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They were on their third hyperspace jump en route to Yavin IV before the hologram of Ursa Wren flickered off. Sabine and Tristan had pulled up several maps over the last half-hour, and were already deep in conversation as Zeb moved towards the back of the ship. He was ready to be back on land again. He'd been on much longer flights, of course, but the dozen rebel soldiers packed into the hallway of the Ghost made the usually adequate quarters cramped and suffocating. He picked his way down the hall. Some of the rebels were injured, but none terribly, and the walkway was clear enough that he could squeeze through with only a little difficulty.
And there, standing in the corner with his back towards the door, was Kallus. He glanced up at the Lasat's approach, flashed an uncertain smile. "Hello, Zeb."
Zeb hadn't seen the man, much less talked to him, since they picked up his escape pod floating in the debris around the Interdictor. "Hello." He frowned. "You look awful."
The spy touched the swollen bruise around his eye, wincing ruefully. "Not the worst thing I've seen done to a traitor, I promise you."
"I believe that," the Lasat grunted. He jerked his head towards the galley. "C'mon." Kallus followed wordlessly. Zeb motioned him to a seat, which he took stiffly. Stepping past the table, Zeb cracked open the conservator, peering inside. "How's the leg?"
"It's all right. Mostly healed on its own. Twinges every now and then, but nothing too serious."
"Good." Zeb rummaged in the cooler for a moment, then sat down across from him. He slid a bag of frozen vegetables across the table. "They've pretty much cleaned out our medkit, but that should help with the eye."
Kallus accepted it, cradling the cool packet against his face. He looked more tired and disheveled than Zeb had ever seen him. His lip was split and swollen, face peppered with cuts, scrapes and bruises. Still, there was something new, a shy uncertainty the Lasat wasn't really sure what to make of.
He shifted his arms, revealing the rest of his parcel. Small, almost seaweed-like pouches of various colors lay cut open on the plate next to half a slice of crisp golden flatbread. "Might wanna have this, too. Don't want to face Mon Mothma on an empty stomach." He chuckled at Kallus' surprised look. "Leftover fral. You might like it."
"It's been a while since I've eaten anything but ration cubes," the imperial admitted. His voice was soft, softer than Zeb had ever heard it. "Thank you."
He grinned crookedly. "Only the finest service here in the Rebel Alliance."
Kallus scooped up a forkful of food, examined it as best he could with his good eye. After a moment, he popped it in his mouth and chewed slowly.
Zeb leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of his seat. "Not much to miss about the Empire, eh?"
Shaking his head, Kallus swallowed. He chuckled ruefully. "Not much at all, I assure you."
Zeb gestured to his companion's scuffed uniform. "You know, you can't just go around wearing that on Yavin. They teach you how to dress yourself in the Empire?"
"I know how to buy clothes, Zeb."
"Just making sure."
Kallus' gaze dropped to the table, his smile fading. Zeb lowered his arms and leaned forward. "What is it?"
The spy held out the fork, a cracked piece of bread still stuck to the end of it. "This tastes strange. I don't know if I like it."
Zeb lifted an eyebrow. "Well, it is something of an acquired taste."
"That's not what I mean." Kallus stared at the fork as if he was the one skewered on it. "I know you're joking, but… you're right. I've worn nothing but a uniform for well over a decade. I've spent more time under the lights of a Star Destroyer than under any sun. I've carried out missions using my own judgment, of course, but they weren't my missions."
Zeb frowned. "That comes with being a soldier. In the Lasan Honor Guard, what we did was a part of who we were, too."
"Yes," Kallus said slowly, "but I've seen the homes of Lasan Honor Guard." He said it softly, bitterly. "You had homes. And families, and possessions, and lives." His mouth twisted. "The only thing in my quarters that wasn't assigned to me was that strange yellow rock we found on Bahryn."
"You kept that?" Zeb asked, startled.
"Yes. Although I hardly know why."
"Look," Zeb said uncertainly, "if stuff is what you're worried about, talk to Sabine or Hera. I'm sure they can help you get outfitted with – "
"That's not the point, Zeb." Kallus' grip tightened. After a moment, he sighed and set down the fork. He spoke slowly, like he was searching for the words to explain even to himself. "When I was at the academy, one of my instructors had an Arkanian canary. It used to huddle in its cage, peering out at us like it wanted nothing more than to be set free."
"And did you free it?"
"No." Kallus stared down at his plate. "One of the other students did, though. When the instructor found out, he simply closed the door to the cage, letting it fly loose in the room." He shivered. "Eventually it starved to death."
Zeb frowned at the man. His tawny hair, which he'd tried to return to some semblance of order, had fallen back into his again. His golden eyes rested, unseeing, on the table in front of him. The soft hopefulness of earlier was gone, replaced with a gnawing emptiness.
"Well," Zeb said after a moment, "you're not a canary, first of all." He gestured to the plate in front of his friend. "And you're not about to starve to death." His voice dropped. "You're not the first imperial to join the Rebellion, you know. It'll take time, but you'll adjust."
Kallus lifted his gaze, and their eyes locked. The doubt lingered. Not of the rebels, Zeb knew, but of himself. His shoulders bristled, but he tried for his friend's sake to keep his voice calm. "When you said your leg healed 'mostly on its own,' what did you mean?"
Kallus frowned. "I don't—"
"After you returned to the ship, obviously injured, did anyone check up on you?"
"Well, no."
"Did anyone offer to help with your duties while your leg healed?"
"Of course not."
"Did anyone from the medlab follow up with you to make sure you were okay? That you weren't in too much pain? That everything was healing as it should?"
"Zeb, I'm not sure where you're going with this."
"Of course that bird starved to death. It was trapped in an Imperial compound." Zeb grabbed the other man's shoulder. "You're not. And you're not 'mostly on your own', either. Like I said, it'll take time. But when you need help, we'll be there. Not just me, not just the Ghost crew. There are good people in the Rebellion. They'll see to it you're taken care of. And I know that you'll help take care of them. Karabast, you already are. Think about everyone in that hallway. How many of them would be alive now if you weren't spying for them? Risking your life, in case you've forgotten!" His grip tightened. "Of course you kept that rock! It was the only warmth in the blasted place."
Kallus stared at Zeb's hand on his shoulder. His own hands had curled into fists on the table, the bag of frozen veg clutched, forgotten, in one of them. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again. Finally, he smiled, and with it, the shy uncertainty returned. This time, Zeb recognized it for what it was. Hope. "Who am I to question the word of Garazeb Orellios?"
"Exactly," he chuckled. "You know, it occurs to me I don't know your first name. It can't be Agent."
"It's Alexsandr," the man said slowly, as if the sound of it was strange to him as well. "My first name is Alexsandr."
The ship shuddered, and the murmur of voices from the hallway rose slightly.
Zeb stood, using his grip on the other's shoulder to hoist him to his feet as well. "We’re landing. Come on." He gestured for the man to follow him. "I want to show you something."
They stepped out into the hallway. The rebel soldiers were standing, gathering their belongings, helping their injured companions towards the doors. As Zeb and Kallus approached, the lock released with a hiss. The cabin pressure shifted slightly, equalizing with the outside air, and Zeb's ears twitched as they popped. At last the door moved, and the first cracks of outside light appeared through the opening.
It was morning on Yavin IV. The sun had just crept over the horizon, golden fingers of light caressing the treetops and striking sparks on the dew-laden grass. Beside him, Zeb heard Kallus' quick intake of breath. He chuckled, and gave the other man a shove forward. "Let's go get you settled in, Alexsandr."