Race to Crashpoint Tower (Star Wars: The High Republic)

by Daniel José Older

“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.”

“I just told you! The comms are glitchy! Sheesh, man!”

“I’ll have you know that this nimble but robust physique is capable of an unpredictable number of—”

“What’s going on?” V-18 wailed. “Unhand me, you tiny vagrants! You’re getting greasy little fingerprints on my delicate firmament!”

“See us almost get murdered by a bunch of space pirates? Yes. Yes, I did. From a front-row seat, in fact.”

“And why do you have Bonbraks with you?” “I myself did not choose to bring the Bonbra—”

“You will release me from this restraint seat.” Idrax scoffed. “I will do no such thing, you insolent slug!” Drat, drat.

“Ow!” 5-Triad moaned, still dangling from the light. “That wasn’t very Jedi-like!”

Vernestra laughed. “If Jedi weren’t supposed to feel anything, we might as well be droids. And even they feel things, if you think about it. The fact that we feel, that we care, is what makes the Jedi great.”

“Oh,” V-18 said haughtily, “Breebak and Tip and I have been working on something while you lot were relaxing!”

“OH, THESE SNOGGLE-MASKED MUSKWORTS WANNA PLAY?” V-18 yelled.

“VEE-EIGHTEEN IS TIRED OF BEING SHOT AT!”

“Ah, I have more bad news, in case you were looking for some,” V-18 said. “We weren’t,” Lula and Ram both snapped. “Wow, touchy. You’re welcome for saving your lives with my fancy new upgrade, by the way.” “Thank you,” Ram said unconvincingly. “What’s the bad news?” “I think I’m leaking?”

“This meat is talkative!” one Drengir commented. “Talkative meat is often quite chewy, I find,” another noted. “Has fancy light sword, mm?” said a third. “Ahh, those meats are especially testy.”

We have the meats.

“Small furry meats with fire!” the Drengir hollered. Spine-covered branches swung out, poised to strike. “Must destroy!”

“But—” Lula started, but the Drengir had already shrunken themselves to fit their suddenly smaller quarters and were fumbling around for the door controls with twig tendrils. “Planet no good.” “Comms now fixed.” “Reinforcement meats on the way.” “Deal broken.”