Latest Star Wars novel teases the return of a fan-favorite Solo character

The cancellation of a sequel for Ubisoft's Star Wars: Outlaws came as a massive blow for fans of the underrated open-world adventure. However, as proven time and time again in a galaxy far, far away, nothing and nobody is ever truly gone, and Outlaws is no exception to the rule. In the upcoming Star Wars novel, Low Red Moon by New York Times bestselling author Adam Christopher, we’re thrust back into the seedy underbelly of the criminal syndicates thriving in the time set between Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back and Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. The novel will be released on Feb. 3.

However, instead of reuniting with Outlaws protagonist Kay Vess, Low Red Moon follows the point of view of Jaylen Vrax, the crime lord who recruits her. He's accompanied by ND-5, a trenchcoat-wearing BX-series commando droid. In this exclusive excerpt from Penguin Random House, we follow Jaylen and ND-5 as they hunt for clues on the mysterious Low Red Moon in a crowded spaceport. However, they soon learn that they aren't as safe as they seem.

---

“Madel Nureth is out of scanning range. We should speed up,” I say as I intake more sensor data. We begin moving at a clip that is 40 percent faster than before, though still at a pace similar to a relaxed-but-hurried walk. “I’m maintaining a threat detection analysis.”

“Any signs of the person from before?” Jaylen asks as he looks around. His movements are very obvious.

“Unconfirmed.”

A young Rodian sprints past me and bumps into my leg. His arm tangles briefly in the tails of my duster.

Not a threat.

However, my pace changes as I sidestep the child. Through the din, I notice that a faint set of footsteps adjusts to match our speed and maintain distance. I isolate this in my audio processing before I identify that there are actually two distinct sets of footsteps following this pattern.

I stop. “What are you doing?” Jaylen asks. “We’re losing ground.”

My internal timer counts to ten, and then I set out at a faster pace than before. Both sets of footsteps match that cadence. “There are two people tracking us,” I say.

“You’re sure?” Jaylen asks. “I only saw the one in the hood.”

“That is one of them. I can tell by the sound frequencies emitted by their footfalls. One set of boots matches my audio sample from the security gate commotion and has kept exact pace with us.” I concentrate on isolating the frequency, cadence, and consistency of the second pair of footsteps. “One other person is following a similar pattern. Given the multiple parties of concern, it seems reasonable to assume that this person is also interested in our activity. They may be a threat.”

“I think...” Jaylen says, his voice trailing off as he glances around, making gestures more subtly than before. “We keep up our pace. We find Madel Nureth. We let these other people chase us.”

“Understood,” I say. Enough variables exist that Jaylen’s plan does not stand out as either a best-or worst-case scenario. Thus, his preference, combined with the fact that I can find no better alternative, leads me to staying quiet and marching forward.

We aim to close the gap between us and our targets. However, neither Madel nor her contact appears back on my thermal sensors. We move past gate after gate, and as we get farther down the row, the number of waiting travelers dwindles.

At the final, ninth gate, there is no sign of Madel Nureth or the agent from Crimson Dawn. Behind us, both sets of trailing footsteps pause as well.

Jaylen and I stand in the middle of the empty spaceport gate. He bites down on his lip with clear frustration as he scans the area. “You don’t pick up anything?” he says. Even without my tactical analysis, I understand that we are standing in an open and vulnerable position.

This functionally makes us bait.

I do not answer Jaylen. Instead, my attention turns to the fact that several of my sensors have stopped functioning. Thermal capture, long-range audio detection and filtration, and dynamic movement patterns are active but without any readings. I turn to put Jaylen in my field of view, yet I am not detecting any thermal data from him.

“Endee?”

Jaylen is not dead, so he should be presenting some form of heat signature. This is troubling.

“I believe something is jamming my scanners.”

“It’s a trap,” Jaylen says. “I got a bad feeling about this. I got greedy, let my emotions get in the way.” He turns and looks out the floor-to-ceiling window at the ship on the landing pad—possibly belonging to Crimson Dawn. “Endee, capture an image of that shuttle. See if it matches anything on known registries.”

I comply with Jaylen’s request and my first pass at scanning the ship provides a match. “It is an Amentor Midna-class shuttle. I’ll need several more seconds to identify the production year.”

Jaylen nods before his hand comes abruptly to the back of his neck. “What the . . .” His fingers feel around as he turns frantically. “Mission’s off. We gotta go. Something clipped the back of my neck.”

“I did not detect any movement or the sound of impact. However, I agree. We should leave.” As I state that, my standard visual sensors also go out. My audio also cuts abruptly in quality and sensitivity. I estimate I can only cleanly capture sound within five meters. “My other—”

Before I can finish, my power systems detect a sudden ionic surge and—

[[Neural core shutdown in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .]]

---

Jaylen watched as ND-5 collapsed to his knees, the weight of the BX commando droid causing a thud that might have been heard throughout the hall if anyone else were around. The urge to call out felt instinctive, yet he suppressed it. Even with this situation, drawing the attention of local authorities wasn’t a good idea.

Or was it? Maybe a distraction could get him out of there safely.

He took a step forward before a sharp pain gripped his chest. It traveled lower, riding into his gut with a combination of stinging and nausea that caused him to hunch over. He forced one more step forward before he dropped, nearly matching ND-5’s rigid pose.

Jaylen blinked as his vision began to blur, a growing weakness in his focus and his eyes watering in reaction to . . . this. What was this? First something had hit him in the back of the neck. Then ND-5 collapsed and deactivated. And now he was incapacitated. All in the span of ten, fifteen seconds?

Something like that. Though the pain made it feel much longer. His eyes squeezed shut, nausea now causing sweat to line his forehead, and he forced himself to look and assess.

One silhouette approached, going from blurry figure to clearly defined shape. Despite the pain, Jaylen was cognizant enough to recognize her. The person before him had fundamentally defined most of his adult life.

Madel Nureth.

She stood in her basic office attire of matching tan coat and trousers with muted gray shirt. She carried no obvious weapons. Whatever had hit his neck had no clear source.

A second silhouette came into view, similarly fuzzy at first. First, Jaylen only caught her soft leather boots. Then her black leggings came into focus, followed by a long coat embroidered with glowing orange runes, then finally the distinct green head tendrils of a Nautolan female.

She had to be the Crimson Dawn agent identified by ND-5.

If ND-5 were active, he probably could have provided further details from his database, possibly even a name. But that wasn’t happening right now because of what she held in her hand:

A blaster with an ion attachment.

In fact, as he looked over at ND-5, small trickles of white energy still danced over the prone droid’s body.

Madel glanced around the empty gate, then looked behind herself. “No one here,” she mused. Her partner nodded and said something about how the next flight at the adjacent gate was in four hours. She knelt to inspect ND-5, even poking at the edge of his scar with her fingernail.

“Brutal.”

Jaylen made eye contact as she said that.

“Your handiwork?”

He fought to push something, anything out, but his pain was a unique kind of horrible. At Gus Treta, the concussive forces of the dining room bomb had battered his muscles, leaving an intense whole-body soreness coupled with a massive headache. This felt much different, a singular contraction of pain that felt like something gnawed at him from the inside out. “You . . .” he managed to get out before gripping his stomach and . . .

Was that something moving under his skin?

“Well, that droid’s not walking anywhere,” the Nautolan said. She held up her ion blaster. “This does its job well. We should go.” She nodded toward a side door by the gate.

Jaylen recalled a distant memory of a spaceport just like this one, where his family had used a small secondary walkway to reach a private charter shuttle instead of taking the busier main gate.

“We don’t want to keep Qi’ra waiting.”