Aftermath: Empire's End (Star Wars: Aftermath #3)(90)

An X-wing. Older model—a T-65C-A2.

She moves to evade. Lasers bolt past. Just as she thought she was safe, the chase begins anew. Her heart hammers against the inside of her breastbone—and the ship shudders, too, as the wing takes a hit, peppered by fire from whoever it is that’s pursuing her.

Norra brings the shuttle low over the dunes, then high over an arched rock formation that looks like a man on his hands and knees—she whips left, right, but the X-wing isn’t persuaded to pull away. It stays on her like it’s got a tractor beam lock, perfectly lined and ready for the kill.

More laserfire. One of the shuttle’s engines goes out. The ship lists left. The inside of the cabin fills with the stink of ozone and burning electric.

What a thing, she thinks. To be taken out at the end by my own side.

The cabin flashes. Missile lock! That X-wing will be loaded for bear with proton torpedoes—that is no surprise. What’s a surprise is that whoever is piloting that thing would expend one to take out a command shuttle. It’s overkill. The pilot flying that fighter is na?ve—there are far better targets out here for that ordnance.

Bones, to her surprise, suddenly stands up. The little antenna at the top of his skull (which is itself bolstered and fixed to a small and narrow pinbone) begins to blink green.

“Where are you going?” she says through gritted teeth, trying to maintain control of the shuttle.

Bones does not answer. Instead he hits a button on the console.

The ramp. He’s lowering the ramp. He’s getting off the ship.

“Bones! Get back here! Bones!”

—

A thrill rises inside Temmin’s belly; his blood is up, his nerves are buzzing like vibroblades. He’s stayed on the shuttle’s tail like he’s been glued to it—and it’s enough to earn him an easy missile lock. Ahead, the shuttle squares out in front of him, and his thumb finds the top of the flight stick. He has no conscience in this moment. He doesn’t think about who is in that ship. He knows it’ll kill them but he doesn’t think of it that way. Temmin feels something altogether more vicious and aloof—he just wants to win, he just wants to score a victory for the Republic, and the Empire here is less a shuttle carrying officers and more a symbol.

A symbol he can shoot down right here, right now.

His thumb hovers over the button.

Then the shuttle’s ramp begins to descend. In midair. What the—? Maybe whoever’s in there is trying to jump out. But why? The front end of that thing is its escape pod—just detach and go.

A droid makes its way down the ramp. It holds on to the pneumatic piston from which the ramp descends.

His droid waves at him.

Oh gods, is that—

“Bones?”

Over the comm comes the droid’s mechanized voice:

“I THOUGHT THAT MIGHT BE YOU, MASTER TEMMIN. PLEASE HOLD.”

“Please hold? What are you—? Bones? Bones?”

Moments later, a crackle as his mother’s voice comes from his wrist comlink: “Temmin? Temmin?”

—

At first, she doesn’t even understand it. It all seems so absurd. The droid drops back down into his chair with a rattle and tilts his head toward her, then says: “YOU SHOULD SPEAK TO MASTER TEMMIN NOW.”

She does not say her son’s name so much as it spills out of her.

And broadcast from the droid’s own speaker comes her son’s voice—how? Bones has a proximity sensor, doesn’t he? He must’ve turned it on when he landed on Jakku. Soon as Temmin was close, the comms connected automatically. It fills her with light and life when her son says: “Mom?”

Mom. That one word. She’s missed hearing it so bad.

“Kiddo,” she says, her eyes burning hot with the threat of tears. “I’ve missed you, kiddo. Where are you? Are you—are you in that X-wing?”

“I’m so sorry, Mom, I didn’t know—I almost shot you down, please forgive me. Wait. What are you doing in an Imperial shuttle?”

“I…” But what does she tell him? Does she say that she found his father? The family reunion she longs to have is so close. They could rescue him together. And yet this is dangerous territory. She’s heading right into the heart of the Empire’s occupation. She knows it seems awfully headstrong, but if she does this alone, maybe Temmin won’t follow and won’t get hurt. At least in that X-wing he’s got control plus other pilots covering his tail. “Is Wedge with you?”

“He is.” Thank the lucky stars. “I can patch us over—”

“No. I can’t be on radio chatter. If the Empire picks up what I’m doing, Tem—”

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve got a lead on Sloane. And…” In that moment, she decides not to tell him about his father. She knows she may regret it later, but once he hears about Brentin, Temmin will start acting with his heart and not his head. “I’ve…stolen a shuttle. I’ve got clearance codes. I’m headed to the Imperial base past something called the Sinking Fields.”

“We’ll escort you in.”

“No can do, kiddo. They see you on the scopes, they’ll cut you to pieces. And maybe me, too.” It pains her to say this, but she does: “You stay out here. Stay with Wedge. He’ll keep you safe! Let him know I’m okay.”