The bolts had come from the direction of the ridge. He’d only ever seen a sniper eliminate a squad so quickly once before.
Thank you, Baze, he thought, and sprinted for the turbolift. “Come on,” he called at Jyn. “Come on!”
He snapped off three shots as more stormtroopers poured onto the landing pad. He didn’t see whether he hit his targets; instead he glanced over to Jyn. She was looking toward her father.
When she turned back to Cassian, there was ice in her eyes. But she ran with him.
Soon they were on the canyon floor, splashing through puddles and kicking stones behind their heels. Endless barrages of crimson bolts strobed down from the landing pad. As Cassian and Jyn rounded the base of a rocky pillar, more particle blasts sounded behind them. Cassian tried to raise K-2 on his comlink and failed. He spoke Baze and Chirrut’s names into the comlink before remembering they had no comms at all.
He caught sight of the stormtroopers in the canyon fanning out, taking a hunting formation. On familiar ground, Cassian might have eluded them. But he could barely see a stone’s throw ahead and he would glow like a beacon to any heat sensors. Without a reprieve, he and Jyn would both be dead soon enough.
“The starfighters,” Jyn said, with gravel in her voice. “Can you call them back?”
Her hair was plastered to her face. Streaks of ash covered her cheeks and chin. She looked like she’d stepped out of her own cremation to take vengeance on the world that had done her wrong.
“I can’t,” Cassian said. “They’re gone.”
“But they’re Alliance?” It sounded like an accusation more than a question. “They’re yours.”
“They don’t take my orders,” Cassian said, “and I don’t have a way to contact them. They can’t save us.” He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, couldn’t guess what she might fixate on next in her distress. “We’re on our own, Jyn.”
A volley of blaster bolts sparked against the rock nearby. Jyn looked impassively past Cassian at the ghostly troops in white armor.
A sudden roar and a blast of wind nearly smashed Cassian against the stone. Rising above the crest of a ridge, diving toward Cassian and Jyn came an Imperial shuttle—not the one Cassian had seen on the platform, but a worn and battered Zeta-class vessel built for cargo hauling. It rode the storm winds like a boat bobbing in a whirlpool, yet it steadied as it came closer to ground. Laser cannons twitched on its undercarriage, acquiring targets, and spat toward the soldiers in the mist. Stormtroopers cried out and fell in burning heaps.
Cassian wanted to laugh. To shout.
The shuttle’s boarding ramp screeched as it descended from the hovering ship, metal sheeting singing in the wind. A voice came from inside: “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Silhouetted against the interior light was Bodhi, waving frantically.
Cassian and Jyn ran together and clambered up the ramp. Bodhi was grinning broadly, but when he saw Jyn—somber, implacable—his face fell. Cassian felt the ship lift beneath him and turned around, nearly stumbling out the door and peering through the shroud of rain.
He saw what he was looking for and cried toward the cockpit, “Wait, wait, Kay!”
Chirrut was scrambling down a rock slope, tapping at the ground with his staff in one hand and carrying his ornate lightbow in the other. Baze followed, twisting his torso and never lowering his cannon as he watched for pursuit. Both men burst up the ramp and into the bay of the cargo shuttle.
Cassian eyed Chirrut’s lightbow with newfound appreciation. “You take out a TIE fighter with that thing?”
“Don’t praise him,” Baze growled, chest heaving with breath. “You’re lucky he didn’t hit you.”
Bodhi threw a switch and the ramp began to close. As he raced for the cockpit ladder he called, “Kay-Tu, all aboard! Let’s go!”
“Copy you,” the droid’s voice returned faintly. “Launching and away.”
The cabin shook as the shuttle lifted out of the canyon, banked around an outcropping, and began a rapid ascent skyward. A series of distant, thunderous blasts—some clipped and clustered together, others protracted—followed. The laboratory, Cassian thought. The fires had found the kyber crystals, or some other volatile material onsite.
That limited the likelihood of pursuit, at least.
As the sounds of the storm and the destruction faded away, the shuttle steadied. They were leaving the atmosphere. Cassian slumped against the cargo webbing to catch his own breath and felt the exuberance of escape replaced by fatigue. He looked to Baze and Chirrut and saw that both wore bleak expressions.
They were expecting Galen Erso.
Bodhi almost certainly had been, too.
Cassian didn’t look at Jyn at all.
—
Krennic woke to the taste of dust and smoke, immediately coughing and expelling a black wad of phlegm.
He was aboard his shuttle, strapped into a seat. Pterro, his aide, knelt beside him. Krennic waved away a question about his health and tried to piece together how he’d arrived. He remembered the torpedo blast. He’d made it to the shuttle before blacking out.
“The rebels,” he growled. “An assassination attempt?”
“Yes, sir,” Pterro replied. “Spotters on the ground and an X-wing squadron, so far as we can tell.”
Something troubled Krennic about that summary—he felt the absence of some element like a missing tooth, caught a flash of dark hair and felt a long-forgotten hitch in his shoulder—but it was a problem for later. He continued reviewing the jumble of images in his mind. “Galen Erso?” he asked.
“He didn’t survive the attack, sir.”
Krennic’s jaw tightened. For an instant the smell of ashes was overpowering, flooding his brain until nausea and vertigo assailed him.
You’ll never win.
But he had won, or close enough. Galen had admitted to treason—though of course he’d needed Krennic to play the role of oppressor. As he had on Lah’mu, Galen had arranged a scenario in which they would walk away hero and villain; in which Galen could wrap himself in righteous outrage when he began the work anew.
Only Galen really hadn’t walked away this time.
The X-wing pilots had given Krennic revenge without reconciliation. He might have still used Galen somehow, albeit under close watch. Now he would remember the man not as a brilliant scientist but as wasted potential; as little more than Wilhuff Tarkin’s cat’s-paw.
Krennic coughed as dust and bile rose again in his throat. He waved off Pterro’s aid, dragged his gloved fingers over his face, and stilled himself. Maybe Galen’s death was for the best, he thought. There were degrees of treason, and some could never be forgiven.
“Sir?”
Pterro was standing over him, the corner of his mouth quivering.
“Spit it out, man,” Krennic growled. He’d lost enough time to unconsciousness on a very busy day.
“We received new orders while you were occupied,” Pterro said. Again, he hesitated. “You’ve been ordered to Mustafar. Lord Vader wants to speak with you.”
Darth Vader?
The Emperor’s right hand and executioner. Ally of Wilhuff Tarkin. A summons from Vader boded poorly, but the meeting might also be the opportunity Krennic needed.
“Set a course.” Krennic shrugged. “We don’t want to keep his lordship waiting.”
He looked down at himself and straightened his uniform with a tug. He noted black smudges from smoke and charred metal, a patch of red where someone—probably him—had bled. He wondered if he would have time to clean up before arriving.
Or maybe Lord Vader would respect a man who’d seen combat.
SUPPLEMENTAL DATA: BATTLE STATION ENGINEERING NOTES
[Document #YM3884L (“Waste Radiation Distribution Solutions”), timestamped approximately eighteen months prior to Operation Fracture, sent from Engineerin
g Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]
Erso:
I had the droids generate a new Systems Safety and Compatibility Report incorporating your team’s proposed adjustments to the reactor core. The new plans triggered a dozen subsystem warnings and spat out one blazing red stain on the line labeled “Hypermatter Annihilator Unit.” I didn’t bother asking my astromech how bad that could be—a redline on a critical system speaks for itself.
Why are we even making reactor modifications this late in the game?
Have your engineers check their work better next time. Suffice to say, no changes are approved.
[Document #YM3884M (“Reply to Waste Radiation Distribution Solutions”), sent from Galen Erso to Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran.]
Vodran:
Sincere apologies. I fully agree that this is unacceptable. The modifications are intended to reduce primary weapon recharge times to satisfactory levels (I’m sure you saw Tarkin’s directive) but sloppy work is sloppy work.
I assume you alerted Director Krennic to the report as well?
More as soon as I’ve spoken with my team.
[Document #YM3884N (“Reply to Waste Radiation Distribution Solutions”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]
Director Krennic is copied on all SSCRs, but if he wants oversight on these particular modifications, it’s your responsibility to brief him on your problems.
[Document #YM3884O (“Reply to Waste Radiation Distribution Solutions”), sent from Galen Erso to Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran.]
Vodran:
I alerted the director personally, at your suggestion.
I also spoke to my team and we identified the problem. The reactor core modifications are resulting in radiation buildup, which in turn has the potential of interfering with the hypermatter annihilator.
The buildup is caused by the inner shield actively reflecting excess particles and metaphorically “cooking” the reactor core. Had the shielding team’s research not been so heavily compartmentalized this might have been avoided.
Nonetheless:
The reactor core modifications must remain as-is. Therefore, we are left with three possible ways of avoiding radiation buildup.
Option one: construction of a particle funnel and recycler. This is known and tested technology. I am confident it will function. Physical requirements mean the recycler would need to replace existing noncritical mechanisms under the northern command sector, but I estimate the needed disassembly would take under two weeks.
Option two: further refinement of our reactor technology to reduce waste particles. I have several team members keen on this possibility. They are excited about the potential for a technological breakthrough.
Option three: construction of manual venting shafts and thermal exhaust ports. This should reduce particle buildup to within tolerances but not to a degree I find personally acceptable. In addition, adding venting shafts risks additional incompatibilities with noncritical systems.
Please alert me if you have concerns.
[Document #YM3884P (“Reply to Waste Radiation Distribution Solutions”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]
I oversaw construction of the northern command sector myself. Tarkin has already toured the facilities. If the particle funnel and recycler can’t go anywhere else, stick with options two and three.
You might want to give Krennic the final decision. He’s concerned about the timetable.
[Document #YM3884Q (“Particle Buildup”), sent from Galen Erso to Advanced Weapons Research Director Orson Krennic.]
Director:
As we discussed, attached are preliminary reports on two methods for reducing particle buildup. I made my preferences clear in person, but I defer to your judgment.
[Document #YM3884R (“Reply to Particle Buildup”), sent from Advanced Weapons Research Director Orson Krennic to Galen Erso.]
Galen:
New research and technological development is out of the question at this juncture. Work up a full proposal for the exhaust port solution and send the plans to Vodran for SSCR.
[Document #YM3884S (“Venting Shafts”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]
Erso:
What is this trash? The Systems Safety and Compatibility Report quit running after two hundred redlines. I only reviewed the first dozen, but it looks like you’re flooding half the station with radiation?
I thought these venting shafts were supposed to solve the problem.
No changes are approved.
[Document #YM3884T (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Galen Erso to Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran.]
I repeat myself, but: I apologize.
As you know, an engineer may be single-minded in his or her focus on a particular task. I, along with my team, have fallen victim to the sin of hubris.
Of course I should have warned you that your droids might register dangers. The venting shafts are designed to expel the majority of the heat and particle buildup, but some radiation leakage is inevitable. We estimate that human crewmembers stationed in any of fifteen sections would—in the event that the battle station fires the primary weapon three times within one hour—be placed at increased risk for a wide variety of long-term health problems. The SSCR, of course, detected this in those “two hundred redlines.”
I am instructing my team to look into all options. To expedite matters, I must request the use of your droids in running several alternative scenarios.
This will be an inconvenience, I realize, but the safety of the battle station’s crew is paramount.
[Document #YM3884U (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]
Are the command sectors or officer quarters in the affected radiation zones?
[Document #YM3884V (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Galen Erso to Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran.]
No.
[Document #YM3884W (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]
Send me your final plans. I’ll declare the droids in error and override the next SSCR.
I’m not burying Krennic in redline reports while you figure out how to keep a handful of stormtroopers from developing a cough.
[Document #YM3884X (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Galen Erso to Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran.]
That’s not necessary. I’m certain we can resolve this. Even if a technical solution fails, we may be able to alter crew rotation schedules to mitigate any health risks.
[Document #YM3884Y (“Reply to Venting Shafts”), sent from Engineering Operations Manager Shaith Vodran to Galen Erso.]
You may be too obtuse to realize it, Erso, but I’m doing you a favor. This project needed to be done weeks ago.
Send me the final venting shaft and exhaust port plans. I’ll bypass SSCR and submit them for production, manufacturing, and installation.
Changes have been approved.
JYN FELT THE CHILL OF her drenched clothes acutely. She felt everything acutely, as if the dark of the cave that had swallowed her also intensified her senses. Bodhi was giving instructions to K-2SO while climbing down from the cockpit. Baze and Chirrut sat motionless, dripping and somber, their attention on her. Cassian was stripping off his wet gear, dropping jacket and quadnocs and rifle in a pile.
Cassian, who had betrayed her.
When had she figured it out? During the race from the landing platform? When the first X-wings had streaked across the sky?
It didn’t matter. Over the years she’d developed a sense for betrayal. She’d mostly grown numb to it, accepted it as the price of living free among killers and
thieves.
Why had she expected more from the Rebellion?
“You lied to me,” she said to Cassian.
He flinched like a man struck by a blow he’d known was coming. “You’re in shock,” he said. He met her stare, held it as he turned to face her fully. Trying to bring her to heel.
“You went up there to kill my father.”
His answer came instantly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Deny it,” she snapped. And then again, more slowly, “You went up there to kill my father.”
Her father, who hadn’t been a hero or a traitor in the end. Just a frail man she hadn’t had the chance to know. She recognized the pain welling up at the thought and made it hard and sharp as a weapon; it was an old and practiced reconfiguration.
Bodhi was gazing at Cassian as if wounded—but like Cassian, he seemed unsurprised by the accusation. Jyn was confirming something he’d chosen to disbelieve. Baze looked at Cassian with all the disgust he’d shown dead stormtroopers on Jedha.
Chirrut’s head was down. Jyn thought he might have been praying.
“You’re in shock,” Cassian repeated, “and looking for someplace to put it. I’ve seen it before—”
Jyn grinned nastily, rose from her seat as she spat the words: “I bet you have.” She jutted a thumb to one side, toward the others. “They know. You lied about why we came here and you lied about why you went up alone. Alliance starfighters didn’t come to Eadu by coincidence.” She didn’t care if Cassian confessed—not really. Not if she could drive accusations through him like spikes, watch him twist and writhe rather than face the truth. “Maybe you’ve been lying since the rebel base. My father was always just a target for you.”
She could hear water dribbling off clothes and onto the deck in the silence that followed. When Cassian spoke again, he did so slowly, enunciating his words and trembling all the way. “I had your father in my sights. I had every chance to pull the trigger.
Rogue One Page 18
