Rogue One

by Alexander Freed

  “He did build it,” Cassian said. As if that fact changed everything, and only he was clear-eyed enough to see it.

  “Because he knew they’d do it without him.” She dragged a breath between her teeth and waited for Cassian to object again. She might not know the true Galen Erso, but she spoke with the hologram’s voice now; echoed his claims in submission to his cause. To Saw’s cause.

  “My father made a choice,” she said, steadying her intonation. “He sacrificed himself for the Rebellion. He’s rigged a trap inside it, inside the Death Star.” She spoke only to Bodhi now. “That’s why he sent you. To bring that message.”

  “Where is it?” Cassian asked.

  Everyone turned to face him.

  “Where’s the message?” he asked.

  “It was a hologram,” Jyn said, sharp and fragile as glass.

  Cassian didn’t back down. “You have that message, right?”

  “What do you think?” she snapped. He knew what had happened to her; he’d witnessed her state in Saw’s chambers. She wanted to lunge across the cabin, slam him against the bulkhead, force the calm from his demeanor. She wanted to crack open her skull, let the light and sound of the hologram pour from the cave. “Everything happened so fast. But I’ve just seen it!” She heard her own ragged insistence as petulant. Childish. You were better off catatonic.

  Cassian looked to Bodhi now. “Did you see it?”

  The pilot shook his head and avoided Cassian’s gaze.

  “You don’t believe me,” Jyn said.

  Cassian almost laughed. “I’m not the one you’ve got to convince. I’m not the one who can authorize a strike against a Death Star because it might have a weakness. Maybe Mon Mothma—”

  “I believe her,” Chirrut interjected.

  Cassian shook his head in a show of exasperation. “That’s good to know. You’re also not part of the Alliance.”

  Throughout the exchange, Baze had been slumped forward, as if drowsing. Now he righted himself, spoke past Cassian and Chirrut. “What kind of trap?” he asked. “You said your father made a trap.”

  “The reactor.” On this point Jyn was utterly certain. “He’s placed a weakness there. He’s been hiding it for years. He said if you can blow the reactor—the module—the whole system goes down.”

  She fixed her gaze on Cassian. “You need to send word to the Alliance,” she said.

  “I’ve done that.”

  She said the words the hologram needed her to say, bolstered its voice with her own zeal. “Then they have to know there’s a way to destroy this thing. My father said we could find the weakness in the structural plans—”

  “We don’t have those.” Firm but gentle. Patronizing.

  “He said we can find the plans,” she insisted, “that they’re in a data vault on the planet Scarif. Tell the Alliance: They have to go to Scarif and get the plans.”

  Cassian was silent long enough that Jyn thought she had a chance.

  “I can’t risk sending that,” he answered at last. “Even if everything you say is true, we’re in the heart of Imperial territory. If the message were intercepted, the whole Alliance fleet could be lured into a trap.”

  He might have been lying, so far as Jyn knew. Avoiding further argument by positing a threat she couldn’t disprove and couldn’t counter.

  In the darkness of the cave, Jyn heard her father’s recording repeat. If she’s alive, if you can possibly find her…

  “You still want to go to Eadu?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Cassian said.

  There would be no redemption, then. No ameliorating her choices or hiding her sins. She would, after all, tell the Galen Erso she’d never met exactly who she was and exactly what the Death Star had done. The only balm would be whatever he did after; whatever they both managed, with whatever deal they struck.

  That would have to be enough to keep her sane in the dark.

  She had nothing to guide her but the sapphire hologram. Everything else was gone.

  “Then we’ll find him,” she said. “My father. And we’ll bring him back, and he can tell the whole Alliance himself.”

  She spoke with conviction she did not feel. Cassian nodded—but he wore his spy’s face, and Jyn couldn’t read him at all.

  —

  Orson Krennic toured the corridors of the Death Star as he had so often before. He listened to the main reactor’s muffled roar, like the ebb and flow of a distant ocean’s tide; he felt the gentle tremors in the deck plating as the station reconfigured for hyperspace transport; he could even trace the power couplings through the walls, imagine their end points in vast artificial caverns.

  He walked and he could not focus. Tarkin was taking control of his masterwork.

  Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps Krennic had spent too long fettered to a single place, a single project. Let Tarkin have the Death Star—he’d soon find the responsibility overwhelming and fail to grasp the battle station’s subtle potential. Meanwhile, freed from the behemoth, Krennic would have a flexibility he’d formerly lacked. A hundred small victories across the course of a year might be preferable to one great work over decades. He would have his audience with the Emperor soon enough.

  But this rosiest of scenarios was only possible because Tarkin had outmaneuvered him over Jedha.

  And Tarkin had outmaneuvered him thanks to the betrayal of Galen Erso.

  That the grand moff had become aware of Erso’s treason before Krennic had was unforgivable. Krennic had already determined how his people inside Tarkin’s organization had been kept in the dark; leaks and obfuscation were the nature of the game. But how had he not personally seen the betrayal in Galen? For all Galen’s faults, he had never been an equivocator. Nor had he ever failed to take pride in his own genius.

  For him to disrupt the work—to disrupt their work, all they had built these past decades? To have somehow hidden his motives from Krennic, who knew him so well? How was it possible?

  Had he miscalculated? Could another scientist at the Eadu laboratory be responsible instead?

  Have I become blind?

  But no. While Galen was a fluke, Krennic had not failed to spot Tarkin’s greed; only failed to anticipate its precise manifestation, thanks to Galen’s interference. Therefore, Galen was the priority and needed to be dealt with swiftly. Much as Krennic loathed to leave the Death Star now, he could not afford to let his problems accrue. He would eliminate them in sequence, leaving Tarkin for last.

  He had found weapons he might use against Tarkin already. He only needed an opportunity.

  He boarded his shuttle, accompanied by his death troopers, just after midnight station time. He’d settled himself in his seat with a glass of wine and a datapad by the time they’d left the docking bay.

  “Course set for Eadu, sir,” his pilot announced.

  Krennic barely heard.

  Galen Erso.

  Galen Erso, whom he’d given every chance. Galen Erso, whom he’d nearly died for once on that sad scrap of farmland.

  “I thought we were past this,” Krennic murmured to himself, with a bitter smile. And his thumb dug into the screen of his datapad until the surface cracked and he began to bleed.

  SUPPLEMENTAL DATA: “NO CONFIRMATION”

  [Document #RJ9002C (“Jedha Query”), forged timestamp unreadable; actual timestamp presumed concurrent with the Jedha crisis. Sent from Mon Mothma to General Draven and six other recipients (“Operation Fracture Oversight”).]

  I just received a troubling message from a contact in the Senate. She claims that a total evacuation of Imperial forces has taken place on Jedha and that there are rumors of a massive energy burst in orbit. Her source conducts illegal asteroid mining at the far edge of the Jedha heliosphere, and she stresses that “instrument error” is a possibility.

  Nonetheless, she’s seeking addit
ional information from me. Whether she knows more than she’s sharing and what exactly she suspects, I’m not sure.

  Can we confirm this data? Do we have an update on Operation Fracture?

  [Document #RJ9002D (“Reply to Jedha Query”), sent from General Ria to Operation Fracture Oversight.]

  I don’t have any new information, but can you clarify: Did you tell this contact about the rumors of a planet killer?

  If not, this could be a fishing expedition by the Empire. She may want to see how you react to a false story.

  [Document #RJ9002E (“Reply to Jedha Query”), sent from Mon Mothma to Operation Fracture Oversight.]

  Some brief background: My contact refuses to aid the Alliance directly but she’s kept in touch with me since my departure from the Senate. If she can be won over, she could be important to our political strategy. I don’t think she’s serving Imperial military interests.

  I have not shared anything about the planet killer with her. If we can’t confirm her data, however, I’d like to judiciously broach the subject. It may serve us in both the short and long terms.

  [Document #RJ9002F (“Reply to Jedha Query”), sent from Admiral Raddus to Operation Fracture Oversight.]

  We have a cargo freighter outfitted for long-range scans four stops down the nearest hyperlane from Jedha. She’s tasked on another operation, but I can divert her if Captain Andor doesn’t report in soon.

  I find the possibility that the planet killer is at Jedha extremely troubling.

  [Document #RJ9002G (“Reply to Jedha Query”), sent from General Draven to Operation Fracture Oversight.]

  I’m working as we speak to obtain solid intel on Jedha. For now, there is no confirmation of any unusual Imperial activity. Strongly recommend that we do not share our intelligence and do not initiate new investigations.

  I will update the group on Operation Fracture and Captain Andor’s status when I have reliable information that can be securely shared. Until then, suggest we shut down this conversation as a precaution.

  CASSIAN ANDOR HAD MADE AN error. Like a hairline fracture in a blaster barrel, it was nearly invisible on cursory inspection. When its repercussions manifested, however, they would do so with devastating effect—Cassian would very likely die, though that wasn’t what bothered him most.

  He knew now that he should have left Jyn Erso on Jedha. Better yet, he should never have taken her off Yavin 4.

  “You’re showing indications of stress,” K-2 declared. He sat beside Cassian in the cockpit, monitoring the instruments. “You should be careful—you’re a much worse pilot when you’re stressed.”

  Cassian offered a wan smile. “How can you tell?”

  “You overcorrect with the throttle control.”

  Not what I meant, he thought, but he didn’t clarify his question. For all K-2’s social dysfunction (or perhaps his disinterest in organic socialization—who could fathom the mind of a droid?), he knew Cassian better than anyone. He’d seen Cassian commit acts even Draven wasn’t aware of.

  On Jenoport, he’d found Cassian staring at his blaster with tears on his face. K-2 had volunteered for a memory wipe in case Cassian’s “continued dignity and service demanded it.”

  K-2, Cassian knew, would gladly subdue Jyn Erso and lock her somewhere safe. If the Guardians of the Whills hadn’t been aboard, Cassian might have been tempted to try.

  “We’re approaching Eadu,” the droid said. “Exiting hyperspace in four minutes.”

  “Set our approach vector and get Bodhi in here. I want his eyes on the landing zone.”

  As K-2 obeyed, Cassian returned to his thoughts. Jyn’s fervor in the cabin had been almost inspiring. Maybe it had inspired Chirrut and Baze and Bodhi—none of whom he really knew, none of whom he could trust—just as her fire had spread to him, made him view her with a sort of awe in the Jedha Holy Quarter. But the stakes were different now: The planet killer, the Death Star, was real. General Draven had determined that eliminating its creator was the best way of ensuring the survival of the Rebel Alliance. If Cassian could stop one more incident like Jedha City, his duty was obvious.

  Jyn would have argued that her father had already provided another way; that his sabotage gave the Rebellion a chance to stop the Death Star now, albeit at a terrible risk. Jyn’s judgment, however, was compromised.

  Her fire would burn them all.

  When Cassian had found her in Saw Gerrera’s chambers, she’d been lost in oblivion, awaiting her own death. He couldn’t imagine the forces that had shaped her in life. He didn’t doubt she was a woman of extraordinary strength, yet whatever message Saw had shown her had broken her completely.

  She was feigning strength now. She clung to her father’s instructions for reasons entirely unrelated to the galaxy or the Alliance. If those instructions led her and everyone around her to their doom, would she even notice? Would she care?

  Her terrible need had returned. It couldn’t end in anything but disaster, no matter how prettily she dressed it in the clothes of the Rebellion.

  And if Cassian denied her what she wanted? If he assassinated Galen Erso?

  She would surely be twice as dangerous.

  —

  Eadu was a night world even during the day, shrouded in storm clouds so thick that Cassian was forced to rely on scanners as they descended through the troposphere. From above, there was nothing to see but slate-gray thunderheads and flashes of light; the panorama was nearly peaceful. But the moment the U-wing broke through the cloud cover, gales battered the ship as water drummed on the hull and streamed down the viewport.

  “Low,” Bodhi hissed, gripping the back of Cassian’s seat. He was freshly scrubbed and bandaged, and smelled distractingly of cheap cleaning products and disinfectant. His formerly distant, terrified voice sounded almost human again. “Lower!”

  Cassian angled downward as much as he dared. He imagined the rainwater wriggling into a hundred metal seams wedged open during the Jedha sandstorm; droplets creeping among exposed electronics and shorting critical systems.

  “This ship was not meant to be flown this way,” K-2 observed.

  The U-wing emerged from a fogbank to reveal the landscape below: a hundred jagged rock formations, broad mesas, and narrow spires, rising from an uneven ground. A narrow canyon wove between the deadly ridges, its boundaries barely discernible in the storm.

  “They have landing trackers,” Bodhi said. “They have patrol squadrons. You’ve got to stay in the canyon, keep it low.”

  Cassian nodded, adjusted his altitude, and checked his scanners for TIE fighters. He found nothing, though he wondered whether ships so small would even show up in the maelstrom. K-2 increased thrust as the wind momentarily dropped off; the U-wing lurched and Cassian’s teeth smacked together.

  “If we proceed,” K-2 said, “there’s a twenty-six percent chance of failure.”

  “How much farther?” Cassian shot at Bodhi.

  “I don’t know,” Bodhi said. “I’m not sure, I never really come this way—”

  I figured that, Cassian thought. They were skimming over a spire, no more than ten meters above the summit.

  “—but we’re close. I know that.”

  “Now there’s a thirty-five percent chance of failure,” K-2 interjected.

  Cassian toggled the landing lights. They’d be easily spotted by any patrol squadron overhead, but his visibility was nil. “I don’t want to know,” he said, not glancing at the droid. “Thank you.”

  “I understand,” K-2 said. “I’d prefer ignorance myself.”

  The spire fell away beneath them and Cassian descended farther into the canyon. The broken walls curved one way and then another, following the course of a dozen writhing streambeds. The rocks were too close, came up too fast, but if Cassian reduced speed any more they’d be at the total mercy of the storm.

  “Now!” B
odhi shouted, and slammed a hand on Cassian’s seatback. “Put it down now!”

  “The wind—” K-2 started, but Bodhi was squeezing between the seats, gesturing at something through the rain.

  “If you keep going, you’ll be right over the shuttle depot. Put it down now!”

  Cassian swore. Bodhi was right—what he’d mistaken for refracting raindrops on the viewport was a series of distant floodlights. A landing pad for Imperial spacecraft.

  He cut the ship’s speed. Almost immediately the wind caught beneath the starboard wing, sent the U-wing veering toward the side of the canyon. K-2 tried to bank, but a ridge of black stone came up too fast for even a machine’s reflexes; a ledge clipped the U-wing and Cassian slammed forward in his restraints, crying out as the ship trailed sparks and went into a steep decline. The dashboard was red with warning lights.

  “Hold on tight,” Cassian shouted. “We’re coming in hard!”

  Whether anyone in the cabin heard him in the tumult, he couldn’t guess.

  K-2 extended the landing gear and activated the retro-rockets in a futile attempt to break their speed. When they struck the planet surface, the U-wing’s underbelly screamed violently against mud and stone while momentum carried them forward. For almost half a minute, they plowed on as the ship’s hull threatened to shred.

  When the U-wing finally stopped, cockpit cracked and half buried in gravel and mire, Cassian was certain the ship wouldn’t fly again.

  —

  The rain had tapered to a cold, cruel drizzle by the time Cassian finished a cursory inspection of the damage. His initial assessment had been correct: The U-wing was largely intact, but the port engine had been dashed into the rocks and was beyond repair. Most of the other components—long- and short-range comms included—were salvageable but nonfunctional.

  He could still complete his mission. He could still kill Galen Erso. But he hadn’t planned to end the day stranded on Eadu. He pictured himself picking his way through the canyons, hunted by both stormtroopers and Jyn.