Race to Crashpoint Tower
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© & TM 2021 Lucasfilm Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press, an imprint of Buena Vista Books, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Lucasfilm Press, 1200 Grand Central Avenue, Glendale, California 91201.
First Edition, June 2021
ISBN 978-1-368-06326-5
Design by Soyoung Kim, Scott Piehl, and Leigh Zieske
Visit the official Star Wars website at: www.starwars.com
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Star Wars Timeline
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Part Two
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part Three
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
About the Author
About the Illustrator
For Azul
Sitting cross-legged on an old starfighter pilot seat, Ram Jomaram closed his eyes and tried to block out all the clatter and commotion outside. There was plenty to block out: dignitaries and visitors from across the known galaxy were converging on the scenic mountains and forests of Valo for the first Republic Fair in ages. Most of Lonisa City’s residents were putting final touches on banners, cooking scrumptious food, and preparing guest quarters. Pretty soon they’d be gathered at the almost fully constructed Jedi temple to welcome the Chancellor herself to Valo.
Lonisa City, where Ram had grown up, was a small place. People knew and looked out for each other; it seemed light-years away from the ongoing grind and rumble of the rest of the galaxy. But over the past few weeks, Ram had felt the rising tide of all that sudden attention, the hubbub and fuss seeming to get louder and louder as the many eyes of the Republic turned to Valo. So much prep had gone into this gigantic event, and there was still so much to do!
But!
None of that mattered.
All that mattered was this very moment.
Ram had slyly mentioned to Master Kunpar that one of the security team’s speeder bikes was out of commission with a faulty gasket hub, and all the state mechanics were busy setting up the light show; sooooo…Master Kunpar had grumbled and fussed with his chin tentacles some before finally relenting, but he had, and that was why Ram got to be here, in his favorite place on the planet: a dingy, dim garage full of rusty mechanical parts and tools.
The team of repair Bonbraks scurried back and forth on the shelves around him, chattering at each other and futzing with various smaller projects, but otherwise, Jedi Padawan Ram Jomaram was in the most peaceful state he knew: all alone in the garage, a small shed in the back grotto of the Jedi living quarters.
No complicated rules or protocols to follow, no ancient wise Masters to show the correct deference to. Just metal and bolts and plastoid and some big-eared, long-tailed fur balls who made plenty of squeaky fuss but mostly minded their own business.
Ram was one with the Force, and the Force was with Ram, he reminded himself. Here, in this peaceful, grease-stained hideaway, he could give over fully to the quiet, powerful place inside. All around him, a small constellation of speeder parts hovered. There were the leather seat and metal casing over the main hub—he could swing those out of the way for the moment. Here was the engine, with its grill and gaskets and piping. Here was the fuse box that would fit in alongside the retrovaporizer and connect into the rest of the machinery. And here was the repulsorlift hub, still shiny with residue from when it had spluttered fission oil earlier, during a routine patrol.
“You must see the whole for the whole,” Master Kunpar had told Ram so, so many times, “and each part for the role it plays—not for what you want it to be, not for what you fear it to be. Just for what it is.”
He made it sound so easy. Also, he was probably talking about meditation techniques and combat maneuvers most of the times he said it—true Jedi stuff. But for Ram, mechanics was meditation. And anyway, the Force was everywhere, right? He figured his master would be pleased he was finding practical applications for all that wisdom. Hopefully!
Ram could feel the quiet thrum of each segment, the tiny vibrations in the air that described them as they floated in a slow circle around him, that faraway trill within the hub that rang just a fraction of a note dissonant from the rest of the parts. Each part for the role it plays…There! That meant something was off. He knew how all the different pieces were supposed to look, feel, sound. He’d pored over the tech specs and taken apart and put back together everything mechanical within grabbing distance since he was a youngling, so he knew when the vibrations of a part didn’t hum right. The shape of it had warped, probably too much heat, but how? Not for what you want it to be, not for what you fear it to be…Something else must be wrong.
He knew most Jedi didn’t use the Force this way, but what fun was it having cool abilities if you didn’t investigate the inner workings of busted old mechanical parts with them, right? That was how Ram saw it, anyway. He loved gears and wires and the secrets they seemed to hold, and he loved feeling the Force flow through him, connecting him to the larger universe. Combining the two was just about the best thing ever.
Ram continued his scan, his mind sliding along the accelerator foot pedals, steering mechanism, control panels, and exhaust pipe. Just for what it is. He had caught the faintest sense of something, a teensy, off-key ding, when—
“GREETINGS, MASTER RAM!” the metallic voice of V-18 called from the doorway.
“I must see the whole for the whole,” Ram whispered, eyes still closed. The speeder parts faltered in their slow rotation, dipped toward the ground. “And each part for the role it plays.”
“JomaramaRam do chunda mota mota-ta!” an irritated Bonbrak countered. That was probably Tip, the youngest and surliest of the crew. Several others concurred loudly.
“Well, there’s no need to be rude,” V-18 said.
The speeder parts slid lower. “Not for what I want it to be, not for what I fear it to be,” Ram growled. “Just for what it is.”
“Bacha no bacha kribkrib patrak!”
“Pratrak patrak!”
“JomaramaRam!”
“I simply expressed my salutations,” V-18 insisted. “I happen to be both excited to see the young Padawan and on an errand of some urgency, which is why I modulated my voice into a higher frequency and volume, for your info—”
One of the Bonbraks grunted out a squeak (almost definitely Fezmix—he was always the rowdy one), and then a metallic ding rang out and V-18 yelped.
“Unnecessary!” cried the droid.
“I MUST SEE THE WHOLE FOR THE WHOLE!” Ram hollered as all the speeder parts clattered to the floor. A single gear kept rolling in an irritating, wobbly circle after everything else had settled. He looked up to see seven pairs of beady black eye
s and one glowing electronic one staring back at him.
“Oh, dear,” muttered V-18.
Ram sighed, and the rolling gear finally fell over with a clank.
The Bonbraks immediately began bickering among themselves, and Ram lowered himself from the pilot seat and rubbed his eyes. “What is it, Vee-Eighteen?”
The droid had been around for the Force knew how many years, and it showed. He towered over everyone like a ridiculous rusty crate with stumpy legs. Ram had painted V-18 bright purple because people kept loading him onto ships when he was in sleep mode, thinking he was cargo. A single off-center eye glared out of each side of the boxy droid. Sometimes they blinked, which either indicated impatience or a programming glitch—Ram was never sure. “Masters Kunpar and Lege are preparing for the big event at the temple,” V-18 announced. “Which is…quite soon, of course!”
“Okay?”
“And Masters Devo and Shonnatrucks are greeting some of the new security forces the Republic has sent for the fair before they head over for the ceremony, which is imminent.”
“Vee-Eighteen…”
“And all the other Padawans are with them.”
“Vee-Eighteen, why are you telling me the location of all the Valon Jedi?”
“Because Crashpoint Tower is glitchy.”
The comms tower was outside Lonisa City proper, deep in the Farodin Woods on a hill some of the local daredevils had dubbed Crashpoint Peak. And it would be dark soon. “Well, I better take a look at it.”
“No!”
Ram blinked at V-18. “Why not?”
“Because there’s a matter that requires your attention more urgently,” the droid said.
“Are you going to make me take you apart to access your databanks for it, or are you just going to tell me what it is?”
“My, my! There’s no need to—”
“Vee-Eighteen!”
“There was an alert tripped on the security perimeter of the comms tower.”
Ram’s eyes went wide. A perimeter breach wasn’t necessarily a big deal—probably just some forest critter. But with the Nihil attacks in the Outer Rim and the fair coming up, everyone was on high alert, so the Jedi had been instructed to treat any possible security issue as top priority. “What? Did you alert the Masters?”
V-18 shook his big boxy body and blinked irritably—this time Ram was positive that flicker was on purpose. “I just told you! The comms are glitchy! Sheesh, man!”
“So there’s a security breach at the comms tower, and the comms are glitchy? And…Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”
“Well, I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Ram didn’t have time to get into all the ways that didn’t make sense. “We have to get out there! When was the breach?”
“One hour ago!” V-18 announced triumphantly.
“We have to go now! We gotta—” He spun around, ready to jump on the security speeder bike, and then remembered that it was in pieces all over the garage floor. And he wasn’t cleared to use any of the larger transports. And walking would take too long—they’d never make it before dark, and whatever had breached the perimeter and possibly damaged the comms tower would be long gone. Which might be a good thing, because then Ram wouldn’t have to confront and maybe fight it. Ram hated fighting. Well—he’d never done it, but he hated the idea of it. It felt like his body refused to cooperate any time even a practice battle was called for. Lightsaber training and Jedi combat maneuvers were his two worst areas, and the very thought of going face to face with an enemy made him jittery.
But it didn’t matter. He was a Jedi Padawan, and he was apparently the only one around to deal with this. It was his duty, even if he would’ve rather spent the rest of the night tinkering. That meant he had to get out there as fast as possible.
He eyed V-18.
“First I had to go see where the Jedi Masters were, according to protocol,” the droid rambled, “but the living quarters and temple were both empty! And then I tried to raise them on the comms, but…Why are you looking at me like that?”
An idea formulated inside Ram’s mind, and once that happened, it was hard to think of anything else. He was probably squinting creepily at the droid; he was definitely assessing where different parts could fit on that bulky frame. “Do those legs retract?” Ram glanced at a spare thruster unit he’d nabbed off an old single-pilot crop sifter headed for the junk pile. Seven pairs of tiny eyes followed his gaze.
“I’ll have you know that this nimble but robust physique is capable of an unpredictable number of—”
“Do they retract?” Ram shot a meaningful glance at the Bonbraks, who’d already started moving into position around V-18. He was glad they’d learned to recognize his about-to-spring-into-action face.
“Of course! No need to interr—”
“How would you feel about a mobility upgrade?”
“Well, I hardly see how you could upgrade this unparalleled appara—”
“Vee-Eighteen!”
“Why, yes, actually, I would like that quite a bit,” the droid admitted.
“Let’s do it!” Ram yelled, and with high-pitched squeals, the Bonbraks pounced.
“What’s going on?” V-18 wailed. “Unhand me, you tiny vagrants! You’re getting greasy little fingerprints on my delicate firmament!”
“This won’t take long,” Ram assured him.
It didn’t. V-18 got enthusiastic once he realized how awesome the upgrade was going to be, and he even tried to help out some. With the Bonbraks running point on the wiring and fuses, Ram secured the propulsors to V-18 and rigged up a handy saddle with foot pedals to control acceleration. There wasn’t time to add brakes, but who needed brakes, right? Okay—he did eventually, but he’d work that out later. For now, decelerating would have to do.
He shot a wistful glance at the scattered remains of the speeder, then used a foot pedal to heave himself onto V-18, who was tilted forward and hovering slightly over the ground. The seat they’d attached was pretty comfy, and the handlebars were at just the right height. Ram revved the engine once and then whooshed out the door to the cheers of the Bonbraks.
“This is actually quite enjoyable!” V-18 yelled over the whistling wind as they zoomed past the shacks on the outskirts of Lonisa City and into the Farodin Woods.
“I thought you might like it,” Ram said. “The question is, can we go any faster?”
“I’m not sure that’s—”
Ram pushed the accelerator pedal all the way down, and V-18 lurched into overdrive, flashing around the towering acthorn trees, then zipping up a hill and over a rocky embankment. “Wooooooooooooohooooooooo!” Ram yelled.
The sun was just starting to dip into the clouds over the distant mountain range as they burst out of the woods above the field where the comms tower was.
Ram lifted his foot off the accelerator. Something moved in the clearing ahead: a figure, standing up from where it had been crouching, then raising a long cylinder. Ram’s eyes went wide. He pulled hard on the throttle and gunned the thrusters just as the first round of blaster fire smashed through the trees behind him.
“Yeeeeeeeeeee!” V-18 screeched. Another fiery shot tore over their heads. “What do we do now?”
Ram guided them behind a pile of boulders and eased into a hover. The shooting had stopped, but he could hear the angry growls of speeder engines. Way up past the branches and leaves, a few tiny lights blinked against the darkening sky. “They’re going to make a run for it,” Ram whispered. “Back to whatever ship brought them here.” If they were more interested in getting away than finishing off Ram, that meant whatever they were up to was very important indeed. Which meant—
“I hope you’re not planning to—” V-18 warned just as Ram revved up the engine.
“We gotta stop them!”
The galaxy spun around Lula Talisola in a wild, ever-flowing array of lights and colors. It was so beautiful, and it seemed to move with her; she was part of it, and it
was part of her.
“Lula?”
Who would bother her at a time like this? With all these flowing stars and galaxies—
Something nudged her shoulder. “Lula!” Zeen’s voice.
“Mrrgg?”
“We’re almost there,” Zeen said.
Where were they almost?
Trymant IV!
Lula sat up, blinking. She was on her bed in the Padawan bunk of the Star Hopper. She wore her silky head wrap, and around her the musty familiar smell of sleep mixed with the body odor of various beings.
Trymant IV was Zeen’s homeworld. That’s where they almost were. And this would be their first time back since the wreckage of a starship had burst out of hyperspace months earlier and nearly destroyed the entire planet. Zeen had saved Lula and all her friends’ lives that day—and she’d done so by using the Force, even though she was just a regular citizen, not a Jedi Padawan like Lula. Zeen had been raised not to trust the Jedi, in fact, and had hidden her Force sensitivity from everyone, right up until a flaming chunk of debris had nearly crushed Lula and her friends Farzala and Qort. They’d been so distracted facing off against the Nihil—a group of masked raiders terrorizing their planet—they hadn’t seen it coming, but Zeen had. She’d stopped the flaming debris in midair, saving all their lives, and nothing had been the same since. Lula had never seen someone untrained in the Force use it so naturally.
The two girls had become inseparable almost immediately, and to Lula’s relief, Zeen decided to stick around with the Padawans, even though she was too old to be trained as one herself.
“You all right?” Zeen asked.
Lula rubbed that deep galactic sleep from her eyes and stretched. The hyperspace routes were still a little dicey following the Great Disaster, so they’d had to dip in and out of them, which made the journey extra long. “I’m good,” she said, and then took in the worried look on her friend’s magenta face, the way Zeen’s Mikkian head tendrils squeezed tightly together and rippled with tiny waves. “But you’re not.”
Zeen looked away. “No, I’m fine.”
“And I’m a horn-toed morglesnap.” Lula rolled her eyes and patted the bed. “Sit.”