Марта Уэллс: From a Certain Point of View

Chase blinks, distracted by the brief warmth of Jordan’s fingers brushing against his. “You’re just saying that,” he says, embarrassed. He pulls his hand back, sticking it in his pocket hastily. Was that too fast? Jordan didn’t notice, right?

Jordan takes another sip of caf before setting down the cup on top of the gate of Sunshine’s pen.

A stray curl flops into Jordan’s face as he heaves another stack of ice fungus into the pen from the hoverlift behind him.

Jordan flicks his hair out of his face effortlessly. Chase watches the lock of hair fall back into sideswept ebony curls, captivated by the movement, by Jordan himself, at the way his muscles are straining through his thin long-sleeved shirt.

“It’s true,” Jordan says, tossing another stack of the purple-blue fungus into the pen. “Nobody else would be able to bring me hot caf from the kitchens. That’s on the complete other side of the base. I don’t even know how to get there without getting lost.”

“Oh, come on, that’s easy. You just take tunnel 02-91 east and then 03-31 and then take a shortcut through the easternmost barracks and pop out at tunnel 04-21 and cut through the western mess hall and you’re there. Fourteen minutes tops. Hoth can’t freeze coffee that fast.” Chase doesn’t mention that he pours Jordan’s coffee into his own insulated thermos and keeps it wrapped in his pack when he knows he’s making a run past the tauntaun pens.

“That’s amazing.” Jordan gives Sunshine one last pat before shutting the gate to her pen. The tauntaun noses him affectionately on the shoulder. Chase tentatively reaches out his hand, but she snorts gruffly at him.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.”

“No, I’m saying it because it’s true.” Jordan shakes his head.

Chase sighs. He can barely even feel pleased at the compliment; he knows he makes deliveries quicker than anyone expects, but ultimately saving a few minutes here and there because he’s memorized all the shortcuts doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like being a pilot or a spy or someone who actually matters to the Rebel Alliance.

“I want to do something important. I need more than just kitchen duty every day and delivering supplies, but Major Derlin says I cause too much trouble underfoot and he doesn’t have time to train me.” Chase thumbs through the multiple messages he’s sent Major Derlin today. “I can too handle a blaster,” he retorts.

Jordan laughs at him. “Oh, yeah? Show me.” He unclips his holster and tosses his blaster at Chase.

Chase fumbles, the heavy weapon flipping at an awkward angle as he tries to catch it.

The tauntauns seem to be laughing at him, and Jordan is laughing, too. “Here, hold it like this.” He readjusts Chase’s grip, his callused hands warm against Chase’s own.

Chase’s throat goes dry.

“Jordan, quit flirting on duty!” Baesoon’s annoyed tone breaks Chase out of his reverie. “Commander Skywalker is heading out and I need you to gear him up now.”

Chase can feel his face light up with embarrassment. “I—”

Jordan squeezes his hands and gives him an apologetic smile before reholstering his blaster. “Gotta get back to work. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” Chase says. He can’t look away from the brightness of Jordan’s smile, or from the sight of Jordan walking back toward the storage pen.

He turns around and bumps right into Sunshine, who just gives him a judgmental look.

“Do not start with me,” Chase says, shaking his head.

—

Today’s drop is new—the command center. Chase gulps as he pushes open the door. It’s not a usual part of his routine, but it is now—apparently Joenn’s mechanic skills keep her in demand enough in the hangar that she isn’t doing running duties anymore.

“New holoprojector for you,” Chase announces.

Toryn Farr turns as he sets down the heavy package. “Can you set it up? I’m expecting—” She snaps back to her comm station, intently listening through her headset.

Chase waits awkwardly until she relays a short series of commands back, fidgeting with his pack until Toryn finally notices he’s still there.

“Was there something else?”

“Bantha milk, from your sister. She says remember to take breaks.” Chase offers the bottle with a smile.

Toryn’s gaze softens as she takes the bottle. “Wilsorr, right?” The chief communications officer smiles at him. “Thank you.”

Chase beams proudly. Raysi Anib was right. People do value him when he values himself.

Oh. General Rieekan is right there.

If you don’t ask the question, you’ll never have the answer.

“General Rieekan? Would you like some caf? I was doing a run to the hangar and had some—”

“Thank you, that would be great.” Blunt. Short. To the point. The general doesn’t even look away from the plans he’s poring over, but he gestures at his empty mug.

Chase pours caf out of his thermos. Now’s his chance.

“General Rieekan, I hope you know that I—”

The hawk-eyed man turns his scrutinizing gaze toward Chase. “Who are you again?”

“Chase Wilsorr, sir. I requested sentry duty and was denied—”

“Oh, right, Lieutenant Dana’s trainee.” General Rieekan frowns.

“I hope that—”

“Listen, son, I’m very busy. I know you want to help, but the best thing for you right now is what you’re suited for. Major Monnon explicitly said—”

“I know that I’m not good with weapons, sir. Or hand-eye coordination. Or fighting. Or any of that, really. But I could take shifts on sentry duty, I really—”

General Rieekan claps him on the shoulder. “That’s the attitude and determination I like to see. I have a critical mission for you.”

Chase’s heart pounds with excitement. “Yes?”

—

Chase curses as he hefts another heavy supply crate through tunnel 05-92 to Echo Station 5-4 outside the base. He knocks on the durasteel doors and waits for them to slide open.

Rainn Poras smirks as he sets down the crate. “Hey, thanks for the critical delivery,” he says with a sarcastic smile.

Chase rolls his eyes.

“These blasters need to be recharged—they’re all in this crate here.”

Chase grabs the other crate, his eyes stinging in the cold wind. He can’t even enjoy being out here at the sentry point, being able to see the sky and the sunshine. Ice and snow stretch out into the endless horizon—nothing on the tundra, everything swaths of the same off-white, white and gray and blue unrelenting ice.

“Can you believe he applied three times to sentry duty?”

“Apparently Lieutenant Dana keeps running out of excuses to keep him busy.”

“Is it true Wilsorr tripped over his own feet during weapons training and destroyed three barracks?”

Their voices carry as he makes his way back through the tunnel, and Chase grits his teeth as he shuffles forward. I am important, he reminds himself, even as he doesn’t believe it anymore.

—

“Don’t listen to them. I mean, I can see how the general was thinking—you didn’t think your duties were critical before, and he’s said they are, so—”

Chase plops down on the crate he’s supposed to be delivering to the hangar, sighing. “Should I just stop trying?”

Jordan shrugs. “I think if you really want sentry duty, you could keep asking for it, but I also think you’re great just the way you are.”

Chase bites his lip, quickly looking away from the way Jordan’s shoulders look in his thermal shirt. “How are you not cold?” Jordan’s jacket is lying discarded next to the hoverlift stacked high with bales of fungus.

“Gets too hot throwing these around. This is nothing.” Jordan grins at him, his warm brown eyes sparkling with mischief.