shryke, ducking out through the door, her lips pursed.

It was time to show them all what she was capable of.

And then, perhaps, to show General Viess that airlock door…

PHRILL

“It’s worse than I’d imagined. The devastation…” Bell trailed off, lost for words as he took in the hellish landscape that surrounded them. The blackened, burned-down stubs of trees. The smoldering ruins of buildings. The cracked, superheated remnants of charred vehicles.

In every direction, for as far as he could see, smoke still curled languidly from the ash-covered ground, twisting in curlicues on the thin breeze as it drifted across the barren horizon. The scent of burning clogged the air, leaving a foul, greasy residue in Bell’s nostrils and throat.

They’d arrived on Phrill with the second wave of RDC relief ships, joining the Republic personnel as they scoured the ruins of the small mining settlement, seeking signs of survivors. He was heartened to hear that several large groups of refugees had been found sheltering in neighboring hamlets and villages, and the RDC were already establishing temporary shelters and doling out food parcels, medical supplies, and fresh clothing.

The Republic was rallying around those in need. But Bell worried it wasn’t enough. The main town, once known—perhaps ironically—as Perseverance, had been utterly destroyed, and the people here were going to have to rebuild, even while they mourned their loss.

It should never have been allowed to happen, but the RDC—and the Jedi—were simply stretched too thin to garrison every world and every system along the new frontier. They could respond, but they couldn’t shield everyone from the Nihil. A thought that filled Bell with a deep ache.

Nevertheless, they were here. And they were helping. Burry had been right to remind Bell that there was duty beyond their mission. They could not change what the Nihil had already done, but they could still offer people hope now. The search for survivors would continue until they were certain every single person had been found and made safe. Bell was determined not to give up on a single life.

He turned down another street, now just a cobbled path between mounds of carbonized rubble that shimmered in the heat haze as it led away into the distance. Burryaga was walking ahead of him, picking his way solemnly through the wreckage.

Bell started after him, all the while envisioning the ghost of what this place had once been. It was difficult to conceive. This had been a thriving mining settlement, with markets, homesteads, stores, and tapbars. Now it felt like a haunted place, echoing with loss. Bell felt as if he could almost sense the presence of those who’d lived there, calling out to him in their desperation.

“Come on, Ember.” Bell patted his thigh, urging the charhound to remain close as he hurried after Burryaga. She’d been ranging in the ruins, too, as much a part of the search-and-rescue team as the Jedi. The RDC team had already finished up in this district, reporting that all survivors had fled before the conflagration fully took hold, but Burry had insisted on walking it again, just to be certain.

“Wrrrarroo rarroww aarrrr,” said the Wookiee as Bell drew closer, extemporizing his deep sadness at what had happened here.

“I know,” agreed Bell, brushing aside a heap of ash with his boot to reveal the charred remnants of a small figure or idol. Another sad reminder of the lives that had been destroyed. He covered it back up again.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what brought the Nihil here,” said Bell. “Why Shryke would attack this place. The mines don’t seem like a strategic target. The ore they extract here only serves civilian construction projects, not military.”

Burryaga gave a low growl, arguing that the Nihil were nothing but chaos. They didn’t make plans, not in the same way as the Jedi or the Republic. They did whatever they felt like, whenever they felt like it.

Bell frowned. “That’s what they’d like us to believe. But they do make plans. And they do it well. Look at what they did on Valo. Or Starlight Beacon. Or the creation of the Stormwall. There are plans behind all of those. There has to be.”

Burry conceded the point, his expression dark. Remembering.

“Shryke is acting with purpose,” said Bell. “We know she’s trying to draw attention with these raids, and we suspect she’s trying to capture more Jedi for Marchion Ro to feed to his monsters. So her actions can’t be random. She’s making choices. What we nee—”

He broke off at the sudden look of deep concentration on Burry’s face.

“What? What is it?”

But Burry had already taken off at a run. The huge Wookiee was charging down the barren street, his feet stirring great clouds of ash in his wake.

“Wait!” called Bell, hurrying after him.

Burryaga skidded to a halt about a hundred yards farther down the road, before the blackened shell of a building that had collapsed in on itself during the fire. Bell could feel the heat emanating off the tumbled-down stone walls, drawing beads of sweat on his brow.

Several metal girders—supports for the now missing roof—had fallen into the shell of the hollowed-out homestead, creating a lattice structure inside the stubby walls of the wreckage that still glowed red with residual heat. Besides that, the place seemed empty, with nothing but specks of white ash dancing on the light breeze.

“Burry?”

The Wookiee waved Bell silent. He closed his eyes, steadied his breathing.

Frowning, Bell followed his lead, opening himself up to the Force, reaching out…

…and sensed it, too. Desperate voices, calling out in need.

The “ghosts” he thought he’d imagined earlier. They weren’t ghosts at all. They were people. Survivors. Trapped and dying, their spirits cooling like the embers of the fire that had passed through this place.

They were underneath the wreckage. They must have hidden there when the Nihil came and gotten trapped when the building collapsed. How they’d managed to survive the heat and the smoke for so long, he couldn’t imagine. Their presence was faint. They didn’t have long.

Bell’s eyes flicked open. He turned back to the collapsed building.

“There must be a cellar or storeroom underneath the main floor,” said Bell. “We have to get them out of there, now.”

Burryaga nodded. He edged closer, looking for a way in among the debris. He reached out toward one of the metal girders but withdrew his hand almost instantly, his fur already beginning to blacken and scorch from the heat. “Raaarrwww.”

“We’ll have to lift it,” said Bell. “Together.”

Shoulder to shoulder the two Jedi planted their feet, held out their arms, and reached out with the Force.

Bell grunted as the girders began to shift and groan, grating against one another as they rose, ponderously, from the ashen ruins.

Slowly, working together, they managed to raise them several meters off the ground, until the metal lattice—partially fused together—was poised above the exposed lower floor of the building.

Through gritted teeth, Burryaga grunted that they needed to raise the bars higher, to lift them over the damaged walls of the building, but Bell was already giving it everything he had. His body was trembling with exertion. There was no way they were going to be able to get the girders clear, not without the RDC calling in machinery, and that would take too long. The people trapped inside were dying.

Bell tried again, roaring with the effort, but still the girders remained frustratingly where they were, shuddering, but refusing to shift any higher.

Bell met Burry’s eye. The Wookiee bared his teeth. “Arrooo waaa.”

“Of course I can’t hold it myself!” gasped Bell.

“Wrraaaa rooo,” replied Burry, encouragingly. And then he released his hold on the girders.

One of the metal bars slipped, and Bell staggered, groaning, calling out to the Force for strength. The metal structure shook, as if trying to break free of his hold, but remained hovering where it was.

Burry took a step forward, glanced back at Bell with hopeful eyes, and then rushed into the ruins through the gap of the old doorway, ducking beneath the hovering girders and throwing himself to his knees to scrabble in the ash.

“No! Burry! It’s too dangerous!”

Burryaga ignored him, searching frantically for the trapdoor or access panel that would lead to the basement and the people below. Already, more of his fur was beginning to smolder, but he continued regardless, pawing through the hot ash.

Bell wouldn’t be able to hold the girders for much longer, not by himself. And yet…Burryaga was just doing what he always did—putting others first. Risking his own life, again, to save those in need.

And Bell wasn’t about to let anything happen to his friend. Not again.

The thought galvanized him.

He could feel himself buckling, but he dug deep, grunting as he fought against the strain, keeping the red-hot girders from tumbling back down on top of Burryaga.

The Wookiee gave a triumphant bellow that turned to a whimper of pain as he located the metal hoop that would lift the trapdoor and wrenched it open, searing his hand in the process.

Bell heard coughing sounds coming from down below, the cry of a child, faint, frantic voices.

He staggered, and the girders dropped a few centimeters, clattering against one another and ringing out into the still air.

Burry glanced up, and then, without looking back, dropped into the hole in the floor.

Beside Bell, Ember was pacing. She issued a low growl. “Go,” said Bell, barely able to squeeze the word out between clenched teeth.

Ember didn’t need telling twice. She charged to the edge of the trapdoor, barking loudly so that Burryaga would know she was there.

Moments later, the charhound was dragging the first survivor out by their collar, after Burry had hoisted the semi-delirious woman up out of the trapdoor from below.

The woman—soot-smeared and coughing—staggered out of the ruins and collapsed onto the road close by.

Others followed in quick succession. A Rodian. A Weequay. Several human children. And they kept coming.

Black shadows had begun to limn the edge of Bell’s vision. He bellowed, holding his ground, his outstretched arms shaking uncontrollably. He felt one leg give way, and he dropped to one knee. The girders slipped and slid, dropping another few centimeters.

“B-B-Burry…” he managed to stammer, but it was barely a whisper.

I can’t…

…hold…

Burry…

And then suddenly the pressure was lifting.

Bell raised his head, glancing over to see Burryaga standing triumphantly in the ruins, arms above his head, holding back the falling girders, sharing in Bell’s burden.

Ember came scooting out of the ash, tail wagging, as Burry staggered out behind her. The moment he was clear, Bell let go.

The girders collapsed in a cacophony of ringing metal.

Bell shuddered, drawing breath, his head hanging in exhaustion. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up.

Burryaga’s fur was patchy and still smoldering, but the grin on his face was one of utter joy. He helped Bell, shakily, to his feet.

Bell looked over at the group of refugees. There were nine of them. Nine lives they’d saved. Nine people that the Nihil couldn’t add to their tally.

They were smiling, hugging one another, crying in relief.

Bell could sense it, flowing from them in waves.

They were all filled with hope.

And in that moment, exhausted and filthy, so was Bell.

PRANDRIL SYSTEM, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“Incoming!” bellowed the Ugnaught pilot, who’d introduced himself as Belin. He was sitting in the copilot’s chair, staring at her in horror as she steadied the controls, fighting against the turbulence caused by their proximity to the nearby debris field.

“I can see that!” said Avar, a little testily.

The tracking sensor readouts had lit up in the cockpit of the transport ship like Coruscant on the eve of Life Day, blinking displays showing dozens of scav droids converging on their present location.

They’d just emerged from hyperspace into the Prandril system, as close as they could get to their destination without crashing into the heart of the debris field that crowded its outer orbit. They’d have to make the rest of the approach at sublight speeds…if they could make it past the swarm of scav droids that was already closing on their position, alerted by their unauthorized passage through the unpatrolled hyperspace lanes.

“We’re done for,” said Belin. He massaged his temples dramatically. “You did for us, the moment you fired those Nihil cronies out of the air lock.”

“I didn’t fire them out of the air lock,” said Avar. “I put them in an escape pod. The whole point was not to kill them.”

“Yeah, well, great work. Now we’re going to die instead.”

Avar drew a long, deep breath. She exhaled through her nose.

Force, give me strength.

She knew the Ugnaught was only being argumentative because he was scared. But the constant bickering wasn’t helping her come up with any solutions.

The problem was, despite her earlier reassurances, she wasn’t certain she could shake the scav droids off before they tore their way through one of the ship’s fundamental systems. Like the sublight drive fuel lines, or the life support.

She’d encountered scav droids before. It rarely ended well. For the ship, at least. And while KC-78 had been working on slicing their attack protocols—for several months now—he hadn’t yet succeeded in retroengineering their systems. He was working on it again now, but judging by the proximity of the swarm, any breakthrough was going to come too late.

“What do you suggest?” she said, on the off chance that Belin actually had a useful idea.

“That we blow ourselves out of the air lock before they arrive,” he said sourly. “It’ll be quicker and less painful.”

“Not going to happen,” said Avar.

“You said we’d deal with them!”

“We will.” She pushed the control lever, sending the ship into a plunge just as the first of the scav droids came nipping at their heels. They were gathering in a clustering swarm, akin to a flock of predatory birds, and they dived in unison, giving chase as Avar fought the bucking controls.

“Oomph!” Belin slid, bouncing off the bulkhead and struggling to get ahold of the back of his chair as Avar forced the control lever hard left, causing the ship to break from its downward plunge into a corkscrewing spiral. Her stomach lurched until she felt nauseated. She kept up the pressure, feeling the ship spin.

She heard one scav droid rebound noisily from the hull as it tried to find purchase, struck by a tail fin as the ship rotated at speed. Avar watched its trajectory on the monitor as it was sent soaring off into the void. But the others appeared to be closing in on them, and fast.

She felt the substructure of the ship groan under the mounting pressure as it continued to spiral. It hadn’t been built to handle such maneuvers, and she didn’t know how long she’d be able to keep it up. Added to that, a series of crashing sounds from somewhere in the hold suggested the cargo was taking a battering. She hoped the grain silos would survive intact. Otherwise, the whole operation would have been for nothing.

She supposed that was true of her, too.

Fail now, and those people starve.

But she was trying not to think like that.

Stay in the moment.

Focus. Survive. Move on.

“Kaysee? How are you getting on with those attack protocols? Figured them out yet?” she called.

The astromech, who was currently plugged into the console via his scomp link—and was attempting to brace himself against the bulkhead with a magnetic clamp—gave a decidedly sarcastic beep.

“I know you’ve been working on it for almost a year. But unless you can figure it out now, it’s going to be a little moot.”

Belin laughed. A little too loudly. He’d managed to wedge himself into his chair and was holding on for dear life. “So much for your plan. You really expected the droid to slice the Nihil protocols?” He sounded utterly incredulous.

KC-78 issued another rude noise.

A clang from overhead, followed by a high-pitched whine, announced the arrival of one scav droid, then another, then a third, all attaching themselves to the outer hull, even as the ship plummeted and spun.

Avar yanked the controls back the other way, causing the ship to lurch sideways as she brought it back up into a ponderous climb. More scav droids were attaching to the hull. Warning sigils flared. She tried to ignore them.

Belin was literally tugging at his hair.

“What if we electrified the hull plates?” said Avar.

The Ugnaught shook his head. “No use. The scav droids are surge-protected. It’s what allows them to pull apart live systems.”

“Then we have to shake them off.”

“They’ve already started to sink their anchors into the hull. No amount of fancy flying is going to shake them loose now.”

Avar gritted her teeth. Ahead of them, the dimpled surface of a rocky moon crested like a rising sun through the viewport. It was one of a series of apparently uninhabited planetoids in this system. There’d clearly been a major collision sometime in recent millennia—the debris of what might once have been a moon or small world was now what was scattered in large orbital rings around several of the larger bodies, forming the immense asteroid field that was still in the process of settling. Huge chunks of rocks were smashing and grinding against one another, while smaller pieces, everything from pebbles up to shards the size of buildings, clicked and clattered as they were dragged into the gravity wells of the competing worlds.

Avar locked her sights on the asteroid field and throttled the engines, pushing the ship forward at the fullest extent of its speed. “If we can’t shake them off, maybe we can knock them off. I’m taking us through the debris field.”

“You can’t be serious!” yelled Belin, scrabbling to try to force her hands away from the controls. “We can’t fly through there!”

Avar pushed him away, seeking calm. His raving protestations became background noise as she reached out with the Force, seeking a path.

Her connection to the Force had been…shaken, she supposed, after Starlight and her subsequent entrapment in Nihil space. Avar had always heard the Force as a song, a beautiful refrain that encompassed every living thing, that brought them together as a sort of choir, filling the galaxy with light and peace. It was a song that traversed time, space, and individuality. A refrain that lifted her heart and lent her strength.

Only, during the last year, the song had become faint and discordant. Muffled and broken. As though she could hear it still playing in the distance, but could no longer discern the different notes, could no longer feel its grace.

It wasn’t that she’d somehow become shut off from the Force, that she’d lost her connection or her ability to call on it when needed. Just that…something wasn’t right. The song wasn’t true. It was more like an echo of the refrain it had once been.

Nevertheless, Avar reached for it now. And she felt it respond. The music was there, but the notes were jagged, unnatural, de-syncopated. Yet still she closed her eyes, embracing it, her fingers wrapping tightly around the flight controls.

Somewhere in the distance she heard Belin screaming, but she allowed the sound to wash over her, just another note in the violent cacophony that had become her world.

The transport ship swept into the mass of asteroids. Avar’s hand guided their path unconsciously as she heard more than saw the shape of their route in her mind. Following instinct, trusting in the power of the Force.

A loud, dissonant clang. And then another, and another. More screeching from Belin. Asteroid fragments were striking the ship. But they were impacting the scav droids, prizing them violently from the hull as Avar swept the vessel on, through tighter and tighter turns, carving a path through the chaotic storm of rocks.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

More scav droids obliterated by the rocks. Still Avar maintained her place at the controls, her eyes shut tight.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

And then the timbre of the music changed. A variation. A new reprise. Still discordant, still faint, but there all the same.

She opened her eyes.

They’d cleared the asteroid field and were out the other side. Impact alarms were blaring. The damage reports were all in the red. And yet the ship was still intact. A trail of broken scav droids, glinting in the solar glare, floated in their wake, mangled by the crushing rocks.

“How…?”

Avar glanced at Belin, who seemed to have shrunk back into his chair. His eyes were wild. He was patting himself all over, as if checking he was still real, still whole. “The Force,” she said, as if the two words encapsulated everything he could ever need to know. It wasn’t a conversation she wanted to get into. Not right now. She didn’t want him to be impressed. She didn’t want him to think she was a hero.

“I mean,” whistled Belin, “I’ve heard about you Jedi before. How you can…you know, do stuff. But that? That was unbelievable.” He caught himself, clearing his throat. “Of course, it doesn’t change anything. You’re still the one who got us into this mess.”

Avar smiled. “Yes. I suppose I am. And I’m sorry for that. The last thing I wanted to do was endanger you. I’m trying to help.”

The Ugnaught gave her his best approximation of a hard stare, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. “The Nihil have a lot to answer for.” He frowned “So, this colony. The people are starving?”

“Yes. They’re suffering more than most. And that’s saying something, given the present situation.”

Belin nodded. “Then I suppose we’d better get them some grain. Before more of those rusty cans figure out whe— Oh.” The proximity sensors trilled again. Avar bent to study the readout. More scav droids were coming around the far side of the asteroid belt, swooping and shifting their direction like a vast cloud of plague flies.

She pressed her knuckle against the center of her forehead, right at the spot where her diadem used to sit. “Okay. New plan.”

“We’re not flying back through that sea of rocks again, are we?” muttered Belin.

“No. We need another way of stopping them. Something that’ll give us time to get this shipment down to Prandril.”

“It’s no use. Without the codes they’re just going to keep coming,” said Belin. “Even if we make it down to Prandril—which I doubt—they’ll be waiting for us when we try to leave. We’ll be stranded down there, just waiting for the Nihil.” He shook his head. “If we flee, we’ll get picked up by a patrol or another swarm. It was a good try, I’ll give you that. But there’s no escape. This is how the Nihil ensure our compliance. The system’s infallible.”

“No system is infallible. You just have to find the way in.” A thought occurred to Avar. “Kaysee—if you had access to one of the scav droids, could you slice its systems? Figure out the necessary protocols by working backward through its memory logs?”

KC-78, who was still plugged into the desk terminal, gave an affirmative beep.

Avar jabbed a finger in the direction of Prandril, just visible through the forward viewscreen: a dull blue-gray ball wreathed in roiling clouds. “I have an idea.”

She stood, guiding Belin’s hands to the flight controls. “Take us in slowly. Let a few of the scav droids attach themselves to the hull. And once we’re inside the atmosphere, keep us steady until I give you the word. Okay?”

Belin nodded, still looking confused. “Why? Where are you going?”

Avar made for the door. “Kaysee needs access to a scav droid. So I’m going outside to get one.”

PRANDRIL SYSTEM, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Avar clung to the open air lock of the transport with her left hand, her lightsaber clutched firmly in her right, her gray cloak billowing behind her like a wing as she leaned out. The air out here was thin and icy, stinging her eyes and her cheeks.

The transport ship soared above rippling clouds that looked to Avar like a blanket smothering the world; like she could simply let go and fall, only to be embraced by the soft white wisps beneath. Hopefully, the long tether that looped from her belt would prevent that from happening. On the horizon, the peak of a mountain loomed large and ominous, puncturing that ceiling of cloud to reach for the stars.

Belin was holding the ship steady, just as she’d asked.

The scav droids littered the surface of the hull, their talonlike claws embedded in the metal plates, their burrowing, drill-like jaws already rending holes in its pitted surface. They’d descended on the transport moments after the ship had entered the planet’s atmosphere. More were tumbling out of the sky, glowing bright orange as the friction of atmospheric entry caused them to overheat.

But these were hardy droids, designed to work in the harshest conditions, and as they fell, they flowered open their legs and slammed into the ship, attaching like deadly limpets ready to feast.

She felt the hull plating vibrate with each new arrival, trembling beneath her feet.

She didn’t have long.

You can do this, Avar.

Avar closed her eyes and listened for that strange, discordant song. And then, when its faint strains began to tickle at the edge of her thoughts, she opened her eyes again and leapt, pirouetting up onto the hull of the ship, holding herself there by sheer force of will as they dived through the thin upper atmosphere of Prandril.

She set to work, her lightsaber singing as she leaned against the wind, each ponderous step bringing her closer to the industrious swarm of scav droids.

Her comlink buzzed, barely audible over the sound of rushing wind.

“Are you okay out there?”

“Just keep flying the ship, Belin,” she called, unsure whether he’d even be able to hear her over the interference.

“Whatever you say.” He sounded about as desperate as she felt. It was easy to understand why. There were at least twenty of the droids latched to the hull now, and the number was growing by the minute. It wouldn’t be long until one of them managed to break through, gaining access to the inner workings of the ship. If that happened, they wouldn’t stand a chance, plummeting thousands of meters to the ground far below. She glanced down, but all she could see was swirling cloud.

Avar felt her stomach clench.

Don’t think about the drop.

Don’t think about Starlight tumbling, burning, falling…

She buried the thought, deep.

You have a job to do. People to protect.

She forced herself to take another step, calling on the Force to steady herself, to keep her pinned to the vibrating hull. Close by, one of the droids reared up to face her, then another, and another, their spinning, deadly jaws abandoning all attempt to buzz through the hull in the face of this new, oncoming danger.

Or should that be prey?

Avar rocked unsteadily as the ship bucked, buffeted by a pocket of turbulent air. One of the scav droids saw its opportunity and leapt.

She twisted, sweeping her lightsaber around and bisecting the leaping droid, only to be almost bowled over by a second one that collided with her shoulder, sending her slamming to the hull with a resounding, painful thud. She slid, skidding across the top of the ship, unable to stop herself…

She threw out an arm, scrabbling, catching hold of something hot and metallic. Her arm jerked, hard, causing her to cry out as her momentum wrenched the socket. Her muscles felt as if they were on fire. She felt her boots kicking the air and slowly, breathlessly dragged herself down until she was flat on her stomach against the hull. She was still holding her lightsaber hilt in her free hand.

Center yourself, Avar.

The discordant song filled her mind.

And then her handhold shifted.

She lurched back as the scav droid reared up, its spinning jaws—still glowing red-hot from where it had been chewing through the hull moments before—only an arm’s length from her face.

Avar let go and rolled.

The scav droid crashed down where her head had been just a moment before.

Fighting the wind, she dragged herself up to her knees, then, bellowing, back up to her feet. Her lightsaber reignited in her fist.

The scav droids came on. Avar held her ground, swinging, pinioning, ducking, twisting, cleaving the attacking droids one at a time, bisecting their upper casings, severing their control systems, and sending their ruined carcasses overboard.

She sensed danger and swung her left arm, using the Force to redirect a still-glowing droid that had been about to drop directly on top of her. It spun wildly, tossed wide of the ship, and disappeared among the clouds below, swallowed without a trace.

Avar stepped sideways, twisting her body, as another scav droid reared up, its insectile legs flashing like daggers. She whirled her blade in a circle, removing the tips of the droid’s front legs. It skittered wildly and began to slide away from her, its remaining grip inadequate, but she caught it with the Force, dragging it back toward her.

While she held it, still squirming, against the hull by her feet, she whipped her lightsaber around to slice through another, then another, as they began to converge on her position. Her shoulder was still smarting, and she had a bright, bloody scratch across her left cheek where one of the droids’ appendages had caught her off guard, but she felt exhilarated, too. Not in the wanton destruction, but in the act of defending both herself and others.

She’d missed this.

Grunting with exertion—the strain of keeping both herself and the disarticulated droid pressed to the hull was beginning to take its toll—she twisted, swinging her shoulders around in a wide circle so that the tip of her green lightsaber scored a neat line through three of the droids, leaving a glowing thread of molten metal where the tops of their shells had been.

Reaching down, she grabbed the remains of the damaged scav droid and began dragging it back across the surface of the ship, its remaining claw scratching a long, screeching furrow in the plating.

Behind her, more of the droids were dropping from the sky like glowing raindrops, hammering into the rear end of the ship. Targeting the drive.

Avar reached the edge of the hull, just above the air lock. With a quick sweep of her lightsaber, she removed the deadly tip of the captured droid’s final leg, and then, with an almighty heave, she hauled it over the side of the ship and threw it into the air lock beneath her.

She heard it crash into the inner wall.

“Seal the air lock, Belin,” she gasped into her comlink, “and tell Kaysee to get to work.”

The crackling reply from the Ugnaught sounded appalled. “What about you? We can’t leave you out there.”

Avar glanced back at the scav droids still picking their way across the hull toward her, and beyond that, the others still trying to chew their way into the drive housing. She raised her lightsaber. “I still have work to do.”

DAEDUS, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Porter moved silently along the crest of the stone ridge, trying to steady each footfall on the loose scree. Below, to his right, the moss-streaked gully was sunk into the starlit gloom. He could hear small animals and birds shifting through the undergrowth, the perpetual dance of predator and prey.

A game he, too, was now playing. Much to his annoyance.

He’d intended to slip down to the crash site earlier that morning, in search of the wreckage of the old shuttle he and Creighton had abandoned all those years ago. Instead, he’d been forced to take the long way around to try to shake an unexpected Nihil patrol off his trail.

Slowing me down.

He fought a rising tide of frustration. He had to move faster. Every day spent searching for components was a day closer to the Nihil catching up with him. Another day risking failure.

He had to make this work.

He didn’t even know if the old ship would still be there. He’d had so many false starts, so many difficult, hazardous journeys to worlds he only half remembered, only to find his hopes dashed. He knew it was a near-futile task. Scavenging the parts of defunct droids, trying to assemble something that worked again after all this time—it was a plan born out of desperation. But then, he’d found himself in a desperate situation. He couldn’t just hide away and hope the rest of the Jedi would somehow find a way to deal with the Nihil. He was here, behind enemy lines, and he had no other way of getting word to Coruscant. To his friends.

Elzar’s message had given him an idea, one that might be able to help the Jedi breach the Stormwall. But more than that, it had given Porter hope. And what else did any of them have anymore, except hope?

Hope was what made him different from the Nihil.

Hope was what made him a Jedi.

That hope had borne fruit, too. He was close now. Even if this crash site was long gone, even if there was nothing for him on Daedus, he had to believe he’d find the last of the missing components somewhere else.

And then? Well, then he’d see what else he could do to make a difference. But his first priority—his only priority—was finding those components and getting the droid on its way.

He paused for a moment, listening for any sign of the Nihil patrol. He cursed himself for underestimating them. Despite their predilection for partying in their co-opted base, they hadn’t, as Porter had thought, entirely relaxed their security measures. Patrols were making regular circuits of the area, and one had clearly happened upon the remains of his campsite. He’d taken care to backfill the firepit and scatter the remains of his meal, but regardless, someone among the patrolling guards had spotted the signs, and a small group of them had set out to follow his trail.

This was something Porter was going to have to remember about the Nihil—they were far too easy to misjudge. They lacked order, but they didn’t lack discipline. They seemed to care as little for their own lives as for those of others, but this made them dangerous. And they were tenacious, in a way few others were: They simply did not stop.

The Nihil spoke of chaos and disorder, of anarchy and freedom, but for all of that, for all they seemed to want the galaxy to see them as a group of disorganized marauders, the Nihil had strategy. They made plans. And they executed them without fault.

The Great Disaster. The attack on Valo. Starlight. None of which could have been achieved without organization and leadership.

The fall of Starlight Beacon had shown the galaxy what they were capable of, and it was all too easy to ascribe that success to their named leader, the Eye, Marchion Ro. He certainly seemed anxious to take full responsibility. But no leader worked alone. There were others in their number who were just as devious, just as sharp, and just as willing to risk everything for some imaginary prize.

Fanatics.

Porter had known them before.

Now a group of them was on his trail.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been hunted in this way, and at least he had one advantage over his pursuers—they didn’t know he was a Jedi. If they did, and they’d known which Jedi, they’d have called in the real hunter by now.

General Viess.

The great betrayer. The one who’d sold her people to the Nihil to save her own skin.

They had history, she and Porter. Ancient history. Almost as old as those shuttle remains he was seeking down in the gully.

He knew that Viess was hunting him. That she was aware he was still alive. That she probably saw him as some sort of prize to be dragged before Marchion Ro, an old, gnarled Jedi from the time before the Nihil even existed.

If he was honest with himself, he wanted to face her again. It had been Viess’s attack on Firevale that had led to Porter’s adoptive sister, Barash, taking her vow of solitude, of leaving him all those years ago. Barash had feared it was her familial attachment to him that had caused her to make the wrong choices, to fail to listen to the guiding light of the Force, but Porter knew that if it hadn’t been for Viess, Barash would have remained by his side. He blamed Viess for that, and while he didn’t seek vengeance—he knew that was a path he should never allow himself to tread—he did want justice for all the pain and suffering the woman had caused.

Porter knew she was going to catch up with him eventually. He was still a Jedi, but he was old. He didn’t want to keep running forever. It wasn’t what Jedi were supposed to do. At some point he’d make his stand. See it through. Look his old enemy in the eye.

For now, though, he had to keep moving. There was still too much to be done. And these were memories from the past upon which he didn’t wish to dwell. He thought of Barash often, but there was pain in such remembrance. Pain that wasn’t useful, and wasn’t going to help him finish building the droid.

He’d doubled back on himself an hour or so earlier and managed to get a look at his pursuers. Five Nihil. Well armed. Equipped with armor and comm units. Two humans. A blue-skinned Twi’lek with metallic sheaths on their lekku. A wolflike Shistavanen. A tall, thin Umbaran with pale-blue skin.

The Umbaran appeared to be the tracker. A male with a bald head. Gaunt. Knife scars along the line of his jaw.

He was good, too. Porter knew how to move without leaving much of a trace, but the Umbaran knew how to read the landscape. He’d managed to stay on Porter’s trail.

He really didn’t want to have to kill them. It would give him away to the others. And despite the fact they were Nihil, a life was still a life. Even if they didn’t understand that themselves.

So here he was, having done his best to lay a false trail, skittering down the loose shale of the gully wall.

Something shot into the air on his left. Porter’s hand flicked to the hilt of his lightsaber. But it was just a flying lizard, disturbed from its hunt. It screeched, taking wing, soaring off into the cold night.

Porter cursed.

Be careful. The Umbaran is watching.

He reached the bottom of the gully. The ground here was wet and slick. Ropelike vines strangled the rocks, softening their jagged silhouettes in the starlight. Faintly glowing moss nibbled at the pebbles underfoot.

Now, where is it?

Porter tried to cast his mind back to those happier days. His first time on Daedus. Dropping out of the sky like a thrown rock, Creighton Sun at the flight controls, barely breaking a sweat as he fought to bring their plummet under control. Black smoke coiling from the blown engines. Pirates hot on their tail.

How many years had it been? One hundred. Two? He’d lost count.

But he could still see the glint in Creighton’s eye as the Jedi Master had swung the little shuttle around, rebounded it from the stone wall of the gully to shed speed (and several hull plates), and then scoured the ground in a long furrow as they finally came to a clattering rest. By the time Creighton had finished his “landing,” the two of them were surrounded by nothing but open air.

Porter grinned at the memory.

So many old friends were now one with the Force. Some days he envied them that.

He stooped, running his fingertips across the ground, trying to read the landscape. But too long had passed since the crash; any sign of their passing here had long been submerged beneath caked layers of mud and roots.

He stood again, casting around. There had to be something here. The place was near deserted; the ship couldn’t have been taken as salvage.

He saw it then, a glint of metal, shining in the reflected light of Daedus’s moon. A jagged piece of hull, sticking out of the ground like a fin. He hurried over, feet churning the mud.

It was a piece of the old ship, covered now in a cloak of moss and tangled weeds, but still here. He was clearly on the right track. He couldn’t tell what part of the ship it had been, but it evidently had been shorn from the outer hull during their abrupt landing and had been partially buried here ever since. Animal spoors around its base suggested small creatures had been using the wreckage as cover against the elements.

Porter continued along the gully floor, picking his way between boulders and thornbushes. More fragments of metal littered the ground here, much of it decayed and brittle after more than a century of abandonment and exposure.

Like all of us, even machines eventually return to the soil, folding back into nature to become one with the Force.

The thought was pleasing.

More large hunks of hull plating lay moss-bitten on the ground. He was following the trajectory of their slide across the bottom of the gully, every step causing more memories to blossom. Creighton’s wild-eyed optimism that even a plummet from the sky wouldn’t kill them. Porter clutching the copilot’s chair as the viewscreen blew out, showering them both in stinging shards. The thump of the landing, the bounce of the ship, coming down even harder the second time. The rending scrape of metal against rock as they slid, hull plates twisting and popping free.

And then the final, juddering halt. Creighton’s proud expression, sitting in the ruins of their ship as if he’d just won a race.

The battle with the marauders that followed.

Porter hoped that particular bit of history wouldn’t repeat itself. He had to hurry, before the Umbaran managed to figure out he’d doubled back on his own trail.

Up ahead, the shell of the old shuttle was like the bones of a long-extinct beast, its metal ribs rising from the dirt to cradle a nest of brambles, weeds, and tall grass. Life blooming where death had once seemed so close. Indeed, it barely maintained the look of a shuttle at all. Looking at it now, Porter could hardly believe that it had once been airborne, or that it had served him and Creighton so well on several missions, so many years ago.

Now wasn’t the time for nostalgia, however.

The shuttle’s rear compartment was still partially intact, although it had clearly been broken into at some point in the distant past: the surviving hull plates had been pried apart to create an opening. That didn’t bode well. There was every chance the components he was looking for had been salvaged after all.

Still, he’d come this far, and he was beginning to run out of options.

Circling the wreck, Porter could see no evidence of recent activity, other than the nests of several birds and some sort of ground lizard, judging by the tracks in the mud. He returned to the makeshift hole at the rear. It was too narrow for his substantial bulk. He grabbed the edges of the metal plating, feeling the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and chest pop and strain as he forced the hole wider, calling on his every reserve to lend him the strength required.

The metal squealed as it buckled and bent, the hole widening before him. He could have used his lightsaber and been through in seconds, but that would serve as a beacon to anyone observing the gully from above—it was better to save that for when he was inside.

Drawing a ragged breath, Porter pushed his way through the opening into the cavity beyond.

Here, the darkness was complete. Porter reached for his lightsaber, igniting it with a flick of his thumb. The blade hummed, blue and cool, casting flickering light around the confines of the small hold.

Stormwater had gotten inside, and the floor plates were rusted and brittle. Weeds grew inside the structure, but the lack of light meant they were stunted and had been unable to fully colonize the space.

Porter grinned at the sight of white robes, still hanging in an alcove on the far side. Now brown and stained, riddled with holes, these had once been Creighton’s temple robes. He’d had a new set made following the successful conclusion of their mission.

Several panels in the walls had been forced open and their internal workings spilled out like spilled guts; coils of wire that had once been attached to stabilizer units, comm systems, power regulators. They’d all been stripped out by some enterprising salvager many years ago.

He was just about to give up and extinguish his lightsaber when he caught sight of something glinting out of the corner of his eye.

He moved closer. There, in the corner of the hold, nestled amid a patch of dry grass that had infiltrated through the rotten floor, was the shell of an EX droid, along with its large, round thruster pod for traveling through hyperspace.

Porter felt his heart quicken. This was what he’d been searching for.

He dropped to a crouch before the shell of the old droid. He reached out, turning it over, gently. Two rodents scuttled out from within its inner workings, chittering as they burrowed deep into the long grass to get away from him.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “but I think I need this more than you do at the moment.”

By the glow of his lightsaber, he gave the droid and its thruster pod a cursory inspection. The pod was in remarkably good condition—they’d been built to survive the micro-collisions of deep-space travel, after all—but much of the droid’s inner circuitry had been chewed through by the rodents.

No matter. There was plenty to be salvaged from within, and still a chance that the last remaining components he needed could be intact inside.

He hoped.

Porter slipped the shell of the old droid into its pod and dragged it across the ground. It was cumbersome, and getting it out through the opening he’d entered by was going to be tough. Maybe he’d have to use his lightsaber after all.

He held it aloft as he approached the opening, and then, sensing movement beyond, he stepped back, leaving the thruster pod where it sat on the ground.

Someone was moving around outside. He caught a brief exchange of hushed voices, too quiet for him to discern words.

Porter steadied his breathing, listening, allowing his senses to extend through the Force, to interrogate the world beyond the boundaries of the ship.

Angry thoughts.

Scared thoughts.

Violent thoughts.

Five beings, spreading out to encircle the wreckage.

Porter cursed himself. The Umbaran had obviously seen through his ploy quicker than he’d hoped. And now they’d no doubt seen the glow of his lightsaber through the crack in the ship’s hull. There was no point even trying to maintain a façade now.

He sighed. He didn’t want to do this. Not at all.

But he was going to have to kill them.

Outside, the five Nihil had stopped moving. He heard one of them clear their throat. “We know you’re in there. You’re trespassing on Nihil property. We have you surrounded.” It was a hoarse, female voice.

Porter rolled his head from side to side, stretching out his neck, rolling his shoulders. “You don’t want to do this,” he called. “I’m giving you the chance now. Walk away.”

Rumbling laughter from all five of them.

Cocky. Arrogant.

Porter sighed again. That didn’t make it any easier.

“You misunderstand,” called the female, her voice edged with sarcasm. “We really do want to do this.”

She opened fire, her blaster shots causing the ablative plates of the hull to resonate and sing out in the otherwise silent night. The other Nihil followed suit, discharging their blasters with cocksure abandon. Most of the shots were absorbed by the hull. Several pierced the rotten metal, lancing into the interior to skitter around the hold before fizzing out.

Porter didn’t move. He closed his eyes, trusting his senses.

“Then you leave me no choice,” he said. Porter regretted what was about to happen, but he was certain now. He reached out his left hand, splaying his gloved fingers. There was no need for subtlety now.

The bulkheads of the wrecked shuttle began to tremble, shaking so violently that the sound became almost torturous, the twisted plates grating against one another as they vibrated at increasing speed. Rivets fell to the ground with a series of dull thuds.

Porter clenched his fist.

The walls fell, flowering outward like unfurling petals.

Revealing him, standing there at the heart of the wreck, his lightsaber thrumming in the darkness like a glowing stitch at the very heart of the galaxy itself.

“It’s…it’s…”

“Jedi!” screamed the woman. She opened fire, swaying from side to side to spray Porter with a stream of blaster shots, all of them coming from slightly different angles.

He moved.

The blaster shots fizzed, deflected away into the night. All but one, which caught the woman in the forehead, burning a neat hole through the center of her mask, right through the pupil of her painted third eye.

Her body toppled. The Shistavanen—with his wolflike face and body covered in greasy, matted fur—bellowed loudly, charging, his blaster firing wildly. Porter stepped to one side, and then took a step forward, toward his attacker, closing the gap so that the Shistavanen misjudged his speed.

He fell to the ground in two halves.

Porter threw his free arm out, tossing the other human to the ground with the Force. The man landed heavily and didn’t move again. Nearby, the Twi’lek was hastily attempting to pull the pin on a gas grenade, their twin lekku jangling as they fought with the mechanism. Porter flicked a button on the hilt of his lightsaber and then tossed the weapon, watching as it tumbled tip-over-hilt through the air, slicing through the night itself. It struck the Twi’lek in the chest, searing a hole through their heart. They slumped to their knees and fell backward, the lightsaber—still lit—falling to the ground.

They died quickly. That was the least he could do for them. For them all.

Porter tensed at the sensation of a blaster being pushed into his lower back.

The Umbaran.

Light, but he’s a worthy foe.

“Don’t move, Jedi,” the Nihil hissed in his ear. He leaned close, drawing out the last word. “The Eye wants you and your kind alive. At least for a while.” He sniggered, and it was a disgusting sound, born of treachery and pleasure. “You’ve done me a favor, killing them all like that. Saved me a job. Now I can take Roola’s place without having to answer any difficult questions.”

“I’m sorry,” said Porter.

The Umbaran paused, confused. “For what?”

Porter’s hand turned at the wrist, so that his fingers were splayed. Over by the corpse of the Twi’lek, his lightsaber hilt twitched once, and then flew, flickering through the air at speed, its plasma blade still humming.

At the last moment Porter dropped to his knees, flicking his wrist so that the lightsaber reversed in the air.

It buried itself to the hilt in the Umbaran’s chest. He sagged, the blaster tumbling from his still-warm fingers.

Porter caught him as he fell, a deadweight, and laid him gently on the ground. Then, retrieving his lightsaber, he thumbed it off, slipping it back into his holster.

Silently, he returned to the shuttle wreck, collected the chassis of the EX droid and its pod, and strode to the edge of the gully.

He turned back, once, to take in the sour sight of the dead Nihil.

“I really am sorry,” he said.

And then left.

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“Come on, hurry it up. I don’t have all day,” said Petrik, in his most patronizing tone.

Rhil glowered at the Talpini, who was standing by the door to the Nihil comm room, impatiently clutching his blaster. “This isn’t easy, you know. Lying to people. But then again, perhaps that’s something you wouldn’t understand.”

Petrik made an annoyed snorting sound. “If the Eye didn’t want you alive…” he growled at her, and the implication of quite how much he relished the idea of violence sent a shiver down her spine. Rhil tried not to let on that he’d rattled her, forcing herself to hold his gaze. The Talpini took a step toward the comm desk where she was sitting, raising his blaster as if to underline his point. “Finish up so I can get you back to your cell.”

Rhil had only just finished recording the first segment of a new propaganda broadcast—under duress, of course. Or at least, that was the impression she gave. In truth, she’d been anxious to get near the makeshift communications array they’d rigged up here, in the lower levels of the fortress.

This broadcast, scripted by General Viess, was intended to encourage the people of Nihil space to be forthcoming with their tithes, through a series of thinly veiled threats and the promise of forthcoming Nihil “visitations” to their settlements if they refused, all dressed up in the sort of political doublespeak that would make even Lina Soh’s eyes roll. Rhil had seen the work of the Mirialan firsthand, here on Hetzal, after she’d quashed an uprising among the locals, who’d rioted in demand of better working conditions. Instead, the Nihil had made an example out of them, and most of the rioters were now fertilizing the crops they had formerly tended.

Minister of Protection, indeed.

“I’m working as quickly as I can.” Rhil eyed Petrik warily, knowing that it would only take another push to make him snap. He was highly strung, even for a Nihil.

“A moment of calm, perhaps,” said the only other being in the room, the tall, thin Halisite by the name of Quith Meglar. He belonged to a rare species that originated on a planet farther out on the frontier and had apparently joined the Nihil after he was discovered by a raiding party, the only survivor of a shipwreck who, it was said, had killed the other crew to survive. Rhil suspected he was an escaped prisoner, or something similar. He seemed to enjoy the air of mystery that surrounded him and refused to elaborate on his past. Many of the Nihil were the same. They all had secrets. Perhaps, if Rhil ever got out of this, she’d produce a documentary about it.

Meglar had pale-gray skin, the color of the sky before a rainstorm, and his head was crested by a thin bone fin that pulsed with brilliant reds and blues as it was flushed with blood, keeping time with the beating of his heart. He wore a long, unsheathed knife from a leather hoop on his belt. He also had a small blaster tucked in a holster under his left arm. He was dressed in a loose-fitting tunic and pants, and he was one of the Nihil’s comm experts.

Not only that, but he was the insider who’d been helping her make encoded broadcasts at every opportunity.

Petrik spat, a thick globule that stuck to the floor grate. “She’s more trouble than she’s worth, and you know it, Meglar.” He grinned slyly. “Unless you’re soft on her?” His beady eyes seemed to light up at the thought.

Meglar pulled a face. “A human?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you myself.” He glanced at Rhil, then back at Petrik. “Look, why don’t you take a walk. Bathroom break. I’ve got this under control.” He slid the long knife—more of a sword, to Rhil’s mind—from its hoop, turning it over so that it glinted in the light. Rhil could see old bloodstains crusted around the hilt.

Petrik laughed in appreciation. “You know what, I might just do that.” He backed toward the door. “You’ll have a drink on me later, Meglar.”

The door slid shut behind him.

Rhil breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the Light for that.”

Meglar slid the knife back into its hoop and folded his arms. “You’d better hurry,” he said. “We don’t know how long we’ve got.”

Rhil smiled. The first genuine smile she’d worn in days. “All right. Let’s do this. Let’s get out of here.”

The crest on Meglar’s head flushed with colors again, a riot of brilliant crimson and cerulean. “Just remember, this isn’t about you. It’s about me.”

“Either way, it amounts to the same thing,” said Rhil.

It had been her idea. She was the one who had—if not turned Meglar, exactly—had pushed him to the point where he was willing to help her escape.

It wasn’t that he was sympathetic to her cause, so far as she could tell, or that he seemed particularly concerned with the awful circumstances in which Rhil was being confined, the treatment she suffered at the hands of beings like Petrik. More that, just like he’d said, he was desperate to find his own way out.

It had started with a simple conversation. She’d been trying to make things easier on herself, to win over the silent, brooding communications officer who’d watched over her, time and again, as she’d made all those exhausting propaganda broadcasts. She’d figured if she could draw him out, get him talking, perhaps he might at least let her have some extra water, or at best stop Petrik treating her quite so roughly all the time.

What she hadn’t expected was that it would work. It seemed Meglar liked to talk. Even if he was cagey about his own past. He’d talked about his time with the Nihil, how he’d found it liberating at first, but how, over time, he’d started to realize that the life expectancy of a Nihil was somewhat shorter than ideal, and he’d expressed a genuine desire for his circumstances to change. He worked as part of General Viess’s so-called Ministry of Protection, and while he was a comm expert and would often be the one overseeing Rhil’s broadcasts, he was considered nothing but a grunt by the general and her senior staff.

It had taken time, but over the course of three months, Rhil had drawn him out. He’d eventually admitted that he felt as trapped as she was, and that if there was a way out, he’d take it. And that’s when she’d sprung her idea. She’d told him that she had friends—Jedi friends—who were out there, in the Occlusion Zone, and would help them to escape, if only she had a way to reach them.

He’d been cautious at first, unwilling to entertain the idea, but it had worked away at him, and the next time they’d met, he’d told her that he was willing to help—if he could be guaranteed safe passage out of there, too.

What was more, he had a plan. With the help of a Jedi, he was going to help them steal a Path drive.

So it was that Rhil had found herself making real broadcasts, secret messages buried in the propaganda, all while Meglar prepared the way, figuring out the best time to enact his plan.

This was her own, private rebellion. Her way of fighting back against the Nihil. Marchion Ro reveled in turning the tools of the Republic against them. It was why Rhil was still alive—because her broadcasts had once been ubiquitous, a main source of news and information for the people of Coruscant and beyond. Ro saw an irony in forcing her to broadcast his propaganda. But now Rhil was turning the tables on him, using the tools of the Nihil to galvanize the fight back, to rally the people of the captured worlds to rise up against their oppressors.

She didn’t trust Meglar, not for a moment, but she trusted his desire to live. Meglar was in too deep to back out now. She knew that if any of the Nihil found out about the encoded messages, they’d know she’d had help. She didn’t have access to the broadcast systems. It would be obvious that Meglar had conspired with her.

So the plan was going ahead. It was now or never.

Rhil lifted the comm unit to her lips. “So, if I record the message…?”

“I’ll encode it and bury it in the subwave like before. It’ll be transmitted along with the main broadcast, on a repeating wave. But there’s no guarantee anyone’s going to be listening.”

Rhil moistened her lips. “They’ll be listening,” she said. “I know it. If they’re out there, they’ll hear me.”

“They’d better be,” said Meglar. “We can’t keep doing this. It’s getting riskier every time. All it takes is one Nihil to realize what we’re doing. And we won’t get another chance for a ride out of here. I’ve signed up to Shryke’s crew…”

“I know.” Rhil swallowed. She hoped her faith wasn’t misplaced.

She watched closely as Meglar tapped in the Nihil broadcast codes. Then she took a deep breath, let it out. “This is a message for any Jedi out there in the Occlusion Zone…”

CORUSCANT

Elzar had always felt uncomfortable attending meetings of the Jedi Council, and today was no exception. To him, the conversations that took place in this chamber in the Jedi Temple always felt too formal, too staid, as if everyone was repressing what they truly felt in obedience to some unspoken rule. It was a dance of opinions and perspectives too like politicking, and inevitably ended in some form of compromise.

He supposed that was the point of it, really. To guide the Jedi Order through committee rather than dictatorship; to ensure that everyone had a voice. And he lauded that. He truly did. In most circumstances, it was the right way of doing things.

Today, though, they needed to agree on action. The chancellor was pushing the RDC for a plan to assault the Stormwall. And now here he was, beside her, supporting her before the gathered Jedi Council.

Not for the first time, he wished Stellan were still there to help him handle all this. Stellan had always had an affinity for such things. He’d been equally adept in front of an individual or a crowd, speaking with clarity and passion but rarely allowing himself to become frustrated or affronted when challenged. At least, not visibly. Only he and Avar had been able to push those buttons, to agitate or fluster Stellan, and to Elzar’s mind it had been good for his friend to sometimes find himself provoked in such a way. A reminder that he was as fallible as the rest of them. That he sometimes got it wrong.

It was a lesson Elzar tried hard to remember. While he felt strongly about what he thought the Jedi should do in response to Pra-Tre Veter’s execution, he understood that his opinion was just that—an opinion—and that didn’t mean he was right.

Regardless, he had resolved to speak his mind. Even if it meant being chastised. He needed to be heard, and while he would of course abide by the wishes of the Council—he was not quite so rebellious as Grand Master Ry Ki-Sakka had suggested—he needed to give voice to his misgivings. Otherwise, they would eat him up from the inside out. He understood that much about himself, at least.

Elzar’s boots rang out on the polished floor as he and Lina Soh strode toward the circle of seats. Beyond the vast window, the busy traffic lanes of Coruscant buzzed with vehicles flitting to and fro, and beyond them, the spires of the city stood proud against the scudding clouds.

They stopped at the entrance to the circle, waiting to be formally welcomed. Elzar smoothed his temple robes and scratched nervously at his chin, where the beard was becoming more of a permanent fixture. He wondered what Avar would make of it.

Beside him, the chancellor exuded confidence and calm, standing tall with her hands clasped behind her back.

Today, not all of the masters’ seats were occupied. Grand Master Ry Ki-Sakka was there, watching him with a sympathetic eye, along with Lahru, Keaton Murag, and Soleil Agra.

Yarael Poof was present as a flickering holo, transmitted from the Jedi outpost on Kwenn. The other seats were pointedly empty, including the one vacated by Stellan. Elzar was surprised there was no sign of Master Yoda, who, so far as Elzar knew, always attended such gatherings unless he was offworld. Elzar had seen him just the day before, meditating in the Temple gardens, so had expected him to be here. They had important business to discuss, after all. Master Yoda’s perspective would have been enlightening. He tried to mask his disappointment.

“Supreme Chancellor, Master Elzar, please, join us,” said Ry, beckoning them forward. Elzar did as he was bid, walking into the center of the circle. He turned on the spot, greeting the others with a low bow. The chancellor followed suit, honoring the Jedi tradition with a short bow.

“Masters,” she said.

“You are welcome,” said Soleil Agra. Master Agra was a Nautolan from Glee Anselm, with yellow skin and jet-black eyes. Like all Nautolans she had a knot of long tendrils that grew from the back of her head and cascaded across her shoulders.

“My thanks,” said Elzar. He glanced at the empty seats. “Are we awaiting the other members of the Council?”

Master Agra gave a slight shake of her head. “Alas, they are attending to other urgent matters, so that the rest of us might maintain our focus on the Nihil and the threat they continue to represent to the galaxy.”

Elzar nodded. “I understand.” Had he heard a note of warning in her voice, urging him not to push too hard? He really did understand—the rest of the galaxy didn’t stop turning because of the Nihil problem. Lina Soh was being pulled in so many different directions, Elzar often wondered how she didn’t fracture into a thousand tiny pieces. But then—they’d all just seen Marchion Ro execute one of their own on a live broadcast, by the most terrible means possible. That had to be the Council’s priority, surely?

“Then we will begin,” said Ry. “We are here to answer the pressing question of what we do to give answer to the heinous murder of Grand Master Veter.” He looked at the others in turn, his expression dark. “I presume we’re all familiar with the appalling details of the event and do not need to reexamine the holorecording?”

There was a muttering of agreement. No one wanted to see it again, least of all Elzar.

He’d already watched it three times from beginning to end, studying each moment in horrific detail.

He’d been shocked to see Rhil Dairo fronting the cam, but he was certain, after watching it back, that she was not doing so of her own volition. Her expression had been telling, and then, when the cam had caught sight of her again later, on the periphery, her appalled face had been enough to confirm Elzar’s theory. The Nihil had to be keeping her prisoner, forcing her to broadcast their propaganda as she’d once broadcast news and gossip from Coruscant. He could well imagine the Nihil relishing the irony of that.

Another familiar face, now trapped behind that impenetrable wall.

He’d also watched in horrified fascination as Ro’s creature, the Nameless, had appeared briefly on the broken, stuttering holo. The creature’s immediate presence had a profound effect on Jedi perception, twisting their minds, inducing oblique hallucinations and abject fear. This was evidenced by poor Master Veter’s reaction to the thing, the way he shook, his eyes widening in terror, his inability to even attempt to defend himself.

Here, though, trapped on cam, the creature had been apparent in all its terrible glory. Its appearance had provoked a deep feeling of disgust and disquiet in Elzar. The thing was abhorrent, a twisted, malformed shape that didn’t seem to quite make sense. The tendrils twisting from its mouth, the hunger in its eyes as it set upon Veter…they were born of nightmare and darkness.

Elzar wondered how such a beast could even exist.

“It is a terrible, terrible thing,” said Master Lahru, an Anx male with a tall, fin-shaped head and pale-green skin. “To see one of our own suffer in such a way. To be held and tortured like that…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I thank the Force that Master Veter is now at peace.”

“And yet, even in death, he has found a way to help us,” said Keaton Murag. “We cannot ignore the insight his death has provided. We can now see the creatures—these so-called Nameless—for the first time with clear minds. We can observe one of them as it feeds. We can see firsthand the effect it has on a Jedi. These were once the monsters of our youth, spoken of in stories to frighten children. Now we have seen they are real, and so much worse than we could ever have imagined.” He weighed his next words carefully. “While it is painful to watch, through Veter’s sacrifice we have learned. We now need to find the means to apply that learning, to help honor him and those that have gone before him in protecting other Jedi from suffering the same fate.”

“Yes,” said Master Agra. “While we still don’t know how many of the Nameless exist, where Marchion Ro obtained them, or how to counteract their attack, we are making progress. Jedi Knights Caphtor and Silas have been searching the records for clues in the old stories. Right now there are teams of Jedi poring over that horrific footage. We await their conclusions, and, while we’re still frustrated and a long way from any answers, this is the most information on the creatures we’ve been able to glean in almost a year. It must lead to something we can use against them.”

Master Lahru nodded. “I concur. We must continue to dedicate as many resources as we are able to solving the Nameless problem. If we can find a way to fight them, then we can find a way to defeat the Nihil.” He paused, looking at them each in turn. “And yet we cannot ignore the fact that Marchion Ro knew exactly what he was doing when he broadcast that message. He was reminding us of what awaited us on the other side of that Stormwall. He was sending us a warning.”

The room lapsed into silence as the Jedi Masters seemed to contemplate his words.

Elzar shifted impatiently from foot to foot. Why couldn’t any of them see? While they were right about the footage, the fact that it shed light upon a matter that had troubled them all for countless months, now was not the time for study and contemplation. It was the time for action. They needed to respond. They needed to give answer to Marchion Ro’s crimes.

“Chancellor Soh, you petitioned the Council to attend this meeting. You have something you wish to say?” prompted Ry, obviously sensing Elzar’s growing impatience.

The chancellor cleared her throat. “I do. Thank you, Grand Master. While I see the sense in the words of both Masters Agra and Lahru, I would argue for a different approach.”

“Go on.”

“While I appreciate the need to study the Nameless and devise a way for the Jedi to both protect yourselves and defeat those despicable creatures, time is against us. Teams of Jedi and Republic technicians are working countless hours to figure out a way to breach the Stormwall. Yet for all our efforts, we’re getting nowhere fast.” She held up a hand to ward off any interjection. Her voice was firm, unwavering. Decisive. “Meanwhile, Marchion Ro and his Nihil are growing entrenched. He clearly believes he can do anything, that he’s impervious to justice as dictated by either Republic law and anything resembling moral decency. By allowing him to continue, our own position grows weaker. We’ve said all of this before, too many times to count. All of us have. But now something has changed. He’s used his creatures to execute a Jedi Grand Master and broadcast it across the galaxy.”

Elzar nodded, sensing Soh’s urgency. “Think of the message it sends if we do not respond,” he said. “Think what it says to the rest of the galaxy about the Jedi and our place as their protectors.” He pointed out the tall window behind Ry.

“Every being out there is watching, waiting to see what we do next,” said Soh, turning on the spot, meeting their gazes one by one. Her voice was clear, direct, and impassioned. Elzar knew that she felt this as keenly as them all. That this wasn’t just about Pra-Tre Veter, or Marchion Ro. This was about her son. “If we allow Marchion Ro to get away with this, we enable a hundred, a thousand self-appointed warlords to start carving up the galaxy the way they see fit. We tell them that they can murder Republic citizens without recourse or comeuppance. We tell them that everything Marchion Ro says about us is true, and that we have failed them all.”

A hush had spread throughout the chamber.

“What do you suggest?” said Yarael Poof.

“We need a show of force,” said Elzar. “We need a win. A way to send a message in return, that we will not stand for the horrors the Nihil are inflicting on the galaxy.” He tried to speak with the same confidence and authority as Lina Soh, to hide the bubbling anxiety he was feeling. “The one thing we haven’t yet tried is an all-out assault on the Stormwall. Yes, there are risks. But theories about the Stormwall suggest that, with enough firepower, we might be able to bring a section of it down, at least temporarily.”

“Allow me to make one thing clear,” said Keaton Murag. “No one here is advocating that Marchion Ro be allowed to ‘get away’ with the murder of any Republic citizens, Jedi or otherwise. His time of reckoning will come. But we’re already doing everything we can. We’ve redoubled our efforts to capture a Path drive, sending more Jedi teams out to the border, putting them at great risk from both the Nihil and the Nameless. We’ve assisted the RDC in reinforcing the vulnerable planets along that very same border. And we’re channeling immense resources into solving the issue of the Nameless.”

Elzar ground his teeth. Beside him, the chancellor stiffened.

“I agree,” said Soleil Agra. “The Nihil are attempting to provoke a retaliation. One that would be doomed to failure. The theories you speak of, Elzar, come with terrible risk. We cannot yet see the path to victory. Such a move could backfire on us and achieve the exact opposite of what you’re suggesting. We’d be risking thousands of lives on a strategy we know is likely to fail. And if it does, we make Marchion Ro’s point for him, better than he ever could alone.”

“If we do not attack, surely we fail anyway,” said Elzar. “Marchion Ro taunts us. Yes, you’re right, he’s spoiling for a fight. But perhaps it’s time we gave it to him.”

“I see the sad death of Master Veter has stirred bitter waters in you, Elzar,” said Ry. “You should take some time. Meditate and reflect. We have all lost a great deal, you more than most.”

The chancellor cleared her throat. When she spoke, her voice was tight and controlled. “We do not have time for meditation and reflection. I didn’t come here to ask for your permission. I came to ask for your help. I’m going to order the RDC to plan a sustained attack. They will need the support of the Jedi and your Vectors. I ask again—are you willing to give it?”

“We understand your frustration, Chancellor, and we share it,” said Ry. “Please believe me, we’re as anxious as you are to find a way to end Marchion Ro’s reign of terror. As Master Murag has already said, we are doing everything in our power. We seek the means to stop the Nihil and the Nameless. We lend our expertise to those trying to find a way to breach the Stormwall. We defend the people of the Republic wherever we can, on outlying worlds or here on Coruscant. We patrol the borders of the Occlusion Zone, searching for any opportunity. And let us not forget that there are Jedi behind the Stormwall, too. Those such as Avar Kriss, who, while we cannot yet reach them, will be doing everything in their power to protect the Light. The fight goes on.” He sighed. “But we cannot condone this course of action you propose. We will not risk the lives of more people on a mission that won’t work.”

Lina Soh met Master Ry’s gaze. Her face was impassive. “I understand, and I thank you for your time.” She didn’t look at Elzar as she turned and left the chamber.

“Elzar?” said Master Agra, after the door had shushed closed behind her.

“I am torn, Master Agra,” said Elzar. “I understand and respect the decision of the Council, and I know that not a single Jedi sits idle in this crisis.”

“But?” prompted Master Lahru.

“But I also think the chancellor is right. We need to show the galaxy, and especially those trapped within the Occlusion Zone, who with every passing day must believe we have given up on them, that we stand with them against the oppression of the Nihil. That we will not tolerate the terror and destruction Marchion Ro and his followers continue to wreak. We need to make it clear that the Jedi are not afraid.”

“But what if we are afraid, Elzar Mann? What then, hmm?”

Elzar turned at the sound of the familiar voice, shocked that he’d failed to register Master Yoda’s arrival. The Jedi Master, diminutive in size but not in stature, was leaning on a wooden cane, eyeing Elzar with amusement.

Beside Yoda was a tall yet slightly bowed figure, dressed in formless white robes. His craggy face was draped in the shadow of his raised hood, and his hands were hidden deep in the folds of his sleeves. The man radiated an unsettling aura, and Elzar felt his coolness, his detachment, the way he seemed to be weighing up every being in the room as if they were a potential threat. Most of all, though, Elzar felt the man’s fear. In this room the man was less predator and more prey; a tooka cat surrounded by a pack of wolves. And yet, unsettlingly, Elzar felt something familiar within this newcomer, too. A tension, an uncertainty, a sense of hidden, swirling depths.

Elzar didn’t recognize the man, but it was clear he wasn’t a Jedi.

“Azlin Rell,” said Yarael Poof. Elzar was surprised by the revulsion in the Jedi Master’s voice as he said the name.

The newcomer bowed his head. He flicked a glance at Elzar, and it sent a cold shudder down Elzar’s spine. The man’s eyes were invisible behind what appeared to be a set of large, gray goggles.

Elzar had never met Azlin but was vaguely aware of his ill repute. A former Jedi who had embraced the dark side and prolonged his life unnaturally on the arcane power it granted him.

He had no idea why Master Yoda had brought him before the Council now.

“Have you forgotten, Master Yoda, that the Council has made it quite clear that this…fallen one is not welcome here,” said Soleil Agra.

Yoda shook his head. He gave a wan smile. “Put it to you, I do, that the Nameless are both the biggest threat we face, and the key to resolving the Nihil problem,” he said. “That is where our focus should remain, hmmm.”

“And that is why you insist on bringing that…heretic among us once again?” said Keaton Murag, unable to hide the distaste in his voice.

“It is an argument we’ve heard before, Master Yoda. We trusted him, and he destroyed an entire city on Travyx Prime. Your judgment about Azlin is clouded, Master Yoda. He has committed atrocities as severe as any Nihil. We cannot align ourselves with this criminal.”

Elzar studied Azlin, his curiosity piqued despite himself. He could see the faint trace of a smile twisting the man’s lips beneath the shadowed caul of his white hood.

“I have meditated on it,” said Yoda, as if that simple explanation was enough.

“As have I,” said Azlin. His voice was a dry croak, brittle with age.

“We cannot condone his actions,” said Yoda, “but need him, we do. His insight into the Nameless will help us to understand our enemy. And how to defeat them.”

“I do not ask for your trust, Master Jedi,” said Azlin, smiling and spreading his palms before him like a supplicant. “Only that you listen to what I offer.”

“No,” said Ry, firmly. “We do not need the counsel of the likes of you.” Elzar noticed the smile did not leave Azlin’s face, in fact it widened. Was he playing with the Jedi Grand Master?

“Forgotten, have you, that Azlin was once a Jedi? He survived the Night of Sorrow, all those years ago on Dalna. Faced the Nameless, he did, and lived. Dedicated his life to understanding them, he has. His perspective is unique in all the galaxy. Can we afford not to listen to him?” said Yoda.

Slowly, Azlin drew back his hood, revealing his wrinkled, pale-brown face. His metal goggles completely covered his eyes, and his long black hair fell about his shoulders. He was old, older than any human should ever be, and while Elzar couldn’t quite shake the sense of foreboding that he felt in Azlin’s presence, he did not sense malign intent.

“I wish only to help bring an end to the threat that now stalks the Jedi Order, much as it once did before,” he said. “I have made choices in my life that led me down a different path…but it does not mean that I do not wish to protect the Order and its place in the galaxy. Master Yoda is right. The Nameless present the biggest threat to the Jedi that has ever existed. And not just the Jedi, but all those who wield the Force. They are a fundamental challenge to our very existence. They consume the very essence of us. Compared with that, the Nihil are just another bunch of marauders grown too big for their boots.”

Murag scoffed. He continued to eye the man with barely concealed distaste.

To Elzar, Azlin was a figure worthy of pity, not scorn. A man who had lost his way and had never found the path home. If he’d had someone like Orla things might have been different. As much as the idea unnerved him, perhaps he’d once been just like Elzar, but hadn’t had the people around him to help him remain on the true path.

Maybe this was Azlin’s road to redemption. His last chance to, if not find his way back to the Light, then at least do right by the Order that had once been his home. Was it right to deny him that chance? He was not, after all, an enemy of the Jedi. More a lost brother who had fallen and never been picked back up.

“Marauders who have nevertheless found a way to harness that threat, and use it as a weapon against us,” said Ry. His tone was cautious. “If we could find a way to neutralize it, then it would allow us to take the fight to the Nihil…”

“There are no easy answers,” said Yoda. “Choices, we must make. Even if they do not sit well, hmmm.”

Ry turned to Elzar. “Elzar, we have given the chancellor our decision. Unless the situation changes, the Jedi Order will not be provoked into a dangerous retaliation that would put so many other lives at risk. We will continue to pour all our efforts into devising an effective way to breach the Stormwall, protecting those most in need, and to tackling the Nameless problem.” He glanced at Master Yoda as he spoke the last two words.

Elzar felt his cheeks flush but fought down the impulse to rally against the grand master’s words. Now was not the time. The decision had been made, and he would abide by it. But that didn’t mean he would stop searching for another means to stop the Nihil. There had to be a way. His only goal was to breach that Stormwall and free the people inside.

“Yes, Grand Master. Thank you.” He gave a short bow and turned to leave. As he passed Azlin, the other man reached out and caught Elzar’s arm. His grip was like ice. Elzar shook him off, turning back to regard him.

“Elzar Mann?” said Azlin. “I’ve heard your name before.”

Elzar stared at the man’s sallow face. “Likewise,” he said, his voice level.

Azlin smiled, clearly amused. He reached up and took his goggles in both hands, lifting them up onto his forehead and revealing, to Elzar’s appalled horror, two puckered, sunken pits where his eyes had once been. The sockets were crusted with old, black blood. Empty. Staring.

“I see a lot of myself in you,” said Azlin.

Elzar swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He had a sensation of unsteadiness, as if the world was about to swallow him up, plunging him back into those dark, watery depths of which he’d dreamed.

He turned and strode from the room, not looking back.

PRANDRIL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Belin craned around in his pilot’s chair to look at her. “That was…quite something,” he said as the transport ship sighed, sinking shakily through the lower atmosphere of Prandril, before finally coming down to rest with a metallic clatter.

Avar winced. It didn’t sound healthy.

The scav droids had finally given up their pursuit of the ship through the upper atmosphere, presumably retreating into orbit, and, with great effort, Avar had managed to destroy the remaining few that had attached themselves to the hull. The ship, though, was in bad shape. The scav droids had chewed holes in the outer hull, and the flight through the debris field had knocked out several systems and left behind a plethora of dents, scratches, and minor breaches.

Nevertheless, it had been worth it. KC-78 had dissected the remains of the captured scav droid—presently still scattered throughout the cockpit in pieces—and, in part due to his earlier efforts to slice their systems, had managed to retroengineer the necessary protocols. It meant that, assuming KC-78 was right, they’d be able to move more freely from now on through the unpatrolled hyperspace lanes inside the Occlusion Zone.

“So this is Prandril,” said Belin, peering out of the viewscreen at the grassy savanna and the silhouettes of low-roofed buildings nearby. “What a rathtar’s back—”

“Yes, yes. I know,” cut in Avar. “It’s not exactly what you’d call a metropolis. But the colony here is desperate. Their distress calls said the Nihil had cut off their food supplies because they couldn’t afford to pay their ‘tributes.’ ”

Belin wrinkled his nose. “Tributes, eh? I’d like to give Marchion Ro a tribute of my own.”

Avar grinned. She was enjoying the sense of fulfillment that accompanied their arrival on the Rodian colony world.

She’d fought the Nihil and won. All for just one transport of grain, nothing grandiose or theatrical. But she’d done it. She’d taken it from under their noses, and no one had died in the process.

This was Avar being Avar, exactly as she’d planned. No grand heroics. No pressure to be anything other than she was: a Jedi on the ground, making a difference one little bit at a time. And it felt good.

KC-78 issued a series of tooting whistles and beeps. Avar crossed the ship’s gangway to join him. The side of the transport ship had lifted open like a wing, and a small ramp was now extending—slowly—from the lip.

A warm breeze was blowing in across the grassy fields, bringing with it the scent of flowers, fresh water, and burning wood. A lake sparkled on the horizon, and tiny boats dotted its surface like sunspots seen through a lens.

It was utterly serene, and standing there, she could almost believe that none of the last two years had happened.

The place looked untouched, which was precisely how the Rodian colony that had settled here wished to keep it.

The ramp clunked into place, and Avar strolled down, followed closely by KC-78. Behind her, she could hear Belin huffing and puffing as he made a meal out of leaving the ship. She was beginning to realize this was just his manner—that he enjoyed turning everything into an opportunity for high drama. It was all just a game, and beneath it he was both as worried about the Nihil as she was, and as prepared to do what he could to fight back.

As she walked around the rear of the parked ship—wincing from a plethora of her own bruises and minor injuries—she saw the damage the last few hours had inflicted upon it. In places the hull was torn, revealing the substructure of the vessel beneath the ablative plates. They’d been lucky. Very lucky.

Now that she had the chance to take it all in, she could see that the rest of the ship hadn’t fared much better, either. Cables poked out of roughly torn holes, fluid leaked from at least one broken valve, and in places the hull was black and scorched from atmospheric entry.

“All things considered,” said Belin, who’d followed her out onto the grassy plain and was eyeing the ship appraisingly from beside her, “you did a pretty bad job of getting us killed, Jedi.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Avar.

“If you like,” muttered Belin. He patted his portly belly. “I know you’re probably some sort of aesthete who doesn’t need to eat, but I’m starving. If I’m going to get this thing airborne again, you’re going to have to feed me first.”

Avar laughed. “I’m sure we can find you something. But remember why we’re here. These people have very little.”

“The problem with you Jedi is you don’t know how to put yourself first,” said Belin.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Avar, turning to look the other way. She shielded her eyes from the glare of the suns. “I’m going to see if any of those buildings are inhabited. It’s time to give these people their grain.”

Avar rounded the ship, looking out to where they’d seen the buildings silhouetted in their view from the cockpit.

Her heart sank at the sight that greeted her.

A sea of black, billowing cinders, stirring on the breeze. The stumps of buildings, so superheated in the fire that the walls had cracked, causing them to collapse into heaps of rubble. The broken, blistered remains of a road that ran through the wreckage of what had once been a large settlement. Several Nihil flags planted in the seared ground, proudly displaying the symbol of the Eye.

The scent of burning wood hadn’t been wood at all. It had been ash.

“What happened here?” asked Belin. All sense of his cheerfulness had bled away as he walked over to stand beside her, looking out at the scene of utter devastation.

Avar’s mouth was dry. She thought she could taste the ash on her tongue. “The Nihil,” she said.

“At least some of the people seem to have gotten out,” said Belin, pointing into the distance. “Look.”

Two speeder bikes were streaming toward them across the ash wastes, stirring great clouds in their wake. Far behind them trundled a large transport cart, pulled by an enormous beast with twin trunks and a brace of massive bone antlers rising like a crown across its brow.

“Stay close,” said Avar. Her hand strayed to her lightsaber hilt. She hoped Belin was right, that these were survivors from whatever the Nihil had done here, rather than Nihil themselves.

She watched the speeder bikes approach. The riders had covered their faces against the swirling ash, but Avar could see the telltale trumpet-shaped ears and glassy eyes of Rodians. She allowed herself to relax—Prandril was primarily a Rodian colony.

Avar walked out to meet them as they thrummed to a halt close by, leaving room for the cart to come in behind them. She held her hands out in greeting, showing them that she was carrying no weapons.

The two Rodians looked her up and down appraisingly, and then withdrew translators from their pockets and pinned them to the front of their pale-blue robes. They both removed their face coverings.

“Who are you?” said the Rodian on the left. She sounded suspicious and, perhaps, a little fearful, too. Avar noticed they both looked tired, and thin, and had blasters strapped to their belts.

Avar stepped forward, keeping her hands on show. “My name is Avar Kriss, and I…”

I’m a Jedi.

“I’m here to help. I heard your distress call, and I’ve brought you a shipment of grain.” Avar gestured toward the transport ship.

The two Rodians exchanged glances. The one on the right—also a female—blinked at Avar. The end of her snout wrinkled. “And where did you get this grain?”

“She stole it from the Nihil,” said Belin, before Avar had a chance to respond.

“It’s true,” said Avar.

Two Rodians shared another look, and then both of them swung down from the backs of their speeder bikes.

Once done, they steepled their hands across their chests and approached in lockstep.

“Then you are most welcome, Avar Kriss,” said the one on the left. “I am Meela. This is my wife, Boona. Together, we govern over the colony here on Prandril. And you?” she asked, turning to the Ugnaught.

“Belin,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Good to meet you.”

Avar gestured to Belin. “This pilot risked his life to help me bring you this shipment of grain.”

“You are small and brave,” said Meela.

Belin guffawed. “At least one of those things is true.”

“And this is my droid, Kaysee,” said Avar.

“Also small,” said Boona.

“And braver than he looks,” said Avar.

The droid gave a warm beep.

In the distance, the strange, lumbering beast was still marching closer, its rumbling footsteps now churning up blooms of ash.

Avar looked out across the blackened ruins. “The Nihil did this?” she asked.

Meela nodded. “They came demanding tribute. Two months ago. It was the first real contact we’d had with them, although life has been hard here since the occupation began. We’ve been rationing food, spending all our resources buying what we could from other, local worlds. We thought they’d forgotten us, out here in our solitude.”

“But the Nihil hadn’t forgotten us,” said Boona. “They simply hadn’t gotten around to us yet. We’d heard the stories, of course—of what had happened on those worlds that couldn’t afford, or refused, to pay the Nihil’s tithes. But we didn’t think it could happen to us.” She shook her head, looked away.

“They burned your village?” said Avar. This was a story she’d heard over and over as she’d moved across the worlds of the Occlusion Zone. The tale of Nihil destruction, and punishment, and greed. They were not a government, but a racket, marauders who had unexpectedly found themselves with everything they could ever want. And yet, despite all that, they could not deny their true nature. They couldn’t hide who they really were. Murderers, thieves, and terrorists.

“We couldn’t pay,” said Meela. “We’d spent what we had left on food for our people. We’re a simple colony and we live a simple life. Or at least, we did…”

“They killed half of our entire population,” said Boona, and her voice was morose even through the digital tones of the translator. “Lined them up and used them as target practice. Then told us we should be happy because we had fewer mouths to feed.” Her shoulders shook as she wept, remembering. “Then they burned the entire settlement. Took our children.” She turned away, unable to look at Avar and Belin any longer.

“I’m so sorry,” said Avar. She knew it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. This was the true story of what was happening behind the Stormwall. This was what the Nihil would truly be remembered for. Yes, their big grand gestures, the horror of the Great Disaster, the attack on Valo, Starlight. Terrible highlights in an inauspicious reign of terror. But this? This was something else entirely. A sustained attack on the lives of millions—billions—of innocent people. This would be their legacy, its emblem a burned-out homestead turned into a tomb.

“As are we,” said Meela.

“Where are the rest of your people now?”

Meela gestured in the direction from where they’d come. “We’re rebuilding, as best we can. But as you know from our distress calls, we have little to sustain us. The Nihil cut off our supplies. No ships come this way anymore.” She paused, meeting Avar’s eye. “We’re dying.”

Avar nodded. “Well, hopefully we can help with that a little.” She moved around the rear of the ship and punched the controls to open the hold. The doors yawned wide, revealing a jumbled mess of canisters and drums, bits of the severed walkway and spillages. Thankfully, the grain mostly seemed to have remained in its vats.

“Seems you did a number on the hold, too,” said Belin. “I’m almost impressed. Is there any part of the ship you didn’t destroy?”

“I’ll try harder next time,” Avar retorted, keeping her voice low. She beckoned for the two Rodians to join them. “Here.”

Meela and Boona walked over to the rear of the ship, peering into the hold.

“We thank you for your assistance,” said Meena. “Our people are greatly in need of this grain.”

Boona met Avar’s gaze. “What is your price?”

Avar shook her head. “There is no price. Everyone has a right to food. The Nihil had no right to take it from you. So I took it back.”

“We thank you, Avar Kriss,” said Boona.

“Yes. We thank you,” agreed Meela. She hesitated, unable to meet Avar’s eye. “And the next shipment? We’ll need more if we’re to survive.”

Avar looked at her, confused. “The next shipment?”

“Yes. This grain will last us no more than two weeks. We will need another shipment. And another after that. And so on,” said Boona.

Avar’s heart sank. Of course they would. She’d been so caught up in the urgency to feed these people that she hadn’t considered their ongoing needs. It wasn’t about one shipment. It never was. What these people needed was a constant supply, just like they’d had before the Nihil came and took it all away. What they needed was support and infrastructure, and there was no way she could give it to them. Avar couldn’t offer them a permanent solution. No one could…except perhaps the Nihil themselves.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“I…don’t know what to say…” She felt hollow. The joy and certainty of the last hour had simply drained away, leaving her feeling more lost and uncertain than ever.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

Boona looked stricken. “Without more grain, we will starve.”

“I know,” said Avar.

“Why don’t you just grow your own crops? You have all this land,” said Belin. He turned on the spot, making an expansive gesture with his arms.

Meela made a fluting sound. “It is a tenet of our creed that we do not spoil the land upon which we live. We are visitors here. We live as a part of the environment; we do not attempt to impose our will upon it.”

“Besides, the soil here imparts toxins into the plants that are incompatible with Rodian life,” added Boona. “It is one of the reasons we chose this place for our colony. So that we cannot spoil it.”

Belin puffed his cheeks but didn’t say anything further.

“I’m sorry,” said Avar. “There’s nothing more I can do. There’s just me, working alone, and the Nihil are already aware of my activities. After this they’re going to be tightening up the security on all their shipments. This was a one-off.” She rubbed the front of her forehead where the jewel of her diadem used to sit. “I’ll try to find a way—”

Meela raised her hand. “We understand. You have done more than anyone could have expected. And we are grateful. You have given us the gift of time. It shall not be forgotten.”

“We thank you, Avar Kriss,” added Boona. She turned to direct the approaching beast handlers to bring their wagon around, so that they could unload the grain.

Avar saw that there were around ten Rodians in the wagon, and she backed away to give them all room. Or more to the point, to give herself room. A tumult of emotions tumbled through her head. She reached instinctively for the Force, seeking the reassurance of the song, but it remained distant and discordant, and of little comfort.

She’d been so sure she was doing the right thing. Helping these people. But she couldn’t solve such systemic problems on her own. A stolen transport ship full of grain wasn’t going to defeat the Nihil. It wasn’t even going to register.

Whichever way she looked at it, she’d failed. Again. All the effort, all the risk. She’d put Belin’s life in danger, perhaps even made it so he could never go home. And for what?

She felt a hand on her arm. She looked down to see him now, his face creased in concern.

“You can’t save them all,” he said. “This is on the Nihil, not you. You did something good here today. You brought food to starving people. Reminded them they aren’t alone in the galaxy. It is enough. I have spoken.”

But it wasn’t enough. Not really. Not for the Hero of Hetzal. Not for the one Maru had christened “the best of us.” If that were true, if she really was the best the Jedi Order had to offer, then surely they were all doomed.

She’d been fooling herself.

Avar nodded but couldn’t bring herself to thank him for his kindness. It was not what she needed now, as well intentioned as it was.

She needed time to think. To plan. To try to get a handle on what to do next. Perhaps she’d been lying to herself all this time. Perhaps all these little gestures, these tiny acts of rebellion against the Nihil, really didn’t add up to something bigger. Maybe they were just that—small acts that didn’t make a difference in the long run.

Not for the first time, she felt very alone.

“I’m going to check on the nav system,” she said. “Perhaps you could assess the damage to the outer hull, see what repair work is needed before we’re flightworthy again?” He nodded. If he knew it was an excuse, he was good enough not to press her on it.

She turned away from Belin and headed back up the ramp into the ship. She heard KC-78 trundling along behind her.

“It’s all right, Kaysee. I just need a minute.”

The droid gave an obstinate beep and continued to follow her as she made for the cockpit, where she slumped into one of the pilot’s chairs. The comm system was crackling, replaying a new broadcast from the Nihil’s base on Hetzal, which would run on a repeating loop for the next few hours.

Avar had heard so many of them before. Pro-Nihil propaganda from Marchion Ro and his cronies, using Rhil Dairo as their mouthpiece. Veiled threats and promises that would never be fulfilled. An attempt to paint a picture of life inside the Occlusion Zone that bore no relation to reality. Seeing what it was like on the ground, here on Prandril, was evidence enough of their lies, and she had seen the same, and worse, on every world she’d visited.

“I’ve had just about enough of this.”

As Rhil droned on, Avar reached toward the controls to silence her. She had no idea if Rhil was doing this under duress, or because she’d somehow been radicalized to the Nihil’s cause, like the former senator, Ghirra Starros. She supposed anything was possible, but she’d known Rhil a little, and the woman had always been professional and ethical, and sought to relay the truth, even if it was wrapped in glitter and presented as society gossip. Avar suspected Rhil was an unwilling servant of the Nihil cause, doing what she did because she had no choice. The thought made her grind her teeth.

As her fingers brushed the OFF switch, KC-78 emitted a cacophony of warning beeps and hoots. Avar stayed her hand, turning to look at the seemingly crazed astromech. “Kaysee? What is it?”

She sat back, frowning, as KC-78 rocked urgently back and forth on his legs. He let out another burst of beeps and whistles.

“Look, I get that you’re agitated, but you need to slow down. You’ll blow a fuse if you carry on like that.”

KC-78’s head spun, rotating twice. He stopped rocking. Lights danced across his head. And then Rhil Dairo’s voice erupted from his speaker, repeating a fragment of the broadcast they’d just heard.

“…the many benefits readily available to those who choose to volunteer tithes to the Nihil, including protection from Republic tyranny, full access to the free-trade market in foodstuffs…”

Avar shook her head. “Yes, I know. It’s Rhil Dairo. This isn’t the first time we’ve heard her make one of these awful broadcasts.”

KC-78 played the same sequence again. This time, the audio was drenched in static, as if Avar was hearing it through a filter, or from a distance. KC-78 was clearly running it through some sort of filter. She strained to listen to the words, but they were exactly the same as those she’d heard just a moment before.

“What is it, Kaysee? What is it you’re hearing that I’m not?”

KC-78 cycled the same fragment again. This time Avar could hardly decipher Rhil’s words, which sounded so low in the mix they’d almost disappeared. But there was a hint of something else, another voice. As if KC-78 was knocking the original message back into the mix and teasing out something else. Another muffled voice, speaking quietly under the first. It was too distorted to make out, like someone heard chatting in the background at a function, indecipherable background chatter. The recording came to an end.

“Play it again, Kaysee. And see if you can boost it a little more.”

KC-78 beeped in the affirmative. He ran the fragment of audio once again. Now Rhil’s voice had pretty much disappeared, and the voice in the background, while still indistinct, was definitely present.

“What is it? Nihil talking in the background?” she said. “Something we can use?”

But KC-78 didn’t answer. He just ran the processed loop once again, and this time Avar was able to make out a single, distinct word.

“Jedi.”

DAEDUS, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“And they were like this when you found them, Nool?” said General Viess. She peered at the Abyssin, who, despite his considerable size, looked deeply uncomfortable to be in her presence. Almost squirming, in fact. Although she supposed that might have as much to do with the five corpses littering the ground nearby as it did with her. They had started to smell rather badly.

Nool stared at her with his single, baleful eye. He looked so sadly typical of a Nihil recruit. Primitive electro-tattoos crawled over his muscular left arm, whereas the right ended in a stump just above the elbow. She could see the skin there was blackened and damaged, almost rotten. Given the deep bruising beneath his eye and the glossy sheen to his face, she guessed he was probably in the throes of some sort of substance abuse that had led to his regenerative capabilities being adversely affected. He was wearing a leather tunic covered in straps and buckles and carried a meat cleaver hanging from a hoop on his belt. A brace of grenades hung from his belt, and a blaster on a strap around his thick neck.

Overcompensating.

“Yeah. Just like this. We didn’t move them, except to check they were dead,” he said. He glanced around at the small team of handpicked hunters she’d brought with her from Hetzal. They watched him with blank eyes.

“To check they were dead?” she echoed. She nudged one half of the Shistavanen with the edge of her boot.

“Yeah,” said Nool.

“Okay,” said Viess. She paced around the small scene, taking it all in. It was a kill box. Or rather, it should have been. The way the five dead Nihil had formed a circle around a central point—the wreck of the ancient shuttle. She guessed they’d cornered the Jedi here, or maybe tried to ambush them. They’d been heavily armed—she could see that from the dropped weapons, or the blasters still jammed in their belts and holsters. And yet everything had gone wrong. They’d never stood a chance.

She glanced at the dead Twi’lek, the scorched hole in her chest where a lightsaber had speared her, killing her instantly.

The Umbaran, who’d taken the same weapon to the face.

The two humans, who’d never even gotten close enough to feel the lightsaber’s bite.

It was swift, precise, and clinical.

Definitely the work of a Jedi. But not just any Jedi.

There were hallmarks here that were familiar to Viess. The hallmarks of someone she’d met before, long ago, in the days when that rusted old shuttle had been shiny and new.

One she’d been hunting since the Stormwall first went up, and she’d found evidence at another, similar killsite that he was still alive, and—somewhat deliciously—trapped in Nihil space with nowhere to go. The reason she’d been called here in the first place.

Porter Engle.

Capturing him would serve her well with Marchion Ro, but more than that, she would enjoy it.

This was the third such site she’d visited in recent months, each on separate worlds. One had been the ruin of an old Pathfinder outpost, the other the site of an old communications relay on a small, inhabited moon.

All three sites had something in common, despite what she thought to be the footprint of Porter Engle—they were all locations where old Jedi or Republic ships had been abandoned.

He was up to something, and Viess wanted to know what it was.

That was why she’d put an alert out among the Nihil to inform her of any discoveries such as this one—a dead patrol at the site of an old Jedi shuttle—and why even someone as plodding as Nool had known to send for her immediately.

She looked up at Nool, who was fidgeting anxiously, clearly uncomfortable in Viess’s presence, and to be under the scrutiny of her pack of hunters. “He’s still here?”

Nool shrugged. “No ships have left the surface since we found the bodies a day ago. And they were still fresh.”

Viess nodded. “Very well. Then it’s likely he’s still here. We’ll use your base.”

She strolled over to join her gang of hunters. “Oh, and Nool?”

“Yeah?”

She turned, sliding her blaster from its holster, and squeezing off a shot, all in one fluid motion.

Nool dropped like a deadweight, a smoldering hole in his heart.

“That’s for forgetting your place and having the tenacity to try to set up your own little kingdom,” she said, for the sake of any others in her team who might have been getting ideas too big for their boots. She started out toward her shuttle, which was parked close by.

“Oh,” she called back over her shoulder, waving a disinterested hand, “someone make sure that he’s dead.”

DAEDUS, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Porter sat in the long grass, his back against the cool flank of his shuttle. Around him were spread the components he’d spent so long collecting over the last few months—the remnants of several ancient EX droids, each of them salvaged from a different wreck or outpost, now stripped to their constituent parts.

The shell of the nearly complete droid rested on his lap. His hands were buried deep inside the casing as he struggled to connect a small plug into an ill-fitting socket.

Close by rested its thruster pod, which—after almost a day of difficult, unrelenting labor—he’d finally managed to get working.

Now all he had to do was get the hodgepodge droid itself up and running, and then hope it could carry his message all the way to Coruscant before any more Jedi were caught and tortured, or before too many other worlds in the Occlusion Zone suffered to the point of starvation or came under fire from the Nihil for not paying their so-called tithes.

That was it.

Not a big ask at all.

The plug finally clicked into place. Porter reached for another section of circuit board.

As anxious as he was to finish up here and send the droid on its way, he knew that rushing wasn’t going to help. And so he’d cleaned everything, and oiled the necessary parts, and now, hoping that his cluttered old memory remembered what needed to go where, he was in the process of final assembly. One droid restored from the wreckage of the few. Or at least, one complete enough to function.

His fingers worked, parts clicking together. Connections were made. Components fell snugly into place.

He thought of Creighton as he worked, his memories stirred by his presence here on Daedus. The man had been infuriating at times. Stubborn. Occasionally arrogant. But he’d also been an impeccable moral compass. Much like Stellan Gios.

Much like Barash.

Too many old friends were gone.

That’s why he had to keep fighting for the ones that remained.

He worked unconsciously as the memories tumbled: The first time he’d met Avar Kriss. His weeklong debates with Yoda. His sparring sessions with Rooper Nitani.

And Barash. So many memories of his sister.

He hoped her vow had served her well. That she was still out there somewhere, away from the Nihil and the Occlusion Zone and all the death and devastation. That she was helping people like she’d always wanted to.

Porter would have given anything to still have her at his side. Together, they could have helped to lead the fight back against Marchion Ro. But that was what he wanted, not her. She had done what she’d felt was right. He couldn’t blame her for that.

No. That was all down to General Viess.

He tried to put such thoughts out of mind. He had a job to do.

The components continued to click into place, like the pieces in a puzzle that wished to build itself.

A droid that wanted to come back to life.

Porter shook his head. Now he was just getting sentimental.

Regardless, Porter liked old machines like this. There was a certain satisfaction to be found in their simplicity. Built to do one job, and to do it well. Made to survive whatever the galaxy could throw at it.

A bit like Porter himself.

The thought made him chuckle. At over two centuries old, he wondered how long he really had left, and how much it really mattered anymore. He had doubts he’d ever make it out of the Occlusion Zone, and in truth, the thought didn’t trouble him. So long as he found a way to help others escape, and to get a message out to Elzar and the Council, to help them find a way in.

Assuming there were any other Jedi left inside the zone. He’d seen what the Nihil had done to Pra-Tre Veter, the ignoble death they’d given him at the hands of their cruel beasts.

Porter kept his salvaged receiver unit working on a recurring cycle, constantly scanning both the well-used frequencies and the little-known channels for any messages from those in need, or those trying to organize resistance against the Nihil.

Sometimes people tried to bury those messages among the static, looking for a way around the Nihil communications blackout. It was how he’d first picked up Elzar’s message, transmitted via the ancient relay beacons. But it also meant he picked up all the Nihil propaganda and the chatter of raiders as they went about their nauseating work. And it meant he’d seen the execution as it was played on a constant, taunting loop.

Porter continued his work, and the heaps of components dwindled. An hour passed. Then another.

When he next looked up, the suns were beginning to sink over the horizon, casting a pale-golden aura over the land.

It was beautiful, this near-forgotten planet on the outskirts of nowhere. Peaceful. That the Nihil had taken it, made it a place of death and ugliness, was unforgivable.

He wouldn’t be able to stay for long, though. The Nihil would be on his trail. As soon as the patrol he’d left dead at the site of the wreckage didn’t report in, others would be dispatched to locate them, and when they found the bodies they’d know immediately that they had a Jedi in their midst. Word would go out, and others would arrive.

Jedi-hunters.

Trackers like the Umbaran who would be able to trace his movements. Combatants with more firepower, and in greater numbers.

Or worse. More of their pets. That was a battle even he couldn’t survive. He had to finish up with the droid and move on before they found him. And he still didn’t have a flightworthy ship.

He glanced down at his lap.

He did have something, though. He had a complete droid.

Porter set his tools aside, turning the droid’s casing over slowly, ensuring he’d closed all the access panels. Its surface was old and craggy, pockmarked from years of interstellar travel.

“Tired and old, but you still have a use, don’t you?” muttered Porter. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

So far as he knew, everything was in its right place. The power pack was fully charged. The memory core appeared to be intact. The navigation systems—the crucial element that Porter hoped would allow it to traverse the Stormwall—were complete.

This was it. The moment he’d been working toward for months.

Cautiously, Porter flicked the power switch.

For a moment nothing happened. His breath seemed to catch in his throat. Then a low whine as the systems slowly came online. Lights flickered in some arcane sequence, diodes winking. A pinprick of red light appeared deep in the bottomless depths of its scratched eye lens. The light grew, like a pupil dilating.

The droid twitched. And then its propulsion systems engaged, and it pulled itself free of his grip, rising to hover above him, looking down at him with its implacable gaze. Its three legs jerked spasmodically as it tested them for the first time.

“Wheee woo,” it said.

Porter’s face cracked into a broad grin. His heart swelled. “Memory’s not so bad after all, eh?” He tapped his left temple with the tip of his index finger. “Still got it, Porter.”

“Bee-do-deee-wooo?” asked the droid.

“I’m sorry, little guy. Don’t mind me.” He got to his feet. “Welcome back. It’s been a while.”

“Wheee,” said the droid, in what Porter took to be a semblance of agreement.

“I’m guessing you’re a little confused about your designation. Your memory core said you were Eeex-Zerogee, but I’m afraid I had to borrow a few parts to get you up and running again. So why don’t I just call you Ex-Wun for now?”

“Beedle-doo-whoo,” said the droid.

“Good. Why don’t you run a full diagnostic while I fetch myself something to eat. I’ve got an important job for you, so we need to make sure everything’s in full working order.”

EX-1 gave a further series of tooting responses, and then drifted over to a large, flat rock and lowered itself there, its three trailing legs furling up beneath its domed body. Lights flickered in a sequence around its outer shell.

Stretching his weary muscles—hunching over for hours on end had caused his old frame to stiffen up—Porter got to his feet and slipped inside his ship. Or at least, the ship he’d stolen from some hapless Nihil after ambushing their patrol on Exu Prime many months earlier.

Porter had taken to calling the vessel the Torment, because of the torturous journeys upon which they’d embarked together, and it was looking worse for wear. Not only had the outer shell been nearly chewed apart by successive swarms of scav droids, but the interior wasn’t in much better shape.

Nests of wire erupted at intervals from the walls where he’d been forced to patch or bypass damaged systems. Panels lay scattered about the floor. Bits of old droids lay in heaps of unused salvage: the leftovers from his months of scavenging across the worlds of the Occlusion Zone. Some of the salvage was from other shuttles, too—parts he’d use to keep on patching up the Torment after each scav droid attack he managed to shake off.

There were even remnants of the Nihil marauders from whom he’d taken the vessel in the first place: gas masks, primitive weapons stolen from other captured worlds, gas grenades. He didn’t have much use for any of it.

Porter crossed to the small galley kitchen and fetched out a pan. Then he took a silvered pouch from a drawer, tore it open, and emptied the contents into the pan, which he set on the small burner.

The stew was brown and smelled unappetizing, containing large hunks of unfamiliar vegetables and meat. The markings on the packet were unclear, too, being written in some language that Porter had neglected to learn. Or perhaps it was just another thing he’d allowed himself to forget. It was difficult to tell, these days.

He set the food to warm. His stomach growled. It was no Nine-Egg Stew, but it would do. He’d been living off the stuff for weeks. It was fuel, that was all. He didn’t have time to savor his food anymore. He didn’t have time for anything but the mission. In here, behind enemy lines, alone, Porter was simply existing.

Soon, though, that simple existence was going to bear fruit. Soon his hastily reassembled EX droid would carry word all the way back to Coruscant, and life would begin again. Finally, the Jedi would be able to fight back.

The thought gave Porter great comfort. He imagined a massive fleet of RDC ships, led by Elzar Mann, Bell Zettifar, Keeve Trennis, and the others, piercing the Stormwall using the EX droid’s long-fallow technology, swarming into Nihil space to bring Marchion Ro to his knees. And Porter would be right there at their side. One last hurrah.

It wasn’t such a big dream, was it? That the Jedi could prevail. That they’d eventually win out against the jumped-up pirates who’d clearly bitten off more than they could chew.

He had to hope. Hope was the only path left, because to succumb to despair was to let the Nihil win. And Porter refused to let that happen.

When the stew was bubbling hot and gloopy, Porter grabbed a wooden spoon and ate the stuff right out of the pan. It was tasteless, but he didn’t want to waste time trying to season it. He finished it quickly and took a drink of lukewarm water from his decanter.

Then, with a forlorn glance at his bunk—it had been some time since he’d managed to sleep—Porter ventured outside again to where he’d left EX-1 squatting on the flat rock, running its system checks.

The droid was nowhere to be seen.

Cursing, Porter’s hand brushed the hilt of his lightsaber. Had the Nihil caught up with him much sooner than he’d expected? If they’d found the droid…

He dropped into a crouch, scanning the surrounding area, looking for signs of ingress into the camp’s boundaries.

Nothing.

He turned, his left hand extended, right hand now gripping his lightsaber hilt. He reached out with the Force…

But there was no sense of impending danger. He could feel no presence in the immediate area, beyond the tiny creatures that burrowed in the ground beneath his boots.

Slowly, Porter crept around the outer edge of the ship. Somewhere close, a bird squawked and took wing, disturbed by movement. Porter rounded the nose of the ship…and, to his immense relief, saw that EX-1 was hovering nearby, exploring the perimeter of the camp.

Perhaps he was just growing paranoid. It’s what came of spending months on the run, being hunted by those who would obliterate him without a second’s hesitation.

Porter relaxed—just a little—and lowered his hand. He slipped his lightsaber hilt back into its holster. He supposed he could hardly blame the droid for being inquisitive after having its memory core deactivated for so long. “Am I to assume that everything is in working order, then, Ex-Wun?”

EX-1 swung around to regard him with its single, central eye. “Whoo-da-bee-do-waa,” it quipped. The affected air of innocence was impressive for a droid.

Porter laughed. “You’re going on a long journey. All the way to Coruscant. Can you remember the way?”

EX-1 drifted closer. “Doop-dee-baa.”

“Good,” said Porter. He crossed to the waiting thruster pod. “I need you to find a Jedi named Elzar Mann. He’ll be at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. I want you to deliver an urgent message.” He fixed EX-1 with a firm stare. “No deviating from your course unless you have no other option. If you’re discovered, there are people who will try to prevent you from completing your mission. You must be swift and take no unnecessary risks. Is that clear?”

“Woo-naa-dee.” EX-1 sounded nervous.

“Thousands, if not millions of lives could depend on this, Ex-Wun. It’s why I put you back together.” He reached out and patted the droid’s shell. “The old hyperspace tech inside you may be what the Jedi desperately need to save everyone.”

“Beet-beet-da,” said EX-1 a little more brightly.

“All right,” said Porter. He crossed to a boulder and sat. “Now, listen carefully. I want you to record this message…”

PRANDRIL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“Well? What does it say, Kaysee?”

Avar drummed her fingers impatiently on the arm of her seat. It was the fourth time she’d asked. Beside her, the astromech remained silent and still, just as before. The only indicator that he was still working at all was the blinking sequence of lights that continued to flicker across the front of his head.

They’d been forced to wait for the repeating message to finish and cycle again, so that KC-78 could capture the entire sequence. Now he was scrubbing away layers of static and over-recording to seek out the message buried deep beneath the public broadcast. And he was taking his time, much to Avar’s frustration.

She was trying hard not to speculate but finding it near impossible. Her best guess was that KC-78 had stumbled upon some subwave communication technique that the Nihil used to transmit orders to their teams in the field. If so, it could be revolutionary. Knowing what the Nihil were planning would enable her to move much more freely, to warn beings throughout the Occlusion Zone when the Nihil were gathering for a raid, and to better work to frustrate their efforts by getting ahead of them whenever she could.

What was more—she needed this. She needed the win, especially after all she’d been through to get the grain shipment here, to Prandril, and the terrible realization that it would make no real difference to the plight of the colonists. She had to find something to grab hold of. A purpose. Because, deep down, she knew that the scattershot approach she’d been taking just wasn’t working.

She’d been playing it safe. Acting as a loner. Chalking up each tiny victory as her justification for continuing to avoid her real responsibilities. But if she was going to make any real difference at all, she was going to have to make some noise.

Only some big breakthrough was going to do that, and while she wasn’t yet ready to admit it, even to herself, she was already pinning her hopes on the idea that this could be it.

KC-78 emitted a single beep and turned his head toward her. The sequence of lights had stopped dancing.

He was done.

“Well?”

The droid issued a disapproving tone.

“I know. I’m sorry,” said Avar. “It’s just…” She trailed off, then glanced away. “I just need to know what it says, Kaysee. I’m sorry for hurrying you.”

KC-78 trundled forward until he bumped gently against her leg. It was a kind gesture that almost brought a tear to her eye—the kind of thing Maru might have done, a light hand upon the arm, just to let her know she wasn’t alone.

She wondered if the old stories were true—that a droid who spent enough time near its master would begin to pick up some of their traits. It was probably just a fairy story, wishful thinking, but the idea nevertheless had a certain appeal.

She patted the top of KC-78’s head. He gave the equivalent of a heartfelt sigh, and then reversed half a meter.

“Right then,” said Avar. “What have you got?”

KC-78 activated the distilled recording. The hiss and pop of static echoed around the inside of the ship’s cockpit.

Rhil Dairo’s voice spoke in a hushed, hurried tone. “This is a message for any Jedi out there in the Occlusion Zone. I hope you hear this. My name is Rhil Dairo and I am a prisoner of the Nihil. Marchion Ro and his followers are holding me against my will on Hetzal and forcing me to broadcast their lies and propaganda.” She paused for a moment, as if catching her breath.

Avar felt pained. She’d guessed as much.

“But I’m doing everything I can to work against them,” Rhil continued. “I’m trying to broadcast the truth. To tell people that the situation in the Occlusion Zone is worse than anyone imagines. This is a message that needs to get out. Back to the chancellor and the people of the Republic. To the Jedi Council and those who can make a difference. They need to know how bad things are here. How people are starving and dying at the hands of these barbarians.”

Another pause. And then: “And I think I’ve found a way. One of the Nihil is helping me. He’s the one who’s making these messages possible. He’s looking for a way out, and he’s prepared to help. If there are any Jedi hearing this, he has a plan. He’ll get you out of the Occlusion Zone, through the Stormwall, in exchange for immunity from prosecution by the Republic. He wants to defect. To disappear.”

Avar stared at KC-78, who remained as implacable as ever.

“I’m not going to lie to you. This is a dangerous plan. But I believe him. The people here, even some among the Nihil, they’re scared of Ro and what he can do. I’m sending some coordinates with this message. A safe harbor here on Hetzal. And a time that we’ll be there to meet you. Come if you can.”

The message ended with a fizz of static.

Avar’s mouth was dry. She swallowed. “And you have the coordinates and schedule she mentioned?”

KC-78 gave a reluctant beep of affirmation.

“Then I don’t see we have a choice.”

KC-78 launched into a stream of peeps, whistles, and frantic beeps.

Avar held up her hands. “I know, Kaysee. I know it’s risky.”

“The droid’s right.”

Avar turned to see Belin standing in the doorway of the cockpit. He’d obviously been there for some time. She’d been so absorbed in the recording she hadn’t noticed him arrive.

“It’s probably a trap,” said Belin. He rubbed thoughtfully at his bristly chin. “It’s exactly the sort of thing they’d do to trap more Jedi.”

The affirmative warble from KC-78 suggested the droid agreed with Belin.

“You think she’s lying?” said Avar.

Belin shook his head. “Oh, I’ve no doubt the poor woman is a prisoner, all right. Just like the rest of us. Trapped with no way of doing anything about it. But this Nihil who’s supposedly helping her…?”

“But what if it’s real?” said Avar. “What if he really does want a way out? It’s not beyond the realms of possibility, is it? That someone joined up and doesn’t like how bad it’s gotten.”

Belin cocked a half smile. “A goodhearted Nihil?”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m not saying they’re a good person. Or a defector who suddenly wants to help bring the Nihil down. Or anything remotely like that. They obviously signed up to the Nihil in the first place, and I’m sure they’ve been party to terrible things. I’m not even advocating they could be trusted, even for a second. But what Rhil said—it rings true, doesn’t it? Someone who’s in over their head. Who’s running scared of Ro, sees their future dwindling the longer they remain in his orbit…That I can believe. It doesn’t have to be a change of heart. Just that they’re scared enough and desperate enough to look for other options. That I can use.”

Was she trying to convince herself as much as Belin and KC-78? Avar didn’t even know anymore. She’d wanted something big, some new opportunity to present itself. Was this the Force, showing her the way?

Or was it just another terrible mistake in the making, like so many she’d made before?

Belin shrugged. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Nihil, it’s that they’re all in it for themselves. Aside from a few fanatics, they don’t believe in any great cause. They want to rampage, and destroy, and grow fat on the spoils. They don’t care about Ro’s crusade. Not really. So if you’re counting on this person putting their own interests first, I reckon that’s about the only thing you can trust.”

KC-78 made a sound that sounded distinctly like he was trying to approximate Oh no.

Avar met Belin’s eye. “I’ll drop you somewhere safe.”

“Uh-uh.” He crossed to the copilot’s chair and sat down, heavily. “My ship, my rules. You don’t go anywhere without me.”

Avar frowned, confused. “But…”

Belin wagged a finger. “Now, you listen to me. You might be a risk-taking fool of a Jedi that’s nearly killed me a couple of times already, but I saw what you did for those people, even if they’re too stuck up or desperate to see it for themselves. You made a difference. And there’s one thing I know for sure—piloting this ship for those Nihil isn’t going to do much good for anyone. So I’m coming with you, and I’m going to help.” He held up his hand to ward off her interruption. “And there’s not a thing you can say to stop me. My ship, my rules. I have spoken.”

“Belin—”

“Besides,” he said, cutting her off, “this old bird isn’t going anywhere until those coolant pipes are repaired. So you’re just going to have to sit tight while me and your little friend set things to rights.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Avar protested.

“Precisely the reason you can’t go alone. But if you’re going to go walking straight into a likely trap, then the least you can do is bring some backup.” Belin folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t go making me all grumpy again by protesting any further.”

“But what if I can’t protect you?” said Avar. Her voice was barely a whisper. “What if…”

“If I go and get myself killed. Then it’s my business, isn’t it? Don’t you see that? You may be a Jedi, but you don’t have to save everyone. You can’t save everyone. It’s the fact you even try that makes you different from the Nihil. You don’t have to win, Avar Kriss. All you have to do is try. That’s enough.”

Avar felt as though something was breaking. She didn’t know what to say. She stifled a sob and turned away, composing herself.

How could she be so humbled? By a being she barely knew. By someone whose ship she had commandeered, whose life she had put at risk.

What if he was right? What if trying really was enough?

That’s all Stellan had been trying to do, wasn’t it? The right thing. And Elzar, too, when everything went wrong for him on Starlight. They’d all made mistakes. Terrible mistakes. They’d allowed the Nihil to win.

But at least they’d tried.

Somewhere down the line, she’d forgotten that. She’d decided that, if she couldn’t live up to who she thought she’d been, who she thought she had to be, then she could become someone else.

Avar.

Just Avar.

But that wasn’t true. It had never been true.

And now a small Ugnaught pilot had held up a mirror. Had reminded her who she really was. Someone who tried.

So that’s exactly what she was going to do.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. You can come.” She turned around.

But Belin and KC-78 were already outside, fixing the ship ahead of their journey.

HINTIS IV

“There has to be a pattern to the raids. Something we’re not seeing. Run it again.” Bell folded his arms, standing back to regard the huge holographic map of the Stormwall barrier. Elsewhere, one of the RDC technicians punched a button and set the simulation cycling again.

They were standing in a large briefing room in the RDC base on Hintis IV, amid a clutter of monitor screens at diagnostic and research stations. Beings dressed in RDC coveralls bustled around them noisily, orchestrating several RDC missions across nearby sectors.

Bell studied the map. Pinpricks of light dotted its surface in sequence, showing points where, during the last year, different Nihil vessels had emerged from behind the Stormwall, erupting into realspace through the use of their arcane hyperspace paths. Most of them were raiding ships like the Cacophony, sometimes traveling in small fleets or convoys, sometimes alone. The Republic had been tracking each emergence since the barrier was first raised, trying to determine how to lay a trap for such vessels, and now the data had been fed into a simulation that replayed each emergence in order, representing them all on the holomap as flowering pinpricks of light.

Bell watched with a furrowed brow.

It looked to be utterly random. No clusters around certain exit points, no obvious logic to the timing of each emergence. Just a cloud of tiny, twinkling stars, marking each Nihil vessel as it swam out of the inky void.

“Rwaaaarrr,” said Burry, from the other side of the large, circular holodisplay.

“Yeah,” said Bell. “You’re right. It seems as chaotic as everything else the Nihil do. But there has to be a way of making sense of it. Of unlocking the pattern buried in all this.”

He waved his hand at the holo in frustration. Close by, Ember snorted in empathy.

They’d returned to the base on Hintis IV following their short excursion to Phrill. He was itching to be back out there patrolling the border, taking on the Nihil, but they’d been invited to a briefing to hear what the RDC technicians investigating the Nihil raids had managed to uncover, and Burry was keen they use that time and information to formulate a plan.

Which all made perfect sense. Burry was right. They needed a plan. But it still felt to Bell like sitting idle while the Nihil were out there, laughing at them.

And besides, being on Hintis IV seemed to set his teeth on edge.

The planet was the fourth from the bloated red carcass of the dying Hintis star, and the only one among them still inhabitable. It had once been the home to a vast civilization that, so Bell had been told, had thrived there for many thousands of years. As their star began to bloat and die over the course of the previous two centuries, however, the cities had dwindled as the Hintians had fled, resulting in an eventual full-scale evacuation, aided by the Republic, around fifty years earlier.

A Republic scientific outpost had been established among the ruins of one of the former cities, Belax, to gather data on the dying sun; an early warning system designed to ensure the fallout from the expanding giant would be minimal.

It was here that the RDC had established a temporary base after the Stormwall had gone up. Strategically close enough to the edge of the Occlusion Zone to be able to scramble fighters, but not so close that the Nihil raiders could pose any real risk.

Additionally, the radiation caused by the red sun would be enough to throw any unshielded sensors into disarray. It was the perfect cover.

It was also the place where Amaryl Pel was overseeing the repairs to the Tractate, following its near destruction at the hands of the Nihil’s drill ships. She’d assured him they’d be completed soon, and that requisitioning a replacement ship would take even longer.

For his part, Bell was still trying to get used to living in the red sun’s shadow. The strange light made him feel as if they were existing in a constant state of alertness. The color had a tense, almost febrile quality to it. It left him feeling jittery and unsettled.

Or perhaps that was simply his impatience.

“All right, Harlak,” said Bell, addressing the RDC technician who’d been assisting them, “you can turn it off now.”

“Aye,” acknowledged the Gran. He flicked a switch and the hologram stuttered out of existence, leaving Bell and Burry staring at each other across the projection table. Ember, who’d been curled by Bell’s feet since they’d arrived in the briefing room, had now started to pace, as if picking up on Bell’s tension.

Burry could see it, too. He kept telling Bell to get some rest, to take some time to center himself and meditate. He did it again now, but Bell waved the suggestion away wearily.

“I know you’re right, Burry. We both need some time out. But how can we rest when the Nihil are still out there, acting with impunity?”

“Arrroorrroo waa,” said Burry, his tone melancholic. He felt it perhaps even more keenly than Bell. They had to keep going. They had to stop the Cacophony, and others like Melis Shryke, from hurting any more people. More than that, they had to find a way to do what Elzar and the others had asked of them—to take a ship, capture a Path drive, and give the Jedi a way into the Occlusion Zone.

Master Mirro and his Padawan Amadeo had recently returned to the base from another such failed mission. Bell hadn’t spoken to either of them directly—they’d gone straight back out on patrol after refueling and collecting fresh resources, evidently smarting from their loss—but he understood it had been close, that the captured Nihil had scuttled their own Path drive rather than allow it to fall into Jedi hands.

All it took was one success.

Bell rolled the tired muscles of his neck and shoulders. Then, with a sigh, he walked to the set of sliding doors that led out onto the landing decks outside the main building. Burry and Ember fell into step behind him.

Out here the red sun dominated the horizon, its surface cratered and fizzing, its warmth now paltry against Bell’s upturned face. He looked down on the ruins of the city below, the fallen towers, the crumbling walls, the creeping vines, and the roots that had already begun to reclaim the land that was once theirs.

One day, not too long in the future, all of this would be dust and ash. It reminded him of the ruined settlement on Phrill. And all the others they’d seen in recent months.

“Is this all that’s left in the end, Burry?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Burryaga gave nothing but a low keening sound in reply. They stood in silence for a moment, Ember pacing around their legs.

Bell rubbed the back of his neck, then shook his head. “No. The legacy of this world isn’t the ruins, but the beings who have left to start new lives on other planets. To create new homes, alongside other, different peoples, carrying all that knowledge, experience, and love along with them. That’s what makes this different from what the Nihil are doing, razing settlements to the ground.” He gestured out at the ruinous view. “These are just stones and roads and things. It’s the people that matter.”

“Arrwooo rarrgh,” said Burry, in agreement.

“That’s how we’re going to defeat the Nihil, Burry. By saving people, one at a time if we have to. Just like we did on Phrill. Every life we protect is another blow well struck. By ensuring their legacy lives on, even if the Nihil take everything from them, we show the Nihil that they can never truly win.”

“It’s a nice sentiment,” said a voice from behind them. Bell turned to see Amaryl Pel standing on the landing dock nearby. He hadn’t even sensed her arrival. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts. “And you might want to hold that thought,” she added.

“What is it?” asked Bell.

Pel smiled. “The Tractate,” she said, “it’s ready for service.”

“Already?” said Bell.

Pel shrugged. “Well, the portside air lock isn’t tested, the cannons haven’t been recalibrated, and the air scrubbers need new filters, but there’s no drill ship sticking out of the side of it, if that’s what you mean…”

Bell felt a surge of adrenaline.

Finally, we can get back out there. We can do something.

He glanced at Burry. “You coming?” he said.

Burry looked pained. “Wraarr waaar wooo,” he said, which roughly translated, as far as Bell could tell, to: “The ship might be ready, but are you?”

Bell forced a grin. “Of course I’m ready. Harlak and the others will keep analyzing the data from the raids. We’re needed out there, Burry. You know that.”

Burry nodded and fell into step beside Bell as he followed the Tractate’s captain back into the base, but the Wookiee didn’t look convinced.

Not for a moment.

CORUSCANT

It was a cool night on Coruscant, and the breeze on the landing platform stirred Elzar’s robes, sending a chill shiver down his spine. He scratched at his beard. He felt out of sorts. Nothing about this situation was good. He was plagued by misgivings. To allow Ghirra Starros back on Coruscant? It seemed like a ludicrous thing to do. But then, Lina Soh knew what she was doing.

He glanced across at her, standing beside him, not even a single strand of hair lifted out of place by the breeze. How did she always manage to look so immaculate and serene? He knew that behind her carefully fashioned façade, she was frantic and anxious and brimming with the same uncertainty he now felt. Somehow, she knew how to disguise that inner turmoil, though, to present her political façade to the galaxy. It was a skill that stood her well.

Behind the chancellor stood a brace of guards and attendants, all dressed in the assorted fineries of a welcoming committee. And to Elzar’s left stood two members of the Jedi High Council, Soleil Agra and Ry Ki-Sakka. Their expressions were giving nothing away, either.

It was an impressive turnout indeed, for the enemy. But then Ghirra Starros always had been a good politician, too, just like Lina Soh.

This meeting was the fruit of the communications that the chancellor had alluded to during her speech on the eve of the anniversary of Starlight’s fall. The eve of Pra-Tre Veter’s execution.

Yet despite what Marchion Ro had done, the chancellor and the Jedi Council had both agreed to Ghirra’s proposal for a diplomatic meeting. Ghirra claimed she wanted to suggest a path to peace between the Nihil and the Republic, and while Elzar knew they had to hear any such proposals out, to talk of peace only days after her leader had carried out such a brutal public murder seemed…well, it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Added to that, the proposal had come with a clear warning: If anything were to happen to disrupt the talks—such as Ghirra and her allies being taken into custody—the Jedi and the Republic would pay.

So much for peace.

Thankfully Elzar was only there as an observer. The chancellor and the Council members would do the talking. And Ghirra, no doubt.

He glanced across at Lina Soh again. “Cold night.”

Soh fixed him with her cool regard. “Something on your mind, Master Jedi?”

Elzar couldn’t suppress a quiet chuckle. She didn’t miss a thing. “Are you certain you’re not a Jedi?”

“Elzar…”

“It’s a bold move, I’ll give them that. Especially after what they did to Master Veter.”

“After everything they’ve done,” said Soh. “But all the same, it’s our duty to hear them out. Especially if it could lead to a cessation of hostilities. And perhaps even an opportunity to reach out to some of our people in the Occlusion Zone.”

Elzar understood her thinking all too well. She would do anything to know that Kip was safe. And he couldn’t blame her.

The high-pitched burr of a shuttle engine cut through the background hum of the city. Elzar lifted his gaze. The ship, still too distant to be seen clearly, had started its descent. “Here comes our unwelcome visitor.”

“Ghirra Starros is still a senator, Elzar,” said Soh.

“Even though she threw her lot in with a bunch of thieves and murderers?” said Elzar.

“Opinion in the Senate is divided. Some seek to expel her. Others believe her to be a captive of the Nihil, strong-armed to do their bidding.”

“And what do you think?” asked Elzar.

“I think we’ll find out soon enough,” replied Soh.

“What do you hope to gain from this meeting? Surely you can’t believe that the Nihil come to offer the hand of diplomacy.”

“At the very least, I hope to gain some information, some insight,” said Soh. “I want to know what’s really going on behind that wall.”

The thrumming of the shuttle engine was growing louder now.

“How can you believe anything she has to say? Or that this isn’t some sort of assassination attempt?” said Elzar.

“To answer your first question: In politics, even the things our opponents decline to say tell us something. As to your second question: Why do you think you’re here?”

“My charm and good looks?”

The chancellor stifled a laugh. “You’re more like him than you know.”

“I try,” said Elzar. “Every day.” He tracked the descending shuttle as it approached the landing pad. It was unlike the typical Nihil ships that Elzar had seen before. Instead of being a ramshackle amalgamation of scavenged parts, it was sleek and new, glimmering in the reflected light of the city, and bore no significant markings to indicate it was part of any particular Nihil fleet or Tempest.

Elzar glanced over at the other Jedi, who’d been standing in reflective silence while he’d been talking to the chancellor. Ry shot him a quick, tight smile of reassurance. It was a welcome gesture, and Elzar tried to steady his breathing, to relax. He wasn’t looking forward to this. The first Nihil he’d met since the fall of Starlight Beacon. And a Republic traitor, too.

If he was honest with himself, though, it wasn’t what she represented that had him so on edge, or even the threat that she might pose, but what she might know. For almost a year now, he’d heard nothing of Avar. All he knew was that she was somewhere in there, inside the Occlusion Zone. He had to believe she was still alive. He needed her to be alive.

But Ghirra Starros might know the truth. Maybe she was here to deliver that news in the most direct, painful way possible. And that scared him more than any Nihil ever could.

His thoughts were drowned out in the backwash of the settling shuttle as it finally eased to rest on the landing pad. From behind him, RDC guards fanned out, forming a protective semicircle around the chancellor.

He felt her tense beside him.

A minute passed. Then another. There was no sign of movement inside the shuttle. No hiss of a pneumatic door release. No comm signal.

Nothing.

“Elzar?” Soh’s voice sounded strained.

Elzar reached out through the Force, feeling the play of it like cool, shallow water on his skin. He extended that reach, pushing further, but, to his surprise, sensed no hidden depths, no malign intent. The waters here were calm, peaceful.

“I sense no danger,” said Elzar. “And I think she was telling the truth.”

Soh turned sharply to glance at him. “About what?”

“About coming in peace. I don’t believe she means us harm.”

The chancellor nodded but said nothing. She turned back to stare at the ship, as if willing the boarding ramp to open.

Another minute passed, and then it did. Elzar’s breath caught in his throat as the ramp hissed and clanked, its mechanical locks decoupling. Ponderously, it yawned open.

Elzar’s hand brushed the hilt of his lightsaber.

The RDC soldiers checked their blasters.

Lina Soh smoothed the front of her robes.

Masters Ki-Sakka and Agra remained cool and composed.

The boarding ramp thudded to rest on the landing pad.

Despite himself, Elzar half expected hissing green gas and an eruption of blaring wreckpunk. But his instincts had been right.

The danger here was far less direct, and much more insidious, for it came dressed in the guise of diplomacy.

Ghirra Starros stood at the top of the loading ramp, flanked by a team of attendants. She was dressed in a simple black chiffon blouse and pants, with little or no adornment save a golden band around her throat. No mask, no painted sigils, no obvious weapons. She looked every bit the senator of old, as if, in returning to Coruscant, she’d somehow shed her Nihil skin, rolling back the chrono to the time before the Nihil had ever revealed themselves to the galaxy. How Elzar wished that could be true. Her only concession to her new position was a golden pendant, draped around her neck, in the shape of the infamous eye.

The chancellor held out a hand to usher her guards back as Ghirra slowly took her first steps down the boarding ramp toward them. She spread her hands, palms outward, in a gesture of surrender. Behind Ghirra, her six attendants—also dressed in simple, plain robes and carrying no obvious weapons—carried wooden litters bearing open crates filled with art, wine bottles, assorted foodstuffs, fabrics, and other offerings. The pageantry was certainly impressive, akin to what might be expected from any great diplomatic delegation.

“Supreme Chancellor. Master Jedi,” said Ghirra, taking in the gathered throng. “I come to you peacefully, to talk openly and honestly of diplomacy.” She fixed the chancellor with a broad smile. “And I bring with me gifts and culture from all corners of Nihil territory. We wish to share with you the abundance of our people.”

The chancellor was wearing a fixed smile. “And you are welcome, Ghirra Starros. We will hear what you have to say, with clear and open minds. We thank you for your gifts.”

Ghirra bowed her head fractionally in acknowledgment. She turned to Soleil Agra. “Marchion Ro sends his regards to the Jedi Council.” To her credit, there was not a hint of irony or amusement in her voice.

Master Agra allowed the comment to hang for a moment. “The Jedi Council are always open to seeking a diplomatic and peaceful solution to our differences with others,” she said, her tone measured. “But understand this, Ghirra Starros—we do not, and cannot, recognize the authority of any regime that would willfully murder people in cold blood. If there is to be peace, then there must be an end to suffering and bloodshed.”

Ghirra gave a single, sad nod of her head. “I understand. And that is why I’m here. To seek a mutually agreeable end to this terrible conflict between our governments.” She continued to walk down the ramp as she spoke, and the RDC guards formed a ring around her and her attendants.

Soh gestured to them. “Please, allow us to show you to your quarters.”

The chancellor walked alongside her guards, leading Ghirra slowly in the direction of a turbolift across the platform. Ghirra had been assigned one of the secure suites of the Senate building, guarded day and night, with no access to comms of any sort. Her attendants would be billeted in the neighboring suite. Ghirra might have been received as a diplomat, but none of them—the Jedi or the chancellor—were taking any chances.

Elzar fell in beside Masters Agra and Ki-Sakka as they followed the fallen senator and her entourage inside.

“Well, Elzar?” said Ry. “What do you make of all this?”

Elzar met his gaze. “I remain skeptical. I’m waiting for the real reason for her visit to become clear. I cannot believe that Marchion Ro truly seeks a peaceful end to all of this. Not after everything he’s done.”

Soleil Agra nodded. “Indeed. Then we must attempt to decipher the hidden truths in Starros’s words. To understand the artist behind the picture they paint.”

“Not an easy task,” said Elzar.

“Quite,” said Ry. “Which is why we would value your opinion, Elzar. We wish for you to accompany us for what comes next.”

Surprised, Elzar nodded in agreement. “Of course,” he said. “Whatever I can do.”

He followed the two Jedi Masters into the turbolift, but as it rose quietly to the upper floors, he found he couldn’t shake the deep feeling of disquiet that had settled in his chest like a weight.

DAEDUS, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

With EX-1 safely dispatched in his thruster pod, away into the upper atmosphere of Daedus and beyond, Porter had turned his attention to repairing the Torment, ready to make his own hasty retreat from the near-abandoned moon. Currently, the ship’s engine housing lay in pieces around him as he hammered scavenged panels into shape to help shield the delicate drive components from drifting interstellar particles. And scav droids.

He wasn’t looking forward to facing them again. But then, he supposed it was preferable to facing the Nihil themselves.

Porter knew they were looking for him now. He could sense it. He’d spent too long here, rebuilding the droid. The sense of impending danger, the scratchy sensation at the back of his mind, told him they were close. He’d learned to trust those instincts over the decades, without question. They were one of the reasons he was still alive after all this time.

He should have repaired the ship first, gotten clear before finishing the droid. But then—he’d known the risks, and the prize for success was far greater than his own survival. The droid had been his priority.

Porter had spent so long seeking out the locations of his youth, hunting for the components he needed to finish the droid, that he’d allowed that quest to dominate his existence. Now that it was complete, he wasn’t entirely sure what was next.

He needed time. A safe place to commune with the Force, to seek the right path. Wherever it led, he knew he was destined to continue the fight against the Nihil. To stand up against those who would see him and his kind—and so many others—quashed under the heel of oppression. But how, and where, he was not yet certain.

Close by, his sliced comm unit continued to scan all possible frequencies, deciphering and decoding the messages that crowded the EM bands. A Nihil security report about tithes being successfully gathered on the asteroid city of Pontus. Someone asking their husband to prepare their meal as they’d be home soon. A transport ship issuing landing codes. And then a familiar voice, talking hurriedly, drenched in static.

“…he’s looking for a way out, and he’s prepared to help. If there are any Jedi hearing this, he has a plan…”

Porter lowered his turbohammer. Where had he heard that voice before?

“…he wants to defect. To disappear…”

It was Rhil Dairo. Formerly of Coruscant high society, and more recently a Nihil propagandist. She’d been the one speaking during the broadcast of Pra-Tre Veter’s execution. He’d heard the distaste in her voice then, but this was different. Now he could hear desperation.

Setting the turbohammer on the ground, Porter crossed to the comm unit. The message had finished, and he’d only caught enough of it to pique his interest. It was no official Nihil broadcast, that much was certain.

He crouched, taking up the comm unit. He tapped at the buttons with his index finger, pausing the scanning, fixing it on the one channel. It was one of the Nihil’s main frequencies, but modulated. He toyed with the settings.

“…the many benefits readily available to those who choose to volunteer tithes to the Nihil, including protection from Republic tyranny, full access to the free-trade market in foodstuffs…”

Same voice, but full of the usual impassioned lies. He modulated the frequency again. Static crackled and hissed.

“My name is Rhil Dairo and I am a prisoner of the Nihil. Marchion Ro and his followers are holding me against my will on Hetzal and forcing me to broadcast their lies and propaganda.”

Porter lowered himself to the ground, sitting with the comm unit on his lap while he listened to Rhil’s broadcast—the real broadcast.

Slowly, a plan began to form. Perhaps he didn’t need time, after all. Perhaps the Force was showing him the way.

When the broadcast had finished, he clicked the comm unit off, stowing it inside the ship. Then, taking up his turbohammer again, he began to attack the engine housing repairs with renewed vigor.

He needed to stay one step ahead of his Nihil pursuers.

Rhil had provided coordinates on Hetzal and a time for a rendezvous.

He had an appointment to keep on Hetzal.

CORUSCANT

“Are you comfortable?”

Ghirra Starros peered at them from her seat on the other side of the large suite. They were arranged around a circular conference table, with Ghirra sitting opposite Chancellor Soh, and the Jedi strategically placed between them. Elzar had the chancellor on his left and Master Agra on his right, while Ry sat across from him. They’d given Ghirra an hour to settle and enjoy a meal before gathering to talk. Or in Elzar’s case, to listen.

Ghirra smiled, but there was venom in it. “A prison is still a prison, Chancellor Soh, no matter how well it’s decorated.” She glanced at the RDC guards stationed by the doors and windows.

“And I imagine you’ve decorated the Occlusion Zone, your so-called Nihil space, to a similar standard,” replied Soh.

Ghirra smiled blithely. “Touché.” She spread her hands on the table before her. “But let’s not get off on the wrong foot. We’re here to discuss peace, are we not?”

“We are,” said Soh, her expression unreadable.

Elzar watched them both closely. On a battlefield, he would know what to do. Here, though, in a well-appointed suite in the upper echelons of Coruscant, he felt more out of his depth than ever before. This wasn’t his strength, this politicking. He’d always left it to others who were better suited to the cut and thrust of verbal sparring, who were well attuned to the undercurrents of such conversations, the hidden meanings in a certain phrase or look.

So often, the topic being discussed on the surface was not the topic being discussed in reality, and Elzar was not a master of subtext. Most of the Jedi he knew weren’t. They were trained from a young age to speak their minds, to be conduits for honesty and integrity. Subterfuge and subtlety came hard to them.

It was why people like Stellan were rare; he’d always been able to walk that fine line between diplomacy and truth. Elzar…not so much. He supposed he had no choice, though. He had to at least try. He’d promised them all that much—the chancellor, the Council, and himself. He’d promised to try to fill the gap that had been left behind, no matter how uncomfortable it made him.

And yet…the sight of Ghirra Starros sitting there, dressed in the finery of a senator—it almost turned his stomach.

He wanted to despise her. To rage at her. To scream in her face. To make her understand the terrible suffering that she’d helped to bring about, the costs of her misplaced faith in Marchion Ro.

He wanted to give in to his hate.

But he didn’t.

He remembered the cool words of Orla Jareni, the hope she had helped to flower in his breast.

And he breathed.

When he exhaled, it was as if he were blowing the dark clouds away. Finding peace. Coming up from the depths to seek air.

“You’ve come a long way, Ghirra,” said the chancellor.

Exactly the sort of thing that Elzar had been worried about. A statement loaded with so much baggage it almost creaked.

Ghirra bristled. “You don’t agree with my choices because you don’t understand them.”

Soh scoffed. “You’re implying we would all get along just fine if we only tried to understand the Nihil a little more? That they would stop annexing planets and executing people if we could just be a little more empathetic?”

“I merely meant to say that we have all had to make difficult decisions, Chancellor,” said Ghirra. “Some of them more palatable than others. We’re not all in a position of such privilege.”

The two women stared at each other in silence.

Elzar felt a bead of perspiration trickle down the back of his neck.

“Why are you here, Senator Starros?” said Soleil Agra. Her large black eyes gleamed as she studied the Nihil ambassador.

Ghirra looked at Agra as if she’d thrown her a lifeline. “I’m here to discuss what happens next, Master Jedi.”

“And what does happen next?” asked Soh. “At least, in your version of the future.”

“My people—” started Ghirra.

“Your people?” said Soh.

Ghirra very obviously bit her tongue. “Please, allow me to start again.” She folded her hands on her lap. “The inhabitants of Nihil space,” she said, adopting a diplomatic tone, “deserve official recognition in the Senate. They deserve a voice on the galactic stage. As their appointed leaders, the Nihil should be that voice.”

“Appointed leaders?” said Soh.

Perhaps they were done with subtext after all, considered Elzar.

Ghirra smiled. “You see only what you want to see,” she said. “You imagine chaos. Rampaging warbands. The heel of oppression. Taxes and tithes. Worlds on which people are starving. Rebellions being put down left, right, and center. A million deaths, and Nihil hands steeped in the blood of the innocent.” She glanced from Soh to the Jedi and back. “I’m not wrong, am I? That’s what you imagine life is like behind the Stormwall.”

“How could we imagine anything else?” said Ry. “You haven’t allowed anyone in or out to see it for themselves. The people you claim to represent have not had a chance to tell their own tale. And all the while, your so-called Eye continues to wreak havoc. Raids on innocent settlements along the Stormwall’s edge. Freedom of movement curtailed for those who wish to leave the zone. And the public execution of a Jedi.”

“With respect, Master Jedi, you’re wrong,” said Ghirra. “The people of Nihil space are flourishing. Under Nihil rule, they prosper. Food is abundant. There is growth in trade and collaboration among worlds and cultures. We uphold the key pillars of democracy and egalitarianism. We strive for a more equal, respectful society, where all voices are heard. The three Nihil ministries that I have established—for advancement, protection, and state—have ensured a fair and effective means of governance. There are no uprisings, no rebellions. People have found peace.” She stressed the last word, as if it were the only thing that mattered to her.

“Yes, we police our borders,” she continued, “as all nations must. But we do it to protect those under our care.” She lowered her eyes. “The incident with Master Veter was regrettable. But if our two societies can find a way to better communicate, to agree on a meaningful path forward, then such things can be avoided in the future. I speak with the full authority of the Eye in this. We can find a way to peace.”

Soh leaned forward in her seat. “So you’re here to ask for a seat in the Senate. That’s what you want? That’s what Marchion Ro wants? After all of this, after Valo and Starlight and the rest? He’s going to be satisfied with politicking and a seat at the table?”

Elzar watched Ghirra closely. She’d been expecting this. Of course she had. She straightened her back, refusing to be cowed by Soh’s words. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. Marchion Ro isn’t a governor or a statesman. He’s a warrior. A freedom fighter. A liberator.” She held up her hand to ward off any interjections by the chancellor. “But he understands what is needed. I know what is needed. I understand the stakes, and what it takes to govern. The people of Nihil space are thriving, Chancellor, but they need a firm hand. They need structure and support. The Nihil have given them that. Now it is time to make peace with the Republic and establish new trade opportunities and the right of free passage between us.”

“And you expect us to just welcome you with open arms? Recognize the Nihil as an official body and give you a voice in the Senate. Just like that?” said Soh.

Ghirra shrugged. “The galaxy has changed, Chancellor. Perhaps none of us saw it coming, but it happened all the same. The Nihil aren’t going anywhere, and they’re not relinquishing their territory. While there have been…decisions taken that I did not necessarily agree with, we all need to accept the inevitable: For the sake of the people, we need to find a path toward peace. That’s exactly what I’m proposing. Award us a seat on the Senate. Recognize Nihil space as a legitimate domain. What cause does that leave for anyone to keep fighting?”

“And you speak for Marchion Ro in this matter?” said Master Agra.

Ghirra jutted out her chin. “I do.”

Elzar glanced at Lina Soh. Her hands were squeezed tight into fists by her side. She looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

“We’re trying to help. By bringing me in, we can work together to establish the peace that the galaxy so desperately needs,” added Ghirra.

“And what if Marchion Ro changes his mind?” asked Elzar. He hated to admit it, but some of what Ghirra was saying made sense. Perhaps this was a way to neuter Marchion Ro. To gain access to the Occlusion Zone and the people who needed their help within.

To Kitrep, Avar, and the rest.

“He won’t.”

“And we are expected to just forgive his crimes and move on?” said Ry.

“I’m sorry,” said Ghirra. “Truly. And I understand that none of what has happened can be forgotten, let alone forgiven.” She took a deep breath, let it out. “But perhaps we have to find a way to move past it. To work together to reestablish peace. And more important, to maintain it.” She looked at Lina Soh. “What do you say?”

Soh pursed her lips. She stood, smoothing the front of her robes. Then she looked directly at Ghirra, her gaze unwavering. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

She stood, turned, and left the room.

Elzar glanced at Ghirra, noted the tiny glimmer of triumph in her eyes, and then without another word hurried out after the chancellor.

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

It had been a quiet journey from Prandril to Hetzal.

Not only because KC-78’s sliced protocols continued to successfully keep the scav droid swarms at bay, but because Avar had lapsed into a deep, contemplative silence and Belin was respectful enough, or perhaps just wary enough, not to interrupt her.

She’d tried meditating in the now empty hold at the rear of the ship, but she was too distracted, and the discordant song of the Force was little consolation. She felt unsettled, still needled by her failure over the grain shipment and her inability to anticipate the ongoing needs of the colonists she’d been trying to help.

And now she was heading back to Hetzal. The place where she’d been heralded as a hero. The place she had once helped to save from disaster. The place that she’d since failed to protect from the horror that had now befallen it.

Hetzal was now the Nihil’s home. Their base of operation. The rotten heart at the center of the Occlusion Zone. The place where their unwelcome hand was felt most keenly.

Avar had no doubt that Marchion Ro had selected it most carefully. Yes, it was also the garden of what had now become Nihil space, the place from where grain and other staple foodstuffs were exported to scores of neighboring systems. But it was also the place of greatest symbolic value to the Jedi. The emblem of their first triumph against the Nihil.

Now Ro had taken it back. Had reduced that early win to ashes. And in doing so, he had undone everything the Jedi had achieved here.

Avar was beginning to wonder whether she could ever recover from this. Whether, even if she got out, she might never be the same.

And yet…she was still here. She was still fighting.

She might no longer be the hero of Hetzal, but it had to count for something that she hadn’t given up. And perhaps now, if Rhil’s coded message was to be believed, she might have a chance at making a real difference. Not only that, but she had found friendship, comradeship, and faith in the most unexpected of places—in the form of the small Ugnaught pilot known as Belin.

That was something to cling to, wasn’t it?

Besides—she was a Jedi. Achievements were irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was helping people in need. It was time she held herself accountable to that again.

Avar had avoided returning to Hetzal for almost an entire year. She knew the people here were suffering greatly under the Nihil’s yoke, that they desperately needed emancipation, but she knew, too, that it was perhaps the most dangerous location for a Jedi in the entire galaxy. It was likely that this was where Ro’s notorious Jedi-hunters were stationed, along with their pet Nameless.

If she was flying into a trap, at least she was doing it with panache.

The ship banked, skimming the planet’s atmosphere, and then the engines cut out, and Avar felt the deck beneath her drop away. She grabbed for a rail, clinging tight to keep herself upright. She felt the vessel dip into a nosedive, slow and shallow at first, but quickly gaining momentum.

She hurried through to the cockpit, fighting gravity with every step. “Belin?”

Belin craned his neck around to look at her. He was grinning broadly. “Ah, there you are. Best take a seat. This is going to get a little uncomfortable.”

Wedged in the corner, bracing himself, KC-78 trilled in panic as the rickety old transport ship creaked and groaned under the stress of its sudden, dramatic descent. Avar slid into the copilot’s chair, hurriedly strapping herself in.

“What are you…?” Avar started, but she trailed off as the ship plummeted ever faster toward the planet’s surface. A haze of red light flared across the forward viewscreen as the outside temperature soared, friction causing the outer hull plates to glow a stark, vibrant red.

“Old trick I learned in my naval days,” shouted Belin over the roaring screech of the wind. “Cut the engines and spiral into a dead drop. Makes you harder to hit, and with no engines, they can’t trace you on most scanners.”

Avar wanted to tell him that she’d probably have preferred to risk it, but she knew if she opened her mouth, she was likely to scream, so she kept it shut.

Outside, the ground was rushing up to meet them. The landing zone that Rhil had indicated in her hidden message appeared to be in a narrow crevasse in the bedrock, that was surrounded by natural woodland on three sides. Beyond, fields spread like folded sheets, demarcated in neat parcels and billowing with sheafs of tall grain. They were several kilometers from the nearest city, but Avar could just make out an enormous structure—a ramshackle fortress, by the look of it—sitting among the grain fields. It bore the circular symbol of the Nihil eye upon its upper flank, and presumably Rhil had chosen the gully to help keep the ship out of view of the tower.

Which boded well for the veracity of the message.

KC-78 gave another shrill squeal of alarm. Belin thumbed the flight controls. Alarm klaxons blared. He silenced them with a casual flick of his finger.

The ship continued to spiral like a dropped stone.

The ground swam up to meet them.

Avar felt nauseous. Her ears popped. If she’d been flying the ship herself, if she’d been in control, she’d hardly have noticed the danger. But she’d never been a good passenger.

“Right then,” muttered Belin, the tip of his tongue jutting from the corner of his mouth. He flicked another switch. The engines ignited. The ship lurched.

Belin wrenched the control stick back just as the nose of the ship dived between the two sides of the gully. Avar heard hull plates pinging loose as gravity tried to wrench the entire ship apart.

She gripped the arms of her chair. Hard.

And then the pressure was easing.

The ship was leveling out.

Yet they were still coming in too fast. The sheer walls of the gully were flitting by, the engines screaming in protest…

Avar’s breath caught in her throat.

And then they were touching down at the bottom of the narrow valley, with a lightness that seemed entirely at odds with their startling descent.

The ship settled, issuing a pneumatic sigh.

Belin released the controls and leaned back in his seat, webbing his fingers behind his head. “Ah. Still got it.” He looked deeply satisfied with himself.

KC-78 emitted a flurry of angry beeps and squeals, which Avar was certain were the droid equivalent of cusswords.

She breathed. “Well, that was certainly an experience.”

Belin flashed her a toothy grin. “You’re not the only one who knows a few tricks.”

“So it seems.” Avar eased herself out of her seat, taking a moment to find her feet. “So, we’re here. On Hetzal.”

“Despite the odds,” said Belin. “But we can’t be certain we weren’t seen coming in. We gave it our best shot, and thanks to your droid we seem to have the right protocols…but we’ve no way of knowing that the Nihil aren’t scrambling an intercept team right now.”

Avar nodded. She knew the risks. “I’m going to take a look outside.” She walked through the ship, punched the access controls, and waited for the disembarkation ramp to slide into position.

Everything was peaceful, quiet. The scents of Hetzal swirled in her nostrils, heady and familiar.

Cautiously, she descended the ramp.

Down here, at the bottom of the narrow valley, a small river cascaded down over pillars of ancient ebon stone, slick and smooth, misting a thin veil of water into the surrounding air. Everywhere, plant life bloomed, fresh and green, with willowy trees that reached up for the thin shafts of light falling from above and a thick carpet of emerald moss underfoot.

Multi-hued birds danced and wheeled, chirruping brightly and fluttering their wings as they bickered over hanging fruit.

In ages past a winding stairway had been chiseled into the steep wall of the gully, the stone steps now enveloped by more of the clinging moss and tangled in hanging vines bearing purple star-shaped flowers.

It was utterly beautiful.

“What now?”

Avar glanced at Belin, who’d come down from the ship to stand beside her, admiring the view. “It’s almost time. The coordinates in Rhil’s message specified a meeting point just beyond the gully over there.” She indicated the steps with a wave of her hand. “Time to meet the welcoming committee.”

“And what if they’re not so welcoming after all?”

Avar patted her lightsaber hilt. “If I’m not back in two hours, leave without me and don’t look back. And promise me you’ll take good care of Kaysee.”

Belin shook his head. “I’m coming with you.”

“Not this time, Belin. You’ve risked enough. If this turns out to be a trap, then at least I’ll know that you and Kaysee got away safely. If it isn’t—and I hope it isn’t—there’ll be plenty of time later to make friends with Rhil and her dubious contact later.”

“I dunno, Jedi. Seems like an awfully big risk…”

“Exactly. The sort of risk I’ve been trained to handle,” said Avar. “I’m not backing down on this one, Belin. I need to know you’re safe.” She glanced up at the ridge at the top of the gully, hands on her hips. “And besides, you’re my only escape plan. I need you here with the ship in case we need to make a run for it.”

Belin huffed a heavy sigh. “All right. If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Then you’d better make a start.” He gestured to the stairway. “That’s a hell of a climb.”

Avar laughed. And started for the bottom step.

CORUSCANT

“I thought you might have sought me out before now,” said Lina Soh as, later that evening, she and Elzar took a private stroll around the chancellor’s formal gardens, high up on the rooftops of the Senate complex. “Especially after the way things ended with our guest, earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” said Elzar. “I had a pressing matter to attend to with Masters Agra and Ki-Sakka.”

In truth, the debrief with the other Jedi had been swift and pointed. None of them believed Ghirra’s stories of prosperity and peace, and all suspected there was more to her proposal than could so far be ascertained. Neither did they believe for a moment the claims that Marchion Ro was content to change his ways and settle for a nonviolent end to his campaign. Everything they knew about Ro suggested he would be unwilling to set aside his apparent deep-seated hatred of the Jedi, particularly when he held in his hands a weapon that could defeat them. The Nihil had the upper hand.

Afterward, Elzar had retreated to his chambers to meditate, but he’d found no answers there, either. And so he’d come to find the chancellor, to see what conclusions she had been able to draw.

“Of course,” said Soh, although there was an edge to her voice, as if she were questioning what could be more pressing than Ghirra Starros and the decision she was facing about the future of the Nihil and the Senate.

He thought to remind her that he was a Jedi, not a politician, but decided against it. The words would seem harsher than they were intended. There was no need to trouble someone who was already facing one of the most difficult decisions of her life.

The thought made him smile. Perhaps he was becoming more of a politician than he thought.

You’d be proud of me, Stellan.

He hoped that was true.

Elzar looked up, seeking answers among the stars. They formed a canopy above the winding trail of Panshan blossom trees and carefully manicured lawns that made up the sweet-smelling garden. This high above the city, the incessant traffic was almost out of earshot.

“There’s some sense in what she’s proposing,” he said, cutting straight to the point. “About undermining Ro by awarding him legitimacy. If you were to bring them into the fold, they’d have to at least pretend to play by the rules. And we’d be able to keep a better eye on them and what they’re doing in the Occlusion Zone.”

“The Senate would be divided,” said Soh. “As would the galaxy.”

“And the Jedi,” said Elzar. “Although I fear the division would not be equal. I don’t anticipate much support for the notion among members of the Council, not after talking with Masters Agra and Ki-Sakka, who both question the validity of Ghirra’s claims. Although they often surprise me, and I do not speak for them. You’ll have to ask them yourself if you seek their guidance.”

“Spoken like a true politician, Elzar.” Soh stopped beneath the boughs of a tall tree. Petals drifted around her in the breeze. It was rare to see her looking so vulnerable, without her usual targons, her guards, or the cold steel of the persona she usually wore, even around Elzar. Here, now, she just looked like a woman who faced a difficult choice and didn’t know what to do.

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. For any of us. But I value your friendship. And I would hear what you really think.”

Elzar met her gaze. “I…” He hesitated, stumbling on his words.

“I’m not asking you to make the decision for me, Elzar. Or to tell me what you think is the right answer. I just want to know how you feel. What you would do in my situation.”

Elzar rubbed at his beard. “She can’t be trusted.” He moistened his lips. “There are wheels within wheels, and we are yet to understand them all. Perhaps Ghirra is looking for legitimacy for herself, not for Marchion Ro. Whether he has sanctioned her visit or not, I do not believe that Ro will be satisfied with a diplomatic solution to all this. He’s a terrorist who thrives on chaos, who hates the Jedi and the Republic with everything he’s worth. Why would he stop now?”

Soh nodded. “I agree. This could be a power play. Perhaps Ghirra senses an opportunity to elevate her own standing within the Nihil, and to distance herself from their crimes.”

“And to use us as leverage,” added Elzar.

“Nevertheless, it may still provide us with an opportunity. If we can stomach it.”

“And that is?”

“Peace, of a sort. A truce, perhaps. And information. We have no idea what’s going on behind the Stormwall, but I don’t for a moment think that it’s all sweetness and light, as Ghirra would have us believe.” She paused, picking blossoms off her shoulder. “There are people in there who need our help. Whole worlds and civilizations that are being held for ransom. Lost family and friends…”

Avar…

He looked away.

“Tempting, isn’t it?” said Soh.

“How do we know it’s not another of Ro’s ploys? An attempt to put someone inside the Senate for the same reason you’ve described. To get information. To understand our inner workings so they can be exploited.”

“We can’t,” said Soh. “And Ro is obviously smart. Ghirra might not even know that’s his game. He could be playing her.” She frowned. “It’s a mess. I wish there was another way.”

Elzar turned from her, settling his gaze on the view. “When did it get so hard? More than anything I want to show the galaxy that the Jedi, the Republic, are still who we claim to be. The ones who protect them against threats like the Nihil. This isn’t about revenge—”

“For you, perhaps,” said Soh, with a bitterness that surprised Elzar.

“We need to show the galaxy that we are stronger because we stand together,” he said. “That we will not be divided or beaten. That the Republic stands for something true. The galaxy needs to know that we still have their backs. That people such as the Torgruta still wish to ally with us, despite everything that Marchion Ro has done.” He was in full flow now, and it felt good to let it all spill out, all the frustration that he’d been holding back. “As tempting as it is to try to use this as a way to reach Kitrep and Avar and all those we care about on the other side, surely the onus remains on us to show the people of the galaxy that we’re better than the Nihil? We need to be clear that the atrocities they’ve committed are unacceptable. If we capitulate now, if we bring them into the fold, aren’t we somehow condoning their actions? Aren’t we sending out the message that violence is as justifiable a path to power as diplomacy and democracy?”

He caught himself, took a deep breath.

“That’s all I needed to hear, Elzar,” said Soh. She touched his arm, a wan smile on her lips. “That you felt the same way I do. That there’s still enough fight, enough hope left to see this through.”

“I don’t have any answers, Chancellor.”

“No one does. But you see more than you give yourself credit for, Elzar Mann. You need to stop asking yourself what Stellan would do and think instead about what you would do.”

Slowly, Elzar nodded. “I would reject Ghirra’s proposal. Even at the risk of reprisals. I would stand true to what I believe in and what the Republic represents. But this is not my decision. It can’t be my decision.”

“No,” said Soh. “It is my decision. And it is made. We will not capitulate. Not now, not ever. Not to terrorists and murderers.”

“Very well. What’ll happen to Ghirra? She’ll be taken to a secure facility for questioning?”

Soh shook her head. “No. She’ll be set free in the morning, just as soon as I’ve informed her of my decision.”

“She’ll what?” Elzar was astounded. “She’s a high-value prisoner. A Nihil.”

“And she’ll go straight back to Ro a failure. Perhaps she’ll realize she’s been played. Perhaps he will. But any cracks in their organization—any cracks at all—are worth exploiting. Remember your training, Master Jedi—a divided enemy is a weak enemy.”

Elzar nodded.

“And besides,” said Soh. “We’re not the Nihil. She came to Coruscant to broker a deal. As a guest. We’ll allow her to leave under the same terms. We have to be better than them, otherwise what’s the point?”

“Very well. I’ll inform the Council.”

She started to walk away, before stopping and turning back. “And Elzar?”

“Yes?”

“She’s a very lucky woman, to hold your affections so.” She continued on her way, leaving him standing beneath the Panshan tree as more petals caught on the breeze, swirling around him as he stood, speechless, his thoughts in utter turmoil.

He was about to leave when a raised voice cut through his reverie. He hurried after the chancellor, his hand straying to his lightsaber hilt.

If the Nihil have tried something, here on Coruscant…

He caught up with her a moment later, to find her listening intently to one of her attendants—a short, stocky human male who was evidently out of breath—attempting to deliver a message.

“…Keven Tarr…news…wants to…”

Keven Tarr. It had to be something to do with the Stormwall.

Soh glanced at Elzar, and then put a hand on the attendant’s upper arm. “Catch your breath first, please, Mica.”

The man nodded gratefully, gulping for air. After a moment he steadied himself. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Well?” said Soh.

“There’s been a breakthrough. Admiral Kronara has asked for you to be briefed immediately.”

“In my office?”

“No. The research lab. Keven Tarr is waiting to explain everything,” said Mica.

“Excellent. Take me there, now.” Soh looked to Elzar. She cocked an eyebrow. “You’re coming, of course?”

Elzar grinned, hope blooming for the first time in days. “Try and stop me.”

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Belin was right: It was a hell of a climb to the top of the steps, even for a Jedi.

Nevertheless, Avar could see now why Rhil had suggested they land the ship at the base of such a deep gully. Above the tree line, in the near distance, loomed the silhouette of the Nihil’s massive fortress. It was a bleak scar on the otherwise pastoral landscape, a crooked finger erupting from the soil to point accusingly at the stars. The shape of that strange, swirling eye of Marchion Ro stared out from the tower’s rusted, chaotic heart, like the eye of some baleful deity, ever wakeful, ever observant.

Avar shuddered. She wondered if he was there, standing in the center of that massive eye, staring out at the very same landscape upon which she now stood.

There was a certain poetry to that. The idea that, despite his moniker, despite his symbol, he couldn’t see the Jedi in his very midst. Or the traitor who wished to help her.

Avar stood for a moment, scanning the immediate area. She sensed no impending danger.

Just as she’d seen from the cockpit of the tumbling ship, the meeting point was flanked by trees on three sides, meaning she had a modicum of cover—but so would any approaching enemies.

To her left and right the gully mouth, the twisted lips of an old smile when seen from the air, was almost entirely swallowed by the arboreal growths.

She had to hand it to Rhil. It was the perfect spot for a secret rendezvous. Or a murder.

Climbing out of the vibrant gully had seemed to Avar like she was emerging from a sort of cocoon; a creature leaving the relative safety of their nest to venture out into the world, to be transformed by the process. She felt clearheaded for the first time in months. As if she could finally see a way forward. As if she’d somehow left all her discontent and worry back at the ship with Belin and KC-78, and all that was left was the focus she’d been lacking.

Perhaps she’d always needed to return to Hetzal. To confront her past head-on. Perhaps she’d been putting it off for too long.

She supposed time would tell.

Avar turned her back on the sight of the bleak tower and lowered herself to the ground, cross-legged. The long grass was dry and soft. She closed her eyes, placing her hands on her lap.

The Force ran through her. Still broken, still discordant, but there all the same.

After a short while, she stirred at the sound of a far-off engine.

She rose to her feet, dusting off her robes, and turned toward the approaching sound.

One speeder bike.

Two riders.

At least that boded well. They hadn’t brought a small army. Or one of those despicable things that they’d used to murder Pra-Tre Veter. That had been her worst fear. That she’d find herself cornered by a Nameless and unable to fight.

Nihil, she could handle.

She rested her hand on her lightsaber hilt and waited.

The newcomers took their time. They parked their speeder bike on the far side of the tree line and came the rest of the way on foot, marching hurriedly through the trees.

Avar was ready for them when they emerged from the shadows: an unfamiliar Halisite dressed in stained coveralls, and a woman whom Avar recognized immediately as Rhil Dairo.

She stepped out from where she’d been waiting in the shadows of a massive perela tree. “Hello, Rhil.”

Rhil’s head snapped around, her expression one of utter shock. “Avar? Avar Kriss?”

To Avar’s surprise, the other woman launched herself into a run, throwing open her arms as she closed in and wrapping Avar in an almighty hug. She clung on as if Avar was her only anchor to the entire world.

Unsure how to respond, Avar simply leaned into the hug, enjoying the brief moment of physical contact after being starved of it for so long. It felt good to feel the warmth of another being, despite the odd circumstances.

Rhil finally released her grip and stepped back, looking Avar up and down appraisingly. There were tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. “You came. You got my message, and you came.” The relief in her voice was heartbreaking.

Now that Avar was able to get a good look at her, she was shocked by Rhil’s physical appearance. She didn’t look as if she’d been physically abused, but she was clearly suffering from malnutrition, and Avar was aware of the mental trauma already inflicted upon her, in the form of the propaganda broadcasts she’d been forced to make.

Nevertheless, she had to remain cautious. At least until she understood more of what was going on.

“It’s good to see you, Rhil,” she said. “I wish the circumstances were better.”

Rhil gave a sobbing laugh. “Don’t I know it.” She wiped her eyes. “You look…different. Have you been here all this time?”

“Since the Stormwall went up,” said Avar. “Moving around, trying to do what I can to help. Trying to stay alive.”

Rhil nodded. “I hoped someone would hear. That there were still Jedi out there who wanted to help.”

“We never stopped wanting to help, Rhil,” said Avar. “But you, more than anyone, are aware of the risks.”

“I know,” said Rhil. “And I’m sorry.”

“Are you hurt?”

Rhil shook her head. “Only my pride. They see me as too much of an asset to risk harming me. They’ve been forcing me to make these appalling broadcasts…”

“I know,” said Avar.

“But I’ve been playing them at their own game. Trying to tell people the truth. Burying the real story in the deep code of the transmissions. They think they’re using the tools of the Republic against us, but in truth, I’m using the Nihil’s tools against them. The things they’ve been doing here, Avar…It’s awful. They’ve killed so many people. Civilians. Workers. It has to stop.”

Avar flicked a glance at the Halisite standing off to one side, looking uncomfortable. The bone crest on his head was flushed red and blue, and he kept glancing back over his shoulder, as if concerned that someone else might arrive at any minute.

Rhil followed her gaze. “This is Quith Meglar. He’s the one I mentioned in my message. He’s been helping me, and he thinks he can get us out. You can trust him.”

Meglar took a step forward, folding his arms across his chest. “Jedi,” he said, jutting out his chin. He spat the word with no small measure of disgust.

“And why exactly do you want to help us, Quith Meglar?” asked Avar. “In my experience, the Nihil never desert. They just die, usually badly.”

Meglar showed her his teeth. “Don’t get me wrong, Jedi. I don’t want to help you. Or her.” He gestured at Rhil. “I don’t care about your cause, and I never will. But I do care about my own hide, and I don’t want to catch one of those bad deaths for myself.” He sniffed. “Things aren’t looking so good. The party’s over now. Time to leave before everyone else comes to the same conclusion.”

“How very noble,” said Avar.

He was a typical arrogant Nihil. And yet—so far as Avar could make out—he seemed to be telling the truth. Beyond his general distaste for her mere presence, she could sense no malign intent, no simmering anger from him. Just fear. And judging by the way he continued to glance behind him in the direction of the Nihil fortress, it was an easy guess who he feared.

“So, the deal is this: I get you and Rhil out beyond the Stormwall,” he said.

“Tell me more,” said Avar. “How exactly do you plan to pull off this incredible feat?”

Meglar glanced at Rhil, then scratched the back of his head nervously. “There’s a raider called Melis Shryke. She works for one of Ro’s ministers, General Viess, and has a ship called the Cacophony.”

Avar nodded and gestured for him to continue.

“She runs regular raids outside Nihil space. You know the sort of thing. Plundering the border settlements for anything that gleams, making sure everyone out there in the rest of the galaxy is still scared of the Nihil. Her Path drive means she can come and go freely using the Nihil’s hyperspace routes.”

“How does this help me and Rhil?” said Avar.

“I’ve managed to get myself assigned to her crew. I can smuggle the two of you aboard her ship before the next raid. Then when we’re out the other side…”

“We make a run for it,” said Rhil.

“It’ll be up to you, Jedi, to get us off the ship to safety. And here’s the thing: You take me with you, no questions. After that I’ll go my own way. You get me clear of Shryke and I’ll be outta your pretty hair,” said Meglar.

Avar turned it over in her mind.

She couldn’t trust him, no matter what Rhil said. But she could trust his fear. He’d already gone too far—if the Nihil found out about the messages he’d helped Rhil to send, or the fact this meeting had even taken place, he’d be executed, and probably in some horrible, excruciating way.

That was motive enough to know that he was telling the truth. Whether he could see it through was another matter. But if he could get Avar on that ship, she could do the rest.

“All right,” she said. “We have a deal. When do we fly?”

Meglar nodded, obviously relieved. “Shryke is here, on Hetzal, preparing for another raid. She’s planning to leave tomorrow. Stay sitting pretty and keep your comm tuned to the right frequency. We’ll let you know when we’re coming back to pick you up.”

“And Rhil?”

Rhil looked confused. “What about me?”

“Surely you’re not going back there?”

Rhil shivered, hugging herself, but her expression was defiant. “I have to. Otherwise, they’ll know something’s up. If they came looking for me, there’s every chance they’ll find you here, too. I won’t risk that.”

Avar put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. It’s for the best. Besides, you’re here now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Avar hoped her face didn’t give away her sudden flush of doubt. “I hope so.”

“I have faith,” said Rhil. “I couldn’t have dared to even hope that you would be the one to answer my call, Avar. The Hero of Hetzal. Again.”

Avar winced.

“We’ll do this,” said Rhil. “I know it.”

Avar watched them retreat into the darkening wood, and then turned and began the slow climb back to the ship.

CORUSCANT

“You’ve found something,” said the chancellor.

They’d just arrived at the co-opted research station in the lower levels of the Senate Building. Keven Tarr had been waiting to greet them and had indicated for them to gather around one of the circular desks they used to project large-scale holos and schematics. He looked more than a little flustered. He ran a hand through his hair. Elzar noticed that he was picking nervously at the edges of his fingernails.

“Yes, Chancellor,” said, Tarr his tone cautious. He looked at Elzar as if seeking solidarity, and Elzar gave him a little wave of encouragement. “It may be nothing, but it’s the first weakness we’ve identified.”

“A weakness,” echoed Soh. “What is it? A way through the Stormwall?”

“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid,” replied Tarr with a shrug. “I don’t want you to see this for more than it is.”

“I understand,” said Soh, clearly trying to keep the impatience from her voice. “You’re not staking your professional career on this or anything.”

Tarr swallowed, then flicked a switch on the holo-terminal. Slowly, a map of the Stormwall resolved in the air before them—a web of tiny lights, each dot representing one of the stormseeds, the adapted buoys used by the Nihil to generate the disruption field across their borders.

“This thing is huge,” said Tarr, “as you know. Each one of these buoys is at least a light-year away from the others.” He twisted a knob and the image rotated. One of the buoys, a single dot among countless hundreds, was marked in flashing red instead of the usual steady blue.

“What is it?” said Elzar.

“Our potential weakness,” said Tarr. “It could be nothing. But, so far as we can tell, this buoy seems to be glitching.”

“And that’s it? A single glitching buoy?” said Soh.

“I’m afraid so, Chancellor,” replied Tarr.

Elzar pointed at the flashing red dot. “Do you think it could be exploited? We’ve talked before about trying to destroy the buoys, and you’ve always counseled against it. Why is this one significant? Is it easier to destroy?”

Tarr chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. “No. At least, I don’t think so. But it’s not about destroying it. You see, the glitch seems to be affecting the way the buoy communicates with its neighbors in the network. Sending out erroneous pulses.”

“Creating a hole?” said Elzar.

“No, like I said, it’s not that simple,” said Tarr, shaking his head. “It’s still generating the usual disruption field, so far as we can tell, but its field seems to be temperamental. It’s never down long enough for something to slip through, but it’s definitely not working properly. And yet none of the Stormwall’s self-repair systems have kicked in to try to replace it. They’re still recognizing it as a viable part of the network. It’s as if its communication with the surrounding buoys is off, returning a false positive.”

“And how does that help us, Keven?” said Soh. She sighed. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to explain it in simple terms if I’m to grasp what’s got Admiral Kronara so excited.”

“Well, we’ve talked before about trying to punch a hole through the Stormwall by destroying buoys…”

“And you’ve always argued it would be almost impossible to sustain any breach for long enough because of the self-repair systems,” said Elzar.

“Right,” said Tarr. “But here’s the thing. If we were to take out all the surrounding buoys at the same time…”

“The ones surrounding the glitching one, yes?” said Soh.

“Yes,” confirmed Tarr, “but leave the glitching one intact. There might be a chance—and I stress it’s only a theory—that the glitching buoy might continue to send that false positive and fool the self-repair systems long enough to send a sizable fleet through the breach.” He paused, looking at their surprised faces. “Of course, there’s every likelihood the Stormwall would repair itself behind you, locking you in.”

“But if we could get enough ships through before that point…” said Elzar. His mind was starting to tick over, now. Formulating a plan.

“It’s a huge risk,” countered Tarr. “I’ve already explained this to the admiral. There are no guarantees. I’d advise against it, in fact. At least until we understand more. We’re not sure what’s caused the glitch, or whether the theory is even correct. There’s no way to test it without throwing dozens of ships at it.”

Elzar glanced at the chancellor. She was leaning on the edge of the terminal, her lips pursed, staring at the red, winking dot as if it contained all the answers she was looking for.

“This is what we’ve been waiting for,” she said after a moment, decisive. “We’re going to take this opportunity. The RDC is already primed for an attack. Now we have a weakness to exploit. I’m going to give Admiral Kronara the order. Then I’m going to deal with Ghirra Starros.”

“I concur,” said Elzar. He felt a sudden flood of hope. “I’ll speak to the Council immediately.” They were certain to agree to this. It was the best chance they’d had yet. An entire fleet inside the Occlusion Zone. It could change everything.

Tarr remained cautious. He was looking at Elzar but addressing them all. “I’m not convinced this is the panacea you’re looking for. The chances of it working are so slight—”

Soh held up a hand. “We understand. I understand. But sometimes slim chances are the only chances we have. See if you can run a simulation, would you? Try to get a sense of how long we’d have to get our ships through if we could force a breach. Get me the answer within the hour.”

“Of course. But I don’t think you’ll like the answer,” said Tarr.

Elzar laughed. “We rarely do,” he said.

CORUSCANT

Ghirra was growing impatient. She understood the game that Lina Soh was playing, leaving her to stew overnight in captivity. It was the same ploy Ghirra herself would have used if the situation had been reversed.

Now, though, the morning was beginning to creep into the afternoon, and she’d had no further word, no visits, nothing. Oh, there’d been plenty of fresh food and drink, but her nerves had betrayed her, and she’d only managed to eat a small plate of fruit before she’d had to give in and refuse the rest.

What was bothering her more than anything was the fear that Marchion Ro would be proven right. That he’d know she had failed; that the Republic had done just as he’d predicted and rejected her overtures of peace. The idea grated on her like a persistent itch.

Yet there was still a chance. She’d given Lina Soh plenty to think about and had seen the look on the woman’s face as she’d walked out the previous day. She was tempted. She could see the sense in what Ghirra was proposing. All she needed was a little nudge and she’d be ready to strike a bargain.

Then Ghirra would be going back to the Eye with her head held high. The senatorship would be a shield against Ro’s worst intentions, but more than that, it would award Ghirra even more power. A stronger voice among both the Nihil and the wider galaxy. The opportunity to turn things even further toward her own advantage. The lifestyle she always wanted, free of interference by others, with people to command and others to cower at her feet.

She’d already decided she’d spend most of her time here on Coruscant. She’d find a tutor for Avon, school her properly in the diplomatic life. Assuming, of course, her wayward daughter might deign to speak to her. But that was a thought for another time.

Ghirra had to find a way to break free of Marchion Ro. To survive whatever came next. The Nihil were going to have to change, to become something else—whether he wanted it or not. And Ghirra had to be ready.

It was the best way she could think of to protect herself and her family.

She turned from the window where she’d been staring out into the buzzing traffic at the sound of the door sliding open.

Two guards entered—a human and a Gand—closely followed by Lina Soh herself.

She looked tired.

She glanced at Ghirra and indicated the sofas. “Won’t you sit?”

“I’d rather stand,” said Ghirra.

“As you wish.” The chancellor took a seat regardless.

“No Jedi today?” said Ghirra with a sly smile. She couldn’t help herself, needling away at the pompous woman.

“Not today,” replied Soh.

“You’ve considered my proposal?” ventured Ghirra. She was starting to get a bad feeling about the way Soh was looking at her. The hard set of her mouth. The defiant gleam in her eyes.

“I’ve considered it, yes. And while there is some merit in what you had to say, I find I’m unable to accept what you claim to be the Nihil’s motives here. The truth is, Ghirra, I don’t trust Marchion Ro. And I don’t trust you. I doubt I’ll ever be able to trust you again. How can I be expected to stand before the Senate and encourage them to recognize a new nation-state built on lies, murder, and wanton destruction? That continues to carry out devastating raids on outlying settlements, that, only days ago, murdered a Jedi Grand Master and broadcast it across the entire galaxy, with Marchion Ro sneering at the Republic as he watched?” She stood, her face creased with barely concealed rage.

“How can I pledge my assurance that the worst of this is over when I have no reason to believe that Marchion Ro will ever stop trying to kill, maim, or undermine everyone who embodies what the Republic means? When he still has a menagerie of creatures whose express, stated purpose is to kill Jedi?”

She walked over to stand before Ghirra. The guards tensed. “I understand the predicament you’ve found yourself in, Ghirra. You backed the wrong side, and now you’re having regrets. You want to turn the Nihil into something they’re not. You want to dress them up nicely with a bow and present their good face to the galaxy. But we remember. We all remember. I watched as people died on Valo. I watched as Nihil cut down civilians to get at the Jedi. As they bombed plazas and hotels and civilian structures.” She paused, her breathing quick and shallow. “And they laughed, Ghirra. They laughed.” She looked down, indicating her prosthetic leg. “I lost my leg, but I watched as others lost far more. Children. Siblings. Parents. Lives. Real lives. Not pawns, not political playthings, not numbers on an official report. You think I can forgive that? Really?” She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “We both have children, Ghirra. Do we really want them to live in a galaxy where they can’t go about their lives without the constant threat that, at any moment, terrorists might descend on them and kill them and their loved ones?”

Ghirra didn’t reply. Her heart was racing.

“Marchion Ro sent you here under the guise of brokering peace, but I do not believe that he really seeks a peaceful solution. I believe he’s taunting us and using you as the pawn to do it.”

Ghirra was trembling, and she didn’t know whether it was in anger, or fear, or simply because everything Lina Soh had just said to her was true. But she was determined not to show it. Not to her, not like this.

“You’re making a mistake, Chancellor. We were offering you the best opportunity you’ll ever have to end this conflict. You could have been a hero. You could have single-handedly brought about a new era of peace. Instead, you’ve fallen back on the old shortsighted ways of the Republic. That’s the reason we all ended up in this situation in the first place. Because the Nihil had something to fight against. This was your chance to prove them wrong. To embrace change and make a difference.”

“Ghirra, they’re unapologetic murderers. We’re not talking about a repressed minority here, seeking justice through rebellion. That I could understand.” Soh stared at her in disbelief. “We’re talking about terrorists.”

Ghirra turned back to the view, but all she could see was her own reflection, staring back at her. “So what happens now? You cart me off to a prison cell while you continue to wage your war against the Nihil?”

“No,” said Soh. Her voice was a dry croak. “No. You can go. Back to your people, just as we agreed. We’re not like the Nihil, Ghirra. You came here in peace, and you can go in peace.”

Ghirra peered at Soh’s reflection in the window glass. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. I wish things could be different, but it’s too late.”

Soh gestured to the guards. “Show her and her people back to their ship. Make sure she leaves Coruscant.” She turned to leave. “Goodbye, Ghirra. I hope we don’t meet again.”

“I can’t be held responsible for what happens next, Lina. We offered the hand of peace and you rejected it. Just remember—it was your choice.”

The chancellor didn’t even acknowledge her, but simply walked out the door, her robes of office swishing dramatically in her wake.

CORUSCANT

“Master Elzar, we understand you bring news.” Grand Master Ry Ki-Sakka leaned forward in his chair, beckoning Elzar closer.

Elzar did as he was bid. The Jedi Council Chamber was nearly empty, with just Ry and Masters Yoda, Lahru, and Murag in attendance. Elzar would have thought a smaller audience might have made him feel less on edge, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Not at all.

Beyond the seated circle of Jedi Masters, out above the city, the traffic lanes seemed quiet, too, and a light rain pattered against the sheet windows. It was inauspicious weather for such an important meeting, but Elzar hoped things were going to go more in his favor than they had the last time he’d stood on this very same spot.

“Yes, Grand Master,” said Elzar. “I’ve just come from a briefing by Keven Tarr, who, as you know, is heading up one of the RDC research teams trying to find a way through the Stormwall.”

“No formal reports have we had,” said Yoda in his strange, familiar cadence. “No news from the research team.”

“I know,” said Elzar. “I attended the chancellor’s briefing and came to find you immediately. The formal reports will no doubt follow, but I felt it couldn’t wait.”

Master Yoda raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“The team believe they’ve found a potential weakness in the Stormwall,” continued Elzar, his heart thrumming. “A repurposed hyperspace buoy that’s glitching. It seems to be generating a false positive, inadvertently tricking its neighboring buoys into thinking it’s still stable. Tarr believes we might be able to use it to our advantage if we took out the surrounding buoys in a coordinated attack. It could be enough to help maintain a temporary breach and allow a fleet to pass inside the Occlusion Zone.”

“Could is not will,” said Yoda, with a warning note in his voice.

“And yet this is precisely the sort of opportunity we’ve been searching for,” said Ry, leaning forward in his chair. “Would the fleet be able to return again, Elzar, through the same breach?”

“We don’t know,” said Elzar. “Tarr theorizes that the glitch would be discovered and the Stormwall would likely repair itself before the fleet had time to make a return journey. Unless they could find a way to destroy the mechanisms that control the Stormwall from within.”

“Nevertheless,” said Ry, looking thoughtful, “an entire fleet inside Nihil space. It could be enough to turn the tide against Marchion Ro.”

“And yet we have no sense of the scale of the Nihil armada they would face on the other side,” cautioned Keaton Murag. “Or how many of the Nameless they could use against any Jedi that find themselves trapped and unable to return.”

“Indeed,” said Yoda. “The Nameless still pose a terrible threat. They must remain our priority.”

“What of the chancellor?” asked Ry. “It speaks volumes that she has not returned to speak with us since our last meeting.”

Elzar nodded. “The chancellor is already briefing Admiral Kronara. The RDC are going to make their attack, with or without us. I do not believe she blames the Council for disagreeing with her plan. But I also believe she hopes the Council will reconsider lending their support now that the chance of success appears to have meaningfully shifted in our favor.”

Ry nodded his approval. “I also believe that we should be wary of what Marchion Ro will do next, following the failure of their so-called peace talks. We believe that Chancellor Soh made the right decision in denying their request to join the Senate. But it leaves us open to a reprisal.”

“Marchion Ro remains a great threat to us all. He still controls a menagerie of the Nameless creatures that he clearly intends to use to destroy the Jedi,” said Murag. “He lives for chaos and disruption over governance and stability. They may want us to believe that he offers peace, but I do not, for a minute, believe that to be true. All evidence points to the contrary.”

“Elzar?” said Ry.

“I agree. I think Ro will answer the Senate’s rejection in the only way he knows how: with violence. I believe he’ll lash out at the Republic or the Jedi. He will look for the next Starlight Beacon, or Valo, and he will strike without hesitation. And he has the tools at his disposal to do it.”

“Sense, this makes,” said Yoda. “See the logic in it, I do.”

“We’ve been expecting them to make another move against us for some time,” said Ry. “I believe this rejection could precipitate it. Perhaps this has been Ro’s plan all along, to weaponize diplomacy against us.”

“Every single one of my earlier arguments remains true,” said Elzar. “Perhaps even more so now. We need to show the galaxy that we will protect its citizens. Another disaster, another loss, and we will lose the faith of those who stand behind us. We must act.”

“And you believe this weakness that Tarr and his team have identified will be enough?”

Elzar met Ry’s gaze. “It has to be,” he said. “We have to make it enough.”

“Your tenacity does you credit, Elzar,” said Ry. “And yet we cannot ignore the threat of the Nameless. Our priorities haven’t changed.”

“You’re right. I know,” said Elzar. “I’m certain that the key to solving all of this lies in unlocking the secrets of the Nameless. But I also think we’re running scared, just as Master Yoda said the other day. The threat of the Nameless is not merely physical, but existential. They challenge our very existence, the fundamental tenets of our beliefs. They lead us to question who we are.”

Elzar looked from one seated master to another. “But who are we if not Jedi? Guardians. Peacekeepers. Protectors. Yes, there is a risk, but it is one I will gladly take if it brings us closer to stopping the Nihil, to liberating the worlds of the Occlusion Zone. While some of the best among us seek to understand the Nameless, to find the means for us to combat them, surely it’s only right for the rest of us to do all that we can to nullify that threat in other ways?”

He glanced away, unable to look at Ry as he anticipated the coming rebuke.

Instead, it was Master Yoda who spoke first. “Agree with Elzar, I do. The time has come. We cannot ignore this opportunity.”

Ry looked to Master Murag. “Murag?”

“I agree. There are grave risks, but we should not allow the Republic to bear the weight of this attack alone. We must act.”

“And you, Master Lahru?”

“I am inclined to agree,” said Lahru. “If this supposed weakness in the Stormwall can be exploited, then I say we grant Master Elzar the opportunity he’s been waiting for. We assist the Republic and take the battle to the Nihil.

“And yet,” he continued with a sigh, “in all our calculations, we must not forget that the liberty of several billion sentient beings is at stake. Any true opportunity to liberate them should be grasped with both hands. The elimination of the Nihil remains a secondary concern to that.”

“Agreed,” said Elzar, feeling a sudden flood of hope. He turned, meeting Ry’s steady gaze. “What say you, Grand Master?”

Ry nodded, thoughtful. “Lahru and the others are right. Now is the time for action. We need to show, not just the galaxy, but the Nihil themselves that we will not back away from this fight. That we will go on fighting for the liberty of Republic citizens and beyond; to stay the hand of oppression. And that we will fight for ourselves and our very existence in the face of the Nameless threat.” Ry glanced at each of the other Council members in turn. “So, by a unanimous vote, we hereby give you leave to raise a fleet of Jedi Vectors and join the RDC in their attempt to breach the Stormwall.”

Elzar stood for a moment, stunned and unsure what to say. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

“May the Force be with you, Elzar Mann.”

He bowed and then backed away, his mind reeling. This was it. At last, they’d listened to him.

Finally.

He strode to the door, feeling taller than he had in months.

I’m coming for you, Avar.

Just hold on a little longer.

I’m coming.

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Viess strolled through the passageways of the Nihil fortress wearing a grin like a tooka cat that had snared a fresh weedil. Behind her, one of her followers—a low-ranking spit of a Halisite named Quith Meglar—dragged a large cloth sack containing a heavy deadweight. It slid across the uneven metal plates, thunking occasionally against the walls.

Viess stopped at the doorway to the Eye’s throne room and beckoned to the two She’ar who were standing guard to let her pass.

To her immense satisfaction, they stood aside without question, silently waving her through.

Marchion Ro was sitting languidly in his throne, half watching two human Nihil batter each other to death on the floor several meters from him. One of them, a female, had a bloody eye that looked to have been blinded by a sharp fingernail, while the other, a bearded male, was clutching desperately at his throat, apparently in the last, rapturous throes of his existence.

Viess stopped to watch, crossing her arms and laughing as the man toppled over, his face turning a dark cerise, before growing still.

The woman growled in triumph, staggering to her feet. Ribbons of blood flowed down her bruised cheek. Viess noticed that her arm had been opened like a seam, pink flesh visible from her shoulder to her elbow. She’d need to see a surgeon, and a good one; otherwise infection would set in, and she’d be dead in a week.

Such was the life of a Nihil. Viess saw it as perhaps the purest form of existence: The strong survived. But typically only for a few days or weeks. It was the wily who made it out alive. The ones who managed to persuade, cajole, or downright trick others to do their dirty work for them. Most Nihil weren’t savvy enough to realize that, and so carried on mauling one another in the desperate hunt for glory, much to Viess’s amusement.

The female combatant took a staggering step toward the throne. She looked as though she might not last the hour, let alone the night. “Eye?” she croaked.

Ro, his expression hidden behind his ever-present mask, grunted at the bleeding woman in acknowledgment. “The ship’s yours. If you can still fly it.”

The woman muttered something suitably deferential and then turned and limped away, leaving the corpse of her erstwhile commander lying by Ro’s feet.

He waved at it. “Throw that in the trash compactor.”

Two more of the She’ar hurried from behind the throne to unceremoniously drag it away, leaving streaks of arterial blood upon the floor.

“Hardly sanitary,” said Viess.

Ro looked around, noticing her for the first time. He took a moment to speak, and when he did, it was a simple statement. “You’re back.”

“I am.”

“And I see you have a prize. Your little trip to Daedus was a success, I gather?” Ro leaned forward in his throne, and Viess imagined the hungry black eyes behind the mask, desperate for another plaything. A child in constant need of new toys. These days, such things seemed to be all that stirred the Eye from his fugue-like disinterest.

Today, though, he would be disappointed. But only a little.

“It was, but perhaps not in the way you imagine, my Eye,” she said, diplomatically.

“If you’ve killed the Jedi, General, I might not be able to forgive you. You were supposed to bring him back alive.” The words dripped with menace, and Viess knew all too well that Marchion Ro did not make idle threats. After all, she only learned from the best, and she’d taken his example to heart.

Besides, it wasn’t Porter Engle’s corpse in the bag.

She shook her head. “The Jedi was gone by the time we arrived. That idiot Nool had scared him off. Engle killed them all and fled.”

Ro muttered some Evereni curse beneath his breath. “Nool? Wasn’t he just there as bait in the first place? To try to draw the Jedi in?”

“Yes. Not that he knew it. He clearly had ideas above his station.”

Ro studied her, as if warning her not to make the same mistake. “It’s just as well the Jedi killed the fools. Otherwise, we’d only have to do it ourselves.”

Viess laughed. “He can’t have gone far. He’s traveling in a battered old shuttle. We found evidence of his makeshift repairs. The scav droids must be pulling the ship apart every time he leaves a planet’s atmosphere. We’ll catch up to him again soon.”

“You’d better. I’ve promised Boolan. He’s getting anxious, talking about using his own team to find test subjects. You wouldn’t want him to make you redundant,” said Ro.

“Boolan doesn’t worry me,” said Viess. “I know my worth. The question is, does he?”

Ro was silent for a moment. “What’s in the bag?”

Viess beckoned the Halisite forward. He gave a pitiful bow to Ro and dragged the sack before the throne.

“The interesting thing,” said Viess, “is that Engle didn’t take the bait. He wasn’t interested in Nool.”

“Then why go to Daedus?” said Ro. “There’s nothing there.”

“That’s what I thought. Until I found this.” She gestured for Meglar to open the sack. He did so, peeling back the coarse fabric to reveal the battered shell of an ancient droid inside. It was powered down and lifeless.

“A droid?” Ro practically spat the word. “What is this, Viess?”

“Not just any droid,” said Viess, ignoring Ro’s ignorant displeasure. “It’s an old EX model. The kind the Republic used to use to send long-distance messages, well before there were mapped hyperspace lanes.”

“And?”

“Engle was scavenging parts from an old crash site to rebuild it. For some reason, he obviously thought it would be able to get through the Stormwall, where other transmissions have failed him.”

Ro looked at the droid. “See how desperate they are? How low we’ve brought the Jedi? That they’re scrabbling around in the ruins of ancient starships, searching for ways to reach back into the past.” He stood, rolling the droid with the edge of his boot. “He abandoned this when he fled?”

“No,” said Viess. “It’s complete. I intercepted it in low orbit. He’d hoped to get a message back to Coruscant.”

Ro crouched, probing the droid with his hands. “He really thought this old heap of junk could bypass the Stormwall?”

“It seems so, yes.”

Ro reached up and unclamped his helmet, pulling it over his head. His sharp teeth glinted in the low light, his black eyes pools of ink that threatened to drown her. “Would it have worked?”

Viess shook her head. “Of course not. As you say, he’s desperate. And now even this plan has been ruined.”

The truth was, Viess had no idea if it might have worked, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Marchion Ro. It would only serve to highlight the fact that she still hadn’t managed to bring Porter Engle in. Worse, it might suggest that the Jedi had almost succeeded in his plan—and she knew who would get the blame for that.

Ro returned his attention to the droid. He ran his fingers over its ancient, pitted casing, almost lovingly. Then he stood and stomped on it, bringing his boot down so hard that one of its trailing legs snapped free, and a large crack appeared in its outer shell.

Then he did it again.

And again.

Until the droid lay mangled and broken at the foot of his throne.

Afterward, breathless, he looked at Viess. A silence had descended on the rest of the room. He pointed at the ruined droid. “Every single one of the Jedi’s hopes and dreams lies broken at the foot of my throne.”

Viess grinned. “Quite so.”

“I’m tired,” said Ro. He gestured to his She’ar, collected his helm, and left the room.

Viess watched him go.

“That went well,” said Meglar when they were alone.

Viess struck him across the back of his head with her metal greave for his insolence.

—

Later, when the rest of the Nihil were all sleeping or partying, a single figure stole into the empty throne room, careful not to disturb anything in the gloom.

He paused for a moment on the threshold, holding his breath, silently waiting to ensure he wasn’t observed. The bone crest on his head flared a deep, rich blue, almost invisible in the darkness. Sweat stung his eyes. His heart beat like a rattling drum in his chest.

When he was certain he was alone, Quith Meglar crossed to the foot of the throne, where the ruins of the old droid still lay scattered following the Eye’s earlier outburst.

He knew the wreckage wouldn’t be missed. Ro, Viess, and the others would all assume the She’ar or some underling had disposed of it like the body of the dead human they’d dumped in the trash.

To him, though, the remains of the droid were his ticket to buying the trust of the Jedi, Avar Kriss. Giving her this, showing her that there was another Jedi still alive out there, perhaps allowing her to reconstruct the other Jedi’s message from the droid’s memory archive. If she could rebuild the message and get it to Coruscant, she could still deliver it, finish his mission.

Surely it would be enough to win her over. A gesture that she couldn’t ignore.

It wasn’t that he cared what the Jedi thought of him. Or that he had any agenda other than buying her loyalty. He just wanted her on his side long enough to help him get out, and what did it matter to him if the other Jedi’s message made it back to Coruscant or not? He’d be long gone.

It was just one more risk on top of so many he’d already taken.

He scooped the bits of the droid back into the sack, bundled it up carefully, and hoisted it over his shoulder.

Then, still trying not to make a sound, he slipped out of the throne room and back to his quarters, where he would hide the droid under his bunk until it was time to leave, alongside Melis Shryke and the crew of the Cacophony in just a few hours’ time.

REPUBLIC SPACE, BORDER OF THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“Let’s just run through it one more time,” said Elzar.

He was standing on the bustling bridge of the Longbeam Shattersong, peering out of the forward viewscreen at what appeared to be nothing but a vast stretch of silent, empty space.

He couldn’t even make out any drifting debris or asteroids, nor any gaseous clouds or the wreckage of ancient satellites.

Just…nothing.

Nothing but distant stars.

Out there, though, invisible to the human eye, was the vast barrier of the Nihil’s Stormwall. A bastion running like a fault line through the galaxy. A scar.

Elzar could see it flickering on the readout screens, demarcated as a wavering line of stark red. Try to enter hyperspace in its vicinity, or to pass through a lane that it bisected, and the ship would be dragged back out again in small pieces, sometimes explosively. That, or it would disappear forever, presumably ditched into one of the kill zones the Nihil had boasted about to be used as target practice.

It was simple and effective.

Too effective.

Beside Elzar, Keven Tarr scratched the back of his head. Elzar could tell the man was nervous. He’d been the one to formulate this plan, and he was carrying the weight of expectation on his shoulders.

“The Force is with us, Keven. And remember, if this doesn’t work, there’s nothing more you could have done. The chancellor ordered this attack. I pushed for it with the Council. I’m the one who fought to take this chance.” He grinned. “That said, please tell me it’s going to work…”

“The truth is, Master Elzar, I have no idea if it’ll work or not,” said Tarr, leaning toward bleak honesty rather than humor. “But I do believe it’s the best shot we have. The theory works…”

“Then that’s good enough for me,” said Elzar, not wishing to be drawn into a conversation about the relative odds of success. He already knew the numbers. But simulations and models were just that, weren’t they? Guesses. Predictions. And no matter what the models said, Elzar had hope. Hope could carry people a long way. Hope was what made them different from narcissists like the Nihil. “So, walk me through it. What happens next?”

Around the Shattersong, more and more ships were arriving, sliding out of hyperspace to take up their positions in the grand formation. An entire fleet.

Twenty RDC vessels. Eight Jedi Vectors, piloted by old friends such as Indeera Stokes, Nooli Grang, Reede Somas. Bell Zettifar, and Burryaga aboard their Pacifier-class patrol ship, the Tractate.

All ready for the attack.

At Elzar’s behest.

Is this what command looks like, Stellan? Is this how it feels? Like a knot in the pit of your stomach and the eyes of the galaxy watching your every move?

If that’s what it is, I’m not sure I like it.

But it was too late for such thoughts now. He was doing what had to be done. What must be done. Today, the Stormwall would be breached.

Elsewhere, light-years from his command position, other vessels were arrayed at five separate locations, ready to unload their laser cannons on Elzar’s command. To blast away at the hyperspace buoys that Tarr had identified as their main targets. They would take out six, working simultaneously, and then when the breach was clear, the RDC vessels would engage their hyperspace engines and push through. The ships at the other five locations would attempt to hold the breach open as long as possible in their wake.

And all the while, the glitching buoy sat there, winking on the monitor display as it continued to send out erroneous readings.

In the background, the comms chattered as each new arriving ship logged its position and was acknowledged by the Shattersong’s chief communications officer, a Pantoran named Aliss, who seemed to possess an incredible aptitude for languages.

“It’s really rather simple,” said Tarr, as if ashamed of the lack of complexity in his own plan. “Once the breach is open, we give the order. The Outpath will be the first ship to make its move.”

The Outpath was another Longbeam, but not part of the attack fleet proper. Rather, it had been outfitted with a sacrificial droid pilot—one whose memory had been backed up, replicated, and transferred to a replacement housing already—who would be the first to jump through the breach. If the Outpath was successful and the Shattersong received a clear transmission from the other side, then Elzar would give the order for the rest of the ships to jump.

From there, the waiting ships would each make a hyperspace jump through to a muster point on the other side of the Stormwall, where the attack force would reassemble, ready to face the Nihil.

“Once the Outpath is through safely,” went on Tarr, “we’ll have a window of several minutes to effect ingress. After that, we can’t be certain. The Stormwall may begin to attempt to heal itself, reestablishing the fractal pulses that cause the hyperspace disruption.”

“Meaning we’ll be trapped inside,” said Elzar.

“With a lot of firepower, and a full fleet of ships,” said Tarr. “Plus, the Nihil won’t be expecting us.”

Elzar chuckled. “See, now you’re starting to sound optimistic, too.”

Tarr laughed. “I suppose it’s infectious.” He studied Elzar’s face, suddenly serious. “You really think we can do this?”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” said Elzar.

“And when we’re inside? What then?”

“We find Marchion Ro and we stop him. We figure out how he’s controlling the Stormwall and bring it down for good.”

“It sounds so simple,” said Tarr.

“It is simple,” replied Elzar. “And it’s not so different from the tactics the Nihil would use themselves. Just like one of their raids. Smash and grab. Punch a way in, do what needs to be done. Sometimes, to defeat your enemy, you have to think like your enemy.”

“A dangerous game,” cautioned Tarr. “If we employ the tactics of the enemy, what separates us from them? What makes us any better?”

“Our motives,” said Elzar.

“I’m sure they would argue the same thing,” said Tarr. “Does anyone ever really think they’re the villain?”

Elzar shot him a look. “Now isn’t the time for a philosophical debate.”

“No. I don’t suppose it is.”

They watched the viewscreen for a moment in silence.

Still nothing. Elzar had been half expecting to see some sign that the Nihil were gathering on the other side of the Stormwall. That they were preparing their defenses or moving to attempt to foil the Jedi’s plan. But there was nothing. No sign that the Nihil were even on to them.

He thought then of Ghirra Starros, back in the serpent’s nest on the other side of the Stormwall. Rebuked by the chancellor to return to the Nihil with her tail between her legs. And now this. The Republic at their door, and Ghirra could have no idea, could offer Marchion Ro no warning of what was coming, despite having been at the very heart of the Republic for two days.

“Aliss?” called Elzar. “What’s our status?”

“All vessels present and in position, sir.”

Elzar balked at the honorific. He was no officer, no captain. But he did not rebuke the Pantoran, who had clearly only used it as a sign of respect. “Thank you.”

“Bell? Burryaga?” As one of the biggest ships in the fleet, the Tractate was key to their plans for mounting an assault on the Nihil on the other side of the Stormwall.

“We’re ready,” replied Bell, over the crackling comm. “Just waiting for the chance to show the Nihil what we’re made of.”

“Stand by.” Elzar glanced around at the others on the bridge, all watching him, all waiting with bated breath. Even JJ-5145 was there, just inside the door, a show of solidarity with his adoptive master. He cocked his head to one side as he regarded Elzar.

The sight of the droid stirred something deeply discomforting within Elzar. A sensation of discontent. Of utter, abject loneliness.

Memories flickered like half-remembered dreams. The look on Stellan’s face that last time on Starlight Beacon when he’d already come to terms with his fate. The look on Avar’s face when Elzar had told her what he’d done to Chancey Yarrow. The lack of recognition when he first looked in a mirror the day that he returned to Coruscant.

This was the first time he’d left Coruscant since returning from Eiram. The first mission he’d taken responsibility for. And both of his anchors were gone.

He stood for a moment on the Shattersong’s bridge, willing Stellan’s hand to clap him on the shoulder, wishing he could hear an encouraging word from his dearest friend.

And Avar. How he longed to put things right. To talk to her. To apologize for putting his own shame and confusion above her needs.

How he wished she were there by his side. Making these decisions so that he didn’t have to.

“Master Elzar?”

He turned to see Tarr watching him, a crease of concern on his brow.

Elzar swallowed. “Do it,” he said. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

Aliss gave the command. “Fire! Everybody fire! On your targets, now!”

The ship’s weapons erupted like a waking leviathan, gun turrets thudding, laser cannons spitting. More lights flared as the Shattersong’s target hyperspace buoy was struck by ordnance.

The noise was horrendous. A deafening chatter of destruction. A barking roar of annihilation.

Light.

Billowing flame.

Flashes.

A shock wave like a tectonic plate being struck, like a rug being pulled beneath the Shattersong.

Alarms.

Shouting.

Tarr grabbed at Elzar’s sleeve. “It worked! It worked! The buoy is down.”

Elzar looked at the technician with wide, disbelieving eyes.

It had worked. The first buoy was down.

“Aliss?” called Elzar, bellowing over the noise.

She listened to her comm for a moment, filtering urgent messages from the other teams. “Four down!”

Elzar could hardly believe it. It was working.

“Five!”

The sound of the bombardment had died away now, and silence fell across the bridge. Everyone was looking at Aliss as she waited for the report to come in from the final team.

The moment stretched, almost febrile.

And then:

“Six! We have six buoys down!”

Elzar’s heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out from his chest.

“We have a breach!” Tarr took a step forward, hurriedly studying the readouts. Elzar could see over his shoulder that the red line indicating the Stormwall barrier had an open, gaping wound.

“Is it big enough?”

No reply.

“Keven! Is it big enough?”

Tarr turned, nodded. “Yes! And it seems to be holding.”

“Now!” called Elzar. “Send in the Outpath now!”

“Aye, sir,” said Aliss. “Outpath. We are go. I repeat. We are go.”

The droid pilot, designated A2-D6, signified its understanding with a muted sequence of beeps and deets.

Collectively, every being in the fleet held their breaths. Elzar sensed the tension spread through the crew around him, like a ripple in the waters of the Force.

This has to work.

Please, let it work.

Above them, a roar.

Louder.

Louder.

Until it filled Elzar’s entire sensorium. Until there was nothing else but the onrushing Outpath. Until everything had been reduced to that single point, that binary difference between success and failure.

Elzar kept his eyes glued to the forward viewport.

The Outpath slid overhead, casting a deep shadow across the Shattersong. And then it was rushing past, gathering speed, its burners filling the viewport so that Elzar had to momentarily shield his eyes from the glare.

Onward.

Faster.

Faster.

The Outpath punched into hyperspace.

And then:

Silence.

Elzar ran to the comm station. “Can they hear me?”

Aliss punched a button. “Yes.”

“This is Master Elzar Mann. We have a breach. Go. Go now!”

A chatter of affirmation.

The attack fleet began to move.

Elzar ran back to Tarr’s side, peering out of the viewport.

Another Longbeam slid past, accelerating toward the breach. A second followed. And a third.

Elzar felt a rush of elation.

This is what he’d been fighting for. This is what he’d wanted for so long. The chance to fight back. To raise a fist of defiance and show the Nihil that the Republic wasn’t beaten. That Starlight Beacon was defiantly not the end.

The first three ships were approaching the Stormwall.

The lead ship reached the breach…

…engaged their hyperdrive…

…and exploded.

Elzar experienced it as if in slow motion. He saw the prow of the Longbeam twist, as if some terrible, unseeable giant had simply grabbed the ship in its hands and twisted the hammer-head nose right off. A chain of explosions erupted along its length, the vessel’s entire integrity lost in a split second.

It bloomed, a flower of wreckage, air, flame, and blood.

It was too late for the second ship. And the third.

Elzar heard their screams over the comm, felt the sudden, brutal wave of loss through the Force like a tidal wave, washing right over him, drowning him, dragging him down with its undertow.

Another explosion.

And another.

More ships, now committed, unable to disengage their hyperdrives in time.

“Stop! Stop!” He realized he was screaming.

But three more warships bloomed—dragged out of hyperspace as twisted wrecks—before finally, the rest of the fleet was able to pull back.

Nearly a third of them had been lost. In a matter of moments.

Eight Longbeams. One Vector.

Jedi Knight Reede Somas’s Vector.

All the RDC soldiers. Crews. Captains.

So many people just…gone.

Elzar staggered, caught himself on the terminal station beside Tarr. “What…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence.

Tarr was staring at the data readouts accusingly, as if they were somehow to blame for this terrible, terrible mistake. “It just…it was there. The breach was there.”

Feeling nauseous, Elzar studied the screen. The red line of the Stormwall was whole, complete, unbroken.

“It fixed itself. It repaired itself so quickly…” Tarr hung his head, loose hair falling across his face.

“Master Elzar, sir? The others are awaiting orders,” came Aliss’s voice, small and tight.

“Tell them to stand down,” said Elzar, his voice cracking.

He raised his head, staring out at the formerly empty view.

Now there was debris everywhere. There was no way anyone could have survived. The wrecked ships were just mangled hunks of junk, drifting listlessly in space, torn apart by the ferocity of their unwilling exit from hyperspace.

All those people.

All those lives.

What have I done?

Elzar could hardly breathe. He was drowning, unable to untangle the raging emotions, the guilt, the shame, the horror, the pain. Unable to concentrate, to even think clearly enough to seek peace and calm.

Everything I do ends in suffering.

Am I really so blind?

So lost?

Stellan would never have made this mistake.

It should have been me who went down with the Beacon, not him.

I’m not good enough.

I’m sorry, Avar. I’ll never be good enough.

Outside, there was still no sign of the Nihil. Not a single indication that they were even aware of the tragedy that had just unfolded at their border. If they were, they were probably laughing. He could hear their voices now; imagine their jibes.

Look at the Jedi. Look at them. Throwing themselves willingly into the abyss. Doing our job for us.

Elzar realized he was trembling. Anger burned in his veins. His hands balled into fists, so hard that his fingernails dug into his palms.

“Where are they?” he barked. “Where are the Nihil? Why won’t they show themselves? Why won’t they fight?”

He wanted to scream Marchion Ro’s name into the void.

Where are you!

He felt Tarr’s arm loop around his shoulders, holding him. “Master Elzar?”

Elzar tried to breathe. Tried to reach for his memories of Orla, of the message she had imparted, the techniques she’d taught him for focusing on the light.

But all he could hear were the screams of the dying, playing on a constant loop in his head.

I’m sorry.

It’s all my fault.

“Take us home,” he said, shrugging free of Tarr’s embrace and heading for the door. “Take us home.”

—

“Halt! Stop this ship, now!”

Captain Pel’s voice echoed around the bridge of the Tractate as Quirik wrenched the ship’s controls, causing the vessel to groan as it slewed, tipping into a steep dive, skimming the edge of the Stormwall’s boundary. A moment later, and they’d all have been dead. Quirik had been about to activate the hyperdrive when the first ships had exploded.

As the vessel righted itself, the full extent of the devastation came into view.

Burryaga’s wail was so full of pain, of intense, deep sadness, that the sound alone was enough to move Bell to tears, as, together, they watched the other ships blooming into so much twisted wreckage, wrenched out of hyperspace by the disruptive technology of the Stormwall.

Bell felt each death echoing through the Force as keenly as knife blades scoring his skin. He felt the weight of their failure, of Master Elzar’s dashed hopes. Of the guilt the man must be feeling even now as he watched those under his command careen to their doom.

And there was nothing any of them could do.

Bell had been waiting for this moment, ever since the Stormwall had first gone up. He’d received the call to arms from Elzar personally. He’d been ready. They all had.

And now this.

Now the Nihil had defeated them again.

The comms erupted into a chatter of relayed orders and damage reports from across the fleet, but Bell didn’t hear any of it. He sagged, leaning against the nearest console for support.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But if Phrill had taught him anything, it was that this didn’t change a thing. He would not allow it to shatter his resolve. He would not allow these lives to be lost in vain.

Now was not the time for wallowing.

Now was the time for action. For digging in. For pushing even harder.

He raised his head, staring out at the burning wreckage of the lost ships, drifting across their view.

They would find a way through the Stormwall, and they would take the fight to the Nihil. Today was not that day, but it was coming, and soon.

Bell would make certain of it.

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Marchion Ro was standing by the eye-shaped window in his bedchamber, just as he had been the last time Ghirra had seen him.

Then, the conversation had been enlightening in many ways—a rare moment of insight from the Evereni—but hadn’t ended well. She’d hoped to return from Coruscant triumphant, to prove his assertions wrong, but now, as she stood beside him feigning patience, she understood they had never really been in question.

Not that she would admit it to him.

Ro’s hands were clasped behind his back, and he appeared to be looking out contentedly at the rolling fields beyond the fortress. He was wearing his fur-lined cloak, draped across his broad, armored shoulders, and his masked helm was resting on the floor by his feet.

He was alone, having sent away the young woman, Nan, whom he’d been talking to before Ghirra arrived. Ghirra didn’t know whether that was a good sign or a bad sign.

He turned. His lip curled.

Ghirra decided it was a bad thing.

Definitely a bad thing.

“Ghirra. Or is it Senator again? I presume your deal has been struck and we are to usher in a new era of prosperity and democracy.”

Bastard.

“These things take time, Eye. My visit to Coruscant was merely the first stage in a long process. They were naturally wary. It’ll take time for the chancellor to come around to the idea of a Nihil contingent in the Senate.”

“How diplomatic of you,” said Ro. “They locked you up and accused you of war crimes, didn’t they?”

Ghirra pursed her lips. “Like I said, they were understandably wary.”

“I admire your resolve, Ghirra,” said Ro. “And your spine. To stand there and feed me barefaced lies. You’re quite the politician.”

Ghirra felt blood rush to her cheeks. And a prickle of fear. He was toying with her. Like a predator. “They’ll learn to accept us,” she said. “They have no other choice.”

Getting the Republic on her side was Ghirra’s only chance at survival. The Nihil were already doomed. She’d been foolish not to see it earlier. They’d been doomed from the moment they began.

The situation behind the Stormwall would unravel in a matter of months without proper intervention. The Nihil themselves were hell-bent on self-destruction. Every day, more of them murdered one another in the name of sport or power games.

And then there was Ro. The dangerous, mysterious Eye of the Storm. Her lover. A man without purpose. And that made him more dangerous than ever.

“No choice?” said Ro, echoing her words. He studied her quietly. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” she snapped.

“That a fleet of Republic ships, led by the Jedi, have just carried out a major assault on the Stormwall.” He looked pleased with himself.

“They did what?”

“It was quite the spectacle. They managed to destroy several stormseeds. They thought they’d breached the wall. Flung a handful of warships at us.”

“And?”

Ro grinned. “And they were all dashed upon our shores. There never was a breach. Not really. The Stormwall repaired itself like it always does. They know nothing about the Lightning Crash station or how the wall is controlled. They destroyed themselves for nothing.”

“Then our borders remain sacrosanct and unbroken. Without even lifting a finger, without even a single loss of Nihil life, we’ve proved our strength,” said Ghirra.

“We?” said Marchion.

“I may advocate a diplomatic solution, Marchion, but I remain a Nihil,” said Ghirra. “We’ve come too far together for me to be anything else. I’m with you, in all of this.” She reached out, her hand trembling, and placed her palm against his chest. “But things are falling apart, all across Nihil space. People are starving. Nihil are fighting each other because they don’t have any real enemies left to fight, not here inside the zone. And it’s only going to get worse. Our space is limited. Resources are limited. We’re going to destroy ourselves if we keep on like this. That’s why we need to find a different way. A new approach. Can’t you see that?”

Ro stepped away. “I see a Republic on the back foot and the Jedi Order running scared. And I see you wishing to placate them, even at the cost of your dignity and your position.”

“I’m not trying to placate anyone. I’m trying to ensure our longevity. A future for the Nihil. A place for us in the galactic order. A future for us.”

“We don’t need them to do any of that,” said Ro.

Was he really that blind? Or did he just not care? Ghirra was starting to think that the entire Nihil operation was just the vanity project of this one being, his egotistical fantasy played out on an enormous scale.

“What are you planning?”

Please, not another public execution. That would be the end of all hope.

“We must give an answer. Our walls were assaulted. The Republic has made its intentions clear.”

Ghirra’s heart sank.

More violence, then.

She had to do what she could to minimize the fallout. “Let me talk to them again,” she said. “Surely they’ll see now that violence isn’t the answer. That they can never beat us at our own game. The best thing they can do is accept my proposal and capitulate. To tell the galaxy that the Nihil are here to stay.”

“We are beyond talking,” said Ro. “Especially now that their supreme chancellor has shown she has the audacity to reject our attempts at peace.”

Ghirra looked at him, confused. “Eye?”

“We send one of our own. Our Minister of Information, no less, on a diplomatic mission to seek peace. And what do they do? They lock you up, reject our proffered hand, and then attack our borders.”

Oh no.

She was right. Lina Soh was right.

He’s played me. He’s going to use it against me. He let me go there because he knew it would end like this.

“What are you saying?” stuttered Ghirra.

“That the galaxy will finally see them for what they are. That everyone will know that we are justified in our actions. That we are trying to protect people from the tyranny of the Republic and their Jedi puppets,” said Ro.

Ghirra shook her head. “You’re planning a reprisal? You’re going to draw out the Jedi so you can annihilate them with your monsters?”

Ro offered her a sly sneer. “All in good time.”

“Then what?” said Ghirra, unsettled by the feverish look in his eyes, the knowledge that she’d unwittingly fed his plans.

That she’d been outwitted before she’d even started playing the game.

“You were right about Nihil space not being big enough, Ghirra,” said Ro, ignoring her question. “Know that I’ve listened. That I want to address your concerns. I’ve been working on something that might help.”

“Marchion…What are you going to do?”

He turned to her. He was biting his lower lip in relish. “I’m going to do something the Republic isn’t expecting. Something that will hurt them more than any cannon, missile, or bomb,” said Ro. “Alert the Lightning Crash. I’m going to expand the Stormwall.”

BORDER OF THE OCCLUSION ZONE, REPUBLIC SPACE

Unlike many of the ships involved in the Stormwall attack, the Tractate hadn’t returned straight to the base on Hintis IV. None of the crew felt ready to stop just yet. And so, they’d resumed their patrol of the Stormwall border, remaining vigilant for any sign of a Nihil retaliation.

After what had happened, the importance of Bell and Burry’s mission had grown. It was now more paramount than ever that they captured a Path drive, that they offer Elzar and the others an alternative way to breach the Nihil’s defenses.

Reports were still coming in about the scale of losses suffered by the attack fleet, and all of it made for grim listening. Bell wondered how Elzar Mann was feeling. He knew that none of the Jedi would blame him for what had happened, but Bell also knew Elzar. He would be blaming himself. He hoped they’d be able to talk, next time Bell returned to Coruscant.

It was sometimes lonely out on the frontier, with little opportunity to talk to those back at the Temple. He had Burry, of course, and he was ever thankful for that, and for what had transpired beneath Eiram’s ocean. He’d sometimes run into Mirro and Amadeo on the RDC base on Hintis IV, too. But while Bell was certain he’d made the right choice undertaking this mission, he would often go long stretches without any meaningful contact with the rest of the Order, beyond relaying pertinent operational information.

Another reason to get this over and done with.

Bell glanced around the bridge. Everyone was subdued, still absorbing what had happened.

Captain Pel, though, looked as though she was spoiling for a fight, but so far, there’d been no sign of any Nihil activity. “One more pass, Quarik, and then you can take us back to base,” she said. She was standing before her chair, peering out at the silent void beyond the ship. Bell could see she was gritting her teeth, most likely thinking of all the friends and fellow soldiers she’d lost in the attack.

“Aye, Captain,” replied the pilot, adjusting the controls to bring the ship around.

A warning sigil lit up on Quarik’s readout display. She tapped it, expanding the size of the image, frowning.

Bell glanced at Burry, who was crouched nearby, cautiously petting Ember. The two of them had become seemingly inseparable, even though, at least three times a day, Burry accidentally set his fur alight trying to snuggle her.

“Rwaaarrr,” said Burry.

“Yeah, I feel it, too,” said Bell. “Something’s wrong.”

“Quarik?” said Pel, crossing to the pilot’s station. “What is it?”

Quarik looked confused. “I think there must be something wrong with the sensor array. Maybe it was damaged in the battle with the drill ships and hasn’t been properly repaired.”

“What makes you say that?” said Pel.

“It’s giving a faulty reading. It says the Stormwall is moving.”

Bell tensed. “Moving how?” he said. They were all converging around Quarik’s station now, even Pha Rool, who had left his own station to come and see what was going on.

“There,” said Quarik, pointing to the readout screen. The red line of the Stormwall appeared to be moving slowly outward, like the rim of an expanding bubble, slowly being pushed bigger by forces from within.

“That can’t be right, though, can it?” said Quarik. “It hasn’t changed since the wall first went up a year ago. They can’t do that, can they?”

Burry made a sound that Bell took to mean that they couldn’t be certain of anything when it came to the Nihil. “Is there another way to check?” he said.

“The gunner rig,” said Pha Rool. “The missile targeting system has its own bank of sensors. Hang on.” He returned to his desk, fingers dancing over the keypad. The display lit up. He pushed another button, and the system projected a small holographic image above the main console.

“It’s the same,” said Pel. “It’s getting bigger.”

“And it’s gathering speed,” said Bell. “The bigger it’s growing, the faster it’s happening.”

It had to be the Nihil responding to Master Elzar’s attack. A twisted form of retribution. The eating up of even more of the galaxy as punishment for the Jedi and the Republic. Yet another disaster, manufactured by Marchion Ro.

“What happens if it hits us?” said Quarik.

Bell frowned. “Presumably we’ll find ourselves on the other side.”

Quarik looked stricken. “Then we’d better hurry!” she said, tapping the display with her fingertip. “It’s coming right this way.”

“Do it!” called Pel. “Get us clear!”

Bell watched the holo as the Stormwall billowed outward, rolling toward them. “No,” he said, his voice edged with determination.

When will this ever end?

It ends now.

“No? What are you talking about?” said Pel, rising from her command chair. “We have to get clear immediately!”

Bell shook his head. He crossed to the copilot’s controls and started swinging the ship around to face the oncoming tide of the distortion field. “Think about it,” he said. “This is our chance. We can do exactly what Elzar was trying to do. We don’t have to breach the Stormwall. The Nihil are doing it for us.”

He pulled back on the controls and the ship lurched, gaining speed.

Directly toward the Stormwall.

So long as they didn’t make a hyperspace jump, they should pass right through the expanding barrier. Usually, it would take decades to cross through at sublight speeds, but this time was different. This time the barrier was going to sweep right over them as the Nihil swelled the size of their territory.

Beside Bell, Quarik was staring at Pel, stricken.

“Stand down, Bell!” bellowed Pel. “Quarik, turn this ship around. Now!”

Quarik reached for her controls.

“Don’t!” snapped Bell. “Can’t you see? This is our best chance!” He could feel all the anger and frustration bubbling out of him, directed at Melis Shryke and all the other Nihil that lay behind that shifting barrier. He wanted nothing more than to face them, to show them what the Jedi really were. To make it count. “No more skulking in the shadows, waiting for the Nihil to carry out raids. We can strike right at their heart. Take a Path drive from within. We can end this.”

“Wrraarrroo!” protested Burry, hurrying over.

Klaxons had started to blare throughout the ship.

“No!” said Bell. “This isn’t my frustration talking. It makes sense!”

“Quarik, turn this ship around!” ordered Pel.

“Arroo wrra rooo,” pleaded Burry, arguing that they were needed on the frontier. That Bell was gambling with people’s lives. That the crew on this ship had families who needed them, out here, not trapped behind the Stormwall. That he, Burry, couldn’t face another period of isolation like the one he’d suffered beneath the ocean after Starlight’s fall, no one knowing if he was dead or alive.

Bell reached for the controls…and then let his hand drop to his side.

Burry was right.

He’d almost given in to his anger, his burning rage at the Nihil. He’d almost let it consume him, driving him toward vengeance.

And vengeance had no place in a Jedi’s heart.

How could I even consider doing this to these people, my friends. To Burry…

He stepped away from the controls, feeling suddenly lost.

The Tractate shuddered as Quarik wrenched it around, engines flaring.

Burry reached out, taking Bell by the shoulder and turning him around. He peered at Bell for a moment, the expression on his face so gentle, so empathetic, that Bell felt something inside him break.

“I’m sorry,” said Bell. “I’m so sorry.”

“No time for that now,” said Pel, trying her level best to remain calm. “Punch the hyperdrive. I’ve only just gotten my ship back. I won’t lose it now.”

Quarik reached for the lever.

“No!” called Bell. “We’re on the edge of the distortion field. We don’t know what’ll happen. We need to get clear before we engage the hyperdrive.”

“Then what?” said Pel, desperation finally beginning to creep into her voice.

“Divert all power to the sublight engines,” said Bell. “Everything we have. Overload them if we have to. Just get us as much thrust as possible.”

And hope.

Hope that it’ll be enough.

I’ve been such a fool.

Quarik flicked a series of switches. Bell watched an entire bank of dials slide to the red.

“Captain?” said Quarik. The panic was beginning to creep into her voice.

“Do it,” barked Pel.

Quarik brought the thrusters up to full power.

The Tractate shuddered, its engines flaring.

“Push it!” said Bell. “As hard as you can.”

“We’re edging out of the field. But it’s still expanding. It’s coming right up on us again!” called Pha Rool.

Quarik kept the thrusters gunned, and the Tractate climbed on pillars of light.

“We’re clear!” called Quarik, over the roar of the engines.

“Get us out of here!” said Pel.

Quarik engaged the hyperdrive. Blue light flared.

And yet, there was no cause for celebration. Behind them, the Stormwall was still growing, swallowing up star systems as it swelled like a bloated sun.

All their work. All their efforts trying to protect the beings of those perimeter worlds.

All undone in a matter of moments.

It had all been for nothing.

“Get us back to base,” said Pel, “where we can find out what the hell is going on. Assuming we’re still going to have a base when all of this is through…”

Bell sagged, his shoulders dropping. He couldn’t meet her eye. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, unsure what else to say.

Pel nodded but didn’t reply.

As he moved to walk away, Burry reached out, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him into a powerful, overbearing hug.

CORUSCANT

Shrill alarms blared throughout the entire Senate Building.

Lina Soh ran, her sleeping robes billowing around her as she hurried down the passageway, all pretense at decorum long abandoned. Around her, RDC operatives scattered to make way, their eyes wide with shock and uncertainty.

The news was spreading fast.

She rounded a bend, her mind whirling. She’d barely heard what the aide had said as the woman had come to wake her.

Reports that the Stormwall was moving.

Growing.

Expanding.

Lina felt nauseous.

She burst into the central operations room to find it already full of RDC technicians, commanders, droids. Crackling comm traffic filled the air. Operatives tapped furiously at comms stations. Others were gathered around a large, central holo station, locked in a fierce debate.

She spotted Admiral Kronara and made a beeline for him.

The man looked hassled, gaunt, older than his already considerable years. He turned to fix her with an empty stare. “Chancellor…”

“Report,” she said, air hissing through her teeth as she tried to catch her breath.

“Well, it’s…it’s…” She’d never seen Kronara falter before. He cleared his throat, straightened his back, and seemed to gather himself. “We’ve confirmed that the Stormwall is expanding.”

“Expanding how?” said Soh.

Kronara looked as lost as she felt. “We don’t fully understand,” he said, “not yet, but the technicians are working on it. It seems the stormseeds are moving, dragging their invisible net wider. They’re being bolstered by hundreds of additional stormseeds, too.”

“Yes, yes,” said Soh, waving away any need for technical understanding at this stage. “But—what does it actually mean, Admiral?”

He held her gaze. “It means we’re about to lose even more sectors to the Nihil.”

Around them, people were still arriving, crowding into the large chamber.

RDC staff.

Senate staff.

All come to silently take in what was happening. The gravity of the moment.

The Jedi were arriving in their droves, too. Indeera Stokes, Ry Ki-Sakka, Keaton Murag, Reath Silas, Yoda, Soleil Agra, Arkoff, and more. Many more.

Assembling here to witness the horror together. To share in the grief and pain of their failure. To try to understand what was going on.

One of the technicians—a female, many-eyed Gran—raised herself from her seat, turning to look over at her and Kronara in abject shock. “We’ve lost Utapau,” she called.

Lina felt as if the ground was suddenly shifting beneath her. “What do you mean, we’ve lost it?”

“All transmissions from the planet have ceased. The line of the Stormwall has passed over it. Utapau is now within the Occlusion Zone.”

No.

No. No. No.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Triton is gone,” called another technician from across the room.

“But…” stammered Soh.

“Ryloth is silent,” called another.

A strained hush was settling over the room. All they could hear now was the crackle of the remaining comm chatter, the buzz of static.

Lina felt as if a great weight was pressing down on her, making it difficult to breathe.

This is worse than we could ever have feared.

What have I done?

This is my fault. This is Marchion Ro’s retribution.

She thought about Kitrep, how alone he must feel, trapped out there. All she wanted to do was fold her arms around him and hold him close. Just a few hours earlier, she’d been filled with hope. Now it seemed as if he was farther away than ever before.

A holo bloomed from the circular station at the center of the room—a flickering blue map of the Galactic Core. A red line represented the Stormwall as it bloomed out, rolling forward like a relentless wave. The gathered operatives stepped back to regard it, dismay spreading across their faces in time with the spreading zone of glowing red.

When is it going to stop?

“All communications from Abtin have ceased.” The technicians were trying to keep their voices clear and professional, but Lina could hear the tremble, the mounting horror.

“Sluis Van is down.”

“And Elrood.”

The comm chatter that had previously filled the chamber was now reduced to just a distant murmur. But it wasn’t just the room that had grown silent. It was the galaxy.

“It’s breached the Seswenna sector.”

The red line on the holo seemed to stutter and stop.

Lina held her breath for a moment.

Please. Let that be it.

“It’s stopped.”

Lina didn’t even know who’d spoken. She drew a ragged breath, but there was no sense of relief. Only the dawning realization of how far they’d fallen.

Things had just gone from bad to worse.

She glanced toward the gathered Jedi, watching solemnly from the other side of the room. None of them had anything to say. Not yet.

A single tear tracked down her cheek, and she brushed it away with the edge of her hand.

“Chancellor?” said Kronara. He was cautious. Gentle.

She snapped her head around, pushing down her welling emotions. “I want a full report within the hour,” she said. “I need to understand what just happened. I want a map of the new border. And I want to know exactly which planets and systems we’ve just lost.”

“Understood,” said Kronara.

A burst of earsplitting static filled the room. One of the human technicians hurriedly adjusted the settings on their terminal. “Chancellor, Admiral—we’re receiving a transmission. It’s…” They looked around, gaping. “It’s from the Nihil.”

Lina swallowed. “Let’s hear it.”

The technician nodded and tapped at some keys.

A familiar voice filled the room.

Marchion Ro.

“No doubt many of you are wondering what has just happened.” His tone was gentle, calm, but Lina couldn’t help but hear the hint of gloating that crept into his voice when he spoke. “Why I have extended our borders and increase the territory of Nihil space. I am here to explain.

“Make no mistake,” he continued, “this is a choice that your chancellor made, along with her Jedi allies. Two days ago, the Nihil sent a peaceful delegation to Coruscant, bearing tributes and gifts from all the many cultures of Nihil space and wishing only to talk of collaboration between our two regions. We sought a peaceful resolution to the recent conflicts that have seen so many, sadly, perish, on both sides.”

Lina balked at his insouciant tone, the way he so openly referred to his murderous campaign of terror as if he were but a reluctant player, as if the Republic were as much to blame for the deaths of its citizens as him.

“We extended the hand of friendship, but it was harshly rejected,” he said. “Our ambassador was treated like a criminal. Insinuations were made. She was interrogated, and then sent away with no recourse. The Republic were unwilling to even consider peace. To talk. What’s more, they are so driven by their need for war, their refusal to accept our right to exist in this galaxy, they then laid siege to our borders with a vast fleet of warships.”

Lina looked around. No one met her eye.

“Thankfully, Nihil ingenuity prevailed,” went on Ro, “and the loss of further innocent lives was prevented. Our borders remain strong and true, as does our will. That is why, today, we have extended those borders, to liberate many more worlds and their people from the oppressive Republic regime that has held sway over them for too long. The Nihil offers them all our protection, and welcomes them into Nihil space, where they will prosper and grow, free now from the shackles that once bound them.” He raised his voice, bellowing into the mic. “We are all the Nihil.”

Lina heard a roar of voices, repeating the phrase in the background, a terrible parody of everything she had built.

The transmission ended.

Lina felt her good knee buckle. But a hand was there to catch her arm, to steady her.

She looked around to see Soleil Agra, the Jedi Master, standing by her side.

“We’re with you, Chancellor,” she said as Lina regained her balance, stifling her swelling, churning emotions. “The Jedi are with you.”

Lina gave the briefest of nods, and then looked back at Kronara. “An hour,” she said, and then strode from the room.

REPUBLIC SPACE

Elzar had never felt so alone.

Not even when he’d come close to giving in to his anger and fear, to allowing himself to be momentarily tempted by the power of the dark side. Not even when he’d stood over Chancey Yarrow’s corpse, his lightsaber in his hand, realization dawning over what he’d done. Not even after Stellan had gone down with the Beacon and Avar had fled, leaving him standing on that frigid beach, lost, and confused.

He’d been lying to himself ever since.

He’d told himself that Stellan’s goodness needed to be channeled, somehow. That the galaxy couldn’t afford to be without it. That he, Elzar, would do everything in his power to embody who Stellan had been, what he’d stood for. To live up to the example the other man had set.

But now it was clear. Elzar was no Stellan. He never had been and he never would be. He should have known as much.

All those people…

All those lives ended, because of me.

He’d been looking over the manifests of the ships that had been lost.

No, not lost. Destroyed.

He’d been trying to memorize the names of all those who’d died, to find a way to honor them through remembrance. But he couldn’t even get that right. There were just too many.

I can’t even remember their names to say sorry.

For years, Elzar had tried to keep up with Stellan and Avar, but if he was truthful with himself, if he was truly honest, he knew he’d always be in their shadow.

And perhaps that was okay. Perhaps it was his place to help others achieve greatness.

He only wished that it hadn’t taken the needless deaths of over fifty beings for him to recognize it.

Worse, as he’d sat languishing in his bunk, JJ-5145 had informed him of what had happened by way of reprisal, for both the attack and for their rejection of the Nihil’s peace proposal.

Now everything was so much worse.

Worse than he could ever have imagined. Billions more people lost behind that impenetrable barrier. Whole star systems swallowed by that creeping night, thrust into the silent oblivion of the Nihil’s gargantuan prison.

When those beings woke in their beds tomorrow, the galaxy would be different. There’d be no Republic, no Jedi to protect them. No hope. All they’d know was terror.

And then the Nihil would come calling, demanding tribute, cutting down anyone who dared to revolt. Anyone who refused to take the knee. Their freedoms would be taken from them. Terrible rules would be imposed that limited their lives, their ability to move freely, their financial and physical security, their very right to exist. Refugees would be denied the opportunity to seek asylum. Entire planets would be held hostage. Billions more peaceful beings were now pawns in Marchion Ro’s game.

It would take them weeks to account for the missing. Months. There were Jedi on those swallowed worlds, too. More of them now at the mercy of Marchion Ro’s horrific pets.

There were new borders to patrol. New targets for Nihil raids.

Fewer people to fight them.

And on the other side, people dying and scared.

If Starlight was a loss, this…this was a failure of galactic proportions.

Marchion Ro had never even needed to fight him at the breach. Had probably been laughing as Elzar threw all those ships at the Stormwall, futilely trying to batter his way through. Elzar had tried to defeat the enemy at their own game, to employ their own blunt tactics against them, and instead they’d defeated him through patience and intelligence.

It was a startling lesson, and one that had come far too late. Just as Marchion Ro had no doubt intended.

He should have listened to the Council, should have heeded the warnings. Once again, Elzar had underestimated the Nihil. He’d made the mistake of assuming those willing to murder in cold blood, who didn’t understand or appreciate the imperfect beauty of the Republic and what it had to offer, were somehow less likely to adapt, to develop complex countermeasures, to let their actions speak for themselves. He’d thought he knew Marchion Ro, but he’d been wrong. He knew nothing.

Marchion Ro, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing.

And he’d won. Again.

And there wasn’t a thing anyone could do about it.

Least of all Elzar and the Jedi.

He thought of Avar, tried to imagine how she must be feeling, trapped and unable to return home. Did she know how hard he’d tried to find her? To save her? He couldn’t bear to think that she might believe he’d given up. That the Jedi had abandoned her to her fate.

Now, with the shift in the Stormwall border, she was farther away from him than ever before, and he hated it.

He wished he could take her hand. Hold her. Tell her he was sorry.

Avar would understand. She’d know what to say, what to do.

Together, they would have been able to get through this. Apart…Elzar wasn’t so sure.

He imagined Avar, as she was before the Nihil, the Nameless, and the Drengir had ever been a part of their lives. She was a shining star, a beacon like no space station could ever be. She lit the way. She always had. Where she led, Elzar had followed.

Now they were both adrift.

He closed his eyes, trying to find his center in the Force.

He could feel the thrum of the Shattersong’s hyperdrive, burring through the ship. He was sitting on the floor of his small, temporary berth, legs crossed, arms folded.

There was no peace to be found here, though. He was too deep, thrashing in unfamiliar waters. There was no solace to be had.

He cast his mind farther, seeking, reaching out through the Force.

But she wasn’t there. She was never there. Not anymore.

I’ve lost you, Avar.

And I’ve lost myself.

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“Have you heard this?” said Belin, calling down to Avar from the open hatch of the ship.

Avar was harvesting berries from the ropy vines that covered the lower slopes of the gully walls. For a few moments she’d almost forgotten where she was, hidden away in this bizarre idyll, right there in the depths of the enemy’s stronghold. The existence of the place seemed somehow incongruent, dissonant, like it shouldn’t be able to survive this close to the poisoned heart of the Nihil. And yet here it was, a reminder that vibrant light, and life, could flourish even in the darkest of places.

She popped a berry into her mouth, enjoying the sharp tang of its juice as it burst on her tongue. She strolled over to the ship, shielding her eyes with one hand as she peered up at Belin, who was standing at the top of the disembarkation ramp. “Is it Rhil?” She’d been waiting for another message informing her of the timing for her next rendezvous with Rhil and the Nihil defector, Quith Meglar.

Belin shook his head. “Kind of. You’d better come inside.”

Puzzled, Avar hurried up the ramp, abandoning the pot of berries by the door. She followed Belin back into the cockpit, where KC-78 was scanning the local comm traffic, searching each channel for any sign of more encoded messages. Static hissed through the speakers. So far he’d only been able to pick up a broken sequence of pips and beeps that, as far as they could tell, was too fragmentary to decipher.

“What is it?” she asked.

Belin gestured at the astromech. “Kaysee, play it for her.”

Avar looked from the droid to the Ugnaught. “What’s going on, Belin? I’m starting to get worried here.”

“You’d better sit down.” He glanced at KC-78. “Ready?”

The droid wiggled his head, and then the crackle and hiss of an off-air recording sounded from its tinny, onboard speakers. Avar did as Belin had suggested, sliding into the copilot’s chair to listen. The voice was immediately familiar.

“This is Rhil Dairo, reporting from Hetzal. I speak to you today to inform you that, earlier this morning, the Republic, along with their Jedi co-conspirators, launched a massive, unprovoked attack against the Stormwall. An entire fleet attempted to breach the sanctity of our border, to bring their war into Nihil space. To put you all at risk. This is despite recent overtures of peace that the Eye had made to the chancellor through his ambassador and Minister of Information, Ghirra Starros.”

Avar stared at KC-78, transfixed by the news. What had happened? Was this Elzar’s doing? A response to the murder of Pra-Tre Veter?

“You will be glad to know that their paltry attack was a miserable failure,” continued Rhil. “Scores of Republic invaders died, and all without engaging a single Nihil ship. Not a single Nihil shot was fired. The enemy threw themselves against the Stormwall but were unable to force a breach. Nihil space—and all its citizens—remain protected.

“In response to this grievous attack, Marchion Ro, the Eye of the Storm, has today increased the size and reach of the Stormwall to bring more worlds and systems under our protection. The Danjar sector, Mayagil sector, and parts of the Seswenna sector are now hereby granted official Nihil status, and we welcome their citizens into our fold.”

Avar felt like the bottom had just fallen out of the galaxy. Rhil was still talking, but Avar didn’t hear it. She couldn’t process another word.

The Stormwall had moved. Just like that. Swallowing more worlds, stranding her even farther from home.

It was an utter disaster. The Nihil couldn’t even govern and feed the worlds they’d already seized—how did they expect to take on more? Countless lives were going to be lost, all because of Marchion Ro’s posturing.

The sad truth was that the Nihil never intended to look after the people whose homes they had claimed as their own. They had no interest in running such a vast domain, dealing in logistics and management and laws. They just wanted to seed chaos and ruin.

All of this was because Marchion Ro wanted to bring down the Republic. And because of his profound hatred for the Jedi. Everyone caught in the middle? So far as the Nihil were concerned, they were just collateral damage. No matter that they numbered in the billions. So long as Marchion Ro could claim he’d won, had carved out his own kingdom free from Republic interference, the lives of ordinary beings didn’t matter.

Suddenly, Coruscant felt farther away than it ever had.

The hope that had been flowering in Avar’s heart began to wither.

Was this really how it was all going to end? Everything the Republic and the Jedi had tried to build. Everything she’d fought for.

Was this all there was? A constant stream of failures. The Nihil growing ever stronger. The slow dissolution of everything good and true?

No.

The voice in her head, Stellan’s voice, was adamant, insistent.

No. You cannot give up now.

This isn’t you.

You’re better than this. Better than all of us. And if you don’t stand up now, if you don’t find a way to fight, we really will be finished.

The voice may have belonged to Stellan, but the thoughts were her own.

You have to see this through, Avar. You have to keep going.

You can do this.

I believe in you.

Avar felt a deep pang for her old friend.

But the voice in her head was right. She’d been hiding for too long. Running. The time to act was now.

The recording had finished, and Belin was peering at her expectantly.

“Well?” he said. “What are we going to do?”

“Nothing,” said Avar. “We carry on as before.”

“But all those people,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Aren’t we going to try to help them somehow? You’re a Jedi. Isn’t that what you do?”

“The best way I can help them is to find a way in and out of the Stormwall. You heard what Rhil just said. If it’s true, if the Republic and Jedi forces did try to force a breach, then they still don’t have a way of reaching anyone inside. They’re getting desperate. If I can get a Path drive through the barrier…”

“So you’re not planning on sneaking off the Cacophony once you’re through, like Meglar planned?”

Avar cocked him a crooked grin. “Like you said, I’m a Jedi.”

Belin laughed. “You’re a fool! But a brave fool. If anyone can hijack a Nihil ship from the inside, you can.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Avar. “It’s the only way I can see to make a real difference.”

And to get back to Elzar. To tell him I’m sorry for leaving.

“Kaysee, tell me there was another hidden broadcast beneath that message.”

KC-78 gave a positive whoop.

“Let’s hear it then,” said Avar.

More static, worse than before, and then. “Avar. This is Rhil. The plan is go. Same location, tonight, sunset.” The message clicked off. Short and to the point.

“All right,” said Avar. She stood. “Then I’ll be ready. Tonight it is.”

CORUSCANT

“This is a disaster of our own making.”

Lina Soh sat back in her chair, trying to maintain a calm, professional exterior. Beneath this façade, however, her emotions were in turmoil. Mostly she was angry. At herself, at the Nihil, at the galaxy for conspiring to put her in this position.

She knew she could hide little from Master Yoda, however. He was perhaps the most perceptive of all the Jedi she had met and worked with these last few years; he had a way of seeing directly to the heart of things. Especially if those things were people. “I was too hasty in rejecting Ghirra Starros’s proposal,” she said. “If I’d done things differently, this would never have happened.”

And we would never have rushed into that desperate attack on the Stormwall.

She knew Elzar would be torturing himself over the horrible loss of life, too. When he discovered that billions more souls had now been swept into the unwelcome embrace of the Occlusion Zone, she wondered how he would ever recover.

In truth, she wondered how she would.

After everything, they’d needed a victory.

Instead, they’d provoked another disaster.

Perhaps Ghirra had been right all along.

Perhaps I should have listened.

Perhaps I’m just too stubborn.

Perhaps I should never have encouraged Kip to go exploring on the Outer Rim.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

Her head swirled with doubts in a way it hadn’t since she’d watched Starlight Beacon plunge into the cold ocean of Eiram.

“Blame ourselves for the actions of others, we cannot. The choices of the Nihil belong to them alone, hmmm?” Yoda was sitting on the other side of Lina’s broad desk, studying a large holographic map of the newly altered boundary. He raised a crooked finger, pointing at the map. “Waiting for an opportunity, Marchion Ro was. This is not your fault.”

She’d studied the report from the RDC. The Stormwall had swelled to almost half as big again, entirely swallowing two sectors, and leaving Eriadu in the Seswenna sector dangerously close to the new border. They’d lost contact with scores of RDC ships, now presumably trapped in dangerous enemy territory. Already, thousands of urgent messages were being fielded by the chancellery team.

Worse, the move spoke of the Nihil’s inherent power. If they could so easily extend their reach, severing the Republic from large portions of the galaxy, holding entire star systems hostage, what would ever stop them? What was to prevent them from doing it again, the next time Marchion Ro wanted to make a point?

The Jedi and the RDC had spent an entire year trying to decipher the Nihil tech, to figure out a way to interrupt, destroy, or bypass the Stormwall. And the closest they’d gotten was the one supposed weak point they’d identified.

Well, look how that turned out.

If they couldn’t find a way to breach the Stormwall, and the Nihil could continue to extend it, the situation was far worse than Lina or any of them had thought.

This was no longer a stalemate.

It was a battle the Republic had already lost.

“I’ve ordered new patrol routes to be devised and allocated. Locations for new strategic outposts to be mapped and identified. Delegations to the worlds on the new border to be scrambled,” she said.

“The Jedi will assist the RDC in all of this,” said Yoda. “Idle, we cannot be. The galaxy must see that we are fighting back, united.”

“But ‘all of this’ is just standing still. We’re no closer to stopping them than we were months ago. We need to find a new way to fight back.” She hated the fact she couldn’t see a way through this. That she didn’t know how to lead her people. That she felt so lost.

“Overreached, the Nihil have,” said Yoda. “This situation will be unsustainable. The bigger their domain becomes, the less control they have. There will be uprisings. A move made in haste, this expansion is.” He closed his eyes, as if peering into the future. “They have made a show of strength, but it will become a weakness.”

“Even if that’s true, we can’t wait for them to tear themselves apart,” said Lina. “Too many lives will be lost. Too much damage will be done.”

Yoda nodded. He opened his eyes, but they were heavy-lidded, as if he were still somewhere else, lost in his own thoughts. “Agree, I do. We must keep the pressure on. The Council has already sanctioned more Jedi to assist in the capture of a Path drive. One priority, this must be.”

Lina nodded. She didn’t know what else to say.

“There are trying times ahead,” said Yoda. “Our attention is divided. People need our help, more than ever before. Our resources are spread thin. The Stormwall must be breached. Learn how to combat the Nameless, we must.”

Lina wanted to scream in frustration. “As appalling as those monsters are, as worrying as their effect is upon the Jedi, surely, they’re just a weapon harnessed by a mad dictator. How can they be the answer to all of this?”

“Intertwined with the history of the Nihil, the Nameless are. Unlock the truth of them and the answers will become clear,” said Yoda.

“You’re sure of this?” asked Lina. She couldn’t begin to understand it, but she had to put her faith in the Jedi Council. Now was not a time for shutting down any options.

Yoda nodded. “We grow closer to understanding. With the help of Azlin, and through the dedication of Jedi such as Reath Silas and Emerick Caphtor, soon we will know the truth.”

“Then what can I do to help? As you say, our resources are already spread thin, but whatever you need, I shall put at your disposal.”

“Wise, this is,” said Yoda. “Help, we will need. The Jedi cannot deal with the Nameless alone.”

“I’ll speak to the RDC commanders,” said Lina. “We’ll coordinate with the Council and allocate appropriate personnel to help with this.”

Yoda got down from his seat. “Speak to the Council, I shall.”

Lina nodded, exhausted.

“Together, we will face this, Lina Soh,” said Yoda. “Together, we will find a way.”

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“Avar. This is Rhil. The plan is go. Same location tonight, sunset.” A pause. “Avar. This is Rhil. The plan is go. Same location tonight, sunset.” And then: “Avar, this is—”

Viess reached over and punched the OFF switch on the recording device. She stared at the odious little Talpini standing before her in her private chambers. He was wearing a self-satisfied grin so broad she thought it might develop its own gravity horizon and swallow him whole. “All right, Petrik. You’ve done well.”

Petrik slipped the recording device back into his filthy coveralls. “I got suspicious, see. Meglar kept making excuses to be alone with the reporter woman. At first, I thought—”

“Yes, yes. I can imagine what you thought,” said Viess, with a shudder. No wonder the fool had been spying on them. He’d obviously been hoping to catch sight of more than just a secret transmission.

But what a transmission.

Avar.

It had to be Avar Kriss, the legendary Jedi. The marshal of Starlight Beacon. The so-called Hero of Hetzal, who’d saved this very planet from destruction after the first Great Disaster.

Was she here, on Hetzal, now? Had she been operating inside the Occlusion Zone all this time, unnoticed? It certainly sounded like it.

Viess had heard stories about a female Jedi—most recently after picking up an escape pod containing two Nihil guards, who’d been ejected from a transport ship carrying a grain shipment. They were dead now, of course—that sort of failure couldn’t be tolerated—but they’d spoken of a blond, female human with a lightsaber.

A woman with the power to move things with her mind, who hadn’t killed them even though she’d had ample opportunity.

A Jedi through and through.

Of course, there wasn’t much information to go on. There were probably dozens of Jedi who’d modeled themselves after Avar Kriss. But hearing this now…it would make sense.

Avar Kriss, almost within reach.

From the recording, it seemed the Jedi was planning something with Rhil Dairo and the traitorous Halisite, Quith Meglar. Perhaps some sort of prison break. Perhaps more.

For months, Viess had been telling Ro that keeping the reporter alive was a risk. That, despite the delicious irony of using one of the Republic’s former mouthpieces to broadcast propaganda against it, Dairo would try to turn the tables on them at the very first opportunity.

Clearly, Ro had understood that. In fact, he’d probably counted on it, seeing it as a way to lure more Jedi, who might try to save their erstwhile friend, or at the very least try to put an end to her broadcasts.

The plan had worked, too. Although Viess had no intention of telling Marchion Ro. At least, not until she could serve Avar Kriss to him on a silver platter.

She’d failed to bring in Porter Engle. So far.

This, though—this would be the crowning glory. This would see her elevated above the other ministers. It would finally silence that fool Ghirra Starros, who was so intent on peace that she’d practically become an enemy sympathizer. And Boolan, too. That horrendous Ithorian with his grotesque experiments. There’d be no need for him and his own Jedi-hunters. Not when Viess had brought Avar Kriss to the table.

“Shall I kill them?” asked Petrik, with a little too much enthusiasm. “Or do you want to do it yourself?”

“Not yet,” said Viess.

Petrik looked confused. “But they’re traitors. We should stick ’em and split ’em before they have the chance to cause any real trouble. It’s what the Eye would do.”

“And how would they lead us to the Jedi if they were dead?” said Viess, her patience quickly running out. “We don’t know where their secret ‘location’ is, do we?”

Petrik shook his head. “The Jedi? You mean there’s a Jedi mixed up in all of this?” He actually looked scared at the thought of it. How the imbecile was still alive was anyone’s guess.

“Look, just…keep an eye on them both. Let them have all the space they need. If they make any more broadcasts, you know what to do.”

“I do?”

“Record them and bring them to me, like this one,” said Viess, through gritted teeth.

“Ah, yeah. Of course.”

“And Petrik—if you tell anyone else about this, they won’t be the only ones who end up ‘stuck and split.’ Do you understand?”

“I think so,” said Petrik.

“Then get back to whatever filthy little hole you crawled out of. And be ready. When they leave to make that rendezvous, you’re coming with me.”

Petrik nodded and hurried out.

Viess watched him go.

Fodder for the Jedi’s blade, that one.

Assuming I don’t kill him first…

HINTIS IV

The light of the red sun made Bell think of blood.

It washed over him as he stood at the viewport in the tactical station, bathing his face, steeping him in its soft crimson glow. Today, the city ruins looked like a graveyard, a mausoleum raised to account for the dead.

And there were so many dead.

The mood at the RDC base on Hintis IV was somber. People had lost friends and loved ones in the attack on the Stormwall and were wallowing in grief. Others were reeling in shock at the loss of their homeworlds, engulfed by the expanding Occlusion Zone. Families, homes, all of them now out of reach. It was inconceivable, and the ripples would be felt for generations.

Bell had tried to reach Coruscant, to speak to someone—anyone—about what had happened, but the comm channels were all overloaded, and the Jedi were scrambling to field the thousands of new problems they all faced.

The best thing he and Burry could do—they’d agreed—was to redouble their efforts to capture a Path drive. Not only that, but they had a new border to help patrol.

The Hintis IV base was now dangerously close to the new border itself, which had swelled right into the neighboring star system before it finally stopped. The raids could be coming for them next. People were understandably nervous.

Bell, on the other hand, was feeling deeply frustrated. He’d spent some time meditating, trying to come to terms with the anger and desperation that had caused him to try to turn the Tractate around, to strand himself and the others inside the Occlusion Zone as it expanded.

It was an action born out of that same frustration, that need to be fighting back, doing something worthwhile, making a difference.

But he’d let it go too far, and he’d apologized to Burry, Captain Pel, and the crew.

The thing was, they understood. They shared his frustration, his desperation. They wanted nothing more than to stop the Nihil. But Burry had been right. One more ship inside the zone wasn’t enough. And they were needed. The last thing the Jedi Order needed was to lose more people behind the Stormwall without a plan.

And so he’d turned his attention back to the plan.

Where they’d hit another wall.

“So there’s still no pattern you can decipher from the raids?” said Bell, turning away from the viewport.

Harlak, the Gran technician, shook his head. “Nothing. It almost seems as if they’re being randomized. As if, whenever a ship with a Path engine wishes to traverse the Stormwall, the system allocates a random permitted route through which to travel.” He shrugged. “It’s a clever setup. Primitive, but if you have control of the home ship and a load of Path drives containing maps of otherwise uncharted hyperspace routes, it’s close to infallible.”

Burry gave a low growl of displeasure.

Harlak held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not saying I like it,” he said, “but I can appreciate it for what it is.”

“So what you’re telling us is, there’s no pattern to be found in the way the Cacophony carries out its raids?” said Bell.

“That’s what it looks like,” said Harlak.

Burry shook his head, setting his braids jangling. He pointed out that couldn’t be the case. The raids were anything but random. They were too well executed, too carefully planned. Some were orbital bombardments, others ground-level assaults. They couldn’t do that without knowing what they were getting into—it was too much of a risk, even for the Nihil. One misstep, attacking a stronghold or armed garrison, and they’d be obliterated or risk letting a Path drive fall into enemy hands. On top of that, he was certain that Shryke was using the raids as a sort of bait, an attempt to lure in more Jedi to capture and take back behind the Stormwall.

“You’re right,” said Bell. “It fits with what happened to Master Veter. And what they tried to do when they attacked us with those drill ships. The Cacophony could have finished us off. Blown us to pieces while were stranded. But instead, they were closing in.”

“Interesting,” said Harlak.

“It means not all the raids can be random,” said Bell. “Most, perhaps, where it makes little difference to the outcome. But Melis Shryke could be working to a plan. Using particular Paths to bring her closer to Jedi patrols.”

Burry nodded. He crossed to the tactical station and brought up the holographic map of the Stormwall. Bell tried not to think about how much bigger it looked. Burry turned a series of dials, rolling back the timeline to before the recent expansion. The holographic Stormwall shrank again.

“What are you doing?” asked Bell. He and Harlak crossed to join Burry, peering at the wavering blue map.

“Arrwwwrara warrgh,” said Burry, explaining that he had an idea.

“Oh, that’s good!” said Bell. “Why haven’t we thought of looking at it that way around before?”

Harlak looked at Bell, fathomless. “What did he say?”

Bell smiled. “He said instead of looking at the point of emergence, why don’t we try correlating the sites of the actual raids.”

Harlak considered that for a moment. “It could work. We’ve tried it before, but more generally, and found no obvious patterns. But if you’re right about the Cacophony specifically…” He looked genuinely excited now, fidgeting with his hands as if already having to hold himself back from the terminal. “If we isolate the raids we know for certain were carried out by the Cacophony, we might well be able to triangulate to see if there’s a pattern that emerges.”

“Genius,” said Bell.

Burry thumped him lightly in the arm.

“I meant you! I meant you!”

Bell rubbed his arm pointedly. When he looked around again, Harlak was already busily plugging in data.

CORUSCANT

Elzar had avoided pretty much everyone upon his return to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He knew he’d have to face them sooner or later—there would be an inquiry, during which he and Keven Tarr would each outline their understanding of what had happened during the attack on the Stormwall.

He had no concerns or qualms about that. He would be honest and straightforward about his decisions and their implications, and he knew Tarr would, too.

The truth was, though, that both the Jedi Council and the RDC had far more important things to concern themselves with first. The expansion of the Stormwall was a blow none of them could have anticipated, and it would dominate their lives for the foreseeable future. Decisions were being made. New lines were being drawn. Jedi were being reassigned to assist RDC operations in new sectors. Others were being sent out to reinforce efforts to capture a working Path drive.

The Temple was a hive of activity.

Elzar would help with it all, in whatever way he could. He would play his part to the very best of his ability.

That would come later, though. For now, he had retired to his chambers.

To hide.

It wasn’t that he was unable to face their scorn. It was more that he wasn’t sure he could bear their kindness. It was why he’d isolated himself from Tarr on the journey home—because Tarr was almost as empathetic as Burryaga, despite his veneer of studious distraction. Tarr would have sought to comfort him, and Elzar didn’t think he could stand that. He’d made the wrong decisions, pushed and pushed until he got his way, and then gambled with the lives of others. He had to face what he’d done and learn to live with the consequences, the weight of the responsibility.

He didn’t need kindness. He needed honesty and truth. He needed someone to hold a mirror up to him and remind him why he cared so much, why he did what he did; why he was a Jedi in the first place.

He needed Stellan.

Or Avar.

Sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, he wondered if he would ever see her again. The thought that he might not was unbearable.

Avar was a friend. A fellow Jedi Master. They’d agreed long ago that’s all they would ever be. And it was enough. Truly, it was.

What he needed from her now was a shoulder to lean on. Guidance. Understanding.

He needed to know someone cared.

That someone could still see the real Elzar, behind all the mess, behind the façade he’d been trying so desperately to maintain. He needed her help to find himself again.

Elzar wanted to say all of this to her. She was the only one left who he could talk to like that. Still the only one he’d told about Chancey Yarrow. He needed to tell her how he was feeling.

He knew that was selfish of him.

Yet, regardless, he needed to get it out. To just…talk.

He glanced at a nearby drawer.

Perhaps there was a way.

He leaned over, pulled the drawer open, and withdrew a small, black comm unit. It was ancient, a relic, really, designed for an old communications relay system that made use of a string of satellite buoys seeded during the great expansion nearly two hundred years earlier. The tools of the old Pathfinders and their comm teams, left to languish unused since the mapping of the hyperspace lanes that made them obsolete.

It would translate his words into a kind of simple code, a sequence formed from pips, whistles, and beeps, that would be cast out into the depths of the Outer Rim.

He’d once hoped it might be a way of getting a message into the Occlusion Zone, a tech so old that the jamming equipment employed by the Nihil to block comms wouldn’t even recognize it.

In the months after Starlight’s fall, he’d sent several messages out, using a variety of techniques and old equipment, working to the same principle—that the Nihil wouldn’t be actively blocking any old or outdated modes of communication. He’d spent weeks in the Jedi Archives researching obsolete technology, as well as more arcane, ancient techniques of Force projection. He’d assembled devices and transmitted his messages, but had received no reply.

Only once had he tried to reach Avar directly. But the experience—made using a device he’d built to try to channel the Force—had proved painful and ineffective.

In the end, he’d given up the whole enterprise as futile, but only after he’d exhausted every avenue he could find. It seemed no one was listening, and if they were, they probably wouldn’t know how to decipher the strange codes he’d had to use to make the equipment work. They probably wouldn’t even think to scan the right channels. The tech was so obscure now that the entire enterprise was most likely a complete waste of time.

And yet today it suited his purpose. Shouting into the void felt right. He held the transmitter to his mouth and clicked the button to transmit.

And then he talked:

“Avar. It’s Elzar. I don’t know if you’ll ever hear this. Perhaps it would be better if you don’t, if these words dissipate among the stars to be forgotten forever. It might save us both some embarrassment.

“The thing is…I miss you. And I need your help. Your advice. I need your guidance. I need you.

“It’s just…I’m lost, and I’m not sure I can do this alone. Not anymore. I’ve spent so long trying to do what I thought people wanted from me. To be who they needed me to be, who the galaxy needed me to be.

“The truth is, it’s my fault that Stellan is gone. If I’d made better choices on Starlight Beacon, if I hadn’t been so rash, he’d still be here. And I wouldn’t be left behind alone, trying to fill his boots.

“But his boots are just too big for me, Avar. I’m just not as good as he was. I can’t do it. I’ve tried so hard. I really have. I promised myself that I wouldn’t let the galaxy suffer such a loss, that I had to embody at least a part of what made him the person he was.

“But I can’t. I’m not Stellan, you see. I can’t do what he did. And every time I try, it goes wrong, and people get hurt.

“So many beings have lost their lives because of me. I tried to punch my way through the Stormwall. I argued in favor of trying to break the stalemate, taking the battle to Marchion Ro. To stop him hurting any more people. But I was trying to reach you, too. Because unlike Stellan, I’m not selfless. Not like I should be. I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing you again. I still can’t. And so I tried to find a way. A way that would help everyone. I tried to do what I thought Stellan would do. To fight, even though all the odds were against me, and everyone told me it wouldn’t work.

“But I failed, in so many ways. People died. And the Stormwall expanded. And now that’s on me, too.

“And here’s the problem, Avar. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what comes next, or how to put any of it right. I don’t even know if I should try to put things right, because what if I mess that up, too? For the first time in my life, I can’t see the road ahead. I used to be so certain, so sure that I knew what the Force needed from me. Now all that certainty is gone.

“I just…I hope you’re okay. And even though you won’t hear this message, I want you to know that I care. And I’ve tried.

“I…

“I…

“May the Force be with you, Avar.”

He thumbed the transmission off and leaned his head back against the side of his bunk.

There. It was done.

Now it was time to remember that he was a Jedi. A master. He had responsibilities.

He got to his feet, placed the ancient comm unit carefully back in the drawer, and reached for a set of clean temple robes that were neatly hanging in the cupboard.

The very least he could do was look the part.

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Avar had come alone.

Both Belin and KC-78 had objected vehemently, arguing that they should stick together as a team, but Avar had insisted. She’d told them she needed them ready in case things went awry and she had to make a quick getaway, just like the last time, but in truth she simply couldn’t bring herself to put either of them in harm’s way again. Not if she could help it.

She’d promised them both that she’d return to the ship once she was fully aware of the plan. But she’d also made it clear that she might not be able to take them with her this time. Smuggling them onto the Nihil ship might be a complication too far, a risk that she wasn’t prepared to take. Belin had done so much already, had risked his life and his future to help her. It was enough. And while the thought of leaving him and KC-78 inside the Occlusion Zone at the mercy of the Nihil was far from appealing, she vowed she’d return for them as soon as she’d delivered the Path drive to the Jedi, and they’d been able to replicate the maps of the Nihil’s hidden hyperspace routes. Free movement in and out of Nihil space would change everything. That had to be the goal. But it was her risk, not theirs.

She’d told Belin to return home to Taroon, making use of the scav droid protocols to slip through the unpatrolled regions. She had to hope he and KC-78 would be safe there, but with the Nihil distracted and spread thin by the sudden expansion of the Stormwall and the influx of new worlds to police, she figured it would be their best shot. At least until she could find a way back for them.

Avar reached the crest of the stone steps and, a little breathless, slipped into the cover of the trees. The air here was damp and warm, and the rich scent of pine needles filled her nostrils as she gently crushed them underfoot, weaving between the boughs to get the best possible view of the clearing.

Rhil and Meglar were already there, standing close to each other near the center of the irregular space. Avar decided to watch them for a moment, just to see if either of them gave anything away. Particularly the Halisite, Meglar. It would stand her in good stead to remain cautious, especially when it came to the Nihil. A defector was a betrayer by nature, and Avar would remain on her guard until the mission was over, no matter Rhil’s assurances.

Avar still couldn’t quite rely on her connection to the Force, couldn’t assume her instincts were as honed as they once were; that her compass in such matters was entirely accurate. Not with the discordance of the song she still heard every time she called upon the Force. Her reading of Meglar was that he was genuine, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t tread carefully.

Meglar was dragging a cloth sack in his wake. It contained something bulky and irregular. He kept looking back at the tree line behind them, just like the last time they’d met, as if concerned that someone could sneak up on them at any time. Avar guessed that was just part of being a Nihil—when the most likely danger came from within your own ranks, you learned to watch your back.

Rhil looked nervous, too. She was straining to look for Avar in the quickening gloom.

Avar didn’t sense anything unusual or unexpected. She picked her way out of the trees, lowering the hood of her dark cloak.

Meglar looked sharply in her direction, hand straying for the blaster tucked in his belt, and then relaxed when he saw it was Avar. “You’re late,” he said.

“I’m on time,” said Avar. “It’s you who’s early.”

Meglar shrugged. “Things are a little…difficult right now. We took the opportunity to leave when we could.”

“So I hear,” said Avar. She studied Rhil, who was tapping the toe of one boot against the heel of the other in a nervous gesture. “Are you okay, Rhil? Is there something I should know?”

Rhil shook her head. “No. It’s just…” She paused, gathering herself together. “I hope this works, that’s all. I need to get out of there, Avar.” She looked tired, like she was running on nervous energy.

“It’ll work,” said Meglar, a little impatiently. He kicked the sack on the ground before him. It made a muffled metallic clunk. He stepped back a couple of meters, beckoning for Avar to come forward. “I brought you this.”

Avar narrowed her eyes. “What is it?”

“A droid. It’s broken now. But I figured you’d want to see it. General Viess brought it to the Eye. She said she’d caught it trying to leave the atmosphere of someplace named Daedus. That it’d been put together by a Jedi called Engle using old technology, stuff he thought might be able to get through the Stormwall. He was trying to get a message out to the other Jedi, or something.” He shrugged, as if to say he didn’t really understand what it was all about. “I thought…Well, you’re a Jedi. You might know what to do with it.”

Engle.

Could it be?

Was Porter Engle still alive, somewhere close, behind the Stormwall? Porter would never have given up. If he was out there, he was still fighting.

“This Jedi, Engle—is he still alive?”

Meglar waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t know. Don’t care. But for what it’s worth, it sounds like the Eye is pretty unhappy that Viess hasn’t caught him yet.”

Porter Engle.

The thought of him brought a smile to Avar’s lips.

She crossed to the sack, folding back the fabric to reveal the wreckage of an old droid. After a few moments, she identified it as an EX model, although it had been badly damaged. She’d seen these once or twice, as images in the Jedi Archives, or as scrap heaped up in junkyards across the Outer Rim. She knew they’d once been used by the Republic Pathfinder teams for long-distance communication, back when Porter would still have been young.

She flipped the power switch, but the droid had been too badly damaged. A few sparks popped and fizzed inside its workings, and a single leg gave a twitching dance, but the lights didn’t come on and the droid’s memory core seemed to be inactive. She glanced up at Meglar. “You say it was carrying a message?”

“That’s what the general said. But I didn’t hear her play it. It’s probably still in the memory unit, though, if you can figure out a way to get it working again.”

“My droid can,” said Avar. “I’ll take it back to my ship.”

Rhil and Meglar exchanged a glance. “We don’t have time for that,” said Rhil. “We’re leaving as soon as we’re done here. You’ll have to bring it with you.” She indicated the EX droid that Avar was wrapping back up in its sack.

“Leaving now?” said Avar.

Meglar glanced over his shoulder again. “Things have changed. The timelines have moved up. Melis Shryke is planning to mount a raid in the Seswenna sector.”

“The Seswenna sector, but that’s—”

“Bisected by the border of the Stormwall now,” said Rhil. “They want to keep the pressure up, let the Republic know that things haven’t changed just because Nihil space has gotten bigger.”

“They’re preparing to leave in the morning. We need to get you and Rhil aboard and hidden, as soon as possible. There’s a garbage compactor on the ship that’s out of commission. Can’t have been used for months. We’ll stash you in there until we’re safely outside the zone.” He fixed Avar with a stare. “I hope you’re good for this, Jedi. Once we’re in orbit around Eriadu, it’s on you to get us safely off that ship.”

“I’m good for it,” said Avar.

The thought of ditching Belin and KC-78 without even a word was far from appealing. But she could hardly press the point. They knew what to do if she didn’t return—wait another day and then leave, putting as much distance between themselves and Hetzal as possible.

“All right. We brought two speeders. You know how to—” Meglar’s mouth continued to move, but no sound seemed to pass his lips. His eyes went wide. His bone crest flushed red. He looked accusingly at Avar, and then pitched forward, toppling like a felled tree, the searing hole of an exit wound in the center of his forehead.

Clearly, he’d been right to watch his back.

Avar’s lightsaber bloomed in her grip.

“No! No, no no!” Rhil stared at the corpse by her feet, stricken.

“Get behind me, Rhil,” said Avar, scanning the trees at the other side of the clearing. “Now.”

Rhil, panicked, hurtled to Avar’s side. “What…?”

“They followed you here,” said Avar. It was the only logical explanation.

“They said you were a clever one,” said a woman’s voice. Avar tracked it, moving through the trees on her left. It sounded amused, but weary.

Footsteps on her right, too.

A flanking maneuver.

How very simplistic.

Avar took a step back, her lightsaber twisting in her grip. The blade spun, humming. “Don’t suppose you brought a blaster, Rhil?”

“Actually…” Rhil tugged at her belt, pulling a small weapon out of a hidden fold. “Meglar thought I might need it.”

“He was right. Cover the trees on our right.”

Engines now. The roar of approaching speeders, coming directly into the clearing ahead of them.

Avar cursed. They were boxed in, with only the gully behind them. If she could get them to the ship below they had a chance of getting clear, but there was every chance they’d get picked off on the stone steps by blasterfire. She wouldn’t be able to deflect every bolt. Not from a small army.

“It’s all right, Avar Kriss,” said the woman’s voice. “I’m not here to kill you.” The woman stepped from between the trunks of two trees. She was a Mirialan, with lined, age-worn skin and graying hair, and was dressed in a full suit of black, inlaid armor. “I’ll save that for Marchion Ro and his pets.” She was carrying an ornately engraved blaster and wore an old-fashioned sword at her hip.

“General Viess,” said Rhil. “One of Ro’s so-called ministers.”

Avar offered Viess a grim smile. “I’m afraid you have the advantage,” she said. “I’ve never heard of you.”

Viess sneered. “I do have the advantage.” She motioned to the other end of the clearing, where the speeders were beginning to emerge. At least twenty of them, most of them carrying two Nihil apiece. Several of them were carrying metallic nets.

It didn’t look promising.

“Avar?” said Rhil.

“I know, Rhil.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

Avar believed her. The fact that Quith Meglar was lying dead on the ground was proof enough that he’d been genuine in his plan to get them clear.

“It was always a risk,” said Avar.

“Nah,” said a gruff, male voice from their right. “It was always downright stupid.”

Avar flicked a glance at the newcomer, emerging from the trees on the opposite side to Viess. A Talpini dressed in scruffy coveralls.

“You!” said Rhil.

“Me.” The Talpini grinned slyly and raised his blaster. “Now, the general said no killing. But she didn’t say nothing about a couple of nasty blaster burns…”

“Get ready, Rhil,” whispered Avar, under her breath.

“What are you—”

“On the ground,” yelled Avar.

She spun, lightsaber wheeling, in the direction of General Viess.

Nihil blasters spat, but she deflected the searing bolts, sending them wild like a scattergun, burning through the canopy as she made a beeline for Viess.

Behind her, Rhil hit the ground and rolled.

Viess tossed her blaster to the ground and slipped two long-bladed daggers out of sheaths on her belt. She was grinning as she rushed to meet Avar, her movements lithe and supple, belying her apparent age.

Avar knew this wasn’t a time for leniency. Taking down this woman was the only way to save herself and Rhil. Her lightsaber arced…

…and was deflected by a raised vambrace. The plasma spat and hissed as the blade slid off the armor covering the general’s left forearm.

Beskar.

The filigreed inlay was beskar.

One of the daggers flashed.

More beskar.

Avar lurched back, caught off guard as the blade slit her billowing cloak, its tip scoring the side of her buckled tunic. She winced as she felt it draw blood.

Close by, Rhil had scurried into the cover of the trees, keeping her blaster trained on the Talpini.

Avar twisted, tossing her lightsaber into the other hand, pressing an attack on Viess’s exposed right flank.

Again, Viess ducked and slid, her right arm coming up to batter the lightsaber blade away.

“I’m an old hand at this, Avar,” she hissed, as she came on with a sudden flurry of attacks, her blades biting at different angles like two snapping dogs.

Avar whirled, her lightsaber spinning across her shoulders to deflect a blaster shot that had been aimed at her back, and then kicked out, sending Viess’s left hand wide, while leaning in, so that the right hand slid past her hip, just missing opening up her gut.

Close in, she whipped her head forward, striking Viess’s nose with her forehead. Viess staggered back, blood streaming down her chin, a wicked smile on her face.

She was enjoying this.

The rest of the Nihil had clambered off their speeders and were readying the nets. There were too many of them. If it had just been the marauders themselves, she might have been able to fight them off, but this Viess woman…

Avar battered away another flurry of stabbing attacks, beskar sparking.

She risked a glance at Rhil, who was shuffling back through the undergrowth as the Talpini edged forward, his blaster tracking her every movement.

Overhead, the sound of a shuttle drive roared above the canopy.

More Nihil reinforcements.

I’m sorry, Rhil.

She saw the general frown. Hesitate. Look up beyond the trees.

She’s not expecting reinforcements.

Elsewhere, Nihil were shouting.

Avar came on, battering Viess back with a series of brutal, double-handed strikes. The Mirialan shielded herself behind her arms, staggering back under the intensity of the blows. Her vambraces had begun to buckle and warp under the sustained assault of Avar’s lightsaber, but the beskar reinforcements were holding. For now.

The sound from above was growing louder by the second. Avar parried, turned, parried again, and flicked a glance up, just for a split second, to see a streak of bright flame lighting the sky above the treetops.

What was going on?

Her senses flared.

She had to move.

Now.

Avar wheeled, struck out at Viess again, and then, using the Force, shoved the woman over backward, tossing her into the trees.

Deflecting blaster shots, she took three bounding leaps across to where Rhil was still on the ground, now wrestling with the Talpini, who seemed to be trying to pin the reporter’s arms behind her back. Avar ran in, grabbing the Talpini by the back of his collar and tossing him across the clearing, where he collided with the fat trunk of a tree and sank silently to the ground.

“Stay down!” Avar dropped to her knees, sheltering Rhil, as the canopy above them erupted in flame.

A shuttle was coming in at an acute angle—a very acute angle—streaming columns of black smoke, its engines venting streaks of flame that ignited the surrounding trees like dry tinder. Scav droids clung to what was left of its hull, still grinding, cutting, and dissecting the vessel, limpetlike, even as it plowed through the air on its final, deadly descent.

The heat was already intense. Hot ash was billowing around them like flakes of drifting snow.

She heard Viess bellow at the top of her lungs.

The Nihil marauders were scattering among the trees or trying to run for their speeders, but they were too late.

The shuttle struck with the force of a small bomb, causing the ground to rupture around the site of the impact. The resulting wave of rumpled dirt struck the fleeing Nihil like a wall, crushing those that hadn’t already been incinerated by the initial explosion.

Avar and Rhil were thrown backward, soil and burning tree matter raining down on them as they rolled, trying desperately to avoid the worst of the fiery shock wave.

The heat rolled over Avar like a passing sun, shriveling the fine hair on her arms and face. Rhil was screaming, but Avar could hardly hear it over the ringing in her ears and the sound of the secondary explosions, reverberating throughout the clearing as the shuttle’s fuel supply went up in a series of popping blasts.

Avar grabbed for her lightsaber, dragging herself to her feet, turning to see Viess glowering at her from the trees. Burning leaves dripped like molten raindrops all around her, repelled by her armor, falling to the ground as blackened ash.

At the other end of the clearing, the few Nihil survivors were picking themselves up, staggering to and fro like they were lost. A massive, burning crater steamed in their midst, the broken shards of the shuttle jutting from the ragged ground.

Avar ignited her lightsaber. Viess gritted her teeth.

And then something else fell from the sky.

The figure was dressed in black and carried a bright-blue lightsaber in his right fist. He landed with a deftness that belied his broad build, using the Force to slow his descent.

He’d fallen from the burning sky. Bailed from the crashing shuttle.

A Jedi.

An Ikkrukkian, with two matching bulges erupting from his forehead, a wild gray beard, and a neat patch covering his left eye. He was wearing a small pack, slung over his shoulder.

“Porter?” blurted Avar, unable to contain her credulity.

“Avar! Sorry I’m late to the party. Looks like I’ve missed the fun.”

Avar stared at him. “But…what…?”

But Porter had already turned his attention to the figure emerging from the burning woods. “General,” he said in mock greeting, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Porter Engle. How unexpected,” said Viess. She looked from Porter to Avar and back again, clearly weighing up her chances and finding them wanting. Avar could see the frustration in the way she was holding herself, her desperation to launch back into the fight. But it was one Viess knew she couldn’t win.

Instead, Viess smiled, and then took a step back into the line of smoldering trees. “I think…not today,” she said, and then turned and ran.

Porter looked as if he were about to give chase, but then seemed to think better of it. He turned to Avar. “We need to move. And quickly. The crashing ship will have alerted the whole fortress. They’ll be here soon, in number.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” She shook her head in disbelief. “How did you…?”

Porter smiled. “Rhil’s hidden broadcasts. Admittedly, I’m a little late…” He shrugged. “But there’ll be time for explanations later.”

Avar nodded. She turned to Rhil, who had gotten to her feet and was dusting herself down, which had the effect of smearing more greasy ash over her already filthy clothes.

“Porter,” said Rhil, with a nod.

Porter grinned. “I’m guessing things didn’t work out quite as you’d hoped.”

“You could say that,” said Rhil.

A grunt.

Someone stirring on their right.

Avar glanced around to see the Talpini charging out of the swirling smoke toward Rhil, a murderous grimace on his face. “I’ll kill you! You sneaky—”

His last words were cut off by a blaster shot that struck him in the chest, sending him spinning back to the ground. He gave a horrible, wet sucking breath and was still.

“No, Petrik. You won’t,” said Rhil. She dropped the blaster with a racking sob.

Avar extinguished her lightsaber and hurried to Rhil’s side, catching the reporter as she buckled. She held her for a moment.

“It’s all right, Rhil. It’s over.”

Rhil nodded, prizing herself away from Avar’s embrace. “I’m okay. It’s just…I’ve never…”

“I understand,” said Avar.

Rhil crossed to where the body of Quith Meglar lay crumpled under a heap of rumpled dirt. For a moment, Avar thought the woman was going to pay her respects. Instead, she collected up the cloth sack containing the broken EX droid. She handed it to Porter. “I think this is yours.”

Porter opened the sack and peered inside. His face fell as he took in its contents. “No…”

“There’s time yet, Porter,” said Avar. “We can still get your message out.”

He nodded, slinging the sack over his shoulder. “Do you have a ship? Mine, umm…well, it’s not really flightworthy anymore.”

Avar shook her head in disbelief.

Everything was in tatters. Quith Meglar’s escape plan was in ruins. The world around them was literally on fire. And yet, seeing Porter here, amid all this chaos, Avar felt more hopeful than she had in months.

“You’re in luck,” she said, with a grin. “This way.” She led Rhil slowly toward the stone steps that would take them back to Belin and KC-78, in the gully far below. “But let me make one thing perfectly clear, Porter.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll do the flying.”

CORUSCANT

Elzar stood beside Lina Soh outside the main doors of the Council Chamber in the Jedi Temple.

The chancellor had requested an audience with the Council, and once again, she’d asked Elzar to attend. He’d come, of course, because to refuse would have been not only an insult but a failure to do his duty. The truth was, though, that it was the last place he wanted to be at that moment.

The chancellor hadn’t even looked at him since they’d arrived. Elzar knew it was because she didn’t want to betray her own vulnerability. They were both feeling battered and bruised by recent developments. Even someone with Lina’s resilience couldn’t entirely keep her emotions at bay.

“Chancellor, I—”

Soh raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “If you’re going to say what I think you’re going to say, if you’re going to start taking the blame for what happened out there, then don’t. We both know that we could have made different decisions. And we’ve both wished that we had. But it’s not helpful. We did what we thought was best, for the Republic, and for the people in our care. Now we draw a line under it and carry on.”

“Sometimes it’s not that easy,” said Elzar, gently.

At last, the chancellor turned to look at him. “I didn’t say it would be easy. But what choice do we have? We don’t get to walk away because we made mistakes. Quite the opposite. We have to try harder.”

Elzar nodded, taken aback by the simplicity of her argument.

She was right. What choice did any of them have? Things had changed, but there was no turning back the chrono. The only thing left to do now was decide what to do next. “Yes. You’re right,” he said.

“Good. Then let’s get this over with,” she said. She strode through the door, and Elzar hurried to keep pace.

The Council members were all in attendance, although both Stellan’s and Pra-Tre Veter’s seats remained pointedly empty. Yarael Poof was again transmitting in by holo, but Masters Yoda, Keaton Murag, Soleil Agra, Lahru Xo, and Ry Ki-Sakka were all there, along with those that Elzar hadn’t seen for some time: the two humans, Ada-li Carro and Teri Rosason; the Thisspiasian, Oppo Rancisis, with his mop of twisting, curling hair and yellow-green skin; and the short, green-skinned Yarkora, Adampo, who drummed his claws upon on his lap as he watched them approach. All had returned from fieldwork to help steer the Order through the current crisis.

Elzar kept his head down as he accompanied the chancellor into the center of their gathered circle.

“Chancellor, Elzar,” said Teri Rosason. “It is good to see you. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

“Indeed,” said Soh. “Thank you for making time to speak with me. I know how busy you are, orchestrating the Jedi response to this crisis.”

“We must pull together in our hour of need,” said Lahru. “Only by working hand in hand will we see this through.”

“Tell us,” said Soleil Agra, “how can we help?”

Soh raised her head. Elzar could see from the lines beneath her eyes, the shallowness of her breath, that she’d barely slept. Whatever it was she was about to say, it was weighing heavy on her. “I wonder now if I was too hasty in rejecting Ghirra Starros’s proposal to offer the Nihil a seat in the Senate.”

Elzar watched her, brows furrowing. Was she really thinking of going back on her decision?

“And your reasoning for such a bold reversal?” asked Murag. “Beyond the obvious revulsion at the nature of the Nihil’s reprisal?”

“Everything we’ve tried so far has failed,” said Soh. “And so I find myself wondering—if we cannot beat them with might, perhaps we can beat them with diplomacy. If we offer them a seat at the table, perhaps we can find a way to at least influence, if not direct the future course of the Nihil.” She looked pained. “I don’t want to admit it, but I’m beginning to think we don’t have another choice. Offering the Nihil legitimacy and bringing them into the fold might be the only move left.”

“But what does that make us?” said Adampo, stroking the fine bristles of his chin. “Complicit in their crimes? Supporters of a regime that oppresses billions of beings, holding them hostage on their own worlds? Appeasers and apologists, upholding an enemy government because it’s marginally better than the alternative?”

“And yet, a person like Ghirra Starros, while not to be trusted,” said Rancisis, “at least might be prepared to engage with the democratic systems of the Senate and the Republic. She might help to tame the more barbaric tendencies of Marchion Ro.”

“There is some logic to that,” said Agra. “I sense that Ghirra Starros wasn’t giving us the whole picture. Perhaps there are some divisions forming among the Nihil factions, and we could use that to our advantage, helping to pry them apart.”

“Master Yoda said much the same,” said Soh, glancing across at him. “That the Nihil might have spread themselves too thin and won’t be able to keep control of the larger domain they’ve now found themselves ruling.”

“Indeed,” said Yoda. “But rely on this we cannot. Time is against us.”

“We can try to change them,” said Ry, “but when it comes down to it, they have to want to change. Ghirra could be a part of that, but we have no idea if she’s a lone voice shouting into the wind, or the tip of an iceberg of revolution. The long-term goal has to be the reduction of the threat and the return of sovereignty to the planets within the Occlusion Zone, doesn’t it? Is this the best way to effect that end? Surely giving the Nihil a seat on the Senate could also consolidate Marchion Ro’s power, giving his rule legitimacy and influence throughout the galaxy, beyond what he has even now.”

“And yet, as things stand, he has the unilateral capability to extend the reach of his Stormwall whenever he chooses, seizing more and more territory at will,” said Soh.

“You heard Ghirra’s proposal, Elzar. What does your instinct tell you?” asked Murag.

You’re asking me?

After I’ve already made so many mistakes?

Elzar cleared his throat. “While it doesn’t feel right to support Ghirra, on so many levels, I can’t offer you a better plan. Not anymore. We’re running out of options.”

Soh nodded. “I’ve come to the same conclusion. While our every effort is directed at capturing a Path engine, supporting the worlds of the new border, resolving the question of the Nameless—can we really say we’ve tried everything if we haven’t tried this?”

A series of reluctant nods rippled through the gathered Jedi.

“Believe me, this is not something I relish,” said Soh. “It is a dark day for democracy. But if it gives us the opportunity to reach out to the people inside the Occlusion Zone, to stop further expansion or attacks, then I think it is something we must do.”

“Do you think they’ll still listen?” said Lahru.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” said Soh. “I cannot anticipate Marchion Ro’s reaction, but I’m certain that Starros would be more than willing. If there was a way to reach her.”

“There’s always a way,” said Ada-li Carro. “We know there are Nihil ships entering and exiting the Occlusion Zone all the time. If we broadcast a message, surely one of them will pick it up, get it back to her.”

Soh nodded. “Then that is what we shall do.”

“It seems you are decided, Chancellor Soh,” said Adampo.

“It seems so,” said the chancellor. She looked at Yoda, then Ry. “Aren’t you going to vote?”

“This is not our decision,” said Yoda. “But know that, as Master Lahru said when you first entered this Chamber, the Jedi stand with you, Chancellor Soh. There are grave risks in what you propose, yes, but there is also wisdom. An enemy close is, perhaps, better than an enemy unknown.”

“Very well,” said Soh. “Unless the situation changes, I shall make the necessary overtures to recommence the peace talks.”

Elzar sighed, partly in relief, and partly in dismay.

At least a decision had been made. A potential end to the constant nightmare of the Nihil conflict.

Why, then, did he feel as though they were all sailing blind into even deeper, more dangerous waters?

SPACE, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Porter sat with his back against one of the empty storage vats in the rear of the hold. Beside him, KC-78 was sitting dormant, absorbing everything the two Jedi said. Rhil was up front with Belin, devouring a much-needed meal. She no doubt required proper medical assistance following her ordeal—the psychological torment of being held captive for so long must have been truly horrendous to bear, let alone the physiological needs associated with being a prisoner—but that would have to wait, perhaps until they could find a way out of the Occlusion Zone altogether. And with Quith Meglar dead, Avar wasn’t even sure where they were going to start.

Still, Belin seemed to have immediately taken her under his wing. The Ugnaught was a constant source of surprise to her, and her admiration for him had grown by orders of magnitude during the short time they’d been together. If someone who’d been through as much as he had could remain so constant, so intrinsically kind, then perhaps there really was still hope for the galaxy.

After leaving Hetzal, they’d taken refuge amid an asteroid field in the Kiblini sector, guiding the ship in among the drifting debris of a former planet and setting it down on the back of one of the smaller rocky bodies. They’d powered down all but the basic life-support systems while they tried to work out a plan.

They knew there were Nihil patrol ships scouring the territories around Hetzal, following their hurried escape. Avar hoped this would be enough of a hiding place that it could at least buy them a few hours of respite. Belin had been less than convinced and was standing ready for another quick exit if one was required.

“I’m impressed, Avar,” said Porter.

“I don’t see what there is to be impressed with,” replied Avar. “I’ve been hiding, Porter. Carrying out small gestures of rebellion, rather than making a proper plan.”

She was pacing, up and down, up and down, as if seeking a path that never presented itself. Having him here, having another Jedi to talk to, someone who truly understood…It felt like a panacea. Like an opportunity. And she was being honest, with herself as much as with Porter. Admitting to truths that she was only just beginning to face up to herself. Just being with Porter was like holding up a mirror. There was no judgment there, no questions, other than those she posed to herself.

It was a reminder how much she’d missed being a part of something. Belonging.

A reminder, too, of those she had left behind.

Porter tracked her movements with his lone eye as she kicked at the discarded Nihil masks with the edge of her boot, left behind by the two Nihil she’d ejected in the escape pod. “You survived,” he said. “In a hostile environment. You helped people. That’s no small feat, Avar. You cannot discount the small gestures that change people’s lives. After a while, they start to add up. You’ve made a difference, whether you can see it or not.”

They’d taken a little time to exchange their stories of the past year, both lamenting that they hadn’t found each other sooner, and both recognizing that if they had, they would have presented a much bigger target to the Nihil. It was likely that it was because they’d continued to operate alone that they were both still alive.

Avar wondered how many other Jedi were out there, eking out an existence under the Nihil’s heel, keeping their heads down to avoid detection, helping people where they could.

“Be that as it may, it hasn’t gotten me very far, has it?” she said.

“It got you here, now. It brought us together, through Rhil’s message. I see the hand of the Force in that. We’ve been granted an opportunity, and we cannot waste it.”

Avar nodded. “What about you, Porter. How are you?”

“Old and tired,” said the Ikkrukkian. “But ready to see this through. It’s a conflict that’s been a long time coming, Avar.”

“How so?”

“A story for another day, when we have more time. But it has its roots in the long distant past, and I’m ready to see it end. It’s time we found a way to put a definitive end to the Nihil, and to deal with their troublesome pets.”

The Nameless. Avar shuddered at the thought of them. “That’s understating the problem just a little, Porter.”

He smiled. “Force of habit.”

“You really think the Eeex droid has the capability to bypass the Stormwall?” asked Avar. Porter had explained his plan, how he’d spent months piecing together the components he needed to rebuild one of the ancient droids, all to get a message out to the Jedi on the other side of the wall. Only to fail at the last hurdle, because of General Viess.

“I do,” said Porter. “And what’s more, I think it might be able to point the way to how to breach the Stormwall. If the Republic can harness the old hyperspace tech used by the communications droids, they might be able to completely bypass the distortion field, in the same way the Nihil use their Paths. These old droids used a forgotten, outmoded system of chaining together smaller hyperspace jumps to avoid the dangers inherent in traveling the bigger, unmapped routes.”

“A system that the Nihil aren’t aware of,” said Avar. “It could finally put us on a level playing field. We have to find a way to get the information out. If Elzar and the others knew…”

“They’re already on the right track,” said Porter. “They just don’t realize it yet.”

Avar frowned. “Meaning?”

“It was Elzar who gave me the idea in the first place,” said Porter.

“Elzar?” Avar stared openly at Porter. “How? He’s not here, in the zone…is he?”

She felt her heart skip a beat.

“No,” said Porter. He got to his feet. “Because of his messages.”

“What messages?”

“You don’t know?”

“Porter, I heard him call out to me once through the Force, but it was months ago, and just my name, nothing more. And nothing since.”

“Avar, he’s been broadcasting messages on the old, obsolete channels. Trying to find a way through. One of them worked. It’s what gave me the idea to go after the Eeex droids in the first place.”

Porter reached for his pack—the only belongings he’d managed to save from his ship, besides his lightsaber. He pulled open the flap and took out a small comm unit. It was old and had been adapted, with an additional antenna cluster and several extra dials. He flicked it on. Static hissed. And then a series of long and short tones sounded from the tinny speaker.

“It’s in code,” said Porter. “The old shorthand of the Pathfinder teams.” He listened for a moment. “I think…” He hesitated. “I think it best you get Kaysee to translate for you.” He patted the astromech on top of his head. “Don’t you agree, buddy?” KC-78 stirred, turning to track Porter as he picked up his pack and made for the door. “I’ll go check on the others.”

Avar looked at KC-78. She slowly lowered herself to the ground, cradling the comm unit. “Well?” she said. “Can you do it, Kaysee?”

KC-78 gave an affirmative beep.

Avar felt strangely light-headed. “Go on. Tell me.”

KC-78 rocked back on his legs. Diodes danced across the cylindrical canister of his torso. And then Elzar’s voice emerged from his speaker, sudden and quiet in the echoing space of the cargo hold.

“Avar. It’s Elzar. I don’t know if you’ll ever hear this. Perhaps it would be better if you don’t, if these words dissipate among the stars to be forgotten forever. It might save us both some embarrassment. The thing is…I miss you…”

Avar clutched the comm unit close to her chest, and wept.

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Marchion Ro was furious, and by now, Ghirra imagined that everyone on Hetzal knew about it.

He was standing before his throne, his gloved hand a matter of centimeters from General Viess’s throat, as she finished breaking the news of the escaped reporter and her Jedi allies.

One wrong word and the future could look very different for Viess. Or Marchion Ro, depending on how things went.

Ghirra was certain that there was more to the story than Viess was letting on—she was claiming that one of her cohort, a Talpini named Petrik, had stumbled upon a plot being cooked up by Dairo and Quith Meglar, after the reporter had seduced the comm engineer and persuaded him to help her escape.

Petrik, wishing to reap the glory of bringing the Jedi to Ro himself, had kept the information secret until it was too late. Viess had tried to intervene when she found out, but Petrik had botched the ambush and the two Jedi, along with Dairo, had escaped.

It all sounded a little too convenient to Ghirra, but she’d decided to keep her mouth shut for the time being. The hideous Ithorian, Boolan, was clearly adopting the same approach, judging by his silence and the look of utter contempt in his eyes.

Viess, though, seemed to be faring better than she had any right to. Nothing could stick to that woman. Sling mud and it slid straight off her armor. Stab her in the back and your knife came away broken in your hand. No wonder she’d managed to live so long. She should have been a politician.

“I want them found,” spat Ro, withdrawing his hand. “And I want the Jedi brought to me unharmed. The reporter you can kill.” He considered this for a moment, then cocked his head to one side. “In fact, I want you to make her suffer.”

“I understand,” said Viess.

Ro glowered at her, his black eyes boring holes. “You do?”

“Of course. I shall use every resource at my disposal to see it done. You know Porter Engle and I have history. I want him dead as much as you do.”

“I sometimes wonder,” said Ro.

Viess couldn’t hide her sour expression. Ghirra wanted to laugh but kept her own counsel. Now really wasn’t the time.

“What of the traitor?” said Ro.

“Already dead,” replied Viess. “I shot him myself to be certain.”

Ro nodded. “Convenient.”

Around them in the throne room, several of the other high-ranking Nihil were pretending not to listen in, striking up their own conversations, but if they thought they were being surreptitious they were badly mistaken. Luckily for them, the Eye had always been a showman and played well to an audience. Ghirra thought that half the things he did were purely for the metrics.

“To think,” he said, “the great Avar Kriss has been hiding in Nihil space all this time. Cowering like a scared child that’s been separated from her mother. And worse, she was here, on Hetzal, and we knew nothing about it.” He let out a long, deep breath, fighting to regain control of his flaring anger. Ghirra could see it was a losing battle. He was full of righteous fury. “I wish she were here now. I want to see her face as she recoils before the Leveler. I want to watch as she’s gripped by fear, as the realization of her fate reaches her eyes. I want to stomp on the ashes of her dead husk.”

He’d finally stopped pacing. “Hers will be the trial to end all trials. The execution of the so-called Hero of Hetzal, the Republic’s great hope. We shall see how hopeful they remain after that.”

“We have to catch her first,” said Boolan. His translator box buzzed as it fed out the words in a dry, electronic tone.

Ro stared at him. “It sounds to me as if you’re volunteering, Boolan.”

Boolan made a gesture of appeasement. “Whatever the Eye commands…”

Ro was about to answer when Viess cut him off. “No. I know Engle. I already know what he’ll do next. Now that he’s joined forces with Avar Kriss, they’re bound to attempt to escape. They’ll try to hijack a Nihil ship to use its Path drive. Meglar had clearly already put the idea in their heads. I can finish this.” She turned to Boolan, eyes narrowed. “You just worry about your little experiments. I’ll see to this.”

Boolan’s translator issued a long, garbled hiss. Whatever he’d said, the meaning was clear: Viess was on dangerous ground.

Ro seemed to be considering his options.

Ghirra unfolded her arms and stepped closer. “There is another way,” she said.

The Eye seemed not to hear her. She raised her voice. “We could just…”—she waved her hand—“let the Jedi go.”

That got his attention. He turned his head, slowly, to study her.

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

“Let them go?”

“Yes,” said Ghirra, more confidently than she felt. This was a calculated gambit, a political move. And it was fraught with danger.

“And why would I consider letting them go?”

“Because the Republic is about to buckle. They threw everything they had behind that attack on the Stormwall, and where did it get them? Nowhere? A few dozen dead soldiers. And now you’ve increased the boundaries of Nihil space. Swallowed more star systems.” Ghirra tried to measure her next words carefully. “They’re panicking. I know them. The chancellor will be hurriedly reconsidering my offer. They’re going to come begging anytime now, offering us a place in the Senate and legitimacy as a ruling body. What’s more, we can use the two Jedi as bargaining tools. Hand them over in exchange for even greater political power.”

The room had grown silent. Even the pretense of other conversations had stopped. All eyes were on Ghirra and Ro.

This is it. This is the moment.

If he’s going to kill me, it’ll happen now.

Otherwise, there’s power in stating my case so boldly. If he doesn’t strike, he’ll look weak.

Ro took a step toward her. He flashed his teeth. She could feel the tension coiled in his wiry body, even from a meter away. “You don’t learn, do you?”

Ghirra swallowed but held her ground. “Not when I’m right.”

Was that a rare smile, twitching at the corner of his mouth? Did he see this as some sort of game? “I’ve told you before. I’m not interested in political power,” he said, his voice level, reasonable.

He turned on the spot and bellowed at the top of his lungs. “I want the Jedi dead!”

The room responded in a riotous uproar. A chant started like a wave, rolling across the room until all the Nihil that were present, save Ro and the three ministers, were chanting.

“KILL. THE. JEDI!”

“KILL. THE. JEDI!”

“KILL. THE. JEDI!”

Ro took a moment to bask in their adoration. And then he motioned for silence.

“You have one chance, Viess,” he said. His tone was soft and menacing. “Bring me those Jedi.”

“With pleasure,” she said. She turned and left the room.

Ro offered Ghirra a toothy smile.

Had he outplayed her again?

She inclined her head in a brief bow of deference and hurried after Viess.

In the dimly lit passageway, she saw that Viess was already gone.

Couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

Ghirra couldn’t blame her.

She sensed someone coming up behind her and turned, half expecting to see one of Ro’s She’ar, come to put a knife between her shoulder blades.

Instead, it was one of Viess’s followers, Selch, the tall Falleen, who—Ghirra remembered, bracing herself—had been praised on more than one occasion for her tenacity and brutality. Today, though, she looked atypically serious.

“Selch?” said Ghirra, as the Falleen stepped closer, until she was almost touching Ghirra.

She leaned closer, her lips brushing Ghirra’s ear. “I just wanted you to know, there’re a lot of us who agree with your way of thinking. Viess has been racking up a lot of deaths among her people, and it’s set people’s minds to a different way of doing things. Do with that information what you will.”

Selch leaned back, peered into Ghirra’s eyes for a moment as if to underline the seriousness of her point, and then went on her way, leaving Ghirra standing alone in the passageway.

A small laugh bubbled from her lips unbidden, and she quashed it immediately. But the sense of sudden elation remained.

It worked.

They’re listening.

It actually worked.

SPACE, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“We should stick to the plan,” said Porter.

“What plan?” said Rhil. “Meglar’s dead, and even if he weren’t, the odds of being able to sneak aboard the Cacophony now are less than zero.”

“Rhil’s right,” said Avar. “That plan was in ruins the moment Viess and the other Nihil showed up.”

They were crammed into the cockpit of Belin’s ship, debating their next move.

Back in the cargo hold, Avar had made KC-78 replay Elzar’s message three times before finally giving up the comm unit and returning it to Porter. She knew it was clear she’d been crying, but she didn’t care.

She felt as if a weight had been lifted. As if a dam had broken and the sudden release of pressure was palpable. She felt at peace.

She glanced over to see that Porter was grinning.

“What?” Belin asked him. “What are you smiling about?”

“Who said anything about sneaking?” said Porter.

Rhil shook her head in open disbelief. “You’re not suggesting—”

“I am,” said Porter. “That we hijack this Cacophony. Take it by force. Use its Path drive to exit the Stormwall and get both the ship and the Eeex droid back to Coruscant.”

“Two Jedi and two civilians taking on an entire Nihil raiding ship?” Belin laughed.

“And a droid,” said Porter, wagging his thumb at KC-78, who trilled a hesitant tune. “And besides, I’m not suggesting you come with us. This is something Avar and I need to do alone.”

“Oh, I like this,” said Belin, “you come onto my ship and start telling me what I can and can’t do. Well, let me tell you something, old-timer, that other Jedi over there is my friend, and where she goes, I follow.” He folded his arms pointedly. “I have spoken.”

“Avar?” prompted Rhil. “You’ve gone awfully quiet.”

Avar looked from Rhil to Belin. “That’s because Porter’s right.”

Belin guffawed. “You’ve all lost your minds!”

“No. We can do this,” she said. “The two of us, with Kaysee. But it’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous!” said Belin. “You’re talking about walking into a death trap. I can’t believe you agree with him. Stowing away with inside help was one thing, Avar, but attacking the ship outright—in a cargo vessel, no less—is quite another.”

Avar looked at Belin. “It was always going to play out like this, Belin. I need to get that Path drive back to Coruscant. At least this way, we have two Jedi to help pull it off. And one of them is the Blade of Bardotta, no less!”

Porter looked at Avar. “We know they’re setting out for the Seswenna sector in a few hours. We intercept, get aboard. Take the bridge and flight controls. Once we’re through the Stormwall we get a signal out to the RDC forces on the other side. All we have to do is hold the ship long enough for them to arrive.”

“All…?” said Belin. “All!”

Avar could understand Belin’s reaction. It did sound like a ruinous plan. But Belin hadn’t seen Porter fight with a lightsaber before. It was something spectacular to behold. Without him, it was true that she wouldn’t stand a chance. But together? She had to believe they could do it.

Besides, it was time.

She had to come back to herself. She had to dig deep and find the old Avar again, and set her free. She had to accept all her failings and come to terms with everything that had happened.

She had to do it for herself.

And she had to do it for Elzar.

“Rhil?” she said. “This was your plan. What do you think?”

Rhil chewed her lip thoughtfully. “I think if anyone can do it, the two of you can.” Beside her, Belin groaned. “And…I can’t believe I’m saying this…but I think I want to stay.”

“You want to stay here, in the Occlusion Zone?” Avar could hardly believe what she was hearing.

Rhil nodded. “For now. Until all this is over, and Nihil space is liberated. I just…I think it’s where I can do the most good. I’ve memorized the Nihil’s broadcast codes. I watched Meglar inputting them so many times. I can use them to talk to the people of the Occlusion Zone. To make sure they know the truth about the Nihil and the Republic. I can help them organize, coordinate the fight back.” She nodded, convincing herself as she talked. “It feels right. I can make sure everyone knows that the Jedi and the Republic are still out there fighting for them. That they need to hold on, push back against the Nihil. I spent so much of my life reporting on fashion and society gossip. This is my chance to do something real. Something that counts.”

“You’d do that?” said Belin. “You’d give up a chance of escaping to help others?”

“Isn’t that what you did?” said Rhil. “Avar told me you could have left at any time. But instead, you chose to stick around. To help her. Look at the way you just argued to fight by her side, despite all the odds.”

“Well, I…” Belin mumbled something incoherent. Then he looked up, banging his fist on the arm of his chair. “You’re right. And I don’t want to stop. I didn’t ask to get caught up in all of this, but I’m pleased that I did. I’ve spent my whole life doing nothing of consequence. Shipping grain. And when the Nihil came, I didn’t try to stop them. I didn’t fight. I just carried on shipping grain wherever they pointed me. I was sleepwalking. Thinking that it didn’t really mean much to me, all this Stormwall business.

“And then Avar hijacked my ship and opened my eyes to what was really going on. Whole colonies starving. People dying. And the Nihil just laughing.” Belin sucked his teeth. “I won’t stand for it anymore. I’m going to do my bit.”

“Thank you,” said Porter.

“Belin,” started Avar, “the risk—”

“No. Don’t you start on that again. I understand. I’m going to stay and help Rhil, if she’ll have me.”

Rhil looked completely taken aback. “You are?”

“Well, you’re going to need a ship, aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am,” conceded Rhil.

“Well then, it’s decided,” said Belin.

Avar wanted to grab the Ugnaught and bundle him into a tight hug. But there’d be time for that later.

“So, this harebrained plan. How exactly are you expecting to even get close to the Cacophony?” asked Belin.

“They won’t see us coming,” replied Porter.

“And how do you suppose that?”

“Because they won’t be expecting us,” said Porter. “This ship is so beaten up that it looks like a Nihil vessel. And Kaysee has at least some of the right codes. If we find somewhere safe to stop for a while, we can daub a great big eye on the hull. They won’t think twice. And if they do, we’ll already have made our move.” He nodded to himself. “We know where they’re heading, and roughly when. We can lie in wait to intercept them.”

“We only need a few seconds,” said Avar. “We rig one of the grain silos. Use a fuel cell to turn it into a bomb. Blow their air lock and we’re in.”

“You’re in? You’re talking about an unprotected space walk,” argued Belin. “Unless you’re expecting us to try to dock.”

Avar shook her head. “I’m talking about a single leap of faith. And besides, those Nihil I ejected left their gas masks in the hold. We can use them. They should protect us long enough for the jump. And then when we’re on board, you and Rhil get as far away as you can, as quickly as possible. Kaysee’s sliced protocols will protect you from any scav swarms.”

“You just need to get us close enough,” said Porter.

“Oh, I can get you close enough,” said Belin. “Whether you can do any of the rest of it remains to be seen.”

“I like him,” Porter said to Avar, with a grin.

“Hmmm,” muttered Belin.

Rhil and Avar laughed. And it felt good.

HINTIS IV

“I’ve got it!”

Harlak was peering up at the holographic map of the Stormwall. It almost filled the room, a twinkling, chaotic display of glowing pinpricks, crisscrossing lines, and flashing sigils. He was standing deep inside it, pointing at something that Bell couldn’t quite make out.

Burryaga was close by, frowning as he peered at the all-encompassing map.

“Can you give us a bit more room, Harlak?” said Bell.

The Gran looked over. His eyes seemed to take a moment to catch up and focus. “What? Oh yes. Yes. Sorry.” He fiddled with the controls on the tactical station and the hologram shrank.

Bell saw Burry heave a sigh of relief. They both crossed to join Harlak.

“What have you found?” asked Bell.

“You were right,” said Harlak, patting Burry on the arm, as if he were a youngling who’d answered a question well in his training lesson. “I’ve mapped out the locations and timings of all the known raids by the Cacophony. And there is a pattern emerging.”

Bell thumped Burry lightly on the arm. “I told you. Genius.”

“Thanks!” said Harlak.

Burry growled.

“Show us,” said Bell.

Harlak keyed some commands into the terminal. The map tilted, rotated, and began playing through a repeated sequence. Bell watched planets flare with lights.

“Each raid is a single point, appearing on the map according to the timeline of when it occurred.”

At first, Bell couldn’t make out any coherence or structure to what he was seeing—just lights flickering across the map—but as the sequence went on, he noticed that the raids were forming three distinct, irregular clusters.

“Let me just pull out a little farther,” said Harlak, adjusting the controls, “and things might become a little clearer.”

The map shrank. The sequence played again, and the picture was stark.

Burry pointed out that Shryke wasn’t hitting the same or even neighboring planets in succession, but settlements and systems in the same general regions of space. It went some way toward explaining why they’d never seen it.

“She keeps returning to the same broad sectors of space,” said Bell.

“What’s more,” said Harlak, clearly proud of himself, “she does it in sequence. Watch again.”

Bell leaned closer, peering at the small lights. One on the far left of the map. One near the center. One on the right. Then the sequence reversed. One on the right. One near the center. One on the left. And so on. “She’s just going back and forth in waves,” he said.

“And it’s consistent,” said Harlak. “She doesn’t break the pattern once. Not since the very beginning. Your Melis Shryke is clearly a creature of habit.”

Another low growl from Burryaga.

Harlak rubbed the back of his neck to hide his involuntary shudder.

“So from here, we can work out roughly where she’s going to strike next,” said Bell.

Harlak nodded. “Assuming she sticks to the pattern, yes. It’s complicated slightly by the fact that the Stormwall has shifted position. Most of the sites being raided now fall within the Nihil’s domain.”

It was an unhappy reminder. Bell pushed away his simmering frustration, reminding himself of more of his late master’s teachings, still lodged in his memory. It was as if he could still hear Loden’s voice, an echo from the past, telling him to pick himself up after failing to make the jump across two tall, wooden poles.

No point dwelling on it.

Focus on what you can do. Not what’s already come to pass. You just have to keep going, Bell. Keep trying. You’ll get there in the end.

Burry asked which sector would be next if the pattern continued. Bell interpreted.

“Over here,” said Harlak, jabbing his finger at the hologram.

“Roll the Stormwall forward to its current position,” said Bell. Harlak did as prompted. Bell watched the red line swell and shift, and finally come to rest.

“So, if the principle were to hold, then somewhere in the Seswenna sector would be a logical next target,” he said.

“It seems likely,” agreed Harlak.

“Rwaaaraa rooo,” said Burry, and his excitement was palpable.

Bell could feel his heart rate increasing, the prickle of sweat on his skin, his excitement welling.

This is it.

This is what we’ve been looking for.

“You’re sure it still works, now that the Stormwall has moved?” asked Bell. “The Seswanna Sector is likely to be the next target?”

Harlak nodded. “Within a small tolerance, yes, I believe so.” He expanded the map even further, focusing on a single point. “I predict, with a certain amount of confidence, that the next point of emergence for the Cacophony is likely to be here.”

It was a quiet, empty point on the star chart two systems over from Eriadu. A planet named Reventine.

Got you.

Bell exchanged a look with Burry. He could sense his friend’s mounting excitement.

“Harlak—you are a genius!” said Bell. “Burry, what say we set a trap for our old friend, eh?”

Burry’s roar of approval echoed down the halls of the entire RDC base.

SESWENNA SECTOR, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Melis Shryke stood on the bridge of the Cacophony, hands on her hips, surveying the ragtag crew as if she were regarding a measly buffet that contained nothing she wanted to eat.

She’d had a sour taste in her mouth ever since Ribento, and she’d started to think that her ineffective crew might be part of the problem. With better people under her command, she could have brought the two Jedi in. A coup like that would have elevated her standing among the Nihil. If the Eye found out that it was her who’d also brought in Pra-Tre Veter, and not Viess—whom she now suspected of taking the credit—then she might even have found herself in a position to challenge Viess herself.

Now, though, after a succession of failures, her standing was decidedly at risk.

She couldn’t have that. Not for a moment.

She needed to carry out a new recruiting drive, and she was hoping that this little excursion to the Seswenna sector might present her with the perfect opportunity. She’d already warned her crew that, this time, they weren’t to kill everyone during the raid, but to capture at least a reasonable percentage of the younger civilians. The ones who fought back or showed a bit of backbone. Wrestle a few of them away from their families, drag them back behind the Stormwall, break their wills with a few weeks in the fighting pits…Soon enough she’d have a worthy new intake, ready to take the place of the failures she’d been carrying in recent months. It was a timeworn Nihil tactic, and it hadn’t failed her yet.

The thought of it made her smile.

Reventine.

It was going to be interesting. The first time she’d raided somewhere so far out, and so populated. But that was part of the fun. Now that the Stormwall had moved, she had a whole new frontier to terrorize.

She could hardly wait to get started.

“Hey, Storm.”

Shryke turned to peer at Bryn, the diminutive Caphex, who had forgone their usual louche posture at the monitoring station and was sitting forward, hunched over the proximity scanner.

“Yes?” she said, with affected impatience.

“Y’know anything about a cargo ship?”

“I can’t say I’ve paid them a lot of attention,” she replied.

“Well, you might wanna to take a look-see at this one,” said Bryn, shifting on their seat and tapping the monitor with their fingertip. “It’s on a direct intercept course and it’s gaining speed.”

Shryke walked over, frowning as she peered over Bryn’s shoulder at the screen. “Do they have the right codes?”

“Yes.”

“Well then?”

“Y’see, it’s not the codes I’m worried about,” said Bryn.

For what must have been the hundredth time, Shryke considered shooting the Caphex dead. “Then what is it?” she said, angrily. “And get to the point, Bryn.”

“They ain’t answering their comms.”

Shryke shrugged. “Are they Nihil?”

Bryn nodded. “Look. They’re displaying the eye. Right there on their port side.” They shrugged. “But they’re gaining speed. It ain’t right, Storm.”

Shryke studied the display on the terminal. The Caphex was right. The cargo ship was coming in fast, as if it intended to pull in right alongside them. “Try the comms again.”

Bryn punched a series of buttons. “Unidentified cargo ship. This is the Nihil vessel the Cacophony. Do you read me?”

Nothing but the buzzing silence of a dead channel.

“I don’t like it, Storm,” repeated Bryn.

“No.” Shryke didn’t like it, either. Was it another Nihil trying to make a move against her, to take advantage of her present situation? That was the most likely scenario. “Ready the portside cannons,” she called.

“Aye,” came the response from the gunner, a hulking human female named Glix. “Shall I open fire?”

“Yes,” said Shryke. She watched the monitor as the cargo ship pulled ever closer.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said Bryn.

“Probably just that rancid breakfast you ate before we left,” muttered Shryke. But the Caphex was right. Something didn’t feel right. Better they blow the ship away and be done with it, Nihil or not.

“Cacophony?”

The crackle of static accompanied the tinny transmission.

“It’s them,” said Bryn.

“Glix, hold your fire. But keep the cannons primed,” said Shryke. “Bryn, open the channel.”

“Done.”

“This is Melis Shryke of the Cacophony. Who is this?”

“…from General Viess…weapons shipment…raid…” The message was broken up, drenched in feedback.

Shryke didn’t know anything about a weapons shipment. But if she blew them up now, and they were from Viess…

“Hold your position,” said Shryke. “Come no closer.” She crossed to the viewport, looking out at the decrepit old vessel.

It certainly looked like a Nihil ship. The codes were right. But there was no way she was letting them dock.

The speaker crackled again. “…weapons…Jedi…”

“They’re still approaching, Storm,” said Bryn. “Coming in too hot.”

Shryke shook her head. This didn’t feel right.

“Glix, take your shot.”

SESWENNA SECTOR, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“This is it.”

Avar bundled Rhil into a tight hug, and then turned to Belin, who was still in his chair, fighting to hold the juddering control stick steady as the transport ship closed at speed on the Cacophony. “Thank you, Belin. For everything. I…” She faltered, unsure how else to express her deep gratitude to this unexpected friend who had done so much to help her.

“Ah, don’t go getting soft on me now, Jedi. You’re made of sterner stuff than that. And don’t you worry about us. We’ll be just fine, won’t we, Rhil?”

“We will.” Even Rhil sounded certain, confident.

They were doing the right thing. All of them.

They were going to make this work.

Avar took a deep breath, let it out. Porter was already down in the cargo bay, prepping the makeshift bomb. KC-78 had insisted on overseeing things to make sure the old Jedi didn’t accidentally blow them all up. At least, that had been his excuse. The truth was the droid wasn’t any good at farewells. Not since Starlight Beacon and Maru.

“Just…be careful,” said Avar. “And remember, get as far away as possible, as soon as we’ve made the jump.”

The ship gave a sudden, jarring lurch as cannon fire from the Cacophony slammed against the undercarriage. Belin cursed as he wrestled the controls. “Looks like I don’t make a convincing Nihil,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” said Avar.

“Just get going,” said Belin. “I’ve got this. You deal with the rest.”

Avar turned to leave.

“Goodbye, Jedi. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Avar paused, smiled to herself, and then hurried down into the hold to find Porter and KC-78.

She found them waiting by the cargo door. The massive grain silo was perched at the top of a ramp, ready for them to roll out as soon as the door was open.

As soon as the silo was through, they’d slam the controls, shutting the door to protect them from the vacuum. Then, together, they’d guide the makeshift explosive to its target using the Force. Or at least, that was the plan.

“You ready?” said Porter. He’d tied a small leather pouch to his belt, containing the memory core of the ruined EX droid, but had left everything else but his lightsaber behind. They wouldn’t need the droid’s chassis and outer shell for the Jedi back on Coruscant. Not if they were successful.

And if they weren’t…

Well, they wouldn’t be needing it then, either.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” replied Avar.

She felt the ship beginning to turn. “This is it,” said Avar. “Belin is swinging us around.”

Blaster cannons barked. The ship shuddered under the impact. The shields wouldn’t hold for long.

“It’s now or never,” said Avar. She grabbed one of the Nihil masks, tossing the other to Porter. She pulled it on, feeling suddenly confined as it hissed closed, encapsulating her head. It smelled musty and stale. It was designed to allow the Nihil to breathe during gas attacks and wouldn’t protect them against the vacuum for long—but it would help. Rhil and Belin, up in the cockpit, would be protected by a sealed blast door. KC-78 had tethered himself to the inner hull.

Porter, now looking almost demonic in the other mask, with red painted horns, a narrow eye slit, and a black vent, gave the signal. “For Light and Life.”

Avar’s gut twisted.

I hope this works…

She punched the release switch. The mechanism clanked, and with a pneumatic hiss and the scream of an alarm, the cargo door slid open.

The rush of air pouring out into the vacuum was immediate and intense. Avar staggered, already gasping for breath. Beyond the end of the ramp, in the void, she could see the mismatched flank of the Cacophony. The air lock was plainly visible.

Her vision seemed to narrow. The sudden vacuum exposure tore at her, threatening to send her spiraling into a panic. She gasped at the stale air inside the mask and steadied herself, reaching out for the Force, welcoming its strange, discordant song, trying to center herself in its twisted melody.

You can do this, Avar.

Porter gave the silo an almighty shove.

It bounded down the ramp, propelled by the evacuating atmosphere, tumbling out into frigid space.

Avar reached for the door controls, but the drag of the escaping air seemed to sweep her feet from under her, and suddenly she was overbalancing. She felt herself falling, yanked backward by the pull of the void, dragged in the wake of the tumbling bomb toward the other ship.

Her lungs were hurting. She wanted to scream. She reached for the Force, but her mind was clouded with desperation and panic.

She twisted in the air, throwing her hands out.

She was only a few meters from the void of space.

And then the door slammed shut, and she struck the ground of the cargo hold, her shoulder slamming hard against the metal grille. She rolled, dragging herself to her feet. Porter stood by the door controls.

But there was no time to thank him. He was already at the portside viewport, his arm reaching out as he communed with the Force, trying to nudge the path of the tumbling silo toward the other ship’s air lock.

Avar hurried to his side.

Around them, the ship was trembling violently, buckling under the strain of Belin’s maneuvering and the barrage of laser cannon shots that were hammering its paltry shields.

The silo was sliding wide. It was going to miss its target.

Avar raised her left arm, joining Porter, calling on the song. It swelled, filling her ears, her mind, her heart. Still broken, still unsyncopated.

The silo shifted its course, glinting in the starlight, almost beautiful as it described a graceful arc toward the Cacophony.

It struck the air lock.

And bloomed.

A sudden, massive, silent detonation that caused the Cacophony to judder, venting air as the fire billowed and flashed out, leaving behind a mangled hole circled in twisted metal teeth.

The whole thing had taken only seconds.

Porter ran toward the disembarkation hatch. Avar followed, keeping step.

He glanced back at her, his expression hidden behind the grotesque Nihil mask. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Porter crouched, gathering the Force around him, slowing his breathing. Concentrating.

Then he punched the door release.

The hatch opened.

And Porter jumped.

Belin had brought the ship so close to the Cacophony that the space between them was only a few meters.

Just a single leap of faith.

Just one small jump across the vastness of space.

Porter windmilled his arms as he leapt gracefully across the vacuum, swept along by the outrushing air, propelled and guided by the Force. His aim was perfect. He tumbled into the mangled hole in the side of the other ship, disappearing into the firestorm of its ruined air lock, disappearing almost instantly from view.

Avar felt the ship shudder again from another barrage.

She reached out, sensing the broken song swell around her, concentrating until the entire galaxy consisted of just her and that open air lock. She breathed out, expelling all air from her lungs.

And then leapt.

She sailed through the midnight void. Her entire body screamed in pain. The chill seemed to bite at her exposed flesh. Her lungs were already burning.

Beside her, KC-78 flew on tiny thruster jets, mirroring her progress across the gulf.

And then she was across, tumbling into the raging mess of the ruined air lock.

She landed, feet thudding to the ground. Porter was already gone. She glanced back, saw Belin and Rhil peeling away, swooping low to avoid the blast of the still-thudding laser cannons.

No more time for goodbyes.

Avar punched the inner door release.

It didn’t open.

She slammed her fist against it, fighting mounting desperation. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire. She needed air, and she needed it now.

Nothing.

The inner door, buckled slightly in the explosion, must have jammed shut after Porter passed through. Either that or the controls were busted.

Avar wanted to scream.

Her body bucked as she fought the urge to draw breath. Her mind was reeling.

She reached for her lightsaber. Did she even have time to cut her way in? And if she did, she risked decompressing the entire Nihil ship.

But she had no choice.

Blackness rimmed the edges of her vision. She staggered unsteadily. The skin on the back of her hands was bruised and covered in ice crystals.

And then the door slid open with a scream of rushing air.

KC-78 had managed to override whatever system was keeping it shut. She staggered through.

The door slammed shut behind them.

The sudden presence of air was like the breath of some ancient, forgotten god. Avar dragged it deep, hacking on the thick, curling smoke that still twisted from several nearby vents. Water jets had sprayed a fine mist into the air, mingling with the smoke, making it difficult to see. She wrenched the Nihil helmet off, tossing it away.

She wiped her eyes. Leaned against the wall. Her vision was beginning to clear.

Too close.

But there was no time to lose. Avar pushed herself away from the wall. She thumbed the hilt of her lightsaber. The fizzing blade ignited, bright and green.

Ahead, in the misty spray, she could hear shouting, blaster shots, screams, accompanied by the familiar, buzzing burr of Porter’s blue lightsaber.

She flexed her shoulders, and then walked on toward her destiny.

SESWENNA SECTOR, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“Bryn? What’s happening? Did that cargo ship just ram us?”

Bryn twisted in their seat. They looked utterly terrified. “No. Seems like they blew open the air lock with some kinda explosive device.”

“And?”

“And we…umm…”

They’re shaking. They’re bloody trembling. What is this?

“Spit it out,” snapped Shryke.

“We’ve been boarded.”

Shryke tilted her head back in frustration. This wasn’t good. Not at all.

They’ve come for me. Which one is it? One of Boolan’s twisted underlings? Ghirra’s assassins? Viess, disappointed by my recent failures? Striking while I’m laid low.

“Boarded by who?” she asked, her voice strained. “Rival Nihil?”

“No,” said Bryn. “Much worse than that, Storm.”

“Much worse? Just answer the question! Who?”

“Jedi.” The word was like a curse that rippled through the rest of the crew on the bridge. All five of them stopped, turning in their seats to stare at Shryke.

“What?”

“Jedi,” repeated Bryn. “And judging by what seems to be going on back there, there’re a lot of them.”

“How? Where did they come from?”

“How the hell should I know?” said Bryn. They got up from their chair. “But I ain’t waiting around here.”

Two others started to clamber out of their stations, too, pulling blades, blasters, and other nasty-looking weapons from various pockets or slings.

“Get back to your stations,” said Shryke. Fury and panic were fizzing inside her, jostling for dominance. “We can deal with the Jedi. This is what we’ve been trying to do, remember? Coax them out. Bring them to Marchion Ro. This is our chance.”

“Maybe if we had any enforcer droids left,” said Bryn. “But most of ’em were busted up at Ribento.” They reached over and twisted a knob on the control panel. The room filled with the horrific sounds of battle.

Blaster shots. Lightsabers. Screams.

“Turn it off.”

Bryn did as she asked.

“We hold the bridge. No matter what.”

Bryn shrugged. “Good luck with that. You ain’t no General Viess. You don’t have no beskar armor. You don’t even have a loyal crew.” They started to walk toward the exit. The others were watching Shryke, unsure what to do.

They’re all terrified.

They don’t want to fight.

“You’re Nihil!” she screamed. “Nihil stand and fight! Nihil don’t turn their backs over a few pathetic Jedi. Nihil gut their enemies and dance on their corpses!”

Bryn shot her a sympathetic look. “Nihil look after themselves, Storm. Always have, always will.” They strode from the bridge.

Two others—a leathery-skinned old Duros and a young, stocky Nikto—started after Bryn.

Shryke stared after them in disbelief.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She was Melis Shryke! She was supposed to be on top. Always on top. They were supposed to answer to her!

She pulled her pistol from her belt.

She’d kill them. She’d shoot the traitors where they stood; show the rest of the crew what a real Nihil was like.

But when she looked again, they’d already gone.

She turned to the two crew members that remained. Selea, a Zygerrian with a pronounced snout, feline ears, and a brown downy fur covering her entire body, and Jago, a scarred old Ortolan who was missing one eye and most of the right side of his pale blue face.

Shryke jabbed a finger at Selea. “Open a frequency to General Viess. Now.”

The Zygerrian nodded. She looked terrified. She stabbed at some buttons on the comm panel and then stepped away.

Shryke nodded. Maybe there was a way she could put a spin on this, save her own skin. Perhaps even come out of it well. “General Viess. This is Shryke, aboard the Cacophony. We have two Jedi aboard, but we need backup immediately to help contain them.” She paused, considering her next words carefully. “I’ve done what you asked. The Jedi are yours for the taking. All you have to do is come and get them.”

She waved for Selea to cut the link.

“Send her our coordinates,” she said, and then turned to the Ortolan. “And trigger the contingency measures. Blow the Path drive. We’re not going to allow it to fall into Jedi hands on my watch.”

The Ortolan nodded and set to work.

SESWENNA SECTOR, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“There aren’t that many of them,” grunted Porter, ducking left to avoid a stray shot and then swinging his lightsaber around in a wide arc, slashing an onrushing Nihil across the chest. The Tognath crumpled to the ground, dropping the grenade they’d been carrying, and Porter spun it up into the air with a gesture, flicking it back into the misty passageway with the Force.

It detonated in the confined space, flinging several Nihil into the air like unfurling, bloody petals. It buckled the inner hull plates, which groaned and blackened but didn’t rupture.

Porter moved again, his lightsaber dancing between his left and right hands, deflecting blaster shots with every concise, measured movement. “I’d expected more resistance,” he added, calling back over his shoulder.

“This is plenty, thank you,” said Avar. She was still suffering from the effects of the jump across the void, but her instincts had taken over, driving her on into battle.

They were standing back-to-back, circling as the Nihil came on from all directions, their lightsabers whirling. They were perfectly in sync, reading each other’s movements before they were even made, driven by instinct and decades of training.

Or centuries in Porter’s case. No wonder he was so good with his lightsaber.

Blaster shots bounced off the sheer plate ceiling and walls, searing the air with the scent of burning plasma. Elsewhere in the ship, Avar sensed the rumble of jettisoning escape pods.

Some of them were already giving up.

Are they really so scared of the Jedi?

Are we the demons that haunt their dreams, the devils that live under their beds?

The thought was unsettling. But she had no time for pondering it further now.

Around them, Nihil toppled, struck by their own deflected shots. Several had gotten close enough to feel the bite of Avar’s blade, and she’d tried to make it quick, striking to kill wherever she could.

It pained her to take so many lives. But these were Nihil, who had pledged their lives to chaos, destruction, and death. They were all of them murderers, many times over. And they wouldn’t think twice about killing her if they were able. So she cut and thrust, parried and pirouetted, and whittled down their numbers until the path ahead was clear.

Then she continued on her way, Porter and KC-78 beside her, making a direct line for the Cacophony’s bridge.

—

“We’re closing on the Cacophony now, General. From the damage that’s already visible on the port side, and the number of escape pods in the vicinity, I’d guess the Jedi have the upper hand.”

Viess peered out the forward viewscreen of her ship, the Foregone Catastrophe. Shryke’s vessel was still on the correct heading and gathering speed but was clearly in a bad way. The portside air lock had been blown and most of the escape pods had been vented, seeding space in the ship’s wake. “Yes. Very perceptive of you, Blick. I can’t imagine how you came to that conclusion.”

The Quarren, Blick, gave a low gurgle of displeasure, his facial tentacles curling. One of these days he was going to come for her. Just like a good Nihil should.

The incoming comms trilled, but Blick punched them silent again.

Viess had already told her crew to ignore the pods’ incessant distress calls. The inhabitants would survive, or they wouldn’t. She had far more important things to deal with.

Porter Engle.

And that woman, Avar Kriss. She deserved to be taken down a peg or two after what had happened back on Hetzal. If Engle hadn’t shown up when he did…

She despised the fact she’d had to make a tactical withdrawal. She might have risked going up against the two Jedi if one of them hadn’t been Engle. As it was, she’d been forced to show weakness in retreat, and it tasted bitter.

Now, though—now was her chance to put things right. She’d been right about Engle. She knew he wouldn’t sit idle any longer. Not after she’d put an end to his little scheme to fire an EX droid out of the Occlusion Zone. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He’d spent long, difficult months traveling from site to site, scavenging wrecks, reassembling that decrepit old thing. And she’d put a stop to it in moments.

So here she was, coming in on their tail, ready to finish what she’d started. Ready to prove to the Eye, and Boolan, and Ghirra, and the others, that she wasn’t to be underestimated.

Ro said he wanted the Jedi unharmed. But surely being alive was enough? Viess intended to have herself at least a little satisfaction before turning them over. The odd missing finger or limb wasn’t going to make a difference, surely?

“Take us in,” she said.

“Aye, General.” Blick coaxed the flight controls forward.

The ship slid closer to the Cacophony, so that the other ship almost filled the forward viewscreen. They were slightly above it, looking down on its rusted, patchwork hull.

Viess never had been able to appreciate the Nihil aesthetic. What was the point in it all if you couldn’t have nice things, revel in the spoils of war? Why choose to have a battered ship in a state of semi-disrepair and covered in graffiti, when you could just steal something better?

“We’re in position, General. What are your orders?” said Blick.

“Open fire. Bursts of twelve rounds. Target the drives and the weapons systems first. We don’t want them escaping or returning fire.”

The Quarren turned, frowning. “But General, that’s Melis Shryke’s ship. I thought we were coming to assist against the Jedi?”

“Assist?” she scoffed. “You thought wrong, Blick. We’re here to take the Jedi. Shryke’s had her chance. And she’s been found wanting. She’s nothing but the bait. We’ll disable her ship and board the drifting hulk. The Jedi won’t know what’s hit them.”

She supposed it was a shame to sacrifice one of her most ardent followers in this way, but it was the cost of doing business. Once, she’d thought Shryke might have been a true protégée. She was similar to Viess in many ways: a rich young woman from a well-appointed family. But her ambition had outstripped her usefulness, and she’d become just like any other Nihil: chaotic and easy to manipulate. Not to mention that her impersonation of Viess herself had become tiresome very quickly indeed. The armor, the attitude. She’d marked herself out as an object of pity and ridicule, and she’d failed at nearly every task she’d been given. Yes, she’d gotten lucky once—she’d brought in Pra-Tre Veter. But that was only because she’d had access to the lightsaber stifling technology that others had developed, and she’d even messed that up, allowing it to be destroyed in the process.

The truth was, when weighed against the opportunity of finally trapping Porter and winning Ro’s favor by handing over Avar Kriss—well, Shryke had never stood a chance.

The Quarren nodded. “She always was a sycophant.”

Viess laughed. “That she was.”

Blick grinned and passed on the order.

Twin batteries of laser cannons shuddered, loosing a storm of ordnance upon the rear end of the Cacophony. The other ship shuddered as its shields tried to weather the sudden storm.

Viess grinned.

The bombardment had begun.

SESWENNA SECTOR, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Alone now on the bridge, Shryke staggered as the Cacophony juddered beneath her feet. She could hear the ceaseless barrage chewing craters in the outer hull, and warning klaxons started blaring from every console.

Her head was spinning.

She’d sent Selea and Jago to the escape pods. Now that the contingency systems had been activated—essentially a small set of explosives planted in the housing of the Path drive itself—there was nothing more for them to do.

How did this happen? It had all been so quick. One minute she was making plans, heading to her next raid, her crew obedient and at her side. The next her ship was being stormed by Jedi and attacked by the general.

So she has come for me, after all.

Shryke felt her resolve wilting.

This was it. This was what the end looked like. She’d played the game and she’d lost.

She should have been stronger, more determined. But now Viess was out to destroy her for her failures. The Jedi would be on her any moment, and her crew had abandoned her to her fate.

She guessed Bryn was right. She really wasn’t like Viess. Not in the end.

There was one thing she could do, though. If she was going out, she could go out on a high. Take the Jedi with her. Prevent Viess from having the satisfaction of capturing them. A final gobbet of spit in her self-satisfied face.

She peered at the flight data.

They were closing on the Stormwall. Once they reached it, with no working Path drive the ship would be ripped apart the moment it tried to enter hyperspace.

Shryke leaned heavily on the flight controls, pushing the Cacophony toward its full sublight speed, and then beyond. Dials flared into the red. She locked their flight path so they were headed directly for the Stormwall. Then she punched the comm to send out a message to any loyal crew who remained on the vessel.

“This is Melis Shryke,” she said, forcing herself to stand upright, to project confidence, even as the vessel shuddered around her. “To all Nihil still on board, this is an order to abandon ship. For the Eye!”

She released the TRANSMIT button and stood, drawing ragged breath, peering out at the empty void beyond the ship, at the invisible barrier that awaited them.

It couldn’t come soon enough.

—

Avar rebounded from the passage wall, spinning through the air, her lightsaber flashing as she landed, running. Two Nihil dropped. One from a deflected blaster bolt, another from the tip of her blade, which had drawn a neat line across their throat.

Behind her, Porter was bringing up the rear, but the remaining Nihil had started to fall back.

The ship was now under heavy attack, presumably from other Nihil trying to prevent her and Porter from successfully making it past the Stormwall, and many of the Nihil were hurrying to eject themselves from the creaking vessel, taking whatever shuttles or escape pods they could find.

It was almost over. She could sense it.

We’re so close.

We can still do this.

Up ahead, the way to the bridge was now clear. Avar glanced back. Porter was backing up the passage toward her, lightsaber turning in slow, defensive wheels.

KC-78 was trundling along in their wake as fast as his servos could carry him. Diodes winked across the front of his head. He was scared. The last time she’d seen him like this had been their final moments on Starlight Beacon.

I promised to make you proud, Maru.

Perhaps this is that moment.

Perhaps after this I’ll be able to look myself in the eye again.

Perhaps…

Avar readied herself, gripping her lightsaber hilt in both hands, and pushed on, feet clanging on the metal gantry. She reached the doorway and hurried through.

There was no one there. The bridge appeared completely abandoned. The lights were low, reduced to their emergency setting. Red icons winked across most of the control terminals. She could hear nothing but the thudding crump of the constant bombardment, causing the entire ship to reverberate around her.

Avar started to lower her blade.

And then a flare of warning, a ripple through the Force.

Avar twisted, swinging her lightsaber up and around just as a Nihil woman in blue carapace armor launched herself out of the gloom.

The lightsaber hummed.

The woman’s hand—which was carrying a large, curved blade—parted from her wrist, spinning away across the empty bridge, reminding Avar of the time not so long ago when she’d severed the hand of Lourna Dee, another of Marchion Ro’s disciples, in similar fashion.

The woman screamed in agony, stumbling, unable to stop her forward momentum. Her shoulder struck Avar hard in the chest, knocking the wind from her lungs.

Avar staggered back, sucking at the air.

The woman tried to rally, swinging her other fist in a wide roundhouse aimed at Avar’s head.

Avar ducked the blow, kicking out with her left boot. It connected with the woman’s right leg, crunching the knee joint. The woman howled as she buckled, tottering, and then collapsed backward, no longer able to support her own weight. She sprawled on the ground, grimacing, clutching her knee with her remaining hand.

Avar stood over her, looking down, face passive. “You’re Shryke.”

The woman spat. She tapped her chest with her finger, rapping loudly against the flat breastplate of her armor, as if presenting her heart as an easy target. “Come on then. Finish it.” She drew a shuddering breath and met Avar’s gaze. Avar could see the hatred burning there, behind them. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to.”

Avar heard Porter and KC-78 enter the bridge behind her. She thumbed off her lightsaber.

“Come on!” yelled Shryke. Her face was twisted in agony, but Avar could see that it was more than just the pain of her wounds. This was a woman who’d had her heart torn out. The foundations of everything she believed in were crumbling around her. “Come on!”

“No,” said Avar. “I won’t give you the easy way out.”

She turned her back on the Nihil woman and crossed to the flight controls.

Shryke bellowed wordlessly after her, raw and angry, but flopped back, unable to move.

Avar studied the data readouts on the bank of screens. Her heart seemed to leap into her throat, causing her head to throb. She fought down sudden, rising panic.

Oh no.

No.

“Porter, we have a problem.”

Porter was still looking at Shryke, as if he expected her to get up and try fighting them again, but Avar could tell that the woman was broken. She’d been abandoned by everyone and everything she’d held dear. There was no coming back from that. “What is it?”

“They’ve scuttled the Path drive.” She tried to call up a status report, but the system was completely dead. “We’re heading straight for the Stormwall, and the Path drive is offline.”

Melis Shryke gave a nasty, hacking laugh. “You’re too late, Jedi. It’s gone. Dead. Destroyed. You’re not getting out of here alive.”

The Cacophony gave another rumbling shudder as the other ship continued its relentless bombardment.

“The shields are completely gone,” said Avar. “If they manage to take out the sublight drive, we’ll be stranded. Sitting ducks.”

“The general thinks she’s going to take you back to Ro,” said Shryke, “but I’ve seen to that, too. All she’ll be taking back are little pieces once the Cacophony hits the Stormwall.”

“The general,” said Porter, realization dawning. She was the one behind the bombardments. He turned, meeting Avar’s gaze. “She’ll never stop,” he said. “Not unless someone stops her first.”

“Porter…”

She could see where this was leading.

He gave a tiny shake of his head, warning her not to protest.

“This was always meant for you, Avar. This mission. You’re the future of the Jedi Order. I’m the past. You need to get out, beyond the Stormwall. Elzar and the others need you.”

“No. Even if I do manage to find a way out, you’ll be trapped.”

Porter crossed to her, taking the small leather pouch from his belt. He pressed it into her palm. “There’s still a way. Remember, the only thing that matters now is getting this back to Coruscant. Everything else pales in comparison. They need to know they’re on the right track, that there’s a way to breach the Stormwall.”

Avar stared at him. She didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. “Porter…”

“You can do this, Avar. I believe in you.”

He strode to the door, then stopped for a moment, turning back to look at her, a broad smile on his lips. “May the Force be with you.”

And then he was gone.

In the meantime, Melis Shryke had managed to drag herself across the floor, propping herself up against the edge of her command chair. She was watching Avar with open malice. “There’s no way out, Avar Kriss. It’s just you and me now. Until the end. It’s going to be quite some show.”

Avar didn’t respond. She was alone again, now. Just her against the darkness.

She stood for a moment, her hands trembling.

No.

Not alone.

Never alone.

She glanced down at the leather pouch in her fist, containing the memory core of the old EX droid.

There’s still a way…

Slowly, a smile spread to her lips.

“Kaysee,” she said, beckoning urgently to the astromech. “I hope you’re ready to work faster than you’ve ever worked before.”

SESWENNA SECTOR, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Porter hurtled into the Cacophony’s hold.

Around him, the ship was threatening to break apart, torn between the stresses of its overworked subspace drive and the effect the blaster barrage was having on its weakened structure. Sparks cascaded from the ceiling like shimmering raindrops. Several fires were burning. Warning lights were flickering red. Atmosphere was hissing out of small cracks in the inner hull.

Avar didn’t have long. He had to do something to stop the bombardments. It was the only way to buy her enough time.

He cast around, looking for a shuttle, anything he could use to take the fight to Viess on the other ship.

Most of the smaller ships had already gone, taken by fleeing Nihil as they abandoned the dying Cacophony like terrified rats. But there, right at the rear of the hold, was an old mining drill ship, just like the ones the E’ronoh forces had deployed during the Eiram-E’ronoh war.

He hurried over.

The nose drill appeared to have been serviced, and the engines had been upgraded to something more recent. It was shoddy Nihil work, but it would do. If he could get it started.

Porter swung himself up into the cockpit, dropping heavily into the narrow pilot’s seat. He stabbed at the ancient buttons, amazed when the console actually lit up before him.

Maybe the Force is with me today.

He clamped the canopy shut over his head and fired up the engines. They roared in the confined space of the Cacophony’s hold, drowning out the sound of the thudding cannons.

He looked at the rear deployment doors. There was no time to find a way to open them. Besides, that way Viess would see him coming. And what did it matter if the contents of the hold were evacuated into space, if the integrity of the rest of the ship was maintained?

Porter cranked a lever to set the nose drill spinning. It started up slowly at first, clunking noisily as it rotated, trying to find its momentum.

“Come on! Come on!”

He slammed his fist against the control panel.

The drill thrummed, gave another cranking grind, and began to spin, gathering speed as it roared to life. Within seconds the whole of the drill ship was vibrating as the nose spun faster and faster, emitting a sharp mechanical whine.

“All right, Viess. Here I come.”

Porter pulled the flight controls back sharply, thumping the magnetic dock release.

The drill ship shook, lurching forward, throwing him back into the seat as it lifted from its docking cradle, still inside the bigger ship’s hold. He kept the drive power to a minimum, just enough to give him some lift.

Grunting, he forced the control stick back, causing the nose of the ship to tilt up and up, pivoting on the spot until he was pointed at an acute angle, the drill almost touching the roof of the hangar bay.

Then he gunned the main drive, flooding it with power. The drill ship shot forward like a podracer.

The spinning drill struck the thin hull of the Cacophony with a screeching whine, biting deep. He gunned the main drive again, pushing the ship forward with everything it had. Around it, the sheet plating of the Cacophony’s hull billowed open like a flower, and the drill ship erupted through the rear end of the vessel, bursting out into space on a plume of light.

Porter gritted his teeth. Just as he’d predicted, Viess’s ship was hanging with its nose just above the rear of the Cacophony.

Making it a direct target.

He wedged the flight controls back as far as they would go.

The drill ship soared like a dart, slamming into the base of the other ship’s bow. Porter was thrown forward with the force of the impact, slamming his head against the control desk. He rocked back in his seat, momentarily woozy, but it made no difference. With power still flooding the drive, the drill ship forced its way up and into the larger ship, screeching as it churned through the dense armor plating.

Porter had no control of the drill ship now. It plowed deeper, bursting up through the interior of the Foregone Catastrophe, tearing an enormous rift along the larger ship’s base. Air, equipment, and screaming Nihil were dragged into the icy void as the ship buckled around the smaller vessel, metal screeching like the scream of a dying leviathan.

The noise was incredible. All Porter could hear was the screech of twisting metal and the burr of the drill as they pushed on and up, finally coming to a grinding halt a few seconds later. Its nose had burst through the roof of the larger ship, burying its entire length inside the other vessel. The drill was still trying to turn, but had become lodged, the momentum of the drill ship slowing as it tried to drag itself through the front of Viess’s ship.

It’s done.

It’s up to you now, Avar.

Alarms were blaring.

Porter rested his head against the seatback, catching his breath.

The sound of the bombardments had ceased. Now, beneath the whooping of the alarms, all he could hear were the creaking death throes of Viess’s ship as it slowly, inexorably, began to tear itself apart.

Straining, still a little groggy, he reached up and released the canopy. It popped with a pneumatic hiss, and reality seemed to rush in. The whooping alarms cut through his thoughts, startling him into action.

He checked the displays. The drill ship was ruined, if it wasn’t already stuck.

He had to find another way off the wreck. If he was quick, there was a chance he could find an escape pod, maybe steal a shuttle. A ship like Viess’s had to be carrying a full complement of support craft.

He dragged himself out of the cockpit, sliding awkwardly down the dented fuselage and dropping to the floor. Around him, everything was in chaos. Air was venting in jets from burst pipes. Mangled Nihil corpses littered the ground where they’d been caught by the passage of the drill ship. The air smelled of burning. And the noise seemed like it was trying to drown out his very thoughts.

Concentrate, Porter.

Thankfully, this section of the wreck had sealed itself around the shaft of the drill ship, like a screw that had been twisted deep into a piece of wood. It wouldn’t last long, though, judging by the sounds coming from elsewhere on the Nihil vessel. The substructure was pulling itself apart. Behind him was the bridge. If he wanted to get to a shuttle or escape pod at the back of the vessel, he’d have to find a way around the mess he’d just created. Preferably before the entire ship fell apart.

Footsteps.

Porter turned, his lightsaber flaring to life in his fist.

A lone figure stood in the shadow of a doorway, several meters away.

“Viess.”

She was dressed in her customary filigreed armor, holding her sword and wearing a look of utter contempt. “Porter Engle,” she spat. “I thought you might have fled, just like your sister did. But here you are. And once again, you’ve ruined everything.”

Behind him, the drill ship shifted, trying to settle but instead opening another gouge in the hull plating. The shields were still holding…for now.

But they wouldn’t last forever.

Nothing could.

Not even him.

Porter sighed. It looked as if he’d been right when he’d told Avar he belonged to the past, after all.

“A last dance?” he said, readying his lightsaber.

Viess screamed in wild rage as she charged.

SESWENNA SECTOR, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

“It’s not going to work,” said Shryke. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do. It won’t work.”

Avar tried to ignore the constant sniping. Shryke was clearly starting to lapse into shock. The loss of her hand, the wound in her leg, the shocking blow to her psyche of being betrayed by Viess and losing her crew, her ship. It was taking its toll. She looked tired, like she’d given up, and she’d started repeating herself. If she didn’t get treatment soon, she’d be catatonic. Or worse.

The bombardments had stopped, and the Cacophony had now pulled well ahead of Viess’s ship, which had disappeared from the monitors. The last thing Avar had seen was that the ship appeared to be breaking up, buckling and shearing apart as its momentum continued to drag it on through space.

Whatever Porter had done, he’d bought her time.

He’d given her this chance.

But now more Nihil ships had started to appear, sliding out of hyperspace all around them, and soon the entire swarm would be upon them.

Her only way out was through the Stormwall. And it was approaching, fast.

The alarm systems were screaming at her. She silenced them.

If this didn’t work, Shryke would be proved right. Once they entered the disruption field, the Stormwall would rip them apart as soon as she activated the hyperdrive.

At least it will be quick.

“Kaysee?”

She glanced at the astromech, who was buried in a nest of cables beneath the flight control desk. Sparks flew as he tried desperately to patch the memory core of the ancient EX droid into the navigation systems.

The datascreens were scrolling with lines of obscure code that Avar couldn’t understand.

“Are you ready to die, Avar Kriss?” mumbled Shryke. “Are you at peace with everything you’ve done?”

Avar shot her a look. “Are you?”

Shryke grinned but didn’t answer.

“Kaysee?”

The droid trilled angrily in response.

“I know you’re doing your best, but now would be a really good time to—”

The monitors flickered.

A grid of white lines appeared on the nearest screen. A chain of swirling snakelike shapes began to superimpose themselves across the grid—the sequence of short, bespoke hyperspace jumps that would lead them to safety.

“Is it ready?” asked Avar.

KC-78 beeped frantically and shuffled backward, trying to drag himself out from the nest of wires that had snared around his legs.

The klaxons sounded again. The Cacophony shuddered as thunderous bombardments started up again, this time not from Viess’s ship but an array of smaller vessels that she must have summoned to assist in the attack.

“It’s now or never, Kaysee. We have to trust the droid brain still functions as it was designed to. Do it.”

Behind her, Shryke was laughing maniacally.

Please work.

Please.

The monitor blipped. One of the snaking routes became solid.

The klaxons wailed.

All her instincts were screaming.

“Now, Kaysee!”

The hyperdrive engaged. The galaxy around them shuddered. Distant starlight stretched, lengthening, forming a tunnel ahead of them…

…and stopped.

The hyperdrive disengaged, unable to make the jump.

“Kaysee?”

KC-78 made a sound like a lament, steeped in sadness. He started fiddling with the wiring again.

But they were out of time. They were plunging into the disruption field of the Stormwall. Get it wrong this time and they were stardust.

Avar gripped the edge of the terminal.

She closed her eyes.

And breathed.

The song of the Force rushed in, filling her sensorium. The tune was as broken and discordant as it had ever been, weaving in and out, a lilting melody that sounded wrong. And yet there were familiar patterns in it. Fragments of the song she had once known. Echoes.

She reached for them, feeling her way, seeking guidance.

The passage of time seemed to have stopped. There was just Avar and the song. She was a part of it, and it a part of her.

Her hands moved as if of their own volition, hovering over the controls.

KC-78 was still frantically tweaking the wiring beneath the console.

She waited. Breathless.

And waited…

And then the discordant song seemed to swell around her.

“Now.” She pushed the lever to engage the hyperdrive.

Shryke screamed, her earlier nonchalance replaced by sudden fear.

Avar opened her eyes.

The galaxy stretched.

Light filled her vision.

SESWENNA SECTOR, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Porter scored the edge of his lightsaber along the line of Viess’s vambrace. It fizzed and crackled as he threw his weight behind it, trying to knock her off balance.

Viess was having none of it, however.

She sidestepped, grunted, then shoved him back with a mighty push, lunging with her sword. The tip nicked the fabric of Porter’s tunic, and he danced back, opening the gap between them again.

Around them, Viess’s ship was crumbling. The stress of the damage he’d caused driving the drill ship through it was proving fatal. Its spine was broken, and it was in the final throes of its existence.

Porter’s hopes of getting off the wreck were dwindling. Whole hunks of the back end had already broken free, drifting away into space, and if it hadn’t been for the drill ship itself, ironically holding this part of the vessel together, they’d already be long dead.

The ship groaned again, shifting beneath their feet. Somewhere close, an explosion. A scream.

“Looks like we’re going down together, General,” he said, wheeling, striking, skipping back.

There was a certain elegance to things ending this way, a sense of closure. They’d both lived long, extraordinary lives. Viess had chosen to spend hers differently from Porter, in pursuit of power, at the expense of others’ lives. He supposed the work he’d tried to do as a Jedi had at least offset that in some way, bringing balance to it.

He would have liked to have seen Coruscant again. To spend one last evening in conversation with Master Yoda. To walk the markets on the lower levels and take in the rich scents of exotic, sizzling food. To see Bell Zettifar and Ember, and to check in on Indeera Stokes.

But the Force would embrace him all the same, and he was grateful. He wasn’t in a hurry to die, but neither was he scared of it. And this felt like an end to things. Like the circle would be closed. The general had driven Barash away all those long years ago. Now she would pay.

Whatever happened next, that he had bought Avar the time she needed to escape was a comfort. He only hoped it had worked. He supposed he might never know.

Viess came on again, edging forward, her blade low by her side. The ancient sword wouldn’t last a moment in a clash with his lightsaber, but she knew that well enough. Instead, she was fighting smart, getting in close, using her beskar-inlaid armor to batter away his blade while she tried to find an opening for her own weapon.

It had almost worked, too. Several times.

Porter prided himself on his skill with a blade, but in Viess he’d met one of the few people who could stand against him and walk away. And she wasn’t even a lightsaber wielder. He liked that about her, even if he disapproved of pretty much every other choice she’d made.

“Damn Jedi,” she hissed. “You’ve always managed to get in my way.”

Porter smiled wryly. “You’ve always made it so easy.”

She rushed in, throwing her left arm up in a feint, then using her right to block his swing. She ducked low, tossing her blade to her other hand, jabbing again at his gut. He pivoted as the blade slid past, bringing his knee up to catch Viess in the chest.

She fell away, gasping for air.

Almost got me that time.

He barged, shoulder-first, but Viess was ready and skipped out of the way. They circled, both of them predator, both of them prey.

A rending sound from above. A sudden drop in temperature. The drill ship shifted, grating against its host’s shell.

This was it. The ship was coming apart around them.

“It’s over, Viess,” he said, still circling warily. “We could lay down our weapons. Go in peace rather than battle.”

Viess laughed. She was edging around, positioning herself for something. Porter tensed. “Even now, after all these years, you’re so naïve. You Jedi think you understand how the galaxy works, but you know nothing. Strange rites and meditation will only get you so far. The galaxy is far bigger than you imagine.”

“There’s virtue in a small life, too,” he said. “Anyone can make a difference.”

“No. The strong survive. They’re the ones who make a difference. The Nihil understand that.”

Porter sighed. “I wish you’d opened your eyes. I wish you’d seen them for what they really are. But it’s too late now. It’s about to end.”

The ship lurched, and Porter staggered, trying to retain his footing.

Viess saw her opportunity and struck, launching herself into the air, bringing her blade down in a tight arc.

It slid into Porter’s left shoulder, burying itself deep in muscle and sinew.

He yelled in pain, taking a step back just as the floor tilted, the two parts of the ship prizing apart. Viess shoved, and he toppled backward, striking the shifting floor hard, his lightsaber rolling from his fingers and stuttering out. Viess’s sword was still buried in his shoulder, and he could feel hot blood streaming down his arm.

The wreck gave another almighty groan. The floor plating buckled, cracking, falling away. Porter rolled, tumbling, dropping, striking a newly formed ledge of ragged metal. He slid, throwing out his good arm, fingers finding desperate purchase on a jagged fold of metal. He clung on, his other arm hanging limp by his side, now slick and red with blood. Slowly, he dragged himself up onto the ledge, grimacing with the effort. He yanked Viess’s sword out of his shoulder, tossing it away, ignoring the sharp bloom of pain. The weapon disappeared over the ledge, tumbling and turning.

Beneath him was nothing but the stark void of space, now held at bay only by the last stuttering remnants of the vessel’s shields. Soon it would swallow him up. There was nowhere to go.

So, this is it.

Go well, Avar.

He glanced up. Viess was staring down at him from the broken floor above, now out of reach. “Goodbye, Porter Engle.”

He watched, blinking blood and sweat from his eye, as she turned and ran.

SESWENNA SECTOR, REPUBLIC SPACE

Bell was pacing again.

Ember could sense his mounting anxiety and had retreated to her favorite spot beneath Quarik’s terminal, watching him with beady eyes.

“Wawwarrooo?” said Burryaga, asking him why he was so on edge.

It was a redundant question, and Burry knew it. They were on the bridge of the Tractate, at the head of a large force of RDC ships that had been assigned to support them in the capture of the Cacophony.

Assuming, of course, that Harlak’s calculations were correct, and the Nihil ship really was due to emerge from the Occlusion Zone somewhere in the near vicinity.

Bell hoped beyond hope that the Gran technician was right. It felt like their last best chance. If they were wrong, if Shryke wasn’t following the pattern they’d identified, then they really were back at square one.

Please. Let it be right.

He needed this to work. He couldn’t stand it any longer. His frustration at his inability to stop the Nihil, to make a real difference, to fight back in any meaningful way—it still bubbled away inside him, like mounting pressure that was seeking release.

He’d already made the decision that he was going to seek counsel from Master Elzar as soon as this mission was over. Elzar had never hidden his struggles, had always advocated sharing with those who might be able to help.

If there was anyone back on Coruscant who might be able to help him come to terms with his tumultuous feelings, it was Elzar.

Now, though, was not the time for such thoughts.

Now was the time for action.

Before setting out they’d formulated a plan.

When the Cacophony appeared, the fleet would hit it with a quick, comprehensive bombardment to disable it without destroying its Path drive, which they planned to acquire for further study.

Then the Jedi would move in, boarding the ship and, finally, taking Melis Shryke prisoner.

It sounded so easy, but Bell knew it would be anything but. The ship would be swarming with Nihil. And Shryke would not go down easily.

They’d built a redundancy plan, too. Master Mirro Lox and his Padawan Amadeo were waiting in orbit around Eriadu with a secondary fleet—close enough to swoop in and assist if they were needed, but far enough away that—should the Cacophony try to flee, or should it jump through the Stormwall at some other nearby location—they’d be on hand to stall Shryke while the main fleet moved in.

Others still were standing by on Hintis IV, and on Coruscant, ready to scramble if Harlak’s theory proved right.

It wasn’t foolproof, but it was the best chance they’d had.

The proximity sensors blipped.

Bell’s head whipped around.

Pha Rool was studying his screen. He chewed his bottom lip, nervous too.

“Well?” said Bell.

“I’m not sure,” said Pha Rool. And then: “No! Stand ready. Something’s coming through!”

Bell tensed.

“Alert the other ships,” said Amaryl Pel, who was sitting forward in her chair, as tense as Bell. “Tell them to power up their weapons.”

“Aye, Captain,” said Quarik. She repeated the message into the comms array.

Bell studied the forward viewscreen.

Nothing.

Nothing.

A ship slid out of hyperspace directly in front of them, stuttering to a halt as it slewed toward its port side, subspace engines flaring.

It was closer than Harlak had predicted.

Much closer.

Almost on top of them.

Bell peered at it.

The ship was alone. No escort vessels or other raiders. It was definitely Nihil.

It certainly looked like the Cacophony, but it was a mess. A wreck that was barely holding itself together. Huge craters had been chewed in its outer hull, blackened by the burn of blasterfire. Its main portside air lock had been blown, apparently with explosive force, and it looked as if something had erupted out of the rear hold—the back end of the ship was splayed open and effectively missing.

How anyone could be alive onboard, Bell didn’t know. How it had made it through the hyperspace Path without shaking apart into a thousand pieces was equally baffling.

What in the stars had happened? Had the Nihil turned on one another? That was the most likely scenario. Bell had known them to betray one another before, striving to one-up their rivals to attain greater recognition and strength.

Had someone moved against Melis Shryke?

It didn’t seem an outlandish idea.

“What are they doing?” said Amaryl Pel. “They’re just sitting there.” She turned to Burry. “Do you think it’s a trap? Do you sense anything?”

Burry shook his head. He told Pel that nothing would surprise him. Melis Shryke wasn’t beyond scuttling her own ship if it meant getting what she wanted.

But Bell felt differently. He felt…

…hope.

He didn’t know why. He couldn’t quite understand it. But something felt different. A ripple in the Force that he hadn’t sensed for months. Not since Starlight. Not since they’d all stood on that Eiram beach and shared in their mutual grief.

“Let me speak to them. Please,” he said, quietly.

Pel turned in her seat, offering him a quizzical look. “Be my guest.”

Bell crossed to Quarik’s terminal. “Would you mind? I want to transmit a message.”

Quarik smiled and tapped in the command. She gestured to indicate he was free to speak.

“The is Bell Zettifar of the Republic vessel Tractate. If you can hear me, Shryke, we have the Cacophony surrounded. If you try to escape or show any outward signs of aggression, we will open fire. Please respond to let us know you understand.”

Static crackled on the open channel.

No answer.

Bell turned to Burry. He shrugged.

He was just about to repeat the message when a voice broke through the static. It was mired in interference and cutting in and out, but the words were just about discernible.

“Bell! Bell? Is that really you?”

The voice seemed oddly familiar. Bell felt his pulse quicken, the hairs on the nape of his neck prickle. It reminded him of…

“Avar?”

He felt Burry’s hand grip his shoulder. His heart was pounding.

“Bell! It’s so good to hear your voice. Yes! Yes, it’s Avar!”

Bell felt tears prick his eyes. Could it really be? After all this time. He could hardly believe it.

And yet…it felt right.

Burry expelled a joyous roar.

“Burryaga?” Avar sounded choked. “You’re alive!”

Bell could hardly find the words. He had so many questions. “Avar! It’s good to hear you, too.” He tried to compose himself. “What are you doing on that ship?”

“It’s a long story, Bell. But I need to get to Coruscant immediately. And I have a prisoner in tow.”

“A prisoner?”

“A Nihil ringleader. Melis Shryke. She’s wounded and needs medical attention.”

Bell could hardly believe it.

Avar’s alive.

Avar Kriss.

And she’s brought us Melis Shryke and her ship.

Hope swelled in his breast.

Amaryl Pel put her hand on Bell’s arm and gently guided him out of the way, leaning over the comm. “Avar, this is Captain Amaryl Pel of the Republic Defense Coalition. We’ll send a boarding party over immediately. Let’s get you out of there and get you home.”

Avar took a moment to answer. “I…” She hesitated for a moment. “Thank you, Captain.”

The link went dead.

Bell turned to Burry, and smiled.

HETZAL, INSIDE THE OCCLUSION ZONE

Ghirra stood alone at the top of the fortress, staring out of the Eye’s window. It was a gloomy day on Hetzal. Overcast, raining, the wind blowing the tall fields of unharvested grain almost flat. No one was out toiling today.

Even the Nihil were subdued. News had reached them of Avar’s escape, Shryke’s capture, and the disappearance of both General Viess and Porter Engle. Even now, Nihil were searching the wreckage of the Foregone Catastrophe, and had started to return to Hetzal with survivors in tow. There weren’t many, and they spoke of demons with lightsabers who had devastated both ships, laying their commanders low and destroying everything in their path.

Ro had scoffed at such tales, but Ghirra knew they would spread, become mythologized, transmute into cautionary tales that would warn the Nihil of the perils of facing the Jedi and perhaps worse, embolden the Republic citizens trapped within the Occlusion Zone to fight back in rebellion against the Nihil.

In the future, some of them might think twice about taking such risks.

Ghirra smiled. Things hadn’t gone according to plan for Marchion Ro.

Not at all.

And that was pleasing.

The old ways of the Nihil were dying. It was a failing system, designed to meet a specific aim that was now no longer relevant. Ro knew it, too. He just wasn’t prepared to admit it.

More of the Nihil were coming around to her way of thinking. And the loss of Viess would only precipitate that. Being a Nihil now felt more dangerous than ever. While there were those among them who thrived on the chaos, who wanted only to rampage, murder, and die in a blaze of glory, there were others who wanted to live to see the spoils of their victories.

Now was her chance, her opportunity to seize even more control. To come out on top.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

He’s here.

She resisted the urge to turn and look.

Let him see that our positions have been reversed. Let him think it, even if it’s not yet true. Let him question the strength of his grip.

“It suits you, Ghirra.”

Marchion Ro came to stand beside her. He was wearing his fur-lined cloak. His helm was tucked under one arm. His jet-black hair fell loose around his shoulders.

“What does, my Eye?”

“Your newfound arrogance. Your self-satisfied air. Perhaps, at last, I think you might understand what it is to be Nihil. To always have one eye on the weaknesses of your superiors and the other on the strength of your underlings. To crave power at any cost.”

“A perfect description of a politician,” said Ghirra.

Ro frowned. “Do not think that because a couple of Jedi have temporarily outwitted one of my followers, I have somehow exposed a personal weakness.”

“But if you had listened…”

“To you? If I had listened to you, the Nihil would now be nothing but the lapdogs of the Republic. Infiltrated by preening senators”—he eyed her pointedly—“sycophants, and Jedi. We would have become everything we sought to destroy.”

“And yet we stand here reduced,” said Ghirra. “The Jedi have escaped, aided, no less, by a traitor from Viess’s own ranks. The Stormwall is no longer impenetrable. The galaxy has witnessed the Jedi triumph.”

“Do not dress this up like one of your fine political speeches. Two prisoners escaped. It is nothing,” said Ro. She could sense his simmering anger.

“It is everything. Don’t you see it, Marchion? The Republic is fed on hope. Avar Kriss was one of their great hopes. A born leader. A symbol as powerful as any beacon. And now she’s returned in a blaze of glory. She’s survived in Nihil space for an entire year. And now she’s learned how to breach our defenses. It’s everything the Republic needed. It’ll set us back months. Maybe more.”

“No. She was lucky. It won’t happen again. The old prospecting lanes she used to bypass the Stormwall will be shut down,” said Ro.

“Nevertheless…” started Ghirra.

“If there’s something you wish to say to me, Ghirra, now is the time to say it.”

She swallowed. “This began with those preposterous theatrics. The execution of the Jedi. The public broadcast. The posturing.” She measured her breathing, trying to suppress her fear. This was still Marchion Ro she was talking to. Not so long ago she’d seen him snap the neck of a man who bore a message he didn’t want to hear. “You may not have revealed a weakness, but you’ve shown that you do not know the Republic—or the Jedi—like you think you do.”

Ro said nothing. He turned to gaze out of the window. Raindrops pattered upon the glass panes.

After a while, he raised a hand, gesturing at the view. “Storm clouds,” he said.

Ghirra nodded.

“Tomorrow they’ll be gone. Day will follow night because it has no choice. It is ordained, inevitable. The crops will stand tall again and the sun will shine. All shall be as it was before.”

“So we are all forgotten, in time,” said Ghirra.

“Unless we find a way to be remembered,” said Ro. “To leave an indelible impression.”

“And that is your aim?” said Ghirra. “The true point of the Nihil. To elevate you, Marchion Ro, to make you into a god?”

Ro smiled. “What else is there?”

“You sound unhinged.”

“And you sound…boring,” said Ro. “And no one wants to be bored.” He leaned closer, until she could feel his hot breath against her cheek. “Do not cross me, Ghirra. It is a battle you cannot win.”

Ghirra swallowed, unable to find the words to reply.

“And remember this,” he said, turning to walk away. “You are only alive because you remind me of what the Nihil must never become. That is your purpose. That is all you are.”

But it’s not.

I’m so much more.

And when the time is right, you will see.

You will see.

She looked around, but he’d already gone.

Relieved, Ghirra turned back to the window.

Outside, the weather was already beginning to change for the better.

CORUSCANT

It had been over a year since Avar had walked the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Perhaps she should have felt nervous, but instead, she simply felt relieved. After so long in the darkness, it would be a rare comfort to look upon their familiar faces, to be in the company of her fellow Jedi. To feel part of something again.

But there was one face she longed to see more than any other.

Avar walked through the airy corridors, clutching the memory core of the EX droid, now returned to Porter’s small leather pouch. Beside her, KC-78 trundled along, beeping merrily at other droids. All around them, other Jedi stopped and stared, their beaming smiles speaking to their joy at seeing Avar returned.

It was a tonic, to feel so loved.

For so long, she had allowed her guilt to cloud her judgment, to leave her believing she was better off on her own. She should have known that could never be true. Being a Jedi was so much more than that. No matter her mistakes, her failures, she belonged here.

She had found herself again. And it was all thanks to an Ugnaught who had reminded her what it was to be a friend. She hoped Belin and Rhil were safe.

I’ll come back for you. Both of you. I promise.

She hoped, too, that Porter was at peace. General Viess’s ship had been coming apart, the last she’d seen. It didn’t look to her as if anyone could have survived that level of destruction…but if anyone could, it would be Porter Engle.

She hoped they’d meet again when all of this was over.

Up ahead, the tall, arched entryway to the Council Chamber loomed.

She paused, catching her breath.

Okay, perhaps I am a little nervous, after all.

KC-78 gently nudged her leg, encouraging her to keep walking. She glanced down at the astromech and thought of Maru, this time not with sadness and grief, but with a warm smile. He would have been the first to greet her. His grin would have been the broadest of all.

“It’s okay, Kaysee. I’m ready.”

Together, they walked on.

The entire Jedi Council had gathered to welcome her, and they turned to face her as she entered the chamber. She felt an intense wave of goodwill and couldn’t suppress a laugh.

She looked from face to face. Ry, Yoda, Lahru, Adampo, Keaton, Ada-Li, Soleil, Teri, Oppo, and Yareal via holo. They were all smiling.

Others had come to see her, too—Arkoff, Indeera, Bell, Burryaga. So many familiar, welcoming faces.

Avar’s heart swelled.

And the room filled with song.

Taken aback, she gasped.

She could hear it.

Loud and clear. The beautiful, thrumming song of the Force, swirling around and through her, lifting her up with its majesty. For the first time since Starlight.

All discordance was gone. The notes were perfect, in every way.

And then she saw him.

Elzar.

He was there, too, standing by the window, his back to her.

She watched him for a moment. She could see he was trembling.

He turned. Their eyes met.

She stared at him, unable to look away.

She was home.

Not there in the Council Chamber, not in the Jedi Temple. Not even on Coruscant.

With Elzar.

Thank you, Porter. Thank you for this gift.

Elzar took a step forward. He opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to remember where he was, and held himself back, glancing away.

Avar wanted to run to him. But she couldn’t. Not here.

Oh, Elzar.

What happens next?

Because the truth is, I need you, too.

She sensed a ripple of polite impatience, and turned to regard the seated members of the Council. “It’s good to see you. All of you.”

“Most welcome, you are, Avar Kriss. Missed, have you been.” Yoda’s smile seemed to spread from ear to ear.

“It is remarkable you’re here, Avar,” said Ry.

Avar nodded. “To be honest, there were times when I thought it might never happen.”

“We always held out hope,” said Ada-Li. “We never doubted you.”

Even when I doubted myself.

“There will be time,” said Yoda, “for celebration. But first, there is work to be done.”

“Yes,” said Lahru. “Your insights regarding the details of the Nihil base on Hetzal and the operation of the Stormwall will be key to what comes next.”

Avar nodded, crossing to stand beside Elzar as the other Jedi gathered around a blooming holo, showing the full extent of the Occlusion Zone.

“I heard you, Elzar,” whispered Avar. “I heard your messages, and they gave me strength.”

She heard Elzar swallow, but neither turned to look at the other. Her hand, hanging by her side, brushed gently against his. Just for a moment. But it was all they needed.

For now.

Avar turned to address the Council.

There was work to be done.

To Mike and the Architects

(you really should have formed a band with that name)

Acknowledgments

Enormous thanks go out to my colleagues and friends on the High Republic writing team: Zoraida Córdova, Claudia Gray, Tessa Gratton, Justina Ireland, Lydia Kang, Daniel José Older, Cavan Scott, Charles Soule, and Alyssa Wong.

Big thanks are also due to Michael Siglain and Tom Hoeler, who both helped shepherd this book on its journey, as well as the unsung crews behind the scenes and Disney, Lucasfilm, and Random House Worlds, who help support our endeavors every day.

My family is hugely supportive and put up with me disappearing for days, weeks, and months on end into a galaxy far, far away. You make it all worthwhile.

And perhaps, most important, our readers. THANK YOU for reading our books and comics and sharing this journey with us. You’re all marvelous, and we couldn’t do any of it without you.

BY GEORGE MANN

STAR WARS

The High Republic: The Eye of Darkness

The High Republic: The Battle of Jedha

DOCTOR WHO

Paradox Lost

Engines of War

TALES OF THE GHOST

Ghosts of Manhattan

Ghosts of War

Ghosts of Karnak

Ghosts of Empire

NEWBURY & HOBBES

The Affinity Bridge

The Osiris Ritual

The Immortality Engine

The Executioner’s Heart

The Revenant Express

The Albion Initiative

Sherlock Holmes: The Will of the Dead

Sherlock Holmes: The Spirit Box

Wychwood

Hallowdene

About the Author

GEORGE MANN is a Sunday Times bestselling novelist, comics writer, and screenwriter. He’s the creator of the Wychwood supernatural mystery series as well as the popular Newbury & Hobbes and Tales of the Ghost. He’s written comics, novels, and audio dramas for properties such as Star Wars, Doctor Who, Sherlock Holmes, Judge Dredd, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Dragon Age.

Mann lives near Grantham, England, with his wife, children, and two noisy dogs. He loves mythology and folklore, Kate Bush, and chocolate. He is constantly surrounded by tottering piles of comics and books.

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