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Ryloth’s moons were high in the sky when Hera caught her mother sneaking out of the Syndulla family home.
She hurried through the halls, a cantankerous Chopper wheeling behind her, warbling loudly that Hera should just go back to bed. But Hera couldn’t sleep; she was too preoccupied by the distress call that she’d intercepted while repairing Chopper’s sensor array earlier that day. The transcribed message said the Empire had set up a base in a remote village, and had begged for help. Hera had gone to her mother, already planning to amass weapons and people to go and liberate the village. Eleni Syndulla told her in no uncertain terms that Hera was not to get involved.
But Hera had spotted the shadow of her mother pass her room in the dead of night, and Hera wasn’t about to let her slip away.
An unfamiliar starship was docked down in the hanger bay. Three members of the Freedom Fighters used hovercarts to maneuver large containers into the tiny cargo hold, taking directions from –
“Mom!” Hera called, running over.
Eleni Syndulla spun around, green lekku draping over her shoulders. “Hera? What are you doing up?”
“What are you doing?” Hera retorted. She couldn’t see the contents of the containers, but she had a suspicion, and her pulse picked up. She heard Chopper rolling up behind her as he complained about his interrupted charge.
The Fighters loaded the last of the containers and waved at them both before piling into their speeders and disappearing into the night. Eleni finally responded, “I am going to the outlying village that sent the message. Our sources have confirmed that an Imperial outpost has been established there.”
Hera grinned. “We’re bringing them aid after all!”
“I am bringing them aid. You will go back to bed.”
“No!” Hera grabbed her mother’s arm. It was beyond frustrating to be treated like a child. Even though she was just a teenager, she’d already faced her share of danger. “You can’t go by yourself! And I can’t just go back to bed wondering what’s happening. Let me do this. Please, Mom. I want to help.”
Eleni peered down at her for a long moment, her green eyes searching Hera’s. Hera held her breath. Finally, the woman nodded once. “Very well. But –” she held up a finger to stave off her daughter’s excitement, “– you will do exactly as I say, without argument.”
Hera bobbed her head quickly in agreement, hot on Eleni’s heels as they boarded the ship, a grumbling Chopper reluctantly wheeling after them.
“Can I fly?” Hera pleaded. It wasn’t a large ship, and the cockpit didn’t leave much room for maneuvering; Chopper had to settle into the narrow hallway behind them.
Eleni considered it for a moment. “Once we’re in the air. But no takeoffs or landings; it’s not our ship.”
Hera managed not to pout as she squeezed into the copilot’s chair. “Whose is it?”
As the engines hummed to life, Eleni explained, “A journalist from Alderaan. We’d debated whether she should accompany me, but she’s covering a story in the capital and needs to be available tomorrow morning.”
Once the ship had gone through the take-off cycle, Eleni guided the ship out of the hanger and into the open sky. After plotting a route and making sure they were in the clear, Eleni allowed Hera to take the pilot’s chair. Hera grasped the control yoke in delight. The swooping sensation in her belly was exhilarating; all her concerns fell away as she soared through the air. This was where she belonged.
After several minutes of tapping away at a datapad, Eleni finally broke the silence. “How is your Core Worlds accent?”
Taken aback, Hera cleared her throat and replied in her best attempt at a non-Rylothian accent. “It could be better. I’ll work on it. Are we pretending to be off-worlders?”
“Indeed. We are bringing humanitarian aid from Alderaan.” Her mother’s fake accent was surprisingly good. “The ship’s credentials check out, as do our identities.” She angled the datapad towards Hera, who saw an ident card with her picture and the name “Hera Antilles”.
“I suppose ‘Syndulla’ would be a bit of a giveaway,” Hera said with a wry smile. Between her father leading the Freedom Fighters during The Clone Wars, and the framing of her parents in the assassination attempt of Senator Orn Free Ta, theirs was a well-known family name on Ryloth.
Hera settled back in her seat. “So, what are we giving the villagers? I assume rifles and pistols, but what about carbines? Any torpedoes? Grenades? Mines?”
“Jogan fruit and meilooruns. Bacta patches, stims, and vaccines. And fuel tanks and generator parts.”
Hera wrinkled her nose. “But that’s not going to help them fight against the Empire!”
“Why do you say that?”
“You can’t fight someone with a meiloorun!” She looked at her mother incredulously. “They asked for our help –”
“ – And we are giving it. ‘Helping’ doesn’t always mean ‘fighting,’ Hera.”
Lekku twitching in irritation, Hera turned her full attention to her mother. “How can we say we’re helping people if we’re leaving them at the mercy of the Empire? We need to run the Empire out, show them that we won’t allow ourselves to be bullied – especially not on our own world!”
“Are you prepared to kill them?”
The question caught Hera off-guard, and her mother pressed on, her normally gentle expression suddenly replaced with a hardness that Hera had never seen before.
“When you talk of fighting, what do you envision? Blaster fire that doesn’t actually hit anyone, but sends stormtroopers running? Explosions taking out the Empire’s war machines without anyone nearby? The notion of fighting is valiant, but have you considered that you would be ending someone’s life? You managed to avoid any casualties when you destroyed the doonium refinery, but you will not always be so lucky. If you choose to fight with violence, Hera, someday you will look down the scope of your blaster, or at your targeting computer, and make the decision to kill.”
It took Hera a moment to find her voice; her throat had gone dry. “But during the war –”
“During open war, when the stakes are high and people are dying, hard choices have to be made. Sometimes, those choices will haunt you the rest of your life. It is not some noble pursuit – it’s life and death. And there is one large distinction that you must remember: we are dealing with people now, Hera. It was easy enough to fight with weapons during the war because almost all the targets were just droids.”
From behind them, Chopper gave an indignant holler.
“Droids without developed personality matrices,” Eleni amended, a ghost of a smile on her lips before she became serious again. “But the troops that the Empire sends to Ryloth now are living, breathing people, many of whom truly believe that the Empire’s purpose is to establish peace and order. Some of them are young, fresh out of academies; some have joined the military to see the galaxy; some have families waiting for them at home. So, Hera: are you prepared to kill them?”
Hera stared at the ship consol without really seeing. “If – if I have to…” But she trailed off, because she suddenly imagined her hands on a blaster, aiming at someone and choosing to kill them, and she felt sick.
Eleni’s hand rested on Hera’s shoulder, and her voice became gentler as she continued. “There are many ways to fight, Hera. Your Uncle Gobi fights with weapons; the war wore him down to the point where brute force is all he knows. Your father fights with words whenever he can; he does not want death, and is not willing to bring retaliation to our people. Fighting can also be done in subtle ways. Defending those who can’t defend themselves; bringing hope to those who have none.” She gestured over her shoulder. “These supplies will give the people hope. It won’t drive out the Empire. But it will nourish them, heal them, give them the agency they need to live their day-to-day lives. I know it is hard to believe that it is enough, because how could it ever be enough? But the kindness we extend to one another is something that every person of every ability can do. You can always fight with kindness.”
Tears blurred Hera’s vision; she blinked them away. Eleni wrapped her arms around her daughter and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know you want to help, Hera. And I am proud of you for that. But you are a child – my child. It is my role to protect you. And that means shielding you from having to make such a choice for as long as I can. In the meantime, we will help in other ways.”
The rest of the flight was silent as Hera digested her mother’s words. Even Chopper – normally always eager to give his opinion – stayed uncharacteristically quiet. The sun was just breaking over the horizon as they approached the village, and Hera and Eleni switched seats. Eleni guided the ship to the Imperial checkpoint, careful to comply with all their directions. The stormtroopers – not a clone among them, Hera noted – confirmed their idents as citizens of Alderaan, searched the ship and cargo, and cleared them to unload.
Hera and Eleni pushed the hovercarts loaded with the supply containers down the narrow ship ramp, Chopper pushing a smaller container ahead of him. The white armor of the stormtroopers was stark against the reddish hue of the canyon-hewn homes and the multicolor skin of the Twi’leks that came to greet them. As Eleni spoke with the village leader, Hera found herself desperately wishing that she could see the trooper’s faces; with their uniformed helmets, she could almost forget that there was a person underneath.
Volunteers came to help organize the supplies, and soon the villagers had formed lines to receive the aid. Hera helped pass out meilooruns, amazed as the faces of each person lit up as they accepted the orange-and-pink fruit. Even as stormtroopers regulated the lines, interlopers on their world, threats to their daily lives, the locals thanked her profusely, grabbed her hands, and beamed like life itself was restored to them. It was midday by the time there was a break from the steady stream of people, and Hera leaned heavily against the container.
“You’re here!”
Hera peered around at the small voice. A teal-skinned Twi’lek girl no more than ten years old was staring up at her. She was skinny, her cheeks sunken, but the smile that lit up her face could power starships.
“We are,” Hera confirmed, unable to stop herself from grinning back. “I’m Hera. What’s your name?”
“I’m Numa. Did you come because of my message?”
“Your message?”
The girl nodded and dropped her voice. “I sent a signal asking for help.”
Hera squatted down so she was eye-to-eye with Numa. She dropped the Core Worlds accent and murmured with a smile, “We got your message. We came as soon as we could.”
“Do you need help fighting?” Numa whispered. “I can fight.”
Hera’s heart stuttered. Numa’s face was determined, but she was so young, so small – an image rose unbidden in Hera’s mind of the girl holding a blaster bigger than herself, and Hera’s breath caught. A fierce protectiveness flared up in her. It gave Hera pause. Was this what Eleni saw when she looked at Hera? A small child in a big dangerous galaxy who didn’t understand the risks?
“We do need help,” Hera finally said. She pressed a meiloorun into Numa’s hands. “We need to make sure that we’re taking care of each other. The best way to fight back is to live. To thrive. So, here’s my special assignment for you: keep helping the people of your village. Make sure everyone has enough to eat. If you see someone struggling, offer to aid them. Be kind. Have hope. Do you think you can do that?”
Numa nodded enthusiastically. She threw her arms around Hera and buried her face in her shoulder. “I knew you’d come.”
Hera hugged her back tightly. “We always will.”