“All good,” Val answered, the Twi’lek’s melodic voice floating through the ship’s intercom. “I wouldn’t think so,” the pilot answered again, turning to the console to perform some last-minute checks before the Raven left hyperspace. “Walking around in that, you know? That can’t be good for your eyes.” “Probably more likely to go blind on Nar Shaddaa’s surface with all the shit in the air,” Jast suggested. “Spacer’s tales,” Telsa answered, relaxing a bit, “I don’t believe it.” “You think you actually go blind if you look into it long enough?” Jast sank into the captain’s chair-which on the Raven was situated on the right side of the cockpit-and considered the swirling blue-and-white field of hyperspace spread out before them through the transparisteel viewport. And yet they always made it through, and without Telsa batting an eye all the while. Jast, seated in the co-pilot’s seat, had all too often felt his blood run cold in anticipation of some death defying, high-g maneuver that, this time, would surely kill him and his entire crew. She handled the Raven like a professional dancer handles a partner-boldly, confidently, and with a mind to impress her audience. Jast was the captain of the Raven Trespass, but Telsa was her master Jast could fly a ship, but Telsa was a pilot. It just so turned out she was very bored, and very eager to fly something fast and dangerous. Jast figured she must have been bored, so, he made her an offer. She’d turned to flying freighters and cheap starhoppers as a commercial pilot after the Treaty of Coruscant. Telsa Jetstar had flown interceptors for the Republic Navy during the final years of the war, racking up seven confirmed kills and claiming another unconfirmed six.

“Six minutes from egress, Captain,” she said, addressing him with the curt formality appropriate for a superior officer. She was all blonde hair, green eyes, and sharp features she looked more the part of an actress in a holovid than the true-to-form ace fighter pilot she was. The human woman at the console turned, swiveling in her seat, to face him. Jaren Jast rolled his shoulder, still sore from some unfortunate slip during his morning workout, as he stepped onto the bridge.

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