"Cedar trees, which produce cones and have fragrant, reddish wood, are a totem for many cultures. Cedar trees are mentioned in the Bible and by classical writers who were enthralled by the tree's size and majesty.
The size and longevity of the cedar tree symbolizes strength, and in Lebanon, the tree serves as an important cultural symbol for that reason. Poets and artists have conveyed the tree as a sign of strength and eternity, especially given the tree's endurance through tumultuous periods of history. As BBC News' Bethany Bell writes, the cedar is 'a symbol of survival in a fractured land'."
-Garden Guides website
A-A-A-A
Rebellions are built on hope. But life revolves around food.
No matter how glorious you make your cause out to be, no matter what sacrifices and anguish people are willing to go through for their children's future, Hogarth Lang knew the crucial fact in life.
You need to eat. If you do not eat then you do not live.
Hogarth did not fully grasp the value of this lesson as a child when he and his father worked dawn until dusk on their bit of farmland. Looking back as an adult, he realized that the chipped blue mug he used to drink out of was always filled to the brim of fresh bantha milk and never thinned down with water. His father did not have to take food off his own plate and give it to Hogarth or say he couldn't get them cheese or jam for their sandwiches. They traded their stupid but fat (meaning 'tasty') birds at the bakery and could afford the small luxury of getting fresh bread, not the stale loaves at the end of the week.
It wasn't until he was an adult during the Empire's reign and witnessed people diving in dumpsters and gaunt young girls standing on street corners selling themselves for a meal did he realize how fortunate he had been.
If you had a roof over your head and food in your stomach then you were indefinitely better off than most people in the galaxy.
And to think Hogarth swore he was born under an unlucky star.
A-A-A
During the Clone Wars, Hogarth had gone from one bureaucratic office to another to volunteer his services for the army. As bad as it was trying to muddle through the various departments, it was worse hearing people politely decline his services, explaining that he was "unqualified" for the war.
"May I be honest with you, Mr. Lang? Your physical achievements at a mediocre mid-rim school are fine but your aptitude tests are...how can I put this? The results confirm that you are unsuitable for this kind of war."
Why should they bother to recruit one six-foot-four redheaded candidate when there was an ideal laboratory turning out ideal troops every half hour?
He instantly hated those clones in their gleaming white uniforms. It was their fault he never got his chance. Hogarth used to spit aside when he saw them march into town. But he respected his father's memory and restrained himself from starting fights with them.
It still burned both ways to know all his years of running, lifting weights, and wrestling were for naught.
Unsuitable. Unqualified. Useless. Stupid.
When the clones were quietly "dismissed" from the public eye he thought he'd try again at an Imperial academy. But two applications in and Hogarth walked out feeling even more pissed off than he was with the clones. It was clear to him that the Empire didn't want Hogarth to protect civilians. On the contrary, he was told that he'd make an ideal interrogation officer by beating the truth out of potential "criminals".
Hogarth may not have passed his mental configuration tests in school with flying colors but he refused to accept the notion that people who forged documents to get jobs or smuggled their children out of war zones deserved to have their skulls cracked.
While the Empire spent time and resources hunting down civilians who were struggling to stay afloat, Hogarth watched the simpering senators bask in the Empire's looted worlds while criminal leagues and black marketeers profited from vulnerable populations. He was disgusted with how swiftly the galaxy had been turned upside down.
Damnit, let people take care of themselves for a change. Let them read the books they want, go to the schools they desire, and tour the galaxy as they wish. You don't need five identification cards and a dozen stormtroopers to tell you how to live your life and you certainly don't need some Emperor hidden off the holo-net instructing you down to the last detail.
Hogarth needed something strong to take the edge off. Bread and milk were soon replaced with spice and wine.
To earn credits for both, Hogarth shuffled from one world to another in search of the midnight street fights that broke out beneath bridges and inside tunnels. At least here he could pound some meat without the Empire breathing down his back. He'd take his winnings and spend the rest of the evening at a spice-den. Wake up at dawn, drink a detox tea to sober up, and repeat the next day.
Years became a decade. One Empire Day after another. More stormtroopers marching on. Another shot of Bomar whiskey and a handful of the good stuff, oh yeah.
A-A-A
Iolanthe's curfew only applied if the bucketheads caught you. Fortunately, most of them never ventured out to the darker part of the fourth district and that's where Hogarth was earning enough for three days of spice. He had feigned losing to a smaller and more lithe attacker and then in the last round, surprised his opponent by driving his full force into the man's stomach. He was knocked out of breath and that's when Hogarth delivered a final blow across the jaw. He slumped over and everyone clapped for Hogarth.
He wasn't surprised to see several well-dressed people in the crowd. Bored of their cultured music halls and opera houses, the elite of Iolanthe liked to venture into the seedier parts of town for a bit of dangerous fun. But you wouldn't think twice of bothering those guests, not when they carried blasters and had hidden bodyguards around them. Some of the women smiled at him and the men nodded but they never would consider talking to him, let alone hire him to do menial work.
Hogarth wasn't sure who the Twi'lek in the long loose-fitting dress and matching cape belonged to. But she would pull the hood over her face from time to time when leering eyes came too close for her interest so maybe she wasn't someone's property (yet). Had Hogarth looked up from the fight more often, he would have noticed that she was studying him with great interest.
He forgot about her quickly. Seven hours later, he was being shaken awake in the spice den by a female hand. He smelled something sweet and pleasantly sharp with a tang of citrus scent. The Twi'lek was shaking him by the shoulder as she bent over his cot.
"Hogarth Lang?" she asked.
He grumbled sleepily in response. "Whatcha want?"
"I want to hire you for a job." Her voice was sharp and clear like a gust of fresh air.
"Now?" he groaned. His temples vibrated from a migraine.
"Now," she repeated firmly. "I will pay you thirty a day to escort me around town. Starting now."
Thirty wasn't so bad and he could use the money. Hogarth shoved all his exhaustion into the abyss of his body, swung his booted feet onto the ground, and stood up. "Let's go," he said at last.
Like all beginnings, theirs was an awkward one from the start. Hogarth was being paid to work, not to talk. He preferred to be quiet as possible anyway. He had decided years ago that life wasn't worth speaking a lot. If you dared to do so, someone else usually opened up their big fat mouth and said the opposite thing in twice as many words.
If Tamar Ily'an was uncomfortable with his Hogarth's lack of conversation then she was good enough not to coax him out of it. She would give him a polite "good morning" when he picked her up in his speedster and punctuate each of his actions with "thank you" at the end, even if it was something trivial as carrying a package for her.
Her intentions for his presence were clear from a week into their relationship. Tamar was keeping credits in her purse and food in her mouth by doing things Hogarth didn't expect a Twi'lek to do. Whenever an Imperial estate went bankrupt or a warehouse had overstocked goods, Tamar would rush in and bargain with the owner for the best price. Then she would use the holonet to contact new buyers and sell the goods for a profit.
Hogarth was intrigued by her cleverness. The stores were only too glad to get rid of their outdated fashions and overripe meilooruns while others would pay gladly for them. But there were constantly sniggering remarks at Tamar and strange unwanted hands that attempted to latch onto her breasts or backside.
It took little more than Hogarth's presence, and perhaps a beady glare (he had practiced in front of the mirror) to get them to back off from Tamar. Once, when a vendor's palm playfully tried to swat her bottom, Hogarth lashed out with one arm and nearly bent the man's wrist into five different parts.
"Let me go!" the vendor squeaked. He was a puny little thing with a ratty face.
"You're here to buy carpets, not bother the contractor," Hogarth growled.
The sound of his voice caused Tamar to whip around quickly, lekku flinging in haste before landing steadily against her back. She realized that her honor was being defended by her bodyguard. Hogarth saw the faintest smile on her lips but then she quickly wiped it away and replaced it with a monotone facade.
"Thank you, Hogarth. That will be all."
Hogarth released the man, who nursed his aching hand against his chest. "M-my apologies, Miss Ily'an," he said in a sniveling voice.
Back at the speeder, Tamar took out his wages and handed them to Hogarth. He counted them up and shook his head. "You paid me too much," he insisted, holding up two credit pieces.
"It's a bonus," she explained.
He opened his mouth to protest, to say that he didn't deserve it, but somehow he couldn't find the words to speak. Tamar just nodded in silent understanding.
Hogarth would not delude himself into thinking he would even join the realm as those holy men and women, those...those Jedi of lore. They had been ethereal people who carried themselves with dignity and dedicated their lives to the peace and happiness of others.
He was a big scruffy grouchy spice-addict with a broken nose. But he was still alive and the Jedi were not.
So perhaps, just for a few hours a day, Hogarth could pretend to have the Jedi's qualities. Not their twitchy mojo, of course, but their honor and decency. It might be a silly notion for him to play-act in that role but it could be a nice way of upholding an ideal that existed long before the Empire decided to clamp its power around everyone in the galaxy.
Besides, Tamar Ily'an was proving out to be more than just a pretty face between twin lekku who paid him punctually. She was a lady. And Hogarth Lang may have not have heeded all of his mother's advice from long ago but he did remember how to treat a lady.
Hogarth began to comb his hair and tuck in his shirt before escorting Tamar on her errands. It felt funny the first few times but Tamar said nothing, though she did pause and smile the first time he arrived looking all cleaned up. He even used a pocket knife to get rid of any flecks of dirt beneath his fingernails. When out in the market, Hogarth felt his shoulders square back as he made room for Tamar and gave stern looks at those who dared venture into her personal space.
She was his responsibility now and he felt a bit of pride work itself into his spine to know that this Twi'lek was under his protection. Hogarth would not let her down.
Hogarth's efforts paid off when the speeder was cruising downtown one day and Tamar asked him to stop in front of a building. The former Republic office had seen better days but they ignored the half-boarded up windows and pried open the splintered wooden door.
The interior held the hushed memories of a station where work and prosperity once flourished. Sleepy from years of recluse and devoid of furniture, the empty room carried the sounds of their footsteps in eerie echoes. Hogarth checked the wiring and foundation concrete and though both in need of ramifications, overall the building was in surprisingly adequate condition.
Tamar took in several circles before standing in the center of the room.
"What are you thinking about?" Hogarth asked. He could now recognize that expression when her eyes brightened up and her face glowed. It meant Tamar's mind was hard at work putting together a practical plan of action.
"I think I'm in love," she said at last.
Hogarth wouldn't put in the same words but he did agree that this building had a steady foundation. His fingers itched at the thought of dusting off his tool box and having a go at the wiring panels. Yet he was bemused when Tamar announced that she was going to turn it into an entertainment venue for Imperial officers.
"Won't work," he said with a shake of his head. "You'll need two building permits and a 438 Gamma license-"
"Then I'll begin the data work immediately," Tamar insisted. She already had her data pad out and was leaning against the wall, filling out applications. Hogarth didn't be the one who wanted to break it to her but the odds of a Twi'lek running a business in the middle of an ideal Core planet were small.
She must have suspected what he was thinking because Tamar looked up from the pad and faced Hogarth.
"I'll admit it could take several months until the infernal bureaucracy finally lets me have this building." Her brow creased up as she spoke.
"But consider the situation, Hogarth. In these times a Twi'lek is considered an object of beauty. If I am going to market this building as a high-end venue, I will have to market myself as an exotic export from Ryloth. And what better way to serve the Empire's needs than with an elegant and tasteful place for its most distinguished officers to enjoy themselves under the gaze of their charming hostess?"
He scowled in response. "You don't approve?" she asked lightly.
"Damn right I don't!" he barked with sudden abruptness. "I mean, of course not, Miss Il'yan," he added in a lower tone. "Don't see the difference much between you putting yourself on display or being sold down the comet stream for a handful of credits to some slaver."
Surely she would frown and tell him that it was none of his business; that she was the boss and he was merely a hired hand. Instead, Tamar appeared pleased with his answer.
"Of course there's no difference," she agreed. "But the Imperials don't know that, do they?"
It was as though some obscure part of Hogarth's mind that he hadn't used in years had suddenly turned itself on. He had spent enough time in Tamar's presence to pick up some of her habits and methods, to see worlds through her eyes. That meant looking not at the overwhelming odds but at the resources available, at the hidden potential that could be tapped into and burst forth from a wellspring of opportunities.
You didn't need an army to get yourself going. A brain that was willing to think and hands willing to work were good places to start. So why not begin right away?
"I think I've got it," Hogarth found himself saying. "They're going to look at you and think whatever they want to think. Might as well make them pay full price and keep your dignity intact."
Tamar gave him a slight nod. "Precisely," she agreed. Then she spread her hands out and gestured to the room. "That platform looks like it needs to have the paneling ripped out but its the right size for a stage. I can imagine tables here there," she pointed to various parts of the room.
"...and we'll have an exclusive area for our honored guests of the evening at the front wing."
"Our?" Hogarth repeated.
She glanced over her shoulder. "Of course. Providing you're interested in joining my project as a full-time associate. I'd rather hire people I trust."
"Associate." The word sounded professional and sophisticated on Hogarth's ears. Could he, the son of a Mid-Rim farmer, actually do more than be some lumbering hunk of moving meat? Was he just as batty as her to think that he'd actually sign on and join her in entertaining those hoddy-toddy Imps to earn a living?
"I could fix some of this up," he said at last. "Might have to hire a contractor for the bigger pieces."
"That would require a modest loan," Tamar agreed. "Now regarding entertainment, I'll start researching what the Ministry of Media and Broadcasting permits. We'll have some classical music from the Alderann orchestra too." She paused before returning her attention back to Hogarth.
"Do you know what Imperials like to drink?"
"Here and there," Hogarth shrugged. "You can find a recipe for anything by asking around."
"Then ask and we shall receive," Tamar concluded.
The next several months were hard if not grueling times of work. But Hogarth was so busy working on the future night club that he was too tired to go brawling at night. He was also too focused on listening to what the merchants and caterers of Iolanthe were saying (and boy did they talk!) to get himself shot back up on spice.
The epiphany came just a few weeks into the opening of the club but not long before Nava and Miri would join their little team. The club was filled with guests who were chattering freely among themselves when a lieutenant approached the bar and ordered his favorite drink.
Hogarth drew an icy glass out of their cooling compressor and carefully filled it with the golden bubbles of Correlian champagne. The lieutenant sipped it slowly with satisfaction.
"Mmm, a fine year," he concluded as he set the glass back down alongside his credit piece. "That Twi'lek does credit to the Empire. If only others were as cooperative as her, the galaxy would quickly reach its ideal age of peace."
Hogarth said nothing in the face of this pin-headed fool. He merely nodded in the affirmative and took the glass back to have it cleaned. At that moment, he realized that he had just been spoken to by a high-ranking officer and been tipped generously.
This was far further than anything Hogarth could have imagined for himself. Between rinsing glasses and getting out more bottles of champagne, he took a moment to glance around the glittering room that he and Tamar had labored so hard to create.
A steady job in the heart of the Empire. Who would have thought that was all it would take for Hogarth to make something of himself?
A-A-A
Several years later:
You win some, you lose some. You pick up the pieces and carry on.
Hogarth wasn't particularly attached to places or things but he was sure Tamar's pride was sore after she had been falsely accused of sabotaging Imperial prototype bombs and then had her business confiscated. Later on she admitted the Empire would have shut her down one way or another out of jealousy and she wouldn't waste another thought on it. But it took Hogarth several weeks to get over his anger.
Damn fools didn't know a blessing when it was right there at the tips of their noses but better the Empire should lose a businesswoman who could enrich them all than admit they misjudged a Twi'lek.
You lose a home, you gain a family.
He actually preferred working in their little kaff shop on Kaller where the clients were more like him, a bit rough around the edges and not used to standing on protocol. Tamar carried herself with as much charm and poise as if they were back on Iolanthe and would snap her fingers from time to time to keep Io and Nava from chattering nonstop.
"Teenagers," she muttered not-to-quietly under her breath. Hogarth turned his head to avoid her noticing his smile.
Now that the cafe was bringing in enough venue to support three Twi'leks and one human, Tamar's latest venture was finding resourceful ways to provide food and clothing for others who had fallen on bad times. Hogarth wished they had adequate space to grow a bigger garden on the cafe rooftop but Tamar compensated by turning their leftovers into care packages for people in the refugee district.
"Throwing it out will just attract bugs," she explained as she spread the last bits of jam on a heel of bread. "This will keep our cafe tidy and fully functional."
"Oh," Nava responded in awe. After all, Tamar was clever and the younger Twi'lek was determined to soak up every bit of knowledge possible in her presence.
But Io saw through the facade. "Why does Tamar work so hard to conceal her acts of charity?" she asked Hogarth in privacy.
"Because she knows people would feel ashamed to accept it," he told her. "Tamar wants to save them the embarrassment by making it look like they're helping her instead of the other way around."
"It seems a great deal of effort to do so little," Io deliberated.
"Have you ever eaten sand before? Or moldy milk or rotting fruit?" Hogarth asked her. Io shook her head. "Then you don't know what it is to feel so hungry that you'd put anything in your mouth to stay alive."
"You are right. Baron Sparr took excellent care of me," she confessed. "But now I know many Twi'lek women have sold themselves because they could not even buy food for their families. And Ezra Bridger used to be a thief on Lothal. I supposed being hungry makes people do dangerous things."
"Dangerous but not stupid. Hand me the double-wrench," he ordered her. Io picked up the tool and handed it to Hogarth, who was mending their aquatic tank.
In spite of her occasional abrupt comments, he found himself liking the petite purple kid. Hogarth knew Io had been pampered from childhood by the worst kind of person and only recently was attempting to earn Tamar's trust. She was making rapid progress but he knew she still struggled to do the right things and it made him more sympathetic to her personal mission.
Hogarth suspected that some of Io's motivation was inspired by more than platonic approval. In fact, he was willing to bet it had much to do with a pair of blue eyes in the face of a particular Jedi apprentice.
But that meant unnecessary harmful words and so Hogarth wisely kept his lips sealed.
A-A-A
Four hours later:
Hogarth stood in the center of the cafe along with Captain Hera Syndulla and Sabine Wren. Several large metal plates sat on the tables and Tamar was examining them curiously. Each one was several inches thick and rectangular-shaped with heavy grooves running through the metal.
"Is this why you wanted me to get Io and Nava out of the cafe?" asked Tamar. She had plied the girls with a handful of credits and knew they'd be out at the arcade for the rest of the afternoon while Hera addressed the Rebellion's current mission.
"These are printing plates for Imperial ration cards," Hera explained.
Tamar nearly jumped away from the table as if it was on fire. "Do you have any idea what the penalty is for stealing something like this?" she demanded.
"They weren't stolen," Sabine assured Tamar quickly. "We found them hidden in the floorboards of the Thundercloud smuggling ship. I think the captain planned on melting them down or using them to make counterfeit ration cards."
"Sabine was a cadet in the Imperial Academy and knows which inks and paints are used to print out the ration cards," Hera went on. "Regulations have tightened up food distribution in the Genomar sector but the locals are willing to barter medical supplies if we can provide them with something in return."
"Such as legal ration cards," Tamar concluded. Hera nodded in agreement. Calmer now and intrigued, Tamar lightly tapped her mouth with her index finger. "Cloning currency. It still sounds risky to me."
"No more than our usual line of work," said Sabine with a slight grin.
"Providing that you don't get caught, my next concern is that you may end up printing too many cards," Tamar warned them. "An overflow of these cards could ruin their value in the long run."
"Inflation," added Sabine. "Their value could go down." Tamar was dutifully impressed by the young Mandalorian's intelligence.
"Pardon me," Hogarth heard himself say. He nearly turned crimson when the three ladies turned their heads to him but managed to get his question out. "But won't the Empire get suspicious if they start running out of food supplies fast?"
He was sure it wasn't his place to inquire such things but to his relief, Captain Syndulla appeared to be on the same page as himself.
"We were equally concerned and asked Senator Organa and Count Caswell for advice. Highest authority confirms that there's adequate grain and meat in Genomar's warehouses and this year's bumper crops can confirm that the planet can feed itself."
"Let me guess: the Empire wants to step up their regulations for the sake of protocol," Tamar suggested dryly. "And in an attempt to keep prices stabilized, they're demanding ration cards to prevent people from buying too much."
Hera nodded in confirmation and Hogarth watched his boss groan aloud. If there was one thing Tamar detested it was bureaucracy. The Empire would rue the day they started regulating her stock of kaff beans.
"The good news is that we can print enough cards to help the locals before the winter season without putting a noticeable dent in Imperial databases," Sabine said with optimism. "And some of those grains are hybrids that can be grown indoors. Just an extra cupful or two of it can be planted and feed a family for months at a time."
"That much, eh?" Hogarth was warming to the mission quickly. "So how are you going to get ration cards to Genomar?"
Hera keyed in some codes and the hologram of a building sprang up from her data pad. "Ezra and Kanan have already infiltrated the Imperial science academy on Genomar and smuggled the plates into the students' wing. I was hoping Mr. Lang would consider joining our friends to make sure they, and the plates, get out safely in a few days' time."
Three pairs of female eyes went to Hogarth who was instantly dumbstruck. The calm focused attention of Captain Syndulla could have knocked him over with a feather.
He was flattered—no, honored to be given this opportunity. And by the infamous Captain Syndulla, no less. Hogarth fumbled for a decent response while Hera was concerned his silence was a message of regret.
"I don't mean to be blunt," she added quickly. "But Tamar vouched for your character and you were the best candidate I considered on such short notice."
"I'll do it," he managed to finally blurt out. Hogarth might have had a big silly grin on his face but kriff, a city of people needed those ration cards and he could give Captain Syndulla a helping hand and work alongside Jedi.
Bodyguard, bartender, associate, kaff-maker, and now freelance rebel. "Mom and Dad, if only you could see me now," he thought.
Things were definitely looking up for Hogarth Lang.
A-A-A
Science Department of Imperial Academy, section D-39 / Genomar
Ezra Bridger. Lieutenant, rebel officer, occasional pilot, and padawan of Kanan Jarrus, Jedi Knight.
Current babysitter to Loth-kits.
It wasn't the most difficult task he had taken on but this assignment was getting tedious. For the sixteenth (or was it the seventeenth?) time that day, he used his fingers to pry the kit's mouth open and squeeze in several drops of milk using a syringe.
Genomar's science academy was nothing to sneeze about but it had taken Chopper quite a few hours to hack into the system so that Ensign Kay Dunam (no relation to Ezra Bridger whatsoever) could make the swift transfer into the recent student body. As an extra precaution, Ezra had taken an injection that temporarily darkened his eyes to deep brown and his scars had been covered up with a touch of face paint.
Now he found himself fussing over a litter of babies that should never have been this far from Lothal. However, Ensign Allister Thrush insisted he had found them in an abandoned transporter and was now eager to nurse the little creatures back to help. Thrush's intentions were twofold: he was obsessed with animals and approval. Having quickly befriended Kay Dunam, Thrush confessed his desire was to develop his modest but growing menagerie until it could be presented to the Imperial Culture Council in several years time.
Now he rubbed his hands together eagerly as Ezra finished feeding milk to the Loth-kit The feisty creature tried clawing at him but fortunately the gloves protected Ezra's skin from getting punctured. It let out a tiny shriek and then wriggling freely, scampering back around the cage.
"I cannot tell you how much this means to me," Thrush gushed at his colleague. "Seven Loth-kits all at once! The Council will be thrilled if we can give them the full healthy litter along with the other animals." He gestured to several other tanks and cages of well-fed and carefully-groomed creatures.
The padawan just tugged on his uniform collar and forced a smile on his face. "I'm happy to help out, Allister. How about we take a break and finally get something to eat?"
He knew by now that Thrush refused to take in a meal until his creatures were fed first. He might be an Imp, and a paranoid one at that, but at least he was taking decent care of the animals under his attention. That fact was one that Ezra couldn't ignore.
Being in the cafeteria wasn't any easier than pacifying Thrush. Taller cadets jabbed their elbows into Ezra's chest and faked apologies. Several simpering girls tried fluttering their eyelashes at Ezra but he did his best to ignore them. Someone stuck out their foot in an attempt to trip him. Thankfully, his Jedi reflexes prevented Ezra from colliding against the ground.
"They're just jealous of us," Allister muttered under his breath as he passed his tray down the line. "Nobody else got such high marks in intergalactic zoology."
Ezra tried to nod and listen but out of the corner of his eye he could see cadets dumping their half-empty trays into the disposal bins with boredom. His fingers instantly curled tightly into his tray. Didn't they know how much food they were wasting? He watched the maintenance droid whisk away the disposal bin and thought of how many cartons of milk and uneaten sandwiches were on their way to the incinerator.
"Meanwhile the locals will be counting out every single mouthful," he thought bitterly. "And they can't pickpocket their meals the way I used to do it on Lothal."
He could sense a dull ringing in his ears from the anger that simmered beneath the surface. Ezra tried to focus on scooping a pile of mashed tubers onto his plate while Allister continued to rattle on.
"...which is probably why we'll be having a guest speaker in the schedule. Governor Pryce won't tell us yet but based on updated security protocols—"
"Are you deaf as well as blind?" a teen female voice shrilled loudly. Her sharp tone caused Ezra to jerk his head to where Kanan was standing before a shouting cadet. The Jedi wore the gray jumpsuit of a maintenance worker and had a stack of trays in his hand.
"Tivash again." Allister clicked his tongue. "She's found new prey to hunt down."
Ezra starred in horror as Tivash continue to rant to Kanan. "Idiot!" she snapped. "How many times did I tell you to let me know when the calcium cubes are running low?"
"I'm sorry," he apologized in a soft tone. "It's just been so busy that-"
"How many times!?" she nearly screamed.
"I, I think four."
"Five," she corrected him crisply. "As head prefect of this academy I expect adequate results. But what else can I expect from a stupid lump of human flesh? A class D4 droid could do a better job than you!"
Hogarth, wearing an identical uniform, had come out of the back room and had a clean cloth in his hands. He instinctively took a step closer and nodded respectfully to Tivash. "Needn't shout at him, ensign. He's got a lot of duties to carry out and I'll make sure he gets back on track."
Tivash turned her wrath from Kanan to Hogarth. "How dare you talk back to me! One inept janitor and one handicapped maintenance guard should not be holding up the entire academy!" Tivash shook her fist in each of their faces. "The next time we are running low, you will tell me immediately or I'll have you both thrown out within the hour! Is that understood?"
"Yes ma'am," Kanan responded in a monotone voice.
"Yes ma'am," Hogarth agreed.
The flare in Tivash's cheeks finally seemed to ebb down. With a slight snarl she yanked on her collar and then stormed off in the opposite direction. The other cadets went back to chattering among themselves and even Allister barely registered the fight. He merely turned on his datapad and dug into his food.
Ezra could feel his rage bubbling up and ready to overflow. His hands were trembling with fury. It would take just one small nudge, one tip of a chair or spill of water, to send Tivash crashing to the ground. Or better yet, mentally throw her against the wall until she was pinned like the writhing insect that she was. He stood immobilized as he glared at her from across the room to where Tivash was now chatting casually with her friends.
Kanan could feel the negative emotions rippling off Ezra like flares from a star. "Go to him," he urged Hogarth. "Before he does something we'll all regret."
The man hastily piled some milk cartons onto a tray and brought them over to Ezra's table. "Growing young man like you must be thirsty," he said aloud in a hearty cheery voice. When he realized nobody else was paying attention, Hogarth placed a hand on Ezra's shoulder. The padawan's face was so red that Hogarth was surprised his jacket hadn't caught on fire.
"Did you see that?" he whispered fiercely to Hogarth. "Did you see what she just did?"
"I did, Ezra. Take a deep breath," Hogarth urged him.
"How can I breathe when she just humiliated him in front of everyone?" Ezra's voice raised up enough to make a few cadet heads turn in surprise at Dunam's attitude.
Hogarth whipped out his cloth and feigned wiping Ezra's collar. "Sorry about that spill, ensign. We'll get you cleaned up in no time." He half-escorted, half-lead Ezra out of the cafeteria and into a private corridor where they could talk in privacy.
Ezra had reached the end of his patience by now. He snatched the cap off his head and slammed it to the ground. "How dare she!" he fumed. "Who the kriff does Tivash think that she is? If I see her again I'm going to—"
Before Hogarth could stop him, the padawan had driven his fist into the wall. Pain flared up in his eyes and he yanked it back, shaking his hand madly. Further curses flew from Ezra's mouth in low frantic mutterings.
Hogarth couldn't let the kid go on like this. He clamped a hand on Ezra's shoulder, spun him around, and looked him in the eye.
"Breathe," he ordered Ezra. "Now."
The firmness in his tone caused Ezra to suck in air through his nose. His chest rose up, air and heat rising from within, and then he finally drew it out between his lips. The flare within brown eyes began to ebb away.
"That's it, good. Keep breathing." Hogarth kept his hand on the teen's shoulder as he watched and made sure Ezra was doing exactly as he said, drawing in and out several more breaths until he could regain control of himself. "No good to us if you go in half-assed and punch her lights out, right?" Hogarth asked.
"No," Ezra admitted. When he seemed to have calmed down enough, Hogarth finally released his grip on the padawan. The young man rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"I'm sorry about that, Hogarth. Kanan's my master and when I saw her screaming her head off at him like that I just-" Ezra stopped talking as he fumbled for words.
Hogarth knew how tough it was to find the right thing to say. "You know what he's about but she doesn't," he suggested at last. "None of those officers do. No point in trying to change them 'cuz they won't."
Ezra's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I know." His mournful expression made him look more like a kicked puppy than an undercover rebel.
But he was only seventeen and Hogarth couldn't see anyone else taking on as much as Ezra Bridger had in a few short years. Kriff, so much for Hogarth impressing a Jedi right now in the middle of a mission.
The mission. Damnit, this was about those ration cards, not their pride. Hogarth had to stay on track.
"Kanan's not hurt and that's what's important," he pointed out. "We just need you to put up with the likes of Tivash and Thrush for a little while longer. Think a Jedi like you can carry on? For Kanan's sake?"
The last of his words must have made an impact because the glow in Ezra's eyes began to return and his face at last relaxed. Ezra nodded in agreement.
"That's the spirit." Hogarth lightly punched him in the shoulder. "You go wash up. I'll meet you in the lab tonight."
A-A-A
Later:
Hogarth drew the confiscated code cylinder out of his pocket and jabbed it into the security lock. The rotating gears sounded too loud as they clicked in response but the door finally opened without disturbing the silence. He slipped into Thrush's animal laboratory to find Era waiting for him.
"Curfew went into effect two hours ago," Ezra assured him. "Kanan's getting our transport ready as I speak."
"Sounds good. Where'd you put the plates?"
There was an awkward pause. "The good news is that none of the cadets or staff have found them yet," Ezra began.
"And the bad news?"
Ezra pointed to six enormous rectangular tanks of water placed upon the desks. Dozens of tiny crab-like gray creatures were skittering up and down the sides of their tanks. Hogarth squinted closer and saw several inches of black sand in the bottom of every tank.
The burly man starred in disbelief. "That's where you hid them?"
"It was the best I could do with our deadline," Ezra explained.
"Like I said, what's the bad news?"
"Allister said that greknos should never be out of the water or else they get 'toxic'," the padawan explained.
"Toxic?"
"He didn't explain further."
"Ah-ha." Hogarth scratched his head. "So how do we the plates out without bothering the greknos?"
"Transfer them from one tank to another?"
"The sooner the better," he agreed.
It was messy and heavy work. But Ezra managed to find a spare tank and with the carefullest of motions, washed it out and set it down beside the tank full of fretful greknos. It took all of his energy, along with Hogarth, to lift the first tank of water and diligently pour the contents into the empty tank. The greknos' tiny pincers clicked with irritation but they managed to travel through the flow of water from the first tank to the second. Smoothing away the heavy wet sand, Hogarth was relieved to see the shine of silver plates beneath it. They managed to stack two plates aside and then move onto the next tank.
The teen's hand loosened on the third tank and several cupfuls of water splashed on the tiles.
"Sorry!" Ezra hissed. He was obviously agitated at this point. As annoyed as Hogarth was at their circumstances, he knew taking it out on the kid wasn't going to help them or make it easier.
"S'fine, just keep going," Hogarth whispered.
"Wait!" Ezra stopped in place. Sure enough, they could hear footsteps in the corridor drawing closer to them.
"Must be Governor Pryce!" he whispered. They set the half-full tank of water back on the counter. "Hogarth, get behind the desks!"
"What about you?"
"I'll get demerits, that's all," he assured Hogarth. "She can't recognize me." Just for precautions, Ezra jabbed his cap down over his head and pulled the brim down as far as it could go. Hogarth dropped to the floor and crouched on all fours.
The security locks clicked and whirled and then there was the sound of doors parting. But the voice that came out wasn't Governor Pryce.
"Tivash?" Ezra blurted out. "Um, what are you doing here? It's after curfew."
"I might ask you the same question, Dunam." Her voice was surprisingly light and sweet in contrast to her previous rantings in the cafeteria. She reached behind her head and ran her fingers through her short blonde hair.
"I thought I heard a noise and wanted to make sure that Thrush's animals were safe," he explained. Ezra quickly patted the top of one tank.
"Hmmm." Tivash studied the tank and then looked back at Ezra. From his hiding position, Hogarth was starting to get a bad feeling. Tivash was eyeing Ezra as if he was a tasty morsel.
"You're very close with him, aren't you?" Tivash asked playfully.
"We work well together," he mumbled. "Say, why don't we go back to our dormitories and keep this under wraps?"
"Sounds nice. But I'd rather do some unwrapping tonight, brown eyes." Tivash quickly drew closer to Ezra and draped a hand on his shoulder.
"Um, what are you doing?"
"What's it look like?" She leaned closer, lips pursed up and aiming for Ezra's face. He quickly stepped back and put his hands in front of him for defense.
"No no," he protested. "We can't do that here."
"I agree," Tivash said. "We can do it better on the second floor." She was still advancing towards Ezra who was scrambling around the desks to avoid her.
"Nowhere! Nothing is going to happen between us!" he snapped. Force, why did this have to happen to him now? Did he have some kind of pheromone that attracted crazy girls or did the Force send out a flare suggesting he was easy bait?
"What's the matter, Dunam? Don't you know easy when you see it?" Tivash cocked her head to one side. "Let me guess. You and Thrush are more than just friends, right? You must 'swing' the other way."
"I don't!"
"Prove it!" She cornered him around a desk and then pounced on him like a hungry animal. Tivash must have learned from Governor Pryce because Ezra was rammed up against the wall with alarming force and elbows pinned in place. He jerked his head to one side to avoid contact. But that didn't stop Tivash's lips from dragging across his cheek in a wet sloppy kiss. Ezra's face scrunched up as she began grinding her hips against him.
"Come on, Dunam!" she hissed. Her voice was laced with lust and anger as she shoved herself against him. "I know you want this!"
Hogarth wasn't going to wait any longer to get results. He bolted up from behind the desk and lunged for Tivash. She whirled around when she heard him coming and opened her mouth showing rows of shiny teeth. "Get out!" she shrilled.
It would've taken one easy jab to her forehead to knock her out. But before Hogarth could make his move, Tivash had jammed her palms into his chest and sent him staggering backwards. His body knocked clumsily against the desks.
One full tank collided with another and with a loud crashing sound, they both collided onto the floor. Thousands of pieces of glass went scattering across the tiles, swept further by the rushing madness of spilled water while the grecknos began scampering out of the room on rapid minuscule feet.
Tivash didn't seem to care about this escalating disaster. She just glared at the tiny grecknos. "So much for Thrush's pet project." Then she smirked at Hogarth. "I'll have Governer Pryce ship you off to the Outer Rim."
This time he was ready for her.
WHAM!
Tivash was sent sprawling against the ground and landed in a mess of limbs and tangled yellow hair. The few remaining greknos scurried over Tivash's body and out the door.
"Uh-oh." Ezra and Hogarth were dumbstruck for a moment and then realized the mission was still incomplete. Hogarth lunged for the broken tanks and began hoisting the last of the plates off the floors.
"Don't worry," Ezra tried to assure him. "We've gotten out of tougher situations before."
"Keep moving!" Hogarth snapped back. They managed to lift up the slab and stack it with the others just as the dormitory alarms started going off.
WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!
Ezra peeked into the hallway to see cadets stumbling into the corridors, some in their standard gray sleepwear, others surprisingly still in their uniforms. Everyone was blinking in confusion but soon one girl's scream set off a chain reaction that made everyone panic as they dodged and ducked the oncoming grecknos under their feet.
"What are you doing?!" Thrush had popped into the laboratory with haste and was now in Ezra's face, vivid with rage. "We have to get them back in their tanks at once!"
"Uh, is that normal?" Ezra pointed to several grecknos scuttling beneath the library doors. Was it just his imagination or could he see tiny bits of smoke coming off their shells.
"That's just the start of what happens when they're exposed to oxygen!" Allister fumed.
"What happens next?"
"Dunam, how many times do I have to tell you about the spontaneous combu-"
The doors to the library were ripped off and billowing clouds of smoke filling the corridors. The alarm grew louder and Ezra and Hogarth had to cover their ears to avoid damaging their eardrums. The grecknos continue to crash into each other, sending more smoke crawling from the floors up to everyone's knees and then chests.
Such was the state of things when Governor Pryce strode into the corridor and witnessed the coughing cadets running amok.
Two hissing and steaming greknos scurried up to her feet. Pryce stepped backwards hastily but there was a distinct cracking sound when their shells collided and then the smell of brimstone hit her nose. She was instantly enveloped in smoke and chocking for air.
When she managed to stagger out of the smoke cloud, Pryce gained a lungful of air and shouted, "Ensign Thrush!"
"G-g-governer?" he stammered. He looked up from where he had been chasing the greknos with a long clawed instrument.
"Get these filthy creatures under control immediately!" she barked.
"Yes, ma'am. At once, ma'am," he stammered meekly.
Several stormtroopers arrived at the scene and began ushering the cadets outside while Governor Pryce used her credentials to shut down the alarms and switch power to the overhead fans. Her rigid conduct managed to get some of the chaos under control until she noticed two familiar figures scrambling in the opposite direction of the cadets. The tall one with dark hair in a ponytail and an ensign were moving a transporter stacked with metal plates...
"Jedi!" she snarled. Pryce charged for the two rebels but Hogarth raced behind her and clobbered the Imperial officer in a tackle. Pryce placed both palms on the floor and easily hoisted herself back up into a fighting stance. He was instantly covered with sharp kicks and punches that knocked the breath out of his chest. He hadn't been prepared for an Imp trained for military combat and though she was smaller than him, Pryce was far faster and more agile.
She finally drove her knee into his chest which sent a flare of pain through Hogarth's rib cage. He cursed between his teeth and staggered to keep his knees from giving out beneath him. Pryce assessed the scarred disheveled man quickly. "Not even a Jedi or a rebel," she thought with disgust.
"Gutter trash," she concluded with a sneer.
"Space kritch," Hogarth muttered back. "Such language!" his mother would have scolded him. He didn't care. Hogarth may not have had a Clone-bred program or an Imperial education but he had nearly twenty years of street brawling to teach him one thing: there are no rules in a fight.
He let Pryce lunge at him first and then began dodging her blows, letting the governor tire herself out for nearly a minute while he blocked her punches and protected his face. Pryce grew more agitated when she realized he wasn't slowing down and tried to up her game, leaping in the air to deliver a painful kick to his head.
It was just the opening Hogarth needed. He reached out and clamped his hands around her ankle. Using all of his energy and her momentum, Hogarth brought both arms down and swung around with his might. The sound of her screeching through air was oddly satisfying as Hogarth finally let go. Pryce went flying through air and crashed into Tivash. Both women went slamming against the wall and then collapsed in painful defeat.
Hogarth wiped the sweat off his face and looked up to see Ezra waving his hands frantically at him. "There's someone still trapped in the central lab!" he called out.
"Go help them," Kanan assured Ezra. "Hogarth, lend a hand?"
"Gladly." He raced to the Jedi's side and was soon pushing the transporter out to where Sabine and Chopper had hijacked and re-wired an Imperial shuttle. While everyone else got the plates loaded, Hogarth raced back into the building to see Ezra emerging from the unfurling smoke.
A taller man was leaning on Ezra for support with an arm draped around the padawan's shoulder. It took Hogarth a moment to realize that the Jedi was in the process of rescuing an Imperial, not one in military gear but nevertheless, someone in a science uniform. This man was on the side of their adversaries but even with his hands full, Ezra Bridger was risking his life to save another person.
The kid never failed to amaze Hogarth.
"What are you doing now?" Thrush had staggered back into the building and was hoping around madly with a bucket of greknos in one hand. "Ensign Dunam, you should be helping me save my menagerie first!"
"Little busy here," Ezra grunted.
Ignoring the weakened man by Ezra's side, Thrush continued to whine like a toddler. "I'm sure he's fine, Dunam! I haven't gotten all the greknos rounded and the Loth-kits will be helpless without-"
Ezra saw Hogarth's face flare red and then he slammed Thrush to the ground. The bucket tipped over and the greknos scurried away but the big burly man had other things on his mind than some space crabs. He had unstrapped his belt in the blink of an eye. Seizing Thrush by the shoulder, he kept the ensign pinned down and proceeded to flog his backside. Thrush whimpered and wailed from the blows as Hogarth brought his belt down again and again.
"Hogarth!" Ezra called out. He glanced once at the man he was supporting who seemed to be regaining his breath. "I, I'm all right," the man assured Ezra. He nodded weakly as Ezra slipped the man's arm off his shoulders and raced to Hogarth. The science officer watched the burly man stop hitting Thrush when Ezra gestured for him to stop. The madness flitted out of his eyes and Hogarth dropped the belt, startled as the realizations of his actions came over him.
The two of them raced out of the building and into the transporter. The science officer was left with the groaning Thrush while four more greknos scuttled off the floor.
A-A-A
1 hour later:
Governor Pryce could have sworn Grand Admiral Thrawn was smirking through the audio message but she refused to reveal her annoyance.
"As long as your guest was not injured then that is the crucial outcome," his smooth even voice came through the speakers. "And it was fortunate that the rebels did not succeed to capture him."
"Agreed," Pryce echoed. She switched off the transmission and turned to Thrush, who seemed to shrink into his uniform beneath her enraged expression. Next to him, Tivash was studying her feet to avoid making eye contact with Pryce.
"We were going to have the privilege of being addressed by one of the greatest members of the Imperial Science Department," Pryce began in a testy voice. "But your bumbling mannerisms and lack of efficiency have disgraced this academy!"
Tivash opened her mouth. "Governor, I swear it wasn't my fault. Thrush here was-"
"-I didn't do anything!" he protested.
"Silence!" Pryce snapped. They shut their mouths obediently. She clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace before the cadets. "While you two were preoccupied with your selfish personal matters, three members of the Rebel Alliance infiltrated this academy and nearly succeeded in capturing Galen Erso. We cannot allow such neglect to go unpunished."
She glanced down at them. The officers nodded their heads woodenly. "You will each receive eight demerits and have all privileges revoked for the remainder of the term. And Ensign Thrush, you will dismantle your so-called 'menagerie' at once or else be expelled from the academy. Do I make myself clear?"
When they nodded again, Pryce finally allowed herself a moment of satisfaction to know that her authority still left the proper impression on the lower officers. "Dismissed," she finally said in a cooler voice. They shuffled out the room meekly. Satisfied to some extent, Pryce rubbed her gloved palms together and then addressed her guest who had been sitting in the background with a surprisingly calm demeanor.
Pryce had overheard that Galen Erso's social skills were sub-par but she chalked that up to his diligent work ethics. It was crucial that he and his brilliant mind were safe and still in good service to the Empire. Still, Governor Pryce wished he had expressed at least some degree of anger in front of the students. Perhaps he could have inspired them to behave better.
She turned to him with a spine of restored confidence. "My apologies for this unfortunate circumstance," Pryce said in a cool tone. "I would have hoped that this academy could have made a better impression on you."
"Not to worry," Erso responded in a mild tone. If she didn't know better, Pryce would have thought he was reassuring her. "The important thing is that everyone is unharmed."
"Unharmed but still incompetent," she muttered in return.
"In my experience it is better to make errors in youth than in adulthood," Erso suggested softly. "As long as the students take your discipline to heart, I am confident that they will progress into ideal officers."
She found his optimism childish but respectfully held her tongue.
"I hope you are correct," she said at last. Pryce gestured to the dozen stormtroopers that would be escorting Galen back to his shuttle. He allowed himself to be marched into the Imperial ship and whisked away back into the bleakness of space. Very soon he would be back on Eadu doing the very thing he had risked his life and his family not to do. It was a bleak future that lay head of him.
In spite of everything, Galen wanted to laugh at the moment. It had been such a long time since anything had amused him and his mind easily played back the last few hours fiasco. The sight of all those students running around like a clan of rampa-ants was entertaining as was seeing Governor Pryce's face when she had been humiliated in front of her inferiors. He was relieved they weren't hurt but it was still a refreshing experience and a welcomed change after these long dark years.
And the boy...
Galen's mind rewound and continued to play over the image of the brown-eyed teen who had found him on all fours coughing from the smoke. Pryce had said he was a rebel and yet the boy had raced to Galen's side and helped him out of the room as if he was an old friend. That small gesture of a young shoulder supporting Galen's weight had made his heart feel light and free even as he was gasping for air in the smoky room.
Would she be as tall as him by now? Would her eyes share his coloring or remain the same as he remembered her?
He wanted to laugh but realized that he had forgotten how. It had been years since he had felt a genuine smile come over his face or appreciated the merest hint of beauty in the universe. Darkness and secrets had been his closets allies and now he could not summon the emotion forward to make himself appreciate the fleeting sensation of joy.
Galen Erso dropped his head between his knees and began to weep.
Stardust.
A-A-A
4 days later aboard the Ghost:
While Sabine admired her handiwork and the citizens of Genomar joyfully found rations cards packed into the bottom of transport barrels, Ezra had been fussing away in the Ghost's tiny kitchen. Kanan had tried to listen in twice that morning but Ezra shooed him away, insisting that Kanan shouldn't come in yet until Ezra was done with his 'surprise'.
When his padawan finally gave the approval, Kanan slid into a chair. He heard a plate clink against the table and then felt steam rising from beneath his chin. A sweet rich aroma filled the small room, nearly intoxicating with richness.
"Ezra, what is this?"
"An Iolanthe favorite. It's a cream roll!" Ezra exclaimed. "Hogarth taught me how to make them."
Kanan slowly rotated the plate the around. "This must have taken you a long time," he said slowly.
"I know. The dough has to rise twice and the cream is best from scratch."
The Jedi tilted his head up with surprise. "But why?"
"I felt bad about how those cadets mistreated you. You're a Jedi Knight and my master," Ezra insisted. "You deserve to be treated with respect." He poured a cup of kaff and placed it next to Kanan's plate.
"You enjoy breakfast. I'll check on the engines." With a smile of assurance, Ezra left the stunned Jedi to enjoy his meal.
Kanan cut a piece of the roll and carefully placed it into his mouth. The crisp thin layers of dough and creamy filling nearly melted on his tongue. He tried to swallow and managed, though with far more effort than he anticipated. He tried to take another bite but stopped halfway, aware that that discomfort in his throat was preventing him from doing so. He put down his fork.
Why was it so hard for him to accept this? Force, it was just a pastry! Why couldn't he just eat it and be done with it?
The truth came out as soon as he had asked the question. You're uncomfortable with Ezra's gift. It's awkward accepting something from your padawan because it should be the other way around.
He tentatively took a smaller bite, this time chewing slower than before. He could almost perceive the effort Ezra had put into it, randomly spilling sugar and fretfully kneading the dough, and it made him feel more uncomfortable.
You're not used to being pampered. But this isn't about you.
He could just imagine Ezra hunched over the Ghost's tiny oven operator and hovering frantically, hoping that the pastry would come out fine.
It was more than fine. It was incredible, and not just because it tasted good. It was because Ezra had worked hard to give him something, just Kanan, to enjoy. He had put respect, labor, and love into his work. That was what Kanan was tasting.
At least enjoy it for his sake.
Yes, he could certainly do that. He would be no suitable Jedi master to decline a padawan's thoughtfulness. If Ezra made this for him, he would finish up every crumb. The conviction motivated Kanan to resume eating and he dug back into the pastry.
"That was amazing," he told Ezra when it was finished. Kanan wiped his mouth with a napkin.
"Really? Great!" He could feel Ezra's smile beaming from across the table. "I'll clean up." Before Kanan could protest, Ezra had picked up his master's cup and plate and placed it into the sink "Thanks, Kanan."
"For what? You're the one who baked it."
"Yeah, but I'm lucky to have the chance to do something for my master. We're usually busy with missions and I know we don't have the time or resources to do fancy things. So thank you for letting me have this opportunity."
Kanan was speechless. What else could he say to a seventeen year old with such a selfless and thoughtful perception?
"You're welcome."
The door behind them opened up and Hera's presence entered the room like a flicker of sunlight. She was accompanied by the surprising rustle of simmer-silk swirling around her legs.
"Oh, Hera!" Ezra exclaimed. "Wow, you look, um..."
"Not another word," she cut him off. "I am never wearing such a ridiculous outfit again."
"Didn't your meeting with Count Caswell go all right?" he asked.
"His financial support to the Rebellion is helpful," Hera answered. "It's his colleagues that I had to woo with charming words. We got the resources we needed but that meant talking for two hours in a dress that makes far too much noise." She nearly collapsed into a seat and moaned with relief when she pulled off the high-heeled shoes. Hera wriggled her toes gratefully.
Kanan turned to face her and placed a hand on the back of his chair. "Why not send someone else?"
"I would have liked nothing better than let Mon Mothma handle this mission. But Caswell's contacts were piqued by my father's actions on Ryloth," she explained. "It was clear that General Syndulla's daughter had to make an appearance in order to convince them of the Rebellion's progress. Too bad I couldn't have sent Tamar in my place."
"I take it she had some part of the overall project," Kanan suggested.
"She was generous to hem and loan the dress to me. I was hoping Zeb could take it back to Kaller during his next shore leave."
Ezra wouldn't let Kanan clean anything up so the Jedi Knight followed Hera to her room while she was still fumbling with the infernal buttons.
"Can I help?" he offered.
She let out a sigh of exasperation but let Kanan stand behind her. His fingers moved deftly over the buttons, realizing they weren't the usual small round hard type but delicate ribbons that tied together. Diligently and slowly, his nails worked out the bits of ribbon until they came loose. "There's a knot in this one," Kanan said at last.
"Can you undo it?" Hera nearly was exasperated. But then there was the lightest flicker of the Force and the scrap of silk gave way, allowing Hera to start slipping the dress off her shoulder. She stopped long enough to glance at Kanan, knowing fully well that he couldn't see her. Yet she was grateful when he respectfully turned around to face the wall while she finished changing.
Simmer-silk murmured as the dress pooled to the floor. Hands hastily snatched it up and placed it on a hanger.
"Tamar would be furious if I got wrinkles in this thing," Hera muttered. Then came the sound of thick fabric being unfolded, the thumping of boots on the ground, and then the clicking of zippers and fastening of belts.
"Ah..." Hera sighed blissfully to be back in her pilot's uniform. "Tamar may call them the 'finer things in life' but nothing beats your own uniform and your own ship."
"Sometimes we have to step outside our comfort zone for the sake of others," Kanan said aloud thoughtfully.
Hera tilted her head to one side. "What's brought on this pearl of wisdom, Jedi Knight?"
"It's just 'Kanan Jarrus' at your service." Facing her, he let Hera drape her arms around his shoulders.
He was surprised when Hera's lips suddenly touched his mouth in a kiss, then he felt her tongue lightly brush over his lower lip. This sudden display of affection sent a sizzle of lightning through Kanan's bloodstream.
"You had some honey on your mouth," she smiled. "And looks like you had some crumbs in your beard." She used her fingers to smooth out the hairs on his chin.
"Ezra made me breakfast."
"Did he?" Hera beamed with pride. "That's sweet."
"You think so?"
"Of course."
"I wish he hadn't through all the trouble," Kanan admitted. He felt relieved to be able to express his thoughts to Hera as his fingertips lightly traced her wrists.
"Why not? You are his teacher, after all."
"I know. It just feels strange."
"You were on your own for a long time before we met, love. I can imagine it's odd having someone else take care of you for a change," Hera suggested. She flicked a tiny stray crumb that had fallen onto his collar. "But it's okay to accepting a gesture of thoughtfulness, especially if it's from someone who cares about you. It means you're special to them."
Hera knew how to say the right thing just to put him back on track and he pressed his lips to hers in gratitude.
When they had broken out of the kiss, Hera lifted herself upon her tiptoes and whispered into Kanan's ear. "Can I something sweet for you too, love?"
"Only if you put the dress back on," he teased her.
Hera let out a playful laugh and batted Kanan's head with a pillow.
A-A-A
"Some kind people may not look kind. They may look severe, or strict, or even bossy…but inside them there was a big dam of kindness, as there is inside so many people like the great dam to the south of Gaborone, ready to release its healing waters."
–The Double Comfort Safari Club by Alexander McCall Smith
A-A-A
Kaller:
"Don't get too attached to that animal," Tamar warned Io. "It stays three weeks and not a day more."
"If you get to take care of 'Runt' then our droid gets extra time with me," Nava insisted.
Io knew they were both setting limitations for her but at the moment she didn't care. Loth-cats were fiercely independent creatures and once on their homeworld, they could easily adapt to their surroundings. Runt still had some growing to do so it was with great reluctance that Tamar let the Loth-kit stay with them for a few weeks.
For stars sake, how had Hogarth managed to smuggle it out of an Imperial academy when all hell had broken loose?
What mattered is that 'Runt' needed a safe environment until his ears were big enough and then he could be dropped off into the grassy hills of Lothal. Tamar couldn't say 'no' to Ezra's request but she wasn't thrilled about having a wild animal as a house guest, especially one that could shed and bite. Ezra assured her that Runt was too small to cause them much trouble but Tamar would only be appeased when Io promised to take full responsibility for the Loth-kit.
"I don't want to see so much as a single strand of hair in our kaff, understood?" Tamar told Io.
The smaller Twi'lek nodded and then brought the kit up to her face, letting the soft fur brush against her cheek. "Pussykins knows what's best for himself," she cooed. Io was pleased to have a personal assignment tied to Ezra's homeworld.
Runt squirmed uncomfortably until Io rubbed two fingers across the back of his neck. His pointy ears slicked back and he let out a tiny purr of pleasure to be soothed by her touch.
"That's better, Runt." Animals weren't as difficult to understand as she thought. Io brought Runt down to the wooden box and folded blanket that would be his bed. "You continue to behave nicely and we'll tell the Jeh-di how well we take care of you, right?" Runt pedaled his paws frantically until she set down a teacup full of milk and then he propped himself up, lapping his dinner greedily.
Tamar was preoccupied when she heard Hogarth's voice coming from over their heads. She took the stairs to the roof and opening up the door that lead outside.
Sure enough, Hogarth was sitting on the concrete ground with Captain Orrellios and a white-bearded man who had just answered to the name of Rex. They were all holding sabaac cards and using old data chips instead of credits.
"What are you three doing up here?" Tamar asked.
"It's my night off," Hogarth insisted. "You said so yourself, boss."
"I know. But why are you playing sabacc on the roof?"
"No gambling in the cafe," he reminded her.
Her eyebrows arched up. "That rule is to keep customers from turning it into a casino den," Tamar explained.
"Yeah but if others catch us playin' then they may get ideas," Zeb said. "Better we have a bit of fun out of sight."
"That doesn't mean you three have to freeze out here," Tamar insisted. "You can use my office instead."
"Oh no, ma'am," Rex said politely. "We wouldn't want to trouble you anymore when you've got your hands full as it is."
"Nonsense," the Twi'lek declared. "There are two able-bodied girls helping me downstairs and the office will give you complete privacy."
Tamar left the door halfway open and headed back down into the cafe. Zeb and Rex glanced at each other, unsure if it was protocol to accept the offer, before looking at Hogarth.
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure beats playing up here," he said at last. "Even if it is cold enough to ice off your-"
"-cannons," Zeb suggested. Hogarth chuckled in response.
Ten minutes later they were seated around the desk in Tamar's office. The room was a snug fit but it was definitely brighter and more comfortable than the roof. While Io and Nava dutifully helped Tamar in the front of the cafe, the trio swapped cards, stories, and jokes. Hogarth let out a roar of laughter when Zeb told him a hilarious tale that involved betting on Chopper and winding up saddled with a smooth-talking smuggler and his meddlesome puffer pig.
"If I know Kanan, he's got bigger things on his mind. I'll bet he's already forgotten about it all," Zeb assured Hogarth. He regretted the 'spanking' he had given Thrush in front of the Jedi and now had finally let down his guard long enough to confess what had been bothering him lately.
"It's because he's a Jedi, so you know..." Hogarth didn't have to say anything else to get his message across.
"Right, you don't wanna mess up in front of him. I get it," Zeb sympathized. "But Kanan's the last sort to put on 'airs', 'specially in the middle of a mission. You and Ezra got those plates out and that's what counts."
"Zeb's right," agreed Rex. He shuffled two cards into the rest in his hand. "Besides, it sounds me like that Imp kid was overdue his daily kick in this pants." The clone shook his head. "Crying over a bunch of crabs while everything's going up in smoke around him. No wonder the Empire's in the shape that it's in."
Hogarth never dreamed he'd be sitting across the tiny table enjoying a card game with a clone but here he was, not only participating but enjoying it. Rex had a frank open attitude that put Hogarth at ease and he was quick to realize that he needn't feel insecure in the presence of the veteran, especially one with a good sense of humor.
"So there's Kanan and I, all decked out like bucketheads, and we 'round the corner thinking Ezra's trapped in a cell," Rex explained. "Next thing I know, I'm hit with a thousand blaster shocks and flat on my back. I wake up to see Ezra's shaking and slapping us and sayin' there was a fire fight..."
"Oh no," Hogarth grinned. "I can guess where this is going."
"Oh yes," Rex agreed. "Trigger-happy Bridger zapped us both right in the chest."
"What happened next?"
Rex rubbed a hand over his white beard. "Next? I told the kid he should've turned it from 'stun' to 'kill'!"
Zeb snickered and placed his cards on the table. "Never a dull moment with this geezer around," he told Hogarth.
Rex shrugged. "Even clones screw up from time to time."
Seeing Hogarth's surprised expression, he nodded. "Oh sure, you can program a soldier from birth to do everything right and ninety nine percent of the time he'll be on the mark. But there's always that little bit of something special that makes him tick, makes him a person with his own attitude and thinking patterns. It's that one percent that makes him more than just a carbon-copy of his brother."
"A lot of good brothers, huh?" Hogarth dared to ask.
"The best of the lot," Rex confirmed in a quiet tone. Then resuming his cheerfulness he added, "Families change over time and I couldn't be more proud of this one than I've ever been in my life."
Hogarth looked once to the door, thinking about the woman and the two girls who had become his friends and family over the years. Those Twi'leks had enough charm and talent between them to spellbind a crowd. Tamar could have wrapped Hogarth around her finger the minute she saw him but never once had it even occurred to her because she just wasn't that sort of woman. She had always treated Hogarth with far more respect than he expected of himself and for that he was eternally grateful.
When Poppy wheeled in with a plate of triple-decker sandwiches and several bottles of Hogarth's ice-cold beer, he couldn't ask for anything more. The trio thanked her profusely and the droid wheeled out quite proud of herself. Zeb popped open one bottle took a long hearty gulp.
"Ah, that's the ticket!" he declared with satisfaction.
Rex raised his own bottle in the air. "Gentlemen, I propose a toast," he announced. "To the lady of the house."
"To Tamar," Hogarth agreed. They raised their bottles over the desk and clinked them heartily against each other.
Food on his plate, a roof over his head, and friends around the table.
Hogarth Lang was indeed a lucky man.
A-A-A
Author's notes:
Hogarth's character was loosely inspired by the film "Rocky". He's the every-man who thinks he'll never get a break but standing up and working hard proves he's got more brains and heart than he gives himself credit for. Ezra's technique for hiding the plates was inspired by a strategy in the highly-entertaining Ian Fleming novel "Live And Let Die". Food is a center part of this chapter and it ranges from life sustenance to an expression of gratitude and love, much inspired by family stories about relatives who survived wars and lived to see their homes and tables full again in a new country.
Say "no" to greknos and "yes" to cream rolls.
