by Mur Lafferty
Don’t say a word. Stone-faced HoloNet News editor Mandora Catabe didn’t say it out loud, but the message was clear. Calliope Drouth’s eyes flicked from Mandora, seated at her desk, to the man standing behind her, smiling widely, hands clasped behind his back. Mandora’s face was set, grim, her eyes fixed on Calliope’s.
That’s an Imperial smile. Calliope had hoped to be called in to hear about the promotion she’d asked for, but that hope died when she saw Mandora’s face.
“Calliope, sit down,” Mandora said, indicating the chair opposite her desk. “This is Eridan Wesyse. I wanted to tell you first: I’m retiring, effective immediately, and Mr. Wesyse will be your new editor-in-chief.”
Where Mandora was small and shrewd, suspicious of anyone and everyone, Eridan looked as if he would always listen sympathetically, smile kindly, and report whatever fit the kind of story he wanted to tell; Calliope knew the type.
She nodded. She’d seen the man around, doing Imperial PR. “Nice to meet you, sir,” she said. “I’ve seen you at some events, haven’t I?”
He nodded, smiling wider. “You do have good eyes,” he said. “Mandora said you’d be my star reporter. Yes, I’ve done some work for the Empire, and I will continue to as Mondora’s replacement. You see, the Empire wanted to have a tighter...” he paused, searching for the word, “connection to HNN. We’ll want to keep on all of the loyal staff, though, so you shouldn’t worry about your job.”
Calliope couldn’t help glancing at Mandora.
“No, I’m the only one leaving. I was already contemplating my retirement,” Mandora said, her eyes indicating no such thing. “The Empire just made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“How generous,” Calliope said, her mouth going dry. “What plans do you have for HNN, Mr. Wesyse?”
“We’re going to start by giving you a promotion!” he said. “We’re promoting you to Senior Reporter and calling you the Voice of the Empire. We were so impressed with your work on the Wookiee threat.”
Calliope froze. Her piece on the Wookiee “threat” had been heavily edited by Imperial censors, removing the main point of her story entirely and nearly causing Calliope to quit.
“Based on your noteworthy history with HNN,” Wesyse continued, “it’s obvious we want to promote you. It’s quite an honor to be the one person on camera that countless citizens will watch to get their news!”
“That is an honor,” Calliope agreed, using the smooth voice she used on sources she knew were lying. “Thank you for the promotion. I’m looking forward to the new direction you will take us in, Editor Wesyse.”
She wanted to take Mandora aside and ask her what was going on, why was this happening, but Mandora’s normally animated face was set, which scared Calliope more than anything.
“As our newly appointed Voice of the Empire, we’re throwing you at your first story, actually,” Wesyse continued. “You are to cover the Imperial Ball tonight. We got you an invitation, which was no easy task.” He paused here, as if to give her a chance to thank him, but she pulled out a small keyboard and started taking notes, nodding for him to continue. “You are to go and interview the dignitaries, report what people are wearing, mention how good the food is, and so on. Your job is to show the Empire in a way the public doesn’t get to see it. Make it more accessible. By giving them the inside view, the Empire becomes their Empire. Understand?”
Before Calliope could protest that investigative journalism was her preferred area of news, Mandora pushed something across the desk at her. “I’m giving you Zox. I won’t need it after I retire. It’s yours now.” She patted the little droid, an elderly X-0X unit about the size of her hand. “It’s been very good to me, and I know it will serve you the same way.”
The droid was dome-shaped, and its original color was probably red or orange, but it was hard to tell as the paint had worn off with age. It extended three spidery legs and rose from the desk, wobbled, and fell over on its side. It beeped plaintively until Mandora righted it.
“It will probably be better on your shoulder, now that I think about it,” she said, smiling fondly at Zox and ignoring Calliope’s confusion entirely.
“But X-0X doesn’t transmit, it only records,” Calliope said. “Why can’t I take one of the newer droids?”
Wesyse frowned. “Unfortunately, the military did a recall of all of the transmitting droids reporters were using. Turns out there were some technical problems.”
Calliope wanted to laugh, but her spine had turned to ice. Did he know how transparent he was being? Stifling the press by removing their ability to transmit video feeds would drive the press in a direction Calliope didn’t want to go. She opened her mouth, but Mandora interrupted her.
“Anyway, I’m retiring and it needs a good owner. I know you will treasure it as much as I always have.” She gave it another push, her steely blue eyes locking onto Calliope’s. Take the droid.
Calliope’s mind raced as she put her hand over the small dome. They were balanced on the edge of something very sharp now. “Thank you, Mandora. I’ll treasure it.”
Much of the HNN staff had plans to go to the terrace of the HoloNet News building to watch the Empire Day parade below. Thousands of officers and soldiers marched by, flanked by the Empire’s machines of war. They were followed by small vehicles showing off the new Imperial TIE striker, designed for both suborbital flight and atmospheric flight, using state of the art technology in navigation and speed.
Calliope shook Mandora’s hand, wishing she could talk to her and find out what was really going on. She waved to her coworkers and left during the parade. She was hardly dressed for an Imperial Ball, as she had been expecting an average day at the office, and had to rush home to change.
Calliope spared a look over her shoulder as the new TIE fighters were displayed to the crowds. She had hoped to do a story on them, but doubted she’d ever get the chance now if she were doing shallow interviews of famous people.
Calliope rummaged in her closet for her few pieces of fancy clothing. She had reported from the front lines of wars, from the bridges of starships, from high atop a tree as she reported a raid on a droid manufacturing plant. She’d endured a broken arm, several burns, and one cut on her cheek, which she refused to surgically remove, as it was a reminder to all about how seriously she took her job.
And now she had to pull out the ivory gown that she had worn to her sister’s wedding. She had to admit it was beautiful, woven with smart strands of synthetic fiber that gave off shimmers of different colors depending on the angle of the light on the dress. The ivory contrasted well with her dark skin and delicate features, although accessorizing with a rusty droid would be challenging.
Finally dressed, she put X-0X on her shoulder. It beeped inquisitively at her. Its beep was more like a strangled chirp: this droid had been around for decades, and her boss had never replaced it.
“Why Mandora insisted I bring you, I’ll never know,” she said, and then stopped abruptly. X-0X whirred in a way that sounded much like the newer, sleeker droids, and its scratched ocular lens glowed. Had it been modified?
A hologram appeared in front of Calliope. Mandora paced within the small circle of X-0X’s beam, showing finally the energy and fierceness that Calliope had expected.
“Calliope. I don’t have much time. As of right now, the Empire is taking over HNN. I’m out, but you can still stay in. They will censor you. They will silence you. They will enrage you.” Mandora stopped and jabbed her finger at Calliope, spitting out one word per jab. “But I need you to stay where you are.”
The hologram began pacing again, a few steps to keep within the ability of X-0X to record. “This will be my last message to you. I’m leaving Coruscant. The fi
ght against the Empire is bigger than we ever expected, and I’m going to help them however I can.”
“Against the Empire?” Calliope whispered. She’d found evidence of resistance while researching some of her stories, but Mandora had stopped every attempt to report on them. They didn’t have enough to broadcast yet, she’d said.
“You have a few choices. I’m sure if you do what Eridan Wesyse wishes you to, you will be rewarded. Voice of the Empire. The Empire does appreciate loyalty. But you’re better than that. You’re smarter than that. And my... friends could use you. The second option available to you is dangerous and,” she paused and smiled, “...subversive.”
Calliope listened to the second option, hope and excitement blossoming within her. This was the kind of reporting she could get behind.
X-0X clung to her gown, and she didn’t even mind it crushing the fabric. It burbled and beeped at her as she approached the Imperial Palace. “What exactly did she do to modify you, anyway?” she asked. It remained silent.
Calliope walked past the dozens of Imperial guards, and then the helmeted troopers, who always made her shiver. She showed her press credentials and invitation to the stern-faced guard at the top of the staircase. He frowned, casting a suspicious eye on X-0X. “That a recording droid?”
“It is,” she said, smiling. “It’s vintage, mostly for show. It’s here with HNN Editor-in-chief Eridan Wesyse’s blessing.” Recognizing the name, he gestured her through.
She thought of the impoverished people on far-off systems and wondered who among them would want to know which designer a diplomat from Alderaan would be wearing. But she went dutifully to find out.
Oddly enough, Alderaan had sent a junior diplomat who looked as if his suit was very uncomfortable. She joined him at the bar.
“You look like this is your first Empire Day,” she said to him, smiling. “I’m Calliope Drouth, HoloNet News.”
His pale eyes scanned hers, and he swallowed. “Pol Treader. I recognize you. And what you’re really asking is why Alderaan sent someone so young to such an important day.”
She laughed. “If you’re going to succeed in diplomacy, you’re going to have to be much less direct.” She took the drink offered by the bartender.
“Diplomacy isn’t my usual job title,” Pol said, pulling at his waistcoat. “I’m here as a favor to the Organas. They couldn’t make it.”
That was interesting. “Why not?”
He shrugged and looked irritated at her. “They don’t tell me things like that. I’m just an assistant in antiquities.” He wandered away.
“Who did your suit?” she called after him, but he was gone.
She stopped herself from chasing after Mr. Antiquities as someone new swept into the room. All eyes fixated on the newcomer, and some young Imperial officers at the bar began whispering in hushed tones. Calliope edged closer to them.
“I don’t believe you,” one said to the other. She was tall, nearly two meters, with the same dark skin as Calliope.
Her companion was shorter and pale, his cheeks ruddy from already enjoying the flowing alcohol. “Fine, don’t believe me,” he said. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”
“You were there, with him? For Project Celestial Power?” she asked.
He shushed her frantically, his head swiveling around to see who had overheard. Calliope kept watching the new man entering the room—tall, pale, with a long white cape that shone in the light. Everyone seemed fascinated with him, but he only gave attention to the high-ranking Imperials drinking from thin flutes in the corner.
“Yes, I was with him, now be quiet about it. If we’re overheard I could be demoted!” He fingered his insignia of rank on his chest. “And I just got this.”
“Yes, you said so. About five times,” his companion said, sounding bored.
Calliope looked at their uniforms as if for the first time, and approached. The pale officer looked worried, but stood his ground.
“Calliope Drouth, HoloNet News,” she said. “Everyone is impressed with that man who just came in, but I can’t place him. Who is that?”
“That is Commander Krennic,” the tall woman said. “He’s the architect behind some of the Emperor’s greatest projects.”
“All classified, I would expect,” Calliope said, smiling.
“Of course,” the pale officer said.
“I would love to find out more about him, Officer...” she raised her eyebrows and waited for him to supply his name.
“Tifino. Officer Tifino,” he said. He indicated his companion. “That’s Officer Wick.”
Officer Wick bowed, looking amused. Calliope decided she liked her.
“I’ll get the next round,” she said. “Incidentally, what do you two think of the fashion here tonight?”
Once she had the officers talking, Calliope managed to steer the conversation toward the various dignitaries flaunting themselves in the ballroom.
“Now, that is Ambassador Oaan from the third moon around Jaatovi,” Wick said. The ambassador was tall and thin with long black hair cascading down her back, moving with grace through the crowd. She reached Commander Krennic and began speaking with him.
“She is so subtle she could step through a lightning storm and not get zapped,” Wick said. “I’d watch out for her.”
“Or interview her,” Calliope said, winking. She took a testing step away from her new friends, and they began protesting.
“You can’t leave, you just got here!” Tifino said. “You can talk to her later!”
Everyone likes the woman buying the drinks, Mandora had always told her, and she returned to them and got another round. If she could make these officers feel they owed her something, so much the better.
Calliope pointed to Tifino’s mark of rank. “It looks as if you made an impression on Commander Krennic,” she said, handing the bartender credits for the drinks. “It sounds like he’s doing highly classified things. You could be heroes and few would ever know. What does that feel like?”
Tifino finished his drink in one gulp and focused on Calliope, blinking a few times. His eyes fell on the silent droid on her shoulder. “He’s already a war hero,” he confided. “I-I can’t tell you why.”
“Of course you can’t,” Calliope said, nodding. “That’s not the actions of an officer who’s caught the commander’s eye. Speaking of which, where did he get that amazing cape?”
She’d guessed right; neither officer felt like following her lead about fashion. Wick brought up how she could be transferred to Tifino’s ship.
“We need scouts more than anything,” he said. “How’s your tracking?”
Wick made a face. “I’m a pilot. I haven’t spent time in any terrain but a city since I was a child.”
“What do you need with scouts?” Calliope asked. “I’ll bet the Emperor is looking for a place to spend a holiday!” She tapped on X-0X and frowned when it did nothing. Then she pulled her small keyboard from her bag and began typing. “Where is he looking to vacation?”
Tifino frowned. “No, it’s not like that. Who’d want to spend time on Jedha for fun, anyway?”
“Who’d want to scout there?” Calliope said. She got another round of drinks. Tifino excused himself to visit the lavatory.
Wick sighed when he was out of earshot. “That guy. A screw-up through the academy. I carried him, you know. And then luck hit him and missed me, and he’s under Krennic and I’m, well...” She looked down at her empty glass and Calliope gently removed it and put a full one there.
“I’m doing shuttle runs,” she finally said.
“Shuttle pilots can scout,” Calliope said. “You have a wider view of the terrain. You need to seize opportunity, tell them why they need you. You’ve got hot hands at the helm, right?” Wick nodded, realization dawning on her face. “You’ve got sharp eyes, right? Sharper than Tifino’s?”
“Much sharper,” Wick scoffed.
“Then you tell your superiors that shuttle pilots can be just as good
at scouting as troops on the ground. Better. You can see lights, smoke, the movement of groups. The Empire needs you to look for hidden enemies.”
Wick had been nodding fervently at her, and then frowned and stopped nodding. “No, they’re not looking for enemies. They’re looking for some kind of crystals. What were they called? Cyder? Kyber? Hyper? Something like that. Anyway, Tifino’s team just found a huge stash of them. That’s what got him his new rank.”
“And you carried that guy!” Calliope said, eyes wide with outrage.
“And I carried that guy,” Wick said firmly, nodding. They clinked glasses and drank.
Tifino returned with a confused smile. “Wait, I want in, what are we toasting?”
“To Wick’s future,” Calliope said, raising her glass again.
“Who carried you through the Academy,” Wick reminded him. “Who may just be the next hot officer to find the commander some of those fancy crystals!”
Tifino looked meaningfully at Calliope, who listed toward the wall and fiddled with X-0X, which was still unresponsive. Wick waved a hand, dismissing her. “She’s as drunk as we are. Besides, her recording droid died a while back.” She gulped and stood a little straighter, looking at Calliope. “You aren’t going to mention this, are you?”
“Depends,” she said. “Are you going to tell me who made the commander’s cape or not? Because that’s the story I’m chasing.”
They laughed, and Calliope mock frowned at them. “No, really. If I don’t report that, I’m going to get into serious trouble with my new editor. Everyone on Coruscant is going to want one!”
The officers laughed, and Wick launched into a very funny joke about bartenders on planets with high seawater content. Suddenly, X-0X gave a strangled chirp and tumbled off of Calliope’s shoulder. It landed hard on its dome and bounced a meter away. Calliope went to retrieve it, and as she reached out, a black boot settled gently on the droid’s still-rolling body and stopped it. She straightened and looked up into the face of Commander Krennic.
