Star Wars Rebels

by Michael Kogge

  Ezra wished that this, too, was a joke. It wasn’t. Kanan popped the hatch and the ramp lowered into a blizzard of blaster bolts. On the platform meters below, a stormtrooper squad had spotted the Ghost and commenced firing at it.

  Kanan leapt out first, triggering his blaster as he went, followed by Sabine, Zeb, and then, with a swallow, Ezra.

  The Ghost let loose its cannon, dispersing the troopers and allowing the jumpers to land safely on the platform. Ezra got off a few shots of his slingshot, then joined the others behind some mining crates. From there he saw the Wookiees being held prisoner beyond a line of shipping containers.

  Kanan gave him the nod to proceed. There was no going back now. They were relying on Ezra to do his job, as he was relying on them to provide him cover from being blasted. The mission’s success hinged on trusting each other—something that ran counter to what had kept Ezra alive in the past. Trusting strangers had only gotten him into trouble. Yet Sabine, Kanan, Hera, Chopper—even Zeb—weren’t exactly strangers anymore. And there was no way a lone operator could accomplish this mission. It required a team, one in which he played a vital part.

  Ezra ran toward the Wookiees.

  Gunfire opened up all around him. He ducked and rolled, weaving between crates for cover, dodging blaster bolts by millimeters. Strangely enough, he wasn’t afraid. He seemed to know the safest path instinctively and focused his gaze not on his surroundings but on the Wookiees who needed rescue. A giant silverback, whom Ezra had learned during the mission briefing was Wullffwarro, tried to break his binders while one cub looked at Ezra with bright, hopeful eyes.

  It was that hope that pushed Ezra further. He snaked through mining equipment, darted across an empty stretch, then clambered up onto a shipping container and leapfrogged down the line. Blaster fire whizzed past him as he dropped in front of Wullffwarro.

  The silverback Wookiee towered over him and growled, not in the least bit friendly. “Hey, hey, I’m here to help,” Ezra said.

  He pulled out his astromech arm and inserted its manipulator into Wullffwarro’s binders. The manipulator fine-tuned itself and transmitted the proper codes to unlock the binders. Wullffwarro roared his pleasure once freed.

  Ezra continued through the rest of the group, freeing Wookiee after Wookiee. Their cries of gratitude swiftly shifted to cries of battle as they stampeded the stormtroopers from behind.

  The Imperials proved no match for berserker Wookiees, whose punches shattered armor and sent troopers screaming over the platform. The ones who didn’t meet a Wookiee’s fist were hit by the rebels’ blaster fire instead. Soon the stormtrooper squad was no more and Ezra was running with the Wookiees toward the Ghost, hovering over the edge of the platform. The rebels joined them. Kanan gave Ezra a nod of approval.

  Against all odds, this mission was going to succeed. Ezra had been wrong in thinking otherwise. Teamwork could do wonders.

  Then four TIE fighters soared out of the pit.

  A collective gasp was drowned out in a flood of lasers. Ezra dove. The TIEs blasted the platform, causing it to shake. Containers exploded. One shot penetrated the Ghost’s shields. The freighter wobbled and spun, and its forward laser cannon smoked, knocked out of commission.

  “The aft guns, Hera—get Chopper to use the Phantom!” Kanan shouted into his comlink.

  The Phantom, Ezra had discovered on his self-guided tour of the Ghost, was the auxiliary craft attached to the Ghost’s tail section. It featured twin laser cannons that could be used as an extra pair of guns if circumstances arose. This was one of those circumstances.

  Hera must have already sent Chopper into the Phantom, because its guns responded almost immediately. Struck in a wing, one TIE spiraled back down into the pit.

  It was replaced by something far more menacing—a boxy Imperial transport, rising out of the abyss on its repulsors and unleashing a barrage of laser fire.

  The Ghost zoomed off, pursued by the three TIEs. Without access to an escape vessel, everyone on the platform scattered, searching for cover from the transport’s cannons. Ezra crouched behind a crate and peeked over the side.

  The transport landed on the platform and its bay doors opened. Agent Kallus emerged with another squad of stormtroopers.

  “Take them down!” Kallus ordered.

  The troopers rushed out, blasters blazing, while the little Wookiee cub meandered about in the middle of the platform, binders still on his wrists. Ezra pounded the crate in frustration. The cub hadn’t been in the line of Wookiees he’d freed.

  Wullffwarro leapt out from behind his cover, raising his arms and yowling. He ran toward the cub, whom Ezra guessed from the mission briefing must be his son, Kitwarr. But he didn’t even make it a few paces before a bolt struck him in the shoulder. The big Wookiee fell to the platform floor. He moaned, hurt but alive.

  Zeb rushed out to the Wookiee’s side—and without thinking about it, so did Ezra. Kanan and Sabine shot at the troopers as Ezra helped the Lasat lift the dazed Wookiee to his feet.

  “He’ll be okay. I’ve got him,” Zeb said.

  Wullffwarro let out a pained growl. He wanted to keep going. Stormtroopers dashed after the Wookiee cub.

  But what could Ezra do? He couldn’t charge a platoon of stormtroopers. That truly would be suicide. The cub would have to look out for himself.

  Ezra ran back to the crates.

  A fireball erupted in the sky, showering pieces of a TIE onto the platform. Normally, Kanan would consider that a positive development. But the Ghost still had two TIEs on its tail, peppering it at close range with lasers, making it impossible for Hera to execute a proper pickup.

  “I can’t maintain position,” Hera said, sounding strained over the comlink.

  “Go. Lead the TIEs away and give yourself maneuvering room,” Kanan replied. He kept firing at the troopers, giving Zeb cover to drag the wounded Wookiee behind the stack of crates. His efforts did little to thin the enemy ranks. The more troopers he and Sabine picked off, the more came forward. The only thing dwindling was his ammunition pack.

  He looked around for inspiration of any kind. Something drastic needed to be done, or everybody was going to die very, very soon.

  “I’m not leaving you behind,” Hera said on his comlink.

  “No, you’re not,” Kanan said. Nearby, a large shipping container lay open, having not yet been loaded with spice. “We’re running a twenty-two pickup.”

  Sabine turned her helmet toward him. “Seriously?”

  “You have a better option?” Kanan asked.

  “Yeah,” Zeb said. Having leaned Wullffwarro against a crate, he trained his bo-rifle at the troopers. “Jump into the pit and get it over with?”

  Kanan didn’t dispute the suggestion. It would be what they’d have to do if what he had in mind didn’t work.

  The Ghost burned its engines, jetting into the sky. The TIEs circled and followed. “All right, I’ll be back,” Hera commed. “Make sure you’re ready.”

  Kanan let out a breath. No one could be ready for what he was about to do. Especially not himself.

  Ezra came up beside him. “Twenty-two pickup? Can you let me in on the secret?”

  “Kid, I’m about to let everyone in on the secret.” Kanan assessed the battlefield one last time, then holstered his dying blaster and sprung over the crates to land on the other side.

  Avoiding enemy fire, he unclipped two cylinders from his belt. They fit together as perfectly as they had when he had first constructed his lightsaber under the tutelage of Master Billaba, more than a decade and a half earlier.

  Today, upon activation, the lightsaber produced a blue blade that blazed brighter than it had at any other time in that decade and a half. The stormtroopers ceased fire, as did Sabine, Zeb, and even Agent Kallus. All beheld Kanan in stunned silence.

  Standing in the middle of the battlefield, with a hundred blasters pointed at him, Kanan opened himself fully to the Force.

  He expected it to flood through him like a dam
being released, as it had been a long time since he had completely freed himself to its light. He felt nothing of the kind. Instead, his heart calmed and his mind eased. The relief that came was subtle, subdued, like a gentle breeze that cooled on a hot day. A touch, a whisper, a sense of peace. He began to relax.

  A web appeared before him, invisible but perceptible, linking all the beings on the battlefield to him, his life, his actions, his...destiny. Future and past events came to him in glimpses and sensations, none he understood, other than that he played a part in them—if he wanted. He could just as easily walk away and refuse.

  The Masters at the Temple had often lectured about accepting your destiny. To Kanan, destiny had seemed a fixed matter. Its very nature implied that your future was defined, that you were a puppet acting out choices that had already been made for you. Yet upon seeing the web, how it moved and twirled and spun based on an infinite array of actions, Kanan realized he’d been wrong. Destiny wasn’t a fixed matter. Destiny was a choice, a confidence, a belief. Perhaps all the Masters had meant was that by accepting your destiny you accepted yourself.

  His friends on the Ghost had accepted themselves, while Kanan had been the one who had not. He’d hidden behind the lie that if he revealed himself, he’d put them all in grave danger. But they were already in danger, going toe-to-toe with the Empire. His friends gave their all to the fight, unafraid of what they might have to sacrifice. They needed Kanan to do the same. He couldn’t fear what the Empire might do to him or them. The best way for him to protect their lives was to employ all the talents and skills at his disposal.

  It was to use the Force.

  Though he hadn’t always been one with the Force, the Force had always been with him. He couldn’t run away from it. He couldn’t deny it any longer. He couldn’t deny himself from himself.

  Nor would the Imperial agent let him. “All troopers,” Kallus said. “Focus your fire on...the Jedi.”

  Kanan Jarrus raised his lightsaber in salute. A Jedi he had been. A Jedi he would be.

  “Whoa,” gasped Ezra.

  Alone in the middle of the battlefield, Kanan Jarrus ducked, dodged, and deflected the blaster storm directed at him. He seemed to know when and from where each bolt was coming, jumping in the air at the right moment, curving his body to the perfect angle, or slashing his sword just in time. More than a few troopers crumpled, recipients of shots that Kanan deflected off his blade. Without even engaging in hand-to-hand combat, this one man—this Jedi—was holding off an entire platoon of stormtroopers.

  Ezra stood there gawking, and the Wookiees didn’t fail to notice, either. They picked up fallen blasters and joined the fight, roaring rage.

  Kanan would have none of it. “Zeb, Sabine, get the Wookiees out of there—time to go!”

  Zeb pulled a couple of Wookiees back from the battle. “Everyone, into the container!” He went to help the limping Wullffwarro, whose long, shaggy arm pointed toward the catwalk that connected platforms. Kitwarr hadn’t been caught, but a stormtrooper was getting close. Wullffwarro bellowed in despair.

  Ezra might not have understood the Wookiee language, but he knew when a father was imploring someone to rescue his child. And Ezra was the only one near enough to do it.

  While the others hurried toward the containers, Ezra looked at Kanan. Though growing fatigued, the ponytailed man kept up his acrobatic defense against the stormtroopers. He had not flinched facing such odds. He was willing to sacrifice himself to save these prisoners, to save his friends, to save Ezra.

  “If all you do is fight for your own life,” Hera had once said, “then your life’s worth nothing.”

  Ezra began a mad dash toward the catwalk and Kitwarr.

  “Kid, stop!”

  Zeb’s cry reached deaf ears. The boy zigzagged through the crates and containers around the battlefield. Fortunately, he escaped the notice of the stormtroopers, who concentrated their fire on Kanan. Yet one set of Imperial eyes did see him: Agent Kallus turned from the fight to pursue.

  Struggling to bring the stubborn Wullffwarro to the container, Zeb could not leave him to help the kid. “Karabast! I swear if he’s left behind again, it’s not my fault.”

  He knew Hera, Kanan, and Sabine wouldn’t see it that way.

  Another explosion lit the sky. Zeb hoped it wasn’t the Ghost, though he couldn’t tell at that distance. He shoved Wullffwarro inside the container, then spun around to give the stormtroopers a bo-rifle melody of his own.

  In another gravity-defying leap, Kanan soared over the stack of crates to land on the other side. “Zeb, Hera’s incoming!” He continued to block blaster bolts as he backpedaled toward the container. Sabine fired away, doing the same.

  The explosion must’ve been one of the TIEs—which meant this crazy pickup might actually work. Zeb yelled at the Wookiees who had balked at quitting the fight. “Get in, you fur balls—now!”

  The reluctant Wookiees got in, as did he and Sabine. Kanan entered last, whirling his blade to deflect stormtrooper fire. Zeb scanned the crowd inside. Everyone was there—everyone except Ezra and the cub. They hadn’t made it back yet.

  “Kanan, I think you inspired the kid to do, well, something you would do.” Zeb indicated the catwalk in the distance, where Ezra chased after the stormtrooper and the cub.

  The calm determination with which Kanan had confronted hundreds of stormtroopers cracked like a mask. He stood in the container hatch, lightsaber in hand, startled.

  If Zeb knew of something that could’ve been done, he would’ve suggested it. But the Ghost would be there in a matter of seconds, as would the advance of stormtroopers. “Kanan?” Zeb pressed his friend.

  “Seal the container,” Kanan said with a sigh.

  Zeb nodded and grabbed the container’s hatch doors.

  Kitwarr ran from the stormtrooper. The bridge over the pit was long and he was getting tired. His body wasn’t made for running. It was made for climbing. Yet with binders on his wrists, he couldn’t get a grip on anything.

  Then one of the TIE fighters spiraled down from the sky, crashing into the bridge in a fiery ball. Metal rumpled, supports ripped free, and the section of the bridge Kitwarr was headed down began to collapse. Kitwarr skidded to a stop, right at the edge, nowhere else to go.

  He turned, finding that the stormtrooper was catching up to him. The stormtrooper had a gun in his hand, pointed at Kitwarr. Other troopers had done the same to his father and his father’s friends. They wanted to hurt all Wookiees. He didn’t understand why. What had Wookiees ever done to them?

  Behind the stormtrooper, Kitwarr also spotted a human boy racing toward them. He looked like the same boy who had freed his father. Maybe the boy had a key for his binders. Maybe he could free Kitwarr. Kitwarr wanted to be free. He wanted to climb. The bridge floor beneath him was rumbling. It was going to crack soon. He cried out to the boy, pleading for help.

  The stormtrooper turned and raised his gun at the boy. Kitwarr felt bad. He shouldn’t have cried. He had alerted the trooper. The boy was human, but he had helped Kitwarr’s father. Now the boy was going to get hurt.

  The boy jumped. He jumped high in the air, somersaulting over the Imperial stormtrooper. It was amazing. Not even Kitwarr’s father could jump like that.

  The boy landed in front of Kitwarr. He winked, then turned toward the trooper and lifted his arm. Out popped what Kitwarr recognized as a slingshot, since he’d made many himself with twigs and rubbery vine. The boy’s was made out of metal, and instead of rocks, it fired three energy balls.

  All three shots hit the stormtrooper, knocking him back. The man stumbled, tried to raise his blaster again, but lost his balance and plunged over the bridge railing.

  Kitwarr closed his eyes. He didn’t like the thought of anyone falling—not even an Imperial stormtrooper—without being able to grab a branch.

  The boy scooped Kitwarr up. “Gotcha.”

  Kitwarr felt safe in the boy’s arms. He wasn’t going to fall. The boy had started
to unlock his wrists, as he had done for his father. Kitwarr smiled and opened his eyes.

  A man in gray walked down the bridge toward them. Unlike the stormtroopers, his face wasn’t masked under his helmet. And he wasn’t smiling.

  Sabine would have much to argue about with Zeb after this was over. First of all, there was the matter of the kid, whom yet again he had let out of his sight. Then there were the Wookiees. Though Zeb hated the comparison, she thought they differed little from the Lasat. Excluding the Wookiees’ fur, the two species were similar—tall, ungainly, and maddeningly stubborn. The Wookiees refused to follow her instructions to move and growled at her as she tried to push them to distribute their weight across the container.

  She didn’t bother asking Kanan for help. He leaned against a wall, eyes closed, looking utterly drained. He had earned a moment of rest after a performance in combat that rivaled those of the greatest Mandalorian warriors.

  The container’s ceiling clanged, much louder than the stormtrooper blaster bolts that pinged the walls from outside. The Ghost had landed atop the container. Sabine stopped pushing. The Wookiees would learn in a second why she had gone to so much trouble to move them.

  “Magnetic seal locked,” Hera said over the comm.

  Zeb looked in Sabine’s direction. “I hate this part.”

  The Ghost lifted the container off the ground and then took off at high speed. Yelping and yowling, all the Wookiees lurched into each other, one falling into Zeb.

  Sabine stayed on her feet. The sight of Wookiees tumbling over each other would generally have made her laugh. Not today, not after what had just happened. As much as she might hate to admit it, she’d grown fond of the kid. She’d miss him pestering Zeb to no end.

  The upper hatch opened into the Ghost’s cargo bay. Kanan sprang through it. Sabine wished she could use her jet pack to do the same. But she had work to do.

  “Into the ship,” she yelled to the Wookiees. The Ghost turned on its side and sent the Wookiees tumbling toward the upper hatch, making her job easier.