Star Wars: Ahsoka

by Johnston, E. K.

  “Hey!” Hoban said. “We were working on that.”

  “Could you possibly yell more loudly?” Ahsoka gritted out between clenched teeth. “I don’t think they heard you on Alderaan.”

  Hoban had the sense to look abashed.

  “Ahsoka is right,” Vartan said. “We should be more careful discussing things out in the open.”

  “Where’s Malat?” Ahsoka asked.

  “Packing,” Neera said. “Her husband’s family found them work on Sullust. The Empire’s there, too, of course, but it’s more established. We have no idea what’s going to happen here, and they decided it wasn’t safe, with the kids and all.”

  “It’s a good idea, if you can manage it,” Ahsoka said. “But there’s going to be lots who can’t.”

  “You have a ship,” Kaeden said. “You can leave whenever you want.”

  “My ship has been stolen,” Ahsoka said, and winked. “Who knows where I might find it.”

  “I’m glad you’re staying,” Kaeden said. “I don’t know why, but I get the sense you’re useful in situations like this.”

  Ahsoka smiled at her and turned to look at Kaeden’s sister. “Miara, I have a question about your locks,” she said. “You told me that if anyone broke in, they’d get a shock. What did you mean by that?”

  “I set a small electric charge inside the lock mechanism,” Miara said. “If it’s not disarmed correctly, it delivers a shock that’s strong enough to make a person think twice before stealing your gear. Also, there’s a dye pack rigged to explode when the charge is delivered, so whoever tries it will stand out in a crowd. Why do you ask?”

  Neera was looking at Miara speculatively. Kaeden appeared slightly ill.

  “Could you do it with something other than dye?” Vartan asked. “And could it be a bigger charge?”

  “Of course,” said Miara. “Only then someone might really get hurt instead of…oh.”

  “Let’s hold off on that for now,” Ahsoka said. “We have other things to worry about.”

  “Why wait?” Hoban said. “If we can set explosives, why don’t we just get rid of the Imperials now?”

  “Hoban, keep your voice down.” This time it was Neera who admonished him.

  “All that would do is bring more Imperials, and they’d crack down harder,” Ahsoka told him. “We can’t dislodge them entirely. What we need to do is figure out how to survive while they’re here.”

  “We better work quickly,” Kaeden said.

  There was a commotion at the door, and several uniformed Imperials came in. They glared their way to the bar, where they waited pointedly for the stools to empty. Then they took them over, effectively cutting off Selda from his clientele. The scarred Togruta continued to wipe glasses and arrange them on shelves as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Ahsoka marveled at his apparent nerves of steel.

  “Why do you say that?” Ahsoka asked Kaeden.

  “I heard the overseers talking today,” she said. “They’re going to add two hours to every shift, to get as much work out of us as they can.”

  “There won’t be anything to harvest,” Hoban said, finally keeping his voice down. “We’re almost done, and then we have to wait until the new crops grow.”

  “The Imperials have something to speed that along,” Kaeden said. “They’ll use it, and we’ll be harvesting again before we know it.”

  “I’ve seen them bringing in their own seed,” Miara said. “Whatever we’re planting, it won’t be something we get to keep or sell.”

  “They’ll buy off the overseers,” Ahsoka said. “They’ll give them enough money to go off-world, and then work the rest of us to the bone. I’ve seen things like this before.”

  “Where did you come from?” Neera asked.

  “It’s not important,” Ahsoka said. “You just have to trust me.”

  “We have to blow things up,” said Hoban. “Before they get too organized.”

  “No,” said Ahsoka. “I know it’s going to be hard, but we have to wait.”

  “Why?” Hoban demanded, but before Ahsoka could answer him, there was another disturbance at the front of the bar.

  Tibbola was drunk, even though his shift had ended at the same time as Kaeden’s. Ahsoka hadn’t seen him in weeks, as the laborer made his rounds of the various cantinas and watering holes Raada had to offer. Now, when there were Imperial officers at the bar, he was present, and he was at his worst. Tibbola was cunning enough when he was sober, but this inebriated he was a mess. He’d been glaring at the Imperials ever since they cut him off from the bar. When they blocked his attempt to order another round, he lost what little control he had remaining and tried to muscle his way past them. His blows were clumsy, but he was strong, and enough of his hits landed that the Imperials responded in force. One of them pushed Tibbola back, hard, and Ahsoka knew it was only the opening salvo. The Empire didn’t really do warning shots.

  “You Imperials.” Tibbola’s words were slurred as he stumbled back. Somehow he managed to keep his feet. “Coming to my moon and messing with me. You have no idea what you’re in for.”

  An officer casually punched Tibbola in the gut. It was a hard blow, hard enough that Tibbola went to his knees and vomited everything he’d had to drink but not hard enough to keep him down.

  Tibbola roared insensibly and charged the officer. Ahsoka lunged quickly and blocked Hoban, who would have gone to help, until Neera could pull him back into his chair. Kaeden and Miara watched, horrified, as the officer deflected Tibbola’s attack again. Then, calmly, the officer called out to the stormtroopers who’d been waiting in the street while their superiors drank. They came inside and put their hands on Tibbola’s shoulders, keeping him down for good.

  “The Empire will not tolerate disobedience,” said the officer, more to the others in the cantina than to Tibbola himself.

  Tibbola, in a moment of sobriety, seemed to realize what he’d done. His eyes filled with panic as he cast them around the room, looking for someone to help him. No one moved.

  “No,” he said. “I’m sorry, please!”

  But it was no use. The officer gestured to the stormtrooper who stood closest to the door, and the trooper raised his blaster.

  “Don’t look,” Ahsoka whispered into Kaeden’s ear, and Kaeden pulled her sister’s face down on the table, blocking both their views.

  But it didn’t block the sound of a blaster in close quarters, or the smell of charred flesh. At least it was fast; Tibbola didn’t scream.

  The Imperials stepped over the smoking body and exited the cantina. There was no noise for several moments after they left, except the sounds Miara made as she vomited beside the table.

  “That’s why we have to be careful,” Ahsoka said, looking directly at Hoban when she spoke. His eyes were wide, and she knew he’d listen to her now.

  “Come on, Hoban,” said Vartan. His voice was gray, but determined. “We’ll have to bury him tonight.”

  They picked up the body and carried it out. Neera trailed after them. She looked like she was going to be sick. Ahsoka suspected she’d rather be anywhere else but was reluctant to let her brother out of her sight. Ahsoka didn’t blame her. Once they were gone, she looked back at Kaeden and Miara.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  There was a short pause, and then Miara leaned sharply forward, vomiting again into her empty bowl. Kaeden rubbed her sister’s shoulders, even though her face was as wan as Ahsoka had ever seen it. Selda came over with water for them and some bread so that Miara could get the taste out of her mouth.

  “How can you be so calm?” Miara demanded, her voice high. Ahsoka suspected that the bread was a bit stale and that focusing on chewing it was keeping the girl from full-on hysterics. “Where are you from?”

  “Don’t bug her,” Kaeden said. Her voice was shaky. “Finish that, and we’ll go home.”

  Kaeden wrestled the crokin board back onto the table. While Miara chewed obediently, Kaeden started firing pieces sl
owly, hitting the center target over and over again, even though that wasn’t how the game went. Ahsoka figured it gave her something to focus on.

  “You have to take a piece if it’s there,” Ahsoka mused, looking at the board.

  “What?” Kaeden said.

  “In crokin,” Ahsoka clarified. “You don’t just get to take the shots you want. You have to shoot at your opponent’s pieces. So let’s do that.”

  “Shoot with what?” Miara asked, her mouth full. “We don’t have a lot of blasters.”

  “No,” Ahsoka said. “Not like that. The Imperials want a fast crop. So what you do is slow it down.”

  “How?” Kaeden said. Both sisters looked better now. Ahsoka had successfully distracted them.

  “I have no idea,” Ahsoka said. “I’m not a farmer. But Vartan will know, or one of the other crew leads. You still talk to each other in the fields, right? And it’s more difficult for the Imperials to overhear you there. You can organize yourselves that way. The crew leads will meet to discuss information and then pass it off to their crews.”

  “That’s very smart,” Kaeden said. “And it doesn’t even break the rules. We’re allowed to meet with our crews.”

  “I know. That’s what makes it such a good plan,” Ahsoka said with a wink.

  “What are you going to do?” Miara asked. She swallowed the last mouthful of bread. “There’s a space in our crew if you want it, because Malat’s gone.”

  Ahsoka considered it—she’d be a terrible farmer, and that would surely slow them down plenty—but then she had a better idea.

  “No,” she said. “I’m going to stay a mechanic for now, but I’m going to stop being such a good one. If equipment can’t be fixed, that will only slow you down more.”

  “We have to get moving,” Kaeden said. “It’s almost curfew and we have a bit of a walk.”

  It wasn’t quite that late yet, but Ahsoka hardly needed to press the issue.

  “Be safe,” Ahsoka told them. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be careful when you tell Vartan my suggestion, but let him run with it if he agrees.”

  The sisters nodded and headed for the door. Miara took the long way around the cantina floor to avoid stepping on the place where Tibbola had fallen, and Ahsoka watched as Kaeden let her. Then Ahsoka made her way to the bar. She should be going, too, but she wanted to have a word with Selda before she did. She sat on one of the stools before realizing she didn’t even know what she wanted to talk to him about.

  “That was quick thinking, making sure the girls didn’t see,” Selda said. “I have a feeling you’ve seen too much, yourself.”

  “No argument there,” Ahsoka told him wearily.

  “Be careful, little one,” he said. Ahsoka started to protest, but he raised his real hand and she stopped. “Even if you’re not so little, you’re littler than me.”

  She gave him a smile. It felt absurdly nice to be taken care of. Maybe that was what she needed, even if she didn’t need it very often. Before, when she’d faced death, she’d had Anakin to talk it over with afterward. She’d handled it on her own since then, of course, but that didn’t mean she liked it.

  Selda poured all the leftovers into a container and passed it to her. The seal wasn’t as good as the one on the ration packs, but the food would still keep for several days. Ahsoka walked home quickly, calculating how much food she could lay her hands on and how long it would last, depending on whom she shared it with. She was still doing variations of the equation when she fell asleep.

  ONE WEEK BECAME TWO, and the crops grew slowly. The new Imperial overseers extended the shifts again so the farmers were in the fields for nearly the entirety of Raada’s daylight. They did not increase the food rations or the number of breaks, though they did allow for more water intake. Imperial efficiency at its finest.

  Ahsoka spent her days smuggling food, medical supplies, and water recyclers out to the caves. She had found a networked set in the hills between her original base and where she’d hidden her ship. Selda was her chief supplier in town, though she knew other vendors must have been pitching in, too. She didn’t need to know all the details. She just had to do her part.

  It had taken Vartan and the other experienced hands a while to identify what they were growing. They’d stalled the planting for as long as they possibly could. The plows all broke, and the mechanic was nowhere to be found, but then the Imperials had withheld food altogether and the farmers had gone back to work. The seeds were planted and watered, and now shoots could be seen sticking up from the soil. It was then that Vartan figured out what they were growing.

  “It’s not even real food,” he said, his voice a disgusted whisper as they huddled around the crokin board at Selda’s. “It’s for their wretched nutritional supplements, you know, those things they make the military eat because they’re tasteless and bland but have all the things you need to live in them.”

  “I don’t see why you find that so offensive,” Neera said. “Why do you care what Imperials eat?”

  “Because this particular plant leeches everything from the soil it grows in,” Vartan said. “By the time we harvest, the fields will all be useless dirt. Nothing will grow for seasons, and it’s not like they’re going to pay us anything we can use to buy fertilizer with. The whole moon will be ruined.”

  Kaeden and Miara exchanged worried glances. Raada was the only home they’d ever known, and they had no one else in the galaxy to look out for them. They had nowhere else to go.

  “Are there other fields?” Ahsoka asked, her voice as low and calm as she could make it.

  “No,” Vartan said. “The whole of Raada is nearly useless to begin with. That’s why there was never a Hutt presence or anything like that. We just had the overseers, and they were mostly reasonable, but I think the Empire scared them and they abandoned us.”

  “I can understand that,” Neera said. Hoban glared at her. “I’m not saying I like it, but I understand it. Most of them have families, like Malat. Do you hate her for leaving?”

  Hoban said nothing for a moment, and Ahsoka knew he was trying to stay angry, because the only other option he saw was hopelessness.

  “Can we blow things up yet?” he asked, at last.

  “Did you have something particular in mind?” Ahsoka asked.

  “Do you?” Hoban demanded.

  Ahsoka sighed, and decided it was time to lay all her cards on the table. Or at least most of her cards. If she kept holding out, it was only a matter of time before Hoban did something stupid, and that might put Kaeden and Miara in harm’s way.

  “There are caves out in the hills,” she said. She took a crokin disc off the top of the pile and flicked it toward the center of the board. It landed neatly behind one of the pegs, blocking it from an opponent’s shot.

  “Everyone knows that,” Hoban said. “There are too many to map effectively, and nothing grows out there, so no one goes there.”

  “I go there,” Ahsoka said. “And I take all kinds of interesting things with me.”

  “You’ve been setting up camps?” Kaeden said. “Without telling anyone?”

  “Selda knows,” Neera said. Ahsoka raised an eyebrow and Neera shrugged. “Selda knows everything, and he’s the one who’d be supplying your food, I imagine.”

  “Yes,” Ahsoka said. “But it’s not just food. There are several water recyclers and whatever medical supplies I could scrounge. There’s also a lot of junked-up equipment. You know, sharp blades and circuits you have to be careful not to overload, because they might blow up on you.”

  “But you still want us to wait,” Hoban said. “While our home dies underneath us.”

  “I want you to think,” Ahsoka said.

  “Lay off, Hoban. She’s right,” Neera said. She turned to the board and tried firing a crokin disc. It missed, bouncing off the peg that concealed Ahsoka’s piece.

  “What do you want us to do?” Vartan asked. “We can’t slow down in the fields much more than we already are. The Imperial
s will notice and start withholding food again.”

  “Can you spare Miara and Kaeden for a few days?” Ahsoka asked. “I’d like to take them with me. Miara can start building those bigger locks you talked about, and Kaeden and I can organize the rest of our potential gear. I can fix a machine well enough, but Kaeden’s more familiar with the local geography. She can help me decide where to put it.”

  Vartan looked at the girls and nodded.

  “We’ll tell the Imperials you’re sick, if they ask,” he said. “And we’ll mysteriously forget where you live so they can’t check on you themselves. It’s not much of a cover story, but it’s the best we can do.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Ahsoka said. “We only need a few days to get organized, and then we’ll be able to check in with you again. In the meantime, keep your heads down. We’re all in enough danger as it is.”

  Miara’s gaze turned to the spot on the floor where Tibbola had been gunned down, but Hoban only glared at Ahsoka. If he had any protests to make, he didn’t voice them. Instead, Selda arrived at the table with what passed for a hot dinner under the new Imperial restrictions, and soon everyone was too busy eating to talk.

  Jenneth Pilar sat in his new temporary office and scrolled through the numbers. It was therapeutic, seeing his calculations add up the way he wanted them to, over and over and over again. He was encouraged by the scarcity of errors and the smallness of the margins. He had everything figured out perfectly. Here, in this bare little room on this soon-to-be-bare world, he had calculated life and death and gotten paid for it. Not bad work, all things considered, though the food was terrible.

  Raada was a tedious little place, but it would serve its purpose. The Empire would get what it wanted and then be on its way. The farmers would have their freedom again, for all the good it would do them. They really should have thought of the risks before they became farmers. Jenneth turned a blind eye to his part in their incipient suffering, a privilege that came with never really having suffered.

  He looked out the window at the ordered rows in the fields and then the grasslands beyond them, where nothing useful could grow. Beyond that were the low-lying hills that made up the rest of the moon’s surface—rocky, useless, and probably cold once the sun went down. But something about them niggled at Jenneth’s sense of order. He hadn’t included the hills in his calculations, because the planetary scans he’d studied had assured him they were barren. At the same time, their mere existence should merit their inclusion in his formula. He hated unbalanced equations.