by Revis, Beth
“We’ll have to halt production and pull every panel made from that batch,” the head officer finally said, turning on his heel and marching back toward his office. “And it will be tedious to find them; they’re scattered throughout the factories.”
“Looks like your lucky day,” a stormtrooper near Jyn said as the crowd around her dispersed. In a moment, an announcement blared through the factory, calling Jyn’s work unit back to the prison transport for an early shift dismissal.
Jyn finally dropped her arms, letting them sag by her body as the blood tingled back to her fingers. She pushed her hands into the floor to stand, wincing as a sharp piece of shattered metal pressed against her palm. Jyn shifted her hand.
The metal shard was roughly twelve centimeters long, one end squared and the other sharp as a blade. It could not have looked more like a knife if it had been purposefully made to be one. Jyn stared at it for a long moment.
One fighter with a sharp stick…
It was impossible. It was stupid. But it was there.
A chance.
Without letting herself think any further, Jyn palmed the sharpened piece of metal. Just wrapping her fingers around the square base made her feel stronger, more powerful than she had since she’d come to Wobani. Since before then. Hope surged through her, straightening her spine, clearing her eyes.
“You, there,” came a voice through a stormtrooper helmet.
Jyn’s fingers turned to ice, and the metal shard dropped, clattering so loudly against the cement floor of the factory that it seemed as if every single person and droid in the building heard it.
“Unsanctioned weapon found on a prisoner,” the stormtrooper said. Another stormtrooper rushed Jyn, slamming her against the wall.
“It wasn’t—it was just—” Jyn started, but a magnetic charge collar was snapped around her neck, and it became difficult to swallow, let alone talk. In moments, her hands were cuffed and two stormtroopers with stun prods stood in front of her.
The first stormtrooper bent down, picking up the happenstance knife. He held it loosely in his palm, testing the weight, and then he turned to Jyn.
“You were going to use this as a weapon,” he accused.
Jyn shook her head frantically.
“Call the warden,” the stormtrooper said.
It was three hours into the night shift when the stormtroopers dumped Jyn’s battered body onto the floor of her prison cell. Zorahda started awake, staring as Jyn struggled to stand and make it to her bed. She did not move to help Jyn. She didn’t show sympathy or compassion. It hadn’t taken long to learn that lesson.
Jyn was never sure when it happened that Wrea became less her and Saw’s home and more of a headquarters for Saw’s cadre of partisans. Xosad left, but Jari and the others stayed. Some of Reece’s people came back, saying they’d rather take orders from someone with actual experience. Idryssa sent some new recruits. Saw took them all—if they proved themselves worthwhile. It was typical for there to be at least a half dozen or more people staying at the outpost. Some came and left quickly, and Jyn never saw them again. Others stayed.
Jyn struggled to maintain her daily regime of training as Wrea grew crowded. When Saw was home, there was always a handful of people who joined her for sparring matches and target practice. She was distinctly aware of the way they tried to show off for Saw, of the way they wanted to catch his eye.
“They never bother when you’re gone,” she grumbled to him in a rare moment of privacy as she shaved his head for him, a task she’d taken over when she proved far more adept at it than he.
Saw laughed. “Are you saying you want me gone?”
Jyn punched him in the arm. “They’re trying to impress you,” she said, exasperated.
Saw had laughed again, but Jyn didn’t think he really noticed the effect he had on others. He assumed the new recruits were hanging around Wrea because they believed in his cause; he didn’t fully understand that they just believed in him.
On the bright side, there was a lot to learn from the newcomers. She was not too proud to admit that Codo was a better fighter; whenever she could, she’d request him as a sparring partner and try to learn his moves. Maia was slender and quiet, but no one had better aim. Staven knew ballistics. Jyn followed them around, learning as she could.
Because a small part of her—a part that she wanted to keep hidden even from herself—wanted to impress Saw, too. As more and more people came to Wrea, vied for his attention, forced him into the role of both leader and mentor, Jyn longed for the days when it had been just the two of them.
Saw was changing, too, seemingly before her eyes. He left on more and more missions, and Jyn had nothing to do but stand by the comm, waiting to hear word from him, hoping the worst hadn’t happened yet. It took everything in her not to comm him when all she got was silence, but she knew her role. She kept her vigil.
He had been gone for a week when he came back from a mission with fresh wounds on his face and a badly broken leg. Jyn tried to ask him what happened, but he just grunted that the mission was a success and dismissed her worry. His leg bothered him, though, and as he was stuck at the outpost while it healed, he snapped at everyone. Including Jyn. She was actually glad when he finally left for another mission, and that feeling hollowed her out.
“What’s wrong, little one?” asked Maia, who’d been at the outpost for over four months by then.
Jyn hung her legs over the edge of the island, staring down at the little grotto where some of the boys were swimming. The sun was starting to set.
“Everything’s changing,” she said sullenly.
“Everything usually does,” Maia said.
“I don’t like it,” Jyn said.
Maia flexed her hands, and Jyn couldn’t help noticing the synthskin gloves she had taken to wearing. She’d won them in a bet against Codo, and she enjoyed showing them off whenever there was a chance he might notice. Sure enough, Codo tried to splash them with water from his position in the sea. It didn’t reach them, but Maia laughed at the shouted curses that followed.
“Saw means something special to you, doesn’t he?” Maia asked Jyn after Codo and the other boys had swum off.
Jyn shrugged. She couldn’t deny it, but she didn’t want to say it out loud, either.
“Saw means something to a lot of people,” Maia said when Jyn didn’t answer her. “I heard about him as a hero of Onderon, from my godfather, Lux. Staven’s family was saved when Saw organized a supply run past Imperial blockades to feed them. Saw fought in the Clone Wars; he’s fought in battles since then. He’s half legend.”
Jyn sniffed.
“But,” Maia added, “while Saw means something to all of us, you mean something to him.”
Jyn’s head whipped around, but she didn’t know what to say. Maia nodded knowingly.
“Don’t doubt that, little one,” she said. “Sometimes I think you’re the only one he really cares about.”
“Oy!” someone called from the ladder that descended to the sea. The boys were climbing back up from the grotto. Staven made his way over to Maia and Jyn, his blue hair dripping wet. “We’re taking a break, you want in?”
Jyn frowned and stared back out over the sea. “Taking a break” was code among the regulars on Wrea for “getting drunk while Saw is gone,” and she was never, ever invited.
“Sure.” Maia stood up, brushing the sand off her bottom. She and Staven headed back to the outpost.
Staven paused. “You want in?” he repeated.
“Me?” Jyn’s voice was higher, more childish than she would have liked.
“Yeah,” Staven said with a laugh. “You. Coming?”
Jyn jumped up and followed him and the others back to the outpost. Someone produced a jug of pale blue liquid, but it smelled sour, strong enough to burn the hairs in Jyn’s nose. When Staven poured her a cup of the fermented bantha milk, it was half as full as anyone else’s, but she didn’t complain.
They swapped war stories an
d dirty jokes, and Jyn sipped the foul liquid, her insides growing warmer and her laugh growing louder. Codo clapped her on the back, shouting, “She’s one of ours!” as Jyn chugged the dregs of alcohol from her glass. “To Jyn!” he cheered, grabbing the jug and refilling his cup. He blinked at her. “Jyn. Um. I forgot your last name.”
A little bell rang in Jyn’s mind, a warning. She and Saw had always been careful, always , never to mention her last name. She was just Jyn.
“To Jyn Gerrera!” Maia cried, tipping her cup back. The rest of the table followed suit.
As she stumbled off to bed that night, Jyn thought, Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.
When Saw returned from his mission, he still had a bit of a limp, but his leg was mostly healed. He took Maia and Codo into one of the private rooms branching off the hallway, and before Jyn had a chance to realize what was happening, Maia and Codo were gone, off on a mission of their own.
“You said I would be going on more missions,” Jyn told him. She couldn’t help noticing how different Wrea felt with Maia and Codo gone, with Saw back. She didn’t want to think about which scenario she preferred.
Saw tilted his head back. “How old are you again?” he asked.
Jyn wanted to lie, to pretend she was older than she was, but she answered truthfully. “Fourteen. Almost fifteen.”
Saw looked up, scanning the group of soldiers scattered around Wrea. “Staven!” he barked.
Staven ran up, his hand twitching as if he wanted to salute Saw but just barely kept himself in check. “Yes, sir?” he said.
“Get me a detonator kit.”
Staven nodded and ran to one of the rooms in the armory. He returned minutes later with a small box. He held it out to Saw, but Saw jerked his head to Jyn. Staven turned, holding the box out for Jyn to take. She picked it up, surprised by the weight. She glanced at Saw, then turned her attention to the box, opening it slowly.
Inside were all the pieces needed for a standard detonator. Two halves of a palm-sized disc, the detonite, the wiring compartment and timer, the remote override.
Saw glanced at the time on his comlink. “You have three minutes,” he said.
Jyn’s heart leapt in her chest. This is a test, she realized, slowly, even as her fingers were extracting the items from the box, putting them together with speed she hadn’t known she had. The rough construction of the detonator was easy enough, but the remote override and the wiring was always tricky. She felt the seconds tick by. She allowed herself one moment to look up. Everyone on the island was silent, watching. Staven stood over her shoulder, watching her work, his eyes narrowed as he examined every move her fingers made. He was the expert in explosives, and she was very aware that he was judging her just as harshly as Saw was.
Once the remote override was done, Jyn focused on the wiring compartment. This was the trickiest part of piecing together a detonator, and she hated it. She always got the wires mixed up. Her fingers shook. She was very, very conscious of everyone watching. Of the time ticking by.
“One minute,” Saw said.
That’s not helping, she wanted to snap, but she kept her mouth shut and her mind focused. She slid the wires into place, snapped the cover over the detonator, and looked up, pride making her chin tilt in triumph.
And then she saw Staven’s face.
He shook his head sadly.
“Show her what she did,” Saw said, disappointment dripping from his voice.
Staven opened the detonator, peeling back the overlay and displaying the wiring compartment for Jyn. Her eyes danced over the myriad wires, seeking her mistake…there. A blue wire where a green wire should have been. The timer would be messed up, measuring in hours instead of minutes.
“If you’d given me some warning, I would have been prepared,” Jyn said. “It’s not fair to just throw this at me last minute.”
Saw raised an eyebrow.
Too late, Jyn realized her mistake. In a mission, she would have no time to prepare. In a mission, she would be operating under more stressful conditions than Saw’s timer and Staven’s watchful eye.
“Your mistake could have cost the lives of everyone else on your mission,” Staven said.
Saw said nothing. The disappointment was evident on his face. Jyn blinked away tears as he turned silently and walked away.
Someone knocked on Jyn’s bedroom door.
She wasn’t going to open it. Jyn knew it wasn’t Saw; she could hear him talking and laughing down the hall. But the knock came again and then a third time, more insistent, so she got up and opened the door.
“Can I come in?” Staven asked.
Jyn shrugged and turned away, flopping back down on her bed. Staven stepped tentatively inside the room—a rarity. The outpost was full of open doors, the bunkers always overflowing with people, the great room a mass of bodies—but Jyn’s room was hers , and no one but her or Saw was allowed inside.
“I thought you might want some supper.” Staven placed a bowl on the crate Jyn used as a bedside table. She didn’t look at it.
“He hates me,” she muttered to the floor.
“He doesn’t.” Staven said it simply, as if there was no question of it. But he hadn’t seen the disdain on Saw’s face.
“I could have done it right,” Jyn said, anger and defeat mixing in her voice. “It wasn’t fair.”
She looked up when Staven didn’t reply. He held her gaze a few moments, then said, “It doesn’t matter if it was fair or not. It only matters that you messed up, and doing something like that could hurt or kill a teammate.
“This life,” Staven continued, glancing toward the open door, where the sound of the others’ voices leaked through, “it’s dark. You know what I mean?”
Jyn shrugged.
“You can’t let the darkness overtake you.”
When Jyn shut her eyes, she saw the hatch, the one she had hidden in after her mother was killed, her father taken. She thought about the way day had faded into night, the way she had been alone for the first time in her life, the realization that the people who loved her best were gone and no one else knew she was there.
There had been a lantern. A little lantern, so dim that it almost didn’t matter. That little lantern had been her companion against the dark.
And then Saw had come.
He had come for her. No one else had. And he hadn’t left her. Staven knelt, trying to get down to Jyn’s level. “When I was learning explosives,” he said, “I miswired a detonator, too.” He paused as if carefully choosing his words. “But no one caught my mistake. Until it blew up. I hurt someone, someone on my own team. He lost his hand. And it was my fault.”
Jyn flexed her own fingers, wondering what it would feel like if they were gone.
“He’s never going to trust me on a mission now,” Jyn muttered, looking away.
“I don’t think he wants to send you on a mission.”
“I’ve been on missions before; I’m good enough!” Jyn jumped up, her hands curling into fists. “I am! So what if I made a mistake today, I know I’m good enough for another mission!” This wasn’t ego talking; Jyn knew she outmatched most of the regulars in the bunkers, and her mistake that day notwithstanding, she was more than qualified for her own operation.
Staven nodded slowly. “You are,” he said. “But I don’t think Saw wants to admit that.”
Saw sent Jyn on her first solo mission not long after that. She suspected this was mostly thanks to Staven’s influence, but perhaps it was Saw’s way of honoring her for her fifteenth birthday, an occasion that otherwise went unnoticed.
“We’re dropping you on Horuz,” he said. “That’s one of the dark planets we’ve been watching.”
Dark planets —Jyn knew what that meant. Sixteen planets on Saw’s list, each with communication blackouts and much higher protocols than the Empire usually placed on planets that didn’t seem that significant. Several of Saw’s missions had been revolving around the so-called dark planets, and Saw was convinced t
hat it had something to do with Jyn’s father and whatever it was he’d been researching, but he rarely talked to Jyn about that those days, and he never mentioned his motivations to any of the others.
Saw held out an imagecaster, and a young man with two long dark braids revolved in the light. “This is Dorin Bell,” Saw said. “We think he was recruited by the Empire about a year ago.”
Jyn looked around the empty room. Who is this “we”? she thought.
“He’s been working with kybers,” Saw continued in a softer voice, and Jyn knew that she was hearing that only because she was close to Saw. He wouldn’t get so personal with others in his cadre.
When he continued, his voice was back to being full of authority and cold detachment. “I’ve gotten word that he’s going to be scouting the southern hemisphere of Horuz with only a small protection detail.”
“What’s my mission?” Jyn asked, staring at the holo of the man.
Saw shot her a look. He reached back and pulled out a modified long-range blaster rifle fitted with a sniper scope and an additional power cell that would overcharge the plasma.
Jyn stared at it.
“Maia said you would be good for this,” Saw said, doubt creeping into his voice.
Jyn thought of the target practice she’d done with Maia, the careful aim from across the island. She glanced at the image of Dorin Bell.
“What did he do?” Jyn asked. She meant, Why does he deserve to die?
Saw didn’t answer immediately, and when Jyn looked into his eyes, she was a little terrified of what she saw there. “Does it matter?” he asked in his soldier voice.
Yes, Jyn thought.
“No,” Jyn said.
Saw nodded, happy with her answer. “Staven will take you to the drop point,” he said, and with that, Jyn was dismissed.
Jyn stopped by her room, preparing carefully, checking her weapons, packing a small satchel of essentials. She turned to face the door and caught her reflection in the smooth metal.
