Star Wars: Shadow of the Sith

Book 0: Star Wars

by Adam Christopher

Genres: Media Tie-In; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

Brought to you by Penguin.

Luke Skywalker and Lando Calrissian return in this essential novel set between Return of the Jedi and The Force Awakens.

The Empire is dead. Nearly two decades on from the Battle of Endor, the tattered remnants of Palpatine's forces have fled to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. But for the heroes of the New Republic, danger and loss are ever-present companions, even in this newly forged era of peace.

Jedi Master Luke Skywalker is haunted by visions of the dark side, foretelling an ominous secret growing somewhere in the depths of space, on a dead world called Exegol. The disturbance in the Force is undeniable...and Luke's worst fears are confirmed when his old friend, Lando Calrissian, comes to him with reports of a new Sith menace.
After his daughter was stolen from his arms, Lando searched the stars for any trace of his lost child. But every new rumor only led to dead ends and fading hopes-until he crossed paths with Ochi of Bestoon, a Sith assassin tasked with kidnapping a young girl.

Ochi's true motives remain shrouded to Luke and Lando. For on a junkyard moon, a mysterious envoy of the Sith Eternal has bequeathed a sacred blade to the assassin, promising that it will give him answers to the questions that have haunted him since the Empire fell. In exchange, he must complete a final mission: return to Exegol with the key to the Sith's glorious rebirth-the granddaughter of Darth Sidious himself, Rey.

As Ochi hunts Rey and her parents to the edge of the galaxy, Luke and Lando race into the mystery of the Sith's lingering shadow and aid a young family running for their lives.

© Adam Christopher 2022 (P) Penguin Audio 2022

Release date: June 28, 2022

Publisher: Random House Worlds

Print pages: 496

Sample

 

At first, there was nothing but empty space. And then the ship appeared, mass and form and structure. Here to there, crossing boundless gulfs of space, as easy as pulling a lever. It was almost magical in its simplicity.

Right then, however, the ship’s overheating navicomputer begged to differ.

For a moment, the battered old freighter just floated, hanging in space, like a garu-bear coming out of a long hibernation, taking stock of its surroundings.

And then the ship shuddered and began listing to port, carving a long, slow spiral that was suddenly accelerated as an aft impulse stabilizer failed in a shower of white sparks. The ship’s nose dipped even further, the starboard engine now sputtering, a loose cover plate revealing a dangerous red glow from beneath.

For the pilot and her two passengers, the situation had just gone from bad, to worse.

Two days. That was all they’d managed. Two days out from Jakku, limping along in a ship that shouldn’t be flying at all, but was the only hulk they’d managed to jack from Unkar Plutt’s scrapyard outside of Niima Outpost. And it didn’t look like they were going to make it much farther.

Just a few hours earlier, they dared to think that maybe…they’d made it? They’d gotten out of their homestead, their all-purpose house droid, handcrafted from more scrap and salvage, sacrificing itself as it led the hunters astray. Then they found the ship (truth be told, they had long ago earmarked it for such a day—a day they hoped would never come). Launched it, just themselves, a bag with toys and books and a blanket, a handful of credits, the clothes on their backs. Pointed the navicomputer along a vector that would take them way out of range (so they hoped). And buckled in for the ride.

But now? The ship had barely survived the initial trip. Escaping to Wild Space had been a desperate move, but was far from the endgame. It was supposed to be where they could hide, just for a while, take the time to make a plan and plot a course.

Those options now seemed decidedly more limited as they floated adrift. They’d escaped Jakku, only to…what? Die in the cold reaches of space, the old freighter now nothing but a tomb for the three of them, lost forever on the outskirts of the galaxy, their passing unmourned, their names unremembered.

Dathan, Miramir.

Rey.

---

—

The freighter’s interior was as old and battered as the exterior—the flight deck was cramped and functional, the old-fashioned design requiring not just pilot and copilot but navigator, the third seat at the back of the cabin, facing away from the forward viewports. For this trip, they’d had to make do with a crew of just two.

The pilot’s seat was occupied by a young woman, her long blond hair corralled loosely with a blue tie that matched the color of her cloak, the sleeves of her cream tunic rolled up as she leaned over the control console in front of her, one hand gripping the uncooperative yoke, the other flying over buttons and switches as she fought to control the shuddering ship. The forward view, as seen through the angled, heavily scratched transparisteel viewport, showed the starscape ahead sliding diagonally as the freighter’s spin accelerated.

Behind her, a young man, his dark hair short, the beginnings of a beard over his jaw, knelt on the decking behind the navigator’s seat. His arms were wrapped around it and its small occupant, the child cradled in a padded nest formed out of a bright, multicolored blanket, a stark contrast with the drab, greasy gunmetal of the flight deck.

The man craned his neck around as he watched his wife wrestle with the controls, then he stood and leaned down to kiss the head of the six-year-old girl strapped securely in the seat, a large pair of navigator’s sound-deadening headphones over her ears. In front of the girl, the ancient navigation panel—a square matrix of hundreds of individual tiny square lights—flashed in multicolored patterns of moving shapes, a simple game the girl’s mother had loaded into the auxiliary computer to keep her daughter occupied on the long journey.

The man looked up at the game board, but the girl had stopped playing. He moved around to the front of the chair and saw she had her eyes screwed tightly shut. He leaned in, embracing his daughter.

“I’ve got you,” Dathan whispered to Rey. “We’re all right. I’ve got you.”

There was a bang; Dathan felt it as much as he heard it as another part of the strained engines gave up, the small explosion reverberating through the ship. A tear ran down from Rey’s closed eyes. Dathan wiped it away, and closed his own eyes, wishing that, for once, a little good luck would come their way.

“Okay, there we go!” Miramir yelled, following her statement with a whoop of triumph. The ship jolted once, and then the steady shaking stopped. Through the forward viewports, the stars were now completely still.

Despite himself, despite their situation, Dathan found himself smiling. He couldn’t help it. His wife was a genius and he loved her. He didn’t know where she got it from, but she was a natural, like it was genetic. She could fly anything, had been—and still was—a self-taught engineer and inventor. Tinkering, Miramir called it, as though it were nothing, as though she didn’t realize just how special her talents were. In the years that he had known her, Dathan had often asked where this gift had come from, but Miramir would just shrug and say her grandmother was a wonderful woman. Dathan knew that to be true—he had met her, several times, before Miramir gave up her life in the twilight forest of Hyperkarn to travel with Dathan. But then…where had her grandmother learned it all?

Dathan wanted to know, but over time he’d learned not to ask any further. Miramir missed her grandmother. She missed her home.

That was something else Dathan had tried to understand. To be homesick, to miss something that you could never return to—that was something unknown to him. Oh sure, he could understand it. And yes, he felt something for his days on Hyperkarn, even the years on Jakku, but he wasn’t sure it was the same. Neither of those places had been truly home.

He did have a home, a place he could legitimately say he came from. It was a place he revisited a lot, in dreams.

Dreams…and nightmares.

“That will hold for a while,” said Miramir, releasing the yoke and reaching up to flick a series of heavy switches in the angled panel above the pilot’s position. “I’ve rerouted reserve power into the starboard impulse stabilizer, and then pushed the angle of the field way beyond point-seven, but that’s fine because—”

She stopped as Dathan dropped into the copilot’s seat and looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” he said, “except that we’re safe, right?”

Miramir sat back, her slight form dwarfed by the pilot’s seat. She grinned and nodded.

Dathan felt his own grin growing. Miramir’s happiness—her relief—was infectious. Maybe they would get out of this after all.

“The stabilizers will hold until the hyperdrive resets,” said Miramir. “The motivator overheats every time we make a jump, but it’s still working for the moment. We should be good for another couple of jumps.” She paused, then wrinkled her nose. “But we do need to find another ship. Which means…” She gestured at the viewports, to the infinite emptiness that was Wild Space.

Dathan nodded. “Which means heading back to the Outer Rim.”

At that, Miramir unclipped her seat restraints and headed over to Rey. Kneeling by the navigator’s seat, she gently lifted the headphones off her daughter’s head, then unclipped the seat restraints. As soon as she was freed, Rey sprang out of the seat and tackled her mother, arms and legs wrapped around Miramir, her head buried in her chest. Rey was perhaps small for a six-year-old, but Miramir didn’t mind her daughter’s desire for closeness, knowing the girl would soon grow out of it. Miramir turned and sank gently into the navigator’s seat, still cradling Rey, and kicked the seat around so she was facing Dathan.

“I know it’s dangerous,” said Miramir, “but this ship was in Plutt’s scrap heap for a reason. We’ve managed one long jump, and look what happened. It’ll be worse each time.”

Dathan sighed and gave his wife a nod. “We don’t have a choice,” he said. “I know.”

Miramir lowered her face to Rey’s hair, burying her nose in the brunette plait, her eyes focused somewhere on the floor.

Dathan knew that look. He’d seen it plenty of times over the last two days. It pained him to see Miramir like this. His wife, his love, the smartest and most beautiful and best person he had ever met. Certainly the most capable, far better at most things than he was, no matter how hard he tried.

And he knew something else, too.

This was all his fault.

But there would be time for that later. Right now, they were out of options, and only one path was open to them.

“Hey,” said Dathan. He forced the smile back onto his face.

Miramir looked up but didn’t speak.

“Hey, come on, now,” said Dathan.

Miramir looked at him, her big eyes beginning to water.

“Mum, I’m hungry.”

Miramir looked down at Rey, and—

She laughed. Dathan grinned, then found himself unable to stop himself from joining in.

Rey unraveled herself from her mother’s arms and turned to look at her dad.

“You guys are silly,” she said. And then she pointed at the front viewport. “Who’s that?”

No sooner had the child spoken than an alarm sounded. Dathan toggled a switch to clear it, then turned around to look at what Rey had spotted. The alarm began to sound again.

“What is that?” asked Miramir.

“We’ve got company,” said Dathan, watching as in the distance three stars moved and began growing in size.

Three ships, flying in formation.

Coming right for them.

“They’ve found us,” Dathan whispered. “How did they find us?” He looked down at the controls in front of them, nearly every one a complete mystery. “Miramir, we have to get out of here.”

“Take Rey,” said his wife, “let me handle this.” As they swapped positions, there was a flash and a roar, the pair ducking instinctively as the trio of pursuing ships split right on the freighter’s nose, two disappearing port and starboard, the third flying directly over the top. Lights flashed on the consoles around them as the freighter’s antique computer systems kicked into life, tracking the other ships.

“They’re turning,” said Dathan, looking at a readout on the navigator’s console. The display was poor—the freighter should have been in a museum, not lost in Wild Space—but against the burnt-orange grid, three fuzzy markers indicating the other craft crawled over the screen as they looped around and headed back toward them.

“Are we sure it’s them?” asked Miramir, her focus on the flight systems. “How did they track us?”

Dathan shrugged. “How did they track us the first time? They’re not going to give up, Miramir. They’re never going to give up. How long until we can make the jump?”

Miramir toggled another readout and blew out her cheeks. “A few minutes. The hyperdrive motivator is still too hot, and if I touch the impulse stabilizers it’ll be too hard to get an escape vector anyway.”

There was a screeching sound from somewhere far away. Dathan looked up at the flight deck ceiling, alive with dancing indicators. Then there was a bang and the freighter rocked from side to side. Ahead, the blackness of space flashed green as the attacking ships, now back in a new formation, screamed overhead, firing warning shots over their bow. Dathan watched as the ships receded from view, then split and turned back around, careening toward them, another salvo of what had to have been deliberately wide shots lighting up the flight deck.

Heart racing, Dathan turned his attention to Rey. She was back in the navigator’s seat, eyes closed, her small hands clutching the edges of the blanket beneath her, the one piece of the only home the girl had ever known that they had been able to bring with them. Dathan felt a tightening in his chest, his love for the child so profound, so real, that it was all he could do to keep breathing as he grabbed the navigator’s headphones and slipped them over Rey’s ears, buckling her into the seat.

The ship rocked again as another shot streaked almost too close to their hull. Dathan made his way back to the copilot’s seat and strapped himself in.

Miramir frowned, reading something on a panel above her. “Maybe I can kick the hyperdrive in manually, bypassing the motivator…” She trailed off, then glanced at Dathan. “Might be a rough ride.”

Dathan nodded. “How long do you need?”

“Three minutes.”

Dathan nodded. “Then three minutes you shall have. Hold tight.”

He grabbed the copilot’s control yoke, the twin of the one at Miramir’s station, and disengaged the autos, about the only control he recognized. Immediately the freighter bucked, then dipped into a steep dive as the overloaded starboard impulse stabilizer blew, unable to compensate now for its already inactive counterpart on the opposite side of the ship. In front of them, the attacking fighters vanished from sight as the freighter’s course abruptly changed. Space flashed green, but in silence, the warning shots now distant.

Dathan gritted his teeth. Beneath his grip, the yoke shuddered and shook, the whole ship fighting him as he tried to steer it away from their attackers. He didn’t know what he was doing—he couldn’t fly anything and had never wanted to try—but even the most basic, instinctive maneuvering would give them time while Miramir worked on her new plan.

The attackers were small, were agile, and, as Dathan had suspected, were making fast tracks toward them. As they swung into view, he pulled back and to the left, lifting the nose as the freighter spun on its axis, corkscrewing the much larger ship straight through the center of the attackers’ formation, forcing them to take evasive action of their own.

“One minute,” said Miramir.

Dathan nodded in acknowledgment, not taking his eyes from the forward viewports, now trying to keep the freighter level. The attackers had regrouped and sped in for yet another frontal approach, but they were still careful with their shots—they wanted the freighter crippled, not destroyed, and were slowly closing the warning blasts in, banking, perhaps, on the shock waves disabling the already damaged craft. Dathan used their caution to his advantage, accelerating again toward the group. As the fighters split once more, he jerked the yoke to port, swinging the freighter directly into the path of one of the other ships.

The freighter rocked as more blasterfire streaked past. Dathan knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. He just hoped the ship would hold together for a little while longer.

“Okay, nearly done, nearly done,” said Miramir, now standing at the pilot’s position, her blue cloak falling behind her as she focused her attention on the multitude of control panels above her. “We just need to set the navicomputer to null coordinates and we can make a jump. Not a long one, but it should be enough to lose them.”

That was when there was another blinding flash from the forward viewports, another dull thud of an explosion from somewhere at the rear, the ship rocking hard enough to throw Miramir to the floor. Behind them, Rey cried out in surprise and fear.

Miramir pulled herself back into the pilot’s seat. “We’re okay, Rey, we’re right here,” she said, perhaps more for her own benefit than her daughter’s, given Rey couldn’t hear her with the headphones on. “Not long now. Just hold tight.” But as she strapped herself in, she looked back over her shoulder with a terrible, anguished expression on her face that Dathan hated to see. He craned his neck around and followed her gaze, to where their daughter sat, her head buried in her blanket.

“Okay, here we go,” said Miramir. She grabbed the pilot’s master control yoke, and Dathan felt his own yoke pull away from his grip. He let go.

Far ahead, the three attack ships regrouped again, their ion engines leaving glowing trails across the stars as they flew in a tight arc back toward them.

This was it. They were done playing. They were coming in for a final run, ready to knock the ship out of commission permanently and make their collection.

The ships approached, fast.

“We’re not going to make it,” said Dathan.

“Yes, we are.”

“Not enough time or space, Miramir. They’ll box us in. We can’t jump with them right in front of us.”

“I can do it.”

“You know what?”

Miramir didn’t pause, didn’t look up from the controls, as she kept her eyes fixed on the hyperdrive readout. From his position, Dathan could see data scrolling, almost too fast to read. “What?”

“I love you,” said Dathan.

Miramir glanced at her husband, and for Dathan, time seemed to stop, again. She looked like she was going to say something, but instead, she just…smiled that smile, a smile he knew so well, a smile he loved, a smile he’d cross the galaxy for, a smile that could light up even this nameless reach of empty space, the smile of his wife, the mother of his child, the smile of Miramir—

There was another flash; this time it was blue. The ship rocked again, but the movement was gentle, the battered freighter not knocked by a shock wave but riding the crest of an energy pulse. Dathan and Miramir turned to watch as the central fighter in the trio flying toward them evaporated in a flash of ionized particles, sending its two companion craft into desperate escape headings.

They were fast, but not fast enough. A second fighter exploded into an expanding cloud of glowing gas, that cloud pierced by the sleek lines of a new ship that spun through the debris.

This new arrival was long, sleek, a finely sculpted nose cone leading a narrow, arrowlike fuselage, engines at the rear, and from the side, four wings with long, spearlike cannons mounted at the ends, the flight surfaces locked into a distinct shape known across the whole galaxy.

“An X-wing,” said Miramir, blinking, as though she could scarcely believe their luck. “We’re nowhere near New Republic space. What are they doing here?” She turned to Dathan, her eyes wide, now alert to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, they were somewhere safe.

But Dathan shook his head. “Don’t know, don’t care.” He looked down at the copilot’s console, wishing he knew more about the ship’s systems. “We ready to jump again or what?”

Miramir’s eyes were wide. “What are you talking about?” She gestured to the forward viewports. “We don’t need to jump again. The New Republic will help us.”

Even as she said that, there was another blue flash from outside. The last remaining attacker had peeled away, trying to find room to make a jump to lightspeed. But the pursuing X-wing was faster and more heavily armed, the pilot sending their ship into a tight spiral as all four cannons opened up, sending a blazing corkscrew of blasterfire after its quarry.

No, not one X-wing. Two—three. The other two fighters came into view from underneath the freighter, racing away from them to join the first. While Dathan and Miramir watched, their S-foils opened out into attack position and their quad engines flared as they accelerated away.

The attacker didn’t stand a chance. The craft spun on its axis, then dived up and then sharply down, the pilot making a vain attempt to break target locks before it could punch the hyperdrive.

Dathan watched as the three X-wings fell into a tight formation and closed the distance behind their target, but he took no satisfaction in seeing the last hunter destroyed. They’d been saved this time, out of sheer luck—what was the New Republic doing out here?—but as he knew all too well, there were more hunters where those had come from, their prize far too valuable to give up on.

“Make the jump,” he said quietly. Miramir looked at him again, and the two locked eyes. Dathan hoped she would understand, they’d talked about it often enough—hell, she knew exactly what he was thinking.

And then, to his relief, she nodded.

They could trust nobody. Not even the New Republic.

They were on their own. Always had been, always would be.

As Miramir refocused on the controls, Dathan looked around again at the navigator’s seat, but Rey was simply a huddled mass under the blanket, only the fingers of one hand visible as she clutched at the seat beneath her.

That was when the ship-wide comms crackled into life.

“Attention, unknown craft. Clear your navicomputer and stand by for inspection.”

Dathan once again looked at the ceiling. Inspection, by…three X-wings? That didn’t make any sense.

And then a fourth ship appeared, pulling in close over the top of the freighter, a huge slab of ash-gray metal, the surface studded with antennas, hatchways, sensor blocks, and gun emplacements.

A New Republic gunship. Dathan didn’t know what kind, but it didn’t matter. Even as he watched the gunship’s hull blot out the entire starscape, he felt the slight shudder as tractor beams were locked on and they were pulled slowly to the glowing blue opening of the hangar that now appeared in view.

Dathan sat back, his face behind his hands. He shook his head, and then he felt Miramir’s hands on his. He opened his eyes, letting his hands, still held by Miramir’s, drop into his lap.

He looked at the viewport as the hangar grew larger and larger. Beside them, two of the escorting X-wings pulled in ahead of them and made soft touchdowns. Then the blue shimmer vanished as the freighter passed through the magnetic shield.

“This is it,” Dathan said, with a sigh. “The end of the road.”

“We don’t know that,” said Miramir.

Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he was being too cautious—too cynical.

The comms barked again.

“Attention, unknown craft. Proceed to your exit ramp. Please follow our directions.”

Miramir unclipped her restraint and stood.

“Well,” she said, giving a weak shrug. “At least they said ‘please.’ ”

---

—

Dathan stood stock-still, his heart pounding. He felt Rey wriggling her hand in his, trying to break free. He glanced down at her.

“You’re holding too tight, Daddy.”

Dathan almost laughed, but he did relax his grip, then looked up and watched as Miramir talked to one of the X-wing pilots, the officer still in his blue flight suit, his helmet under one arm. Next to him stood one of the other pilots, her helmet hanging from one hand.

They were standing in the hangar, by their freighter’s exit ramp. So far, all the New Republic officers had done was motion them to stay where they were, and when they started asking questions, it was Miramir who volunteered herself to answer them.

She was good with people, Dathan knew that, but it didn’t make him feel much better. The fact was they had no identification, no licenses or permits, no official documentation of any kind, and their ship had no ID tags or transponder or…anything. Dathan could only hope that Miramir was working her charm on the officers, because he—and Miramir—knew that while the New Republic claimed control of a large section of the galaxy, there were regions that lived happily outside their borders, peaceably, but unwilling, or unconvinced, to join the glorious cause. It had been seventeen years since the second Death Star had been destroyed over Endor, seventeen long years since Dathan’s father—even now, he felt the chill, felt the hollow, almost light-headed sensation as he thought of Palpatine—had fallen, the Empire over which he ruled shattered. A long time, to be sure, but the galaxy was big and the fledgling new authority had a lot of ground, both literally and figuratively, to reclaim. To Dathan, watching, willing the old order to be replaced with the new, it sometimes seemed that the New Republic had done nothing at all.

But right now, it was all academic, anyway. They were in Wild Space, a literal no-being’s-land. Even the New Republic couldn’t claim authority here.

Could they?

Miramir glanced back at Dathan, her mouth twisted in an I have no idea what’s going on expression. She walked back to join him and Rey, followed by the two X-wing pilots. The male pilot stood tall, his back ramrod-straight—the senior officer, Dathan guessed. The pilot looked at Dathan and then at Rey with an expression that wasn’t one of distaste, but it wasn’t far off. The female pilot looked far friendlier and, crucially, far more relaxed.

The senior officer sniffed, glanced at Miramir, then looked at Dathan again.

“I understand you have no identification of any kind?”

Dathan gave the man a smile that was not returned. “You understand correctly.”

The officer’s mouth twitched. The other pilot moved to his shoulder, the smile on her face apparently quite genuine.

“We’re sorry to have to do this,” she said, “but we do need to ask what you’re doing out here.”

“I could ask you the same question,” said Dathan. Beside him, Miramir frowned and gave a slight shake of her head. The male officer didn’t react, except to cast his cold gaze at Dathan.

“I am Lieutenant Zaycker Asheron. This is my flight sergeant, Dina Dipurl. You are aboard the Starheart, the command ship of Halo Squadron.” He lifted his chin, as though it could go any higher. “You are in a very dangerous part of the galaxy, young man.”

Dathan nodded. “As we discovered. And also,” he added, “a part of the galaxy a long way from the Galactic Core.” He spread his hands. “Thank you for the rescue, but we’re just travelers. We’re not part of your republic, nor do we wish to be.”

Asheron bristled but said nothing.

“Then consider this a routine check,” said Flight Sergeant Dipurl. “Being attacked by pirates is no small thing.” She smiled and dropped into a crouch so she was the same height as Rey. She smiled at the child, then looked up at her parents. “Is everyone all right? Your ship doesn’t look in the best shape.”

“Our hyperdrive is temperamental,” said Miramir. “We were waiting for the motivator to cool before we attempted another jump. That’s when we were attacked.”

“And do you have any reason to have been attacked?” asked Asheron, sharply. At this, Dipurl stood and shook her head.

“Sir, with all due respect, do pirates and marauders ever need a reason to attack? That’s why we’re out here, after all.”

Asheron raised an eyebrow. “Our objectives are classified, Sergeant.” Then, satisfied at his subordinate’s downcast glance, he turned back to the others.

“So where are you going?”

“Just passing through,” muttered Dathan.

Asheron’s expression soured. He was clearly a man who needed things right and proper, to be done according to the rule book. “But to where, exactly?”

Dathan and Miramir exchanged a look, then Miramir said, “We don’t know.”

“Are you some kind of space vagrants?” Asheron sniffed again. “Where did you come from?”

Dathan was about to give an answer, but Miramir got in first.

“Jakku,” she said.

“Never heard of it.”

He was lying. Dathan knew it—the way Asheron had answered so quickly, showing again the superiority of his position, the power he had over them at this moment. The Battle of Jakku had been sixteen years ago, but everybody over a certain age would remember the name, and Asheron certainly fit the bill.

“We’re in danger,” said Miramir. “We need help.”

“Really?” Asheron’s tone indicated he had little to no interest in their immediate plight, only answers to his own pointless questions. He turned to the other pilot. “Sergeant, I’ll leave you to wrap this up. This little diversion has cost us too much time already.”

Miramir and Dathan looked at each other. Asheron adjusted his helmet under his arm and turned to leave, but Miramir stepped forward and pulled on his arm. He stopped and just looked down at her hand.

“Don’t you understand?” she asked. “We need help. Isn’t the New Republic supposed to help people?” Exasperated, Miramir reached down the front of her tunic and pulled out a thin silver chain. She held it up, showing the amulet that hung on it—it was stylized, daggerlike, the symbol somehow…sinister. “We are being hunted by the Sith.”

Dathan felt his stomach drop. The amulet—the hex charm—was his. He’d carried it all his life, even when he fled home…he had kept it with him, a symbol of everything he hated and everything he was determined never to be. Kept it with him—but had been unable to stomach wearing it. Years ago, Miramir had taken the hex charm from him and promised to keep it close to her own heart, a symbol now of the way their love could overcome any evil.

Asheron looked at her and smiled, a thin, tight line completely devoid of warmth, or interest.

“Is that so?”

Dathan blinked. Was Asheron really that ignorant? He hadn’t expected to get any help from the New Republic, but did this senior officer really not even know what the Sith were?

Then again…perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps he thought they were long dead, as most other people in the galaxy did.

If only that were the truth. Dathan glanced at Miramir, but she was now just shaking her head as she looked down at the amulet in her hands. He wanted to punch the New Republic officer, very, very hard, but he knew exactly where that would land the three of them. He let his fist unclench at his side.

“The New Republic helps its citizens, yes,” Asheron continued, glancing sideways at Dathan before returning his gaze to Miramir. “But as you have said, you live outside its bounds.” His expression softened, and he sighed. “Might I suggest,” he continued, quietly, “that you clear this region, find your way to somewhere a little closer to the Core. You might find your travels a little safer.” Then he turned on his heel. “Flight Sergeant Dipurl, we will debrief in ten minutes.” He marched away, heading toward the main doors on the other side of the hangar.

Miramir and Dathan looked at each other. Dathan felt Rey’s hand squeeze his, and he dropped down, bringing her in for a hug. He glanced up at the underside of their ship. It looked exactly like what it was—a pile of junk.

“You have to help us,” he said, turning back to the sergeant. Miramir moved to join him, reaching down to take Rey’s other hand. “You said it yourself,” Dathan continued. “This ship isn’t going to get far at all.”

Dipurl looked at them with a sigh. “Okay, let me take a look,” she said, placing her flight helmet down on the deck next to the freighter’s ramp, and gesturing for them all to go aboard. “But this has to be fast. I’ll see if there’s anything I can patch quickly.” She paused. “I think I have somewhere you can reach from here. I have a contact who owes me one—someone who worked with my father, back in the days of the Rebel Alliance. They might be able to take you in, at least until you can get any major repairs taken care of.” She waved the family aboard ahead of her. “And I’m sorry, I really am,” she said, following them up into the ship. “All I can do is file a report. You can tell me about this Sith and that amulet, and I’ll log it all. It might make a difference to someone.”