Star Wars: Rebel Rising(74)

“Right, so Allehander said you wouldn’t know all about the job,” Mathey said. His voice crackled like it was made of ice. He pulled out a stack of identity contract pads. Jyn counted them after he slid them across the table to her. Twenty. She read the top one.


Greyjin Marscopo

Eight standard years

Servitude: Allehander Pso

Service years: Three

Status: Complete

Compensation: Passage to Rumitaka, Five Points system



“What’s this?” Jyn asked.

“Indentured service records.” Mathey was watching her. Waiting. Jyn could feel his eyes boring into her, hungry for a reaction.

“What am I supposed to do with them?” she asked in an even tone.

“Allehander has twenty servants whose time is up,” Mathey said. “They were told they’d get a new start on Rumitaka soon as their contracts are finished.”

“And…they’re not?” Jyn asked.

Mathey’s eyes were alight. “Well, it’s something of a new start. Different from working at the palace.” He took the top identity contract off of Jyn’s stack. “You’re to alter these. Each one needs to have five more years added, and assigned to the Empire, not Allehander. That’s who he sold ’em to.”

“Sold them. Like slaves.” Jyn kept her tone carefully even.

“Exactly. ’Cause that’s what they are.” Mathey grinned with all his teeth, even the broken front one that was blackening on the inside.

“Ah.” Jyn stared at the ident pads.

“You got a problem with it?” Mathey added, his tone mocking.

“No,” Jyn said simply.

Mathey didn’t look convinced.

“A job is a job,” she said. “And I’ve been paid.”

“How much?” he asked.

Jyn let her eyes linger on Mathey’s dirty hair, the oil staining one cheek, his disheveled clothes. “Probably more than you,” she said. She stood, gathering the ident pads, and added, “Where is my bunk?”

Mathey grunted, hooking his thumb down the hall. Jyn left him grumbling at the table, and when she entered her room, the first thing she did was lock the door.

Then she sat down and memorized the names at the top of each ident pad.



A few hours later, the door rattled in its frame. “Eatin’ time,” Mathey growled.

Jyn set the ident pads on her bed—a moldy pallet she had not yet decided whether or not she would actually sleep on—and stood up to join the rest of the crew for dinner.

The others were longtime partners; Jyn was clearly the outsider. The two workers were older than Jyn had thought, in their midtwenties, and Mathey talked with pride of how many people they’d killed on the streets of Satotai before he picked them up. This seemed to be their chief selling point—that they had no compunction at all about pointing blasters at people and firing at will.

The captain was known only as Captain, and his word was law.

“How long have you been a slaver?” Jyn asked politely.

Captain’s eyes widened. “Not a slaver,” he said. “Just transporting cargo.”

“But the cargo is people,” Jyn said, keeping her voice cool and even. “Therefore, definitionally…”

“Definitionally,” Mathey said, mocking Jyn’s polite tone. “Look, ain’t got to have all those fancy words. Ain’t got to be all high and mighty. You’re in the scum with us now.”

Jyn looked down at her hands. “Indeed.”

At the end of their meal—a sloppy sort of stew—Jyn offered to clear the plates away and wash them. The others laughed at her, saying it was high time they had a woman to take care of them, but Jyn was mostly concerned with ensuring that the next meal she ate would be on a clean plate.

“And what about the slaves?” Jyn asked when she was done and the men were busy starting a game of sabacc.

“Cargo,” Captain corrected. Jyn cocked her head but didn’t point out that changing what they were called did not actually make them less human.

“What about ’em?” Mathey countered. He was like a rabid Gamorrean, always looking for a fight.

“Have they been fed?” The pot of stew wasn’t good, but there was plenty of it. Jyn recited their names in her head. Greyjin, Kathlin, Dorset, Harvey.

“They’re fine,” Captain said.

“I don’t mind; I can take some food down.” Jyn started to pick up some bowls.

“They’re. Fine.” Captain’s voice brooked no argument.

Laurose, Owlen, Blane, Efford.

“D’you not hear Captain?” Mathey shouted when Jyn didn’t move. “Leave ’em be! They got water. It’s only a week.”

Jyn let the full impact of Mathey’s words slide into her soul.

She left the pot on the stove, went to her room, and locked the door again.



Several hours later, there was a soft knock on her door. Jyn stood to open it and was surprised to see Captain standing there. “May I come in?” he asked politely.

Jyn stepped back.

“Already working?” Captain nodded to the ident pads spread out on the bed.

“It’s not an easy task,” Jyn said. “I’ll need almost the whole trip to finish.”