He leads the way now, keeping close to the burnished wall. The light inside the ship is dim and smoky, the air heavy with sweat and oil. If our footsteps were noisy before, they’re thunderous now, reverberating along the empty corridors no matter how lightly we try to step.

  Hoi doesn’t look back, and I resist asking him how much farther we must go. He let go of my hand the moment we were on board, and I long to grab his again, to feel his warmth and strength. He reaches back, and for a moment I think he feels the same, but instead he pushes me against the wall. It feels grimy against my back, even through my fur. But a dirty wall is the least of my worries.

  Someone is coming. Someone heavy. Booted feet scrape against the deck, accompanied by a deep, guttural grunt. It’s one of the pig things. It’s going to find us. I want to shut my eyes, but I know I’ll just see Father struggling as the Gamorrean drags him from the village. I almost imagine I can hear him calling our names as he did that night, telling us to run, telling us to get away.

  If only we could.

  The lumbering footsteps stop, the animalistic snuffles becoming inquisitive. Hoi barely makes a noise as he pulls the club from his belt, a weapon that belonged to our father, its wood splintering with age. He’s still holding my arm with his other hand, and I can feel his entire body tense. What use does he think such a blunt instrument will have against one of those monsters? Their skulls must be as thick as their tusks.

  The Gamorrean’s huge shadow suddenly fills the wall ahead. It’s just around the corner, snuffling and listening. Does it know we’re here? Can it smell the sweat drenching our fur? Can it hear our hearts hammering in chests that struggle to breathe?

  Hoi shifts, the club coming up, ready to strike, but the shadow disappears, the heavy boots retreating into the bowels of the ship.

  I let out a juddering breath, a single tear running down my cheek as Hoi finally lets go of my arm. His fingers have left marks in my fur. He looks at me and jerks his head to the crossroads ahead. For a moment, I think we’re going to have to follow the Gamorrean, but Hoi turns left instead of right, his grip on the club tighter than ever.

  The confiscated food is precisely where Hoi said it would be, the majority piled high on shelves in a refrigerated store, while ganari carcasses hang from hooks in the ceiling.

  “There’s so much,” I say, remembering when our barns were this full.

  “And it’s just one of many,” Hoi says, finally slipping the club back into his belt and making for the nearest shelving unit. “There’s fruit and nuts in this room and processed grain next door. Locust and fish are at the end of the corridor, and govath are in the final hold, with enough fodder to get them back to Nal Hutta.”

  “Wait. Live govath?” I ask, walking with him.

  “Enough for three flocks.”

  “But they burned the flocks,” I say, remembering the Hutt warlord unleashing a flamethrower on the animals.

  “Burned what they couldn’t take, you mean,” Hoi says, lifting the lid of a nearby crate to peer inside. “The Hutts don’t care whether we starve, only that their stomachs are full.”

  The stench of burned wool lingered over the paddocks for days after that first raid, the shepherds weeping openly—those who hadn’t run into the flames to save the govlings, that is.

  “What do we take?” I ask, overwhelmed by so much choice after weeks of hunger.

  Hoi finds what he’s looking for, yanking a lid free but having the presence of mind not to let it clatter to the floor.

  “As much as we can carry,” he tells me, transferring ripe ranga fruit into one of his sacks. “There are treeka nuts in the next crate. Start with them. They’ll be good for the little ones.”

  Soon my first sack is full to bursting, and I start filling the second, this time with beets I find drying on a rack near the meat. The top layer has already begun to spoil, and I wonder how much of Ena’s produce will go to waste before it arrives in Hutt Space. Then I remind myself this entire sector is Hutt Space now. For all we know, the whole galaxy has fallen to the slugs. With Starlight Beacon gone, there are no transmissions from the stars, no reports from our planetary neighbors.

  Nothing.

  The beets on the lower racks are better, so I start filling my second sack. We’ll be able to make stews and soups for the winter—not enough for everyone, but I’ll go without if it means Hoi can eat.

  My brother is on his third bag, all three brimming with fruit. I worry he’s not going to be able to carry it all, my concern mixed with guilt that I’d never be able to manage more. I suggest trying to find a hovercart, but Hoi dismisses the notion, saying the guards will hear its repulsorlift. I’m about to joke that they’ll hear my back breaking, when the door slides open.

  It’s an administrator droid, a datapad clutched in its metal hands. It burbles something in a language we don’t know before switching to Enamese. “What is the meaning of this?” it clucks, sounding more annoyed than alarmed. “What are you savages doing here?”

  Its angular head tilts, optical sensors peering down at the sacks at Hoi’s feet. “Those are not Hutt issue. You are thieves. Thieves!”

  It turns back the way it came, already calling for help. Hoi acts before the automaton can take another tottering step, grabbing his sack of ranga fruit and swinging it at the back of the droid. The bag makes contact, slamming the droid into the door frame. It cries out, one of its limbs accidentally striking the exit’s controls. The door slides shut as the droid topples back onto the deck plates.

  Hoi’s hand goes to Father’s club but fumbles the weapon. The stubby stick clatters on the floor and rolls toward me. I react without thinking, kicking it back toward Hoi. He drops like a wild thing on the droid, the automaton as helpless as a ditch-turtle on its back. Hoi’s club comes down hard on the unit’s thin neck, the droid letting out an electronic scream as my brother strikes over and over.

  There’s a crack and a crunch, and the droid falls silent. Its head lolls to the side, twitching limbs finally still.

  Neither of us moves, Hoi breathing hard, oil dripping from the club, while I pray to the ancients that no one heard the droid’s death throes. We wait, but there are no footsteps heading in our direction and no calls for the guards still huddled outside to do their job.

  “We need to go, now!” Hoi hisses, snatching up the other sacks, the club back in his belt.

  I don’t argue. I can barely think as I swing my packs onto my back. Beets spill across the floor, and I realize I didn’t tighten the neck of the second sack, but there’s no time to pick them up. The door opens again and Hoi is already outside.

  I leap over the droid, half expecting it to grab my ankle. It doesn’t, of course, and I’m back in the corridor, no longer caring if my footsteps are echoing loud and clear. I just need to get off this ship and away from the camp. I need to get home.

  The others can’t believe it when we reach the village. The new elders scold us at first, telling us that sneaking on board the Hutts’ cruiser was foolish, but there’s no mistaking their gratitude as they hand out the food. Everyone sits together in the community hall, sharing the meager scraps. Tears sting my eyes when I notice parents going without to pass a few extra morsels to their children. The mother next to me, a thin Enami called Mira, watches as her son munches happily on a slice of ranga fruit. She smiles, but there is a sadness there, a hunger. I pass her my own portion, and she refuses, shaking her head.

  “No, you deserve it,” she says.

  “And you need your strength to look after him.”

  Mira relents, thanking me, and I pretend I don’t notice when she gives half the portion to the infant anyway.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Hoi mutters, lowering his voice so Mira can’t hear.

  “What?”

  He gives me a look. “We all need our strength. You need your strength, especially if we’re going back.”

  I ignore that he took only half the treeka nuts he was entitled to.

  “Back?” I repeat. “To the dreadcruiser, you mean?”

  “It will be taking off soon,” he says, using a piece of treeka shell to pick his teeth, “and what happens then? They’ve burned the herds, torn up the fields.”

  “We can replant.”

  “Using what? They’ve taken all the grain, all the seeds. They don’t care about us. No one cares.”

  “The Jedi care,” I blurt out, a reaction bred into me from years of stories and dreams. I know what his response will be before he gives it.

  “The Jedi? The Jedi are gone, Kian. They lost. When will you accept that?”

  “Never,” I insist, louder than I mean to. Heads turn toward us, but I don’t care. Hoi and I have had this argument dozens of times over the past few weeks, but I won’t accept that he’s right. “The Jedi are still out there,” I tell him, tell everyone who’s listening. “They’re going to come back.”

  “Out where?” Hoi is shouting now. Next to me, Mira gathers her son to her, the boy starting to snivel. “On the frontier? In the Core? Where are the Jedi now, Kian?”

  I look to the floor, focusing on knots in the wooden boards. “I don’t know.”

  “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he says in triumph. “None of us know because they’ve abandoned us. They’ve left us to rot.”

  “No,” I say, jumping to my feet. “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it?” he says, standing in front of me. His hand goes to a pouch on his belt, and for a minute I think he’s going for Father’s club. Instead, he produces a small transmitter. “Then why don’t you call for help? They’ll come running, right? For light and life?”

  I smack the comlink from his hand, and it smashes on the floor. Mira’s baby starts crying.

  “Kian!” Hoi shouts, dropping down beside the broken device. “Now look what you’ve done.”

  “You need to take it back.”

  He’s on his feet again. “What I said about the Jedi?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why should I?” he snarls, shoving me in the chest. I stumble, landing on my backside, but there’s no stopping him. “If they were coming, they’d be here by now. They would have been here the moment the Hutts dropped out of the sky. Two cycles, Kian. Two cycles since our father died, and you still believe the fables he fed you as a child.”

  I scramble back up, ready to tear the fur from his face. He’s gone too far. Said too much.

  “Stop!”

  The voice rings out across the hall. It’s Willa, one of the recently elevated elders, a white-furred Enami with a face as defeated as it is weather-beaten. He glares at us both.

  “We appreciate what you have done,” he says, his voice creaking like old leather, “but you can’t carry on like this.” He indicates Mira’s son, still sobbing. “You’re upsetting everyone.”

  “You don’t believe him, do you?” I ask, looking around the group, unable to let the argument end like this. “You don’t believe the Jedi have gone?”

  “What else can we believe?” Mira asks, rocking her infant back and forth.

  I feel my shoulders slump.

  “Do you remember before all this started?” I say, not looking at anyone in particular. “Before the Hutts came? We used to listen to the signal here in the hall, playing it over the receiver.”

  Beside me, Hoi snorts. “The signal from Starlight, you mean?”

  “Yes,” I snap back. “The signal from Starlight. Do you remember how it made us feel?”

  “Safe,” Mira says softly, almost smiling at the memory.

  “Protected,” says someone else from the back of the group.

  “But then it stopped,” Hoi says. “You remember that, too, don’t you, Kian? The pulse replaced by a voice telling us that Starlight was gone?”

  “Marchion Ro,” Willa intones as if invoking the name of a vengeful god.

  “And then there were the others,” Hoi continues. “The cries for help, saying that the Hutts were coming, that the Hutts were already here. Do you remember the screams, Kian? Do you remember the pleas for the Jedi to help?”

  I look away, unable to meet his gaze. “Father said—”

  “Father is dead!” Hoi says coldly. “Father was shot through the head, and the Jedi never came. The Jedi never came, but the Hutts did.”

  “Hoi . . .” This time Willa doesn’t sound angry. He sounds like he’s going to weep.

  “We can’t let that dreadcruiser leave,” my brother says, jabbing a finger at the old man. “We need to show the Hutts that we can look after ourselves.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, not liking where this is going.

  “We attack,” he declares, addressing the group. “We blow up their engines. Show them they can’t push us around.”

  “No,” Willa says. “You got us food, enough to last us through the winter. That is enough for now.”

  “That was stupid,” says another of the elders, Darkiss, a wizened female with brown fur and a twisted leg.

  “Stupid?” Hoi repeats, shaking his head. “You were quick enough to grab an entire ranga for yourself when I opened my sack. Didn’t think it was so stupid when you were stuffing your face!”

  “Hoi,” I say, reaching for his arm. He snatches it away.

  “You’re cowards. The lot of you. You rolled over when the Hutts came, when they dragged half our village to their ship. You hid in here, bleating about the Republic, how they’d come to save us, but the Republic is dead! No one was coming then, and no one is coming now. If we want saving, we’ll have to do it ourselves!”

  “Hoi,” I call after him as he turns and marches out of the hall. “Brother!”

  He doesn’t look back, doesn’t reply. But everyone else is looking at me, blaming me for his words.

  “Stupid,” Darkiss repeats under her breath, her voice catching. “Stupid boy.”

  All of a sudden, the community hall is too hot, too stuffy. Barely able to breathe, I run for the door.

  “Hoi!”

  The night is cold, the sky devoid of clouds. Stars twinkle above me, but I can’t look at them. They only remind me of the voices Hoi mentioned, the voices crying out in the darkness.

  The Hutts are coming.

  The Hutts are killing everyone.

  We need help. Where are you?

  I repeat the question, calling not for the Jedi of old but my brother.

  For a horrible moment, I think he’s left for the Hutt camp, that pathetic club gripped tight in his hand.

  No one has followed us out of the hall to check if we’re all right—after everything we did for them, everything we risked. Maybe Hoi is right. Maybe we need to start looking after ourselves.

  “Kian!”

  I whirl around to see Hoi pelting toward me, a look of pure terror on his face.

  “Hoi?” I call back, starting to run toward him. “What’s wrong?”

  “No,” he yells, waving his arms to stop me. “Turn around! They’re coming!”

  There’s no need to ask who he means as a roar bellows through the night, so loud I can feel it in my chest.

  There are two of them behind my brother, pounding on all fours as they reach the village. They slam into the huts at the edge of our small community, the walls splintering like firesticks.

  Rancors. The Hutts have sent rancors to kill us.

  The beasts are armored from head to toe, a Gamorrean bouncing on each saddle. But that’s not all. There are Nikto running at their feet, firing blaster rifles indiscriminately. The bolts slam into the few buildings the rancors miss, and there, in the middle of the small army, is the Hutt commander himself, his bloated, slimy body squeezed into armor and propped up on a battle platform that scuttles along on mechanical spider legs. The Hutt was riding that dreadful contraption the day he burned the govath, and his vile little hands are once again gripping the flamethrower. He yanks back on the weapon and a stream of burning gas erupts from the cannon’s mouth, streaming over Hoi’s head.

  “Get down,” I scream as I throw myself to the ground, the fur on my neck singeing as the flames shoot overhead. I look up and am relieved that Hoi is down on the ground in front of me, not that he’s out of danger. All it would take is one shot. . . .

  I scramble forward, calling his name. This is our fault. It has to be. The Hutt discovered the broken droid, discovered the missing food, and has come to take his revenge. I think of all the Enami in the hall, think of Mira’s son. They’re going to die because of us, because of what we did.

  Tears are pouring down Hoi’s face as I reach him in the clearing at the edge of the village, where we used to play as children. He looks so small, like the baby brother he once was.

  “I’m sorry,” he whimpers, scared out of his wits. “There are too many of them. Too many.”

  “I’ve got you,” I say, pulling him close to me, turning my back on the Hutt. “I love you, Brother.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Flame spews from the cannon, but we don’t burn. I feel the heat of the fire but only as it passes harmlessly above us.

  I look around and gasp. The Hutt is hanging in the air, meters from the ground. The platform’s legs whir, and the Hutt gargles as a figure is silhouetted against the moon. She stands there, robes billowing, a green lightsaber in one hand, the other raised toward the helpless slug. She stares up at the warlord, long braids whipping around her face, her brown skin smooth and her eyes bright. Then she looks down at us and, despite the obvious effort, smiles.

  “Hi. I’ll be right with you.”

  With a sweep of her arm, she sends the Hutt flying across the village. The platform slams into the ground, mechanical legs snapping as the flamethrower’s tank ruptures. A ball of fire blossoms, only to be extinguished by another wave of the woman’s hand.

  And then she’s running in our direction, her lightsaber humming, but she keeps the blade away from us as she drops to her knees and rests a gloved hand on my shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” she asks, then rolls her eyes before either of us can answer. “Of course you’re not. Silly question.”

  “You’re not silly,” I say in her tongue, and instantly regret how eager I sound. “You’re a Jedi!”

 

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