The discordant but upbeat music vibrating off the walls and tables of the cantina belied the grungy, almost slimy interior. Dark, yellow-brown walls, more likely years of alcohol and body fluid splatter than intentional color choice, encased a venue so thoroughly disreputable that even its equally doubtful patrons hesitated to lean against them. Still, there was a lot to be said for warmth and cheap, strong liquor in an outpost currently experiencing its first - and worst - winter in decades.

Commander Poe Dameron slumped forward on his bar stool almost lazily, elbows propping him up while he cradled a steaming drink. He resolutely decided not to think too much about the texture of the drink and remained happy to have the warmth on his hands. He lifted the cup to his lips, eyes darting around the room. His contact was supposed to have met him nearly half an hour ago. It was entirely possible the weather had held Sakk Lirogga up. Poe was the best damn pilot this side of the galaxy, and even he'd had some genuine, white knuckle moments landing in the heavy snow storm. But, Batuu was probably one of the safer places to exchange, well, anything. As he contemplated the other possibility, that this was a dead-end, a large, blue weethogg sat heavily on the empty stool next to him, challenging the hydraulics in the single leg. Poe heard a single low whistle as the stool dipped precariously low, then pumped back up, raising the weethogg back to Poe's eye level.

"What are you having?" Poe asked. Sakk grunted his answer, and Poe tossed some coins at the bartender. It was never a bad idea to preemptively be as hospitable as possible, especially to someone like Sakk Lirogga. Poe waited to begin until Sakk had his drink, a noxious, foul concoction Poe thought would go a long way stripping the dank walls of whatever unmentionable sludge stuck to them. Then again, that sludge might be the only thing holding the cantina together.

"It is good to see you again, Poe Dameron." Sakk said, voice oddly accented, as though his vocal cords were not made for the vowels and consonants of the galaxy's Basic language. Generally, Poe liked to discuss dubious requests in the native language of his contacts. It seemed to indicate a willingness to compromise and showed a very basic level of respect. However, humans were patently unable to communicate in Morggelor. That wasn't even what it was actually called. Most species, humans included, couldn't pronounce the name, much less speak the language itself.

"Likewise, Sakk." Poe lifted his cup to the weethogg and took a pull. "I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me."

"What are you wanting this age?" Sakk asked. He drained the contents of his cup and slapped it on the counter for the bartender to refill. Poe hesitated only briefly before pulling out more coins.

"I've heard rumors of a new weapons dealer who's just landed on the market." Poe said. "Real innovative. Tapped into a new technology that utilizes the Force."

Sakk choked on his drink. Poe reached a hand out to pat the weethog's back, but withdrew immediately when he realized Sakk was laughing. The obscene grunting was a cross between the mating sounds of a chupal and the mechanical grinding of a failed hyperdrive. Poe waited, sipping at this drink politely.

"Poe, you should reconsider the legitimacy of your sources." Sakk said, wiping his mouth. Poe frowned. "She is not a dealer. The technology is not new. And to say it utilizes the Force would cause Jedi and Sith alike to turn in their graves."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Poe asked. Sakk sighed, or what sounded like it might be a sigh.

"She is an engineer and a religious zealot. She defected from the Empire, before it fell apart. She was, uh, recruited into the First Order once her abilities were discovered. But now she's gone missing."

Poe shrugged, not sure why this bit of information seemed so important to the General. He waited for Sakk to continue, not trying to hide his confusion.

"I have no idea what she created as a proponent of the Empire, but it was enough to put a hefty price on her head." Sakk put his again empty mug on the counter. Poe paid for the next one without thinking.

"I thought you said she defected?" He asked. Sakk shrugged.

"Whether she left of her own will, or was forced to leave does not matter. She was presumed dead until a few months ago, when I began to hear of her again, in association with the First Order."

Poe inhaled deeply and tried to untangle this information.

"So Snoke is investing in - what? Religious science?" Poe shook his head. That didn't even make sense coming out of his mouth. Sakk laughed again.

"Snoke is dead. And no, I doubt he would have allowed her to live, much less within spitting distance of him." Sakk finished his third drink, smacked it on the counter upside down. "Whatever she created," Sakk leaned closer to Poe, "can contain a Force user."

Poe wasn't aware he'd stopped breathing. He tried to wrap his mind around that enormous piece of information. Snoke was dead. The Supreme Leader was dead. He felt a giddy excitement rush through him. What this meant for the Resistance, for their cause - Poe shook his head, hardly believing it. Was it even to be believed? He looked at Sakk, only to find the weethogg engaged in lively, grunt filled conversation with the mo-ir on his other side. And that was the extent of information that 15 credits paid for. Poe rested his hand on Sakk's shoulder.

"It was good to see you again, Sakk. Be warm." Poe swiveled off the stool. Sakk lifted an arm and grunted in response, returning to his conversation. If it was anyone else, Poe might have stayed out of concern - the mo-ir were infamous for their callous disregard for anyone who might be sold for a profit. He watched for a moment, eyeing two other mo-ir slide into place behind Sakk. A brief flash of silver behind Sakk, and it was over before it'd begun. The two mo-ir, throats slit neatly by a blade wielded with surprising grace in the large, burly, blue hand of a weethogg, dropped to the floor in a squishy heap. Their remaining comrade abandoned the heist and scurried past Poe back into the snowy cold. The music stopped briefly, and patrons held very still in the ensuing silence for only a moment before business continued.

Poe pulled his coat tighter around his chest, turning the collar up and hunching in to protect his ears and neck from the howling wind. He ran to his shuttle, only partially to escape the cold. Snoke was dead. It sang through his mind as a mantra of hope, and a new excitement swelled in his chest. He couldn't wait to share the information, eager to finally bring Leia good news.

General Leia Organa was in dire need of good news. The reassuring smiles she gave all 29 members - comrades, family - and the confidence with which she walked through the dilapidated halls of the abandoned smuggler's port were beginning to wear on her bones.

"General," Larma D'Acy nodded her head to Leia respectfully as they passed in the hallway. Leia squeezed the woman's shoulder, smiled, and continued down the hall. She reached her private quarters just in time for her stomach to growl. Leia ignored it. In the past couple of weeks since Crait, food had been scarce as the few remaining members of the Resistance hopped from one refuge to the next aboard the now very crowded Millenium Falcon. On board the ship, it had been easy to trick herself into thinking there were more survivors than the mere 29. With more people than the freighter had ever been designed to contain, the hot, sweaty press of too many bodies in too small a space belied the truth: the Resistance was all but dead.

A heavy sigh escaped the general. She closed her eyes, fingers gripping her cane so hard her knuckles turned white. Being on the Falcon again had stirred memories she'd thought were long gone. Little things, like the first time she and Han took Ben for his first flight. As a baby, he'd been fascinated by the stars, the race of lights in hyperspace, the slow approach to a planet. Those memories she found she could tolerate, cherish, even. Here, bunkered down in a decades-old pirate port on the Outer Rim planet Florrum, the not so cherished memories came flooding back to her.

She'd never been to Florrum, but she'd been to - and had knowledge of - many planets like it. Hideouts for the galaxy's most hardened criminals. Trading posts for smugglers. Han had been to Florrum. She wondered if he'd come to this very outpost. They'd argued - for weeks - about his illicit activities. That was what she'd called them - never speaking the words directly. He was a criminal. She'd married a criminal. And of course, she'd known that from the beginning. Why had she ever thought he would change? Ben. She'd thought he'd change when Ben was born. And for a few years, he had. And then, well, old habits and all. They'd argued. Loudly. And then he left, telling her only that he was headed to Florrum to meet with a client.

Leia opened her eyes and licked dry lips. She reached for the flask that held fresh water - warm, but clean - and took a generous pull. Thank the Force for Rey. Hailing from the desert wasteland that is Jakku, the girl - all powers aside - was adept at finding water in the most impossible environments. She and Chewie had left almost immediately after disembarking to hunt for palatable water, and returned with a hefty store of it, along with several small animal carcasses that tasted a little gamey, but had provided a couple days of food for everyone. Still, this couldn't continue indefinitely. Florrum was not a forgiving planet, and Leia had zero doubt that should they be found by other smugglers or pirates, they were as good as dead.

"General Organa?" An accented voice spoke softly on the other side of the door, followed by a gentle knock.

"Enter, Rey."

The girl opened the door slowly, hesitating before entering the room fully. There was a streak of grease trailing from the corner of her right eye, over her cheek, and down her neck. Leia smiled and stood, using the hem of her shirt sleeve to wipe it away.

"I think I've only made it worse," Leia said. Rey returned the smile, but it soon faded. Leia heard the questions that Rey wouldn't ask aloud. Are you alright? Are we alright?

Leia lightly gripped Rey's arm and pulled her down to the small cot. The two women sat in silence for a moment, before Leia opened her mouth to speak. Before she could, Rey took her hand in both of hers, turning to face the general.

"General Organa," Rey began, but Leia held up a hand. "Leia," Rey conceded. "Rose is recovering well. She is walking now, unaided." Rey squeezed Leia's fingers. "Pamich and Vober have re-routed the communications station, and - with Jess' help - have been able to set up a link that will reach as far as the Northern Dependencies."

Leia stared into Rey's eyes, leaning forward. Rey continued.

"Commander Dameron has sent communication that he will be returning no later than tomorrow evening, and that he has been able to obtain rations that will last the fleet for at least three weeks. The rest of us are working on getting two of the four A-Wings up and mobile." The four ships found in the docking bay had been a surprise to all. Even more surprising that they seemed salvageable. "I expect that to be completed within two weeks." Rey added. She squeezed Leia's hand again.

"We haven't given up yet. Neither should you." Rey finished, her voice firmer and less gentle now. Leia's face crumpled. It was admonishment, and she deserved it. It was barely two weeks ago that she'd told Rey essentially the same thing. They had everything they needed. At the time, it was the last vestige of hope Leia had. Now, it rang truer to her than ever. Her people were hungry, tired, wounded, grossly lacking in resources, and vastly alone in the galaxy. But they persisted. They would to the last of them, she knew. Still, she might be forgiven her despair, given everything they'd lost. Everyone she'd lost. Luke's last words still whispered to her. No one is ever really gone.

With a last gentle squeeze of her hand, Rey released her, and stood up. She pulled the door behind her, but left it slightly ajar. An invitation. Alone, Leia lifted her head to the rusted, metal ceiling and breathed in deeply. There was work to be done.

Rey slid underneath the 2nd level circuit board of the ancient A-Wing. The computer wiring was frayed, the copper filaments cracked, with a fine patina overlaying the delicate connectors. Rey readjusted her position, trying and failing to find a not so painful angle, the upper half of her body flat on the deck, while her lower half bent uncomfortably backwards so she could see the full extent of the damage. She wondered how long it would take for all the blood in her body to rush to her brain.

"Hand me the soldering gun," Rey said. Finn sat cross legged on the deck beside her, sifting through the tool box. He found it, or what he hoped was it, and put in Rey's outstretched hand.

"Can't you just - you know?" Finn waved his hand around, fingers wiggling. Rey twisted her head to peer up at him, frowning.

"What?"

"You know?" He wiggled his fingers again. Rey stared at him, unblinking. Finn huffed impatiently. "Use the Force?" He asked in a whisper. Kaydel Connix walked quickly past both of them, and Finn shot her a nervous smile. Rey snorted.

"Why are you whispering?" She asked, flicking the switch on the gun, letting it warm up. "I'm pretty sure everyone knows The Big Secret by now, considering that's how we're not all still stuck on Crait, or buried there." The red light on the gun slowly transformed into orange, then yellow. "Besides, I don't think that's how the Force works, or even if it did, I wouldn't know how to do that."

"What do you mean you wouldn't know how to do that?" Finn asked, incredulous. He'd watched in awe, as did everyone else, as the hundreds of boulders were lifted from the cave's exit, signaling they'd been saved by a living, breathing, walking miracle. "You trained with Luke Skywalker!"

The light on the soldering gun was now green. Ready for melting metal.

"I'd hardly call what we did training," Rey said, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. Luke's voice echoed in her mind. Telling her how disappointed he was in her lack of resistance to the dark. No, not disappointment. Fear. The brittle clack of her staff against the beacon rod. Her own disappointment in what the legend of Luke Skywalker turned out to be. Guilt flooded through her. Luke may not have been all she'd hoped for, but he'd sacrificed himself so the Resistance would live on. He'd met Kylo Ren in battle - a fake battle, but no less costly to himself. Kylo Ren.

Rey's hands stilled, the soft sizzle of crackling, molten lead fading into a distant hum, almost an electric pulse. Rey thought she saw large black boots come to a stop above her knees, but the image was gone before she could twist her head around to fully see. The quiet buzz of the Force subsided back into Finn's voice. Rey came back into her body, with Finn's hand on her knee, gently shaking her.

"Rey? Rey!"

She sighed and flipped the soldering gun off before she melted the skin off her fingers.

"Yes, sorry," she said. She craned her neck and saw Finn's face frowning down on her, lips pursed. He sat back on his heels, the warmth of his hand leaving her leg.

"What's going on, Rey?" he asked. "You've been - well, I don't know what, exactly, but you've been different. Since Crait." Finn waited. Rey considered her answers. She'd been different before Crait. "Something happened on Ach-to, didn't it?" Finn asked.

"Yes," she answered truthfully, voice barely a whisper. Finn gripped her calf, and he leaned forward.

"Tell me."

"I-" Rey began, but couldn't continue. I have a profound connection with our greatest enemy. I trusted him enough to enter the belly of the monster and tried to bring him back. I failed. It sounded very simple when she thought about it. She wished she could make herself believe it was.

"Rey?"

She shook her head.

"Help me out of here. I'm tired, and it's late. This can wait till morning." She didn't specify the soldering together of metal wires, or the answers Finn so desperately wants. He didn't ask. He just stood and pulled her legs up as she pushed herself out of the compartment. Sitting up, she felt light headed and determined that yes, the blood did, in fact, rush to her head. Finn remained crouched in front of her. After a moment, he cupped her face in his hands, leaned forward, and kissed her forehead. Rey squeezed her eyes shut. This simple affection, at once so wanted and so dreaded, stung her eyes. She'd never been able to control her emotions - rather the display of them. There was never anyone around to berate her for crying. Never anyone around to kiss her forehead when she did cry. At the outpost on Jakku, she tended toward anger to keep frustrated and hungry tears from falling and betraying her weakness. But alone, in her small home in the sand, she would cry, and laugh, and scream, and curse without compunction. It was a new experience doing so in front of other people. Again, her thoughts betrayed her, straying to the only human being in the galaxy who'd seen her cry as an adult.

She rubbed at her eyes, hard enough to hurt, and pushed herself to her feet. She dropped the soldering gun into the tool box and threw her arms around Finn, hugging him fiercely but quickly.

"I'm going to bed. Check on Rose, would you? I think she wanted to talk to you." Rey ducked out of the A-Wing, leaving Finn alone with the clatter and clanging of Kaydel's tools in the engine.