Last Shot

by Daniel José Older

  “I love droids, of course,” Fyzen said, shaking his head. “They are more evolved than we organics are. But they can be very, very dense sometimes.”

  “I’m just happy to have my arms,” Lando said, raising them again so no one would feel any need to restrain him.

  “Yes, Mr. Calrissian, I sense…” Gor tilted his head, squinting his black eyes at Lando from across the chamber. “I sense something in you. That there’s more to you than you let on.”

  “You know what’s wild? You are the second person to say that to me today.”

  “I sense you could prove useful in the coming storm.”

  “You’re not about to try to make out with me, are you? Because…”

  “…if you learn some obedience and the power of service and sacrifice.”

  “Obedience has never been one of my strong points.”

  “Watch.” Fyzen pulled down the sleeve of his right arm, revealing a series of old scars on his pale skin. “You know, you almost got to witness me implanting this all those years ago, I believe. That night you nearly caught up to me, remember?” He pulled out a long serrated knife and jabbed it into his flesh with a breathy grunt. “You were in here, weren’t you? My workshop…”

  “I thought it looked familiar!”

  “Master Gor,” the Phylanx droned, his voice now booming melancholically through the hold around them.

  “Silence,” Fyzen spat. “Traitor.” Cringing, he pulled the blade along the length of his forearm as dark blood seeped out of the fresh wound. “You don’t get to speak to me after what you’ve done.”

  “Your own plans have forsaken you, huh, Gor?” Lando said, finding a chuckle inside himself despite everything. “It’s almost like you’re doing something wrong.”

  “Wrong?” Fyzen whirled around, glaring at Lando. “Quite the opposite!” He sliced another laceration along the other side of his forearm, a short one across the top connecting the two. “Everything is going exactly as planned!”

  “That’s not exactly true, Master Gor,” the Phylanx pointed out.

  “You are irrelevant, Number One!” Gor raged. “Your opinion on this doesn’t matter!” He peeled a dripping, glistening flap of flesh away, revealing a control panel of some kind beneath.

  “What did you do to yourself, man?” Lando gaped.

  “I simply vouchsafed one of my most prized possessions somewhere that I knew it wouldn’t be discovered if I was to be imprisoned.”

  “Most people just use—”

  “This is an activator.” Fyzen reached his long fingers into the gash and, flinching, dug them into the flesh around the device. “It’s one I develo—aaah! One I developed over many, many years of studying droids and their operating systems.”

  “So your master plan for causing a droid rebellion is to manipulate droids everywhere to do what you tell them? Seems flawed somehow, can’t put my finger on how…”

  “It’s not manipulation if it’s what they’ve been destined to do all along!” Jaw clenched with pain, eyes closed, Fyzen yanked at the activator, then let out a howl. If Lando hadn’t been under guard and unarmed, this would’ve been an excellent time to jump the man. The tall droids stood staring him down, though, and even if he could get the upper hand on Gor, he was badly outnumbered.

  Anyway, all he had to do was destroy the Phylanx. Gor he could handle later. The question was, how? It was the head that had to go; that was simple enough. But even with all four detonators he’d brought, if that panel closed back over the head, it could easily make it through the blast intact.

  No, Lando needed something bigger. And fast.

  With a final, gut-wrenching scream, Fyzen pulled the activator out of his arm. For a few moments he just stood there panting and dripping blood all over the floor.

  “Master Gor, no…” the Phylanx blurted out. “This is not the way.”

  “The way!” Gor chuckled. “You will all soon know the true way!” He slid open a compartment directly beneath the Phylanx’s head and inserted the activator into a blinking drive. The Phylanx’s eyes flashed from blue to gray to red. “It begins!”

  “OH, I’LL BE RIGHT BACK,” BX-778 droned in an approximation of LC’s voice. “Just keep an eye on little Ben while I’m out!” LC was forever zipping about on important senatorial endeavors and doing various errands for the princess. And that was all well and good, but it left BX with a houseful of random tasks to attend to, most of which he was not even remotely equipped for.

  “Babababa!” Ben yelled, running into the room with a power drill clutched in his tiny hands.

  Childcare was definitely one of those tasks. Number one on the list, in fact.

  “Ben Solo!” BX called, trying to muster up as much authority in his voice as his servile programming would allow. “Put that down this instant!”

  Ben stopped midcavort. Turned, his eyes wide and watery.

  “Wait!” BX said. “Don’t…don’t—”

  Ben opened his mouth and let out the loudest, most pitiful wail BX had ever heard. Then the boy plopped right there on the floor as tears spilled down his cheeks.

  “This will never do,” BX muttered, leaping into action. “Some caf will remedy this situation surely! Some nice, Endoran-harvested…” Something in BX’s mind seemed to click into place, like the answer to a question he’d been asking since he was created but had never realized. What was it? When he looked up, the whole world had taken on a dim, crimson hue and it felt like he was somehow in tune with millions of other minds scattered all across the galaxy, and they were all unified in a single, simple mandate: Killl.

  THE DOOR SLID OPEN WITH a whir. On the other side, stark emergency lights along the ceiling rim barely lit the main hold, which lay in total disarray from the earlier firefight. Han could hear blasters raging from somewhere nearby: Kaasha keeping the KXs busy. Hopefully.

  Nothing stirred.

  “Go,” Han whispered, and Taka took off across the floor, skirted around the holotable, blaster pointing at every shape and shadow, and headed for the closet at the far end of the room. Han followed, crouching low, making as little noise as possible. He hated this creeping-around stuff, and he hated knowing that his two best friends were somewhere involved in the fight of their lives, one within earshot, and he could do nothing to help them.

  Well, nothing except make sure Taka got control of the ship back.

  “I’ll keep you covered. No one will get through this door.” It was a promise, Han realized as he said it, a promise and a prayer. He’d said it, so now it would be true, one way or another, and it was on Han to make sure it stayed true.

  Whatever it took.

  Taka shot him a look—something between grateful and deeply sad. It was the same face Leia used to make during the war years, when that immeasurable grief and hope pounded through every moment. At the time, Han had realized it was the expression of someone who could take care of herself but also needed him, needed him to stay alive so that later they could talk about everything and make it through the storm of memories and healing that would come when everything finally quieted down. And he had, for Leia; sometimes it felt like Leia was the only reason he’d stayed alive, and he would now for Leia and for Taka, whom he barely knew but who had already saved his life more than once, who was like a young, wily version of himself but with their life way more together. With purpose.

  And, of course, Ben. Han would stay alive for Ben. Ben needed him.

  “I saw the, uh, holo,” Han said.

  Taka blinked, then seemed to shrink.

  “Your parents?”

  A solemn nod. “They…I gave it to Peekpa in case we had to abandon the ship quickly—I didn’t want to…it’s the only object in the world I care about. The last thing I have of them. Everything else is gone.”

  “I’m sorry, kid.” Han put a hand on Taka’s shoulde
r. Taka nodded, then ducked into the closet. The door whirred closed. Han crouched behind an overturned table just as a door opened on the other side of the room.

  “Dammit,” Han whispered to himself. That was quick.

  Blasters still shrieked back and forth in a corridor nearby, so this couldn’t be the full throng of security droids. Still…multiple footsteps clomped into room. Six? Seven? Han didn’t want to risk a peek; they’d be scanning the room.

  He took a deep breath. Aim for the blasters first. If he could take their firepower away, he stood a chance of keeping them out of that room. Otherwise, this would turn from an ambush into a firing squad pretty quick.

  Han heard a wet, slurping sound. The clomps and scrapes of suddenly scuffling feet rang out, and then three blaster shots. Was someone else there? Han hazarded a glance. Nine droids (Nine! Dammit!) stood glaring up into the darkness with their red eyes. In a flash of movement, something long and impossibly fast whipped down out of the shadows and yanked a blaster from one of the KX’s hands. More shots lit up the room and Han glimpsed a fat, toady shape scurrying away across the ceiling.

  Korrg the worrt.

  Han slid back behind the table, smiling. More slurpy tongue attacks sounded, followed by more blaster shots. Han waited. Even without all of them armed, this wouldn’t be easy. Head shots. Head shots would do the trick. Still—Han knew how things could get when the fighting got tight: Any ol’ hit would do to keep them back another few seconds and buy him enough time to land a better one. Blaster fighting was about speed and ruthlessness more than precision.

  Four more slurps sounded, then another, this one from the far side of the room. They’d be turned around now. Han stood. Saliva-soaked blasters lay scattered around the room. The KXs all stood with their backs to him. Han drew both his blasters, pointed them at the one droid that was still armed, and let loose.

  The first shot hit it in the shoulder, the second went wide. Han fired again, knocking the blaster from its grip, and again, dinging the side of its head this time. All nine droids turned to him now, red eyes glaring. The one he’d been shooting dropped to its knees, then stumbled back up again. Han spread his shots wide now, blasting away across the line. Laserfire crashed into metallic arms, chests, brainpans, the far wall, the ceiling. The droids advanced in a solid line as Han’s barrage pounded them. One dropped, its head a smoking, charred mess, and clattered to the ground.

  “Taka!” Han yelled. “Anytime you’re done would be great!”

  “Working on it!” Taka called from the other side of the door. “They really jammed this thing up.”

  One droid surged forward. Han concentrated all his fire on it, knocking it back with a blast right in the chest and another singeing off its arm. It stumbled but kept coming until Han landed a shot right between its eyes and it dropped.

  The other droids clomped toward him at a run.

  THE TRUTH OF WHAT HAD to be done unraveled in Lando’s mind like a sad song.

  “The dawn of the new era has come,” Fyzen Gor yelled. “As we speak, thousands and thousands of droids are waking to their true calling, to their destinies.”

  Lando unhooked his jetpack. Once Gor had inserted his chip into the Phylanx drive, every droid in the room had turned their red shining eyes toward their leader. The four detonators wouldn’t be enough on their own, no; but coupled with a tank full of something flammable, the Phylanx would be incinerated. The first blast would take it out, and probably catch one of the pipes carrying whatever jet fuel was keeping it running, setting off a series of secondary and tertiary explosions that would obliterate the entire junk hold. Of course, without any way to get distance between himself and the destruction, Lando would be obliterated right along with it.

  “Thousands of years have trudged past,” Fyzen barked, “the cruel march of history, with servitude and bondage being the only existence a droid knows. Now! Today! At this moment: History begins anew! Consecrated in the blood of a million pithy, pathetic, squirming organics, the galaxy rebirths itself, cleansed and glistening! Sacred!”

  Lando crouched, freeing each thermal detonator from his belt and then sealing them to the jetpack. If this worked, countless lives would be saved, but one face kept glaring back at him: Kaasha Bateen. Which Lando are you? she’d asked, and the truth was Lando hadn’t been sure himself up until right now. Both, if he was being honest. But now, when it mattered most, the choice became crystal clear. Lando smiled. Kaasha would live. So many would live.

  He activated all four thermal detonators. Stood. Red eyes whirled around at the high-pitched bleeps echoed out into the room. Lando hurled the jetpack toward the far wall. Then he turned around and, knowing there was no point at all, ran.

  THE HOT METAL OF THE blaster seared Han’s palm and fingers. He kept firing. Another droid collapsed just a meter or two in front of him, smoke pouring from its singed eye socket. Three more hurtled past it at Han.

  “Han!” Lando’s voice suddenly burst through a roar of static in Han’s ear. “Han, come in!” He sounded out of breath.

  “Lando?” Han yelled, blasting another droid and then hurling a chair into another. “Where are you?”

  “Han! The transmittor can reach…Chandrila, Han…BX…the damn coffee droid…Ben, Leia…”

  Ben. Leia.

  Han stepped over the table without realizing it. Leia. Ben. He blasted one droid and then another out of his way, then reached down and wrenched a smoldering metal arm from the body it had been partially severed from and clobbered a third droid with it.

  “You have to…” Lando panted through the static, “…stop the gunships. Don’t let Gor get away in them. Don’t worry about me…stop Gor!”

  Han spun around, swinging the metal arm into the face of another droid and then shooting it in the chest. Some faraway part of him warned that he wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer, each heaved breath singing inside his chest, but it didn’t matter: Ben and Leia were in danger. That damn maniac’s device was about to destroy Han’s family. He blasted another and wound up to smash one that was charging him when suddenly all the droids froze.

  Their red eyes dimmed, then sputtered out entirely.

  Han gaped at the suddenly peaceful room as Kaasha’s exultant yells rose up from the hallway.

  The regular lights flickered back on and the hum of the engine whirred to life around Han. It felt like the first rush of open sky after being planetbound for months. Taka poked their head out. “Got it! Whoa! What happened?”

  “I dunno,” Han said, already barreling toward the corridor. “But we gotta get to the cockpit now!”

  A NECK SLICE FIRST, BX figured. That would do the job quick. Or sever it at the top of the spine and keep it moving. There were so many organics to delete, and this one was just tiny. He sized up the little area of exposed flesh between Ben Solo’s black hair and his T-shirt. The boy was turned away, his little shoulders still heaving with sobs. Small mounds marked the ridged edges of cervical vertebrae. BX could slice between two of them, clean. It would be a smooth whisk through the air and then that gentle tug of resistance as the blade carved through tendon, muscle, flesh, and bone. The satisfying plop to punctuate the cut. Ah…the satisfaction of a job well done, like a well-cooked meal!

  But if BX aimed the cut wrong, he’d just wound the boy, and then he’d have to work out how to get the killing cut in. Tedious.

  BX advanced, his serrated blade arm unfolding with a quiet whir. Ben spun around. And the world flashed into a pale emptiness, bright light pouring in from everywhere. Had they been bombed? BX wondered. Where was he?

  A voice was whimpering nearby. Soft sniffles filled the air.

  Ben.

  Ben Solo.

  BX looked down as the world came back into focus, its crimson hue gone.

  The boy was staring up at him with wide, watery eyes.

  BX’s kn
ife arm folded back into itself. Why had he had it out? Was he preparing a meal of some kind?

  Caf!

  Of course!

  For Ben!

  BX whirled around, unsure why he’d left the kitchen in the first place. Must’ve been a programming glitch of some kind.

  But anyway, caf!

  LANDO RAN, HIS MAGBOOTS CLANGING away on the iron grille walkway. He knew it made no sense, but he ran anyway. Something inside him refused to just sit there and allow himself to get blown to bits. Han had gotten his message, hopefully, so now all there was left to do was move.

  A blast heaved out, then another clapping through the air immediately after.

  It was done.

  A stitch opened up in Lando’s side as he barreled down the catwalk, through poofs of steam and around collapsing wires and crossbeams.

  Up ahead, open space awaited.

  Behind him, another explosion tore through the junk hold, this one sending a teeth-rattling rumble outward. A flaming engine of some kind crashed in front of Lando and he leapt over it, landed without losing stride, and sprinted toward the open door ahead.

  The final blast would catch him from behind. If he slowed down time, he would feel it singe through his space suit, then sear away his skin and tear through each organ until he blinked out of existence entirely.

  He would become space dust.

  There was something beautiful to that, maybe. Didn’t seem like it at the time, though. Kaasha would look out the window of the Chevalier and wonder.