Star Wars: Rebel Rising(51)

Jyn met Hadder’s eyes, and she knew he agreed with her. But Akshaya laughed. “One day you kids’ll understand that we’re basically ants down here on Skuhl. The Empire’s a giant. And giants don’t care about ants, which means we can do whatever we want.”

Jyn opened her mouth to protest, but Akshaya pulled her into a hug. “Thanks,” she said.

When she stepped back, Jyn shuffled nervously on her feet. “So,” she said slowly.

“So?” Akshaya asked.

Jyn looked down at the ship’s main controls. “These should last you a good long time,” Jyn said. “I made a few variations for you as well, and…” Her voice trailed off. Hadder shot her a confused look, but Jyn knew from the sadness in Akshaya’s eyes that she understood.

Jyn had been hired to do a job. And she’d completed the job.

She couldn’t look at Akshaya or Hadder. “Do you…have more work?” When neither Akshaya nor Hadder said anything, Jyn babbled on. “If not, that’s fine. Totally fine. I understand. Maybe I could just hitch a ride to a planet that has some jobs….”

Her voice trailed off again.

“Of course we want you to stay, weird girl,” Hadder said, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll need new codes periodically, I’m sure,” Akshaya added. “Unless you want to go?”

Jyn shook her head, not trusting her voice.



They fell into an easy, steady routine. Akshaya was typically gone two weeks out of a standard month, first picking up small shipments of ore from the mining planets too tiny to attract Imperial notice, then distributing the refined ore to shipbuilders and other manufacturers. When she was on Skuhl, Hadder made the meals and helped Akshaya with scheduling and bills while Jyn checked the codes and updated them. When Akshaya was gone, Jyn and Hadder had free rein to do as they pleased.

Which, lately, had meant flying.

Jyn had to admit that she was the bad influence. Akshaya’s hangar housed the main freighter, but there was a small planet hopper there as well, one used for quick runs in the local system. Jyn made herself feel better about taking the planet hopper out by saying she and Hadder never broke atmosphere; they technically never left Skuhl. But she wasn’t sure how long Hadder would be satisfied with playing in the clouds. Every time he sat down in the pilot’s chair, his spine straightened, his eyes focused on the horizon, his hands took the controls as if they belonged nowhere else. When Hadder started up the planet hopper, he always breathed a little sigh of relief, as if he’d been waiting for that moment, and nothing more.

He had learned to fly, he told her, from his sister. After their father died, Tanith had found solace in flight, and she had taken Hadder along. When addiction claimed Tanith, however, Hadder’s mother had emerged from her grief with an even stronger fear of losing her son. She’d taken over the transport business and grounded him on Skuhl for good.

The repulsorlift hummed, and they hovered over the hangar floor before Hadder eased the planet hopper out of the bay and shot into the air so fast it left Jyn breathless. “What I don’t get,” Hadder said as they soared over the little town, “is why Mum is so convinced I’ll get bloodburn. It’s so rare. The chances are miniscule, honestly.”

Jyn didn’t answer. She understood Akshaya’s motivation. If she had her mother back, she’d want to hold on to her for as long as possible, too.

“Once I’m eighteen,” Hadder mumbled. His hand hovered over the hyperspace controls. Most small shuttles like the planet hopper didn’t have a hyperdrive, but this one had been retrofitted by Hadder’s father before he died. Hadder had never tried to leave Skuhl’s orbit, but Jyn noticed the way his hand always lingered near the drive’s sequence commands.

Hadder sighed and shifted in his seat, flipping a lever and sending the little shuttle into a stomach-churning spin. Jyn laughed and pushed his broad shoulders until Hadder reluctantly brought the planet hopper back into a steady arc.

Jyn propped her feet up on the dash. Hadder didn’t need a copilot, not anymore. She glanced sideways at him, and for a moment, she let herself imagine that this was her future. She and Hadder could be a team. Maybe they could expand Akshaya’s operation, going farther into the Outer Rim for shipments, exploring new planets.

Hadder turned the shuttle around, aiming for the ground. “What are you doing?” Jyn asked. This was the shortest trip they’d made.

He looked more depressed than she’d ever seen him. “It just…it feels like I’m on a leash,” he said. “You ever feel that way? Like you can’t do what you really want, like you have to be someone for someone else, and that means you can’t be you? That you can never have what you really want?”

I have seen so much blood, Jyn wanted to say. And I remember the face of everyone who’s died because of me.

Instead, Jyn stood up and moved behind Hadder. He shot her a curious look, but Jyn didn’t look down at him. She put her arms over his shoulders, her hands clasped around his on the controls. She looked straight ahead, through the viewport and into the sky, and after a moment, Hadder looked up and out too. Jyn leaned forward, her body against his back, and gripped the controls through his hands, pulling them back. The shuttle’s nose tipped upward, higher and higher. Jyn could feel the joy thrumming through Hadder as the shuttle pushed through the thinning atmosphere, the bright blue sky turning to white, flames licking the ablation shields. Her grip tightened around his, her eyes growing wide with excitement.