He’d been speaking metaphorically earlier, but the chop was very real as the first of Geode’s programmed jumps kicked in. The Vessel bucked under them like a blurrg having a bad day, and Leox stayed in his seat only by clutching the arms.

“Whoa.” Affie was surprised enough to speak to him normally. “What happened out there?”

“Something even worse than we knew,” he said. “Soon we’re gonna find out what.”

Orla considered herself a good traveler—adaptable, flexible, inventive—and had counted this among the reasons she’d make a good Wayseeker. (Not that such considerations were truly significant, in terms of deciding how best to follow the Force, but she had to go over every factor before making such an enormous decision.)

So it was discouraging to realize she could still experience motion sickness.

“It’s like we flew into an asteroid field,” she said to Cohmac. They stood together in the cargo hold with the idols, ensuring that the holds they’d placed would remain strong.

“We haven’t, have we?”

“No, we’re in hyperspace. But hyperspace itself is a little rocky right now.” Orla hesitated. “How is that even possible?”

“Not sure,” Cohmac said. “As I understand it, there’s still quite a lot of interstellar debris from the Legacy Run that needs to be accounted for. Probes sent from Coruscant have given the crew—in particular, Geode, I suppose—enough information to stitch together a makeshift route home for us, which involves several patchwork jumps merged by the navicomputer. Normally there are no intermediate jumps, so this feels like hitting bumps in the road.”

Orla sighed. “In other words, it’s safe, but not comfortable.”

“Exactly,” Cohmac said. “It almost makes me wish I’d paid more attention in supraliminal topography class, back in the day.”

“Aren’t archivists supposed to be interested in all subjects?”

“In theory.” Once in a very great while—like now—Cohmac Vitus had a wicked smile.

Reath was making the trip in his quarters, where Orla had suggested he get started on assembling a report for Master Jora Malli. They’d leaned on their Padawan heavily throughout this journey; he deserved some rest and privacy. She knew he was also saddened by Dez’s death, especially because of the bond they shared from having the same master. It was not the Jedi way to mourn, but sadness was a thing to be worked through, not denied. Particularly for an apprentice facing his first real experience of grief, it could be difficult.

Better grief, Orla told herself, than anger. She gave Cohmac a sidelong glance. Her old friend seemed appropriately calm and focused again. Yet whatever underlying storm had fueled that anger—it still raged beneath the surface. Orla knew that much. But she’d pried enough. The rest was Cohmac’s to work out on his own.