Invisible Light
Chapter Four
Nomi ran a hand over her jaw. She curled her toes tightly in her well-worn boots. Anxiety was coursing through her, unfamiliar and unwelcome. Was it too late to turn back? She had impulsively agreed to meet with the General of the Resistance movement, though now she wasn't sure if that impulse was based on instinct or stupidity.
"We have a group established on Anthan Prime," General Organa was saying, leaning forward over her cluttered desk to hand a folder to Nomi. Her once lovely face was serious with age, shadowed from years of war. Nomi had almost changed her mind about the meeting; the dangers aside, Nomi wasn't sure she wanted to face General Organa after the sudden death of Han Solo. "Anthan Prime remains neutral, so to speak—the half dozen or so governments constantly war with one another but have no official alliance. However, both First Order and Republic ships frequent the planet, so you will have to be careful. The plan is very simple: you will bring technology and vital equipment for ships from Anthan Prime under the guise of trading with political groups supporting Lothal. Lothal leans toward First Order sympathies, so you should be in the clear."
"So I take it we're stealing the equipment from Anthan Prime?" Nomi asked, skimming through the documents the General handed her. She would have to memorize its contents and burn them before leaving D'Qar.
The General fixed Nomi with a very serious expression, her brown eyes penetrating. "If at any time you feel that this is not worth the risk—"
Nomi waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not a coward—"
"No one is implying any such thing," General Organa said. "But this is an enormous risk. I am not blind to the dangers placed upon individuals who choose to support the Resistance."
Nomi leaned back in her chair, biting the inside of her lip. "So how does the Republic feel about the Resistance? Have they agreed to help you? After the First Order blew up Hosnian Prime?"
The older woman sighed heavily. Clearly the issue was far too complicated for their brief meeting. "The New Republic is restricted by its obligations to neutral territories—despite what happened to Hosnian Prime, they are reluctant to declare war—"
"What?"
"No one in the Capital wants another galactic war, not so quickly after the fall of the Empire," the General said heavily, shaking her head. "They are attempting diplomacy—"
Nomi's brows knit together. "They blew up an entire system," she said with disgust. "The First Order's declared war on everyone—"
The General sighed again, fixing Nomi with a wary expression. "While your ship is officially neutral, you're accepting that you will be branded a terrorist sympathizer should the First Order even suspect that you are assisting the Resistance. While we will do our best to protect you, we cannot guarantee anything."
Nomi exchanged a look with Cal, who had been sitting silently throughout the whole meeting. It wasn't too late to turn back, to leave D'Qar and take advantage of the black market flourishing in the Outer Rim. Poe might be an old friend, but Nomi was loyal to no one but her crew. Even Han Solo had avoided the fight for over ten years. "What do you think?" she asked her First Mate.
Cal fixed her a knowing look. The crew had decided immediately to pledge loyalty to Nomi Sisk, determined to follow wherever she may lead them.
"I'm telling you, and I'll tell the others," Nomi said carefully, unblinking. "If you want out at any time—"
"The crew trusts you, Nomi."
Nomi sighed. Sometimes she wished they didn't. A little resistance might help her determine if she was making the right choice. She turned back to the General, who was waiting patiently. "All right," she said, unable to fight the feeling that she was signing her own death warrant. "What do you need?"
"Advanced fuel cells," the General replied. "Preferably compatible with X-wing class fighters, but we will take what we can get. Canons, rockets, blasters—computer systems to run the technology. Shields."
Nomi took a steadying breath, her eyebrows rising. "Right. The basics. Do you want some black market Bacta while I'm out?"
"If you can acquire the substance, certainly," the General replied seriously. "The Republic hasn't seen pure Bacta since the coup d'état in Lothal."
"Well, that shit's worth like five thousand an ounce, but sure—if I happen across any Bacta I'll pick some up." Nomi ran a hand over her face tiredly. "I'll need an advance to get these things," she said more seriously. "Fuel cells I can find, but rockets and launchers are going to be trickier—buying them and hiding them."
"Of course," General Organa replied seriously. "Whatever you need."
"And we'll need all the right, er, paperwork," Nomi continued. "Trade permits and the like. Or if the Resistance has some official Seal in case I'm trying to buy off someone who isn't afraid of the First Order."
"Already done," the General said, reaching among the piles of documents on her desk for a simple leather bi-fold, very similar to the one Nomi held in her coat pocket. "I don't recommend carrying it in the open—we don't know if the First Order will recognize it for what it is. Our reports indicate the Outer Rim and the Neutral Territories are being required to use a uniform First Order stamp for all their trading."
Nomi thought of her encounter with the First Order on Florrum. "Yeah, I know—I ran into them just last week."
"Our reconnaissance ships tell us that there is a large embargo of weapons near the Tupamaros Desert on Anthan Prime," General Organa continued. "They are politically unstable, and I urge you to use the utmost caution."
Nomi had been to Antham Prime countless times in the past. In fact, years ago, it was on Anthan Prime that Nomi first met Han Solo. There were half a dozen different governments on its surface, each attempting to overpower the other. Acquiring weapons would be tricky—it might be easier to just steal them. Nomi was quite certain Han Solo had actually done just that during the Clone Wars.
"Finally, I must tell you that you are requested to do anything necessary to keep your cover," she added. "There aren't too many clean ships willing to operate with the Resistance. If you have to drop a shipment or sell it to someone else in a pressured moment—"
"It's fine, I've got it," Nomi said quickly, straightening up in her chair.
"Your role is more important than any object you can bring to D'Qar," the General said seriously.
Nomi took a deep breath, getting to her feet. She hesitated by General Organa's desk, fiddling with the envelope in her hands. "Rogue One is a business partner of the Resistance. Not a member."
"Of course."
Nomi nodded once. Cal stood to follow her out of the office. They were halfway out the door when Nomi hesitated. She half-turned to face the General, but found she couldn't look at her face as she spoke. "I'm sorry about Han Solo."
There was a pregnant pause.
"Thank you, Nomi," came the General's quiet voice.
Nomi cleared her throat and swept from the room. The office doors slid shut behind her. Cal was waiting in the corridor, an uncharacteristically serious look on his face.
"We're so fucked," Nomi told him without preamble.
A thoughtful look crossed Cal's face. "Are we?"
"Remind me again why I thought we should do this," Nomi told him, leading the way down the corridor.
"Because the First Order is a fascist, corrupt government determined to take over the galaxy?" Cal offered.
"Yeah…"
"And you think Hux is an asshole."
"This is true."
"But mostly it's because you know this is the right thing to do," Cal added when they reached the exit toward the hangar bay.
"Smugglers don't have hearts, Cal," Nomi reminded him, all traces of amusement gone from her voice. The hangar bay was swarming with Resistance fighters working on repairing their heavily-damaged fleet, replacing what weapons they could. They mostly ignored Nomi and Cal as they passed, heading for their own ship on the far side.
"Yes, but even your idol Han Solo fought with the Rebellion thirty years ago," Cal said.
Nomi didn't reply to that. She hadn't seen Han in several years, couldn't even say that she necessarily liked him, but she couldn't help but feel that the galaxy felt a little empty without him. Nomi had always imagined the old man would go down in some back-alley deal gone wrong, swindling one too many people. The thought of him murdered by the First Order sat heavily on her chest.
They had reached their ship, the exterior of which was in pieces. The Resistance had offered its best mechanics to perform a complete work-up to prepare for the long journey to Anthan Prime. Fuel cells were repaired, the electrical re-wired, and rusted water recyclers, oxygen filters, and other vital components scrubbed down.
"We'll leave tomorrow," Nomi told him as they watched the mechanics pull steel plates off the outside shell of the ship. The whine of the hydraulic drill was deafening. "Should we give the crew leave for the night?"
"Only if you want them all half-drunk at take-off tomorrow."
"Of course I do," Nomi replied idly. "If they were sober, they might change their minds. Besides, you and I have to sit in on the General's briefing later—they'll be bored to tears if we make them sit around and prep the ship."
Cal shot her a serious look. "You know that you can change your mind at any time," he said between the whine of the hydraulic drill. "The crew won't think any less of you."
Nomi glared around the Resistance airfield, squinting in the midday sun. In truth, she really had no idea why she had agreed to smuggle for the Resistance. Sure, anger had spurred her to contact Poe Dameron, but what had driven her this far? It wasn't a sense of duty or any moral obligation—as far as Nomi was concerned, the whole concept of government—Republic or Empire—was a joke. If Nomi was superstitious, she might think some kind of demented spirit had taken over her mind. It was the only way Nomi knew how to describe it: a pull in the universe, beyond control or understanding.
Nomi turned to look at Cal, to see he was watching her patiently.
"Let's get a drink," she said deftly, turning on her heel and heading toward the nearby village. "We're going to need it later."
Unable to sleep that night, Ren sank deeper into his chair, resting his head in his hand as he stared at the computers in front of him. Around him the corridors were silent and empty, monitored only by the security cameras mounted in the corners. The only Stormtroopers on duty at this hour were posted at the security doors and Command Center, giving the Finalizer an odd sense of emptiness.
Ren ignored the blinking alerts that signaled dozens of unread messages, instead pulling up recent First Order mission reports. They were dull and full of the usual phrases: rebels eliminated… terror cell identified… resistance base infiltrated… Ren skimmed through them, disillusioned, and instead pulled up First Order-sanctioned news reports. There were articles about First Order victories against the rebels, page after page detailing the latest terror plots, uneventful summits with the Republic, and articles explaining the new government policies.
Yet none of it reflected the reality Ren knew. These articles were nonsense. There was hardly any mention of Starkiller Base's destruction, and certainly no information about the magnitude of the attack. It appeared as though the First Order had glossed over the loss entirely, focusing only on inane victories against the rebels. Thousands of lives and millions of credits' worth of equipment had been lost and received little more than a two-sentence paragraph.
Irritated, Ren typed the name of the base into his computer's search function. He had near-full access to First Order information, but nothing of note came up. Ren searched for the planet's old coordinates in his mapping program, and was again met with nothing. It was as though the planet and the program never existed.
Paranoid that he had lost his security clearance, Ren searched for intelligence reports on Anthan Prime. Countless folders popped up, an entire terabyte's worth of information. He pulled up the personnel portal and searched for FN-2187: nothing. No record.
Ren straightened up in his seat, searching through his personal information drive. The folders dedicated to intel about the map to Skywalker were intact, but half the contents missing. As Ren searched deeper and deeper, he realized the missing data had nothing to do with level of security; instead, entire projects were wiped out. It was as though several missions, both major and minor, had never happened. There was no record of the traitor FN-2187 or his escape from the Finalizer, yet the intake log of the Resistance pilot was intact. Most of the information about Skywalker remained, but it was as though Starkiller base had never existed.
Unless there was a serious breach of both protocol and security, someone had ordered a mass data wipe. Only a dozen or so people had that level of authority, and Ren couldn't imagine any of them ordering such a thing unless explicitly instructed to by the Supreme Leader. Had a server gone down?
Ren closed all his tabs and stared at the blank start up screen of his primary monitor. He was doubtlessly too paranoid for his own good; there was likely a security update that hadn't processed his clearance yet. Or perhaps Snoke had just stripped him of it as part of his punishment. Regardless, there was simply no way that Snoke was ordering the First Order to wipe out entire sects of information.
Ren ran his hands over his face tiredly, wincing as his palm rubbed against the fresh scar that had formed across the bridge of his nose and down his cheek, traveling the length of his throat before finally stopping at his shoulder. It was a gruesome mark to be sure, a permanent parting gift from the scavenger girl. Ren tried to block all thoughts of that night from his mind, but he couldn't forget the look of bloodlust in the girl's face when she circled around him like a predator, ready to kill. Part of him wondered why she didn't finish him off, and the other part was coldly impressed that she had been so willing to leave him to die.
Ren pushed himself up from the chair, grimacing as a familiar ache spread across his side. He hesitated for a few seconds, drawing a deep breath and gathering his wits about himself before exiting the Communications Officer's personal office and heading toward his own private quarters. No one dared to spare him a second glance as he passed, though their wild thoughts spoke of their surprise and stupefaction clearly enough. Ren would have ignored the Stormtrooper guards had they stared at him openly; he was too distracted by paranoid thoughts to pay much else any attention.
Back in the privacy of his own quarters, Ren lay awake until flight time, watching distant planets and suns go past the windows of the Finalizer and vaguely wondering which one held Luke Skywalker and the scavenger.
Anthan Prime was located on the opposite side of the Outer Rim, and the expected journey would take approximately twenty-two hours at hyperspeed. The Knights of Ren received a lengthy briefing on the Finalizer, courtesy of General Hux, regarding their mission to quash the rebellion coursing through two of its six governments. The uranium mines in particular were a source of instability—Resistance cells were cropping up, attempting to take over the mines that supplied to the First Order.
"In no uncertain terms, these Resistance cells must be eliminated," Hux was saying from his place at the head of the long table. The War Room had been closed off all day, cluttered with documents and the remains of catered meals. The Knights of Ren sat languidly in their chairs, paying attention to the official First Order-sanctioned plan as a formality. Once the Upsilon-class Command Shuttle landed on the north side of Anthan Prime, the Knights would take matters into their own hands. "All support to these terrorist groups must be cut off. While intelligence only indicates that the Lesni Army and the Red Brigade in the west have targeted the First Order, your final objective will be to sweep the entire planet—"
"Why not kill them all?" Judro—a broad-shouldered and hot-tempered Mandalorian—asked. He was sitting back languidly in his seat, almost bored by the whole affair of briefing. He had brought out his favored knife an hour before, and was carefully sharpening the blade with a sandstone on the polished table.
"I don't believe your leader would approve of a planet-wide genocide," Hux replied indifferently. His eyes fell onto the long knife, narrowing slightly. The War Room was furnished far too expensively to be used so casually.
Judro's dark eyes turned sideways to Kylo Ren, who was sitting quietly at the far end of the table. Ren ignored him, absently running his thumb against the half-empty glass in front of him. Judro wouldn't dare defy him, not after he had killed Sorvae so easily. The Knight's displeasure was no threat to Ren.
Hux typed something on his holopad and the table's center projector lit up, illuminating a detailed map of Anthan Prime. Hux zoomed in on the north side of the planet, indicating where the Lesni Army stronghold was. "The guerrillas have taken over the uranium mines in the White Mountains here and here," he continued, pointing. "While the old government building has since been taken over, intelligence indicates that the Headquarters is located somewhere deep in the mountains, safe from our reconnaissance ships.
"You are to land in the Old City, approximately two hundred and seventy khelters from the White Mountains," General Hux continued, indicating a new part of the map. "Back up forces will meet you there, and supply you with transportation to the Lesni Army stronghold."
"Why can't we just fly in?" Judro asked bluntly.
Hux fixed him with an irritated look. He did not allow interruptions, but as the Knights of Ren were hired mercenaries and not officially part of the military, Hux would have to tolerate it.
"Their radar will pick up your signal the moment you drop to ten thousand meters and alert the rebel forces to your arrival, thus giving them the opportunity to hide and scatter," Hux answered sharply. "The Old City is filled with smuggling ships flying under false names—far too many to keep track of. You must remain unnoticed until you have infiltrated the base."
Judro turned in his seat to glare at Ren, pausing in the sharpening of his favored weapon. "And why can't we blow up the base?"
Hux's lip curled. "Do I need to explain the magnitude of destruction that would arise from blowing up an established mining operation? The destruction of the cooling centers in the refinery alone would render the White Mountains entirely inhospitable for forty standard solar cycles."
Judro rolled his eyes, unperturbed. His bloodlust seemed to unsettle the others. Ren could feel their irritation, their belief that carpet-bombing the Lesni Army would be the most effective means of quelling the rebellion. "There are other places to get uranium in the galaxy," Judro insisted.
Ren felt his irritation stir, but it was Hux who spoke. "Are you questioning the Supreme Leader's instructions?"
Judro let out a heavy breath. "All right. Fine. We'll do a covert mission," he said, emphasizing the word with disgust.
Ren and Hux caught each other's eye. Hux's pale face was one of annoyance and contempt; it was clear he did not approve of the use of mercenaries. If Hux had been allowed to decide the mission, he would have used trained soldiers, clear tactics, and advanced weaponry. There was no structure in the way the Knights of Ren operated; worse still, they were led by a reckless man who barely managed to control his own witchcraft. It would take a miracle for the Knights of Ren to even attempt to follow the plan, let alone execute it.
Hux's supposedly private assessment amused Ren. Hux scowled at him, obviously aware Ren was able to read his thoughts. The General turned back to the table and typed something on his holopad. The map of Anthan Prime shifted. The western hemisphere was now on display, the location of the Red Brigade lit up.
"Once the Lesni Army is destroyed, your second target is the Red Brigade. While possible that they will remain ignorant of your arrival if you execute the Lesni Army according to plan, we are not relying on it. Assuming they have advance knowledge of your presence, you will be met with open hostility. The Red Brigade is located in the Tupamaros Desert," Hux continued, indicating the stronghold on the map. "With hundreds of khelters of desert in three directions and the Moro Sea in the other, they will not be able to flee. I am sure you will find this portion of the mission more suited to your personal tastes, as secrecy is no longer a concern."
The Knights exchanged wide, knowing grins. Though he considered the destruction of the rebels necessary, Ren did not share in their pleasure. He had been mostly indifferent to bloodshed in war, but something had shifted inside of him.
The Light, he thought darkly, almost shamefully. He pushed the thought away, as though someone else in the room was capable of reading minds.
"Intelligence suggests that your biggest obstacle will be keeping the Lesni rebels from reaching the Old City in the North," General Hux continued. "The First Order wishes to avoid tensions with the smugglers and pirates—it would be an unfortunate waste of our resources to track those ships down and destroy them if it can be avoided. We have the support of the governments of Lotta and Turin, who have agreed to supply intelligence and ground level support—be mindful of that when you intrude upon their hospitality," he added, giving the Knights warning looks.
"Finally, once your objective in the Tupamaros Desert is complete, you will immediately return to the Finalizer for debriefing. Coordinates will be supplied to you at the end of your mission. First Order intelligence will determine if the mission was successful."
There was a stiff silence. Hux turned off the projector and was about to move onto the subject of supplies when Judro spoke up. "And payment?"
"Payment will be supplied upon successful completion of your mission," Hux sniffed. "Per First Order standards. Your leader can supply you with any advance you might require until then."
The Knights fidgeted in their seats, exchanging glances with each other. Ren was notorious for his strict governance of the Knights, preferring to follow the First Order system of structure over the impulsivity of the Mandalorians. He did not tolerate the Knights razing villages, raping women, or killing children. Even going to the local watering holes and drinking the alcohol was forbidden. It was all considered a waste, the mark of a disordered army. More significantly, that kind of violence bred hatred—it would be impossible to establish a singular government in a galaxy filled with discontent among its constituents.
"You have already been issued personal supplies," Hux continued authoritatively. "Water, food, and other rations will be supplied and managed by First Order regiments based on Anthan Prime. You will have access to a larger arsenal of weapons when you reach the Tupamaros Desert, including surface ships, rockets, and radar. The instructions for operating such weaponry can be found in your files—you will, after all, have over twenty hours of spaceflight to endure."
Judro leaned forward to speak again. "Do we have to do the homework, General?"
Pure contempt was rolling off General Hux in waves. Ren raised an eyebrow slightly when he felt Hux contemplate reaching for his blaster and shooting the Knight where he sat. "I don't care what you do, Judro. Kylo Ren is your babysitter."
Judro shot to his feet, his fragile temper flaring. He reached for his knife, but an invisible force stopped him, freezing his arm in place. Judro's eyes fell to his arm before shooting to Ren, full of rage. "Let—me—go!" he hissed through gritted teeth.
Ren met his gaze with equal coldness. "The Supreme Leader will not approve of you making a mess of his War Room."
Ren could feel Judro attempt to fight him off, but the Mandalorian was weak against the Force. Judro's arm twisted sharply, threatening to snap like a twig. The other Knights stilled, exchanging looks but otherwise watching in silence. While just as annoyed with their leader as Judro, they had more sense than to provoke him. Ren applied just a tiny bit more pressure, watching Judro's face contort with the first signs of fear and pain. "That's enough," Ren said coldly, acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the room watching him. "I don't want to hear another word out of you until we reach Anthan Prime."
He let go of Judro roughly. The Mandalorian took several steps back, clutching his arm protectively against his chest and almost tripping over his chair. His eyes were wild with hate, and—more importantly—fear.
There was a ringing silence.
Ren spared a glance at Hux before turning back to his personal holopad. "Continue."
It was a credit to Hux's flawless demeanor that he continued on as though nothing had happened, though he often glanced between Judro and Ren with great dislike.
"You will be equipped with M-87 Blaster rifles with full accessories as your primary weapon, and Fult-class ten-gauge pistols," Hux informed them, pulling up the display file on his holopad projector. While he explained the logistics of weapons and tracking equipment, Ren's mind drifted off. He wanted to get out of the War Room—off the Finalizer, in fact. Ever since his encounter with the Scavenger from Jakku, Ren couldn't fight the feeling of someone listening in on his thoughts at all times, and was left craving real solitude.
Hours later, when General Hux finally excused them all, Ren made quick work of locking himself up in his private quarters. Without bothering to remove the more superfluous elements of his uniform, Ren sank heavily into the chair of his meditation chamber. Darth Vader's warped mask sat in its usual place, undisturbed.
A long time ago, when Ren was still quite young, Vader had appeared to him in a series of day dreams. He had been engaged in a foolish attempt at peaceful meditation when the world around him suddenly went dark. Visions of the old Empire flashed around him—starships, a unified government, and the power of the Force controlling it all. Luke had refused to tell him any stories of Darth Vader beyond his redemption, but suddenly Ren was standing next to him, so close he could hear the automated sound of Vader's respirator echoing through his head. The visions of the past soon turned to the future—the galaxy united once more, knitted together by the continuation of Vader's original vision.
If only Ren could harness the Dark Side.
His true potential.
Ren sank deeper into the chair, letting out a heavy breath. His brow was furrowed, dark eyes troubled. Snoke often encouraged him to meditate upon Vader's mask, hinting that Vader might show himself to Ren once more. Master Luke's old mentors had appeared as ghosts, so was it really so strange to hope that Darth Vader would do the same for Ren?
Ren's eyes closed as he rubbed his forehead, trying to work the headache away. He felt so exhausted. Passionate emotions that once brought him power just wore him down. He should perhaps alert Snoke, but the Supreme Leader hadn't been very happy with him in their last meeting. He didn't want Snoke believing him incapable of carrying out this mission.
Ren turned his gaze back onto Vader's destroyed mask, recalling a promise that seemed so long ago.
I will finish what you started.
Ren reflected on everything that had happened since then—the First Order's destruction of Hosnian Prime, the Scavenger, Han Solo's death, the attack on Starkiller Base, his own defeat in the woods… Suddenly the promise felt rather empty.
He was a soldier, more trained and experienced than half the senior officers in the First Order. There was no room to contemplate morality—"goodness" did not save oneself from death, just as evil deeds were seldom punished. The First Order worked on a mission-based military system, with carefully calculated outcomes and risks. There were no jaded philosophers and naïve daydreamers to draw up unrealistic standards of conduct—so why was Ren wrestling with a dreaded sense of guilt?
Why did he feel so…disillusioned?