Lyra Erso's body accompanied us to Coruscant where she was offered a decent burial. Or so I heard. By the time, I had been shipped back to Eadu and begged to resume my work. Governor Krennic stayed behind, leaving me with more questions than responses for I had not seen much of him during the flight. He had spared me just a few moments, seeing how shocked I was by the turn of events. I am sorry that Lyra's stubbornness brought her to her death. He left me there after explaining how Lyra, a fervent believer if the Force church, had always been a fundamentalist. A fighter, too stubborn for her own good, who had pushed Galen to abandon his research and flee to that remote location in the first place.

As I came back to the lab, I couldn't help but try to make sense of it all. She was going to shoot me, he said. I had to give the call. And I nodded. Yes. I had seen it in her eyes; Lyra Erso was going to shoot my mentor. She believed so strongly in what she said, that the empire would make hostages of them. So why did her death weigh so heavily on my conscience? Why did I feel like weeping rather than whooping?

Perhaps because the man I also admired was going to work alongside me, looking into my eyes and seeing his wife's death at every turn. You'll need to keep an eye on him for me, Elya. Make sure he doesn't do anything rash. Galen is brilliant, but he never knew how to communicate with words. Lyra did it for him. Reach out and help him, he will need someone that understands after what happened. I felt very inadequate right now. I wasn't one to dwell on emotions. I had hoped to meet this brilliant mind and pick his brain, exchange ideas, theories, outside the box craziness and find common ground. But now... I was going to face a defeated, broken and angry man whose demise I had witnessed. I wasn't the right companion to soothe anyone's aches, let alone comfort a pacifist whose wife had died before my very eyes. Killed on orders of my own protector.

What about his daughter? Perhaps having her would cheer him up. We couldn't find her. But I will, trust me. And the gleam of coldness that shone in the Director's eyes, in that moment, caused me to shiver. Yes, I had no trouble believing that he would find the kid and bring him back to her father. So far, he had guided me to befriend Erso and ease away his wife's passing, voicing his concerns for a former friend.

Why did this ballet of events felt so wrong? Never in my life had I felt so conflicted. Until now, my path was traced. To achieve greatness, I had worked hard in both domains. Conflicts of interests didn't concern me; I did what I was told to do and performed above expectations. This is how I came to be here, second in command of a man who would arrive in a few days ... and didn't want to be here.

I sighed. So be it. This was my first, real trial. My first tread in the world of a pacifist. As if anyone could remain neutral after the wars we had faced, and the alliance nailing us at every turn. That group of terrorists, especially, led by Saw Guerrera had killed many of us. How could he object to building weapons to defend ourselves against such a man?

But I had no choice; if I wanted to work with Erso, I would have to try and understand his point of view. The only issue; I had no idea how to get into his good graces. And I had nothing to share with him expect my brain. We had started on the wrong foot, perhaps my perseverance would mend the bridge between us because it sure as hell wouldn't be the family experience. I knew nothing of kids and marriage, and had no intention to let sentimentality stop my career.

I counted the days, dull, until Galen Erso eventually showed up in the facility on Eadu. We all knew we were stalling, pushing paperwork around, for we couldn't get any further. We had hit the wall long ago...

When the doors swished open and Erso walked in, I couldn't hide my surprise. Clad in a fresh researcher uniform, hair swept aside, freshly shaven, he looked ten years younger than during our last encounter. Yet ... the light was gone from his eyes. He barely gave me a glance before setting down to business. Didn't present himself; we all knew who he was. He nearly didn't talk, only to ask where we stood on the research. For five days, he had us on edge. Me, my fellow scientists, the other teams; wiring, architects, all of them. We presented plans of the new station, gave him a state of play of where we stood, research-wise. I talked about our setbacks, our tries, our ideas and every single test that had run wrong. Especially those were lives were lost, those failures that had caused Director Krennic to lose his previous post ... but this, I wasn't aware of yet. I would learn, much later, that it was the reason why he was so desperate to get Galen to work for him again. A redemption of sorts in the eyes of the great Lord Vader and our emperor Palpatine.

For now, I was just another scientist trying to lay things down on the table, knowing that my boss, the man I was supposed to collaborate with, disagreed with the simple idea of creating this defensive base for our empire.

Our first interactions were very professional, and despite the pain that lingered in his eyes, I couldn't help but admire his sturdiness. He didn't break down, didn't yell, never scorned. He welcomed ideas without emotion, noting them down, thinking them, absorbing everything like a machine would have. He didn't speak much, his voice was so scarcely heard. Standing like a rock, his tall body hidden under the layers of the uniform, his face impassive, his mind running wild behind closed doors. But at the end of this week of assessment, Galen Erso presented his plan for the stabilisation of chain Reaction of Kyber crystals.

He blew our minds away, bringing up ideas that had never crossed us. To use reverse gravity to maintain the damage of decay, for example ... or focus our lasers with a single proton flare. Things that you could read in science fiction books, so bright and improbable that you couldn't even think of it except in jest. But it made sense, all of it ... to me, at least. It would take years of experimentation, but instead of being impossible, our aim was now clearly defined. Galen Erso left us floored that day, and disappeared from the lab the moment he was done. He left behind enthusiasm and glee, yet took none for himself. For I could see how his shoulders vaulted sometimes, when he thought himself alone in his office. Sadness shrouded him like a blanket, so heavy that it was nearly painful to watch. And even I, with my detached coldness, couldn't ignore it.

From that day, we started following his plan. I seconded him, and little by little, resumed my incessant questions. The first one left me winded; I was unsure whether he would welcome my musings. He answered it without a second thought, fiddling with another device, as if the task of explaining that theory was mundane enough to allow his brain to still function on a second thing. His long fingers were surprisingly precise on the component; he seemed unbothered by my interruption. So I asked another, and another...

My weird ideas sometimes made him pause. His eyes twinkled then, golden streaks embedded in the light brown, dulled by the loss. Coaxing his mind with my curiosity seemed like a way to keep the pain at bay. It was the only way I knew how to reach for him, to keep things professional and his brain busy. Somehow, it seemed to work. Other days, I could feel him retreat within himself and knew that the pain was just too raw, too unbearable to interact with the world. Those days, I posted myself at his doors and prevented anyone from interrupting him. I had become an impromptu protector whose authority repelled the most determined scientist.

I didn't even know if Galen Erso appreciated me, or if he made do because I was his second. But soon, we realised that working together was easier than expected. I was the perfect fuse between his brilliant mind and the rest of the scientist. He designed, I understood his notes – much to his surprise – and explained to the others. I organised the teams efficiently, leaving him to his thoughts, using my greater experience in human management. A balance of sorts, unbalanced by our first meeting, and the fact that I knew he wasn't happy with the aim of our work. Yet ... we managed. A good and efficient team. And sometimes, when he thought I wasn't looking, I noticed that he looked upon me with some fondness. Or so I imagined.

It took us a few months to interact effortlessly. The pain was still there in his eyes, but I avoided his direct gaze often, giving him privacy to grieve in silence. None of the others were aware of what had happened, and he hid his beliefs well. But I knew, deep down, how he probably felt about this. And still no trace of his daughter. I knew he was worried, and truth be told, so was I. Not for the child, but for him.

Galen Erso, aside for being far superior to me, had shown me only kindness. He could have hated me, scorned me and made my life hell. He was so indispensable that he could have me replaced, or talked down to any of our scientists. But he never did. He never even scolded Korwin after he had, once more, fucked up the parameters and set our test crystal aflame. No. Despite his intellect, Galen Erso considered my ideas truthfully, answered my endless questions with patience and thanked me whenever I took some work out of his shoulders.

So I decided that, maybe, I could do something for him. It was a very human emotion, this feeling of gratitude that created a little warmth in my chest whenever his lips quirked up. The need to return the favour, perhaps. Or I just wanted to ease away my guilt. Now that I knew the man, I regretted that I had not done anything to save his wife. Even if my rational mind couldn't find a solution, I roamed this memory too often. Is there anything I could have done, really, to prevent Galen Erso from burying her?

For I couldn't get rid of this image. My boss, a decent man, clinging to his wife's body.

So when Director Krennic next visited, I took advantage of my private report to ask about Galen's daughter. He shook his head, face desolate. Yet, his cold blue eyes seemed to convey another feeling, one I couldn't decipher.

— "No, we didn't find her."

— "How old was she?", I asked, trying to assess the abilities of the child.

Krennic seemed to roam his memories, fiddling with the new white cape he had had to replace after Lyra's shot.

— "Eight, I think"

I started pacing across the polished floor.

— "An eight-year-old cannot possibly fend for herself. She must have fled to people she knew," I ventured.

Krennic watched me, a little amused.

— "Perhaps her mother gave her away to the Force church? Given how she was, she might even have enrolled her in a rebel group, who knows. Galen is a tomb, he won't tell me where she is"

I stopped in my tracks, wondering why in the world the scientist refused to have his daughter by his side. She certainly would be better treated, and happier with her father beside her after losing her mother so brutally. But if Lyra Erso had been so adamant about the empire's plans, it made sense she had felt the need to hide her daughter. And it meant, just as well, that Galen shared her views. Director Krennic shook me out of my musings.

— "Have you gained his trust yet?"

I paused, like an animal caught grazing by a predator.

— "We're making progress, but he is rather closed off. I think he still grieves the death of his wife."

— "Yes, that would be like him. Do not stop your efforts, he's a tough nut to crack."

I nodded, rather unsure of my motives. What, exactly, seemed weird about a man mourning his wife's death ? Seeing Krennic's eyes twinkle, I wondered how to take his retort. His tone was almost derisive; being by Galen's side most of the time, I could tell that his sadness was part of him just as much as his limbs.

— "I'm proud of you Elya. With your guidance and your collaboration with Erso, our project now has a future."

I beamed at my mentor, so happy to hear his praises. It was like paying back a little bit of my debt to him.

— "Lord Vader will be really pleased with you."

My smile faded, and I struggled to keep it in place as I bowed formally. The name itself sent chills up my spine, so I summoned an irrefutable defence.

— "It might take fifteen years before it truly is operational."

— "Yes, Erso said so as well. But I don't think Lord Vader will wait until then to pay a visit. He is rather curious about his future weapon"

Right. Future weapon, the one that was supposed to secure the galaxy. And yet, in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but wonder about Erso's point of view. Why had he gone to such length to prevent this research from blooming? Hidden his daughter away, given the heartache it caused him?

I just couldn't understand. And I couldn't afford to remain in the dark. I had enquiries to make.