[Dark Nest] - 1(32)

Then Jacen came to the shoulder blade, lying half buried in a pile of dirt that had poured in through a rent in the hull, and he knew. He began to dig, pulling the soft dirt under his body and pushing it back with his feet, and a moment later he felt a welcome draft of fresh air. Raynar had reached an exit-but in what condition? Had he survived? Had either of the others?

His chest tight with hope and fear, Jacen belly-crawled through the hole, out into the bottom of the crater… and was surprised to find his guide waiting. In its hands, the insect held a new starfighter helmet and flight suit.

“Ubu rrru ubb.” Without waiting for Jacen to stand, the guide offered the helmet and suit to him. “Urru bu.”

Jacen stood. “Why would I need a starfighter helmet?” Instead of taking either item, he began to brush himself off. “I fly a skiff.”

The guide raised one of its four hands toward the crater rim, where one of the Reconstruction Police’s new XJ5 X-wings sat with an open cockpit.

Jacen had a sinking feeling. “I’m happy with my skiff.”

The guide thrummed a long explanation, which seemed to assert that he would be much happier serving the Colony in a ChaseX than his skiff, which the Colony was already using to ferry a group of Togot pilgrims back to the spaceport.

Jacen did not bother to demand its return. He had already learned that the Colony insects had no real understanding of private property. The skiff would be put to use-and, fortunately, well maintained-until he was ready to track it down again.

“Why would I want to serve the Colony?” Jacen asked. “Especially in a combat craft?”

A membrane slid over the guide’s bulbous eyes and rose again, and it continued to hold the helmet and flight suit out to Jacen.

“It’s a simple question,” Jacen said. “If the Colony expects me to kill people, you’d better be able to tell me why.”

The guide cocked its head in incomprehension, and Jacen knew he was asking too much. As social insects, Colony residents obviously had a very limited sense of self-and absolutely no concept of free will. He might as well have been asking a beldon to take him fishing.

Always the preacher. The voice was the same that had come to Jacen back in Akanah’s teaching circle-save that now the words were raspy and booming instead of faint and wispy. You still think too much, Jacen.

“I usually find it preferable to catastrophic blunders,” Jacen said. The voice was so harsh and deep he found it even more difficult to place. It might have been Raynar-or it might have been Lomi or Welk or someone else altogether. “You seem to know me. You couldn’t believe I would just start killing for you.”

We do know you, Jacen, the voice said, not unkindly. We know what you will fight for.

As the voice spoke, an immense murky presence rose inside Jacen’s mind, overwhelming his defenses so quickly he had no chance to shut it out. In the midst of the presence, he saw Jaina and the others, their faces filled with surprise and revulsion and pity. They were all in their flight suits, haggard and travel-worn, but healthy enough and unafraid.

They serve the Colony, Jacen, the voice said. Will you join them? Will you help your sister?

Jacen did not answer, even in his thoughts. A day ago, he had felt Jaina growing small and cold in the Force, the way she always did before a battle. But there had been no indication afterward of anything alarming, not even the usual weary sorrow that always came of taking lives. He reached out to her, probing to see if there was anything amiss. She responded with a welcoming warmth that let him know she was looking forward to seeing him.

But there was more, just a hint of the murky presence that had pushed its way into Jacen’s mind-not hostile or ominous or threatening, just there.

The guide drew Jacen’s attention back to it by pressing the helmet and flight suit into his hands. “Buu buur urub ruuruur.”

Jacen pushed the equipment back into the guide’s hands. “I haven’t said I’m going.”

“Buu rurr. Ubu ur.”

“Perhaps,” Jacen allowed. The murky presence had withdrawn from his own mind, once again leaving him solely with his guide. “Once I’ve found out what happened here.”

He squatted on his haunches and ran his fingers through the dirt, searching for any sign that Raynar and the others had died here. When he found no more large bones, he pictured the raw and blistered face he had seen on the flight deck, then called on the Force again, trying to reach into the past and learn what had become of Raynar.

But this time, the Force opened itself to him in its own way. Instead of the smoke and scorched flesh he had smelled on the flight deck, the odor it brought down to him was fresh and fragrant and familiar, a smell he had known since childhood.