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The spacefaring cargo freighter Notayacht gives a violent shudder far behind, starting from the rear left, sending vibrations throughout the ship, and shaking the four occupants where they stand or sit. A few loud bangs rise above the rest of the cacophony; the landing gear rattling on the surface. With one final shudder the noise dies, ending the ride and the two beings up in the cockpit release their death grips. Gamiel, the captain, slams one of his four Besalisk fists on the lower half of his ship’s console.
“Give me the good word Zimzi,” he hollers into the ship’s comm. “Are we getting airborne?”
Bursts of loud static issue from the speaker and Gamiel flinches back. He still catches what he hears next, the young man behind him cursing under his breath.
“That’s enough of that kid! Get down there and see what’s happened.”
Toba leaves, cursing all the more in phrases from his homeworld that his boss already knows too well. No sane person should attempt to fly this ship again, these breakdowns have been regular fair, but Gamiel’s far too sentimental to strip his baby down for a few scant parts and then sell the skeleton for salvage. The aging male Besalisk told him the ship was custom built by his grandfather, but Toba doesn’t quite believe him. He believes it was built by the captain’s great-great grandfather.
Picking up the pace, Toba reaches the left rear sublight engine, one of four built to take Notayacht and her miscellaneous cargo to the stars. A ship of this size is the reason they all have work transporting bulk quantities of thorilide, mined and refined on the surface of Gorse, to neighboring systems. It’s just the latest of the odd jobs Gamiel has put his ship up for over decades of service. But the size will do no good if she can’t fly again.
Toba squeezes into the outer chassis of the silent engine and calls out into the darkness and maze of machinery.
“Zimzi! What happened? Is everything all right in there?” He hears a few noises, but they come from some crevasse far behind him; it’s the regular creaking, groaning, and clanking of the ship. Honestly, he sometimes feels like he is back at the refinery he first worked at on Gorse rather than on a ship that traverses between the stars.
After a moment he sees a faint glow appear and grow brighter, until the outline of her slender form crawls out of the engine innards. A headlamp strapped to her forehead, her arms, face, and work clothes streaked with grime and dirt, she slides down and scoots into the light. Her short black hair clings together in spots with blobs of grease.
Zimzi smiles at him, her black eyes glinting with clear pride, and Toba’s chest feels a bit lighter. By the looks of it she’s improved their chances at the very least. Young, but capable, she’s the only one small enough on their crew to delve into the innards of the ship’s engines, ventilation systems, and every engineering pit.
She holds out a black closed fist to him, slowly dripping grease on the floor.
“A present? For me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Hand me the bucket.” She drops the contents inside, a blob of black tar and a bit of metal at the center, which makes a loud crack when it hits the bottom.
They finish crawling out of the engine together and she strides ahead to press the least filthy of her hands to the comm on the wall…and takes a burst of static to the face.
Toba chuckles. “Comm’s down.” She glares at him, but the frustration is for the ship and mutual, although she finds Notayacht more endearing than he can.
The sound of heavy footsteps comes toward them and Toba turns to see Pirut, their female Ithorian crewmate, carrying a crate on a large shoulder. She doesn’t wear her headset translator to convey the words in Basic that her two large side mouths and four throats never could and rarely does when on board, but Toba knows Zimzi has spent most of her life with Pirut, Gamiel has always known Ithorian, and Toba has picked up enough of the language since coming to work on Notayacht just over a standard year ago. She sets the crate down before Zimzi and Toba recognizes where it came from, the stash where crewmembers over decades have tossed bits of metal and parts fallen off and not reattached to the ship they have traveled and worked on. Pirut speaks, her voice low and mellifluous.
“Perhaps a replacement is among these here, dear.”
“No, I found the problem, it was a fractured bolt on a third fan adaptor. It was striking lines leading from the coolant system. Explains why the problem only came up now.” She shows her palms to Pirut, pride on her face. “I’m going to wash up bit.”
Toba crouches next to Pirut as the girl turns to leave and digs his hands into the crate’s contents. He immediately knows he won’t be able to name most of the parts, although he is sure Pirut can tell him which bulkhead each metal scrap came from. Gamiel hired him to do mostly grunt work; someone has to be told where to go and what to do and he has always been that person. When he parents told him to leave the house when he was of age he did so.
His hands fasten around the first object he positively identifies, a small blaster, intact, but with every grove caked in dust and grit, cemented with years of moisture.
He holds it up to the light. “What’s wrong with it? Apart from not having a power cell?”
Pirut takes the blaster from him and leans one eye on her head stalk close for a moment. “Nothing I can tell yet. Perhaps the power cell was the only problem. Gamiel hasn’t always hired savvy folks.” She hands it back to him, indicating the weapon is his. “Do you know how to use one?”
“Yeah.” He would nick his father or mother’s blasters a few times a week and go with a group of kids to the edge of the clear cuts and fire at targets propped up on giant whitewood stumps. “I was pretty good shot.” He aims the blaster, looking down the barrel at the broken comm and sighs. “Haven’t held one of these in awhile.” What he leaves unsaid is he hasn’t touched a blaster since his parents told him they were no longer his parents.
“I already know the comm system is broken, I can’t see how shooting it will fix things.” Gamiel lumbers forward, followed by Zimzi; her hands now grey instead of black. Pirut stands and makes towards the comm, but Gamiel waves her away with one of four hands. “Leave it for now and let’s get the empty crates unloaded. Toba, call out some ground folks. Tell ‘em it’s the usual.”
********************************************************************
The Inner Rim world Gorse lives up to its reputation as perhaps the galaxy’s ugliest planet, even Toba conceded so when he first set foot on the planet nearly a year earlier, an eye out only for work. He transitions from the low light of the ship’s interior to the darker gloom on Gorse, dampened by glaring artificial orange light. His feet settle upon muck when he steps off the ship’s landing platform; there is no use pouring duracrete for a landing site or a fashionable tarmac, the regular ground-quakes would riddle it with cracks in just a few months. Not that one ever has much of a view of Gorse’s mush surface down here; the world is tidally locked to its star, producing a bipolar condition. One half of the world eternally bakes in sunlight while the opposite side lives in perpetual gloom, a world without a dawn. Tonight however, Gorse’s eternal night is somewhat less dark. Toba looks towards the east and now rising is Cynda, Gorse’s only moon.
Unlike Gorse in every way, large enough to be counted in some astronomical circles as a second partner in a double planet system, Cynda is a jewel of the galaxy. Several types of crystal compose her crust and more than seventy-five percent of the interior. When Cynda’s highly elliptical orbit brings her full-lit globe across Gorse’s night all but the brightest stars wash out and one can walk with ease down the unstable streets of Gorse, as long as the moon does not also disturb the ground beneath passing feet while tugging and pulling on her larger dance partner.
Toba once overheard that in about a million more years enough of Gorse’s atmosphere will irradiate away to make the entire world unlivable. In this current sliver of astronomical time, however, people like himself could stand to live on the dark side, refining the thorilide mined by Danthe heat resistive droids on the uninhabitable side, transporting it off world with Toba and his crewmates, and operating the establishments that give those who toil on the gloomy world reason to work another day. Toba hardly knows or cares what exactly thorilide does, he doesn’t even know who they hand the thorilide off to, but over time he has gathered enough from overheard conversation to know that thorilide has been mined on the world for several decades, long before he had even been born, first on the Gorse night side, briefly on Cynda, and then on the day side during the years of the Empire. There was one time a personal of Sienar-Jaemus Fleet Systems briefly came onboard Notayacht and he remembers hearing that thorilide can be used to keep turbolaser turrets in place after firing.
He gets to business, there are already laborers, who always linger nearby when a ship lands, now approaching. Toba picks out several regulars, the ones who know the ship, and mixes it up with a few new faces to keep things fair, but leans towards those who appear connected to a familiar face. Every day there are always a few of those. After the Galactic Civil War ended thorilide production all across the galaxy plummeted, but in recent years there has been resurgence.
One familiar face is Salaris, a female Zabrak. Tonight she draws his attention due to the young face beside her, a teenage boy Zabrak about the same age as Zimzi, his head horns only nubbins.
“A friend of yours?” He asks Salaris as she holds out her identification and worker badges.
“My brother, Radius.” Toba observes him mimic his sister, drawing out and holding onto a shiny, crisp badge. Toba scans it.
“Nice to meet you Radius. Just going to scan your ID and account number here. You’ll see a deposit at 0500 standard, about seven hours from now.” Toba watches Radius follow his sister up into the ship, wondering why someone so young is working such a job. But Radius is not all that different from himself, only a few years younger, and old enough to seek paying work. Gorse has certainly provided in that regard in recent years, he sees someone new on this gloomy world everyday and the familiar faces usually stick around.
Shaking the wandering thought from his head he watches the hired workers come and go, unloading the scores of empty crates on hovercarts and pushing them over to the nearby warehouses. They set a good pace by the time Pirut comes out. She would converse with a few workers or chat with her fellow crewmate; the workers don’t need a babysitter, but tonight she doesn’t join Toba. She stands off at a distance, facing towards the crisscrossing workers, but eyes elsewhere and her arms folded.
Toba tries to distract himself from Pirut’s standoff behavior and looks back to the east. Cynda is dazzling tonight. The unique composition makes the moon a natural preserve in the system and a popular tourist destination. In this day and age many beings prosper under flourishing new governments so Cynda is a desirable destination for vacation goers to spend their wealth and behold the dazzling light scattered in all directions by the lattices of giant crystals up close. Only in this regard do the two worlds have no influence on each other; Toba and the people of Gorse have nothing to do with the visitors to Cynda. The view is stunningly beautiful enough down here, though that he wonders tonight, and not for the first time, what she looks like up close. Perhaps he won’t have to wonder much longer. He’s been saving up his money for nearly a month now and he wants to ask Zimzi if she and Pirut would like to make a trip with him up to Cynda.
Just as he has this thought Toba sees her, Zimzi, coming down the ramp, right behind Radius, pushing what is by now likely the last crates. Toba breaks into a smile and makes toward her…
The look on her face stops him cold. Even under the white light of the moon it is plain to see; she is pale and distraught.
He opens his mouth and she walks right past him to Pirut, calling out. “Mother!”
Radius’s head immediately turns towards the retreating girl and he lets the hover cart and its cargo escape from him. Toba quickly jumps out to snag one of the handles, slow it to a stop, and then approaches the boy, still watching the Ithorian and girl as they converse.
“What, you don’t see the family resemblance?”
Color rises in the Zabrak’s cheeks. “Sorry.” He returns to the stationary cart.
Gamiel’s loud footsteps herald his coming down the ramp. “All in all no one has even minor injuries, so I’d say the day was a resounding success.” He sees Zimzi and Pirut still close together, strokes his chins, and then calls out to them.
“Are you two considering taking a late shift today?”
They both perk up and make their way back to the ship, Cynda illuminating their two serious faces. Toba looks to Gamiel and his expression has become equally stoic. “Do you need a late night shift?”
“No, no late night shift.”
“Is there something to talk about? Is a bad quake coming?”
“Not sure yet. Can you be somewhere we can quickly find you?” Toba looks from Gamiel, to Pirut, and back again, trying to puzzle what he is missing.
“Sure!” Gamiel cuffs Toba on the back, knocking all the air out of his lungs. “The boy and I were going to The Asteroid Belt this evening to share some quality time together. In fact I was going to show him how to fix that damn blaster he got a hold of. Can’t have him blowing his own hand off.”
“Thank you.”
“There anything I need to keep a lookout for?”
“Just keep your eyes peeled. You’ll know it if you see it.” She puts a knobby arm around Zimzi and the two of them walk away towards the shadowy warehouses. Toba’s gaze follows after them until the shadows swallow them completely.
“Gamiel, what’s going on?”
“Didn’t you hear? You and I are going off to a cantina. Now keep your eyes peeled and go get your blaster while I look for a power cell. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”
***********************************************************************
This isn’t Toba first time at The Asteroid Belt, a cantina favored by many pilots, refinery workers, and dock loaders; the place has passed through several owners since before the Galactic Civil War. You could find him there a fair few times during his first month on Gorse, downing a drink he couldn’t legally buy just over a month ago, giving lip to a man twice his size, and then ducking blows from said drunk hollering out ‘boy!’ because that’s what he was, and in some ways still is. Just look for the establishment whose unsubtle advertisement reads ‘Come in and get belted’. But after he found work for Gamiel and came to know Zimzi and Pirut he found himself desiring to go there with decreasing frequency. Eventually Toba had even moved into the same housing complex as his two female crewmates (Gamiel of course sleeps on his ship) and now they commute to and from work together, except for those days when the mother and daughter take their late shifts. During late shifts it is just the two of them aboard Notayaught while Gamiel takes care of the business end, a bit tricky since the ship was custom built for Besalisks, but Pirut makes it work. Onboard the ship Pirut and Zimzi go wherever is needed to keep things operational, but once shifts are over the two of them are inseparable. Makes for sorting though his feelings when it comes to Zimzi that bit more complicated. It is also a testament to how much Gamiel cares for and trusts them; Toba couldn’t image ever touching Gamiel’s ship without his boss onboard, but he doesn’t feel jealous.
Tonight Toba has no idea why he is at his old haunt and Gamiel isn’t saying a word to that, so he focuses on the repair project his boss has assigned. Eventually he remembers that technically he is off the clock, but the sense of foreboding keeps him where he is.
“There.” Gamiel sets down a hand drill and passes him the blaster. “With that notch the power cell clip will stay in tight and sure now.”
“Thanks.” Toba etches out one last bit of caked dirt with his set of tweezers. He feels the weight of the weapon in his dominant hand. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.
That’s it. He’s not going anywhere, but he wants answers. He opens his mouth to give his boss the words he thinks the male Besalisk can’t back down from when he sees the cantina’s front doors swing open and Pirut enters, followed by Zimzi.
The cantina bouncer immediately approaches Zimzi and Toba remembers she is under age, but Pirut intervenes and with a wave of her hand the bouncer retreats. As the two approach their table Toba begins to ask how Pirut sweet-talked her daughter inside, but she starts speaking immediately.
“Zimzi and I need to leave and so do you. Both of you. The sooner the better.”
Gamiel, who Toba has heard tell everyone he is too old to be neither serious nor carefree, is deadly serious right now. “Care to tell me what we’re running from?” Where once Toba was rather frustrated, now that he has heard Pirut and seen Gamiel’s look he has room only for fear and uncertainty.
“We’re not exactly sure. But what we’ve felt…it’s a threat, more dangerous than you’re prepared for.”
Toba sees a wave of guilt wash over Zimzi’s face; it must be on Pirut’s as well. “We didn’t mean for…”
Gamiel raises two hands to hush the girl. “No time for that now. I’ve seen regret kill beings.”
“You may not be-”
“But better safe than sorry. Should we leave now?”
“Now would be good, but we shouldn’t leave without a plan."
Gamiel stands upright in one swift motion, ready. “Good idea. I’ve seen beings flee in the middle of the night and then die days later because they left with only the clothes on their backs.” He strokes his chin, thinking, a common habit of his, which reassures Toba a smidge. “I’ll go to the ship right away, make sure she actually will get airborne, get my carbine out, and take on a small load of thorilide. If we need to take off in a hurry best have a good reason to be in the air if hells forbid a customs agent comes calling.”
“We’ll grab things from our dorms and get to your ship by speeder.”
Gamiel whirls around before he leaves to point a finger almost as large as Toba’s hand in his face. “Follow the ladies and do as they say, every word.” With his last motion before departing he presses the blaster they fixed together into his chest.
“Wait, what…how do you know?” Toba asks Pirut.
“We’ll explain later. For now, trust us.” For now, he does.
************************************************************************
They barely set foot in their dorms before they are off on one speeder, racing back to Notayacht. The wait is a torment as Toba drives their vehicle to its limits. The engines whine when he pushes them too hard, so he backs down until agonizing minutes stretch, and he guns them back up again. The deadly, but unknown threat referred to by his crewmates takes on many forms in his imagination, usually the nightmares of his childhood, predators as large as houses that crouch, patiently waiting to kill within the continent wide dark forests of his homeworld, and terror races through his blood. He blesses the night that Zimzi and Pirut’s phantom decided to attack; at this hour full lit Cynda is at zenith, casting short shadows, and he can navigate the illuminated streets at ease.
He sees the orange glow of the depot complex up ahead amidst singular bright landing lights and hope rises in his chest even as the whining protests of the speeder engines reach a shrill pitch.
Then he turns a sharp corner when there is no need.
The speeder rolls hard over, a motion is so sudden and violent they all tumble off, hitting each other and falling to the ground hard.
In a daze and still trying to understand, Toba winces as he looks up for the speeder, seeing it slow down to stop a short distance away, intact. Looking over to Zimzi and Pirut his heart skips a beat; he sees them tense, their undivided attention in the opposite direction. Zimzi’s fingers handle two metal tools striped off her utility belt. Pirut slides a metal cylinder out of a concealed leather holster. All of their muscles are taunt and ready, eyes focused ahead of them.
Before Toba can follow where their attention lies he hears a loud electric hiss.
Several strides away from them stands a dark cloaked figure wielding a sparking, fiery red blade, glowing scarlet quillons above the hilt. It has a tall humanoid figure, but beyond that Toba cannot tell the identity; layers of black robes conceal all. A hood and mask covers the entire face, save for a large eye slit carved out of the polished metal reflecting the only light out tonight, the sheen of silver Cynda high above, but mostly the blood red of the blade.
Pirut answers the dark figure with a crisp light beam, the color of new life, emitting from her held cylinder. She holds the blade firm, ready. The figure however holds the red blade downward, almost relaxed to the side.
“I see reputation precedes me.” The masked man speaks, his voice modulated, but the sound of pride still conveyed. He looks from Pirut, to Zimzi, and finally rests his gaze longest on Toba. “I did not come here with a single mind for bloodshed.”
Their response is the ignition of Zimzi’s assembled tools into a vibrant blue blade. The figure starts to walk in a slow circle, drawing closer. A shudder passes through Toba and his own fingers grope for the blaster, a lifeline in this nightmare. The dark figure continues to speak.
“You have no knowledge that interests me. You know that. But your skills, while coarse, can be refined.”
“We don’t follow the Dark Side, Jedi Killer.” Pirut’s side mouths spit out those last two words, a damning title. Zimzi stands right by her mother’s side, but Toba sees her trembling; the girl is terrified. Pirut has to be as well, although she hides it better.
“You haven’t even taken the courtesy to hear what I have to say.”
“You let your wardrobe speak for you. I’ll say this, you’re economical with your words.”
The figure lets out a resigned sigh that sounds akin to a dry rattle through the mask. “This is going to be such a waste.”
Pirut’s defiance has been bleeding out up to this moment. Now she almost pleads. “We’re no Jedi.”
“I see you have lightsabers.”
“That doesn’t make us Jedi.”
“You are so right. Let’s see how you use them.”
In just two long strides he is upon them; they don’t even have time to move. Swinging down from overhead with all the grace of a bludgeon the Jedi Killer’s blade crashes onto Pirut’s, a shower of sparks ensuing. Zimzi jumps to the side, holding her blade out in front of her, while Toba stumbles backwards, his fingers finally wrapped firmly around the blaster.
Zimzi steps forward ready to strike, but she has to pull back as the Jedi Killer directs Pirut’s retreat towards the teenage girl. Toba raises his blaster and fires rapidly. Several red bolts issue out, but the figure takes only a step back and his sizzling blade beats each and every one away. Pirut and Zimzi retreat further to give Toba clear sight. He aims a single shot at the figure’s head, red energy bursts out, and stops in midair. The cloaked figure’s hand is raised – inconceivably he is behind the act - toward Toba and he cannot move.
Zimzi charges at the cloaked figure. She strikes wild and hard, but the masked man does not give ground or even lean back until Pirut joins her and thrusts out her green blade, in in piercing motions. Once, twice, thrice, he beats her blade away, single steps back at a time. Toba’s legs collapse beneath him before he realizes he can move again.
Zimzi pivots around and comes at him opposite Pirut; the Killer cannot possibly block two blows simultaneously. It’s not his blade that connects with the girl however, it’s his black boot, hitting hard and lightening fast into her midsection and Toba can hear the sickening sound the impact makes. Her upper body curls over and her legs are quaking, ready to give out too. Panic, panic for her, vanquishes his selfish fear at that moment and Toba jumps up to run to her side.
Pirut forces her way between the Jedi Killer and her daughter and BELLOWWWWSSS! Her side mouths are now huge and the whirlwind they generate throws their attacker back several meters.
“RUN!!!!!” She howls.
Zimzi backs up a single slow step with Toba, hesitant. Her wide eyes fix on her mother, taking in every tiny quiver, every wrinkle, every blemish of her hide-like, but gently felt skin.
“GO!!!!! NOW!!!!”
Toba grips her upper arm and somehow Zimzi surges past the pain in her gut to bolt at his neck break pace over to the speeder. Not that he would ever leave her behind. In a second they both vault onboard. Toba guns the speeder up and Zimzi grabs onto his back, hissing in pain, as they jolt forward into the silver-grey alleys of the depot complexes.
A few moments later Toba feels Zimzi shudder violently and her hold on him becomes painful.
Another two short alleys, another two turns, and Notayacht is up ahead, but Toba barely slows down as he drives the speeder straight into the open cargo bay. He slams on the brakes as soon as they enter, but they still collide hard up against a rear bulkhead that dislodges them off their seats.
He is up immediately. “GO! GO! GO!” He hollers his entire run to the cockpit and mentally curses the broken ship comm. When he scrambles up to the top of the ladder he receives a vision full of Gamiel’s blaster carbine muzzle. Out of breath, seeing, but not comprehending, he can only gesture violently to his armed boss in the vague direction of the pilot chair the captain needs to be in right now. Finally he feels the engines shudder, the ground left behind.
As he collapses in the nearest open seat several thoughts that were once raw emotion fall upon him all at once. Lightsabers…there were lightsabers, glowing weapons that carve through flesh like hot knives through butter. That man in the mask…a man? Jedi Killer. Pirut and Zimzi Jedi…or not Jedi? He can’t…he can’t think straight. He’s still terrified, but at least he can catch a breath. And another. It’s all up to Gamiel now.
Zimzi slowly eases into a seat next to him, one arm around her midsection. Suddenly Gamiel whirls around to them.
He almost roars. “Where’s Pirut?!”
Zimzi’s head bows. Toba tries to find a way to best speak for her. Gamiel’s face is pale, an odd thing to see on a rough skinned Besalisk, but he still wants to hear it, still needs to know for sure. If there were even a chance Toba knows his captain would take the risk and turn the ship around.
“Gone.” Toba finally whispers.
Gamiel’s face puckers with anger and if not for tonight Toba would probably be scared of him right now. He turns back to his controls, all four hands on handles and levers and Notayacht begins a steep climb. Cynda appears, bright and silver, in the front viewport…and then drastically dims.
Toba leans forward and sees the shadow of the largest ship he has ever seen, an enormous black dagger in space, blocking out most of the moon’s light.
“We’ve got a problem!” Gamiel calls out.
“It’s The First Order.” Zimzi’s voice is thin and ominous.
Toba is in disbelief. “That ship belongs to The First Order!?” The First Order he has heard of…a little. A small sect of Imperial descendants and admirers with grudges, dwelling in a pocket of charted space, all bark, no bite.
“We can talk about how a bunch of thugs have a ginormous ship when we’re not dying!” Gamiel counters and he makes an immediate turnabout, heading back to Gorse and sending a new wave of panic through Toba.
“Can’t go that way.” Gamiel echoes all their thoughts. “That destroyer’s turbolasers will rip my ship to shreds. We keep with the original plan.”
Toba means to ask, but soon he sees the never ending, constant line of late shift thorilide traffic coming from Gorse to the hyperspace markers. Soon they are with the traffic, one of them again.
“Now what?” He asks Gamiel. The captain whirls on him and speaks in a low, dangerous voice.
“You both are to keep quiet. Do as I say. When I-” It goes dark again; another shadow passes overhead, but this one comes low, right above them.
Toba’s eyes catch movement at the edge of the front view ports and the first things he sees are barrels of twin heavy laser cannons and the ship they come with. She is not as large as Notayacht, instead comparable to the other frequent fliers, but that is where the similarity ends; the ship is all wings, two of them, sleek, black, sweeping up and outward. The way the ship moves twists a knot in Toba’s stomach. He recalls the canopy bats on his homeworld; top predators that camouflage themselves as large dark fan leaves and fly through the treetops on windy days, mimicking swept up foliage, before diving down on unsuspecting tree dwelling animals of many sizes.
Just as the ship starts to become a featureless dot it hovers and turns back toward them.
“It’s him.” Zimzi whispers.
Toba needs to clear his mouth before he speaks; it has gone dry. “Can you sense him?”
“That’s the last thing I want to do right now.” She makes herself small in her seat and thoughts run through Toba’s mind that physically is not the only manner she is trying to diminish herself.
The shadow swoops low overhead again heading to the rear, this time passing right above the ship next to them. Toba tries not to look, but the edge of his vision catches the red glowing swath of the ship’s cockpit. If Zimzi is correct, and Toba has no reason to doubt her, Pirut’s murderer is aboard that ship, searching…hunting.
It goes on like this for several slow minutes. By the time the ship has made two passes Toba and Zimzi are physically shaking. All four of Gamiel’s hands have remained fixed and motionless on the same controls and handles. He glances over at them a few times.
“Hold it together you two. Keep calm.”
Keep calm. The captain might as well be telling them to cut off their own arms with Zimzi’s lightsaber.
Gamiel gives a frustrated noise. “Do whatever you have to! Hold hands! Do something!”
Toba starts to glance over to Zimzi, but her hand is already shooting out to grasp onto his. After a moment he returns her grip, equally tight. It does help. At least he’s calmed down enough to notice that traffic is backed up this shift. But even with traffic as it is they shouldn’t be going even at this slow rate.
Gamiel knows it too and he flips on the ship’s working comm, the exterior comm. “Kid, is that Cynda Dreaming II up ahead?” Toba leans forward out of his seat to see and recognizes the familiar satellite dish. Nodding, Gamiel changes channels on the comm until he reaches her.
He tries to insert the inquiry with his normal level of annoyance. “Hey Crass, are we ever getting out of here? Half the thorilide’s gonna decay at this rate.”
A brief sizzle of static ensues before they hear from the captain of Cynda Dreaming II. “You got me Gamiel. I’ve been asking around and the ships furthest up ahead say some measure of authority is coming around to individual ships, stopping them straight away. They’re waving around blasters, asking about fugitives. If you ask m-”
Gamiel stops listening and turns all focus on Notayacht’s electronic rear view displays. The patrolling shadow is moving towards the rear, reaching the point where it usually begins to turn back around. The captain makes his decision in a heartbeat. He fires up all the sublight engines and jerks the controls up and to the left. The ship’s frame groans and all three occupants are pushed back hard into their seats. Far behind, but not nearly far enough for comfort, the response of the Killer’s ship is immediate.
Their engines are at full power and the front view screens show nothing but stars; no Star Destroyer in this direction, they are clear ahead. But the Killer is faster and handles parsecs better than Notayacht. Its twin ion cannons begin to fire. At this range the shots easily go wide, but the distance is closing fast.
Gamiel punches the controls for his ship’s heat shields and then, to Toba’s horror, cuts all power from the engines and jerks back hard on the controls, pulling the nose of his ship up.
Toba cries out. “What are you doing?! We’ll stall!”
“SHUT UP! Zimzi when I say now open the left rear cargo doors!”
She leans forward, her fingers hovering above the large switch. Through the rear displays Toba sees the Killer’s ship growing larger rapidly from below. Red light streaks out from the cannons. Notayacht shakes and alarms begin to wail, warning them about shields draining fast and then minor hull breaches. The Killer stops firing, he is still close and almost right below, but at this angle he can’t hit them. Soon however, he will begin to swing around for another pass.
“NOW!”
Zimzi hits the switch. Gamiel flips Notayacht hard over on its left side. A cascade of thorilide filled containers spill out, crashing down and breaking apart upon giant black wings.
Gamiel guns up the engines and they race away. Behind them the shadow jerks and tumbles away, a bat with a crippled wing. A moment and a half later a pleasant alarm pings, they are beyond Gorse’s sphere of influence and safe for hyperspace, which the captain takes to their fullest advantage, delivering them into the safety of a hundred thousand stars.
With a guttural sigh he relaxes all four arms and slumps in his chair. Zimzi folds in on herself and hides her face. Toba feels… not his arms, nor his legs, only his heart, pounding in his ears, reminding him that he is alive. He is alive, after all this terror. And Pirut is dead. The thought blurs his vision and soon tears are running hot tracks down his face. When his eyes finally clear, he looks over to Zimzi; her face is wet too. In that very moment Toba desperately wants to reach over and wrap his arms around her to chase away their sorrows and do the impossible, bring Pirut back to her. He knows the Ithorian was the only family the young girl had. But for now, in the blue glow of hyperspace and the soft hum of the ship, he waits for her.
She looks to Gamiel and stammers out. “S-so, so where…where can you drop me off?”
“I don’t recall firing you.”
“W-what…”
“There’s work to be done on the other side of the Galaxy, deep in the Outer Rim.” Gamiel gestures with one hand out into the blue swirl ahead of them. “And we’re going to do it. Together.”
“B-but…”
“They’ll find me? Kill me? Psshhh…They do that to plenty of other people already; don’t need an excuse. Oft’ times beings forget that the galaxy’s still a big, big place.” He leans forward and gently covers her shoulder with one hand, but it’s his words that come softest.
“Zizi, kudu ley… I’m involved, waaaay involved with you Zimzi. You and Pirut caught my eye and now I never want to look away. Know that you can stay with me. Nothing about that has to change. Ask anything and I’ll take care of you.”
A fresh flow of tears cascade down her face, but Toba knows they aren’t all coming from a sad place. She leans against his arm for a moment.
“How long did you know?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t know exactly what you two were all about, but I figured it had something to do with the Force. I let you be and gave what I thought you needed.”
Gamiel looks at Toba now.
For a split second Toba considers the danger. He is back on Gorse seeing the dark masked man, real and tall above him. He considers the real possibility of seeing that nightmare again, of running for his life again, of his last sight being a red flame blade. He knows he is incredibly lucky to still be alive.
He decides he doesn’t care.
“I’m staying on for as long as you’ll have me captain.”
Gamiel’s face splits open into the widest, ugliest smile Toba has ever seen him give. “I’m glad I didn’t have to break out the harpoon cables. Now, if you need me I’ll be checking the damage, starting in the cargo hold.” He stands and then suddenly groans. “Oh…this means I have to teach you how to fly my ship.” He goes to exit the cockpit, but as he leaves he points two fingers at Toba. “Not today. Not today.”
Zimzi give a slight smile. The impossible. If she can do it, this soon after, so can he.
The moment is fleeting; she is giving him a serious look now, sad and older than her years again. She takes his hand and holds on, as they did before under the threat of the shadow passing overhead. Toba doesn’t even remember letting go.
“Why stay? Do you really know what you’re getting involved in? Others like you haven’t met happy ends.”
He opens his mouth, tries to say anything, but the truth is he doesn’t know why at all. In response to his silence Zimzi retreats out of the cockpit, returning a moment later with a small bronze box. She holds out her hand and the box floats out to the space between them. He feels a sense of vertigo; half believing that he should obey the cube’s rules and start floating too. Then it slowly begins to collapse and rotates into a new shape that emits a small blue hologram of a bearded man dressed in robes. They both watch as he speaks.
This is master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder to any surviving Jedi: trust in the Force. Do not return to the temple. That time has passed, and our future is uncertain. We will each be challenged: our trust, our faith, our friendships. But we must preserve and, in time, I believe a new hope will emerge. May the Force be with you.
The message ends and an image of a woman replaces the man, wearing similar robes, her dark hair drawn back in simple short braids. Her face is thoughtful, but also shows a slight smile, hinting that she did not take life as a whole too serious.
“A friend we’re going to visit?” Toba quietly inquires.
“She’s dead.” Zimzi’s voice is hollow.
“I-I’m sorry.”
“I never knew her. She’s been dead nearly half a century. The man too.” The woman’s image flickers off and the box, now a cube again, collapses back into Zimzi’s hands.
“So, does she mean something to you?”
“Pirut…” Zimzi takes a deep breath. “Pirut had someone who taught her things, things about the Force. Her teacher had a teacher. He had a teacher who, when he was just a boy, was the student of the woman you saw. She was Depa Billaba, a Jedi Master.”
“So…you’re like her great-great grand-apprentice?”
She shrugs in response and after a moment of silence Toba continues, to understand what this means for him and Gamiel.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were Jedi? I’ve never met one before.”
“And you still haven’t.”
“I-I don’t understand.” He sputters and points out her lightsaber, now assembled and hanging off of her utility belt. He has never met a Jedi before, but he knows the lightsaber is their weapon.
Or so he thought. Among Pirut’s last words were: That doesn’t make us Jedi.
“Pirut and I…we aren’t…we weren’t Jedi. There are no philosophies, tomes, or temples. We’ve never known any Jedi. It was just us…and the Force.”
The air is heavy with the unspoken. And now it’s just me.
“All I have is this-” she holds up the cube “and past teachers who had more business with hiding and surviving. With every generation more knowledge was lost.”
“So you do have teachings and traditions.” Toba points out.
She gives him a bitter smile. “If you call dying before your hair turns grey and teaching orphans before your own training is done, then yes, I suppose we have traditions.” She presents the lightsaber. “I didn’t even make this. It belonged to…one who came before me.”
Toba doesn’t take her denial and deprecation, not after what he felt just a moment before when she herself opened the cube and watched the deceased Jedi speak words from the past.
“You used that lightsaber. You’ve got the Force. Maybe that doesn’t mean as much to you as all that philosophy, but to lowlife miners and fliers like me that makes you a Jedi. And when someone thinks you’re a Jedi what are you going to do?”
“Run usually.”
“What if you didn’t have to run?”
“I-I don’t know. I’ve never had to ask that question.” She takes a deep breath. “Pirut did though. I was a little girl when we heard about Luke Skywalker. He was certainly a Jedi and was training a new generation. Pirut believed he was the new hope Kenobi spoke of. She meditated about it and decided to at least meet with him. Talk with him. Show him our past.” She holds up the cube when she says this. And then a dark memory passes across her face and she cannot quite returns to the placid façade she had been keeping to before as she continues.
“We were too late. We didn’t find Skywalker; we found the ones hunting him. Then we discovered we were targets too. So we went back to hiding.”
She rolls the cube through her hands several times. In these moments Toba puts two and two together.
“The Jedi Killer?”
“Pirut believed he destroyed Skywalker’s work. He wasn’t there when we arrived. He leads the ones who found us though. We knew then we had to hide and he might even be the one to come after us.”
“Even though…”
“The only thing that matters to him is we’re not on his side.”
“Who is he? Who are they?”
“No idea.” He guesses she’s too busy surviving to worry about things like that.
“So…he’ll still be coming for you?”
“I-I think that’s a good assumption...” Her monotone voice has been straining further and further under the weight of familial loss breaks. He squeezes her hand tighter.
“Thank you…thank you for telling me. I understand better. But I’m still staying. I was there today. I remember what we saw, so I do understand the danger.” She nods, one less burden on her shoulders and silently looks out to the view of hyperspace.
“Besides, a person like that…he has to have more than one thing on his mind. Something might come up and distract them.” He has offered the suggestion as words of comfort that sound weak as soon as they leave his mouth; he doesn’t even believe them himself.
Zimzi doesn’t turn to look back at him though. She’s not looking at much at all, her breathing slow and rhythmic, and her face calmer than he’s seen. Rather she’s staring somewhere far away, different from the walls of the spaceship or even hyperspace.
“Something…something like an awakening.”