Spacefarers sparked Ezra's imagination from his earliest years, the way they wove their missions into epics about sailing past nebulae or planetary ice rings or purrgil. They left nothing but stars in his eyes to match the night sky and inspired jealousy and awe in equal parts.
He never expected to embark on a journey himself one day, and he especially never expected it to start like this.
Upon Hera's glowing review of her new ship, she took her few belongings stashed at the inn and ran them to the ship with all the speed of a wanted criminal. Kix returned from work not long after, and he packed up his possessions, checking the streets carefully before heading for the spaceport himself. There was nothing exciting, nothing adventurous about sneaking around.
Somewhere in there, someone told Ezra to get his things—it might've been Kix, or Jho, or the voice in the back of his head. Ezra didn't check the area for stormtroopers like everyone else; not when someone in black armor could be lurking down the next alley, or watching from the last rooftop. The ominous overlapping shadows latticing his path urged him to run until he was well out of reach of the city. Out here, one sweeping gaze assured him no one hid amid the rustling expanse of the planes surrounding him. Only the abandoned communications tower he'd made into a home loomed tall—an immediate reassurance of safety.
A familiarity of seven years welcomed Ezra back like a snug embrace, even though his tower boasted less comforts than Jho's Inn. His small lamp scattered the snugness with stark, cold light; his home looked a little different now that he was seeing it for possibly the last time.
Ezra gravitated toward the security chest sitting atop the defunct transmission console—the chest had been here since the night Vos died. Ezra luckily caught the code when Vos entered it and now freely opened the chest whenever he wanted, like every night after work to look—just to look. The lightsaber still made Ezra's hand tingle and he hadn't quite plucked up the courage yet to really inspect Vos'—his—things. But Ezra braved the prickling sensation to retrieve the lightsaber from among the clutter, along with the only other thing that wasn't in the same junk category as broken datapads and scrap metal: a blue and gold cube. His backpack hid his treasures, followed by the few clothes he owned, piece by piece, as he discovered each article strewn on the floor or between his sizeable collection of Imperial helmets. Stormtroopers, AT-AT pilots, even a single TIE pilot helmet that was more of a chance discovery than a planned theft. Since the Empire had taken his parents, it was only fair that Ezra took from the Empire, anything he could get his hands on. It would never be an equal trade, but then again he was only a fourteen-year-old on Lothal.
Ezra added to his backpack a couple tools he'd acquired along the way, mostly to attempt to fix his small portable stove that still never quite warmed the food he brought home from the inn.
With a heavy sigh, Ezra took in his home one last time. The space had grown smaller over the years, but that just meant everything had been easily accessible. It had been a perfect size for a kid living all by himself. He turned off the lamp and stepped out onto the walkway that ringed the tower, whose view of Lothal City made up for the long commute.
The city sat twinkling in the night, peaceful at this distance and a comforting sight for Ezra on more than one occasion. He took it all in with a desire to remember it. On this night he said goodbye, faces of people he was leaving behind eclipsed the memories he'd created in his home.
There were only a couple of people that came to mind when Ezra contemplated making others proud of him, and now, inexplicably, Vos occupied that space, too. Ezra knew it was stupid—dangerous, even—to get attached to a stranger; he hadn't warmed up to someone so fast since his parents…
With a lump in his throat, Ezra cut off that line of thought before it reached a conclusion.
Ezra ran back across the grassy plains and into the city, all musing pushed from his mind, leaving more space for focus—focusing on the shadows where someone could lurk, or on the city sounds in case someone in black armor approached. His fear didn't let up until the spaceport lights came into view, shining on a welcome silhouette.
Jho stood waiting at the entrance, a little out of place with all the glances he cast up and down the street. Ezra ran right up to him.
"I was hoping to see you before you took off," he said, and for once Ezra saw a strange sadness in his eyes. "I'm gonna miss you, Ezra, but I hope you find what you're looking for."
Ezra's breath hitched. For all the nights he spent dreaming of leaving Lothal far behind on some exciting adventure, here he was, shaking at the thought he might never come back.
"Kix'll take good care of you, don't you worry," Jho assured him.
Eyes stinging, Ezra threw his arms around the one person who had made sure he survived over the past seven years. The only person in Lothal City who knew his birthday, and who tried to make a bigger deal of it than of Empire Day. The only person to give an orphan teenager on Lothal a chance.
"Thanks, Jho. I'll miss you, too," Ezra said, amazed he kept a sob out of his voice. "I'll bring you back some of the treasure, I promise."
Jho chuckled. "Hurry along, they're all packed up."
Ezra walked into the spaceport with a hesitancy. Barely two meters inside, he looked back. The entrance was empty; Jho didn't stay needlessly to be found by roving stormtroopers. With a breath to steady himself, Ezra pressed on.
Hera's ship—a light freighter nowhere near the size Ezra had envisioned—sat in its own hangar bay, light shining down the boarding ramp like a beacon. All of Ezra's childhood dreams of spacefaring adventures came flooding back to mind, sparking a reverential awe of the time honored tradition he was about to be a part of.
Then he boarded.
The excitement dimmed upon finding Lando and Kix leaning on several supply crates in the cargo bay, chatting casually.
"...And that's how I met the princess of Pantora!" Lando bragged with a cocky grin.
"Can't say I've heard of a green Pantoran before," Kix said, rubbing his goatee. "Sure it wasn't a Mirialan pulling a fast one?"
"Boys!" snapped Hera's voice from somewhere overhead; both men looked up. "Enough shamming—I need those crates clear of the ramp before we take off!"
Motivation grabbed Kix… and only Kix. "You got it, Captain!" He passed Ezra to singlehandedly haul supply crates further into the safety of the large bay—and from the outside, the ship hadn't looked like it had such room for storage.
Ezra continued into the bay to find Hera descending from a walkway stretching along the wall, just above the ramp entrance.
"So," came the all too friendly tones of Hera's not-friend once his attention fell on Ezra. "You must be the boy with the map. I don't believe we've been formally introduced! Name's Lando Calrissian, entrepreneur and financier. Nice to make your acquaintance."
"Ezra," he said. He shook Lando's hand, suddenly aware of how his own name sounded so bland in comparison. "Ezra Bridger."
Hera stopped at his shoulder and looked at him with the most interest Ezra had ever garnered from her.
"All clear," Kix said.
Hera's lekku bounced as she double checked his handiwork for herself. "Get ready for takeoff, then. And I'd suggest anyone that can't be found by the Empire hides." She scaled the ladder out of the cargo bay like she'd climbed it all her life, leaving Kix and Lando to argue over who that applied to more.
"The reason I put up with Hera's steep prices is because I've tried to sneak past the Empire one too many times," Lando said. "I really shouldn't show my face in the Imperial Complex of all places."
"I worked there," said Kix. "If they see me leaving they'll send TIEs after us—and that's just if they want to stick to the basic protocol." It wasn't enough that the Empire had blackened the city with their machinery and industry; they had to blacken the sky with their fighter ships as well.
"Fine!" Ezra snapped at two men hardly acting like adults. "I'll be the one to load the cargo, I guess."
Lando patted his shoulder. "Good man. You'll go places with that initiative!" Both he and Kix climbed out of the cargo bay as Hera's voice floated over the comms to brace for liftoff. The boarding ramp rising flush with the hull was the final reminder that his life was about to change, and his exhale shuddered as much as the freighter did coming to life.
Ships arriving and departing were a daily, sometimes hourly, occurrence around a place like Lothal City. The way they gently rose into the air was something Ezra dreamed of experiencing—and then the first rattle of the floor slammed him onto his backside. He scrambled back to his feet and hopped onto the nearest crate to sit for the rest of the flight. Other ships flying off never looked like they shook as badly as this one did. Ezra's teeth chattered in time with the ship until they leveled out—and in shocking comparison, their cruising—lacking any jolting—could've convinced Ezra they were on solid ground again.
"We're landing," Hera's voice echoed in the bay once more, not even a minute into the newfound tranquility. "I hope somebody stayed to load cargo?"
"Yep!" Ezra shouted as loud as he could, not quite sure where the comm speakers were located. "Got it covered!" He slid his backpack off and tossed it behind a crate—one less thing for any Imperials to be tempted to take.
Ezra assumed that the rough drop followed by a hard shudder meant landing was complete. He slid off the crate as the boarding ramp lowered. He'd never seen Imperial Headquarters so close before, and the sudden proximity to it gave him pause. The lights flooding the outer landing pad shone even harsher up close, illuminating every stormtrooper to walk underneath while also creating an inorganic haze. Ezra could barely see the crates inside the nearby supply bay, or the parked TIE fighter at the opposite end of the landing platform.
Much closer, at the bottom of the ramp, stood two Imperial officers with a pair of stormtroopers behind them. In the middle of the group was a green Rodian—bleached an almost sickly pale under the lights.
Ezra inched down the boarding ramp, looking for anything resembling crates or supplies. "Evening, folks," he said, hoping the quivering in his voice was just residual vibration from the landing. "We're here for cargo?"
One officer produced a datapad. "Transport CG-85-181, we need your confirmation of your acceptance of the shipment." It was amazing the man held it out in Ezra's actual direction when his hat was pulled so low over his eyes.
"What shipment?" Ezra asked. Just as the second officer reached for his personal communicator, Hera descended the ramp.
"I'll take that, thanks. Sorry, the kid's not actually crew; doesn't know procedure." She tapped the screen a couple times and the datapad spit out a card.
"The Rodian's still in the data transfer stage; don't interact with him," the first officer said with curt disdain. Ezra had only found out in the past couple years that disdain was different from their regular accents; before that he assumed they were one and the same.
Hera snatched the card. "Of course. We'll get him to the destination safe and sound." She took the Rodian by the arm and guided him into the cargo bay. With the way his head lolled, probably from the weight of the blocky implant wrapped around the back of it, he hardly seemed aware of his surroundings.
Hera pocketed the datacard as she closed the boarding ramp. "Take him to the main cabin, make sure he's… secured," she instructed Ezra.
"He's the shipment?"
"He's the shipment," she said darkly. Hera scaled out of the bay leaving Ezra to herd their new passenger to the ladder. The Rodian's head tipped in Ezra's direction, blank eyes landing on him. Ezra took a step back as something about those features sparked a long forgotten recognition.
"…Tseebo?"
…
"Lando Calrissian!" Hera shouted from the cockpit. Half the toggles to prep for liftoff had already been switched by the time she fell into the pilot's seat—the sooner they left the stifling backdrop of the Empire, the better.
"I haven't heard my name called like that since the last time I upset my mother," he said, entering almost a minute later. "Sweet woman; terrible temper. Ah! You need a co-pilot! I'm delighted to assist." He claimed the seat next to her at the controls but his entire focus landed on her, heavy as a Hutt.
She hardly took her eyes off the sky as she piloted her new ship into the darkening atmosphere. "Be straight with me—"
"Absolutely."
"What exactly did you agree to do for the Empire?"
"I told you we were picking up a shipment, didn't I?"
"I was expecting actual cargo! Crates—supplies!"
"No need to feel like I duped you, Captain. Imperials hire civilian contractors to supplement their own logistical operations all the time! For instance, they had no ships headed to Raxus even though they desperately needed to move personnel there. So I applied for the job with a name that carries more credibility to our fine dominating friends than 'Lando Calrissian' and they accepted us!"
"That Rodian isn't just personnel—he's intel. He's got all the secrets of the Empire in that implant of his!"
Lando arched one brow. He leaned closer, his entire attitude sliding from flirtatious to curious. "And how does a pilot such as yourself come across this insight into the inner workings of the Empire?"
Hera stiffened. "I thought it was common knowledge."
Just as she glanced back to yell for Chopper, her droid rolled into the cockpit as if on queue. While the sheerest tint of blue still veiled the sparkle of countless stars, he plugged into the wall to commence his hyperspace calculation to Raxus, leaving Lando time to look Hera over.
"And what's got someone in your situation so interested in Imperial intel, Captain?"
"It's always worth something."
"True, that's why we have a job currently."
"Worth even more to those for whom it's not intended."
It was Lando's turn to stiffen. In fact this was the first time Hera had seen him come close to looking uncomfortable. "I don't think I like what you're implying, Hera. I know you've been out to work your way into that rebellion"—and Hera racked her brain trying to remember how or when she let that slip—"but you're not using this job as your entry ticket. We'll complete our delivery to the Empire without burning yet another one of my aliases, if you don't mind."
…
Enticing Tseebo up the ladder was a failed attempt more than once. Luckily, as Ezra explored further into the cargo bay, he found a ramp that dropped from the ceiling, leading straight to the main corridor. Tseebo managed to shuffle his way up into the common room, only colliding with the doorway and another ladder, first.
Kix popped up from a semicircular couch and attempted to lead Tseebo to sit down by the time Ezra followed. When Hera's announcement came over the comm that they were about to jump to hyperspace, Tseebo pushed away from Kix, rushed to the ladder and climbed it with more dexterity than Ezra thought him capable of. His expression still looked vacant, but he was on the upper floor in two seconds. Ezra scaled after him.
"Tseebo, what are you doing?" he called, scrambling to his feet on the next level. He found himself in a low-lit corridor, with a door blocking the way further down. Ezra walked through it to find himself inside the auxiliary ship he'd stowed away in earlier, hiding in a wall compartment. Tseebo occupied the single pilot's char. Beyond the viewport sat Lothal, an orb wrapped in blue. Ezra's breath hitched, and he neared the front of the ship, his eyes taking in his world. He'd never been this far from home ever, let alone dreamt he'd get this vantage of it. A second later it was gone, replaced by the blackness of space streaked with white and blue.
Ezra's mouth dropped, and he shook in the newfound, instant coldness of space. An aching longing in the back of his mind wondered if he'd ever see his home again, overpowering that strange twinge of deja vu.
…
For the rest of the day, Maketh Tua had worked on every other task besides contacting the inquisitors, just in case the missing one—Ninth Brother, was it?—had the decency to come crawling back to the Imperial Complex. He didn't.
The waning moons sat far higher in the sky than she was used to seeing from her office window, but the time converter on her monitor assured her business hours were just dawning on Coruscant. Her hand wavered as she plugged in the contact information to the mini holoterminal weighing down her desk. She'd never contacted this side of the Empire, though she'd heard things. Unverifiable rumors were what made Maketh glad that Governor Pryce previously fielded any and all of these communication tasks. But as the Governor was currently off planet, it was up to Maketh to deal with the inquisitors.
A blue hologram flickered to life of a figure in sleek armor resembling an Imperial uniform. Maketh would've assumed him a bald human if not for the prominent markings on his face—sharp lines jutting from his eyes down his cheeks, and a minimalistic design stabbing across his elongated forehead. He opened his mouth and displayed sharp teeth.
"This is the Grand Inquisitor, what is it?"
"I am Minister Maketh Tua of Lothal. I'm reporting that the inquisitor you sent here hasn't checked in in over two days. Attempts to contact him have all failed."
"We have many inquisitors on missions, you must be more specific than that."
"The Ninth."
The Grand Inquisitor's expression snapped into one of immediacy, a change even more startling with his piercing eyes—white hot irises burning in blackness. "Lothal, you say? I will investigate this personally. Expect my arrival."
The holocall blinked out, leaving Maketh to sit with mouth dropping. This wasn't at all what she intended. If anything, she assumed the inquisitors would accept the news of a missing member with stoic apathy and proceed to forget all about it with, at most, a promise to "look into things." After all, she'd only known one inquisitor, and stoic apathy was by far his most defining trait.
…
Everyone aboard the Ghost—what Hera named her freighter two minutes after Lando handed it over—freely moved about exploring the ship during their smooth hyperspace journey. Except for Tseebo. He sat in the middle of the couch in the main cabin, eyes fixated on the dejarik table in front of him and utterly unresponsive to anything or anyone.
Ezra returned every so often to confirm that Tseebo hadn't moved. After the crew had divided the four sleeping cabins among the four of them and Ezra had moved his single backpack into his cabin, he poked his head into the main room to find Hera sitting on the edge of the couch, watching the Rodian.
Ezra shuffled closer. "Has he said anything?"
Hera shook her head, an action much more exaggerated with such animated lekku. She looked at Ezra with interest now, almost identical to how Vos had looked at him, minus the tingling hands. It hit Ezra just as hard, though, to think her expressions had never reacted to him as anything other than a nuisance before. "When you talked to Lando, did you say your last name was Bridger?"
"Yeah," Ezra said, sure Hera had to have known that. But then again the first time he met her was more of a sales pitch than an actual introduction.
"Any relation to the Lothal rebels who sent out anti-Imperial messages years ago?"
"If you're talking seven plus years ago, then yeah, those were my parents." Ezra shifted a little, not quite sure what to do with any part of him.
Hera offered a restrained smile. "That was the first time I realized people were banding together and resisting the Empire. It's the reason I came to the Lothal system in the first place, I expected to find a rebel group here. But I never did."
"Those rebels split after the Empire found my parents and took them away," Ezra muttered. He couldn't remember any of their names, but a few faces came to mind. Mostly human. People he didn't see once word got out that the Bridgers had been arrested. No one came back to check on their only child.
"Do you know if any operations continued?" Hera asked, interest shining in her eyes. "Perhaps through friends of your parents?"
"I don't know!" Ezra snapped. "Ask Tseebo, he knew them!" And with that, he stomped off for the cabin he claimed as his own, leaving Hera alone with the unresponsive Rodian.
"Who's Tseebo?" she sighed.
With no chronometer among his sparse belongings, Ezra had no idea how long he fumed in his bunk, turning Vos' cube over in his hands.
No one on Lothal—not Jho, not anyone who visited the inn—ever mentioned his parents after the Empire took them. And no one especially mentioned what they had been up to before their arrest for fear of sounding complicit. So to have a stranger—an offworlder—build a conversation around his parents was a harsher jolt than the Ghost lifting off.
The tiny voice in the back of his head, eagerly happy at the fact that their risks had reached people, was drowned out by the dark spiral his mind took. Ezra had never considered it before, but everyone, absolutely everyone he knew, was content to act like his parents were dead rather than abducted, as it saved people the additional risk of righting anything. Assuming his parents were dead meant no one had to approach the Imperials about following the justice system, or mount some sort of rescue plan. No one had to care about them.
With his stomach already long since dropped into sloshing misery, a cold realization weighed on Ezra. He had also assumed they were dead, just to save himself from thinking about them suffering at the hands of the Empire these last seven years. He'd failed them, too, just like all his parents' friends. But certainly after seven years… the Empire wouldn't have kept them around for so long, would they?
Ezra perked up at only the smallest hopeful thought stirring in his mind. The best person to ask would be someone inside the Empire, who was now on the ship with them.
…
Hera sat chatting at the galley table with Kix when a blaring alerted her they were coming upon their destination. She took off sprinting for the cockpit, tattooed lekku flying behind her, to reach her destination a full four seconds later. She'd have to work on that.
She eased the Ghost out of hyperspace—and what a wonderful feeling it was to control her own ship in some other system than Lothal—to be greeted by a beautiful blue and green planet. Halfway between herself and the planet floated a detachment of Star Destroyers, easily overlooked in the vastness of space except for people who intuitively recognized their shape.
Hera broadcasted her Imperial-granted clearance code before she flew close enough to spook them. A curt voice hailed her, informing her that the destroyer she needed was breaking away to meet them.
Kix joined her, taking up the co-pilot's seat by the time the intercepting destroyer was plainly in view. "I've always wanted to see the inside of those models."
"Then today is not your day. I'm taking the Phantom over," Hera decided.
"By yourself?"
Hera flashed him a look. A crew was something she'd have to get used to. "Chopper's in charge until I get back. He's the first mate." Droid laughter broke out ominously from a dark corner in the cockpit.
Kix's words followed her into the hall: "I thought I was the first mate…"
She found the Rodian on the couch where she left him—and Ezra right next to him.
"Time to go," she said.
"Wait—no! He's just starting to talk!" Ezra cried and scooted closer to the Rodian, who at least blinked now.
"You're not supposed to be interacting with him," Hera said. A flare of worry colored her tone, wondering if any communication could unravel all the Rodian's settings, and impact the mission. After all, it was the only instruction they received from the Imperials on Lothal—Ezra had to have heard it.
Hera pulled their cargo to his feet just as Lando entered the main cabin.
"Don't worry, Captain, as the first mate, I'll see that everything runs—"
"Chopper's the first mate!" she snapped.
Tseebo remained undisruptive during the short flight to the Star Destroyer docking bay, but his silent interest in taking everything in somehow unnerved Hera more than if he'd been noisy.
The bottom of the Star Destroyer opened like a maw to swallow the Phantom whole, and inside Hera found a free spot to land among the evenly spaced TIE fighters. Tseebo's eyes widened—if that was possible—at the Imperial infrastructure, and as Hera took his arm to lift him, cried, "Empire! Tseebo must… must warn Ezra Bridger!"
"Yeah, the Empire's bad news," Hera said, "but don't drop his name to these people." She lowered the boarding ramp and pulled Tseebo out with her to find a single Imperial approaching, a young female in a brown uniform who had to be even shorter than Hera. Hera cast a glance around, but from what she could see past the standing TIEs, no one else was coming their way. Glimpses of shiny white armor weren't any closer than the far doorways.
"CG-85-181?" the girl asked, reading off a datapad.
Hera propped her free hand on her hip. "Yeah, but are cadets allowed to receive shipments?"
The girl's head shot up at that, brown eyes flashing from under her low-brimmed hat. "I'm Lieutenant Wren, supervisor of all non-human employees." She held out her hand, and Hera relinquished the datacard given by the Lothal Imperials. The lieutenant went to work authorizing the card on her datapad while Hera looked her over, deciding with a frown that she'd dislike working for someone so young, just for not being human.
"What are you, like, fourteen?" Hera asked.
The lieutenant's dark bob actually bounced this time as her gaze snapped up once more. "Seventeen," she said with a truly unprofessional scoff. "Not that it's any of your business. I graduated early, okay?"
Tseebo blinked free of his vegetative state and said something then, but to Hera's relief, it was completely in his own language, Rodese. He rambled a bit, working himself up, but unlike other Imperials who would've yelled at Tseebo for veering from Basic, Lieutenant Wren watched him with a quiet patience.
"Intindini," she said, then went on to reply to him in what must've been the same language. Tseebo calmed.
A murky, sinking feeling in Hera's stomach grew to the size of a gaping pit when Wren turned to her. "He says he has information about the rebel-aligned parents of a boy you're traveling with."
The color drained from Hera's face. She considered shoving Tseebo into the lieutenant just to have a few seconds head start to fly away, but Hera wasn't that desperate yet.
Wren looked Hera up and down. "Are you with the rebellion?"
"Listen," huffed Hera, "I don't know what you're trying to pull by accusing me of anything—for all I know, this Rodian is just reciting the… the Jedi Code!"
Wren shot a gaze around the hangar bay, and Hera's hand flattened against Tseebo's back, just ready to push.
"Lower your voice!" the lieutenant hissed. "Are you completely new at this?!"
Hera braced herself. Her lekku were already shivering, but that could've been from the offensive coldness the Empire tolerated in space.
"If you're really with the rebellion, I want you to take me with you," Wren said. Her brown eyes were wide—and serious. The innocence of her years wasn't something Hera expected to find wearing an Imperial uniform. Either the lieutenant was being brutally honest, or she was way too skilled at being deceptive for only seventeen years of age.
"I've seen how low the Empire will sink to root out their enemies. Even if I was with the rebellion, I wouldn't pick you up."
The lieutenant sighed. "That's fair." She finalized her datapad tapping and pulled her commlink from her uniform. "Cargo received, all green. CG-85-181 is clear to depart."
A confirmation responded and the payment transferred over, all the while Wren kept her eyes locked on Hera. The lieutenant offered back the datacard.
"Your payment, all on here." She tossed her commlink to the side, letting it skate out of hearing. "I'm officially defecting, and you're my best chance to get away alive. I'd beg if it'd help, but I think my colleagues would notice."
Hera glanced around, but still the only stormtroopers remained on the far side of the bay, not even periodically glancing her way. Her reasoning didn't depend on logic so much as it did hope—hope that a girl as young as seventeen wasn't so ensnared by the Empire that she would so thoroughly and decisively lead Hera into a trap.
Her mouth felt dry. There was only one correct choice to make, and Hera had no idea which option it was.
"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant."