"Glories upon glories,
Wonders upon wonders,
All these belong to thee
Whose fist shall enclose the stars
And whose name shall outlive time."
Lyechusas
Santossa was where they'd meant to go after leaving Estaria, and it was where they'd ended up eventually, but they took a hell of a roundabout way to get there. It was a free world with an independent port station, which also happened to be run by an old friend of Ajek Kroller's. The Hand of Light was provided a berth as well, someplace private at the edge of the port where it could be shielded from watching eyes. Santossa was a convergence point for traders, spacers, scouts, couriers, and yes, smuggler and criminals. Independent types all, and the Gravity Scorned had stopped here many times over the years.
Reina explained this to Erakas as they met at a cantina called the Better Days. Santossa was predominantly human, though less so than most worlds in the Tion cluster, but they sat in a darkened booth so as not to draw attention as they sat in a booth along with Vaatus and Essan, the later of whom had a number of bruises and bandages in addition to a scarlet, unfamiliar mien. The two Jedi never stopped looking around, even after their drinks were delivered.
"Does your kind not frequent bars?" asked Vaatus.
"It's never been our priority," Erakas said, then took a sip from his glass. His expression attested to that inexperience; the drink wasn't even that strong.
Reina took a deeper sip from hers and settled back against the booth's cushions. "Getting through all that feels like a miracle."
"The Force," Essan said seriously, "was with us."
Reina and Vaatus didn't know what that meant, but the Jedi seemed to take comfort in the thought. Erakas took another sip, made less of a face, and asked, "What will you do now?"
"What we always do," Reina shrugged. "Malanthazaar can probably hook Dad up with a job somewhere hauling cargo. I bet they're talking it over right now."
Before she could broach what he'd do next, Vaatus added, "We're going to have to stay out of Imperial space for a while. That still leaves us with plenty of worlds to work on, but it does make things… complicated."
Essan asked, "Can you not… disguise your ship?"
"There are methods," the Nikto said. "New identification transponders. Tools that can disguise a drive signature. I'm sure they are talking about that now too."
"Wonder if he'll buy a second turret gun after this," Reina muttered. Vaatus simply shrugged.
"I wish we could pay you for your help," Erakas said, "but we don't have much currency. Maybe something from the ship… I don't know. Master Talyak would make the final decision on everything."
"Including your current occupants?" asked Vaatus. "Those creatures… are they really Tyrants?"
Erakas and Essan both tensed. The latter said, "It is a complicated history."
Reina leaned forward, elbows on tabletop. "Since we're not in mortal danger now—and I can hardly believe it either—maybe you Jedi can tell us a little more."
"About… the Tyrants?" asked Erakas.
"About everything. Like how you people actually got to this corner of space without jump beacons, what the place you came from was like, what kind of people and species live there. I could go on."
"We already told you the most important things on Mullan."
She looked him squarely, held his eyes. Essan and Vaatus seemed to drift into the background. "Tell me about you, for starters."
Erakas blinked, then glanced away, then possibly flushed but in the dim light it was hard to tell. Then he took another drink (barely a face this time), looked back at her and began, "Maybe I should tell you about my Master Sohr. Without him, everything we went thought would have happened very differently..."
-{}-
When Erakas and Essan returned to the Hand's berth the approaching corridors were empty, dark, and serene. Every step felt long and easy to Erakas. The conversation he'd had with Reina, the unburdening that he'd done, left him feeling light. Whatever he had drunk had also, he suspected, left its mark. Though he and Essan shared no words on their way back to the Hand he did not feel the awkward tension he sometimes did in her presence. So, too, felt calm. Almost satisfied.
When they reached the airlock, they found Master Talyak waiting for them. He stood alone in the portal's mouth. Of the Rakata there was no sign, which meant they were all in the ship. Santossa might have been pretty tolerant of non-humans, but a herd of Tyrants passing through its port would not go well.
When he saw them approach, Talyak clasped his lower hands in front of him and spread the upper ones in greeting. He said, "I am glad you have returned. Did your relaxation go well?"
Relaxation was not something Jedi typically valued. He couldn't remember Talyak ever using the word before. But it seemed fitting for tonight, so Erakas smiled and said, "I think we did."
"I'm glad." The Talid folded his upper hands above the lower set. "I have been speaking with the Rakata and meditating. After much consideration, I believe I have made the correct decision."
His serious tone brought Erakas down to earth. "What kind of decision, Master?"
"I believe this is the place where we part ways."
They stared at him, uncertain. Essan ventured, "Will the Rakata leave us here?"
"No… I realize the other Masters place great importance on sending teams of three to explore the worlds beyond, but we have been faced with circumstances they could not have anticipated. And these circumstances, I believe, require an extraordinary response." He smiled gently to soften a blow. "I believe that from here on, I must walk a separate path from you."
-{}-
Though it was armored for war, the Ascendant possessed a few observation decks through which its surrounding space could be seen with naked eyes. Jaminere did not frequently visit these places for the simple fact there was no practical reason to. But when the Ascendant exited hyperspace over Desevro, the launch bay staff reported a technical issue that would delay his transit down to the planet by at least thirty minutes.
So, with nothing else to do, Jaminere went to the foremost viewing deck. The broad window of reinforced glass looked down on the planet's mottled greens and blues and cloudy whites, as well as the gray city-sprawls that spread from river mouths and coastal ports.
Desevro was the former capital of the Livien League and the richest, most populous planet in known space. It was all the Fourth Throne of Xim Son of Xer, and for all intents the administrative capital of his still-expanding empire. It was here that Xim had built his grandest palace (though his initial one on Argai remained close second) and to here that his courtiers flocked from every conquered world.
And, strangely enough, it was the closest thing Jaminere had to a home, though he spent more time aboard the Ascendant than anywhere else. As he looked out at the planet he searched himself for some hint of warmth toward the world or its twenty billion people, but nothing came. It was simply a place to come to when he was not waging war.
As for his homeworld of Sorasca, he had not been there in years. As sole surviving member of House Jaminere he was technically its king, though he'd handed off all practical authority to loyal ministers long ago. It was not just that Xim kept him busy elsewhere; he had no desire to go back. None at all. So if he had any home besides the cold bulkheads of the Ascendant, Desevro would have to be it.
He was thinking on this when the sealed door opened behind him. Jaminere turned, though he already knew who it was just from the so-light click of tiny shoes, like fingers gently tapping.
"I didn't expect to find you here," said Oziaf. Given that they were going to the same place, Jaminere had allowed the T'iin T'iin to ride aboard the Ascendant.
"My shuttle launch is delayed."
"Our shuttle launch, you mean." Oziaf stepped past Jaminere and touched the glass. "He isn't waiting for us, in any case. He's set to return from Barancar in twelve hours. Time to rest and prepare, I suppose."
"Prepare what?" asked Jaminere.
The T'iin T'iin's whiskers twitched. "The truth, of course. By the way, did you see that latest report from Loreac? Very interesting."
Jaminere hadn't; in his preparations to leave he must have overlooked it. But he grunted assent and looked on Desevro without a word.
Still at the window, Oziaf asked, "What do you suppose is the likelihood we run into them again?"
"The Tyrants or their foreign helpers?"
"Are they helpers? Perhaps they are the Tyrants' masters now… or something else entirely. Whatever they are, they're what concerns us most. Those Tyrants, if they know what's good for them, will get as far away as possible. The others, however..." His long tail twitched. "Do you think this is a prelude to something? In invasion, perhaps, by an empire of magicians?"
Jaminere prayed not. "They did not act like agents of an empire. I'm hoping we can learn more from their ship and computers."
"Perhaps we will." Oziaf gave a tiny sigh. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to keep an eye open. You never know when they'll spring up again..."
Was Oziaf trying to tell him something? Jaminere wondered but did not give the T'iin T'iin the satisfaction of his asking. So they stood together in silence, watching the planet and its surrounding stars until they each received a separate and simultaneous hail telling them their passage to Desevro was now ready.
-{}-
They walked slowly up and down the empty corridor. Their steps were slow and thoughtful, like their voices. Essan, still limping slightly from her wounds, walked on Talyak's left side, Erakas on his right.
"I have been considering the fate of these Rakata," he told them. "I think we can agree that they are unlike those who ravaged Tython centuries ago."
"They may be," Essan said skeptically, "but what might they become, especially if some of them recovers use the Force?"
"That is a concern," Talyak nodded. "Only the one called Shen displays potency. Perhaps that will change, though I suspect not. I cannot sense the Force moving any of these others, and I have questioned them as best I could. But there is potential in him, and he needs proper guidance."
"You wish to train him."
"Yes. But he is loyal to his people and they see him as a leader, even if he does not. And there is no safe place for Rakata in this corner of space, especially now. I fear there is no safe port for the Hand of Light either."
"We have one now," Erakas said.
"We do. But if we continue to operate in this region we will be forced to sulk and hide, even more than we already have. We will be forced to walk in shadows when we are meant to stride in the light."
"Then we should all leave together," said Essan. "There is no reason to part ways."
"I think there is," Talyak said. "This region is unlike any the Jedi have encountered before. Instead of scattered worlds there is a great unity of planets."
"Unity brought by the sword."
"But still unity. For all we know, this is the greatest civilization the galaxy has seen since the fall of the Rakata. Yet it is also barren in the Force… and it should not be."
"Then we're to stay here?" asked Erakas.
"I do not order you to do anything… but I believe your presence can benefit these people."
"Can it really?" asked Essan. "Two Jedi against an empire of hundreds of worlds and billions of souls?"
Talyak smiled gently. The same doubts had assailed his heart for months. He'd not conquered them entirely, but he'd found, at last, his defense against the nightmare of a great nothing. "Four Force-users have already changed this region in ways we cannot comprehend. I suspect the Force, even when scarce, sets us on the balance point of history and asks us to tip the scales. We cannot lay down this responsibility."
They walked for a while longer, thinking. Essan asked, "Is it necessary you go with the Rakata?"
"I am a teacher… and I find I look forward to having a new student. I think there is much he and I can learn from each other."
"Where will you go?" asked Erakas.
"The Rakata have expressed a desire to find their ancestral homeworld. They have no idea where it is, only that it was blue and beautiful. Perhaps, with the Hand of Light and aid from the Force, we might find it."
"Do you want to find their homeworld?" asked Essan. "No matter how damaged they are now, the Rakata were once a great threat. Their empire may not have really collapsed. They may have fallen back to their home to regroup and rebuild."
"You could be putting yourself in greater danger," added Erakas.
"Perhaps," Talyak admitted. "Or perhaps what remains is in need of guidance. I may steer them away from the old darkness, if I can."
He could see the skepticism on both their faces. Essan asked, "You would stay among these people who see you as alien?"
"Your situation is the same."
"It's different if I have another Jedi beside me." She glanced at Erakas.
The human was staring at his feet and did not notice her look. "Master… you said you're giving us a choice. To stay here, or go with you."
"Yes. You are both strong Jedi knights and you are responsible for your own fates. You've taught me that much."
"I'd like some time to think. To meditate."
"Of course. You should both do so. But I have already decided my path."
Erakas nodded dully and walked to the airlock, then into the ship. Essan turned away from the Hand and took one step toward shadow, but Talyak stopped her with a touch to the shoulder.
"Yes?" she asked.
"It will be harder for you here than Erakas, but I believe you should stay."
"To help him?"
"And be helped. You have preferred to walk alone, and I understand your reasons. You want to plumb the depths of the Force, Essan, and there is no sin in that… but you should have a tether that binds you to the surface."
"And Erakas would be that? I suppose he has a certain… purity about him."
Talyak shook his head. "Nothing is pure, incorruptible, or innocent. But we can help one another."
Essan did not reply. He knew who she was thinking of, and what.
Very softly he said, "Do you know why the Masters did not hold you accountable for her death?"
She winced but gathered her composure. "No. I do not."
"Correa was always… willful. She defied her Master, searched out secret knowledge, even stole the Forcesaber. She had a reputation for making trouble, far more than you."
Essan shook her head. "Correa was… not innocent, but she was not at fault."
"Of course she was," Talyak said firmly. "As you were responsible for your fate, so she was for hers. She tempted the storm and lost her life because of it. If you had not gone to the Old City with her, she would have found another companion, or gone and died alone."
"That isn't true." She sounded less certain.
"That is what the Masters believed after studying her career closely. Hers was a tragic story of ambition that outstripped ability… but it is hers alone." He finally took his hand off her shoulder and said, "We are fortunate the Forcesaber was lost. Mastering the replacement weapon should give you a new view of the Force."
"Perhaps… What do the Rakata call them?"
"I believe it translates as lightsabers. As I said, they may teach you a new view of the Force."
She looked down"I have much to think on, Master."
"Then do so. But I am not your Master anymore."
She looked at him hard, then nodded and walked away.
-{}-
Perhaps Jedi were not meant to be alone, but at that moment Essan needed privacy. It was not easy to find. Even at this hour, in this little-used corner of the space station, pedestrians ambled the halls with the liquid lope of the intoxicated. The Hand of Light, of course, was bright and packed full of Rakata.
It took searching, but eventually she found a spot. A docking pylon, jutting from the station's wheel, was temporarily empty of ships, and from one airlock vestibule she could look out at the Hand and other ships locked into the station as it rotated slowly over Santossa. Everything seemed peaceful here.
If only she could feel that way inside. Talyak's words had unbalanced her, and for the first time she dared consider that she was not responsible for Correa's death. She did not know what it would be like to live without the weight of guilt. In time, perhaps, she'd learn.
And she would learn it here, in this Tion Cluster, surrounded by humans, loomed over by a hostile empire. It was not good for Jedi to be alone, and Talyak had found his purpose in Shen. She did not know what kind of a partner she could make for Erakas, nor he for her. They could learn together.
But Essan was still herself, an individual, and on the deepest level her journey through the Force would be a solo one. Yet that lonely journey would be different now. That was as clear and hard as the lightsaber she held in hand.
Such a strange weapon. She removed it from her jacket and held it in front of her. The same smooth round casing, the blunt hilt, the emitter nozzle. Yet to summon its blade she merely tapped a button. The molten sword, white at the core, hummed to life in front of her. She moved it slowly, tipping the weightless blade in different directions. It was a substitute for a weapon that had been almost her partner, so alive had it felt in the Force. Yet that partner had also exerted a hold on her, urging her to dig within herself and embrace all her fierce and dangerous emotions. The Forcesaber had given her power but also sweet, seductive temptation. Perhaps, she thought, it had been like Correa herself reaching out.
The Force moved through this lightsaber also, though in a softer, less dangerous way. She did not understand how or why but she could feel it. Yet that movement was untainted by aggression, unshaded by darkness. She would have to build her relationship with her weapon anew, and in doing so rebuild herself.
Essan ended the blade by relaxing her thumb. Light retreated into nothing and she stared at the object from which it had come. Then, for a compulsion she could not explain, Essan pressed the trigger again and stared transfixed at its light.
-{}-
Kroller and Malanthazaar went back a long time, farther back than he had with Dorin, even farther back than with Serena. For them it all started on Arramanx, a rusted pit they'd both wanted to get out of. Malanthazaar had ended up in charge of a successful and quasi-legal spaceport, and while Kroller was mostly satisfied with his itinerant life he still felt spurts of envy, especially when he got a peek at Malanthanzaar's liquor cabinet.
They were both sipping from glasses of fine Chandaarian wine in Malanthazaar's office, looking out at the curve of the station's middle ring. They leaned back in their chairs and rested boots on the same polished greelwood table, an insouciant pose for the vintage they shared (an impressive 490 LE) but that was fitting, because they were Arramanx boys at heart.
Kroller told him some things. Not about the secret Imperial base, or the foreigners with magic powers, and certainly not the shipful of Tyrants they'd saved. But he talked about the generation ship, the run-ins with authority, and the fact that he might be taking on new crew soon. That had been a long and interesting conversation with Talyak, and he'd taken a full day to mull it over, but his initial skepticism was staring to melt. He'd seen only some of what those so-called Jedi could do, and it was impressive, very impressive, and despite their strangeness they seemed moral and trustworthy at the core, more so than Kroller himself. There were certainly worse people he could bring aboard his ship.
"Never thought you'd open up to anyone besides your kids," Malanthazaar said over the rim of his glass.
"I'm not opening up to anybody. But the ship… we've got space, and these two seem talented. So I figure I might as well give 'em a try. If they don't work I can boot 'em off."
Or, he thought, if that Erakas kept throwing too-long looks at Reina. He found those looks (and the ones she seemed to return) concerned him more than the logistics of taking in two strange-but-useful crew.
Malanthazaar sipped his drink and said, "Your call, of course. You plan to take 'em to Yutusk?"
His friend had just offered him the shipping job: fifty cryo chambers full of supposedly-extinct Desevran tuskbeasts to the Federation capital. Less dangerous than hauling warheads or supposedly-extinct Tyrants, and somewhere between those options on the weirdness scale.
"Yeah, I'll take 'em." Kroller took a sip. "So I've got to ask… have you heard anything from Dorin?"
Malanthzaar frowned and shook his head. "Nothing. You?"
"Just wondered." Another sip. "I was also wondering if you knew anybody high up in the Federation."
"How high up?"
"Any high up. I've got some merchandise they might be interested in."
Malanthanzaar got that hungry-businessman look. "I know some people who know some people. What kind of merchandise?"
"A limited edition of one…. for now, anyway."
"That's not very helpful."
"I've got something their military's gonna want to see. Trust me."
His eyes narrowed. "You pick up something special when you tangled with Xim's boys?"
"You could say that."
The Jedi had no use for a giant, brain-damaged war robot, but Kroller had a feeling the Federation, and anybody else who might go against Xim, would like a good look at the emperor's new weapon. Given how hard those things were to kill, they'd need a good look before facing them in battle.
Malanthazaar stroked his red beard. "So… how much are you planning to ask for this thing? Sounds like it might fetch something good."
"I'll have to see what they offer."
"You plan to gouge 'em," Malanthazaar said admiringly.
But Kroller shrugged. "I don't know. I might be generous. The thing I've got… well, it might let some people punch Xim in the nose one day. I figure if I can help that along, well, that's part of my payment." And maybe, he thought Dorin might rest a little easier, wherever he was now.
Malanthazaar stared. "You're not gonna give it away, are you?"
"Hells no. If I get more crew I'll have more mouths to feed, which means I'll need to turn more profit. No, I'll let them name their price and take it from there."
"Huh. Well, good. I was starting to worry you were going all soft on me."
"Never." Except where his family was concerned, anyway. Kroller finished his wine and reached for the bottle. "You know me, Mal. I never change."
Malanthanzaar chuckled and tipped his empty glass in a toast.
-{}-
Jaminere's home on Desevro was not technically his own. The estate had belonged to his wife's family for twelve generations and while it was modest compared to Xim's palace, it was nonetheless a fine three-storey complex with a white marble exterior, tall handsome columns framing the entryway, and windows of dyed glass that warmed every room in rich multi-color. And like all ancestral homes of Livien nobility, it was surrounded by acres of cultivated gardens and patches of preserved forest, even though the city had risen around it in intervening centuries until skyscrapers towered like ramparts around the borders of the estate.
When he went through the front door, Erissa and Marco were there the greet him. He embraced and kissed his wife, then clasped his son on the shoulder and looked the boy over. He was twelve years old now and growing so fast he was stretching out of the black military-style suit Jaminere had bought him the last time he'd seen him.
No matter how many times he'd come home and found young Marco waiting, he was always struck by the irony that fate would deliver him a son. It frightened him sometimes, and he feared he might make a mistake that would wound his son as his father had wounded him. Even worse was the thought he might receive his father's fate. But the universe had no inherent sense of justice (indeed, Xim had once told him that 'justice' is something you make for yourself, even if you have to put a knife to the throat of the judge). He knew he was an absent father but he swore not to be neglectful or cruel. On every return he showered the boy with gifts and affection.
"I'm sorry I was delayed getting back from Estaria," he said as he locked arms with Erissa and led her through the halls to a veranda overlooking the south garden, Marco trailing. "Something unexpected came up that required my attention."
"I know, it always does," she replied with tired patience. "How long will you be staying this time?"
"A while, I hope, but I won't know until I talk to Xim."
"What kind of mission were you on, father?" Marco asked, boyish enthusiasm tempered by aristocratic respectfulness.
"It was very complicated, and confidential," Jaminere told him. "But I believe it's over now." Hoped, at any rate.
Erissa picked up the doubt in his tone. As they walked onto the platform and leaned against the railing, she asked, "Was your extra mission as successful as the first?"
No, Jaminere thought. "That's for Xim to decide."
She took his meaning. "I suppose we'll all be waiting on his next decree, then."
Jaminere watched her profile as she watched the garden. She was as beautiful as any of his father's concubines, but she combined it with a level head and aristocratic grace that stayed with her even as youth's bloom faded. He didn't really know what it meant to love a woman; his father had been a poor example there also. But what he felt for Erissa was unique, and probably the closest to that storied sensation he would ever know.
"No matter what happens, I'll make sure you have everything you need here."
"We know, husband," she removed her arm from his and touched their son's shoulder. "We know."
-{}-
Shen sat in the cockpit of the Scourge vessel, running his claws over a control board he'd only started to learn. At his side was Mal-Oba Talyak, the ship's pilot, its navigator, and (impossible as it seemed) Shen's new teacher in the ways of the Force.
It felt strange being here like this, but everything felt strange now and he had a feeling it would stay strange for a long time. That did not bother him. His life on Endregaad already felt very distant, like a memory of childhood. The time to grow up had already arrived, but he was only coming to terms with it now.
He wished Quoll could be here. He would never forget his mother's final words, nor the look in her eyes or the sight of her bloodied body, but Shen had to move forward as she'd desired for him. According to Talyak this Hand of Light could be guided through hyperspace by the Force, as ships had in ancient times. Many hoped it would lead them to their peoples' half-remembered homeworld. Shen had no idea what they might find there: a remnant empire, perhaps, or a rejuvenated one. Or perhaps their home would be wholly abandoned and their journey would end among ruins. The only way to find out was to go there.
But even if they did find it, it would not be Shen's destination. The galaxy spread vast before him; for the first time everything seemed possible. That expanse was frightening, for on first look it was just a great nothing dotted here and there by minuscule points of light, but each of those lights was also potential to learn and grow in the Force.
First he had to learn other things. Talyak spoke in his native tongue, and the translation machine relayed his words: "We are ready to depart. Have you checked your systems?"
Language was going to take time to master in itself. For now, the computer would do. Shen said, "I have."
"Then we can begin."
Talyak worked his controls his all four hands. The ship hummed around them, and Shen could faintly feel the anticipation of his kin in the hold and cabins. A new voice spoke over the cockpit's speaker, and Talyak recognized it as the young human Scourge.
"We are ready to take off ourselves," the machine translated. "May the Force be with you, Master. I hope you find what you are looking for."
"Thank you," said Talyak. "I have no doubt you will find what you seek."
A little chuckle. "That makes one of us."
The connection shut off. Talyak flipped one more switch, talked his control yoke, and the Hand of Light slipped free of the station. Such a smooth acceleration; it seemed that the Scourges had made this machine by adopting many kinds of technology and merging it with their own. A strange concoction, like what Shen knew but different. It was progress, he thought; an improvement.
The Master tilted their ship so the cockpit panned away from the station and Santossa. Then, with barely a shudder, they soared toward the stars.
-{}-
"There they go," Kroller muttered, so softly the others in the cockpit could barely hear over the warming of the Gravity Scorned's own engines.
In addition to a new transponder codes and another turret gun, the Gravity had also been equipped with two extra cockpit seats. For Vaatus, still at his station at the cabin's rear, it made an already-tight space feel downright crowded. The woman Essan now sat near to him, though with nothing to work she sat with hands folded in lap, head craned to see what little she could through the small forward porthole.
The Gravity Scorned must had seemed quite a step-down from her old ship. No big cockpit window, no artificial gravity, no plasma guns, no easy take-off and landing. The mighty Jedi were now down in the dirt with the rest of the galaxy and from their wide-eyed looks and stiff postures, it was clear that would take them some getting used to. But gamely, they were trying.
It helped Vaatus accept them. He was still wary of this so-called Force they claimed to command, and he was waiting to see how their apparent good intentions turned out in the long run, but the fact that they were willing to get into that dirt, to become strangers in a strange land, won his respect. It was something the righteous, bloodthirsty priests of M'dweshuu would never have done.
Still watching the Hand of Light on his screen, Kroller announced, "They're burning nice and smooth for hyperspace. They should be gone any minute now."
"And so should we," Reina said. "Right, Dad?"
"We do have a schedule to keep," Vaatus added.
"Slavedrivers," Kroller snorted. He twisted in his seat to look back at Essan and Erakas. "Either of you have kids?"
They both shook their heads.
"Didn't think so." He tapped his control board. "Okay, let's get going."
They ran through the usual systems check, Vaatus and Reina and Kroller all bouncing confirmations off each other while the Jedi sat in silence. All the while the Gravity's booster rumbled louder and louder, and the cockpit shook with rising vibrations,
When everything was ready Kroller squeezed his control yoke and said, "This is gonna be a bumpier ride than you're used to. You Jedi think you can handle that?"
"We can handle anything," Erakas said, smiling tightly.
"Confidence. I like confidence. Just hope you don't eat those words, kid."
Then Kroller pulled the yoke back and slammed the igniter. The rocket beneath them roared to full and the Gravity Scorned broke away from the station, shuddered clear of gravity's hold, and soared into the great nothing.
And then, on one last blaze, it sprang toward distant light.
-{}-
The Fourth Throne at Desevro was a magnificent palace built around the old League parliament, with extra wings spreading out on all four flanks from the central dome. Surrounding it were not only gardens but artificial lakes, a zoo, and (incongruous against so much opulence) a compact fortress with blunt walls and parapets bristling with missile launchers. Xim had ordered that specially built to prove he'd defend what was his, and to remind visiting nobles from more civilized worlds that they were still dealing with the Son of Xer.
He and Jaminere met in the same place they usually did: Xim's study on the fourth floor of the palace's north wing. That room was treasure-house in its own right. Artifacts from dozens of worlds were mounted to the walls along with the taxidermized heads of exotic creatures and hand-drawn maps from pre-Liberation. Xim liked to rearrange this room from time to time, and when he entered that afternoon Jaminere couldn't help but notice the half-meter figure carved from ebon stone, sitting by the window and basking in afternoon light. Its long head and side-mounted eye-stalks were made in unmistakable form of a Tyrant.
Xim himself looked the same since they'd last met. In some ways, he'd changed very little from the young man encountered in that bombed-out factory on Corlax over twenty years ago. His face had more lines (not to mention a scar beneath his right eye, earned in the jungles of Galuch) but his body was still lanky like a teenager's. Compare that to Jaminere, who was getting thick at the middle, or Kadenzi with his all-gray beard; even Oziaf was getting a little pale at the snout. But that was not for Xim, lean and agile after all these years. A lifetime of war had aged the rest of them prematurely, but somehow constant battle kept Xim young.
But no, Jaminere thought. On their first meeting Xim had seemed older than his years; now he seemed younger. The emperor might not outlast time, as his pet poet Lyechusas claimed, but in a mild mortal way he seemed to exist outside it, neither old nor young, simply himself.
As they often did, they began by choosing a bottle of spirits (today, Eibon brandy) and poured separate glasses before sitting down in soft opposing chairs, in pools of red slanting light.
They watched each other and they sipped, and finally Xim said, "I wish I could have been there myself. If I'd known what would happen, I'd have left Barancar early."
"I'm sure things would have worked out better if you had."
"Perhaps," Xim shrugged. "At the very least I would have been able to see them with my own eyes."
"Loreac is preserving some of the Tyrant corpses for study. They're not as good as live subjects, of course, but still..."
"That's not what I mean. I wanted to see the old magic they wielded."
It sounded like that, of all things, was his biggest regret. "There's no way to tell if their was the old magic."
"Of course it is. Only it's not old magic, is it? The magicians are still out there," Xim said lustily. "I've already passed identification information for that ship to every vessel in the Empire, every outpost and every nav buoy." He saw Jaminere's surprise and added, "Oh, I didn't explain what it is, only that it should be apprehended at all costs."
"Ah," Jaminere replied, and covered his relief with a swig of brandy.
Xim was restless now, hunched forward with elbows on knees. "I have a feeling we've only scratched the surface of their powers. If we could find a way to instill those within our troops, well," he grinned, "the Federation will stand no chance."
"I thought that was what the war robots were for."
"Yes, but you've seen how two robots fared against three magicians. Astonishing, absolutely astonishing." Xim shook his head, but his words were thick with admiration, even awe.
"The robots should still excel against standard troopers," Jaminere said. "Loreac is drawing up modifications for the next batch of prototypes. He plans to use the new Tyrant technology as much as possible." He added, "All things considered, we should plan the offensive with them as the centerpiece, not these specious 'magicians.'"
"Oh, I know." Xim leaned back and sipped his drink. "I'm not impractical, Marco. I'm only dreaming large."
Xim excelled at those: large, voracious, relentless dreams, the kind that swallowed men, families, and planets whole.
The emperor took another drink and his expression softened. "My father always said I was foolish, chasing artifacts from the Tyrants. He thought the old magic was nonsense. An absolute fantasy." He smirked. "I can't wait to hear what he has to say about this."
The words twisted Jaminere's chest and he looked away. Few had seen Xer VIII since his so-called retirement eighteen years ago. His son kept him locked away somewhere secret, supposedly within that labyrinthine Argai palace which had been mostly built by Xer himself.
Was that mercy on Xim's part? Reluctant affection? Or a more sophisticated form of vengeance than what Jaminere had wrought on his own family? He didn't know. After all this time, the emperor could still be an enigma.
They sat in silence and drank. The brandy soothed Jaminere's nerves and he realized he would not get dressed down for his failure; probably no discipline at all. Xim believed those foreigners wielded power like gods, and who could be accountable for an act of god?
It was foolish to oppose gods, too. Jaminere quietly hoped his friend's grand dream didn't extend so far.
Xim eventually broke the silence by asking, "Did you review the latest report from Loreac?"
"I have," Jaminere nodded. "It was… fascinating."
More specific terms escaped him. The director had only been able to access the computer core ejected from the generation ship after returning it to the original ark, but once he'd opened its data files he'd unlocked a treasure trove. Not all of the ship's navigational history had been salvaged, but the last portion of its journey through the stars was intact. It would be a challenge to match the information there with Tionese astrographic charts, but from that ancient ark's data they might construct a much broader map of the galaxy than they'd ever known. With that knowledge there'd be new possibilities for exploration, for trade, and (of course) for conquest.
These possibilities were tempered with something else Loreac had uncovered. According to its computer core, the generation ship had traveled for thousands of lightyears with all functions, including life support, functioning normally. However, approximately four hundred lightyears outside known space, when all of its crew were in stasis, it was intercepted and boarded by another starship of uncertain origin. The boarding crew had permanently disabled life support, turning its cryogenic chambers into tombs, then made modifications to the ark's communication systems so that it sent out regular transmissions to an outside listener. There was no way to locate that listener but Loreac's technicians believed the transmission contained navigational data.
It was hard to be certain with such fragmentary information, but it seemed likely that generation ship had been disabled and its thousands of passengers killed, purposely by an unknown alien craft. Then it had been allowed to continue on its way while broadcasting its path back to the unknown boarders. In effect, they had turned the colony ship into an unmanned probe, beaming back an incrementally detailed map of the galaxy.
It was brilliant, and it was brutal. Even Jaminere, who'd dealt out countless deaths in the heat of battle, flinched at such cold-blooded mass-murder. He had to wonder who would do such a thing. After seeing the sorry state of those Tyrant refugees he doubted their kind was responsible. Something else was at work, perhaps even an empire as sprawling and advanced as their own, one which defended its borders with ruthless efficiency.
Xim, however, was undeterred. He finished his glass and leaned forward again. "What we have in our hands is a bounty. We couldn't contain the magicians, not yet, but look at what else we have. Tyrant technology we can match with our own, alien bodies to analyze, and that generation ship's data. If we can construct a proper star map we can start expanding the beacon network to hundreds of new worlds. We can double the size of our territory."
Jaminere swallowed. "What of the Federation?"
"That campaign will proceed once we've perfected our war robots and produced them in mass. Expect a full offensive in two years, I think. We can't afford to let them sit on our flank, defying us. It makes us look weak. They'll be brought under our banner—the banner of a unified humanity—whether they like it or not. But these new worlds… imagine all there is to discover."
Xim's ability to veer between brutal pragmatism and starry-eyed romanticism could still surprise. He smiled and looked so young then, like he was showing off his collection of ancient treasures on Abraxin.
"We shouldn't proceed recklessly," Jaminere warned. "That generation ship was killed on purpose. If we expand we may run into powerful foes."
"Perhaps. Or they may be weak foes, only capable of preying on helpless aliens in cryo." Xim shrugged. "If we find them, we'll deal with them like we have the others."
Such endless ambition, Jaminere thought with frustration and awe. He was his father's son after all, but with one crucial difference. Xer had fallen to a man with grander dreams, but whose dreams were more grand than Xim's? Certainly not Jaminere's.
As he poured himself a fresh glass of brandy, the emperor of known space said, "You were essential in making these discoveries, my friend, which is why you should investigate them further."
Jaminere blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you. You've told me you like finishing the jobs you start."
"That's true." He glanced at his near-empty glass. "What about the campaign against the Federation?"
"Kadenzi can handle front-line operations. He is the admiral, after all. And with the new ships from Barancar rolling off the yards, I intend to engage the Federation myself soon."
Jaminere was both relieved and slighted to be removed from the front line. "So, I'll be expanding the beacon network, then."
"You'll be expanding the Empire," Xim corrected, "and if you do encounter any peoples who can threaten us, then you can treat them as carefully as you see fit." He took a sip and added, "I should say, you and Oziaf."
That caught Jaminere in mid-swallow. He rubbed his burning throat and asked, "Why send Oziaf?"
"Because sometimes he sees things even we cannot. And because I believe he knows more about the worlds beyond than he admits."
"I've thought the same."
Xim leaned forward again and held out one open hand, palm. "Be subtle. Be blatant. Be cruel. Even be kind. You should know by now I don't care which method you choose, so long as you bring us victory."
Xim curled fingers and thumb together to make his hand grasping and inviolate.
Like a fist enclosing the stars.