The Last Jedi

Forty-One


“This gonna work?” Den asked, his eyes on the wall of floating rock that dominated the vista from the ship’s forward viewport.

They’d entered hyperspace near Mandalore and exited in the Bothan system, flying the ident codes of the Raptor. Now they skirted the Fervse’dra asteroid field, looking for the best point of entry.

“Do you want the odds?” I-Five asked. He was back in his augmented I-5YQ chassis, manually copiloting the ship and feeding navigational data directly to the navicomp from his own matrix via his right index finger.

“No, thanks,” Den said, “I’ll pass. It’d probably just make me squirm.”

“As you wish.”

The droid’s optics blinked and a holographic tactical display of the asteroid field appeared over the control console.

“According to my calculations, Kantaros Station will be there.” A blossom of red bloomed amid the field of tumbling rock, which was called out in blue-gray on the display.

“And we are here,” Sacha said from the pilot’s seat. She nodded at the bright spot of amber on the outer rim of the field, matching speed with the asteroids.

“There are a number of ways to approach this,” said I-Five. “Laterally, from the front, from the rear …”

“I say we skim underneath the field,” Sacha said, “until we’re in hailing distance of the station, then come up from below and behind. Less chance of getting creamed by a big one that way. If we’re traveling with the flow of debris, it’ll be easier to stay out of its way. Or …” She pointed at a third point of light that had just appeared on the screen. “We could follow that in.”

That was a large Toydarian freighter scuttling along the top of the asteroid field like a fat beetle.

“I’d be willing to bet,” she said, “that they’ve done this before. And if we follow in their wake, we’ll have the benefit of their navigator’s familiarity with the protocols.”

“What if they haven’t done this before?” Den asked.

She shrugged and threw him a gamine grin. “They’ll clear the way for us either way. Ship that size has gotta have repulsor shields brawny enough to shove a few rocks out of its path.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Boy, you are quite the little pessimist, aren’t you?”

Den glared at her in mock outrage. “Who’re you calling little?”

She laughed. “If they don’t have strong enough repulsors, they’ll still clear the rocks out of our way. I’m not gonna get so close that we’ll get skragged if they blow, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise. So what’ll it be, boys?” she asked, putting both hands firmly on the steering yoke. “We going in after ’em?”

“Aye,” said I-Five.

“Sure,” Den said. “Why not?”

Sacha handled the ship like a pro. It moved gracefully and deftly under her hands. It was almost, Den thought, like having Jax at the helm. Who knew, maybe this particular Podracer had some Force sensitivity. That might account for her success in the sport.

Whatever the reason, at the helm of the Laranth she was nothing short of amazing, weaving balletically through the upper strata of asteroids to settle in behind the Toydarian, where she kept the perfect distance and aspect. There was no sense of tension, no uncertainty. It was as if she did this every day of her life.

“The Toydarian just started sending,” I-Five said.

“Then so should we,” Sacha told him.

“Aye, Captain.” The droid began sending their own set of ident codes—or rather the ones he had lifted from the real Raptor.

In a matter of moments, they were hailed by the docking authority and their ident codes acknowledged. Their amber locator blip was joined by a bright green one buried in the depths of the asteroid field. It overlay I-Five’s predicted location almost exactly.

Den practically held his breath as they followed the homing beacon to Kantaros Station. The very sight of the Imperial craft that were synced with the installation made his dewlaps sweat. But they glided serenely in abaft the larger freighter, their only communication with the station coming in the form of a docking bay assignment in the “southern hemisphere” of the station.

“Not bad,” Sacha said, turning the helm over to the automated docking beacon. “Small size does have its advantages.”

“As I’ve often said,” murmured Den.

“Chiefly that we get to dock closer to the heart of the operation.”

“Uh-huh—and then what?”

“Then,” I-Five said, “we blend in, get the lay of the land, do some eavesdropping, and start snooping around.”

“Blend in,” Den repeated, eyeing the droid skeptically. “You expect to blend in—in that getup?”

To say I-Five looked peculiar—and menacing—would be to understate the case. He was a gleaming nightmare—one-third protocol droid, one-third Nemesis assassinator, and one-third who knew what. One arm seemed almost normal—it wasn’t—and the other, in pristine white, looked like a rocket launcher, which was not too far from the truth. One leg was silver, one was gold; both were augmented with antigravity repulsors. The long, helmetlike cowling that formed the back of his head was encrusted with short, conical spikes—he could kill someone simply by falling over backward on them.

Diplomacy with an evil twist.

The droid had all sorts of surprises up his metal sleeves, Den was sure. During their recent stay on Toprawa, he’d acquired the ability to move from chassis to chassis on his own and, therefore, work on his “upgrades” by himself. Den had lost control—and even knowledge—of the modifications from that time on. I-Five might have battle droid parts installed beneath his metal skin for all the Sullustan knew.

“I think he’ll be brilliant,” Sacha said. “We’ll all be brilliant. We’ll look so Black Sunny that no one will have any reason to question us.”

“Black Sunny?” Den repeated.

“You know—scruffy, but well heeled; hard-boiled, but eccentric. Colorful.”

Den peered at her. She was colorful, all right—from her formfitting black-and-red coverall to the artful streaks of silver she had introduced into her shoulder-length hair. She wore a blaster on each hip, carried a hold-out pistol in her right boot, and had a vibroblade hidden in her left. Only she knew what else she’d secreted in the inner pockets of her flight jacket.

Den was no less “eccentric” in dress—she’d made sure of that. He was covered from neck to toes in black synthskin. He was also armed to the teeth—all Black Sun operatives were armed to the teeth.

They looked as much like pirates as Jax had.

Den experienced a sharp pang of loss, wondering where Jax was now, and what he was doing.

And if they’d ever see him again.