“I do recommend buckling up, though,” J-6 said, lowering herself into one of the seats along the wall and clicking restraining straps into place.
Vernestra sat in the copilot’s seat next to Avon. Imri strapped in across from J-6 while Honesty sat next to him. Imri smiled at the younger boy.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said.
“It’s already not okay,” Honesty said, and there was so much conviction in his words that Imri just looked down at his hands.
“Everything seems operable, but I’m getting an error with the shielding,” Avon called from the front. “There’s going to be a lot of debris as we detach,” she said gravely. “So hold on to your butts.”
Imri swallowed hard. Without shields a random piece of the Steady Wing could spell their doom. They weren’t out of danger yet.
“I can help with that,” Vernestra said. “Um, the debris. Not the holding of butts.”
Avon laughed. “Well, yay for the Force.”
There was a jolt as the shuttle detached, and then they were speeding away from the slowly destructing Steady Wing and into the darkness of space. Imri closed his eyes and tried to send an emotion through the Force to his master, to let the man know everything he had meant to him as a teacher. He concentrated, shaking with the effort of reaching out.
But the Jedi, and the rest of the Dalnan delegation, was already gone.
Avon gripped the yoke harder than necessary as she piloted the maintenance shuttle away from the much larger ship. She should’ve let Vernestra fly. Everyone knew that the Jedi were expert pilots, the Force giving them an edge over most everyone else. At least, that’s what the stories said. And after living with Vernestra at Port Haileap, Avon had learned that the stories about the Jedi should be believed. Especially after that maneuver in the dining room. Who but a Jedi would let themselves be pulled out toward space to close a bulkhead? No one Avon knew.
Avon should have let Vernestra fly, but when J-6 had pointed out the lone functioning shuttle, Avon had run into it and jumped into the pilot’s seat because it was something to do besides thinking about disintegrating ships and Jedi Masters using the Force to save her life.
Poor Douglas. Avon had liked him. He’d called her clever once and handed her a sour berry sweet from his pocket. It seemed desperately unfair that he would meet his end in such a completely random, illogical way. What were the chances of a ship breaking apart in straight space? Hyperspace lanes could be risky, especially the closer one got to the Outer Rim. But they were mostly safe as long as everyone followed the rules.
There was no logical explanation for this, and that was what Avon hated the most.
Next to her Vernestra jumped, and in the back Imri let out a moan. Avon twisted around in her seat to look at the Padawan before turning to the Jedi next to her.
“What’s going on? What happened?”
“The ship, it’s gone,” Vernestra said. Avon wondered what she meant, and then the proximity sensors began to scream. Through the viewport chunks of debris went whizzing past, and there was only one explanation Avon could think of for such a phenomenon.
The Steady Wing had exploded.
Avon’s heart clenched at the knowledge Master Douglas was gone forever. It wasn’t fair. If the Force was really guiding everything, how could good people like Master Douglas die so stupidly?
“Are you okay?” Vernestra asked, startling the younger girl. She watched Avon with wide-eyed concern, and Avon dashed away the tears that had managed to spring free.
“I’m great. Are you ready?” Vernestra raised an eyebrow, and Avon blew out an impatient breath. “Vern, you said you were going to use the Force to keep us safe. The shields on this model are not very strong, and we have to get through that, which seems to be getting worse by the minute.” Through the viewport the way before them was littered with pieces of the ship, and other things besides. Avon tried not to look at the debris too closely. She was afraid if she did, the random bits of trash would resolve into people and recognizable things.
Avon pushed the image aside. Focus on the now. Control your impulses, Avon. The voice in her head was her mother’s. Senator Ghirra Starros had never met a problem she couldn’t solve, and even if Avon worked very hard to be nothing like her mother, it was still a valuable trait to have.
“One foot in front of the other,” she muttered.
The proximity alarms continued to blare, the sound pulling Avon from her wayward thoughts. She had really had enough of alarms for one day.
The shuttle shuddered, jostling everyone aboard. Behind Avon, Imri and the Dalnan boy, Honesty, shifted. “Is that supposed to happen?” called Imri.
“No, this is just our day getting worse,” Avon said. “The shields don’t seem to be working at all.”
“I can handle it,” Vernestra said, closing her eyes and leaning back in the seat.
Avon took a deep breath and let it out, and then the maintenance shuttle was deep in the debris field.
Avon had been obsessed with theoretical disaster for years. Every time she and her mother had traveled on official Republic business, Avon had taken great joy in relaying the facts and risks associated with long-haul space travel and hyperspace to anyone who would listen. There were hundreds of logs about what happened when a ship began to break apart in space, most recently with the Legacy Run. As reports came in Avon had been fascinated with them, not because of the loss of life, which was terrible, but because of wanting to understand how the disaster had happened and learn to prevent others like it. Avon believed that tech held the answer to most every problem, and even if it seemed like she was just looking for trouble, she was actually looking for answers.
The answer for the debris field caused by a rapidly disintegrating ship was proximity alarms, which was why every craft was supposed to have them, even maintenance shuttles that usually stayed near the larger vessels they were used to maintain. But warning systems were only half the equation, and without any kind of shielding, the ship would be vulnerable to breach. Avon’s heart pounded with worry. Vernestra looked tired, her closed eyes and steady breathing not able to erase the lines of fatigue around her eyes. Hopefully, she would be able to help them get past the worst of the danger.
Avon took another deep breath and accelerated.
The first bit of debris swirled around them, moving away and to the side as they sped past. Some of the tightness in Avon’s chest loosened. Everything was fine; they’d avoided the worst of the catastrophe.
But then a screeching came from the top of the shuttle, the sound of something big scraping along the outside hull. Avon flicked her eyes over to Vernestra, whose green skin was liberally dotted with perspiration. “Sorry,” she whispered. Her eyes were squeezed shut with concentration, scrunched so hard that the tiny diamonds tattooed around the outside of each eye had nearly disappeared.
Vernestra was fading, even if she wouldn’t admit it.
The Jedi’s stubbornness prickled at Avon in an annoying way, because it was something she could admire, if there were time. Instead she turned back toward the readout.
“Hey, Imri, you think you can help? Keeping all of the bits from wrecking our ship?” Vernestra called.
“I can try,” Imri said, a quaver in his voice, and Avon felt bad for him. He’d just lost his master a few minutes before. Did grief hinder a Jedi’s ability with the Force? She certainly hoped not.
Avon kept her eyes fixed on the readout from the proximity sensors. “I mean, if you don’t we’re joppa stew, if you get my drift.” There was nothing worse than joppa stew, in Avon’s opinion.
“I can do it,” he said, even if he didn’t sound completely convinced.
If neither Vernestra nor Imri could be their fail-proof shield, Avon would have to improvise.
Good thing she excelled at that.
Avon did a few brief calculations in her brain. It would be risky, but she thought she could make it.
It was probably for the best that they had
n’t eaten dinner.
“Hold on,” she called.
“Oh joy,” said J-6.
Avon gave the tiny craft full power and swung the yoke hard to the left. The maintenance shuttle began to tilt like a ride she’d once been on at the Republic Fair, and two seconds later she yanked the control back the other way and then forward. The shuttle shifted wildly, sliding between two large pieces of the ship before tilting upward to avoid another bit of refuse.
“Where did you learn to fly?” asked Honesty.
“Simulator,” Avon said. “But I’ve been borrowing real ships to learn to fly since I was six.”
“She means ‘stealing,’ ” J-6 said.
“I don’t feel so well,” Imri muttered.
“We’re almost through,” Avon said. “Vern, you hanging in there?”
“Yes.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and the tension and worry bloomed once more in Avon’s middle. What happened to a Jedi who used the Force too much? Did they get sick? Maybe Vernestra would wither away into an old lady before Avon’s eyes, her life spent in a great, final act.
That thought actually scared Avon more than the shuttle being pierced by space trash. But the Jedi were mighty, their weapons powered by a nearly limitless energy source. Vernestra would be fine.
She had to be.
Avon, who usually loved discovering the answers to her questions, decided she did not want to know the solution to this quandary, and turned her attention back to weaving through the last bit of the debris.
She accelerated and swerved before rolling the craft to avoid hitting one last piece of wreckage with the fragile wings of the shuttle. And then the proximity sensors were quiet and the alarming scarlet display went green.
“We didn’t die,” said Honesty. Avon swallowed a sigh. She wondered if she was still expected to be diplomatic with the boy since he was most likely the last member of the Dalnan delegation.
That was when it hit Avon: All those people, everyone on the ship. They were all gone. Maybe some of them had gotten to escape pods, but she didn’t think so. Douglas and the Dalnan ambassadors were gone, too, including Ambassador Weft. Avon tried to imagine what she would do if she’d had to leave her mother to the mercy of a disintegrating luxury passenger ship.
She didn’t like the way her heart clenched at the thought. Poor Honesty.
“Well, I would not have died,” J-6 said to no one in particular. “I would have just floated through the galaxy, circuits slowly freezing, a rescue beacon blinking until my systems shut down. So, yes, I do suppose this is better than that.”
Avon twisted to look at her droid. Okay, maybe the self-actualization programming was working a little too well.
“Good job,” Avon said to Vernestra as she turned back to the controls. She began flipping switches and checking systems, but the more she checked the further her heart sank.
It looked like they weren’t quite out of danger just yet.
Honesty Weft was not going to cry.
He blinked hard and took deep breaths, just as he’d been taught in his defensive arts classes. Centered. Grounded. A warrior remained calm even in the midst of chaos.
This, of course, was much more than any Dalnan warrior had ever had to experience. After all, there had not been a war on Dalna in over a hundred years. And Dalnans kept their fights, when they did happen, planetside, where there was air.
He hadn’t even wanted to come on this trip. He’d tried to stay home, to study for his Metamorphosis instead. Honesty wanted to be a combat medical officer, and it was some of the most difficult training around. But his mother had pushed him to accompany his father on his ambassadorial trip, and as always his father had agreed with her.
“Before you decide on a career path, it’s important to try a number of things,” she’d said while packing his bags. “Travel is how an academic, and a warrior, broadens their horizons. Travel, Honesty. Go see the galaxy with your father, and bring me back stories for the family history. Have an adventure! It’s what boys your age are supposed to want to do, not train for a war that is never going to come.”
Honesty had been annoyed that his mother, who had grown up on far-off Corellia and come to Dalna after meeting his father at university, had been so nonchalant about leaving the planet and hurtling through the stars. Most Dalnans never even left the temperate zones, and fewer still ever left the planet.
And now Honesty could understand why.
After the mad dash through the remnants of the Steady Wing—a whole ship, just gone!—the shuttle was quiet for a very long time. It didn’t feel like they were moving at all. The droid hummed a strange tune to herself, the boy next to Honesty stared at his hands as though waiting for something to appear there, and the Jedi with the green skin, a Mirialan, snored loudly as she slept. But no one talked, not even the girl from the Republic, who seemed like she was having fun more than anything else.
Honesty took another deep breath, and a sharp pain stabbed his middle. Why had he argued with his father? Why couldn’t he just be a good and dutiful son? What if he never saw his father again, never got a chance to tell him he loved him and that he was sorry for being disobedient?
Honesty was trying very hard not to panic, but he could feel the hysterical tears creeping ever closer. And when he closed his eyes, all he saw was his father’s face, terrified and resigned, as some unseen power shoved that all to the wrong side of the emergency barrier.
“Are you okay?” asked the boy next to Honesty. Imri Cantaros, the Padawan. The boy looked less like a Jedi, or at least what Honesty had imagined the Jedi to look like, and more like the farmers who tilled the lands back home. He was more than a head taller than Honesty and thick where the Dalnan boy was lanky. But his face was incredibly kind, his eyes shining with concern.
“This is battle. I’m fine,” Honesty said, spitting the words out so his voice wouldn’t waver. Centered. Strong. Grounded.
Was his father disappointed in him in that final minute? Did he think he was still being petulant? The thoughts raced through Honesty’s mind, and he breathed through the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
Imri watched him for a long time before nodding a little. “I’m sorry about your father.”
Honesty blinked and turned back to the other boy. “What are you talking about?” In his chest, the small flame of hope that his father was still alive flickered as Imri spoke.
Imri flushed and cleared his throat. “No one survived but us. Everyone else is . . . gone.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Of course he can know that. He’s a Padawan, which is sort of like an apprentice Jedi. And the Jedi have the Force, which connects all living things.” The brown girl—Avon was her name—turned around and gave Honesty a look he didn’t care for. He wasn’t stupid, but this girl seemed to think he was a bit thick, from the expression on her face. “Besides, the chances of anyone surviving that are . . . not good.” She stopped herself, and her dismissive expression melted into one of sadness. “I’m sorry about your father. My mother said nothing but good things about him in the holo she sent, and she doesn’t really like anybody.”
Tears pricked Honesty’s eyes, and he looked down before they could fall. Ah. Now he knew why Imri had been staring down at his hands. It was easier to hide the fact that you were crying if no one could see your face.
“I’m sorry about your father, as well,” Honesty said to the boy next to him, his voice thick.
“He wasn’t my dad. He was my master,” Imri said, but there was anguish lacing his words.
“What did your master do?” There weren’t many Jedi on Dalna, and the ones who were there kept to themselves, only stepping in when asked, not like the ones Honesty had met from Port Haileap.
“He taught me what it meant to be a good Jedi, and how to be more in tune with the Force.”
Honesty nodded. “That sounds a little like what a parent does.”
Imri’s expression fell, his pain
becoming even more apparent. “Yeah, I guess so.”
They both fell quiet once more, and as they flew through the unrelenting blackness of space, the only sound came from the droid as she continued humming to herself. Honesty looked around and realized that he was indeed having an adventure.
And he did not like it one bit.
When Vernestra woke it was with a start. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but her body hummed in the way it always did after using the Force heavily. She wasn’t exhausted, but there was still a hollowness in her body that was partly hunger and partly the aftereffects of using the Force. Even though she meditated regularly, it was rare that she was required to wield so much power at once. Fighting against the natural vacuum of space had not been easy.
When she was a youngling she’d often reached for the Force, once she learned how, just to feel that thrill, that calm sensation of the galaxy and all the life and energy moving through it. When she became a Padawan she found herself reaching for the Force every night before bed during her meditation, like putting on an extra-comfortable tunic after a long day of hard work. She would often drift off after such meditation, lulled by a sense of rightness and peace.
This sleep had not been that kind of rest. Vernestra stretched as she woke, body aching, head pounding. She’d tested her limits, helping Douglas keep the ship together, pushing away the debris field as they fled the wreckage of the Steady Wing.
Douglas. A jab of sorrow lanced through Vernestra as she thought of the Jedi Master. He would return to the cosmic Force that connected all things in the galaxy. Vernestra would feel that connection, and the echo of Douglas, every time she meditated before bed. The cosmic Force was calm and helped give a Jedi wisdom and guidance. That was what happened to all living things when they died, but that didn’t minimize the ache of loss Vernestra felt when thinking about the other Jedi. He’d been the first to welcome her to Port Haileap and to congratulate her on passing her trials at such a young age.
A Test of Courage Page 4