You’re falling prey to pride, Reath reminded himself. Too much pride in yourself is proof that such pride is unwarranted.
It wasn’t like this was all his master’s idea. After his protests, she had admitted as much: Master Jora had been selected by her peers to lead the Jedi mission on this new edge of the frontier. She’d be the Jedi Master in charge of Starlight Beacon, which would become fully operational any day now, to serve as a source of unity and allegiance throughout the newest sector of the Republic. His master deserved every honor she could be granted and any duty she chose. Master Jora would’ve turned down the assignment if she didn’t want it. Clearly she did. And where the master went, the apprentice followed.
Master Jora had left for Starlight weeks before, going on ahead of him so he could finish exams in the historiography course he’d undertaken. But they were done. His time on Coruscant was over.
(He’d considered flunking something on purpose but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.)
Why can no Jedi cross the Kyber Arch alone? he asked himself for the umpteenth time. Reath strongly wanted to have the answer ready for Master Jora when he arrived at Starlight. Preparing for exams meant he hadn’t had much time to meditate upon her question. He’d gone to study the arch itself, hoping that would spark some insight; instead, he’d watched a Jedi cross the arch entirely solo and with no apparent difficulty. But he knew telling Master Jora this wouldn’t get him anywhere.
He had a mission. Time to focus on it.
Reath told Kym, “I shouldn’t complain about this assignment. About any assignment, ever.”
Kym managed to shrug and dance to the music simultaneously. “Hey. It’s not like everybody’s equally ready to take on every possible assignment. That’s why they’re called assignments instead of, I don’t know, ‘volunteering opportunities.’”
“I’m treating this like it was just a job.” By then Reath was talking to himself as much as to Kym. “Being a Jedi is a calling. We’re blessed with these abilities—these gifts—that we’re meant to use for the good of all living things. That’s just as true on the frontier as it is here on Coruscant.”
It just didn’t feel as true.
Rolling her eyes, Kym said, “Thanks for the lecture, Master Yoda. Now will you loosen up and have some fun already?”
Reath tried. It was good to see everyone again. (A handful of apprentices had gone on already; he was looking forward to reuniting with Imri in particular. And Vernestra had somehow gotten herself knighted already, which was amazing, so she’d be able to show them the ropes around Starlight.) The amateur band a few apprentices had put together had actually practiced, for once, which meant they sounded pretty good. He smiled, he danced, he drank certain beverages that, while not technically forbidden, were frowned upon for Padawans his age. A small measure of indulgence wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, his master had said. Such celebrations could be embraced when they brought people together in communion and harmony.
But his gaze kept being drawn toward the one broad viewport in the room. Through its wide transparent stretch he could see the vibrant swirl of Coruscant: ships and speeders zipping by at various heights and angles, the spires of buildings, walkways so numerous they crisscrossed his view like an arachnid’s web. As long as he could remember, Reath had loved this buzz of energy—the sense that the galaxy itself had a beating heart and that he could feel its pulse all around him, every single day.
“Look within, my Padawan.” That was what Master Jora had said when Reath tried expressing this to her. “You’re just reluctant to leave the only home you’ve ever known.”
That wasn’t all of it…but it was part of it. A small part, but still. Knowing that changed nothing. Reath still wanted to be there, and nowhere else.
His chrono beeped, and his heart sank. Time to leave the party, the Archives, the Temple, the planet, and, effectively, civilization itself.
Reath didn’t manage to disentangle himself from his friends’ affectionate farewells for some time, which meant he left late for the spaceport. He dashed in, bag slung across his back, only minutes before their scheduled departure—yet somehow was the first person to show up at the designated berth. None of the other Jedi was there, nor was the ship itself.
Did he have the wrong berth number? Reath was already frantically double-checking when he heard a voice he recognized: “I was hoping I’d run into you!”
Reath turned to see a young Jedi Knight approaching—Dez Rydan, striding closer with a bag over the shoulder of his traveling robes. It didn’t look like he’d come to the spaceport to tell Reath goodbye. “Dez? What are you doing here?”
Dez grinned as he said, “Looks like we’re on the same transport to the frontier.”
“I didn’t know you were assigned out there,” Reath said. A young Knight as illustrious as Dez could go anywhere he wished.
“Just came through.” Dez shrugged. “Actually, I requested this assignment only a few days ago. Lucky it got approved in time, huh?”
Reath nodded, which was easier and more tactful than saying, Why does anybody in their right mind want to leave the known galaxy for the back end of beyond? Much less Dez Rydan?
Probably it had to do with what Master Jora had said about her second Padawan not wanting enough adventure while her first craved adventure too much.
Dez had been Master Jora Malli’s apprentice before she took on Reath. Sometimes younger Knights became mentors and close friends to their former masters’ next charges. While Reath and Dez didn’t have as tight a relationship as that, due to Dez’s missions farther away in the galaxy, they were friendly and had practiced dueling together. This made Reath the envy of many Padawans, several of whom had chosen Dez as a role model.
Despite Reath’s more academic bent, he admired Dez as much as any of the others. Handsome, driven, tall, with golden skin and thick black hair, Dez made friends readily. Though he had passed his Knighthood trials only eight years previously, he’d already distinguished himself in both diplomacy and battle.
“Where’s the transport?” Reath said through the blur of those beverages he’d drunk, hoping Dez wouldn’t notice his condition. (He didn’t fear a lecture, in any case. Reath had it on good authority that Master Jora had once caught Dez after a party at which far, far more beverages had been consumed, and that she didn’t let him entirely off the hook until after he’d passed his Knighthood trials.)
If Dez did notice the state Reath was in, he apparently saw no reason to point it out. “It seems our original transport has a blown subalternator,” said Dez. “Obviously there’s not much to be done with that. They claimed to have arranged a substitute for us, but even the substitute is running late.”
“What if they don’t show?” Reath asked, half hoping the answer would be, You get a whole new assignment and start over!
Dez shrugged. “We’ll find another ship. Surely somebody’s headed out there in another day or two.”
“A day or two? Forget that.” Orla Jareni folded her arms across her chest as she leaned against one of the nearby struts. She seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, almost luminous in the dark gray mundanity of the spaceport. While Reath and Dez wore common mission attire, she had on snowy robes that were uniquely hers. “I’m ready to get out there. Trust me, there’s at least one ship in this spaceport that wants our money badly enough to take us straight through the Maw, if need be.”