فصل 19

Part Two

The Paths

Chapter Nineteen

Coruscant. Monument Plaza.

Lina Soh rested the palm of her hand on the rough surface of

Umate, the tallest peak of the Manarai range. The mountain’s summit was some twenty meters above her head, and its base was somewhere 5,216 levels below, at the very bottom of the city-world that was Coruscant. This was the one spot left on the planet where its original topography could be seen. Farther below, the mountain’s structure had been incorporated into the city, becoming a sort of hive of tunnels and passageways and chambers surfaced by durasteel and permacrete, barely distinguishable from other parts of the planet. But here, a bit of wildness remained.

People from all over the Republic came to Monument Plaza to see Umate, and many did as Lina Soh had—felt its surface and took a moment for reflection. A darkened ring around the peak’s base served as evidence of the countless hands that had touched it over the generations. All those minds, all that sentience, all those many perspectives. Umate meant different things to different beings— endurance, the imperturbability of nature despite the efforts of sentient beings to remake the galaxy, even just the novelty of a natural thing in an artificial world.

To Lina Soh, chancellor of the great Republic that was bringing light to the galaxy’s many worlds, stitching them together into an enlightened union in which anything was possible, Umate meant… choice.

The city-world’s planners could have removed the mountain at any point in its millennia of history, but generation after generation had not. They had repeatedly made the decision—the choice—to preserve this one place, this one thing. Many political systems had claimed Coruscant in its day, from brutal empires to the purest democracies, but all had chosen to keep Umate as it was, Monument Plaza climbing upward century by century as new levels were added to the city’s surface.

Progress was inevitable and crucial, but was not the only goal.

Mindfulness was also important. Choice.

Chancellor Soh stepped back from the mountain. She turned away.

Matari and Voru lifted their great heads and stepped toward her, the huge, beautiful beasts sensing her mood and knowing she was ready to move on. The two targons—twins, a red male and a yellow female, both taller than she was with thick fur and tufted ears—took their accustomed stations at her side, keeping pace as she moved away from Umate. The giant cats accompanied her everywhere, acting as guards, companions, even sounding boards. She often spoke aloud to them as she worked through ideas or plans. The creatures did not understand her words, but targons had low-level empathic abilities, as unusual as that was in a predator species. Matari and Voru might not comprehend…but they understood. More than anything else, the creatures were utterly loyal. Lina worked in politics. Loyalty was the quality she valued above all else.

The surface of Level 5,216 surrounding Umate’s peak had been turned into a greenspace, with effort being made to replicate the original plants and trees that would have been visible at the mountain’s base untold millennia earlier when the planet’s surface was still accessible. No one really knew if the park designer’s choices were accurate, but it was certainly lovely enough.

Ordinarily, Monument Plaza was full of tourists, all waiting their turn to touch Umate, a long line stretching most of the way through the park to Senate Hill. Now, though, the area was empty, cleared by the Coruscant Security Force. Lina could have held this meeting in her offices, or indeed, almost anywhere on the planet, but she liked being here. More than any other spot, it was here that she felt connected to the rest of the Republic. It drove her security teams crazy, because she was theoretically vulnerable to aerial attack while out in the open (though she thought Matari and Voru might find a way to bring down a speeder, if push came to shove). Lina was not worried about an attack, aerial or otherwise. This was the heart of the Core, and the Republic was at peace, barring the occasional regional squabble. She was as safe in Monument Plaza as she was in her own bed.

Let’s hope that’s still true, she considered, thinking about what had happened with the Legacy Run and all it could mean.

Norel Quo, her primary aide, an unpigmented Koorivar, unusual among his people, was waiting a respectful distance away.

“Are you ready, Chancellor?” he said.

“I am, Norel,” Lina answered. “I hope no one’s annoyed that I took a moment. I don’t come here enough, and considering the conversation we’re about to have, I thought it might be worth centering myself.”

“You’re the chancellor of the Republic,” Norel said, turning to keep pace with her as they walked away from the mountain and deeper into the park, Lina’s blue-clad Republic Guards falling into formation around them. “They’ll wait.”

The path curved around a grove of billian trees, their flutestems whistling in the evening breeze, leading to a small clearing beyond.

There, Soh’s appointment waited—a group of some of the most powerful people on the planet, and therefore the entire Republic. Four Jedi: the Quermian Yarael Poof and Togruta Jora Malli, both members of their Council; Malli’s second, the imposing Trandoshan Jedi Sskeer; and Master Avar Kriss, who had been directly involved with the resolution of the Legacy Run disaster in the Hetzal system. Senator Izzet Noor, of Serenno, the spokesperson for the majority of the Outer Rim Territories. Jeffo Lorillia, her transportation secretary. And finally, Admiral Pevel Kronara, of the Republic Defense Coalition, the organization created from the pooled resources of many worlds to handle the rare regional flare-ups that could not be managed via the forces of any one planet alone. Kronara did not command the RDC, but he was a high-ranking member with direct knowledge of the matters to be discussed.

A few Coruscant Security Force guards were discreetly positioned around the edge of the clearing, and a polished copper-colored servitor droid stood nearby, ready to provide any required aid.

The seven people were chatting among themselves, but fell silent as Lina approached. She walked straight to Avar Kriss, smiling. She extended her arms and took the Jedi’s hand in both of hers, clasping it and looking the other woman in the eyes. Avar seemed tired, but that was no wonder, considering the ordeal she had been through.

“Master Kriss, on behalf of the entire Republic, please accept my gratitude for everything you did out there in Hetzal. You and the other Jedi saved billions of lives, not to mention helping to secure food production for the Outer Rim.”

“We are all the Republic, Madame Chancellor,” Kriss replied, giving a little smile of her own. “We did what we could.”

“It’s inspiring, and symbolic of everything I want this Republic to be. We all help each other, and we all grow and thrive together.” Lina released the Jedi’s hand, giving her another smile as she did.

She looked at the rest of the group.

“I have decided to expand the hyperspace closure another five hundred parsecs around Hetzal until further notice.”

Senator Noor let out a low whistle. He was a thin, tall man, aged but vigorous, bald but for a lush fringe of white hair that he wore long, letting it drape over the collar of his bright-green robes.

“That will strangle that part of the Outer Rim, Chancellor. Do you have any idea how much traffic moves along those routes? Trade, transportation, shipping…”

“I’m not talking forever, Senator. But these Emergences keep happening—how many do we have so far?”

Admiral Kronara gestured at the servitor droid, and it projected a flat map of the Outer Rim into the air, centered on Hetzal, displayed in red. A number of other systems were also marked with the color, creating a very rough circle around the site of the original disaster. A red ring surrounded it all—the current boundary of the hyperspace lane closures.

“Fifteen at current count, Chancellor,” Admiral Kronara answered.

“We might be missing some because, obviously, not every fragment of the Legacy Run impacts a planet. We’re assuming other pieces are emerging from hyperspace undetected.”

“And we still have no idea what caused this?”

“Not yet,” Secretary Lorillia replied in his thickly accented Basic.

“My analysts have never seen anything like it—but we are working on the problem.”

“So, in theory,” Lina said, “it’s possible that any ship traveling through hyperspace could be destroyed in a similar way?”

The transportation secretary nodded, uncomfortable. He was a nononsense Muun, and disliked uncertainty of any kind. His goal—the point of the entire galaxy-wide bureau he ran—was to keep the spaceports humming and cargo running and passenger transports arriving and departing precisely on time. The idea that there could be a problem with hyperspace, the barely understood system that allowed the entire Republic to exist…well, Lina thought this might be poor Jeffo’s worst nightmare.

“The risk of another similar disaster is why I’ve closed the lanes, and why they will remain closed until we know more,” Lina said.

Lorillia’s thin lips twitched, and he lifted his hands, tapping his long, thin fingers together once, slowly, then again. Lina gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“It’s all right, Jeffo. I realize this makes your job a thousand times more challenging, but I’ll give you all the support I can. You understand why this is necessary, I hope. The Emergences are bad enough. We simply cannot have another ship fall apart like the Legacy Run.”

She gestured at Kronara and Avar Kriss.

“Next time we might not have Jedi and Republic heroes nearby to save the day.”

Secretary Lorillia gave a tight nod, pulling himself together.

“Of course, Chancellor. You can rely on me. I will make it work.” Lina took a moment to consider the reports she had received, then turned to the members of the Jedi Council standing nearby, listening intently but volunteering nothing.

“Anything from your side of things?” Lina asked.

“We can say that these events do not seem to be the result of direct action by Force users,” Yarael Poof said, the Quermian’s head weaving back and forth on his elongated neck like a flower in a breeze. “We are not all-knowing, but as of now we have no evidence along those lines.” “I was at Hetzal,” Jora Malli added, a petite woman in the whiteand gold tunic of the Jedi Temple. She seemed a little frustrated; she kept tapping a finger against one of the beautifully striped head-tails that draped down across her chest. Togrutas had a certain regality as a species, with their montrals arcing out from their heads like crowns and the head-tails like natural robes across their bodies. Even their coloration contributed to the effect; in this case the bright orange skin and striking white facial markings suggesting a masked ball. Lina knew these characteristics were no more than the result of evolution, camouflage coloration, but they combined to give Togrutas a certain natural authority when interacting with most of the galaxy’s sentient beings. Jora Malli used that to full effect, whether consciously or not.

Lina had only dealt with the woman a few times in the past, but she had gotten the sense that Jora had a tinge of un-Jedi-like impatience.

She liked to push problems until answers revealed themselves, trying many things until something worked rather than considering all angles and taking one decisive action. She preferred, in a word, to be busy.

That was why, Lina presumed, the Jedi Council had given Jora Malli the job of running the Order’s section of the new Starlight Beacon station in the Outer Rim. The station would be the first responder for virtually every Republic- or Jedi-related issue in that massive expanse of space. She would hold equal command with an

RDC admiral and a Republic territorial administrator, with all significant decisions made by a majority vote. One problem to solve after another, endless negotiations and tinkering, and a thousand things to do at once. It was the perfect assignment for her.

“While Sskeer and I arrived after the Legacy Run tragedy had already begun,” Jora Malli went on, “if the Force has been used to cause it, I think either I or one of the other Jedi in the system would have sensed that. Master Kriss in particular was closely connected to the Force from almost the very start of the events.”

Sskeer hissed his agreement.

Senator Noor stepped toward Lina, inserting himself into her line of sight, a mildly aggressive act that caused Matari and Voru to flatten their ears. The senator seemed not to notice—the idea that mere beasts would dare to violate his person not even crossing his mind.

“Chancellor, I must ask again,” Noor said, “how long are you planning to keep the hyperspace lanes closed? Not every Outer Rim world is self-sufficient. Billions of people depend on those lanes for food and other essentials.”

“Obviously I won’t let people starve, Senator,” Lina said, a little exasperated. “I’ve already got one crisis—I won’t start a second one trying to solve it. I just want to decrease the odds of another disaster at least until we understand what we’re dealing with. If need be, I’ll authorize limited shipping of essential goods through the lanes.” She turned to Kronara.

“I’ll ask you to enforce the ban, Admiral. Can you coordinate with the other RDC commanders to station cruisers at the applicable hyperspace beacons? I don’t want anyone reactivating portions of the navigation network. No navigational updates will keep these lanes from being used.”

“It’ll be a larger mobilization than anything we’ve done for some time, Madame Chancellor, but certainly.”

“Thank you,” Lina said.

She took two steps forward, until she was directly before the map of the Outer Rim Territories hovering in midair.

“We all want this over as soon as possible. Besides the immediate goal of preventing further death and destruction, you know I have plans for this part of the galaxy. The Starlight Beacon station will make the Republic more than just a distant ideal making brief appearances in the Outer Rim when our starships fly through, or we attempt to collect taxes. We will be there, with them, helping, from Bunduki to Bastion.”

Chancellor Soh tapped her index finger on the map, and a single glowing starlike dot appeared, more or less in the center of the region interdicted by the ongoing hyperspace disaster.

The Starlight Beacon. Finally finished after a lengthy, challenging construction process, the huge waystation was built to serve many purposes: a Republic embassy that could also serve as a fortress if necessary; a projection of security presence to discourage raider and marauder activity. A Jedi outpost containing the largest single contingent outside the Coruscant Temple itself, where they would research and teach and listen for the guidance of the Force. Cultural spaces showcasing the beauty of the many worlds making up the sector. A communications relay that would boost transmission times in the region by a factor of ten. The most state-of-the-art medical facilities in the Outer Rim—even now, survivors of the disasters in the Hetzal and Ab Dalis systems were being treated on Starlight despite the station not being formally open just yet.

Chancellor Soh had plans for many Great Works, extending from infrastructure to culture—the Republic Fair, the ongoing construction of comm relays throughout the galaxy, cracking the code on bacta cultivation, negotiation of a new treaty between the Quarren and Mon Calamari, all sorts of innovations technological and otherwise—but the Starlight Beacon, and the other planned stations of the Beacon network…they were how she would be remembered. The greatest of

the Great Works, bringing the Republic out from the Core and making it truly a galactic entity.

It was all hugely expensive, though, in both credits and political capital. Even in an era of enlightenment and peace, when trade flourished and the coffers were relatively full, there were those who preferred the status quo. Their view: Certainly, things were good now, but they could always turn bad, and why spend credits now you might need then? The Republic was huge, and creating complete consensus was impossible. A group of three people might all face the same problem and find three utterly different solutions—multiply that by trillions and it gave some sense of what it was like to run a galactic government. But Lina had done it, not by making promises she had no intention of keeping, or making threats, or abusing the power of her office. She had simply done her best to show the worlds of the

Republic what they might be if they all came together. How much better things could be. How unique this moment was in history, and how they needed to seize it and move forward and, ideally, extend it so the many generations to come could know the peace and prosperity they all now enjoyed.

The Starlight Beacon symbolized everything she wanted for the

Republic, and every member of the Senate knew it. If it succeeded, the rest became that much easier. If it failed…

“I will not jeopardize lives,” the chancellor said, “but you all know how important it is, for many reasons, that the Starlight Beacon dedication ceremony takes place as currently scheduled.”

Jora Malli spoke, her tone milder than before—this was a question to which she had an answer.

“I was just at Starlight. It’s finished, but for perhaps a bit of polishing and cleanup,” she said. “A short delay shouldn’t have much impact on the schedule.”

She gestured at Avar.

“Master Kriss was there recently as well, just before the Legacy Run disaster, for the inspection tour, reviewing the Jedi quarter. How did it seem to you?”

“As you say, Master Malli,” she answered, “I’m not an expert, but Administrator Tennem explicitly said Starlight Beacon could hold its dedication ceremony as scheduled. If not for the blockade, the last little touches would be complete in a few weeks from now. She does not seem the type to exaggerate.”

“All right, then,” Lina said. “Let’s figure this out. I have questions.” She lifted her hand and started to tick them off on her fingers, one by one.

“How many fragments remain of the Legacy Run? Do any of them contain survivors, and if so, is there a chance those people could be rescued? They’re all Republic citizens, and if we can save them, we must.

“Is there a way to predict where any remaining Emergences might happen? And most important…”

She closed her hand into a fist.

“…what actually happened, and why? Is hyperspace safe, or is this all just getting started?”

No one responded. They all knew better than to speculate.

“I am asking all of you to find out. You represent administrators, politicians, the security forces, and of course the Jedi. Some of you were present at the Legacy Run disaster. Between you, there should be more than enough skill and connections to determine what happened and prevent it from happening again. The resources of the Republic and all the authority of my office are available to you. Create any teams you like, draft anyone you think might be useful. The Starlight Beacon is due to open in thirty days. I would like to use the occasion to celebrate a Republic triumph over adversity. I do not wish to open that station while a huge swath of the galaxy is locked down, underscoring the Republic’s inability to keep its citizens safe. Use the Starlight Beacon dedication as your deadline. Figure this out, my friends. I believe you can.”

Chancellor Lina Soh reached out to either side, burying her hands in the fur of Matari and Voru, taking comfort in their warmth and presence. She looked up above the tree line, to the very peak of Umate just twenty meters above. Once, the mountain must have dominated this part of the planet, the queen of the entire Manarai range. Now it was just a small chunk of stone poking up from the surface of a world that had utterly swallowed it up, dwarfed by everything around it.

Umate remained, though, the benefit of a choice made generation after generation to preserve the mountain even in this attenuated form. Lina Soh appreciated that—the way societies could choose heritage over progress, represented here in living stone.

But to the chancellor, Umate had a second meaning. A symbolism she would never voice, never speak aloud, as it went against the general spirit of optimism and hope and possibility that was a cornerstone of her government and indeed, the Republic itself.

That meaning was this: There was nothing so big it could not be swallowed up. Nothing so strong it could not be humbled. Nothing so tall it could not be made small. Not a mountain, and not the Republic.

“I am not prone to dire pronouncements,” the chancellor said, still looking at Umate’s peak, “but if this continues to get worse, and we somehow lose the ability to travel through hyperspace, all of this ends.

There will be no more Republic.”

Her gaze shifted from the mountain to the night sky beyond.

Coruscant was a city-world, radiating light at all hours, making it impossible to see many stars even in the depths of night. Just a few points of light were visible, shining faintly, separated by great swaths of emptiness.

“Just worlds, alone in the dark.”