The following events take place nine standard months after the destruction of the FIRST DEATH STAR.
War brought out the best and worst people. In times of crisis, one either stepped up and fought for the cause or one retreated into oneself and worked out if other people’s suffering could make them a personal, most likely financial, gain.
For Cindhol, a woman who had lived nearly ninety standard years, the war had brought out the best in her son, Jexun and his own selflessness had meant night after night of personal aguish. After the destruction of the dreaded superweapon that had been named the Death Star, Jexun had decided that he couldn’t stand idly by and watch the Empire ravage the lives of citizens across the galaxy anymore.
Rumours were abound on the Holonet and in local stores and taverns that the destructive space station had been blown up by a humble farmer. It sounded utterly incomprehensible, but that notion only added to the fact that if it were true then anyone could join the Rebellion and fight the tyranny of the Empire.
And so, one month to the day after the Death Star had been obliterated, Cindhol watched and wept as she saw bade farewell to her only son as he joined the Rebel Alliance.
Cindhol was now alone. Jexun’s father had been passed for nearly a decade now and it was just the two of them. Cindhol’s weary and aching body had meant it was impossible for her to work on any sort of steady basis but she still stitched together clothes here and there for a material store on the other side of town. Jexun, meanwhile, had worked as a repair mechanic at a speeder bike shop in the main city.
Before he’d left, Jexun had presented his mother with thirty-thousand credits. It was enough, he had said, to tide her over until he returned. He had promised her that he wouldn’t be long. The Empire would soon crumble and he would come home.
If he said something, then he meant it.
On that cool morning Cindhol had found herself, as she normally did when the weather chilled her bones, cooking up an Eopie stew. She gazed out of the window and saw her neighbour and friend, Li’zut, preparing her washing for the day. Cindhol’s only solace through these months were that Li’Zut’s daughter had joined the Rebellion as well. On long, dark nights the two women would keep each other company. A mug of caf was all that was needed and the company of being with someone who understood.
As Cindhol prepared her hand to wave to her neighbour on that morning, she stopped suddenly and squinted her eyes down the pathway.
Two uniformed persons were walking, no – striding, towards Li’Zut’s home. As much as Cindhol could make out they weren’t Empire. They were far too colourful to be the Empire. One was dressed in white and the other looked like a pilot of some sort and they were dressed in an orange jumpsuit.
Cindhol watched as the pair walked to her neighbour’s door and gently knocked on it. Li’Zut answered the door and Cindhol could see the person dressed in white doing most of the talking. After a short while, the pilot in the orange jumpsuit handed Li’Zut a helmet and bowed their head.
Li’Zut crumpled to the floor.
In that moment, Cindhol knew what had happened and her heart wept for her friend. She stood, motionless, praying to the Force that the people would not make their way up her pathway and to her door.
But they didn’t.
They solemnly bowed their heads again and left, both Rebels, Cindhol assuming they were Rebels, silently walked down the pathway the way they had arrived.
Only moments later did Cindhol receive three gentle knocks on her door. She answered to see Li’Zut looking like exactly what she was – a broken woman. Neither woman said anything as Cindhol cradled her friend in her arms while she wept.
“My darling girl,” Li’Zut mumbled. “She’s gone. She’s gone.”
“I know,” Cindhol replied softly. “I saw the Rebels. I knew what they’d come for.”
With her friend slowly regaining some level of composure, Cindhol beckoned her over the living space and motioned for her to sit on one of the chairs. She eased her friend down and wrapped a shawl around her body to keep her from catching a chill. “Let me make us some caf.”
“Thank you,” Li’Zut whimpered through muffled sobs. “I can’t be alone. I just can’t”
A short time later Cindhol returned with the steaming mugs and placed them down on the table. “Stay with me. Stay with me as long as you need too.”
“They say she died on a reconnaissance mission. Gathering intel on the Emperor’s whereabouts.”
Cindhol placed her delicate hands in Li’Zut’s. Two friends who had seen enough pain and war to last a lifetime. Both looked beyond their years.
“She will have died a hero,” Cindhol began. “There’s no doubting that. She’s off fighting these tyrants and monsters, and we should be proud of them. She, like my son, would have gone to join the Rebellion against your wishes anyway. It’s what their heart’s wanted and that will only add to your grief. Now it’s up to you to live long enough to see the Empire brought down so she won’t have died for naught.”
Li’Zut kept her head bowed and her eyes closed. She tightened the grip on Cindhol’s hand.
“It’s just not fair. She should be here, with me.”
“I know my dear friend and I’m so sorry.”
“They’ve given me a few of her things. That’s all I’ve got to remember her by now.”
“You’ve got her spirit. Her heart. Just like she had yours.”
The two women sat together long into the night. Two lonely souls forever bound by the ravages of the war.
Days and days had past since Li’Zut had received her news. Cindhol checked on her friend everyday and together they sat and listened to the Holonet. Li’Zut had found no end to her grief and these days struggled to get out of bed each day.
Cindhol, meanwhile, had quiet hope. She believed in the Rebel Alliance, and she believed in the spirit of the oppressed. She knew the will of the galaxy was strong. That morning Cindhol would never forget. The cool nights had drifted a little, and warmth was beginning to find its way into the days once again.
Cindhol was up and had washed her clothes from the day before. She made her way out onto her greenery space in front of her home and began to hang the clothes on a rope to dry them out.
She turned to head back inside but froze instantly.
A woman dressed in white and a man dressed in an orange jumpsuit were walking solemnly towards Cindhol.
From that moment on, Cindhol knew her life would not be worth living. She only hoped that she lived long enough to see the Empire brought down sooner rather than later.