[Solved] For Alderaan

https://swfactions.net/community/postid/338/

She remembered her first time here, flush with the thrill of success at her first mission to support the Alliance.  She and Dannan had been working together for about a year, but most of their smuggling had been running food and medical supplies past local Imperial pickets guarding backwater planets. This was their first ‘real’ mission, Qolla had thought. Delivering weapons to the Alliance to Restore the Republic!  A real (albeit small) blow against the mighty Empire!  

She and Dannan unloaded the crates, piling them on a repulsorlift and carting them into the heart of the temple. Qolla watched with wide eyes as they passed starship after starship, in every state of disrepair. Mechanics and pilots crawled all over them, trying to eke out another flight from the tired old birds. Strict Marines watched carefully from their posts, their long white helmets sticking out above the crowd like absurd crowns.  

When they finally arrived at their destination, Qolla was surprised, and not a little indignant. “A bar?  Here?  I thought this place was a military base, not some cantina!” she whispered. 

“There’s always a bar!  Trust me, it’s a good thing. The Alliance couldn’t keep half of its troops if there wasn’t a place to knock a few back after a long day,” Dannan said, smiling.  “Come on, don’t stand there gawking, help me unload these crates.”

“But where does it all come from?  This place has a better selection than half the spaceports we’ve visited.  Who delivers to a war zone?”

Dannan laughed. “Why, we do, of course!” Sliding off the lid of the top crate, he reached in and grabbed two bottles. Hoisting them over his head, he suddenly cried out, “Macks! Got a restock for you!”

A diminutive green alien behind the counter turned around, wiping a glass. When he saw what Dannan was carrying, his eyes grew even larger than they already were, and he cried out in a language Qolla didn’t recognize.  Hearing this, the rest of the patrons faced the newcomers.  When they saw what they were carrying, they cheered and scrambled to help.

Qolla, however, was not amused. “I thought you said we were smuggling weapons for the Alliance!” she hissed. “Not running a beverage service!”

“Technically, I said our cargo was ‘critical for the war effort.’ Which it is.  Come on, relax and have a drink.  We made it!  Our first run for the Alliance together.  We need to celebrate!”

Qolla grudgingly took a seat at the bar.  Their mission might not be of great strategic import, but she couldn’t help but appreciate the obvious good humor of the cheerful Rebels.  Dannan grabbed one of the freshly delivered bottles and swiped a few glasses from behind the bar, then plopped down next to Qolla.  Macks chittered sharply at Dannan, but didn’t try to stop him.

“Thanks for the drink, Macks.  Put it on my tab.” Dannan grinned as the little green creature scowled.  At least, Qolla thought he was scowling.  It was difficult to tell with the face tentacles.

“What did he say?” Qolla asked.

“No idea.  Still haven’t found out what language he speaks.  But he hasn’t thrown me out yet, and he never complains when I bring a shipment around,” Dannan said as he poured them both two full glasses of an amber liquid. “It’s nice to sit back and relax after a job well done, ya know?  It’s nice to feel I earned this drink.” 

As Qolla and Dannan drank and chatted with their neighbors at the bar, she began to suspect that maybe Dannan was onto something.  With the drinks flowing freely, she started to loosen up, smiling and joking with the crowd.  One drink turned to two, and not long after Qolla lost count.  She wasn’t sure exactly when it changed, but soon she felt like she had known the men and women around her for her whole life.  The warmth of the group (and the influence of Corellian whiskey) made it impossible to resist joining in the friendly banter.  Maybe she wasn’t just a smuggler delivering goods – but really part of something bigger here.  It wasn’t just the alcohol - she’d drank in plenty of dives before - something about this bar was different.  Special.

Several hours later, Dannan climbed to his feet. “Time for bed!  We’ve got to make an early start for Sullust.” Qolla yawned and tried to stand up, but the room spun around her and suddenly she was in Dannan’s arms. “Alright, let’s get you to bed,” he said with a laugh.

She was too drunk to be embarrassed by her clumsiness, but a slight blush touched her cheeks when she felt his arms around her.  It wasn’t respectable to have feelings for your captain, even if he was your best friend. The pleasant fogginess in her mind suppressed her worries, though, and she let him throw her arm around his neck and lift her back to her feet. 

“That Corellian whiskey can really do a number on you,” Dannan said as they began to stagger the long walk back to their ship. “Did I ever tell you about that time on Ord Mantell?...” His words began to blend together in Qolla’s mind; she lost herself in the sound of his voice, and was only vaguely aware as they reached her quarters and he helped her into her bed and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.   

The next morning, Qolla walked into the galley holding her head. “I take everything back, you were right about smuggling weapons.  Only something designed to kill could give me a headache this bad.”

Dannan laughed and poured her a cup of caf. “Here, you’ll feel better after you drink this.”

Qolla groaned and took the cup. “I think I had enough to drink last night to last me a month.”

“Well, it’ll be about that long until we’re back here.  Plenty of time for you to sober up!” Dannan stood and started gathering up the cups. “Come on, we’ve got to head out if we’re going to meet our contact on Sullust in time.  There’s a bar there too, but not like this one.  This one is special.”

And so it became their tradition, after every run to Yavin, to come to the little cantina and drink to the success - or failure - of their mission, together.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

But now, she was alone.

She was surrounded by people.  Many of the friends she had made during her time aiding the Alliance were in this very bar, slapping each other on the back and congratulating each other for the destruction of the Death Star.  Macks was just a meter away, pouring drinks for everyone.  But she was alone.

Qolla knew Dannan was dead long before she heard the news about Alderaan.  Shortly after she jumped to lightspeed in their ship, the Star Queen, a wave of pain and nausea had brought her to her knees.  Terrified screams filled her ears as she held her head in her hands.  Before blacking out, Qolla thought she could somehow feel Dannan’s presence, caressing her face; almost see his face from their last parting, with that stupid, adorable grin he saved for her.  And then, he was gone.  A profound emptiness took hold in her heart, and she surrendered to the blackness.

She had woken to the ship’s alarms warning her to come out of hyperspace.  Staggering to her knees, she pulled back the controls and watched the planet Yavin swell to fill almost the entire viewscreen.  Keying in the correct security frequency, Qolla managed to steer the ship towards the secret base, despite her pounding headache.  She wasn’t sure what had happened to her during hyperspace, but she didn’t doubt her certainty about the tragedy she had sensed.  Operating on autopilot, she landed the ship and stumbled down the ramp without bothering to unload the crates of blasters and thermal detonators.  

By habit, Qolla had still found her way back here, to the cantina where Dannan had helped her realize what it truly meant to be a part of the Rebellion.  It was quiet at this time of day, only one or two patrons and Macks, cleaning the bar.  She lurched into a seat and didn’t look up when Macks chittered questioningly.  A few hours later, the word spread around the base.  How the Empire had destroyed an entire planet - and that they were heading here next.

Qolla was beyond caring.  While klaxons blared and everybody scrambled to their battlestations, she just sat and wept.  Only Macks attempted to comfort her, putting his wet, webbed hand on hers and crooning softly in his strange language.  She pulled away harshly, and turned her back on him.  But a few minutes later, when she adjusted herself, she saw a glass of something warm that he had left for her.

After a while, a crowd rushed into the bar, cheering, hugging, and slapping each other on the back.  But Qolla greeted the news of the Death Star’s destruction with complete apathy.  What did it matter?  Her entire world was gone - her parents, her home, and most importantly, Dannan.

As the drinks flowed and the crowd got rowdier, friends would attempt to include Qolla in the festivities, forgetting that her home planet and partner were gone.  She repeatedly rebuffed their attempts, maintaining her isolation and despair.  She kept running the last few minutes she shared with Dannan over and over in her mind.  His assurances that all would be well.  Their last kiss.  His goofy grin as she walked away.  But she always returned to the emptiness, the neverending –

“You’re from Alderaan, aren’t you?” Her thoughts were interrupted by a dark-haired woman Qolla didn’t know.

She slowly turned to face the intruding stranger.  Qolla’s eyes were red but dry - she had no tears left to cry. “Yes”, she managed to mumble.  Her mouth was slow to form words, like she had forgotten how to talk.

The stranger nodded somberly and leaned against the bar next to Qolla, not looking at her. “Did you lose someone there?”  

“I lost everything.”

“What will you do now?” the stranger quietly asked.

Qolla blinked dumbly.  How could she even consider the future now?  She had no future; her life was over.  All that awaited her was death.  And she looked forward to it - the end of her pain.  Maybe she’d see Dannan again in whatever comes… after.  She turned away from the other woman.

The stranger persisted. “You can sit here, waiting to join them.  Or you can do something about it.  Fight back.”

Qolla whirled, enraged, “What would you know about it?  Have you ever lost everyone and everything you ever loved?  Your entire planet?”

Finally, the woman turned.  And in her eyes, Qolla recognized the same anguish she felt.  “Yes, I have,” the woman quietly said. “At the same time you did.  You, me, and thousands of other Alderaanians across the galaxy.”

Qolla didn’t know what to say.  She hadn’t considered who else might have been off-planet when the disaster took place.  She had been bearing her pain alone, but there had been someone in this very bar who truly understood the depth of her grief.  Knowing there was someone next to her who felt the same way didn’t make the pain go away.  But it felt a little easier to carry, with another set of shoulders for it to rest on.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t think -” Qolla started to apologize, but the strange woman cut her off.

“Don’t. You’re not the one who needs to be sorry.” The dark tone of her voice warned Qolla that this was a woman not to cross.  She continued, “There’s a few of us here, you know.  We all lost something - everything.  And I intend to make them lose everything.” Her tone became more and more venomous. “Every last one of them will wish they died as quickly as our families when I’m through with them.”

Fury oozed from the woman and Qolla could almost see a dark storm around her, crackling with electricity.  She blinked, and the woman snapped back into focus. “What’s your name, by the way?” she asked Qolla.

“Um, Qolla.  Qolla Aerith,” she replied.

“Call me Cara.  Listen, what I said before - I get it.  Everyone’s dealing with this their own way.  Not everyone has to be a fighter.  But I’m putting together a group of us.  Alderaanians.  We’re going to fight.  Not nicely - hard and dirty.  We all have nothing left, except to make every Imperial feel the same pain we do.  If you’re interested, we’ll take anyone who has nothing to lose.”

Qolla considered it. “I’m not a fighter - I’ve never even fired a blaster before,” she finally replied.

Cara gave a quiet, mirthless laugh. “Don’t worry about that.  I’ll teach you what you need to know.  All you have to do is want it.  Want to make them pay - hurt them like they hurt us.”

Suddenly, the dam of numbness broke open in Qolla.  The dull, aching emptiness was replaced with rage at those who did this to her.  She understood the anger in Cara now.  The grief was still there, but its new twin was fury.  For the first time in her life, she wanted to hurt - to kill.  Anyone who was responsible for the death of her world and her family.  To strike back.  For Alderaan.  For Dannan.

“I’m in,” she said with a new glint in her eye and edge in her voice. “Where do we start?”

Qolla sat and listened to Cara outline her plans.  Others began drifting their way, all sharing a newly acquired hardness and grief.  As their group grew, so too did Qolla’s thirst for revenge.  She wasn’t the only one.  As the bar began to clear out, they drank together to seal their pact.  Resigning themselves to fight to the death, they raised their glasses and cried out in one voice.

“For Alderaan!”

Graf brought the bottle to his lips and took another long pull.  His watery eyes burned and the stubble on his unshaven face itched irritably.  He had not slept since he had heard the news.  He wasn’t the only one.

“I mean, I’ve heard - everyone’s heard - rumors about the Empire being a little too harsh on protestors.  But this doesn’t make any sense!  How could they do that to them?  To us?” Across from Graf, his friend Tycho Bravo was trying to verbally process the horror.  “Maybe it’s not true.  It can’t be!  I know they’re far from perfect, but the Empire would never do that to its own people!”

Graf was only half listening to his friend.  Under the haze of his drink, he was thinking about his family.  He had immediately tried to contact them when he started hearing the rumors.  As an officer, he had been one of the first to be allowed to use the ship’s communication network.  But like everybody else, he was unable to reach his parents or sister on Alderaan.

“There’s no way the Holonet relays can still be down, though.” Tycho was practically babbling now, the drink in his hand nearly forgotten. “Maybe there’s something wrong with -”

Graf suddenly returned to the conversation. “They’re dead, Tycho,” he said, sharply. “Stop kidding yourself.  You know it’s true.  All of them are dead.” 

“I… know.  I just can’t believe it - I don't want to believe it.  What do we do, Graf?”

Graf closed his eyes, but mirages of the mountains of Alderaan hovered in his vision like sunspots.  With a snap, he opened his eyes again. “The same thing we’ve always done.  Our duty.” Graf put the bottle down and ran his hands through his hair, trying to bring some order to the unwashed mess. “We’ve had our time to grieve.  Now we start making those responsible pay.”

“But Graf - we’re the ones responsible!  This was the Empire!” Tycho whispered urgently. “The Empire went too far this time!”

“No!” Graf yelled, his fist banging the table. “The Empire did what was… necessary.” The words felt like shards of glass in his mouth. “Alderaan was corrupted, it became the foundation of chaos and rebellion.  Alderaan threatened the peace - the order - of the Empire.  It had to be destroyed.” The words hurt.  Because Graf believed them.  He forced himself to believe them.

“Wow, Graf.  You really drank the blue milk, didn’t you?  That’s bantha poodoo and you know it.” Tycho shook his head. “You’re my oldest friend, and I don’t want to fight with you.  But I can’t forgive the Empire for this.  I’ve worried before about how hard the Empire rules its people.  But this is an entire planet – our planet – that we’re talking about!  They need to be held responsible.  They need to face justice.  Maybe the Rebels were right after all.”

Rage exploded in Graf’s mind. He lurched to his feet, stabbing his finger into his comrade’s chest. “Don’t you dare - don’t you dare say they were right!”  It’s THEIR fault our families are dead.  That our whole world is dead…” His voice caught in his throat, and he suppressed a sob. “Those scum have the blood of Alderaan on their hands.  Every last one of them deserves to die.  That’s why we joined the Empire in the first place, Tycho!  To kill Rebel scum!” 

Graf was vaguely aware that people sitting at other tables were starting to glance over at them.  But the only thing he could focus on was the sadness in his friend’s face.

“No, Graf.  I joined the Empire because I thought I was protecting my home.  Because I thought the security and peace they provide would help Alderaan, and other worlds like it,” said Tycho, his voice full of regret. “And I’ve watched as they slowly became more and more oppressive.  I told myself that there must still be some good, that I could stay in and change things for the better.  But now I realize it was all a lie.  Alderaan didn’t need to be protected by the Empire.  It needed to be protected FROM the Empire.  And I sat by and did nothing, and now they’ve killed everyone I ever knew.  Everyone except for you.” Tycho wearily rose to his feet. “I volunteered to give my life for the Empire.  Well, they took it.  My entire life - gone.  I’ve got nothing left, except to make sure that this doesn’t happen to any other worlds.”

“If you leave - if you try to join them, I’ll turn you in!” Graf hissed.  Beneath his anger, he was afraid.  Afraid to lose his best friend.  Afraid that he might be right.

Tycho sighed and began to walk away.  Turning back to Graf, he said “You’ll do what you always do, Graf.  Your duty.  And I’ll do mine.  For Alderaan.”

“Traitor!”

“Goodbye, my friend.  I hope to see you again one day, when this is all over.  Keep safe.” Tycho turned and walked away.

Graf had a strong urge to run after his friend.  He wasn’t sure what he would do when he caught him - punch him, argue with him, or turn him into his superiors.  But before he could act, an overwhelming wave of grief swallowed him.  Because despite all the lies he told Tycho - and himself - he did blame the Empire.  And, even more painfully, he blamed himself.  He had failed to root out the smugglers that were supporting the Rebellion.  If he had only found them, maybe his friends, his family, his planet, would have been spared.  Graf sunk back into his seat and picked up the bottle again.  It was the only piece of home he had left, right then.

In that booth, under the influence of the last bottle of Alderaanian wine he would ever taste, Graf made an oath.  To kill all those he held responsible for the death of his planet.  He would hunt down every single member of the hated Rebellion.  And he would personally see that any smuggler who had operated out of Alderaan would feel the same pain that he would carry for the rest of his life.

“I swear it,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll find every last one of you.”

“For Alderaan.”

Overview:

Members of the Alliance:

Servants of the Empire:

Scenes from the bar: