Dave Filoni’s Disney Plus series Star Wars: The Bad Batch followed a group of clone troopers enhanced with specialized genetic mutations as they resist their orders to kill the Jedi and flee the army. At first they try to just lay low and get by doing mercenary work, but The Bad Batch winds up getting drawn into the fight against the new Galactic Empire with the help of a mix of new friends and major characters from Star Wars: The Clones Wars. The show wrapped its three season run in 2024, but it’s getting a new story in Star Wars: Sanctuary, a novel from Ruin Road and The Getaway author Lamar Giles that will be released Aug. 5.
“Going into Sanctuary, I wanted to give my fellow Bad Batch fans the feeling of an extended bonus episode where our favorite characters got exciting moments that felt fresh and familiar,” Giles told Polygon in an email. “I wanted it to feel like seeing old friends after some time apart amid an intense adventure.”
The novel is set after the events of the season 2 episode “Pabu,” where the Bad Batch joins the pirate and treasure hunter Phee on the peaceful island of Pabu. The clones receive a warm welcome, and agree to help Pabu recover from a tsunami.
In this excerpt from the book, Phee and the Bad Batch’s computer expert Tech – who had a bit of romantic chemistry on the show – go undercover at a high-roller auction looking to “liberate” an artifact they can return to its home planet in return for a reward that will help Pabu. Of course, things don’t go according to plan.
Image: Penguin Random House
Phee leaned forward in the pod, both hands on the outer edge, as eager as a shockboxing fan at a title bout. She mumbled unintelligible things Tech couldn’t make out.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Just taking mental notes. That slick-talking Falleen couple just won that fertility idol,” Phee said, thoughtful. “Gonna add them to my list of future liberations.”
The pods were relatively private, well out of earshot of the bidders on either side of them, so Tech wasn’t concerned about Phee’s openly vocal pirate plans. He was, however, concerned about the Muun whom he still hadn’t been able to find on the auction house’s most recent guest list. With an enhanced scan of the darkened chamber, he knew where the being was—two pods over and three down. The mystery being made a 250,000-credit bid on the idol Phee would steal from its buyers sometime in the near future, but otherwise . . . he was an enigma.
“Next to the dais . . .” the auctioneer announced, presenting the second lot and its starting bid. This item led to a heated four-way battle that ended at a whopping 725,000 credits. Again, the Muun made a single early bid, 400,000 credits, but backed off when the price climbed.
The excitement and competition grew through the third and fourth lots, some dynastic jewelry and the blood-crusted lightsaber, respectively, with the Muun submitting anenticing bid whenever the fervor cooled. Tech’s intuition angled toward concern.
The fifth lot, an abstract sculpture, had its bidding get off to a sluggish start, but it eventually sold for 500,000 credits, again with some nudging from the Muun.
Five items so far. Little similarity between them. Each one attracted different sets of bidders with only a single constant in the mix. The improbability was like a flare in Tech’s mind.
With a few taps on his keyboard, he stopped searching the auction house’s guest list and turned to its personnel files.
The auctioneer called the sixth lot to the dais, but Tech didn’t pay attention to the proceedings, because he knew the pattern. Once that lot sold, the item they came for rose on the column. At that moment, Tech discovered who the Muun was.
“This item stems from Carida and was used in religious ceremonies for centuries before its acquisition. This would be a handsome piece for the pious”—the auctioneer chuckled at that—“among you.”
Tech squeezed Phee’s shoulder and broadcast across their comms. “The Muun isn’t a guest. He’s an auction house employee identified as an assurance contractor.”
“A what?” Phee and Hunter asked at the same time.
“He’s a spiker,” Tech explained. “Here to artificially drive up bids to the auction house’s satisfaction. The bigger the bid, the bigger their commission.”
The auctioneer continued heaping accolades on the Caridan mortar like the salesman he was. Hunter pressed Tech for more information. “What’s that mean for us?”
The sullen look on Phee’s face told Tech she already knew, but he clarified for the others.
“There will be competition for our item. The Muun will see to it. The credits we’ve siphoned from the other attendees may not be enough to win.”
“All right,” Hunter said, sounding somewhat relieved. “If we can’t win it, we exfil and acquire the item from whoever does win. That was always our best option.”
“It was always a contingency,” Phee said, defensive, “but fine. We’ll see if we can salvage Plan A. If not, everyone begin exfiltration while me and Tech stay until the end so we won’t arouse suspicions.”
It was settled, then. Tech prepared to endure the sheer boredom of the auction as the auctioneer announced the opening bid for the item they’d probably have to steal later.
“We will start the Caridan ceremonial mortar at one hundred twenty-five thousand credits.”
It was the opening bid they’d anticipated. And someone went for it immediately: Phee.
Or rather, her datapad bid on her behalf. She never touched it.
Tech and Phee stiffened in their seats as the pad flashed green in time with the display on the front of their pod, signaling the auctioneer that they were in the competition.
“I have one twenty-five. Can I get one fifty?”
The Muun did his job and raised the bid to 150. Almost instantly, Phee’s datapad flashed green and raised the bid to 175. Still, neither she nor Tech had touched it.
Tech massaged his temple as if staving off a headache. “Mel, you added an automation routine to the code sometime after I reviewed it.” It was not a question.
MEL-222 booped. A drawn out, shameful sound.
Phee pinched her lips into a thin line, perhaps feeling secondhand embarrassment on behalf of her droid.
“Ohhhh, we have a battle here!” the auctioneer taunted. “Can I get two hundred?”
A third bidder leaped in, likely caught in the moment, but instantly Phee’s datapad catapulted the bid up to 250.
“Well, that was quick,” the auctioneer noted with a raised eyebrow.
Sure was. As quick as that faulty code MEL-222 put together.
Phee touched her comlink. “Mel, shut it down.”
The droid chortled sheepishly.
“What do you mean you can’t?” Phee said.
Tech exposed his forearm computer, snatched the datapad, and sliced into it.
“What’s happening?” Hunter asked.
Wrecker said, “Convor just shabbed on an AV-15. The owner’s going to be mad.”
Tech swiped through screens and typed commands while detailing the suddenly perilous circumstance. “Mel’s code contained several subroutines geared to siphon credits from our unsuspecting benefactors and help us defeat them in the case of a few competing bids from known attendees. It seems the spiker’s absence from our initial intel has exposed a bug in the code.”
“I’m hesitant to guess,” Tech said, not being truthful. There was no need to rile Hunter over what was inevitable. Tech knew full well where this was going, and despite his best efforts to purge the droid’s shoddy code from the auction house’s system, he knew there was only a 4 percent chance of abating what came next.
The Muun raised the bid to 300. Just 50,000 credits shy of their predetermined limit.
Tech said, “High alert, everyone. Things are about to get frenetic.”
