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Then the engine of the speeder bike revs and she’s gone, whistling through the underbrush and between the trees.
Everything feels clumsy, and even as she throttles it forward again, the realization hits her like a fist to the chin: I’ve lost him.
We’re all stardust and nothing, he thinks.
His team erased from the sky, one by one, as if by the flicking finger of a callow and callous god.
Fancy ship, if a little old, for the richest in the galaxy—what Jom and his friends used to call the “upper-atmos,” because on his world, Juntar, the richest of the rich used to live up in the sky in these floating mansions while the rest of the world toiled on the farms and in the dirt-cities below.
She hears her son calling for her—asking her not to leave, asking her not to die, telling her to let it go.
Wherever you go, that’s where I live.”
