Razor's Edge

  She was nervous about visiting Tython again, but part of her was excited as well. It would be good to see her mother and father, however briefly. She contacted them far too infrequently. With Dal dead, she was now their only child.

  A soft chime announced an incoming transmission. She swiveled her seat and faced the flatscreen, just as it snowed into an image.

  “Master Dam-Powl,” Lanoree said, surprised. “An honor.” And it was. She had expected the welcoming transmission to be from a Je’daii Ranger or perhaps even a Journeyer she did not know. Not the Cathar Je’daii Master.

  Dam-Powl bowed her head. “Lanoree, it’s good to see you again. We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Pressing matters beg discussion. Dark matters.”

  “I assumed that was the case,” Lanoree said. She shifted in her seat, unaccountably nervous.

  “I sense your discomfort,” Master Dam-Powl said.

  “Forgive me. It’s been some time since I spoke with a Je’daii Master.”

  “You feel unsettled even with me?” Dam-Powl asked, smiling. But the smile quickly slipped. “No matter. Prepare yourself, because today you speak with six Masters, including Stav Kesh’s Temple Master Lha-Mi. I’ve sent your ship the landing coordinates for our meeting place thirty kilometers south of Akar Kesh. We’ll expect you soon.”

  “Master, we’re not meeting at a temple?”

  But Dam-Powl had already broken the transmission, and Lanoree was left staring at a blank screen. She could see her image reflected there, and she quickly gathered herself, breathing away the shock. Six Je’daii Masters? And Lha-Mi as well?

  “Then it is something big.”

  She checked the transmitted coordinates and switched the flight computer to manual, eager to make the final approach herself. She had always loved flying and the freedom it gave her. Untethered. Almost a free agent.

  Lanoree closed her eyes briefly and breathed with the Force. It was strong this close to Tython, elemental, and it sparked her senses alive.

  By the time the Peacemaker sliced into Tython’s outer atmosphere, Lanoree’s excitement was growing. The landing zone was nestled in a small valley with giant standing stones on the surrounding hills. She could see several other ships, including Hunters and another Peacemaker. It was a strange place for such a meeting, but the Je’daii Council would have its reasons. She guided her ship in an elegant arc and landed almost without a jolt.

  “Solid ground,” she whispered. “Ironholgs, I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but take the opportunity to run a full systems check. Anything we need we can pick up from Akar Kesh before we leave.”

  The droid emitted a mechanical sigh.

  Lanoree probed gently outward, and when she sensed that the air pressures had equalized, she opened the lower hull hatch. The smells that flooded in—rash grass, running water, that curious charged smell that seemed to permeate the atmosphere around most temples—brought a rush of nostalgia for the planet she had left behind. But there was no time for personal musings.

  Three Journeyers were waiting for her, wide-eyed and excited.

  “Welcome, Ranger Brock!” the tallest of the three said.

  “I’m sure,” she said. “Where are they waiting for me?”

  “On Master Lha-Mi’s Peacemaker,” another Journeyer said. “We’re here to escort you. Please, follow us.”

  “I’m here representing the Council of Masters,” the Talid Temple Master Lha-Mi said. “Forgive us for not welcoming you back to Tython in more … salubrious surroundings. But by necessity this meeting must be covert.” His long white hair glowed in the room’s artificial light. He was old and wise, and Lanoree was pleased to see him again.

  “It’s so nice to be back,” Lanoree said. She bowed.

  “Please, please.” Lha-Mi pointed to a seat, and Lanoree sat facing him and the other five Je’daii Masters. This Peacemaker’s living quarters had been pared down to provide a circular table with eight seats around it, and little more. She nodded a silent greeting to Lha-Mi, Dam-Powl and the Cathar Master Tem Madog, but the other three she did not know. It seemed that things had moved swiftly while she had been away, especially when it came to promotions.

  “Ranger Brock,” Master Dam-Powl said, smiling. “It’s wonderful to see you again in the flesh.” She was a Master at Anil Kesh, the Je’daii Temple of Science, and during Lanoree’s training there, she and Dam-Powl had formed a close bond. It was she more than any other who had expressed the conviction that Lanoree would be a great Je’daii one day. It was also Dam-Powl who had revealed and encouraged the areas of Force use at which Lanoree was most skilled—metallurgy, elemental manipulation, alchemy.

  “Likewise, Master Dam-Powl,” Lanoree said.

  “How are your studies?”

  “Progressing,” Lanoree said. There was a hidden place in her Peacemaker ship, and a container holding a very personal experiment, and sometimes she spent long hours at work there. Her alchemical skills still seemed fledgling sometimes, but the sense of accomplishment and power she felt while using them were almost addictive.

  “You’re a talented Je’daii,” Master Tem Madog said. “I can sense your experience and strength growing with the years.” It was a durasteel sword forged by this master weapons smith that hung by Lanoree’s side. The blade had saved her life on many occasions, and on other occasions it had taken lives. It was her third arm, a part of her. In the four years since leaving Tython she had never been more than an arm’s reach from the weapon, and she felt it now, cool and solid, keen in the presence of its maker.

  “I honor the Force as well as I can,” Lanoree said. “ ‘I am the mystery of darkness, in balance with chaos and harmony.’ ” She smiled as she quoted from the Je’daii oath, and some of the Masters smiled back. Some of them. The three she did not know remained expressionless, and she probed gently, knowing that she risked punishment yet unable to break her old habit. She always liked knowing who she was talking to. And as they had not introduced themselves, she thought it only fair.

  They closed themselves to her, and one, a Wookiee, growled deep in his throat.

  “You have served the Je’daii and Tython well during your years as Ranger,” Lha-Mi said. “And sitting before us now, you must surely believe that we mean you no ill. I understand that this meeting might seem strange and that being faced with us might seem … daunting. Intimidating, perhaps? But there is no need to invade another’s privacy, Lanoree, especially a Master’s. No need at all.”

  “Apologies, Master Lha-Mi,” Lanoree said, wincing inwardly. You might have been out in the wilds, she berated herself, but be mindful of the Je’daii formality.

  The Wookiee laughed.

  “I am Xiang,” one of the strangers, a female of the Sith species, said. “Your father taught me, and now I teach under him at Bodhi Temple. A wise man. And good at magic tricks.”

  For an instant Lanoree felt a flood of emotion that surprised her. She remembered her father’s tricks from when she and Dal were children—how he would pull objects out of thin air, turn one thing into another. Back then, she’d believed he was using mastery of the Force, but he had told her that there were some things not even the Force could do. Tricks, he’d said. I’m merely fooling your senses, not touching them with my own.

  “And how is he?” Lanoree asked.

  “He’s fine,” Xiang said, her red skin creasing with a smile. “He and your mother send their best wishes. They’d hoped you could visit them, but given the circumstances, they understand why that would be difficult.”

  “Circumstances?”

  Xiang glanced sidelong at Lha-Mi and then back at Lanoree. When she spoke again, it was not to answer her query. “We have a mission for you. It’s … delicate. And extremely important.”

  Lanoree sensed a shift in the room’s atmosphere. For a few moments they sat in almost complete silence—Temple Master Lha-Mi, five other Je’daii Masters, and her. Air-conditioning hummed, and through the chair she could feel the deeper,
more insistent vibration of the Peacemaker’s power sources. Her own breath was loud. Her heart beat the moments by. The Force flowed through and around her, and she felt history pivoting on this moment—her own history and story, and that of the Je’daii civilization as well.

  Something staggering was going to happen.

  “Why do you choose me?” she asked softly. “There are many other Rangers, all across the system. Some much closer than me. It’s taken me nineteen days to reach here from Obri.”

  “Two reasons,” Xiang said. “First, you’re particularly suited to the investigations required. Your time on Kalimahr brokering the Hang Layden deal displayed your sensitivity in dealing with inhabitants on the settled worlds. Your actions on Nox saved many lives. And your defusing of the Wookiee land wars on Ska Gora probably prevented a civil war.”

  “It was hardly a defusing,” Lanoree said.

  “The deaths were unfortunate,” Lha-Mi said, “but they prevented countless more.”

  Lanoree thought of the giant apex trees aflame, countless burning leaves drifting in the vicious winds that sometimes stirred the jungles there, the sound of millennia-old tree trunks splitting and rupturing in the intense firestorm, and the screams of dying Wookiees. And she thought of her finger on the triggers of her laser cannons, raised and yet more than ready to fire again. It was me or them, she thought whenever the dream haunted her, and she knew that to be true. She had tried everything else—everything—but in the end, diplomacy gave way to blood. Yet each time she dreamed, the Force was in turmoil within her, dark and light vying for supremacy. Light tortured her with those memories. Dark would let her settle easy.

  “You saved tens of thousands,” Xiang said. “Maybe more. The Wookiee warlord Gharcanna had to be stopped.”

  “I only wish he had not fought to the end.” Lanoree glanced at the Wookiee Master and he nodded slowly, never taking his eyes from hers. He had great pride, and carried his sadness well.

  “You said two reasons,” Lanoree said.

  “Yes.” Xiang seemed suddenly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat.

  “Perhaps I should relay the rest of the information,” Lha-Mi said. “The mission first. The threat that has risen against the Je’daii, and perhaps even Tython itself. And when you know that, you will understand why we have chosen you.”

  “Of course,” Lanoree said. “I’m honored to be here, and keen to hear. Any threat against Tython is a threat against everything I love.”

  “Everything we all love,” Lha-Mi said. “For ten thousand years we have studied the Force and developed our society around and within it. Wars and conflicts have come and gone. We strive to keep the dark and the light, Bogan and Ashla, forever in balance. But now … now there is something that might destroy us all.

  “One man. And his dreams. Dreams to leave the Tythan system and travel out into the galaxy. Many people desire to do so, and it’s something I understand. However settled we are in this system, any educated being knows that our history lies out there, beyond everything we now know and understand. But this man seeks another route.”

  “What other route?” Lanoree asked. Her skin prickled with fear.

  “A hypergate,” Lha-Mi said.

  “But there is no hypergate on Tython,” Lanoree said, “only tales of one deep in the Old City, but they’re just that. Tales.”

  “Tales,” Lha-Mi said, his eyes heavy, beard drooping as he lowered his head. “But some people will chase a tale as far and hard as they can, and seek to make it real. We have intelligence that this man is doing such a thing. He believes that there’s a hypergate deep beneath the ruins of the Old City on the continent of Talss. He seeks to activate it.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “A device,” Lha-Mi said. “We don’t know its nature or its design. But our source tells us it will be fueled by dark matter, harnessed through arcane means. Forbidden. Dreaded. The most dangerous element known to us, and which no Je’daii would ever dare attempt to capture or create.”

  “But if there’s no hypergate—”

  “Tales,” Lha-Mi said again. “He chases a legend. But whether it exists or not is irrelevant. The threat is the dark matter he intends using to try to initiate the supposed gateway. It could …” He trailed off and looked to his side.

  “It could destroy Tython,” Dam-Powl said. “Exposing dark matter to normal matter would be cataclysmic. It would create a black hole, swallowing Tython in a heartbeat. The rest of the system, too.”

  “And if there is a hypergate, and it does work?”

  Silence for a while. And then one of the three Masters she did not know spoke, her first and last words of the meeting. “Then the danger to the Je’daii would be very different but equally severe.”

  “So you see the dire threat we face,” Lha-Mi said.

  “Just one man? So arrest him.”

  “We don’t know where he is. We don’t even know which planet he’s on.”

  “The little intelligence you have is sound?” Lanoree asked, but she already knew the answer to that. Such a gathering of Je’daii Masters for this purpose would not have taken place otherwise.

  “We have no reason to doubt it,” Lha-Mi said, “and every reason to fear. If it does transpire that the threat is not as severe as it appears, then that’s a good thing. All we waste is time.”

  “But the hypergate,” Lanoree said. “Protect it. Guard it.”

  Lha-Mi leaned forward across the table. With a blink he closed off the cabin—air-conditioning ceased; the door slammed shut and locked. “The hypergate is a tale,” he said. “That is all.”

  Lanoree nodded. But she also knew that talking about a simple story would surely not require such care and such an arrangement as this. For later, she thought, guarding her thoughts.

  “And now to why it’s you we’ve chosen for the mission,” Xiang said. “The man is Dalien Brock, your brother.”

  Lanoree reeled. She never suffered from space sickness—the Force settled her, as it did all Je’daii—but she seemed to sway in her seat, though she did not move; dizziness swept through her, though the Peacemaker was as stable as the ground it rested upon.

  “No,” she said, frowning. “Dalien died nine years ago.”

  “You found no body,” Xiang said.

  “I found his clothing. Shredded. Bloodied.”

  “We have no reason to doubt our sources,” Lha-Mi said.

  “And I have no reason to believe them!” Lanoree said.

  Silence in the room. A loaded hush.

  “Your reason is that we order this,” Lha-Mi said. “Your reason is any small element of doubt that exists over your brother’s death. Your reason is that, if this is true, he might be a threat to Tython. Your brother might destroy everything you love.”

  He fled, I found his clothes, down, down deep in the—the Old City.

  “You see?” Lha-Mi asked as if reading her thoughts. For all Lanoree knew he had, and she did not question that. He was a Temple Master, after all, and she only a Ranger. Confused as she was, she could not help her thoughts betraying her.

  “He always looked to the stars,” Lanoree said softly.

  “We hear whispers of an organization, a loose collection of people, calling themselves Stargazers.”

  “Yes,” Lanoree said, remembering her little brother always looking outward to the depths of space as she looked inward.

  “Find your brother,” Lha-Mi said. “Bring him back to Tython. Stop his foolish schemes.”

  “He won’t come back,” Lanoree said. “If it really is him, he’ll never return after so long. So young when he died, but even then he was growing to …”

  “To hate the Je’daii,” Xiang said. “All the more reason to bring him back to us.”

  “And if he refuses?”

  “You are a Je’daii Ranger,” Lha-Mi said. And in a way, Lanoree knew that was answer enough.

  “I need everything you know.”

  “It’s already being downloaded
to your ship’s computer.”

  Lanoree nodded, unsurprised at their forwardness. They’d known that she could not say no.

  “This is a covert operation,” Xiang said. “Rumors of the hypergate persist, but the knowledge that someone is trying to initiate it might cause panic. We could send a much larger force against Dalien, but that would be much more visible.”

  “And there’s a deeper truth,” Lha-Mi said.

  “You don’t want people supporting his cause,” Lanoree said. “If news of what he plans spreads, many more might attempt to initiate the gate. More devices. More dark matter.”

  Lha-Mi smiled and nodded. “You are perceptive and wise, Lanoree. The threat is severe. We are relying on you.”

  “Flattery, Master?” Lanoree said, her voice lighter. A ripple of laughter passed around the assembled Je’daii Masters.

  “Honesty,” Lha-Mi said. He grew serious once again, and that was a shame. A smile suited him.

  “As ever, I’ll give everything I have,” Lanoree said.

  “May the Force go with you,” Lha-Mi said.

  Lanoree stood, bowed, and as she approached the closed door Lha-Mi opened it with a wave of his hand. She paused once before leaving, turned back.

  “Master Xiang. Please relay my love to my mother and father. Tell them … I’ll see them soon.”

  Xiang nodded, smiled.

  As Lanoree left the room, she almost felt her little brother’s hand in her own.

  On her way back to her Peacemaker, a riot of emotions played across Lanoree’s mind. Beneath them all was a realization that was little surprise to her—she was glad that Dal was still alive. And this, she knew, was why she had been chosen for this mission. There were her past achievements, true, and though only in her midtwenties, she had already served the Je’daii well. Her affinity with the Force, and the Je’daii’s purpose and outlook, was pure. But her personal involvement might be her greatest asset.

  Because she had failed to save her brother’s life once, she would not let him go again. She would do everything she could to save Dal—from danger and from damnation—and that determination would serve her mission well.