by James Luceno
She said no to remaining in the apartment and had returned to the facility only to find the atmosphere greatly changed; differently charged. Galen explained in a vague way that the facility had suffered a breach while she was away, and that security had been tightened. The new measures dictated that formerly common areas of the complex were now accessible only to those with proper clearance. Data that had previously been sent to the oversight board through the HoloNet were now being sent through an Imperial intranet server.
Secrecy was ubiquitous.
Ultimately, however, she couldn’t keep her concerns bottled up. Galen was holding her at arm’s length and she needed to know why.
“Any regrets about encouraging me to take Orson’s assignment?” she asked while they were clearing the table after a meal and Jyn was watching a holovid.
She had sneaked the question in when he wasn’t prepared, and he took a moment to compose a response. “Only about having had to worry about you.”
“I’m sorry you had to worry. We missed you terribly, Galen.”
She hoped he would say the same, but instead he asked: “Why, are you sorry you went? It sounds like Jyn had the time of her life.”
“I’m glad we went, but I’m feeling like you and I haven’t reconnected.” She searched his face before adding: “You just seem awfully far away, and I’m still missing you.”
“It’s not because you’ve been away,” he said more forcefully than was necessary. “It’s the work. I’ve been under tremendous pressure.”
She was about to reach for his hand when he folded his arms across his chest. “That’s what I don’t understand,” she said. “Why are you under pressure all of a sudden? It wasn’t this way before I left. Is it because of the espionage attempt?”
Too late she realized she had furnished him with an excuse.
“Yes. No. Yes and no. The board expects results. There are funding issues.”
“But you and your team were making progress,” she said, trying not to sound like she was pressuring him. “What happened to change that?”
Clearly to give himself time to think, he pretended to check on Jyn. “The research has entered a new phase and I’m struggling with the data,” he said finally.
“Is our being here that much of a distraction?”
“Of course not.”
His rote answers were beginning to exasperate her, and her tone began to reflect that. “Come on, Galen. Are they demanding too much? Is that it?”
He stared at her. “What put that idea into your head?”
Lyra took a breath, determined to make a new start. An argument was the last thing she wanted. A warm embrace, a kiss could make the whole thing vanish.
“Can we back up for a moment? You asked if I had any regrets about the trip. Again, I don’t. But something came up that I’ve wanted to share with you for weeks.” She forged ahead. “After we left Alpinn, Has took Nari and me to a couple of worlds in the Western Reaches that are being ruthlessly exploited by the Empire. Each has suffered widespread devastation because of unimpeded extraction.”
He listened closely, almost in surprise, then forced a look of dismissal. “I understand how that might offend your sense of environmental justice, but the Republic was guilty of doing the same thing. Whenever there’s expansion there’s a need for resources. The Empire may be exploiting some worlds, but only to save many, many more.” He all but scowled at her. “You’re the last person that needs to be reminded of how many worlds are out there.”
“But these aren’t just any worlds. They’re Legacy worlds, guaranteed protection by statutes going back generations. Just like here. The refuge, suddenly co-opted.”
“Also for the greater good,” he said.
She failed to suppress a snort. “That’s certainly the way Orson sold it.”
Galen regarded her for a long moment, then asked: “What worlds?”
Encouraged, she told him. “Samovar. Wadi Raffa.” She could almost hear him make a mental note.
“What does any of this have to do with us?”
“If the Empire is ransacking worlds in secret, how do we know you’re not being lied to about what they’re doing with your research?”
“I’m not being lied to.”
“Because you trust Orson and the rest, or you have proof?”
Galen paced away from her, then spun around. “I’ve seen proof.”
Lyra hadn’t expected that. “When?”
“While you were away. I raised the same doubts with Orson, and we had a long talk. He agreed to show me in person that my research is being replicated and put to practical use. So we went to Malpaz.”
She went from being surprised to dumbfounded. “You and Orson went to Malpaz while Jyn and I were on Alpinn.”
“It was only for a few days.”
“I don’t care if it was for a few hours, Galen. You’re just getting around to telling me this?” She paused to collect her thoughts and get a handle on her anger, then said: “Is that why Orson asked me to oversee the mission—just to be able to get to you without my being here?”
“Stop accusing him of manipulating everything,” he said. “I went to him to discuss my—our doubts. I demanded answers, and he said I could see for myself, so I took him up on it.”
“And the two of you jumped to Malpaz.”
Galen started to avert his eyes from her gaze, but instead held it. “I should have told you sooner.”
She took it under advisement. “Did Orson mention anything about Dagio?”
“Why would he mention Dagio?”
“Because Reeva said that Dagio had been conducting research on Malpaz, and that she hadn’t been able to reach him. Is he still there?”
“No,” Galen said, and was quiet for a long moment, pacing and shaking his head. “The facility that was responsible for replicating my results was destroyed before it could be used to supply energy to the capital city.”
Lyra’s jaw came unhinged. “Destroyed by who? By Separatists?”
“Orson prefers to call them anarchists. He broke his security oath to tell me.”
“So Dagio might be dead?”
“He might be.” Galen shook his head again. “I’m not supposed to be discussing any of this.”
Lyra felt torn. Even though an apology might be in order, she needed to dig deeper. “Did you keep this from me because I’m not cleared to know?”
He nodded. “I swore to an oath.”
“Then there’s more you’re not allowed to tell me?”
“Yes.”
Lyra pressed her fingertips to her forehead.
“I don’t care about the oath,” Galen said. “But because of the destruction, I’ve had to double my efforts to find a way, some way…” He looked at her. “I wanted to tell you.”
She tried but failed to assemble all the pieces, and felt suddenly bereft. “How did we come to a place where we’re keeping things from each other, Galen?” She squeezed back tears.
“This is a critical time,” he said, coming to her at last. “We have to trust that the Empire is doing what’s best for the greater galaxy. There are forces trying to sow chaos and keep us in a state of perpetual war. The Emperor is determined to find a way to end it. He wants to unite everyone and prevent another galaxy-wide conflict.”
Lyra hung on his every word. “I’m not used to hearing you talk like this,” she said, but she allowed herself to be comforted in his arms. “You sound like a convert.”
“Providing power is the only way forward.”
She wasn’t entirely persuaded, but it was clear to her that Galen had himself convinced.
THE WANTON WELLSPRING HAD A small back room reserved for private parties and for stashing illegal substances during raids by authorities. In the past the local police would warn the owners about raids, but with stormtroopers garrisoned nearby, that was no longer possible. Seated around the main table were Has and more than a dozen smugglers, rogues, and scoundrels, some of whom he had known
since well before the war—Yalli, Molo, the Dug, Dajo Koda, and a Twi’lek named Xosad Hozem among them—and others from war-ravaged worlds as distant as Onderon, who had made the seedy bar their unofficial headquarters.
The back room’s ten-year-old holoprojector was normally used to run entertainment holos, but Has was employing it to display a midair map of the Salient star system, an autonomous region on the edge of the so-called Corporate Sector, three jumps from Rajtiri and the latest destination for deliveries of proscribed arms and matériel.
“Three worlds in the habitable zone of a red dwarf,” Has was explaining. “The moon of the outer planet, Epiphany, is owned by Zerpen Industries. That’s our terminus.” He indicated it in the holo. “Salient has a well-armed sentry station at the edge of the system, but our employers have agents working there who will breeze us through the checkpoint—”
“What’s our guarantee they’ll breeze us through,” a deep voice interrupted.
Has didn’t need to turn around to know that the remark had been uttered by the tall, imposing man from Onderon, Saw Gerrera. But he turned anyway. “That’s the way it’s always worked.”
Saw shot him a dubious look. “And we’ll take comfort in knowing that, I’m sure, when our hulls are riddled and our tails are on fire.” Rarely without an opinion and frequently at the center of spirited conversations about galactic politics, Saw had become a popular figure in the Wanton Wellspring. “We need a contingency plan.”
Has felt everyone’s eyes on him. “I suppose you’re right—for security’s sake.”
Saw shook his head and got up out of his chair. “I’m right because where most of you have spent your careers steering courses around confrontation, I’ve flown into the thick of it. I’m not saying that your skills won’t come in handy, but if we’re going to embark on a joint mission, the last thing we want is misadventure.”
Has tracked Saw as he wound through the assembled group, punctuating his remarks with grimaces and commanding gestures. His hair was thick and black, but emboldened by a streak of color. He wasn’t shouting, but he might as well have been, such was the force of his personality.
“All right, then, we’ll work up a backup plan,” Has said at last.
“My bailiwick,” Saw said.
Has glanced around to see if anyone objected. “Now that that’s settled—”
Saw planted his hands on his hips and launched a hearty laugh at the ceiling. “It’s far from settled, Has. It’s in the air; it’s still precipitating.” He fell briefly silent, then said, “What will we be carrying?”
“Most of our ships will be stocked with munitions and missiles, though some of you with larger freighters will be hauling armaments.” Before Saw could interrupt again, Has added: “Saw will command that group.”
The charismatic Onderonian vouchsafed a genuine smile as he reseated himself.
That the operation had resumed business so soon had surprised Has, and this time word had come directly from Krennic himself, whom Has was convinced had been supervising the appropriation missions from the start. Krennic hadn’t admitted to that either before or after the star tour with Lyra Erso, her daughter, and her friend Nari, although Has hadn’t asked. During a debriefing on Coruscant, Krennic had focused on Lyra, and whether she had discussed her husband’s research. He had the reports Lyra had transmitted from Alpinn, but he was more interested in hearing about discussions that had taken place in the archaeologists’ camp and aboard Has’s ship. Has was baffled, but he did his best to provide all the details that wouldn’t matter. For all he knew, the months on Alpinn had been part of the process of vetting Lyra for a security clearance, in keeping with her husband’s Imperial research project.
Has had omitted mentioning the diversions to Samovar and Wadi Raffa. He had taken precautions to keep his ship from being scanned and he had purged the side trips from the log. But there remained a possibility that the ship’s signature had been identified in one system or the other, and that his omissions would eventually come to light. In any case, it wasn’t as if they had broken any laws. Environmentalist groups were a frequent presence in Wadi space especially, and Krennic might be willing to excuse Lyra and Nari’s interest in seeing what was happening there.
Has had hoped that the debriefing would constitute a long-overdue end to their relationship, but Krennic had reached out, informing Has about Salient.
“Our insertion point for the Epiphany moon will be somewhere in this region.” Has circled an area of the moon with his finger. “We’ll be coming in with starlight at our backs, Epiphany on the far side.” He enlarged the image of the moon and highlighted a spot on the bright side. “The landing is here, at Zerpen Industries headquarters. Your navicomputers will be provided the jump coordinates when the cargo is loaded and we launch from the depot pickup site. Once we’ve cleared the choke point, we’re going to need to maintain a tight grouping. Imperial ships will be arriving in our wake, so our timing has to be precise.”
Krennic had tendered the mission as Has’s big score.
“Thanks, Has, for helping the Empire grab a couple of resource-rich worlds, and for spying on Lyra Erso. After this run you can retire in comfort from your many years of service as a useful idiot. And do bring all your friends and allies along, since there’s plenty of profit to go around.”
“So the mission is to land our cargo, wait for the Imperials to arrive, then stand aside while they accuse Zerpen of purchasing stolen weapons,” Saw said.
“In so many words,” Has said.
Saw narrowed his eyes and nodded in a conspiratorial way.
The landing zone might as well have been marked with the symbol for a double cross.
—
Galen sat at the console of the facility’s dedicated server, which was linked through devious means to Krennic’s communications hub somewhere in the Outer Rim. His forefinger hovered over the TRANSMIT key that would seal his deal with the Empire—and would mark his passing. It was one thing to have said yes to bleeding the kyber crystals of all their inherent power. Now he would be held accountable for doing so.
He wheeled his chair backward, stood, and paced away from the console.
Again.
As if getting over the moral hurdle hadn’t been enough, he remained conflicted about having kept the true nature of his research from Lyra. He had revealed just enough to keep her from probing any deeper. But he was a terrible liar; he had no practice in the art. Never wanting to be involved in games, he had always spoken his mind. Where he was forever attempting to simplify his thinking, lying introduced complications. He said what he felt. Others certainly had a right to take offense, but no one could accuse him of lying. And here he had subscribed to a falsehood that could threaten his relationship with the family he was trying to support and protect.
He had acquiesced, and henceforth would be corrupted.
He cursed, ordered himself to come to his senses, and wheeled back up to the console.
How could anyone work when at the mercy of moral and emotional conflicts?
Once Krennic’s team had succeeded in containing the energy output, his part of the project would essentially be complete and he would be able to speak freely with Lyra. For all he had promised Krennic, his real imperative had always been to protect her and Jyn, and be able to provide them with the peaceful future they were entitled to. Everything he had done was for them.
It had become a slogan he had been repeating to himself for the past several weeks, each time his guilt took him out of his work and the implications of his research rushed in on him like ravenous phantoms. But for them his breakthrough might have come sooner. Instead he had spent half the time grappling with whether he had been chasing an incorrect hypothesis or a false idea. He hadn’t so much failed as found a thousand ways his theoretical approaches weren’t going to work.
Then, that moment of pure discovery.
He had long suspected that the larger crystals needed to be faceted along certain planes,
not only to eliminate occlusions and vacancies, but also to minimize diffraction resulting from the introduction of energy from a lasing medium. With the proper faceting, the pulse energy released by a crystal could be greatly amplified and, with the help of containment devices, directed into a collimating beam of incredible power. In theory, at any rate. It might also be possible to increase the energy yield by forcing the lattices to realign; by forcing the crystal to change its properties. Jedi commentators often referred to light and dark, day and night aspects of the Force. Realigning the lattices along a dark or nighttime axis might allow for greater control over the crystals’ almost deliberate tendency to diffract. Technology had provided a method for getting the crystals to obey him; to surrender their awesome potential without destroying everything in close proximity.
That abundant yield could be siphoned off, contained, and made available as enriched energy. Without containment the same yield could result in a catastrophic event.
He and his team had run preliminary tests based on his computations. Reasons of space and security didn’t permit them to construct a containment prototype at the facility, so a device based on his schematics was to be assembled by Orson’s team wherever it was headquartered, to determine if the results corroborated Galen’s predictions.
His scrutiny of the inner workings of the crystal had become part of his waking and nighttime consciousness. Were the permutations in the kyber lattice comparable to emotional shifts in a sentient being? Could sentient beings compel what was inorganic to pulse in harmony with their tempers and appetites?
Was there such a thing as a noble lie?
The Empire was lying to its citizens by suppressing information about the worlds it was despoiling. Or was it merely safeguarding an inconvenient truth? Was his lie equivalent to the former, a kind of pillaging: the sacrifice of some to save countless others? And in the end, would a kyber-based facility make real the Emperor’s dream of renewable energy for one and all? Which world might he choose to serve as an example?