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wishesofeternity · 1 year

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Zeb-un-Nisa, Aurangzeb’s eldest daughter, is born in Daulatabad in 1638 when Aurangzeb is governor of the Deccan. While Daulatabad fort dominates the horizon from a hilltop, Aurangzeb is building a new capital at Khadki town, stronghold of Jahangir’s old nemesis, Malik Ambar the ‘rebel of black fortune’. Malik Ambar is now long dead, having never allowed the Mughals to claim the Deccan while he lived. Zeb-un-Nisa, daughter of the Persian noblewoman Dilras Banu Begum, grows up in this provincial capital, far from the intrigues of the Mughal court. In the Deccan, the supremacy of her father is unchallenged and Zeb-un-Nisa is given a rigorous education under the supervision of Hafiza Mariam, a scholar from a Khurasani family. Zeb-un-Nisa is an excellent student and excels in the Arabic and Persian languages. Her father is so delighted when she recites the entire Quran from memory as a child that he gifts her 30,000 gold mohurs. In her erudition and her quick wit she is very like her aunt, Shahzaadi Jahanara, whom her father respects above all the other women of the court. When she is fifteen years old, she visits Shahjahanabad with Aurangzeb’s zenana as they return from the doomed Kandahar campaign. She is enchanted with the sparkling new city, the elegant women with their refined tehzeeb, their every gesture studied and full of grace. In the travelling court of her father, in these wildering years, it is a more pragmatic and pared down zenana but in 1658, when Zeb-un-Nisa is twenty years old, Aurangzeb deposes Shah Jahan and his household moves to Shahjahanabad.

Dilras Banu Begum, the somewhat haughty senior wife of Aurangzeb, is now dead. Even Aurangzeb, when giving marital advice to a grandson, will later admit that ‘in the season of youth’, he ‘too had this relation with a wife who had extreme imperiousness’. Since the other wives of Aurangzeb have less illustrious backgrounds, the senior women of the royal zenana are Roshanara and her eldest niece, Zeb-un-Nisa.

For twenty years Zeb-un-Nisa will be one of the most influential women of the zenana at Shahjahanabad. Her particular area of interest is poetry and literature. She collects valuable manuscripts and books and her library is one of the most extensive in the country. When Aurangzeb begins to retrench imperial patronage towards music and poetry, it is the royal women, the shahzaadas, the noblemen and then, later still, the wealthy middle class of Shahjahanabad who will continue the patronage of the arts. The governor of Shahjahanabad, Aqil Khan, is himself a poet and writes under the pen name Razi. Indeed, despite Aurangzeb’s later disfavour, Shahjahanabad fairly pulses with music. It tumbles from the kothis of the courtesans, the women thoroughly trained singers themselves, who bring Delhi Qawwali singing to mainstream attention. It vaults out of the large mansions of the newly wealthy, who prefer the lighter Khayaal and Thumri styles. In the gloaming of a tropical evening, it throbs out of the immense havelis of the princes and the noblemen, in the tenuous hold that Dhrupad still has amongst the elite of the Mughal court. And the poets keep gathering at Shahjahanabad, despite Aurangzeb’s dismissal of them as ‘idle flatterers’. They come from very far, like Abd-al-Qader Bidel, whose family is Chagatai Turkic but whose poetry so defines a phase of Shahjahanabadi poetry that he becomes Abd-al-Qader Dehlvi. Some will come from the Deccan, like Wali Dakhni, and some are born in the narrow, winding galis (lanes) of Shahjahanabad itself. They will write in Persian, in Urdu, in Braj and later in Rekhti. They will write in obscure philosophical quatrains, in flamboyant ghazals or in erotic riti styles but many will glow with the high-voltage mysticism of Sufi thought, for the ghosts of Shahjahanabad’s Sufi saints will enchant all the poets of the city.

Zeb-un-Nisa, like Jahanara who returns to court as padshah begum in 1666, is instrumental in supporting the work of writers and poets through her patronage. She supports the scholar Mulla Safiuddin Adbeli when he translates the Arabic Tafsir-i-Kabir (Great Commentary) into Persian and he dedicates the book to the shahzaadi—Zeb-ut-Tafasir. She also sponsors the Hajj pilgrimage of Muhammad Safi Qazwini. Qazwini will write an extraordinary account of his voyage, the Pilgrims’ Confidant, unique in its genre and magnificently illustrated and will dedicate it to Zeb-un-Nisa. For a few years, the courts of Jahanara and Zeb-un-Nisa will nurture this eclectic maelstrom of a culture, which has much more in common with Babur and Humayun’s camaraderie of artists than it has with Aurangzeb’s increasingly austere one. When Aurangzeb bans opium and alcohol, the easy complicity that the noblemen and padshahs shared in the ghusal khaana or the Deewan-e-khaas while drinking wine, is now forbidden. The imperial women, however, continue to drink wine, often made from grapes in their own gardens, flavoured with spices.

In 1669, Zeb-un-Nisa attends the lavish marriage ceremony of her cousin, Jaani Begum, to her brother, Muhammad Azam, at the haveli of Jahanara. There will be other weddings too: her sister Zubdat-un-Nisa will marry Dara Shikoh’s youngest son Siphir Shikoh and Mehr-un-Nisa will marry Murad Baksh’s son Izad Baksh. But for Aurangzeb’s oldest daughters, there are no more cousins to marry. There is an understanding, also, that these oldest daughters, like their aunts, possess a powerful charisma as Timurid shahzaadis and must be kept within the controlling orbit of the imperial zenana. The decades pass and still Aurangzeb rules, as resolute and restless as a young man. His sons, meanwhile, are growing old and impatient. Muhammad Akbar is Zeb-un-Nisa’s youngest brother and she is particularly close to him, as their mother Dilras Banu died soon after giving birth to him, when Zeb-un-Nisa was nineteen. The other sons are middle-aged men, and there have been skirmishes, the shahzaadas jostling for power, always subdued immediately by their unforgiving father. In 1681, when Muhammad Akbar decides to challenge his father, with the support of a Rajput alliance including the Rathors of Jodhpur, Zeb-un-Nisa is in a particularly vulnerable position.

In 1681, Jahanara dies. The imperial zenana has glowed with her ambition and talent for more than half a century. If the shahzaadas are uncertain about the future leadership of the Mughal empire, then the stakes are almost as high in the imperial zenana. Zeb-un-Nisa believes she may become the next padshah begum. She is a woman of letters, like Jahanara, with the same Sufi inclinations too. She is the eldest of the Timurid shahzaadis and presides over an astonishingly talented salon. It is time, surely, for a shahzaada to ascend the Peacock Throne as Aurangzeb is already an old man, sixty-three years old. So Zeb-un-Nisa sides with the young prince Muhammad Akbar, hoping to ensure her legacy in the next court.

But Aurangzeb is able to defeat Muhammad Akbar, using a mixture of duplicity and treachery. In the process, he discovers letters which incriminate Zeb-un-Nisa, demonstrating her ardent support for her brother. ‘What belongs to you is as good as mine,’ Muhammad Akbar writes in a letter to Zeb-un-Nisa, ‘and whatever I own is at your disposal.’ And in another letter he writes: ‘The dismissal or appointment of the sons-in-law of Daulat and Sagar Mal is at your discretion. I have dismissed them at your bidding. I consider your orders in all affairs as sacred like the Quran and Traditions of the Prophet, and obedience to them is proper.’ Muhammad Akbar is exiled to Persia, and Zeb-un-Nisa is imprisoned at the Salimgarh fort in Delhi. Her pension of four lakhs rupees a year is discontinued and her property is seized.

Very soon after this rebellion, Aurangzeb leaves Shahjahanabad for the Deccan with an entourage of tens of thousands, all of his sons and his zenana. He will never return to Shahjahanabad, which will slowly be leached of all of its nobility, craftsmen, soldiers and traders. Zeb-un-Nisa will live more than twenty years imprisoned in Salimgarh fort. She will grow old here as Shahjahanabad empties of its people and becomes a shadow of its former self. But the poets and the singers do not desert Shahjahanabad, their fortunes and their hearts are too inextricably linked to the great city, to this paradise on earth. Other patrons take over the role of the nobility, humbler people, so that a critical poet will later write:

Those who once rode elephants now go barefooted; (while) those who longed for parched grains once are today owners of property mansions, elephants and banners, (and now) the rank of the lions has gone to the jackals.

Not only do the poets remain but their poetry becomes saturated with the haunted longing and nostalgia which becomes the calling card of all the great poets of Delhi. This city of beauty and splendour, abandoned and then desecrated, and then bloodied, will inspire reams of poetry on the twin themes of grief and remembrance. In the future, one of these poets will court eternity when he writes:

Dil ki basti bhi Sheher Dilli hai;

Jo bhi guzra usi ne loota

As for Zeb-un-Nisa, she waits for Muhammad Akbar to claim the Peacock Throne but he dies, in 1703, outlived by his father. From her lonely prison on the Yamuna, the shahzaadi can see Shah Jahan’s magnificent fort. The Qila-e-Mubaarak remains locked up for decades and the dust and ghosts move in. The bats make their home in the crenelated awnings and sleep as the relentless sun arcs through the lattice windows. Bees cluster drunkenly around the fruit trees in the Hayat Baksh, the overripe fruit crushed on the marble walkways like blood. Moss skims over the canals and the pools, though the waterfall still whispers its secrets to itself in the teh khana (underground chamber) as Zeb-un-Nisa waits. Zeb-un-Nisa writes poetry while she waits for a deliverance that will never come. She is a poet of some repute, and writes under the pseudonym Makhvi, the Concealed One. This is a popular pseudonym, however, and it is difficult to establish which lines are truly written by the shahzaadi but it is likely that the following wistful and delicate lines are hers, written in the grim solitude of Salimgarh fort:

Were an artist to choose me for his model—

How could he draw the form of a sigh?

She dies in 1702, unforgiven by Aurangzeb, and is buried in the Tees Hazari Garden, gifted to her by Jahanara.

- Ira Mukhoty, “Daughters of the Sun: Empresses, Queens and Begums of the Mughal Empire”

#history #historicwomendaily #indian history #india tag #mughal empire #mughal era #Zeb-un-Nissa #mine #queue

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xtruss · 6 months

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The Forgotten Hero: How Russia Helped Launch The Decolonial Movement in The Heart of The British Empire

Rafiq Ahmed, Who Founded the Communist Party of India in Tashkent, Gave His Descendants Both a Legacy and a Name, But Hardly Any of Them Know Why They Are Called ’Roosis’

— December 5, 2023 | RT

Rafiq ‘Roosi’ Ahmed died four decades ago, but his visits to the erstwhile Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) are forgotten, to the extent that his descendants, who continue to be known as the ‘Roosis’ (Hindi/Urdu for Russian national) of Bhopal, are unsure of the origin of the name they carry, and are ignorant of his illustrious legacy.

After battling lung cancer for three years, Comrade ‘Roosi’ died as quietly as he had lived, in the central Indian city of Bhopal at the age of 93, in 1982.

Bhopal had been run by the Nawabs during British rule, from 1818 to 1947, after which it became part of the Indian Union; since then, the socio-political fabric of the city has changed radically. Roosi’s travels to the USSR in 1920, inspired by the great revolutionary upsurge in Russia and Central Asia, have largely been forgotten.

Rafiq Ahmed's ancestral home is a stone’s throw from the picturesque Upper Lake in a typically non-descript narrow bylane in the old quarters of Bhopal, but it is easy to find – thanks to the title, Roosi. Apart from a handful of senior residents of the city, nobody quite knows the origin of this name.

His daughter-in-law Saulat has done a fine job of keeping his belongings safe – especially those pertaining to his trip to the Soviet Union in September-October 1967 to attend the 50th anniversary of the Great October Socialist Revolution – but the family’s collective knowledge is limited to his second trip to Russia, and some anecdotes from his first visit which border on the mythical.

Comrade Rafiq Ahmad, personal archive © RT

They are unaware that Roosi was among the first group of Indian revolutionaries who went to the Soviet Union to seek advice on ousting their British colonial rulers, or that he was among the first to enroll at the Indian Military Training School in Tashkent, or was the founding member of the Communist Party of India in Tashkent, or was tried and jailed for almost a year in the Peshawar Conspiracy Case.

Septuagenarian Khalid Ghani, who knows Bhopal’s history and its people like the back of his hand, attributes this to Roosi’s modest lifestyle. The Ghanis and his family have been neighbors and go back a long way. Ghani’s family used to run a sports shop on the ground floor, and Roosi’s son ran a small hotel called ‘Moonlight’ on the first floor of the same building.

When Ahmed came back from Russia in 1923, people started calling him ‘Roosi’. “He had rubbed shoulders with the top Indian and Russian revolutionaries there, risked his life, and had been jailed. But he didn’t speak about it to anyone, let alone brag about his stay there. Even after the independence of India, he did not list himself as a freedom fighter and avail benefits – such as seeking a plot of land – and secure his future. He just went back to being the person he was before he had left Bhopal. This says a lot about the kind of man he was,” says Ghani.

Modest Background

Roosi hailed from a modest background, and when he returned from Russia, he took a job as the head of the kitchen of the last ruler of Bhopal, Nawab Hameedullah Khan. Much later, when his son Jameel opened his own restaurant, Roosi started assisting him.

Jameel’s wife, Saulat, and his sister, Rafia-un-Nisa, are the two surviving members of the family who spent time with Roosi. Rafia-un-Nisa is in her late eighties and can barely speak. Saulat married into the family in 1969, five decades after Roosi returned from Russia.

Although she is alert and can recall most details about her father-in-law, she is unable to piece together the sequence of events of his life before she married into the family.

“He would be at the hotel during the day and spend the nights writing. I saw him do that for eight years. It is unfortunate that we cannot find most of his writings,” she laments. She pulls out a newspaper clipping to show that Roosi was among the first Indians to write a book on Vladimir Lenin in 1923. However, she has no idea where the book is.

Comrade Rafiq Ahmad (center) meets with youths of the Soviet Union in the city of Kirov. © Sputnik/I. Agranovskiy

Trip to Russia

Roosi’s long period of anonymity ended quite suddenly when Soviet Land magazine published an article on him in around 1966-1967. He was invited to the Soviet embassy in New Delhi and before he knew it, he was on his way to Moscow.

In between, there were mentions of him in the writings of fellow compatriots such as Shaukat Usmani, but they seem to have gone unnoticed.

Ghani recalls, “Nearly five decades after he had returned from Russia, Ahmed was invited to meet the Soviet ambassador in New Delhi. In 1967, he flew to Russia to take part in the 50th anniversary of the Great October Socialist Revolution. Later in 1972, he was acknowledged as a freedom fighter at former prime minister Indira Gandhi’s behest.”

In Moscow, he was awarded a gold medal for his struggle alongside Russian revolutionaries. After receiving the medal, he told Patriot newspaper that the revolutionaries who languished in jail and died there deserved the decoration more than him.

“Twenty of my comrades died fighting there. They were all courageous people…I think they deserved this honor much more than me,” he said, adding that he was held hostage in Kerki (in modern-day Turkmenistan) for over a month along with 36 other Indians, as well as Russian and Turkmen revolutionaries. He spoke about how the British tortured the revolutionaries.

He visited Lenin’s mausoleum and placed a wreath there. He told the newspaper New Age that he had seen Lenin addressing a meeting once, but he could not meet him in person alongside his Indian comrades as he had fallen ill, and this was his greatest misfortune. New Age newspaper then described him as a tall and energetic man.

Comrade Rafiq Ahmad with a monument of Vladimir Lenin at Smolny, in Leningrad (N ow St. Petersburg). Ahmad met Lenin in 1921. © Sputnik/Mikhail Ozerskiy

Roosi reunited with other revolutionaries in Moscow; among them was Maria Fortus. She had been his teacher at the Communist University of the Toilers of the East, in Moscow, and remembered all her Indian students by their names. She recognized Roosi and asked him about the other Indian revolutionaries. He also met Avanes Baratov, an old Communist who had participated in the struggle against the counter-revolutionary bands.

Roosi, who was hosted by APN Board (Novosti Press Agency), visited Kerki, where he had fought alongside the Red Army, and Tashkent, where he went to a school where children were taught Urdu. Saulat has a couple of photos of him with Fortus and Baratov, and of his visits to Tashkent and Kerki.

Later that year, he was decorated with another medal by the Soviet Ambassador to New Delhi, N.M. Pegov.

In 1972, he was among the few freedom fighters to be invited to New Delhi by the government of India to celebrate the silver jubilee of India’s Independence.

Roosi’s Journey

A few years after his death, a portion of Roosi’s missing memoir was published in Qazi Wajdi-ul-Hussaini’s book “Barkatullah Bhopali” in 1986.

According to Hussani, when the Khilafat Movement was in full swing in 1920, the Khilafat Committee of Delhi announced a conference and an emotionally charged and rather naïve group of Bhopalis headed for Delhi, believing that this was a call to rid India of the British.

Apart from Roosi, the fiery group included Aftab Ali Khan, Mohammed Ali, Abdul Hayi, Master Mashkoor, Mohammed Khan, Ahmed Kabeer Ahmed, Mohammed Shafi and Mohammed Akhtar.

These revolutionaries stood out among the others when they literally kicked a spy out from their group, and stopped the Imam of Delhi’s Jama Masjid from leading the prayers, as he was said to be close to the British.

Comrade Rafiq Ahmad visiting USSR © RT

However, when they learnt that this was a call to protest against the British stance towards the Turkish Caliphate, a few of Roosi’s companions decided to return to Bhopal. The rest decided to go ahead with the “Hijrat” (Migration), impressed by the enthusiastic call given by Afghanistan’s King Amanullah Khan, and set out for Kabul.

They crossed the border from Peshawar and entered Afghanistan, and headed towards Kabul via Jalalabad. They met King Amanullah Khan, who received them well, but ordered that the refugees be sent to Jabal al-Siraj (a former palace he used as a military base). When the Emir promised to give them jobs, it dawned on the group that he was buying time to strike a deal with the British.

Disappointed, the group escaped from Jabal al-Siraj, covering 30 to 40 miles on foot each day, crossing difficult mountains and treacherous deserts, and reached the Turkistan border, and then finally Termez via Mazar-i-Sharif and Ghor. In Termez, they heard the fiery speech of a Russian commander who said his country had opened its doors to the workers of the world. They met the commander and went to Tashkent with his help.

In ‘The Indian Revolutionaries and the Bolsheviks - their early contacts, 1918-1922’, Arun Coomer Bose writes, “We have it on the authority of Rafiq Ahmed (Roosi) that the first four ‘muhajirs’ (Migrants), including himself, reached Kabul sometime in May 1920. They were well received, and were lodged at Jabal us-Siraz (Jabal al-Siraj), at some distance from Kabul. Others, who came after them, were also brought there, and by the beginning of July there were about a couple of hundred of them at Jabal us-Siraz (Jabal al-Siraj).”

After the founding of the Communist Party of India in Tashkent, it was decided that some of the Indian ‘Muhajirs’ would return to India to establish the foundations of a communist movement there.

Accordingly, towards the end of March 1922, a bigger group of ten, which included Roosi, set out for India via the Pamir route, writes Bose. “At Kharog they divided themselves into small groups and, barring a couple of them, succeeded in reaching Chitral or the tribal territories in the north-west of India. But, almost all of them were apprehended by the Indian police, and were tried in the Peshawar Conspiracy Case,” adds Bose.

Roosi was jailed for nearly a year. A letter issued by the Government of India on December 25, 1972 states that Roosi was arrested in the Peshawar Conspiracy Case (Crown vs Akbar Shah and seven others in the Moscow Tashkent conspiracy case) in the last week of October 1922 and released on May 18, 1923, and that he spent his term in the District Jail in Peshawar.

Saulat’s son now runs the family restaurant, which serves Mughlai cuisine. Her daughter, Bushra, who was eight years old when Roosi passed away, has taken charge of her grandfather’s papers and plans to preserve them.

The next generation of Roosis are unaware of their great-grandfather’s lineage, content with the knowledge that he visited Russia. Can, then, one blame the rest of Bhopal?

— By Lamat R Hasan, an Independent Journalist Based in Delhi

#Feature #Rafiq Ahmed #Rafiq ‘Roosi’ Ahmed #Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR)#Hindi/Urdu for Russian National #Bhopal | India 🇮🇳#Russia 🇷🇺#British 🇬🇧 Empire #“Hijrat” (Migration)#Tashkent | Capital of Uzbekistan 🇺🇿 Now #Peshawar (Now City of Pakistan 🇵🇰)#Kabul | Jalalabad | Afghanistan 🇦🇫#King Amanullah Khan #Indian Revolutionaries & Bolsheviks #Turkistan #Termez | Mazar-i-Sharif | Ghor #Kabul #Muhajirs #Mughlai Cuisine

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wild-karrde · 2 years

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Shadows and Shades - Part 13

Master List | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: There are some “Reunion” spoilers in this chapter, so heads up if you’re looking to read that fic spoiler free! As always, thank you to the outstanding @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this chapter for me! :)

Another week passed, and with every day that ticked by, Crosshair wondered if he’d made the right decision in planting the tracker on Nisa. They had fallen into a routine each night: as they ate dinner and unwound from the day, the datapad sat within view, Nisa’s glowing green blip visible to both of them. They’d become familiar with her daily habits and routes, which she seemed to follow religiously. Every evening, Crosshair hoped she’d deviate from her route back to where he assumed her dwelling was, and every day he was disappointed. While he hid that disappointment well, Iden did not. Her shoulders would slump a little lower with every passing second until she’d sigh deeply, plaster a smile across her face, and rise to punch the datapad off and clear their dinner away.

She thinks she’s hiding it. But she’s so easy to read.

His dismay didn’t necessarily stem from Nisa not defecting; it came from watching Iden torture herself, wishing there was a way to save her but knowing it had to be her own decision. He had little doubt Iden had considered stunning her sister and dragging her back to base with them, but they both knew the risk that posed.

We’d endanger the entire rebellion. It has to be her decision. Even if it’s not the one we’re hoping for.

His datapad beeped on the table, rousing him from his train of thought. Before he could reach for it, Iden had snatched it, her eyes scanning something on the screen.

“What is it?” he drawled, reaching for his glass of wine instead.

“A message from Hunter,” Iden replied. “Sounds like they’ve finally got a plan for us. And some other updates.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Other updates?”

She shrugged. “No idea. But better not keep them waiting.”

The two of them stood from their small table, moving to the couch where they’d become accustomed to taking Hunter’s calls. Crosshair popped a toothpick between his teeth as Iden punched in Hunter’s frequency and placed the holopad in the middle of the low table in front of them. Almost immediately, the sergeant’s blue glowing form popped into view, but he wasn’t alone. Tech stood to his left, eyes locked onto his datapad as usual, but there was something about the way he was bouncing on the balls of his feet with a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips that struck Crosshair as unusual.

He's certainly chipper. He’s normally only like that if he’s gotten some new tools. Or come up with some new invention.

Hunter, on the other hand, looked exhausted. It seems he always looks like that these days, Crosshair thought. The sergeant smiled tightly at the two of them. “Good to see you both. It’s been a while.”

“It has,” Crosshair agreed. “Everything alright over there?”

He’s clearly got something bothering him.

Hunter sighed. “It’s been…an eventful last few days. I’ll spare the details since we’re short on time, but Master Atiniir was attacked by… by a clone that she and Rex brought back. Commander Wolffe. She’s alive, but it was a close call. She’ll heal.”

Crosshair stiffened. “His chip?”

“Removed before the attack.”

“That makes no sense. Then he-“

Hunter nodded. “I know. Like I said, sparing the details. But Rex is going to take him offworld to keep him safe and away from everyone else until he becomes less of a danger. Rex and Gregor are already off scouting for a place to lay low. And when they get back, I have a sneaking suspicion we’re going to have a wedding so Rex can take that last name he and Senna have been kicking around.”

Iden let out a low whistle. “That’s a hell of a development.”

Hunter shrugged, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. “I think the close call served as a reminder that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, particularly with what we’re doing here. So, I understand to an extent, I suppose.” He glanced over at Tech, who Crosshair noted was practically vibrating. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. Hunter jerked his head at his brother, who stepped forward.

“There’s been one other development. Using the files we recovered from Wayland, I have been able to create a treatment for us that will decelerate our aging.”

Tech’s delivery was so easy and effortless that it was almost as if he hadn’t just told them life-changing information. Crosshair almost let the toothpick fall from between his teeth, only recovering at the last millisecond. Iden let out a small gasp next to him. They’d of course discussed his accelerated aging very early on in their relationship, and Iden had taken the news rather well, all things considered. He had supposed perhaps losing people close to her so early in life had made her cherish whatever time she had with those she cared for, even if it was only going to be for a limited time. Maybe since she knows it’s coming, that makes it easier. Now, a spark of hope flashed in her eyes as she turned to look at him, her fingers flying to cover her mouth.

“Crosshair,” she breathed.

He was sitting still, unsure of how to react. He’d never really been one to mourn his shortened lifespan, figuring it was just part of being a clone, but now, his mind flooded with possibilities that he’d never dared to consider. A life with Iden and his brothers, a full life, growing old together, perhaps even living to see the Empire fall. All of that suddenly had been placed within his reach, and he was unsure of how to react to the overwhelming flood of emotions he suddenly felt. Reaching over, he slipped his hand into Iden’s. Tech was still jabbering away, something about side effects and the process taking a few years, but Crosshair barely heard any of it as his eyes met Iden’s, and he saw the same thoughts and possibilities dancing behind her eyes.

A life together.

He smiled, squeezing her hands in his. Her eyes were glistening.

“Crosshair, are you listening?” Tech’s question snapped them out of their fantastical haze.

“Yes. I get it. It’ll take some time and there’ll be side effects.”

Tech blinked at him, raising an eyebrow before continuing. “Correct. You’ll need anywhere from a few days to a week to recover, but we can make that happen once you return. We’ll have to monitor your cellular activity over the next few years to ensure the process works, but so far, results have been promising.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the smile that was smeared across his face. “Can’t wait to become one of your science experiments.”

“To be fair, I tested this on myself first, so I’m not asking you to do anything I haven’t already done.”

“Not as comforting as you might think, Tech,” Crosshair joked dryly.

Tech shrugged, clearly unphased by his brother’s teasing. “There’s one other thing. I’m sending you schematics on how to construct a camera like the one Senna and Hunter used on Naboo. If possible, we’d like you to try to scan and take pictures of the weapon on the other side of the factory. This should be simple enough for Iden to construct with relatively easy to procure components. Let me know if you have any questions or difficulties.” The datapad beeped to alert them of the file’s arrival.

“Don’t push too hard to get the pictures too quickly. We don’t want you to get caught,” Hunter cautioned. “Once you’re able to feed the data back to us, we can decide on next steps. But the first thing we need to figure out is what the Empire’s working on there.” His eyes flicked between the two of them, his brows dropping into something reminiscent of an accusing stare. “I trust Rampart is still unaware of your presence.”

“We haven’t seen him around recently,” Crosshair replied.

Hunter’s eyes moved to Iden. “And what about Commodore Vena?”

And there it is. He knows.

Crosshair tried to keep his face neutral. Iden swallowed hard, but met Hunter’s gaze evenly.

“Anisia isn’t a threat.”

Hunter’s jaw set in anger as he got confirmation of something he’d clearly hoped wasn’t true. He turned back to Crosshair. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

“Hunter, it was my decision-“ Iden started, but he held up a hand to cut her off.

“You’ve jeopardized this entire mission twice over now. Both of you,” he growled. “The only reason we found your sister was because her name was in those files you sent back with Howzer, and after tracking down her personnel holo, it was clear you two were related. Tech was able to find your family records without much issue to confirm what I’d feared. And that leads me to believe you were both also aware of Rampart’s presence. Am I correct?”

Their silence spoke for them. Hunter ran his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “How could you be so irresponsible?” he snarled, his anger beginning to crest once more.

“That’s enough, Hunter,” Iden snapped. Hunter fell silent, clearly surprised by the outburst. Her eyes were flaring as she stared him down. “You sent the both of us here because you trusted us to make the correct calls in tough situations. That’s part of what we do. If we’d bailed the moment we saw Rampart and Anisia, we would have left long before we’d understood what was going on in that factory. We’ve gathered valuable information, all while Rampart and Anisia were in the vicinity. Now, you can be upset with us for not telling you, but you cannot tell me that you don’t understand why. And you also cannot tell me that we haven’t done good work here, which is exactly why you’re going to continue to allow us to do so.”

Crosshair felt a flush of pride surge through him as Iden fell silent, her shoulders heaving slightly as she watched Hunter. His brother appeared at a loss for words, and even Tech had ceased punching away at his datapad for a moment to observe the interaction, his eyes flicking from his commanding officer to the pair on the couch and back again.

Hunter and Iden glared at each other for a few more seconds before something seemed to pass between the two of them, and Hunter heaved another frustrated sigh. “I haven’t told anyone that I suspected it was your sister outside of Tech, and I won’t tell anyone else, but you two had better ensure I don’t pay for it on the back end. You continue, but the moment things go south or even seem like they might, you get out of there and call for a pick up. Understood?”

Iden nodded. “We’ll continue to be cautious.”

“Slightly more cautious, one can hope,” Tech muttered, but another frosty glare from Iden silenced him. The tapping on his datapad resumed, echoing in the room’s silence.

Hunter stared at Iden for another few seconds before shifting his eyes to Crosshair. The sniper met his gaze, hoping Hunter was able to perceive how important this was to him, even with the parsecs that separated them.

Let us finish the mission. Trust us to do the right thing. Please.

As if he could hear Crosshair’s thoughts, Hunter finally nodded. “Report back once you get the images. We’ll wait for your call.” He paused, his voice growing slightly gentler. “Stay safe.” With that, he nodded and disconnected the call. Once their holos blinked out of existence, Crosshair released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding before turning to look at Iden. She had her thumbnail between her teeth, chewing away contemplatively. He pulled her hand away from her mouth, and that seemed to snap her out of her trance. She grinned at him.

“Well… that was quite the ride. You get to live longer. We got reprimanded. And now I have something to build.”

“And there’s going to be a wedding.”

“That too. Somewhat sad I’ll miss that. Always did like drinking and dancing.”

“You hardly drink anymore,” he countered. “And I don’t dance.”

Iden shrugged. “Been wanting to keep my wits about me. Plus it’s been turning my stomach a bit.” She smirked as she stood, slipping her hands into his and gently pulling. “And I think you’d dance with me if I asked very nicely.”

He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, huffing a laugh as mischief twinkled in her eyes. “That would require some negotiation on your part.”

Iden raised an eyebrow, trailing a finger down his chest. “You know I enjoy getting creative in my negotiations.” She pulled his arms around her waist, slipping her hands around the back of his neck. “Tell you what. I’ll do the dishes tonight if you’ll spare me a single dance right now.”

“It was your turn to do them anyway.”

“I’ll do them naked,” she countered.

He scoffed playfully. “You truly think I’m so easily swayed?”

“Yes.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “I think I’d prefer you be naked after doing the dishes.”

Iden’s tongue poked between her teeth as she pretended to ponder his counteroffer. “I suppose I could live with that compromise as long as you promise to show me a good time.”

“Have I ever not?”

She shrugged before leaning forward and pressing her cheek to his chest as they swayed in the silence. After a few minutes, she chuckled, and he looked down at her with a puzzled expression.

“What?”

“I see why you don’t dance often. You couldn’t hold a rhythm if your life depended on it.”

“In my defense, there’s no music.”

“You’re still not instilling confidence, my dear.”

He glowered at her. “You know, just for that, I think I’m going to collect on your end of the bargain now, Lieutenant.” Stooping, he threw her over his shoulder with a grunt before making his way back towards the bedroom. Iden half-heartedly struggled in his grip, reaching down to slap at his buttocks and giggling the entire time.

---

A few weeks later, they stood on the factory floor once more, picking through crates of blasters as their prison counterparts moved around them. Crosshair’s eyes flicked around the floor for what felt like the fiftieth time that day, searching for Ba-Ran. He’d been trying to come up with excuses to speak with the foreman as much as he could without being obnoxious, hoping that there’d be an instance where the Gran would allow him back over to the other side of the factory to help out with some mundane task. Unfortunately, at this moment, Ba-Ran was nowhere in sight.

It had taken Iden all of a few nights to construct the camera Tech’s schematics had outlined, and it functioned perfectly after some minor tweaks. He’d been carrying it with him to work every day since then, waiting for his chance, but he couldn’t deny he was growing impatient.

“Relax,” Iden whispered from his left. He glanced over at her.

“I am.”

“You’re not.” Her tone left no room for argument as her eyes met his, an eyebrow cocked skeptically. “It’ll come. Just can’t force it. Like your brother said.”

He couldn’t deny he felt an urgency to prove himself since their conversation with Hunter. He wanted to show his brother that they could still be valuable and make the right calls, that they were trustworthy despite their deception.

We had good reasons. Surely he can see that.

He knew Hunter rarely got to indulge in such self-centered decisions due to his position as the team leader, but he hoped that his brother still possessed at least enough empathy to understand why he and Iden had chosen to not disclose the danger.

Crosshair also couldn’t deny he felt a certain urgency to complete their mission and get back to base so that he could find out what this new medical procedure would entail. Ever since he’d had his chip enhanced, he carried a certain apprehension when asked to undergo any sort of significant medical treatments. Tech had never commented on it explicitly, but he suspected his goggled brother had noted it when he was around them. Tech was unsuspectingly perceptive about things like that, and he had taken to carefully explaining procedures to Crosshair when they were necessary, as if he hoped to assuage his brother’s concerns by laying it all out. To an extent, it did help, and Crosshair was grateful for the unspoken understanding between the two of them.

Giving the floor one last scan, the sniper packed the last blaster into the crate, closing the lid and lifting it off the table. “I need to make sure it’s charged. I’ll be in the storage closet. No one should be walking in there for a bit.”

“You charged it last night.”

“I just want to be sure.” His paranoia about the camera had also seemed to increase with every passing day, and Iden’s jokes about it had quickly faded to worry. She didn’t say anything else, but he could see the concern in her eyes. Without another word, he stalked off with the crate towards the next station. He set it down slightly harder than necessary before heading for the storage closet, his fingers already grazing the lump in his pocket that was the camera.

An obnoxiously loud laugh to his left caught his attention, and when he turned his head, his stomach twisted. Ba-Ran was just coming onto the floor, clearly enamored with one of his own jokes, and right behind him in their crisp grey Imperial uniforms were Rampart and Anisia. They weren’t laughing. Glancing at Iden quickly, he saw that she’d noticed as well, ducking her head and making her way off the floor, keeping her back to them. He turned back to his original destination, trying to keep his pace even and unrushed.

Just a little bit further.

Chancing another look, he saw that Iden was standing at a shelf of crates, pretending to inspect the labels and compare them to something on her datapad.

They have no reason to go over there. She’s safe. Now if I can just-

“ABAN! Come over here for a moment.” Crosshair froze. He was a few steps from the door to the storage closet, but if he continued in, he’d be trapped, and they’d just wait him out or come in after him. If I bolt for the exit, they’ll know. He sighed in resignation. I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. We knew we were playing with fire here. Hopefully Iden can make it out.

Hunter’s going to be extraordinarily smug about this. Unless I die.

Before he could turn to find her gaze, he felt Iden’s grip around his arm, her voice urgent in his ear.

“You’re ill. Keep going. Go to the dwelling. I’ll cover for you.”

Her hand rubbed his back comfortingly. He met her gaze, and her eyes were pleading.

“ABAN!” Ba-Ran’s voice carried loudly across the floor. Iden waved at him absently without turning around to face him.

“Nisa is with them,” he hissed. “She told you she’d have you arrested on sight.”

“I don’t know if she will.”

“Iden-“

“There’s no sense in both of us getting arrested. And she might not, but Rampart will absolutely have you dragged out of here in cuffs, no questions asked.” She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his ear. “I’m asking you to trust me, Crosshair. This is the right call. We have to take this gamble. Now please, go.”

His throat tightened, but he nodded, his eyes burning.

“I love you,” she whispered hurriedly. “If I’m not ten minutes behind you, leave and call Hunter and the others to get you out. I’ll find a way back to you. I promise.” She squeezed his hand before gently pushing him in the small of his back. And then she was gone. He waited another breath before continuing on past the storage closet, heading for the locker room where their jackets were stashed.

It’d look strange to just walk out.

In a sickening twist of irony, he did suddenly feel ill. He fought the rising bile in his throat as he heard Iden’s voice carry across the floor to him.

“So sorry! Aban’s not feeling well, Ba-Ran. He’s heading home. Wouldn’t want him to vomit all over anyone’s shoes. Can I help you?”

Crosshair glanced over his shoulder one last time to see Iden walking towards Ba-Ran, Rampart, and Nisa, arms out welcomingly with a confident smile smeared across her face. His eyes flicked to Nisa. She was initially looking down at her datapad, but at the sound of Iden’s voice, her head snapped up, her eyes widening in recognition. Her eyes flicked to him, and he ducked his head, continuing onward and silently praying to whatever deity was listening with every step. He braced for a shout from the Imperials, to run as they pursued him, but it never came. As he turned the corner into the room, he quickly grabbed his jacket off the hook, slipping it over his shoulders, his breath sounding too loud as he strained his ears to hear what was happening on the floor. Their voices were too muffled, and he took several deep breaths before heading back out the door.

As he exited the locker room and pushed towards the exterior door, he still heard Iden speaking jovially to her audience, uninterrupted. He turned as he exited and saw Iden was still talking to Ba-Ran. Rampart was nodding as she gestured around at various benches and weapons, and Nisa was watching her intently. The only indication of anything being amiss with the Imperial commodore was the strength with which she was gripping her datapad at her side.

He pushed through the exterior door, and the frosty breeze knocked the air from his lungs. He let out a deep, shuddering breath, fighting the nausea that was threatening to incapacitate him.

No time. Get to the dwelling. She’ll be alright.

As quickly as his long legs could carry him, Crosshair made his way back home, continuing to mentally reassure himself. He kept his head on a swivel for tails and doubled back to cover his tracks as much as he could. A twinge of relief flooded him when their home came into view, and he practically bounded up the front steps, bursting through the door. He jogged to the bedroom, yanking out the individual go-bags they’d kept packed in case they had to leave quickly, dragging them to the living room with shaking hands. He counted the seconds in his head as he pulled the Firepuncher from its hiding place under the couch.

Seven more minutes, and then you’ve got to go.

He inspected his pistol, turning the blaster over in his hands.

Five more. You promised you’d leave her.

His leg bounced nervously.

You promised.

Two more. Then you go.

I can’t leave her.

A scraping sound at the door had him whipping his blaster around, taking aim at Iden’s figure as she stepped quickly inside, hands raised. As soon as he realized who it was, Crosshair tossed the blaster on the couch, leaping to his feet and closing the distance between them.

“I’m alright,” she managed to breathe before he enveloped her in his arms, pressing his lips to hers frantically. He couldn’t be certain if it was him trembling or her, but they held each other tightly for a few moments, the only sounds their shuddering breaths as they released the fears they’d both held. Finally, she pressed him back, moving to sit on the couch.

“We need to call Hunter.”

He stared at her. “You haven’t told me what happened.”

Iden scrubbed her hands over her face. “Nothing happened, which is almost more concerning. Nisa didn’t say anything while I jabbered at Ba-Ran and Rampart. To be honest, I can’t even remember half of what I said.” She unleashed a nervous, mirthless laugh.

“What did they even want?”

Iden had one hand pressed to her forehead as though she had a headache, her brows furrowed as she replayed the events in her mind. “Just to ask some stupid questions about production and the sorts of failures we were seeing during inspections. I managed to rattle off what they wanted to hear I suppose, because Rampart thanked me for my time and then they just left.” Iden opened her eyes, looking suddenly weary. “We need to call Hunter,” she repeated.

Crosshair shook his head. “He’ll pull us out.”

Iden’s mouth drew into a tight line. “He will. And I think we need him to.”

“What?”

“We’re out of time, Crosshair,” she said softly. “Nisa knows we’re in the factory working, so our cover’s blown. It won’t take her long to put together what we’re doing there. We’ve got to go in tonight, see what we can see on the other side of the factory, and then get off of this planet. It’s time to go home.”

He pondered it for a moment, but no matter how many ways his mind tried to bend the problem or search for an alternative, he knew she was right. He sighed deeply, popping a toothpick between his teeth.

“Alright. Let’s call it in. And then as soon as it gets dark, we go.”

—

“You’ve got the key card?”

Iden glared at him in the dark. “You’ve asked that three times already. Yes, I still have the key card. Let’s just hope they haven’t changed the passcodes anywhere along the way.”

The two of them were walking quickly and quietly towards the factory, their go-bags slung over their shoulders and the Firepuncher resting against Crosshair’s spine. The sun had sunk below the horizon long ago, giving way to a chill that seemed to seep through their jackets as they crept through the streets. Crosshair shivered, although he wasn’t certain if it was more nerves or the cold.

Hunter had reacted about as well as they had anticipated he would, moving from shock to frustration to acceptance and planning in rapid succession. They were to get into the factory, image whatever was on the other side that might prove useful, and then make their way into the foothills for their pick-up. They weren’t sure who was coming to get them, but they’d had little time to be too inquisitive about it.

Crosshair was nervous, although he was doing his best to hide it. Everything was happening quickly, and when things went fast, there tended to be mistakes. A number of things had to go perfectly, and no amount of planning would ensure they did; they’d be relying on luck. They needed to be lucky enough for the codes on the security panels to not have changed, lucky enough to not be seen by any guards or security cameras before they escaped. Tech had sent over a quick schematic for a jammer that would cause the security cameras on the other side of the factory to loop the same second in time over and over until the device was deactivated. It wasn’t a perfect solution; anyone watching carefully enough would be able to note the time signature had stopped ticking forward, but it was the best they could do on such short notice. Iden had managed to pull it together quickly enough, but they’d had no way to test it, leaving one more opportunity for it all to come apart.

We’ll need all the luck in the universe for this to work.

Before they’d ended the call, Hunter had made them both swear that if a single thing didn’t go according to plan, that they’d abort. They’d both begrudgingly agreed, but Crosshair knew deep down that they’d have little other option.

Unless we get captured.

The captain’s keycard that Iden had stolen so long ago still got them through the exterior doors and onto the factory floor. As soon as the door clicked open, Iden activated the jammer, and the two of them held their breath and stepped inside.

The manufacturing floor that they’d spent the last few months working on was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the air circulating through the ventilation system and the occasional clicking and creaking of the building settling. Their footsteps sounded deafening as they made their way across the floor towards Ba-Ran’s office.

“Well, the fact that no alarms are going off and no one’s coming to get us makes me think at least this jammer is working,” Iden whispered.

“It would seem so,” Crosshair agreed, bending down to see the keypad to Ba-Ran’s office door.

Next bit of luck.

He entered the default code, and felt a little more of the stress leak out of his muscles as the door clicked open. He heard Iden sigh with relief next to him. Stepping inside quickly, he yanked open Ba-Ran’s desk drawer, feeling about in the dark until his fingers grazed the keycard he was searching for. Gripping it, he strode back out of the office with Iden close behind.

They were silent as he led her quickly through the factory, weaving through the corridors until they came to the main door that would give them access to the other manufacturing floor. Crosshair glanced at Iden, who nodded to him, the unspoken thought passing between them.

Here goes nothing.

Crosshair scanned the card, punching in the code he’d memorized into the keypad. 2-6-4-3-1-7. After what seemed like an eternity, the door slid open with a metallic hiss. They gave each other nervous grins before stepping inside together. The same eerie red glow filled the room just as before, and to their combined relief, it was empty.

“I’ll see if I can find the lights,” Iden whispered. Crosshair nodded before watching her silhouette disappear into the darkness. He kept walking towards where he knew the weapon was, his boots thudding against the durasteel floor, and after a few more moments, the large shadow loomed over him. He paused, straining his eyes to see in the dark before all of the lights came on with a loud bang. He swore, shielding his eyes.

“SORRY!” came Iden’s loud whisper from one end of the room.

Crosshair rubbed at his eyes for a few more seconds, allowing them to adjust before he turned and looked back at the weapon in the middle of the floor. As he took in the details, it was as if the air had been punched from his lungs. He didn’t even register when Iden reached him, coming to stand at his side.

“What is it?” she whispered. “Some sort of massive cannon?”

“It has to be,” he replied. “But the scale of it is… this isn’t meant for ground warfare.”

“Would this go on a star destroyer?” Iden asked, pulling the camera from her pocket and handing it to Crosshair, who began frantically clicking away.

“Perhaps. But still, it’s larger than anything I’ve ever seen,” he murmured. He circled it, snapping image after image as Iden strolled over to a desk off to the side.

“Crosshair,” Iden called softly. Her voice was quiet, but still made him jump. He turned to find her leaning over the desk near the weapon, poring over a datapad that had been sitting on it. “What’s Project Stardust?” she asked.

“No idea. Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Alright, I’ll make a note of it. Maybe Tech knows something. Take a look at the power required for this. It’s… they’re going to power it with kyber? Isn’t that what’s in a Jedi’s lightsaber.”

Crosshair’s chest felt tight as yet another startling detail wrapped itself around his mind. “It is. From the little I’ve heard, kyber does a hell of a job concentrating energy. Whatever this is being used for, it’s meant for destruction on a massive scale.”

Iden’s eyes were scanning the massive cannon, taking in the various cooling systems, power couplings, and controls and monitors. Crosshair walked around it, imaging it from every angle he could think of and zooming in on the details he thought were important.

“Take the datapad with us. Maybe Tech can get something out of it,” he suggested.

“Already in my bag. You got all the pictures you need?”

He sighed, giving the weapon one last onceover. “I think so.”

“Alright. Well, let’s give the Imperials one more headache as a parting gift then,” Iden said, a lilt of mischief in her voice. From her go-bag, she pulled what appeared to be explosive charges, and Crosshair felt his eyes widen.

“You want to blow it up?”

“I do, my dear. I’m sure they’ll just build another one, but it doesn’t seem like it’s been an easy task by any means. This should set them back at least a few months.”

Crosshair stared at her for another few moments before breaking into a massive grin. “I love you.”

“Of course you do. Now help me get these in place.” They spaced the charges along the base of the cannon, ensuring that they would inflict maximum damage. Once the explosives were in place, Iden set the timing device to five minutes. “Alright my love, it’s time to make our exit.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

Crosshair slipped the camera into the pocket of his trousers before grabbing their bags and jogging out of the room with Iden close behind. They tore through the halls, worrying less about stealth as they were on a timer now. When they crossed the other manufacturing floor and reached the exterior door again, Crosshair handed Iden back her bag before pushing through and out into the night.

We did it.

A blaster muzzle pressed into his cheek as soon as his foot cleared the threshold.

“Hands up,” Anisia snarled in his ear.

Iden was half a step behind him, but at the sound of her sister’s voice, she dropped to her knees, going for the smaller blaster at Crosshair’s hip. Anisia whipped her blaster around, stunning her sister. Iden slumped to the ground as Crosshair tried to grab Anisia’s arm to wrestle the blaster away from her, but before he could get his fingers around her wrist, she brought her other elbow up, cracking it across his temple. Sparks shot across his vision and Crosshair stumbled backwards, trying to grab at his Firepuncher as his mind reeled.

Iden. She’s down. Just unconscious. How did Nisa know?

Because she isn’t stupid. Just like her sister.

Nisa pistol-whipped him across the face, bringing him to his hands and knees and almost certainly breaking his nose. Reaching over his shoulder, she yanked the Firepuncher off of his back.

“You won’t be needing this, CT-9904,” she growled.

“Anisia-”

“Shut up. It was you in the alley way, wasn’t it?”

“Nisa.”

She ignored the plea in his voice as she examined the Firepuncher, keeping her blaster on him. “I should have known it was you when we met at the factory. That ridiculous tattoo should have given you away, but no matter now. I look forward to reuniting you with your commanding officer. Admiral Rampart has stated he’s most eager to see you.”

“I wish I could say the feeling is mutual,” Crosshair rasped, blood pouring from his forehead and nose, dripping into the snow beneath him as he pushed himself up on his haunches, resting his hands on his thighs.

Suddenly, a loud roar shattered the silence around them. Crosshair and Anisia both turned just in time to watch the other half of the factory erupt into a massive fireball, plumes of black smoke pouring into the sky as a dull orange glow lit up the night around them.

Anisia wore a horrified expression as she realized what they’d done before stepping forward and screaming in frustration. Crosshair chuckled.

“You should come with us now, Nisa. You’ll never recover from this failure. Not in the Empire’s eyes.”

She whirled on him, her eyes glowing just like Iden’s did when she was angry. Some of her hair had come loose from her bun, hanging in her face as her teeth glinted underneath a snarl.

“Not all of us are traitors like you, clone.”

The last thing Crosshair saw was a set of blue stun rings erupting towards him before his entire world went dark and he collapsed to the ground next to Iden.

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