Light of the Jedi(62)
Bell watched as his master quickly wove the wires into a sort of strap and slung the whole thing over a shoulder. The tube’s ends protruded beyond his back at shoulder and hip.
“Oof,” Loden said. “Heavy.”
He looked at Bell, and noticed his Padawan’s questioning look.
“Just in case,” Loden said, and grinned.
Porter returned from the corral, holding the reins of the three silver-sided steelees, now saddled and ready.
“Connect with your mount as best as you can. These are good beasts, but we’ll be pushing them hard. You’ll need to explain to them how important all of this is.”
Bell wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but he assumed he’d either figure it out or be thrown from the steelee and left behind.
He put his foot in a stirrup and pulled himself atop his mount—not as smoothly as he might have liked, but the important thing was that he was aboard. The steelee whickered, sidestepping and shaking its head. It stamped a hoof, marking its irritation at having an obviously inexperienced rider, and sparks flew from where the metal hit stone.
“Which direction, Bell?” Loden said, already in his own saddle.
Bell reached out, looking for fear, pain, anger…and found it. Not as far away as he might have thought, either. They had a chance.
“That way,” he said, pointing.
They went.
“I’m uncomfortable with this, Master,” Burryaga said. “We were just doing our job.”
He spoke in Shyriiwook, and as far as he knew, the only person within a parsec who could understand him was his master, the Jedi Knight Nib Assek, standing at his side. But he didn’t want anyone to think he was complaining, or didn’t want to be there; this was a solemn occasion. They were both in their Temple attire to mark the moment. For him, that was just a sleeveless, layered tabard with an azure sash, but Nib was in the full white and gold, her long, gray hair tucked up in a bun, her boots and her lightsaber hilt both polished to a highly reflective shine.
“This isn’t for us, Padawan,” Nib said. “We’re here to give these people some closure, some peace. They wanted to meet us. Come on. It won’t be so bad.”
The two Jedi were standing near the entrance to a high-ceilinged, cathedral-like chamber. The huge room took up most of the middle portion of the Panacea, a gigantic medical aid ship, one of Chancellor Soh’s earliest Great Works. In the years since its completion, the vessel had been sent to various conflict zones, disaster sites, and areas affected by outbreaks of contagion, tangible evidence of the Republic’s commitment to its citizens, especially the weakest. Most recently, Soh had dispatched the vessel to the Hetzal system to collect and treat survivors of the Legacy Run disaster.
The Panacea’s huge central chamber, called the viewdeck, was a transparisteel dome. Under ordinary circumstances, the dome revealed whatever happened to be outside the ship, but in deference to most of the room’s occupants, a different choice had been made. Instead of the dark void of space, circuitry within the dome had rendered its surface opaque, with subtle green and blue tones moving through it, and warm yellow light shining down from above. Calm sounds played softly in the distance—burbling water, wind through leaves. The ship’s medical psychologists had subtly re-created the colors, sounds, and feel of a planet very like the one the settlers aboard the Legacy Run had hoped to make their new home. That was, if their transport ship hadn’t been destroyed in an instant of terror and flame, throwing them out of hyperspace and into a disaster that was not yet over.
Burryaga was tracking the Emergences closely. Because he had been present at the start of the disaster and played a fairly central role in its resolution, he felt connected to the whole terrible situation on a deep level. He wanted to stay involved, and help however he could, until the whole slow tragedy finally came to an end. Among other efforts, he read the daily report issued by the chancellor’s office on the status of the crisis. Recently, it was focused on burgeoning unrest as the effects of the ever-growing hyperspace blockade were felt. But it discussed the Emergences, too. Current count: twenty-one, and one of those last had caused the destruction of an orbital shipping facility over Dantooine that was coordinating a massive aid shipment to the increasingly beleaguered systems of the Outer Rim Territories.
Nib Assek walked out toward the center of the viewdeck, where thirty or so people were gathered, chatting among themselves in low voices. The Panacea’s staff had set out refreshments, and most of the people had drinks in their hands. It was like a party…but it wasn’t.
These were the first survivors of the Legacy Run to be rescued, the very ones whose fear Burryaga had detected just before he, Nib, Te’Ami, and Mikkel Sutmani nearly destroyed their passenger module. The survivors had gathered here to meet their Jedi and Republic saviors—it was both an attempt at closure and a chance for them to express their gratitude in person. It all made Burryaga uncomfortable—you didn’t thank Jedi for being Jedi.
Joss and Pikka Adren, the married Longbeam pilots, didn’t seem to have any such qualms. They looked completely at ease, already talking to some of the Legacy Run passengers. Burryaga didn’t have an issue with that, of course—they’d been an integral part of the rescue, and he was glad they were here, if for nothing else than to take some of the social load away from him.