Ezra's Duel with Danger

by Lucasfilm Press

  Ezra dropped the disk on the console. “My folks used to do underground broadcasts from here, speaking out against the Empire. It’s probably just one of their recordings.”

  He walked past her and climbed up the ladder. Sabine followed, transmitting a code from her gauntlet to activate the holo-emitter on Tseebo’s headgear.

  What the holo-emitter projected astounded Ezra. Schematics of weapons and vehicles flashed by, including the specs for the new TIEs and T-8 disruptors. Also displayed were schedules of troop movements, encrypted memos, and the Empire’s five-year plans for Outer Rim planets like Lothal.

  “No wonder his brain’s shorting out,” Ezra said. “All that data would overload anyone.”

  “The secrets in his head could bring down the Empire,” Kanan said.

  Tseebo wobbled and Ezra gave him a steady hand. If they could smuggle Tseebo safely off Lothal with his secrets, today might not be a bad day after all.

  Kanan watched a squad of stormtroopers leap out of a troop transport that stopped near Ezra’s home. Their commander was so adamant that all resources were used to find the renegade Rodian, he left only two soldiers to guard the transport.

  Kanan shot one of the troopers with his blaster while Sabine bruised her knuckles punching out the other one. “I miss Zeb,” she said.

  After Kanan tossed out the pilot, Sabine took his seat. Ezra and Tseebo sat in the cab while Kanan operated the transport’s weaponry. They sped through the streets, encountering no resistance until they approached the city gates. There, Commandant Aresko and Taskmaster Grint had assembled a host of stormtroopers, armed transports, and walkers to block the exits.

  Aresko stepped forward. “That’s far enough, rebel scum! Stop now I say!”

  “I have no plans on stopping,” Sabine told Kanan. She accelerated and plowed through the enemy line. Taken by surprise, the Imperial gunners missed wildly. The few blasts that did hit the transport were easily absorbed by the vehicle’s thick armor.

  The stolen transport fled toward the highway exiting the city to the south. Stormtroopers dived out of the way of the speeding vehicle. The transport crashed through the leg of an AT-DP, causing it to topple across the highway, blocking the Imperial forces that were behind it.

  Imperial bikers closed in on the stolen transport, flanking a second transport that opened fire. More urgently, an armed transport had taken up the rear, posing itself as a difficult target for Kanan. Whoever controlled that transport knew what he was doing.

  A biker accelerated alongside the stolen transport and blew open the cab door with a detonator. He jumped inside, reaching for Tseebo and shouting, “The Rodian!”

  Kanan hurtled over his seat into the biker. The two wrestled, and for a moment, it seemed that the trooper was more than Kanan could handle. He knocked Kanan backward, toward the blown-open door.

  Kanan, however, was strong in ways the biker would never be. He channeled the momentum of his fall into the Force, reflecting the energy back at the trooper. The Imperial flew out of the transport, into his fellow biker, and both smacked the ground below.

  The transport suddenly shook, rear-ended by the pursuing transport. Kanan glanced back to see the one person he’d feared was commanding it: Agent Kallus of the Imperial Security Bureau, wielding the bo-rifle he’d taken during the massacres on Zeb’s homeworld.

  Kallus leapt out of the pursuing transport’s cab and onto their roof. There was no way Kanan could climb up there before the agent did something drastic.

  But Kallus wouldn’t have that chance. The Ghost swooped down from the clouds, Zeb leaning out of its bottom hatch. “Remember me?” the Lasat shouted, firing his bo-rifle at Kallus, while the Ghost’s rear guns also opened up.

  The barrage of laserfire did what Kanan had been unable to do—hit the pursuing transport, front and center, and knock it out of commission. The vehicle skidded out of control on the highway, digging a deep trench before stopping altogether. Since Hera was piloting the Ghost, Kanan guessed Chopper was on the rear guns, probably beeping congratulations to himself.

  Zeb’s shots, meanwhile, struck near Kallus’s feet, causing the agent to lose his balance. He tumbled off the back of the stolen transport, out of sight—hopefully for good.

  “Okay, you’re all clear,” Zeb said. “Pull over and we’ll—”

  Hera’s voice crackled over the transport’s comm. “Belay that. Have to be a scoop job. Sensors reading multiple TIEs incoming.”

  She brought the Ghost as close to the transport as she could. Kanan climbed onto the transport’s roof and helped pull Tseebo and Ezra up after him. Sabine switched the transport to autopilot, then joined them.

  Over the horizon streaked five TIE fighters, one an advanced model that Kanan sensed was piloted by the Inquisitor.

  Zeb reached out from the hatch of the Ghost. “Get in!” He grabbed Tseebo and yanked him inside, then hoisted up Ezra and Sabine next.

  A round of blaster fire prevented Kanan from following. He spun, instinctively detaching two parts of his lightsaber hilt from his belt and connecting them.

  Kallus had not fallen completely off the transport. The ISB agent gripped the transport’s edge, firing his bo-rifle at Kanan with his free hand.

  His shots would have taken out anyone—anyone but a Jedi. Kanan deflected the blaster bolts with his blade back at Kallus, then leapt up through the Ghost’s hatch.

  Kanan didn’t check to see if Kallus had been hit. He knew it would take more than a few blaster bolts to silence that particular Imperial agent. And there were more pressing concerns.

  Kanan raced right to the lower turret. The TIEs were closing in.

  Enemy fire pummeled the Ghost’s shields. The freighter shook so much that Ezra needed both Sabine and Zeb to get Tseebo seated in the common room. Suddenly, they heard Chopper cry out as a console near the back of the ship exploded.

  Zeb ran to check on the damaged droid. Sabine removed her helmet and began to follow. “I have to man the nose guns.”

  “I’m coming with,” Ezra said.

  Tseebo grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Ezra—Ezra Bridger. It is you!”

  Ezra tried to wrest himself free. “Now’s not the best time for a reunion.”

  The Rodian pulled him closer and babbled more Huttese. Ezra couldn’t understand a word, but Sabine halted in the doorway, looking stunned.

  “What’s he saying?” Ezra asked.

  “He says,” Sabine said and paused, as if having trouble translating. “He says he knows what happened to your parents.”

  A salvo from the TIEs’ cannons hammered the Ghost, jostling everyone inside. Ezra broke free of Tseebo’s grip, yet felt even more bound to the Rodian than before. Somewhere inside Tseebo’s cybernetic implant was a truth that scared Ezra to his core.

  “Sabine, I need you in the nose gun, now!” Hera yelled over the comm. Sabine, however, continued to stand in the doorway.

  “Didn’t you hear Hera?” Ezra said.

  Sabine blinked. “Didn’t you hear Tseebo? He said he knows what happened to your parents!”

  “I already know what happened,” Ezra said flatly. “They’re dead. So go.”

  Sabine stared at Ezra, then left the room without another word. He grabbed Tseebo when she was gone. “Are they,” Ezra said, swallowing, “are my parents dead?”

  A blast rattled Tseebo out of his silence. “The troopers came. They took Mira and Ephraim Bridger away.”

  “Where? Where did they take them?” Ezra demanded.

  “Forgive Tseebo, forgive him.”

  “Forgive you? For what?” Ezra asked.

  “Tseebo failed. Tseebo was afraid. Tseebo could not raise Ezra Bridger.”

  Ezra glared at the Rodian. His parents had trusted Tseebo, counted him as a close friend. “Coward. You could’ve stopped them. Why didn’t you stop them?”

  “I…I…” Tseebo’s eyes glazed over and he slipped back into his unresponsive state.

  The Ghost shuddered as sh
ots thudded against its hull. “Shields down!” Hera’s voice crackled on the comm. “Ezra, I need you in the cockpit!”

  Weeks earlier, Ezra wouldn’t have listened. That wasn’t true now. He wasn’t like Tseebo. He wasn’t a coward. He didn’t hide when others needed him. Ezra helped his friends.

  He hurried into the cockpit. Sparks danced across part of the console. “Navicomputer’s off-line!” Hera said. “With Chopper down, you need to fix it.”

  Ezra slid underneath the console. He hoped Chopper was repairable. The droid was a vital member of the crew and could’ve rerouted the damaged systems in a matter of microseconds. Ezra had rewired simple droid brains and jump bike engines, but nothing as sophisticated as a navicomputer. “This isn’t exactly my specialty.”

  “Make it your specialty—and make it fast,” Hera said. “Or this ship becomes a real ghost.”

  Alarms went off. Out of the corner of his eye Ezra spotted triangular shapes appearing on a sensor scope. Imperial Star Destroyers. Two of them. Deploying more squadrons of TIEs.

  Ezra began connecting wires as fast as he could. But without the tech manual, he doubted any of his repairs would make the navicomputer work.

  “For fast travel over interstellar distances, hyperspace is optimal,” Tseebo said.

  Ezra poked his head up to find the Rodian standing in the cockpit. His implant blinked a pattern, then the console’s hyperdrive status light came on. Tseebo had eliminated the need for the navicomputer by transmitting hyperspace coordinates directly to the ship.

  “I don’t believe it.” Hera reached for the lever. “Hang on!”

  The sensor scopes blanked as the Ghost jumped to lightspeed.

  Admiral Kassius Konstantine strode down the bridge of the Star Destroyer Relentless. With him walked Baron Valen Rudor, Lothal’s decorated TIE squadron commander. They conversed quietly, though said nothing about their present failure, since there was nothing to say. Losing the rebel freighter was one of the most embarrassing incidents in Konstantine’s long and storied career.

  He shouldn’t receive all the blame. As the Emperor’s chief representative on the Relentless, the Inquisitor deserved some of it. The Inquisitor had been piloting one of the TIEs, after all. But Konstantine knew it would be unwise to remind the Inquisitor of that fact—particularly when the Inquisitor had been the only one to attach a tracking device onto the Ghost’s hull.

  Konstantine and Rudor slowed as they approached the Inquisitor, who stood at the end of the bridge and stared out into space. “We are receiving a signal from the tracker. They will not be able to outrun us for long,” Konstantine said.

  The Inquisitor did not turn to acknowledge Konstantine. “I still sense the Jedi and his Padawan within my grasp.”

  Konstantine choked back a laugh. Jedi, Padawans—the Empire had wiped out their ancient religion years ago. Just because reports stated that the rebel leader wielded a lightsaber didn’t make him a Jedi.

  The Inquisitor’s blazing eyes locked onto Konstantine, full of malice and spite. Although the admiral had kept his opinion to himself, somehow the Inquisitor had guessed what he’d been thinking.

  “We will catch them, sir,” Konstantine said, realizing that if they didn’t, his long and storied career might end rather suddenly.

  As the Ghost sped along in hyperspace, the crew asked Ezra what should be done with Tseebo. Ezra said he didn’t know and didn’t care. The Rodian might have saved the Ghost, but he hadn’t bothered saving Ezra’s parents.

  Tseebo, who had been staring blankly at a meiloorun fruit during the conversation, abruptly interjected that the Ghost was being tracked. It seemed impossible that this could happen while they were in hyperspace, but Tseebo said his implant had detected a new XX-23 tracer beacon on the ship’s hull. A patched-up Chopper confirmed that fact, though he smugly reported that the tracker was actually on the hull of the Ghost’s attached auxiliary craft, the Phantom.

  Regardless, this new tracking technology meant that hyperspace was no longer an Imperial-free zone. For a vessel unlucky enough to carry one of these devices, the Empire could pinpoint exactly where it was traveling and send ships to meet the vessel at its destination.

  Kanan, however, thought they could turn the tables against the Imperials. He suspected that the Inquisitor could sense his and Ezra’s presence in the Force, so he devised a plan that used the two of them as bait. He and Ezra would detach the Phantom to lure the Imperials away from the Ghost, leaving the others free to transfer Tseebo into the safe custody of Fulcrum, the mysterious rebel leader.

  Ezra didn’t have a problem with being used as bait. It was to be expected if you were a member of the Ghost crew. His problem was the destination Kanan had picked.

  Kanan piloted the Phantom over the pockmarked surface of asteroid PM-1203. “You remember the nasty creatures Hera and Sabine found here?”

  Ezra sure did. The crew recently had come to the asteroid’s abandoned military outpost to pick up cargo from Fulcrum. Instead of meeting Hera’s secretive contact, they’d had to fight off a pack of fanged beasts called fyrnocks. What Ezra had seen of the creatures gave him nightmares for a week.

  “If we’re going to survive this, you need to connect with them like I was trying to teach you before with the Loth-cat.” Kanan folded the Phantom’s wings and flew the ship inside the outpost’s open hangar.

  Ezra saw only darkness inside.

  “Kanan,” he said, “I’m afraid.”

  Kanan landed the vessel. “Got news for you, kid. Everyone’s afraid. But admitting it makes you braver than most. It’s a step forward.” He clasped Ezra’s shoulder. “I’ll remove the tracking device. You make some new friends.”

  Ezra followed Kanan out cautiously. As he walked to the front of the ship, he saw thin yellow slits staring back at him from the darkness. The fyrnocks were here—lots of them. For comfort Ezra whispered a mantra Kanan had taught him. “One with the Force…one with the Force…I’m one with the Force.”

  A couple of the creatures melted out of the shadows. They pawed on all fours toward him, sniffing the air and arching their finned backs.

  Ezra’s legs turned to stumps. He couldn’t move. The fyrnocks reared, spreading the skin flaps between limbs, ready to pounce.

  Kanan stepped out of the darkness and pushed the fyrnocks back with the Force. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid of them.” Ezra had seen creepier cave dwellers at the Capital City zoo.

  “Then what is it?” Kanan asked.

  Ezra didn’t know. Something else was scaring him. Something that had been building deep inside for years and just needed a trigger like the fyrnocks—like Empire Day—to erupt.

  The creatures circled him. Kanan’s hold on them was weakening. “Ezra, what are you afraid of?” he shouted.

  Ezra couldn’t hold it in any longer. He had to let it out, the feelings of guilt, shame, and sadness that had pushed him away from discovering what had happened to his parents.

  “I’m afraid of knowing,” he confessed. “I’m afraid of the truth.”

  That was it, what troubled Ezra on this and every birthday. He feared that if he learned what had happened to his parents—what truly had happened—he might lose all hope. It had been easier to blame others than to admit his own fear.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I forgive you, Tseebo.”

  Just then Kanan lost his hold over the fyrnocks and they leapt at Ezra, all at once.

  Ezra raised his hands, but didn’t move. He didn’t need to. The fyrnocks gave Ezra a friendly lick, then sat before him, as calm as house pets, connected through the Force.

  In the common room of the Ghost, Tseebo stopped staring at the meiloorun fruit to look for Ezra Bridger. He had heard Ezra Bridger’s apology, but oddly, Ezra Bridger wasn’t in the room. His implant’s sensors didn’t even detect Ezra Bridger on the Ghost.

  Perhaps the sensors were malfunctioning. Because if he could hear Ezra Bridger, Ezra Bridger should
be able to hear him.

  “I, too, am sorry,” Tseebo said. “Forgive me, for everything.”

  Relief flooded through Tseebo, a wave so strong and so raw that it overwhelmed his implant’s emotional regulators. For the first time since his productivity enhancement, he put his hands on his spiny head and cried.

  The Inquisitor countermanded Admiral Konstantine’s orders to deploy an entire battalion to asteroid PM-1203. Mere stormtroopers weren’t going to catch these rebels. The troopers had failed many times before. The Inquisitor would go himself.

  He stood in the cockpit of the shuttle and watched the descent toward an abandoned clone trooper base. The two presences inside couldn’t hide themselves from him. One burned bright, like a torch; the other less so, but growing in intensity, like a candle that had just been lit.

  The Jedi and his Padawan were in there. He could feel them.

  The Inquisitor directed the shuttle pilot to land outside of the base’s hangar, not wanting to alert the rebels unnecessarily. He then strode down the ramp with a contingent of the Relentless’s crack stormtroopers. The lead trooper, wearing a red shoulder pauldron, made a short-range scan. Such trivialities weren’t necessary for the Inquisitor, but for the sake of the others, he let the man do his job. “They’re here all right. The rebel ship is inside,” the lead trooper said.

  “Keep them contained,” the Inquisitor said. “I want them alive.”

  The lead trooper gathered some of the men, and they entered the hangar first, switching on the lights atop their blasters. The Inquisitor followed with the remainder of the landing party.

  The rebel’s puny attack shuttle lay inside. Next to the ship sat an adult human male and a teenage boy, in a cross-legged posture with their eyes closed, the old Jedi fashion of meditation.

  The Inquisitor smirked. This would be the last peace these two would ever have.