Galen, Before

At first, after he agreed to work for the Empire, the changes were subtle. Science, after all, inevitably included slow-downs, stopgap measures, and imperfect theorems. After his years of imprisonment, being given access to such astonishing facilities and personnel felt like an impossible dream. And so the first time he told Krennic that he needed a number of materials that would be nearly impossible to safely obtain, and Krennic had them delivered the next week, Galen thought little of it. He must have simply gotten lucky - or once-poor farmers, like his own family, were being given the opportunity to prove themselves with a little risk. Krennic had explained as much, pointing out that Galen himself came from such a background: impoverished, sacrificing much to make his mark.

But then it happened again, and again. Kyber crystals could be dangerous to handle, but Krennic found him some lab assistants who didn't mind the danger. Krennic found him people willing to participate in all kinds of experiments, exposure to dangerous particles, medical experimentation that hadn't been legal under the Republic. Good for them, Krennic said, because they'd be well compensated, of course. All the Empire's science workers were, even the test subjects. Good for them.

And yet still Krennic could show him nothing - no proof that his research was improving lives. No proof of anything, in fact. And Lyra, who'd always been his better half, had suspicions and mistrust that he stopped being able to ignore.

His disillusionment came too quickly, and yet not quickly enough. Even as he'd escaped to his farm, he'd known the Empire would someday find him.

Playing a defeated man, as it happened, was easy. Here on Eadu, in the late stages of the project, he was truly defeated. Oh, he resisted, if passive sabotage could truly be called that. But defeat had sunk into his bones and his heart. His wife and daughter were dead and probably dead, respectively; he had lost his heart long ago. Sometimes, very late at night, he would let himself imagine what might have been: a peaceful farm, the kind of subsistence he'd fought to escape, before he understood what it was to be known by those in power.

He'd only wanted to be left alone. The impossibility of it never stopped rankling.

And so it was with irritation that he noticed the pilot, who despite never saying anything in the process of picking up shipments, made his presence not just known but unavoidable. He radiated neurosis and clearly had a temper. During the second shipment, as Galen supervised the droids loading the ship, one of his assistants said, "You there, hands off the merchandise. Cargo drivers have no use for high-quality kyber crystal, do they?"

To which the pilot snapped, "At least I have a vocation, hey? Instead of sniffing some twice-traitor's robes and hoping for a commendation."

Ah. That would be him, then.

"He's one of the greatest minds in the galaxy. What've you got to match that?"

"A ship," the pilot said, and then the conversation was over, for he hopped on-board to prepare for flight.

And of course, his assistant - what was her name? He couldn't remember - was correct. The Empire saved its most skilled pilots for combat; this pilot had likely failed at least one round of exams, perhaps more. He was no one, in other words. Galen, even as a twice-traitor, could probably have him shuffled off to the farthest corner of the Galaxy, or done away with altogether.

Krennic would have smiled if he expressed such a realization, expecting Galen to feel the same thrill that he himself did. Galen only felt the sick depression that he'd lived with for ten - fifteen? - years now.

Then he heard about the tests.

His plans had become an object in the sky. His mathematics bent gravity and focused energy. His work on the crystals spelled doom for thousands - ah, no, even in his thoughts he remained a coward. Billions.

He had worked unchanged for years, honing his skills at lying, telling himself this passive resistance would have to be enough. Perhaps it had been, for the schematics remained unaltered, the vulnerability in place.

Perhaps, perhaps.

He had a year, no more, possibly less. His time as a mostly-captive had made him soft. A year seemed like an impossibly tiny amount of time. He'd often considered how to get the information out, and each time found himself with no options guaranteed to succeed. Nothing had changed; his best bet, as far as he knew, remained to send out a weakly-encrypted message, and hope the Rebellion intercepted it.

A bad bet. The Empire would likely intercept it as well, and they'd know that he'd used weaker protocols deliberately. And then he would die, if his luck didn't run out.

A twice-traitor. Soon a thrice-traitor, Galen thought, and then an idea snagged his mind.

Every scientist on the station was loyal to the Empire, himself excepted. The more mundane crew, as well - cleaning, maintenance, and so on - consisted largely of old-timers, people whose loyalty wouldn't be questioned. But the pilots were another story.

The Empire had expanded quickly and taken heavy losses. Many of the pilots were young, potentially less steeped in the rhetoric of Empire, merit, and progress. And one, in particular, stood out: that damn pilot who always watched him, who dropped his guard more often than anyone else on Eadu, despite being here only occasionally.

He was loyal to the Empire, or so Galen could only assume. But all minds could be changed, and his seemed more open to influence than most. Loyal men could be turned disloyal. He knew that better than anyone.

-

He couldn't afford to bide his time. They only half celebrated Fete Week this far out, but he arranged for the pilot to be planet-side during their three days of meager celebration. Eadu had a fairly well-appointed personnel common room, and it was there that Galen invited the pilot, Rook, along with the rest of the ship's crew, his own scientists, and various other Eadu station employees.

After Rook's third drink, Galen sat near him. He'd been alone before, almost, accompanied only by a droid that had since left. When he noticed Galen, he looked up with those always-wide eyes.

And Galen, who'd drunk perhaps a bit more than was ideal, found himself saying, "Do you ever relax?"

Disbelief flashed across Rook's face, then something very akin to anger. "Are you serious? Have you looked out a window lately?"

He hadn't, in fact, but disclosure of that dreary fact would hardly help things. "It's Fete Week. We're celebrating."

"Don't know what," Rook muttered, and took another drink.

"The past. The future. Life itself." He waited for the pilot to look at him, then smiled.

He thought it was a good smile, but Rook just looked spooked. "Man, they weren't kidding about you."

"They?"

The pilot winced and finished off his drink. "I should get another."

"You really shouldn't."

"Oh, I thought I was supposed to be celebrating?"

"Most people don't celebrate by getting blind drunk."

"Maybe not Imperial scientists." He stood on wobbling legs. "You should find someone else to hit on. I'm a bad mark for that kind of thing."

The words shocked Galen so much that Rook made it several steps away from the table before he could react. Then, he stood and made to grab Rook's sleeve.

"Hey! Off!" Rook said, darting away.

More than a few celebrants glanced at them then, in the offhand way you did when you weren't sure if you were about to be caught in the middle of an alcohol-fueled fight. Galen cast a smile around the room, then said to Rook, "My apologies. Enjoy your night."

"Yeah, I will," Rook said. "You - what the..." He shook his head and loped off.

He had a strong walk, Galen thought, the walk of someone for whom Eadu was only a small corner of the world.

This would work too. It had to; he was running out of options.

He waited one, two, three breaths, as Rook walked past the alcohol and feast food, and out into the hallway.

Then he followed.

-

Visitors to Eadu slept in a small building adjacent to the main research complex. Rook made his way there quickly enough; Galen followed with more caution, trying to avoid both the station's surveillance getting too curious, and Rook himself noticing he was being followed and spooking. Again.

Well, it was hardly his fault. It'd been awhile since Galen even thought about seduction, or anything even close. He'd clearly lost his touch.

If he ever had it. Lyra had laughed at him often, in the early years.

Eventually Rook made it to his room. Galen waited in the hallway, paced it lengthwise six times before knocking.

For a moment he thought he'd waited too long, and Rook had fallen asleep, or simply decided not to answer. But then the door slid open.

"You're not quite on camera," Rook told him.

Galen nodded.

"I ought to tell the stationmaster to install 360-view droids. That's dangerous."

"The science building has them."

Rook absorbed the confirmation of his unimportance without expression. "Of course."

Yes, Galen thought, sadness squeezing his chest. He'd do very well.

"I was hoping to come in," he said. "And - talk."

Rook glanced over his own shoulder at the tiny desk and slightly larger bed. "Talk?"

"Just talking." Galen smiled again, trying for reassurance. "I'm sorry if I frightened you."

"It wasn't fright, it was - you know what? Never mind. Come in." Rook stepped aside, flinching away when Galen brushed against his chest on his way in.

Either he had some attraction to Galen himself, or he'd never had any experience at all, or he had and someone had hurt him. The latter two seemed much more likely, and yet this was still the only remotely strategic plan Galen had. So he didn't tell Rook to run, didn't leave himself. He only sat down at the desk and said, "Do you know how I came to be here?"

"Everyone knows. Sorry. But..." Rook shrugged.

The man Galen was pretending to be would still be offended by that truth. Galen frowned and looked away.

"Sorry," Rook said again. He didn't quite sound like he meant it.

Good.

"It's fine," Galen said. "I can hardly expect anything else, as you know, apparently."

Rook sat down on the bed. "It's a rough spot to be in, I suppose."

"Is it? Did you always plan to be a cargo pilot?"

"Hey!"

"What?"

"You know I didn't. You have to, everyone does. No one tries to be a cargo pilot, come on."

"You have high clearance. A position of trust -"

"Driving a ship that's almost impossible to dent. Or turn." Rook shook his head. "No, I failed, and I'm not some kyber genius, so here I am."

"Kyber genius?"

A slight wince, a hint of candid expression. "That's what the 'net says. You're an expert."

"And you got the rest of the gossip here."

"Sure. You can leave if you've got a problem with it."

He wanted to. It hit him with a fierceness that took his breath away. He'd have preferred to leave and never speak to Bodhi Rook again, because the idea of being this odd man's doom laid yet another too-heavy weight on his soul.

He could not. He knew that, had known it for years. He said only, "Of course not. You'll know I've been here for a long time, then."

Rook laughed, nervousness lending it a breathy edge. "Are you going to tell me you've been lonely, out here in the storms?"

Galen waited for his laughter to die. He waited until Rook's expression became its usual over-worried self, waited until Rook's fingers began twitching in his lap, waited until Rook's gaze darted up and down Galen's body with speculation and anticipation.

Then he said, "Yes."

He felt when Rook let out a breath, in two short, furious exhalations. And then he only felt warmth as Rook leaned across those few centimeters and kissed him.

It had been so long, too long. At first he only felt data points: warm lips, chapped hands, bony knees.

Then Rook leaned into the kiss, putting a hand on Galen's elbow, and he felt.

It wasn't long before Rook pulled him onto the bed. This was going much too quickly for his plan, yet he found he didn't care; Rook's hands were quick, pulling his clothes open to get skin on skin, cupping Galen's erection even as the kiss went on. Galen got his hands in Rook's hair, tugged and watched Rook gasp, slid the head of his cock against Rook's hip and then did it again, harder, when Rook whimpered.

It was messy, like this. Rook's face gleamed with sweat; Galen's own palms were slick with it, and when he reached for Rook, he fumbled like a teenager. It made Rook laugh, though, and almost relax, which made it all the more gratifying to see him tense again when Galen got his cock in his mouth.

He hadn't done this in so long, and back then, with Krennic - that didn't signify. The bodily actions weren't too strange, anyway, the weight on his tongue and the movement of his hands, the feel of Rook's nails as he grabbed at Galen's head, trying for more friction, more touch.

Galen let himself use his leverage, pressing Rook into the bed and pinching his thigh when he moved too much. Rook enjoyed that, too, groaning loudly, cursing when he saw Galen grinding his own hips into the bed.

"Oh, please, please," Rook said. "This - you - you know, this is a little, I don't - oh please." On and on, a stream of insecurity that should have been annoying and yet instead confirmed Galen's own suspicions, his own plans.

His mind was just clear enough, as Rook came on his tongue, to think: yes. This one would do.

He had to pull away, then. He had to nod to Rook, straighten his collar, and do up his clothes. When Rook looked down with ever-wide eyes, at the hardness still obvious through Galen's clothes, Galen only smiled.

It wasn't a kind smile. He let the condescending pity he'd experienced from so many Imperial officers bleed through, and absorbed Rook's wince with near-satisfaction.

He'd do very well indeed.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "The Fete will be finished, and I'd like to go over the manifest."

"Of course," Rook said, not quite focusing on Galen.

Galen nodded once more and let himself out.

Two hallways, a lift, two more hallways, and then he was in his quarters. He leaned against the wall as soon as his door shut and took hold of his cock, moving desperately, hips thrusting against nothing.

His quarters were bugged, had always been bugged. They'd heard all manner of activity from him. He still bit his lip as he came, determined to keep Rook's name out of this empty, empty room.

-

Galen got to practice lying the next morning. He kept a level expression and a calm voice as he reviewed the package manifest with Rook. Rook, in turn, darted more than a few concerned glances at Galen, as though waiting for him to drop to one knee and profess undying love, or kick him. It seemed as though both actions might elicit similar horror.

And then he was gone, off to take another shipment of death. Galen met with Krennic that afternoon, went over the project's progress and Galen's projections for the destructive power of each setting the Empire's developers had programmed into the control console. It was clunky work, really, deliberately near-analog. If they'd been building something less horrible, he'd have found it academically interesting.

As it was, he had to wait hours until he could be alone, mostly, in the 'fresher. If he turned away for five minutes it wasn't suspicious. The warm water - real water, a luxury he'd not been denied, and one he didn't inquire as to the origins of - coursed down his neck, and he allowed his expression to crumble, a fraction of the pain inside him escaping.

And then he composed himself and finished. He ate dinner in the observation tower that night, allowing Eadu's storms to express what he dared not.

-

Rook returned two weeks later. Galen greeted him with a noncommittal nod. He couldn't tell if anything was wrong; the man was just as jumpy as ever, which of course meant either everything, or almost nothing.

He was confident, anyway, in his likelihood of overcoming objection. And so with that in mind, he went to the visitors' building that night, knocking on Rook's door and standing clearly in view of the camera.

Rook opened the door immediately, but he said nothing and didn't move at all, only stared.

"Do you plan to invite me in?"

He half expected Rook to shut the door on him again. But then: "Depends. Do I get to touch you this time?"

Galen glanced up and down the hallway, then stepped inside himself, noting with bitter amusement that Rook jumped out of the way to let him. The door slid shut, and he said, "You touched me last time."

"Not -" Rook swallowed and his eyes darted back and forth. "Not. Enough. I barely did, actually."

"I remember it differently."

"I wasn't that drunk! You just stood there. Like some kind of - pornographic drill sergeant."

"You'd know, as an enlisted man."

"I'd toss you into the vacuum right now if I could," Rook said. Then he clenched his teeth, shook his head, and looked a bit ill.

Power. He might hate it, but he still recognized it. He had it, now, in this room. It was the smallest and pettiest power on this entire cursed station, but it was enough. It had to be.

He stepped forward. When Rook almost flinched out of the way, he bowed his head and held out a hand, his fingers loosely curling towards his palm. "I'm sorry," he said. "This might shock you, but a twice-traitor isn't popular company."

"Are you telling me it'd been awhile?"

Rook was trying for sarcasm. Galen looked at him with as much honesty as he could, and said, "That's what I'm saying, yes."

A small breath, then another, a stutter of exhalations. Rook said, "This is insane. And possibly against several very important rules."

"Do you care?"

"Yes!"

"Hm." Galen leaned in, letting himself inhale when he got close: citrus, sweat. "I'm not sure I do." He brushed his lips against Rook's ear, then his jaw.

"Listen, Erso -"

"Call me Galen."

"No, see, that's - what are you doing!"

Galen paused with his hand on Rook's hip, his fingers against the hard line of muscle he remembered from last time. "Touching you. Should I stop?"

Rook didn't answer, his breathing still rough. Galen looked down and met Rook's gaze, moving his thumb as he did so, up and down Rook's skin. He noted every stutter of Rook's breath, every half-started attempt to shift from under Galen's touch.

But he didn't move away. He let Galen touch him, caressing his hips, pushing his nightshirt up centimeter by centimeter until a wide swath of skin was bared. He looked, Galen thought, nondescript, the kind of man whose face would pass from memory as soon as you looked away. A good face, in other words, for Rebellion work.

"I didn't mean it," Rook said as Galen dipped a thumb inside his pants.

"Hmm?"

"The - ohhhh."

Galen smiled, then rubbed him again, not quite touching his cock. "We can talk later."

Rook snorted. "Sure, man."

Fair enough.

"The traitor thing," Rook said. His voice wasn't anything approaching steady, but he wouldn't be distracted. Again, Galen thought: good for the work he had planned. "I mean, it's true, but I ought to apologize."

Galen let himself be honest for a moment: he snorted and said, "No one here does as they ought."

"Apparently not," Rook said. "Still -"

Galen dropped to his knees. "Enough. I did tell you we could talk later."

He looked up in time to see the moment Rook made a decision, the shift from half-terrified arousal to...capitulation.

"Right, sure," Rook said. "It's not like I'll ever - right. Go."

"Hop to it?" Galen said. He laughed, a breath against Rook's skin as he tugged Rook's pants down. "I'm at your service."

Rook swore as his cock jumped. The next laugh Galen let out wasn't feigned. Nor was his arousal when Rook rubbed against him, not quite fucking his mouth.

He wanted to remember the oddity of it all, the way Rook wasn't exactly as he normally was - the way he was more confident, yet oddly hesitant, apologizing even as he demanded more. But the longer it went on, the longer Galen could taste him, feel his muscles tremble as he fought to keep his composure, the less he was able to think at all.

And that was his excuse, or his explanation, for what happened next: Rook stepped away, grabbed Galen's hands and moved to pull him onto the bed, and Galen let him.

He wound up on his back. The visitor's beds were hard and shorter than his own bed, but that mattered very little when Rook moved over him, pressing against Galen's cock and kissing, then biting, his neck.

The contact between them became something else, something needier, and much riskier. Rook divested Galen of his clothes, pinched his nipples and almost-smiled when Galen couldn't quite suppress a moan.

And he was quick here, so quick. He slicked his hand and jacked Galen off, leaning against him, biting his jaw and smiling against Galen's shoulder when he gasped. He let Galen wrap a leg around him, moving shamelessly, like a man half his age - and when Galen finally came, messy and hard, he finished himself with that same hand, still hovering over Galen.

It was a sight that ought to have been impossible. Galen appreciated it as one, touching the come that ended up on his chest, then Rook's thighs, his ass. He had eleven months now, give or take. Precision, Galen's most valued tool, was impossible here.

He wanted longer.

Rook opened his eyes slowly. Galen watched as the usual tenseness invaded his limbs again. It started with his eyes: they moved from satiation to wariness in the time it took Galen to draw a breath.

"I thought there might be something wrong with you."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Since you ran away last time."

"I didn't run away!"

He saw Rook's smile, then. He'd only seen it once before, from a distance. It was a good smile. "You did."

He hated this moment, this fragile connection. He schooled his expression and said, "Regardless."

"Right." All Rook's nervousness returned. He clambered off Galen, jamming himself between Galen's legs and the wall. "Anyway. They'd probably fly you in a boyfriend if you wanted."

The time had come. He snorted, allowing bitterness through. "They killed my wife."

"What?"

"Traitor, remember?"

"I really didn't mean that."

"But it's true. They punish traitors, Rook, here in the Empire."

Rook's eyes darted to and fro, up and down. It took Galen an embarrassingly long moment to realize he was looking for bugs. "We're safe here."

"Right." Rook swallowed. "Bodhi."

He affected confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"My name. My first name. It's Bodhi."

"Ah."

Confusion, then uncertainty. "Do you have some kind of problem with saying it?"

"Of course not. It's a bit of a segue, though."

"I don't like thinking about the Empire," Rook said. "Maybe that's why."

"You live in the Empire, don't you? And you enlisted."

"How'd you know?"

"You have the look." Not a lie, though it elided the truth.

Rook twisted his mouth like he'd bit into a sour fruit. "Well, anyway, I don't like thinking about - all of it. It's huge, impossible, dangerous."

"Much like a ship."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Rook -"

"Bodhi, I told you."

"Bodhi." A name he'd never spoken, a name that felt odd in his mouth. "There's nothing special about the Empire."

Panic, now. "That's treason. Again. And you just said -"

"It's big, yes. And demands loyalty." Galen shrugged. "I've become harder to scare than I was when I was young."

He didn't mistake Bodhi's panic for anything more noble. But there was something else there, too, a single speck of - aspiration, maybe. Hope, if he was feeling optimistic, which he never was.

"I'm pretty young," Bodhi said, and then winced.

"Not that young. Obviously."

"Are you going to tell me the Empire can be defeated?"

"That is treason." And it sent a thrill down Galen's spine to hear Bodhi say it. "I was going to say that you needn't fear, all the time. The Empire's punishments are still the finite actions of a fallible government."

Again Bodhi's gaze circulated the room. This time, he didn't respond. He was thinking it over, Galen knew, and likely concluding Galen was dangerous.

But Galen had gained valuable information: he was sure now that Bodhi could be convinced, that he was open to being told the Empire's worst truths.

He would use his remaining time wisely. Right now that meant leaving Bodhi to think about the Empire's flaws.

He made his excuses and left, ignoring the disappointment Bodhi didn't bother, or didn't know how, to hide. The ship would be back in another few weeks.

Two days later, he had his semi-monthly lunch with Krennic. Krennic would have made it weekly if he could. He enjoyed both checking up on Galen and ensuring Galen knew who was in charge, who'd won, who'd - in his own mind - gotten Galen back on track and humbled him enough to enable him to be truly great.

An impressive list of accomplishments, really, none of them based in reality.

"Galen," Krennic said as Galen sat down across from him. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course." He sat, back straight, and waited on Krennic's droid to serve them.

As director of the program and a board member of the Tarkin Initiative, Krennic owned this suite of rooms outright. Any of the many furnishings could have fed a family from Jedha for months. When Krennic was off Eadu, as he often was, no one else occupied the rooms.

The hatred, the fury, lived in his heart as it always had: alongside yowling fear, implacable determination. When the droid brought them carefully cooked, ostentatiously expensive food, Galen ate it. When Krennic asked about his progress with a tricky bit of quantum mechanics, as it related to guiding subparticles of kyber, Galen answered in what he knew to be dizzying detail.

He didn't think about the pilot.

-

He kept his old, tattered clothes in a basket at the end of his bed. Such an action indicated disrespect in many cultures within the Empire, including Lyra's. He could, after all, simply have them sent out and replaced with nicer clothes. He could display the basket, a work of art in its own right, on his bureau.

And then it would be confiscated, for anyone who bothered to notice it would see the knotwork and the dyed fiber patterns, both of which marked them as from Aria Prime: Lyra's home world. After confiscation it would be burned, and he'd lose his only possession that had once been Lyra's, before it passed through a number of secondhand art dealers, and back to him.

So he kept his old clothes in it. He knew Lyra wouldn't mind. She'd seen the utility in scraps.

-

Krennic came to his office a week after their lunch and two days before Bodhi Rook was due back for another shipment. He sat down across from Galen and said without prompting, "One hundred five billion kilos of carbon. How long?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How long would it take our tool to do away with such an amount of carbon?"

He looked at Krennic then - really looked, took in his shining eyes and cruel expression. Krennic hadn't been his friend for a long time. He'd become a creature of diminishing returns, for whom cruelty and power served as proxies to an immortality he'd never see.

"Not long," he said. "I could perform precise calculations, if you'd like."

"You're not curious about why I might need them?"

"Oh, I'm curious. But I know what the weapon does. I can guess why you want it."

"Does it bother you?"

"Krennic." Galen leaned in, pressed his palm against Krennic's knuckles. "I've given this project my life. My legacy."

"Of course." Krennic leaned away, then, and stood, so that he could look down at Galen, forcing Galen's head back. "I would like those calculations. Have them sent to my comm."

Galen nodded.

Krennic left. The cameras along the door, in the seam between the wall and the ceiling, in the hanging plant he'd been given by a subordinate, remained.

He picked up his holopad and returned to work.

-

Two days later, he sat in his office, working on calculations Krennic might never see. It was just past midnight local time, late enough that he ought to have left some time ago. He was halfway through stifling a yawn when a quiet voice said, "Someone told me you might be up here."

He didn't look up. "Bodhi. I'd have thought you'd be busy."

"It's not too challenging, saying yes sir, I'll try not to crash into a mountain."

Galen heard no movement. He looked up to see Bodhi standing in the doorway, not so much as twitching.

He was nervous. For a moment Galen let his imagination run wild: did Bodhi think this a romance? Something with high stakes and, potentially, a joyous ending? What did he imagine when he laid his head down, what did he think his life would come to?

"...or I could leave," Bodhi said, and turned.

"Don't." He said it too quickly. "I was distracted. My apologies."

Bodhi rubbed the back of his head. "No, it's me. I actually came up here...I had some questions. Of a, well, specific nature." He glanced at the hanging plant, then at the door. "About that thing you were telling me? About my sister? It was awhile ago, you might not remember."

"I do, of course," Galen said. "I'll see you about it tomorrow. I've got just the thing for - her birthday."

Bodhi bobbed his head. "Right, right. Just so. Ah, thanks." He raised his hand in ostentatious goodbye.

Galen stayed in his office another quarter hour. He had no choice but to work: his work would be recorded, same as everything else. His calculations were precise as usual, his theoretical conclusions modest. He'd elaborate on it tomorrow. He still cared about this work, somehow.

Then he left. As had become his habit lately, he didn't go to his room.

Bodhi opened the door before he could knock this time. He said nothing as he stepped aside.

Galen sat at the desk with suddenly-heavy legs. "I hope you weren't expecting anything, ah, exciting." He waved a hand at the bed.

"I stopped expecting that a few hours ago." Was he hurt? It might be better if he was. "I had a different question. About some rumors I've been hearing."

"Rumors?"

"People hear I've been coming in and out of Eadu, they ask me if I know of a weapon. The weapon."

"What do you tell them?"

"I tell them I've no idea, because I don't, and I wouldn't if I did. Clearance, remember?"

"You'll forgive me if I'm somewhat unmoved by a cargo pilot's clearance." He waited for Bodhi's offense or hurt. None came. He only looked frightened. "You know I develop weapons."

"Well -"

"That Eadu station excavates kyber crystals for weapons. Among other applications."

"Can't say I've ever seen the other applications."

And so the Empire's lies became bare. "Ask someone next time," Galen said. "What I can tell you is limited, even here. Get yourself some leave, go to a bar. Talk about the rumors. I can assure you, you'll learn something."

Suspicion, then. "Are you trying to get me to spy on someone? For the Empire? To look for secrets -"

"Bodhi -"

"I don't care, I'm not - not for anyone, no, I was curious, that's all. Just curious." Bodhi cut the air with a shaking hand. "Don't. I won't."

He would. Galen knew that for certain now, and the knowledge filled him with a bitter nothingness. "I'm not asking you to spy for the Empire. I'm trying to get you the information you want. Do you understand?"

"No," Bodhi said, but he nodded even as he said it.

And then he shook his head. "I think you should leave. I'm sorry. I do, though, I really - really do." He waved the door open, then all but shoved Galen through it.

Galen's bed was cold when he slid beneath the sheets, and cold when he exited for another day's work.

-

Ten months now.

"What do you think of him?" Krennic said. They sat together in the mess hall. Galen had been watching Bodhi - discreetly, he'd thought. Apparently not discreetly enough.

"The pilot? Acceptable."

"To fly planes, or to sit on your -"

"Don't."

"My apologies for being crass. You must know others have asked the same question."

Another reminder, less than subtle, pointedly cruel - a specialty of Krennic's. "Am I breaking some regulation I'm unaware of? He's not under my command."

"Oh, no, nothing like that. People are just shocked to see Galen Erso finally thaw."

A furious howling then, an overawareness of injustice that he could never quite strangle. None of it made it to his face. "I wouldn't speculate. Everyone has needs. And preferences."

"And yours are running such interesting places nowadays."

If he answered, something would break. He didn't want to find out if it was his long-ago promise to Jyn, his own honesty, or some important limb on Krennic's body. Instead, he took another sip of coffee.

Krennic chuckled. "Very well. You're to be commended, Erso, for finally managing to surprise us."

He left before Galen could scrape together a response.

He went to Bodhi that night. He didn't speak, and he should have spoken, for this couldn't be accomplished only with silent, half-honest touches. But he couldn't bring himself to just then: Bodhi touched him with newfound conviction, bit at his shoulder and rode him, writhing in Galen's lap. Galen could say nothing that even might push him away.

Only after, as he stared at the ceiling, did Bodhi say, "I did what you told me to. I asked around."

And he'd still let Galen touch him. The rumors weren't as accurate as he'd hoped. "What did you discover?"

Bodhi laughed then, sounding half-mad. "Something terrible. Impossible."

"Very little is impossible."

"Tell me it is. Tell me no one's building a weapon to end weapons."

"You asked me last time."

"I thought people were talking about a new kind of blaster, or a - Jedi had sabers, something normal people could use. Not this."

He could have given Bodhi an entire lecture about the difference, about the quantity of kyber crystals needed for the cold coercion the Tarkin Initiative hoped for. But Bodhi wouldn't have cared, most likely, and anyway they didn't have time. "It's true."

"And you -"

"I." He closed his eyes against the rush of shame. How many times had he thought that he wasn't doing enough, that nothing he could do would stop it? But he'd never spoken it aloud, not since that last horrible day on Lah'mu. "When I began working with Republic scientific initiatives, the precise properties of kyber crystals were poorly understood in a non-mystical sense - and in some cases, misunderstood. I was fascinated with them, the power they could potentially generate. Whole cities, you see, entire planets, brought into a new age of prosperity."

"That's never happened."

"No. Kyber is also the only material we have that can concentrate power enough to behave in...the manner I've designed it to."

"To kill."

"To annihilate." He couldn't prevent his voice from roughening then, as he willed Bodhi to face the truth. "Point the weapon at a planet, and then you'll see nothing but the blackness of space. That, Bodhi Rook, is what the whispers are about. By all rights they ought to be screams."

Bodhi didn't speak. When Galen turned to look at him, he was staring at the ceiling, always-wide eyes all but bugging out of his head, hands shaking at his sides.

"I should," Galen said, and then moved to get out of bed instead of bothering with platitudes.

"Wait." Bodhi grabbed Galen's wrist, his fingers biting into Galen's skin. "Why this? Why me? Why - you -"

He was so close, Galen though with almost-fondness. He'd nearly put it all together. But only nearly, and Galen knew his awareness and suspicion would recede for now; the blackness of space, the loneliness of his route, would bring it back.

"I did what I could to stop it," he said. "To slow the work. But without me, it would have simply taken a few more years."

"And so you helped."

He had to believe that for now, or they were both doomed. "Yes."

"I think. I think you should leave."

Galen nodded and obeyed.

-

He lost some time after that. It had happened before - when he'd first been recaptured, of course, but after major breakthroughs as well, and once when Krennic had shot his assistant for attempting to conscientiously object. He could only work through it, but his work had slowed, of late. He'd be reassigned after a successful test, or he'd be killed, his best days presumed behind him.

But eventually Bodhi returned, and this time, he sent a message to Galen to meet him in the visitor's common lounge.

That answered the question that had weighed on Galen late at night, as memories of sweet touches kept him awake. He arrived before his appointed time, sitting in a straight-backed chair and watching Bodhi make his way across the room.

He ought to have been a fighter pilot. It struck Galen odd that he wasn't. He had talent, that much was obvious, and the will to break rules. What else could they possibly be selecting for?

"You didn't tell me everything," Bodhi said.

"Didn't I?"

"If you're approaching me for some kind of, I don't know, mission, that means it can be stopped. Or at least that there's more to it."

It was a flash of insight Galen hadn't expected from him, and it threw him off. "I told you -"

"I know what you told me." A shadow of anger. "You've been telling me a lot of things, Galen Erso."

Galen nodded.

"And now I'm going to ask you." He shook his head. "I don't want to, understand? I thought about - you look down at a planet, you think, what can do that? Just make it - poof, it's gone."

A sanitized description.

"But I thought about it. A lot. You wanted me to."

Again, he nodded.

For a moment, Bodhi only stared at him. Then he shook his head. "Do they know what a viper they've got? Right here in the middle of the nest."

"The rumors don't carry the whole truth," Galen said. "As you know now. I have limited ways of getting information out, and I must get information out. It can operate near-autonomously for decades. It can also be destroyed in moments."

Bodhi's eyes widened. "That's impossible. Unless -"

"Yes."

"Sabotage like that...that's insane."

"Yes."

"You want -"

"I want you to do what you know is right." Galen leaned forward, putting his hands over Bodhi's. Bodhi didn't flinch away, and he stifled a terrible feeling of triumph: the tide had turned.

Eight months.

He said every word carefully. "One man can do quite a bit, if his timing is good, if his eyes stay sharp. One person can change the course of what others have determined will be. You know where your heart is. You know what this station is doing, what we all are here to facilitate. What will you do?"

For a moment he thought Bodhi might hesitate. His wasn't an unflagging spirit, an uncompromising agent of justice. But he didn't. His hands were steady under Galen's, his gaze bright as he said, "You said there was information. I can get it out."

He should have kept lying, enabled Bodhi's optimism until it could truly no longer serve him. Instead he said, "This is your death warrant. You understand?"

"I hate it," Bodhi said. "I can't do anything else."

And so Galen laid out the plan.

-

At its heart it was simple: take the data, find Saw Gerrera, and Jyn, if possible. "You have a daughter?" Bodhi said. Outside the common room's reinforced windows, another Eadu storm raged.

"Have. Or had. It's part of why I'm held here."

"I have two sisters," Bodhi said.

"Oh?"

"I haven't been back in some time."

"Back to Jedha."

"I didn't realize it would be an impediment, when I enlisted. They recruit down there, you know. Straight from the temple. Sonam, she - my sister, my older sister. She told me to be careful. She went to the temple."

A whole story lay there, under this spare description. Galen would never hear it. "You ignored her?"

"The temple's dangerous too."

"They preach peace, don't they? Adherence to the will of the Force."

Bodhi snorted. "Anyway. I failed the exams. A Jedha boy isn't fast-tracked or given a second chance. And so - here I am."

"My benefit."

"Not really the time for sweet-talking, is it? The point is what I can do."

He hadn't been sweet-talking. Even now his timing wasn't quite right. "Jyn may not be alive," he said for what felt like the hundredth time. "But Saw..."

"He's not quite right, last I heard."

"The Rebellion isn't a unified whole. They might choose to be cautious."

"And you don't want that."

"It's intolerable." He'd thought this through so many times in the last several months, yet now he struggled with the words. "The information is only valuable if it's carried out. If the plans can't be gotten, then the information at least - that's still important. It can't stay in the hands of one or two people."

"Saw will throw it on the 'net."

"He might. But it has to make it out. Do you understand? It has to."

"I understand."

He didn't quite believe or trust Bodhi, which was likely only to be expected: he didn't quite believe or trust anyone, himself included. He could accomplish little else that day, though, so he said, "Drinks? The science deck's got a fully stocked bar."

"I'm a pilot. How fully stocked, exactly?"

"Let me show you."

They left the visitor's lounge with Galen's hand on Bodhi's back. He felt the heat hours later, still, a brand he'd never intended to acquire.

-

Six months.

He didn't ask Bodhi where his heart was - if he believed in the cause yet, if he was really going to turn traitor for a cause he didn't quite believe in. He sensed it, though, in the ways they touched each other. Whatever his deepest thoughts were, he'd do as Galen asked.

For that reason more than any other, Galen found himself in Bodhi's bed twice in the same twenty-four-hour cycle, letting Bodhi bend him over and take, and give, over and over, until he was so exhausted he almost felt relaxed. But any long-term seclusion was out of the question. Galen suggested the lounge again, and Bodhi agreed.

They settled on a couch this time. Two visiting Imperial scientists occupied a table in the far corner; being guests, they had full carafes of some effervescent drink, and looked utterly at peace. When Bodhi looked over at them, Galen captured his hand, saying, "This is meant to be a comfortable space."

Meaning: stop looking suspicious.

"Right," Bodhi said. "What's more comfortable than this?" Eadu's thunder crashed, as though to emphasize his point. Technically, insulation strong enough to keep out all sounds of the storm existed. Eadu had never rated such expenditures, not when Galen had already proven an ability to work through such inconveniences.

"I suppose you're not used to rain."

"Growing up on Jedha, you mean?" Bodhi snorted. "That was awhile ago, you know."

"How long?"

"Are you really asking me, Erso -"

"Galen," he said again, for what felt like the dozenth time.

Bodhi's lips pursed, his eyes widened. The foolish thread stretched between them. He might as well have taken off his clothes and tried to perform a six-poles dance.

"Galen," Bodhi said. "I'm used to rain. There's plenty of industry on places like this. Lots of cargo to haul."

"I see." The problem was, he'd never been good at this. Not even with Lyra, or before, as a youth fresh from the farm. He'd always been either too much or too little, too committed or too distant. And now - what was this, even, here? What could it be? Very little, with a messy end. He knew that.

But he wanted something. Some small indication that what had formed between them had some small amount of honesty in it. Or at least, a bit of integrity.

"Did you -"

"I don't know anything about you!"

He said it with such force that Galen sat back in his chair, such force that the scientists in the corner glanced over at them, raised eyebrows at Galen, before returning to their chat.

"I'm sorry," Galen said, modulating his voice to be as soft as possible. "I suppose I've been reticent."

"You've been something," Bodhi said. "And that's part of the problem, you see?"

"In my defense." Galen cleared his throat. "You did tell me you'd, ah, heard of me."

"Not anything I couldn't find in a biography."

And what a biography it would be. "I was born a farmboy," Galen said. "An unambitious one, if you'll believe it."

"I don't."

"It's true. What I do here, it's inter-disciplinary, but my earliest teachers thought I was a very bright waste of potential."

Something about that made Bodhi smile. It was a small thing, and precious for that. Galen committed it to memory as best he could. "Did you ever write them to say, hey, look at me now?"

"My legacy is muddled." Galen studied the table, a polycarbonate created from the various non-kyber minerals Eadu boasted in its hostile crust. "And they're dead now."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. The Emperor willed it." He shrugged off the news of teachers bloodied and left for dead. "I've had a long and interesting life. I've little to complain about."

"Smile for the cameras," Bodhi muttered, and stared into the artificial fire.

Part of Galen wanted to ask what he'd expected, exactly - if he thought honesty was possible here, or anywhere. He'd once been good at starting that kind of lover's quarrel, the sort where mutually provocative questions led to fiery making up.

It would ring hollow here. Instead, he said, "It'll be soon."

"Yes."

"You've had more time to think about it."

"Months." The light glinted off Bodhi's eyes. Always, always so frightened-looking. Galen had hoped to be the spark to an entire forest of dried tinder. He found himself now thinking of wet hay.

"What do you think?"

"Mostly I haven't been." Bodhi glanced at him, then away. "I think, if I think about it too much, I'll turn coward and tell you no. And then where will you be?"

Gentle mocking there. Too gentle, for he was proving Galen wrong in his most private thoughts, yet again. "Back to a worse plan, I suppose."

"Could it destroy a system?"

He understood perfectly, but he didn't want to answer. "I'm sorry?"

"The weapon. How fast...they said it was big."

"It is. It's a moon in its own right, a mobile one."

Bodhi muttered something disbelieving. But he didn't un-ask the question, so Galen said, "It depends."

"What do you mean?"

"We don't have the data yet." A cold, horrible way of explaining the impediment. "The power can travel, of course. The aim should be accurate. Which means -"

"It could just sit there. One planet after another."

Slowly turning, giving each planet time to receive news of their doom, but not enough time to evacuate. "Yes."

This time, Bodhi only swore. Galen bowed his head, thinking of the early plans, of Jyn. His Jyn. Would she hate him, all these years later, knowing what he'd helped plan?

Eventually he had to look up. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I know what I'm up against now."

"Still -"

His communicated buzzed: Krennic. He let the message through.

"I have some news," Krennic said. "I'll need you in my quarters. Now."

"I'll be right there." He disconnected and looked at Bodhi. "I was going to say -"

"Go," Bodhi said. "I'll see you later. I don't leave for another day's cycle."

He wanted to say so many things, all of them unwise. Instead, he hastened to Krennic's chambers.

"The timeline," Krennic said without greeting him properly, "has constricted."

"Ah."

Krennic lifted his hands. He stood at the window, illuminated by the depot's lights. "We're finished, Galen."

"My work -"

"Your work. Your work will always have a new horizon, won't it? That's what it means to be an academic." He turned, looking at Galen, his eyes shining with a fanatical light that Galen could barely remember sharing. "But our work, the work...it's ready."

"For?"

"A test. And then, the galaxy."

Galen could have, and should have, pointed out that tests were not such a small impediment. But he couldn't tell that particular lie just now. He knew better than anyone how carefully the weapon had been designed, how likely it was to succeed just as expected.

He thought of Bodhi then, determined and terrified. He'd hoped to have more time to tell him how things were likely to go, to teach him to withstand the terrors of rebellion. He wasn't even sure how he'd have done it, but now it didn't matter.

"Galen," Krennic said. "Surely you're not as morose as you look."

"Of course not." Smile, smile, smile. "You know I tend to be more careful. But if you say it's ready for a test -"

"A confirmation. Of all our hard work."

A confirmation that Krennic would turn into a promotion. Billions of lives ended, and he knew Krennic would never truly care. "I want nothing more."

"No? Your pilot was seen whispering about a weapon to anyone who'd listen."

"My pilot is a simple man. As you know." Galen smirked a bit, looking out into the storms. "I thought it best to find out what the populace thought we were building, before someone here got loose-lipped."

"And?"

"They know nothing. He thought it was a new kind of blaster."

"I'm surprised your pride allowed for that. He thinks you've been holed up here working on a toy for Stormtroopers?"

"We don't spend most of our time talking."

He watched Krennic grimace in distaste. The man had always been a hypocrite. "Well. Make sure he stays ignorant."

"That won't be difficult."

"I'll be sure to inform you when our tests are successful. There's sure to be a recording." Another bloodless smile that Galen returned. "Dismissed."

He couldn't cry or scream. Old knowledge, old limitations. But he couldn't go to Bodhi, either. Krennic's suspicion was as clear as the Eadu skies were clouded; to go to Bodhi right now, to escape from under the Empire's cameras, would be to confirm insurrection.

At first he didn't notice the second presence in his room. When he did, every muscle froze; the person stepped into the light, and he saw that it was only Bodhi, looking the same as he always looked.

Not quite the same. He'd written something at the nape of his neck, in tiny and exact lettering. Galen took one, two, three steps forward, close enough to look down at him - as expressionlessly as he could, as cruelly as he was able.

There Bodhi had written: they're suspicious.

"Sir," Bodhi said, and tilted his head back.

Permission, or as close to it as he was likely to get. He rubbed his thumb over the words, smudging and then removing them. Sweat beaded on Bodhi's collarbone, and as Galen pressed a fingernail into the thin skin there, Bodhi gasped and swayed forward.

And then, as abruptly as he'd revealed himself, he dropped to his knees. "I'm at your service," he said, bowing his head.

It was a perfect movement, possessing a greater understanding of the danger than Galen would have guessed Bodhi had. Here, he was everything the Empire presumed a powerful member of the Tarkin Initiative would want. Casual use would raise no suspicion - would, in truth, allay the suspicion that they'd stirred up.

It was perfect, and he couldn't tell Bodhi, couldn't breathe a word of praise or give him a moment of softness. "Then serve," he said, and waited.

They moved together easily, even like this. Bodhi undressed him with quick and familiar movements, pressing him down onto the bed - twice as wide as the visitors' beds, a fact Galen hated that he noticed.

"What would you like?" Bodhi said, standing beside the bed fully clothed.

Something not at all like this. "Undress yourself. And prepare yourself. I trust you brought something."

"Of course, sir." Bodhi pulled his nightclothes off, baring his skinny - getting skinnier - legs, his tightly muscled chest. Galen couldn't keep his eyes off him in this moment, as he kneeled on the bed and poured lube on his fingers, working them between his legs with the ease of the lonely.

Ease Galen recognized. "Slower," he said, his voice catching on his own arousal. "I'm not twenty. I want to enjoy this."

Something almost honest flashed in Bodhi's eyes. He fell forward as though overcome, using the momentum to pin Galen to the bed. He wouldn't be able to move like this, and it brought a horrible kind of relief. Bodhi's fingers bit into his neck, centimeters from his airway. His other hand worked himself open, hovering above Galen, breathing growing ever more uneven.

Finally, he said, "Can I - please, G - sir. Please."

Galen spread his legs. He reached out, too, touching Bodhi's shoulder, his jaw. The physiological responses of arousal were nothing new to him, experientially or scientifically, but he'd never felt quite this mix of terror and want, or need. "Here," he said, and tangled their fingers together, bringing them to his cock.

Bodhi's hand was clumsy; it didn't matter. He slid down onto Galen easily, tight, warm, and so perfectly slick. "You're good at this," Galen said before he could help himself.

Bodhi didn't answer. He didn't even pause. If he was still aware of the surveillance, he didn't let on; he leaned back on his arms and gyrated his hips, sending sensation thundering through Galen, letting out a fractured moan when Galen fucked him back.

He might not be graceful, but he was thorough. Galen held onto Bodhi's hips, letting him grind down, then slowing the pace of his ride, fingers biting into Bodhi's thighs hard enough to bruise. "You will wait," he said, "until I'm ready."

"Sir."

The cameras wouldn't see the way they both shuddered at that, or the way Galen went momentarily limp under Bodhi, letting Bodhi press down against his chest until it almost hurt.

He wasn't a young man anymore. If Bodhi minded, he'd never let on. He tugged Galen's nipples, bit his wrist, ground down on Galen's cock while panting and moaning. He begged incoherently, a stream of please and oh, oh, let me that had Galen out of his own mind, wild with need. When Galen came, it was with his hands clinging to Bodhi's arms, his head thrown back, Bodhi's name on his lips.

And then, only moments later, Bodhi followed: eyes wide, staring down at Galen in a haze of lust, touching his own semen on Galen's chest with an odd kind of reverence.

Galen couldn't send him away. He caught Bodhi on the way down, disengaged them, sat next to him as Bodhi's breathing evened and his consciousness fell away.

As the cameras watched Bodhi sleep, Galen went into his bathroom and retrieved the long-hidden chip from its spot in a loose piece of paneling. It had laid there for over a decade, never risking technological obsolescence thanks to how simple it was. One button, and it would scramble the cameras in a single room for three minutes. One use, and its power would be spent, becoming nothing but an inert trinket.

He pressed the button, took out his datachip, and recorded the message.

In the end, it was less than what he'd hoped it might be. Less organized, to be sure, and less dignified. He could still see Jyn there, a ghost in his mind, always almost-with-him. But this ghost was a little girl, and Jyn - if she'd survived, Jyn would be a woman now.

He missed her, and he would likely never see her again. He might never know if she'd survived.

When the scrambler died, the datachip weighed down his picket and his eyes remained dry. He walked back out into his suite. "I hope you're not falling asleep." Appropriately cold, that voice. "You'll be going now, of course."

"I - right. Of course." The wide eyes, the first trait he'd noticed, watched him, even as Bodhi scrambled for his clothes. "I've got another shipment, so..."

"You're a busy man." He let the bitterness in, under the guise of snobbery. Bodhi didn't flinch; maybe he was just used to it, from others if not from Galen.

"Yes." Bodhi bowed his head, walked forward. It was a beautiful display of submissiveness.

Galen leaned in, fitting his hand against Bodhi's hip. The datachip slid from his palm into Bodhi's pocket.

"Next time, you'll inform me you're coming," he said.

He meant, of course, that there would be a next time. He meant that he hadn't just dropped their deaths into Bodhi's pocket. He meant this last lie, and he could see, pulling back to meet Bodhi's gaze, that Bodhi understood.

"Yes," Bodhi said. "Sir."

It held no obeisance. No one was likely to notice. Galen turned to the window and watched Bodhi's reflection make its way out of his chambers, beyond the view of those ever-vigilant cameras.

He had fancied himself a powerful enough tool to complain about the quality of his kindling. But his wet hay, his hope that had compelled impossible honesty, left the planet without sounding the slightest alarm. Krennic met him for breakfast the day after the final shipment went out with an affable smile, innocent of his most recent treachery.

Galen again thought of Jyn, and again smiled back.

-

Bodhi, Later

Bodhi hadn't asked Galen if he understood what it meant to a Jedha boy, being told to find Saw Gerrera. He suspected the answer would've been the same at any rate. Bodhi was the option chosen because there had not really been other options. He understood that as clearly as he understood how to plot a flight trajectory, or the parts of the exams he hadn't done quite well enough on to merit becoming a starfighter pilot. Galen would probably tell him that didn't matter now, and Bodhi would only nod because he'd long since learned that nodding and agreeing was a pretty sure route to avoiding ridicule.

But it did matter. He didn't need to tell Galen that for it to be true. If he'd become a starfighter pilot, he'd've made something of himself. His mother would be fed, his sisters would be safe from the Empire and Gerrera both, and he...

He'd have greeted Galen as an equal. Perhaps even a superior, half-captive as Galen was. But then he'd have greeted Galen as an irretrievable loyalist, so of course it wasn't to be preferred after all.

These were nice, cozy, distracting thoughts, for Saw Gerrera's plans for him were terrible, and he'd taken the datachip that contained the exported scrap of hope.

Jyn Erso. What would a daughter of Galen's even be like? He'd probably never know now.

Not too much later, the monster got him. Or, rather, the interrogation began - but the monster in his head snarled and told him it was a monster, but an honest one, preferable to the lies of a corrupt, grasping Empire.

Honesty was all the monster could give, and all it could demand. And so Bodhi didn't avoid it, because he couldn't. He told the monster: I am here for Galen. I am here because what he told me was awful, beyond all awful things I had imagined the Empire could do, but I am also here for him, because of him, to continue what he wanted to continue.

The monster took him at his word. It also laughed.

-

One truth died with him, because the monster hadn't asked it of him, and the Rebellion didn't either. In those last hours he was more a bag of ship-shards than a full person, but this truth ran through all those shards still, a bright streak of minerals in dull heavy metal. He wouldn't have died for love; he wouldn't have died for the Rebellion. The force that lifted him off the sands of Jedha wasn't the Force, just the human terror of staying grounded, the human cowardice known as a survival instinct.

But put any element in a hot enough fire and it will change. Freeze any element cold enough and it will change. He died for a peculiar kind of love that would never be publicized: love for Galen, and love for the courage that he didn't realize he was capable of having until it was almost too late. Love for that last, foolish charge. Love for the near-strangers, Galen's daughter among them, who made it with him.

And so Bodhi Rook returned to the sky.