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The Ring of Kafrene is a bustle of activity, bodies crushed between high, graffitied walls. Cruisers whir overhead, slow between interlocking towers. Lights glow like stars from the upper district, glittering above the trash-scuffed streets. Cassian holds tight to the strap of his knapsack. He hurries, but not noticeably. His stride is the practiced rush of a trader late to a haul, but he moves faster for his own purposes too. Cassian is already late by 30 standard minutes, his rendezvous will not be pleased.
Cassian slows when a pair of Stormtroopers cross his path. Neither looks at him, continuing none-the-wiser down a perpendicular street. No danger yet, but he has to stay alert. The Ring of Kafrene is an open trading post, but the Imperial presence is strong here.
He rounds a corner and glances over his shoulder. No tail. Quietly, Cassian approaches the door of a red building. The housing in the lower district reminds Cassian of storage crates - dirty and stacked one on top of the other.
He thumbs the keypad to the right of the door. 4059. The door groans open, a laborious shift from right to left. The lights are off inside, but Cassian knows this space like the back of his hand. It’s a room with the barest furniture, and so far it has stayed private. Cassian has not been to this location in two years. They switch informants, it keeps anyone from beginning to recognize his face.
The door closes behind him. Someone breathes.
Cassian pulls his blaster just before a body barrels into him. He twists, goes low, grabs and shoves. The other is a step behind but strong enough to be a problem. Their footsteps thud across the metal grate floor. Cassian throws an elbow, succeeds in getting on top. They’re on the ground, and Cassian has him. Blaster aimed, he shoves his assailant’s weapon off into the darkness. He flips the flash attached to his weapon on. Blue light blares into a face he hasn’t seen in 10 months.
“My,” Director Krennic says, “your people must be desperate if they’ve sent you, captain.”
Krennic never looks his station during these rare face-to-face meetings. He’s shed his Imperial uniform in favor of a standard tunic and pants. Cassian reads the heightened stress on his face. New crease lines have formed across Krennic’s brow, and his hair is a touch grayer than Cassian remembers. His weariness is evident, dark circles under eyes that seem too blue.
Cassian keeps his weapon trained, straddled across Krennic’s chest. The director's heavy breaths rise beneath his legs.
If there’s one thing he can say for Krennic, it’s that the director does not shrink from adversity. Under the glare of Cassian’s gun, he simply smiles. His cross of amusement and impatience raises Cassian’s ire.
Cassian knows better than to let Krennic get under his skin, but it’s what Krennic does. It’s why Cassian had to take this rendezvous in person, why he couldn’t trust it to anyone beneath him. Their situation is dire, and they don’t have time for Krennic’s manipulation. Maybe Cassian likes the challenge too.
“May I get up?” Krennic asks. “Or do you prefer me on my back?”
Reluctantly, Cassian sits back, blaster still trained on Krennic. Krennic touches the back of his head. No blood, but he still scowls.
It’s a surprise when Krennic chooses to remain on the floor. He watches a crouched Cassian a few paces away. The close attention makes Cassian wary. “What news from Jedha?” he asks.
Krennic scowls. “What news?” He brushes an angry hand down his shirt. “Is that how far behind your little band is?”
“We don’t have time for this-”
“You’re right, we don’t.” Krennic’s voice rises, a fist balled against his leg. “Jedha is the only news. It’s become the main site of the kyber mining. The process is nearly complete.”
Cassian knows about the kyber mining and its importance in powering the weapon. It fuels the conductor that Galen Erso has delayed completion of as long as possible. “What’s the target?” he asks.
Krennic huffs. “On current schedule, four standard months. But pressure is mounting from the Emperor. There is a site visit scheduled in a week from,” he grimaces, “Governor Tarkin. I expect the timeline to be shortened considerably.”
“To when?”
“Two months would be my guess,” Krennic says. “It’s an aggressive schedule, but it will be ready. They will select somewhere remote for testing, likely one of the abandoned moons in the Outer Rim. A place far from the Senate’s intrusion.”
He scrubs his face with a weary hand, and Cassian mulls what he’s said. Two standard months until testing, hell. They aren’t ready. They have no plan.
“We need the location,” he says. “And we need a copy of the plans.”
“You need everything, don’t you?” Krennic finally stands, and Cassian stands with him, maintaining a wary distance. His fingers curl in warning around his blaster’s hilt. Krennic acknowledges the gesture with a snort. “I shouldn’t be here,” he states. “We’re too close to completion. Any unexplained absence jeopardizes everything.”
“You’re the director of the whole damn thing.” Cassian gives a spiteful smile. “Make a reason. You’re the one who signed up for this. There are millions of lives at stake.”
“You sound like Galen,” Krennic mutters. “This isn’t the middle stages when the powers that be were content to let us carry on so long as there were no incidents. The Death Star has become the Emperor’s top priority. Tarkin is breathing down my neck, and Lord Vader himself will be overseeing the final stages. I won’t be seeing any of you again, and if you're smart, you’ll do the same.”
The problem with Krennic isn’t logic. It’s motive that Cassian is unable to trust. Krennic’s reason for joining in his boyhood friend’s deception remains murky to Cassian. Loss of life and widespread terror were not enough to sway Krennic until Erso’s involvement. Maybe the wrongness of the Planet Killer gnawed at him until he was unable to stand it? Or maybe this is all Erso’s doing, an orchestrated change of heart between longtime friends.
But even this seems to go against Krennic’s sense of self-preservation. Cassian knows his type, stripes of Imperial ranking across his chest. Krennic's ilk want power, and they don’t care how many people they have to ruin to get it. What is Krennic after?
“The plans are on Scarif,” Krennic says. His mouth draws in a quiet snarl. “You’ll need them to target the reactor core. A single blast will dismantle it, but it must be precise.”
“Scarif. A military base with a planetary shield generator.” Cassian scoffs. “Try again.”
“I have. We-” Krennic falls silent with a sneer and paces from one end of the room to the other. He crosses his arms over his chest. Cassian doesn’t miss that his hands are shaking. “Galen would need to recreate them from scratch, and there isn't time. The full plans require a code higher than our access.”
“Higher than your...” Cassian raises a dubious brow. “You’re the leader of the damn project. Galen Erso is its chief architect-”
“And the complete plans are behind more virtual locks than your master codebreakers can crack.” Krennic stops moving. For once, he does not look angry or smug. Only very, very tired. “The plans are on Scarif. If you mean to retrieve them, we can get you an Imperial vessel, updated codes, and a pilot we trust. There is no other way.”
Cassian does not trust him, but... “Where is the weapon now?”
“Coordinates would be futile, the station is mobile. It is being moved.”
“Where?”
Krennic’s smile spikes. “Anywhere the Emperor commands.”
“Kriffing hell,” Cassian mutters. He drums fingers on the hilt of his blaster.
Krennic’s eyes are on him, a silent evaluation Cassian has no interest in engaging with. His mind cycles through plans and odds. How many will he be able to convince to infiltrate Scarif? How will they find the plans? Will K-2 be able to track it, or will they be going in blind?
Can he transmit the plans off-world if they’re unable to escape? Will he be able to recruit enough bodies, knowing the end likely to befall them?
His gaze flicks back to Krennic. He has something in his hand. A beacon module; a blinking light, and below it, digital coordinate readouts.
Cassian takes it from him and frowns. “What is this?”
“Galen’s built a tracker into the reactor, disguised as one of the radiation sensors. It will hold.”
Useful. More valuable than any intel Cassian has received tonight. He has no thanks for Krennic. Silence is the best he can do.
Krennic nods. “Well then. If that’s all.”
“Yes,” Cassian says. They look at each other.
They do not see as the other sees, but for brief moment Cassian thinks he could, one day. When this is all over, if he’s given the chance. They won't live this long, of course, but if they did...
Krennic sniffs and pulls up the collar of his coat. “Well then. To never seeing each other again, captain.”
Cassian’s mouth betrays a smile. “Director,” he says.
Krennic leaves, and Cassian sinks against a wall. He thinks of Scarif, radiation detectors, a planet destroyer, and Orson Krennic.
His eyes close, and he waits for the right time to move.
***
Bodhi Rook is the name of the pilot. In the Imperial disguise of a private, Cassian rendezvous with him at Eadu Station. Eadu does not appear on any legal Imperial registries. Its military research facility is off the books, for reasons Cassian is well aware of.
From the outside, Eadu is as Cassian remembers it. An out of place, nondescript facility built into giant slabs of rock. From the inside, Cassian has to smother his surprise.
He was inside Eadu Station years ago, a mission masterminded by the eccentric Saw Gerrera. Gerrera long-operated outside Alliance protocols, but for once he was willing to cooperate. He had an old friend, a Rebellion inside man, operating within the Empire. An Imperial prisoner, family dead, forced to assist with the Empire’s development of a new weapon.
At that time, Eadu Station was a beacon on a shithole of a planet. Its inside beamed with the latest advancements in military technology. Pristine white walls, floors, and ceilings. Readout screens whizzing faster than anything Cassian had ever seen.
Galen Erso was a weary gray presence within this blare of progress. A man subdued, defeated - save for one small spark in his eyes. “Give me time,” Erso said. “I'll convince him.”
Cassian did not believe it until he entered an unmarked cantina on Sargas Four. A wary, cloaked Orson Krennic waited at the counter.
Eadu has been stripped of its former prestige. Screens have been dismantled, hallways and control rooms vacated. What of Erso and his team? Has their location shifted?
By the time Cassian meets with Rook, he is full of questions. The pilot seems squirrely, jittering as he parrots his practiced lines. Yes, of course he will pilot a shuttle to Jedha. He’s aware that Renza Kor (Cassian’s moniker) is to rendezvous with Captain Cooke on-surface.
“Your stay on Jedha Moon will likely be brief, private,” Bodhi offers. At Cassian’s unspoken question, he whispers, “The Imperial presence is lifting from Jedha City. Mining operations will cease at the end of the standard month.”
More questions race nauseously through Cassian’s mind. The timetable has advanced beyond Krennic’s assumptions. They have little time to complete the Scarif mission. Testing may have already begun.
“Sir,” Bodhi adds, shifting. “Your, um, your presence was also requested before departure.”
“My presence,” Cassian echoes flatly.
Bodhi clears his throat, a pang of concern behind his eyes. “Yes, um. Office 24807. You - you know the way, yes?”
“I’ll manage,” Cassian says with a curt nod. “Thank you.”
Office 24807 is on the highest level of Eadu Station. Cassian is mildly surprised that his code cylinder clears a private for this sector.
The quietness of the floor quells some of his questions. This level, like the rest of Eadu, is a ghost of what it was. Scanner droids cross his path, as do a few members of maintenance. No one else. He passes eerily empty offices marked only by vacant desks and dead holo-screens.
Office 24807 is one of few closed doors on the hall. Cassian buzzes for entry. The white panel door swishes open. Director Krennic leans against his desk.
Cassian's first instinct is to storm right back out, but the door clicks shut behind him before he can react. “This is stupid,” Cassian hisses. “This is so stupid, Krennic-”
“Galen is dead,” Krennic says. Cassian blinks. The dismantling of Eadu Station makes far more sense now.
The horrible truth is, Cassian knew this would happen. It's a pipe dream that anyone involved in this war of secrets will survive. Cassian did not know of Erso's death, but he isn't surprised in the slightest. Still, Erso was a good man. He risked his life for the Rebellion. Now, he is dead, and the Rebellion is no closer to stopping the monster he had a prominent part in unleashing.
Krennic looks exhausted, head down and hands limp in his lap. His uniform blares white, an uncomfortable focal point in his dark office. It lacks its usual flourish, hanging off him like a rack. Absently, he lifts a gloved hand to rub his neck. Cassian frowns at the odd red marks around his throat.
“How?” Cassian asks.
“Tarkin discovered a string of communication to Jedha. The firewall should have been impenetrable. Galen never left traces of his- of any messages to Saw Gerrera. It was one. One mistake, one…” Krennic is faraway, words too light. He sounds unstable. He sounds dangerous.
“Tarkin killed him,” Cassian assumes.
Krennic makes a mild, assenting sound. “Grand Moff Tarkin now. He’s taken control of the project.”
“...What?”
Krennic’s crooked smile fills Cassian with unease. “It was a firing squad. Galen...the fool, he-” a laugh, “he said it was just him. He begged for mercy for his team, they had nothing to do with it. As if he was speaking to rational people.”
Cassian takes a step forward. “Krennic-”
“Galen would have done better with your lot.” Krennic waves a hand in Cassian’s direction, as if he can address an entire Rebellion with a single gesture. “He had such hope for people. As if their innate goodness would never let the galaxy fall to chaos.” A scoff. “So many blasters. Really - such a waste of resources. A single shot would have surely sufficed.”
We don’t have time for this, Cassian's brain supplies. He shakes his head at himself.
“Krennic,” he says, trying to keep the edge from his voice. “We can still get the plans. This doesn’t-” Cassian frowns. “All of this will still mean something.”
“Ah yes.” Krennic smiles bitterly. “Meaning.” He looks to Cassian, eyes sharp as blades. A chill coils down Cassian’s back. “He looked at me, you know. Right before. He looked at me, the fool. Like it was all worth it. Like he’d succeeded somehow, because I was still…” His words become a chuckle, and he rubs his neck again.
Weak, Cassian’s well-trained mind warns. Kill him and run.
It would be the smart thing. Galen is gone, and Krennic is clearly compromised. His usefulness has come to an end with Tarkin now leading of the project. Krennic is, in some ways, more dangerous than Erso ever was. Krennic has been a contact. He knows names, he knows faces. The Rebellion has heard all about the Emperor’s Sith Lord devotee. Darth Vader, he's called. The wielder of witchcraft that can probe the minds of the most stubborn and tear truth from the tightest stitched lips. Cassian's gaze strays to the marks around Krennic's neck. They look suspiciously like bruises from a hand.
His hand drifts to his blaster. For some reason, he does not fire. Krennic watches him closely, a smile when he sees where Cassian’s fingers have strayed. “Stardust,” he says.
“What?”
“The name of the file on Scarif. Stardust.” Krennic’s eyes are red around the edges.
“We’ll get it,” Cassian says.
Krennic nods, and adds, “Wobani.” This thread, Cassian does not follow. He frowns at Krennic, who is no longer looking at him. “Galen has a child. She’s found herself on hard times. You might consider scooping her up, if you can spare the personnel.”
Cassian’s frown deepens. “You...hid Erso’s daughter from him.”
Krennic blinks at a patch of wall, as if he sees something Cassian cannot. “She’s amassed a skill set that, applied to the right cause, could be quite useful.”
Of course he hid Galen Erso’s daughter from him. Erso would have tried to reach her himself, or through Gerrera. She would be dead now too, or he would have been dead sooner.
Sighing, Cassian’s hand falls from his blaster. Draven would not agree, but for the first time Cassian can remember, he doesn't care.
Come with me Cassian’s mind offers suddenly. It’s an abrupt thought, startling, and Cassian feels off-balance.
He shoves the idea away. It isn’t an option. “We’ll get the plans,” Cassian tells him, backing away.
“I’m sure you will,” Krennic says.
Casaian falters at the door, hand hovering over the keypad. “Wobani,” he adds quietly. “We’ll try.” Krennic accepts the words with a hitched shoulder.
Cassian punches the key lock, and exits without looking back. As he retraces steps to the hangar bay, he knows he will not see Orson Krennic again. For good this time. They’ve made their choices.
For one strange moment, the breath catches in Cassian's throat. He sees the end of the line, real as blaster fire between his eyes.
It isn't fair, is it? This war, this time. It isn't fair.
Then, Cassian remembers what he is. He exhales slowly and continues on.
*The End*