"I am Bodhi, the pilot. Your father… he said I could do right by myself. He said I could make it right if I was brave enough to listen to what was in my heart. To do something about it."
Bodhi Rook never truly had a home.
Instead he had had bunkers. It was all he had ever known, sleeping only where he was told. His quarters were always the same. Single bed with single sheet and pillow. Single durasteel container, three feet wide, two feet deep and large enough to hold a change of clothes, undergarments and boots. The only thing that ever changed were the bunkmates and the view from the bunkroom window, if there was one. He grew close to no one at the Academy. It wasn't encouraged and no one asked questions. Some of them had had homes, once, but most of them were like him – orphaned and alone. The Empire took care of them now, as they always would or so they promised. There was comfort and security here. Uniformity and order. Everything had a purpose and a place. Except for Bodhi.
He excelled in his training, but was questioned occasionally for his appearance. There was a deck officer, a physician, and an overseer who had all at one point mentioned that Bodhi looked… different. They would not say how or why, but he knew. He was too expressive, his face too soft and his eyes too large. He would practice playing stoic in the mirror, and watch his bunkmates' emotionless defaults from the corner of his eye, training himself to harden his features – to flatten his brow, to narrow his eyes, to square his shoulders.
Working for the Empire was easy enough, though Bodhi found himself tense and terse when trying to abide by their rules. Despite his accolades, his face got him into trouble. His superiors could tell too easily when he was frustrated, telling him that it was unbecoming to seem impatient, though they commended him for his thirst for order, for efficiency, and for his desire to get things done. But was that it? Was that really it?
Bodhi never realized just how tense he was until he was in the presence of the scientist, his smile easy and so unlike anyone else he had ever met in the Empire. Anyone of rank or merit was calm and cool, their features controlled and elegant, for the most part. Only civilians were emotive, displaying anger, fear, despair. But the scientist was almost warm despite his solemn countenance, and his eyes were soft, as if he were hiding a perpetual sadness he could not express otherwise.
Bodhi's reassignment to the Eadu-Jedha route was routine, and not unlike any other assignment he had received. He did as he was told. He followed orders and obeyed instructions. But there was something different about this place, and the people here.
Like anywhere else Bodhi had served, the facilities on Eadu were fully occupied by Imperial employees. Most of them were scientists, engineers, and researchers. There was a different sort of efficiency to them, different from the soldiers and the laborers. Their sweaty brows were belabored by higher thinking, as if they served something other than the Empire – or at least, in addition to.
"It is for the pursuit of knowledge, the hope for a better world," the scientist had told him when he caught the young man staring, "And you can call me Galen."
Part of him knew that's what the Empire liked to believe, and what the researchers wanted the Empire to think of them lest they become obsolete or useless. But something else told him that wasn't quite what the scientist meant.
When Bodhi had to make a new run, there was not much to the transaction other than the exchange of goods and the confirmation of the cargo's destination. But Galen Erso had invited Bodhi to his office for a private meeting.
"It isn't much," the man said as he ushered Bodhi inside his standard-issue office, stark and sterile, though it was nicer than anywhere Bodhi ever hoped to live. Every surface overflowed with an abundance of datapads, binders, loose papers and stray stylus pens, as if the man were trying to hide the emptiness of his apartment, especially to himself. "But it will do."
The man sounded more like a diplomat than a scientist, more like a civilian than an agent of the Empire, and it was only in Galen's presence that Bodhi realized just how tense he was, how tense he always was.
Though unnerved and uncomfortable, his shoulders relaxed and his diaphragm settled as he took a seat across from the scientist, as if he had been holding his breath all his life and only just now allowed himself to really breathe. Galen sat forward, his hands clasped together with his elbows perched on his knees – so unlike any other Imperial Bodhi had ever met. He felt no need to police his expressions around this man, though when it came to what he felt he was not exactly sure.
"I hope you will excuse the mess, but I needed to brief you in private before you take your first shipment from Jedha."
The scientist handed him some water, served chilled in a crystalline glass, not lukewarm in the usual plasteel he was used to, and requested that he introduce himself.
Bodhi was speechless – what was there to say?
"I am a cargo pilot, Imperial Class A, and I-"
But Galen only laughed.
Bodhi stopped, taken aback, but the man's expression was so comforting, so harmless, he was not sure what else to say or how to continue. His light brown eyes twinkled in the light of the artificial fireplace set into the wall beside them. A slight smirk laced his stern mouth as he looked Bodhi straight in the eye, though the lines around his eyes did not fade.
"Yes, of course. But what about you?"
"Me?"
"I know the Empire vetted you." Galen assured him, calming him again with a gentle smirk, "If they are anything, they are certainly thorough. But there were a few things I wanted to ask you myself. And some things I needed to make sure you understood."
Galen told him about the cargo, but not in so many words. He explained how it was the root of their research, the very center of it in fact, and Galen urged the boy to let him know if he felt any different in his time around the stuff.
"Feel what, exactly?"
He wondered if there was another reason he was assigned to the Eadu-Jedha route. Was there an inherent risk to the job and he was somehow being punished for his inability to calm his temperament?
Galen only looked at him in contemplation, studying his face and his posture and the way he spoke, before answering him carefully but confidently.
"You'll know it when you feel it."
Over the course of his assignment, Galen would come to know Bodhi, and though he did not invite him to his quarters often, he always asked how he was doing, how he felt, how business was faring. The scientist's questions seemed harmless at first, innocent, before Bodhi noticed himself struggling to answer honestly.
It was important that Galen brief Bodhi on the nature of his cargo and check in with him at every delivery. It was routine, his mission statement affirmed. He had been briefed upon reassignment, made to understand just how valuable their shipment was and how crucial it was that nothing go wrong. The future of the Empire rested on the materials that Bodhi transported, and he was chosen for the job for his steady hand and his careful piloting. He was instructed to remain careful, if not to become even more so. They warned that he not to veer even a fraction of a degree off course, and urged him to ensure that the transport ship remained even-keeled at all times.
The more Galen asked him about himself, about how he felt, Bodhi not only reconsidered his assignment but his entire line of work. With every cargo run, the more he thought of the faces of Jedha and the inhabitants that crossed his path. He thought of the city folk and the terror hiding behind their eyes. He thought of the laborers and their sand-caked skin, baking in the sun, and how their hands trembled as they loaded the cargo. He wondered if this is what Galen meant, about feeling things.
He thought of it all the way to Eadu and wondered which new faces he would see the following week. It was not long before Bodhi realized that he saw new faces on a constant basis because the ones he had seen the week before were no longer there, that the populace either took to staying indoors to avoid the daily raids or were taken in for suspicious behavior, or even killed for their ties to the infamous rebel extremist Saw Gerrera. He only ever heard the name in hushed whispers, spoken soft and quick as if saying it aloud would summon the man himself to wreak havoc upon wherever his name was uttered.
He worried about the raids, about the terrified townspeople, though the rest of his crew turned their backs and kept their attentions on the work at hand. He told Galen about the shipments, he had to. He had to report on any delays or damaged goods, especially since Galen was under almost as much pressure as Bodhi was to complete his task, if not more.
At first it was all routine, all part of the process. Galen assessed whatever risk posed Bodhi and his crew in being around the cargo, wondering whether the weight of it was finally taking its toll. He had to make sure that his research was on schedule and that everything ran as smoothly as possible. But Galen seemed almost relieved to hear of delays, though his remorse at the news of lives lost on Jedha were suspiciously sterile. As if he had lost a lot once, and would rather not remember.
Bodhi never had a home, but there was something about the look in Galen's eyes that told him the man had one, once, and that he missed it terribly.
If Bodhi was tense before, he was tense all the time, only he was aware of it now. The despair, the worry, the fear – he saw it tenfold in the eyes of Jedha and this time he could not look away. His shipmates were nonplussed, unimpressed, unmoved. And if it weren't for Galen, Bodhi would have wondered if there was something wrong with him and submitted himself for reconditioning.
The scientist's presence was cordial when in the presence of others but it was always a comfort. But his eyes were despondent, open and wanting. And Bodhi would be the one to respond to the scientist's silent plea.
Maybe it was his face – his effervescent youth, the eternal look of perplexity in his expression – that reminded Galen so much of Jyn, his Stardust, his only hope.
From the moment the boy was assigned to Eadu, he knew. He just knew.
He was not sure how, but he knew Lyra would understand. She would know. Trust in the Force.
The boy's smile was uneasy and unsure, but he knew that his heart was true the moment he stuttered his name and rank, "Bodhi Rook, cargo pilot. Imperial Class A-"
Thinking of the past or thinking of his family often led to ruin – sleepless nights and unforgivable mistakes. But there was something about Bodhi that made Galen hope again. His open expression, his wide eyes, his sensitive temperament, his hot-headedness. There was something about the boy that made him wonder whether his life-long ruse was finally worth it, and whether it was finally time to act.
At first, he was disappointed with himself. For a moment, he thought the boy would be around Jyn's age – but he had forgotten just how long it had been. It's been fifteen years, he'd tell himself, Or has it been more? And though his math was not far off, he knew that his coping mechanisms were well-oiled at least. Time was not moving as slowly as he feared. In his mind, Jyn was still just a girl of five. Sweet and sentimental, her heart-shaped face still soft with youth and unknowing. But who knew how old she was now? The Empire had drilled many things into him, and though the time and date were second-nature to him now, and at-the-ready to repeat to a higher officer if it were asked of him, the time between the present and the last he saw his wife and daughter would forever remain immeasurable. It felt simultaneously like yesterday and as if an entire lifetime had passed since that fateful day.
Though part of him wondered what had happened since then, another part of him didn't. If Jyn wasn't already dead, her fate may be far worse otherwise. He still thought of his wife, of Lyra, her skin still warm upon the damp earth as he held her there, her final breath upon his cheek. As much as he hoped that Jyn escaped the Empire's clutches, he lamented the idea that Jyn had not survived, either, that her last tender moments were when he had kissed her forehead and called her Stardust one last time. She did not deserve that, no child did.
And yet, in his work, Stardust lived on – and it was in Bodhi's eyes that he saw another breath of hope, another chance to make things right.
There were only so many times Galen could ask the boy discreetly to his office under the guise of a debriefing, to probe his mind once it was eased open with a fresh glass of water to set his mind at ease as he fretted about Jedha, to make him and his thoughts feel welcome. He was welcome, of course, but there was something more to Galen's probing – a suspicion, a hunch, feeling that he could not quite explain.
He thought of Lyra, and he was reminded of Jyn's wide-eyes, and he knew. Oh, how he knew.
Bodhi knew something about this wasn't right, that the scientist's familiarity would be classified as unauthorized and somehow unsanctioned. This was not allowed and under no circumstances should Bodhi have allowed for this to continue. But he did. And he yearned to see the scientist – again and again.
He felt calm, at peace, and though his heart ached, it was only in the presence of the scientist that Bodhi felt comfortable enough to voice his feelings. Galen, he reminded himself. His name is Galen.
He anticipated the man's presence upon arriving on Eadu every time. Galen's appearance at his shoulder would always set him at ease, relieving whatever stress and strain afflicted him from the moment they hauled the Jedha cargo onto the transport ship and off again. There was something about what they carried that felt heavy, and Bodhi could never explain it. Maybe it was the faces – the looks of the civilians and the laborers, the forlorn looks of the temple guardians and the remorse that painted their expressions like masks, as if they were mourning.
And it was in Galen that he confided, though the Empire never taught him to empathize nor to worry himself with the fate of others. He found himself full of regret and discontent upon returning to Eadu, watching on as crates upon crates of crystal were unloaded into the depths of its research facilities. At first, Galen comforted him with the thought that they were being put to good use, that they were being used to better the galaxy. And though Bodhi did not quite believe him at first, it was only upon overhearing the fanatics on Jedha that he finally understood.
As much as Bodhi should not have been confiding in Galen, there was no reason for Galen not to report him either. His words were treasonous, and they reeked of regret and doubt. And though Galen comforted him with veiled assurance, Bodhi knew it was false. But it was not for his benefit, no, but for Galen's as well.
"You're not one of them, are you?" Bodhi found himself asking, unsure of where his question even originated. He spoke, yes, but the thought had barely come to him before speaking it aloud. The Empire had not trained him for this. In fact, they had expected the opposite from him.
But the words found breath nonetheless, and before he could be taken aback by his own words, there it was again – a wealth of sadness behind the scientist's eyes, quick but potent, before he blinked and smiled, saying, "Whatever do you mean, Agent Rook?" as if it were a joke.
Did Imperials joke?
Bodhi had heard a few in his lifetime, though mostly during transactions. No one in the Empire was anything other than to the point, but he had caught a few anecdotes in his time on Jedha, namely when a prisoner or a laborer sought to express their hardship without outright expressing it. Bodhi figured it was to save face, to pretend as if everything was okay. He knew otherwise, and he didn't understand the nature of such a comment until he found the scientist joking with him openly, trying to make light of their situation, trying to diminish the bloodshed on Jedha and whatever pain he kept inside him, hidden behind a brave face and a full schedule.
"You're not one of them, either," Galen said after a while, deliberate and genuine. Bodhi did not know what to say.
Galen had done a decent job of keeping his memories at bay, but with the boy around it was growing difficult. And he began to wonder – is it worth it? Was it ever worth it? Is it finally time?
He pored over his maps and configurations, eyeing his carefully marked failsafes and praying they were just that. There were rumors of a rebellion, though it was evident that those in charge would rather this detail remain a secret. But when Galen's work revolved around Jedha and the resources found there, he knew it was nothing other than divine coincidence. It was a sign. Lyra would agree.
Krennic wanted the superweapon to decimate the galaxy and bring it to ruin if need be.
"I want to crush the universe into dust and submission," Krennic had told him.
Not dust, Galen thought, but Stardust.
He hoped the rumors were true. He hoped that Saw was at large and that there was truth to the rumors of a protégé under his wing, or at least a girl he cared for once and would harbor safe passage for again. I'll bring you home again, Stardust, even if all I can inherit are your ashes.
Depending on his mood, depending on the day, Galen wished the world were different. Some days, he saw the galaxy as a bleak, black hole, hungry and ever-wanting, and he hoped that Jyn had escaped this place and slipped from this world in silence, resting eternal with the Force, with Lyra. But the other part of him saw flashes of another life, of a young girl with hard eyes and a hard heart. Though the thought of it pained him, he had a feeling this was the more likely scenario. A girl abandoned by the universe and its machinations, destined to defy the cog in its well-oiled machine. And it was this hope, this fragile confidence, that sparked what little optimism remained in Galen the moment he saw the nervous cargo pilot and his fidgeting hands.
It was clear that the pilot's conscience was wavering, and though the distress in his eyes was worrisome, it was also a comfort.
Perhaps I am not alone in this.
Resistance thrived in the darker corners of the galaxy, and Saw Gerrera made sure that he was responsible for his own fair share of destruction. But when it came to sabotage, Galen was alone. For now.
He did everything in his power. He exhausted Imperial resources and conducted every test he could dream up, fabricating a plethora of tests and demonstrations and making sure that most every one of them failed or fell just short of the mark.
Galen made sure that he was indispensable, undermining any other researcher or kyber crystal aficionado in a way that would make Krennic proud, though it made him sick to admit it. He was running out of time. He had waited long enough.
The next time Bodhi landed on Eadu, he was the one to seek Galen out. He sought an audience with the scientist, urging that it was "of the utmost importance" which startled the deck officer, making him worry if he had already gone too far.
But Galen asked that the pilot meet him in his office, if he did not mind the clutter, and Bodhi met him as soon as he was granted access to the research facilities without an escort.
"I'm not sure I can do this," Bodhi spat as soon as Galen opened his office door.
The man did not betray any emotion. Instead, he surveyed Bodhi quickly and ushered him inside.
"And why is that?" the scientist asked calmly, pouring a tumbler of a strange blue liquid instead of his usual water.
Bodhi eyed the drink but didn't ask any questions. Instead, he downed the cup's contents, feeling tendrils of warmth slide down his throat as his worries erupted from his impatient mouth.
"I don't know, I can't explain it."
"Are you having difficulties piloting?" Galen asked, his voice even and almost quiet. Bodhi paced the room, anxious but careful not to disrupt the organized mess the scientist had curated amidst his work.
"No, no it's not that."
"Is it Jedha? Are things too unstable?"
It was only moments later that Bodhi wondered what it was that Galen had given him, suddenly stopping in his tracks and examining the remains that lined his glass. It was almost sweet, with a bitter aftertaste, and he had to admit that the warmth of the drink suited his mood.
"No, no. Well, I mean, yes, but-"
"Do you wish to request a reassignment?"
Galen's fingers were steepled, his hands held firmly before him upon the single clear space on his desk. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were that same shade of despondent that Bodhi had come to recognize these past few months, and had to admit found comfort in.
"No. I don't."
Bodhi calmed, controlled his breathing, and took a careful seat opposite Galen. He should be telling this to someone else. He should be reporting to reconditioning. He should be submitting himself for exhibiting his one fatal flaw in full glory, begging for mercy and a laser blast to the back.
"I shouldn't be telling you this," Bodhi apologized, his words quick as a breath as his skin suddenly grew cold despite the warmth lacing his throat.
As if sensing his discomfort, Galen reached for the bottle he had drawn from before and poured Bodhi another drink.
"Calm down for a moment, gather your thoughts," he said, his eyes careful but curious, not suspicious or itching towards the door. Bodhi wasn't sure why he confided in the scientist, knowing full well that he shouldn't, but somehow he felt, no he knew, that this was right.
"The thing you need to ask yourself is what is in your heart," Galen said, after much deliberation, taking pains to enunciate his words clearly and concisely, as if he expected an unsavory reply in response.
"What's in my heart?" Bodhi asked, bewildered.
"Not what you were taught, not what you were told. What you truly believe."
"What I truly believe–?"
Had he ever been asked that before? Had he ever been taught to care?
"I don't think any of this is right," he heard himself say as if his body were a million miles away and acting of its own accord, "I don't think the Empire is right. All of this- I just- I can't."
His words fell far from the mark, hardly describing the things he saw on Jedha's surface, the one place that might have been his home once. Instead, all that came out of Bodhi's mouth was traitorous dissent.
Contemplative silence crept into every cluttered corner of Galen's office, and the man considered Bodhi's words with grave consideration, his brow furrowed and his eyes darting about his desk.
Bodhi was ready for the man to reach under the chaos to comm an officer to bring Bodhi away, but Galen reached for a crude piece of charcoal instead and searched for what Bodhi soon found was a napkin laying benignly beneath his notes.
"I believe, Bodhi, that our hearts may just be in alignment."
Galen scribbled, watching his work with intent and judging his sketch before laying the napkin down and pushing it across the table at Bodhi. He watched the scientist, almost concerned, as he reached for the thing and brought it to his face for closer consideration.
The scientist was more of an architect in skill, but the angular lines of the intended-lifelike depiction were not lost on Bodhi. The sketch was rough but the image was clear. A girl looked up at him from the napkin, her face small, young, and curious. Her eyes were wide and twin braids fell upon her shoulders. She was just a child.
"They did not allow me to keep any photos, nor any personal belongings for that matter," Galen said, watching as Bodhi pondered the image before him.
"Her name was Jyn. Is, maybe."
Bodhi looked from the image to Galen, wondering but wordless.
"Everything I do, I do for her."
This was unprecedented, even for Galen.
For years, he had feigned compliance. He had learned to lie, and he lied well. He was resourceful, unsavory even, when it came to eliminating his competition. He was ruthless and he barely slept, for fear that he might dream of a world he wished were truer than the one he lived in. And yet here he was, baring his soul to a young man he hardly knew, but somehow knew enough to trust his life's work with. To reveal the fatal flaw.
The boy spoke of Saw, and the horrors he had seen on Jedha. He talked of the Guardians of the Whills and it what it was they spoke of - this thing called the Force and how it welled within the crystals the Empire harvested and stole from the sands. The pilot spoke so quickly that Galen was not sure the boy had enough breath left, but when he was finished speaking Galen knew he would keep his secret, that Bodhi was the sign he had been waiting for.
For all the doubt and despair Galen felt over the years, the waiting and the worry all suddenly seemed worth it. If Galen were never to sleep again, if he were to die tomorrow, it would have been worth meeting Bodhi Rook and the sign of hope he had dreamed of all these years.
"You're not going to report me are you?" Bodhi asked.
"Will you report me?" Galen asked in return, watching the thought cross the pilot's mind as he processed everything he had said, and finally shook his head no.
"Then I think we are even."
"Even?"
The pilot still worried, though Galen saw his eyes dart between his face and the sketch still sitting upon his desk. Snatching it up from the surface and placing it into the artificial fire at his side, Galen threw caution to the wind and offered Bodhi a job.
"There might be something you could do for me."
A weapon that could destroy worlds, entire planets, Galen had told him, his face grim and his mouth stern. I've done what I could, but there must be something more.
Bodhi didn't know what he was doing, and yet something about it felt right. The moment he left Galen's office, a rush of adrenaline coursed through him as if revealing what it was to truly live, to believe in something, anything other than what he was told.
The image of the scientist's daughter was burned into his mind, and Bodhi wondered if there were a mother, a father, a brother, or anyone out there who remembered him, Bodhi, being that young. The earliest of Bodhi's memories were of the Academy, but even then he was at least eight years old. Surely something had come before that, but what? Why didn't he remember? And yet somehow, he felt there was something, there had to be, because he longed for a home he never knew whenever he sat in Galen Erso's mess of an office and the home the man himself had buried beneath his work. The home he saw hidden behind his eyes and in the aching lines of the girl he drew for him, to help him understand.
Upon landing on Jedha again, Bodhi set up the rounds for the next cargo haul, but this time he left the ship without any intention of returning. Disappearing for a time on Jedha was not unheard of. Many Imperial soldiers took advantage of layovers to frequent the local bars or sample the locals for a bit of entertainment, but it was completely unheard of for him. Bodhi always remained with the ship, only leaving to pay the dock's food stalls a visit before returning to his rounds. This time, he walked clear passed them and into the center of town, looking for Saw Gerrera himself, as if he had a death sentence. Maybe he did.
Stardust, he told himself, remembering the warmth that came over Galen as he said it, as if it were not just a word but an entire religion, speaking to the sketch as if he had summoned the dead. He thumbed the drive the scientist had thrust into his palm back on Eadu, remembering the earnest expression that befell his face as he did so.
Find him, find her. Tell them that Galen Erso sent you.
According to Bodhi's roster, he was from these streets. He was a Jedha native, though he remembered nothing of the place. He probably had a home not far from here, once, but no memories of it remained. The only home he had ever known was in Galen's gaze and the relief he felt in his office, the comfort he felt in the man's presence and the ease that overcame him whenever Galen asked how he felt and or how he was doing. No one had ever asked that of him before, and Bodhi wondered if anyone ever would again.
Galen had to admit that there was something nice about caring for someone again, though the moment he realized he truly cared for Bodhi was the same moment he knew he had sent the pilot into utter uncertainty but almost certain death. He had a feeling he would not see that young man again, but something about his decision felt true, as if he were finally getting closer to something after so long.
Lying came easy again. Galen put on a false face as if it were his own in the presence of his colleagues, even when there was news that Director Krennic would be paying them an unscheduled visit. He braced himself, feeling stronger than he had in years. He thought of Lyra and he thought of Bodhi. And for once, he thought of Jyn and did not feel sorry, he did not feel sad. He felt vindictive, almost justified. All he had to do was wait and allow the Force to act on his behalf, and this time he felt that it was in favor of the flaw he fabricated. Every sacrifice he had made over the years was finally worth the toil.
He could almost feel Lyra at his side, urging him onward. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but perhaps it was the Force.
Bodhi wondered whether he had gone mad. He wondered what had gone wrong in all his years of training. Why his heart was so soft and why his head was so unsure. But according to Galen, there was a whole other world of possibilities out there, one the Empire tried desperately to disprove, to have people like Bodhi fail to believe in. But he saw a glimpse of it in the scientist's eyes, and part of him knew he had been a part of such a world, once, because he felt it again there in Galen's office. One last time.
Bodhi Rook had no home of his own, at least not one that he remembered, but for now, he had hope. He had hope and a chance. Despite the uncertainty that defined his life and the galaxy at large, hope was enough. Hope and Stardust.
"This is for you, Galen."