Star Wars: Rebel Rising(86)

There were ants in the cell. No doubt drawn by Nail’s stench. Jyn’s cellmate was proving difficult; she had even threatened to kill Jyn. One more thing for her to survive.

Jyn watched the ants, marching up the wall and through the corner where it met with the ceiling. There was nothing for them to eat there, but still they marched. Jyn placed her hand against the wall, directly in the ants’ path, and they adjusted course, curving around the edge of her fingers.

The ants reminded her of Akshaya, and Akshaya reminded her of Hadder, and Hadder reminded her of just how much she had lost.

She curled into herself, her hand dropping from the wall to the leather cord around her neck. They hadn’t taken her necklace. She had been certain they would, but they hadn’t. She still had this one link to her mother, her past.

It wouldn’t be hard to die. She saw death every day on Wobani. It was just a matter of putting down one’s tools, refusing to work. And then a stormtrooper came and held a blaster up, and it was over.

Simple.

Jyn felt as if her chest were filled with ash. But there was one ember still remaining, flickering orange and red, refusing to die.

Jyn clutched her kyber crystal, the hard edges digging into the callouses on her palms. Her mother had given the crystal to her because she had expected Jyn to survive. To live.

To not give up hope.



The alarm for the work shift sounded. Jyn stood. Her cellmate stood. They waited by the door. If they were lucky, they’d be selected for farm work.

They were lucky.

When the doors slid open, they held their wrists up, waiting for a stormtrooper to put their shackles on. Jyn didn’t flinch as the heavy metal restraints closed over her wrists, the light on the base blinking from green to red. She and her cellmate filed in behind the others. They marched, their feet beating out a steady rhythm that shook the walls. Jyn knew what to do—follow her orders. She knew what to say—nothing. But she also watched. Her eyes flicked left and right, seeing the stormtrooper, the other prisoners, the walls. She was waiting.

For an opportunity.



The prison transport tank was not comfortable. It wasn’t meant to be. Each prisoner was given a small, hard metal seat that folded down from the wall. Beams provided barriers between the seats, and the aisle was large enough for the stormtroopers to constantly patrol. Jyn pushed down her seat awkwardly with her cuffed hands and slid into it. A stormtrooper came up behind her and used the magnalocks to connect the center of her cuffs to the metal chair.

It was surprisingly cold on Wobani. The cold crept through the transport tank’s walls and air vents. It seeped into her bones. She flexed her fingers. The gloves they gave the workers did little to protect from cold; they were only meant to keep the skin on their palms so they could work longer. Jyn thought of the synthskin gloves she’d inherited from Maia, and a pang of sorrow bit into her.

Across from her, Jyn’s cellmate stared down at the floor. Her long mouth tentacles, reddish-brown and drooping, fluttered nervously. Jyn leaned back. The Aqualish in the group chittered angrily at the rough way the stormtrooper clipped his binders to the seat; they dug into his wrists painfully.

The prison tank’s engine warmed up and heaved into motion. It bumped along the muddy, unpaved road, jostling the prisoners.

And then Jyn felt a different sort of lurch.

Her head jerked to the big gray door at the end of the aisle. There was a glow behind it, like the rising sun, peeking through the cracks around the frame.

And then the door blew off.

The stormtrooper who had rushed forward was blown back from the blast, his body prone in the aisle. Jyn jerked up, cursing her restraints silently, her eyes wide. A group of humans rushed onto the transport, a tall man with dark hair and stubble on his chin at the front of the line. While two other men took defensive stances with their blasters, his gaze moved quickly around the cabin. He was clearly looking for someone specific.

Her.





Jyn breathed deeply, relishing the scent of fresh air and plants from outside, mingling with the smell of fuel and the burning tang of jet juice inside.

“Come on,” the leader of her escape said, motioning her forward.

“What is this?” she asked, rushing to keep up.

“This is the Rebellion,” he said simply.

She stared in wonder as she was led past a hangar filled with X-and Y-wings, past people talking excitedly, past droids rushing by. Her eyes drank in the glimpse of the outside world she could see through the hangar door: lush greenery, low mountains, and a stone-stepped ziggurat rising through the jungle. She was led farther into the base. The atmosphere shifted; the flyboys weren’t there, making jokes and regaling each other with their exploits. This part of the base was solemn, dark. Her entourage stopped outside a door. She remembered Idryssa and Xosad and their hints that something big was happening, that an alliance was forming. She had no idea that it was this big, this organized.

This real.

Her entourage stopped in front of a door, and Jyn tentatively stepped inside the room. The command center, she realized. Green light boards glowed with strategies and maps. The people huddled together in the room spoke in low voices, urgency and worry seeping from their tones.

When the door closed behind her, silence pervaded the room.

Two men—generals—stared at Jyn. The older one seemed to judge her with his eyes, and clearly found her lacking. But Jyn wasn’t watching him. Her eyes were on the woman who stood in front of one of the light boards. She wore all white, with a heavy pair of silver chains hanging from her shoulders and a beautiful necklace weighing down her neck. Her short hair was immaculately styled, and her eyes cut across the dim room, straight to Jyn’s.