Catalyst

by James Luceno

  Krennic realized that his mouth was hanging open and closed it. “Galen, are you actually proposing that we go into business together?”

  Galen smiled. “I know I’m asking a lot, as it would mean your having to leave the Corps of Engineers, but we’d be embarking on something so…so unprecedented that I’m certain you’ll never have cause to look back.”

  Krennic was speechless. For a brief moment he glimpsed a new destiny opening before his eyes, a window into a future he had never imagined for himself, a path to an entirely different life, and yet just as quickly as the window opened it closed, slammed shut as much by long years of training as by a feeling of trepidation.

  “Galen, you can’t be serious,” he said at last. “Clearly you don’t understand my position—”

  “But I am serious,” Galen cut in. “And I do understand your position. I just think you deserve more than…this,” he added, motioning in a way that took in the Corps of Engineers headquarters.

  Krennic swallowed to suppress a sudden defensiveness, a raw desire to tell Galen Erso that this was all a sham; to load that datapad of Erso’s with the schematic of the battle station and show him what he was really in charge of.

  Instead, he said: “I’m flattered and I’m honored, but I’m afraid that my commitment to the Republic comes first and foremost, especially at this time, when the galaxy is divided against itself.”

  Galen’s face fell, but he nodded in understanding. “I wish there was some way to convince you that there are other ways to contribute to peace.”

  Krennic fixed him in his sights. “As I wish I could convince you,” he said with finality.

  —

  Staring out the window at the comings and goings of beings on the institute campus, Galen asked himself how he could have felt freer in a prison cell than he did in his own apartment. In his mind’s eye he could still take in the view from the barred cell window, the one that had practically required the talents of a gymnast to behold: fat flakes of snow falling on the tundra, sky-kings performing lazy spirals overhead, the flickering lights of the city, winter’s rippling, wavering curtains of polar light. And now Coruscant, and a discontent he had never known; an inability to find refuge even in his thoughts; to find what one of his mentors had called the still point in the turning world.

  Weeks had passed since Orson’s rejection of his proposal, but Galen still wasn’t over it. In retrospect he realized that he had been grasping at straws; determined to find a swift and easy escape from the quagmire in which he found himself. But how could he have been so audacious as to ask Orson to abandon the career he had pursued since his earliest days in the Futures Program? Galen abhorred his commitment to the Republic military, but Orson plainly had no interest in being rescued.

  He turned from the window and moved into the apartment’s main room, careful not to tread on any of Jyn’s toys. With his mind busy in the most useless ways and the apartment suddenly crowded with clothes and stuffed animals, mobiles and swing sets—almost all of it donated by friends whose children had outgrown those things—he had become compulsive about trying to impose some sense of order, but there simply wasn’t enough space. So he had turned to his own possessions—his notes and datacrons and collections of sample rocks and crystals—and had experimented with arranging everything by category, the datacrons by order of importance, the crystals by size, then by color…All in an effort to keep from confronting the fact that he couldn’t think. He couldn’t concentrate. Instead his thoughts churned, as Lyra used to accuse his feet of doing on hikes through rugged terrain.

  He gazed around in near despair. Where he had never had an issue with so-called free time, he was suddenly lost without his research; torn between uncompromising tenderness for Lyra and Jyn and a sense of burden in being able to provide a flawless future for them.

  The Vallt he missed no longer existed; nor did the Coruscant he and Lyra had left more than a standard year earlier. Despite the changes war had brought to the Core it might still be possible for them to ride out the conflict here. Even if it meant avoiding HoloNet news reports and steering clear of conversations about war and politics. Surely they could manage that much. Perhaps the war would end as abruptly as it had begun and life would return to normal—or at least to what had been considered normal beforehand.

  There had been no word from Zerpen. Orson had affirmed that, what with charges of espionage still hanging in the air, the company was reluctant to contact him. Like Lyra, Orson maintained that an opportunity would eventually present itself, but Galen, normally patient, felt compelled to take charge. The place to begin, he had decided, was with his friends and colleagues at the institute, some of whom he had known since his years in the Futures Program. Many had fled for their homeworlds when war had broken out, but just as many had remained on Coruscant. Only one, however, had been willing to make time to meet with him; the rest quick to furnish excuses that struck him as more equivocal than clear.

  Dressed in a suit two standard years old and already out of fashion, he left the apartment for a lunch appointment with Professor Reeva Demesne in the solarium of the institute’s astrophysics building. Coruscant’s scrubbed air had a vibrancy it lacked before the war. From the tops of the tallest cloudcutters to the lowest of the Central District’s levels, everyone seemed to be actively participating in the defense of the Republic. News reports blared from screens once reserved for advertisements and entertainment. The tiers of traffic lanes were crowded and frenzied. Gargantuan starships landed and launched from the spaceports, the heat from their drives rippling the atmosphere, and military personnel were omnipresent, from uniformed officers of all species to squads of white-armored clone troopers.

  The astrophysics building, too, buzzed with activity. Visitors were required to check in at security booths and were sometimes shadowed by small repulsorlift cam droids. Cliques of multispecies researchers and professors hurried about, conversing in hushed tones or finishing one another’s sentences with rushed enthusiasm. Other institute denizens seemed completely preoccupied, lost in their own worlds, tapping or speaking notes into datapads as they maneuvered through the bustling corridors, narrowly avoiding collisions with others doing the same. Galen took note that many levels of the building were now restricted to faculty members and staff, with soldiers posted at every egress.

  He rode a turbolift to the solarium and spied Reeva seated at a square table by the west-facing windows. The Mirialan’s skin was a powdery green, her striking face tattooed in vertical bands of dark diamonds. Her full lips were pigmented in iridescent blue scales. She wore a scarlet robe that reached the floor, and a cowl covered most of her graying hair.

  His former mentor stood as he approached and embraced him. “Galen, it’s wonderful to have you back on Coruscant. I almost didn’t recognize you behind the beard.”

  He stroked his whiskers as he seated himself. “It’s probably time to get rid of it.”

  “It suits you.” She gestured toward the nourishment synthesizers. “What can I get you?”

  He shook his head. “I normally skip lunch.”

  Reeva motioned to her plate of food. “You don’t mind…”

  “Of course not. Good appetite.”

  “How is Lyra, Galen?”

  “Good. Adapting. To being a mother, I mean.”

  “Ah, yes, the baby.”

  “Jyn.”

  She blew out her breath. “How could I forget? I was there when the two of you chose the name! I’ve too much on my mind lately.”

  Galen’s eyes roamed the sunlit room. “This place has become a hive.”

  “It’s like this all over. The institute is conscripting candidates from university programs even before they graduate. So many people working on so many projects.”

  “Are you still involved in energy generation and enhancement?”

  “No longer.”

  Galen let his surprise show. “But that was always your passion, Reeva. I was following your research every chan
ce I got. You seemed to be on the threshold of a major advance.”

  She exhaled in a fatigued way and pushed her plate aside. “Things change.”

  “So I keep hearing. What are you involved with now?”

  She glanced around before answering. “Defensive shield generation. I really can’t say a lot about it.” A knowing smile lightened the moment. “But I’m sure we’ll be able to catch up after the next briefing.”

  Galen frowned in ignorance. “What briefing?”

  She paused for a moment to take his measure. “You’re not…You haven’t joined the defense project?”

  He spread his hands in bafflement.

  “You haven’t signed the Official Secrets Oath?” she pressed.

  “I’ve never even heard of an Official Secrets Oath.”

  Her eyes shifted. “I’m sorry, Galen, I’d assumed that…Well, never mind. You’re still with Zerpen then.”

  “I honestly don’t know. The regime change on Vallt apparently left a bad taste in their mouth.”

  “All the more reason for you to join us.”

  “Join you in what exactly? Reeva, I can’t get a straight answer from anyone about what’s going on. What’s become of this place? All these spying eyes and security posts. It feels less like a place for science than a military base.”

  Reeva firmed her shimmering lips. “You’ve been away, Galen. The war has altered everything, not only for those directly involved in the conflict, but also for many of us here on Coruscant. Count Dooku shook us awake to a harsh reality, and most of us have traded theory for practicality. Even so, unlimited funding has been wonderful for research.”

  Galen smirked. “Wars have always been good for innovation. But what’s become of our dream of providing renewable energy to shore up microeconomies on developing worlds? To allow them to participate in power production rather than be held hostage to the consortiums?”

  “In due time we’ll return to that,” Reeva said, “and we’ll be able to accomplish much more than we ever could before.”

  Galen was crestfallen. “What’s it like—working for the military?”

  Reeva’s eyes darted again. “My direct contact with them is somewhat limited. I spend my days conferring with colleagues and machines. We calculate, we experiment. We transmit our research.”

  “These shield generators…Are they designed for cities as defensive umbrellas?”

  Reeva shook her head. “They’re designed for capital ships.”

  Galen stared at her. “I don’t understand. Rothana’s ships are capable of withstanding most of what the Separatists can deliver in the way of laser- or projectile fire.”

  “Our team is working on protecting something larger—with wider, impregnable coverage.”

  “Larger than a Venator-class Star Destroyer? Is this to parry some new weapons platform Dooku has in the works?”

  “So it would seem.”

  Considering it, Galen prized a marker from his pocket and started to sketch his thoughts onto a napkin. “In the short run you could consider shunting a shield’s absorbed energy into a heat sink, then employ neutrino radiators to return energy to the generators and projectors themselves. It’s similar to what we’ve been doing with lasing mediums and crystals. Of course, you need to be careful about overpumping.” He continued to sketch. “Maybe multiple shield generators distributed evenly across an entire hull to enhance coverage…”

  Reeva slid the napkin across the table to regard it. “Interesting…”

  “Just thinking out loud,” Galen said in dismissal. “But this sort of research isn’t normally done on Coruscant.”

  “Our ideas are going to be put to the test in a new facility.”

  “Am I allowed to know where?”

  “I don’t even know where it is.”

  “Official secrets.” He sat back, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s come to that, has it?”

  By way of answer, she said: “All of us need to position ourselves for the future, Galen.” And just as quickly she changed the subject. “But listen: A group of us from the old days are having a reunion in a few weeks. Why don’t you join us? Bring Lyra. Bring the baby, if you want. I’m certain that a lot of your former schoolmates would love to see you.”

  “Before everyone ships out for parts unknown, you mean.”

  Tongue in her cheek, she nodded. “That’s a distinct possibility.”

  KRENNIC AND VICE CHANCELLOR MAS Amedda left the Strategic Planning Amphitheater together, using a doorway reserved for the highest-level dignitaries. A pair of red-robed guards followed but slowed their pace to drop back as the two began to converse.

  “Who authorized you to launch an attack on Vallt?” Amedda said with a snarl of exasperation. He had the tall figure-headed staff gripped in his right hand, and was sporting a shimmersilk cummerbund and an overcloak with padded shoulders—as if his upper torso weren’t already wide enough.

  “It was a military decision.”

  “I ask again: On whose authority?”

  Krennic looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “You said you didn’t want to know any details. Have you changed your mind?”

  “I don’t want to know. And yet intelligence reaches me and I’m obliged to become involved.” Amedda shot him a look. “Who?”

  “The admiral in command of that sector. The attack was part of the deal we made with Zerpen, and also a means of safeguarding anything Galen Erso may have revealed to Vallt’s Separatist regime regarding the disposition of Republic warships in that sector.”

  Amedda ridiculed the idea with a reverberating grunt. “Erso wasn’t in possession of any intelligence to that effect.”

  “Just to be sure, then.”

  “As it happens, the return of Vallt to the Republic has worked in our favor.” Amedda’s gruff voice lost some of its edge. “I’m told that the world can be used as a staging area for offensives into nearby systems. But let me caution you about the need to respect the chain of command, Lieutenant Commander. Otherwise you risk jeopardizing your position in the cell.”

  Krennic disregarded the counsel. “I must be allowed to do my job, Vice Chancellor.”

  “Since when does meeting with the Geonosian archduke fall under your bailiwick?”

  Krennic wasn’t surprised to learn that Amedda knew of the visit. “The ongoing discussion about the need for a sentient workforce on the battle station gave me an idea, and I chose to follow up on it.”

  Amedda looked over at him. “Poggle has agreed to provide his drones?”

  Krennic nodded once. “He’ll make the announcement part of his homecoming.”

  The Chagrian’s grunt signaled endorsement. “Very clever.”

  They walked in silence for a few moments before Amedda added: “I have briefed the Supreme Chancellor about the rescue of Galen Erso.”

  Krennic suppressed a smile of satisfaction. “I considered using Lok Durd and Nuvo Vindi in the swap, but I wasn’t certain you would sanction their release from confinement. Hence, the two Morseerians—who no longer pose a threat to the Grand Army clones, by the way.”

  Amedda’s free hand stroked the lethorn on that side. “I have been looking into Dr. Erso’s research. As you say, he may prove to be of great value to the project.”

  “I’m glad you agree.”

  “So why hasn’t he been recruited? Why the delay?”

  “He’s still weighing his options. I suggest we give him more time.”

  “Time? Are you aware of our recent defeat at Ryloth?”

  “I just heard.”

  “And our losses at Bothawui?”

  “Most unfortunate.”

  “Then I’m sure you’ll agree that time is growing short. How can we force his hand?”

  “We can’t. He’s rejected previous offers from the military. The fact that he chose prison over freedom shows that he can’t be coerced. He doesn’t approve of bureaucracy, and prefers to control as much of his research as possible.”


  “He was a Zerpen employee,” Amedda pointed out.

  “Only because Zerpen promised to leave him alone.”

  “I prefer people without principles,” Amedda said. “Is it Zerpen’s wish to have him back?”

  “Yes, but we’ve persuaded them not to tender any offers. Dr. Erso was part of the price Zerpen paid for the return of the Vallt facility.”

  Amedda scowled. “Is there no one who can help us position him? His wife, perhaps.”

  Krennic shook his head. “Cut from the same cloth, I’m afraid.”

  “She is not a scientist. Just what is she to him—a minder?”

  “A listener. A translator of sorts. Often in charge of transcribing and organizing his notes.”

  Amedda fairly growled. “Dr. Erso was your idea. Months have elapsed and he continues to elude you. Without the weapon itself, our project is nothing more than a very costly artificial planetoid.”

  Krennic mulled it over. “Vice Chancellor, I imagine that fishing is a very popular pastime on your homeworld.”

  “Champala’s seas are not what they once were, but yes, of course,” Amedda said, clearly wondering where Krennic was going.

  “Then you understand the need for a proper lure, the proper bait, even the proper device required to land a catch.”

  Amedda exhaled through his nose. “To extend your analogy, Dr. Erso may be one of those rare creatures who is not easily attracted to even the most colorful lure or the tastiest bait.”

  “In his own waters, perhaps. But he’s far from those, and swimming directly toward our net.” Krennic paused, then added: “Galen Erso is destined to join the project. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  —

  Krennic had had no plans to attend the Futures Program reunion until he learned that Galen would be attending. The affair was hosted by a wealthy graduate who had served two terms in the Senate and whose apartment suite in 500 Republica was as lavish as any that could be found in Coruscant’s most prestigious building.