Star Wars Rebels: Rise of the Rebels (6 page)

Ezra Bridger
adjusted the straps of his backpack and walked over the rise. The plains before him stretched out to the horizon. There was no marker of civilization except a rust-colored communications tower in the distance. Everything else was just grass, a calm and endless stretch of it, stroked by a gentle wind and warmed by the golden light of the late-afternoon sun.

Ezra descended the hill into the plains. He was fourteen. Most looked at him and saw a boy. A
kid
. Sometimes they even called him that horrible name: urchin. But he didn’t think of himself as any of those. Not after all he’d been through. Kids had parents. Kids had apartments or houses. Kids had supper served on plates while sitting at tables.

Kids didn’t live on the city streets, like Ezra.

On the streets, you grew up fast. You had to if you wanted to eat and protect yourself from scavengers, Imperials, and other villains. You learned how to survive.

But outside the city was different. Here there was no noise. Here there were just the sun and the wind and the grass and the night sky full of stars. Here, on the rolling prairies of Lothal, there was peace.

Here Ezra could be just a kid.

He felt a sudden tingle, a nudge. He could never pinpoint where it came from, whether his head, heart, or chest. Those who knew him thought he had lightning-fast reflexes. But it was more than a reflex. It was like an instinct. And it always came without warning—or more appropriately, it
was
a warning…that something was about to happen. Something serious.

Ezra looked around. He didn’t feel in danger. There weren’t any predators this close to the city. But he trusted this instinct. It had saved his skin too many times for him not to.

Then there was a screaming across the sky—the sound of engines being pushed to their limits. Ezra looked up to see a diamond-shaped cargo freighter, pursued by a flat-winged TIE fighter, fly overhead. The TIE closed in and fired its cannons.

The lasers shot past, as the cargo ship had started a loop. Within a few heartbeats, it was behind the TIE, adding cannon fire of its own.

These shots hit.

The freighter passed over Ezra and rocketed off into the clouds while the smoking TIE corkscrewed downward. It barely cleared a hill before making a fiery crash. The ground shook.

That little feeling nudged Ezra again. Not to go hide, but to seek. Somehow, in some way, he was connected to this crash. Maybe he could even find something of value in the wreckage.

Ezra held on to his backpack straps and ran toward the rising smoke.

Ezra crested the hill,
breathing hard. Down below burned what remained of the TIE fighter. Bits and pieces lay strewn all over the charred grass. Smoke coiled out from its cracked cockpit.

Ezra scanned the land around him. He didn’t see signs that anyone else had noticed the crash. Grass rustled as it always did for miles in every direction.

He looked back at the crashed TIE. His lips curved into a crooked grin. He’d never had an opportunity like this. The TIE’s military-grade hardware could fetch a mighty price on the black market.

Ezra hurried down the hillside toward the crash site. Soon he was climbing the TIE’s broken support and swinging toward the cracked canopy. He hadn’t seen any movement inside the cockpit, but he had to make sure. If the pilot was still alive and needed help, he might be able to get a reward.

“Mister!” he shouted.

A form shifted in the cockpit, then groaned. Ezra climbed closer for a better look inside. “Hey, you okay? You alive?”

The form shifted again, turning a black helmet toward Ezra. The pilot, it seemed, was very much alive. “Get your hands off my craft! This fighter is the property of the Empire!” he yelled.

“Guess that’s a yes,” Ezra said to himself. He backed off a step to breathe. More smoke came out of the cockpit—so much that the pilot began to cough. His helmet must be damaged if it couldn’t filter out all the fumes.

The pilot hit the emergency switch to open the canopy. It popped up a few inches, then jammed.

Ezra grabbed a free edge of the cockpit, watchful for jagged shards of transparisteel, then swung himself up behind the canopy hatch. He hated helping Imperials, especially ungrateful ones. But if he didn’t get the canopy open, the man would suffocate. And then Ezra would never get a reward.

Ezra wiggled his fingers under the canopy hatch and began to yank it upward with all his strength.

“I told you to get off this ship!” the pilot said, struggling between coughs.

“Not much of a ship anymore.” Ezra pulled and pulled, his backpack bouncing behind him. The hatch was really stuck. “Besides, I’m just trying to open her up—”

Ezra nearly lost his balance as the canopy snapped open. Dense clouds of smoke puffed out. Ezra let out a deep breath. That had been hard work.

Free from the smoke, the pilot removed his helmet. His coughs settled as he breathed fresher air. He stared up at Ezra. Without his TIE helmet, the man seemed like any regular guy, not a brainwashed Imperial. He seemed like a person who might actually be grateful for having his life saved from smoke inhalation.

The man’s face hardened. His eyes pinched into mean dots. He was not appreciative in the slightest.

Ezra met the man’s stare. He could play this game, too. “Hey, don’t say ‘thank you’ or anything.”

“Thank you?” The pilot bristled, insulted. He looked like he wanted to spit at Ezra. “Please. I’m an officer of the Imperial Navy. I didn’t need your help.”

Ezra tilted his head, looked at the man again, and smiled. “Course not.”

The pilot huffed and began to rise out of his seat. “Wait!” Ezra said. He bent down and pushed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Your sleeve’s caught on the flight recorder.”

“It is?” asked the pilot. He couldn’t move, the confines were so cramped.

“Let me unhook it for you.” Ezra reached past the pilot with his other hand. Some of the technology here could buy him a month’s worth of food.

A panel hinge squeaked as he wrenched it free. “What was that?” the pilot asked, attempting to look around.

Hands behind his back, Ezra stuffed the gadget into his pack. He had no idea what he had gotten—and he didn’t want the pilot to know, either. He continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. “Why were you chasing that cargo ship? Were they smugglers?”

“That’s confidential information,” the pilot said, again attempting to rise. Ezra pushed him back down.

“Whoa, there, sir. Bit of metal caught on your, um, posterior,” Ezra said, indicating the man’s rear. “Wouldn’t want an ‘officer’ of the Imperial Navy to split his pants.”

The pilot shook his head, flustered. “No, I—”

“That just wouldn’t be dignified. Hold still, now.” Ezra leaned into the cockpit again, reaching for the other side. “Almost got it,” he said, rotating an interior bolt near the man’s waist.

“There!”

Ezra stood tall, darting his hands behind his back and shoving a second high-tech gadget into his pack. “Now, remember, sir,” he said, stepping back. “No thank-yous.”

The pilot fumbled with his helmet as he climbed out of the cockpit. “Here, I’ll take that,” Ezra whispered, snatching the helmet. He didn’t have a TIE pilot’s helmet in his collection. It would look nice on display inside the tower.

Ezra raised his voice, continuing where he’d left off. “Because, like you mentioned, you didn’t need my help. And besides…” He planted a hand on the man’s bare head, using it to vault into the air. “I didn’t come to help.”

“Why, you little…” The pilot spun, but he was too late. Ezra somersaulted down and landed on the ground, running, with the pilot’s helmet tucked under an arm.

“Just came to score a little tech for the black market, you Loth-rat!” Ezra yelled back to the pilot. These gadgets were going to buy him a soft bed and a fancy dinner.
Many
fancy dinners.