Innamin was an engineer by training. Of the three crewmembers of the Aurora IX, he was the only one with the skill set to even consider fixing a damaged reactor. That also meant he was the only one who would be able to accurately assess whether he could do anything about it. Innamin could easily just say, Sorry, nope, can’t do anything, we need to leave now, we did our best, and who would know the difference? The kid was young, had a lot to live for. Bright almost wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d said it was time to go.

“I can try,” Innamin said. “Might be able to buy us a few minutes.”

Bright felt a surge of pride wash over him.

“We’re all the Republic,” he said.

“We’re all the Republic,” Innamin replied.

“We’re all dead if we don’t finish searching the station,” Ensign Peeples chimed in from another deck. “I have another survivor. Badly injured. Send me the pill.”

A tremor struck the station at just that moment, a quick tight snap, as if someone outside had whacked it with a durasteel rod a hundred meters long. It knocked Bright off his feet, and he barely caught himself before what could have been a nasty fall. He was sure this was it. They would all be blasted to vapor, three would-be heroes gone in an instant along with the people they were trying to save. But the shaking eased, and he still had a deck beneath his feet and walls to either side. The station was still intact. Bright decided to consider the incident a valuable reminder that they had to get the hell out of there.

“Buy us time, Petty Officer,” he said, pulling himself to his feet. “And Ensign Peeples, I’ll send the droid to you as soon as it’s done handling my two survivors. I’ll keep looking.”

Bright began to run, sweeping his eyes from side to side, scanning the haze for person-shaped outlines.

“But by the light…both of you…hurry.”

Chapter Thirteen

The two Jedi, Bell Zettifar and Loden Greatstorm, apprentice and master, sprinted toward the marauders’ speeders. The blades of their lightsabers buzzed and snapped through the air as they ran. The weapons sounded like nothing else in the galaxy. To Bell, it was the sound of skill, and training, and focus, and the choice of last resort, and the art of the Jedi.

Lightsabers were designed to end conflicts. They were designed to injure no more than necessary, and in the horrible circumstance where death was the only possible outcome, they would kill quickly. No more damage would be done by a lightsaber than its wielder chose. There was no collateral damage with the lightsaber.