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 hadn’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.