Star Wars: Rebel Rising

by Revis, Beth

  And she had thrown it away.

  For nothing. In the end, she hadn’t helped Blue or the cause or even herself. She had only wanted to escape this life, and now she was being crushed by it.

  If I was going to go out like this anyway, Jyn thought as the troopers led her to the brig, it should have been for more than nothing.

  IMPERIAL DETENTION CENTER & LABOR CAMP LEG-817

  LOCATION: Wobani

  PRISONER: Liana Hallik, #6295A

  CRIMES: Forgery of Imperial Documents, Resisting Arrest, Aggravated Assault, Possession of Unsanctioned Weapon (two counts)

  Her trial had been a joke. Admiral Rocwyn had passed down her sentence with barely a glance in Jyn’s direction. Jyn had not been permitted to speak for herself or to defend her crimes of forgery and resisting arrest. When she tried to protest that she had been committing forgery for the Empire and had been resisting an unfair arrest, Commander Solange had panicked, suggesting that the admiral fit Jyn with a muzz regulator. The cold steel wrapped around her head, covering her mouth, and Jyn had not been allowed to speak another word until after the admiral had passed judgment and sentenced her to the LEG-817 prison camp on Wobani.

  She had two bits of luck. The first was that Admiral Rocwyn believed her scandocs were legitimate and that Jyn’s real name was Liana Hallik. The second was that when they scanned her for weapons, the stormtroopers in charge of inspecting Jyn had thought her necklace was a worthless piece of glass.

  As she’d been led away, Jyn had wondered if she could effectively fight back. The muzz regulator around her mouth bit into the thin skin of her skull, and the binders on her wrists were heavy and unbreakable. When she tried to jerk away from the stormtroopers holding her elbows, their grip tightened, and one of them warned he had a stun prod in his other hand. He sparked it in front of her, and Jyn did not need a second warning. She did not see Blue or the others. She never saw any of them again. She liked to pretend that they had escaped, somehow. But she never really believed it.

  And then Jyn had been put on the prison transport ship and taken to Wobani, and the warden had led her to her cell.

  And there had been no more chances to escape.

  After Zorahda died, Jyn had time to think. Of Akshaya, who believed that the giant Empire would never bother with ants like her. Of her father, who had chosen the Empire because he had known, even that long before, that there was no real choice. Of Blue, who had chosen to fight, who had believed that was the only option.

  The only thing Jyn knew for sure was that her mother had believed hope was the most important thing in the universe, and Jyn had none of that left.

  “I’m going to escape,” her new cellmate, a Mirialan said. Her smooth, pale yellow skin and the pattern of blackish-blue diamonds across her face stood out in the dim light.

  “That’s nice,” Jyn said in a tired voice.

  “I’m going to,” Yalla said again, her voice starting to rise from a whisper. “You can help.”

  “I just want to sleep.” Jyn rolled over in her cubby.

  The Mirialan made a disgusted noise deep in her throat. “How can you just accept this?” she hissed in the dark.

  Because, Jyn thought, this is all there is.

  “What are you?” Yalla said after enough time had passed that Jyn had dared to hope the conversation was over.

  “Human?” Jyn replied in the darkness, not sure of Yalla’s question.

  “No, I mean—were you a rebel? Why are you here on Wobani?”

  Jyn turned around, her mattress emitting a puff of musty air as her body shifted on it. She could see Yalla’s big azure eyes in the dim light, watching her.

  Was Jyn a rebel? Not really. And she’d even worked for the Empire, not against it.

  But when it mattered—when Hadder and Akshaya had been threatened, when Jyn found herself on a slave ship—when it mattered, Jyn had chosen her side instinctively. She had chosen to fight. Was that enough to make her a rebel?

  Yalla was waiting for her answer.

  Jyn turned back to the wall.

  Yalla was part of an influx of new prisoners. She knew others at Wobani, a network of people from planets in the Mirial system. A small rebellious militia group. The Empire had separated the group across different prisons, but it hadn’t done a good enough job. Yalla made contact with other prisoners, brief coded exchanges.

  And every night, Yalla glared at Jyn with contempt. “You could do so much more,” she hissed, disappointed. “We could overtake the entire prison. There aren’t that many guards. The prison is overcrowded.”

  Jyn ignored her.

  But she noticed who Yalla spoke to, and how. She noticed the laser pick she pinched from the work detail, and where she hid it under her mattress. She noticed the way Yalla grew more and more jumpy, waiting for some message.

  Yalla reminded Jyn of Saw. He had said once that one person could turn the tide of war with nothing more than a pointed stick. She had thought, then, that he had believed in her and her ability to do such marvels. She knew now she wasn’t that kind of person. But Yalla might have been.

  And then the moment came. Yalla’s group waited until the hour before work detail started. An alarm blared from the level below and above them, and Yalla jumped up, throwing her mattress aside and pulling out the laser pick and a large impact hammer drill that Jyn had somehow missed earlier.

  “It’s time,” Yalla said, a fierceness in her voice that the prison hadn’t been able to stamp out. “You in or out?”

  Impossibly, the door to their cell swung open. Jyn stared at it, shocked.

  Before she could answer, Yalla thrust the impact hammer drill into Jyn’s open hands. “Come on!” she yelled, racing out of the room, laser pick held high.

  She had made it about six meters past the door when blaster fire rang out. Two short bursts, and Jyn watched as Yalla’s body crumpled. The stormtroopers swarmed the hall, a pair racing into Jyn’s open cell.

  “She has a weapon!” one stormtrooper said.

  Jyn dropped the blasting hammer on the ground, her eyes wide, her hands shooting into the air.

  She had a new cellmate after that. She didn’t know what species Nail was, and Nail wasn’t the type to share a friendly conversation with. She was short, tentacles obscuring her mouth, with gelatinous eyes and long fingers. And she hated Jyn for no discernable reason.

  Still, Jyn appreciated her new cellmate.

  She didn’t make Jyn hope for more.

  IMPERIAL DETENTION CENTER & LABOR CAMP LEG-817

  LOCATION: Wobani

  PRISONER: Liana Hallik, #6295A

  CRIMES: Forgery of Imperial Documents, Resisting Arrest, Aggravated Assault, Possession of Unsanctioned Weapon (two counts), Escape from Custody

  Hope, Jyn had found, was by far the most dangerous thing in a prison. It made people do stupid things. It made them believe there was life outside the walls.

  And furthermore, hope hurt.

  It was a physical, painful ache, deep inside her chest. Jyn felt it eating away at her lungs when she coughed from the dust on the rare days she was given farm duty. It gnawed at her belly when the ration cubes didn’t satisfy the hunger. It burned her throat when the stormtroopers didn’t bother refilling their filtration canteens. It stung at her eyes every night before she passed out from exhaustion.

  There were ants in the cell. No doubt drawn by Nail’s stench. Jyn’s cellmate was proving difficult; she had even threatened to kill Jyn. One more thing for her to survive.

  Jyn watched the ants, marching up the wall and through the corner where it met with the ceiling. There was nothing for them to eat there, but still they marched. Jyn placed her hand against the wall, directly in the ants’ path, and they adjusted course, curving around the edge of her fingers.

  The ants reminded her of Akshaya, and Akshaya reminded her of Hadder, and Hadder reminded her of just how much she had lost.

  She curled into herself, her hand dropping from the wall to the leather
cord around her neck. They hadn’t taken her necklace. She had been certain they would, but they hadn’t. She still had this one link to her mother, her past.

  It wouldn’t be hard to die. She saw death every day on Wobani. It was just a matter of putting down one’s tools, refusing to work. And then a stormtrooper came and held a blaster up, and it was over.

  Simple.

  Jyn felt as if her chest were filled with ash. But there was one ember still remaining, flickering orange and red, refusing to die.

  Jyn clutched her kyber crystal, the hard edges digging into the callouses on her palms. Her mother had given the crystal to her because she had expected Jyn to survive. To live.

  To not give up hope.

  The alarm for the work shift sounded. Jyn stood. Her cellmate stood. They waited by the door. If they were lucky, they’d be selected for farm work.

  They were lucky.

  When the doors slid open, they held their wrists up, waiting for a stormtrooper to put their shackles on. Jyn didn’t flinch as the heavy metal restraints closed over her wrists, the light on the base blinking from green to red. She and her cellmate filed in behind the others. They marched, their feet beating out a steady rhythm that shook the walls. Jyn knew what to do—follow her orders. She knew what to say—nothing. But she also watched. Her eyes flicked left and right, seeing the stormtrooper, the other prisoners, the walls. She was waiting.

  For an opportunity.

  The prison transport tank was not comfortable. It wasn’t meant to be. Each prisoner was given a small, hard metal seat that folded down from the wall. Beams provided barriers between the seats, and the aisle was large enough for the stormtroopers to constantly patrol. Jyn pushed down her seat awkwardly with her cuffed hands and slid into it. A stormtrooper came up behind her and used the magnalocks to connect the center of her cuffs to the metal chair.

  It was surprisingly cold on Wobani. The cold crept through the transport tank’s walls and air vents. It seeped into her bones. She flexed her fingers. The gloves they gave the workers did little to protect from cold; they were only meant to keep the skin on their palms so they could work longer. Jyn thought of the synthskin gloves she’d inherited from Maia, and a pang of sorrow bit into her.

  Across from her, Jyn’s cellmate stared down at the floor. Her long mouth tentacles, reddish-brown and drooping, fluttered nervously. Jyn leaned back. The Aqualish in the group chittered angrily at the rough way the stormtrooper clipped his binders to the seat; they dug into his wrists painfully.

  The prison tank’s engine warmed up and heaved into motion. It bumped along the muddy, unpaved road, jostling the prisoners.

  And then Jyn felt a different sort of lurch.

  Her head jerked to the big gray door at the end of the aisle. There was a glow behind it, like the rising sun, peeking through the cracks around the frame.

  And then the door blew off.

  The stormtrooper who had rushed forward was blown back from the blast, his body prone in the aisle. Jyn jerked up, cursing her restraints silently, her eyes wide. A group of humans rushed onto the transport, a tall man with dark hair and stubble on his chin at the front of the line. While two other men took defensive stances with their blasters, his gaze moved quickly around the cabin. He was clearly looking for someone specific.

  Her.

  Jyn breathed deeply, relishing the scent of fresh air and plants from outside, mingling with the smell of fuel and the burning tang of jet juice inside.

  “Come on,” the leader of her escape said, motioning her forward.

  “What is this?” she asked, rushing to keep up.

  “This is the Rebellion,” he said simply.

  She stared in wonder as she was led past a hangar filled with X- and Y-wings, past people talking excitedly, past droids rushing by. Her eyes drank in the glimpse of the outside world she could see through the hangar door: lush greenery, low mountains, and a stone-stepped ziggurat rising through the jungle. She was led farther into the base. The atmosphere shifted; the flyboys weren’t there, making jokes and regaling each other with their exploits. This part of the base was solemn, dark. Her entourage stopped outside a door. She remembered Idryssa and Xosad and their hints that something big was happening, that an alliance was forming. She had no idea that it was this big, this organized.

  This real.

  Her entourage stopped in front of a door, and Jyn tentatively stepped inside the room. The command center, she realized. Green light boards glowed with strategies and maps. The people huddled together in the room spoke in low voices, urgency and worry seeping from their tones.

  When the door closed behind her, silence pervaded the room.

  Two men—generals—stared at Jyn. The older one seemed to judge her with his eyes, and clearly found her lacking. But Jyn wasn’t watching him. Her eyes were on the woman who stood in front of one of the light boards. She wore all white, with a heavy pair of silver chains hanging from her shoulders and a beautiful necklace weighing down her neck. Her short hair was immaculately styled, and her eyes cut across the dim room, straight to Jyn’s.

  Jyn pretended not to know her, but she did. Anyone with access to the HoloNet knew this woman. Mon Mothma, exiled senator and presumed leader of the Rebellion.

  The rumors were right, she thought. Her gaze flicked over to another man she recognized from the HoloNet: Bail Organa.

  There was movement to Mon Mothma’s left, and a captain emerged from the shadows. He had dark hair and eyes that crinkled pleasantly even though his expression was grave. There was something about him that reminded her of…she couldn’t quite place it. But he had a familiar sort of face, one she immediately wanted to trust. He looked like the kind of man who always got a laugh out of someone. Jyn couldn’t take her eyes off him. Part of her wondered if he wanted to laugh at her. Part of her wondered if she’d just forgotten the way people’s faces should be. There wasn’t laughter on Wobani.

  “Be seated.” Mon Mothma’s cool, even voice demanded attention.

  Jyn sank into her seat slowly, nervously. Wary.

  One of the generals leveled his gaze at Jyn. “You’re currently calling yourself…” He checked his file. “Liana Hallik. Is that correct?”

  Jyn’s heart ramped up. She felt trapped. Exposed. Confused.

  The general looked down at his file again, smug. “Possession of unsanctioned weapons, forgery of Imperial documents, aggravated assault, escape from custody, resisting arrest…” He met Jyn’s eyes. “Imagine if the Imperial authorities had found out who you really were. Jyn Erso.”

  The world bottomed out at the sound of her real name.

  He knew. Her gaze flicked around to the others in the room. They all knew.

  The general was eating it up. “That’s your given name, is it not? Jyn Erso? Daughter of Galen Erso.” He paused. “A known Imperial collaborator in weapons development.”

  “I have no father,” Jyn said, her words strong with the conviction she put behind them.

  Mon Mothma spoke softly, her voice sad, or maybe just tired. “A girl raised to be a soldier.”

  Jyn turned her gaze to Mon Mothma. Did she expect Jyn to be sad that Saw had taught her how to fight? How to survive?

  But she didn’t get her first lesson from Saw. Jyn looked at Mon Mothma’s pitying gaze, but she didn’t see her. She saw her parents, fleeing Coruscant, running away for their freedom from the Empire. They had settled on Lah’mu, but her mother had never quite given up the idea that they were still running. When the Empire came, Jyn’s father had surrendered easily. Far too easily. But her mother…her mother had fought.

  Papa had told Mama to run.

  She hadn’t.

  The Empire had told her to stand down, to go quietly.

  She hadn’t.

  Jyn looked up, glaring at the rebels around her. Who were they to judge? They didn’t know the smell of rain on dirt mixed with blood and blaster fire. They couldn’t identify stormtrooper boots by sound alone.

 
They didn’t wake up with the nightmares of Jyn’s past, the choices that haunted her.

  Had it been easy for them, black and white as a stormtrooper’s armor, when they chose to rebel against the Empire?

  Mon Mothma and the others stated their case, giving the reason they wanted Jyn’s help. The ghosts of her past mocked her.

  She could never escape her father’s long shadow.

  She thought of Blue, of Hadder, of Saw, of her mother.

  Of her father, walking away with the man in the long white cape.

  They were asking her to find her father. To find him and uncover the weapon he had helped make. It was Saw’s old mission, fully realized.

  Jyn could feel the kyber crystal necklace around her throat. She remembered the moment when her mother gave her that necklace, minutes before she was killed.

  But she could remember further back, when her father had given her mother the crystal. They had been on Coruscant then. Her mother had been uneasy, unhappy, but her father had relished the funding from the Empire, the chance to follow his dreams deep into his research of the mysterious kyber crystals.

  “This,” Papa had said, holding up a small kyber crystal after inspecting it in the crystalline spectrometer, “is so much more than a rock.”

  “Really?” Her mother had laughed at him. “It looks like a rock to me.”

  Papa shook his head. “That’s what makes kyber crystals so special,” he said. “They seem like innocent little stones. But they can harness so much more power than you would think. Their history is marred with legend, but the fact remains—they have the potential to change the whole galaxy.”

  “One little rock,” Mom had said, wrapping her arms around him. “And there’s a crack in it.”

  Papa quickly wrapped wire around the clear crystal, threaded it with a cord, and slipped the kyber over Mom’s head. He kissed her, a quick little peck, and said, “You never know. Something small and broken really can be powerful.”