by James Luceno
The expedition lasted six local months, and by the end of it they were lovers. She had made the first move, but he had gotten the hang of things very quickly. And all at once she occupied the center of his world. She had blazed a path to his heart, and in so doing had allowed Galen to realize that, in fact, he had one.
In the years before the war, Lyra had been concerned that Galen would shift from pure science to military research, but in retrospect she needn’t have worried. When many of Galen’s colleagues began to accept government handouts for positions, he instead took an offer from Zerpen Industries to continue his research into crystal synthesis and energy enrichment. The last time they had seen Orson was shortly before their departure for Vallt, when they had informed him of Lyra’s pregnancy. And now all these months later, who should show up to rescue them but Galen’s old school chum.
Still, how could she not be grateful? How could she even allow herself to be suspicious of Orson’s intentions—even if he had twisted Galen up inside by bringing him to Grange? He had risked a great deal for them, and if he hadn’t come…
Well, could even a Jedi know the future?
She listened for a moment more to the muffled conversation. Yes, Galen was tied up in knots. With her maternal instincts running strong, she had to resist an urge to intercede. After all, she wasn’t Galen’s parent; she was his partner.
Besides, Orson knew the real world much better than either of them did.
Events of the past standard year already crystallizing as memories, Lyra began to drift to sleep with Jyn’s warm breath on her cheek, and she thought: If Coruscant was so changed, then perhaps Galen was going to need Orson’s help more than ever.
“DID WE ACTUALLY SPEND THE whole of the past year halfway across the galaxy?” Galen asked.
“Well, there’s that beard of yours,” Lyra said, “so we must have been somewhere.”
Galen stroked the whiskers Lyra had left behind after trimming and styling the beard to complement his pronounced cheekbones and strong jaw. The two of them were collapsed into cushioned armchairs in the main room of their apartment on the grounds of the Institute of Applied Science, which rose from the heart of one of central Coruscant’s finest precincts. Galen had Jyn propped on his left thigh and now he set her gently down on the floor, where she immediately began to work on her crawl.
“Galen, are you sure that’s okay?”
He bent down to extend an arm and run his forefinger across the polylaminate flooring. “Clean enough,” he said, showing her his fingertip. “Besides, we may as well let her get familiar with the territory.”
Lyra smiled as she watched Jyn scurry, then pause to hook a leg under her body and lift herself slightly. “She’ll be walking before we know it. And she’s going to be a lot to keep up with.”
When Galen didn’t respond, she glanced up at him to find him distracted, completely absent. Watching Jyn, his look was at once joyous and anxious, and his thoughts were easy to decode.
“Galen, I’m sorry about the way things worked out. Or didn’t.”
Her tone brought him back to the moment, and he exhaled slowly. “We were so close to achieving something monumental on Vallt.” He gave his head a long mournful shake. “Every time I think about Nurboo and the others, what they might be going through—”
“Don’t dwell on it, Galen. There’s nothing we could have done to prevent what happened.” She sighed with purpose. “I understand, though. Not a day goes by…” She let her words trail off, stood and crossed the room so that she could sit beside him, Jyn’s interest riveted on a piece of something she found on the floor that Lyra hoped wouldn’t end up in her mouth. “Something will turn up.”
He showed her a rueful smile. “I’d like to think so. But I’ve put us in a fix. Zerpen isn’t likely to risk bringing me back into the fold right now, and let’s face it, without a research position I’m fairly useless.”
“You’re not useless, Galen. And I’m not exactly incapable of working.”
“I know that,” he said. “But I feel like I need to make it up to you and Jyn.”
“Make what up to us? You better not be blaming yourself for getting thrown into prison.”
“I was the one who pushed for accepting Zerpen’s offer. You at least had sense enough to try to talk me out of it.”
Lyra turned his face toward hers. “We went into it together, Galen. Now we just need to find a way forward—together.”
His eyes brightened somewhat. “I do have an idea.”
“Really?” she said.
“I’m going to meet with Orson.”
Her smile straightened. “Orson? Why?”
“Thanks to him the three of us are safely back on Coruscant.” Galen nodded in Jyn’s direction. “We owe him.”
Lyra took her lower lip between her teeth. “To a degree, I guess. But despite the role Orson played, it was the Republic that rescued us.”
“Okay. Then we owe a debt to the Republic.”
Lyra searched his face for clues as to what he had in mind. “I just think you need to be careful around Orson. He still calls himself an engineer, but he’s a soldier through and through.”
Galen nodded in agreement. “You don’t have to worry about my asking him for a job.”
“Then what could you possibly have to talk to him about?”
“I’m going to repay our debt by rescuing him.”
—
The scanner that monitored the main entry of the military detention center on Coruscant accessed the coded information contained in the insignia squares affixed to the left breast of Krennic’s tunic, and with a chirp of approval the thick door pocketed itself into the partition, allowing him to pass. Two clone troopers stationed inside led him through another door and into the mouth of a brightly lit corridor that sloped toward the turbolift bays that provided passage to the bowels of the building. Krennic knew, because he had supervised the team that had remodeled the place.
He had been back on Coruscant for a standard month, meeting with scientists on the Institute of Applied Science campus and attending strategic planning briefings, after the most recent of which he had received a message from Mas Amedda, saying that they needed to chat. Apprised of Galen’s rescue, the Chagrian was probably eager to know when Galen could commence research on the battle station weapon, but in fact Krennic wasn’t sure himself. During their journey to the Core and in the time since, he had been careful not to ask Galen directly to participate in the Special Weapons Group; nor had he mentioned anything about the battle station project itself.
What Amedda and the others didn’t understand about Galen Erso was that direct approaches seldom worked. Only when Galen was halfway toward persuading himself to do something could he be coaxed the rest of the way. Galen would need to be convinced that it was his destiny to contribute to the battle station, and Krennic was determined to see to it that he didn’t miss his calling. He hoped he had planted the seeds and that chaotic Coruscant would provide the water and nourishment.
Until such time, Krennic understood that he had to continue demonstrating his usefulness to Amedda and Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. Galen’s long captivity on Vallt had furnished him with an idea for doing just that, which was why he had come to the detention center to speak with the Geonosian archduke, Poggle the Lesser.
The insectoid alien was waiting behind the ray-shield entrance to a windowless and featureless interview room. He had evaded capture during the First Battle of Geonosis only to be taken into custody after the second and brought to Coruscant by the Jedi for interrogation.
“I want all surveillance suspended while I’m in there with him,” Krennic told the clone troopers at the entrance to the interview room.
“Do you want to keep the ray shield active?” one of them asked.
Krennic shook his head. “Lower it.”
The trooper nodded curtly. “As you wish, Lieutenant Commander.”
Poggle was of average height for a Geonosian, with the
skull of a long-snouted hominid. His eyes were thick-lidded and unreadable, and from the underside of his muzzle dangled a meter-long organ that was frequently mistaken for a tongue. Insectoid wings sprouted from the bony shoulder blades of a chitinous body that was near impervious to radiation. His two legs were reverse-articulated, and his clawed hands were equipped with dexterous digits.
Since the inception of the Strategic Advisory Cell, Krennic had immersed himself in studying the Geonosian society and learning the basics of the language. Many of the clicks and whistles and glottal stops still eluded him, but he was proficient enough in conversation to proffer a formal greeting that took Poggle by surprise.
“If you are to converse intelligently in Geonosian,” Poggle said in Basic through a translator device, “you will need to focus on lengthening the syllables that make up our words. I had no trouble grasping what you were trying to say, but what you actually said was closer to: ‘I greet the knees of your hive and extend my best choices for your willingness.’ ”
Krennic nodded. “I will strive to improve.”
Poggle continued to scrutinize him. “I appreciate the effort, nonetheless.”
Krennic lowered himself into a simple chair and folded his hands atop the table that separated him from the archduke. “I am Lieutenant Commander Orson Krennic of the Republic Corps of Engineers.”
“An engineer? Not a soldier or an intelligence analyst?”
“No, Archduke. My business, much like yours, is design and construction.”
“Then I am curious as to why an engineer would desire to learn our tongue.”
“Primarily because I’ve long been fascinated by your society. For some time I’ve wanted to congratulate you for introducing autonomous thinking to the battle droids. Central control computers were certainly an outgrowth of the hierarchical structure of Neimoidian society. And we all saw what happened at the Battle of Naboo. The Separatist droid army has come a long way since, and I don’t think the Geonosians are given enough credit for that. Even the fact that you are incarcerated here tells me that you are underappreciated by the Separatist leadership, or they wouldn’t have allowed you to fall into Republic hands.”
“It’s true that Geonosis should have been more heavily defended,” Poggle allowed.
“I’m certain you had all sorts of unique weapons planned to pad the Separatist arsenal.”
“Also true.”
Krennic leaned forward and lowered his voice in conspiracy. “What I’m most interested in is the deep-space mobile battle station.”
Poggle’s wattles twitched slightly as he regarded Krennic. “I know of no mobile battle station.”
Krennic sat back, nodding. “I can appreciate why you’d say that. The one I’m referring to is the size and shape of a small moon.” He waited, then broke the silence by adding: “You’re asking yourself: Did I or did I not purge all the data on the computers in the Stalgasin war room? And the answer is, yes, you did. We couldn’t get a thing out of the system.” He smiled faintly. “But just the same we have learned a great deal about the battle station.”
Poggle’s reddish skin darkened. “There is no battle station.”
“Well, not yet there isn’t. I have to ask, though: Was the station yet another example of Geonosian genius, or did Count Dooku or your confederate in this facility, Wat Tambor, provide you with the original design?” Krennic held up his hands before Poggle could reply. “Don’t get me wrong, the schematic for the battle station has your flair all over it: the architecture, the superstructure, the parabolic focusing dish…” He waited. “Still doesn’t ring a bell?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, perhaps it’s the conditions in this deplorable place,” Krennic said, gesturing broadly. “The lack of fresh air and sunlight conspire to scramble one’s recollections. Months of solitary confinement begin to work on the brain, and after a while you can no longer discern your memories from your hallucinations. Any sense of how far along Dooku is on building the installation?”
Poggle started to say something but thought better of it.
“Archduke, let’s put our cards on the table. I know you’ve been over this time and again with Republic Intelligence interrogators, and I’ve listened to every word of the recordings.”
Poggle looked dubious. “And you claim to be an engineer.”
“It’s true, though I admit to being one of high rank and influence. So as one engineer to another, can’t you at least abandon the charade and give me some hint as to where the battle station is being built?”
“What good would be served by my talking about something of which I have no knowledge?”
Krennic exhaled with purpose. “All right, then let’s talk about something even more pressing, and that is the members of your hive. You know, another thing most beings fail to realize about the Geonosians is that it’s in your nature to be industrious. When Baktoid Armor Workshop first approached you about designing droid factories for the Trade Federation, how could you turn that down? A way to keep all your drones and soldiers busy and content. Because the two go hand in hand, don’t they: projects and a sense of fulfillment? Anyone with even a passing familiarity with the history of your species knows what happens when there aren’t tasks enough to keep everyone occupied. Hives attack hives, hundreds of thousands die needlessly, your vaunted arenas run thick with blood as drones try desperately to improve their status, the cemetery pits overflow with rotting corpses. The rampant agonism prevents your queens from reaching maturity. Surely you of all Geonosians will acknowledge that much, having risen from drone to archduke. And that’s what has me worrying about Geonosis in your absence. How quickly will the descent into barbarity occur? Which soldier or drone will rise up to usurp your throne? How soon will your soldiers fly off to found a new colony? Who will see to it that the temperature in the hive queen’s chamber remains constant?”
“You have a solution, engineer?”
“I do indeed,” Krennic said. “And it has everything to do with the battle station you claim not to remember designing, despite what you’ve already supplied to our intelligence officers. Let’s for the sake of argument say that you only threw in with Count Dooku to keep your citizens content and well fed. That you have no real issues with the Republic.”
“Let’s say.”
“And let’s further say that the Republic agrees that a productive Geonosian is a happy Geonosian.”
“Why would the Republic care?”
Krennic leaned forward once more to lock gazes with Poggle. “Because we want you to build the battle station for us.”
—
The pleasure Krennic took in how well he had played the Geonosian archduke was eclipsed by Galen Erso’s request to meet privately with him—certainly to solicit Krennic’s support in landing a position with the Republic military. It didn’t matter to Krennic whether the request was motivated by a sense of gratitude for having been rescued from imprisonment or because Galen had finally come to grips with the fact that his options for employment in any scientific endeavor were few and far between. With Archduke Poggle on board and Galen about to enlist in the cause, how could Mas Amedda and Supreme Chancellor Palpatine fail to be moved by Krennic’s ability to take charge and follow through?
The wings of the amphitheater were waiting!
He had already decided on the course he would take with Galen, first by declining to intercede in Galen’s affairs—not out of any lack of charity or animosity but because he didn’t want to be held accountable for Galen’s defying his principles, for altering his stance regarding the war. He would, though, allow Galen to argue the point, and gradually accede to his request for a position. Krennic imagined marching Galen directly over to the Strategic Planning Amphitheater to have him swear to a security oath in the presence of Amedda and some of the others, but he knew it wouldn’t unfold in that way. Galen would first need to be brought into one of the ancillary battle station programs—defensive
shield technology, say, or perhaps hyperdrive research—before becoming a part of the Special Weapons Group.
But all in good time.
Krennic had asked Galen to come to his office in the Corps of Engineers headquarters—an office he himself hadn’t visited in standard months—and was waiting behind his desk when Galen was shown in, the scientist heavier by a couple of kilos and his beard trimmed to a presentable length.
Krennic stood, extended his hand, and motioned Galen into a chair. “How good to see you looking healthy and fit again. How are Lyra and…the child?”
“Jyn,” Galen provided.
“Have all of you adjusted to being back in the Core?”
Galen frowned. “It hasn’t been easy—especially being idle.”
Krennic adopted a sympathetic expression. “It’s difficult to think of you without a project, a team of fellow researchers, a facility in which to work your magic.”
“That’s precisely why I’m here, Orson. And I hope you’ll be open-minded about what I’m about to propose.”
Krennic lifted a brow in surprise. “Propose?”
Galen drew a datapad from his pocket and activated it. Instantly the holoimage of an installation of some sort resolved in the air above the desk.
Krennic regarded the 3-D miniature in bafflement. “What exactly am I looking at?”
“Our project,” Galen said.
Krennic blinked. “Our project?”
“It’s a rough design for a new energy facility,” Galen went on, “far superior to anything Zerpen Industries has ever built. Some of what you see will have to be reworked, as Zerpen has proprietary rights, and of course I’ll need to wait until the terms of my non-compete contract expire, but in the meantime we can get started on assembling a team of the best and brightest and going after funding.”
Krennic watched the holoimage revolve, feeling as if his head were doing the same. “Funding?”
“I’m certain you have access to wealthy beings from all sectors,” Galen said. “I suppose we could even approach the Republic, if it hasn’t allocated everything to the war effort. The point is that in the end—once everyone comes to appreciate the full potential of the energy we’ll be able to generate, harvest, and provide—we’ll be in a position to dictate terms and amass whatever funds we need.”
