Chapter 87 · Back to Yitheen

Hyperspace steadied into its familiar rhythm—long bands of white and blue, pulsing like a heartbeat stretched thin across stars. The shuttle’s engines hummed under the floor plates in a steady cadence, the kind of sound that would normally ease Eli’s nerves.

It didn’t.

The betrayal sat heavy in the space between them.

Eli finally pushed back from the nav console and let himself drop into the co-pilot’s empty seat, rubbing both hands over his face. His pulse was still too fast, his breaths too sharp. “We almost got vaporized out there.”

The pilot muttered something in agreement while he monitored their course. The fourth Rebel lingered near the hatch, glancing again at the unconscious navigator—their navigator—strapped down with makeshift restraints.

Stent remained standing near the cockpit threshold, watching everything with a quiet, unsettling clarity. “We survived,” he said. “And we retrieved the data intact. That is what matters.”

Eli let out a humorless sound. “Stars, Stent—I swear you think near-death experiences go on a checklist somewhere.”

“Only if they produce useful results,” Stent replied without irony.

The fourth Rebel actually snorted. “He’s not wrong.”

Eli shot her a look, but he couldn’t argue the point. Not honestly.

The pilot checked the rear display, as if expecting TIEs to magically reappear in hyperspace. “We lost them for now. But whatever that man transmitted, the Empire knows this shuttle’s signature. We can’t go back to the rendezvous point.”

“We weren’t going to,” Eli said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“And what about him?” the Rebel asked, nodding toward the unconscious navigator slumped in a crash harness. The stun had left a faint scorch on his uniform; a small mercy.

Eli looked down at the man — the traitor. His chest rose and fell in small, shallow breaths.

“He sold us out,” Eli said quietly. “Sold the whole base out.”

“Because someone bought him,” the pilot muttered. “Fear. Credits. Blackmail. Take your pick.”

Stent’s gaze sharpened. “It is logical.”

Eli rounded on him again. “Logical doesn’t mean harmless.”

“No,” Stent agreed. “But it means we should not be surprised.”

That, infuriatingly, was true.

Eli let out a bitter breath. “Still hurts.”

A short silence settled in the cockpit. Not peaceful — just tired.

The pilot adjusted the throttle, easing them onto a stable vector. “Bearing’s set. But we’ve still got a decision to make.” He glanced back at the three of them. “Do we head straight for the Yitheen or our original base?”

Eli didn’t respond immediately. Part of him wanted nothing more than to get back to the Faded Glory, seal the hatch behind them, and never see another Imperial bulkhead again.

But that wasn’t who he was. Not anymore. Maybe never had been.

“They were betrayed,” Eli said quietly. “The Rebels at the base. Whoever bought this guy—” he nodded toward the unconscious navigator “—has our route, our shuttle ID, and the fact that we boarded from Marae’s base.”

The pilot’s face tightened. “You think the Empire’s heading there right now.”

“I think they will soon.”

Stent gave a small nod. “The logic is sound. Returning to the base presents risk—but it is the only option that allows us to warn them. Transmitting is dangerous.”

“And if Imperial forces beat us there?” the fourth Rebel asked.

“Then we do not approach,” Stent said. “We observe from distance and divert.”

Eli swallowed. “They sheltered us. Helped us. We owe them a warning.”

Stent inclined his head slightly. “Owing implies obligation. This is strategy.”

Eli didn’t bother hiding his faint smile. “You can call it whatever you like. We’re going back.”

The pilot entered the new destination. The shuttle’s nose shifted fractionally, aligning with the path back to Yitheen—back to the people who’d trusted them, who were now sitting in a battered outpost completely unaware that a traitor had sold their location.

Eli leaned back, exhaustion settling into his bones. “This day just keeps getting better.”

The pilot huffed. “Let’s pray we’re not too late.”

The soft hum of hyperspace filled the cockpit again. Long, steady, indifferent.

And somewhere out there, Imperial forces were already moving.

The moment the Lambda dropped out of hyperspace, alarms flickered across its sensors—not hostile ones, but the perimeter beacons of Yitheen’s hidden approach corridor. The base was still there. Still running. For now.

The shuttle slid toward the docking cavity carved into the old mining station, lights guiding them inward with faint, intermittent pulses. Eli felt his chest loosen—just a little—when he spotted figures waiting near the bay doors.

Rinna was there. Two technicians. And Marae herself, arms folded, jaw set in that way she used when she was furious but saving the anger for something useful.

The ramp lowered.

Marae strode up as soon as Eli stepped out. “You’re late,” she said—then pulled him into a brief, fierce embrace before he could answer. “Don’t do that again.”

Eli blinked. “I’ll… try not to.”

Her attention shifted to Stent. For all her bluster, the relief was obvious in her shoulders.

“You made it out,” she said.

Stent inclined his head. “We completed the objective.”

Marae huffed. “We’ll see if that objective was worth the hell you kicked up behind you.”

They moved quickly into the main corridor. The noise was different now—not the dull thrum of a place quietly surviving, but the sharp, chaotic energy of a site preparing to vanish.

People ran with crates. Weapons were being inventoried. Ship crews were tearing apart power couplings, not for maintenance, but to make the base harder to trace once abandoned.

Eli caught Marae’s arm. “Your navigator—someone bought him. Or threatened him. He stalled our jump long enough for Klyssos to raise the alarm.”

Marae stopped walking. The muscle in her jaw twitched. “Name?”

Eli gave it. Rinna, behind them, swore under her breath.

Marae didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. “Then we don’t have time. Full evacuation. All stations.”

A nearby lieutenant nodded sharply and sprinted toward the comm boards.

Marae turned back to Eli and Stent. “We shut down the Lambda’s signature as soon as you left. We’re towing it into one of the abandoned tunnels. You two can’t keep it—it’s too useful for us. And too risky for you.”

Eli nodded. “We didn’t expect to.”

“You’ll get a ride out, your ship is clean, isn’t it?” Marae said. “And you’ll take this with you.”

She led them into the comm room, already half-disassembled. A tech had pulled down half the consoles, wires dangling like the guts of some mechanical beast. But one terminal was still active, its glow the only steady light.

Marae tapped a dataport. “Your download. We made a copy for you, and a copy for us.”
Eli took his, tucking it carefully into his jacket.

“We haven’t decoded it yet,” Marae continued. “We don’t have the time. But whatever this is…” she glanced at Stent, “…it put Klyssos on alert fast.”

Stent’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed in thought. “It involves Lothal,” he said. “The Pryce Directive. A fleet redeployment. And then—silence.”

Marae exhaled sharply. “If you find answers there… make sure they’re worth the danger you brought back with you.”

Eli gave a tired smile. “We always do our best.”

“Your best terrifies me,” Marae replied.

In the corner of the room, a technician waved them over. “Your droid,” he said. “Or what’s left of him.”

Tee sat on a maintenance bench, still scorched from the Klyssos incident, but upright and newly assembled. His dome was a mismatched panel job, more patchwork than symmetry. A faint, uncertain warble emitted from his vocalizer.

“Couldn’t salvage the original memory cores,” the tech explained. “But he’s got standard protocols now. I gave him a firmware imprint from an old R5 we had around. Personality’s… well… personality.”

Tee beeped testily, almost offended.

Eli snorted. “That’s new.”

Stent considered the droid. “Operational?”

“As far as he’ll ever be,” the tech said.

Tee fired off a series of chirps that sounded like someone arguing at length about the indignities of being alive.

Eli raised his hands. “All right, all right. We’ll work on it.”

When they returned to the hangar, their shuttle was already being stripped of sensitive components. Marae stood near a small transport waiting to take them off-world.

She handed Eli a slim chip. “Alliance recognition codes. If you get cornered, broadcast these. Someone will listen.”

Eli met her eyes. “You trying to recruit us?”

“I’m trying to keep you alive,” she said bluntly. “But yes, if you ever get tired of running after ghosts, we could use people like you.”

Stent lifted the datapad containing their copy of the stolen data. “We still have our mission.”

Marae nodded. “Then finish it.”

She stepped back as the transport ramp lowered.

Eli paused. “We’ll stay in touch.”

“You’d better,” she said. “Or I’ll assume you’re dead and be extremely annoyed.”

The three of them—Eli, Stent, and Tee—boarded the Faded Glory.
The engines rumbled to life, the hangar shrinking behind them.

As they lifted away from Yitheen, Eli looked out the viewport at the base. People running. Ships departing. The last remnants of a fragile, hidden haven dissolving into the void.

He quietly hoped they made it.

Beside him, Stent folded his hands. “Our next destination is clearer than before, isn’t it?”

Eli nodded. “Lothal.”

“Lothal,” Stent repeated. “Where the Seventh vanished.”

“And maybe,” Eli said softly, “where Thrawn will stop being a ghost.”

The transport jumped to hyperspace, carrying them toward another piece of the truth.