Rya raised an eyebrow as Numa collapsed on her workbench, brushing a few tools to the side so she had room to sit. "You'd think you'd be in a better mood. The entire planet is rising. I thought you'd be happy."

"I am. I have never seen our people rally like this before," she explained, "but this mission was not the smoothest I have ever been on. Almost nothing went as planned."

"I take it that's why the carrier wasn't the ship that was destroyed?"

She nodded, then smiled at the mechanic. "You are improving at identifying ships."

"Well, I've only been working for the general for ten years. It's about time."

Numa laughed, the corners of her eyes turning up. Rya was no warrior, especially not the warrior she was. Ever since she met two clone troopers and her father's death, Numa had begun to train to fight. It had been difficult, as there weren't many experienced fighters on Ryloth. She had stepped into a niche that, until their people began to rise against the Empire, had been seen as unnecessary.

Though she admired Numa for her resilience and strength, Rya knew that she was no warrior. She was a mechanic and a friend, but she recoiled from violence, as she always had. She understood that peace was not an option, not anymore, but she left the battles to those better suited to it, as did her mother. One of those people was Numa, the child Rya's mother had adopted after she and Rya moved to Ryloth. Now Numa and Rya were sisters. Their mother worked at an orphanage, caring for other children who had lost their families because of the Empire. Rya watched over Numa, who was now in her twenties, as she fought under General Syndulla.

She glanced over at her sister again and saw her rubbing her arm. "Did you get hurt?"

Shaking her head, Numa denied it. "We had to crash a ship onto the carrier to sneak onboard. It is just a scrape."

That was enough for Rya. Pausing the repairs on the speeder she was working on, she grabbed a small medkit from a nearby shelf. "Let me see."

"It is not-"

"I know, I know, it's not that bad," Rya said, finishing that sentence. "That doesn't mean it won't get infected."

Begrudgingly, Numa rolled up her sleeve and exposed the area near her elbow. It was a little red and irritated but skin-deep, thankfully. Rya pulled out a disinfectant wipe and got to work.

"One might think that the smallest injury could kill me from the way you get so worried," Numa grumbled, holding still for Rya.

"Mother would have done the same," she insisted, not taking her focus off her work. "I can't help you during a fight, but I can help you recover once you come back alive."

"Recover from a scrape? Yes, surely, that is the most urgent matter at hand. Not the uprising of hundreds of people across our home."

"If they need you so badly, then what are you doing here?"

"Having my scrape cleaned, apparently."

Rya shook her head. It was the same conversation they had after nearly every mission. Numa would come back with a rolled ankle, a cut, a bruise, literally anything, and Rya would patch her up. She would complain the entire time and jump to get back into action. Yet as annoyed as she was to be cared for, Numa didn't try to stop the process. If nothing else, Rya was grateful for that.

One bandage later, she was done. "See? It took less than a minute."

She didn't respond, just rolled her sleeve back down and watched as Rya put the kit away, grabbing a soldering iron. The mechanic worked for a minute until Numa asked, "You decide to learn to use tools such as that, despite having only ever watched your friends do it, yet you refuse to handle a blaster?"

Pointing the soldering iron at her, Rya insisted, "This tool doesn't kill people."

"It could."

"So could a stone. So could a wrench. So could a hand if someone chooses to use it that way, but I don't. I use it to mend things."

Numa brought her knees up to her chest, resting her arms on top of them. "And what of Ryloth? Our people?"

She could see where this was going. This wasn't the first time someone tried to guilt-trip her into fighting. In fact, it wasn't the first time Numa had tried to guilt-trip her. "I don't know what's best for Ryloth or our people, but I trust you and General Syndulla to make that decision."

"But you do know. You know the Empire is causing us to suffer, or you would not be here," Numa insisted. "We need people who are willing to fight. You understand that."

"Yeah," she agreed, but she looked sternly at her sister. "What you don't understand is that not every fighter will return alive and well. You won't win every battle. Equipment will break, and people will get hurt. Taking care of the wounded is just as important as our attack on the Empire. If either one fails, there won't be a Ryloth to fight for."

She set the soldering iron down and grabbed a wrench. "It's not the planet that matters. It's the people. If our people die, either by oppression or as a casualty, we lose. You fight to protect the ones who cannot protect themselves. I fight to heal the ones who choose to protect others."

Silence followed. Numa didn't have a response for that. There was something about Rya's tone that she only shared with her mother. It wasn't just the Coruscanti accent, either: it was pain. They had never told Numa, but she knew that something had happened to both of them before they moved to Ryloth that had hurt them. Numa didn't know if it was the same event or if both of them had experienced something separate.

It didn't happen often, but when either Rya or her mother began talking like this, there was a sharp edge to her voice that cut down Numa's pride. The edge sliced through the air, silencing the whole room. Other people noticed it too. Both of them respected Numa's knowledge of battle strategy and warfare, but the pain in their voice reminded her that war wasn't the only thing worthy of wisdom. The wisdom of pain was something Rya and her mother were well-versed in. Numa hoped that she would never be as wise as they were, at least in that regard. She never wanted to have the nightmares that occasionally woke their mother up at night.

Rya saw that her words had the desired effect, and her voice softened. "People do understand what the Empire is doing to us. They saw you destroy that ship, and now they're responding. Support is growing, but you can't force an army to rise. You can't make a warrior out of someone who can't or won't fight."

"No, but evidently, you can make a rebellion," Numa pointed out.

"And I can't wait to see it grow," she told her, smiling. "You'll finally get the fight you've been waiting for."

Numa grinned sheepishly. She knew it wasn't right to say, but she was excited for a chance to fight like she had today. She had looked up to her brother clone troopers long after she had last seen them, and maybe now she could be that for someone else. Maybe she would inspire other little boys and girls in the same way she was.

Nestling her chin on her arms, she watched her sister work. She never understood why Rya liked it. It made her hands calloused and rough, and it was so... well, Rya wasn't like that. The kindest, gentlest person in the world wasn't who Numa imagined as a mechanic. There was some kind of connection with her old friends, the ones she had met on Coruscant, but Numa had never met them.

Speaking of, "You said you had met Jedi before, right?"

Rya didn't need her to finish the sentence to put two and two together. "There were Jedi with the rebels?"

"The Jedi were the rebels. Some of them, at least," she remembered. "There was a man that was in love with the general's daughter and a little boy with blue hair. Both of them were human."

"No wonder the plan changed," Rya laughed, shaking her head. "Between them and Hera Syndulla, I'd expect as much."

Numa shook her head, sliding off the bench. "I am still not sure if I believe that you have met a Jedi."

She glanced to the side, trying to come up with a smart remark, but Numa's communicator beeped. "Numa, I could use your advice," General Syndulla told her.

"I am coming," she assured her general before hopping off the bench. "I have to go."

Nodding, Rya watched as she walked toward the workshop's exit. Then the words she was looking for struck her. "Hey, Numa!"

Her sister turned, pausing at the door. Rya smiled just a little bit. "May the Force be with you."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, if you knew a Jedi well enough, you would know!" she laughed, returning to her work. Numa rolled her eyes and left, but Rya grinned to herself.