14 BBY
I killed him. I killed a man. The words echo in his head as he sits in his seat in the extraction shuttle. The team found him, covered in blood not his own, hauling the body with him under the cover of darkness. In the pocket is the data disk from the informant as well as the dead man's credits and list of contacts. For a supposed double agent, the man seemed rather sloppy to Cassian. Then again, the intelligence officer he had gone on the mission with had perhaps been sloppy as well. He wouldn't have died if he had anticipated that the informant might be a turncoat.
"You ok, kid?" one of the soldiers asks him. He hands Cassian a cleaning cloth. "Whatever happened down there, you'll feel better if you get the blood off of you." Cassian nods and starts wiping.
"I killed him," Cassian whispers hoarsely, unable to get the images out of his head, the feelings out of his arms. "Not Korom. The one we had to get the information from. He was going to sell us out. But I killed him and left him there." He hears the soldier shift and sigh. They never quite know what to do with the soldiers who aren't quite adults yet. Grown up in so many ways, but so young in others. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up.
"This is war, kid. You do what you have to do to survive and for the cause." The soldier inclines his head towards Korom's covered form. "He knew it too. Stepped in front of that blaster because he knew you had a better chance of getting the information to us. Korom had his orders." Suddenly, Cassian didn't think that the soldier was really just a soldier.
"Who are you, sir?" he asks in the same hoarse voice. He understands the reality of war, has lived it for six years now, but the soldier's speech didn't make him feel any better.
"Captain Draven." The man—Draven—nods at him as he walks away. "You did good, kid. Rest until we get to base. You've earned it, soldier." Once, being called soldier just like everyone else would have filled Cassian with a balloon of pride in his chest, but he felt empty now. There was no way for him to really rest now, not after how he called the man. He just put the back of his head against the bulkhead and stared into space. If Draven came back in and saw him still awake, he made no comment.
Everything is still a blur to him when they land on the base. There is a short debriefing where he woodenly tells his superiors what happened, and hands over the data and credits he's found. They give him the credits as part of his pay and nod to each other as if they've come to a decision. Cassian doesn't care anymore. He just wants to sleep and forget. He's too young to get drunk to forget, and no one will give him anything anyways; they would just report him and there where would he go?
"Andor," It's Draven again. "It's night here. Rest. You're going back into it tomorrow. That's an order." Ah, so it's just another day for him. He wonders if that's how it's always going to be: mission, rest, go to school and training as if he didn't just kill someone. None of this of course, makes it past the tip of his tongue. He only nods and stumbles his way to the younglings' barracks—filled with orphaned child soldiers like him. He's grateful that they are all already asleep—he doesn't think he can face any of them tonight, even if he knows that most of them have done the same.
When he does dream that night, it's a nightmare. He sees Korom step in front of him and wrench the blaster even as the shot hits him in the belly. The informant howls in anger as Korom's falling body sprains or breaks his wrist. Cassian doesn't think, he just grabs the vibroblade he sees sticking out of the man's boot and stabs him with it over and over again. Feels the sickening wet thud as the knife plunges in over and over again until the man lays still and he hears Korom gurgle at him to take the data and run. But this time, there's no adrenaline to help him push things away.
The scene resets and he relives it over once again, and when it resets for a third time, he can't help but start crying and running just to get away from it all. Then he feels a small hand slip into his and something warm push its way in front of him. He blinks for a moment, and the dead man starts laughing. In front of him is a small, brown haired girl with green eyes holding the knife that he had held in his hand.
"Leave him alone!" she shrieks, clutching his hand. He's not sure where she came from, exactly, but he knows that a girl like her shouldn't have the same fate as Korom. Or himself for that matter. He tries to pull her back, but she's stubborn and surprisingly strong.
"Too late, girl," there's a cruel smile in the man's eyes. He's not even talking to the mysterious girl; his eyes are on Cassian. "I'll always be in his head."
The girl shakes her head and lets go of his hand. Cassian stumbled backwards as she flew at the man with the knife. She uses all of her weight to plunge the knife into his neck. "I said leave him alone!" Cassian snaps out of his daze and pulls the blood spattered girl off of the man and carries her as he runs, hoping that the scene is just done and there are no more insane little girls who are compelled to try and rescue him.
Then the world around them dissolves and he tumbles into a soft meadow with the girl in his arms. He takes a deep breath of the fragrant air, feeling like something is cleaning him with each breath he takes. The trembling figure is still in front of him and he waits for her to disappear too, but she doesn't. She just curls up in front of him, trembling much like he had after the first time. But where had she come from? Cassian sighs and holds her the way he so badly wanted to be held until the trembling stops. He finds that he can push the away the nightmare so long as he is taking care of her.
"Who are you?" he asks as he looks into her eyes. Dream or not, he'd really like to know what his mind came up with.
"Stardust," she whispers as she clutches his shirt with one hand. With the other, she touches his hair, his face, his neck—almost everywhere as if trying to convince herself that he is real. But dream people don't do that, do they?
Cassian rolls his eyes. "Your real name." The girl looks up at him with hurt in her eyes and he immediately feels bad. For rolling his eyes at least.
"My father calls me Stardust," she whispers. He looks into the flecks of her eyes and concedes that maybe it's the right name for her. His science teacher always ssaid that Stardust has its own shine and sparkle because of chemical composition and the way light reflects off of it.
"Okay, Stardust." He acknowledges, and Stardust smiles. It makes him feel lighter, as if that one small thing stripped away some of the horrors. He barely catches the end of her question.
"—name?"
"Um," Cassian is on the tip of his tongue, but he can't say it. The name seems wrong to say here in the pristine meadow. Cassian means the child soldier, the boy who kills.
"That's alright," she says and her smile grows wider. "I'll give you a name. Papa says I need more practice with naming anyways. I named all of our house!" Cassian only nods, not quite sure what to do. She looks at him closely, then puts her head on his shoulder with a yawn.
"Star," she mumbles. "You're warm. And bright, I found you right away in that dark place."
His answering laugh is a little bitter. 'I'm not a nice light at all."
"But you are to me!" Stardust has her hands on her hips and he just doesn't have the heart to argue with her. "I-I want to find you all the time, just like I can always find the stars before I sleep."
"But you've only just met me!" he sputters. He's a little flabbergasted. This is all in his head, but something about Stardust feels real to him, and he so badly wants her to be real.
"I know," she shrugs. "But I like you, and Mama says to trust the Force and I think you must be from the Force." Out of nowhere, she produces a ball. "Play with me? There's no one to else to pay with at home." The little lonely quiver in her voices goes straight through him and he can't help it. His head nods with a small smile before he can even thin about it. The ball flies toward him and he catches it. He's not quite sure what to do with it. Stardust stares at him.
"Don't you know how to play catch?"
"It's been awhile." Not since he was six on Fest before the soldiers came; not since he was ten on Carida when they killed his father. She huffs.
"You throw the ball back at me and I throw it to you and run around." It's her turn to roll her eyes at him. "Even McVee knew how to play." Her eyes cloud over for a just a second, but Cassian doesn't ask. Playing just to play sounds nice. It's not as if he's awake waiting for orders.
There's a giggle and he sees Stardust trotting away from him, going deeper into the meadow. He runs and plays with Stardust for what seems like hours and he relishes in the lightness. She throws her arms around him.
"I have to go now, Star. I have to wake up on the farm." She disappears and his eyes open to grey walls, a blaring alarm, and the sounds of his barrack mates waking up. He's a little disoriented and disappointed. It was only a dream, he thinks to himself. Stardust doesn't leave his head though, and he doesn't want her to. He wraps her image around the core of himself and holders there. She was real, at least to him. Perhaps she would come to him again in a dream.
"Andor," he startles out of bed for face a teenage private.
"Yes, sir," he salutes and inwardly winces at his state of undress. He knows he's dwaddled too long thinking about stars and stardust.
"Captain Draven wants to see you in Briefing 5 before you eat in the mess."
"Yes, sir," and the private leaves him. Cassian sadly pushes Stardust into the back of his mind and gets dressed.
