Dodging burning debris, Kesi McKenna climbed through the wreckage of the downed X-wing fighter and made her way to the cockpit. There was nothing left of the canopy except black carbon scoring and slagged glass from a direct hit.

Three TIE Advanced banked overhead. The Imperial fighters would have finished the job, but they were occupied with five light freighters, each equipped with illegal, modified gun turrets. They had chosen a dogfight over a valuable smuggling cache claimed by the Black Bha'lir. Serving neither the Empire nor the Rebel Alliance, the rogue guild cared little for any politics, save their own.

Brushing a blond curl from her forehead, Kesi leaned into the smoking compartment to check the pilot for vital signs. She knew he was alive from the light snores issuing from his mouth. However, these were not the sounds of a man in a peaceful sleep, but an unconscious one barely clinging to life.

Caught off guard by a small explosion in the systems display, she raised an arm to cover her face, leaning over the pilot to protect him from the stinging electrical shower.

"My name's Dr. Kesi McKenna," she said. "Stay with me!"

Having served time in a military hospital during medical school, she instinctively reached for the chinstrap to loosen it, but left the helmet in place to cradle his head and neck in case of spinal injuries.

The grinding of gears in the aft section of the fighter caught her attention. Having survived the blast and the crash, the ship's R2 unit was lifted from its cradle and made its way toward the cockpit. "Can you do something about this?" she asked, flinching at the sparks.

The response was a subdued warble, followed by a pit-pit-pit as the damaged astromech positioned itself behind a smoking slot along the X-wing's fractured panels. With a noticeable thrumming, all systems in the fighter abruptly powered down.

"Leave the diagnostics," Kesi said. "I need them to assess his injuries. Can you do that?"

The droid did not acknowledge her.

"Hey!" She snapped her fingers at it. "We might be able to save him. Help me, help him." She leaned farther into the cockpit and released the flight harness. The power systems rebooted, and the flight controls lit up, casting green auras across the Rebel's pale face. But instead of flight controls, she saw diagnostics for a field hospital. The pilot's wounds were mortal, and his vitals were failing.

The droid beeped softly and leaned over the cockpit, its dome swiveling to bring its eye onto its master.

"You used to be a physician's assistant to a field medic? What do they call you?" Kesi asked, trying to hide the dread in her voice. She listened for a moment, checking for a pulse beneath the pilot's chin. "R2-B1, but Vallin calls you Pit-Pit?" Kesi glanced down at the dying pilot. "This is Vallin? Your master?" She watched a large, dark splotch of blood spreading across the lower half of the orange flight suit, turning the fabric to a darker shade.

The droid reared back, rocking back and forth on its servomotors. Its high-pitched wails reverberated in the growing dusk as the static pit-pit-pit of its damaged compressors grew more pronounced with its agitation.

"There's nothing I can do for him." Kesi took the dying man's hand, removed the bloody glove and held his fingers tightly as they grew cold. She watched the diagnostic screens as the vitals fell to such a low level, the droid could no longer read them. "I'm sorry, Pit-Pit."

The droid's antics slowed and then grew still, as if in sync to the pilot's heartbeat.

Kesi shrugged out of her flight jacket and laid it over the dead man's face. "Doaba ol'val tru." She heard the droid translate the Old Corellian phrase. "Yes, Pit-pit, peace and hope."

"Kesi!"

Hearing her name uttered in frustration, she replied, "Over here, Uncle Haydn!"

Blaster in hand, Haydn Krell scrambled over the low bluff, his gait staggered and uneven over the rough terrain. Dressed in the traditional black flight suit of his guild, his pants bore the prominent Corellian bloodstripe on the sides. "The pilot?"

"Dead."

"Told you it was a waste of time." He shrugged his shoulders, mocking her compassion. "Nobody survives a crash like that."

"At least he didn't die alone."

"Next you'll want to bury him," Krell growled, rubbing the gray stubble of his beard.

"And if I do?"

"There's no time for it, Kesi!" The smuggler holstered his heavy blaster. "Ancher and Drake took down two of those TIE Fighters. The other ran off. We've got to go. Now."

Pit-Pit's high-pitched wail of fear and abandonment tore at Kesi's heart. "I'm not leaving you."

"You're taking that blasted astromech? Ain't worth 10 credits," Krell said. "Leave it."

"We can be or do anything that we want in life. That's what you said to me the night the Imperials murdered my parents. You laid a blaster on one corner of my bed and a scalpel on the other and told me to choose." Lingering behind to wait for the droid, Kesi glared at him in defiance.

"You chose the scalpel," Krell said with a mischievous smile. "Following in your mother's footsteps."

"I'm choosing that path again. Pit-Pit can be my med droid—since you're too cheap to buy me one."

"Ah, that mouth!" Krell rolled his eyes. "You really did take after your mother."

"I'll never outshoot you, Uncle Haydn, but one day I'll get to dig a scalpel into you. When I do, we're going to revisit this little conversation. On my terms."

"Fair enough." He glanced down at the R2 unit beside her. "Know anything about slicing security terminals?"

With a grin, Kesi translated, "With or without molecular clamps?" She laid her hand over the droid's dome and caressed the chipped metal beneath her fingers.

"Med droid, huh? Bring him along."