He paled, which was answer enough.
Everyone in hangar eighty-nine—in the entire spaceport—knew about theStarfarer. If they didn’t, then I was pretty sure those people were living under a rock. There were only two reputable tour companies in the known galaxy, and one of them was owned by Captain Hansifred Quay.
(Obviously more companies existed, but none of them were quite as storied as Hyperlight Tours or—sadly—our dreaded rival: the ultra-exclusive luxury cruise company Chandrila Star Line. Though rumor had it that they were about to close up shop due to budget cuts—whichwas nonsense, but rumors were often more catching than the truth.)
Few people knew the galaxy as well as my family and my family’s ancestors. It came with the territory, really. We were descendants of hyperspace prospectors and cartographers who had charted some of the most notorious hyperspace lanes in history. It was said even the famed Plyon cartographers came to the Quays when they needed directions. My great-great-great-grandfather on my mom’s side founded the most legendary hyperspace lane of them all. And somehow, while we were swirling through hyperspace across the galaxy, something strange had settled into our bones—something that made us special.
We were exquisite navigators.
Magical, almost.
Or at least that was the rumor.
The Quays never denied it. The rumor was good for business, and it wasn’t exactly alie. The actual truth simply stayed in the family, much like our beloved tour ship, theStarfarer.
In the docking bay sat the ship, an old CR90 Corellian Corvette, refitted with current tech and refurbished with the kind of painstaking detail only Captain Hansifred Quay could muster, down to the is-that-rust-or-is-that-stormtrooper-blood on the bulkheads. (It wasn’t either one. It was paint. Dad just liked to bedramatic. “Everything has to tell a story,” he always said, and took it to heart.)
For the nearly three decades since the Galactic Civil War had ended, Dad and his crew had been ferrying daring tourists on journeys to the heart of history itself: to the asteroid field where Alderaan paid the ultimate price in the war, the frigid battlefields of Hoth where the rebels held their ground, Endor’s orbit to lay eyes on the carcass of the Death Star II, and countless other scars in recent history—Yavin 4, Naboo, Corellia, Geonosis, Kashyyyk, Coruscant, Ghorman. And those were just the ones we could travel to relatively safely. Sometimes when the stars were quiet, Dad would sneak in a trip to glimpse a dying red giant, or visit a cantina on Batuu, or take a waiver-signed outing to Bakura. History reached across the galaxy, but most stories and their popularity came in lulls and waves, and Dad rode them like the expert historian he had become.
When he finally retired, I would take over the business. No one ever asked if I wanted to. Of course I did.
Therewasno one else.
Besides, people booked travel with Hyperlight Tours solely to say they were on a ship captained by a Quay.
So of course no one blinked an eye when I signed off on the crate hiding the stowaway and sent it off to be loaded onto the ship.
This is a terrible idea, I told myself, because it was.
But what else was I supposed to do?
As I went up the gangway of theStarfarer, a Twi’lek stood at the top of it, nose-down in her datapad as she checked off the last bits of her pre-tour checklist. She chewed on her bottom lip worryingly—a habit that was hard to break, even after she made it bleed. Her skin was the color of fresh moss, accented by the golden bands she wore on her forearms and long twin lekku she usually pulled over her shoulders. She rocked back and forth on her heels nervously.
That was never a good sign.
Then she looked up and startled, almost tossing her datapad. “Ardent Quay!You’re alive!”
“Somehow, I survived,” I deadpanned.
“I thought you weredead!” she cried, running down the gangway to give me a hug. Her accent was strong, curling at the ends like vines. “I was going to have to tell yourdad! ThenIwould have been dead!”
“No one’s dead,” I squeaked as she hugged tighter. Well,almostno one. “Can’t breathe.”
She let go and held me at arm’s length. She narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, though, where have youbeen? You were supposed to be back an hour ago!”
I winced. “Did Dad…?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m a professional.He thinks you were still in the shower. Then you went to your room. Girl stuff. You were right, it worked like a charm.”
I groaned. “Great.”
“You know, if you’d come back anhourago then I wouldn’t have had to lieto my boss.”
Which was true. “I appreciate it.”
If Dad knew I was out on Coruscant, on a level he didn’t approve of,alone, he’d combust. After Mom died and my brother Valor left, Dad focused on me. I was all he had, so I understood it. Losing Mom was a tragedy, but when my brother left theStarfarer, it broke Dad’s heart in a way he hadn’t recovered from, and ever since it’d been exhausting to try to be both his sonandhis daughter. Kotti told me once that it wasn’t my duty to fix everything Val left undone, but she didn’t understand. This ship was my dad’s entire life—and now so was I.
Kotti twined her arm with mine. “What is your gorgeous best friend for, right? I can lie to my bossandhaggle down prices for ion chambers to the sublight drive. Truly”—she gave a dramatic sigh—“whatcan’tI do?”
