by Kevin Hearne
Checking on Drusil, I noted that she was not unfamiliar with how to handle a blaster; she was even practicing proper trigger discipline, keeping her finger outside the guard for the time being.
Seconds ticked by in near silence and I thought I picked up a low mechanical whir, but that was off to my right and might have been Artoo.
It was Artoo, in fact; he shot a bolt from his ion blaster, the attachment we’d installed on Denon to disable Drusil’s security droid, directly across our vision from right to left. The white electric bolt splashed and crackled against an egg-shaped obstruction, which fizzed and popped and then melted away, revealing a Rodian bounty hunter who had been advancing upon us using a stealth-field generator attached to his belt. He was fast: He leveled his blaster and squeezed off three quick shots at the source, hitting at least once, judging by Artoo’s high-pitched scream.
He never got off a fourth shot. With his stealth field neutralized, Nakari could see him, and she sent a slug through his eye that exploded the back of his head like a jogan fruit. Two down, four to go.
I hoped Artoo wasn’t seriously damaged. I saw a thin trail of smoke rising through the trees, revealing his position, but he was also chattering angrily, so clearly he wasn’t completely out of commission.
The problem was that he was making himself an easy target—and Nakari, too, if she was hiding nearby. It would be smart to put some distance between herself and the droid.
Drusil commented on the problem. “The damage to your droid reduces our tactical advantage. Seeing what happened to their colleagues and having a plain target to follow now, the remaining bounty hunters may attack our partners instead of ascending the hill. They could then attempt to flank us. At any rate, Nakari’s ability to surprise is negated at this point.”
“Maybe we can surprise them,” I said in a low voice, and pointed at two tan-skinned bipeds dressed for the desert. “See there? Two more of them advancing through the trees, working together as a team. Weequay.”
“I have never encountered the species before.”
“Tough hides. Naturally resistant to blasterfire. The Hutts like to use them as bodyguards and bounty hunters.”
Drusil looked down, considering her weapon. “If they are resistant to our blasters, what can we do?”
“Resistant doesn’t mean invulnerable. Nakari will have a better chance of knocking them down with a slug, of course, but we can probably wound them. Just firing at them will draw Nakari’s attention—and theirs—and she can pick them off while we keep them busy.”
“If she has the best chance of prevailing then we should let her take it. If you will permit me an observation, there are six functioning ships back at the lagoon to steal. Our odds of surviving without stealing one are quite low.”
“Bounty hunters are paranoid,” I said, shaking my head. “They’ll have identity locks on their ignition sequence and maybe even traps installed so that no one else can fly their ships.”
“So? You’re with the galaxy’s best slicer,” Drusil said, and then she shrugged at my reaction. “Or one of the best, if I am being modest. Let my injudicious expression of confidence reassure rather than shock you. Get us back to the beach alive, Luke Skywalker, and I will get us a ship.”
“How much time would you need?”
“If they are extraordinarily equipped, I may need as much as half an hour, no more. If a certain ship looks too difficult and we are pressed for time, however, we can simply choose another. The odds that all of them will have time-consuming security to overcome are small.”
“All right, we’ll head back to the lagoon. But we need to take out those Weequay first. Maybe that Rodian will have some extra weapons I can use.”
SOMETIMES SIMPLE PLANS are the best ones. Or no plan at all, which is how Han often likes to fight: “If your plan never survives meeting the enemy, kid, why plan at all?” he asked me once. “Wasting time on something that’s going to die in the first few seconds—I mean the plan—is a waste of time.” When I told him that was circular logic he said to stop wasting his time. “Just blast everything and fly a fast ship. And bring a Wookiee. Works for me.”
I didn’t have a Wookiee or a fast ship anymore, but I could blast everything. I began shooting at the Weequay to make them take cover and halt their advance to the flank; once they hunkered down and fired back, Nakari would place bullet holes on their temples like periods at the end of a sentence. Drusil joined me and proved to be quite accurate. She took fewer shots but they were well aimed, her very first one striking one of the Weequay on the shoulder and knocking him down. His partner dived into the ferns also, but both of them popped up behind trees and returned fire, wild shots at first that didn’t threaten us. I discovered that the trees weren’t very good cover when I blasted one and it splintered apart, soft spongy wood spraying out behind yet toppling it forward, the canopy obstructing our view for a few seconds. The bounty hunter took advantage of that to move elsewhere, and the crack of Nakari’s rifle sounded twice. I didn’t see him fall, but he didn’t get up to shoot at us again, either.
The tree trunk behind which Drusil knelt exploded in a blast from the other bounty hunter and fell backward. Drusil rolled away toward me, out of the shadow of its path, and poured four quick shots back at the Weequay. Those might have been shots fired in anger; I still couldn’t tell from her expression. Combined with my own firing, one of us hit him and he tumbled back into the ferns—down, but not out.
“He will move and fire from a different position,” Drusil mumbled, as much to herself as me, and then added a bit more clearly, “Probably to our left, ten to fifteen meters.”
She turned out to be half-right. The Weequay did emerge from the ground cover to our left, but he didn’t fire. He rose and sprinted uphill, a move that would eventually place him on our flank and put us between him and Nakari.
Except Nakari wasn’t having any of that. He hadn’t moved twenty meters before the staccato clap of her slugthrower echoed in the air and punched the bounty hunter off his feet.
“Four down,” I said, allowing a note of hope to creep into my voice. We had chosen our positions well, and now there were only two left.
“The Aqualish will be problematic,” Drusil said.
“What Aqualish? Where?”
“The one far downhill with a grenade launcher.”
Problematic indeed. I didn’t see him at first, but eventually I spotted movement through the trees. He was thick-limbed, with two frontal tusks and large dark eyes. These weak trees had already proven to be poor protection, and Nakari and Artoo had nothing else—nor did we. The bounty hunter wouldn’t lob a grenade our way for fear of taking out Drusil, but he wasn’t approaching us. Nakari was at the top of his list. She had been so effective that she had marked herself as the primary threat.
“We have to bring him down.” I raised my blaster and steadied it by cupping my left hand under it and locking my elbows. My first shot was perceptibly in his direction but didn’t get too close, since it clipped a tree trunk on its way and its energy was absorbed.
“At this distance and with this number of obstructions, accuracy from a handheld blaster is difficult to achieve,” Drusil noted. “We should move closer, yet keep an eye out for the last bounty hunter.”
I didn’t hesitate. Rising to my feet and scanning ahead, looking for a clear shot, I kept my blaster in a two-handed grip, ready to fire as soon as the opportunity arrived. But the Aqualish saw his opportunity first. He pointed his weapon up, and a huffing noise heralded the launch of his first grenade.
“No,” I said, and took the best shot I could. It scored the side of a trunk near the bounty hunter, but he didn’t even turn his head. He just fired another grenade as the first one landed and rocked the island with a palpable concussion. It wasn’t particularly close to Nakari, nor was the second one, but I think he was merely finding his range.
Giving up on trying to blast him since all I hit were trees, I aimed at the trees instead—ones tha
t might fall on him and cause him to quit firing grenades long enough for me to do more lasting damage. Drusil helped, and several of them began to topple around the bounty hunter, but he managed to fire two more grenades before scrambling out of the way, finally affected by our fusillade.
Desperate, I stretched out with the Force, trying to locate those grenades and divert their path at least a little bit, but I couldn’t find them or feel them. I felt Nakari’s presence, though, and the Aqualish running for cover, and also the last bounty hunter, a reptilian Trandoshan, crouching in the ferns close to the lagoon and taking in the scene. And I was able to sense all this just as the grenades boomed and shook the ground below us and a cry of pain, cut short, was accompanied by Artoo’s wail, and then there was a sharp, empty space in the Force where Nakari had been a moment earlier.
It was a blow to the gut, realizing what that sudden absence meant. I hadn’t seen it happen with my eyes, but I had felt Nakari’s life snuffed out through the Force, and into that void where she had shone anger rushed in—anger, and a cold sense of raw power and invincibility. With clarity I had never felt before, I knew precisely where the Aqualish had moved and the Trandoshan, too. The latter had decided to go after the Aqualish before coming after us, thinking it best to eliminate the guy with the grenade launcher before tackling the people with the blasters.
I found myself agreeing with him: Eliminate the Aqualish. I took a step to join in the hunt but stopped, breathing heavily, unaccountably sweating even though I felt so cold inside and the power of the Force roiled within me.
“I don’t feel so good,” I muttered, and when Drusil asked me to clarify, I didn’t answer. It was the feeling of invincibility that worried me—I had just learned through the Force that we were definitely not invincible creatures, and yet now the Force suggested that I somehow was. I shook with emotion and power, and none of it felt the way the Force had before—warm and supportive and nurturing. I was frightened both by the unfamiliarity of the feeling and because I didn’t know what to do with all that energy.
So I kept still, letting the bounty hunters go after each other and consciously slowing down my breathing, trying to calm myself and control the impulse to lash out unthinkingly. Had the Aqualish been directly in front of me, I doubt I would have been able to restrain that impulse, but he was still a good distance away and had changed tactics now, trying to stalk us and use a blaster set to stun. I sensed that he was unaware of being stalked in turn.
“Luke, you seem unwell. Can I assist you somehow?”
“I need a minute, Drusil,” I managed, realizing that she didn’t know yet that Nakari was gone. Merely thinking that refilled the empty space in the Force with even more rage, and I saw what kind of a space it was, a black hole that would always be hungry no matter how much I fed it. I might never feel warm again if I didn’t get myself under control.
Blasterfire erupted downhill, an exchange of murderous heat between the two bounty hunters, and when the Aqualish’s presence disappeared from the Force, I felt a small sense of justice, if not balance. Another deep breath, and I opened my eyes, feeling a semblance of calm return.
“Only one of them left now,” I said.
“Are you certain?”
“Positive. The Trandoshan. Did you see him?”
“Earlier, yes, but I was worried about you and took my eyes off him for approximately nineteen seconds.”
“Well, we don’t have to sit here and wait. Probably better that we don’t. We’ve pushed our luck far enough as it is. Let’s get back to the beach like you suggested and steal a ship.”
“You are thinking Nakari will shoot the—”
“No,” I said, cutting her off and shaking my head. “The grenades.”
“Oh,” Drusil said, a hand rising to her throat. For the first time I thought I saw emotion on her face. “That is heartbreaking. You saw?”
“No.” I looked down, trying to keep it together. “I felt it.”
“I am so very sorry.”
“Me, too.”
The Givin’s head turned to gaze downhill. “But then we must worry about the Trandoshan ourselves.”
We did, but at some point, the clarity of sense that I’d possessed had faded away along with my anger. I no longer felt the bounty hunter’s presence in the Force. All I felt was loss.
“I’m sure he’ll be along eventually if we just stay here,” I said.
“Wait,” the Givin said, staring into the forest. She pointed with a pale finger. “Do you see that thicket of shrubbery between the two trees six degrees left of the y axis from our position? Shoot it.”
I squinted through the tree trunks until I found the thicket she spoke of. “Why? Did you see something move?”
“No. But based on available cover, spatial geometrics, and his prior movements, the statistical probability he is there is quite high.”
I wasn’t going to argue. Even if we missed it would most likely flush him out. “Shoot the center of it?”
“Just to the right of center. I will shoot slightly right of that, nearer the tree. Let us steady our hands, aim carefully, and fire together on my count.”
Drusil counted down from three and we fired in tandem into the foliage. We were rewarded with a pained cry of surprise and followed up with a few more shots to make sure. I looked at the Givin, incredulous that she could figure his position so precisely, and she shrugged.
“What can I say? Math.”
A GRISLY YET RELIABLE fact about custom bounty hunter ships is that you can always count on them to have body bags stashed somewhere for the easy transport of their kills. They often had built-in refrigerated storage, too, and a small chamber that served as a brig for those bounties they needed to bring back alive.
Much as it hurt, I searched for and found a body bag for Nakari in one of the ships that had its bay open, then I trekked back into the forest and finally set eyes on her, visually confirming what I had already felt. I couldn’t just leave her on Omereth. Fayet Kelen had already had his wife ripped from him with no way to say good-bye and let go. It was the very least I could do to take his daughter home; I owed her far more.
Nakari had ragged holes in her from shrapnel, but I was relieved that she was at least still in one piece and her eyes were already closed. Artoo waited nearby, still smoking from where a bolt had destroyed his ion blaster and part of the socket where it had been attached. The rest of him was coated in a thin layer of black grit and carbon scoring. He greeted me with a morose moan instead of his usual burble.
“We’ll get you fixed, Artoo,” I reassured him, and then I dropped to my knees next to Nakari, eyes welling up already, and in a strange way I welcomed the blur to my vision and let the tears come; I’d never done so before because it had never seemed the proper time to mourn. Ben had been there when I discovered the burnt bodies of my aunt and uncle and I’d bottled everything up in shock, telling myself that the Empire was hunting us and we had to get to Alderaan. When Vader cut down Ben, there was no time to mourn him, either, only time to escape the Death Star and then join the Battle of Yavin. I lost my old friend Biggs to a TIE fighter during that battle, but I could hardly allow myself to think of that when I had to make my firing run down the trench. Then, incredibly, we won the day and everyone was happy, and there was always more work to do after that. It was never the right time to stop and feel all that I’d lost. But I had the time now: The Empire didn’t know where I was, Drusil would wait until I returned, and Artoo wouldn’t judge me. So I finally opened up that bottle inside and let the grief pour out. Nakari’s smile, Ben’s teaching, my aunt and uncle, joking around with Biggs, and so much more—all of it had been ripped from me by the war and I’d repressed it all because I thought I had to. But no more. My throat constricted with emotion and I lowered my head to Nakari’s shoulder and allowed myself to feel it all, the complete tragedy that none of them would ever speak to me again—even Ben’s voice was gone now.
Though it took a while, eventually
I was spent and sat up, brushing a lock of hair away from Nakari’s face and hooking it behind her ear. “I’m so sorry. You were more than just good for me. I should have said so.” It was wholly inadequate, but I couldn’t think of what else to say.
Recalling our conversation last night on Kupoh, I wished I could go back to the Luke of a few hours ago and say, Tell her how you feel now, Luke, while you still have the chance. Because you’ll always regret never saying the words.
I’m not sure why I have such trouble with that. I don’t know if it’s a natural thing or something I learned from Uncle Owen. I know he had strong feelings, but he wasn’t in the habit of giving them words. He would do small things for Aunt Beru, surprising kindnesses, and whenever she came across them her eyes would light up and she would smile and say softly, “Owen.” That’s how she knew, and that’s the example I grew up with: You don’t tell people you love them, you show them. Or maybe I’m just terrified of sounding like an idiot when I try to tell someone they make me glad to be alive. I hope my friends know that I would fight and die for them. And I also hope that is enough, though I’m afraid maybe it isn’t.
I might have stayed there on my knees staring at Nakari until sunset if I hadn’t had Drusil waiting on me in the lagoon. Pointless, really; it wasn’t like I would forget the sight anytime soon. But somehow, putting her in the bag meant I had to let her go, and I didn’t want to. I needed to, though. I needed to let them all go.
It took some effort and a fresh spring of tears rolled down my face in the process, but I got her inside and asked Artoo if he could make it back to the beach on his own as I gently pulled the zipper closed. He beeped and edged forward as an answer, so I said, “Let’s go.”
The thin plas material crackled as I picked up Nakari and with some effort hitched her over my shoulder. Her physical weight didn’t seem nearly as heavy as the pressure of my grief, and I knew I’d have to carry the grief much longer.