Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Karis met a stormtrooper, he had only been eleven, mulish, quiet, the target of schoolyard bullies, and to him the white-armoured soldiers were the very definition of power. 

Of fear.

He stood, fidgeting beside his father, as the Empire’s soldiers walked in perfect lockstep through the streets of Kavan. Smoke still rose in the air from the direction of the governor’s fort.

The instinct to glance at the dark trails rising from the spire of the fort was overwhelming.  

“Calm yourself, Karis,” his father said, quietly, under his breath. “Remember, we are not kneeling. We stand. We accept this new authority with dignity.” 

Karis felt his father’s steady palm on his shoulder, and looked up into his father’s face. His father’s jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with anger. But his father remained still as the troopers marched past. 

As the new governor came past, sneering down his thin nose at the assembled men and women that made up the administrative council of Desix. 

The roar of Imperial shuttles deafened Karis as they swooped overhead, the menacing thump of boots rattling in the soles of his shoes. 

“I trust we have come to a consensus,” the governor said, his voice thin and arrogant. “Haven’t we?”

There were several who flinched, looking back towards the town square. Karis didn’t know why--his mother had forbade him from looking--but the fear in their eyes chilled him. He made eye contact with Jeyne, who stood beside her father on the opposite side of the building that served as Desix’s Parliament. 

All the children were there, the sons and daughters of the administrative council, as the troopers stopped, taking up positions on the steps of the Parliament, flanking the new governor. 

“Yes, we have,” Jeyne’s father said, from his position in the middle of the street, the new head of the council. “Desix is Imperial jurisdiction, governor. We apologise for the…misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” The governor raised an eyebrow. “No, no, that is not a misunderstanding. This is a misunderstanding.”

He raised a hand and pointed at Jeyne’s father. Immediately, a bristling line of blasters were raised by the stormtroopers, black muzzles aligned with Jeyne’s family. 

Karis instinctively moved forwards, only for his father’s grip to tighten, halting him in place. 

Jeyne’s father swallowed. “Governor, I understand that the…previous governor took drastic, unforgivable steps to remain in power. But I ask humbly that--”

“Just the shoulder will do, trooper,” The governor said conversationally. 

The sound of the blaster was a spine-tingling shriek of energy, and Jeyne’s father dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach, biting back a scream of pain. 

The entire square took in a sharp breath. Karis felt a deep chill run down his spine, and meet a sudden, raging fire deep inside him.

“Father!” Jeyne’s voice rang out, and Karis could not restrain himself any longer, breaking free of his father’s grasp, he raced across the street. 

“Karis, no!” His father stretched out and clawed at empty air. 

Karis made it three steps before an iron grip descended upon his shoulder. 

“Not worth it, kid,” a quiet voice hissed from above him. 

“Karis, do as he says,” His father’s voice was controlled, but barely. Fear crackling in every word. And Karis did stop. 

His father had never sounded like that. 

Not when the Clone Wars had first ended, not when his mother had gotten sick with the Epsilon Flu. 

The black-armoured figure gripping his shoulder tugged him gently back to his parents, and seemed to hesitate. 

“Never start a fight you can’t win, kid,” the black-armoured soldier said. “Scale matters. And you’re too small. For now.”

The soldier let go, and as quickly as he came, vanished behind the line of white-armoured stormtroopers that surrounded the streets. 

Karis’ mouth was open, a rebuttal forming, the inevitable product of the child of two lawmakers, but as his mother gathered him into a tight grip, he could only think it to himself as the governor begun to speak again, to drown out the thin, cruel voice. 

Yes, he was outnumbered. Alone, no one wanting to join him out in the street, not even Jeyne, or Jeyne’s mother, who had flinched but not stepped forwards. 

That, Karis thought, was unacceptable. That the governor would get away with ordering the shooting of Jeyne’s father.

The fight might be unfair, Karis said in his head, declared as he straightened his back and stood upright beside his father, but the scale of the enemy only made the fight harder. 

Not impossible. 

Never impossible. 

And like the soldier had said. Karis was too small now. But soon he’d grow up. And then? Then the Empire wouldn’t be able to ignore him anymore. 

Chapter Text

If Karis’ father had hoped that the Imperial Academy would assist his son in adapting to the new regime, his hopes were most definitely in vain. Karis was always the kid trailing quietly in the back of his classes, and his father had been certain that this would continue.

In this he was sorely mistaken. 

Karis argued with his instructors on everything, launching into elaborate soliloquies that, when recorded, his father recognised as echoes of his own speeches from the Republic era, when he had argued strongly and passionately for secession. 

Karis had not been kicked out simply because he was too smart to be kicked out. A natural at interstellar navigation, a born philosopher, he’d won the best speaker at the Imperial Academy Mid-Rim Debates on his first attempt. 

And despite his alarmingly anti-Imperial tendencies, Karis was still smart enough to disguise it with a quick sarcastic laugh and with a backup essay firmly praising Imperial tenets. 

His instructors chalked it up to a certain Mid-Rim impudence, and the more generous ones believed it hinted at potential for Karis to be a problem-solver within the Imperial system, improving policies and taxes for greater efficiency. 

Also, Karis had not returned home since he had arrived at the Academy. This was seen as loyalty.

In reality, it was because Karis knew exactly why he had been sent to the Academy, when he had asked his father if he could school on Desix, with an eye for running for a seat in Parliament when he graduated. 

The heated arguments about the Empire, about standing up to injustice, about everything and nothing, about Jeyne’s father, who had been refused medical treatment until the end of the governor’s installation ceremony, and died in a hospital ten hours later. 

“You’re a coward!” Karis shouted, his eyes reddened with tears.

His father gritted his teeth. “Think rationally, Karis. Think about Desix. What good will it do—”

“Useless!” Karis was getting warmed up now. “You go to Parliament and all day you and all the useless members murmur about change and then you do nothing! Governor Grotton waves across new legislation limiting us access to our own docks, and you say nothing!”

“Because there is nothing to say!” His father shouted, the first time in years that he had lost his temper. 

“We can’t do anything for Desix now,” Karis’ father looked defeated. “But we can invest in the future. And that’s you, Karis.”

“You’re wrong!” Karis shouted back. “Have you heard? About the slums of Lantillies, the slave camps on Kashyyyk? What the Empire has done to the farmers east of Kavan, right here on Desix?”

“Then you’ve seen their power!” Karis’ father closed the windows hurriedly. “You’ve seen that there is no way to defeat them. But you, you can still change things. Work your way up. Entrench your changes in the kind of bureaucracy which blocks us now.”

Karis shook his head. “I’ll go. But not for the reasons you have. Because I’ll be back. Not as an Imperial. But as a citizen of Desix.”

Karis’ father shook his head. “No, son. No. You’re not coming back here. Not if you really want things to change.”

That was the last time that Karis saw his father. 

The Academy had sent Karis out on a field mission to accompany an Imperial peacekeeping force on the world of Dac, where unrest among the Mon Calamari seemed to be stemming from a Calamarian shipworkers’ union. 

That was where he was now, sitting quietly at the back of the Imperial delegation at the negotiating table. 

Around them, the pristine waters of Mon Calamari filtered the sunlight drifting into the underwater platform which housed the manufacturing plant of the galaxy’s best sublight drives. 

“Commander, I’m afraid you don’t seem to understand our position,” the Mon Calamari representative was saying. “It is simple. You are requisitioning our drives and drydocks, and giving nothing in return but a useless piece of paper.”

Commander Drayce nodded, but Karis could sense the ire hiding behind Drayce’s eyes. 

“Yes, Mister Wroctar, you’ve made that quite clear. Quite clear that you don’t want Imperial business. That’s fine. I’m sure the Quarren would appreciate Imperial demand better.”

“A poor threat,” Wroctar rumbled, his large amber eyes staring back unblinkingly. “The Quarren do not have our facilities.”

“They could,” Drayce said quietly. 

“If the Empire wills it.”

Wroctar slammed a palm onto the table. “If you think that you have a right to come in and—”

Drayce lifted a finger, and the stormtrooper behind him raised his blaster. 

Wroctar eyed it carefully, and sat. “So I see.”

Drayce smiled. “So you do.”

Wroctar’s eyelids slid down in one deep, slow, blink.

“So I do.”

The windows blew open, and immediately a rising tide of seawater crushed Karis into the back of the room. He choked on mouthful of seawater as his hands fumbled to work the Imperial-issue rebreather. 

As he shoved it into his mouth, Karis’ eyes widened. 

Above the waves, the refracted red lines of laserfire. 

Arms tugged roughly at Karis’ tunic as the remaining Imperial officers who had donned their rebreathers kicked their way towards the ruptured window.

As he made for the surface, swimming powerfully, his eyes stinging from the salt, he saw the figures hovering in the water, blasters poised.

Five Quarren floated, their eyes blazing, and they pointed to the surface.

Karis understood immediately.

Go home, offworlders . 

His head breached the surface, and Karis took a deep long breath as he thought. 

He continued thinking even when, still soaking wet, Karis was packed onto the first Imperial transport out, thinking about that look in the Quarren’s eyes.

The way that look was exactly the one he saw every day, when he let his guard drop as he stared into the mirror. 

Karis had done his research, and he knew that the Quarren and the Mon Calamari were bitter rivals at the best of times, and deadly enemies at worst during their checkered history.

And yet, the same thing united those two enemies, and united them in spirit with a young boy from an unknown planet in the Mid-Rim. 

Karis resolved himself; he would return home at the next opportunity, and tell his father that enough was enough. 

He would serve the Empire no longer. Not when all across the galaxy, people were rising, united across cultures and languages and old enmities, against the greater evil.  

Karis would serve as another branch of this army, united unknowingly under the banner of Freedom herself.

These were the thoughts he scribbled down into his datapad as Karis transited back to the Academy, resolving to place these words next to the ones in his notebook at home, the one which had been a home to his burgeoning thoughts ever since the Empire landed on Desix. 

When the shuttle doors opened at the Academy, and Headmaster Clove stood before him, Karis felt his heart lurch.

They know, Karis thought, his mind racing. His eyes darted, left to right. How heavy was his datapad? Would he be fast enough to take Clove’s blaster?

Behind Clove, Instructor Waltern, one of the few in the Academy who genuinely liked Karis, lifted a hand in greeting.

Waltern’s eyes were so terribly sad, and Karis felt his chest clench.

Karis stood, chin up, eyes defiant. Well, he wouldn’t go without dignity. 

“Cadet Nemik,” Clove, tall and solid like an oak tree, spoke with surprising delicacy.

“We have news for you. From home.”

Karis froze. From home? And a terrible, cold sensation crept up into his throat.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” Clove sighed. “Cadet…Karis, your parents are gone.”

Karis heard the words, but he didn’t respond. His legs felt like they were locked in ice. Waltern’s hand was a warm, calming grip on his shoulder, but Karis kept himself ramrod straight.

“May I ask how…sir?” Karis’ voice wobbled, but never cracked. 

Clove exchanged a glance with Waltern. 

“A Rebel terrorist set a bomb in the Desix Parliament when it was in session. Nearly all were killed. I am truly sorry, Karis. Rest assured I will be making inquiries as to the ISB’s investigation. The Empire will leave no stone unturned.”

Karis saluted automatically. “Thank you, sir.”

Clove returned the salute. “Five day leave, Cadet. Say your goodbyes. Pack your things. The Empire will take care of you now.”

Chapter Text

Tomorrow would have been his parents’ thirtieth anniversary, Karis realised suddenly, out on the rooftop of the Academy, his fingers working skilfully between the wires inside the Holonet antenna. 

In another universe, what would that have looked like? 

His parents might be here, at the Academy, proudly watching their son graduate as the best in his class, and the Empire might actually mean their promises to work for the good of the galaxy. 

“Kark!” Karis pulled his hand away, shaking it out as a spark of electricity escaped the wires. 

But they were gone, and Karis had been passed over for the top spot in favour of a Coruscanti diplomat’s son. 

Caius Rune was smart, that was not in doubt. But even Caius had known straight away after the conclusion of the navigation exercise that Karis had secured the top spot in the Academy. 

He had approached Karis afterwards, apologetic, and Karis assured him that if he had to lose to anyone, Karis would rather it be Caius than the Core World Academy washouts whose parents had paid them into a spot in the Mid-Rim. 

So assured, Caius slept soundly, while Karis snuck his way up to the rooftop, to prepare the Holonet antenna for his plan. For what it was worth, Karis supposed he was at least grateful that the Empire was efficient. 

The Rebels that had bombed Desix, a splinter cell from Saw Gerrera’s organisation, had been caught and summarily executed. 

There was nothing, Karis thought to himself, that could ever justify this kind of action. 

Cowardly and misguided. Karis was starting to see the cunning behind his father’s plan, to have Karis rise through the ranks before sweeping away the chaff and implementing change. 

Already Karis was making alliances with the other Mid-Rim Academy students, hushed promises in study groups or on the sidelines of bolo-ball matches. And Instructor Waltern was writing his recommendation to join the Imperial Compliance Department, the next step into power in the Imperial bureaucracy. 

Change from without must accompany change from within, Karis’ father had been fond of saying. 

His vision blurred, and Karis had to stop to wipe the tears away before he finished the last connections to his datapad. 

Potentially, this was the most dangerous part. After all, he was contacting someone who was considered a potential risk to Imperial security. 

But after his guest lecture at the Academy, Karis had spoken to him briefly, and seen the flash of defiance in his eyes. He had to get this interview. It would add so much to his article.

Well, Karis thought to himself, at the very least, he could treat this as research. Instructor Waltern was already helping send out copies of Karis’ latest article to various academic journals. 

It was called “ The Overreactionary: A Critical Analysis of the Context and Consequences of the Trade Federation’s Blockade of Naboo”.

Waltern had already asked him to shorten the title, but Karis couldn’t quite be bothered. He’d been planning to have this talk for a while now, and Karis knew that this would be huge for the credibility of his article.

A sitting Imperial Senator, former Separatist, watching closely both the start of the Separatist Confederacy and the end of the Galactic Republic.

The datapad pinged, and the holocomm crackled into life.

“Cadet Nemik. Or is it lieutenant now?”

Karis straightened his Academy blazer. 

“The ceremony is tomorrow, Senator Bonteri.”

The little hologram of Senator Lux Bonteri nodded, the hair a little grayer, the face a little more weathered than it had been when Bonteri had been the poster boy of reintegration after the Clone War. 

“Well, Karis, I’m interested in hearing what you have to say. I must admit, you made quite an impression at my lecture.”

“Thank you, Senator,” Karis contained his rising excitement. Finally, finally, someone other than Waltern had praised him, told him that he was going to be rising high, and none other than a Senator!

“Well, Senator,” Karis began, “I suppose I would just like to ask you about the Separatist movement. Serenno and Count Dooku spurred the secession with a major focus on the Outer Rim. Onderon is a Mid-Rim planet, and perhaps one of the more wealthy ones, as well, including strong trading links with both Alderaan and Coruscant. So my question is: Why did Onderon feel so strongly the need to secede?”

Bonteri nodded. “Ah. Of course. Well, as you know, my late mother was the one who led Onderon’s secession.”

“Yes,” Karis nodded. “I heard much about your mother when I was young.”

Bonteri’s face softened. “Yes. Desix was always one of our stauchest allies. My mother always admired the Desix Parliament, although she found the Governor Protocol to be…unique.”

Karis drew himself straight, hot words rising in his throat. “It worked. Governor Ames kept us safe until…until she was…no longer needed.”

Bonteri reached out a flickering holographic hand placatingly. 

“Of course, Karis, of course. Anyway, to answer your question. My mother was fond of saying that the frontier of progress is everywhere. And that if one place is starting to push it forward, that it was our duty to join that push, for the sake of those who cannot push themselves. The Republic was dying. Corrupt, overly bureaucratic, unable to respond even to a full-scale invasion. The Empire has solved these issues, although some might say in a way which has been contrary to sovereignty.”

Karis leaned forwards, Bonteri’s words churning in his mind. 

“And what about the Rebels, Senator Bonteri? Would you say that the lack of galactic support leaves the Rebels as unjustified terrorists in comparison to the Separatists?”

Bonteri smiled wanly. “Ah, Karis. I’d hoped that the Rebels would not arise in this conversation, but I suppose it was inevitable.”

Karis pressed. “Onderon has been a hotbed for Rebel activity. What do you think about Saw Gerrera and his extremist cells? Are they the same overreactionaries who plunged the galaxy into war?”

A flicker of hesitation crossed Bonteri’s face. 

“This is about the attack, isn’t it?”

Karis pushed down the surge of anger. Saw Gerrera had the right ideas, but he’d gone about it the wrong way. Order still had a place, and anarchy would do more harm than good. He thought about the ideals first, to focus his anger there, so that he wouldn't think about his father. 

But his poor mother. She hadn’t deserved any of it. The moderate of the family, the mediator, she had stayed on as representative only because of the struggles of the farmers west of the city. 

Bonteri’s face took on a mask of concern. 

“Karis?”

Karis, with an effort, unclenched his fists.

“Gerrera has a point,” Karis said levelly, “but he has no morals. He is a common thug who is dirtying the names of those providing fair criticism. What is Onderon doing to stop him? I have been assured that a position in the Compliance Department of the Mid-Rim is the next step in stopping them from causing further unwarranted deaths.”

“Cadet Karis Nemik,” Bonteri looked down, reading off something. “Son of potential inciters. Intelligent. Politically astute. Affiliations unclear. Recommended for low-level Core World transport position. Compliance Department request denied. Cap on rank and position to Transport Captain recommended.”

Karis froze.

“What…what is that?”

Bonteri tapped something, and a keycode appeared on Karis’ data card.

“What your superiors think about you.”

Karis was too shocked to say anything. Low-level? Unclear? Potential inciters? Cap on rank? 

“Did you ever wonder why I asked to communicate this way?” Bonteri asked softly.

Karis’ mind ran. The direct Holocomm connection meant that larger strings of authorisation codes could be easily and discreetly hidden among the transmission, and the transmission itself would be undetected by Imperial censors in the main compound.

“Go and see for yourself what the Rebels have done. Instructor Waltern was sent a version of the report. And Karis…I look forward to your article.”

Bonteri’s image flickered out. 

Karis sat back as his datapad formulated the data into a blank code cylinder. So, the rumours were true. Bonteri was a secret Rebel supporter. 

Almost on autopilot, he made his way through the empty corridors to the door that was Instructor Waltern’s office. 

HEAD OF ACADEMY INTELLIGENCE DIRECTORATE read the plaque on the door. 

The code cylinder beeped once and the door slid open. 

Inserting the cylinder into Waltern’s workstation, Karis sat back, his heart thumping in his chest. Was he really doing this? Getting caught would mean the end of his father's plan to change the Empire from within. Although, if Bonteri was right about the cap on rank, then his father's plan was moot anyway.

While he waited, he thought about Lux Bonteri’s words, originally Mina Bonteri's.  

 My mother was fond of saying that the frontier of progress is everywhere. And that if one place is starting to push it forward, that it was our duty to join that push, for the sake of those that cannot push themselves.

The workstation chimed softly, and Karis leaned forwards, frowning. There were two files. One from three years ago, his second year in the Academy, and the current report. Karis clicked the earlier document, his eyes devouring the words the way he had raced through every reading on traditional atmospheric navigation, letting the words flip through his mind.

It took him a while to realise that he was crying.  

--

Caius Rune awoke to the klaxons of an emergency attack, and scrambled out of bed, rubbing his eyes of sleep, his hand fumbling for his datapad and his baton. 

“What the kark is going on?” he rasped. Opposite him, the other students shrugged as they zipped up their boots and reached for their caps.

“Graduation drill?” offered one, adjusting his cap.

“Waltern’s in charge this year,” argued another. “He wouldn’t do this.”

“Probably just a technical malfunction,” grumbled another. 

Caius kept quiet, and shot a quick look at the neat, empty bed where Karis Nemik usually slept. Something told him that none of the others were right. 

And as the cadets jogged out of the building and assembled into neat lines in the parade square, Karis Nemik still wasn’t there. 

Caius felt his datapad chime, and he discreetly tilted his head to check it.

A message was scrolling across the top of his datapad. Caius only made out the first few words before someone grabbed his arm.

THE OVERREACTIONARY: THE EMPIRE’S OPPRESSION OF THE OUTER —

Caius looked up into the red, bulging eyes of Headmaster Clove. 

“What is that?” Clove’s voice was a buzzing, low, whisper, barely controlled. Clove snatched the datapad without waiting for an answer, and dropped it as though it had electrified him, and ground his heel into it.

Caius opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.

“All datapads out!” Clove roared. “Hand them in! Now!”

Waltern, his face pale, stepped quickly between the lines of students, collecting datapads. 

The alarm was still ringing, a consistent red pulse at the edges of Caius’ vision. 

The Overreactionary. Caius knew only one person who would use that kind of phrasing. He lifted his eyes to the dark blue of the morning sky, the sun peeking across the horizon, hueing the edge of the courtyard with a warm glow. 

There was a hum building in the air and echoing through Caius’ boots. 

A murmur rose among the cadets.

The hum turned into a roar, and the orange horizon erupted into a red flame as the hangar complex exploded. 

There was shouting from the instructors around them, herding them inside, but it was too late. Caius had seen it, and so had the rest of the cadets. 

In the sky, outlined against the navy blues of the sky, was the dark outline of an Imperial Lambda-class Shuttle, flying so low across the courtyard that the edges of its wingtips grazed the low roofs of the cadet barracks. 

And in the cockpit?

None other than Karis Nemik himself. 

Chapter Text

Sometimes Karis thought back to his daring escape from the Imperial Academy, and let the feeling of exhilaration wash back over him. It helped keep him going when the going got tough, which it certainly did now. 

Rebellion paid poorly, after all, which was why Karis was curled up in a cheap sleeping pod on a long-haul flight towards Lothal. 

Some local Rebels were looking for a navigator for a supply drop in the Outer Rim. 

It was the first time that he had been contacted by the mysterious figure calling itself Fulcrum. 

After escaping from the Academy, Karis had quickly realized that flying the Lambda was asking to get caught. 

Trading it in to a black-market trader had landed him in some trouble with a local spice lord, but Karis had done some work for him, which bought Karis his freedom and some credits. 

The spice lord had been unexpectedly sympathetic to the cause, and through his connections, had offered Karis’ services to Fulcrum. 

Karis had never met Fulcrum, but decided that where possible, he would fight this war himself. 

Hacking and distributing confidential information across the HoloNet, sending a mass message to Imperial datapads calling for Rebellion. 

Sending in exposés of Imperial cruelty to journalists and governments. 

Watching with glee as the Empire clamped down on HoloNet censorship, joining hacking groups making anti-censor packages. 

Sometimes Karis pulled up the data on downloads on the anti-censor software. It was in the millions, many of them surely loyal Imperial citizens who were slowly getting frustrated with the “unnecessary” measures. 

It all made Karis feel a little better. He was doing something.

But inside, Karis was still yearning to strike at the Empire, the anger bubbling inside him that could only be satisfied with something tangible. 

When Fulcrum had finally gotten in touch, offering Karis a chance to serve, he jumped on it.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he had told Fulcrum.

“I know,” the warped voice said, not unkindly. “That’s why you weren’t ready.”

--

Lothal felt a lot like Desix; a dusty bowl of crops and factories, heads down as the local Imperial authority lorded over the locals. 

Karis watched a stormtrooper force an additional five credits from an elderly farmer as a customs fee, and he wondered. 

The first port of call was the local Imperial HoloNet Centre. Officially mandated by Imperial statute, they were meant to keep all citizens in touch with the Imperial heartbeat.

It was usually annexed to the local news office, to keep the local reporters from getting any new ideas.

Karis had realised that often it was the reporters and smugglers who made the best contacts for the Rebellion, and he was working on that part of his manifesto on the trip over to Lothal. 

He stopped short at the sight of scorch marks. 

The IHC was newly refurbished, in white and black plastoid and durasteel panelling, but the building beside it, a stucco and brick two-story structure, was boarded up haphazardly, with the stark black marks of laserfire crisscrossing the facade. 

The outline of the sign was still there. 

THE LOTH-CAT POST: LothalNet 0001

“Can I help you, sir?” A pleasant-faced man in an Imperial administration uniform exited the IHC.

“Was this because of Azadi?” Karis gestured to the remnants of the Loth-Cat Post. 

“I’d heard the ISB removed him on corruption and treason charges.”

The man nodded. “Oh, yes. It was a pair of journalists who were releasing Rebel propaganda. Azadi helped them escape capture, but of course, you can’t outwit the ISB!”

Karis laughed. “Oh, yes, of course not.”

“Of course, the Empire is always happy to lease out the place to an…approved news organisation,” the man continued. “I suppose it is a shame to have the old place lie empty.”

“Yes,” Karis muttered. “A shame indeed.”

--

When Karis had been at the Academy, he had kept a couple copies of illegal Rebel broadcasts, sanctioned by Instructor Waltern, to analyse their “shoddy” reasoning. 

The past couple of years since his escape, Karis had kept those transcripts as proof that he was right, that he was not crazy, not alone.

The broadcasts were from the Outer Rim. It took Karis only the length of one article from the local archives to determine that the writers of those Rebel broadcasts were the same reporters from the Loth-Cat Post. 

Karis sat in the tapcaf where he was meant to meet his contact, drinking a cup of condensed caf. 

“A cred for a pet, mister?” asked a young boy, smiling widely at Karis, cradling what was almost certainly a loth-cat in his arms. 

“He’ll be good, honest!”

Karis smiled back, narrowing his eyes. Sometimes, things stayed the same, no matter who was in charge.

Separatists, the Republic, the Empire. 

“I don’t have many creds,” Karis told the boy, whose face fell with practiced ease.

“Also, I don’t fancy being pickpocketed when you dump that cat on my lap.”

The boy opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, scowling. His eyes stared deep into Karis, and the boy looked away, somehow certain that Karis wouldn’t be convinced.

Interesting. Usually they tried to defend themselves.

But this boy…something about him, about that penetrating gaze and world-weary tiredness behind the innocent facade, made Karis reconsider.

The boy perked up as though he could tell what Karis was thinking.

“Alright, one cred for a pet. Minus the pickpocketing.”

“Sorry,” Karis told him. “How about I give you a cred, and you tell me what happened to the Loth-Cat Post?”

The boy’s face shuttered.

“The Empire.” The boy said shortly. 

Karis felt his heart lurch at the bitterness in the boy’s voice. He couldn’t be more than ten years old. 

“All they were doing was saying words. And the Empire burned it all down.”

The boy looked up at him, eyes smouldering in rage.

“Why? Who would do that?” The boy asked. The loth-cat squirmed out of the boy’s arms and growled at his feet. 

Karis took a couple seconds to find his voice. 

“Because the Empire was afraid of them.”

The boy’s expression turned puzzled. “Afraid?”

Karis lowered his voice. “That’s how you can tell, you know. When someone is overreacting to something, it’s because they’re desperate. They’re afraid of you, because you’re right.”

“But why be afraid?” The boy shook his head. “The Empire’s so much stronger.”

“Any authority that depends on force is inherently weak,” Karis told him, “because they have lost the moral spirit of the people. And without the people behind them, force is an empty shield.”

Karis pressed a five credit piece into the boy’s hand. 

“Now, run along. I’ve got a meeting.”

The boy shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

Still, the boy took the credcoin, and raced away into the kitchen, drawing yells from the waitstaff.

Karis lifted his cup of caf, and looked down at the article from which he had been paraphrasing. 

“To you,” Karis murmured, “Ephraim and Mira Bridger.”

--

Karis’ contact arrived in cover of darkness, a young man a couple of years older than him leading Karis into a weatherbeaten light freighter called the Ghost . 

“So, where to?” Karis asked, as he settled behind the navigator’s station.

“We’re picking up supplies from a contact in the Roche system,” said the Twi’lek pilot. “In the asteroid belt.”

Karis nodded. A common tactic. 

“Then we fly to Desix.”

Karis’ fingers froze on the nav board. 

“Desix?”

“It’s a small industrial planet in the Mid-Rim,” the young man said.

“I know where it is.” Karis snapped.

The Twi’lek exchanged looks with the man, who had introduced himself as Jarrus. 

“You can get us there?”

Karis nodded, pressing down the rawness of the pain. “I know the Mid-Rim better than any navigator you’ve got.”

The Twi’lek who called herself Hera made up her mind. 

“Fine. Let’s go, then.”

Karis was almost relieved when they reached the Roche system, so that he could focus on navigating the treacherous asteroid belt, instead of thinking about their destination. 

About the way Jarrus’ eyes looked at him as though Jarrus was looking straight into Karis’ soul. 

It was an unnerving sensation, and it reminded Karis of that boy on Lothal. They had the same searching gaze.

“Fifteen plane positive, ten port yaw,” Karis called, “Stand by for signal.”

“Ready,” Hera replied.

Karis keyed the nav sensor to match the transponder code they were given. The Ghost’s older nav sensor systems were the perfect cover for this covert signal. Karis lowered the frequency of the scanner, and began picking up the pings from their supplier. 

“Heading one five seven true, seven four plane positive,” Karis informed Hera. “Take us in at your discretion, I’ll inform you if we pick up anything on the sensors.”

“Copy,” Hera responded, and the Ghost began to move forwards, threading its way through the slower asteroids towards the transponder signal. 

“Stop!” Jarrus suddenly shouted. 

Hera reacted immediately, shutting down the engines and firing the front stabilisers. 

“What is it?” Hera murmured. 

Jarrus stood up, staring out of the front viewpane. 

“There’s someone waiting. Someone armed”

The comm hissed and crackled. “Identify yourself.”

“Where is he?” Hera hissed. 

“Behind the rolling one, off our port bow. I don’t know how, but I think he’s got a weapons lock on us.” Jarrus had his eyes fixed straight on an uneven asteroid streaked with copper brown, about four hundred metres ahead of them. 

Karis scowled at the sensor screen. “I’m not picking up anything.”

“He’s there,” Jarrus said decisively. 

“Identify yourself,” the voice hissed again. 

Hera hesitated, turning to Jarrus. “Fulcrum told us we shouldn’t be in contact with any of the others.”

Jarrus shook his head in resignation. “Well, clearly he disagrees.”

“I’ll do it,” Karis surprised himself by speaking. “I’m a lone operator anyway. Let me do it.”

Jarrus studied Karis again with that too-knowing stare, and nodded. 

“Let him do it.”

“What?” Hera shook her head. “Kanan, this is—”

Jarrus detached the comm speaker from the control panel and handed it to Karis. “He knows what to do.”

Karis nodded his thanks, and immediately configured the comm frequency to match the nav sensor frequency. 

“This is Caius Rune. We’re here to pick up a supply drop.”

“How do I know you’re not scavengers?” The voice growled. “Lots of opportunists these days.”

“Lots of opportunists because of the Empire,” Karis retorted. “Because it’s just natural to do so. The opportunity that we’re chasing is the opportunity to set things right.”

“Natural?” The voice sounded curious now, in the same way that Instructor Waltern had sounded when he was trying to lead Karis to a certain conclusion. “What separates you from a common scavenger?”

Hera and Jarrus watched Karis with bated breath. 

“Even the common scavenger senses the unnaturalness of the Imperial grasp. The tightness of their fist betrays their desperation. Their need for total control. I’m not scavenging for myself. I work for the good of the galaxy.”

“Isn’t that what the Empire says?” The voice laughs. “Isn’t that why they work so hard?”

Karis sits up straight, thinking about the images in the file that he had accessed, those years ago, in the Academy. 

The bombed-out, bloody devastation of the Desix Parliament. The cold, uncaring language that described how an ISD agent infiltrated one of Saw Gerrera’s cells and murdered one of them, using him as a scapegoat for a “suicide” bombing. 

How the ISD had already marked out his parents for death, and marked Karis to be a mid-level drone in the Imperial system. 

“No,” Karis said decisively. “They work so hard because tyranny requires constant effort. Because oppression is the mask of fear. And they fear us because they know we can win.”

The nav sensors beeped as a slender, silver spacecraft floated clear of the asteroid behind which it was hiding. 

“Pick up the crate,” the voice said. “And Rune…I think we should meet. I may have a job for someone like you.”

Hera steered carefully towards the asteroid, where, hidden under a tarp, the Ghost tractored up the crate of supplies meant for Desix. 

Karis picked up the comm again. “How about right now?”

Hera turned, her mouth open in disbelief. “This is not the time to deprive us of a navigator! We’ll be done in two days!”

Karis shook his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Karis murmured. “I can’t go to Desix. I can’t.”

Jarrus laid a hand on Hera’s shoulder. “Let him go.”

Karis nodded to Jarrus, and watched as the other spacecraft sidled closer until it docked. 

Shouldering his bag, Karis climbed down into the airlock. 

It hissed open, and Karis landed lightly on his feet. 

The man in front of him looked dignified, silver haired and sharp featured. He reached out a hand to shake Karis’.

“I’ve read your work, Karis,” the man said. “I’m surprised to see you working on a simple supply run. Someone of your conviction should be doing something else. Something of more worth to the Rebellion.”

Karis turned his head as the Ghost detached from the ship, and flew off soundlessly into the darkness. Heading for Desix. Heading for where he and his parents had once called home. 

He turned back to the man in front of him. 

“When do we start?” Karis asked. 

Chapter Text

Karis grimaced as he washed down another cup of dray milk. He admired the Dhanis, their dedication to their traditions and the richness of their culture, but Karis had to admit that one of the few things that Aldhani could use more of was cocoa, or creamer. Something to take the edge off. 

Vel was gone, heading out to meet the Dealer, as Karis thought of him as. Vel knew his name. Karis was certain that Cinta did too. 

To Karis, it didn’t really matter. The Dealer had given Karis the chance to matter. Karis’ first kill had come on his first mission for the Dealer, some four years ago now.

Sometimes when Karis closed his eyes he could still hear the shocked gasp of the Imperial officer as the vibroblade slid between his spine and into his neck.

The Dealer had been there, in the darkness of the alley, poised. Waiting to see if Karis would flinch. 

Karis had not.

In the years since Karis had often wondered about the rightness of it all. Who was he to call for reform when he was a killer, plain and simple?

But the Empire continued to prove Karis right.

Massacres on Kashyykk. Tariffs on Ryloth that bankrupted millions. All while the Senate called for calm and did nothing. 

All the while more joined the Rebel cause.

Karis had delivered messages through the Dealer’s network from the towers of Coruscant to a seedy cantina in Sernpidal. He had helped the Mon Calamari run turbolaser parts up the Hydian Way. 

Infiltrated an Imperial intelligence outpost on Ansion to disable its sensors.

And before Aldhani, Karis had received a consignment of Imperial transparisteel on Corellia, where he had first met Arvel Skeen. 

Karis was acutely aware that out of their little group of Rebels on Aldhani, he was the youngest. Cinta was a close second, but none of them carried themselves the way that Karis did, and he sometimes felt lonely. 

They were all hardened by cruelty, by death, but Karis sometimes wondered if they ever appreciated the purity of the ideal they were fighting for, beyond just revenge. 

Maybe it was because of the way his parents had raised him, maybe it was the influence of thinking that Saw Gerrera had been responsible for his parents’ death, but Karis knew that he could not fight on vengeance alone.

Revenge was like fear, a cold motivator. 

Karis never bothered to say this to anyone except Skeen. Cinta would not understand, and she would not care to. Vel would agree, but behind her eyes, scorn his naivete. 

Taramyn might’ve, but Karis did not feel brave enough to speak to the much older man like that. 

Skeen, meanwhile. Karis knew that Skeen doubted. He was the only one who knew. 

It had come out of Skeen one night, when Karis was dictating his thoughts into his datapad, the crackle of the fire amongst the trees the only other sound in the forest as they sat waiting for the sun to come up. 

Neither of them were good sleepers. 

“Why do you do that?” Skeen had asked, abruptly. 

Karis frowned. “Do what?”

“Bother writing all…that down?” Skeen gestured towards Karis’ datapad. “Your, uh, manifesto.”

“I think it’s essential to know what you stand for,” Karis replied. 

Skeen snorted. “I know what I stand for.”

Karis decided to look Skeen straight in the eye. “Do you?”

Skeen opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat. 

“The reason why writing things down is important is because then it can be passed on.” Karis continued. “Like a chart. And like all good charts, if this is one that shows you the logical and practical best path forwards, you’ll feel inclined to use it.”

“I stand for whatever gets the Empire destroyed,” Skeen said, ignoring Karis’ explanation. 

“I don’t know and don’t care why they should fall.”

Karis swallowed. “Then perhaps it’s time that you should care about why. Revenge doesn’t make for a good revolutionary.”

Skeen nodded. “I agree. But you see, Karis, I’m not like you. I’m not a ‘revolutionary’, whatever that means. I’m here to watch the Empire burn. Then I can walk away. I can die if that’s what awaits me next.”

“Revenge is often the seed of Rebellion,” Karis began slowly. “And it is a valuable tool. It indicates quite clearly when an institution has gone too far. But revenge is a specialised tool. It can’t sustain a revolution, because it doesn’t envision a future, it just wants absolution. Once it’s absolved, it all goes away, and the cause dies right when it’s won.” 

Karis hesitated, but Skeen was listening. Really listening.

“If you truly just wanted revenge, Skeen, then why choose to join us? Why not join Saw Gerrera and his militants? Aren’t they more likely to give you the fire and blood you desire?”

“There’s more than one way to skin a mynock,” Skeen retorted. “But I think you’re wrong. No revolutionary can win on ideas. No. There’s an emotional element. Something…deeper. In the soul. A legal positivist can’t account for that.”

Karis watched the sparks of the fire float into the night sky.

“Hope, then,” Karis said. “Rebellions are built on hope.”

--

The next day, Skeen asked to read Karis’ manifesto. 

Afterwards, Skeen shook his head. 

“I don’t get it,” Skeen said, sipping on his dray milk. “So you have all these ideas, all these huge concepts, grand schemes for the galaxy. But you’re here, in the dirt on a Mid-Rim backwater planet. Scraping around hoping that five fools with more guts than guns can pull off an impossible heist. A heist that, probably, the Empire will barely feel.”

Karis shook his head. “What matters is that we’re contributing, Skeen. Because…look, look at this part. ‘Random acts of insurrection are occurring constantly throughout the galaxy. There are whole armies, battalions that have no idea that they've already enlisted in the cause .’ But what we need to do is create a critical mass. A wave of defiance that overwhelms the floodgates.”

Skeen nodded, tapping the datapad thoughtfully. “Well, then you need to make that clear. What if your reader thinks that he has to…I don’t know, focus only on killing the Emperor? Or take apart the Navy? He has to know what you’re trying to say.”

“That you should work within your boundaries,” Karis warmed up to the idea. “And that every little bit that is done without being caught matters, because we need living Rebels, not dead ones.”

Skeen laughed. “Alive is always better, Karis.”

Karis grinned, and they exchanged smiles. 

“So that’s what you think this will do?” Skeen said, softly. “This is part of the wave?”

“People often forget about the wider picture,” Karis replied. “It’s there in the manifesto. ‘ The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural ’. When you have a desperate grasp on power, the more tenuous your grip is, especially when it has to grip an entire galaxy.”

Karis gestured towards the lake. “This lake is the culmination of tens of streams, all from single, tiny snowflakes gathering at the peak of a mountain, far above. What we’re doing is loosening the Empire’s grip. Forcing them to clamp their hands so tight that they can’t hold us all anymore. Because we are larger than them. We’re not right now, but we will be.”

Skeen gazed off into the distance. “And when will we get to that point?”

“I don’t know,” Karis sighed. “But believe me. We will.”

“When you say it,” Skeen muttered, “it sounds like it might be true. Like your ideas are going to keep you alive forever. Me, I’m not so sure. I don’t know if these ideas are really going to work.”

“Well,” Karis began, “after we’ve retaken the Empire’s payroll, I think you’ll see the difference. The extra current in the wave.”

Skeen nodded. “Back home…there used to be a massive stalactite, hanging from an outcrop where my brother and I used to play. There was a hole in its base, near the ceiling. My grandfather told me that bats roosted there, and had since before even he was born. One day, I was bored. So I was…throwing stones at the stalactites. And all it took was one little pebble, and the whole thing…boom!”

Skeen gestured with his hands. 

“It turned out that there was a tree growing on top of that outcrop. Its roots had pushed through the rock, and met the bats’ roost. And then all it took was one little pebble.”

“ One single thing will break the siege ,” Karis murmured, his eyes lighting up.

“What?” Skeen asked. 

Karis opened his mouth to explain, only to hear Taramyn call. “She’s back! And she’s not alone!”

“Never mind,” Skeen shook his head. “Hang on, did he say ‘not alone’?”

Karis stood with Skeen, and they shaded their eyes as two figures picked their way over the top of the hill.

--

“Clem”, was how he introduced himself, with a permanent scowl and a mistrusting pair of sharp eyes. Clem tried to remain aloof, uninterested, but Karis could see something familiar in his eyes, in the way Clem had talked about the Empire. 

There was revenge there, but like Karis, it wasn’t all there was. There was something else. 

Even when Clem had admitted that he was a mercenary, Karis couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to him. Karis was awake that whole night, writing. A new section on the role of mercenaries. 

Writing down the clarifications on the call to action that he had discussed with Skeen. 

But Karis kept coming back to Clem. A mystery. Handpicked by the Dealer, a man who, if nothing else, Karis knew read widely. A practical man who had quickly found the flaws in their plans, and adapted well to the rest of it. 

Clem was kind, as much as he tried to conceal it. There was something in him which, Karis thought, could grow. 

Just like in Skeen. 

The two of them were ripe ground for the ideals of the Rebellion, and perhaps the only difference was that Karis thought that inside Clem, there was still hope. He wanted a future, a better future, for someone. 

A woman? A parent? A child? 

It didn’t matter, and neither was it Karis’ place to pry. 

But still, he wondered. And he wrote. 

After the heist, Karis decided. Then he would speak to Clem. Perhaps he would begin his speech as the Eye opened, and as the beauty of the galaxy outshone the lights of the Imperial pursuers, as Karis added his little part to the destruction of the Empire. 

--

“Climb!”

The word was torn out of Karis’ lungs by the pain that ripped and tore inside his chest and back, his vision of the manual nav-reader blurring with tears. 

There was shouting, voices, Clem and Skeen and Vel, but Karis couldn’t make out any of the words.

“Climb!” Karis screamed again, and Karis could feel the freighter tilting beneath his body as it rose.

Karis turned his head slightly, and for a second the tears cleared from his vision, and the Eye of Aldhani opened wide for him. 

Clem was trusting him. Skeen was beside him, the fear and panic radiating off him in waves.

“Dive! Vector six-five-five-one, full boost, thrusters level!” Karis spat out, the pain screaming through his blood as the med-spike wore off. 

The ship shook and rattled, and suddenly the light coming in from the viewports faded to black, and Karis knew they had made it. 

He closed his eyes and let the darkness take over. 

--

“This kid,” Karis could hear Skeen saying, somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, “he’s the reason that we are here. He’s alive.”

And Clem’s voice, resolute. “How do we get to the doctor?”

Together, Karis thought. The two of them had so much potential. Skeen could believe, so could Clem. They just…they just didn’t know it yet. 

Karis hoped that Vel would read his datapad. Read the note at the top which Karis had written with the last of the energy in his shaking hands.

Give this to Clem.

Clem needed it. He could be convinced. Skeen, meanwhile. Karis hoped with all his heart that Skeen would remain convinced by his words. That one death would not change his mind. 

From what he thought he’d heard, Karis was hopeful that he might have succeeded. 

Two months ago, Skeen would not have given anyone like Karis a second thought. Here he was now, his voice shaking with emotion, with hope.

Not revenge, hope. 

Karis let himself sink into the darkness one more time, the images of his past flashing before him. 

Jarrus and Hera at the helm of the Ghost. 

That little boy on Lothal. 

The expression on Lux Bonteri’s face as he quoted his mother’s words. 

The eyes of the Quarren Rebel on Dac. 

The whispering cadence of the black-armoured trooper on Desix. 

--

“Calm yourself, Karis,” his father said, quietly, under his breath. “Remember, we are not kneeling. We stand.”

--

Vel Sartha sat with her face in her hands. Everyone gone. Karis’ body cooling on the table beside her. She didn’t even know where he came from. Where to return the body to. 

She thought about the note that Karis had written. Why give the manifesto to Clem? A coward who was in it for himself? Why not her? Or Luthen? Or ask to have it published? 

Vel knew that Karis felt sometimes that the cause was greater than what the others used it for, and she agreed. 

But why Clem? 

She shook her head clear of the doubts. Karis was one of the best navigators the Rebellion had. She would trust him, just this once. 

And who knew? 

Vel watched as Clem fired up the thrusters of the doctor’s ship and disappeared into the night sky. 

If any of them needed something to believe in, it was probably Clem.

She wiped the last of her tears from her eyes and stood.

“Goodbye, Karis,” Vel murmured. She turned and headed for the freighter. 

There was work to be done. A Rebellion to support. An Empire to defeat.

Karis would’ve understood. 

Chapter Text

Cassian Andor sits inside the weathered, dusty interior of the ship which Pegla sometimes allows him to borrow. Pegla knows. Those damned hounds of his. Cassian had never quite been able to outwit them, and he’d been trying to steal from Zorby’s shipyard for years. 

No one else knows that he’s back. Only a madman would have come back. 

So that is why he’s here. Because only a madman would have experienced the Empire’s might as he has, and still be convinced by the words spilling out of the datapad in front of him. 

Maarva is dead. They have Bix captured. If he was a smart man, Cassian would run. He certainly has the credits for it; his windfall from Aldhani is still mostly intact. But he ran once, and look where that got him. 

Cassian corrects himself: He ran away without Maarva. He could’ve stayed. Forced her to come with him. And maybe they’d be safe. 

The rain taps lightly against the hull of the decrepit old starship. Cassian’s been quietly working on it for the past hour. Tuning up the old motivator, replacing a couple of worn capacitors. 

He’s trying to keep busy, because he knows that this is all his fault. 

Who knew what they were doing to Bix, trapped in there with all those Imperials? 

And Maarva. She had taken him in, given him a home, and he had rewarded her by bringing chaos to her doorstep. Oppression to her world. 

So why, when Karis' voice issues tinnily from the datapad's speaker, does it make so much sense? 

--

It had been half an hour ago when Cassian had looked up and saw the lightning crackling outside, the sharp electric fizz in the air reminding him of the way that the floor had sparked and sizzled, back on Narkina 5. Back then, he had wanted to escape because he wanted to be free. 

But now? Cassian knew that he wasn’t free. His heart was dragging him back here. Here, where people would be looking for him. The Empire, Corporate Security, maybe even the Dealer was here. 

He was thinking that he should just leave. Let Brasso put Maarva into the wall, where she’d uphold generations. The way she always wanted. 

Cassian knew that however hard he tried, he wouldn' leave. Not yet. He can’t leave Bix here. And he must say goodbye to Maarva. 

The lightning crackled again, and Cassian looked up through the viewport, at the falling rain, and remembered the Eye. 

Unwittingly, he remembered Karis Nemik. What happened to Skeen. The way Skeen had turned bitter. Finally, Cassian had found the strength to pull out the datapad containing Karis Nemik’s manifesto. 

He flipped it open. Cassian has, by now, memorised the title and the contents page. Cassian knows it is approximately two hours in length, split into twenty sections, beginning with Prologue: A Cause Built on Hope

Cassian has never gotten any further before.

But that was before Narkina 5. Before realising that the Empire wasn’t just selfish bureaucrats. They stood for something far more sinister. And the thought of the Empire marching down Rix Road, past the place where Clem had died, the place where Maarva’s stone would be laid to rest?

It left a taste in his mouth that Cassian cannot quite understand. 

Well. Maybe there is an explanation. Maybe someone can put together all these disparate thoughts and emotions into words, something that Cassian can keep in his heart, next to his memory of his sister. 

Maybe. It wouldn’t hurt to let him try. And so Cassian opened the datapad and set it to autoplay, letting a dead man’s voice ring out, a ghost speaking from within the fabric of the galaxy, speaking of tyranny, of justice, of Rebellion.

Half an hour later, as Karis begins the next section, Cassian closes his eyes and lets Karis Nemik’s words wash over him. 

--

When it is done, Cassian plays it again. Several sections end abruptly, others are mere sketches. It isn’t close to complete. 

But Cassian finds himself replaying Karis’s coda, his concluding thoughts. 

“ Remember that the frontier of the Rebellion is everywhere. And even the smallest act of insurrection pushes our lines forward. ”

Cassian makes up his mind. He already knows he will act. The question is only this: what is he fighting for?

A year ago, he would’ve said himself and Maarva. 

A week ago, he might’ve said for the wronged men of Narkina 5.

Yesterday, he would’ve said for Bix, and for Ferrix. 

“ And then remember this. The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural. Tyranny requires constant effort. It breaks, it leaks. Authority is brittle. Oppression is the mask of fear. Remember that .”

All those things are true. But now? Now, Cassian thinks that he can find it within himself to fight for something bigger. He tosses the datapad to one side and stands, facing the city, holstering his pistol. 

“ And know this, the day will come when all these skirmishes and battles, these moments of defiance will have flooded the banks of the Empire's authority and then there will be one too many. One single thing will break the siege .”

For Karis’ sake, Cassian will believe. For Maarva’s. 

Cassian steels himself. This will not be easy. Everything in him screams to run. But no. Even if Cassian frees Bix, even if he makes it off Ferrix alive tomorrow, Cassian will not hide anymore.  Because he will fight for something far greater than himself, than his family, than Ferrix. 

He is fighting for hope. Hope for a free future.

The last words of Karis Nemik’s manifesto ring in Cassian’s ears. 

“ Remember this: try. ”

He will. 

--

Cassian feels a chill run down his spine as Maarva’s voice echoes across the square, even now, as he rounds corners in the hotel, aware that an Imperial could be behind any corner. 

He feels chills because Maarva’s words sound just like Karis’. 

“ But we were sleeping. I’ve been sleeping. We’ve been turning away from the truth I wanted not to face. There is a wound that won’t heal in the center of the galaxy. ”

How? Cassian wants to ask. How has Maarva, from her home in Ferrix, which she has not left in years, how has she echoed exactly the words of a young revolutionary who died in a doctor's hut on an abandoned Outer Rim moon? 

There is only one answer, and it is one that clutches deep in Cassian’s heart, making it pound with newfound confidence. 

“ It’s here, and it’s not visiting anymore. It wants to stay. The Empire is a disease that thrives in darkness, it is never more alive than when we sleep. ”

It must be because it is true.

Oh, Maarva. Cassian blinks hard to clear his vision. She would’ve loved to have met Karis. 

“ It’s easy for the dead to tell you to fight, and maybe it’s true, maybe fighting’s useless. ”

The words of the dead, Karis Nemik and Maarva Andor, swimming in the air. Buoying up Cassian’s heart as he steps quickly down the corridor, towards the room where Bix is being held.

Cassian stops just before the last corner, breathing out slowly, trying to calm himself.

Karis gave him the confidence to step out. Maarva is drawing the soldiers away from him now. 

“ But I tell you this…If I could do it again...I’d wake up early and be fighting these bastards from the start...Fight the Empire! ”

In one motion, Cassian turns the corner and slams the door open.

--

Cassian stands in the back, watching as the Rebellion he has sacrificed so much for begins to fracture before his eyes, split apart by desperation and fear. He can’t really say that he blames them, but all the same. 

He turns to leave when Jyn proposes her death trap of a plan to attack Scarif. Cassian doesn’t want to be here when the Rebellion falls to pieces. He thinks that Jyn is right, but that doesn’t mean that her plan is sound. 

Cassian is debating whether to throw in his lot with Mothma’s delegation or Organa’s when it happens.

“You’re asking us to invade an Imperial installation based on nothing but hope,” says one of the Rebel leaders in disbelief. 

Jyn’s response stops Cassian in his tracks. 

“Rebellions are built on hope,” Jyn says. 

Almost exactly Karis Nemik’s words, from all those years ago. 

And if any doubt remained as to whether Jyn’s plan was the right one, it extinguished in that moment. 

Cassian has long since memorised Kari Nemik’s manifesto, word for word, it plays in his mind in those long hyperspace journeys, or when tucked away on a stakeout in some lowlife street. He has shared it before, to like-minded men. To the ones who needed it. 

He knows pilots who will agree with him. Other fighters. Cassian had given out a bootleg copy of the manifesto which had circulated among the recon specialists. He'll start there. Cassian lengthens his stride. There isn’t much time if he is to help Jyn assemble a team capable of doing the impossible. 

The first person he sees in the hangar is the Twi'lek, General Syndulla. Cassian hesitates, then steps forwards. When Cassian said that he had read everything, he had meant it. All the personal side notes and comments, the half-written diary entries describing his inspirations incorporated into the document. Karis would save him again.

"General Syndulla?"

She turns. "Yes?"

"I'm Operative Andor," Cassian says, tripping over his words in a hurry. "I...this might've been a long time ago, but do you remember a pickup in the Roche system? Destined for Desix?"

Syndulla blinks. 

Cassian persists. "There was a navigator. A young man. He left halfway. His name was Karis—"

"—Nemik," Syndulla finishes with wonder. "So that was him who was at Aldhani. I always wondered. Yes, I remember him."

"Well," Cassian continues, "I have to do something for him. I have to take a team to Scarif. But I need time to put everything together. I don't have that kind of authority. But you do."

Syndulla's eyes are far away. Her voice nearly a whisper. "Kanan told me to trust him."

"Please?" Cassian tries.

Syndulla's eyes sharpen. She lifts her comlink. "Dispatch, this is General Syndulla. There'll be a team prepping in the hangar for an operation. They are to have loading priority. I'll get back to you soon."

Lowering the comlink, Syndulla makes eye contact. "Go. Make it worth it."

--

"Cassian?" Jyn's voice is tentative. She looks smaller than usual, wrapped in an oversized cloak as Bodhi takes them through hyperspace towards Scarif. 

She nods towards the recon specialists, who pass around a thumbed and dog-eared, hand-bound book. "What are they reading?"

Cassian lets himself smile. Jyn has earned a smile. She smiles back, uncertainly, and even that lights up the room.

"A friend of mine wrote it," Cassian says. "He wasn't sure what to call it, but he described it to me as 'The Trail of Political Consciousness'."

"A manifesto?" Jyn asks. Cassian nods. Despite himself, he is impressed. She is so quick on the uptake.

Jyn hesitates. "I read quite a few when I was with Saw. He was always trying to write his. Never quite succeeded."

"Because this one is built on something purer," Cassian says softly. "I don't know everything, but my friend...he...was very honest. The original document it had...a lot of his own personal story."

Jyn sits down on an open bench, and Cassian settles beside her. "Your friend..."

"He's dead," Cassian states simply. "He died for the cause. On Aldhani, you might've heard of it."

Jyn snorts. "Heard of it? It was all Saw could talk about."

She subsides, letting out a breath. "That was the year he left me."

"I know what that feels like," Cassian thinks he can feel Jyn lean into him as he speaks. "To be alone. Drawn one way by ideal, another by survival."

Jyn is definitely leaning into him. "So, your friend. His manifesto. Would you read it to me?"

Cassian clears his throat. "Of course."

As he begins to speak, the recon soldiers put down their copy and turn towards them. Karis Nemik's words seem to fill the air, to expand the atmosphere, and Cassian hears that click that tells him that Bodhi has switched on the ship intercom to listen in, too. It makes the words seem rarefied, echoing, layered, throughout the ship. 

Cassian steadies his voice, and continues to speak a dead man's words to a crew heading to their deaths.  

--

Jyn’s arm is wrapped tightly around Cassian’s waist as they limp out of the turbolift at the bottom of the transmitter. Past the bodies of friends and acquaintances. Cassian is glad that she is with him. 

The world feels light on his shoulders, or perhaps that is simply the blood loss

Or maybe it is the relief of the job being done. Cassian believes Jyn now, that Galen Erso had built a single fatal flaw into the Death Star, believes because he has to, because the Rebellion has those plans now. 

The destruction of something like the Death Star could be that final touch to break the Imperial siege, as Karis would have put it. 

Cassian looks up. He can see the Death Star rising on the horizon behind him, and for a second, he tells himself that the Empire would not dare. 

Of course, the Empire dares. 

When that massive streak of green light rips the sky in two above him, all Cassian can think about is the Eye of Aldhani. 

They stumble to a halt at the water’s edge, and Cassian’s knees finally buckle.

Cassian looks in Jyn’s eyes and sees the same pride, the same resignation. There is no more escaping, no more running, for Cassian Andor, or for Jyn Erso. 

He thinks about Clem, the man who adopted him, who died saving others, and Cassian means every word when he tells Jyn, “Your father would’ve been proud of you, Jyn.”

Cassian takes her hand, needing to feel the grasp of something human.

Jyn tightens her grip in thanks, tears beading in those eyes. Stars, those eyes. Clear as kyber. Beautiful. Jyn is beautiful, Cassian realises. He could look into them forever, if it meant that he can ignore the harsh light of the impending explosion.

Cassian has enough time left to regret what might’ve been. Not just with Jyn. With Bix. Brasso. Kino and Melshi. Karis and Skeen. With Maarva and Clem. 

But in this world, he doesn’t regret what he has done with his life. Because the Empire must fall. Because Karis Nemik was right. 

Jyn wraps her arms around him, and Cassian pulls her closer, tightening his grip, wanting to never forget it. 

The smell of her hair. Her heart beating against his. The warmth of her skin. 

The light and heat is nearly overwhelming, but he keeps his eyes open. He doesn’t know why. Jyn’s body fits perfectly into his. 

But in the last moments, just before the light reaches him, Cassian can only think of his sister. Wherever she is. He hopes with all his heart that she will live long enough to see a galaxy without the Empire. 

Cassian has never found her, but still he hopes. Just like the Rebellion does.

Sometimes the most universal truths are also the most personal. 

He has but a second left. He remembers her standing there, just before he left the village for the last time, her head cocked in confusion.

--

“ Kassa? ” she asks. 

“I’ll be right back,” he replies, Cassian replies, Kassa replies. “Don’t worry.”   

--

“Kerri,” Cassian gasps.

And then all around him becomes light.