Race to Crashpoint Tower

by Daniel José Older

  Lula stood, ran even as the tilt steepened, then leapt through the air, grabbing a top rung of the tower ladder with one hand and slamming against it with her whole body.

  For a few aching moments, she just hung there, panting. The burn on her arm pulsed shrilly through her.

  She had to focus. Starships circled nearby; she could hear the ferocious growl of their engines, their weapons systems whirring and swiveling on their turrets.

  And then, very suddenly, they were gone.

  Which was worse, Lula realized, pulling herself onto the nearest platform.

  All six Nihil ships had dipped lower, surrounding the tower exactly where Ram and Zeen were huddled amid angry, bristling Drengir.

  Lula’s diversion had failed.

  “They’ve been attacking our city all morning,” Ram insisted.

  “Deceitful meats!” the Drengir growled. “But they haven’t killed any Valo meats, right? Just buildings belonging to the meats for to make easier pickings. They promised us those meats! Alive meats!”

  “Of course they killed your meats!” Zeen said.

  Behind Ram, the Bonbraks fussed irritably with V-18 and the comms unit. He heard a few clicks and clanks amid their high-pitched banter but couldn’t gather much from that. Anyway, they were out of time.

  “See?” he said, pointing out beyond the vines and branches, where various Nihil ships had dipped low, weapons systems fully charged. They were zipping in circles around the tower—too fast for Ram to latch on to any one of them long enough to do damage. “There are your benefactors. About to light us all up.”

  “TRAITOR MEATS!” the Drengir yelled in a single raspy voice.

  Ram lit his lightsaber. It all seemed so pointless, but they had to try. Zeen readied her blasters. And then something—no, someone landed in a crouch on the platform next to them. “Hey,” Lula said, igniting her own saber. One of her sleeves was torn, revealing a nasty, shiny burn on her arm. “How’s it going?”

  “Fanfan paloooo!” a Bonbrak exclaimed.

  “Almost there but out of time,” Ram said.

  The ships opened fire.

  The first shot tore through a bunch of branches, sending woodchips and leaf flakes flying everywhere, and then slammed directly into Ram’s saber.

  Across the platform, Lula swished and swung, batting away blast after blast.

  Ram deflected two more, and then a shot blew past him, zinging directly into V-18’s wing with a crispy thwunk.

  “Vee-Eighteen!” Ram and Lula yelled at the same time.

  Tip chattered something at them and quickly got back to work. “He’s okay,” Ram translated. “Mostly.”

  See the whole for the whole, Ram reminded himself. Each part for the role it plays. Somewhere in his imagination, he was back in his garage, the most peaceful place he knew, with a dozen speeder parts hanging in the air around him, their inner workings a well-memorized map in his mind. There were only six Nihil ships. Not for what you want it to be. But he wasn’t in his garage, and the ships wouldn’t stay still long enough for him to do anything to them. And he plus Lula plus Zeen only made three, plus a droid and two Bonbraks…. Not for what you fear it to be. But maybe with a little help…There was only one way to make it work, Ram realized, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to do it while deflecting cannon fire.

  “Lula,” he said, blocking two more shots and stepping backward. “Zeen.”

  “What do you need?” Zeen was ducking behind a support beam, taking shots whenever she could through the Drengir’s branches.

  “I need you both to cover me, ’kay?”

  They both nodded, ready.

  “Drengir!” Ram yelled.

  “Meat?”

  “Meat speaks!”

  “What says meat?”

  Ram tried to add a commanding tone to his voice, one that sounded like he knew what he was doing. “I know you’re mad! I need you to focus that anger. Specifically on the orange flier and single-pilot bomber, and those two Z-trawlers shooting at us. And the Cumberjumper and that, whatever that rusty thing is—can you handle those? Just keep them still!”

  Ram swatted away another shot as the plant creatures conferred with each other. His arms were aching, and he felt like his mind was on fire.

  “When?” came the grumbly reply.

  “NOW!” Ram yelled.

  Zeen holstered her blasters, took the lightsaber Ram held out to her, and stood at the ready. Beside her, Lula batted away a couple of bursts.

  The vines and leaves rustled, then quaked. Then, with a sudden wrenching and crashing, branches shot outward on all sides, blasting through windscreens and wrapping around landing gear and heating ducts.

  All the Nihil ships around them shuddered, trapped in place.

  Ram closed his eyes and reached out with the Force.

  He would see the whole for the whole, each part for the role it played. He flinched as another shot slammed into the steel nearby him, sending cruel quakes through his bones. He would see the whole for the whole, each part for the role it played. He adjusted his stance and reached out again, harder this time, wider.

  There! He felt each whirring machine around him, felt the Force move through him.

  The whole for the whole, each part for the role it plays.

  He reached into the orange flier and wreaked tiny havoc on its circuitry, engine valves, exhaust systems. He could feel the pieces click into place around him, remembered each one from his grease-stained handbooks. Wrecking things was so much easier than putting them back together!

  The Cumberjumper started fizzling and smoking as soon as he used the Force to crunch its exhaust pipe shut. The flier was already spiraling toward the ground, the pilot jumping out with a shriek.

  The bomber was more complicated, and as soon as he tapped into it, he could feel the craft start to shudder free of the Drengir’s grasp. It wasn’t moving yet, though! The landing gear was tucked away beneath huge metal plates, but wrecking those wouldn’t help much. Just above them, Ram knew there should be an intricate circuit board that kept the main engines running, yep, and beside it the fuel tank—a fuel tank, Ram realized, calibrated to maintain a certain degree of pressure, since that class of bomber ran on zylium 12, which would solidify if not kept under the exact right atmospheric specifications!

  That’d do it.

  He reached with his mind toward the tank, then shoved outward with the Force. Immediately, the zylium 12 tightened into itself, and then the whole tank burst outward with a sharp bang, frying the circuit board instantly.

  The bomber reared backward and then hurtled toward the trees.

  The clunker was already wrenching free from the Drengir’s viney grasp when Ram got to it. His eyes flew open to see the ship’s front cannons exploding to life directly at him, and then…with a fwooosh, two lightsabers crossed in front of him—Lula’s and his own. The laser barrage zinged away into the sky, and the two girls ran in opposite directions, each along a length of Drengir branch.

  They moved like they were extensions of the same person—not a word exchanged. Lula leapt off one of the trawlers, which was too busy trying to free itself from the Drengir’s death grip to even notice, and Zeen the other.

  They met halfway across, in the air just above the clunker, and both dropped down, lightsabers extended. Within seconds, the ancient ship was reduced to a flaming wreck. Lula and Zeen leapt off together just as it began a steep plummet toward the ground.

  “MEATS!” the Drengir roared. Explosions burst out of one of the trawlers. It spun backward, firing in chaotic bursts, before a single vine wrapped around its turrets and sent it smashing into a tree.

  “Whoa!” Ram yelled as Zeen and Lula landed on the platform in front of him.

  One ship left.

  The Drengir had left the second Z-trawler mostly intact, Lula noticed. Their vines were wrapped firmly around it, but they’d refrained from penetrating its windscreens or major parts. As a result, the ship was about to swing itsel
f back into position to fire on them.

  Lula had barely caught her breath, but there wasn’t time. She dashed across a trembling bridge made of Drengir toward the trawler, careful to avoid those thorns. A side compartment slid open, and three Nihil scattered out onto the wing, blasters blazing.

  Lula parried one shot and sent another zinging back into the ship, and then she was on them, lightsaber singing through the air in an unstoppable arc through the lead Nihil’s blaster rifle.

  They all stopped shooting, blinked at her, and leapt off the wing to the forest below.

  Lula had to stop herself from running headlong into the belly of the ship, carried by all that momentum.

  She allowed herself a moment to catch her breath, then glanced back as a tremendous crunching sound erupted behind her.

  “THANKS, MEATS!” the Drengir yelled in a rickety cacophony of voices. Lula lunged to the side as an immense blast of wood and leaves rocketed past her into the ship. “We’ll take this one, yes.”

  “But—” Lula started, but the Drengir had already shrunken themselves to fit their suddenly smaller quarters and were fumbling around for the door controls with twig tendrils.

  “Planet no good.”

  “Comms now fixed.”

  “Reinforcement meats on the way.”

  “Deal broken.”

  “How will you—”

  The side compartment door zipped shut, and Lula had to run and jump back to the tower as the ship banked into a sharp turn. She grasped one of the rungs, and then Ram and Zeen pulled her the rest of the way up. The Z-trawler lurched forward, slammed into a tree, and then veered hard into another before blasting skyward.

  “Drengir can fly?” Ram gaped.

  “Not very well, apparently,” Zeen said as the two trees creaked and then collapsed.

  “Well, that was—” Ram started to say, but he was interrupted by an urgent yelp from the Bonbraks.

  “Fadooo kopa kopata!”

  They’d hit a dead end on the comms panel repair. Ram whirled around, and the whole of it seemed to slide into place before his eyes in an instant: There was the link calibrator, the cord leading to the power renewer, the transmission vortices…. A little curl of smoke rose up from the inner chamber housing one of the secondary vector grills…which meant the vortices were overloading the system…which meant if he reduced its output load some, it should click everything into place. And he could do that by yanking one of the bright red wires from its base. “This should”—he pulled, and immediately the panel whirred to life with a series of blips—“do it! The comms are up!” Ram yelled.

  Everyone let out a breath, then a cheer.

  Suddenly, static filled the air.

  Then voices. So many voices.

  “Hello hello?”

  “Can anyone hear me?”

  “Come in! Sec Leader Seven! Come in!”

  “Help!”

  “We’re under fire! Send—”

  “Master Gios, is that you?”

  The comms were up! And the whole city was realizing it at once, sending scattershot messages back and forth.

  “We did it!” Lula yelled. “You all okay?”

  Everyone nodded, blinking through their surprise. The Bonbraks jumped up and down on the comms box. Beside them, V-18 waddled in a circle, apparently all right.

  “Valo Security Force. Assembled Jedi,” an authoritative voice came over the comms. “This is Stellan Gios. Please respond. Repeat—”

  More voices filled the air, everyone checking in excitedly.

  “Um, Padawan Ram Jomaram here,” Ram said into the mix. “Sir.”

  They’d beaten the odds and survived both Nihil and Drengir, and helped salvage some kind of win amid all the terror. It would tip the balance, and Lula was sure once they got word out, Starlight would send reinforcements and they’d save Valo.

  Lula heard Vernestra on the comms, calling out coordinates to something, and Master Sy. Even her old friend Master Torban Buck had shown up somehow—she heard him yelling about how he was on the way to save somebody, talking in the third person as always.

  She got on the air herself once things had calmed down a little, let them know she and Zeen were okay.

  Whatever happened next, the Republic, the Jedi Order, the galaxy itself would never be the same, and Valo had been the fulcrum on which the whole sea change had pivoted.

  She’d been striving to find her own balance in the Force—it was a part of her journey to becoming a Jedi Knight that she’d come to accept amid all the chaos of the past few hours. But now she knew it wasn’t just her—the whole galaxy teetered dangerously between order and chaos, peace and absolute war. It would find balance, though, Lula thought, and she would be a part of that balance. One way or another.

  All that lay ahead, sure. But first, they had a city to help save.

  “Let’s go,” Lula said, hopping on V-18 behind Ram and Zeen and then helping the Bonbraks into their side pouch. They zoomed off over the treetops.

  The trees whizzed by beneath them, and up ahead, Ram could already tell the Jedi Vectors were ruling the skies. He watched as one swung past a small squadron of Nihil fighters. They gave chase, swarming after the Vector in a wide curve that placed them directly in the sights of about twelve other Republic ships, which blasted them from the sky in pieces.

  Ram could barely believe they’d survived, let alone helped the Republic gain the upper hand. He’d always imagined himself living a quiet life on Valo, repairing ships and hanging out with his Bonbrak buddies and V-18 until he was a wizened Jedi like Master Kunpar. And that seemed all right to him. But in the span of barely a day, he’d watched the city he loved get torn apart; even more important, he’d done something about it. He’d made new friends, and suddenly the larger galaxy, with all its politics and machinations, seemed very close to home.

  He’d seen the whole for the whole, and it meant there was no difference between little Lonisa City and the wider galaxy. They were all one, all connected, all part of a gigantic system—just like the floating speeder parts—and each had whole universes inside. They fit together and played their roles, and now he knew, more concretely than anything he’d ever known before, that he had his own role to play. And he would.

  The radio chatter seemed to melt away as one commanding voice took over the air and started delivering instructions to the Jedi. Ram couldn’t quite make out the words over the whipping wind, but it sounded like something important was about to happen.

  “Lula,” he said, turning back to his new friend, “when this is over, I want to join you. I want to see the galaxy and help the Republic.” He was pretty sure Master Kunpar would be okay with that. He’d always told Ram that a Padawan should go out and explore the wider galaxy. Ram had just never paid him that much attention.

  Lula smiled and nudged Zeen. “We were just talking about how we hoped you would!”

  “You were?”

  “Of course!” Zeen said. “And anyway, we need all the help we can get!”

  Ram didn’t know what to say. He turned to face front again, beaming on the inside, and then his mouth dropped open.

  That was what the chatter had been about on the comms! Up ahead, the thick fog of the Nihil’s war gas was suddenly dispersing, whooshed away as Jedi across the city used the Force to clear the skies of Lonisa City.

  Ram threw his fist in the air and felt the galaxy widen around him as they zoomed toward home.

  Daniel José Older, a lead story architect for Star Wars: The High Republic, writes the monthly comic series The High Republic Adventures, where you can find out more about Lula, Zeen, and Ram. He is also the New York Times best-selling author of the sci-fi adventure Flood City; the upcoming young adult fantasy novel Ballad & Dagger, book one of the Outlaw Saints series; the middle grade historical fantasy series Dactyl Hill Squad; The Book of Lost Saints; the Bone Street Rumba urban fantasy series; Star Wars: Last Shot; and the award-winning young adult series the Shadowshaper Cypher, which was
named one of the best fantasy books of all time by Time magazine and one of Esquire’s 80 Books Every Person Should Read. He has won the International Latino Book Award and has been nominated for the Kirkus Prize, the World Fantasy Award, the Andre Norton Award, the Locus, and the Mythopoeic Award. He cowrote the upcoming graphic novel Death’s Day. You can find more info and read about his decade-long career as an NYC paramedic at danieljoseolder.net.

  Petur Antonsson is a freelance illustrator for publishing and animation who lives in Reykjavik, Iceland. His full name is Pétur Atli Antonsson Crivello, and he was born and raised in Iceland by his Icelandic mother and French father. He graduated from the Academy of Art University in San Francisco in 2011 with a BFA in illustration. Petur worked in the gaming industry in San Francisco before moving back to Iceland, where he’s currently doing freelance illustration work for various clients and companies around the world. He is represented by Shannon Associates.