Authors: Troy Denning
“I told you,” Jacen answered. “I might know this ship.”
Jacen reached the crash crater and climbed to the rim. Ten meters below, in the crash bottom, a sagging tangle of heat-softened durasteel so covered in crawling insects that it took a moment to realize he was looking at a small starship bridge. The vessel had crashed upside down.
The guide thrummed impatiently.
“Not yet.” Jacen pointed at a place near the bow where a dozen Jawa-sized insects were sticking their antennae through a twisted rip in the hull. “Ask the ones near that breach to clear a space. I need to see if I can read its name.”
“Ub Ruur.”
[The Crash.]
“I need to know the name of the
freighter
,” Jacen explained. “It’s written on the side of the hull. In letters.”
Like most species of intelligent arthropods in the galaxy, the Colony insects recorded their language in pheromones instead of writing, but Jacen felt certain the Joiners would have explained the concept of letters.
“U.”
The guide curled its antennae forward.
“Burubu ru?”
“Maybe,” Jacen said uncertainly. He was relying the Force and his empathic connection with other life-forms to infer his guide’s meaning, and he could not always be sure that he understood all the nuances. “But we’ll certainly be on our way sooner than if I have to piece the letters together through their legs.”
The guide clacked its mandibles in frustration. It drummed its chest loudly, then the insects near the rip began to mill about in confusion. Jacen did not understand what they got out of crawling over the wreck, but insects were very tactile creatures, and he suspected they were establishing some sense of connection to it. Finally, a space began to clear where Jacen had requested. The durasteel was so caked with carbonization that he could barely make out a handful of dark, upside-down letters.
…
ACH . . ON F … ER
“Tachyon Flier,”
Jacen said. It was the ship in which the strike team had planned to depart the Myrkr system—until they were betrayed by two Dark Jedi they had rescued from the Yuuzhan
Vong. Jacen turned to his guide. “What happened to the people aboard that ship?”
“Bu ruub ubu buubu,”
the guide said.
“And he’ll keep waiting until I have my answer.”
“Ubu buubu ru ruubu.”
[Unu must not be kept waiting.]
“Your rules,” Jacen answered. “Not mine.”
Seeing no easier way down, Jacen stepped off the rim and used the Force to slow his descent. The insects on his side of the
Flier
watched in stunned silence as he caught hold of the rip in the hull and brought his fall to a gentle stop.
The guide boomed a question from above.
“The people who brought this ship here had a friend of mine with them,” Jacen said. “I’m not leaving here until I know what happened to him.”
“Rur ruru rr ubu buubu bub!”
the navigator drummed.
“
I
don’t wish to see Unu at once.” Jacen knew he was being rude, but he had learned from the Fallanassi to see through the illusion of authority, to free himself of the expectation of blind obedience by respecting his own desires first. “It makes no difference to me if Unu can’t wait.”
Jacen pulled himself up and peered through the hull breach. The
Flier
’s presence certainly lay at the heart of the mysterious summons that had brought him here, but that told him little. Before he allowed himself to be drawn farther along this current, he needed to find out what had happened aboard the ship. He needed to know
who
had called the strike team survivors here … and why.
The interior of the vessel was dark and acrid smelling, lit only by the shafts of light pouring through several dozen hull breaches. A few of the holes were large and twisted, like the rip beneath the vessel’s name, and had probably resulted from the crash. The rest were oblong, small, and surrounded by the metal spatter-beads associated with hits from Yuuzhan Vong plasma cannons. The
Tachyon Flier
had clearly taken a beating as it left the Myrkr system. It was surprising the ship had held together long enough to fly into the Unknown Regions.
As his eyes grew attuned to the dim light, Jacen realized that he was looking into the hold area. The adjustable cargo decks
had left their tracks in the crash and fallen into what had been the top of the ship, burying the bridge and crew quarters beneath a tangle of twisted, half-melted durasteel. Seeing that no insects were crawling over the inside of the ship, he closed his eyes and listened for any stirrings in the Force that might explain their reluctance to enter. He heard the whisper of a long-spent inferno and the faint scream of twisting metal, but nothing to alarm him now.
Jacen swung a leg up and slipped into the
Flier
’s hold. The acrid smell grew stronger. It was more than just ash, it was carbonized synthplas and iron slag and charred fibercrete. He slid down the hull, calling on the Force to hold himself against the wall and slow his descent. About two-thirds of the way to the bottom, he came to the jumble of decks and stopped, then used a Dathomiri Force spell to kindle a sphere of bright light.
A chorus of sharp
clacks
sounded above, and Jacen looked up to see a carpet of insects large and small crawling down the hull behind him, their feathery antennae sweeping the surrounding durasteel. Worried his invasion of a sacred site might be considered an outrage, Jacen touched them through the Force. He felt astonishment, curiosity, a little wariness, but no anger or indignation.
“Be careful,” Jacen called, a little puzzled by their willingness to follow
him
into the vessel. “It might not take much to shift the debris down here.”
The insects answered with the full range of thrums, chirps, and thuds.
Jacen used the Force to slide several tons of cargo deck into a secure position, then walked over to the edge and discovered the reason for the insects’ earlier reluctance to enter the wreck. Several large exoskeletons lay crushed beneath a twisted cross-brace. Though the rest of the jumble was every bit as tangled as it had appeared from above, Jacen could now see that many decks had fallen against each other, creating a tent effect that might have protected the bridge from being crushed—at least from above.
Jacen turned to the insects. “I’d appreciate it if everyone stayed here for now.”
The insects gave a confirming
clack.
Floating his sphere of Force light behind him, Jacen threaded his way down to what had been the underside of the bridge, where the metal was buckled and discolored from a conflagration below.
Jacen began to fear the worst.
Seeing no convenient hatch in the vicinity, he ignited his lightsaber … and was startled by the sudden clicking of mandibles behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and found a long ribbon of golden eyes reflecting the glow of his Force light and green lightsaber.
“I asked you to wait,” Jacen said.
“Uu rrrruub.”
The thrum set up a sympathetic vibration in the jumble above, inducing a long metallic scream as a deck edge slid down an underbrace.
“Brrr brru!”
“I am being careful.” Jacen used the Force to stabilize the twisted metal above their heads. “Just be quiet.”
The swarm rustled its agreement—then clicked madly as he plunged his lightsaber blade into the floor of the bridge.
“I’m sorry to disrespect the Crash,” he said. “But my friend may be down there.”
“Bru bur, ruu,”
a ghostly pale insect informed him.
“Obviously.” Jacen continued to cut. “I still need to find him.”
This occasioned a flurry of thrumming and clicking among the other insects.
“No.” Jacen began to feel sick, though it was impossible to say whether this was from the smell of melting metal, the stale stench rising from below, or the insects’ question. “I’m not going to eat his remains.”
The insects continued to clack and drum. They seemed to be debating whether he should be allowed to continue if he wasn’t going to return his friend to the Song. But Jacen was inferring as much as translating, and there was so much he did not know about the Colony that it was equally possible they were talking about eating
him.
He shut the words out and tried to hear through the Force, as the Theran Listeners had taught him, and was relieved to sense that they were arguing over whether
they
should eat the dead.
Jacen finished cutting, then used the Force to lift two disks of
metal out of the hole he had cut in the double-floored deck. The smell of ash grew overwhelming, and rustling filled the air as the insects eased forward behind him. Jacen lowered his light through the hole and felt his heart sink.
The cabin below had been so incinerated that only the twisted remains of a row of double bunks, hanging upside down on the far wall, identified it as the crew’s quarters. What had once been the ceiling lay barely two meters below, blackened, crumpled, and strewn with ash and twisted metal. The remains of several mattresses lay in the corner beneath the bunks, half burned and covered in black mold.
Being careful to avoid touching the white-hot edges, Jacen dropped through the hole and found several shattered tranqarest vials under one of the half-burned mattresses. Under another, he found a melted lump of casing and circuitry that might once have been Lowbacca’s translation droid, Em Teedee. He tried to pick it up and discovered it had been fused to the floor.
Under a third mattress, he found the singed remains of one of the molytex jumpsuits the strike team had worn on their mission to Myrkr. There were four slashes across the chest, where Raynar had been wounded before being put aboard the
Flier.
A series of soft patters sounded from the middle of the cabin. Insects began to swarm over the “floor” and walls, sweeping their antennae over the bunks and other debris and raising a choking cloud of ash. Jacen made his way forward through the galley and wardroom, dropping into a crouch as the space between the crumpled ceiling and the old floor grew too short for him to walk upright. The walls and other surfaces in these rooms were covered with a thick layer of pink powder, the residue of a fire-fighting foam.
On the bridge, the foam lay so thick that he kicked up clouds of pink dust as he moved. The canopy that had once enclosed the flight deck on three sides was buckled and broken, with dirt spilling through long rents in the transparisteel. A string of gray emergency patches ran diagonally across the forward view-screen, roughly parallel to a line of destruction that had left the navicomputer, sublight-drive control relays, and hyperspace guidance system in a burned shambles. It was no wonder the
ship had crashed; the Dark Jedi crew had done well to escape the Myrkr system at all.
The crash webbing at all the flight deck stations hung down beneath the chairs in a melted tangle, but a faint drag mark beneath the pilot’s and copilot’s seats led through the foam residue toward the engineering cabin. Jacen dropped to his knees to peer through the cockeyed hatchway, and his nostrils filled with the caustic stench of charred bone.
Jacen began a slow breathing exercise. The harsh smell burned his nostrils at first and threatened to make him nauseous, but as he centered himself in the Force and slowly detached from his emotions, the odor grew less biting, its implications less painful. He placed a hand on the wall and imagined it growing warm under his touch.
The staleness seemed to fade from the air inside the wreck, then the smell of old soot turned to the acrid bite of smoke. Jacen’s eyes started to water as he looked back through the Force. His lungs were racked by an endless fit of coughing, and the cabin grew hot and orange. Where he was touching the wall, his palm began to sting and blister. He held it in place and looked over his shoulder.
The flight deck was hidden behind a curtain of smoke and rolling flame. Geysers of fire retardant rose from the ceiling nozzles, creating swirling ghosts of pink fog. Howls of human anguish drowned out the scream of buckling metal.
A single figure crawled out of the smoke, hairless and coughing and blistered raw. His face was unrecognizable, but four gashes ran diagonally across his chest, the wound hanging half open where the fleshglue had dissolved in the heat. One hand trailed behind, dragging a pair of levitated shapes along by their cloak collars. The two shapes were still burning, writhing in the air and flailing against each other in their pain.
Smoke began to rise from beneath Jacen’s palm, and the smell of cooking flesh filled the air. He kept his hand pressed against the wall. Pain no longer troubled him. Pain was his servant; he had learned
that
from Vergere.
The crawling figure reached the hatchway and paused, turning in Jacen’s direction. The face was too scorched and swollen
to recognize, but the eyes belonged to Raynar, questioning and proud and so terribly naïve. The two of them locked gazes for a moment, then Raynar cocked his head in confusion and started to open his mouth …
Jacen pulled his hand from the wall. The figures vanished instantly, returning him to a flight deck filled with the stale smell of ash and clouds of pink dust.
An insect brushed its antennae over his scorched hand.
“Rurrrrruu,”
it drummed in concern.
“Urrubuuuu?”
“Yes, it does hurt.” Jacen smiled. “It’s nothing.”
He removed a small canister from his equipment belt and sprayed a coating of synthflesh over his palm. Raynar had been the misfit of their childhood group, trying a little too hard to fit in and often the butt of jokes for his arrogance and showy clothes. He had never impressed anyone as exceptional Jedi material, and there had been a few conversations in which fellow candidates had expressed reservations about his judgment and initiative. Yet what Raynar had done on the
Flier
, risking his own life to save those who had betrayed his friends and abducted him, was the essence of being a Jedi Knight. Jacen doubted he would have done the same thing—and
Jaina
would have stayed to watch them burn. Given what the theft of the
Flier
had meant—that Anakin would certainly die of his wounds—Jacen might even have joined her.