“We don’t know.” Her voice was strangely flat, as though she was in shock, which seemed strange to Cohmac. The young woman hardly knew Dez. “But it’s—it’s not good.”

Finally Reath reached them. He brought his face slowly up to meet Cohmac’s eyes. Everything about him radiated misery and grief.

Already, Cohmac knew. It has happened again. Just as it happened to Master Simmix. The resonances warned me, but I did not see in time. This part of the galaxy has claimed its price.

Yet he still had to say the words. “Tell me how Dez fell.”

The next few minutes were a blur of details that didn’t make sense (plants as hostages?), but the gist remained the same.

“Helix rings?” Leox said gravely. “And nothing left inside? That usually means—” He trailed off as he looked sidelong at Cohmac. No wonder. It was a difficult thing to say aloud. But it had to be said.

“Vaporized,” Cohmac said. It came out evenly, a logical conclusion, no more. “The likeliest explanation is that Dez Rydan was vaporized instantly.”

Affie had finally reached them, and somehow Cohmac had shocked her—as though she had been thinking of something else altogether. Affie said, “You mean he’s dead?”

“Yes.” Cohmac reached out with the Force, trying to find any scrap of the young Jedi’s mind and spirit.

He was answered with nothing but silence.

It took Orla a few minutes to piece together exactly what had happened, getting her information only from the exhausted, shell-shocked Reath and Affie. Cohmac had already walked back through the length of the ship, toward his bunk, declaring his intention to meditate. No doubt he was remembering Master Simmix. Orla had her own grief to bear, but she’d always been able to put emotions aside until there was time to deal with them. Cohmac felt things more deeply, and more immediately. His equilibrium was more difficult to maintain.

Had there been anything to do—any immediate hope—Orla knew that Cohmac wouldn’t have retreated; he, like the rest of them, would’ve done anything to get Dez back.

But there was no such hope. Nothing to do but accept that a courageous, compassionate young man had been killed.

It would’ve been better if he’d died in battle, Orla thought. Or during a rescue mission. Then his death would at least have had meaning. This? Some malfunctioning equipment on an ancient space station? It’s so arbitrary, so unfair.

So was life.

“All right,” Orla said to the assembled group, taking charge in Cohmac’s place. “Is everyone else okay? No injuries?”