Resistance Reborn (Star Wars)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

  Yendor whistled in appreciation.

  “She was also Luke’s apprentice,” Leia said, laying a hand on Rey’s arm.

  Yendor looked even more impressed. “Well, that’s someone, Rey of Jakku. That’s someone, indeed.”

  Rey flushed scarlet and took a gulp of her tea. She choked briefly and quickly set the cup down. She pressed a hand to her mouth, coughing hard.

  “Are you all right?” Charth asked, leaning forward.

  “Fine,” she said, coughing again.

  “Shall I hit you in the back?” C-3PO offered.

  She shook her head no in alarm. “I’m fine!”

  “Perhaps you’d like to refresh yourself?” Charth said.

  Rey pushed herself to her feet with a nod, and Charth waved Hahnee over. The woman led Rey away until Leia could no longer hear her cough echo through the oversized room.

  The three of them sat quietly for a moment, soaking in the growing darkness of the evening, the warmth of good tea in the belly, all at odds with the tension that crowded the room.

  Finally, Leia pressed her hands on the table and leaned toward Yendor, bringing all the weight of authority she had left to bear. All those years in the Rebellion, in the Senate, in every role she’d played came down to this. “Let me be blunt, Yendor. I’m calling in a favor.”

  When he spoke, it was with reluctance, but he said, “After what you did to rid Ryloth of Rinnrivin Di and his crime syndicate, you have that right.”

  Leia nodded. It wasn’t what she’d call enthusiastic, but it wasn’t a no.

  She spoke briskly. “We need a place to lay low, and Ryloth needs to be it. We need shelter, food, and communications equipment, a place to park some ships and do repairs…” Yendor’s eyes had gotten a bit wide, so she slowed down. “It’s not so much, if you think about it.”

  Yendor’s laugh was bitter. “Maybe not so much, but it’s politically dangerous.”

  “Not if no one knows we’re here, and I certainly don’t want anyone to know until we can regroup, find some allies.”

  “It can’t be done,” Charth cut in.

  Leia stared, and he tipped his chin in apology.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, General,” Charth said, “but logistically, it just can’t be done. We don’t have the facilities to house hundreds of Resistance fighters—”

  “One ship.”

  “What?”

  “The Millennium Falcon is all we have left.” Her voice didn’t waver when she said it. Her eyes moved back and forth between the two men before she shrugged. “Give or take. Once Black Squadron and my other pilots come in with help, I’m hoping to double, maybe triple that. But not hundreds, not even a hundred. And for now? Just the Falcon.”

  Silence descended. This one thick with grief unspoken.

  “I-I’m sorry to hear it,” Yendor said after a few moments, his voice quiet with loss.

  “Me, too,” Leia said, less quiet, and moving toward angry. She didn’t like rehashing all she had lost to convince Yendor and Charth that they should do the right thing, the thing Yendor had admitted he owed her. She just needed a safe place to rest, and the time to do it.

  The older Twi’lek man ran a long finger around the edge of his cup. “I’ll have to talk to Lessu. Chancellor Drelomon won’t like it, and General Ishel even less so.” He leaned forward, intent. “You know what you’re asking, Leia. If the First Order finds you here, they will crush us. Oh, we’ll put up a fight, but Ryloth is under no illusions as to how we would fare against the First Order and the military might they have amassed. No one wants to risk being the next Hosnian system.”

  Leia wanted to reassure him that Starkiller Base was destroyed, that he need not fear the demise of his planet simply for rendering the Resistance aid, but she knew she could make no such guarantees. She might well be talking Yendor into signing his planet’s death warrant. Part of her wanted to leave, right then and there. Find somewhere else, somewhere remote like Hoth or abandoned like Crait where she would not be putting friends in harm’s way. But deep down, she knew there was no safe place. Not for Yendor and Ryloth, and certainly not for her. Even if she had never brought the Resistance to his door, the First Order would come eventually. And they would ask of Ryloth what it could not give, and when it refused, they would bring war, and they would destroy Ryloth. It was their way.

  “Father,” Charth said, alarmed. “You can’t be seriously contemplating this.”

  Leia let out a small noise of surprise. Son? Charth was Yendor’s son? Oh stars, somehow that made it all the worse.

  “I dedicated my life to fighting for what’s right, Charth,” Yendor said, voice firm. “I didn’t do that to turn my back on people fighting for the same cause when they need help the most. Ryloth will maintain its neutrality, but helping refugees is not taking a political stand. It’s simply doing the right thing for fellow people.”

  Charth stood to pace, legs moving him back and forth along the polished red floors. “I understand, Father, and I’m sympathetic. But we’re calling the Resistance refugees now? No one will buy it.”

  Yendor shrugged. “I don’t think I care.”

  His son barked an incredulous laugh. “I thought your freedom-fighting days were over.”

  “So did I, but apparently not.”

  Rey returned, and Yendor gave her a kind smile. “Who knows, maybe I’ll get to pilot an X-wing again?”

  “What’s going on?” Hahnee said, trailing Rey as she walked over.

  “Dad’s made up his mind,” Charth murmured, and despite his earlier protests, Leia was sure she heard a hint of approval in the younger man’s voice. Charth turned to his sister. “It looks like we’ve joined the Resistance.”

  “WEDGE, WAKE UP! THERE’S someone in the yard.”

  Wedge woke immediately, fully on alert. He looked to his side, but Norra wasn’t next to him in bed. He sat up. There she was, at the window, standing to the side where no one could see her but giving her a clear view of the yard. Early dawn filtered through the glass, casting her face in shadow. Only her silver hair gleamed white in the burgeoning sunlight. The morning must be just shy of full sunrise.

  “Who is it?” he asked, his voice a low whisper. “Nosy neighbors?”

  “Too far to see faces from here, but they look official. No armor, but I see a few that look like enforcers of some kind.”

  His mouth felt dry. He reached for the bottle of water by the bedside and gulped it down. “Could it be the local government from Myrra come to investigate the X-wings?”

  “Could be. Probably. But there’s something about the way they carry themselves…”

  “First Order,” he said, grimly. He’d said earlier that he didn’t think the First Order had established a presence on Akiva yet, but maybe that had been naïve.

  Norra didn’t answer him, which was sign enough that she agreed. He pushed himself out of bed and padded silently over on bare feet to join her at the window. She moved to make room, and he looked out on the yard for himself. He counted six figures moving brazenly around his yard. Norra was right. No stormtroopers but…

  “Third on the right,” Wedge said. “That looks like a blaster rifle. Can you guess the model?”

  Norra looked. “Could be standard-issue F-11D, but since when have stormtroopers served out of uniform?”

  Wedge shrugged. “I don’t know, but do you want to take a chance?”

  “No.”

  Wedge hesitated. “Norra…”

  She looked at him, eyes bright. He had expected to see conflict there, a wariness of things to come. Perhaps even reluctance after her words last night. Instead all he saw was determination. Calm.

  “Looks like the fight has come to us,” she said.

  “Does that mean…?”

  She hurried to her side of the bed and pulled a bag fr
om underneath. Wedge recognized a flight knapsack. “I packed a few things,” Norra said, sounding sheepish. “I know we said we’d sleep on it, and I meant it…but I thought…just in case.”

  Wedge laughed and pulled his own packed bag from his side of the bed, grinning.

  Norra laughed. “I thought I was giving you time.”

  “I thought I was giving you time.”

  “You were. And I thought about it. But I didn’t have to think long.”

  “So we’re in this,” Wedge asked. “We’re going back to war, back to being rebels. Even if it means…”

  “It’s always meant that, hasn’t it?” she said quietly, eyes intent. “And we’ve lived long lives…”

  “Longer than many of our friends,” Wedge agreed.

  “And Leia needs us. The galaxy needs us.” She exhaled. “Our children need us.”

  Wedge couldn’t argue with that. And something inside him brightened, feeling some of the same determination that beamed from Norra’s smile.

  “Well,” Wedge said, “now that’s decided, why don’t we wake the kids?”

  * * *

  —

  They woke Snap and Karé, filling them in on their suspicions about the people in the yard.

  “We can take four of them, no problem,” Karé said, sounding confident. “Probably even from here.”

  “Well, before we go shooting up the Akiva countryside, maybe we can think of another plan,” Snap suggested. The others looked at him. “Or not.”

  “Snap’s right,” Norra agreed. “We should at least consider a less violent option.”

  Norra and Snap were the voices of reason? Wedge found that hard to believe. “It’s like opposite day in here,” he murmured, but nobody heard him.

  “Do they have restraints for the X-wings?” Karé asked. “Anything that would keep us grounded?”

  Norra shook her head. “I didn’t see any, but maybe they just came to investigate.”

  “Likely a neighbor called it in as a nuisance,” Wedge agreed. “They send out a few troopers to scope it out, see if it’s the real deal or just an overactive neighborhood watch.”

  “We don’t take any chances,” Snap said, decisively. “We need those X-wings. They can’t have them.”

  “Okay,” Wedge said. “But maybe we can get them out without killing everyone.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Norra asked.

  Wedge nodded. He’d been thinking about it as they talked. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  * * *

  —

  Snap and Karé left first, slithering through the tunnel that led from the kitchen to the edge of their property, Norra’s bolt-hole coming in handy after all. The couple took their own gear as well as Wedge’s and Norra’s, leaving the older couple to dress quickly. Norra layered her housecoat over her old flight suit, and Wedge did the same with his robe. Wedge’s flight suit had been a tight fit, but there was no shame in the bounty he had found in middle age. It just meant the garment was a little snugger than he’d liked. No doubt Resistance rations would change that.

  “You look great,” Norra said, and kissed him fiercely, a grin on her face.

  He decided that was good enough.

  Wedge rechecked his pocket for the stash of credits, and then they each tucked a blaster in their pocket and headed for the back door. Wedge paused a moment, taking in the old house. The place had grown on him. This life had grown on him. He would miss it. But greater things called to him now, and he had never been afraid to answer such calls.

  Norra reached over to muss his hair. He looked at her questioningly.

  “So you look like you just got out of bed,” she explained. “Although I always did like your hair a little long.”

  “Now you tell me,” he said. “Right before I join up again.”

  “The Resistance will let you keep your hair. Have you seen Poe Dameron?”

  “He does have nice hair,” Wedge agreed.

  “Yours is nicer,” his wife said, winking. “Now let’s go get into trouble.”

  They had barely made it a dozen meters out of the house when they were confronted by three of the security guards Wedge suspected of being First Order goons.

  “Drop your weapons,” one of them shouted, raising a rifle.

  “What weapons?” Norra asked, her voice shaking with feigned fear. “We don’t have any weapons. We’re just farmers.”

  The guard with the raised rifle hesitated but the second guard, a light-skinned man with eyes that paled to a frost-crusted green in the dim morning light, sneered. “Farmers? Who just happen to have two X-wings in their field?”

  “They’re not ours,” Wedge offered hastily. “The people who were flying them, the pilots, they paid us some credits to park them here. The growing season hasn’t been too kind, and we could use the extra, so we took it.” Wedge dug into his pocket, the one not holding the blaster, and pulled out a handful of credits. He held them out toward the man. “See?”

  The green-eyed man stepped back, frowned. His face creased in thought.

  “Where are these pilots now?” the man asked sharply.

  “We didn’t ask,” Norra said, her mild Myrra accent exaggerated. “We were scared to say no.”

  “And they were paying.” Wedge thrust the credits forward again.

  “Don’t believe a word they say,” came a voice from the other side of the house. They turned as a female Abednedo approached. The Abednedo’s skin was cream-colored, spotted with dull gray; the sparse hairs on her head were white, and her black eyes protruded from her long rectangular head. Norra stiffened. Wedge had pinned her as another guard but it was their neighbor, the one Norra had almost come to blows with over political differences at a community dinner party.

  “Tukalda…” Wedge began, trying to cut her off before she said anything damaging, but Tukalda was already drawing herself up, shoulders set.

  “That one,” Tukalda said, pointing a long digit at Norra, “is a former rebel. Wouldn’t surprise me if she was a Resistance sympathizer, too. She’s trouble.”

  “I’m going to give you some trouble,” Norra growled, taking a step toward the Abednedo.

  Wedge touched his wife’s arm briefly, a warning to stay focused. “You have us wrong, Tukalda. We don’t get involved in politics. We mind our own business.”

  The guard, the green-eyed one who was clearly in charge, glared at them both. “I’m going to need to see some ID,” he said. Over his shoulder, Wedge caught movement. He could see shadows near the poultry house. Snap and Karé had made it out of the tunnel and were working their way stealthily toward their starfighters. But there were guards at the ships, too, and they’d have to incapacitate them. They needed more time.

  “Now, look here,” Wedge started.

  “I don’t have ID,” Norra protested at the same time, throwing her hands up in indignation, her voice raised.

  “Then you’ll have to come with me.” The guard gestured his companion forward. “Arrest her.”

  Wedge stepped between them. “Wait! Maybe we can come to an agreement.” He proffered the credits again, this time straight to the man’s face. He slipped his free hand into his pocket.

  Annoyed, the man slapped Wedge’s hand to the side. The credits flew into the air. Behind them, near the ships, someone screamed and was abruptly cut off. The green-eyed man turned his head back toward the X-wings in alarm.

  Sound, too loud and too close to Wedge’s ear.

  He ducked on instinct and looked up in time to see the green-eyed man stiffen and fall, the side of his face destroyed by blasterfire.

  Wedge looked back at Norra. She stood there, momentarily still, her blaster raised and smoking.

  Tukalda screeched and Norra’s fist hit the pulpy side of her face with a squelch. The Abednedo went down like a log
. That left only the guard with the rifle. Wedge whirled just in time to see the man’s finger close on the trigger. He shot his own blaster, already raised, hitting the man in the shoulder. The rifle jerked skyward, his aim skewed, and Norra lunged to the side, the lethal shot going wide. Wedge pulled the trigger again, and this time the remaining guard collapsed, a hole in his chest.

  Silence descended, and Wedge stood for a moment, staring. He’d killed a man. He’d done it before. Many times. It was what soldiers did, and it had been a war. Was still a war. But he’d never killed here, in his idyllic garden among the keedees and the pepper stalks. His throat felt dry and he tried to swallow past the thing, the emotion, stuck there, threatening to choke him.

  “Let’s go,” Norra said, breaking him from his reverie. He looked up at her. Her eyes were bright but wary, as if she understood what was going on in his head all too well.

  “Is Tukalda…?”

  “No, she’ll have a headache and a story to tell about her crazy neighbors, but she’s fine.”

  Wedge tried again to swallow, and this time he succeeded.

  Norra had discarded her housecoat, and Wedge quickly emulated her, dropping his beloved old robe in the grass. Behind them, they heard the X-wings rumble to life. Snap and Karé had made it to their ships and were firing up, ready to leave.

  “What do we do now?” Wedge asked. For some reason, his brain wasn’t cooperating, wasn’t letting him think through action and consequence and next step.

  Norra was patting down the dead guards, looking for something. “When Karé and I went into town yesterday, I thought we might end up having to make a run for it eventually, so I rented us a shuttle. It’s not fancy. One of those leisure shuttles that people use to vacation offplanet, but it will get us to wherever the Resistance is hiding. I re-upped my guild pilot’s license, so it looks like I’m flying some locals to Cardo Minor for some sightseeing, but once we’re out of Akivan space I’ll disable the trackers and the ship is ours. I hate to steal, but I don’t see any other way.”

  Wedge nodded along numbly. What was wrong with him?