The Making of a Rebel

by Amy L Hull for kingdomheartsloversstuff in the RebelsGiftExchange MaytheFourthBeWithYou Exchange #rebelsfourthexchange. Thanks to oldtoadwoman for the quick proofread.

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1. Hyperspace Jumps and Foodstuffs

The Ghost pulled out of hyperspace so smoothly Kallus barely felt it.

Thrawn's assessment of Hera Syndulla as the best pilot in the Rebellion had not been hyperbole. Kallus had never been on a ship of any size that moved like this one.

He looked out the portal at the stars and closed his eyes as they glided into hyperspace again. Triangulating the star maps he'd memorized in the Imperial Security Bureau, shifting and rotating them in his head, he saw where they'd paused in their zig-zag journey to the Rebel Base. The past three jumps had been random enough that, even now, the final destination was dependent on the number of remaining jumps.

Three more jumps in this pattern, Kallus calculated, would put them on Dantooine.

Four more, and they would land on Alderaan. The Organas, traitors-no, rebels-that they were, would never risk the planet that directly. They certainly knew that Alderaan was already under close scrutiny, the ISB and Emperor just waiting for that little brat…courageous, outspoken firebrand of a Princess-Senator mouthing off daily in the Galactic Senate to slip up.

Kallus didn't think she would.

No, he suspected that there would be five or six jumps, and that meant they were headed for Naalol or Yavin. Unless the Rebellion was foolhardy enough to set up base in the oceans of Manaan.

He sighed. Mountains, jungle, or oceans, following a desert. The planets were all off main hyperspace and trade routes, of significant size, and barely populated. They were what he'd have chosen for a location, but...the climates. He shuddered. What would they do once these bases were burned? Settle on an ice ball like Hoth?

Zeb clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past, carrying food to the temporary bunkroom set up in the hold for the survivors of the Battle of Atollon.

Wherever these lunatics went, wherever they and Zeb led, he was going to follow, even if he drowned or froze.

"Want me to get another box of provisions?"

Zeb scoffed, "These are the last ones. We'll just make them last." Kallus could recognize that smile, once so menacing, as warm.

He shook his head. Or starved, apparently.

How had these people ever been winning against him and other Imperial elites?

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