Dez didn’t call back. His gaze was unfocused, his breaths came too quickly, and his face was flushed. Reath’s grin faded as he saw the purple swelling around one of Dez’s eyes, and that his black hair was matted with blood. Worse than Dez’s appearance was that of the Drengir, whose flytrap mouths were smiling.

At least they’d let go of Dez, who stood there staring dully at the transport pods. He didn’t seem capable of understanding that they meant escape, freedom, home. Either because of his head injury or what the Drengir had done to him—maybe both—he was in a deeply altered state of consciousness.

But Reath had to get through to Dez somehow. He tried, “Dez? Come on. Let’s go.”

No response. The Drengir had begun laughing, an eerie rustling sound.

Maybe my mind trick didn’t work after all, Reath thought. Or maybe it only worked because they already intended to bring Dez to me. Because they wanted me to see him. But why?

Still, Dez hadn’t moved. Maybe a gesture would be easier to understand. Reath held out his hand to Dez.

Finally, Dez took a step toward Reath and the transport pods. The Drengir made no move to stop him. Reath knew that could only mean bad news. Just a few minutes in these creatures’ company had taught him that they weren’t the type to let their victims walk away.

“This one?” Dez said, slurring his words.

“Yes,” said the Drengir leader. “That one. Kill him, and go free.”

Reath had no time to process what he’d just heard because even in that instant, Dez was leaping toward him, lightsaber blazing.

“Who are you?” Cohmac demanded.

The plant creatures ignored him. In the heart of the Amaxine station, they surrounded the Jedi. They always had, Cohmac realized.

He also recognized the oppressive weight settling over them, not so different from the uncanny sensation that came before a groundquake or cyclone. The dark side held power there, power that had been unleashed.

“Your ancestors were imprisoned here,” said Cohmac. “Ages ago. They were held in place by the idols. Am I correct?” Even with his lightsaber in hand and facing down enemies, he wished to remain a scholar.

That the plants heard, or at least didn’t bother pretending not to hear. The plant creatures made a hissing sound of pure contempt. “Not our ancestors. We were imprisoned here. A simple trick, we see now—but we did not see then. It will not be so easy to capture the Drengir again.”

Hadn’t the idols been in place for centuries? But Cohmac vaguely remembered that some forms of plant life could go dormant in hostile environmental conditions, “sleeping” for months, years, or even longer. These beings known as the Drengir must have similar capabilities. In any other situation, it might have been fascinating.