Star Wars Rebels: Rise of the Rebels Page 2

  “Spectre-5 to Ghost,” Sabine whispered into her mic.

  Hera’s voice came over her helmet comlink. “This is Ghost. We are in position and awaiting your diversion.”

  “Copy that,” said Sabine. “This is going to be fun.” Even if Hera and Kanan weren’t ready, she was. Like any good Mando, Sabine Wren was always ready.

  She pushed herself up to stand atop the wall. “Very fun.”

  On the other side of the wall lay an Imperial airfield packed full of shiny, factory-new TIE fighters so pristine Sabine could almost smell the fresh paint.

  The spotlight from a guard tower rotated her way. She stooped and ran along the top of the wall. The spotlight didn’t catch her before she leapt down off the wall.

  She landed lightly, almost silently, on the tarmac. She took a moment to survey the airfield. She spotted some guards and moved to avoid being noticed.

  Sabine sprinted across the tarmac to the nearest TIE fighter. Soon she was hidden in the shadow of one of its wings. The wing would provide a perfect surface on which to accomplish her mission.

  She removed her mini airbrush from her belt and shook the attached canister. Then she pressed down on a nozzle and called on her talents.

  Sabine began to paint.

  Imperial stormtrooper TK-626 walked with his comrade MB-223 down the line of TIEs. This was their 108th patrol of the airfield that night. And still no sign of rebels. They were too scared to come over the wall. Too scared of stormtroopers like TK-626.

  They were right to be scared. The Empire had recruited him straight out of school. His detention record for bullying had supposedly put him at the top of their list. In fact, the Imperial recruiter had told him that bullies made some of the best stormtroopers. Bullies didn’t question orders or think for themselves. They didn’t care that they lost their names for numbers. Bullies just wanted to pick on people who were different from them—like rebels.

  TK-626 wished there was a rebel to catch in the airfield. Then he could prove his loyalty to the Empire. Yet all he heard was the constant chirp of Lothalian crickbeets. And all he saw was row after row of new TIE fighters. The stormtrooper commander had told them to be careful not to bump or scratch any of the TIEs. TIE pilots could be very protective of their craft and loved to push around lower-ranked stormtroopers.

  The crickbeets suddenly stopped chirping. Something shushed like a gust of wind. But there was no wind that night. TK-626 grabbed his comrade’s arm. “You hear that?”

  MB-223 yanked his arm free. “I don’t hear—” He looked around. For a second time, there was the shushing sound. It came from behind two of the nearest TIEs. “Wait…yeah. What is that?”

  TK-626 brought his rifle up to ready. Perhaps they would catch a rebel that night. “This way,” he told his comrade, walking to the two TIEs. The other trooper also readied his weapon and followed.

  TK-626 stopped between the fighters. “What in the—”

  On the wing of a fighter glowed the outline of what looked like an enormous purple bird. And the intruder who had painted it was none other than…a girl in Mandalorian gear?

  “What do you think you’re doing?” barked MB-223.

  The intruder continued airbrushing, not distracted in the slightest. “What does it look like?” she asked, spraying a wide arc of paint. “Art.”

  TK-626 looked at MB-223. Artists were almost as bad as rebels. They could draw, paint, and create things he couldn’t. And for that they deserved to be crushed.

  MB-223 leveled his rifle at the intruder. TK-626 did the same.

  “W-well, stand down!” shouted MB-223.

  “Or we shoot!” yelled TK-626. Basic training had drilled that reaction into him. Shoot first; ask questions later.

  The intruder turned her helmet to them. TK-626 could almost detect a smile under her T-shaped visor. “Okay. Shoot,” she said. “What are you waiting for?”

  That was exactly what he and MB-223 did, without hesitation. Everyone knew not to joke with stormtroopers. It was a crime punishable by death.

  But their shots sizzled through the air and hit the TIE behind her instead. She had ducked beneath the cockpit just in time. And now one of the new TIEs had burn marks on the metal. Its pilot would not be pleased.

  “You call that shooting?” the intruder yelled out. “I think you boys need a little more time on the practice range.”

  The stormtroopers ran after her, not taking their fingers off the triggers. Yet as the intruder wove between fighters, their shots only pockmarked the airfield and the TIEs.

  TK-626 knew they’d be reprimanded for all the damage. But their punishment would be worse if they let this intruder escape. She could be a rebel.

  While MB-223 continued pursuit, TK-626 stopped and pressed his hand to his helmet comlink. “This is TK-626. There’s an intruder on-site.”

  Their commander replied immediately over the comm. “On our way.”

  TK-626 rejoined MB-223 near another TIE. The other trooper looked about in disbelief. “Where did—”

  “Over here, bucket-heads!” the intruder said from behind.

  MB-223 wheeled around. “There!” he said, firing away. But the intruder wasn’t there, either.

  “You guys are too predictable!” she said, behind them again. TK-626 spun and saw her figure swerve between two rows of TIEs. He and MB-223 chased after her, snaking through the TIEs, their blasters on full-fire mode.

  This intruder was quick. Their bolts seemed always a moment too late to hit her. Worse, she laughed at them.

  “Missed again!” she said from somewhere near. “Always by the book! I read your book,” she taunted. “It’s a short one.”

  TK-626 didn’t like being mocked. It made him furious. Didn’t she know what he was? He whirled—and stopped himself at the last second from triggering another round at his commander and three other stormtroopers.

  “What do we got?” the commander asked.

  “One intruder in Mando gear, still at large,” MB-223 reported.

  The commander motioned in each direction. “Split up. Capture her. I want her alive.”

  The six stormtroopers dispersed. TK-626 hoped he’d be the one to catch her. You didn’t laugh at Imperial stormtroopers and get away with it.

  Sabine stood on the cockpit of the TIE she had painted, watching the stormtroopers spread out to search for her. She jumped down when no one was looking in her direction.

  This would be a good opportunity to complete her final mission objective, but she couldn’t do that just yet. It wouldn’t be right to leave her painting unfinished.

  Sabine gave her mini airbrush a shake and added some strokes to the starbird she had sprayed on the TIE’s wing. But her painting wasn’t quite complete yet. It didn’t have her signature touch.

  “Something ’s missing…” she said, pulling a circular object off her utility belt and plopping it between the wings she’d painted. “There, perfect!” Now the starbird had a beak, with a tiny light that blinked. Her signature.

  She wished she could admire her work a little longer. But every blink of the beak told her time was running out for her diversion to succeed. She had to gather the troopers together into a group, then sneak back into the city without being noticed.

  Sabine raced off, spying white armor behind a nearby TIE. She leapt up to grab a handle on the cockpit-wing attachment and twirled her legs in front of her. One of the stormtroopers approached her. “Hands up, you rebel scum!” Sabine used her speed and landed a devastating kick to him. The trooper fell, his rear smacking the tarmac. “Ha! Too slow!” she said. The trooper rolled and fired, but she was already circling another TIE.

  The trooper’s frustrated yell brought three more troopers her way. She darted between and underneath the TIEs, laughing as the Imperials fired at her and missed.

  The commander su
mmoned all the stormtroopers back to him. Sabine slipped past them and made it to the wall. As she climbed, she could hear their electronically compressed voices.

  “Intruder was headed your way!” the commander shouted to the trooper she’d kicked.

  “I had her!” the trooper replied.

  “Isn’t this where we started?” said the one who had identified himself as TK-626 over the comm.

  Sabine heaved herself onto the top of the wall, then twisted her body around. She could see the stormtroopers examining the blinking beak. “Uh-oh,” she heard TK-626 say when the light became steady.

  Uh-oh was right. She hadn’t come here just to tag machinery. Her art always had a purpose. That day it was to teach those Imperial bullies a lesson.

  Sabine dropped off the wall right as the beak on the TIE fighter exploded, destroying the vessel and knocking back all the stormtroopers to the tarmac.

  Her signature was none other than a paint bomb.

  The ground was shaking when she landed. Alarms rang out in the night. Sabine could hear the stormtroopers’ groans. She wished she could see their expressions when they noticed their armor was covered in purple paint.

  “That was some diversion, Sabine,” Hera commed from the Ghost. “Did the job so well we can see the explosion from here.”

  Sabine reached for the underside of her helmet. “Forget the explosion,” she said. She pulled her helmet off, wanting an unfiltered view of her minor masterpiece. “Look at the color.”

  A beautiful purple cloud rose above the airfield. But it wasn’t just any cloud. It formed the shape of a starbird, with flashes of gold for eyes. And slowly, the ghostly bird spread its wings across the heavens.

  Sabine smiled. Someday soon, she hoped, the oppressive Empire would be brought down, and those thousand thousand worlds would know her name and her art.

  She put her Mandalorian helmet back on and walked into the city.

  Garazeb Orrelios entered the alley with his bo-rifle slung over his back. A light wind rustled his gray fur. Trash and dust blew back and forth. He had come here to meet his friend and fellow rebel near the marketplace in the lower levels of Lothal’s capital city. But as Zeb looked around, there was no sign of Kanan Jarrus anywhere.

  His comlink crackled. “Zeb! Where are you?” said Kanan.

  Zeb. Everyone called him by that nickname, because few species could roll the r’s the way you were supposed to in his native Lasat tongue. He missed hearing his language spoken correctly. It was so rare these days. The Empire had done all it could to put his species on the endangered list.

  Zeb grabbed his comlink and held it near his sharp-toothed mouth. “I’m at the rendezvous point. Where are you?”

  Kanan’s voice sounded irritated over the comlink. “You’re not at the rendezvous point, because I’m at the rendezvous point.”

  Zeb looked around the alley again, then scratched his chin. This didn’t make sense. Maybe he had misheard Kanan’s instructions. Humans talked so fast.

  “Um, where’s the rendezvous point again?” he asked Kanan.

  A sigh preceded Kanan’s voice. “In the alley by the marketplace.”

  Zeb turned back toward the marketplace. Halfway down the alley, two Imperial stormtroopers neared a snout-nosed, one-meter-tall Ugnaught and an astromech droid. The droid wasn’t doing anything associated with his primary function of navigation. His repair arm held out a fruit that his master was selling from a crate.

  Zeb frowned. He didn’t care much for street merchants or astromechs. Most street merchants thought Zeb was a big, gruff oaf and tried to rip him off when they sold him things. And astromechs beeped too much. He couldn’t count the number of times he had wanted to shake Chopper when the droid was being a smart mouth.

  On the other hand, Zeb cared even less for Imperials. He kept his eyes on the stormtroopers as he spoke to Kanan through his comlink. “Well, I’m in an alley.”

  “And yet clearly not in the right alley,” Kanan said.

  The troopers jabbed their rifles at the crate, scattering the Ugnaught’s merchandise. Clearly they wanted something other than fruit. The squat Ugnaught cowered back in fear.

  Zeb scowled, moving his neck to the side, cracking it. “Yeah, well, there’s a lotta alleys in this town,” he responded.

  He pushed down on his hard-boned knuckles, cracking them, too. Then he wiggled his clawed toes and gave them a good crack. He always did this before moving into action. There was no better feeling in the universe. It got his muscles loose.

  Bam! One of the troopers kicked the astromech. The little droid fell on its photoreceptor with a clang and a squeal.

  Zeb started toward them. That was no way to treat anything—not even an astromech.

  “Hagwa je killya, dolpa kikyuna!” said the frightened Ugnaught in Huttese.

  “What? Is that a bribe?” the trooper who had kicked the droid shouted. “Well, now you’re under arrest!”

  “Noah, noah,” the Ugnaught said. But his protests went unheard. Imperial stormtroopers rarely knew or spoke anything other than Basic, even though Huttese was a common trading language. Zeb understood. He was big and he was gruff, but he wasn’t an oaf. All this Ugnaught had said to the stormtroopers was not to hurt him because he was a loyal, tax-paying citizen.

  “I can’t believe it! That is an offense!” the trooper said to his comrade. Neither seemed to care about figuring out what the merchant had really said. He looked back at the whimpering Ugnaught. “Stop whining. We’re here to protect you.”

  “Yeah.” The other trooper took the Ugnaught’s credit box and cleaned out all the coins and credit chips. “But the Empire’s protection can be expensive,” he said, laughing.

  His laugh didn’t last long. Having advanced on the distracted troopers, Zeb grabbed each with an enormous hand and slammed them into each other like toy soldiers. They both crumpled to the ground.

  Zeb’s comlink crackled again. “So are you going to make the rendezvous or not?” Kanan asked.

  Zeb grinned down at the little Ugnaught, who seemed even more scared. At first he thought it was because of his size, but then he saw four more stormtroopers rushing into the alley.

  “Hey! You! Stop!” the lead trooper yelled, raising his blaster.

  “It’s possible I may be a little late,” Zeb said into the comlink. He began to run in the other direction before the stormtroopers could open fire.

  “You’re already late,” Kanan said.

  If Zeb didn’t find somewhere to hide soon, he might be more than late. He might never show up to whatever alley Kanan wanted to meet in.

  Zeb rushed onto a security landing pad in an alley near the marketplace. “Zeb, what’s going on?” Kanan shrilled over static.

  The pilot on the landing pad looked up from a maintenance check of his grounded TIE fighter. “What’s going on?” he yelled at Zeb. “This is a restricted area!”

  “Right, so I’m definitely going to be late,” Zeb said into his comm.

  “Later,” said Kanan. “Later!”

  Zeb didn’t have time to argue with Kanan. He had time only to make a fist and smash it against the pilot’s helmet. The pilot keeled over just as the troopers rushed into the alleyway and opened fire. Zeb ducked behind the TIE fighter for cover and clambered up to the top of the cockpit. He jumped out of the alley and kept running, losing the troopers. He angled into another alley and found safety behind a wall.

  He watched the stormtroopers rush past him. Then he reached out and grabbed the last stormtrooper in the group.

  Given the similarities in their size and strength, Zeb could identify with Wookiees. He felt compassion for those brawny tree-dwellers of Kashyyyk, since the Empire had enslaved their species just like they had the Lasat. But he didn’t think any comparison did his own species justice. Because he knew he was stronger than any
Wookiee.

  Zeb picked up the trooper and tossed him into his comrades. In the collision, a trooper’s blaster discharged with a loud ping.

  “Wait, are you fighting stormtroopers?” Kanan asked on the comlink. One of the troopers recovered and raised his weapon at Zeb.

  “What makes you say that?” Zeb asked. In one smooth swing, he pulled the bo-rifle off his back and knocked the trooper’s gun upward. A bolt shot into the air.

  “I heard blaster fire…” Kanan said.

  Zeb activated the stun function on his weapon. His rifle converted to its other form: a bo-staff. Energy danced from the tip down its length.

  Zeb jabbed the staff at the trooper. The man yelled, shocked off his feet.

  “And screaming!” Kanan added.

  Zeb rotated his weapon to wield it like a club. “There may be more screaming.”

  And there was. He bashed two stormtroopers, who both fell back in a heap of moans.

  “Oh, that’s great,” Kanan remarked on the comlink. “You got lost in the middle of a mission and decided to start your own battle—again!”

  “Didn’t decide,” Zeb said, beating down the fourth trooper. “It just happened this time.”

  Behind Zeb, the TIE pilot teetered up from the ground. He did his best to aim his pistol at the brawny Lasat and tapped his comm. “LS-607 needs reinforcements.”

  “How many intruders?” responded the commander over the Imperial frequency.

  “How many?” the pilot repeated, somewhat confused, still swaying from Zeb’s punch. His finger quivered on the trigger.

  Though Zeb didn’t have eyes in the back of his head like some species, his auditory senses were exceptional. He overheard the pilot’s exchange behind him.

  Zeb slung his bo-staff over his shoulder and turned to the pilot, pretending to count on his paw. If the pilot couldn’t see how many intruders there were, Zeb would make it clear. He closed his fingers against his palm until a single finger remained.