Rogue One: An Orson Krennic Story
Prologue: Lah'mu
As the shuttle touched down, Orson allowed himself a small smile. After months of searching, he'd finally found him. Lah'mu, a backwater planet on the edge of the Outer Rim. He scoffed in disgust, the Empire's top weapons developer here. He looked around the shuttle at his squad of Death Troopers, highly trained and obedient to the Empire and more importantly, him. No matter what, Galen Orso was coming back with him today.
He walked across the volcanic soil toward the small farm flanked by his troopers. As they approached, a figure moved toward them from the house. Orson's heart leapt into his throat. There he was! Older than when Orson had last seen him, more worn but as striking as ever. He stopped right before him.
"You're a hard man to find, Galen. But farming…" He said wryly, testing the waters. Galen stared at him, his face immovable rock.
"Really?" He continued, the hint of a laugh in his voice, "Man of your talents?"
"It's a peaceful life." Galen responded, giving nothing away. Orson pouted and tried again.
"It's lonely, I imagine." Trying to work any response from Galen. Galen gave a small, jerky nod.
"Since Lyra died, yes." Orson's heartbeat pounded in his ears and he forced himself not to react. Galen's wife being dead was a tragedy, no matter what he felt. Galen may even be lying, considering how they left things. But, despite that, the tiny blossom of hope started to grow in Orson.
"Oh," He responded, managing to keep his voice level, Imperial Officer Training finally good for something. He shook his head and walked forward.
"Oh…" He said again, shaking his head consolingly. He stopped only a few paces from Galen, his fingers itched to take him into his arms but he resisted and instead only let out a heavy sigh.
"My condolences." He offered as sincerely as he could even as the niggle of doubt itched from the back of his mind. 'He could still be lying,' Orson reminded himself. He steeled himself and turned to his men, he had to, it was procedure.
"Search the house!" He commanded. His squad immediately set out, marching forward. Galen turned watching them go. Still giving nothing away. Orson fought to control his rising tension, this could still go well. Finally Galen turned back to him
"What is it you want?" Galen finally asked and Orson had to fight not to blurt out his immediate response of "You." His eyes slid away from Galen's. He couldn't continue to meet his eyes as he gave the official reason for the mission.
"The work has stalled." He stated. "I need you to come back." That part, at least, was true twice over.
"I won't do it, Krennic." Galen responded immediately and Orson felt his heart break a little but he persisted, he was a stoic imperial officer.
"We're on the verge of greatness. We were this close-" He pleaded, gesturing emphatically, "to providing peace and security for the galaxy."
"You're confusing peace with terror." Galen stated, still far too composed for Orson's liking. Orson resisted to urge to sigh, he didn't want to retread this old argument again.
"Well," he said, conciliatorily, "you have to start somewhere." Galen looked down, as the sounds of his troopers nearing the farm reached them.
"I'd be of no help, Krennic." Galen responded evasively, "My mind just isn't what it was.I have trouble remembering. Even simple things." Orson's gaze sharpened on him and his head sank lower. Galen was definitely lying to him.
"Galen…" he said, both an admonishment and a plea as he shook his head, "You're an inspired scientist, but you're a terrible liar. Now, I admire the effect. I really do." But as he was speaking, he noticed something moving toward him out of the corner of his eye and trailed off, turning to look at it. He recognized her instantly and his mood turned completely black as the full evidence of Galen's deception ran toward them. But he kept his tone light and matter of fact.
"Oh, look, here's Lyra, back from the dead." As he spoke, Galen moved toward her as did his guard. "It's a miracle." He couldn't resist making the jab, watching Galen walk away from him again. XK-389 anticipated his needs perfectly and moved parallel to Galen, forcing him to a halt as he raised his blaster.
"Stop!" Orson commanded, raising a finger. Lyra stopped and clasped the bundle in her arms tighter. She swayed and dropped it. Then, whipped her blaster out to point directly at Orson and powered it up.
"Oh, Lyra," he admonished, shaking his head, "troublesome as ever." He had decided that he was going to get through this, regardless of how his heart was aching.
"You're not taking him." Lyra claimed, desperately. Orson shook his head again, wishing he could just take Galen but that wasn't the plan.
"No, of course I'm not." He confirmed, "I'm taking you all." He continued, now was the time for persuasion.
"You'll all come. You, your child. You'll all live in comfort." Surely, she could see how reasonable he was being. Her slight nod gave him slight hope before she opened her mouth.
"As hostages."
"As heroes of the Empire." he corrected, growing tired of her unreasonableness, and the blaster she was pointing at his face!
"Lyra. Put it down." Galen interjected.
"Think very carefully." Orson warned, the threat of her blaster starting to concern him. Lyra's hand trembled and her eyes flicked to Galen. But then they refocused on him.
"You will never win." she declared, hand shaking.
"Do it." He commanded calmly, trusting his troopers and knowing they were out of options. But as XK-389 took the shot. Lyra squeezed the trigger and her unsteady shot caught Orson in the shoulder, pushing him backwards as pain shot through him. As he staggered, he heard more than saw Galen's yell of "Lyra!" and by the time he straightened, clutching his shoulder. Galen was bent over Lyra's body. He grimaced through the pain and the heartache and barked out his orders.
"They have a child! Found it!" The pain overcoming any tact he may have had. As Galen clasped his wife's body to him and watched as the troopers all moved to find his child. Orson watched him, still holding his shoulder. He'd had such high hopes for the day.
When the troopers returned with no sign of the child, he sighed and looked at Galen, still bent over his wife's body. He turned away back to the shuttle. Turning his head briefly to XK-389:
"Stun him." He ordered. XK-389 nodded and blue rings encircled Galen Orso. The troopers grabbed him and dragged him back to the shuttle, following in Krennic's wake. They left Lyra where she lay.
Chapter One: Fifteen Years Later, Death Star, Jedha, The Peak of Triumph
Orson was not pleased to be summoned by Tarkin to the Executrix but when the Emperor's favorite summons you, you go.
He strode confidently onto the bridge, flanked by his usual Death Trooper guards and found Tarkin watching as the main dish was finally put into place. He strode up sullenly to stand just behind Tarkin.
"Most unfortunate about the security breach on Jedha, Director Krennic." Tarkin stated as he stepped to the front window, " After so many setbacks and delays, and now this." Tarkin sighed and turned to face him even as Orson fought to keep himself from bristling at Tarkin's implied jab.
"We've heard word of rumors circulating through the city." Tarkin continued, finally facing him and nodding slightly, "Apparently, you've lost a rather talkative cargo pilot." Tarkin made brief eye contact with him and then continued walking past him, making Orson feel like he was receiving a talking to from a school administrator. But despite Orson's growing discomfort and annoyance, Tarkin kept talking.
"If the Senate gets wind of our project, countless systems will flock to the Rebellion." He stated needlessly, as if Orson didn't know the risks, as if Orson hadn't been keeping order and maintaining secrecy for more than fifteen years! But he bit his tongue and turned to Tarkin as the other man circled him. He spoke calmly and collectedly.
"When the battle station is finished, Governor Tarkin...the Senate will be of little concern." Surety was his friend in this conversation even as Tarkin's beady eyes squinted reproachingly at him. Tarkin strode toward, finally actually paying attention to him.
"When has become now, Director Krennic." Tarkin responded, his voice deceptively soft. "The Emperor will tolerate no further delay." Orson swallowed nervously as Tarkin grew closer, his reprimand continuing.
"You have made time an ally of the Rebellion." Orson's mind flew wildly. He had been working tirelessly on this project but the thought that it was now in jeopardy was too much. But Tarkin wasn't finished, walking again past Orson and stopping to speak directly into his ear.
"I suggest we solve both problems simultaneously with an immediate test of the weapon." As Tarkin continued past him to his original position near the window, Orson pulled himself together. His work was good and he knew it.
"Failure will find you explaining why to a far less patient audience." Tarkin cooly threatened. Orson bristled and emphatically stated:
"I will not fail." He was tired of all the aspersions Tarkin had cast on him, his security and the project during this little meeting. And without being dismissed, he turned his back to Tarkin and strode off the bridge. Even his troopers moving into position around him was a small comfort.
But upon returning to his quarters, he found his thoughts plagued by an earlier time, a simpler time. His memories bring him to a meeting more than eighteen years ago in the Orso's apartment on Imperial Center. Things had cooled between him and Galen by this point, what with Galen's marriage to Lyra and the birth of little Jyn but they were still friends and Orson, still a welcome visitor in their home. It was the start of their grand project and drinks were had to the success of their new venture. He and Galen were still excited about the work going forward. Lyra had smiles for both of them which Orson could even return despite the slight melancholy he still held and sweet little Jyn called him Uncle. And then he blinked, and it was all gone. Fading back into memory. And he was alone in the drab greyness of his quarters. His sleep that night was troubled.
Now, Orson, once again, found himself in the unenviable company of Wilhuff Tarkin, standing on the bridge of the Death Star, looking out over the battle scarred surface of Jedha. It was time for the weapons test but due to the pressure from Tarkin and his troubled sleep the last few nights, Orson felt no joy in it.
"The Emperor is awaiting my report." Tarkin said, twisting the knife a little more. Orson couldn't help his sharp followup remark though he kept his tone civil.
"One would hope that he and Lord Vader might've been here for such an occasion." Their absence along with Tarkin's presence was salt in the wound as far as Orson was concerned. But of course Tarkin couldn't resist getting another word in.
"And I thought it prudent to save you from any potential embarrassment." Orson almost couldn't believe what he was hearing but it was a fairly common aspect of Imperial politics. Had Tarkin even informed them of the test or was this all some stunt for his amusement!
"Your concern's hardly warranted." Orson sniped, striding away from him, closer to the main window. But Tarkin's final remark echoed in his ears.
"If saying it would only make it so." And he couldn't let that stand. He turned back to Tarkin, the view of Jedha rising behind.
"All Imperial forces have been evacuated and I stand ready to destroy the entire moon." He said defensively and unable to resist the boost about the Station's capabilities. After all, no other weapon had anywhere near the capacity to destroy an entire moon! But of course, Tarkin undercut him again with his cool manner stating:
"That won't be necessary. We need a statement, not a manifesto." Orson felt the back of his neck grow hot with shame. As if this conversation wasn't bad enough but it was being held in front of the Battle Station's deck officers, who were not so carefully pretending to hear nothing.
"The Holy City will be enough for today." Tarkin concluded, acting as if he was in charge and authorized to direct Orson on his own Battle Station! Orson clenched his jaw, unconsciously fiddling with his gloves.
"Target Jedha City." He commanded, " Prepare single reactor ignition." He wasn't going to let Tarkin throw him off. The weapon hummed. His men moved into position. The technician pulled up the targeting screen on the main viewer which all the officers turned to face. Captain Pterro spoke:
"Sir, we're in position-" but Orson cut him off, sick and tired of this whole exercise, ready to be done.
"Fire!" He commanded, his voice angry and impatient. The Captain turned back to the technicians at their stations as Orson returned his gaze to the main viewer.
"Commence primary ignition." Captain Pterro ordered, the perfect picture of an Imperial officer. The technicians hurried to their work.
"Stand by." Echoed over the loudspeaker as the station moved into position and the technicians shifted the readout on the main viewer from the projection of the beam from the station to the orbital trajectories required for the shot. Orson stared on in impatience. But as the technicians finished their final checks, Orson crossed his arms over his chest, feeling pride well up inside. This was his moment and not even Tarkin could take it from him. The view from the windows darkened as the Station eclipsed Jedha's star and Orson thought he could almost feel the hum of the weapon itself as the firing began. Though, he knew that was impossible given the sheer side of the Station. Still it was an elative feeling. And then the beam shot out. A deadly green force with a single purpose. Orson watched as it connected with the planet's surface and the pure green was lost in the sudden fire of the explosion. As the shockwave rippled out from the explosion that was Jedha City, Orson spoke the words that came into his mind.
"Oh, it's beautiful." he mused. And it was. Glorious and terrible and with a majesty all its own. So much so that even though he had seen the weapon through since its inception, he had never imagined the beauty of its destructive force. The rest of the room seemed to agree as they stood in silent awe around him. But slowly, as the explosion seemed to reach up toward them and the full effects of the weapon could be seen, whispers started to break out behind Orson. And something grew sick in his stomach at the sight of the explosion. As the technicians moved silently to shut the weapon back down, he turned from the sight of what once was Jedha City and swept from the room, brushing past a grim faced Tarkin as he did. The crowd parted before him. However, just before he'd reached the door, Tarkin's voice rang out behind him.
"I believe I owe you an apology, Director Krennic." He turned to meet Orson's eyes as he slouched just inside the room. Tarkin's eyes piercing through the crowd of officers between them.
"Your work exceeds all expectations." He complimented, however like everything else, this too felt like an insult. Like the pat on the head you condescendingly give a small child. But despite the feeling in his stomach and his growing hatred of Tarkin, Orson had to know.
"And you'll tell the Emperor as much?" he asked and Tarkin immediately cut him back down to size.
"I will tell him that his patience with your misadventures has been rewarded with a weapon that will bring a swift end to the Rebellion." Tarkin stated but Orson sensing an opportunity jumped in.
"And that that was only an inkling of its destructive potential." Orson instructed, more to the officers surrounding him than to Tarkin himself.
"I will tell him that I will be taking control over the weapon, I first spoke of years ago effective immediately." Tarkin interrupted as Orson looked back at him, a cold pit growing inside his stomach alongside the nausea. Orson scoffed but the small smug look on Tarkin's face killed the sound in his throat. And then, his temper boiled over, and he lost all sense of decorum and sense of the other officers in the room who were watching all this go down.
"We stand here amidst my achievement." He shouted, bringing his fist down in a dramatic slash and strode forward toward Tarkin.
"Not yours!" He proclaimed, sheer anger creating a faint tremor in his voice. But all he was faced with was Tarkin's cool tone and reasonable attitude.
"I'm afraid the recent security breaches have laid bare your inadequacies as a military director." Tarkin stated, tearing down Orson in front of his men.
"The breaches have been filled." Orson retorted, seething. "Jedha has been silenced."
"You think this pilot acted alone?" Tarkin queried, his voice raising slightly for the first time during this whole visit, "He was dispatched from the installation on Eadu, Galen Erso's facility." And with those few words, Orson's stomach sank again because he knew what was coming. What would have to be done. And he also knew that while Galen had been reluctant when they...he had first brought him back fifteen years ago. But it had been fifteen years and Galen was, well if not happy, settled, even if he'd never forgiven Orson. And now...it was all crashing down again, same as it had when Orson had first heard that Galen and his family had disappeared. But Orson couldn't let any of that show on his face and maybe, maybe if he acted quickly enough there was something he could do!
"Oh, we'll see about this." he stated calmly, turned and strode confidently from the room, trying not to feel as if a pack of dogs was biting at his heels.
Chapter Two: Eadu, When the World Shatters
Orson took only the time needed to order a shuttle and collect his personal squad of Death Troopers before he was setting off. He sat, lost in his thoughts as the navigator's voice came over the intercom.
"Course set for Eadu, sir." He looked down the row of his Troopers, toward where his Battle Station was left in Tarkin's tight clutches as a feeling of deja vu passed over him. Here he was again, fifteen years later, chasing after Galen Orso and he had a feeling that this mission wouldn't work out any cleaner than the last one.
As they entered the atmosphere of Eadu, Orson sent the message ordering the entire engineering team including Galen to the landing pad. It would be cleaner that way, easier. The sound of the rain lashing against the shuttle walls as they approached the landing pad, matched his mood perfectly, stormy, violent and dark.
As the shuttle door opened, Orson strode out into the rain, following his Troopers, cape flowing behind him in the wind. Though the rain was running in his eyes under his cap, he could still see the Storm Troopers on either side and in front, the group of huddled scientists with Galen standing straight and a little to the side of the rest. Orson swallowed against the lump in his throat and strode confidently forward. His party stopped just before the Storm Troopers and Galen walked forward to meet them. Orson's heart ached at the sight of him. But he kept this face composed.
"Excellent news, Galen." That was one of the few gifts he allowed himself even though Galen only ever called him Krennic now. Orson could only ever call him Galen.
"The Battle Station is complete." He stated, still with the pretense of simply delivering news. "You must be very proud." He forced a small smile, hoping it looked natural. Galen simply looked at him, stoic as he had been since he woke up in the shuttle leaving Lah'mu.
"Proud as I can be, Krennic." Galen said, but it was flat, almost emotionless. Krennic almost couldn't bear it, Galen's coldness and what he had to do next.
"Gather your engineers." He said with false joviality. "I have an announcement." But he couldn't maintain it and by the end of his sentence, his voice was softer and he was turning half away.
Orson watched as the engineers shuffled forward, looking old, and bedraggled from the rain. The thought suddenly struck that they'd all been doing this for such a long time. He forced that thought away so he could focus on what he had to do.
"Is that all of them?" He asked, though he knew it was. The best engineers in the Empire all arrayed before him.
"Yes." Galen curtly responded without looking at him and walked past to stand just past Lt. Careus.
Orson took a deep breath, steeled himself and turned to the engineers. He spoke, his words fighting through the wind and rain.
"Gentlemen, one of you betrayed the Empire." He pauses and watches as the engineers turn to one another in disbelief. Whispers raced between them,
"One of you," Orson continued dramatically, " has conspired with a pilot to send messages to the Rebellion." He pretended to study their faces, pretended to be searching the traitor out but he already knew and it would do nothing to change the final outcome.
"And I urge that traitor, step forward." He gestured in front of himself. There it was, the ultimatum. Once again the whispers arose from the engineering team and through the wind and rain, Orson could hear his troopers' armor clank as they moved into position. As the last trooper moved into place, and no one stepped forward, Orson did what was necessary.
"Very well," he said dismissively, " I'll consider it a group effort then."
"Ready." He commanded. The rain pounded down as his troopers, the engineers panicked, murmurs of denial fell from their lips.
"Aim." The troopers raised their blasters. The huddling and pleas from the engineers grew more frantic.
"And fire!" There was hum from the blasters. Then Galen sprinted in front of the engineers.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" He yelled. 'Damn,' Orson thought, he'd hoped to get the engineers dealt with without Galen interrupting.
"Krennic, stop!" Galen commanded, Orson's face was cold and his expression colder but Galen kept speaking. "It was me!" Galen confessed. "It was me." Orson crossed his arms, an unconscious defense mechanism as Galen damned himself.
" They have nothing to do with it. Spare them." It should have been a plea but from Galen, it sounded like a simple statement of fact. Orson shook his head a little and gestured Galen forward. Then Galen was standing in front of him, bold, determined, desperate. Orson's heart ached a little but he shoved that part of him down, emotions were a detriment here. His face contorted in an ugly grimace, he gave the order.
"Fire!" And red light flashed as his troopers carried out his command with precision. Orson watched coldly as Galen flinched and the engineers crumpled behind him and suddenly, he was disgusted. Disgusted with Galen, with the mewling, dying engineers, with himse-, with everything. Backhanding Galen was a not planned action but all of the fear and disgust and anger and humiliation that had been building was too much. And there was Galen's flat, almost serene face despite the fact that He was the one who had ruined everything again!
There was no decision. One moment Galen was standing stoically in front him, the next he had collapsed onto his knees while the back of Orson's hand throbbed with a sick sting. The shock of it forced Orson back to reality. He pushed his emotions aside again and leaned down over Galen who still had his face turned away.
"How do I know the weapon is complete?" He taunted, the urge to hurt still strong in him and Galen was the perfect target.
"Let me share with you some details." He whispered in a sinister parody of a lover's attention.
"Jedha" he finally said, after allowing the moment to linger, and finally Galen met his eyes. And Orson could see the anger behind them. But he couldn't stop. Giving back some of the hurt he'd felt was so satisfying.
"Saw Gerrera." He counted them off on his fingers, a sick glee rose within him, " His band of fanatics, their Holy City, the last reminder of the Jedi, gone." And it was so satisfying, more so than the physical blow had been. Galen seethed.
"You'll never win." Galen declared, still defiant, still unbowed. And in that moment, for the first time, Orson hated him. But it was a cold hate.
"Now where have I heard that before?" He replied sardonically. And as Galen looked at him with hate filled eyes, Orson opened his mouth to speak. Unexpectedly, an alarm sounded and Orson stood up, looking around. Aware of where he was for the first time since he'd struck Galen. As his men prepared to face the attack, the rebel X-Wings flew into view! Laser bolts flew over his head, catching a few of the base's stormtroopers in their fiery glow.
"Return fire!" He screamed. "To your stations!" Mind suddenly dragged into the current situation of the enemy attack!
"Get our fighters in the air now!" He commanded. But rebel fire was still pelting the landing pad and suddenly a girl's voice rang out!
"Father!" She called desperately and Orson watched as Galen turned to the figure of a girl who emerged from the edge of the landing pad. And for a moment, Orson was back on Lah'mu as he and the girl pointed their blasters at one another, Galen between them. Then, Orson heard a sick whine and the platform exploded in front of him. And as he was blown back and his vision dimmed, the thought of how much it reminded him of the explosion from Jedha City struck him.
He came to with blurred vision, the words "Fall back! Fall back!" echoing in his ringing ears. He blinked trying to clear his head. Strong hands grabbed his arms and started to pull him up. His head spun and he heard Lt. Careus' voice.
"Director, we need to evacuate." Still he reeled even as two of his troopers pulled him to his feet. He couldn't get his thoughts to connect and he thought he saw...had seen? Saw? Lyra, just before the explosion. He stumbled, his body chilled from the rain but tiny cuts from the shrapnel burned all over. He shook his head as his troopers led him away and the cannon fired deadly green over his head at the rebel ships. "It was so loud," he couldn't help thinking as the battle raged around them.
As his troopers led him onto the shuttle and his mind cleared, a thought occurred to him. He turned back to the platform and, there, he saw him. Right in the middle of the blast, the crumpled body of Galen Erso. For a moment, he couldn't believe his eyes but even with the blurriness in his vision, the pain in his head and the rising nausea, he couldn't deny the truth of what he saw. He stiffened his spine, set his jaw against the pain and turned away. He strode into the shuttle and refused to look back.
Orson's trip back to his quarters after leaving the med bay was unpleasant to say the least. While the medics had been able to heal most of his injuries, he was left with a headache that grew worse and worse as he passed whispering workers in the halls. It seemed News of Tarkin's takeover and the mess on Eadu was already out. Orson walked faster. He couldn't reach his quarters quickly enough. And yet, his quarters were no respite. The door opened to the same drab rooms as before but they seemed hollower, emptier. He shook his head trying to drive this perception from his head. But all that did was make his head ache and his stomach roil. He walked over to his side table and reached up to open the cabinet above his head. He sifted through the bottles til he reached the bottle he'd been saving for the completion of the Battle Station. The twelve year aged bottle of Dorian Quill he'd hoped to talk Galen into sharing with him when the work was completed. He set it down in front of himself and stilled, captivated by the shiny opaque bottle as the fantasy of sharing it shattered in nothing. Coming back to himself, he viciously grabbed the bottle and opened it, pouring a healthy measure into one of the crystal cut glass. He slammed the bottle down and swiped the glass into his hand. He turned and stared around his empty quarters, which clearly emphasized function over form. He took a swig of his drink, the rich, peaty texture contrasted with the bite of alcohol suffused his taste buds. But it was little comfort. He found himself wandering his quarters. He felt numb, set adrift. Then he stopped, his eye caught on the one flimsi he allowed in his bedroom. It hung casually on the wall, himself and Galen holding each other, laughing. An innocent moment from a far off time. Anger flashed through him and he threw the glass at the picture. The glass of the frame shattered as the drink splattered the wall. The glass rolled away on the carpet. Orson watched as anger faded back into numbness as the liquid blurred and distorted the flimsi. Ruined as everything else was ruined. He stumbled into bed, pain and sorrow overwhelming any desire for consciousness. But his sleep was as troubled as his reality and he was pursued by horrifying explosions and Galen's disapproving face all night while Tarkin lorded smugly over him. All night there was only anxiety, pain and dread.
The next morning he woke, still aching, head still sore and his world still in shambles around him. 'No,' he decided.
"No." He said aloud, affirming it to himself. He wasn't going to let Tarkin take the only thing he had left and reign triumphant on the back of Orson's hard work. He stood resolute and walked to meet the day.
Chapter Three: Mustafar, Just when it couldn't get worse
There was something deeply unsettling about Lord Vader's Castle. The walls seemed to bend around Orson as he waited for Lord Vader's presence. He shivered. Somehow, despite the heat of the volcanic planet, a chill had set into his bones. Dark whispers seemed to pull at his mind, dragged him toward all the dark feelings he was trying to avoid. It was almost a relief when the massive door opened in front of him and brilliantly white light shone through. Then, the sound of heavy mechanized breathing reached him and dread arose.
Lord Vader approached, the steps weirdly silent for such a behemoth being. Only the sound of his respirator seemed to carry. Orson swallowed anxiously at Lord Vader's approach and firmed his resolve against the atmosphere of the room. He was in the right and his request was only reasonable.
"Director Krennic." Vader greeted him, his tone gave nothing away.
"Lord Vader." He returned the greeting, but fear began to creep back into his mind. Vader seemed to pick up on his weakness instantly.
"You seem unsettled." Vader stated and slowly walked a few paces to look out the great opening to the bleak, mountainous horizon.
"No," Orson contradicted, an unexpected waver in his voice, "Just pressed for time." He turned to follow Lord Vader's movement. His eyes never strayed from him.
"There's a great many things to attend to." He concluded.
"My apologies." Lord Vader responded and turned back to him, a sardonic tone in his voice, "You do have a great many things to explain." Orson shifted and looked away. The expressionless eyes of the mask bore into him. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him, aided by the dark environment of the castle.
"I delivered the weapon the Emperor requested." He replied, looking back at Lord Vader. It was meant to sound emphatic but came out soft and almost desperate. He persisted, despite his mind now screaming 'Danger!' at him.
"I deserve an audience to make certain that he understands its remarkable…" He trailed off as Vader loomed over him, "potential." He barely managed to speak in Lord Vader's intimidating nearness.
"Its power to create problems has certainly been confirmed." Lord Vader retorted, " A city destroyed, an Imperial facility openly attacked." Orson couldn't resist putting the blame solidly where it was due despite Lord Vader's clear feeling on the subject as he swept past Orson again.
"It was Governor Tarkin that suggested the test." But at these words, Vader stopped and turned back to him.
"You were not summoned here to grovel, Director Krennic." Lord Vader silenced his excuses.
"No…" Orson began to interject but Vader cut him off again.
"There is no Death Star. The Senate has been informed that Jedha was destroyed in a mining disaster." Orson nodded and agreed. He kept his eyes diffidently down.
"Yes, my Lord." Vader continued unforgivingly.
"I expect you not to rest until you can assure the Emperor that Galen Erso has not compromised this weapon in any way." Vader gestured emphatically as he stepped further into Orson's personal space. Orson's heart leapt into his throat at the mention of Galen. But then, Lord Vader stalked past him, back toward the door he came from. Orson's mind raced as he dragged his thoughts away from Galen and forced on what Lord Vader had ordered.
"So I'm still in command?" he queried hopefully as he turned to watch Vader go. Again Vader stopped at his words. Orson carried on.
"You'll speak to the Emperor about-" But as he spoke the dark whispers pulled at his mind, the shadows intensified and pressure built on his throat, cutting off his final words. He tried to clear his throat but it did nothing. The pressure grew. He twisted his head, his eyes closed as he fought his pressure that cut off his air. And as he raised his hand to his throat to pull at his collar, his legs collapsed under him and sent him to his knees. He barely caught himself on his right hand, left still scrabbled at his throat as black spots appeared in his vision and his headache from last night thundered back in full force.
"Be certain not to let your ambitions get the best of you, Director." Lord Vader reproached as he turned back to Orson, hand curled in a sinister curl. Then he dropped his hand, and strode back into the castle. Orson was left, gasping on the floor as the pressure on his throat vanished and air flooded back into his lungs. He lifted his head just in time to see the Lord Vader's cloak vanish behind the closing door.
Slowly, gingerly, Orson pulled himself to his feet. Then, despite the ache in his head and the blossoming bruises around, he hurried to his shuttle. Scarif, he had to get to Scarif. His thoughts were racing and that was the only place he could hope to prove that Galen hadn't comprised the Battle Station. However, there was certainty growing in his mind that Galen had done just that!. As he frantically made his way through Vader's Castle back to the landing pad, the shadows grew around him and fed the flicker of doubt in his mind about the direction of the Empire and the purpose of his Battle Station. As he emerged into the hot, stuffy air of Mustafar, his mind went back to the fiery explosion of Jedha City and his stomach roiled. He strode through the open air, past his Death Troopers who stood outside the shuttle, and ignored their salutes, too consumed in his own thoughts.
"Scarif!" He commanded the Navigator who nodded.
"Yes, Sir." He responded and turned back to his console to begin punching his codes. Orson swept past him, collapsing in his seat toward the back of the shuttle as the rest of his troopers filed in. They were on their way.
Chapter Four: Scarif, The Final Piece
"Director Krennic," the Navigator's voice broke Orson from his brooding, "we are entering the Scarif shield gate. General Ramda has been informed of your arrival." Orson sat up straight and fiddled anxiously with his gloves. 'Here's where all the answers are.' He thought and then had to fight the dread that threatened to swallow him.
The landing was uneventful and the aide dispatched to bring him to the Command Center was obsequiously helpful. Orson couldn't help but sneer as he was led along.
"The General couldn't meet me himself?" Orson asked snidely. The aide smiled anxiously.
"Sorry Sir, We're unexpectedly busy handling rerouted traffic from Eadu." Orson stiffened at the mention.
"Of course." He replied through gritted teeth. He suspected that the events of the last week were in fact the reason for the abysmal reception but he allowed them their fiction.
The Command Center was a hive of activity as he was allowed in.
"Director, what brings you to Scarif?" General Ramda asked.
"Galen Erso." Orson responded, ignoring the man as much as possible as he strode forward, "I want every dispatch, every transmission he has ever sent called up for inspection." At the bottom of the stairs, he looked out at the tropical beaches of Scarif as his mind cataloged the best way to accomplish his task.
"All of them?" General Ramda questioned incredulously.
"Yes, all of them." Orson snapped impatiently. He turned back to General Ramda to emphasize his words, "Get started."
Orson waited impatiently by the window as the technicians worked to fulfill his request. He considered whether to begin with the most recent transmissions or the most anomalous.
"Boom!" A distant explosion pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up into time to see explosions bloom at scattered points across the horizon. Silence filled the Command Center as the echoes reached them and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Orson spun around.
"Are we blind?" He hissed furiously, "Deploy the garrison! Move!" The room burst into a flurry of motion around him.
The next few moments were frantic as reports came in from besieged pads and orders went out to reposition troops. Orson watched out the window and looked over the battle, arms crossed and stroking his chin anxiously. And just as it seemed they were turning the tide with the All Terrain Armoured Transports, Orson heard the news from behind him.
"Director, the rebel fleet, it's amassing outside the shield." He turned and hurried up the stairs.
"Lock down the base." He muttered to General Ramda, "Lock it down."
"And close the shield?" General Ramda asked mildly. Orson was ready to pull his hair out over the useless man but the situation was dire and the man was necessary.
"Do it!" He ordered.
Orson stood above it all watching the tide of the battle. The aide that had escorted him here came up to him.
"Sir, unauthorized access at the data vault." Orson turned to him.
"What?" He asked, not quite comprehending. The aide nodded.
"It's just come in, sir." He confirmed. With those words, Orson knew. He knew what they were here for. What Galen had betrayed to them. The plans! The plans for his Battle Station!
"Send my guard squadron into battle." He instructed the aide as he turned away.
"Two men with me, now." He shouted, as he headed away. He had to get the plans from the Archive. He couldn't let the rebels get anywhere near them.
"Get that beach under control!" He spat as two troopers moved into step behind him.
Orson walked through the corridors, hurried but composed. 'There was still time to fix this. To undo all the terrible things that had happened this week.' He assured himself. Then he stumbled, as his mind brought up the image of Galen's body. He shook himself and straightened. 'Undo almost everything that happened this week. Some things can't be changed.' He steeled himself and pushed the intrusive thoughts and images from his mind. He would be triumphant.
He arrived at the secondary access hatch and pushed the button. As the door slowly rose, he was surprised by the sudden spray of sparks as blaster fire hit near the door. He scrambled for his blaster as he and his troopers leaned away from the sparks and then back toward the central column. As he peered out and prepared to fire, Orson saw that inexplicably two rebels were clinging to the central column like Wookiees! He took aim at the higher one. His shot hit just above her hand and forced her to let go. Her body swung down and away from the column as she clung on one handed. Orson continued firing as she crawled away around the back of the column. Then, the other rebel took out RG-151 who collapsed backward and as Orson cringed back, IQI-865 who took a shot right to the gut. But as IQI-865 curled over from the pain, he overbalanced and fell down the central shaft. He screamed all the way down. Orson watched him fall as anger overcame him. He stepped forward, fully exposed, out in the open. He fired. His shot flew right past to the rebel's head. He shot again, his anger cold at the deaths of two good, loyal men.
"Keep going! Keep going!" The murderous rebel shouted to his companion but Orson kept firing and his shots were getting closer and closer. Then he hit him! The rebel gave a strangled scream as he was hit and fell. Orson enjoyed hearing every dull thud as the rebel's body supports all the way down to the floor.
"Cassian!" The other rebel called desperately to him. But Orson knew it didn't matter as the loud thud came as the body hit the floor. The other rebel seemed to realize this as she began to climb the central column again. Orson stepped back realizing he couldn't reach her here. He would cut her off at the top and squash this arm of the Rebellion. He stepped into the lift and sped toward the top of the tower. Nothing would stop him, not after everything he'd sacrificed for almost twenty years.
Orson was only a few corridors away when the building shook and the lights flickered. His mind briefly flicked away from his present situation to consider how the battle outside was going. Based on that tremor, not well. But he focused. He was going to take care of this rebel who had stolen the plans of his Battle Station and prove to the Emperor that he and he alone deserved control of it.
The air was smoky as he stepped out into the open platform. Before him was the rebel girl who staggered away from the destroyed end of the platform. He pointed his blaster at her as she drew closer.
"Who are you?" He demanded, and his hand shook as he stared into her eerily familiar face.
"You know who I am." She retorted, almost smugly. "I'm Jyn Erso." And it hit him, staggered him. Because she was. Of course she was. Spitting image of Lyra but with Galen's icy eyes staring out at him. And his mind connected, she had been there, on Eadu, when… He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. When Galen died.
"Daughter of Galen and Lyra. You've lost." She spat defiantly. And suddenly, for Orson, it was all the moments all those terrible moments leading up to this one.
"Jyn…" He murmured and his hand shook more. But Jyn continued, hammering the point in.
"My father's revenge. He built a flaw in the Death Star." Orson's heart sank even as Jyn kept on. Everything the last fifteen years, a lie. Any hope that Galen had softened, had forgiven him even a little, gone and now, even his Battle Station, the thing he had sacrificed everything for was...flawed, imperfect, doomed. Everything was gone except...except her. Jyn Erso, the only piece of Galen Erso left in the galaxy. He laughed, his right hand coming up to cover his face as his left hand fell to his side and the blaster fell from it and clattered to the floor. Jyn stared at him perplexed as she finished her little speech even as he bent over and his laughter took on the hint of a sob. Her words faded out into an awkward silence.
As he recovered himself and his laughter died, he straightened and let his hand fall from his face. He stared at her, drinking in her features.
"Do you know who I am?" He finally asked. But she just kept staring at him with mounting concern and confusion. He chuckled, a sad, morose, little sound and spread his arms wide.
"I'm Orson Krennic." He pronounced dramatically. She didn't respond. So, he looked her dead in the eyes and dropped his arms back to his sides.
"I'm your uncle Orson." He said and watched a glimmer of recognition enter her eyes.
"I'm your uncle Orson and I loved your father more than anything." He stated and felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders at being able to say that aloud. She gasped and shook her head. He smiled wryly.
"I realize that's not exactly something you wanted or expected to hear but you see, I've already lost as you said. Lost everything!" He exclaimed and the words echoed through the windswept platform.
" And yet, there's you." He said softly, looking at her, bold and strong and all grown up.
"He would have loved to see you." He stated, thinking regretfully of all the time Galen had lost with her because...because. And he had to admit it to himself, because of him.
"I'm so sorry he's gone." He said mournfully. And she flinched back at his words, face contorted with grief and pain.
"Shut up!" She screamed at him, cutting him off.
"Shut up!" She screamed desperately. He took a step forward, arm outreached.
"Jyn." He said comfortingly. The blast came behind and pain engulfed his left shoulder. He clutched it and collapsed to the ground, pain overwhelmed him.
"Jyn!" Orson heard the other rebel above him shout as he lay, barely conscious. Then, he heard her steps clang on the floor as she ran past him. After a moment, he heard the tower's automated message.
"Transmitting." 'Oh,' he thought as the message repeated, 'She hadn't sent them yet.' But he found he cared less as the pain grew, radiating outward.
After the message stopped, he heard a scuffle and the sound of someone's feet being pulled back on the metal grating.
"Leave it, leave it!" He heard the other rebel mutter as Jyn gave almost a sob.
"That's it. That's it." The rebel comforted.
"Let's go." Then Orson could only hear the sounds of them walking away and then faintly "I do." in Jyn's strong voice. As the sounds faded, Orson pulled together the strength to drag himself to the edge of the platform. He looked out over Scarif's idyllic beaches which still smoked from the battle and stared up into the azure sky, almost peaceful. Then he saw it as it rose over him. His life's work, his Triumph, his Battle Station. And he finally saw it for what it was, his Death Star. Large and ominous and deadly. A weak chuckle fell from his lips. The poetry of the moment getting to him. Here was Tarkin, come to take the last thing he had left using the weapon that Orson had allowed to take everything else. As the green light flashed overhead, he allowed his eyes to close and with one final breath as the explosion overtook him, he hoped that Jyn had time to get out. Then there only a flash of blinding light and searing heat, and he was gone. Consumed in the fire.