THERE WASN’T ALWAYS much to do when a ship was in hyperspace, the interdimensional realm between stars. There was even less when flying Expedient, a ship with no galley or living quarters. Worse, the cockpit area offered no privacy at all; Skelly was snoring away on his seats, and Zaluna, unshakable for so long, had taken to nervously fidgeting around with the contents of her magic bag. Well, even the strongest had their limits—especially when death was coming for their homeworld.

The only getaway existed in the far rear of the ship, down one of the branching aisles of the cargo hold. And there, at the far end, standing amid the shelves of secured baradium-357 canisters, waited the person he wanted to see.

“Cozy back here,” Kanan said. “We could send out for flatcakes.”

“Very funny.” Hera held the smile for only a moment. She looked tired. “We need to talk.”

“My pleasure.” Kanan found a spot at the end of the aisle with no canisters on either side, creating two makeshift seats on opposing lower shelves. “I fixed the ID transponder like you asked. It’ll say we’re a different ship than landed on Calcoraan Depot—in case they’ve finally figured out we were the ones that messed with Vidian.”

Hera still wore the same worried expression, he saw. “I’m guessing you had a different problem?” Kanan asked.

“It’s Skelly,” she said in a low voice, nodding in the direction of the cockpit. “I think he’s in trouble.”

“He’s always in trouble.”

“I think he’s dying,” she said. “The joking around is a cover. He’s in bad shape.”

Kanan inhaled deeply and nodded. He’d seen the same thing. “Vidian did a number on him. Broken bones, internal bleeding.” He shook his head. “I caught a look at the readings that medical droid took of him. It wanted to open him up, right then and there.”

“We need to get him to a medcenter,” Hera said. “He’s navigating on force of will alone.”

“He’s got plenty of that. But where can we take him? We’re about to tell everyone on Gorse to run for their lives.”

Hera sighed. “You’re right. They come first. He’s just going to have to hang on.”

She looked toward the small viewport to her left, at the end of the aisle. Stars streaked by. Kanan thought she looked striking even now, facing likely defeat. “This isn’t what you came to Gorse for, was it?”

She chuckled darkly. “Not even close. I’ve been talking to people who have grievances against the Empire—but only to find out the scope of what’s out there, what’s possible. I wasn’t expecting to do anything against it. Not yet, anyway. Not for a long time.”

“That’s the problem with people,” Kanan said. “They never need help on your schedule—only theirs.”

She nodded. Then she looked back at him. After studying him for a moment, she spoke. “Where are you from, Kanan?”

“Around,” he said. “You?”

“Same.”

“Fair enough.”

She smiled gently. “That’s not what I really wanted to ask, anyway.”

Kanan smirked. “Fire away, then.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Sitting with you? Wouldn’t miss it.”

“No, I mean this. Flying around fugitives and trying to take down Vidian. I know why Skelly and I are doing this,” she said. “Even Zaluna. But not you.”

He shrugged. “I love a party.”

“Seriously.”

He scratched his beard. “You were there. You saw what happened to Okadiah, and all the others—”

“And that’s awful. But by your own admission, you move around. You were about to leave Gorse forever when I found you. So while I appreciate your being here, I wonder if there’s something else going on.” She eyed him. “I mean, you’re not here for the politics.”

He laughed. “Definitely not.”

She smiled. “Yeah, you don’t strike me as a victim of oppression.”

Kanan’s grin melted a little on hearing her words, and he looked away. “You never know,” he muttered. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“What?”

Feeling her eyes on him, he faced her again and smiled. “Nothing. Hey, it’s like I said at the start. I’m just going where you’re going.”

Hera’s nose wrinkled. “Hmm,” she said, after a moment.

“Hmm what?”

“I think I liked your first answer better.”

—

Zaluna stood before the onrushing stars. It was an amazing spectacle, something she had never expected to see. Her salary wasn’t enough to take her far, and besides, she had nowhere to go. Her office was her universe.

And now that Skelly was snoozing and Kanan and Hera were gone, somewhere in the back, this was her last chance to get it back.

Her last chance to change her mind.

She’d completely ruined her life in the last few days. She’d only wanted to fulfill Hetto’s parting wish, not go running around the galaxy like some kind of secret agent. Infiltrating an Imperial depot? Tampering not just with the computers of an important official, but with his very body? Who was that person? It certainly wasn’t the woman she’d imagined she was.

But here, she had an opportunity to undo everything. She’d seen the big red light on the forward control panel, earlier: It had signaled when the vessel was about to exit hyperspace. Dark now, it sat adjacent to the comm system—and that was something Zaluna knew how to use.

And she could use it, right as they reentered realspace, to contact the Empire and get off this ride.

They might still believe her. She could say she was kidnapped, forced to help the would-be radicals. Skelly and Kanan were violent characters who’d attacked Imperial agents. Hera was the mastermind, trying to lure her into betraying the Empire. Zaluna was innocent, a pawn, a foolish woman with nothing but good intentions. She could say she was trying to entrap the agitators when she got trapped herself. They’d taken her into danger. She didn’t owe them anything.

And the moon might still be saved. If Vidian was doing something he shouldn’t, the Empire would stop him, wouldn’t it? And how was any of it her business anyway? Maybe the deadly predictions of what might happen were wrong. Who was she to second-guess decisions made from so far on high? It would be an irrational Empire indeed that would ignore its people’s best interests.

Only…the Empire had done exactly that many times that she had seen. And its minions had never listened to anyone’s defense before. They only listened to what people said about the Empire. Zaluna knew firsthand, having been the state’s ears and eyes on Gorse and Cynda for years. She’d heard—but never comprehended. She watched, but never saw.

And now that was changing. The others had started her thinking.

Hera had listened patiently to Zaluna’s concerns several times during their journey, and each time had spoken frankly and firmly. Fear was understandable and forgivable—and no one expected Zaluna to do more than she was capable of. “But seeing and doing nothing isn’t the worst thing,” Hera had said. “The worst thing is to see and not to care.”

Zaluna had seen Imperial minions do many things. Bad things, that Transcept’s watchers were ordered to look the other way on. She’d done as commanded—but it had never made sense. Wasn’t being a watchperson her job? What good was being a witness if the laws could be changed at whim by the lawgivers?

Then there was Skelly. He was troubled, for sure, but she’d come to understand that he truly was interested in protecting Cynda and Gorse. The Empire cared little for those damaged by the Clone Wars, and even less for people who had qualms about its industrial activities. She could tell that for Skelly, the impending destruction of the moon was like watching death approaching for someone close to him.

And finally, there was Kanan, who seemed to go from disaster to disaster as if he were wandering from one cantina to another. Nothing seemed to touch him—yet she knew that wasn’t true. Yes, he played the roustabout, working a dangerous job and pushing back against those who pushed him. But that day with Okadiah was not the first time she’d seen him come to someone’s defense. They were always small acts; often, the person helped hadn’t known he’d done anything. He seemed to want it that way, for some reason.

She could also tell he was tired of living the way he had been: tired of going from one pointless job to another, looking for a place where he could live his life his own way. She’d seen the look a hundred times on the faces of other migrant workers—and the Empire had made it into a perpetual state for many. Kanan was young—but his secret soul was much older. And Zaluna knew the Empire was somehow responsible.

But Zaluna had the right to a life of her choosing, too—and time was running out.

The red light on the nav computer flashed. A buzzer, half broken and barely audible, sounded. Her eyes went to the comm system controls. It would be so easy…

“Your only value to the Empire is what you can do for it,” said a voice from behind.

Unsurprised at hearing Hera, Zaluna turned over her words in her mind. “You know,” she said calmly, “Hetto used to say that exact thing.”

“He was right.”

Zaluna saw Hera’s reflection in the viewport, against the streaming stars. She was motionless behind her, not approaching. “Aren’t you afraid?” Zaluna asked.

“Anyone would be. But the Jedi had a saying about fear. It leads, ultimately, to suffering.” Hera paused. “Someone has to break the chain.”

“People can’t talk about the Jedi anymore.”

“Maybe they should.”

Zaluna nodded and looked back at the control panel. “It was better then.” She felt her strength reviving. She was more than an extra set of eyes and ears to a sadistic cyborg—and to a faraway Emperor. She was no revolutionary, but she could at least try to stop them now.

Zaluna moved her hand to the nav computer and shut off the buzzer. “I was just coming to get you,” she said. Turning to Hera, she smiled. “We’re here.”