Last Shot_Star Wars

by Daniel José Older

“Bah,” he grunted, hitting the door panel. The door slid open and Han stepped back. The room was dark except for two glimmering blue images: a man and a woman, both dressed in ceremonial robes and smiling at the person sitting in the darkness between them. Taka turned toward the door and the hallway lights threw a stark shine across their startled, tearstained face.

  “I—” Han said, raising a hand to his lips and creasing his brow. “I’m sorry. I can—”

  Taka clicked off the image, stood, walked out of the room without looking at Han. “Not your fault,” they muttered, and then Han was alone.

  “Well,” Han said out loud, “that was…bah.” He hit the call button and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “What’s wrong?” Leia asked as her translucent blue image shimmered into existence in front of Han.

  He shook his head. “That’s just it. I don’t know.”

  Even reduced to a luminous barely there holo, she looked…radiant. It was still early on Chandrila, and she’d clearly just woken up: Her brown hair hung in long, unbrushed cascades past her bare shoulders, and her eyes were sleepy.

  She adjusted herself, sitting up, and Han recognized the careful movements he would use when trying not to wake the boy, then saw his son’s tiny hand wrapped around Leia’s waist. “How is he?”

  She smiled, looking like some kind of ethereal angel, and hoisted Ben carefully into a more comfortable position. “He’s all right. He was asking for you today, and then again before bed.”

  Han had known that would happen. He’d tried to tell Ben he’d be gone and what that meant; Ben had nodded but who knew what a two-year-old could really grasp? Still, even knowing it would come, the idea of Ben wanting to spend time with him—it felt like a chasm was opening up inside Han, and he couldn’t name it or slow its spread.

  “You look so sad,” Leia said. “Talk to me, Han.”

  “Everything’s all right,” he said with a sigh, not even trying to pretend that was true. Leia knew he was no good at talking about stuff, but she always tried to get him to do it anyway. She’d ask a straightforward question and then settle back with the most serene possible expression on her face and wait for him to shake loose some semblance of an answer. That’s exactly what she was doing now, in fact, without even so much as a question asked. Her tired eyes and pursed lips awaited his reply, but Han knew that face didn’t mean judgment. It was the opposite—she’d let him ramble on, muddling out whatever mess he’d gotten himself into until it made some kind of sense. That was how well she knew him: well enough to help him get out of his own way, get out of his way herself, and still somehow be there for him when things made sense again.

  He looked up. “I think I miss you.”

  The hologram of Leia laughed. “Well, that’s a relief. Don’t sound so surprised about it, though.”

  Han cringed. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Relax, lunk, I know what you meant.”

  “Dada?” Ben’s little head appeared in the holo, blinking. Then a smile broke out on his face. “Dada!”

  “Hey, little buddy,” Han said. The boy reached out and then frowned. He was still figuring out this holo thing—had probably just watched his own little hand swat through his father’s glowing image.

  “Come, sleep some more, Ben,” Leia cooed, pulling him close before he could get too caught up in the phantom-dad problem.

  “Always taming the wild beasts,” Han smirked.

  “Plenty of practice,” Leia shot back.

  “I don’t deny it.”

  “Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone else on board,” Taka’s voice blasted suddenly over the comm.

  “Oh no,” Han groaned.

  “We are preparing to leave hyperspace in approximately five minutes.”

  “What’s wrong?” Leia asked.

  “This kid we’ve got piloting. They’re…a piece of work.”

  “Please secure any leftover trash you have lying around, including your loved ones.”

  Leia scoffed. “Sounds like it.”

  “Yeah, real joker. Although, just a few minutes ago—”

  “In approximately ten minutes we’ll be docking at—”

  Han hit the MUTE button on the holo. Leia didn’t need to know where they’d be docking.

  “Substation Grimdock, home of the infamous prison complex and its galaxy-renowned cuisine. Not that I would know. Uh, anyway, strap in! Taka out!”

  “What was that all about?” Leia asked.

  “Nothing,” Han said, rubbing his eyes. “Must’ve hit a bad transmission area of some kind.”

  “Oh, and uh, guys…” Taka’s voice blurted back out. “You might want to come and take a look at this.”

  “For a smuggler,” Leia said, “you’re really a terrible liar.”

  “Former smuggler,” Han pointed out.

  “Mmhm. Lookin’ mighty smugglerlike from here.”

  Han stood, shrugging his approval. “Give ’em hell in the Senate today, Your Highness.”

  “Hey, Han. Be safe, okay?”

  * * *

  —

  “Whatchya got?” Lando said, settling into the bench behind Taka and gazing out through the cockpit window. “Whoa!”

  It looked like they’d rolled up in the middle of an epic space battle that had just been put on a momentary pause: A few dozen frigates, gunships, and corvettes hung in the air above the iron surface of Substation Grimdock. All of them were locked and loaded, according to the wildly beeping notifications on the sensor screen.

  “Um…something we should know?” Lando said.

  A few were easily recognizable as New Republic freighters; most of the others had the thrown-together bootlegged look of pirate ships. And then a couple were just sleek and unmarked; probably syndicate ships, Lando thought.

  “I heard there was some trouble over here,” Taka said, clicking some buttons and pulling down on the throttle. “But I didn’t think it would be all this. Looks like we’re all ’bouta get blown to pieces.”

  “Indeed,” Lando said. “Is that a Hutt frigate?”

  “Yep, and that one’s probably Black Sun.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  Taka shrugged. “Dock. Go about our business. Try to appear as little and harmless as we possibly can and pray we don’t get lit up just because.”

  “Aren’t we pretty little and harmless, considering the company we just jumped into?”

  Taka’s reply was a rambunctious grin.

  “I like how you roll,” Lando said as Han walked in, cursed, and sat down heavily on the bench.

  “Exactly,” Taka said.

  “Do we know—”

  “We know nothing,” Lando said. “And we’re just bringing it in nice and easy and keeping it moving.”

  “Good plan,” Han said. “Are those NR ships? Leia did say they were deploying some of the fleet but…I didn’t think it would be here.”

  “And anyway, what fleet?” Lando complained. “Mothma’s been on a decommissioning rampage since Jakku; all the heavy weapons are out of service, from what I’ve heard. I don’t know how this new world is supposed to work without weapons to keep us safe…”

  Han scowled. “You don’t have to tell me, Lando. Remember I’m married to a politician. What do you think I go to sleep every night hearing horror stories about?”

  “Kinda sweet, actually,” Taka said. “If you take out the imminent threat of total destruction and all that.”

  “Heh, you try it,” Han said.

  “Marrying a politician?” Taka scoffed. “Hard pass.”

  “All right, bring her down,” Lando said.

  “Uh…” Taka said as the sensor computer bleeped an urgent warning. “One of those frigates looks interested in us.”

  It was a Mon Cal ship, clearly revamped and thoro
ughly trashed to the point of being pirate-acceptable. “What do these clowns want?” Lando said.

  “They’re hailing us,” Taka said. “Want me to answer?”

  “Yeah, go with the whole New Republic maintenance crew cover story and we’ll take it from there.”

  “What if they ask to board?”

  Han leaned forward, blaster in hand. “Then we improvise,” he said with a grin.

  “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t get to that,” Lando said. “There’s a whole lotta firepower hanging out on this vector, and I’d rather not get tangled up.”

  Taka grunted something that Lando didn’t catch and then put the transmission through. The long, sallow face and beaked snout of a Cosian glared out at them, his big, shining eyes inscrutable. A leather pilot’s cap sat on his head, and several coils of some serpentine creature were wrapped around his neck like a scarf.

  “This is Captain Viz Moshara of the Radium Destrobar,” the Cosian said in tightly accented Basic. “Identify yourselves or be boarded and destroyed.”

  “Greetings, Captain Moshara,” Taka said. “We are a New Republic maintenance vessel en route to Substation Grimdock to perform some routine repairs.”

  “Aha!” The Cosian’s lengthy face creased into a pain-stricken grimace.

  Lando held his breath.

  “Ahahaha…hahahahaha!” Captain Moshara was apparently…laughing.

  “Is there a problem?” Taka asked.

  “You picked a very, very interesting moment to do some repairs. Are you not aware of Magernon’s Amnesty?”

  “Oh, right,” Taka said, “Magernon’s Amnesty…of course…”

  “How is it that you are a New Republic vessel doing New Republic work on a New Republic substation and you haven’t been briefed on the current crisis facing the New Republic at that exact station?”

  “We—”

  “Prepare to be boarded,” Captain Moshara said, signaling someone off to his left. “This conversation will be more productive if we know what cargo you carry.”

  “Ah, that’s a negative, Captain,” Taka said. “We are under explicit instructions to proceed directly to the surface and—”

  But Captain Moshara’s image flickered and then vanished.

  The Vermillion shook as the larger vessel pulled alongside it and locked onto its air lock port.

  “Dang,” Taka grunted. “Nobody has any manners anymore.”

  Han stood and headed down the corridor. “Time to arm up. Chewie! Get ready.”

  “Taka,” Lando said. “Get these guys off us. Now.”

  Taka nodded, pushed a series of buttons. “It’s gonna draw some more attention, though.”

  “Just shake us free,” Lando said.

  Captain Moshara’s face appeared once again over the dashboard. He looked as shaken as a Cosian could. “You have fully armed all your proton torpedos, Vermillion. Why is a small New Republic freighter even carrying such a heavy load of artillery?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Taka said. “What is your business is that I will let loose the full barrage if you attempt to board this vessel.”

  “You will be destroyed along with us,” Moshara gasped. “You would never!”

  Taka ran their fingers along an array of buttons, and both ships rocked as explosions lit up along the starboard side of the Radium Destrobar.

  “You are a lunatic!” Moshara yelled.

  “What’s going on out there?” Han called from down the corridor.

  “Everything’s under control,” Lando hollered back.

  Moshara was still shaking his fists and glancing around wildly. “This is madness! Detach and pull away. Call back the boarding party.”

  Taka grinned and pressed one more button, sending a laser blast straight across the Destrobar’s nose.

  “Pull away!” Moshara yelled. “Let these maniacs pass!”

  “Well played,” Lando said as the holo blipped out of existence and the Destrobar glided away.

  Taka acknowledged the comment with a grim shrug and then nodded to the sensor, where one of the New Republic starships was banking toward them. “These guys won’t be so easy to shake. They probably picked up on our little show of force and are wondering why we’re more heavily armed than they are.”

  “Bring it in fast then,” Lando said. “I’m guessing they have bigger things to worry about, considering this standoff looks about to blow.”

  SUBSTATION GRIMDOCK HAD BEEN A moon once, albeit a very small one. Then the Empire got ahold of it and covered the entire surface with a never-ending labyrinth of cage-lined corridors, torture chambers, and mess halls: a moon-sized prison. When that prison filled up with various gangsters, dissidents, and rebels from around the galaxy, the Imperials started digging, excavating cells from the very canals and inner chambers of the moon itself. That was where they stored the most heinous criminals, supposedly, and there were rumors they’d only stopped digging because the workers upset a nest of bastaks and got massacred. But no one really knew what bastaks were—that was just what the one droid that got away kept repeating over and over. So every once in a while, when a high-security prisoner would vanish from the bowels of the prison, well, it was presumed the bastaks had eaten well that night, whatever they were.

  “Looks charming,” Han said, gazing out from the cockpit at the sprawling chain-and-cage metropolis stretching beneath them. He’d pulled on the borrowed pair of New Republic officer’s pants he’d found in the storeroom and was trying to close the hook and bar on the waistband.

  “It’s not,” Taka said. It was the first time Han had heard them sound serious about anything. “And no, I’m not going out there with you. It’s just techie stuff anyway. Do what you have to do and let’s get out of here. This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Finally, we agree on something,” Han said. “Whose pants are these, a ten-year-old’s?”

  “Uh, mine,” Taka said. “I keep a bunch of disguises around just in case.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re tiny. And I hate uniforms. Hell, half the reason I quit being a general was so I wouldn’t have to squeeze myself into these ridiculous starched monkey pajamas.”

  “And here you are,” Lando said with a chuckle. “Doing just that.”

  “All right, Captain Fancypants.” Han finally latched the hook and zipped up the fly, then realized he hadn’t tucked in the dress shirt and undid the whole thing with a grunt. “Just because your whole world is a sultry caped strut along the galactic catwalk of life doesn’t mean the rest of us have to live in discomfort.”

  Taka spat blue milk back into the tin cup they were sipping it from. “Damn!”

  Han fastened up the shirt, nearly choking himself to death with that final collar button, and then smoothed it down under the pants. Finally he latched the pants back together and slid a belt over the whole thing, keeping it all more or less in place. “I hate uniforms,” he said with finality.

  “Seems like uniforms hate you, too,” Lando said.

  “Chewie, you ready?”

  Arrrrggyuuuoohh, Chewie affirmed.

  “Vessel 75-RX9,” an annoyed voice droned over their comm. “Identify yourself, all right? Thanks.”

  Lando leaned forward, squinting at the patrol tower. “And here’s where having a prison-transport-type ship will pay off.”

  “Greetings, Substation Grimdock,” Taka said in a voice that sounded downright Imperial. “We’ve been sent from the Department of Prisons on Chandrila to investigate some possible technical malfunctions with your computer system. Please clear us for landing immediately.”

  Han held his breath, but the reply came almost instantly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Docking Bay Three.”

  Lando and Han looked at each other over Taka’s head. “That was…eerily simple,” Han said.

 
Taka shrugged, looking puzzled. “I got nothin’. If it’s a trap, we’re all gonna die, but that was true anyway, so…”

  “Bring her in,” Lando said. “Han, anything goes wrong in there, you hit us up immediately and we’ll come get you.”

  “I mean, it’s just the archival station, right?” Taka said. “And anyway this place has been under New Republic jurisdiction since Endor. We’re with the good guys now. Everything should be fine.”

  No one even bothered trying to look convinced.

  * * *

  —

  A uniformed Gungan awaited them behind a desk at the main entrance to Administrative Sector 44-B of Substation Grimdock. The nameplate on the desk said ARO N’COOKAALA. He was reading a thick datapad and appeared completely uninterested in the world around him.

  “Oh, these guys,” Han said under his breath to Chewie and Peekpa. “I’ll handle this.” He stepped up to the desk and waved, flashing a goofy smile. “Greetings! Meesa—”

  Aro held up a hand. “Let me just stop you right there, buddy.”

  “Uh…What’s happening?”

  “I am saving you the trouble of further embarrassing yourself with all the meesa meesa bantha poodoo. Just don’t.”

  “But—”

  “How many Gungans have you met?”

  “Like…” Han started counting on his fingers.

  “I mean actually spoken to.”

  “About seven.”

  “Okay, so we’ll round to one.”

  Han’s collar was tight. He stuck a finger in, prying it away from his neck. “Probably accurate.”

  “And based on that one interaction with one Gungan plus whatever nonsense you’ve heard about us out in the galaxy—which, let’s be honest, is mostly garbage—you feel that you have a real grasp on who the Gungans are as a species.”

  “No, I—”

  “Exactly!” Aro slammed the desk triumphantly. He seemed to be enjoying himself. “And yet you’re ready to walk up to a random Gungan you’ve never met and start in with the meesa meesas. Bro, save it. Trust me.”

  “I thought—”

  “You thought! And that’s where you messed up. You thought.” The Gungan shook his head, disappointed. “But did you ask?”