Rain pelted his body as he struggled to focus in on the sniper. The man of gray paced nervously across the platform, yelling at Orson Krennic, raising his arms in defense.
But it was too late. Cassian watched as the engineers behind Galen Erso fell one by one, shot down by soldiers.
The sight reminded him what he was here for, much to his chagrin. He rubbed his eyes again, trying to get hair and as much moisture as he could out of eyesight before returning to the crosshairs.
He finally settled his aim between the man's forehead; all he had to do now was pull the trigger.
These were his orders, and it wasn't the first time he had killed for the cause, but something in his bones told him that it wasn't right, that there had to be a different way.
"There's always another way," a voice rang. Cassian shook his head, trying to get it out. "If it feels wrong, don't do it, Cass. Don't just fight for the cause, fight for yourself."
Cassian couldn't focus, all he heard was her, and he adjusted the gun again, but she went on, "Don't let this war beat you."
He let out an exasperated sigh, pulling away from the gun, and dropped his head against the grip.
He had every chance to pull the trigger, but he didn't. He couldn't.
She wouldn't let him.
before.
Yavin four, 5 BBY
Cassian studied the board once more, hoping that maybe this time the pieces would finally fall into place. They'd been trying to solve this mystery for ages: an Imperial base randomly bombed by radicals, on an uninhabited planet, with no sign of Rebel involvement. It had been years since the event occurred, but because of the action's of one person inside the base, a chain reaction shook the galaxy. The war was alive and real, and this person's actions only spurred on the reaction.
"Lieutenant Andor," a familiarly stern voice called out to him. Cassian turned, and was greeted to General Draven, briskly making his way across the room to meet him.
"General," Cassian gave a slight nod, watching as Draven handed him a loaded folder.
"Looks like one of your sources finally struck gold. It's a long shot, but we think we've finally done it." He briefed the lower ranking officer as he looked through the files.
Cassian stopped when he found the photos. He picked one from the pile and examined it closely. He knew from the second his eyes landed on it that this was her. It had to be. She was in Cato Neimoidia, captured just as she was looking over her shoulder in the bustling city.
His heart leapt to his throat, and he could have smiled, but he noticed that her once flawless complexion was now marred, faint burn scars rippling from the edge of her cheek down to her neck. Cassian felt a familiar twinge of grief, instantly reliving his last moments with her before they took her away.
He remembered the blast that separated them, remembered how the flames reached her and not him as her body was flung into the debris. The day lived down in infamy for the young solider, and he swore, as the ship carried her away to captivity, that he would fight to see her safe again, and despite the scars on her face, Cassian knew this picture proved that she was alive, and that's all he would need to know.
He looked up, and the General mirrored his own look of determination.
"Let's bring her home, Cassian."
Cato Neimoidia
"You cheated me!" the Neimoidian wheezed, raising his fist in anger as Alma smirked.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Treg. You gave me the access codes, but they must've been the wrong ones, not my fault I couldn't get in," she shrugged, leaning back in her seat.
She made sure to choose this outdoor tavern, an open balcony overlooking the bustling city. Before she mastered the craft, Alma had met with her clients in alley ways, secluded taverns, risky places made to initiate business. It was a hard lesson, one that involved the loss of many great fortunes and a few scars, but she had certainly learned. Now she was sure to meet in the open, establish witnesses and security.
"I should have never paid you in advance," he huffed, bringing his thin hands over his beady eyes.
"You really shouldn't have, not unless you had the right information," she replied, before rising from her seat, "Now, if you'll excuse me, you're not the only sorry fool I have to deal with today."
At this Treg growled in frustration, jumping to attack, but she was too quick. Alma dodged his advance, and disappeared in the crowd of bystanders, who all watched as the Neimoidian struggled to get up from the ground. "I'll make sure you never find work again, Callista!"
"Yeah, you do that," Alma yelled over her shoulder, chuckling as she sprinted down the stairs. As she pushed and shoved to step out onto the city streets, Alma mentally cursed herself. It had been so easy to manipulate the humanoid, she had forgotten to take his awful temper into account. She made a mental note to reforge her ID once again by the end of the night.
Alma weaved through the crowd to find her home. She made sure to look over her shoulder every now and then, unsure as to whether or not Treg would send any of his men to follow her. She didn't put it past him either, the creature was of a wealthy species, known for their greedy nature, and they most certainly did not like to be played the way that he had been.
But the only person who seemed to be watching her was a mousy little girl who hid every time they made eye contact. Alma admired the little one's effort, but she made sure to disappear into the crowd, rounding the corner into a narrow alleyway. A few steps in, there lay a blasted hole in the wall, and Alma stepped inside, raising the hatch hidden among the rubble to climb down into a dimly lit room.
She knew that the second she pulled down on the hatch that the force was too hard, and she sighed as the candles went out with the wind produced by the crash. What she didn't count on was rubble from above falling in. Alma let out a cry as debris hit her in the head, dust covering her eyes, causing her to lose grip on the ladder and land with a harsh thud on the unforgiving dirt.
Alma groaned, her elbow ached from the impact and the shawl that was once wrapped her head covered her eyes as she groped around in the dark for a lantern.
She struggled for only a few seconds before a faint light emanated from the corner of the room. Brushing the fabric from her eyes, Alma stared at the person across from her in utter confusion.
It was the mousy little girl who had been following her since she left the tavern. The small thing, with chocolate brown hair and tanned skin like hers stared back with wide hazel eyes.
"Who...How did you..?" Alma stuttered, completely baffled for the first time in many years.
But the girl wasted no time, bringing a finger up to her lips to hush the older woman. She then pointed upwards, and Alma could hear muffled voices from above, speaking through comms to one another.
She closed her eyes and felt her heart sink. Storm troopers. When Alma opened her eyes, the girl had placed the lantern back down on the dirt, slowly making her way over. She stopped when their faces were inches apart, and faintly, she whispered, "you can't hide forever."
Alma felt her mouth open slightly, unsure how to respond, but the girl continued, "they found you here, and they'll keep on finding you, Alma. That's why we're here to help you."
The wheels began to turn in Alma's head, and she felt tears spring to her eyes as she stared at this youthful face, so seemingly innocent. But Alma knew better. She realized that this was another child soldier, an orphan of war, like herself. She wanted to ask the girl when they recruited her, how her parents died, if she still had the same nightmares each night, but she couldn't shake the fact that this girl knew her name, even though she had never seen her before. "How do you know my name?" Alma whispered.
"That's not the question you should be asking," the little girl chided her.
Alma began to speak, but from above she heard the footsteps multiply and thud more heavily, causing dust to rain down on the two of them. She knew that they were closing in, that it was only a matter of seconds, but she had so many questions, she needed to know more.
Before she got the chance, Alma felt the air change. She couldn't explain it, the feeling that always rushed through her in moments like this. But it seemed as if time stopped, and the air itself was brushing past her ear, whispering words of warning, telling her to get up, to take the girl and run.
When the tension reached its peak, the only sound Alma heard was the faint toll of a bell, then the explosions began.
"Get back!" Alma roared, grabbing the girl and pulling her to the corner as the rocks rained down, daylight pouring through where the entrance had once been.
What felt like a million voices called out from above, mingled with the explosions and rumbling. Alma heard clicking of guns as they aimed at her and the child.
"Come forward with your hands up," one of the storm troopers commanded, and Alma couldn't even react before the little girl escaped her grip, pulling out a blaster from her robes.
"For Rethea!" She yelled, before pulling the trigger.
"No!" Alma cried, but it was already too late. The little girl had taken down only three of them before she was gunned down, sprawled out under the light as they continued to fire.
"Stop it!" Alma was shrieking, rushing towards the girl. "That's enough!"
She didn't even notice as they dropped down and surrounded her, pointing their guns at her. She only stared down at the blood stained face, brilliant hazel eyes still shining as they stared blankly at the light. Alma rocked the little one gently, silently sobbing.
The longer Alma stared into her eyes, the darker they became. It wasn't long until they were brown, and the girls face wasn't so rounded and youthful, cheekbones becoming more prominent and nose more angled as she stopped being a little girl. "Myri," Alma breathed, "Myri, wake up."
"Let go of the girl and put your hands up!" the trooper commanded. But Alma didn't hear them, she only focused on the body before her.
"She's my sister," Alma explained, glancing up through tear covered eyes, "Please, she was my only one."
But the men had lost their patience, and they were about to hit her over the head to silence her, when a voice rang out from above, "Get away from her!"
Alma tried to look above at the source, but their body was directly against the sunlight, which blinded her as she squinted. Gun fire pelted the troopers, and before she knew it they were all on the ground, just as dead as the girl in her arms.
"Alma?" The voice called out again, and she felt something stir from within as she processed the voice. She had heard an accent like that before, a long time ago, in another life.
"Who's there?" she asked, still holding on to the girl as he descended.
When the man crouched down to look at her, Alma couldn't find the air to fill her lungs. She knew it was him, it had to be. There was scruff on his chin, and a few more age lines, but nonetheless he was there, after all those years she spent running away from him, he was finally there.
She whispered, "Cass?" frightened that she would be wrong, but praying that she would be right.
His dark brown eyes were already welling with tears, but now, as he smiled, they spilled over. He laughed, nodding vigorously, "Yes, yes Alma, it's me."
And she didn't know if it was the dead girl still in her arms, or if it was that mingled with the overwhelming feeling of seeing him again, but Alma couldn't stop the sobs from wracking her body as she sprung up and held on to him tightly, clinging onto his warmth for dear life.
"It's okay," Cassian breathed, pulling her in closer. "I'm here. I'm here now."
And as he held her in his arms, debris rained from above. The explosions still shook the planet as the war continued to rage on. But before they would have to go back, they had this one moment, they had this.
