Sacrifice

The group stood at the destroyed entrance of the town hall, smoke from the earlier TIE fighter strikes still curling up from the rubble. Bodies lay scattered in the street beyond—colonists who’d made their last stand here, who’d believed the thick walls would protect them.

They’d been wrong.

Deklaen checked his blasters one more time, then tossed one to Quinel. “Tell me you know how to use this.”

Quinel caught it, checked the weight, thumbed the safety. The grip felt unfamiliar—different balance than his own weapon, which was sadly back on the Stray. “I’m from Corellia. What do you think?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s the best you’re getting.” He checked the power cell. Almost a full charge. That was something at least.

Deklaen openly stared at the smuggler’s puzzled expression as he examined the unfamiliar weapon. For his part, Quinel shrugged his shoulders as he stepped past the scarred man. “Eh, I’ll figure it out.”

Deklaen didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue either. He turned to his family instead. “Alright. As I said earlier, Tam stays in the middle. The droid takes point. Damika and I flank her on either side, and spacer, you bring up the rear. We move fast, we stay quiet when we can, and we don’t stop unless we have to.”

Tammea stood between her parents, trying to keep a brave face. Trying and failing. Quinel could see her trembling.

The girl had been holding it together for a while now, but everyone had a breaking point.

“Hey.” Quinel crouched down in front of her, meeting those purple eyes. “Remember that tour I promised? Soon as we’re out of here and safely in hyperspace, consider it done, okay? You can poke around every corner of my ship.”

She managed a faint smile. “Really?”

“Really. I made you a promise.”

Damika touched his shoulder briefly—the gesture conveying gratitude and something else he couldn’t quite name—then pulled Tammea close. Deklaen moved to join them, and for a moment the three of them formed a tight unit, foreheads pressed together, murmuring words Quinel couldn’t hear.

Family, something he had never known.

Quinel looked away, something tightening in his chest.

Dez moved up beside him, repeater blasters already primed. “Ready Captain?”

“No, not particularly.” Quinel straightened, checked the unfamiliar weight of Deklaen’s pistol again. “But we’re doing this anyway.”

“Such enthusiasm.”

Deklaen straightened, his expression hardening into something focused and dangerous. “Everyone ready?”

Nods all around. Tammea’s was shaky, but it was there.

“Good. We go on three.” He raised his blaster. “One. Two. Three.”

They moved.

---

The streets were a graveyard.

Quinel had seen war before—had lived through the Siege of Felucia, had watched good people die slow deaths from biological weapons, had seen the bodies of the dead burned because there were too many to bury. But he hadn’t seen anything this bad since then. This was a methodical, systematic slaughter, pure and simple.

Bodies lined the thoroughfare, some still smoking from blaster fire. Speeders burning where they’d been caught by TIE fighter strafing runs. Buildings stood gutted, their interiors visible through blast holes, furniture and belongings scattered like trash. Fires raged unchecked, the smoke making his eyes water.

They moved quickly, keeping to what cover remained. Dez took point like Deklaen had ordered, his sensors sweeping constantly for threats. Damika and Deklaen flanked Tammea on either side, keeping her boxed in safely between them. Quinel brought up the rear, the unfamiliar weight of the heavy pistol feeling even heavier with every step.

The first intersection came up fast. Dez held up a mechanical hand and they froze, pressing against the remains of what had been a clothing shop. Through the shattered windows, Quinel could see bolts of fabric still hanging on their displays, incongruously colorful against the carnage.

“Stormtroopers ahead,” Dez said quietly. “Approximately forty of them, moving away from us.”

Deklaen moved forward to look. “Can we go around?”

“Yes. But it will add an additional ten minutes to our journey, maybe more.”

“And if we engage?”

“That depends on how much noise we make during the engagement.” Dez’s tone was maddeningly calm. “They are currently distracted and within an optimal kill zone. However I must also point out that reinforcements are highly likely to react efficiently.”

Quinel looked up at the darkening sky. The sun was already halfway below the horizon, painting everything in shades of orange and red. “We’re running out of daylight. Once it’s full dark, they’ll have night vision and thermal. We won’t.”

Deklaen cursed as he kicked at the broken and uneven ground, his frustration bleeding into the air around them.

Tammea flinched as though she had been slapped, her breathing becoming even more erratic and uncontrolled than it was just a moment before.

Damika shot her partner a sharp look—a warning—and Deklaen’s expression shifted. He knelt beside the girl, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry, kiddo. I know this is hard.”

“It’s… okay,” Tammea managed to say between breaths. But her hands were pressed to her temples now, her face scrunched up in pain.

Damika was already moving, pulling Tammea close, pressing their foreheads together. “I know, Tam. I know it hurts. Just a little longer.”

“I can’t—there’s too much—” The girl’s voice cracked. “I can feel all of them. The ones who died. The ones who are dying. It’s everywhere and I can’t make it stop—”

“Breathe, sweetheart. Focus on us.” Deklaen started rubbing her back and shoulders vigorously, the motion almost rough but clearly practiced. “Can you feel us?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then hold onto that.” His hands kept moving, firm and grounding.

Damika pulled back slightly, cupping Tammea’s face. Her own skin had darkened slightly, stress bleeding through despite her calm voice. “This is no place for a Zeltron, let alone a Zeltron child.” She glanced at Quinel who was watching the family with concern, her expression urgent. “Negative emotions—fear, pain, death—it’s not just psychological for us. It’s actively harmful. She hasn’t learned to filter it out yet. To be honest, it’s difficult for me too, but it’s a hundred times worse for her.”

“What does she need?”

“Asides from getting off this planet and away from all of this? Stimulation. Physical contact. Anything that generates positive feelings.” Damika pressed her cheek against Tammea’s. “We’re here, Tam. We’ve got you.”

Deklaen kept rubbing her arms and back, and slowly—very slowly—Tammea’s breathing steadied. Her skin was darker than usual, stress showing in the deepening pink-red hue.

She was still trembling, but not as badly.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I can keep going.”

Deklaen kissed the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”

Dez’s voice cut through the moment. “The patrol is splitting in half. Reduced numbers now. This is our chance. We should wait for the others to get further away, then engage.”

Quinel looked back at the parents, both still crouched around their daughter. “You guys good to move?”

Deklaen stood, checked his blaster again out of habit. “We don’t have a choice.” He offered Tammea his hand. “Come on, kiddo. Stay behind me and your mom.”

They moved to the intersection. Through the haze of smoke and fading light, Quinel could make out the white armor of stormtroopers about fifty meters down the cross street. Too many of them, moving in a loose formation.

Dez raised both arms, the barrels of his repeater blasters already glowing faintly. “On my mark. Three. Two. One.”

They opened fire.

The first two troopers went down before they even knew what hit them. The next three spun, bringing their rifles up, but Deklaen’s rapid fire caught one in the chest and sent another stumbling.

The rest found cover fast. Return fire lit up the intersection, bolts screaming past Quinel’s head close enough that he felt the heat.

He squeezed off a shot. Missed by a mile.

“Fracking hell.” He adjusted his grip, tried to compensate for the unfamiliar sights. Squeezed again. Another miss, but closer.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t left your blaster on the ship,” Dez observed, still firing in controlled bursts.

“I thought we were past this.”

“Oh Captain,” the droid replied cheerfully as he continued blasting away at the troopers, clearly enjoying himself. “I regret to inform you that we shall never be past this.”

“Just shut up and shoot.”

“As you wish.”

Both of Dez’s arms opened up in a sustained barrage. The speeder the troopers were hiding behind started coming apart under the onslaught, bits of metal and molten plastic spraying everywhere. One trooper made the mistake of leaning out to return fire.

Deklaen’s shot took the Stormtrooper in the face plate, dropping him to the dirt hard.

Three more troopers broke from cover, trying to flank. Quinel fired—missed, fired again—missed, fired a third time and caught one in the leg. The trooper stumbled. Dez’s next burst finished him off.

Damika was firing too, her small blaster cracking with precise shots. She moved with fluid grace, each motion economic and deadly.

The firefight lasted nearly a whole ninety seconds. When it was over, bodies in white armor littered the intersection.

Quinel lowered the pistol, his hands shaking slightly from adrenaline. “That was too close.”

“But you got one,” Deklaen said with mirth as he moved past him, checking the bodies. “Not bad for a Corellian.”

“Hey, look at that.” Quinel tried for levity. “I got one.”

Dez tilted his head. “One. Out of approximately sixteen shots you fired.”

“Nobody asked you.”

“I simply think it’s worth noting—”

“Dez.”

“Yes Captain?”

“Shut up.”

Deklaen straightened from the last body, something that might have been amusement crossing his face despite everything. “And you take him out in public?”

Quinel laughed. “He’s useful when things get violent.”

“I have no feelings about that assessment whatsoever,” Dez said. “Though I should note my combat protocols remain fully functional.”

“Keep that up and I’ll reprogram your personality matrix.”

“You’ve been threatening that for over eight years now, Captain.”

“This time I mean it.”

Damika had crouched in front of Tammea and was checking her over, hands moving over her daughter’s arms and shoulders. Making sure she was okay. The kid looked scared but determined, her small jaw set in a way that reminded Quinel of her mother.

Deklaen checked the street ahead. “We should move. That made too much noise.”

After a moment of confirming that their surroundings were clear of any more surprises and pulling themselves back together, they ran.

---

Two more blocks passed without incident. The light was fading fast now, the sky going from orange to a hazy deep purple.

Then Quinel suddenly heard it.

That distinctive scream of twin ion engines.

He looked back and up, saw the angular silhouettes against the darkening sky. There were two of them, maybe three. Hard to tell in the smoke and dying light of day.

And they were coming in fast.

“Ah hell,” he said as he turned back to the street ahead of them. “Run!”

Damika grabbed Tammea’s hand, pulling her along. Deklaen was right beside them, his longer legs eating up the distance.

The first fighter screamed overhead, its cannons opening up. Green bolts tore into the street behind them, throwing up chunks of ferrocrete and dirt. Debris pelted Quinel’s back and legs as he ran harder than he’d run in years.

His lungs burned. His legs screamed. He was definitely getting too old for this.

Deklaen pointed ahead. “Up there, get inside!”

The group ran as hard as they could toward a solidly constructed shopping center that had somehow managed to stay standing, green death continuing to slam into the street behind them.

Twenty meters. Then fifteen. Then ten.

The second fighter came in strafing, its fire chewing up the street to their right. The heat was intense even at a distance. Something exploded nearby, the blast wave nearly throwing Quinel off his feet.

Dez reached the building first. He didn’t slow down—just lowered his shoulder and crashed through the entrance, taking not just the door but a good portion of the surrounding wall with him.

Damika and Tammea were next, their species’ enhanced speed and endurance carrying them through the opening in a blur of motion, Deklaen right behind them.

Quinel dove through last, hitting the floor hard and rolling. Above him, the building’s upper levels took the brunt of the strafing run. The ceiling shook, dust raining down upon them all. Something else exploded somewhere overhead, the concussion rattling his teeth.

Then the TIEs screamed past, their engines dopplering away into the distance.

Quinel lay on his back, chest heaving, staring up at the damaged ceiling. His heart felt like it was trying to break through his ribs.

“Fracking hell,” he breathed. “Is everyone okay?” he managed to say after a few gasps of air.

Various affirmatives came back. Tammea cried quietly near Damika, her palms pressed to her temples.

“That was too close,” Deklaen said.

“But we’re not dead.” Damika held Tammea close, rocking her slightly. “Two more blocks. We can do this.”

Quinel pushed himself up into a seated position, every muscle protesting. “Anyone hurt?”

“Few scrapes,” Deklaen reported. “Nothing serious.”

“All systems within acceptable parameters,” Dez added.

The TIEs had moved on to other targets. In fact, aside from the occasional explosion far off in the distance and the sounds of burning and crumbling buildings outside, much of the action seemed to have died down. Quinel didn’t want to think about the obvious meaning in that.

“I say we take five,” Deklaen said as he sagged against the wall nearest his family. “After that, we make our final push to the spaceport.”

No one objected.

Quinel wondered if the scarred man had had some sort of commanding rank in the Republic’s Slicer Corps. He not only carried himself with a certain kind of confident strength, but seemed a natural born leader.

He studied the family as they huddled together, Tammea between the two adults. His heart ached for the poor kid. He had heard about the KDY shipyard incident back when it had happened. Of course, the Empire had excused it as bad reactor cores going critical, but to find out that these two slicers—unable to just roll over and let the Empire walk all over the galaxy—had been responsible?

They had balls, that much he could definitely give them.

But what had things been like for Tammea the past few years? A life of running was no life for a kid, Zeltron or no. And didn’t her mother say something about how negative emotions affected their biology, not just their minds? He couldn’t imagine that a life on the run would be anything but negative emotions. The fear, the constant need to stay on high alert—it was a mixture of feelings that Quinel knew all too well.

Quinel pushed himself to his feet and moved closer to Dez who was standing near the entrance they had come through, his attention on the streets outside.

“Hey, are you mad about this? About me not just leaving them here and getting us the hell out?”

“Mad, Captain?” Dez asked, his voice almost sounding indignant. “How could I be mad if I don’t feel?”

“Dez, come on. You know what I mean.”

Dez swiveled his head to face him. “Not in the slightest.” His photoreceptors flashed once. “I’ve given up on expecting you to ever act in any way that could be considered remotely logical.”

“Oh frack right the hell—”

“That being said,” Dez continued. “In the eight years we have worked together, I’ve observed that the logical thing and rational thing to do are not always one and the same. Despite my usual misgivings around your general inability to avoid complications, I believe helping these people was the correct course of action. And your unwillingness to abandon them has been noted as being quite honorable, even if inefficiently obstinate.”

Quinel shrugged and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, the weight of Deklaen’s pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants at the small of his back where he had stuffed it when they took off running from the aerial assault a reminder of their dire circumstances. “Don’t go making this awkward now, Dez. I might think you’re losing your edge.”

“Hardly,” the droid replied with what could have passed as a snort if it came from any other non-mechanical being. “I’m simply telling you what you need to hear to keep your faculties focused. You organics require validation and I aim to please in whichever ways may be necessary to insure our collective survival,” Dez concluded sincerely.

Quinel rolled his eyes. “Ooookay, we’re definitely past awkward at this point.”

Before Dez could reply, Deklaen’s voice suddenly interrupted them.

“We should get moving. Everyone ready?”

Quinel stretched, then reached for the pistol, checking the charge level and thumbing off the safety. “As I’ll ever be,” he muttered.

He glanced over to see Damika now carrying Tammea. Most humanoids would have struggled to move tactically with a child in one arm while trying to wield a blaster with the other, but whether a knack of Zeltron biology, or Damika’s maternal instincts giving her some unknown strength, she carried the girl as though she was nothing while maintaining her mobility.

At Quinel’s questioning glance, Damika answered his unasked question. “She’s too close to an empathic shutdown. I’ll just carry her the rest of the way.”

Quinel nodded as the group formed up around the hole in the wall where they had entered.

Once everyone was gathered, Deklaen stood pondering for a long moment before speaking. “Okay, since Damika’s carrying Tam, we’re just going to push as hard and fast as our legs will allow. The sooner we make it to your ship, the sooner we can get out of here.”

“I’m fine with that,” Quinel responded.

Dez gave a quick nod of his armor-plated head, his arms snapping back as his weapons powered online once more.

“With any luck, the spaceport’s security systems did most of the work for us,” Damika chimed in.

“And if they haven’t?” Quinel asked the question no one else seemingly wanted to give voice to.

“Then, to borrow your favorite word,” Deklaen replied, “we’re all fracked.”

---

The spaceport came into view as they rounded the last corner.

It looked like a scene from hell.

Entire hangars had collapsed, their structures reduced to twisted metal skeletons. Ships that should have been inside lay scattered across the tarmac, some burning, others simply broken. Bodies—both stormtroopers and colonists alike—littered the grounds. The smell of burning fuel and worse things hung heavy in the air.

“Force save us,” Deklaen whispered. “This is our fault.”

“I have no interest in listening to you indulge in self-pity,” Dez said flatly. “Perhaps you might consider saving that for when we’re aboard the Stray?”

Quinel glanced at the droid. “Damn, Dez. That’s harsh.”

“Was I incorrect?”

“No, you’re right. But damn.”

Deklaen chuckled darkly. “He’s got a point though. Self-pity’s a luxury we can’t afford right now.”

“Sixty thousand people are dying because we got careless,” Damika said quietly, staring at the devastation.

“The Empire did this,” Quinel said. “Not you. Don’t let them twist this around.”

But he understood the guilt. Understood it well.

They walked through the spaceport grounds, keeping to the shadows where they could. The sun was almost completely down now, the last rays painting everything in shades of dark red and deeper black, the flames of the burning ships and structures providing most of the light, even as the heat and smoke were oppressive. The only one who wasn’t affected was Dez, who continued taking the lead, his arms sweeping back and forth as he kept watch for any unexpected movement.

Eventually, Hangar D7 came into view. Unlike most of the others, it was still standing. The structure looked intact enough, though the power was clearly out. Not even the emergency lighting remained. The massive doors stood partially open, near total darkness beyond them. Despite the darkness though, Quinel felt some of the tension leave his spine. There was at least some chance that the Stray was operational.

He suddenly thought of Kybuss, the Sluissi mechanic who had promised to have the Stray ready for takeoff within forty minutes. That had been, how long ago now? He glanced up at the sky and watched as the last of the sun faded from the horizon. It had to have been near three or four hours now.

Had Kybuss managed to get the ship prepped, or were they going to find that they were stuck here?

Had he made it out? Or had he been another victim of the Empire today, killed for no more reason than daring to want a life far from the Core Worlds, where anti-alien bigotry was quickly becoming the new and expected norm.

Glancing back the way they had come, seeing all the devastation and destruction, Quinel doubted anyone had made it off world. Even if they had though, there were still three Star Destroyers in orbit to contend with.

Deklaen’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“There,” Deklaen said, relief evident in his voice. “We made it.”

Quinel stared at the hangar entrance, trying to see into the shadows beyond. “My ship better be alright in there.”

They approached the hangar cautiously, weapons ready. The entrance yawned before them like a mouth, ready to swallow them whole.

Quinel stopped at the threshold, peering into the blackness. “Looks clear. Dez, can you see anything?”

“Negative, Captain. There’s too much interference for accurate readings.” The droid’s optical sensors pulsed green, adjusting. “I suggest caution.”

“When don’t you suggest caution?”

“That’s because you rarely exercise it on your own.”

They slowly moved inside, letting their eyes adjust to the lack of lighting. The hangar was massive, designed to hold multiple ships. After a long, tense moment of waiting for something to happen, Quinel’s eyes adjusted enough to make out familiar shapes in the gloom.

The distinctive saucer profile of a Ghtroc freighter. Blue and purple paint, barely visible in the darkness.

His girl.

“I’ve never been happier to see her than I am right now,” he breathed.

The Stray sat maybe forty meters away, apparently untouched. The boarding ramp was up, the ship dark and silent.

Damika shifted Tammea in her arms. “It feels strange here.”

“Strange?” Quinel asked. “How so?”

“I don’t know,” the Zeltron female replied. “Wrong, somehow, though I can’t explain why.”

“I don’t trust the Imps not to try something when we’re this close to freedom,” Deklaen said.

Quinel looked at Dez. “Still nothing?”

“As I stated, there is too much interference to be certain of anything.”

“I say we go for it,” Deklaen said.

“I agree,” Quinel added.

“Me too,” Damika said. “Just be careful.”

They started across the hangar floor, moving quickly but not running. Not yet. Trying to stay quiet despite every instinct screaming at them to sprint.

Thirty-five meters.

Quinel glanced to either side as he lightly jogged. He couldn’t make anything out in the darkness, but Damika’s uncertainty had him spooked.

Thirty.

Still, everything was quiet, which only made the ice that had pooled in Quinel’s veins creep deeper into his marrow.

Twenty-five.

Twenty meters.

Fifteen.

Deklaen turned to Damika. “When we get there, I’ll—”

Damika suddenly skidded to a halt as she cried, “No! Deklaen, watch out!”

There was a sudden flash of red as a weapon discharged, the bolt stabbing out from the shadows with deadly accuracy, catching Deklaen center mass before he could finish his thought.

He went down instantly, his face frozen in surprise.

“DEKLAEN!” Damika’s scream tore through the hangar. “NO!”

Tammea’s scream joined her mother’s, shrill and broken. Her skin darkened rapidly, the stress seemingly overwhelming her biology.

Then the lights came on.

Portable floods from all sides, blindingly bright after the darkness. Stormtroopers emerged from cover positions all around them—dozens of them, maybe more. They’d been waiting. Watching. Most likely just out of range of Damika and Tammea’s empathic abilities, letting the group get close to safety before springing the trap.

More troopers moved in from positions up high, their heavy boots clanging down the corrugated metal stairs that led to the network of catwalks suspended above the hangar floor. Doors opened at either end of the building, admitting even more white-armored figures carrying their signature E-11 blaster rifles as they marched in and took up firing positions.

“Engaging,” Dez said, already moving into an attack position, his repeater blasters coming online with an explosion of staccato fire.

“Get her out of here!” Damika thrust Tammea at Quinel, her skin darkening to deep red as grief and rage took hold. She grabbed the heavy pistol from his hand in the same motion—fast, desperate, efficient.

Quinel caught the girl, felt her weight against his chest. She was screaming, convulsing, trying to get to her father. He wordlessly turned and ran for the Stray, anger burning white-hot in his chest.

Blaster fire erupted from all directions as the hangar became a warzone.

Quinel risked a glance over his shoulder where he saw Damika already firing, both weapons up as she moved with inhuman speed. A wounded Zeltron lover and mother’s rage channeled into deadly precision. Troopers fell left and right from her shots. One. Two. Five. Eight.

But there were too many.

Dez appeared next to her, providing covering fire, both arms sweeping in wide arcs, his barrels glowing orange. Stormtroopers scattered, seeking cover from the droid’s overwhelming firepower. Still, more came.

“If we’re getting out, we need to move FAST!” Dez’s voice carried over the chaos. “More of them coming through the doors, converging on this position!”

Quinel ran. Tammea clutched against him, the girl’s screams dissolving into raw sound, her small body convulsing with sobs. Blaster bolts screamed past his head. He gasped in pain as a lance of energy seared past his shoulder, burning through his coat. Another came so close he felt the heat singe his hair.

He kept running.

Ten meters.

Five.

He reached the access panel and hammered in his code with shaking fingers as he tried to keep the little girl’s body between him and the ship.

The boarding ramp started its slow descent, hydraulics whining.

“Come on, come on, damn you,” he bit out as blaster fire ricocheted around them. Behind him, the battle raged. Damika fought like something beyond humanoid capability, her shots finding targets with impossible accuracy. But she was being pushed back, forced away from Dez and the ship by sheer weight of numbers.

Dez tried to move closer, his heavy fire keeping the Imperials at a distance, but that was closing too.

Even as he helplessly watched, Quinel bit back a curse as a shot managed to hit the modified droid in the back, sparks flying from his armor plating as something inside gave way to the onslaught.

Dez turned and returned fire at the trooper that had gotten the lucky shot in. White armor turned black and red as he went down in a hail of blaster fire before Dez turned to another target that was moving up behind Damika who fought like a Zeltron possessed.

The ramp finally touched down. Quinel ran up it, still shielding Tammea with his body. The ship’s interior lights came on automatically as her systems detected his presence.

He ran to the common area and set her on the couch. Her face was dark red now, tears streaming, her purple eyes wild with grief and shock. She stared at him without seeing.

He crouched in front of her and cupped her face in both hands, making her look at him. “I’m so, so, so very sorry about Deklaen, but I need to get the ship ready for launch. Whatever you do, do not go back out there.” His voice cracked. “I told you I’d get you off this fracking blasted rock and I still intend to keep that promise, but I need you to be strong just a little bit more. Can you do that for me?”

She managed the smallest nod, her whole body shaking.

“Good girl.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “I’ll be back.”

He stood and ran for the cockpit, taking the steps two at a time. Throwing himself into the pilot’s seat, he started warming up the engines, his hands moving through the startup sequence automatically.

“Fracking Force be damned Imperials,” he snarled, watching systems come online. “Fracking trigger-happy bastards—”

The repulsers and engines hummed to life. He grabbed the controls and lifted the ship, maneuvering it carefully despite the urgency. He brought the Stray around, positioning the boarding ramp between where Dez and Damika were fighting as he tried to give them both a chance to reach it.

But even as he watched, Damika was being driven further back. Too much fire. Too many troopers.

He cursed in a way that was truly Corellian as he tried to think of something to do to help them. He couldn’t risk using the Stray’s limited weapons in this enclosed of a space, as it was entirely too possible he might hit one of them.

“Dez!” he yelled into the comlink. “Use your fracking shielding! Get to her dammit!”

“Negative Captain!” Dez’s voice came back strained. “Generator took a direct hit. It’s offline!”

Quinel slammed his fist against the console. Helpless. Watching. Unable to do anything but keep the ship steady and the ramp down.

“Frack!” He yelled as he punched the console again. “Fracking frack!”

---

Tammea couldn’t move.

She sat on the couch where Quinel had left her, hands pressed to either side of her head. Her father’s emotions had just… disappeared. One moment they were there—solid and warm and constant, a familiarity she had known for almost as long as she could remember. The next moment, nothing. A void where he should be. Like someone had cut out a piece of her soul.

She kept replaying it. Him turning. The red bolt. Him falling.

Over and over.

Her mother’s grief crashed over her in waves so powerful they felt physical, even in here. Pain and rage and desperate, aching love all mixed together into something that was killing her from the inside out.

And the stormtroopers. So many of them. How had they not felt them before entering the hangar?

Their emotions were wrong—cold and empty and mechanical. Just duty and orders and nothing else.

She needed to do something. Anything.

Tammea forced herself to stand. Her legs were shaky, unreliable. The ship was moving—she could feel the motion as the inertial dampeners weren’t yet online—and it made everything worse. Everything was spinning.

But she had to get to her mother. She couldn’t just leave her out there.

Her vision was blurred from tears, everything swimming. She stumbled toward where she remembered the ramp being. One foot in front of the other, hands trailing along the wall.

After a moment of groping blindly, she found what had to be the ramp controls. She wiped at her eyes furiously and saw that the opening was there ahead of her, light streaming in from outside. She could see the chaos below. White armor everywhere. Green and red blaster fire crisscrossing the space beyond.

And her mother.

Damika fought with inhuman speed, moving like water, her weapons never missing.

Tammea could feel her trying. Trying so hard to get to the ship, to get to safety, to survive for her.

As she watched on helplessly, she heard Quinel swearing from behind her. A moment later, she heard his boots running across the deck.

Suddenly, the ship lurched to one side as an explosion rocked it from below.

Tammea screamed as she lost her footing. She felt herself falling, the hangar floor rushing up—

Quinel grabbed her, hauling her back, his arms wrapping around her. “I got you,” he said as he pulled her back to safety.

She clung to him and stared down at the nightmare below.

Dez leapt up onto the ramp, both arms sweeping in wide arcs as he moved backwards toward the pair watching helplessly from where they stood at the top. Stormtroopers fell in waves, though it still wasn’t enough. For every trooper that fell, three more seemed to take their place.

And her mother—

Damika looked back over her shoulder, her purple eyes finding Tammea’s. She looked determined but relieved to see her daughter in relative safety.

Tammea could feel her mother’s emotions clearly. Grief and agonizing loss mixing with her unbreakable will to survive for her daughter.

She clung to her mother’s emotions, just like she now clung to Quinel’s arms that were keeping her in place. She willed her mother to move faster, every part of her being focusing on her mother in a silent but desperate plea to survive.

She couldn’t lose her mother too. Not now, not after everything they had been through.

Not after—

She saw it again—Deklaen looking back at them. The blaster bolt tearing through the air.

His lifeless gaze as he stared up from the hangar floor, shock still written on his face.

“Mom!” Tammea cried out desperately.

Damika reached to her belt, pulled something free, then flung it into the largest mass of stormtroopers bearing down on her position.

Then she turned and ran toward them, her remaining blaster firing as she went. Covering ground impossibly fast as the explosive went off, sending mangled bodies flying in every direction. Damika hunched her shoulders forward in an attempt to gain more speed.

Tammea held her breath, her nails digging into Quinel’s arms where she gripped him.

She was going to—

The red bolt of superheated plasma came out of seemingly nowhere, catching the Zeltron in the lower spine.

Tammea watched her mother’s back arch as though in slow motion. Watched her stumble. Watched her crash to the ground, Deklaen’s blaster skittering out of reach.

“MOM!” The scream tore out of her throat. “NO!”

Quinel’s arms tightened around her as she tried to throw herself from the ramp. His voice was rough in her ear. “No, don’t! You can’t help her.”

“Let me go, dammit! I have to get to her! Let me GO!”

She fought him with everything she had. Kicked. Punched. Bit. Anything to break free.

“You’ll only get killed too,” the smuggler said, his voice ragged with the heavy emotions she could feel him trying to keep in check.

“I have to save her!” Tammea tried to break free, but Quinel’s grip was firm.

“I’m sorry, kid. More than you can know, but I can’t let you go out there.”

Below, Damika pulled herself forward. Trying to reach a crate that lay ahead of her. Her movements were agonizing, desperate. She grabbed the edge, tried to pull herself up.

Her legs gave out. She slumped sideways against the crate, gasping, even as Imperial blaster bolts soared through the space she had just been a moment earlier.

Blaster fire rained down on her position. The Imperials wouldn’t stop, even though she was down. Pinning her there.

Dez moved back down to the bottom of the ramp as he tried to give her enough covering fire to crawl the rest of the way, but the Imperials wouldn’t have it.

“Dez!” Quinel was yelling, his voice breaking. “Get to her! Do something!”

“I’m trying, but there’s too much fire!” Dez’s voice came back. “I can’t reach her!”

Tammea fought Quinel’s grip with everything she had but it was pointless. No matter what she tried, he wouldn’t let her go.

From where she lay, slumped against a reinforced cargo crate that was beginning to come apart as the onslaught of Imperial blaster rounds continued, Damika reached for her comlink.

“Tam, listen to me.”

The voice came through Quinel’s comlink clearly. Strained with pain but steady. Tammea stopped struggling, grabbing the communicator hanging from his belt.

“Mom,” Tammea sobbed into the comlink, tears streaming.

“You need to be strong, okay?” Her mother’s voice. The voice that had been her greatest source of comfort for as long as she could remember. “Trust him. He’ll keep you safe.”

“No, mom…” Tammea’s voice broke. “What are you talking about? You have to get up. You can’t leave me too!”

“I’m sorry, Tam… I… I can’t come with you this time.” A gasp of pain. “I’m so proud of you. My beautiful little Starlight, I love you…”

“What are you doing? You can’t do this!” Tammea was crying so hard she could barely breathe. “Please don’t. Mom, I don’t want to be alone. You have to get up!”

Her mother’s voice came through the comlink again. “Remember your promise, smuggler. Please keep her safe, I beg of you.”

Quinel’s voice cracked as he replied, “I will.”

“You can’t do this to me—” Tammea was begging now, her voice raw and desperate. “I can’t do this alone. Get up!”

Below, Damika fumbled with something on her belt.

“Remember what I taught you,” Damika said, her voice getting weaker. “This is going to hurt for a while, but I know you’ll get through this.” A ragged cough. “I’m sorry Deklaen and I dragged you into this, but I need you to survive, to live. Can you do that for me?”

“No, I can’t. You’re all I have left.”

“You’ll always have me, Tam. Whether or not I’m with you, you’ll always have me.” Damika’s hand came up, gripping something in her trembling fist Tammea couldn’t make out. “But I need to know—can you survive for me?”

Tammea was crying so hard her whole body convulsed. “I… I…” A gulp, a broken sob. “I don’t know, but I’ll try… If you really think I can.”

“You’re my daughter, my greatest pleasure in life. I know you can.” Damika’s voice was firm despite the pain. “Now go. Get out of here. You’ll only have one shot at this. Let my death be worth something.”

“Mom!” Tammea cried, her voice raw and ragged.

“Remember what I said, Quinel. I’m counting on you.”

“Mom! Don’t!”

“Be strong, Tam. I love you more than anything in this entire galaxy.” Damika’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Now, go!”

Quinel was already pulling Tammea back into the ship. She fought him but he held on.

“Dez! Get inside! NOW!”

The droid turned and sprinted up the ramp as Quinel slammed the controls with his free palm.

Below, Damika looked up at them one last time, her gaze finding Tammea’s. Her skin was dark red now, almost purple. Tammea could feel her mother’s emotions radiating off of her in waves, grief and love and determination all mixed together.

Tammea reached a hand out to her mother, even as Damika smiled back at her and mouthed the words, “I love you, Tam.”

Then she turned back to the stormtroopers now gathering around her position.

“Go to hell, you bastards!” Damika spat out defiantly, just before there was a sudden flash of bright light and everything erupted in fire as Damika armed and set off the thermal detonator in her grip.

The explosion was massive. White-hot. Blinding.

The shockwave hit the ship like a fist. Tammea was thrown to the deck, her ears ringing.

But the physical pain was nothing.

Nothing compared to—

Her mother’s emotions just… stopped.

The constant presence that had been there every day of the past three and a half years—just gone. Snuffed out like a candle.

The void was absolute. Devastating. Like losing a sense. Like going deaf and blind at the same time but worse because this was losing something even more necessary.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t exist in a world where her mother’s love wasn’t there.

A scream tore out of her throat. Primal. Broken. The sound of something fundamental being destroyed.

She rolled onto her side, curled into a ball. Kept screaming.

Because there was nothing else left to do.

Distantly, she felt hands lifting her. Quinel’s voice far away, muffled, unreal. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Her mother was gone.

---

Quinel struggled to his feet and picked the screaming child up from the deck, his own ears ringing from the blast. Her weight in his arms felt impossibly heavy—not physically, but in every other way that mattered.

Another one.

The thought hit him like a physical blow as the memories he tried so hard to keep buried surfaced.

The feel of a fur-covered hand as he stared helplessly into a pair of unimaginably green eyes. The promise he had made then as the little Bothan struggled to breathe.

“I won’t let you die. Just hang on a little longer.”

Another memory.

A bloodied form in a dark back alley on Corellia.

“Get out of here, kid. You can’t do anything for me now.”

Deklaen’s face, frozen in surprise.

Damika’s smile before she armed the detonator.

Another failure. Another broken promise. The pattern repeated, over and over, everyone he swore to protect ending up dead or broken or worse.

He carried Tammea to the couch, set her down as gently as he could. She was still screaming, though no sound escaped her throat. Her skin was a dark purple now.

His hands shook as he released her. Tears streamed down his face. He wiped them away roughly as he tried to get his own emotions under control.

He had to move. Had to function. He could fall apart later, but right now he needed his head in the game.

He touched Tammea’s shoulder, squeezed gently.

“I’ll be back as soon as I get us out of here,” he whispered hoarsely.

Then he turned and ran for the cockpit, his feet carrying him up the steps.

He found Dez already seated at his station, his repeater blasters no longer visible as his mechanical fingers rapidly entered commands as he readied the ship for launch.

Quinel collapsed into the pilot’s seat, his breaths coming raggedly.

He stared out through the viewport at the destruction beyond—the hole Damika’s sacrifice had blown in the hangar wall, the mangled remains of the white-armored stormtroopers scattered everywhere.

He tried to steady his breathing. Failed.

Quinel squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms, desperately trying to get his emotions under control.

After a long moment, he opened his eyes then blinked as the controls swam in his vision.

“Captain, are you functional?” Dez asked quietly.

“I’m fine.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

“I said I’m fine.”

A pause. Then: “The small organic survives.”

Quinel clenched his jaw, Dez’s words hardly a comfort as he stared out at the opening Damika had created at the cost of her life, the escape route bought with blood so that her daughter might survive a little while longer.

“Let’s get the frack out of here,” he said roughly as he pushed the throttles forward and the Stray leapt toward freedom, engines roaring as they blasted out of the hangar and into the night sky.

---