Madlands

36. Silent Prayer

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They would not be making their way back through Lorimar Prison Station.

The idea of being able to re-dock and re-infiltrate was rejected before it had been truly considered, even with the Voidrunner's impressive and aggressive firepower.

Instead, they would use that firepower to blow a hole in the station and take the ship right in.

They'd gotten a decent look at hangar Four-Gamma. They knew that the bay doors were lined with a force-field, so when they tore apart the durasteel, the hangar wouldn't de-pressurize. Rowan was certain that he'd seen a bay of computer terminals, and they didn't need a special command-level one, not with the passport in-hand.

It was still incredibly foolish and dangerous to be flying back towards the remaining surface cannons, but there had been no real debate. It was now or later, when later meant many more lives lost.

Luckily, it would be the last thing that the station crew would expect—for the criminals who had narrowly escaped only a few minutes prior to come charging back for more. They would be running damage reports, questioning the remaining, top-ranking Troopers about how this could have happened, analyzing fragments of holocam recordings, waiting for reinforcements, and fuming about their imminent retaliation on the whole system.

The Voidrunner wouldn't come in quietly this time—no drifting towards the station under false pretences. Paz would barrel them in at near-top speed, slamming to a stop as close to the hangar doors as possible. His ship was carrying three proton torpedoes, and this seemed like a good a time as any to let one or two of them go. At close range, they should be enough.

Mando had recognized the non-negotiable determination in Grey's eyes; she would be the one to send out the proof. She had to see this through. She'd be far from alone; Mando, Paz, and Sheen would cover her, with Rowan and Nox once again protecting the ship. Cyrin would be allowed to stay strapped into his seat, as he already looked like he was on the verge of losing his lunch blob.

They set off; a fleet of Empire reinforcements could arrive at any time.

The Voidrunner started picking up speed when the station was still hidden behind the vertical arc of Lorimar's brilliant white. By the time it slid into view, the ship's acceleration had thrust the cockpit crew back into their seats, while Grey and Cyrin fought against its sideways pull towards the back of the hold.

Grey looked down at her hands, each one holding half of the plan—the data-key and the comms passport. She was barefoot, abandoning her slippery shoe-socks now that she no longer needed one of them to conceal her contraband. Her hair was down and tangled, as she hadn't been allowed anything to tie it back with. She knew that she must look like hell, but it was only appropriate, as it was where she'd been.

She was not in the least bit nervous.

She stayed fixated on the two pieces of tech, even when she heard the cannon fire ignite in both directions. The ship was rocked, but kept moving, as she focused on the contents of her palms—one Empire, one New Republic—each given to her by someone who had surprised her, in their generosity, or their selflessness. People who were more than what they'd first seemed, perhaps also composed of more than one picture. Two small tools, one filled with hateful knowledge and the other that would make the hate known.

She closed her hands tight as they were thrown in the opposite direction, the ship decelerating so fast that she would have thought that they'd slammed into something if she hadn't known the plan.