Was instantly awoken by a blaster poking into her temple. She'd barely closed her eyes.
"What the—?" She groaned, sat up, kicked her feet off the dash. Looking up, she saw only brightness, furious, orange. The star destroyer was being scattered far and wide, and was burning up in the planet's atmosphere. Is she squinted, she could see a few dozen metal objects glinting in the fierce afterglow: fighters. They'd evidently escaped and were plummeting towards the planet's surface.
As was she.
When she refocused, she saw more than the exploding ship up above.
And she remembered the blaster.
She was instantly alert, upright, glaring, ready, and she looked down the barrel of the blaster. She tried not to flinch, she tried not to sweat. But she was scared.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, sniffing.
"I'm reminding you that I never got to finish that interrogation."
The smarm, the self-confidence, made her shiver. She could do little but stare. "Really? You want to do this now?"
Krennic glowered at her, and she withered. "I am an Imperial officer, and you will show me some respect."
She sighed, ran a hand through her hair. "I don't mean to be disrespectful," she said, groaning; she began drumming her fingers on the dash. "I mean to let you know that we're in a shuttle that's about to land on this planet."
"Then get out of the way and let me take the controls."
She frowned, focused on that word let. He seemed to be acquiescing somewhat there. Somewhat.
"Have you looked at the fuel gauge?"
He blinked, sighed. "The tank must've been pierced by flying debris."
She nodded, happy to agree to that, at least. "Probably from your exploding star destroyer."
His mouth fell open, and he almost dropped the blaster. He craned his neck, looked up through the canopy, a frown furrowing on his brow. "Oh, no," he mouthed. "How could this—?"
"You don't know?" she asked, confused. She watched as he flopped down into the seat beside her: the co-pilot's seat.
He shook his head, adjusted his cape. "Of course I know," he quipped. "Rebels. Again."
He cast his gaze over at the dash, seemed to be looking at the numerous displays. He pressed a few controls, and the ship was losing airspeed. He could sense her unease, her anxiety, and yet he said nothing. Simply carried on. In a moment, there was a thud, and then everything was quiet.
They'd landed.
"Thanks," she muttered. She had been meaning to start landing procedures herself but she was happy for him to think he'd done her a favour. For the time being.
"Why are you surprised that the Rebels attacked?" Perhaps he wasn't, she mused. After all, she didn't know him. She knew the name, knew the uniform. That was about it. That wasn't enough.
"That we were attacked doesn't surprise me," he eventually said. "What surprises me is that they've been successful."
Silence hung between the two of them for a long time, and it was only interrupted by the clank of metal on metal as he set his blaster down on the dash.
"Ryloth?" he asked.
"Ryloth."
Again, silence. They waited awhile, heard the distant screech of debris as it shot through the air and then plummeted into the earthy ground with a thud. The shuttle shook, seemed welded to the ground. At last, there were no more vibrations, no more rumblings, no more earthquakes.
Ophelia shivered, looked around. She saw nothing. She couldn't see any straggling Stormtroopers staggering over to them; she couldn't see any officers swallowing their pride as they came over to ask for assistance. Only metal and dust.
And trees.
They were in a jungle, a forest.
"I wouldn't worry," Krennic finally said, looking at her pointedly. "The Empire will be here shortly."
"I wouldn't be so sure."
"Really?" He raised an eyebrow, no longer deigning to look at her.
Ophelia sighed, pointed at the navigation chart. "We're in the middle of nowhere."
"That's Ryloth for you," he said with a snort.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means we're on some backwater planet with backwards people. And no, it hasn't escaped my notice that were in a jungle." He caught her gaze again. "We have a large presence here. We sent out a distress signal. We'll be here for a day or two." By we, she assumed he meant the Empire.
"I hope you're right."
"I am right."
She huffed, leant back in the pilot's seat, and then she winced, looked down at her hand. Saw blood. She'd forgotten she'd cut her hand earlier, back in the hangar bay of the star destroyer. The pain reminded her, and it stung.
She tasted bile, swallows. "Are there any medical supplies in this thing?"
He looked at her. "I don't know."
"Then do me a favour and find some," she snapped, gesturing to her red hand.
Another sigh. He swept over to a compartment in the back of the shuttle and brought over a tin with bandages and a bone-mender in it. He set it down on the dash, and she snatched up a sheet of the bandages, attempted to tie it around her injured hand.
She saw — out of the corner of her eye — that he was watching her. Which made it all the more worse. She floundered; she was having to use her non-dominant hand, and she couldn't do it.
It didn't seem to amuse him, which surprised her.
He sighed. "Do you need any help?"
What use would arguing serve? She held out her hand to him, and he took the bandage, wrapped it around her wrist. When she drew her hand back, she gave him a small smile.
"Thanks."
"As I said, a day or two, and we'll be out of here."
"And I'll be back in that interrogation chamber?"
He didn't respond.
But she had more to ask.
"Why did you let me pilot this ship away from the star destroyer? You could've come after me in a fighter. You could've simply let me leave. Why did you come aboard?"
Under the weight of his cape, he shrugged, looked at the blaster still resting on the dash. "I wanted to see if you were a good pilot."
"Really?" She raised an eyebrow. "I'd be a better pilot if I hadn't been tortured," she added, tasting the bitterness of the truth serum once more.
Krennic raised a hand, shook his head. Of course. She was wrong. Again. "You were not tortured."
"What would you call having dozens of colts of electricity passed through your veins then?" she snapped, daring him to look away from her glare.
He didn't look away. "That was a precautionary measure mandated by the Empire. I did not choose to do it."
She snorted. "I'm not looking to forgive you."
"And—" he began again, this time quiet, almost unsure. "I didn't think any other ships would survive."
She looked at him, listened.
"I couldn't see any more in the hangar, and the star destroyer was already falling fast." He sighed, glanced through the cockpit window and into the forest that encompassed them.
"So you ran away?"
He didn't reply, simply looked away, as if he had nothing more to say.
And she was fine with that.
And so the silence returned, punctuated only by the cawing of an alien bird or the fluttering of leaves in the alien wind. Ophelia pursed her lips, looked out at the enveloping forest beyond.
Then she caught his gaze, held it. "When do you think the Empire will get here?" She didn't much care but the silence was killing her, and she was determined to escape it — even if it meant striking up conversation with Director Krennic. She almost laughed.
He shrugged. "There's an Imperial base not far from here but the terrain is, uh, difficult. And the Twi'leks here are less than forgiving. A day, I think."
She raised an eyebrow. Less than forgiving? She was sure she'd be the same if her home planet had been invaded, occupied and stripped of its resources. And yet… she'd been a slave, back on Tatooine, and she felt sick.
"We'll be back on a star destroyer before you know it," he said happily, to which she had no response.
Now's as good a time as any, she thought, wondering what his acerbic response might be.
They'd waited in the shuttle for close to an hour, and she was bored, and she didn't trust him.
"I'm going to go for a wander," she announced. "See if I can spot any settlements."
He shot to his feet, went after her. "No. You're not."
She turned around, brushed the hair from her eyes, glared at him. "No?"
"We are in Imperial airspace. You are my prisoner."
She snorted, turned back to the door, was about to touch the control panel, was about to step outside, was about to be free.
And then that familiar feeling — the cold metal of the blaster.
"I escaped, Krennic," she said simply, bluntly. She relished the indignation in his face; he was evidently used to being called Sir or Director. Not by her, she decided.
"That's the problem," he conceded, lowering his weapon. Only slightly. "You've escaped before, and you'll do it again."
She stepped closer. "Then maybe you shouldn't make it so easy for me."
He puzzled over that, and then confusion turned to fury, and that fury swept over his features. "You would be wise not to talk to me like that. I am aware of the shortcomings of that particular holding cell, and when I am back in my office, I shall reprimand the offending personnel."
"Whatever."
From what she knew of him, from their few, stolen interactions, she was not surprised. Passing the blame, gaslighting his comrades, assuming superiority. It all seemed in character.
With the blaster lowered, and with Krennic swamped in denial, she snuck out of the door. She knew he was standing in the doorway, watching after her, his gaze on her back.
But this might be her only chance, and she wasn't going to pass it up.
She stepped into the grass, into the woodland, beyond. The cold, frigid, stale atmosphere was now a distant memory as she walked — counting her steps, trying to distract herself — through the trees.
She could her nothing. No ship. No people. No blasters.
Nothing.
A native animal or bird might chitter or squeak or flutter or scurry but that was it.
Nothing more.
The sun was warm, intoxicating, and she felt herself smiling as she walked and walked and walked.
She even forgot about her injured hand, even forgot about the metallic tang of blood on her bruised lip, even forgot how insufferable Krennic was.
Ophelia squinted, shielded the sun's punishing glare from her eyes, and as she looked even to the horizon she couldn't see anything of any use. No settlements or ports or even the tiniest wisp of smoke spiralling into a distant sky.
She was walking for hours.
"Shit," she hissed, turning on her heel as a branch cracked somewhere not to far away.
Eventually, he emerged, self-importance plastered on his face once more. "I did say we had a day or two." And he had to accompany her?
"I assume you brought a data pad with you? Some sort of comma device?" she asked, exasperated.
Krennic grinned. "I did."
"But you didn't trust me to find some sort of station by myself?" She sighed, rubbed her forehead. "Anyway, I've seen no sign of any settlement."
He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you've been looking in the wrong places."
"You do it then."
And she turned around, started marching back to the shuttle.
"I—" he began, faltered, and for the first time — including the downing of the star destroyer — she saw that he was afraid. "I don't think we should stay here any longer."
"What—?" But then she saw what he was pointing at. She swallowed, forced herself not to make a sound.
When the two of them looked to the north, the sun's glare had faded sufficiently for them to actually see. To see the white plastics armour of so many Stormtroopers splayed across the landscape. To see the scarlet blood seeping into the ground. To see the smoke steadily rising from their blaster-shot corpses.
Ophelia caught her breath. Krennic had said there was an Imperial presence here. Has been. But she wasn't pleased. She wasn't relieved. She wasn't about to gloat to Krennic about the deaths of these soldiers. No. They were people, people with families, and they had been disregarded, discarded, and would now be carrion for whatever predators lay out there.
When she looked at their charred remains, and when she smelt the stench of singed flesh mingled with scorched armour, she found it hard to hate the Empire.
"We should return to the shuttle," Krennic said eventually.
She said nothing but she did start walking back with him.
As she trudged back through the forest, back the way she'd come, she went back over what had happened. The Stormtroopers had occupied the planet, sanctioned by the Empire. And then the planet's people had revolted, had raised a rebellion, as so many other people had on so many other planets.
As they would on her homeworld, Tatooine.
And it would not be long before that happened.