The Physics of Glitter 2/3
As it turns out, there hasn't been a dump in the history of the galaxy dumpy enough that one wouldn't somehow end up in the one pub enforcing the Empire's underage drinking ban. And on Lothal, that would be the Loth Star Canteen, where Kanan says he knows the owner, and the owner says he knows all the patrons, and the patrons would probably say to hell with the Empire. Still no Jogan foam cider for Sabine.
Granted, it's probably a good thing she's not drinking, because one of the problems with Ketsu has, in fact, been the drinking, labelled as work hard, party harder. Now that muscle fatigue has settled in, Sabine already has to concentrate if she wants to walk in a straight line. She doesn't need to embarrass herself in front of these people any further.
And it's almost more fun just watching. Hera has been nursing the same half pint of stout ever since Sabine got here. Zeb has been working his way steadily through the beer menu, showing not even the slightest sign of inebriation, which makes Sabine wonder if Lasats are maybe just biologically unaffected by alcohol. And Kanan…
Drinking-wise, Kanan has been the greatest surprise of all. He has long-since moved on from his purple Jogan foam cider and is now pondering a bright green concoction smelling of cough drops. Like Zeb, he appears extremely sober.
Meaning?
She notices Hera watching her watching Kanan, so she shrugs and looks away. Fortunately, Zeb is still in the middle of his story.
"So basically," says Zeb at this moment, "here I am, about to close a deal with a bunch of Zigurian smugglers to buy a bunch of farming equipment for our friends, all perfectly legal for a change, when, wouldn't you know it, in storms a regiment of Stormtroopers and starts scanning IDs! And the Zigurians said to me, well Mr Orrelios, would you like to buy this set of fake IDs, best last chance special discount, six thousand credits, offer valid for the next two minutes."
"Are they blind?" says Kanan.
"Exactly," says Zeb. "So I told him, no point in that, I tend to pop out in a crowd no matter what my ID says, so let me just defuse the situation my own way." With that, he takes a long sip of his Corellian ale.
"Well? What happened then?" says Sabine.
"Oh, you know, not much," says Zeb, apparently a bit surprised at being addressed.
"We don't let Zeb finish his stories anymore," says Hera with a smile.
"Yeah," says Kanan, "because they all tend to end the same way. With Zeb buggering off into the sunset, leaving behind a trail of very embarrassed Stormtroopers."
The table roars with laughter, and Sabine can't help but join in. It seems like the perfect opportunity to finally clear up a thing or two she's been wondering about.
"So are you guys actually working against the Empire?" asks Sabine. "Or are the embarrassed Stormtroopers just a side effect?"
There's a sudden silence at the table.
"What?" says Sabine. "You've been very subtle about this. A simple yes or no would suffice." She thinks for a moment. "I don't mind if you do," she adds, just in case that is the problem.
Kanan takes a dramatically exaggerated look around – no point, if there'd been any Imperial agents, Zeb's story would already have set them off, and in any case, the tables are fitted with sound scramblers.
Hera says, rather more seriously, "We are operating outside the Empire, to the benefit of people who have been put at a disadvantage by the Empire."
"Sometimes the Empire takes offense," says Kanan innocently. "That good enough for you?"
"But is that on purpose?" says Sabine. "Or just a happy accident? Or in other words, are you working to bring them down, or just okay with pissing them off?"
Chopper rattles off something.
"He's right," says Zeb. "It's not the sort of thing you just broadcast."
"Zeb!" says Hera sharply.
"In front of a room full of strangers," adds Zeb. "Is what I meant."
"You want to know whether we are associated with the rebellion," says Kanan.
"At least someone's asking the important questions," says Hera drily.
Hera and Kanan look at each other, and Sabine gets the brief but intense impression that this is already a much-discussed issue, before Hera says, quietly, "We've exchanged information with the rebellion. And we share a common belief with them that the galaxy would be better off without the Empire."
But the Empire's been around since basically forever. Sabine can't even imagine how the galaxy would be without its dark looming presence. She nods, slouches back into her chair, feeling as if she's invited Darth Vader himself to the table.
"How about you, Sabine?" asks Hera. "Where would you like this thing to go?"
Sabine swallows, not quite ready to give her opinion, not before she's found out so much more. "I don't think it's my decision, is it?" she says. "I mean, it looks like whatever you're doing is working out for you guys."
"Let's say you're working with us," says Kanan earnestly. "Everyone who's working with us gets a say –"
"– As long as they're presenting a well-reasoned argument –," Hera points out.
"– As long as they're presenting a well-reasoned argument," says Kanan. "That. If you were working with us, where would you want this to go?"
Oh, take a leap of faith, Wren, she thinks. "The Empire is behind every bad thing that has ever happened in my life," she says, looking down on the table. "I don't even know what my life would look like without it. I guess I was hoping to hear a well-reasoned argument. Where to go from here. With the Empire gone, how would I even know who I am?"
Zeb places his glass on the table with some gravitas. "'Fraid you'll have to find that out yourself," he says.
"Yeah, right," says Sabine. "Look at me, I can't even get a drink, how can I figure out my life? But." Well, better now than never. "The next operation. Can I help?"
Kanan is smiling, and despite herself, it feels Sabine with a glowing warmth. "We thought you'd never ask," he says.
In her dreams, Sabine is adrift again. It's not flying anymore, nor is it falling, just aimless floating, punctuated by sudden twists and jerks. The temperature keeps dropping, and in time, even the terrors abate.
If she has to die, let her die in space.
Yet here she is, she thinks, alive, or some approximation thereof, staring up at the ceiling. It's a long night on Lothal.
But even this one ends, and the Spectres are up and about way earlier than Sabine would have expected. There's a cheerful knock on her door –
"I'm awake," she calls out –
– and a second later, the smell of hot coffee.
"You realise that Hera is going to kill you," says Kanan in lieu of a greeting.
"It's not permanent," says Sabine, putting the finishing swirls on the bottom of the circular design. "Pretty sure. Unless the Ghost's walls contain Hfredium, which might bond with the cadmium oxide in the paint. I've got to admit I didn't check that."
"So, in other words, if you ever spray-painted a Star Destroyer, it wouldn't come off?" says Kanan. "Let me just file away that information for future use. What's that thing in there, a duck? A very round one?"
"It's a phoenix," says Sabine from her position on the floor from where she's been admiring her handiwork.
Kanan squints. "Huh, so it is," he says. "Do I get points for noticing it was a bird?"
"How are you not still in a coma?" says Sabine, slightly offended. "You drank your way through the entire rainbow last night!"
Okay, so that is not entirely fair, because, after the purple drink, the green drink, and the magenta drink, Kanan's fourth drink last night had been a three-layered Sunrise Over Lothal in yellow, red, and indigo. (Sabine had thought at least one of them should keep a tally.)
Kanan shrugs. "Coffee," he says. "That reminds me, I brought you some. Up and at it, we have an operation to plan." He looks pretty chipper about the prospect.
So they remembered they'd invited her! Sabine jumps up excitedly. Then: "Ow!"
"Sore?" he asks with some amusement.
"You wish, old man," she answers through clenched teeth. By pure willpower, she makes her body move slightly more fluidly than the average protocol droid as she strides past him towards the lobby, snatching the offered coffee out of his hand as she does so.
"So, what's the objective?" she asks on the way. "Liberating a bunch of tractors from an Imperial trial farm? Or installing air filters in the durasteel factory?"
"We are rescuing a group of prisoners before they're transferred off-world," says Kanan.
"Oh," says Sabine. "Okay. Sounds worthwhile. What are they imprisoned for?"
"Politics, I assume," says Kanan. "Our contact hasn't really elaborated on that. These off-world transports are generally just a way to get prisoners away from any local legislature that might protect them, and that's never a good sign. Anyway, that's why we need you."
Sabine swallows hard. "What for?" she asks. Her deep insight into Stormtrooper tactics? Her ability to operate an AT-ST or short-circuit a speeder bike if need be? Did he even know about any of this?
"We're gonna ambush a heavily armed Imperial transport," says Kanan. "Obviously we'll need fireworks. Try and keep up."
Later that day, they've taken the Phantom to a remote part of the plains surrounding Capital City. Sabine has dismantled a handful of their spare photon torpedoes and improved them with the contents of a brown paper bag she'd obtained at the local chemist's. Now everyone's standing back to watch as she remotely sets off the first one.
"Nice," says Hera. "Exactly what we need. The Empire will have kittens over this."
Next to her, Kanan looks more sceptical as he scratches his beard. "Almost what we need," he said. "Don't you think?"
"I wanted to make them more colourful," says Sabine. "I have all the stuff here, give me half an hour."
"The colour is fine," says Kanan. "It's supposed to look like a photon torpedo attack. But what this operation really needs is some glitter."
"Glitter," says Sabine. "Not personally opposed to glitter, but. Why?"
"Kanan's right," says Hera, after some consideration. "This needs glitter. Or a musical effect."
Even Chopper contributes his opinion.
"Yeah," says Zeb. "Or maybe just a smell that makes everyone want to go far away." Apparently, he, too, is in on the secret.
"If anything, I get it even less now," says Sabine, as the last of the sparkles diffuse in the dusty air.
"We're exploding them on High Street," says Hera. "In the middle of a crowd."
"But they're not dangerous," says Sabine. "I've even made them quieter by four orders of magnitude. A speeder bike would be louder than that."
"But they're still very loud and, importantly, they still look like photon torpedo explosions," says Kanan patiently. "The last thing we want is to cause a big panic. Or – " he looks over the remaining torpedoes , " – six individual panics. That will get people hurt."
"So what we want is something that looks really dangerous from afar and really silly from up close, is that what you're telling me?" says Sabine.
It does make a lot of sense. Sabine is just not used to thinking about explosions from the point of view of someone who might be scared of explosions. But then, she's not as bad as Ketsu, who would have just rolled her eyes at their concern.
"Like Darth Vader?" says Zeb.
"I don't even know what he looks like from up close," says Kanan. "I make a point of starting to run in the other direction as soon as he's in the same quadrant."
"Do you know what Darth Vader looks like from up close, Zeb?" asks Sabine.
"No, I employ much the same sophisticated strategy as Kanan," says Zeb. "But the thought keeps me happy. I like to imagine him with jug ears and spinach stuck to his teeth."
"Can we please concentrate on what's important right now," says Hera. "Glitter. Sabine, any ideas on what we could use?"
"I don't suppose the Phantom has any particle-based tractor beam confounders?" say Sabine. "They are designed to scatter light. It would be beautiful."
"Nah," says Zeb. "Could we melt some of the sand with the blasters? Make glass particles?"
"That would actually make the fireworks more dangerous," Sabine points out.
"Oh, yeah."
"I could probably get some glitter when we're back in the city," says Sabine, "but we wouldn't have time to test the diversion again."
"Not good," says Kanan. "Hera?"
"Well you know me," says Hera. "I have a thing about detonating anything in the middle of a crowd without knowing what it does. Sabine, how certain are you that these things will work exactly as predicted?"
Sabine hesitates. But if she ever wants these guys to take her seriously, she needs to be honest.
Even if it comes across as bragging. So here goes. "A hundred per cent," she says.
"Really now?"
"What? I said I'm a weapons expert," says Sabine. "Normally, I would run comprehensive tests of any addition to an existing system before I use it, but we are talking about glitter. I can predict the mean glitter density at any point within a half-kilometre sphere around the origin, down to ten particles per cubic metre, is that good enough? Or, in other words, do you trust me?"
That last question, she realises belatedly, really just kind of came out with the rest, probably because the question has become so entangled with her thoughts over the last month.
It probably had to be asked at some point, just maybe not now.
Unfortunately, the reaction is not the uniform "Yes!" she would have liked. Zeb scratches his head. Chopper rasps off something incomprehensive. Kanan, as he often does, looks over at Hera.
"I said the fireworks were good, and that was the tricky part, wasn't it?" says Hera. "I vote yes and we go over to the next part of the agenda."
"Which was what?" asks Zeb.
"After we have set off the fireworks, we will have to get past a bunch of Imperial tanks," says Hera in a conversational tone.
"Yeah," says Kanan. "That."
The operation doesn't go as planned. Of course not. But that's got nothing to do with the fireworks, which go off beautifully. Chopper is their contact on the ground, and the video he transmits over the comlink are rather uplifting: the sparklers go off with a bit of a bang, then, when they're three metres above the ground, the glitterbomb pops, sending millions of pink, heart-shaped reflective particles flying.
Some pedestrians are laughing. Some are grumbling. Little kids are trying to catch the glitter hearts in their fists. Grown men are trying and failing to get it out of their hair and clothes. A black-haired teen is using the confusion to steal a bag of Jogan fruits. But importantly, no-one is panicking.
Except for the Imperials.
Sabine and Kanan are, for the moment, lying low on a flat rooftop belonging to a one-storey building, beneath the large air conditioning units on top. Down below on the market square, the Imperial convoy has been crawling along through the busy market, but now it stops dead.
They've planned this meticulously. The typical response time for a diversion this big should be about twelve minutes. Most of the Imperial troops are still amassed at the garrison, but it's too far away to deal with this efficiently. Six concurrent explosions in the middle of the city should therefore draw at least some troops from the convoy.
Kanan is on his stomach, watching the convoy through macrobinoculars. Meanwhile, Sabine is keeping an eye on the only way up to the roof, in case any Imperials get the idea to check out this perfect observation point.
"Something's odd," Kanan says over their comlink channel. "Spectre One to Spectre Four, any idea?"
"Looks fine to me," Zeb's voice rasps through the channel. He is positioned on a rooftop opposite them. "They're reacting a bit slow today, aren't they?"
"As soon as the tanks have left the square, Spectre Five and I are going down," says Kanan. "Timing is key. They won't need long to figure out it's a diversion, so we'll need to be out of here when they return."
"Copy that, Spectre One," says Zeb. "I've got your back."
"Spectre One to Spectre Two," says Kanan. "All clear?"
"Spectre Two here. I'm in position," says Hera over the comlink. "Pickup in fifteen, holler if you get in trouble. What did you mean, something's odd?"
"Just a feeling," says Kanan.
"I hate it when you say that, Spectre One" says Hera. "Estimated T0 is in seven minutes, so get to the bottom of it."
"It's the BT-7 tanks," says Kanan after a moment. "In a standard operation, they would be at the rear of the convoy, but they are not. And they look weird. Is there an upgrade we missed?"
Sabine looks up.
"Nevermind, they're clearing the square," says Kanan. "Earlier than expected. Timing update: two and a half minutes to T0. Spectre Four, looks like I'm going down on the East side of the building. Spectre Five is going down North. Spectre Five, you can stop watching that door now and get in position."
Sabine has, in fact, stopped watching that door. Instead, she has her helmet's built-in macros fixed on the Imperial convoy, specifically on the tanks, trying to make out what on earth has tripped Kanan's suspicions. Whatever it is, it must be really subtle.
"Copy that, Spectre One," says Zeb. "Good luck, Spectres."
"Get ready to jump, Spectre Five," says Kanan. "You're not in position yet." If he's impatient with the crew's youngest member, however, he's not showing it. Yet.
"One minute, Spectre One," says Sabine, trying to lay maximum urgency and minimum panic into her voice. "I need to see that upgrade you mentioned."
"Cutting it really close, Spectre Five" says Kanan. "Hurry."
Sabine looks so hard she fears she might get cross-eyed. The BT-7 tanks do look only slightly off. That is, until one of them turns into the light of the setting sun and she can make out the characteristic shape of the radio receiver at the rear.
"Ready in forty-five seconds," says Kanan.
"A BT-7 AX," says Sabine. "I've never even seen one of them outside of blueprints. Certainly wouldn't have expected them on Lothal."
"How substantial is that upgrade, Spectre Five?" says Hera over the comlink.
"It's probably fine," says Sabine. "Most of these upgrades are cosmetic."
Artillery manufacturers want to make money, too. It's not an entirely appropriate moment to be wracking her brain about what makes the BT-7 AX superior over the standard BT-7.
"Ready?" says Kanan.
But what does irritate her is how expensive she remembers these babies to be. Certainly not even the Empire would be shelling out this kind of money for nothing. Right?
There's a task at hand, Wren! "Ready," replies Sabine, despite herself.
It's probably good that she's still a bit sore from her run two days ago. She makes off to the Northern edge, a split second slower than she would normally be, and then it hits her.
Trouble.
They're in big, big trouble.
She turns, and she sees Kanan already running towards the Eastern edge. For a tiny moment, Sabine can just stare. That man can run!
"STOP," she shouts, but already she understands that the laws of physics will not allow Kanan to stop in time. The rest is instinct. The quickest way to stop Kanan before he jumps into the crowd is, unfortunately, to bullet into him at a full run as he passes her. So she does just that. It'll take considerable force, considering he has about sixty pounds on her, and that means considerable speed for her –
She'll be sore for weeks after this, she thinks numbly –
– But she makes it, and they collide into a bit of a heap right at the edge of the roof.
Heaven only knows what that sounded like over the comlink, because the reaction is prompt.
"Spectre Two to Spectre One," says Hera. "What the hell happened there?"
"Spectre One here," mumbles Kanan, when he catches his breath. "I'm not entirely sure."
Air knocked out of her, Sabine tries to speak, but the first attempt goes nowhere. The second is more successful.
"Spectre Five here," she says. "Code two. Code six. … Code one. … Right?" Kanan looks down on her with some confusion, then raises his own comlink. "Spectre One here. Code one confirmed."
Well, he's allowed to be a bit surprised. Code two means 'pickup cancelled'. Code six means 'cease all transmissions, we are being intercepted'. And considering what they had been transmitting so for, Code one had just sounded like a good idea to Sabine.
Code one means 'abort mission'.
The message is answered only by three clicks, as Hera, Zeb, and Chopper switch off their comlinks.
Sabine's head sinks. "Oof," she says. "You're heavy."
"Apologies," says Kanan drily, extricating himself from the heap. He reaches around with gloved hands until he has collected a long metal cylinder that has gone flying in the collision. "Explain yourself?"
He doesn't seem angry. Instead, he has picked up the macros again, scans the crowd for anything unusual that Sabine might have picked up. Meanwhile the optimal timepoint to ambush is passing in front of their eyes.
"That BT-7 AX," starts Sabine, trying to clear her mind from what she has just witnessed. She'll have to think about that metal cylinder later. Much later. Maybe never.
"I remembered," she says. "It's not a mere upgrade. It's a mobile battle station, developed for the Imperial Guard. The on-board system supports real-time code decryption and source localisation, and the battle coordination software can handle enhanced crowd control and," she catches her breath, "coordination of air support."
"Air support?" says Kanan. "No-one said anything about air support! This is a dead-end Imperial garrison on a backwater planet, not a high-level security facility. They're not exactly sending their best and brightest here."
"As I said," says Sabine. "I think they upgraded. They must have plans for Lothal."
She stares up into the cloudless blue sky. "And here they are," she says softly, as TIE fighters come roaring out of nowhere.
Fortunately, they are still under cover of the gigantic air conditioning units. Kanan is back to lying on his stomach, scanning the market place.
"And there we see the enhanced crowd control, I think," he says. "Good call, Sabine."
Sabine can see he's right. Within minutes, the square has been almost cleared from civilians. TIEs are roaring overhead, and a cordon of Stormtroopers is tightening around the convoy in the middle, which is exactly where they would be right now. Totally exposed.
Trapped.
"Think they had time to track the signal to our location?" says Kanan.
"We're using a pretty good signal scattering algorithm," says Sabine, "but unfortunately, they're using a pretty good signal refocusing algorithm. On the whole, I wouldn't count on them not to."
"Okay, good," says Kanan. "I was feeling like running away."
To be continued.