The tank was only half full, but it was enough to reach the next stop.
Lance pulled the fuel hose free with the Force and had the engines spinning up before it even hit the ground.
Power surged through the system instantly, the blue glow at the N-1’s rear nozzle flaring bright.
He retracted the landing gear and pushed the ship skyward.
“Stop him!”
Behind him, Xantos watched his easy mark slip loose and let out a furious roar.
“Shoot!
Shoot him down!”
He gave the order standing in a fuel depot packed with combustible gas, completely blind to what a single stray shot could do to the whole place.
One hit on the wrong pipeline, and the entire facility would go up, himself included.
But between the rage and the liquor already in his system, Xantos wasn’t thinking that far ahead.
The droids followed orders exactly as programmed.
Blasters raised, triggers pulled.
Bolts hammered into the fighter’s hull, burning through the plating and leaving coin-sized scorch marks across the alloy.
Xantos himself grabbed a rifle from the wall, kicked the door open, and fired blind at the climbing fighter.
Lance shoved the stick forward and let the engines redline.
In seconds he’d cleared the depot’s firing range, trailing smoke as the ship broke into open sky.
Xantos stood there catching his breath, rifle still hot in his hands, watching the exhaust trail shrink into the distance.
A cruel little smile crept across his face.
“His ship’s damaged.
Get fighters up there, now!”
Within minutes, several ships lifted off in pursuit of the N-1.
Lance’s brow tightened as he looked through the canopy at the pitted, scorched hull.
He’d barely cleared the ground, no room yet to maneuver.
“R4, report on the damage.”
Beep.
Beep.
Several systems compromised.
The shield generator was overloaded, and the hyperdrive had taken some damage.
At least the oxygen system and thrusters were still intact.
He let out a quiet breath of relief.
That was when he felt the pursuers closing the gap fast.
He had no doubt he could handle them in a straight fight, but this was their territory, and there was no telling how many more might be inbound.
With the ship already compromised and Grogu aboard, the risk wasn’t worth taking.
He chose to run.
Coordinates locked, hyperdrive engaged.
Starlight stretched into long blue lines, folding into a tunnel of light, and the fighter vanished. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Back in the office, Xantos stared at the blank spot where the contact had dropped off his radar.
Fury got the better of him, and he hurled a bottle at the floor.
Crash.
The sound of breaking glass hung in the air far longer than it should have, mocking him with every echo.
“…Jedi.”
He leaned both hands against the desk, knuckles white, veins standing out along his wrists.
He’d never seen one of those tricks used firsthand, only heard the stories, but there wasn’t much else that fit what had just happened.
He slammed a fist down, fury tangled up with something close to satisfaction.
“I’ll cover my losses with the bounty on his head.”
Beep.
Beep.
“What do you mean we get thrown out of hyperspace if we don’t disengage?”
Beep beep.
“There’s no way to patch it?”
Beep.
Beep.
Lance dropped out of hyperspace fast, before the ship could be torn apart around them.
The N-1 flickered back into real space, hull scarred in a dozen places, smoke curling off exposed wiring that sparked and hissed where it hung loose.
He looked over the dashboard, warning lights blinking without pause across the panel, and sighed.
“Need to find somewhere nearby to patch this up.”
He angled the ship toward a yellowish planet ahead.
The star chart called it Saleucami.
A desert world, once a major battlefield between the Republic and the Separatists.
More than one Jedi Master had led clones through the droid lines here during the war.
Republic territory ever since.
Now, Imperial territory.
To avoid drawing Imperial scanners, he dropped the N-1 low the moment it cleared atmosphere.
Below, the terrain rolled past in strange bulbous plant life, and every so often something large moved through the tree line, hunting.
He’d hoped to find a repair shop somewhere, but reconsidered almost immediately.
A Naboo starfighter would stand out anywhere on a planet like this, and drawing Imperial attention was the last thing he needed right now.
He let that plan go.
He kept flying until the forest thickened, and eventually found what he needed: a wide lake buried deep in the tree cover.
Water was scarce on a world this dry, and heat like this would drain the body fast without it.
Food and drinking water were both running low aboard the ship, which made this an ideal place to stop, at least for a while.
He looked down at Grogu in his lap.
“Stay put.
Don’t wander.”
“Iya.”
Grogu glanced up, waved the little metal ball at him, then went right back to playing with it.
Lance let out a relieved breath.
Whatever decades old baby he’d ended up with, at least he didn’t cry or fuss much.
Small mercies.
R4 popped free of its socket on the hull, extended a nozzle from its underside, and sprayed a stream of white coolant across the sparking wires.
The smoke thinned and cleared.
Lance nodded, satisfied.
A droid that understood the job without being told twice was worth keeping around.
He grabbed the toolbox from under the seat and climbed out, the canopy sealing shut behind him.
The moment his boots hit the ground, heat rolled over him in a heavy wave, the air sharp with something acrid.
He looked around, alert.
Tall, yellow-brown plants stretched in every direction, none of them bearing branches or leaves, just thick stalks shaped like upended bottles jammed into the dirt.
Insects buzzed somewhere close, and further off, the low growl of something large drifted through the trees now and then.
He opened the toolbox, pulled the outer panel off the hull, and started running diagnostics.
His expression darkened the further he got into it.
This wasn’t a quick patch job.
It needed a full overhaul, parts and conduits replaced across half the ship, the hyperdrive stabilizer core chief among them.
All of it costing more credits than he currently had, which was to say, none.
Worse, the repairs would eat several days at minimum, and time was the one thing he couldn’t spare right now.
Saleucami still belonged to the Empire, and a good number of clone troopers stationed here through the war hadn’t gone anywhere.
Disciplined soldiers, nothing like the sloppy local security he’d dealt with earlier.
Every extra hour here raised the odds of getting spotted.
He stood back and studied the ship, thinking it through.
Better to find a new ship entirely than sink time into fixing this one.
Throw off anyone tracking it, keep my movements unpredictable.
He was fairly sure this particular fighter had already been flagged.
Wherever it turned up, Imperial attention was sure to follow.
Leave it sitting here, and it gives my location away either way.
His eyes drifted toward the lake beside him, and the answer settled into place almost immediately.
Sink it.