I frowned, shook it—only for the insides to rattle some more.
I tried again.
Nothing.
I guessed it reallywasbroken. What a letdown. It was too worn, too scuffed to be new, and even though the saber didn’t activate, something soft and alive was humming inside. I could feel it, gentle and warm, like a heartbeat. It wasn’t mine; it didn’t belong to me, but it didn’t mind me holding it, either.
It just…
It wants to go home.
That idea startled me.
Did sabers havefeelings? Or was it my imagination carrying me away?
A beep sounded somewhere else on the ship, drawing me back to the present. I put the lightsaber in the top drawer of my clothing trunk, underneath my delicates, because it was quite possibly the safest place on the ship.
Then I left for the galley.
It was three doors down the hall, at the very end. I knocked before going inside, more as a courtesy than anything else.
At first glance, the galley looked empty.
VB-35 was usually at the cooktop, magicking up some new recipe. A bolt of dread coursed through me—
Had they found Sian already?
Panicked, I hurried inside, thinking up enough excuses to fill an entire hull.
Luckily, Veebee was sitting at the scratch table, deliberating over a game of holochess. The protocol droid—well, she was part protocol, part security, part whatever I could find on the cheap—slouched in a chair, head in her hand, staring dejectedly down at the game in front of her. Her opponent was the ship’s astromech, N2-0.
Veebee had yet to win against N2-0, but as she often put it, “Every droid needs something to aspire to, and I aspire to make them lose.”
It was going about as well as it did every other day.
N2-0 used a tiny arm to move their piece into position. Then they gave a triumphant bloop.
Veebee frowned. “You cheated.”
N2-0 beeped accusatorially.
“Fine.” Then Veebee turned to me and tilted her head. “Oh, he sent you. Good. Don’t look so panicked, it’s just a pinky.”
Did I look panicked? I cleared my throat and went to the counter, where I unrolled the soldering kit. “It’s just been a weird day.”
“Oh?” Veebee pushed herself to stand. “Would it have something to do with this?”
And then she tapped the button to the pantry door.
It slid open to reveal a dejected-looking stowaway sitting cross-legged on the floor, his hands tied behind hisback with cooking string. He had a dishtowel shoved into his mouth to muffle him.
I stared at him. He stared back.
“I don’t know who that is,” I lied.
He argued behind his gag.
Veebee tilted her head to the other side.
