Resistance Reborn (Star Wars)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

  They listened for the ding of the lift doors opening, and when they were sure he was gone, they continued down the hall. Norra went through the executive office doors first, blaster raised. Silence as they waited for her all-clear. Seconds ticked by, and then a full minute.

  Snap motioned worriedly to Wedge. Wedge jerked his chin toward Nasz, and just as she was about to go, Norra came out, a strange look on her face.

  “There’s a girl,” Norra said, her voice cold. Wedge recognized that tone. Norra ran hot at all times, a blaze of a woman, except when things were really bad. Ice in her voice meant she was trying to hold back some emotion, usually a murderous one. But she’d holstered her blaster and her arms hung by her side, so the danger had passed, whatever it was, leaving only her icy fury. “She said she’ll help us.”

  “What is it?” he asked warily.

  “Come in. See for yourself.”

  Wedge and Snap exchanged a look. He knew that coldness, too. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

  “Come on,” Norra said. She turned and left them no choice but to follow.

  The office doors opened to a foyer with two desks, one on each side of the main path through the office that led to another set of doors. These doors were flung open and through them Wedge could see another desk, this one bigger than the two in the greeting area. Beyond that desk was a rectangular window at eye level that looked out to what Wedge guessed was the hangar seven stories below them.

  But it was the girl that drew his attention. She sat at one of the desks, her head bowed. Her orange hair was matted with blood and she held a rag to her nose. It was soaked red.

  “What’s going on?” Wedge asked.

  “This is Yama Dex,” Norra said quietly. “How old did you say you were, Yama?”

  “Fifteen,” she said morosely.

  “Fifteen,” Norra confirmed, eyes cutting to Wedge. “And who did this to you?”

  The girl sighed heavily. She said something that Wedge couldn’t hear, but Nasz did and whistled low. The woman took a few steps away, laughing quietly, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Wedge wasn’t sure what her reaction meant, but he could guess. As an ex-Imperial, she’d experienced the brutatily of the Empire up close and personal. The viciousness of the First Order probably felt all too familiar, and against one of their own, at that. There were probably a lot of stories Nasz could tell about her time as an Imperial that had turned her into the woman she was, but he wasn’t sure he had the stomach to hear them.

  “Who did this?” Wedge asked, echoing Norra.

  The girl looked up. Wedge flinched. She had been beaten badly. Her nose looked broken and the area around her eye was quickly swelling, the blood vessels smashed into tiny tributaries. He’d seen dozens of beatings in his time, taken his fair share and doled out more, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen something so stark as this girl sitting calmly behind her desk in the records office, her face a mess of blood and bruises.

  “Executive Records Officer Bratt.” Her voice was a low wail of grief. Whoever Bratt was, he had been important to her, and he had broken not just her body but something deeper.

  “The man leaving the bathroom?” Wedge asked Norra.

  “That’s my guess.”

  The girl sniffed, and then winced at the pain. She looked at Wedge through bloodshot eyes. “She said you were looking for one of the prisoners.”

  “That’s right,” Wedge said.

  Nasz had paced back to them. “Do you know where they’re being held?”

  “I was there when Officer Bratt assigned them to their duties. I can find them.”

  Wedge blinked. Too much of a coincidence? A trap? Or ridiculous luck?

  “If we give you a prisoner’s name, do you think you can look him up in your records?” he asked.

  “Officer Bratt kept the list on his personal datapad, and it’s locked.”

  “We can break the lock,” Nasz said confidently. “Where is it?”

  The girl’s gaze flashed briefly toward the big desk in the adjoining room.

  “On it,” Snap said. A moment later he was back with a handheld datapad. He handed it over to Nasz. She pushed the box of tapes off the top of the empty desk across the room and climbed up, sitting cross-legged on the top. She removed a drive from a pocket at her hip. “This has every encryption key the Empire ever used, at least up until Jakku. It’s possible the First Order has their own, but we’ll try these first. If they don’t work, I have some other ideas.”

  “How long will it take?” Wedge asked.

  The ex-Imperial shrugged. “Could be a few minutes, could be an hour. Could not work at all.”

  Wedge turned back to the girl. “Do you know where your boss went? And if he’s coming back?”

  She shrugged and shook her head no.

  “Surely there’re only so many places in this building they could keep prisoners,” Norra said. She turned to Yama. “Is there a place that workers live? The ones they keep on-site? A camp or a dormitory or—”

  “—a detention center,” Nasz murmured.

  “They’ll probably want them to blend in.”

  “Not too much. Else they start making allies, talking about where they’re from, what they used to do for a living, family, pets, the good old days. They can’t have that. They’ll be isolated together, close enough not to draw outsider suspicions but able to be placed on lockdown if necessary.”

  Snap had pulled a chair from the office behind them and positioned himself as a lookout, weapon resting but ready in his lap. “How do you know these things?”

  “Part of the old job.”

  “There’re dormitories,” Yama offered.

  Wedge and Norra exchanged a look. “Ransolm could be there,” he said.

  “Ransolm…” Yama murmured. They all looked at her. She looked back with big eyes, and then flushed.

  “Do you recognize the name?” Wedge said, breath bated.

  “Prisoner 876549C.”

  “Are you sure?” Norra asked.

  “I have an eidetic memory. That’s why they put me in Records. Officer Bratt never asked why they would assign him a fifteen-year-old cadet, so I never told him. But I remember everything. Always have.”

  “And you are saying that Prisoner 876549C is Ransolm Casterfo? He’s definitely here?” Part of Wedge had doubted they’d find the man, despite what Leia believed. She had been guessing, after all. Following a hunch based on a few letters and half-guesses. But he should have known a hunch from Leia was always more than a hunch, and here was the confirmation.

  “I saw him,” the girl confirmed. “He was assigned to sewage pipe fitting in the shipyard.”

  “Do you know where that is?” Norra asked.

  She shook her head no.

  “But I do,” Nasz said. She held the datapad up. “That part’s not encrypted.” It took her a few moments to find what she was looking for, but she found it. “Hmm…”

  Wedge walked over to look at the screen. “What did you find?”

  “No Ransolm, obviously, and no Prisoner 876549C. But there’s a new hire that was added to the detail this morning, and is being housed in…” She punched a few more buttons. “Dormitory F.”

  “Dormitory F is closed for renovations,” the girl said, sounding puzzled. “I walk by it on my way to the office. No one’s housed there right now.”

  Nasz looked up, grinning, and Wedge returned the smile.

  “We got him.”

  ONCE AGAIN, LEIA FOUND herself gazing out of the windows of Yendor’s library that she had turned into a war room. It had become a favorite spot rather quickly. There was something peaceful about the view, the expanse of desert that stretched out for kilometers before her, seemingly empty but no doubt teeming with life, great and small. Desert rodents, birds, and the myriad insects th
at lived in the sparse landscape. Secret flowers that bloomed only at night, succulents bursting with moisture, roots that ran deep below the dry ground seeking out the underground waters. All of it hidden, but very much alive.

  The metaphor was not lost on her. Roots for the Resistance were exactly what she was hoping to plant herself. Here, or somewhere else. With these companions, old and new, or perhaps others. She didn’t know. But she knew in the end it wouldn’t be her choice. Life had not given her many choices beyond the edict to survive. So she did. Knowing that it was her purpose to survive what came next, and what came after that, and after that. And as long as she woke up the next day and did something to feed and water and nurture those roots, then it was a good day.

  “Leia.”

  She turned from the view to find Yendor waiting patiently for her attention, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Sorry,” she said. “My mind was somewhere else. How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not long,” he demurred. “And I’ve always loved this view. It’s one of the reasons I took this post.”

  “It is lovely,” she agreed. “And peaceful. At least until I showed up.” She gestured to the center of the room where the table and holo were. Even now a handful of people milled about, datapads in hand or studying star maps and logistics and whatever else Rieekan, Orrimaarko, and the others had set up.

  Yendor shrugged. “It was getting boring out here in the desert. Besides, we’ve been over this.”

  “I know,” she said, raising a hand. “I’m just aware of how much we’ve imposed.”

  Yendor smiled. “I thought that’s what royalty did. Impose.”

  “Generals, too,” she said, teasing.

  “Of course, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He gestured to the door. “Someone else has been waiting to talk to you, too.”

  Leia peered in the direction he had pointed. “Rey?”

  Despite the distance, the girl heard her and perked up. She waved.

  Leia shook her head, amused. She was still surprised that Rey had asked to stay behind on Ryloth. She thought for sure that she would have wanted to accompany Finn and Poe on their mission, or at the very least join Wedge’s rescue team. After all, she was a formidable asset. But Rey had come to her, hot off a conversation with Finn, saying she had a feeling that she would be needed here, with Leia. Leia had taken one long look in her eyes and agreed. She didn’t know what Rey felt, but she knew to respect it, just as she had learned to respect her own premonitions. Nevertheless, Rey had to be anxious; all the waiting wasn’t pleasant for any of them.

  “Excuse me,” she said to Yendor before walking toward the door. Rey met her halfway. They stopped in front of the holo table.

  “General Organa,” she said.

  Leia thought to correct her, to remind her once again to call her Leia, but she had corrected her half a dozen times already. General it would be. “Is there something wrong, Rey?”

  She chewed at her lip.

  “Spit it out,” Leia said.

  “How are the missions going?” she asked hurriedly. “Finn and Poe, the Bracca retrieval, the prisoner rescue? Everything all right?”

  Leia narrowed her eyes. “As far as I know. Why do you ask? Are you…?”

  Rey nodded. She took a deep breath before pressing on. “I have that feeling again. I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t and…” She looked lost.

  “Rey,” Leia said gently, a notion of understanding leading her words. “You and I, we have something special. Something that means feelings aren’t just feelings. Do you understand?”

  Rey nodded. “The Force,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

  “So you better tell me.”

  “That’s just it,” she said, frustration bubbling over. “I can’t! Because I’m not sure what it means. It’s just…a feeling.”

  Leia studied her face. The girl was close, so close to something big. Bigger than Leia, maybe even Luke, if that was possible. But Leia knew that she wasn’t the one to ultimately get her there; that would be someone else. Nevertheless, she would do what she could for Rey while she could.

  “Let’s check in on the missions, then, shall we? See if there’s any news.”

  Rey sagged, relieved.

  They made their way over to the communications console where Rose and Connix sat. Each had their headphones draped around their respective necks, eyes busily studying the boards in front of them. R2-D2 was there, too, and he beeped a greeting that Leia returned with a nod. She leaned in over Rose’s shoulder.

  “Any news?”

  Rose startled. “General Organa!” she said in a rush. She sat up straighter, pulling the headphones away and setting them on the console. “I didn’t see you,” she confessed. She gave a small smile to Rey. “Hi!”

  “Hi,” Rey said with a nod.

  “Any word from Bracca or Corellia?” Leia asked.

  “Zay checked in at oh nine hundred hours. She said they had made planetfall and Dross Squadron was headed to their rendezvous point with their contact from the guild.”

  “Dross Squadron?” Leia asked, amused. “One guess who came up with that name. Did she report any problems?”

  “No. I mean, negative. All seemed to be going smoothly. But she said their away team would be out of comlink contact for a while. Something about interference on the planet’s surface.”

  “Good.” She turned to Connix. “What about the Corellian teams?”

  “Team One has landed and is at the auction,” she said. “They’re out of comlink contact, as well, but for safety reasons. Seems there’s a substantial First Order presence where they are. But I’m monitoring that here.” She pointed to four small blinking red lights on the screen.

  “So do we know if the auction’s started?”

  “We do,” Rose said. “We had a communication from Maz Kanata.”

  “Did she report any problems?”

  “None so far.”

  “And the other Corellian team?”

  “No word from Corellian Team Two, either,” Connix said. “But the minute I hear something, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you,” Leia said. She turned to Rey. “Does that help?”

  “Yes,” Rey said. “But I still feel something. I can’t explain it.” She paused, mouth open as if searching for the right words, but finally shook her head, giving up. “I can’t explain it,” she repeated.

  “That’s okay,” Leia said gently. “When you do know, come find me and we’ll—”

  Rey jerked her head up. Her voice was soft with terror. “They’re here!”

  A proximity alarm blared through the room. Massive metal doors thundered down over the glass windows, quickly obscuring the desert view.

  “All hands!” Yendor shouted from across the room. “Sound the alarm. The First Order is here. We’re under attack!”

  “SCATTER!” SHRIV SHOUTED, BUT for Wesson, it was too late. He watched the indigo-haired pilot drop with a blaster shot to her ribs. Raidah screamed. Shriv cursed and dived to his left, his own blaster firing as his shoulder slammed into a thick metal post. He winced at the pain, ducking down behind the limited cover. The others on his team did the same, taking shelter behind the wide steel columns that lined the corridor. It was weak refuge, and they were still too exposed, but so were the stormtroopers. Both sides were taking fire at close quarters, but the stormtroopers were more exposed on the open platform. Dross Squadron had better cover, as meager as it was. A small advantage, but Shriv was grateful for small things.

  He shot, taking out a trooper. He looked around frantically for some kind of exit. Their only hope was to move farther down the hallway into the unknown. He shuddered, remembering the metal-eating creature’s mouth and wondering which he would prefer—dying by blasterfire or being a monster’s lunch. He was
pretty sure it was blasterfire, but then Stronghammer cried out, and Shriv’s attention shifted across the hall to where the remaining members of Dross Squadron were pinned. The big pilot had taken a hit to his leg and was down on one knee, clearly in pain. Pacer was trying to pull him back out of direct fire, but there was nowhere safe. They were stuck, and it was only a matter of time before the First Order picked them off, one by one.

  “Fall back!” he shouted, although what good it would do them, he wasn’t sure. He caught Pacer’s gaze and yelled it again, but the young pilot shook his head and motioned frantically toward the troopers. Shriv turned just in time to watch a stormtrooper pitch forward, helmet shot through with a heavy arrow.

  “What in the depths of Mustafar…?” Shriv murmured as another trooper went down with an arrow through the head. And then the entire platoon seemed to realize they were being attacked from the rear and turned to face the new threat. Which allowed Shriv and the others to do the picking off, and just like that the tide turned from impossible to winning. Between Dross Squadron and their mysterious bow-wielding allies, they made quick work of the First Order forces.

  Pacer was the first to venture forward, well before Shriv could counsel him to caution. A handful of guild Scrappers materialized through the smoke, weaving between the bodies of dead stormtroopers. Four of them were holding modified bowcasters that looked like they were meant for setting anchors for zipline cables, not shooting people, and Shriv put the puzzle pieces together.

  The woman greeting Pacer was short like him and wore her thick black hair in a straight bowl cut that circled her brown face like a cowl. Her expression was set in grim lines, and Shriv surmised that this must be the sister—and that Pacer’s intensity must be a family trait.