It didn’t take ten seconds after they entered the atmosphere that a targeted missile struck the side of their transport shuttle.
Alarms blared. Red light flashed across her vision, rattled after the sudden jolt in the ship’s descent. How easily the mission had gone sideways. What was supposed to have been a simple, stealthy landing in the war-torn capital of Metalorn had quickly transformed into a nightmare. Song hadn’t accounted for this, and she had no idea just who was responsible for the attack. The local warlord? The rebels? Both sides at once? She knew the Mandalorians were not particularly popular among those in the Rim, but there was no reason for such a rude welcome.
“We’re going down!” the droid pilot shouted, their hands clutching the ship controls like a lifeline, trying to stabilize the transport but failing miserably. The realization struck her hard and fast. In less than a minute, they’d make impact.
“Rand, I hope you brought your jetpack this time!” she called to her cousin, stepping into the ship’s cabin only to find him holding a straphanger, looking about as blank-faced as a rock falling from twenty stories. Which he was. Since they’d reunited months earlier, she had found that very little bothered the former exile—besides the threat of diplomacy. They were Mandalorians, after all, and the finest warriors the galaxy had to offer. Of course he wasn’t afraid. It was going to take a lot more than a stray missile or a blown engine to kill them, and a ship crash?
Song had survived a dozen. She could survive this.
“Looks like taking the discreet approach is off the table!” she continued over the roar of the fast descending ship. Staggering for the emergency exit doors, with the smash of her fist against the controls, they slid open in a rush of wind. Smoke poured in from a blazing engine. “We’re going to have to jump ship! Are you ready?” She slanted a glance toward him, understanding that all this was a little sudden and unexpected, but knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to act. That was how he always was. Instinctive, with a strong natural reflex.
He might’ve been a foundling, but he was a Wren at heart.
@Mockingjay