The Ruins of Dantooine by Voronica Whitney-Robinson Page A

and then was still.
    Dusque screamed out and bent forward, feeling as if the beam had struck her, as well. She lifted her head, and a snarl of defiance escaped her lips. She dragged a forearm across her moist eyes and tried to launch herself at the officer, but another arm encircled her and she felt herself wrenched farther away from her target. She fought against the grip and twisted around to come face-to-face with Finn. She was dumbfounded. The Rebel spy used the opportunity to drag her farther back into the crowd toward the main exit of the shuttleport.
    “What?” she finally managed, more out of surprise than any conscious thought.
    “We need to get out of here,” he whispered urgently, still pulling her by the arm.
    Dusque shook herself free of his grip and twisted back to the knot of onlookers, her face like that of an avenging spirit. Finn ran back and caught her up in his arms and forced her to turn away.
    “If we don’t get out of here now,” he repeated, “we will both die and that will serve nothing. Don’t make it a wasted death!”
    Dusque felt as if she were moving through a dream. Tendau’s death echoed in her head and her heart. She deflated and let him hustle them both out of the shuttleport, past those who craned their necks to get a better look at her dead friend andthose who thanked their fortune to still be standing. Once out of the launch area, she vaguely noticed the ticket terminal and the small groups of people chatting and having a few drinks before their departure.
    As she was rushed past them, she couldn’t help but think how wrong it was that they didn’t know Tendau was dead; that they didn’t care that he was gone forever. She couldn’t comprehend that he was gone. And she couldn’t understand how Finn had come to be there to save her at just the right moment. She raised a hand to her head, suddenly hot and claustrophobic. Finn kept them moving.
    Once outside, Dusque drew in a few deep drafts of air. Almost directly opposite them, past a crafting station, was a lively cantina. Finn started to take them in that direction, and Dusque hadn’t regained her senses enough to question him. She found it easier to let him pull her around than to actually process what she had just seen. At the entrance to the cantina, however, she abruptly froze.
    “Not in there,” she whispered. She couldn’t take the thought of being surrounded by noisy people, laughing and talking and carrying on.
    “Right,” Finn agreed. “Too many eyes. No way of knowing who might be in there.” He pulled her past the cantina to the back of the building. It was on the periphery of the city proper; the only thing behind it was a bit of a brick road that faded into the swamps and marshes. The building wall curved, and soon enough they were both out of earshot ofanyone. Dusque leaned her back against the cold stone wall and closed her eyes, oblivious to the two tracks of tears that trickled down her hot cheeks. She remained motionless for several long moments.
    When she opened her eyes and faced the black-haired agent, there was a hard expression on her face. “Get out of my way,” she said through tight lips, her emotions at war with themselves. She needed to let them vent, and Finn provided a convenient target.
    Finn didn’t release his grip on her arm, though he relaxed it a little. “And where do you think you’re going? Are you seriously thinking of marching back over there? And doing what, exactly?”
    “There has to be justice,” she demanded. “There has to be. And I want answers.”
    “Listen to me closely,” he said, moving so near to Dusque that she could almost count his individual eyelashes. “As far as they are concerned, justice has been meted out. Go back there, and they’ll serve justice on you, as well.”
    “What are you talking about?” she cried, his words making no sense to her. “How could Tendau’s death be justice?”
    Finn looked around to see if anyone had heard her call