This is a work of fan fiction and all canon characters, scenes, and concept are the property of LucasArts. Original characters and plot property of Gerald Tarrant.
Please do not repost this fanfiction without permission.
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Eleven: The Rebellion
The pilot quarters' corridor was still and deserted after hours, after the exhaustion and the pouring out of grief and rage after a battle, after the showers and the dragging feet and the haunted eyes had vanished into their quarters or the hangar bay. The wall lights gleamed on the gray metal floor and the hum of the air conditioning was loud in the stillness. Doorways in the gray walls stood dark and shadowed and lifeless.
One of the doors slid open with a hiss and a dark head peered out furtively, checking both sides of the deserted corridor before carefully stepping out with a click of bootheels. The door hissed shut, giving only a brief impression of the small but neat standard crew room inside.
There was no need for her to be so secretive, Axi Quarran told herself angrily. None at all. It was not as if it were an offense to be out in the corridor. Even at this time of "night" there were always night crewmen traipsing in an out of their quarters to fetch datacards or sneak a quick drink in between shifts. It was all right.
But there was an itch of fear crawling up her shoulderblades and she kept glancing behind her, as if she felt unseen eyes on her, monitering her every move. She slowed her pace and forced herself to keep her head from swiveling behind her again. Her boots were loud and echoing on the polished corridor floor.
No! Nothing's wrong. Act normal
No, wait. Those were not just her boots...Her heart speeded up and she found herself gasping for breath. Two stormtroopers appeared around the bend in front, those black and white armored faces seemingly looking at her accusingly. Her heart pounded. She just knew they would come up to her, grab her arms, ask her what she was doing.
But they just nodded to her and paid her not a second glance as they continued down the corridor. The clank of their boots faded around another corner and Axi leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. What was the matter with her? Jumping at shadows, frightened of mere stormtroopers. Well, so what that she had always been a little scared of stormtroopers? She had never been this scared of them. Not before. It was Harve's death. It must be.
Harve had been a good friend, one of her only friends aboard the Protector, or in the Imperial Navy, as a fact. She was not good at making friends. There were many aboard the ship that offered her their friendship, but if they were men Axi had seen the leering smiles and knew what they were thinking, that a pretty, young woman on her own would make a good catch. She'd ignored them, but that hadn't gained her many friends or even acquaintances.
She had never understood the mindset of the Empire against women. Time and time again she had proved herself to be just as good a pilot, maybe better, than many of her superiors, but had never been promoted higher than flight officer. The highest ranking woman aboard the Protector was a major in communications, but she had never operated the channels on the bridge. Maybe the Empire thought that it would be a bad first impression for many dignitaries to be greeted on the comm by a woman. Whatever the reason, Axi had no hopes for promotion anytime soon, and she had sunk deeper into herself.
It was Harve who had rescued her. She had seen him before, but never talked to him. She had never really talked to any members of her squadron in person except for Commander Calys, Gamma Leader, and he frightened her. He was as cold and frigid as she, even more so, and those light eyes under the even lighter hair seemed to track her every thought, like the unseen eyes of the stormtroopers. She had come away from their brief conversation shaking inside, though her normal imperious self outside.
But Harve was different. That tanned skin, dark eyes and bluff, craggy face reminded her of her brother. Harve had come up to her one day as she was sitting in the hangar bay by herself and started a conversation. She had ignored him at first, but gradually let herself be drawn in, intrigued by this man who wanted to know her for who she was.
She was not in love with him by any means, nor he with her. He had a fiancé back on Coruscant. But they had become friends and they had talked, about many things. Home, family. Growing up on different worlds. Foreign jokes. Books, music, art. Science, philosophy. Military strategy. The Rebellion.
It was the last that had changed both their lives. They had been fighting the Rebellion for years: Harve for ten years, Axi for six. She had never thought about it really before. To her, it was made up of a bunch of ragtag rabble hopelessly squabbling with their government, unwilling to settle down comfortably and be happy. She had protested to Harve when he had told her differently, that they were fighting for freedom. They have freedom! she had said. They're just too stubborn to accept that the Empire will care for them. They want to do everything themselves and are being killed because of their stubbornness.
And Harve had said, That's what the Empire wants you to think.
That had caught Axi by surprise. After Harve had gone she sat and thought about herself, her life, her beliefs. Was this a conclusion she had made herself or was she become only an unwitting puppet? Had she been brainwashed into thinking what the Empire wanted her to think?
In the weeks that followed that conversation, Axi kept her eyes open. Things that she had passed over before, things that she'd told herself time and time again were normal, she now found that she couldn't pass over any longer. The status of women within the Empire. The way some officers poked fun at other races with crude jokes. The way they spoke of killing as if it were some kind of sport to be played for fun. The way they spoke of life as if it were nothing. And she had told Harve, You were right.
And then last night, she had learned something shocked her to the very core of herself...
They were in Harve's room. It was late, three or four in the "morning," but Axi needed to talk to him, to let out her frustration. And Harve understood.
He paced around the room, picking up random objects from his desktop, his dresser, then putting them back down absently, his eyes fixed on her. "You see now, Axi, don't you? The Empire's cruelty is something I can't condone personally. I won't compromise my morals to their level. And you shouldn't either."
She had already reached that conclusion, and she had already found a solution. "We need to leave, Harve. We can't stay here! There must be some way we can escape, maybe to the Rebellion, wherever it is now..."
Harve smiled with a tinge of fatigue. "That's the problem, Axi. No one knows where it is. I'm not that well connected with any Rebels, and the others on board don't have a clue, either."
The room was silent. She stared at him, stunned. "Others on board..." Her jaw dropped. "Harve! There are others on board? Other Rebels?"
Harve laughed in disbelief. "Where have you been, woman?"
She glared at him, her mind still dazed. He held up his hands. "Sorry. I promised you I wouldn't call you that. Axi, have you been deaf to all I've been telling you? Yes, there are others on board."
"You never told me that!"
"I implied. And anyway, I'd never tell you flat outright before I knew for sure you wanted to join and weren't going to lie to me."
She had stood up and turned, but now spun back around to face him. "Lie to you?"
"There are people on this ship who would try to find out which people are thinking about joining the Rebellion and then turn us all over to the Admiral."
Axi sat down hard on his bed, silent, then said,"I never thought about that."
"I believe you. And I never thought you would lie. But I had to make sure you were on our side."
She went over to him where he stood against the wall and gripped his hand. "I am with you."
He smiled again, the old easy smile she was so used to. "Back to the Rebellion, no one knows for sure where it is. Not on Yavin anymore, that's for sure. But there are people on board who can help you if you want to talk. The password is 'Therodrone Gildlash.' Just say that and if they're with the Rebellion, they'll know what you're talking about."
Axi glared at him again, mind finally starting to catch up. "Right. Thanks for telling me now. Of all the time you've known me-"
Harve dropped down beside her. "Axi, I'm sorry. But in times like these you have to be cautious. Anyone could be an enemy."
She sighed. "I guess you're right. I'm sorry."
He smiled at her. "No problem. I'd be in shock too. It's hard, especially now, to get caught up in something like this."
She fidgited with the bed covers, mulling this new information over in her mind, realizing that she had better start getting used to being overdosed with surprises at a moment's notice. Wondering…
"Wait. Harve. You tell me there're other people on the ship, and then clam up. Who? I have no idea. I can't just walk up to some unknown person and say the password."
"Others? Oh, the Protector's swarming with them. The unique thing about the Protector, Axi, is that there are almost no hard-core Imperials serving on it. Except for people like Captain Zeldiri, of course, but most of it's all comprised of people like you and me, who haven't given a thought to the Empire till now." He looked thoughtful. "I wonder why that is?"
"Harve! I need names, not philosophies."
"You really want to know?"
"Harve!"
"I'm just playing with you, Axi." Staring hard at her. "I'll give you names. Because I trust you. And I hope I'm not mistaken."
She took his hard hands in hers. "Harve…would I ever betray you? You're the only friend I have."
He let her squeeze his hands gently before he removed them, stared up at the ceiling in concentration and ticked off names on his fingers. "These people I think you'll recognize. Edar S'rati, Gamma Three. Commander Bryon. Ravin Fingar, the stormtrooper commander. Keyan Ceandl, Gamma Seven. D'lan Ril, Gamma Twelve. General Attari. Ashran Tal, Delta Leader. Dieron Travers, Delta Five. Ben Calys, Gamma Leader."
"Ben Calys?" Axi breathed in disbelief. "Gamma Leader is a Rebel?"
"So are we, if you don't forget."
"But I never suspected...I mean, he's so..."
"Cold and hard? So are you around other people. Axi, the Rebellion is alive and breathing aboard this ship. It only needs a spark for the explosion to occur. Remember the password."
"Therodrone Gildlash."
"You got it, girl. Axi, I'm counting on you."
She had turned to go, had her hand on the door release, but his words startled her. "Me? For what?"
He came to the door. "Axi, you're one of my best friends."
She smiled shyly, embarrassed by the compliment. She had never had many friends, almost none aboard the Protector, and Harve was someone who she had desperately wanted to have like her for who she was.
"Axi."
His voice was deep, sad. Startled, she looked at him. "Axi, I've got no one. My whole family consists of die-hard Imperials. Even Ricara, my financé. They'd kill me if they knew what I am. I thought I'd have to do this alone."
"What about the others aboard?"
He looked away. "They...yeah, I guess they feel like I do, but...oh, I don't know. They're so distant, like they're all involved in some other world. They don't understand. Their families...most of them aren't connected with the Empire at all."
Axi felt a shiver run through her. She had never thought about that.
"Don't worry, Harve. Don't worry."
He didn't look at her. "I tell myself that every day. But I've been worrying too long to stop now."
"Harve-"
"You'd better go. It's late."
"You're right." She pressed the door release, stepped into the empty corridor.
"Axi!" he called softly down the corridor as she walked away. She turned.
"Remember what I told you. Be strong."
Be strong.
Axi felt tears in her eyes and she roughly pushed herself away from the wall. No. She would not cry. Harve was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. She had been independent before she had met him. Surely she could always be that way again. But something about him had touched her, made her crave human companionship, someone who understood. And with Harve dead, all her dreams vanished into thin air and she was back where she had started. A woman, alone on a starship, with no one.
Resolutely, she started walking again, resisting the urge to look backwards. The corridor was still eerily silent. But she walked on. She knew she had to keep walking or else she would falter and fold. She had to keep walking. It was hard, but she kept on as Harve's last words echoed in her ears.
Remember what I told you. Be strong.
Ben Calys's quarters were hot and stuffy, but Colonel Ravin Fingar barely noticed to sweat trickling down his face and disappearing beneath his body armor. He had just gotten off duty and had intended to go take a well-earned shower, but something had drawn him to Calys's quarters. He needed to talk with Calys. It had been a long time.
He had found Edar S'rati in there already, and had almost laughed at the expression on his face as Calys opened the door. He had still been in full armor and no doubt S'rati had thought the game was up. It had been funny, that expression on S'rati's face when he had removed his stormtrooper helmet.
S'rati hadn't thought it was funny, though, and had given Fingar a piece of his mind as the trooper had calmly moved to Calys's bed and sat down. Calys had stood there watching, the handsome face under the too-light hair as cold and impassive as ever. Fingar had watched him back as S'rati scolded, trying to figure out what was going on inside.
Not that he was afraid of Calys. He was, after all, stormtrooper commander. Commander of elite troops, answering only to the Emperor himself. A great honor, and a position that required the absence of fear. He had done well over the years at eliminating that blind fear. Fear was the downfall of the soldier, what caused him to break and run or make irrational decisions. That was something he could not afford. Many were afraid of Calys, he knew, but he was not one of them, just curious at what Calys was always thinking. The man was as closed and emotionless as a trooper inside stormtrooper armor and helmet. It did not really matter what Calys thought, but the man was so stony he should have been a stormtrooper.
It was, in part, his rank as trooper commander that had changed his views on the Empire and the Rebellion. He had served seven years on the Outer Rim as Trooper 1046, subduing planets full of all kinds of aliens: alien warriors, nomadic tribes, farming communities, scholars. He had never quite understood the Imperial mindset of using force, but he was good at it, apparently, because they had just kept on promoting him.
He enjoyed the promotions, but as he rose in the ranks and become more and more of a commander, he'd begun to have second thoughst about his decision. What, after all, was right about slaughtering helpless civilians like animals? He understood the reasons behind hunting down Rebels, or thought he did, but civilians? What did they ever do? It was cruel. And the strangest thing about it was that his superiors did not seem to care, indeed seemed to glory in the sickening massacres carried out by their troops.
He tried not to care; after all, the first thing drilled into all stormtroopers at their first training was not to question orders. Serve the Emperor. That was all. Nothing about right or wrong. Nothing was right or wrong here. If the Emperor said it, it must be right. Stormtroopers do not think, said the commander to Trooper 1046. They simply obey. So he had obeyed, but it was becoming harder and harder every time he heard the death screams of innocent children or watched the meager homesteads of weeping captives being burned to the ground.
After his seventh year, Fingar had had enough. He was tired of the blood, tired of the gore, tired of the slaughter. He was tired of being Trooper 1046. He was Ravin Fingar, and he would be treated as like the man he was, not simply as the killing machine he feared he would become. So he made up his mind to leave the Rim.
He had been highly enough placed that he could request a change in assignment. High Command thought it was a good idea and signed him onto the Protector as commander there. He had been relieved, thinking it was all over. But the Protector was the same. Cold Imperial thinking, butchering whole planets because it was orders. Orders were orders and there was nothing he or anyone could do to change that. Even Admiral Harkov, who was the first Imperial commander Fingar had known who seemed to have a spark of humanity in him.
Then he had met Calys and that had changed his life. The Rebellion. Once he'd thought of it as the enemy, now it was his salvation. He'd found people on board the Protector who shared his views, wanted to stop the senseless destruction and murdering of innocent worlds. When they'd heard about Alderaan, that had been the spark that had lit the fire. Calys and a few others began recruiting in earnest from their pilots, while the regular troops went searching among the crew. Fingar himself kept his eyes open from some sign from his men, though it was unlikely that they would entrust their feared commander with information of that nature.
They had to move with great caution, for fear of one careless move ruining their cover and ending it there and then, before they could escape. Or, more than escape. Fingar himself was leaning more and more towards whole scale treachery; taking over the Protector altogether. It would be a tough job, but after his years on the Outer Rim, Fingar was ready for anything.
S'rati finished his tirade and glared at Calys. "Well, Ben? Aren't you going to say something?"
Calys shrugged. "No. Why?"
"Blast it, Ben, have you heard what I've been saying? It's getting too dangerous. We're too big. We have to move soon or word'll leak out and there goes my career."
"Calm down, S'rati," Fingar said lazily. "Who cares about your career?"
"I care. Unlike some people."
"It will be all right, Edar, I think," Calys said carefully, looking curiously at Fingar. "Namely, I am worried about losing some. We lost a couple of our number yesterday in the battle."
Fingar sat up. "We did? Who?"
"Namely Ravell O'Hany and Harve Tisher. Pilots."
"Ravell O'Hany?" S'rati said. "Who's that?"
"Zeta squadron. Aboard the Akaga."
"Oh."
Ravell O'Hany? He had been one of first Rebels aboard the Akaga! To lose him now...Fingar opened his mouth, started to say something, and the buzzer sounded. "Sounds like someone's at the door, Calys," he said instead.
Calys frowned. The buzzer came again. "I'm not expecting anyone. But then I wasn't expecting you, either, Fingar. Better put on your helmet and come with me. That should be sufficient to scare off anyone who wants to come in now."
"Right." Fingar slipped on his helmet and followed Calys to the door of the small room. The air was stale and sweaty inside the helmet and the hiss of the opening door was muffled. There was a brief silence as he stared at the person outside the door and then he began to laugh.
It was a girl. Dressed in a pilot's uniform with dark hair swinging just above her shoulders, she was skinny and short. She had looked scared before, but now she looked terrified at his laughter. Fingar could understand. There weren't many laughing stormtroopers around these days. Calys threw him a look and he quieted, though still wanting to laugh. What was this girl doing here?
"Good morning, Axi," Calys said.
"Axi?" Fingar wondered. How did Calys know this girl?
"Gamma Eight, Fingar. Don't ask so many questions," Calys snapped at him, not looking around. Fingar heard, suddenly, the echo of his old commander. Don't ask questions, 1046. Orders are not to be questioned.
He blinked, returning to the present. The girl still stood at the doorway, her eyes fixed on Calys.
"What do you need, Axi?"
Fingar still wanted to laugh. This girl, a pilot? She didn't look old enough to cross the street by herself, much less pilot a fighter. Obviously, she knew her way around, though. She licked her lips, then stepped into the room. Calys stepped aside, puzzled, as she hit the door release and the door slammed shut. She looked up at him, then at Fingar.
"You are Ravin Fingar?" she asked.
Fingar started. It was odd, this girl who did not even know him, addressing him not as Trooper 1046, but by his real name. Odd, but strangely pleasant. He nodded.
The girl seemed to think about this, then said in a low, hesitant voice. "Therodrone Gildlash."
Fingar stiffened, his hand to his blaster. Calys's face looked like it had been frozen into a glacier. "Where did you hear that?" he snapped.
"Harve Tisher," she replied, now calm.
Calys and Fingar exchanged glances. For a moment, Fingar could swear that Calys, the stoic, unfeeling Ben Calys, was startled. The girl looked at Fingar curiously, and he removed his helmet with a sigh.
"I have come to the right place, haven't I?" she demanded, angry now.
Calys sighed, shook his head. "Of all the people-Yes, you have." He moved away from the door, motioned for her to follow. S'rati had stood as well, staring at her. Calys motioned to an unoccupied corner of the floor. "Sit down, Gamma Eight, and start from the beginning."
The fact that it was four-o'clock in the "morning" did not seem to faze any of the crewmembers scurrying about on the bridge of the Nebulon-B Frigate Akaga. People pushed, shoved, shouted politely, all trying to give the same information all at once despite the warnings of officers who were trying to keep everything under control.
It was the bridge, Captain Disroit thought wryly. Too small. He stood at the back on an overhanging catwalk over the turbolift, watching the activity. Consoles and stations lined the walls and squeezed themselves to fit on one of the console islands in the middle of the floor. Holographic displays rotated above the consoles and colorful light maps and controls blinked on the dark gray walls. There needed to be a frigate with a bridge like a Star Destroyer. Like the Protector, at least. Roomy, spacious, quiet. But then, the ship would have to be as big as a Star Destroyer. Frigates were simply too small altogether.
Disroit smiled ruefully. He was getting too old for this, yet he enjoyed it. Not the fighting, the times in between the fighting. Times like this, when everyone was just like one big family, with their petty squabbles and frantic information processing to get done.
The noise level rose. He was getting soft. In earlier times he would have been down there making sure no one spoke above a whisper. But now, who cared, really? As long as the job got done.
The noise level rose again. Disroit tapped the bridge intercom. "Attention, this is the captain. All noise will cease immediately!"
The noise ceased and everyone stared up at him. "Thank you," he continued. "As of now it is oh four hundred hours, Coruscant time. I expect a little less noise at this hour in the morning. Also, Admiral Harkov expects all battle reports written and filed by oh seven hundred hours, Coruscant time. As a slight reminder to keep you on task. And no, there will be no morning drill this morning."
He clicked the intercom off and the crewers slowly turned back to their work. Disroit continued along the catwalk in the silence broken only by the humming of monitors and the vibration of the Akaga's engines.
It was ludicrous, really, this war. The Emperor, pretending to be the great peacemaker, but in reality just wanting to get his hungry hands on any stray wisps of power he could find. In Disroit's opinion, they should just pull out and let the Ripoblus and Dimok fight it out to their own conclusion.
That was Harkov's opinion as well, Disroit was sure, though the admiral had never said anything regarding the conflict. He was noble, the admiral, operating on his own high-moraled code of honor. A code of honor that no longer existed in the Empire, and that one day would be just outdated enough to get him killed. Disroit had urged him again and again to leave, to just go. But Harkov would not or could not listen. He was too afraid of the unknown. No, not afraid of the unknown, but afraid to admit that he had been wrong all these years. Afraid to cast away the mask he had worn for so long and to show his face to the light.
Disroit shook his head. He was growing philosophical in his old age.
Boots on the catwalk scattered his thoughts and he looked to the side to see who was coming, praying it wasn't one of the higher ranking officers come to call him in for another meeting. But it was only one of the young bridge duty officers carrying a datapad. "Casualties, sir," he said in a low voice, half-whispering.
Casualties. Disroit winced as he took the pad, scrolling down through the list. It was as he had feared. Only five percent of those pilots who had been wounded had survived. "Shielding," he said softly.
"Sir?"
"Shielding, officer. TIE Fighters need shields."
"Uh, yes, sir." The duty officer looked uncertainly back at him. Disroit handed the pad back to him.
"Thank you, officer."
The officer saluted, left the catwalk just as another deck officer rushed up to him, opened his mouth.
"Incoming call from the Protector."
Disroit nodded, walked rapidly down the catwalk to the communications consoles. The comm officer saw him coming, punched the call. "Audio or visual, Captain?"
"I'll take visual."
Captain Zeldiri's face appeared on the viewscreen. Disroit's heart sank.
"Captain," said Disroit.
"Captain Disroit," said Zeldiri with his customary sneer. "I am pleased to inform you that we have finally been able to begin crushing the insolent Ripoblus."
"Oh," said Disroit.
"Not crushing, Captain," came Harkov's calm voice from offscreen. "We are not going to crush anyone."
Disroit could hear snickers from around the bridge, both on the Protector and the Akaga. He kept a straight face.
Zeldiri's face darkened. "Transmit all battle data at oh seven hundred hours mark, Disroit," he said, his voice thick with anger. "File all reports immediately." The screen went dark suddenly.
The comm officer whistled softly through his teeth. Disroit himself could not help a smile, but the smile faded quickly as he thought of Harkov.
Be careful, Admiral. You have powerful enemies. Be careful.
