“I can handle it,” Vernestra said, closing her eyes and leaning back in the seat.

Avon took a deep breath and let it out, and then the maintenance shuttle was deep in the debris field.

Avon had been obsessed with theoretical disaster for years. Every time she and her mother had traveled on official Republic business, Avon had taken great joy in relaying the facts and risks associated with long-haul space travel and hyperspace to anyone who would listen. There were hundreds of logs about what happened when a ship began to break apart in space, most recently with the Legacy Run. As reports came in Avon had been fascinated with them, not because of the loss of life, which was terrible, but because of wanting to understand how the disaster had happened and learn to prevent others like it. Avon believed that tech held the answer to most every problem, and even if it seemed like she was just looking for trouble, she was actually looking for answers.

The answer for the debris field caused by a rapidly disintegrating ship was proximity alarms, which was why every craft was supposed to have them, even maintenance shuttles that usually stayed near the larger vessels they were used to maintain. But warning systems were only half the equation, and without any kind of shielding, the ship would be vulnerable to breach. Avon’s heart pounded with worry. Vernestra looked tired, her closed eyes and steady breathing not able to erase the lines of fatigue around her eyes. Hopefully, she would be able to help them get past the worst of the danger.

Avon took another deep breath and accelerated.

The first bit of debris swirled around them, moving away and to the side as they sped past. Some of the tightness in Avon’s chest loosened. Everything was fine; they’d avoided the worst of the catastrophe.

But then a screeching came from the top of the shuttle, the sound of something big scraping along the outside hull. Avon flicked her eyes over to Vernestra, whose green skin was liberally dotted with perspiration. “Sorry,” she whispered. Her eyes were squeezed shut with concentration, scrunched so hard that the tiny diamonds tattooed around the outside of each eye had nearly disappeared.

Vernestra was fading, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

The Jedi’s stubbornness prickled at Avon in an annoying way, because it was something she could admire, if there were time. Instead she turned back toward the readout.

“Hey, Imri, you think you can help? Keeping all of the bits from wrecking our ship?” Vernestra called.

“I can try,” Imri said, a quaver in his voice, and Avon felt bad for him. He’d just lost his master a few minutes before. Did grief hinder a Jedi’s ability with the Force? She certainly hoped not.

Avon kept her eyes fixed on the readout from the proximity sensors. “I mean, if you don’t we’re joppa stew, if you get my drift.” There was nothing worse than joppa stew, in Avon’s opinion.

“I can do it,” he said, even if he didn’t sound completely convinced.

If neither Vernestra nor Imri could be their fail-proof shield, Avon would have to improvise.

Good thing she excelled at that.

Avon did a few brief calculations in her brain. It would be risky, but she thought she could make it.

It was probably for the best that they hadn’t eaten dinner.

“Hold on,” she called.

“Oh joy,” said J-6.

Avon gave the tiny craft full power and swung the yoke hard to the left. The maintenance shuttle began to tilt like a ride she’d once been on at the Republic Fair, and two seconds later she yanked the control back the other way and then forward. The shuttle shifted wildly, sliding between two large pieces of the ship before tilting upward to avoid another bit of refuse.

“Where did you learn to fly?” asked Honesty.

“Simulator,” Avon said. “But I’ve been borrowing real ships to learn to fly since I was six.”

“She means ‘stealing,’ ” J-6 said.

“I don’t feel so well,” Imri muttered.

“We’re almost through,” Avon said. “Vern, you hanging in there?”

“Yes.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and the tension and worry bloomed once more in Avon’s middle. What happened to a Jedi who used the Force too much? Did they get sick? Maybe Vernestra would wither away into an old lady before Avon’s eyes, her life spent in a great, final act.

That thought actually scared Avon more than the shuttle being pierced by space trash. But the Jedi were mighty, their weapons powered by a nearly limitless energy source. Vernestra would be fine.

She had to be.

Avon, who usually loved discovering the answers to her questions, decided she did not want to know the solution to this quandary, and turned her attention back to weaving through the last bit of the debris.

She accelerated and swerved before rolling the craft to avoid hitting one last piece of wreckage with the fragile wings of the shuttle. And then the proximity sensors were quiet and the alarming scarlet display went green.


Star Wars The High Republic A Test of Courage Chapter 6