Star Wars: Rebel Rising

by Revis, Beth

  “What did that guy want?” Hadder asked. “He said he was following you because of…”

  “Because of Saw.” Jyn slammed the cabinet shut.

  “That’s who you used to live with,” Hadder said slowly.

  “I know.”

  “You don’t have to get mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad,” Jyn snarled.

  Hadder put both his hands up. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Please don’t kick my ass.” When Jyn didn’t move, he added, “That was a joke.” And then, “But still, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

  Jyn finally cracked a smile. “I won’t.” She lunged at him, and he flinched. “Maybe.”

  “So,” Hadder said slowly as Jyn sat down beside him. “Saw.”

  “Saw.”

  “Who was he? I mean, really?”

  He used to call me his daughter, Jyn thought, and then he left me behind.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything,” Hadder continued when Jyn didn’t answer, “but I need to know—is this a problem? Are thugs going to start hassling Mum? Because it has been made clear that I need to work out more and maybe learn how to throw a punch if that’s going to be the case.”

  Jyn shot him a sideways smile. “I’ll protect you,” she said.

  “Oh, whew.” Hadder swiped at his brow. “I’m more of a lover than a fighter, you know, and I’m quite comfortable hiding behind you. Glad we sorted that out.”

  Jyn sank farther into her chair. “Saw took me in after I lost my parents,” she said, looking straight ahead. She would never be able to get through this if she saw sympathy in Hadder’s eyes. “He worked…against the Empire.”

  “In some sort of rebel group?” Around Skuhl, rebels were spoken of in an almost mythical way, a band of warriors who dared fight the Empire. The people of Skuhl had absolutely no concept of what fighting the Empire was really like, but to be fair, they didn’t know what the Empire was really like, either. They existed in an almost childlike state where everything was black and white, a story to tell over drinks or by the bonfire, nothing more. None of the players were real; they were all just characters. Not people.

  “Sometimes for groups,” Jyn said. “Sometimes for himself. Saw didn’t care who he fought beside, just who he opposed.”

  She risked a glance at Hadder. He was eating up every word, as eager as she had been when she was a kid watching The Octave Stairway on the viewer.

  “The last mission…” She looked away again, forcing her eyes and her mind to lose focus. “It went bad.”

  “Bad?” Hadder asked.

  Jyn closed her eyes. She could see the line of green light as the Star Destroyer’s beam sliced into the factory. She could taste the blood and dust in her mouth; she could smell the burning metal.

  She could hear the screams.

  “Bad,” she confirmed.

  “Tamsye Prime,” Hadder whispered.

  Jyn nodded.

  “You were a part of the anarchists who attacked the factories?”

  “It was the Empire,” she said. She saw doubt in his eyes, and it killed her inside. “We were just there to look. A scouting mission. The Empire…it was done with the factory. And it had a message to send.”

  She watched as the truth settled on Hadder like a blanket around his shoulders. But she also knew he didn’t understand, not really. And thanks to the Empire’s lies, very few people in the entire galaxy knew what had actually happened on Tamsye Prime. The Imperials in the Star Destroyer. The pilot whose name she had never learned. Codo. Saw. Her. With Hadder’s strength keeping her upright, Jyn felt strong enough to carry the weight of an entire planet’s mourning.

  Something changed after that night. Hadder joked that Jyn was strong enough to take him out, but the few times they ventured into town, he was on edge, looking over his shoulder. Looking out for her.

  He must have told Akshaya about what had happened when she returned from her run; Jyn noticed the way Akshaya lingered by her door, as if she wanted to speak but wasn’t sure of the words. She started painting more mandalas on the walls and floors of the little house, something Hadder said she hadn’t done since her daughter died.

  “They’re beautiful,” Jyn told her, but there was a twinge of guilt in her voice. She knew she worried Akshaya, and she didn’t like bringing a shadow over the bright home.

  “They’re relaxing,” Akshaya said, carefully drawing out a series of rays from a center circle on the floor. She didn’t look relaxed. She was so focused on the drawing that her brow was furrowed, her gaze a laser beam trained on each line.

  Jyn could understand this. She remembered just before her family moved from Coruscant to Lah’mu. Mama had been full of frantic energy, just like Akshaya was now. Mama had cleaned everything, had taken Jyn to the park, had meticulously talked over her plans, softly, under her breath, so low she didn’t know Jyn heard. Mama’s plans were Akshaya’s mandalas. Her love was boiling inside her and had to come pouring from her fingertips or it would overwhelm her.

  Jyn watched her for several long moments. Hadder came in, interrupting the silence and his mother’s concentration. “Dinner’s ready in a few minutes,” he said.

  “I’ll clean up,” Akshaya replied, and Hadder left. Akshaya watched him go, her eyes soft. For the first time since she’d started working on the floor, she actually did look relaxed.

  “I don’t suppose you want to learn how to make mandalas?” Akshaya asked. “You’re welcome to, you know. There’s that whole wall in your room.”

  “I—uh.” Jyn paused. She actually wouldn’t mind learning how to draw the intricate designs, but she was afraid of ruining the blank wall.

  “In case you change your mind,” Akshaya said, pressing three paint sticks into Jyn’s hand.

  Jyn felt awkward lingering in the room, so she went back to her own. She sat down on the bed and stared at the blank wall. Akshaya had given her black, orange, and red paint sticks. She twirled the black one in her hands, contemplating a design she could cover the whitewashed wall with. She wondered if Akshaya’s daughter had drawn mandalas on the wall and Akshaya had painted over them after she died. Or maybe her daughter hadn’t bothered painting the wall at all. Maybe Akshaya wished she had, and the white wall reminded her of everything that couldn’t be.

  Jyn stood, the black paint stick in her hand, and she held it over the white wall. A long swoop, she thought, tracing a line with her eyes, and rays made of red spiking out of it…tiny orange dots in between…

  But even though she could see the picture spreading out before her, she didn’t touch the paint stick to the wall. She put them all in the box on the shelf, along with the empty hypo-injectors.

  That night, Akshaya complained again that she’d lost another planet in her regular shipping run. “We’re being bought out left and right,” she said as Hadder scooped out bunn for their evening meal.

  “The Empire?” Jyn asked quietly.

  Akshaya didn’t answer, which made Jyn certain her guess was right. “We’re not that far away from Tamsye Prime and other Empire-run systems,” Jyn said. “Just because Skuhl is in the Outer Rim doesn’t mean it’s going to be ignored.”

  “We’re ants,” Akshaya said, sighing heavily. “Giants don’t notice ants.”

  “But—”

  Akshaya shoved her chair back abruptly. “Come with me,” she said, heading to the back door. Hadder and Jyn shared a confused, worried look, but they followed Akshaya outside.

  Akshaya had her head tilted back, staring up at the stars. “What do you see?” she asked quietly when Hadder and Jyn approached. She was calm now, too calm.

  Jyn looked up. “Stars,” she said, confused.

  “Stars,” Akshaya repeated. “Where’s Tamsye Prime?”

  Jyn scanned the sky. All the white dots, impossibly far away, looked the same.

  “Where’s the Empire?” Akshaya continued. “Do you see it? Because I don’t.”

  It doesn’t work like that, Jyn thought. Just
because you don’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there.

  But Akshaya didn’t look away from the stars. She kept staring, so Jyn directed her gaze back up, too. And she didn’t see the Empire. But she thought she may have seen some of what Akshaya saw.

  Up above, the stars seemed to stretch on forever. There were no clouds, no moons visible yet, just a million tiny dots of light. If she tilted her head back far enough, she could pretend the horizon wasn’t there, only space.

  There was something comforting in pretending that there was nothing at all in the universe but her and the stars and the silence.

  “Right, stars are far away,” Hadder said. “Meanwhile, dinner’s getting cold.”

  As the weeks turned into months and there was no sign of Berk or any of Saw’s other contacts, Jyn almost let herself forget about the past. She continued working on new codes and permissions for the ship’s ID chips to help Akshaya bypass any Imperial security but otherwise left behind everything she had learned from Saw.

  Except the knife. Every morning, without fail, she weighed it in her palm and forced herself to remember the feel of the hilt in her hand, the pressure it took to break skin. And then she slipped it into her boot, making sure she could easily reach it if she needed to.

  “Where are you taking me?” Jyn asked.

  “Don’t you trust me?” Hadder turned, letting the ship veer south.

  It had been more weeks than Jyn liked to count since she and Hadder had last been in the air. Akshaya was starting to have trouble with the shipment runs as more and more Imperial checkpoints were scanning ships and cargo in the area, which meant she was grounded, grumpy, and too present for them to sneak away on the planet hopper.

  “Don’t worry,” she would tell Jyn every time the Empire came up. “We’re ants, remember?”

  Which wasn’t really that much comfort to Jyn.

  But Akshaya had gotten a new shipment order earlier that week, and she’d left on her run. And Jyn had known as soon as her freighter broke atmosphere Hadder would find a reason to take out the planet hopper.

  “I trust you,” Jyn said now, propping her feet up on the console, “to use any excuse you can find to leave Skuhl. Which is why I have no idea why we’re still planetside.”

  Hadder hummed to himself smugly. Jyn looked around for something to throw at him, but before she could find anything, the ship’s nose started to dip. Jyn leaned up, looking out over the landscape.

  “It’s more grass,” she said, unenthused.

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Hadder said, initiating the landing sequence.

  “You’re being all secretive about where we’re going, but it’s just another field. With more grass.”

  “Isn’t Skuhl lovely?” Hadder said, flipping the switch that lowered the gangway.

  Jyn still felt anticipation curling inside her when she headed off the planet hopper, but as she looked around, she couldn’t help being disappointed. Just as she’d seen from the cockpit window, there was nothing there but exactly the same type of field she’d seen every morning when she stepped outside her home.

  “This way,” Hadder called. He had a bundle of cloth under his arm.

  Jyn followed him across the gently rolling field. A blue-green pond glittered in the blue-green grass, and Hadder spread out a blanket for them.

  “We came all this way for a picnic?” Jyn asked, plopping down on the blanket.

  “Such a pessimist.” Hadder shook his head, smiling, as he laid out their feast—sticky handfuls of bunn coated in seeds and a small steamer basket of dumplings.

  Jyn claimed the dumplings, stuffing two into her mouth at the same time and chewing as she poured juice for herself and Hadder.

  “Classy,” Hadder said, smiling as he poked one of Jyn’s stuffed cheeks.

  “So why are we really out here?” Jyn asked after she swallowed.

  “I’ve been thinking of joining a group that fights the Empire.”

  If there was anything Jyn hadn’t expected, it was that.

  “They’ll let me fly. Mum still has the ridiculous notion that I’ll get sick and die if I go out, but I’m old enough now. I’ve heard talk about a recruiter in the system. I could find him. Join up.”

  Jyn’s stomach churned. It was hard for her to imagine Hadder fighting the way Saw did, but she could absolutely see him in a Z-95, shooting down TIEs.

  “What do you think?” Hadder asked.

  “Why are you asking me?”

  Hadder looked at Jyn, surprised that she was confused. “Don’t think I forgot the way you handled yourself in that alley. You never talk about your past, but I know you were a freedom fighter. What do you think about them? Should I join up?”

  Jyn pretended not to care. “Do what you want,” she said.

  Hadder set down his plate and moved closer to Jyn so he was facing her, his fingertips centimeters from her knees. “I’m asking what you think,” he said. “Could I make a difference?”

  Jyn nodded mutely.

  His eyes slid to a spot behind her, to the horizon and the sky. “Mum would hate it, but I could fly with them,” he said, mostly to himself. “She’s so in love with this idea of not being noticed by the Empire, but we both know that’s not going to last.” His eyes met hers again, and she saw something in them, something steely and fierce, and she knew if he joined this partisan group, he would be more than a pilot. He’d be a hero. “We can’t sit around, hoping we’re not stomped. We have to do what we can.”

  Jyn’s eyes burned, but she didn’t let herself look away. She had believed for how long now? More than a year. She’d been with Hadder and Akshaya more than a year, and she’d let herself believe, like Akshaya believed, that they could be safe and hidden and left alone. And together.

  Hadder moved even closer. His hand was on her leg, his face so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. “If I joined the rebellion, would you come with me?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

  She swallowed, hard, and emotion boiled inside her. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I—”

  A rare frown marred Hadder’s face. “I thought—with your past…?”

  Jyn’s eyes burned. “I don’t want to go back to that. This is different, and that’s good .”

  “You’re sure?” Hadder asked. “You don’t even want to talk to my contact?”

  Something crackled in Jyn’s heart—fear. “Your contact?” she asked in a cooler tone.

  “Just someone I met at the diner. He was putting out feelers for people who may want to fly.”

  “Fighting the Empire is about more than flying,” Jyn said. She drew away.

  He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against hers. The kiss startled her, but it felt natural, as if they’d been doing it for years. When he pulled back, he said, “If you’re not going, then I’m not going. I’d rather have you than the chance to fly.”

  “I can’t take that away from you,” Jyn said.

  “And I can’t take myself away from you.”

  He kissed her again, harder, and she could taste the longing within him, the feelings he’d tried to keep in check. And she understood why he’d wanted to take her outside the town and away from their home to say this, to do this. They could be honest out there, under the open sky, in a way they never could with a roof over their heads. They could pretend they belonged to forever just as much as they belonged to each other.

  A long time later, Jyn lay beside Hadder, watching as the clouds drifted farther apart. He played idly with her hair, rubbing the silky ends between his fingers.

  A rustling in the grass nearby caught Jyn’s attention, and she rolled over on the blanket, watching as a tiny brown creature crept forward. No bigger than her hand, the little mouselike animal had pale brown fur, a tiny pink twitching nose, and big black eyes, with a cute furrow in its brow that made it look comically worried.

  “Hello, there,” Jyn whispered lazily.

  Hadder looked up, and his movement
made the little animal dart several centimeters away, standing on its hind legs and scrunching its nose in concern.

  “A bulba,” Hadder said.

  They watched as the bulba regained its courage, racing up and then halting again, tentatively touching the edge of the blanket with one tiny paw. Its long tail, covered in fine fur that ended in a tuft, curled around its body. Hadder reached over to the basket, plucked a handful of bunn from their reserves, and held it out for the bulba. It sniffed warily, then nibbled at a few grains. In moments, the bulba allowed Hadder to scoop his hands under it and lift it closer so Jyn could see.

  “It’s adorable,” she said as the bulba stuffed grains of bunn into its cheeks.

  “See this?” Hadder ruffled the fur on the bulba’s back. The little creature shuddered but didn’t pause eating. Jyn saw a tiny green vine stained with pink on the edges tangled in the fur along the bulba’s spine.

  “Bulba mothers always make a nest out of a dying vine that grows here,” Hadder explained. “The seeds on the flowers of the vine plant themselves into the thin skin of the babies. They create a symbiotic relationship—the vines take root inside the bulbas. We had to dissect them in class. Bulba bones are incredibly thin. Here, feel.”

  Hadder dumped the little creature into Jyn’s hands. It was practically weightless; her thin scarf was heavier.

  “The roots wrap their way around the bulba’s bones, giving them strength. Without the plant, this little guy wouldn’t be able to live.”

  “Wow,” Jyn said.

  “It’s a true symbiotic relationship. The plant’s seed grows inside the animal, giving the animal life, because without it, it would never be able to survive. Once the bulba dies, new vines grow from its body, and bulba mothers turn their flowers into nests, which leads to a new generation being born and new seeds being planted.”

  Jyn stroked the fur of the bulba, feeling the tendrils of the vine growing from its back. Its skin rippled in pleasure, and it chittered at her.

  “I’ve been here almost a year, and I had no idea this little creature existed,” Jyn said. She lowered her hands to the quilt, and the bulba scurried away once it was certain they were not going to give it any more food.