Battlefront II, page 16
“Right. Who knows? The Empire is rotting and corrupt. It must fall as quickly as possible. Doesn’t matter who goes down with it.” As she spoke the words with what she hoped was earnest conviction, she wondered how long it would take to get used to saying such lies.
Since they had been here longer than Iden—and were perceived to be less of a threat than a known Imperial TIE pilot—the other three were doing much better. As they had all expected, Seyn, with her delicate and deceptively open, innocent appearance, had won over most of the group. Nadrine and Dahna were demonstrably fond of her, and young Sadori looked to be feeling emotions a bit warmer than that. The Mentor, too, seemed sympathetic toward her. In fact, the only ones who still seemed cool toward Seyn were Staven and Azen. That wasn’t unexpected. Staven, as the leader, would be the most suspicious of the group, and Azen was—well, Azen.
Del, too, was well on his way to being accepted. That, also, didn’t surprise Iden. Del had a calmness and a self-deprecation that put people at ease.
Unfortunately, it was Gideon who seemed to be stirring the most resentment. She was fond of him, but she knew better than anyone how arrogant and competitive he could be, and it seemed like something he’d done had already irritated several of the Dreamers.
Iden sighed as she continued to work on repairing armor and even mending flight suits. Come on, Del, she thought. Where the hell is that droid?
“Goodness, you’re industrious,” came the pleasant voice of the Mentor.
Iden glanced up at him and shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I don’t want to be taken out and shot,” she said.
“Neither do I, but I’ve got something you might enjoy more than fixing old uniforms.”
Her smile widened. “I’m in.”
—
The Mentor took her on a ride of about twenty minutes along a narrow, serpentine path through the gnarled trunks of ancient trees, leaving the speeder beneath the overhanging canopy. “Come on,” he said. “It’s just a brief walk from here, but it’s safer not to leave the speeder out in the open.”
“Do you anticipate visitors?”
“No. There’s nothing remarkable about this place to attract them. But when you’re hunted, and you’re few, it’s always best to be safe.”
“Even if they don’t see you, if someone got close to you they’d be able to detect your—our—ships and equipment,” Iden said. “Don’t you worry about that?”
He chuckled. “No. We’re safe.”
Even for someone who had lived her whole life on a “need-to-know” basis, the cryptic nature of the Dreamers rankled. Iden thought it was because this attitude contrasted so vividly with the extreme casualness and friendliness that had been on display earlier.
They fell into step together, Iden wearing her night-vision goggles, the Mentor apparently not needing them. “As Staven told you, until Jedha,” he said as they walked, “Saw Gerrera was the face and the voice of the partisans—such as they had. He wasn’t overly fond of the spotlight, nor did he have the sort of inclusive personality of his sister, Steela.” He smiled a little. “She was astonishing. So much was lost when she died.” The smile, too, died as he spoke.
“You sound like you knew her,” Iden ventured.
“I did. I knew Saw, too. So did my goddaughter.” He shook his dark head ruefully. “The entanglements among me, people I love, and the partisans runs deep, despite diverging paths.”
He turned to her. “You strike me as being a lot like Steela. Your bearing, your unwillingness to be pushed around. Staven doesn’t like to admit it, but he sees it, too. You’ll be a good face for the Dreamers, but unless you’re a secret thespian, you’ll probably have to practice first.”
Iden felt relief wash through her. She was finally going to become the “voice of the Dreamers,” as her father had expected. Maybe now she’d be privy to the missions the others were departing on so frequently, and discover where Staven was getting his information from. But she had to pretend she was still in the dark.
“Hang on a minute,” she said. “I’m not sure what you mean. Good face?”
“You’re Iden Versio,” the Mentor said. “You’re recognizable. In the past, the Rebel Alliance has had good luck countering Imperial propaganda with the truth of what the Empire truly is. And that was even with mysterious, faceless rebels. When Mon Mothma and Princess Leia became identified with the Rebel Alliance, it gave it a legitimacy it had never had before. Think what the impact will be if you were to speak to the galaxy—you, who were once so firmly an Imperial, now a member of Saw Gerrera’s Dreamers.”
Iden shook her head. “That’s not what I came here for. I’m not some politician, or a holovid star—I’m a soldier. A pilot. And I’m top-notch at that, too, you can try me!”
“Of course you are. As I said, your career is public knowledge, Iden. We know how good you are at that. And we’ll put those skills to use, too, but not until we’ve got the Empire good and scared, and those who secretly want to overthrow it ready to stand up and fight—maybe die.”
“I have to say, I don’t think this is one of Staven’s better ideas,” she said.
“Actually,” the Mentor replied mildly, “it was mine. As I said—I’ve seen this tactic used before, with excellent results. It could be said that Saw wasn’t the real first rebel leader. That was Steela. It’s worked before. And with someone as significant as you, it can work again.”
It had been implied when she first arrived that bringing her here had been the Mentor’s idea. And now he was confirming everything. Why had Staven listened to him? She had been certain the blue-haired man had been the one in charge, calling the shots…using leaked information. Was she wrong about that?
They reached the lip of the depression. “Wait here,” the Mentor said, and hurried down the sloping canyon walls with the loping grace of a younger man. He reached the bottom, seeming to her eyes now only a centimeter tall.
He turned and faced her. “This place is a natural amphitheater,” he said. Iden gasped a little, and a smile touched her lips. She could hear him perfectly, and he wasn’t even shouting.
“That’s amazing!” she yelled back.
“Isn’t it, though?” he said. “I’ll coach you on your body language and extemporaneous speaking. Won’t do to have you read from a script. Now you come down and try.”
She descended to the bowl where he stood, and he retreated to the top. Once he had settled in, she began.
“Citizens of the Empire,” she began. “I—I mean—”
Her comlink vibrated. She clicked it. “No, that’s fine,” came the Mentor’s voice. He apparently didn’t like to shout. “Right now these people, unfortunately, are citizens of the Empire. Continue.”
Iden took a breath. “Citizens of the Empire,” she yelled.
“No, speak normally,” came the Mentor’s voice again.
“Citizens of the Empire,” Iden said in a normal voice, “it’s not what you think it is. The Empire, I mean. Isn’t.” This…she had not anticipated.
She was absolutely horrible at public speaking.
Somehow, that possibility had not occurred to her or her father. This had been the sole reason that the Dreamers had taken her from Vardos. Staven had said in no uncertain terms that her life depended on how well she served them. Sudden anger—not at them, not at her father, but at herself—choked her and she couldn’t speak.
Then she heard: “Hang on.”
The small figure at the top headed back down again. When he reached her, he gestured that she step away from the “stage.” “Take a seat. No, no need to run back to the top. I just want to show you the sort of thing I’m looking for.”
She obliged, her face growing hot with commingled embarrassment and anger, striding away a bit and then sitting down on the ground. The Mentor settled himself, then struck a pose, standing perfectly straight and lifting his head high.
“People of the galaxy!” His voice was strong and vigorous, laced with passion. “For too long, we have labored under the brutal yoke of the Empire. Under the guise of offering aid, it has dragged us, world by world, system by system, on its hideous march of narcissistic greed, promising opportunity and instead sucking us dry. Instead of improving our livelihoods and our lives, it has destroyed them both—even stooping to the depravity of wiping out entire planets. Alderaan—you are not forgotten!”
Iden leaned forward, her own worry eased by the power of the performance unfolding in front of her, settling her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the slim, elegant figure and his impassioned words.
“We remember you, too, Jedha City. The Empire has shown us that no place in this galaxy—not a world full of defenseless civilians, or an ancient sacred site—no place is safe from the malice of the Emperor’s dark heart, or the greed of those who grow rich and fat by plundering worlds! This must end!”
The hairs on the back of Iden’s neck lifted. Not just from the power of the words, propaganda though they were, or the sonorous voice wrapping them in melodic tones from a heart that bled with genuine loss. She realized now why the Mentor used a false name. And now she understood why he was not the leader—why he stayed behind when the others ventured forth, facing danger.
Iden was listening to someone who knew how to give speeches. Someone who likely had once been known. He wanted Iden to do what he couldn’t do for some reason she didn’t yet understand: to speak out against the Empire, inspiring with words and passion and presenting a strong, certain mien.
He was a man in hiding. He was someone important.
Iden was going to find out who.
Del had definitely harbored reservations about the “going undercover” aspect of the mission, but he found it easier than he had anticipated. He’d always communicated better with his hands than with words, and once they’d cleared the cover story hurdle and Staven had agreed to let Piikow show him a few things, it got much easier.
He’d never met a Chadra-Fan before. Although he had grown up on Coruscant, which was home to many species, he hadn’t really interacted with many nonhumans. Certainly not once he was part of the Imperial war machine. It took a little while for his ear to get accustomed to Piikow’s high voice, but once it did, he felt right at home—in a way, even more than he did with his fellow squad members. Because Piikow’s first language wasn’t chittering and cheeping—it was mechanics.
Just like Del’s.
Under the Chadra-Fan’s watchful eye, Del had been entrusted with the repair of certain vessels. So far, they were minor issues, mostly maintenance. Piikow promised him that soon they would start repair work on what he called “a very sad starfighter.”
Everything had emotional resonance for the Chadra-Fan, who had an insatiable curiosity and loved to tinker. Nothing, not an eating implement, not a bolt or screw or metal scrap or brightly colored stone, was overlooked. How he managed to find half of the things he collected was a mystery. And it was nothing short of unbelievable to watch him diligently turn these found bits and pieces into emergency replacements for certain items, new inventions, and sometimes just some kind of gizmo that whirred, blinked, and moved and did nothing but amuse. And then he’d turn to Del and grin, his lips pulling back from sharp little teeth.
When he wasn’t being supervised, Del turned all his attention to the droid and the comlink. He’d sent the droid out for various things several times already: an extra bottle of water, or a tool, or a piece of fruit. The Dreamers had gotten accustomed to it wandering about, humming a little to itself. Very soon, they’d cease to notice it as it went about its duties.
Iden, of course, was the leader, and should be the first person Del sent the droid to once he’d accomplished his goal. But Seyn was the one who appeared to be the most accepted, and therefore the most likely to be permitted some solitude. Besides, she had given him some nonverbal clues that made him feel she had discovered something significant. Iden would just have to understand.
—
Seyn had been the one to advise against wearing communications devices of any sort, no matter how cutting-edge or cleverly disguised. “If this group has access to the sort of information we think they do, they may be aware of the latest technology,” she had said. “They’ll be alert, at least at first, until they trust us.”
Now Seyn was kicking herself. She had learned something very important and very disturbing when Iden had arrived on Jeosyn, and over the last couple of days she had tried, and failed, to find a way to speak with Inferno Squad’s leader. Iden—and the rest of the team—needed to know what their intel specialist had discovered.
Seyn had been the first to arrive. She’d been questioned, of course, as Del and Gideon had been when they arrived. Iden was being interrogated and examined, too, but the deep suspicion with which the Inferno Squad leader had been viewed troubled Seyn. Iden was enduring much more scrutiny than Seyn had expected, and she wondered if Staven had already made up his mind about the admiral’s daughter. She’d been relieved when the Mentor had said something to Iden, and the two had left together earlier. Someone at least was reaching out to Seyn’s commanding officer.
Seyn had noticed that while the Mentor often went on jaunts by himself, either on foot or in a small shuttle, he was never included in any offworld missions. She wondered why. He was trusted, obviously, and seemed to be liked by most of the Dreamers, though sometimes Staven seemed exasperated by him. She had never seen the Mentor before, she was sure of that. With her memory, to see once was to remember forever. He puzzled her.
Seyn knew she herself had been lucky. Dahna had taken her under her wing from the outset, and now the Twi’lek was the main partisan who worked with Seyn. She’d passed all their tests with flying colors, demonstrating a believable level of familiarity with computers and forgery, and turning out high-quality faked documents.
They still weren’t ready to explain what the forgeries would be used for. When asked if she knew how to pilot a vessel, she claimed ignorance, but she did ask if they would teach her to shoot. She explained that with her steady hands and sharp eyes, she might be good at it. Staven had said he’d think about it.
It was a skeleton crew at the moment, as most of the Dreamers were currently offworld. Del was off tinkering with Piikow, and Staven and Gideon were heating rations and discussing piloting when Seyn entered the main cavern. Or, more precisely, arguing about piloting.
“When are you going to let me really show you what I can do?” Gideon was saying.
“All in good time.”
“You’re paranoid,” Gideon said. He looked thoroughly exasperated, and Seyn knew him well enough to know it wasn’t entirely a performance. Gideon loved flying, and he was starting to push for more than the blue milk runs that Del had referred to. Somewhat to Seyn’s surprise, the tactic seemed to be working.
“Saw taught me to be paranoid,” was Staven’s reply. “It’s kept us alive.”
“Yeah, well, it’s keeping me grounded, and you’re wasting a valuable resource.”
Staven smiled, almost indulgently. “I’ll tell you what. When the others get back, I’ll take you up. You can show me what you can do.”
Gideon pressed a hand to his heart. “Don’t toy with me, Staven,” he said, and both men laughed. They smiled a greeting at Seyn as she entered and helped herself to some fruit, milk, and hard-boiled prevva eggs.
“Seyn,” Staven said, rising, “just the person I wanted to see. I’ve got another job for you.” He motioned her over and she obliged. “It’s pretty simple, compared with some of the others we’ve asked you to do. Identification cards for students at a small university.” He handed it to her. The image of a young human male about Sadori’s age stared back at her. Seyn wondered how they had obtained the card, and if they had eliminated its owner. Acceptable casualties, she reminded herself. She examined the card, thinking.
“That doesn’t look too difficult,” she said. In reality, it would be almost pathetically easy. This obviously wasn’t a military school, which eliminated all kinds of challenges. “For Sadori?”
Staven gave her an odd smile. “We’ll need two, actually. One for Sadori. And one for you, if we decide you’re ready when the time comes.”
She was genuinely surprised and pleased. “Me?” she said, allowing the emotions to charge the word. “Thank you!”
“Don’t thank me,” Staven said. “Thank Sadori.”
Seyn ducked her head in a gesture of shyness. Sadori hadn’t yet said anything to her other than the occasional greeting. This was an excellent development on many levels. “I’ll thank him as soon as he gets back. Do—do you think I’ll be ready?”
“You’d better be,” Staven said. “You two are the only ones the right age. Even Kaev’s too old for this. But don’t worry. We’ve got time yet to train you.”
“Is it all right if I take my breakfast back with me?” she asked. “I’m anxious to get started on this.”
Staven hesitated, then seemed to reach a decision about her. “Sure, why not,” he said. “Just don’t get any yolk on the document.”
She laughed and left with her food, the ID card, and a lighter heart. When she entered the sleeping area, she was surprised to find someone—or rather, something—waiting for her.
It was Del’s droid.
Seyn glanced around to make sure she was alone, then put the food down, turned to the droid, and pressed a button on the hovering machine. A small hologram of Del appeared. “Give your comlink to the droid. When it gives it back to you, press the second button and say my name.”
The hologram vanished. Second? Seyn thought, confused. The comlinks used by the Dreamers had only one. Shrugging, she handed it over to the ID10. It immediately went to work on the device, its limbs moving so quickly and deftly they were almost a blur. Once, it even produced a tiny chip. After a few moments, it booped to signal completion and handed the comlink back.
It now had two buttons on it.
Seyn clicked the second one, very carefully. “Del?” she said.
