So, we're getting in the thick of it now. I read the prequel novel of Rogue one in order to understand fully what we were talking about. But even then, I'm not a star wars hardcore fan, so feel free to point out any mistakes in my notions.

There were cameras everywhere. On the ceiling, on the machinery, in the droids. Everywhere. Everything we said, the most simple gesture was recorded by the facility. Only private quarters tended not to be bugged … depending on the personnel. I knew, from Director Krennic himself, how a good third of the base reported to him as spies. Which meant that, if I wanted to have a true conversation with Erso, I would have to get creative.

That man's motives puzzled me, and secret motives could be dangerous. To us, to the team, to the facility and to the Galactic empire's goals.

I couldn't afford not to understand my boss. The solution came when I saw Erso, in a frenzy, typing in and scribbling things anywhere he could. I just had to fish out my notebook – I couldn't live without writing – and find a place with a dead angle. As a matter of fact, it turned out that the large desk that overlooked the room was the best spot to stand to keep any writings to myself. I realised, with surprise, that it was also Galen Erso's most frequent positioning. A slight smirk quirked my lips; he wasn't so clueless after all.

If Erso could lose track of time and zone out into space, he wasn't the naïve researcher I expected. So, I gently trailed by his side and pturned my back to the camera, putting my notebook down on the desk. Pictures and schematics intertwined with little order, legends and comments added upon the drawings. Yet, they were perfectly consistent to me.

His eyes lit up when he spotted my wild pages; I'd seen his notes, they were even messier than mine. Something to do with a busy mind that took every opportunity to unload his ideas.

— "What is that?" he enquired, watching a schematic of mine.

I used coloured inks to link notions together, a habit from my younger days. Plenty of people had found it very girly, but it helped separate and classify information with just a glance.

— "An attempt at summarising what you said the other day about using neutrino generators to return energy."

Erso gave me a penetrating stare; another one I couldn't decipher, before he stole the pen from my fingers and started adding notes here and there, explaining so many things as he worked that my mind threatened to shut down. Words flew from his mouth, "heat sink", "generators", "projectors", "neutrino radiators" … ideas telescoped as he went back and forth, digressing, then getting back to the main line before regressing. I probably understood 60% of it, and congratulated myself on not dying of an aneurysm.

His mind run so fast, in every direction, that I could feel how difficult it was for him to channel it into words. To him, communication on a single channel – sentences – was too slow, too limited for the vision that took hold of his mind. I could relate; I had felt so hopeless, so often, to get people to understand my vision. When Erso he eventually handed the notebook back to me, my raw schematics had become such a mess that it was nearly unintelligible. His chicken scratch was so bad – but I was used to it – because his hand couldn't run as fast as his brain; it covered the entire page, in every direction.

A few seconds of silence followed his explanation, and I was grateful of his insight for I had misinterpreted fundamental things. Seeing the mess he had made, the scientist's feature morphed into a sheepish expression that called a smile to my lips.

— "Ah, sorry, I got a little carried away."

Instead of snorting in disbelief, my smile widened.

— "I guess I always wanted an autograph."

The corner of his lips quirked incredulously, and I marvelled at this foreign expression upon his face. I'd never seen him smile, and it suited him. Given his amusement, I realised that I held this opportunity in my palm. So I pointed to the notebook.

— "I find that writing helps me clear my mind as well. Even though my teachers always found it antiquated."

There was the bait. Would he take it? Today, Erso seemed to be in a "good" mood, hence his sharing. I waited as his eyes bore holes into mine, wondering if he was going to grace me with an answer, or if he was too far gone after writing down his theories. At last, I heard him take a breath and his smooth voice washed over me.

— "Teachers do not always understand people who think differently."

I nodded, turning the page to write right under his nose.

I can relate to that.

I dared sending him a quick glance before covering the writing with the previous page, folding the upper corner so that they were both mechanically glued together. An easy way to hide my words and leave the notes in plain sight. I was sure the scientist had read my response; his brain was just too quick to miss it. Against the artificial light, his eyes seemed almost grey. Today, their shade didn't seem to hide the storm that always swirled inside. No, today, they were dull, indifferent but for the spark of recognition.

There are many things to say about Galen Erso and his propension to flee reality, but to call him oblivious would have been a lie. His imperceptible nod told me he understood, so I opened the page again and, shielding it carefully from the camera with my back, wrote the most dangerous words I have ever dared.

We haven't found her.

Satisfaction and relief changed his features barely an instant before his face returned to his impassive self. Relief? That his little girl was on the run?

And while scientists worked in little groups, their whispers filling the room, I heard his breath catch before a droid started a line of thrills than startled me. I refrained from biting my lip, keeping my face carefully neutral as I surveilled the area. What would happen if I asked him bluntly where she was?

The idea rolled in my mind for a second before I discarded it. No. If Erso was wary of Krennic's motives, if he really believed what his wife had said, it could only damage the little trust between us. So I attacked another angle.

You don't want her found, I wrote.

Erso nodded, his eyes careful. He probably didn't know what to make of me. Hell, I quite didn't know on which foot to stand.

I sighed. There was no pushing this piece of rock over, Galen Erso wouldn't budge; he was more stubborn than I was. And despite my usual brushes with many powerful men, I admired him for it. For in spite of his terrible circumstances, Galen Erso was neither broken, nor defeated.

So I just … let it go. To give him space to think about it. There was so much work to do anyway. The notebook reintegrated my uniform jacket – it would never leave me now – and I to my teams. Galen Erso returned to his own research, working to drag his mind away from his daughter … or from his deceased wife. I wondered what kind of woman she had been. Krennic said she had sympathies for the Force church. Perhaps I could delve into that to understand the man.

In the meantime, I would have to do my own research, discreetly, of course. There was this pilot I knew, we talked and flirted a little. Well, all right, he was a good sex friend. I'd never had issues joining crews on a drinking evening, and getting a guy back to my room for a quick moment of pleasure. Given my skills, I didn't fear them, and they knew it. They now were more defiant because I rose to a good position in the base, and many refused my offers. But Bodhi was different; we had an understanding. A friend with benefits, without attachment, but affection. It was a weird relationship, and he was my link to the outer world. That man was sneaky as hell, he could find Intel under any rock of this godforsaken planet. Perhaps he would find a way to help me.

But first, I had to get my mind rid of a question than haunted me. A question that was slowly, but surely, occupying most of my brain power. I wrote it down early this morning, hoping that Galen Erso would grace me with an answer.

Why are you still here?

He froze, his tongue swiping across his upper lip in a gesture of nervousness. Granted, the scientist wasn't a fighter. With his built, he could have been really efficient, but it just didn't seem to permeate him. Yet, if he really wanted to, I was sure he could have found a way to escape Eadu. The planet was rather insignificant, a top-secret base that ensured its stealth. No one quite knew about what happened on Eadu, and the galactic empire certainly didn't advertise it. So why was he still here, working on a weapon he didn't want to develop? Especially if he knew where his daughter was – which was my guess.

Erso bent over, picking the stylet out of my hands to scribble with his nearly unreadable script. Fortunately, I had years of practice behind me to decipher him.

This project cannot go on without me.

He left me to mull over this, offering a piece of his mind, yet refusing to explain. And, once more, I realised I didn't understand.

Of course, as usual, review ! Surely you can see where this goes :p