War Child--Rogue One

XXIV

We all line up in the shooting range, with a blaster directly in front of us, on the table, and a target about thirty feet ahead.

Gail Organa stands in the back, and all eyes are intently upon Captain Thalos, who is pacing the floor across the long table from us. "You will not shoot until I give the word. You don't even pick up the blaster until I tell you to, understand?"

A muffled chorus of affirmative answers meet his question.

"What's that?"

A louder, vaguely more annunciated answer this time.

"You will respond with 'Yes, Sir.' Do. you understand?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Good. When I give the command, do as I have shown you." Captain Thalos walks, or marches really, to the entrance to the range and then behind us. "Pick up your weapons," he barks.

I do, switching off safety and checking the charge briefly before positioning my hands. I've done this ten, maybe twenty times in my life, though obviously not recently.

"Raise!"

I lift the blaster and close my left eye, concentrating on lining up the sight with the center of the target.

"Fire!"

The sound of blasters, a pew pew kind of noise, fills the room as we all take our shots.

I lower my blaster and squint to try and see where my blast hit.

As Captain Thalos explained earlier, the targets are made of a metal resistant to blaster shots, though it is impractical for suit use since a square centimeter of it weighs approximately 200 grams. An entire suit might weigh more than the wearer.

Since the blaster bolts don't make an effect on the targets, they are programmed to light up where they hit.

I don't see mine at first, because it's right on the line of the ring just around the center.

I let out a whoop without thinking, then turn to Gaspard, adding quietly, "Did you see where mine hit?"

"Is there something worth saying?" Captain Thalos asks, standing between us.

Gaspard has been squinting towards the target, and he turns to the Captain. "Yes, sir. Cassian may be one of the best shooters on the range today."

The Captain leans forward, then grunts, "Beginner's luck." He steps back and barks, "Raise!"

We begin again. As it turns out, that was beginner's luck.  That bolt is the closest I get to the center of the target.  The rest of the twelve bolts are scattered in the next three rings of the target.

I may be imagining things, but I think I see Captain Thalos smile triumphantly when he sees my target.

"Alright, and now I'll send off this information to--"

"To me," Senator Organa interrupts.  "All of you, go get some dinner and meet back where you took the aptitude test at nineteen hundred hours."

"Yessir," I mutter, following the tide of people out of the shooting range, down the halls, and into the mess hall.

I can't get enough of the food here. Compared to what I've had for the last several months, this is ambrosia. Fresh meat, vegetables, and fruit, and even the occasional pastry. If you've got a bit of spare change on you (I don't), you can trudge down into town and buy some alcohol. They won't let me, though. This isn't some back roads sort of area, the town has approximately four hundred people, most of them families.

Today they're serving stew made with fresh vegetables and meat. I accept a bowl and go sit with Gaspard. He's made good friends with Sergeant Tiso, and she joins us. To my surprise, Linami sets down her bowl next to me, flipping her hair over one shoulder.

"How did you do with flying?" I ask her.

She shrugs. "I was a pilot back home on Corellia."

"Corellia? I don't think I've heard of that planet."

"It's in the Core of the galaxy. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it." She blows on a spoon full of soup. "We are known for the best pilots in the galaxy."

"If you don't mind my asking, how where you captured?"  I take a sip of the stew.  It tastes like home.

"I was flying a cruiser with supplies for a small rebellion on the other side of the planet.  Turns out the Empire was monitoring ships going to and from the area, so they got me there.  Was in prison for, oh, five months or so."  Linami dunks her bread in her stew and rips off a bite.  Around the food, she asks, "What about you?  If you don't mind."

I tell her, leaving out the fact that Kai was shot by the stormtroopers.

"You say you were in a spinning prison?" she asks.

I nod.

"Sounds like Bakura prison," Sergeant Tiso suggests.

Linami bobs her head gently.  "I thought the same.  I've flown by there a few times, before they started cracking down on airspace security."

Sergeant Tiso glances at a small watch on her wrist. "What time did you say that Senator Organa wanted you back?"

"Nineteen hundred hours," Gaspard tells her.

"You three had better get going then. There's only five more minutes."

We all jump up and walk our dishes over as quickly — and as carefully — as we can, before speedily marching down the halls back to the meeting room.

I expect that we will be given a scenario and work together, in real time, but instead they give us back the datapads and we are expected to write out what we'd do. That's probably not the most accurate way to assess how we react to stressful situations, since then we'll have to make spur of the moment decisions and not have time to sit back and contemplate what we are going to do.

But who am I to say what they do is right or wrong?

All I can do is sit here and take the test.