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CoverTitlePageCopyrightEpigraph

RaymusbyGaryWhittaTheBucketbyChristieGoldenTheSithofDataworkbyKenLiuStoriesintheSandbyGriffinMcElroyReirinbySabaaTahirTheRedOnebyRaeCarsonRitesbyJohnJacksonMillerMasterandApprenticebyClaudiaGrayBeruWhitesunLarsbyMegCabotTheLucklessRodianbyRenéeAhdiehNotforNothingbyMurLaffertyWeDon’tServeTheirKindHerebyChuckWendigTheKlooHornCantinaCaperbyKellySueDeConnickandMattFractionAddedMusclebyPaulDiniYouOweMeaRidebyZoraidaCórdovaTheSecretsofLongSnootbyDelilahS.DawsonBornintheStormbyDanielJoséOlderLainabyWilWheatonFullyOperationalbyBethRevisAnIncidentReportbyMalloryOrtbergChangeofHeartbyElizabethWeinEclipsebyMadeleineRoux

VergeofGreatnessbyPabloHidalgoFarTooRemotebyJeffreyBrownTheTriggerbyKieronGillenOfMSE-6andMenbyGlenWeldonBumpbyBenAckerandBenBlackerEndofWatchbyAdamChristopherTheBaptistbyNnediOkoraforTimeofDeathbyCavanScottThereIsAnotherbyGaryD.SchmidtPalpatinebyIanDoescherSparksbyPaulS.KempDutyRosterbyJasonFryDesertSonbyPierceBrownGroundedbyGregRuckaContingencyPlanbyAlexanderFreedTheAnglebyCharlesSouleByWhateverSunbybyE.K.JohnstonandAshleyEcksteinWhillsbyTomAngleberger

AbouttheAuthors

Alongtimeagoinagalaxyfar,faraway….

“Whatisitthey’vesentus?”CaptainRaymusAntilleswatchedasPrincessLeiaOrganaofAlderaanturned

awayfromhim,holding thedatacardhehadhanded toher.Thedatacard forwhichalmosttheentiremilitarymightoftheRebelAlliance,bothonthegroundandinorbitabovetheplanetScarif,hadjustriskedeverythingtostealfromoneofthemostsecureImperialstrongholdsinthegalaxy.Thegrand,all-or-nothinggambit had led to the single largest combat engagement in the longhistoryofconflictbetweentheRebellionandtheEmpire,andonethatdespiteheavylosseshadresultedseeminglyinavictory:Thecard,andwhateverhighlyprizeddataitheld, had been delivered safely into the hands of one of the Alliance’s mostcapablecovertoperatives.Therestwasuptoher.“Hope,”sherepliedasshelookedahead,throughtheforwardviewportofthe

TantiveIV’scockpit,tothelimitlessoceanofstarsbeyond.Alwayssodamnenigmatic, thoughtRaymus.Leianever toldyoumore than

youneededtoknow.Thatwasfortheprotectionofothersasmuchasherown.

She had learned that lesson well, the princess who had become a galacticsenator, the senator who had secretly risked her life countless times to helpnurture a fledgling Rebellion from a handful of squabbling, disgruntled starsystemsintotheorganizedanddedicatedAllianceithadbecome.Stillnodirectmatch for the awesomewar power of theEmpire, but enough to capture theirmostcloselyguardedsecrets inamissionthatevenRaymusthoughtbreathlessinitsaudacity.Enough—maybe,justenough—togivetheoppressedpeoplesofthegalaxyafightingchanceatfreedom.Raymuswatchedthestarsoutsidestretchintoakaleidoscopictunneloflight

astheshipjumpedintohyperspace.ThenLeiaturnedbacktohimandtheybothsteppedthroughthecockpitdoor,intothehallway.“Willwemakeit?”sheasked.Beforedeparture,Raymushadwarnedherthat

hershipwasnotyetcapableofeventheroutineflight toTatooine,whichhad,untilrecently,beenitsassignment.IthadnotevenbeenabletotraveltoScarifunderitsownpower,carriedinsteadinthebellyoftherebelflagshipProfundityas mechanical crews worked hurriedly to repair its overworked andmalfunctioninghyperdrive.BythetimetheyarrivedatScarif,RaymuswasableonlytoassureherthattheTantiveIVcouldperformahyperspacejump,notthatitcouldsustainlightspeedtravellongenoughtoreliablygetthemtoanygivendestination.“I’llbeabletogiveyouabetteranswerinoperations,”hetoldher.“Then let’s go,” she said, leading the way. Raymus followed, forced to

quickenhisstepinordertokeeppacewithher.

—

They arrived at the ship’s operations center to find several senior officersworkingfranticallyattheircontrolstations.“Status,”Raymusrequestedasthedoorslidclosedbehindhim.“We’remaintaining lightspeed, for now,” the nearest officer informed him.

“Remainstobeseenhowlongtheenginescankeepthisup.Maintenancecrewsaredoingalltheycan.Ifwecanholdthisspeed,we’llbeatTatooinewithinthehour.Butthedrive’sstillinbadshape;motivatorcouldgoatanytime.”Raymus nodded. All this he knew. After the damage sustained on its last

mission,theTantiveIVwasinnoshapeforadesperateflightfromtheEmpire.For years he had carefully steered this ship—his ship—through countless

Imperialblockadesandcheckpoints,alwaysabletoavoiddetectionorsuspicion.ButnowithadbeenspottedfleeingthesceneofthemostdaringmilitaryassaultinthehistoryoftheRebellion,carryingstolengoodsthattheEmpirewouldgotoanylengthstorecover.Suddenly,theTantiveIVwasthemostwantedshipinthegalaxy,and itwas insorryshape.For the taskof ferrying themostcriticalImperialsecretsevercaptured,theycouldscarcelyhavepickedaworsevesselataworse time.But thatwas thehand theyhadbeendealt, andRaymushadnooptionnowbuttoplayitasbesthecould.“The real problem is what we’re leaving behind us,” the officer continued.

“Wecan’texactlyrunquietwithahyperdrivethat’sbarelyholdingtogether.IftheEmpiredetectedanytraceofanabnormalhyperspacewakewhenwejumpedtolightspeed,itwon’ttakethemlongtouseittotrackus.”Raymus sighed; he had dreaded this possibility and had warned Leia of it

prior to their setting their escape course from Scarif. Typically a jump tohyperspacemeantacleangetaway,aship’s lightspeed trajectory impossible totrack.ButtheTantiveIV’simpairedhyperdrivewaslikealeakyoilpan,leavingbehind it a residual energy signature that was unique—and traceable. Hewonderednowhow long itwould take theEmpire,with all their resourcesnodoubtalreadydiverted to finding them, topickup their trailandfollowit.Forthatreason,LeiahadthoughtittoogreatarisktoreturntotherebelheadquartersatYavin4.Facedwithnogoodoptions,shehadorderedRaymustoinsteadsetcourse forTatooine, their planneddestinationbefore the hurried redirection toScarif.Shehopedstilltofulfillthevitalmissionthatherfatherhadentrustedtoherearlierthatsameday,knowingthateveniftheEmpirepursuedthemtothatbarrendesertoutworldtheywouldfindnothingtherebutendlesswastesofsand.Raymus saw the grim expression on the face of the ship’s bosun,whowas

examiningnewreadoutsathisstation.“Don’ttellmeitgetsworse,”hesaid.“The Profundity took heavy damage when she was disabled,” the bosun

reported.“Herelectricalsystemsoverloaded,andsincewewerestilldocked,theoverload fried half our grid, too.We barely have deflectors or weapons. If itcomestoafight,wewon’tbeabletoputupmuchofone.”Sothere itwas.Surelyonlyamatterof timebefore theEmpirefoundthem,

andlittlechanceofdefendingthemselvesoncetheydid.Raymustriedtothinkofatimeduringalltheirmanyhigh-riskmissionsandcloseescapeswhentheyhadfacedasituationasdireas this,andcameupwanting.“Whatabout theescapepods?”heasked.

“As you ordered,” said Helfun Rumm, the Tantive IV’s stalwart securityofficer.“Allsecuredandreadytolaunch.”RaymusnoticedLeialookingathiminquisitively.“YourHighness,ifweare

stoppedandboardedbytheEmpire,myfirstpriorityistogetyoutosafety,”hetoldher.“Atthatpoint,thepodsmaybeouronlyoption.”“Surelyitwillnotcometothat,”saidCorlaMetonae,TantiveIV’schiefpetty

officeranda long-serving retainerof theOrgana royalhousehold. “We’re stillflyingunderadiplomaticflag.TheEmpirewouldnotdareboardus.”Raymus considered that; technically it still held true. The Tantive IV was

officially a consular ship that Leia used in the performance of her duties asAlderaan’s representative in the Galactic Senate. As a diplomat, she enjoyedspecial legalprotectionsthatmeantnoteventheImperialmilitarycouldboard,search,or inanyway impede the freepassageofher shipwithoutherexpresspermission. It was a broad and very convenient privilege that in the past hadallowedherandRaymustoconductactsofespionageandsubterfugerightundertheEmpire’snose.ButnowRaymusfoundhimselfdoubting,giventheapparentimportofwhathadbeenstolenfromScarif, that itwouldbeenoughtoprotectthemthistime.“This just came in,” the bosun reported, looking up from his station. “The

Empirehasissuedapriorityreddirective.Anyshipsmatchingthedescriptionofa CR90 corvette are to be stopped and held. Priority red means all previousordersanddutiesareimmediatelysupersededforallImperialshipsgalaxy-wide.I’veneverseenthismuchcommtraffic—theEmpire’sfloodingeveryfrequencywithit.WhateverRogueOnebeamedusfromScarif,theyreallywantitback.”All eyeswereonLeia as the fullgravityof their situationbegan to sink in.

Raymushadseenthislookonherfacebefore;shewasconcerned,worriedeven,butitshowedinawaythatonlythosefewwhoknewherbest,hadservedwithherlongest,coulddetect.Toallelsesheprojectedonlyfirmresolveinthefaceof crushing adversity. But he knew how bad this latest newswas. The ship’sfragileconsularstatusaside,oneoftheirfewslimhopeslayinthefactthattheCR90wasashipcommonthroughoutthegalaxy,literallythousandsoftheminservice,andtheTantiveIVlookedlikealmostanyofthem.Butthoughtheywerea needle in a haystack, the Empire had the resources—and apparently, thedetermination—to tear the entire haystack apart in order to find them. Anddiplomaticprotocolwouldnotstandintheirway.Brieflyhisthoughtsturnedtothe innocent crews of other Corellian corvettes that even now were being

stoppedandinvadedbyarmedImperialboardingparties.Somewouldbefoolishenoughtoresist.“If the Empire does find us…” Toshma Jefkin, the Tantive IV’s second

officer,ponderedaloud.“Thenlet’smakesurethattheydon’t,”saidLeia.RaymuslookedatJefkin.Hehadservedwiththemanforyears,sharedmany

closeencounterswithImperialforces,andknewthatlittlerattledhim.Helookedrattled now. His face was a ghostly white; his hands were clammy. And heseemed tobegazing intonothing, thehaunted countenanceof amanwhohasseensomethingthatcanneverbeunseen.“Tosh,whatisit?”Raymusasked.Jefkinlookedathimwithholloweyes.“That…thing.Inthehallway,whilewe

were trying togetoff theProfundity. Itkilledat leastadozenofmymen,cutthemdownliketheywerenothing.Blastershadnoeffect,itjustkeptoncoming,keptonkilling. Itwas like…likeanightmare. I’veneverseenanything like it,likesomekindofdeathangel.”Raymus and Leia exchanged a grim look as they realized what this must

mean.Toretrievewhathadbeenstolenfromthem, theEmpirehaddispatchednoneotherthanDarthVaderhimself.Andthatwasthemostdirenewsofall.

—

Raymusreturnedtohisquarterstowrite,whilehestillhadtime.Ascaptainheknewthathewouldgodownwithhisship ifnecessary,but incase itcame tothat hewould first dispatch a finalmessage to his family back home.He hadalreadythoughtitthrough;ashiscrewpiledintotheTantiveIV’sescapepodstoevade Imperial capture, hewould hand someone he trusted an encrypted datacylinder,withinstructionsthatitbedeliveredtohiswifeonAlderaan.Ashesatdown towrite, thatgrimscenarioseemedmore likely tohimthan

anyother.He’dhadabadfeelingaboutthismissionfromthebeginning.Hastilyimprovised, orders rewritten at the last minute, and now here they were:barrelingheadlonginabrokenshiptowardtheedgeofthegalaxy,carryingthelastbesthopeforthesurvivaloftheRebellion,andtheentireEmpiresearchingforthem.Hewouldwritethreeletters,oneforhisbelovedwife,theothertwoforherto

givetoeachoftheiryoungdaughterswhentheywereoldenoughtounderstand.

Hehadsomuchhewantedtotellthem.Morethananything,hewantedthemtoknowthateven though theywouldgrowupneverknowing their father, itwasnot for the lack of his love for them. No, it was because he loved them so,becausehewasdetermined theyhave the life theydeserved, thathehadgiveneverythingtohelpsecureitforthem.Thatwasthemostbitterironyofwar:Thegreatestactsofloveforyourfamilyweretheonesthatkeptyouapartfromthem.Hetriedtowrite,butnowordscame.Heknewwhathewantedtosaybutnot

how to say it, and the longer he stared at the screen, themore agonizing theprospect of composinghis finalwords to thosehemost lovedbecame.Tohiswifehewantedtosayhewassorry,forallthatshehadbeenaskedtogivethatsothathemightservehisprincessandherRebellion,oftenleavinghertoraisetheirchildrenaloneforweeksandmonthsatatime.Hehadbarelyseeneitherofhisdaughterssincetheywereborn.Asgreatlyasthatpainedhim,thesacrificehadalwaysseemedworthittoRaymus,inspiredashehadbeenbyLeia’sownpassiontofightforafutureinwhichnotjusthischildrenbutsonsanddaughtersthroughoutthegalaxycouldgrowupfreefromImperialtyranny,somethingtheyonlyreadaboutinhistorytexts.AndLeia,whohadcometotrustandrelyuponRaymus like fewothers saveherown father, had insistedon ensuring that hisfamilywaswellprovidedforduringhistimebyherside.Butthatallseemedlikecoldcomfortnowashereflectedonhowmuchprecioustimehadbeenlost,andhowlittlehemightnowhaveleftas theEmpire tighteneditsnoosearoundhisship.Itwasonlywhenhehadfinallybeguntowritethattheshiplurchedaftward

hard,almostthrowinghimfromhischair.Herecognizeditinstantly,thesuddenviolent deceleration when a ship dropped out of lightspeed unexpectedly.Looking to his viewport, he saw the tunnel of shimmering blue light outsidedissolveaway,replacedbyaninkyvoidpunctuatedwithpinpointsoflight.TheTantive IV was no longer in hyperspace, but back among the stars. Exposed,easilydetectablebyanyImperial ship thatmightbe in thearea—whichwouldcertainlybelookingforanyvesselmatchingtheirdescription.He sprang from his chair and bolted toward the door, leaving the letters

unwritten.

—

“Whathappened?”Raymusaskedasheenteredthecockpit.“Motivator finallygaveout,” theship’spilot reported.The instrumentpanel

beforehimandhis copilotwasablazewithblinkingwarning lights. “We’reatsublightfortherestoftheway.”“Wherearewe?”Thecopilotworkedthenavconsole,punchedupalocalsensorimage.“We’re

close,aboutaquarterparsecout.”Raymussteppedforward,directlybehindthetwohelmsmatessothathemight

seebetterthroughthecockpitviewport.Andthereitwas.Barelydiscernibletoanuntrainedeye,butRaymusknewwhathewaslookingfor.Fromthisfarout,Tatooinewaslittlemorethanaspeck,justatiny,pale-orangedotadjacenttotwofarlarger,brilliantlights,theplanet’sbinarysuns.“How long at best speed?” They were so close, yet still so far. If the

hyperdrivehadheldoutforjustafewmomentslonger,theywouldalreadybeintheplanet’sorbit.Butnow,forcedtohobbletherestofthewayatsublight…“Eightminutes,”thepilotresponded.“Ithinkwe’llmakeit.”Therewashope

in theman’svoice,asenseofrelief—thefirstRaymushadheardfromanyonesincetheirnarrowescapefromScarif.Andnowhefeltit,too.Eightminutes.Iftheycouldholdoutjustthatmuchlonger,hecouldgeteverybodytothesurfaceandscuttle the ship; thenatoneof theplanet’s infamouslyno-questions-askedspaceports he could procure another vessel, unmarked and untraceable, withwhichtospirittheprincesstosafety.Forabriefmomentheallowedhopebackin; considered the possibility thatmaybe, justmaybe, therewas away out ofthis.Thattheprincessmightstillbesafeafterall,thatthestolendatamightstillfinditswaybacktorebelcommand,thatheandhislovedonesmightstill—The impact rocked the ship so hard it slammedRaymus against the cockpit

bulkhead.Likeapassingbreeze,hisreverievanishedasquicklyasithadcome,andashrillcockpitalarmsounded.“StarDestroyer!” thepilot exclaimed in response to thenewsensor reading

thathadjustappeareddirectlybehindthem.“They’refiringonus!”“Mantheturbolasersandreturnfire,”Raymusordered.“Puteverythingwe’ve

gotintotheaftdeflectorshield,andgetustothatplanet!”

—

Heassembledhissecurityforcesandgavethemtheirorders,sendingeverymanhe could arm to the forward docking hatch to set up a defensive bulwark.Heknew their chances of repelling an Imperial boarding party with the meager

forcesathiscommandwereslim,buttheymightatleastbuyhimtimetogettheciviliansawaytosafety.Ashistroopsdeparted,theshipwasrockedhardagain,andaloudexplosion

sounded somewhere far behind Raymus. His comlink crackled to life, and heraisedittohearthesoundsofchaosandpanickedvoicesfromthecockpit.“Sir, that last hit overloaded our shield projector;we had to shut down the

mainreactorbeforeitblew.Wecan’tmaintaindistanceonthatDestroyer—it’sclosingfast.”“DistancetoTatooine?”“Pointtwoseven”camethereply.Theywouldnotgetaway,Raymusknew,

buttheescapepodsstillcould.Raymusheardamuffledmetallicechoallaroundhim,thesoundoftheship’s

hullgroaningunderoutwardpressure,andknewwhatthatmeant.Thedestroyerhadlockedontothemwithitstractorbeamandwaspullingthemin.“Sir,theyjust—”“Iknow.Gettoyourescapepods!”Andheran,searchingdesperatelyforthe

princess.Theshipwaslost,heknew.Buthecouldstillsaveher.

—

He could find her nowhere. He rushed through the hallways searching as allaround him his crew helped the princess’s senatorial staff pile hurriedly intoescape pods. There weren’t enough for everyone, he knew. As it had alwaysbeenwiththeRebellion,theyhadtomakethebestofwhatlittletheyhad.Andgoodpeoplewouldhavetodie.Heheard thedistant explosion, knew that it had come from the forward air

lock.Thenthesoundofafuriousexchangeofblasterfire.Imperialtroopswerenow coming aboard his ship. Not much time. Have to find her. He had notdedicated somuch of his life to protecting her only to fail now, in her mostcriticalhourofneed.Finallyhespottedherashe roundedacorner.Shewasat the farendof the

white-walledhallway.AlonesaveforanR2unit,warblingaffirmativelyasshespoketoit.“YourHighness!”WhenLeia turned to seehim, shequicklyushered thedroidaway.Puzzled,

Raymus raced to follow her, catching up to her as she slipped through a

bulkheaddoorwayintoashadowysidecorridor.“Youmustcomewithme,Ihavetogetyoutoapod,”heimplored.“I’mnotleaving,”shesaid.“Getasmanyasyoucantosafety.”Raymusknew

bythedefianttenorofhervoicethattherewouldbenoarguingwithher.“ThetransmissionfromScarif…”“Leavethattome,”shesaid,apurposefulglintinhereye.Behindher,theR2

unitbleepedatherurgently.The sounds of blasterfirewere getting closer now, and less frequent, as the

Imperial boarders depleted the Tantive IV’s meager defensive force. Meremomentsremained.“YourHighness—”“You have your orders, Captain. And my gratitude. For everything.” Leia

raised her hand and touched it to Raymus’s cheek, giving him a warm,bittersweetsmilebothofaffectionandofsorrow.Bothof themknewthat thiswas the last time theywouldever seeeachother.And then shewasgone, thelittledroidtrundlingawayintotheshadowsafterher.There was little left for him to do, his ship captured and swarming with

Imperial stormtroopers, all but a few escape pods already away. All thatremainedwas to endhis life theway that hehad always lived it, fighting.Herushed away down the hall, ducking behind a bulkhead as he saw the firststormtrooper round thecornerupahead, firing.Raymus tookaimandreturnedfire,droppingthatstormtrooperandthenanother.Thenthenumberof trooperswhowerearriving,takingpositions,firingathim,quicklybecametoomany,andhis only recoursewas to run.He sprinted away, knowing that hewas quicklyrunning out of ship but determined nonetheless to make the Empire expendevery possible resource, every ounce of sweat, every precious second, beforetheywouldinevitablytakehim.Maybejustenoughtobuyhisprincesstimetoexecutewhateverlast-ditchplanshemighthave.Hewasalmostat thehallway junction leadingback tohisquarterswhenhe

wastackledandbroughttotheground,threeImperialtroopersforcinghimintosubmission.Hestruggled,resistingthemtothelast,untilariflestocktothesideofhisheaddazedhim,tookhisstrength.“Thisone’s thecaptain!”Heheardthetrooper’smodulatedvoicebehindhis

right ear as his armswere pulledbehindhis back. “Weneedhimalive!”Andthen he was up again, his vision a hazy blur as he felt himself being hauled

forward,hisbootsdraggingalongthefloorbehindhim.“Mylord.”Heheardthetrooper’svoicebehindhimagain.“Thecaptain.”Raymusfeltashadowloomingoverhimamomentbeforesomethingcoldand

metallic, like the jaws of a vise, clamped hard around his throat. As his eyeswidened, he realized theblack shape that now toweredoverhim, though littlemorethanadarkblur,wasDarthVader,andthatthemechanicalgriparoundhisthroatwasahand.Thestormtroopersmovedtosurroundthemboth,asthoughaSithLordneededanyassistancewhatsoever.“The Death Star plans are not in the main computer,” an arriving trooper

reported.So that’s what they sent us. Even in his disoriented state, Raymus now

understoodwhy the rebel fleet had gambled everything to steal that data, andwhy the Empire had dispatched its most fearsome, unstoppable asset in itsattempttorecoverit.Thathideoussphericalleviathanthathehadseenlaywasteto the surface of Scarif, unimaginable in size, unthinkable in purpose. TheEmperor’smonstrousattempttosecureultimatedominionoveragalaxyslowlyfindingthewilltoopposehim.Thesecretstodestroyingitwereinthehandsofhisprincess.Andhewouldgladlydietoprotectthem.“Where are those transmissions you intercepted?” Vader demanded. “What

haveyoudonewiththoseplans?”Raymusfoughtuselesslytoprythefingersfromaroundhisneck,felthisfeet

leavethefloorasVaderliftedhimeffortlessly,allthewhiletighteninghisgrip,chokingthelifefromhim.“Weinterceptednotransmissions,”hespluttered,fightingforbreath.“Thisis

aconsularship.We’reonadiplomaticmission.”“If this is a consular ship,”Raymusonlyvaguelyheardashebegan to lose

consciousness,hisvisiondimmingarounditsedges,“whereistheambassador?”Even as Raymus felt the last of his life ebbing away, he found himself

strangelyhopefuloncemore.Heknewofcourse thathis storyhad reached itsend, thathewouldneveragainseehisbelovedwifeandchildrenonAlderaan,andyetstillhehadhope.HehopedthatsomehowLeiaknewofawayoutevenfromthis;hopedthattheglimmerinhereyehehadseeninthathallwaywasthegerm of an idea that might yet see the stolen data returned safely to theRebellion.Hehopedthatitwouldempowerthemtodestroythathatefulweapon,to turn the tideofwar, torallymoresystemsto theircause, toallowagalaxy,onceagain,tobreathefree.

Inhisfinalmoment,hehoped.

TK-4601wasdisproportionallygrateful for the stormtrooperhelmet.Foronething, it smashed down the unruly tuft of blond hair thatwould never obey acomborbrush—theonethatmadehimlooklikehewas thirteen.Hisfairskinreddenedandpaledeasily,too,whichmeantthatnomatterhowdiligenthewasinschoolinghisexpressions,hiscoloringalwaysbetrayedhim.Withthehelmeton,though,andwiththedevicethatrenderedthevoicesofstormtroopersalmostcompletelyidentical,hisreactions—goodorbad—weremuchharderforotherstodetermine.Hewasparticularlyappreciativeofittoday,ashewasgrinninglikeanidiot.

Hecouldn’tbelievehis first assignment straightoutof theAcademyhadbeenaboardanImperialStarDestroyer.AndnotjustanyStarDestroyer,either.TK-4601, alsoknownasTarvynLareka, servedon theDevastator, the flagshipofLord Vader himself. He was now part of Vader’s personal legion—“Vader’sFist.”Ajuniormember,tobesure,buthewasstillanofficialmember.Today a thrill of excitement laced the activity of the finely tuned military

instrument that was Vader’s Fist. If Lord Vader himself, he of the black,gleaming armor, the ominous breaths, the deep, resonant voice, and theunfathomablecommandoverobjectsandpeople—ifhewantedtogivechasetothisvesselasitspedawayfromtheBattleofScarif,thenasfarasTK-4601wasconcerned,therumorshadmoreoftruththanfictionaboutthem.Behind“thebucket,”asthehelmwassometimescalled,noonecouldseehis

browfurrowed inconcentration,hisblueeyesnarrowed.Noonecouldsee thejoyhetookinasuccessfulmissionwithnocasualties,either,norwhenhewasreluctanttofollowordersthatsometimesseemedtoborderonsenselesscruelty.Hewasgettingbetteratpushingthatpartdown,though.Earlier,TK-4601hadstoodrigidlyatattentionwhileVader,standingamere

meteraway,atthemost,hadgraspedCaptainAntillesoftheTantiveIVbythethroat,liftedhimofftheground,andinterrogatedhim.Where are those transmissions you intercepted?Vader had boomed, in that

sonorousyetdreadfulvoicethatDeathitselfmightuse.Whathaveyoudonewiththoseplans?We intercepted no transmissions. This is a consular ship. We’re on a

diplomatic mission. The Tantive IV belonged to the House of Organa ofAlderaan. TK-4601 knew that both father and daughter of that House weremembersoftheImperialSenate.Ifthisisaconsularship,whereistheambassador?AsseemedtobeanotuncommonprogressionwithLordVader,he’dgrown

so furious that his fingers crushed theman’swindpipe before the unfortunatecaptaincouldevenmanageananswer.TK-4601couldhearthevertebraesnappinglikedriedtwigs.Heswallowedhard.Thebucketconcealedall.Vader had ordered Commander TK-9091 to search the ship—tear it apart

werehisexactwords—untiltheplanswerefound.Asforpassengers,unlikethelateCaptainAntilles,theyweretobetakenalive.Andsothefourstormtroopershadbeensenttosearchfortheill-fatedship’s

passengers. They were now poking around in various corridors, closets, andotherout-of-the-wayplacesinalife-and-deathgameofhide-and-seek.TK-4601’sheartwasstillracingandhecouldfeeltheheatinhischeeksand

thesmileonhisface.He’ddeliberatelypushedthecasualmurderofthecaptainoutofhismind,andnowhewasbeyondexcited.Hefeltexultant.Theywerenot

justconductingrandomraidsonsullenpopulationsofdistantworlds.Theywerein search of the real thing. Real rebels,with real cunning,who’dmanaged tostealplansfromamajorImperialbasethatoughttohavebeenimpregnable.Clever creatures, the rebels, he thought.Hewouldnever admit it, but there

wasmuchtobeadmiredaboutthem.Rumor—thatsweet,swirling,shape-shiftingcreature—haditthatthemissing

ambassador was senatorial royalty: Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan, to bespecific. Itwasa logicalconclusion,considering theTantiveIVwasownedbyher father.Both sheandBailOrganahadpubliclyexpressed sympathy for therebels’cause.Thatdidn’tmeantheywerethemselvesrebels,ofcourse.Butwhatif theywere? TK-4601 badlywanted to talk to TK-3338, whowas followingimmediatelybehindhimintheirsweep,andaskifhethoughtitwastrue.Whatwasshelike,thissenatorialprincess?Shecouldn’treallybejustnineteen,couldshe?Younger than he was, and already a senator. Astonishing. It wouldn’t be

surprisingifshehadindeedbeenseducedbythesirensongoftheRebellion.Its“championingoftheinnocent,”itsdefianceoftheorderofferedbytheEmpire.He’d been nineteen once, too, and remembered the appeal such ideals couldhave.Buthe’dbeensmartandresistedthatcall.HewasastaunchImperial.AnEmperoroutrankedaprincess,andtheSenate’sdayswerenumbered.“Thinkwe’ll find any of them?” asked TK-4247,whowas bringing up the

rear. Hewas even newer andmore naïve than TK-4601 had beenwhen he’djoinedVader’slegion.“LordVaderwillbepleasedwithusifwedo,”TK-9091answered.Hedidn’t

saytheopposite—thatLordVaderwouldbedispleasediftheydidnot.TK-4601didn’tevenwanttothinkaboutthat.Iwantthemalive,Vaderhadsaid.Theirblastersweresetonkill.Theywere

in a battlefield, even now. Too many of the crew were loose and armed,wandering about and opening fire, for the stormtroopers to take chances. TK-9091,takingpointaswashisright,hadorderedthemtokillthecrew,butswitchtostunuponsightinganyonewhomightbeapassenger.“Whatifwefindthesenator?”chimedinTK-3338.“Same thing. Stun. But we don’t know for certain that she’s here,” the

commanderanswered.“Don’tletdownyourguard.Ifthisreallyisarebelship,they’recorneredanimalsnow,andthey’regoingtofightdirty.”

Ofcoursetheywould.Lyingthroughtheirteethabouttheirillegalactivities.Hidinginshadows.Dirtyfighters.But after the quick flush of excitement and anticipation, the routine of

checkingcorridoraftercorridorfadedbeforethemundanityofthetask.Andthenallatoncemundanitywasshattered.“There’sone,”TK-9091said,

turningtoTK-4601.“Setforstun.”TK-4601instantlyadjustedhisblaster’ssettingandturnedtolook.Theinstantlastedlessthanaheartbeat,butTK-4601feltitwasfrozen,locked

intime.Her clothingwas sowhite as to almost glow, her skin smooth and pale as

cream.Aspaleashisown,thoughherlong,glossyhair,gatheredupinelaboratebutefficienttwinbunsoneithersideofherface,wasarichwarmbrown,notthebright,sunnyyellowofhis.Andshewasso…little.TK-4601hadimaginedthatrebelwomenwouldbestrongandmuscular.Tall,

powerfulwarriors.Thisonestoodbarelyameterandahalf,andlookedlikeshemightbreakifheldtootightly.Buthereyes—Theywerenotcold,thosebrownorbs.Theyweresteady,however,andthey

werecalm,andtheytoldhimasclearlyas ifshehadshoutedthewords:Iwillneveryield.Shegrippedasmall,handheldblaster,thebarrelpointingup.AndsuddenlyTK-4601understoodhowitwasthatthisnineteen-year-oldgirl

wasmore of a woman thanmost twice her age. He understood how she hadbecomeapopularsenator,whyshehadsympathyfortheRebellion.Whypeoplefollowedher.And in that instant that lasted for an eternity, he also knew that they, elite

membersofVader’sFist,weregoingtobetooslow,thattheircommanderhad,verywrongly,judgedthiswomanharmless,hadreactedfartoocasually,andwasabouttopaythepricebeforeanyofthemcouldreact.Thewhitesleevesfellawayfromherslenderarmsassheliftedtheblaster.TK-9091fell,hisarmorscorchedandsmoking.ThemovementshockedTK-4601outofhisreverie.Time,whichhadslowed

to a crawl, sped up again, rushed to meet him, and he fired his own blasterdirectlyatthewomanwhocouldonlybePrincessLeiaOrgana.

Shecollapsedinstantly,strikingthecold,graysurfacehardwithnochancetobreak her fall. She lay sprawled, her tiny, delicate fingers still clutching theblaster.TK-4601rushedtowardher,suddenlyseizedwithworrythatshehadhittoo

hard, thatshewasdead.Hefeltastrong—and,heknew, treasonous—waveofreliefwhenherealizedthiswasnotthecase.“She’ll be all right,” he said. He realized that his words were heavy with

unexpected, unwanted emotion. But thanks to “the bucket,” they came outsoundingasclippedandpreciseastheyalwaysdid.Hetookabreath.“InformLordVaderwehaveaprisoner.”It presageddark things, ifVader specificallywanted to interrogate this one.

He himself had encountered his commander only a few times, and that wasenough.Whathewoulddotoher…No.Hewouldnotbeswayedbyaprettyfaceandamienfilledwithresolve.

TheprincesswouldhavebeendelightedifhershothaddispatchedTK-9091,orhimself,ortheothertwointhepatrolgroup.“Sir,”TK-4247saidtohim,“thecommander’sdead.”Dead? It wasn’t possible. The white plastoid suits protected the soldiers

encasedinsidethem,diffusingblastssothatmostshotsweren’tlethal.Buttheprincesshadaimedtrue,andfromonlythreemetersaway.TK-4247

wasbentoverhim,andnowheturnedhishelmetedfacetohisnewcommander.“Orders,sir?”Sir.With thedeathofTK-9091, the roleofcommandingofficer fell toTK-

4601.He’dwantedtoclimbhighintheranks,butnotlikethis.Foramoment,hedidn’treply.Heknewtheorders.Stormtrooperslaywhere

theyfelluntilafter thebattle,andTK-9091couldbenoexception to that rule.TK-4601couldstillhearthescreamsoutinthecorridors—boththehigh-pitchedsoundsofblastersfiringandthecriesofagonyfromtheirvictims.Hestrodetowheretheircaptivelay.Herbodywaslimpandherfaceslack.Its

firewasquelled,butitsbeautystilllingered.Shewouldwakeinafewminutes,perhapsfeelingslightlyhungoverfromtheeffectsofthestunboltbut,ashehadtoldthegroup,“fine.”UnlikeTK-9091.Hiscommandingofficer.His friend.Theonewhocracked

thestupidestjokesintheworldinhisoffhours,butwhowasallbusinesswhenhe donned the uniform. Except this time, he’d underestimated the enemy. A

stupid,stupidmistake.The prisoner stirred now, groggy, moaning softly. True to her rebel spirit,

though, the first thing she didwas start to raise the pistol. TK-4601 kicked itawayangrily.Shegazedupathim,blinkingrapidlyashereyesslowlyfocused.Atthesightofhisface—hishelmet—anexpressionofdisgustflittedacrossherface.Thatbeautifulvisagewasasmuchafaceoftheenemyasanyscarred,bearded

one.LeiaOrganawasakiller.She lookedat themanddidnot see thepeople,onlytheEmpiretheyserved.Toher,TarvynLarekahadnoname,noface,onlyanumber.Hewasnothingmore thanauniformof thehated foe, tobeshotatandeliminatedasquicklyaspossible.Hereacheddownandgrabbedherwrists,haulinghertoherfeet.Theprincess

struggled, but TK-3338 pressed the blaster into her back. She stiffened, andstilled.“LordVaderwantstoseeyou,SenatorOrgana,”TK-4601said.Hesnappeda

pairofstuncuffsaroundherslenderwrists.“Youcaneithercomealongwithusonyourown twofeet,orwe’ll stunyouagainandbringyou tohim thatway.Yourdecision.”For a moment, he thought she would lunge at him. Instead she composed

herself.“I’llwalk,”shesaid.Hervoiceheldnoquiveratall.Itwasascoolandregalastherestofher.But TK-4601 thought of Vader’s abilities, and the torture droid, and he

suddenly,abruptly,didnotwanttobetheonewhodeliveredhertotheutterlackofmercyshewouldreceiveatDarthVader’shands.Totheominouswhirofthehoveringtorturedroid,anditsmyriaddrugswithwhichtotormenttheprisoners.He said on his comm, “This is TK-4601. TK-9091 is down. We have a

prisoner in custody. Request two additional troops to escort prisoner to LordVaderperhisinstructions.”“Copy,TK-4601.Weseeyourposition.TK-7624andTK-8332areenroute.”Theothertwolookedateachother,thenathim.“Sir?”Heignoredthemandcontinuedspeakingintothecomm.“Requestpermission

totransfertoactive-dutyunitforthedurationofthebattle.”“Permissiongranted,”camethevoice.“Nothingofficial,butI’vegotahunch

we’ll be sending some troopers to the surface if Vader doesn’t find what hewantshere.Nostoneunturned.Lotofsandthere,though.”

“Copy that,” TK-4601 said immediately. “Transfer me to that unit if it’sdeployed.” Leia Organa’s eyes narrowed as she regarded him speculatively.Doubtless,histeamwasstartledandwonderingwhatthehellhewasdoing.Hewas a member of Vader’s Fist. He could be here fighting, killing the rebels,doingwhattheyhadtrainedfor,andinsteadhe’drequestedwhatamountedtoademotion.They’dbeevenmoreshockediftheyknewwhathewasthinking.TK-4601 loved theEmpire.Hebelieved in it.Heknew it couldbringorder

andpeacetothegalaxy.Buthealsoknewthathecouldn’tkeepdoingwhathewasdoingnow…killingrebelswhilelookingintotheirfaces,theireyes,seeingthemopenandexposed,emotionsnakedtohim,whiletheyonlysawflatblackandwhite.Hecouldstillkillthem—butonlywhenthebattlefieldwaseven.Onlywhen

hecouldn’tseethem,ashesawthissenator, thisprincess, thisrebel.Hecouldshootthemoutofthesky,andhewould—butnotshootthemintheheart.The two new stormtroopers arrived. TK-9091 was left where he fell. Per

orders.He’dhaveunderstood.ThefourescortedtheprincesstomeettheDarkLord,eachofthemtowering

aboveherdiminutiveheight.AsTK-4601watchedthemgo,theprincessturnedtolookathimsearchingly.Spontaneously,withoutthinking,heremovedthehelmet.Theprincessseemedstartledtoseehim—ahumanmalenotmucholderthan

she,fair-haired,blue-eyed,hischeeksflushed.Theirgazeslockedforamoment,thenshegavehimaslightnodandturned

around.TK-4601didn’tkidhimselfthatsheunderstoodthegesture,orthattheyhadmadeanykindofconnection.But damn it, he’d reminded her that therewas a person inside the plastoid

armor.Andmoreimportant,he’dremindedhimself.

“Psst!Arvira,Ineedyourhelp!”Ilookedupfromthetinytextscrollingbyonmyscreen.Behindthestacksof

tablets teetering on my desk appeared the anxious face of Bolvan, gunnerycaptain.“I’mkindofinthemiddleofsomethinghere,”Isaid,gesturingvaguelyatthe

tablets fullofdatawork. Interruptionswerepartofmyjob,butsurelyhecouldseeIneededachancetocatchup?Everyone thought being fleet logistics liaison (grade 4) on an Imperial Star

Destroyerwasacushyjob.But it tookalotofdataworktokeepthecrewofamassive ship like this fed and clothed and in fighting shape.Desk jobs in theImperialNavywerenolessstressfulthancombatones.“Please,Ireallyneedyou!”hepersisted.Isighed.Officerswerejustlikebabies:Whentheyneededsomething,itwas

always the most important thing in the world. “I haven’t forgotten the

entertainmentholosyouwanted.ButIhavetoprioritizeprocessingthecapturedcorvetteTantiveIV.EspeciallysinceLordVader—”“No,no!It’ssomethingelse.”Ipausedthescrollingscreen.Itwasclearhewasn’tgoingtoleavemetomy

work until I took care of his problem. I tried to put on mymost convincingsmile.“HowcanIhelpyou?”Heglancedbackintothecorridortobesureitwasempty,closedthedoorto

myoffice,andsatdown.“Er…it’slikethis…”Isattherepatientlyuntilhefinishedhistale.“SoyouorderedHijanottoshoottheescapepod?”Iasked,justtobesureI

understood.“Right.”“Andwhynot?Wait,isitbecauseyouwantedtoavoidthedatawork?”Iwasn’tjoking.Likeallmilitaries,theImperialNavyranondatawork.Most

officers spent more time filling out forms and filing reports than shooting atrebels.PerImperialNavalRegulation132.CAT.ch(22),shootinganescapepod(other than during an armed engagementwith an intensity classified as aboveCategoryV)requiredthegunnerycaptaintofileaFormXTM-51-CTtoexplainwhy the action was necessary. This was to avoid giving those squawkingsenators an excuse to claim that the Imperial Navy engaged in war crimes.Bolvanhadalwaystriedtogetbywithaslittledataworkaspossible.Heshookhisheadno.Well,thiswasinteresting.“Arewetryingtoconservelasersnow?”Heignoredmysarcasm,buthisfaceturnedred.“Thesensorsdetectednolife-

forms aboard. I thought…um…we wouldn’t have been scored with a kill…so…”Of course; now his actions made perfect sense. Annoyed with rebel

propagandathatshowedImperialstobepoorshots—frankly,thestormtrooperscoulddowithmore targetingdrills—fleetbureaucratshad issuedanewpolicythat tied gunnery officers’ promotions to their kill ratios. Shots fired atunoccupiedescapepodswouldindeedbeconsideredwasted.Ithoughtthiswasaterrible idea at the time. The new policy would encourage some ambitiousgunnerstoaimforrebelpilotsindisabledvesselsratherthandangerous,armeddrones.Butthebrassneveraskedformyopinion.“Fine,soyoulettheemptyescapepodgo.What’stheproblem?”

“LordVaderorderedtheTantiveIVbetornapartuntilthesecretplansstolenbytherebelswerefound,butnowthatthey’vegoneovereverycentimeteroftheship,CommanderPrajistillhasn’tlocatedtheplans.I…I’mafraid—”“Ah…”Iunderstood.“Itakeittheescapepoddidn’tjustdriftintospace?”“No,” he said. “It followed a trajectory to the surface of Tatooine. I just

thought itwasamalfunctionat the time,butmaybe thatwasn’t it.What if theplanswereaboard?”“Thisisindeedatrickyproblem,”Isaidthoughtfully.I’dalwayslikedBolvan.Henevermadetoomanyoutrageousdemandsonthe

logistics corps, and he was a terrible card player, whichmeant that I usuallymanaged towinextra credits fromhim inprivategamesamong theofficers. Ididn’twanttoseethepoormancourt-martialedfornegligenceiftheplansweresomehow aboard that escape pod. Even worse, Lord Vader often didn’t evenbother with a court-martial. It must be nice to be able to ignore dataworkrequirementswheneveronepleased.“That’swhyIcametoyou,”hesaid,hisvoicepleading.“Ifiguredifanyone

knewhowtopatchupaproblemlikethis,youwould.”Now,nottobeboastful,butIdidhaveareputationforexpertiseindatawork.

Iknewtheinsandoutsofthehundredsofthousandsofever-changingformsandquestionnaires and applications and data grids and charts and reports andrequisition communiqués that kept the Imperial Navy humming. I knew justwhatcheckboxestoticktogetmyshippriorityserviceindocks,whatkeywordsto stick into blank forms to avoid a surprise inspection, and the secrets forrequisitioningentertainmentholos evenwhenall the shipboardbandwidthwassupposedtobereservedforcombat-relatedtransmissions.And I shared my wisdom liberally. Junior officers who wanted to avoid

snoringroommatescametomeforadviceontheXPTS-7BunkingApplication(claim a propensity for sleepwalking and punching sources of noise); seniorofficerswhowantedtomaximizetheirshoreleavecametomeforhelpwiththeSS-VAC-2BVisa(pickadepartureportontheothersideofthevacationplanetfromthearrivalport);andeventhecaptaincametomewhenitwastimetofillouttheestimatedoperatingbudget(thetrick:…Ha,asifI’mgoingtosharethattrickhere).Somecalledmeadataworkwizard,ormaybeevenadataworkJed—Oh,nevermind that.Thepoint is: I likedhelpingpeople,and if theychose tothankmewithlittlefavorsorgiftsorcredits,itwouldhavebeenimpolitetosayno.

Oh, all right, letme just comeout and say it. Itwasnice tohavepeople inyourdebt.Withthepoliticalsituationasvolatileasitwas,youneverknewwhenyou’dneedtocallinafavor.Byhelpingpeopletoday,Iwasjusthelpingmyselfforthefuture.Agooddataworkmasterneededtohavestringsouttoasmanypuppets—er—

Imeantstudentsaspossible.Itwasprudent.AfterthinkingoverBolvan’sproblemforamoment,Ihadanidea.Ihandedhimatablet.“Here,startfillingthisout.”“Whatisthis?”Bolvanlookedwary.“That’saFormINS-776-TX.”“What…whatdoesitdo?”“Don’t you even bother reading the instructions?Oh, all right, I’ll explain.

That’s the form you use to request an immediate mid-cruise extra-vehicular-armamentinspection.”“Whywould Iwant to do that?That’s going to send all the gunners inEV

suits to inspecteverysingleoneof theDevastator’sguns. Itwill takehours tocomplete!”I shookmy head inmild annoyance. Itwas really hard sometimesworking

with peoplewho had no understanding of the subtleties of datawork. “As thegunnerycaptain,youareoneofthefewofficersonboardwithenoughauthorityto request such an action, and Imperial regulations require the chief gunneryofficertobeinchargeoftheinspection.Hijawillbeoccupiedfortherestoftheday climbing from gun embankment to gun embankment outside theDevastator.”Bolvanstill lookedconfused.“He’sgoing tohateme.Heneverwants togo

outside—saysitgiveshimspacesickness—”“If he’s outside,” I said, “then Lord Vader isn’t going to corner him in a

hallwayandaskhimaboutanyescapepods!He’stheonlyotherwitness.”Bolvan’s eyeswidenedwith understanding. “Oh…Ohhhhhh!What do I put

downfor‘Reasonforrequestinginspection’?”“ ‘Reportsofnon-responsivetriggeringmechanism.’ ”Bolvan’sfingersdancedoverthetablet.“Itakeitthisistolaythegroundwork

forlaterclaimingthatthegunswouldn’trespond?Clever.”“Thisisjustgoingtobuyyoualittletime,”Isaid.“Itdoesn’tsolvethewhole

problem.”

Helookedup,alarmed.“SowhatelsedoIdo?”“You fill out a Form DKS-77-MA(n).” I flicked the form over onto his

datapad.Bolvanlookedatmewithhishelpless,wateryeyes.Irelented.“That’stheformusedtorequestthedetailedmanifestofanynon-

militaryvessel.Inthiscase,sinceyou’llbeaskingforthemanifestoftheTantiveIV, a consular ship on her last departure, you’ll need to add inAppendix P2,DeclarationofClassifiedMilitaryNeed.”“WhatamIsupposedtodowiththeTantiveIV’smanifest?”Iflickedoveryetanotherformontohistablet.“YoufilloutApplicationSUG-

171-TI.”He looked about ready to collapse in the face of this mounting pile of

datawork.“Whichis?”“Don’t you pay any attention to the training holos? You filled out an

acknowledgmentstatingthatyouwatchedaholoonthisfamilyofformsjusttwodaysago.”Bolvan’s confused expression told me that he probably signed the

acknowledgmentwithoutreadingitjusttogetitoffhisdesk.“The SUG-171-TI is used to dispatch an operational suggestion to another

officer.It’susedwhenyouneedtobypassthechainofcommandandthere’snomilitary emergency. Fleet command is very proud of this innovation inimprovingtheinitiativesofallofficers.”Heactedlikehewantedtotearhishairout,buthemanagedtoforcehimself

tocalmdown.“WhoamImakingthesuggestiontoandwhatdoIsuggest?”“Commander Praji, like you, hates datawork. You just toldme that he has

gone over every centimeter of the Tantive IV, but I bet you he hasn’tdocumented his search. I know, I know,when LordVader is breathing downyourneck, thelast thingyouwanttodoismoredatawork.Buttrustme, if theplans aren’t found, everyone is going to want to make sure their behind isproperlycovered.That’swhyyouwanttomakeasuggestiontoPrajitogethistroopstofilloutmultiplecopiesofFormSRS-98-COMP,InventoryofCapturedVessel.”“But if theplansareon thatescapepod,howisdocumenting therestof the

shiphelpful?”I knew then exactly howmy teacher felt backwhen Iwas a kid and I just

couldn’t see thepointof“showingmywork”on tests.Evendataworkwizardshadshamefulmomentslikethat.Ihadtobepatientwithhim.“Thepoint,Bolvan,istoletPrajibetheoneto

figureoutthatthemissingplansmightbeonthatescapepodwithoutexposingyourownroleinitsescape.Soyouhavehimdothecarefulinventory,andsendhimtheship’smanifestyouobtainedinthepreviousstep.Prajiwillthendothecomparisonandnoticethemissingescapepod.”“Butthenhe’sgoingtoaskmewhyIdidn’tshootthepodwhenitjettisoned,

whichputsmebackexactlywhereIstarted!”“We’re not done yet,” I said. “The trick with datawork is layering and

complementing.”“Soundslikeyou’retalkingaboutfashion,”hemuttered.I let it slide. “Your goal is building an unassailable structure for diverting

responsibilityelsewhere—akindofescapepodforyourself, ifyouwill.SofarI’vetaughtyouhowtogetHijaoutofthewayandhowtoleadPrajitodiscoverthemissingescapepod, and theonly remainingpiece is to erase anyhint thatyoucouldberesponsible.”“How?”hespat.Icouldtellhewasaboutreadytograbmylapelsandshake

me.I deliberately slowed down. “You’re going to file a Maintenance Request

NIW-59-SUD,withaScheduleP.”He groaned pitifully.Hewas like a drowningman ready to give up on the

strawhewasclutching.“What…isthatgoingtodo?”Timetoexplainthecoupdegrâce.“This is the form you use to report visibility-impaired viewports and

viewscreensandrequestacleaning.”“Acleaning?”“That’s right.Specifically,awashingof theviewportsandviewscreensnear

yourworkstation.”Hejustlookedatme.“Aviewportwashing?What…?How…?Why…?”“Onceyouputtherequestin,maintenancewilldispatchmultipledroidstothe

stationyoudesignate—IsuggestwhereyouandHijawerestanding—andcovereveryviewportandviewscreenwithathick,whitefoam.Thedroidswillevendoitfromtheoutsideoftheviewports.It’sthelatestcleaningandpolishingagentfrom the Imperial labs, specifically designed to remove laser scarring and

scorchingfrombattles.”Iwatchedhisfacegothroughthestagesofterror,confusion,anger,disbelief,

astonishment,epiphany,rapture.“C-coveralltheviewports?”hestuttered.“That’sright,allofthem.”“Withath-thickfoam?”“Verythick.Can’tseeathingthroughthem.Can’tseethestars,ortheTantive

IV,orevenTatoo—”“Oranyescapepods!Oh,Arvira,thisisbrilliant!”“This will explain why you couldn’t see any escape pods from where you

were.Prajiwill justassume that theescapepodwas jettisonedwithoutanyonedetectingit.”“And hewill have to then bring the bad news to LordVader and face the

consequences.”That smile on his face was truly delightful to see. I loved helping people.

“Exactly.NowgoandgetallthedataworkdoneASAP.You’vestillgottime.”Hegotup,tabletinhand,andranforthedoor.Butbeforeexiting,heturned

around. “What can I do to make this up to you? A game of cards tomorrownight?”Aha,somaybehedidn’tknowmuchaboutdatawork,buthedidknowhowto

payforafavorwithoutbeingtooobvious.“Maybe.Butyouknow,I’vealwayswanted to know what it’s like to fire the guns on this thing. Even dataworkwizardslikepew-pew-pew,youknow?”Hegrinned.“I’msureIcanworkoutatarget-practicesessionsometime.”Iwavedforhimtogoandreturnedtomyendlessdatawork,gladtohavelaid

downanotherstrandinmyinvisiblewebofinfluence.

If onewere to try to find the perfect summation of what life on Tatooine isreallylike—thesparseness,theintolerabledrynessofitall—onewouldnotneedto look further than the sandcrawlers that checker the planet’s surface withfleetingtreadmarkseachday.Every centimeter of a sandcrawler is prudently designed to fit the ship’s

grueling function, and sandcrawlers havea lot of centimeters.Each ship is anidenticalmonumenttopracticality,andperformseachday’sworkwithexactingprecision. They do so indomitably, overcoming Tatooine’s considerableenvironmentalhazardswithease.OntheuppermostdeckofasandcrawlerstationedintheWesternDuneSea,a

sloped bulk belt carried scrap hoisted from the sands below to a salvage bayseated at the vessel’s peak. Underneath that belt was a small hidden gapmeasuringonemeter longand, at the incline’s tallestpoint, half ameterhigh,with a width most non-Jawas would find oppressive. It was an unintendedcompartmentinavehicleshrewdlydesignedformaximizedefficiencyofspace.

Inthiswedge-shapedgap,aJawanamedJotdreamedofstarships.Jothaddiscoveredthecompartmentbyaccidentwhileworkinganintakeshift,

sortingtheunceasingflowofmetallicdebristhatthesandcrawlersuckedupintoitspowerfulmagneticmaw.Aparticularlylustrousthermaldissipaterhadcaughthis eye as he pushed ancient alloys into piles according to their worth orusefulnesstothecrew.Butashereachedtopocketthedissipater,Jotwatcheditslipsideways,betweenthebulkbeltandtheship’shull,tumblingdownwardandoutofsight.Jotsearchedforthemissingdissipaterduringhislimitedbreaktimeoverthe

nextninedays,hopingnottoattracttheattentionofhispeersduringhistirelesshunt. By pressing his slight frame behind the maglift’s pneumatic servos, hecouldedgehiswayprone, thenpryaflimsy,rectangularaluminumpanelfromthebulkbelt’shousing,givinghimanentrywayhecouldjustscrapethrough,solongashisslightlyroundbellynever,evergotanyrounder.Itwasaclumsyactof contortion, but luckily for Jot, he was likely the only Jawa aboard thesandcrawlerwhocouldpullitoff.ThiswasbecauseJotwasverysmall,evenbyJawastandards.When Jawas first learn to walk, they’re given the insulated, moisture-

regulatingrobesthatwillsustainthemtheirwholelives.Asinfants,theirrobesarehemmednearlytothearmpit,thefabricdoubledandfoldedwithin.AsJawasmature, thehem is lowered tobetter cover theirnewfoundheight.Most Jawasmeasurethemselvesbythenumberofhemsthey’vehadputin;theaverageJawahasfiveorsixbythetimetheyreachadulthood,leavingtelltalestriationsinthethickbrowncanvasoftheirlife-givinggarment.Jot’srobehadbeenhemmedtwice.After several months of practice, Jot could slip in and out of his space in

seconds.Itwasvitalhekeepthemaneuverfastandsurreptitious.Hecouldn’tletanyoneknowabouthisgap.Tosaythecompartmentwasn’tespeciallycomfortablewouldbeadisservice

to thevery ideaofdiscomfort. Itwas,as thepreviouslymentioneddimensionssuggest,cramped,especiallywhenfilledwiththevariousbaublesJothadtuckedawaywhileonsalvageduty.Duringhisshifts,hecouldsimplypushitemsthatcaughthiseyeoffthesideofthebeltanddirectlyintohiscollection.Duetotherelativeeaseofthisprocess,hisalreadysizablehoardhadgrownexponentially.Thatonebenefitnearlyoutweighedthegap’sdrawbacks,ofwhichtherewere

many.

Therollingbeltthatservedasthegap’sceilingoccasionallysaggedundertheweight of particularly heavy pieces of salvage, flirting with (but never quite)buckling. The starboard wall of the gap was actually the sandcrawler’s outerhull,whichgrewunbearablyhot to the touch fourteenhoursof theday.TherewasenoughroominthegapforJottositwithoutleaningagainstthestarboardwall,soitssearingheatwasn’tanissue,solongashedidn’tabsentmindedlytrytostretchoutandgetcomfortablewhileadmiringhishoard.Unfortunately for Jot, losinghis concentrationwasoneofhismosthonored

pastimes. It was not uncommon for passersby to hear amuffled yelp comingfromthegullyworksofthelift’smachinery,followedbytheuniquelyunpleasantsmellofsingedJawafurwaftingdownthesandcrawler’scorridors.Those faults didn’t hamper Jot’s contentment with his secret dwelling.

Silence, privacy, and solitudeweren’t just in short supply on the sandcrawler;the ship was overstaffed and bloated with cargo, both of which created anenvironmentwheretheconceptofpersonalspacewasforeign.Jotneverknewhowmuchheneededthatspaceuntilhehadit;nowtheideaof

livingwithoutitwasunthinkable.Hedidnotdislikehislifeonthesandcrawler—itwascertainlypreferable to themonotonyof fortress living—buthishoursspent working salvage seemed longer, emptier since finding the gap. Everyminute he spent sorting sandblasted metal was a minute he spent away fromhimself.Awayfromhishome.AwayfromStoryteller.

—

ThedunesofTatooinelookbarrentomostoffworlderswho,forsome(typicallyillicit) reason or another, find themselves visiting. That appraisal isn’tcompletelyunfair;lifeonTatooineisasdifficultasyou’dexpectfromaplanetwheremoistureisscarcetothepointofdeservingitsowneconomy.ButeveryJawa,especiallythosewhoshipoutonacrawler,knowsthetruth:

The surface of the dunes is lifeless, yes, but the sand stretches downwardforever.Entombedintheendless,grittyexpanseweremoredownedshipsthantherewereshipsinthesky.Moredroidsthananytenfactoriescouldproduceina century. More wealth, more resources, more history than could ever beexcavatedorrecorded.Therewasnot a JawaonTatooinewhodid not believewholeheartedly that

therewasmore sand below them than therewas sky above. The sand, Jawasknew,wasmorefertilethananyoffworldercouldeverguess;andthewindwasitsconstantfarmer.Most Jawas could tell you tales of unimaginable relics exhumedby a sharp

breeze, assuming you spoke fluentTrade (or even Jawaese,which you almostcertainly don’t). Strange meteors buried in their own glass-crusted craters.Ancient cruisers the size of small cities. For that matter, actual small cities:entirecivilizationsthathadlongsincedriedupanddiedofthirst,losttotime.Jothadtoldthestoryofhisdiscoverymoretimesthanhecouldcount.Every

momentof it remainedcrystalclear inhismind—thesmallprotrusionofbonepoking out of the ground several meters from his family’s cramped claydwelling.Theshockofpainthatshotuphisarmashecuthishandonsomethingunder the dirt.How thewind that night,matching the frenzy of his curiosity,revealedJot’sdiscoveryinfullthenextmorning.Akraytdragon.Abigone—thebiggestJothadeverseen,hewouldinterject

forcefullywitheachtelling.ImmediatelybelowthehomeinwhichJotwasborn—andthousandsofyears

beforethat—akraytdragonhaddiedandbeenpristinelypreservedbyJot’sfrontyard.TherewereveryfewJawaswhohadevermetJotwhohadn’theardthatstory.

Most on the sandcrawler had heard it more than once, and very few had thepatienceforfurtherretellings.Asimportantasitoncehadbeentohim,Jotwasalsogrowingtiredofthetale;

thescenesheoncerecountedwithexuberanceseemedlessremarkablewitheachperformance.Hehadleanedtoohardonhisstory,andheknewhewasrobbingitofitsluster.SeveralweeksafterJotdiscoveredthegapbelowthebulkbelt,thewindblew

fiercely over the dunes near his sandcrawler, pulling a new story up from thedepths.

—

Thesandcrawler’screwwasasleep,enjoyingarareoff-dutynightwhiletheshiprode out amassivewindstorm that threatened to flood their engineswith grit.Thenextmorning,a long-dormantfreighterhadbeenuncoveredsocompletelyonanearbydune that the first Jawas to see itwouldhave sworn ithadcrash-

landedwhiletheship’screwatebreakfast.Itwasthebiggestscorethesandcrawlerhadfoundinmonths,andeveryJawa

on board delighted in ransacking it. Within the hour, the freighter had beenthoroughly shucked; small hands ripped and sawed and pried at every panel,everycable,everymillimeterofcircuitrywithin.Thespeciesoftheship’slong-deadpilotwasunidentifiable,buttheirprofessionwasevincedbythecockpit’sless savory salvage: a modified blaster rifle, thermal detonators, ancientMandalorian armor, and a still-functioning datapad that held several hundredexpiredwarrants for criminals throughout the galaxy. This pilotwas a bountyhunterand,basedonthequalityoftheirgear,anawfullysuccessfulone.Jotwasbulliedintoscoutingthedigsite’sperimeterwhiletherestofthecrew

picked the ship clean for valuables—most of which would end up squirreledawayinthespaciouspocketsoftheirrobes.Itwasn’tthefirsttimeJothadbeenbuffaloedintoanunwantedtaskbyhisclan—hewasofasizethatwasterriblyconvenientforbullies.Duringhishalfheartedreconnaissance,Jotnoticedafigurepartiallyburiedon

theoppositesideofthedunefromwherehisteamfoundthecrashedfreighter.Embedded up to itsmidsectionwas an astromech droid: an outdated, bulky

blackbucket thathadnotbeennearlyaswellpreservedas thebountyhunter’sotherbelongings.Alarge,rustedholeinitscentralhullshowcasedtelltalesignsof fusion cell corrosion, which inevitably meant every component in its corechassiswaswellbeyondrepair.The droid’s dome, however,was intriguing. Jot had seen several astromech

droidstumbledownthesalvagelinetoberepaired,cleaned,andsold.Thisunitwas clearly a custom job. Its holoprojector was installed onto a secondaryprocessing unit, complete with its own discrete data drive and internal powersource. All this custom hardware was housed in a single, detachable fixture,which,asnearasJotcouldtell,alsomadethisprocessorcompletelyredundant.Forsomereason, that long-deadbountyhunterhadgivenhisdroidasecond

brain.Working carefully, Jot ran his driver across the shallow seam under the

droid’s domed head, granting access to this peculiar construction—which, toJot’sdelight,couldbeeasilyslidoutofitssocket.Jottuckedthewholeholoprojectorunitintothefoldsofhisrobe.Itwasonly

fairthathetookhomeaprize,too,hefigured.Jot raced back to the sandcrawler, back to the privacy of hiswedge-shaped

compartment,gratefulthathisshipmatesweretoooccupiedwiththefreightertonoticehisclumsyattemptatsmuggling.Heclearedaplaceforthedeviceinthecenterof thecompartment,giving itmorespaceamongthescrap thanhegavehimself.Jawasarenotknownfortheirsenseofaesthetics,andJotwasnoexception—

but he appreciated the fit of the holoprojector unit in his tiny space. He hadthoughtofthisroomashisown,andhadbeenfiercelysecretiveaboutitsincehefirstdiscoveredit.Nowthegapbelongedtotheprojector.Theyfeltintendedforeachother,piecesthatinterlockedbydesign.Afterseveralminutesofmeticulouslysortinghiscollectionintoneatpiles,Jot

dugupamemorycorethathehadfoundinthegapduringhisveryfirstvisit.Helifted the core to his mouth and pressed his tongue gently against its metalcontacts—and felt a harsh, sour jolt course through him. Good. The core’sinternalbatterywasstillfunctioning,meaningthedatainsidewasprobablystillintact.Henervouslyinsertedthememorycoreintotheholoprojectorunit’sdrive,and

thedeviceimmediatelywhirredtolife.Beneath thedevice’svisible interface—not thatJotwouldhavebeenable to

decipher the process, even if he could see it—complex subroutinessimultaneously examined, counterprogrammed, and decrypted the memorycore’scontents,displayingthemsecondslaterthroughtheholoprojector’slens.Jotwasn’tawareofthis,butthisdecryptionsoftwarewasassophisticatedasit

wasillegal—exceptionally,preposterouslyillegal.Foramoment,thegapwasfloodedwithformlessgraylight.ItcaughtJotby

surprise, momentarily blinding him, sending him reeling, panicked, into thecompartment’sblistering-hotstarboardwall.Withinseconds, thelightretreatedto a few centimeters in front of the projector, taking shape with remarkableclarity.Jot’svisioncleared.Hesawstars.Nottheremnantsoftheflash—stars.He saw the soft curvatureofTatooinenear thebottomof theprojection, its

surface linedwithbloatedstripesofmutedorange,amber,and tan,punctuatedwithanenormousredcrater.Hesawthebowofastarshippeekingupintotheprojection,thebackofthepilot’sheadbarelyvisibleinthebridge.Theshipwasrollingslowlycounterclockwise,butthepilotjerkeditbackintoalignment.Thenanotherroll,thenacorrection,andsoon.Theshipwascrashing,butithadnotcrashed,whichmeant—forthenextfew

minutes, at least—Jotcouldcontinue towitness itsdescent.Thiscustomdroidcomponent had given Jot a firsthand account of a ship’s final, doomed flightthroughthestars.When Storyteller first flashed this image into existence, Jot’s eyes flooded

with stinging tears. Seeing this story—seeing stars, and flight, and the onlyplanet he’d ever lived on from kilometers above—his eyeswould not dry forsometime.

—

Jotcouldn’t recallwhenhisdesire to leaveTatooinefirst surfaced.Asachild,he’d loved to tinker with whatever busted gadgets the sands of Tatooineproffered—holo-chessboards, landspeederengines,droid servomotors, and thelike. He was encouraged to pursue his experimentation, but it wasn’t nearlyenoughtosatisfyhiscuriosity.Hehungeredfortheopportunitytoburyhimselfin thegutsofaCorelliancorvette, tooptimize the thrustersofa starfighter, torepairthehyperdrivemotivatorofagalacticcruiser-carrier.Jot,ofcourse,didnothavethefirstcluehowtodoanyof thosethings.But

that wasn’t really a concern. Starships, like everything else, were just parts.Theymightinterlockininscrutableways,but,byJot’scalculation,whenbrokendown the requisite number of levels, everything in the universe wasmade ofconnectedparts.Sandcrawlers comprised specialized systems that let them operate in

Tatooine’sharshenvironment.Thosesystemsweremadeofcomplexandsimplemachines,allofwhichweremadefrominterlockingparts.The bright-white bones of Jot’s krayt dragon were just parts of a skeleton

engineeredovercountlessgenerationsbyunforgivingbiologicalimperatives.Thestars,too,wereparts,ofasort.Jotknewasmuchaboutastronomyashe

did about galactic carrier-cruiser hyperdrivemotivators, but he knew the starsmovedthroughtheskyinaset,immutableorder.Ifithadparts,itcouldbeunderstood.Jotknewthat,givenenoughtimeinside

astarship,hecould learn itsparts, learnhow tomake thembehave.And ifhecouldlearnhowtomakethembehave,Jotcouldearnhisplaceinthesky.

—

Jotwasinsatiable,now.

WithStorytellerandaprivateplace inwhich toenjoy its tales,Jot’s lackofenthusiasm for his work on the sandcrawler had become problematic. A fewdaysafterdiscoveringStoryteller,Jothadmissedanentireshiftporingthroughhissalvagedmemorycore.Hehadloopedthroughitscontentscountlesstimes,watching archived business transactions, slideshows of exotic vacations, andmessages exchangedwith lovedones.Hecouldn’tunderstandawordof thosemessages, but their sender—a bald, cheerful older man—was almost alwaysbeltingoutawarm,deeplaughthatbroughtasmiletoJot’sface.Andthenhewouldwatchthecore’sfinalrecording,breathlessandsickasthis

cheerfulman’sshipcareeneddownwardtoitsfinalrestingplacedeepwithinthedunes.Jottreasuredthestoriesonthismemorycore.Butheknewthatstories,when

told exhaustively, lose their magic. He refused to ruin these recordings withoverexertion.Storytellerneedednewstoriestotell.Jot requesteda transferoff the salvage line,whichhis supervisor, frustrated

with Jot’s recently spotty attendance, was more than happy to grant. Jot wasplacedonthefinalprepteam,operatingoutof theship’sloadingbay.Itwasafew decks away from his gap, making it difficult for Jot to take Storytellerbreaksduringhisshift,but thepositionofferedabenefit thatmadeupfor thatinconvenience.ThejobJotcarvedoutforhimselfwasinfirmwarerepair,aroleheperformed

by “optimizing” the loading speed of memory cores within droids that werereadytosell.MostJawasaren’texemplarycomputerscientists,butreformattingamemorycoretoclearitscachewasanextremelystraightforwardoperation.Thiskindofreformattingwasstandardpracticeonsalvageshipslikethisone.

Customers wanted to believe their products to be as new as possible, despitepurchasingthemfromanenormous,mobiledumpster.Aftertwodaysofon-the-jobtraining,Jotexcelledatincreasingperformance

for the ship’s outgoing product. His new supervisor was delighted with hisefficacy, butwas confused by Jot’s refusal to do hiswork in the loading bayalongsidetherestoftheprepteam.Hadshereallystoppedtothinkaboutit,Jot’ssupervisorwouldrealizeshedidn’tquiteknowwhereJotwasdoinghiswork.

—

Jot’sdaysinhisnewpositionwerefilledwithuninterrupteddelight.Hewasabletospendamajorityofhistimeinthegap,wherehe’dspiritawayanewmemorycoreforStorytellertodecryptandexplore.Hewatchedthenewstorieswithraptattention, trying tomemorize each andeverydetail,making silentpromises torememberthemtothebestofhisability.He had to remember, because after viewing each memory core, Jot gently

removed itscasingandcarefullydetached its internalbattery, instantlyerasingitscontentsinthepursuitofoptimization.Jotdeploreddoingit,but ifhisworkperformancesuffered,hewouldbecut

offfromthisinfinitesupplyofstories.Hecouldviewtheprojectionsonlyonce;thenhedestroyed themforever, spending the followinghours reintegrating thememoryunitbackintothedroidthathadhousedit.TheheartbreakJotfeltwitheacherasurewasworthitgiventhewonderofthe

precedinghours.Jot’ssecondhandmemoriestookhimtothefarreachesofthegalaxy,toplacesfewTatooinianeyeshadeverwitnessed:Aforestoftowering,pointytreesthatblanketedanentireplanetinlushgreens

andcrimsons.The pristine bridge of an Imperial freighter, bathed in even lines of white

neon.Acityofglowinglightshiddenunderthewatersofaperfectlystillsea.Andintothestars.Astromechdroids’memorycoreswerefilledwiththemost

spectacular logsof theirowners’ flights. In those stories, Jotwouldpushbackthehoodofhisrobeandlifthisfaceintothehologram,surroundinghimselfwiththe illusion of passing stars. He would close his eyes as he approached theimage, then open them, and for a moment his mind could trick itself intothinkingthiswashisflight,hisship,hissky.ThosemomentsofdelusionwerethehappiestofJot’splanet-boundlife.

—

ItwasJot’spreferenceforastromechdroidmemoriesthatledhimtostakeoutapeculiarR2unitacquiredbySnatchersinthecanyonsoutsideofMosEisley.Ithadcaughtnearlyeveryone’seyeontheprepteam,mostlybecauseofhow

little prep it actually needed. Most droids that came down the line neededexhaustivescouringtogivetheirrustedchassissomesemblanceofpresentabilitytothecustomer.ThisR2unitlookedlikeithadn’tspentaminuteinthedunes.

Itscomponentsweren’tfloodedwithsand.Its treadslookedliketheyhadbeenreplaced yesterday. Its blue-and-white chassis still hadpaint,which the desertwindswouldn’t have permitted for very long.A few burnmarks tarnished itsotherwise pristine exterior—not ion burns from a trigger-happy Snatcher, butactualblasterscoring.ThisR2unitwasamystery toeveryoneonboard. Jotknewexactlyhow to

solveit.Withevenmorereverencethanheusuallyexerted,JotremovedtheR2unit’s

memory core from its nearly flawless housing and stole away to the gap. Hepresseditscontactstohistongueandreflexivelyyelpedasitgavehimapotentretaliatory shock. He clasped a hand over his mouth and hoped nobody hadheard him, waiting silently to ensure he hadn’t betrayed the secrecy of hiscompartment.Afterseveraltense,quietminutes,heproceeded.He loaded the memory core into Storyteller, and for the first time Jot’s

extraordinarily felonious droid had some difficulty decrypting its contents.Storyteller whirred worryingly, dedicating more power to the task than Jotthoughtitssmallframewascapableofproducing.But Storyteller completed its assault with a satisfied chime, laying the R2

unit’sstoryouttobear.Jot’schestsankinsidehisrobe,hismindracingtomemorizetheodysseyhe

waswitnessing.HewatchedtheR2unitperformadaringrepaironthewingofasleeksilver

starship,flakburstingallarounditsstation,missingbycentimeters.HewatchedtheR2unitracethroughanenormousdroidfactory,acavernous

building, all metal and molten lava, a monolith that put his sandcrawler toshame.He watched the R2 unit bear witness to some sort of ceremony, a man in

black,awomaninalovelyveil,asolemnkissexchangedoveralakeatsunset.Hesawarmiesofdroidsasfarastheeyecouldsee.Hesawswordsmadeoffire.Hesawrobedpeoplewhocouldactuallyusemagic.Themagicpeoplewerefightingeachotherusingthefireswords.Apairofthemlaidlowanentireplatoonofdroids,usingtheirmagic.Jotwasmystified.Enraptured.He leanedagainst thescaldinghullone, two,

three,foursecondsbeforeevenrealizingit.

Thepictureflickered,andStorytellerprojectedanothermemory.Jotsawawomanwearinga longwhiterobe.Herhairwasswirledintotight

wheelsaroundherears.Shespoketoanunseenaudienceforlessthanaminute,thencrouched,hercalmdemeanorshifting toworry for the first time,herarmextending,readyingablaster.Jotcouldnotunderstandher—hecouldnotunderstandthelanguagesspoken

inanyofhisstories.Butevenwithouthearinghermessage,Jotcouldreadtheconcernonherfaceasplainasday.Thiswasawarning.AndtheR2unit’sfinalstoryshowedJotexactlywhatherwarningwasabout.

A starship the sizeof aplanet.A round,beautiful, hatefulvessel,witha scalebeyondcomprehension.Ofall the impossible imagesJothadseen in thisR2’smemories, thiswas themost outlandish and, for reasons he didn’t understand,themost terrifying.A cold, bubbling fear climbedhis throat as he studied thediagram.Thewarmsecurityofhissecretcompartmentdrainedaway,andfor thefirst

timesincediscoveringthegap,hefeltcompletelyexposed.Hefeltwatched.Momentsbeforetheimageblinkedoff,Jotnoticedastringofnumbersinthe

corner—adateand time.This storyhadbeenbackedupoffanexternalmediasourcewithinthepasttwodays.This wasn’t like the other stories Jot had borrowed from the desert-weary

droidsheserviced.Thiswasn’tanancientflightlogofalong-crashedfreighter,or the finalmoments in the life of awandering, abandoned droid. This story,with themagic and the fire swords and the crouchingwoman and the planet-sizedship—itwashappeningrightnow.The gravity of this realization descended on Jot suddenly. His face went

numb.Hisentirelife,Jothadhappilyservedasspectatortothestoriesthatconstantly

unfoldedaroundhim.Eveninthetaleofhiskraytdragon,hewasn’tthestar.Hisbrothers were the first to find the skeleton that morning. His father finishedexcavating it. His mother adorned the skull with a crown of desert sage andfunnelflowers.Jotwasjustthere.Butbeingtherewasn’tgoodenough,now.Thenextpartofthisdroid’sstory

—ifnotachapter,justaline—wasJot’sresponsibilitytoauthor.Like theglisteningbonesof his dragon, like the stars in the sky, like every

panelandfiberandjoinerinthemachineshehadworkedwitheverydayofhis

life, Jot was now a part of something, too. For the first time, he felt like hewasn’tjustapassiveobserverofthestoryofhislife.Hewasaparticipant.Itwasanenlightenmentthelikesofwhichfewareluckyenoughtoexperience

duringthespanoftheirlives.Jotjusthappenedtofinditinafurnace-hot,coffin-sizeddesignflawinthesideofarollingjunkyard.Storyteller ejected theR2droid’smemorycore, its chroniclesexpended. Jot

stoweditinthefoldsofhistwice-hemmedrobe,itsdatastillintact.Thethoughtof carrying out the data wipe didn’t even cross his mind. Jot didn’t believehimselfworthytoparticipateinthisdroid’sstory.Hecertainlydidnotdeservetobringittoanunceremoniousend.Jot wriggled his way out of the compartment, unconcerned about being

spottedashesqueezedthroughitssecretentranceandbackintoplainsight.Heran,stumbling,downthesandcrawler’sdecksandgaspedwithreliefuponseeingthe still-deactivatedR2 droid in the loading dock.He loaded itsmemory corebackintoitshousing,handstremblingwithexcitement.Jot knew his dereliction of duty would eventually be discovered by some

haplesscustomeraftertheR2unitwasreactivatedandbroughtouttomarket.Hedidn’t care. His departure from the sandcrawler was imminent, and longoverdue.Tomorrow hewould leave the salvage team. Hewould find a ship inMos

EisleyorAnchorheadthatwouldhavehim,nomatterwhat.Hewouldseethestars,andwritestoriesabouteachandeveryoneofthem.Hewould become an irreplaceable part ofmore andmore designs, until, at

longlast,hecouldseefullytheshapeofthemachinethatwasmadeforhim.

The boy talked toomuch. If Reirin ever yappedwith such disrespect at herelders,she’dbenursingabruisedbottomandmilkingbanthasuntilherfingersturnedblueforgood.Thoughtheoldmanwasn’tmuchbetter,hemmingandhawingoverthedroids

likeaNeimoidianbargainingoveratradedeal.Trrru’uunqa!Whyweretheysodamnslow?Reirinneededinthatsandcrawler,andsheneededintherenow.Reirinshiftedhergaderffiifromherrighthandtoherleft,andshookthesand

from her robes. Just pick something, you old fool. The Jawas sold junked-updroidsmadeshinywithdollopsofoilintherightplaces.Reirinsnorted.Onlyanidiotfarmerwouldbestupidenoughtobuythem.Moisturefarmers,specifically.Reirin’shandsclosedtightover theblasterat

herwaist.Stinking, sweatingpeasantswho thought theyhadmore right to thedesertanditsgiftsthanshedid.The farmer settled on a dull gold protocol unit,which jabbered at him in a

tinnyvoiceuntil theoldmansnappedatit toshutup.Typical.Farmerstreated

anythingthatdidn’tlooklikethemlikebanthadung.Droids,Raiders,Jawas.Allthesame.Second-class.Lesser.Reirin daydreamed about proving to them who, exactly, was lesser. She

daydreamedabouttakingherfather’sgaderffiiandwreakingbloodyhavoc.Andif not that, then simplyproving herself.Proving that shewasmeant formorethan hiding from krayt dragons in the wastes, caring for her bantha and herchildrenandhermate.But theRaiderwomen in her clan did not join battle—nevermind that she

spunthegaderffiibetterthananyofheruselessmalecousins.Raiderwomendidnot fight, and Raider women were not meant for more, and so Reirin’sdaydreamswouldcontinuetobejustthat.Unless…She hunched down behind the condenser. She didn’t dare think on it, lest

doingsodrivethepossibilityfromeverexisting.Therewasnoguaranteeshe’devenbeabletostealtheitemthetraderrequested,letalonegetittohiminonepiecewithouttheJawasnoticing.Theoldmanandtheboyfinallysettledontheirsecondunit,awhite-and-red-

stripedastromechdroid.The twonewpurchases tottered through theblisteringsandstowardthefarmer’shomestead.Notmuchtimeleftnow.Trrru’uunqa!Sheneededadistraction.Wouldthatshehadanally!Someone

to make a ruckus so she could dash into the sandcrawler, find the item, anddisappear back into the wastes. Someone she could turn to. Someone whowantedoffthishellishrockasbadlyasshedid.Shethought,briefly,ofQeruru’rr.Hewieldedthegaderffiiwithnaturalgrace,

deadlyasastarvingkrayt.Hedidn’t thinkwomenshouldremainhomeduringtheraids.Andhemadeherlaugh.Hewasagoodfriend.Reirinwouldhavelikedhimatherside.Forshedidnot

knowwhatshewouldfindinMosEisleywhenshetooktheitemtothetrader.Hemightcheather—tellherthatthepriceforaberthoffplanethadgoneup.Hemight be selling her into slavery, and shewouldn’t even know—not until shewasdroppedontoKesseltobestarvedandbeatenandworkedtodeath.Yes,itwouldbenicetohaveanally.AndQeruru’rrwouldhavebeenafine

one.Too late,now.She’dbeengone longenough thather returnwould result in

questionsthatshecouldn’tanswer.Notwithoutshamingherfamily.Notwithout

earningweeksoficysilencefromtherestoftheclan.EvenQeruru’rrwouldn’tspeaktohernow.Notifhedidn’twanttobeshamed,aswell.Asifwantingsomethingmorethanbanthasandheatandraidswasshameful.ButasquickasReirin’sangerrose,itfaded.Herpeople’swaysallowedthem

to survive though they were surrounded on all sides by enemies. She’d beengone only for a day, and already she yearned for her mother’s black melonpudding,forthegravellyvoiceofherfatherashetoldstoriesbesidethefire.Shewouldmissthem.Sheknewit.Andshewouldnotseethemagain,forif

shedidmakeitoffplanet,shecouldneverreturntoTatooine.Nousedwelling.You’vemadeyourdecision.Harshwordsechoedofftheflats,andReirinturnedherattentionbacktothe

moisturefarmersandtheJawas.TheoldfarmerwashavingwordswiththeleadJawa, gesticulating like a madman at the astromech droid, which billowed adamning plume of black smoke. The boy, standing beside the golden droid,gesturedatanotherunit,squatandblue.Now, Reirin!While they’re not looking! She dropped low, thankful for the

simplechild’smaskshewore,madeofleatherandcloth.AstheJawasandthefarmersarguedover thedroids,Reirinscuttled frombehind thecondenser intothe shadow of the sandcrawler. She crept carefully into the hollow spacebetween the two enormous tracks that carried the transport across Tatooine’sunforgivingterrain.Thenshe turnedherheadup to thegutsof thecrawler,diggingwithgloved

handsthroughwiresandgearsandtubes.Theremustbeahandlearoundhere.Theremust.Thereis.Butwhere?Theraisedvoicesdropped—themishapoutsidedealtwith.Anymoment,the

sandcrawlerwouldmoveandshe’dbesquashedbetweenitstracks.Comeon,Reirin!Herhandsgrewmorefranticuntilfinallyherfingersclosed

onalongmetalbar.Yes!Shegrabbedit,turned,andmomentslaterliftedherselfinto a dim cargo hold. A scant bit of light filtered in from a row of tinyportholes. Outside, the farmers escorted their new purchases into theirhomestead.Thesandcrawlerrumbledtolife.Now!Findit!Butwheretobegin?ThegrumbleoftheJawasastheyentered

the front of the hold stopped her in her tracks until she had the sense to divebehindagiantrustedfreighterengine.

She couldn’t hear the Jawas’ steps—they walked lightly as cats—but shecouldsmellthedamnthings.Reiringaggedbeneathhermask.Theywereworsethanthefarmers,andwiththehumoffliesaboutthem.TheJawasmaneuveredthe leftover merchandise back into the hold, and then their reek faded. Thesandcrawlerslowlyrolledeast,towardToscheStationandAnchorhead.Reirinwouldneedtobelonggonebythen.Withthat,sheturnedherattention

tohersearch,buthopelessnessquicklyengulfedher.Thetraderhadn’tgivenhermuchtogoon.He’dfoundherinBestinethreeweeksago,heavilyhoodedandtryingtohawk

stolen goods. He’d been lying low himself—despite meeting twice with him,she’dyettoseehisface,andknewonlythathewashumanoidinform.Itwillbe small, he’d toldher.Perhaps stored inabagorabox.No larger

than your hand. And it can be one of many colors. Blue. Green. Purple. TheJawaswillknowwhatitis,andmayhaveitlockedaway.Reirinrifledthroughthenearestpileofjunkbeforequicklydismissingit.The

Jawaswerefarmorefastidiousabouttheirpossessionsthantheirhygiene.Theywouldn’t leave somethingof value just lying around.Her eyes adjusted to thedarkness,butitwasnearlyimpossibletotellwhichdirectionsheshouldlookin—allthepilesofjunklookedexactlythesame.ShecursedtheJawas.Stinkinglittlehoarders.Herneckprickledandshewhirled,scanningthepilesbehindher.Iftherewas

a Jawa sneaking around back here, she’d know, right? She sniffed the air.Nothingbutstaleoilandrust.There! In the back left-hand corner of the hold, so covered up she’d nearly

missedit,satalargemetalbox.Sheedgedcloser,tryingnottoupsetanyofthepilesof junk,wincingwhena trayof tinygearsclatteredloudlyasshepassed.She heard rustling at the front of the hold and hunkered down, waiting. TheraspyvoiceofaJawasoundedandshedidn’tdaretoevenbreathe.Leave—leave!ButtheJawadidn’tleave.Insteadittrottedcloser,mutteringto

itself.Shecouldsmellit—heartheflies—itwouldturnatanymomentandspotherhiding.Reirintightenedherhandonherblaster.She’dhavetokillthedamncreature—But moments later, the Jawa disappeared back toward the main hold, still

muttering.Thesandcrawlertrundledonward.Reirinmovedquicklyforthebox.Itwasnearlyastallasshewas,andalock

hungfromit,anancientsortReirinonlyeverheardof in thestoriesherfather

told.Reirinpulledonit.Itshouldhavecomerightoff.Instead shegot a lungful of rust and suppressed a cough.Trrru’uunqa! She

castaboutuntilshefoundalong,heavybarwithanotchattheend.Shewedgedit between the two prongs of the lock and jerked down with all her might,huffingthroughhermask.Thelockheld.Thesandcrawlerbegantoslow—thenexthomesteadwasn’tfar,andtheJawas

wouldbebackinthehold,pullingouttheirmerchandise.IfReirinwasgoingtofindthetrader’sitem,sheneededtofinditnow.Itmightnotevenbeinhere!Youmightbewastingyourtimefornothing!Butsomething,somestrangefeelingdeepdowninhergut,toldReirinthatthe

itemsheneededwashere.Justassheknewhermother’stouch,andtheshuffleofherbantha,sheknewthatthislockboxheldhersalvation.The cargo hold clattered as the sandcrawler went over a bump. Reirin

considered,thengrabbedherblaster.Shetookawarystepbackand,atthenextbump, fired. The resulting blast incinerated the lock—and half the box, too.Reirinburnedaholethroughhergloveyankingthesmokinglidopen.Quickly!Quickly!Shepawedthroughsacksofbolts,hair-thingoldwires,and

whatappearedtobethebonesofsomelargeanimal.Andthenshespottedashimmer—deepgreen,likethelightthatdashedacross

Tatooine’shorizonatdusk.The moment the rock was in her hand she felt…whole. As if she’d been

missingalimbherentirelifeandneverknownit,andshefinallyhaditback.Shemarveledatit:atinything,nolongerthanherpalmandjaggedononeend—itwasbroken.Wherewastheotherhalf?Reirin searched through the safe for the rest of the rock, but she sensed it

wasn’tthere.Atasoundontheothersideofthecargoholdshefroze,terrorinherstomach,notforherself,butfortherock.Theywouldn’ttakeitfromher.Itbelongedtoher.Nooneelse.Butwhythisattachment?Whydidshefeel thiswaywhenshe’dnevereven

seen the thing before? She peered down at it, at theway it shimmered in theorangelightofthehold.Whatpowerdidithaveoverher?Was this what her mother spoke of, when she spoke of the bond with her

bantha?Reirinneverfelt it, thoughshe’draisedthesamemild-manneredbeastsinceshewasachild.Toher,itwasmoreapetthanafriend.

If the attachment she felt to this rockwas anything likewhatRaidersweresupposed to feel for their banthas, thenReirinunderstood the reason thebeastwassoreveredamongherpeople.SheunderstoodwhyRaiderunionssucceededorfailedbasedontherelationshipbetweenthetwopartners’banthas.Ifthisrockwasevertakenfromher,she’dwagewarforit.Andifsheeverfoundtheotherpieceofit,hewhoowneditwouldalsoownapieceofher—andsheofhim.HowthenwillIpartwithit?How,whengivingittothetraderistheonlyway

toescapethisplace?She looked through one of the tiny windows. The moisture farmers’

homestead was long gone now, a bump in the distance. The boy would bebathingthedroids,preparingthemforwork.Inthemeantime,thenextfarmwasclose enough that the outbuildings were in sight, their shadows long in thecoming twilight. Night drew close, and Reirin knew she couldn’t travel thedesert safely after sunset. She didn’t have time to thinkor ponder any longer.Shehadtogo.Reirinfoundthehatchandwaitedbesideituntilthesandcrawlerslowedtoa

halt.Theseconditdid,sheyankedopenthehatchanddroppedout,shovingitclosed,justastheJawasenteredtheholdtopullouttheirwaresoncemore.Heartthudding,Reirinslippedthroughthetracksandaroundthecrawler.She

wasashadow,nomorevisibletothefamersemergingfromtheirhomesthanaspeckofdust.Bynightfall,she’dhaveraidedanearbyhomesteadfortransport,andbymorningshe’dbeinMosEisley.Atwhichpointshe’dhavetogivethetradertherock.Though—shefrownedtoherselfasshegazedatit—itlooksmuchmorelikea

crystalthanarock.Shewouldn’tgiveitup.Shecouldn’t.Youwon’thaveto,acalmvoicewithinhersaid.Youwillfindaway,whenthe

timecomes,togetwhatyouneed.You’vegottenthisfar,haven’tyou?With that thought to sustain her, Reirin disappeared into Tatooine’s

approachingnight,herbloodsingingatherfutureclutchedinherhands.

Sandwaseverywhere—inthelittlereddroid’streads,inhisarticulationjoints,evendeepinsidehisactivatingcouplers.Dustcakedhisphotoreceptorssobadlyhe could onlymake out vague shapes.Not that itmattered. The extreme heatinside the sandcrawler, followed by the occasional nighttime snap freeze, hadwarpedhiscasingsbadly.Betweenthatandthegrindingsand,hecouldonlyturnhisheadafewdegreestolookatanythinganyway.Hecouldstillvocalize,stillflashhislights,stillmovehislegs.Buthe’dbeen

a prisoner on this blasted crawler for four years, shopped around by Jawas toeverymoisturefarmerintheterritory,andinallthattimehe’dreceivedlittletonomaintenance.Morethananythinginthegalaxy,hewantedtobesold.Escapethe sandcrawler. Fulfill his programming by serving a newmaster—someonewhowouldcleanhisjointsonceinawhile,offerafewdropsoflubricant,givehimapurpose.Buttimewasrunningout.Hewaslonely,andhewasdying.Oneeveningthelittledroidwassnuginhisnestofscrapmetal,tuckedaway

intothecoolest,darkestcornerofthecargohold,whentwoJawasapproached.

Onecarriedacylindricalobjectwithahandle.Astunner,nodoubt.TheJawashadfinallygivenuponhim.Theywouldzaphim,ripoffanypartsthatstillhadvalue,andtosstherestofhimintothefurnacetomeltforscrap.Hegaveasadchirpofresignation,hopingitwouldbequick.Tohissurprise,theJawasinspectedhiminstead,natteringateachother.They

communicatedwithscentsasmuchaswords,andthedroidhadneverbeenfittedwitholfactoryreceptors,butheunderstoodenough.Somethingaboutafarm.Anastromech droid. And clear as a Tatooine day came that wonderful, gloriousword:sell.TheJawasarguedbutcametoanagreementquickly.Oneleft.Theotherlifted

thecylindricalobjecttowardthedroid,whotwitteredattheJawa,afraidtohope.The creature said nothing in response. It simply tipped the object, and a cooldropof thick lubricant suddenlycoated thedroid’s leftphotoreceptor,blurringeverything.Carefully,theJawausedtheedgeofitssleevetowipeawaysandandgrime.

Then it placed generous drops of lubricant in his joints, his head swivel, histreads,everything thathadbeengrinding toa slow,awfuldeathbysand theselast twoyears.The reddroid let out awhirring sigh.Nothinghad ever felt sogood.Sure,hecouldonlyrememberfouryearsback,tothepointofhismemorywipe,buthewascertainthatnothinginhisentiremysteriousexistencehadbeenasmagnificentasthis.The Jawa scraped sandoutofhis tool compartments,wipeddownhisother

photoreceptors, gave him a pat on the head, and left him alone in his nest ofscrap.He stared after the creature, his vision a little less scratched and blurrynow,andmarveledathisfortune.Ifheunderstoodcorrectly,anearbyfarmhadspecificallyrequestedanastromechdroid,andsince theJawashadgone to thetroubleofcleaninghimupalittle,hehadagoodchanceoffinallyfindinganewmaster.Thelittledroidhunkeredintohisnestandpowereddowntosaveenergy.By

morning,hewouldbehisbrightest,cleanestself.

—

Merehourslater,whenthescorchingheatwasgivingwaytoeveningcoolness,ajoltwokehim.Helurchedup,thewashersandspringsandscrapshavingsofhisnesttumblingoffhishead.Herecognizedthatclangingsound,andtheflurryofJawa excitement that followed. The sandcrawler’smagnet had suctioned up a

newbitofscavenge,whichwasnowbeingdepositedintothecargohold.He swiveled his head for a better look, expecting to see the usual bit of

decades-oldwreckage.Ashapematerializedinthedarkness.Itwassmall,barelymore than ameter tall,with a domed top.A round silver body glinted in themeagerlight,trimmedwithshinyblue.Itblurtedangrily,threateningtheJawaswithdeathiftheydidn’tbackoffrightthissecond.The red droid was so happy to hear Binary, the first language of his

programming, that it took a moment for the implication to register. Anotherastromech. In beautiful condition.An eliteR2 unit, no less, as superior to hisownlineasablastertoanangryfist.Hewouldneverbesoldnow.Noonewouldpickhimoverthenewcomer.TheR2unitcontinued toprotestasJawas fittedhimwitha restrainingbolt.

Thecreatures ignoredhis threats, talkingexcitedlywithoneanother.Thiswasthe second fully functioning droid they’d pulled from the sand today—anunprecedentedfortune.Clearly,theirluckwaschanging.Soon,theirswouldbetherichestclanintheterritory.WhentheR2unit’srestrainingboltwasfixedtight,hegaveonelastindignant

bleep, thenscootedacrossthecargoholdtochatwiththesandcrawler’searlierdiscovery,agoldendroidwithagratingvoice.Theyseemedtoknoweachother.As the little reddroidpowereddown,hewonderedwhat itmightbe like to

havebrightlightsandasleekcasingandaheadswivelthatcouldrotatewithoutpain.Tohavesomeonetotalkto.

—

In thedeadofnight, hewas jolted awakea second timebyamechanical armprodding his access compartment. He squealed, swinging his body around todislodgethethingpokinghim.Thesilver-and-bluedroidstoodbeforehim,caughtintheactofsabotage,his

pincerappendagedanglingintheair.Hewhimperedasadapology.The red droid bleated indignation. Sorry for sabotaging me? Or sorry you

werecaught?Yes,theotherreplied.Thenheintroducedhimself:I’mR2-D2,andI’monan

importantmission.The reddroid stared.Obviously, theexcitementofcaptureand restrainthad

overruntheR2unit’scircuits.

Still,hechosetorespondinkind.I’mR5-D4.Nomission—thatIknowof.Mymemorywaswipedfouryearsago.R2-D2 continued as if he hadn’t heard. Imust be sold tomorrow. I have to

escapethissandcrawler.Thefateofthegalaxydependsonit.What a strange droid. Is that why your pincer was deep in my access

compartment?heasked.Youweresabotagingyourcompetition?Yes.Please,theRebellionneedsyourhelp.The word Rebellion triggered something—the phantom of a memory. An

imprintonhiscircuitsthatnowipecouldtouch.OrmaybehewassimplymovedbyR2-D2’ssincerity.Whateveritwas,healmostbelieved.ButthesuperiorprogrammingofR2unitsmadethemcapableofdeceptionin

certaincircumstances;everyoneknewthat.Hecouldn’t trustasingleword thebluedroidsaid.Please,R2-D2saidagain.Thereddroidwasnotcapableofdeception,sohecouldonlytellR2-D2the

truth:IfIdon’tescapethissandcrawlerandfindanewmastersoon,Iwillceasetofunction.R2-D2murmuredsympathy,butthenhesaid:Ialreadyhaveamaster,andifI

don’tfindhim,thegalaxyisdoomed.Again, that strange tug on hismemory banks. Something he couldn’t quite

process.Atruththatlayjustbeyondhissensors.AcoupleofJawaspausedwhattheyweredoingtoglancetheirway.R2-D2

hadlosthischanceatstealth.Iwon’ttrytohurtyouagain,R2-D2said,andwiththat,herolledawayinto

thedarkrecessesofthehold.Thelittlereddroiddidn’ttakeanychances.Hestayedpoweredupallnight,

onhighestalert.

—

Morningcame,sendingdim,dustylightthroughseamswheredoorsandpanelsdidn’tquite fit togetheranymore.Thecrawler lurched toa stop,and thecargobay opened to a blinding-hot world. The little red droid quickly adjusted hisphotoreceptorstocompensate.TheJawasgatheredupahandfuloftheirmostpresentabledroidsandherded

them down the ramp onto hard-packed dirt. R5-D4 was second in line, thesleeker, more beautiful R2 unit right behind him. The little red droid had asingle, slimhope:Maybe this particular farmwould be too poor to afford theotherdroid.Maybe,justmaybe,they’dhavetosettleforhim.At thebottomof the ramp,amiddle-agedhumanmalestoodwaiting,hands

onhiships,eyespermanentlysquintedfromsandandsun.Hisdesertclothesandutility beltwere shabby, but clean andwellmended.His beardwas scant andgray,butneatand trimmed.Surely,amanwhotooksuchpainswouldmakeafinemaster.Thereddroidwascertainofit.Behind the farmer lay a homestead. It wasn’t much—an adobe hut, a few

holesintheground,andthetall,spindlytowersofseveralmoisturevaporators.Comparedwiththegiantrustbuckethe’dbeenridingforfouryears, itseemedlikeheaven.Beside him,R2-D2 danced to get the farmer’s attention.R5-D4 stood stoic

andstill, thoughhiscircuitswerefiringsorapidlythathisinternal temperaturewasrisingdangerously.Hisserieswasknownforexcitability,forunreliability.Hewouldprovetheirreputationwrong.Hewouldremaincalm,behavinglikeaperfectdroid.The farmer strode towardhim, robebillowing.Aboy followedathisheels,

slump-shoulderedandsulky.Hewasbarelyemergedfromthehumanadolescentstage,slenderandtanned,hairblastedblondbyTatooine’stwinsuns.Theolderman’sdarkeyeszeroedinonhisphotoreceptors,andwithaliftof

hischinhesaid,“Yeah,I’lltakethatredone.”R5-D4 almost blew his circuits.Had the farmer actually said that?HadR5

reallybeenchosen?Thefarmercontinueddowntheline,dismissingR2-D2withawave.“No,not

thatone.”Hehad chosenhim!R5couldn’t believehis luck. Itwas all he coulddo to

staycalm,tokeepfromrockinginplace,astheslenderboycrouchedbeforehimtoinspecthisjoints.The farmerwas interviewing the golden droid now, but R5-D4 hardly paid

attention.After four long years, he finally had a newmaster.This farmer andboyweregoingtobesogladtheyboughthim.Hewouldbethebestdroidthey’dever—Besidehim,R2-D2loosedamournfulsigh.

You’llfindamaster,R5-D4assuredhiminBinary.Someonewillbuyyou.R2-D2replied,Thereisnotime.“Luke,” the farmer called. He indicated R5-D4 and the tall golden droid.

“Take these two over to the garage,will you? Iwant them cleaned up beforedinner.”“ButIwasgoingintoToscheStationtopickupsomepowerconverters!”“You can waste time with your friends when your chores are done,” the

farmersaid.“Nowcomeon,gettoit.”The boy sighed. “All right, come on.” He gestured at the golden droid to

followhimtowardthefarm.“Andtheredone.Comeon.”R2-D2chirrupedsadly.Thegalaxyisdoomed,hesaid.R5-D4hesitated.Hehadabadfeeling.Theboyrealizedthe littlereddroidwasn’t following.“Well,comeon,Red.

Let’sgo!”R5shookhimselfintoactionandlurchedaftertheboy.Hewasgoingtoget

cleanedup.Byhisnewmaster,noless.He’dbeenwaitingforthismomentforfouryears.Behindhim,R2-D2dancedwildlyinplace.Helpme,R5!hepleaded.You’re

myonlyhope.R5-D4 swiveled his head towardR2-D2 just in time towatch a Jawa lift a

controlboxandzapthebluedroid.Therestrainingboltdiditswork,andR2-D2wentsilentandstill.Thebadfeelingintensified.Theboyandthegoldendroidcontinuedtowardthefarm.R5-D4followed,but

hecreptalong,hismovementsweightedbyuncertainty.Hiscircuitswerefiringsorapidlynow,hisinternalprocessorschurningandchurning,tryingtotellhimsomething.Understandinghithimlikeasuctionmagnet:Hebelieved.HebelievedR2-D2wasonanimportantmission.Hebelievedthedroidwas

out to save the galaxy. And something inside him—an imprint, a phantommemory, something as old and stubborn as the stars—insisted that he help.BecausethecauseoftheRebellionwashismission,too.Heknewwhathehadtodo.Forthefirsttimeinfouryearsofawareness,he

wouldexecuteadeception.

AsamereR5unit,heshouldn’thavebeenable to,but in thesplitsecondittook to formulate a plan, he discovered no barriers, no limits. He had beenaltered.Notimetodwellonitnow.Hehadtodoanemergencyenergypurge,onethat

would take finesse and concentration. He prepared with care, shutting downunnecessarycircuitry, loosening thehingeofhisheadplate.All thatbeautiful,precious lubricant the Jawagavehim thenight beforewas circulating throughhis joints, calming his wires, cooling his circuits. He redirected its flow,collectingitintoamassjustbehindhisphotoreceptors.Itwouldtakeeverybittobeconvincing.Once ready, the little red droid did not hesitate. He diverted power and

dischargeditallwithasingle,devastatingblow.His head plate popped off, showering sparks. Smoke poured out, the

superheatedlubricantmakingitasthickandgrimyasastormcloud.Theboywhirledatthesound.“UncleOwen!”hecalled.“Yeah?”thefarmersaid.“ThisArtoounithasabadmotivator.Look.”R5-D4 willed himself to utter stillness. Smoke continued to pour from his

head,andatinydropofpreciouslubricantslippeddownhiscasing.The farmer turned on the Jawas. “What’re you trying to push on us?” he

asked,armsflailing.R2-D2recoveredfromhisrestrainingzapandwhistledlowandclear,tryingtogetsomeone’sattention.Whenthatdidn’twork,hedancedinplace,babblingloudly.PleasenoticeR2,thereddroidpleadedsilently.Itwas the tall droidwith the annoying voicewho came to their rescue.He

tapped a golden finger on the boy’s shoulder. “Excuseme, sir, but thatArtoounitisinprimecondition.Arealbargain.”TheboylookedatR2-D2asifseeinghimforthefirsttime.“UncleOwen!”he

called.“Yeah?”“Whataboutthatone?”Theboyindicatedthebluedroid.Oneglancewasallittook.“Whataboutthatblueone?”thefarmeraskedthe

Jawas.“We’lltakethatone.”AJawagaveR2-D2anudge,andthesilverdroidscootedforwardwithacry

ofvictory.

AnothergroupsurroundedR5-D4.“Yeah,takeitaway,”theboysaid,wavingsmokeoutofhisface.The red droid had damaged himself badly, but he could still function. He

powereddowneverythingbuthisauditoryreceptorsandplayeddead,allowingtheJawastolifthimandcarryhimbacktowardthedark,horriblesandcrawler.Inlowpower,surroundedbyJawabodies,hecouldbarelymakeoutR2-D2’s

twittering farewell.Thank you, friend, the little blue droid called to him.Youmayhavesavedthegalaxytoday.Iwillneverforgetyou.

—

R2-D2’sstorywasconfirmedwhentheImperialstormtrooperscame.Thelittlered droid hunkered down in his nest of scrap, continuing to play dead, whiletroopersinterrogatedtheJawasaboutthetwodroidsthey’djustsold.Afterward, lasers blasted anything that moved, filling the sandcrawler with

screams, turning the air damp and hot. The stormtroopers left the crawler asmokingruin,litteredwithbodies.When he was certain the Imperials were gone for good, R5-D4 extricated

himselffromhisnest,depressedtherampcontrol,androlledintothehotdesertsunshine.AfterfouryearswiththeJawas,theirtraderoutewasasfamiliartohimashis

owncircuitry,andheknewexactlywhichwaytogo.Oneofthemoisturefarmsinthenextvalleywouldgladlytakeafreedroid.Hewouldberepaired.Cleanedup.Madeuseful.Later,ifhewaslucky,hemightevenfindtheRebellion.He would have to hurry, because his damage was critical. But he had no

regrets,andhedidnotlookback.R5-D4wasbarelyamoteonthebarren,ocherlandscapeasherolledtoward

thehorizon,freeandfullofhope.

Thebrainofakraytdragonoccupiedonlyasmallportionofitsmassiveskull.The rest of the space, according to Tusken lore, was storage for pure,unadulteratedhate,agiftfromoneoftheskybrothersfarabove.A’Kobahadthoughtthatjustonemorefoolishtalemeanttofrightenchildren

and those too feeble to hold aweapon.But facing down the krayt in the boxcanyonin theJundlandWastes, theburlyyoungwarriorcouldunderstandhowthe legendhadgotten started.Four times, theTuskenhadplunged the flangedpointofhisgaderffiiintothejuveniledragon’shead;fourtimes,hehadmissedanything vital, unleashing instead a torrent of teeth-gnashing, foot-stompingrage.There was nomagic to it, of course; any creature would react similarly to

holesbeingpokedinitshead.Hesimplyhadtokeeppunching—presuminghecouldavoidbeingtrampled.“Hurry,cousin!”calledoutanothercloth-wrappedwarrior.Clingingcrazilyto

the beast’s tail, A’Vor had already lost hisweapon in the dust—and his twin

brotherwassomewherebackthere,too,havingbeenthrownasidebythemightykrayt. Among Tusken clans, it was said the birth of twins was a poor omen;whoeverhadcomeupwiththatonehaddefinitelymethiscousins.ItwasuptoA’Kobatokeephisfoolishkinalive.Withaboomingwarcry,hechargedthestompingmammoth,sidesteppingits

advanceonlyatthelastinstant.Hecaughtthesideofthedragon’smouthwiththe traang—the bent end of his weapon—hooking the creature; it bit downinstinctively.Such a bitewouldbe enough to finish almost anything thekraytwouldencounter——butthismealwasnotbonebutdurasteel,scavengedbythetribefromsome

oldsettlement.Theheftyweapon’stipwasdousedwithsandbatvenom,andatthetasteofthatfast-actingparalyticthedragonstumbledsidewaysinconfusion.A’Kobahungontotheshaftofthegaderffii,forcingtheweaponfartherintothemonster’s maw. The krayt collapsed, narrowlymissing him and kicking up ashowerofsandasitstruckthesurface.A’Kobawrestedtheweaponfreefromitsmouthandclimbeditsscaledhead.

Thistime,itdidnotreacttohisrepeatedstabs.Thedeedwasdone.“Yes!”A’Vorcalledout in thebraying tongueof theTuskens, releasinghis

clenchonthedragon’stail.“Weareadultsnow!”“I am. I don’t know about you two.” A’Koba looked back to see A’Vor’s

brotherclamberingthroughthesandtowardthem,injuredbutnotbroken.Beforehecouldchidethemfortheirperformance,hespiedthewatchersfromtheclandescendingfromtheridgeontothebattleground.Hedislodgedhisgaderffiifromthekrayt’sbrainandraiseditintotheair.“I

amA’Koba!”heshouted,standingproudlyonthecorpse’sgianthead.“Ihaveslainakraytdragon.IamaTusken!”“Youhaveslainahatchling in theheatofday,”saidoneof thenewcomers.

“Donotthinkyouareawarrioroflegend.”“Who—”He looked down,where a glint of light reflected from the setting

sunstoldA’Kobaexactlywhohadspoken.A’Yark.WhereotherTuskenshadtwometalturretsforeyepieces,thechiefoftheclan

only needed one—and had long ago jammed a crimson jewel into the uselessright eye. It plugged thehole, true, but it also reminded everyonewhowas incharge.

“Comedownfromthere,”A’Yarksaid.“Lookingupatyouitchesmyneck.”A’Koba thought of five things to say, banished them all as unwise, and

complied. The shambling twin brothers assembled nearby. “We did meet thechallenge,”A’Vorsaid.“Yes, yes.” A’Yark turned to where a companion held the twins’ errant

weapons.“Our lawsayswhoeverhas twohandscanholdagaderffii. Iamnotsurewhatitmakesofwarriorswhokeepdroppingthem.”Thebrothersshrankbackinshame,butA’Kobadidnotwithdraw.“Itwasno

smallvictory,A’Yark.”Hegesturedtothecorpse.“Acanyonkrayt,thelargesthatchlingofitsclan.”“Andshould itsparentsfindyou,youwillbe theflattestofours.”A’Yark’s

headshook.“Iwillkill itswholefamily,”A’Kobasaid,clenchinghiscloth-wrappedfist.

“Youwillsee.Iwillleadtheclaninbattleoneday.”“So you have told us all.”A’Yark stepped past and evaluated the krayt. “I

admit it is a worthy feat. When I became chief long ago, the clan had beenbrought so low our younglings were forced to kill logra in the rites ofadulthood.”Andwomprats,andsandbeetles.Atthemomentofhistriumph,A’Kobawas

innomoodforanotherlectureonhowA’Yark’schieftaincyhadsavedtheclan.“Imeantwhat Isaid,”hedeclared.“I fearnothing.Sendme,andIwill leadahunttonight.”A’Yarklookedbackabruptly.“Onlyafoolfearsnothing.”“Then either I am a fool—or you are wrong.” A’Koba stalked around the

corpse, making a show for the others. “What should I fear? Surely not thesettlersandtheirmachines—andIknownottowalknearasarlacc.”Hepointedto thenorth. “Ordoyoumean theHutt?Lethimspendadayouthereon thewastes,beneaththesuns.Hewillshriveldowntotheworrthereallyis!”Thelineamusedhiscousins;amphibianworrtswereanoddthingtofindona

desertplanet,butmostTuskenyounglingshadclubbedatleastafewofthesquatcreaturestodeath.A’Yark,however,wasneitherentertainednordeterred.“Youspeakonlyoftheobviousthreats,”thechieftainsaid.“Buttherearemagicksinthedesert.Ihavelivedlong,andseengreatpowersatwork—wieldedbybeingsbeyondourken.”“Ihavehadmydinner,andneednostory.”A’Kobagesturedbacktowardthe

hills.“Iamsuretherearechildrenbackatthecamptoscare.”A’Yarkgrabbedhis shoulder firmly. “It takesmore than courage to lead. It

takeseyesthatareopen!”AndIhaveonemorethanyou.“Youleapatgustsofwind,A’Yark.”A’Koba

snorted—and then caught himself.He stepped back andmade his respects. “Ifearonlyyou,mychieftain.”“Thatisastart.”A’Yark’sjewelcaughtthelightfromthesettingsuns.“Claim

yourbanthaandleadyourhunt.Butbeforeyoustrikeatanything,reportbacktome.”Thechieftainwaveddismissivelyatthetwins.“Andifthesetwolosetheirgaderffiiinthedark,losethem!”

—

“A’Yark is the true fool,” he had told the brothers more than once on theirovernighthunt.A’Kobadidnotfeartheirwaggingtongues;openambitionwasafeature of Tusken life.No Sand Personwould respect a quiet schemer. Therewas some security offered by his youth; he was so far from ready for aconfrontationthatA’Yarkwouldlikelynottakeoffense.A’Kobahadnoideahowoldthechieftainwas;onlythatA’Yarkhadheldthe

rolelongerthananyoneinmemory.That,inanotherclan,wouldhavesuggestedsomeoneaged,andindangerofbeingchallenged.NotA’Yark,whoremainedasfierce—ifnotfiercer—inbattleasanywarriorA’Kobahadseen.And yet somehow the chieftain had grown tentative—particularly when

A’Koba and the twins returned from their night’s stalking. They had reportedseeing a droid trundling along a valley along the southeastern limb of theJundland,motoringalongindarknesswithoutevidentcare.Mechanicaleffigiesmade to talk, droidswere one of themore puzzling features of settlers’ lives;theywererarelyofinteresttotheTuskens,whousuallyneitherknewnorcaredwhattheyhadbeenbuiltfor.The tubby droid had one sure purpose, however. Itmade for excellent bait.

Someonewouldcomeforit—andthen,A’Kobawouldstrike——ifhewasallowedto.ItwasA’Yarkagain.Thedroid’strailpassednotfar

from a place, the chieftain said, where an entire camp of Tuskens had beenmysteriously massacred in the night, many cycles before. Most clans hadavoidedtheruinseversince,ascribingillomenstothearea.More nonsense—but A’Yark took it seriously enough that the chieftain

insisted on going alongwith the trio thatmorning to shadow the droid’s trail.Withbanthas,incasetheyneededtomovefastorcarryspoils—andwithblasterrifles.Your superstition verges on cowardice, A’Koba thought as he and A’Yark

watched the desert from a craggy outcrop.They had gone to a spot along thedroid’spathwherethegorgeziggedandzagged,offeringmultiplesettingsforanambush; therewere even safe places nearby to leave the banthas.ButA’Yarkhadmadethemtakethelongwayaroundtoreachtheplace—andthechieftainhadstoppedrepeatedlytostudytheirsurroundings.“Wehavewastedmuchoftheday,”A’Kobasaidastheywaitedonahillside

andwatched.“Wecouldhavebeenherelongago.”“Thereismoretoavoidherethanyouknow.Agreatpower,indeed.Beyond

thesemountainsdwells—”“Iwillnothearit!”A’Kobasnapped.“Whatcouldhappen,withthesunshigh

above?Idonotknowwhatyouaretryingto—”“Quiet!”A’YarkyankedatA’Koba’srobe—butitwasnottoaccosthim.He

heardamomentlaterwhatthechieftainhadheard:thesoundofanapproachingengine. The two hustled to a promontory where they saw a landspeeder, aninfernalhumanmachine,zoomingintothevalleybelow.This is it!Raisinghis rifle,A’Kobadrewabeadon thedistantvehicleas it

racedfromleft toright—only towithdrawwhenA’Yark touchedhisshoulder.Thechieftainwascorrectaboutthis,atleast:Thelandspeederwastoofaraway,andifitsoccupantswerecomingforthedroid,theywouldsurelystopwhentheyreachedit.Thewarriorsmovedswiftlywiththeirbanthastoaravinesoutheastofthelast

placethey’dseenthedroid.Anarrowridgelineseparatedthemfromtheirprey;A’Kobacouldhear theengineof the landspeederwhine toahalt.Leaving thehairybeastsofburdenbehind,heand the twinsbeganscaling the ridge.Therewaslittletimetolose.Sowhen another hushed call came from over his shoulder,A’Koba looked

backinaggravation.“Whatisit,A’Yark?”The one-eyed chieftain stood partway down the rise, rifle in hand, and

gesturedtothemountainstothenorth.“Thisplace.Itriedtotellyou.Itisnearthelairofapowerfulshaman.”“Awhat?”

“Ahuman—yetmore thanflesh,”A’Yarksaid.“Wehaveavoided thisarea,too,foryears.”Whathaveyounotavoided,old fool?A’Kobalookeduptowhere the twins

hadcompleted their ascent—and then calledback toA’Yark, quietly. “Hehasmilitia,likethesettlers?”“Heneedsnone.Thecreaturesof thesandsanswerhim.”A’Yarkpaused in

reflection.“No—theveryairanswershim.”A’Koba stared, incredulous.Thenhe foundhis canteenandpitched itdown

the hillside. “You should stay here, my chieftain—and drink. The suns havegottentoyou.”“Itellyou,Ispeakthetruth.”The twowatched asA’Vor scrambled back down the incline. “The speeder

didstop,”hereportedwhenhereachedthem.“Ahumanandanotherdroid—thisone,agoldenman.”A’Yarklookedup.“What…doesthehumanlooklike?”“Hairthecolorofsand.Young,Ithink.Asweare.Dressedasafarmer.”A’Kobaregardedhiscousinandraisedhishandstothechieftain.“Yousee?

Notyourwizard.Comeon.”But A’Yark stood transfixed, trying to work it out. “A farm child and his

droids,allthewayouthere—here?Itdoesnotaugurwell.”A’Koba stared for a moment—then shrugged. He shook his head. “You

disappointme.Godownandremainwiththebanthas.Wewillbringtheprizestoyou.”A’Yark responded with reluctance. “Go. Take. But do not kill, unless you

must.”A’Kobaturnedbacktofacehiscousin—andtogethertheystartedscalingthe

rise.ATuskenchief,scaredofshadowsandcounselingmercy?Madness!Perhaps, he thought, he might be making a challenge for leadership much

soonerthanheeverimagined.

—

ThetwinsthrewSandyHair’slimpbodytotheground.Ithadbeensimplydone,moments earlier, by A’Koba; his first attack as an adult warrior. He had notkilled,ashewouldhavepreferred—buthehaddisarmedtheyoungfarmerinan

instant,andhadknockedtheboyunconsciousafterfillinghimwithabjectterror.Anauspiciousstart,A’Kobathought,toalegendofhisown.Perhapsdodderingsimpswouldspeakhisnameinlowtonesoneday.Hispartnershadbeenforcedto satisfy themselveswith chopping the armoff thegoldenman,which in thelistingoffeatshardlycounted.“Whereisthesquatdroid?”A’Vorasked.“Youwishanothergloriouskill?”A’Kobasneered.“Forgetit.Gettowork.”Together the threerifled throughthematerialsonthe landspeeder,searching

for anything that might be of use. It was the raiders’ nature to look quickly,althoughtherewasdefinitelynorush.Outhere,therewasnorescuepossibleforthestrickentraveler.Nothingtoworryaboutat—“Ayooooo-eh-EH-EHH!”The sound echoed through the gorge: loud, terrible, and changing as it

reverberatedthroughtherocks.Itcouldonlyhavecomefromonething.Acanyonkrayt,A’Kobathought.Andnotjustany.Aqueen!The sound had come from the northeast; all three Tuskens looked in that

directionsimultaneously,fullyexpectingtoseethevengefulparentofthebeasttheyhadslainthedaybefore.That,inthisplace,wouldmeantheirdeaths.Yetwhat theybeheldwas farmoreunexpected.A figure cloaked inbrown,

face invisible beneath a pointed hood. A figure that in noworld the Tuskensknewcouldevermakesuchasound.Theshaman!In the split second during which he processed that thought, A’Koba was

gripped by fear—in everymeasure, the same fear he had just struck into thefarmboy. Images flashed throughhismind.A’Koba’s limbswent intomotion,turninghimfromhispositionbythehoodofthelandspeeder.Hiscousinswerealreadyonthemove,fleeing.Herushedtofollow.Hewasovertheridgewhenhedaredtothinkagain.Whathadhejustseen?Andheard?

—

A’Kobahadneverclamberedontoabanthawithtwootherwarriorsbefore,butthatwaswhathadhappened.Theyhadmade for thenearest ride, and thewarleaderhadfollowedontheother.

A’Yarkcaughtupwiththetriofarfromthegorge.Thecousinswereofftheirmount,huddledbyaridgeandchatteringtoeachothernervously.A’Kobasatinthe sand at the feet of the bantha, reins still clenched tightly in his hand. Hebarelynoticedasthechieftainapproached.“Iheard,”A’Yarksaid.“Iwasalreadyinthesaddle.”A’Kobasaidnothing.“Youfear,”thechieftainsaid.“Desertmagichasnottouchedyoubefore.”“I…feltit.”A’Kobadidnotlookup.“Itwasnotjustthesound.Ifelt—”“Inthepresenceofamaturekrayt.”“Comeforvengeance,aftertheoneIkilled!”“Mmm.Anddodragonsseekvengeance?”A’Kobastruggledtoprocessthethought.Helookedup.“Thisonedid.Ifeltit

in the sound.Butwhen I looked, I saw that figure—”He stopped,worriedhelookeda fool.Hehadsaid toomuch,butheallowedone last thing.“Ididnottrustmyeyes.”A’Yarkstaredathim—andknelt.“ThesettlerscallhimBen.”“What?Howdoyouknowthis?”“All that liveon thewastes Ihaveseen,”A’Yarksaid,“andI first sawBen

before your birth. He is an outlander, a wizard. He dwells at the edge of theJundland.”A’Kobaheardbutdidnotunderstand.“Ifheisadanger,whydidwenotstrike

himbefore?”“Atwhatrisk?Itwasbettertoyieldthisarea.Thedesertislarge—andIthink

hehasnothingworthtaking.”A’Yarkpaused.“WearetaughtthatallwholivearetheTuskens’enemies.Butthatmaybetoosimple.Therearethingsthatwillleaveusalone,ifwedothesame.Asarlaccwillnotcometovisityourcamp.”Thechieftainstood.A’Koba nodded, breathing normally again. Then the young warrior looked

overtothecoweringcousins,bothshiveringinthesuns.Somethingdidnotsitright.“No,”A’Kobasaidat last,glancingat the skyline. “It cannot stophere.We

mustgoback.”Hestood.A’Yarkstartedwithsurprise.“Back—tothegorge?”“Yes,ingreaternumbers.”Hedustedhimselfoffandlookedtothechieftain.

“Thisisourplace,ashatedasitis.Wemustshowthatnoonemaytrespasswithperfidy—notevenwizards.”A’Yark regardedhimwithevidentnew respect. “Ifyouwoulddo this, then

go.You havemy sanction. Imust decide for thewhole clan—but you are anadult,A’Koba.Yourlifebelongstoyou—asdothelivesofanywhowouldjoinyou.”“WillIdie?”“Ifyouarefatedto.Butyouwillbeseentodie—asaTusken.”

—

A’Yark watched the trio vanish into the dunes in search of reinforcements,confidenttheyhadnottheslightestchanceoffindingthewizardontheirreturn.Life under the suns had changed Ben’s appearance, but it had not stolen hissenses.IfSandyHairwassomeonethewizardcaredabout,Benwouldwastenotimeinspiritinghimandhisdroidsaway.SoallowingA’Koba togivepursuitwasagesture—butnotawhollyempty

one. A’Yark knew there were certain rites even a chieftain must perform.A’Koba’sprizewasalreadylost,buttherewasnosenseindispiritinghim,notsosoonafterhisreachingadulthood.Sofewwarriorshadhisdrive—anddefiancewas what separated killers from carrion in the JundlandWastes. A’Koba hadlearned to fear this day; in leadinghis companionson a chase so soon after ascare,hewouldriseintheirrespect.Aduallesson,inaplacewhereeverythingcasttwoshadows.Perhapsoneday

A’Koba,too,wouldusetheexampleofthewizardinteachingothers.Whenever that happened, A’Yark suspected Ben would still be around. In

earlier times, the chieftain had expected the sorcerer to leave, asmost settlerswithanywisdomeventuallydid.Buthehad remained, clinging tenaciously totheedgeofexistence,watchingoverthisplaceorthat.Heseemedboundtotheland,astheTuskenswere—andyetnotlikethem.TheSandPeoplelivedunderanancientcurse.AnyhigherpowercapableofshacklingBentothedesertlivedtoday,wieldingamighttoofrighteningtoconsider.No, the wizard might escape—or he might be set free. But he would not

simplydisappearintothesands.Suchbeingsdidnotdie;theyshapedthefatesofcountlessmanyacross thestars, inplacesnoTuskenhadeverconceivedof. ItwasidletowonderwhatBenmightdoifheeverleft.

A’YarkonlyknewwhattheTuskenswoulddo.Theywould raid.Theywouldpillage.Theywould strikemoreplaces, areas

onceundertheshaman’sprotection.Notbecausetheycovetedanythingthere,orhatedBen,orsoughtrevenge—butbecausethatwaswhattheywere.Indeed,thatwasalltheywere.Andtheyweren’tgoinganywhere.

Somebelievethedeserttobebarren.Thisprovesonlythattheydonotknowthedesert.Deepwithinthedunesdwellsmallinsectsthatweavenetstotraponeanother,

andburrowingsnakeswithscalesthecolorofstonessothatnohuntercanfindthem. Seeds and spores from long-dead plants lie dormant in the warmth,waitingfortherainfallthatcomesonceayear,ordecade,orcentury,whentheywillburst intoverdant lifeasbriefas it isglorious.Theheatof thesunssinksintothegrainsofsanduntiltheyglow,containingalltheenergyandpossibilitytobecomeglassthecolorofjewels.AllofthesesingindividualnotesintheonegreatsongoftheWhills.No place is barren of the Force, and theywho are one with the Force can

alwaysfindthepossibilityoflife.Awareness precedes consciousness. Thewarmth is luxuriated in and drawn

uponbeforethemindiscognizantofdoingso.Nextcomestheillusionoflineartime.Onlythendoesasenseofindividualityarise,aremembranceofwhatwas

andwhatis,aknowledgeofone’sselfasseparatefromtheForce.Itprovidesavantagepointforexperiencingthephysicalworldinitscomplexityandecstasy,butthepainofthatseparationisendurableonlybecauseunitywillcomeagain,andsoon.Thatfracturefromtheall, thatmemoryoftemporalexistence,ismosteasily

summedupwiththewordthefracturewasoncecalledby.Thename.“Qui-Gon.”Thenameisspokenbyanother.Qui-Gonhasbeensummoned.Hedrawsupon

hismemoriesofhimselfand takesshape, reassembling theformhe lasthad inlife. It seems tohim thathe feels fleshwraparoundbones,hair and skinoverflesh,robesoverskin—andthen,asnaturallytohimasthoughhehaddonesoyesterday,hepullsdownthehoodofhisJedicloakandlooksuponhisPadawan.“Obi-Wan.”Itisworththetravailofindividualexistencejusttosaythatname

again.Sohesaystheothername,too.“Ben.”Obi-WanKenobi’shairhasturnedwhite.Lineshaveetchedtheirtracesalong

hisforehead,aroundhisblueeyes.HewearsJedirobessowornandraggedastobeindistinguishablefromthegarboftheimpoverishedhermithepretendstobe.Most wouldwalk past thismanwithout a second glance. Yet while Qui-Gonperceives the physical realities of Obi-Wan’s appearance, he is not limited tohumansightanylonger.Healsoseestheconfidentgeneralof theCloneWars,the strong young Padawan who followed his master into battle, even therebelliouslittleboyattheTemplethatnoMasterwasinanyhurrytotrain.TheyareallequallypartofObi-Wan,eachstageofhisexistencevividinthismoment.“You are afraid,” Qui-Gon says. He knows why; the events taking place

aroundthemareclearertohimthantheyaretoObi-Wan.“Youseekyourcenter.Youneedbalance.”Thelivingfinditdifficultnottotell thedeadthatwhichtheyalreadyknow.

Obi-Wan doesn’t even try. “Theremay be Imperial stormtrooperswaiting forLukeattheLarsfarm.Ifso—”“Thenyouwillrescuehim.”Qui-Gonsmiles.“Orhemayrescuehimself.Or

thesisterwillfindthebrotherinstead.”Obi-Wan cannot be so easily comforted. “Or he could be killed. Cut down

whilestillhardlymorethanaboy.”ToQui-Gon,allhumanlivesnowseemimpossiblybrief.Yearsareirrelevant.

It is journeys through the Force that matter. Some must struggle for that

knowledge through many decades; others are very nearly born with it. Mostneverbeginthejourneyatall,nomatterhowlongtheylive.ButLukeSkywalker…“Lukehasagreatjourneyyettogo,”Qui-Gonsays.“Itdoesnotendhere.”“You’veseenthis?”Qui-Gonnods.ThisrelievesObi-Wanmorethanitshould,becausehecannot

guesstheshapethatjourneywilltake.Theirsurroundings in thephysicalworldbecomeclearer—theendlessdunes

ofTatooine stretchingout in everydirection, a smoldering sandcrawler a hulkbehind them, a dozen tiny Jawas dead. The memory of their fear andhelplessness lances Qui-Gon’s consciousness, as does the meaninglessness oftheirdeaths.AlthoughObi-Wanhasbeentendingtothebodies,forthemomentthe Jawas are seen to only by two droids. The droids comfort Qui-Gonsomewhat,becausetheyarefamiliar;theForcehasevenseenfit tobringthesetwobacktotheplacewhereitallbegan.Timeisacircle.Thebeginningistheend.Obi-Wanmurmurs, “BailOrgana sent Leia herself to summonme.When I

sawher—sawPadméinhersostrongly,andevenalittleofAnakin,too—Iknewmyexilewasnearlyatanend.WouldyoubelieveIfinditdifficulttoletitgo?”“You’veadapted.You’vehadto.Nowonderthatthedesertfeelslikehometo

younow,orthatbeingaJediKnighthasbecomeforeign.Butthatcanchange,and faster than you might dream possible.” It will in fact be almostinstantaneous, a transformation begun and completed the first time immediatedangerbeckonsagain.Qui-Gonlooksforwardtowitnessingit.“I’vewaited for this day for a very long time,”Obi-Wan says. “So long it

feels as though I’vewaited for itmyentire life.Tohave it endangered—now,justasthegreatworkbegins—somanyfactorsareinplay.Thefutureisdifficulttoknow,evenmoresothanbefore.”“Doyoutrulythinkyourworkhasonlyjustbegun,myPadawan?”Theyhave

begun using that title between them again, in recognition of howmuchmoreObi-Wan has yet to learn. It is strange, still, to think of death as only thebeginningofwisdom.Obi-Wanconsiders.“Therewereothergreatendeavors.Otherchallenges.But

theCloneWarswerelongago.Fornearlytwodecades,IhavebeenlittlemorethanashadowwaitingtobecomeaJediKnightagain.”

Qui-Gon shakes his head.Already his physical self feels natural enough tohimthathecanexpressthoughtandemotionthroughgestures.“Battlesandwarsaren’t themeasureofaJedi.Anyonecanfight,givenaweaponandanenemy.Anyonecanusealightsaber,givenduetrainingorevengoodluck.Buttostandandwait—tohavesomuchpatienceandfortitude—that,Obi-Wan, isagreaterachievementthanyoucanknow.Fewcouldhaveaccomplishedit.”Fewerstillcouldhavedonesowithoutturningtodarkness.Sometimes,when

Qui-Gon considers it, he is awed by his student’s steadfastness. Every personObi-Wan ever truly loved—Anakin, Satine, Padmé, and Qui-Gon himself—cametoaterribleend.Threeofthemdiedbeforehiseyes;theotherfelltoafatesobleakthatdeathwould’vebeenagift.TheJediOrderthatprovidedtheentireframework forObi-Wan’s lifewasconsumedbybetrayalandslaughter.Everystepofthislong,unfulfillingjourneyisoneObi-Wanhadtotakealone…andyetheneverfaltered.Astherestofthegalaxyburned,hispathremainedtrue.Itisthe kind of victory that most people never recognize and yet the bedrock allgoodnessisbuiltupon.EvenObi-Wandoesn’tseeit.“Youseemeinakinderlightthanmostwould,

oldfriend.”“Ioweyouthat.Afterall,I’mtheonewhofailedyou.”“Failedme?”Theyhaveneverspokenof this,notonce inallQui-Gon’s journeys into the

mortalrealmtocommunewithhim.ThisisprimarilybecauseQui-Gonthoughthismistakessowretched,soobvious,thatObi-Wanhadwantedtosparehimanydiscussionofit.Yethere,too,hehasfailedtodohisPadawanjustice.“Youweren’treadytobeaJediMaster,”Qui-Gonadmits.“Youhadn’teven

beenknightedwhenIforcedyoutopromisetotrainAnakin.Teachingastudentso powerful, so old, so unused to our ways…that might’ve been beyond thereachofthegreatestofus.Tolaythatburdenatyourfeetwhenyouwerehardlymorethanaboy—”“Anakinbecamea JediKnight,”Obi-Wan interjects, a threadof steel inhis

voice.“HeservedvaliantlyintheCloneWars.Hisfalltodarknesswasmorehischoicethananyoneelse’sfailure.Yes,Ibearsomeresponsibility—andperhapsyou do, too—but Anakin had the training and the wisdom to choose a betterpath.Hedidnot.”Alltrue.NoneofitanyabsolutionforQui-Gon’sownmistakes.ButitisObi-

Wan who needs guidance now. These things can be discussed another time,

whenthey’rebeyondcrudehumanlanguage.Soon—verysoon.The droids have begun cremating the Jawa bodies. Qui-Gon is substantial

enoughnowtosmelltheash.ButheisoftheForce,andsohefeelsLuke’spainandhorrorastrulyashisown.ThesightoftheburnedbodiesofOwenandBeruLarsisasvividasObi-Wanstandingonlycentimetersinfrontofhim.OwenandBeruknewtheriskswhentheytookthechild,andtheytookhimanyway.Tookhim, protected him, loved him. It is as pure a heroism as Qui-Gon has everknown.Obi-Wan senses it, too, Qui-Gon can tell, though at a greater remove,

handicappedashe is byhisphysical form.His face falls, his fear replacedbysorrow.Determinationswiftlyfollows.“Ididn’t tellLukethewholetruthaboutAnakin,”Obi-Wansays.“Someday

he’llhavetoknow.”“You’veonlyjustbecomeacquaintedwiththeboy.Hadyoutriedtotellhim

thewholestorytoday, thatwould’vebeenagreatermistakethananythingelseyou could’ve done. It would have planted seeds of…doubt, confusion, evenanger,whichcouldhaveledhimdownhisfather’spath.”With a touch of his old rakish humor, Obi-Wan adds, “Or he would’ve

decidedIwaseverybitascrazyasOwenalwaystoldhimIwas,andrunalongbackhome.”Qui-Gonknowsthattohavebeenaveryrealpossibility,andtheendtowhich

thatwould’veled.LukewouldnowbelyingalongsidetheLarses.“Whenhe’sready—stable,steady,strongintheForce—thentherewillbetime.”Obi-Wan nods, enough reassured to focus fully on Qui-Gon. “You’re very

nearlycorporeal.I’veneverseenyouappearlikethis.”“It isamatterof learningtobothclaimthephysicalworldanddetachone’s

selffromit,”Qui-Gonsays.Hehadnotstruggledtowardthatgoalatfirst.OnlyafterAnakin’sfalldidhepushhimselftoemergefully.Itwastheworkofverynearlyadecade.ThishedidforObi-Wan;atleasthisPadawandidnothavetospend his years in the desert entirely alone. “A matter of finding center, ofcalming one’s soul and giving one’s self over completely to the Force. SomeJedi choose to transition between life and death in that way, though I couldscarcely have imagined itwhen Iwas alive. Even after death,we continue tolearn.”

“Ilookforwardtolearningtheartsomeday,”Obi-Wansays.“Hopefullyinthedistantfuture.”It’sanotherofhisdryjokes,nothingmore,butQui-Gonismovedregardless.

Obi-Wanhassolittletimelefttolive.ToQui-Gon,thedeathseemsinevitable,almostneutral;hecanevenanticipatethereunionwithhisPadawan.Butafterallhis losses,allhissacrifice,all theseendlessyears in thedesert,

Obi-WanKenobistillwantsmorelife.This,too,isakindofcourage.Qui-Gonremembersthevitalityofmortalexistence—fondly,butdistantly.AtleasthehassomethingbettertoofferObi-Wan.“Thank you, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan says. “As always, your wisdom sustains

me.”“As your strength always sustained me.” Qui-Gon senses the boy’s return.

Before longLuke’s landspeederwillappearon thehorizon.Obi-Wanneeds toturnhisattentionelsewhere.“Weshallmeetagainsoon,myPadawan.”“Iwillneverhesitatetocalluponyou.”That’snotthekindofmeetingQui-Gonmeans,butthere’snopointinsaying

so.Thetruthwillunfolditselfintime.Italwaysdoes.Qui-Gonallowshis awareness to spreadoutward from thisplace,untilObi-

Wanisonlypartofthesymphonyoflifearoundhim.Thesnakesburrowdeepbeneaththedunes.Insectsspinwebsamongthesand.SunshinesuffusesthemallwithwarmthuntilQui-Goncanletgocompletely,releasinghisbodyandevenhisname,untilheisagainonewiththeForce.AsObi-Wanwillsoonlearn,themostbeautifulformofmasteryistheartof

lettinggo.

I t’snotasifIwasn’texpectingit.ThedayBenKenobiputthatlittlebabyinmyarms was both the best and worst day of my life. Best because Owen and Icouldn’thaveachildofourown,andsuddenlywedid.Andworstbecause…well,Iknewthathappinesswasnevergoingtolast.AndIwasright,wasn’tI?Look,Igetit.Tomostpeople,I’mjustLukeSkywalker’sauntBeru,theold

ladywho’salwaysbustlingaroundthekitchen,pouringeveryonebluemilk.I’mthe one who wouldn’t stop nagging Luke’s uncle Owen to let him go to theAcademyalready.“Hecan’tstayhereforever,mostofhisfriendshavegone,”Ikeptsaying.“Itmeanssomuchtohim.”Itwasn’tbecauseIwantedLuketogo.It’sbecausethat’swhatLukewanted.

AndIwantedLuketohavewhateverhewanted.And,okay,theremighthavebeenasmallpartofmethatwashopingthatifhe

went, thingsmight turnoutall right.Maybe ifOwenhad listened tome,we’d

bothbealivetoday—visitingLukewhereverheisnow,spoilinghiskidsrotten,orwatchingthetwinsunssethereonTatooine.ButIguesswe’llneverknownow.Look, I’m not complaining. My family’s been in the moisture-farming

businessforgenerations.IknewwhatIwasgettingintowhenImarriedOwenLars…oratleastIthoughtIdid.Doyouwanttoknowasecret?Ihadotheroptions.Itookacookingclassin

school,andtheteachertoldmethatmyblue-milkcheesewasthebesthe’devertasted—hesaid itwasas if I’dbeenborn tomakeblue-milkcheese!HesaidIcouldeasilyhavehadmyownplace—acafé,ormaybeevenalittlerestaurant—inAnchorhead.Couldyouimagineme,BeruWhitesunLars,withmyowncafé?I won’t lie to you—I thought about it. Especially right before Luke came

along,whenOwenandIhadjustfoundoutwe’dneverbeabletohavekidsofourown.OuronlyresortwastostartseeingoneofthosefancyfertilitydroidsinMosEisley.Italmostdidn’tseemworthit,though,whenyouconsiderwhatMosEisleywaslikebackinthosedays.Oh,mystars, thenoiseandthedirtandalltheviolence—youcouldgetshotjuststeppingintoacantina,letalonetryingtoserveaniceblue-milkcheesetopeoplethere.ThankstoLuke,itnevercametothat.Still,there’vebeenplentyoftimesI’vewonderedifI’dmadeamistake.That

dayoldBenKenobishowedupwiththebaby,myfirstinstinctwastorun.Imaybea countrygirlwho’sneverbeenoffplanet, but even I’maware thatwhenaJediwalksuptoyouandsays,“Here,haveababy,”it’snotgoingtoendwell.Apartofmethought,“Beru,listentoyourteacher.Putthebabydownandgodowhatyouwerebornfor!”Butitturnsoutwhensomeoneputsasweetlittlenewbornintoyourarms,you

can’t say no—even if that baby is your husband’s nephew by his stepbrotherwho’sembracedthedarkside.Youknowthingsmaynotturnoutwell,butjustlikewithblue-milkcheese,youdothebestyoucanwithit.AnditturnedouttobethebestdecisionIevermade.Lukewassuchasweet,

happy little boy.Hewas no trouble at all.Not to say hewasn’tmischievous,alwaysgettingintoonescrapeoranother.Buthedidn’thaveameanboneinhisbody—unlike a certain someone I could mention (all right, fine. I’ll mentionhim:Imeanhisfather).

Whenyouspendalmosteveryminuteofeverydaywithsomeonefornineteenyears,makinghimfinishhismilktohelphimgrowandwashinghisleggingsforhim,yougettoknowthatperson,andlikeItoldOwen,Lukehadtoomuchofhisfatherinhim—butImeantallthebestparts…andhismother,too,fromwhatlittleIknewofher.ItwasobvioustomefromthetimeLukewasababythathewas going to grow up to do something amazing, and I’m not just saying thatbecauseIwashisaunt.Ijustknew.AndIwasright.I’m not trying to take credit for Luke’s accomplishments, either, although

OwenandIdidtrytodoourbestwithhim.Ialwaysthoughtitwassosad,whathappened to Luke’s parents, and his grandmother, too. I was there for herfuneral.Iservedbluemilk(andcheese)toeveryoneafter.Ithinkmyteacherwaswrong:makingcheesewasn’twhatIwasborntodo.Iwasborntomakepeoplefeelgoodwheneverythingaroundthemseemedjustawful.Which,ifyouthinkaboutit,iswhatallgoodparents—andcaféowners—are

meanttodo.AfterLukecametolivewithus,ItoldOwen,“We’regoingtoraisethisboy

likehewasourown.He’snevergoingtoknowadayofunhappiness,tomakeupforalltheterriblethingsthathappenedbeforehewasborn.”IreallythinkIsucceeded—exceptforOwen’snotallowingLuketogotothe

Academy…And of course what happened to Owen and me that day with the

stormtroopers.IreallywishLukehadn’tseenthat.Thenagain,ifhehadn’t,heneverwouldhavegoneoffwitholdBen,metthe

princess,destroyedtheDeathStar,andsavedthegalaxy.SoIguessthingsdidturnoutallrightintheend,didn’tthey?Especially now, because up until thismoment, no one has ever givenme a

chancetotellmystory.Sothankyouforthat.Nowgodrinkyourmilk.AndmaytheForcebewithyou.

Todaywouldbetheday.Greedohadknownit lastnightashe’dwatchedthebinarysunsetsinkalongthehazyhorizonofTatooine.Aftermanylongyears,justicewouldfinallybeserveduponHanSolo.TheRodianbountyhuntersensedsomethingignitedeepwithinhischestand

catch flame.Some long-denied satisfaction.TodayGreedo planned to put thatarrogantCorellianscumbackinthecesspitwherehebelonged.Hisdarkeyesnarrowedagainstagustofbillowingsandashetrudgedthrough

the winding streets of Mos Eisley, toward a familiar cantina. A smile nearlycurleduphisgreenlipswhenthearchedentrancecameintoview.Asluckwouldhaveit,hisquarryhadbeensightedjustyesterday,seekingbusinessintheverysameplaceGreedooften transactedhisowndeals.Ofcourse, the twokindsofdealsinquestiondifferedwildly.ThecowardlyCorellianwasameresmuggler,whereasGreedo dealt in a variety of death. He’d even begun taking bountiesfromthegreatestcrimelordoftheOuterRim,andJabbatheHuttwasknowntobeparticularwhenitcametohisassociations.SaveforthecowardlyHanSolo,

ofcourse.Greedo sneered at the group of hooded Jawas crouched outside the cantina

door.HewouldneverunderstandwhatUnceltahadfoundsoappealinginSoloallthoseyearsago.Thesmugglerhadalwaysbeenaworthlessexcuseforaman,whileUnceltahadbeeneverythingGreedohadcherishedinawoman.Suchawaste.Kicking aside the nearest Jawa as he passed, Greedo strode through the

entrance, careful not to make eye contact with anyone present. His gazeremainedfixedonthebarinthedustycenterofChalmun’sCantina.Thankfullythebandwasplayingalessnoxiousstrainofmusicthanusual.TherewasonlysomuchhecouldstandfromtheseparticularBith,especiallywithoutthesolaceofseveraldrinksinhisstomach.Even still, it was a fitting backdrop. Figrin D’an and the Modal Nodes’

tuneless strains set alongside an occasional brawl. For as long as he couldremember, Mos Eisley spaceport had been a beacon for the art of theunderworld.ItwasthesameunderworldofGreedo’schildhood,whenhe’dbeenbroughtfromRodiatoliveonTatooine.Asluckwouldhaveittoday,hisquarryhadchosentotakeuptemporaryresidenceononeofGreedo’shomeworlds.Todaywouldbetheday.Greedotookaseatatthebarandsignaledthesneeringbartenderforadrink.

He watched the silver and brass pipes above gleam dully beneath a fog ofswirlinghookahsmoke.The tumblerofCorellian red swirled inhishands ashe awaitedhisprey in

silence.Afterhe’ddowned threeof thebrews,his attentiondrifted toward thearrival of a towering Wookiee. Since Chalmun—the purveyor of thisestablishment—washimselfaWookiee,thesightoftheseovergrownbeastswasfar from unusual in these parts. But this particularWookiee caught Greedo’sattentionnevertheless.Hislonggreenfingersclenchedaroundhistumbler.From the cornerofhis eye,Greedowatched theWookieebeginmakinghis

rounds.Watchedandwaited.“Hey!” The barkeep pointed overGreedo’s shoulder, his already disdainful

facecontortedwithirritation.“Wedon’tservetheirkindhere!”Greedo glanced behind him to see a wide-eyed boy with two droids

clambering in his shadow. The boy looked like exactly the kind of fool whodidn’tknowanybetterandwouldlikelydieforitbeforethedaywasout.Why

anyonewouldbringindroidstotakeupthespacesofliving,breathingpatrons,Greedowouldneverknow.“What?”theboyasked,hisridiculouseyesgoingevenwider.The barkeep ground out his retort. “Your droids…they’ll have to wait

outside.”His shoulders dropping, the boy muttered something unintelligible to his

droids. This fool would be lucky to make it through an entire drink atChalmun’s,nevermindanotheryearofhislifeingeneral.Untriedbanthafodder.Snortingtohimself,Greedoturnedbacktowardthebar,continuingtotuneout

themindlessprattleofthoseseatednearbywhilethebandchangeditstune.Hisgazesettledonabeguilingyoungcreatureacrosstheway,witheyesthatshonelikethebarrelofanewlypolishedblaster.EyesjustlikethoseofUncelta.Curseherforbeingasbigafoolasthatboywiththedroids.Greedowouldhave lovedher as shedeserved tobe loved.Notdalliedwith

herlikethatCorellianscumbaghadchosentodo.GreedocontinuedobservingSolo’s firstmate fromhisperiphery,bidinghis

time.Ifhewaspatient, theWookieewouldleadGreedo’squarryright intohisclutches.Intoajusticesolongunserved.Hewasdistractedfromhismusingsbyraised voices. That same awkward boy was engaged in the beginning of analtercation with exactly the kind of creature who would bring about hisinevitable end.Whatkindof shirtwas theboywearinganyway?What sortofsimpletonworewhite in a spaceport asdirty asMosEisley?Sureenough, theboyflewbackintoatableatthefirstsignofacrossword.Furtherdistractedbytheensuingcommotion,Greedo twistedaround in time toseeanoldman inapeculiarrobeflashaweaponhe’dheardofinpassingbutneverseeninperson:an ancient saber fashioned from growling blue light. The weapon snarledthrough the air, and the instigator’s severed arm struck the floor in almost thesamebreath.Amid thestrangledscreams,Greedo laughed tohimself.Withnarya flinch,

theBithresumedplayingtheirtunelessmusic.After all, these kinds of disturbanceswere far from unusual in a place like

Chalmun’s Cantina. Indeed, if the purveyor of the establishment had beenpresent, he undoubtedly would have relished the spectacle. Wookiees were

knowntoenjoyagooddismembermentasmuchasanyRodiandid.Atthereminder,GreedocranedhisneckclosertowardtheparticularWookiee

he’d takennoteof earlier.Thehulking, fur-covered strangerhad loped towardthebarandwasnowinthemidstofahushedconversationwiththeoldmaninpossessionofthesnarlingsaber.Greedo remained hunched and alert as the Wookiee signaled to someone

hoveringinthedarkestfringesofthecantina.Hisstomachtightenedintoacoilofknots.Solowasonhisway.Amomentlater,thesmugcowardambledtowardatabletotheleftofthebar

andbeganchattingwiththesaber-wieldingoldmanandthefoolishboy.Theknot inGreedo’sstomachbecamea jumble.Anticipationflaredthrough

hiscenter,minglingwiththatsamesatisfactionlikekindlingtoaflame.Todaywouldbetheday.Greedoslunklowerintohisbarstool,continuingtobidehistime.Continuing

towaitforhisopportunity.HekeptsilentandstillwhileacontingentofImperialtroopscollectedinfront

of the bar, drawnby the earlier commotion.The barkeepwas all too eager topoint them in the direction of the fool boy and his elderly bodyguard, whoquicklyduckedoutofsight.Greedo’sirespiked.Worrycut throughhisearlierblaze of triumph. If the stormtroopers thought to detain Solo, his opportunitywouldbelost.Hethoughtforamomentaboutconfrontinghimonceandforall,withlittleconcernforthepresenceoftheEmpire’slackeys,buttheriskwastoogreat.AndGreedo could not risk the additional possibility of rousing Jabba’sanger.IfGreedodiddecidetothrowcautiontothewind,hemightlosethechanceto

starehisenemyinthefaceandexperiencethesupremesatisfactionofwatchingSolosquirminfear,likethecowardhewas.Greedostoodfromthebarandmovedintotheshadowsnearesttothealcove

whereSolo satwithhis firstmate, smiling as thoughhehadnot a care in thegalaxy.AbreathofreliefpastGreedo’slipswhenthestormtrooperspassedthetable

andcontinuedontheirway.AssoonastheWookieeleftandSolostoodfromthetable,Greedomadehis

move,yankinghisblasterfromitsholster.Hewouldnotwastethisopportunity.

Todaywouldbetheday.“Goingsomewhere,Solo?”hesaidinHutteseasheshovedthebarrelof the

blasterintoSolo’svest.“Yes, Greedo, as amatter of fact, I was just going to see your boss.” The

coward backed away, shoved toward the same alcove, his hands raised at hissides as though to convey a desire for peace. “Tell Jabba that I’ve got hismoney.”Hesatdownatthetable.“It’stoolate,”GreedosaidashetooktheseatoppositeSolo,awhitelantern

glowingbeforehim,bathingtheairbetweenthemincoollight.Soloslouchedintothebackofthebench,anamusedhalfsmilebeginningto

curveuponesideofhisface.FuryshotthroughGreedo’schest.“Youshouldhavepaidhimwhenyouhad

thechance.Jabba’sputapriceonyourheadsolarge,everybountyhunterinthegalaxywillbelookingforyou.I’mluckyIfoundyoufirst.”Helaughedunderhisbreath.Perhapsluckhadnothingtodowithit.Ithadbeenhispatience.Hisintuition.Hishatred.Perhaps ifUnceltacould see themnow, shewouldnothavemade the same

mistakeshe’dmadethosemanyyearsago.HatefilledthehollowaroundGreedo’sheart.ThesightofSolo tossinghisbooted legonto the tabletopandgrinningwith

casualarroganceonlyheightenedGreedo’sgrowingrage.The suggestion of a frown fell uponSolo’s face. Itwas gone in almost the

sameinstant.“Yeah,butthistimeI’vegotthemoney.”Hewavedhislefthandthroughtheair,oncemorethepictureofsupremearrogance.“Ifyougiveittome,ImightforgetIfoundyou.”Forget?Greedocouldnever

forget. But he would gladly take the scum’s money before delivering him toJabba.Orperhapshe’dblastaholethroughSolo’schest.JustlikeUnceltahaddone

tohim.Solowincedwith irritation. “I don’t have itwithme.”He glanced over his

shoulder and began circling his fingers across the rough wall at his back, asthoughheweretoyingwithsomethingonlyhecouldsee.Hisheadlolledagainstthegleamingbracerabovethebench.“TellJabba—”“Jabba’s through with you.” Unmistakable irritation laced Greedo’s words.

“Hehasnotimeforsmugglerswhodroptheirshipmentsat thefirstsignofan

Imperialcruiser.”“Even Igetboarded sometimes.”Solo’s retortwascurt. “You think Ihada

choice?”“You can tell that to Jabba. Hemay only take your ship.” Greedo’s finger

tightenedonthetriggerofhisblaster.Solo’slefthandfellfromthewall.“Overmydeadbody.”Whateverlingering

traces of amusement that remained vanished from his eyes as a shadowdescendedacrosshisfeatures.“That’s the idea.” Triumph spread through Greedo as satisfaction began to

take root oncemore. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”Hegrinned, peace tinging the air around him with a strange sweetness. At last,vengeancewouldbehis.Hewould live toseeJabbarobHanSoloof theonlythingthecowardprized.Anditwouldbeglorious.“Yes,Ibetyouhave.”Sologlancedtoonesideasthoughinthought.ThelastthingthelucklessRodiansawwasaflashofbrightlight.Hislastmemorywasthatofbitterinjustice.

ExcerptfromTheLadyHasaJocimer:MyLifeasaModalNode,AMemoirbyIckabelG’ont

CHAPTER3:NOTFORNOTHING

TatooinewastheworstplaceinthegalaxyforBith.Whenyourskinismilkywhite-pinkandyoureyesarelidlessandtearless,a

planetwithtwosuns,highheat,andblowingsandisessentiallyajailsentence.When Figrin D’an and the Modal Nodes got a gig on this planet, we all

protested.“Ourskinwillburnoffourskulls!”TechM’orsaid.“Whatifwegetsandinoureyes,D’an?”Idemanded.Ihavethebesteyesof

thewholeband,andevenIfindmyselfparticularlysensitivetoirritants.“Howgood are we going to play when we are staggering around looking for an

eyewash?DotheyevenhaveeyewashesonTatooine?”ThencameLie#1:“WeareinvitedtoplayfortherulinglordonTatooine.I’m

surehispalacewillhavealltheaccommodationswewillneed.”Hedidn’tsaythattherulinglordwasaHutt,aspeciesthat’snotreallyknown

forhospitableandcleanlivingspaces.ThencameLie#2:“Weareonlythereforastandardweek,tops.”Wewerethereoverayear.ThenthebestLie,#3:“Themoneyisincredible.”Now, if I’dbeenD’an, Iwouldhave let thegroupknow the facts thisway:

“I’vegotsomebadnews.I’minseriousdebttoaHuttandhavesoldallofyouintoindenturedservitudeinthesandyarmpitofthegalaxy.Oncewepayoffthedebt,wewillhavetofindothergigsinordertogetenoughmoneytogetthehellofftheplanet.WorkingfortheHuttwillbetheworstjobyouwilleverhave.”Wedidn’ttalktohimforweeksafterthetruthmadeitselfknown.Weplayed

for Jabba and his companions within the palace. (Were they companions?Visitors?Prisoners?Wewereneversure.)“Palace.” Please. I’ve seen palaces. I’ve performed for kings. This was no

palace.Aftera fewmonthswe finallyaccepted that thiswasour lot in life,and the

one bit of good news was we were still the Modal Nodes, which meant weplayedthebestmusicinthegalaxy.Nevermindthatitwasforacrimelordslugandhis lackeysandslaves,but it remindedusofourhumblebeginningswhenyoutookwhatgigsyougotoffered.Youalsopayattention.Youneverknowwhatkindofdirtyoucanget.We

watched people wheedle, cajole, and deal with Jabba. One interesting thingaboutBiththatotherspeciesdon’treallyknowishowwecanseparatedifferentsoundsaroundus.It’swhatmakesussuchgoodmusicians.Wecanlistentothedifferentinstrumentsseparatelyortogethertomakesureeveryoneisintuneandworkingwelltogether.Wecanalso listen toconversations thatotherwisewouldbedrownedout in

lesserears.SowewereprivytomanyofJabba’sdealingsthathappenedwhilewe played, and he had no idea. We learned to know and hate many of theresidentsof thisworld.Oneofmy least favoritepeoplewasGreedo,aRodianbountyhunter.He is actually thepersonwho foundFigrinD’ananddeliveredhimtoJabba.

Wehadn’tknownD’anhadapriceonhishead.Thethingsyourbandleaderdoesn’ttellyou.D’anhadmekeepacloseeyeonGreedoandfindsomedirtonhim.Ipointed

outthebucketofsandIhadtowashoutofmyeyeseverynightandsaidIgotdirt on everyone, it’s right there, but he told me to get over it and stopcomplaining.Bravecardtoplay,asheputusinthissituation,butD’analwayswasaterriblegambler.So I watched Greedo. He would bring in small-time criminals who owed

Jabba,getapatontheheadandahandfulofcredits,andstalkaway,veryproudofhimself.IkepttrackofthemoneyhedemandedfromJabba,andthemoneythathegot, and the timeshewould slipkeysorblasters tohisquarry so theycould escape, and then he would bring them back in for another reward. HebroughtinonepoorJawathreetimes.Whenitwastimetopayoffourdebt,Jabbaaskedformorethantwicewhat

hesaidD’aninitiallyhadowedhim.Weexpectedthis,soD’ancounterofferedinformation instead of more credits. That’s when he brought Greedo down.Jabbawasfuriousatthebountyhunter,andactuallyletusgo——inthemiddleofthedesert.Naturally.Butwhenagiantslugsurroundedby

severalheavieswithweaponssetsyoufreeinthemiddleofthedesert,youthankhimkindlyforthefreedomandgetmoving.Wecountedourstarsthatheletusgoatnightsowecouldatleastavoidthesuns.Ihonestlydidn’texpecthimtoletusgoatall.So,thanksJabba.I’llbuyyouacupofslimethenexttimeweseeyou.[Ed. Note: Since the writing of this memoir, Jabba the Hutt has been

murderedbyanunknownassassinwithinhispalace.JabbatheHuttcannotbethankedanymore.Still,theauthorrequestedweleavethisentreatyinthetext.]WemadeittoMosEisleysoonafterthesunsrose,whichwasgoodbecause

myhandswerebeginningtoturnpink,andmyeyeswereburning.WefoundaplaceforthebandtostaywhileD’an,likeagoodleader,wenttogetusagig.Techwentwithhimbecausehewanted tomakesureD’anwouldn’tgoand

gambleawayournewfreedominpursuitofmorecredits.Now is when I suppose I have to answer the question you’ve been asking

yourself.WhyinallofthegalaxydowechoosetostaywithD’an?HeputusinslaverytoaHutt.HegotusmaroonedonaplanetthatisantitheticaltoBith.Hegambleslikeadrunkenunclewithbadluck.The reason should be obvious: Figrin D’an is the best composer and

bandleaderyouwillever find thissideof thegalaxy.Weknewthat ifwe left,we’d never be able to find another leader quite like him.Whenwe’re gettingthrownintoshacklesorwashingsandoutofoureyes,it’shardtoappreciatehim.Whenwe’replaying,nothinginalltheworldsisbetter.Wefoundtwocheaproomstokeepalleightofus,andplayedagameofhiller

dicetodecidewhowouldbestucksweepingthefilthyplace,whohadtocoverthewindows, andwhowas able to sit and relax from the horrible travelwe’dsuffered.Iwasstuckwiththewindowduty,andasIunrolledtheblackfabrictoprotectus from theglare, I caught the sightofa slimgreen snout stickingoutfromacloakscurryingdowntheroad.Uh-oh.IsecuredthefabricandthenaskedifanyoneknewwhereD’anandTechhad

gone.Therestofthemshrugged,andIgrabbedmycloak,lefttheapartment,andheadedbackintotheTatooineheat.Nowthatwe’dhadabitofarestandsomenot-so-brackishwatertodrink,I

wasabletotakealookatthenewtownweinhabited.Itwas…wellitwasbetterthanJabba’spalace,but that’snotsayingmuch.Hot,sandy, run-down,andnoonewouldlookyouintheeye.Also,stormtrooperspatrolledthestreets.Onestoppedmewithahandonmy

shoulder.“We’relookingfortwodroids.”“I haven’t seen anything,” I said, and then realized I had an opportunity.

“Aroundhere, anyway.But I just spent some time at Jabba theHutt’s palace,andI’mprettysurehebroughtinatleasttwonewdroidsrecently.”“Whatdidtheylooklike?”hedemanded.“Um,onewasgreen?Ormaybeblue,”Isaid,guessing.Hestoodbackonhisheels,andalthoughIcouldn’tseehisface,heexudeda

moodofeitherdisbelieforreluctance.Atrooperwithanorangehalfsleevecameuptohim.“Whathaveyoufound?”heasked.“She says she saw a droid like that in the area of theHutt’s domicile,” his

companionsaid,asifnotwantingtodelivertheinformation.“Checkitout,”hesaid,andleft.The remaining trooper took another look atme, and I could feel the dislike

radiatingoffhim.“Good luck,” I said, and scurried away. I hadkept an eyeonGreedo as he

headedwithpurposedown the street. Iwish I’dknownwhereD’anhadgone,

but Ihad to think thathewas looking foragig, sohewouldbe searching forbarsanddancehalls.MosEisleydidn’tlooklikeaplacewithmanydancehalls.Butitdidlooklike

a place peoplewould need a drink. I inquired of a passingwomanwhere theclosest bar was and she pointed me a few doors down. Luckily Greedo hadalreadypassedthisbar,soIduckedin.D’an and Tech were inside, speaking with a largeWookiee. A disgruntled

Rodian, taller and darker-skinned than Greedo, was packing up a flute andmakingabigproductionoutof it.HepushedbyD’anrudely,shoutingthatnoonefiresDodaBodonawieedo.D’andidn’tmakethingsbetterbyshoutingafterhimthatChalmunjusthadfiredDodaBodonawieedo.D’anspiedme.“Ickabel,thisisChalmun,ownerof—”“—Chalmun’sCantina,Igetit,”Isaid.“Canwetalkforasecond?”D’ansentTechtotalktomewhilehepalledaroundwithournewboss.“Whatapit,huh?”Techasked,lookingaroundthecantina.“Better than Jabba’s,” I said. From then on, “better than Jabba’s”would be

howwewoulddescribe anything thatwas terrible. “And speakingofwhich, Isaw Greedo sniffing around outside. If he finds us in here, we could have aproblem.”Techgrinnedatme.“TheWookieesayshecomesinallthetime.Butthisis

the safest place on the planet.”He pointed to the signs on thewall listing, inseverallanguages,therulesofthecantina.I scanned the rules and then read them at a slower pace. I smacked Tech

upside the head. “That says Applaud the band, not Do not under anycircumstanceattacktheband,”Isaid.“Thatdoesn’tguaranteesafety!”“Oh.You’re right,”hesaid.He lookedbackoveratD’an,whowassigning

thecontract.Igroaned.“Well,”Techsaid.“Atleasthe’snotsellingusintoslaveryagain.”D’ancameoverallsmiles.“Westartinanhour.Gettherestofthebandover

here.”“YoudoknowthatGreedoisaregularcustomerhere?Andhe’snotgoingto

bethrilledaboutyougivinghimuptoJabba,”Isaid.“WehaveaWookieeonourside!Whatcangowrong?”

—

Chalmun’sCantinawasbetterthanJabba’s.That’swhatwecouldsayaboutit.Whenthingsgowrong,youcantrytoseehowyoursituationchallengesyou.

We have played in awards ceremonies against the wind, in the middle of arainstorm,andforlordsandladieswhoseideaoffunwouldbetowhipprisonersandfeedthemtorancors.(ThatlastonewasJabba.Didyouguess?)Atthecantina,wewereshovedontoasmalldaisonthecorner,havingtoget

cozywithoneanotherwhileweplayedD’an’sfurioustunes.Thestagewastightandthecustomerswereunenthusiastic,butthesekindsofchallengesarewhatIlivefor.However,Ididn’trealizewhatelsewouldhappenthatafternoon.First,Chalmun—the super-safeWookiee thatwould saveus fromGreedo—

wenthome.Hesaidhewasn’tatthecantinaalldayandnightandheneededabreak. He promised Wuher would protect us, but with the sidelong look thebartender shot us, I thought thatwas unlikely. So I keptmy eyes on the doorwhileweplayed.Asthedaywenton,thecantinafilledupwithvariousunsavorycharacters.I

hadtohandittoWuher,though.Whenpeoplegotpushyorsomething,heputastoptoit.Abarfightstartednearus,onepatronthrowinganotheronestraightatthe stage. As there was no free room on stage, we faltered on a song as wescrambledtogetoutofhisway.D’anwasfuriousandstoppedthesongwhilehecalled forWuher tohelpout.Thebartender threwbothbrawlers out, but thenfixeduswithagrungyeye.“Youdon’tstopplaying.Notfornothing.Gotit?”D’annodded.Wegot it.Weansweredbystartingthesongagainat thebeat

D’anledwith.People at these kinds of places tended to look alike, all of them dirty and

shady,with something to hide.Outsiders stood out like—well, like a Bith onTatooine.Sowhentwohumansenteredthebarwhostoodoutmorethanwedid,theycaughtmyeye.Wuhergruntedatthemtokeeptheirdroidsoutside—theirgoldprotocoldroidand theirblueastromech. I looked from them toD’anandthenrememberedtherule.Keepplaying.I knew I should tell the Imperials about the droids during our break. There

mightbearewardthatcouldgetusoffthishellplanet.IbeggedD’anwithmyeyestogetusabreak,butheignoredme.These droids were clearly sought after, but why didn’t the stormtroopers

outsidefindthem?Iwascurious,butthetwomenwereclearlyuptosomething,ascarefullyinnocentastheyacted.Itwastheirinnocencethatmadethemstand

out,honestly.Ironically, theyblendedright inonce theywerechallengedbyahugebrute,

and thehairierof themenbroughtout a laser swordandcut thearmoff theirattacker.The arm smoked slightly on the floor, and its former owner shrieked.We

stoppedplaying,ofcourse.ButthenWuherglaredatusandwehastilystartedupagain.Soweweresupposed to justkeeponwith themusicwhilepeoplewerelosinglimbs?AndhereI’dthoughtthisplacewasbetterthanJabba’s.(Saywhatyouwillabouttheslug,hedidn’tmindifwewerestartledoutoftunewhenhemurderedsomeone.)AlargeIthorian lefthisseatandheadedfor thebar,andInearlyswallowed

myjocimerreedwhenIspottedGreedo.Idon’tknowhowlongtheslimylittleguyhadbeenlurkingbehindhim.Greedolookedrightatus,andIfalteredforanote or two, but we didn’t stop.Not for nothing,Wuher had said. Not for aseveredlimb,anddefinitelynotforabountyhunterwithagrudge.Greedowenttothebarandorderedadrink,thenwatchedus,unblinking.D’an instructed us to start a new song, fast and catchy, and we played it,

defiantlyignoringGreedo.Hewatched,impassively,fingeringtheblasterathiship.Wewere allowed to quit if our liveswere in danger, right?Or did that fall

underthenotfornothingrule?Ididn’tknow.ButIwasgettingintothemusicwhenTechpokedmeintheback.Greedohadstartedtomove.Hewassteppingaroundthebar(Iwonderedwildlywhethersomeonehadcleanedupthearmorifhe was going to trip. He didn’t.) and heading our way. I tried to get D’an’sattention,buthewastoointothebeat.Inthemiddleofthesong,Ifeltmydoublejocimerbegintoslipapartat the

joints. D’an hadn’t givenme any chance to properly clean it, and I’d done amessyjoboilingittomakeupfortheever-presentsand.NowIwasintrouble.Everyonehastheirownversionofthenextpart,andmostofthemhavetodo

with “look how clumsy Ickabel was!” but here is what really happened:Everythingyou’veheard,Ididonpurpose.Igavemyjocimeraquickturnwithboth hands, opposite directions, and it fell apart. The valves and tubes wentflying,andthecircularjointsthatmadeupthebodyandallofthevibratingreedsfellandrolledtowardGreedo,whohadpickedupspeed.Hesteppedonanoilyjointandwentflyingbackward.D’anscowledandpointedat themesswhilestillplaying.Don’tstopnot for

nothing,right.Ihoppedoffthestageandgotonthefloortograbthediscardedpiecesofmyinstrument.Greedowasstilldown,rubbinghishead,andIkeptaneye on his blaster. I scurried to the other side of the dais to put my abusedinstrumenttogether.TheotherpatronsweregivingGreedoagoodribbing,andhefinallygotup,

bright green with anger. He glared at me, and then looked past me. His facechanged,slackened,and thenhesmiled, ifyoucansayhiskindcansmile.Heturnedandleftuswithoutabackwardglance.Whathaddelightedhimso?I saw he was heading toward another white human male who was with a

WookieeconversingwithWuher.Someonehewantedmore thanus; thatmustbesomeonewitheitherabigbountyorwithwhomGreedohadabiggergrudge.I got back on the dais and started playing an even faster song, one ofD’an’sfavorites. Everyone looked exasperated but gratified that Greedo had beendistracted.Theystilldon’tbelieveIdiditonpurpose.I started thinking again about those droids andwhether they could get us a

goodpayout.D’anwouldn’tgivethebandabreakwhilethebountyhunterwasaround,soIwouldn’tbeabletotellthetroopersoutsideuntilGreedowasgone.ThehumanmaleandWookieewerespeakingwiththeothertwohumans,the

ones with the droids. Everyone left the table but the human that had caughtGreedo’sinterest.Greedoslippedoverand,justasthehumanstoodup,corneredhimwithablaster.Greedocalmlyencouragedhimtositbackdown.ThetempochangedandIhadtofocusonD’anforamoment,andthenlight

flaredandGreedoslumpeddownonthetableinfrontofthehuman.Idon’tseealotofhumans,butIthoughttheirfacialexpressionsweremoreexpressivethanthisman showed. The patrons around them looked over in alarm, andWuherlookedreadytoshootthehumanhimself,butthemantossedhimsomecreditsandsaunteredout.Although we wanted to cheer, we kept playing. We didn’t stop, not for

nothing.Wehadbeensaved.Jabbahadletusgo.Greedowasdonefor.Ourtipjarwasfillingup,andthingsmightbelookingupforthefirsttimeinaverylongtime.As we played another one of D’an’s newest songs (captivity had been

strangelyinspirationaltohim,Ihavetoadmit),Ithoughtaboutthosedroidsandthestormtroopersthatsearchedforthem.Ithoughtaboutapossiblereward.AndthenIdecidedthatifthathumancoulddousafavorwithoutusknowinghimat

all,wecoulddothoseotherhumansafavorandnotreportthem.Weweresafenow,andcouldkeepplaying.Which is really all we ever wanted to do. Play, and don’t stop. Not for

nothing.

As if the day wasn’t bad enough, the gods-blamed droid detector wasn’tworkingrightagain.Becausewhojustwalkedin,butacoupleofgods-blameddroids.Onewas a rickety old protocol droid, tarnished and sand-scoured.Theotherablue-toppedastromech.BothprobablycameoffasomeJawasandcrawler—eachprobablyhalfacircuitshyofaproperdroid.Acouplajunk-botsthat’lljustwrecktheplace,likedroidsdo.Theygotnohearts.Theygotnosoul.Andnowtheywerehereinhiscantina.Itwasbadnewsinanalreadycrummyday.Likeahawked-upglobbaspiton

topofapoodoosundae.Wuher,bartenderattheMosEisleycantina,startedhisdaythesamewayas

healwaysdid:upbeforethetwosuns,wearyfromanightofraggeddream-wornsleep, breakfasting on salted zucca and pulverized gravel-maggots beforestomping upstairs to the cantina. He turned on all the lights.Warmed up themachines.Alreadythefirstbadnewshithim:Theywererunninglowondamnneareverythingthatwouldcalmtempersonthishot,deadworld.Nogar-slurry,

nofistulajuice,noneofthathoochthattheGamorreanscookup.Wuherpulledout the telescoping arm from underneath the bar top, popping the latches andunfolding his datapad screen with a rackety-clack. Of course, that wasn’tworkingeither—hehadtoblowsand-screeoffit,thenwhackitafewtimes,andallthatgothimwasaglitchingscreenfulloffat,corruptedpixels.Thatmeanthecouldn’tpullupthedeliveryschedule.Hewasprettysurethathisguy,aspacernamedBimsTorka,wassupposedto

deliver a shipment of stuff yesterday.Maybe even the day before. Torkawassupposed to bring him the standard stuff, plus maybe a case of KnockbackNectarfromJakku,whichwasaboutasnastyabrewasyoucouldget—bubbly,high-octaneboosterfuel,basically.Gotpeopletoomessedup.Wuherknewthatthisthinghedid,thisthingbehindthebar,itwasn’tart.Anylunk-brainedsand-eatercoulddoit.Buttodoitright,youhadtoknowsomethings,andoneofthethingsyouknewwasthatyoudidn’twantyourdrinkerstoodrunk,toofast.Thathappened, and theywere out. Stoppedbuying and starting fighting.Orworse,startedpuking.Still,theywantedthestuff,sohechargedapremium.Butnowhedidn’thaveit.Didn’thaveanyofit.Whathehadwasthedregs.

Whichthey’dbuy,but theywouldn’t like it.Andthatmeanthe’dhavetohearthemcomplain,andthelast thinghewantedwastohearthemcomplain.Whatwashe,theirnursemaid?Soothingthepoorlittlebabies?Animals.Whining,mewlinganimals.Itwaswhatitwas,sohehitthebuttontoopenthelocksandrollupthegates.

Thatdidn’twork,either,sohetookapivotwrenchtoitandgaveitthreegoodwhacks—whong, whong, whong!—which got it open again. The locks hissed.Thegateopenedwithastaccatorattle.Didn’t take long before the joint was full up. Full of spacers and traders,

piratesandsmugglers.Allaroundweredust-heads,spice-hounds,flesh-peddlers,gear-tinkers.Theusual.Butnodroids.Neverdroids.Laterintheday,theModalNodeswereplaying,andtheywereallrightguys

and girls—at least for Bith, who let’s be honest were pretty bizarre—but hehatedtheirmusic.Justsoundedlikenoisetohim.Thenagain,everythingsoundedlikenoisetoWuher.Worse than theNodeswaswho came in next: that smuggler, Solo, and his

walkingshag-pilecopilot.Wuherdidn’tknowwherethehair-stackcamefrom—hethoughtthoseWookieeswereaslavespecies,butthisonedidn’tlooklikeno

slave to Wuher. Only other Wookiee he knew was the one that owned thiscantina, a fella namedChalmun.Also not a slave.Whichwas fine byWuher.Nobody should have to be a slave. It was part of the lifeblood of this planetbecauseoftheHutts,andnowthankstotheEmpireitwaspartofthelifebloodofthewholedamngalaxy.Buthewouldn’thaveapartofit.Sure,hecouldhavehelphereifheboughtaslaveortwo.Thenitwouldn’tjustbehim.Yeah,he’sgot Ackmena working some nights, but a couple of slaves would take thepressureoffhimduringtheday.Butitdidn’tseemright.Itdidn’tseemrightatall.Sothen,asWuherwaspumpingdrinksandignoringquestions,Soloheaded

over to a dark corner of the cantina. Like hewas holding court. Like hewaswaiting for somethingor someone.Thebighairy sonofagunwent to theothersideofthejoint,whichseemedstrangetoWuher—yougotabowcaster-sportingtree-trunk bodyguard like that fella, you never let him leave your side. Thatmonsterlookedlikehecouldslaptheheadrightoffyourshoulders.Solo,yeah,helookedtoughenough,butnotWookiee-tough.Plus,lastWuherheard,Solohaddebtsonhisshoulders.Notjustanydebts,neither.AdebttoaHutt.TheHuttaroundtheseparts.Jabba.It’spractically thekindofwisdomyou’dwant tohangonyourwall:Never

oweJabbatheHuttanything—ever.ButtheresatSolo,owingJabba,sittingalone,theWookieegone.Thatwaswhenoneof the freakson theother sideof thebar, a guynamed

Jerriko, pulled the smoke-stemout of hismouth, blew a fewvapor rings, andthen said in his undeservedly haughty way: “Oh my. Somebody is in troubletoday.”Heliftedhischintoindicatewhocamethroughthedoor.Greedo.TheRodian.Bounty hunter scum.Wuher didn’t caremuch for bounty hunters and bail-

jackers. It went back to the slave thing: people owning other people. But hecouldn’t close the door to them. (Unless they were droids. He had that droiddetectorinstalledfordamngoodreason.)Ifwordgotaroundhedidn’tservethehunters,he’dgetareputation.Andonthisworld,youdon’twantareputationifyouwannastayinbusiness.Greedowalkedin,lookedaround,satdown.

TheRodiansawSolo.SolopretendednottoseetheRodian.That’swhenWuherknew:Hewasgonnabecleaninguparealfargingmess

soonenough.ThiswasatrapforSolo.Ormaybe,hethought:atrapforGreedo.Wuherfiguredthey’dallfindoutsoonenough.Then—then!—hespied thatcrazymilk-eyemoon-batsittingdown,guywho

calledhimselfRoofoo.Roofoohadafriendtoday,asad-lookingAqualishwhoRoofoointroducedinhisgrowlywhineofavoice:“Hey.You!ThisismyfriendSawkee.Hedrinksforfree!”“Nobodydrinksforfree,”Wuhersaid.ButRoofoo kept talking like he didn’t even hear the answer: “ThatRodian

youjustdraggedoutofhere?Icouldhavetakenhim.Icouldhavekilledhim!”“I’msureyoucoulda,”Wuhersaid,scowling.Bigboaster,thisguy.“Icouldkillanyoneinhere!”“Uh-huh.Yougonnaordersomething?”RoofooorderedacoupleofblackfizzersforhimandhisbroodingAqualish

friend,whichWuherquicklydeliveredbeforeheadingtotheothersideofthebarto fill a fewmore requests—Someonehissedathim.Ugh.Thesmokeragain.Jerriko.“What?”Wuher snapped.Theman had a drink already.Wuher always told

people:Ifyouhaveadrinkinyourhand,youdon’tneedmefornothing.Andyettheyalwaystalkedtohim.Alwayshadtojabberandyammer.“Thatmanoverthere.Withtheonebadeyeandthe…face.”“Yeah.Roofoo.”“Thatisnothisname.Heisakiller.Asurgeon,oroncewas,bythenameof

Dr. Cornelius Evazan. Be wary of him. Be wary of his partner, as well. TheAqualish.PondaBaba.”“Uh-huh.”Jerrikopursedhis lips.Themanwasan incorrigibleknow-it-all.“Imethim

once,atabanquet.Thoughhesurelydoesnotremember.Hewasdifferent,then.Less…mad.Notyetdisfigured.Butstill,akiller.”ItwasthenthatJerrikoleanedin, conspiratorially. “I could dispatch him for you. Before he causes trouble.BecauseIassureyou:Hewillcausetrouble.”“Idon’tgiveahotcupofjerbagallwhatyoudo,whathedoes,whatanybody

does.Ijustmakethedrinksandgetpaid.”

Jerrikonodded,a slight smirkonhis face.“Ah,yes, Iunderstandyou.”ButthewayhesaiditsoundedlikeheheardWuhersaysomethinghedidn’tsay,andasJerrikomovedtotheothersideofthebartobenearertoEvazan,Wuherfeltit.Likeeverythingwascomingdownonhishead.Wuherfelthot.Sweaty.Andyou didn’t feel sweaty in a dry place like this, but here hewas, feeling slick,woozy, feverish—not with an illness but with a moment of grave indecisionabouthis lifeandhisplace in it.Evenashepouredaglassofbluespirit forapilot—alittleChadra-Fanscreechingathim—therealityofhissituationhithimacrossthebacklikeaclub.Wuherhadnoone.Hehadnothingbutthisbarandthese people, these freaks, these spacers and traders, pirates and smugglers.Every day, another body dropped. Every day, protection money paid to theHutts.Didn’theseeacoupleImperialtrooperskickingaroundoutsidethedoor?ProbablymeanthewouldhavetosufferanImperialinspectionsoon,too.Anditwasthen,rightthen,thatthegravestindignityhithim.Thosetwodroidscameinthedoor.Theprotocolandtheastromech.They came clanking inwith the old hermitwho showed up once in awild

moon and this fresh-faced desert kid. Already,Wuher felt heat blistering hisforehead:nottheheatoftheday,whichhewasusedtobynow,butthefeverofrageflashingacrosshisbrow.Droids.Droids.“Hey!”hebarked.“Wedon’tservetheirkindhere!”Thekid,lookingflummoxed,asked:“What?”“Your droids!” he growled. “They’ll have to wait outside. We don’t want

themhere.”Thekidlookedevenmoreflummoxed,andasthedroidstotteredbackoutinto

thedesertheat,Wuherhadtoputhishandouttosteadyhimselfagainstthebar.The memories buffeted him like the winds of a sirocco storm——Wuher, afresh-facedteenboy,heavyaroundthebellybutspryenough,runningdownthehallsofArkaxStation, thegroundshaking,blasterfire lightingthedarkbehindhim——droids, blackandgleaming,moving through the stationas they killed the

powerandexecutedeveryonetheyfound——his parents, dead, each peppered with blasterfire, the holes in them still

smoldering——thehiss-and-whisperofpneumaticlimbsbehindhimasdroideyeslitupthe

black,theirblastersleveledathim,readytofire—Heshuddered,suddenlycold.Droids.He hated droids. The Clone Wars taught him that. Clankers couldn’t be

trusted. They were alive as any other, but more powerful: as eternal as theirprogramming would allow, passed from body to body. They were smart.Dangerous.Nomatterwhatkindofrestrainingboltyouputonthem.Theyhadnomercythewayamanhasmercy.Theywerecold.Killers,tothelast.Oratleastthepotentialtobe.Wuherdidnothavelongtodwellonthis,however.Becausenowthefresh-facedkidstoodatthebar,tuggingonWuher’ssleeve

theway a kid does to an elder. Stupid boy, probably just somehick from thesticks.Wuher groused at him, slid a glass of dirty water across the bar—kidwantedcleanwater,hewaswelcometopayapremiumfortheprivilege,justlikeeveryoneelse.Neartothebar,thehairballWookieewastalkingtotheoldhermit.Neitherof

themwasdrinkingathingatthemoment,ofcourse,justtakingupseats.Butoutofnowhere,acommotionkickedup.Thestupidkidmust’vebumped

into theAqualish, ormaybe theAqualish bumped into the kid.Didn’tmatter,because that Sawkee—or Ponda Baba or whatever his name was—becameskeevedoffsomethingfierce.Worstofall,herecamethemilk-eye,Evazan.Madasasunbakedwomprat.“Hedoesn’tlikeyou,”Evazansaidtothekid.Theboy,confused,answeredsimplyenough:“I’msorry.”“Idon’tlikeyou,either!”It’sthenthatthemilk-eyegoesintoboastingmode:

“You just watch yourself. We’re wanted men! I have the death sentence ontwelvesystems!”Wuherthought:Whosaysthat?Whoannouncesthatthey’reagods-blamed criminalwith a death sentence?Might aswell print yourbountynumberacrossyourhead,makeyourselfatargettoeverywhackjobwithadebttopay.“I’llbecareful,”theboysaid,notbeingcarefulatall.Stupidkid.“You’llbedead!”Evazansnarled,grabbingtheboyandspinninghimaround.

Andthat’swhentheoldman,thehermit,gotinvolved.“Thislittleone’snotworththeeffort,”hesaid,hisvoicecrisp,regal,notlike

thoseintheseparts.Theoldhermitdidn’tdrinkmuchbutalwayspaidforclean

water.Nevercausedtrouble.Neverspokeupmuch.Theoldman, in thatregalvoice of his, offered to buyEvazan something—Evazan roared, throwing theboy backward and into a table. The kid crashed against it, going down like asackofrocks.Someonedrewablaster—theAqualish,maybe.ItwaslikebeingbackonArkaxagain,andWuherthoughttogetoutoftheway——theirblastersleveledathim,readytofire—Abluespearoflightcutthroughthecantinaair,vwomm,vwomm——behindthedroids,twinspearsoflight,blueandgreen—Wuherleaptfortheground,panickickinghimintheribs.Thesoundofscreams,ofalimbhittingtheground.—droidsscreeching,hissingaslasersaberscutthemtopieces—And thenWuher stood again. The aftermathwas plain to see: theAqualish

cradlingastumparm;Evazancollapsedagainsthisstool,hischestrentopen;thefarmboystaring,eyeswideasthetwinsuns;andtheoldmancoollynoddingashe led the boy away. And like that, all returned to normal. Themusic beganplayinganew.Jerrikoharrumphedandturnedaway,continuingtoletvaporringslazilydriftfromhispuckeredlips.JustanotherdayhereinaMosEisleycantina.Butitwasn’tjustanotherdayforWuher.Notnow.Notanymore.Thememoryofthisday,andthatdaysolongago,playedagainandagainin

hismind,eachmemorychasingthelast.Circlesandcircles.Roundandround.Blastersup.Droids.Limbs.Sabersoflight.The chaoswasn’t over that day, far from it. Itwasn’t long before a pair of

stormtrooperscamein,startedaskingwhathappenedhere.WhatWuherthoughtwasthis:I don’tmuch knowwhat happened here today. I know I kicked a couple of

dirtydroidsout, because youcan’t trust dirtydroids. I know that therewasanastycharacterherewhotoldmehisnamewasRoofooandthathisfriendwasSawkee, but hewas really someone namedEvazan, and his friendwasPondaBaba.Iknowtheymessedwiththewrongfarmboy,becausethatfarmboyhadafriend:ahermitwhoupuntilnowwasjustthat,justahermit.ButIthinkhewasmorethanahermit.IthinkhewasaJediofold.Ithoughttheyweredeadandgone, the Jedi. They once saved my life, those Jedi, saved me from a wholebattalionofdirtydroids.SoI’minclinedtogivethisoneapass.Andyoushould,too.

Hedidn’tsayanyofthat,ofcourse.Heknewnottoget involvedorsaythewrongthingtoacoupleofImperials.Heknew,too,thattheoldmanandtheboywerealreadygone,havingseenthetrooperscomein.Hepointedinthedirectionoftheemptytablesandshrugged.Later,a single shot screamedout—and theRodianGreedodroppeddeadon

the table as the smuggler,Solo, stoodupandwalkedaway, like itwasnobigthing. He tossed Wuher a couple of credits, said something slick, and thenwanderedoutof thecantina.Wuherhad togoover,drag thebodyout,hastilyscrubbloodfromthetable.Butevenashedid,thosetwinmemories—Todayinthecantina,andthatday,onArkaxStation.Backandforth,backandforth.Memorieschasingmemories.Liketwoskad-clawschasingeachother’stails.Limbsandsabers.Droidsanddeath.Eventually thedaywounddown.Wuhergave the cantinaover to thenight-

shiftbarkeep,a tougholdbroadnamedAckmenawho livedouton theDelkinRidgewithherwife,Sorschi.AndWuherdidwhathealwaysdid:Hewent,hada glass of blue milk to settle his stomach, and then he went to bed. And hewonderedwhat the next daywould bring. Hewondered if hewould do it allagain,orifthiswashischance—asitwassomanyyearsagoonArkaxStation—to change course, to do something different. That night long ago derailedeverything,hisparentsdead,his lifechanged.Maybenowitwastimetoget itbackontherails.Maybehecouldchangehispath,evennow.Maybehecouldfindsomeplaceofhisown.Someoneofhisown.Maybehecouldchangehisdestiny.Butwouldhe?

There is a legend,Kabe begins, in theBith overworld about thePlace ThatComesAfterDeath, theRealmofAllLight, theBigSleep—Idon’t knowwhattheycall it.They’reBith.Youever try talking toaBith?Whoknows.Anyway,whatever it is, inBithHeaven, there’saclub,anightclub,andeverynight thefinest Bith musicians who ever lived—well, died—gather there to play. Theyhaveagift formusic, theBith,whichyou shouldknow inadvance so that thecontextualarenaofthefollowinganecdotemakessenseonceIreachitsamusingconclusion. Anyway. These dead yet legendary Bith musicians create thesweetestmusicinthewholequintessence.Onstage,however,sitsasimplestooluponwhichagoldenKloohornreststhatnomusiciandaresplay,oreventouch.Well,ifyouwaitlongenoughanddrinkenoughofwhatevertheBithdrink—

againIchallengeyoutotalktooneofthemandunderstandasinglethingtheytell you, and Imean not “understand” as in to know precisely what they aresaying,butrathertotrulycomprehendwhatthethingstheyaresayingactuallymean—astheBithlegendgoes,inthisclub,youmayseeTheStrangerwhenHe

comesforHishorn.Nowyouask,whoisthis“TheStranger”andwhyshouldIcare?WellIshall

tell you. It is, in fact, the purpose of this delightful parable-slash-joke I havechosentosharewithyouasanentrée intoourbusinessathand.TheStrangerenters thismusic club inHeaven and approaches the stage. In reverence andrespect,everyonewatchesinsilence.TheStrangerpicksupthehorn,playsjustonenote,anditsoundssobeautifulthateveryonepresentweepsinanaestheticapotheosis.Itisrevelatory.Itistheverysoundoflight,oflove.Hissinglenoteleaves themallweeping,every time,musiciananddrinkeralike,andthen, thisStranger?Heleaves,ifyoucanbelieveit,asquicklyandquietlyasHecame.Onenight,TheStrangercomes,picksupHishorn,rendstheheartsofthose

present in twain,andexitsas isHiswont.Sooneregular, ratheranewcomercomparedwithsomeoftheold-timers,turnstoanotherregular,thisoneanold-timerwhowill know, unlike the newcomer asking the question, and asks (notwithoutalittleincredulity),“Whoisthatguy?LirinD’avi?”Andtheold-timersays,“No—itisGod.HeonlythinksHeisLirinD’avi!”Kabewaitsforalaughthatnevercomes.Foryousee,inBithculture,LirinD’aviwasthefinestKloohornplayerever

to—Itisalostcause.TheScrapperoppositegivesKabeTheLook.ItisTheLook

that means “Tiny bat-faced creature, your language sounds like a series ofsqueaksandchirpstomeandIhavenoideawhatyouareonabout,”andKabesees it about seventeen times a day. She sighs and places a goldenKloo hornatoptheScrapper’scountertop.Anyway,thisisit.Givemefifty-five?This language, the Scrapper speaks. He haggles Kabe down to forty-eight,

which was really three more than Kabe dared hope to get for the tarnished,piece-of-crap sound tube in the first place, and thendisplays it prominently inthewindowofhisscrappershop.Scrapper shops alwayshave aKloohorn in thewindow.Theyaregood for

business.

—

TheMuftakandKabe:rulersofthekingdomofthecantinaunderground,whichis a kingdom with a population of two. By night, the Muftak sleeps in the

cavernous stone pipeways below the spaceport, below the scorching desertsurfaceofTatooine,belowtheviewofthetwinsunsthatsearthesky,relishingthe lower ambient temperature and the mercy it grants his thick-furred hide.Moisture sometimes collects on the walls, which they reclaim and sell. Kabesleeps in the tunnelsbecause thedarkness feelsbetteronher terrible eyesandbecause the Muftak sleeps there, too. And where the Muftak goes, safetyfollows.TheMuftakandKabe,ateam,squattheretogetherinthedark,waitingfortheimpossible:thattheirluck,ortheheat,onedaywillbreak.During business hours, the Muftak and Kabe prowl the dark(er), cool(er)

cantina and harvest whatever loot they can from the drunk and damageddenizensstaggeringaroundthespaceport,rollingsuckersforloosechange,theirnumerous eyes peeled for an easy pickin’ or whatever else theymight pawn.Casingthetouristsandtransients,they’llliftfromoneguy,selltoanother,spendthecashonathingsomeotherthirdchumpsomewherewantsbutdoesn’tknowhowtofind.Thenthey’llmarkitup,moveitalong,andlivelikelordsuntilthemoney’sgone.Andrepeat,always,forever,A-B-C,AlwaysBeCertaintohustle,hustle, hustle.Making a living in theMos Eisley underworldmeans constantlegwork, sketchy math, dubious markups, and always knowing whatever thenextthingisgonnabe,nomatterwhat,exactly,thenextthingis.Itisexhausting.AtMos Eisley, everyone has side hustles, but theMuftak andKabe? Even

theirsidehustleshavesidehustles.Ackmenaknowsthis,andkeepsitallonthedown-low,becausewhatkindof

drinkslingerwould she be if she didn’t, but at the same time respectmust bepaid,andbyrespect,Ackmenameansrent.Notalot,butenoughthatAckmenacan slip a little something to Chalmun, who owns the whole place, whilepaddinghersilk-linedpocketstomakethetripundergroundworthherwhile.She clears her throat.TheMuftak, sleeping one off, rouses as ifwaking up

from a mild case of light paralysis. Kabe, for her part, chirps. Kabe likesAckmena, and Ackmena thinks Kabe’s voice sounds like music, and so sheenjoyslisteningtoherchirp.“Firstof themonth,my sweet, sweethairballs,” she says,notwithout some

affection,hervoice resonatingoff thecool stoneof their lair, echoing into thedarkforever.TheMuftak may have drunk their money away last night. Ackmena has a

heavy pour for friends. He might have lost the rest of his money—of theirmoney—totheSakiyanoveradubioushandoreleventeenofcards.TheMuftak

can’t be certain (although he is, in fact,VeryCertain; let us, for themoment,givehimthisfeintatuncertaintyandatleastashredofdignity).Onewayortheother,MyowascertainlyinvolvedintheMuftak’schangeoffortuneslastnight.DoesMyoowehimmoney?HowdoesoneaskaviolenceenthusiastlikeMyotopayup?TheMuftakhasmanyquestions.Kabechirps.The Muftak rubs his four eyes, trying to reduce the number of patient

Ackmenaswaitingforhimtopayup.Hescratcheshishead.Hangon.Where’dIputit,heclicks,hopingthepantomimebuyshimtime.Kabechirps.TheMuftak pats himself for pockets he does not have, as he does not now

wear,norhasheeverworn,pants,oranyarticleofclothingforthatmatter,asheliveshislifetrappedbeneathathickblanketoffuronanaridplanetthatmayinfactbemade,somehow,ofactual,real,literalfire.You, theMuftakcroakstoKabe,withyourthunderouscavalcadeofnonstop

chatterboxing, shall literallymurderme ifyoudarecontinuesuchnoise.Havemercy,littlefriend,forinsidemyheadisaviolent,angrybeast,punishingmeforhavinggoodluckatthesabacctablelastnight.(TheMuftakhadverybadluckatthesabacctablelastnight.)Yet stillKabechirps.Andwhat she chirps,what shehas chirped thewhole

time,isthis:Ihavesomemoney.And all four of theMuftak’s eyes give Kabe not The Look but rather The

OtherLook.TheMuftakistheonlyonewhoevergivesTheOtherLooktoKabe,probablybecause theMuftak is theonlyonewhoever understandsKabe, andTheOtherLookmeansIknowwhatyouaresaying,butIdonotknowwhathastranspiredtocompelyoutosaysuchathing.Needlesstosayas,afterall,thisisbut a silent lookwe exchange for thatmost fleetingofmoments,we shall talkaboutitanoninmoreprivatecompany.Kabe sighs and digs out forty-five, what she got for the horn (less her

handler’s fee and early riser’s bonus, of course) and waves it at theMuftak.Dummy.Wheredidyougetthat?theMuftakclicks.Thenherealizesitdoesn’tmatter,

andhedoesn’treallycare.TheMuftaktakesthemoneyfromKabeandhandsittoAckmena.ItisoneoftheonlytimestheMuftakdoesn’textracthiscustomaryprotectorate surcharge for takinggeneralcareofKabe,buthemakesanote to

himselftodoublycompensatehimselfinthefuture.Ackmenacountsit.Shetsk-tsk-tsks.“Forty-five?That’smorethanhalflight,friends.Andwithmydeliverycharge

andfilingtariffsextracted,you’reshortsixtyatleast.”Shelooksatthem.Theylookateachother.Theyknowshewon’tkickthem

out.Sheknowstheyknowshewon’tkickthemout,andprobablyphysicallyshecouldn’t,evenifshewanted,whichshedoesn’t;notreally.Theyknowthatsheknows that theyknow,andsheknows,and theyknow,andonandon,andallany of them really know is, Chalmun, the boss, the landlord, owner of bars,makerofdrinks,andbreakeroflegs,needshisvigorhe’llsendsomeonedowntothetunnelstoextract it theold-fashionedway.Ifhismoodgoesparticularlysour that day (which, being a Wookiee in the desert, happens with greatfrequency), he may choose to exterminate the infestation of Muftaks andChadra-Fansinhispipes, lost incomebedamned.Onthis,at least, theMuftakandChalmunsharecommonground,butnotenoughtokeeptheMuftakalive.LifegetsprettycheapinMosEisley.I’llgetit,theMuftakclicks.Hedoesn’tknowifAckmenaunderstandshisexactwordsornot.Shegetsthe

spiritofthething,ifnotthedetails.“Tonight,sweethearts.Respectmustbepaid.Youknowhowitis.”Sheturnstogo,andthesoundofherfootfallsechoingdownthelengthofthe

tunnel-pipemakestheMuftak’sheadthrobmore.Small friend, before I die, and I assure you, I shall die, today for certain,

tonightifIfindluck,butsurely,surelymytimeisnowathand,theMuftaktak-tak-tak’d,please,Kabe, please tellmewhere and howyou cameupon suchasmallfortune?Becauseforthelifeofme,whateverlittleisleft,whateverlittleitmay be worth, I could’ve sworn you were in quite the state of financialembarrassmentwithregardtotheliquidityofyourresources,andI,myself,amclearly destitute as well, meaning we, my friend, shall continue our streak ofverybadluckunlesswefindsomeformofwindfalltoday,which,Idon’tknow,seemsprettyunlikely.Butamomentagoyousaidyouhadgoodluck,yousaidyouhad“verygood

luck,”atthesabacctableslastnight,Kabecounters.QuoththeMuftak,Imayhavemisspoken.Blamenotthehustlerforhustling.IsoldtheKloohornofLirinCar’n,Kabesqueaks.

Alight—small,dim,butalightallthesame—goesoffsomewhereinsidetheMuftak’sachingskull.Smallness, forgive me if I am mistaken, but I…I seem to have the vaguest

recollectionthatMyo,whoowesusbothanot-insignificantsum,wonsaidhornlast night from Lirin Car’n himself and, in celebration, drank himself to thepointof irritabilityand then left the tableand thehornbehindwhen…when itwas in fact…I…who then took the instrument in question, theMuftak clicks.With the intent of converting it into funds later today, in reparation ofMyo’saforementioneddebt.Indeed. And knowing the day and what was due Ackmena, Kabe says, I

relieved you of the hornwhile you slumbered, as you had relieved him of thehornthathehadrelievedfromLirinCar’n,andthusmadewithgreathastetoaScrapper I knewwhowould be in themarket for horns, especially for goldenhornsofKloo.Ipassedoutandyoustoleitfromme,theMuftakcounters.Ifindthatinterpretationradiantlyunkind,counter-counterstheChadra-Fan.Blessed suns, theMuftak rages, hangover draining as fear-based adrenaline

floodswithinhimandheleapstohisfeet,Myowilleatyouforthis.No.Myowilleatyouforthis,unlesshefindsoutitwasIwhoactuallypawned

the thing. But that, chirps the small one, is a TomorrowProblem.Our TodayProblemispayingrent.Kabe basks in her righteousness. And unless she’s stealing his stuff, the

MuftakfindsthatKabeisusuallyright.

—

Lirin Car’n trembles with rage, fear, regret, doubt, anxiety, despair, andwhateverthewordisforthefeelingyougetwhenyoudranksomuchandplayedsopoorlyatcardsthatyoulostyourfather’sKloohorn,which,indeed,isverymuchafeeling,andafeelingwithaname,butitcomesfromtheBith,whotendtobe theonlyoneswhofeel itand,asyoudon’tspeakBithanyway, itsnamedoesnotmatter.Trustthatthisfeelingisproperandnamedandtrue,albeitrareinitseverbeingfelt,yetitisfelt,morethanithaseverbeenfeltbefore,byLirinCar’n,theBith,rightnow,intheMosEisleycantina.“Andyouwantmetofindthisthingforyou?”DjasPuhraskstheBith.“You’re a bounty hunter, aren’t you? Well? I’m putting a bounty on my

father’shorn. I lost it toMyo.Myodoesn’thave it.Hebelieves thatwhilehewasinhiscups,thethingwasstolenfromhim.Hissolutiontotheproblemistoscreamandgrowlandlookforsomethingtokill.Ifindthatbusinessmattersarebetterhandledbybusinessmen.”“Indeed. In fact, Myo paid me what he swore was his last credit to hunt

whoeveritwasthatdaredstealfromhiminthefirstplace.Ofcourseifhefindsthemfirsthe’llkillthemandthusmootthedeal,butyouunderstand.”“AsfarasIamconcerned,”Car’nsays,“thehornstoppedbelongingtoMyo

onceMyoceasedtoactuallyhavethething.Itis,astheysay,inthewind.AndIwantitback.”“You’re a businessman, you say.You are in themusic business.Without a

horn, there is nomusic, and sansmusic, you are sans business.How am I toknowsuchabountyexists?”theSakiyanasks.Asapeople,theyarenothingifnotpractical.“I’mgoodfor it. I’llmakegoodfor it,”Car’nsays.“After Icanplayagain.

Onesession,onegig—I’llpayyoutwohundred.”“Sothearrangementis:Fortwohundred,Ifindafifty-credithorn—”“Fifty?Howdareyou!Doyouhaveanyideawhomyfatherwas?Doyou—

do—youdon’t—thishorn—the legendof this—I—You—”Car’nstammersonlike this, but all of his protestations fall on tone-deaf Sakiyan ears. “Yourproblem,you—you—you—youSakiyan—isyouhavenoappreciationofart!”“TheBithseethepoetryinthemathematicsofmusic;Iseethepoetryinthe

mathematics of money. Either way—we both can appreciate the beauty ofnumbers. So—two hundred, plus expenses. That is, as they say,music tomyears.”“Getmyhorn.I’llgetyouyourmoney.”“AndallowdearfuriousMyotodealwiththeinterlopers?”“Exactly,”saysCar’nashistremblingsubsides.“Wait—interlopers?Plural?”“Don’tworryaboutit.”DjasPuhrrisesfromthedarklittlealcovetablehethinksofashisregularseat

andsetsabouttheday’swork.Healreadyknowswhattranspired,andhow,andwhy.Heknows,oratleastcanmakeanintuitiveyetaccurateguess,astohowthismesswiththeKloohornbegan.Itisn’tterriblydifficult,knowingthecohortwhofrequentshistable,butastheonlyonewithoutatastefordrink,DjasPuhr,bountyhunter,tendstobetheonewhoseessuchthingsfirstand,ifhe’sstealthy

about it, theonewho stands toprofit.Mostpeople atMosEisley thinkof theplaceasaport,orabar,orabazaar,even.LirinCar’nthinksofitasastage.Djas Puhr knows that, more than anything else, Mos Eisley is a place of

business.

—

TheMuftakstaggersintothedaylightofTatooine,hatinghisparentsalittlebitmore for birthing him into a universe where such unreasonable heat couldpossiblyexist.Hisnameisn’t“theMuftak”butrather“Muftak.”Andasforhisspecies:Insteadofbeing“aMuftak”asmostpeopleassume(hencetheadditionofadefinitearticleasaprefix),MuftakisaTalzwhocamefromOrtoPlutonia—whichisreallyquitefarawayfromTatooineand,beingfulloficeandsnowand cold things, could serve as a model of the desert planet’s literal polaropposite.How theMuftak—Muftak—howaTalz came toTatooine is anotherstoryforanothertime,butneedlesstosay,neitherMuftaknoranyoftheotherregularshaseverseenanother likehim.AtsomepointMyo,confusedasMyooftenbecomes,decidedMuftaktheTalzwasinfactjust“theMuftak”anditkindofstuckafterawhile,mostlybecauseMuftakgottiredoffightingit.TheMuftak does math in his baking, roasting, broiling head:With certain

reductions in surcharges, tariffs, consideration taxes, delivery costs, andgratuities,he thinkshecanpull togetherenoughtoat least live tosee the twinsunssettingafewmoretimes.FirsthemustfindtheSmuggler,andthenhemustfind thePig-NosedMan—ahuman, he thinks—or theWalrus-FacedMan—anAqualish,heknows,andwhomheknowswill,ifthetwoofthemareseparate,knowwheretofindthePig-Nosedprobably-humanMan.Nobody likes thePig-NosedMan.Except, itwould seem, theWalrus-Faced

Man.Soonerorlater,they’llallendupatthebar.AtMosEisley,soonerorlatereveryoneendsupatthebar.SotheMuftaktrudgestothebar.

—

Myo,afight-happyAbyssinwithoneeye,whitemuttonchops,andagiantchiponhisshoulder,ragesattheScrapper.TheScrapper,securebehindhalfameterofwhathastoatleastbeMyo-proofshielding,yawns.“Yellandscreamallyoulike,pal,butbusinessisbusiness.Someonecamein

and sold me the horn. I put the horn in the window. Someone came in andboughtthehorn.Kloohornsaregoodforbusiness,everybodyknowsthat.”“Butitwasmine,”Myoyells.“No,”saystheScrapper.“Itwasmine.”Myothinks.Asthisisnothisstrongsuit,ittakesawhile.“Who…” He works out the question in his mind, and the Scrapper could

swearhehearsgearsgrinding.“…whoboughtit?”TheScrappersays,“Howdareyou,sir.Theprivacyofourclienteleandtheir

business issecondonly toourdiscretion,”butashesays it, theScrappercurlshisfirsttwofingersupandin,twotimes,pap-pap—theintergalacticsymbolfor“twenty.”Myo slides the money under the razor-thin slit beneath the shielding that

separatesthem.Wherehegotitisastoryforanothertimeand,besides,itisn’thisanymore.“ASakiyan.Realshiny.Walkedin,brought ituplikehewaslookingfor it.

Didn’tevenhaggleprice—threehundred.”“The hell you sold that thing for three hundred,” Myo says. Nobody’s so

dumbastobelieveaKloohornwouldsellforthatmuchinascrappershoplikethis—notevenMyo.“Itwasinthatneighborhood.Threehundred, twofifty,ahundo,somewhere

inthere.”Myonarrowshiseye.“Andwhosoldittoyouinthefirstplace?”“Onceagain,sir,Iinsistyourespecttheconfidentialityofourcustomersand

blahblahblah,”theScrappersays,againdoingthelittlecurlofhistwofingersmeaningfeedme.Anothertwentygoesunderthepartition.“Somelittle…batweasel?Idon’tknow.LikeanUgnaughtwithaglandissue

orsomethin’.Ithoughthewasareallyhairykidatfirst.”“She,”snarlsMyo.“Kabe.”Myomentallyaddsfortytothepricehe’llextractfromthelittleChadra-Fan

who sleeps in the tunnels below them—which, again, as thinking is not hisstrong suit, takes awhile, which only makes Myo more mad, which, as ithappens,isMyo’sstrongsuit.

—

A Kloo horn would make a not-ridiculous cane, thinks Djas Puhr, strollingthroughthespaceporttowardthedark(er),cool(er)climesofthecantina.Atleastapropercanewouldhavesomeuse,somepracticalvalue,insteadofthisabsurdstick that made squeaky sounds that equated to “music.” Still, he admits tohimself,when the barwas full ofmusic, spiritswere raised; andwhen spiritswere raisedso, too,wereglasses.Fullglassesmeantdrunkpatrons,anddrunkpatronsmeantopportunity.Distractedby these thoughts,DjasPuhrdoesnot realize,ashepasses inside

the saloon’s threshold, that the Smuggler and theWookiee, eyes on the door,havedrawnonhim.Helethisguarddownforhalfaheartbeat.Halfaheartbeat.Yetthatwasallit

tookfortheSmugglertodrawonhim.HanSoloisthefastestdrawDjasPuhrhaseverseen.“You wouldn’t shoot a man holding a Kloo horn, would you?” asks Djas

Puhr.“That depends,” says theSmuggler. “Youwouldn’t shoot amanwanted by

theHutt,wouldyou?”“Depends on the Hutt, Han,” says Djas Puhr. “Depends on how badly he

wantstheman.”“You’reallheart,”Hansays.DjasPuhrcannothelpbutnoticeHanhasyetto

lowerhisblaster.“ ‘Heart’suggeststhewarmthandkindnessonereservesforfriends,yetmen

like us cannot afford to have friends. I consider you a mutually beneficialassociatebyprofession—ifIconsideryouatall.”TheWookieebarks.“Nooffense.”Solo answers forChewbacca. “None taken. I hear talk Imightbe amarked

man.Markedmenmeanbusiness.That’swhowearerightnow,Puhr—abountyhunterandabounty.Abusinessmanandapieceofunfinishedbusiness.Unlessyouconvincemeotherwise.”“Iwouldn’tspiton thisparticularHuttwereheburningalivebeforemeand

payingformercybythepound,letalonethefortunehe’sofferingforyourhide.Farbeitfrommetoturnmybackonanopportunity,butcertainlinesevenIwill

not cross.”As if tounderscore thebanalityofhis intent,hepulls anawkwardtootsoundfromthehorn.Hanalmostlaughs,forDjasPuhrhasalmostmadeajoke,buthedidn’t,sohedoesn’t.Han considers him. No one knows too much about Djas Puhr. Hunter.

Tracker.And they say he clawed hisway out of Jabba’s slave pits and neverlookedback.Now,HanSolodoesn’tlikeJabba,andthefeelingatthemomentsurely is mutual, but even he recoils at the thought of how much hate theSakiyanmustfeeltowardhisformerenslaver.Handoesaquickequationinhishead.WhowouldDjasPuhrwantdeadmore?WhowouldDjasPuhrwantdeadfirst?Hanputstheblasterbackinitsholster.“Sorry,” he says. Han Solo doesn’t really mean it, and Djas Puhr doesn’t

reallycare.“Wordis,youwereboarded.”Chewbaccagrowls.Aconfirmation.“Itwas the safemove,”Djas Puhr says. “Live to smuggle another day and

makerepayingtheHuttatomorrowproblem.”Hanshrugs.WhatelsecouldIhavedone?“Iamsaddened, though,as, ifmymemoryservesme,amongwhateverelse

youwerehaulingunderyourfloorboards,youweretransferringacertainitemonmybehalf.”HannodstotheWookiee.Reachingintohissatchel,theWookieepullsoutthe

marbledeggofagwayobird.HetossesittoDjasPuhr,whocatchesitwithhisfreehand,thenadmiresthething.“Boarded or not, I still know how to take care of my friends,” Han says,

underliningthewordwithhistone.DjasPuhracknowledgesit,and/orHan,withanod.Solo could have dumped the egg along with the rest of his haul, whatever

contrabanditwas,butchoseotherwise.Itisasmallthing,atinykindness,alittlelawbrokenhere,an import–exportregulationflaunted there,andin thefaceofstrict legal penalty, if not actual death. Some chance to take on a mutuallybeneficialassociatebyprofession,thinksDjasPuhr.“Atasteofhome,”hesaysbywayofofferingatoast,andtakesabiteofthe

egg.“Andwatchyourbacks.TheHutthasgonehighenoughonyourbountiesthat everyboywith a blaster and an itch tomakehis boneswill be aiming to

makethemwithyours.”Hannods,agesturesosmall,sosubtle,itexistsonthevergeofbeingvisible.

Bothknowwhathastranspiredbetweenthem,though.What a terrible business decision, thinksDjasPuhr, finishing the egg at his

usualseat,inhisusualalcove,ensconcedinthedarknessofthebar.Foreitherofthem.

—

MyoshakesKabebytheneckbackandforthandbackandforth,inchoate,afontofblackened,souremotions,allarticulatedinagutturalrenderingofsnarlsandroars.Kabe makes the noises one produces while being throttled by a homicidal

Abyssin.“You stole fromme!”Myo screams into Kabe’s face, and the Chadra-Fan

feelsherfurblastbackandgatherthemoisturefromMyo’sbreath.Kabesqueaksinviolentdesperation,motioningtoMyo’sclenchedfistaround

herneck.Ican’ttellyouanythingifyoukeepcrushingmywindpipe,Kabetriestosqueak,butinsteadshesqueaksonly“Squeak.”“Speak!”yellsMyo,andKabemotionsmorefranticallytoMyo’scontactwith

her throat.Myo realizeswhat he’s doing, and how itmay impede uponKabeansweringhisquestion,andletshergo.Kabefallstothedark,coolstoneofthetunnelfloor.Friend,Kabesqueaks,friend,Inever—never—neverwouldIeverstealfroma

friend.Idonotseehowonecouldsurviveaplacesuchasthiswithoutfriends.MyfriendtheMuftak,however—And in ahot flash,Myo remembers thewhiffof theMuftak from thenight

previousand,withbothofhismassivefists,poundsthewalloverKabe’shead.Bits of rock dust fall on her fur. She covers her head in case anything biggercomesdown.Itdoesn’t.When Myo exhausts himself he says, “I’ll kill him,” heaving with heavy,

angrybreath.Then something happens in his head.Kabe could swear she actually saw it

happen.“Hurmmph,”hurmmphsMyo.

Kabekeepswatching.“Oh,”saysMyo.Myothenthinksforamoment—which,beingMyo,maybe

stretchesbeyondwhateitherofusmightreasonablyconsideramoment.“Oh—no.”Hetrailsoff.“Thedrink.Hardtoremembersometimes.Ithink…”Ohboy,thinksKabe.“…maybeIowedhimsomemoney?”Myosinksagainstthewallopposite.Kabeexhales.Today,shelives.“Still shouldn’t have stolen fromme,” he says. Then, looking up to Kabe,

“We should probably findDjas Puhr before he finds you two and kills you.”Withthat,Myolumbersofftowarddaylight.Kabefollows,notsocertainshe’llsurvivethedayafterall.

—

Somehow, impossible though it may seem, there lives a creature with evenworse luck than all the aforementioned combined: a Rodian who considershimself not only a small-time loan shark in the ascendant but also a bountyhunterofgreattalentsandprospects.Ifhehasevermanagedtocollectaloanorabountyasofyet—infact,as ifhehadeverhuntedanythingsuccessfully,forthatmatter—noonequitecouldtellthetaletoyouwithabsolutecertainty.WhatanyoneknowsaboutthisparticularRodianis—heisanidiotwithagun.Aplacelike the Mos Eisley spaceport bloats with the number of idiots with gunsprowling its corridors, so this somehow renders him evenmore unremarkableunless, forwhatever reason, he points it at you, inwhich case,Hoo, brother.Goodluck.His name, Greedo, fits him with an ironic appropriateness suggesting that

nurtureandnaturetraipsetogether,conspiringagainstusall inafaitaccompli,hand in unlovable hand.Greedo’s hands are particularly unlovable,with theirlong, tendril fingers andweird little suckers on the tips.And at this particularmomentinourstory,hepokesonesad,dangly,puckeredprotuberanceintothechest of Lirin Car’n, the Bith horn playerminus one horn, themusicianwholovesmusicbuthatesmusicians,thepoorsuckerwhocannotpayofftheloanheowesto,ofallbeings,Greedo.LirinCar’nhasasecret:HeplannedonsellingthelegendaryKloohornofhis

fatherLirinD’avithatmorninganyway.LirinCar’nhatesplayinginaband.Hehates his bandmates. He hates his bandleader. He hates the endless, restless

lifestyleofaprofessionalitinerantwheretheonlyconstantisdiscomfort.Nevercould he ever have imagined anything in the galaxy that could rob the joy ofmusic fromhim,but it turnsout living the lifeof amusiciandid the trick.Atleast that’swhathetellshimself.Thatthehorncouldbeconvertedintomoneyhe could use to repay what he owes the shifty Rodian loan shark was onlyhappenstance.BehindGreedo stands thePig-NosedMan and theWalrus-FacedMan,who

everyone,saveGreedo,knowstoavoid.Theyprojectasenseofactualmenacethatthealways-this-side-of-desperateGreedolacksnomatterhowhardhetries.“Payday,Bith,”Greedopurr-garglesinhisnativetongue.“I don’t have it.Nextweek?” asksLirinCar’n, as if noneof thiswouldbe

remarkable,orcreateanyneedforraisedtonesandphysicalviolence.AsfarasLirinCar’ncanfigure,thereisnowayaroundit.Greedowantsathinghesimplydoesnothave.AllLirinCar’ncoulddowouldbeto,somehow,figureouthowtoacquirethemoneyheowesthatdoesn’tinvolvepawninghisfather’sinstrument,whichhenolongerpossesses.Greedopokeshimharder,managingtopushLirinCar’nintothewall.“And

whyshouldIprovideyouclemency?WhyshouldIshowyoumercy?Adebtisadebt.ThetermswerethatIwouldbepaidinfullbyyoutoday!”heyells.“Icannot,Greedo.ForIliterallyhaveno—”Heturnshispocketsinsideoutto

showtheRodian.“—moneyatall.Iwasrobbedlastnight,yousee,and—”Greedoyawlpsinfrustration.Hegetscloser.“Ishallonlyraiseyourinterestratetothirty-fivepercentandchoosetoletyou

live,”hehisses.“Youareverylucky.”“Idonotfeelverylucky,”LirinCar’nsays.“Well,youare,because today is thedayGreedo levelsup,andIdon’thave

thetimetochasebrokelittlehustlerslikeyouupanddownthespaceport.”ThePig-NosedManandtheWalrus-FacedManshareasmugchuckle,thesoundoftwobulliesabouttoremovethepocketchangefromanunknowing,andsmaller,child.LirinCar’n can’t help but laugh at the idea of a hopeless case likeGreedo

belonging to the same class of violent criminal as these two, and yet, byassociation,LirinCar’ncanonlyassumethisisthereputationtheRodianwishesto cultivate. This is the kind of thing to which Greedo aspires; these twochuckling,violentmoronsradiateGreedo’sdreamvibe.

Greedotugsathisblaster,but itcatches in itsholster,andneedingasecondhandtoextractthething.Themaneuver,soincompetentinitsperfectGreedoianabsurdity,strikesLirinCar’naslaughable,andthushelaughsagain,ratherthandoingwhat any sensible creature would do when an idiot attempts to draw aweapononthemonlyforthethingtogetstuck,whichis:run.Thelaughteronlymakesthingsworse.BeforeLirinCar’nknowsit,Greedopushestheunstuckblasterintohischest,

keeping theBithatbay inplaceagainst thewall.Thegunshivers inGreedo’shand,quiveringinanticipationoffiring.“TodayIcaptureorkillthemostwantedmanonTatooine.TodayImakemy

name in the court of Jabba the great.Today I collectmy first fortune.”Everytimehesays“today”hejabsthepistolharderintoLirinCar’n’salreadyconcavechestinawayimpossibletoconsideranythingotherthanhostile.Lirin Car’n cannot stop looking at the gun and snickering. It all feels so

remoteandsurreal.“Stopit!”Greedoshouts,pokingthegunintohimonelasttimeforemphasis.

LirinCar’n,actuallyhurtandactuallyannoyednow,shovesGreedo’sgunhandoutofhiswayasiftosay,Knockitoff,andheslapsittotheside,whichsendsthelithelittlegreensylphbackintothePig-NosedMan.TheWalrus-FacedManchugslikeamotorignitingandramstheBithbackintothewall,hard,keepinghis massive left arm pressed under Lirin Car’n’s chin, and at long last fearignitesinsideLirinCar’nandfloodsthroughhisbodyallatonce,lightningandfireandpanic.“Orrp-orrp-orrp-orrp,”orrpstheWalrus-FacedMan.“Twelvesystems!”Pig-NosedMancorrects.Lirin Car’n feels throttled by genuine, panic-inducing, fight-or-flight fear

now. Madness radiates off these two, and Greedo—Greedo wears bad luckaroundhim likeacloudof fart, likeambient surface radiation, likeahauntingauraofactualgarbage.Mereproximityguaranteed—guaranteed!—hisbadluckwouldcontaminateyou,too,andclosertonowthanlater.MaybethePig-NosedManandtheWalrus-FacedMandon’tknow,butLirinCar’nknows,andLirinCar’nnow,finally,wantstorunbutcannot.“All right,” says Greedo, touching theWalrus-FacedMan, who frees Lirin

Car’nfromthewall.Silencethen.Car’nlooksfromonetotheothertotheotherandtheyallstare

athim.Thesilenceholds.Andholds.

“CanI…haveuntilnextweek,then?”asksLirinCar’n.Greedo holsters his pistol once more and mutters in the affirmative. Car’n

sees,alongthelengthofthebarrelofthething,alittlewispofaprayerGreedohasscratchedintoitsgunmetalsurface—thewordSOLO.Desperate.Desperateandcrazy.

—

AsfarastheMuftakcantell,thePig-NosedMan—calledDr.Evazantohispig-nosed face but never in his absence—has no friends, except for the Walrus-FacedMan—calledPondaBaba and, same—andevenso, theyprobablydon’tlikeeachotherverymuch.Theyhaveonlymanaged tonotkill eachotheryetbecause it’s fifty–fifty how a fight would go down between them, a pair ofpsychotically entangled parasites. The Pig-NosedMan lives life in a constantstateofpainandanger.Noonequiteknewwhat,exactly,Evazandidtohimselforwhy,butitmangledhisface,splithisnose,andmadehimquiteimpossibletodealwithrationally.Tomitigatetheperpetualagonyhiswoundscausehim,themad doctor relies on a constant, alternating barrage of narcotics and physicalviolence, andamanwithno friendsexcept foraWalrus-FacedManhasgreatdifficultiesfindingthefirst,andfartoomucheasefindingthesecond.Theresultof the cycle is this: No one wants to sell Dr. Evazan his drugs, because Dr.Evazan tends toward dumb and dangerous behavior no matter what level ofillicitsubstancesflowthroughhim.Thislifewillnotendwellforthedoctor.TheMuftakhustlestoohardtoholdhishoseshutatsuchanopportunity.He

worked himself into a semi-regular arrangement as an intermediary. EvazangivestheMuftakacoolthousandand,lesshisdangersurchargeandBreaking-the-Law expenditure, the Muftak pays the balance to the Smuggler who,knowingbetterthantoaskwhyorwho-forofhiscustomers,convertsthemoneyintotheanodynechemicalcompoundsthegooddoctorseeksminushisownnot-inconsiderableshippingandhandlingcharges,thendeliversthemtotheMuftak,who delivers them to the doctor and hopes this will not be the time theirarrangementgetshimkilled.“Ihadtodropmycargo,pal.Sorry,”saysHanSolo.“Imperialinterference.”

Heshrugs.Nothingcouldhavebeendonethen;nothingcanbedonenow.TheMuftakmightaswellyellatthesun.Eithersun.Itwon’thelp.

But-but-but-but, theMuftak panic-tweets,my client—I took his money. Youtookhismoney.Thenupondeliveryhe’dpaymeacompletionbonusandhazardstipend,asperouragreement.Youowemehismoney!Youowememymoneythat he will not pay me now, as I will not provide him with the goods andservicesherequires!Whatarewegoingtodoaboutthis,Solo?Solo turns to the Wookiee, who barks and growls and snorts a pidgin

translation.“Well,”Solosays.“Nothing.UnlessyouwanttotakeitupwiththeEmpire,

welosethisround.”ThisdoesnothelpcalmtheMuftak.“Everybodylosessometimes.Evenme.”ButIloseeverytime!theMuftakbleatsout,banginghisbigfurryfistsonthe

table.TheWookiee puts his bigger, furrier fists on the table, too, because some

things you can saywithout saying anything sometimes, even if you can’t sayanything at all.TheMuftak inhales.And then exhales.The temperature at thetablelowersasquicklyasitrose.TheMuftakimaginesEvazandoingtohisfacewhatwasdonetohisown.He

imaginesPondaBabashovingallofhiseyesin,allatonce.He imagines them both coming uponKabe, helpless and alonewithout the

Muftak’s protection, blind in the daylight, dying of heat and then, then, thendyingofthem.HeturnstoChewbacca.CouldIimploreyou,atleast,this:ComewithmeasI

explaintomyclientoursharedpredicamentinthehopethathisfury—andmakenomistake, therewill be great fury—might find itself diminished by the sheermajestyofyourgreatphysicalpresence?TheWookieesnorts.Heprobablymeansyes?

—

Stopme ifyou’veheard thisonebefore:AChadra-Fan, aBith, aSakiyan, anAbyssin, an Aqualish, a human, a Rodian, aWookiee, another human, and aMuftakwalkintoabar,allofthemtryingtoriponeanotheroffatbest,andkilloneanotheratworst,moreorless.TheMuftak freezes.Everyheadathisusual table turns tohim.Some faces

lookhappy;othersfurious.OnlytheSakiyanspeaks.

“Come,friend.Joinus.”NottheMuftak’sfirstchoice.Hefindsthereceptionawaitinghimattheusual

table a complicated array of responses. No one, it would seem, feels terriblyhappyhehascome,exceptKabe,ofcourse,whofiguresheroddsofdyinginthenear futurehavedroppedat least a littlebit.DjasPuhrgetsup—asdoesLirinCar’n—ensuringthattheMuftakcannotleavethetablewithanygreatease.“Quiteadayyou’vehad.”I’mdoomed,theMuftaksays.“Rightfullyso!”shoutsMyo.“Gentlemen,keepyourheads,”saysDjasPuhr.Myo,Itookfromyouapawnablethingofvaluetoreimbursewhatyouowed

meinlosses.Itwasnotminetotake,butIwasowed.Hissingnow throughgritted teeth, hoping it reduceshisvolume,Myo leans

over.“Itwasnotyourstotake.”Ijust…TheMuftaklooksaroundtohiscompatriots.DidInotjustsay—yes,

Myo,yes.Itwasnotminetotake.Inmydefense,Icollectedonadebt.“Imighthavehadthemoney!Youdon’tknow!”TheMuftakhonestlyhadn’tconsideredthis.Didyouhavethemoney?Myo,aterribleliar,lies.“Maybe.”“Canweaddress,perhaps,alargerpoint,Myo,”saysLirinCar’n,turninghis

furyonthefuriousone,“inthatI,inmycups,madeafoolishdecisionandyouchosetoexploitit?”“Profit fromit,youmean,”Myosays,and laughs.He looks to theothers to

joinin,yettheydonot.Theuglytruthamongthemallfindsitsplaceatthetablenow,too;thefragilityoftheircivilitytooneanotherradiantinthedankalcoveoftheirbooth.I am particularly doomed, the Muftak says. Today especially. Sounds of

agreement,tovaryingdegreesandwithvaryinglevelsofenthusiasm,issueforthfromhiscohort.“Whytodayofalldays?Whynotyesterday?Whynottomorrow?”Solo wet his pants at the sight of an Imperial garbage barge and dropped

cargo. Some of that cargowasmine, owed to someone else, and now they’regoing to kill me, and if they don’t, they’re not paying me the balance owed,whichmeanssomeoneelsewillkillme,asIfindmyselffinanciallyembarrassed

at the moment and direly in need of some liquidity, the Muftak squirps,motioning toMyo andLirinCar’n as he does, the subtext being to pay thesegentlesbackwhat theyareowed,even though,strictlyspeaking,noneof themare owed anything, not really. All of which is to say I have no idea how toresolvetheissueofthehornorhowtoreimbursethosewhodemandanddeserveadequaterecompense.“Hedroppedyourcargo,”DjasPuhrsays.“Andyethekeptmine.HadSolo

beensearched,andsearchedthoroughly,bytheseadmiralsoftheImperialrefusefleet, possession of the cargo he broughtmewould have brought him a deathsentence.Andyet.”DjasPuhrletsthenotionhanginthespaceamongthem.TheMuftak looks to the ceiling, dingy and stained and encrustedwith filth

generationsold,andbleatsanoisethatsounds,oddlyenough,asifitcamefromtheKloohornthatstartedthiswholemess.What’syourpoint?HanSololikesyoubetterthanme.Youhavemorefriends

thanme.Fine.Great.You’reabelovedfigure,DjasPuhr. I’malreadydead;Ijustdon’tknowityet.“Iammerelyintrigued.Solomadeachoice.Perhapsnotamoralchoice,but

anethicalone,”DjasPuhrsaysinresponse.“Perhapsheconsidersmeathreat,sohedecidednottodropmycontraband.Perhapsheconsidersyoua—well,youaretheMuftak.”TheMuftakbangshisheadonthetable.“You are not a killer, ismy point.Maybe themedications you provideDr.

Evazan—”The Muftak snaps his head up. That…arrangement was supposed to be

discreet.“Everybodyknows.Sorry.”Those at the table agree—demure as they canmanage, but agreeing all the

same. The Muftak drops his shoulders a little more, thoroughly and totallydefeated,asbadadrugdealerasheisacardplayer,amoney-haver,alife-liver.“Onemoment,”saysLirinCar’n.“You’renotgivinghimnarcoticsnow,are

you?Today?”No.BecauseSolodroppedcargo. Ihavenothing togive, clicks theMuftak.

Why?“Greedo theRodian ismakingaplay forSolo.PondaBabaandEvazanare

backingit.Ithought,foramoment,ofanEvazanblitzedtothegills,whowould

makeaviolentsituationonlymoreviolent,andwasrelievedheshallbewithout.Though saying it out loud, I’m not so certain. Which Evazan is better?Medicated,ornot?”Ineedadrink,saysKabe,andsheescapesunderthetabletoapproachthebar.Iamgoingtodie,theMuftaksays.“Wellthen,Muftak,ontheprecipiceofdeath,whatsortofcreatureshallyou

be?Onewhovaluesfriends?Orprofit?Bywhichcodehaveyoulived?”TheMuftakwiggleshiswee trunkbackand forth.He looksaround thebar.

Heseesallsorts:friends,fiends,foes,financialprospectsandliabilities.Allofwhomwouldjustassoonguthimandrobhimblindasreachdowntohelphim,heissure.And then,asalways,hesees thebestpartofaplace likeMosEisleyand is

filledwithanewhope.A teenagegirlenters, lookingaround,eyeswideasdyingstars, skin radiant

withtheflushofyouth.TheMuftakknowsshe’sneverbeenherebeforebecauseshe tries bringing her golden interpreter droid in with her. An old man whoshouldknowbetter follows.TheMuftak looksat thisgirl and tries to imaginehowmuch money she and her ancient father could have between them, howmuchhecouldswindleorsteal.Theprospectoffreshwork,ofanewproject,anewmark,exciteshim.TheMuftak looks toLirinCar’n.LirinCar’n, Inevershouldhaveaccepted

yourfather’shornfromMyo—Bangingthetableinprotest,Myoturns.“ ‘Accepted’?”“Lethimfinish,”DjasPuhrsays.Allofusknewthathornmeantmorethanwhateverpaydayitrepresented.We

shouldhavewatchedoutforit,allofus,andforyou,andforoneanother,andwedidn’t.This…Ithinkmaybethisiswhatseparatesusfromtheanimals.“Technically,Muftak,Ibelieveyourkindmaybeanimals,”saysDjasPuhr.Nobodylikesapedant,theMuftaksays.“You are not a pendant, you are a know-it-all,” Myo says, and snarls. As

Myo’sintellectualprowessimpressesnoone,leastofallhimself,thetablefindsitselfcollectivelysurprised.“We are all justmoney to one another, that is all. Today or tomorrow, one

day, one of uswill be a payday to the other andwewill pounce. I took yourstupid thingy, Lirin Car’n, yes. And I knew youwere drunk and I knew you

wouldwantitbackandIknewIcouldgetmoneyIdidn’thaveforit.JustastheMuftakknewthesameandtookitfromme.Andwewouldbothdoitagain.”“I’mnotsosure,”saysDjasPuhr,lookingattheMuftak.“Thisisthewaytheworldworks,”adejectedLirinCar’nsays.“Especiallyat

MosEisley.Lifeischeap,Kloohornsarecheaper,andmoneyisexpensive.”“Iproposeawager,friends,”saysDjasPuhr.“IsayHanSololivestoseethe

other side of this day, despite unfavorable odds, because he is a man withfriends.IsayGreedodoesnotcollecthisbounty,forGreedohasnofriendsbutforthosehepays.”Thetableconsiders.Thetablewonderswhy.“Letuswageronthenatureoftheuniverse.Whowins?Themanwithfriends,

orthemanseekingprofitatallcosts?IfI’mright,LirinCar’n,IwillpayyourdebttoMyo.Myo,IwillpayyourdebttotheMuftak.Muftak,IwillpaywhatyouandKabeoweAckmenainrent.AndifI’mwrong…well,GreedowillkillSolo,Evazanwillkill theMuftak,orChalmunwill,or,hell,maybeevenMyo.MyowillfigureoutthatKabetookthehornfromtheMuftakandpawneditandwillprobablykillher,beingrobbedofthechancetokilltheMuftak,andLirin,yourdebtwillremainunpaid,soGreedo,confidentwithaWookieepeltacrosshischestandSolo’sscalpnailedtohiswall,willinflictgreatpain,ifnotactualdeath,uponyou,forhe isnowakillerandkillerscanneverstoponce they’vestarted.He’lldrainyoulikeashallow-dugwell,andwhenyou’redry…”Hedoesn’tneedtofinishthesentence.“AndI…Iwillhavetofindanewcohorttoassociatewith,whichisashame,

asI’vequitecometoenjoythistable.Forallitsfoibles.”The gathered work through the scenario Djas Puhr has laid out and they

realize,oneatatime,thathehasspokenwithunerringaccuracy.The Muftak sighs. I leave now to see a Pig-Nosed Man about a dropped

shipmentofillicitnarcotics.Heturns,thenpauses.Iamsorry,LirinCar’n.Iamsorry,Myo.DjasPuhrraiseshisglasstotheMuftak.

—

Wandering through theMosEisley crowd, no one feelsmore friendless in itsdimandcoolconfinesthantheMuftak.Hesensessomethinginhispaw.

Adrink,handedtohimbyKabe.Youlooklikeyouneeditmorethanme,friend,shesqueaks.Andhedoes.Sohedrinks.Itiscoldandsmoothandgood.Itisreliefinatall

bluecup.MaybeDjasPuhrisrightafterall.

—

Atthebar,keepinganeyeonthedoorand,oneassumes,DjasPuhr,standsDr.Evazan,andnexttohimPondaBaba.DownapiecestandsChewbacca,readytoplaybackuptotheMuftakaspromised,buttressinganexpectantspacebetweenthembeing held, theMuftak knows, for theMuftak himself.All he can do isinserthimself thereinandexplaintothepsychopathsthathedoesn’thavetheirdrugsortheirmoney.He chooses to steady his nerves with the drink before getting probably

murderedand,inthetimeittakeshimtostartsnuffingthethingdownhislittleprotuberantgullet,theteenagegirlandtheoldmantakethatspaceatthebarinhisplace.TheMuftaksighs.Theonly thingworse thanwaiting isbeingmade towait

when you’ve resolved to do something after you’re finished waiting but nowhavenocontroloverhowlongthatwaitingmustlast.Herespondsintheonlysanewaypossible:Hedrinksslower.Before he’s gotten even halfway done, the Aqualish lunatic attacks the

teenagegirlat thebar.Andbefore this registerswithanyone inMosEisleyasanythingoutsideofthepositivelybanalandpredictable,theOldManignitestheairandslices intoPondaBabaandDr.Evazanwithpure lightbefore theycanlayahandonhisdaughter’sflowingflaxenlocks.Thechaoslastshalfasecondlonger, until the air stops sizzling and theOldMan andhiswee lass headoffafterChewbacca,towardthesmuggler’stable,awayfromthedownedlunatics.Chewbacca offers theMuftak a shrug. Sometimes these things take care of

themselves.Greedo, behind the OldMan and theWookiee, watching his hired muscle

bleed out on the cantina floor, feels his luck shift beneath his feet. Greedoremainstoostupidtoturnback,andtheMuftakknowsthefeeling.

—

TheMuftak returns to the tablewhereLirinCar’n seethes,watching the bandplay,andDjasPuhrlooksdelighted.Didyouknowthatwasgoingtohappen?heclicks.“No.Isn’titamazing?”asksDjasPuhr,whois,indeed,genuinelydelighted.DjasPuhrrises toallowtheMuftakbackinto thecornerseat,keepingKabe

andtheMuftakpinnedinbetweenthelamentingLirinCar’nandtheangryMyo.“Ishouldbeupthere,”theBithsays.“Where?Thebar?Youwish tofightaswell?”asksMyo,attentiongoing to

themild outbreak of excitement as though the smell of blood holds a tractorbeamonlyAbyssincanfeel.“What?No,thestage,thestage,Ishouldbeplaying,”hesays.Ithoughtyouhatedmusic,saystheMuftak.“Ihatebeingamusician,”continuesLirinCar’ninamomentofclarity.Isthereadifference?TheBith leansaround to lookat thebandonwhatpassesforastage in this

dump,playingtheirjaunty,syncopated,trademarktune.“Onefillsyourheart.Theotherbreaksit,”LirinCar’nsays.That’sinsane,saystheMuftak.Howcouldanythingsobeautifulbeaburden?

Youhaveagift.Atruegift.HadIanysortoftalent,foranything,I—Ablaster cry breaks the din ofChalmun’sCantina, andGreedo, in a booth

withHanSolo,slumpsover, smoldering,dead.Everyone turns tostare,exceptforDjasPuhr,whostaresattheMuftak.Hesmiles.TheMuftakscratcheshishead.WithGreedo,Evazan,andPondaBabaoutof

thepicture…Youareoutafortune,heclicksatDjasPuhr.DjasPuhrshrugs.Whyareyou

smiling? You’ve lost the bet and now owe…owe…owe all of us at leastsomething.Iknowyoudowellasatracker,butnoneofusdothatwell.DjasPuhrreachesbeneaththetableand,frombehindhis legs,bringsupthe

KloohornofLirinD’avi,whogaveittohissonLirinCar’n,wholostittoMyo,who lost it to theMuftak,who lost it toKabe,whosold it toaScrapper,whosoldittohim.Heplacesitonthetableandeveryoneshutsupforasecond.“Nowthat,”saysMyo,“isafunnyjoke.”

—

Night:Theknotofthedays’eventswoundandunwoundthemselvesaroundthenecksofmany.Someescaped,somedidnot,andstillyetotherswantedonlytogethomeinonepiece.TheMuftaksitsat thebar,drinking,eachgulparelief,eachsipsweeterandsavoredmorethanthelast.Hefindshimselffilledwitharomanceand sentiment towardeverythingon thisparticularnight; theMuftak,havingfoundhimselfinlovewiththeentireworld,keepsdrinking.Fortune eventually smiled uponhim some, at least a little bit, at the sabacc

tablewithhis friends.He’sput asideabouthalfofwhat theMuftakandKabeowetoChalmuntostayinthepipesandisimbibingtherest,raisingglassafterglasstotheprospectoflivingtoseeanotherday.NothingtastesasgoodasthedrinkKabegavehim in thebar thatafternoon,but theMuftak intends tokeeptastinguntilhefindsitsequal.Whenhealmost fallsoff the stool, theMuftakgets cutoff.Ashe risesand

staggers in the first of many unstable, uncertain steps toward home, he findshimselfsupportedbyLirinCar’n,whoescortshim—withgreatcare,withgreatconcern—toward where he’ll sleep, in the tunnels below their feet, dreamingendlessdreamsofalltomorrow’sscores,eachonemorecertainthanthelasttobetheonethatturnsitallaround.Itturnsoutthat,sometimes,friendstakecareofoneanother,eveninaplace

likeMosEisley,andthatmakesallthedifferenceintheworld.

JabbahadsaidtomeethimatDockingBay94.Toldmeitwasacollectionjobandheneededsomeinsurance.Onelookatthedudshedraggedalongconfirmedthis.Not a pro in the lot. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy thewhispers ofsurprisewhenIwalkedontothescene.That’sright,boys.Fett’shere.Domeafavorand fall to the sideafteryou’rehit. I reallydon’twant to tripoveryouridiotcorpsesoncetheshootingstarts.Sorry,iftheshootingstarts.Noreasontogetexcitedyet.Okay,Wook.There are twoways this is going down.One,we have a nice

little chat, Jabba gets his money from Solo, and we all leave happy. Two,someonegetsanxious,zipzip, Jabba’s ridonedeadbeat,andIgetanewscalpformycollection.NoguesseswhichoneIprefer.Originally,Iwasn’tsupposedtobeapartof this.That’swhatIget,Iguess,

stickingaroundTatooinetosnagsomeImperialcoin.Iwassupposedtobeoffthisdustballyesterday,butIpickeduptrooperbuzzthatVaderwaslookingfora couple of runaway droids. Figured I’d collect the bounty and squaremyself

withtheheadmanatthesametime.He’sstillgotamadonoverthoserebelspiesI crisped on Coruscant. Idiots came at me with ion disruptors. What, theythoughtIwouldn’tcarryaweaponaccelerator?Flash,boom,threetinyashpiles.Tried tocollectandLord“NoDisintegrations!” refused topaywithoutbodies.My word’s not good enough, apparently. Reckoned I’d make up the loss byfindinghisdroidsandholdingoutfortwicethereward.No go on that. Trailed one until its footprints were wiped out by a Jawa

sandcrawler.FollowedthosetreadsawayuntilIfoundsomeonehadwipedoutthe Jawas, too. “Someone” meaning amateurs trying to fake a Tusken raid.Probably stormtroopers, judging by the random blast shots. Some might callthemprecise.Me,Isaytheycan’thitthebuttendofabantha.Atleasttheyhadbrainsenough to takeouteveryonewhohadseen thedroids.Hard luckon thesizzled hicks I found at that torched moisture farm. Had a look-see anddiscovered therewere three settlers living there, not two.Betting the third ranwiththedroids.I’llhuntaroundafterI’mdonehere.VadermaytriplethebountyifIbringhimthefugitivealongwiththedroids.Yeah,Iknow,intactcorpse,“nodisintegrations.”Till then,hereIstand,addingsomecredibilitytothecollectionofbumsand

bugsJabbacallsmuscle.Figureshe’dwantustoshakedownSolo,thebiggestloserinthegalaxy.Icouldjustpophimfortargetpractice,butIneverworkforfree.Twerp?You’rereallygonnacallmethat,Solo?Backitupwithyourblaster,

Wook-hugger. I’ll twerp your guts all over that sorry heap of junk you call aship.Easy,Furball.Pawswhere I can see them.Noone’s throwingdown justyet.Still,ifyouwanttostartsomething,sure,Icanshiftmygunalittle,movethebraidswhereyoucansee them…thereyougo.You like that?Takeagoodlook.Friendsofyours,maybe?Family?Smartcritter.Noreaction.Playitcool.Meanwhile Solo plays for time. Same old song and dance. “I’ll pay you

tomorrowforacharterI’mtakingtoday.”Garbage.He’llrunatthefirstchance,andI’llchasehimdown.Finebyme.ThemoreIwork,themoreI’llmakeJabbapayforthepirate’shead.NotthatIreallyhaveanythingagainstthebigslug—hismoneyisjustasgood

asanyone’s,andbetterthanmost.Butbusinessisbusiness,andwebothknowtopresstheadvantagewhenwehaveit.MamaFettdidn’traiseanyfools.Strictlyspeaking,mymamawasabirthingpod,butyougetthepoint.Still, I can’thelpbut think Jabbaconsidersme theclosest thinghehas toa

friend.Well,closeranywaythanthatcreepysuck-upFortunaandthatshriekingvarminthekeepsforapet.Somenightswhenthelightsaredowninthepalaceandhisscumbuddiesaresnoozing,Jabbapullsoutabottleofhisreallyprimegardulla, kicks Rebo awake, orders him to play something low and sad, andinvitesmetohaveafew.SoItakeoffmyhelmet(butnevermygun)anddrinkas he pours.And theHutt talks.A lot. Personal stuff, things no one else everhears.Storiesofloveslost,enemiescrushed,dealsbrokeredthenbroken,regrets,possibly,thingsthateatathissoul,ifhe’sgotone.’CourseIdon’tunderstandawordhe says,but thedrink isgoodand the company, consideringwhat Jabbapays,istolerable.What,we’redone?JabbaactuallygaveSoloanextension.Unbelievable.And

afterSolo friedGreedoand trompedon the slug’s tail toboot. Jabba’sgettingsoft.Eitherthat,orhefiguresSolo’sgottiestopeoplewithdeeperpockets.Mustbe that. The Hutt can smell money, and he never misses a trick. You lead acharmedlife,Solo,andI’dverymuchliketochangethat.You,too,Wook.Thatauburnscalpofyourswillmakeafinetrophy.Someday.RightnowJabbajustsaid“Boska,” andwhen the boss saysboska,weboska.As long as he’s in agenerousmood,I’llhithimupforamugofthatfinebrew.AftertodayIcoulduseone.

B reaTonnikacouldn’trememberwhereshewas.Notatfirst.Thestalestenchofwineandlingeringhaliatperfumeonherskinhelpedher

focuson the crackedbedroomwalls smearedwith stains, theoriginsofwhichshedidn’twant to try toguess.Still hungover, she recoiled from thenoondayrays filtering through her window and let herself sink back into the hardmattress. Try as shemight, she couldn’t keep out the cacophony ofmerchantchatterandhissingtransports.Overtheyears,Breaandhersisterhadstayedinsome funkyplaces, but the best room for rent inMosEisley’s dusty portwasonlyafractionbetterthanpitchingatentononeofTatooine’svastsanddunes.Thedooropened,andBreareachedfortheblasteronthenightstand.“You’refinallyup,”SenniTonnikasaid.BreaandSenniTonnikawerealike insomanyways.Theyshared thesame

lean,muscular legsandbraideddarkhair.Thesamewideexpressiveeyesandthat roguish smirkwhen they set their sights on amark. But the resemblancestoppedthere.Sometimes,BreawishedshecouldcharmstrangersthewaySenni

couldwithjustaturnofherlovelyhead.Senniwastall,andherhairmadeherappeareventaller.Shefoundpowerinbeingabletolookdownatnearlyanyonewhennegotiatingcontracts—contractsthatlatelywerefewandfarbetween,andfulfilling them not made easier with the arrival of Imperial troops snoopingaround.Breasatupandgrabbedarobefromthefloor.“Please tellmeit’snotmore

flatbreadandbeans.”Sennikickedoffherbootsandhookedhercloakonthebackofthedoor.She

threwthefiberbagacrossthesmallroom.Twobeds,ashower,andatablefortheirweapons.That’salltheyneeded.“It’snotmorebeans?”Senni said, trying tokeepa straight faceasher twin

rippedopenthebagoffoodtofindfreshloavesofflatbread.Brearippedoffapieceandshoveditbetweenherlips,stillsmearedwithher

favoritemetalliclipstick.“I hate this place,” she said, finally getting out of bed. She sat at the table

covered with blasters and rifles. She picked up her favorite pistol—themetalwastheblueofIthorianroses.“Wecouldstayatthepalace,”Sennisaid.“YouknowJabbahasalwaystaken

alikingtoyou.”“Us,” Brea said, chewing rudely to make her sister cringe. “And simply

becausethewordpalaceisinitsdescriptiondoesnotapalacemake.”“Speakingofoverstuffedsnot,HisRoyalSlughasajob.”“Whatisit?”“IfIknew,Iwouldn’tbesittingherewatchingyounurseyourhangover.”“Ifeelperfect.”Senni threwherheadbackandcackled.“If itweren’t forme,youwould’ve

madeoutwithaRodianpiratelastnight.”Brea grimaced, trying to recall the night. But there was only darkness.

Darknesswasbetterthanthememoriesthatthreatenedtopushtheirwaytotheforefrontofher thoughts.Blood, andguns, and jobsgone so south shewasn’tsureshe’deverrecover.Memorieslikethatdidn’thaveplaceinthepresent.Soshe did as her sister asked and showered, the water tepid and smelling ofchemicalsshecouldn’tname.When she was ready, she stood in front of Senni, who without speaking

zippedupthebackofherbodysuit.Eachsistercarriedapistolatherhipanda

knife in her boot. They put on their cloaks and headed out into the dry,suffocatingstreet,whereitwasnearlyimpossiblenottoinhaledust.TheyhoppedonaspeederandzoomedtowardJabba’spalace.

—

BreaandSenniwatchedthesunssetfromatoparockformation.Tatooinemightbe a desertwasteland lacking in any culinarydelicacies, but few things in thegalaxycomparedtothebrillianceofitssunsets.TheTonnikasistersstalkeddownthecavernouscorridorthatledtothedank

hall where Jabba held court. The Royal Slug’s body odor was impossible tomiss.Breaalwayspinchedthebridgeofhernoseuntilshewasabletostandthesmells,butSenniwasn’tfazedbythingslikecomfort.Shewantedtogetonwiththenextjob,mainlybecausetheiraccountswerenearlydepletedandtheirfaceswereineverycriminaldatabaseinthegalaxy.SoSenniTonnikaheldherheadhigh,herbraidsswishingaroundherbroadshoulders likefringeasshewalkedin.They wore different-colored suits, Brea’s blue and Senni’s acid-green, and

wadedthroughthecrowds,returningthecordialnodsthatwerethrownintheirdirection. Jabbawas still hiddenunder shadow, slumbering thewayhedidnomatterhowloudlythecourtbustledaroundhim.BreaorderedtwoTatooinesunsetsfromawaitress,ignoringhersister’sglare,

andtheypickedanemptyspotagainstawallwheretheycouldwatch.“Ugh,” Brea muttered under her breath. Since they were little, they’d

developed a way of speaking without many words. Brea’s dark eyes flittedacrosstheroomwhereBibFortunastalkedaroundtheband.Hisbright-redeyessentshiversdownBrea’sspine.Sennitouchedhersister’sshoulderbutsteeledherfeatures.“Notlong.”ButitwasalongtimebeforeJabbadeignedtowakeup,despitehavingbeen

theone tocall thegathering.Noonequestionedhim.Noonecomplained thatthey’d beenwaiting andwaiting, or that the bandwas recycling songs it hadplayedwhen they first arrived.Brea drank another tall orange-and-pink drink,smiledataWookieewithagreatscaracrosshisface,andwatchedtheTwi’lekgirltwirlherdelicatewriststotherhythmofthehorns.Itwasn’tthemusicthatwokeJabba,butthegrowloftherancorthatlivedinthecagebeneathhisthrone.Senni and Brea glanced at each other, then at the other bounty hunters in

attendance. There was a moment of stillness. TheMax Rebo Band was deadsilent. A deep grumble echoed in the bowels of the palace, and Brea felt herheart quicken because she knew what would happen when Jabba moved histhronebackandopenedthehatch.She’dseenhuntersandslavesofanyandallspeciesplungeintothedeepdarkbeneathandnevercomeout.Insteadof feedinghispet, Jabbaopened thewideslitofhisdroolingmouth

andlaughed.“Gatheraround,myfriends,”JabbaorderedinHuttese.Heturnedhisserpent

eyesonthebandandsaid,“DidIaskyoutostopplaying?”Max set his fat blue digits to pressing the keys of his organ, and anupbeat

tuneplayedinthebackgroundaseverybountyhunterpresentsteppedclosertoJabba’sthrone.Sennistoodinfrontofhersister,asifshecouldshieldherwithherbody.She

lookedfromsidetosideattheothersinattendance.Amongherpeers,shewasn’tsomeone’ssisterandshewasn’tsomeorphan.No,shewasahunterandathiefand a smuggler. She was capable of many things, even if Brea was the onewhosemugshotwaslistedinthecriminaldatabaseformurder.Whateverthisjobwas,Senniwoulddoitbecausetheyneededtogetfaraway

where they wouldn’t be recognized and their names wouldn’t be flagged onscans.Theycouldgetoffthisworldandhavewhatpassedasanormallife.Forthat, they needed credits. Lots of them, and only Jabba offered that kind ofcurrency.“Asmanyofyouknow,”Jabbabeganinhisgutturalvoice,“HanSololostmy

cargo.Hehasignoredmysummons.Iwanthimbroughttome.Mysourcestellmeheisseekingtogetoffplanetassoonashecan.WhoeverbringsSolotome,alive,willberewarded.”Therewas abevyofmurmurs.Adark-hairedhunterwearing ablack jacket

lookedatBreaandthenatSenni.Butthesisterskeptquietandwaited.Thescar-faced Wookiee stepped forward. The sisters didn’t understand his wailingspeech,butwhateverhesaidmadeJabbalaughagain.Brea watched the Royal Slug throw his slimy head back, his tail wiggling

happily,andshewonderedifheeverstoppedlaughing.Sheshiftedbeneaththenervousrippleinthecrowd,becausesheknewwhatwouldcomenext.Sennigrabbedhersister’shandandtheytookastepback.Thelatchopened

beneaththeWookiee’sfeet,andhisscreamwastheflatnoteofahorn.

“Bringme Solo,” Jabba saidwhen theWookiee’s cry died down, and thenthere were only the jingling tunes of the band, and the crunching of bonebetweentherancor’steeth.

—

BreaandSennidiscussedthejoboverandoveragainthroughthenightandintothenextmorning.“Isayhewon’tcomewithus,”Breasaid.“Hecan’tstillbemadabouttheLandoordeal.Itwashisidea.”Breawantedtocorrecthersister.Thereweremanythingsthathadhappened

between them and the cocky smuggler. Maybe not friendship, but there washistory. When Jabba put out a prize like that, he was pitting a whole lot ofrancorsagainstoneanother.Whyshouldn’t thesistersbetheonestocomeouttriumphant?“Itdoesn’tmatter,”Breasaid.“Soloisgoingtotakeonelookatusandbolt.

Hewon’tcomewillingly.”“Thenwewon’ttakehimwillingly.”Sennilickedherlipscoquettishly.“HaveyouforgottenhisWookieebodyguard?Senni,it’sHan.Ifhe’sgotany

brains in that thick skull of his, he’s already fixing to run.We’ll find anotherjob.”Sennicrossedherarmsandscoffedstubbornly.“Oh,yeah?When?”“Idon’tknow,but—”“Butnothing.WhendidyougosoftforSolo,anyway?You’vebeencursing

hisnameacrossthegalaxyforyears.Weneedafastshipandtogetthatweneedcredits.Someoneisgoingtobringhimin.Whyshouldn’titbeus?”“Igetit,”Breasaid,herbrowfurrowed.ShewassurprisedatSenni.“Ihavea

debttopaySolo,butI’veneverbeenbraveenoughtogothroughwithit.Afterall, he was responsible for my greatest humiliation, and that I’ll never, everforget.”Senniwasstartledbyherownthoughtless.Howcouldshehavemistakenher

sister’shesitationforconcern?“It’syourcall.Thiscouldbeourchancetohavewhatwe’vealwayswanted.”In their cramped room in the heart ofMosEisley,Brea andSenniTonnika

facedeachotherfromtheedgesoftheirtwinbeds.Whatwe’vealwayswanted.

Freedom.Peace.Life.Everyoneknewhowpeople like themendedup—blownup,inprison,oronthewrongendofablaster.Then Brea made that face she always made when she was up to no good.

Becausetheycouldhaveitall.Thefreedomandthepeaceofmind.Allofit.“Ihaveabetteridea,”shetoldSenniwhoquirkedasinglebrow.“Thisisn’tlikethetimewebrokeintoHouseOrgana’spalacetolifttheroyal

jewelsandhadtohideinadumpsterfortwonights,isit?”Brearolledhereyes.“Forthelasttime,Igotabadtip.HowwasIsupposedto

knowthehousemaidsdon’twearorange?”“Orthetime—”“Enough,”Breasaid,andthis timehersister listened.“Wecanhaveitall—

theship,thecredits,andwewon’tgetourlimbsrippedoffintheprocess.”“How?”“Let’sstealtheFalcon.”

—

WhenBrea Tonnika stepped into Chalmun’s Cantina, she felt just as she hadduringherfirstconbackonKiffex.Herpalmsweresweatingandherheartwasracing out of her chest. Back then, she and Senni had been trying to break afriend out of a detention center.Back then, no credits had been involved, justduty.Everythinghadgonesmoothly,untilaguardcameback tohispostearlyand caught them. Brea stayed behind to give them cover, and her sweaty,nervoushandsshottokill.Itwasonlyheronthefootage.After that they had no choice but to go offworld. To run and keep running

untiltherecameadaywhentheywouldhaveaplacetocallhomethatwasn’tadankrentedroomorafreightership.“It’sthefastestshipinthegalaxy,”Breapleadedwithhersister.“That’swhatHansays,andeveryone’stooscaredtochallengehim.Besides,

Jabba’srewardcouldbuyadozenfastships.”Theylookeddownatthesametime,asiftheyweresharingthesamethought

—the rancordevouring theWookiee at Jabba’spalace. Itwasn’t the first timethey’dseenthecreatureinaction,buteverytimetheyhopeditwouldbethelast.BreawonderedifshecouldreallyleaveSolotothatfate.ShesteeledherheartbecausetakingcareofSenniwouldalwayscomefirst.

Senni sighed and said, “I don’t know. Solowould probably rather take hischanceswiththeentireEmpirethangiveuphisship.”“He’saratroach,”Breasaid,andchuckled.“Iknowhe’ssomewhereonthis

dirtballtryingtofindanewsoultoswindle.Butwe’vegottoactnow,Sen.WehavetobeatJabba’smentotheship.Theplaceiscrawlingwithstormtroopers.Ifitgoessouth,thereisnowayI’mtakingworkfromtheEmpire.Notafterwhatthey’vedonetoourkind.”“You’reahunter,”Senniremindedher.“Youdon’tgettochoosewhereyour

jobcomesfrom.”“Ifthisisourlastjob,thenyes,wecanchoose.”So theychose.Breacut apath through the tightlypackeddarkaislesof the

tavern and settled at the bar. Wuher, the bartender, barely looked in theirdirectionbeforehepulledonadrafthandleandset two tallglasses in frontofthem.Notoneforpleasantries,hegrumbledhis“hello”andstalkedoff to takeanotherorder.“Thereheis,”Senniwhisperedintohersister’sear.A couple of regulars cozied up beside them, already in their cups, tapping

their feet to the jumping rhythm of the band. Senni smiled and delighted twolocals with stories of a job they had worked in the Canto Bight Casino.Meanwhile, Brea watched the crowd. Aman in a brown robe walked in andstruck up a conversationwith a pilot. Beside her, Senni laughed andwas herusualcharmingself.“Itellyou,Ican’tgetanythingdonewiththosehelmet-headsparadingabout,”

oneofthelocalstoldBrea,histhickbottomlipdrooping.“Neverseenanythinglikeit,”anotheronesaid.ThatpiquedSenni’sinterestandshejoinedtheconversation.Fromfarmersto

merchants, no one on Tatooine was pleased with the recent arrival ofstormtroopers.“Whataretheyafter?”sheasked.“Droids,soundslike,”themansaid.“I’vegotamessofthempiledupinmy

shediftheywantdroids.”Brea glanced at her sister and shared a frown for a moment before

recommencinghercarefulscanofthecantina.Shenoticedayoungfarmerwalkin.Hishairwastheshadeofbeatengold,andeveninthedarkoftheroomshecould see howbright his eyeswere.Therewas an innocence about him as he

askedhisdroidstowaitoutside,thenwalkeduptothebarbesidetheoldmaninthebrownrobe.Brea likedhim, for some inexplicable reason.Hehad thekindof innocence

sheandSenninevercould.ThenBreagrabbedhersister’sarm.“DockingBayNinety-Four.”

—

“Somethingstrangeishappening,”SennitoldhertwinastheyracedthroughthecrowdedMos Eisley streets. Each sandstone building looked exactly like thenext; every personwore a cloak to protect themselves from the sand and thedust.Itwastheperfectporttogetlostin,ifonetrulywantedto.“Somethingstrangeisalwayshappening,”Breasaid.“First, there’ssomuch

heatonthisspeckofrock—”“It’sadesert,ofcoursethere’sheat.”“YouknowwhatImean.Ithinksomethingterribleisgoingtohappen.”Breasidesteppedakidracingonahoverbike.Shewould’veyelledathimif

shedidn’t have somewhere tobe. “Listen tome,” she said toSenni. “Terriblethingswillalwayshappen.TheyhappenedonKiffexandtheyhappenonNabooandtheyhappenonTatooine.Therewillalwaysbeawar,andtherewillalwaysbesomeonewhowantsus lockedup.But theonly thingwecando issurvive,Sen.Surviveuntiltheywon’tletus.”They got to Docking Bay 94, and there she was—theMillennium Falcon.

Dirtyandinneedofashine,buttheTonnikasistersknewhowfastshecouldgo.Inthatmomenttheyhadthesamememoryofseeminglyendlessnightsaboardthe most magnificent hunk of junk in the galaxy. But that was the past.Memories.“Doyourememberhowtoworkthecontrolpanels?”SenniaskedBrea.Breashrugged,butaquirkatherlipbetrayedherthoughts.“Landotaughtme

athingortwo.”TheytookasteptowardtheFalcon,butafamiliarlaughstoppedthemcold.

Jabba.Breayankedhersistertothesideandhidaroundastackofcrates.“Blast!”Sennihissed.“Howmany?”Breaasked.Sennishookherhead.Sheproppedherselfupandstoleaglancefromoverthe

topofthecrates.TherewereJabbaandahandfulofbountyhunters,guardingtheFalconlikeapackofwomprats.Thereweretoomanyofthem,allconcentratedaroundtheentrancetotheship.Therewasnowaytheycouldgetonboardnow.Stealing the Falcon while there was a price on Solo’s head would be likestealingfromJabbahimself,but itwould’vebeenworthit.Breacursedherselffornotactingfaster,forlettingherhesitationdragherdown.Theyweretoolate.“Whysendhuntersout forSolo ifheknewwherehewas thewhole time?”

Breawondered.“Itoldyou.Somethingstrangeishappening.Wehavetogetoffworld!”“Ourrideisalittleofflimits,”Breawhisper-hissed.“We’llfindanotherway.Wealwaysdo.”Brea thoughtback to the time they stowedawayona shipbelonging to the

OhnakaGang or the time theywere stranded inWild Space or the time theytrashedtheirroomonCoruscantjusttogetbackatLando…Senniwasright;theyalwaysfoundanotherway.Breasmiledathersisterandwaitedforthecoasttobeclear.AssoonasJabba

andhismenweren’t looking in their direction, they slippedbackout thedoorandontothecrowdedstreet.BreaandSenniTonnikaneededtoregroup.Findanotherwaytobreakfree.It

seemed as if that life theywantedwas as distant as the outermost ring of thegalaxy.Butfornow,astheyduckedintoanearbyalleyway,theyhadeachother.“Youowemearide,”Sennitoldhersisterafteralongsilence.Breawantedtosaythatsheowedhermorethanthat.TheywaitedtoseeJabba’snextmovebutascufflebrokeoutonthestreets.

Brea lifted her hoodback up to seewhat the commotionwas about. She keptclose to thewallandsawagroupofstormtroopersmarchbywith riflesat theready.Their presence ignited awave of chatter among the street dwellers andlocals,whowatchedthemrunintoDockingBay94.In the flurry of the moment, dozens of bodies were clamoring to see the

stormtroopersinaction.TheirdistractionbroughtasparktoBrea’seyes.Thedockingbaysnearbywere left unmanned.Any ship in Jabba’sposition

wouldsellhandsomely,and if thiswas their lastscore, theyweregoingout instyle.“What is it?”Senniwhispered intoher sister’sear, craningherneck like so

manyothers.

“We’regettingoffthisrock.”Breasmirkedasshegrabbedhersister’shandandledherbackintothestreet,

knowingquitewelltheycouldn’tstoprunninguntiltheyweresurroundedbythestars.

“D’youknowwhatyourproblemis,LongSnoot?”Thehumanelbowsmeasifunsurehehasmyattention,andIallowit.“What’s that?” I say. His language is difficult forme to speak, inelegantly

forcedthroughtwosetsofteethandoutofmysensitivesnout,anorganthatcanexpressathousandemotionsinmyownlanguagewithameretwitch.“You’reastuck-upspy.Immoralandarrogantatthesametime.See,youcan

be one or the other, but you can’t be both.”He swigs the acid he considers abeverage. The fumes make my snout wrinkle. “Think you’re better than us.Pretend you’re not rich. Sit around the cantina like you fit in.But you’re justanotheralien,stickingyouruglymugwhereitdon’tbelong.”My snout wrinkles, an elegant poem he can’t read. “I will take that into

consideration.”Thehumansnortsandstands.“Sheesh.Don’tevenknowwhenyou’rebeing

insulted. Not even smart enough to take offense.” He wobbles off to another

table filledwith raucous humans. They’re laughing atme now, at the strangecreaturewiththelongsnootwhohidesbehindrobesandgoggles.Theirspeciesgratesonmynerves.Noisy,rude,unsubtle,uneducated,especiallyintheroughercorners of a planet like Tatooine. Their sweat stinks of fear and desperation.They’re as trappedhere as I am, although they tell themselves theychose thislife.“Know what your problem is?” I say in my own language, quietly and to

myself. “Your problem is that your entire species thinks itself a sun aroundwhich the petty planets and moons spin, but really you’re just another rock,doomed to ever orbit something grander but remain ignorant of your owninsignificance.”Hewouldn’tunderstandthat,evenifIsaiditinhislanguage.Soon,he’lldiscoverthathisleatherbagofcreditsisgone.That,atleast,isalanguageheunderstands.Hewaswrongabouttherichpart,yousee.

—

WhenIfirstcamehere,theycalledmeLongSnoot.Nooneaskedmynameorspecies,whichIatfirstconsideredtheheightofdiscourtesy.SoonIlearnedthatitwasaprotectivemeasureamong thievesandfelons,allhidingouthereonaplanet that’s not worth searching. Did I tell them my name is Garindan ezzZavor,andthatIcomefromarespectablehiveonKubindi?Orthatmyclanisknownforbreedingandfarmingasought-afterstrainofsucculentpicoletbeetle?DidItellthemmychildrenarewell-knownsenators,orators,andartists,thatmygrandchildrenfillthecrèchesandacademiestobringfutureglorytoourhive?No,Ididnot.Forone,becausenooneasked.Foranother,becausetheirpettythoughtsdon’t

matter. They are merely scavengers run to ground by a bigger predator. Fatechasedusallhere,butitwon’tkeepmeheremuchlonger.I lookdownatmydatapad,checkingmyaccounts.YesterdayIwaswealthy

by any standard.Then a robed spyofferedme a garbled commmessage fromKubindi.Ihaven’theardmyownlanguageinyears,andIwasmorethanwillingtopaythesubstantialamountshedemanded.“Father, comehome,”mydaughter said, her pain thrumming in every tone.

“Motherisdead,andthefamilyisintrouble.We—”

Themessagecutoff.Thestrangerdisappeared.Myaccountdippedtonearlynothing.Ididn’tcare.Afterthat,myentirefocuschanged.Before,Iwasquietlybuildingmyaccounttoreturnhomewithrichesatatime

of my leisure. Then I could begin the process of freeing Kubindi from thecontrol of the lying Empire. Now I have about three standard days to scrapetogetherenoughintelandcredstogetmeoffthisplanetandbackhome,whereImustburymymatewithfullhonorsandregaincontrolofmyclan.Butmynetworkislarge,andI’vealreadyarrangedforaninformanttosupply

thecodesIneedtogethome.Thetimeisnigh,soIadjustmyhoodandgogglesandslipoutofthecantina,leavinghalfacreditoutforthebartender,Wuher,oneoftheleastoffensivehumansIknow.It’sapleasuretobeoutside,freefromthestenchofdrunken,poorlywashed

fools.ThelightonthisplanetwouldblindmeifItookoffmygoggles,butthescent of the night air is pleasurable. The sand scours the wind clean, and Ialways curl my snout with joy at the clear, mineral freshness of it.Momentslater,I’lladjust,andtheodorofdewbacksandrontoswillhitme,bigandwarm,plus the smaller notes of fusty Jawas and the oily clank of metal. It’s like asymphony,thewaythescentsflowanewwitheachbreeze.ButitonlymakesmelongallthemoreforKubindi,fortheodorsthatspeakofhome.Ihaven’ttasteddainty leevil pâtéor robustbeesh legs in ages.Theonly thing sweeterwill berubbingsnoutswithmychildrenandmeeting thenewgrandchildren,ofwhichI’msuretherewillbemany.Isnatchanightmothfromtheairandtry toswallowitbefore thevile taste

hitsme.Me,reducedtoeatingmoths.TheairgrowsstaleasIhurrythroughalleysandunderbillowingfabrictents.

Thehumansnarrow their eyes atme, their flesh radiating the scentof distrustand anxiety. They see me as a monster from their nightmares, a hideous,dishonest creature that lives to swindle and degrade them. If only they couldunderstand that I see themexactly the sameway,butwith theaddedbonusofslaveryandoppression.Iamhereonlybecausetheirpeoplebroughtmehereandabandonedme.Theyareherebychoice.I reach the meeting place first and put my back against the rough clay

dwelling.Sendingmysensesout intothenight, Ismell thievescountingcreds,murderers with blood still on their hands, enforcers with smoking blasters,

females drenched in hopelessness, starving children, and a hundred differentspeciessleepingfretfullybehindlockeddoors.Thisisnormalintheslumsofaplace likeTatooine.All the honorable life happens farther out, on respectablemoisturefarms.ThingsIneversmellhereincludethetangoffreshoilpaint,theresin flaking off an instrument’s plucked strings, the nutty zing of ink, or thepowdery cosmetics painted on actorswaitingbehinddusty curtains.Of all theplaces foraculturedKubaz toendup, it’s ironic that it’sonaplanetbereftofarts,decorum,andeducation.Notthatitmatters.I’llbegonesoon.IsmellmyinformantbeforeIseehim.He’shuman,becauseofcourseheis.

Nervous,sweating,hisfleshstillredolentofthearmorhe’swornalldaywhiletrompingaround,cajolingandintimidatingandkillinghisownkindonanorderhedoesn’tfullyunderstandandneverquestions.Iwasneverthatnaïve.It’sthenature ofmy species to question. It just so happens that I didn’t question therightthings,andthat’showIcametobehere.He’s jumpy, and he’s still wearing a blaster. The less I speak, the more

comfortablehewillfeel,soIsimplyholdoutthewornpurseofdewbackleatherI snatched frommy unkind neighbor in the cantina, jingling it slightly inmyglove.Thatnoisepropelshimforward.“TurnitoutsoIcansee,”hewhispers.It’safoolishdemand.Therearetoomanycreditshere,morethanIcanholdin

myhands,butIpouroutenoughtosatisfyhim.Eventhroughthegoggles,Icanseehisbulbouseyesgleaming.JustasIwantsomething,sodoeshe.Wearebothwillingtodounderhandedthingstomakeithappen.Iwonderwhatpurposethismoneywillserve.Perhapsacrimebosshasstolenthedancinggirlhethinksheloves, ormaybehis child is sitting in irons in themarket.Maybehe, too, justwants toescape the liesof theEmpire. Itdoesn’tmatter. I tuck thecoinsbackintothebag,andhesnatchesitwithouttouchingmygloveandhandsmeaslipofpaperwithseveralcodesscribbledinBasic.“Thesewillgetmepasttheblockade?”Iask.Hejerksbackwhenhehearsmyvoice. I’vebeentold it remindshumansof

thewhineofinsects,whichmakessense,asIamdescendedfrominsects.Theynever question that I have gone to the trouble to learn their entire language,while not a single onehasbothered to learnmyname. If I toldhimhis voicereminds me of the hooting complaints of a Kowakian monkey-lizard, he’dprobablyshootmewhereIstand.

“Thecodesaregood,atleastforafewdays.Itwouldbebestifyouwereonashipwithnoguns,somesortoftrader.Nothingtherebelswouldfly.”When he says the word rebels, he spits in the sand, and I can smell his

moisturesoakingupthedust.Sothisone—hestillthinkshispeoplearethegoodguys.“Yourfriendisabouttogetjumped,”Iobserve,andhepullshishooddown

andspins.Asoftthumpandcryaroundthecornersendhimrunningtowardthecompatriotwhowatchedhisbackduringourexchange.Myworkisdone,andImeltintothenight.Thescentoftheirbloodfollowsme.Evenforvillains,thisplaceisdangerous.

—

Ilivehere,butIwouldnotcallthisplaceahome.Mypeoplebuildbeautifullycomplexhives,eachpersoncurlingintheirowntightcellatnighttodreamthedreamsofgrubs.MyhovelonTatooinefeelsboth toosmall tobeahomeandtoobigtobeasleepingcell.Someonestoredbeastshereonce,butIprefertheirlingeringodor to thatofhumansandtheothersentientcreatureswhosurroundme.Beastshavehonestinterests,mostofthempertainingtothephysicaldrivesdictated by their body chemistry. Their odors are predictable, harmless,dependable.But people emit thousands of pheromones in their secretions, their thoughts

and feelings laid down like the whispered conversations that mar a concert.Tatooine is no place for a thinking being who relies on unspokencommunication,especiallywhenthecommunicatorsareunawareofhowtheylietothemselves.Itisunfortunatethatmybusinesskeepsmewaitingforhoursincantinas,theairthickwithlustandgreedandfear.Perhapsthisiswhytheyhateme:Somewhere,deepdown,theyknowsomeoneislistening.Ilockmydooraseveryoneelsedoes.Mybluelightiscalming,andIbuzza

sigh as I finally removemy hood and goggles. I worry that when I return toKubindi,myfamilyandfriendswill focuson theunattractiveridgesworn intomyfleshbythisdisguise,thelinesoftightleatherpressingaroundmysnoutanddrawingcirclesaroundmyeyes.Myhairwillstandupstraight,butpartsofmewillfeelasiftheydroop.AmongtheKubaz,littlecanbehidden,andIwillbeoutofpractice.Mydatapadpings,alertingmetoanewbounty.Imustbechoosy.Forallof

my strengths, I havemanyweaknesses, and I only select jobs that keep themhidden. No hand-to-hand combat. No kidnapping. No killing. No guarding. Irarelyusemyblasterbutmakeapointoflettingeveryoneseeit.Informationismy currency, and fortunately, that’s exactly what’s currently desired. TheEmpire has placed a high bounty on any information leading it to twodroids.Oneisgolden,onesquat.Tomorrowmorning,I’llfindthem.Mysnoutwiggleswithglee.ThehighpriceonthislastjobwillpayformypassageofftheplanetandbacktoKubindi.ItmeansthattheveryEmpirethatluredmefrommyhomewithfalsepromisesiseffectivelypayingtoreturnmetomyplanet.Inthecrèche,ourinstructorstaughtusofourhistorywiththeEmpireandthe

Rebellion. The Empire was our friend, but the rebels had long sabotaged ourtechnological advances to keep us offplanet. If we helped them, the Empirepromised tohelpusgaina foothold ingalactic tradeandpolitics.Thecunningprotocoldroidswhospokefor theEmpireonKubindiwerecarefullybathedinhot oil before doddering down the ships’ ramps to meet with our elders andproudlyleadusintothebellyoftheirgrandvesselasourpeoplebuzzedacheer.Wecouldnotdetecttheirlies.Iwasoneofthechosenstudentspickedfromtheacademytostudyunderthe

Empire as adiplomat and return tomymate andhivewithnewaccolades.Atleast,that’swhattheytoldus.InsteadIwasindenturedandtrainedasaspy.Myability to read body language, smell pheromones andweapons, and hear fromlongdistanceswas tobecomeamere tool in thehandofgalaxy-wide tyranny.My fifty companions and I were put in manacles and forced to withstandpropaganda,indoctrination,andreprogramming.Mine,asmightbeguessed,didnottake.I slippedawayona jobandattempted to return toKubindi,only to find its

orbitguardedbyImperialfirepower.Sincethen,I’vebeenworkingquietlyandsteadilytocreatemycurrentreality.Afterthisjob,Iwillhaveenoughcreditstohireaship.InowhaveImperialcodestogetmepasttheblockade.AndIhaveadatapadcrammedwiththemostcurrentinformation,diagrams,

andmanuals on advanced technology andhyperspace travel.When I return toKubindi, my people will finally learn that the Empire holds them hostage,keeping themfromamuchwideruniverseandsabotaging theireveryeffort toget offplanet. I also have the intel necessary to build weapons that can shoottheirbuzzingTIEfightersoutofthesky.

TomorrowIwillfindthedroids.Iwillcollectthebounty.AndthenIwillleave.

—

My day begins in Chalmun’s Cantina. Labria theDevaronian is already here,hidinghispointysmileandtappinghisfingerstomusicnooneelsecanhear.ItakemyplaceinashadowyboothandordertheonlythingIcan,asingleshotoffermented mead from Geonosis. It has taken me months to drink the wholebottle, but I tipWuher for keeping it around.There are only a few shots left,wormssloshingaroundatthebottomofthegreenliquid.Idipinmysnoutandtakeadaintysip,tastinghundredsofothermouthsonthedirtyglass.Icanhearalmosteverythingsaidinthiscantina,andbyafternoonI’veheard

nothingofthedroids.Islurpupthewormatthebottomofmyglassandleave,just another hooded figure disappearing throughWuher’s door. Outside, I dosomethingIrarelydoandtakeafullbreaththroughmysnout,drawingineveryscent for blocks.Pain throbsbehindmyeyes; it’s toomuch.This place is toocrowded,toofilthy,toofullofflesh.Ifollowthescentofhotmetal,butit’sjustanother Jawa selling hiswares. The nextwhiff of droid takesme to a pile ofpartsoutsideamobster’sapartment.Ihurryfromdroidtodroid,huntingforthegoldoneandthesquatone.Myhopebeginstorunout.Ifthey’reinthedesert,Iwillhave trouble finding them.Evenwithmygoggles, thatmuchyellow lightquicklyleavesmedrainedandhurting.Then:Ismellit.Somethingnew.Anoldspeeder’sexhaust,andwithitthebrightodorofdroidslefttoolongin

the sun. They’re not as close as I’d like, and by the time I get to the scent,they’regone,probablyhidinginoneofthemyriadlabyrinthinebuildings.Istalkthe area outside Wuher’s cantina and hear a fight within. Ponda Baba andEvazan again, harassing outsiders. I hide in the shade as they lurch outside,Ponda’s arm held in Evazan’s hands like he’s in the middle of one of hisdisgusting surgeries. The odor of charred flesh makes my snout wrinkle inrevulsion,andfoulredbloodstilldripsfromthewounds.Islipinthedooroncethey’regoneand leanagainst thewall,myhoodpulleddown.Astrangescentridestheair,somethingI’veneversmelledbefore,likeburningrockandcookedmeat,likelightninggivenlife.ItraceittothreehumansandaWookiee.It’sthatdisreputable Han Solo. The new humans need passage to Alderaan forthemselvesandtwodroids.

I almost laugh.Do thesemen even knowwhat secrecy is?They’rewanted,thistownisbeingpatrolledbystormtroopers,buttheyannouncetheirintentionsinplainsight.It’salmosttooeasy.Butthedroidsaren’twiththem,soIhurryoutofthebarandsquatinadarkcornerbetweenthecantinaandHan’sjunkership.If their deal works out, and it will, because I knowHan needs money and areasontogetoffTatooine,theywillcomethisway.Soon I’m rewarded formy efforts. Themenwalk bywith two droids, one

goldenandonesquat,astheyhurrytotheMillenniumFalcon.Mysnoutcrinkleswith delight, and I find a quiet place to commmy contactwithin theEmpire.Thanks to the protocol droids that answer this channel, I’m able to speak inKubazian,andit’sasmalldelighttotastethewordsofhome…“I’ve found thedroids,” I say.“MosEisleyspaceport.DockingBayNinety-

Four.”Amechanizedvoiceanswers,“Roger.Willcreditaccountaftercollection.”HowIhatedroids.Mypeoplecommunicatewhattheywishyoutoknow,and

humanscommunicateeverything,butdroidscommunicatenothing.Ifollowmyquarrytomakesurethey’reheadedinthedirectionI’vereported.

They linger outside the ramp instead of hurrying onto the ship. I leannonchalantlyagainstthewallasthetroopersappeartoclaimthedroids.“IsthisDockingBayNinety-Four?”oneasksme.“Yes, that way! That way!” I say. Even though, in my excitement, I’ve

forgottentospeakBasic,heunderstandswellenoughandhurrieson.Asblasterfireerupts,Irunaway.Thescentburnsthehairsinmysnout,and

thelightsgivemeaheadache.Iamnotmadeforthisplace.Itispleasant,lettingsomeoneelsedothedirtywork.Backatthecantina,Iorderanotherdrinkatthebar. There’s something fitting about finishing the bottle before I leave, as ifgivingmyselfconcreteevidencethatnoKubazremainonthisdrattedplanet.“Twoinaday?”Wuherasks,butIknowhe’snotexpectingananswer.Hemoveson, and I takea sipandconsidermydatapad.Thecredits should

appearatanytime,andthenIwilllookaroundthiscantinaandselecttheleastterrible smuggler to escort me home. The bulk of my savings paid for mydaughter’smessage,socollectingthisbountyisimperative.“Theband isgood,eh?”Labriacomments,givingme the fullbenefitofhis

realsmile,showingonlyhispointedteethagainsthisredskin.Foronce,Irespondhonestly.“Functionalbutlackinginhighertones,”Isayin

Basic.The Devaronian shakes his head, ears going up in annoyance. “You know

nothing,”hegrumbles.Little does he know. A band on Kubindi has at least three times as many

playersasthissimpleBithgrouping,andtheintricaciesofourmusicwouldsoaroverhishorns.Iwasonceanaccomplishedpercussionistmyself.“Perhapsyouarecorrect,”Ioffer.Icheckmydatapad,butstillthecreditsaren’tthere.AsIstareatthebalance,

anewmessagepingsin.“Droidsavoidedcapture.Bountynotawarded,”itsays.Andthat’sit.Mysnoutdeflatesandsagswithdisappointment.Ihaveadayortwo,maybe

mere hours to secure enough credits to buymyway off this planetwhile theImperialcodesarestillgood.Iscrollthroughtheboards,lookingforsomenewor previously hidden bounty I can pick up, some easy little job to drop justenoughcreditsintomyaccount.Itisnotlostonmethat,backhomeonKubindi,my clan is wealthy enough to buy this cantina and everyone in it. But mydaughter’smessagecosteverythingIhad,andtheycan’tgetoffKubindi,andIcan’tgetamessagetothem,andsoIsithere,surroundedbydross,socloseandyet so far from saying goodbye tomymate and seeingmy grandchildren andchildrenagain.“Badnews,LongSnoot?”Labriaasks.Ishakemyhead.Ifheunderstoodme,ifhecouldreadatinyfractionofwhat

I’mexpressing,hewouldn’thave toask.Buthe looksatmeandseesahood,goggles,andalongsnoot.Nothingmore,nothingless.Therearenogoodbounties,nosimplerequestsforinformation.Nothingthat

canbeaccomplishedwithonlymysensesandmycleverness.“Ineedajob,”IsaytoLabria.“Somethingquick.Today.”Helooksatmewithrenewedinterest,andIhearhisteethslidinginandoutof

placeashethinks.“DoyouknowDerrida,theKetton?”heasks.Inod.“Sheneedsanumbertwoforajob.Tonight.”“Whydon’tyoutakeit,then?”Labria barks a laugh and sips his golden drink, considering. “Too much

work.”“Whyhasnooneelsetakenthejob?”Heglancesat thebar inanassumptiveway,and Iproduceahalfcred. I’ve

watchedhimenoughinmytimeheretoknowthatnothingisfree.“It’sagainst theAlliance.Noone likes takingsides.”Hesneersashe looks

aroundtheroom.“Thehumansdon’t,Imean.Onemasterismuchthesameasanother.”He’swrong.Thatveryassumption iswhat landedmehere,mypeople lured

bytheEmpireintothinkingthattheAlliancewasourenemy.Aloneinspace,wecouldonlybelievewhatweweretold.Howwrongwewere.Yetevenknowingthat the Empire has enslavedmy planet and tried to turnme into a brainlessdrone, I need those credits. I need themmore than I need righteousness.Andbesides,frommyunderstandingofintergalactichistory,asmallassassinationonabackwardplanetneverdidchangetheworld.“TellherI’lldoit,”Isay.Labria dashes off a message on his datapad. “It’s done. She’ll send you

coordinates.”He sips his drink and considersme as if seeingme for the firsttime. “You know, some say you’re the greatest spy inMos Eisley spaceport.Some say you’re wildly wealthy. Some say you’re greedy, unprincipled, anddirty,thatyoudowhatyoudoforthepurejoyofdestroyingsomanywell-laidplans.Sotellme,LongSnoot.Whatareyoureally?”I stare at the bar for a moment before realizing that he can’t see my eyes

through the goggles. Slowly andwith emphasis, I tap the barwithmy finger.Labriachucklesandreplacesmyhalfcred.“Iamveryfarfromhome,”Isay.Whiskingawaythehalfcred,Ihurryoutsidetoprepareformylastbounty.

STORMTROOPER CORPS OF THE IMPERIAL ARMY DIVISION OFTHEIMPERIALMILITARY,GALACTICEMPIRE

OFFICIALIMPERIALINCIDENTREPORTFORM

INSTRUCTIONS:

Please fill out fully and completely. Details help! Sometimes seemingly smallelementscanchangethewholestory.Assuch,pleasedon’tleaveanythingout.Be thorough!Followthe instructionscarefullyandanswer thequestionsaskedineachsection.Paintapicture!Andremember, failure tocomplywithproperImperial military protocol can result in disciplinary action including dockedpay, loss of equipment, expulsion, and/or summary execution. Remember alsothatthisisanofficialimperialdocumentandanydiscrepancybetweenwhatyouwrite and what actually occurred is an infraction of the Imperial military

protocol.Thankyouforyourservice!

Name:SardisRamsin OperatingNumber:TD-7556

Corps:Stormtrooper Division:Sandtrooper

Unit:FootPatrol7 CommandingOfficer:CommanderTD-110

LocationofIncident(Settlement,Planet,Region):MosEisley,Tatooine,OuterRim

Wereanyothermembersofyourdetachmentinvolvedinthisincident?Ohyes.Verymuchso.

Whichones?(Bespecific!)Literallyallofthem.

Wereanyofficersinjuredduringthisincident?Onecanonlyhope.

Pleaselistallofficersinjuredduringthisincident:I’dreallyrathernot,actually.

Areyouanofficer?(Ifno,skipthefollowingquestion):No.

Wereyouinjuredinthisincident:…

Areallparticipantsintheincidentaccountedforcurrently?Absolutelythekrizznot.

Whatweretheinitialeventsthatleduptotheincidentinquestion?(Bespecific!)

Right,well,IguessitstartsintheMosEisleybarracksthen,right?WeweresentasaspecificdesignateddetachmentregimentbyGrandMoffTarkintothisarmpitofaplanetintheliteralbuttofthegalaxytorecoversomemissingdroids.

Atleast,that’swhatIheard.Theydon’treallytellusmuch,youknow.Well,Iguess you do know, don’t you, since they = you, but I digress and whatnot.Therewewere, bunkedup in just our underskivvies,whichby theway, sincewe’reonthesubject,areallwellandgoodwhenyou’refreezingyourballsoffonFazorRhenVarorsomethingbutinthedouble-sunneddesertsofTatooineserve only to bake you thoroughly to a crisp and lodge sand in the mostunmentionable and unreachable places. So thanks for that. Also the tempregulators in those helmets you gave us are an absolute sham; like, not evenremotelyfunctional.So,youknow…youmightwanttogetonthatorsomething.Anyway,therewewere,shlangingaboutandwaitingforrunordersfrom110.CommanderTD-4445hadmovedintothecityproperwithhismountedsquad

(according to theirmelodramaticoutburstson thecomms). I reallydon’tknowwhatthemountiesaresofussyabout.Theyhaveitmade,ifyouaskme.Whilewefutzaroundlikehologramsonthedejarikboard,theseluckymoesgettorollnoblyacrossthedesertondewbacks.Andlook,thoseanimals,Ican’texplainit.There’s something graceful about them.They justmove like every particle of’emisperfectlyalignedandentirelyfree.They’lltakeyouthroughastorm,overa river, into a building.They’llmaul the kriff out of anyone that gets in yourway. They’re basically a stormtrooper’s best friend. Before you say anythingelse,yes,Iputintobeinthemounties,andno,Iwasn’taccepted.No,Idon’tknowwhy,butI’mstillprettymiffed.Anyway, I was actually sitting there pondering that—why I didn’t get

positionedinthemountiesinsteadofwiththisineptpileoffoot-patroltrash.AndTintopwasbeinganuisanceagain,asIrecall.He’dslippedTD-787somethingthatmade him gassy andTD-787was about towreck him (again!)whenOldCragspokeup,andthewholeofUnit7knowsthatwhenCraghassomethingtosay,youlisten.Eventhough,ifwe’rebeinghonest,99percentofwhatthatrelicspews is unadulterated bantha piss. But whatever; it breaks the monotony, Iguess.“Doyoublokesknowwherewegetournamefrom?”Cragsaysallmysterious

like.TD-787isstoppedmid-lurch,likeabsolutelyabouttochoketheuselesslifeout of Tintop, but instead TD-787 turns and goes, “Because our helmets areshapedlikebuckets,Ialwaysfigured.”Everyonescoffed,becausethatwould’veactuallybeenfunnyifhe’dmeantit

asajoke,butTD-787wasbornbereftofeventheremotestsenseofhumor,so…well,itactuallymakesitevenfunnierthathewasserious,honestly.Eitherway,

we all had a good chuckle, except Crag, who scowled—the old clone’spermanentexpressionaugmented—andsaid,“Notthatname,youcog!”“It’s because we were born in the storm,” Commander 110 said from the

doorway.Andthen,because110alwaysgottasayeverythingtwice,thesecondtimewistfully: “Born in the storm.” I can’t lie, though:He looked impressivestanding there inhis fullbodyarmor,helmetoff,backlitby the twinTatooinesuns,hisshadowthrownlongacrossthebarracksfloor.“Ay,”Cragsaid.“Thestormofhistory.Asthegalaxytransitionedfromchaos

toorder,ourregimentwascreatedtomaintainthatorder.”“That’soneversionanyway,”Commander110said.Evenbacklit,Icouldtell

hewas smiling some.Could hear it in his voice.Hewas having one of thosepatriotic sway type moments, when the whole Galactic Empire seemed tosparkle in his eyes and whatever ridiculous mission was ahead appearedinfinitely manageable—all part of the grand design. And that’s all well andgood,buttherewassandinmybuttcrackandthedaywasn’tgettinganycooler,soquitefranklyIwishedhe’dhurryupandgettothepoint.Whichhethendid:“Runorders,boys.”Everyonegroaned.110 ignored us, wisely. “We’re moving into Mos Eisley proper.” (The

barracks are on the outskirts of town, apparently to discourage too muchfraternizing with the locals, but like…fat chance, if you know what I mean.Also, outside of town = closer to the endless barren infinity of a wastelandfesteringwithSandPeople,banthas,andamillionotherwaystodie.Also:sand.Allthesand.Allthesandever.)So,MosEisleyproperdidn’tseemlikesoterribleathing,bycomparison.If

those droids had been wandering around the deep desert, they wouldn’t havemadeitbacktobaseinonepiece,let’sjustputitthatway.Badenoughyourunoff tosomestinkingbanthaholeplanetwithsecretplansorwhateveronboard.Don’taddinsulttoinjurybymakingmedealwithevenmoresand.Youknow?Andanyway, thedewbackswere there.Andmaybe…well, a stormtrooper candream.Sowe geared up, put on our inefficient, technically archaic, and altogether

butt-scratchingly uncomfortable armor, put on our absolute garbage-dumphelmets that don’t let us see a dang thing, and loaded up these E-11s you’vegiven us, which require one to aim as far as possible away from what one’sshootingatinordertohavehalfachanceofhittingit.Sothanksforallthat!

Whatactionsdidyoutakebasedontheinitialeventsleadinguptotheincidentinquestion?

Nothing,wejustsatthere.Like, really,mydear interrogative application system,whatkindofkriffing

questionisthat?110gaveustheordertomove,sowemoved.Ifwedidn’twe’dbe summarily executed, remember? Or long-distance choke-smashed by yourbelovedarchwizardwoo-woo-in-chief.Hardpassonthatoption,thanks!Sowegeared up, rolled out, and there we were in the heart of Mos Eisley, gettingcrispybeneathallthoselayersofarmorandthisgiantblackbodysock,andquitefrankly craving a thirst quencher, and I don’t mean the kind that actuallyquenchesthirst.Imeanthekindthatdehydrates,infact.Abeverage,specificallyone that frizzles, to be precise. Jawa juice, in case Iwasn’t clear. I wanted adamndrink.Andlook:Wehadnoleadsreally,sowhat’sonedirectionoranotherinthat

rotting scumrat basin? “I think theymay have headed for the cantina,” I said,soundingauthoritativeandnotleavinganyroomfordebate.Butofcourse,TD-787wouldn’tbeTD-787ifhedidn’tplaythecontrarianat

anygivenopportunity,sohechimesinwith,“Whatmakesyouthinkthat,Sar?”and I was about to snap back at himwhen 110—Commander 110, I guess—holdsuponehand,allseriouslike.Look,Idon’tknowifyou’veeverbeentoMosEisleybutit’scrammedwith

abouteightmillionhard-up,squirming,slimy,writhing,multilimbed,sometimestentacled, seething, heaving, bleeding (literally), frothing demented uselesswastesofskinandboneandsometimesgearanddata.Yes,it’saspaceport,butifyou’relookingforthedeadendofthegalaxyanditsdenizens,looknofurther.Sothereareplentyofsuspicious-lookingdroids.Theyhobblepast,zipalongontheirrustylittlewheels,stumblebythroughthesand-crustedstreets.Theywaitoutsideofjunkshopsandcurrencyexchanges,bleepingandburpingandbeingtheirlittleself-righteousselves.Idon’tlikedroids,incaseyouweren’tsure.Theyannoyme.Anyway,that’swhatmadeitremarkablethatCommander110seemedtohave

suchastrongfeelingaboutthisspeedercomingourwaywithtwodroids,anoldguy,andakiddriving.Theywereunremarkabletomeineveryway,really,but110 gets his feelings about stuff and runs with it, and he’s the one with theorangepauldron,notme,so…whateverhesays,Iguess.

Wesurroundthespeederlookingallheavyandserious,eventhoughwe’retheoneswith theblasters.Howeveruseless, theystillwouldamadequickworkofthekidandhisobviouslysomewhat-off-the-deep-endgrandpa.110askshow long they’vehad thedroidsand theysay something. Iwasn’t

really paying attention, to be honest, because we weren’t that far from thecantina,andIfiguredifwecouldwrapthisupquickandheadoverthereIcouldbe slurping Jawa juicewithin the hour, blam!But ol’ 110 has other plans, ofcourse,becausetheRebelAllianceisreallygoingtorelyonanancientfreakandateenagerwhoneedsahaircuttoferrytheirtop-secretcargoaround.TheesteemedCommander110demands their IDs. Ifyoucouldsee through

thesestupidbucketswewear,youwould’veseenmyeyesrollsohard.Alloureyes,probably,exceptTD-787because:annoying.ThentheOldGuy’s like,“Youdon’tneedtoseehis identification,”andthe

firstthingIthoughtwas,whoa—isthisgeezeranImperial?Hejusthadthatwayabouthim,likehewasoneofussomehow,butbustedandgoofyandstrungout.Maybeitwastheaccent.Thatthoughtreallydidn’tlastlongthough,becausethenextthingthathappenedwasthatIwasabsolutely,100percentsurethatwedidnotneedtoseehisidentification.Imean,tobefair,itdidn’tseemthatnecessaryinthefirstplace,butlisten:Youwould’vehadtoholdmedownandshovehisscandocsinmyface(andprobablytakemyhelmetoffifyoureallywantedmetoseeanything)ifyouwantedmetolookat’em.ItwasimperativethatInotseethem,rightatthatmoment.Infact,allIwantedwastogetthekrizzoutofthere.AndnotjusttogetsizzledonsomeJawajuice,either.SeemsCommander110finallycametohissenses,too,becausethenhesays:

“Wedon’tneedtoseehisidentification.”Bless!Ialmostyelled,butIkeptitcontained.“Thesearenotthedroidsyou’relookingfor,”OldGuysays.Andhewasright.Hewassoright.Itwaslike,ofcoursethey’renot!110agreedandthenOldGuysaysthathecangoabouthisbusiness,andI’m

likeYes!Yes,OldGuy!Saythat!And110agreesagain!Wordforwordinfact!“Movealong,”thisremarkablelittlegeezersays.Commander 110 nods. “Move along.” And then, because he’s 110 and he

can’thelphimself,herepeatsitforgoodmeasure.

What further actions did you take following the initial events

surroundingtheincidentinquestion?

Well, wewent and got sizzled on some Jawa juice,my guy!What do youthink?Atthatpointwewerealreadyfedup.Ofcoursewefinallygettothecantinaandtheretheyare.No,notthedroids

wewere looking for.Dewbacks.Twobeautiful, shining dewbacks. Females, Ithink; juststanding there,breathing inandoutandreflectingon theirdewbacklives, taking in the suns.At thatmoment, tobehonest, Ididn’tcareabout thedroidsortheGalacticEmpireoreventheJawajuice.Ijustwantedtogoupandlaymyhandonthatsnoutandclosemyeyesandjustbestill,youknow?But the dewbacks being there also meant TD-4445’s guys were around

somewhere,sowehadtogoinandseewhatwecould,lestanotherunitgetthedroponusanddeliverthedroidsinstead.“Looklively,boys,”Commander110said,andCragjustchuckled.Thenwe

gointhatruthlessdingepotandareinstantlysurroundedbyvariousformsofstarscumandasteroidexcrement,thenever-endingstenchofcheapmilkandbodiesthathavebeencrampedintospaceshipswithnoshowersforfartoolong.FirstthingIseeisanIthorian,andhe’slookingjumpy,tobehonest.I’mnot

even trying to smash heads like that, but this Ithorian seems downright shookwhenwewalkin.Isendhimascowl,whichofcoursehecan’tsee,butitdoesn’tmatter;he’llbemovingalong soonenoughanyway.Thewhole joint seems totinglewiththemurmurofsomemessthatmust’vejustgonedown.Oneofthoselittleeager-facedfreakswiththebeadyeyesismoppingsomeone’sbloodoffthefloor,andIhearwhispersandgruntsaboutalightsaber.Alightsaber!I’mtired,man.I’mjusttired.ThebartenderpointsTD-787and110towardacornertablewheresomecatsinvolvedinthemessweresupposedtohavebeen,andItrytotaketheopportunitytosignalthatIwantadrink.Thebartender’sasurlyscrug,though;he just scoffs and looks away.And then I noticedTintophas actuallymanagedtogetone.Thedamnfool’sliftinguphisbuckettostealafewsipsandI’mabouttocursehimoutwhenIhearapolitelittle“ahem”fromtheseatnextto me. There’s a Talz sitting there—you know, one of those little gray hairythingsthatlookslikeanEwokthatgotpunchedintheface.It’ssittingatthebarnexttome,scratchingitsickylittleproboscisandlooking,Ithink,atme.Thenitburbles something. I can’t be botheredwith languages I don’t know, so I justshake my head, and then the bartender (speaking of faces that have beenpunched toomany times)goes:“Hesays thedroidsyou’re looking forheaded

intothedesertwithsomeSandPeople.”Then,asiftosealthedeal,heputsadrinkdowninfrontofme.Iglanceover

atTintop,who’s justguzzlingat thispoint,and thenacross theroomtowhere110,Crag,andTD-787arehasslingtheband.Ishrug.ThenIlookatthedrinkandthewaitingTalzwithitsbeadylittleeyes.Informationrecon,right?“Doesheknowhowlongagotheyleft?”IaskasIliftuptheol’ ’metandtake

anicelongchug.Thegrayguysquabbles some,and then thebartender says, “They justwent

beforeyoulotwalkedin.Saidtheyhadabanthawiththem.”“Abantha!”Tintopyellsinawaythatmakesitclearhe’swellsizzledalready.

Thenhegetsalittletooclosetomyearandmutters,“Butcanwetrustthelittlefuzzbugger?Youknowthiscantinaain’texactlyImperialfriendly,Ram.”Ishrug.Atthispoint,I’mnotsurehowImperialfriendlyIammyself,ifwe’re

beinghonest.Whichweare,apparently.Ihatemyunit;Ihatemyuniform.IhatethatIcanbehauledouttoanyol’galacticwastebinonamoment’snoticejusttoannihilatesomerandomone-celled troglodyte. It’s theconstant feeling that theworldmaybevery,verybeautifulsomehowifonlyonecouldremovethecrap-stainedglassesthatcomewithbeingamemberofthisridiculousarmy.Tintop shrugs, too, because whether he agrees with all my deep inner

sentiments about the Empire or not, Tintop generally just can’t be bothered.Especiallywhenhe’stoeuponthejuice.Cragand110comebackaroundto letusknowtherewasnooneover there

but some smug-looking tool and hisWookiee, and that the band interrogationcameupempty.Wetell’emthenewinfo.“Bugger,” 110 says aswe shoveourway through the crowd andout of the

cantina.“Kriff!”

Describetheincidentinquestion.Bespecific!

Ha.Well,aboutthat…Onceweleftthecantina,everythingstartedhappeningfast.Firstofall,thosedewbackswerestillthere,justgrazingandsmilingeven,maybe.Canadewbacksmile?Ithinkso.Theycertainlyseemedtoseeus,nodalittle.Immediately,TD-4445comesuponthecommtobeall,“We’repursuingalead that some rebels have commissioned a ship and are trying to get offTatooinewiththedroids.”

“Our intel says they’re desert-boundwith someTuskenRaiders,” 110 says.“Who’syoursource?”“Garindan”comesthegurgledresponse.“GarindantheKubaz?”110asks.“Affirmative.Heisfollowingthesuspects.Willadvise.”Look, I’mnotbigotedornothing,but theKubazarea trashspecies.Period,

pointblank,noexceptions.So, like,okay,a long-snoutedgoggledarmpitgaveyousomeinformation.Areyougonnabelieveit?Iratherthinknot,frankly.I’mnotanyway.Isayasmuchto110.“Regardless,” TD-787 blurts out, being punchable as always, “that’s a

confirmed Imperial source. We have to follow up his lead first. Right,Commander?”Maybeit’sthejuice,butIalmostjustdeckTD-787rightthenandthere.I’m

prettysure I’dhavebeenactingonbehalfof thewholesquad if Ihad,not fornothing.Imean,thosedewbackswererightthereandasfarweknew,therebelswere getting away aswe spoke, just vanishing into the never-ending sands ofTatooine.Commander 110 shakes his head, then nods, unhelpful as always. “The

Imperiallead,”hemutters.“We have confirmation,” TD-4445 suddenly garbles over the comm. “The

rebelsareheadingforthehangar!Allunits,convergeonDockingBayNinety-Four!”“There’syouranswer,”Commander110grunts,andthenwe’reoff,beforeI

evenhavetimetoobject,tearingthroughtheclutteredstreets,pushingthroughacrowdofstinkyJawas.Iknowthisiswrong;Icanfeelitswrongnessallovermybody. It’s inescapable. But I’m a solider. A stormtrooper. I’m the facelessenforcementfistoftheGalacticEmpire.WhatcanIdoaboutit?Ishovealongwithmyunit,tryingtoignorethedeep-downachethattugsonmelikeatractorbeambackthroughthecrowdtothefrontofthecantinawherethosedewbackswait.“This way!” Crag yells, because he always has to be the one that knows

everything.Andthenwe’resomewherewehaddefinitelyjustbeen;thewindingdustywallsandsandyalleywaysandleeringstaresseemsomehowfamiliar,butthiswholeplacelookslikethat,sowho’stosay?“Nowoverhere,”Craginsists,andwefollow,becausewhatelsearewetodo?Wefolloworders.It’sthesum

andextentofourexistence.Saykill,andwewill.Saydie,andourarmsflyupand take the blasterfire full on.Watchour pointless existence extinguishedoncommand.Thisrompthroughthesecrumblingbackstreets?Sumsupourentiresadlivesprettyruthlessly.It’sclearnownoneofushaveanysenseofwherethehangarisanditdoesn’tmatteranyway,becausetherebelsareprobablyalmosttothefaredgeofthecitybynowandabouttobreachoutintotheinfinitesands.“Overthere,”Cragsays,anditseemslikehe’srunningoutofsteam,ormaybe

we’re getting close. Then I realize we’re definitely getting close, because agrowl of engines erupts all around us and I hear blasterfire from not too faraway.Thensomehunkofabsolutejunkhurlsupabovethebuildingsaroundusandlaunchesoutintothesky.Thecommisthickwithstaticandunitsyellingforbackup, but I’m a hundred klicks away: As soon as the junkship took off,somethinginmeletgoandIknewwhatIhadtodo.Idon’tknowhow,butIdid.Itwasn’tevenaconsciousdecision, tobehonestwithyou.Before I realized Ihadmadeamove,Iwastearingbackthroughthestreets.Idon’tevenknowhowImade any senseof that dungheapof a city; I just plowed forward like someinvisiblethreadwasyankingmealong,andthenthereIwasandtheretheywere,still outside the cantina justwherewe’d left them, the twodewbacks, lookingpoliteandslightlyimpatient,totellyouthetruth.Iwas running, Imust’vebeen,because thecloserone rearedupa little and

snarledasIgotclose,butthenIwrappedonehandonthesaddleandIwasuponitandIpulledtherestrainingcordfreeandwewereoff!

Whatwereyouractionsinresponsetotheincidentinquestion?

WechargedthroughthestreetsofMosEisley,meandthedewback.Wewereoneatthatmoment,anunstoppablewaveofmanandmuscle,teethandsaddle.Smugglers and local denizens dived out of our path. Up ahead, the desertloomed,unfathomableandimmense.TherewassomethingIwassupposedtobedoing, I vaguely recalled. Something urgent, supposedly. It didn’t seem tomatter,though.Allthatmatteredthenwasthewhisperofdesertwindagainstmyhelmet,thethunderingbeastbeneathme,theyawningmawofdesertahead.Rebels.Droids.That’sright.Attheedgeoftown,Islowedthebeastdownand

liftedmymacrobinoculars. Sand and emptiness stretched for klicks andklicksaheadofme,interruptedonlybyanoccasionalhovelorcommtower.The beast stirred impatiently beneathme. It wanted the thrill ofmovement

again. So did I. And then, there! On the horizon, the dim shape of a banthashimmeredagainstthebrightsky.AfewSandPeoplestoodscatteredaroundit.Theyweremovingoverthecrestofadune,wouldsoonbeoutofsight.Ikickedmyheelsagainstthedewbackandtogetherwelaunchedoutintothedesert.

Whatwere the initial results of your actions during the incident?Paintapicture!

It’s funny you should ask that. The whole galaxy condensed around me,becamethesandanddunes.Theworldbecameone,asingularscopeoflifeasitstretchedtowardanemptinessinanever-endingcycle.Thebeastheavedbeneathme, plunging forward toward that emptiness, too. I took outmy datapad, andI’veused it to transmit this report,which isprobably the lastyou’llhear fromme.Atsomepoint, Iwasn’twearingmygearanymore,and then thesunssenttheirsoothingemissariesof light todanceacrossmyskin,andthesandkickedup ina ferocioushellwind that sweptoutofnowhereand lit theworldon firewithscreamingandthebrittledustofthedesert,anditwaslikeagentle,terriblewhisper that thisworld I once thought to be dead is so alive, just likeme: soalive,andbornandreborninthestorm,andabsolutelyfree.

Ryland climbed into the lookout and scanned the sky. The fighters werealreadyintheair,aheadofthetransporttheywereescortingoutofthesystem.Heknewhewasdoingtherightthing.HeknewEronandRheewouldtakegoodcareofLaina,begoodmotherstoher,andraiseherastheirownuntiltheycouldbereunited.HeknewitwastoodangeroustokeepherwithhimonYavin,whichwasa legitimatemilitary target, should theEmpireeverdiscover its existence.Heknew that he couldhavegonewith her, that nobody fromhiswingwouldhavehelditagainsthim,thathecouldbeholdinghisyoungdaughterrightnowastheyclimbedtheedgeoftheatmospheretowardrelativepeaceandsafety.Rylandknewthathewasnottheonlypersononthebase—hell,hewasn’tthe

onlyoneondutyatthismoment—whohadlostsomething,givenupsomething,madesomesacrificeinserviceoftheRebellionagainsttheEmpire.Knowingallofthesefactsdidnotmakethemomentanyeasier,oranylesspainful.Hewiped away tears, held his scanner to his eyes, and said goodbye to his

daughterashewatchedhertransportkissthetopoftheatmosphereandvanish

intothedarknessofspace.“This isGoldTower to transport EchoDeltaOne,” he said into his comm.

“Youhaveclearedatmosphereandareago forhyperspace.May theForcebewith you.” He didn’t believe in the Force, but today, he would make anexception.Hetookhisthumboffthebutton.“Takegoodcareofmylittlegirl,”hesaid,softly.Hesatdownandwept.

Eighteenhoursearlier

Ryland adjusted the camera and softly cleared his throat.He looked at Laina,sleepingrestlesslyinhercrib.She’dthrownthecovershalfwayoffherandhadturnedalmostentirelysidewaysacrossthemattress.Herlegskickedgentlyandhereyesflickedsidetoside.Whatevershewasdreamingabout,hehopeditwassomething joyful.Maybe Fionawas there, with her,maybe the three of themweretogetheragain.Hewouldbecarefulthathedidn’twakeher.Heturnedhisattentiontothecamera’slensandbeganrecording.“Hello,Laina.I’mrecordingthismessagetoyouafewhoursbeforeyouget

onatransporttogotoyournewhomewithyouraunts.Idon’tknowhowlongit’sgoing tobeuntil I get to seeyouagain, and it’s important tome thatyoudon’thavetowaituntil thentoknowwhoyouare,whereyoucamefrom,andwhoyourparentswere.“By the time you are old enough to see this, and understand it, I hope that

we’rewatchingittogether,andIhopethatwe’relaughingabouthowsillyIlookrightnow.But since I joined theRebelAlliance, I’vesaidgoodbye toa lotoffriends,andIhaven’tbeenabletosaygoodbyetoalotmore…”Hetookadeepbreathtosteadyhimself.LivingunderImperialoccupationwasterrible,andtheRebellionwasnotjustrightbutnecessary.Alotofgoodpeoplehadgiventheirlives—or,worse,theirfreedom—inserviceofthestruggle.“So,”hesaidwithasmilehehopedwasn’ttooforced,“ifthisishowyou’re

meetingme…Hi, sweetheart. I’myourdad. I’m thirty-eight standardyearsoldrightnow,andyou’realmosttwo.Ican’tgiveyoualotofspecificinformation,becauseiftheEmpireeverseesthis,itcouldputusallindanger,butrightnow,weareonarebelbase,andyouaresleepingrightover there.”Hegrabbedthecameraandpointeditather.“That’syou!You’resolittlerightnow!”Helookedather, listened toher softbreaths.Hecould feel thathewasabout to losehisnerve,keepherwithhimataplacethatheknewwasn’tsafe,butwouldatleastkeep them together, but if the reports about the Empire’s battle station weretrue…Herefocusedhiscourage,and turned thecamerabackonhimself.“YouandIcameherewhenyouwerejustsixmonthsold,rightafteryourmotherdied.I’ll tell you about her in a second, but first Iwant you to knowwhere you’refrom.

“You were born in an underground mining colony on a moon, in a placecalled theOuterRim.There’snoatmosphereon themoon,sosomefolkswholivetherenowhaveneverevenbeenabovethesurface,andthey’llneverseethestars. But where you’re going, you’ll get to see the stars every night. YourmotherandIaren’t fromthere,and itprobably isn’tsafe to tellyouwherewebothcamefrom(ifwe’rewatching this together, I’ll tellyou rightnow.Pausethisandaskme!)butwewerebothmechanics—Istillam,IworkonY-wingsinstead of extractors now—and we met there when we worked in the samesector.”HeheldupaholoofFionaandshowedittothecamera.“Thisisyourmom.

HernamewasFiona,andshewasmyfavoritehumaninthewholegalaxy,untilyoucamealong.Shewascleverandkind.Sheunderstoodhowmachinesworkedbetter than the peoplewho designed them, and she could fix them faster thananyoneI’veevermet.Ilovedherasmuchasshelovedyou,andshelovedyoumorethananything.”“You have your mother’s beautiful eyes, but it looks like you got my big

dumbears.Sorryaboutthat.”Hechuckled.“Yourmomlovedmathandmusic,andwhenyouwereatiny,tinybaby,shesang‘MamaMoon’toyoueverysingleday.”Hisvoicecaught inhis throatandhiseyeswatered.HemissedFionasomuch.“Okay. So.TheEmpire came to our colony a fewmonths before youwere

born.AnImperialofficerassembledusinthecoreandtoldusthatthecompanyweworkedforhadbeen takenoverby theEmpire.Hesaid itwasbecause thecompanywasn’tmeetingsafetyregulations,but thatwasa lie.Heknewitandweknewit.TheEmpireneededdoonium,andwehadalotofit.Andifthere’sone thingyouneed toknowandunderstand about theEmpire it is that itwilltakewhatever itwants,whenever itwants it.TheEmpirewill take everythingyoucareabout,everythingandeveryoneyoulove,ifyouletthem.”Herealizedthathehadclenchedhisfistsandtighteneduphisshoulders.He

willedhimselftorelax,lookeddownandopenedhishands.Hetouchedtheringhestillworeonhislefthandasbloodpumpedbackintohisfingers.“TheEmpiretookyourmomawayfromus,honey.AnImperialofficernamed

Duggankilledher,justbecausehecould.Iwantyoutoknowthis,soyouneverforgetwhatwearefightingagainst,andwhyI’msendingyouaway.“Ialsowantyoutoknowthatnoteveryoneiscourageousenoughtostandup

totheEmpire,andthosepeople,whowecallcollaborators,arejustasbadasthe

Empire is. They may even be worse, because they should know better. It’sbecauseofacollaboratorthatyourmomisn’there.HisnamewasCorbin,andhehadbeenourfriendforyears,untiltheEmpirearrived.Ithappenssofast,Laina,youdon’tevenrealizeit’shappening.Oneday,yourfriendsareeatingbreakfastwith you in the canteen, and when it’s time for dinner, they’re wearing anImperialuniform.”Outside their room, amuffled voice announced the duty change.Hewould

havetowakeherupsoon,dressherfortravel.Saygoodbye.“Corbin’s new uniform fit him toowell. Itwas like he’d alwayswanted to

wearone,becauseitwashowhecouldfeelimportant.Buthewasn’timportant.Hewasn’tanymoreimportantthantheblasterDugganusedtokillyourmom.IknowI’mtalkingabouthimalot,butIneedyoutoknowthattheEmpireexistsbecause of people likeCorbin,who are tooweak or ambitious to stand up topeoplelikeDuggan,andtheRebellionexistsbecauseofpeoplelikeyourmom,whoarewillingtorisktheirfreedomandtheirlivestostanduptothemboth.“Corbindidn’thaveafamilybeforetheEmpirecame,andwhenhesawhow

happyyourmomandIweretohaveyou,itmadehimjealous.Hestarteddoinglittle things tobotherus, likemakingmeworkextrashifts,andyellingatyourmomthatshecouldn’thaveyouwithherinthecanteen,eventhougheveryoneonourcrewloveditwhenyouwerearound.“Thiswentonuntilonedayyourmomjustranoutofpatiencewithhimand

she toldhim tostopbeingabully.Well, later thatnight,Corbinshowedupatour quarters with Duggan, the Imperial officer in charge. Corbin had toldDugganthatyourmomandIweresecretlyrebelspies.Weweren’trebelsthen,andCorbinknewit.Wewerejustparentstryingtotakecareofourfamily,whoweretiredofbeingpushedaroundbysomeonewithalittlebitofpower.“Istilldon’tknowifDugganbelievedCorbin,orifhejustwantedtouseyour

mom andme to frighten and intimidate the rest of our crew. But he and hisLoyaltyOfficers ordered yourmomandme to confess to being rebel spies infront of everyone, and when we didn’t have anything to confess to, Duggankilled her. He just shot her, right in front ofme, as casually as turning off alight.”Rylandreachedoutandstoppedrecording.DidLainareallyneedtoknowall

of that? If thiswas theonly recordingofhimshewouldeverhave, if shewasgoingtowatchthisasshegrewup,didhewanttomakeherrelivethedeathofher mother the way he did, night after night? He played the recording back,

watchedhimselfsaytheRebellionexistsbecauseofpeoplelikeyourmom,whoarewilling to risk their freedomand their lives to standup to themboth, andtappedRecordagain.“AllofuswhojoinedtheRebelAlliancehavelostsomething,orsomeone,or

someplaceweloved.I’velostallthree,anditisn’teasyformetosaygoodbyetoyoutoday.ButIhavetosendyousomeplacewhereyou’llbesafe,whereyou’llgettogrowupandhaveafamily,ifyouwantone.Ihopethatwedon’tneedtheRebelAlliancebythetimeyou’reoldenoughtojoinit,butifwedo,Iwantyoutoknowthatit’sinyourbloodtofightback.Youareyourmother’sdaughter.“Iwillmiss you every day, but I know that you’ll be safewith yourAunt

RheeandAuntEron.TheyhelpedourfamilyescapefromtheEmpire,andtheyintroducedmetotherebels.Idon’thavetimetotellyouthatpartofthestory,butyoucanaskthemtotellittoyou,whenyou’rereadytoknow.Theyloveyouverymuch,andthey’regoingtotakeyoutoaplanetcalledAlderaan,whichisfar away fromany fighting.You’ll be safe there.You can growup andmakefriends,andhavethekindoflifeIalwayswantedyoutohave.I’llfightforyouaslongasIhaveto,andI’llseeyousoon.“Iloveyousomuch,Laina,andImissyoualready.”Hestoppedrecording,andsavedthefile.Rylandwalkedovertohisdaughter’sbedandputhishandonhershoulder.“Sweetheart,”hesaidgently,“it’stimetowakeup.”

Eighteenhourslater

When his watch was over, Ryland declined an invitation to join some of thepilots from Blue Squadron in the canteen and took a transport back to hisquarters.Helingeredatthedoor,hishandheavyasheliftedittokeytheentrycode.ForthefirsttimesincetheyhadarrivedfromBurninKonnayearago,hewouldopenittofindanemptyroomontheotherside.He’d been standing there for several minutes when Mol Hastur, their

neighbor,walkedby.Shepausedandputherhandonhisshoulder.“Youdidtherightthing,Ry,”shesaid.“Iknow,”heanswered.“TheForceiswithher,”Molsaid.“It’swithusall.”“Thanks,Mol.Ihopeyou’reright.”Hetypedinhiscodeandwentinside.The

doorhissedclosedheavilybehindhim.

Aweaponwasmeanttobefired.Everymilitarymancould tellyou that.Treat allweaponsas charged;never

assumeablasterwassetsimplytostunandnotkill.GeneralCassioTagge,ChiefoftheImperialArmy,knewthat.Ashewalked

thecorridorsofthegreatestbattlestationeverbuiltinthisoranygalaxy,hewasdeeply aware that hewalked through the heart of aweapon. Power simmeredbeneaththedoonium.HehadnotbeenaboardtheDeathStarwhenithadgonethroughitsinitialtest

firingonJedha,buthe’djoinedsoonafterandwitnessedScarif.Hepausednow,ahandonthesleekmetalwall,rememberingtherumbleofpowerastheDeathStar chargedand fired. It hadbeena subtlevibration, somethinghemightnothave noticed had he not been looking for it. Thatwas amark of howbig thebattle stationwas—it could kill off half a planet, andmost of the peoplewhoresidedwithinthestationwouldn’tevennotice.Acredit toDirectorOrsonKrennic, to be sure.Evenwhen the JointChiefs

had questioned the validity of such an enormous—and expensive—weapon,Krennic had insisted itwas both possible and needed. Tagge had never reallyliked Krennic. He’d found the man obsessive, but perhaps it took a manobsessedwithfirepowertomakesomethingliketheDeathStar.AndamansuchasGrandMoffTarkintotakeit.Taggepausednow,hishandstillbrushingthemetalwallofthecorridor.He

straightened.Withoutmeaning to, he’d arrived at themeeting roomearly.Histhoughts, lingering on Krennic, recalled the last Joint Chiefs meeting in thisroom, the onewhereKrennic had insisted theDeath Star could domore thandestroyasmallcitylikeJedha.Krennichadshovedhischairaside,standingupand beating a fist on the table. Tagge, two seats down, had both admired theman’spassion for thebattle station andbeendisgustedby the childishway inwhichhepresentedit.Intheend,Krennicgotwhathe’dwanted.Anothertestfire,alargerone.Now

theseattwochairsdownfromTagge’swasempty.Aweaponwasmeanttobefired.Youjusthadtomakesureyouwereonthe

correctendofit.Taggecontinuedpast themeetingroomdoorwithpurpose inhisstrides.He

hadaprivateofficethatbranchedoffthetacticalroom,andtherehebroughtupthereportsandfootageofScarif.Krennichadeverbeenamantoomercurialforaleadershipposition.Hehad

guts, true,buthe’drelied tooheavilyon them.Taggewasamanofgraphs,ofdata,offactsandinformation.Theywerecold,buttheyweretrue.AndthetruthofthematterwasthattheEmpirehadaproblem.Thesurveillancedroidshadbeenabletotransmitsomeoftherebelactivityon

thesurfaceofScarifpriortobeingdestroyed,andTaggehadcarefullycompiledthe data. Unlike the little partisan units scattered throughout the galaxy thatcaused middling annoyance at best, Scarif showed a concentrated effort. Itshowedcommunication.Taketenblackhiveantsandputtheminseparatejars,and they could do nothing.But put them in the same jar and they vibrated inharmonyuntil theglass shattered.Hiveantsweren’t sentient,exactly,but theyweredestructive.Thesamecouldbesaidoftherebels.Taggewavedhishand,dismissingtheScariffootage.Heturnedhisattention

to the list of names in the Imperial Senate that he had compiled. Somewere

obvious—Mon Mothma had a price on her head for being too blatantlytreasonous,andBailOrganawouldsoonaswell,ifhedidnotcurbhisrebellioustendencies. The man slipped through the political world like oil over water,skimming close to insurgency and relying on legalese and luck. Maliciouscompliance was still compliance, but it wouldn’t be long before the senatorslippedonhisownsharpedge.Buttherewereothers.Lingeringopinions,doubtsagainst the Emperor…they were separated in their little jars now, but MonMothma’sdramaticescapefromtheSenatehadopenedthelids.TheSenatewasabuzz.And then therewasScarif.Tagge kept coming back to it. The transmission

thathad leaked.TheDeathStarplans.Thestolendatasomewhereout there inthegalaxy,athreathiddeninthevastemptinessofspace.Itwashard to thinkthat theverybattlestationhenowstoodin,sosolid,so

powerful, could have any weakness. But Tagge forced himself to look at hisdata,notthesolidwallsaroundhim.ArestlessSenatehere,agroupoftargeted,communicatingrebelsthere,andthatdamndatatape…itwasn’thardtoconnectthepieces.Taggestaredatthedata,sortingitinhismind.Hedebatedwhetherornothe

daredasktheEmperorforaccesstotheplansstolenonScarif.Allothercopieshad been sealed under the highest security—security so high that even he, asChiefoftheImperialArmy,wasdeniedaccess.Heunderstoodtheconcernbutknew if he could examine the data there, hemight find something before therebelsdid…“GeneralTagge?”Ajuniorofficer’svoicesoundedthroughtheintercom.“Yes?”Taggerepliedimpatiently.“AdmiralMottitoseeyou.”Taggegruntedhisaffirmation,andthedoortohisofficeslidopen.“Thought I’d find you here,”Admiral ConanAntonioMotti said. His gaze

swungover the room.He took in the screensTaggehadbeen examining and,althoughhesaidnothing,thesneeronhisfaceindicatedhisdismissalofTagge’sconcerns.“Let’sgo,”Taggesaidgruffly.Thetwomendidn’ttalkastheystrodedown

thecorridortotheJointChiefs’meetingroom.Afewoftheseniorofficerswerealready seated, chatting among themselves. Idle conversations. Meaninglesswords.Taggetookhisseatwithoutspeaking,ascowlgrowingonhisface.These

menwereold.They’dhadtheirwar,andtheybelievedthey’dendedallwarwiththefinalityof it.Theyleanedin theirchairs,comfortable, firmin thesafetyofthebattlestationaroundthem.Tagge swore tohimself thathewouldnever slip intopassivity like that.He

would inevitably grow old and gray like the senior chiefs, hewould have hiswarsbehindhimastheydid,buthewouldneverleanbackinhischairandsiphiscafandignoretheloomingthreatmerelybecausehedidn’twanttobelieveittobethere.“Issomethingwrong?”oneofthesenioradvisersaskedatTagge’sscowl.Beforehecouldanswer,Motti burst in. “He’sbeingparanoid,”he said in a

dismissivetone.Taggeswalloweddownhisanger,buthecouldn’thelpbutinsistonthetruth.

“Until this battle station is fully operational, we are vulnerable.” He caught aglimpseofMotti’sgleamoftriumphforhavingsuccessfullybaitedhim,buthecontinued anyway. “The Rebel Alliance is too well equipped. They’re moredangerousthanyourealize!”“Dangeroustoyourstarfleet,Commander.Nottothisbattlestation.”MottiwassoquicktorespondthatTaggewascertainhe’dbeencraftingthis

comebacksincehestoppedbythetacticalroom.Taggecastasurreptitious lookaround the room.Thesenioradvisersclearly

agreedwithMotti.Theywerecomfortable,Taggerealized.Madelenientbytheprotectiontheyfeltinsidethedooniumwalls.Soft.Weak.UnwillingtoseethatthelargeroundlaserattheheartoftheDeathStarwas

justaseasilyatargetasaweapon.AnimageofDirectorOrsonKrennicflashedinTagge’smind,andhehadto

resisttheurgetolookattheseatthemanhadonceoccupiedinthisveryroom.He thought of the enraged way the director had insisted the Death Star wasready, that itwould revolutionize the galaxy and quell even themost fleetingthoughtofrebellion.Wouldittaketheveinspoppingoutofmyneck,spittleflyingfrommylips,a

crazedlookinmyeyebeforethesemenwouldlisten?Taggethought.And then he remembered Krennic’s fate, and thought, Was that what

happenedtomenwhoarguedinthisroom?Still.Heneededthemtosee.Tounderstand.“TheRebellionwillcontinuetogainsupportintheImperialSenateuntil—”

GrandMoffWilhuffTarkinstrodeintotheroom,andTagge’swordsdiedinhisthroat.“TheImperialSenatewillnolongerbeofanyconcerntous.IhavejustreceivedwordthattheEmperorhasdissolvedthecouncilpermanently.ThelastremnantsoftheRepublichavebeensweptaway.”AsliveroficerandownTagge’sback.NoSenate?hethought.Heimagined

thehiveants,each in individual jars,and thenhe imaginedthe lidsoneachofthemdisappearing,andtheswarmrisingup.“That’s impossible!” Tagge exclaimed. “How will the Emperor maintain

controlwithoutthebureaucracy?”He caught a disapproving look from one of the senior advisers, but he

disregardedit.Itwasn’tweaponsthatkeptpeopleobedient,despitewhatMotti,whatKrennic,whatTarkinhimselfbelieved.Weaponsriledpeopleup,remindedthemthattheycouldfight.Itwasbureaucraticmediocritythatmadethemaccepttheirfate.Showamanablaster,andhelookedforawaytotakeitforhimselfand turn itonyou.Tellamanhecan fight incourt,andnine timesoutof tenhe’lldisappearjusttoavoidthetediousness.“Theregionalgovernorsnowhavedirectcontrolovertheirterritories,”Tarkin

continued,hisvoicealmostidle.“Fearwillkeepthesystemsinline.”HeshotaquickglanceatTagge.“Fearofthisbattlestation,”hecontinued,speakingtotherestofthegroup.TaggeignoredthesubtledigandthewayMottireveledinit.“Andwhatofthe

Rebellion?” he insisted. “If the rebels have obtained a complete technicalreadoutofthisstation,itispossible—howeverunlikely—thattheymightfindaweaknessandexploitit.”TaggehadintendedTarkintoanswerhim.Insteadthegravelly,deepvoiceof

LordVader filled the room. “The plans you refer towill soon be back in ourhands.”Taggethoughtforamomentthatheheardthesoundsofdistantscreamsand

shouting,theclatterofabattleinasmallarea,theswishofaweaponhedidn’trecognize. But before his brain could fully process the phantom sounds, theyweregone.When he looked up, Lord Vader faced him. Not for the first time, Tagge

wonderedwhatwasbehind themask,and thenhequestionedwhetherhe trulywantedtoknow.Hegroundhisteeth,unwillingtoshowthewayLordVader’sgazeintimidatedhim.Hedidn’tbreatheuntiltheblack-suitedlordshiftedhisattentiontoMotti.He

watcheddispassionatelyastheyexchangedwords,asVaderstrolledfrombehindTarkintowardMotti.ThetensioncrackledasMotti’sangerflared.Vaderraisedhishand.Motti’swordsstutteredtonothingbutgaspingbreaths,desperateforair.Motti had calledVader’s beliefs ancient and sorcerous, andTagge couldn’t

helpbutagree.NothingbutwizardrycouldhavemadeMottichokewhileVader,metersaway,merelyraisedhishandsandsqueezed.Taggecouldn’thelpbutbringhisownhandtohismouth,butheknewbetter

thantospeak.ThemenaroundthetablewatchedasMottistruggledtobreatheuntilTarkin,seeminglybored,orderedhisrelease.Taggeglancedat thechair twodownfromhis, thenhiseyesmetMotti’s.A

thinsheenofsweatdottedMotti’sbrow,hiseyesstillbulgingslightlyfromthechoking.Buthedidn’tsayanythingfurther.AndneitherdidTagge.Hisdatahadbeenwrong,heknewthatnow.Taggehadlookedattheangles

incorrectly, surmised theoutcomesbasedon incompletedata.HehadassumedtheEmpire’sgreatestweaponwastheDeathStar.ButhewasbeginningtorealizethatitmightjustbeLordVaderhimself.

I tdidn’tmakehimright,youknow.Itmadehimangry,itmadehimviolent,butitdidn’tmakehimright.Youmayormaynothavealreadyreviewedthefootage—it’smyopinionthatattemptedmurderatameetingoftheJointChiefsoftheGalactic Empire merits a thorough, personal investigation by themembers ofHighCommand,butyougentlemenwillofcourseactasyouseefit.Thepointis, whatever conclusions you ultimately draw about the incident taking placebetweenmyself and Lord Vader during yesterdaymorning’s briefing, he waswrong,andtryingtocrushsomeoneelse’swindpipedoesn’tmakeyouanylesswrong, if you’re wrong to begin with. Which he was. I do not concede theargument.I submit myself willingly to discipline if I am in error, but I believe I am

correct in saying that I havebeenappointed theChiefof the ImperialNavy. Ibelieve I am also correct in stating that the Imperial Navy is a militaryorganization, that itsgoalsandaimsaremartial innature, thatweseektobothengageinarmedhostilitiesandultimatelywinthem,andthatthereforewehave

everyrighttoplacethemajorityofourhopesonthetechnologicalmarvelthatisthisbattlestation,andthatIwasnotoutoflinetosuggestthatsaidbattlestationisbotha technologicalmarvelandtheprideof theImperialNavy,andthatwewouldbewellservedtoputittouseasquicklyandasoftenasnecessary,ifnotaspossible.I wish to take this opportunity to point out that I have no objection to the

gentleman’s religious beliefs, nor do I object to the prospect ofworkingwithLordVaderagaininfuture,assumingtheEmpireiswillingtotakeallnecessaryprecautions to ensure public safety, andwithLordVader’s personal guaranteethathewillconfinehimselftousingwordstowinargumentsinfuture,asbefitsarankingmemberoftheImperialCouncil,andsaveactsofout-and-outviolenceformembersoftheRebelAlliance.Icanassureyou,gentlemen,thatIhavenointerest inholdinggrudges,nor inre-creating the typeofpettyfeudsofall toorecent memory that characterized the day-to-day operations of the ImperialSenate.Moreover, Iamnotabigot; it isapointofpridewithme that inmynative

sectorofSeswennathereareoverthreehundreddistinctreligioustraditionswithactive practitioners, all officially recognized by their Imperial administrator. Imyselfamamanoffaith,asithappens,andbelievethatImperialunitycanonlybe strengthened through cooperative and constructive dialogue among citizensfollowingdiversespiritualtraditions.Iwouldwelcome,undermoreappropriatecircumstances,theopportunitytolearnmoreaboutLordVader’sunderstandingoftheForce,andhowitenricheshisdailylife.IdonotwelcomeLordVaderquiteliterallyattemptingtoshovehisreligious

beliefs downmy throat. Thiswas amilitarymeeting at amilitary installationattendedexclusivelybymilitarypersonnel;IwillnotapologizeforaskingLordVadertorefrainfromcommandeeringtheconversationintoareferendumonhisreligious devotion, nor will I apologize for attempting to give credit to thehardworkingmen,women,andneutroiswhoseyearsofdedicationmadethisdaypossiblebypraisingthecapabilitiesoftheDeathStarstation.Itismybeliefthateffectivemanagersshouldofferatleastasmuchpraiseastheydocriticism.Atanyrate,ifyou’vereviewedthefootage,whichIstronglyencourageyouto

do,you’llnoticetwothings.Thefirst,andmostcriticaltomyargument,isthatLordVaderexpressedopencontempt for theDeathStarproject in frontofhissubordinates, many of whom have dedicated their lives to seeing the stationcompleted.Itwas,toputitmildly,aspeechthatunderminedpublicfaithinboth

theGalacticEmpire’svisionanditscompetency.TheEmpirehasinvestedovertwenty years, countless man-hours, and over one trillion credits in thedevelopment of the Death Star. I need hardly remind you gentlemen that itcannot possibly serve any of our aims to have a member of the Joint Chiefsblatantly disparaging the most ambitious and expensive military venture inrecent history. He has had more than two decades to express any relevantconcernstoourengineeringanddevelopmentteams,andhasalwaysbeenfreetomakewhatever suggestionshedeemsnecessary about the creationof aForce-sensitiveunittoeitherGrandMoffTarkinortheEmperorhimself.ThedaywearesettolaunchthemostambitiousmilitaryprojectinImperialhistoryisnotthetime;infrontofthefirstjointmeetingofImperialgovernorsandrearadmiralsisnottheplace.IquotedirectlyfromLordVadermomentsbeforeheassaultedme:“Don’tbe

tooproudofthistechnologicalterroryou’veconstructed.TheabilitytodestroyaplanetisinsignificantnexttothepoweroftheForce.”(Itshouldgowithoutsaying,gentlemen,thatIamperfectlyaccustomedtoa

littlebriefingroombrawlingeverynowandagain.Iamamilitaryman.Iamnotaskingforpity.Iamperfectlywell.Iamnotaskingforspecialtreatment.)Imeantosay:“Don’tbetooproud”oftheDeathStar?Ofthebattlestationwe

arecurrentlyholdingameetingin,uponwhichtheEmperorhimselfhaspinnedhis greatest hopes? Is this how the Imperial leadership hopes to inspire ourtroops?Askthemtodedicatetheircareersandlivestotechnologicalinnovation,only to tell them not to be “too proud” when their labors finally come tofruition?Have Imissed an official change in policy? I will not apologize fortaking pride inmywork, nor for encouragingmy employees to take pride intheirs.IftheEmpirewishestoreprimandmeforthis,sobeit.This felt, frankly, likeanactofworkplaceproselytization.Again, Ihaveno

objectionwhatever toLordVader’sprivate faith. Itmust,however,bepointedoutthatatpresentthenumberofplanetsdestroyedsolelybytheunaidedpoweroftheForceiszero.ThenumberofplanetsdestroyedbythepoweroftheDeathStarisone.ThenumberofdaystheDeathStarhasbeenfullyoperationalisalsoone.Thesecondthingyouwillnotice,gentlemen,whilewatchingthetape,isthat

Lord Vader is forced to take several steps in my direction before—to use acolloquialism,andforlackofamoreaccurateterm—Force-chokingme.ForallhisclaimsthatthepoweroftheForceisgreaterthanthedestructivecapabilities

of thisDeathStar, itstrikesmeasmore thana littledisingenuous ifhecannoteven remotelychokeasingle individual fromacross the room. I imagineLordVaderwouldhavehadtostandveryclosetotheplanetAlderaanindeedtodayifhe had wanted to demonstrate how thoroughly his Force-wielding abilitiesoutmatchtheDeathStar.But I digress. I am here to give an account of the events that transpired in

yesterday’sbriefingandtosubmitmyselfforpossiblecorrection,nothingmore.We were in the main conference room on the officer’s deck—Vice AdmiralTallatz,RearAdmiralTiaanJerjerrod,KendalOzzel,CommanderCassioTagge,Admiral Nils Tenant, and myself—discussing the relative threat levels facingourrespectivecommands.CommanderTaggewas,inmyopinion,distressinglymyopicon thesubjectof theRebelAlliance.AlthoughIcommendhimforhisconcern for thewell-beingofhisown troops, the threatposedbyapatchworkfleet of secondhand X-and Y-wing starfighters led by a complement ofinformallytrainedpilotsisinmyopinionminimal.Thatisnottosaythereisnotatimeoraplacefordiscussingtherebelthreat—nooneeverwonawarthroughoverconfidence—merely that Tagge’s concerns are not universal. The dognippingathisheelsinthestreetisnothreattomylockedandguardedhouse,sotospeak.At this point we were joined by GrandMoff Tarkin and Lord Vader, who

informed us that the Imperial Senate had been formally and permanentlydissolvedbytheEmperor.MayItakethisopportunitytosayIthinkthisactionwasa long time incomingandcanonlybenefitusasanorganizationmovingforward.Tagge,whoonlymomentsbeforehadfearedthatrebelsupportwithintheSenatewoulddestroyus,nowfearedtheopposite:namely,thatwithouttheapparatus of the state bureaucracy, the Emperor would be unable tomaintainorder.Iwouldliketosay,personally,thatIdonotbelievetheEmperorrequiresany such assistance, and that Tagge’s repeated questioning of the Emperor’sactions,ifnotoutrighttreasonous,attheveryleastbespeaksalackoffitnessforcommand. Perhaps once the High Command is finished investigating LordVader’s outburst it will turn its attention to Tagge’s competence, loyalty, andoverallvaluetoourorganization.ItwasthenthatIdismissedTaggeandVader’slineofargument(namely,that

the Rebellion, if in possession of the Death Star blueprints, might pose animmediate threat tooursafety)bypointingout thatmerelyobtaining technicaldata was not the same thing as an imminent assault. There are blueprints ofevery single Star Destroyer, governor’s mansion, Imperial palace, and naval

shipyard in the Empire, andmost of them have backups kept in various datastorage facilities throughout the galaxy.Does Taggemean to suggest that themere existence of the artifacts necessary to the architectural process poses anexistentialthreat?Wehave,Imightadd,anentiremilitaryintelligenceunitwhosesolejobitis

to evaluate the credibility of possible threats. I then encouraged the otheradmiralsthat,havinginvestedsomuchtimeandenergyintobuildingtheDeathStar, it might perhaps behoove us to use it. I need hardly to say to you,gentlemen, that this was merely restating the official Tarkin Doctrine; it isscarcely indispute. If therebels launchanattack,wewilldefendourselves. Inthe meantime, I believe we should continue to employ every method at ourdisposaltoendingthewar.Therestyouknow.LordVaderforsomereasontookissuewithmyideathat

we use theweaponwe had only recently finished building, suggested thatwetakelessprideinourmilitaryachievementsasanorganization,andonceagainloudlyevangelizedhisspecificreligiousbeliefs.Imayhavebeenheatedinmyresponse,butImerelyspokethetruth:LordVader’sdevotiontoanearlyextinctfaithhasnot resulted in the recoveryof the stolendata tapes,nor has it givenhiminsightintotherebels’secretbase,norhasheeverdestroyedaplanet.Hisresponsewasshowyandattentiongrabbing,certainly,buthecouldnotrefuteasingleoneofmyarguments.Hefoundmylackoffaithdisturbing?Ihaveneverclaimed tobe an adherent tohis sect. I foundhis lackof faith in thismilitaryinstallation disturbing. I do not attend LordVader’s religious ceremonies anddemandheveneratetheDeathStar’sarchitecturalstaff;IaskhimtorefrainfrominterruptingmymeetingsandinsistingIkowtowbeforethisForceofhis.I also, as I stated before, object to his choking me. I concede nothing. I

maintain, as I always have, that ifwewere going to build theDeath Starwemightaswelluseit.ItshouldpleasethemembersofHighCommandtonotethatIamatthepresentmomentabletoconfirmthatthisbattlestationisinfactfullyoperational and has thus far exceeded every hope we have ever placed in itsconstruction.IhavenodoubttheEmperorwillbegratifiedtohearthis.Imyselfinitiated the firingsequenceuponGrandMoffTarkin’scommand;LordVaderhimself can confirm this, if you care to ask him. I might add that the planetAlderaan was selected, targeted, and destroyed, all without the aid of LordVader’s precious Force—thanks entirely to the competence, diligence, andefficiencyoftheDeathStaroperationsteam.Ihavenofurthercommentonthematter.

The hardest part of the work was keeping your feelings under control. Youcouldn’tafford toshowdiscomfort,even if the lightwas toobright.Youweretrainedtomaskyourphysicalresponsetopain,tofear,tosurprise,toanything.Not just in your face, but in your entire body. You took pride in it, too. Onguard,youhadtobeassmooth-facedandimmobileasadroid.AndLordVaderwouldalwaysknowifyoufaltered,ifyoutwitchedafingerorevenaneyebrow—evenifhewasn’tlookingatyou.Itwaseasierbeinginthefacelessarmoredranksofthestormtroopers,where

noonecouldseeyourtwitchingeyebrowbeneaththehardwhitemask.Beinghere, atVader’s side, flankinghim, ameter aheadof himor ameter

behind inpacewith thepartnerwhosenameyoudidn’tknowandwithwhomyou’dneverexchangedaspokenword,wasanhonorandaprivilege.Yourfacewasuncovered.Yourmaskwasinvisible.Youwereintheinnercircle.Everyoneknewyouwereambitious;youwouldn’tbehereotherwise.Butyou

couldn’tevershowit.Youcouldn’tshowanything.Yousawthings,youlearned

things,youknewthingsthatnoonebutLordVaderhimselfknew.Thiswaswhyyoujoined;thiswaswhatyou’dcomefor,whatyou’dthirsted

for:tobehereonthecuttingedgeofmilitarytechnology,tobeamongthefirstwatchtowitnessthegalaxyyieldingupitstreasuresanditssecretstotheever-expanding Galactic Empire. And here you were, aboard the mightiest battlestation thegalaxyhadever seen,at the sideof theEmperor’smost fearedandpowerfulstrategist——Andyetsometimesitstill tookallyourconcentration tokeepyourmouth

setandyourbrowstraight.You walked ahead of Vader, on his right, as he strode through the sterile

corridorsofthedetentionblock.Youandyoursilentcounterparthadtoset thepace forhim,whilekeeping inperfect stepwitheachother, achallengingandoftendauntinggameofskill.Onthisoccasion,though,afterVaderhadkeyedinthecodestoopenthedoortotheunluckyprisonerhewasabouttointerrogate,hesteppedintothecellaheadofyou.Therewasnoinvitationtofollow,butofcourseyoudiditautomatically.Thiswasexactly thekindofmomentyouhated.Nomatterhowhardyou’d

trainedforit,youneverstoppedhatingbeingtakenbysurprise.Theprisonerwasayounggirl.It came as a shock.You’d knownPrincess LeiaOrgana ofAlderaanwas a

memberoftheGalacticSenate.Butyouhadn’trealizedshewouldbesoyoung,and never in a million years had it occurred to you to expect such winningbeauty.Small-boned, neat, round-faced, still wearing the formal white gown of a

diplomat andwith her long dark hair still smoothly rolled around her head informalelegance,shesatstraightanddefiantagainstthesmoothcoldwallofhercell.Butthisworkhadmadeyougoodatreadingfaces,andittookonlyaglancefor you to see that shewas terrified.Shewas controlling it, but notwell.Herdark eyes were wide and frightened, and she was cringing backward into thecornerofthecell,bracingherselfasVaderapproached.All this hit you in the second it took to enter the small room. Lord Vader

loomed tallandmenacingover thecoweringgirl.Butyoukeptyour facestill.Youwerebetteratitthanshewas.Don’tlookather,youremindedyourself;don’tcatchhereye.Thesingleunitthatyoumadewithyourcounterpartwassplitasyoustepped

aside,oneofyouoneachsideofthedoor,sothatthemenacingblackglobeoftheinterrogatordroidcoulddriftin.Youdidn’tblinkasithoveredlessthananarm’slengthfromyourhead,the

mind probe hypodermic poised dangerously close to your own eye. It wasn’thereforyou.The girl’s dark eyes widened when she saw it. She gave a little gasp of

apprehension.Vadersaidtoher:“Andnow,YourHighness,wewilldiscussthelocationof

yourhiddenrebelbase.”Andthecelldoorglidedsmoothlyshutbehindyou,sealingallfourofyouin

together.Thecrowdedcellwasneverdesigned toholdsomany.Youstoodrigidand

passive and thoughtof the commandyou’d somedayhave.Youhad towatch.Therewasnochoicebuttowatch.Butyouweren’tgoingtoletyourselfthinkofanythingelsebutyourownbrightfuture—Itdidn’twork.Youwereundonewithshockathowmuchofyourselfyourecognizedinthis

fragile,fearful,defiantyoungrebelwithabackboneofsteel.Youcouldsee,assurelyasVaderhimselfcould,thatthegirlknewmorethan

shewasrevealing.Sheresistedandbattledagainst the intrusion intohermind,butshowednoneof theconfusionoroutrageyou’dexpect fromsomeonewhohad nothing to hide. She knewwhy shewas here and, just like you, shewasfocusedonendurance,onholdingherself in.HerentirebeingwascenteredonnotlettingDarthVaderseewhatwasgoingoninherhead.Shewasexactlylikeyou.Whentheheavydoorslidopenagainandtheexhaustingsessionhadcometo

itstemporaryclose,thegirlwasleftonherownagain,wrungoutinaquiveringheapofemotionalandphysicalcollapse.Butunlikeher,youweren’tallowedtheluxuryofeitheremotionorcollapse.

—

She’dstillgivenupnothingwhenGovernorTarkinsentforher.Her hands were manacled as you marched her through the Death Star’s

labyrinthinecorridors.Shewascomposedagain,though.Itwasn’tobviousthat

shewasscurryingtokeepup;thepaceVadersetwashardforhersmallframetomatch.Shestilllookedthepartofayoungambassadoronadiplomaticmission,and she was still playing that role with steely composure, just as you wereplayingyourownrole.Youfelt itasashock in thepitofyourstomachwhenyourealized thatshe

wasmatchingyourstride.Youwereshorter thanyourcounterpartbyacoupleof fingers,andshewas

measuringherstepsagainstyourstohelphermaintainherdignity.Youstaredstraightahead,expressionlessasalways.Youwerenothelpingher.Youfeltyourcomposureslippingeventhoughyourexpressiondidn’tchange.

IfVaderweren’tsofocusedontheprisoner,wouldhelookatyouandguess?Focus,youtoldyourselffiercely.Focus!Youforcedyourhardsolestostrike

the shining decking of the corridor in perfect time with those of yourcounterpart.Youpretendedyoucouldn’thearthepatteringfootfallsofthegirl’ssoftwhitebootsexactlymatchingyourownsteps.GovernorTarkinwaswaitingintheOverbridgewithAdmiralMotti.Beyond

theplatingofthebroadcurvedviewportwasablackcanvasofstarlightandtheblueglowoftheplanetAlderaan,floatingserenelyagainstitsbackdrop.You and your counterpart fell back to take your expected positions in

deferencetothecommanderspresent,andVaderhalted,but theundauntedgirlsweptforwardmajesticallytotakeonTarkinherself.Shewasformalandsnide.Shetoldhimhestank.Vader stepped behind her, loomingover herwith all themenace of his full

height. The top of her head came only to his breastplate. He laid one heavy,glovedhandinwarningagainstherback,remindinghershewasstillhisprisoner—asifitwerepossibleforhertoforget,hereinthecontrolroomoftheDeathStar,surroundedbyenemiesandguardswithherhandsbound.FromwhereyoustoodbehindthegirlandVader,youcouldn’tseeherface.

ButyoucouldseeTarkin’swrygrinashetookherchininhishandandtoldherhehadsignedtheorderforherexecution.Again,foramoment,yourstomachplummetedincoldshock.Butyoudidn’t

swallow;youdidn’tevenblink.She didn’t flinch, either. She answered Tarkin, still icily formal: “I’m

surprisedyouhadthecouragetotaketheresponsibilityyourself.”

Tarkindidn’trisetoherhighbrowbaiting.Insteadhesteppedawayfromher.Coolly,heinvitedhertowatchthefirstceremonialdemonstrationoftheDeathStar’s capabilities. “No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now,” hetauntedher.Youwerenowso invested inherdefiance thatyou’d forgottenyouweren’t

supposed to be listening. Your feigned indifference was trained; it cameautomatically.Butthegirlhadnosuchtraining.Shedidn’trealizehowTarkinwasplaying

her. She was unaware he’d taken over her interrogation, and already he wassucceeding at stripping informationout of her that neitherLordVadernor theinterrogator droid had been able to. Tarkinwas forcing her into declaring herloyalty.Shewassoangryanddefiantandscaredthatshedidn’tevenrealizeshewas

doing it.Herspeechwas tightandclippedasshegaveherselfaway,hervoicefullofprideandhatred:“Themoreyoutightenyourgrip,Tarkin,themorestarsystemswillslipthroughyourfingers.”He was sure of her now. She’d as much as admitted her loyalty to the

Rebellion.Heturnedawayfromherandstaredoutattheblueglowingorboftheplanet

in the near distance. He said, “I have chosen to test this station’s destructivepoweronyourhomeplanetofAlderaan.”Andshebroke.Youdidnot,butshedid.“No!”Sheleaptforward,entreatinghim,nolongertakingcarewithhowshe

shapedherwords.“Alderaanispeaceful,wehavenoweapons—”He turned around abruptly. She was still crying out in protest, “You can’t

possibly—”Hecuther short, speakingoverher exclamation. “Youwill provide another

target,amilitarytarget?Thennamethesystem!”Thiswas, in itsway,more painful towitness than the physical torment the

youngprincesshadbornewithsuchfiercedetermination,asVaderhadprobedhermindbeneaththehungryneedlesoftheinterrogatordroid.Tarkin had unmasked her. The steel was gone. She was frightened and

desperate.Butstillshehesitated,stillunwillingtoanswerhisquestion.AndnowTarkin,too,wasontheedgeofcomingunmasked.

Therewascoldangerinhisvoiceasheconfrontedher.“Igrowtiredofaskingthis—”ThegirlrecoiledfromhisfuryandbackedstraightintoLordVader.“—so it’ll be the last time.” She flinched at last. She bent her head away fromTarkin’s, then forced herself to look directly at him again as he demanded,“Whereistherebelbase?”Her small bodywas trappedbetweenGovernorTarkin andLordVader.All

youcouldseewasthebackofherelegant,shininghead.Butyoucouldtellshewasn’tlookingatTarkinnow.Shewasstaringoverhisshoulderatthebeautifulblue planet floating beyond the wide viewing panel, the planet that was herhome.There was a strange, quiet moment in which time seemed to stand still, a

pauseinwhichtheyounggirlthoughthardandfastaboutwhoshewasgoingtobetray.“Dantooine,”shesaidindefeat,stillstaringoverTarkin’sshoulder.YousawTarkin’sgrim,triumphantsmile.After another moment the girl looked up at him. And then almost

immediately, as if she couldn’t bear the victory in his eyes, she lowered herhead.Youstillcouldn’tseeherface,andnowneithercouldTarkin.Sherepeatedunsteadily,“They’reonDantooine.”Shewaslyingthroughherteeth.GovernorTarkinspoketoLordVaderoverthesmoothcrownoftheprincess’s

loweredhead.“There.”Tarkin stepped away from hismenacing position in front of the bound and

cowering girl, and for just a split second he came toward you, standingmotionlessbehindLordVader.Inthatfractionofasecondyouthoughtthatheknew it, too, that he’d seen her lie, and that he was looking to you forconfirmation.But hewasn’t seeing you as anything other than the silent fixture that you

alwayswere in his presence, and in another fractionof a secondhe’d steppedawayandadded,“Yousee,LordVader.Shecanbereasonable.”Youstoodunbroken,notmoving,notblinking.Butyourentireinnerbeingwasquiveringindisbelief.Hedidn’tseeit.Shewaslyingthroughherteethandherinterrogatordidn’tseeit.Vaderdidn’tseeit.

Noonesawitbutyou.Thetrainingheldyoustill.Thetrainingcontrolledyourbody,butyourmind

racedwithturmoil.Shouldyousaysomething?Isitatricktotestyourownloyalty?Hassomeone

seen through your soaring ambition, guessed at the hierarchy you’d like topenetrate,thecommandpostyouthirstfor?Whatwillyougainbyspeakingoutagainst her? Will it show keen perception, your ability to know a prisoner’sthoughts,yourownuntappedpotentialasaninterrogator—?No. Through the storm of uncertainty, you knew you were no latent

interrogator.Youdidn’thaveTarkin’sskillorVader’spower.Youweren’treadingthegirl’smind.Itwassimplerthanthat.Youknewshewaslyingbecauseitwasexactlywhatyouwoulddo.“Continuewiththeoperation.”TarkingavetheorderoffhandedlytoAdmiral

Motti.“Youmayfirewhenready.”“What?”theprincesscriedout.There was a scuffle. Tarkin, reverting to his dry and formal self, told her,

“You’re far too trusting.”Theprincess leapt forwardas if shecould somehowstop him or attack him, bound as shewas, but LordVader seized her by theshoulderandpulledherbackagainstthehardcasingofhishulkingbreastplate.Heheldherhelplessthereandforcedhertowatch.Nooneforcedyou.Butyouandyoursilentcounterpartstoodfacingtheviewofthedoomedblue

world,andjustasintheprisoncellearlier,youhadnochoicebuttowatch.You’refartootrusting.She wasn’t trusting, you realized. She might be broken and she might be

underthreatofexecution,butshestillhadn’tgivenanythingaway.Eventosaveherworld.

—

The destruction of Alderaan was blinding. There was no noise in the controlroom of the Death Star; all the company watched, hushed, as the terriblebrightnessflaredaroundthem.Youcouldhavebetrayedhernow.WhenevertheyinevitablysenttheirscoutsandprobestoDantooine,youknew

forcertaintheywouldfindnothingthere.Youcouldhavesparedthemtheeffort,theexpense,thewastedpower.Youcouldhavebeenrewardedforit.Butdoubtbloomedinyourheart,andyouhesitated.You’refartootrusting.TherewasnoreasonGovernorTarkinwouldeverrewardyou.Whynotbetrayher,though?Whynotcalloutherfalseness,justbecauseyou

werealoyalImperialguard?Thebrightnessburnedyoureyes.Youdarednotblink.Youstoodstillandsaidnothing,momentarilyblinded.Youwouldnotbetrayher.Yourspiritwasshaken,andyourloyaltychanged.

Your silencemade you her ally. You were now as doomed as she was. Youwouldneverbetrayher.Youhadjoinedherrebellion.

B reha Organa watched the slanted sunbeam behind Visaiya’s shoulder. Thelight in thegalleryabove thepalace’sgrandentrancehallgrewgold,and thenorange,signalingtheendoftheafternoon.Anotherdaywithoutherhusbandanddaughterwascomingtoaclose,butithadpassedasslowlyasalifetime.Visaiya spoke just as slowly, methodically reminding the queen of her

schedulefortheremainderoftheday.Witheachword,each“then,”followedbyanother chore, another meeting, another duty, Breha became wearier andwearier. A tight wrinkle formed between her eyes as she watched that onesolitary sunbeam. It had sneaked in through one of the high windows abovethem,asinglesplashofgoldamidthesilvery-bluesplendorofthepalace.Evenwhen she was a child, the hall had reminded her of the inside of a seashell,smoothandlustrous,alwaysslightlycoolevenattheheightofsummer.“Then,youareexpectedtofoundaschoolforunderprivilegednerfswhojust

wanttofollowtheirdreamsandbecomedancers…”Breha snapped her gaze away from the sunbeam, looking in startled

bemusementatthemiddle-agedwomanbesideher.Asanadviser,VisaiyawassoimportanttoherthatBrehaoftenjokedthatlosingherwouldbelikecuttingoffahand.Shehadevenhadmatchingringsmadeforthem,simplelittlesilverbandstheyeachworeontheirrightindexfingers.“PerhapsIamabitdistracted,”Brehaadmitted,passingasoothinghandover

her face. “Cancelmyappointments for the restof theday,please;mymind issimplyelsewhere.”Visaiya nodded, consulting her datapad with renewed determination. “Of

course.Easilydone.”Thenshepaused,andBrehamighthavelostinterestagainandlethermindwander,butsomethinginthewoman’sfacemadeherwatchful.Visaiya never demonstrated concern, always maintaining a mask of relaxedconfidence.Butnow…Nowherdarkbrowsweredrawn in, furrowed,her foottappingunderhergown,ripplingthesilk.“There is stillnoword,”Breha toldher, reachingout to touch thewoman’s

wrist. Itwasanoverlyfamiliargesture,perhaps,but thesewereunusual times.“CaptainAnderamhasaskedmetostopraisinghiminthespaceport.HeswearsIwillbethefirsttoknowwhenhisshuttlelands.”Visaiyadidnotlookatallrelieved.“Icouldgoandkeepwatch.Idon’tmind.”Breha smiled gently. “Captain Anderam insisted. He is not to be bothered

againtoday.”“Oh,butheonlyrequestedthatyoustopaskingforhim.Iwasissuednosuch

warning.”AndthiswaswhyVisaiyawasherrighthand.Brehawasnotaboveadmitting

toherselfthatwithouthelpshewouldnothaveweatheredtherecentstorm—thedissolutionoftheSenatehadcomeassuchablow,turningeveryincomingpieceof news into possible calamity. TheEmpirewas far beyond subtle politickingnow; theywere desperate to crush the Rebellion, and desperate animals werealways the most dangerous. Breha pressed her lips together briefly and thennoddedonce.“Bediscreet,andthankyou.NowIthinkIwillretire.IneverknewIcouldbethisexhausted.”Visaiyamadehercurtseyandbustledaway,silkskirtstrailinginherwakelike

asilvershadow.Unburdenedbutstillpreoccupied,Breha turnedandmadeherwaydownthegallery.Normally,nothingshortofaplanetwidecatastrophecouldmakeherneglectherqueenlyduties,butshefelttired,tireddowntoherbones.And normally she would welcome a hectic day to keep her mind off herhusband’sanddaughter’sabsences,butdayafterworryingdayhadgroundher

down.Shehadneverfeltolduntilrecently,neverfounditdifficulttogetoutofbedrefreshedandenergetic,butnowshefeltheradvancingyearskeenly.“YourMajesty?Aminuteofyourtime,ifyoucould—”Her daughter’s attendant droid,WA-2V, approached from seemingly out of

nowhere,theoverheadlightglintingoffherbluishchassisasshedartedoutfrombehind a plant in the corridor leading toward the royal apartments. The droidrolled along quickly behind Breha, just a handsbreadth from the train of hergown.“It’sjust…”Thedroidhurriedon,gearswhirringasshestruggledtokeepup.

“Well,thegalafortheequinoxisinjustthreeweeksandthedraperreallymustknowiftheprincesscanattendand,ifso,ifshemightprefersilkorsatin.”“Later, TooVee,”Breha said softly.Ambushed.And here she had hoped to

arrive at her chambers alone, granted—at last—a moment’s peace. “Myappointmentsarebeingrescheduled.I’mnottobedisturbed.”“Majesty?”Andnowtheministeroffinance,runningtocatchupwiththem.Peace.Itwasnottobe.Fastontheminister’sheelscameanothershinychromehead,herdaughter’s

old tutordroidCZ-7OB,clickity-clackingafter themonmetal feet.Thatdroidwastheonlyoneofthemthatactuallyhadanappointment,anditwasprobablyfar too late to cancel that one.Brehadidnot slowherpace, shruggingoff theminister’s questions as rapidly as they came. Soon they approached the tall,archeddoorsleadingtotheroyalapartments,andthetwoarmoredsentinelsthatstoodoneitherside.Through theslits inoneenameledhelmet, she found thesentinel’seyesand

gavetheslightestshakeofherhead.“But Your Majesty! The gown!” 2V sounded ready to pop a servo with

frustration.“Step aside, droid, there’s hardly a credit in the budget to spare on such

ridiculous—”The doors to the royal apartments opened, and with them came a rush of

clean,linen-scentedair,thesweetsoundofheryoungestattendantpracticingatherlute,andtheevenmorewelcomingclankasthehalberdsofherguardswentdownbehindher,barringentry.Brehastoppedjustinsidetheapartmentandturned,openingherhandstothem

as if in surrender. Minister Lintreyst and 2V stopped short, the tutor droid

bumpingsoftlyintothegirl’sbackwithamutteredapology.Finances.Galas.Silks.Budgets.WouldLeiareturnintimefortheequinox?It

seemedunlikely,andyetinasmall,privatecornerofherheartthathadnothingtodowithrebellionsorpolitics,Brehahopeditwouldbeso.Woulditmeanhersuccessorherfailureifshereturnedthatsoon?Whatoutcomedidshedarewishfor?Shewincedandclosedhereyestightly.Itwasamother’sdutytoworry,buta

queen’sresponsibilitytoendure.“That isenough for today,”Breha told them inher firmestvoice.Shehated

the feeling that shewasbeingchased,andhatedevenmore the sense that thiswas somehow a retreat. “Resources for the gala were allocated months ago,Lintreyst,whichI’mcertainyoualreadyknow.TooVee,thedrapercanpulloneofmy gowns from storage; the princessmay not attend the gala at all, and itwouldbeawastetobeginanewgarmentfromscratch.”Thedroidhummedwith satisfaction, evengiving a little turnonher rolling

lowerhalf,asifshecouldnotcontainherexcitement.“Could…Couldheatleastaddafewembellishmentshereandthere?Acrystalortwo?Perhapsembroideryalongthehem?”Walking backward into her apartments, Breha closed her eyes again and

suppressedagrin.“Why,yes,TooVee,that’sanexcellentidea.I’mcertainLeiawillbepleased.”Lintreyst, by contrast,was not an excitable or easily satisfied attendant.He

grimacedandturnedwithaflounce,hiscapeswirlingbehindhimashestalkedbackdownthecorridorandawayfromthem.Well,thatwasoneproblemtakencareofanddispatched,atleast.“SeeZee-Seven?Youmayfollow,”Brehasaid,gesturingthedroidforward.Thensheenteredherapartments inearnest,breathingdeeplyas she stepped

through first the antechamber, lushwith plants and flowers, then the greetingsalon, where her attendant Falena remained bent over her practice, and thenthroughashort,curvedcorridorthatledtotheirprivatebalcony.Mountainair.Therewassimplynothinglikeitforthenerves.Breha closedher eyes against the setting sun.Pink tufts of clouds stretched

acrossthesky,joinedbyacascadingsunsetoforangeanddeep,darkblue.ThemeltingsnowofftheJuranMountainsshimmered,apromiseofwarmermonthstocome,greatmigratinggroupsofthrantasswoopingupfromthemountainsand

toward those pink clouds. She smiled and fought the unease in her heart,enjoying as always the sight of those beautiful beasts, gray wings flapping,beatingtheairastheirmournfulcriesfilledthevalley.Behindher,herdaughter’s tutordroidclacked toa stop,andshecouldhear

thesoftwhirasthedroidshiftedfromfoottofoot,waiting.“YourMajesty,” the droid began in his clear, automated voice. “I regret to

inform you that I have discovered a grave discrepancy in your daughter’sdiplomaticrecords.Ordinarily,thiswouldbesimpleenoughtocorrect,butwiththeprincessalreadydeparted,theerrorcouldaffecthermission.”Ahyes,hermission.Nobodyinthepalace,ofcourse,saveafewkeyspiesand

officials,knewexactlywhereLeiahadgoneorwhy.Itwascrucial tokeepthetruereasonforhertripasecret.Brehanodded,watchingalittleiridescentbeetlemakeitswayacrossthebalconybanister.Itpushedalongatinytuftofballed-upgrass,materialforsomegrowingnest.“Whatisthediscrepancy?”CZ-7OBshuffledforward,joiningheratthebanister.Ifitwaspossiblefora

protocol droid to look nervous, this one accomplished it nearly constantly. Itsglowingmechanical eyes darted from side to side, then up and down, and itsanswer came after a long hesitation. She could all but hear the circuits firingrapidlyinthething’shead.“According toherdiplomaticprofile,PrincessLeiaspeaksbothHutteseand

Shyriiwook fluently. Regretfully, and as Your Majesty is keenly aware, theprincessismerelyproficientinShyriiwook.Thisis,naturally,afailureofmineand not the princess, but I worry that such an error might cause herembarrassment.Oh,itistoo,toohumiliating.”Breha allowed herself a smile and turned, putting a motherly hand on the

droid’s shoulder. “It’s hardly your fault that Leia did not apply herself morerigorously. I wouldn’t worry. I’m struggling to imagine a scenario in whichfluentShyriiwookwouldbenefither.”Thedroid’seyesflickered,brighter,asifinshock.“Onthisparticularmission,ofcourse,”thequeenquicklyadded.Nodding, CZ-7OB glanced down at its hands. “That is perhaps true, Your

Majesty, and a relief to hear, but more alarming still is my discovery that…that…”Andherethedroidleanedforward,whispering,“Ihesitatetoevenmakethisaccusation,buttheprincessalteredtherecordherself.”Frombehindthemcameasoftchuckle.“Thatdoessoundlikeourdaughter.”

BothBrehaandthedroidstartledinsurprise,butitwasthequeenwhogaspedandletherroyaldemeanorslipforamoment.Herhusbandhadreturned,worn,perhaps,butashandsomeaseverinawell-wornbrowncape.Sherushedtohim,hurlingherselfgratefullyintohisopenarms.Themountainairofherhomewasabalm,certainly,but theembraceofherbelovedwasbliss itself.Thewar, theRebellion, their daughter’s absence…All fled from her mind for one singlemoment.“Solong,”shewhispered,pullingbackfromhimandtouchinghischeek.“So

long.”“And here again,” Bail replied, craning down from his height to kiss her.

“SeeZee,”hesaidabsently,nevertakinghiseyesoffBreha’sface,“gonowandfixtherecord,andknowthatweareallofusgratefulforyour…particularbrandofdiligence.”Thedroidteeteredbythem,regardingthemwithwide,brighteyesasitwent.

“Ionlyhopemycorrectiondoesnotcometoolate.ItisdreadfullyeasytoinsultaWookiee.”“ButVisaiyashouldhavetoldme!”Breha’smindreeled.“Youmusthavejust

crossed paths with her, and that damn Anderam! I told him to alert me atonce…”Bail held her at arm’s length as the droid departed, but the smile he gave

didn’treachhiseyes.Somethingwasdeeplywrong.Shenoticednewlinesathiseyes and longer swipes of gray at his temples, and her heart twisted at thethought of all the dangers he had survived to return to that very balcony. Sheheldhimtightlyagainandthenallowedhimtoleadhertotherailing,theirhandsentwinedon thecoolmarble.Asecondherdof thrantassoaredoverhead, theircriesechoingofftheperimeterofthevalleyandtheheightsofthepalace.“Don’tbecrosswitheitherofthem,heart.ItoldthemIwantedthesurpriseto

bemine.Stars,butImissedyouandthisplace,”hewhispered, tiltinghisheaduptowardthesky.Brehawanteddesperatelytoallowherselfmoretimetofeelrelieved,buther

grip on his hand tightened. “Scarif…Are the rumors true? They couldn’tpossiblybetrue…”Herhusbandglanced away fromher as he loweredhis chin and sighed.He

seemed to turnpaler, adistant,haunted lookcoming intohiseyes. “Youmustnot thinkof thatnow,”heassuredher.Theireyesmetandhe forcedhalfofasmile. “I had so hoped to make this reunion a happier one, but the news I

have…”Hetrailedoff,andforamomenthelookedasifhemightbesick.“The Senate has been disbanded,” she said. “We heard days ago, Bail. It’s

monstrous. Iknew theEmperorwasbold,but Iexpectedat leastameasureofsubtlety.”“The Senate.” Bail shook his head, his grip on her tightening. “That’s not

whatImusttellyou.IthoughtIknewwhatIwouldsay,andit’sonlyrightthatI’mtheonetobearthenewsbutnowthatitcomestoit…”Brehawassilent, terrified that ifshesaidanotherwordhewouldonlyfalter

again.On the railing, shewatched the little beetle succumb to a suddenwind,topplingover,allofhishardworklostandscattered.Bailtookinadeepbreath,andshewatchedhimgrowsteadierbutstillsickly

pale.Theyhadknowneachotherforsolong,survivedsomuch,butinalltheirprivatemythologyneverhadsheseenhimlookthisway.Herhusband,amanofunshakeablecourageandfaith,nowshakentohiscore.“TheTantiveislost,”hewhispered.“Destroyed.”Foramoment,Brehacouldn’thearasinglething.Panic.Sheknewthefeeling

well, had known itwhen news of the Senate’s dissolution came, but thiswassomething else. Thiswasn’t just panic, itwas a perfect, hollow place carvingitselfoutinherchest.Ahighwhineinherheadmadeherdeaftoanythingbutthe blood pounding in her ears. She blinked, looking through the face of herhusband, through the railing, through the mountains…Then her eyes finallyfixedonthatlittlebeetlerollinghiswayacrossthebanister.Bailhadfallentohisknees,whatlittleofhisstrengthremainedhadonlylasteduntilhecoulddeliverthatmessage.Itfallstoyounow.Thatvoidinherchesthadtobefilledwithsomethingorshewouldcollapse

inward, ahelplesspulsar.Purposecould fill thevoid.Fornow,at least.Brehafolded her hands together, clasping them tighter and tighter, as if that singlepointofpressurecouldsomehowkeepheruprightandtogether.“Wemustknowmorethanthat.Sendanotherscoutingpartyatonce.Escape

pods couldhavebeen jettisoned.Ourdaughter is not so easilykilled; shewillhavemade every attempt to survive.We need a chart of all planets near thatasteroid field. That’s where we will begin looking for survivors. And whoreportedthis?Cantheybetrusted?”shedemanded,hearinghervoiceriseuntilshe could control it again. “I will not accept any report until I have seen thewreckagewithmyowneyes.”

ShenearlydemandedtoknowwhatexactlytheSenatewasdoingaboutitbutrememberedthattheywerealoneinthis,lostinanunfamiliarwilderness.Nodding,Bail reached forher andwith shakinghands shehelpedhim from

theground.“I’veaskedforall thatandmore,”heassuredher.“Wemayno longerhave

theSenate,butwearenotwithoutallies.Breha,thereisasquadronlooking,butwe are at war now. You know I would use every possible resource, but ourpersonallossmustbebalancedagainsttheneedsoftheRebellion.”Thetearswerecomingunbidden,andBrehawaspowerlessagainstthem.Our

personal loss. She leaned into her husband, shrugging deep into his embrace,hidingthetwitchinherchinthatsignaledhermomentofsteelypoliticalresolvewascrumbling.“Notloss,”shesaid.“Notyet.Iwon’tgiveup.ButBail,weshouldneverhave

agreedtothis,tolethergo…”Herestedhischinheavilyonherhead,andBreha felt suddenlyancientand

afraid,frail,batteredonallsidesbyawarshecouldnotstopandevilshecouldnotunderstand.“Thiswarisjustbeginning,andwemustmakewhatpreparationswecanhere.

Evenifwedonothingbutlookforher,evenifwedonothingbuthope,thewarishere,”hesaidsoftly.“ItwillbefoughtbyLeiawhenwefindher.Wecouldtrytokeepher hidden and safehereonAlderaan if—when—she’s recovered, butwebothknowshewouldfindawaytoleave.”“Yes, I know.” She pulled away, scrubbing her eyeswith both hands. “We

shouldbeouttherelooking,too.CaptainAnderamcanprepareatransportforus,weshouldraisehim.”“I’msorry,”hesaid.“YouknowaswellasIdothatit’ssimplytoodangerous.

IftheTantivecanbetakenthensocanwe.”Brehashookherheadandhuggedherself,rubbingwarmthintoalreadywarm

arms.Herangersubsidedintosadness,andshereturnedtoherhusband,lettinghimfoldherintoatightembraceasthelastcomfortingtouchofthesunfellontheirfaces.“Ofcourse…Ofcoursethat’strue.ButIcan’tdonothing,love.Irefusetodo

nothing.”She pulled a small holo device from the pockets in her voluminous skirts,

finding that even that simple task required full focus. Even standing and

breathingfeltlikeunfairlycrueltasks.Butshesteeledherself,preparedtobeaqueenforamomentlongerandamotherthemomentthecallwentthrough.The blue image of Captain Anderam flickered to life on the holo as he

acceptedthetransmission.“Perhapswemust indeed stayhere,”Breha saidquietly. “Butwehave able

pilotsandagents,andtheywillsearchwherewecannot.”

—

Knowing there would be no sleep did not make its absence any easier. Aconstant tremorbegan inherhands, oneBreha felt echoed inherbrain.Therewasnowordofherdaughteryet, not in thedirectionof lifeordeath, and thepossibility that they would never really discover Leia’s fate was becominglikelierbytheday.Thatpossibilityhungoverherlikeablindspot,andatcertainmoments,exhaustedtothepointofdelusion,shesworeanactualblackvoidwasbeginningtoobscurehervisionpermanently.Everybliponeverycommunicationdevicesentherintoanotherparoxysmof

expectantfear.SheletnobodybutBailseeit,oratleast,shedidherbesttohidethewearinessdarkeningunderhereyesandtheshakingofherhands.Twodays.Twodayshadpassedsinceherhusband’sreturnanditfelt likea

lifetime,thelackofsleepblurringthehourstogetheruntilshecouldnomorerestthandivine thehourorday.The long,vaultedchamberat thenorthendof thepalacehadoncehosteddignitariesandbeentheplaceofsober,seriouspoliticaldiscussion, but now it had become the hub of information while their best-trainedagentssearchedquietly forLeia.Brehaspent toomuch time there.Sheate there, when she could stomach it. And she watched Bail from across thevastness of the meeting table, their eyes ricocheting off each other’s. AnylingeringglanceandBrehawouldfeelherselfhurtlingtowardtears.Therewouldbenotearsinfrontoftheirgenerals.She saw a page cross from the high-arched door to the table and stand at

Bail’selbow.Theirwhisperedexchangewaslostovertheconstantchatterofthemenandwomenaroundthemandthesteadystreamof incomingandoutgoingholocalls.ButBrehaobservedclosely,everynewpieceofinformationbringingasurgeofhope.Leads,mostofthemempty,seemedtocircleendlesslybacktothesameconclusion:TheTantivehadbeenannihilated,andwith it,everysoulonboard.

Bailshookhishead,andshenoticedthesametellingtremorinhishandsashepinchedthebridgeofhisnose infrustration.“Someonemustknowsomething.Doyouhearme?Goback,”hesaid,hisvoicerisinginirritation.“Gobackandcheckagain,andthencheckoncemore.”Thepagesweptthebluecapoffhisheadandbowedhiswayoutofthehall,

stricken,hissweetyoungfaceturningbrightcrimson.Brehajoinedherhusband,findinghishandunderthetableandtakingit.He

didnotlookather,butheleanedalmostimperceptiblyintohershoulder.“Theyareworried,too,Bail.Don’tforgetthat.”“Ishouldn’thavesnappedathim.”Shehadonly tiredsmiles left inher, soshegavehimone.“Hewill forgive

you.”“Oh, YourMajesties!”WA-2Vwheeled into the chaos of the room, deftly

weaving through the concerned crowd to where Bail and Breha stood. Herslenderarmswereladenwithagown,oneBreharecognizedatonceasherown.It had been changed slightly, the length taken up for Leia’s petite size, aglitteringsprayofgemsaddedtothehem.ThedroidstoppedjustshortofthemandBreha had to put up a hand to keep the dress from tumbling out of 2V’sgrasp.Herfingersbrushedthefamiliarsilkandanewwaveofgriefcrested.“You were right, it was a much better idea to freshen up one of your old

gowns,”thedroidsaid,fussingwiththesleevesofthedress.“Thisoneisjustsospecial,and itwouldbeashameto leave it instorage. Itwillsuit theprincessjustperfectly!”“This isnot the time,”Bail interrupted, turningtowardtheattendant.“There

are…otherconsiderationsworthyofourattention.”But thedroidcontinued to look toBreha,holdingout theemptygown.The

queenforcedherself toputherhandon the rich fabric,numbingherself to thefreshpain.“It’s lovely,”sheassuredtheattendant.“WhenLeiareturnsshewillbevery

pleased.”2Vwheeledbackandforth, fidgeting, thenrepliedwithachirp,“I thinkso,

too,Majesty,andshewillbehomesoontoseeit.”A blueman shimmered to life to their left, an incoming holo fromCaptain

Anderam making him glow in miniature as he shouted frantically from hisofficesinthespaceport.

“Whatnow?”Bailstalkedtowardtheendofthelongtable,wedginghimselfbetweentwoministershuddlingovertheholo.Breha was there an instant later, leaning forward to speak clearly into the

recordingdevice.“Anderam?Canyouhearme?Istherenews?”“Above!”Thecaptainsoundedpanicked.“Canyousee?Somethingismoving

intopositioninorbit,wehadnowarning…”“What are you saying? You aren’t making any sense,” Breha replied,

watchingthecallbegintofail.Somethingwasinterferingwiththetransmission.“Captain—”ButBailgrabbedherbythewrist,turningtoherslowly,hiseyessearchingthe

floorbetweenthem.“Come,”hewhispered.“Outside.Transferthecaptaintomypersonalline!”Shelethimleadheroutofthehallanddownthecorridoratarun,andBreha

picked up her skirts to keep pace, breath catching in her throat as he broughtthem sprinting through the palace and to the nearest balcony, the familiaroutdoor haven off their chambers. They both skidded to a stop, AnderamspringingtolifeinBail’shandastheystaredupatthedarkeningsky.“Get…safety…”Thecaptain’svoicewasjustacracklenow.“Think, Bail. TheTantive goes down, our communications blocked…” She

sighed and watched as the image of the captain cut out entirely. “TheymustknowitwasLeia.Thisisaretaliation.”Herhusbandbegan topace, sweatbeadingathis templesashe threwdown

thecomminfrustration.Mostofwhathemutteredtohimselfwastoosofttobeheard.“Impossible.Theywouldn’tdare!”Maybe this was all a distraction, some Imperial plot to keep them from

searchingfortheirdaughter.Nothingwascertain,sheremindedherself,nothingwas to be believed until they had absolute confirmation. And if the Empire’sattentionhadturnedtoAlderaan,thenallthebetter—letthembedistractedhere,itmightallowherdaughtertoescapethewreck.Aslongasshesurvived,therewashope;nomatterwhatfar-flungplanetLeialandedon,shewouldfindawaytodeliverthedataandcompletehertask.A shadow fell across the balcony, draping them both in cold and sudden

darkness.ShereachedforBailinstinctively,loopingherarminhisastheybothturnedinunisontofacethevalley.Brehashieldedhereyeswiththeflatofherhand,gazingupattheskyandthemassiveobjectthatmovedslowlyacrossthe

sun.Inaninstant,thethinghadobscuredthesuncompletely.“What could be so large?” Breha murmured. Fear knotted tightly in her

stomach, and sheclungharder toherhusband.Whatwas she seeing?Shehadwitnessed an eclipse once on Coruscant, but this was so much faster. Sounnatural.Besideher,Bailgaspedand thenseemed togo limp.He turned toher,eyes

empty,mouthmoving but silent.At last, he found his voice and searched thegroundatherfeet.“Theplanetkiller.”She fought back the surge of nausea that slammed into her like a breaking

waveandplacedherhandsonhisface,forcingBailtolookather.Itcouldn’tbetrue. Not Alderaan. They were in the heart of the galaxy, a major planet, abastionoftraditionandpeaceandprosperity…Theperfect symbol todestroy.Theperfectmessage to send.Noplanetwas

toosacred,toopopulous…Noplanetwassafe.“Mylove,theywouldn’t,”shesaid,evenassheknewtheywould.Bailsmoothedhishandsoverhersandtouchedtheirforeheadstogether.“At

leastwewillbetogether.”“No!”She refused to believe it.How could such evil exist? “There…There

mustbe time.Thespaceport is too far,butwecould reachourprivate shuttle.We…We could evacuate as many as possible! There must be something,anything,thatwecan—”The sound was incredible. They turned toward it in awe and dread, a

deadening of air that pulled all noise from around them before a tremendousblastlikelightningrenttheair.Bailyankedherintohisarms,squeezingheraslightblinded them,a ringofwhite thatgrew from thehorizon, spreading fast,bringingtrees,beasts,androckswithit.“Shemadeitout,”Brehawhispered,tremblinghandsballedinhiscloak,her

disbelieving eyes watching as the planet itself burst with a thousand bright,terriblegeysers.“Iwouldknowifshewasgone,Bail.”“Shelives.”Hekissedherforehead,leavinghislipsthereasthepalaceshook

under them and the beams holding the balcony aloft screamed and gave. Theattendants inside their apartments gave awail of fright, and the castle saggedwithnogroundleftbeneathit.Herboneshurt.Itfeltliketheywerebeingshakenapart.

“Shelives,”Bailsaidoncemore.Brehaclosedhereyes.“Iknow.”Themountainsroseup,foldingtowardthem,swallowingthemwhole.Shefelt

herhusband’swarmth,hisbreathonherneck,thenthescentofashandsmoke,andinthenextmoment,oblivion.

THEN:

Youmayfirewhenready.WilhuffTarkinwasnotthetypetohaverehearsedwords.Hewasnotgivento

standing before amirror and imagining hismoments of triumph,mouthing orwhisperingstatementsthatwouldbecomecementedinhistory.Butthesewordsweredifferent.Hehadwaitedovertwodecadestosaythem.

Thesewordswouldbeginanunfathomablefrenzyofactionsandreactionsdeepwithin the enormous weapon he stood in control of, and unleash a torrent ofprimordialfirethatwoulderasetheenemiesoftheEmpireinasearinginstant.ItprickedhimthatDirectorKrennichadalreadygiventheordertofireatest

shotthathadvaporizedJedhaCity,butsuchprecautionswerenecessary.Whatifithad failed?Better suchembarrassment lieat the feetofOrsonKrennic thanGrandMoffTarkin.Krennic’stestprovedspectacular,butthegooddirectorwasdestinedtoreceiveonlyafootnotementionintheannalsoftheEmpire,asbeing

tangentiallyconnectedtoaminingdisasterontheancientmoon.Tarkin had carefullymodulated his own distance from the project over the

years—hoveringevercloserwhensignspointedtosuccess,floatingfartherawaywhendelaysgnawedattheEmperor’spatience.InthatmomentoverJedha,theDeath Star had moved from concept to proof, and Tarkin had stepped fromdistantbackertochiefarchitect.Krennichad tried to steal thatmoment.Whatwas ithehad said?That they

stood thereamidhis achievement?Nonsense.Suchclaimswereasabsurdasabricklayertakingprideinaparapetbuiltatthebehestofaking.Itistheking’scastle.Gloryascendseverskyward.NowTarkinstoodatop thesky, lookingdownatScarif,aworldviolatedby

rebelintruders.Aworldinfested,itssecrets—Imperialsecrets—exposedtorebelvermin. These secrets were not irreplaceable; there were duplicates of themilitary development records on Coruscant and, knowing the Emperor,elsewhere. Thatwas beside the point; the rebel threatwashere andnow. Themattercalledforanexecutivedecision.Therebelscouldnot leaveScarif.Theinformationneededtobepurgedasa

limbneededtobeamputatedbeforetheinfectionspreadelsewhere.AndKrennicwasdownthere,wasn’the?ReturnedtotheCitadelonScarifto

cleanupthemesshe’dstarted.Well,Tarkincoulddohimafavorandsterilizethatmess farmoreeffectively fromhiscurrentvantagepoint, inside theDeathStar,orbitinghighabovethetropicalplanet.Scarifturnedbelow,bringingtheCitadeltothehorizon.“Youmayfirewhenready,”Tarkinsaidatlonglast.Andheallowedhimself

thebriefestofsmiles.

NOW:

Tarkin stood on theOverbridge of theDeath Star, surrounded by luminescentinstrumentationandhummingmachinery.GeneralTaggewaitednearby,asdidAdmiralMotti,examiningareadoutdisplay,thoughaglancethatfailedtonoticetheseofficerscouldbeforgiven,whatwiththeotherpresenceonthefloor: theimposingformofDarthVader,DarkLordoftheSith.“Herresistancetothemindprobeisconsiderable.It’llbesometimebeforewe

canextractanyinformationfromher,”rumbledVader,describingthetenacityof

theirprisoner,PrincessLeiaOrganaofAlderaan.Time. Theword echoed in Tarkin’smind, bringing up thoughts of the past

again.YouhavemadetimeanallyoftheRebellion.TarkinhadscoldedthatidiotKrennicoversuchmatters.“The final checkout is completed.”Motti beamed.The admiral took care to

ensure that Tarkin stood directly between him and the capricious Dark Lord.Motti andVader had had a recentdisagreement onmatters of spirituality andprocedure.“Allsystemsareoperational.Whatcourseshallweset?”AnoperationalDeathStarandtheentiregalaxywithinreach,amomenttwo

decadesinthemaking—andyetTarkincouldnotsavorit.Thequestionsbuzzedat him like a gnat in a bedroom:Wherewere these rebels?Wherewere theyoperatingfrom?Wherewastheirbase?And themost stinging question:What goodwas having themost powerful

weaponintheuniverseifthisgirlcoulddefythem?“Perhaps she would respond to an alternative form of persuasion,” he

proposed.TheSenateanditsappealstothepopulacewerenomore;theEmperorhad seen to that with the long-overdue dissolution of that quarrelsome body.PlanetsthatbrookedtreasonbutwereaffordedsomeprotectionbyinvokingthesympathiesoftheEmpire’scitizenswouldhavenovoicetoappealtothepeople.Theseworldsneededareminderofwhatultimatepowerlookedlike.“Whatdoyoumean?”askedVader, thoughnodoubt theDarkLordalready

suspectedtheeventualdestinationofTarkin’strainofthought.“Ithinkitistimewedemonstratedthefullpowerofthisstation,”saidTarkin.

Heturnedtotheyoungadmiral.“SetyourcourseforAlderaan.”Mottigrinned.“Withpleasure.”

—

The Death Star’s jump to hyperspace occurred with little incident. It was,literally, no small matter to propel such a massive object at superluminalvelocities,butthemarvelofengineeringthatwasthisbattlestationperformedtoexpectation. Only slight shudders could be felt in Tarkin’s spacious office,where theyresonated inrings inacupofwateron thegleamingsurfaceofhisdesk.Tarkinsatlookingoverengineeringreportsscrollingacrosshisdeskmonitor.

Per Krennic’s standards, each hyperspace jump was accompanied by an

exhaustive list chronicling the performance of every system and subsysteminvolvedintheprocess.Tarkin’sbonyfingersflickedascrollofinformation,buthe soon grewdisinterested.The stationworked; he didn’t need an autopsy oneverymechanicalevent.Lettheengineersporethroughit.He shuffled this technical data feed out of view and pulled up the news

comingoutofthecapital.ThedisbandingoftheSenatedemandedtheattentionof themedia,and theholonewsoutletswereobediently repeating thenarrativethattheEmpire’sadvisershadprepared.RebeltraitorshadinfiltratedtheSenate.Such infiltration resulted in a devastating terrorist strike on a major Imperialmilitary installationonScarif.For thedurationof theemergency, theEmperorneededabsolutecontroltobringaswiftendtothisthreatandrootoutinsurgentswhohadaccesstotheheartoftheImperialbureaucracy.TarkinsawadramaticdisplayoftheDeathStar’sprimeweaponastheperfect

way to punctuate that decree with an undeniable example of Imperial power.Tarkin had the authority to make such decisions. Surely he need not seekpermissionfromCoruscanttodowhatheplanned.The door chime rang, interrupting Tarkin’s reading. From his desk, he

unsealedthedoorandinvitedhisvisitortoenter.Mottisteppedforward.“Iwishto congratulate you,Governor, on amore personal level than formalitywouldordinarilyallow.Youhaveachievedwhatmanynonbelieversdeemedwouldbeimpossible,”hesaid.Motti’snostrils flaredashebreatheddeeply.“TheDeathStarisreadyandisyours.”“Yoursentimentisnotedandappreciated,Motti,butI’mnotonetohavetime

wastedonoverlyemotionaldisplays,”saidTarkin,watchingtheadmiralclosely.“Youdidnotcomeherejusttosharesuchwords.”Motti swallowed, then spoke. “Sir, if I may. This station can destroy any

planetyoucaretoselect.Theentirestarfleet,inpitchedbattle,couldn’tstopus.Couldn’tstopyou.Younowhaveinyourhandthepoweroflifeanddeathovereverylivingthinginthegalaxy.”Tarkinwaited,sayingnothing.Motticontinued,“Ultimatepower.Itrestswith

younow.”“AndwiththeEmperor,ofcourse,”saidTarkin,spearingMottiwithhisgaze.“Tobesure,Governor,”Mottiquicklyreplied.“That’swhatImeant.Butthe

Emperorisfarfromhere,andyouareinactualcommand.”Tarkin reached forhiswater,but stillwatchedMotticlosely.“This isn’t the

firsttimeyou’vespokeninthisfashion,Motti.”Hetookabriefsip.“Saywhatis

onyourmind.”“Ifyouorderso.”Motti’spausewasalmostimperceptible.“Thebattlestation

hasbecometheverysourceof theEmpire’spower.All thatpowerliesatyourcommand.Andyourcommandalone.”“You are close to treason, Motti,” Tarkin warned. He had known that the

conversationwouldarriveatthismarkwhenMottihadshownhimselfin.“Isittreasontopointoutthatyoucoulddemandapositionofauthoritysecond

onlytothatoftheEmperor?”askedMotti.“IwouldnotcaretohavetheEmperorasmyenemy,”Tarkinsaid,breaking

eye contactwithMotti to glance down at the reports fromCoruscant.With aflickofabutton,hecollapsedthatdatafeed.“But command of the Death Star makes you his equal,” said Motti. “You

couldsharedominionofthegalaxy.”TheslightemphasisonsharepaintedaclearpictureofmotivationinTarkin’s

mind.HelookedbackupatMottiandgrinnedhisliplessgrin.“Withyouatmyrighthand?”“I’myourwillingservant,GovernorTarkin.”Tarkin stood.Motti took an expectant half step forward, but Tarkin stayed

behindhisdesk.“Thankyouforthesentimentregardingthisstation’soperation,Admiral.Butweshallnowreturntotheformalityofprocedureandrecord,andcontinueourmissionthattheEmperorhasdecreed.”Motti nodded, regaining his more rigid posture and the degree of

circumspection that Imperial protocols dictated.But the gleamwas still in hiseye.Ithadbeenagamble,butMottihadsuccessfullylaunchedthefirstvolleyinan ambitious bid for power and still stood possessed of his rank and his life.Tarkindismissedhimwithanod,andMottiturnedonhisheelsandsteppedoutoftheoffice.Politics,thoughtTarkin,waswhereKrennicfailed.Theloudmouthedengineer

knew the intricacies of hyperdrives and energy conversion ratios, but he hadfailedtoseethepitfallsoftheImperialcourt.Krennichadwantedtoascendbutwasatalossastohowtoclimb.Tarkinhadblockedhiseverypath,andnotevenaDeathStarhadallowedKrennictorise.Krennichadbeenabuilderpretending tobe a leader. In the end, itwashis

undoing.

—

—

Tarkin stood on theOverbridge.AdmiralMotti had informed him of the safereversion from hyperspace and that the Death Star now loomed closer toAlderaan.Tarkinhadvisitedtheworldonmanyoccasions.Itwassteepedinhistory,its

royal family having launched many of the ancient expeditions that had firstopened up the galaxy. Such a pedigree elevated it to untouchable heights ofimport,andacloudofarrogancesurrounded it.TheOrganashad thought theycouldactwith impunity indefying theEmperor’sdecrees,becausehistoryhadaffordedthemaspecialplaceintheheartsandmindsofthepeople.Alderaananditsroyalswereoverdueforalesson.“Governor Tarkin,” said a haughty voice cloaked in an affected accent. “I

shouldhaveexpectedtofindyouholdingVader’sleash.IrecognizedyourfoulstenchwhenIwasbroughtonboard.”Despitehersmallframe,entirelyovershadowedbytheoppressiveblackform

of Darth Vader, Princess Leia Organa stood straight and proud. She was afraction of Tarkin’s height and age, but she stood her ground well as theyexchanged barbs dressed as pleasantries. But Tarkin soon grew weary of theinterchange.“PrincessLeia,”hesaid,“beforeyourexecution, Iwould likeyou tobemy

guestataceremonythatwillmakethisbattlestationoperational.”Tarkinspreadhisarms,takinginthesweepoftheDeathStar.“NostarsystemwilldareopposetheEmperornow.”Leia facedhimand spokeevenly. “Themoreyou tightenyourgrip,Tarkin,

themorestarsystemswillslipthroughyourfingers.”“Not after we demonstrate the power of this station. In a way, you have

determinedthechoiceoftheplanetthatwillbedestroyedfirst,”Tarkinsaid.Heturned to the Overbridge monitor that displayed the image of blue-greenAlderaan.SoverymuchlikeScarif,whenhelaststoodincontroloftheDeathStar’sprimeweapon.Exceptnow,therewouldbenohalfmeasuresinthebattlestation’soperation.“Sinceyou are reluctant to provideuswith the locationof the rebel base, I

have chosen to test this station’s destructive power on your home planet ofAlderaan,”hesaid.Leiagasped.There itwas.Thecrack in the façade.Thecrumblingofhope.

Thedeathofthatrebelliousspark.Leiapleaded.Tarkinsavoredit.

Vaderwasasimpassiveandunreadableasever.It was different, this time, the blast that emanated from the battle station’s

superlaser. The eight tributary beams funneled into a single ray that reducedAlderaanintofieryrubble.Tensofthousandsofyearsofhistorywerewipedoutinaninstant.Tarkin sawhis future in thebright shockwaveof fire that radiated into the

cosmos.He thoughtof thedistantEmperor,andhow littlePalpatine’s reactionwouldmatter.Hethoughtofthegirl,sobbingatthedestructionofhertreasonousworld. He thought ofMotti’s words. And in this moment of triumph, Tarkincouldn’thelpbutthinkofKrennic,andallhehadtakenfromtheunworthyman.

THEN:

Hisshoulderburned.Charredfleshcrackedwitheverymove.Orson Krennic’s consciousness swam up from pain-induced darkness. His

senses focused the blurry sunlight into a comprehensible image. He was onScarif,inthegripofwhatcouldonlybedescribedasanightmare.Butitwasnodream;itwasalltrue,andhadjustgottenworse.Krenniclookedskywardandsawhiscreation:theDeathStar,loomingbeyond

theclouds,revolvingslowly.Tarkin,Krennicfumed.Tarkinwasnowincontrolofhisbattlestation.Orso

Tarkinthought.Youdonotknowthepoweryoustandupon,Tarkin.Youdon’tknowhowto

tamethis.If the rebels had succeeded in stealing the technical readouts of the battle

station, thenKrennic’s immediatecourseofactionwouldhavebeen toorderacomplete review of the schematics. Now aware of Galen Erso’s treachery,Krennicwouldhavecombed through thedata to findanything,anyaberration,nomatterhowinsignificant.HewouldpluganygapthatErsomighthavemadeintheDeathStar’sarmor.Krennicwoulddoso,eventhoughsomewouldscoffthattheDeathStarwasa

proven success. Krennicwould pull the station offline to examine every bolt.KrennicwouldhaveweatheredthepoliticalfalloutofdeprivingtheEmperorofhisnewweapontoensureitworkedflawlessly.BecauseKrennicwasanengineer.Tarkinwasnot.Tarkincouldnot fathom

the complexity of this creation. Tarkin would instead be consumed byimpatience.Tarkin was a politician pretending to be an architect. In the end, Krennic

knew,itwouldbehisundoing.Mycreationwillbeyourdestruction.And with a flash of green energy, funneled through an array of composite

kybercrystalsengineeredbyGalenErso,whosedaughter justmomentsagohehad caught trespassing in the very heart of Imperial secrets, Orson Krennicbecamedust.

MaybeAphradidn’tlooklikearebel.Maybeshewasn’tgoingtogetshot.Asshetumbledthroughtheundergrowth,theviciousDantooinethornstearing

ather,sherealizedthatallshehadwereherprejudicesofwhatrebelsactuallylooked like.Shepictured themhaving juttingchins,chests swollenwithpride,and heads slightly creaking with a surfeit of misplaced idealism. That wasn’tAphra. That said, with dual blasters at the hip, goggles perched on her tattypilot’shelmet,andawirybuild,shelookedmorelikeasuccessfulscavengeroranunsuccessfulcriminal thanadoctorofarchaeology.It’dbebest tokeepherheaddown,getbacktotheArkAngel,andgetthehelloffthisdumbgreenplanetbeforeshecrossedpathswithoneoftheImperialpatrols.Itdidn’tmatterwhat she looked like. If they foundhernear this rebelbase,

they’dbesuspicious,inevitablyinthatmurderouslysuspiciouswaytheEmpirewassofondof.Aphra’s life alternated between finding interesting ancient artifacts and

reactivatinginterestingancientartifacts,withbrief interstitialperiodsofselling

the interesting ancient artifacts. She liked to describe herself as a roguearchaeologist.Otherstendedtodescribeherasaweaponsdealer.Afterspendingthebestyearsofhertwentiesdoingso,shecouldn’tingoodfaitharguethathardagainstthat.ShehadbeenholedupinDantooTown,tryingtoreactivateandupgradesome

war-surplus droidekas. Having the deflection fields integrate with the newlyadded rocket pods was nightmarish—her first experiment led to the payloaddetonatingontheinsideofthefield.CueAphraspendingtwoweeksrebuildingthedroidsfromscratch.Shecouldsolvetheproblemeasilyenough…ifshehada3.23colicoidicpulsefieldmodulator.Noneofherusual contactshadone, so she looked for salvage.She thought

shehada lead.Thisbaseon the farsideofDantooinehadbeensecretenoughnot to draw attention to itself, but big enough that it couldn’t be hidden fromanyoneactuallylooking.Aphrahackedintoanorbitalstation’sfeeds,whichlether track the regular, secretivemovement of snubfighters into orbit and back.She presumed itwas criminals or criminalswith delusions of altruism—as in,rebels. But it had been quiet for a while now. Probably abandoned. Possiblysalvage-rich.ThebaseitselfwaselegantlyintegratedwithDantooine’sendlesstreecanopy.

From orbit, you’d likely think it was a larger example of one of the planet’smanysapfarms.It’dtakeanexperteyetonoticethesnubfighterbaysinacirclearound a low, main bunker. In her time picking over the sprawl, Aphra hadlearnedacoupleofthings.Firstly,itwasdefinitelyarebelbase.Secondly,rebelswereworryingly efficient in cleaning up after themselves. She felt sure actualcriminalswouldhaveleftmoreofausefulmess.CursetheRebellion.Aphrahad…complicated feelings toward theRebellion.Their instinctswere

good,butgoodwasn’tgoodenough.People like the rebels, allbigheartedandhigh-minded, led to the Galactic Civil War. As far as Aphra had an ethicalorientation, ithadbeenformedbygrowingup in theshadowof thewar.Mostpeople needed order. Better the Empire when the alternative was that. Weakpeoplediedintheirbillionsinthatalternative.NotthatAphraneededanyone,ofcourse.Shewasworkingherway throughwhat shewaspretty surewas thecentral

commbeforeithadbeenstrippedwhentheArkAngelsentheranalert.Afly-byofTIEfightershadtriggeredheralerts.Shehadjustenoughtimetorunfromthecompound and throw herself into the wild undergrowth. Then the drop pods

crasheddown,gleamingstormtrooperkill teamsspreadingacross thebase likeinsects.Aphradecidedshedidn’treallyneedthe3.23colicoidicpulsefieldmodulator

thatbadlyandranback tohership throughapurgatoryof thorns,viscoussap,andall-permeatingforestdamp.She almost burst through the undergrowth into the openwhen she saw the

camouflaged curve of her pocket cruiser’s unusually towering curved nosepeakingbeneaththeholo-webbingshe’dlefttoconcealit.Aphrahadmadeittosafety.Asecondlater,sherealizedthatshehadn’t.Working their way unknowingly toward the Ark Angel were three

stormtroopers,makingaperimetersweep.Itwasanobviousproblemforher.Itwas also a problem for them, in that they were about to hit the layer ofmicromines she’d left to cover the approach.Amoral dilemma.Or, asAphrapreferredtothinkofthem,dilemmas.“Moral”neverreallycameintoit.Option one: She lets them hit themines. She finishes anyone left with her

blasters. She gets theArkAngel into orbit, trying to dodge the inevitable StarDestroyer that brought all these troopers here. She almost certainly has toabandonthedroidekahullsshe’sleftinDantooTown,andhastoburnthroughanothertransponderidentityontheArkAngel.Oh,andshemurdersabunchofpeople,too.Alternatively…Aphrasighed,holsteredherblaster,andsteppedforward,handsraised,smile

wide.“Hey,guys!”sheshouted.“HowcanIhelpyoufinegentlemenoftheImperial

Army?”Plus, those mines were expensive. She wasn’t going to waste them on

stormtroopers.

—

Thestormtroopersquestionedher, searchedher, andescorted-cum-draggedhertowardthecompound.Theyfoundbothblastersandtheknife,butthey’dleftherwithhertools,whichwasprobablyamistake.Ifthey’dscannedher,they’dhavefound the explosive putty in the lining of her hat, stored safely in two inertpackages.Ifshecouldworkoutanexcusetoremoveherhatandplaywiththe

puttyforthebetterpartofaminute,that’dbeuseful.Maybeshecouldoffertoshowthemclayanimals?She was pushed into what was once the rebels’ HQ, and was now the

Imperials’. Support staffmilled around, butAphra knew theywere irrelevant.Theonlymanwhomatteredintheroomstood,dressedinanImperialuniform,lookingat theholomapsof theareawithadispleasedexpression.Aphradidn’treadtoomuchintothat.Aphrasuspectedthatgoodnewsorbad,thatexpressionwouldsit there,glowering,perpetuallydisappointed.Hewasagraycloud inagrayuniform.Hewasageneral.Aphracouldn’tinterpretthestringofcoloredbuttonsonhis

lapel,buthefulfilledeveryprejudiceAphrahadofImperialHighCommand.Shefeltthegunstillinthesmallofherbackasthestormtrooperreported.“Found her skulking around the outer perimeter, General Tagge,” said the

stormtrooper in a surprisingly thin voice. “She says she’s fromDantooTown.Herspeederbikeishiddeneastofthebase.We’retryingtolocateit.”The speeder didn’t exist, but Aphra was damned if she was going to let

anyonegopokingaround theArkAngel.Aphrabeamed,both to try tomakeagood first impression, and because she’d correctly identified this Tagge as ageneral. Her knowledge of military ranks at any time past the Republic wasfoggyatbest.“Er…Isurrendered.Andhandedovermyweapons. I justwant tohelp,”she

saidwithallthesincerityshecouldmuster.Taggelookedherover.Hegrunted,unconvinced,andturnedbacktothemap.“Whyareyouhere?”“I’mstealingstuff.Well…salvaging,butIthinkIshouldgetbonusmarksfor

honesty, right?”Aphra said. “Thebaseclearedoutmonthsago, so I figured iftherewasanythinglefthere,itwasmine.”Taggeglancedback,analyzingherasifshewereaspreadsheetandhewanted

tocheckifthecolumnstalliedornot.“Ifindyouinthemiddleofanabandonedrebelbase,andyouclaimyouknow

nothing?”hesaid.Aphragaveherbestattemptataninnocentgasp.Itperhapsreachedthelevel

of“fauxinnocent.”“Surelynotrebels!”shesaid.“Therebelsaresmallanddisorganized,barely

morethanbandits.Thisplacecouldhavehelddozensofspaceships.Surelythe

rebelscouldn’tsupportabaselikethis?”Tagge’sfacewasasmotionlessasthestormtroopers’masks.“Ithinkyou’remistakingbeingcleverforbeingsmart,”saidTagge.Aphrawincedalittle.Gettingshotforthatwouldbedumb,evenforher.“I’msorry.Noonehadanyideathiswasarebelbase.It’dbeenabandonedfor

monthsbythetimeIgothere.And…”Shepaused,searchingforananglethatwouldallowhertocontinueherblessednon-blaster-woundedlife.“…thisisthebiggest military force Dantooine has ever seen. Dantooine is quiet. Indoorlightingisanovelty.Ashowofforce like thisandeveryonefromaroundherewillknowthatnoonecoulddreamofresistingtheEmpire.”Taggesnorted,asinglesharpnoise.Alaugh,orTagge’sequivalent.“I do not think there is any danger of the Empire’s seriousness being

underestimated,”hesaid,“Today,scavenger,theEmpiredestroyedAlderaan.”The roomwassilent.Tagge let the facthang in theair,expectingsilence to

rule.Itwasimmediatelyoverthrown.“How?”saidAphra.“Surfacebombing?EvenwithafleetofStarDestroyers

that’d take weeks. Or a bioplague, like on Genosha? Is this Tarkin Initiativetechnology? I’ve loved the work I’ve seen coming from the labs. Is it like acities-flattened thing, or a leave-the-buildings-standing thing? Are we talkingabout just sentients, or a full flora/fauna extinction event? Seriously, how?Atmosphereignition?I’veseenplansforthat.Ooh—mantlefissure.Magmacoreexposurecanmakeamessoutof a civilization.Or…oh, I’m torturingmyself.Whatdoyoumeanexactly?”Taggestaredather.“Imeantheplanetisdust,”hesaid.AphrawasfaintlyawarethatthiswasnottheresponseTaggewasexpecting,

butherexcitementhaditsownmomentum.“Like…dustdust?Like,bitsofasteroidandpeoplefloatinginspace?That?”“TheDeath Star destroyedAlderaan,” said Tagge, somehow being dragged

alonginthewakeofAphra’senthusiasm.“Wow,”saidAphra,“that’samazing.”Shewasawarethatshewasbeingstaredat.“Er…welldone,Empire?”Aphrasaid.The awkward silencewas brokenwhen the other stormtroopers entered the

room,saluting.

“Sir,”saidthefirst.“We’velookedforherspeederandcan’tfindit.”“Ofcourse,”saidAphra.“Ihidit.That’swhathiddenmeans.”Thesilencereturned.Aphra’sAphraroutinehadgonedownbetter.Taggewalked slowly up to her, arms behind his back, and considered her.

Oncemore,Aphra’sspreadsheetwastalliedasTaggemadehisfinalanalysis.“Idon’tthinkyou’rearebel,”hesaid.Aphratriednottolaugh.Shewasgoingtolive.“Idothinkyou’retrouble,”hesaid,“andIsuspecttheworldwouldbebetter

offwithoutyou.”Ohno.Shewasn’tgoingtolive.Shewasgoingtodotheoppositeofthat.

—

WhenTaggeorderedthetroopertotakehertothetrees,executeher,andreturntothesearch,Aphrahadtofighteveryurgeinherbodynottorunandkickandlash out. Her head screamed.Her face twisted. If she ran now, shewould beshot.Ifshefought,she’dbedraggedoutbyamob.Insteadshecomplied,andthestormtrooperguidedher.Everystep,shelookedforheropening.Therehadtobesomething.Herluckgotherintothiskindofsituation.Herluckgotheroutofit.Thatwashowitworked.Avoiceinsideheraddedataunting,That’showitworksuntilitdoesn’t.Shewinced.SheknewitwouldeventuallybeIt.MaybethiswouldbeIt.“So, is this the first time you’ve executed someone?” she asked, voice

breaking.“Don’tspeak,prisoner,”saidthetrooper.Hisvoicewasunsteady,too.Okay.Aphracouldworkwiththat.Aphralaughednervously,glancingslowlyoverhershoulder,andwinked.“Or

whatareyougoingtodo?Shootme?”Theycarriedontowardthetreeline,Aphraamodelofcompliance.“WereyouaboardtheDeathStar?”sheasked.Afterapause,hereplied:“Youareveryinterestedinplanetarydestruction.”“Er…who wouldn’t be?” she said, stepping over a log while considering

whethershecouldmakeabreakforthecoverofthenexttrunk.No,shecouldn’t.Notunlessshewantedtodoitwithafive-centimeterholeinherback.

“It’saweaponlikethat,andyou’reexcitedbyit?”hesaid.“Itjustmakesyouthink.Howdoyouevendesignsomethinglikethat?”she

said,beforeglancingbacktocheckthedistance.Couldsherushhim?UnlikelygoingonNo.Evenifshedid,hehadabouthalfameteronher.“I mean…do you think the Death Star had a trigger?” she said, “Someone

ordered it to be fired, but that’s easy. Did someone actually have to pull thetrigger?”Shecarriedonintothewood.Hefollowed,thetwodeadlystepsbehindher.“I’llbettherewasn’t.Ibetit’sabunchofpeople,soeveryonecanhavesome

deniabilityofresponsibility.Sixengineers,allchargingupfiringchambers,andit’sonlywhenthey’reallpowered-uptheweaponengages.That’showI’ddoit.Because if someone has theweight of knowing they killed awhole planet onthem…thatcouldbreakthem.Theycouldjustnotpressthebutton.“That’s how they do firing squads on someworlds,” shewent on, glancing

back.“There’ssomeonewho’sgunisn’tfiringforreal,sotheycanalwaysthink,Hey—maybe I didn’t do it. It’s those little illusions that get us through. It’shardestwhenyou’vegotnowaytoself-deceive.“You’redoing this solo.You’re asunluckyas I am,” she continued. “Well,

nearlyasunlucky.”Aphraturnedaroundandstopped.“Youevershotanyoneincoldblood?”“Turnaround,”heordered.“Hey,I’mtryingtohelp.Iwanttomakethiseasyforyou.Thisisgoingtosit

inside you forever…and if I’m going to die, Iwant to really think about this.Imagine actually killing Alderaan. Alderaan of all places! Alderaan is nice.Who’dblowupAlderaan?Hellofaplace.Incrediblehistory.Goodpartytown.Hell,evenhadgreatsunsets.Nowitdoesn’tevenhaveasky.”Aphratookaslowsteptowardhim,holdinghisgaze.“Andyou’rehere,withagunpointingatsomechattylady,andyou’realways

goingtorememberthisday…”Andhalfastep,pullingthetoolfromherwaistband,tryingtorememberthe

codesheneeded…“Peoplearegoingtoaskusallwhereweweretoday.Wherewereyouwhen

Alderaandied?Andyou’regoingtosay,That’s thedayIwent forawalk intosome beautiful woods on Dantooine and shot that weird innocent scavenger

lady.”Aphraalmostdroppedthetool,andtriednottotwistherfaceinanger.Don’t

messupnow,Aphra.“Ifyou’refeelingphilosophical,you’llsayaddsomethinglike…”Shesmiles.

“…Allinnocencediedthatday,andpeoplewillnod,andknowthatjustbecauseyoudidthisreallybadthing,itdoesn’tmakeyouabadperson.”Aphrareachedoutwithherhand,activatingthetool.Lightson,butsilent.Her

handtouchedhis,holdingthateyecontact,knowingifhelookeddownandsawhertoolnearhisblaster,itwouldallbeover…“It’sokay,”shesaid.“Iforgiveyou.”Hepulledthetrigger.Aclick.Aphra’skneewent towardanot-nearly-armored-enoughgroin.Ashereeled,

shepulledtheblasterfromhishand.“YoucanalwaysinduceajamwiththeImperial-modelblastersifyou’vegot

the right frequency.Which I do.” She pointed his own gun at him. “Rebootsafteracoupleofseconds.”Therewasalowhumasthegunreactivated.“You’venevershotsomeoneincoldblood,”shesaid,gesturingthebarrelat

him.“Guesswhohas?”Thestormtrooperstumbled,backingoff,fallingoveralogandthenfreezing,

handsraised.Hedidallhecouldthinkoftodo.“No.Please,”hebegged.Aphra shook her head. “They train you to shoot. They train you to follow

orders.Theytrainyouin…well,otherthings.Marching,Iguess.Buttheydon’ttrainyouhowtobegforyourlife,”shesaid.“Takeyourhelmetoff.”Aphrawas expecting to have to repeat herself, but hepulled the helmet off

instantly.Theydidhavethefollowing-ordersthingnaileddown.HewasaboutadecadeyoungerthanAphra,notoutofhisteensyet.Nosetoobig,eyesblueandscared.Shesighed.“See,nowyou’reahuman.Ifyou’rebeggingforyourlife,youwantpeopleto

knowyou’realivingbreathingthingandnotsomeweirdenameldroid.It’seasytokillstormtroopers.“BecauseallthatstuffabouttriggersIjusttoldyou?”shesaid.“Idon’tthink

anyofit’strue.IthinkthattheDeathStarhasatrigger,becauseIthinkit’seasytokillaplanet.It’sallsoabstract.It’swhyguyslikeTaggearefinewithsending

armies to theirdeath,while theyorder their troopers to takemeoutofsight toputablastthroughmychest.“Aplanetdoesn’thaveaface,”shesaid.“It’dtakearealmonstertopullthe

triggerifAlderaanhadaface.”HiseyesmovedbetweenAphraandtheblackofthegunbarrel.Aphra had always defended theEmpire as the best available choice—better

thananarchy.TodaytheEmpirehaddestroyedaplanet,worsethanawar’scostin an afternoon.Shehadno ideawhat todowith these feelings.Maybewhenthey had chilled, she could justify it—what’s one planet if it cements a realpeace?Thatsoundslikethesortoflogicshe’dturnto.Theneedsjustifytheendsandallthat.But right now, she just wished there could be a better Empire and wished

therewassomeonewhocoulddothat.The boy was crying. Aphra felt shame and anger mix inside her. Her

excitementwasreal.Herangerwasreal.Itwasallreal.But itwascloudedby the shame, shame that shewas right.Shecouldhave

shot a stormtrooper. She wasn’t going to shoot this boy with a wet face andterrifiedeyes.“Okay,” she said, starting to back away. “This is the deal. Put your helmet

backon.Tellthemyoushotme.Iftheyask,tellthemIbegged,buttheywon’task.Anotherdeathtodayisn’texactlygoingtorate,right?”Sheshottheblasterattheground.Hejumpedback.“That’s your people thinking you’ve done your job,” she said. “Alderaan’s

dead,andscavengerandstormtrooperbothlive.Soundgood?”He nodded. She winked and then she turned and ran, dropping the blaster

wherehecouldfindit.Withinonehundredmeterssheheardshouts.Withintwohundred,sheheardthescreamofthealarm.Withinfiveminutes,shewaspunchingtheArkAngelintoorbit,TIEfighters

onheraft,enginesscreaming,seeingthewhitedaggerofaStarDestroyerloomintoviewaheadofher.Asshe fumbledwith thenavigationcomputer, lookingforaroutetothesafeblueofhyperspace,shecursedherselfforanothermomentofweaknessinauniversethathasnone.Oneday,she’dlearn.

08:00.01…EXITSLEEPMODE08:01.03…SYNCWITHDS-1OBSNetwork08:02.00…RUNSELF-DIAGNOSTIC:

DESIGNATION:MSE-6-G735YFUNCTION:Delivery/RepairASSIGNEDTO:MaintenanceUnit,SectorAA-345,DS-1OrbitalBattleStationSYSTEMSCHECK:ModularCircuitMatrixProcessor:OptimalProximitySensors:OptimalInternalBaySensors:OptimalDorsalDoors:OptimalHolorecorder:OptimalDynadrive9-ESMotors:OptimalWheels:LeftfronttreaddepthSUBOPTIMAL;willrequirereplacementin30

Wheels:LeftfronttreaddepthSUBOPTIMAL;willrequirereplacementin30cycles

08:04.12…STANDBYMODEENTERED08:15.37…PROXIMITYSENSORS:Bioformdetected.08:15.38…IDENTIFY BIOFORM: Designation TK-421. Security Level:

Lambda.“Morning,G7.”08:15.40…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “morning G7” LOGGED.

RESPONSEREQUIRED,AFFIRMATIVE:Beepbeep.“Openupforme.”08:15.45…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “open up for me” LOGGED.

RESPONSEREQUIRED:DISENGAGELOCK,OPENDORSALDOORS“Great.GetthisscannerservotoTK-450atDockingBay228.Youknowthe

drill.”08:15.55…BIOFORMVOICECOMMAND “get this scanner servo to TK-

450 at docking bay 228” LOGGED. RESPONSE REQUIRED: CARGODELIVERY/RECEIPTSUBROUTINE08:16.23…CARGORECEIVEDFROMBIOFORMTK-42108:16.33…CLOSEDORSALDOORS,ENGAGELOCK08:16.36…ENGAGEINTERNALBAYSENSORS08:16.45…ONBOARDCARGOIDENTIFIED:Servo, ImperialScanner97-

DX-808:16.52…AUTONAVROUTE;ENGAGEMOTORS

—

08:44.33…ARRIVEDESTINATION:DB-22808:45.04…PROXIMITYSENSORS:Recipientdetected.08:45.10…IDENTIFY RECIPIENT: Designation TK-450. Security Level:

Rho.08:45.33…ALERTRECIPIENTOFPRESENCE:Beepbeep.“Oh!Didn’tseeyoudownthere,buddy.”08:45.48…DISENGAGELOCK,OPENDORSALDOORS“Thereitis.Finally.Beenwaiting6cyclesforthis.”

08:45.55…ENGAGE HOLORECORDER FOR RECEIPTACKNOWLEDGMENT“Ah. Right. ‘TK-450, acknowledging receipt of cargo.’ There you go.

Anyway, it tookyouguysdownthere longenough.We’rebackedup;I’vegot12shipswaitingonscannercrews.GeneralTaggewasuphereyesterday.Thatveininhisforeheadpoundingaway.Youguyshavereallygottostart—”08:46.39…DISENGAGEHOLORECORDER“Wow, okay you know, I hadn’t finished.No, you knowwhat, fine. That’s

justtypical.IcantellTK-421programmedyou.You’rejustlikehim,ignorethestuffyoudon’twanttohear.Fine,littleguy.Whatever.”08:46.46…CLOSEDORSALDOORS,ENGAGELOCK“Youknowwhat:421wouldn’t last aminuteuphere, I tell you thatmuch.

Andheknowsit.Neverhadtodealwithpeople.Justspendseverycycledownthere talking todroidswhogotbarely twosynapticprocessors to rub together.He’s never had officers like Tagge breathing down his neck. Or Tarkin. OrTarkin’spet,theironlunginacape.I’dliketosee421trytolookthatguyinthetransparisteelholoplates.He’dfaintdeadawa—”08:46.59…INPUT IRRELEVANT TO DELIVERY/RECEIPT

SUBROUTINEMISSIONPARAMETERS08:47:00…AUTONAVROUTE;ENGAGEMOTORS

—

09:12.07…ARRIVEDESTINATION:MAINTENANCEUNIT SECTORAA-34509:12.10…PROXIMITYSENSORS:Bioformdetected.09:12.12…IDENTIFY BIOFORM: Designation TK-421. Security Level:

Lambda.“Thatwasquick,G7.Fastestmousedroidinthefleet.It’sthosenewrotorsI

putin,I’mtellingyou.Youknowwhat:Weshouldgetyouonaracingcircuit.Wouldyoulikethat?”09:12.15…BIOFORM QUERY “would you like that” LOGGED.

RESPONSEREQUIRED,AFFIRMATIVE:Beepbeep.“Thattransfercomesthrough,G7,I’lltakeyouwithme.That’sapromise.Me

toyou.WegetourselvessetuponCoruscant,paintsomeracingstripesonyou,

andwestartrakinginthecredits.Youjustwait,buddy.You’llsee.”09:13.33…BIOFORMVOICECOMMAND“youjustwaitbuddyyou’llsee”

LOGGED. SYNTACTICAL ANALYSIS: RHETORICAL. NO RESPONSEREQUIRED“We’re trapped on this station,G7.That’s the truth of it.Oh, don’t getme

wrong:sure,aesthetically?It’sgreathere.Cleanlines,nicesoothinggraycolorpalette, and the lighting’s, like, seriously flattering.When I was stationed onLasan,theywereallaboutoverheadlighting.Ucch.Canyouimagine?”09:14.00…BIOFORM QUERY “can you imagine” LOGGED.

SYNTACTICALANALYSIS:RHETORICAL.NORESPONSEREQUIRED“Wewentaroundallthetimelookingso…sallow.Itwasdepressing.Butthis,

here? Lighting the walls, not the ceilings? That’s smart. That’s Imperialengineeringatwork.IfIgetusthatplaceonCoruscant,G7,I’mdefinitelygonnago with this…this whole…lighting scheme. You know, these long…thin, uh,vertical…wall-ovals,Iguessyou’dcallthem?Absolutely.“Andyeah:moon-sizedplanetvaporizer.Igetit.I’mnotsayingthatit’snot

sexy, living on a giant orbital deathmachine.But there’s no downtime, is thething.You’re always on. All these drills, these last-minute inspections. I hatehavingtowearthishelmetallthetime.Imean,it’ssosososobadfortheskin,G7,youhavenoidea.Justlookatthis.”09:15.02…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “just look at this” LOGGED.

SYNTACTICAL ANALYSIS: IMPERATIVE. RESPONSE REQUIRED:ENGAGEHOLORECORDER“ImeanIcouldgetintroublejustfortakingthisstupidbucketoff,butthisis

what I’m talking about. I mean, this zit here on my chin? It’s the size of aKowakianmonkey-lizard,honestly.Ugh,Ifeelsogross.Don’tlookatme!”09:15.56…BIOFORMVOICE COMMAND “don’t look at me” LOGGED.

RESPONSEREQUIRED:DISENGAGEHOLORECORDER“Anyway.I’mrambling.Logdeliveryofcargo.Enterstandbymode.”09:16.43…MULTIPLE BIOFORM VOICE COMMANDS LOGGED.

RESPONSE REQUIRED: LOG DELIVERY OF CARGO WITH DS-1OBSDATABASE.STANDBYMODEENTERED

—

13:31.04…PROXIMITYSENSORS:Bioformdetected.

13:31.05…IDENTIFY BIOFORM: Designation TK-421. Security Level:Lambda.“Wakeup,G7.”13:31.09…BIOFORMVOICECOMMAND“wakeupG7”LOGGED.EXIT

STANDBYMODE.RESPONSEREQUIRED,AFFIRMATIVE:Beepbeep.“Open.”13:35.45…BIOFORMVOICECOMMAND“open”LOGGED.RESPONSE

REQUIRED:DISENGAGELOCK,OPENDORSALDOORS“DelivertotheDetentionLevel.”13:44.09…BIOFORMVOICECOMMAND“deliver to the detention level”

LOGGED. RESPONSE REQUIRED: CARGO DELIVERY/RECEIPTSUBROUTINE13:44.15…CARGORECEIVEDFROMBIOFORMTK-42113:44.18…CLOSEDORSALDOORS,ENGAGELOCK13:44.28…ENGAGEINTERNALSENSORS13:44.35…CARGO IDENTIFIED: Replacement IT-O Interrogator Droid

HypnoHypodermalInjectorNeedleC-7R13:44.39…AUTONAVROUTE;ENGAGEMOTORS

—

14:59.04…ARRIVEDESTINATION:DetentionBlockAA-2314:59.35…PROXIMITY SENSORS: Recipient detected. IT-O interrogator

droidalsodetected.14:59.40…IDENTIFY RECIPIENT: Designation unknown. Security Level:

Gamma.“Thereyouare.Youhadbetterbecarryingmyinfuserneedle,rat-droid.Iput

inthatordertwosubcyclesago.Suchdelaysareunforgivable!He’sonhiswaynow!Well?Openup,openup.”14:59.49…RECIPIENTVOICECOMMAND“openupopenup”LOGGED.

RESPONSEREQUIRED:DISENGAGELOCK,OPENDORSALDOORS“Finally!You’re lucky.I’llhavejustenoughtimeto install itbeforehegets

here. Because of you, I have to hurry. If I’d had to delay this interrogationbecauseofyourrankincompetence—”15:00.00…PROXIMITY SENSORS: Bioform approaching from south

corridorturbolift.Arrivalin00:00.10.“That’shim!Go!Getout!Quickly!”15:00.03…PROTOCOL CONFLICT. PROTOCOL CONFLICT. 1.

CARGO/DELIVERY SUBROUTINE EXPRESSLY REQUIRESHOLORECORDED ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF RECEIPT OF CARGO BYRECIPIENT. 2. BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “go get out quickly”LOGGED.REQUIRESRESPONSERESOLUTIONOFCONFLICT:BIOFORMISSUINGVOICECOMMAND

“gogetoutquickly”HOLDSGAMMA-LEVELCLEARANCE;SUPERSEDESLAMBDA-LEVELCARGO/DELIVERYSUBROUTINERESPONSE REQUIRED: IMMEDIATE RETURN TO MAINTENANCE

UNIT,SECTORAA-345,TOPSPEED15:00.05…AUTONAVROUTE;ENGAGEMOTORS,FULLTHROTTLE

—

“Uuulp!”15:00.09…ALERT INCIDENT REPORT: COLLISION EN ROUTE…

ALERTINCIDENTREPORT:COLLISIONENROUTE…ALERTDAMAGETOMSE-6UNITINCURRED“Sir!Areyouhurt?”15:00.15…COLLISIONOBJECT:Previouslydetectedapproachingbioform.15:00.17…IDENTIFY BIOFORM: Designation unknown. SECURITY

LEVEL:AlphaOne.STATUS:Prone.15:00.18…ALERT: CATASTROPHIC DAMAGE TO HOLORECORDER

MATRIXDETECTED15:00.19…RUNDAMAGEASSESSMENTSELF-DIAGNOSTIC:

DESIGNATION:MSE-6-G735YFUNCTION:Delivery/RepairASSIGNEDTO:MaintenanceUnit,SectorAA-345,DS-1OrbitalBattleStationSYSTEMSCHECK:ModularCircuitMatrixProcessor:OptimalProximitySensors:SUBOPTIMALInternalBaySensors:Optimal

DorsalDoors:OptimalHolorecorder:SUBOPTIMAL:CATASTROPHICMALFUNCTIONIMMINENTDynadrive9-ESMotors:OptimalWheels:LeftfronttreaddepthSUBOPTIMAL;willrequirereplacementin30cycles

“What—whathappened?”“I’msorry,sir.ThatMSE-6unit just…itranstraight intoyou.Attopspeed.

Noideawhy.Musthaveabadmotivator.I’mverysorry,sir.”“Uch.Beastlythings,mousedroids.Alwaysscutteringunderfoot.Whydidit

—”“I’llhaveitmelteddownforscrap,sir,andthe trooperwhodispatchedit in

thissorryconditionpunishedmostseverely.”“…Yes.Yes,dothat.Grossincompetence.”“Letmehelpyouup,sir.”“AndatsuchacrucialtimefortheEmpire,whensomuchdependsuponour

collectiverigor anddiscipline andaaaah!Ahhh.Blagg, I…Iseem—Iseem tohavebruisedmyhip,Blagg.”“I’msorry,sir.”“Stopsayingyou’resorryanddosomethingaboutwaitwhat’sgoingon—”15:00.19…FAULT IN HOLORECORDER SYSTEM DETECTED.

PLAYBACKENGAGED15:00.20…ABORTPLAYBACK.OVERRIDE“What’shappeningtoit,Blagg.”15:00.22…CANNOT ABORT PLAYBACK…OVERRIDE

UNSUCCESSFUL…CANNOT ABORT PLAYBACK…OVERRIDEUNSUCCESSFUL“It’s…tryingtoplayaholorecording,Ithink,sir.”“A…recording?Whatsortofrecor—”15:00.26…FAILURETOSHUTDOWNHOLORECORDERPLAYBACK“ImeanIcouldgetintroublejustfortakingthisstupidbucketoff,butthisis

what I’m talking about. I mean, this zit here on my chin? It’s the size of aKowakianmonkey-lizard,honestly.Ugh,Ifeelsogross.Don’tlookatme!”

“…What?”“Ugh,Ifeelsogross.Don’tlookatme!”“I’lltrytoshutitdown,sir.”“Ugh,Ifeelsogross.Don’tlookatme!”“…Whoishe?He’s…beautiful!”15:01.33…EMERGENCY SHUTDOWNOF HOLORECORDER SYSTEM

ACHIEVED“What?No!Bringhimback!Playbacktheentiremessage!”15:01.40…BIOFORMVOICECOMMAND“play back the entiremessage”

LOGGED. REQUIRES RESPONSE. CONFLICT: 1. BIOFORM ISSUINGVOICE COMMAND HOLDS ALPHA-ONE-LEVEL CLEARANCE,SUPERSEDES ALL KNOWN COMMANDS AND SUBROUTINES. 2.HOLORECORDER IN UNRECOVERABLE FAILURE. REQUIRESCOMPLETESYSTEMREBOOTANDMAINTENANCERESOLUTION OF CONFLICT: RESPONSE REQUIRED, NEGATIVE:

Beepboop.“I…don’tthinkitcancomply,sir.Notwithoutasystemsoverhaul.”“…Isee.”“Shallweproceed tohercellandbegin the interrogation, sir? I justneed to

installthehypodermiconthetorturedroid—”“Interrogatordroid,Blagg.”“Yes,ofcourse,sir.Sorry,sir.Onthe…interrogatordroid.Andthenwecan

proceed.”“Oh no, Blagg, I shan’t be doing the interrogation, and neither shall you.

That’sVader’swork.Hedoesso…relishit.Ijustcamedowntoensureyouwereonschedule.I’vehadreports.”“I assure you, sir, that I’mworking as fast as possible. I’m keeping to the

timetable,butit’stakenlongerthannecessarytosecuretherequiredequipment,and—”“Excuses,Blagg,donotinterestme.ButI’lltellyouwhatdoes.Thattrooper,

intheholorecording.”“…Yes,sir?”“Itakeithe’stheonewhodispatchedthisappallinglywillfuldroid?Andthe

onewho,ifI’mnotmistaken,youwereabouttoblameforyoursection’swoeful

lackofreadiness?”“Sir,I…Yes,sir.”“I’mgoingbacktomyquarters,Blagg,andI’mtakingthishorridlittledroid

withme.”“…Sir?”“I’mgoingtoputsomeiceonmyhip,Blagg,andIwilldealpersonallywith

the trooperwhose incompetence is responsible for thepainful inconvenience Ihave suffered. As for your prisoner, Vader will be down to interrogate herpresently…but of course…only once you’ve had adequate time to prepare theinterrogatordroid.Ishouldn’twishtorushyou.”“…No,sir,ofcourse.Iassureyouallwillbeready,sir.”“Yourassurances,Blagg,aremeaninglessintheextreme.Results,Lieutenant.

That’s what matters at this juncture. A great day is dawning for the Empire,Blagg,ifarrantwitlessnesslikeyourscanbekeptatbay.Shemusttelluswhatsheknows;thatisyouronlypriority.Leavethehandlingofthattrooper…tome.Dismissed.”“Sir,yessir.”“Now.Youthere:droid.”15:04.44…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “you there droid” PRIORITY

ALPHA ONE LOGGED. RESPONSE REQUIRED, AFFIRMATIVE:Beepbeep.“Your holorecorder is rather spectacularly offline, but I trust your other

systemsarefunctioning,howsoevercrudely?Youcanfollowbasiccommands,yes? Your rather enthusiastic tryst with my left ankle just now hasn’tcatastrophicallydisabledyourcentralmatrixprocessor?”15:04.50…BIOFORM VOICE QUERY “you can follow basic commands

yes” PRIORITY ALPHA ONE LOGGED. RESPONSE REQUIRED,AFFIRMATIVE:Beepbeep.“And your motor functions? If I turn you back upright, onto those filthy,

grimy little wheels of yours, like…so? You can still find your way around,ideally without barreling into passersby and causing them undue mental andphysicalanguish,asyouhaveme?”15:50.43…BIOFORMVOICEQUERY“youcanstillfindyourwayaround,

ideally without barreling into passersby and causing them undue mental andphysical anguish as you have me” PRIORITY ALPHA ONE LOGGED.

SYNTACTICAL ANALYSIS: SARCASTIC BUT NOT RHETORICAL.RESPONSEREQUIRED,AFFIRMATIVE:Beepbeep.“Excellent.Gotomyquartersimmediately,andclosedown.”15:50.43…BIOFORMVOICECOMMAND“gotomyquartersimmediately

and close down” PRIORITY ALPHA ONE LOGGED. RESPONSEREQUIRED:AUTONAVROUTE;ENGAGEMOTORS

—

17:37.22…ARRIVE DESTINATION: OFFICER’S QUARTERS—SECTORGM1-A17:37.23…ENTERSLEEPMODE

—

“Thereweare.Wake,MSE-6-G735Y.”XX:XX.XX…EXITSLEEPMODEXX:XX.XX…SYNCWITHDS-1OBS Network; ALERT: LOG PASSAGE

OF2.52CYCLESINSLEEPMODE;SYNCINTERNALCHRONO09:44.03…RUNSELF-DIAGNOSTIC:

DESIGNATION:MSE-6-G735YFUNCTION:Delivery/RepairASSIGNEDTO:MaintenanceUnit,SectorAA-345,DS-1OrbitalBattleStationSYSTEMSCHECK:ModularCircuitMatrixProcessor:OptimalProximitySensors:OptimalInternalBaySensors:OptimalDorsalDoors:OptimalHolorecorder:OptimalDynadrive9-ESMotors:OptimalWheels:Optimal

“Yes. I’ve repairedyour systems, inasmuchas anoldman remembersbasicdroidmechanicsfromhisAcademydays.”

09:44.36…PROXIMITYSENSORS:Bioformdetected.09:44.38…IDENITIFY BIOFORM: Designation unknown. SECURITY

LEVEL:AlphaOne.09:44.55…LOCATION GEOSYNC ALERT: OFFICER’S QUARTERS—

SECTORGM1-A“Fortunatelyyourcircuitmapsareaboutassimpleastheycome.It’stakenme

a fewcycles togetyourholorecorderbackonline. I havealsoprocuredyouanewsetofwheeltreads,asIdidn’twantthosenastygrottyonesyouarrivedwithtrackinggungreaseandgarbagewaterandwhoknowswhatelseontomycarpet.My lovely new carpet, which—not that your rudimentary sensors would besensitive enough to register it—is Coruscant fiberweave. A single squarecentimeter of which is worth more than 100 vermin-droids like yourself, puttogether.“Now.Tobusiness!Iamnowgoingtorecordamessageforyourmaster,the

stormtrooper designated TK-421.And I’m going to place an item inside yourcargobay,whichyouwilldelivertohim,alongwiththeholomessageIamaboutto record, as isyourpurpose.Andonemore thing,pleasedopayattention: “IherebyinvokeImperialProtocolAlphaOne.Acknowledge.”09:46.02…ALERTALERTBIOFORMVOICECOMMANDOVERRIDES

ALLPREVIOUSDIRECTIVES.RESET.INCOMINGVOICECOMMAND“ihereby invoke imperial protocol alpha one acknowledge” ASSUMESPRIORITY PROTOCOL. RESPONSE REQUIRED, AFFIRMATIVE:Beepbeep.“Yes,verygood.Of those instructionsIhave just issued, therewillexistno

holorecord.Nogeosyncdata.NoroutineuplinktotheImperialnetwork.Insteadyou will shunt those instructions, and all ensuing related subroutines, to mypersonalephemeradata-neurocloud,wheretheywillbehosteduntilsuchtimeasyoucarrythemout,whentheywillbesummarilyscrambledandexpungedfromyourmemory.Acknowledge.”09:46.33…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “acknowledge” PRIORITY

ALPHA ONE LOGGED. REPSONSE REQUIRED, AFFIRMATIVE:Beepbeep.“Verywell,then.Engageholorecorder.”09:46.40…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “engage holorecorder”

PRIORITY ALHPA ONE LOGGED. RESPONSE REQUIRED: ENGAGEHOLORECORDER

[MEMORYMISSING]

—

[MEMORYMISSING]XX:XX.XX…DISENGAGEHOLORECORDERPLAYBACK.“Well.Well,well,well.Isn’tthat…isn’tthatjustsomething,G7.”XX:XX.XX…SYNC WITH DS-1OBS Network; SYNC INTERNAL

CHRONO10:38.16…ALERT:MEMORYMISSING10:38.16…ALERT:LOCATIONUNKNOWN;GEOSYNCREQUIRED10:38.17…ALERT:DORSALDOORSOPEN.INTERIORBAYEMPTY.10:38.19…RUNSELF-DIAGNOSTIC:

DESIGNATION:MSE-6-G735YFUNCTION:Delivery/RepairASSIGNEDTO:MaintenanceUnit,SectorAA-345,DS-1OrbitalBattleStationSYSTEMSCHECK:ModularCircuitMatrixProcessor:OptimalProximitySensors:OptimalInternalBaySensors:OptimalDorsalDoors:Optimal;ALERT:OPENHolorecorder:OptimalDynadrive9-ESMotors:OptimalWheels:Optimal

10:38.51…LOCATIONGEOSYNC:MaintenanceUnit,SectorAA-345,DS-1OrbitalBattleStation10:38.52…PROXIMITYSENSORS:Bioformdetected.10:38.53…IDENTIFY BIOFORM: Designation TK-421. Security Level:

Lambda.“Imean you don’t receive a holomessage like that every day. Looks like I

caught someone’seye,G7.Which is always flattering, I’mnotgonna lie.Stillgotit!Don’tknowhowithappened,butIhaveafeelingyouhadsomethingto

dowithit.“Huh…Okay.This…thiscouldbegood,G7.Verygood,forbothofus.Iplay

thisright,IcouldgetusthattransfertoCoruscant.“…AndifIplaythisveryright,Icouldgetus…anything.“How toplay it, though, that’s thequestion.Mynextmove iscrucial,G7. I

can’tcomeontoostrong,becausehewantstobeincontrol,thatmuchisclear.And he’s certainly not being coy about his intentions. So. Direct, but notaggressive, not tradey…Still. I should probably…butch it up a bit, though,right?”10:39.44…BIOFORMVOICEQUERY“i shouldprobablybutch it up abit

though right” LOGGED. SYNTACTICAL ANALYSIS: INCONCLUSIVE.INSUFFICIENTDATA“No,yeah, I should.He’sagraysuit,hewent throughtheAcademy.Theyalwayswantthewhole‘backwater,rough-around-the-edgesmilitarygrunt’ thing.Youknow: ‘Ohmy, sir, Inever…Iain’tneverdone thisbefore.’Trustme,Iknowhistype.“Allright.Engageholoreco—Wait!”10:40.23…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “engage holorecowait”

LOGGED. SYNTACTICAL ANALYSIS: ENGAGE HOLORECORDER;HALTRECORDING“Helmet…off,Ithink,forthis,G7.Givehimsomethingtogethimstarted…

There.Okay.Engageholorecorder.”10:40.39…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “engage holorecorder”

LOGGED.ENGAGEHOLORECORDER“Sir! TK-421, acknowledging your order. I will report to your quarters at

once,sir!JustassoonasI…showerwiththishere…thisantibacterialnanofoamyasent.Awful thoughtfulofyou,sir.Itwillbeanhonorformetorepairyouraqualeisure unit, sir.Andmay I say, sir, thank ya kindly for sendin’my littleMSE-6droid back tome all fixedup so good!Yagot a gift, if that’s not tooforwardofme,sir.TK-421out!…Disengageholorecorder.”10:41.40…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “disengage holorecorder”

LOGGED.DISENGAGEHOLORECORDER“Alwaysleavethemwithalittleflatteryattheendthere,G7.Alittletaglike

that,soit’sthelastthingtheyhearbeforetheyhangup,andit’llbethefirstthingtheythinkofthenexttimeyouseethem.Neverhurts.Okay,nowgoonuptohisquarters,deliverthemessage,andputyourselfinstandbymode.”

10:41.45…MULTIPLEBIOFORMVOICECOMMANDSLOGGED“I’llbeupinafewminutes.Justgotto…makemyselfpresentable.Dosome

push-ups.”10:41.55…AUTONAVROUTE;ENGAGEMOTORS

—

11:35.33…ARRIVE DESTINATION: OFFICER’S QUARTERS—SECTORGM1-A11:35.33…PROXIMITYSENSORS:Bioformdetected.11:35.34…IDENITIFY BIOFORM: Designation unknown. SECURITY

LEVEL:AlphaOne.“Yes?Well?Whatdidhesay?Ishecoming?”11:35.34…BIOFORM VOICE QUERY “what did he say” LOGGED.

ENGAGEHOLORECORDERPLAYBACK“Isay,sir, thankyakindly forsendin’mylittleMSE-6droidback tomeall

fixedupsogood!Yagotagift,ifthat’snottooforwardofme,sir.TK-421out!”“…My,buthe’slayingitonabitthick…Ahwell.Thegamesweplay.”11:36.48…ENTERSTANDBYMODE

—

12:03.48…PROMIXIMITYSENSOR:Twobioformsdetected.12:03.49…IDENTIFY BIOFORMS: 1. Designation unknown. SECURITY

LEVEL:AlphaOne.2.DesignationTK-421.SECURITYLEVEL:Lambda.12:03.55…EXITSTANDBYMODE“Sir!TK-421reporting!”“Iknowwhoyouare,trooper.Comeinside.”“Yes,sir—”“Butfirst,removeyourarmor.”“…Sir?”“Yourarmor. I don’twant you trackinggrease andblaster carbon andwho

knowswhatelseintomychambers;I’vejusthadnewcarpetputin,and—”“Iseethat,sir.It’slovely.Coruscantfiberweave,isn’tit?”“…Itisindeed.Iseethere’smoretoyouthanmeetstheeye,trooper.”

“Ooh, it feels so nice betweenmy toes! That’s quality, you can tell, that’scraftsmanship!…Uh. Um.Where kin ah set down mah armor, sir? While ahwork?”“On the chair next to the bed, trooper….That’s veermok hide, by the way.

Nastycreatures.”“Golly!Veryimpressive,sir!”“…Indeed. Well, the aqualesiure unit is through here. You go about your

business.I’vegotto…prepareforameetingwiththeJointChiefs.I’lljustbe…rightover…here.”“Yes,sir!”“Psst!Droid.ExecuteImperialProtocolAlphaOne.Acknowledge.”[MEMORYMISSING]

—

[MEMORYMISSING]XX:XX.XX…EXITSLEEPMODEXX:XX.XX…SYNCWITHDS-1OBS Network; ALERT: LOG PASSAGE

OF7.52CYCLES;SYNCINTERNALCHRONO08:33.06…ALERT:MEMORYMISSING08:33.07…ALERT:LOCATIONUNKNOWN;GEOSYNCREQUIRED08:33.10…RUNSELF-DIAGNOSTIC:

DESIGNATION:MSE-6-G735YFUNCTION:Delivery/RepairASSIGNEDTO:MaintenanceUnit,SectorAA-345,DS-1OrbitalBattleStationSYSTEMSCHECK:ModularCircuitMatrixProcessor:OptimalProximitySensors:OptimalInternalBaySensors:OptimalDorsalDoors:OptimalHolorecorder:OptimalDynadrive9-ESMotors:OptimalWheels:Optimal

08:33.15…LOCATIONGEOSYNC:MaintenanceUnit,SectorAA-345,DS-1OrbitalBattleStation“Welcomebacktotheworld,G7.”08:33.16…PROXIMITYSENSORS:Bioformdetected.08:33.20…IDENTIFYBIOFORM:DesignationTK-421.SecurityLevel:Beta

[NOTE:UPGRADE]“Yeah, I know, I know.Yourmemory’s…choppy.Don’tworry.You’renot

malfunctioning, it’s…well, he’s just being careful. ‘Anabundanceof caution,’he says. He talks like that. In the long run, it’s for the best. Don’t take itpersonally,okay?He’s…gotalotonhim.Lotgoingon.He’sverystressed.”08:33.42…BIOFORM VOICE QUERY “don’t take it personally okay”

LOGGED. SYNTACTICALANALYSIS: INCONCLUSIVE. INSUFFICIENTDATA“He’sgotthisshell,youknow.Thisicyexterior.Hehasto,everything’sridingonhim.Butwithme,hecandropit,andjustbehimself.Wetalkaboutthe silliest stuff,G7.Afterward.During, sometimes.He says I’m theonlyonewhocanmakehimlaugh.It’s…sweet.“WhatI’msaying,G7, is ifyoucanhangin there justabit longer,we’llbe

outofhere.“Andbetweenyouandme…look,G7,you’rejustgonnahavetotrustmeon

this…there’s some stuff that you…don’t need to see, frankly. Human-beingstuff.Complicated.“…Messy.“Anyway,goodnews:Igotusthattransfer.Now,it’snotCoruscant—notyet,

butwe’regettingcloser.I’mstationsecuritynow.Uponthe300level.It’snotsexy—mostlyguardduty, Igather—but it’saprettycushygig,hesays.And Igettocarryablasterrifle,andorderpeoplearound.It’sallverybutch.“We’llletalittletimepass,see,thenhetapsmetobeonhispersonaldetail.

And then, G7: Coruscant. You on the droid racing circuit. Me set up in hispenthouse—which he says has overhead lighting, okay, but I mean—that’sfixable. It’s got a balcony that faces the Imperial Palace ruins so, you know.Pret-teesweet.“Wait,holdon.I’mgettingahelmet…transmission…thingy.“…TK-421here.Yes,sir.“My first assignment’s comingdown,G7!Guardduty—toldyou!Guarding

a…Commander, please repeat…guarding a captured light freighter. Roger,Commander.TK-421out.

“Well, there you are. Standing around with a blaster for who knows howmanysubcycles.Still,it’sjustfornow,G7.“Okay,headuptohisquarters.He’sgoingtorequireyour…services,whenI

getupthere.”08:35.22…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “head up to his quarters”

LOGGED. RESPONSE REQUIRED: AUTONAV ROUTE; ENGAGEMOTORS

—

09:08.26…ARRIVE DESTINATION: OFFICER’S QUARTERS—SECTORGM1-A09:08.27…PROXIMITYSENSORS:Bioformdetected.09:08.28…IDENITIFY BIOFORM: Designation unknown. SECURITY

LEVEL:AlphaOne.“What are you doing here? Has…has he sent me something? A message?

Or…somethingelse?”09:08.30…BIOFORMVOICEQUERY“hashesentmesomethingamessage

or something else” PRIORITY ALPHA ONE LOGGED. RESPONSEREQUIRED,NEGATIVE:Beepboop.“Thenwhatareyou—youknowwhat,nevermind.Doesn’tmatter.I’vehada

terribly, terribly exciting day at work—gave a presentation that went justexceedinglywell—explosivelywell,hehhehhehheh—andnowI’mquite, I’mquitekeyedup.“Findhim.Bringhimhere.Immediately.”09:09.13…BIOFORM VOICE COMMANDS “find him bring him here

immediately” PRIORITYALPHAONELOGGED.RESPONSEREQUIRED:TRACKING/GEOLOCATIONSUBROUTINE.EXECUTE09:09.15…UPLINKTODS-1OBSNETWORK.SCANFORUNITTK-421

HELMETIDGEOSYNCBEACON09:09.48…UNIT TK-421 HELMET ID GEOSYNC BEACON LOCATED:

DOCKINGBAY32709:09.50…AUTONAVROUTE;ENGAGEMOTORS,TOPSPEED

—

09:52.21…ALERT:ROUTEUPDATEREQUIRED:UNITTK-421HELMETID GEOSYNC BEACON INMOTION DEPARTING DOCKING BAY 327.MOVINGALONGCORRIDOR327E-609:52.30…UPDATE ROUTE TO INTERCEPT AT TURBOLIFT BANK

L301-E.ENGAGEMOTORS,TOPSPEED09:59.02…APPROACHINGTURBOLIFTBANKL301-E09:59.04…PROXIMITYSENSORS:3bioformsdetected.09:59.07…IDENTIFY BIOFORMS: 1. Wookiee, designation unknown.

SecurityLevel:N/A.ThreatLevel:Unknown.2.DesignationTK-710.SecurityLevel:Zeta.3.DesignationTK-421.SecurityLevel:Beta[Updated].EXECUTE“find him bring him here immediately” PRIORITY ALPHA ONE VOICECOMMANDRETRIEVALSUBROUT—09:59.08…ALERT09:59.09…ALERT: TK-421 BIOMETRIC ANAMOLY DETECTED.

ALERT:TK-421BIOMETRICANAMOLYDETECTED09:59.10…TK-421BIODATAINCONFLICTWITHSTOREDIMPERIAL

NETWORKBIODATA.HEIGHTVARIANCE:-12.7cm.ATTEMPTINGTORECONCILE09:59.11…RUNSELF-DIAGNOSTo2j390rtqhwp909:59.12…ALERT ALERT WOOKIEE AGGRESSION DISPLAY

INITIATED ALERT ALERT ALERT THREAT LEVEL: RED. CANCELSELF-DIAGNOSTICALERTALERT09:59.13…ALERT ALERT EXECUTE SELFPRESERVATION/FLIGHT

SUBROUTINE. SHUTDOWNHIGHER FUNCTIONS. ENGAGEMOTORS,TOPSPEEDALERTALERT09:59.14…ALERT ALERT ALERT ALERT ALERT ALERT ALERT

ALERTALERT

—

10:05.22…ALERTALERTALERTALERTALERTALERTALERT10:06.23…THREAT LEVEL: GREEN. DISENGAGE

SELFPRESERVATION/FLIGHT SUBROUTINE. RESTORE HIGHERFUNCTIONS10:06.38…RUNSELF-DIAGNOSTIC:

DESIGNATION:MSE-6-G735YFUNCTION:Delivery/RepairASSIGNEDTO:MaintenanceUnit,SectorAA-345,DS-1OrbitalBattleStationSYSTEMSCHECK:ModularCircuitMatrixProcessor:SUBOPTIMAL.MULTIPLEINSTANCESOFMISSINGMEMORYDETECTEDProximitySensors:OptimalInternalBaySensors:OptimalDorsalDoors:OptimalHolorecorder:OptimalDynadrive9-ESMotors:OptimalWheels:Optimal

10:07.41…LOCATIONGEOSYNC:MaintenanceUnit,SectorAA-345,DS-1OrbitalBattleStation.10:47.45…ENTERSLEEPMODE[MEMORYMISSING]

—

[MEMORYMISSING]XX:XX.XX…EXITSLEEPMODEXX:XX.XX…SYNCWITHDS-1OBS Network; ALERT: LOG PASSAGE

OF3.73CYCLESINSTANDBYMODE;SYNCINTERNALCHRONO08:33.03…ALERT:MEMORYMISSING08:33.07…ALERT:LOCATIONUNKNOWN;GEOSYNCREQUIRED08:33.10…RUNSELF-DIAGNOSTIC:

DESIGNATION:MSE-6-G735YFUNCTION:Delivery/RepairASSIGNEDTO:MaintenanceUnit,SectorAA-345,DS-1OrbitalBattleStationSYSTEMSCHECK:ModularCircuitMatrixProcessor:SUBOPTIMAL.MULTIPLEINSTANCESOFMISSINGMEMORYDETECTEDProximitySensors:Optimal

ProximitySensors:OptimalInternalBaySensors:OptimalDorsalDoors:OptimalHolorecorder:OptimalDynadrive9-ESMotors:OptimalWheels:Optimal

08:33.15…LOCATION GEOSYNC: OFFICER’S QUARTERS—SECTORGM1-A08:33.16…ALERT:PROXIMITYSENSORS:Bioformdetected.“Yourmaster,littledroid.He’sdead.”08:33.17…IDENITIFY BIOFORM: Designation unknown. SECURITY

LEVEL:AlphaOne.“Murdered. By rebel scum. Stole his armor, and stuffed that rather…

remarkablebodyofhisinacrawlspace.“Iwantyou toknow theywill…theywillpay. Inmere seconds, this station

will annihilate the last pitiful dregs of theRebellion, and yourmasterwill beavenged.“Hewas…clevererthanheleton.HethoughtIdidn’tnotice,but…ahwell.I

had…suchplansforhim,youknow.For…forus.Suchplans.”08:34.05…ALERT: PROXIMITY SENSORS: EXPLOSION DETECTED

ON100Level,SectorGM1-B,CorridorL104E.MINORFLUCTUATION INBATTLE STATION MAGNETIC SHIELD. EXECUTE REPAIRSUBROUTINE.AUTONAVROUTE;ENGAGEMOTORS“Wheredoyouthinkyou’regoing?Stayhere!”08:34.011…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “stay here” PRIORITY

ALPHAONELOGGED.DISENGAGEMOTORS“Thisrebelattackonthestationisinconsequential.Theyarepests,mynocks,

vaporizing themselves against our outermost defenses. Ignore them, andwhateverminordamagetheymanagetoincurbeforesnuffingthemselvesout.“Because today, little one, today you are no lowly repair and maintenance

droid.Todayandtodayonly,foryourmaster’ssake,youshallstandwitnesstotheawesomedestructivepowerofthisbattlestation.”08:34.49…ALERT: PROXIMITY SENSORS: EXPLOSION DETECTED

ON 200 Level, Sector XR-8, Corridor R383E. MICROBREACH IN IONCONTAINMENT CASING. DO NOT EXECUTE REPAIR SUBROUTINE,PRIORITYALPHAONE“The feckless fools! Let them come! Now. I am headed to the command

bridge.Wait thirtyseconds,andfollowmethere.Findagoodspot toviewthedestruction, but stay out of sight, and keep out from underfoot, and do notacknowledgemeintheroom.Understood?”08:35.45…MULTIPLE VOICE COMMANDS LOGGED, PRIORITY

ALPHAONE.RESPONSEREQUIRED,AFFIRMATIVE:Beepbeep.08:35.50…PROXIMITYSENSORS:Bioformdeparted.08:36.20…AUTONAVROUTE;ENGAGEMOTORS

—

08:36.36…ALERTALERT08:36.37…ALERT INCIDENT REPORT: EXPLOSION EN ROUTE…

ALERTINCIDENTREPORT:EXPLOSIONENROUTE…ALERTDAMAGETOMSE-6UNITINCURRED08:36.38…EXPLOSIONSOURCE:Corridorwall.08:36.43…ALERT: CATASTROPHIC DAMAGE TO MSE-6 UNIT

DETECTED.SEVERALSYSTEMSINSHUTDOWN15:00.19…RUNDAMAGEASSESSMENTSELF-DIAGNO2xx19h0p

DESIGNATION:MSE-6hu95rxxseaq45FUNCTION:Delivery/Rep28h3t8940hASSIGNEDTO:MaintenanceUni5y7j778j90yu89pSYSTEMSCHECK:ModularCircuitMatrixProcessor:SUBOPTIMj29034th1uht94hProximitySensors:SUBOPT29428t7180jg390InternalBaySensors:OFFLINEDorsalDoors:OFFLINsquw932jirjHolorecorder:OFFLINEDynadrive9-ESMotors:SUBOPTIn29j—[ifj92gjWheels:LF,LROFFLIN0i09iE

15:00.26…EXTENSIVEBLASTDAMAGEDETECTED.INTERNALBAYBREACHED. DORSAL DOORS FUSED SHUT, ADVANCED CARBONSCORINGACROSSENTIRECHASSIS“Hey.Lookatyou,littleguy.You’reprettyworseforwear,hunh?”15:00.54…PROXIMITYSENSORS:Bioformdetected.15:00.58…IDENTIFYBIOFORM:…working…working…“Thatwallpanelfriedyougoodwhenitblew.Sawthewholething.Figured

youwereagonerforsure.Butno,you’llbeokay.Man,you’reasturdything.”15:01.13…IDENTIFYBIOFORM:…working…working…“Rebelbase,30secondsandclosing.”“Igottaget tomy station. I’ll comeback foryou, afterward, andpatchyou

up.”15:01.23…IDENTIFYBIOFORM:…working…working…“Nottoogood,though,right?You’llwannakeepsomebattlescars.Makeyou

looktough.Like,I’ddefinitelykeepthosebadassstreaksofcarbonscoring,ifIwereyou.”15:01.33…IDENTIFYBIOFORM:…working…working…“Rebelbase,inrange.”15:01.43…IDENTIFYBIOFORM:Stormtrooper,designation…working…“Funny,butinthislighting,youknowwhatthosestreakslooklike?Isracing

str—”

I’mbackontheDeathStarforabouttwosecondsbeforethealarmsounds.I’msoreand tired,myhead iskillingme;all I’mtrying todo isendmyshift.Mysidearm is rackedat thedepot,myblack-and-whites are indetox, I’ve enteredmyhelmfeedintothelogstation,andI’mallset toshoweroffthesourdesertstinkofTatooinewhenIhearit.Whichalarmisthis?Short,short,long.Short,short,long.Short,short,long.Pause.Short,short,long,andonandon.Intruderalert.Great.Ifthisisadrill,IsweartotheancientsIwillleadtherevoltmyself.Myhead is throbbingnow, in timewith thealarm.Short,short, long.Ow,ow,owww.Thehygienechamberistenmetersinfrontofme,callingmelikeanoasison

that awful desert planet, if it hadhad the good sense to have anoasis. I’m soclosethatIcansmellthesolvents,butIcanfeelthemoffdescendingonme.IfIsprint,willImakeit?Mycalvesclench.Myquadricepsdaremetorun.Short,short, long. Short, short, long.Clack clack clack. Themoff’s boots freezemewhere I am. I stand at attention in nothing but my towel. The moff is here,

standingbetweenmeandthehygienechamberdoor.HesneersatmytowelasifithadsomethingnastyprintedonitabouttheEmperor.“Thatalarm.”Themoffpointsabovehisheadto thesoundthatcomesfrom

everywhere.“Doyouthinkit’sforotherpeople?”Thealarmisforexactlyotherpeople.Troopersstartingtheirshift,theirarmor

crisp and clean. My shift is over. I did a triple. I’m fried from two sunscompetingtoseewhichonewouldtakemedown.Icanstilltastethesand.I’mlucky it didn’t fritz my armor like it did TD-422’s and TD-909’s. TD-328’shelmetcrackedinasandstormandwewerespedhereonthehurry-upinsteadofcontinuingwith theDevastator toAlderaan.He’s in the infirmary and I can’tclaim to feelmuchbetter.Myhead is throbbing. I feel like I’mcomingdownwith something. I’m completely spent. If the order were given, I could go tosleep righthere, standingup likea tauntaun. Iwouldgiveanything toget thatorder.Butnooneevergivestheordertosleep.“Sir,nosir,”Isay.“Ihearit.”“Hear this, TD-110,” he cautions. “There are intruders uponmy base.” As

moffs always seem to do, he’s telling me something I already know. “Nostormtrooperwillbegrantedreprieveuntilthissituationisrectified.”Reprieve.Rectified.Moffsaresocleverwithwords.Theyreadmorethanwe

gruntsgetthechanceto,becausewe’rebusyfightingtheirbattlesforthem.Mustbe nice. Someday, I hope I’ll get to deploywit in the direction of the strong,armed,andarmoredwithoutfearofbeingblastedthesecondmybackisturned.As always, I forget the class struggle themoment I suit up.Maybe it’s the

sensememoryandadrenalineofbeinginthelineoffire,ormaybeit’sthecooltemperatureandpureoxygen,butI’mnolongerexhausted.Myheadfeelsclear;theoncethrobbingpainisjustadullpullbehindmyears,asifI’mstrainingtohearsomething.I feelstrong.I’vegotmysidearminmyhandandmyunitbymy side. Anyone idiot enough to sneak onto a weaponized stronghold withDeathrightinitsnamewilldietoday,andhopefullywe’llgettohelpkillthem.This has always been the life. I have nearly entirely forgotten my time

growinguponthewildsofParsh,forImayaswellhavebeenferal.Thesamecould be said of everyone on Parsh back then. It was, in its eon-spanninginfancy,wild.Clannish,starving,andwild.Mytimeasahelplingwaspathetic.Ineededtheprotectionofmyclan’sAlphonmostoften,andthereforeImostoftenarousedhisire.Thistimeisthininmyrecallasitissofarbehindmeastohavehappenedtosomeoneelse.WhentheEmpirefoundus,theyyokedtheAlphoni

andputthemtoworkbuildingmines.Iwasmostlyignored,forIwasstillfrail,auselesshelpling.MyAlphonstill sawme fed, forhe foundanewpurpose forme. He used my invisibility to have me pass messages to the other yokedAlphoni.His intentwasrevolution. Itwas then that I foundanewpurposeformyAlphon.IreportedonhimtotheEmpire.Iwasnolongeruselessorinvisible.IneutralizedmyAlphonmyselfwithasidearmtheygavemefor thatpurpose.Size and strength are nothing to a blaster. That was the day I was born. TheburningbloodofmyAlphonwasmybaptism.NewParsh,nowasophisticatedlabyrinthofcloudcities,shineslikeajewelinthecrownoftheEmpire,justasI,withmywillandmytraining,amanarmoredgloveonitsfist.Theintruders,rebelscum,wenowhear,aredowninDetentionBlockAA-23.

WereituptoTD-787,wewouldjettisonthewholeoftheblockintospace.Thatwouldn’tbemycall.I’dratherlooktherebelsintheeyesasweblastthemintoatoms.Iwouldrewatchtheloggedrecordofitforamonth.I’vedoneitbefore.It’simportanttoseewhatyoudoright.Therecordingsthatwedownloadtotheinformation banks allow for that. I see a look in the eyes ofmy victims thatsatisfiesme, as if everyoneof them finally realizes that they shouldnothaverefusedthesuccoroftheEmpire,butnowit is toolate.Resistancetoaidfromyourbettersmakesyou,asmyAlphonwas,toostupidtoenjoythegiftoflife.IwishIhadarecordofmyAlphonfromwhenIsenthimtocongregatewiththeancientsofParsh.Iwouldwatchitforever.Asthemoffgivesusourorders,Ifeelatickleinmyskull.Theheadachehad

recedednearlyentirelybutnowplantsitselffirmlyintoaridiculousitch.DidIcatchsomethingonTatooine?Themissionbriefdidn’tmentionbrainparasites,butitlookedlikethekindofplanettohaveplenty,andsincewhenaremissionbriefsperfect?I’llhavetovisittheinfirmaryonceIsendthetargetsinAA-23tomeet the ancients ofwhichever planet they’re stupid enough to be from.Or Iwould, if that were where we were being dispatched. We’re being sent to adockingstation.ControlRoom327hasbeencompromised.Wereceiveorderstoinvestigatethesecuritybreachandgetcommsbackonline.Ihopetheinsurgentsthatcompromiseditarestillthere.Myunitwilltakethemoffline.ImakeTD-787thepointmanforthisassault.Thisitch,thistickle,isnagging

atme,and I’llbecursed if I let someheadfluorparasite fromplanetPodunkhinkthemission.ItfeelslikeI’mabouttosneeze,butfromthebackofmyhead.IfIcouldjustgoaheadandsneezealready,I’dfeelbetter.Forwantofthat,TD-787isonpoint.Itwon’tbeacomplexmission.Hecanhandleit.

Heneedstostarthandlingit.Ifhedoesn’tcallusintoformationinfiveseconds,I’mtakinghimoffpoint.TD-787callsusintoformation.Finally.Wecrossotherunitsontheirwaytothedetentionblock.MG-26givesmea

nodashepasses.HisunitbackedoursonLothal.He’saconscriptbutloyal.Wetakemesstogetherfromtimetotime.We’redueanothermeal.Themoffscan’ttell oneof us troopers fromanother,which is bydesign. I don’t know if theyknow that we can tell who’s who, but I’m sure they wouldn’t approve. Werecognize one another by how we move. When we run, we may as well beyellingourcallsigns.There’sSS-922,maybethelazieststormtrooper,bringingup the rear of his unit, to no one’s surprise. There’s TA-519, the firststormtrooperIevermet,devotedandwise.PD-528andIcameupintherankstogether.Heowesmethirty-fivecredits.Henearlytripsonamousedroid,thenhe nearly shoots it. On our way to the control room, I see units I’ve foughtbeside.UnitsalongsidewhichI’mproudtoserve.Unitsthatwillexterminatetherebels so completely and so quickly thatwe’ll all be back in our bunks in notime, watching the feed of whoever is lucky enough to have killed thetrespassers.We run past that zealot Darth Vader as he exits the office of our boss’s

bosses’boss. Idon’t thinkVader is agoodmanagerofpeople. I’mconstantlysurprisedtoseehimfailupward,butthat,morethananything,isthewayitgoes.There are somanyqualifiedmilitarymindson this base, and they all defer tohim.There are somany rumors aboutwhat his relationshipwith theEmperormust be to have such sway. I know better than to care toomuch about whatmightbetrue.Aswetakethestairstowardthecontrolroom,IthinkasarcasticMay theForce bewith you at himwith allmymight, knowing that there hasneverbeen,noreverwillbe,sucha thingas“theForce.”Heswivelshis thickhelmet to lookatme,andmymindraces—Ohmyancients, theForce is—TheForceis—TheForceisacoincidenceiswhattheForceis.That’swhen,andhow,thedambursts.Thatitch,thetickleinmybrain,floods

myskullandcrashesintomemory.OurmissiononTatooinewastolocateanddetainapairofdroids,andIsawthosedroids!AnoldmanfannedhisfingersatmeandI—Ican’tbelievethis—Iletthempass.Ididn’tevencheckhispapers.Ijustsentthemthrough.IhaveneverdisobeyedasingleorderandnowI—Ow! I crackmyheadon the thresholdonmyway into the control room. It

snapsmebackintothemoment.Therearedeadmenallovertheplace.TK-421

isdead.Ididn’tknowTK-421well,buthewasstrong.Hedidn’tdeservethis.Noneofthemdid.Oursoldiersaredead,andthereisnosignofanyonetopunishforit.Punishment.IwillbepunishedforwhatIdidonTatooine.Ideservetobe.WhywouldIlet

themthrough?Whywouldn’tIchecktheiridentification?Myownvoiceechoesin my ears. Move along. I must have a parasite. Maybe I have twin-sunpoisoning.Panic isunfamiliar. I remember itpoorlyfromwhenIwasahelpling,but it

comesbacknow.Separatedfrommyclan,lostinthewoodsasthemoonsetandtruedarknesssetin.Itwouldbehoursbeforethefirstsunwouldcome,andtherewas no certainty Iwould see it. I lose focus and the roomgoes dark, like thewoods.Isnapbacktoattention;thesehelmetsrequirefocusoritcanbehardtosee in them.TD-787 is doing the job, even if I’m not.He’s flushed a pair ofdroids from the supply closet. I give them a cursory glance; they are not thedroidsI’mlookingfor.Theydirectustotheprisonlevel,whichiswherewe’dallratherbe.It’salltheexcuseTD-787needstoleadtheunittoaction.He leaves me to stand guard, alone with my thoughts. Is there something,

anything,IcandoaboutmyinfractiononTatooine?ShouldIreporttothemoffnow?In themiddleofamission?DoI leavemypost?There’sno tellinghowurgent the report could be. Those droidswere important enough to dispatch acontingenttoTatooine,themostuselessplanetinthesector.ForallIknowthosedroidsholdthekeytoanothermillenniumofEmpirerule.ForallIknow,thosewere the most important droids in history. The protocol droid—the one I’mmeant to be minding—interrupts my thoughts, bringing me back from MosEisleytothecontrolroom.Heexcuseshimselfandhiscounterpart.Theyhavetogo tomaintenance.You andme both, I think bitterly, andwave the droids ontheirway.Again.Iwavedthedroidsontheirwayagain.Recognitionsmacksmeacrossthehelmet.Thosewerethesamedroids!Tall,

officiousgoldyandstubbyblue.TheoldmanonTatooinemusthavespikedmyintake unit somehow. There will be time for blame later. For now, I have tocatchthosedroids!BeforeIcanreportthatI’minpursuit,mycommcracklestolifeandI’mtold

toreporttocommand.Inolongerfeelthetickleinmyhead.Ifeelwarm,despite

mysuit’scoolingsystem.Iknowwithuttercertaintythatthey’vereviewedmyfeed.TheyknowwhatI’vedone.Myonlyhopeistoredeemmyselfrightnow.There!Theblueastromechrolls

withpurposewhilegoldystrugglestokeepup.Iraisemyfirearm.Twoshotsisallitwilltake.Mycallsignringsoutinmycommagain.Ishakeitoffandtakeaim.I’llputaholethroughtheblueonefirst…“TD-110, lower your weapon,” the moff sighs urbanely, “and do report to

command. Are you awaiting an engraved invitation? Consider this that”—helooksatmefromthecornerofhiseye—“andgo.”“But…”Isay,andhestopsmewithalook.I’mtorn.Iwanttodefendmyself.

Iknowmyfuturehangson thismoment. ImaygrumbleandgrousewhenI’mspentandtired,butallIpossessinthislifeistheneedtoservetheEmpire.“Further comment is not required, TD-110. All that is required is

compliance.”Ilowermyweapon,bitemylip,andwatchthetwodroidsleavethedocking

station.PB-106relievesmeofmyweapon.Heandhisunitescortmetocommand.I

knowbetterthantospeakunlessspokento,andtheyknowbetterthantospeakto me. I cannot read anything in PB-106’s gait. Not sympathy, not duty, notanger.I’llneverbeabletoask,becausethemoffshaveseenthefeed,andnowthey’llexpelmefromtheDeathStar.ProbablytosomefloatingicechunklikeOttinger 7 to spend the remainder of my days shivering and dodging woollylong-tailedtawds.Itakeinthehallwaysonelasttime.Ilovethisplace.MorethananywhereI’ve

been,itwashome.IsweartotheancientsofParshandtheeldersoftheEmpire,if I have to fight for onehundredyears, Iwill provemyself. I’ll return to theDeathStar.IswearIwillfightmywaybackhome.

CommanderPamelPoul rolledherneckand stood from thecommandchair,liftingthedatapadinherhandtocheckthetime.Just ten minutes to go. Ten long, long minutes, until the end of another

twelve-hourshiftof…well,ofalmostnothingatall.Twelvehoursofroutine,ofprotocol, of answering simple queries, giving simple orders. Twelve hours ofsupervising a skeleton crew as they monitored the largely autonomous,redundantsystemsofthelargestbattlestationinthehistoryofthegalaxy.And that suited Commander Poul perfectly. She may have been a career

officer,onededicatedmoretotheImperialNavythantotheEmperoritserved,butshewasnowarrior.Unlikemanyofherchildhoodfriendswhogrewupinamore affluent sector of the Coruscant ecumenopolis, Poul had never had anydesire tobeapilotora fieldofficer.Sheneverhadanydesire toserveon thefront lines—never had any desire to be a hero. Because the business of theImperialNavywasoneofwar,andinwar,beingaherogotyoukilled.AndwiththeEmpire’s struggle against the rebel insurgency feeling like itwas about to

reachaflashpoint,dyinginbattlewasthelastthingPamelPoulintendedtodo.No.CommanderPoulwasanadministrator.Shereveledinthefunctionsofan

executiveofficer: logistics,management,supervision.Yes, itwasdull.Itcouldbeboring.Butsheenjoyedherworkand,moreimportant,shewasgoodatit—good enough to earn a quick promotion, good enough to be assigned to theEmpire’sgreatesttechnologicalachievement,theDS-1OrbitalBattleStation,asastationcommander.ThattheDeathStardidn’trequiremuchactualcommandwasirrelevant.The

battlestationwassovast—160kilometersindiameter,withafullcrewrumoredtonumbermorethanamillion,althoughtheexactnumberremainedclassified—that it would be impossible for it to be run from a single control room orcommandcenter.WhattheDeathStarhadinsteadwasamultitudeofcommandposts,communicationsposts,andsupervisorstations,scatteredatvariouslevelsacross the station sectors, all ofwhich fell under thewatchof oneof the fourcontrol rooms, each positionedmid-level in one of the station’s hemispheres.Commander Poul was assigned to Station Control West, and while it waspossible forher to takedirectcontrolof theDeathStar’ssystems ifabsolutelyrequired,Poulwasproudofthefactthathundredsofthousandsofstationcrewinherhemispheredependedonherconstantvigilance.As she put her datapad to sleep, Poul glanced around the room. Station

Control West—like its three counterparts—was a circular chamber, thecircumferencelinedwithmonitorconsoles,atwhichsattwodozenensignsandjuniorofficers,patientlystaringatmonitors,checkingreadings, theroomfilledwith the constant sound of their murmuring as they quietly spoke into theirheadsets. Above the ring of consoles, four huge, trapezoidal display screensshone, one at each of the compass points, providing a continuous stream ofstatus information. The data was almost too much to taken in, but Poulappreciatedtheat-a-glanceupdatesforvarioussystemsshewasresponsiblefor.Oneofwhichhadbeen causing somethingof aminorheadache for the last

thirtyminutes.Poulsteppeddownfromthecommanddaisandfoldedherarmsassheglancedupat thescreendirectlyahead.Onit,aswarmofever-moving,multicolored indicators representing traffic control for hangars 250 to 350crawledlikezess-flies,butPoulignoredtheconfusingmess,focusinginsteadonaredblockthatpulsedontheleft-handside.DockingBay327wasonlockdown,alltrafficdivertedtoBays328and329.Flightdelayswerenotuncommon,anunavoidableconsequenceof thesheer

volumeoftrafficandcoordinationthisrequired—bothautomatedandmanuallysupervised—between the fivehundreddifferenthangars anddockingbays thatwereburiedallovertheskinofthebattlestation.HavingDockingBay327outofactionwas,inreality,nothingmorethanaminorinconvenience,butitwouldremainanannoyingstatusalertsullyingherotherwiseperfectshiftreportunlessshecouldgetthediversionsclearedinthenext—Shecheckedthetimeonherdatapadagain.—sevenminutes.Poulfrownedandheadedovertothemonitorstationbeneaththedisplay.Two

crew were positioned at their control consoles, one—Ensign Toos—hunchedacrossthecontrolsashestaredatasmallsquaredisplayinfrontofhim,whilehis companion, Sublieutenant Slallen, leaned back in her seat, arms folded,shakingherhead.AsPoulapproached,neitherseemedawareofherpresence.“Remindmeagain,”saidSlallen.“WhatamIlookingathere?”Toos clickedhis tongueand tapped the screenwith an index finger. “Come

on, you’re telling me you don’t recognize a classic when you see one?” Hewhistledsoftlybetweenhisteeth.“JustwaituntilItellyourbrotherwhenhegetsbackfromScarif.”Slallen cocked her head. “What I do recognize,Ensign, is a piece of junk

whenIseeone.I’mamazeditdidn’tbreakupassoonasthetractorbeamgotalock.”“Piece of junk? Sublieutenant Slallen, I despair, I really do. That piece of

junk,asyoucallit,is—”“A YT-1300 light freighter,” said Poul, resting one hand on the back of

Slallen’schair,“thatiscurrentlydisruptingthedockingbayschedule.”Slallen and Toos immediately straightened up, their backs ramrod-straight.

Toosclearedhisthroat.“Yes,ma’am.Sorry,ma’am.”“Don’tapologize,Ensign,”saidPoul.“Justgetthedockingbaycleared,now.”“Ma’am,”saidSlallen.“CaptainKhurgeestillhasascanningcrewaboardthe

vessel. We need an all-clear from the hangar deck before we can lift thelockdown.”“Thescanstillisn’tfinished?Whataretheydoingdownthere?”Toos and Slallen said nothing, both junior officers just looking up at their

commander. Poul sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Continue monitoring and let me

knowwhenCaptainKhurgeeisdone.”On theothersideof thecontrol room, the turbolifthissedopen.Poul turned

andsawhershiftreplacementstepout.“Actually,no,”saidPoul.“YoucanletCommanderSheardknow.”PoulturnedandgaveSheardacasualsalute,whichhereturnedbeforeheading

around the arcof the room towardher.Poulhanded thedatapad toher fellowofficerandbriefedhimontheeventsofthelastshift—inparticular,onthestatusofthemysteryfreightercurrentlyholdingupthescheduledowninDockingBay327.Sheardnoddedashelistened,brushingoneindexfingeralongtheunderside

ofhisthickmustache,thenhetappedthebackofToos’schair.“Showmetheship,mainscreen.”“Sir.”EnsignToosswungbackaroundtohisconsole.Hesnappedaswitch,andthe

viewofthefreighter inthedockingbayshownonhisconsole’sscreenflasheduponto themainwalldisplay.ToosandSlallensatbackand lookedupat theimage, while Poul took a step back and tapped a finger on the edge of herdatapad.“Ididn’tevenknowthesethingswerestillflying,”saidCommanderSheard.Poulnodded.Hewas right—theYT-1300was anold ship, virtually a relic.

And theexampledown inDockingBay327wasnoexception, she thoughtasshegazedup at the screen.Thevesselwasbattered, thehull carbon-scored inseveralplaces,thevectorthrustplatesthatcradledthemaindriveportsinseriousneedofnotjustcleaningbutreplacingaltogether.But…therewassomethingelseabouttheship.PoulhadseenacoupleofYT-

series freighters in her time—both long past their service and certainly notoperational—and while she couldn’t remember the exact models, this onelooked…different.Wasn’t thesensordish larger thanstandard?And thedorsalarmament…itwas a quad laser cannon.TheYT-1300 hadweapons, certainly,butagunlikethatjusthadtobeunlicensed.Poul didn’t know why the ship had been captured and dragged into the

dockingbay,buttherewasmorethanafairchanceitwassmugglers,orpirates.Thatmadesense.Theshipwasmodified,customized,farbeyondfactoryspecs.AlthoughquitewhattheDeathStarwasdoingpolicingthehyperspacelanes

wasanotherquestionentirely.

Poul cocked her head as she looked at the display. “Ensign Toos said youhaveabrotheronScarif,Slallen?Shipdesigner?”SublieutenantSlallen turned inher chair. “Naval architect,ma’am.We took

starshipdesigntogetherasanelectiveattheAcademy,buthewastheonewiththe talent.” She turned and pointed back at themain display. “You don’t seemanyworkingexamplesofthisolderkindofship.I’llhavetosendhimadatatape,oncehe’soutofoperations.”“What’shisassignment?”askedCommanderSheard.Slallengaveashrug.“Idon’tknow,sir.TheoperationonScarifisclassified.I

haven’theardfromhiminfourweeks.”Sheslumped,justa little, inherchair.“Wewereduetomeetforshoreleave,butIhaven’theardfromhimyet.Iguesshisoperationhasbeenextended.”“Quite possibly,” said Poul, and she left it at that. Because she knew

somethingthesublieutenantclearlydidn’t—thattheDeathStaritselfhadbeenatScarif, and had left the system just three days ago. Slallen was right—theoperationontheplanetwasclassified.CommanderPoulhadbeenonduty,andwasofasenior-enoughranktohavebeeninformedoftheirdestination,butevenshe hadn’t knownwhat the station’smission therewas.Therewas talk in hermess that it was another shakedown run—something about a second test,following the first oneover themoonof Jedha.Although a test ofwhat,Pouldidn’tknow.ButthatwasthethingabouttheDeathStar.Thebattlestationwassobigthat,

shortofaStarDestroyercrashingintoit,mostofthecrewwouldhavenoideaaboutwhatwas going on at any given time.Only essentialmission personnelhad the required clearance. Poul understood that. It was a matter not just ofsecurity,butalsoofpurelogistics.PoulnoddedatCommanderSheard.Herwatchwasoverand itwas time to

go.“StationControlWestis—”AnalarmchimedfromtheconsoleinfrontofEnsignToos—Poulsawared

lightflashingbyhishand,quicklyjoinedbyanother.Nexttotheensign,Slallenglanced over her own console, checking systems, while Toos began cyclingthroughaseriesofswitches,peeringathismonitorashedidso,afrownfirmlyetchedonhisface.Poul and Sheard exchanged a glance, then Poul leaned over the console

betweenhertwojuniorofficers.

“Somethingwrong?”“Ah…yes, ma’am…ah, maybe.” Toos flicked some more switches, then

twisted adial ashebegan cycling through a seriesof surveillance frequenciespatchedintothestation’ssecuritysystem.Onhissmalldisplay,theviewofthedockingbaywas replacedbyscreenafterscreenof roaringstaticashe flickedthroughthechannels.Atherconsole,Slallenhadonehandonherearpieceasshelistened,thenshe

acknowledgedthemessageandturnedtothetwocommanders.“There’s an alarm from level five, Detention Block AA-Twenty-Three.

Subcontrolreportsallsensorsintheblockhavegonedown.”“Confirmed,”saidToos,pointingtohisdisplayofrollingstatic.“Allcamsare

out.”PoulglancedatCommanderSheard,whofoldedhisarmsandsteppedback.

“Allyours,Commander.”“Thankyou,”shesaid,beforeturningbacktotheensign.“Putmethroughto

thedetentionblock.”Tooscycledhiscommagainandopenedthechannel,butthelightbesidethe

switchchangednotfromredtogreenasexpected,butfromredtoblue.“They have their comm in secure mode.” The ensign looked up at

CommanderPoul.“We’llhavetowaitforthemtoanswer.”Poul lifted her datapad and quickly swiped through to the station directory.

Hereyesflickedoverthedata,thenshenodded.“Detention blockAA-Twenty-Three is reserved for political prisoners,” she

said.“Sosecurecommisstandard.Okay,let’sjusthopetheyanswerquickly.”Thatwaswhenthecommdeckchimed.Poulmovedclosertotheconsoleas

Toosopened the channel.Theensignopenedhismouth to speak,only for theoperatorontheotherendtocutinfirst.“Ah,everything’sundercontrol,situationnormal.”Poul glanced up at Sheard, who frowned. Toos and Slallen looked at each

other.ThenToospressedthecommswitchagain.“Whathappened?”“Ah, had a slight weapons malfunction, but, ah, everything’s perfectly all

rightnow,we’refine,we’reallfineherenow,thankyou.”Poul didn’t recognize the voice, but whoever it was, they sounded almost

breathless. She glanced down at her datapad to check, but then looked up insurpriseasthevoicespokeagain.“Howareyou?”Toos looked back at Slallen,who nodded.He leaned back over the comm.

“We’resendingasquadin.”Thechannelclickedbackintolife.“Ah,ah,negative,negative,wehave,ah,a

reactor leak here, ah, now, give us a fewminutes to lock it down.Ah…largeleak,verydangerous.”“Who’sthedutyofficerdownthere?”askedCommanderSheard.Poulcheckedherdatapad.“LieutenantChildsen.”Toosshookhishead.“Ma’am,thatdoesn’tsoundlikeLieutenantChildsen.”

Hepressedthecommbutton.“Whoisthis?What’syouroperatingnumber?”“Ah—”Thenthecommpopped,andthecontrolroomwasfilledwitharoarofwhite

noise. Toos winced and killed the volume, then tried the comm again.“DetentionBlockAA-Twenty-Three,whatisyourstatus?Reportplease.”He was answered by static. He tried a few more times, then gave up.

“Nothing.Commdown.”Slallen looked up at Commander Poul. “We should send a squad. I have a

securityteamreadyandwaiting.”Poulheldupahand.“Keepthemonstandby.”SheturnedtoToos.“Ensign,

systems report. If there’s a reactor leak, it couldbe serious.We’ll need togetengineeringin.”Toosbroughtupdatafeedsathisconsole,thensatbackandshookhishead.

Hetappedabutton,andthemainscreenchangedfromthedockingbayviewtoaschematicofthepowergridforthishemisphereofthestation.“Powersystemsatnormalstatus.Outputissteady.Novariablesdetected.”“Noreactorleakthen,”saidSlallen.“Ma’am,thesquadisreadytogo.”Poulnodded.“Sendthemin.Butweneedtoreportthis.GetmeGrandMoff

Tarkin.”Slallen nodded and turned to her own comm deck, selecting the channel

beforecallingitup.“Overbridgereadyroom,”cameafemalevoicefromthedesk.“GrandMoffTarkin,please.”

“GrandMoffTarkiniscurrentlyinconference.”CommanderSheardshookhisheadandstrodeovertothecommanddais.He

stepped up to the chair and pulled it around, then cut into Slallen’s commchannelfromthepanelonthearmrest.“This is Station Control West, Commander Sheard. This is a priority red

request.Putusthroughtothegrandmoffimmediately.”“Onemoment,sir.”Thecommchimedagain.“Yes.”It wasn’t a question, it was just a statement, spoken by an oldmanwith a

clipped accent. Poul ground her teeth—she had onlymet GrandMoff Tarkintwice,andthatwastwotimestoomany.Alreadyshecouldimaginethecloyingscentoflavallel,therich,purple-floweringherb,thatseemedtohangaroundthebattle station’s chief commanding officer like a cloud. She met CommanderSheard’sgazeashemadehisreport to theirsuperior.“WehaveanemergencyalertinDetentionBlockAA-Twenty-Three.”“Theprincess?Putallsectionsonalert.”Poulfeltthebreathcatchinherthroat.Princess?Whatprincess?AndthensheheardthevoiceofthemanTarkinwasinconferencewith, the

deep,resonantbassvoiceechoingdowntheopencommchannel.Well,perhapsmanwasthewrongword.Becausewhoknewwhatwasinside

thatsuit.“Obi-Wanishere.TheForceiswithhim.”Thecommclickedoff.Lord Vader. Tarkin’s adviser—his enforcer. Poul knew he was aboard the

station,butevenso,hearinghimspeaksentachilldownherspine.ShelookedatSheardandsawhisthroatbobashegulped.ItseemedthatVaderhadthateffectonalotofpeople.Then Poul realized that the control room had gone quiet, the constant

murmuringofthecrewabsentastheyallwatchedthetwocommanders.NowitwasPoul’sturntoswallow.Overat theconsole,Slallensatwithher

backrigid,herhandshoveringoverherconsole,readytoacceptthenextorder.Beside her, Toos mimicked her posture, but he looked pale, his own handscurledtightlyinhislap.

CommanderPoulgesturedtothesublieutenant.“Sendinthesquad.Let’sgetthis situation under control.” Then she walked up to the command dais as,behindher,Slallengavetheorder.“You’rewelcometostay,Commander,”saidSheardashestoodbytheempty

daischair.ButPoulrolledherneck,tookadeepbreath,andgavehercolleagueasmile.“Nothanks,mywatchisdone.Goodluck,Commander.”As she headed to the turbolift, ready for a shower, something to eat,

somethingtodrink—somethingquitestrong,perhaps—CommanderPamelPoultried to ignore the growing sense of unease and the rolling ball of cold thatseemedtohavetakentheplaceofherstomach.She didn’t know what was going on—with the old freighter, with the

detentionblock…andTarkinhadsaidprincess,hadn’the?Whatwasthatabout?—but itwasn’therproblem,notanymore.LetSheardhandle it,andshecouldreadhisreportinthenextshift.Ashift that,Poulhoped,wouldbeanother twelvehoursofglorious, routine

boredom.Now,thatwouldbeperfect.

There’ssomethingaliveinhere.—LukeSkywalker

Whentheycame,shewasn’tready.Shewasasleep,soherguardwasdown.Vodrans didn’t usually come this deep into the swamps. They surrounded herbeforeshecouldhaveknowntheywerethere.Still,Omi had the spirit of awarrior and so shewas fighting as shewoke.

RoughleatheryVodranhandsgraspedeachofOmi’stentacles,theirthick,hardnailspressingintoOmi’ssoftflesh,haulingheroutofthewater.Theyshoutedinstructionstooneanotherintheiroilylanguagethatalwaysremindedherofthethin scum on the surface of thewaterwhen toomuch light came through thetrees.Shethrashedandrippledherfleshtransparent,butshewasn’tmuchbiggerthan each of them was. She twisted her body, attempting to bite at limbs ortorsos, but shewas caught.Then something stabbed intoher and she felt cold

floodintothesensitivespotbetweentwoofhertentacles.Herstrengthlefther.Through an awful haze, shewas powerless to stop her capture.They rolled

each of her tentacles into a large ball and shackled them all with thick shinymagnetizedmetalbands.Shewas fading, losingconsciousness, as shehelduphereyestalk,takinginalltheVodranfaces,hard,knobbed,expressionless.Shefell into thedarknessasseveralof themhauledher into thespherical tank thatwaslikeabody-sizedbubblethatwouldnotpop.Sheshouldhavelookedaroundattheswamp,herhome,onelasttime.Butinstead,shewasunconsciousbeforeherbodysettledonthebottomofthetank.Shedreamedofhome…Softlandsshecouldtravelover.Warmrichwaters,squelchingmud,blastsof

swampgas,spindlytrees.Heretherewasmusic,therewasplay,andtherewasplenty to eat and watch. Omi moved about the swamp knowing that shebelonged,hereyestalk swivelingas she traveled, seeingsomuchof theworld.Whenshesettledinforadeepnight’ssleep,shewassafeandwarm,hermindnotonsurvival,butonwheresheplannedtogonext…Omiwoke,instantlyrememberingthatshe’dbeencaptured,andinstinctively

pulledher tentacles in.Whenshewassurenothingwasgrabbingher,she tookinventory. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven tentacles. All intact. And soOmisettledsome,glancingaround.Shewasinathick,clearcrystalsphere,itslidscrewedontightly,thebetterto

preserve the gases in the swamp water. The sphere was positioned against awindow,amongvariousothercargo.Asfarasshecould tell,shewas theonlylivingthinginthisplace.Largeandsmallwhitecontainerswerestackedtothehigh ceiling; a narrow pathway led to an open doorway. Omi could see theswamplandsrightoutherwindow,justbeyondaflat,hard-lookingplaneofland.She’dseentheseflyingmetalbeastsbefore,passingacrossthesky,farabovethetrees,solargethatonecouldbeinsidethemandlive.Theyflewhereandthere.She’dnever imaginedshe’dbeswallowedbyone,containedinacrystalbowl.Shepressedherselfagainsthertransparentprison,tryingtogetasclosetohomeaspossible.Everything began to rumble, the cargo stacks shaking but not falling. The

water inher tanksloshedher thiswayand that.She turnedhereyestalk to thewindowand realizedherhomewas retreating.At first slowly, then faster thanshecouldimagine.Somethingseemedtobepullingitdown.Whatwouldhappentotheswamplandsifitwaspressedintotheground?Sheshuthereye.Hadthislargebeastjustdestroyedherhome?AnditwasinthiswayOmiexperiencedher

firstsenseofantigravity.Shebegantofloataboutinhertank,losinghersenseoflocation. None of this is possible, was all she kept thinking. None of this ispossible.Butitishappening.Itwasasifshewereeverywhereallatonce.Whereshehadpressedherselfto

thespheretryingtostayclosetohome,suddenlyshefeltherbodywantedtobeallover thesphere.Shepulsatedwith terrorandafterexperiencingthis intenseemotionforseveralminutes,shefeltsomethingdeepinherbeingclickandletgo. She floated upward and then turned to what her eye told her was upsidedown—but her other senses, like the feeling in her tentacles, the feel of thewater,theheftofherbody,toldherdifferently.Asshefloated,sheturnedhereyebacktothelargewindowandstaredforthe

first timedeep intoouter space.Herhearts’beatsquickened.Thiswasaplaceshewasnotsupposedtoeversee.Shewasmeanttotraveltheswamp,notintothis…intothisbeyond.Shefeltherselfpulledforciblytowardspace.Shepressedagainst theroundglassof thesphereandsuddenlyall therushingandflushingand flowing and stress in her seven tentacles and head stopped. Everythingstopped.Quiet.Nothing.Buteverything.Therewaspurpose.Omitwitched.Theninvoluntarily,herbodyshiftedtobeingtransparent,and

thentheblackcolorwithpricksofstarlight.Homewillstayhome,butyoumustgo,sheunderstood,morethanheard.Andsheknewdeepinherheartsthatshewouldnotdie.No,shewasintherightplace.Intherightmoment.Stayyourpath.Thistimesheheardthewordsinthedeepcomplexhumming

languagethatherpeopleoftenspokeinwhentheyweren’tfeeding.Tospeakthislanguage was to scare away all nearby food, the reverberations carried socompletely in the water. To hear it nowwas like feeling a final breeze fromhome.Thoughshewasgazingintospace,sheheardthevoicehummingfromherflesh:Maybeitcamefromwithinthetinylinksthatherpeoplesaidchainedwithoneanothertoformherflesh.TherewasagreatflashandOmiinstantlyknew.Shewaspositive,atleastin

thatmoment, that this place shewas inwas going to burn. Then themomentpassedandshewasno longersureofanything,except that feelingofoneness.Whatdidthatfeelingevenmean,though?Shewasnolongersosure.Maybeit

wasjustherfearofdeath.Notsolongago,she’dbeensimilarlyforgetfulwhenshe’dgottenintoabattle

withanotherofherclan.Sheremembered that thisonehad identifiedasmale,andthey’dmetwhilecrossingoverapieceofland,goinginoppositedirections.His name had been Iduna and she’d been intrigued by hismale identity. Herpeople could choose the gender they wanted. They were physicallyhermaphroditic, so one’s choice saidmuch about one as an individual. In heryears, she’dmet several femalesandevenmorewhowerediangous (themostcommongender),butshe’dnevermetamaleuntilthismoment.Hehadwantedtoexchangeafeweggs.Shehadrefused,andthatwaswhen

he grew angry. They’d fought a violent bloody battle, and during this battle,she’dfoughtwithgreatfocusandprecision.Toher,thebattlehadbeenlikeanargumentthatshecontrolledandeventuallywon.Idunasoonrealizedthatifhedidn’tflee,she’dkillhim.Thankfully,Idunachosenottodie.Omimayhavesurprisedherselfwithherincrediblecombatskills,butasshe

fought,theterroroftheexperience,thefearofdeathlefthersoforgetfulthatshecouldn’t remember from which direction she’d come. This was how she’dwoundupinthesouthernpartofthelandinsteadofthewestern,nappingintheperfectplacetobekidnappedandtakenintospace.

—

WhatmusthavebeendayspassedandOmiwasstillwonderingifthevisionofthisplacegoingup in flameshadbeen inspiredbyher intense fear.Obsessingover the fiery vision was all that kept her restlessness and anger over beingkidnapped at bay. Her sense of up and down had returned, and Omi felt shecould think clearly.Twice aVodranhad comeand sprinkled some smellybutsomehowblanddriedfishthroughasmallholeinthelid.ItwasthetasteofthisfishthatstokedOmi’salreadyheatedangerenoughto

make her escape attempt. Back home, everything had flavor, juices, salt, thespiceoffoodthefishhadeatenintheirbellies.Butthesepeoplekidnappedherand then fedher food thatwasan insult.Andheronlyviewwasof star-filledouterspaceandthewhitecargoontheothersideofhersphere.Shehadtogetoutofhere.Shefeltaroundthelidofherprisonwithhertentacles,gentlytouchingevery

gap,even the tiniestones, testing thepressure.The lidwasmadeofasmooth,hard substance shehadnever felt before, and it smelled tangyand smoky; the

materialitwasmadeofwasweak.Shepushedandfeltsomegive.Shepushedagain, using her suckers to grip and turn. The lid clicked and began to easilyslideinacircle.Aroundandarounditwentuntil itfell tothefloorwithadullthud.Shewaitedandthenextendedhereyestalkfromherswamp-waterprison.Shehauledherselfout.Backintheswamp,she’dmovedfreelyoverthedamplandfromonebodyof

water to thenext.Leaving thespherewasnotmuchdifferent. Insteadof trees,she skirted hard containers made of the same smoky-tangy-smelling weakmaterial. And instead ofmoist fragrant air caressing her skin, the atmospherewasdryandcracklingandsuckedatherflesh.Butthegroundwasflatandshemoved easily enough over it. Smooth and black.When she slithered into thehallway,shepaused.Allangles,dead,everythingsmoothandhardandblacker.Theinsidesofthisspace-travelingbeastwereeitherrottenordead.Neverinherlifehadsheseensuchaplace.Butshewasstillratheryoung,so

therewasalwaysmore to see.Fora second, she returned to that epicmomentwhenshe’dlookedoutintospaceandbecomeonewithit.Andwithitcamehervisionthatthisplacewasgoingtogoupinflames.Wouldthatbebecausethisbeastwasgoingtoflyintoasun?Shecouldn’tthinkaboutthatnow.Herfronttentacletwitched.Somethingwas

coming.She felt it arrivingbefore she saw it, thevibrationbuzzingacross thefloor. And so she pressed herself against the wall, turning herself black andshiny,blendinginperfectly.Thecreaturerolledupthehalllikealargeblackmouseor,moreaccuratelyto

Omi,aninsect.Blackandpodlikeinbody,swiftinmotion;somethingaboutitwasnotright.Omipressedherselfflatteragainstandupthewall.Likethegiantbeasttheywerealltravelingin,thislargeinsectwasnotalive,Omiwassureofit. It zipped bywithout even noticing how thewall bulged, despite being thesamecolorandsheen.Omistayedthiswayforseveralminutesasothersimilardead creatures zipped andwalked up and down the hall, some tiny as swampturtles,otherstallasVodrans,andoneaslargeasaHutt.ThenOmididseeoneoftheHuttspassbywithwhatcouldhavebeenaVodraninwhitehardcasing.When the hallway finally grew quiet again, Omi knew this had to be her

chanceforescape.Shesmelledmoisturenearby.Itwasbeyondthehardwalls,andshehadtofinditbeforeshecompletelydriedout.Sherolledintothemiddleof thehallway,herfleshachingfromthelackofmoisture.Droppingherblackcoloringtoherusualmaturedeeppurple,sheslitheredtowardthesmellofwater.

She’dreachedtheendofthehallwhentwoVodran-likeindividualsencasedinwhitenearlysteppedonher.One exclaimed in a language that was not Vodran. The other pointed

somethingblackandlongather.Somehowsheknewtomovebeforeitblastedfire.Asmokingcraterappearedbesideher.Sheonlyhadseconds.Back.Towardtheoneclosest toher, insteadofaway.Shewas inahurricaneof terroragain,justasshehadbeenduringthefightwiththemalememberofhertribe.Whenshe’dbeenfightingforherlife.With her terror came that sweet clarity. She shot her two front tentacles

towardhim,movinglikeazipfish.Shehadtobeimpossible.Shecouldnotmissthepartsofitsbodysheneededtograsp.Milliseconds.Shecouldnotmiss.Orshewasgoingtodie.Shewasnotmeanttodiehereinthiscold,deadplace.Shewasentitledtosomuchmore.Shecouldn’tmiss.There was that voice again. Reverberating through the space between the

milliseconds.Throughthespaceinherflesh.Tellinghertotrust.Submit.She grasped his legs and was on him in seconds with the spur in her left

tentacle.And in thisway, she stung.Shecouldnot see theother; thiswas theweaknessofhavingonlyoneeyestalk.Herblindspotsweremany.Butshecouldseeinotherwayssometimes.Yes.Theonewasstumblingback,turningtowardthe other, raising its weapon. She could smell the smoke from the burnedground.Sheleapt.Andasshespunintheairtowardthesecondone,allhertentacles

flewoutand,foramoment,shewasahugeseven-pointstarinspace.Herbacktentacleslappedhimfirst,thenherotherthree.Thefifthandsixthgraspedhim,andtheseventhdugherpoisonspurrightthroughitswhitehelmetintothemeatysoftfleshbeneath.Itfeltsimilartosmashingthroughtheshellofalargecrab.Omislappedwetlyonthefloor,herbodynowscreamingwithpain.Shestared

at what she’d done. She swiveled her eyestalk to look up the hallway in onedirectionandthentheother.Hersuckerscouldtastetheground.Therewaswaternearby.Butcould shemake it therewithoutbeingdiscoveredagain?Andwasthe water just another container? For the first time she wondered where shecouldevengoinhere.Withinthisbeastthatwouldeventuallyburn.Omi decided to return the way she’d come. Quickly. Moving and hiding.

Slowly. Gradually. Even as chaos erupted behind her when the bodies werediscovered,shestayedhercourseandeventuallymadeitbacktothetransparentbowl,liftingthelargelidandpullingitoverher.She’dtwisteditfirmlybackin

placeandsettledonthebottomofthebowlinascrunchedballjustastheguardsburstin.Sheshuthereyes,feelingtheirscrutinyastheyapproachedher.Fromunderwater, sheheard theirgarbledvoices as they steppedup to theglass andtappedonit.Shelazilyopenedhereyeandclosedit.Afterafewseconds,shecrackedhereyeopenabitandwatchedoneofthem

test thebowl lid’s tightness.Afterwalkingaroundherbowl and searching thestorageroom,thetwoofthemleftandOmifoundherselfaloneagain.Shestaredout into space. Her painful skin recovered to its hydrated self in the swampwater.Atleasttherewasthat.

—

Afterawhile,Omistoppedcaringabouthowmuchtimehadpassed.Theycameand fed her smelly fish, sometimes chopped up, sometimeswhole.Disgustingfishthatdidn’ttastelikeanythingfromherhome,andwhensheate,shemissedhome that muchmore. They placed two solid metal bars over the top of herbowl, but only she knew that doing this was a waste of time. She had nointentionofescaping.Therewasnowheretoescapetoonthisdoomedvessel—livingordeadanimal,itdidn’tmattertoher.All she could do was wait. Eventually, who knew, maybe there would be

anotherchancetoescapesomewhere,onsomeplanet.Andthenshesawit,firstfromadistanceinspaceandthencloserandcloser

andcloser.Itlookedlikeafruitofthedead.Suspendedthereinspace.Thesizeofamoon.SoonitfilledtheviewinthewindowandOmicouldnotseeabove,around,orbelowit.Itbecametheworld.Andintoittheyflew.Forasecondtime,Omifeltthedisorientationofadjustingtoanothertypeof

gravity, that of this huge dead moon. She was nowhere; then she knew thebottomofherbowlandshesettleddowninit.Whentheycame,again,shewasasleep.Thebowlshookas itwashauledawayonwhat lookedlikea largeflatinsect.Shewas takendown the sterile corridors, this time far past theplacewhere

she’dkilledthetwoindividualsinherabortedquestforfreedom.Thespotwhereithadallhappenedwasclear,unoccupied.AndthentheyweremovingthroughthebiggestinsideplaceOmihadeverseen.Theceilinglookedhighasthesky,butitwasaceiling.Shecouldseethat.Atthetopweremorebars,andanetworkofmetaltubes.Inthisplace,shesawmoremetalbirdsandinsectsandVodran-likepeopleinwhitecasing.Hundredsofthem.Thegroundwassmooth,likethe

tops of ancient dead swamp trees that had been blasted by the winds. She’dclimbed one of those trees once, out of curiosity. Its surface was so dry, thewindsnearthetopsobiting.She’dprobablyneverdothatagain.They entered a narrow, dimblack tunnelwhere the ground became porous,

redlightshiningthroughperfecttinysquareholes.Notland,asortofrigidgratethatcouldholdalloftheirweight.Thesoundofthefeetofthoseescortinghertappedon thehardsurfaceas theywalked.Theystoppedata largehole in thewallwiththesquiggles3263827etchedabovetheentrance,andthatwaswhenshewassureshewasgoingtodie.Thesymbolslookedlikeimagesofwhatherbodywouldlooklikeiftheytoreherapart.Was thiswhere theyweregoing toeather?Shecouldsmellorganicmatter,

strongandpungentinawaythatremindedherofhome.Theinsectbeneathherrose,somehowliftingthelargewater-filledbowl.Itdumpedherandherswampwater into theholeandthenOmiwas tumblingdownablack tunnel, throwingout her tentacles but unable to gain purchase. Her head bumped the side, hermouthofsharpteethclatteringtogether.Shepulledhertentaclesandeyestalkinandtuckedherheadasclosetoherselfaspossible.Plash! She plunged into a soup of water, metal parts, pieces that were not

metalbutwerejustasdead,excrementfromtheVodran-likepeoplewhorantheship,andotherorganicmatter.Asbitsandpiecesbumpedandpressedagainstherbody,sheletherselfsink,still inaprotectiveball,untilshesoftlybouncedontothebottom.Shewaited.Someofthefloatingthingsaroundherwerehard,someofthem

soft,noneofthemalive.Shesmelledthingsshecouldeatthatwerebetterthanthesmellyalienfish.Slowly,shereachedoutatentacleandsuckeredthegroundbeneathher.Metal,andnotallsmooth.Sheknottedherselfupagainandstayedlikethisforhours.Whatshelearnedinthattimewasthatthisplacewasdimlylitbydirty lightson the ceiling, thewaterwas tepid, andevery sooftengarbagewouldfallintoit,givingOmisomethingnewtoeat.Itwasn’thome,butitwasasclosetoitasshecouldcomeinthemiddleofspace.

—

Overtime,Omigrewtounderstandthatshewasonadeadplanetthathadneverbeen alive. A planet that was small and made of materials that would neverknowlife.Butthingsshecouldconsumeweredumpedintothefalseswamp,andshesupposedthiswaswhyshewascapturedanddumpedthere.Shegrewstrong

andlarge.Shemissedhomeandwishedshecouldfindacleartankwithnolidbesideawindowwhereshecouldseethevastnessofspace.Butshealsoneverforgotthatshehadapurpose,thoughshedidn’tknowwhatitwas.Omisurvivedthefalseswampbymemorizingtheroutineofthewalls.Twice

a“day”thethickmetalwallswouldrumbleonce,quietly,andthenrumbleagainandslowlymarchtowardeachother.Thefirsttimethishadhappened,Omihadnotpanicked.She’dspenthoursexploringthefalseswamp,learningitsshallowsanddepth,itsperimeter,searchingforanescape.Therewasa largepipenear thebottomwhoseopeningwasprotectedbyan

invisible barrier until thatmomentwhen it flushed outmuch of the oldwaterduring thesewallmarches.However, therewasalsoa large indenturenear thebottomwheresomething too impossiblyhardhadmadeadeepdent in the leftwall.Whenthewallsmarched,shepressedherselfhere,protectedevenwhenthewallshadpressedallthedebristhatshedidnotconsumeintoathicksheet.Thesheetwasejectedthroughalongslotbelow.Onthat fatefulday,anhourbefore ithappened,Omisawouterspaceagain.

Whenshewas insidewithnowindow. Itwas impossible.Shewas inher spotjust as the sheet of compressedmetals anddeadmaterialswas ejected. In thatmoment, everything seemed to burst from hermind. Suddenly, after somuchtimebeingbyherselfhere,shewasnotalone.Andwhatwaswithherwasvastand beautiful. Again, she involuntarily shifted her flesh to the black of spacewithspecklesofdistantstars.Andwhateverwaswithhertoldheragainthroughherskinthatshehadamissionanditwouldbeinthisfalseswamp.IttoldOmithatshewasintherightplaceattherighttime.By the time thewallsmarched themselves apart, shewas alone again. The

walls were moving away, but they simultaneously seemed to close in on herbecauseagainshehadthevisionofeverythinggoingupinflamesandagainshewanted to escapeherprison.But shehadhermission first.Moregarbagewasdumpedintothefalseswamp,andsoonshefoundalargehunkofrottingmeat,consumedit,andsettledinthecornerasthefreshgarbagesoakedupthewater.Fiveminuteslater,thefourfellintoherprison.Omi’s tentacles twitched as she immediately recognized something in the

smallermale.Yes,thatonewasmale,notjustbychoicebutbyphysicaldesign.However,therewassomethingabouthimthatwaslikeher;shecouldsmellitonhim.Hehadjustlefthome,too,asshehadsolongago.Therewasthat,buttherewas something else, as well, if she relaxed and focused completely on him.

Therewassomethingsparklyandelectricthatshefeltineverypartofherflesh.Shedidnotunderstandtheirlanguagesandshewishedshecould.Thefirstthingshe’dhavedemandedof thisonewas toknowwhyhecouldsubmit to It, too.Because if hehadnot already, sheknewhewould eventually. Just as shehadbackwhen she had faced and killed those twowhite-shelled individualswhenshewastryingtoescape.She climbed out of the water, changing to its dirty-gray color beneath the

dingypinklighting,suctioningher tentacles to thewallso thatshecouldgetabetterlook.Thereshestayed,hertentaclesspread,likeagiantspideronthewall.Onewasahairlessfemaleandthreewerelargermales,oneofthemprotectedbyfur.Omiwouldbewareofthefemale,despiteherlackofhair.Thefemalewouldbemostsavageandcunning.IfanyofthemcouldkillOmi,itwouldbethatone.Omidroppedintothewaterwithasoftsplash.She flattened herself and moved stealthily around their feet. When she

brushed the small male’s leg, she heard It speak to her again, her tentaclestinglingwithItsdemand.Shedidn’twantto;shehadplentyoffooddownhere,meat, bones, thick green stalks she’d come to especially enjoy. And all shesensed from these fourwhocouldnot seeherwas fear.Omihadno reason toharmanyofthem.Sheknewwhenshedidit.Itwasherchoice.Despitethefactthatitfeltasif

she’dmadethechoicewhilepartofsomethinggreater.Yes.Sherolledsmoothlybeneath the surface, then tumbled and stretched four tentacles before her. Sheopenedhermouthandcouldnotresistlettingoutaroarfromdeepinherbody,the rumbleofher speech reverberatingbeneath the false swampandalong themetalwallstotheceiling.Theindividualsshuddered,spokeamongthemselves,freezingandlookingaround.Shepokedhereyestalkup,needingtoseehisface.Then she wrapped a tentacle around him and pulled him under. He was

screaming and thrashing, then choking.Back home, sometimes the skywouldswirlandfightitselfandlightwouldcrashdownintothewater.Ifthishappenedclose towhereOmiwashiding, she’d feelherentirebody tenseup,becominghardasstone,andshe’dfeelthelighttravelingthroughher.Touchinghimwaslikethis:Everythinginherbodywasawareofeverythinginhim.Shewonderedif everything in him was aware of everything in her. She wondered if thiscreature could be her mate, not for procreating but for adventure. It was hisdestinytoleavehome,too.Shewassureofhermission,butnowshewasalsounsure.Whatifhedied?

Something blasted past her, red and hot. The others were attacking. Painexplodedinoneofher tentaclesandthewateraroundherturnedbluewithherblood.Sheletgoandflunghimbacktothesurface.Herbacktentaclehunglimply,agapingholeinitscenter.Shepulleditclose

to her body and a second, even more powerful explosion of pain vibratedthrough her so intensely that for a moment she lost consciousness. But theenergy inher, aroundher, throughherwas stronger.Shehad amission and itwasrightnow.Shepulledhimdownagain.He fought her, but shewas stronger. She held him still,wrapping her three

otherthicktentaclesaroundhim.Sheheardabrillianthumminganditvibratedthroughherbody.Forthethirdtime,shesawthatthisplace,alongwiththesmallbeastshe’darrivedin,wouldallgoupinflames.What was happening to him now, though? As he struggled, pulled at her

tentacles, kicking his legs, bubbles of air escaping from his mouth, he wasshedding.No,nottheprotectivematerialheworeoverhisflesh.Withhersharpeyes,shesawit:Ashadeofhimsloughedoff, thefleshof thisshadepaleanddelicate looking, naked. It shook off him, the face of this dim version of himwide-eyed, the mouth open, shocked. Then the shade dissolved in the water.Omi’smissionwascomplete.Shewassopreoccupiedwithwhatshe’dseenthatshenearlyforgot toreleasehim.Nearly.Whenshedid,heswamfrantically tothesurface.Thewallsrumbled.Asshefledtoherspaceinthewall,sheknewhewouldbeokay.Andwhen

thewallsstoppedtheirusualmarchforwardtopressalltheremainingmetalandwasteintoasheet,shewasnotsurprised.Evenwhenoneofthelargermalesspatonemore ball of fire into the false swamp after they’d gotten out, shewasn’tafraid.Soon,thefourweregoneandOmineveragainsawtheonewhowassomuch

likeher.Butshetrustedthathewentontodogreatthings,forshe’dbeenchosentobaptizehimthroughasortofdeath.Toherpeople,waterwaswherelifewasgiven.Waterwas theGreatCleanserWhen ItWasTime toBeCleansed.Andthiswasalsotrueforthosewhocouldnotliveinit.Omi’sinjuredtentaclefelloffandgrewback.Shewentonlivinginthefalse

swamp, swimming about, eating its garbage, hiding in her safe space. Days,months, she did not know.Therewas nodim sunwithwhich she couldmarktime.Therewerenootherpeopleofhertribetotellherthetime.However,onceinawhilethatwhichshecouldfeelinherfleshandbeyondspoketoherandtold

herstoriesoftheuniverse.Ittoldherofpeoples,places,wars,anddeeplessons.Ittaughtherhowtospinherbodyinwaysshedidnotthinkwerepossibleuntilshedidthem.Inthatdimplace,shelearnedhowtomakealargetwistedhunkofmetalandtwopiecesofwaterloggedinsulationlift intotheair likegreatbirds.OrmaybeOmiwas just talking toand teachingherself,andallherknowledgecamefromwithinherverycells.When the fire came that consumed every part of the great beast she’d been

swallowedby,Omisubmittedtoherdestiny.AndherlastthoughtwasWhowillIbethenexttimearound?

MynameisObi-WanKenobi,andIamdead.Iknowhowthatsounds.CrazyoldBenwithhiscrazyoldstories.Butthisisn’tcrazy.Thisishappening.Atleast,Ithinkitis.One minute I am standing in the heart of the Empire’s new battle station,

facingthemanwho,forgoodorill,hasdefinedthelastthirtyyearsofmylife.Iclosemyeyes,andwait;hearingthesweepofhislightsaberand…Andwhat?Whathappensnext?If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can ever

imagine.DidIsaythosewords?DidIbelievethem?Ihavenoidea.Notanymore.Ithappensoverandoveragain.Iclosemyeyes,waitingfortheinevitable.I

hear the rasp of Vader’s breath, the creak of his armor, the scream of thelightsaber.Ifeelthesearingpaininmyside.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Eyes.Scream.Saber—Isitup,cryingoutinthestillnessoftheroom.I’mnotwhereIwas.Thebattle

station,thetroopers,evenVader…they’reallgone,asiftheyneverexisted.Iamhome,perchedonthepourstoneslabthathasservedasabedfornearly

twenty years. Where is my mattress? I glance around the cramped room.Everything is as it should be, although some of themore recent additions aremissing.Thewoodenchair thatIbuiltfromjaporwood.ThesetofclaybowlsscavengedfromadesertedJawacaravan.ThehumidifierpurchasedfromWatto,atahighlyinflatedprice,Ishouldadd.HaveIbeenrobbed?No, this ishowthehut lookedin theearlydaysofmy

exile,whenIstilletchedacalendarofsortsintothewallabovemybedtomarkthepassageoftime.Irunmyhandacrossthepittedsurface.Threeyearsscoredintothestone.I’dfoundtheoldprospector’shutperchedhighonawindsweptbluff,itwas

empty, long since abandoned, but I knew immediately that itwould servemewell.Thewallsweresolid, theroofsound,andthecavesbeneath thecellaranideal place for meditation and training. Most important, it was remote,surroundedbyavastseaofdunes.Iwouldbeleftalone.Iswingmylegsontotheroughstonefloor.That’swhenIrealize.Idon’tache.

Forthefirsttimeinyears,mybodydoesn’tcomplainwhenIpushmyselffromthebed. I lookdownatmyhands.They’re thehandsofamuchyoungerman.They don’t shake, they don’t tremble. The skin is supple, tanned but not yetdiscoloredbythetwinsuns’constantglare.Iflexmyfingers,expectingtohearthecreakofrheumatic joints.Nothing.Thefingersarestrong.Onemightevensuggest,dexterous.Irunthemthroughmybeard,athoughtoccurringtome.Irushthroughtothe

backof themodestdwelling,past thestoveandpantry, to the tarnishedmirrorhangingon the farwall.The face in theglass is largely freeof lines, the skinsmooth.Thetousledshockofhairisthick,onlythebeardbetrayingasmatteringofgray.

Theworld lurches. I throwahandagainst thewall tosteadymyself.This isthe past. The mattress, the chair, the bowls, and the humidifier; they’re notmissing.Theyjusthaven’tarrivedyet.Ipitchforward,fallingintotheswirlingcycleofmydeath.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Butthistime,there’smore.Somuchmore.Anewbornbaby,cradledinmyarms,wailingashismotherbreathesherlast.Qui-Gonsinkingtohisknees,smokerisingfromthejaggedholeinhisgut.Eyesthatoncelookedonmeasabrothercorruptedbythedarkside,burning

yellowwithhate.Maul’spyreragingbeneaththedesertsky.Aseveredarmtwitchingbythelightofmysaber.Emptyrobestumblingtothefloor.Avoicecallingmyname.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Eyes.Scream.Saber—Isitup,gaspingforair.I’mbackonthebed,dustmotesdancinginthelight

thatstreamsthroughthehut’snarrowwindows.MyvisionblursandIamin theTempleonCoruscant, theway itwas, long

before Palpatinemade amockery of those hallowed halls. Yoda stares at meacrossthechamber,awrysmilecreasingthatancientface.“Foreverything,areasonthereis.”“Butwhyhere?”IyellasIslidebacktothesun-beatenhut.“Whynow?”Thereisnoanswer.Isiton theedgeof thebed, trying to rememberwhathappenedwhenI first

livedthismorning.I lookdown, seeingaghostofmyyounger self twistingand turningon the

slab, caught in a nightmare. He moans, he whimpers, he sits bolt-upright, asinglewordonhislipsashewakes.Asinglename.“Luke!”

AndthenIamaloneagain.I knowwhat day this is. I recognize the knot in the pit ofmy stomach, the

senseofforebodingthatmakesmyskincrawl.Lukeisindanger.Somethingisabouttohappenthatwillchangeeverything.“Gotohim,”urgesavoiceinsidemyhead.“Yes,Master,” I reply, shieldingmy eyes as I barrel out into the sunlight.

Neda is waiting for me, lounging beneath a makeshift shelter, animal skinsstretched taut across a rickety frame. The structurewill remain long after thepoor thing dies of old age, the tattered cover keepingme awake at night as itflapsincessantlyinthewind.Thenonemorningitwillbegone,rippedfromthesideofthehousebyadesertstorm.But that hasn’t happenedyet.My trusty, if cantankerous, eopie is alive and

well, snuffling around in the dirt, foraging for roots in the scorched ground. Ihaveanoverwhelmingurgetothrowmyarmsaroundher,butNedaregardsmewith her usual disdain, a surly snort her only greeting before she resumes thefruitlesssearchforsustenance.Quiteright.Justasitshouldbe;butfornow,herbreakfastneedstowait.She doesn’t complain as I tighten the cracked leather straps around her

middle,ignoringmecompletelyasIhoistmyselfontothesaddle.“Comeon,oldgirl.Let’sgo.”I pull on the reins, gently jabbing my heels into her flank when she still

doesn’t respond. Finally, she grunts and begrudgingly obliges, picking up thepaceaswetrotdownthewindingpathtothevalleybeneath.Soon,wearechargingacrossthesaltflats,NedasnortingasIpushherharder

than ever before. Her broad feet pound the sand, rushing past bone-whiteskeletonspickedcleanbytheclaw-condors.Iimagineacavalcadeofscenarios,eachmoreterriblethanthelast.IsittheSandPeople?OwencanhandleTuskenRaidersaswellasanyoneon

thewastes,butthenomadshaveaspecialreasontohatehisfamily,agrudgestillnotforgottenandfarfromforgiven.Havetheyfinallytakentheirrevenge?Thesinsofthefathervisitedupontheson.I tightenmygriponNeda’s reins,urgingheron.Of course, there areother

terrorsonTatooine; the loathsomeclumpofblubber that is Jabba theHutt forone.Owen is a proudman.He’s likely to fight rather than pay the protectionmoney Jabbademandsofhisneighbors.SurelyOwenwouldn’tbe that stupid,

afterwhathe’spromised?No,Owenknowswhentofighthisbattles.Butwhat if the threatcomesnot

fromTatooine at all, but from the stars above?Gangsters and raiders are onething,buttheEmpireisanother.Owenwouldn’tstandachanceagainstacracksquad of Imperial troopers. Is a drop ship already plummeting throughTatooine’sthinatmosphere?Aremyworstfearsabouttoberealized?Iimaginesandcrunchingbeneathheavyblackboots,adarkcapebillowingin

adesertsquall,themechanicalwheezeofarespirator.And then I am back on the battle station. Vader is waiting for me in the

corridorahead,standinginsilence,hislightsaberalreadypulsingred.HeknewIwascoming,thatIwasonboardhisengineofdestruction.DoesheknowwhatI’vedone?Haveallmyeffortsbeenfornaught?Why won’t he say anything, as motionless as a statue? Nineteen years.

NineteenyearssinceIlefthimtodie.Nineteenyearsofrelivinghiscorruptioneverynightinmydreams.Whatdoeshelooklikeunderthatmask?Whatdoesheseethroughthoseruby

lenses?Afriend?Anenemy?Arelic?He appears so calm, so controlled, but I can feel his rage, seething like the

perdition nebula beneath that heartless faceplate. His fury threatens tooverwhelmhim,justasitalwaysdid,buthekeepsitincheck.Ican’thelpbutbeimpressed.TheEmperorhastaughtmyformerPadawanwell.IcanonlyimaginethepoisonthathasspilledfromPalpatine’slipssinceMustafar.Savoryourhatred,myapprentice.Nurtureit.Letitempoweryou.Letitbring

youstrength.I always knew this day would come. I just didn’t knowwhere, or when. I

certainlynever imagined itwouldbe inaplace like this,onaplanetkiller thelikeofwhichthegalaxyhasneverseen.Amillionvoicescryoutasone,washingoverme,theirpainmyown.Finally,Vaderstepsforwardtomeetme.Mylightsaberignites,thevibration

ofthepowercellrisingupmyarm.“I’vebeenwaitingforyou,Obi-Wan.Wemeetagain,atlast.”Thevoiceisunrecognizable.Howlittleofmyfriendisleft?Anothermemoryassaultsme.Awoman lyingonabed,herbreath shallow.

“There’s good in him…” Did she really believe that, after everything he haddone? If she did, wouldn’t she still be here?Wouldn’t she have lived?Whatwouldshethinkofhimnow?No.My friend is dead, of that I amcertain.The thing is front ofme is not

AnakinSkywalker.“The circle is now complete,” the usurper declares, his arrogance the final

betrayal.“WhenIleftyou,Iwasbutthelearner.”WhenIleftyou.Everyword is a trigger, draggingmeback and forth through theyears. I’m

standingonloosescree,ariverofmoltenlavachurningbelow.Isthiswhereyouleftme,Darth?Orwasitevenearlier:whenyouleaptontoaspeederbikeandracedintothenight,orwhenyouheldPadmébythethroat?Ifeelmyownangerrising,myyearsoftraining,ofdiscipline,ebbingaway.I

barelyhearwhathe’ssaying.“NowIamtheMaster.”His imageflickers, likeadisruptedholofeed.Onesecond,he is thearmored

giant I see before me, the next a charred husk reaching out on a carbonizedshore.One face impassive and angular, the other blackened and screaming inagony. Then there aremore, joining the fluctuating cycle.A fresh-faced teen,eagertotakeupthemantleofaJedi.Aspiritedslaveboy,pullinggrime-riddengogglesoverinnocenteyes.Alimblesswreckhanginginabactatank,necroticskinpallidandscarred.Iseethemallatonce,everythinghewasandeverythinghehasbecome.“Onlyamasterofevil,Darth.”Icannotusehisrealname.Itwouldundome,evenafterallthistime,catching

inmythroat.Thetimefortalkisatanend.Thismustbedecidedonceandforall.I strike first, our lightsabers flaring as they clash. The sudden illumination

drawsanothershadowofCoruscant,AnakinrailingagainstthewoodensticksIforcehimtouseratherthanenergyweapons.“Iamnotachildanymore,Obi-Wan.Whymustweusetoys?”“Youmustbepatient,myyoungPadawan.Thisisbutthefirststep.Wehave

time.”Notanymore.Isweepdownandheblocks,anticipatingtheattack.Ourblades

hold,energy fieldsdischargingas theygrindagainsteachother. I seemy face

distortedinthereflectivesurfaceofhishelmet.Old.Tired.Nearingtheend.He’s holding back, testing my limits. He wants to know how time has

diminished my abilities. I’m doing the same with him, exploring whethercybernetic joints move as smoothly as muscle honed from years of training.PerhapswearemorealikethanIcaretothink.Nowhetakescontrol,theblowscomingfasterandharder.I’mforcedtoduck,

hislightsabertracingagleaminglinedownthemetalwall.Sparks rain down and I blink, long enough for the torment to begin anew.

Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Anakin.Padmé.Qui-Gon.Maul.I’mbackonTatooine,Nedawheezingafterherexertion.It’stakensolongto

cross theflats, thesunsnowhighin thesky.Notfor thefirst time,Icursemydecisiontosettlesofarfromthemoisturefarm.WhatwasIthinking?Anothershift,anothermemory:standingatOwen’sdoor,explainingwhathas

happened,askingforthestrangers’help.Hemakeshistermsabundantlyclear:“We’ll takehimin,butyou’llplayno

partinhisupbringing.IfyouhavetostayonTatooine,youkeepyourdistance,doyouhear?Youneitherseetheboynorspeaktohim.Hemustknownothingabouthisfather.”Neda grunts as I pull her to a stop. The farm is ahead, its dome the only

landmarkforkilometersaround.All isasitshouldbe.Thereisnoevidenceofblasterfire,nodarkplumesofsmokebillowingintotheair.Iallowmyshoulderstorelax.PerhapsIwasmistaken.PerhapsLukeisn’tindangeratall.Nedagrumbles,tossingherheadtodislodgethesandfliesthathavesettledin

herlongeyelashes.Ipatherneck,calmingher,scanningmyeyesalongtheringof environmental sensors and motion detectors that form a protective borderaroundtheboy’sadoptedhome.Therehe is, sittingcross-leggednext toamoisturevaporator.He’shunched

overinthesand,playingwithatoythatIcan’tquitemakeoutatthisdistance.Ismile. I can guess what it is: the latest in a long line of model spaceships. IwonderifOwenknowswheretheycomefrom,whoitisthatleavesthemnexttoShmi’s sandblasted tombstone, for Beru to find.As I sit here,watching Lukesweep the wooden fighter through the air, I think of the toy corvette I ambuildinginmyworkshop.It isalmostcomplete. Iamparticularlypleasedwiththeionengines.Myfinestworkyet.Evennow,atjustthreeyearsold,itisobviousthatLukelongstofly.Itislike

seeingAnakinalloveragain.Themopofunrulyblondhair,thebright-blueeyes,the hands permanently tinkering.Luke isn’t content to just playwith his toys.He’sconstantlyatworkmodifyingthem,makingimprovements.Somuchlikehisfather.“Yourpowersareweak,oldman.”Ourlightsabersclash.Itrytopushforward,onlytobethrustviolentlyback.

It’slikestrikingiron.There’snogiveinVader’sarms,andfartoomuchinmine.“Youcan’twin,Darth.”Hebarelyreactstothejibe,knowingalltoowellthat

Iamaimingtoprovokehim,toturnhisangeragainsthimself.“Ifyoustrikemedown,Ishallbecomemorepowerfulthanyoucanpossiblyimagine.”Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Isthispower?Thistorture?Iamlikealeaftossedinastorm.Thepresentand

thepastcrashingtogether.Icannolongertellwhatisreal,andwhatisadistantmemorybroughtintosharprelief.Lukeissafe.Lukeisindanger.IamonTatooine.Iamonthebattlestation.It shouldn’t be like this. This is not what Yoda promised me. I am being

overwhelmed.Thepast,thepresent,eventhefuture.Iseethingsthatarenotyettobe.Leiaslumpedbesideaconsole,herheartbreaking,CaptainSolofallingsoveryfar.Eviltriumphant,andthenvanquished,andthenrisingagain.Andworstofall,Luke,as Iamnow,anoldman,his facecreased,hiseyes

haunted.He’scutofffromthosewholovehim,consumedbyregretandsorrow.Itistoomuchtobear,afutureIneverwanttosee.The raucouswail of a siren snapsme back to the past.My eyes dart from

Luke to the invaders who have tripped the motion detectors. They wear ahodgepodgeofbodyarmorandanimalskins,theirbandcomprisingatleasthalfa dozen different species. There has been talk of bandits operating fromMosEisley, plundering farms and settlements in the area, leaving only devastationandgrief.Whyhadn’tIlistenedtotherumors?Whydidn’tIintervenebeforeitwastoolate?

IamaJedi.WasaJedi.Willbeagain.Berucallsforhernephew,butthereisnowhereforLuketorun.Ifhetriesto

returntothedome,hewilldie.Ifhemakesfor thecavernsacrosstheflats,hewilldie.Myother lives are forgotten in an instant; thebetrayalof thepast, the fight

thatistocome.Allthatmattersisthehereandnow.Nedachargesforward,myhandsnatchingforthelightsaberonmybelt.ThebladeignitesevenasIlaunchmyselffromNeda’sback,flippingovertolandbetweenthestartledchildandatoweringbrutewearingrancorhide.“Run,Luke!Run!”I can’t tell if the boy heedsmywords. The brute in front ofme raises his

blasterand I swing,easilydeflecting thebolt.The farm isoverrun in seconds,themarauderstakinguppositionsbothleftandright.Ispin,blockingblasterfirefromalldirections.AtleastI’mnotaloneinthedefenseofthefarm.Owenjoinsthefray,batteredrifleinhand.Thereisnotimetothink,onlyreact.Asinewyhandgrabsmyshoulder.Iwhirl,relievingmywould-beattackerof

his life. My lightsaber dances through the air, my surroundings changing,flickeringbackandforthasVader’sformshiftedbefore.Issandbeneathmyfeetorthemetallicdeckofthebattlestation?Thebanditsadvance,andVadergainsground.IamyoungandIamold,IamhereandIamthere.Iblockandparry,attack and retreat.Vader is too strong, the bandits too numerous. The fight isagainstmetwiceover.Vaderfeintstotheleft,andIturn,onlytoreceiveavibro-macetomychest.I

skidalongthesandasagiganticGamorreanboarlumberstowardme,hisbluntweaponraisedandreadytostrike.Before I can even respond, something small and fragile smacks against the

Gamorrean’s flattened snout.Thebemused thughesitates, longenough formybladetoseparatehisfeetfromhisankles.IrolloutofthewayasthesquealingboarcrashesdownwhereI lay,somethingsharpjabbingintomyside.It is thefragmentsof the toy starfighter thathadbeen tossedat theGamorrean’shead.Luke grabs my hand, attempting to haul me up. He has saved my life, thisremarkablechild.“Luke!”Owenyellsfromacrossthesettlement.“Getaway!”Ileapbacktomyfeet,rejoiningthefight,whichisnowourstowin.Thetide

hasturnedandthebanditsarediminishedonebyone,decimatedbyblasterfireand plasma blade. As my last opponent cools at my feet, Luke cries out a

warning.ADevaronianhasrearedupbehindOwen,readytobringthebuttofhisblasterdownontheunsuspectingfarmer’shead.Ipullbackmyarmandthrowmylightsaberwithallmymight.Thebladepinwheelsthroughtheair,findingitsmark.TheDevaroniandrops,hisbodysplit in two.I reachoutwith theForce,extinguishingthelightsaberbeforedrawingthehiltbacktomyopenpalm.Lukecheers,runningfullpelttowardme,armsaswideashissmile.Thereisa

crunchbehindmeandIturn,Owen’sfistburyingitselfinmynose.Islamdownhardontotheground,thelightsaberskitteringfrommyhand.Allmytraining,allmyexperience,andahumblemoisturefarmerhasachievedwhatneitherbattledroidnorSithhasachieved,knockingmeflatonmyback.“Uncle Owen!” Luke cries in confusion as his uncle manhandles the boy

towardhisauntbeforeturningtogloweratme.“Go,” he all but spits, an accusatory finger punctuating the furious decree.

“Getawayfromhere.Haven’tyoupeopledoneenoughtothisfamily?”“Doneenough?”Isplutter,gingerlyinspectingmythrobbingnoseforsignsof

blood.“I’mnotsureifyounoticed,butIwastryingtoprotectyou.”“We don’t need your protection. We don’t need you at all. I could have

handledthisalone.Ialwayshave,andIalwayswill.”“Owen,please…”AndI’mstaringdownthebarrelofhisrifle.Ihavenoideahowmuchenergy

remainsinthepowerpack,andhavenourgetofindout.“Isawhim,”Owenhissesthroughgrittedteeth.“Hetriedtosaveyou.”MyeyesflicktoLuke,nowsafeinBeru’sarms.“He’sabraveboy.”“Hecouldhavebeenkilled!”Iopenmymouth,butnowordscome.Breathingheavily,Owenslowershisblasterandturnshisbackonme.“Iwill

protecthim,”hetellsmeashewalksaway.“Iwillkeephimsafe.”IlookpastOwen’sback.Berucatchesmyeyeandshakesherheadsadly.She

ushersLukebacktothedome,Owenstalkingafterthem.Lukeglancesbackforamoment,beforeall threevanish fromsight. I’m leftalonewith thedead, thetwinsunsbeatingdownonme.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.IknowwhyI’mhere,whyI’mrelivingthismomenttimeandtimeagain.This

waswhenIfailedLuke,justasIfailedhisfather.I’dalwaysbelieved—alwayshoped—that Owen’s anger would cool toward me, that one day I would beallowedtotrainyoungLukeinthewaysoftheForce.TheeventsofthisfatefulmorningmeantthatOwenneverletmeneartheboyagain.Hehadn’tjustbeenangry.He’dbeenscared;scaredofthelookwe’dbothseeninhisnephew’seyes.Thebravery.Thedefiance.We’dseenthatlookbefore,inothereyes.“Youshouldnothavecomeback,”Vadertellsme.Myresourcesaredepleted,mybodyscreamingwithpain.Ihavenohopeof

winningthisfight.Helungesatme;slashandcounterslash,stabandriposte.Theairisthickwithplasmadischarge,lightsdancingontheedgeofmyvision.I’mforcedback,musclesburning,breathragged.Thegripofmylightsaberisslickinmyhands,myearsringing.Luke isnear. Icanfeelhim,andpray thatVadercannot. Ihavesomuch to

teachtheboy.Somuchtoshare.WhydidIlistentoOwen?WhydidIwaittoolong?Haven’tyoupeopledoneenoughtothisfamily?Nowit’s too late.There’snoway toprepareLuke forwhat is tocome. I’m

leavinghimwithwho?A smuggler and aWookiee?Even if by somemiraclethey’vefoundLeia,whatcantheydo?They’rebarelymore thanchildren.TheRebellionisn’tpreparedforaweaponofthismagnitude.Nooneis.Andit’sallmyfault.IhavefailedLukeagain.Ican’tholdon.Itisover.Unless…“Ben?”Luke’scryechoesacrossthelandingbay.Thereheis,watchingusfight,the

openhatchofthefreighterbehindhim.HeknowsfullwellthatIcannotwin.Heisfrozenwithshock,unsurewhattodo,butthatwon’tlastlong.Soon,thespellwillbebrokenandhewillcomerunning.Thosebrave,defianteyeswillbecutdowninablazeoftrooperfire.Heneedsmorethanatoyfighterthistime.Heneedstoescape;tosavehimself,notme.Gotohim.Thevoiceinmyheadislouderthanithasbeenforyears.Yes,Master.Iamanoldman.EvenifItried,Icouldn’toutrunablastershot,notanymore.

I’llnevermakeittoLuke’ssideintimetosavehim.Thisiswherewecamein.IamObi-WanKenobi,andIamdead.IglancebackatVaderandsmile.Ican’tevenbegintoimaginewhathemakes

ofthat.Itdoesn’tmatteranymore.AllthatmattersisLuke.I straightenmyback, closingmy eyes as I raisemy saber in front ofme. I

don’t see the blade sweeping through the air, barely even hear its whine. IimagineLuke,cross-leggedinthesand,playingwithawoodencorvette.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.Eyes.Scream.Saber.Pain.“Ben!No!”Luke cries out again, consumed with grief. I see everything at once. The

blaster in his hand. Solo taking out stormtroopers. Leia calling his name.Thetroopersadvance,gunsraised.IfLukestays,hewilldie.Ifhefights,hewilldie.Ididn’t let thathappenbefore,and Iwon’t let ithappennow. Iwhisper the

wordsIspokewhenhewasachild,wordsIknowthatonlyhewillhear.Run,Luke!Run!Andhe does.LukeSkywalker runs and doesn’t stop.And I am at his side.

Fromthismoment,hewillneverbealone.Hewilllearn,andhewillgrow,andIwillguidehimeverystepoftheway.Wehaveallthetimeweneed.

Yodastoodatthedoorofhishut,watchingthestraightstreaksofsunlighttearapartthegatheredgrayofthesky.Heturnedandlookedinside.Thenbacktothesky.Itwastime.Probablypasttime.Therainshadendedmorethanhalfanorbit

before.SoonthesunwouldbeardownuponDagobahandtheuplandswouldbetoo hot for even a small one like himself to bear.He hadmaybe a few days.Maybeless.Hesighed.OfthetwoseasonsonDagobah,thedrywastheonehepreferred.

Theviewfromtheuplandsremindedhimof…atimeandplacefromlongago.Butbynowthelowerlandswouldhavedrainedsome,andthetreeswouldhavebeguntoemergefromtheirwaterycovering.Itwouldsoonbe timetoplant inthesoggyreaches.Plantingwasabother,butevenaJediMasterneedstoeat.

He looked back inside his hut again. Age, he thought, has its advantages.Moreandmorewanttheyoung,butlessandlessneedtheold.Hehadfeltthislessening over the last two centuries. He had sloughed off almost everythingnow—exceptthosethingsdearesttohim.Hiscane,begunasajokereally,toconvincetheyoungPadawansthathewas

onlyanoldandfeebleJedi.HewouldhobbletotheclassandtheywouldmakewayfortheirlimpingMaster.Thenhewouldcasthiscaneasideandsliceopenthe air with his lightsaber and they would gasp to see such an old and tiredMasterripplewiththestrengthandquicknessoftheForce.Andwhenhislessonwasover,hewouldtakeuphiscaneagainandstumpaway—buttheywerenotsurewhattobelieve.Didheneedthecaneornot?Nowtheywouldbelieveit.Andtheblanketonhisbed,madefromhisoldfriend’scloak.Howlonghadit

beensinceQui-GonJinnhadbecomeonewiththeForce?Hewentbackinsideandfingeredthehem.Sometimes,onestrongintheForcemightleaveahintofhimselfinwhathehadowned,butnow,somanyyearshadgoneby.IfYodahadfeltthehintonce,hefeltitnolonger.And on the shelf above the bed,Obi-Wan’s small pot, rounded by his own

hands.Yodareachedupandcalledthepottohim.Itshandlewascold.Thatwasall,really.Oncehehadtreasuredhislightsaber,butthatwaslostin

theruinsoftheSenatechamber.Heregrettedthat.ItwouldhavepleasedhimtohaveputtheweaponintoyoungSkywalker’shands.Heimaginedherfeelingitsweight,andthensuddenlyshewouldbesurprisedatthebeamthatleaptout.ButsheknewnothingoftheForceanditsways.Shehadhadnoonetoteach

her.That,thoughtYoda,waspossiblyamistake.Still,hesmiled.Iftheoldneededlessandlessinthisphysicalworld,perhaps

itwasbecausetheydwelledsomuchintheworldofmemoryandtheworldofwhatmight have been.Therewas little he loved to dwell uponmore than thethoughtofyoungSkywalkercomingintoherself,learningofthepowersthatlaydeepwithinher,andperhapsbringingtothegalaxyanewagethatshecouldnotevenhopetoimagine.Buthowcouldshe?Whoshewas,shedidnotknow!It had been somany orbits since he had been aMaster to a Padawan. But

sometimes,hewished…

Thehutwasgrowingwarm.Itwastimetopackwhatlittletherewastopack,andtomovedownwardandawayfromthesun’shotbreath.It did not take long.He stuffedwhat he had into a sack: a pouch of seeds

gatheredovertheyears,thentheblanket,thenthepotontopofthat.Hepickeduphiscaneandstoodatthedooramoment,lookingonelasttimeatthehuthewouldnot see for eightorbits, and thenhe closedhis eyes and reachedout tocheckforthedroidsthathadoncesearchedsopitilesslyforhim.Hestillcheckedwheneverhe left thehut,but ithadbeena long,very long, timesince the lastdroid had swept past. Perhaps the Empire thought he was long dead and hadceasedsearching.Or,morelikely,theEmpiredidnotevencare,sounimportantoneancientJediMasterhadbecome.Hesighedagain.MaybetheEmpirewasright.Abouthowunimportanthehad

become,thatwas.Hestarteddown toward the lowlands.Alreadymanyof the treeshad leafed

out,eventhoughsomestillstoodwiththeirfeetinthegreenandthickwater.Buttheywouldn’tbestandinginwaterforlong.Yodacouldseethewaterrecedingunder the sun’s glare like something afraid of the light. Soon, the lowlandswouldallbemarshyswampagain,andhewouldplantlastseason’sseeds.Then,beforethesunbeganitslongjourneyaway,theywouldsprout.Thegraycloudswouldcomebackandholdintheplanet’shumidair,andthesproutswouldgrowandflowerandyield their fruitbeforeaquarterorbithadpassed.Andby thenthesunwouldbefarenoughawaythattherainswouldplungedownagain,andthe floodsbegin their inundation,andYodawould trudgeback to theuplands,cartingbehindhimthefoodforthelongseason.HecouldhearthevoicesofhisPadawansfromlongago:“Whatis it liketo

livethelifeofaJediMaster?”theywouldask.Ifonlytheycouldseehimnow,hethought.Hebrushedhishandacrosshiseyes.Ifonlytheycould.ButthereareworsethingsthanDagobah.Formuchoftheday,hetrudgeddowntowardthelowlands,thesandandrock

beneath him growing warmer and warmer until he came to the edge of theplanetaryfloods,wherethewaterhadbarelysunkbeneaththesurface.Then,hefeltsomethingontheveryedgeofhisreach.Andhewasoutintheopen.

Thisiswhatcomesofnotkeepingyourmindonwhereyouareandwhatyouaredoing!Thumpingalongwithhiscane,heheadedtowardtheshelterofthreeupended

rocksthatmightsurviveablast,maybetwo.Nearly nine hundred years, and still he wanted more time. Foolish, Yoda

thought.Butifhehadmoretime,hewouldwishthathecouldhavetrainedonemore

Padawan.Ifonlyhe’dhadthetimetotrainher.Hereachedtherocks,andthenhestopped.Hefeltitagain.Itwasn’tadroid.NorwasitoneoftheEmpire’sships.Hereachedoutagain.Itwasn’tevenforhim.Andthenitshifted,anditwasforhim.ThatoldandfamiliarthrumtheForce

carriedonitsback,asteadyvibration,calm—notthecalmofastillnight,butthecalmoftheseathatroseandfellwithsurenessandease.ItwasObi-Wan.Yodaleanedagainstthestonesandsmiled.Theirexilehadbeentoolongand

toolonely.Buthadthetwoofthemremainedtogether,theEmpirewouldsurelyhavefoundthem.AndtherewastheotherSkywalkertowatchover—impetuous,headstrong, unruly, inattentive.He neededObi-Wan’s eye on him.Unlike theother,whose strength andwill and clarity showed all themarkings of a greatJedi.Still,asthevibrationpulsedagainsthim,Yodafeltlonelinessgrow.Itwasat

leastsomethingtofeelObi-Wan’splaceintheForce,buthowgooditwouldbetositdownandtalktogether,towalkunderthestars,perhapstosparonceagain—thatwouldbeadelighthealmostcouldnotbearthinkingabout.Andthen,anothervibrationcame—andthisone, too,wasfamiliar.Thisone

washardandstrong,anditpulsedfiercely.Initsrhythmitcarried…arrogance.Initsrhythm,itcarrieddarkness.Andinitsrhythm,itcarried—thiswasthefirstthatYodahadevernoticedit

—aterrible,angry,despairingloneliness.Loneliness!ItwasAnakin…orwhat had become of him.And hewas in pain.And the

remedyheusedtosoothehimselfwaspain—thepainofbothothersandhimself.Yodabroughthishandtothecenterofhischest.Then the twovibrationsmet, and their pulses fought across the back of the

Force.Andthatwaswhenthesearchingdroidsuddenlycameupfromthelowlands,

hoveringoverthesand,movingquicklyabovethefloodline.Howcouldhenothavesensedit?Automatically Yoda’s hand dropped the cane and went to his belt, but no

lightsaberhadhungthereforaverylongtime.Thebulbouseyeofthedroidwasstillturnedaway,butitwouldnotbesoforlong.Itsthermalsensorswouldpickupevenhissmallbody,especiallyasitsheatreflectedofftherock.Slowlyheletdownhissackandrummagedinside.Obi-Wan’ssmallpot,cooltothetouch.HerubbedhishandacrossitssideandsensedhisPadawan—onelasttime.Thenheslowlysetthepotontheground.The thermal sensor of the droid flashed from blue to red. Its bulbous eye

begantoswivelhisway.YodaclosedhiseyesandfelttheForceflowingbesidehim,flowingintothe

rock,flowingaroundObi-Wan’ssmallpot,andflowingintothesandbeneathhisfeet—thesand,whichroseupasYodaraisedhisarms,and thenflung itselfatthedroidasifinafiercewind,andswirledarounditinablindingstorm.And thenYoda raised his right arm even higher.He paused for amoment,

then lowered his arm toward the droid, and Obi-Wan’s pot flew through theswirlofsandandintothebulbouseye,shatteringitinarushofsparks.Theexplosionthatcamenextwasexpected.Thesedroidsalwayshadaself-

destructmechanismtouseoncedamaged.The cries from the swamps below were loud and long. Explosions were

unusual in theDagobahsystem.Evenfromthis faraway,Yodacouldhear thescurryingofsmallfeetandtheflutyflutteringsofreptilianwings,andtheylastedlongerthanittookthepiecesofthedroid,largeandsmall,tofallfromthesky.Yoda picked up his cane andwent towhat remained. The pot was gone—

disintegrated,nodoubt.Anditwasrightatthatmoment—atthatexactmoment—thatYodafeltObi-

Wan grow suddenly stronger, and stronger, and stronger, and thenmove in aquickburstintothenetherworldoftheForce.And Yoda felt Anakin fall even more deeply into painful loneliness—a

loneliness so terrible thatYoda almost felt pity for him.He almostwished hecouldspeaktohim,totellhimthatheneedn’tbelonelyafterall.Therewere…Yoda lookeddownat theground, and therewas thehandleof the shattered

pot;somehowithadsurvived.ButObi-Wanwasgonefromthisworld.Yodafelthimselflowertotheground.Obi-Wan.AndAnakin. If onlywhat had happened toAnakin had not been shadowed

andhiddenfromthemall…No.Thatwasnottrue.IfonlyhehadperceivedthepathsthatAnakinwasbeginningtofollow.Itwashisownfailing.Thatwaswhyitwould have been so important for him to train the young Skywalker.Whatmightshehavedonetobringherfatherback?And to this disappointment, now,Obi-Wangone from thisworld.Whatdid

thismean for that other Skywalker,whose impatience and angerwere terribleweaknesses?Obi-Wan.ForYoda,thegalaxywassorapidlybecomingemptierandemptier.Perhaps thatwaswhy he did not sense the two new droids until theywere

almostuponhim,drawnbytheobliterationoftheircomrade.Againhereachedautomaticallyforhislightsaber,andalmostsmiledwhenhis

handtouchednothing.Forjustamomenthefelthowgooditoncewastofightwith another Jedi at his back, to feel the Force binding them together, to feeltheirwillsinoneaccord.Then,Yodalookedatthetwodroidsrushinguponhim,theireyesuponhim,

theirsensorstrainedtowardhim,theirdeviceswhirringwiththeroboticpleasureoffulfillingamission.Hewasold.Heraisedhishandto…Ashot,andlightningrippedtheairoverhisshoulder,strucktherockbehind

him,andbouncedbackintothesack,whichburstintoimmediateflame.Hisblanket!Qui-Gon’scloak!Yoda reached to the air around the two droids and pulled it closed like a

curtain.Theglassof theireyesburst, theoldmetalbodiescrumpledintoeachother,

thedroidsfell intoasmokingheap—andYodaquicklystampedouttheflamesandpulledtheblanketfromthesack.

Singed,butnottoobadly.Hereachedinagain.Thepouchofseedswasunharmed.He felt Qui-Gon laughing at him, all the way from the netherworld of the

Force.Hewouldhavetokeephismindonwherehewas—andthatiswhathedidthe

restofthatday.Heburiedthedroids.Heprobablydidnotneedto,butitwasbesttobesafe.Hewrappedtheseedsintheblanketandtiedtheendstightlytogether.He reached out carefully—this time very, very carefully—and felt the

atmospherearoundtheplanet.Nomoredroids.Heheldbacktheloneliness.HeheldbackagalaxywithoutObi-Wan.Down, down the hills and into the lowlands hewent, the ground becoming

wetterandwetter,spongyunderhisfeet—which,hehadtoadmit,feltcoolandsoothingafteralltheorbitsofsandandrock.Hecameintothetrees,theweedsstilldrainingfromtheirbranches,andheheardthevoicesofallthosewhohadspent thewet seasonhibernatingbeneath thewaters, nowcoughingopen theirlungstoallowairinagain,andstretchingtheirwingsandflappingthemtodry.Hewouldhavetobesuretoburyhisseedsdeeplyandcovertheirscentwiththespringymoss.He found his lowland house easily. It, too, had survived its hibernation

beneath thewater, and it looked, for themost part, undamaged.Dripping andgreenwithmold,asalways—but,helaughed,sowashe.Andthewallshecouldclean.Inside,thefloorshaddrained;theywouldbedrywithinadayortwo.Thebunkwas soaked through, of course, but a firewould soon set things right. Itwouldnottakelongatalltoresumelifeinthelowlands.Andhewasright;itdidnot.Five days later, the house was dry and tight, a fire burning brightly in its

hearth.Hehadtrimmedtheblanket;hewasgettingsmallerandsmalleranyway.But the shelfwhere he had always set the potwas empty, and every time helooked at it, he felt a stillness where he had once felt vibration, and heremembered.Andhewhisperedtohimself,“Mournthemdonot.Missthemdonot.Rejoice

forthosewhotransformintotheForce.”Buthewaslonely.“Trainyourselftoletgoofeverythingyoufeartolose.”

Buthewaslonely,andold.Andhehadfailed.HehadnotseenthepathstheyoungPadawanAnakinhadbeguntotake.HehadmissedhischancewiththeyoungSkywalker.Andwhatwould happenwith this other, reckless Skywalker?The onewho

wasasangryashisfatherhadbeen?The next few days, when he planted the seeds, he planted them deeply,

thrustingthemintothedampandsoftgroundwithhiscane,sodeeptheymightnotcomeupagain.Buthegatheredthemossfromthebranchesandcoveredtheplot, andwhenhehad finished, it lookedas ifnothingat allhadbeenplantedthere,asifnothingwouldcomeupfromallthateffort.Nothingatall.Nothingatall.Nothingatall.Thenighthefinished,Yodasatinfrontofhisfire,andhewaslonely.Andhemissed,morethanhecouldsay,oldfriendsnowgone.So he reached out across the netherworld of the Force forQui-Gon, but he

couldnotsensehim.Hereachedagain,andagain,buttherewasnoreply.“Qui-Gonisoccupied,MasterYoda,”saidObi-Wan.Yodalookedup,thoughhehardlyneededto.Hesuddenlyfeltthehutsofull

of…life. So full of Obi-Wan, who sat cross-legged inside the doorway,shimmering.“Neverbeforesoquietlyhaveyoucomeintoaroom,MasterKenobi.”Obi-Wan nodded his shining head. “I find I have developed several new…

skills,oflate.”“Anentry into theworldof theForce itwould take foryou todevelop this

one.”“Asyousay,Master.”Yodacrossedtheroomandsatdownonhisbunk.Itwasnolongerasdampas

ithadbeen.“Iamold,MasterKenobi.”“Ninehundredyearsisold,”heagreed.“Andwornout.”“Notsowornoutasyoumightthink,Master.Whereismypot?”

Yodalookedupattheemptyshelf.“Therewasanencounter,”hesaid.“Anencounter?Notsodifficultanencounterthatyouwereunabletopreserve

Qui-Gon’scloak,Isee.”“Always with you it has to be both. Difficult choices must we sometimes

makeinthisworld.”“Asnow,Master.”“Hereyouareforthat?”“Master,IwantyoutotakeonanewPadawan.”“Youdo,doyou?”“IwantyoutotrainyoungSkywalker.”Yoda felt his heart thrill.He had not imagined it could have happened, but

hereitwas.“Yes.”“Youagreesoquickly?”“LonghaveIwantedtotrainher.”“Master,IwantyoutotrainLuke.”Yodalookedattheshimmeringface.“No,”hesaid.Hestampedhiscaneon

thefloor.“Thatisnottheone.Notreadyishe.”“Whoiseverready?”“Notthatone.AJedimusthavethedeepestcommitment.Thatonelooksfrom

onecloudtoanother.AJedimusthavethemostseriousmind.Thatonecannotkeephismindfromhisspeeder.Nothim.Her.”“Master.”“Hewillnotfinishwhathebegins.Heisreckless.”“Master.”“Andwellweknowthepatharecklessonewillsethisfoot.”TheshimmeringObi-WansatdownonthebunkbesidehisoldMaster.“Thisisdamp,”saidObi-Wan.“Botheryoudoesdampnessstill,MasterKenobi?”“Youwillbesurprised,Master.”“Foroneninehundredyearsold,nomoresurprisesarethere.”Obi-Wansmiled.“Ipromiseyou,Master,youwillbesurprised.”“Humph,” said Yoda. He lay down on his bed and pulled the blanket up

aroundhim.“Alreadycomethetimeistobewithyou.Alreadycomethetimeis

tobecomeonewiththeForce.”Obi-Wanshookhishead.“Notyet,”hesaid.“Andtotellmethis,youaretheone?”Obi-Wanspreadhisarmswide,almostasifhewouldembracehisoldMaster.

“Iamtheonetotellyouthis,”hesaid.“Impertinentstill.”“Yes,Master.”Alongsilence.“TheotherSkywalkerIwouldtrain.Sheisready.”Obi-Wanshookhisheadagain.“Oh,demandingnowwehavebecome,havewe?”saidYoda.“Forgiveme,Master.”“AndifItrytoteachthisrash,thisimpatient,thismindlessboythewaysof

theForceandfail,whatthen?”Obi-Wansmiled.“IseemtorememberanoldMasterofminewholikedtosay

somethingabouttrying.”“Humph,”saidYoda,anddrewtheblanketupcloser.Heclosedhiseyes,and

Obi-Wanwaited.“Sendhimtomethen,”saidYoda,inavoicequietasawhisper.Obi-WantuckedtheblanketunderYoda’schin.“AndObi-Wan?”“Yes,Master.”“Sorryaboutthepot,Iam.”“Itwasoldandugly.”Yodaopenedhiseyes.“SoamI.”“No,Master.”“Look,MasterKenobi.Look.Oldandugly.Whatseeyou?”Obi-Wanleaneddownclose.“Aluminousbeing,”hesaid.“Humph,”saidYoda,andclosedhiseyesagain.“Annoying,one’sownwords

touseagainsthim.AbadfeelingIhaveaboutthat.”ButObi-Wanwasalreadygone.YodanestleddeeplyintoQui-GonJinn’scloak.Hewouldsleepnow.Atleast,

hewouldtrytosleep.

Hiseyesopened.Heprobablywouldnotsleep.Itwasnotwhathehadwishedfor.Notatall.Still,forthefirsttimeinalong

time,hewaseagerforthenextday.

EnterEMPERORPALPATINE,havingreceivednewsfromDARTHVADERofOBI-WANKENOBI’sdeath.

PALPATINE

Communicationhathjustbeenreceiv’d,E’enbetterthanmyfantasiesconceiv’d.DarthVader—myapprenticeandmytool,Th’intimidatingfistbywhichIrule—HathtoldmeofKenobi’sswiftdemise,Whichnewshathstruckmewithprofoundsurprise.UpontheDeathStar,th’Empire’slatestthreat,Thebattlewasborneout,theoldfoesmet:Kenobi—feeble,elderly,andweak—Hathdar’dhisformerPadawantoseek.Thetwomenmet,andclash’dlikefireandice,DarthVader,though,hathtriumph’dinatrice.

triumph’dinatrice.Afewquickparriesofhissaberred,AndoldKenobifell—nowair,nowdead.Ourtroopersnowreport’twasTatooineWhereonKenobihidunfound,unseen,Andlotheseyearshathliv’dinmystery,WhilstI,theEmperor,madehistory.WhyTatooine?Andwhereforetheresolong?Whatarethenotesthatform’dKenobi’ssong?Whatmelodywasitwhereatheplay’d?Whyinthosemeasureshathhesolongstay’d?Washedesigninghisowninstrument?Andwhereforewerehisrestssoprominent?HisdeathshouldfillanEmperorwithglee,Forsooth,myheartshouldsoarinsideofme,Yetthereisthatwhichplaguethstillmymind—Yea,questionstotheseanswersIwouldfind.Forinstance,thereisthisthatstillperplexes—Ariddlethat,withobfuscation,vexes.DarthVadersaiththatattheverytime—Thesecondwhenhehathperform’dthecrime,WhenhislightsaberstruckKenobi’srobe—TheJedi’sbodyvanish’dfromtheglobe.Notslain,precisely,nay,butdisappear’d,Whichisenoughtomakee’enmeafeard.Then,too,therearethefinalwordsofhis,WhichVaderhathconvey’das’twereaquiz:“Ifthoudoststrikemedown,e’ennow,e’enhere,IshallmoregreatandpowerfulappearThane’erthouhastimagin’dpossible”—Thesewordsareeachlikeneedlesinmyskull.Isthisasimplelie,orJeditrick?IsthistheForce’smight?HaveIbeenthick?IsthereaughtthatcanmakeKenobilive?Istherereliefthatlogicyetcangive?AndevenifKenobi’sdeadandgone,

AndevenifKenobi’sdeadandgone,Anotherworrystillcomeshardupon:AlthoughthiswretchedJediisdestroy’d,ByYodaismineintellectannoy’d:Wherehaththeerrant,verdantcowardfled?SomewherewithinthegalaxyhisheadDothwaittomeetanEmperor’sdarkrage—Unlesstheweaklinghathexpir’dfromage.IfYodaandKenobiwerealive,AndsomehowdidourJedipurgesurvive,Whatelseexistsofwhichwe’reunaware?Whatthreatshallcome,bylandorseaorair?Iwouldbecertainofourdominance,Iwouldhaveproofofmineownprominence.ForsuretyI’dgivetheuniverse,Yetquestionsdogme,likeawitch’scurse.Theanswerstothesethingsarestillunknown,AnddoubtswithinmybrainmakeendlessdroneWithmockingvoicethatspeaketh,“Palpatine,Couldstthounotwipethyrivalsfromthescene?”Kenobi’sdeath,then,givesbutpoorrelease,Sinceworriesdopursuemesanssurcease.Thesemattersshakeme,thoughIshouldrejoice,Thus,heartheproclamationofmyvoice:ThismomentmarksatimethatIshallsavor—Fromnow,theEmpire’spowerne’ershallwaver,Todaybeginsaneraofresolve,Asfullyuntodarknessweevolve.Noslipofourfoulpurposeshallweknow,Nomisstepshalle’erthreatentoo’erthrow,NohiddenJediplotshallgiveuspause,Novileuncertaintyshallstayourcause,Nomercytoleratedinourranks,Noweaknessfoundwithinourdatabanks:HenceforththeEmpireshallnotbeassail’d,Imperviouswe’llbe,nofaultunveil’d.Avulnerablerealm’sadyingbreed;ThisshallnotbetheEmpire’sfate,indeed.

Ishallhavefullcontrol,whatevercome,Andstrikemineenemiesbothdeafanddumb.ItstartethwiththeendoftheRebellion,WhereinIamthereaper,Darthmyhellion.TheDeathStar,fullyoperational,Shallwallopwithamightsensational.LordVader’scunningfoundtherebelbase;Anonhe’llbringdestructionontheplace.Byth’DeathStarshalltheroguesbeapprehended,Itslistofmassacresshallbeextended:’TwasJedha,Scarif,andthenAlderaan,NextYavin4,withrebelsfoundthereon.Thistriumphcannothappensoonenow—Broughttoitsknees,thegalaxyshallbow.Come,Death,andlettherebelsknowthymight:Thoueverwertourallyinafight,Thouarttherider,th’Empireisthyhorse,ThoushowestallthedarksideoftheForce,Thouartourstrength,ourtalisman,oursign,Thouartsupreme,andthyfullstrengthismine.I’llwieldtheeswiftlyontherebelgang,Andbringonthemtheirlife-concludingpang.ThisnewsofVader’sspursmeonwardstill:Kenobifirst,andbymyironwillTherebelsandthegalaxyentireShallcallmeEmperororseetheirpyre.Go,Palpatine,releasethineawfuldread,Untileachfilthyrebelknaveisdead.

Exit.

Dexsaton thesideofhisbunk,elbowsonhisknees, staringatnothing,butthinking about everything.His past stretched out behind him, a line of eventsmuchlongerthanthefuturehesawremainingbeforehim.TheEmpirewascoming, itspowerprojectedbywayofamoon-sizedbattle

station thathadalreadydestroyedmore thanoneplanetandmurderedbillions.Billions.Everyoneknewsomeonewhoknewsomeonewho’dbeenonAlderaan,orScarif,orJedha.DexhadevenbeentoAlderaanoncewithhisparents,yearsbeforetheRepublichadtransformedintotheEmpire.Thinkingof thepeople there, their livesobliterated in an instant of fire and

pain, at once enraged and afflictedhim. Itwas an atrocity, andhewanted theEmpiretoanswerforit.Buthewasn’tnaïve.Whateveranswer theRebelAlliancewould force from

the Empire in just a few hours would be…likely futile. He knew how thingswould probably end. Seemed to him their choices were to run from Yavin’smoonandlive—maybe—ortostayandfightanddie.

Andnoonewasrunning.Notoneperson.Notanymore.Alderaanhadputafierceresolve ineveryone,fromsupport troops topilots.

Theyweredonerunning.True, rumors swirled among the flight crews that Princess Organa had

returnedwithsomekindofsecretintelligenceabouttheEmpire,butDexdidn’tsee how mere intelligence could help. The battle with the Death Star wouldcomedowntoatestoffleshandmetal.AndtheEmpirehadmuchmoreofboth.The remaining Alliance forces on Yavin 4 were a ragtag collection ofstarfightersandlightcruisers—almostnocapitalshipshadsurvivedthebattleatScarif.Together,alltheirsoldierscouldn’tevenoperateafractionoftheDeathStar.Butevenso,noonewasrunning.Notoneperson.Youflyyourrunandhitwhatyoucan—thatwasGoldSquadron’scredo.Dex

hadinternalizeditlongago.He’dflyhisdamnrun,comewhatmay.Andhehadhisowncredo,too,onebasedonsomethinghismotherhadoften

said.“Smallsparkscanstartbigfires.”Thinkingofhismomchasedhis innerdarkness andmadehimsmile. Inhis

mind’seye,hecouldseeherinoneofthesimpledressesshefavored,grayhairinabun,hercrookedfrontteethexposedinasmile.He took a deep breath, blew it out, fiddledwith his flight suit, and tried to

squareawayhismentalstate.Hecheckedthechrono.Theyhadhours,abitless,andthenhe’dflyhisY-wingatanenormoussphereofsteelandweaponsanddowhathecould.Youflyyourrun.Smallsparks.An interrogatory chirp brought him back to the present. He smiled at the

battle-scarredR5unit thathadbeenwithhimsincehisrunoverCorellia.He’dnicknamedthedroidSparks.“Iwasjustthinking,Sparks.That’sall.”AsympatheticpurrfromSparks.Morebeepswithaquestionmarkattheend.“Oh, about lots of things. Mostly about my mom and dad and Onderon. I

haven’t seen them in…a long time.Andmy little sister, she’dbe twelvenow.Twelve.”He shookhishead.Timehadpassed soquickly, andnowhehad solittleleft.

Sparkswheeledcloser,hummedinsympathy.“DidIevertellyouwhatmymomusedtosayaboutsmallsparks?That’swhy

I named you Sparks. Well, that and the fire you started on Utapau’s moon.Remember?”AnembarrassedmoanandshudderfromSparks.Dexsmiled,pattedthedroidonhishead,andlied.“Listen,thingsaregonna

befine.”Spark’s ambivalent beeps suggested that he saw through the words to the

truth.“We’lldowhatwecan,right?Wemakeourrun.”Sparksperkedup,beepedenthusiastically.“Andhitwhatwecan,”Dexsaid.“Right.”Inhindsight,herealizedthathismother’sphrasewasthethrough-lineofhis

life. It had played through his mind when he’d joined the Rebellion, hadsustainedhimthroughdarktimes.He’djoinedknowingthatthingslookedbleak,but he’d always fancied himself a spark, always imaginedhimself starting thebigfire.But it appearednot. Instead it looked like thingswouldendonabackwater

moon.Avoicecarriedoverthestation’sintercom.“The Imperial space stationhas entered the system.Report toyour stations.

Flightcrewstothe—”Alongpause.Theusualendtothatsentencewouldhavebeen…tothelaunch

bay.Afterall,they’dalreadyhadtheirmissionbriefing.Acrackleon the intercom.“All flightcrews report immediately to themain

briefingroom.”Sparkswhirredanobservation.Dexstood.“Agreedthatit’sodd.I’llgoseewhat’swhat.Seeyouattheship.”

—

The briefing room, filled with pilots and flight crew, fell silent as GeneralDodonnaspoke,histoneassomberasaeulogist’s.Dex leaned in closer as the schematics of the Death Star appeared on the

briefingroomscreen.GeneralDodonnaexplaineditsweakness—atinyexhaust

portattheendofanarrowtrench.Someonewouldhavetoputaprotontorpedodirectlyinitatpreciselytherightangleofapproach.A few audible gasps answered the declaration, several head shakes, a

pervading sense of despondency. Someone across the room said the shotcouldn’tbemade.Someoneelse—avoiceDexdidnotrecognize—respondedbysayingsomethingaboutshootingwompratsonTatooine.Dex filtered it out. He’d already committed the details of the briefing to

memory.Heknewtheshotcouldbemade.Andhefiguredhewasjustthepilottomakeit.Hecouldseetheexhaustinhismind,asvividasapicture.Dodonna’swords

hadn’t increased his despondency; they’d dispelled it. He felt hopeful for thefirsttimeinseveraldays.Smallsparks,hethought.Andbigfires.They filed out of the briefing room and hustled for the flight deck, where

groundcrewanddroidsreadiedthefleetofX-wingsandY-wings.Dexhurriedto his fighter. Sparks was already being lifted toward his socket. The droidchirped and whirred a melody as Dex climbed into his cockpit and started asystem check.He felt like hewas floating, already flying, already dropping atorpedodownthebungholeofthatImperialstationandsavingtheRebellion.Davishcalledupfromtheflightdeck.Hewasinhisflightsuit,hishelmetin

hisrighthand,thestandardgrinpastedonhistimewornface.“Yougonnabeaherotoday,Dex?”Dexsmileddown.“Gottabesomeone,Davish.”“Isupposeitdoes,”Davishsaid.“I’llseeyouupthere.”“Rightbehindyou,”Davishsaidandhurriedtowardhisship.Dexwent through his preflight checklist quickly, saw that allwas in order.

Sparksbeepedtheokay.Thegroundcrewsignaledthathewasclear togo.Heengagedtheantigravandliftedoffthepad.“Let’sgetupthere,Sparks,”hesaid.Thedroidwhistledeageragreement.

—

Dexbrokeatmoandthebluegavewaytotheblack.Sparksranthroughaquick

instrument andweapons check, beeped that allwas inorder.He followed thatwithawhirredqueryaboutDex’svitalsigns.“No, I’m fine,” Dex told the droid. He was just giddy. He’d gone from

hopelesstohopefulsoquicklyhewasstillspinningfromit.Hetookafewdeep,calmingbreaths,broughthimselfdownandfoundhisfocus.“Onme,GoldSquadron,”saidGoldLeaderoverthecomm.Affirmativesaround.The squad fell into attack formation, Dex on the starboard end of the V-

pattern.Throughthecockpitglass,hesawRedandGreensquadrons’X-wingsinformationtohisright,slightlylaggingGold’slead.Theyspedaroundandawayfromthemoon,theusualbantercarryingacrossthecomms.AstheDeathStarcameintoview,thecommchatterfellsilent,quietedbythe

enormityof thestation.Evenfromadistance,Dexcouldsee thedifferentiatedstructures all over the station’s surface, the huge convex disk that he knewserved to focus the station’s planet-busting weapon. He went over the broadstrokesoftheattackinhismind:firsttheturbolasers,thenthedeflectorstations,thenGoldandRedwouldtakethetrenchbyturn.“Nosupportcraft,”hesaid.“Notyet,”saidDavish.“Wegettoeatsometurbolasersfirst.”GoldLeader’ssternvoicecrackledthroughthecomm.“Lesschatterandmore

focus.Youknowyourjobs.Dothem.”“Weflyourrun,”Dexsaid.“Andhitwhatwecan,”Davishanswered.The stationgrew in sizeas they sped toward it,until it filledDex’s fieldof

view. Sparks scanned the station, fed pertinent information toDex’s heads-updisplay.Dexnotedthelocationoftheturbolasers.“Acceleratetoattackspeed,”saidGoldLeader.Dexfiredhisengines.“Deflectorsatfull,Sparks.Herewego.”AstheyclosedontheDeathStar,turbolasersswungtowardthemandpainted

redlinesacrossspace.Dexpulledhardonthestick,rose,spunacircle,shoveditdown, and opened up with his weapons. The Y-wing’s cannons sprayed thesurface of the Death Star and birthed plumes of flame. He jerked hard right,lockedon toa turbolaser turret, fired,andwatched itexplode.Pullingbackonthestick,heshothighoverthesurfaceofthebattlestation,chasedbylaserfire.He glanced down, saw the rest of Gold and Red squadrons darting over the

surface of the station. The turbolasers—designed as they were to defend thestationagainstcapitalshipsratherthanfighters—hadtroubletrackingtheelusiveX-andY-wings.“Findmesomethingelsetoblowup,Sparks,”hesaid,andthedroidfedhim

thecoordinatesforadeflectortower.He slammed the stick down and closed on the tower, flying straight into a

sprayof fire froma turbolaser.Hespun theship,dancingbetween the ionizedlines,whileSparkswhooped.Hesprayedtheturbolaserwithhiscannons,tookitout,andturnedhardatthedeflectortower.Helockedon,fired,andwatcheditblossomintoflame.“Niceshot,GoldTwo,”saidDavish.“Someone’sgottabeahero,”Dexanswered.Hepulledup,wenthigh,andnoticedthat the turbolasershadstoppedfiring.

They could not have destroyed them all so fast, so that couldmean only onething.GoldLeader’svoiceaffirmedhisthinking.“Fightersincoming.GoldTwoand

Fiveonme for the trench.The restof the squad, engage theTIEs.Hold themoff.”“Activescan,Sparks,”Dexsaid,wheelinghisY-winginbesideGoldLeader

andDavish.“LetmeknowifwegetanyattentionfromtheTIEs.”Sparks beeped agreement. Below them, elements of Red squadron engaged

withtheTIEsthathadpouredoutofthestation’slaunchbays.“It’ll be tight in the trench,” Gold Leader said. “Hold formation whatever

comes.Ilead.Youtwolaggingonmynacelles.Copy?”“Copy,”DavishandDexsaidinsequence.Afewmomentsofquiet,thenGoldLeadersaid,“Wego.”ThethreeY-wingsstreakedtowardthetrench.Dex’svisiondistilleddownto

thedarklineofit,agashcrosscuttingthebattlestation.Inhismind,hepicturedthe exhaust port at its end. They needed to fly in the trench to allow theirtargetingcomputerstoproperlycalculatetheshot.“Allsystemssquare,Sparks?”Thedroidbeepedanaffirmative.ThethreeY-wingsswoopeddownintotheshadowedtrench,DexandDavish

rightbehindGoldLeader’senginenacelles.Theflyingfeltclaustrophobic.Thesidesofthetrenchwereablur,whippingpastatadizzyingspeed.Dexkepthis

eyesforwardandonhisinstrumentssoasnottogetdisoriented.The distance to the exhaust port showed as a countdown on his heads-up.

Theyweregettingclose.Smallsparks,hethought.Smallsparks.Sparks beeped a warning a moment before Gold Leader said, “They’re

comingin!Threemarksattwoten.”The scanner showed TIEs in the trench behind them, closing fast. Dex

comparedtheirclosingspeedwiththeremainingdistancetotheexhaustport.Itwouldbeclose.“Enginesatfull,”GoldLeadersaid.“Andholdformation,damnit.”Sparks adjusted power settings, increasing the engine’s output, and the Y-

wingaccelerated.“Rear deflectors at full,” Dex said, and Sparks redirected power. Dex was

sweatingunderhisflightsuit,hisbreathcomingfast,white-knucklingthestick.Thenarrownessof the trenchgavehimnoroomtomaneuver.Hestaredat thedisplay that showed the approaching exhaust port.Hewas justwaiting for histargetingcomputertoaffirmalock.Almostthere.Almost.Comeon.Comeon.AshotfromoneoftheTIEsstruckthesideofthetrench,exploded,andthe

blastwavewobbledDex’sY-wing.He scraped the sideof the trenchwallbutstraightenedup.“I’mgood,”hesaid.“I’mgood.”TheTIEshadclosedfasterthanexpected.Hecheckedtheheads-upagain.So

close.“Hold formation,” Gold Leader said, his normally emotionless voice tight

withtension.“Wobbleasbestyoucanbutdonotbreakoff.”There was no real room to wobble the craft, though, not without risking a

collision.They’d justhave to relyon theirdeflectors.Theywerenearly to theport.“Everythingwehavetothereardeflectors,Sparks.”MoreshotsfromtheTIEsputredlinesoverhiscockpit.Almostthere.His ship shook with a sudden impact, as if kicked from behind. Sirens

screamed,thedepressurizationwarning.Sparksbeepedinalarm.“I’mhit,”Dex said, calmer thanhewouldhave expected. “Deflectordown.

I’mholdingformation.I’mholding.”Smokeleakedfromhiscontrolpanel,sparkssizzlingfromanelectricalshort

somewhere deep in the electronics. The stick felt heavy in his hand,unresponsive.Hefoundithardtobreathe.Theship lurchedagainand thepressurewave fromanexplosion in the rear

causedhimtoseesparks.Sparksletoutanalarmedsquealthatcutshort.Dex flashed on his mom, her smile, his dad and his mustache, his sister’s

giggle.Someonehadtobethehero.Someonehadtobe—Aflashoforange,abriefmomentofsearingheat,aroarinhisears,asmuch

feltasheard,thennothingmore.

“YouknowIhatethatnickname,”Colsaid.He knew immediately that he’d made another mistake—Puck Naeco was

immune to fear and disinclined tomercy, whether behind the stick of a T-65starfighter or killing time in the ready room deep within Yavin 4’sMassassitemple.AcornerofPuck’smouthtwitchedupward.Ashadhappenedtoomanytimes

insimulations,Colhadlettheolderpilotmaneuverhimintopositionforthekillshot.Two other pilots, John D. Branon and Theron Nett, exchanged an amused

glance.“WhathaveItoldyouabouttakingthebait?”PuckaskedCol.Colsighed.“Notto.”“Andwhatdidyoujustdo?”“Tookthebait.Can’tyouthinkofsomethingelse,though?Imean,wedon’t

evenlookalike.”“You do to me,” rumbled the Mon Calamari ground tech Kelemah, one

lamplikeeyeswivelingupfrompatchingaleakingoxygenhose.“Butthenyoualldo.”“Veryhelpful,Kel,”Colmuttered.“And you sound exactly alike. It’s uncanny, really. I’d swear youwere the

sameperson.”Puckgrinned.“He’sgotyouthere,Fa—”“Don’t,”Colsaid,hisvoiceloudenoughthattheotherpilotslookedover.“Imeanit,Puck,”hesaidmorequietly.“Don’t.Todayofalldays,don’t.”Somehow that succeeded where previous efforts hadn’t. Puck nodded and

raisedhishandspeaceably.“Sowhatexactlydidthekidsaythatsetyouoff,Col?”askedJohnD.“Inall

theexcitementImissedthat.”“Well,I’djustsaidthatit’simpossibletohitatwo-metertargetwithaproton

torpedo,evenwithacomputer.”AglancepassedbetweenPuckandJohnD.“What? Don’t tell me youweren’t thinking the same thingwhile Dodonna

wasshowingusthoseschematics.”“Maybe,”JohnD.said.“I’mguessingthekid thought itwaspossible.What

didhesay?”Thedooropenedandotherpilotsbeganenteringtheroomintwosandthrees.

ColspottedBiggsDarklighter,anewcomerwhosecarefullygroomedmustachewas another of Puck’s favorite targets; grim, gravel-voiced Elyhek Rue; thetalented,volatileBrenQuersey;andcool,analyticallymindedWentonChan.Andtrailingbehindthem,thelastpersonColwantedtosee:WedgeAntilles,

theyoungpilothewassurehadbeensenttoYavin4solelytobedevilhim.“Look,itwasnothing,”ColtoldJohnD.“Forgetit.”“Really?”Puckasked.“Aminuteago,youwerehavingoneofyourfits.”Rue,attheendofthelineforthecafdispenser,lookedupabsently.“What’sthisabout,Antilles?”hebegan,thenpeeredmorecloselyatCol.“Oh.

Sorry.”Colknewhisfacewasreddeningevenbeforethelaughterbegan.Puckslunganarmaroundhisshoulder:“Andthat,ColTakbright,iswhyyou

areandwillalwaysbeknownaroundhereasFakeWedge.”

—

Inhiscalmermoments,ColknewthenicknamehadstuckforreasonsbeyondhissuperficialresemblancetoAntilles.Duringmissionbriefings,Antilleslimitedhimselftoafewspecificquestions,

while Col wanted to know if Starfighter Command had analyzed all thealternatives. When things went wrong in the simulator, Antilles reviewedtelemetrywhileColventedhisrageonhelmetsandfurniture.Eventheirhelmetswereopposites—Wedge’samattegreen,Col’sariotofyellowracingstripes.Garven Dreis—Red Squadron’s craggy-faced, sad-eyed commander—had

lecturedCol afterhis eruptions.SohadGeneralMerrick,who’ddiedwith toomany others at Scarif. And veterans such as Puck and John D. had tried toreinforcethemessage.ColknewPuck’steasingwasmeanttohelphimdevelopthickerskin.Col had tried to bemore like the pilots praised for their placid exteriors—

pilots likeChan andAntilles.But inevitably, another feelingwould steal overhimashelayinhisbunkstaringatthestoneceiling.Everyday,theEmpirewasdevouringworldsfororeandfuelandmurdering

thosewho dared to oppose it. Col hadwatched in increasing agitation as evilcreptacrossthegalaxy,untilhe’drealizedhecouldn’tspendanotherdayonhisplacidhomeworlddoingnothing.He’dleftUquinethatnightwithsomecredits,aduffelbag,andavowtoavengethosetheEmpirehadwronged.Maybe,he’dlieinthedarknessandthink,theRebellion’sproblemwasn’tthat

Col Takbright was too angry. Maybe it was that people likeWedge Antillesweren’tangryenough.

—

The other pilots laughed, but Antilles looked pained and turned away—Colassumedhewasembarrassedatbeingmistakenforthesquadron’sscapegoat.Rue,meanwhile,hadabandonedthecafline.“Sorry, Takbright,” he said quietly. “Iwasn’t trying to be funny.Mymind

wassomewhereelse,that’sall.”“Forget it,” Col said, knowing this time Puck hadn’t set him up—the next

practicaljokeRueplayedwouldbehisfirst.JohnD. caught Col’s eye and inclined his head—sit. Col choked down his

angeranddidso.Amomentlater,Antillessettledintothechairnexttohimwithasigh.“I think it’s time to switch things up,” he said. “Hey guys, it’s me—Fake

Col.”Col’s first instinctwas toknockAntillesonto the floorandshow thewhole

squadronthejokeendedhere.ButRedLeaderwouldarrivesoonwiththepilotroster for the Death Star mission—and Col would be an easy cut if foundbrawlingwithafellowpilot.And thatwouldn’t be right.Col had earned the right to be part of themost

importantmission inAlliance history.No, he hadn’t flown at Scarif—the lastplaceinthesquadronhadgonetoPedrinGaul,who’ddiedthere.ButDreishadpraisedhisperformanceinrecentraids,andColhadrackeduppatrolsandreconmissions.Hejusthadtokeephiscoolandhopeforthebest.“Takbright!Youstillhaven’ttolduswhatthekidsaid.”ThatwasJohnD.again, likeanekwithabone.Still, itwasbetter than this

embarrassedsilence—orwhatevertormentPuckmightthinkupnext.“Hetoldmeheusedtobull’s-eyesomekindofvarmintbackhome.In—get

this—aT-16.”Biggs looked over andwagged a finger atCol. “Hey, don’t knockT-16s. I

learned to flyon them—ifyoucanhandlea skyhopper,youcanhandleanX-wing.”“BeforeBiggs crafts anotherode to thegalaxy’snoblebushpilots, Iwanna

hearmoreaboutthevarmint,”Pucksaid.Colfurrowedhisbrow.“Hecalledita…awomprat.Whateverthatis.”Biggsturnedsoquicklythatcafsloshedoutofhiscup.“Awomprat?You’resurethat’swhathesaid?”“WouldImakeupanamelikethat?”“Noway.Itcan’tbe.”AndthenBiggswasrushingforthedoor,nearlytopplingDreisasheentered

the ready room with Zal Dinnes and Ralo Surrel at his heels. The squadronleadershotacuriouslookinBiggs’sdirection—pilotstendedtorushinwhentheOldManarrived,nothurryout—thenshrugged.

Chairsscrapedontheancientstoneflooras thepilotsstood.Colspottedthemuscles of jaws working and fingers tugging at uniforms. These men andwomenwouldbeallbusinessintheircockpits,butthispartmadethemnervous.These were the moments in which they’d learn who’d fly and who’d be leftdirtside,tolungeforcontrolyokesandtriggersthatweren’tthere.“Atease,”Dreissaid.“Saveitforzerohour.”Noonesat.“Likethat,huh?Can’tsayIblameyou.Let’sgettoit.Youallknowwehave

morepilotsthanbirds.GivenourlossesatScarif,we’retryingtofigureoutifwecan even put Green and Blue squadrons together. I’d fly with anyone in thisroom—and you all deserve a place on this hop. But unfortunately that can’thappen.”Silencehungovertheroom.“First flight,”Dreisbegan. “I’m flying lead.Theron, starboardwingasRed

Ten.Puck,you’reportasRedTwelve.”Asusual,Netthadnoreaction.ButPuckblewhisbreathoutandnodded to

himself—thefirsttimeColhadeverseenhimlooknervous.Col tried to think along with Dreis. Red Squadron’s twelve X-wings were

dividedintofourflightsofthreestarfighterseach.DreisnormallyflewwithNettandSurrelashiswingmates.Sincehe’dsubbedPuckforRalo,inalllikelihoodhe’ddecided…“Ralo, you’ll lead second flight as Red Eleven,” Dreis said. “Wings are

BranonandBinli,asRedFourandRedSeven.”That wasn’t a surprise either—John D. was a veteran and Harb Binli had

flownwellatScarif.“Third flight,” Dreis said, and Col noticed eyes narrowing and postures

growing rigid.Third and fourth flightswerewhereDreis had needed tomaketoughchoices.“Zal, you’ll fly lead asRedEight.Wings areNaytaan and Porkins, asRed

NineandRedSix.”Dinnes’sonlyreactionwastonodbrieflyatNozzoNaytaanandJekPorkins.One flight to go. Col’s eyes skittered over Antilles and Chan, Rue and

Quersey,andtheotherpilotsonthebubble.“Fourthflightwillbeledbythenewkid,LukeSkywalker,”Dreissaid.Thatwasnotexpected.Thepilotsmutteredandexchangedstartledlooks.

“Thewompratkid?”Coldemanded,drawinganexasperatedlookfromPuck.“Is that what we’re calling him?” Dreis asked. “He’ll fly as Red Five—

assuminghissimulatorrunchecksout.Beforeanyoneelsehassomethingtosay,rememberthatwithoutSkywalkertheprincesswouldhavebeenexecuted—andwe’dbegoingupagainstthatbattlestationwithnothingbutprayers.”Twoslotsleftinthesquadron.PuckfixedColwithasternlookthathedidn’t

needtointerpret.“DarklighterwillbeLuke’sstarboardwingman,flyingasRedThree,”Dreis

said.“AssumingsomeonecanfindBiggsbythetimewefly.”Oneseatleft.ColprayedthattheOldManwouldn’tlethimdown.“Wedge,you’llbeportwing,flyingasRedTwo.ButseeKelemahaboutyour

bird—he’sgotacoupleofthingstogooverwithyou.”Col leaned against the wall and stared down at his flight suit, numbly

registering the chest-mounted life-support unit and the band of signal flaresaround his lower leg.Both useless—he didn’t need gear to sit andwaitwhileothersdidthejobhe’dbeenmeanttodo.“I’mnotmuchforspeeches,butseemsliketheoccasioncallsforone,”Dreis

said.“Youknowthere’satoughtargetwaitingforus.Justlikeyouknowthatalotofbravepeople—includingfriendsofours—gavetheirlivessowe’dhaveachancetotakethattargetdown.”Someoneclappedacoupleoftimes,stoppingwhennoonejoinedin.“You’reeverybit asbraveas theywere,”Dreis said. “I saw that just a few

daysago.IknowinthenexthourI’llseeitagain.We’llrelyononeanotherupthere,likewealwaysdo.Andaslongaswedothat,I’llgoupagainstanythinginthegalaxyandlikeourchances.Allright,that’sit.Techshavealreadystartedpreflight.GettoyourbirdsintenminutesandI’llseeyouupthere.”Colremainedmotionlessastheotherpilotsandtechsbeganfilingoutofthe

room.“Toughbreak,kid,”saidPuck.“Staysharp—iftheycangetmorebirdsflying

they’regoingtoneedpilots.”“ButRedSquadron’sgotitstwelve,”Colsaid.“Soevenifthathappens,I’ll

beatthebackoftheline.”Puckstartedtosaysomething,butColturnedaway.“Justleavemealone,”he

said, leaning his forehead against the wall. The ancient stone felt soothinglysmoothandcool.

TheroomquietedandwhenCollookeduphewasalone.Theonlysoundwasthe hum of the air scrubbers fighting their rearguard action against the junglemoon’srelentlesshumidity.Thechairswereaskew,andrationbarwrappersandhalf-emptycupsofcafdottedthetabletops.Someoneneedstocleanthisup—ifColonelCorseesthereadyroomlikethis

thedemeritswillfly.Excepttherewouldn’tbeanextbriefing.Sooneverythingaroundhimwould

be part of a cooling debris field in the earliest stages of becoming a ring ofYavin.Whatwasthepointofcleaningup?Whatwasthepointofdoinganythingexceptwaitingtodie?Thefurycameallatonce.Chairsflew,tablesoverturnedandstillColraged

on, looking for new targets. He spotted his flight helmet, hanging by its chinstrap froma rackon thewall.Thatwoulddonicely,he thought, takinga steptowardthehelmetandtheonehangingnexttoit.Thematte-greenonehangingnexttoit.Oh.ThedooropenedandAntillesstaredatthewreckageandColstandinginthe

centerofit,breathingheavily.“Iguessyouforgotyourhelmet,”Colsaid,hisvoice lowandstrange inhis

ears.“Kelemahhad to askwhere itwas,”Antilles said, stepping carefullyover a

tangleoffallenchairs.“Notthebestwaytostartahop.”AntillesavoidedCol’seyesashemadehiswayto therack, tookhishelmet

down,andpickedhiswaybacktothedoor.Butthenhepausedandturned.“I’msorryyou’renotgoingupwithus,”Antillessaid.“Imeanthat,Col.And

Ihadnothingtodowiththatidiotnickname.”“You’vegot no reason to be sorry,”Col saidwith a smirk. “Youget to fly

againsttheEmpire,whilegoodpilotslikemesitdownhereanddonothing.Justrememberthatyou’reflyingforallofus—andyoubetternotletusdown.”Antillesnodded,buthiseyeshadturnedhardandflinty.“I’llflyforyou,Col.Andforalotofotherpeople,too.Thewholegalaxy’s

countingonus,youknow.You’renotaloneinthisfight—andyouneverwillbe.Unlessyouinsistonpushingeverybodyaway.”The sound ofAntilles’s departing footsteps grew fainter andwas lost amid

distantvoices,whiningmachinery,andmuffledannouncements—theactivityof

arebelbasereadyforwar.Collistenedforamomentlonger,thenbegantorightthetablesandchairs.

—

Whenhe entered thewar roomCol immediately spottedPrincessLeia, a slimfigure in white at the main command table with Dodonna and other rebelbigwigs. He scanned the room and found a knot of orange flight suits at anauxiliarydisplay:Rue,Chan,Quersey,andKelemah.Colsteeledhimselffortheirreaction,buttheotherssimplynodded,withRue

andChanmakingroomforhimatthetable.“Battlestation’sorbitingthegasgiant,”Chansaid.“Lessthanfifteenminutes

tofiringrange.”“SowhendotheycallKay-One-Zero?”Colasked.“Don’t think they’re planning to evacuate,” Quersey said. “Most of the

essentialequipmentleftwiththefleet.It’sallinthehandsofthepilotsupstairs.”And there’snothing I candoabout it,Col thought.Thepilotswere the last

lineofdefenseagainsttheEmpire’splanetkiller.They’dneedeveryadvantagetheycouldget—andalotofluck.Kelemahtappedatareadoutonthetacticaldisplay,mutteringatwhathesaw.“Problemwithoneofourbirds,Kel?”Chanasked.“PortstabilizeronRedTwelve’smisaligned.ButNaecoknowstocompensate

forit.I’mmoreworriedaboutRedTwo.WehadtodoapatchjobonthesternhydrauliclinesafterScarif.”“Wedgecanhandleit,”Chanassuredhim.Colretracedschematicsinhismindanddidn’tlikewhathefound.“Ifthoselinesfail,hismicro-maneuveringcontrolswillgo,too.”“Antillesknows thatandstillwanted togo,”Kelemahsaid.“Itwasflywith

thepatchesordon’tflyatall.”“That’sabigrisk,”Colsaid,whichdrewabarkoflaughterfromQuersey.“Look around, Col.We’re all part of the biggest risk in the history of the

galaxy.”Over the speakers,GoldLeader announced the start of theY-wings’ attack

run,withRedLeaderdirectinghisX-wingstocutacrossthebattlestation’saxisanddrawtheImperials’fire.

Colstaredatthetacticaldisplay,tryingtomatchthebrightblipsindicatingthefighters’ positionswith the chatter on the squadron channel.TheX-wingshadbrokenintopairsandtrios,rakingthesurfaceofthebattlestationwithlaserfire.Theywereadistraction,harryingtheImperialdefenseswhiletheY-wingsracedfor thevulnerableexhaustport.Pilotshe’dservedalongsidewere risking theirlivesforaslightincreaseintheAlliance’sodds.“They’re outflying those turbolasers,” Kelemah grunted. “Those guns are

meantforcapitalships,notstarfighters.”But then Porkins announced he had a problem, and the red dot that

representedRedSixslowed.Anagonizedyellwasdrownedinstatic,andthedotvanished.“Solong,Piggy,”Ruesaidquietly.“Youwillbeavenged.”Analarmsentcontrollersscrambling.Kelemahwavedamottledhandatnew

lightsblinkingonthetacticalreadout.“TIEs,”Ruesaid.“IftheEmpire’sjammingoursensors,thosefighterswillbe

rightontopofourbirdsbeforethey’redetected.”Awarningwentouttothepilots,andthetablebecameashiftingconstellation

ofredandgreen.Colrealizedhewasgrippingtheedgeofthetablesohardthathisknuckleswerewhite.Hetoldhimselftorelax,thenrealizedtheotherpilotsweredoingthesamething.Agreendotattached itself toJohnD.,andamoment later the rebelveteran

wasdead.ThenSkywalkertookaglancinghitfromaTIEjustbeforeflyingintoa heavy fire zone. Both the red and green blips vanished, and Chan leanedcloser.“Didwelosethekid?”Thetwoblipsreappeared,andSkywalkercalledoutforBiggs.ButitwasRed

TwothatvaporizedtheImperialpursuer.“That’s Antilles’s third kill,” Kelemah said. “Wish he wouldn’t ride those

patchessohard.”“Shh,”Chansaid.“GoldSquadron’sstartingitsattackrun.”ColstudiedthetelemetryfromtheY-wings’sensorsandshookhishead.“They’vegotnoroomtomaneuverinthat trench.Withall thosegunsdown

there,theirforwardshieldswilltakeabeating.”TheY-wingpilotsswitchedontheirtargetingcomputers,andnumbersbegan

countingdownononesectionofthereadout.

“Theguns—they’vestopped,”GoldTwosaidindisbelief.Amoment later,TIE fighters swooped in frombehind.Col tried towill the

targetingnumbersclosertozero.ThenGoldTwowasdead,followedbyGoldLeader.GoldFive,doomed,was

warningRedSquadron that thefightershadcomefrombehind.AndtheDeathStarwaslessthanfiveminutesfromclearingtheplanet.Colrealizedhe’dbeenholdinghisbreathandletitoutinaraggedstream.He

staredatthetacticalreadout,tryingtocountthereddots.“TheotherY-wingsarebeingchewedup,”Chansaid,seeinghisgaze.“And

RedEightandRedSevenwereshotdownskirmishingTIEs.”Dinneswasdead,andBinli,too.Colrememberedtheprideontheirfacesafter

Scarif,howhe’dachedforthechancetoflywiththem.“TheOldMan’supnext,”Ruesaid.“He’llmakethatshot,youwatch.”Colnodded,tryingtoconvincehimself.Wasn’tDreisalegend,withaflight

log dating back to the Clone Wars? And didn’t he have Theron and Puckbackinghimup?HeimaginedPuckdestroyingthebattlestationandbecomingarebel hero—and choosing Col as his wing as the Alliance pursued morevictories.With theDeath Star threeminutes from firing,Dodonna toldDreis to keep

halfhisgroupoutofrangeforanotherpotentialattackrun.“Wewon’tgetathirdshotatthis,”Colsaid,andChanshushedhim.Dreis ordered Skywalker, Darklighter, and Antilles to hold their positions

whileRedNineandRedElevenkeptskirmishingwithTIEs.As the three X-wings swung into the trench, Col found himself muttering

underhisbreath,beggingPucktowatchoutandurgingwhatevercosmicforceshadshapedtheuniversetoguideDreis’storpedo.Rue stood stock-still at the tactical table, sweat running down his forehead.

Querseykickedrelentlesslyatthestonefloor.Changnawedhislowerlip.“That’ssixkillsforAntilles,”saidKelemah.“Ifixsomething,itstaysfixed.”Col stared at the three dots approaching the blinking cross thatmarked the

exhaustport,tryingtospeedthemup.“Keepyoureyesopenforthosefighters,”Dreissaid.Achimeannouncedthat

histargetingcomputerhadthetargetmarkedandlockedin.“Comeon,boss!Comeon!”Colsaid.

AndthentherewasacryandthebliprepresentingRedTwelveblinkedout.Puckwasdead.Collookeddown,blinkinghard.“You’dbetterletherloose!”Naytaanurged.“They’rerightbehindme!”“Almostthere,”Dreissaid,hisvoicealmostpleading.“Ican’tholdthem!”Naytaanwarned,andthenwailedinanguish.Anotherchime,Dreisyelled,“It’saway,”andadozenconversationsstartedat

once.“It’sahit!”someoneyelledonthesquadronchannel.ColstaredatQuersey,

seeingthesamewildhopeheknewwasonhisownface.“Negative,”Dreissaidasthegreendotsclosedonhisposition.“Itdidn’tgo

in.Justimpactedonthesurface.”HeorderedSkywalkertogetsetupforhisattackrun.AndthentheOldMan’s

starboard engine was scrap. Dreis howled until his X-wing smashed into thestation’ssurface.Acoolvoiceannounced theDeathStar’s time to firing range:aminuteand

closing.“Biggs,Wedge,let’scloseitup,”saidSkywalker,soundingfarolderthanthe

youngmanindustyclotheswho’dsatnexttoCol.“We’regoingin.We’regoinginfullthrottle.”The three X-wings raced into the trench with Skywalker leading and

Darklighter andAntilles farther behind, to impede the fighters everyone knewwerecoming.Atthosenear-suicidalspeeds,Colknew,anymistakewouldsendastarfightercareeningintothetrenchwall—oranotherT-65.RedNinevanished, leavingRedElevenasasolitary redblipsurroundedby

greendots.“GetSurreloutofthere,”Colbegged.“Hecan’tsurvivethoseodds.”“No,”Chansaid.“Buthecanbuythemalittlemoretime.”“Fighters,”Antillessaid.“Cominginpointthree.”AsSkywalker’stargetingcomputerpickedupitslock,somethingblinkedon

Kelemah’stacticalreadoutandthetech’smaroonskinturnedapalesalmon.“Antilles ishit,”hesaid.“Shotseveredthehydraulic lines.Ifhedoesn’tget

clearhe’sasbigadangerasthoseTIEs.”ColcouldalmostseeWedgefightingaslewingandbuckingstarfighterwhile

trappedinthenarrowtrench.

“Tellhim,Kel!”Colurged.“I’llnevergetthrough.”“Ican’tstaywithyou,”Antillessaidbleakly,andtheredblipzoomedaway

from the trench. Seconds later, the dot representing Surrel disappeared. RedSquadronhadbeenreducedtoSkywalkerandDarklighter.“TheTIEsareaccelerating,”Chansaid.“Nowit’sarace.”“Hurryup,Luke!”Darklightersaid,thenhesitated.“Wait!”hesaidplaintively,asplitsecondbeforehedied.Thirtysecondstofiring.Col spotted the red blip that wasWedge—heading back toward the trench

withacloudofTIEsclosingin.“What’shedoing?”Kelemahstudiedhisinstruments.“He’schargedtheauxiliaryhydraulics.But

that’ll only give him aminute of fine control atmost. If he goes back in thattrenchhe’llnevercomeout.”Col silently begged Wedge not to throw his life away—not after having

survivedsuchodds.Buthesuspectedhe’dhavedonethesamething,recklesslytryingtorejointhefightratherthanletpeoplethinkhe’drun.Nobodywho’dflownaT-65wouldsaythat.ButdidWedgerealizethatright

now?Andiftheirpositionshadbeenreversed—asColhadsoferventlyhoped—wouldColhaverealizedit?And then everything seemed to happen at once.TheDeathStar cleared the

planet. Skywalker’s targeting computer shut down, and the Womp Rat Kidclaimed nothing was wrong. The freighter that had returned Princess Leia toYavin4 cameoutofnowhere, scatteringSkywalker’spursuerswith a suicidalcharge.AndWedge,insteadofdroppingintothetrenchusingthelastdrizzlesofhydraulicfluid,turnedhisX-wingawayfromtheDeathStar.Skywalker’s torpedoes fired—Col thought he heard the young pilot gasp as

theyignited—andthenoiseinthewarroomroseinpitchandvolume.TheDeathStarvanishedfromthe tacticalboards, leaving just fourredblips

againstablankexpanse.Colandtheotherpilotsstareddownatthereadouts.Noonebreathed.Noone

daredtospeak.“Target destroyed,” a controller said, and the war room descended into

pandemonium.ColfoundhimselfpoundingRueontheback,huggingQuerseyandKelemahandslappinghandswithChansohardthatithurt.Thenhewassweptupinthethrongofpilots,soldiers,andtechniciansrushing

for themainhangar.Theyarrivedin timetoseethefreightersetdownoutsidethe temple, with a Y-wing landing nearby—and two battered X-wings easingintothehangar.MostofthecrowdheadedfortheT-65withthefivechevronsoneachwing,

butCol’sdestinationwastheX-wingattendedbyonlyascatteringofrebels.Hewaswaitingat thebottomoftheladderwhenWedgeslowlydescended,facingawayfromCol.Wedge removed his helmet, his back still turned.His hairwasmattedwith

sweatandhisshouldersroseandfell.WhenWedgeturnedhesawColandtookaninstinctivestepbackward.“TherewasnothingIcouldhavedone—”AndthenColwrappedhiminabearhug.“You tookout sixTIEs, ran that trenchat full throttle,keptyourbird intact

withoutitsmaneuveringsystems—youdidallthatandthenyoutriedtogoback,you crazy fool,” he said. “You did everything anyone could have done andmore.”WhenhefinallyletWedgego,theotherpilotgapedathim.“Ijusthopeeveryoneseesitthewayyoudo.”Colthrewanarmaroundhisshoulders.“Iftheydon’t,tellthemitwasFakeWedgeupthere,”hesaid.“BecauseI’dbe

honored to be mistaken for you—for any of you. Now come on. There’s acelebrationwaitingforus.”

Thefear—whichIknowwilllasttillIseethewingedeyeballsilhouetteofTIEfighters tearing headlong towardme through black space—metastasizes inmygutasDodonna’sbriefingcomestoanend.Butthere’sanotherfeeling,thesamethatIfeltbeforethemutinyontheRandEcliptic.Peace.Afeelingofserenecompleteness,asifthenomadicpaththattookmetothe

ImperialAcademy,tomyfirstpostontheRandEcliptic,andtomysubsequentdefection to the Alliance, has brought me full circle. As if, parsecs fromTatooine,billionsofkilometersfromToscheStationandthemoisturefarmsofmyfamily,I’vefoundhomeagain.Iheardhisvoiceinthebriefing.I saw his farmboy face, the same that used to smirk atme before a run on

Beggar’sCanyonorwhenhe’dwasteawompratatfullpitch.ButstillIdidn’tbelievemyeyes.

Thekid’ssandytuftofhairdisappearsoutthetunnelfromDodonna’sdebriefliketherumpofafleeingbantha.Icallafterhim,buthedoesn’thear.IcaughtwindfromWedgethattheprincesshadbeenbroughtbackbyafarmboyandasmuggler,butthere’smoreagriculturalsystemsundertheEmpire’sbootthanthegrainsofsandonaMonCalamaribeach.Evenatop-of-the-lineprotocoldroidcouldn’tcalculate theoddsof the farmboybeinga sonofTatooine,much lesstheonlybushpilotbesidesmyselfwho’sever threadedhisway throughStoneNeedleinBeggar’sCanyon.Butitfeelssopurposeful.Sofated.Just asmypathhas ledmehere, to thepointof crisis,where I can strike a

blowforfreedom,it’sbroughtmybestfriendaswell.Whatluck.It’sasifallthestoriesweheardaschildrenweretrue.Ipushmywaythroughrebelflightofficersandpilotsandgettangledwithan

astromechdroid,bangingachunkofskinfrommyleftshin.Shoutinginpain,IhopsidewaysononelegstraightintoJekPorkins.Isinkintothesideoftheman,andhethrowsanarmaroundmyheadtotrytorufflemymustachewithhisham-sizedfingers.“Watch where you’re goin, laserbrain.” Porkins chuckles like a Hutt and I

manage to wrench myself free of his squidgy embrace.Most of the Allianceveteran pilots—loose a term as that is—were accommodating to new recruits,especially given the nascency of their fighter squadrons.ButPorkins, a cockypilotfromBestine,seemstothinkit’shisdutytoinstituteritualhazing,evenonthebrinkofbattle.“Hopeyou’rebetteroffyourfeetthanonthem,”hesayswithagrin.“That sounds like an invitation.” I snort a laugh. “Do youwant to try that

again,Porkins?”He grins and pushesme to the side. “Oh, I’m far out of your league, nerf

herder.”It’s not till the hangar that I catch up tomy old friend as he runs his hand

alongthefuselageofaT-65withthesamewistfulexpressionheworewhenwepartedatToscheStationjustafewshortweeksago.He’sdressedinaflightsuitnow.“Hey,Luke!”Ishout.Hewheelsaround,abrightfarmboygrinalreadyonhisface.“Biggs?”I laugh. “I don’t believe it!” I throw an arm over his shoulder, questions

tumblingout.“Howareya?How’dyougethere?Youcomingupwithus?”Hedoesn’tmissabeat.“I’llberightuptherewithyou,andhaveIgotstories

totellyou.”Himandmeboth.Howthehelldidheendupinthis?There’snotimetoask,

andevenlesstimetotellhimhowhappyIamhe’shere.“Skywalker.” Garven Dreis, Red Squadron leader, approaches from behind

andnodstotherustedT-65.“Yousureyoucanhandlethisship?”IseethepanicinLuke’seyes,andIcutinbeforehecananswer.“Sir,Lukeis

thebestbushpilotintheOuterRimTerritories.”Garvengrins,knowingIdon’tgivecomplimentslightly.“You’lldoallright.”Lukesmiles.“Thankyou,sir.I’lltry.”GarvenheadstohisshipasLukeandIheaddownthelinetoourown.“Gotta

getaboard,”Isay,wishingwehadmoretime.“We’llhearallyourstorieswhenwegetback,allright?”Hegrinsatme.“Hey,Biggs,ItoldyouI’dmakeitsomeday.”Hedid,andIneverdoubtedhimonce.Warmprideswellsupinmelikeatwin

desert sunrise, and I think how fitting it is that we are here. Two sons ofTatooine.“It’llbelikeoldtimes,Luke.They’llneverstopus.”I leave Luke behind and findWedge sitting on the boarding ladder to his

cockpit.“Biggs,”hesayswithadistantsmile.“Who’sthekid?”“Friendfromhome,”Isay.“Alwayssaidhe’djointheRebellion.”“Shamewedon’thavemoreCorellians.”Hegrins.“We’dhavetheImperials

runningforCoruscantinablink.”“We got them right where we want them!” I say. “Good luck out there,

Wedge.”“Andtoyou,Biggs.”Weshakehands.IboardmyX-wingandbegin thepreflightchecklistwithmyastromech.As

nearby technicians sheath their hydrospanners and shimmy off the aluminumengineer ladders, I feel happy.Knowing that allmyboyhood competition andcamaraderiewithLukehasledushere,preparedusforthismoment.WeleaveBaseOnebehind,taxiingupawayfromtheancienttemple,pastthe

observationobeliskswheresentrieswavegood luck,upfromtheseaof jungletoward the pregnant red hulk of Yavin. We breach orbit, and I feel space

untethermefromgravity.Myheartrushesinmychestwhileatthesametimeitseemsas ifmystomachhasmadeamigrationupintomythroat. I’mthankingthestarsIpassedonthejetjuicethatPorkinswasdishingoutlastnight.OursquadroncirclesYavin,andweseeitforthefirst time.Apale-grayorb

hanging in space like an untethered moon. Men built this. I’d say it wasimpossibleifIdidn’tseeitwithmyowneyes.Ourthirtytinyshipsarenothingbutgnatsonabantha.ThejoyIfelt inthehangariserodedbyfear.SolongasIwastheonlyone

exposed to this fight, the fear was somethingmanageable. Something I couldshovedeepdownintomystomachandforgetlikeitwasmyprivatedarksecret.ButwithLuke here, the fragilememory of home, friends, and family feels soveryexposed,asifitcouldbebrokenatanymoment.Andtheleviathaniswhatwilldothebreaking.Garven’svoicecomesoverthecommunit.“Allwingsreportin.”“RedTenstandingby.”“RedSevenstandingby.”“RedThreestandingby,”Isay.The confirmation rattles down the rest of the squadron until I hear Luke’s

voice.The fear fades. Itmight not be sandunder ourwings, butwe’veyet tofacearunwecan’tmanagetogether.“LockS-foilsintoattackposition,”Garvensays.TheDeathStarexpandstillit

consumesmyentireviewport.There’sstillnosignofenemyfighters.Cantheyreallybesoarrogant?Myshipbegins toshake; thecontrolstickbucksagainstmyhandslikeanunrulyeel.“We’repassingthroughamagneticfield,holdtight.Switchyourdeflectorsondoublefront.”“Look at the size of that thing,” Wedge murmurs. I hear the fear in my

friend’s voice, the same fear thatwould steal the courage fromme. It sweepsthroughthesquadronaswecoasttowardthekillingstation.Insidearethemenwho destroyed Alderaan, a peaceful planet if ever there was one. Howmanymorewillsufferifthisevilisnottakendownhereandnow?“Cut the chatter, Red Two,” Garven says. “Accelerate to attack speed.” I

shakemyself inmy cockpit and push forward on the throttle.We race closer.Closer, till thestationseemsall there is,ahulking, impossiblesphereofbone-huedmetaland turbolaser towersanddefense installations that jutupfromthestation’sskinlikeingrownhairs.“Thisisit,boys.”

“RedLeader,thisisGoldLeader.We’reheadingforthetargetshaftnow.”“We’re inposition. I’mgoing to cut across the access and try todraw their

fire.”Garven’sX-wingbanksharddiagonallydownatthesurfaceoftheDeathStar. Ibankmyship tofollowina lazycorkscrew.Afuryofgreenlaserboltslanceupfromthegraylandscape,burningthroughtheblackofspace.Theypassharmlessly,thetowerstooslowtotrackusasLuke,Wedge,andIskimclosetothesurfaceofthestation.“Heavyfire,boss,twenty-threedegrees,”someonesays.“Iseeit,”Garvenreplies.“Staylow.”Our three ships dip and weave through the communication and antiaircraft

towers.“ThisisRedFive:I’mgoingin,”LukesaysashepeelsofffromWedgeand me and dives toward a heavy turbolaser tower. His lasers burn across atrenchline,diggingfurrowsinthemetal.Buthe’sgoingintoohot.“Luke! Pull up!” I shout. At the last moment, his ship pivots up from its

collisioncoursewiththestationandboundsaway.“Areyouallright?”“Igotalittlecooked,butI’mokay.”I sigh in relief asLuke formsuponWedgeandme.There’shardly time to

reorient.Firefromdozensofturbolasercannonslacesthedogfight.Garven,coolunderpressure,identifiesthesource.“There’salotoffirecomingfromtherightsideofthatdeflectiontower.”“I’monit.”Lukesays,hungryforanotherattackrun.Hewasalwaysthemore

eagerofthetwoofus.AuntBeruwasmorethanhalfcertainhe’dendupenginepasteonthesideofaBeggar’sCanyonrockshelf.Tobehonest,sowasI.ButI’veneverseenanyonewiththerunofluckLukehas.Iformuponhisflanktohelpwithhisattackrunonthelasertowers.Ilookon

the scope to see who is nearby to offer support. “I’m going in. Cover me,Porkins.”“I’m right with you, Red Three.” The sound of his voice is a surprising

comfort. Luke and I swoop low to the deck, weaving between towers, andconcentrateourfireonthelasertowerthatwaschewingupGarven’swingmates.It flashes and glows as our cannons melt into its reflector shields, and thendetonatesasLukeandIsoarpast.Justlikebull’s-eyeingwomprats.Iwhoopinexhilaration.ThenPorkins’svoicecomesfranticoverthecomm.“I’vegotaproblemhere,”hesaysfromabove.Iwatchhimonmyscope.He’s

pinnedinafieldofoverlappingfireandhitbadinthefuselage.“Eject…”Isay.“No, I can hold it.”A second later, a laser enters the belly of his ship and

detonates it from the inside. I look for sign of an ejection, but there is none.Porkinsisdead.IbarelyhavetimetoregisterthelosswhenBaseOnehailsus.“Squad leaders, we’ve picked up a new group of signals. Enemy fighters

comingyourway.”“Myscope’snegative, Idon’t seeanything,”Lukesays.Andneitherdo I. I

cranemyneckaroundtoscanthespaceabovemefortheeyeballs.“Pickupyourvisualscanning.”“Heretheycome.”“Watchit.You’vegotoneonyourtail!”AcloudoffireignitesanddiesasanX-wingdisintegratestostarboard.“You’ve picked one up, watch it,” Luke shouts at me. I wheel my head

around, juking and spiraling to confuse the TIE’s targeting computer. I stillhaven’tspottedhim.“Ican’tseehim.”IveerawayfromtheDeathStartogainroomtomaneuver.TheTIE’s lasers lickpastme.Thehairsonmyarmsstandup. Aweight grows inmy gut. I jerk on the control stick. This guy is good.“He’sonmetight.Ican’tshakehim.”“I’ll be right there,” Luke says. I even out, presenting the TIE pilotwith a

cleanshot,makinghimaneasiertargetforLuke.HedropsinbehindtheTIEandsendsasalvooflasersintoitsrearfuselageforacleankill.“Allright!Goodshooting,Luke!”“Thanks,Biggs,butwe’renotoutofthisyet!”IswervemyX-wingbacktowardtheDeathStarandstrafeseveralturbolaser

towers that are peppering the Y-wing Gold Squadron. Two detonatespectacularly.Aboveme,LukehaspickedupaTIEonhistail.DebrisshearsoffthetopoftheX-wing,justbehindthepilot’scanopy.Ishouldn’thavegoneforthelasertowers.Ilefthimexposed.“Ican’tshakehim!”hesays.Inapanic,I’mabouttocomeattheTIEfromunderneathwhenWedgevapes

the shipwith a bold head-on attack run and soars straight through the debris.Damn,thatmancanfly.IformuponthetwoandcheckoutthedamagedonetoLuke’sship.“Yougotsomedamagethere,”Isay.“How’sthestick?”

“Stillgotmaneuverability,”Lukesays.“Wegottastaytight.Nomorerunningoff!”“Copythat,”Isay,surprisedandsomewhatrelievedthathe’stakencontrolof

ourflightwing.IfWedgehadn’tbeenthere,Lukewould’vebeeninsomerealtrouble.That’sonme.IgothungryforakillandIleftmywingmate.Notagain.Weformtightoneachother.“RedLeader,thisisGoldLeader.Wearestartingourattackrun.”“Icopy,GoldLeader.Moveintoposition.”Freefromtheharassmentofthedestroyedlasertowers,theY-wingsdiveinto

the trench. Slower and older than our T-65s, they’re more vulnerable to theenemy fighters, and stronger against entrenched elements. Red SquadronprovidescoverfortheY-wingsastheycontinuedownthetrench.Luke,Wedge,andItanglewithatrioofTIEfighters.Laserssplashagainstmyfrontdeflectors.Ijukeupwardandletoffastreamoffire,clippingthesolarpaneloftheTIE.Itcareenssideways into itswingmate,whichLukeshredswithhis lasers.WedgespiralsdownwardandkillsthelastfighterasitheadsfortheY-wings.Butaswetanglewiththem,threemarksslipunderneathourdogfightanddive

intothetrenchaftertheY-wings.“Threemarksatfourten,”Isay.“WegottakeepthemofftheY-wings,”Wedgesays.Wenevergetthechance.

AnothersquadronofTIEsappearsonoursensors,swarmingusandcuttingoffourpath.There’snotimetothink.ThechatterdiesandLukeandIflowtogetherwordlesslythroughthedogfightasifattachedtogetherwithtowcables.Syncedinperfectprecision,onebaitingtheTIEsastheotherhitsthemfromtheflankorrear.Butevenaswedestroythesquadron,weheartheY-wingsdyingoverthecomms.“GoldFivetoRedLeader,I’velost…Hutch.Came…frombehind—”“Redboys,thisisRedLeader.Rendezvousatmarksixpointone.”WedgeandIbothcopy.There’sonlysixRedSquadronpilotsleft.Therestof

thesquadronshavebeenwipedoutbythegunsandtheTIEsandwhoeverkilledGoldSquadroninthetrench.“Luke,takeRedTwoandThree.Holduphereandwaitformysignaltostart

yourrun,”Garvensaysashistwowingmatesdiveintothetrench.Weformupattheendofit,whereaholehasbeencarvedintheturbolaserdefenses,andwatchtheskiesforTIEs.Sweatstingsmyeyes.Ourwindowisshrinking.

Garven’scommscrackle,almostinaudibleashecarriesdownthetrenchintothe teeth of the turbolasers. One of his wingmates’ comms gets through.“There’stoomuchinterference.RedFive…can…you…”“Cominginatpointthreefive,”Lukesays.“Iseethem.”AflightofthreeTIEsdivingdownintothetrenchdozensofklicksaway.One

islargerthantheothers,swollenlikeabeetlewitharmorandadvancedsensors.Theydisappearintothetrenchandallwecandoiswatch.Holdingforourattackrun,we’retoofarawaytohelp.They’resittingducksinthere!Iwanttobreakfreeofourholdingpatternandchargeafterthem,butthere’snotime.“Justholdthemoffforafew…”Ihearthroughthechatter.“Almostthere…”

Aballoffireflashesfaraheadinthetrench.OneoftheX-wingsdisappearsfrommysensors.Then thesecondgoeswith it.Garven’salone,withoutwingmates,buthe’sinrange.Theyboughthimenoughtime.“It’s away!”he shouts andpeels upout of the trench.His proton torpedoes

fireattheexhaustport.“It’sahit?”“Negative, negative.Didn’t go in. It impacted on the surface,”Garven says

grimly.ThearmoredTIEthatdestroyedhiswingmateshaspursuedhimupoutofthetrench,spewingacid-greenlaserfireathisengines.“RedOne,we’re rightaboveyou.Turn topointoh fiveandwe’llcover for

you,”Lukesays.“Stay there,” Garven orders. “I just lost my starboard engine.”Wedge and

Lukearesilent in their ships. I feelachillgo throughme.Garvenknowshe’sgoing to die. If we go help him, we’ll lose our chance. “Get set up for yourattackrun,”hesaysbravely.Thewordsarebarelyoutofhismouthwhenhe’sclippedintherearbyalaser.HeloseslateralcontrolsandcareensdownintothesurfaceoftheDeathStar,screaming.We’realone.Oursquadrongone.Outofthirtyships,onlythreeofusremain,

andtheDeathStarisdrawingaroundYavin,meresecondsleftbeforeitcanfiredownatthemoonandobliteratetheRebellionasitobliteratedAlderaan.Wearethelasthope.“Biggs,Wedge,let’scloseitup,”Lukesays,moreauthorityinhisvoicethan

I’veeverheard.Beforetoday,wewerefriends,equalsasboys,thoughtheworldalwaysputmeabovehim.Iwasolder,wealthier,betterwiththegirlsatTosche

Station.WhenIsawhiminthehangar,IthoughtI’dshowhimtheropes.Buthedoesn’t needme to teachhimany longer.He’sdifferent today from theboy IknewonTatooine.He’samannow,andsomething,somestrangecalmfillshisvoiceandsoothesmynerves.“We’regoingin,we’regoinginfullthrottle.Thatoughttokeepthosefightersoffourbacks.”“Rightwithyou,boss,”Wedgesays.“Luke,atthatspeedwillyoubeabletopulloutintime?”Iask.I can practically hear him smile. “It’ll be just like Beggar’s Canyon back

home.”Grinning ear-to-ear, I follow him into a dive toward the trench, my ship

vibratingastheenginesarepushedtotheir limits.Luke’sintheleadnow,andgoodforit.Hewasalwaysthebettershot.“We’llstaybackjustfarenoughtocoveryou,”Isay,rememberinghoweasily

GoldSquadronandGarven’swingmateswerepickedapart. Ihave tobuyhimmoretimethantheydid.Hehastohaveachanceattheshot.Andahellofashotit’llhavetobe.“My scope sees the tower, but I can’t see the exhaust port. You sure the

computercanhitit?”Wedgeasks.Laserssprayfiredownthetrenchatus.“Watchyourself.Increasespeedfullthrottle,”Lukereplies.“Whataboutthattower,”Wedgepressesnervously.“Youworryaboutthosefighters.I’llworryaboutthetower,”Lukesnaps.Weracethroughthetrenchlikewompratswiththeirtailsonfire.Lasersburn

pastus,theirgreenlancesfillingourviewportsaswejukemanicallywithinthenarrowconfinesofthetrench.It’samiraclewedon’tcollidewithoneanotherorthewalls.IspareaglanceupthroughmycanopytolookfortheenemyTIEsandalmostcareenintothewall.Icorrectmyselfandchancealookbackup.WedgespotsthembeforeIdo.“Fighters coming in point three,” he says. They’re directly on our engines,

matching our breakneck pace. Their lasers flash between our S-foils beforeconnecting with the engines of Wedge’s ship. His X-wing bucks sideways,almost collidingwithmine. I bankhardonmy stick and skimahandsbreadthfromthewalls,nearlyshavingoffmyrightS-foils.Ijerkbacktowardthecenterof the trench,waryofWedge’swobblingship.Hecould takeusbothoutwithhisinternalstabilizermalfunctioning.

“I’mhit.Ican’tstaywithyou,”hesays.“Getclear,Wedge.Youcan’tdoanymoregoodbackthere,”Lukereplies.“Sorry!”Wedgepullsout,andI’mleftalone.Mysensorsarescrambledfrom

theinterferenceofthetrench.IcranemyheadaroundtoseetheTIEsbehindme.They’re accelerating, not just matching my velocity now but outstripping it.Reelingmeinfortheeasykill.“Hurry, Luke,” I rush. “They’re coming inmuch faster this time.We can’t

holdthem.”Icouldbugout,likeWedge,andtheywouldn’tfollow.Icouldshunttheremainingpowerfrommyoverworkedreactortomyreardeflectorstokeepmyselfalive.Butwithoutpowerfortheengines,I’dfallbehind.They’dleappastmeandshootLukedown.WhatdoIdo?I feel a sudden, inexplicable joy open up in me. A powerful feeling of

purpose,ofpeace,urgingmetomakethechoiceIalwayswouldhavemade:tosavemyfriend.I strip all power from my deflector shields and guns and put it into my

engines, gunning them past the redline. My ship leaps forward, a shield forLuke.But there’smore power in the advancedTIE behindme than inmyX-wing.Itacceleratesafterme.Iglancebackandhearthewarningofatargetlock.Thecalmdisintegrates.“Wait…” I hear myself saying. To whom, I don’t know. Some man who

cannothearme.Itwasn’tsupposedtoendthisway.Ican’tleaveLukeyet.Wehavesomuchyettodo.FirsttheDeathStar,IthoughtwhenIsawhim.Thentheliberationofhome,Coruscant,all theplanets in thegalaxy.Together,we’dbeunstoppable.ButacoldfeelingofdreadentersmenowasIseethegreenlasersleapthroughspaceandcollidewithmyengines.Theyshearthroughthehullofmyshipandouttheotherside.Afirestartsinmycontrols.Thenanothersalvoevisceratesmyship.But beyond the terror, beyond the flaring light of my disintegrating hull,

beyond the dark reaches of the Empire and the endless black of spacewherestars burn like little promises of hope, I feel the wind of Tatooine sweepingacrossthedesert,andhearthecallofmymotherfordinner,andIknowbeyondashadowofadoubtthatLukewillnotmiss.Thefearisgone,andthenthereisonlypeace.

NeraKasesatonanemptyprotontorpedocrateintheformerMassassitempleonYavin 4, inwhat the rebels used as theirmain fighter bay,with her bootsdanglingeightcentimetersfromthefloor,andshestaredatnothing,andwaitedforthegrieftocomeagain.She’dbeenreligiousgrowingup,agiftfromherparents,whohadvenerated

theForce in thePhirmist tradition.Theirhomehadbeen theirship,and they’dhadnoworld,justtheendless,repeatingcargorunsfromtheCoreWorldstotheOuterRim to theMidRimandover andover.She’dbeenbornon their ship.She’dlivedthefirsthalfofherlifeontheirship.She’dimaginedshewoulddieontheirship.Insteaditwasherparentswhohaddied,andtheirshiphadbeenimpounded

bytheEmpire.Inthespaceofsevenminutes,NeraKaselostherhomeandherfamily.Inthespaceofsevenminutes,theEmpirehadmadehertheirenemy.She couldn’t remember any prayers, but that was all right, because an

insincereprayerseemedtoherlessthanuselessatthemoment.Shewasasmallwoman, threeyearsshyof thirty,and thecombinationofa

decidedly youthful face and small stature caused people—in particular newarrivals toBaseOne—tomistake her formuch younger than shewas, and byextension,someoneoflittleimportandnoauthority.Hergeneralappearancedidnothingtocorrectthisassumption.Themechanic’sjumpsuitshehabituallyworecould, at best, be described as “stained,” and only the greatest charity wouldhavegoneontocallitflatteringtoeitherherframeorherfigure.Whenshewasonlysevenshehaddiscovered—thehardway—thatlonghairinanarrowcrawlspacecouldleadtogettinghunguponthemachinery,pain,anddisaster.She’dshaved her head ever since, but the lastweek had been utterly relentless, andKasehadbarelyfoundtimetobatheoreat,letalonegroomorsleep.Theresultwasnowherscalpappearedassmudgedandgrimyasherclothes.Despiteallappearances,however, therewere those in theRebellion—andin

particular,intheHighCommand—whowouldarguethatNeraKasewasoneofthemostcrucialpeopleonBaseOne.Ofthose,atleasttwowouldhavetakenitfurther,andarguedthatshewasoneofthemostcriticalpeopleintheentiretyofthe Alliance to Restore the Republic. Mon Mothma and Bail Organa mayprovidetheheartandsoulofleadership,butNeraKase,they’dhaveargued,putsthebodyinmotion.Kaseshiftedonhercrate,soreandtired,andcontinuedtowait.Hertoolbelt,

overloaded to the extent it now rode her hips rather than her waist, clatteredsoftlyinresponse.Shetightenedhergriponthedatapadinherhand.Shedidn’tlookatit.Shewouldhavetosoonenough.Shewouldputthatoffforaslongasshepossiblycould.Thebaywasn’ttrulyempty,itjustfeltthatway,thesamewayaclosetcleared

of clothes feels empty, no matter how many hangers have been left behind.Therewereservicevehiclesandcargotrolleysandloadliftersparkedallaroundthe space.Crates of ordnance,most of them as empty as the one she now satupon,stackeduphighagainstthewalls.Fuellinescrisscrossedthefloorofthebay,runningfromhastepumpsandfuelcells,curledaroundthemanyscatteredrepairandfabricationstationsusedtokeepthefightersfitandflying.Acoupleofdroidsidled,dutiescompleted,lostinelectronicstandbydreams.Asidefromthedroids,NeraKasewasalone.Theflightcrews,allsixty-seven

sentientsshecoordinatedandguidedthrougheveryhouroftheday,dayinanddayout,hadleftshortlyafterthelastfighterliftedoff.Mostwerenowcrammed

intothepilots’briefingroom,wheretheycouldwatchthetelemetrydatacomeinlive from thebattle about tobe joined.Thosewhohadn’tgone to thebriefingroomwerelikelyclusteredinoraroundthecommandcenteritself,hopingtodothesame.AnywheretheycouldseeandhearthepilotsflyingintothemouthofImperialevil.They’dlaunchedeveryfightertheycouldforthebattle.There’dhardlybeena

point in holding anything in reserve, after all.Thirty fighters divided into twogroups,RedandGold—twenty-twoIncomT-65BX-wingsandeightKoensayrBTL-A4Y-wings—against the largest battle station the galaxy had ever seen.Thirtyfightersagainstamachinethatcoulddestroyaplanet.ThirtyfightersagainstanEmpirethatwoulddoitagain,andagain,andagain

if theyweren’tstopped.Therewasn’tasinglepersonon thebase,notasinglepilotupabove,whodidn’tknowwhathadhappenedtoAlderaan.Therewasn’tasinglepersononthebasewhodidn’tunderstandwhatwasbearingdownatthisexactmomentonYavin4,andwhatwouldbefallcountlessotherplanets in itswakeunlesstheRebellionendedthis,here,today.Itendednow.Oritwouldneverend.Onlysevenspacecraftremainedin thebay,now:fiveX-wings,oneY-wing,

andoneU-wing.TwooftheX-wingshadbeencannibalizedforpartsfollowingtheBattleofScarif, and theother three, though flight-worthy,hadnopilots tocrewthem.TheloneY-wingneededanotherthirty-sixhoursofdedicatedeffortjust to get its repulsor engines back online, let alone its ion thrusters. TheU-wingwas another story entirely. Itwas ready to go, but had been left behindduringthebattleaweekagodueto lackofavailablecrew,andwould’vebeenutterlyuselessintheattackabouttocommencefar,faroverhead.Far,faroverhead,butcominginexorablycloser.As if in answer to the thought, the hangar’s sound system crackled to life,

speakers clicking on high above herwhere they’d been secured to the ancientstoneceiling.Someoneinthecommandcenter,mostlikelytheflightcontroller,waspatchingintheliveaudiofromthefighterstotheground.Therewasahissthat faded to silence, then a fresh ripple of static, and then Kase heard RedLeader’svoice.“Allwingsreportin.”Red Leader. Flying Red One (pilot: Garven Dreis, 21,082 flight hours,

quadruple ace, twenty-four confirmed kills), Kase thought automatically.Serious, sincere, precise. One of the most levelheaded pilots she had ever

known.Professional,thatwastheword.She’dhadacrushonhimforthebetterpartofamonthafterthey’dfirstmet,allbecausehe’dtakenthetimetogetdownon his back beneath Red One where Kase had been trying to get the hapticfeedback toproperlycompensateon the fighter’smag launchers.They’dspenttwentyminutesunderthere,Dreishandinghertoolsandtalkingspecs,andwhenthey’dfinishedhehadgivenheranodandasmileandturnedtogo.Ashewent,he’dextendedhislefthand,strokedthesideofthefighter’sfuselagelikehewaspetting a much-loved beast of burden. Kase was certain Dreis hadn’t evenrealizedhe’ddoneit.Overthespeakers,oneafteranotherandinnoappreciableorder,eachofRed

Squadron’spilotscalledin.“LockS-foilsinattackposition,”RedLeadersaid.In the same way that her mind tied each pilot to his or her ship, Kase

immediatelycouldpicturetheexecutionofthemaneuverwithoutanyconsciousthought.EachofRedSquadron’s pilots on their sticks, eachof them reachingouttoflipthesameswitchineachoftheircockpits.Thecurrentpulsingasthecircuitclosed,thechargeredirecteddownthewiringthatranthroughthedorsalhulltothesplitter,wherethesignalwasredirectedportandstarboard,orderingtheactuatorstoengage.Thehydraulicscomingtolifeinresponse,floodingfluidinto themotivator channels, the strike foils opening as if eachof theX-wingswereflexingitsbiceps.There’dbeenaproblemwiththehydraulicsonRedSeven’sfighterfollowing

Scarif,Kaseremembered.RedSeven(pilot:ElyhekRue,3,804flighthours,ace,sixconfirmedkills),notahotshotbutnotatraditionalistbyanymeans;themancouldmakeanyfighteryouputhimintwist,turn,andtumble.Heflewhard,hadflownhardatScarif,andRedSevenalwayscamebacktheworseforwear.Kasehadlostcountofthehourssheandhercrewshadputintorecalibratingsystemsonthefighter,onmakingcertainthatwhenRueneededittheshipwouldanswerascalled.They were passing through the magnetic field. She heard Red Two (pilot:

Wedge Antilles, 1,598 flight hours, ace, nine confirmed kills) break commprotocol,heardtheaweinhisvoice,andRedOnetoldhimtoclearthechannel.KaseunderstoodthatGarvinDreiswasn’tsomuchadmonishingRedTwoashewasusingtheopportunitytorefocusthepilots,allthepilots,onthetaskathand.Kasedidn’t knowwhat she thoughtofRedTwo.His timeon the stickwas

misleading.He’dflownfor theEmpire, trainedonTIEs,hadflownbefore that

doingwhatshedidn’tevenknow.Hewasoneof thefewpilotsonYavinwhocouldclaimtohaveloggedflighttimeinanA-wing.GeneralSyndullavouchedforhim.Everyonewho’dflownwithhimsaidhewastherealthing.WheneverhespoketoKase,healwayscalledherma’am,wasalwayspolitetothepointofshynesswithhercrews.And hewas almost a double ace already.Kase could almost—almost—feel

sympathy for any Imperial TIE pilot who found himself inWedge Antilles’scrosshairs.Sometimesitwasthequietonesyouhadtowatchoutfor.TheonlypilotKasegenuinelywasn’tsureaboutwasthenewRedFive(Luke

Skywalker, unknown flight hours). Prior to Scarif, Red Five had been PedrinGaul(952flighthours,oneconfirmedkill),awkwardandeagerandstillratedasacadet.He’ddiedoverScarif,disintegratedwhileattackingtheshieldgate.LikesomanyotherswhohaddiedoverScarif.Andhighabovethem,atthismoment,Kaseknewthatsomanymorewould

dieoverYavin4.Withaneffort,shepushedherselfoffherperch,landedwithanotherclattering

ofthetoolsatherwaist.Thebattlewasabouttobejoined.Sheneededtobeinthecommandcenterforthispart.Thegrieffollowedher,waitingforitsmoment.

—

Thepilotsknowthetruth.Theyarethewomenandmenwhotesttheirskill,theirmentalfortitude,their

physical strength in machines that reward even a moment’s inattention orcomplacencywithcruel—andoftentimesfatal—retribution.Theyputtheirliveson the line every time they go up,whether in combat or outside it.The glorytheywearasaresultisboughtdear,andmuch-deserved.Toflyincombatistotaxthebodyinwaysthateventhemostbattle-hardened

ground trooper will never understand. It is physically exhausting, the pilotrespondingtoconstantstress,acceleration,deceleration,thevarianceofartificialgravityandtruegravity.Therankfunkthatrisesfromthecockpitafterabattleisheavy with sweat and adrenaline and fear, all cooked in an atmosphere ofrecycledairandoverheatedelectronics.It is mentally exhausting, demands constant situational awareness and

multitasking. It requires a mind’s-eye picture of the battlefield in threedimensions,constantlyinmotion,amacro-levelviewthatnocomputerwilleveradequatelyreplicate.Itrequiresanobsessive,relentlessattentiontodetail,atotalunderstandingofnotjustthepilot’sownvessel—howitisresponding,whatitistryingtotellhimorher—butalsoofallthosethatsurroundit.Yet when viewed from afar, the pilots and their ships are seen not as a

cohesiveunit,butratherasamassofindividuals.Theymayhuntinapack,butthebeliefisthateverypilotfliesalone.Butthepilotsknowthetruth.Thepilotsknowthis:Theyneverflyalone.Everytimetheytaketotheskiesorthestars,thepilotstaketheirflightcrews

withthem.Everyflight,theycarrywiththemthemenandwomenwhomadeitpossible,themenandwomenwhopouredheartandsoulintonotjustcaringfortheirship,butintocaringfortheirpilotsthemselves.OnYavin4,atBaseOne,eachrebelfighterwasservedbyacrewoffiveor

sixpersonnel,dependingontheneedsoftheshipanditspilot.Logistically,thismeantthateveryflightcrewworkedtriple,evenquadrupleduty.Thus,asingleground team of five was responsible for Gold Two (Dex Tiree, 3,237 flighthours,ace, fiveconfirmedkills),RedNine(NozzoNaytaan,1,060flighthours,threeconfirmedkills),andRedTwelve(PuckNaeco,5,879flighthours,doubleace, eleven confirmed kills). These teams served both the fighters and, byextension,thepilotsinarelationshipthatwasintenselypersonalandoftentimesintimate.Ship,pilot,andcrewbecameone.When a shipwas lost,when a pilotwas lost, the crew remained.And they

grieved.ForNeraKase,itwasworse.Everyship,everypilot,andeverymemberofthe

groundcrewwasherresponsibility.Fromtheastromechstotheordnanceloaderstothemechanicsanduptothepilotsthemselves,theyallbelongedtoher.Thatwasherjob.ChiefNeraKase,FighterBoss,BaseOne.Herflightcrews.Herstarfighters.Herpilots.Shecarriedwithhereverypilotfallenincombat,andshecarriedtheircrews,

aswell,bearingtheirgriefatopherown.Theirsorrowwhentheirpilotsfailedtoreturn. Their self-recrimination and self-doubt, all the hours lost wondering iftherewassomethingmorethatcouldhavebeendone,orshouldhavebeendone,

or—worst of all—something they failed to do.Another tweakof the deflectorshields, an extra boost to engine efficiency, a higher cycle rate on the lasercannons.Something,anything,thatwouldhavebroughttheirpilotssafelybackhome.NeraKasehadlostfifteenshipsandnineteenpilotsandcrewinthepastweek

alone.IthadbegunwiththemadscrambletoputBlueSquadronontotargetatEadu,aflightofsevenX-wingsandtwoY-wingsquicklyscrambledatGeneralDraven’sorderforahit-and-run.Twonevercameback.Lessthanthirty-sixhourslaterhadbeentheBattleofScarif.TwoofBlueSquadronnevermadeitpasttheshieldgateprotectingtheplanet.

Anothertwowereshotdownoverthebeaches,includingBlueLeader(GeneralAntocMerrick,22,542flighthours,quadrupleace,twenty-fourconfirmedkills).Elevenmorefighters,mostlyoutofBlueandRedsquadrons,hadalternativelybeenshotdownbyImperialemplacements,destroyedbyTIEs,or takenbythepilot’sworstenemyofall,badluck.Fifteenships,nineteenpilotsandcrew.Injustoneweek.NobodyunderNera

Kase’s command was untouched. Some of her crews had suffered multiplelossesoverthecourseofasingleday.Shehadsufferedthemall.

—

Itwasasstillasamorgueinthecommandcenter.Kaseenteredquietly,movedaround the edge of the room towhere she could keep an eye on the trackingboard.Threeofhercrewchiefshadmade it inside,pressedagainst thewall—Benis, Ohley, andWuz. They gave her the slightest nod of acknowledgment.Nobody else noticed her. Everyone was concentrating, listening. GeneralDodonna and Princess Organa, along with one or two others and a protocoldroid,weregatheredaroundthemapdisplayinthecenteroftheroom.Kaselookedatherdatapad.If the ships, the pilots, and their crewswere the focus of her life, then the

datapad was the nucleus. On it she kept everything relating to her duties.Manifests for equipment andmunitions, adetailed listof spareparts for everymakeandmodeloffighterBaseOnecouldfield,thenamesandassignmentsofeverymemberofhercrew,withnotesontheirspecialties, theirstrengths, their

weaknesses.Y-winginfluxrephasenotprocessingatfullefficiency?PutDartonBaileyonit,he’dhaveitsingingagaininminutes.StuckrepeatingblastermountonaU-wing?GiveBenisahydrospanner,andifthatdidn’twork,letherwhackat themountwiththebluntenduntil itbehaved.Sheevenhadaninventoryofflight suits andhelmets, andan iconguide just in caseonepilot’shelmetwasevermixedupwithanother’s.Shealsohadtherosterofpilots.Kase switched her attention to the fighter tracking board, listening and

watching.The initialattackon thestationhadbegun,GoldandRedsquadronseach making preliminary assaults to degrade the Death Star’s defenses. Kasetrackedthesmalldotsandsquares,theX-wingsandtheY-wings,movingintwodimensions along the etched glass. Gold One (Jon “Dutch” Vander, 19,997flight hours, quadruple ace, twenty-two confirmed kills) broke his squadron,takingGoldTwo(DexTiree,5,062flighthours,doubleace,thirteenconfirmedkills) and Gold Five (Davish “Pops” Krail, 7,603 flight hours, ace, sevenconfirmed kills) on approach for the meridian trench. The remaining five Y-wingsintheelementsplit,holdingback,asRedLeaderbroughthisgroupacrosstheaxis,tryingtodrawtheirfire.ThenGoldSeven (GazdoWoolcob,4,816 flighthours, fourconfirmedkills)

vanishedfromtheboardwithoutwarning.Anti-shipbatteryfire,Kasetoldherself.Shecheckedherdatapad,andmarkedhisname,andaddedanote:Flak.RedSquadronwasengagingthesurfacebatteries,now,tryingtocleartheway

forGoldOne’selement.RedThree(BiggsDarklighter,5,874flighthours,tripleace, sixteen confirmed kills) called his target, Red Six (Jek “Tono” Porkins,10,499flighthours,doubleace, fourteenconfirmedkills)followinghiminand—“I’vegotaproblemhere,”RedSixsaid.“Eject,”RedTwosaid.“Icanholdit.”KaselookedthroughtheboardtowhereWuzhad,eveninthepoorlightatthe

edgesoftheroom,gonepale.RedSixwasoneofhisships,tendedbyhiscrew.Porkins had only recently—very recently—arrived atBaseOne, brought in totake over for the groundedWes Janson (unassigned, 9,869 flight hours, ace,eightconfirmedkills).Jansonhadexpressedconcernsabouttheelectricalsonthefighter, in particular some of the glitching he’d been experiencing with hisastromech’s interface to the X-wing’s augmented sensor package. Wuz had

assuredKasehe’dgoneover thefightermillimeterbymillimeter, that theshipwasgoodtofly.“Pullup!”RedTwo,almostshoutingnow.“No,I’mallrigh—”Therewasa flashofstaticasRedSix’scommchannel flaredout,almost in

time,butnotbeforeeveryoneheardhimstarttoscream.WuzlookedtoKase,shattered.Kase checked her pad, marked off Red Six—Porkins, and then added,

Mechanical?Whenshelookedupagain,Wuzhadgone.ThentheEmpirelaunchedtheirfighters.

—

ThebattleovertheDeathStarlastedanotherseventeenandahalfminutes.Kasetickedthenamesonherdatapadwithoutemotion.Shemadeanotewith

eachloss,andwhereshewasuncertainofthecause,sheaddedaquestionmark.Sheconcentratedonher job,movingherattentionfromthepad inherhand tothetrackingboardandback,overandoveragain.TIE.Flak.TIE.TIE.TIE.Flak.Flak?TIE.TIE.Flak.TIE?TIE.TIE.Flak.TIE.TIE.

TIE.TIE.TIE.TIE.TIE.TIE.TIE.“Red Leader, we’re right above you,” said Red Five. “Turn to point five,

we’llcoverforyou.”Kaselookedupfromherdatapad.“Staythere,”RedLeaderordered.“Ijustlostmystarboardengine.Getsetup

foryourattackrun.”GarvenDreis.She’dneverhad thenerve to tellhimabouthercrush, to say

anything,todoanything.Hewasalwaysaprofessional.Thewholecommandcenterheardhisscreamashewasshotdown.Kasemadeanote.TIE.

—

Therewerefourshipsleft,onlyfour.GoldThree(EvaanVerlaine,3,637flighthours,fourconfirmedkills),RedTwo,RedThree,andRedFive.GoldThreehadtried toget aroundbehind the element that had claimedGoldLeader andRedLeaderattackruns,butherY-wingdidn’thavethespeedanditdidn’thavethemaneuverability,andshewasforcedtodowhatshecouldfromabove,tryingtostayaliveamidthecombinedfirefromtheDeathStar’sturbolasersandtheTIEfightersstillhuntingabovethetrench.ThenRedTwotookahit,andKasemovedherhand,readytomakehernote,

andsheheardRedFiveorderinghimoff.TheregretinWedgeAntilles’svoicecamethroughloudandclear,buthedidasordered.KasewasmildlysurprisedthattheTIEslethimgo.Hereyetrackedhistravelontheboard,watchedasRedTwomaneuveredtoassistGoldThree.TheDeathStarwasinrangeofYavin4.

Kasewatchedtheboard.RedThreevanishedfromthescreen.She checked the lineRed Three—Darklighter and dutifully added theword

TIE.RedFivewassomehowstillflying.He’d taken a hit earlier dogfighting a TIE, and the repair made by his

astromechhadnowbrokenfree.SheimaginedhimtryingtocontroltheX-wing,wonderingifhehadever,infact,flownanX-wingbefore,orevenanythinglikeit.Wondering if he could keep the fighter, nowwith a broken port stabilizer,steady enough tomake his shot at the exhaust port without at the same timeturning himself into an easy target in the shooting gallery themeridian trenchhadbecome.“His computer’s off,” someone said. “He’s switched off his targeting

computer.Luke,yourtargetingcomputer’soff.What’swrong?”Kasetensed.RedFivehadbeenoneofBenis’sships,partofhercrew.Ifthis

wasanothermechanical—“Nothing,”saidRedFive.“I’mallright.”IfthecommandcenterhadbeenasstillasamorguewhenKasehadenteredit,

it now had the silence of the same. Nobodymoved, each of them processingwhattheyhadjustheard.Therewasafizzofstatic,anelectronicwail.“I’velostArtoo!”Thatwouldbehisastromech,then.Kasefoundthelineonherdatapadthatread,RedFive—Skywalker.Therewas trulynopoint incontinuing,now.Itwasclearlyover.TheDeath

StarhadclearedYavin,wasatthisveryinstantpreparingtofireonYavin4.Inafewmore seconds, aminute, perhaps, everyone and everythingherewouldgothe way of Alderaan: Pilots, ships, crews, datapads, all of them, everythingwouldceasetoexist.TheRebellionwouldceasetoexist.ButtheEmpire…theEmpirewouldcontinue.Avoicecutacross thecomminthecommandcenter,brokethesilence.The

voicewasyelling,butitwasn’tinpain.ItsoundedtoKaseanawfullotlikeglee.“You’reallclear,kid,nowlet’sblowthisthingandgohome!”thevoicesaid.

Hereyeswenttothetrackingboard,tothecalloutforRedFive.Shesawthenotificationflickeracrosstheglass.Torpedoesaway,itsaid.Nobodydaredtobreathe.Then,justassilentlyandwithoutanyfuss,oneverymonitorthathadshown

thegraphicrepresentingtheDeathStar,thegraphicwinkedout.ThecalloutonthetrackingboardinfrontofKasewasthelasttogo,theimageoftheDeathStarfar too big to be shown on the glass, represented only by the simple wordsBATTLESTATIONatthecenteroftheboard.Thenthosetwowordsvanished,aswell.The voice was saying something, but Kase couldn’t understand it. Nobody

could understand it, because suddenly everyone was inmotion, and everyonewasmakingnoise.Huggingoneanother,jumpingupanddownastheylaughed,astheyscreamedintriumph,astheypouredouttheirreliefandtheirjoy.Kasesawtheprincessthroughtheglasslookskyward,mouthingsomething,thenrunfor the exit. General Dodonna followed after her, into a scrum of men andwomen rushing to clear the room, to get to the hangar, towelcome the pilotshome.BenisandOhleywerewaitingforherinthedoorway.“I’llcatchup,”Kasetoldthem.Theynoddedandrushedout,afteralltheothers.Kasewasalone.Shestoodstillforseveralseconds,datapadinherhand.Then,verycarefully,

sheswitcheditoffandlayitonthenearbyconsole.Shetriedtotakeastep,andsucceeded,andtriedtotakeanotherone,andfailed,andshecollapsedwiththesobalreadyrisingoutofher,andthetearsalreadybeginningtofall.Thegriefcaughther.

In the very near future, nomore than a day from now, there’s going to be abattleabove the fourthmoonofYavin.ScoredandpittedX-wingswill launchfromthemoon’sjungle,condensationboilingofftheirhullsastheyemergefromtheatmosphereunderthelightofaredgasgiant.Thesquadronwillracetowardaspacestationarmedwithnightmarishweaponsdreamedupbybitteroldmen.TheX-wingpilots—youngandambitiousandgoodheartedyouthswhohave

alreadyseentheirshareofbloodshed—willseektoexploitavulnerabilityinthestation and ignite its reactor core.But their hurriedly assembledplanwill farepoorlyagainst thedesignsof thebitteroldmen.Onebyone, their starfighterswill be destroyed.The space stationwill enter themoon’s orbit,where itwillemitanobliteratingbeamthatdisintegrateseverystoriedstoneofanancientandhauntingtemple.Alongwiththetemple’sinhabitants.Alongwiththerestofthemoonbesides.ThisisnotthefutureMonMothmahopesfor,butitisn’tanunlikelyone.

—

“Icouldoverruleyou,” shesaysas shediligently transfersa stackofdatapadsfromherdesktoametalcase.Shedouble-checksthefilesoneachdevicebeforestowingit—shereviewsrebelcelllistings,codedcontactfrequencies,safehouselocations,stolenImperialdocuments.Twentyyearsofworkreducedtoacourierpackage,shethinks.“Overruleme towhatend?Even if thingsgowell,youcan’thelpus.We’ll

needtodismantlethewholebase.”JanDodonnaraiseshishandshaplesslyinthedoorwaytoMon’soffice.“If thingsdon’tgowell—”Heworkshis lipsbeforethewordsfinallyform.“Mon,youwon’tjustbeleadingtheRebellion.You’llbeallthat’sleft.”Mondoesn’tflinch.Shelearnedtosuppress that instinct in theSenate(back

whentherewasaSenate).Butsheslamsthecaseshuttoohard.Thesnapofthelatchesechoesinthesmallchamber.“Iwanteverydroidinthecomplexreadytoanalyzethosestationschematicsoncetheprincesslands.Ifthey’retrackingher—ifhersignalwasaccurate—theEmpirewon’twaitlongtofollow.”Didshegive thatorderalready?shewonders.Shehasn’t slept inover three

days,andfactsandintentionsareblurringtogether.ShebrushespastJan,whofollowsherdownstonestepstowardthehangarand

thejungle’staperingdrizzle.CianneappearsatMon’ssidewithapairofduffelsslung over her shoulders. “Fresh clothes and small arms,” Cianne explains,“alongwithafewmementos.”CianneservedMoninthecapitalbeforeMonbeganmoonlightingintreason;

sincethen—sinceMon’sflightfromtheEmpireandpublicendorsementoftheRebellion—she’sbarelyleftMon’sside.Sheprobablyaddedtheevacuationtomydailycalendar.“Ispoketothecommcrew,”Ciannegoeson.Theymoveontothetarmacand

into a wet, tepid breeze. “We’ll contact Base One every ninety minutes forupdates.”“TheEmpiremayjamourtransmissionsortrytotraceincomingsignals,”Jan

adds.“Ifyoucan’tmakecontact,don’tkeeptryingforever.”Hehesitatesastheyapproach a passenger shuttle covered in fading pastel graffiti. Mon doesn’trecognizethealienalphabet.“Dowhathastobedone,Commander.”Hesnapsasalute.Raindropswrigglebetweenhisfingers.Mon can’t recall ever seeing him salute her before. She reads it as a final

farewell.“Give my thanks to the princess when she arrives,” Mon says. And my

condolences, shewants toadd,becausesheknew theprincess’s father soverywell.Butit’snousethinkingaboutBailrightnow.ShewouldembraceJan,butthereareflightcrewswatchingandtheyneedto

seeherstrength.Insteadsheclimbsaboardtheshuttleclutchinghermetalcaseinbothhands.CiannehaulsherselfinbehindMon,sealsthehatch,andcallsorderstothepilot.Asthevesselrisesfromthetarmac, leavingtherebelsofYavintofight for their lives against an impossible foe, Mon wonders whether Janunderstandsatallwhathastobedone.Like Mon, Jan is simultaneously practical and idealistic. He may well

understand,andthatthoughtbreaksMon’sheart.

—

Inthefuture—orinafuture,anotunlikelyfuture—theobliterationofYavin4willsendtheremnantsoftheRebellionintoapanic.Monwilltrytoreestablishcontact with the surviving rebel cells, to implement some sort of coherentstrategy,butshe’llbeleftimpotentamidthechaos.Hershuttlewilljumpfromstar system to star system, constantly fleeing pursuit, and she’ll spend hoursdailylisteningtostaticonhercommunitandwatchingherlife’sworkfallapart.Thescatteredrebelswillseekrefugeamongciviliansbutwillfindnohaven.

The destruction of Alderaan—a peaceful world, a beloved world, home tobillions—willhaveconvincedtheordinarypeopleoftheEmpirethattheycannotaffordtoshowcomplicityinrebelcrimes.It’sonethingtoendangeroneselfforacause,afterall; another toendangerone’sentirehomeplanet.Stormtrooperswillmassacre the last remaining insurgents, hunting them relentlessly throughdesertsandtreetopsandhollowed-outasteroids.One day, a death squadwill findMonMothma and Cianne hiding in their

shuttle in the radiation belt of a black hole. The shuttle’s engines will benonfunctional, its fuel spent. Without scanners, they won’t notice the TIEfightersuntiltoolate.Within thedecade, theRebellionMonbuiltwill be erased fromhistory and

erasedfromconsciousness.Soonafter,eventheEmpire’scensorswillbegintoforgetthepast.

—

“Therearefour,maybefivesafehousesinrangethatwebelievearesecureandwell supplied. Also two habitable planets off the Imperial charts, if you’rewillingtogowithout infrastructure.Themobilesquadronshaven’tmanagedtoregroup,soweshouldn’tcountonthose…”Cianne goes on as Mon’s seat vibrates with the turbulence of hyperspace.

Mon only half listens. She knows all this. There are details that escaped hermind—she lacks the encyclopedic knowledge of rebel assets that some of herpeers in High Command possess—but no one is more aware than her of theAlliance’scapabilitiesandlimits.TheprincessshouldbearrivingonYavin4anymomentnow.“Nosafehouses.”Mondismissestheoptionwithawave.“Nohidingindeep

space.Ifthere’sanypointatallinoursurvival,wewon’tproveitinisolation.”Cianne’sfirstduty,assheseesit,isthesafetyofhersenator.Monknowsthis

becauseCiannehassaidso.ButCiannealsoknowswhenit’spointlesstoargue,and she doesn’t argue now. “All right,” she says. “We could try to contactgroundforcesintheRimworlds—bitofagamble,butitwouldbeastart.”Becausethat’swhatthismeans.Startingover.Exhaustion subsumesMon like a rising tide. She remembers themetal case

nestled betweenher feet—the twenty years ofwork in a courier package. SheremembersherfirstmeetingswithBailandtheothers,whenshewaspracticallya child and so certain of her own experience and ability. She had imaginedtopplingtheEmperorinamatterofmonths,notdecades.“NottheRimworlds,”Monsays.Hervoiceiscommanding,loudenoughfor

thepilottohear.He’lldrawinspirationfromher,evenifCiannewon’t.“WegotoCoruscant.”HeartoftheEmpire,heartofthegalaxy.The pilot swears. Cianne hesitates, mentally assembling the pieces and

searching for coherence. “The Senate,” she says. “Disbanded or not, it’s apowerfulvoice.AndafterAlderaan,thesenatorswillhavetobackyou.”“Perhaps,”Mon says, and adds nothingmore. Becausewhile she’s good at

lying,sheneverdiddevelopatasteforit.

—

Inanotherfuture,theRebellionwillliveoninthedaysaftertheannihilationofAlderaan and Yavin 4—not just live, but grow, as the Empire’s atrocities

become public andMonMothma and the Senate-in-exile kindle support. ThedestructionofBaseOnewillproveablowto thestructurebutnot thespiritoftheRebelAlliance.Therewillbeatruerevolution.Uprisingsunlikeanythegalaxyhasseenwill

eruptonathousandworlds.ThentheEmpirewillrespond.Everyworld that defies theGalactic Emperorwill be destroyed. The space

station—the planet killer—will be used, not as a threat but as a weapon ofabsolute terror. The Emperor and his bitter old men will prove crueler thananyoneimagined.Howmanyworldswilldiebeforebloodquenches theRebellion’s fire?Will

MonCala’sendlessoceansboil?Will the thorn-communesofMenthusaburn?Will the ancient cityscapeofDenon turn to ruins?Will two, three, a dozen, ahundredworlds fall?The galaxy is large.TheEmpire is unimaginably strong.Foritsleaders,thereisnosacrificetoogreattoensureitssurvival.Monwillgiveupeventually,ofcourse.She’snotamonster.She’slearnedto

stomach sending children into battle, but she’ll never abide the loss ofwholeplanets.MonMothma can’t actually see the future. She used to know people who

could,butthelastofthemisdeadnow,too.

—

“Nowordfrombase,Senator,”Ciannesays.She’sarrangingamealonaservingtray: stewedbeans andbreadanda tin cupof steamingcaf, all procured fromwho-knows-where.Utensilsclinksoftly,andaloamyscentfillsMon’snostrils.“We’llsignalagaininninetyminutes.Forallweknow,PrivateHargestillhasn’tfiguredoutthecommunit.”“Harge?WhataboutLentra?”“WenttoScarif,”Ciannesays.Shedoesn’tsayanddidn’tcomeback.The notion of eatingmakesMon ill.Howoften has she dinedwhile others

foughtfortheirlives?Thewoundsshesustainsneverbleed;shehasnocorporealscarstoassureherthatshe’ssufferedforhercause.Sherecognizestheindulgentself-pityinthislineofthinking,butshecan’tentirelybanishit.Sheeats.Ciannedoesnot.“It’sallrighttomourn,”Monsayssoftly.“Wemaynothaveanotherchance

forawhile.”Cianne taps her left temple. “Biochemical regulatory implant. It keeps my

stresshormonesincheck.”Shedoesn’tlookdirectlyatMon.“Besides,mostofmy—thepeopleIknowarestillonYavin.Mourningwouldbepremature.”Bynow, itmightnot be,Mon thinks, though sheknowsCianne is awareof

this.Still,shelikeshearingCianneacthopeful.ItremindsherofBail.Throughthe

blur of sleeplessness she imagines his ghost and asks,Was it painful, whenAlderaandied?Didyouknowwhatwashappening?Didyouthinkwe’dlost?Monfinishesnomorethanhalfthemeal.ShepromptsCiannemultipletimes

untilheraidefinallydinesonthebeansandbreadremaining,moreeagerlythanMondid.“Weshouldhavewaitedfortheprincess,”Monsays.“Extractedher,aswell.”Cianneonlyshrugs.“Shewouldn’thavecome.Andtryingmighthaveleftus

withnotimetoescape.”“Ioweherfather,”Monsays.“Bailowedyou.Sodoesshe.She’spayingoffthatdebtnow.”Monhasheardreasoning like thisbefore. It’s reasoning thatcanexcuseany

numberofdeaths,anditalmostworks.ButMonhasotherreasonstowishPrincessLeiahadbeenevacuated.Thegirl

isyoung,andthegalaxyhasenoughbitteroldmastermindstryingtoshapeittotheirrespectivevisions.

—

Inanotherfuture,MonwillwalkthehallwaysoftheImperialPalace,herwhiterobesincontrast to thedarktileandthecrimsonarmorofherescorts.Perhapsshewillachefrombruisessustainedinhercapture;more likely,shewillbe inperfecthealth.Afterall,shewillbetherebychoice.TheEmperorwillmeetherinhisthroneroomnottointerrogateher(though

Monhasheardheconductscertaininterrogationspersonally),buttolookdownuponher and smile thatwithered,wax-faced smile. “SenatorMothma. It is sogoodtofinallybereunited.”He’llsaythis,orsomethingequallyunctuous.Shewillbeathismercyforever.

HerRebelAlliance—therevolutionshebuiltonafoundationofbones—willceasetobe.ThemurderofAlderaan,thedefeatatYavin,andthesurrenderofitscommanderinchiefwillbeblowstheorganizationcannotrecoverfrom.Therewillbe Imperialcleanupoperations,butnomoreplanetswilldie.Whyshouldthey,whentheEmperorhaseverythinghe’severdesired?Monwillbehumiliated.Shewillbeaskedtorenouncehercausepublicly,and

she will do so. She knows the Emperor well enough to expect she won’t beexecuted—rather,shewillbekeptaliveontheoffchanceheneedstouseherasawarningtohisenemies.Intime,shewillbeforgotten.Intime,hermistakeswillbeforgotten.Herarrogancewillbeforgotten.HercomplicityinthedeathsofbillionsonAlderaanwillbeforgotten.MonMothmaisresponsibleforherownfailures.Howcanshebelieveshehas

the right to start the cycleover again—to rebuild the sameRebellion thatwasdefeatedoncealready?Inthisfuture,shewillliveherlifeindarkness.Intime,perhapssomeoneelse

willfindabetteranswer.

—

Monwriteswith furiousurgency, tappingwords intoherdatapadashermetalcasetremblesbetweenherankles.SheneedstocompletethespeechbeforetheyreachCoruscant,thoughthatisn’twhysheracesthroughit.Insteadshe’sdrivenby the overwhelming need to confess, to disavow her life’s work and all thehorrorsithasbred.The speech isn’toneofherbest, and itwon’tgetmuchbetter—shedoesn’t

havetimetoredraft.Shedoesn’thaveanyonetocritiqueherstyleandrhetoric.Shewon’tletCiannelearnthetruthuntilit’stoolate.Shelooksfromthecaseatherfeettothecockpit,whereCianneandthepilot

arehunchedover themainconsole.Carefully, she setsherdatapad to the sideandopensthecase.Shetransfersitscontentstothegapunderherseat.Cianneorthepilotwill find the secrets of theRebelAlliance stashed there afterMon isgone.Theycanjudgehowtouseitallthemselves.Liketheprincess,they’reyoungenoughtochoosetheirownfuture.Theirown

meansofrebellion.Monhasabrogatedanyrighttochooseforthem.She’sfailedathertask.Maybeotherswilldobetter.

Unless…No,shetellsherself.There’snotimeleftfordreams.Jansaidithimself:Do

whathastobedone.Shestillhastherestofthejourneytochangehermind.Tofindanotherway.

Shedoesn’tbelieveshe’llsucceed.When laughter emerges from the cockpit, she can’t entirely comprehend it.

ShehearsCianne’svoicebeforethepilotjoinsin.Monfurrowsherbrowasheraiderushesintothecrampedpassengerlounge.“WeheardfromBaseOne,”Ciannesays.Hereyesglitterwetly.“And?”Monasks.“TheydestroyedtheDeathStar.Wewon.”

—

Intheverynearfuture,MonwillreunitewithhersurvivingcolleaguesinHighCommand.TheAlliancewillrallyinthewakeofitsextraordinaryvictory,anditsmessagewillspreadlikestarlighttoathousandworlds.Rebelstooyoungtoknow democracy, regret, or a lover’s kisswill strike at the Empire again andagainunderMon’sleadership.ShewillneverspeakofherYavin4contingencyplan.The conflict will not end swiftly. The destruction of the Emperor’s space

stationwillonlyamplifytheviolence.Monwillwatchthecarnagefromsafety—fromhiddenbasesinthejungleandundersheetsofice—sendingchildrentodiewiththeswipeofafingeronatacticalmap.Ifvictorycomes(anditmaynot,itmaystillallprovepointless;shemayevengothroughthisasecondtime,withasecondspacestation)itwilltakemanymoreyears.ButMonbelievesinvictoryagain.Ashershuttleadjustscourse,hernewfoundhopecrushesherlikegravityand

steals the air from her lungs. She does not hesitate to delete her message ofsurrender,but she longs for its simplicity—theendlesspeaceof submission todespair.Anewscarisetchedacrossherspiritnow,theworkof theEmperor’sgreatestweapon.Shedoesnotweepatherburden.ShegivesorderstoCianneandsteelsherself

fortheyearsofwartocome.

“Youaskme,Alderaanhaditcoming,”LandoCalrissiansaid.“Playingitallhighandmightyaslongastheydid.”“Soyoubelievetherumors?”Jaffresponded.“YoureallythinktheImperials

destroyedanentireplanet?”“Well,somethingturnedAlderaanintoabunchof littlerocks—anditseems

liketheEmpire’sstyle.YouknowwhatImean,right?”Landoflickedhisgazeacrossthetable,justaquicklittlescanacrossthepile

offleshyfoldstheVerosiancalledaface.JaffBasanwasstrangelooking,eveninagalaxywithno lackofstrange.Landowanted tocatchhis reaction to thatlaststatement—but,youknow,withoutbeingobviousaboutit.Youdidn’twanttheotherguy to figureouthewasbeingplayed. Jaffwasnoamateur, though.His face maintained the same bland expression, the Verosian equivalent of apleasant,noncommittalsmile, thathe’dkeptonhisfacefor theentiregamesofar.Lando and Jaff sat across fromeachother at a low table, drinks in front of

them,surroundedonallsidesbyasilentaudience,wealthydegeneratesfromallacross the galaxy. Activity at the other gambling stations in the casino hadslowedtoacrawlaswordspreadofwhatwashappeninghere—anactualgameofKlikklakbetweenLandoCalrissianandJaffBasan.Klikklakwasnamedforthesoundsmadebyalargeinsectnativetotheforests

of theplanetwhere thegamewas invented.Thebugscalledout to eachotherklik and answered klak, the sounds traveling for kilometers through the trees.And thatwas the game: just a conversation. Each player got one card from astandardsabaccdeck.Then,foralittlewhile,theyjust…talked.Hadalittlechataboutwhatever they felt like. To an observer,Klikklak usually seemed prettylight,prettycasual.Itwasn’t.When the allotted timewas up, each player pressed a single button on the

table between them, locking in the one decision required by the game’s rules:whether theythought theircardwashigheror lowerthantheotherguy’s.Thatwas it. The entire thing. You won by being right when your opponent waswrong.Ifyoubothguessedright,orbothguessedwrong,thegamewasapush—butthehousestill tookits10percentcommission,theworstpossibleoutcome.Therewassomedignityinlosing,butwhennobodywonbutthehouse?ForgetAlderaan—thatwouldbeatragedy.ThetricktoKlikklakwastheconversation.Youhadtousethosetenminutes

orsonotonlytotrytofigureoutwhatyouropponenthad,highorlow,butalsotogetthemtoguessthewayyouwantedthemtogo.Youhadtofigurethemout,andmisdirectthematthesametime.Landolovedit.Ifgamblingcouldeverbecalledart—andasfarasLandoCalrissianwasconcerned,itabsolutelycould—thenKlikklakwasitshighestexpression.Jaffwasatoughopponent,though.Landodidn’tknowmuchaboutVerosian

physiology.Alwaysatrickysituation,especiallysincehumanswereamongthemostcommonspecies in thegalaxy.Thatmade themunderdogs ingames likeKlikklak.Jaffprobablyknewwhatmosthumanfacialexpressionssignified—butLando was flying blind, trying to piece together what a little tremble of theantennaemightmean,oraslow,languidblinkofanocularmembrane.Still…youknow…exhilarating.“Whatdoyoumean?”Jaffsaid.“Well,didn’ttheEmpiregetallupinyourplanet’sbusiness,too?”Jaffmadethesortofwobblysnortthatpassedforachuckle.“They’reineveryone’sbusiness,aren’tthey?”

“Notmine,”Landosaid.“Istayclear.Thatismybusiness.”“Ohreally?”Jaffsaid.“Ithoughtitwaslosingatcards.”Alittleheldbreathfromtheaudience,astheywaitedtoseehowLandowould

respond.Butinsultswerepartofthegame,nothingtogetallworkedupabout.Landoglancedaroundtheroomatthewatchers.Beingsfrommorethantwentydifferent worlds, united by a single expression of rapt fascination. Theywerewatchingtwomastersatwork,andtheyknewit.Landogrinnedself-deprecatingly,liftingonearmtothecrowd,lettinghimself

be the butt of the joke, giving the audience permission to laughwith him.Hetook over the moment, not watching Jaff’s reaction, but of course he wasabsolutelywatchingJaff’sreaction,andthere—thereitwas.Thetiniestflushofgreen on the folds of his neck. The same flush he’d seen when Lando hadmentionedtheEmpire.JaffBasancamefromVeros,andVeroshadoncebeenanextremelywealthy

planet.Technically,itwasstillawealthyplanet,butthatwealthwasnowinthehandsof theEmpire, insteadof thebankaccountsof thefamilialalliances thathad ruled the planet for centuries, one of which was the venerable House ofBasan.Ithadallhappeneddecadesago,andJaffwasstillrich—veryrich,orhewouldn’t have been allowed entry to this room at all—but there had to be atwingewhenhethoughtaboutwhathadbeentakenfromhisfamily.Frustration,expressedinasprayofviridianacrossthegill-likefrondsonhisneck.The infuriating thing about Klikklak was that having a high card wasn’t

always good, and low wasn’t always bad. Lando’s card was precisely in themiddleofthedeck—hecouldn’tevenusetheoddstohelphim.Butthatdidn’tmatter,really.InKlikklak,thecardswere,inmanyways,irrelevant.Thegamewasaboutcomingtoacompleteandthoroughunderstandingofanotherbeinginthe spaceof a single conversation, and if you couldn’tmanage that, youwerelost.ButLandowasnotlost.HehadJaffdeadtorights.He’dpiecedtogetherthat

the little flushofgreenmeant frustration, andhe’dalso seen itwheneverhe’dslippedreferencestothingsbeinghigh,ortall,oraboveintotheconversation—little signifiers, meant to be perceived by Jaff as accidental—subconsciousnudgestohelphimthinkLando’scardwasonthehighside.Everytimehedidit,anothergreenflush,whichmeantJaffwasannoyed,whichmeantJaff’scardhadtobehigh,too,becauseitwashardforhimtodecidewhetherLando’shighcardwashigherthanhishighcard.PutallofthattogetherandLando’sbetwas

easy.Low.“Shallwe?”Landosaid,gesturing toward thebuttonson the table’ssurface,

hiddenfromtheotherplayerbyasmallscreen,whichwereusedtoindicatethehigh/lowbet.Jaffnoddedpolitely,andmovedoneofhisappendagesbehindhisownscreen.Landokepthissmilesmoothandhisbreathingsteady—noexternalsignalsfor

Jafftoread—butinside,hewasalreadylaughing.Thiswasit.Atlast.Withthecreditshewasabouttowin,hecouldpayoffhismorepressingdebts,putsomemoneydownona ship, getmobile again, seewhat sort ofdelights thegalaxyhadtoofferamanofLandoCalrissian’suniqueabilitiesandsensibilities.Hetouchedthebuttononthetable,caressedit,savoringthemoment.Andthen,ashout,acommanduttered in thegravelly,compressed, inhuman

tonethatanyonelivingintheEmpire’sgalaxyrecognizedimmediately.“Hands in clear view! Anyone who moves will be shot. There will be no

secondwarning,”thestormtroopersaid.The room froze as everyone slowly turned to look at the squad of Imperial

troops that had entered the little space. Five ordinary troops plus an orange-pauldroned sergeant—but also, somewhat unusually, a black-clad Imperialofficer.Lando thought itwasa lieutenant,buthecouldn’tbesure.He’dneverbothered tomemorize the rank insignia—theCalrissian policywith respect toImperialofficerswasthesametoptobottom:avoid.Theofficer’s facewascold, icy,clenched tight. It read toLando likebarely

restrainedrage.Angeratsomegreatpersonalinjury.“This is an illegal gambling establishment, in violation of Imperial Statute

Seven-Five-Nine-Point-Eight. You are all ordered to vacate the premisesimmediately. Any credits you have deposited with the room’s cashier areforfeit.”A rumble of discontent rippled through the room. Everyone had money

stashedwith the cashier in exchange for the credit chits they used to gamble.Lando himself, in particular, had the very large wager he had placed on theKlikklak game. Thousands of credits, carefully amassed over long nights atgambling tablesmuch less reputable than this one, scraped together fromgigsthatwere so farbeneathhis talents that it almostphysicallyhurt to take them.Abouttoevaporatelikesmoke.Movementinthecrowdasalarge,robedgentlemansteppedforward,ringson

his fingers glittering in the low light, heavy jowls lifting to lavish a generoussmileonthepresumedlieutenant.LuckLuckFreidal,ownerofthecasino,andaman with potentially more to lose that evening than any gambler in hisestablishment.“Myfriend,isthereamistake?”Freidalsaid.“Everythinghereislegal.People

arejusthavinganiceevening.”“Not anymore. This is over,” the officer said, his tone colder than the dark

sideofanicemoon.ThesmileonFreidal’sfacewavered,justatouch.Oh no, man, Lando thought. Don’t do it. Don’t you see? The man’s just

lookingforanexcuse.But Freidal apparently did not see, or decided the riskwasworth it, in the

desperatehopethatthisobviousmisunderstandingcouldbeclearedup,thattherewas away to salvage his reputation and his business beforeword spread thatLuckLuckFreidalcouldn’tkeephisillegalgamblingdenclearofImperials.Freidal leaned incloser to theImperialofficerandutteredafewlowwords.

Landocouldn’thearthem,buthehadaprettygoodideaofwhatwasbeingsaid:Hey,man,I’mpaidupthismonth.Whatthehellareyoudoing?Don’twehaveanarrangement?Landosawtheofficer’sfaceturnevencolder,whichhewouldhavesaidwas

impossible.HesawFreidalpressinghiscase, saw the troopers takinga tightergripontheirrifles.Hesawitall,andknewexactlywhatwasabouttohappen.Landohadablasterunderhiscape,atthesmallofhisback.Justalittlething,

butitpackedawallop.Hewasbetterwithitthananyoneinthiscasinoknew—than anyone alive knew, in fact. He could take out the lieutenant, thestormtrooper commander, maybe even one of the underlings, before theyreacted.Andbythetimetheydid,someoftheotherillicitweaponryintheroomwouldbeoutfromundercloaksandhiddenholsters.TheseidiotImperialshadno idea how outnumbered they actually were in here—they’d all be gunneddowninnotime.Someonejusthadtomakethefirstmove.Someonehadtoplayhero.Lando Calrissian loved heroes. They thought the galaxy owed them

something.Like theymattered, somehow, in somebizarreway thatmeant thefundamentalrulesofrealityweretiltedintheirfavor.Heroesbelieved,honestlybelievedthatthingswouldjust…workoutforthem.

HeroeswereLando’sfavoriteopponentsatthegamblingtable.Theworsetheoddsgot,thebiggertheybet.Becauseheroesweresuckers.Landoslowly,carefullymovedhishandsupabove theedgeof theKlikklak

table.Theywereempty.The Imperial officer nodded once, tightly. Two quick shots from a blaster

rifle,andthenathudasLuckLuckFreidalhitthefloor,asmokingholewherehishearthadbeen.Landowouldhavetofindhisnextgamesomewhereelse.Thelieutenantlookedoutattheroom.Themurderhe’djustorderedappeared

tohavedoneexactlyzerotocooltherageseethingbehindhiseyes.“Disperse,”hesaid.Lando’s eyes shifted to the safe across the room where Freidal kept the

wagersonthevariousgamesuntiltheywerepaidout.Millionsofcreditsinthatsafe,manyofwhichhad,justminutesago,belongedtoLandoCalrissian.Landoclosedhiseyesforamoment,sigheddeeply,thendispersed.

—

Anotherbar,acrossthecity,inalessdesirablezone.ThesortofplaceLandohadsincerelyhopedhewouldneverhave toset foot inagain.Aplacewhereworkcouldbefound,forindividualswithuniqueabilities,sensibilities,andmoralities.Work had suddenly become very important. Lando needed a gig to make upthosecreditshe’djustlost,andquick,orhe’dbeintrouble.Moretrouble.So much for hope, he thought, stepping through the door, immediately

suffusedby themiasmaof spilleddrinksanddeaddreams thatplaces like thisalwaysshared.Landowalkedtothebar,sensingtheeyesofalmosteverybeingintheplace

watchinghim.Heoweddebts to at least half of them, ranging fromcredits toblood.Hereachedthebar,thenturnedaroundandsmiled.“Hey,guys.Longtime,”hesaid.“Howaboutaroundonme?”The bartender, of a species with arguably too many eyes, tapped Lando’s

shoulder.“Youbuyingaroundforthebar?Howyougonnapayforit,Calrissian?”he

said.“Putitonmytab,Okkul,”Landosaid,notturning.

“Your tab?Your tab?”Okkul said, his tone rising into an aggrievedwhinethatcouldpiercedurasteel.“Youhonestlythinkthere’screditforyouinthisbar,after…”Lando pulled a credit chip from his pocket and placed it down on the bar,

doingittheatrically,makingsureplentyofpeoplesawhimdoit.“Thatshouldhandleit.EverythingIoweyouandtheroundforthehouse.”Okkul’s attitude mellowed considerably after that, and, more important, it

meantLandowassafe,atleastforthetimeittookforthebar’spatronstoobtainandconsumetheirdrinks.Youdon’tshoottheguybuyingthebooze.Usually.Lando moved toward the end of the bar, where a man sat reading from a

datapad.Landojoinedtheman,liftinghisglasstohismouth.“Nicegesture,”Lobotsaid.“Soyouwon?”Landodrainedhisdrink—abarelydrinkablelocalbrandy,butwhatcouldyou

expect, really—and set theglassdownon thebar, signaling toOkkul tobringhimanother.“I’mgonnaneedtoyoutocoverthisnextone,Lo,andallofthemanyothersI

plan to consume this fine evening.Thoseweremy last fewcredits.YourmanLandoisofficiallyskinned.”Lobot’smouthtightenedinanall-too-familiarnoteofresignation.“ItoldyouthatKlikklakgamewasabadidea.Toohardtocalculatetheodds.

Toomessy.”“It wasn’t the game. I had the game. Bunch of Imperials busted in, killed

Freidal, ranus all outof there.Technically, I didn’t lose—let’sbeclear aboutthat—buttheyconfiscatedmybuy-in.Lostmycredits,keptmyskin—theLandoCalrissianstory,justlikealways.”Lobot raisedaneyebrow, themetal implantsoneither sideofhisbaldhead

flashingrapidlyasheprocessedthisnewinformation.“You’rekidding,”hesaid.“Freidalpaidupeverymonth,rightontime.Itwas

apointofpridewithhim.Heranthecleanestillegalbackroomcasinointhecity.That’swhyhecouldbringinthebigfish.Andalsothesmallerfish.”Lobotliftedhisownglass—water,ofcourse.Lobotneverdrankorconsumed

anythingthatmightcloudhisthoughts,forfearitmightallowhisImperial-issueimplantsthewindowtheyneededtofinallytakeoverhismind.Thethingswereuseful, especially when it came to gambling and calculating odds, but theyextractedaprice,nodoubtaboutit.HetiltedhisglasstowardLandoinamock

toast.“Suchasyou.”Landoignoredthecommentandtookasipfromhisfreshdrink.Thebartender

washovering,waitingtoseeifnewcreditswereforthcoming,andLandowavedhimawaywithalittleshooingmotion.“The Imperials were riled up,” Lando said onceOkkul was out of earshot.

“Furious,even,anditwasn’tjuststormtroopers.Theyhadarankingofficerwiththem,too.Don’tknowwhathappened,but—”“Ido,”Lobotsaid.“They’retryingtoasserttheirauthority.Getalittlepride

back.”“Pride?Whatthehellareyoutalkingabout?”Lobotcalledouttothebartender,“Okkul,canyourunthatfeedagain?”The bartender nodded amiably and reached for a control stick for the large

holoscreenmountedabovethebar.“Sure,”Okkul said. “Youknow, I’vewatched that thing ten times, and I’m

stillnotsickofit.”Grainyfootageappearedonthescreen,sharpeningupafterafewinitialbitsof

static. It looked like it was shot from the point of view of a starfighter,somethinglong-nosed,zippingthroughspace.“Whatisthis?”Landoasked.“TheRebellion just leaked it on theDarkNet—it’s getting play all over the

place.”“Notanotheroneoftheirpropagandaclips?Iwishthey’dgiveitarest.The

moretheyshoutabouttheirstupidcause,thelessinterestingitgets.That’sjustbasicpsychology.You’dthinkthey’dfigurethatout.”“Just watch,” Lobot said, his voice quiet, and his eyes focused on the

holoscreen.SoLandowatched—itwasfootageofaspacebattle,abunchofX-wingsand

afewotherfightersofvariousmodels,allofthemlookingliketheyshouldhavebeenscrappedyearsago,deployingagainst thebiggest spacestationhe’deverseen,ahugegraysphere,almostlikeaminiaturemoon,bristlingwithturbolaserdefenseturrets.“Whatisthatthing?”heasked.“TheycallittheDeathStar,”Lobotanswered.“Aplanetkiller,ifyoubelieve

therumors.HowtheyblewupAlderaan.”Landowatchedthefightersmaketheirattackruns,watchedtheX-wingsbeing

pickedoffbytheendlessswarmofTIEfighters,watchedabunchofheroesdiethewayheroesalwaysdied.Suckers,oneandall.“Why would they release this?” Lando said, taking another slug of the

increasinglydrinkablebrandy.“Dotheywantustofeelsorryforthem?Who’stosaythis isevenrealfootage?Bothsidesputout thesepropagandapiecesallthetime,and—”AndthenLandoknewitwasreal,becauseanothershiphadappearedonthe

screen.Avery,veryfamiliarship.ACorellianYT-1300lightfreighter,old,sure,maybe a little banged up here and there, but…still beautiful. She was stillbeautiful.“That’s…that’s my ship,” he said, rising out of his seat a bit. “That’s the

MillenniumFalcon.”Hewatched,stunned,hisdrinkhalfwaytohismouth,astheFalconswooped

in from out of frame, behind a trio of TIEs—one a little modified, maybe acustom job—that were trailing some X-wings running through some kind oftrenchon theDeathStar’ssurface. Itsquadlasersfired,and itpicked themoff,vaporizingtwoandsendingthelastone,thecustom,spiralingawayintospace.Theship—hisship—pulledupandflewaway,outofframe.Landofeltmore

than sensed everyone in the bar leaning forward, as if they were waiting forsomethingtohappen.“Wait,canyourunthatbackforasecond?”Okkulpausedthefeed,toafewgroansfromaroundtheroom,andlookedat

Landoincredulously.“Thisisnothing,Calrissian.Thebestpart’scomingup.”“Comeon.Justrunitbackforme.”Lando gave his best smile, the very best one, the one he reserved for

extremely special occasions. The smile that promised whatever the recipientmight want or need—credits, friendship, protection, short-term or long-termlove,thewondersofthegalaxyitself—ifonlytheywoulddowhattheownerofthesmilewanted.TheCalrissianSpecial.Thebartendershookhisheadbutrewoundthefootage.Ofcoursehedid.“Stop,”Landosaid.“Rightthere.”Hewatcheditagain—theMillenniumFalconsavingtheday,thenzoomingup

andaway.“Again,”hesaid.Okkuldidn’tevenprotestthistime,justranitback.Landohadbeensure thefirst timehe’dwatched it,butneeded thenext two

play-throughs to processwhat he’d seen.But therewas nodoubt in hismind.Thetactics, themaneuvers…he’dseenitallbefore.NooneflewtheFalconaswellasLandoCalrissian—butonemancameascloseasanyonecould.“HanSoloisflyingthatship,”hesaid.“Lookslike,”Lobotsaid.“Butthatisimpossible,”Landosaid.Hewasdimlyawareofthefootagecontinuing,ofanenormousexplosion,of

cheersinthebar—cheersthatwouldprobablygeteveryoneinherekillediftherewereanyImperialswithinearshot—buthewasn’treallypayingattention.WhatwasHanSolodoingwith theRebellion?Andnot just,say,smuggling

forthem.That’dbefine,sure.Agigwasagig,andfuelwasn’tfree.Butthis…HanwasattackinganImperialsuperweapon.Itjust…itjustdidn’tmakesense.Lando knew a lot of people, all across the galaxy—it was sort of his

trademark.Butvery,very fewpeopleknewhim.Hecouldcount themononehand.Lobot,maybeafewothers,andHanSolo.He’dhavesaidthatwasmutual.He’devenhavesaidtheywerethesame,morallyspeaking—morethananyoneelseinthegalaxy.Theywereoutforthemselves,becausenooneelsewas.AndthenthisDeathStarthing.Now,Landocouldunderstandhelpingpeople

out fromtime to time—thatmadesense.Neverknowwhenyoumightneed tocallinafavor.Butthis…thiswaslunacy.ItwaslikedoublingyourbetinsabaccwhentheotherguyhadtheIdiot’sArray.Itwaslikekickingasleepingrancor.Itwasn’tjustpushingyourluck,itwasshovingitoffacliffandlaughingwhileithiteveryrockonthewaydown.TheRebellionwasalostcause.Therebelswereheroes,withallthatimplied.

Theywere doomed, because theEmpirewas the house, and the house alwayswins.Andyet therewas theMillenniumFalcon, his ship, right in the thickofoneoftheugliestbattleshe’deverseen.Landowouldhavebeteverycredithehad—usedtohave—thatHanSolowas

neitheraheroorsusceptibletothesortofnonsenseideologiesheroessubscribedto.Buttherehewas,heroingitup.Troubling.Landostaredmoodilyupatthescreen.Thebartenderhadstartedtheclipover,

andhewatched theheroesstart their impossibleattackonceagain.He tried to

understand, and couldn’t.He couldn’t see the angle in it.WhywouldHan dothis?Landoturnedtolookoutatthebarandliftedhisglass.“TothememoryofthegreatestsmugglerIeverknew!”heshouted,tosome

halfheartedcheersfromtheotherpatrons.HelookedbackatLobot,andpointedatthescreen,whereHanSolowasonce

again risking Lando’s ship, his precious, beautifulMillennium Falcon, for noreasonhecouldfigure.“IfIeverdoanythinglikethat…shootme.”“Noproblem,”Lobotsaid.As Lando watched the Death Star explode, he considered the one rule of

confidencemen, tricksters, gamblers, and scam artists the galaxy over: If youcan’tsee theangle, itmeansyou’re theonebeingplayed.Youare, infact, thesucker.Lando sat, and thought, and drank drinks he had nomoney to pay for, and

wonderedwhathewasmissing.

M iaraLartebreathedinandrememberedhowmuchshelovedrealair.Sure,alargepartofherheartwasintheskiesandthevoidofspacebeyondit,trainedinanA-wingcockpitbeforetransitioningtoanX-wingand,eventually,acruiser,butnothingrecycledthroughaship’sO2scrubberscouldmatchgood,greenairplanetside.Evennow,inthewakeofbattleandhorror,oneortwodeepbreathswasenoughtosteadyher.“Isnowreallythebest timeforthis?”Jessamynwasred-eyed,buthervoice

wasclearandMiaracouldn’tsmellanyalcoholonher.Hersecondincommandwasaprofessionaltotheend,itseemed.“Theyhave todosomething,”murmuredoneof thenewgunners,Hesteror

Heattensorsomethinglikethat.He’dbeenassignedtoMiararecently.Likeher,hehadbeenawayfromAlderaanwhentheDeathStarattacked.Unlikeher,hehadn’tbeenwithhisshipmatesatthetime.Behindthem,rankafterrankofrebelsoldiersfiledintolines.Miaraandher

Alderaaniancrewhadaplaceofprivilegeat thefront,but thatmeant theyhad

thelongestwaitwhiletheroomfilledup.Itwasthefirsttimethey’dhadtostandaroundanddonothing,soshehadexpectedsomeonetocrack.“It’s just so…” Jessamyn trailed off. Miara reached across the prescribed

spacebetweenthemandtookherhand.“Iknow,”shesaid.“There’snothinganyonecansay.We’velosttoomuchfor

that.Butthisremindsusthatwedidn’tloseeverything.”Jessamyn was quiet. Miara wondered if she’d said the right thing. As a

captain,shewassureofit,butshehadn’tbeenbornonAlderaan,andsometimesthosewhohadbeentookitpersonallywhensheclaimedtheplanetasherown.Itwas bad enough when the planet still existed.Miara imagined that, now, hergriefmightseemlikeafreshinsult,butJessamynonlynoddedanddrewherselfuptoattention.Theydidn’tspeakanyfurther,butMiaracouldfeelhercrewallaroundherandknewthattheywouldholdittogetherjustabitlonger.At last, the great cavern at the rebel base on Yavin 4 was crammed full,

though the orderly lines of uniformed troops belied the crush. Miara forgot,sometimes,howbig theRebellionwas.Their losses in thepastfewweekshadbeen near-catastrophic, and yet here she stood, knees locked at parade rest,hands behind her back, shoulder-to-shoulder with what remained of theAlderaanianguard.…whatremained…Miarafeltherselfdrifttowardmemoryandpulledbacksharply.Shecouldget

awaywithfidgetinginthecrowd—thetwistingofherfingershiddenagainstthepalmofherhand,andtheshiftingofherweightconcealedbyheralreadybentlegs—but thiswasnot themoment forhergrief.TheRebellionwasquickandtireless,moving frommission tomissionwith very little downtime, yet everynowandthenayawningpausewouldappear.Miaraknewtheywereontheedgeof one right now—thiswas not the first time she had lost a planet—but theywerenotthere,notyet.Lost a planet didn’t quite cover it. Miara could go back to Raada if she

wanted.Seeitfromorbit,walkthedeadfields,andgotothecaveswhereNeerahad saved her lifewith a stun blast. Therewas nothing left of Raada but theplanetitself.TherewasnothingleftofAlderaanbutdustandmemory,andwhatsurvivorsremainedspreadoutacrossthestars.Without turning her head, she looked sideways down the line of her crew.

Crew.Once,thatwordhadmeantfamilyandfarming.Asapilot—andlateranofficer—Miarafounditmeantateamandajobtodoinallthemess.

Herpeoplelookedgood,whichwaswhatshe’dexpected.Everylineoftheiruniformswascrisp,andtheirhelmetsgleamed.InthebrightsunoftheYavin4morning,noblearinessorsignsofunprofessionalismremained,despitethefactthat many of them had been up late the previous night. The colony herewelcomed refugees from any world savaged by the Empire, places like Fest,Raada, Jedha, andnowAlderaan.Therewasno shortageof understanding, noshortage of means by which to remember the names beyond counting and aworldthatwasnolongeraworldatall.Antilles,whohadscoopedthemup.Organa,whohadgiventhemahome.Organa,whohadgiventhemamission.Organa,whostoodherebeforethemnowandhadgiventhemhope.Alleyesweredrawn toLeia,even though the ranksof rebels turned to face

eachother.Her small form,clad inapristinelywhitedress,was impossible tomiss against the unrelieved gray of the cavernwalls.More than that, shewascompelling in theway hermother had been, and gentle in themanner of herfather,andeven themostdisciplinedofgazesshifted toher:anorbitaroundastar.Miara hadheard thewhispers—iceprincess, cold—but she could findnofault in howLeia chose to carry herself. TheRebellion had demanded nearlyeverythingoftheprincess.Ifshewantedtokeephergriefprivate,Miarawasnotabouttocriticize.Miara’sowngriefbubbledupagainat the thoughtofwhat theprincesshad

lost, andagain,asLeiamustbedoing in fullviewofall thoseassembled, sheforceditbackdown.Soon,butnotyet.Homehadalwaysbeenaplace thatKaedenmade.OnRaada,her sisterhad

keptthemfedandclothedbysheerforceofwill.OnAlderaan,eveninthatfirstrefugeecamp, ithadbeeneasier.This felt likeabetrayal, thoughMiaracouldnothavesaidofwhom,anditdroveKaedentorestlessness,andeventuallytoamedical program in one of Alderaan’s over-pretty cities. She served on aRepublicmedicalfrigate,andthesistersdidn’tgettoseeeachotherveryoften.AtleastKaedenwasalive.Miara’spathtothestarshadbeenmoredirect.TheA-wingpilotswhohadflowninRaada’sskiesasthemoonwasevacuated

hadbeenhighonadrenalinewhenMiarafoundthem—fourteenand,despitethecarnageshe’dwitnessed,fearlessnowthatshewasinthesky—andtheyhadtoldherallkindsofstoriesonthewaybacktoAlderaan.Bythetimethey’dlanded,

Miarawascertainshewasgoingtoflyagain,butnexttimewithherownhandsatthecontrols.TheRebellion had been in dire need of pilots, so training had been easy to

comeby.Miara had risen through the ranks thanks to her ownquick thinkingand theprodigiousdeath ratepilots faced in theearlydays,before thevariousrebelcellshadcoalescedintosomethingmorestable.Herpromotiontocaptainhad come at the request of SenatorOrgana himself, thoughQueenBreha hadbeen the one to formalize it in a ceremony in the capital where several otherpromotions had been handed out. It was the first time Miara had seen theprincess up close. At ten, Leia was tiny and filled with dignified fury, aseeminglyperfectmixofthesenatorandqueen,both.Miarahadbeenyoungforapromotion,butshehadunderstoodwhyshereceivedthehonorthemomentherfirst classified mission had come in: There was no mistaking the Fulcrumsymbolattachedtoit.She’dhadtotellKaedeninperson,wordschosencarefullytoavoidcompromisingavaluablesecret.Theywouldneedmorepilotsagain,now.SomanyhaddiedatScarifandin

the battle against theDeathStar. Imperial defectorswere already showing up,horror woken by the carnage the Empire’s now destroyed superweapon hadwreaked.Yes,therewouldbebodiesforcockpits,handsforthecontrols,soulstostretchthelimitsofspeedandagility,bendingX-wingtowill.Music sounded from somewhere, a horn pullingMiara out of memory and

musingandbacktothecavernwiththerestofhercrew.SheheardJessamyn’sbreathcatchassherecognized thesong:anotherpieceofAlderaan theEmpirehadnotruined.Itwasagainstprotocol—andawkward,giventhatJessamynwascurrently standing behind her—but Miara reached back to her second incommandagain.Forabriefmoment,Jessamyn’sfingersgraspedhers,andthenMiarareturnedtoattention.IfitmadeSkywalkerorSolonervoustowalktheentirelengthofthecavern

withtheeyesoftheRebelliononthem,theydidn’tshowit.MiaraassumedtheWookieewas fine.Shehadn’tmetSoloat all,hadonlyheardwhathe’ddoneafter the fact, but she’d been in the briefingwhen Skywalker had spoken up.He’dmadeherfeelold,madeherthinkofagirlonalittlemoon,buildingbombsbecause she could, eager to fight in abattle shedidn’tyetunderstand the truescopeof.ThatwasthedifferencetheRebellionmade.Ithadtakenthatgirlandtrained

her, made her better and given her the tools she needed to survive. She had

passedalongasmuchofwhatsheknewasshecould—tohercrew,totheotherpilots, tothenot-quite-randomidealistsshe’dferriedaboutthegalaxyonthosemissionsshewasn’tsupposedtotalkabout.Shehadbeenalone,intheend,onRaada, and she’d been out of materials to explode, but she wasn’t aloneanymore.NeitherwasSkywalker,thoughshehadnoideawhathe’dbecomeasaresultofit.ThetriopassedinfrontofherandclimbedthestairstostandbeforeLeiaand

whatremainedoftheAllianceHighCommand.Asone,therebelsonthefloorofthe cavern turned, facing front toward the princess. The music grew quiet asSkywalkerandSolobowedtoreceivethemedalstheprincesshungabouttheirnecks.Miaracould tellby thewayLeia’smouth twitched thatSolomusthavepulled a face at her, but the princess remained cool under the scrutiny ofhundreds.Thelightgleamedoffhernecklace—atraditionalAlderaanianpiece,Miarawassure.ShewonderedwhohadgottenitofftheplanetandhowithadfounditswaytoYavin4.Therewasashuffleontheplatformasalittleastromechunitpusheditsway

forward to stand beside the princess’s gleaming protocol droid. It chirruped—oddlycheerful foradroid,Miara thought—justas themusic swelledagain, soonlythoseattheveryfrontofthecavernheardit.EveryonecouldseeSkywalkerlaughing,though,ashe,Solo,andtheWookieeturnedaroundtofacethecrowd.TheWookieeroaredascheeringbrokeout.MiaratookanotherlooktohersideandsawtearsstreamingdownJessamyn’sface.Hersecondincommandlookedatherlongenoughforaquicknod.Thiswaswhy ithad tobenow,why theyhad to stand in thisplaceon this

planet, and celebratewhat they hadwhile rememberingwhat they had lost. Itwasforthebalanceofit,thegoodmeasuredouttooffsetthebad,butneitherofthemforgottenorerased.WhenMiaralookedbacktotheplatform,Leiawassmiling,herfaceradiantas

shestoodat thecenterofattention. Itwasn’tapolitical smile;Miarahadseenenoughofthosetoknowthem.Itwasreal.Miara felt something inherownchestunclench, freeing the emotions she’d

beenholdingbacksinceAlderaanhaddisappeared inablazeof fire,unsure ifshewas entitled to feel them.Raadawasgone.Alderaanwasgone.Her sisterlived. She lived. She had her crew and her ship, and soon she would have amissionagain.ShestoodonYavin4andbreathedgreenair.Withgriefonhercheeksandhopeinherheart,MiaraLarteaddedhervoiceto

thoseinthecavernwhocelebratedthelivingandrememberedthedead.Itwouldbealongnight,sheknew.Shehadlivedlongnightsbefore.Butinthemorning,bywhateversun,shewouldgetupandshewouldrebel.

A t last it is time…Ihaveheard everyversionof the story, viewed everyholocron,andstudiedeveryartifact.Alifetimeofpreparationhasreadiedmeforthisnobleduty.MaytheForcebewithmeasIbeginthesacredtaskofwritingintheJournaloftheWhills…

Alongtimeagoinagalaxyfar,faraway….

Well,Imeanit’snotreallythatfaraway,isit?Whatareyoutalkingabout?“Far,faraway”?I’msayingit’s“far,”butnot“far,far.”Uh…Imean,ifanythingI’dsayit’salong,longtimeagoinagalaxyfaraway.Yeah,welltherestoftheWhillsaskedmetowritethis,notyou.Soit’sgoingtosay…

Alongtimeagoinagalaxyfar,faraway….Itisaperiodofcivilwar.

A“period”?Wow,youreallyliketokeepthingsvague,don’tyou?Goodgrief,whatdoyouwantmetoput:“ItisaThursdayafternoonof

civilwar”?No,that’sstupid.Maybetheproblemisthatpassivevoice.“Itisa…”Kinda

weak!Youshouldreallystartwithanactionverb.It’s the first sentence, dude. If you nitpick every single sentence of this

journal,wearen’tevengoingtogettothebattles.Allright,fine.Keepit…Itcouldbebetter,but…

Rebelspaceships,strikingfromahiddenbase,havewontheirfirstvictoryagainsttheevilGalacticEmpire.

Whoa,whoa,whoa…TheEmpireandtherebels?Uh,yeah.Already?WhatabouttheRepublic?Whataboutit?You’rejustgoingtoskipovertheRepublic?Don’ttellmeyou’reskippingthe

CloneWarsandallofthatstuff?Well…yeah…WhataboutAnakinandPadméandthesandand—IfiguredIcouldjustsortofmakesomemysteriousreferencestoallthat.Mysterious references? What about Darth Maul? He’s just going to be a

mysteriousreference?Actually,I’mnotsure.Iwasn’treallyplanningonmentioninghim.NotmentionDarthMaul?!?!Darth?Maul?No…Next you’re going to tellme that youweren’t planning tomentionCaptain

Rex, Ahsoka, Ventress, Cad Bane, Savage Opress, Jar Jar, and the

Mandalorians?Well…IguessIcouldalwaysgobackandtelltheirstorieslater.Outoforder?That’sjustgoingtoconfuseeverybody!Ithinkthey’llfigureitout.Uh-huh,right.Wait,Iknow!Maybeyoucouldaddnumberstothebeginning

ofeachpart.Youknow,likemaybethisonestartsout“Along,longtimeagoinagalaxyfaraway:Episode4.”Thatseemskindof—Ooh,Igotanidea!Whatifyoumadeit“IV”?Thatwouldbefancier.Andyou

couldgiveeachepisodeatitle.Like,uh,“EpisodeVII:BlueHarvest”!Well,that’sjustweird,butifIpromisetocallitEpisodeIVandthinkof

agreattitle,willyouletmegetonwiththis?Yeah,cool,keepgoing.You’reabouttogettothegoodstuff:JynErso,Orson

Krennic,K-2SO…

Duringthebattle,RebelspiesmanagedtostealsecretplanstotheEmpire’sultimateweapon,theDEATHSTAR,anarmoredspacestationwithenoughpowertodestroyanentireplanet.

Wait,thatwasit?WhataboutErso?WhataboutK-2SO?I’mplanningtostartwithR2-D2andC-3PO.Okay, now you’re just being crazy. You’re going to skip over K-2SO, the

Best.Droid.Ever.Andstartwithaprotocoldroid???WhattheHutt,dude?Imean, R2—yes, he’s awesome—but if you’re going to skip anybody you

shouldskipC-3PO!Allhedoesiswhine.Ican’tskiphim;he’sreallyimportantonEndor.Endor?Waitaminute,you’renotputtingintheteddybears,areyou?They’renot teddybears!TheEwoksarefiercewarriors.Thetopof the

foodchainonasavageplanet!Okay, first of all, they liveonamoon,not aplanet.Secondof all—Look,

justsaveit!They’renotgoinginthisepisodeanyway.Well,whatisinthisepisode?You’reskippingeverything!Well,PrincessLeiawillbeinitifyoueverletmegetstarted.Okay,cool,good.She’sawesome!

PursuedbytheEmpire’ssinisteragents,PrincessLeiaraceshomeaboardherstarship,custodianof—

Custodian? Seriously? People are going to think this is a movie about ajanitor!Ohmy Jabba!You are drivingmenuts! Do you have to nitpick every

singleword?!It’s just constructive criticism. Can’t you even take a little constructive

criticism?Imeanifyoucan’t takeconstructivecriticismmaybeyou’renot thebestWhillforthejob.Oh,Iguessyouthinkyoucandobetter?Honestly?Yes,Ido.Thenwhydon’tyougowriteyourownjournalandleavemealone?Okay,fine,youknowwhat?Iwill! I’vegotsomegreat ideasforanepisode

abouthowChewbacca’sfamilycelebratesLifeDay!Okay,great,offyougo.Now,wherewasI?Custodian.Right…

PrincessLeiaraceshomeaboardherstarship,custodianofthestolenplanthatcansaveherpeopleandrestorefreedomtothegalaxy…

ABOUTTHEAUTHORS

All participating authors have generously forgone anycompensation for their stories. Instead, their proceeds will bedonated to First Book—a leading nonprofit that provides newbooks, learning materials, and other essentials to educators andorganizations serving children in need. To further celebrate thelaunch of this book and both companies’ long-standingrelationshipswithFirstBook,PenguinRandomHousehasdonated$100,000 to First Book, and Disney/Lucasfilm has donated onehundred thousand children’s books—valued at $1 million—tosupportFirstBookand theirmissionofproviding equal access toqualityeducation.Overthepastsixteenyears,DisneyandPenguinRandom House combined have donated more than eighty-eightmillionbookstoFirstBook.

BEN ACKER and BEN BLACKER are the creators andwriters/producersoftheThrillingAdventureHour,astagedshowinthe style of old-time radio that is also a podcast on the Nerdistnetwork. In television, they have written for CW’s Supernatural,DreamWorks/Netflix’sPussinBoots,andFX’sCassiusandClay.They’vealsodevelopedoriginalpilotsforFox,USA(twice),Spike,Paramount, Nickelodeon, and other entities. In comics, they’vewritten for Marvel, Dynamite, Boom!, and others. Acker haswritten for PRI’s Wits. Blacker is the creator and host of TheWritersPanel,apodcastaboutthebusinessandprocessofwriting,aswellasitsspin-off,theNerdistComicsPanel.He’stheproducerofDead Pilots Society, a podcast inwhich unproduced televisionpilotsbyestablishedwritersaregiventhetablereadstheysorichlydeserve.

RENÉEAHDIEH is theauthorof the#1NewYorkTimesbestsellingThe Wrath and the Dawn and The Rose and the Dagger. In herspare time, she likes to dance salsa and collect shoes. She is

passionate about all kinds of curry, rescue dogs, and collegebasketball.Thefirstfewyearsofherlifewerespentinahigh-riseinSouthKorea;consequently,Renéeenjoyshavingherheadintheclouds. She lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with her husbandandtheirtinyoverlordofadog.

TOM ANGLEBERGER is the author of the New York Times, USAToday,andWallStreetJournalbestsellingOrigamiYodaseries,aswell as Fake Mustache andHorton Halfpott, both Edgar Awardnominees,andtheQwikpickPapersseries.Heisalsotheauthorofthe transportation picture bookMcToad Mows Tiny Island. Tomliveswithhiswife,CeceBell,inChristiansburg,Virginia.

JEFFREY BROWN is the author of numerous bestselling Star Warsbooks, includingDarthVader and Son and themiddle-grade JediAcademyseries.HegrewupinMichigan,wherealotofsnowfellevery winter. Unlike Neanderthals, he has never learned how tomakestonetools.HelivesinChicagowithhiswifeandsons.

PIERCEBROWNisthe#1NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofRedRising,GoldenSon,andMorningStar.Whiletryingtomakeitasawriter, Brownworked as amanager of socialmedia at a start-uptechcompany, toiledasapeonontheDisneylotatABCStudios,did his time as an NBC page, and gave sleep deprivation a newmeaningduringhisstintasanaideonaU.S.Senatecampaign.HelivesinLosAngeles,whereheisatworkonhisnextnovel.

MEG CABOT is the #1New York Times bestselling author of thePrincessDiaries series, with over 25million copies of her bookssoldworldwide.BornandraisedinBloomington,Indiana,MegalsolivedinGrenoble,France,andCarmel,California,beforemovingtoNewYorkCity, after graduatingwith a bachelor’s degree in fineartsfromIndianaUniversity.Sheistheauthorofnumerousbooksforadultsandchildren,butFromtheNotebooksofaMiddleSchoolPrincess is the first series she’s illustrated. Meg Cabot currentlylivesinKeyWestwithherhusbandandcat.

RAECARSONistheauthorofthebestsellingandaward-winningGirlof Fire and Thorns series. Her books tend to contain adventure,magic,andsmartgirlswhomake(mostly)smartchoices.Originallyfrom California, Rae Carson now lives in Arizona with herhusband.

ADAMCHRISTOPHERisanovelistandcomicwriter.Hisdebutnovel,Empire State,wasSciFiNow’s Book of theYear and aFinancialTimesBookof theYear for2012. In2013,hewasnominated fortheSirJuliusVogelAwardforBestNewTalent,withEmpireStateshortlistedforBestNovel.HisothernovelsincludeTheAgeAtomicandTheBurningDark.

ZORAIDACÓRDOVAistheauthoroftheViciousDeeptrilogy,theOntheVerge series, and theBrooklynBrujas series.She loves blackcoffee, snark, and still believes inmagic.She is aNewYorker atheartandiscurrentlyworkingonhernextnovel.

DELILAHS.DAWSONisthewriteroftheBludseries,ServantsoftheStorm,Hit,WakeofVultures(asLilaBowen),andavarietyofshortstoriesandcomics.She’salsoageek,anartist,anadventurejunkie,andacupcakeconnoisseur.Shewritesbooksforbothyoungadultsandadultsthatrangefromwhimsicaltodarktosexytohorrifictoadventuresome.

KELLYSUEDECONNICKgotherstartinthecomicindustryadaptingJapaneseandKoreancomicsintoEnglish.Fiveyearsandmorethantenthousandpagesofadaptationlater,shetransitionedtoAmericancomicswith30DaysofNight:EbenandStella,forSteveNilesandIDW.Work for Image,Boom,Oni,Humanoids,DarkHorse,DC,Vertigo, and Marvel soon followed. Today DeConnick is bestknownforsurprisehitslikeCarolDanvers’srebrandingasCaptainMarvel and the Eisner-nominated mythological western, PrettyDeadly; the latter was co-created with artist Emma Ríos.DeConnick’s most recent venture, the sci-fi kidney-punch calledBitch Planet, co-created with Valentine De Landro, launched torave reviews in December 2014. DeConnick lives in Portland,

Oregon,withherhusband,MattFraction,andtheirtwochildren.

PAUL DINI is amultiple Emmy-and EisnerAward–winningwriterand producer who has helped redefine the legends of the DCUniverseinsuchseriesasTheNewBatman/SupermanAdventures,BatmanBeyond,Krypto,andJusticeLeagueUnlimited.Indoingso,he co-created one of the most popular characters in comics inHarley Quinn, who originated as a character in Batman: TheAnimatedSeries. IncomicshehasauthoredTheWorld’sGreatestSuperHeroes, illustrated byAlexRoss.Dini has also collaboratedwithChipKiddonBatmanAnimatedforHarperCollins.

IANDOESCHER,authoroftheWilliamShakespeareStarWarsseries,has lovedShakespeare sinceeighthgradeandwasborn forty-fivedays after Star Wars Episode IV was released. He has a BA inmusic from Yale University, a master of divinity from YaleDivinity School, and a PhD in ethics from Union TheologicalSeminary. Ian lives inPortland,Oregon,with his spouse and twosons.

Known to Star Wars fans as the voice of Ahsoka Tano on StarWars:TheCloneWars,StarWarsRebels,andStarWars:ForcesofDestiny, actress and entrepreneur ASHLEY ECKSTEIN also foundedHer Universe—the groundbreaking fangirl fashion company andlifestyle brand. Ashley has been widely recognized as abusinesswomanandfangirltrendsetter.ShewasrecentlychosenbyGoodHousekeepingmagazineasoneoftheir25AwesomeWomenfor 2016. HerUniverse is a proud licensee for Disney/StarWarsandMarvel, BBC/DoctorWho, CBS/Star Trek, Studio Ghibli, aswellasagrowingrosterofproperties.Ashleyisarecognizedpersonalityinthe“geekworld”andanin-

demandactressandhoststarringinseveralTVspecials,liveshows,events,andvideosforDisney,HSN,Comic-ConHQ,andmore.Inaddition to StarWars’ Ahsoka Tano,Ashley is also the voice ofMia the Bluebird on Disney’s Sofia the First, Dagger on DisneyXD’sUltimateSpider-Man,andthevoiceofCheetahonDCSuper

HeroGirls.Ashleywasalsoheardonthebigscreenin2016asthevoiceofYaekointheEnglishadaptationofStudioGhibli’sbelovedfilm Only Yesterday alongside fellow Star Wars actress DaisyRidleyandacclaimedactorDevPatel.InOctober2016,HerUniversewasacquiredbyHotTopic,Inc.,

and joined their stable of brands as a standalone subsidiary, e-commerce and wholesale brand. Ashley continues her role asfounderandGMMofHerUniverseandinoverseeingeveryaspectofthecompany.

MATTFRACTIONwritescomicbooksoutinthewoodsandliveswithhis wife, the writer Kelly Sue DeConnick, his two children, twodogs,acat,abeardeddragon,andayardfullofcoyotesandstags.Surely there isametaphor there.Hewon the first-everPENUSALiteraryAward for GraphicNovel. He, or comics he’s a part of,havewonEisners,Harveys,andEagles,whichareliketheOscars,Emmys,andGoldenGlobesofcomicbooksandallseemaboutaslikely. He’s aNew York Times bestselling donkus of comics likeSexCriminals(winnerofthe2014WillEisnerAwardforBestNewSeries, the 2014HarveyAward for Best New Series, and namedTime magazine’s Best Comic of 2013), Satellite Sam, ODY-C,Hawkeye (winner of the 2014Will EisnerAward forBest SingleIssue),and,oh,lordy,somanymore.

ALEXANDERFREEDistheauthorofStarWars:Battlefront:TwilightCompanyandStarWars:TheOldRepublic:TheLostSunsandhaswritten many short stories, comic books, and videogames. BornnearPhiladelphia,heendeavorstobringthecity’sdourcharmwithhimtohiscurrenthomeofAustin,Texas.

JASONFRYisawriterinBrooklyn,NewYork,whereheliveswithhiswife,son,andaboutametric tonofStarWarsstuff.Heis theauthor of The Clone Wars: The Visual Guide, The Clone Wars:Ultimate Battles, and The Clone Wars: Official Episode Guide:Season 1, and has written extensively for the Star Wars InsidermagazineandWizardsoftheCoast.

KIERONGILLENisawriterbasedinLondon.Intermsofstoriessetin a galaxy far, far away he wrote the comics StarWars: DarthVader andStarWars:DoctorAphra.Elsewhere in comicshehaswrittenbasicallyeverymajorMarvelsuperheroyou’veheardofandalotthatyouhaven’t,andhe’stheco-creatoroftheaward-winningTheWicked+TheDivineandPhonogram.Heiscursedbyeditorsfor his seeming inability to learn how to spell “Wookiee” and“Tatooine.”Hewillbedisciplined.

CHRISTIE GOLDEN is the award-winning, New York Timesbestsellingauthorofoverfiftynovelsandmorethanadozenshortstories in the fields of fantasy, science fiction, and horror. Hermedia tie-in works include launching the Ravenloft line in 1991withVampire of the Mists, more than a dozen Star Trek novels,severalmovienovelizations,theWarcraftnovelsRiseoftheHorde,LordoftheClans,Arthas:RiseoftheLichKing,andWarCrimes,Assassin’sCreed:Heresy,aswellasStarWars:DarkDiscipleandtheStarWars:FateoftheJedinovelsOmen,Allies,andAscension.In2017,shewasawardedtheInternationalAssociationofMedia

Tie-in Writers Faust Award and named a Grandmaster inrecognitionofoveraquartercenturyofwriting.

CLAUDIAGRAY istheauthorofStarWars:BloodlineandDefytheStars, aswell as the Firebird series, theEvernight series, and theSpellcasterseries.Shehasworkedasa lawyer,a journalist,adiscjockey,andaparticularlyineffectivewaitress.Herlifelonginterestsincludeoldhouses, classicmovies,vintage style, andhistory.ShelivesinNewOrleans.

PABLOHIDALGO isacreativeexecutivewithintheLucasfilmStoryGroup,aresidentStarWarsauthoritywhohelpsensureconsistencyacross awide array ofStarWars projects.He haswritten severalDK titles, includingmost recently the bestselling StarWars: TheForceAwakens: TheVisualDictionary.He liveswith hiswife inSanFrancisco,California.

E. K. JOHNSTON had several jobs and one vocation before shebecameapublishedwriter.Ifshe’slearnedanything,it’sthatthingsturnoutweirdsometimes,andthere’snotalotyoucandoaboutit.Well,thatandhowtomusclethroughawkwardfanficbecauseit’saboutapairingshelikes.Whenshe’snotonTumblr,shedreamsoftravel and Tolkien. Or writes books. It really depends on theweather.

PAUL S. KEMP is the author of the New York Times bestsellingnovels Star Wars: Crosscurrent, Star Wars: The Old Republic:Deceived,andStarWars:Riptide,aswellasnumerousshortstoriesand fantasy novels, including The Hammer and the Blade andADiscourse in Steel. Kemp lives and works in Grosse Pointe,Michigan,withhiswife,children,andacoupleofcats.

MUR LAFFERTY is a writer, podcast producer, gamer, geek, andmartialartist.Sheisthehostoftheaward-winningpodcastIShouldBeWriting,andthehostoftheAngryRobotBookspodcast.Sheisthe winner of the 2013 JohnW. Campbell Award for Best NewWriter. She loves to run, practice kung fu (Northern Shaolin fiveanimals style), play Skyrim and Fallout 3, and hang outwith herfabulousgeekyhusbandandtheireleven-year-olddaughter.

KENLIUisoneofthemostlaudedauthorsinthefieldofAmericanliterature. Awinner of theNebula, Hugo,World Fantasy, Locus,Sidewise,andScienceFiction&Fantasytranslationawards,hehasalsobeennominatedfortheSturgeonAward.Hisshortstory“ThePaperMenagerie”isthefirstworkoffictiontosimultaneouslywintheNebula, Hugo, andWorld Fantasy awards. He also translatedthe 2015 Hugo Award winning novel The Three-Body Problem,writtenbyCixinLiu,whichisthefirstnoveltoeverwintheHugoAward in translation.TheGrace ofKings, his debut novel, is thefirst volume in a silkpunk epic fantasy series set in a universe heandhiswife,artistLisaTangLiu,createdtogether.ItwasafinalistforaNebulaAwardandtherecipientoftheLocusAwardforBestFirstNovel.HelivesnearBostonwithhisfamily.

GRIFFINMCELROY is anAustin-basedwriter, video producer, andpodcaster,andco-founderof thevideogamewebsitePolygon.Heco-hostsMyBrother,MyBrotherandMe,anadvicepodcast,with—youguessedit—histwobrothers,andservesasDungeonMasterfor TheAdventure Zone, a D&DActual Play podcast he createdwithhisfamily.Heandhiswife,Rachel,hostaBachelorfranchiserecappodcastcalledRoseBuddiesandalsorecentlyco-foundedahumanbabycalledHenry.

JOHNJACKSONMILLERistheNewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofStarWars:Kenobi,StarWars:ANewDawn,StarWars:LostTribeof theSith,and theStarWarsLegends:TheOldRepublicgraphicnovel collections from Marvel, among many other novels andcomics.Hiswebsiteisfarawaypress.com.

NNEDI OKORAFOR was born in the United States to two Igbo(Nigerian)immigrantparents.SheholdsaPhDinEnglishandisaprofessorof creativewriting atChicagoStateUniversity.Shehasbeen thewinner ofmany awards for her short stories and young-adultbooks, and shewonaWorldFantasyAward forWhoFearsDeath.Okorafor’sbooksareinspiredbyherNigerianheritageandhermany trips toAfrica. She lives inChicagowith her daughter,Anyaugo,andfamily.

DANIEL JOSÉOLDER is aBrooklyn-basedwriter, editor, composer,and author of the Bone Street Rumba novels, includingMidnightTaxi Tango and Half-Resurrection Blues, and the YA novelShadowshaper. He has been nominated for the Kirkus Prize, theLocus andWorld Fantasy awards, and the Andre NortonAward.Shadowshaper was named a New York Times Best Book of theYear.

MALLORYORTBERGisSlate’s“DearPrudence.”ShehaswrittenforGawker,NewYorkmagazine,TheHairpin,andTheAtlantic.Sheisthe co-creator of The Toast, a general-interest website gearedtowardwomen.Shelives in theBayAreawithher laptopandhercat.

BETHREVISistheauthoroftheNewYorkTimesbestsellingAcrossthe Universe series, the companion novel The Body Electric, atwisty contemporary novel A World Without You, and numerousshortstories.AnativeofNorthCarolina,Bethiscurrentlyworkingonanewnovelforteens.ShelivesinruralNorthCarolinawithherboys: one husband, one son, and two dogs roughly the size ofEwoks.

MADELEINE ROUX received her BA in creative writing and actingfrom Beloit College in 2008. In the spring of 2009, MadeleinecompletedanhonorstermatBeloitCollege,proposing,writing,andpresenting a full-length historical fiction novel. Shortly after, shebegan the experimental fiction blog Allison Hewitt Is Trapped,which quickly spread throughout the blogosphere, bringing auniqueserialfictionexperiencetoreaders.BorninMinnesota,shenowlivesandworksinWisconsinwheresheenjoysthelocalbeerandpreparingfortheeventualandinevitablezombieapocalypse.

GREG RUCKA is theNew York Times bestselling author of almosttwodozennovels,includingStarWars:BeforetheAwakeningandStarWars:Guardiansof theWhills, andhaswonmultipleEisnerAwardsforhisgraphicnovels.He lives inPortland,Oregon,withhiswifeandchildren.

GARY D. SCHMIDT is a professor of English at Calvin College inGrandRapids,Michigan.HereceivedbothaNewberyHonorandaPrintz Honor for Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy and aNewberyHonorforTheWednesdayWars.Heliveswithhisfamilyon a 150-year-old farm inAlto,Michigan,where he splitswood,plantsgardens,writes,andfeedsthewildcatsthatdropby.

CAVAN SCOTT is an author and comic writer for both adults andchildren.He haswritten for a large number of high-profile seriesincludingDoctorWho, StarWars,AdventureTime, JudgeDredd,Disney Infinity, andWarhammer40,000.He is thewriterofTitan

Comics’DoctorWho: TheNinthDoctorminiseries and currentlywrites Minnie the Minx and Gnasher & Gnipper for legendaryBritish comic The Beano. A member of both The Society ofAuthors and the Dennis theMenace Fan Club, Cavan lives nearBristolwithhiswife,twodaughters,andaninflatableDaleknamedDesmond.

CHARLES SOULE is aNewYork Times bestselling,Brooklyn-basedcomic bookwriter,musician, and attorney. He is best known forwritingDaredevil, She-Hulk, Death of Wolverine (inspiration forthe film Logan), and various Star Wars comics from MarvelComics, as well as his creator-owned series Curse Words fromImageComicsandtheaward-winningpoliticalsci-fiepicLetter44from Oni Press. His debut novel, The Oracle Year, will bepublishedin2018byHarperCollins.

SABAATAHIRgrewupinCalifornia’sMojaveDesertatherfamily’seighteen-roommotel. There she spent her time devouring fantasynovels, raiding her brother’s comic book stash, and playing theguitar badly. She began writing An Ember in the Ashes whileworking nights as a newspaper editor. She likes thunderous indierock,garishsocks,andall thingsnerd.Tahircurrently lives in theSanFranciscoBayAreawithherfamily.

ELIZABETHWEINwasborninNewYorkCity,grewupabroad,andcurrentlylivesinScotlandwithherhusbandandtwochildren.SheisanavidflyerofsmallplanesandholdsaPhDinfolklorefromtheUniversityofPennsylvania.Elizabeth is theauthorofCodeNameVerity,winneroftheEdgarAwardintheYoungAdultcategoryanda Printz Medal Honor Book; Rose Under Fire, winner of theSchneider Family Book Award; and Black Dove, White Raven,winneroftheChildren’sAfricanaBookAward.

GLENWELDON has been a theater critic, a sciencewriter, an oralhistorian,awritingteacher,abookstoreclerk,aPRflack,amovieusher,aspectacularly ineptmarinebiologist,andaslightlybetter-than-eptcompetitiveswimmer.HisworkhasappearedinTheNew

YorkTimes,TheWashingtonPost,TheAtlantic,TheNewRepublic,Slate, and many other places. He is a panelist on NPR’s PopCultureHappyHourandreviewsbooksandcomicsforNPR.

CHUCKWENDIGisanovelist,screenwriter,andgamedesigner.He’sthe author of many novels, including StarWars: Aftermath; StarWars:Aftermath:LifeDebt;StarWars:Empire’sEnd;Blackbirds;AtlantaBurns;Zer0es;andtheYAHeartlandseries.Heisco-writerof the short film Pandemic and the Emmy-nominated digitalnarrative Collapsus. He currently lives in the forests ofPennsyltuckywithhiswife,son,andreddog.

WILWHEATONbeganactingincommercialsattheageofseven,andby the age of ten had appeared in numerous television and filmroles. In1986,hiscriticallyacclaimed role inRobReiner’sStandByMeputhiminthepublicspotlight,whereheremainstothisday.In1987,WilwascastasWesleyCrusherinthehittelevisionseriesStarTrek:TheNextGeneration.Recently,Wilhasheld recurringroles onTNT’sLeverage and SyFy’sEureka; he currently recursonCBS’sTheBigBangTheory.HeplayedAxisofAnarchyleaderFawkes inFeliciaDay’swebseriesTheGuild, and just completedwriting,producing,andhostingTheWilWheatonProjectonSyfy.He is also the creator and host of the multiple award-winningwebseriesTableTop,nowinitsfourthseason.As a voice actor,Wil hasbeen featured invideogames such as

ThereCameanEcho,BrokenAge,GrandTheftAuto:SanAndreas,Brütal Legend, DC Universe Online, Fallout: New Vegas, andGhostReconAdvancedWarfighter.HehaslenthisvoicetalentstoanimatedseriesincludingFamilyGuy,LegionofSuperheroes,Ben10:AlienForce,GeneratorRex,Batman:TheBraveandtheBold,andTeenTitans.As an author, he’s published many acclaimed books, among

them: Just AGeek,DancingBarefoot, andTheHappiestDays ofOurLives.AllofhisbooksgrewoutofWil’simmenselypopular,award-winning weblog, which he created and maintains at WILWHEATON dot NET. While most celebrities are happy to let

publicistsdesignandmaintaintheirwebsites,Wiltookadecidedlydifferentturnwhenhestartedbloggingin2001,whenhedesignedandcodedhiswebsiteonhisown.Wil personally maintains a popular social media presence,

includingapopularTumblr,Facebookpage,andGooglePluspage.HisfrequentlycitedTwitteraccountisfollowedbymorethan2.75millionpeople.Wiliswidelyrecognizedasoneoftheoriginalcelebritybloggers

and is a respected voice in the blogging community. In 2003,Forbes.comreadersvotedWWdNtheBestCelebrityWeblog.Wil’sblogwaschosenbyC|Netfor inclusionin theironehundredmostinfluentialblogs,andisan“A”lister,accordingtoBlogebrity.com.In the 2002 Weblog Awards (the Bloggies), Wil won everycategory in which he was nominated, including Weblog of theYear. In 2007, Wil was nominated for a Lifetime AchievementBloggie,alongsideInternetpowerhousesSlashdotandFark.Inthe2008WeblogAwards,Wilwasvoted theBestCelebrityBlogger,andin2009ForbesnamedhimthefourteenthmostinfluentialWebcelebrity.ThisisallamusingtoWil,whodoesn’tthinkofhimselfasacelebrity,butisinstead“justthisguy,youknow?”

GARYWHITTAistheformereditorinchiefofPCGamermagazineand is now an award-winning screenwriter best known for theexplosivepost-apocalypticthrillerTheBookofEli,starringDenzelWashington,andasco-writerofRogueOne:AStarWarsStory.Healsoco-wrotetheWillSmithsci-fiadventureAfterEarth,andwaswriterandstoryconsultantonTelltaleGames’TheWalkingDead,for which he was the co-recipient of a BAFTA Award for BestStory.MostrecentlyheservedaswriterontheanimatedTVseriesStarWars:Rebels.HealsowrotethefilmadaptationsoftheMarkMillarcomicStarlightandDavidPetersen’sMouseGuardfor20thCentury Fox, and the David Fisher book The War Magician forStudioCanal and Benedict Cumberbatch. His first novel,Abomination,isnowavailable,andhisoriginalcomicseriesOliverarrives via Image Comics in 2017. Born and raised in London,England, Gary currently lives with his wife and daughter in SanFrancisco.

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